and gravy. They drank strong tea, which they only had on special occasions, a gift from Laura’s mother, who lived in San Antonio.
“When are you leaving, Felix?” she asked.
“Oh, didn’t I tell you?”
“No, you did not. I know that look in your eyes, though. And when I saw the hands coming back tonight, I knew you had finished roundup.”
“Day after tomorrow.”
“Do you have enough cattle to make the drive?”
“Not yet. We’ll get more on the way to Amarillo.”
“A big gamble.”
“Yes,” he said.
“When will you be back?”
“Next spring, I reckon.”
“So long? The baby’s due in September.”
“I know. It’s a long ride. But you’ll have Carmelita to help you. Jorge will be with me, so she’ll be able to be with you until we get back.”
Jorge Delgado was one of Dag’s best cowhands. His wife, Carmelita, worked for Laura, helping her with the washing, the cooking, the housecleaning. He had sent her home so that Jorge could say goodbye.
“Is Jo going?”
And there it was, the question Dag had been dreading. Laura knew as well as he that Bill Finnerty’s daughter went everywhere with him. He was a widower and Jo was a big help to him. She was always at roundup, and at the big picnics they had on the Fourth of July.
“Yes, dear, Jo is going. Of course. You know that.”
“That girl will be trouble, Felix.”
“What do you mean? She’s no trouble that I know of.”
Laura’s eyes flashed and then seethed with the smoky haze that marked a smoldering fire within her.
“That gal took a fancy to you ever since she had pippins on her chest. And now that she’s a woman, she’s got her sights set on you, Felix. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”
“I haven’t noticed, Laura. Honest.”
“Well, I’m telling you, Jo’s going along on this drive for one reason.”
“Oh, pshaw, Laura. You make mountains out of anthills.”
“That’s molehills, Felix, and I’m not. Jo is how old now? Twenty?”
“Maybe.”
“She’s twenty-two, Felix, and you know damned well how old she is. She flirts with you at every picnic, every race, every get-together. You may not have the roving eye, but that woman wants to find out what you got in your britches. I know.”
Dag flushed with embarrassment. Jo was pretty, but he was too old for her. And he was married.
“Laura, don’t make something out of nothing. You’re my woman and I’m your man. I don’t plan on sparking that girl. Far as I’m concerned, she’s just a cook, like her pa. She’ll be treated as such.”
Laura was still fuming when they finished supper. Dag could see that she had been talking about Jo in her mind the whole time they sat at the table in silence. The rest of the conversation could erupt at any moment and he’d catch hell for something he hadn’t done and didn’t intend to do.
Soon after Laura finished washing and drying the dishes, they heard dogs barking. Laura went to the front window and looked out into the darkness.
“Felix,” she said, “someone’s coming up our road. I can see their shapes by the moonlight.”
Dag went to the window.
“Two riders,” he said.
And moments later, they heard hoofbeats as the riders approached. Horses in the corrals whinnied.
“Now who could that be at this hour?” she asked, as she and Dag stood looking out the window.
“Hard to tell, but they’re in an all-fired hurry.”
The riders stopped at the hitch rail, dismounted, and wrapped their reins around the top pole.
“It’s Deuce,” he said, “and Coker.”
“I’ll make some coffee. I wonder what they want. Maybe Deuce changed his mind and is going to let you drive his cattle to Cheyenne.”
“That man doesn’t change his mind,” Dag said. “Once he makes it up, it turns to hard stone.”
Dag opened the door. Lamplight spilled out onto the porch, painted a soft yellow carpet.
“Deuce,” Dag said, “Sam, come on in.”
“Felix,” Deutsch said with noncommittal curtness. Coker said nothing. The two men entered the front room and Dag closed the door behind them.
“Sit down, Adolph. Laura’s putting coffee on to boil. Or would you like some elderberry?”
“No, we will not long stay,” Deutsch said. But he did sit down on the divan. Coker sat next to him. Both men took off their hats, but held them in their hands. Coker ran the brim of his hat through his fingers in a circular motion. Deutsch set his hat on the arm of the divan.
Dag sat down in a chair facing the two men.
“Have you eaten?” he asked. “Laura can set out plates for you, I’m sure.”
“We have eaten, Felix, but settle well the food does not.”
Coker’s face was drawn tight, with anger seething just below the surface of his visage, as if something were boiling in his mind and he was just holding back to keep from opening an ugly valve that would spew it all out. Dag noticed that both men wore pistols. He knew that Deuce seldom carried a weapon.
“Maybe you ate too much, Adolph.”
“I think not,” Deuce said.
“I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about putting your herd in with ours for the drive to Cheyenne, Adolph. We’re leaving day after tomorrow.”
“Maybe you will not,” Deutsch said. “I am closing my trading post. Supplies, we will not sell you, Felix.”
“Why? Don’t you want to supply us with staples, make money for yourself?”
“You know damned well why, Dagstaff,” Coker said, his fury spilling over.
Laura, perhaps hearing the venom in Coker’s voice, entered the room, forcing a cheery air.
“Coffee will be ready soon,” she said brightly.
“We won’t be staying for coffee, ma’am,” Coker said, “thanking you all the same.”
Deutsch nodded at Laura, half stood up, out of politeness, but sat down again right away.
“We go now pretty soon,” Deutsch said.
Dag could smell the coffee and he knew the two guests could, as well. This was as close to rude as he had ever seen Deutsch around a woman, and he wondered what was eating the man.
“Deuce,” Dag said, “maybe you’d better tell me straight out why you rode over here tonight. Was it just to tell me you weren’t going to sell me supplies tomorrow?”
“No,” Deutsch said. “I come to tell you, Mr. Dagstaff, that away with this you will not get.” Dag knew that the “Mr.” was thrown in because Laura was standing there. Deuce even glanced sheepishly at Laura when he said it.
“Get away with what?”
Before Deutsch could answer, Laura spoke up. “Perhaps I should leave,” she said. “If you’re not going to stay for coffee, Mr. Deutsch . . .”
“Yes, Laura, go on,” Dag said. “Mr. Deutsch is leaving.”
Laura left the room. Dag heard the coffeepot clang on the iron stove, and then it was silent as Deutsch glared at him. His bruises were still showing on his face and Coker had some new scars on his nose and cheekbones.
“What am I supposed to have gotten away with?” Dag asked.
Deutsch’s face twisted into a grimace that quickly became florid with hate. His eyes bulged, and his neck swelled like that of a bull in the rut. His thick lips protruded from his face as he struggled to find the words to express his anger.
