Deciding he needed another kerosine lantern, Ryker Landry stopped at the mercantile/hardware store. Wouldn’t hurt to get a few boxes of Lucifers while there. He had flint and steel, of course, but those darn manufactured matches sure came in handy.
Outside the store, he paused to stare at a donkey and cart tethered to the hitching rail. Those were the brightest pink wheels and sideboards he’d ever seen on a conveyance. Still wondering who would drive such a whimsical eyesore, he went inside.
Maneuvering around several cowhands as they milled about the entrance, he headed for the back of the store and the shelf of lanterns. On the way, he grabbed a shovel and pickax. They’d be mighty useful too. The men he passed seemed a rowdy bunch, and more than one smelled like he’d already been partaking freely down at the saloon.
As Ryker perused the items available, a mass of silky red hair caught his attention. He peeked through the shelving. Yep, it was her, one aisle over. His back went stiff, and he glanced around for her beast of a dog. Not seeing the critter, he relaxed. Keeping out of sight, he circled around to the back of the store again as she headed for the cash register.
UNDERWRITTEN BY
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“Well, lookie here, boys. If it ain’t Miss Sheep Dip herself. Ready to sell yet?”
The men blocked Una MacLaren’s path, but she stood her ground, refusing to retreat.
“My animals are goats not sheep, you big bully.”
At her retort, Ryker couldn’t suppress a smile.
“Still smell the same to a cattleman.”
“I’m sure you smell the same to the goats.”
The other two cowpokes broke into laughter. The man speaking sneered and stepped forward one pace to tower over her.
“Let me pass, please.”
“Say please with sugar on it. Your backtalk could use a little sweetening.”
Ryker set aside his supplies, except for the pick-ax. Then maintaining a suitable distance, he sauntered up the aisle behind Mrs. MacLaren. Not saying a word, he hefted the ax onto his shoulder so the men couldn’t miss the wicked implement or the ready and willing to tangle expression he aimed their way.
After a moment’s consideration, they stepped aside, and Ryker figured he’d just made three new enemies.
The shepherdess seized her opportunity and marched forward to the counter. Quicky paying for her wares, she disappeared out the door. He didn’t think she’d seen him standing at her back.
Collecting his supplies, Ryker took his turn to pay.
The men closed in. “You’re new in town.” The largest of the three men did the speaking.
“What’s your point.”
“You friends with that woman?”
If they only knew. “What if I were?”
“Boss Pritchard don’t like her. Which means if you two are friends, he don’t like you either.”
“And why should I care if Boss Pritchard likes me or not?”
The man straightened to his full height and snagged the toothpick from the side of his mouth. “Because he runs things around here. Her husband learned that the hard way.”
Husband… The MacLaren woman having a husband hadn’t registered in his mind. It obviously should have. “What happened to him?”
“He’s dead. Accidents happen.”
“Break Heart Canyon”
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Without pressing for further details, Ryker had a feeling regardless of what the doctor had declared on the death certificate, the cause could be attributed to these men.
“Come on, Bearcat. You done said too much.” A second man put a hand on Bearcat’s shoulder, which Bearcat shrugged off. “If you reckon what’s good for you, mister, you’ll steer clear of that woman and her property.”
The men shuffled past, one purposely bumped into Ryker’s shoulder. Another shoved at Ryker’s pile of merchandise nearly knocking over the kerosene lantern—the shopkeeper caught the fragile item just in time.
As the ruffians disappeared out the door, Ryker turned toward the man behind the counter. “Nice welcoming party.”
“Watch out for that bunch. They’re usually up to no good, and capable of just about anything. Irks me no end the way they’re always a bothering the Widow MacLaren.”
After storing his purchases in his room, Ryker stopped by to see what was happening at the only saloon in town.
The cowpokes who had hassled him in the general store were present, continuing to act every bit as loud and obnoxious as before. Because he wanted to keep a low profile, Ryker grabbed a beer at the bar and sought a chair beside a small table at the back of the room.
He wasn’t the only one lying low and scoping things out. Another solitary man sat across the way. There was a darkness about him, and not just owing to his black hair, hat, and beard. Pensive and silent, he sat nursing a drink, seemingly oblivious to the rowdy cowboys who gave him a wide berth.
The man they’d called Bearcat at the general store zigzagged his way up to the bar. Obviously drunk, he could barely order another beer and a shot of whiskey.
When the barkeep hesitated, the belligerent man slammed his hand down on the counter demanding service.
“Come on, Bearcat,” one of his buddies cajoled.
“We got a long night ahead of us. We need you to be awake for the doin’s.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot. That little lady will sure be surprised come morning.”
At this bit of information, Ryker perked up. Were they talking about Mrs. MacLaren? He’d already planned on visiting her property tonight. If these no accounts showed up, he might come across more than a lost treasure.
Gini Rifkin has lived in Colorado for over 50 years, many of them spent reenacting the mountain man era. When not reading or writing, she’s rescuing farm animals with the current total at four goats, two donkeys and one cat. Her new passion is learning the art of spinning and weaving goat hair, as writing keeps her hungry to learn new things.
