CHAPTER 21
Why did the trip home to Texas end up being twice as long?
Harp sent Jan and him home with the boys that were hurt along with Rex Neely, whose mother, they learned, was bad off and might even die before the cowboy could get back. Shade Clements had his once broken leg reset by a real doctor in Abilene and put in splints. He had crutches and was recovering. Ivy Martin had his arm in a sling from a horse wreck. A few healthy boys went with them to drive and hitch teams. The Chinese cook, Low Me, handled cooking and Jan helped him.
Besides the chuck wagon, they had another team and wagon that the recovering Boone Allen drove filled with hay and grain—so the animals they rode and drove had feed and they could go all day making thirty to forty miles. The move and graze made for a slow train back, and Long wanted to get back as fast as possible and see how things were going in their new empire.
Nothing in the mail that had caught up with him in Abilene indicated anything had gone too wrong, but he still felt a need to be back and be sure for himself that things were all right. Jan stayed in good spirits riding with him while they detoured around many northbound herds. Everyone knew him, stopped him to talk about markets.
He told them the price might be shaky, but when he left they were not that bad. That was all he knew. With the waves of cattle going north each day—he was damn glad they had sold early. Texas might have sent too many head this summer. He shrugged it off. They were going to use the ferry to cross the Red River with wagons, horses and all.
“You thought any more about a home place for us?” Jan asked, approaching the river.
“Oh, some. What have you thought about?”
“I don’t want to sound jealous but I’d like the Diamond Ranch house.”
“Why if wishes were like that they’d be fishes and the lake would be full.”
“You crazy guy. A gal can want can’t she?”
“Yes. But we have never been shown the sisters’ will and have no idea how that will work. At least Harp never said, except they told him they had it figured out. If you want a big fancy house, we can go to San Antonio and see an architect who can plan one you like.”
“I’d hate to be the greedy witch.”
“No one said a word about that, girl. I can afford to build you a house.”
“Fifty-fifty. Your money and mine.”
“I wasn’t going to spend that on us. If we ever have any children, I’d like that to give them a start.”
“With my luck at that, it will never take place.” She shook her head at him.
“We better get ready to settle with this ferryman.”
He dismounted and went in the ferry’s shack.
A bald-headed man wearing spectacles asked him how many he had.
“Two wagons and teams. A dozen horses and six riders.”
“Take three trips. Be seven fifty.”
Long frowned at him over his high figures. “Your prices have gone up since I was here last.”
“That is the charge to cross going south. North may be cheaper.”
“All right, but folks will buy a boat if you get much higher.” He paid the man as the ferry bumped the dock, and the man in the buggy under the shade nodded at Long going by him.
He didn’t know him and waved to Robbie Boyd driving the chuck wagon to get on the ferry. The wagon chained down, they loaded his and her horses and then the signal was given to start the team on the farside to begin pulling the thick rope. Water slapped the side. The day’s heat was building and the south wind swept his face. It would be good to be home. The river thudded the side of the ferry as they moved for the south bank.
They stood on the floor beside the chuck wagon with Robbie who was keeping an eye on his mules. The tobacco-spitting man in charge spent half his time spitting brown juices in the muddy stream. Long wondered if the ferry would work without him—probably would.
“How much longer will we be to get home?” she asked, squeezing his arm in the brilliant sun reflecting off the water.
“Oh, two weeks I imagine. What do you say, Robbie?”
“About that long, sir.”
“What are you going to do when you get home?”
“Go fish and hunt. I think those damn steer bawling in my ears is never going to quit.”
“Harp never offered you a job?” Long asked him, wondering why his brother had not encouraged this sharp young man to stay. He’d never mentioned anything he saw wrong with him and even picked him to head up the returning party and look out for Long and her both.
“I never asked. He said he wouldn’t pay me until I got back home. I figured I had that much time left on this job and you all won’t need me.”
“No. You misunderstood him. If he didn’t want you, he’d never sent you home as a bodyguard for the two of us.”
“I understood you had rules someone had to ride with you on the ranch because of some close calls you two had.”
