part0020

Kyle Badgerclaw waited at the entrance of the tunnel leading to the infield of the famous rodeo and chuck wagon races. He wore well-worn cowboy boots, experienced jeans, a long-sleeved cream white shirt, a red neckerchief, and an immaculate brown straw cowboy hat with eagle feathers stuck in the rawhide hatband. What Henberlin noticed about his native friend was how natural he looked in his cowboy clothing.

Henberlin had on boots he wore only during Stampede Week, jeans, a golf shirt, and a standard white cowboy hat like most of the tourists were wearing. Leyna wore red boots, a denim skirt, Western-cut denim shirt, and a black felt cowboy hat with a shiny red belt hatband, including buckle.

“We were just saying that we’ve never been inside the track. This is going to be interesting,” Henberlin said while reaching out to shake Kyle’s hand.

“Hi Leyna. How are you feeling?” Kyle asked.

“Great. Long time no see. Gosh, was it last Stampede?” Leyna had no memory of her ride home from the hospital in the back of Kyle’s car. “Thanks for inviting us to join you. You watch from inside all the time?”

“Yes, it’s part of the native access.”

Kyle had invited Henberlin to the chuck wagon races so they could have a short business discussion and then enjoy a Stampede Week outing. He would have suggested meeting in the apartment, except the police had only returned the apartment to Henberlin that afternoon. Returning to the location of the murders so soon would be a distraction to their discussion. Kyle didn’t know if the cleanup crew had done their work and didn’t want to be first to see the state of things in the apartment. A meeting at the chuck wagon races offered Henberlin the opportunity to bring Leyna along, as well.

They walked through the tunnel and took positions along the rail on the south side of the infield behind the calf-roping release chutes.

“You wanted to talk to me about something,” Henberlin said, leaning against the rail, his back to the outside track.

“Yeah. I’ve been working on a reservoir simulator in my spare time.”

“You have spare time? What’s that like?”

“No different than work time when you do the same thing. Anyway, the simulator’s coming along. I’m going to be going out on my own pretty soon. I wanted to let you know.”

“Well, I know your work is respected, so I imagine you’ll do okay. But for the record, you don’t have my approval… for purely personal reasons. I won’t have an analyst as good as you when you leave.”

Kyle smiled. “You could leave with me.”

At this statement, Leyna turned from watching the crowd arriving in the grandstand to listen to the conversation.

Henberlin crunched his eyebrows. “What?”

“We have a great opportunity here. You do the sales, marketing, and project planning while I take care of all the development and technical work. We keep it small, a few key clients. We both know at some point R.E.S. is going to allow dealers to sell the new system. You get to stay involved with the machine you’re bringing to market, and you make money for yourself, not for Owen Brady.”

“Making money always sounds good,” Leyna said, turning back to grandstand viewing.

“How soon are you thinking this has to happen?” Henberlin asked, his interest growing .

“Still at least a month or two away. I want to get the first few systems installed with R.E.S. and see how they perform in the real world. The whole opportunity depends on the success of the new gear. You’re going to want to get a few of them under your belt before stepping away, as well.”

“Plus I’m not letting that prick Owen Brady get his hands on my commissions.” Henberlin’s voice heated up a touch. “Sounds interesting. I wouldn’t mind saying goodbye to R.E.S. at this point. What about our other friend and the work were doing over there?”

“We should have that wrapped pretty soon, don’t you think? I need his machine to test my simulator. I’m designing it for optimization in a parallel processing environment. It needs the new system’s architecture and power. I can’t run this type of code on R.E.S.’s conventional product line. Delaney won’t know what I’m doing on it, or won’t care.”

“Good, use his system as long as you can. I’d sure like to be through with him,” Henberlin said with a vacant look, thinking of the problems that his association with CSIS had caused.

“Agreed. Listen, there’s another reason I asked you here tonight. I want you to meet someone.”

Henberlin scanned the area to see if someone appeared to be waiting to join the conversation. Sure enough, a man wearing flat shoes, slacks that matched a suit jacket left in a closet somewhere, a striped shirt and a tourist’s one-size-fits-all Stetson pushed off the rail and walked toward them.

Kyle made the introduction. “Neil Henberlin, this is Roy Warren, an old friend and coworker. And this is Neil’s wife, Leyna. Tip your hat to a lady.”

Roy lifted his hat an inch off his head and smiled. “Nice to meet you,” he said.

