The Wyoming sun was bright and the wind unusually mild, making it a perfect day for Medicine Bow's church picnic. It was Sunday; a day of rest for the town of ranchers and the small population of farmers.
Grasping her best friend's hand, Dixie squealed, "Come on, Evie, I want you to see him!" in thick southern accent.
Not yet into beaus, but relishing a day off work and to spend time with her friend, Evie skipped along beside her weaving through the clusters of families chowing down on picnic baskets of cured sliced beef, hard boiled eggs, and pickles .
"There!" Dixie yipped, pointing to a dark-skinned man, known as Stetson, standing amidst of wealthy ranchers enjoying glasses of fresh lemonade - a rare treat for people on the remote frontier.
"Dixie! Do you know who he is? He is Mr. Mason's son of Sweetwater Ranch!"
Dixie narrowed her eyes. "Of course I know who he is!" But Dixie knew what Evie had meant. Mr. Mason was a member of the Wyoming Stock Growers Association and one of the wealthiest land barons in Wyoming. And he was way out of her league.
"She is a cute little trick, isn't she?" Stetson slithered in a voice so sleazy that even a harlot would blush.
"She is indeed," replied Stacey. But it wasn't the busty blonde the young man was referring to, but the little redheaded temptress, standing barely five feet tall and flat chested, at her side. Capturing her gaze, he smiled at her; the kind of smile a man gives a woman letting her know that he is interested.
Stacey, being quite handsome and wealthy, was used to women flaunting over him. In fact, he had never been turned down. But this one did not return his interest, nor the smile. Instead she averted her eyes, coyish.
"Her name is Dixie and she is also the daughter of Lamar." The Virginian butted in.
Stetson, unaccustomed to wranglers - men below his status - joining in gentlemen's conversations, sneered. But knowing the Virginian's reputation with a gun and his friend Stacey's friendship with his foreman, he held his tongue. It was after all a day of rest.
"Lamar?" Stacey raised his eyebrows. "You mean that poor dirt farmer?"
The Virginian nodded. "Yep, that's the one."
Since Dixie was the daughter of a farmer, there was little doubt the girl at her side was also a farmer's daughter. Stacey's interest suddenly waned.
"That is what I like about her," snarled Stetson. "A man gets tired of harlots and loose servants."
"Do not underestimate a father just because he is poor. He loves his daughter just as much as a rich man. And he will fight for her too. And a fight is the last thing we need now that tension is already flaring between us and the farmers." The Virginian was referring to the conflict between the recent flood of homesteaders and local ranchers. The land barons, who had settled the Wyoming Territory when it was nothing more than a feral haven for wild animals and rebellious Native Americans, did not want to share what they had built through blood and sweat with newcomers, who had not earned the right to call Wyoming home. However, the United States Government felt differently and had issued land grants, encouraging poor families to farm the dry soil of Wyoming, despite the land was infernal and many of the homesteaders gave up and moved within two years.
"I am not scared of some dumb cracker, and neither should you be, Virginian."
"I am not. You missed my point entirely."
To cool the dispute, Stacey placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "A girl like that couldn't please you anyway. She is as innocent as the sun is bright."
Stetson winked at the little southern girl, still mooning his way. "And that is what I find most appealing."
Stacey did too, but he wasn't about to admit it out loud. Gentlemen were not suppose to talk that way about decent women - but then again, he wasn't much of a gentleman since moving to Medicine Bow with his grandfather and working among the brutish wranglers at Shiloh. Like Stetson, Stacey was heir to one of the biggest ranches in Wyoming, but unlike him, he worked sunup to sundown at the side of his wranglers. He regarded them as friends and respected them as if they too were wealthy cattle barons. Men were pretty much equal in Stacey's eyes - a quality he had acquired from his grandfather.
Crossing his arms, Stacey watched as Stetson strolled toward the simple plow girl, wearing a smile as bright as the prairie sun. He chuckled faintly, watching the little redhead shriek away. She obviously knew her niche, and it was probably best that she did.