Sam agreed and went outside to share some of the food and candy with the boy. Sloan nodded excitedly at the candy. Sam didn’t have the heart to make him eat some of the crackers and cheese first. They’d drink the tomato juice and eat the fruit later. They herded their loose horses and mares ahead and rode north.
Two days later, they topped a rise, and in the valley below, they spied the line of cattle. A dust plume turned up by eight thousand cloven hooves towered sky-high. Sam closed his tired eyes and clasped the saddle horn in his hand on top of the other. “They’re on the move. Thank goodness.”
Sam pointed to the dust and cattle. “Sloan, we made it to here.”
The boy’s sharp blue eyes taking it all in, he nodded like he knew what Sam meant.
“Let’s go find your mother,” Sam said and gave Sloan a wave. He began to chouse the loose horses into a trot and, standing in the stirrups, headed for the head of the line. Somewhere ahead, the chuck wagon would be set up and Sloan’s worried mother would be waiting.
“Sloan! Sam! It’s both of you!” Kathy shouted at sight of the two. She rushed with her skirts in hands to meet them. Darby tried to pass her, but stumbled. Then he regained his feet, with Hiram and Rowann on his heels.
Sam used the paint to block Kathy. “Easy, easy, everyone. His horse is not used to you all. I’ll get Sloan off and put a rope on him. He’ll be fine.”
“Where did he get that horse?” Hiram asked when Sam had dismounted and gone to uncoil his lariat.
The stud snorted at Sam, so Sloan got a better handhold on his mane, booting him forward with his heels toward Sam. The loop over the horse’s head, Sam quickly made a halter. Then he walked beside the stallion and lifted the boy off. On the ground, Sloan rushed to his family. All the hugs and crying and shouting were joyous.
Hiram went over and inspected the horses. “You two got a whole bunch of horses.”
“They’re Sloan’s,” Sam said.
“What’s he going to do with them?” Hiram asked.
“I guess break and sell them.”
“Man, how does he ride that horse, with no saddle or bridle?”
“Trust, I guess.”
“I never thought about it as that, but I reckon that’s what it is.” Hiram nodded, still impressed by the stallion.
“We thought you were dead,” Kathy said. “I had the hardest time making Tommy Jacks stay here with the herd. He wanted to go find you—or at least your body.”
Sam smiled in her tear-wet face and kissed her on the forehead. “I don’t know about that boy, but I am starved for some of your cooking.”
With a shake of her head, she patted him on the stomach. “I bet you are.”
He put his arm on her shoulders and headed her for the wagon and the cooking fires. “Everyone doing all right?”
“No problems. We must be halfway across Colorado?”
“Yes, we are.”
A horse came loping in and slid to a stop. “That you, boss?” Tommy Jacks bailed off his horse, ran over and hugged Sam tight as a bear. “Damn, it is good to see you. I thought you were dead. And Sloan’s here?” Sam nodded, and Tommy Jacks asked, “He’s fine?”
“Yeah, in good shape for what he’s been through. ’Course no one will ever know what did happen?”
“Whose stud horse is that?”
“Sloan’s. That’s another story.”
“My God, you’ve been through hell, haven’t you?”
“Come and eat,” Kathy said.
“Man, oh, man, it’s sure a relief to see you,” Tommy Jacks said.
“Troubles?”
“Well, in the first place, I don’t know anything about the sale of these cattle or nothing.”
Sam took a heaping plate of food from Kathy. “Thanks. Tommy, it’s time you learned all about the sale of cattle.”
Tommy Jacks sucked on his tongue and teeth. “Maybe, but I’ve got lots to learn and never had much schooling.”
“Ogallala’s going to be your schooling then. Let me eat. What about Sloan?”
“Rowann’s going to feed him,” Kathy said. “Them boys got a young badger in a cage that Tommy made for them. They’re busy looking at it.”
“Why badgers’re meaner than grizzlies,” Sam said. “But, heck, Sloan may make a house cat out of it.”
