Cattle Kate

by Jana Bommersbach

  “Friday, July 19. I’m sorry to be away from this letter for so long but we have been real busy. We did our first branding—I have forty-one head now. Some of my cows calved, and I sometimes trade dinners for cows from cowboys. I might be a strong woman, but I’m sure glad to have men to brand for me. And I have to admit, I don’t like the smell. Everyone here is fine, if not a little tired after all our activities. Gene is growing like a weed.

  “Ma, I’m trying real hard to keep up with my quilting and am working on the Star Pattern now, and isn’t it a doozie. But my sewing machine has been busy with mending—boys need lots of mending, as you know—and in my spare time (ha) I’m making a new dress for the barn dance after the cattle are shipped. They always have a dance at someone’s farm. It’s mainly new settlers, but some of the ranchers come, too. We’re all praying for a nice fall and an easy winter.

  “Speaking of praying, Ma, you’ll be real glad to hear that a very nice man named Reverend Moore has visited us several times in the last couple months. He gets his mail at the roadhouse, and he gets a lot of mail because he heads up some missionary society for the Congregational Church. I know he’d like to get a church started around here, and Jim offered to let him have a religious meeting right here at the roadhouse, and Reverend Moore was grateful for the offer. Can you imagine that, the roadhouse might turn into a church on Sundays? I know that would please you, Ma.

  “I have to tell you about the Indians. Now, Ma, don’t get all excited. The Indians here are no danger to anyone, at least not the ones I know. They like to camp down by the creek and I met them by accident one day when we were all picking berries. Isn’t that an interesting way to meet your first Indian! They’re real poor and half-starved most of the time. I’ve got bread raising to take them some tomorrow, because I saw they came in last night. I know you’ve heard that Indians are beggars, but these aren’t, and the only way they’ll take anything from me is if they give something back, so we trade for all kinds of strange things. I have three eagle feathers, thanks to trading. Gene wants to wear them in his hair, but Jimmy put his foot down on that and said no white boy should be running around W.T. looking like an Indian. I always take something to eat because I know they’re always hungry, but they won’t eat it in front of me. Fales says by rights, they’re supposed to stay on the reservation, but I see no harm in them coming to the creek. Bet their people came to this creek before any of us ever got here. The girl’s name is Shashas and she’s pretty, for an Indian.

  “I have a new bonnet from Mrs. Fales. Her son is the hired man I told you about. She’s poorly. I sent him home with sweets and jam, and I think the bonnet was her way of saying thanks.”

  I am so close to being done with this letter! I think they’re going to be real pleased to get this one because it’s so long and it has the picture and the article. I hope they forgive me for not writing more. I’ll send it off on Monday.

  Chapter Fourteen—The Last Day of My Life

  I always loved 4:30 a.m. because it was my own time to spend.

  The rest of the day there were boys and men and cattle and chickens, but nobody else wanted to be up now, when you could only see by lamplight, so this was how I purchased my only free moments.

  Some mornings I read, my quilt still tucked around me. I hoarded any reading material that came my way. Newspapers, sometimes books, but mostly magazines. What a joy to have a new magazine. Of course, it was never new. Sometimes the cover was so tattered, it could hardly hold the pages. But like all the hands before me, I’d treat the pages with love and then pass them on to someone else.

  Sometimes I’d get a magazine in trade for a meal. Jimmy never knew, but I never passed up that offer. I’d read anything. My sister Annie would be proud of me. I’m reading a most curious magazine now. It’s called The Century Illustrated Monthly Magazine and it’s four years old. But it has held up well. I have already read the real story about the planets and the moon. I’m about to tackle a made-up story by Henry James. Right on the cover it says this was the 225th Thousand, so I knew a lot of other people read this too. Wonder if other women stared at the Coraline Corset advertisement, and were happy it wasn’t for them.

  But this morning I didn’t read. This Saturday—this July 20, 1889—I had plenty to do and there was no time to read.

