Tonka, Long Feather had said earlier, was trained for cutting. Perhaps she would be his saving grace. Either way, resigned to the inevitability of the moment, Joel squeezed his thighs, shifted his rear end in signal, and tsked twice. He tapped the rope to her flank and the mare headed toward the herd.
The general and his men separated from Long Feather, grouping off to the right behind Joel by forty or so feet.
Without his friend’s guidance, Joel had only the vaguest idea of how to do this alone. Lord, please guide my horse and my hand.
He surveyed the milling animals, took a deep breath, and raised his rope. The pinto’s ears shot forward. Tonka was ready. Joel picked out a cow, made the tsk, tsk sound, barely had to nudge his horse with a knee and she scooted around to the left of the animal. Joel slapped the rope and the cow started moving away from the herd.
This one isolated, Joel picked out another. The cow zigged and zagged and Tonka pivoted quickly, matching her move for move. She cut her off, and herded her toward the other, Joel slapping his rope and yipping as he had heard Long Feather and the other cowboys do.
He and Tonka chose a third animal, scooted in behind it, and pushed it without much trouble toward the other two.
Halfway there.
The fourth cow he chose proved a little less inclined to be herded. He and the pinto had to cut faster, duck around in front of her, then behind her, Joel whooping and slapping the leather rope to his thigh. A quick side-step by Tonka nearly tossed him off, but Joel readjusted, squeezed his thighs with a mighty effort, and managed to hang on.
The first three cows took advantage of Joel’s divided attention and started drifting back toward the herd. He kneed the pinto lightly, reined her to the left, and she loped around the cows, inserting herself between the opposing groups. Joel moved the four animals back several yards then turned to the larger herd again.
The fifth animal was even easier—docile and willing to join her sisters. The sixth was a young bull, fast-moving and determined to stay with his friends. Joel and his horse cut in front of him several times to block his path, but the bull kept circling back around to the herd.
Joel thought about picking another animal, but decided he was in a no-win situation here. He had to cut out this bull. While riding bareback.
He could already taste the dirt in his mouth.
But choosing a different animal would make him look weak, afraid, incapable. One wrong move by the horse, though—too fast, or too suddenly to the left or backward—and Joel would find himself looking up at the bull. All General Fairbanks would see was half a man playing cowboy. Either way, he was going to get fuel for his fire.
Might as well make the show a good one.
Joel would have sworn the horse agreed with the plan. She pinned her ears back and lowered her head at the bull.
“All right, girl, let’s show that bull a thing or two.” Joel shifted forward a little more. “I’ll do the best I can to hang on.”
They trotted at the snorting animal. He turned as they passed by him, then Joel and his horse turned. The bull backed up a few feet, and Tonka kept coming at him, pressuring him to move. The bull started to the right, the horse countered. To the left—again, Tonka matched the move, pivoting on her back hooves.
The bull snorted, charged toward the herd. Tonka lunged into the animal’s path. He attempted to cut around her. Joel tugged the reins and Tonka spun, hard and fast, launching her body into his path. Joel clawed for a handful of mane to keep from back-flipping off into the dirt.
That was close…
“Hold on, soldier boy!” Someone yelled with mirth.
His thighs burned from the effort. With no grip from the knee down on the right side, his seat was tenuous at best. He nudged Tonka forward, slow and steady, trying to crowd the bull. He snorted. Pawed the ground. Resisted for a moment the stubborn little horse, but Tonka was fearless.
“Come on you rascal,” Joel whispered. “Move.” He tapped Tonka lightly on the hip with the rope and she pushed ahead, agreeing to crowd the stubborn bull.
“He’s going to make for the left!” Long Feather yelled. “Get in closer!”
The bull swung his head and lunged as predicted, and Joel and Tonka reacted. She pivoted for the block like a lightning bolt changing its course. The bull zigged, Joel clenched his legs but then the horse moved instantly to the left. His grip couldn’t hold him. He sailed over Tonka’s shoulder. Flailing, clawing, he grazed her mane with his fingertips and landed in the dirt with a thud.
