The Women in Pants

by Stan Himes

  Once again Pearl lowered her head in shame, and once again Mary rushed in to quell the storm. “None of that now. We got a hard time ahead, Ruth. Let’s not make it harder fighting with each other.”

  Ruth held her scowl on Pearl for another few seconds, then turned and gave Mary an almost imperceptible nod of concession. Tension still hung in the air, and I would have expected a quiet moment if I hadn’t spotted Ernestine about to burst.

  “I wanna go, too!” she shouted, unable to hold back any longer.

  The shrillness of her voice, not to mention her words, drove Edward’s temperature up another notch. “What?!”

  “I want to be part of it! The drive, being with you ladies. Wearing pants and looking curvy.”

  “Now just a —” Edward stopped short when—bam!— Ernestine slammed her hand on the counter.

  “I’m tired of being plain, Grandpa! Tired of putting things on shelves, taking ’em down, putting more up.”

  “It’s a good living, Sweetheart.”

  “It’s not living to me!” She stood her full height, straight-shouldered, the years of doing what she was told no longer weighing her down. Yet just as her body hardened, her tone softened as she tried to make Edward understand. “I’ve never even traveled as far as the Bartlett’s ranch, Grandpa. I don’t know anything of the world except for merchandise that gets shipped from somewhere and then gets bought and taken somewhere. Now I wanna go somewhere. And I’m going.” She turned to Mary. “If you’ll have me.”

  “You have to understand, Ernestine. It’ll be a hard time.”

  “But it won’t be boring,” Sally added with a grin. She understood the longing within Ernestine.

  “Then you can count me in! Grandpa, a pair of trousers in my size, please.”

  While all the fuss was going on in Edward’s store, Jonas played checkers with Doc in the back room that Doc used for recovering patients. It had a large window that faced the flatlands and the setting sun. It was nicer than Doc’s own room, but since a fair number of his patients were drunken cowpokes busted up in a fight, he preferred that they face away from the street and enjoy a peaceful vista.

  The afternoon sky was a light blue with just a few puffy, white clouds floating about. To most it would indeed have been a peaceful view, but to Jonas it was a reminder that he was laid up inside instead of branding outside. Checkers with old Doc, no matter how cheerful he was, was a poor substitute for a good day’s work.

  “You forget how to play, Jonas?”

  “Huh? Oh, sorry, Doc. Can’t keep my mind on it, I guess.”

  “I’ve got some books if you’d rather read.”

  “No, books are wasted on me.”

  “Well, I’ll have to leave you to daydream soon. Need to see how the Widow Wheelwright is coming along with her gout.” Doc gave Edward a sly grin. “Always good to get there around dinner time. The woman always has the tastiest biscuits and gravy ready.”

  “Sounds like you’re ready for romance.”

  Doc laughed. “No, my sparkin’ days are over. But may my eatin’ days never end.” He rose from the unfinished checkers game and stretched by the doorway. From there, he could see out the front window to the street, and he noticed us women leaving the store.

  “Mary coming in today?”

  “No. We decided she’d visit every other day. Too many chores. And we’d like to have someone at the ranch on the slim chance some hands show up.”

  By now we’d moved closer up the street and Doc could see us in our new outfits. He was startled for just a second, then the startle turned to amusement as he understood exactly what he was seeing. Old Doc was a perceptive man.

  “You say Mary’s not visiting today?”

  “Wish she was. I doubt she’s having any luck recruiting.”

  “She’s a resourceful woman.” God bless Doc for not giving us away. “Might surprise you someday.”

  As we walked side-by-side down the street toward our horses—Ruth and Pearl on opposite ends—it didn’t take long for our non-traditional appearance to cause a stir. Two elderly pillars of our society, Xander Benson and his wife, Gertrude, were entering the town on their wagon.

  Gertrude gasped at the sight of us. “Well, I never!”

  Xander’s eyes lingered on our swaying hips as he muttered to himself, “No, but I wish you would’ve.”

