Ralph Compton Texas Hills

by Ralph Compton

  Finished, Ebidiah wiped his hands on his pants, collected his rifle and his mule, and moved to where he could see the cattle camp below. The bustle was winding down. The settlers would soon have their supper and turn in for the night.

  “I’m sorry, Owen,” Ebidiah said. “I can’t keep watching over you. From here on out, you’re on your own.”

  Chapter 27

  Owen Burnett hardly ever had trouble sleeping. He usually worked so hard from dawn until dusk that when he turned in, he was out soon after his head hit the pillow. Not this night. He hated to admit it, but he was as excited about the prospect of making a lot of money from the cattle drive as Gareth Kurst. In Gareth’s case, his excitement was driven by greed. For Owen, it was being able to provide for his family as never before.

  Owen always put his family before all else. His pa had been the same, and his pa before him. Family was everything to the Burnetts. He would do anything for his, anything at all. Including risk his life on a venture few had tried.

  When Owen thought of all the things he could do with his share of the money, his head swam. He could add on to their house, expand the barn, buy more livestock. Even better, he could treat Philomena to new dresses and womanly foofaraw. He’d seen how she looked through the catalogue at the general store, seen her wistful longing for things they couldn’t afford. Then there was Luke and Sam and Mandy and Estelle. He could help them get a step up in life. Sam had mentioned how he’d like to take some schooling and become a veterinarian. The boy liked working with sick animals more than anything. Estelle dreamed about going off to a college, of all things. She claimed to have heard about one just for females. That seemed far-fetched to Owen, but then again, there was a lot of talk of late about giving women the right to vote, so anything was possible.

  Mandy’s ambitions weren’t as lofty. She wanted, one day, to have a husband and a house of her own, and to give Owen and Philomena grandchildren.

  Luke was the wild card in the deck. All he seemed to care about was being quick with his pistol. Not that he wasn’t a good worker. But there weren’t a lot of jobs for shooters.

  After a long while, Owen finally drifted off. It felt as if he’d hardly closed his eyes when a noise woke him and he raised his head to find Lorette kindling a fire for breakfast. The eastern sky was brightening, and once the sun was up, the roundup would commence.

  Presently, everyone was up. Not much was said. Usually the Kursts couldn’t start the day without a spat but today they were subdued. Reuben Weaver mumbled something about how they should mark the occasion with a toast, but no one ever paid any attention to Reuben.

  They did to Gareth Kurst. Their horses were saddled when he stepped out in front of everybody and cleared his throat.

  “This is it,” Gareth said. “Root, hog or die, as they say where I’m from. We’ve done all we can to get ready. If there’s something we’ve missed, we’ll fix it. Learn as we go.” He paused. “This won’t be easy. But if a bunch of cowpokes can herd cattle, we can, too. Cowboys aren’t no smarter than us. All we have to do is get the longhorns we collect to the railhead, and we’ll be rich. When you’re worn and hungry, think of that. When you want to give up, think of that. It will keep you going. Any questions?”

  No one had any.

  “Then let’s mount up and get to it.”

  Owen liked Gareth’s speech. Short, yet inspiring.

  They’d already decided that working in pairs wouldn’t do for the roundup. Two riders might not be able to handle a contrary longhorn. Three should be able to, though. Owen had wanted to be with Luke and Sam but Gareth proposed they draw lots and Jasper agreed. The night before, that’s what they did. Owen would work with Wylie Kurst and Reuben. Luke was going out with Gareth and Silsby. Sam, with Harland and Lorette. Jasper Weaver was to ride with Thaxter and Iden.

  On reaching the hills, everyone separated. Owen led Wylie and Reuben to the west, uncoiling his rope as he went.

  The morning air held a chill, and the earth gave off that rich scent it always did early in the day.

  “Are you ready, boys?” Owen said to encourage them.

  “I’m not no boy,” Wylie Kurst said.

  “I don’t mind you calling me that, Mr. Burnett,” Reuben Weaver said. “My pa still calls me one. And yes, I’m as ready as I can be.”

