“Can we sit and talk for a while?”
“Sure,” Candy said.
Candy led the way to an empty table, one near the stove that was now glowing red as it pumped out enough heat to keep the entire saloon reasonably warm, if not comfortable.
“What is it?” Candy asked. “You look like something is bothering you.”
“It is bothering me,” Billy said. “Pa has rounded up a lot of men and they are going out after the herd that just left here.”
“Oh!” Candy said, putting her hand to her mouth. “No, Billy, you have to stop him.”
“I tried to stop him,” Billy said. “I didn’t get very far.”
“But you must stop him,” Candy insisted. “Becca went with them!”
“Becca went with them? Why would she do that?”
“Don’t you know? Her Pa is the one who owns that herd. She is just going back home.”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“Billy, please try to stop them.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Billy promised.
Live Oaks Ranch, November 22
The Western Union Delivery boy handed Big Ben a telegram.
“Sorry, Mr. Conyers, but this telegram is a couple days late. Mr. Hayward’s wife took sick yesterday and he wasn’t there to get the telegrams so they was all sent to Dallas. We didn’t get them until this morning.”
“That’s all right,” Big Ben said. “I was expecting it anyway.” He gave the boy a half-dollar tip.
“Thank you sir,” the boy said. Remounting, he rode back to town.
Big Ben took the telegram back inside, sat down in his reinforced chair, then opened it. He was not in any way apprehensive about it. As he had told the messenger boy, he was expecting the telegram, because he had told Clay to telegraph him when they left Dodge City.
The first thing he noticed when he opened the telegram was how long it was. Most telegrams were one or two lines at the most, sometimes three, rarely four, and almost never five. But this telegram had eight lines. This he wasn’t expecting.
HERD ARRIVED IN DODGE CITY BY TRAIN
WITH ALL COWS SURVIVING THE TRANSIT.
THERE WERE FOUR MEN WHO DELIVERED
THE HERD AND THEY WILL ASSIST US IN THE
DRIVE BACK TO LIVE OAKS. WE WILL DEPART
DODGE CITY THIS DAY, NOV 20. REBECCA
WILL BE RETURNING WITH US.
THERE WAS A SHOOTING INCIDENT IN
DODGE CITY. MOSES COFFEY WAS KILLED
WHILE DEFENDING DALTON. DALTON WAS
NOT HURT.
CLAY RAMSEY
After reading the telegram, Big Ben leaned forward and closed his eyes. Julia came into the room then and saw him sitting in the chair, clutching the telegram in his hand, with his head bowed, his eyes closed.
“Ben?” she said, her voice weak and frightened. Telegrams always frightened her. “Ben, what is it?”
Big Ben opened his eyes and looked at her. He lifted the telegram from his leg and waved it slightly.
“The herd has left Dodge City,” he said.
“Oh,” Julia said, relieved. “Oh, is that all?” She sat on the settee. “Seeing you like that frightened me.”
“There is more,” Big Ben said.
“What?” she asked, anxiously.
“Mo was killed.”
“Oh, Ben, no. That poor boy. He was such a friend to Dalton. Dalton must be—Dalton!” she suddenly gasped. “Ben, is Dalton all right?”
“Yes,” Big Ben said.
“Oh, thank God. Oh, how terrible of me to be thankful that it was Mo instead of Dalton. God, forgive me.”
“I’m sure He has already forgiven you, Julia,” Big Ben said. He waited for a moment before he added, “There is more.”
“More? What more? What more could there be?”
“Rebecca is with them,” Big Ben said. “She is coming home.”
“Rebecca is coming home?”
“Yes. She must have been in Dodge City.”
“Oh, Ben. She will be here for Christmas! Won’t that be wonderful?”
“Yes. Wonderful,” Big Ben said. There was more anxiety in his voice than there was joy over the return of his daughter.