Chapter 37
On July twelfth, Sam rode Soapy into Ogallala. The town was booming. On the street, there were many people dressed in different guises besides ten-gallon hats and chaps imported from Texas. Wagons of furniture and goods, stacked way too high, were pulled by everything from horses and mules to burros and oxen. The railroad had brought them. Soapy about spooked out from under Sam when a steam whistle blew.
Sam paused at the only stone building on the street of false fronts. He dismounted in front of the First National Bank of Nebraska. He brushed at some road flour on his sleeves; then he pulled open the heavy green door and went inside. Hat in hand, he spoke to a young man at a desk behind a low fence. “Is the president in today?”
With a suspicious look on his face, the young man peered at Sam hard. “And the nature of your business?”
“I’m a broker.”
“Indeed. Of what?”
Sam scratched the left side of his freshly shaved face. “Has anyone ever offered to cut your ears off close to your head?”
The young man’s eyes widened. “No, sir.”
“Good. Tell the president that Sam Ketchem of Frio Springs, Texas, wants ten minutes of his time, and be damn quick about it.” Sam looked around at the nice lobby and the clerks in cages.
“But—”
Sam narrowed his look and began to finger his own right earlobe. His actions sent the young man hurrying for the door behind him.
“Sorry, sir, but there’s a man out here from Texas to see you.”
“Send him in, Barnabas,” the bank president said.
He swallowed hard and waved Sam over. “Mr. Capton will see you now.”
A man who looked too burly to be a banker stood behind a rosewood desk and extended his hand. “My man did not mention your name?”
“Sam Ketchem.” They shook hands and Sam took a chair the man offered him.
Capton tented his fingers and asked what he could do for Sam.
“I felt that you would know the honest from the dishonest in the cattle brokerage business. Since I am new to this market, I came to seek some advice and to open an account.”
“Very good. What did you bring—mixed herd?”
“I have some good cattle. They aren’t random gathered. Most carry half or more British blood, so they’ll bring a good price.”
The man looked impressed. “Northern ranges need cattle, but those longhorns from Mexico aren’t the ideal meat animal, and to get top prices today, they need to be roan or white-face crosses.”
“I know. I have three hundred two year olds that are half or more of those crosses from one ranch.”
“You know what they would bring today?” Capton shook his head in disbelief.
Sam shook his head.
“Fifty dollars a head.”
Sam closed his eyes. Mr. Mott could sure retire on that much money.
“Could I send a very good customer of the bank out to your herd?” Capton asked.
Settling back in the chair, Sam nodded.
“You’re a businessman, aren’t you?”
With a wave of his open hands, Sam shrugged. “It’s a helluva long ways up here from Texas, and I didn’t bring all the trash on my range this far to get nothing for it.”
“You’d save lots of men grief explaining that to them down there. They bring everything up here and then get mad ’cause they can’t sell it.” Capton shook his head.
“My herd’s good flesh.”
“I can imagine. I’ll have the Harbor boys and Sandy Brown go out there and look at them. They’re as honest men as I know in this game.”
Sam told him where the herd was located west of town and then en
tered the names and notes in his tally book. “Thanks. I appreciate this.”
“No problem. That account you wished to open?’
“Two hundred bucks. I may need to borrow a little, too, for supplies, if we have to stay here very long.”
“No problem.” Capton counted the paper money Sam put on the desk. “Barnabas will fill out the paperwork.” He extended a large hand when Sam rose, and they shook.
Sam felt good walking into the lobby. He liked the banker and was excited about the prices mentioned so far. He planned to go to the saloon next, play some poker and listen for other market news.
After lunch in a café, he went in the Elk Horn tent whose wooden false front sported an elk rack—a seven by seven that must have come off an elephant-size buck. The floor was a faded red Oriental carpet spread over the grass; it was easy to stumble in. Onstage, a banjo picker and piano player entertained.
“Ruby’s coming to sing,” the near drunk freighter told him when he found a place in the crowd at the makeshift bar.