  “Aren’t you something?” Wylie said.

  “We’ll be at this for days, so it’s best we get along,” Owen said. “Wylie, I meant no offense. I call my own sons boys from time to time.”

  “That’s honest enough, I reckon,” Wylie said. “I’m not mad about it.”

  On that uncertain note, they threaded into the thickest of the thickets and soon flushed a couple of cows. Swinging their ropes, they spread out and got the cows between them. With Wylie on one side and Reuben on the other, and Owen herding the cows from behind, they worked the longhorns down the hill. A rope gate had been rigged, and Reuben dismounted and hurriedly untied it, then stood aside as Owen and Wylie drove the cows in. Reuben quickly retied the gate and scrambled onto his horse as if afraid the longhorns would turn on him.

  The three of them waited to see what the cows would do. It would be easy as sin for the cows to break through the rope and bring the whole roundup scheme crashing down.

  Owen scarcely breathed. Everything depended on what those critters did next. The cows had gone a short way and were gazing about. They showed no fear or alarm. Soon one dipped her head to graze, and the other followed suit.

  “We did it, by God!” Reuben exclaimed.

  “Not anywhere near,” Wylie said.

  “Huh?” Reuben said.

  “Holdin’ two ain’t the same as holdin’ two thousand,” Wylie said.

  Reuben appealed to Owen. “It’s a good sign, though, isn’t it, Mr. Burnett? If the rest prove as tame as these . . .”

  “They won’t,” Wylie said.

  “Are you always so sour about things?” Reuben asked.

  “I don’t put the cart before the horse,” Wylie said.

  “Gents, gents,” Owen interrupted. He was going to say “Boy, boys,” but he caught himself. “It’s a start, and it’s promising. But Wylie is right. We have a lot of longhorns to round up yet, and there’s no predicting how it will turn out.”

  “Let’s get to it and see,” Wylie said.

  They headed back up, Owen in the lead. Hollers and whoops to the northwest let them know that Luke and his partners had caught some longhorns, too.

  Owen wondered if they had found cows or a bull, and how contrary the bulls would prove to be. No sooner did the thought enter his head than the underbrush crackled and out lumbered a big male with a horn spread of seven feet, if it was an inch. He drew sharp rein.

  Reuben came to a stop next to him. “Oh, my,” he said. “That’s a big ’un.”

  “I’ve seen bigger,” Wylie said.

  So had Owen, but this one would be trouble enough if it proved reluctant to be driven.

  The bull stood chewing and staring at them. A fly landed on an ear and the bull flicked it off.

  “I’ll swing wide,” Wylie said.

  Unconcerned, the bull watched him start around.

  “I’ll go the other way,” Reuben said.

  Owen was mesmerized. He imagined thousands in a huge herd, and the dust they would raise. He imagined all those deadly horns.

  “Get along there, big fella,” Reuben shouted, and wagged his coiled rope to provoke the bull into motion.

  Which was all well and good, except that Owen was supposed to be behind the bull, not in front of it.

  The bull came right at him.

  Chapter 28

  The buckboard rattled and clattered as Philomena Burnett brought it around the last turn before the Weaver farm. The few occasions she’d been here, it always made Philomena feel good about her own place. The We
aver house and barn were small, and not well-built. Barely ten acres had been tilled, and only one well dug. It made her realize how good a provider her husband was compared to Jasper Weaver and others.

  A dog yapped, giving plenty of warning. As they drew near, the front door opened and Wilda Weaver stepped out, an apron around her waist. She was wiping her hands on a towel.

  As Philomena slowed the buckboard, she glanced at her girls in the bed. “Remember, be on your best behavior.”

  “When aren’t we, Ma?” Mandy said.

  Estelle simply nodded.

  Philomena brought the buckboard to a stop and smiled at her neighbor. “Good to see you again, Wilda.”

  Wilda Weaver stepped to the porch rail. “This is a surprise. It isn’t often you come calling.” She fussed at her hair and smoothed the apron. “I’ve been baking and must be a sight.”

