Harlan was mentor to both Rusty Blackstone and Warren Weston when they were growing up, even though the two younger men are bitter rivals. The following two excerpts from A Montana Rivalry, book one of my Rodeo in the Blood series show a bit about those relationships.

 

July 3, 2019

Stampede Grounds

Cody, Wyoming

Warren Weston set up his panels for Zeke’s pen at the far back of the rodeo grounds. He fed and watered his horse and slipped in a twenty-minute nap in the topper on the back of his pickup. When he woke up, he checked Zeke and then unloaded his bicycle. He rode uptown to a steakhouse where he ate an early dinner. Alone, he ate at a leisurely pace, chewing every bite carefully and enjoying refills of his iced tea. He had a few hours to relax, and he wanted to make the most of it. 

   Although he wasn’t up until the next day, he found the rodeo secretary at the rodeo grounds and paid his entrance fee. One less thing to worry about. As he walked across the grounds, occasionally a cowboy nodded to him, but none greeted him with enthusiasm. Rodeo cowboys tended to be outgoing, especially if you were one of them. Warren acknowledged that he was not well liked. Now that it had faded, he realized that two years of anger had built a wall between him and the men who should have become friends. He didn’t care enough to do anything about it.

He sat on the back of the box during the steer wrestling and made written notes on the steers—how fast they broke, if they ran right or left, and his estimation as to the best timing for the barrier. He was trying to decide whether to watch more of the rodeo or head to bed when he heard someone say, “Hey there, kid.” He looked up and there was Harlan, his favorite person in the world. He broke into a big grin and was pleased to see Harlan smiling back. 

“Damn, old man, it’s good to see you,” he said as they shook hands. “You should have let me know you were going to be here. I could have gotten you in for free. I have a cell phone, you know.”

“Shit, I’ve got one of the damn contraptions, too. I guess I never thought about calling.”

“I haven’t seen you in a while. I don’t come to White Sulphur these days.”

  “I noticed,” Harlan said.

  “Do you know why?”

“I reckon I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

  “Good, I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “If you’ve got everything in hand, why don’t you come up in the stands and sit for a few minutes,” Harlan said. “I brought one of my old girl friends tonight and I can’t run off and leave her. I think we can squeeze you in.”

Harlan introduced his lady friend, Annie, who looked to be in her fifties, maybe twenty years younger than Harlan. She wore her blondish hair long, halfway down her back. Warren shook her hand and asked, “Have you known Harlan long?”

  “This man saved my bacon at the Mint Bar in Livingston five years ago. He’s been my best friend ever since.”

  “He’s a pretty good guy in my book, too,” Warren said and smiled ironically. “Only thing is, he’s the guy who got me started bulldogging steers. Like giving somebody their first snort of cocaine. And look at me now, chasing a dream and on my way to being a worn-out cowboy.”

  “Shit, kid, remember who asked me to teach him. I can’t help it that you turned out to have a weak character and got hooked.”

  Warren grinned broadly, “No, I reckon it isn’t anyone’s fault. I’ve just got bad genes.”

  They bantered and visited for a while. When the bull riding started, Warren got up to leave. Harlan said, “I saw you taking notes on the steers. You only saw a few. I’ve been here a couple of days and I’ve seen them all. Just tell me what you draw and who had it and I’ll know what he did.”

  “I have to write it down,” Warren said. “I don’t know how you can keep all those different runs in your head. But I appreciate it. I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

  As Warren walked away, Annie said, “He wears a black hat and creases it just like yours.”

  Harlan said, “Yeah, he’s got good taste.”

 

July 4, 2019

Stampede Grounds

Cody, Wyoming

Harlan and Annie strolled through the contestant trailers. They found Rusty saddling Apache. “Holy crap, Harlan, it’s good to see you,” Rusty said. “I kind of looked for you at Livingston. I didn’t expect you to turn up here.”

   “I’m full of surprises,” Harlan said with a grin. “This young lady with me here is Annie.”

   Rusty smiled and stuck out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. My old man wouldn’t like to hear me say it, but this old reprobate you’re with has been like a father to me.” Rusty noted that although Annie was no longer young, she was quite a bit younger than Harlan. He wondered if they were getting it on. He hoped so. That would mean the world was a better place than he’d come to believe.

   “Harlan said he’s known you since you were a little kid.”

   “He showed up in my life at just the right moment. Several times. I can’t tell him, but he’s my favorite person in the world.”

   Harlan shuffled his feet and said, “I’m the SOB who helped you learn to bulldog. I’m not sure you should forgive me for that.”

