by Rita Hestand
“I think I understand, about me being trouble, although that is not my intention. I mean, it's not like I'm wearing dresses and trying to seduce the men on this drive. I'm merely doing a job, too, you know. And it's rather a grand gesture on your part, too, to even suggest marriage. I'd have never thought of it.” Perhaps if she acted as though she appreciated his offer he might not talk of it, and maybe even forget about it.
“There's nothing grand about it. You hired me for this job. I aim to do it proper, but not with a female running around camp for weeks on end with a bunch of rangy men around her all day. So, we'll be married in Waco.”
“Why there? Why not Salado?” she asked plainly, willing her chin not to tremble. Perhaps if she put up a brave front, there would be less trouble with him.
“Several reasons. Sometimes a parson is hard to find in smaller towns. Waco is good enough size we shouldn't have any trouble there. I want to stop there to find out about the Indian situation. Look, quit fretting about this marriage thing. It's to protect you, and keep me from having to fight the entire bunch of men in the process.” He explained as though she should have thought of it herself.
Jodi became very still, fascinated by his intellect. What manner of man was Hunter Johnson? How could he methodically calculate every problem before it happened?
She had found him living in a shed, but he certainly didn't seem like the kind of man to put up with that kind of arrangement. So, why had he lived like that?
What he proposed made a lot of sense and she was willing to do anything to get the herd through with the least amount of trouble.
“So...now you understand. After the drive you can high-tail it if you want. Go where you want, but as long as you are here on this drive with me, you'll be my wife.” His voice and statement commanded respect.
“In name only!” she quickly amended.
“That's fine by me, ma'am. It's merely one of those precautions.”
Hunt's gaze bore into her, surprise lighting his face. It was obvious he expected a fight. Maybe he didn't cotton to a marriage either. She wouldn't argue the point with him. Despite her misgivings, it made perfect sense.
She nodded curtly.
≈≈≈
That was too easy. He didn't know Jodi well, but he sure expected her to put up a fuss, and she hadn't. His intended was a mystery, and he found her even more intriguing now that she was willing.
CHAPTER SIX
With the herd going through the town of Salado, it made it easy for Hunt and Jodi to stop to ask around about drovers. There was a crowd of people staring as the cattle moved through town with an easy flow. It had become a familiar site to most townspeople on the cattle trails. No one seemed uncomfortable with it; some even admired the horns on some of the cows, pointing to them as they passed. Longhorns were impressive to see even if they were plentiful on the Texas prairie.
Concho bedded the herd on the outskirts of town and waited for their return.
Jodi had prepared a pie that morning, but she had nothing to bake it in, so she hoped she might find someone to bake it for her in town. Quite often a rancher's wife, or even a farmer's wife, would volunteer to bake breads or pies for drives.
Even though Hunt was reluctant to do so, he took Jodi inside the saloon with him. He sensed her disgust and he could tell she was uncomfortable with her surroundings. For some reason, that pleased him.
He ordered two apple ciders and pointed to a table that was vacant. Jodi slouched in the chair, fatigue seeming to overtake her. Unaware, her mouth slid into a thin-lipped smile. Hunt wished he could make things easier on her, but herding cattle had never been a lady’s job.
It seemed a very peaceful town as there was little gunplay and lots of people. Hunt relaxed a little, although his eyes were alert and hawklike as he peered around the room.
The music was loud, but at least it was music. Aside from a poker game going on at one table, only a handful of men lined the bar. Some were remnants of the war, having a sawed off arm, or partial leg, but there were a few that seemed whole. Hunt recognized all the battle wounds; he'd seen so many. He studied them slowly as he sipped his cider. He'd let the war slide into oblivion. He was here about cows and horses and men, not soldiers.
“Well, what we got here?” An old timer came up to their table and got into Jodi's face. “Why she's a right pretty gal when you get up close. What she doing in here, though?”
“She's with me. So, let's leave her alone, shall we, ol’ timer? She's pretty tuckered.” Hunt smiled at the old man, his quiet confidence reassuring her that all was still well.
