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MCNEAL RANCH LAND, Near Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory, August 1885
“Steady...steady...NOW SPUR!”
The rider reacted to the call, spurring her steed’s sides and sending it leaping into the air, clearing a hay bale that had been set in the path.
The horse came back down to solid ground with a jolt but the rider remained planted in her seat with her hands fastened tightly around the reins.
“That’s the way, Leyla! We’ll have you showing up the show riders in Cheyenne in no time!”
Leyla McNeal brought her horse to a slow trot and smiled brightly beneath her wide-brimmed hat. Praise from her sister always brought a smile to her face, especially when it came to her show riding lessons.
It was late afternoon in the southern pasture of the McNeal ranch. Owner of the ranch—and show rider extraordinaire—Margaret McNeal was giving her sister Leyla another lesson in show riding and she was quite pleased to see that her younger sibling had been dramatically improving in skill over the past month.
Margaret checked a stopwatch she had in hand before she spurred her own chestnut mount named Apollo over to where Leyla was perched atop Grimjaw, one of the ranch’s older horses. As she approached, she was flashing a smile that could have reflected the sun if not for her own hat.
“Every day you’re getting a little better, Leyla,” Margaret praised. “Matter of fact, you managed to beat your old time around the course.”
Leyla’s eyes went wide at this information. “Really, Maggie? No fooling?”
Her sister extended her hand and showed Leyla the stopwatch she had been using. The hands clearly indicated a time that had surpassed her previous best.
Leyla felt a cheer of excitement welling up inside her but she kept it down. A loud noise like that would spook the horses, and she’d already been thrown more than once for forgetting that lesson. Her hand absently rubbed a spot on the back of her head beneath her riotous red curls where a bump had receded, but she could still swear there was something there.
Margaret fixed her 22-year-old sister with a smile beaming with pride. Over the past month, she had stepped up her attention to Leyla’s show riding lessons, thanks in no small part to the arrival of John Baldwin, the Kentucky native who had been hired as the ranch boss, as well as being Margaret’s betrothed. His steadfast management of the ranch’s daily operations had allowed Margaret more time to practice her own show riding as well as coaching Leyla.
What had truly impressed Margaret was just how quickly Leyla had come in such a short time. Less than two months prior, her sister had been clinging for dear life on the back of an untamed white colt heading out for the pastures. Now she had mastered the basics of show riding as well as a few of Margaret’s signature moves.
Margaret chalked her little sister’s progress up to a family gift that they had inherited from their late father, Peter McNeal. Their father had served in the Union army as a cavalryman during the war where his love and skill with horses had served him well. That same passion for riding had passed on to his beautiful daughters, and they were both making skilled use of it.
“I’d say another month of hard training and we’ll be ready to show you off in the corrals in Cheyenne,” Margaret said proudly. “Blazes, we may even take a chance at the fall show in Laramie if you keep up this progress.”
Leyla’s jaw dropped at her sister’s earnest praise. She knew she was getting better at her show riding, but the idea that she would be ready for actual shows so soon was beyond her. Already she had dreams of performances alongside her sister with crowds going wild for the skills and tricks of the marvelous McNeal Sisters.
“Afternoon, ladies,” came the voice of John Baldwin, pulling Leyla from her daydream. The blond-haired cowboy was riding up to the ladies atop his ebony mount, Longbow. His poncho and hat were covered in dirt, evidence of his recent return from delivering another round of cattle to the railhead in Cheyenne.
Margaret quickly turned Apollo around and trotted him over to sidle up alongside John. Not caring a wit for propriety or John’s gritty covering, she leaned in and captured her ranch boss’s lips in a kiss, one that he eagerly returned.
Leyla turned her head away, trying to fight down some of the color that was rising to her cheeks.
It still surprised Leyla how much her sister had changed over the course of the time John had been there. Before he had arrived, it seemed like nothing short of an act of God himself would change Margaret’s mind about giving a man a chance. But John had done what every man before him had tried to do and failed: he had pierced Margaret’s fierce independence without breaking it and the two were nigh inseparable.
Of course, Leyla had her own independent streak, one that was starting to rival her sister’s, and she fully intended to match her sister in riding skill. Though she felt a twinge of envy for the love Margaret had found, Leyla was determined to put her own independence first.
When the two finally broke the kiss, the smiles between them remained as they always did. They were the kind of smiles worn by people who had found true love and would fight tooth and nail before they’d let it slip away.
“Get the cattle delivered on time, Mister Baldwin?” Margaret asked playfully, reverting to formality despite the brazen display of public affection she had just performed.
“Ahead of schedule, actually, Miss McNeal,” he replied, taking a moment to pat down his arms to clear some of the trail dust off. “Had just enough time to stop in at Finnegan’s to see Fergus. He wanted me to say that his goddaughters are well overdue for a visit to their poor old godfather.”
Margaret and Leyla laughed at the message. Fergus Finnegan was the owner of Finnegan’s Grand Saloon in Cheyenne and he was also their godfather, having been close friends with their father, Peter, during the war and following them out west after it. The mischief-eyed Irishman that they called Uncle Fergus was fiercely loyal to them, regarding them as part of his family without a care for bloodline.
