“Often … whenever there is one.”
“Who makes the best box?”
He shrugged. “Ann Timberly … the major’s daughter.”
“Next best?”
“Maybe Dake Wilson’s daughter … maybe China Benn.”
“China Benn? That’s a girl?”
He kissed his fingers. “Ah! And such a girl!”
“She and Ann Timberly friends?”
“Friends? But no, senor! The major’s daughter does not like her! Not one little bit! China is too … too …” he made gestures to indicate a rather astonishing figure.
“Good!” I said. “I know whose box I’m bidding for.” Fuentes just looked at me and shook his head. “You are a fool, a very great fool, but I think I shall enjoy this social.”
He paused. “China Benn is beautiful. She is also the girl Kurt Floyd likes.”
“If she’s as pretty as you say, there must be a lot of men who like her.” His smile was tolerant of my ignorance. “Not as long as she is Kurt’s girl.” We were making camp in the lee of a low hill, a little way from the corral. We were hoping those steers would come up during the night, and they might … if we weren’t too close. “Floyd is mucho grande, amigo. How you say? He is big! He is also strong. He does not fight with a gun, like a gentleman, but with his fists. We Texans do not like to fight with fists. It is what we call ‘dog-fighting,’ you see?”
“You’re a Texan? I thought you were from California?” He shrugged. “When I am in Texas, I am a Texan. On the other side of the border I am a Mexican. It is political, you see?”
“All right, I see your point. Has this Floyd ever really beaten anyone?”
“There was One-Thumb Tom, there was George Simpson … a hard fight, that one.
There was Bunky Green . .. only two punches, I think.”
“You will introduce me to China?”
“Of a certainty. Then I shall stand back and watch. It will be so sad … you are so young! To see one so young demolished. Well, so be it.” “If you were a true friend,” I suggested, “you’d offer to fight him while I get away with the girl.”
“Of course. And I am a true friend. Up until I introduce you to China Benn … Then I shall be an observer, amigo, a spectator, an interested spectator, if you will, but a spectator only. Any man who endeavors to court China Benn in the presence of Kurt Floyd needs only sympathy.”
“In the morning then,” I said, “we will drive those steers to the home ranch. We will bathe, wash behind the ears, brush the dust from our boots and join the rush to … where is this fandango, anyway?”
He chuckled. “At Rock Springs Schoolhouse. And Rock Springs Schoolhouse is on the Balch and Saddler range, and Kurt Floyd is the Balch and Saddler blacksmith. And remember this, amigo. You will get no sympathy from the major’s daughter.
She detests China Benn.”
“I remember now. You told me that before. Now I wonder how I ever forgot!”
7
Henry Rossiter went with Barby Ann in a buckboard with Ben Roper and Danny—Fuentes and me riding a-horseback alongside. The Schoolhouse was built on a low knoll with the spring from which it took its name about twenty-five yards off. There must have been a dozen rigs around the place, mostly buckboards, but there was one Dearborn wagon, a surrey and an army ambulance among them.
As for riding stock, there looked to be forty or fifty horses under saddle. I wouldn’t have believed there were that many people in the country but, as I was to discover, it was just like other western communities and some of the folks had been riding all day to get there. Parties, dances and box dinners were rare enough to draw a crowd at any time.
Saddler was just pulling up. On the seat beside him was a thin, tired-looking woman whom I discovered was his wife. Also beside him, a lean but heavy-shouldered man was dismounting. “Klaus,” Fuentes whispered. “He gets forty a month.”
When opportunity offered, I glanced at him. He was no one I knew, but he was wearing a gun and, unless I was mistaken, had another under his coat but tucked behind his belt.
Somebody was tuning up a fiddle, and there was a smell of coffee on the air.
Suddenly, somebody said, “Here comes the major!” He came in a surrey, spanking new, polished and elegant, surrounded by six riders. In the surrey itself were Ann, beautifully but modestly gowned, and the man who had to be the major … tall, square-shouldered, immaculate in every sense.
He stepped down, then helped his daughter to the ground. With them was another couple, equally well-dressed, but whose faces I could not see in the dim light. I knew none of the riders with them, but they were well set-up, square-shouldered men with the look of the cavalry about them. Standing back in the shadows as I was, Arm Timberly could not see me as she went in, and I was just as pleased. I’d dug out an expensively tailored black broadcloth suit I had, and was wearing my Sunday-go-to-meetin’ boots, polished and fine. I also wore a white shirt and a black string tie. Ann was beautiful. No getting around it, she was beautiful and composed, and as she swept into the schoolhouse you had no doubt that Somebody had arrived. Her manner, I decided, would have been neither more nor less had she been entering the finest home in Charleston, Richmond or Philadelphia. Yet she was only in the door when somebody let out a whoop in the near distance and there was a rush of hoofs. A buckboard wheeled up, coming in at a dead run and skidding to a halt with horses rearing. And as the buckboard halted, a man leaped from a horse and caught the driver as she dropped from her seat. The man caught her and swung her around before putting her down, but immediately, and without looking back at either man or rig, she strode for the door.
I caught a glimpse of dark auburn hair, of green, somewhat slanted eyes, a few freckles over a lovely nose, and I heard somebody inside say, “Here’s China!” She swept into the schoolhouse, only a step behind Ann Timberly, and I followed, pushing among the crowd, taking my time. Somebody, I noticed, was caring for her team, but the big man who had lifted her from the buckboard was right behind me. As he started to push me aside, I said over my shoulder, “Take it easy. She’ll still be there when you get there.”
He looked down at me. Now I am two inches over six feet and weigh usually about an even one-ninety, although my weight is often judged to be less, but beside this man I was a shadow. He was at least four or five inches taller, and he weighed a good fifty pounds more. And he was not used to anybody standing in his way.
He looked again, and started to push me aside. I was half-facing him now and as he stepped quickly forward, my instep lifted under his moving ankle and lifted the leg high. Off-balance, he tottered and started to fall. It needed only a slight move toward him to keep him off-balance. He fell with a thud, and instantly I bent over him. “Sorry. Can I help you?” He stared up at me, uncertain as to just what had happened, but I was looking very serious and apologetic, so he accepted my hand and I helped him up. “Slipped,” he muttered. “I must’ve slipped.”
“We all do that occasionally,” I said, “if we’ve had one too many.”
“Now, see here!” he broke in. “I haven’t been—“
But I slipped away into the crowd and walked down the length of the room. As I reached the end I turned and found myself looking into the eyes of China Benn. She was across the room but she was looking at me, suddenly, seriously, as if wondering what manner of man I was.
Fuentes moved over beside me. “What happened, amigo?”
“He was shoving too hard,” I said, “and I guess he slipped.” Fuentes took out a cigar. His eyes were bright with amusement. “You live dangerously, amigo. Is it wise?”
On a long table at the end of the room were stacked the box lunches the girls had packed, their names carefully hidden. It was simple enough. A box would be held up by an auctioneer and the bidding would begin, the box going to the highest bidder. And the buyer of the box would then eat dinner with the girl who prepared it.
Naturally, there was a good deal of conniving going on. Some of the girls always succeeded in tipping off the men they wished to buy their boxes as to just which ones they were. Knowing this, other cowhands, ranchers or storekeepers from the town would sometimes deliberately bid up a box to raise more money … the proceeds always going for some worthy cause … or simply to worry the man who wanted the box.