"I have to go back to Boston first," Madison said, "but as soon as I can get away, we're going to New Orleans."

"After he's shown me how proper ladies behave, he's promised to show me the improper ones," Fern said, smiling happily.

"When will we see you back here?" George asked.

"Before winter. I'll let you know."

"And what are you going to do while Madison is hard at work?" Rose asked Fern.

"Go shopping." Fern made a face. "He told me I could buy all the dresses I want."

"I also told her she didn't have to buy a single one," Madison said. "I fell in love with her in pants. I won't mind being married to her the same way."

"But I will," Fern said. "People might not say anything to me, but they'd say a lot to you."

"It won't matter what anybody says."

"Yes, it will," Fern said. "I can't have you fighting half the people in Boston. It can't be that terrible to wear dresses all the time. Rose does it. But I sure wish I didn't have to find out."

Her new in-laws laughed at her.

"Madison has promised to take me to visit you in Texas. Please say I can bring my pants."

"You can bring anything you like," Rose promised, "hat, vest, or spurs. As long as you're on the Circle-Seven, you can do what you like and n.o.body will say a word."

Just then three riders turned the corner up the street and headed toward them at a gallop. A smile split George's face.

"Unless I'm badly mistaken, Fern, that's the rest of your in-laws."

"They're a little late," Madison said, sobering. Fern could tell he wasn't looking forward to meeting Monty.

Hen's double practically galloped his horse over the hem of Fern's dress before he threw himself from the saddle. "I rode h.e.l.l-for-leather all the way from Texas."

Two boys. .h.i.t the ground close behind him, one a towering beanstalk and one a spitting image of what George must have looked like at twelve or thirteen.

"I been trying to tell him he's got the wrong date," the younger one said, going straight to George, "but Monty never listens to n.o.body." "You said get here the twentieth," Monty said to George.

"That I did, but today's the twenty-first. Madison and Fern were married an hour ago."

"Son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h!" Monty cursed.

"This is James Monroe Randolph," George said, introducing his brother to Fern. "You'll have to forgive him. He's been talking to cows so long he's forgotten how to talk to ladies."

"Sorry, ma'am," Monty apologized, a becoming blush rising in his neck. "I'm just mad as h.e.l.l at missing the wedding."

"These other two tramps are Tyler and Zac," George said. "Be especially careful of the younger one. He looks harmless, but he's as treacherous as a sidewinder."

"I am not," Zac said, stepping forward. "I like ladies, especially pretty ones."

"Now I know where William Henry gets it," Fern said to Rose.

Monty shoved his little brother aside and stepped up to Madison. "So you finally came home, you son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h!" Without warning he slammed his fist into Madison's jaw, sending him to the ground. Then, to the amazement of his family, his scowl turned to a welcoming smile and he helped Madison to his feet. "Glad you could clear Hen's name. It had George and Rose in a stew." He looked around at the town with disfavor. ''This place doesn't look like much. What say I bring the boys up and burn it to the ground?"

"Is that how you show your brother you've forgiven him?" George asked, stunned.

"I didn't shoot him, did I?" Monty responded.

"A little rough and ready," Madison complained, ma.s.saging his chin, "but it's quick and to the point. On the whole I prefer it." "Before you do something else crazy" Rose started to say but stopped abruptly. Fern had stepped forward and delivered a powerful right to Monty's stomach. The air left his lungs with a loud "ufph" and he doubled over.

"Is that how you greet your brother-in-law?" Monty gasped.

"I didn't shoot you, did I?" Fern replied.

Author's Note.

At the close of the Civil War, Texans came home to find their most immediate wealth in the form of millions of unbranded longhorns, which roamed the brush and swampland between the Nueces and the Rio Grande. But a steer that was worth three dollars for hide and tallow in Texas was worth twenty-five to thirty dollars in an eastern market.

Unfortunately Texas longhorns were hosts to a tiny tick that caused splenic fevercommonly called Spanish or Texas feverto which the longhorns were immune, but which wrought havoc among northern herds. In 1866 Kansas and Missouri quarantine statutes forbidding entry to Texas cattle caused many herds to be turned away at the state line, some by vigilante action. The Texans had a fortune in beef, but no way to get them to market.

In the spring of 1867, The Union Pacific Railway swept along the north bank of the Smoky Hill River in d.i.c.kinson County, Kansas. These two circ.u.mstances might have remained forever unrelated but for Joseph G. McCoy. He envisioned Abilene as a shipping point for an endless supply of Texas cattle.

Despite the fact that bringing cattle into Abilene was illegal, McCoy obtained a verbal commitment from the Union Pacific officials, built a stockyard, and sent agents south to convince drovers to bring their herds to Abilene. By mid-August Texas longhorns nibbled on the lush upland gra.s.ses of d.i.c.kinson County.

However, the continued opposition of farmers and local ranchers combined with the advancing agricultural frontier to make 1871 Abilene's last season as a cattle market. The market gradually moved west until it reached Dodge, which remained the major market until 1885. Then the increasing influx of immigrants into western Kansas closed the trails forever.

Thus ended the twenty-year history of the Kansas cattle town, one of the West's most enduring legends.

end.