BLUE WAS OUT WORKING WITH TEAT, TRYING TO PULL A COW out of a bog, when he saw the large boy and the tiny old man coming. The boy rode a dusty sorrel; the old man was walking along spryly, as if he had just started life’s walk that day.
That Blue at first felt no apprehension was probably due to exhaustion from an hour of struggling with the bogged cow. It was one of those mornings when grim circumstances caused him to wonder why he had chosen the life of a rancher. After all, it meant a lifetime of working with animals who were often as stupid as the present cow; it was not easy to find a bog in northern Montana in a dry year, but the old hussy had found one and proceeded to lead her calf into it and then bog herself well past the flanks. He and Teat had both turned themselves into mudmen getting the calf out; it was a big yearling, and it fought their efforts vigorously.
Teat was amused by such doings and grinned at Blue with white teeth from out of a mud-coated face; but then, Teat had just been a cowboy for a few months and was still amused by the many absurdities that ranch life involved one in. Teat still thought that being thrown off a bronc was amusing; the efforts of cattle to escape being roped amused him so much that he could scarcely ride, much less rope. Swimming in mud to rescue a cow and calf didn’t discourage him in the least.
Blue had been at the whole business longer; his livelihood depended upon saving as many cows as possible; on the whole he found being coated in mud to the collarbone less amusing than he had when he was a young sprout trying to impress his bosses with his fervor. He yelled at his horse to pull on the rope attached to the cow’s horns, he pulled on it himself, and Teat, the brown mole, twisted the cow’s tail and pushed from the rear. The effort gained perhaps three yards before both gave out and had to rest. The mud, disturbed for a moment, flowed back around them.
“I don’t want this cow anyway,” Teat said. “She should not have come in the mud. Why don’t we let the mud have her?”
“Because she’s young,” Blue said, wondering why Dora’s husband was wandering around the Musselshell with old No Ears. “She might have ten more calves that I can sell—she might even have a dozen. It ain’t her that we’re saving, it’s the ten calves.”
Ogden saw that the two men were not making much progress with the bogged cow. They were a very muddy pair. He had asked at the ranch house a few miles back and had been told by a pretty young woman that Mr. Blue was working to the north. She had been kind enough to offer them buttermilk. He had drunk a quart, and No Ears a smaller amount.
He had not expected to meet Mr. Blue in such a muddy state—but then he had not really expected to meet Mr. Blue at all. When he got to the bog he dismounted and waded into the mud to help, an act which seemed to surprise the two muddy men.
“Let me have the rear,” he said. It was apparent to him that the Indian boy who was handling the cow’s tail end didn’t have the strength to lift her out of the mud.
Teat didn’t argue. He took one horn and Blue the other. Blue yelled at the horse, but with Ogden lifting, they scarcely needed the horse. There was a sucking sound as Ogden lifted the cow’s rear from the mud and began to shove her forward. He shoved so hard and the cow made such sudden progress that both Blue and Teat forgot about pulling and just tried to get out of the way. Both tried to scramble aside and ended by falling backward into the mud. Ogden kept walking and propelled the quivering cow up on the bank. He then went back and offered the fallen men a hand.
“We’re much obliged to you, sir,” Blue said. “I believe I’ve seen you before, in Belle Fourche. Isn’t your name Ogden?”
“Yes, sir, are you Mr. Blue?” Ogden said.
Blue walked over and took the rope off the muddy cow. “Git,” he said. “And stay out of the damn mud for a while.” Her muddy calf was standing fifty yards to the west, bawling for her, but the cow promptly turned and began to trot off to the east.
“If you’re looking for work, Mr. Ogden, you’re hired,” Blue said. “Teat and me are smart but we ain’t stout—it’s easier to be smarter than a goddamn cow, but it ain’t easy to be stouter.”
He meant the offer as a joke, but Ogden looked at him solemnly, as if he were really considering it. Blue’s thoughts began to move a little faster—maybe the boy had left Dora, or been thrown out, in which case, why not hire him? He would be a great asset with the haying and barn-building and such. He himself was no carpenter and had made little progress on a barn, though he had ranched on the Musselshell for five seasons. Why not hire the man? If he had left Dora it would only make it all a richer joke. The man didn’t shy away from messy work, either—a big advantage in cowboying.
Ogden found that he liked Mr. Blue, who was grinning merrily despite being coated with mud. The Indian boy was also grinning. It would be good to work out in the sun, under the open sky. Deadwood was in a crack, shady or outright dark much of the time; it was hard to rise out of a low mood in a place where the sun rarely shone.
