Cowgirl Trail

by Susan Page Davis

  “Alex is right,” Early said. “I don’t know about you fellas, but I’m going to get my pay. I want to eat.”

  “We should all take some food from the chuck wagon,” Tommy said.

  “That ain’t ours if we ain’t working for Porter anymore,” Harry said.

  “He won’t miss a few beans and a little coffee.” Tommy threw the dregs of his coffee out on the grass.

  “I say we let the cattle we’ve rounded up out of the pens,” Diego said.

  Tommy grinned. “Yeah, and stampede ’em, too.”

  Nevada stepped toward Tommy. “Lookahere, boy, I intend to go in there tomorrow morning and get my pay like a man. And to do that, I want to be able to look Porter in the eye and know that every day I did work for him, I gave him his money’s worth.”

  Harry looked around at the younger men. “Which is it? Keep your pay for this month, or destroy the hard work we’ve done here the past few days?”

  Alex held his breath, not daring to speak.

  “I’m drawing my pay,” Early said.

  “Me too.” Stewie walked over to the back of the chuck wagon. “Anyone who wants a doughnut better come get it now. I only made three dozen, and I reckon they’ll go fast.”

  The men swarmed the wagon for their treats, and Alex drew a deep breath. Nevada hadn’t moved. Alex looked over at him.

  “Thanks.”

  “It’s only right.”

  “That was close, though.”

  Nevada nodded. “It was. Much as I begrudge Porter for the way he’s treated us, I don’t think it’s fair to make him do this work all over again. Not if we’re taking pay for it.”

  “Right.” Alex looked toward the pens. “If we leave the cattle penned, though, they’ll be without water until someone comes and lets them out.”

  “That’s up to Porter to get them up near the house. He’s got the ones we already took in, in that north pasture with the stream.”

  “Yeah, that’s where we were planning to leave them until we got them all collected for the drive.” Alex heaved out a big sigh. “I wasn’t going back tomorrow, since the boss paid me today, but maybe I should. We need to tell him we’re leaving the cattle penned.”

  The next morning, Alex rode around all of the pens. They’d released the cows and young stock that would roam the range for another year. Only those headed for the stockyards remained in the enclosures.

  “We ought to just drive them in,” he said to Nevada. “It wouldn’t take more than an extra hour.”

  “More like two, and the men are all worked up to leave. They’ve made up their minds they’re done working for Porter—they don’t want to get stuck doing a drive this morning. Besides—Porter won’t include today in our pay.”

  That clinched it for Alex. He gave in and rode back to the campfire with Nevada. Every man had his own horse saddled and ready to go. Stewie had put away all his gear and closed up the chuck wagon. He would ride one of the remuda horses back to the ranch. They’d leave the camp just as it was, for whoever came to finish the job.

  When he was sure all was in order, Alex gave the order for the men to mount up and ride to the ranch house to get their pay. Then they could go to the bunkhouse and pack up the rest of their personal belongings.

  “What about the extra horses in the remuda?” Joe asked.

  Alex looked at Nevada. “What do you say?”

  “I thought we were leaving them out here for whoever comes to finish the job.”

  “Or we could drive them in to the ranch,” Alex said.

  Nevada shook his head. “That would look too much like sympathy for Porter.”

  “Well, I got sympathy for the horses,” Joe said.

  “I’ll help you water them all before we go,” Alex told him.

  It took them half an hour. The men were long gone. Nevada stayed, too, while Alex double-checked the gates and totaled up the numbers he’d kept on the roundup. Nine hundred fifty-six steers brought in, and two hundred twenty cows he thought should be culled from the breeding herd. They had branded more than four hundred calves and unmarked strays, most of which were this year’s crop, and castrated the bull calves. They’d let the young stock go to grow for another year or two. Yearling and older unbranded cattle, they’d put the Rocking P brand on and brought in. Of course there were still another five or six hundred marketable steers roaming around on the Rocking P range. Even so, the final count on cattle they had herded to the pasture or the holding pens was 1,176. Not a bad herd to start out with on the drive.