“I think we could slip on by to see Uncle Fergus this week, don’t you, Leyla?” Margaret asked of her younger sister.
Leyla eagerly nodded her head. “It’s always a laugh visiting Uncle Fergus,” she said.
“And how’s today’s lesson going for you, Leyla?” John queried, turning his attention to the younger McNeal sister.
Leyla dipped her head down an inch so that the brim of her hat covered her eyes. Despite her improving confidence in horse riding, she was still a touch shy when it came to talking to men. Even as familiar as she had become with John Baldwin, the handsome cowboy’s gaze was more than she could handle.
“According to Maggie, I beat my best time today,” she quietly admitted.
“That a fact?” John replied, turning to his employer. Margaret nodded her head in affirmation, confirming that what Leyla said was true.
John gave Longbow a little nudge and the horse moved closer toward where Leyla sat on Grimjaw. “Well Miss Leyla,” he began, “in recognition of that accomplishment, I reckon it’s high time we started working on finding you your own horse.”
Leyla’s head shot up like a lightning bolt, her eyes as wide as the brim of her hat. She looked to Margaret, fully expecting her older sister to rebuke the idea, but Maggie kept smiling, showing no sign whatsoever that she was against the idea.
“You-you mean it, Mr. Baldwin?” she stuttered, her heart feeling like it was trying to escape from her chest. “You think I’m ready?”
“Absolutely,” John answered without a moment’s hesitation. “From what Margaret has been telling me, you’ve made a lot of headway over the past month. Now it’s time to put what you’ve learned to the test and see if you can take charge of your own mount.”
“He’s right, Leyla,” Margaret chimed in. “Though he still moves pretty well, Grimjaw hasn’t got the stamina anymore to be a proper show-riding horse. We need to find you a fresh horse from the plains that you can train to be your very own. That’s how I got Apollo here.” Margaret patted her mount’s mane for emphasis.
“And that’s how Longbow and I came together,” John added, mirroring Margaret’s show of affection for his own horse.
If not for her lessons, Leyla would have spurred Grimjaw into a gallop all around the course in wild abandonment. Her sister and John believed she was ready for her own horse. It felt like an absolute dream come true. With her own horse, she’d really be able to get the hang of show riding.
“When?” was the only word she dared to allow escape her lips for fear that she’d start babbling.
Margaret looked to John. “Mister Baldwin, didn’t you send a few men out to the plains to bring in a few fresh horses?”
“Why yes, I did, Miss McNeal,” John replied with a grin. “I believe they should be back later today and will have them situated by tomorrow morning.”
Margaret turned her attention back toward Leyla. “Tomorrow morning then, Leyla, you’ll have the pick of the mounts, and we’ll see if you’re finally ready for your own horse.”
Leyla’s hands gripped Grimjaw’s reins tightly as she took everything in. Once more, she wanted to let out a cheer that would ring out across the entire McNeal ranch, but she forced it down. She didn’t want anything to spoil this moment.
“Alright, Leyla,” Margaret said, “get Grimjaw back to the stable and rest up for tomorrow. John and I have to take care of a few... things before tomorrow.” Margaret gave her ranch boss a mischievous sidelong glance
“Yes, Maggie,” Leyla answered, spurring Grimjaw’s sides and setting him off at a brisk trot back toward the homestead.
Once she was out of earshot, Margaret turned her attention back towards John. “You really think she’s ready, John?” she asked, her usually confident tone carrying the slightest twinge of worry.
John reached over and clasped Margaret’s hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You trained her, Maggie. I can’t think of anyone better to teach Leyla how to ride like a professional show rider.”
Margaret returned his squeeze and gave him another smile. “For a Kentucky boy, you sure do know how to charm a lady, John Baldwin.”
“Just the ones that know how to ride, Maggie,” he said cheekily.
***
LEYLA’S MIND WAS STILL racing as she entered the stable and returned Grimjaw to his stable, expertly removing his saddle and fixing a feedbag to his muzzle. She gave the older horse a grateful pat before closing the gate to his stall.
Stretching her arms out to help ease her muscles from the training she had endured under Margaret’s direction, she strolled back out of the stable and toward the McNeal home, letting her mind wander.
I wonder what the horses will look like tomorrow, she pondered. Will they be completely wild? Will they look like Apollo, or even Longbow? What if I fail? What if I’m not as good as—?
Leyla planted her boots in the soil of the ranch and forced herself to take a deep breath in order to calm herself. If she allowed herself to worry, then she’d lose focus, and losing focus was the one thing a show rider couldn’t allow herself to do.
She had seen the results of what losing focus could do over a month prior when Maggie had fallen from Apollo during a show-riding event in Cheyenne.
From what Leyla had learned, Maggie had lost her focus when she had spotted John Baldwin in the crowd. Of course, John certainly wasn’t to blame; it was just a rare occurrence of Maggie being distracted. Thankfully, her sister hadn’t been seriously injured from the fall.
