The Women in Pants

by Stan Himes

  I can’t say we missed the three men we’d buried, but at least we understood them. They had frightened us and threatened us and put the drive at risk, and they were dead and in the ground because of it. We could fight back against people. But you can’t shoot a storm. You can’t shoot a rising river.

  Above all, we couldn’t shoot what would quite possibly be the biggest opponent we would face: doubt. We’d had our lingering doubts from the very first day, but our desires to help and to change our lives had pushed those doubts aside. Our growing confidence in our skills and in each other had driven those doubts still farther away. Now doubt had come raging back, looming over us like an army of dark clouds, penning us in, laying siege with barricades of fog.

  You can’t shoot fog. It has to burn off.

  Mary gave us a day to rest, but the unplanned brilliance of it was that it was also a day to burn off the fog that now enveloped our minds as well as the landscape.

  As Clean Through stirred the embers of the fire and banked it with a new load of wood, Sally overlooked her unfulfilled dreams and an unfulfilled heart to seek comfort in the past. “I never thought I’d miss Secluded Springs, but at least there I had a roof and dry clothes.” She wrapped her arms around herself. Henry may have been a back-door lover, drifting in and out always at his whim and never hers, but sometimes he held her like she wanted to be held now.

  “All my chores seem easy compared to crossin’ that river,” Prudence said. She tried to brush a clump of mud off her shirt, but her effort just smeared it. “I’d rather churn ten hours of butter.”

  Ruth patted her daughter’s shoulder, a rare show of affection. “I know it ain’t been easy for you, there or here. I admit our little shack looks pretty good about now.”

  Ernestine held out her hands to the fire and joined the brooding. “I used to wonder if all I’d ever do in life was reach up to get things off a shelf.” She moved her left arm around, trying to loosen her aching shoulder from a spill she’d taken during the storm. “Reckon it wasn’t so bad.”

  “Wasn’t so bad?” Katie was the first of us to show any spunk. “You all couldn’t wait to get away. You talked Ma into it, Ruth, remember? You, too, Sally.”

  Ruth just nodded. Sally just mumbled a soft, “You’re right. I know,” and then went back to staring at nothing.

  “It seemed like an adventure back then,” was all Prudence had to say. It being a statement instead of a question, she didn’t raise her hand.

  Not only had Katie’s energy failed to spread to them, but their moping seemed to take the spirit out of Katie. She, too, stared at nothing or perhaps at a memory. “Wonder how Pa’s doin’.”

  Pearl was not one to vocalize her thoughts. She had no intention of ever going back. She’d coughed up enough river water, though, to have deep concerns about how far into her new future she was going to get.

  I was strangely thankful, not that we were alive, but that my saddlebags had kept my sheaf of papers dry despite the pouring rain and rising river. With the discovery that writing down my thoughts had awakened an energy inside of me, my life had already begun to change, whereas the others were basing the changes in their lives on reaching a destination and getting paid. Whether I returned to Secluded Springs or finished the drive and moved on to places unknown, my life would be forever different. My doubts were that I’d have the chance to experience it, but I guess I was the one person in the group who was feeling positive. If I’d realized how Mary had been churning inside as she listened to her doubting team, I would have spoken up.

  Rising from the stone where she sat, Mary squared her shoulders, stretched her stiff neck, and faced us. “I have no doubt yesterday was brutal. I have no doubt that more difficult times are ahead. If you want out, then God bless you, go, today’s your day to leave and I’ll never hold it against you. But if you’re still here at dinner, then you’re in it ’til the end come what may. We are the cattlehands of the Circle B brand, and there’s no room for quitters in our outfit. Back out now, or never think of it again.” She picked up her saddle and started walking toward the horses. “No need to reply. Your presence will be your answer. I’m gonna go check on the herd.”

  We watched her toss the saddle onto a bay with a splash of white above its eyes. She tightened the cinch, climbed on, and trotted away without looking back at us. Whatever doubts she had, and I’m sure they were many, rode off with her.