“I’ll have to bring Bob, and I’d like to bring Doosie,” Ogden said. “Doosie won’t want to leave Bob, and neither one of us could get by without her.”
“Oh, I know Doosie, she’s a splendid cook,” Blue said. “I can’t imagine Dora would part with her, though, and I don’t know this fellow named Bob.”
Ogden began to feel shy. Mr. Blue looked so cheerful, and yet such bad news awaited him. He was glad to discover that he liked the man, though. It made Dora’s life seem a little happier that she had had such a fine cheerful man for a friend.
“Well, Bob’s the baby,” Ogden said.
Mr. Blue looked startled by that news.
“Oh,” he said. “Bob’s the baby. You mean you and Dora had a baby?”
“Yes, sir,” Ogden said, feeling his lowness coming—it was even more powerful than his shyness.
“How could I hire you then, mister?” Blue asked, stumbling a little in his thoughts. Surprising information was coming rather quickly, and he wasn’t sure it was information he liked.
As if suddenly worried, Teat walked away several yards. He began to try to clean the muddy rope, rubbing it in the grass.
“You can’t tell me that Dora would let you and Doosie and a baby go, all at once,” Blue said, puzzled. “Dora would have to be dead before she’d hold still for such as that.”
Ogden looked numbly down at his hands. Mr. Blue had unexpectedly given himself the bad news; all Ogden needed to do now was confirm it—yet he couldn’t speak.
Seeing the sad look spread across the boy’s big face, Blue felt a fear seize him—he felt a sudden panic.
“Say, is Dora all right?” he asked. “I’m a friend . . . we met way back down the trail.”
Ogden remembered how Dora looked when she whispered to him last; he remembered how she looked lying dead; he couldn’t speak. He looked up and saw that Mr. Blue had gone white under his coat of mud.
No Ears saw it too—it was odd that whites never expected one of their own to die. They were as children when it came to death; they rarely thought of it, although it was never farther than a breath away.
Seeing Ogden so unhappy that he had forgotten how to speak, No Ears thought he had better help.
“Your friend died making the child,” he said. “It was too much for her, but the child is big and strong. When he cries, he’s loud.”
Ogden felt ashamed that No Ears had had to complete his task for him; at the same time, he felt grateful.
“Oh, say!” Blue said, sitting down suddenly. The news knocked his legs from under him. He took off his hat and flung it far out in the mud.
“She wanted Martha to come and tell you,” Ogden said, finding that he could talk again. “Martha wouldn’t—she’s sick too much.”
“From liquor I bet, and I don’t blame her!” Blue said.
“Dora asked that one of us come,” Ogden said. He had not really understood his wife’s request and could not explain it—he just said it.
“I think she felt you’d be upset,” Ogden said, wishing he had more skill at talking and could put things better.
“Upset? I guess I’m kilt!” Blue said, getting unsteadily to his feet. He went straight and mounted his horse. He started to ride away but checked himself and attempted to summon his manners. “You men must be tired,” he said, speaking stiffly and carefully. “You’re welcome to rest as long as you like at my ranch house—Teat will take you back.”
He started to turn away again, but checked himself once more and looked at Ogden. “The offer of work still stands,” he said. “Bring Doosie, and bring . . . Dora’s boy—Bob, I believe. I pay fair wages, and we’ll build a bunkhouse. Will you do it?”
“Yes, sir,” Ogden said.
“Good, take ’em home,” Blue said to Teat. “Help Mary look after the stock until I get back.”
Teat didn’t ask when that would be; he handed Blue the rope he had been trying to clean.
“Help Mary look after the stock,” Blue said again. He nodded at No Ears to thank him for walking so far to bring him a hard piece of information. No Ears raised a hand in acceptance of his thanks.
Then T. Blue turned his horse south and rode away. It was three days before he stopped, well south of the Yellowstone. In his mind he was traveling south to yesterday, to the distant evening when he had ridden into Abilene all covered with trail dust and danced his first dance with Dora. He was so dusty he sneezed all through the dance, but she swore she didn’t mind. Later in the evening he rode his horse into the hotel and tried to spur him up the stairs to Dora’s room, but the horse shied and kicked off the banister; the manager got hot, the sheriff came; Blue’s foreman, who happened to be drinking in the saloon at the time, was amused by it all and offered to make good the damages, which satisfied everyone.
Often, in later years, he and Dora had laughed about his dustiness and her sneezing and the kicked-down banister—it seemed a fine beginning, and was the talk of Abilene for a day or two.
Oh, the fun they had then—the cowboy and the buffalo girl.