Buffalo Summer

by Nadia Nichols

  “He took the horse, didn’t he?”

  “Ma’am, I remember what it was like to be his age,” Guthrie said. “I came to this ranch when I was thirteen. Me’n my daddy were hired on, and it was like a miracle, being able to live and work here. It changed my life.” Guthrie glanced at Caleb. “Maybe it can change his, too,” he said. “Hell, all the boy wanted was to see the buffalo.” He straightened in the saddle and reined his horse down the trail that paralleled the creek.

  “Ramalda’s probably waiting supper,” Caleb said as Gunner stepped past.

  “Me’n Blue are headin’ for home. It’s been a long day. I’ll see you first thing in the morning.”

  Watching Guthrie ride off toward his own place, Caleb’s shoulders slumped around a weary sigh. He glanced at Pony. “Well, Roon’s safe and no harm was done. We’d better head on up to the house. Guthrie’s right. Ramalda hates it when we’re late.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, staring right at him with those dark eyes that stirred all kinds of turbulent feelings within him.

  “Sorry?” he said, gently touching her elbow to turn her toward the ranch and falling into step beside her. “Whatever for? I should be thanking you. The way Guthrie tells it, one of your boys just saved one of my best mares.”

  BADGER WAS WAITING on the porch, thumbs hooked in his belt, hat pushed back, and a big chaw of tobacco bulging in his cheek. He spat over the railing as Caleb and Pony climbed the steps, wiped his mouth on his shirtsleeve and nodded his head toward the kitchen door. “They’re inside, all five of ’em,” he said, as if accounting for a road crew of convicted felons. “Washed up and waiting for their chow. Only thing holdin’ things up is the two of you.”

  Caleb paused beside him while Pony went inside. “Did you look the mare over?”

  Badger nodded. “She’s fine. A little tuckered, but that was a good day’s ride for her and she sure enough needed it. Where’s Guthrie?”

  “He headed home. Took the dun gelding and left his truck here.” Caleb removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “He looked pretty wrung out.”

  “Probably couldn’t get out of the saddle after that long ride, or didn’t want to try in front of an audience.”

  “That’s what I figured. I’m going to head over there in a little bit and make sure he got home okay.”

  “He won’t like that,” Badger cautioned.

  “I know, but he was in rough shape.” Caleb pushed through the kitchen door followed by the old cowboy, hung his hat on a wall peg, nodded to Ramalda and washed up at the kitchen sink. The boys were sitting quietly around the table. He sat down next to Badger, poured himself a cup of coffee, picked up a fresh biscuit and broke it in half.

  “Boys,” he said, buttering the biscuit, “I’d advise you to hit the sack early tonight because tomorrow I want you down at the corrals at dawn. We’re going for a little ride. I think it’s time we found the buffalo, and they’re high on the mountain right now, hiding out in some rough country.” He filled his plate with Ramalda’s savory stew and pushed the deep kettle toward Badger. “There’s no way to get there except by horseback, and it’ll be tough going.” He shifted his gaze to Pony. “I was told that you boys all know how to ride, so I won’t worry about it.”

  He spooned up a mouthful of stew, still watching Pony, and she dropped her eyes, color staining her smooth cheeks. “We’ll be there,” she said. “At dawn.”

  “Good. Ramalda, Guthrie’s gone home to check Jessie’s mares. I’ll bring him some of your delicious supper, if you’ll pack it up for me.”

  Ramalda may not have spoken much English but she understood what he asked and set about the task immediately.

  “Badger, can you be here by 5:00 a.m.?”

  “Sure thing, boss,” Badger nodded.

  Caleb finished his bowl and got up. He ate the last of his biscuit, took the wire-bailed pot and muslin sack of biscuits from Ramalda and left the table. He grabbed his hat on the way out and pulled it on as he descended the steps, feeling ornery and out of sorts. He was pretty sure some of those boys had never set foot in a stirrup before. Roon could ride, that much was certain, and Pony, too. But it was time to throw down the gauntlet. He wouldn’t allow himself to be trampled by a bunch of delinquent boys. If Roon was any indication of what they were capable of, this could prove to be a difficult summer.

