The Smartest Horse in Texas (The Traherns #2)

by Nancy Radke

  George strutted up to me, all full of importance. “He’s dead. We hang murderers and horse thieves in this part of the country. Uncle Jim decided not to take him all the way to Fort Smith and have to stay around for a trial and all. So we found us a handy tree and we’uns took care of him.”

  Horse thief. I wondered what he’d do if I told him I had stolen Hero? He’d probably shake out his rope right then.

  I wasn’t proud of what I’d done, but I was looking for a quick escape and took it. Could it be different during wartime? You shot men, you took horses. It really wasn’t considered theft during wartime, but it bothered me anyway. Maybe because it was my cousin’s horse. He placed a great deal of stock in his horses and I couldn’t see him letting go of one easily. Not one like Hero. He might be hunting me even now.

  James Cummings looked at the corral fence that I had raised in height until it was almost double. It was the first thing I’d done. “What’s that for?” he asked.

  “My stallion. He’s got his eye on one of your mares, and I’m trying to keep him in.”

  “He can’t jump that, can he?” he asked in disbelief. “I don’t even know of a mule that could clear that.”

  “I don’t know. I’m hopin’ not. I’d rather be overly cautious with him.”

  He handed his horse to Lewis and headed for the ranch house, his spurs dragging in the dust. Dawn was standing there and he shoved her aside. I’d never seen such a change in a person. She shrunk into herself, her eyes dulled and her body slumped.

  “Have you had a chance to look at the books?” he asked me, as I followed him in.

  “Yes. Do you have an account with the bank at Ft Worth?”

  “No.”

  I stopped walking. “Then your bookkeeper was stealing from you.”

  He spun around, looked at me in astonishment. “What? Elmer? He wouldn’t dare.”

  “He did. He’s been sending a small amount of money into this bank account, looks like for years. None ever came out, which is why I wondered about it. He probably saw your leaving as an opportunity to cash in. If you had gone on to Ft. Smith, gone through a trial, then come back, found him gone, looked for another bookkeeper, hired him, and just then found out about Elmer, he would’ve been long gone to South America or Europe. The way it is, he’s probably only halfway to Ft. Worth. A fast rider should be able to get there ahead of him.”

  “How much did he take?’”

  “Twenty thousand dollars.”

  Cummings went white. “How fast is that horse of yours?”

  “Fast.”

  “Get him ready. I’ll write you a letter to take to the Rangers at Ft. Worth. They can either stop him from taking the money out, or catch him if he does. I’ll be riding behind you, and will back you up as soon as I get there.”

  “Bring your books with you,” I said. “I made check marks in them, nothing else, so the books are all in his writing.”

  “Good idea.” He stepped back onto the porch. “Brandy, get me a fresh horse. That line back dun you usually ride.” Cummings ran into the house, all fired up. “Marianne!” he yelled. “Get some food and water ready, for me and Matthew. Move it, woman.”

  She scurried away like a frightened mouse. This wasn’t right. Dawn flinched when Cummings spoke to her. She reminded me of a horse which had been beaten around the head, so that it had become head shy. All the confidence vanished as soon as he arrived.

  Not my problem, I told myself, but wasn’t very good at making me believe it.

  I grabbed my saddlebags and moccasins, rolled up a blanket, then took them with my guns and ammo to the barn. I saddled Hero, taking extra care to make sure the hair was lying in the right direction and the saddle blanket was smooth. I went to where Cummings kept his grain and filled a small bag and tied it to the saddle.

  The man he’d called Brandy had Cummings’ horse saddled ahead of me, ready to go and at the doorway of the house. I led Hero to the water trough and gave him his head.

  Hero, that military campaigner, knew urgency when he felt it. He drank and he drank deeply. I had grabbed two extra canteens and I filled them so I could give him water as we went.

