Follow The Wind

by Janelle Taylor

  Jessie understood his reluctance. “That’s fine, Hank.”

  “Yore grandma’s been he’pin’ me with the cookin’ and washin’ ‘cause I been doin’ the boys’ chores in the bunkhouse. They ain’t hardly had time to suck air.”

  “As soon as I speak with Gran, I’ll help them. They look like they need somebody to give them a rest stop. I hate to have them working on Sunday.”

  “Can’t be he’ped, Jessie. Be seein’ you later.” He strode off in a rush.

  Chickens clucked and scattered as the couple disturbed their scratchings on their way to the well-kept clapboard house. Eight posts lined the edge of the porch that traveled the length of it. Jessie and Navarro mounted the steps and entered a large sitting area with a fireplace on one wall.

  As they walked through the homey room, Jessie pointed to their right and said, “Gran’s room is on the front. Mary Louise and I share one on the back.” Motioning to their left, she added, “Papa’s room is there.”

  Straight ahead, they entered an oblong area where the kitchen and eating rooms were located. To the right was a bathing closet with a second door to the back porch. At the far end of the dining section, she told him those stairs led to Tom’s attic room. Gran wasn’t inside so Jessie led her companion toward the back door and outside onto the porch, where she heard noises.

  Jessie sighted her grandmother and rushed to the well. She took the heavy bucket from the woman’s stiff fingers and scolded in a soft tone, “You should let Mary Louise do this, Gran. You have enough trouble and pain with your hands without aggravating them. As soon as that part arrives, Papa can repair the pump and halt this chore.”

  With twinkling eyes and mirthful laughter, the woman returned Jessie’s motherly concern. “I see you got back safe, child,” she said. “I been worried plenty these past eleven days. So has your pa. And Matt, too.” The older woman looked at the handsome stranger who, without a word, took the bucket from her granddaughter’s hand and carried it inside. Martha’s gnarled fingers grasped the railing as she pulled herself up the four steps to the porch.

  Jessie knew this was one of the times when she didn’t dare assist her aging grandmother, who was still proud and strong at seventy. “I’ll tell Mary Louise to fill the kitchen barrel before I change to help the hands. Where is that lazy girl, Gran?”

  “Gone,” Martha replied, halting to catch her breath before explaining.

  “Gone? Where? When? What happened this time?” Jessie asked in dismay.

  “She was riling Jed about visiting her friends back East again. He wouldn’t yield, but he didn’t have time or spirit to be troubled, so he let her stay in town for a week. She’ll be coming home next Sunday. She claimed she wanted to observe the schoolmarm to see if she wants to start teaching. Jed let her have her way this time. He dropped her off when he went for supplies Friday.”

  Jessie knew her father had complied to get his defiant daughter out of his hair during this hectic time, and she was angry that such action was necessary. She also knew that her sister had lied to get her way. “Mary Louise should be here helping you and the others, Gran, not playing in town. I don’t know what we’re going to do about her. Hank told me how hard all of you are working. You can get some rest now that I’m home. I’ll tend the wash tomorrow. And I’ll take care of the chickens, eggs, and milking. After I get you caught up with chores, me and Navarro are going to deal with Fletcher. We’ll keep him and his men too busy to trouble Papa and the hands.”

  “This is Navarro?” Martha hinted, nodding at the dark-haired man who was leaning against the door jamb and holding a respectful silence.

  “Where in blazes are my manners? Gran, this is Navarro; Navarro, my grandmother, Martha Lane, but everyone calls her Gran. You can, too.” Jessie briefly explained about Big Ed and how she’d found Navarro. “You’ll hear it all tonight, Gran.”

  “We owe you a big debt, son, for taking care of our Jessie. We couldn’t do without her. She practically runs this place. Will, too, one day. I’ll bake you a special pie for dessert tonight. You’ll take supper with us?” she asked.

  Jessie answered for him. “I thought so, Gran, so we can hear the news and make plans against Fletcher. Hank and the boys warned me it’s bad news. With Big Ed gone, that leaves us with only twelve hands, Matt, and Hank. Blazes! How can we get branding and planting done without more help? Especially with Fletcher coming at us stronger and meaner than ever. Damn him!”