   “If I remember right, I asked you to teach me. I wasn’t very big and steer wrestling was a challenge, but I liked it. I still do.”

   “You’ve grown some since you started and you still bulldog a lot bigger than you are,” Harlan said. “There wasn’t nobody prouder than me when you won the World.”

   “Thank you. I was hoping to make you proud.”

   “Enough of this sob stuff,” Harlan said. “What steer did you draw?”

   “Seventeen, he’s the one…”

  “I know. Bill Watkins had him the first night, Riley Ledbetter and Ryan Campbell had him in the slack, and Wylie Martinez had him last night. Bill got out late and rode on by. Riley threw him in six eight. He twisted away from Ryan and Wylie threw him in ten flat. He breaks hard. He runs hard and straight. He tips his left horn down when you get your hands on him.”

   Nick and Casey came around the end of the trailer in time to hear Harlan ask Rusty what steer he drew. “Wow,” Casey said. “Is this the guy who taught you to keep an entire biography of every cow you meet in your head?”

   Rusty introduced his traveling partners to Harlan and Annie. Harlan said, “I didn’t teach him to keep all that stuff in his head, but I taught him the importance of knowing your cattle. Anyway, as I was saying, seventeen is not the best draw in the herd, but Rusty if you take a run at him and get ahold of him before he gets too far down the arena, he can be a money steer.”

   As Rusty finished saddling Apache, Harlan told Nick and Casey the pertinent facts about the steers that they drew.

   Saying goodbye and good luck, Harlan and Annie wandered on. They didn’t mention it, but Rusty figured they would be looking for Warren. Harlan was Warren’s friend, too. It was a fact that no longer bothered Rusty. Whenever they talked, Warren was never mentioned. Rusty assumed that he was never mentioned when Harlan talked to Warren.

 

Harlan and Annie found Warren taping down the wrap on Zeke’s leg. He stood up and said, “Twenty-three.”

   “You picked a good rodeo to draw the best steer in the herd. You have to let him move just a touch. Two of the guys who had him broke out. But the other two are winning first on him with a four one and third with a four four.”

   As they walked back to find their seats, Harlan told Annie about Rusty and Warren’s fight in the barn at age seven. “They’ve been fighting ever since. Well, maybe not for a couple of years. At least I haven’t heard about it. They’re both good kids. And they’re both tough. I’m proud to have played a part in their lives.”

“They both lit up when they saw you,” Annie said.

   “You might not believe it, because Warren is so much bigger, but Rusty whipped him every time they fought. Rusty’s dad moved them away for a few years, but after they came back, on the first day of the eighth grade, Warren thought he’d pick on Rusty and got knocked out cold. I never heard of Rusty fighting much otherwise, but he packs a punch.

   “It’s not just fighting either, take bronc riding or bulldoggin’. Pound for pound, Rusty’s the toughest guy I ever met. No quit either.”

“Wow,” Annie said. “That’s something coming from you.”

   “Warren’s big and strong,” Harlan continued, “but it’s been hard for him to learn to be tough. I’ve worked for his folks for years. When he was a kid, I felt sorry for him. His parents barely got along and were both extremely selfish. His mother spoiled him, made him think he was Montana royalty. At the same time, his dad made life more difficult than it needed to be, maybe to offset the way his mother treated him and to make him tougher. But poor Warren could never live up to what he thought his dad expected of him. There’s more to it than that but it’s not something I’m willing to talk about. I’ll just say Warren and his dad haven’t been on speaking terms for several years.”

“He’s a handsome devil,” Annie said. 

“Did you notice how relaxed he was when we were talking to him last night and again this afternoon?” Harlan asked. “He’s not always that way. Usually, it’s like he thinks he has to prove something and is worried he can’t live up to it.”

“I got a good impression of both Warren and Rusty,” Annie said. “Probably because it’s so obvious that they respect you.”

 

This excerpt is from A Montana Inheritance, book two in my Rodeo in the Blood series:

 

December 23, 2019

Belgrade, Montana

Corinne Blackstone leaned against the kitchen counter looking into the living area of her mobile home. She studied the most important man in her life. He leaned back with his head against the arm of the couch and his legs stretched out over most of its length, engrossed in a basketball game on television. She had something serious to talk about but hesitated, wondering if this was a good time. She’d promised her brother to keep it a secret and she had for two days, but this was too important. After a few seconds, she took a deep breath and moved forward. She lifted Warren’s legs and slid beneath them and held them in her lap. He reached and caressed her cheek with his knuckles.

“How’s the game going?” she asked. 

“Alright, I guess. It doesn’t matter much to me. It’s the third quarter and the Celtics are up by nine.”

