Longhorn Country (2 page)

And never would.

‘Before she died in my arms, your Ma – my dear Katy – told me she had a four old son, fathered by that red devil, Yellow Wolf. She got me to promise with her last breath I’d raise you and take care of you for the rest of your life – It’s a promise I’ll keep. But you’ll never have my name and you’ll never be called “Adam” like she named you in this family. Katy married a man called Blaine because of family
pressures
, but we both knew we had been meant for each other. She never broke faith with Blaine and I never tried to make her. And I stayed true to Gracie till she died…. I’m damned if I’ll use your Injun name and while it churns my belly, “Blaine’s” what you’ll be called within my hearin’ from now on. It’ll be a constant reminder of my promise to Katy…. Man, I loved that woman so! If only we’d….’

But he’d said enough that day.

‘I’ll work hard for you, Morgan,’ the boy had said flatly. ‘I’ll give you your money’s worth.’

It was a cold, cocky tone, almost contemptuous. O’Day had flushed with anger then, came close to slapping that dark, narrowly-handsome face.

‘That don’t enter into it!’ he snapped. ‘I don’t give my word lightly – to anyone!’

‘Nor I, you’ve taught me that much.’

O’Day still could call up the way the child-Blaine had stared back at him. Face narrow and sober, the
eyes disturbing and unflinching, looking at him the way he looked at every white man and woman with that same stubborn pride and ‘don’t-push-
me-around
’ contempt that Morgan O’Day knew he had inherited from Yellow Wolf.

At times he woke sweating in the night, wondering what else Blaine might have inherited from that savage.

Round-up was almost over and the final branding and preparations for the trail drive were proceeding well, when Kitty O’Day came back to Broken Wheel from her College For Young Ladies in St Louis for the summer break.

Morgan had seen that she was named ‘Catherine’ but while Gracie was an easy-going wife, and knew she had been married on the rebound, she drew the line at calling her daughter ‘Katy’: it would be too much of a reminder of her husband’s unrequited love for Katy Blaine. She had insisted that everyone call the baby girl Kitty and Morgan had let her have her way – there were some whirlpools in his conscience about the way he had treated Gracie from time to time, knowing he had made a convenience of her after Katy had been forced into her marriage with Adam Blaine. Who, when you got right down to it and, in some private moments, Morgan allowed, was not so bad, and had likely taken Katy as wife
when he would have preferred some other woman. (Morgan was wrong there – Adam Blaine had loved Katy truly and ended up dying for her to prove it so, when he had stepped into the path of a bullet meant for her during a stage hold-up.) Not that it mattered now – that had been nigh on twenty years ago….

Kitty had inherited all Gracie’s good looks, was a long-legged, coltish kind of girl, although she was now twenty-two years of age, a couple of years younger than Blaine. She knew Blaine was interested in her but while she was virtually the only white person he ever smiled at – or laughed with – he was careful to hide any show of affection from Morgan and Lucas or anyone else. She was also ‘interested’ in Blaine but after being with some of the other ‘young ladies’ at Madame Le Charme’s college she
sometimes
teased him. The older ‘young ladies’ had assured her this was the thing to do, and while she enjoyed it in one way, she was always kind of sad when she saw how he tried to hide the small hurt he felt each time.

She was a breezy, bright young woman, and every man who worked on Broken Wheel worshipped her, and kept an inconspicuous eye on her when she rode alone on the range or into a part of the large ranch they considered held danger of any kind.

Kitty knew this and found it gave her a quiet thrill to know so many tough men were doing this on her behalf. One of her friends at college, Miss Christina McGovern, of the Colorado McGoverns (discoverers and owners of the richest gold mine in the Territory) told her that what she felt was a thrill of power.

‘Don’t be silly, Christy!’

Christina was far more sophisticated and worldly than Kitty O’Day – even told Kitty in confidence that she had slept with two different men, one almost as old as her father – and she assured her that it was indeed
power
that thrilled her so. ‘Women can control men, make them do whatever they want – just let them have their way occasionally to keep them happy and a young lady can go through life with everything she desires.’

‘Oh, Christy, that’s – that’s an awful thing to say! If Madame heard you….’

‘Pooh on Madame!’ Christina said recklessly, and showed Kitty the sapphire pendant she wore close to her breast beneath the mandatory choke-collar that was part of the college dress. ‘It’s set in gold on a gold chain – my latest beau gave it to me.’

Kitty admired it but flushed as she said, ‘I’m afraid to ask what you had to – do – to get it.’

Christina laughed, pushed her friend’s shoulder gently. ‘You know darn well – and I like it, so where’s the harm?’

‘But – when you get married. Your husband will – want you – pure!’

