by Stan Himes
“After a time I got used to his ways, and I think that bothers me more than the hurt he caused. I lost my pride. Thought maybe this adventure would bring it back. Then that boy today… sparkin’ after you like he did, Katie. So much came rushin’ into my head. If my two eldest boys had lived, they’d be about his age or maybe a year older. What would they be like now? Would they treat a girl respectful like that Parker boy treated you? I like to think so. I hope they wouldn’t treat a woman like their pa treated me.” Prudence wiped away a tear. Ruth brushed the water with her hand as if letting the memories ripple away, then gave a sad smile first to Prudence and then to Katie. “I deserved better than the life I’ve had, and you girls deserve so much more.” Her smile at Katie broadened. “I have a good feelin’ about that Parker boy. All I’m sayin’ is, be careful before you give your heart away.”
“I will, Mrs. Hadley. Thank you for sharing that.”
“Well, I didn’t mean to turn everyone sad. But at least we stopped talkin’ about Sally’s underthings.” She splashed water at Sally and just like that we were happy and playful again, though I have to say Prudence looked at her mother in a new light. Soon she, too, was laughing again. With no thought of the time, we soaked and splattered each other and cackled some more.
Next thing we knew, there was the snort of a horse on the bank. Mary sat in the saddle, trying to stare us into shame but unable to control the twinkle in her eyes that betrayed her amusement.
Katie spoke up before Mary could say a thing. “Hi, Ma. We’re doing the washing.”
“A woman’s work is never done,” added Ernestine. I don’t know whether it was her squeaky voice or the irony of her words in the middle of a cattle drive, but Mary was moved to a smile. Moments later, one more set of clothes was hanging out to dry.
We talked and splashed for close to another hour, thankful that Clean Through’s nip at his medicinal whisky kept him snoring the whole time. Ruth’s burden seemed lessened and she joined in the merriment as if she had let go of her stories eons ago. For that little bit of time, we were women out of pants, our work clothes and our worries tossed aside.
It was a time of pure, carefree joy — the last such time we would have. Looking back, I wish we had savored it more.
Chapter 15
“You ladies are sure draggin’ after gettin’ a good night’s sleep.” Clean Through banged and clanged that nasty wooden spoon in that nasty pot for the third time. He ruffled his gray whiskers and smiled his near-toothless smile. “Look at me. I’m fresh as a dewdrop on a cactus flower on a fine spring morning.” I wanted to tell him that he likely hadn’t looked fresh in forty years, but I held back. We were dragging. It wasn’t his fault we’d stayed up cackling in the river.
Once you’ve sat in a river in your undergarments—assuming it’s by choice—that river doesn’t seem so intimidating. The memories of the previous river crossing had been washed aside by the memories of the previous day and night. Young love. Relaxing in cool water with friends. Despite the sadness Ruth had shared, the entire evening had passed without her calling Pearl a harlot a single time. Even the visible reminders of our rough adventure had been wrung from our clothes and hair. Though still far from clean, we felt renewed in the morning light. We shook off our sleepiness with the help of Clean Through’s strong coffee and the knowledge that we had spent the evening both beside and in the river without disaster. That there wasn’t a rain cloud in sight was the final piece of our confidence puzzle. Not only were we ready to move the herd across the river, we were ready to take on anyone who might dare try to stop us.
While Mary ordered us into position, Clean Through snapped the reins to get his team of mules going. I’d always heard mules were stubborn, but these two always did what Clean Through asked—probably because he kept them well fed.
Next, Katie took the remuda across. Again she rode Pitch and again the horses followed. Mary trailed the horses to encourage them to keep moving. Once they were across, she took her place at the front of the herd and we awaited the sound that had marked the beginning of our work day for quite some time.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Ernestine was in fine voice and the herd responded exactly as planned by trying to get far away from her. They moved forward into the water, whining and bellowing with a touch of sadness that might have been from leaving the river but might also have been because Ernestine was louder than they were.
