Montana Sky
an excerpt

“Who are ya and what do ya want?” the man growled with an accent that made Ethan wonder momentarily if the man had only turned to forging metal after a career as a pirate.

“I’m Ethan Campbell. I’ve just moved to Fort Benton and I was told to come here to discuss some business. Are you Mr. Crawford?”

“Crawford? Yup, that’s me. What kind of business you got here?”

“Two things. I need a good recommendation on a horse, and I need to see some of Mr. Sullivan’s saddle work.”

“Let’s get to the horse first,” Crawford said. Ethan could tell immediately the man was quite passionate about the subject. “Ya owned one before?”

“Yes, several.”

“Good. So ye have a genral idea what you’re lookin’ fer?”

Ethan could not resist a small smile. “Generally speaking, yes.”

“Well, give me some specifics. You want one to tame, or one that’s broken in? Young, old, male, female? Work horse or high-spirited?”

“I’m hoping to find a high-spirited young male. I’m not looking for a mustang, but I’d like the fun of doing some training. I’d like to find one that hasn’t been put on the bit yet.”

“I know jest the one,” Crawford said, with an emphatic pound of his fist on the workbench. “A feller was in here jest yesterday tryin’ to get rid of one like that. I told him I didn’t know anyone lookin’ for a high-spirited animal, but I don’t reckon’ he’s been sold yet. I’ll stop by after I close up shop if’n he doesn’t come by today, and if you’ll come back tomorrow, I’ll have the horse waitin’ in a stall fer ya.”

“What price is this man asking?” Ethan wanted to know before committing.

“Ah, yeh can haggle over price after you get a look at him. May not even be what yeh want. But as for the second matter, you’ll find Sullivan yonder.” He swung his arm out to point, nearly knocking off Ethan’s hat in the process. “He’s workin’ on a saddle now.”

“Thank you,” Ethan said, eager to get to the white-headed man in the corner who looked a great deal more civilized than Mr. Crawford.

“Excuse me, Mr. Sullivan?”

Joseph looked up from the stirrup he was inspecting. “Let me guess,” he joked. “You’ve come for a saddle?”

Ethan liked this man instantly. “No, not exactly,” he replied, grinning. “I’m actually a saddlesmith myself, and was curious to see your work. My name is Ethan Campbell. I arrived here from Pennsylvania yesterday and Jedidiah Matthews tells me you’re the best in Fort Benton.”

Joseph threw back his head with a hearty laugh. “It’s easy to be the best when you’ve got no competition.” He stepped back from the saddle. “It’s nothin’ fancy, but you’re welcome to look.”

Ethan circled the saddle, lifted it up to inspect the lining, and set it down again. He gave a firm tug on each of the stirrups and the buckle. “Your craftsmanship is commendable,” he told Joseph, running a hand over the leather. “How many years have you done this?”

“Oh, better’n forty,” Joseph said with a shrug. “You?”

Ethan chuckled. “Not nearly that long.” He decided to take the man into his confidence. He was in need of an honest opinion and Mr. Sullivan struck him as the type to give one. “Sir, in Philadelphia I owned a shop with a reputation for the finest custom saddles anywhere in the original colonies. The sort of saddles rich gentlemen ordered to exhibit their wealth, or give to their wives for birthday or anniversary presents. Many war veterans who still ride to remember their glory came to me because I crafted the most comfortable and stylish saddles you could find east of the Mississippi. But now those customers prefer their horsepower in the form of an automobile, and I’ve come west to preserve the life of my business. Is there a need for those kinds of saddles here?”

Joseph shook his head. “Not in Fort Benton, Now Helena might be the city for your wares, but I imagine they’re not far behind Philadelphia in their desire for the automobile.”

Ethan tried not to let his disappointment show. “Well, thank you for your honesty,” he said as he turned to leave.

“Mr. Campbell, do you know how to craft a basic saddle, without any fancy extras or custom doodads?”

Ethan turned back around. “Well of course. Every saddlesmith worth his salt does. But you are the saddle and harness man in these parts, and from what I’ve seen in Fort Benton, there aren’t enough people and horses to demand enough work for two craftsmen. Besides, I could never compete with your years of experience or rapport with the locals.”

“What if I wasn’t any competition?” Joseph asked. When Ethan’s brow furrowed in confusion, he explained, “You see, I’m thinkin’ you’re the answer to my prayers.”