This Calder Range (15 page)

“It's hard leavin' home that first time,” Mary remarked after they'd traveled a short distance. “Not knowing when you might see your family again.”

“Yes,” Lorna admitted, finally looking directly at the woman only a few years older than she was. She sensed that Mary Stanton actually understood what she was feeling. “Have … you seen your parents since you left home?”

“No,” Mary admitted. “My ma died last year. I'm hoping we can go to her grave when we get to Ioway.”

Her answer gave Lorna no reassurance that her fears were groundless. Yet the words were more bearable coming from Mary than from Benteen.

“A woman's lot in this world is a lonely one,” Mary said. “You'll find that out—and find a way to make the best of it.”

“I don't feel so sure about that,” Lorna murmured.

“Right now, you're thinking about what's behind you, but when you get to your new home and there's babies to raise, you'll be looking ahead. Grief passes. That's the way it is.”

“I suppose.” But it was very fresh for her now, too fresh to accept so philosophically.

“A woman doesn't have much choice in this world. When she's being raised, her parents tell her what to do. And after she's married, it's her husband.”

“It isn't fair,” Lorna replied, not truly realizing what she was saying.

“Life isn't fair, but it can be good.” Mary smiled faintly. The girl had a little more pluck than she thought.

It didn't seem possible to Lorna, not when she might never see her parents again. Married life wasn't turning out to be what she thought it would be. From what Mary said, it wasn't going to get any better. It was so hard to think with the noise of bawling cattle and the
clatter of the wagon hammering at her eardrums as they bounced and jolted over the rough prairie ground.

All her thoughts were turned inward. Lorna didn't notice that the Texas prairie was garbed in its best dress to see her off. Spring had brought green grass to the land again, and the few trees were swelling and bursting with green buds. Wildflowers gave color to the rolling hillsides. Purpling blue patches of bluebonnets, yellow clusters of wild mustard, and the scarlet-orange stands of Indian paintbrush dotted the land.

It was a season that reached out to the restless. Benteen felt its call. He'd answered it enough times in the past. From the vantage point of a high knoll he watched the Longhorns string out. The brindle steer had already shouldered its way to the front, assuming leadership of the herd. It was characteristic for individual animals to keep the same position in a trail herd every day. Some would always be in the middle, some closer to the front, and others lagging behind. No matter where they started at the beginning of a day's drive, by the time it ended, they would have established their habitual position.

Spanish Bill and Jessie Trumbo were the point men, riding in the lead on either side of the herd to guide it in the right direction. The swing, flank, and drag riders would rotate their positions each day, but not the point men. It was a critical position, requiring experience and skill. Benteen had given the responsibility to the two men he trusted most.

The herd wasn't driven so much as it was drifted in the right direction—always at a leisurely walk. The long-striding cattle could eat up ground without losing weight as long as they were kept out of a trot. In most cases, the Longhorns gained weight on the trail north to the railheads if there was plenty of water and graze along the way.

Ahead, the wagons were disappearing into a crease in the prairie. Benteen watched the canvas-topped wagon that carried Lorna, until it dipped out of sight.
He hoped he'd done the right thing—having Mary Stanton ride with her. He hadn't wanted her to be alone, yet he had the responsibility of the herd.

The trail boss of any drive had one motto that he lived by: Look out for the cows' feet and the horses' backs, and let the cowboys and cooks look after themselves. That partially applied to his new bride as well. These cattle represented their tomorrow. She had to understand that. He put the spurs to his horse and galloped to the point.

Because of the late start, Benteen let the herd drift north an hour longer than usual, until the sun was straight up, before letting them stop to graze on a midday break. The spot had been preselected, so the chuck wagon was waiting with a light meal for the drovers. The cowboys ate in shifts, a few always staying with the herd.

Benteen carried his plate over to where Lorna was seated by the wagon. Her cheeks were dry, but she still looked numbed to her surroundings.

“How about something to eat?” He crouched down beside her, pushing his hat to the back of his head.

“I'm not hungry.” She didn't look at him.

