by Stan Himes
Jonas stared at the ceiling for a long time before he found sleep as well.
Chapter 3
By sunup the next morning, Jonas had a plan.
“We can’t wait for men to come straggling back from mining or for the Byerlys to stumble upon ranch hands,” he said over the steam of Mary’s breakfast coffee. “Sittin’ and hopin’ won’t pay the bank loan.”
Katie was never one for being bright-eyed in the morning, but her eyes widened and her breath held as Jonas reached for a biscuit. She near bubbled over when his hand came away with more than half of one. “See that, Ma! Only part fell off!”
“That’s at least a third more holding together than yesterday.”
“You’re about to have more to do than improve your cooking skills,” Jonas continued. “Soon as you’re done, take the buckboard over to see… What’s Prudence’s brother’s name?”
“Billy.”
“See if Ruth can spare Billy to help me with the branding.”
“He’s only eight,” Mary interjected. She expected Jonas to frown, but he’d made his decision to take action and couldn’t be stopped.
“Then see if he’s big for his age. Bring him back if he can work. And don’t dawdle yakkin’ with Prudence about boys, because as soon as you’re back I need you and your mom to go into town again.”
“Twice in the same month?” Now this was exciting. Katie thought perhaps the Colorado silver strike was going to pay her some dividends after all.
“I want you to put up a sign in Mickel’s store advertising for cattlehands. Ask Edward to take another sign over to the saloon—that’s likely the first place any men’ll stop. Then send a wire to
Briscoe, Clay and Archer. Maybe the men there decided goin’ to Leadville was too far to risk. While you’re gone, I’ll get started on the brandin’.”
Concern clouded Mary’s eyes. “You can’t do that by yourself.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Jonas looked down at his biscuit remnant, but he could feel Mary’s brown eyes locked on his face. Even her hair, usually a light sandy color that seemed as full of life as Mary, would somehow darken and give rise to an attitude whenever Mary assumed a judgmental pose. He knew she was remembering the last time he’d said those three words—right before Pitch, a wild black stallion, tossed him to the ground in less than a second. He’d wrenched his shoulder enough that Mary had to cut their wood for a week. But he didn’t quit and soon made Pitch into a fine mount. He wasn’t about to quit this time, either. He turned back to Katie.
“Let me know about Billy before you head into town.”
The Hadleys lived in a one-room shack dug into the side of a hill and fronted with patched-together logs. Ruth liked to say that James lost all his gumption digging into that rocky hill. But my father (and just as a reminder, he ran the bank) said James was never one to step forward when there was work to be done. He suspected that Ruth did most of the digging, but her only response when asked about it was to tell me to tell my father that he should lock up his opinions in the vault with the money.
However it was built, the shack sported a short porch made of ash and a few nearby stumps where the trees used to be. As Katie pulled the wagon to a stop, she spotted Prudence Hadley seated on a stump and churning butter. Katie waved at her dear, dear friend.
“I’d wave back,” Prudence sighed, “but I swear my arms might fall off.”
“Hope your butter sets up better than my biscuits.”
Prudence wore a gray dress dusted with dirt and splashes of cream from the churn. Her dark hair was tied back, but strands clung to the sweat on her forehead and neck like old Kiowa scratchings on a stone wall. Still, there was prettiness under the grime. Six months older than Katie and just as sure that she was destined to be an old maid, Prudence had a playful sparkle in her eyes that would certainly turn a man’s head if only she’d ever get to go to town and there were actually men there.
Even in her ordinary dress, Katie felt a bit fancy standing beside Prudence and was about to get to eye level by plopping herself onto a stump when Ruth Hadley poked her head out the door. “Who are you – oh, Katie.”
“Hi, Mrs. Hadley.”
“Is your pa gone to Colorado?”
“No, Ma’am. Home with the cattle.”
With a snort of disgust, Ruth slammed the door, startling Katie. For a slight woman, a true example of small-but-wiry, Ruth packed a wallop. Katie turned to Prudence and raised an eyebrow.
“Dad’s gone prospecting for silver, and Ma’s…”
“Not pleased?” Katie offered.
