“How long you reckon it'll take?” Blaine asked, taking another drag.
“A week or two. Depends on a lot of things … mostly on how fast I want to get there. But I'm in no hurry yet.”
“Yeah, me and my compadre ended up takin’ a couple a months when we come out from Missoura a few years back,” Blaine said. “We was bound for Californy … or some such promise land. Didn't really have no set destination. I guess we figured we'd know it when we seen it. High ole time it was … but almost got kilt by some injuns in Kansas. Fast horses saved our hides. They just come ridin’ out on us. Open country it was, save for a little stand a cottonwoods where they was hid—‘bout eight of ‘em. The way they broke outta them trees was sure sign they was lookin’ to take our horses and our lives. Ended up just a pure horserace. We had the faster horses and ‘bout a quarter mile head start. We threw the spurs to ‘em and kept ‘em runnin’ a good long time. They was shootin’—few zingin’ by too close—so we kept ‘em ablowin’ and goin’, and then finally they weren't there no more. Then my amigo got hisself throwed in jail for cutting a rascal who cheated him at cards … town called Sharon Springs. Sixty days he got. It weren't exactly hospitable there for me after that, since the man he sliced was a local with friends. So I told him to meet me in Santa Fe. Got a job there haulin’ water, and waited. Finally got a letter sayin’ he was goin’ back home … wished me luck. I guess the whole deal turned his adventure blood to wee wee. I heard about the T. and it bein’ the biggest ranch in the whole territory. So I rode up here and Mister Taylor—Reuben—hired me on. Them two been awful good to me.” Blaine took a last drag and flicked the cigarette to the ground.
“They've been awful good to anybody who does a good job—and they'll send you packin’ quick if you don't,” Sammy replied.
“I know it. They ran that last hombre, Antonio, down the road in three days flat.”
“Yeah, well aside from provin’ lazy, he didn't strike anybody as a trustworthy sort. Lundy's run a lot of ‘em out over the years that he didn't figure were honorable men. He figures it out pretty quick, too.”
“Well, this here's beautiful country,” Blaine wistfully said. “I don't know that it gets any better ‘n this anywheres. It's been a good couple of years, but the itch has done set on me again. Come spring, I'll be movin’ on. Already told Lundy and the Taylors. I saved me some money and been thinkin’ ‘bout seein’ more of the Colorado and Wyoming Territories. Might try some trappin’ or buffalo huntin’ … or who knows. But I'm movin’ on to find out. If you want some company, I'd ride with ya to Denver.”
Sammy was biting a plug of tobacco and looking west at the gathering clouds over the Chintah range when Blaine made the offer. Surprise clicked in his mind. He swung his eyes to Blaine's with a level gaze and the slightest grin. “Oh yeah? Come on then. An extra gun might come in handy. I know you can shoot.”
“Yesiree, I can,” Blaine said. “And my horse can git.”
Chapter 25
The bathhouse at the Twin T. was a marvel to all who had ever used it, and became a deeply appreciated benefit to all who ever worked at the ranch. Cowboys, who never bathed with anything approaching regularity before working at the T., developed schedules they held in reverence. Part of the schedule generally coincided with a cowboy's time off, which might include a trip to La Jara and a night at the saloon, or a go with one of the señoritas at Lupe's west end cantina.
Homer and Reuben had designed and built the bathhouse themselves. The log building had a steeply pitched roof and was situated between the ranch house and the bunkhouse. A hallway ran down one side and presented a door every ten feet, each of which was an entrance to one of the four separate bathing rooms. They special ordered the tubs and fireboxes and rigged indoor plumbing, employing a hand pump in each room and piping that carried used water through the floor and outside, down a slope to a rock pit fifty feet away.
Inside each room were wall lamps, stacked firewood, a chair and table with a washbasin and small oval mirror mounted above it, and hooks for garments and towels. A cast iron bathtub sat one foot above the plank floor on steel rails, allowing it to be rolled forward from over a firebox when the water was good and hot.