  With Joe and Nevada, Alex rode to the ranch. A black-topped buggy he was sure belonged to Dr. Vargas sat in front of the house, as did two wagons. Several saddle horses he didn’t recognize browsed hay in the corral. Were some of the other ranchers here, plotting with Porter on how to deal with the strike?

  Most of the other men were gone, but Early and Harry were still in the bunkhouse, packing their extra clothes and sundries.

  “Did everyone get paid?” Alex asked.

  “Yeah,” Harry said, “but me and Early had to wait a while. When we finally got in, it was Miss Porter who gave us our money. We didn’t see her pa. Then the doc came. I’m wondering if the old man’s all right.”

  Alex wondered too. Mr. Porter must be ill, if he’d prevailed on Maggie to pay the men off. That would explain the doctor’s buggy. But what about the other wagons?

  “Do you know who else is in there?” he asked, as Harry and Early headed out the door.

  Early looked back and smiled. “Looked like a hen party to me.”

  Alex stared after him, but it was too late to catch him and press him for more information. Maybe some of the town ladies had come to comfort Maggie.

  He filled a basin from the rain barrel outside and washed his face and hands. He put on his last clean shirt, combed his hair, and headed for the house.

  Joe and Nevada met him in the yard.

  “You all set?” Alex asked.

  “Yeah,” Nevada said. “Want us to wait for you? We thought we’d go into Brady.”

  “Go ahead,” Alex said. He probably wouldn’t be here long, but he wasn’t in the mood to watch most of the other men drink up the short pay they’d just received.

  The two cowboys moved on toward the corral. Bracing himself for the coming encounter, Alex walked toward the house and stopped at the steps leading up to the broad veranda.

  The door opened, and Maggie came out. She was wearing the same skirt she’d worn when she rode Duchess to the roundup camp, with a red-checked blouse. She looked very young and fresh—almost like she had three or four years ago—before she went away.

  “Howdy,” he said, and felt foolish for saying it.

  “Good morning. I saw you from the window. Since you got your pay yesterday, I thought I’d come out here. Papa asked me to make sure you brought him your final count from the roundup.”

  “Got it right here.” Alex fished the folded paper out of his pocket. “Is your pa sick?”

  She pressed her lips together and nodded. “The doctor is with him now.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He wanted to know whose rigs were tied up before the house, but it really wasn’t any of his business. Still, the idea remained that some of the neighboring ranchers were inside pledging to help Porter and planning ways to counter the strike.

  “Thank you. Would you like to sit down for a minute?” Maggie took a seat in one of the rustic rockers on the veranda and unfolded the paper. Alex sat down in the one next to it. His stomach churned—she made him more nervous than her father did.

  “Is it serious?” he asked.

  She looked up from the paper. “What? Oh, yes. I’m afraid it is.”

  He nodded. He’d figured it must be. “Maggie, I—” He stopped. There was nothing to say, really. He couldn’t offer his support, not with the stand he’d taken on the men’s behalf. And Porter wouldn’t want his help now anyway.

  The sound of female laughter issued from the parlor window, a
nd he swiveled his head toward it. Not everyone at the Rocking P was somber today, it seemed.

  Maggie jumped up as the sound of her friends’ laughter poured out the window. “Excuse me just a minute.”

  She hurried inside without opening the door far enough for Alex to see much of anything. A moment later she closed the parlor window gently. She didn’t want the foreman to think she and her friends were in here celebrating the men’s betrayal.

  “Is everything all right, Maggie?” Poppy Wilson asked.

  “Yes, I just have to meet one last time with the foreman.”

  “Well, find out how they left things in the camp,” Poppy said.

  “Oh, I will.”

  Carlotta rose and came over to whisper, “That Alex Bright, he is too absolutely handsome. Can’t you persuade him to stay?”

  Maggie felt a blush coming on. She lifted the latch. “No, I’m sure he’s made up his mind.”

  “But with a little flirtation, perhaps—a promise of more later …”

  “That’s scandalous,” Maggie hissed. “If your mother could hear you!”

  Carlotta laughed. “All right, let him go then. It’s your loss.”