“One way to put it. Took Billy with him. Nothing left here but me, Ma and chores.” With a fierce grunt, Prudence slammed the cream skimmer into the churn. “I swear, I thought I’d be married by 17, but I ain’t saying ‘I do’ to nobody who’s gonna run off.”
Cattle are happy when chewing, drinking or swallowing. Any other activity is an irritation worthy of a low, whining complaint. Any activity that involves being roped, pulled to the ground, getting legs tied and then being seared with hot metal is downright cause for panicky bawling and angry shakes.
As Jonas released the third branded calf of the morning, the bellows were deafening. He didn’t mind. He figured he had his job to do and the cattle had their noises to make. He was far more concerned about the pace. At this rate, without any help, the branding would never be done in time.
He was getting faster, though. His system for solo branding was to ride Pitch into the herd, rope a calf, then loop the rope around the pommel on the saddle. Pitch would pull the calf to two posts Jonas had set in the ground. Jonas would circle the rope around a post to hold the calf steady as he dropped from Pitch and flipped the calf on its side. With another rope, he’d tie the flailing legs, then, finally, he’d raise the Circle B brand from the fire and apply it to the wailing calf. It was the work of four men, and he still held out hope that Katie would return with Billy—and that Billy was big enough to help. He didn’t even want to think about trying such a process with a larger unbranded steer.
Hoping doesn’t get the work done, so, once again on Pitch, Jonas pulled another calf to the posts. A deep, moaning bellow rose behind him and he glanced back over his shoulder to see one of the cattle staring at him, black-eyed and stern. “Easy, mama,” he said as he dropped from his horse. “You’ll have your little one back right quick.” The cow snorted back.
With practiced hands, Jonas flipped the shrieking calf onto its side. Catching a flailing hind leg, he twirled a rope around it and reached to snatch the other leg when the calf bucked and kicked. Jonas leaned back to avoid the oncoming hoof, losing his balance and slamming his backside to the ground. Whether it was the sudden movement of Jonas falling to a weak position or the bond between mother and child that drove the cow to action is hard to say, but regardless of the reason the black-eyed cow burst toward Jonas like the devil toward a lost soul.
Jonas saw the movement in time to roll onto his stomach and cover his head. He heard the harsh crushing of his hip before he felt the pain shoot through his body in every direction, agony flashing streaks across his eyes like lightning in a prairie. His scream barely registered as his ears filled with the pounding of his heart and another fierce crunch as the frantic cow stomped on his left knee, the weight driving the leg into the hard ground in a direction that God never intended knees to bend.
He writhed in pain and awaited another blast to his body, but the cow’s action had spooked Pitch, who bounded to the side, dragging the calf with him. The cow ran past Jonas and chased Pitch, stopping as the rope loosened from the saddle and the calf broke free. As quick as the fury had risen, it quieted. The cow nuzzled her calf. It rose and walked with her, still bleating from fear, back to the herd, dragging the remains of the rope behind it.
Even if there was someone to nuzzle Jonas, he wasn’t about to get to his feet and walk away. All the damage was on his left side, and the pain seared deeper than any brand. His hip, his knee—whatever was le
ft of them—were torment and agony. Just the thought of rolling over intensified the pain, yet he knew he must check for bleeding. Teeth clenched, his mind braced for shards of pain, he turned his body. Lightning again flashed from his legs to his eyes before the bright sunburst of pain flamed into darkness.
His next memory was awakening in Doctor Galen’s office.
Chapter 4
Doc Galen would never be rich, but he was the most valued person within forty miles of Secluded Springs in any direction. White-haired, the essence of calm as he worked, he’d delivered countless babies—myself included—and removed countless bullets. Mary couldn’t pray right then, but she knew when she did later that she’d offer up thanks to God for providing Doc.
For now, Mary held Jonas’s cold hands as Doc cut through the trousers to expose the wounds. For a moment, her mind shifted her worries to the price of a new pair of pants, but just as quickly she chastised herself for letting her thoughts move to anything but her husband’s welfare. He was pale, unconscious. He hadn’t even awakened as she and Katie had dragged and none-to-gently lifted him onto the buckboard as best as they could. Jonas. Her Jonas. His cold hands in hers. His blood on her dress.
