*** A possible new book. Need feedback please. ( i know there is a problem with the Goldrush/time line)
With a flutter of her ostrich fan Lyra tossed the visiting Deputy Beau Callaster a sly look and then a wink ensued as she closed the door behind her off the dusty main street boardwalk.
His thoughts now interrupted, mental train totally derailed as he tried to recollect his composure. Her entrance into the intersactum of Buffalo's most law abiding office certainly threw him for a loop. He had never seen such beauty in the far reaches of western Wyoming where gap toothed, disease ridden ladies of the night seemed to be the norm not the exception. But this woman had an "air of sophistication" to the point that everyone stopped mid-sentence when she walked into a room.
"Madame Lyra".... the town sheriff drawled, drawing her name out like it was the fine scent of hybrid tea roses on the breeze. "May I introduce Deputy Callaster? He's here on "business" shall we say?" He left it hanging on the air as if one could assume their own interpretation of what that could possibly mean.
She extended a gloved hand and revealed the rest of her face as the fan slowly closed in her hand. The moment lingered as she took in his essence. Gritty from the long ride but handsome in way the years can chisel a young mans face into the fine features of maturity. A strong set jaw, full handlebar mustache and well spaced deep blue eyes. A touch of gray starting at his temples, giving way to hair that was still all his and black as coal. A simple western cotton shirt and riding trousers covered by a legendary brown duster that hung clear to his boots spoke volumes of his character and station in life. But what caught her eye the most was the gleaming Colt 45 holstered backwards, meaning he was left handed and quick enough to draw it that way with confidence.
Remembering his manners, Beau felt the rush of heat crawl past his grimy shirt collar as he quickly grabbed his Stetson off his head, tuffs of hair escaping the ponytail that attempted to capture the wildness of his crown. "Ma'am" was all he was able to muster as he reached for her hand. The fan hide no malady, jade green eyes with a slight tilt at the corners complimented the most porcelain skin he had ever seen. God certainly had made a master piece with this one. A near perfect mouth was framed by a waterfall of dark blond curls most of which of piled on her head but several tendrils cascading just past her shoulders. Tall for a woman in her day and miles of curves all in the right places.
The ride from Cody over Blackfoot Mountain gathering his posey and only stopping long either to change to fresh horses on the way was not as easy on his spine or his constitution as in the earlier days of his career.
Callaster cursed the necessity of it. Life was usually quiet in his own neck of the woods and he had retirement and a tidy little 100 head ranch right in his sights. But when the telegraph started chattering he knew his calling was to help his old friend Sheriff Hawkins. Even if it meant riding hard some hundred miles in the clutches of nighttime to lend a hand and help right a few wrongs.
Folks moving west and the discovery of gold in California hadn’t helped much either. With it followed crime and poverty, broken dreams and sudden richness, then just as quickly desperation when the money ran out.
All too often a resourceful breed of business men and surprisingly women took up residency too, pedaling all manner of goods and services leaving the broke a little broker and the rich most definitely a lot richer.The rush of folks passing through town was an interesting parade.It made him wonder what the Hell kind of promises were made of milk and honey and streets already paved with gold to the unsuspecting travelers back East.
Far too many were ill prepared for the rigors of such a journey and that’s what the trail bosses, general store owners, Elixcar peddlers, and saloon barkeeps counted on. Not to mention the trials and tribulations of wild Indians, bad weather, new diseases and the general discomfort of getting from point A to point B. It often was far too much for some folks to endure. So when a wagon wheel failed for the last time, or the last barrel of food rotted or was eaten long before the Golden State was in their sights they stopped and declared this spot was “good enough”.
Buffalo seemed to be one of those places, too far from California to go on, but on the other hand, far enough away from the crowded, dirty, industrialized cities to return. Since apparently no one had bothered to return back east and sqwelch the hopes and dreams of hoards of people willing to bank on a new life that seems filled with such promise. Wealthy land barons saw to it that those that did died trying.Such was the new influx of town’s people who had given up hope to continue on.Lucky for them it wasn’t a lawless place, that is if Sheriff Lyle Dean Hawkins had anything to say about it.
Copyright © 2011 lvanhorn All rights reserved.
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