The man nodded slowly as he scrutinized Hunt, then scooted a chair out and sat down with them. His face was well worn, but his gray eyes twinkled when he smiled, making him appear harmless. Yet Hunt didn't completely relax around him. He wondered just how harmless he actually was. The old man raked a hand through his mop of gray-white hair and stared at her for a long minute. He seemed mesmerized with Jodi. “What's your business here… friends?”
Hunt figured the man was just curious and maybe a little too nosey for his own good, but harmless, so he told him.
“We brought a herd through town; we're taking them north to Abilene. I need some drovers, and I could sure use some horseflesh,” Hunt said, staring at him with interest. He knew instinctively that the old man would spread the word.
“You'll have a hard time findin' drovers here,” he said, staring at the cider and licking his lips.
Hunt ordered another cider for the old man and listened. “Why is that?”
“Well, sir, the young ones are goin' to school here, that fancy college we got. And the older ones, well, are back from the war; they're beat and not interested in working.”
Hunt nodded, but continued to watch the men at the bar. “War's over, and a man has to make a living.”
“Yep, won't argue that,” the old timer said as he shook his head.
“What about horses?” Hunt asked, ignoring the fact that the men in this town seemed almost as lifeless as back home.
“Now, we could talk horseflesh, I'm sure. Got about fifty sort of wild ones, if you're of interest?” The old man's eyes lit with life.
“I am….how much?”
“Well sir, they are fine horses, and I couldn't take less than ten dollars. For each.” The old man watched Hunt with an eagle eye. It seemed his left eye closed when he talked, all of which Hunt took in with suspicion. He'd found people with such ticks generally dishonest.
“I'd like to see them first,” Hunt said. “But before that, I want to see if I can round up any men.”
The old man shook his head. “Well go ahead, little good it will do you.”
After half an hour passed, Hunt finally got up and went to the bar. He leaned toward the end, and waited. He'd learned patience early on, and knew when to be quiet. He innocently listened to a few conversations, mostly about how a crop did or didn't do, or how somebody's wife was paying too much attention to someone who hadn't gone to war.
The bartender, a tall, big man with a mustache that looked long enough for wings, eyed him, then asked, “What'll it be?”
“I'm taking a herd north, and I'm looking for men,” Hunt said as he eyed the bartender in return, and passed his empty mug to the man. “Got any milk?”
“Any what?”
“Milk,” Hunt repeated.
“This is a bar mister, in case you haven't noticed. That cider is about all you'll get in the way of non-alcoholic beverages here.” The utterly charmless bartender looked Hunt in the eye and squinted. Then he moved down the bar to fill an empty mug of beer.
Hunt waited, when suddenly the bartender raised his less than charming voice. “Man's looking for drovers. Anyone interested?”
No one moved, the music stopped only briefly, and then began again. Hunt nodded. He was about to reject the whole idea of picking up men in this quiet little haven when a kid came flying through the swinging doors, his eyes big and round, and his voice much too e
ager. “I'll go with you, mister.”
Hunt turned to look at the kid with renewed interest, and then shrugged. “I'm sorry son. I'm looking for men.”
“Well, my pappy died last year. My ma takes in washing and I'm the oldest of her bunch. I've been up the trail once,” the boy said as his face turned almost as red as his hair.
Hunt tried not to laugh because the kid was honestly seeking work and that was in his favor. “Sure kid. Sure, you have.”
“Went with John Chisum himself.”
“Do tell. John Chisum himself, huh? Guess you're not scared of Indians, high waters, stampedes, or jayhawkers then?” Hunt questioned with a smile.
“Nope!” The kid smiled brightly. His red hair and freckles made him stand out in the room, and look younger than any drover Hunt had ever seen. He was just over five foot, and built solid.
“Can you handle a wagon?” Hunt asked, realizing that he wasn't getting any takers from the bar.
“Sure, I can handle an old wagon, any day,” the boy replied. “Used to haul for my pappy.”