  He drove to Guthrie’s place pondering his strategy. Should he turn his head the other way when he saw errant behavior, or rule with an iron fist on all issues? He had no idea which method would be more effective. No idea how to make them behave. Could anyone control a teenager, or did they simply rule the earth? How much leeway did Pony give them? The whole issue baffled him.

  It was nearly dark by the time he parked below Guthrie’s cabin. He was relieved to see that his foreman had made it home okay and that Gunner was browsing on a pile of good timothy hay in the corral. Guthrie was sitting on the bottom porch step, his bad leg outstretched and the other raised. Blue sat beside him, apparently too weary to do much more than wag her tail in greeting as Caleb approached.

  Guthrie removed his hat and dangled it on his fingers. “I don’t recall ordering out,” he said.

  “Ramalda sent me over with some supper. She was kind of put out that you didn’t eat with us, but I told her you had to check on Jessie’s mares….” Caleb’s voice trailed off into silence beneath Guthrie’s sardonic stare.

  “I’m fine. I made it here just fine, and I’ll make it to work in the morning just fine. It was a long day, that’s all, and I was too tired to feel sociable.”

  Caleb nodded. “I told the boys we were going to find the buffalo tomorrow.”

  “Good. Get it out of their system.”

  “I don’t want you riding for a while. There’s a lot to do on the computer. We’re way behind entering data, and—”

  “I can ride,” Guthrie said, his voice carrying an edge. “I’ll take the boys to find them buffalo.”

  “Back up in the high country?”

  “Yessir.”

  “No.”

  Caleb walked past him, climbed the steps and entered the cabin. Blue skirted past him, anxious for her own supper. He found a lamp and lit it, glancing around for the bottle of prescription pain pills. He gave up the search and focused on Blue’s supper instead, opening a can of meat, mixing it with kibble and a little water, and putting it down for her. “There you go, old girl. Eat up.” He watched her for a moment as she dived enthusiastically into the bowl. “Okay,” he called from the cabin door. “Where are you keeping your pills these days?”

  “I threw ’em out,” Guthrie said. “They addled my head.”

  “They cut the pain, and you need some relief from it, especially right now.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “If you’re so damn fine, then why are you sitting there?” He stood for a few moments then pushed through the screen door and descended the steps. “Come on,” he said, extending a hand.

  Guthrie started out toward the creek. “Goddammit.”

  Caleb kept his hand out. “Food’s getting cold.” For a long moment he thought that Guthrie was going to ignore him, but then the younger man reached up and gripped the offered hand. Caleb pulled him to his feet, helped him climb one painful step at a time, guided him inside and over to the only comfortable chair the cabin boasted, and brought his supper to him. He went out to his truck and returned holding the bottle of whiskey taken from his own cabin. “This is genuine cowboy medicine, or so Badger says,” he said, pouring a generous amount into a water glass. “I’m hoping you don’t throw it out. It’s pretty good stuff.”

  “Well, I just might do that,” Guthrie warned as he took the glass, “if you don’t share a glass with me.”

  “Well, I just might do that, if you let me take those boys up onto the mountain.”

  “Alone?”

  “Badger said he’d come along.” Caleb poured himself a shot and dropped into a chair. “Look, somehow I have to
come to terms with those kids. I can’t do that with you running interference.”

  “That’s a hard ride.”

  “I’ve done it before. And you have to admit, my riding has improved.”

  Guthrie nodded. “True enough, but you don’t know anything about how those boys fit in a saddle, except for Roon.”

  “I’m hoping they’re terrible,” Caleb said. “I’m hoping that they don’t know which end of the horse the bridle goes on, because there has to be one thing I can do better than them.”

  “You’ve already lost that edge with Roon. He’s a natural.”

  “I’ll think of something else to impress him.”

  Guthrie raised his glass for a swallow. “You don’t have to be better than the kids at anything,” he said, blinking his eyes against the burn of the whiskey. “Bottom line, you’re the boss. They work for you. If they don’t like that, show ’em the door.”

  “You’re forgetting one thing,” Caleb said. “Or perhaps I should say, one woman. I want this to work for her sake.”

  Guthrie eased himself in his chair. “I don’t blame you. She seems real nice. Worth keeping around. Okay, so you find the buffalo. What then?”