  Martha inhaled sharply. “Jessica Lane! Watch your tongue, child. Your pa will be red in the face if he hears such words coming from you.”

  “I just get so mad, Gran, that they slip out. I’m sorry. I’ll be careful.”

  “I know, child,” Martha sympathized, patting Jessie’s back.

  “I’ll get changed into some old clothes and boots, then fetch the water for you. I’ll see you in a minute or two, Navarro. Wait here for me.” Jessie left the room.

  Martha Lane focused faded blue eyes on the quiet male whose height towered over her five-two frame. “Where are you from, son? What’s your last name?”

  Navarro straightened. “Colorado and Jones, ma’am,” he lied.

  “A man of few words like Matt,” she teased.

  “While Jessie changes, I’ll fill that water barrel for you, ma’am,” he said, then lifted two buckets and headed for the well with haste.

  When Jessie returned to the kitchen, Gran remarked, “Your Navarro is short of talk, child, and a wary man, but I like him. Strikes me as a tough man who hides a gentle side. I can tell he’s had a hard life; his eyes give it away.”

  Jessie glanced out the door at Navarro as he drew water from the well. “I’m sure he’s had plenty of troubles, Gran, but he’s a good man. He hasn’t opened up much to me yet, but I hope he will. He seems so lonely, but doesn’t seem to want anyone to know it. We’ll talk about him later. He’s coming, and I have to hurry.” Jessie wanted to get away before her tone and gaze exposed her feelings and intimate behavior. She was glad her sister was gone for a while and relieved at not having to deal with the rebellious girl at this time.

  “That’s it, ma’am,” Navarro said, placing the two buckets aside.

  “Let’s go,” Jessie instructed, then led him outside. “Thanks for helping us. Do you mind hanging around me this afternoon while I work?”

  “Nope. I’ll help, too. Just tell me where I’m needed most.”

  “You don’t have to, Navarro. This isn’t what you were hired to do. I just thought you’d feel easier in strange surroundings around me.”

  Navarro’s hazel gaze locked with her searching blue one. “I feel easier around you in any surroundings, Jessie. Just think of me as hired help and give the orders, Boss Lady.” He grinned, then laughed.

  Jessie liked the look and sound of both. She smiled. “Thanks. You’re a mighty special man, Navarro. I hope Gran didn’t intrude too much.”

  “Nope. She’s a fine woman. I never knew either of my grandmothers, and only met one of my grandfathers. They’re all dead now. I’m the only one of my family left.” Navarro scowled and broke their gaze. He hadn’t meant to reveal anything about himself, but Jessie had a curious way of culling out facts when he least expected it. “I told her I was from Colorado and that my last name’s Jones. You might need that information with the boys later.”

  Jessie didn’t think either claim was true, but she didn’t challenge them. “Well, Navarro Jones of Colorado, let’s get busy. It’s going to be a long and hard afternoon. Know anything about branding?”

  He was relieved by her acceptance of him and of what he was certain she knew were lies. “Nope, but I learn fast.”

  “Good, because we’re shorthanded, as you heard.”

  Branding was a loud, dirty, dangerous, and fatiguing task. The odors of smoke, the sweat from men and horses, singed hair, manure, blood, and arid dust permeated the area. The air rang with the sounds of shouts, pounding hooves, bawling cattle, clanking irons, whirs of lariats, creaking of s
addles and stirrups, and the hissing of hot iron to hide. Everyone sang herd songs and ballads to calm the cows and calves who were waiting impatiently to be separated for marking. Verses from “The Dying Ranger” and “Bonnie Black Bess” only partially settled down the cattle that were bunched tightly in the holding pens.

  Miguel Ortega and Carlos Reeves, expert ropers, tossed their Mexican lariats around hind legs and dragged bellowing calves forward one at a time. Each man was skilled at cutting out calves and keeping up with the rapid schedule. Sombreros shaded their dark eyes, and chaps protected their legs from horn scrapes and chafing. During each day, they used several highly trained cutting horses, changing mounts when one tired. Carlos always said that geldings were best because they never had romancing the mares on their minds. Miguel teased him that he should know, since Carlos was the one who tamed and trained most of them.

