The Women in Pants

by Stan Himes

  “Why don’t you let me finish reading instead of flying off the handle?” Jonas nodded and my father continued. “‘It was quickly clear to all of us, Mary included, that marriage is in their future. But the young man (his name is Parker)’—she doesn’t say if that’s his first or last name—‘is very respectful. He asked Mary’s permission to court Katie once he finishes the job he’s doing. I could tell that both Parker and Mary wished Jonas was there to answer for the family, but she liked the boy plenty and, let’s face it, Jonas is back there with you’—Jonas bristled at that and I wish I hadn’t written it—‘though she held back a complete blessing in hopes that Parker can meet Jonas first. Katie’s bubbling over with dreamy-eyed joy. That’s all I have time to write as Parker is leaving and has agreed to post this letter for me. I hope it finds you and Mother well. Love, Laurie.’” My father gave Jonas a warm smile. “Congratulations are in order.”

  “For losin’ a daughter to a man I ain’t met?”

  “Oh now there you go again…”

  They continued to poke at each other for a while, but when my father left he knew that Jonas’s mixed emotions were perfectly reasonable. He was happy for his daughter and pleased that Mary had stressed that the approval role should be his, but he was frustrated that so much was happening in his family’s life without his involvement. Sitting at home gathering eggs once a day while Mary led the herd and Katie was courted by a stranger was in no way how he had envisioned his summer. On top of the frustration remained the fear for Mary’s life, Katie’s life, our lives, the herd and the ranch.

  In his mind, Katie still was and would always be his little girl. A little girl should be home with her father, he thought as he sat there, not traipsing across the prairie crossing rivers in storms, and certainly not meeting young men no matter how respectful. He frowned at the emptiness of the ranch. An image of Katie came into his head, smiling, and he couldn’t help but smile himself. “Might as well face up to it,” he said aloud as if my father was still there. “She’s growin’ up.” All he ever wanted for her was happiness. If Mary felt the young man was a worthy prospect and his dear Katie, who was smart enough to know her own heart, felt so as well, then so be it. He had taken Mary away from her father. What goes around comes around, and he’d better learn to live with it.

  He decided it was time to visit the henhouse. The eggs weren’t that important, but he could use the company.

  Rains swamped us that day, hindering progress as the trail muddied. Even riding point didn’t offer Pearl much relief. She rode with her head down, her body bundled in a blanket. Ruth had expected to eat dust all day, but when the rain came late in the morning, the dust was washed from the air, making it fresh and clean to breathe—for about half an hour. After that the pummeling rain and slogging hooves splattered mud so high it could not be avoided. Ruth was barely visible inside her over-sized coat, water dripping down in a stream from her hat. Ernestine kept her coat cinched around her.

  For some reason, I liked the rain. Maybe because that’s all it was, rain. No lightning or thunder. Not even endless dark, gloomy clouds. It was just a rainstorm and it didn’t chill me like it did some of the others. Before the trail became mud and puddles, I tilted my head back and let the fresh rain hit my face and drip down my throat. Once a muck-filled droplet sloshed up into my nose, though, that was the end of tilting back and enjoying the water. Besides, the rain didn’t keep Uncle Angus from wandering off. I had to keep a tight watch on her because I didn’t want to take the time to pull her out if she got mired in a mudhole—something that, to the best of my knowledge, my actual Uncle Angus never did.

  Mary was up ahead, and despite her black rain slicker she was easy to spot under the light-gray skies. As conditions worsened, she took more time to angle the herd toward the areas where she felt the footing was the most solid.

  It was slow going from front to back. Clean Through urged the mules on, keeping steady progress in hopes that the wheels wouldn’t sink into any soft spots. Katie was giving Pitch a rest and rode a bay instead. It proved to be a wise decision as Pitch followed Mary and the remuda followed Pitch. That freed up Katie, who had become our best roper, to help out when any cattle—but not Uncle Angus, I remind you—became stuck. She rode back and forth, first helping Prudence free a steer and then helping Sally with a mud-stuck cow.