‘D’you think I don’t know how to act like a virgin? There’s nothing simpler, Kitty O’Day. You should grow up – you can’t be a child forever….’

‘Well, I think perhaps I’ll stay a “child” a little longer….’

But Christina McGovern had aroused a certain curiosity in Kitty that made her blush even when she was alone and she allowed herself to think of how it
must be for a man and woman to be together….

As usual, Blaine saddled the grey, dappled Arab for Kitty on the first morning she was home and had it waiting when she appeared on the porch of the big log and riverstone ranch house. He had his black saddled, too, and was disappointed to see Kitty was not wearing her riding clothes.

‘Your horse awaits, lady,’ Blaine said and anyone else hearing him use such levity would stop dead in their tracks. For Blaine was known as a sober man, rarely smiling, taking life very seriously.

‘Oh, hello, Blaine.’ Kitty gave him a smile, warm enough, but fleeting. She seemed distracted in some way, looking beyond him to the activity in the pastures where the herd was gathering. ‘You’ll be going on the drive, I suppose.’

He nodded, eyes watching her closely now,
bringing
a slight flush to her cheeks. ‘Couple of days and we’ll be on the trail – doesn’t give us much time. Are you coming for our usual ride…?’

She hesitated, let her hazel eyes slide to him and just as quickly away. ‘I – don’t really feel like riding today, Blaine – I’ll leave it, I think – but don’t
unsaddle
Sunny. I may go a little later.’

Disappointment was plain on his face but he covered quickly. ‘I’ll tether him in the shade – later, we have to get the trail brands on the last bunch and tomorrow Morgan wants me to burn a firebreak on the ridge. Day after, we’ll be headin’-em-up and startin’ for railhead….’

Her look and tone softened. ‘I – I’m sorry, Blaine – But, truly, I’m not feeling all that well this morning.
In fact, I’ve been off-colour for a couple of weeks now – I’ll see you before you go.’

He hesitated. ‘You’ll be gone back to college before the trail drive’s over.’

She nodded. ‘I said I’m sorry, Blaine! There’s nothing I can do about it!’

She turned abruptly and went into the house. He frowned, started to lead the Arab towards the trees and shade. He scowled when he saw Clem Hardesty carrying a pack frame and straps crossing the yard, the man grinning from ear-to-ear, his bruises and swellings giving his face a lopsided look.

‘What’s funny?’ Blaine asked quietly.

Hardesty stopped. ‘You dunno? You don’t
recognize
the brush-off when a gal gives it to you?’ He shook his head, still chuckling. ‘Oh, man! You got plenty to learn about women! She’s got herself a boyfriend back East, bet my britches on it.’

‘Get on with your chores, Clem,’ Blaine told him mildly and tethered the horse under the tree. ‘You’re lucky to still have a job.’

But he threw a puzzled look towards the house before he started for the corrals where his own horse waited patiently.

He rode out towards the pastures and Lucas, sitting at a portable table set up under some
cottonwoods
, called him across.

‘Blaine, I want you to check my count—’

Blaine took the heavy, leather-bound tally book, glanced at Lucas. ‘Down much?’

‘That’s just it – I make it almost a hundred more than we expected.’

‘Hell, Hardesty and Rendell were s’posed to cut out any cows from the other spreads three days back.’

Lucas shook his head. ‘They’re not to blame – I checked with them. They said they did the job, all right.’

‘I’ll believe that when I see for myself.’ He swung into saddle and lifted his reins, but before setting the black moving, asked casually, ‘You notice Kitty’s not so bright this time home?’

Lucas frowned slightly as he glanced up. ‘Oh? Well, who knows with women? Specially young snooty ones like my sister – I’d like to know what
really
goes on at those socalled “Ladies Colleges”.’

Creases cut two knife-strokes between Blaine’s grey-green eyes. ‘What’s that mean?’

Lucas made an impatient gesture. ‘Oh, you know – young women away from home. Slippin’ out from the dorm at night. Hell, I used to do it all the time when Pa sent me to Cattleman’s College in Austin…. There’s a “Young Gentleman’s” School just down the street from where Kitty goes – wouldn’t be surprised if she’s got a boyfriend.’

He looked sharply at Blaine: he had been talking idly, half his mind on his books, but saw now that Blaine was seriously worried and Lucas couldn’t resist twisting the knife he had unintentionally plunged into his half-brother. ‘Likely had some kind of lovers’ tiff. She’ll get over it … Er, I think Alamo’s waiting for you to help with that branding….’

Blaine wheeled the black without a word and rode swiftly towards the herd and the impatient figure of Alamo Ames, Morgan’s trail boss….

