21

Lucas showed up for supper.

The rest of them were dishing up their plates when he washed his hands at the sink and took his chair. Ransom tried to not look surprised.

“Looks good, as always, Mor,” he said, reaching for the meat platter. “I checked on the smokehouse. I’ll add more wood about midnight.”

Just as if our yelling match never happened. I was so sure he would head to town and drink out his troubles. Ransom studied his brother. Surely he had not let his idea to sell the ranch go. He would be back with another volley later. Like all the Engstroms, Lucas did not give up easily.

“What did you decide on the apples?” Mavis glanced between her two sons.

Ransom could feel her studying him. “I think there are enough, but not plenty by any means. The deer have been eating their fill. We can take a wagon up tomorrow, so you could come too.”

“I want to go along.” Gretchen looked to her mother. “Mor, I’m getting straight As. I could miss one day of school.”

“So what would I write on your excuse for Mrs. Micklewhite?”

“You could say I was sick.” Gretchen shook her head. “But I know you wouldn’t do that.” She thought a moment. “How about you need my help here at the ranch?” Her face fell when her mother shook her head.

“Well, that wouldn’t be a lie, at least. I’d be helping. I can climb those trees better than anyone.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Lucas, here, did a good job playing monkey.”

“I haven’t lost my touch.” He grinned at his little sister. “Next year we’ll plan for apple picking on a Saturday.”

“Other kids miss school for far less than this.” She clamped her arms across her chest and glared at them all.

Ransom started to say, Oh, let her come, but a look from his mother stopped that idea. Instead, he cleared his throat and asked Lucas, “Did you count the cattle?”

“I did, and I think we’re missing two cows, possibly a steer.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a piece of beat-up paper. “I wasn’t sure how many feeders we had left.” He handed the paper to Ransom. “This doesn’t look good.”

“What is happening?” Mavis asked.

“Someone cut the wire on the north fence. Found prints of a shod horse. We need to tell Edgar and see if others have been hit too.” Edgar McDougal was the long-time peace officer and sheriff for the area between Hill City and Rapid City. He lived and had his office in Argus.

“Rustlers?”

“Looks that way, although it might be just someone who’s desperate and needs meat to feed his family.”

“But you don’t believe that.” Mavis stared at her eldest son. “All these years, and we’ve never lost cattle to thievery.”

Ransom heard a whole history behind those words. This never happened when his pa was in charge. He pushed back his chair. “I’m heading in to talk with Edgar in the morning, and Lucas will canvas the other ranchers. If you write something up, he can invite them all to the party as he goes.”

“I’ll do that and take care of the smokehouse.” Mavis stood and began clearing the table. “Maybe a party is just what we all need.” She turned to Lucas. “Back to the apples, can we reach them from horseback or do we need ladders?”

“No ladders.” He slitted his eyes. “You do not need to go up there and climb the trees. We’ll take care of the apples.”

Mavis rolled her eyes. “All right. I won’t climb the trees, but I could take a wagon up there and stand in the bed.”

Ransom shook his head. “Better if you let us worry about the apples.” He turned to Lucas. “Why don’t you ask everybody to bring any extra apples they have left, and jugs. With so many hands to turn the press handles, we can do plenty.”

Mavis wiped her hands and left to get some paper.

“I was thinking that if I brought in another deer, we could do the pit- roasting, half at a time,” Lucas said. “Or maybe do both halves at once, like we used to do with a half a beef.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me. Talk to Mor.” Ransom paused and looked his brother in the eyes. “But you have to take charge of one thing or the other, the cider press or the pit.”

Lucas nodded. “I’d rather do the pit.”

“It might have to be widened.”

“Come on, big brother. I do have a brain, you know.”

“Sorry.” But if you used it more, we might not have these heated discussions.

Rapid City

On the evening of the third day from Belle Fourche, Cassie’s entourage reached the outskirts of Rapid City and found a place to camp on a river that ran through one of the valleys that surrounded it.

The morning after setting up, she mounted Wind Dancer and followed the directions Pastor Hornsmith had given her to find his friend. She’d made sure the letter of introduction was in her pocket. Stopping only once for more specific directions, she found the church with the parsonage right next to it. Since it was about noon, she dismounted at the two-story clapboard house and tied her horse to the hitching post right in front of a picket fence. The gate squeaked when she pushed it open. Two steps led to the front door, where she knocked with assumed confidence. Never in all her life had she knocked on doors like this. Thinking no one at home, she turned away but then grabbed her courage and knocked again.

“Coming.”

Cassie sucked in a deep breath, hoping that Reverend Hornsmith had been correct about this man. Perhaps she should have worn a skirt. Why had that idea not entered her mind until right now? Swallowing the lump in her throat took three tries.