“Who’s Ruby?”
The man blinked in disbelief at him. “You don’t know her. Man, she’s the queen of the country. Beautiful girl. She’ll steal your heart, mister. Tear it out.”
Sam put down the dime for his beer and thanked the man. He realized in an instant that they still had ice in Nebraska in midsummer when his hand touched the cold glass.
“Where’s she from?” Sam asked.
“St. Louis.”
“Thanks. I’ll watch for her.” He took his beer and went where some tall hats gathered around a large table. The men were involved in a five-card stud.
“Want in?” A man with glasses looked up at Sam. “It’s a sensible stakes game. Dollar limit on all raises.”
“Big boys play over there,” a drawling Texan said. Sam glanced over at the professional-looking men around the other table. He’d played with men like that in Wichita and Dodge.
“Thanks, I may sit in for a hand or so.” Sam put down the beer and took a chair. He set part of his money on the table, sat back and watched.
“Never caught your name?” the man shuffling the cards said. He was dressed in trail clothing.
“Ketchem. Sam’s what they call me.”
The man stopped shuffling for an instant and looked hard at him. The others threw in their names at him when they anted. Caufman, Thomas, Davenport, Latten and the dealer, said, “Sizer.”
“Good to meet you.”
“You bring in a herd?” Caufman asked from behind a mustache.
Sam nodded. “Parked out west.” He picked up his cards and saw two sevens.
“Hope you have more luck than some are having,” Latten said. He was an older man with a bad scar on his cheek.
“Will I need it?” Sam asked, watching one man toss in a quarter.
“Yeah, the market ain’t worth a damn,” Davenport said.
“I understood there was lot of grass country open north of here.” Sam saw Davenport fold.
Then Ruby came onstage in a red velvet dress and her voice filled the place. All talking went down as her rich vocals mesmerized the crowd. Then one drunk stood up and shouted, “I want her!” Someone busted him over the head with a pistol, and he went under the table.
The buxom lady, whom Sam guessed to be in her mid-twenties, never missed a note. He closed his eyes to her music for a moment—she could belt out a song. And when she sang, “Boys, your momma wants you at home—” she stabbed half the crowd in their hearts.
Poker game on hold, everyone watched her as she moved about, directing her lyrics at individuals in the packed bar room. Sam couldn’t imagine how many had piled into the tent and even lifted up the sides to get to hear her.
“Why in the hell is she in Ogallala with a voice like that?” Sam asked.
Davenport shook his head. “Beats the fire out of me.”
Sam settled back in the chair to enjoy her. “Beats me, too, but her voice sure is nice.”
After her session was over, Sam played a few hands more and then went by the post office for the mail. He stood in line for over a half hour with the list Rowann had carefully made for him.
“Man, you must be a drover,” the young clerk under the celluloid visor said. “Our policy says we can only take two names at a time.”
“My policy says I’m not standing in line again. Now get me the damn mail!”
The youth jumped back and looked with wide eyes at Sam. “I’m only following instructions.”
“Get my mail and don’t miss a single name on that list.”
“Yes, sir.”
The clerk began going through the alphabet boxes, checking each one. In a short while he came over and gave letters to Sam. “Here’s all I can find. If you leave the list, I will bundle them next time.”
“Thanks,” Sam said and walked down the line, then outside. He removed one letter for himself and stuffed the rest inside his vest.
Dear Sam,
I know when you receive this you will have successfully arrived in Nebraska. There was never a doubt in anyone’s mind down here in Texas that anything else would happen. I have considered your fine offer of matrimony. There was a time I thought you never would ask me and it about broke my heart.
Sam, you have proven yourself time and time again. I can only imagine the adventures you have been involved in while going to Nebraska. But I have considered how different we are and how difficult our lives would be to blend together in a marriage. You could be governor of Texas, but you won’t listen.
Sam, that is why I will not be home this fall when you return from Nebraska. I am going to marry a man named Benjamin Hoekstra this July in Austin. My aunt there knows him well. He is a widower with two grown children. He is in banking.