  Two sets of flankers were kept busy by the Mexican and half-Mexican vaqueros. One flanker from each pair seized the calf by its shoulder hide and flipped it to the ground, pinning it there by snug holds on its head and right foreleg. His partner, sitting on the ground, grasped the right hind leg with his hands, then pressed his boot against the lower one to prevent any movement. Today, Jimmy Joe Slims was paired up with three other men as flankers.

  Big John Williams, their smithy, tended the fire. The black man kept the coals at the right heat and replaced the irons tossed aside after use. Rusty Jones, the ironman, made certain the tool was hot enough to leave its five-inch mark and a scab, but not hot enough to hurt the hide or blur the Box L mark. The bearded redhead applied light pressure and held the iron in place a moment.

  While Rusty was doing his task on one end, Jefferson Clark worked as the marker on the other. The black man clipped the calf’s ear to match that of all Lane cattle. He tossed the bloody piece into a pail to be counted and compared to the day’s tally. The clip provided another means of identification in case a brand was altered or obliterated by rustlers and aided the ropers while cutting out unworked calves from the restless herd.

  As soon as Rusty and Jefferson finished stamping and notching, the back flanker lifted the calf’s upper leg—if it was a male—for castration. With skill and a razor-sharp knife, in about a minute, Jefferson split the sack, peeled out the testes, snipped the cord, tossed them into another pail, and stepped back to indicate he was finished. The area would drain, scab, and heal quickly. The calf was released to trot to its bawling mother.

  Jessie relieved a flanker to rest and to get a drink or to be excused, then moved to the next weary and thirsty man. Navarro fetched water from the second well near the bunkhouse. He sharpened the knives that Jefferson tossed aside when dulled. He helped Miguel and Carlos by saddling and unsaddling their mounts while the two men took short breaks. He didn’t know how to rope legs, or tend fires, or stamp, or clip ears. Within a short time, the men felt enough at ease to yell for his help whenever needed. Both Jessie and Navarro noticed how he was welcomed into the laboring group.

  Navarro was too distracted by the flurry of activities and excitement to think about his past or to stay on his guard around strangers who were laughing and talking as they worked. Rusty even jested about them being kin because of the desperado’s matching name, Jones. The fiery-haired ironman told them that Fletcher was in big trouble with two Joneses to battle. The desperado found himself relaxing and enjoying the work and genial company.

  When Jessie and Navarro met at the water bucket to soothe their dry throats, he handed her the dipper and smiled through dusty features. Each used a bandanna to mop sweat and dirt from their faces. Their clothes and boots were a mess. They were weary but elated. His black hair was wet. Hers was braided and tucked beneath her hat to keep it as clean as possible. Her work clothes were faded and frayed, but his stolen ones were only a few months old.

  “Supper and a hot bath are going to be wonderful,” Jessie remarked. “But our bodies might refuse to move in the morning. You didn’t realize what you were getting into, did you?”

  “This wasn’t the work I had in mind, but it isn’t bad. You have a good place and hands, Jessie. I can see why you love it here.”

  “Then maybe we can entice you to stay around permanently.” His smile faded, and she knew her words were a mistake. As if a joke, she added, “Surely you don’t want us to do all this work alone. Trouble is, it never ceases. It’s roundup and branding every spring, then roundup and cattle drive every fall. Not much adventure and excitement for a man with trail dust in his blood and on his boots.”

  “Sorry, Jessie, but that’s true.” He liked the way she seemed to catch her errors and correct them with genuine concern.

  “Back to work for me. I’ll take over Tom’s place for a while.” Jessie stepped around and over smelly piles of manure where flies buzzed. It was a familiar odor, so it didn’t bother her too much. More flies buzzed around the discard pails of ear notches and testicles, attracted by the fragrance of blood. She shut out the noises of the area and concentrated on her tally after telling Tom to take a rest and praising him for doing a good job.

  The freckle-faced redhead hobbled in Navarro’s direction, dragging his twisted foot from fatigue. The boy was fascinated by the man he believed was a legendary gunslinger, paying no heed to the fact Jessie had denied it was so. While the stranger was talking with Miguel, Tom removed his glasses and cleaned them as best he could. “Need help, Mr. Jones?” he asked with eagerness when the Mexican returned to his roping.

  “You can help me sharpen those knives for Jefferson.”

