Medicine Bundle

by Patrick E. Andrews

  “When the big hand gets around to ten again, the hour is up,” he explained.

  Whitcomb nodded. “We’re getting good at this, Cawp’ral.”

  “Practice makes perfect, Sahgent,” Rawlings said.

  Harvey looked at the two soldiers. “Y’all care for any rabbit stew?”

  “We ain’t allowed to take nothing from civilian folks when we’re on duty,” Whitcomb said.

  “But thanks just the same,” Rawlings added.

  The Boomers ladled out the last of the stew to finish it off. They ate quickly, making sure none of the food was wasted. Luther looked at the two black men. “Y’know, I damn near got hung over in Missouri on account of I was against slavery.”

  “We appreciate that, Mr. McCracken,” Sergeant Whitcomb said. He looked at Rawlings. “Don’t we, Cawp’ral.”

  “Indeed we do, Sahgent.”

  Ed Benson said, “I served in the Michigan volunteer infantry during the war against the South. I helped free you darkies from slavery.”

  “And we thank you most kindly,” Whitcomb said.

  “You colored boys would be picking cotton for some damn plantation owner if it wasn’t for us,” Ed said angrily.

  “You’d see your wives and kids sold down the river,” Harvey added.

  “Oh, we know!” Whitcomb said.

  Luther studied the two black cavalrymen for a moment. “It would seem you two have been hearing that kind of talk a lot lately.”

  “We sure has,” Whitcomb said. “I swear that ever’ Boomer we run into has done his bit in whipping the South and freeing the slaves.”

  “We always thank them kind folks for the good they done our people,” Rawlings said.

  “We is forever grateful,” Whitcomb stated.

  Luther glared at them. “You’re joking with us, ain’t you?”

  “My watch is ticking away, Mr. McCracken,” Rawlings reminded him.

  “We’re obeying the lieutenant’s orders ’cause we’re soljers in the U.S. Army,” Whitcomb said. “Even if Abe Lincoln hisself was out here, we’d run him back to Kansas.”

  “But first we’d thank Father Abraham kindly for freeing us,” Rawlings added.

  “You bet!” Whitcomb said with a laugh. “No matter, we still got to be good soljers and obey orders.”

  “And do it on time too,” Rawlings added, holding up his watch.

  Luther gestured to his friends. “Come on over on the other side of the wagon. Let’s decide what we’re gonna do.” They walked around the vehicle and, after another look at the two soldiers, began conferring among themselves in whispers. “From what Lorenzo Markham told us, we got two choices,” Luther said under his breath. “We can either let them escort us back to Kansas where they’ll turn us aloose, or we can resist by making them arrest us.”

  “Do you reckon we’ll end up in jail?” Harvey asked.

  “If that lieutenant prefers charges we will for sure,” Luther said.

  “Oh, Lord!” Tom Ralston exclaimed. He had just begun courting a girl from an Iowa family. “I say we leave so’s they won’t throw us in jail.”

  “What do you fellers say?” Luther asked. “I’ll do whatever y’all want to do.”

  Tom quickly said, “Let’s not go to jail.”

  “The main thing is that they make an official report on us,” Luther said.

  “The lieutenant said he was gonna do exactly that,” Harvey replied. “So that’s already took care of.”

  “Then let’s get packed up,” Luther said. He led them back to the fire and nodded to Whitcomb and Rawlings. “We’re packing up, boys.”

  “Suit yourselves, Mr. McCracken,” Sergeant Whitcomb said. “The young cawp’ral’s watch is ticking on though.”

  It didn’t take the Boomers long to break down their camp and throw their belongings in the wagon. Everyone climbed aboard the vehicle but Luther. Noting they still had plenty of time, he stood looking at the cold ashes of their fire.

  “What are you doing, Luther?” Harvey asked.

  Luther didn’t answer. Now he stared thoughtfully in the direction of the young army officer. After a couple of moments, he walked over to where Grant Hollings and the rest of his detachment waited. The lieutenant reclined on the ground, reading a book.

  “We’ve decided to leave on our own,” Luther said.

  “A wise decision, Mr. McCracken,” Grant said. He stood up and put his book into his saddlebags. “There’s no sense in going to Wichita and perhaps ending up spending time in jail.”