The burn-back was a hot, filthy job and it seemed to be one of the hottest days Blaine could recall. He had brought a couple of hands with him and a
buckboard
carrying casks of river water and several pails – just in case the fire got out of control.

There was a rising wind, and its breath was like the blast from the maw of a furnace. Blaine had told Morgan it might be best to wait for a calmer day but O’Day was adamant.

‘You’ll be off on the drive tomorrow or the next day – you’re good at burn-backs, Blaine. I want that ridge cleared into a firebreak before you leave. If it was to go in a brushfire, it’d jump the river easily and sweep right on up here to the house. Besides, burnin’ off over-growth’ll give the grass a chance to grow through and we’ll have useable pasture for the herds … Indians know the benefit of burnin’ back.’

Blaine didn’t argue but he saw the shrewd look in the Old Man’s grey eyes. It wasn’t often he reminded Blaine of his ancestry but when he did, he was never subtle about it … even if he believed he was.

It was a hell of a job, kept him and his two helpers on the run for hours and finally he had to send down for more men. The wind’s direction had changed and the fire was sweeping towards the river. If the wind kept working around to the north it would lend the flames enough impetus to leap the river and reach the home pastures.

His clothes were singed and ragged, his skin
blistered
here and there, a couple of places with burned
flesh showing redly. His eyes stung and his throat was hoarse with a hacking rawness. His lungs felt hot and he was dizzy. Two of the other men had passed out with the heat and had to be doused with water. Smoke drifted down towards the herds and set the cows into restless bawling. Blaine figured they had most of the fire under control now and sent back the two men who had passed out to help Alamo and the others.

The other two cowboys were in singed rags just like Blaine and he told them they could tip the last of the cask water onto the fire and then go back to the ranch for lunch and clean-up.

‘I’m gonna wash-up in the river, and make sure there’s no slow-burns left on the bank—’

The men departed and he made his way down the blackened, smouldering slopes to the river, walking along a half mile each way to check there were no sparks or hot embers. He found a couple of suspect places, stepped into the muddy river and scooped handfuls of water over them.

Looking around, back up the blackened slope of the ridge, he studied it for a few minutes then tore off the remains of his shirt, bunched it up and flung it onto the bank. He sat down, pulled off his boots and drained the river water out of them, then stripped off his trousers and waded out knee deep. He sat on the gravelly bottom, scooped up handfuls of coarse sand and scrubbed his body and arms and legs, rubbed hard at his face with water only, dousing his head a dozen times and shaking his thick black hair out of his eyes and ears.

With water still dripping from him as he sat there, he started to rise, then froze. He had heard
something
.

Holding a breath, ignoring the soft trickling sounds of the river and the birdsong on the far bank where the trees had been untouched by the flames, he strained to hear that alien sound again.
There it was
!

He felt his glowing skin prickle with a flood of goosebumps.
It was someone sobbing – body-wracking sobs deep and terrible and hurting
….

He would rather it had been the soft grunt of a mountain lion stalking him. That was something he knew he could handle … but this! A woman crying!

Well, it was no business of his, that was for sure. He could just ignore it….

‘The hell you think you’re kidding?’ he murmured, standing and heading for his
soot-streaked
trousers with the ragged holes burned in the cloth in a dozen places. They were awkward to pull on while he was wet and he only buttoned up some of the fly. He took his six gun from its holster where he had hung it on the saddlehorn and, heart hammering – harder than it would have if it
had
been a lion he had heard – he made his way around some jutting rocks.

And found the person who was sobbing so
brokenheartedly
.

It did nothing for his ease to recognize Kitty O’Day, sitting on a rock a few feet above the river, face streaked and red with her crying, body
shuddering
with the spasms. But what really chilled him was
the flash of sunlight on the long blade of the hunting knife she held pressed between her breasts.

‘Kitty! For God’s sake!’

The words tore from him and he waded towards her even as she snapped up her head and the moist, reddened eyes widened as she saw him tucking the Colt into his partially fastened waistband.

She leapt up, swaying, missed her footing and fell. He saw the knife slip from her hand, splash into the water, and he did his best to catch her, but her weight bore him down into the shallows. He threw his arms about her in an effort to stop her wild thrashing and she struggled with a strength he didn’t know any young woman could possess.

‘Stop it!’ he gritted. ‘Kitty, stop this! For Chrissakes, girl, what – the
hell
d’you think – you’re doing…?’

She tried to bite him and it startled him. He had never seen such a – a
mad, crazy
look in her eyes. He would never have recognized her. Her breasts heaved against his hands and he didn’t even notice his grip was covering them. The girl got one arm free, slashed at his face, and fingernails gouged streaks in his flesh.

‘Let – me –
go
! You – you’re like all of – them! I hate you! I – hate – all – men!’