by Kayt C Peck
Judy paused to study Harold’s face. His grin was visible with the bandana removed from his face. Once the cattle were contained, the dust had settled somewhat, and they were all able to breathe easier without the cloth masks. Still, Judy noticed he was paler than he’d been when they started the day, and there was a strain to the smile. He was getting tired.
“Harold, can you show Pookie the ropes pushing small bunches into the alley so we can sort them? This is her first time. She needs a good teacher,” Judy said. It was the easiest of the jobs, but she knew Harold would enjoy teaching the promising young cowhand.
“Sure thing,” Harold answered. He walked to his pickup, reaching in the bed to retrieve two horse whips. He and Pookie would use them to encourage the cattle through the gate. The crack of a sharply snapped whip was usually enough to turn cattle when they headed in an undesired direction.
“Watch him. If he looks like he’s getting over tired, let me know,” Judy whispered to Pookie.
“Right, boss,” Pookie said.
Judy raised one eyebrow and looked at her young friend. “Boss?”
“Don’t worry. It’s a compliment,” Pookie said.
“So what do you think of your first cattle drive?” Judy asked.
“It’s awesome.” A pained expression flickered across her face. “My dad would have loved it.”
Judy gave Pookie’s arm a gentle squeeze before going back to work.
The two Bar-D cowboys strode into corrals and worked on foot to divide the crowded herd between the two large pens on the north side of the corrals, closing the gate between the two. Three slightly smaller pens were on the south side with an alley about fifteen feet wide in between. It was a simple system, really. Groups of ten to sixteen cows and calves would be pushed into one end of the alley, Judy would approach the bunch, whip in hand, with a person stationed at the gate at each of the three smaller pens. Judy would gently approach the bunch, working until she divided one animal from the rest. When that animal bolted past, Judy would call “in” if it went in the first pen and “bye” if it went to one of the other two. She would point with one finger of her right hand if it went in the second pen and two fingers if it went in the far pen. The hands operating the gates would open the gate where the animal belonged, closing it after them. It was pretty much a bovine computer practicing the very simplest example of binary thought. With cows and calves, it was even easier. For the most part, cows were “in” and calves were “bye” into the second pen. It would be a mix into the third pen. Any animal, cow or calf, that looked sick or in need of attention, was sent to that far pen.
It only took a couple of hours to sort the cattle into their respective pens. When that was finished, the cowhands remounted their horses and pushed the complaining cows out of the corrals, through the horse pasture and three miles across the pasture nearest the house to one out of ear-shot of the crying calves wanting their mothers. Weaning was never an easy process, whether mother and child was four-legged or two. The cows were difficult to herd, wanting to return to their babies, but they calmed some when they could no longer hear the calves. Once the gate to the far pasture was closed, the cowhands rode in loose ranks, talking and teasing as they rode, eventually urging their horses into a trot then a gallop, all eager to end the day’s work. When they neared the house, they pulled back to a walk, none wishing to make their horses “barn-sour” – too eager to end a ride and therefore hard to control on the trip home.
“It’s just like old times,” Brad said as he pulled his horse in step with Judy’s.
“Old times, new times, future times…heck, Brad, you and I were born to raise cattle,” Judy responded.
Brad looked pensive as he fiddled with the catch rope tied to his saddle horn. “Judy girl, I’m sorry I was an asshole for a while there.”
Judy laughed. “What do you mean for a while? Being a well-intentioned asshole is part of your charm.”
Brad blushed. He looked hurt.
“Geeze, Brad. I’m just teasing. We got through it.”
“You’re my sister, you know. In all the ways that matter, you’re the best sister a guy could have.”
It was Judy’s turn to blush, moved by this expression of affection, especially knowing how difficult that was for Brad. “And you’re my brother, Brad Kenton, which means I’m duty bound to kick your ass when you get out of line.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Brad responded.
As they neared the house, the cowhands heard a sound as sweet as any worker ever heard. Kathleen was ringing the triangular dinner bell hanging outside the backdoor of the house.
“We having your beans and cornbread?” one of the Bar-D hands asked Judy.
“Feed bag’s gotten better around here,” Judy responded. “Not sure what Martha and Julie brought, but Kathleen had the makings for chicken enchiladas and sopapillas.”
Before leaving to herd the cows back to pasture, Judy and Brad had thrown fresh hay to the bawling calves still contained in the corrals. They would let them all settle for a day or so before putting them through the trauma of branding and castration. Judy was a pragmatic rancher, but it always broke her heart to watch the calves go through this traumatic life event. The calves set up a constant cacophony of noise, mooing and bawling.
As they rode up to the house, Pookie placed her horse next to Judy’s.
“Good gosh, they’re loud,” Pookie said.
“Yep, I highly recommend sleeping with ear plugs the next few nights,” Judy responded.
