The Women in Pants

by Stan Himes

  She said not yet. She said he must get her father’s blessing.

  Such an answer made Jonas sure she was the one. She had emotions, but she wasn’t ruled by them. Impressive.

  The next morning he called upon her parents, told them about the land he had purchased in north Texas and how taken he was with Mary and she with him. It was likely the most talking he’d ever done until he started making speeches to us. Her parents deemed him a fine man and a good match for their daughter, but the timing didn’t suit them.

  “It’s this way,” said her father. “Mary is sixteen. We realize that on the frontier, that’s a woman’s age. But in the east, where we’re from, sixteen is still a girl. I am not comfortable letting a girl marry.”

  Jonas appreciated the candor, but said he hadn’t the time for waiting. He needed to take possession of his ranch and commence the building, and he wished to have Mary by his side from the start so that the ranch would always be theirs together.

  It’s odd that mutual respect could create such conflict, but the more Jonas conversed with Mary’s father, the more each of them liked the other and also the more each became further entrenched in his position. However, the growing respect ultimately provided the solution when Jonas presented a compromise based entirely on a handshake.

  “Do you feel you can trust me, sir?” he asked.

  “Yes, son, I do.”

  “Then let me offer up a promise that’s respectful of all our wishes. Mary and I will marry, if this possibility is agreeable to her and to you, and begin to build our life and ranch together. However, our first year of marriage will serve as a courtship. We may hold hands and be affectionate, but that is all. Her virtue will remain intact so that, should her feelings have changed after the year, she’ll be free to leave and will be unspoiled.”

  Jonas held out his hand. Mary’s father looked at Mary. She nodded agreement. He took Jonas’s hand and accepted him as his new son.

  Mary’s parents wished to see the land, so the next day the four of them set out on the trip. Once they’d reached the land and listened to Jonas outline his plan to build, any remaining reservations were gone. The circuit preacher was in Lubbock, so they headed there and the wedding took place.

  For an entire year, Mary and Jonas slept side by side and often held each other throughout the night, but that was all. Both of them showed extreme willpower and dedication to a promise. So if Jonas had to trust his future to a woman, he knew there was no finer choice. She was resolute. She was determined. She was stronger than she knew. She accomplished what she put her mind to. No man could ask for more.

  He tried to cling to those comforting thoughts, but the worries always crept back in. If only the rest of the world was as fine as Mary…

  Sleep would eventually find him. It was a troubled sleep.

  PART FOUR

  THE RIVERS

  Chapter 12

  Whether it was God or Mother Nature or some other divine intervention, whoever put America together did a fine job of placing rivers right where somebody might need one. At least that was true in our case. Hot weather and thirsty mouths had about emptied Clean Through’s water barrel, and none of us had full canteens. As the grass had turned to brush and small cedars, the cattle and horses were also getting dry. The herd was getting sluggish and progress was slow. Mary had ridden ahead to check the distance to the Canadian, but before she returned the herd began to pick up speed.

  They could smell the river. It breathed new life into them.

  Their dragging walk became a rumble, then a rush. We skipped the mid-day meal and let them go. Mary directed us toward the area she thought best for camping.

  “Let them reach the river and drink their fill, but keep ’em on this side. We’ll rest up tonight and cross in the morning.”

  It was no real challenge to keep the herd together. Even Uncle Angus went straight for the river. Once they hit the water, they stopped to splash and drink. The only thing moving them was each other as more cattle piled into the water. We’d left the ranch with near 375 in the herd, figuring that we’d lose some, trade some, and that some might die, the goal being to bring 300 to market. At that moment, I don’t think we’d lost a single steer, cow or calf. We’d lost some women for a while, but all the cattle were accounted for.

  Clean Through pulled his wagon upriver from the cattle to fill the water barrel with clean water. The rest of us attended to our duties, watered our horses, and filled our canteens. Then Ernestine spotted a rider and we were on instant alert, weapons drawn, eyes searching for more.

