A Wolf in the Fold

was taking jobs as fast as they were thrown at me, with little regard for anything other than how fast I could get each job done and be paid.

This one looked to be no different from the rest. Cattle were being rustled. The letter had not pointed the finger of blame, but apparently the Butchers were believed to be the culprits. Without their being aware, I studied the two brothers. Carson was a hothead, that was for sure, but he had sounded sincere when he claimed his family had nothing to do with the missing cattle. And there was no doubting Sam’s honesty. The boy was hardly an accomplished liar.

I shrugged and drained my cup in two gulps. It wasn’t for me to decide guilt or innocence. I was paid to do a job and I always did it.

Just then the front door opened and in swirled a stiff-backed woman dressed in the height of fashion. Her hat, her dress, everything looked as if she had just bought it, and paid top dollar. She had a sharp, flinty face, and dark, brooding eyes that flicked over me and then fixed on the Butcher boys. Without hesitation she strode up to their table and snapped in a voice as hard as her features, “You have your nerve.”

Sam rose and doffed his hat, saying nervously, “Mrs. Tanner! This is a pleasure.”

So here was Gertrude Tanner, wife of Lloyd Tanner, Gerty, as Calista called her. She impressed me as being the kind of woman who would never stoop to nagging a man to death. She would not nag, she would command. She would tell her man what to do, and he had damn well better do it.

“Don’t patronize me,” Gertrude rasped. “The gall! Showing yourselves in public after killing more of my cattle.”

Carson wiped a sleeve across his mouth and jabbed a finger at her. “A couple of your cowboys were in here a while ago accusing us of the same thing, and I’ll say to you what I said to them.” He paused. “We didn’t do it. We’ve never killed any of your stinking cows, never stole a single head.”

“So you claim.”

“Now look, lady,” Carson said. “My family is sick and tired of you blaming us if one of your cows so much as comes up lame.”

“We’re not rustlers, ma’am,” Sam added.

“Spare me your shammed innocence. I was not born yesterday. Of course you deny it. Your ilk always do.”

Sam glanced at Carson. “What’s an ilk?”

“I reckon she means an elk. But that makes no kind of sense. We don’t have antlers or four legs.”

Gertrude stood with her hands folded and her chin high and sheer scorn on her features, as a queen might regard disloyal subjects. “Have your fun. But we won’t abide your shenanigans forever. My husband has reached the end of his tether.”

“Send him over to talk to Ma,” Sam proposed. “She would love to sit down with him and hash this out.”

“That will be the day,” Gertrude replied. “I will not have my husband associate with the likes of you or that liquor-guzzling mother of yours.”

“Be careful, lady,” Carson said.

“No, you be careful. You and your entire wretched family. If you do not cease and desist, I will not be held accountable for the consequences. Consider this your final warning.”

“I don’t much like being threatened, even by a female.”

“And I don’t much care what you like or do not like. As for my gender, don’t let that hamper you. I am the equal of anything in britches.”

I had met some tough women, but this one was at the top of the ladder. She could whittle most men down to size with her tongue alone.

Carson was plunking coins on the table. “Let’s head out. I can’t take much more of this shrew.”

“Be nice,” Sam said.

“To her?”

Carson shouldered past Gertrude, and I swear she almost took a swing at him. Sam smiled and bowed and said, “Sorry about the misunderstanding, ma’am. I sure do wish we could be friends.”

“When hell freezes over, boy.”

They left, and Gertrude Tanner turned. The change that came over her was something to see. She went from hard to soft in the blink of an eye, from a fierce she-cat to a kitten. “Do my eyes deceive me, or are you a man of the cloth?”

“Reverend Storm, ma’am,” I said, rising. We were alone, so I felt safe in revealing the truth. “Or Lucius Stark, although you might to keep that to yourself. We need to sit down and hash things over. Your letter didn’t give a whole lot of details.”

Gertrude did not hide her surprise. “Can it be? You’re him? I must say, you chose a marvelous disguise.” Lowering her voice, she leaned toward me. “Yes, by all means, we must talk. But not here. Later.” She smiled thinly. “Then you can start the killing.”

Chapter 3

The Tanner ranch was in the shadow of the Fair Sister. Besides the main house, there was a bunkhouse, a cookhouse, a blacksmith shop, the stable, a chicken coop, six or seven sheds, and the inevitable outhouse. Make that two. Gertrude Tanner insisted on having her own, and as I had guessed, whatever Gertrude Tanner wanted, Gertrude Tanner got.

Supper was to be served at seven. I arrived at six in a buckboard I rented from the livery in Whiskey Flats. I had to be careful to keep my black coat buttoned. Otherwise, someone might wonder why a parson wore a shoulder holster. The Remington was the same model as my hip iron except I’d had the barrel sawed down to two inches and the ejector rod removed so it was less likely to snag.

Calista Modine wore a Sunday-go-to-meeting dress that clung to her in all the places a dress should cling. It was all I could do not to let my appreciation show. Fortunately, she didn’t notice me squirm and fidget. At least, I don’t think she did.

The buildings were in sight when she straightened and commented, “It was nice of Gerty to invite us, don’t you think?”

I forgot myself and grunted. Calista had not said much on the way out. Whether she was shy because I was supposed to be a parson or shy around men or just plain shy, I couldn’t say.

“Don’t let her manner put you off. She can be brusque, but deep down she has a heart of gold.”

I tried to imagine Gertrude Tanner as kindly and considerate. It was like trying to imagine a wolf on a leash.

“It hasn’t been easy for her,” Calista went on. “Running a ranch is hard work. And don’t let anyone tell you she doesn’t do her share. Fact is, I’d wager she does more of the actual running than her husband.”

“Lloyd is timid, is he?” I played my part.

“Gracious, no. He has enough sand for five men. But he doesn’t boss her around like some husbands do. He lets her have an equal say in everything.” Calista winked. “Or more than an equal say.”

“How is it there isn’t a man in your life?”

Calista flushed and looked away. “Some questions, Parson, are too personal. They should never be asked.”

“I was curious, is all,” I said, justifying the snooping.

Calista was quiet a while. Her shawl had slipped from her shoulders, but she did not pull it back up. “Gertrude says I’m too finicky. That I’ll never meet the man of my dreams because I set my sights too high.”

“We are none of us perfect,” I remembered a real parson saying once.

“True. And if I have set my standards too high, it’s only because I’ve seen what happens to women who set their standards too low.”

Before I could stop myself, I heard my mouth spout, “My own ma set her sights too low. My pa was lazy and worthless and came home most nights drunk. On good nights he fell into bed and passed out. On bad nights he slapped her around. She would cry and beg him not to, but he would go on beating her anyway.”

“How terrible,” Calista said. “Did he beat you, too?”