“I’ll get it.” Maggie hurried to the back of the wagon, where Dolores was washing dishes. She explained the problem, and Dolores soaked a linen dish towel in water for her.
“That’s as cool as we’ve got.”
“Thanks,” Maggie said. She wrung the towel out and took it to Rhonda. Hannah’s ankle was beginning to puff up, and it looked redder than it had a minute earlier.
Rhonda took the cloth and wrapped it around Hannah’s foot and ankle. “Leave that on there ten minutes, then we’ll soak it again.”
“Hannah, you’d better stay in camp this morning,” Maggie said.
“I don’t think it’s broken,” Rhonda told her, “but it’ll probably swell up more and be sore for a while.”
“I think Dolores has some willow bark,” Maggie said.
“I’ll ask her to make you some tea,” Carlotta offered and spun away to make the request.
Maggie touched Rhonda’s shoulder. “Thank you. It’s a relief to have someone here who knows about nursing.”
When they’d made Hannah as comfortable as possible, Carlotta walked toward the horse corral with Maggie. “You want us to go ahead out?”
“Yes, take half the women and check that ravine between Knob Hill and the Bradleys’ boundary. In fact, there are about a dozen Bradley cattle in the second pen. Might as well take them home. It’ll take you an hour or two to get them over there, but the ravine was one of the places Alex told me they hadn’t worked yet, so you’ll be close to Bradleys’ anyway.”
Carlotta nodded. “Maybe we’d better take some food.”
“Not a bad idea—and make sure all the girls have full canteens. I’ll take the rest and go south.”
When Maggie rode in about noon with her team of four other women, Carlotta’s band hadn’t returned, but that didn’t surprise her. Her own team had found about forty cattle and brought them in.
This was slow work, and she wasn’t sure it was worth keeping all these women out here away from their families and their chores. Inexperience and other factors—green horses in the remuda, unskilled workers, and the vastness of the range—kept them from being efficient.
As they headed their cut into the holding pen, she wondered what Alex and the other men were up to today. What would happen to them? Would they be able to find other jobs? She was quite certain her father would hold their defection against them and not hire them back. And Alex would probably never forgive her. By hiring the women, she’d made him expendable and undermined the effect of the men’s strike.
She couldn’t help hoping he would understand that she did this for her father. Maybe someday she could tell him the whole story.
She was surprised to see Hannah tending the gate for them. Her ankle was wrapped in strips of cloth, and she wore a moccasin on that foot. She smiled cheerfully at Maggie.
“Good job!”
“How’s your ankle?” Maggie asked as she rode out of the pen.
“Well, it hurts, but not so much that I can’t help out. Dolores loaned me a moccasin because my boot wouldn’t go on over the bandage.”
“Shouldn’t you stay off that foot?”
Hannah shrugged. “Rhonda thinks it’s not too bad. Really, it doesn’t hurt that much now. But if it’s all the same to you, I’ll be helping Dolores for a while. Celine said she could ride out with you this afternoon.”
Maggie was washing up for her midday meal when Carlotta’s team returned with about two dozen steers.
“The pickings are slim out there now,” she told Maggie. “Most of the cattle we saw were cows or young stock.”
“Maggie!”
She turned toward Dolores’s voice. The cook pointed toward the trail that led toward the creek. Four riders approached.
Maggie and Carlotta walked out into the open space between the branding fire pit and the chuck wagon. Maggie adjusted her hat so the brim shaded her eyes, but she didn’t recognize the men.
“Do you know them?” she murmured to Carlotta.
“Not sure. I think—yes, they’re Bar D men. I know that palomino.”
Maggie had to smile. She’d have expected Carlotta to know the men better than she did the horses, but she’d underestimated her friend this time.
“It’s their foreman,” Carlotta added in a whisper as the men drew near. “He’s called Grit.”
“Gents,” Maggie called out. “Can we help you?”
Grit shoved his hat back a half inch, and the other men touched their hat brims.
“Ma’am. We heared your men had some Bar D cattle over here.”
