CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Riding back to the ranch was a blur for Deed. All he could think of was Atlee’s declaration of love for him. Her kisses were imprinted on his mind like fire. Hannah and Rebecca sat beside him on the buckboard seat while his horse was hitched behind. Rebecca did most of the talking. She seemed determined to comment on everything they passed.
Their destination had changed somewhat. Rebecca would stay in town at the Wilkon Hotel while Hannah went to the ranch to help guard it. Deed had shared the concern about Bordner’s men attacking when they were gone and Hannah decided that he should stay there. Deed told him that his older brother Holt was with them and that he was going to stay at the ranch as well. Bina and her children were going to be with the roundup; it was safer they thought.
Rebecca didn’t like being separated from her new husband, but gradually understood the seriousness of the situation. After letting her off at the hotel and getting her settled in the best room available, Deed and Hannah headed for the ranch. The town itself was quiet, something expected at roundup time. Hannah told her not to use his name and, if asked, to say her husband was coming in on the next stagecoach.
Clearing the last ridge, Deed pulled up so Hannah could see the entire ranch yard and get an idea of where Bordner’s men might attack. He had already told the gunman that he didn’t think Bordner knew about his brother returning, and that Holt was going by Sam Holton. Hannah asked a few questions, mostly about available rifles and ammunition. Clucking to the horses, Deed headed for the ranch. As they pulled up, Holt stepped from the house, cradling a Winchester in his arms.
“Well, well, I do believe it’s James Hannah,” he said cheerfully. “Good to have you with us.”
“And to you . . . Sam Holton,” Hannah said.
Deed said, “James has agreed to stay at the ranch and give you a hand while we’re working the roundup.”
“Sounds good to me. Got some fresh coffee on,” Holt declared as they shook hands. “Bina . . . that’s Blue’s wife . . . she left us some good food. We sure won’t starve.”
“How about guns?”
They walked inside and Holt showed him their collected weapons and the boxes of cartridges.
“Got two barrels of water in the kitchen, too,” Holt said. “All the comforts of home.”
“Sounds good to me,” Hannah said. “When do you expect them?”
“I’m guessing they’ll wait a day or two. Keep an eye on who’s working the roundup,” Deed said and poured coffee for the three of them.
“You don’t think they’ll get suspicious when they see Blue’s wife and children at the roundup?”
Deed nodded. “We hope they don’t. Bina’s going to be dressed like a man. And the kids are going to stay inside the chuck wagon during the day. They won’t like it, but they’ll do it.”
After drinking his coffee, Deed saddled and rode out on the paint horse, Warrior, heading out to the roundup camp. Hannah settled into reading Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s Tales of a Wayside Inn and Holt strolled around the ranch. They would take turns guarding when night came. The ranch dogs trailed Deed to the far edge of the ranch yard before turning back. The thought nettled him about leaving the ranch, but he pushed it away, confident that Holt and Hannah could do serious damage to any attackers. In fact, both men seemed to be looking forward to it.
At the roundup camp, he rode up to a wild symphony of sound of bawling calves and yelling men, mixed with heavy dust, wood smoke, and the smell of burning cowhide. Most of the valley was covered by grazing cattle gathered during the day. Herefords made up most of the herd, but there were longhorns mixed with them.
Short-term fences of brush and logs kept the gathered animals from straying. From dawn to dark, riders worked to bring in the cattle, separating them into one herd of cows with calves and a separate herd of steers and older cows. An occasional bull was in this group as well. Come spring this bunch would be moved to market in Kansas.
A sturdy pole corral had been built to hold calves while the youngsters were branded. Their mothers were allowed to stand around the corral as long as they weren’t unruly. New calves were branded to match their mothers; unbranded strays were divided as to ownership. A long rope tied between two cottonwoods held the horses not being ridden at the moment.
Two Sanchez riders were overseeing a smaller herd of unbranded strays. They wouldn’t allow these cattle to drift back to the main herd. Any cattle carrying brands other than the Lazy S or LC were eased out of the herd and made to return to their home ranges. As Deed rode up, four riders cleared the woods; each had a roped cow and a calf trailing behind them. He didn’t recognize any of the men.
Blue rode toward his brother and waved with his lone hand, still holding the reins. It was his first time serving as the roundup wagon boss and he wanted everything to go well. He directed the combined team of LC and Lazy S riders so there would be no gaps in the ground covered. He had hired six men from town to help with the roundup and they were proving to be good hands. Deed eased the paint toward his brother. In spite of the turbulent time, the roundup was well organized and underway as planned. A lot of that was due to Blue’s leadership.
Riding between them, Willy brought a terrified calf toward the branding fire. He was working as one of the cutting riders, or ketch hands. Their job was to separate unbranded calves from their mothers.
Willy yelled, “Got a Lazy S comin’ in.”
Blue looked at Deed and grinned.
Off to the side, Taol and two men were charged with removing scrotums from the young calves. Each removed bloody sack was tossed into a large pot, usually accompanied by a Mexican cheer. A supper of fried “mountain oysters” would be a traditional celebration when the roundup was over. Another group was also checking beeves that had been separated from the others for disease, sores, or open wounds. Any cow with thin flanks, or a swollen jaw, or a drooping head, was given special treatment. Likely the animal had been bitten by a rattlesnake. At their feet were medicine bottles, cutting tools, and large cans of ointment.
Sweating heavily, Harmon Payne coordinated the branding while other sweaty men worked diligently and fast over a hot fire. Behind them both, Cliente, the Lazy S foreman, was keeping tally in a leather-bound book. A thin cigar extended from his mouth.
Blue told Deed that Silka, Little Jake, and some vaqueros were working the heavy thickets for cows and their calves entrenched in the thick growth encircling the ravines. All riders had stayed on the combined land of the two ranches. Unspoken was the need at some point to cross into Bar 3 land. There were too many strays to ignore, especially Lazy S cattle.