  The plain was open leading to the river and we saw no other riders. Plus, this one rider was taking his time and coming straight toward us, not hiding his presence at all. We held our guns tighter nevertheless. Memories were too fresh.

  “Howdy!” he hollered when close enough to be heard. “I’ll be!” he shouted when close enough to make out our shapes. “You ain’t men at all!”

  “Keep your guns ready,” Mary said to us as she urged her horse forward several steps. “Are you alone? What is it you want?”

  The man rode to within ten feet of her, then stopped and smiled. “I was alone until I seen you people. Thought you might spare some jerky, maybe a biscuit.” He was perhaps 25, with a scruffy beard and dust-covered clothes. He had ridden with his hands held high and he kept them high now. He had no sidearm and his saddle sheath held what looked like a shovel. “Say, is you all women?”

  “Where did you come from?”

  “Rode all the way from Ellsworth, Kansas, to Leadville to try my hand at prospectin’. After just two days of laborin’, I said ‘Dusty’—that’s my moniker—‘Dusty,’ I said, ‘you didn’t like diggin’ in the dirt when you tried farmin’ and you don’t like diggin’ now.’ So it’s back to Ellsworth for me with the hope I can get my job back at the livery.” He smiled. “Now you know my life story. I’d sure be proud to hear yours.”

  We kept scanning the horizon. There was no sign of other riders and we deemed his story true. Mary let him visit with us for a shade under an hour before Clean Through gave him some biscuits, bacon and beans and we sent him on his way, his hands once again held high as he rode. He was chatty and perhaps a bit jealous of Clean Through for being surrounded by women. I don’t think he ever fully grasped that we were doing men’s work; he seemed to think we were out for a joyride with cattle.

  He was helpful—if not frustrating—in letting us know that there are two Canadian Rivers. We were about to cross the first one. Then we’d continue northeast to reach the Western Trail. Once we were northbound on it, we’d meet the North Canadian River, which he said wasn’t as wide as this one, and then later the Cimarron River, about which he confirmed Jonas’s opinion that it would be the widest.

  What interested me about him the most was when he said he planned to stop at the Shattuck Trading Post and quench his thirst for a beer. I didn’t care about the beer, of course, but I saw an opportunity to post a letter to my parents. I asked how much a beer was and he said probably five cents, then he cursed the operator for gouging travelers with high prices. I gave him ten cents to post the letter and have his beer on me, and he could keep whatever was left over. He was quite agreeable to such a proposal and scanned the others hoping they’d have a favor to buy as well. He was a thirsty man and a pleasant one, too. He didn’t mind that no one else offered to set him up with a beer.

  He was a nice reminder that there were decent people out there, and he was also a reminder that we could come across anyone at anytime. Watching him cross the river with the water barely above his mount’s belly gave us confidence for an easy ride in the morning.

  As it was, we were making the earliest camp of our journey. Ruth and Ernestine were happy to take the first watch, figuring it would lead to a solid break and night’s sleep later. Clean Through was using the extra time to add some pies to the menu. Sally had her sewing kit out and was showing some techniques to Katie and Prudence.

  Mary, Pearl and I s
at together. Looking up to scan the horizon had become a good habit that we all indulged, though having the river on one side of us gave some relief. Marauders coming from the north would have to splash their way to us, giving us time to react. We had no desire to dig more graves and hoped to simply be left alone to do our jobs. I’m sure that’s true of all cattlehands, not just a group of female ones.

  “Pearl,” said Mary. “I don’t think I ever fully thanked you for what you did back there.”

  Pearl’s least favorite topic was herself, and she deflected the praise with practiced grace. “You would’ve done the same. I thank you for bringing me along.”

  Mary laughed. “If it hadn’t been for you, we’d be out here in dresses riding side-saddle. And you didn’t just pay your way. You’ve earned it with hard work. I’m glad you’re here.”

  “What are you writin’, Laurie?” Pearl deflected once again.

  “Another letter already?” added Mary.

