Horse With No Name

by Alexandra Amor

  The hour-long ride gave her time to think, but rather than examining her own motives too closely, Julia focused on thinking about what she knew of Cecil. Which wasn't much. The couple was new to the area. They didn't have children, so that was not a point of contact for Julia. She knew they had lived in Kelowna before coming to Horse. Alan had worked as a stock manager for a ranch there, or so Millie Jones had said. It was unusual for Lily to work given that she was married. But the Cecils seemed to be making the best of an untraditional way of life. Alan lived in the bunkhouse with the other drovers, and that was no place for a woman. The arrangement they had for Lily to work and live at the Finnegan's made sense.

  As Julia and Stanley followed the nearly invisible deer trail that led up and around the small hill they were climbing, she convinced herself that pursuing this line of inquiry was the right thing to do. Merrick might not agree. She patted Stanley's neck, reassuring herself with the feeling of his fur and muscles; distracting herself from this thought.

  The O'Brien ranch came into sight. The chapel was the first building they passed as they came onto the land. The tiny building with its little steeple reminded Julia very much of her schoolhouse. Squat, longer than it was wide, with three tall windows down each side and a set of narrow steps leading up to the front door. The door was closed as they passed and Stanley barely gave it a glance. His focus was on the little cluster of outbuildings they came to next.

  The barn was on her left, long and low, with two wide doors open on the side. She could see into the gloom inside as she approached.

  Her heart was in her throat. It was as though suddenly her body and brain realized what she was doing. She'd come out here alone, searching for a man or men who she believed had already attacked two people; herself under cover of night, and Hunter in broad daylight.

  Stanley felt her hesitation and stopped. She leaned forward, patting his neck, again seeking reassurance. His ears flicked around, noticing bird song and the movement of some tall grass near a fence post.

  She thought for an instant about retreating, heading back into town, giving up her quest. Merrick was right; what she was doing was dangerous. She should heed the warning of the dead rabbit on her door. Whoever was behind the attacks was clearly deranged. What had possessed her to come out here by herself?

  "Hello?"

  Julia startled. A man came out of the barn, carrying a shovel in one hand and shielding his eyes from the sun with the other.

  He was of medium build, though he looked thick and hard, like a large tree. His face was nondescript and his beard and mustache were almost entirely white, but the hair that poked out from under his peaked cap looked nearly black. His lips were pulled back slightly and Julia could see he was missing a canine tooth. His work shirt was buttoned all the way to his neck, but he wore no tie. His expression was questioning but his eyes looked kind. He was older than Julia by at least two decades but he didn't seem burdened by his age, as some men do.

  "Hello," Julia replied, still debating about leaving without completing her mission. "I'm, uh, I'm..."

  "You're Miss Thom from the school." The man completed for her. "Had you forgotten that?"

  Julia could see he was teasing her; his eyes were alive with delight. She smiled down at him. "No, I, um. I know who I am. I'm afraid I don't know your name."

  "Cobbs," he said, still holding his palm up to shield his eyes. "Spenser Cobbs, Miss. How can I help? Are you lost? Town's thataway." He gave a little jerk of his head back in the direction Julia had come.

  Well, I've come all this way, Julia thought. "I'm looking for Alan Cecil," she said.

  If Mr. Cobbs wondered why the schoolteacher was out on her own searching the ranch for a young drover, he didn't let that thought show on his face. He glanced up at the sky. "It's about supper time," he said. "The men will be eating in the cookhouse today, since they're working close by." He paused, thinking. "Why don't you leave your horse here and we'll walk over? I'll show you the way."

  Julia tried swallowing but her throat wouldn't cooperate. So she threw her leg over Stanley's neck and hopped down to the ground instead.

  Cobbs watched her quietly. When he turned to go back into the barn he said over his shoulder, "Not a fan of the side saddle, I see."

  "No, sir."

  "Good for you, young lady. Those things are a death trap."