The river that had seemed so wide when we were nervous now seemed like a creek when viewed through confident eyes. No doubt its width is somewhere in between. Mary crossed and then moved to the side to watch the herd and holler orders. At one point she shouted, “Keep ’em moving! Don’t let them drift down where it’s soft!” It reminded me of Jonas making speeches about things we already knew. Sometimes the one in charge just has to say something to feel involved in what’s going on. Then I realized that Uncle Angus was indeed drifting off and I moved to turn her back with the herd.
All of our heads snapped up at a passing shadow, but it was just a hawk floating in a circle above us. At least it’s not a vulture, I thought. Or a storm cloud.
Ruth and I were the next to reach the bank. We stayed at the edge, acting as a funnel for the herd to move through. The cattle had no difficulty moving across. The water was still low and gentle, and the bank had an easy slope they could walk right up as if God had built a ramp onto the prairie. Their gait and progress was so mild and steady that the water had muddied only to a light brown similar to tea with milk. A frog even leapt up to sun itself on a stone.
Up ahead, Clean Through brought the chuckwagon to a stop and turned to watch the progress. The horses were content to nibble a grassy patch, so Katie left them and moved back to the river’s edge, ready to offer support where needed. But all was proceeding according to plan.
Except for the hawk. It had other plans.
Like the lightning from our previous crossing, the hawk struck. It tucked in its wings and sped downward, snatching the sunning frog with its talons. Rising again, it soared past the face of Pearl’s horse. Frantic, the horse reared back, throwing Pearl into the water, her limbs flailing, her head cracking on a stone. The horse rushed off. Pearl lifted her head, dazed. She pushed at the riverbed with her arms, trying to stand, but blackness clouded over her. She managed a staggering crawl, but the blackness was too overpowering. She collapsed into the water, limp, face down.
On and near the shore, none of us had noticed. We were caught up in our duties, and the lowing and splashing feet of the cattle had drowned out—a poor choice of words, I know—any noises Pearl and her horse had made.
“Keep them headed straight. Nice, easy pace,” Mary directed. Ruth and I kept the cattle moving onto the bank. Sally, Prudence and Ernestine kept driving them.
Thank God for Katie’s eyes. She spotted the rider-less horse springing upstream. Alert, she scanned the river.
“Pearl!”
She snapped Pitch into action, rushing toward Pearl’s prone body. How long had she been there? What had happened? Was she alive?
Sally and Mary saw Katie’s mad dash and looked ahead to Katie’s destination. Pearl! They raced in to help.
Ernestine, at the back of the herd, close to the river’s edge, saw the commotion from the corner of her eye. She raced to help as well.
Katie reached Pearl and sprang from the saddle. She dropped to her knees and scooped Pearl’s head from the water. Blood trickled down Pearl’s ear. She was pale and still.
“She’s not breathing!” called Katie as Mary and Sally arrived. They plunged in to help, though not knowing how. Ernestine arrived next.
Together, Mary and Sally rolled Pearl onto her back, her head now resting face up on Katie’s lap, the blood seeping onto Katie’s pants. “Pearl!” shouted Mary, rustling Pearl’s shoulders. No response. No movement. “Pearl!”
“Let’s get her to shore,” Sally said. Mary nodded agreement and she and Sally began to slide their arms
under Pearl.
“I got her,” said Ernestine, gliding in and scooping Pearl up with ease. She hustled the body to shore, Mary and Katie right behind. Sally gathered the horses.
For the first time, Clean Through saw what was happening and Ruth, Prudence and I saw Clean Through point. We couldn’t tell all of what was going on, but we could see Ernestine setting something on the shore and the others kneeling beside it. We abandoned our duties, leapt off our mounts and sprinted to help. We could hear overlapping voices—“She’s not movin’!” “She’s not breathin’!” “She’s bleedin’ something fierce!”—but did not know who or why until we were close enough to see Pearl’s prone, lifeless body.
“Oh, Jesus,” whispered Ruth, her differences with Pearl cast aside in the harsh reality.