“How old are you, son?” Hunt waited, and then added, “The truth.”
“Fourteen,” he stammered.
Hunt nodded. That meant he was twelve at most.
“Where's your ma?”
“We live back behind the livery stable,” he explained.
“I'd like to speak with her first,” Hunt said, eyeing the boy's reaction.
“You mean you'll take me?” The boy's eyes rounded, his smile brightening the dull walls of the room.
“If she's willing, sure, why not?” Hunt chuckled.
“Oh man…yeah…come on, she won't care; one less mouth the feed.” The kid scurried toward the door again.
Hunt followed him and motioned to Jodi. “Come on, maybe we can get that pie baked too while we're at it.”
“Excuse me,” Jodi said to the old gentleman. “We'll check with you later on those horses. What was your name, sir?”
“Wentworth, Frank Wentworth,” the old man hollered after her.
Jodi was staring at Hunt strangely as she caught up to him. “What are you doing?”
“I'm hiring a drover,” Hunt explained.
“But he's just a kid.” Jodi looked the boy up and down.
“In the beginning, we are all kids. Besides, it's one less mouth to feed for his ma, and someone to drive the chuck wagon for us. You do prefer riding to driving, don't you?” They crossed the street to the livery stable.
“But what if he can't drive it?” she asked, hurrying to keep up with them.
“Then we'll just have to teach him, won't we?” Hunt gave her an incredulous look. “Did you see any men in that saloon willing to work? Not one of them spoke up. Not a one. Now, I know money isn't that abundant right now, so what's wrong with the lot of them? Some of them are bound to have families to feed. They got time to drink. It's getting old, watching people wither away to nothing just because they lost the war.”
“You think that's why you didn't get any takers?” Jodi sobered.
“Lazy bunch of no-goods, if you ask me; this kid is better than that. He's eager to learn. And we're running a decent outfit, so there's nothing to worry about.” Hunt was satisfied.
“Nothing to worry about?” Jodi challenged, her voice going up a notch with every word. “What about drowning in the river? What about getting an arrow through you? What about outlaws, jayhawkers?”
“The boy could get killed at home by a stray bullet just as easy. Besides, I don't know if you've read the good book or not, but he isn't going to die till it's his time, and then nothing will stop it.”
Jodi rolled her eyes skyward, as though considering his words with surprise.
As they neared the house, both of them hushed and let the boy lead them in.
The house was nothing more than the back side of the livery stables. It looked to have two rooms. It had crude, homemade furniture and curtains.
Yet, somehow it was homey too, for it was warm and cozy inside.
“Mama, this is a cattle boss. He's movin' a herd through to Kansas, and I want to go,” the boy said straight out.
The woman he called Mama was a somewhat rounded woman with graying hair and the deepest green eyes. She had obviously aged before her time. Hunt reckoned from having a house full of kids who all came running into the front room out of curiosity. Her hair was frazzled, and her clothes plain, but there were biscuits in the oven and she was stirring gravy over the fire. Another woman that had seen too much work, in too little time, Hunt decided. His heart went out to her. It seemed the women hadn't fared much better than the men during the war. He wondered how many men had overlooked that fact when they’d come home.
She looked Hunt and Jodi over from head to boot. “You got a woman on the drive?” the woman questioned with a suspicious eye.
“My wife, Jodi Johnson.” Hunt introduced her.
“And you, sir?”
“Hunter Johnson, ma'am. Your boy here says he can hitch a wagon as good as the next.”
“He can. That's a fact. He's been handling his daddy's freighter wagon for three years now. He's been hiring out for wages for a year, ever since his pa died. He's able to do as he pleases,” she responded with a sad sigh.
“Well then, would you mind if he came along on our drive to Kansas? I'd see to him….”
“See to him?” She huffed the hair from her face. “My boy don't need seeing to, mister. He's as good as he says and then some. Fact is, I'll miss him more than I can say around here, but it would be one less mouth to feed.” All seven of her children gathered around the table as she brought the food to it.
