Justice Aside
J. T. O'Connell

The still air was warmer inside the hotel than it was outside. If Lain Buckner ever
bemoaned an aspect of this place, it was that seldom and strikingly unbroken stillness
which forced a man to stew in his body heat. Even a slight breeze would be welcome but
to no avail. It seemed the weather was not to oblige the beckoning of the hotel’s open
windows and door. But the food sure made up for it. Besides, it was not so hot as to make
a man terribly uncomfortable, at least not a young man of 23, such as Buckner, who was
used to the insistence of the sun.
Now, Micah Ailes on the other hand, though used to the summer heat, himself,
found it fit to grunt and gripe about the Jones' Hotel. Supposing all his problems in the
world could be solved by an amber glass fast emptied, Ailes had not yet allowed five
minutes to pass without noting how uptight "those Baptist Joneses are".
Of course, a three minute stroll and a turn down the boardwalk would bring the
two men within earshot of the raucous laughter and shuffling of poker chips that seemed
to endlessly emanate from the most popular of the local saloons. So long as there were
enough visitors bringing enough reward for skill and ‘luck’ to the post-rider town of
Lawrence Rest, nestled in the Oklahoma territory, gambling went on all day and night.
Still, Buckner did not offer that obvious solace to Ailes, as it might be deemed an
insult to be so plain. Besides, Buckner preferred the far superior food offered by the
Jones' Hotel. Here the ambience was quieter as well and both men subscribed to the
usefulness of these more serene surroundings than their normal visits to Lawrence Rest
provided.
Buckner, though being the younger man by fourteen years, was actually more of a
peaceable sort than the 37 year old Micah Ailes. Both supposed it was due to Buckner's
recent upbringing and on account that Ailes had put so many years between himself and
his own raising already.
Having been born to an English immigrant and minister who married a Dutch
immigrant he came to know on the journey to America, Buckner was raised with a stern
hand and a strong education. His brown hair was streaked with lighter strands and
matched his hazel eyes. Buckner had been thin and lanky as a child, but the years of
ranching had filled out and firmed up his five-foot-seven form.
Ailes, conversely, was nearly six feet tall and maintained a slight gut. His hair had
thinned significantly over the years but no one mistook the resolve which was ever
present in his iron-clad, silvery stare. His jaw was firm and Ailes' thin lips added to the
aggressive demeanor he used to command any situation. He was well known in town as a
no nonsense sort of rancher. He handled his liquor readily and never let it handle him.
Although Buckner did appreciated a whiskey and a beer now and again, more and
more he preferred the company of Leigh McAbe to spirits. Amongst this town and
region's growing population of 1700, Buckner had found no one more fascinating than
the young girl. So, despite all which was preoccupying Ailes' mind, Buckner found
himself considering what to do for Leigh's upcoming 19th birthday. At least Ailes had
helped Buckner loosen the resolve of Leigh's father, Charlie, who was a good friend to
the Ailes family.

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Then again, Charlie McAbe was not likely to be in an easy going sort of mood
today and that was likely to push against Buckner's entreaties to his daughter. It was
Charlie the two men awaited in the hotel restaurant, after all. Buckner was not quite sure
what had happened exactly and being a ranch-hand rather than a man of the law or a
confidante of Charlie's, he had accepted his position as a passive observer.
The details had never been properly volunteered to Buckner, but he knew that
McAbe accused another ranch owner, Jesse Roberts of stealing $71 from McAbe's
general store. Roberts, of course, claimed to know nothing of the missing money and, by
the local law, the two men were to make their cases to the town judge, Franklin Charles
Chester.
Since Lawrence Rest had no lawman or sheriff, Judge Chester rarely permitted
such disputes to be made spectacles, lest a riot break out. Oklahoma territory, was
moving to become a State in the Union, but no U. S. Marshal would be assigned to the
region until the territory, known by its Indian name, took that step. So, banished from his
friend's hearing, Ailes waited on McAbe to return.