Jan laughed. “Why I almost shot him myself when I found he had my horse. It got away from me and it was a dark night. He was going to find me first light. But I had the drop on him.”
They laughed.
“Long, I am glad you guys are who you are. You guys aren’t run off by anyone. And I came looking for work when I heard you paid both ways. Bunch of cheap bas—I mean people, ma’am. When they said they wouldn’t pay us to come back home I said I wasn’t going north.”
“We need good men to keep this ball, that we have started down home, rolling. Figure that you have a job at the H Bar H Ranch. So make the hunting and fishing trip short.”
“I may not even go.”
The three laughed.
The mules and chuck wagon went up on the hill, unloaded, and they started a fire to fix lunch for the others soon to arrive in camp.
After the meal, Harley Callis played his guitar and Phil Combs played the mouth harp. Both were a couple of the able-bodied men. Phil asked Long if he had a job when they got back. “I don’t see a reason in the world why any of you seven guys won’t have a job.”
They shouted and tossed their hats in the air.
The next day they reined up, because there was a woman, with a little girl, sitting at the side of the road crying.
“What’s wrong with her?” Jan asked.
Long dropped off his horse and handed Jan his rein. “I am going to ask.”
“Ma’am, you hurt?”
“That no-good Kenny Cooper dumped me and Missy off last night. We ain’t got a penny. And no way to go nowhere.”
“She your daughter?” Long was down on his right knee talking to the woman.
“No, she’s my sister’s girl, but she was bad sick and said she was dying and I needed to take her with me. I told her I was going to Fort Worth with Kenny, and she said well take her with you. But he got so mad about it that he made me get off the wagon and drove away.”
“Were you married to him?”
“No.”
“What do they want?” little Missy asked her, sounding upset.
By then Jan was there and their procession had stopped. The wagon and teams secured beside the road, the men came on the run.
“Is she hurt?” Phil asked Jan.
She shook her head. “Not physical that I can tell.”
“My name is Long O’Malley.”
“Gladys Norton.”
“Where were you going in Fort Worth?”
“I don’t know. He does day work—”
“I understand. Let’s get you out of the sun. There are some trees over there.”
He and Jan helped her up, and with the little girl they walked them to the shade. Robbie had the others move the two wagons and set up a canvas shade for camping.
Jan found out the two had only one day-old biscuit to eat that day. She ordered oatmeal for their empty stomachs. One of the men brought drinking water and a dipper. Jan held the little girl and had fed her two pieces of hard candy. Long considered it bribery, but it and Jan’s kindness settled her down. The little girl was pleased at the attention.
He stayed back. The men fixed her some water, soap, and a towel to wash her face and hands. What sort of a man leaves a woman off on such a stretch of unused land of stunted oaks and cedars? He’d kick him in the butt if he crossed his path. And that poor little child abandoned way out here. Damn. Some people were absolutely worthless to have no more sense than to do that.
They cooked the rest of the leg of beef they bought three days earlier up at Denton. Kept cool under a wet canvas it was still good enough to eat, and they would eat the rest for breakfast along with the pinto beans that didn’t get done until sundown. They were eating under the coal oil lamps.
Gladys had recovered from her tears, and Long heard her tell one of the boys she was eighteen. He still knew little about her and her story except about taking her niece from a dying sister and herself no more than eighteen—if that was true—and already living with a man. She never said she was his wife.
Oh, well, what could she hurt? They knew her story—or did they?
In their bedroll, he asked his wife what she thought.
“Poor thing,” she whispered. “That guy Kenny was thirty.”
Long bet he promised her the moon. Obviously, from her own words, he had a bad temper and she was better off without him.
“Do you believe this story that her sister gave her that girl?”
“That was hard to swallow, but we may never know the truth.”
“You won’t just dump her?”
“No. But listen close. I fear we have not heard the truth or all the story.”
She snuggled to him. “Long, I will sure be careful and keep you informed.”
“We will see.”
“Yes. And you know what? I appreciate your brother sending us home early. I love you.”
He was happy they were going home early, too.