  Cowboys were at the roadhouse yesterday whooping and hollering that branding was over. They ate me out of house and pantry! They drank all Jimmy’s beer, and most of his whiskey. He’s going to Casper for supplies and last night in bed I remembered a couple other things for my list that I’ve got to tell him.

  But that’s not the most important part. The end of branding is a big deal in the valley, and it’s not just the cowboys who want to celebrate. Next week or the week after, somebody is going to announce a barn dance. And I’m sewing a new dress. It’s a pretty blue fabric—not as blue as our beautiful sky, but as close as I could find. I’ve started the handwork on the collar, and have buttons to cover. I’m copying a dress I saw in the catalogue. Can’t wait for my neighbor ladies to see it. Oh, of course I want Jimmy to like it, but he’ll never appreciate my clever copying and my fine hand sewing.

  Do I love to dance! Come hell or high water, nobody in this valley misses a barn dance. All the settlers come and even some of the ranchers. Everyone brings food and the children bed down on the hay bales as the night goes on, and sometimes we dance until the sun comes up.

  This morning I had a couple hours before the boys stirred. I made real progress on the collar.

  Once the boys were up, I started a hearty breakfast because on Saturdays, we normally work through lunch and then have a great big supper. Today was one of those normal days. Jimmy would be up in Casper and would spend the night, so I’m taking the boys to the roadhouse for steaks.

  I made oatmeal and we all gobbled it up like it was our last meal. I like mine with molasses and raisins. So does Gene. John prefers his with brown sugar and fresh berries.

  “So who wants to go to the Indian camp with me this morning?”

  The looks that went between the boys told me they’d privately had this conversation already.

  “I’ll go,” John spoke up.

  I thought to tease Gene about his silence, but checked myself. I was doing up the dishes when I remembered some of his Ma’s family had been killed in an Indian raid. I was glad I’d kept my mouth shut, because obviously the boy had no interest in visiting Indians.

  Gene’s first job of the day was to weed the garden. He always complained, “These weeds grow far better than anything else in here.” He wasn’t that far off. “Killed three snakes today,” he shouted through the door when he finished.

  I’m sure he tells me because he knows how much I hate snakes. Ever since he got bit, he’s taken it as his personal duty to kill as many snakes as possible. Payback.

  John was cleaning up the corral and mending fences.

  I baked bread and straightened up the cabin.

  “John, let’s go.” About ten o’clock, we started off toward Horse Creek with the basket of fresh bread that had just come out of the oven. It was a clear, warm day with a gentle breeze.

  I wore my new bonnet from Ma Fales and my Mother Hubbard dress.

  I usually found the Indian family in about the same place on their regular trips through the valley. Today was no different.

  “Hello!” I announced myself with a friendly shout. Shashas was already waiting. This year they were later than usual, and I worried Shasha’s deerskin dress looked too hot for a July day.

  The girl ran up to me. We smiled and nodded to one another. We didn’t hug. We didn’t touch. I saw John pull back like he was afraid we would.

  “This is John,” I patted his chest as I said his name. Shashas’ eyes studied the ground. John took another step back, like he was hiding behind my skirts.

  “Say hello, John.”

  “Hi.
” It was a mumble.

  “Bread. I brought bread.” That was a sure way to get over the awkwardness. I pronounced each word slowly because Shashas knew some English, but not a lot.

  “Good,” she said, and I could see how pleased she was with the offering.

  Grandma came out one of the teepees and nodded her own approval at the bread. Some of Grandma’s teeth are missing and when she smiled, I heard John titter. I turned and gave him the stop-that-right-now look. He stopped.

  His eyes were big and wild and I knew he was scared, this being as close to an Indian as he’d ever been. I know he’s going to take it all in and report everything to Gene. I wish I could make those boys see there’s nothing to be afraid of.

  There were three teepees at this campsite and a skinny dog. A very old man with long braids was sitting by the fire smoking a pipe.

  “He doesn’t look like George Washington,” John whispered.