Buckner was quite confident that McAbe would win the case. Another good
friend of the general store manager's was Robert Duggan, a 29 year old fellow from
Tennessee who knew the law and knew Chester's court. Duggan was formally educated
and even went to college on the eastern coast. He had moved to Lawrence Rest and
started the town's only bank.
Duggan was a decent man but often came off as arrogant and cocky. Though, it
was Buckner's experience that no one in this town failed to speak their mind in plain
enough terms. Micah Ailes was a fitting example of this, himself.
Harriet Jones came by their table with a fancy china pitcher of hot coffee and an
apron that had the faintest hints of stains about her hearty figure. "Would you like more,
Micah?"
"I suppose." Micah replied reaching to hold his mug as she poured the steaming
fluid. Buckner could see in Ailes' face that he was not so disappointed with the coffee,
rather than liquor, as he let on. Most people of hard work appreciated a good, quiet rest
now and again. Ailes had his chair turned half away from the table to watch for anyone
coming in the front door. He kept one booted ankle propped on top of his other knee as
he reclined, sipping from the mug.
Harriet turned to the younger man and offered him a refill as well. Buckner
declined, "It's too warm to drink hot coffee, good as yours is, ma'am." He smiled politely
and re-creased the fiber of his hat as it lay on the table.
"How about some cool water then, straight from the barrels?" Jones' Hotel was
famous for its water, drawn from the nearby creek and stored in barrels buried deep
below the hotel's foundation, to be cooled by clays beneath the soil. Sometimes that was
better than the warm beer offered elsewhere. He agreed and thanked her as she shuffled
off to attend the only other customer in the dining room and then fetch his glass of water.
Buckner grew up on a small farm in Georgia. Once he had his parents' approval,
and a month more than 16 years on this Earth, his curiosity drew him west. He eventually
stopped his long trek in Lawrence Rest when the winter blasted too much freezing wind
and layers of strength-sapping snow into his path.
That spring, to recoup his finances he found odd work where he could, mostly on
the Ailes ranch. Micah convinced him to stay for some years, called him 'the best hired

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hand there ever was'. Buckner was not sure whether that was overly high praise or just a
reflection of his work ethic. Either way, the pay was good and the bunkhouse was nice
enough accommodation to keep him around. Ailes and he had built it on the ranch for
Buckner, and three other future hands if the beef outfit expanded,. Then, Leigh became
the most enticing reason he decided to remain in Lawrence Rest, as nice young ladies do
so often for nice young men.
Harriet returned with the glass of water, its appearance was purer than most water
in town, unless you drank straight from the creek. Buckner did not mind the cloudiness,
since it was indeed cool, and he delighted in the refreshment, even if it wisped faintly of a
musty scent.
This hotel was essentially a very large house, nearly a mansion by Oklahoma
standards, with the first floor rooms accommodating the Jones family and the second
floor stuffed with a dozen cramped boarding rooms. The restaurant could have qualified
as the living room, were it not for its uncommon size and current purpose. Opened
windows lined the walls on two sides and stained hardwood lined the windows, as well as
the floors and ceilings. What remained of the walls after the dozens of screens was plaster
covered in fancy wallpaper, special ordered, no doubt. The floor was also hardwood,
clean but scuffed from the shuffling of tables and boots. Each window was ablaze with
the midday sun, which lighted the whole room quaintly.
Ailes finished off his coffee, set the mug down, and leaned further back in his
chair, his hat clung precariously to its back. Buckner's employer was nearing his forties
and had an equal number of years tanned upon his face; at his eyes crows feet had begun
to form. His overalls were muddy here and there, clean but stained beyond the power of
the available soaps. Working cattle was tough on clothes and skin alike. Buckner dusted
off his hat once more, though nothing remained on it to be brushed away. The dark green
felt concealed its own dirty stains. So, he set it down and gulped the rest of his glass of
water.
