AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“But what, Brenda?” That sort of lubricant to keep people’s jaw’s moving was second nature.
“I wouldn’t have heard a vehicle if he had an ounce of brains. Because anybody with an ounce of brains would park right as it got to the bridge. Not only wouldn’t make the clattering that crossing the bridge raises, but the creek masks the sound of most vehicles before they get to the bridge. And another thing—” She turned a glare on Wendy. “He’s not acting like anybody’s told him no about buying Elk Rock.”
“I can’t help how the man acts,” Wendy snapped. “I told him it’s not for sale. If he won’t listen or doesn’t understand the word those two letters make, that’s his problem — and yours if you take him with more than a grain of salt.”
Wendy jerked her hands up.
“Not my problem. Not how he acts. Not what you think. My problem is getting the tack inventory done. And that’s what I’m going to do.”
With what might be a signature move, she turned on her boot heel as she had yesterday, though this time she headed toward a lean-to structure alongside the barn.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I half expected Brenda to complete a similar maneuver — though likely in the opposite direction.
Instead, she said, “Don’t let her getting sharp about calling this a guest ranch bother you any. A lot of folks use the terms interchangeably.”
“But not Wendy.”
“No.”
“How does she differentiate?”
“Well, she told you her definition of a dude ranch — that’s us. Having people pay to come here and get a flavor of being on a ranch. Not enough to choke them, mind you. But also not having folks loll around on deck chairs being fed strawberries by hand right into their mouths like some of those spa places.”
“So, a middle-of-the-road dude ranch.”
She smiled and nodded. “Pretty much. Now a guest ranch, to Wendy’s thinking is a ranch that has guests come. And guests don’t pay because... well, they’re guests. So, yeah, there are some rich folks with ranches who invite friends and family to spend time, sometimes lots of time, with them. And to Wendy, those are guest ranches.”
Some rich folks... But not her?
Interesting.
“Is that how other people separate the terms, too?” Best to be sure of the definitions for my Wyoming Speak dictionary.
“Pretty much from what I’ve heard. In fact, you could say that’s how dude ranches came to be. You heard about that?”
“I haven’t.”
It was an invitation to repair my ignorance and she did.
“Three brothers called Eaton from Pennsylvania bought a ranch in the Dakota Badlands. Loved it so much they were writing letters to their friends back east telling them how wonderful it was, and inviting them to come visit — as guests. One of those letters got in a New York newspaper where a guy named Teddy Roosevelt—” Her mouth quirked in self-deprecating humor. “—read it and he got himself right out there. Loved it so much he bought his own ranch in the area, became friends with the Eatons, then wrote a book about it.
“Trouble was, they were becoming victims of their own success and the view in Western hospitality is that a guest didn’t pay. They figured one year that they’d fed 2,200 free meals. Throw in some winters bad enough to cut their livestock count near to the quick, a depression in the mid-1890s, and the spread of railroads dropping cattle prices, and ranchers were hurting. They set out their first guest book and charged ten dollars a week. By 1903, they left the Badlands and bought a place outside Sheridan — Wolf Creek. Been there ever since. Considered the granddaddy of all dude ranches.
“And the thing is, the railroads spreading out that dropped the cattle prices and hurt ranchers that way, also made it possible to bring in more visitors — dudes. Keefe used to say that’s the way it was with a lot of things. What looks like all a good thing will turn out to have dark shadows. And what looks like it’s all black clouds will have sunlight just behind it.
“But as I said to start, not everybody sees a difference.”
“Thank you. Very interesting history.” And more succinct than I’d get from Mrs. P. Which was precisely one of those situations she’d just described — faster but less detailed information. “Sounds like Keefe was something of a philosopher.”
“If that means he liked to talk your ear off, then he most definitely was not a philosopher.” Hard to tell if her chuckle was at her own witticism or fond memory of Keefe. “I sure wouldn’t ever accuse him of being the sort Robin talked about.” A quick spasm of distaste wrinkled her nose.
“What sort is that?”
“All the new age nonsense. Finding yourself and all that. To Keefe, you were yourself all the time, up or down, sideways or heading straight. Still all yourself, so nothing to find.”
“A practical philosopher, then... A modern-day Will Rogers.”