“Suit yourself.” Sitting on his heels, he started eating. He glanced around, again seeing the wildflowers and the bursting of spring green. “It's a pretty day.”

“Here.” She dug his red bandanna out of her pocket and handed it to him.

“Are you and Mary Stanton getting along all right?” For the time being, Benteen tucked the bandanna in his shirt pocket.

“Yes.”

“I can arrange for her to ride with you this afternoon if you want,” Benteen offered.

“I can manage the team,” Lorna retorted.

He set the plate down, unable to eat with all this cold tension in the air. “Lorna, I'm sorry about your parents. I know you feel bad, but there isn't much I can do.”

“There isn't much you
want
to do.” She stood up and walked over to the Stanton wagon.

Picking up his plate, Benteen started eating again, but he didn't taste a thing except anger. It was a hell of a way to start the first day of married life, but he'd be damned if he'd apologize again.

When the Longhorns had grazed long enough, they began to lie down. That was the signal to start them back on the trail. It was easier driving a herd in the afternoon, because they were thirsty and willing to walk to water.

This part of the trail, Benteen knew well. Ordinarily he wouldn't ride ahead at this point to check out the night's bedding ground, except he remembered Stoney at the livery stable mentioning some of the water holes had been fenced by farmers. Sure enough, he found new barbed wire fencing off the water.

Spanish had ridden with him. “A man selling this wire built a fence with it in San Antonio. He stampeded some Longhorns into it to show how strong it was. They knocked a post out of the ground, but the wire held.”

“Cut it,” Benteen ordered.

“The farmer isn't going to like it.” Spanish turned a curious pair of black eyes on the man.

“Neither will a herd of thirsty Longhorns,” he replied. “Cut it.”

By the time the herd had nearly reached the night ground, the riders had gathered the cattle into a more compact herd so they weren't strung out so far. Taking them to water, they spread the Longhorns into bunches to avoid crowding and pushing.

Benteen and Spanish had the barbed wire down by the time the herd reached the watering place. All hell started to break loose when the downed wire began tangling with hoof and horn.

Benteen cursed when he saw what was happening. “Stampede!” He recognized the warning signs a second before the first steer made its mad plunge that sent the whole pack on the run.

The ground rumbled with the thunder of their hooves. Horns popped and rattled as they clashed together. All other duties were forgotten. Benteen took time only to make certain the cattle were headed away from the wagons as he whipped his horse after the stampeding herd. Jonesy was racing just ahead of him, singing at the top of his lungs, “Rock of ages, cleft for me. Let me hide myself in thee.” Many cowboy sinners saw “the light” in the midst of a devil's stampede. Some superstitious drovers believed a stampeding herd would respond only to hymns.

With Jonesy on a faster horse, Benteen let him overtake the leaders and ride alongside to begin turning them in a slow, wide circle. Luckily, it was a short run, lasting no more than five minutes—the thirsty cattle willing to be brought under control. The bawling started as they began to mill loosely, the riders taking care not to crowd them too tightly in the event of cattle in the center going down and being trampled.

Just when the herd seemed to have settled down, barking dogs started them moving nervously again. Benteen jerked his head toward the sound and saw a bunch of farmers rushing toward the water hole. His mouth thinned into an angry line.

“Jessie! Shorty!” He waved the two men to come with him and wheeled his horse away from the herd toward the oncoming farmers.

The rifle was in his scabbard. Benteen pulled it out and levered a shell into the firing chamber, taking aim at a slick-haired dog leading the pack. A rifle shot was likely to stampede the cattle again, but so were the dogs. He fired, knocking the first one back into the others. Behind him, Shorty and Jessie were pumping bullets into the pack. Within seconds, those that could still move had turned tail and were kiyipping back the way they'd come. Benteen faced his horse at the wagonload of farmers.

“You killed our dogs!” one cried.

“Did you put that fence up?” Benteen ignored the outraged protest.

“That's our water!” a farmer shouted.

“Like hell it is. Trail herds have been watering there since the first steer was taken north.”