His life in Doc’s hands.
The doctor sensed the emotions rising in Mary. He’d seen it time and again. People take action when a tragedy occurs and do what needs done, but then the feelings rush back to the surface. Katie lingered at the back of the room, her sniffling now on the verge of weeping. With a soothing tone developed through years of experience, he stemmed the tide.
“Don’t you ladies fret. He’s alive. He’s gonna stay that way. You did just fine getting him here in time.”
Mary wiped back a tear. “If Katie hadn’t ridden by…”
“But she did. And she got you. And you got Jonas here. You did everything right. Now it’s my turn.”
Peeling away the trousers, the doctor began to run his hands across the leg.
“Katie, how are you at making coffee?”
“Fair or better, I guess.”
“I could use some, if you don’t mind. Water and stove’s in the other room.”
Katie shuffled out as the doctor continued his examination. Mary noted that the leg was a rainbow from hip to ankle, purple, yellow, red. None of the colors pretty. She didn’t like the look of it, and truly didn’t like the way Doc lingered over the knee.
“He’ll keep the leg,” Doc said at last. “But let’s hope he stays out cold. What I need to do to this knee won’t be pleasant.”
“What can I do?”
“You can hold him down if needed. I’d appreciate that, though he may not. Better send Katie somewhere. When Jonas wakes up, he’ll be screaming something fierce and I know his pride won’t want Katie to see him that way.”
“I’ll send her to Sally’s.”
“Good.” The doctor rose up from examining Jonas and looked Mary in the eyes. “There’s more. He won’t be riding anytime soon. Walking either for that matter. So you’re gonna need to look after both him and the ranch. If I know Jonas, he won’t stay tied to the bed if there’s ranch work.”
“I’ll do it.”
“I’ll help, too.” They hadn’t seen Katie come back in. Doc gave her a warm smile and Mary placed her warm hand on Katie’s shoulder.
“Jonas surrounded himself with some fine women,” said Doc as he reached for the coffee from Katie. “I’d say you’re both stronger than you know.” His eyebrows rose at the taste of the coffee and he gave Katie a wink. “Almost as strong as this coffee.”
As the afternoon came to a close, Jonas was still unconscious and Doc Galen was pleased by it. “He’s healing,” he told Mary, “and you watching him won’t speed it up. Go get some rest.”
Mary was too tired to protest and knew chores were piling up at home, but leaving didn’t seem right. Doc gave her the final push she needed.
“I’m asking you to leave so that I can take a nap.”
“But if Jonas wakes…”
“I’ll tell him you’ll see him in the morning. And I doubt he’ll wake till then anyway.”
So Mary returned to the wagon, intending to stop by Sally’s to get Katie and then go home for the night. In the wagon she saw the two posters she’d written up for Jonas. Cattle Ranch Hands Wanted. Apply at Bartlett Ranch. No sense waiting a day to put them up. She needed help now more than ever.
In Mickel’s store, she found Ed rearranging a shelf of hats and Ernestine trying each one on just for something to do. Both Ed and Ernestine turned at the sound of the door, ready to pounce on a rare customer. They settled for giving Mary sympathetic smiles and trying not to look at the blood on her dress.
“Terrible sorry to hear about Jonas, Mary. He’s in good hands with Doc, though.”
“Thanks, Ed. Would you mind putting this in your window?”
Ed took the poster, really just a small piece of paper, and looked it over. “Don’t know who’ll be around to see it, but I’ll sure put it up.”
“I appreciate it. And would you send a wire with the same information to Briscoe, Clay and Archer?”
“Bet they emptied out, same as us.”
“Worth a try.” In the light of the moment and her current situation, Ed’s gray hair didn’t seem so gray. “You used to ride, didn’t you, Ed?”
“Don’t even think it,” Ed was quick to protest. “I became a storekeeper so I wouldn’t have to be around smelly cattle and eat dust. I wish you luck though.”