I will always recall the dashing drover who brought me back a gold locket from Kansas ten years ago.
Sincerely yours,
Etta Faye Ralston
Sam’s shoulder pressed to the side of the building. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Chapter 38
The other letters Sam passed out that evening at supper. Some were sad: a relative or pet lost. Some got news that their families were moving and wouldn’t be around Frio Springs when the men returned, but they could be reached through relatives.
Yates handed his back to Sam. “I can’t read. Would you mind?”
Sam agreed and the horse wrangler who never took off his gloves even to eat sat on the ground and kept clasping and reclasping his fingers in the worn-out gloves.
“Something wrong?” Sam asked before he opened the envelope.
Yates shook his head. “Never got a letter in my whole Gawdamn life, and I figure this must be bad news.”
“It’s from Jennifer Grossinger. Who’s she?”
Yates looked all around like he wanted to escape. “My wife.”
“We didn’t know you were married,” Sam said.
“Had to.”
“Well,” Sam said, “you ain’t the first and won’t be the last. Where does Jennifer live?”
“At home. Her folks was upset.”
“Why?”
“Said she was too young.”
“Oh.”
“Hell, she turned twelve last month.”
Sam just bobbed his head and opened the letter.
Dear Yates darling,
I knows yous be proud. June tenth we done got us a baby boy. He’s stout like yous and has big lungs. We names him Yates Barstow Grossinger the second. I can’t wait till yous get home.
Your wife,
Jennifer
“Well, ain’t that nice,” Sam said.
“She’s all right?”
“I read the whole thing.”
“Don’t say nothing’s wrong?”
“She’s fine and so is Junior.”
Yates got up off the ground. “We ain’t calling him Junior. We can call him Barstow, or Little Yates, but I hates Junior. Will you write and tell her that boss man?”
&
nbsp; Sam agreed. Yates went off, shaking his head and telling the rest of the crew he was a daddy.
“Reckon that baby was born wearing gloves?” Tommy Jacks asked under his breath.
“Shame on you,” Kathy said, handing Sam and Tommy Jacks plates of plum cobbler.
“You get any mail, Sam?”
“One letter.”
“What did she say?” Kathy looked anxious to hear.
“Not much.”
“Well—”
“You can read it.” He dug the folded up letter out and handed it to her.
“I don’t want to dig in your personal life.” She offered it back.
“No, it’s easier for you to read it than me to tell it.”
Tommy Jacks looked at him.
“Nothing,” he said to dismiss his foreman’s concern.
“Nothing my foot,” Kathy said, reading away. “How can she do this to you?”
“She’s already done it.”
“Well, she will in July unless you stop her.” She hid behind the page. “This is July.”
Sam nodded. “Max Dawson’s coming out from town to look at Mott’s heifers in the morning. They aren’t hard to spot. The Harbor brothers and Sandy Brown are the cattle buyers coming out to look. You’re in charge,” he told Tommy Jacks.
“Where are you going?” Kathy asked.
“I’m not certain—just getting some space between me and things.”
“She’s not the only woman in Texas,” Kathy said.
Sam smiled. “You’re right, Kathy. But I believed the other way so long, I’ll be damned if I can think anything else.”
“Stay. Help Tommy Jacks. Lord knows he’s concerned about this selling business as anything.”
“Get an offer and we’ll negotiate the deal and delivery when I get back.”
“Where you going?” Kathy stood with her hands on her hips.
“Look at some new country. I won’t be gone over a few days.”
She hugged him. “Be careful. You worry me.”
He left riding Rob with a camping outfit packed on Soapy. He’d promised the boys some time off when he got back in a week and waved to Kathy as he rode out. He paid the toll on the Platte bridge and crossed into the land north. He crossed the first ridge and the waving grass rolled north to Canada. Here and there in a bottom a homestead or two had broken ground for corn or alfalfa.
The Ogallala Trail Page 21