Gather My Horses (7 page)

“Good afternoon, Susan.” He had the sense of standing in the street in the heat of the sun, looking
up at the Lady Rowena, but he did not feel diminished.

Her voice had a courteous tone. “And how have you been since I saw you last?”

“Just fine.”

“I suppose you've been busy.”

“I've had to be. I've been out lining up new work. There's a couple of outfits I've packed for before, but I've had to get to know a couple more. It all takes time, half a day's ride here, a day's ride there. Get things in order, times and places.”

“Oh, I'm sure.” Her face did not move as she spoke.

“Of course, it'll be a little while till they take their cattle up to summer range.”

“Oh, yes.”

He hesitated, then asked, “And yourself?”

“About the same,” she said. She held her hands together as she nodded and said again, “About the same.”

“Glad to know you're all right,” he said. “I'll let you go now.” He lifted his hat and set it back down.

“Good-bye, Tom.”

“Good-bye.” As he turned to lead the horse, he saw her profile as she continued walking along the sidewalk.

Fielding mounted up and rode the three blocks to the café, which was located on the second street over from the railroad tracks. There he dismounted and tied his horse at the end of a row of others. There was no sidewalk here, just a worn path with fringes of grass, and he followed it to the door.

Inside, he looked around at the tables, which were mostly occupied, and he saw Richard Lodge seated
across from a young man Fielding had not seen before. Lodge, who was not wearing his hat, raised his head and then waved for Fielding to come over.

As he made his way, Fielding saw a chair on one of the two vacant sides of the table, so he headed towards it. Lodge took his hat from the seat of the chair, put it on his head, and motioned for Fielding to sit down. As Fielding scooted the chair under himself, Lodge made introductions.

“Tom, this is Ed. Did I get your last name?”

“Bracken,” said the young fellow.

“Ed Bracken, then. Ed, meet Tom Fielding.”

They shook hands, and Fielding settled into his seat. He noticed that the other two were both having beef stew.

“Ed's lookin' for work,” said Lodge.

“Oh.” Fielding looked at the young man, and beneath the dusty black hat with its round crown and wide, curling brim, he saw a kid of about eighteen. Bracken had short dark hair, eyebrows to match, and a light growth of mustache and beard. His brown eyes did not look up, and he had an air about him as if he had come in the back door and had asked to work for his meal.

The waitress appeared at the corner of the table, on Lodge's right and Fielding's left. “One for you, too?” she asked.

Fielding saw again the two bowls of stew. “Sure,” he said.

“Comin' up.”

As she turned, Lodge spoke. “Leonora, this goes with the other two.”

“Sure,” she said in a pleasant tone, and she walked away.

Fielding recalled having seen her before, but he had not taken notice of her until now. In Lodge's presence he saw her as more than just a biscuit-shooter. She was about forty years old, with a well-kept figure. Her brown hair was tied in back, and it swayed with the rest of her as she walked to the kitchen.

A minute later, she set down a large bowl of stew along with a spoon. Lodge glanced up at her without speaking, and she seemed poised for a second before she turned and left.

“Thanks, Richard,” said Fielding as he took up his spoon.

“Plea sure's mine.”

“Thanks again,” said the kid.

“Don't mention it. And we're not done yet.” Lodge gave the kid a friendly nod.

Fielding had to blow several times on the first spoonful, so he decided to let his stew cool down. He looked at the kid and asked, “What kind of work do you do?”

The kid's eyes came around. “Oh, whatever I can find.”

“You work around horses?”

“I've done a little.”

“Where did you work last?”

The kid's eyes went back to his food, and he gave a light shrug. “It was in Julesburg. Last year. I unloaded rail cars and loaded wagons.”

Fielding noticed the kid's pale complexion and put it together with his wounded look and what he had just said. It looked as if this kid had been in jail, and his hair was just starting to grow out.

“There's work,” said Fielding, “if you can keep from fallin' off a horse.”

The kid turned and smiled, showing a set of filmy, uneven teeth. “If I do, I'll climb right back on.”

“That's the thing to do.” Fielding spooned a chunk of meat from the top of the bowlful. It was still hot.