  We felt like new women. But then again, not really. It wasn’t that we’d changed so much as it was that our purposes had changed. Our immediate future had a task to accomplish and, for several of us, there was the prospect of new lives ahead.

  Reaching our horses at the rail posts, we paused for a gaze at the town. Maybe now that we appeared different, we expected the town to be different, too. Or maybe we wanted to drink in the memory of the place we’d soon be leaving. I don’t know. But we all stood there in quiet contemplation.

  There was Mary in her unexpected role as leader, a searching look on her face that betrayed excitement overshadowed by concern. All she really wanted at that moment was her old life back. A simple life of making a home for her husband and daughter had suited her fine. She wondered if she’d ever return to it.

  There was Katie, filled with youthful energy. The future was like a fairy tale to her. She’d take the cattle to market as a pauper and come home as a princess ready to meet her prince and live happily ever after.

  There was Ruth, who saw the cattle drive less as hard work and more as a trip that was her due after all those times her husband had drifted. She loved him, but he was a rascal. Perhaps a season of drifting like a rascal would help her understand him more—and if he should return home to find her gone, maybe he’d think twice before leaving again.

  There was Prudence, wide-eyed and anxious to do anything different than what she’d been doing. Somehow sleeping on hard ground and inhaling the odor of cattle had more appeal to her than another lonely night in the shack.

  There was Sally, older and wiser than Prudence but with the same viewpoint—there had to be more out there. And there was more to her leaving, as she had no plans to return. She’d gather a few mementos and favorite supplies from her shop, then make a clean break from her ties to Secluded Springs and, in particular, Henry.

  There was Ernestine, who had no idea what she’d just signed up for beyond wearing new clothes and sharing an adventure with a group of women she admired. Her combination of lanky body, plain face and shy ways kept her from thinking highly of herself. Some unspoken dream buried inside of her knew that another such opportunity to be anything more than ordinary would never arrive again.

  There was Pearl, whose wishes for a new life were the easiest to understand. Even Ruth couldn’t begrudge Pearl’s desire for a fresh start. But the kind of life Pearl had led has a way of following one around. She hoped a parade of cattle would trample any ties to the past.

  And there was me. I fell right into the center of the group with Sally and Prudence. I just knew there had to be more to life than making small talk with old ladies at my mother’s tea parties or listening to my father talk about the many benefits of compound interest. It embarrasses me to think back to how I had no interests of my own at that time. I just floated. But I’m also proud to say that I recognized the need for change and had the willpower to push for it. What I wanted from that cattle drive was to discover what I wanted to do with my life. A lot to ask, I know.

  Together, we were a sight. Together, we were excited and frightened and brave and scared.

  Together, we were the women in pants.

  PART TWO

  PREPARATION

  Chapter 7

  We rode back to the herd and spent the rest of the day practicing. Pearl and Ernestine took a little while to get used to riding, but once they did we were able to move larger numbers of cattle. Our biggest problem was always getting the herd started as they continued to prefer eating grass to moving on it. Quite by accident we stumbled upon a unique talent within our humble group—a talent that meant we’d neve
r again struggle to start the herd in the chosen direction.

  At the time, we’d reached the landmark Mary had chosen as our goal and were in the process of trying to turn the herd around so we could annoy them by driving them back the way we came. Three steers didn’t like the idea. While the rest of the herd was amiable about turning, the three steers kept moving straight ahead. Ernestine was on a bay mount and pushed it up a ways in front of the steers to cut them off. The steers didn’t like that either. They moved faster toward Ernestine. Then one of them broke into an all-out run and Ernestine felt its black eyes lock onto her. It rumbled closer and closer. “Look out!” Mary shouted, but Ernestine was paralyzed and held her horse still. As the steer was almost upon her and the horse was about to buck, the fear building in Ernestine burst out in a shrieking wail any banshee would be proud to claim. “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!” The lead steer couldn’t have turned around any faster! It spun and raced back to the herd with the other two steers right behind. Mary shouted, “Good work, Ernestine,” and from that moment on she was the wailing wonder who sparked the herd when they needed a start.