Henberlin looked at Warren for a few seconds then said, “You’re the analyst who approached Delaney about getting access to the new workstation. ”

Warren smiled but Kyle answered, “I sent him over there. Roy is one of the best mathematicians I’ve worked with, and he understands reservoirs. I’ve asked him to help me with my work. The simulator he approached Delaney about is mine. I need it to run many times more than I can handle in my spare time. Roy can keep it processing when I’m not available.”

“Well, that eliminates one mystery. You’ve got Delaney doing a little square dance over this guy. Your smoke-screen appears to be working, but if you guys worked together in the past, Delaney’s going to find out.”

“We can smooth that over with your help. If you let on that it appears to be normal, then maybe he’ll let it go,” Kyle said.

“I’m just here to lend my friend a hand,” Warren said. “I’m a consultant who’s curious about this system, like everybody else in the business. This could give me an advantage in my own work. But let’s leave all that to another discussion. I can’t believe what I’m seeing in this city. Is it always dressed up like this? And what are we about to watch here?”

Kyle looked at Warren, mystified by the question. He shook his head, then responded as if the answer were obvious. “The chuck wagon races. I told you that’s what we we’re here for.”

Warren smiled. “I know what you said but that doesn’t tell me anything.”

“Okay, it’s four chuck wagons in a race. They run around the track once. It’s a throwback to old-time trail drives. When the cowboys moved camp, the cooks would race to the new site. First wagon to get a fire started at the new site won.”

“Oh. What did they win?”

“Who knows? Back then, an extra plate of beans? Today they could win a hundred-thousand dollars.”

“A hundred grand for racing around the track one time?” Warren said in amazement.

“No, not one time, they race every night. Best time gets to the final.” Kyle turned to look at the infield where the teams prepared for the first race. He concluded his history of chuck wagon races talking back over his shoulder. “Of course it’s changed a bit from the old days.”

They all watched the teams of horse clamoring into position as they leaned against the inside rail of the track.

Four teams of horses stood wide-eyed, lips sputtering, nostrils snorting, hoofs dancing, waiting for loose reins and freedom to run. The drivers strained on those reins holding the lead horses, pulling back tight on the leather. A claxon gusted a loud rasping squawk. Movement erupted as one man behind each wagon held the reins of his horse in one hand while tossing a small barrel—symbolizing an old camp stove—into a basket suspended from the back of the wagon. This gesture, being the only remaining resemblance to the “old days” style of racing, simulated the breakup of camp.

The drivers released their teams, snapping the reins to start the horses weaving in a figure-eight path marked out by orange, plastic barrels, to make their way out to the track. There were sixteen horses in teams of four, four wagons with drivers standing in their rigs whipping the reins to get their horses moving, plus eight single horses with cowboy outriders. All this spilled onto the track at the same instant, not fifteen feet away from Henberlin and his group.

The thick sound of hoofs tromping the earth, raising dust, mixed with the sound of leather reins slapping the solid, thundering horse flesh. Then, at the speed of sound, the deep base rumbling of the action shattered as a loud crack of wood snapping cut the air with splintering clarity. The third wagon’s wooden shaft holding the pin that harnessed the power of the horses to the wagon frame disintegrated, sandwiched between two of the other rigs.

The force of the collision moved the wagon out of alignment with the force of the horses. It lifted the inside rear wheel off the ground, twisting the frame and causing the shaft to break. As the wagon’s rear end began to rise and lean toward the inside of the track, the driver must have realized imminent danger. If the jagged remains of the wooden shaft were to stick into the ground, the already-rising back end would jam the front of the wagon and cause it to tumble forward. With perfect timing he jumped, using the momentum of the upending wagon to catapult himself onto the back of the fourth wagon, just then passing by. All this action happened in a matter of seconds. The three remaining wagons kicked up dust and clots of dirt a hundred yards away before anyone uttered a sound.

In front of them, the carcass of the upended wagon laid tilted like a shipwreck on a reef.

“What the hell is this?” Roy Warren asked. He tore his eyes off the wreck to look at the back of Kyle’s head. The back because Kyle had turned and continued to follow the race. Kyle flipped his head back for a brief look at Warren, then returned his gaze to the race, trying not to miss any of the action.

“Yeah, I’ll say.” Warren nodded at the back of Kyle’s head.

“If that wagon hadn’t broken clean away that driver would have lost some of his horses. That’s terrible when they have to come out onto the track in front of thousands of people and shoot horses. Those horses cost a lot of money too. They’re ex-racehorses.”

Leyna turned away at the thought of shooting and they all remained silent as the race finished. The remaining teams passed the finish line on the far side of the track so they could drive around the broken rig.