Memories of a Dirt Road Town Read online

  Develyn raised her eyebrows. “Up there?”

  Cree-Ryder peered between the rails. “It’s the only place to watch the sale. It’s about to get bucking again.”

  Develyn climbed the arena fence one rail at a time, then balanced her backside on the top rail. She scooted over for Cree-Ryder to join her.

  An older, unshaved, extremely thin man with a white shirt buttoned at the collar and battered brown felt hat nodded off beside Develyn.

  “I think he’s asleep,” she whispered.

  Cree-Ryder glanced over, then shouted, “Uncle Henry, there’s your horse!”

  The old man sat straight up, waved his hand, and hollered, “Ten dollars!”

  The crowd roared.

  Rubbing his narrow eyes, the old man glanced around. “Did that half-breed put you up to that?” he mumbled at Develyn.

  “I’m insulted, Uncle Henry,” Casey laughed. “I figured you recognized my voice even in your sleep. How could you think it was Develyn?”

  He rubbed the stubble on his chin as he appraised Worrell. “Her sweet perfume threw me off. Reminded me of one time I was up in Creede at a…”

  “Don’t say it, Uncle Henry. This nice lady is Develyn Worrell, a school teacher from Indiana.”

  He tipped his sweat-stained cowboy hat. “My grandmother was from Indiana,” he replied. “South Bend.”

  “I’m from Crawfordsville, south and west of there,” Develyn explained. “Are you Casey’s uncle?”

  “I’m everybody’s uncle.” When the old man grinned, several gold teeth appeared. “My mama named us boys for her uncles.”

  “You mean, your name is actually Uncle Henry?”

  “Yep. Right there on the birth certificate. Uncle Henry Perkins. My oldest brother is Uncle Clarence and my youngest is Uncle Ernest.”

  “All right, boys …” The man at the loudspeaker was back on the truck in the arena. “Uncle Henry has started to bid, so it must be time to get going again. Here come the ladies. Renny will ride the more, eh … ambitious mares for us. And this first one is as determined as they come. This is a part of that Owyhee Mountain band that we rounded up just north of Paradise. She’s number 73. Must have a little quarterhorse in her, as you can see by those wide hips. A very purdy pinto.”

  Renny Slater led the horse to the middle of the arena.

  “This is the one Burdett mentioned,” Cree-Ryder said.

  “What a beautiful paint horse. What color is she? Taupe?”

  “She’s a skewbald. That means white with any color except black. You can call her red roan and white … but taupe sounds fine,” Cree-Ryder replied. “Just don’t tell the men that.”

  “Oh?”

  “Did you ever notice how men only know five colors?”

  Casey hooted.

  A young man with dimples when he smiled sat on the other side of Cree-Ryder and shook his head at her comment.

  “What are you staring at?” Casey challenged him.

  He stared down at his boots. “Eh, I reckon at the two pur diest ladies in the arena,” he mumbled.

  Casey laughed and threw her arm around his shoulder. “Honey, you have great taste … for a boy. But you are kind of young for a line like that.”

  “A fella can enjoy lookin’ at a fine thoroughbred even though it’s out of his league.”

  “Oh, honey … I do like you!” Cree-Ryder hooted. “You come back and see me in about five years.”

  “Yes, ma’am …” he blushed. “I will.”

  “Shout your bids out, boys,” the man with the loudspeaker boomed.

  Develyn nudged Casey, “Are you going to bid on this one?”

  Cree-Ryder pulled her arm back from the teen’s shoulder and stared into the arena. “No, she’s a little wide for a barrel horse. Might make a good roping horse. Just depends on how snuffy she turns out to be.”

  Develyn could hear Renny Slater talk to the horse as he walked her all the way around the arena to show her off. When he passed by them, he paused, then tipped his hat, “You enjoyin’ the show, Devy-girl?”

  Develyn sat up straight and folded her hands in her lap. “I haven’t seen anything yet, Mr. Slater.”

  He grinned and nodded at Casey. “Cree-Ryder, them school marms is tough on a cowboy. She probably has a quirt on her desk.”

  “A what?” Develyn asked.

  “A short whip,” Cree-Ryder laughed.

  Slater led the horse to the middle of the arena, jammed his left foot into the stirrup, and swung up into the saddle. The horse reared straight up, her front legs well off the ground.