Despite the minor pangs of envy she had felt earlier, Leyla was intent on building a show riding reputation to match and rival her sister’s.
Still, she admitted, it must be nice to love a man like John.
Leyla wasn’t envious of her sister’s relationship with Mr. Baldwin. He was quite handsome in a rough and tumble manner and was an expert rider. Leyla and her mother, Abigail, had quickly caught on to Margaret’s budding feelings for John. In truth, Leyla was more envious of Margaret having a relationship with someone she could relate to.
The odds of Leyla finding a man like John Baldwin—one who could ride and respected her independence—were as good as a brick’s chance of floating in a river. No, with any luck, she’d be able to maintain her independence and hone her show riding abilities while Margaret and John committed to their loving relationship.
But, for now, all Leyla had to focus on was breaking her own horse tomorrow and becoming a better show rider. That was all that mattered to her.
***
CHEYENNE, WYOMING TERRITORY, August 1885
A crew of railroad yard workers on the night shift paused in their duties to watch as a garishly colored locomotive huffed its way into Cheyenne’s sidings. The engine let out a blast of its shrill whistle like a circus calliope, ensuring that people would pay it attention whether they wanted to or not.
Behind the locomotive and its tender came a line of varying cars painted in equally loud and eye-catching colors. The first boxcar that followed proclaimed “PROFESSOR MONRO’S WILD WEST SHOW” in letters big enough to see from a mile away, even in the darkness of the plains.
The workers were momentarily confused by the concept of what a “wild west show” was, but their musings were cut short as the yard boss hollered at them to get back to work.
As the train came to a halt with a screech and a hiss of steam, some of the occupants inside were tossed by the sudden shift in momentum. Some collided with one another, others were jarred from seats, and a lucky few barely noticed the jolt at all.
One of the unlucky few was a cowboy who had been sleeping and awoke just in time to find himself ejected from the hammock he’d strung up from two lantern posts on the walls of his car and becoming intimate with the hard wood of the floor.
Tarnation, can’t a man get a little sleep around this rolling crate they call a train? he mentally grumbled, picking himself up from the floor and trying to rid his body of the kinks that had taken up residence during his rest.
Running a calloused hand through his long brown locks, he was contemplating crawling back into his hammock when a voice like a foghorn blew through the train car.
“Rise and shine, my spectacular stars!” boomed the portly Professor Monro, perpetually dressed in his frock coat and top hat. “We’ve crossed the threshold into another delightful hamlet where we might once again dazzle the local populace with our marvelous mastery of the Western conventions combined with the dual theatricality of comedy and tragedy.”
The cowboy rubbed his temples from the combination of his impromptu awakening and the professor’s boisterous voice. “Professor, isn’t it a little early in the morning to be laying on the act?” he asked wearily.
Professor Monro fixed the young man with a smile beneath his waxed mustache that carried up into his gleaming eyes. “Why, Chase, my boy,” he cheered. “You wound me to the quick! To insinuate that I am merely evoking a cheap façade of joviality for the benefit of you all, it causes deep wells of sorrow to spring forth within my heart.” The man made a show of pressing his pudgy hands to his chest, as though trying to stifle some internal ache. “And besides, it’s late evening.”
Chase McAllister relented and returned the professor’s smile. “All right, Professor, you’ve made your point,” he playfully chided. “I take it you want me to rouse the other show riders and the teamsters to set up the show?”
“Bright as a copper button you are, Chase!” Professor Monro crowed as he moved his bulk down the car, squeezing past Chase’s lean but toned frame. “See to it that our equine performers and laborers are unloaded swift as an arrow and get to erecting our grandiose stage. The residents of this quiet burg will awaken to a gift of wonder by the time the sun crests the eastern horizon.”
“Speaking of,” Chase began, “where are we this ti—?”
“No time for dawdling, Chase,” the professor interrupted as he moved further down the train. “There’s work to be done, and I expect you to do your part! Hop to it, my boy!”
Chase sighed as the professor exited the rail car, moving to the next in order to repeat his performance. The remaining occupants of his own car, other show riders, were still groaning from the headaches caused by the dual combination of the train’s wrenching stop and Professor Monro’s perpetually optimistic and theatrical persona.
Though he could sympathize with their desire to rest a spell longer, Chase knew the professor was right. There was work to be done and, as leader of the show’s riders, he was expected to do his part.
“Alright folks, up & at ‘em,” he said, though in a tone and volume more reasonable than the professor’s had been. “Y’all heard the fat man. We got a long night of work ahead of us, so let’s get a move on...now.”
His comrades collectively groused once more, but they began extricating themselves from their ramshackle beddings, stretching, yawning and occasionally muttering quiet obscenities at having to be awake at such an unholy hour. Once they were all standing, Chase herded them out of the car and out into the star-studded night awaiting them.