  As we headed for the house, the brightness of an afternoon’s work in the sun and Ernestine’s screeching success dimmed as we saw two figures on horseback waiting in the shadows. Katie saw them first. We were a dusty, tired but cheerful group moving at a quiet pace. Katie looked past the corral to the house, mostly black against the setting sun. She squinted at a movement.

  “Someone’s at the house, Ma.”

  We all strained our eyes. None of us recognized the silhouettes, but it was clearly two men.

  “Think it could be new ranch hands?” Prudence wondered.

  “We’ll know soon enough,” said Mary. Something about their presence troubled her, even though some decent cattlehands would be a huge help. It might have been the way the men sat in their saddles. A working man stays comfortable, but sits upright with shoulders square, partly out of pride and partly to breathe better. These men were slouched, the kind of posture you’d expect to see at a bar. Mary conveyed her uneasiness to us. “Stay mounted. Stay alert.”

  As we got closer, it became apparent that though we’d seen two horses and two heads, most of the second man was blocked by the enormous girth of the first. He was a bearded mountain. He could likely pick up a steer and carry it to market. He stayed in the shadow of the house as the smaller man eased his horse forward into the light to greet us.

  “Could I trouble you ladies to direct me to the Bartlett ranch?” He had an Irish accent that was pleasing to the ear, but the yellow tobacco stains on his teeth and the odor from his unkempt clothes were anything but pleasing. He appeared to be in his thirties, though he might’ve been younger. It was hard to tell if the stubble on his chin was graying or dusty.

  “You have business there?” Mary responded.

  “Aye. My name’s Sean O’Donnell. My friend, Brute, and myself were on our way to Dodge City when we heard of a cattle drive in need of cowhands.”

  “Brute?”

  Mary moved her eyes onto the huge man. Brute edged his horse—besides carrying the big man’s weight, the poor thing was scarred from heavy spurring—a couple steps ahead. He took a hard draw on the stub of his cigarette and held it in. As Pearl edged her horse forward to better scrutinize Brute, he blew smoke out through his nose onto black whiskers that had never known a razor.

  Sean smiled. “Sure and he’s forgotten his given name, you see? But ‘Brute’ seems to suit him and he answers to it.” His voice was musical and soothing, I must admit.

  Mary must have felt the same. She smiled for the first time. “Well, as it happens, this is the Bartlett ranch.” She was about to continue when Pearl caught her eye, giving Mary a small but definite “no” shake of the head. Mary didn’t miss a beat. “But I’m sorry, all the cowhand positions have been filled.”

  His smile falling, Sean made a fuss about looking around the ranch in every direction, exaggerating his movements to show how thorough he was being. “Do you see any cowhands, Brute?”

  “Nope.” Brute’s voice was deep and raspy, the kind you might expect from a bear just stirring from winter’s sleep. A bear that smoked.

  “My husband has them in the field,” said Mary. She looked up at the darkening sky. “They should be here soon and I’m afraid we must tend to their supper. But I thank you for stopping by.”

  Sean rubbed his chin. He cast his eyes upon each of us, one at a time. When he got to Ruth, he paused, smiled and spoke. “I thank you ladies for your time. Please extend my good wishes to your husband and his crew.” It was then that the rest of us understood why Sean had locked his gaze on Ruth. She had a Smith & Wesson .45-caliber Model 3 American pistol pointed at him. The kick of shooting it might have caused Ruth some pain, but not as much as Sean would have experienced on the receiving end.

  Brute didn’t seem to notice. At some point during the exchange between Mary and Sean, his eyes had fallen upon Katie and his lips had formed a ravenous grin. Katie felt his leer only after she felt the hair on the back of her neck tingle. She looked up to catch his expression and his eyes were so piercing that she couldn’t look away. Brute took her return stare as a sign of interest and he pulled his cigarette down so Katie could see his full, hungry, yellow smile. She shuddered.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Sean turned back to Mary. “I don’t suppose we could wait here and have a talk with your husband?”

