The Backstabbers

The Talbot ranch looked like any other in Texas at the time, a low, one-story ranch house showing three windows to the front and a porch hung with several earthenware ollas, a barn, corrals, blacksmith’s forge, bunkhouse, and a scattering of outbuildings. What made it different was that there was not a male face in sight. Even the cook who stepped out of the kitchen and threw away a basin of dishwater was a woman. She glared at the Patterson stage as it rolled past, but Red figured that cattle country cooks were an irascible breed, and he paid the woman no mind.

Buttons halted the team outside the ranch house, and within a few moments a crowd gathered, a dozen women dressed in range clothes with a few feminine touches like earrings and bracelets . . . and one of them was Leah Leighton, who spoke for the rest.

“Driver, stay where you’re at until you’re told to light and set,” she said. “That goes for you as well, shotgun man.”

“Real nice to see you again, ma’am.” Red was prepared to be sociable. “Last I saw, you were flapping your chaps for the Pecos.”

The woman’s smile was slight. “I didn’t need to ride that far. I’m a fair rifle shot.”

As was his habit, Buttons cut right to the chase. “Hey, lady, how come all I see is females? Are there no grown men on this ranch?”

“Now and again a man rides by, and if he behaves himself we feed him and send him on his way,” Leah said. “But only women work the Talbot.”

“How come?” Buttons said.

“Maybe you’ll find out, driving man. Maybe you won’t.” Leah turned and said, “Lucy, Alma and you, too, Eliza, get the coffin off the stage. Driver and shotgun man, you stay right where you’re at.”

“We’ll help,” Red said. “The box is heavy.”

“No, you won’t. The hands can manage it,” Leah said.

Buttons smiled. “Red, leave it to the cowgirls.”

Leah frowned. “Mister, we’re punchers, drovers, hands, waddies, or whatever the hell you want to call us, but what we’re not is cowgirls. Do I make myself clear?”

“Cow-women?” Buttons said. “Maybe so, huh?”

“Close, but no cigar,” Leah said. “While you’re here, to make yourself understood you can call us by our names.”

“That suits me . . . Leah.” Red said.

The segundo nodded. “Now I know why so many shotgun guards get plugged. Big mouths.” One of the younger woman giggled, and Leah snapped, “Alma, get that damned coffin down like I told you.”

“Where do you want it, boss?” Alma said.

“Take it into the toolshed for now. Mrs. Talbot will deal with it later.”

After the women, with considerable effort, manhandled the coffin from the stage and carried it to the shed, Leah told Buttons and Red to climb down. Both men were puzzled. A toolshed was a mighty unfriendly place to put a loved one.

“Miss Leah, I’d be obliged if I could feed my horses and let them rest for a spell,” Buttons said. “Then we’ll pick up our five hundred dollars and be on our way. The Patterson stage is always in the highest demand. Ol’ Abe Patterson said that, and he’s got it wrote down somewhere.”

“You won’t find passengers in this part of Texas, driving man,” Leah said. “We’re in the middle of a desert. Takes fifteen acres of range to support a single Hereford cow and a calf, and that’s why everybody you meet is passing through. Nobody travels to or from Hudspeth County. Well, nobody honest, that is.”

“And that’s why we’ll head north to El Paso,” Buttons said. “The town has a Texas and Pacific railroad station and a Patterson stage depot. Bound to be plenty of folks looking to travel from there.”

“Whatever you say,” Leah said. “All right. You can put your team in the barn. Oats and hay are scarce, so go easy on both. Once you got your horses settled, wash up at the bunkhouse and then come see Mrs. Talbot about your money.”

“I’d be right partial to some supper besides,” Buttons said. “I’m feeling mighty gant.”

“Luna Talbot won’t send a guest away hungry,” Leah said.

“We’re guests?” Red asked.

“Yes, of a sort,” Leah said. “At least, you’re not enemies.”

“And if we were, enemies?”

“You’d both be dead by now.”

West Texas was a pitiless, sunburned land that waged all-out war on women. But Luna Talbot was winning the battle. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, a tall, beautiful woman who transformed a riding skirt, plain white shirt, and boots into regalia worthy of a queen. She wore no jewelry except for the wide, hammered silver bracelet she wore on her left wrist and a plain gold wedding band.

Red and Buttons paused in their ablutions and watched her as she stood in front of the house talking to Leah Leighton. The segundo asked a question, listened intently to the answer, and then nodded and left in the direction of the toolshed.

Luna watched her go, then turned and walked with a purposeful stride to Buttons and Red. She smiled. “I had the roller towel replaced in your honor.” The woman stuck out a hand. “Luna Talbot. Welcome to my ranch.”

Red and Buttons each shook the woman’s hand, the first time either of them had clasped hands with a female, the dictate of Victorian etiquette then being that a man didn’t touch a woman’s body part unless he was married to her. Of course, in a brothel, that rule fell by the wayside. With that in mind, Red was at once suspicious about the real purpose of the Talbot ranch.

His misgivings were dispelled when Luna said, “A word of warning, gentlemen. No matter what they were in the past, my hands are ladies, and I expect them to be treated as such. No improper touching, please. No cursing, swearing, or suggestive language in their presence.” She smiled, withdrawing the sting. “Not that I would expect that kind of behavior from men who work for the Patterson stage line.”

“Madam,” Buttons said, puffing up a little, “you are so right. Representatives of the Abe Patterson and Son Stage and Express Company are always polite and considerate around women. It’s wrote down in the rule book.”

“I’m so glad to hear it,” Luna Talbot said. “Now, I’m sure Cook is putting supper on the table, and I believe we’re having braised steak, potatoes and gravy, with apple pie for dessert.” The woman’s smile was dazzling. “After dinner we’ll have coffee. I’ll pay you what I owe, and after that I’m hanging a man. You have no need to attend.”