To take a bath, one would light a fire in the firebox and pump water directly into the tub. When the water had reached a suitable temperature, the tub could be rolled forward of the firebox to a second locking position, and the bather could then mount a small platform and enter the tub. When the bather was finished, the plug at the front of the tub could be pulled and the bath water drained into the funnel-shaped end of a pipe that was positioned just below the tub drain.
The nearest bathing room to the main entrance was reserved only for the women on the Twin T., and they had adorned it with their own accoutrements. Homer and Reuben had the second room to themselves. The remaining two rooms were for the rest of the hands and saw the most action, as there were between a dozen and twenty hands on the T. at any one time.
Cowboys occasionally raced to the bathhouse to beat out a rival during unreserved time, which was first come, first serve. Sometimes, several of the cowboys returning from a long day of work would make a break for the tubs, resulting in a melee of shoving and tackling in the quest to be first.
On one occasion of returning to the T. at the end of a long day, young Bill Lohmeyer, who was particularly impertinent, announced about a mile out that he would be first to the tubs. He immediately broke into a gallop, whereupon Franklin Edward gave immediate chase. Franklin became particularly irritated that he could only keep pace but not overtake Bill's buckskin. So, in a maneuver worthy of a wild-west show, Franklin pulled his rope and lassoed young Bill from behind at a full gallop. Franklin reined his horse to a stop and young Bill was ripped from his saddle, landing with a brutal thud on the hard-packed sod with such force that his buttocks were purple and black for the better part of a month and he was unable to do any saddle work for a week. No more cowboy lassoing occurred after that. But the incident was recounted many times over, always resulting in unrestrained laughter and the continued humiliation of young Bill, who would cuss and stomp away whenever in the presence of the recollection.
Sammy sat soaking in the tub, absorbing the relief of the hot water on his tired and stiff muscles and tendons. It had been a particularly hard week of work. The room was hot from the firebox, and the steam of the heated water enveloped everything. All was quiet in the pre-dawn hours as he drifted in thought. He opened his eyes just a crack and saw the glow of the wall lamps through the steam like far off towns.
He thought about the coming journey and the unknown adventure of it and of all whom he might meet and the things that he might do. There were no firm pictures of these things, only a maze of images flowing in a rapid current that the excitement of possibility could not hold in place. He imagined his own ranch and what it would look like, where the house should sit and how the rest of the setup should be. And he pictured his own herd and the challenge of making all the decisions. The prospect of it excited him.
His thoughts drifted to his mother and father and brother, now so long gone. It was hard to recollect their faces and voices. He wondered what might have been if not for Providence. He said a prayer for their souls and prayed he would meet them again. Then he imagined having his own family.
An owl hooted nearby. Sammy knew daylight was close. Five minutes later, he was dressed and walking to the ranch house as one of the roosters began crowing. Sammy was headed for town today.
Lucilla was cooking a tortilla to add to the pile that was already done. Two giant skillets of eggs mixed with potatoes and onions sat on the stovetop next to a pot of pinto beans. Two large coffee pots steamed on the adjacent stove. It was Saturday morning and the normal weekday routine of 6:30 breakfast gave way to the more relaxed routine of a breakfast window between 6 and 8, with the cowboys drifting in at their leisure. Through the winter, half the crew was off on Saturdays in a rotating schedule, and a few of those hands had made a dash for tow
n the night before. The other boys on the T. would soon begin trickling in for breakfast.
Sammy looked at the cuckoo. It was 5:40. Lundy and J.P. were at the kitchen table making short work of their hand rolled burritos. Lucilla was humming a tune as she cooked another tortilla. Sammy listened to her humming and began to sing in the same melody. “Lu-Lu-Lu-Lu-Lucilla … muy bonita … por favor comida.”
Lucilla blushed slightly and giggled. “You silly man, Mister Sammy.”
“Yeah, ain't he the early songbird,” J.P. said. “Say, you were bathin’ in number one weren't you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I'll go take advantage of that fire you built ‘fore she burns out,” J.P. said. He quickly stuffed the last bite of burrito in his mouth and picked up his coffee cup to drink.
“You've already been beat out on that score,” Sammy replied as he scooped breakfast onto his plate. “Knuckles was comin’ in just as I was leavin. I don't guess he elected to build a new fire in number two.”