All along the train, Chase could spy other members of the show mimicking their movements, disembarking from the cars and moving to help assemble the show. It was always the same routine in every town: everyone on the train had a job assigned to them for when they arrived and when they left a week later. As long as everyone stuck to their usual duties, and no one slacked off, the show would be assembled well before morning and performers and laborers alike might have a chance to catch some extra sleep.
Chase had been a member of Professor Monro’s Wild West Show for the better part of two years, having first joined the traveling oddity when he was 23. The eccentric Professor Monro had sought to craft an entertaining oddity that could differentiate itself from the likes of travelling shows, such as the circus run by Phineas Taylor Barnum and James Anthony Bailey. As such, he had decided on a show themed around the American West and all of the mythos that people associated with it.
Chase had been making his way as a show rider at various festivals and annual celebrations when Professor Monro had approached him and asked him to lead his troupe of experienced show riders. The young cowboy had been gobsmacked by the offer, and he had been traveling with the show ever since, performing feats of horse riding and marksmanship in every town and city they visited.
All Chase knew of their current location was that they were somewhere west of the Mississippi River. The only reason he knew that fact was that the professor had told the entirety of the show’s ensemble that they were finally taking their show west to see how well they could manage in the landscape that their entire performance was based on. That may not have been much of a help, but at least he had a miniscule idea of where he stood in the grand scheme of things.
Leading his team of riders further back along the train, they all gathered at the door of a vented stock car. Like clockwork, they unlatched the door, slid it open and were greeted with the whinnying and foot stomping of their personal horses.
Chase easily identified his mount, a two-toned white and roan coated charger he’d named Cannonball. He’d picked up the swift mount when he’d taken to being a wanderer of the roads five years previous, and the two had been nigh inseparable since then.
It didn’t take long before Chase and his riders had their personal mounts out of the car and saddled. Now comfortably perched atop his horse, Chase began to feel a little better.
“Beats being stuck on that infernal train, eh, Cannonball?” he asked his horse with a scratch behind his ears.
Cannonball huffed in what Chase took to be agreement.
Looking to the next car on the train, Chase could see that the draft horses were being unloaded as well. The thick-legged workhorses would do the bulk of the moving in order to get the show set up.
Should be hitched up and ready to work in no time, he thought satisfactorily. In the meantime, I’ll see if I can figure out just where we are.
Giving Cannonball a gentle spur, the two started off in the direction of the nearest local structure—the railway station. Chase maneuvered his horse across the crisscrossing rails and ties, keeping his wits about for any approaching trains.
Despite the stars above providing some light, Chase could only make out the shape of the station. Looking up at the sky, he could tell that the moon was obscured by a few passing clouds, meaning he wouldn’t be able to make out a sign giving the town’s name until he got right up close to it.
It’s gotta be someplace well-to-do if the size of that station is any indicator, he thought, though he felt a brief flash of familiarity regarding the building’s silhouette in the darkness.
When he was only a few tracks away from the station, the moon was relieved of her cloudy curtains and shown her light down on the station. As the light illuminated the plaque bearing the town’s name, Chase McAllister brought Cannonball to a grinding stop as he felt his heart leap into his throat.
The name on the board read CHEYENNE.
Oh no, Chase thought grimly, feeling a knot of apprehension form in the pit of his stomach.
***
MCNEAL RANCH LAND, Near Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory, August 1885
The sun’s rays crept slowly over the horizon, casting a warm glow over all they touched. This included one of the corrals on the McNeal ranch which was currently occupied by a herd of wild horses milling about, occasionally nibbling at the grass that grew on the ground.
Standing along the fence of the corral were Leyla, Margaret, their mother Abigail, and John Baldwin.
Leyla looked over the herd of wild horses with a mixture of excitement and trepidation in her eyes. The herd had been brought in late the previous evening, just as John had said they would.
Now I have to choose which one I want to be mine, she thought uneasily.
She nearly jolted as she felt a hand come to rest on her shoulder. Looking back, she was met by a reassuring smile from her sister. “Take your time, Leyla,” Margaret said softly. “There’s no rush to be had. Choose the one that feels right.”
Leyla felt another hand clasp her opposite shoulder. Turning her head, she encountered John Baldwin’s confident grin. “The Natives who taught me said that the bond between a rider and their horse is a sacred thing, as the two are bonded in spirit,” he spoke. “Feel, don’t think, and you will discover the one meant for you.”
The words of reassurance from her sister and John, both expert riders, calmed Leyla and she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to clear her thoughts.
When she reopened them, she gazed at the herd as though she were looking at it for the very first time. Her eyes roamed slowly from one horse to another, examining each as thoroughly as a jeweler might examine a rare gem.
She had looked over half of the herd when her eyes met those of a white colt galloping around the corral. In that moment, the rest of the world seemed to fade away. As the two continued staring at one another, Leyla felt a stirring in her soul unlike anything she’d felt before. The closest feeling she could relate it to was her memory of when Margaret had first started teaching her to ride.
“That one,” she breathed, her eyes focused on the white horse.
