Maggie’s heart sank. “But they’re not done with the roundup, Papa. Let me ride out to their camp again and see if we can persuade them to at least finish the roundup.”
“No. I’m done with them. I’ll hire a new crew.”
“Where?”
He frowned and picked up his pen. “I sent Shep over to Herrera and Bradley today. He’ll rally my friends around me.”
Maggie hoped he was right. “At least let me help you prepare the men’s pay slips. Do you have the cash on hand?”
“Shep is bringing it. I told him to go to the bank first.”
“Isn’t that kind of dangerous, sending him alone to get so much money?”
“It’s not our usual payday. Nobody will know we’re getting it today.”
Except Alex and his men, Maggie thought. She shoved aside the disloyal thought. The men may be unhappy and irresponsible enough to quit in the middle of roundup, but they wouldn’t steal their own payroll.
The thought made her think about the men. How far would they go in opposing her father?
In her mind’s eye, she saw a couple of the newer men. She’d never met them before—they hadn’t been with the Rocking P when she’d left two years ago, but she’d seen them out at the roundup camp. One of them looked dangerously angry. And the older hands had looked worse than unhappy. Nevada’s attitude today shouldn’t have surprised her, after the things Alex had told her. But she’d always considered him one of their loyal employees and one of their best cowboys. How could he turn on the family so easily?
Or had it been easy? It came down to that, she reminded herself. This thing seemed sudden to her, but it wasn’t. The men’s grievances had simmered for months. She hoped that if they were really walking off the job, they would leave quietly and not do any mischief.
She pulled a chair over next to her papa. “Why don’t you read me the names, and I’ll write out the slips.”
He frowned, but shoved a tablet toward her and reached for the ledger. “Harry Jensen.”
Harry was one of their older cowboys, full of pithy wisdom and knowledge brought by experience. She wrote his name on the line at the top of the first sheet. “All right, what else?”
“Then the date.”
She wrote it: May 15, 1884.
“And the amount.” Her father hesitated. “Fifteen dollars.” She frowned at him. “Papa, they get thirty dollars a month.”
“And they’ve worked fifteen days—if they worked today, which I’m not so sure about.”
“Would it break us to give them a full month’s pay?”
He sat still for a long moment. “Maggie, honey, we’re already broke. I borrowed for last month’s payroll. I’m hoping Nathan Wilson will advance me enough to pay them this time. If he won’t … well, those boys are going to be a lot madder tomorrow than they are already.”
“Oh, Papa.” Tears sprang into Maggie’s eyes. “Why, oh why did you send me to San Francisco? You knew this was coming!”
“I hoped I could find a way to stop it before you found out. I’m sorry.” He hung his head.
Maggie rose and walked to the window. She stared out at the barnyard and watched as the golden filly trotted about the corral, tossing her regal head. She nipped playfully at Duchess, but the old mare ignored her.
The only possible way to keep from going under was to get the cattle to Fort Worth and sell them at a good price. The money might not pay off all her father’s debts, but it would enable him to pay the men off and get by for a while. If she could buy some time, she could think about all the options. But they needed that extra time.
She whirled to face him. “Look, if we offered the men forty a month starting in June—without the small herds—and gave Leo and Sela an allowance while Leo’s laid up, I think the men would stay. At least they might agree to finish the roundup and drive the cattle to Fort Worth. Once we sell the herd at the stockyards, we can pay off those who don’t want to stay and cover the most pressing debts.”
Her father shook his head. “Unless prices are phenomenally high this year, it won’t be enough.”
“But it will give us some time to work things out, Papa.”
“I’ve been doing that for the last two years, don’t you see?
I’m going to lose the ranch, Maggie. That’s what it comes down to.”
She did some quick figuring for the payroll they were now preparing in her head. Eighteen men, at least—maybe more—at fifteen dollars each.
“Dolores and Shep will stay, won’t they? I mean, we don’t have to pay them tomorrow.”
Her father grunted. “As far as I know, they’re loyal. But Shep’s always been close to the other men. I guess we’ll see about him.”