  Cummings’ horse was dancing all over the ground, like water on a hot fry pan, using up energy, while Hero stood there like an elderly statesman. Cummings came outside with the books in his hand, followed by Dawn. She handed me two filled canteens and a packet of food, which I put in my saddlebags. She ran back and picked up a second group of supplies which she handed to her father. He had already mounted and shouted impatiently at her. “Hurry up! Don’t take all day. Go get me a blanket for sleeping in.”

  I thought she was moving right fast.

  “What does this Elmer look like?” I asked, to take his mind off her speed or lack of it. “I need to know to describe him to the Rangers.”

  “He’s short, bald, with a beard that never amounted to much of anything. And fat. He weren’t that way when he come here, but he’s that way now.”

  “And he always wears a black cap and a dark blue vest,” added one of the hands.

  “And he can’t ride worth beans,” added another, as Cummings handed me the paper to the Rangers telling what had happened.

  “All right,” I said, folding that paper and putting it carefully in my pocket. I mounted and put Hero into his mile-eating trot. He must have had some Morgan in him, because most horses had to gallop to keep up to his trot. He could keep at it all day and into the night.

  After a bit, Cummings galloped up. He pulled to a slow canter. “Git going.”

  “Sir, Hero can travel all day at this speed. I could run him, but no horse alive can run from here to Ft. Worth.”

  He swore and took off and I passed him about six miles on down the road, his horse lathered and steaming and in a bad way. I stopped long enough to tell him to take his time, I’d get the Rangers to hold Elmer until he got there.

  Near the end of the second day, the trail dipped into a deep gully that had a tiny trickle of a stream running down the bottom of it.

  I rode Hero into it and dismounted, letting him drink while I filled my canteens upstream from him. It was good water, not red or brackish, and sure tasted great. I hunkered down and watched the fish that flashed in the deeper holes. It was a tiny stream, but the presence of the fish told me that it was a stream to count on, not intermittent like so many streams I’d come to that were waterless at the time.

  Not quite sunset, but if I made camp here, we could get fresh water before we started in the morning.

  I threw up the stirrup to loosen the cinch, stepping back when Hero’s head came up and he spun around to look upstream, his ears pricked forward.

  He trembled and stamped his feet, so instead of taking that saddle off, I flipped the stirrup back down and mounted.

  As soon as I put one foot in the stirrup he was off, scrambling up the side of that gulch like he had hornets under his tail. I grabbed the horn and hung on while I got my foot over and into the off side stirrup.

  Indians?

  Hero wasn’t the only animal high-tailing it out of that gulch. A lynx ran right underneath his hooves, headed for the ridge. Several jacks ran with it, and the quail were flying out of the gulch like they’d been flushed.

  When we reached higher ground, I pulled Hero to a stop to look around. He didn’t like it much, just kept moving sideways and up the slope away from the gulch.

  Then I could hear it. A boom, like a cannon being shot. Then another one. Then another. Louder and louder as it got closer.

  Hero was used to cannons. He didn’t tremble when they went off. It had me right puzzled.

  “What? Hold on, Hero. What is it?”

  Then I saw it. A wall of water crashing down that gulch. Too much water for the gulch to hold, so it was flowing out over the sides. The top was traveling faster than the bottom, and it had reared itself up higher than the huge ocean waves I’d seen off the coast of the Carolinas.

  It swept through that gulch lik
e a woman cleaning a dish, booming each time it hit a slight curve because it was trying to go straight. Some water splashed up around Hero’s feet as I let him bound up to the ridge top.

  I made a little note to myself not to sleep in any dry gulches along the way. These Texas streambeds didn’t stay dry, although there hadn’t been a drop of rain where I was. It was something Dawn had forgotten to mention when she was talking about the land. Probably thought it was something everyone knew.

  “You’d think I was a pilgrim, to almost get caught by that,” I told Hero. “And I guess I still am when it comes to desert country. Thanks, pal.”

  I continued on my way, running almost immediately into another stream running a banker.

  “Well, I’d planned to camp near that other stream, so we’ll just settle down here for the night. I’m not trying to cross that torrent with you, Hero, money or no money.” It might give Elmer more time, but I wasn’t killing me or my horse with foolishness.