“Then I can go?” the boy asked.
“Sit down and eat with us, folks, and then he can go, if he's a mind to,” she said quite finally, her eyes not going to her son yet.
Jodi said very little at first, but finally got up the courage to ask the woman, “Excuse me, but I made this pie for the men, but have no way of baking it. I was wondering if I might use your oven while we're here? I could pay you…”
“You'll do no such thing.” The woman grabbed the pie out of Jodi's hands and gently set it in the oven. “I'll be glad to bake it for you, hon. Hmm…looks real good, too. I’m sure those men will love it.”
“I couldn't resist the berries along the trail, and you are so right about the men loving pie.”
“My name's Mattie Pruitt.” She finally smiled at Jodi as she spoke. “And my boy's name is Mathew. A Bible name, you'll notice. I want your promise” —she glanced at Hunt— “that you will have no rough play, nor drinking on the drive.” She dished out the cornbread and beans, and then passed them the potatoes. Every child sat very still until all the adults had loaded their plates.
“That's a rule on my drive, ma'am.” Hunt nodded as he noticed their manners. “I run a clean outfit. Not looking for trouble, but am aware of the Indians, jayhawkers, storms, and swimming the river.” Hunt gave a charming smile. “Can the boy swim?”
“His pa learned him early. I won't forget the day he threw him in the river and turned his back on him. It scared the livin' daylights out of me. But I reckon he knew what he was doin' because Mathew swam like a fish.” She chuckled. “It's good you know about all the dangers ahead of you; don't like any jackasses that think its some easy jolt from here to there. At least you ain't blind.” His mother asked directly, “And will he be paid like the others?”
Hunt considered her question, and then smiled at Mathew. “If he's really worth his salt, I'll pay him like any other drover, thirty dollars a month and a horse.”
“Fair enough,” she said with a tolerant chuckle. A blinding, unreasonable melancholy settled over Matt's mother. Hunt admired the courage it took to separate herself from her son so instantly. It was plain she hated to see him go, but was proud of the fact that he was man enough to want to. He made himself a promise right there and then. He would see after the boy.
After they ate, Mrs. Pruitt checked the pie and set
it out to cool for a bit. It was baked to a golden brown.
Less than an hour later, Mathew kissed and hugged his family, each of them in a special way, and then he gathered his shotgun, his rope, and his father's new boots and headed for the door. He left childhood and memories behind.
“God go with you, son,” his mother cried as she herded the rest of the children back into the house, a handkerchief dabbled at her eyes. The sad slump of her shoulders spoke louder than her voice could.
“Bye, Mama…” Mathew said, and didn't look back. “I'll be back, with thirty dollars or more.”
≈≈≈
Jodi looked at the boy; he was as tall as she and kind of cute. His hair needed cutting, but then that wasn't important. He wore overalls and a faded shirt that was homespun. His shoes were worn out, but at least he had the good sense to bring his father's boots. “You really know how to handle a wagon?” she asked, her brows going up for his answer.
“Yes, ma'am, my daddy was a freighter. I been helpin' him since I was big enough to put a saddle on the horse,” Mathew explained as he nearly ran to keep up with them.
“Then your job is to drive the chuck wagon. Help my wife when she stops for cooking. You'll take orders from me, and her, understood?” Hunt eyed him as they neared the horses.
Jubilant, Matt's face shone with pride.
“Understood,” Mathew replied. “Call me Matt.”
“All right, Matt. You are officially hired. We'll get you a horse of your own when we get to the herd,” Hunt said and hoisted him behind him.
Matt beamed with exhilarated joy as he adjusted his flop hat. “Wow, my own horse, now that'll be somethin'. We had a team of ox to pull the wagon, and an old mule, but I ain't never had my own horse.”
“Well, you will now,” Hunt laughed. “You can pick him out of the remuda when we get back. As long as he doesn't belong to someone else, he's yours.”
“Fair enough,” Mathew replied with a smile. “What do you want me to call you?”