  “Oh, dear …” Develyn gasped.

  The audience clapped.

  “Dev, that’s just Renny’s thing,” Cree-Ryder explained. “He rears them like that every time he mounts. It’s like his signature.”

  The paint mare bucked twice. Then Slater yanked straight back on the reins. The horse stood still, and he leaned forward and mumbled something in the horse’s ear.

  “What did you tell her, Renny?” some big cowboy with a long-neck bottle in his hand hollered.

  Slater spurred the mare to a trot. “Just one word, Little Pete,” Renny shouted. “Dogfood.”

  Slater loped the horse around the rail of the arena, cut her out into the middle … slid her to a stop … then backed her up and spun her to the left and to the right.

  “Ain’t that horse a fine specimen of equine beauty?” the auctioneer called out. “How broke is she, Renny?”

  Slater trotted to the middle of the arena. “Let me demonstrate it to you boys. I’ll just let one of you ride her and find out.”

  He rode the white and taupe paint horse straight toward the ladies.

  “What’s he doing?” Develyn said.

  Casey held her arm. “You get to go for a ride.”

  Develyn’s eyes widened. “Me?”

  “This fine-looking cowgirl here with the short yella hair will demonstrate how broke this horse is.” He rode the horse right up against the fence. “Climb on behind me, ma’am.”

  “What?” Develyn searched Cree-Ryder’s eyes. “No, I can’t really. I haven’t ridden in years,” she murmured.

  “That’s exactly what I was hoping. That will prove what a tame horse she is,” Renny declared. “Come on … climb on board.”

  When the old man next to her leaned toward her, there was garlic on his breath. “Say, are you sure you didn’t work down in Ely, Nevada, in a…”

  “Uncle Henry!” Cree-Ryder snarled. “You keep quiet.”

  Develyn stood on the third rail, handed Cree-Ryder her purse, then swung her leg across the rump of the horse. Lord, I have no idea in the world what I’m doing, or why I’m doing this.

  “Put your arms around me,” Slater called out.

  “I’ll hold on to the cantle,” she replied.

  “Boy, you schoolteachers are careful.” Slater spurred the horse, and she began to trot around the arena.

  Develyn felt the sun-warmed rump of the horse slap up against her backside. Holding the cantle with one hand, she tugged her straw hat down tighter. The wind blew in her face, and she closed her eyes. Yes, yes, yes … this is what I’ve been wanting. It feels so good.

  “I like this horse,” she said.

  They continued to circle the arena. “You want to buy her?” he whispered.

  “I didn’t come out here to buy a horse.”

  “No one plans on buying a horse. But if you find a good horse, you gotta buy it.”

  “What do you think she will go for?”

  Renny spurred the horse to a gallop. “It depends on whether you want it or not.”

  Develyn started to slip back and her arms went around his hard, thin waist. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Do you want to buy the horse or not?” he called out.

  “Perhaps, but I can’t pay very much.”

  Renny glanced back. “How much did you want to spend?”

  What did Casey say? “Eh, I have nine hundred dollars, but I
want to buy two horses,” Develyn proposed.

  “She’ll go for a thousand, I reckon. But if you want her, I’ll see to it you get a discount.”

  “Really?”

  Renny slowed the horse to a trot. “Yeah, but you have to do what I tell you.”

  Develyn tugged her hat down and glanced at all the eyes in the arena focused on them. “What do you mean?”

  “No matter what happens, you bid on this horse.”

  “What?”

  Renny patted her knee. “Promise me you’ll bid a hundred dollars on this horse.”

  “When?”

  “You’ll know.”

  Renny stopped the horse in the middle of the arena. “This horse is so broke,” he announced. “I’ll let this purdy yellow-haired lady ride this paint by herself.”

  “What are you doing?” Develyn demanded.

  “Just ride her around. When I nod at you, slap the right fender hard with the palm of your hand and shout ‘giddy-up!’” Renny swung his leg over the saddle horn and the horse’s head, then slid to the ground.

  Develyn felt her heart race. “Renny!”

  He handed her up the reins.

  The crowd cheered.

  “Now, go on … do like I told you … when the time comes, bid one hundred dollars.”

  “We’ll start the bidding as this cowgirl rides the paint mare,” the auctioneer drawled.

