“Good, he’s getting your friend to haul him tomorrow.” Jones smiled big. “I thought you’d think like me.”
Busy working over her fire, Alma laughed. “Why did you even ask him if he wanted to sell it?”
Jones frowned at her. “I was on my best behavior.”
“Oh, Dirty Shirt, you don’t have none of that.”
He ignored her. “When will we go up there?”
“I can’t tell. But he is working on it. I think when the horses are broke to ride, we can go and see it.”
“What does it look like?”
“Run down, but you can’t tell much more than that flying over it that fast.”
“Is it cold up there?”
“Not sure, I didn’t get out to look around. But I expect it’s about like here.”
“No. One winter I was in Flag and nearly froze my fingers and toes off.”
Mark laughed. “Come on and help get the horses put away.”
Jones followed him and together they unharnessed the team and turned them in the corral to roll in the dust.
“That is way higher. This is down on the river. Let’s go in. She’ll have supper fixed soon.”
Jones followed him, not hushing up. “You hear him, sister. He don’t care if we freeze our asses off.”
“Maybe you will need a wife for a stove?” She glanced toward the men with a big smile on her face.
“You find me a big fat one. She’d be warm.”
“No, she’d steal all the covers off you to keep herself warm.”
“Oh, damn, I can’t win for losing.” Jones laughed until he was bent over.
Mark stretched his back muscles, seating himself on a cottonwood log. Those two sure did like to banter about anything. He hoped she hurried up cooking their meal. They could argue all night and then into the next day, still trying to get ahead of the other one. He shook his head in wonderment. Twelve hours earlier ahe’d been listening to the hum of the Piper Cub, now hearing his woman and partner trading jokes. What a world he lived in.
“I need to go get my saddle from Dad.” Mark gestured toward Alma who cooked tortillas over the fire. She always rode bareback, which made him wonder what had happened to Jeff’s saddle. She had it when they met up the first time, ’cause he saw it in her wagon, looking all shiny with soaping. He might ask her tonight after they crawled in their bedroll. Right now, he needed to satisfy Jones about the ranch deal, make him see what a good deal it would be for all of them.
Jones settled down nearby and stared at Mark. “You think you’ll get it? The money, I mean.”
Mark shrugged, played with a stick in the dirt by the fire. Supper smelled good and he was hungry. She was a fine cook, a better helpmate. How soon he’d begun to wonder what he would do without her. Life was funny.
It’d be hard to round up those wild cattle without Jones to help. He was one helluva cowboy for an Indian. Yet should he try to convince him to come in on it? His dad and Sam weren’t exactly buddies. They’d had some problems back when Dad was a sharecropper for Cline. Being a kid, he wasn’t sure exactly what it had all been about. Still, he didn’t want to do this without Jones. Cline was not a philanthropist, but he might be the route for him getting a ranch manager’s job and even maybe a partial owner of that place. He sure hoped he wouldn’t hear any artillery rounds or machine guns burping in that isolated country. He really hoped Dirty Shirt would come in on a partnership should Cline offer it.
Maybe when Gaines came to haul the stallion for Corning, he could find out if there was a way in to the ranch. They’d need a decent road to get the trucks in there to haul those cattle or else have to trail drive them out.
Supper was finally ready. His thoughts trailed away when she brought him a plate of hot beans, warm tortillas, and fried bacon.
After they ate, she apologized. “I’m sorry I was so slow. I’m kinda tired. It’s been a trying time for me. I was no help.” She was weary from all their traipsing around, as well as waiting on him. But there was more to it than that. When he held out his arms, she fell into them and cried.
“Oh, I love you, but I simply can’t forget Jeff. I can’t accept that he died over there. Do you understand why?”
What had brought this on? She hadn’t mentioned him in a long while. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were still mourning him. What can I do?”
“I saw a calendar at the Lehi store and remembered he was killed a year ago today. It made me think of him all over again. I don’t mean to be this way, but I did love him so.”
He had no idea she had still felt this way and he felt bad for her. But what if she couldn’t forget her first man for him?