A creaking spring announced someone entering the hotel. Buckner looked to see
that it was Charlie McAbe who released the screen door to slap shut. The Jones' left the
front door open during the hotter days to increase the breeze through their restaurant but
that breeze was just too shy this day. McAbe's eyes displayed a dejected frustration on
the verge of outright anger.
McAbe was a tall man, three inches or so more than Ailes, and he carried extra
weight around his stout form. His reddish-brown hair was short and curly, now hinting at
silver above his ears. His skin was pale and always seemed mottled with the hint of blue
veins beneath. In all, he was an odd looking man, even in his Sunday dress clothes and
ribbon tie.
None of the men greeted each other as McAbe sat down at the table. They had
spoken almost an hour ago, before the trial had commenced. Instead, Ailes asked
outright, "Didn't go well, then?"
McAbe slapped his palm onto the round oak table grabbing the attention of
Harriet Jones who hastily took his order. McAbe never once looked at Harriet, opting
instead to stare at the table and grumble the request. Once she shuffled off to fill it,
McAbe replied, "That Roberts didn’t show up."
Buckner glanced over at Ailes who filled the moment with the question both men
had for McAbe. "Well, what does that mean?"

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Harriet brought back a mug of coffee, an apple, and a plump cinnamon muffin for
McAbe who promptly dug in, his appetite as voracious as his mood was infuriated. "It
means," He griped between bites, "I made my case and Chester ruled in my favor, on
account no one was there to represent a defense." He swallowed half the coffee in a
single, surely stinging, gulp.
Confused, Buckner spoke up, not timidly but with guarded pauses, "Well, that…
sounds like good news… right?" McAbe’s behavior certainly did not match the events he
was relaying.
The bite from McAbe’s eyes was sour and jaded. "Wrong, boy. Chester has this
fool idea that Roberts needs to be present in order to for there to be a judgment against
him." McAbe bit into the apple glumly. Ailes sat up in his chair and scratched his wrist
where his flannel shirt itched at his skin while McAbe continued. "And besides, if he
won’t show up for his trial, there isn’t a dime chocolates’ chance on a slate roof that he’d
ever pay back the seventy-one dollars."
The older man scratched his reddish brown beard and slugged back half the mug
of coffee in one lift. Ailes spoke up once more, "We could make him."
"Not according to the law-
"There ain’t no law if he broke it and nothin’s done." Ailes interrupted but
McAbe continued.
"-and besides there’s no judgment against him. Chester wrote out some kind of
proclamation. It was somethin’ I’d never heard of before. Duggan’s lookin’ at it now."
Silence ruled the table for a moment, only shimmered by muffled noise from the
kitchen, the occasional clink of spoons on platters interspersed with the seldom thud of
wood dropped into an oven. Buckner verbally mused. "That just doesn’t seem right."
Duggan’s arrival was announced by the screen door spring groaning under the
strain again. The young banker was dressed as he always was, which was as out of place
as one could get. He wore pressed black pants, a cotton button down, suit jacket, and silk
bow tie. To complete the ensemble, his dark hair was slicked back using expensive
pomade. Of course, Buckner could not distinguish between an expensive pomade and a
cheaper brand, but Duggan was known for his cavalier attitude toward his personal
finances. This was a benefit of his much more careful success in his business acumen.
Buckner was sure no one in town had ever seen him wear a hat, lest he cover that hair of
his. It did not matter though; his skin took well to the sun, perhaps because his business
kept him most often under a roof rather than a sky.
The mannerisms displayed by Duggan were much more jovial than McAbe’s, in
fact, quite the opposite of those displayed by the general store manager. As he moved to
their table, the banker grinned toothily, creasing his face at the corners of his mouth.
"Men, we have success." Duggan's voice was rich and deep, smooth and confident as
always.
Duggan glanced around for service, but when he saw no one was in the restaurant,
he walked the few steps over to the kitchen door, rapped on it with his knuckles, and
opened it halfway. "Hello, there Mrs. Jones." A murmur of reply emanated from beyond
the doorway to which Duggan replied with his request. "Could I have a ham sandwich
and a glass of tea, please?" Another murmur persisted for a few moments.