  “He’s not much for talkin’ after a hard day. And like I said, he’s hired all he can hire.”

  Sean glanced again at Ruth. “Then we’ll bid you good day and hope we meet again under other circumstances.” He tipped his hat at us and pulled his horse to move away. “Let’s be off, Brute.”

  Brute said nothing, but spurred his horse to follow. Lust flared in his eyes as he drank in one last look at Katie. Her face was bloodless with fear. Pearl, bless her, moved in front of Katie to block the view.

  As the two men sauntered off, I was the first to turn to Ruth. “I didn’t know you had a gun.”

  “When you don’t have muscle, you better carry some. These shirts are good for hiding.”

  Mary kept her eyes on the men. “Did you know them, Pearl?”

  “Just that big one. His name is no lie. Seen him near kill a girl once just for sport. Heard of him doin’ even worse to others.”

  “Reckon the sweet-sounding one’s not much better then.”

  Up until that point, we’d had a good day. Working like a cattlehand, well, I can’t say it was fun, but it was different and energizing and we felt a thrill about helping our friend while satisfying some selfish needs of our own. The arrival of the two men was like a splash of cold water on our warm dream. We woke up to the reality of dangers ahead that we didn’t have the skills and upbringing to face. Not everything could be solved with a gun hidden in a shirt. Should we run into Sean and Brute again, or others like them, it was doubtful we could take advantage of being underestimated.

  But the problems of what might lie ahead paled in comparison to the immediate problem of something that seemed so trivial—getting off our horses. It’s one of those indelicate situations I warned you about earlier. You see, we’d been on our horses for hours, most of us riding straddle for the first time. Our legs had been bowed out in the same position and had stiffened something fierce, though we hadn’t noticed until we went to move.

  Prudence was the first to dismount and she moaned as she slid to the ground, both hands on the saddle horn for support. “My legs,” she whined. “Something happened to them.”

  “Mine, too,” said Katie. She rubbed the inside of her thighs, trying to massage away the muscle pain.

  “I take it all back,” I said with a grimace. “Side-saddle is better.” I pushed my legs back together, but they bowed back out into their new wicket shape.

  Even the married and somewhat-experienced among us were struggling. Their legs may have been spread apart on occasion, but they hadn’t been held th
at way for hours before. Ruth bent over like she was touching her toes, perhaps thinking it would line her legs back up with her hips. Mary and Sally were both taking tiny steps in hopes of working out the kinks.

  The whole time, Pearl stifled a smile. Finally she slid off her horse with ease and began taking the reins from each of us. “I’ll take care of the horses while you ladies walk off the ride.” She led the horses away toward the barn like she was strolling to a picnic on a Sunday afternoon.

  Ruth groaned as she straightened up, then shook her head in resignation as she watched Pearl walk away. “Don’t like her profession, but I guess it’s good for keepin’ limber.”

  For the next week, a pattern developed. We worked on developing our riding skills and endurance, practiced moving the cattle, failed miserably at roping, and found an unconventional way to get more branding done. All of us worked every day except for Mary, who left every other day to visit with Jonas while he recovered.

  On the days she went to town, she wore a dress. She debated about telling Jonas of the all-female ranch crew, but put it off. She told him only that she’d been able to get a small group together and that they were working hard. She felt it would keep his spirits up if he knew work was being done at the ranch, but that it would get him up on his bad leg if he knew just who was doing the work. When Jonas pressed for details, she changed the subject in that sideways manner of which so many wives excel.

  “Where’d the men come from?” Jonas would ask. “Are they experienced? How many are there?”

  “I’m sure they aren’t as experienced at checkers as you and Doc,” Mary would answer. “He says you play all the time. Who wins?”

  She’d leave each time hoping that no one in town would visit Jonas and spill the beans. Having so few folks around probably helped. Also, anyone tied to us like Edward or my father was too embarrassed to bring up the subject.