“That's right,” said Lodge. “Do your work and not complain, and you'll do just fine. You don't look like a complainer to me.”

“I don't think I am.” The kid's bowl was clean, and he set down his spoon.

“Here's the deal,” said Fielding. “I think I can get you on with a couple of fellas we know. Small roundup, not much.” He pointed side to side. “Lodge and I are both goin' along, and they can use another hand.”

“Do I have to ride wild horses?”

“Not with this bunch, I don't think. Just a lot of dust and flies.”

“That don't bother me.”

“I hope not. And if you work out all right at that, I've got some work comin' up. Packin' supplies to cow and sheep camps.”

“With mules?”

“I use horses. Nothin' against mules. I just don't care for 'em.”

“I could try that, too.”

“Eat your grub,” said Lodge. “We're ready for pie, just waitin' on you.”

As Fielding ate his stew, the waitress came and picked up the two empty bowls.

Lodge's brown eyes sparkled as he spoke to her
in a gallant tone. “Leonora, my dear, have the sheepherders and cowpunchers cleaned you out of all your pie today?”

“Not at all. I've got one I made this morning, with only one slice taken out.” She had transferred the bowls to her right hand and stood with her left hand on her hip.

“Apple, I hope.”

“That's right,” she said. She did not sound impatient at all.

“I think we'd like three slices, then.”

“With coffee?”

Lodge gave a questioning look at Bracken, who nodded. “Three cups,” said Lodge.

Leonora tipped her head toward Fielding. “Did he say he wanted coffee?”

Lodge raised his lively eyes to meet hers. “He's my nephew. I speak for him.”

Leonora gave Fielding a dubious look and walked away.

Out on the street, when Fielding saw that Bracken wasn't carrying a bag or anything, he asked the kid if he'd like to go pick up a few things he would need for work.

“I don't know,” said Bracken. “I haven't got hardly any money.”

“I'll stake you,” said Fielding. “If you don't make enough on this cattle work, we can carry it over when you work for me.”

“That's a ways off, isn't it?”

“A ways, maybe. But you'll need at least a pair of riding boots and a change of clothes. I can fix you up with a bedroll out of my gear.”

Fielding looked the kid over. He was a tallish young fellow, not filled out yet. He was wearing a drab cotton work shirt, wrinkled and too short in the sleeves, as if it had belonged to someone else at one time. His brown canvas pants were holding up but needed a wash, and his scuffed clodhopper boots were breaking out at the toes.

The kid didn't say anything, so Fielding spoke again. “Come on, don't feel bad about it. We'll get you fitted out.” He turned to Lodge, who stood by with reins in hand. “Thanks again for dinner,” he said.

“Glad to.” Lodge turned on his heel. “I'll see you fellas later.”

Fielding untied his horse, and Bracken fell in alongside as Fielding and the sorrel walked toward the main street.

“Is he really your uncle?” asked the kid.

“No, he's just a good man. Knows a lot, too.” Fielding recalled the shine in Lodge's eyes as the older man exchanged pleasantries with Leonora. “I'm beginning to get an idea, though, of where he gets some of his information.”

The kid seemed determined to make a good impression. After Fielding had bought the clothes and a little more grub, Bracken insisted on walking the four miles to camp rather than have Fielding saddle a horse and come back to pick him up on the road.

“I'll get there just as soon,” he said, “and it'll be less work for you.”

Fielding relented and rode out of town. Once at his camp, he put the horses out as usual, then
stored the provisions and rummaged around for bedding. He set out two blankets and a piece of canvas to serve as a ground sheet and cover. He put the parcel of clothes on top of that, along with a cotton sack for a duffel bag.

The kid came walking in a little while later. He had wasted no time. “This looks all right,” he said. “Tents and everything.”

“When we're on the trail, we don't usually set up this larger tent. That gear tent can be set up with just a rope between two trees, and we sleep in a tepee tent. Right now, though, it's all the luxuries.”

The kid looked around. “What can I do? Do we need firewood?”

“I believe we do. You'll have to go up the creek a ways. It's picked pretty clean around here.”

“I can do that.” The kid craned his neck. “How many horses have you got?”

