CHAPTER 44 – Waste of Time
Jarvis lay on his bunk in the corner, watching as the last of the hands finished shaving and combing their hair in preparation for their return trip to town. All he could think, watching them, was what a waste of time it all was. For one thing, they'd come back from the fairgrounds, where they'd been watching the rodeo all afternoon, and most of them were already half-drunk, and looked it. Riding around on the back of Walker's flatbed truck, they'd been dried out in the sun and wind and now, with bloodshot eyes, looked untamable. Still they entertained wild notions that tonight each of them would somehow attract women who wouldn't be put-off by their looks or occupations. "Waste of time," is all Jarvis could think, watching as one-by-one they stood in front of the mirror and poured on the Vitalis and Old Spice. However they looked in front of that mirror, they were going to be covered in dust by the time they got back off that flatbed. Jarvis was doubtful about their women prospects.
"You goin' with us?" someone asked, but Jarvis just said, "I'll see you in town later." He hadn't told anyone about his "date" tonight with Lily. One after the other, the cowboys shined their boots, pulled them on, and went outside to climb onto the back of the truck. Finally only Harve Tate was left, looking in that mirror, while outside the others called for him to hurry up.
Harve ran a comb through his hair a couple of times, and then seemed to freeze in front of his own reflection. He was looking at the way his hairline receded and how thin he was getting on top. He traced the outer ridges of his square forehead down to his eyes, and then wondered through the surrounding lines. Harve didn't look at himself all that often, but this had been a landmark day and it required a review. The self-verdict was that he was looking older. Wayne Morrison, his best friend, had left Walker Ranch this morning, gone in disgrace after twenty-five years as a top hand. Now Harve was feeling mighty alone. He was ten years older than any cowboy left on Walker Ranch, save for Frank Walker himself, and as he counted the lines in his face he wondered how long he could possibly have left in cowboy town.
Harve heard the boys out on the truck, calling out for him to join them, and he pulled his hat down over his head. As he turned to leave, he noticed Jarvis, lying on his back, almost out of notice in the corner bunk. He was being unusually quiet. "I guess we'll see you in town, huh Jarvis?" he called out.
"Sure, Harve," Jarvis called back strongly, but Harve thought the voice sounded forced. He paused for a moment, and then walked over to Jarvis' bunk. "You okay?" he asked.
Jarvis looked up at Harve. "I'm okay," he said. "I guess I'm thinkin' about what happened with Wayne." Jarvis knew that Harve and Wayne were close.
Harve shrugged. "Yeah, I guess we all have been."
"How do the other guys feel?" Jarvis asked. "Do they feel like Wayne did? I mean, about me bein' foreman?"
"No," Harve assured. "I think everybody thinks you're doin' a real good job." "But Wayne was a top hand," Jarvis said. "He'd been here a lot longer than I had.
Maybe it wasn' t right that Frank gave me the job."
Harve just shook his head. "Life's like that, it's not your fault."
"Maybe it's like some people say – that it's because Frank lost his son, that I'm gettin' treated special in his place," Jarvis said.
"Look, Jarvis. Whatever anybody says, there's good reasons Frank made the choice he did. Don't underestimate him, he's a smart man." Harve took a deep breath and resettled himself on his feet, like what he had to say wasn't easy for him. It was, after all, the truth about a cherished friend. "Frank made you foreman because he saw somethin' in you. Maybe it was good judgment. Whatever it was, he didn't see it in Wayne, probably because it weren't there to see. His shootin' old Pete Parker's bull tells you that. Wayne's a good man, but he's not smart." Harve looked at Jarvis, sincere-like, as if to make him know that what he had to say needed to be heard. "As far as that other thing you said, about Frank losin' his son . . . I never been a father: it's one of the sorrows of my life. I can only guess at what a man who gets to be a father, and then loses a child, must feel. My guess is Frank's suffered a pretty strong loss, and if havin' you around somehow makes it easier for him, I say so be it. I'd also say you got nothing to be ashamed of, gettin' the benefits of that man's affection. Any man who'd deny you gettin' a break like that is just jealous, that's all. Frank made the right choice, Jarvis – at least as right as any other. He could've given me the job." Harve grinned sheepishly at Jarvis, as if he were just joshing. "He made a good choice."