“You owe us for that fence you cut—and for every steer that took a drink,” another demanded.

“I'm not paying you to water my cattle,” Benteen snapped.

“We'll see what the marshall has to say about that,” the first one threatened.

“You do that.”

There was a grumbled exchange among the farmers before the team was finally turned around. Benteen watched them go, not turning until they were out of sight. When he shoved the rifle into the scabbard of his saddle, he heard Shorty and Jessie do the same.

“Damn farmers!” Shorty spit. “We shoulda put a couple bullets in them.”

“Let's get back to the cattle.” Benteen reined his horse toward the restless, uneasy herd milling nervously.

The wagons had reached the night's campground well ahead of the herd. By that time, Lorna was deeply regretting that she had ever boasted to Benteen that she could manage the team. The four horses pulling their wagon were not the tractable animals that hauled her father's freight wagon, and her arms ached until they were trembling from holding the reins. There weren't any roads across the prairie, and after a day of being bounced all over the wagon seat, her body seemed so bruised and battered that there wasn't a part of her that didn't hurt. Grimy dust covered her face and clothes, adding to the discomfort.

She was in agony because she hadn't relieved herself since the noon stop. Lorna climbed carefully down from the wagon seat, not jumping the last two feet, afraid the jar of landing would cause her to humiliate
herself. She looked anxiously around. At the noon stop, there had been a small stand of trees where she'd been able to hide herself, but here there was nothing but grass in all directions. She couldn't even see any bushes.

“I'll unhitch the horses for you, Mrs. Calder,” a young voice said.

Turning with a start, Lorna saw the dark-haired lad standing on the other side of the team. She recognized him as the one who had driven Mary's wagon that morning. He couldn't have been more than two years younger than she was. Lorna felt very young and foolish at the moment, younger than he was, but she was a married woman, so she couldn't let him know.

“Thank you.” Her smile was hesitant. She doubted if she could have unharnessed this headstrong team without something going wrong.

Walking stiffly, Lorna crossed to the Stanton wagon. She felt less inadequate when she saw Mary being helped by the horse wrangler. The bow-legged man drove the team free from the wagon tongue, handling them from the ground.

“Mary,” Lorna called to her newfound friend and adviser.

The stocky woman came to meet her; a sharpness in her look that was somehow gentled by her tired smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” If her other matter wasn't so urgent, Lorna would have continued the idle chatter. Instead, she lowered her voice so none of the three men in camp could overhear. “What do we do about relieving ourselves?”

For an instant there was silence. Lorna dropped her gaze to the prairie sod, certain she had disgraced herself by speaking of bodily functions, but she hadn't known what else to do.

“You just go off a ways and do it,” Mary said.

Lorna's glance ran back to the woman in shock. “But
it's so open.” She cast a furtive look at the wrangler unharnessing the horses. “Anyone could see me.”

“Out here, Lorna, there's times to be modest and other times when it just isn't possible,” Mary explained gently. Her glance made a swing of the area. “There's a little hill right over there. Maybe you could go behind it. You're not exactly out of sight, but it's as close as you'll get.”

Under the circumstances, there seemed little she could do except what Mary had suggested. Lorna had never felt so self-conscious in all her life as when she pretended to idly stroll behind that little hill. No one appeared to notice her, or at least they weren't looking. Lorna tried to make herself as small as possible when she knew she couldn't wait any longer.

Her long skirt and petticoats provided a degree of covering. When she heard someone walking in the grass, they were also a hindrance, getting in her way when she tried to hurriedly pull up her undergarments. Her back was to the sound, which made it worse, because she had no idea who was coming. She darted a furtive glance over her shoulder and recognized the cook. Apparently lost in thought, he was studying the sky as he walked.

Standing up, Lorna frantically smoothed her skirts and started swiftly for the campsite. Red-faced, she slid a quick look in his direction, hoping he would ignore her. Humiliation was doubled when she discovered he was not. She couldn't bear the thought that he knew what she had been doing out here.