“Noooo … I don't ‘spect he did. Damn!” J.P. put his coffee cup down and pulled out the makings to roll a smoke.
“Well, yer looking nice and clean. Off to La Jara today, are you?” Lundy asked.
“Yep—gonna be on that trail in about fifteen minutes.”
“Any particular meetin’ in mind?” Lundy asked nonchalantly. J.P. stuck the newly rolled smoke in his mouth and smiled at Lundy, then struck a match and lit it.
“Oh, I don't know. Pickin’ up some things I ordered a while back. Need cartridges too,” Sammy replied. “You know … I've been eyein’ a saddle over at King's. Goin’ to Denver might be just the time to break it in. It's a beaut.”
J.P. took a long drag and blew it out slowly. “Yeah, I seen that … expensive, but you're right … it's a beaut. There's a heap of beautiful things to be eyein’ in town.”
Lundy and J.P. smiled at each other.
Sammy looked from one to the other with a frown. “You two are just like a couple of old ladies … old mother hens.”
Chapter 26
The morning was dark when Jenny rose. Twenty minutes later, she quietly entered the kitchen and lit the wall lamps, then prepared the stove and lit it. The kitchen was cold, and daylight had crept just enough to present a burgeoning, cloudless sky. She pulled the collar of the heavy wool sweater tighter around her neck and stood with her arms folded, gazing out the window with a rising sense of hope that it would be a nice day. The stove creaked as it began to heat the room, offering the reminder that there was much to do. Jenny began the preparation of the morning meal, knowing that the eight people currently residing at Watson's boarding house would soon be down for breakfast. Her morning would be very busy in order to complete the chores necessary for her to have the afternoon off, but the excitement of this day rendered the tasks nothing more than a pleasant diversion, and she buoyantly moved about the kitchen softly singing.
Jenny Simpson had been eighteen when she came to work at the boarding house two years earlier. Born and raised in Tennessee, her father had been killed at Shiloh fighting for the Confederacy when she was twelve. Her embittered mother, fearing that Jenny's two younger brothers would soon be forced into the fighting, sold the family farm and joined a wagon train that was making a westward exodus.
They settled in Albuquerque, where several tough years passed with her mother working as domestic help and her brothers working at the brickyard. Jenny took care of their small household, doing all of the cooking and cleaning and other chores to keep things orderly and running. Her mother eventually met and married a man whom Jenny found overbearing toward herself. But, he was good to her mother and he made a lucrative living in construction trades, so Jenny, being independent in mind and spirit, decided against her mother's wishes to move on. As it turned out, La Jara was only a hundred miles from Albuquerque and afforded the chance for she and her mother and bothers to occasionally visit each other.
Missus Watson, who had carried on with the boarding house after her husband's death, was a savvy businesswoman. She had quickly recognized the positive attributes and characteristics of Jenny; the girl was a great cook, hard working, and of unmistakably good character. On the down side, Missus Watson knew that Jenny's great beauty would bring her departure sooner rather than later, as the line of suitors respectively tried their luck. Someone would sweep the girl away. Missus Watson considered herself fortunate that she'd had Jenny in her employ this long.
Although Jenny attended church and dances and other social gatherings, a man had not yet wooed her. She worked diligently at saving her earnings toward some undertaking she was yet unsure of. Jenny was sure of one thing, though. Sammy Winds could be the man for her.
Missus Watson entered the kitchen as Jenny was pulling a pan of biscuits from the oven. “Good morning, dear.”
“Good morning, Missus Watson.”
Two years had not removed Jenny's formality toward her employer, and Ruth Watson had long since given up on trying to loosen it. Missus Watson retrieved her red porcelain cup with painted flowers and began to pour herself a cup of coffee. “It looks to be a beautiful day in the making. A little spring weather just before the season.”
“Yes, ma'am,” Jenny replied. “I'd be happy to see winter give way early. It's been very cold.”
“Yes it has. It should warm up nicely today, though. It is very mild out right now and not a cloud in sight.” Missus Watson stirred in a second scoop of sugar.