Margaret, Abigail and John followed her line of sight toward the white steed. With a knowing glint in his eye, John handed a lasso to Leyla. Leyla gripped the length of rope as if it were a sacred artifact, relishing in the feel of it beneath her fingertips.
“He’s all yours,” she heard Margaret say just before she climbed over the fence and landed in the dirt of the corral.
The herd reacted to the sudden intrusion almost as one. Many of the wild horses gathered together at the far end of the corral, away from the figure that had entered their domain. Only the white one kept himself removed from the herd, centered in the middle of the corral and facing Leyla, as though daring her to approach.
As though by natural reflex, Leyla uncoiled the lasso and began twirling it above her head, the loop moving perfectly around her head like a halo. Slowly, taking her time to aim, she loosed the lasso from her hand and watched as it flew straight & true, encircling the horse’s head and pulling tightly around its neck.
The horse immediately reared back on its hind legs, pulling the rope tight. Leyla dug her boot heels into the ground and pulled back on the rope, refusing to budge an inch.
Once the horse came down on all fours, Leyla began approaching him, keeping the line taut with each step. The horse gave a blast out of its nostrils as she moved closer, but Leyla kept her resolve, feeling as though all of her training had been building up to this one moment.
As she reached the horse’s muzzle, she brought her hand up in a calming gesture. When the horse didn’t immediately snap at her hand, she grazed it against its long face.
“Easy, easy,” she breathed, keeping control of the situation. When she was certain that she had somewhat calmed the horse down, she moved to the side and, using what she’d learned from John, climbed up on the horse’s back.
The horse quickly took objection to her maneuver and tried to buck her. Leyla kept her hand fastened to the rope around the horse and worked to keep her balance centered on the horse.
More and more the white steed bucked around, trying to shake the rider loose. But Leyla kept her grip on the rope, refusing to give in. Every time the horse shifted to try and throw her off balance, Leyla moved her weight to compensate, never letting herself be thrown off.
For what felt like an eternity, Leyla rode the bucking bronco around the corral, clinging to its back with all of her might. Finally, the horse seemed to realize that he wasn’t going to jar the woman loose and he settled down, giving his mane a shake.
Leyla breathed a sigh of relief, reaching down and running her hand along the horse’s lustrous mane. The horse bridled slightly at her touch, but soon he became used to it as well.
It was at that point that Leyla became aware of cheers and whistles. Looking back toward the corral fence, she saw Margaret, her mother, John, and a few of the ranch hands who had been stirred by the sound of the bucking horse applauding and whistling at her.
I did it, Leyla thought, ignoring the exhaustion her body felt. I lassoed and broke my own horse.
Leyla held her head high in that moment, feeling like a champion. She spurred her new horse toward the corral gate which John opened for her to pass through before closing it again. Everyone who had watched her perform the feat gathered around her as she sat atop her mount.
“See?” John cheered. “That’s exactly what I was talking about! You found the horse that was right for you on your own!”
“I know your father’s probably waking all of Kingdom Come up with cheers about his little girl’s skills right now,” Abigail praised, getting a laugh from everyone.
“You did it, Leyla,” Margaret beamed proudly. “You’ve finally found your own horse. Now what are you going to name him?”
Leyla’s smile faltered for a moment. Until that moment, she hadn’t given any thought whatsoever to what she’d name her horse once she had one. There were so many possibilities that she couldn’t possibly choose at that moment.
“I—that is I...I...” she stammered slightly.
A brief gust of wind chose that moment to blow through the ranch, rattling a few windows, roof shingles and nearly taking a few hats as well. Leyla felt her horse try to rear up on its hind legs once again but she kept him calm just like Margaret and John had taught her.
“What was that all about?” jeered one of the ranch hands.
“Nothin’ more than a rogue whirlwind,” one of the others answered.
‘That’s it,’ Leyla thought brightly, her face lighting up with a smile in the sun’s morning rays.
“Whirlwind,” she said proudly. “I’ll call him Whirlwind.”
The rest of the ranch applauded her choice of name as Leyla guided Whirlwind toward the stable, where she’d be able to fit him with a proper saddle.
***
CHEYENNE, WYOMING TERRITORY, August 1885
“You should have seen her, Fergus! Mark my words, that girl will be as excellent a rider as her sister Margaret!”
“Cheers to that, Johnny boy!”
John and Fergus clinked their shot glasses together in a toast to young Leyla McNeal and her triumphant breaking of a horse. John had stopped into Fergus’s saloon in Cheyenne while running a few errands for Margaret in order to pass the news along to the old Irishman.
“Her father’d be proud he would, God rest his soul,” Fergus sighed, remembering his dear friend. “To see both his little girls become expert riders would’ve made his heart soar like a hawk.”
John nodded his affirmation before he looked around, as though checking to see if anyone was listening or watching. When he was certain that no one else in the saloon was paying them any mind, he leaned in close across the bar top.
“Say, Fergus, can I trust you with a secret?” he whispered conspiratorially.
Fergus quirked an eyebrow at the Kentucky boy’s odd behavior, but he decided to play along.
“Certainly, Johnny,” he answered. “What troubles your mind?”