Ailes raised an eyebrow and rubbed the stubble on his chin, "Was he at the same
trial with you?" The question was rhetorical, although Buckner could see that McAbe’s

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anger had somewhat melted with Dugan's elated arrival. McAbe merely shrugged,
exasperation subsiding to the muffin.
The banker replied to Harriet in the kitchen. "I realize it’s only lunch at the
moment, but I just can’t resist your fine preparations of a classy dinner." She replied
something which they still could not hear, though Duggan’s well of pleasantries had not
yet run dry. "The classiest in these parts, I assure you."
Duggan pulled the door closed again and rejoined the men, who were now the
only guests in the dining room. McAbe started his inquiry even before Duggan had
settled into his seat. "What do you think was successful about my case?"
Duggan raised an eyebrow and the corners of his mouth. His tone was coy. "Why,
the verdict and judgment, of course." He leaned forward to rest his elbows and folded
hands on the table.
McAbe was incredulous, simply staring at the younger man, so Ailes broke in,
"There was no judgment against Roberts."
"No financial penalty. No, you’re right about that. But there was a judgment
against Roberts, although it didn’t pertain to the verdict." Duggan grinned smugly; his
clean-shaven face was ridged with almost adolescent dimples of skin. Constantly being
protected from the sun was likely the cause of his youthful appearance, which rivaled
Buckner.
"You mean that proclamation thing?" McAbe bounced his coffee mug against the
table to set it down. The contents sloshed about.
"A writ actually. I wasn’t sure I remembered correctly, so I talked to Judge
Chester about it for a while and made a copy of the writ." He unfolded a crisp sheet of
paper from his pocket inside the suit coat. "Have you fellows ever heard of a Writ of
Outlawry?"
Ailes wrinkled his brow and grunted, "You mean Roberts is a wanted man now?"
"No. That’s the modern definition of outlaw. This writ refers to the English
common law definition. The judge feels that it’s quite unthinkable that this town hasn’t
generated an organized law enforcement system. The mayor has taken a few steps and
stalled but considering the population of Lawrence Rest and the surrounding ranches and
farms, it is more than reasonable to demand that a sheriff’s office be established."
"That’s what this writ does? It creates a sheriff’s office?"
"Well, not really, no. Not at all, in fact. I’m getting a little off the path. You see,
the judge is frustrated because a number of cases brought have not been attended by the
accused and with no law enforcement; no one is in position to serve warrants and make
arrests. If that continues, folks are liable to ignore law altogether."
Harriet Jones arrived with a plate boasting a thick sandwich and some chicken on
the side. "Thank you very much, ma’am." Duggan beamed at the meal. "So, this writ
actually separates Roberts from protection of the law."
Buckner requested another glass of water from Mrs. Jones while Ailes inquired,
"Protection of the law?"
Duggan took a bite of the sandwich and a sip from his tea before he read from his
copy of the writ. "For the purposes of maintaining a civil order by the preservation and
enforcement of law among the members of this society, it is necessary that each member
be held to account for his actions and to attend any case, with legal right and opportunity
to respond, in which charges of suit and crime are brought against him according to the

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law as set forth by the Mayor of Lawrence Rest. Such a court, among peoples of
voluntary association and having no method to enforce the court’s decisions, has only one
option left to it in situations of flagrant disregard for the respect the civil society has
vested in a system of justice. It is the decision of this court, in the case of suit brought by
Charles T. McAbe against Jesse L. Roberts in the year Eighteen-hundred-ninety-six that,
pursuant to the actions of the defendant, Jesse Roberts, in ignoring the summons issued
unto him, that he be additionally served with this Writ of Outlawry and shall, henceforth,
have no standing in this court of law nor protections under its power. This Writ shall
remain in effect so long as Jesse Roberts does not face the charges brought and abide by
the verdict levied in the case or until his death."