Maggie frowned. “Not so far as I know. If the Rocking P men brought in any of your beeves, I’m sure they must have thrown them over to your range. But since I’ve been out here, we haven’t seen any.”
“Whatchoo mean, since you bin out here?”
Grit’s eyes narrowed and he looked her up and down in a way that made Maggie cringe. For the first time, she wished she’d worn her sidearm and not left it with her bedroll during the day.
“Where’s your men at, anyhow?” Grit asked. “I hain’t seen Alex for an age.”
“Didn’t ya hear?” one of the other cowpunchers drawled. “The Rockin’ P men are strikin’.”
Grit smiled. “That’s right, I did hear somethin’ about that. You tellin’ me you got women workin’ the roundup now? Or are you gals just out here to tidy up after the men?”
Maggie clenched her teeth.
Carlotta strode forward and stood before Grit’s horse with her hands on her hips. “You watch yourself, mister. Do you know who you’re addressing? That’s Miss Porter, and she’s the owner of this ranch, so you just hold your tongue.”
“Hey, boss, that’s Herrera’s daughter,” one of Grit’s men said. “You don’t want to mess with her, or her padre will run you out of Texas.”
“Ha!” Grit grinned. “I thought you looked familiar.” His eyes lingered on Carlotta. “Whatchoo doin’ out here, señorita?”
“We’re doing more work than you vaqueros are.” Carlotta’s taunting prompted Maggie to step up beside her.
“I assure you gentlemen that if we find any drifted cattle with the Bar D brand, we’ll send them home.”
“You sure you hain’t branding any of our calves?” Grit looked toward the fence. “Maybe my boys oughta take a look in your holding pens, just to make sure.”
“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Maggie said. This wasn’t like the old days of the open range, when the men from various ranches got together to do their roundup and sort out the cattle. Now many of the boundaries were fenced. Her father held grazing rights to the range they were working on, and sometimes a few head from other ranches wandered over here, but the herds didn’t mix like they used to.
She held the foreman’s stare. Grit may have honorable intentions, but she had a bad feeling about the entire encounter. If these men sympathized with the strikers, perhaps they’d ridden over from the ranch ten miles distant to give the new workers a hard time. They could end up making far more trouble than Alex and his departing men had made.
“Oh, I think we need to see what you’ve got.” Grit nodded to the man on his right. He and another of the cowboys turned their horses and trotted over to the pen.
Maggie glared at Grit, clenching her fists involuntarily. “This is outrageous. Take your men and get off the Rocking P.”
Grit smiled. “Last I heard, your old man owned this range, not you.” He looked toward the corral. “Whatcha got, Shorty?”
One of the cowboys near the gate called, “Looks like they’ve got a couple dozen mavericks that might belong to us. You want us to cut ’em out?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Not one of those cattle is yours.” Maggie lifted her chin and planted her feet firmly as she watched the leader, but inside she quivered.
What had she gotten these women into?
Carlotta spat a stream of Spanish at the cowpunchers near the gate, and Maggie laid a hand on her arm.
“Take it easy, Carlotta.” She had no time to pray, but she sent up a wordless cry for help and fixed Grit with a glare. “It’s true that the Rocking P property and range rights are in my father’s name, but I have full authority from him. I suggest you and your men leave. Now. You’re not taking any cattle out of our herd. If we find any—”
“Riders coming,” Bitty yelled.
Maggie’s heart sank. A few more men from the Bar D—or any other outfit in sympathy with the strikers—would tip the balance of power. More than ever she wished she’d worn her father’s revolver or could lay hands on the shotgun still in the scabbard on her saddle.
She looked toward the stream, but no one came along that trail. She shifted her gaze toward the ranch and town. Half a dozen horses were coming up fast. She held her breath. Things could get uglier in a hurry.
“It’s Alex,” Dolores cried, and Carlotta sucked in a deep breath.
Maggie’s heart pounded. Did Alex mean support—or more trouble? She straightened her shoulders. “As I was about to say, you can tell Mr. Danfield we’ll send any of his strays home at the end of our roundup.”