Deed asked where Blue wanted him. Blue suggested he stick around and help with the gathered calves. It was too late to ride out to the heavy brush. Deed had the feeling that Blue was favoring him and told him that his wounds had healed, except for the top of his ear. Blue dismissed his suggestion as the reason and said he was welcome to ride out if he wanted to do so, but they were almost overrun with the calves gathered so far.
The remainder of the afternoon went fast. Several cowboys went to the creek to soak their feet; others began talking horse and boots. A boghole had been discovered to the north and that brought stories of other bogholes and quicksand. Later that night, as they gathered around the campfire and ate, Deed sat quietly with Silka. Blue was eating with Bina and their children, happy to be free of the chuck wagon.
“I’m going to ride back, Silka. If Bordner’s men hit the ranch, it’ll probably be with a lot of men,” Deed declared.
Silka shook his head. “It is long ride there and back. Maybe for nothing. They may not come or it may be only a few. They will think only a woman stays.”
“It’s our ranch,” Deed said. “I heard Cliente talking about sending men back to their ranch tonight. And he’s got four vaqueros already standing guard on their roof.”
“Tell Blue. I ride with you,” Silka said and laid down his plate.
Blue understood and wanted to go with them, but knew he couldn’t. His primary responsibility right now was to the roundup. After saddling his buckskin and Silka’s favorite bay, they rode out. It was already dark, but they knew the trail well. Holt and Hannah were glad for the interruption; there had been no signs of trouble and both were bored. Holt insisted Deed and Silka sleep and would be awakened if necessary.
The night was uneventful and the two men rode back to the roundup camp early the next morning. They rode in and dismounted as far from the gathered herds as possible. A horse freed of its rider might shake the saddle and scare the cattle. Deed reported that all was well at the ranch and Blue was relieved.
Shortly after breakfast, a mossy-eared longhorn bull broke away from the second herd, angry at the rider working his cows, and charged the camp, looking for something to ram. Yells broke through the camp. Willy was loping his horse to the calf pen when he saw the bull coming at him. He swerved his horse but not enough and the bull slammed into the bay and sent Willy flying. The enraged bull spun around and headed back for Willy, stunned on the ground. Frightened, Willy’s horse went running.
Cliente got a rope over the bull’s head and Harmon added a second, but the animal snapped them like they were string. Taking his empty dish and cup to the chuck wagon, Deed ran for his Spencer on his horse. Cliente was closer to his rifle and fired into the charging animal. The bull staggered, but kept coming. Deed fired and then Cliente again. Stumbling forward, the bull fell on its horns five feet from the dazed Willy.
“That was too close,” Blue said and walked over to the downed cowhand. “Willy, are you all right?”
“Huh?”
Blue helped him to his feet; Harmon rushed over to help. They half-carried, half-dragged him to the campfire. One of the vaqueros brought Willy’s bedroll from the chuck wagon and spread it out. Bina came with water and towels.
“Willy, you rest here for a while.” Blue and Harmon laid him down on his blankets.
“I’m fine. Jes’ fine.” He tried to stand and fell.
“Stay put, Willy,” Blue commanded and eased the man to his sleeping blankets.
Cliente reported that Willy’s bay only got a long scratch and should be just fine. They decided to have a couple of the men skin the bull; Too Tall would direct the effort.
“Some beef would be good,” the Mexican foreman said with a grin. “He was one of ours. So dinner is on us.”
The day was long and hard. Deed rode with Silka and two vaqueros and they each went through five horses working in the long draws and heavy brush where the cattle liked to hide. Several cows wearing old H-5 and Roof-M brands were found, along with a handful of Bar 3 animals. All were herded to Bar 3 land. When they couldn’t see any longer, they rode in. Blue announced they would move the camp tomorrow, closer to Bar 3 range.
After rubbing down their horses, Silka headed for a nearby stream and placed his lariat in it for the night. He thought it gave the rope stiffness needed to lasso calves. A recovered Willy got to belching loudly around the campfire and one of his especially forceful presentations scared the horses and cattle. It took half an hour to calm the herd and the remuda. Willy apologized, but no one thought it was funny. Several hands thought it would have been better if the bull had knocked him out. Blue suggested he take a walk after eating from now on, away from the camp.
As soon as supper was over, Deed and Silka rode again for the ranch. Both were weary and sore, but felt it was important. Before they left, a full moon rose and showered the land with a silvery light as they rode, giving everything a strange glow.
Gunshots broke into the night as Deed and Silka neared their home. They reined their horses to a stop on the ridge that overlooked the ranch yard. Silhouettes were moving like ants on disturbed dirt.
“Looks like they weren’t surprised,” Deed said and yanked his Spencer free of its sleeve.
Drawing his Winchester from its sheath, Silka pointed at a small group of men riding away. “Look, they run.”
“Let’s encourage them to keep running.”
“Hai.”
They fired almost simultaneously at the fleeing men. Silka levered his Winchester four times and Deed fired once more. They didn’t expect to hit anything; it just felt good. The sound of horses galloping away filled the night and then there was silence.
From the house came a loud yell. “Deed. Silka. You missed all the fun. Come on in!”
Deed recognized the voice as his brother’s.
A moment later, Hannah added his challenge. “Hey, that was fun. We dusted those boys real good.”
“Hey, Deed! We got fresh coffee on,” Holt yelled. “I think there were five of them. Think they thought only Bina was here.”
Deed and Silka rode toward the house, watching the shadows for any possible movement. Halfway to the house, a body lay sprawled.
Appearing in the doorway, Holt appeared. “I knew it was going to be a good night. See that moon? Full as can be. That’s good luck for sure.”