  Twenty-three

  The cookhouse was just that. A building about the size of the church Julia had just passed, but without any adornment. Julia imagined that there would be at least two large cook stoves inside, along with tables, and benches for the men to sit on when they ate. But today, in the cool but pleasant evening air, they were taking their meal en plein, as her drawing teacher Mr. Albert would have said. Seven men sat on wooden chairs with broken or missing backs a few feet away from a large river-stone fireplace. The wood crackled as Julia and Cobbs approached. A fat man in a stained white apron handed a drover with a tear in the knee of his pants a bowl filled with what Julia suspected was some sort of stew or chili.

  The men's heads all swiveled in Julia's direction as she approached with Cobbs, but they didn't stop eating. They reminded Julia of a small herd of cows; eyes still, jaws moving.

  "Want some supper?" Cobbs asked her, sotto voce.

  She shook her head. "I ate before I came." Which was a lie, but she was anxious and didn't want to seem too familiar with the men.

  Cobbs nodded once and then raised his voice. "Cecil. Miss Thom here would like to speak to you."

  One of the men muttered something which Julia assumed was rude because the men on either side of him laughed, showing dirty teeth and partially chewed supper.

  Alan Cecil was sitting flat on the ground, his legs stretched out in front of him, toes pointed toward the sky. His back was curled over his lap so he could spoon his supper to his mouth without dripping on his shirt. There was a large, torn chunk of bread at the edge of his bowl. He dipped it into the stew and then took a bite, watching Julia the whole time.

  "What about?" he directed his question at Cobbs who didn't answer.

  "Perhaps we could speak in private, Mr. Cecil?" Julia glanced around at the other men, who hadn't taken their collective gaze off her.

  "Perhaps not," Cecil said, raising his voice doing an imitation of her. The other men chuckled.

  They were sitting in a semi-circle, some on the ground and some on the old chairs. None of the men had stood up in her presence.

  The charm that Cecil had exhibited in Finnegan's kitchen was entirely absent. His eyes had flicked to his companions when he'd imitated Julia, noticing their reaction and, Julia suspected, seeking approval. Here was a man, Julia reasoned, who was unsure of himself. In the presence of his wife, he had been confident and clearly was the more powerful of the two. Now, surrounded by other men, he seemed shrunken somehow. His sense of his own power was conditional; it depended upon who he was with. Julia made a note of this and wondered how Cecil would feel around another man such as James Hunter, one who was refined and not likely to provide a physical threat, as she was sure these drovers did. Would Hunter, who had some sort of relationship with Cecil's wife in the past, prove a threat to Cecil?

  Just inside the cookhouse building, lying in an open doorway, Julia spotted a milking stool, lying on its side. She walked over the ten feet to it, picked it up, and carried it back to the group. She set it beside Cecil, gathered her skirt behind her and sat down.

  The men had obviously hoped to intimidate her by making her feel unwelcome. When she sat down, the man to Cecil's left hesitated in mid-chew. She wondered how often a woman stood up to these men. She further wondered how often they encountered a woman who was not their mother, sister, wife or a woman they were meeting for the first and last time in a bawdy house.

  As she did very often these days when she needed courage, Julia decided to pretend the group in front of her were seven schoolboys and that she was in charge of them. She looked around at them, letting her eyes linger on e
ach face, committing them to memory and trying to see if her body reacted to the sight of any of them. If it remembered any of them from the night of the dance, though she consciously did not. Each face was lined and brown from the sun. All of the men were young, probably younger than her. They had thick, rough fingers with filthy nails and their clothes were dirty and patched. One fellow, directly opposite her, had his feet stretched out like Cecil did, and Julia saw he had a hole in the sole of one boot.

  Each of them looked away from her when she met their gaze. Some lasted a few seconds longer than others, but they all broke their eyes from hers first and busied themselves with their meals.

  She considered this a victory. Also, she noticed her body hadn’t reacted to any of their faces. Both these things gave her courage.

  "Mr. Cecil," she said, turning to the man on her left, and adopting her clearest and calmest but most no-nonsense voice, "was it you who attacked Mr. James Hunter in his shop the other day?"