  “Nonsense,” Philomena said, laying the reins in the seat. “I should visit more often, but you know how things go. You get so busy, there’s never time for social calls.”

  “Isn’t that the truth.” Wilda beckoned. “Alight and come in. I’ll put tea on. And I have cookies for the young ladies.”

  “No need to go to that much bother.” Philomena took her shotgun and climbed down. She made sure that Mandy remembered to bring the rifle. Estelle had a pocket pistol in a handbag she toted around. They never went anywhere unarmed. Not in Comanche country.

  “It’s no bother at all,” Wilda was saying. “I’m pleased to have visitors. It’s lonely with Jasper and Reuben gone.”

  “I know what you mean. I don’t like having my husband and my sons gone, either,” Philomena said.

  “I didn’t say I don’t like it,” Wilda said. “I only said it’s lonely. And I can stand a little loneliness in return for a little peace and quiet.”

  “You like that they’re away from home?”

  “I get more rest when they are,” Wilda said. “I don’t have to do as much cooking or washing, and I can slack off on the cleaning. So yes,” she said, and nodded. “I like it a lot.”

  The comment troubled Philomena. She had come for a specific purpose. It never occurred to her that Wilda might not feel the same way she did. She must pick her words with care. “I miss my Owen a terrible lot.”

  “I miss Jasper, too,” Wilda said, yet she made it sound as if she didn’t miss him all that much. “I don’t miss him sucking down bug juice every hour of the day. Or the smell of liquor on his breath and on his clothes.”

  “Do you miss Reuben?” Philomena asked. She almost added “at least.”

  Wilda shrugged. “Some, I do. Don’t take me wrong. He’s a good boy. It would help if he grew up, but I’m afraid he’ll take after his pa and never amount to much.”

  “Wilda,” Philomena said, aghast. “Your own husband?”

  “Well, it’s true. What’s the use in pretending it’s not? We have to see things as they are, not as we’d like them to be. I knew Jasper wasn’t a great catch when I married him. But I’m no great catch, either. I’m not a beauty, like your girls, or smart, like you.”

  “Thank you for the compliment, ma’am,” Mandy said. “But you’re pretty, too.”

  “You shouldn’t ought to lie, missy,” Wilda said. She gestured at the house. “But why are we standing out here talking when we can do it in the comfort of my parlor? Come on in.”

  Troubled, Philomena followed. The dog, a mongrel with short, bristly hair, came over and sniffed them and growled.

  Wilda kicked it. “Shoo, you nuisance.”

  “Poor thing,” Mandy said.

  “Don’t feel sorry for him,” Wilda said. “He’s always underfoot. If he wasn’t such a good watchdog, I’d have shot him long ago.”

  “You’re a hard woman, Mrs. Weaver,” Estelle said.

  “I prefer to think of it as being practical,” Wilda said.

  Philomena went in first. The house did smell of whiskey, as if Jasper Weaver drank so much, the odor seeped into the walls. The parlor was cozy if plain, with a settee and chairs and a rug.

  Philomena and Mandy leaned their weapons against the wall.

  Wilda bid them take a seat, then excused herself and whisked off to the kitchen for refreshments.

  “Should we help her, Ma?” Mandy asked.

  “She didn’t ask for any.” Philomena clasped her hands and settled back in her chair.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Estelle said.

  Philomena never failed to be impressed by how her youngest often picked up on things before her oldest did. “The women are our only hope. If we can persuade them, we might bring it about.”

  “Not Ariel Kurst,” Mandy said. “She doesn’t breathe without her husband’s say-so.”

  “That’s just gossip,” Philomena said, when she knew very well it wasn’t. She’d seen it with her own eyes.

  A clock on the wall ticked loudly in the silence that followed. Philomena tried to think of small talk to make but she was focused on one thing and one thing only.

  When, at last, footsteps sounded on the hardwood hall, she called out, “Do you need help, Wilda?”

  “Not at all.”

  Wilda entered bearing a large tray with cups and saucers and spoons, and a teapot in the middle. She set the tray on a small table, nearly tripping in the process, and gave a light laugh. “Clumsy of me.”