Once in the ranch yard, the cowhands quickly unsaddled their horses, loading them into trailers with Pookie and Judy releasing their horses, including Kathleen’s paint, into the horse pasture behind the house. Kathleen and the Kenton women had set up a buffet in the yard by the house, and the hungry cowhands descended on the offering of enchiladas, pot roast with potatoes and carrots, stewed squash and onions, fresh made bread, cucumber and onion refrigerator pickles, a cake, and two kinds of pie. It was a feast fit for a king or any hard working cowhand. A cooler of beer and sodas complimented the pitchers of iced tea and water.
Conversation ceased as soon as the crew had filled the enameled metal plates the Proctors had used for field dinners for over ninety years. The three women in the kitchen crew joined the cowhands, filling their plates amply, having worked just as hard as the dust covered cowhands. For some minutes, the only sounds were the clink of cutlery against plates and the occasional hiss of the opening of a soda or beer. It was a companionable silence.
In distance, a vehicle turned off the highway and down the county dirt road. No one spoke, but all eyes turned to the vehicle, the entire crew waiting to see who approached.
“Oh, Hell,” Judy said when the battered gray SUV came close enough to be recognized.
“Fuck,” Pookie added. Both Bar-D cowhands started in surprised and then stared wide-eyed at the tiny woman they’d just met.
“Would have been nice if he’d come early enough to help with the work,” Joe Bob commented.
“Who is it?” a Bar-D hand asked.
“It’s our fire chief, Guy Guyette,” Brad said.
The two Bar-D hands looked at each other. “Sounds like you folks aren’t real fond of him,” one said.
Kathleen sliced at the roast beef on her plate with such vehemence that the knife grated against the enamel. “You might say that,” she responded.
Brad turned to the two hands, pausing to think, seeking a quick explanation for the two outsiders. “He damn near got Judy killed.”
“What?” one hand said.
“That he did,” Joe Bob added.
The other Bar-D hand turned to Pookie. “Well then, I have to agree with you,” he said.
“Yeah,” the other added. “Fuck.”
“Fella’ thinks he’s shit-on-a-stick when he’s really only a fart-on-a-toothpick,” Harold said.
“Damn! He must be a piece of work. You folks are some of the nicest and most patient people I’ve ever kn
own,” one Bar-D hand said.
The SUV pulled into the drive and slid to a halt, covering the eating workers in a cloud of dust. Guy stepped from the vehicle. He walked with his head high, chest out, and stomach tucked tight, sauntering toward the group.
“Thought I’d come make sure you weren’t creating any fire hazards,” he said as he walked.
“It’s all fine, Guy. We know what we’re doing.” Judy looked at the new arrival and fought a brief internal battle between her distaste for the man and her deep-seeded values of country hospitality. “Grab a plate and help yourself,” she finally said.
Guy looked surprised and then undecided. Judy watched as his gaze lit on the buffet of fine food. There was hunger in his eyes unlike any Judy had ever seen before. She found herself wondering how often this odd little man ever enjoyed a real, home-cooked meal.
“Eat. There’s plenty,” Judy said. She ignored the scathing look Kathleen sent her direction.
Guy rushed to the table, filling a heaping plate and taking a beer from the cooler. He found a seat on the ground underneath a shade tree far from the group. All eyes watched as he attacked the food with intense hunger.
Harold looked intently at Judy until he caught her attention. He smiled softly and nodded approval. Judy heard his telepathic message. You’d make your folks proud, she felt him think.
It only took a few minutes for the atmosphere of camaraderie to return.
“That sure is a fine hat you got there,” a Bar-D hand said to Pookie.
Pookie took her now dusty and sweaty derby from her head and studied it. “It doesn’t look as good as it did when I bought it. Judy said I had to have a hat.”
“Looks better to me. You got the sweat and dust of a real cowhand,” Judy said.
Pookie blushed and smiled, obviously pleased.
“I’ll admit you done good today,” Harold said.
“Yep, but you’re the first cow puncher I ever saw with blue hair,” a Bar-D boy said. The grin he gave Pookie was a warning sign to anyone who knew ranching. The teasing had just begun. Judy sat perfectly still, waiting to see how Pookie responded.
Pookie smiled at the cowboy. “At least I don’t talk a blue streak, like some people I’ve met today.”
The other Bar-D hand laughed and slapped his companion on the back. “You got yourself a winner here,” he said, directing his remarks at Judy.
“She’ll do,” Judy said.
The sound of Guy’s metal plate hitting the ground drew everyone’s attention. They watched as he stood, leaving his plate and beer can under the tree.
“Mystifies me why women want to pretend like they’re men,” he said, walking toward the group.
For a moment, nothing was said, but the atmosphere was charged. One Bar-D hand looked toward Pookie, shook his head, and quietly mouthed the word “fuck.”
In the silence, Judy stared at Guy, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re welcome,” she finally said.
“For what?” Guy asked.
“For the meal. You know, we’re not a restaurant here. You need to take your plate and silverware to the tub by the table and put your beer can in the trash,” she said.
Harold chuckled softly and looked toward Judy. “That’s my girl,” he said.
Guy looked around the group, ignoring Judy’s instructions. “Who’s the boss here today?” he asked.
“I am,” Judy answered.
Guy walked up to her, standing over her. “No matter how hard you try, you’re never going to grow a dick,” he said.