The six newcomers rode up and halted their horses. Alex looked from Grit to Maggie and back.
“Afternoon, ladies,” Alex said. “What’s the story here?”
“Nothing we can’t handle.” Maggie looked him over, trying to read some motive for this visit, but she couldn’t find any clues. Only his brown eyes seemed different as he met Grit’s gaze—tough and challenging, though he sat relaxed in the saddle. Nevada Hatch, beside him, was another story. Maggie got the impression of a cat, sleek and disinterested, but ready to spring in an instant.
“We heard over to the Bar D that Porter had fired you punchers and hired a new crew, so we thought we’d ride over and make sure they weren’t branding none of our strays.” Grit nodded at Alex. “Never thought I’d find a bunch of females trying to take your place—and your pay.”
Nevada Hatch crossed his wrists and leaned on his saddle horn. “Thought we’d better come see if the ladies needed a hand, seein’ as they’re trying to do a man’s job out here.”
Maggie shifted her gaze to Alex. “I suppose you told the other ranches about us and sent these buckaroos over to make trouble.”
Alex’s jaw dropped. “No such thing. We just heard about it in town. We had no idea you were out here ’til an hour ago, did we, fellas?” He glanced around at his companions.
“We sure didn’t,” Harry Jensen said. “I heard it when I dropped in to see Leo. We just assumed your pa hired some men, Miss Maggie.”
“Well, we’d like to get on with our work and get the job done,” she said.
“That right?” Grit smiled. “Boys, get them mavericks, and we’ll mosey along.”
“No, you don’t.” Sarah Bradley stepped out from the shadow of the chuck wagon with her revolver leveled at Grit. “Those are all Rocking P cattle. If you take one of them, we’ll shoot you for rustlers.”
Dolores stepped up beside Sarah holding Maggie’s shotgun. She trained it on the men near the holding pen gate. Maggie’s stomach knotted, and she made herself breathe slowly.
Mariah Key and Poppy Wilson ambled forward holding revolvers pointed at the men.
“That’s right,” Poppy said. “We may be wearing skirts, but we know how to defend Mr. Porter’s herd.”
“Whoa, now!” Grit sat a little straighter and eyed Alex uncertainly.
“Don’t look at me for help,” Alex said. “I was bossing this camp until yesterday morning, and there weren’t any Bar D cattle in the pens when I left. We’d sent about a dozen head over to your ranch the day before, though.”
“Hmpf.” Grit hauled in a deep breath. “All right. Shorty, I guess we were mistaken. Come on, boys.” He narrowed his gaze at Maggie. “Ain’t often a man pulls iron on another puncher. I won’t forget this.”
“Just stay on your own range, and you won’t have any trouble,” Sarah said, holding her gun steady.
Grit pivoted his horse and took off at a lope, with his three men right behind him.
Maggie let out a deep sigh.
“Well, boss, what do you want us to do now?” Sarah asked. Dolores had lowered the shotgun, but Sarah still held her revolver.
“Thank you all,” Maggie said. “I don’t think the Rocking P men will harm us.” She looked expectantly at Alex and his companions.
“Oh, no, ma’am,” Alex said.
“We sure wouldn’t,” Early echoed.
Maggie nodded and turned to the women. “Let’s get those calves branded before anyone else comes along and tries to claim them.”
The women put their guns away. Dolores went back to the chuck wagon. Most of the others headed for the remuda or the branding fire.
Maggie turned back to the lingering Rocking P men. Alex was looking over the camp.
“Well, as you can see, we’re doing all right,” she said.
He nodded.
“Are you surprised?” Carlotta asked.
“A little. Is there anything you need help with?”
Maggie frowned at him. Alex seemed serious, but Nevada Hatch sat there watching her and Carlotta with a smile that bordered on a smirk.
“Are you men asking for your jobs back?”
Alex raised a hand in dismissal. “No, ma’am. We’re still striking.”
The glimmer of hope Maggie had felt winked out. “Then go away.”
“That’s right. You’re not welcome here,” Carlotta said.