“And how much is Alex getting now?”
“Forty a month.”
She nodded, thinking that the foreman’s pay should be raised to at least fifty dollars a month.
“Well, do you think if we ask them to hold off and do the drive, and we’ll pay them for the full month but at their old rate—”
“What are you saying, old rate? I can’t raise it. I told you that.”
“But if they agreed to stay, even just through the cattle drive, that would put us into the next month. We could promise they’d get forty starting in June. And Alex—”
Her father shoved himself up out of his chair. “Enough. I’m not giving in to them. Not one penny. We pay them off tomorrow and I start fresh.”
He walked unsteadily out of the office. Maggie walked slowly to his desk and sat down in his chair. She looked down at the ledger with the names listed. Alex Bright, foreman, was at the top. She reached out and touched his name on the cool paper.
Her father felt betrayed by all these men, she realized. Harry Jenson, Joe Moore, Nevada Hatch, Early Shaw, all of them. But especially by Alex, the kid he’d chosen to replace Jack Hubble, the foreman who had been with him since the beginning. Alex, the promising young man her father had mentored and invested time in.
Alex, the man to whom his daughter had lost her heart. Of course, he didn’t know that. Did he?
She knew Papa wouldn’t give an inch. That would be a sign of weakness, and weakness was the one thing he wanted so desperately not to show. It was overtaking him, stripping him of his strength, his manhood, his wealth, his authority. No, Martin Porter would not give an inch of Rocking P ground. And if she let on to anyone else that he was ill, probably dying, she’d be on the list of traitors too.
She decided to saddle Duchess and ride to the Herrera ranch, four miles away. Carlotta would listen to her and offer a different perspective.
In her room, she changed quickly into her riding costume and braided her hair. She went out through the kitchen, stopping long enough to apprise Dolores of her plans.
“Oh, good,” Dolores said. “Señorita Carlotta is just what you need. You cannot be sad around that one.”
Maggie rode Duchess as fast as she dared push the old mare. She’d have to ask Shep if there was a younger horse she could ride when she needed to push her mount. Probably the rest of their horses were all out at the roundup camp. She wondered about the golden filly. She looked to be about three years old, perfect age for the roundup.
She made it to Carlotta’s home in half an hour, but Duchess was wheezing and drenched in sweat. She’d have to go slower on the way home, and the hours were fleeing. She wondered if Shep had returned yet with the men’s pay.
Carlotta invited her to her room, which consisted of a large, airy suite with a door that opened on the courtyard. They settled in the feminine sitting area, a room unlike Maggie’s plainly furnished bedroom. Carlotta favored ruffles and lace—on cushions, curtains, and the skirt of her bed and dressing table. The four-poster bed was shrouded in filmy waves of embroidered tulle. Every time she visited, Maggie was put in mind of a bridal chamber. Carlotta kept her femininity, especially in social gatherings. Yet she could rein, ride, and rope with her father’s vaqueros.
The Herrera family had
several housemaids to help with the children, the cooking, housework, and laundry. Some of them were relatives that Carlotta’s parents had hired with an eye to finding husbands for the girls in Texas. One of them brought a tray bearing a pot of chocolate and a plate of lacy sugar cookies. She opened the doors to the courtyard so the air could flow through the room and then left Maggie and her hostess alone.
“Have you finished your dress?” Maggie asked as Carlotta poured out the hot chocolate.
Carlotta laughed. “Not yet. It was only yesterday that you saw it. And I took this morning off to ride with Enrique Marquez.”
Maggie should have guessed, since Carlotta was wearing an eye-catching black and silver riding costume. She frowned, trying to place the name. “Who is he? I don’t know him.”
“He is Señor Bradley’s wrangler.”
“Oh, I see.” Obviously the Bradley ranch had had a change of personnel since Maggie had been away. “Is he handsome?”
“Somewhat.”
“But why isn’t he out on their roundup?”
Carlotta waved a hand in dismissal. “Finished. They leave tomorrow on their cattle drive, and he wanted to see me before he went.”