  Long after I stopped finding it refreshing, the rain still refused to let up. The landscape wasn’t hilly, but it was rolling, and when Mary reached the top of a gentle slope she didn’t see anything ahead that offered cover. It wasn’t high ground, but it was the highest ground we could reach that day. She ordered a halt and the herd was happy to oblige. Whether human or cattle, you reach a point where standing in the mud and rain is better than slogging through it. We had all reached that point.

  At best, we had made five miles that day. Probably less. Back in Secluded Springs, Jonas had said about fifty days would see us to Dodge City and back. It was starting to look like the horses and cattle would have to sprout wings for us to get to Dodge in fifty days, let alone make the trip back.

  If you’ve ever doubted God’s existence, then you should see Oklahoma after a rain. The grass and brush recover fast at the first glint of sunshine, rising to a lush, deep green. Droplets glisten on tree branches and trickle down blades of prairie grass swaying in the breeze. Somehow the reddish-brown mud that had splattered everything eases back down to the ground, hiding beneath the foliage. It’s as lovely as it gets.

  Until you try to move.

  That mud may be hiding, but it’s ever-present, and it stuck to us as we walked, a glop-schloop sound trailing every step. While the muck and grime slid easily from the grass and shrubs, it was permanently entrenched in our clothes. And though we were doing the work of men, girlish thoughts rose up. As Mary got down from her horse, she noticed Prudence had her hand in the air.

  “What is it, Prudence?”

  “Do you think this mud will stain my hair?”

  Mary smiled a very tired smile. “I think your hair will endure. Can’t say the same for our clothes, though.”

  Still, getting through the mud was another hazard survived, and as the hazards of the trail go, discomfort and a general sense of griminess are low on the list. Somehow Clean Through got a hot fire going—“Wood don’t soak through like people”—and our clothes began to dry. The herd was hoof-deep in the muck, which was acceptable. The freshly watered grass filled their stomachs and satisfied their thirst. They were content to stay put. Though we hadn’t made much distance, things could have been worse, and to top it off, Ruth didn’t try to hit Pearl a single time. In fact, she brought Pearl a cup of coffee and Pearl, sensing a change in Ruth, drank it down without sniffing for poison.

  Chapter 19

  The ground had been thirsty. By breakfast, only a few scattered puddles remained.

  “Let’s push it today,” Mary said. “The herd’s fed and watered. A faster pace for a day shouldn’t run the meat off their bones. Maybe we can get in fifteen miles today.”

  We chose our horses for the day and moved out to our spots. There was a little confusion as both Ruth and Pearl rode out to the drag position on the right, but Pearl settled it. “I’m good right here.” Ruth moved up to point and Mary gave the signal to move the herd.

  “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!”

  I had wondered if the cattle would get used to Ernestine’s yell at some point, but it startled them every time. The screech also scattered three pheasants, a rabbit and half a dozen quail. If storekeeping didn’t work out, Ernestine had a future as hunter’s helper.

  She screamed again throughout the morning whenever the herd showed signs of slowing. We all chipped in some hoots and hollers and the combination of noises and a quickened step by our horses kept the herd rumbling ahead. Clean Through reckoned we made six miles by noon, and if he was correct then that was the most productive morning we had had to that point. “Every bit as fast as men,” Clean Through also reckoned
.

  They came into view just after our mid-day meal. Movement ahead, coming in slowly from the east side of the trail. Then they stopped.

  Mary was the first to see them, then Katie and Clean Through. All three signaled to bring the herd to a halt. Ruth and I circled to the front to slow the herd. Prudence came up to help. Sally rode up beside Mary. Even though Sally had spent much of her life staring close at her needle and thread, she had good eyes for seeing far away.

  “Up near the bend,” Mary said to her, hoping Sally could clarify the situation.

  “People. Two of them.”

  “Rustlers?” asked Katie.

  “Maybe,” Mary replied before rejecting the consideration. “No. They wouldn’t let themselves be seen.”

