by Paul Bagdon
Lee smiled. “I know. And your cattle?”
“Rollin’ fat an’ rank as a nest of hornets. There’s just too many of ’em, an’ they’re spread out too far. The bulls are gettin’ crazy ’cause they don’t see a man on horseback for a month, an’ they’d just as soon put a horn in one when they do. I gotta sell off maybe a third of the herd an’ consolidate the rest of ’em. Even the cows are gettin’ so wild my boys can hardly work ’em.”
Jonas took a long gulp of the still-steaming coffee, almost as if he were drinking cool water. He grinned when he saw the alarm on Lee’s face. “An ol’ cattleman learns to drink his coffee hot an’ fast, Lee—he’s got to, or he won’t get much of it. Always somethin’ on a drive that needs attention right this second.” Jonas took another biscuit from the plate. “An’ the Busted Thumb? How’re things here? You gettin’ any closer to that horse you’re lookin’ for?”
“Things are fine here.” She put another biscuit—the last one—on Jonas’s plate. “We’ve got a good crop of foals too, and several show promise—show what I’m after. I’m getting closer to the perfect ranch horse. Then my farm will really take off.”
“Ol’ Slick still the star of the show?”
A smile spread across Lee’s face when her friend mentioned Slick, her prime stallion. “He sure is. I’m only breeding him to my best mares, of course, and my Clover birthed a fine colt of his a month or so ago.”
“He’s a rare stallion, all right,” Jonas commented. “’Bout as hard to handle as a fat kitten.”
Lee laughed. “A couple days ago, Slick jumped his paddock fence and wandered into Maria’s garden. She chased him away, swinging a basket of carrots and peppers at him. It was a picture, Jonas! A five-foot-tall little lady shooing away a thirteen-hundred-pound stud horse with a basket of vegetables!”
“That’s a good one,” Jonas agreed, his laughter loud and deep. After a moment he asked, “Carlos is well? And your other men?”
“Carlos is as feisty as ever, and all the men are fine. I hired a new bronc man not long ago. Maybe you know or have heard of him—Wade Stuart?”
“Hmmm ... no, can’t say that I know him, and I don’t think I ever heard his name neither. An’ I know most of those boys. Probably a young buck, right? He workin’ out OK?”
“He’s young,” Lee agreed. “But he’s great with the horses. One of the best rough stock riders and trainers I’ve ever seen—even including the men who worked for Uncle Noah. Wade keeps to himself—and yes, he’s working out very well. My sales have gone up already since he’s been training for me.”
“Glad to hear it.” After a pause, Jonas went on. “That’s one of the reasons I came to visit. Seems to me that neither one of us is sellin’ enough horses. I move some every year, an’ I’m glad to hear that you do too, but we simply ain’t doin’ this right.”
“I ... I don’t understand ...”
“Here’s the thing, Lee. The army is gonna be buyin’ lots and lots of horses to use in puttin’ down all the Indian trouble. Plus, ranchers are cryin’ for good, dependable stock that can work a full day an’ won’t spook every time a tumbleweed blows by. I have those kinda horses, and so do you. But we ain’t gonna sell ’em unless people know about ’em. See what I mean?”
“Well, sure. But what’s your point? What do you suggest we do?”
“What I think is this: Burnt Rock has a big festival comin’ up at the end of September—the Harvest Days Festival. I think we both need to have horses there—our best stock—and show ’em off. Kinda let people know how good our horses are, get people interested. Maybe rent some stalls at the blacksmith’s shop. My boys could have a ropin’ contest—that always draws folks.”
Lee sat back in her chair, thinking, her coffee mug in her hand. “Your idea is a good one,” she said, “but we need to take it a couple steps further. It’s not Burnt Rock folks who’ll buy more than a few of our horses—it’s the army and the ranchers, like you said. We can print up flyers and use the telegraph to let the army forts and the big spreads know what we’re going to do in Burnt Rock during the Harvest Days. Let them know we have the best stock in Texas.” She was hooked on the idea. She spoke faster. “It’ll work, Jonas. I know it will! We don’t have much time, but there’s enough if we get right to—”
“’Course it’ll work! An’ you’re right about contacting ranchers and the cavalry. They’ll show up in droves, looking for good horses an’ good buys!”
