Dinosaurs Don't Dance

[24]

━━━━─── • ───━━━━

THE WESTERN MARCH

━━━━─── • ───━━━━

Evening's onset saw Tanner and company settling around the spacious ranch barn, a welcome refuge from day's rigours. Lanterns aglow, the sturdy timber structure echoed with lowing parasaurolophus' nestled in stalls for the night. Hammers rang outdoors, where hands were reinforcing enclosures after last eve's rainstorm enabled two frisky bucks to wreak mischief amidst the cattle pastures. But within, all was warmth and merriment as locals drifted in for company and Clay's finest brew.

Tanner leaned content against rough-hewn walls, savouring his ale's crisp reward after long leagues in the saddle. He spied their congenial host then, crossing towards him with a rueful grin.

"You're a right plague upon these parts, boy." Clay guffawed, slapping Tanner's shoulder heartily. "Can scarce turn my back five minutes but you're traipsing in with some new scheme, achin' for trouble."

Tanner grinned roguishly. "You know you missed me. Don't go blamin' me—blame that lily-livered partner of yours for leadin' us straight to your door!"

"Far be it from me to cast aspersions on Mr. Thompson's character." Clay replied drily, casting a mock glare past Tanner towards where Randall conversed pleasantly with Gabrielle and the locals by the fire. "But sometimes I swear, Englishmen will go any distance to avoid simple grunt work. Mark my words, he'll rope you into muckin' stables come morn..."

Tanner hooted at that. "Ain't that the Gospel truth! Speakin' of grunt work, don't reckon I've let ol' Randy live down the time he sweet-talked me into wranglin' that Gorgo into his zoo. Had the devil of a time coaxin' its bulk through the gates without gettin' et! And wouldja believe, after I done the dirty work catchin' the ornery beast, Randall has the gall to up and swindle me into his vendetta! You'd think a gentleman wouldn't stoop to petty thievery, but I s'pose Englishmen gotta have their fun somehow."

"Tanner Graves, can't believe I keep forgettin'—never do right to assume the worst of you! Alright then, out with it. Why did ya really bring ol' Thompson 'round these parts, knowin' his purses got my Paras writin' songs?"

Tanner scratched his scruff, deliberating. "Reckon I may have mentioned your stock being second to none..."

At Clay's scoff, he grinned innocently. "Also may have failed to clarify the length of journey. Got him all the way from Massachusetts, the poor feller!"

"Truth told, we're pushin' further still once resupplied. Got word of opportunity down Mexico way, and more hands make lighter work. Plus... Big guy called Lil' Lot's been a mite too, er, spirited, for polite company of late."

Clay guffawed anew. "Lil' Lot? What in hell kind of name is that for a growed man?"

Tanner lowered his voice further. "Never mind him. I was hoping there'd be a name. Jeremy Shaw. I got a score to settle with him, been huntin' this man since Boston. Claims to be a businessman, but I been hearin' some unsavoury things 'bout his true designs. Seems the snake wants more'n simple trade, aims to use dinos to 'carve out a continental empire'."

Clay swore under his breath. "That scheming varmit paid me a visit not a week past. Kept prattling 'bout taming my paras and hadrosaurs for cavalry, running Indians off claimed frontier territories quicker'n a Chicago land rush. Felt off the whole time, but money's money, and he paid handsomely to ship his pick of the herd."

"We're pushing to cut 'em off. With dumb luck and grit, maybe there's still time to set things right for the people out West."

"And for what? You listen here, boy. I know that wild hair of yours, always chafing for the next bit of nowhere. But this ain't some barroom brawl or petty poaching charge."