  Caleb shrugged. “The boys get an eyeful. We watch them for a while and keep our distance. Then we come home. Day after that, we start on the fences.” He took a sip of whiskey. “You work on the computer tomorrow and get some of that data in. Let me ramrod those kids for a day. And get that worried look off your face. I know what I’m doing. It’ll be okay.”

  PONY SAT UPON her bed, knees drawn up and notebook propped against them, reading by lamplight. Tomorrow at dawn they were riding out to find the buffalo. Tomorrow would prove to Caleb McCutcheon whether or not she was worth keeping on as an adviser after Roon’s poor behavior today and her own poor behavior at supper the night before. She read the scrawled words laboriously, wishing she’d had the foresight to buy a good book on bison management. But then, how did one “manage” an animal who was already perfectly adapted to its environment? What could they do to regulate this creature who had, in fact, survived quite nicely and in enormous numbers on its own until humans nearly exterminated it?

  She sighed and sat up higher. Management was all about the buffalo surviving in a world where everything was reduced to a monetary value. There was no place for spirituality in such a capitalistic, cold world. It was difficult to see the buffalo in that way.

  And yet she had been hired by Caleb McCutcheon to manage the herd, and it had been her own suggestion that the buffalo help make the ranch a financial success. What did that make her?

  A glance at the bedside clock roused her from her brooding. She glanced down at the notebook and frowned: “…when faced with mean bulls, it is sometimes necessary to use the pistol and fire at close range…” She read the passage several times and then closed the notebook. Definitely a worst-case scenario—a mean bull charging. The chances of it happening were practically nil.

  Pete had given her a pistol along with the notebook, and several boxes of bullets. She laid the book down and climbed off the bed, reaching for her small bag on the chair. She drew forth the Smith & Wesson .357, and stared at it for a moment. Carrying a weapon seemed like overkill, but perhaps not. If somebody’s life was threatened, she would have to take action. She rummaged in the bag for the box of bullets, sat down on the edge of the bed and loaded the gun.

  BY 5:00 A.M. it was plenty light enough to saddle the horses, and Badger did so with practiced ease. He loved these long days of summer, loved the long days in the saddle, loved life as much now, at seventy-five, as he had as a boy when his ma use to call him down from the loft at dawn and kiss the top of his head to start each day. He saddled the horses and when he was done, he leaned against the corral fence and watched the dawn paint the mountain peaks a pale yellow. He felt a pang at the beauty of the sight, the same lonesome pang he felt at the clear, pure ring of a church bell tolling for some unknown soul.

  “Badger?” The voice at his elbow startled him and he stared down at the boy, Jimmy, standing flat-footed with his small hands shoved into his jeans pockets. “Can we pick out our own horses?”

  He scowled, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, you can’t!” He glared at the boy, and Jimmy stared back in an innocent sort of way that made Badger draw his horns in. “But if you could,” he said, his gruff voice gentling a bit, “who’d you choose?”

  The boy didn’t hesitate. “This one,” he said, pointing to Billy.

  “Well now, that’s a fine choice. Only trouble is, that there’s the boss’s horse. He always rides Billy.”

  “Oh.” Jimmy’s face revealed nothing. He studied the others. “That one, then.” He pointed.

  “Huh.” Badger pulled at his whiskery chin. “Well, that’s not a bad horse for a greenhorn. Can you ride?”

  Jimmy’s eyes fixed on his. “No,” he said.

  Badger gave the boy a curt nod of approval. “Then you done all right, pickin’ old Sparky. He used to put up a big fuss back when he was a youngster, but he’s a long ways from that now. Hell, if Sparky can even hold a lope for more’n a minute, I’ll eat my hat. He’ll do for you, son, and he’ll bring you home safe.”

  Jimmy frowned at Sparky. “You think he’ll be too slow? I don’t want to miss seeing the buffalo.”

  “Sparky? Hell, no. He’ll get you there and back, with some stories to tell.” Badger looked around. Joe, Martin, Dan and Roon had all arrived and were eyeing the horses with varying degrees of interest. “You boys are gettin’ off easy today,” he said to them, spitting and wiping his chin. “You’ll be saddling your own hay burners after this.”