  “Are you gonna ride over to the Bar F and challenge Mr. Fletcher to a showdown?” the youth asked in a rush. “I’ll bet you’re real fast with those guns. I’ll bet you gun him down with the first shot. He’s real mean, Mr. Jones. I would handle it for Jessie and Pa if I was able,” he murmured, frowning and slapping the thigh of his bad leg. He pushed his thick glasses back in place, as they had slipped down his greasy nose when he glanced at his filthy socked foot.

  Navarro was moved by the boy. Though different from his own, Tom’s problems clearly had a similar effect on his life and character. “Killing a bad man isn’t always the best answer, Tom. Sometimes it’s better to shame him and defeat him. Bloodshed usually leads to more bloodshed. A man has to prove he’s stronger, wiser, and braver, or another troublemaker will take his place.”

  “How are you gonna defeat him?” Tom asked, intrigued.

  “He’s spooning out bad medicine to make us sick, so we’ll do the same with him. When he’s had enough, he’ll back off.”

  “What if he don’t?”

  “We’ll figure what to do when that time comes.”

  When Tom’s glasses slipped again, the boy muttered as he shoved them back into place. Navarro bent over and retrieved something from the ground. He cut two lengths of rawhide from the long strip that had broken free from Miguel’s saddle—thongs used for securing items to it. “Let me see your glasses for a minute.” Tom handed them to the man, who tied a section of rawhide on each earpiece. He replaced the spectacles and knotted the rawhide ends behind the boy’s head, then fluffed auburn hair over them. “There, that should keep them from falling again. Sweat and oil makes them slick on the nose. I knew a man once who did his like that to stop them from bothering him. Doesn’t even show with hair over it.”

  Checking the snug fit with dirty fingers, Tom grinned and said, “Thanks, Mr. Jones. I never thought of it before. You’re real smart.”

  “Like I said, Tom, there’s always a way to solve a problem. Glad I could help.”

  “Some things can’t be solved,” Tom remarked with resentment. “I got this crazy foot that the doctors can’t fix. I can’t even hide it in a boot like you hid that strip with my hair so people won’t stare and be mean about it. People laugh ’cause I’m clumsy. It ain’t funny. They’d know if they had to live like this.”

  To be helpless and bitter were things Navarro understood. To be an outcast, to be stared at, to be mistreat
ed, to be scorned and avoided—he knew about those, too. The desperado was surprised by the words that came from his own mouth and heart. “People are mean or curious when they don’t understand something, Tom, or when they fear it. When you act ashamed, they think there’s a just reason for it. I know it hurts to be different, to want something you can’t have. Don’t let it make you hard and bitter. Don’t let it stop you from trying anything you want to do. It might be harder for you than others, but it’s a challenge. Doesn’t that make victory taste better?”

  “You talk like Jessie. She’s the only one before you to understand how I feel.” Tom repeated what his older sister had told him before leaving to hire Navarro. “If Jessie says it and you say it, it must be true.”

  “You’re lucky to have Jessie for a sister.”

  Tom brightened. “Yep, she’s the best in the whole world. She loves me more than anyone. I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to her. You won’t let Mr. Fletcher hurt her, will you? He knows she’s the one keeping Pa strong against him. I’m scared he’ll try to get rid of her to make Pa sell. Don’t tell them I told you. Pa would be mad.”

  “I won’t tell anyone. Good friends have to trust each other.”

  “You’ll be my good friend, too, like Jessie and Matt?”

  “Yep, if you call me Navarro.”

  “Yes, sir, Navarro.”

  “Let’s get busy, or the others will think we’ve quit for the day and start ribbing us.” Navarro walked slowly to make sure the disabled Tom could keep up with his long strides. He saw Jessie send him a smile of gratitude, even though they had been out of earshot. It warmed him from head to foot.

  Jessie knew something special was happening between Tom and her lover. Tom didn’t take to many people, and she knew Navarro didn’t, either. It was obvious Navarro had somehow won over her brother, and the other way around, too. She was overjoyed to see them striking up a friendship that hopefully would help both with their problems. What, she mused, a contradictory man he was! Her heart danced wildly and a hot flush raced over her body. If only things would work out for Navarro here, then perhaps he would stay with her.