“How romantic,” Maggie said. “Have your father’s men finished their roundup?”
“Oh, yes. They have gone already.”
Maggie gulped. “Our cattle aren’t ready, I’m afraid. We’re … running behind.”
“Ah. Too bad.” Carlotta smiled. “You did not come back so soon to talk of men and dresses. What brings you here?”
“It’s Papa. He’s ill.”
Carlotta sobered. “Is part of the problem his sadness perhaps?”
“He is grieving deeply,” Maggie said, “but the illness is real. Carlotta, it’s bad. Very bad. I lost Mama last year, and I’m afraid I’m going to lose Papa, too.”
“Oh, my dear.” Carlotta put her arms around Maggie and patted her back. “I am so sorry to hear this.”
“So am I. And he doesn’t want anyone to know, so I shouldn’t have told you.”
“I will keep it our secret,” Carlotta said, her dark eyes solemn.
“Thank you.” Maggie sniffed and blinked hard to hold back tears. “I had to talk to someone about it. Things are not going well at the ranch—not well at all. One of the men was injured—you know Leo Eagleton.”
“Yes. His wife, Sela, is a friend of mine. Mama brought her from Mexico ten years ago, and she married the gallant cowboy.”
Maggie smiled. “Did you hear what happened?”
“No. Tell me.”
Maggie detailed what she knew of Leo’s injuries and ended up telling Carlotta the whole story—how her father wouldn’t let the men go for the doctor but made Sela drive her husband to town in the wagon, and how he had refused to pay the doctor’s bill or allow Sela to leave the children at the ranch while she tended her husband in town.
“Oh, my, that does sound quite coldhearted,” Carlotta said. “Martin Porter was always tightfisted, but this is beyond anything I would have imagined.”
Quite shocked, Maggie blinked at her. “Do you really think that? I always thought Papa was a good boss and that he cared about the men.” She took out her handkerchief and wiped her eyes. “Two years ago I’d have said Papa could never behave this way.”
To her astonishment, Carlotta laughed. “Dearest, I know you have always loved your father, but from what my father says, he may be a good cattleman, but he’s a bit stubborn. You have to realize, a man like that is too bullheaded to back down now.”
“The men say they’ll walk off the job tomorrow, and the roundup isn’t finished.”
Carlotta’s face puckered. “That’s not so good, but there’s nothing you can do about that. Just let your papa handle it. This is his doing, and he must get himself out of it.”
Maggie’s lips trembled and she clamped them firmly together.
“What?” Carlotta said.
“I’m sorry—you must think me an infant, with all this crying. But what if Papa can’t get out of this muddle? I think he’s tried for at least a year, but it’s no good. The bills for Mama’s care, and …”
“My dear, I’m so sorry.” Carlotta at last took her seriously. “I did not realize how bad it was. Tell me all, and perhaps we can think of something.”
“You mustn’t say a word,” Maggie cautioned. “Papa is so proud—”
“Oh, yes,” Carlotta said. “He is that. I like your father, but his pride—that has made trouble for him, perhaps? He has been too proud to come to his friends for help? My father would have helped him if he’d known.”
“I fear you’re right. He said he would ask your father if the men went on strike, but I’m sure he hasn’t said a word about his debts or his illness.” Maggie hesitated. “He mentioned when I came home that he would ask Juan for help if he needed men …”
Carlotta grimaced. “Ours are mostly gone on the drive. I don’t know if your father asked mine to have our men take any of his cattle along.”
“They wouldn’t have been ready,” Maggie said. “And he wouldn’t have asked his friend to delay for his sake.”
“That is a pity. They won’t be back for a couple of weeks, so there’s not really anyone to spare right now. I can ask my father—”
“No, don’t do that. I don’t want Papa to think I’m going behind his back. Carlotta, I’ve been out to roundup camps before. Papa used to take me every spring. I’ve seen what the men do.”
“Yes?”
“You know, I’m a pretty good rider.”