  “No,” I said. “Just writing whatever comes into my head about the drive, the people and anything else. I can’t explain it except to say that I find it enjoyable.”

  “Like a journal?”

  “I suspect it is. I never kept one before, but I guess that’s what I’m doing.”

  “I read part of a book once,” said Pearl, her guard down just a bit. Maybe because Ruth wasn’t around. “I can’t say I understood much of it, but the imagination of it was sure something.”

  “What was the book?” I asked.

  “Don’t remember the title. It was about a man who entered a cave and was taking it down into the earth, all the way to the middle. I never got to finish it, so I don’t know if he made it or what he found.”

  I wanted to pour out questions about Pearl’s upbringing, find out how she learned to read, where she was from, how she ended up in her current state—and as you know by now, eventually I would—but right then I knew questions would close the crack in the doorway she’d opened. “I think I’ve heard of that book,” I said instead. “It’s by Jules Verne. Haven’t read it, though.”

  “Sounds fascinating,” said Mary. “I’m afraid reading isn’t something I get to do much of. Sometimes a Bible reading on Sunday.”

  I swear, nature must view a calm moment on a trail drive as some kind of sin, because our quiet moment was shattered by a crack of thunder that knocked us all near out of our skins. Even Clean Through jumped so high he tossed a ladle thirty feet. We’d been so intent on watching for riders that we hadn’t noticed a massive black cloud moving in from the west. This time we saw the scatter of lightning before another reverberation of thunder roared by seconds later.

  We were still in sunlight, but the storm was coming on fast and the western plain was in shadow. Clean Through rushed over to us. “Beg pardon, Boss, but might I offer up some advice?”

  “I’d be glad to hear it,” said Mary, her neck and shoulders now stiff with tension.

  “If it pours like it looks it’s gonna pour, that river ain’t gonna be none too shallow come morning. We best pack right back up and cross tonight.”

  “Do we have enough daylight left? I’d hate for our first crossing to be in the dark.”

  “I understand. But if we don’t cross tonight, it may be days before the water lowers.”

  Mary was slow to mull but quick to action. She considered Clean Through’s advice, thought about her inexperienced team, thought about being stuck on this side of the river, and made her decision. “All right. Katie, help Clean Through pack up and get the wagon across, then both of you get the horses to the other side. Everyone else, pack up, get fresh mounts and get in position to move the herd. Let’s get crackin’.” God must’ve been listening, because he sent a clap of thunder that put a deep, crackling period on Mary’s orders.

  It was a tribute to how well we had learned the ways of trail work that not a one of us hesitated or gave a thought to supper. Duty called.

  Sally and I started packing our gear, and Pearl and Prudence hustled to pick out mounts and saddle up. Mary rode to tell the plan to Ruth and Ernestine. I’d just gotten my papers safely secured in my saddlebag when the big droplets began to fall.

  The day was still hot, but that wouldn’t be the case for long. The scattered droplets were cold, a precursor of the front edging ever closer. We could see heavier rains coming in and a rainbow formed where the storm danced against the sunlight. The cattle were growing nervous, lowing and rumbling along with the thunder.

  Mary walked her horse into the river where we’d seen Dusty cross. She poked a long stick into the riverbed as she moved downstream. Satisfied that the footing was solid, she waved Clean Through ahead. I had wondered at the reason for the tall wheels on the chuckwagon, but seeing the mules pull the wagon through the water with the floor of the wagon hardly skimming the surface cleared it up for me.

  As Clean Through hit the halfway mark, Katie rode Pitch into the river. Just as Jonas had said, the rest of the remuda followed where Pitch led. They were spread out more than Mary liked, so she guided her horse back and forth to form a line and keep the horses together.

  The bank on the opposite side of the river was steep. The mules exited fine, but it took all their strength to raise the chuckwagon over the ridge and onto the bank. Again the tall wheels played a role by easing the angle. With some snaps of the reins and encouragement from Clean Through, the mules pulled the wagon onto the bank and ahead to flat ground. As Clean Through set the brake, the sky unleashed its fury.