It was nearly suppertime, so Big Ben walked over to the cookhouse. The cookhouse was a long, narrow building. One third of the building was the kitchen, while two thirds made up the dining area. Here, in the dining area, were three long tables with chairs on either side of the table. Those hands who had not made the drive and who were not married were having their supper now, and there was a lot of talking and laughter going on when Big Ben stepped into the building. For a moment nobody saw him, and he stood quietly, just inside the door, leaning back against the wall. Finally someone saw him, and within less than a minute, all conversation had halted. The eating had stopped as well, and everyone turned their attention toward Big Ben.
“Men,” he said. “I have some bad news to report.”
The cowboys looked at each other to see if anyone had any advance knowledge as to what Big Ben was about to say. As nobody did, they turned their attention back to him.
“Mo Coffey was killed up in Dodge City.”
“How?” someone shouted.
“He was shot,” Big Ben said.
“It must have been some kind of shooter who done it,” one of the cowboys said. “I’ve seen Mo shoot, and he was as good as anyone I ever seen or heard about.”
There were a few other comments and questions most about what a “good man” Mo was, and how loyal he was to Live Oaks and the others who rode for the ranch. It was during that discussion that Big Ben began to get an idea as to what he wanted to do.
“Do any of you know the name of the orphanage Mo came from?” Big Ben asked.
“Yeah, I know,” one of the cowboys said. “It is Our Lady of Mercy. He talks about it all the time.”
“What were his feelings about it?” Big Ben asked. “Would you say they were positive or negative?”
“Oh, positive!” someone shouted, then several others threw in their own comments.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Cattleman’s Bank of Fort Worth, November 24
“That is a pretty large amount of cash to be carrying around, Mr. Conyers,” C.D. Matthews said. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather me issue a bank certificate for the money?”
“No, I want cash,” Big Ben said.
“Very well, I’ll have the teller make it up and bring it to you. No need for you to have to stand in line with the others.”
“Thank you,” Big Ben said.
Matthews wrote on a piece of paper, then handed it to a clerk. The clerk nodded, and took off to attend to his errand.
“I hear you are bringing in a herd of Black Angus cattle,” Matthews said.
“I am indeed. I have rid myself of every Longhorn.”
“Well, that’s going to be an interesting experiment,” Matthews said. “I’m told that, pound for pound, they are worth much more than Longhorns. What have you heard from the other ranchers for depressing the market even further for them?”
“Mostly they express interest and curiosity,” Big Ben replied. “So far there have been no examples of animosity or hostility.”
“That is good,” Matthews said. At that moment a teller arrived, carrying a bundle of money. Matthews took the money, then counted it out to Big Ben.
“I would ask if you had Christmas in mind for this money, but it isn’t even December yet, so it seems a little too early for that,” Montgomery said.
“It is not too early for the Christmas I have in mind,” Big Ben said.
Our Lady of Mercy Orphanage, Fort Worth
Sister Mary Katherine sat at her desk in Our Lady of Mercy Orphanage, going over the budget. Father Pyron of St. Patrick’s Cathedral had just given her the church’s orphanage allotment, and it didn’t look good. At present there were seventeen children in the orphanage: six girls, from infant to fourteen, and eleven boys, from three to sixtee
n. The sixteen-year-old would be turned out on his own when he reached seventeen, his birthday being the coming January.
From time to time the parishioners, and even the people of Fort Worth, would donate money, food, and various items to the orphanage. Thanksgiving was on the 27th, just three more days. She had wanted so, this year, to have enough money to have a big Thanksgiving Day dinner for the children, but it didn’t look as if that was going to happen. They would be lucky this Thanksgiving if they had beans and bacon.
Sister Mary Katherine was seventy-three years old. She was the Mother Superior of Our Lady of Mercy Orphanage and had been for thirty years. Before that, she was with the St. Mary’s Orphanage in Charleston, South Carolina. She had dedicated her life to serving her Lord by serving His homeless children. She had been through times that were good and times that were bad, and right now it was as bad as it had been since just after the war.