  Maggie went out onto the porch and closed the door firmly.

  Alex unfolded his long legs and stood.

  “Oh, don’t get up,” she said, too late.

  He almost smiled, and she wished he hadn’t. Her heart fluttered like a goose trying to take off from the pond.

  “Sounds like a party in there.”

  “Oh, some of my friends came to welcome me home. I’m afraid it turned out to be a bad time, with Papa sick and you men needing your last pay and all.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll get out of here as quickly as I can.”

  That reminded her of the paper she still held in her hand. Flustered, she sat in the rocker and smoothed it out on her knee. “This looks good. More than eleven hundred head of cattle in the pasture. How many did Papa expect for the drive?”

  “Maybe eighteen hundred. That figure includes the bunch we left penned out at the roundup camp, but there are still several hundred to be rounded up.”

  “Oh.” She pressed her lips together, hoping her dismay didn’t show. She’d hoped the men were almost done with the roundup.

  “Have you got someone to take over?” Alex asked.

  “Are you offering to stay?”

  “No.”

  Again her spirits plummeted. She struggled to produce a smile. “Actually we have found someone. I don’t have as many … as many cowpunchers as are leaving, but I think a dozen can finish the roundup within a few days, and we should be able to get more help for the drive.”

  “That’s good. I’m … glad you could get someone.” Alex’s eyebrows were slightly cocked, and she wondered if he believed her. He shifted in his chair. “Oh, by the way, we left the camp in good order. The chuck wagon’s all tidy and closed up, so that no cows can come along and stick their heads in. And the remuda horses are penned up out there, too, in a pen near the one where the cattle are.”

  “Oh.” She hadn’t really thought about scores of cattle out there waiting to be released. She’d assumed all the ones they’d rounded up were in the pasture now.

  “Uh … how long do you think they’ll be all right in the pens?”

  “Well, we watered the horses this morning.”

  She bit her lip. “I’m not sure our new crew can get out there before tomorrow morning. I’d hoped for this afternoon, but we’ll need to … to organize things and … and get their supplies ready.” He must think she was a rather cavalier ranch manager to be hosting a party when she had a new crew of cowpunchers to break in.

  “Is your father planning to go to the roundup camp?” Alex asked.

  She looked down at the paper, unable to meet his gaze. “I honestly don’t think he’s up to it.”

  “That’s too bad. I wish …” He stopped and grimaced then went on. “I really mean this, Maggie. I wish I could help you out. But I can’t. The men would … well, I just can’t.”

  She nodded. She’d seen the men’s faces yesterday when she’d gone to the camp to plead with him. Some of them had vented their anger today when they’d come in to pick up their wages. She was mildly surprised that they hadn’t turned the livestock loose on the range and wrecked all the equipment. How much influence had Alex had to exert to keep them from stealing the Porters blind? If they’d taken the extra horses, she wouldn’t have been able to stop them.

  “Alex, I appreciate very much the work you’ve done here and your loyalty to the family, even though you feel you must go with the men.”

  “Do you?” He gazed into her eyes with such longing that she knew how bitter was his struggle. “Maggie, if there was any other way—”

  “I know.” She reached out and clasped his hand for a moment then withdrew her own. One glance out the window by Carlotta or Poppy and she’d be teased for the rest of her life—or until she married someone, whichever came first. At the moment, her prospects of becoming a spinster rancher looked pretty good. “Well, perhaps we can get someone to go out there tonight and water the stock, even if we can’t bring them in until tomorrow.”

  Alex eyed her in silence so long that she had to look away.

  “You’re going out there yourself?”

  “Well, yes. I thought I would. Since the new hands won’t be familiar with the roundup camp or anything.”

  “Look, Shep and a couple of other men could do that. It would take them a while. But are you sure you’ve got a crew lined up? I mean, if your father’s that sick …”

  Tears spilled over and rolled down her cheeks. She ducked her head and wiped them away with her sleeve.

  “He is that sick, isn’t he?” Alex said softly. He touched her shoulder. “Maggie, I’m so sorry this is happening. It’s going against everything I am to walk away from here and not help you.”