  Katie rose. “Think I’ll check on the herd as well.”

  “I’ll join you,” said Pearl.

  I got up next. Then Sally, Ruth, Ernestine and, finally, Prudence.

  As we rode out to give the herd more attention than it could ever deserve, Clean Through called out, “There’ll be pie when you get back.”

  Again in my spirit of honest representation, I must say that I believe Clean Through’s cooking bedded down the nerves more than Mary asserting herself. With more time to cook and with a full understanding of current needs, he’d prepared a beef stew that included potatoes, more boiled potatoes on the side, black-eyed peas, skillet corn bread, sourdough biscuits, and apple pie. He added fresh coffee rather than reheating the morning grounds. Most of us never ate that well at home, and if we did, it meant the preacher was visiting.

  We had reaffirmed our commitment to Mary, we had full stomachs, and we’d caught up on some rest. Our clothes were still soiled, but they were dry. The mood of all had greatly improved.

  In fact, it wasn’t until weeks later that it occurred to one of us (I forget who and curse myself for failing to write it down) that Mary had never offered up what would happen if any of us tried to leave after her offer expired. Mary refused to tell me what consequences she had in mind. Her toughness had risen to the surface that day, but I had my doubts that Mary herself had any thought of coming up with a punishment. I think she knew we’d stay together.

  After all, we had pie.

  We would later learn that about the same time our spirits were rising, another herd far north of us was crossing into Kansas on its way to Dodge City. The cattlehands were attacked and the herd was stolen. An army patrol found a single survivor who lived long enough to say that the gang of rustlers included the largest man he had ever seen.

  Chapter 14

  Some called it Oklahoma Territory. Some called it Indian Territory. Some said they were two separate areas and others said it was all one and the same. Regardless of how you drew it up on a map or named it, it offered an almost-straight northward trek to Dodge City. The earth was as red and often redder than what we’d left behind in Texas. It was soft earth, too, never seeming to pack down despite the trampling of herd after herd.

  We reached the Western Trail and turned north without incident. No bandits. No rustlers. No Indians. Not even a sign of gawkers out to see the women dressed like men. Perhaps the news hadn’t spread this far, or perhaps no one cared. Weather had been cooperative as well, which helped keep our spirits up. The cattle enjoyed the rich grass on the Trail—it must have been a hearty species to bounce back so green and tall after numerous herds chomped and flattened it. If our calculations were correct, it was now August 1. We had been on the drive for three and a half weeks. We felt seasoned, as if it had been three and a half years.

  Then there we were, camped at the second Canadian River, this one referred to as the North Canadian River as if that made it unique. Under other circumstances, we might have spent more time wondering what the obsession was with naming rivers after a country more than a thousand miles away, but the memory of our previous crossing was too vivid.

  Everything seemed to be in our favor this time. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and believe me, we checked every few seconds just to be sure. We’d reached the river during the afternoon, giving us ample time to refill our water supply, settle the herd, and fill our stomachs. Still, we kept looking skyward, waiting for a lightning bolt to skip the need for a storm and just strike us down directly.

  The same day, Doc rode out to see Jonas. If the examin
ation went well, and if Jonas promised to keep using the crutches and to keep his backside off of a horse, Doc would remove the splints on Jonas’s leg.

  “Just cut the darn things off,” grumbled Jonas as Doc poked at him.

  Doc ignored him. “Can you feel that?”

  “That you’re jabbin’ your finger into my hip? ’Course I can feel it.” Jonas raised his eyebrows and his tone lightened. “That’s good, right? I mean, I should be able to feel a bony old finger stickin’ me in the side, hmmm?”

  “Just relax.” Doc never did like to answer questions before an examination was complete. He put Jonas through a series of tell-me-when-it-hurts tests, pulling his leg in different directions, swinging it at the hip, having Jonas flex his toes, and a whole bunch more. When Doc pulled out his stethoscope, Jonas had a fit.