Cowboys roared with laughter and the five cows trotted past Joel, eager to rejoin their kin.
He climbed clumsily to his feet, brushing the dust off as the general and his men rode by. The man spared not a glance at Joel, but his bootlickers leered and grinned. They rode straight up to Long Feather.
“He’s worthless,” the general said, pointing back to Joel. “A drain on the ranch’s resources. Quit helping him, boy, and that’s an order.”
Long Feather’s face hardened at the command, or was it the use of the word boy?
The general rode off and three of the cowboys went with him. One, though, a heavy-set, squint-eyed tub of lard, held back. He spit a wad of tobacco at the hooves of Long Feather’s mount and grinned. “Yeah, chief. We’d hate to see you flat on your back like soldier boy there.” Chuckling without any humor whatsoever, he nudged his horse and moved on.
Disgusted but not surprised with how things had gone, Joel swiped his hat off the ground, limped over to Tonka and gathered up the reins. “Well, that’s one way to spend an afternoon, I guess.” He dropped his hat in place.
Long Feather, watching the departing cowboys with a stony expression, brought his attention back to Joel. “I am an Indian. I know how to pick my battles.”
Joel frowned. He had no idea what Long Feather meant.
“You showed that with practice, you will be a good cowboy.” He cut his eyes back to the departing ranch hands. “That frightens them. Their pride can’t take being outdone by a one-legged man.”
Long Feather’s high expectations of Joel’s skills were both flattering and ridiculous. “Unfortunately, I think you’ve picked a fight that wasn’t necessary. You’ve made the general angry and no friend of that cowboy.”
“Yes, that will keep me awake at night.”
Long Feather’s straight-faced, deadpan delivery caught Joel off guard again. After an instant, he decided the man was joking and shook his head.
15
Long Feather cinched up the saddle good and tight then rested his hands on the horn. The ranch was just stirring. The grey sky overhead shimmered with a red glow coming from the east. A cool breeze danced with the single feather tied in his hair.
Excitement quivered in his stomach and he felt like a foolish young brave again. He had not been to the reservation in two full moons and would be glad to see his family, but his traveling companion this day was the reason for the butterflies. Miss Laurie needed an escort, as the supply train was running late and she preferred not to wait. Long Feather had overheard her conversation with the general and offered to ride with her. Fairbanks, still ill over Long Feather’s support of Joel, had at first denied the request but Long Feather had pushed. The promise to return with any mustangs he found along the way had, not surprisingly, convinced the rancher to allow the trip.
Long Feather had also decided at that moment he would not ask again. He came and went as he as saw fit. Always had; as long as good horses pacified Fairbanks, both men would hold to an uneasy peace.
Thinking how easy she made it to forget the tension here on the ranch, Long Feather led a little sorrel out of the corral and tied it to the fence. A few minutes later, Miss Laurie, lost in a heavy coat two sizes too big, rushed up, staggering under the weight of a pair of large, over-stuffed saddle bags. “Good morning, Mr.—I mean, Long Feather.”
“Here,” he grabbed the cumbersome satchels, “I would have carried those,” and settled them on the horse’s rear.
<
br /> “I don’t always have a strong brave around to carry my bags. I must do it. It keeps me from packing too much.”
He nodded, dwelling not on her words but on her magical, icy blue eyes. A man could drown in them. “That’s a big coat,” he said, pulling himself back to the matters at hand.
“It was my husband’s.”
He pursed his lips, sorry for the awkward moment. “You are ready then?”
“Yes.”
He unwound the reins and handed them to her. “Let me get Celia.”
He slipped between the corral’s slats, clucked, and his horse trotted over to him. Knowing the routine, the pinto followed him to the gate, walked through and waited for him. The gate secured, Long Feather saddled her as well. He was getting too old to go bareback on long rides. Besides, he could keep some food and camping items in his saddle bags. The reservation was only a day-and-a-half out, but in November the weather could be unpredictable. He would not take the short trip for granted. The thought of a surprise snowstorm made him turn the collar up on his sheepskin coat.
