The Librarian

Episode 4

Cass Wenderby slung his gun belt over the peg by the door and sailed his hat across the room onto his bunk. He looked at the other men in the room without speaking and sauntered to the coffee pot on the small wood stove.

"Wanna set in?" A scruffy red-haired cowpoke called. "Larkin went to the crapper with an advertisin' paper, he'll be all night out there."

Cass waved his coffee mug negatively and sat on the edge of his bunk.

"They quiet out there?" Another of the men asked, referring to the herd of cattle they were driving to auction.

"Yeah, Efrem's sittin' watch. I think we done scared that old polecat off the other night. He never had to jump so high in his mangy life I'll wager."

"Still, we never hit 'im, not even a tick. He might just come back outta spite."

"Maybe he'll eat ole Efrem instead of a cow," the red-head laughed and the others joined in.

Cass finished his coffee and, shoving his hat aside, lay back on his cot, staring at the upper bunk. He gave a grunt at the twinge in his leg and his mind flashed on the reason it still hurt almost a year later.

The woman's face showed as clear as a sunny day. Lips clamped tight, eyes blazing and pumpin' the lever of that Winchester like lightning and her top hanging down showin'-, The twinge came again, more painful and he grunted louder.

"What's eatin' you, Cass, you want Larkin's paper too?" Everyone laughed aloud and Cass just rolled over, facing the wall and dreamed about one day finding the woman and making her pay for leaving him to the horror of watching buzzards feast on the bodies of his dead companions.

****

Colonel Barton Stark assumed the task of trail boss for his own herd. What he lacked in experience he made up with grim determination and a no nonsense rule of behaviour. The drovers, all new hires for the drive, consisted of a dozen men with mixed backgrounds; mostly with some familiarity of cattle drives. A few, like Cass Wenderby, using the drive as a means of avoiding the law for various reasons.

The drive had taken a month so far, of the six weeks planned, and the current stop was the first and last to be had where there was a bunkhouse, clean water and a chance to bathe. Colonel Stark planned to sell his herd at auction to cattle drivers who move them on to the rail heads and from there to the Chicago stockyards.

At an expected price of six dollars a head, he would net close to ten thousand dollars less about a thousand for the drovers, the cook, and the remuda wrangler. That of course depended on getting all or almost all the cattle to the auction.

The bunkhouse door banged open, and Colonel Stark stood tall in the frame.

"Early start in the mornin'. I'll be well ahead looking for water, and Patch will be with me, setting up the first stop for food. Higby and Turner are drag. Carter, Jones, Halston and Wenderby on the flanks. Red, you're lead and the others are swing. Okay, early is five o'clock so don't be staying up all night playing cards." The door closed sharply.

"How much further we got, you reckon?"

"Two, maybe three weeks. Still have to cross the Peyote River. After that I heard it was all grassland."

"Heard from who? Where'd you ever hear from someone?"

"Some fellas I met once drove this trail."

"Well when it's my turn to ride drag I hope it's after we cross that river then." Red grinned.

"How 'bout we play a hand for tomorrow," Turner coaxed.

"My ma didn't raise no fool, cowboy," Red sneered, gathering the cards and calling it a night.

"Somebody oughta tell Larkin."

"What fer, he's prob'ly asleep already."

****

The drive actually took nearly four weeks after Colonel Stark's choice of crossing for the Peyote River cost them several head in the quicksand bottom. Time was wasted trying to save the cattle, which was impossible from land, then making camp and settling the rest of the herd while a new crossing was found.

Two days later a haggard Colonel Stark returned with the news that he had found a safe path across the river. It would take the herd about a day and a bit to reach it.

Into the fourth week, Stark's herd reached the temporary pens allotted for the auction outside Tuckerville, and registered his cows by final count and an anticipated start price, then he let his men go into town.

Of the original sixteen hundred head, fourteen hundred and twenty seven made it to the auction. Storms, stampedes and the river crossings accounted for the losses. The drovers also lost two men, one badly crippled in a run and the other a volunteer to see him home.

Colonel Stark headed for the hotel in town to rest and calculate his finances.

****

Harriet said good day to her last visitors, locked the library door and turned to the street, pausing in surprise at the number of horses tied up along the roadside and the number of people crowding back and forth. She started toward the hotel when she heard her name and stopped again, turning this time to find Aaron, fingers touching his hat brim and smiling.

"Miss Folio. Welcome to one of those times I mentioned to you."

As if to underline the fact, a loud whoop came from somewhere up the road followed by a gunshot. Harriet stiffened and placed a hand against the building for support.

"It's alright!" Aaron carefully took her arm. "It's just an end of the trail celebration. The drovers are letting off steam and-"

"I'm perfectly fine, Mr. Trenholme, thank you." She shifted her arm away and clutched her purse closer.

"Very well." He waited until she moved then ventured along with her, keeping a respectable distance to the side. "You know, after all this time and the business we have done together, I would have hoped that you might have chosen to call me Aaron." He offered a smile. "I would be pleased to call you Harriet."

Her lips compressed and she quickened her steps slightly.

"I don't believe our business dealings presume a social relationship . . . Mr. Trenholme." She started again as another roar went up with more gunfire.

"I'm truly sorry to hear that. I would have felt it an honour to ask you out for dinner or to the auction dance tomorrow night."

"I'm afraid I don't dance." She stepped into the doorway of the hotel and Aaron followed.

"That's why I mentioned the option of dinner . . . I know you eat dinner."

"Mr. Trenholme—"

"Hello! My favourite customers!" Colleen DuPrave sailed into the lobby, her emerald green gown gallantly working to contain her voluptuous figure. "Come! Come, you must join us at the bar for a celebratory drink. The famous Colonel Barton Stark is buying a round for the house to celebrate his arrival with over a thousand head of cattle for the auction!"

"I'm afraid I'll have to be excu—"

"Nonsense, Miss Librarian," Colleen effused. "You are one of Tuckerville's celebrities, he'll want to meet you."

With a hand clamped on her arm, Harriet experienced a surge of old feelings and snatched her arm away, her eyes flashing and her mouth grim.

"I have no interest in meeting or celebrating with any- with your Colonel whoever he is. I am tired and I am retiring to my room . . . alone." Her look was a mix of scald and guilt as she left the lobby and climbed the stairs quickly.

"Well, remind me not to suggest a social opportunity again." Colleen fluffed her dress collar and cocked her head at Aaron. "Are you coming in?" She looked at him pleadingly.

He was still staring up the staircase, a glimmer of insight suddenly settling in his mind.

"Huh? Oh- sure. Not one to miss a free beer." He followed Colleen into the bar after one last look upstairs.