  “If you think a trampled leg messed up my heart then you need more doctor schooling! I’m telling you, I’m fine. Cut the darn things off!”

  “When you calm down, I’ll share some good news with you.”

  “I’ll be a lot calmer when you get these boards off my leg.” Jonas quieted as Doc stared at him with practiced patience. “What good news?”

  “Two things. First, I believe you’ve healed enough that I can remove the splints.” He held up a quieting hand to make sure he had Jonas’s full attention. “That doesn’t mean I believe you’re ready to walk on your own, and certainly not to do any lifting or riding. As it stands, you may always walk with a limp, but if you put too much strain on that hip too soon, you’ll be hoping that a limp is your only trouble. Crutches for two more weeks, maybe three. Do we understand each other?”

  “I can’t say I’m in full agreement with your view of what makes good news, but I’ll abide by what you say. Ain’t easy sitting all the time, though, knowing there’s work to be done.”

  “The work’ll wait. I came past your remaining cattle on my way in. They know how to chomp on grass without you watching them.”

  “Thinkin’ that way is why you’re a sawbones instead of a rancher. What’s the second piece of good news?”

  Doc grinned and reached into his pocket. “Laurie Michaels sent her folks a letter and they were kind enough to let me bring it out for you to read.” He handed it to Jonas. “You can look at it while I cut off these splints.”

  Jonas gazed at the letter, longing to know the news it must bring about Mary, Katie and the drive. Yet he handed it back to Doc. “Mind reading it for me? I… I misplaced my spectacles.”

  That pretty much confirmed something Doc had wondered on for quite some time. Jonas couldn’t read. Doc hadn’t said anything when Jonas always turned down reading material in his office, and now he let him hang onto his pride and opened the letter that I’d given Dusty to post before we crossed the river.

  “‘Dear Mother and Father. The drive is going well, though I must say we’ve had our adventures. We have reached the Canadian River. All of us are well.’” Jonas let go a sigh of relief. “‘We had a scare when some bad men stole two of us — not me…’”

  “Stole ’em!” So much for the sigh of relief.

  “‘…But we tracked them down and Pearl killed the men. All of us are together again and safe. A man passing by has agreed to post this letter for me. I hope it finds you well. Thank you again for the paper. I find that I like writing and will try to send more letters. Love, Laurie.’”

  “That’s it? She didn’t say who was taken. She didn’t —”

  “She was sending a letter, not a report. Now you know that all are safe. Heck, by now they’re likely far into Oklahoma. You can’t ask for more than that.”

  “I can ask to be there, but my doctor won’t let me ride a horse.”

  “You’re darn right he won’t.”

  They squawked with each other for a while longer, but underneath it all was the comfort of knowing we were well.

  Despite Dusty saying otherwise, the North Canadian River looked wider than the Canadian, but it seemed less intimidating without the storm clouds overhead. Mary had already ridden across and back, deeming the footing solid and the water level only about waist deep except for a slight dip in the center. The current was gentle. All signs were positive for a good passage across in the morning. That made us nervous.

  Whereas before we were so busy watching for riders that we hadn’t noted the oncoming storm, now we were so busy looking for any wisp of a dark cloud that we were fortunate when Ruth spotted a rider heading in our direction. I suspect it was because she’s shorter than the rest of us and watching the sky still encompassed more of the horizon line for her than us.

  It was a man with just under a dozen tethered horses trailing single file behind him. He’d clearly seen us and approached directly with no sign of ill will or outlaw intent. Our hands were on our guns anyway. Just because Dusty and John had been friendly, it didn’t mean everyone would be. As it stood so far, the bad had outnumbered the good three to two.

  “Evening, ladies,” he called with a broad smile. Though he was somewhat silhouetted against the late-afternoon sun, it was still early enough in the day that there was plenty of light to see him. He was young, 19, maybe 20. He pulled his horse to a stop a friendly distance outside our camp. The trailing horses stopped as well and he jumped down. “I heard about your presence on the trail and wanted to offer my —.”