When the door opened, she forced a smile to her quivering lips. “Good day, my name is Cassie Lockwood, and Reverend Hornsmith sent me to you.” Should she shake his hand? Mother, I don’t know the polite thing to do.

“Come in, come in. Any friend of Obediah is a friend of mine.” The man stepped back and beckoned her in. “I’m sorry, I am Reverend Kemp. Come and meet my wife. Can you stay for dinner? If so, I’ll have your horse taken care of.”

“Ah, why thank you. I’m in no hurry.”

“Good. Come with me.” He led the way down a hall paneled in a dark wood and into a kitchen at the back of the house. “Mrs. Kemp, we have company for dinner. Meet Miss Cassie Lockwood. She’s a friend of Obediah’s.”

“Oh, how wonderful. Did you get to meet his dear wife?” Mrs. Kemp wiped her hands on her apron and led Cassie to the table that was already set for two. “You sit right there, and I’ll get another place setting. Would you like to use the necessary first? We do have indoor plumbing.”

“Yes, please.”

“Come with me.” Mrs. Kemp led her back down the hall to a door on the right that opened into a room with a sink and a toilet with a large tank attached to the wall above it. “When you’re finished, you pull this chain, and it will flush. There’s hot and cold water at the sink.”

“Oh, this is marvelous. Thank you.” After her hostess left, Cassie followed the instructions, letting the warm water from the faucet flow over her hands. How she longed for a bath and a place to wash her hair. She stared into the mirror above the sink. Did she look as dirty as she felt? After drying her hands, she made her way back to the kitchen, forbidding herself to look into the parlor she’d glimpsed as she followed the reverend into the house. She dug the letter out of her pocket on the way down the hall.

The two of them were waiting at the table for her when she entered the kitchen and took her place. “Thank you.” She handed the envelope to the reverend. “This is for you.”

“Good. Let us have grace.” They bowed their heads, and Cassie heaved a sigh of relief. As the grace continued and every blessing had been reiterated, her amen to join theirs was heartfelt.

Reverend Kemp peered at her over the glasses that perched on the end of his rather long nose. “Are you traveling through or planning on staying here in Rapid City?”

Would her answer make a difference in how they treated her? She banished the thought before it could take root. “I have a bit of a story.”

“I see.” He nodded to his wife. “Then I think we need to be fortified with some coffee while she tells us.” Again the look over the glasses. “If you feel like telling us, that is.”

“Yes, of course.” After Mrs. Kemp had poured them all some coffee, Cassie mashed her potatoes with her fork and poured the gravy over both the meat and the potatoes. The fragrance of the meal made her wipe her mouth with the napkin before she could begin to eat.

“Reverend, let her eat first.”

“Oh yes. Sorry.”

When she’d cleaned her plate twice and refused a third helping, Cassie wiped her mouth again and laid her napkin beside her plate on the table. She told them who she was, where she’d come from, and where she was headed to. “We camped west of town, I think along the road that goes out to Hill City. I think we need to go there first.”

“But I thought you wanted to go to Argus?”

“Is Argus a real town? I didn’t know for sure. All that happened so long ago.”

“Argus is more like a village, or at least that’s what my father would have called it. Village isn’t a term used so much in this country. My father came from Scotland. But in Argus you’ll find stores and two churches, a school for children, and various other places of business. I know one of the preachers there, Reverend Brandenburg. A fine man and leading a good congregation. Argus is a town of farmers and ranchers. There used to be some mining in that area, but that is all long gone.”

“I need to find my father’s valley.”

“I’m sure Brandenburg will be able to help you. You have no idea where it is?”

“I have what it says on the deed, and Chief remembers the look of the valley.”

“What if someone else is living there?”

“But I have the deed.”

“As you said, that was a long time ago. Things could change.”

Cassie stared at him, her stomach tying itself in knots. What if he was right?

Cassie stopped at a store that Reverend Kemp had recommended to purchase cornmeal, coffee, and a small amount of sugar. They needed grain for the horses, but the twenty dollars she had might need to help them through the winter, so the horse feed would have to wait. In her pocket this time, she carried a letter to Reverend Brandenburg in Argus. She browsed the aisles as she waited for her supplies to be weighed and wrapped, stopping in front of the rain gear. She checked the prices and kept on moving. Never in her life had she gone shopping like this. While with the show if she needed a new costume, the show’s seamstress made it for her, and before that her mother had sewn for her. She’d looked at samples of fabrics and then picked up her completed garments.

“Your order is ready, miss.”

She returned to the counter. “Thank you. Can you put them in a sack so I can tie it to my saddle, please?”

“You come back when you need more.” His smile made her nod.

“How far is it out to Argus?”

“About ten, twelve miles. We carry a wider range of supplies than the stores there. It’s a small town. You headin’ on out there?”

“Yes.”

“Well, best of luck to ya.”