“I’d call you an expert.”
“Well, thank you,” Maggie said. “I can rope, too. I learned as a child.”
“As did all of us ranchers’ children. What are you thinking?”
“Well, it occurred to me that a lot of ranch women do have the skills needed to round up and brand cattle, as you said.”
“You mean …”
“Yes,” Maggie said. “Women could do this job.”
CHAPTER NINE
Carlotta’s lovely dark eyes widened. “Margaret Porter!
Are you saying we should go round up your father’s cattle?”
“Why not? We could do it. Papa is too ill to do the job, but we could get some of our friends and finish the roundup. The men are probably close to being done with it. They’ve been out there all week, and I know they’ve brought in a couple of cuts and put them in the north pasture already.”
“But really—ladies out there in their skirts and sidesaddles, herding steers and—and branding calves? I can’t imagine it.”
Maggie looked around at her friend’s lavish furnishings. Though Carlotta lived in feminine luxury, she could ride as well as she could dance. Maggie laid her hand on her sleeve. “Think about it. If we could just bring in the last few cattle, then the herd would be ready for the drive to Fort Worth. I doubt there are many calves left unbranded. But I can find out how many they’ve brought in and about how many should still be out there. Meanwhile, Papa could be hiring some men to do that cattle drive for him.”
“Or maybe your men would see their folly and come back.” Carlotta’s eyes flickered. “If the word spread that women were doing their jobs as well as they did them …” Her eyes gleamed. “What about your so-handsome foreman, Alex Bright? Is he striking along with the cowboys?”
Maggie couldn’t meet her gaze. “I tried to talk him out of it, but he feels a loyalty to the men—especially after what happened to Leo.”
“Too bad,” Carlotta said. “I trust you used all your powers of persuasion.”
Maggie gulped. “That depends on what you mean. The truth is, I begged him.”
“And he would not listen? For shame! Alex is not the man I thought he was. Did you cry?”
“Perhaps a little.”
“And did he kiss you?”
Maggie pulled back and stared at her. “Well, no.”
“Pity.” Carlotta looked ready to expound on feminine wiles, but a gentle knock cam
e at the door.
“Carlotta? I have something for you.” Her mother’s voice sounded carefree and indulgent.
“Come in, Mamacita,” Carlotta called.
Señora Herrera entered carrying a small basket.
“Here we are,” she said, offering the basket to Maggie. “Blanca and I have been trying a new recipe I got from her mother. Sugared pecans. You girls must try them and tell us what you think.”
“Thank you.” Maggie chose a couple of pecan halves from the basket. She took it that Blanca was another of Señora Herrera’s stream of pampered servants.
“Mama, you have to hear Maggie’s plan,” Carlotta said.
“Oh, what is this?” Señora Herrera sat down and set the basket on the table. She flicked her fan open and waved it gracefully. “Tell me, Maggie.”
“Well, I thought perhaps Carlotta and I could get some of our friends to help me bring Papa’s cattle in—that is, if the men really do walk off the job tonight.”
“What? Your men refuse to work?”
“Yes. They’re threatening a strike.”
The señora frowned. “My husband mentioned this to me, that some of the vaqueros were talking of it, and I thought it was nonsense.”
“I’m afraid not,” Maggie said. “One of our men rode in from the roundup camp this morning to speak to Papa about it, and it seems they are serious. If Papa won’t raise their wages—and he can’t afford to—they will leave tomorrow and not return. And they have not brought in all the cattle. Some are still in the holding pens at the roundup camp.”
“You see, Mama?” Carlotta said gaily. “Someone needs to go let the cattle out of the pens tomorrow and bring them back to Señor Porter’s ranch.”
“And who will drive them to the stockyards?” her mother asked.
“Papa hopes to hire someone else to take them to Fort Worth,” Maggie said.
Señora Herrera shook her head. “And you think girls can do that? Bring them to the ranch?”
“I think we could,” Maggie said. “Of course, it might involve a little more—there are probably some still out on the range, and there may be a few to be branded, but—”
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