Stony Boyles (WIP)

Winston Boyles stepped out into the Arizona heat. It was one of those days so dry that the dust gave the air a dull yellowish appearance. Still, it was bright enough to make him squint from under the brim of the slightly-too-large cowboy hat perched on his head. He winced as the new western boots he wore pinched his toes and chaffed his heels. He could almost feel the blisters forming.

Already he was having regrets that he had taken Paul Questor’s wager that he could not handle a cowboy’s life. However, after Paul pretty much indicated that he was nothing but a sissified city boy, Winston’s anger and resentment set his mouth in gear to accept the challenge. The stakes were not very large, a mere thousand dollars, each, was handed over to the treasurer of the exclusive Bostonian men’s club to hold until the wager was complete.

Arrangements had been made with Harry Anderson (whose father made his fortune in the cattle business) for Winston to stay at one of the smaller ranches that were used predominately as a layover for cattle drives. Russell “Rusty” Gantry, the man who ran the ranch, would see to it that Winston was shown all the ropes, so to speak.

Winston hadn’t minded the hours he spent on the train. His father’s private Pullman car gave him all the comforts of home. Being the son of a prosperous train magnate had its advantages and his father did not think it was a bad idea for his son to be occupied for the length of the three months time.

“Son, “ the elder Boyles started saying, “this is probably just the thing you need to make you a stronger man. You know I built this business on sweat and hard work and I don’t want to hand the business over to you. Even with your college education and fine up-bringing, you need to know what it is like to gain something through hard work and fortitude.”

“Aw, Dad! I keep telling you! I don’t want the business! I want to start something on my own,” Winston said, then flushed when he realized he didn’t know what that something was. “I think I want to get into producing those new horseless carriages that are becoming the way of the future.”

That started another intense argument between the two Boyles men, but they put it on hold for another time. Winston needed to get moving to meet the three-month deadline to fulfill the wager.

The remaining four hours on the stagecoach left a lot to be desired as it traversed the rough terrain to the Rattlesnake Bend Ranch. Now there was no going back. He had to go through with the wager, if for nothing else, to prove himself to Paul, his father and to himself.

“Mister Boyles? Are ya ready to git started?”

With his thumb, Winston pushed back his hat so he could see who was speaking to him. At first glance, it appeared to be a young, skinny lad of maybe no more than eighteen years, dressed in pants and a plaid cotton shirt. The second glance stole his breath away. The lad was actually a young woman with short, honey-blonde hair and the most striking blue eyes Winston had ever seen.

“Mister Boyles?”

Winston shook himself out of the angelic enchantment, “Yes, I’m ready, Miss…”

“Angie, no Miss,” the sweet vision said.

“Then no Mister Boyles, the name’s Winston.”

“Winston, eh? Well that sounds too citified. Let’s jest call you Stony.”

“Fair enough, Stony it is,” he replied. He rather liked the new moniker.

“C’mon, time for some cattle ropin’ lessons. I’m gonna put ya on Maggie. She is gentle and a good ropin’ horse, but she can be stubborn when she wants to be,” Angie spoke as she walked over to the corral where a pair of rugged looking horses were saddled and tethered inside.

“I think I can handle her, Angie. I’ve been riding since I was old enough to walk.”

Angie squinted back over her shoulder at Stony. He could not help but notice the smattering of freckles across her nose and over the apples of her cheeks, “These ain’t no thoroughbreds, Stony. They won’t have the manners yer accustomed to.”

“I’ll be fine, Angie.”

“Okay, you say so, but you’ve been warned, “Angie responded, a twinkle of mirth in her blue eyes.

For an hour, Angie showed Stony how to loop, hold, twirl and toss a lasso. Stony managed quite well to quickly, and successfully, drop the lasso over a fencepost from within the confines of the corral.

“Now, let’s see if I can do this for real,” Stony said with confidence.

“Hold up, Stony, you might be wantin’ to practice on horseback with a fencepost before you tackle a cow.”

“Nah, this should be easy. Set a cow loose for me, please.”

Angie shrugged and walked over to the pen that held an anxious looking heifer, put her hand on the latch and waited for Stony to mount up on Maggie. Sometimes city slickers had to learn the hard way.