“I’ll get to work on the flyers,” Lee offered.
Jonas held out his hand. “One more thing: We need a big draw, like the main act of one of those circuses that travel around puttin’ on shows.”
“Such as what?”
“A race,” Jonas said. “A race is how these people test horses, Lee. You know that. We could run Slick against my Pirate for a good long stretch—maybe ten or fifteen miles, or even longer. That’ll bring the army and the ranchers. I guarantee it.”
The excitement left Lee’s eyes like water rushing from a teapot. “Jonas, I don’t think a thing like that is really right—not exactly what the Lord wants from us. It’s gambling.”
Jonas shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I think you’re 100 percent wrong. The race would show both horses at their best. Whichever of them wins don’t mean a hoot! The point is to get men in a position to buy horses to see what we have.”
“Jonas ... I’m really sorry.”
Jonas waited for a long moment. Then his eyes and Lee’s met and held. “I’d never ask you to do somethin’ I thought was against your beliefs. You know that. But if we were farmers tryin’ to sell crops, would it be gamblin’ to show our bales of hay or our tobacco or cotton to buyers, just like all the farmers do at Harvest Days?”
“People don’t bet money on whose hay smells sweeter,” Lee said.
“There are people who’ll bet on what side of a gold eagle will come up when it’s flipped, Lee. People gamble on cards and roulette wheels and whether or not it’ll rain next Sunday.” He maintained her gaze and continued. “I learned a long time ago there ain’t much I can do to cure all the wrongs in the world, ’cept do the best I can in my own life. ’Course, some men will lay a few dollars on Pirate or Slick, just like men do whenever two horses run against one another. But that don’t make what we’re doin’ a bad thing nor a sinful thing. Not by a long shot.”
Lee broke eye contact and took a sip of her tepid coffee. “I’ll need to think about it.”
“Sure you will. But let me ask a question before I leave. Was your uncle Noah honest, ethical, a good Christian?”
“You know that he was all those things, Jonas! Why would you ask a question like that?”
Jonas smiled. “Do you recall when he ran a Morgan stallion against a great, tall Tennessee Walker at the state fair in Virginia? You were about eight at the time—I remember how excited you were. Noah an’ I laughed about what you might do if the ol’ Walker won out over the Morgan.”
The memory forced a small smile onto Lee’s face. She sighed. “I can’t give you an answer right now. Can we talk again tomorrow morning?”
“Of course,” Jonas said, disappointment creeping into his voice. “That’ll be fine. I’ve some banking and other errands to do in Burnt Rock, and maybe I’ll have dinner with Ben Flood. I’ll stay at the hotel and ride out here again in the morning. Fair enough?”
“Fair enough,” Lee said. They stood at the same time, almost as if on a silent signal, and walked to the door. Lee gave Jonas another hug when they were out on the porch, then looked around her. The rain had stopped, and the air smelled fresh and pure, as if the breeze had swept across a pristine lake. Already, though, the sun was burning off the raindrops that glinted in the grass like scattered diamonds.
Jonas looked down at his hands, as if he didn’t quite know what to say. “Until tomorrow, then,” was the best he could do.
“Until tomorrow,” Lee repeated.
Lee’s work that day failed to bring her the joy it
did every other day. The morning rain had scoured the air to a purity that not even the merciless power of the sun could diminish, and her horses looked sleek and agile, the hues of their coats sharp and clean against the verdant grass and the blue panorama of the sky. But Lee barely noticed this. She rode past a five-acre pasture where eight foals played under the watchful eyes of their mothers, running headlong, challenging one another, scrambling through impossibly tight turns with unbridled exuberance. Ordinarily, she would have spent fifteen minutes or so simply watching the youngsters at play; today, she rode past the pasture without slowing the gelding she was riding.
She found Carlos inside the breeding barn, doctoring a bruise on a pregnant mare’s fetlock by applying a glutinous, foul-smelling paste to the area with his bare hands. The warmth of his fingers and palms and the heat of the injury turned the paste into a liquid that clung to the mare’s skin over the bone. Lee dismounted and ground tied her horse, tugging lightly downward with her reins, signaling the gelding to stand still until she returned to him.