He held her close, not knowing what to say. Hoping it was only the anniversary of his death that made her so sad. He couldn’t lose her, surely, he couldn’t. Was there always going to be something to worry about? In the war, the one thing was worrying about getting killed. Now it seemed every time he turned around it was something new to plague him.
“I have not been lying to you. You have stayed with me, been good to me. It is just so hard.” Pressed hard against him, she broke down in tears.
“Come with me, Alma. I’ll hold you in my arms on the bed.” He led her off to the sun-faded sidewall tent from war surplus.
He found little solace for her until she went to sleep in his arms. So many things she knew about people and getting along, but accepting Jeff’s death was beyond her reach. He knew about something being beyond one’s reach. Things slipped off the end of his fingers too—he only hoped this ranch deal worked. Maybe up there, she could reach what she couldn’t find down here. He snuggled close to her and closed his eyes until sleep came to him as well.
The next day, an old, battered Ford approached. His wife Shelia crawled out—not someone he needed or wanted to see. Alma seemed better. Calm and quiet. He worried enough about her without this. A cocky-looking driver stayed by the car. He wore a white t-shirt and kept his cigarette pack rolled up in the sleeve.
Wearing a dress a size too big for her, she marched right up to him, her black pumps kicking up dust. “Mark, I want a divorce.”
Maybe she’d gotten that dress from the Salvation Army. Her hair looked dry and frizzy, her skin dry. She wasn’t taking care of herself, but he had enough to worry about without taking on her troubles. All he wanted was to be rid of her after what she’d done to him.
How could he ever have wanted this woman? “Go get one, then. I won’t argue for you to stay.”
“I don’t have the money. It costs thirty dollars. I swear I ain’t got the money.”
“I’ll go find some paper and you can sign that I gave you the money, ’cause I don’t trust you with it otherwise. The two of you might go on a wild toot.”
Jones found him an old calendar month that was blank, and he wrote on the back.
I swear that Mark Shaw gave me $30 dollars for our final divorce on this day, the 17th November, 1945, for that purpose.
Signed, Shelia Shaw.
After she signed it, she handed it back to him. “I hate that you done me like this, Mark. Made me come beg you for the gawdamn money. I thought you was a real man.”
He leaned over toward her before he spoke softly. “Just go bed that guy standing over there by the car. You’ve probably done it before and that won’t be the last time. Goodbye, Shelia.”
“You gawdamn bastard!”
“Stay over there, big man.” Mark pointed to the man, who’d pushed off the car and started over, ready to defend his beloved bed-warmer. “I can whip your ass one-handed, and I want you to take this woman out of my sight.”
The guy finally opened his mouth to say something. “Come on darling, he ain’t worth nothing.”
Sheila left crying, her new man herding her into his old car. Before he got in on his side, he gave Mark a big finger.
Mark gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, resisting the urge to march over and mop the dirt with the man. The car backed around in a big
cloud of smoke and dust, the rods rattling in the V8 as it tore out over the humps in Jones’s driveway.
Good riddance.
Alma hung on to Mark and he slowly cooled down from the height of his madness. When he looked into her concerned face, he lifted her up and kissed her mouth. “I only hope she never comes back.”
“She’s going to have a baby.”
“Hmm. Well, it damn sure ain’t mine. I haven’t touched that woman since before the damn war.”
She began to sob. “I am so sorry.”
Now he’d made her sad again. “Aw, don’t cry for me. I don’t want you sad anymore. I love you.” He hugged her again, ashamed she was so upset over his silly little problems. Sheila was nothing when compared to the loss of her husband.
Jones rose to his feet. “We better get these damn horses broke. If we get a ranch like you described, we damn sure will need every one of them.”
“And every one of us, too.” There he went, speaking his thoughts out loud.
Good thing Jones spoke up. It changed the subject and soothed his anger against the woman who meant nothing to him, not worth the wasted thoughts. Time to walk away from the past for good. Forget the war and his so-called wife and look to the future. It was bound to be better.
For him and Alma and Jones.