Harve nodded. "I'll see you in town," he said, then turned and started to walk away. The cowboys out on the truck were impatient and could be heard yelling for his attention.
"Thanks, Harve," Jarvis said, as Harve left him alone in the bunk. Then Jarvis lay there thinking about what had been said, as the shadows grew long on the wall, and the light began to fade.
* * * * *
"Pete – I saw somethin' this mornin', somethin' bad."
Pete, bent over to pour some slop for his hogs, looked up at Py, hearing the nerves in his voice.
"I saw buzzards – a whole flock of 'em – sittin' on the fence row out south of the barn," Py continued. "They were all facin' east, with their wings out like . . ." He bent forward a little, posturing like one of the big birds, and held his arms out so that his forearms were straight up and down, like Dracula peeking out through his partially open cape.
"Is that right?" Pete said. "Where was they?"
"Right out there!" Py said, pointing to the other side of the barn. "It was early this mornin', right around sun-up."
"I'll be," Pete said, non-plussed. "What you suppose they were
Pete shook his head. "I tell you, Py, I been out in these parts better'n sixty years and I ain't never seen nothin' like that."
"I've seen it once before," Py said, spooky-like. "It was the day Walt Vrbas got killed."
Pete frowned. "Oh balderdash! Now don't you be thinkin' that way. Don't you be gettin' all superstitious on me."
"I'm just tellin' you what I saw, Pete," Py said, undeterred. "The last time I saw it, somebody died!"
Pete went back to slopping his hogs. "Well don't get yourself all upset over it. It's just a bunch've dumb birds. In fact, the dumbest birds there is, and none of them things is any too smart anyhow. It's not like they know things is gonna happen, if that's what you're drivin' at."
"They know 'd it before," Py said.
Pete spit on the ground. "Balderdash," he repeated.
Truth was, Pete found the story unsettling, not because he placed any faith in the prognostication abilities of carrion-eating birds, but because he was a little unsteady on his pegs today, and anything was liable to upset him. Even turkey buzzards. Last night had been as bittersweet as any he could remember in his lifetime. Like Py, he had hoped for better. He too wanted Jake's last night on Parker Ranch to be special. It seemed like there was a lot that needed to be said and a ton of mixed feelings to work through. He had given much thought to Jake and his situation, to his relationship with Tory, and about all that Jake had done to help him breathe new life into Parker Ranch. Jake had somehow come to feel like family to him, just as had Py. It hurt badly to imagine what the future would be like, with Jake gone, and only Tory, Py and him to carry on. Pete had so many things to say, not the least of which was that he believed in Jake and was willing to stick by him, whatever was going to happen. But then the evening got strange – stranger than expected. There was Wayne Morrison's surprise confession, which cleared up the mystery around the death of the bull, but somehow only made Pete feel worse.
What was happening in this world? Pete had known Wayne Morrison for many years, and never had a bad thing to say about him. He couldn't imagine how many games of poker the two of them had played down at Snorty's pool hall, and how many times they'd gotten drunk together. Even today, if Pete 'was to hear someone bad mouth Wayne Morrison he'd be ready to lay 'em out in the dirt. Wha
t must have happened to Wayne that he would do what he did? And Jake, having still another set-to with Frank Walker.
Had everyone gone mad? And that still wasn't the worst of it. That had come later, after everyone had gone to bed, except for he and Tory.