Though Sister Mary Katherine and the other sisters made life as pleasant for the children as they could, life in an institution, even a benevolent institution, could not compare with having a family. The older children did what they could for the younger ones, and already this year some of them, in order to make up for the lack of money for any Christmas gifts, were secretly making wagons, rocking-horses, and other toys.
“Mother Superior?” a nun said, sticking her head in through the open door. Had the door not been open, Sister Dominique would have never presumed to break in on the Mother Superior. She would have knocked, even though Sister Mary Katherine was not that much of a stickler for protocol.
“Yes, Sister Dominique?”
“There is a gentleman to see you.”
“Do you know what it is about?”
“I believe he wants to make a gift of some kind.”
“A gift is it? Then, by all means, do show him in,” Sister Mary Katherine said. She stood and waited for the visitor.
“Right in there, sir,” she heard Sister Dominique say.
The man who came into the office was very large, one of the biggest men she had ever seen. He filled the doorway.
“Sister ... ? Is that the proper way to address you?”
“Yes, Sister Mary Katherine, or Mother Superior. And you are?”
“Benjamin Conyers.”
“Please, Mr. Conyers, have a seat,” Sister Mary Katherine invited. “What can I do for you?”
“Do you remember a young man you had here once, named Mo Coffey?”
“Moses Coffey? Of course I remember him,” Sister Mary Katherine said. “Why, I remember vividly the night we received him. We found him lying on the front stoop, warmly wrapped on a bag that had been used for coffee. He was with us for sixteen years. A fine young man, and quite intelligent as I recall.”
“Yes, ma’am. Mo came to work for me out at Live Oaks. That’s my ranch.”
“Yes, Mo has dropped by from time to time to visit us and the children we have here now. He did tell us he was working on a ranch, and as I recall, he gave the children a demonstration with the rope. They enjoyed it so much. Please do give Mo my regards,” Sister Mary Katherine said, smiling broadly.
“I wish I could do that, ma’am, I truly do,” Big Ben said. “But the truth is, I got a telegram from my ranch foreman. Mo went to Dodge City with some of my other hands to pick up a new herd of cows. And while he was there,” Big Ben paused, not wanting to drop the news on her, but not knowing any other way to say it, just said it. “Well, I’m afraid, Sister, that Mo was killed.”
“Oh!” Sister Mary Katherine gasped. The smile left her face, and her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, dear,” she said again. “I am so sorry to hear that.” She crossed herself. “God rest his soul.”
“I was sorry to hear it as well. And I thought you might want to know.”
“Yes, thank you, that was very decent of you to tell us.”
“I’m sorry I had to be the one,” Big Ben said.
“How did he get along with the others? What I mean is, did he have friends?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am, he had wonderful friends,” Big Ben said. “Everyone on the ranch thought the world of him. In fact, he was my own son’s best friend.”
“I am so heartened by that. I am saddened by the news that Moses was killed, but I am cheered by the fact that he found friends and a purpose for his life.”
“Yes, ma’am, he did that, all right,” Big Ben said. “I was thinking, Sister Mary Katherine, perhaps there is something I could do for the orphanage, in memory of Mo.”
“Oh, we would be most grateful for anything that you might do.”
“I thought about a memorial or something like that, then I got to thinking, perhaps it should be more practical. Suppose I just gave you some money, and let you do what you wanted with it.”
“Oh, yes, that would be wonderful,” Sister Mary Katherine said. She looked down at the budget she had been working with. “In fact, Mr. Conyers, if it would not be too forward of me to ask, if you could find it in your heart to provide a monetary gift large enough for us to have a wonderful Thanksgiving Day dinner for our children. I’ve been trying to find a way to bring that about.”
“You want me to buy Thanksgiving Day dinner for the orphanage?”
“Yes. I know that is very forward of me, Mr. Conyers, and if that is asking too much, please understand that we will be extremely grateful for whatever you can give.”
“How about if I buy the Thanksgiving Day dinner, and give you five thousand dollars?” Big Ben said.
Sister Mary Katherine gasped, then stepped back to her chair, falling rather than sitting in it.