  You may not believe me, but that’s exactly how it went. He was fresh and energetic and outgoing and he stopped in mid-sentence at the sight of Katie. I do not want the truth doubted at all, so if you bring a stack of Bibles I will swear upon them loudly and without hesitation that he went one hundred percent lock-jawed when he laid eyes upon that girl. Just stood there gaping. And I don’t mean for one or two seconds, I mean that he might still be there if Clean Through hadn’t finally tossed a ladle of cold water on him and said, “Easy, son.”

  For her part, Katie was staring right back. I didn’t believe in love at first sight before that moment, and I still don’t since infatuation can come to a screeching halt when mouths open and you find out your potential love is none too bright, but these two came as close to it as I believe possible. He didn’t seem to notice that the rest of us were there, that Katie wore a layer of trail dust and soiled, mud-spattered clothes, or that her once-lively hair had been matted down by her hat and by perspiration from the hot sun. Likewise, she couldn’t see that his clothes were tattered and that he had a large splotch on his cheek from wiping off sweat with dusty fingers. They were twenty feet apart, maybe thirty, and lost in each other’s eyes.

  “I thank you kindly for the cool water,” he said to Clean Through. “Guess maybe the sun was getting to me.”

  “Must’ve been it,” said Clean Through, his hand over his mouth.

  Mary stepped in front of Katie. “You mind telling us who you are and why you’re here so we’ll know whether or not to shoot you?”

  “Of course, ma’am. I apologize.” He wiped the dripping water back over his face and slicked down his hair with it. “I’m Parker Hagen. I raise horses. Takin’ these to a buyer up in Caldwell.”

  “That’s who you are. Now how about the why?”

  “Don’t be rude, Ma,” whispered Katie. Mary ignored her.

  “Heard rumors of women moving cattle north. Wasn’t sure if you were on this trail or over on the Chisolm. Hopin’ I’d cross your path. Figured I might never see something like this again.”

  “Seems reasonable, Ma.”

  “We’d be a lot more welcoming, young man, if you’d hand over that shooting iron.”

  Parker grinned. “My pa always told me never to give up my gun, but he also told me you can’t win an argument with women. As long as we’re agreed that I get it back when I leave, I’ll oblige.”

  “Of course.”

  He lifted his gun from its holster using two fingers to grasp the handle. He held it out to Clean Through, but Katie pushed past her mom. “I’ll get it.” She took the pistol with a gentle touch, lingering in front of Parker
long enough that Clean Through was reaching for the ladle again.

  “Bring it here, Katie,” said Mary with an impatient tone. “My goodness. Give the young man room to breathe.”

  Parker was the very definition of a strapping young man. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Forearms the size of Ruth’s waist. If he had looked at Katie and said, “You’ll do,” I have no doubt she would’ve swooned. Yet what struck me most of all was his polite manner. He was the embodiment of western ideals in a man raised right. All of us could see he was beyond smitten with Katie, yet there was nothing about his ways that had us worrying he would snatch her up and ride off like the wrong kind of western man. He was respectful.

  He had originally come to visit just so he could say that he’d seen the women in pants, but that plan had swiftly changed. He intended to win Katie’s heart and, just as essential, Mary’s approval to do so. He spoke of the business he was growing, of how the horses he raised in Amarillo with his uncle were often purchased by people as far away as Pueblo and Abilene. He wasn’t boasting so much as making sure Mary and Katie understood that his prospects were good.

  It was fascinating to see love bloom so quickly. Katie and Parker had known each other less than an hour, had never been alone together, had not taken part in anything more than a superficial conversation, and the only physical contact between them was when their fingers brushed slightly as he handed her his gun. As we pumped Parker with questions, he was agreeable to answer—and the way he often extended those answers made it clear that they were really meant for Katie.