  “I’d say it’s time to pay the toll, boss,” said Clean Through.

  “Yeah, could be Cherokee,” Sally nodded, still squinting. “Looks like one is leaning on a gun.”

  Mary swallowed. “You sure?”

  “No. Could be a spear or a walking stick.”

  “Except they aren’t walking. They’re waiting.”

  “Jonas said to watch out for tricks.”

  “But Parker said they were friendly,” Katie jumped in.

  “Let’s hope he’s right,” said Mary. She gave her reins a gentle shake to urge her horse forward. “Clean Through, keep a hand on your rifle just in case.”

  “Let me go instead of you.”

  “No. I’m owner, trail boss and drover. Duty’s mine.”

  “I’ll go with you,” said Sally.

  Mary shook her head and looked back with a half-smile. “Anything bad happens, I’ll need you to sew me up.”

  All of us were gathered now and none of us saw the humor. “Be careful. We’ll be watching,” said Ruth. Each of us but Pearl had hands on a gun, and it flashed through my mind that about now she was likely wishing she’d brought one after all.

  As Mary approached the two figures, she could see that they were men and that one was much older than the other. The older one leaned on a carved walking stick. The younger one, maybe 20, stood to his side. Mary noted the long knife sheathed on his waist. No guns were visible. That offered some relief.

  When Mary was within speaking distance, the younger one stepped forward. “My grandfather, Chinmay, ‘One of Knowledge,’ warrior and elder of the Cherokee, greets the female cowboys.”

  Chinmay gave a slight nod toward Mary. His long hair was streaked with gray and she thought he was aptly named—there was wisdom in his eyes. She felt her fear lessen and her curiosity rise. She gave a respectful nod back. The old man spoke softly in Cherokee. It was unlike any language she had heard before. It wasn’t beautiful to hear. In fact, she thought it might be a harsh language when spoken loudly. But his tone, though firm, carried no menace.

  Mary looked at the younger one as he interpreted. “My grandfather believes that trails are not for women. He does not understand why a woman would dress like a man.”

  Mary smiled. “Tell him —”

  “You must speak to my grandfather,” the young man was quick to interject. “I will repeat your words for him.”

  Mary smiled at Chinmay. “Our dresses did not seem right for the work we have to do.”

  After listening to the interpretation from his grandson, Chinmay nodded approval. Mary could only assume her response had satisfied him. He made a sweeping gesture at the trail and spoke again in Cherokee.

  “My grandfather says that women who have traveled so far must be strong warriors.”

  Again Mary smiled. She spoke with a formal tone. “It is an honor to hear such praise from a great leader.” Then she added, “Truth is, we don’t always feel very brave.”

  After hearing the translation, Chinmay again nodded approval and spoke.

  “Honesty is bravery,” interpreted the young man.

  Mary was unsure how to respond, but she didn’t need to as the old man squared his shoulders and tapped his walking stick on the ground. She could tell it was time for business and kept her gaze on the old man’s deep-set eyes as he spoke.

  “My grandfather says that you do men’s work and must pay men’s toll for travel across our land.”

  “I understand. What is the toll to cross your honored land?”

  Chinmay needed no interpretation. He held up three fingers.

  Mary didn’t need an interpreter either, but the young man spoke anyway. “For three beef, you may cross.”

  “Agreed. We will bring you three steers.”

  Chinmay made a gesture toward the horizon ahead on the trail, held up two fingers, then spoke. This time Mary didn’t understand, so she looked at the young man to sort it out for her. “For two more beef, my grandfather will warn you of a danger up the trail.”

  Mary mulled it over. She didn’t want to part with more cattle and wondered if this was just a trick to get more from a woman. Or perhaps to test her resolve. But the old man’s eyes were sincere and she remembered his words about honesty. “Agreed. Tell of the danger and we will bring you two more steers.”

  Again Chinmay spoke. Mary could not understand the words, but the tone was clear. She was receiving a warning of something that caused the old man great concern. It was the longest speech the man had made.