My mind raced, wondering what could have happened. We had done everything right, I was sure. In the heat of the moment, I was angry. Bad things shouldn’t happen when you don’t do anything wrong. Of course I knew that life doesn’t share that viewpoint, but life had me pretty steamed at that particular moment.
Mary gave Pearl’s shoulders another shake. “Pearl!” Nothing. She put her ear to Pearl’s chest.
“Oh, Ma, tell me she’s alive!” begged Katie.
“I can’t. I don’t know,” Mary’s voice cracked.
“There!” shouted Prudence. “Her arm moved! I know it did!”
None of us had seen it, but none of us was about to argue. If there was a sign of life, we’d rally to it. Mary shook Pearl again, then gave her face light slaps. “Pearl. Pearl.” She looked up at Sally, who was closest. “Help me put her on her side.”
They propped Mary up on her left side, and for the first time I saw the gash on her head and the clotting blood. Without warning, Mary slammed her fist between Pearl’s shoulder blades. The body shook and all of us watched for any sign of life. “I swear I saw her arm move. I swear it.” Prudence’s voice was almost too soft to be a whisper.
A cough!
Pearl lurched to life, choking on the water that filled her lungs. Mary hit her again, softer this time with just the heel of her palm. Pearl coughed again, spewing up water. Her body racked and convulsed, retching out more water, brown, ugly, tinged with blood. A gurgling, crusty sound echoed from her lungs as they worked to eject the water. On her own, Pearl rolled onto her hands and knees, vomiting, coughing, aching life back into her body. Her chest cleared. Her breathing quieted. She slumped onto one elbow, and then with a gasp she rolled onto her back, unconscious again but breathing.
We were all standing or kneeling around her, onlookers grateful for the life that had returned to Pearl yet unsure what to do next. The answer came in a renewed trickle of blood. With her breathing once again steady and her heart again pumping, wet, sticky blood pushed through the wound that hadn’t completely clotted over. Mary brushed back Pearl’s hair and we could see the gash. “Better she stays out while we take care of that.”
Mary looked up at Sally with a hard, knowing stare. Sally understood. She nodded, swallowed and spoke. “Move her up into better light.” While several of us pulled Pearl farther up the bank, Katie swung her saddle of off Pitch and placed it down for us to prop Pearl against. Some of her color had returned, though the color seemed deep under her skin like her face was encased in wax.
Sally returned with her sewing kit and Mary once again brushed back Pearl’s hair to expose the wound. As Sally threaded a needle, Prudence clutched her stomach.
“Oh, Lord, I’m gonna lose my breakfast.”
She turned away, facing the river, bending over and fighting to regain control. Mary gave her the control she needed.
“Better get back to moving the herd. Have Clean Through go on ahead and look for an early campsite. We’ll be along.”
Prudence welcomed the words, but hesitated as we all did. We wanted to get out of there and we wanted to stay and help. None of us knew at the time what had happened to Pearl, but we all knew it could have happened to any of us. There was really nothing more we could do, so we followed Mary’s directive and went for our horses. The air seemed fresher as we moved farther from our injured companion, leaving just Mary and Sally to care for her. She was breathing. She was in good hands. We had work to do and after our initial hesitation we warmed to it. The herd was a fine distraction.
Prudence kept down her breakfast.
I glanced back long enough to see Sally pulling the thread through Pearl’s skin. Pearl, thankfully, remained unconscious. Mary winced with every stitch, but she kept her arms on Pearl’s shoulders to hold her steady should she awaken. Sally concentrated on her work. She had always taken pride in her even stitching and now she wanted to be more perfect than ever—this was a sewing job that would be seen for life. Pearl had enough scars on the inside.