  Slater stepped back several feet, then nodded at Develyn. “Slap that saddle fender.”

  Develyn released the saddle horn and slapped the right flap of the saddle skirt.

  The horse dropped her head and kicked up her rear hooves, causing Develyn to lose the stirrups. “No!” she shouted.

  When the horse repeated the move, Develyn dropped the reins and clutched the saddle horn with both hands. “Stop. Stop it right now!”

  On the third buck, she lost her grip and flew over the horse’s head. She landed face first in powdery dry dirt. Like rough sandpaper, it scraped her arms, hands, and face. She spat out dirt and gasped for breath. Every bone ached.

  Lord, I’m goin’ to die right here in the middle of nowhere. I’ll never live through this. Slater and Cree-Ryder ran toward her. She rolled on her back and tried to catch her breath.

  “Ten dollars!” Uncle Henry shouted.

  “We got a ten-dollar bid,” the auctioneer shouted.

  I am dying and they are bidding on this horse?

  Renny lifted her head and mumbled through clenched teeth, “Bid.”

  He’s got to be kidding.

  “Bid,” he repeated. “Trust me and bid.”

  With Cree-Ryder’s help she sat up and tried to gasp out, “You’re insane.”

  “Wait a minute!” Renny shouted. “She said she wants to bid.”

  Develyn could feel the tears dribble down her dirt-covered cheeks. She looked at Cree-Ryder, then Slater winked at her.

  I don’t have a clue what that wink means.

  “How much do you want to bid?” yelled the auctioneer.

  “Eh … one hundred dollars,” Develyn blurted out.

  “She said a hundred bucks,” Cree-Ryder repeated.

  “This brave cowgirl bids a hundred on the contrary mare. Do I hear any more bids? I didn’t think so. Goin’ once, twice, sold to the young lady with dirt on her face!” he shouted. “Renny, bring us out another.”

  He helped Develyn to her feet. “Ride this horse out of the arena,” he told her.

  She tried to wipe the dirt out of her eyes with the sleeve of her T-shirt. “You have to be kidding. I’m never…”

  “Cowgirl up, Devy-girl. This is the moment of truth.” Slater straightened the saddle, then reached his hand out to her. When she opened her hand, he dropped a sticker the size of a large walnut into her hand.

  “What is that?”

  “A star thistle … I wonder how that got under the saddle blanket?”

  “You … what?” Develyn moaned. “You humiliated me on purpose. Why?”

  “You just bought yourself a hundred-dollar horse. I figured I saved you nine hundred bucks. I figure you owe me a…”

  He caught her hand before it landed on his cheek. “Get on the horse, Devy-girl. Show them you aren’t just some Indiana schoolteacher.”

  Cree-Ryder nodded at her. “You can do it, Devy-girl. Ride with your head up.”

  Develyn stuck her dirty boot in the stirrup and yanked herself up into the saddle to the applause of the entire crowd.

  “Now there goes a real cowgirl!” the announcer shouted. “Bring us out a gentle one this time, Renny … a gentle horse, that is.”

  Cree-Ryder opened the gate, and Develyn rode the paint horse into the crowd of men who parted like the Red Sea as she headed toward the parked trucks.

  5

  I can’t believe he did that,” Develyn fumed as Casey led the horse and her through the scattered trucks and trailers.

  Cree-Ryder’s belt-length braid swished in time with the horse, but she didn’t look back. “Are you mumbling about the nine hundred dollars he saved you or how he got you tossed on your nose?”

  Develyn leaned forward in the saddle and stroked the horse’s neck. “He purposely tried to bring harm to my body.”

  “I don’t think Renny wants to harm your body, that’s for sure.” This time Casey glanced back and raised one of her thick, dark eyebrows.

  Develyn sat straight up and folded her hands in her lap. “I could press criminal charges … that was assault … or was it battery? I believe I could sue him.”

  Cree-Ryder stopped next to her red pickup. She glanced up from under her hat. “Sure, why don’t you call the teacher’s union?”

  “What did you mean by that?” Develyn snapped.

  “You aren’t in the teacher’s lunchroom in Indiana, Devygirl.” Casey Cree-Ryder put her hand on her slumping hip. “This is the frontier of Wyoming. If he did you wrong, punch him or shoot him … but don’t sue him.”

