Ride With the Devil (7 page)

THE HERD WAS COMING NORTH, NOT IN ONE large mass, but in a long plodding column, generally no more than three or four abreast. On an average day they managed twelve to fifteen miles, and while on the move, one of the cowboys would ride as point man ahead of the herd, scouting for water and graze. Flankers rode on either side of the herd, to keep it moving, while one man rode drag, bringing up the rear. This was the least desirable position because the cowboy who rode drag had to swallow all the dust.

In many outfits the least experienced man would have been selected to ride drag every day. But Justin Parker, who was the trail boss, was fair about it, and he rotated the position among all the men, even taking drag himself when it was his turn.

The hardest part of the drive was to get the cows moving each morning. By design, the campsites were picked where there was plenty of grass and water. In addition, there would be an occasional tree or an overhanging bluff to provide some respite from the sun. As a result, the cows were reluctant to leave. Every morning they showed all intentions of staying right where they were.

Sometimes the drovers would have to shout, probe the an
imals with sticks, and swing their ropes to get the herd under way. Eventually their efforts would pay off and the herd would begin to move. Then, once the cattle were moving, they would change from three thousand individual creatures into a single entity with a single purpose. The inertia the drovers needed to overcome to get the herd moving in the first place now worked in their favor as the cows plodded along all day long at a steady clip, showing no inclination to stop.

There was a distinctive smell to a herd of such a size. It came from sun on the hides, dust in the air, and especially from the animals’ droppings and urine. The odor was pungent and perhaps, to many, unpleasant. To the cowboys, however, it was an aroma as familiar and agreeable as the smell of flour and cinnamon on their mothers’ aprons.

After supper on the seventh day of the drive, the trail boss, Justin Parker, walked over to the campfire for a second cup of coffee. The coffee was poured by Moses Gillespie, cook for the outfit.

“Moses, how are we on supplies?” Justin asked.

“We could use some more taters, onions, and flour,” Moses said. “And maybe a little more coffee.”

“We’ll reach Salcedo tomorrow,” he said. “You can go into town there.”

“What about the boys?” Moses said. “You going to give them a break?”

Justin turned to look at the hands. One man had finished eating and was lying down with his head resting on his saddle. The others were visibly tired and listless from the long drive, their conversations quiet and unanimated as they ate.

“Men, let me have your attention a minute,” Justin called.

Everyone looked in his direction.

“Tomorrow we’ll reach Salcedo. There’s water and grass there, and Moses needs some supplies, so I plan to stop there
for a while to give you boys a rest and to let the herd recover some of their weight before we drive them on up to the railhead at Marva.”

“Are you going to let us go into town, boss?” one of the cowboys asked.

“I’ll let three of you go in each night, and we’ll stay long enough to give all of you a chance to visit.”

“Yahoo!” one of the cowboys shouted, and the others joined him.

“How we going to select who goes in first?”

“Anybody have a deck of cards?”

Several of the cowboys pointed to one of their number. “Pete has a deck,” one of them said.

Pete Malone nodded in agreement.

“All right, we’ll draw high card. The two highest cards drawn will go in first.”

“I thought you said three could go in.”

“We’re using Pete’s cards, so he’ll go in the first night. Seems only fair.”

“Yeah, especially since they’re his cards and he’d probably draw the highest one anyway.”

“You sayin’ I cheat with my cards?” Pete asked.

“I’m just sayin’ you
know
your cards,” the cowboy said, and the others laughed.

Pete presented the deck, and one by one the cowboys filed by until all nine hands from the drive had drawn their card. When they were finished, Dusty Moore and Kendall Stall-worth were the other two cowboys selected to make the trip into town with Pete.

Pete and Dusty had been on several drives before, but it was Kendall’s first. At sixteen, Kendall was the youngest cowboy in the outfit, and everything about the drive was a new and exciting experience for him.

“You know what we need to do, don’t you, Dusty?” Pete
asked as he, Dusty, and Kendall were discussing their upcoming trip into town.

“What’s that?”

“Well, think about it. Young Kendall here is a virgin. We need to get him fixed up with a woman. It’s about time he got broke in.”

“Good idea,” Dusty said.