Carlos greeted her with a smile. “See the size of thees lady, Lee? Her baby gonna be a beeg one—a strong one.”
Lee nodded and attempted to smile. Carlos looked back at the mare’s leg and asked, “Ees a problem?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure. Jonas was here earlier—he asked after you and Maria. He has an idea to help both of us sell some horses and make contacts with people who will be return customers.” She briefly explained Jonas’s proposition.
Carlos’s face lit up like a lantern on a dark night. “Ees splendid idea! The army, the ranchers, they use many horses but don’ breed their stock—they always need more. An’ when Slick beat Pirate, the soldiers an’ ranchers, they knock on our door, no?”
“Well . . .”
“Lee, how can you worry? Slick the fastest!” Carlos said.
“I’m just not sure that racing is right, Carlos. Men will bet money on the horses. Will that make the Busted Thumb an occasion of sin?”
Standing from his crouch next to the mare, Carlos wiped his hands on an empty grain sack, considering for a long moment before he spoke. “Men bet on horses since forever. If two men each ’ave a horse, one day they gonna race. Ees the way of men an’ the way of horses. There ees no way you can control that. But running horses to see who ees stronger an’ faster, that ees not a bad thing—ees a thing of beauty an’ pride.”
Lee didn’t respond.
“Look, Lee. Many times you ’ave seen our horses challenge one another an’ run together to see who wins, no? Ees a natural thing for a good horse with a lion in hees heart to run against another. God created horses, no? An’ you know better than God what horses should do?”
Lee couldn’t help but smile. “There’s some illogic there, my friend. But I see what you mean.”
“Illogic? Ees no illogic. Ees the truth!”
“Have you ever bet on a race, Carlos?” Lee asked, grinning.
“No ees importante.”
“Did Maria find out?”
Carlos’s silence was all Lee needed. “How did she feel about you losing the money?”
Their eyes held for a heartbeat before they both broke into laughter. Lee walked back to her gelding, gathered the reins, and mounted. She waved to Carlos and turned toward the south pasture, still chuckling.
“A race ees no a bad thing, Lee,” he said to her back, loud enough for her to hear. The laughter was gone from his voice.
That evening, Lee rode Dixie to her favorite vantage point, from which she could view a good part of the Busted Thumb. She dismounted, ground tied the old mare, and walked through the grass to a small depression in the side of a gentle hill that she’d discovered on a previous trip. The ground was softer there, and the water that gathered from the morning rain had long since drained off or evaporated.
Lee had prayed here before. The peace seemed to clear her mind, to allow her to be closer to the Lord by being close to a bit of the calm beauty he had created. She stood still, watching scribbled lines of dry lightning far off in the western sky. The quick flashes grew brighter as the sun dropped below the horizon and darkness deepened. For the first time since Jonas had arrived at her door, Lee felt her tension, her concerns, lifting from her as fog lifts from a valley touched by the sun.
She sat there for quite a while; it was fully dark when she walked back toward Dixie. The mare, happily cropping grass, nickered as Lee attempted to brush the dirt and blades of grass from the knees of her culottes. She accomplished little beyond transferring the mess from her knees to her hands. Giving it up as a lost cause, she rubbed her palms against Dixie’s saddle blanket, gathered the reins, and swung into the saddle.
The stars were huge against the unending depth and blackness of the sky, and although the moon wasn’t quite half full, there was plenty of light to make riding at a slow canter comfortable and safe. Lee rubbed the side of Dixie’s neck lovingly, feeling the liquid ease with which the aged but healthy muscles moved under the mare’s sleek hide.
Lee rode back to the barn with her reins looped around the saddle horn, letting Dixie pick her own way down the slope.
Lee was all ready for her friend’s return the next morning. The breakfast she was preparing was a special one, and the heat from her kitchen stove permeated her home, carrying the teasing fragrances of the meal. She hummed as she worked, barely able to contain her excitement.
