Esther

by Jim Cox

  “I want to get married and have a family someday, Ma, but I’m not sure Sally is the right girl.”

  “If you’re not sure, son, she’s probably not the one. But I wasn’t asking about your marriage plans. I know that’ll come along someday, I was asking about your livelihood; about what kind of work you wanted to do. Do you want to continue working for the ranch or is there something else you want to do?”

  Mark pondered for a while and took a couple long swallows of coffee; then his face brightened with twinkling eyes and one of his wide smiles, “I wanna go back to the docks in New Orleans as soon as the war is over, Ma. I want to sail the seas on cargo ships and work my way up to being a captain. It’s an exciting life, Ma; a life full of adventure…a life at sea is what I long for, Ma.

  “Then that’s what you should do, son. Don’t let anything get in your way. As soon as the war is over, I expect you to take off for New Orleans.”

  There was a long silence before Mark asked, “What about you, Ma? You’re still a young woman. What are your plans?”

  “I’ll probably stay at the Crooked Rail and save up enough to retire on. They’re good to me here and give me a great deal of authority which I appreciate. Don’t worry about me, son. I’ll be fine.”

  “That doesn’t sound very exciting, Ma, and besides, what would Doyle do on the ranch when he comes back?”

  “I’m not planning on him returning, son. I’m beginning to accept the fact he’s likely been killed.”

  “Don’t be so pessimistic, Ma. Where would you like to settle as man and wife if he does come back? What are your dreams when he returns?”

  “He told me he has more money saved up than we could spend in a lifetime,” Esther said rather enthusiastically. “He said we could travel to New York or to San Francisco, even to Paris, that we could live a life of leisure, doing whatever we want.”

  Mark laughed looking at his ma in her wrangler garb and thinking of the city ladies he had seen on his travels. “Is that really what you want to do with your life, Ma, or is it simply something Doyle suggested, that he thought you’d like? What are your true dreams, Ma?”

  “I want to marry Doyle and start our own large cattle ranch in one of the western states where this disgusting war doesn’t interfere with one’s life. I want to work side-by-side with him producing quality beef that helps feed the hungry world.” Esther paused and then continued with a slight smile, “I want to wake up to beautiful sunrises with snow-capped mountains looming in the distance and watch the evening sun paint its gorgeous colors on clouds floating eastward. I want to grow old with Doyle and visit my grandchildren from time to time.”

  Mark reached for his mother’s hand and said, “That’s a wonderful dream, Ma. I’ll pray it comes true someday.”

  Mark started to stand but froze with a sober face as his eyes focused on something beyond his mother.

  “What’s wrong, Mark?” Esther asked.

  “There’s Indians watching us from a grove of trees, Ma.” Esther turned. “We’d better leave, Ma. They could be dangerous.”

  “They look destitute to me, son. We need to see if they need our help.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Esther and Mark approached to find a group of twenty-three natives, two of whom were injured. The two unconscious warriors each lay on a travois, pulled by horses with old men on their backs. The balance of the group was made up of old men and women, with two young mothers and several children.

  “Do any of you speak the white man’s tongue?” Esther asked as she and Mark dismounted.

  It took some time but finally, a young boy, who looked to be about ten, stepped forward and said, “Me know little of white man words.” He emphasized what he was saying by holding up his hand with his thumb and forefinger spread slightly.

  “Where did you learn to speak the white man’s tongue?”

  “White man of Great Sky Chief,” he answered.

  Esther nodded and then speaking slowly and pointing to the travois, asked, “Where are you going, and what is wrong with the warriors?”

  It was a struggle and a slow process, but minutes later the young boy finished answering Esther’s questions. He said they had stayed behind, separated from their main tribe who were traveling west where the buffalo was plentiful. The tribe was in a hurry and had left the injured warriors behind with their family to care for them. He said his group hadn’t eaten since the gray coats attacked his tribe three days ago and shot the warriors on the travois.