John answered with a smile. “Not trouble, Fergus,” he breathed as he reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled something out of it, his fist wrapped around the object.
When he opened his palm up, Fergus’s old eyes opened wide in surprise as his gaze rested upon a simple silver ring with a humble blue gemstone set inside of it.
“Johnny,” Fergus began slowly, “is that what I think it is?”
John couldn’t suppress the smile that was stretching his face. “That it is, Fergus. This was the ring my father gave to my mother when he asked her to marry him. With it, I’m going to ask Maggie to marry me. I wanted you to be the first to know about it.”
“Why me?” was all the bartender could think to ask as his eyes remained fixed on the ring. “I’d think Abigail would be a better choice first.”
The ranch boss smiled sheepishly as he returned the ring to his pocket. “Missus McNeal has already given me her blessing, if not in words then at least in her actions. As to why you, you were the first friend I made here in Cheyenne and if it hadn’t been for you, I’d have never met Maggie in the first place.”
Fergus looked away, though John couldn’t miss the old barkeep’s hand as it reached up to his eyes, more than likely to brush away a few tears.
John was about to reach a hand out to pat the older man on the shoulder when a great ruckus sprang up outside, ensuring that every head in the saloon turned toward the door.
“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN OF THE TOWN OF CHEYENNE!” They all heard a jovial voice boom. “ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE MYSELF; I AM PROFESSOR THADDEUS MONRO, AND I COME BEFORE YOU TO INVITE ALL OF YOU TO WITNESS THE MARVELOUS DISPLAYS OF GRANDEUR PERFORMED BY MY TRAVELING SHOW!”
John and Fergus looked at one another in confusion before they both made their way to the saloon’s swinging doors to see what all of the hullabaloo was about. At the door, they spied a hefty carpetbagger in a top hat, standing on top of a soapbox and addressing the ever increasing crowd around him.
“THAT’S RIGHT FOLKS, THE PROFESSOR MONRO WESTERN SHOW IS GUARANTEED TO ASTOUND ALL WITH PERFORMERS AND WONDERS FROM ALL ACROSS THE GLOBE! YOU’LL LAUGH AT THE COMEDIC ANTICS OF OUR HERDING HARLEQUINS AND BE DAZZLED BY THE ACROBATIC ABILITIES OF OUR SHOW RIDERS, LED BY THE INIMITABLE CHASE MCALLISTER! COME ONE, COME ALL!”
At the mention of show riders, John and Fergus looked to one another with matching grins. Both of them knew of a pair of ladies who would be more than interested in seeing what some traveling riders from the east thought of as skilled riding.
“So when were you thinking of asking her, Johnny?” Fergus questioned, returning to the previous line of conversation.
“Well, I was thinking of asking after dinner this evening, but I think it can wait a day if the McNeal sisters would rather take in a show,” John replied with a grin.
Fergus answered with a laugh. “Aye, Johnny, I think they would. You best be on your way back to the ranch then. No doubt the ladies would like to freshen up a tad before spending a night on the town.”
John didn’t need to be told twice as he clasped his friend’s hand in a parting gesture and bolted for Longbow.
As Fergus watched the young Kentuckian ride off, he gave one of his bushy white chops a scratch as he suddenly remembered something the showman outside had said.
“Chase McAllister,” he pondered aloud. “Now why does that name sound familiar?”
***
“CHASE MCALLISTER?” Leyla echoed, her eyes widening. “As in the Chase McAllister?”
Margaret and John gave the redhead twin looks of confusion. John had just returned with news of the impending show and at the mention of the name Chase McAllister, Leyla had gone star struck.
“I’ve never heard of him,” Margaret shrugged, unable to grasp what was so special.
“Maggie, are you fooling with me?!” Leyla blurted out, jumping up from her seat. “Chase McAllister is one of the best professional show riders east of the Mississippi! They say he’s pulled tricks on horseback that other show riders have never even dreamed of! We have to go!”
Abigail McNeal giggled from where she sat in the parlor room, smiling at her daughter’s enthusiasm. “Leyla’s right, Maggie,” she said. “While I’ve only heard his name tossed around here and there, some would say that his skills could rival your own.”
“Oh is that so?” Margaret growled, her eyes narrowing at the hint of a challenge. “Well, we’ll just have to see about tha—”
Her declaration was gently cut short as John clasped her hand in his. “Now Maggie,” he began gently, “if he’s in this wandering circus as a show rider, then that means he has more time to devote to his riding than you do. But can he run the most successful cattle ranch out on the plains with nothing more than his wits and determination?”
Margaret huffed a little, still annoyed that anyone could think to compare her to some gussied-up circus rider, but John’s words soothed her annoyance and she let it slip by.
“Please, can we go see this show tonight?” Leyla repeated again. She turned her eyes to her sister, giving her the best pleading look she could muster. “Please, Maggie? The ranch will be fine for one night. Let’s all go out and have some fun watching someone else ride for once.”
“I agree with Leyla, Maggie,” their mother chimed in. “Besides, tonight we should celebrate Leyla’s victory. Why not take in a show?”