Jonas’s boots thumped on the porch as the coffeepot in Lee’s kitchen began to boil. The aroma of the Arbuckle’s Ground Premium Coffee she’d scooped into the pot filled the room and extended throughout the house like a welcoming smile.
Lee embraced her friend at the door and, before he could speak, said, “Come on, Jonas—I’ve got something to show you.”
Jonas followed her to the kitchen, sniffing the smell of the coffee.
“Sit,” Lee commanded, placing an empty mug by the plate, knife, and fork in front of him. “Ham and eggs are warming along with the biscuits. Coffee’ll be ready in a minute.”
Jonas began to speak, but Lee held up her hand to stop him. “I’ll be back in a second,” she said as she left the kitchen, heading to her small office adjacent to the parlor. When she returned, she spread a large sheet of paper on the center of the table in front of him. He smiled like a child on Christmas morning as he read it.
HORSES! HORSES! HORSES!
The Finest Horses in West Texas Will Be Offered
for Sale at the Burnt Rock Harvest Days Festival
Sept. 30!!!
A RACE WILL BE HELD BETWEEN
DWYER HORSE & CATTLE COMPANY’S
PIRATE
AND THE BUSTED THUMB’S SLICK
AT NOON!!!
Offered for Sale Are Gentled
and Trained Ranch Horses,
Army Mounts and Remounts,
and Riding and Driving Stock.
Terms—Cash, Gold, or Good Personal Note
HORSES! HORSES! HORSES!
Jonas gaped at the proposed poster for several moments, then looked up at Lee. “It’s perfect!” He stood and eased around the table to face his friend. “You’ve done the right thing, Lee. This’ll be good for both of us and for our ranches. And you sure haven’t told a lie here: We do have the finest horses in West Texas! ’Bout time we let folks know that!”
While Jonas drank a third mug of coffee after packing away a large breakfast, Lee brought paper and pencils from her office to the kitchen table. Together they listed the army forts and encampments within a four- or five-day ride from Burnt Rock, and then they listed the ranches and farms. When they were finished, they’d filled three pages.
“This’ll work out fine,” Jonas said. “I’ve got a passel of men who’re drawin’ pay and not doin’ anything but sittin’ around waitin’ for my October cattle drive to form up and move out. I’ll get a few hundred copies of the poster printed at the newspaper office and set my boys loose with ’em—I’ll tell ’em to put up a poster anywhere they see another person,
even if they have to nail it to a cactus. An’ while I’m in town, I’ll give the list to the telegraph master and put him to work.” He smiled at Lee. “We ain’t gonna miss many people.”
Lee smiled back. “One more thing,” she said. “How long do you want the race to be? A short run won’t prove anything to the kind of buyers we’re after.”
“Like I mentioned yesterday,” Jonas answered, “I’m thinkin’ maybe ten or fifteen miles, in a big loop toward the hills, where there’s some hard riding. We need to show that our horses have heart and that they can cover any kind of terrain without collapsing.”
“Fine with me. We can start them right in front of the sheriff’s office and send them out Main Street—give the folks something to cheer at.”
Jonas nodded. “Can you have Carlos and a couple of others go out and set up markers? Red cloth of some kind would be good. We don’t want either rider takin’ a turn somewheres and endin’ up swimmin’ the Rio Grande.”
“Sure. Matter of fact, I’ll go with Carlos. We’ll make sure the way is marked well.”
Jonas stood up from the table. “Who’s ridin’ for you?” he asked.
Lee sighed. “I was thinking about that last night. Much as I’d like to run Slick myself, I don’t want to stir up things when there’s no need to. So I decided on my new man, Wade. He’ll get the job done, and no matter what, he won’t hurt Slick. If I put one of my other men out there, he’s liable to push Slick too hard if it’s a close race. Who are you going to use?”
“Davey Medwin—you know Davey, Lee. One of the best horsemen I’ve ever met. Been with me almost a dozen years. He might grouch an’ carry on a bit if he has to miss the ropin’ competition, but he’ll put a good ride on Pirate.”
As they walked together to the door, Jonas turned to Lee and said, “You need to know this, Lee. Whichever way you went on this racing thing wouldn’t have made a tad of difference in how I feel ’bout you.”