  “I know.” Somehow his words made her feel better, but more tears splashed on her skirt. She fumbled in her pocket for a handkerchief. “We’ll be all right.”

  Alex nodded. “Listen, there’s enough grub stashed in the chuck wagon for three or four days. I asked Stewie before we left camp. He says there’s beans, coffee, and quite a bit of other stuff. You might want to send some fresh meat along. That doesn’t keep well in this heat.”

  “Thank you.” She sniffed.

  Alex detailed a few places where he thought she ought to check for small bands of cattle. “We didn’t get up into the hills much, and there’s probably three or four hundred Rocking P cattle up there.” He paused for a moment. “Maggie, I … I’ll be praying for you and your father.”

  Startled, she gazed up into his troubled brown eyes. “That means a lot.”

  He nodded. “Those cattle in the pens … They’ll be fine until morning without water. If part of your crew could go right out there and bring them to the pasture first thing tomorrow, they’d probably do all right.”

  “And the horses?”

  He gritted his teeth. “Just water them first thing. I don’t like to see horses go that long without water, but if you have to …”

  “I’m sure the new people we’ve found can handle it.”

  “All right.” Alex rose, and she jumped up to stand beside him. “You did well to find new cowboys so quick.”

  He didn’t look happy. She realized that this news didn’t bode well for the striking men. Of course, if Alex and the others knew that the new roundup crew consisted of women, they’d laugh their heads off. She supposed they’d find out soon enough, since one of the men’s wives and a couple of their sweethearts had signed on for the roundup and were now sitting in the parlor with Carlotta and the others. But she’d let him find that out in his own time.

  “What will you do now, Alex?”

  He sighed and shifted the angle of his hat. “Thought I’d stick around Brady a while and see how things go with the strike. The other men want to get as much support as they can. They all hope they
can come back to work here after a bit, with better wages.”

  “I hope so too, but I can’t promise anything.”

  “I understand.” He paused and gave her that crooked smile of his. “Good-bye, Maggie.”

  “Good-bye.”

  She longed to fling her arms around him. But that was out of the question. She wanted to at least tell him that she hoped she’d see him again, but somehow that didn’t seem the best thing for the acting manager of the ranch to say to the foreman leading the strike against her.

  He walked down the steps and ambled across the yard to the corral near the bunkhouse, where the red roan stood. He gathered the reins and swung into the saddle.

  Behind her, the door creaked open.

  “Hey,” Carlotta said, “are you coming back? Dolores wants to know what she should prepare for us to take for food tomorrow. And the girls all want you to tell them how to convince their mamas and their husbands that splitting their skirts is not immodest.”

  Alex turned Red and paused for a moment. Maggie wondered if he’d heard what Carlotta said. He lifted his hat, and Maggie raised her hand and she turned to Carlotta with a smile, hoping her friend wouldn’t notice the traces of her recent tears.

  “Right. I think we’re in good shape on the food, actually.” She needed to catch Dr. Vargas for an update on her father’s condition before he left, but for now she had to focus on the roundup. She bustled back inside with Carlotta, ready to work.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Maggie rose before daylight and dressed in her riding outfit. She picked up the saddlebags and bedroll she’d prepared the night before and her small lantern and lugged them into the hallway. She paused before her father’s door and set down her bundles. Quietly, she entered his bedroom and tiptoed to the bedside.

  His face was gray in the lantern light, but he breathed evenly. The doctor had increased his medication for pain and insisted she give him a hefty dose of laudanum in the evening so that he could sleep through the night.

  Maggie bent and grazed his cheek with her fingertips. She hated to leave him now. Only Shep would be here to tend him and give him his medicine. Dolores had decided at ten o’clock the night before, as she and Maggie washed up the dishes they’d made cooking for the roundup crew, that she would accompany the cowgirls and cook for them at the camp. Now Maggie wondered if they’d made the right decision. If Papa took a turn for the worse, who would go for Dr. Vargas, and how would they get word to Maggie at the camp, an hour’s ride away?