“Thank you for saddling her.” Miss Laurie stepped into the stirrup and swung herself atop the horse. As she tugged on the reins and backed the animal away from the fence, Glenn, the ranch foreman, ambled up to them, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. The moisture had formed little ice crystals in his sandy beard.
“You already headed back to the reservation, Miss Laurie?”
Though he veiled it some, Long Feather heard the distaste in the man’s voice. Miss Laurie was a pretty woman. Most of the ranch hands couldn’t understand why she would waste her time teaching Indians. They especially considered her calling to the Cheyenne a terrible shame.
She smiled graciously, not letting on as to whether she’d heard any insult. “Yes. The supply train is running behind and I prefer not to wait. I have children to teach.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Glenn’s face was hard and tense. The beard did little to hide his thoughts. “Well, Long Feather is a good man to have around in a pinch. I’m sure he’ll get ya there in one piece.”
“Yes, I’m sure he will.”
Long Feather held his peace and stepped up into the saddle, signaling their departure.
Glenn backed up and touched the brim of his hat. “Please know, Miss Laurie, I would be more than happy to escort you as well.” He cut his eyes quickly at Long Feather. “It might be a touch more acceptable.”
“Acceptable? I don’t understand.”
“For your reputation. I mean, it’s all well and good to tend to the children, but you really shouldn’t be seen alone in the company of a brave, even one long in the tooth like Long Feather here.”
To her credit, Miss Laurie looked downright shocked at what Glenn was implying. “Mr. Leary, I resent your implication, and I resent you casting dispersions on both mine and Long—Mr—Long Feather’s reputations. By all accounts, he is an honorable man. Otherwise, I wouldn’t allow him to escort me.” Her voice picked up a clear edge to it. “And, certainly, at my age, my reputation is beyond reproach.”
Long Feather pulled his horse around to face Glenn. “You talk about honor as though you are familiar with it.” The man did his job, but he was known to fudge numbers when counting cattle, help himself to the general’s liquor when the rancher was gone, and he abused his horses. “Honor is not found in you.”
Glenn sneered and tossed his coffee to the ground. “Why don’t you get down off that horse right now, boy, and I’ll give you an honorable whooping.”
“Gentlemen, please,” Miss Laurie broke in. “I need to get to the reservation. Your personal grievances have to wait.”
The two men eyed each other for a moment, but then Glenn broke off. “Dang.” He bent down to retrieve his empty mug. “Spilled it for nothing.”
Long Feather allowed the slightest lifting of his lip. “Yes, and we know how much your morning coffee makes you bright like a daisy.”
Rolling her eyes, Miss Laurie pulled her horse away from the two men and nudged the animal forward.
An instant later, Long Feather let go of Glenn’s gaze and joined Miss Laurie, both of them riding from the ranch at an easy trot. After a few minutes of the tense silence, she reached down and patted her mount’s neck. “I hope I wasn’t the cause of that.”
“Not directly.” If it wasn’t her, the hands on the ranch would find something else to make a little trouble over. They tolerated Long Feather’s presence because Fairbanks commanded it. For the horses. They called him boy because they thought it annoyed him. Long Feather, however, thought it almost childish. He had fought bloody battles both on his feet and from the back of a horse. He had killed brave warriors, counted coup, and taken a few scalps in his younger years. To be called boy was laughable. Or so he’d thought until now. A quick glance at Miss Laurie had him wondering if she thought him a coward.
To fight a snarling skunk was foolish, but when a woman was involved, a man was apt to do foolish things. Possibly even a man who was long in the tooth.
“I suppose I should be more insulted by his implication,” she said sounding perplexed, “but I don’t think I’ll waste the time on such a small mind.”
The woman was kind and a touch naive, Long Feather decided. He was neither when it came to white men. He was patient. Eventually, a time to settle things with Glenn or one of the other hands would be as unavoidable as the going down of the sun. Whether she would be the cause or not, he couldn’t say.