Corinne reached for the remote and Warren handed it to her. She muted the sound and said, “I’m about to break a promise I made to my brother.”

“You mean Rusty? You can say his name in front of me.”

“Do you know that in all the years I’ve known you, that’s only the second time you’ve said his name in my hearing?”

Warren said, “I’m not going to tell you that we’ve made up, exactly. But as far as I’m concerned, our lifetime feud is at least in remission. I don’t know about him, but I don’t bear a grudge.”

“Well, let’s hope the truce holds.”

“Did he ask you not to tell me something?”

“He doesn’t want me to tell anyone. He didn’t mention you particularly.”

“So, what’s the big secret?”

“That morning after the Finals when Jenny sent Todd up to our room, she caught him and Amanda at breakfast. She told Rusty that Todd is his son.” Corinne felt Warren’s legs stiffen as if he were about to get up and then they relaxed.

“He’s my son. It says so on his birth certificate. No matter what, legally, I’m his father.”

“Rusty could still be his biological father. He told me that it’s possible.”

Warren’s legs stiffened again and this time he swung his feet to the floor. “Shit! That woman screwed me over from day one. I thought I loved her. I really believed she loved me. Now it turns out she was unfaithful from the start. Damn her black heart.”

Corinne scooted close enough that their arms touched and said, “Don’t judge all women by her.”

“My mom told me Jenny was nothing but a gold digger and social climber before I married her. I didn’t believe her.”

“Your mom would probably have said that about any woman you brought home.”

A small, ironic smile flitted across Warren’s face. “That’s true. She thinks her Montgomery blood makes us Montana aristocrats.”

“Here’s the thing: Rusty wants me to get a DNA sample from Todd.”

“You know, last summer when you brought him to Butte? When he got out of your car, I was looking at him and I couldn’t see any resemblance to me. You know the history. I had to wonder if he really was mine. I decided that if he looks like anybody, it’s Jenny’s uncle—the one that has the ranch up on the Snowys.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen her uncle.”

“The thing is, after Todd stayed with me for those three days during the Butte rodeo, I became kind of attached—more even than when he was a baby. After I caught Jenny and my dad in bed together, I didn’t see Todd very often and when I did, he just moped around like he missed his mother. He’s older now. He’s turned into a person. He talks. We do things and we have fun.”

“I told Rusty I’d get him a DNA sample. I just didn’t want to do it behind your back.”

“Biology be damned. I love the kid. Rusty beat me to win his bulldogging World Championship. He can’t have Todd.”

“I don’t think he wants to take Todd. I think he just wants to be a small part of his life.”

“Maybe.” Warren sounded doubtful.

“I suggest we get a sample from everybody—Todd, you, Rusty—and send it all in together.”

“You know about that thing with my dad. Do you think Todd could be my half-brother?”

“I doubt it. Didn’t that whole business with Jenny and your dad start a lot later?”

“I don’t know. I would hope so.”

 

This excerpt, also from A Montana Inheritance, takes place when all the rodeos had been canceled early in the Covid pandemic.

 

April 14, 2020

Lava Ridge Ranch

San Miguel, New Mexico

Rusty’s phone rang. When he answered it, it took him a minute to figure out who had called. Some woman was crying and trying to talk. Finally, Rusty said, “Doris, slow down. I can’t understand you. What’s wrong?”

“Kenny had a stroke this morning. I found him lying on the floor in the barn. They flew him to Helena. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“So, he’s still alive?”

“Yes, at least he was. I think he is. I hope he is. Oh, Rusty, I don’t know what I’m going to do. We’ve still got cows that haven’t calved.”

Rusty knew that Doris had never been a confident driver. She even hated driving the four miles into While Sulphur from the Double Nothing Ranch. “You’re too upset. Can you get one of your friends to take you to Helena? Somebody from church?”

“That’s just it, Rusty. When you get old, all your friends are either too old or already dead.”

“Doris, I’ll be there as soon as I can. But I’m over a thousand miles away so it will take me two or three days. My mom is here, too, or she could help you. Would it be all right if I called Harlan and asked him to give you a ride to Helena?”

“I don’t know him that well. I couldn’t ask.”

“You don’t have to ask him. He’s a pretty good guy, and he’s my friend. I’m sure he’ll help us out if I can get a hold of him.”

“Oh God, I wish you were here.”

When Rusty hung up, he asked his dad, “How much of that did you hear?”

“Some,” Chip answered. “Was that Doris Olds? Has something happened to Kenny?”

“Yes, to both questions. Kenny had a stroke this morning.” 