Flipping the crisp page to Ailes, Duggan stretched his arms so his cuffs pulled up
his arms a few inches. He then chomped down on his rye and ham sandwich, obviously
very pleased with the results of the trial.
McAbe griped, "I don't understand how this helps me at all. There's no penalty in
that writ, which means I get nothin’ back." Duggan took another bite, not answering.
After perusing the document, Ailes set it down and Buckner picked it up, himself
to read the fine script of the aged judge. Ailes demanded of Duggan, "So, just what does
this mean? How is this good?"
Duggan swallowed half the bite and continued chewing the rest while he spoke.
"It means you can go get the money back, yourself." He sipped his tea, swallowed, then
added for clarification, "It separates him from the courts in Lawrence Rest, which,
technically… means anyone can do anything they want to him with impunity, without
consequence."
"Including taking back my $71, you mean? By force?"
"I mean anything. The writ denies him access to the protections of law."
Ailes speculated, "Even more… extreme measures?"
Duggan nodded. "In England, such writs were used to encourage people to remain
voluntarily subject to the local jurisdictions. It was encouraged that people take
advantage of such dissidents, even to the point of murder. Of course we're not talking
about murder, we're talking about your money. This form of law is still in practice in
some of the more rural areas of Britain."
The table was silent for a moment while each man considered the implications of
Judge Chester’s issued proclamation. Buckner weighed in. "So… we can get back Mr.
McAbe’s money?" The young man hoped his constant respect for the older man would
pay off in stronger approval for Buckner’s relationship with Leigh. It was a small hope
but since their connection was deepening, Buckner felt it could only help to maintain the
good manners with which his parents had raised him.
"Money or property of equal value, sure." The sandwich was almost gone now.
Duggan usually ate very swiftly, though Buckner never could figure out why. Everything
about Duggan pertained to proper manners and customs. Everything except for the way
he ate.
"Can you withdraw that money from his bank account?" McAbe wondered aloud.
Duggan shook his head. "I could if he had that much in it but, even with the writ, I
doubt anyone else would keep their accounts open with me. I'd go bankrupt. If Roberts'
accounts are closed, that will happen on his doing. But anyone could go to his ranch and
claim property."

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McAbe lamented, "I don’t know. That doesn’t sound like a really good idea."
In reply, Ailes shrugged. "It’s your money. Maybe we should go get it back."

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Each day had become progressively hotter but no such heat could force a break
from the duties of running a ranch. If anything, it increased the work load. The cattle had
to drink and with the brutal sun beating down upon such heavy animals, hydration was all
the more important to their healthy development. Micah Ailes’ ranch was big. Big
enough that Buckner knew there was no way to fence around the land. That was beyond
affordability. Fortunately, at the southern edge of the Ailes ranch ran a massive creek,
inventively referred to as Lawrence creek, which, several hundred miles to the east,
ended feeding the Mississippi River.
The radiant sun beat down upon the landscape with stunning and dazzling force.
Buckner knew his hat was all that saved him from its malevolence. To the west a steady
breeze rustled through leaves and the needles of towering pines, those of a large forest
bounding the Ailes ranch on that side, which ran the length of the creek until it reached
the town. On the eastern edge, the ranch property drifted for a quite a ways over
sweeping plains. That was the land onto which the rancher aspired to expand and make
use.
With the help of Ailes’ three dogs and his own horse, Buckner was driving the
cattle north again, to better grazing land since they had their fill of the clean water.
Surrounding Lawrence Rest, lands are was mostly plains wrapped over gradual hills with
patches of towering conifers and several other types of tree, primarily oak. There were
some steep hills but most were gradual and shallow, hazy in their distant rise. The grass
was drying quickly this year, but had not yet roasted away its green color, losing only its
lush appearance so far.