  Esther turned to Mark. “We’ve got to help these people, son. They’re starving with no means of getting food, and the injured men will be dead in a day or two if their wounds aren’t treated. You go rope a good size steer and bring it here while I look at the men’s wounds.” Mark mounted and hurried off while Esther turned to the boy interpreter.

  “Tell your people my son has gone to get a steer for you to cook. Tell them to gather wood and start a fire.” When he echoed the words, faces brightened, and folks hurried off to gather fallen tree limbs. She then told the boy to have the injured men’s wives to follow her to the travois.

  Esther examined the braves while their wives looked on and concluded both men’s wounds were serious but not life-threatening. If the bullets could be removed and the festering brought under control, they could recover. One man’s wound was in his right shoulder, and the other man’s was in his side; thankfully both bullets seemed to have missed vital internal organs. Through the boy, Esther asked for her coffee pot to be filled with water from her canteen and placed on the fire. Then she asked for her saddlebags to be brought to her. Esther always carried a container of medical supplies and a flask of whiskey in it for doctoring on such occasions. After spreading her bandanna on the ground beside the first man, she placed the needed medical supplies on it, removed her coat, took a deep breath, and then doused her small forceps with whiskey. Then she turned her full attention to the injured man.

  The bullet was deep in the man’s right shoulder, and it took a great deal of painful probing to reach it. Esther had to make three attempts before she was able to clamp it with the forceps and pull it out. One of the old men had come forward to hold the younger one still so Esther could complete the procedure.

  Afterward, Esther stood, wiped the sweat from her forehead, and called for the water which was steaming by this time. She cut off the left sleeve of her shirt, dipped it in the water, and carefully wiped the brave’s wound before soaking the bullet hole and its surroundings with whiskey. Then she soaked a cut off portion of her bandanna with whiskey, laid it on the wound, and bound it tight to keep it clean while it healed.

  By the time Esther had finished performing a similar procedure on the second man, Mark topped the rise a couple hundred yards away. When the natives saw him with a steer being pulled along behind him, they rushed toward the animal in great anticipation. As they were hurrying across the field, an old man stopped and shouted something to Esther. “What did he say?” Esther asked the boy.

  “He thanked you. He said you should go now. He said we will cook now; that we will not starve.” The boy turned, and as he ran after the others, Esther packed her supplies back into her saddlebags, put on her coat, and stepped into the stirrup. It wasn’t long until Mark rode up beside her and they galloped off for the homestead.

  »»•««

  Ranch work was sluggish during January and February of ʼ65. It took a half hour morning and evening for the men to do the barn chores, but afterward, most days were spent in tempered bunkhouse card games and checker matches with coffee cups close at hand. They still gathered a hundred head of two-year-olds for the Union weekly, but it was a welcomed task.

  By the end of March, the ranch began to get busy again. Anticipation was building among the men who looked forward to the spring roundup. They were anxious to be back on the range with the cattle. Plans were developed, horses were shod, and supplies were gathered. However, even though the days had started to fill with work, the bunkhouse
card games and checker matches continued most of the evenings.

  With the roundup season starting in a few weeks, Esther sought Bill’s advice on its procedures. He suggested the two of them should survey the range and observe the grazing locations and condition of the cows and the calves that had been born. Consequently, two days later, after a Shining Star’s breakfast, Esther and Bill started for the northeast range. Each day thereafter they likewise went to a different area of the Crooked Rail, and in five days they had covered most of it. They concluded the calf count was up considerably from previous years even though there were still a lot of calves to be born. Bill explained this increase was due to a buildup of young heifers caused from a lack of sales during the last four years, and the subsequent increase in breeding age stock. The cows were all thinner than normal, probably due to over-grazing. The Union was keeping the ranch afloat, but the lack of a big yearly sale was damaging the herd.

  »»•««

  It was a Thursday morning in the middle of April when men in blue rode up to the Crooked Rail holding pen for their usual hundred cattle. “This will be our last trip, Mrs. Taylor,” the ranking soldier said. “We sure appreciate the cattle you’ve sold us, ma’am.”