“I hope so,” Jenny said with stark sincerity. “Missus Watson, you remember about me wanting to take this afternoon off?”
This was the third time in the last six weeks that Jenny had made such a request, and Ruth Watson was well aware of the reason. “Of course, dear. If you will wash the table linens after breakfast, you may be excused when you are finished. Have a wonderful afternoon, and please give my regards to Mister Winds, if you happen to see him.”
Jenny blushed slightly. “Yes, I will. Thank you, ma'am.”
Sammy pulled up to Parker Livery Stable at noon. The sun was bright in the sky, and a light breeze blew from the west. He dismounted and walked Dobe through the double barn doors. The proprietor, Jed Parker, was shoeing a Dun who was restless with the procedure and moving enough to make Jed's job more difficult than he wanted. “Damn it to hell! Hold still you puss bucket!”
Sammy chuckled. “It just so happens I want you to shoe Dobe while I rent your buggy for a few hours … if you think you're up to it.”
“I'm up to kickin’ your ass if that suits you better.” Jed hammered in the shoe nails, the horse having steadied momentarily.
“Glad to see you haven't lost your sense of humor.”
“Nope … that's all I got left at this point. The buggy's ‘round back. Get old Blister out of the corral. He needs the exercise.”
“Blister?”
“Yeah … he's the paint. Don't worry. He ain't blistered nothin’ for at least ten years.”
“Will he work? I'm goin’ out by Lobo Pond.”
“Oh hell yes. He'll high step all the way. The ole boy'll love it.
“Okay, boss. I'll be back around five.”
“Put Dobe in that last stall on the left. I'm damn sure he won't give me half the trouble this flighty bastard has.”
Jenny was sitting in the parlor looking out the window when the buggy came into sight. She picked up the wicker picnic basket and blanket and hurried out to the front porch.
Sammy reined to a stop in front of the boarding house. He jumped down and moved quickly to her. “Hello, Jenny.” He took her hand in his and helped her up into the buggy.
“Hello, Sam. It looks like the right day for a picnic.”
“It sure does.”
They had planned the picnic several weeks before on a date when they sat together in the parlor of the boarding house, talking for hours, the weather too cold and windy to do much of anything else. Now they headed out of town and drove on the Lobo Pond trail that wound through pinion pine and ju
niper and gamble oak, then through massive groves of aspen and birch, whose buds swelled toward the bloom soon to come. They talked of events that had taken place for each of them since their last meeting. Their conversation was easy and alluring, with each listening rapturously to the other's words and intonation, as though their voices were the embodiment of what each felt.
The two-acre pond reflected the sun and the sky and the trees, and its surface was still with a sheen that was occasionally interrupted by the movement of a fish. Sammy spread out the blanket beneath the spruce trees near the shore. They sat together in the filtered sunlight. “Are you hungry, Sam?” I fried chicken and made cornbread this morning, and I've got some boysenberry jam.”
Sammy was hungry, but hadn't given any mind to what might be in the basket. Jenny's presence overcame any such trivial thoughts. But now that she'd asked, his stomach was brought back to the moment and he felt his hunger. “Fried chicken and cornbread?” He almost noticeably salivated. “Yes, Jenny, I am hungry … now that you mention it.”
She knowingly smiled at him and began unpacking the basket.
“Oh, just a minute,” Sammy said, getting to his feet and retrieving his canteen and a small satchel from the buggy. He sat back down and reached in the satchel. “Would you like some wine, Jenny?”
“Wine?” She looked slightly surprised.
Sammy was suddenly unsure. “Or, I have water here too.”
“No, I'd love some wine. I just haven't seen any in quite some time. Aren't you resourceful.”
“Not really … but my employer is. Reuben gave this to me.” Sammy proudly held up the bottle. “He said no picnic was complete without wine. I think it's expensive … from back east somewhere. He has quite a collection at the ranch.”
“It looks wonderful. Let's have some, Sam.” Jenny smiled excitedly. Sammy produced a corkscrew and a moment later he filled each tin cup.
“Let's toast,” she said, holding up her cup. “Here's to your safe journey to Denver.”
Along The Fortune Trail Page 10