Jodi's Journey (7 page)

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 eager. “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?”

“I'm Hunt, or Boss. She's Jodi.” He smiled
and they rode out of town.

Jodi balanced the pie against the saddle.

“What about the horses?” she asked, miffed
that he would disregard the horse flesh. “Don't you want to take a
look at them?”

“I don't want to fool with breaking in a set
of horses unless I have to. We'll find some soon enough. If we had
more men and the time to mess with breaking them in, maybe, but not
now.”

Jodi nodded.

The herd was bedded down for the night as
they caught up to them, and several of the drovers were cleaning up
and putting the chuck wagon back together. It seemed Dutch had
eaten last and he was bickering mildly with Josh about having to do
the dishes.

Concho met them as they hobbled the horses.
“Señor Boss, a rancher came up to camp. Said he's got fifty head
of horses he could spare us. I liked the man, he was blunt and to
the point. He seemed an honest man. I told him you would be mucho
interested.”

“Good, will he be back or do I need to find
him?”

“He'll be here first thing in the morning,”
Concho answered with a satisfied smile.

“Good.” Hunt nodded, his spirits buoyed.

“Well boys, line up, Jodi has a real treat
for you all, black-berry pie.” Hunt smiled. All of the men gathered
around. “And this is our new drover. He's going to drive the chuck
wagon. His name is Matt.”

All the men introduced themselves to Matt and
smiled with a glint of amusement. Hunt knew that before the drive
was over, the boys would initiate Matt into being a real
drover.

The pie was gone quickly.

“First trip up the trail, kid?” Josh asked
curiously.

With an arrested expression, Matt watched him
closely. “The name is Matt, and yeah, it is.”

Josh nodded. “Well, I hope you know what's in
store for you.”

A tensing of his jaw betrayed his own
frustration at not being accepted as a man. “I know. I heard my
daddy talking about the trail drives. I can handle myself,” Matt
replied, unrolling his bedroll. “I handled my pa's freighter wagon
for nigh on to three years now.”

“That's good, but just keep that shotgun
handy. You might need it.” Josh laughed and turned in.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The next morning the rancher returned just as
he had promised Concho. He had the horses with him. Bronzed by the
sun, weathered by the wind, his face held dignity, like a shelf
full of books; his smile was broad and friendly.

“I saw the cattle yesterday passin' through,
figured you might be able to use a good string of cow ponies. You
won't find any better south of the Brazos. The name's Bill
Williams.”

Hunt smiled and shook the outstretched hand
of the stranger. Then he began looking over the herd of horses. He
moved slowly, methodically, between them, measuring them as only a
cattle man could do. Every one of them was well bred, and he knew
he'd have to pay handsomely for them. “Well, I like what I see.
What's your price?”

“Times are hard, that's for sure.” The
rancher smiled, but glanced at his string proudly. “Would get a
good price on the market, but I ain't got the time or the man power
to take up the trail. So I reckon fifteen dollars a head.”

“All right, that's a good price for broke in
cow ponies. I appreciate you stopping by.” Hunt smiled at the
rancher openly now, realizing instantly that this was an honest man
who obviously knew his horse flesh.

“Well, I have to admit, I got more horses
than I need,” the man said with a contented smile. “I was planning
to take them up to Ft. Worth, but when I saw your herd moving
through, I figured I'd give you first gander at them.” He paused a
moment for reflection. “I could get more for them there, but it
would take time I don't have to spare, if you want to know the
truth. So, we'd sort of be helping each other out.”