Instead of turning Red around and riding out, Alex swung down from the saddle. “Could I speak to you for a minute?”
Maggie hesitated. “We have a lot of work to do.”
“I understand.” He didn’t move.
Maggie tried to stuff down her irritation. She didn’t want Alex to play with her feelings. Had he known the Bar D men would be here? And had he come to look like the cavalry and gain her favor, or to make trouble?
“All right. What do you want?”
“I just want to assure you that we did not send those hombres out here. I truly didn’t know you ladies were doing the job until Leo told us. I have to admire you for taking this on.”
Maggie pressed her lips together. She didn’t want to spill to him that her father couldn’t get any other men to do the work, thanks largely to the strikers’ pleas for sympathy at the other ranches. But she couldn’t claim she was doing it just for fun.
“How long had those fellows from the Bar D been here?”
“Not long.” She couldn’t avoid his searing gaze. “We’d have handled it, but I have to admit your arrival made it a little easier.”
He nodded. “Did you get that bunch out of the ravine over near Knob Hill?”
“We did. Thank you.” There were so many things he could tell her that would make this job easier. But Maggie couldn’t bring herself to ask him for that information. After all, she was out here to make sure his striking wouldn’t hurt the ranch. She wished he and Nevada and the others hadn’t come. Several of her cowgirls were dawdling around the chuck wagon and looking over the men who’d ridden in with Alex, and her own insides roiled. She cared deeply for this man, but they stood on opposite sides now—and Alex was making it hard to see exactly where the line was. One thing for certain, she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on her work today.
“Look, we stopped at the ranch house on the way here,” he said.
“What for?”
“Shep must have heard us riding by. He came outside and flagged us down.”
Maggie gulped. “Is everything all right?”
“He asked me to tell you that your pa is holding his own.”
Maggie closed her eyes for a moment. “Thank you. I’ve been wondering.”
“He—uh—he also asked me to see if you were ready for him to come out and—and do the job he said he’d do for you.” Alex cleared his throat and didn’t quite meet her gaze. “Look, Maggie, how many bull calves you got? These fellas and I could take
care of it for you—”
“But you men said you wouldn’t work here.”
He huffed out a breath. “I guess we’d better get moving then.”
“Right. You should.”
Alex held her gaze for a moment, and Maggie forced herself to turn away. She walked toward the corral, where Poppy had a horse saddled for her.
“Thanks, Poppy. I’m going to leave a couple of extra women in camp with you and Dolores and Hannah this afternoon. If any more punchers from other outfits come nosing around, you send them packing, all right?”
“We sure will,” Poppy said.
At the sound of galloping hooves, she turned in time to see Alex and his friends riding away toward Brady. Maggie let out a deep breath. Had she just severed the flimsy thread that had tethered her to Alex?
“Yippee!” Sarah, mounted and ready to ride, yelled and rode her horse in a circle around the camp. A few of the others joined in, yelling and laughing. Celine danced about the cook fire.
“What’s going on?” Maggie called.
“They’re just letting off steam,” Dolores said. “Celebrating, since you all chased the cowboys out of here.”
Maggie shook her head. She didn’t feel like celebrating. She checked her supplies and donned the worn leather chaps she’d borrowed from Shep. The canyons and arroyos she planned to scour were full of brush and prickly pear. The horse Poppy had picked for her was a scrubby dark bay. He looked tough. Maggie mounted and rode to the center of camp.
“Ladies,” she called, “you haven’t so much won a victory as you have passed a test. There may be more of those, so keep your wits about you. Now, gather ’round while I give new assignments.”
She led five other women out with her to check several isolated areas. By late afternoon they had collected a large bunch of strays.
“Let’s move them along,” she told the others. “We want to be back in camp before sunset.”
They hustled the herd, with the pointers trotting at the sides of the moving column, riding up on any cattle that tried to stop and graze. A yearling darted out from the herd and ran for freedom. Nancy whirled her horse and galloped after him. At breakneck speed, the horse pivoted again, and Nancy flew off her sidesaddle.
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