“Nine.”

“Oh. That's a lot.”

“Until you need 'em. Then you'd be surprised how many you need to haul a little bit of stuff.”

Bracken made three trips with firewood while Fielding started a fire, put on a pot of beans to boil, and cut up bacon rind. The beans would take a couple of hours, and he could work up some biscuits toward the end.

When the kid set down his third armload of wood, Fielding said, “That should be enough. We're not goin' to be here that long.”

“Anything else I can do?”

“Here.”

Fielding led the way into the main tent, where he handed Bracken the cotton sack. “Here's your
war bag. Use it for your personals and your extra clothes.” Fielding pointed at the parcel. “There's your new clothes. You might want to go down to the water, get cleaned up, and change into these. Then wash out the ones you're wearin' right now. We're more than an hour away from grub, so you've got plenty of time. Oh, and here's your bedroll, just so you'll know.”

The kid hesitated. His eyes clouded up, and he had to look away and swallow before he could speak. Then he looked square at Fielding and said, “I sure appreciate you givin' me a start like this.”

Fielding felt a tightening in his own throat. “Everyone deserves a break,” he said. “You get a chance someday, you do the same for someone else.”

The kid blinked, then nodded his head. “I sure as hell will.”

Bracken was clear-eyed and attentive when Fielding showed him the morning routine of bringing in the horses and watering those that had been picketed and penned.

“Make friends with that brown horse,” said Fielding. “We'll let you ride him today. He's a good one to start with.”

While the kid hung around the pole corral, Fielding put the coffeepot on the coals and sliced some bacon. In a few minutes, the smell of frying pork was on the air. Fielding mixed up a batch of biscuits, and when the bacon was crisp he put the Dutch oven in place of the skillet. By then the aroma of the coffee had risen to mix with the smell of bacon and wood smoke.

When the first tin plate of biscuits came out of
the oven, Fielding divided the bacon onto two plates, along with three biscuits each. Then he and his helper sat down to eat.

“Dig in,” said Fielding, “but don't hurry. We'll have the second bunch of biscuits with our coffee, and then we'll saddle our horses.”

The grub disappeared, as did the second plate of biscuits. The morning air was still fresh, but the sun had gotten the flies up and around. Fielding put a lid on the cooling skillet. “We can use that grease later,” he said. “We'll rinse the plates and wipe 'em, cups, too, and get started.”

The area around the corral was well worn, so small puffs of dust rose as Fielding led the brown horse out. He handed the lead rope to Bracken and went for a currycomb.

As he brushed the horse, he talked to the kid. “Watch the way I do things, and do 'em the same way and in the same order. Not everyone does it alike, and you may have already learned something different, but as long as they're my horses, just do it this way. Same thing when we rig 'em for packin'.”

The kid nodded and paid attention.

Fielding curried the horse, combed the mane and tail, and put on the blankets and saddle. “You'll get to know your horses,” he said. “This one blows up against the cinch, so we'll tighten him again before we mount up.” He put on the bridle, coiled the neck rope, and tied it to the front left saddle string.

Next he brought out the bay horse and went through the same process. The kid held the reins of the brown horse and stood by watching.

“Notice that both these saddles are doublerigged,” said Fielding. “Always buckle the back cinch second when you're puttin' the saddle on, and unbuckle it first when you take the saddle off. If you don't, and the saddle slips around under his belly, you've got a hell of a mess. Maybe he tries to kick at it and gets his foot caught, and then it's worse.”

Bracken nodded. “How about the stirrups?”

“We'll adjust them for you.”

When the two horses were ready to go, Fielding waited until the kid was up in the saddle. Fielding took a last look around the camp, then swung up and led the way out onto the trail.

On the way to Selby's, Fielding explained the setup. “This roundup's a small enterprise in comparison with others. We get things organized today, and we roll out tomorrow. We'll gather a few cattle each day, but we won't hold anyone else's. This fella Bill Selby is the roundup boss, for as much as it amounts to. You've got to have someone in that position, and he's got the most cattle as well as the wagon. We'll go right past Roe's and could have met there, but he doesn't go out of his way to invite people to his place.”