“Sister Mary Katherine, are you all right?” Big Ben asked.
The elderly nun looked up at Big Ben and moved her mouth, but no words came out.
“Sister! Sister, come in here quick!” Big Ben called, and a moment later an anxious Sister Dominique came running into the room.
“What is it? What has happened?” she asked, anxiously.
“I don’t know,” Big Ben said. “She just suddenly. . . ,” he didn’t know what to say so he made a motion with his hands toward her.
“Sister Dominique,” Sister Mary Katherine said, her voice strong and clear. “Do you have any idea what this—this wonderful gentleman has just done?”
“What?”
“He has just given us five thousand dollars!”
“Oh. God bless you, sir. God bless you!” Sister Dominique said.
Big Ben took the packet of money from his jacket pocket, fifty one-hundred-dollar bills, and put them on the corner of the desk.
“I will stop by Wagner’s Grocery Store and tell him to give you whatever you need for your Thanksgiving Day dinner,” Big Ben said. “I’ll settle with him afterward.”
“God, indeed, sent you to us,” Sister Mary Katherine said.
“There is something I would like for you to do for me,” Big Ben said. “If you would, I would like for you to pray for my daughter. I mean, I can pray for her myself, and I do, but I have to sort of believe the prayers would mean more coming from you.”
“Of course we will pray for her. Is she ill?”
“No. She is—we had a disagreement and she has left home. She is on her way back home now, and I would like you to pray for her safety, and, if it is not too much, for an agreeable reunion between us.”
“What is her name?” Sister Mary Katherine asked.
“Her name is Rebecca. Rebecca Jane Conyers.”
“We will do a Novena for her,” Sister Mary Katherine promised.
“Thank you,” Big Ben said.
“No, Mr. Conyers, we thank you. And, God bless you,” Sister Mary Katherine said.
The two sisters walked him back out to his surrey. It sagged under his weight, then he reached for the reins, clucked to his horse, and drove off.
“This will be the most wonderful Thanksgiving and Christmas our children have ever known,” Sister Dominique said as they walked back into the orphanage. “In fact you might say this is a Chris
tmas miracle.”
“It is Moses Coffey’s Christmas miracle,” Sister Mary Katherine said.
“Moses Coffey?”
“You didn’t know Moses,” Sister Mary Katherine said. “He left before you arrived. He was one of our young men who left and worked for that wonderful gentlemen who just stopped by to visit. Poor Moses was killed a few days ago, and this money was given us in his honor.”
“Then we must remember him in our prayers,” Sister Dominique said.
“I will remember him in my prayers for the rest of my life,” Sister Mary Katherine said.
On the trail, November 24
With the wagons already gone ahead to find a spot for the noon break, the cows were strung out for three quarters of a mile, heading south. Duff and Clay were riding point, one on each side, Matt and Smoke were on the east side of the herd, while Falcon, Tom, and Dusty were on the west side. Dalton was riding drag.
Duff and Clay rode well back from the lead cattle but moved forward, closing in as the occasion required. That way, they could control the belled steer and set the course. The main body of the herd trailed along behind the leaders as if this were some great army in loose marching order.
The swing men, those riding on either side of the herd, had the job of seeing that none of the herd wandered away or dropped out. Although it was a cattle drive, there was no real driving to do. Once underway, the cattle moved of their own free will.
“The secret of driving cattle,” Dusty had told the others that morning, “is to never let them know they are being drove. From the moment they start out in the morning, you need to let them think they are on their own. Then it becomes just a matter of ridin’ along and sort of loafin’ in the saddle.”
“Hard to loaf when you’re eatin’ a lot of dust,” Dalton said.
“Son, you are the one who didn’t want to drive the hoodlum wagon anymore,” Clay said. “Now which would you rather do?”
“I’d rather ride point,” Dalton said.
“And I’d rather be riding in a fine carriage somewhere, with pretty ladies tendin’ to me,” Dusty said.
The others, including Dalton, laughed.
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