  “That’s not Jimmy’s chief.”

  “Where are the boys? There’s only old people and girls and little kids here.”

  “Because these are grandparents taking their family on a camping trip.”

  “Really?” John sounded astonished. I knew he’d never once, in his whole life, considered such a thing.

  I presented the basket of bread to the old man, who smiled at me, inspected the offering, and then handed it to the old woman. Then he motioned for everyone to sit around the fire. He said something to Shashas in their language and she went into the teepee. She came out with a pair of beaded moccasins, gave them to the old man, and he handed them to me. In the past, I got eagle feathers and a basket and a saddle blanket. It felt special to be offered beading.

  But one close look at these moccasins and I realized these people were worse off than normal.

  The deerskin moccasins were old and worn and already repaired. But they were decorated with gorgeous bead work. The tongues, which hung over the front, were mainly white beads with accents of blue and red. The shoes themselves had touches of blue and red—these had to be the precious colors—but were mainly white and green. I bet there were at least a thousand beads in each shoe.

  Whoever had first worn these moccasins had walked crooked, because the sole of the right shoe was imprinted with toe marks that were completely different from the wear spots on the left. The back of the right shoe had a piece of deerskin added to make the shoe wider. Wonder what it’s like to have two feet that didn’t recognize one another.

  Shashas was watching me look over the moccasins. I could feel her fear that they weren’t a fair trade for the delicious bread. But of course, I’d never do that.

  “I should put them on.” I saw John’s face turn to horror.

  “You can’t,” he spit into my ear.

  “Hush, John, be nice. This is all they have to offer. We’re not going to insult them.”

  I took off my shoes and put on the moccasins and then walked around the fire to show them off. I smiled like they were a treasure and Shashas looked very relieved.

  We sat around the fire a few moments. It was so quiet and peaceful down there. Horse Creek gurgled and a warm breeze cooled the morning. It was the kind of morning when you’re happy to be alive.

  But of course, we couldn’t dawdle all day and so after some nods and smiles and good-byes, we started back. We were coming up the slope when I saw men at my cabin. They were on horseback, so it looked like they’d just arrived.

  “What do they want?” I said out loud, and then had a worrying thought that they’d come with bad news. Oh no, has something happened to Gene. To Jimmy? But those thoughts disappeared when I saw one of my cows was running away. I expected one of those men to go after the cow, to bring it back to my corral, but none of them rode after it, and that just felt so wrong. I started to run. John was right beside me.

  The most ridiculous scene was in front of my eyes.

  Bothwell, obviously liquored up, was shouting orders like he was on a roundup. Durbin was ripping apart my corral. Ernie McLean, the one who stutters all the time, was racing around the yard. Cap’n Galbraith was stationed like he was a prison guard. Conner was slumped over his saddle like he was going to be sick. Tom Sun was sitting proud in his fancy buggy.

  Cows were running everywhere. My just-branded cows that had been so much work.

  “Stop that. Stop that right now. Get away from my corral. Get away from my cows. Stop that!”

  John joined in the yelling and ran toward the corral to stop the fleeing cattle, but McLean cut him off. Bothwell shrieked at him to get inside the cabin. John looked back at me and I nodded for him to obey.

  “Gene, Gene, ”I screamed to find him.

  He yelled out of the cabin. “Those men made me come in here.”

  At least he was safe.

  Bothwell aimed his horse right at me and reared up. If he expected me to step backwards, he was disappointed.

  “We caught you red-handed, rustlin’ our cattle, and we’re taking you to Rawlins to the law.”

  I thought he was joking and let out a sarcastic laugh.

  “No, you aren’t. You know perfectly well that those are my cows and I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  I maneuvered around his horse to head for my cabin—I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, but that’s where my gun was and that seemed the most important thing to reach right now. Bothwell cut me off.

  “You get in that buggy right now and you’re goin’ to Rawlins,” he spat at me.