  Roon looked at him and puffed out a bit, the way a young man will. “I don’t need a saddle,” he said.

  “Suit yourself, but what you’ll tie your rope off to is anyone’s guess.”

  “I don’t need a rope,” the boy challenged.

  “No?” Badger pushed his hat back and regarded the youth with a puzzled expression. “The way I heard it, yesterday you rode Mouse using nothing more than a rope and a halter. I thought that was mighty impressive, given that she’s an ornery bitch and just as likely to pitch you off as pack you around. But if you can ride her with just a halter, I’d sure as hell like to see that.”

  The two regarded each other with mutual dislike and then Roon’s eyes dropped. “It’s the white man’s way,” he muttered. “Saddles and ropes.”

  “You show me a better way and I’ll pay the strictest attention,” Badger said. “Meantime, you boys pick out your horses. Here comes the boss, and he don’t like to waste much time on foolishness.”

  PONY COULDN’T EAT the breakfast fajita that Ramalda offered, nor could she drink the milk. She stood on the porch staring down at the corrals and felt a churning in her stomach. It had been several years since she’d ridden a horse, and at least that long since she’d fired a gun.

  She spotted McCutcheon walking toward the corrals and drew a deep breath. She watched him for a few moments, admiring the graceful, athletic way he moved and wondering again why there wasn’t a woman in his life. A man like McCutcheon needed a woman to care for him, not just the way Ramalda did, cooking and keeping his house. He needed a woman to tend his heart. Caleb McCutcheon’s heart was lonely and no amount of good food would fill the emptiness. Pony was startled when he paused, glanced at the ranch house, spotted her on the porch and raised his arm in a beckoning wave.

  “Come on!” he called in his deep, pleasing voice. “Daylight’s burning, and we’ve got a lot of miles to cover.”

  Her heart leaped. Moments later she reached the corral, where Badger was fitting the boys to their stirrup leathers. Jimmy was already aboard, walking his horse slowly around the corral. Roon stood apart from the rest, as if disdaining the entire procedure. Caleb was feeding something to his chosen mount, a handsome bay gelding that stood taller than all the others. He caught her eye and grinned. “One of Ramalda’s corn tortillas,” he explained, stroking
the gelding’s silken neck. “Billy has a fondness for them.”

  Pony took the reins of a gray gelding from Badger’s outstretched hand. “His name’s Dobey,” he said, cheek bulging with tobacco. “He’s a smooth ride, won’t give you no trouble.”

  Dobey was small and fine-boned, with the distinctively dished forehead and convex nose of a Spanish mustang. His eyes were wide set and dark, and he extended his velvety muzzle to delicately waft her scent. “Hello, Dobey,” she murmured, smoothing the long thick forelock down the center of his face.

  “Okay, let’s burn some trail!” Badger said. “Boss’ll ride point and I’ll ride drag. How you boys sort yourself out in the middle is up to you. Ma’am,” he said to her, “you’d best ride up behind Caleb. That way, if he has any buffalo questions, you’ll be right there with all the answers.”

  Pony nodded and climbed aboard Dobey, who stood quietly while she adjusted her stirrup leathers to the proper length. Badger opened the corral gate and held it while they filed out. “I feel like a wrangler at a dude ranch,” he groused, spitting at a fence post and watching them ride past. “Boys, you’re about to find out that there’s a whole lot more to ridin’ a horse than just sittin’ in the saddle and lettin’ your feet dangle. It’ll be some kind of miracle if you don’t all fall off on the first rough stretch.”

  “We won’t fall off, old man,” Roon said, kneeing his horse past. “It’ll be you who holds us up on the rough stretches!”

  Pony opened her mouth to deliver a rebuke but never had the chance because Badger instantly did something that catapulted Roon out of the saddle and landed him in a heap on the far side of his horse. She heard the muffled “Oof!” of expelled breath as the boy hit the ground and lay in stunned silence, staring up at the cowboy.

  “Let that be your first ridin’ lesson, son,” Badger said smoothly as Roon’s horse sidled away. “A smart-ass just don’t stay in the saddle. Now dust yours off and let’s ride.”

  CHAPTER SIX