Roland had been anticipating this date for some time.  It felt to him as though he'd been thrust into the axis of pivotal events, and important decisions needed to be made to prevent a war- or win one.  He had his schemes, but they'd have to be put under the fire of scrutiny by those he trusted, and those he hoped to help.  This would also be his first opportunity to actually meet the residents of Lost Lake, beyond Mister Cantrell.

He was riding Ember as he came up to the meeting place Addy had designated.  They'd be riding up to Lost Lake together, accepting Quentin's generous offer of dinner.  Ember was carrying more than Roland this afternoon.  He had his rifle in the saddle scabbard, and a wrapped package besides.  That, and a bottle of Black St. Peters wine he'd procured from the local grocer, who kept a few such items on hand for those who desired to celebrate some event or other.  Birthdays and Weddings, Roland supposed.  

It would have felt strange to respond to this dinner invitation without bringing something.  Hopefully, the St. Peters' red would pair well with the Ranch's beef.

He paused atop Ember, wondering if he should wait for Addy to join him outside the warehouse, or dismount and seek her out.

The etiquette of the frontier was something he was still feeling out.

@[Bongo]

Longshot

Since this was more of a social call, Addy was wearing her 'Sunday-go-to-meetin'' clothes, a skirt of dark blue wool with thin horizontal grey stripes, and a matching long-sleeved, form-fitting bodice.  Her hair was twisted into a neat braid, and the ever-present slouch hat was jammed on her head.  She was riding her saddle mare, Arabesque, and the sorrel was in high spirits as Addy gave her her head to gallop the last little distance to where Roland was waiting for her.

"Afternoon!"  Addy grinned brightly, although their business was serious.  No one (mostly) wanted a range war, it wouldn't benefit anyone, and could likely spill over to and impact the town, dividing friends, like their own little Civil War.  Anything she could do to help stop that, she'd take on whole-heartedly.

"Nice day fer a ride, leastways, no rain!"  Laughing, she pulled Arabesque to a stop beside Ember.

Roland tipped his hat in friendly fashion, "Afternoon."

Addy was never what one might call 'classy' in her dress or manner.  That having been said, she was almost always clean and presentable when she wasn't hip-deep in mud or powdered with five layers of trail dust.  Fortunately, there'd me no mud today, thanks to the weather, as she'd noted.

He'd seen her in every state imaginable thanks to their time on the road and glimpses in town after.  But she'd never looked more bonny and bright than right now.  She had clearly put her best foot forward for the upcoming dinner meeting.  

And maybe- he flattered himself to think- she'd chosen her best look for him, as well.

Hubris, he chastised himself internally.

"You look delightful," Roland declared, "and that is a fine horse.  I've never seen you with any but those broad beasts that haul the freight."

Wheeling about his own horse, he gestured generally at the quarter of the world in the direction he presumed they'd be going.

"I will have to follow your lead- as per usual- as I haven't the faintest where anything is around this town.  I'm liable to meander and find myself in Shanghai."  He smiled and winked, adding a small 'har har' at his own joke.

"Is it very far?  I'd hate to turn up late for supper."

Not that he knew precisely when supper was to be had, either.  Things in small towns like this seemed to be generally indicated rather than precisely timed.

Bongo

"'Bout an hour north," Addy explained, turning Arabesque that way.  "Not much else out this way, and it's real pretty country."  She leaned to pat her horse on the neck.  "Them draft horses are good fer pullin', but not so much fer ridin'...real wide, makes fer an awkward seat."

Her cheeks burned bright red at the way that sounded,  but it was too late to take it back.  "Arabesque's a fine horse, easy ride."  Her grin turned mischievous.  "Reckon she could outrun that nag'a yers any day."  She gave him a wink.  "Don't got nothin' ta bet, though....pity."

It was only the sheerest force of will and gentlemanly comportment (drilled into him and not very honestly felt) that kept him from gambling a kiss as ante upon the contest she proposed.

Roland gave his odd 'har har' laugh, which might have sounded even odder given his English accent, and then patted Ember's neck.  

"I will wager one of Lickskillet's pies that Ember can best your Arabesque."  A sensible wager, as the winner would doubtless share a slice with the loser, anyway.  

"Though I will need you to make the purchase on my behalf if you win.   Which you shall not."  He urged his horse a little closer to hers, and extended a hand so that they could shake on it.

"To that big oak over there, some three-hundred yards out?"

Bongo

"A pie if ya will."  Addy gave his hand a firm shake with her gloved one.  "An' here I was thinkin' ya'd want somethin' like a kiss"  And maybe she'd been hoping that was what he would ask for, although the idea frightened the unflappable jeru.  Still gripping his hand firmly, she laughed, then shouted, "GO!"

At that, she released his hand, spun Arabesque around and dug her heels into her horse's sides.  "HEE YAW!"  Leaning low over Arabesque's neck, she gave the horse her head, not looking back.