“We’ll make good time, won’t we?” she asked as they rode past the last hay shed and turned toward the open hills. “The supply wagon lumbers along at a maddeningly slow pace.”
“Takes them two days. We should be there by mid-morning.” The chill in the air reminded him they should watch the sky and not drag their feet at the noon rest. Snow could come any time or just as easily not at all, but he had a campsite he wanted them to make before nightfall.
“Thank you for riding with me. I didn’t want to go alone.”
“You should never ride this trail alone.”
She swished the reins back and forth over the horse for a moment, her face set in deep contemplation. “There have been times I haven’t felt safe with the soldiers. I need to be able to do this on my own—if I ever have to.”
Delivering supplies to the reservation was a sickening task to many of the soldiers. The duty was often a punishment. Consequently, the worst sorts from the army acted as guards. “Yes, I could see where you might not want to rely on them all the time.”
“I was going to buy a gun—a rifle, I think. And I was going to talk to you about a horse.”
“Have you any experience with a rifle?”
“More so than the horse.”
He nodded. “I will help you with both. We’ll work on your riding skills.” Somehow he could find time for her between working with Joel and training the other horses.
She smiled at him and Long Feather was surprised how the simple gesture made his pulse kick up. Young braves lived to feel fire in their veins. But, with time, the young brave become a respected elder and the desire for passion gave way to the pursuit of wisdom. Miss Laurie challenged that belief. She made Long Feather feel he was yet betwixt two worlds.
To have a little fire in his veins for a woman was a burn he had not expected to feel again. He decided this was not a bad thing.
16
The road Long Feather and Miss Laurie traveled passed between two mammoth-sized rocks that his people had said a long time ago were one mountain. As they approached this natural pass, he pointed to it. “My people believe a great beast split this rock with his tusks.”
“Really?” Her gaze roamed up the rocks, as tall as several white man’s houses stacked upon one another. “Tell me the story.”
The child-like excitement in her voice made him chuckle. “A hunting party went out one day to kill it. This beast was bigger than the buffalo, with long, white horns. He would feed the tribe for the entire winter, so they knew they must sla
y him. When they had him trapped and began to shoot their arrows into him, the beast turned and rammed this rock. He struck it so hard it split in two and he ran away. The people say they went hungry that winter.”
Still studying the rocks as they entered the gap between them, she shook her head. “Your people have so many creative stories.”
“Stories that you do not believe?”
“No, I wouldn’t say that. I think there is some truth in all the stories the Cheyenne children tell me.”
A spray of gravel rained down on them. Miss Laurie’s horse squealed and side-stepped violently. The woman, screeching like a baby owl and clawing for leather, flew from the saddle. She landed with a dull but hard thud, her back and head connecting abruptly with the ground. The sorrel bolted in a fury of kicking hooves and bouncing saddle bags. Long Feather leaped from his mount and landed at Miss Laurie’s side. As she tried to rise, her eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped to the ground again.
Cursing that stubborn horse—who he knew would run all the way to the reservation—Long Feather knelt beside the woman, refusing to think her injury might be serious. Cradling her gently, he felt her skull for bones or blood. Relieved to feel neither, he tapped her cheek with a soft but firm hand. “Miss Laurie, you must wake up.”
You must…
He took her chin in his hand and rolled her head side to side. “Miss Laurie, wake up.” Still she didn’t stir. His concern growing, he shifted and took more of her weight into his arms. “Miss Laurie.”
Her eyes fluttered open, widened in obvious confusion as she took in her surroundings, but then her eyes met his and peace flooded over her face. Long Feather was jarred by the level of relief he felt.
“Long Feather. What happened?”
Above them, a mountain goat bleated and jumped to a higher ledge, sending more gravel cascading down the pass. “The goat must have spooked your horse. I am sorry. I should have been paying more attention.”
The Brides of Evergreen Box Set Page 45