Stony found the western saddle quite different from the compact English saddle he was use to using. The stirrups were let out to a longer length as opposed to the shorter lengthened stirrups of the English saddle to allow for the bobbing motion of posting. He eyed the saddle horn nervously. The pommel was an added attraction that was missing on the sleeker counter-part. With a cluck of his tongue and a light kick of his heels into Maggie’s flanks, she set off into an ambling walk. She really wasn’t a bad horse, responding well to his hand and leg signals.

“Ready, Stony?” asked the girl, the corner of her mouth lifted into a sneer.

“Let her rip!” the young Bostonian responded, resetting his one handed grip on the reins and making sure he had the lasso at the ready with the other.

With a loud whoop, Angie yanked open the gate and the cow darted out with a frightened bawl. Stony was off with a swift kick to the mare’s ribs. Maggie’s instincts took over and she was after the cow in a flash.

Stony twirled the lasso twice over his head, let go and watched it settle over the cow’s head. With a yip, he leaned back into the saddle and pulled back on the rope. Maggie followed suit; skidded to a stop, bracing all four of her legs to set the rope. Only trouble was, Stony didn’t know he was supposed to have the other end of the lasso looped around the saddle horn. Stony was airborne. His hat flew in one direction while he flew in another, coming to a sudden landing in big puff of dust. Fortunately, he had let go of the rope and didn’t go for a bone jarring drag behind the frightened cow.

Angie rushed over to him, her face pale. “Stony! Are you okay?”

He just laid there, flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him. Angie set him up with strength wrought by adrenaline, letting his torso lean against her for support.

Stony coughed a couple of times, wiped a mix of tears and dirt from his eyes and looked at her. A smile crossed over his lips, “I am now.”

Yep, this was going to be one interesting and tough three months for Winston “Stony” Boyles.

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The first month of Stony’s rigorous training went on without further serious bodily injuries. He learned very quickly that he did not know everything. This was a very humbling event for the young man who had always lived a very easy life in the embrace of family wealth. Stony was coming to appreciate his father’s wisdom in allowing him to undergo what was now no longer just a wager between headstrong young men, but an initiation into manhood. He made a mental note to thank his father upon returning home.

In retrospect, Stony looked back over the past month and all he had endured and learned. His lesson in cattle roping taught him that he didn’t know it all. He spent hours baling hay, digging postholes, and learned to respect barbed wire. He learned how to care for horses, something he never had to do in Boston. There were stable hands that cared for the horses on his father’s estate. Rusty even taught him how to shoe a horse.

He also learned that he wasn’t as physically fit as he had thought he was. After doing ranch chores, he experienced numerous aches and pains. Blisters, cuts and scrapes were common occurrences. He even got a nasty sunburn after digging postholes under the unforgiving Arizona sun without a shirt on. Angie did her best to alleviate some of the stinging pain with cloths soaked in vinegar and the pulp from aloe vera plants. Stony thought he would never get the scent of vinegar off his skin, but he now sported a deep rich tan.

As for Angie, Stony was totally smitten with her. She was not like any of the girls he knew in Boston. Where the girls he knew were all from money and very spoiled, Angie was frugal and independent. Boston girls knew how to organize a formal dinner party; Angie knew how to cook a stick-to-your-ribs meal. The city girls could co-ordinate fashionable attire bought from some of the most prestigious dress shops in Boston; Angie looked great in a simple gingham dress that she had made herself. Of course, she only wore dresses on Sunday and on the few days that she worked in the ranch house. Where the gentile city women had college educations, Angie had only a grade school education. But Angie had something a lot of the city women didn’t have, common sense.

Angie could and would do any kind of work that one would imagine the men on the ranch would normally be doing. Stony had seen her with his own eyes, muck out stalls, brand and wrangle cattle, haul bales of hay from a wagon to the barn and shoe a horse. He was left in awe when he watched how agile she was on the back of a horse. Overall, he admired the young woman’s abilities that were matched with her simple beauty.

The second month of Stony’s stay at the ranch entailed a two week long cattle drive of a small herd of heifers with calves.