  This was obviously not the question Cecil had been expecting. His spoon paused half-way to his mouth, his jaw partway open. She watched his eyes carefully. They registered curiosity and a lack of understanding, but Julia wasn't sure if they also held guilt.

  He covered whatever he was thinking by finishing the spoon's journey to its target. "Wha?" he said around his mouthful of stew. "Who?"

  This last question was for sure a lie. Julia could tell that right away that Cecil knew perfectly well who Hunter was. She could see it in his eyes before he glanced away, looking down at his bowl.

  "James Hunter the sissy, you mean?" This was from a man across the circle. He had finished his supper and set the bowl beside the seat he was on. He was leaning forward, elbows on knees, rolling tobacco into a cigarette paper. He looked up at Julia with a confident expression. She glanced at the other men and saw most of them were watching him. This, then, was their de facto leader.

  "What do you mean, 'sissy,' Mr....?" Julia let the end of the sentence ask the question for her.

  "Roberts," he said, licking the edge of the paper. He sat up straight, owning the moment, and put the cigarette into his mouth. From his front pants' pocket he pulled a box of matches and lit one, inhaling the smoke from his cigarette and then tossing the match into the cook's fire. Roberts looked back at Julia. "He's the girliest man I've ever seen. That's what I mean by ‘sissy.’ If he tried to fuck a sheep I'm sure it would have its way with him first."

  The other men laughed on cue, a little too loudly, proclaiming their allegiance to Roberts. When the noise quieted down, they looked back to Julia. Your move, their expressions said.

  "I meant Mr. Hunter the watchmaker," Julia said, doing her best front of the room stare at Roberts. He picked a piece of tobacco off his tongue and flicked it away, shrugging.

  She turned her gaze back to Cecil, and raised her eyebrows, "Well?"

  Cecil scrunched up his nose and shook his head. "What're you asking me for?"

  Julia answered his question with a question. "Is this yours?" She held out the glove. She had brought it with her in her saddlebag and transferred it to her coat pocket when Cobbs showed her to a stall where she could leave Stanley.

  Cecil glanced down at it, and then away, shaking his head. He looked indifferent but she couldn't be sure if it was feigned or not.

  "Where are your work gloves?" Julia asked, pushing Cecil.

  He held his bowl in his left hand and reached around his back with his right, pulling a pair of gloves out of his waistband and showing them to her. He smirked at her while he did so, and then put them back.

  "Has anyone else lost a glove?" Julia looked around the group, but the men just stared back at her, some chewing, some smoking.

  She was getting nowhere. She met Cecil's eyes once more and he quickly looked away.

  She stood up from the milking stool and tucked the glove back into her pocket. "Thank you, gentlemen," she said and began to walk away.

  From behind her she heard Roberts' voice. "Don't leave yet. Each of us needs to have a turn."

  Cobbs had hardly spoken since he and Julia had arrived at the cookhouse. He had fallen in beside her to walk her back to the barn.

  He turned now and stared at Roberts. "Say that again."

  The group was quiet. Roberts' and Cobbs' eyes were locked. For a few seconds Roberts kept a smug and self-satisfied grin on his face. Cobbs continued to stare at him and eventually Roberts' expression fell. He shifted in his seat slightly, and took a pull on his nearly finished cigarette. Cobbs waited, patiently, like the earth. Roberts moved again in his seat, uncomfortable now under the weight of Cobbs' gaze.

  "What?" he finally said to Cobbs, his tone sullen.

  Cobbs only jerked his head in Julia's direction.

  It took a moment, but then Roberts finally spoke. "I apologize, Miss."

  Julia nodded and then began walking again. Cobbs lingered for a moment and then fell into step with her.

  Twenty-four

  Julia and Stanley took a circuitous route back to town. It was a gorgeous autumn evening with clear skies and a not-unpleasant crispness in the air. Everywhere the land was alive with birds and she saw what she thought was a fox disappear into a burrow at one point. She let Stanley choose the pace. At times he galloped so that she had to nearly close her eyes against the wind. Then he would slow and catch his breath before taking off again. He was enjoying himself immensely, as was his mistress, so Julia was in no rush to return home. Only when the light began to fade in earnest did she decide that perhaps they should think about making their way back to town.