As she left the store, she thought of her trip to the store in the town earlier in their travels. She’d learned a valuable lesson, but why did the lessons always have to be so expensive?

Back at camp, Micah was chopping wood while Runs Like a Deer worked on her mittens, sewing the pieces together, fur side in, with slender strips of gut. Two rabbit carcasses were sizzling on sticks leaning over the low fire.

“Sure smells good.” She handed the sack to Micah. “We can have cornmeal mush in the morning.”

“Good.”

“Chief is out with the livestock?”

“And Othello. Two yearlings joined our herd.”

“What?” Cassie looked over her shoulder as her feet hit the ground. “Did you say two cows?”

He nodded. “Yearlings, no brands.”

“So how do we find the owners?”

“Chief says they’re ours now. Law of the land.” He stepped over and uncinched her saddle, pulling it off Wind Dancer’s back. He dumped it on the horn and led the horse beyond the camp to hobble him in a patch of grass.

When he returned, Cassie had the foodstuffs put away in the wagon, and she was inspecting what all they had left of their stores. Flour, beans, dried venison, lard, and the salt and pepper in small packets. She should have bought more salt too. While she’d enjoyed the visit with Reverend Kemp and his wife, they’d not sent food along for the others. She stepped out on the steps.

“Did Chief catch any fish in the creek?”

“No, said none there.”

“Really? I thought all rivers and creeks had fish in them.”

“Not all.” Runs Like a Deer looked up from her sewing. “Not in Black Hills.”

“Did you used to come here?”

She nodded. “Black Hills sacred to the Indian tribes.”

“What was the other name you told me earlier for the Black Hills?”

“Paha Sape.”

“That’s right. Do you and Chief speak the same language?”

“Almost.”

“But you can talk and understand each other.”

A nod. “How did you learn to speak English?”

“School on the reservation.”

“And then you married and left the reservation?”

When she didn’t answer, Cassie recognized she’d gone too far. Obviously Runs Like a Deer did not want to talk about the life she’d left behind.

“Not go back.”

It was Cassie’s turn to nod. She brought the bean kettle from the wagon and set it in the coals. The three legs held it up off the hottest portion of the fire. She stirred it with the long-handled wooden spoon and set the lid back in place. Tonight they would empty this pot. While she hated to admit it, she was getting mighty tired of beans. She reminded herself she’d had a marvelous dinner with the Kemps.

When Chief came in, he hobbled his horse and sat down next to Cassie. “Need a branding iron.”

“Why?”

“Because our cattle have the LT brand, and any animal we add to the herd needs the same thing.”

“Like the two that found us?” At his nod, she sucked in a deep breath. “Is that stealing?”

“Law of the land on open range. During roundup they brand the cattle, calves with same brand as cow. No one can say these belong to them, because they missed out on the branding.”

“So how do we get a branding iron?”

“You have one made. Just like the show brand.” He watched her face. “At a blacksmith.”

“Oh.”

He nodded. “Tomorrow.”

“I have to do it?”

His nod looked a bit frustrated. “They are your cattle.”

No, they are our cattle. She huffed a sigh. If this was the beginning of the herd her father had dreamed of, they were in pretty poor straits. Three Longhorn cows, one calf, four steers, and no bulls. Even she knew they needed a bull in order to have more calves. “Are either of the new ones a bull?”

“One.”

This must be like the story of Abraham and the ram in the thicket. God providing in unusual ways. “All right. I’ll draw the brand and take it to a blacksmith.”

“Easy.” He leaned over and with his finger drew an L in the dirt, and the body of a T in the middle of the lower part of the L. “Wind Dancer has that brand, so you can show him that.”

After supper Cassie returned to her sorting. How much would a branding iron cost? Where was a blacksmith? She’d not noticed one yesterday, but then, she’d not been looking. While the pile of paper in the woodbox continued to grow, she found no more money or bills of sale. She finished the one drawer and started on the next, finding only socks with holes in them, gloves with the tips of the fingers worn away. Could they all be mended or should she just toss them away? While her first reaction was to toss them, something made her combine several drawers of cast-off clothing into one. One of the women in the show had mended things. Surely she could learn to do that too.

When Runs Like a Deer stumped her way into the wagon, she handed the mittens she’d been working on to Cassie.

“For you.”

“Really?” Cassie pulled them on and clapped her hands together like a small child. “They’re wonderful. Thank you.” So soft inside. She pulled one off and stroked the back of the soft skin. “I can’t believe how soft they are.”

“Rabbit skin like that. Warm for winter.”

“Do you have a pair?”

“I will make mine next.”

Cassie pulled open a drawer, then changed her mind and put her new mittens in her trunk. She’d found traces of mouse in the cupboards and drawers. No mouse was going to chew on her new mittens. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for my life.”

Cassie looked into the woman’s eyes. “You are welcome.” Maybe they could become friends after all. She sure hoped so.