“I take it he’s still alive.”

“Doris hasn’t heard any different,” Rusty said as he dialed Harlan’s number. When his old friend answered, Rusty said, “I was hoping I could catch you in the house around lunch time.” Then he explained the situation. 

Harlan said, “You call Doris back and tell her I’ll pick her up in about an hour.”

When his phone calls were finished, Rusty leaned back in his chair and said, “I’m going to take my horses with me. I can either keep them at the Double Nothing or take them to Bud’s. That way I’ll have them if I need them, and they’ll be out of your hair.”

“Suit yourself. I’d be happy to take care of ‘em,” Chip said. “Do you want to take Poncho, too?

“If it’s all right with you.”

Chip said, “Fine with me.” He contemplated for a minute and then asked, “How old is Kenny? Do you know?” 

“When I talked to him in November and offered to buy him tickets to the National Finals, he said he was eighty-five. I think Doris is about the same.”

“A stroke is a bad thing anytime, but as old as Kenny is it’s very apt to kill him.”

“I think he might prefer dying to not being able to take care of the ranch and being a burden to Doris.”

“I never spent a lot of time with them,” Chip said, “But they seemed like real nice people They always treated me good.”

“If you’ll remember, you got me a job working for them when I was thirteen years old. It was a three and three-quarters mile walk from our house to the ranch. I spent all my free time at the Double Nothing until I went away to college and even then, I came back some weekends and summers before I quit school and took off rodeoing.” Rusty hesitated and then said, “Now, don’t take offense, but you were gone most of the time. They practically adopted me. Doris loved to feed me. Whenever something was bothering me, Kenny knew. He’d pry the details out and then give me good advice.” Although he was thinking it, given who he was talking to, Rusty managed not to say, ‘he was like a father to me.’

“So, you’re going to head up that way?”

“Yes, with Kenny laid up, Doris will need help. He’s cut back on cattle numbers from when I was there, but I think he still runs over a hundred head. Calving is not done. I’m sure they haven’t branded yet, and it won’t be long before it’s time to irrigate the hay meadows. They treated me like family. I owe them a lot. Even if the rodeos were going, I’d have to help. For a while anyway. Until they got a plan in place.”

“You were just saying you were bored.”

“I don’t know how long I’ll stay. Anyway, I’ll do what I can. When the rodeos start, I’ll find someone else to help them.”

 

This excerpt comes from A Montana Feud, the third book in my Rodeo in the Blood series. Although the Covid pandemic was still raging,  professional rodeo had resumed to a limited extent.

 

August 8, 2020

Buffalo Bill Rodeo

North Platte, Nebraska

As they pulled into the Nebraskaland Wild West Arena on the north side of North Platte, Rusty and Casey were listening to the audio version of Craig Johnson’s book The Dark Horse. Casey, who was driving, parked the truck. In a suspenseful part of the story, neither one of them wanted to get out. Casey killed the engine, but they sat there slightly embarrassed until, after a few minutes, all the electronics in the pickup shut off automatically. 

“Dammit, Rusty,” Casey said. “Now you’ve got me addicted to these stories of yours. I guess I could start up again.”

“Don’t you dare,” Rusty said. “We’ve only got an hour to get bulldogging on our minds.” He opened the door and got out. Casey followed. A hot wind swirled and ebbed and swirled again. They unloaded the horses. There was a dark cloud to the south.

“I don’t like the way this wind is gusting,” Casey said. “I hope it doesn’t mean that thunderhead is coming this way.”

“It looks like it’s well south,” Rusty said. “The river is between us and it. There’s probably an air current over the Platte that will push it away from us.”

“I hope so,” Casey said. 

More concerned about his horses than the weather, Rusty tied Apache to the trailer and watched as Casey walked Peanut around in a circle. The horse seemed to be walking without pain, at least not much. Rusty wasn’t sure but thought his strides were an inch or two short compared to his normal gate. “How does that wound look?”

“It doesn’t look too bad. The stitches are holding,” Casey answered. “It’s draining a little, but his chest is swelled up a bit.”

Rusty shook his head. “The vet said we could ride him as soon as we figured he was ready. I think we need to give him at least a few days off. I don’t want to ask him to run when he’s sore.”

Casey said, “He’s been stuck in the trailer all day. Why don’t I lead him around for a while, loosen him up? Maybe find him some water.”

“Okay,” Rusty said. “I’ll saddle Apache and go to the rodeo office. I’ll find someone to haze for us. When I get back, I’ll pony Peanut in the arena while I warm up Apache.”