  “We understand from Lorenzo Markham that no Boomer has ever been throwed in the calaboose for trespassing.”

  “There’s always the first time.”

  “I reckon they is,” Luther said. He started to speak, hesitated, then took a breath and said, “It would be all right if you visited me at my wagon and tent when you got business in the Clarkville camp.”

  Grant stared at him incredulously. “Beg pardon?”

  “You would be welcome to call on my…my family.”

  “Well!” Grant said surprised.

  “Feel invited,” Luther added.

  “Thank you, Mr. McCracken,” Grant said. “I would be most honored.”

  “I understand your part in this affair about settling Injun lands,” Luther said. “I know you’re just doing your job. I won’t be holding that agin you. I’m right sorry if I put blame on you.”

  “I’m happy to hear that, Mr. McCracken.”

  “Then I’ll finish up at the camp and we can head back to Clarkville,” Luther said. “Don’t forget to turn in a report on us.”

  “I won’t, Mr. McCracken,” Grant said. “I promise.”

  The young lieutenant watched the older man walk back toward the wagons.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Rocking H Cattle Ranch was in an uproar because of Silsby McCracken’s near maniacal obsession with roping. When he wasn’t tending to the horses or helping out Ben Shaw in the cookhouse, the rookie wrangler could be seen practicing endlessly with his lariat.

  Nothing was safe if a loop could be thrown over it. The rain barrel by the bunkhouse, numerous fence posts, saddles on the corral fence, and even Dewey Harknell’s old hound dog Pal had all been caught in Silsby’s innumerable tosses. The aging canine, growling and irritable, sought sanctuary under the ranch house porch when the boy appeared anywhere near him with a rope. A couple of cowboys from south Texas had begun to call Silsby el Cordónero Loco — the Crazy Roper. Another of the crew joked that the kid would soon be going after jackrabbits and rattlesnakes.

  After Silsby reached the point he was so proficient that he never missed a toss, Charlie decided to bring him up to the highest form of the art. Silsby was ready to begin throwing his lariat from horseback. Silsby’s riding skills had improved greatly through the constant work of rounding up mounts for the cowboys. The hands watching him paid the ultimate compliment a working cowpoke could bestow regarding equestrian skills: “That kid sticks to a saddle like shit to a blanket.”

  Charlie began the advanced instruction by taking Silsby out to a small herd grazing near the ranch proper that had been gathered for sale to the army commissary officer at Fort Gibson. The older hand followed his previous method of instruction by demonstration and advice. When the time was right, the younger man began his practice.

  Bouncing along in the saddle, Silsby learned the overhanded and underhanded head catches, backhand slip catch, and the heeling catch on the running bovines. With these new playthings now available, Silsby rode and roped with happy abandon, keeping the animals almost continuously on the move.

  Dewey Harknell had just returned from a trip to Tahlequah to renew his lease, and was headed for the ranch house when he noticed the activity. The agitated cattleman rode directly over to Silsby and Charlie, waving his arms and shouting at his foreman. “You’re letting the boy run ever’ ounce of fat off’n them critters before I can make delivery. The army wants steak for solid food, not bones for soup.” But he did
pay a compliment to Silsby, saying, “I reckon you’re good enough though. I ain’t seen too many seasoned cowboys as can rope much better’n you.”

  Charlie had an idea. “Say, Boss, we got some branding to do out on the south range. It’d really sharpen up Silsby to have him cut out calves and rope ’em for the iron. They’re smaller, quicker targets than this herd.”

  “Go ahead,” Harknell said. “Meanwhile, I got to let these critters stand around and graze to fatten back up.” He looked over at Silsby. “One more thing, young man. I want you to stop roping my poor ol’ dawg Pal, hear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “It ain’t right he’s got to hide under the porch,” Harknell complained. “He’s in his final years, and should be left in peace.”

  “Don’t worry, Boss,” Charlie said. “I’ll keep an eye on him. By the way, after we finish up with the calves, can we spend a couple of days in Kensaw?”