  I picked a level area, took off my saddle and started a small fire near to a pile of dried out driftwood. I looked that wood over and realized it had been brought downstream by an even larger flood. There was a line of it, marking the edge of the highest water.

  Luckily I had picked a spot uphill of the wood. Otherwise I would’ve moved camp.

  I gave Hero some grain and ate some of the tucker that Dawn had put together for me. Right tasty, it was.

  I checked for snake holes, beating the area where I wanted to put my blanket. Satisfied that I wasn’t sharing my site, I rolled up in my blanket and looked at the stars. It was just after eight o’clock, the dipper having swung around its handle like an enormous hand on a clock running counterclockwise.

  I lay there on the hard ground, nothing new for me. What was new was the way my thoughts kept returning to Dawn.

  She had been so alive, so interesting, until Cummings returned. Then she’d become a completely different person. She reined in her enthusiasm and became plain dull. If I’d have met her while she was with her pa, I’d have thought nothing of her.

  I was fascinated with her, first with her stillness, which was anything but dull. It was the stillness of one who looks out over vast plains and sees a wondrous country. The stillness of a person complete in herself.

  That stillness was shattered by Cummings. Did he know it for what it was? Or did he figure it was one of her strange Indian ways that he didn’t accept?

  It wasn’t Indian. I’d seen it in some of the older hill people I’d known, comfortable in their own skin. They were the ones that the dogs came to and put their muzzles into their hands. And the cats just curled up on their laps and stayed, comfortable and content.

  It was the stillness of a person who has been alone a lot and emptiness doesn’t bother them.

  Except for the trip we’d taken to the store, Dawn didn’t talk much—to me, John or Lewis.

  She talked to the horses though, and the cattle. She also talked with her body, the movement of her hands and the tilt of her head. She could probably get any animal on the place to do her bidding, including me. But not the rest of the men, and certainly not her pa. They were not in tune with her, thinking her strange.

  She was a fine looking woman, pretty, but her face had more character to it that any other pretty girl I’d seen. She wore no makeup, just what the sun had strongly touched, so in the cities where a white face was supposed to be a sign of beauty, she would have been thought of as lacking.

  She had no tricks to snare a man, excepting for her stillness and I expect many men would be uncomfortable with that. I think she used it somewhat to hold herself away from her pa and the men at the ranch. She dropped it when we were alone and I was teaching her to read, then slipped it on again when she was with other people.

  I put Hero back into his trot, which was smooth and easy to sit. When we’d hit a long, steep stretch, I’d get off, grab the latigo straps and run beside him, letting him half pull me along. It gave both of us a break. We must have done that trip in record time.

  It was busy near Ft. Worth, lots of people around, some who fit Elmer’s description. I went straight to the Ranger’s office, spoke to the head gent there and he accompanied me to the bank.

  6

  Seems Elmer was there at the bank in Ft. Worth, ready to leave, with his money already in a case along with a ticket to New Orleans. The Ranger grabbed Elmer, who looked exactly as they had described. He started blubbering, and if there was any question in the Ranger’s mind it was gone immediately, seeing Elmer’s reaction. He marched Elmer to jail, money and all, to hold until James Cummings rode in.

  The Ranger invited me to have supper with him.

  “I’d like that very much, but I have to take care of Hero first. Where’s a livery stable?”

  “Don’t take him there. They buy spoiled grain cheap and mix it in with the good.”

  “I still have some of my own grain.”

  “They’ll feed that to their horses. Put him in with mine. The Rangers have their own barn.” He took a good look at Hero as I untied him. “Would you sell him?”

  “Never.”

  “Would you consider joining the Rangers?”

  I thought about the fact that I was riding a stolen horse. A thief to become a lawman? Besides I was never comfortable long in a town. The people were too close together. “No, thanks.”

