Free Badlanders by David Robbins Page B

blinded by devotion to see her own shackles, and she was angered because it was just such blindness that kept women in the kitchen and working at drudgery all day.
    Isolda was glad when the meal was over and they started back up the street. She noticed how Jericho fell into step behind them without saying a word, and how alert he was to their surroundings. His eyes were always flicking this way and that. That Colt of his gave her a strange thrill. She would very much like to have a pistol of her own. Her father might forbid it, though. Ladies shouldn’t carry revolvers, after all.
    As they neared the Three Aces, Isolda hoped for a glimpse of Beaumont Adams. Fate was kind to her, for there he was, at the front window, looking out. He smiledand gave a little wave. Was it her imagination, or did he wave specifically at her and not at her sister or her father? Since her father wasn’t watching, she smiled and waved back. The gambler’s smile widened.
    Isolda tingled with excitement. Their venture into the Wild West, as some referred to it, held more promise than she’d anticipated. She’d figured to be so bored most of the time that she couldn’t stand it. But the only thing that bored her so far was Neal Bonner and his ridiculous fondness for cows. She couldn’t think of anything duller than cattle. For a man to take pride in being good at handling them was about as impressive a feat as trimming one’s toenails. Where was the challenge? The excitement?
    No, Isolda reflected. She’d go along with this cow business for as long as she could stand it. And then, who could say?
    The buckboard was parked at the side of the livery stable, the driver leaning against it with his arms folded, waiting.
    â€œFolks, I’d like you to meet Stumpy,” Neal introduced him. “He’s a friend of mine from down to Texas. He can’t herd cows on account of his condition, but he’s right handy around a ranch at a lot of other things.”
    Isolda couldn’t help staring. The man’s “condition,” as Bonner called it, was that he was missing the bottom part of his left leg and had been fitted with a wooden peg, like a pirate’s.
    â€œHow do you do, folks?” Stumpy cheerfully greeted them. Short and wiry, he had gray at the temples and a beard that wasn’t much of one. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
    Isolda shook his hand because her father and her sister did, and was struck by how leathery his skin felt. “Does it hamper you much, your leg?” she inquired, and earned a look of disapproval from her father.
    â€œNo, ma’am,” Stumpy said. “I’m not much in a saddle anymore, but I can do most anything else I set my mind to.”
    They climbed on and got under way. Neal rode ahead, Jericho came behind. Edana, on a bay, rode alongside the buckboard.
    â€œIf you don’t mind my asking,” her father asked their driver as they rattled past the last of the buildings, “how did you lose your foot?”
    â€œRattler,” Stumpy said.
    â€œYou’re pulling our leg,” Isolda said. “Rattlesnakes can’t bite a foot off.”
    â€œDidn’t say one did,” Stumpy replied. “I chopped it off myself when I was bit by one.”
    â€œYou chopped off your own foot?” Alexander said, aghast.
    Stumpy nodded. “Had to. I was alone, out to the line camp. It was a big un’ that bit me, and I knew I was a goner. I couldn’t suck out the poison on account I couldn’t get my foot to my mouth. So I taken an axe to it, then stuck the stump in the fire before I bled to death.”
    â€œHow appalling,” Alexander said.
    Not for Isolda. She found the man’s story as oddly exciting as everything else in this new and wonderful land. It brimmed with possibilities. She found herself wishing that Jericho and Scar Wratner had resorted to their six-shooters back there.
    She