As we were left wondering how once a again a river—this one calm, shallow and sundrenched—had been the site of potential disaster, Parker was all smiles as he delivered his horses to the Woodward trading post. He also posted another letter I had written (I doubt that I had ever written two letters in one year, let alone two in one week) and as he accepted payment for the horses he told Will and Ethyl McKendricks, the long-time proprietors of the trading post, about the beautiful girl he planned to marry. They offered up some pie to celebrate and asked him a lot of questions about her and about what his plans were. At the time, he couldn’t provide much detail about Katie except that she was pretty, pleasant, kind, and had captured his heart. If he had known about Katie beginning the rescue of Pearl, he would have added “brave” with pride. As for his plans, he needed to complete his delivery in Caldwell, then—what? By all rights, he should return to the ranch to help his uncle, who would be expecting him. But Katie was headed to Dodge City. Should he go there first rather than straight home? It was worth considering. Maybe he’d be fortunate enough that a short courtship was agreeable to all, despite Katie’s father not being there, which, he admitted, bothered his sense of the order of things. And he didn’t like the thought of Katie being around the outlaws and barkeeps and drunkards and general rascals in Dodge. But he had a duty to his uncle and to his half of the business. It was a lot to mull over. He had a little time. Once he got to Caldwell, then he could decide whether to say yes or no to his impulse to go straight to Dodge City.
For the moment, he did not say no to a second helping of pie.
North of us, in our destination of Dodge City, it was reported that a young woman had been found dead in a nearby field. She had been beaten to death, and the doctor who examined the body was quoted as saying that “the beating might have been a relief after all she’d been through.” There were no witnesses—at least none that came forward—and the law had no leads beyond some deep hoofprints, perhaps from a horse with two riders or one very large man.
PART FIVE
DIVIDED
Chapter 16
Clean Through’s years of experience on cattle drives served us well. He led us ten miles that day when we might easily have stopped before the mid-day meal. “Things happen on drives,” he said, “but the drives don’t stop until the cattle is in the stockyard. Best remember that.”
I’m going to try now to give you a good idea of where we were, because it’s important that you understand how far we had traveled, how far we had to go, and what our location was in relation to the trail system. The problem is that, while I think I’m holding my own in telling you the story through my writing, I have no artistic skills whatsoever and feel nervous about attempting to draw out a map. If you put a straight-edged piece of lumber on some paper and asked me to trace along it to make a straight line, I would mess it up. So please don’t hold it against me if the map I’m about to sketch out for you looks like a child’s drawing and is in no way an accurate representation in terms of scale. If it’s true that a picture is worth a thousand words, then this one is probably worth two hundred at the most. It’s just supposed to give you enough information that you think, “Oh, all right, I see what’s wh
ere.” Even with that understood, I hesitate to draw it out because I just know I’ll end up being called that woman who can’t draw a decent map rather than that woman who wrote about those women on the cattle drive.
Nevertheless, and with respect and apologies to any cartographers who may see it, I present my Here’s What’s Where sketch:
Again, my apologies. You may have been better off with the thousand words. But perhaps this little sketch will give you some reference for the many activities that I’m about to describe and that were happening close to the same time.
As I noted, we were about ten miles north of the North Canadian River. Clean Through started a fire while the rest of us settled the herd and the horses. By suppertime, Mary, Sally and Pearl had arrived. Now Pearl rested by the fire after eating her fill of something Clean Through called cornfritters. They were like hotcakes, but thinner and with corn inside, and as he fried them up in butter they sent out an aroma that I have since decided Heaven must smell like. He said it was a family recipe handed down from the Pilgrims, who had originally named the concoction “corn oysters.” Not only were we impressed that Clean Through knew about the Pilgrims, we were even more impressed with the taste of these fine treats.
“Why haven’t you made these before?” asked Prudence, her arm in the air. “They’re tasty as can be.”
“Been savin’ my corn,” he replied. “Waitin’ until we needed an extra cheer. If you was men, I’d pass around the corn whiskey. These’ll have to do in this case.”
“Having tried whiskey once,” I said, “you can keep it. But don’t hesitate to stir up more of these fritters any time.”
Clean Through acted like he wasn’t paying attention, but I know he soaked up compliments the same as his biscuits soaked up gravy. His back was to me, but I was certain his near-toothless grin was in full form on the other side.