  He led the way to a nice clean barn and I was able to give Hero a good reward for his hard work. The Ranger pointed out what served as the hotel and left. I joined him later and we ate while he told me about the Rangers and how a few men were trying to keep peace in a land bigger than most countries.

  Next day I started back. The day after that, I passed James Cummings on his way to Ft. Worth and gave him the news. I was walking Hero slow, letting him graze now and then as we traveled, so it was almost a week before I got back to the ranch.

  The men were out working, but Dawn was there, happy to see me. Now riding gives a man a whole heap of time to cogitate on things. I noticed that on this ride, my thoughts kept dwelling on Dawn.

  She was the loveliest thing this side of the Mississippi River. Quiet, but those eyes of hers would sparkle and shine when she was happy. Like right now.

  “Come see what I did,” she said.

  I followed her to where she had hid my Bible and her new notebook.

  She had copied out the whole of John, first, second and third, the short books. She had underlined some of the words and circled others.

  “What’s this?” she pointed to the first word circled.

  “Propitiation.”

  She repeated it several times to get it set in her mind. “I’ve never heard it. What does it mean?”

  “It means to make things right, by a sacrifice, or payment. Usually to remove a penalty. See, it says, ‘He is the propitiation for our sins...’”

  She finished reading the sentence out loud.

  “You’re getting good,” I said. She had figured out many words I hadn’t taught her.

  “What’s this one?”

  “Abideth.”

  She kept me standing there until she had all the underlined and circled words clear. The underlined ones were just repeats of the circled ones. I was amazed at how far she had come.

  Now if I could get someone to be the propitiation for me, and pay off Trey so he wouldn’t come beatin’ the bushes for me, I’d be right happy.

  Dawn cooked a wonderful meal when her father came back home. She topped it off with a pie made of some black currants she had picked.

  The crust was flakey and the smell out of this world, so when I bit in, I wasn’t expecting it to be so sour and salty. I put my hand over my mouth and spit it into my hand. I glanced around the table. Cummings had a shocked expression on his face as he spit his onto his plate.

  “Ugh. What did you put in this, you stupid woman? It’s pure salt.”

  Dawn shrunk and pointed, wordlessly, toward where the salt and sugar sacks sat side by side on the w
ooden shelf used as a pantry.

  “That one says ‘salt,” he yelled, pointing to the right bag. “Not ‘sugar!’”

  She stared down at the ruined pie. “They both begin with an ‘s.’”

  “You never made that mistake before. Why now?”

  “I tasted them before. This time I read...”

  “You can’t read.”

  “Yes, she can,” I interrupted. “I’ve been teaching her.”

  “Forget it. I don’t want you trying to teach her while you’re working for me. It’s a waste of time, teaching a woman to read. Especially her. She’s too dumb. I have more important things for you to do.”

  Dawn got up and started clearing the pie from the table. Her face was set, as if she was holding back her emotions while she took the plates back into the kitchen.

  “I’ll teach her in the evenings,” I said. “After work.”

  “Not while you’re working for me,” he growled.

  I didn’t have to work for him. “Did you find a new bookkeeper?” I asked.

  “The fellow at the bank recommended a man, but I told him I already had one.”

  “Then you’d better send for him. I told you I would work here until you found a replacement. I straightened out your books, brought them up to date, so I’ll be leaving soon.”

  “You were hardly here long enough to draw a wage. Especially if you spent the time teaching Marianne.” He said her name with so much contempt, I had to hold myself to keep from flattening him on the spot.

  “Mr. Cummings, I brought your books up to date, spotted a thief, caught him for you, and saved you a goodly amount of money. I deserve both a wage and a reward and I expect to get both of those. I’ll leave in the morning. Count my money out for me now.”

  The other hands got up and left, and Cummings stomped into his office. I stopped for a moment at the pantry, for something didn’t ring true to me. Dawn was a better reader than that, to make such a simple mistake.

  Cummings unlocked his safe and handed me ten dollars.

  “That should do it,” he said.

  “Plus the reward.”