Father and daughter had stayed up talking until nearly 3 a.m. Pete couldn't recall a time when he had seen her in such pain. "I'm scared, Dad," those were the words that still resonated in his mind. "Not only about tomorrow night, but about the future." It was completely unfamiliar territory for Tory, whose most striking personal characteristic had always been her fearlessness. It surfaced back in her childhood, when she was a tomboy and the first among her friends to try anything. Pete recalled her walking along the old dilapidated bridge that crossed Buford Canyon, so rickety and unsafe that the county had condemned it, and the sheriff’s office had issued warnings to families that children should be warned away from using it. Tory had shown-off to friends, walking along the side-rail 2x4 like a high-wire walker, defying the fifty foot drop below. She had made a sport of leaping onto the backs of Pete's yearling steers, holding on for dear life while they bucked and kicked and tried to dislodge her. During high school she and a group of friends scaled the "Flatirons," above Boulder, a treacherous feat of sheer-face rock climbing, and only Tory had made it clear to the top. She had to be rescued by forest rangers, but she never got scared. Then, after high school, her trip out to the west coast had been all about proving how independent and capable she was, proving her mettle, as it were. She had never fretted over "girlish" things, like break-ups with boyfriends and social competitions. Her main thrust in life seemed to her father to be proving that she could do anything she set her mind to – that she was unstoppable. And, in most ways, she had succeeded. She had survived, if not flourished from, her trip out west. She'd come back wiser, but not battered. In fact, Pete marveled at her self assurance and confidence and thought "what a hell of a woman" she had become. But last night was disturbing to him. Last night he had seen her weak and vulnerable side.
Tory was in love with Jake, who most anyone would have categorized as "the wrong man." She seemed crushed by the probability that he was slipping through her fingers – that he would soon be gone, maybe forever – and that she could do nothing to protect him. "Jake'll be alright," Pete had tried to tell her, "he can take care of himself," but Tory was inconsolable. She cried for nearly an hour, and during all that time all Pete could do was hold her and think, "this is my little girl." He gave no thought to focusing anger on Jake for what he had done to her, only to sharing his daughter's pain at what had transpired and was yet to come. "I love him, daddy," is what she had told him. Pete couldn't think of anything to say, other than, "I know you do, honey. He loves you, too." But best wishes and affection changed nothing. Jake was snared in a hopeless situation and he had dragged them all into it with him. Nothing was left but to let it play out. And after that? It almost made Pete cry, too. Again in his life, they had come too damned close to the happiness that they craved and that had largely eluded them. It seemed criminal, the way events always transpired to steal their hopes away.
CHAPTER 45 – Big Night
"You look mighty pretty, Lily," Jarvis said, holding the car door open, so Lily could slide in behind the steering wheel. He was as sincere as he'd ever been at any moment in his life.
"Well, you look like a stupid dirt farmer – and you smell, too," she responded with a pout, plopping herself indelicately onto the driver's seat.
Jarvis frowned, but then closed the door and ran around to the passenger side to let himself in, before Lily could drive off and leave him behind. She had insisted on driving her drop-top, though her father had offered Jarvis use of the family car for the night. "If I have to go with you, then at least I can go in my own car," she said.
Jarvis was just barely starting to get the door on his side closed when Lily slammed the car into gear and spun its tires, throwing dirt out behind as they lurched out of the ranch yard, headed for the road and Longmont.
"It seems to me like it'd be a lot more fun for both of us if you'd just try to be a little nicer about this," Jarvis pleaded, as the two of them shot up the county road on their way to the dance.
"Look, Jarvis Lang," Lily said, laying down the law. "I'm only here because my father made me come with you. I don't have any intention of having fun. Not with you, not with anyone!"
"Well that's a fine attitude," Jarvis said, having to practically yell to be heard above the noise, as Lily barreled down the dirt road at nearly sixty miles an hour. "Most people look forward to the Cow-Cutter's Ball. I don't see what harm it'd do you to be a little more like everybody else."
Lily glared at him as if the idea were beneath her. "I don't want to be like everybody else," she said, indifferently.
Jarvis watched the road for a moment, half-frightened that Lily may steer them into a ditch and kill them both. Then he looked at her and asked – "Did you mean that? I mean, about me smellin'?" He raised his arms and sniffed at his pits.
Lily just rolled her eyes and shook her head, unable to comprehend his lack of couth. "You '11 be fine once we get there," she said sarcastically. "I'm sure a lot of people will have ridden in on horses."
Jarvis looked exasperated. "Now why do you have to do that?" he asked. "Why do you have to be so God-darn mean to me? You know you're daddy made me do this. I'm in the same fix you are!"
Lily shot him a hot glance. "Oh, is it a fix your in?" she asked, offended. "Well there'll be a lot of other guys there – better than you, I might add – who'd be happy to be where you are."