  Cobbs had given her a leg-up when they returned to the barn. When she was settled in the saddle, her reins gathered, she leaned down to shake the man's hand.

  "Thank you, Mr. Cobbs. I appreciate your help. And I thank you for defending me just now." She nodded back in the direction of the cookhouse.

  Cobbs placed a hand on Stanley's neck and looked up at her. "You're most welcome, Miss. May I offer you a bit of advice?"

  "Of course."

  "I can see you're a very independent lass. There's not many women who would come out to a place like this on their own. My wife was a bit like you. Smart. And stubborn." He smiled at the memory and shook his head slightly. "But if I ever tried to tell her what to do, she'd do the opposite, just to spite me, I think."

  "She sounds like a colorful woman," Julia said.

  "Aye. She was. She's been gone six years now. I miss her something fierce." He paused for a moment, reflecting. When he looked up into Julia's face again, his eyes were a little shiny. "Here's what I'm askin' you. Please don't be so stubborn that you can't see when people are trying to help you and keep you safe. D'you understand me?"

  Julia nodded brightly, "I do, Mr. Cobbs. Thank you." She straightened her spine a bit and was about to squeeze Stanley's sides and turn his head.

  But Cobbs continued, not letting her brush him off so easily. "I mean it, Miss. You're bright and capable. I can see that. Please don't be reckless with yourself."

  Julia looked down into his face again. Earnestness and concern were painted all over his expression. Julia found her voice caught in her throat.

  Cobbs spoke again before she could. "Don't let your need to prove yourself put you in danger."

  Was this man a wizard? How did he know her so well after such a short period of time, Julia wondered.

  She leaned down again and placed her hand on Cobb's arm and looked directly into his eyes. "I promise," she said.

  "Good girl." Cobbs patted Stanley's neck one last time and stepped back, smiling at her. "Straight home now."

  She arrived back at the livery filled with the joy of being alive and the pleasant exhaustion that comes with hours spent outside. Stanley was happy too, she could tell. He shook his head and jingled his bit as they rode down Main Street. He was prancing almost, and made her laugh when he bounced sideways like a kitten after a crow lifted up off a hitching rail in front of the millinery. She was still laughing at him and chat
ting to him about his good mood as they rode through the wide barn doors and she prepared to dismount.

  A voice came out of the gloom at the back of the building toward her. "Where have you been?"

  She hopped down to the ground and lifted Stanley's reins over his head. "Merrick?"

  The man strode toward her. She had seen him angry before but the expression on his face now was something new. He looked taller than usual and was taking long, determined strides, swallowing up the distance between them. He stopped when he was three feet away from her. "I asked you a question."

  If there was one way to put Julia Thom's back up it was to boss her around. Cobbs had assessed her exactly right in that department. Merrick should know this by now, but he was obviously struggling with his emotions. Julia pretended she didn't know what he meant. "I was out for a ride."

  "Where?"

  "Around," she said, glaring at him. She heard a noise in the back of the barn and assumed Walt was back there somewhere.

  "You went to the O'Brien ranch."

  It wasn't a question so Julia didn't answer. She looped Stanley's reins over her left arm and began loosening the saddle girth. Stanley blew out a breath and shook his head, ears and mane flapping.

  Merrick came around Stanley's head and stood close to Julia's left shoulder. "Answer me."

  She turned and looked directly up into his face. "You didn't ask a question."

  He was very still and his lips were pulled together in a thin line. He held her gaze for several beats without saying anything. When he spoke it was with exaggerated quiet. "Were you at the O'Brien ranch?"

  Julia gave a quick nod, "Among other places."

  "What other places?"

  "Oh, we were just out for a ride mostly. It's a beautiful evening." She patted Stanley's neck. "Now, if you'll let me pass I want to unsaddle this sweaty boy and get him groomed."