The pure joy of riding at a gallop was invigorating, and adding the thrill of competition made it all the better!  As for Arabesque, she was more than happy to participate, and was up to the challenge!

Roland's mouth dropped open, his inner-self reeling at the indication of a lost opportunity.

Had she wanted him to-?  Had he missed out on-?

But then it was a GO! and she'd caught him flat-footed.

He snapped out of it and wheeled about to follow her.  The muscular machine of Ember's body thrummed as she galloped below him, and the rushing air threatened to whip his hat off of his head as he urged his horse faster and faster.  She was a horse with spirit, and she gave it all she had.

But Ember had spent the past six weeks in a train car.  Or tethered to a wagon.  Or in a stable.  Or trotting gently along at distances and at a pace that hadn't challenged her in any way..

She hadn't had proper exercise in recent memory, and her body wasn't as powerful as it could be.  He'd done her a disservice, and now she wasn't quite up to the challenge at hand.  Arabesque was contrarily a wonder- a suitable companion for the wild thing that 'Yee Hawed' on her back.

Still, it was close enough not to be an embarrassment.   He brought Ember to a halt near the indicated tree, breathing hard as though he'd been doing all the hard work.  Ember snorfled loudly, and he could almost take the noise as a promise to do better next time.  He patted her affectionately.

"I guess I owe you a pie," he said to Addy with a chuckle, "I'd much rather have been eating yours."

The words came out easily, and before he'd properly considered them.   

Bongo

It was a great race, and Addy knew that Roland wasn't holding back because she was 'a girl', and she appreciated a fair competition.  And it was very close, a few more strides, and Ember would have had the win!

Addy's cheeks were bright red with the thrill of the run as she spun Arabesque to face Ember.  "Good run!" she called, grinning. 

"I guess I owe you a pie," he said to Addy with a chuckle, "I'd much rather have been eating yours."

"That's right kind'a ya ta say," Addy said with a smile, "but once ya had a taste, ya'd like as not spit it out an' declare I was tryin'n ta kill ya!" (Poor girl was oblivious!)  "Now, though, I can cook a real good skunk stew, with grilled possum gizzards, if ya'd a mind ta try that!" She laughed and turned back on the road to Lost Lake. 

"Nah, that's a lie, ask Weedy 'bout my stew!  But I can cook chicken so's it won't poison ya, an' biscuits that might not break yer teeth!"  Well, she could cook enough to keep her and Weedy from starving, and it wasn't all inedible, and some of it was even pretty good, but she just didn't like cooking.  Too much fuss.

Roland's laugh was half with relief at not being better understood, and half for the mental image she'd managed to conjure.

"I might risk it," he opined, "I remember you did a fair job when we were at that way-station together."  Never mind that after the exertions of that day, he'd have ravenously eaten a mud pie.

Then he shrugged, "I can't claim any greater skill.  Somehow I have the patience for measuring out 70 grains of powder for a cartridge recipe, but none for fulfilling the precise butter and milk needs of a cooking recipe.  Something as simple as a pan cake might be a wonder one time and hard wood the other!"

He let out another one of his 'har hars' at that.  

"I can manage toast, eggs, and bacon most days, though.  And that's enough to get a soul moving.   That, and a good cup of tea."

As they resumed their voyage, Roland looked out at the eternal landscape of this country.  

"I wonder if you Yanks-"  He remembered then that 'Yankee' was an epithet to some in this region.  "that is, if you Americans realize how rare and wonderful this place you call home, is.  Land that goes on forever.  Infinite arboreal resources, endless grazing lands.  Endless cattle even, it seems.  I'd have thought the buffalo were endless, too, had I not heard differently.  It certainly seemed so, from what I'd read in England.  Millions of them stampeding across a thousand miles, and still not trampling the half of it.  Too much land to trample it all, even in a thousand years."

The United States was so large that it was almost incomprehensibly so from someone who'd lived their entire lives in England.  The idea that so much territory could ever be filled up or used up was beyond the scope of imagination.

"It is crazy to think of two ranchers competing over one small patch when there's so much to be had."

Bongo

"I don't know much on them cattlemen," Addy explained, "but I do know some'a their contraryness comes from th' land...there's plenty, that's right, but ain't all good fer one use or another."  She shrugged.  "But, just 'cause there's lots don't mean it's good fer what they need.  Can't be too steep, needs some kinda water around, some has better grass than other."

There were all sorts of factors that went into cattle grazing, and more than one 'war' had been fought over the best grazing land.  "Gotta be sure there's no poisons like jimsonweed, water ain't alkaline, ain't Indians roamin'...an' a man can be mighty protective that his cows get th' best, so's they can fatten up an' get more at market."

Of course, there were other factors, like ego, or just plain meanness, and when it came to losing money, a body could be real mean!