sustenance as though one were a toddler!
“Of course,” Simon continued grousing, “that only eliminated your name from the newspaper. Didn’t stop them from printing that abominable illustration.”
Chess gasped. “What? There was an illustration of me?”
“There certainly was, and thank God it was a clumsy likeness or I’d of had all my acquaintances and associates joshing me about it till the cows came home.”
“Did you happen to save a copy?”
“Oh, I suppose it’s around here somewhere. Now, the fact of the business is, we can’t have any more of these japes, mishaps, and blunders here in Laramie City. I’ll give it to you straight from the shoulder, son. If you think you can come to Laramie and just continue eating Spanish fly and consorting with prairie flowers, well, such things are only done by lowdown half-breeds and these loafers of ill repute who have nothing else to lose. The days of the Hell on Wheels town are long gone—we have reached our Manifest Destiny! You’re the new owner of the Serendipity Ranch, son. You’re a cattle man now, a buckaroo.”
Chess raised an eyebrow. “Buckaroo?”
Simon was actually smiling, finally. “Yes, well. I think that’s English for ‘vaquero.’” He tried to sip from his empty glass.
“What is your assistant’s name? The tall, good-looking fellow with the…” Chess ran his hand across his forehead to indicate a balding fellow.
Simon didn’t seem to understand. “Assistant? You mean my adjutant Zeke? You know, he’s a war hero. He received some sort of hysterical brain injury during the recent War Between—”
Chess got to his feet and yelled down the hallway, “ Zeke! ” Fidelia was right—these Californio spurs were ridiculous. It was difficult to even stand in them.
Simon was still reminiscing fondly. “…and they had to pull bolt after skein of fabric and yarn from the rubble where poor Zeke had been buried, only to discover a knitting needle sticking out from his ear…”
The handsome balding fellow Chess had briefly seen earlier came squeaking promptly into Simon’s study. He wore a gaudy striped waistcoat, as though he wished to be standing in a barbershop harmonizing with other men. Did everyone in this town want to be in show business? “At your service, sir!” He even saluted. “I’m honored to finally meet you, Chesney. I can tell we’re going to be great friends.” The ingratiating smile fell, though, when Zeke’s eyes traveled down Chess’s body. “Why are you wearing those hairy chaps?”
Hairy chaps? Chess had been told these were “woolies” that Wyoming men wore on the range. He had been steered down all sorts of wrong trails. He had paid a mint for these bear chaps that left his ass hanging free. He had felt like a dough-head even purchasing them but had figured it was the natty thing to do.
Meanwhile Simon kept musing, “It was later called the Big Calico Battle because those goddamned Johnny rebs had the gall to burn down a poor grandmother’s fabric shop…”
“Anyway,” said Chess. “My father mentioned a London Illustrated News article about me. Do you still have a copy?”
Zeke broke out into an even bigger grin. “Do I! That article? That was the funniest thing to happen in ages!” He even slapped his knee with mirth.
Chess glared at the adjutant. “What was so damned funny? Where is the article?”
In fact, Zeke was laughing so hard he couldn’t talk, only squeak, and he pointed at a room toward the front of Vancouver House, another sort of study. Chess shoved aside the adjutant and strode off down the hallway.
“Chess!” bellowed his father. “Stop scraping up my oak floors with those ridiculous damned spurs!”
Oh, holy hell. How was a man supposed to get about in these things with rowels the size of paddle wheels? Chess was beginning to panic that his new career as a ranch owner would be up the spout before he even started it. He had wanted to ride up to Vancouver House
“Of course,” Simon continued grousing, “that only eliminated your name from the newspaper. Didn’t stop them from printing that abominable illustration.”
Chess gasped. “What? There was an illustration of me?”
“There certainly was, and thank God it was a clumsy likeness or I’d of had all my acquaintances and associates joshing me about it till the cows came home.”
“Did you happen to save a copy?”
“Oh, I suppose it’s around here somewhere. Now, the fact of the business is, we can’t have any more of these japes, mishaps, and blunders here in Laramie City. I’ll give it to you straight from the shoulder, son. If you think you can come to Laramie and just continue eating Spanish fly and consorting with prairie flowers, well, such things are only done by lowdown half-breeds and these loafers of ill repute who have nothing else to lose. The days of the Hell on Wheels town are long gone—we have reached our Manifest Destiny! You’re the new owner of the Serendipity Ranch, son. You’re a cattle man now, a buckaroo.”
Chess raised an eyebrow. “Buckaroo?”
Simon was actually smiling, finally. “Yes, well. I think that’s English for ‘vaquero.’” He tried to sip from his empty glass.
“What is your assistant’s name? The tall, good-looking fellow with the…” Chess ran his hand across his forehead to indicate a balding fellow.
Simon didn’t seem to understand. “Assistant? You mean my adjutant Zeke? You know, he’s a war hero. He received some sort of hysterical brain injury during the recent War Between—”
Chess got to his feet and yelled down the hallway, “ Zeke! ” Fidelia was right—these Californio spurs were ridiculous. It was difficult to even stand in them.
Simon was still reminiscing fondly. “…and they had to pull bolt after skein of fabric and yarn from the rubble where poor Zeke had been buried, only to discover a knitting needle sticking out from his ear…”
The handsome balding fellow Chess had briefly seen earlier came squeaking promptly into Simon’s study. He wore a gaudy striped waistcoat, as though he wished to be standing in a barbershop harmonizing with other men. Did everyone in this town want to be in show business? “At your service, sir!” He even saluted. “I’m honored to finally meet you, Chesney. I can tell we’re going to be great friends.” The ingratiating smile fell, though, when Zeke’s eyes traveled down Chess’s body. “Why are you wearing those hairy chaps?”
Hairy chaps? Chess had been told these were “woolies” that Wyoming men wore on the range. He had been steered down all sorts of wrong trails. He had paid a mint for these bear chaps that left his ass hanging free. He had felt like a dough-head even purchasing them but had figured it was the natty thing to do.
Meanwhile Simon kept musing, “It was later called the Big Calico Battle because those goddamned Johnny rebs had the gall to burn down a poor grandmother’s fabric shop…”
“Anyway,” said Chess. “My father mentioned a London Illustrated News article about me. Do you still have a copy?”
Zeke broke out into an even bigger grin. “Do I! That article? That was the funniest thing to happen in ages!” He even slapped his knee with mirth.
Chess glared at the adjutant. “What was so damned funny? Where is the article?”
In fact, Zeke was laughing so hard he couldn’t talk, only squeak, and he pointed at a room toward the front of Vancouver House, another sort of study. Chess shoved aside the adjutant and strode off down the hallway.
“Chess!” bellowed his father. “Stop scraping up my oak floors with those ridiculous damned spurs!”
Oh, holy hell. How was a man supposed to get about in these things with rowels the size of paddle wheels? Chess was beginning to panic that his new career as a ranch owner would be up the spout before he even started it. He had wanted to ride up to Vancouver House
Similar Books