  I frantically looked to the other men for help and saw there was none to give.

  “I’ll go to Rawlins with you, alright. And we can go right to my bank, and you can see the receipt for these cows. You’re going to be sorry about this, Mr. Bothwell.” I spat out his name.

  “I need to change into a decent dress. I’m in a work dress. I can’t go to Rawlins in a work dress.” I moved once more in the direction of the cabin, knowing now that I must get to my gun.

  “You don’t need a fancy dress where you’re going,” Bothwell sneered.

  All of a sudden everyone’s attention was drawn toward the cabin, when Gene made a mad dash to a pony in the corral. He reached the animal and jumped on in one fluid motion, and was poised to ride free when Durbin grabbed the reins and held them firm.

  “Where you think you’re goin?” Bothwell hollered at Gene. “You help Mr. Durbin get those cows out of there. Do what I say, boy.” Poor little Gene could do nothing but obey.

  Defiance was getting me nowhere so I changed tactics.

  “Gentlemen, if you look at those cows, you’ll see that they have my LU brand on them. You all know that is my legal brand, all registered.” I was hoping I didn’t sound too smug to these men I’d snookered.

  “I bought those cows last fall, drove them right past Mr. Bothwell’s ranch to get them here, and if he was a mind to, he could sit on his front porch and admire them any day of the week. I didn’t rustle these cows.”

  “There’s a lot of calves in there,” Durbin came back, like my explanation was puny. “Some of them look like my calves.”

  If the situation wasn’t so deteriorating, I would have belly-laughed at the absurdity of that statement.

  “Sir, those aren’t your calves. They’re mine. I bought a couple calves from cowboys who wanted a hot meal—you men all know what a good cook I am. I bet you’ve all been up to our place for dinner. I didn’t steal anything. I’ve only got about forty head, that’s nothing to you gentlemen with your fine ranches.…”

  Galbraith broke in. “Forty head of rustled cows is forty cows too many.”

  “These ain’t rustled,” I bellowed. “I bought these cows. I’ve had them all winter. I fed them all winter. I don’t take things that aren’t mine. Now if you want to see the paper that proves I bought them, then let’s go to Rawlins to the bank and I’ll show you.”

&nbs
p; I thought I had them there for a minute. I sounded pretty convincing, if I have to say so myself. I sounded sure of myself. Why would I offer to go to Rawlins if there wasn’t a bill of sale in my safe deposit box at the bank? I could see them mulling all that over, and I thought, Oh thank God. I’ve got so much to do, I don’t have time for this nonsense. And now we’ve got to go after those cows!

  Bothwell pretended to soften. “Sure ma’am, we’ll get you to Rawlins and you can show us your receipt, if you’ve really got one. Now get in that buggy.”

  I distrusted this new attitude and again pleaded for a chance to change my dress. Again I was refused.

  Bothwell’s patience ran out. He spit at me, “You get in that wagon or I’ll rope you and drag you to death.”

  It was the first time the word “death” had been spoken this morning, and it had a sobering effect on everyone. Especially me. I climbed into the backseat of Tom Sun’s buggy.

  I only looked back once at my cabin and my busted corral.

  ***

  Jimmy was just pulling out of his gate when we arrived at the roadhouse fifteen minutes later. When I first spied him I saw he had a smile on his face, like a man going on a mission he enjoyed. I knew his wagon was filled with brown bottles he’d refill with beer at the brewery outside Casper, and he had my list of supplies in his pocket. He always loved his two-day trips to Casper—“July 20, off I go,” he’d whistled all week—and these days he could leave Ralph in charge of the roadhouse and not worry about a thing.

  I watched the smile disappear as he saw me in Sun’s buggy.

  “Is she hurt? Ella are you hurt?”

  Oh, my dear husband thinks these men are bringing me for help.

  But that notion disappeared as Bothwell pointed his gun and ordered Jimmy, “Throw up your hands. You’re under arrest. We’re taking you two to Rawlins to face the law.”