"You mean – with you?" Jarvis asked dumbly.
"Yes!" Lily said, as if his inability to comprehend that confirmed his membership in a lower evolutionary order. "I don't know why that surprises you so."
"I know that," Jarvis said. "I told you you look pretty. I don't know what else you want."
"That I believe," Lily said curtly.
* * * * *
Dinner passed quickly, without much being said. "I don't see why you guys don't get yourselves up and go on in to town to the dance," Jake wondered, but it was an unlikely expectation. The tension had grown throughout the day, as the three Parker Ranch cowboys, and their one cowgirl, went about trying to behave as if everything was normal. Pete had purchased a couple loads of hay from a guy named Hendricks, who earlier in the week had brought the bales over on two trucks from his farm west of town, and Jake and Py spent time in the afternoon moving those into the barn, out of the weather. Several more loads would be needed for winter feeding, and they spent an inordinate amount of time trying to determine how best to stack those bales that had arrived, while leaving room for those that were yet to come. Somehow neither Jake nor Py seemed to want to rush the planning process, spending as long as they could thinking forward in time, which helped them avoid the present. While they were doing that, Pete doctored a couple yearlings, which had torn themselves up on some broken barbed wire.
Tory cleaned up around the yard, raking up the autumn leaves that now fell from the trees in number. Py later saw his elusive tomcat, and spent time chasing it around the windrow, trying to force it into domesticity, but without success. Then the sun got low in the western sky, and Tory called them all in for an early dinner. They tried to be chee1ful over the mashed potatoes, roast beef and waxed beans, but everyone's timing seemed a little off. Having dinner at six p.m. was partly responsible, since it was nearly two hours earlier than they usually ate, and signaled that scheduling had been modified to allow for something unusual. In this case, it was to give Jake time to get his few possessions in order, fully expecting that he would be in federal custody later this evening.
"Well, I'm all packed," he said buoyantly, when he returned from his bunk. "Good," Pete said, smiling kindly, his eyes vaguely pooled. "It's still pretty nice out. Shall we go sit out on the porch for a spell?"
"Sounds good to me," Jake said, and Py indicated that he, too, was up for it. "Go on out,
you guys. I'll join you in a second," Tory said, committing herself to the mess that was left in the kitchen.
"That was sure a fine dinner, honey," Pete said, to which Py added – "It sure was, Tory." "If you'll leave some of that, I'll be glad to clean her up myself after a bit."
"Thanks, Dad. I'll work on it for a while," Tory said, and the three men left her alone with the chore.
"So, Py – we've come a long way together," Jake said, tapping the boy on the shoulder as he sat down on the front porch next to him. "You feel any more like a cowboy?"
"Maybe I would if I had a horse," Py said, looking over at Pete.
"It could be we need one," Pete said, "if we're gonna get any more cattle."
"I never seen a ranch that didn't have a horse and a dog," Jake said, mockingly sarcastic.
"What the hell you want with a dog when you got pigs?" Pete asked. "I always thought they was a better animal."
"They don’t watch over nothin'," Py said, working the devil's side.
"They watch over stuff," Pete said defensively. "They just don't always tell you about it at the time."
"Well, I wish we had a dog," Py said.
"You’ll get one someday, that's my bet," Jake said, abetting Py’s ambition. "Maybe in the meantime you can catch that black cat."
Py shook his head, out of ideas on the subject. "He don't seem to want nothin' to do with me. I don't reckon he likes people."
"Well, that's his loss," Pete said. "You don't get pigs actin' that way." "What's this about pigs?" Tory asked, coming out onto the porch.
"Oh, Py here was just sayin' that he prefers pigs to women – says they're smarter and got softer lips," Jake said, ribbing his young friend.
"I didn't say that!" Py protested. "I said I like dogs!"
"I know, Py – it's dad who likes pigs," Tory said, smiling. "Well I do," Pete said, "and I ain't ashamed of it."
Tory went over and sat beside her father on the porch swing, and she gazed off toward the setting sun. It trailed down behind the continental divide, casting a glow of deep red, turning to amber.
Cooksin Page 40