The wind dried beads of sweat on Buckner’s brow, forced him to regularly
replenish his body’s water level by drinking from a large canteen; his energy this
afternoon was still high though, despite the climate. Being young had its advantages. Off
in the distance, Buckner could see the two story ranch house, the corral, the barn, the
chicken coop, and the bunkhouse. Beyond that, some distance upon the hills on the other
side of the ranch, Buckner could barely make out a trace of disturbed dust, tiny dots on a
distant rise of hill stirring up the grass toward the northern boundary of Ailes’ ranch.
Whistling to the dogs to rein in some slacking cows, Buckner pushed the animals
harder back to the grassy north. There would be visitors at the ranch. Micah Ailes had
gone to the Rest for the morning had not returned yet. Eva Ailes was tutoring the family’s
two children, Anna and Lyndon.
One of the things Ailes always made absolutely clear to Buckner was to respect
and protect the family. Not that such insistence was necessary. Buckner knew Ailes
meant it as a cautionary measure, so Buckner would keep a presence of good judgment in
his mind. Oklahoma territory had become a major road to the west. Travelers used the
area to access Texas as well as the desert western states and territories. Ailes had only
allowed a few people to stay on his property overnight. One family had been a middle-
aged Wesleyan couple, who had children of their own. In any matter, were there visitors
to the ranch, Ailes, in absence, would expect Buckner to be at the house, in case the
visitors were less than savory.
The groaning of the cattle melded with the pounding of their feet, which left an
enormous cloud of dirt wafting in the air. Two hundred and fifty head could bring a
thunder upon the ground, even when plodding along at a steady gait. Here and there, the
dogs barked and nipped at the legs of the wandering animals at the brinks of the herd.

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The canines were well trained and constantly dashed about the outside, ever dutiful to see
that the beef stay together and kept moving onward. Ailes’ dogs always earned their fill.
Across the azure sky, a lonely, sprawling cloud drifted in front of the sun, saving
Buckner and the animals a few degrees and the scorching glare. The steed Buckner rode
was his own, a gleaming black mare he named Junie and no doubt she appreciated the
heavenly shade more than hat-shrouded Buckner, who whispered a cheerful prayer of
thanks for the relief.
At last, his drive of the herd finally reached its zenith. He whistled a few times to
command the dogs who complied and let the cattle spread out across a few acres of
healthy grass, immediately the animals commenced pulling the grass up and chewing
their cud. Whistling again, Buckner summoned the dogs over and tossed them a few
chunks of beef jerky, a treat for their loyal duty. As always, the chunks didn’t touch the
ground, two of the dogs caught one of the three and savagely pulled it apart to two small
pieces. The third dog naturally received the other two strips as the other canines fought
ravenously over the first cut. Distribution was only fair over the course of several days.
Buckner whistled the dogs back to their jobs, which was merely to keep the herd
from breaking apart completely or wandering. The cattle probably would not try to move
about though, having been conditioned by repetition. Also used to the arrangement, the
dogs would lie down and pant for a while, trying to shed the heat. Off in the distance
Buckner could make out several horses, and it appeared that they were also driving some
cattle, perhaps a dozen, he could not be sure. Though good, his eyes were not telescopic;
the approaching pack was still more than eight hundred yards away.
Sometimes, cattle were driven across Micah Ailes' land to reach the creek, if the
summer became too dry for wells, springs, and reservoirs to serve more than human
needs. Ailes was generally good neighborly about such things, even though other
ranchers were competition. Still, there had been one heated dispute.
A man named Ellis Fischer owned a small ranch bounding the northwest of Ailes'
land. Between Fischer and the winding creek to the south was a rather large forest
through which it was impossible to drive cattle. The forest bound Ailes’ property and
continued along the creek for several miles. So, Fischer, during dry spells, began to drive
his herd across Ailes' ranch on some of the empty sections, to reach the creek and to do
so, Ailes charged him a rate of five dollars a month.