  “If you like the cattle, why won’t you be coming after more?” Esther asked.

  The men in blue looked at each other. “Haven’t you heard, ma’am? The war is over. Lee surrendered to General Grant six days ago.” Before Esther could respond in any way whatsoever, the ranch hands started shouting their joy and acting like they were young, energetic men. Some even raised their pistols and shot. One rode to the house to tell Mrs. Winslow and Shining Star.

  It took several minutes for the celebration to calm down enough for Esther to be heard, “That’s wonderful news. Do you know any of the details?”

  “The only details I know of ma’am,” the ranking soldier said, “are that Lee surrendered to Grant at Appomattox, Virginia on April ninth.” Esther nodded with a big grin. The soldiers had started for their cattle, but the ranking soldier turned back to Esther. “I heard a couple of colonels talking, ma’am. They said food, especially beef, would be selling like hotcakes now that the war is over. If I was you, I’d get all of your market cattle ready to sell as soon as possible—the price will most likely be high.” Esther thanked the man with a nod and a big smile.

  Sentiments were joyful, and everyone was in a gala mood for the remainder of the day. Shining Star prepared an exceptional supper that evening to celebrate the news. Following the meal, Mrs. Winslow brought out a bottle of whiskey and then poured each person, man, and woman, a couple of fingers of the brown liquid. They all offered a raising of their glasses in a toast to the war’s end.

  Unlike most gatherings around the table, the men stayed seated after eating Shining Star’s apple pie, washed down with steaming coffee. They continued their jubilation like men forty years their junior. When the excitement died a bit, and the men finally started for the bunkhouse, Esther pulled Mark aside and said, “Son, we need to follow the soldier’s advice and get our cattle ready for market as soon as possible. There ought to be some young men coming home from the war within the next few days who need work. I want you to go to Fort Gibson this Saturday and hire twenty men to help in the roundup. Be sure to talk to Bill about the details on how and who to hire.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  “Good morning, Major Engle,” Mark said as the corporal lead him into the major’s office.

  “What brings you to Fort Gibson on this beautiful Saturday morning, Mark?” the major asked as he stood to shake hands.

  “I’m here to hire men for the Crooked Rail, Major. Ma figures the market for beef will be strong now that the war is over, and the sooner we get our cattle to market the better off we’ll be. We’re hopeful the young men have started to return home from the war and are in need of work.”

  “How many men do you need?”

  “We’re hoping to hire twenty, sir. And we’d like for them to be at the ranch at first light come Monday morning.”

  “Most of my men are permanent soldiers, Mark, and those that aren’t will remain in the Union forces for the next three months, maybe even longer, but I understand a few Confederates have returned. If I was you I’d go to town and visit the cafes around noon; there might be some there to eat.” Mark rose, shook the major’s hand, and thanked him for his advice.

  He had turned to leave when the major called him back, “How’s your mother, Mark?”

  “She’s fine, sir; stays busy running the Crooked Rail. I’ll tell Ma you asked about her.”

  “I’d appreciate that Mark,” the major paused and then continued, “Your mother’s a fine woman, Mark…a fine woman.” Mark nodded with one of his wide grins.

  Mark rode along the town’s main street eyeing the boardwalk benches for young men, but he saw none—only older men in all sorts of garb lined the benches, jubilant the war was over and telling stories while occasionally spitting tobacco juice into the muddy street.

  The lack of potential hires along the boardwalk was disappointing, but it was early in the day. He hoped other places might hold some possibilities, so he turned and stopped at the first café. The tables were empty, but he poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove top and sat down at a corner table. Mark flipped open his pocket watch. It’s only half-past eleven o’clock, he thought, a mite early for folks to be eating.

  “Food ain’t gonna be ready for another ten minutes,” a robust woman wearing a white apron over her dark green dress, bellowed out. Mark was taken back a little because he hadn’t seen her approach. “We got some good apple pie that’ll hold you over ʼtil the food’s ready.” Mark nodded giving his approval for her to bring him a piece.