“What do you say, Maggie?” John asked with his signature grin. “Let’s be part of the audience for once instead of the main attraction.”
Margaret looked around at the three sets of eyes looking at her for her answer. After a moment, she sighed and shook her head. “Well, it looks as though my mind has been made up for me now, hasn’t it?” she conceded. “Alright, we’ll go see what those eastern folks think show riding is all about.”
***
CHEYENNE, WYOMING TERRITORY, August 1885
Between the arrival of the traveling show the night before and that morning, a massive candy-striped tent had been assembled just outside of Cheyenne. As the sun set to the west and the sky grew dark save for the light of the stars and the moon, the tent came alive with the warm glow of lanterns and the hustle and bustle of Cheyenne’s inhabitants crowding inside.
Within the tent was a massive ring where the performances would undoubtedly take place. The ring was flanked on all sides by scores of tiered wooden bench seats that were quickly filling to capacity.
Outside of the tent, Chase McAllister peeked through a tear in the fabric at the throngs of people coming together inside the tent. He felt nervous about performing in Cheyenne, but he had been taught that the show must go on, and he’d be blazed if he didn’t follow through.
Just relax, Chase, he told himself over and over again. It’s been a few years, odds are nobody even remembers you; and it’s not as if they could make the connection between who I was then with who I am now.
Despite his internal mantra, he remained unconvinced. Even worse, he and his team were usually scheduled as the final act so that the show could go out on a high note. That just meant the waiting and anxiety would be drawn out.
It’ll be all right, it’ll be all right, he continued to tell himself.
A hand suddenly landing on his shoulder nearly startled him straight out of his skin. He whirled around and came face to face with Benjamin “Bull” Beauregard, one of his fellow show riders. The lanky southerner gave him a toothy grin.
“Chase, you seem mighty worked up about something,” he drawled out in his Alabama twang. “What’s eatin’ at ya, boss?”
Chase pushed down the urge to berate his friend for nearly scaring him to death as he sighed. “Just some old history, Bull,” he replied with a shake of his head. “Nothing worth going into detail over.”
Bull hocked a glob of tobacco off to the side, his trademark move for when he knew someone wasn’t playing straight with him, but he let it slide and gave his friend another smile. “If you say so, boss, but don’t think the whole team don’t notice when you’re worked up. We worry ‘bout ya, s’all.”
The show rider gave his companion a smile, glad to know that he and the others cared. “Much obliged, Bull, but it’s really nothing. Are all the horses ready for the show?”
“Fed, saddled, and chompin’ at the bit to get runnin’, boss,” Bull answered. “All we need do now is wait for our turn.”
“And the waiting is always the hardest part, my friend,” Chase finished, turning his attention back to the hole in the tent.
***
“SO FAR THIS AIN’T A bad show at all,” Margaret said aloud, punctuating her statement by tossing a handful of peanuts into her mouth.
Leyla nodded her head in approval with her sister’s assessment, watching as a scantily clad woman with an armful of snakes danced sinuously around the ring, heedless of the danger the serpents posed.
“Sort of reminds me of a fella I saw in Chicago,” John quipped, reaching a hand into Margaret’s bag of peanuts. “He was able to make a rattler dance around with nothing but a flute.”
You can keep your snakes, Leyla thought. I want to see Chase McAllister.
Up to that moment, the show had been an entertaining myriad of performances, ranging from painted clowns performing western-themed vaudeville acts to knife-throwers and quick-draw gunslingers performing incredible feats with their preferred tools. There’d even been a man who rode a bull around the ring as if it were a trained horse, astounding many of the ranch hands in the crowd who knew how temperamental the beasts could be.
The serpent woman finished her performance and bowed before the cheers of the audience. She departed as fluidly as she had performed, striding away as her snakes followed behind her in a mass of writhing lines in the dirt.
The portly showman known as Professor Monro once more stepped out into the center of the ring, ready to introduce the next act.
“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN OF CHEYENNE,” he bellowed in his thunderous voice. “THOUGH IT WOUNDS ME GREATLY TO SAY SO, I FEAR WE HAVE REACHED THE END OF OUR PERFORMANCE THIS EVENING...”
A collective groan rose up from the audience, unhappy at such a grand performance being over.
“...BUT, BEFORE YOU LEAVE, ALLOW ME TO CAPTURE YOUR ATTENTION ONE LAST TIME WITH A PERFORMANCE FROM OUR TEAM OF SHOW RIDERS, UNDER THE DIRECTION OF THE MASTERFUL CHASE MCALLISTER!”
As Professor Monro finished his introduction, a team of eight horsemen came blazing into the tent and began circling around the ring. They were dressed in cleaner and more colorful versions of the clothes typically worn by cowboys and ranchers, owing to their profession as showmen rather than working riders.
Leyla spied one rider wearing a white hat leading the pack, his long brown locks flailing out from beneath his brim. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him maneuver his white and roan-colored horse expertly around the ring.