  “My grandfather says that bad men wait for you two day’s ride ahead. Our hunting party saw them. They are no one’s friends. Not Cherokee, not whites. They mean you harm.”

  A rush of worry enveloped Mary. “What men? Can you help us?” Her questions were cut off when Chinmay held out a raised hand to indicate stop, then crossed his arms over his chest. It was clear to Mary that the discussion was over.

  “We have warned you of danger,” said the young man. “After you bring the beef, we will involve ourselves no more. We have battled enough.”

  Mary was pale with nerves, but she regained her composure. “You have done us a great service. I will send the steers.”

  She nodded at Chinmay, then at the young man whose name we never learned, and then turned and rode back toward us.

  It had been a difficult scene to watch. None of us had experienced any run-ins with Indians, but we had heard the stories. Most of the recent conflicts were up north in the Dakotas, and even though there was debate over whether Custer’s group had been massacred or stupid, either way it had ended in bloodshed. So it was a relief when we saw Mary turn back toward us. Her conversation had appeared pleasant, yet we could see distress in her face. Our mixture of concern and curiosity rose when she spoke.

  “Sally, Laurie, cut out five steers and take them over to the Cherokees. Show them nothing but respect. Then get back.” She got down from her horse, glanced at the trail ahead, then looked at us with a face full of worry. “I have decisions to make and I’ll be wanting to hear thoughts from everyone.”

  It was odd that Sally and I now had no fear of the Cherokee men. When we saw the worry on Mary’s face but knew it wasn’t directed at the Indians, the two men just became part of the job. We needed to get the steers to them and get back to find out what was going on.

  If I’d had more time to think I would have given them Uncle Angus, but we simply cut the first five steers from the herd. Chinmay remained on foot with his walking stick, but the young brave had retrieved a painted pony from the brush and sat upon its back. As we neared with the cattle, he rode to meet us and then turned back around to lead the steers. Another brave rode out from the brush and took his place behind the cattle. The steers moved away with the Cherokees without looking back—had they been pets, Sally and I might have been offended. Together with the three men, the steers disappeared into the brush at the side of the trail. There was no exchange of words or even nods between us and the men. It was a business transaction and it was now complete.

  Though perhaps five minutes had passed while we delivered the cattle, it felt much longer since we were anxious for Mary’s news. As we returned to the group, I realized that it must have felt like an eternity to them. Mary
waited for us without a word. Sally and I had had something to do, but the others just had to stand and wait.

  Now that we were back, Mary shared with all of us what the men had shared with her. “I don’t know how many there are, only that they’re waiting for us up ahead.”

  “You think they mean to take us?” asked Prudence, her hands clutched tight to her chest.

  “Maybe they want the cattle, not us,” I said. I supposed I opened the floodgates on speculation as everyone started talking at once.

  “They might mean to kill us.”

  “Or worse.”

  “Maybe steal us and the cattle.”

  “Think they worked with those men who stole us before?”

  “All right. All right,” Mary raised her voice to regain control of the group. She was getting pretty good at authority. “We can’t waste time guessin’. Fact is, we don’t know their intentions, who they are, or how many they are. I know, though, that Chinmay saw no good in them and I believe his warning was sincere. The real question is what we’re goin’ to do about it.”

  Ruth shuffled her feet. “We might’ve learned to be decent cowhands, but we ain’t gunfighters.”

  “Pearl shot those other three,” Ernestine offered up.

  “We ain’t about to take these men by surprise,” said Mary. “Nothing personal, Pearl.”

  Pearl nodded. “Only luck I had on the trip. Can’t count on it twice.”

  “We know they’re there,” said Clean Through. “That might give us an advantage.”

  Mary gave a slight shake of her head. “They know we’re coming, too. And Ruth’s right, we’re no match for decent guns, even it’s just a few. And it might be a lot.”

  “So you think we should turn back?” asked Sally.

  That lit a fire under Pearl. “I can’t go back. I just can’t!”