  “Do you serve many soldiers these days, ma’am? I imagine a few will be getting home before long,” he said as she sat his pie down.

  “There’s a few already back, but they don’t eat here.”

  “Why’s that, ma’am?” Mark asked.

  “Some don’t eat at no café ʼcause they ain’t got no money. Those who do, eat at the café across the street.”

  “Is the food better across the street?” Mark asked with a smile.

  “Naw. It ain’t any better than ours.” Mark took on an expression of wonderment—then why do they eat there?

  “They have a young waitress over there that’s mighty pretty,” the matron waitress said matter-of-factly.

  Mark forked the last bite of his pie, laid two bits on the table, and headed off. He had cleared the door when the matron’s voice rang out behind him, “I used to be as pretty as the waitress across the street.”

  Mark left his horse at the rail and walked into the café across the street. He heard voices before he got to the door. All the tables were full except for one in the back corner that had a redheaded man seated alone. Mark judged the majority of the diners were in their twenties except for two older men who looked to be nearing fifty. Mark smiled as he watched the men’s eyes follow a young waitress with golden hair and a head-turning figure swirl about the tables serving food and pouring coffee. The matron waitress across the street was right; the young woman doing the serving here sure is pretty.

  “Mind if I sit with ʼya?” Mark asked the red-headed man seated at the back table. He waved Mark in and nodded toward a chair.

  “Name’s Mark Taylor,” Mark said extending his hand across the table.

  “Good to make your acquaintance,” the man said, reaching for Mark’s hand. “My name is Steve Bolden, but folks call me Red…guess you can tell why.”

  Mark was about to ask Red a question when the young waitress walked up. She began to ask the men if they were ready for their food when Mark looked up at her. She took in Mark’s handsome looks. Under his black wavy hair was a golden-brown face accenting large blue smiling eyes. His smile showed his white, straight teeth. “You’re new around here, aren’t you?” she said as her face reddened a bit. “I haven’t seen ʼya before.�
��

  “I haven’t been in here before, but I’ve been around the area for several months—I work for the Crooked Rail Ranch.” Red jerked his head around.

  “You work for the Crooked Rail.” Red bellowed out. “I was the foreman there ʼtil I went to the war.”

  “Bill told me the ranch had a foreman named Red, but I didn’t make the connection until now,” Mark said.

  “I figured the ranch had gone belly-up with the war lasting so long and no way to get the cattle to market,” Red said. “If I’d known it was still operating, I would have been there my first day home.”

  “When did you get home?” Mark asked.

  “It’ll be a week, come day after tomorrow.”

  “What have you been doing with yourself since you’ve been back, Red?” Mark asked.

  “Just wasting time; I don’t have a wife or family, and I haven’t found a job yet. I’m thinking something will be coming my way in a few days.”

  “We’re looking for men at the Crooked Rail, Red. That’s why I’m in town. To hire twenty men for our spring roundup. We want to get started come Monday morning.”

  Red smirked, “I can get you that many good men by this afternoon.”

  “The job is yours,” Mark said. “Have ʼem to the ranch by first light Monday morning.” Red nodded as he leaned back while his plate of food was being placed before him.

  “By the way,” Red said after a few bites of his meal, “who’s the ramrod at the Crooked Rail these days?”

  “Believe it or not, Red, my ma’s calling the shots,” Mark said between swallows.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  A lot happened once the twenty wranglers showed up at the Crooked Rail. Red was reestablished as the ranch foreman and immediately started an aggressive roundup strategy. A young war-widow was hired to help Shining Star feed the big crew, and Bill more or less went happily into full retirement from the saddle, spending a great deal of his time with Mrs. Winslow. However, the most shocking thing that happened during the week was when Esther announced she would be leaving the ranch permanently come next Monday morning in search of Doyle or word about his fate. From there her plans were undecided.