“You two don’t have to get me fixed up. I can do it myself,” Kendall insisted.

Pete shook his head. “Uh-uh, no you can’t,” he said. “Not if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Oh, I think I could figure out what to do, all right,” Kendall said.

“Uh-huh. And what if you get hold of a snapping turtle?” Pete asked.

“A what?” Kendall asked, confused by the question.

“A snapping turtle,” Pete repeated.

“What is a snapping turtle?”

“Well, it’s never happened to me, mind, but it happened to a fella used to ride for the Lazy M. Fella by the name of Slim. Well, don’t know that he was borned with that name, that’s just what all the other cowboys called him. Terrible thing, what happened to Slim.”

“What happened to him?” Kendall asked.

“He got caught by the snapping turtle.”

“You still ain’t told me what a snapping turtle is.”

“See, the fact that you don’t even know what I’m talkin’ about is proof that you’re too young to try and pick out your own whore. ’Cause, sometimes, what happens is, when a man is on top of a woman, why she’s liable to just snap shut on him. And when that happens, ain’t no way you can get loose. That is, not without having a couple of your friends come pull you out. Ain’t that right, Dusty?”

Dusty was trying hard not to laugh. “That’s right,” he said.

“Of course, if that does happen to you, why, I don’t reckon you’d really have to worry all that much. I mean you’ve got Dusty ’n’ me, and we’ll come right into that whore’s room and pull you out if need be. Not like poor ol’ Slim.” Pete took his hat off, held it across his heart, and, with a warning glance, indicated that Dusty should do the same. Seeing the other two do that, Kendall took his own hat off and held it across his chest.

“Poor Slim,” Dusty said, shaking his head as he went along with Pete’s story.

“Yes, sir, what happened to him was just awful. Well, it was awful for the whore too, but seein’ as how it was her fault and all, I just can’t feel as sorry for her as I do for Slim.”

“What happened to Slim?” Kendall asked.

“Why, he starved to death,” Pete said.

“Starved to death?”

“Yes, sir. You see, when she snapped shut on him like she done, well, there weren’t no friends around to come pull him out. So they just lay there, the two of ’em stuck together like two boards nailed together till someone found ’em both dead from starvation.”

“I remember that,” Dusty said, joining in now. “It was about the most awfulest thing ever to happen over to the Lazy M.”

“Oh,” Kendall said in alarm. “Oh, I wouldn’t want anything like that to happen.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry that much about it,” Pete said. “If it happens, all you got to do is let out a yell, ’n’ me ’n’ ol’ Dusty will come pull you out. Right, Dusty?”

“Right,” Dusty said. “We’d do that for our pard, all right.”

Over at the chuck wagon, Justin Parker and Moses Gillespie were trying so hard to suppress their laughter that tears were flowing down their cheeks.

In Salcedo, Flaire was hosting a dinner for Hawke. She had prepared the meal in her own kitchen and was serving it in the dining room of her apartment behind the dress shop.

“Chicken and dumplings,” she said as she brought the meal to the table. “I know it isn’t as fancy as the meal you had with Titus Culpepper, but—”

“But I will enjoy it more,” Hawke said, interrupting her. “And how did you know about my meal with Culpepper?”

Flaire smiled. “You would be amazed at how rapidly gossip gets around in this town. How do you think everyone found out about your early morning concerts?”

“What?”

Flaire laughed. “You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“You don’t know that early in the morning, when you play such beautiful music, you have an audience hanging around outside the saloon.”

“No,” Hawke said. “I didn’t have any idea. What about you? Do you ever come to hear me?”

“Every morning,” Flaire answered.

“But I don’t play every morning. What happens on the mornings I don’t play?”

“We have that covered too,” Flaire said. “Mr. Baldwin and Mr. Poindexter go to work at about that time, every morning. If they see candlelight in the saloon, they know you are getting ready to play, and they spread the word. You should see it; it’s like our own version of Paul Revere.”

“Well, I’m glad you told me. I’ll unlock the doors the next time so everyone can come in.”

Flaire shook her head. “I don’t think anyone would want to come in.”

“Why not?”