  Harknell thought a moment, then answered, “I reckon. There ain’t a hell of a lot to be did around here right now.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Harknell,” Charlie said. He hesitated, then added, “That means we’ll be gone on payday. I was wondering if we could get our money before we light out.”

  “You know I don’t like giving advances,” Harknell complained.

  “It ain’t for ever’body, Boss,” Charlie pointed out. “Just us as what’s gonna be away branding calves.” Then he added, “If you don’t pay us before we go, we’ll have to come all the way back here to get our money.”

  Harknell relented. “All right. Bring your crew over to the house in the morning.”

  “Thank you kindly, Mr. Harknell.”

  Silsby, with the thought of twenty dollars of his very own money, grinned in happy anticipation.

  ~*~

  Dawn spread orange across the ranch yard as the remuda was turned over to one of the older cowboys. His name was Tall Fred and he happily accepted the job. His hip joints had been flaring with a great deal of pain for a long spell, and the thirty-five-year-old was glad to trade places with the new kid.

  Silsby, Charlie Ainsley, Tommy Chatsworth, and Dennis Nettles rode south away from the ranch proper to tend to the branding chores waiting them out on the far reaches of the range.

  They arrived at the work site early in the evening. After setting up camp, they turned to collecting firewood from a nearby thicket. Then Charlie explained the operation to his eager young student. “You’re gonna pick up some good riding skills here, Silsby. As rope men, you and Dennis is going out to the herd and cut out the calves one at a time and rope ’em. You’ll drag the critters over to the fire where me and Tommy will take over.”

  “It’ll be a hell of a job,” Dennis said. “They’s got to be at least fifty of them little bastards that need branding. We’re gonna be earning our pay the next couple of days.”

  Tommy Chatsworth grinned. “I don’t care how hard we work. What’ll keep me going is thinking on that trip to Kensaw.”

  Charlie laughed. “Silsby is gonna learn a couple of things over there too.”

  “In Kensaw?” Silsby remarked. “What’s in a town for a cowboy to learn?”

  “That depends on how experienced he is in life, Silsby,” Charlie said. The three older men broke into laughter. “I wonder if Pete’s got any new gals to work with Fat Dora and Fanny,” he added.

  “Maybe so,” Dennis said. “Them two is starting to get real wore out and cranky on a busy Saturday night.”

  “You’re forgetting we ain’t gonna be there on a busy Saturday night,” Charlie reminded him. “We’ll be the onliest fellers in the place.”

  Silsby frowned in puzzlement. He didn’t know much about girls, and had no inclination to learn. All the chatter of his companions seemed both pointless and boring to him. He left them to what he considered stupid conversation, and went off to amuse himself by practicing some of the rope tricks Charlie had taught him.

  Later they cooked up some beans and bacon to eat with the biscuits that Ben Shaw had prepared for them. Afterward, settling down to some small talk over coffee, the group let the evening drift into night. This time, sleeping as a real cowboy out on the range, Silsby used a saddle for a pillow.

  His last waking thought, with his twenty dollars of pay in his pockets, was of the spurs he planned on buying when they got to Kensaw. He decided that was more important than a pistol and holster since he was riding and roping now. He would take care of weaponry and any other necessary accoutrements with the next month’s pay.

  ~*~

  The day’s work started at dawn. A quick breakfast and several hot cups of coffee fueled the cowboys for the job ahead. The fire was built up and three branding irons of the Rocking H Ranch were set in the flames. A small bucket of creosote was nearby, with a brush stuck down in the pungent, oily liquid.

  A half-hour later when the metal irons were red hot, Charlie Ainsley announced, “Well, boys, let’s get some calves over here and get this job did.”

  Silsby, following after Dennis Nettles, rode toward the herd of cattle. Following Dennis’ example, he headed for a calf to drive it away from its mother. The animal bawled in terror and began to run. Silsby whirled the loop of his lariat as he closed in. A quick and successful toss was made as he wrapped the loose end of the rope around his saddle horn. The horse, well trained and experienced, braced itself against the shock as the calf reached the end of the rope and was flipped over on its back. Silsby got the horse moving toward the fire, dragging the young bovine along as it struggled back to its feet.