Judy placed her plate on the ground and stood. Despite the fact that she was four inches shorter than the man and at least seventy pounds lighter, Guy took a step back, a hint of fear in his eyes.
“It’s time for you to leave,” Judy said.
“Not until I make sure you have a permit to start a fire for any branding you plan to do,” Guy said.
The sound of Joe Bob’s laugh re-directed attention to him. “We all know that’s not required, Guy. You’re just being a pain-in-the-ass,” he said with forced patience.
By now, everyone was on their feet. Guy looked around, surprised. “I’m the fire chief, and I say what’s required,” Guy responded.
“Maybe not for long,” Harold said.
“You…you need me. You bunch of rookies don’t even know how to order equipment or trucks,” he said.
“We’ll learn,” Joe Bob responded.
Guy turned directly to Brad. “What’s wrong with you men? You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? You’re the deputy chief. No woman can do the job. What are you doing taking orders from this bitch?” Guy pointed an accusing finger toward Judy.
It was a right hook, and it was a damn good one. Brad placed it square on Guy’s chin, and the unwelcome visitor flew back, lying on the ground, rubbing his chin, stunned.
“Thanks,” Judy said to Brad.
“No problem. After all, what’s a soul brother for?” Brad responded.
Guy scrambled unsteadily to his feet. “I’ll be calling the sheriff about this,” he said.
“Go right ahead. We don’t take kindly to invasive trespassers around here,” Martha said.
Guy dusted himself off and walked unsteadily to his SUV. As he opened the door, he glared at Judy. Never in her life had she seen such open hatred. As he drove out of the yard, Guy’s back tires flung dirt and gravel at the group.
“Damn! He is a piece of work,” a Bar-D hand said.
Harold now stood beside the food table, lifting the plastic cover off of the carrot cake his wife had made and noting the plastic wrap over the two pies. “At least he didn’t get any dirt in the dessert.”
The unwanted visitor was more-or-less forgotten as they all turned their attention to important business…dessert.
Chapter Twenty-one
Surprise
Driving while annoyed makes the miles seem longer. Judy approached the fire station a bit faster than needed. She wanted to get the job done and get back to the ranch. She and Kathleen had already finished the morning rounds checking cattle, including the recently released yearlings who survived the trauma of weaning and branding. None seemed overly traumatized as they adjusted to life without mothers. Good grass, cool water, and warm summer sunshine triggered the natural bovine passion for contentment. Pookie stayed in the workshop, adding to the life-sized metal buffalo sculpture. After she and Kathleen returned from checking cattle, Judy resumed her role as sculptor assistant.
Watching and helping the young artist gave Judy a great sense of pleasure. Is this what it’s like to have a daughter, Judy wondered. When the phone rang, Judy grudgingly picked up the workshop extension, saving Kathleen the duty of answering the phone. In the house, Kathleen sat at her desk, focused on meeting an article deadline.
“Proctor Ranch,” she answered. She pulled off her welding gloves and threw them on the worktable as she listened. “Did you call the station?” she asked. Another pause in which a frown curled her lips and deepened a crease between her eyes. “All right,” she said without pleasure. “I’ll meet you there.”
Pookie turned her attention from the metal buffalo taking shape before her. She stood within the utility trailer where they were building the heavy creature. It was far easier to load the full-sized art one piece at a time rather than as a completed sculpture. Unloading at the community center would be a different matter, one they would deal with when the time came and with a substantial amount of help.
“Who’s that?” Pookie asked.
“UPS,” Judy answered. “They have a big shipment for the fire station, but they can’t get Guy on the phone, and a signature is required.”
“Want me to go with you?” Pookie asked.
“No, keep working.” Judy gestured toward the buffalo. “He’s really coming together.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I shouldn’t be gone for long.”
The UPS truck was already parked beside the station when Judy arrived. Judy knew t
he driver had called from his cell phone while in route. She parked beside him, then walked toward where he sat in his van, the driver’s door open.
“How much you got?” Judy asked.
“About ten boxes and some are heavy,” he answered.
Must be the wildland tools and personal gear, Judy thought. “Why don’t you back up to that first bay, and we’ll unload there?”
“Sounds like a plan,” the man responded.
It didn’t take long. They unloaded all ten boxes, most oblong with two big, square cubes. Judy signed the electronic tablet for the driver, closing the bay door as he drove away. She turned her attention to the boxes stacked against the wall of what served as the company classroom, an open space where the primary personnel door entered the station and adjacent to the small office. She noticed one oblong box had a large red star written in marker on the side, and her curiosity was piqued.
Guy will be pissed if I open it, she thought. That made her smile with pleasure, and she pulled out her pocketknife as she walked toward the box. It only took a second to slice the clear packing tape holding the top closed, pull the flaps open, and see the contents within.
“Combi tools!” Judy called in pleasure. She’d seen them used in training videos and had seen the pictures. From the very first, this unique tool with a shovel head and pick head on a locking swivel, so that it could be used in a multitude of combinations and purposes, had fascinated her.