  Develyn slipped down off the saddle. Her left leg cramped, and she hobbled around the back of the trailer. “I’m not going to shoot him.”

  Cree-Ryder yanked off the bridle and fastened a muddy looking red halter to the horse, then tied the lead rope to the horse trailer. “Good. Because I like this horse. I think you got a good deal for a hundred bucks. She’s got sweet eyes. She’ll do you good.” Casey unbuckled the cinch. “I’ll tote Renny’s saddle back. I reckon he’ll need it. Unless you want to.”

  Develyn glanced over at the noisy crowd of men around the arena. “I’m not going back there.”

  “Hmmm … that’s too bad. I think you got those cowboys figured wrong. You think gettin’ bucked off lowers your status? Ever’body gets bucked off. Your sand is measured by what you do after you get bucked off. You did good, Develyn. But it’s up to you. Brush her down. I’ll be right back.” Cree-Ryder swaggered back toward the arena, saddle on her shoulder.

  Develyn noticed the duct tape that repaired Casey Cree-Ryder’s worn boots. She belongs out here. I’m just visiting. Wait until I tell Lily. I could call her right now. Where’s my purse? I hope Casey has it. She studied her wristwatch. An hour and a half agoI was sitting on the porch with a Popsicle, lost in the past. And now … I don’t even know where I am. Maybe this is another horse dream, and I’ll wake up in a big Indiana house with two cats.

  Develyn searched a red plastic bucket in the back of the trailer, pulled out a brush, and stroked the paint mustang. The horse quivered, but didn’t yank on the lead rope. “Well, girl, I know you are apprehensive about all of this … so am I. You haven’t been taken care of much in your life … and neither have I. Now, you know, I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’ll learn. That’s my promise to you. Now, I want you to promise to…”

  “Howdy, ma’am. Am I interruptin’ somethin’?”

  She spun around to see a suntanned cowboy with hat in hand rocking back and forth on the heels of his worn brown boots. “Oh, I was just talking to this horse,” she stammered.

  �
�Yes, ma’am, I understand.” He stared down at his feet. “If you two is finished visitin’, I just wanted to invite you to the barbecue.”

  “It was a one-sided conversation.” She stepped away from the horse. “What barbecue?”

  “The Quarter Circle Diamond has a big barbecue on Sunday evenin’ next. It’s an annual thing before some of the hands go get summer jobs. Me and the boys would be proud to have a cowgirl like yourself join us. Them that is married bring their wives and kids. It’s a family thing.”

  Develyn studied his brown eyes. He’s not joking? Cowgirl? “I’m not sure of my plans. Where is the barbecue?”

  “At the headquarters, you know, the big house at the head of Spuder Crick. You head up here along Lost Cabin Road, just past Cedar Ridge … then go north and cross Badwater Crick … then mosey a little to the northwest along the Big Horn Trail until you reach Spuder Crick. You can’t miss it.”

  She watched him watch her. “How far is that?”

  He looked down at his boots. “It’s just over the hill a ways. Maybe forty miles. Can you make it?”

  He needs to be with people more. No one should have to be this embarrassed. “I’m not sure, but thanks for the invitation.”

  He jammed his hat back on. “Surely hope you can make it. When you bid on that snuffy mare and crawled back in the saddle, me and the boys figured you earned a trip to the barbecue. There ain’t one gal in a hundred that would have done that. Is this your rig?” He pointed to the trailer and truck.

  Develyn surveyed the battered red Dodge. “No, this belongs to my friend, Casey.”

  When he rubbed his chin, she noticed a small scar on his neck. “You and Cree-Ryder pals?” he asked.

  “Yes, we are.” Develyn tugged on her diamond stud earring.

  He rubbed his clean-shaven chin. “She can come to the barbecue, too, if she promises not to bring any guns or knives.”

  “Oh, dear, yes, I will insist on that. But I’m not sure about next week.”

  “Thanks for ponderin’ it, ma’am.”

  “I’m Dev Worrell.” She shoved her hand toward him.

  He clutched her hand and grinned. “They just call me Cuban.”

  “Are you from …”

  “No. I was born and raised in Dubois, Wyomin’. It’s a long story. I didn’t quite catch your words. Was that Miss Worrell or Mrs. Worrell?”