  All was darkness now. The thick clouds blocked out the sun and if we’d had time to think we would have thought it was night, not barely evening. Rain pelted down, stinging our faces, within minutes turning the topsoil to mud.

  “Now, Ernestine!” roared Mary between thunderclaps.

  “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!” The skittish herd needed little encouragement to move, but the cracks of thunder and slaps of the puddling rain outlasted even Ernestine’s shrill cry. Cattle scattered in every direction, slamming into each other, some plunging into the river, others turning back. Ernestine cut off the retreaters and screamed again, turning them to the side. Pearl then cut them off and urged them forward. Most went. Some raced past Pearl. The storm loomed above us and a glowing shaft of lightning snapped down, scaring the cattle—and us— once again. Those that had raced by Pearl turned once more, bellowing, roaring, slinging mud with every sloppy step.

  With Sally and I on one side and Ruth and Prudence on the other, we pushed the cattle forward into the river. Katie and Mary galloped back to help Pearl and Ernestine. The gray sky offered little light, and it was difficult to see how far the herd was spreading. The lightning became both enemy and friend, terrifying the cattle but providing us with glimpses to get our bearings. Clean Through shouted encouragement and the cattle responded to his voice, plunging their way toward the river’s edge.

  A sizzling bolt struck our former campsite, panicking a steer to ram sideways into the herd, its horns goring a cow, tumbling it to the ground. The horrific roar of the cow and the smell of blood distressed the herd even more, and controlling them was almost impossible. They were spreading too wide and rambling in too many directions.

  “Form a wall and fire your guns,” shouted Sally and the idea caught on fast. Katie joined us in the river and the three of us fired into the air. The herd tightened from our side, and at the same time, Ruth, Prudence and Mary fired from the other side. Then Ernestine fired from the back and we had re-established a form of order. We had no idea about strays, but the bulk of the herd was moving forward and crossing the river.

  The minutes ticked like hours, so it was another shock to the system when the storm passed and the sun was still hanging low in the sky. The reddish-orange glow reflected in the multitude of puddled hoofprints on both sides of the river. The herd was antsy and lowing, but still for the moment as their fear had outlasted their energy.

  Across the river, where we had camped for less than two hours, three strays roamed. Probab
ly more were long gone. Four cattle carcasses dotted the landscape. I was surprised to see that Uncle Angus was not among them. She had crossed with the herd, no doubt saving her energy for future aimless wandering.

  Mary and I went to retrieve the strays. Clean Through took a horse across the already-rising river as well, planning to examine the carcasses to add to his meat supply—a veteran’s way of turning near-disaster into some small level of success. As long as there’s a semblance of a herd and as long as the cowpokes are upright in the saddle, the drive goes on.

  Prudence stood on the shore of the river, staring at the dead steers, wiping her eyes. As Ruth held her tight, Prudence was again the one to give voice to the thoughts shared by the group. “I don’t know if I want to do this anymore.”

  Chapter 13

  We were too tired to complain or whine or fight. The herd was too exhausted to scatter, but nothing would’ve been done had they started to roam every which way. There was no watch that night, and Mary’s only order was sleep. It was an order we followed without hesitation.

  Morning came without Clean Through’s clanging. Mary had told Clean Through we’d camp here the entire day and start fresh the next. She’d searched his eyes as if seeking approval of the decision. He just nodded—to him, the boss had spoken. No approval was needed. He left us to wake up on our own to get the rest we needed, though we all woke early wondering why we hadn’t been roused.

  In the morning light, our path across the river looked like we felt. Beaten. Sopping. Dirty. A shambles. Wisps of fog hung in the air. We could see just how wide the herd had spread before we’d reestablished a modicum of order. Overnight, the rain-soaked land had begun to shed its water, filtering it into the river that was now close to three feet higher than the day before. The rain and cattle had stirred the river to a heavy-clouded brown with floating debris. Even though we hated to admit it in the light of all we’d gone through, the decision to cross had been the right one.