Fischer sued Ailes by stating that right-of-way laws permitted him access to the
edges of Ailes' land. The judge in the case was a drunkard whose competency declined
over time and ultimately resulted in his being replaced by Franklin Chester. The judge
ruled against Fischer but, despite this outcome, Ailes was infuriated.
Feeling himself the bigger man, all the same, Ailes still permitted intermittent
access to the creek, though tripled the monthly rate. Fischer was just as angry with the
results, even though the judge had deemed driving cattle was not a right-of-way issue
since it occupied more land than a foot-bound traveler would, since it pertained not to
travel but to business activity, and because the "venerably generous land owner is merely
asking for a legitimate usage fee to recoup the loss of assisting a competitor".
Buckner's mare trotted back toward the farm house, stepping out of the cover
from clouds. They had arrived within a few moments. He tied the reigns off to the porch
and gazed toward the northern horizon again. Sure, enough, cattle approached with riders,

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three riders by the looks of it. Still, it would be ten minutes or so before they arrived but
their direction was clear. They were definitely heading for the homestead.
From the house, Buckner retrieved an apple and used his fixed-blade knife to cut
off a few slices for the mare. He crunched into the other half himself, savoring its
saccharine flavor and sweet, cooling sensation. There was an apple orchard to the west,
also along the creek but on the other side of Lawrence Rest. Apples were considered a
dessert, a luxury, but the Ailes ranch had been successful enough to buy them regularly,
so long as they were available from the stores in Lawrence Rest.
Heat shimmers radiated from the land, distorting the image of the cows as they
grazed, but a peaceful breeze cooled the shade of the Ailes' wide covered porch. Inside,
up on the second floor, Eva Ailes and the children were at studies. No formal school yet
existed in the Lawrence Rest area but most mothers taught children to read, write, and to
do basic arithmetic. An occasional recitation drifted through the windows; Anna and
Lyndon, nine and seven, taking turns tentatively reading lines from the King James Bible.
The day was calm as so many days were on the plains.
Buckner finished off the meat of the apple and fed the core to Junie. Even the flies
seemed to be taking a day off, in the shade at least. He brushed off his coat and stomped
his boots a few times to knock away the now dried mud that had clung to them ever since
he walked through the creek a short distance.
Then, he looked to the north once more to see the drivers who were now close
enough so as they could be recognized. Ailes led the way; Buckner knew the jacket and
hat his employer regularly wore underneath the scorching sun. Also among the cows
were the two other riders, Charlie McAbe and Louis Partridge, a local post-rider.
Partridge was a quiet man, for no reason other than self-control. His internal
emotion rarely showed, but Buckner had learned through close scrutiny that Partridge
was fiery at all moments. The furious passion could be read in Partridge's eyes and at no
moment was the lanky fellow without such rage. He merely concealed it and controlled
its every aspect. Buckner was frightfully curious what Partridge would be like if he
unleashed his anger, but the post-rider had yet to offer such a display and Buckner would
not be the person to bring it out, he hoped.
Buckner's mind took the presence of Ailes' friends in stride, however. It was the
cattle he focused on. A thought flashed through his mind, ‘Where did Micah get that
beef?’ The dozen, or so, cows were beating hoof, since the men were driving them at a
lively pace, splashing dust up into the air for a hundred feet behind them.
He tilted his felt hat and squinted at the sight, trying to ascertain a count on the
animals, but the pack moved too quickly amongst the dust cloud making it impossible to
pin down which animal was which. Buckner could hear them now or at least feel them,
the constant rumbling thunder of hooves trampling dried grasses. Ailes' steed raced
around the front of the animals and slowed them. Partridge and McAbe were not
experienced drivers and simply tried to maintain the edges but Ailes was doing most of
the work.
As the whole group slowed to a stop out near the barn, Buckner pushed his hat
back down on his head and climbed deftly into his saddle. Ailes, still trying to calm the
restless cattle, caught sight of Buckner and greeted him, "Howdy, Laine! It's been a good
afternoon!"

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