  The cups were old china, and the spoons had seen a lot of use. The tea was warm but not hot as it should be.

  Philomena sipped and smiled. “We’re grateful for your hospitality.”

  Wilda roosted in a rocking chair, her hands in her lap. “Suppose you tell me the reason for your visit.”

  “It’s a social call,” Philomena said.

  “Please. I’m not stupid. You came for a purpose,” Wilda said. “I don’t hold that against you. I’d just like to know what it is.”

  “You don’t beat around the bush, do you, Mrs. Weaver?” Mandy said.

  “Never saw the use,” Wilda answered. “Some women, that’s all they do. Prattle polite talk about things that don’t matter. That’s not me. I like to get right to the point.”

  “Very well, then,” Philomena said, and lowered her cup. “I’ve come to talk about this cattle-drive business.”

  “What about it?”

  “I’m against it, Wilda. Heart and soul. I tried to talk Owen out of it, but he wouldn’t listen. My last hope is that if us wives stand together and tell our men we want them to stop, they’ll listen to us.”

  “What on earth do you have against it?”

  “A whole host of things,” Philomena said. “The dangers, primarily. From the longhorns, for instance. You’re bound to have heard stories about people who have been gored. And what happens if the cattle stampede?” She paused. “Then there are the Comanches to worry about, and who knows what other hostiles between here and Kansas. To say nothing of storms and tornadoes and flash floods.”

  “Life is full of hardships,” Wilda said.

  “Why court them when there’s no reason to? I’d rather have my man at my side than dead, and I’m hoping you feel the same way.”

  Wilda Weaver smiled. “I don’t.”

  Chapter 29

  Owen Burnett’s blood froze in his veins. The bull coming toward him could bowl his horse over and gore him before he got off a shot. He expected it to lower its head and charge. Instead, the animal walked past the chestnut without so much as a glance, the tip of its horn missing the horse by inches.

  “You should have waited, boy, until he was out of the way,” Wylie growled at Reuben. “That was close.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Burnett,” Reuben said. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  “No harm done,” Owen replied, composing himself. “Let’s take it down with the others.”

  The bull proved to have the tempera
ment of a kitten. Given all the accounts he’d heard about how violent longhorns could be, Owen was both relieved and puzzled. Either the accounts were tall tales, or they didn’t apply to all longhorns.

  Maybe some had gentle dispositions and some didn’t.

  When they reached the grass, they found that nine more longhorns had been added. Luke, Gareth, and Silsby had just brought several cows and were about to go back out.

  “How’s it going with you, Pa?” Luke asked.

  Before Owen could reply, Reuben Weaver laughed and said, “It’s been plumb easy. At this rate, we’ll have a hundred or more by the end of the day.”

  “A hundred is a far cry from two thousand,” Gareth Kurst grumbled.

  “Problems?” Owen said.

  The head of the Kurst clan shook his head. “It’s been easy so far. Too easy. Longhorns ain’t supposed to be this tame.”

  “Some are and some aren’t,” Owen shared his conclusion.

  “Then we’ve been lucky,” Gareth said. “And we’re due to tangle with one that isn’t.”

  “My pa says we should always look at the bright side of things, Mr. Kurst,” Reuben said.

  “Your pa’s idea of bright is the inside of a flask, boy,” Gareth said. “Don’t be lecturing me on how to think.”

  “I’d never!” Reuben exclaimed.

  Gareth sighed, lifted his reins, and looked at Owen. “I will say this. Your boy, Luke, there, is a worker. He pitches in and does his part.”

  “I thank you for the compliment,” Owen said.

  “What about me, Pa?” Silsby said. “Don’t I do good?”

  “You’d better, or I’ll wallop you.” Gareth nodded at Owen, tapped his spurs, and led his partners up into the hills.

  “That’s my pa,” Wylie said. “Do it his way, or else.”

  “If you don’t mind my saying,” Reuben said, “he’s sort of mean. My pa has never walloped me.”