“It’s hard to explain, but I think everyone would prefer to
stay outside. There’s something…almost magical…about listening to beautiful music under a sky full of stars. Besides, I think they like the idea of listening to you without you knowing about it.”

Hawke smiled. “If that’s the case, why did you tell me?”

“Maybe I like the idea of sharing secrets with you, without anyone else knowing about it,” Flaire said. She spooned the chicken and dumplings onto his plate, then put the bowl down. “Tell me, how is it that you play the piano so beautifully? I mean, you certainly aren’t like the average saloon piano player.”

“My parents had a piano in our house,” Hawke said. “According to my mother, before I could even talk, I would sit at the piano and try to play. As soon as I was old enough, they hired a piano teacher for me. When my teacher thought I was ready, I went to Europe to study, and I even made a concert tour.”

“Oh, how grand!” Flaire said, smiling broadly. Then her expression changed to one of curiosity. “But I don’t understand. With such talent, why are you not playing concerts today? Why are you playing in saloons?”

“I’m not sure I can answer that question,” Hawke replied.

“What a shame. I’m sure it is the world’s loss,” Flaire said.

“Would you like to hear a concert?” Hawke asked.

“You mean other than the one you give in the wee hours of the morning? Yes, I’d love to.”

Hawke shook his head. “No, I’m not talking about a concert that I would give. I’m talking about a concert given by Gottschalk.”

“Gotts…?”

“Gottschalk. Louis Moreau Gottschalk. He is one of the finest pianists in the world, and certainly the finest in America.”

“Oh! Well, if you think he is the best, then he certainly must be,” Flaire said. “Where would this concert be given?”

“In San Antonio,” Hawke said. “I figured we could catch the stage to Marva, then take the train to San Antonio. Of course, that means you would have to close your shop for a few days. Can you do that?”

Flaire smiled. “That’s the beauty of being my own boss,” she said. “When is this concert?”

“Next week,” Hawke said. “If you would like to go, I’ll make all the arrangements.”

“Do you know Gottschalk?”

“Yes, I know him.”

“Is he famous?”

Hawke chuckled. “Yes, he is famous.”

“I’ve never met a famous person.”

“Then I will introduce you.”

“Oh, this whole thing is so exciting,” Flaire said. “Yes, I would love to go. Of course, it will cause a scandal, but I don’t care.”

“Oh? Why should it cause a scandal?”

“We will be gone overnight, won’t we?”

“Yes. At least for two nights.”

“In view of what people are already saying about us, this will just add fuel to the fire.”

“What are they saying?” Hawke asked.

“Are you kidding? First there was the picnic, which, because of the way you handled Culpepper’s three deputies, wasn’t exactly a secret. And now everyone knows I’m hosting a dinner for you. By the time we go off together, I imagine that half the town will have us in the middle of a torrid affair while the other half will have us secretly married.”

“I wouldn’t like to be a part of anything that would damage your reputation.”

“Put your mind at ease on that score. I have no reputation to damage.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I am a woman, running a business,” Flaire explained.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Women don’t run a business. It simply isn’t done,” Flaire said.

“How do they expect you to eat if you don’t have some way of making a living?”

Flaire laughed. “Heavens, the public can’t be bothered with such petty details as survival.”

“By the way, if you ever get tired of making dresses, you could always open a restaurant,” Hawke said as he enjoyed his meal. “This is absolutely delicious. Much better than the dinner I had with Culpepper.”

“You are being kind. Untruthful, I think, but kind.”

“No, I am being truthful.”

“Well then, kind sir, I thank you for the compliment. So now, tell me. Are you going to work for
Colonel
Culpepper?” She emphasized the title, showing her disdain for it.

“You know about that?”

“I know only that he offered you the job. Some say you turned him down, others say you are waiting to make up your mind.”

“So now the truth is out. You invited me to dinner just so you could find out whether I’m going to work for Culpepper,” Hawke teased.

“No,” Flaire said quickly—too quickly. Then, with an embarrassed laugh, she amended her answer. “Well, all right, but not just that. I’m actually paying you back for the picnic. But I do confess that I am curious about what you are going to do.”

“Then let me satisfy your curiosity,” Hawke said. “I turned him down.”