  Charlie Ainsley waited until they reached him. He grabbed the calf and threw it to the ground, releasing the rope. He yelled out, “Hot iron!” Tommy Chatsworth rushed over with a branding iron. He pressed it into the flank of the animal sending up a stench of burnt hair and hide. The calf bawled and struggled as Charlie checked its sex. Noting it was a male, he pulled his knife from its scabbard, and reached over to cut off the testicles.

  Tommy, having returned the brand to the fire, came back with the creosote and liberally brushed the wound of the crude surgery. Charlie released the thoroughly frightened, castrated animal that ran back in terror to find its mother in the herd.

  Dennis brought up another calf as Silsby headed out, his lariat once more ready to be looped over the head of an unbranded animal.

  ~*~

  The work went uninterrupted through the morning and well into the afternoon amidst the yelling of the cowboys, the bawling of the young animals and the rapid clomping of hooves over the soft prairie earth. Silsby’s skill as a roper increased, as did his ability to stay in the saddle despite unexpected changes in gait and quick turns by his mount. He took a couple of minor falls when the horse surprised him with a sudden move, but he soon developed an instinctive rhythm that kept him aboard during the most violent equine maneuvers.

  Finally, Charlie Ainsley called a halt to the proceedings. He noted the two chase horses were getting winded. Since they had brought no relief mounts and there was no hurry, he called it a day. “I don’t care ‘bout you jaspers getting tuckered out,” he said to Silsby and Dennis, “but I don’t want to run them horses wet and ragged.”

  Dennis laughed and winked at Silsby. “Now you know who’s more important — us or the horses.”

  “We can be finished before noon tomorrow,” Charlie said. “Ever’body has did a good job.”

  Silsby had never felt so sore and tired when he dismounted for the last time that day. His crotch and butt felt as if they were rubbed raw, and every muscle in his body threatened to knot up and cramp. He walked around stiff-legged after unsaddling his horse, massaging the shoulder of his throwing arm.

  Supper was a quiet affair as the four tired men slowly consumed the food, savoring the nourishment going into their pounded, punished bodies. “I’ll tell y’all one thing,” Charlie said. “Soaking in the hot water at the general store tomorrow night is gonna be almost as good as poking Fat Dora and Fanny.”

  That confused Silsby
. “Are we gonna take baths in a store?”

  “Kensaw ain’t got no barber shop,” Charlie explained. “Joe Dantry keeps tubs in the back of his place for anybody that wants to take a bath.”

  “He’s got soap and towels too,” Dennis added.

  Silsby asked, “Who’s Joe Dantry?”

  “He owns the gen’ral store we’re talking about,” Tommy said.

  “Here’s something else you should know,” Dennis said. “If you’re short of cash money, Joe will loan you some on just about anything from a watch to your saddle.”

  “You got to leave whatever you pawned with him though,” Tommy cautioned.

  “And you pay him back more’n he loaned you o’course,” Charlie added.

  Silsby took a bite of his beans and chewed thoughtfully, trying to decide what kind of spurs to buy.

  ~*~

  The next morning was a repeat of the previous day’s labor. The exhausting toil was again marked by the odor of sizzling hair and flesh mixed in with the sounds of cussing cowboys, frightened cattle, and pounding hooves.

  The crew worked steadily and efficiently. Silsby was pleased that he made no misses in his calf roping while Dennis had three of the animals get away from him. When they finished the work, they gathered around the dying fire.

  Charlie pulled the brands out and stuck them in the ground to cool down. He looked over at Silsby. “You ain’t a wrangler no more. You’re a thirty-dollar-a-month cowboy, by God! I’ll tell Mr. Harknell.”

  Dennis added, “You done a good job, Silsby.”

  “Yeah,” Tommy agreed. “In another year you’ll be a top hand.”

  Silsby was worried. “Won’t Tall Fred be riled if’n I take his job?”

  “I think he’ll be glad,” Charlie opined. “He’s been complaining about his hips hurting off and on for some six months now.”

  “If’n you ask me,” Dennis said, “I’d say Tall Fred has the rheumatiz. He’s old enough, I reckon.”

  “Sure is,” Charlie agreed. “And his work’s been slipping. Better he’s a wrangler now. So Silsby takes his place.”