“We’ll need it. I thank you for hangin’ the sign and sendin’ the wires.” As she turned to leave, she noticed Ernestine holding a black Stetson hat. “Not sure if that hat’s your color, Ernestine.”
Ernestine put the hat to her mouth to stifle her high-pitched giggle.
As Mary left, she remembered she was supposed to give Ed the other poster to take over to the Castle Royal saloon. No, she thought, I’m going right by it and I need to be doing more things for myself. Besides, she’d always wondered what it looked like in there.
Charlie Firemark opened the Castle Royal in 1848 and now, 30 years later, Charlie Jr. ran the place. The original Charlie was killed during a robbery and Charlie the third, I’m sad to say, barely lived long enough to have a name. When Charlie Jr.’s wife lost her battle with unhappiness and died just a year later, Charlie was tempted to drown his sorrows with the stock inside the Castle Royal but instead made a family out of the saloon girls. It was a family built on survival rather than love, and the girls often left at a hint of a suggestion of maybe a promise of a possible life with a passing cowhand, but other girls would come along and join the family. That Charlie took a hefty cut of the money they earned taking men upstairs was accepted as the price paid for room and board.With the exception of baking pies for the funeral dinners, Mary knew little of Charlie’s history. Jonas enjoyed a drink with the men every four, five months and had said Charlie was a good man. All she needed from Charlie right now was a place to hang the sign where hopefully some future Bartlett Ranch cattlehands would come upon it. Yet, standing on the saloon’s wooden porch, so near to the faded “Drink Like A King” sign at the left of the swinging doors, she hesitated. The swinging doors were short, but they seemed to loom over her like giant barricades that should not be breached by the likes of her. The doors led to another world, a world where men drank and gambled and smoked and did whatever they could pay for with women. Mary was the first to admit that she was no fancy lady born into high society, but she was a decent woman who had no reason to lower her head. So she did what any decent woman would do at the doors of a saloon.
She knocked.
The sound of a knock at the door was so uncommon, perhaps even unprecedented, that Charlie almost lifted the week-old newspaper from his face and rose from his nap. Since uncommon didn’t necessarily mean interesting, however, he chose not to move. “See what that is. I’m busy.”
Pearl gave him a look that was wasted on the paper, but since answering the door was something she h
ad never done before and was beyond a doubt going to be far more intriguing than her endless games of Solitaire, she glided to the front and pushed open one of the swinging doors.
“Oh.” Seeing a woman like Mary on the doorstep… now that was interesting, especially since Mary was disheveled, tired and had blood on her dress. Pearl had never felt better dressed than a decent woman before. Still, she waited for the berating that was sure to come. Every now and then one of the town’s women—often a group of them—felt the need to give Charlie’s girls a piece of her mind. It usually started with “harlot” and went south from there until the woman ran out of steam. She braced herself for the tongue-lashing.
“Hi, I’m Mary Bartlett. Miss, uh…?”
“Pearl.” Not only not a tongue-lashing, but calling her “Miss?”
“I was hoping perhaps Charlie might display this poster, Pearl. In case anyone passing through stops by.”
Pearl took the paper, read it, and smiled back at Mary. “I’ll see that he does.”
“Thank you for your kindness.” Mary nodded with a warm smile, then turned and walked away. Pearl lingered in the doorway, watching her go.
“Who was it?” Charlie asked from beneath his paper.
“Mrs. Bartlett.”
Ellie bounced her chest and grinned. “You tell her we ain’t hirin’?”
Pearl ignored the chuckles from Charlie and Ellie. She watched Mary get farther away and tried to recall the last time a regular woman had spoken to her in a way that hadn’t made her feel low and ashamed. Nothing came to mind.
That night, while Mary’s bed seemed big and empty, her mind was full. Katie had met her in front of Sally’s shop and on the ride home she’d told Katie all that Doc had told her. Katie had promised to do her part, to take on even more chores and push her boy-hungry thoughts to the side while Jonas recovered. Mary was proud of her daughter’s conviction, and she also knew it wasn’t enough. She and Katie could not run the ranch without help.