Rusty encountered Wesley Martin, a former world champion steer wrestler who hauled a team of ‘dogging horses, outside the office. He was more than happy to haze for them. 

When Rusty rode into the arena, the announcer said, “Our next cowboy is Rusty Blackstone, the current World Champion. He calls that horse he is riding Apache. Apache might be a little bit on the homely side, you can see that for yourself, but he is one of the top two or three steer wrestling horses in Prorodeo. The last time I saw Rusty was at the rodeo in Minot, North Dakota over the Fourth of July. He was traveling with Casey Jones and Warren Weston. They have all competed at the National Finals. I teased them about coming in like a pack of wolves. I was right. They took nearly all the money.”

Rusty had drawn the good steer he had at the Phillipsburg, Kansas rodeo where he’d thrown him in 4.1. Considering the mud at that rodeo, he thought he could be faster on dry ground. Since the steer wasn’t terribly fast, he took a conservative start and threw the animal in 3.7. 

The announcer introduced Casey Jones as a National Finals Rodeo qualifier. “He travels with Rusty Blackstone who made a spectacular run here minutes ago. He’s riding Rusty’s good horse, Apache. As I mentioned a few minutes ago, he also got a big chunk of the money in Minot last month and is sitting about tenth in the standings right now.”

Casey threw his steer in 3.9.

“See, what did I tell you?” the announcer crowed after the run. “Only two thirds of the Wolf Pack and they still got a big chunk of the money.

Rusty ended up in second place for the rodeo and Casey third.

After the rodeo, Casey sat in the trailer looking at the road atlas. He said, “It would have been a lot quicker trip if we could have come here directly from Phillipsburg.”

Rusty laughed and answered, “If those rodeo committees had asked me, I’d have gotten them to set up the rodeos so that we could have gone from Sidney to Sikeston to Lawton to Dodge City and then to Phillipsburg and North Platte. I don’t know why they didn’t ask me. Would have saved us a lot of miles. Maybe we could get Ruby to organize them next year.” 

 

The following excerpt comes later in A Montana Feud, after Boomer and Rusty have rekindled an old family feud.

 

September 4, 2020

Montana’s Biggest Weekend 

Beaverhead County Fairgrounds

Dillon, Montana 

Up in the barrel racing slack on Friday morning, Ruby rose early and didn’t eat breakfast. The steer wrestling slack had been the day before, so Bud saddled Cinco and rode with her when she warmed up Willie. As they worked through the horses’ gates around the arena, Cinco acted calm and relaxed. When they slowed to a walk, Ruby said, “We’re gaining ground. Cinco isn’t even spooking from the flags this morning.”

“He’s doing great,” Bud said. “But I’ve been keeping him close to Willie. I volunteered to chase calves out of the arena during the tie down slack after the barrels. We’ll see how he does on his own.”

They rode along together for several steps. Bud asked, “How does Willie feel this morning?”

“All business, I think,” Ruby replied.

“There are at least two former world champions here this morning and a half dozen women who have made the Finals before,” Bud said. “You look awfully calm.”

“Look,” Ruby said. “With so many rodeos shut down. We’ve been running against the best in the world all summer. I don’t know if we’ll win or not, but if we make our run, we’ll get a piece of it.”

“You’ve really matured as a competitor this summer,” Bud said.

“It’s my horse. Willie doesn’t make many mistakes anymore.”

 

Standing at the top of the bleachers, Boomer Augustine pointed Ruby out to his wife. Maureen was a tall, broad-shouldered woman, with some bulk, the type of woman you might expect a man wanting to breed football players would marry. “That’s Ruby Blackstone on the big sorrel horse,” he said.

“I know who she is,” Maureen said. “I’ve seen her before. Isn’t her last name Holden?”

“That’s her married name. She’s a goddamned Blackstone.”

“So, what exactly do you want me to do?”

“When the barrel racing starts, everybody will be focused on the arena. According to the day sheet, Ruby will run twelfth. When she rides out of the arena, I want you to follow her to her trailer. With everybody over here, you’ll be mostly out of sight. “

“What if she doesn’t go to her trailer?”

“She may cool her horse out first, but she’ll go there within a few minutes and tie him up. I want you to confront her about putting the video of me and Rusty fighting on the internet. She had no call to humiliate me. And then, no matter what she says, beat the hell out of her. Don’t quit while she’s still conscious.”

“What if her husband shows up?”

“He’s not that big. Beat the hell out of him, too.”

Maureen followed Boomer to their semi where he dug a large wrench out of the toolbox. “Here,” he said. “In case Bud shows up, you might need this. Whack them with it a couple of times and that should take care of everything.”