I wonder if that’s him, she pondered, though her thoughts were soon scattered as she watched the rider pull up his legs and press them into the back of his mount before standing straight up.
The audience, including herself, Margaret and John were aghast. While most skilled riders could maybe pull off a crouch while on the back of a moving horse, standing straight up was a fool’s errand. And yet here was this man, standing on the back of his horse like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Doing that already had the audience’s attention, but when the man suddenly flew from the horse’s back, yet did not plummet to the ground, they were amazed further still.
Peering closely, Leyla could see that the man had grabbed hold of a rope that had been left dangling from one of the many lines connecting the interior supports of the tent. The inertia from the charging horse carried him outside of the ring while his mount continued on without him, keeping in formation with the other riders and horses.
As the rider reached the end of the rope’s arc and began his swing back toward the ring, the audience caught on to what he was going to do: he was going to try to land right back on his horse when it came around again.
Leyla watched with bated breath as he swung backward, a grin evident on his face even from where she was sitting. The audience gasped as he spread his legs to allow one of his comrades to pass beneath him without incident. He then released his grip on the rope and went sailing through the air to then land in the empty saddle of his own horse, albeit facing the opposite direction.
The crowd erupted in cheers at the display, completely amazed by the spectacle. Leyla couldn’t help but notice that even her sister was among those applauding the act.
As Leyla watched the rider reorient himself so that he was facing forward on the horse and the rest of his team began moving into a new maneuver, a single thought ran through her mind.
I have to meet that man.
***
“GOOD SHOW, EVERYBODY,” Chase cheered toward his fellow riders as they dismounted from their horses. All of them were drenched in sweat from the performance, but they wore the smiles of men who had accomplished something.
Of course, that didn’t mean that they didn’t want to get out of the damp clothes clinging to their skin right then and there.
Chase made sure that Cannonball was tied off before he pulled his brim from his head, placing it on his horse’s saddle and set about extracting the shirt off his body. The process was proving difficult as the material of the shirt was keeping tight to his toned torso.
Come on, by the blazes, he mentally cursed, managing to get the middle of the shirt over his head. That victory was short-lived as he soon found himself unable to extricate his arms. He was also unaware that he was moving further away from the rest of the show riders and closer to the open area where he might be spotted by the audience members that were leaving the tent.
Almost...almost...GOT IT! He mentally cheered as he freed his head and arms, just in time to glimpse a shock of red hair before he collided with someone, sending them sprawling to the ground in a heap.
Chase quickly tossed the shirt aside and looked down to see who he had run into and felt his breath catch in his throat as he was presented with a beautiful red-haired woman now lying on the ground.
“My apologies, Miss!” he hastily said as he bent down and extended a hand to her, intent on making amends.
The woman opened her eyes, looking into his darker eyes and the two could only stare at one another in silence.
The woman broke the silence first. “Oh, it’s all right, Mister...”
“McAllister,” Chase replied swiftly, his hand still outstretched to her. “Chase McAllister, at your service, Miss...”
“McNeal,” she replied, grasping the offered hand and allowing him to help her up. “Leyla McNeal, Mister McAllister.”
Once she was standing upright, the two resumed staring into one another’s eyes, as though searching for something they had both glimpsed for but a second. However, Leyla’s gaze eventually traveled downward and her face burned red as she noticed something Chase had forgotten: he wasn’t wearing a shirt.
“Oh, beg pardon, Miss McNeal!” he blurted and tried to wrap himself in some of the tent’s material. It worked somewhat well despite looking comical.
“N-no need for apologies, Mister McAllister,” Leyla replied, though her cheeks were still tinted with a lovely rose hue. “I just wanted to say that your show riding was extraordinary! A true inspiration!”
Inspiration? Chase thought curiously. He rarely ever heard that word used to describe his skills except from other show riders. Could this young lady be a show rider?
“Much obliged, Miss McNeal,” he answered. “Do you, uh, do any riding yourself?”
Leyla looked at the ground, shuffling with a touch of awkwardness. “I’m currently...that is to say,” she stuttered, “I’m training to be a show rider under my sister, but I was wondering if I might be able to learn a few things from you sometime...about show riding, that is.”
Something about the girl was drawing Chase deeper and deeper in, and without thinking he voiced his answer. “I’d be delighted to, Miss McNeal. Do you live hereabouts in Cheyenne?”
She shook her head “no” before continuing. “I live out on the McNeal Ranch, just outside of town. Lots of open space perfect for perfecting show-riding tricks. I’d be honored to have you visit. Maybe...maybe tomorrow?”
I think the show will survive one afternoon’s loss of practice, he thought dreamily.
“It would be a privilege, Miss McNeal,” he said genuinely.
Leyla’s face brightened up at that, making a far prettier sight than any Chase had seen before. She gave him directions to the ranch before bidding him farewell and bounding off, a delightful spring in her step.
Chase, still shirtless and wrapped up in the show tent, could only watch her figure as she retreated, having completely forgotten about the performance, the next day’s practice, and any thoughts of anxiety about his past.