Holding Alma with one arm, he reached toward the Indian, as if to shake hands in a pact. “We partners?”
Jones eyed his outstretched hand, then stepped forward and took it. He held it tight and looked at him square on. “Partners.” A pause and a big grin. “But that won’t keep me from grousing about all the hard work.”
Alma sniffed, then a laugh built in her chest and burst out. Mark joined her and soon all three were hee-hawing and holding each other in a tight circle. Mark sobered first, then Alma leaned against him and took a deep breath. Jones dragged out his bandana and wiped away his tears.
“This day didn’t start out well, but we can change that.” Mark picked up a few sticks of wood and tossed them on the coals. A flame leaped up, then another. “I don’t know about you two, but I could use a cup of coffee and a good breakfast before we get busy breaking those wild ponies. What do you say?”
Alma fetched the frying pan. “I will warm the tortillas and fry some bacon if you will gather me a bit more wood.”
Mark headed away from the jacal. “Wait for me, partner. I’m on my way.”
Alma called after them. “Now you truly look like partners.”
Mark waved an arm in the air. “That’s what we are. All three of us.” The day that had begun so lousy was beginning to look fine, one he could look forward to.
With a light step, he followed Dirty Shirt to a stand of juniper with a good supply of dead wood scattered about. Together, they picked up branches until their arms were full.
“That’s a fine woman you have there.”
“Don’t I know it. You ought to get you one. They’re good to have around, purty to look at, nice to hold. But make sure she can cook, or you might starve, the way you wrangle meals.”
“I ever decide I need me one, I’ll make sure and take your advice.”
Mark chuckled. Good to be joking around again. This was all going to work out just fine. He had a hunch about that.
CHAPTER FIVE
WITH BREAKFAST OVER, IT WAS time to break the wild ponies. Mark and Jones would go at it while Alma cleaned up camp and started a pot of frijoles for dinner. Leaning on the fence where they kept the horses, he glanced back at the jacal. Alma came out carrying a basket of clothes and headed down to the river. Her black hair hung in a braid against the colorful yellow blouse. In a skirt of blues and reds, she looked like a rainbow in the bright sunshine.
He was really home.
Here he would build himself a ranch. He might ought to pinch himself—make sure it wasn’t a dream.
Oh, it was real all right, and Cline was a good choice to get this done. He had a reputation for being honest. Down in his gut, Mark needed it to happen. Needed to have a new life with Alma, and Jones as well. They were a fine fit, the three of them, each one doing what the other couldn’t.
Horses whinnied and cut up behind him. He turned to make a choice for the first ride of the day. Dang, it felt good—the smell of horses and dust, the sun turning hot on his back, the thrill of the ride. He whirled his lasso into a circle, chose the high-stepping sorrel to start, and dropped the loop easily over its neck. Despite its wildness, the horse pricked his ears at the sound of Mark’s voice while he eased the saddle onto its back.
“Easy there, boy. You and me, we’re gonna have us a time, but you’ll settle.”
Rubbing the quivering neck, he placed a boot in the stirrup, easing his right leg over the sorrel’s back and coming down into the saddle. Taking a good grip with both knees, he prepared for the explosion. Before going off to shoot Germans, he’d done this for a living. Hell, he’d done it for fun, when he wasn’t picking cotton. Hooting and hollering while the crowd cheered him on—astride a stick of dynamite ready to explode. Waiting for the buzzer, knowing he’d made the eight seconds aboard chained lightning, and the crowd was going wild.
Now, it was different. Pride in what he had done so far, and hope in what was coming, rode this blamed crazy pony with him. Leaping high, coming down stiff, kicking out hind legs, the horse did everything he could to get rid of that burr stuck so good to his back. Nothing worked, so he slowed, trotted a ways, shook his head, and snorted in defeat. Trotting round and round, head held high, he acted as if the whole thing was his idea.
“You done good, you done fine.” Mark rubbed between the flicking ears and rode a while till the animal knew for sure who was boss. After a while, he dismounted and slipped the saddle off.
One hand on the taut flank, he stood there a minute, gazing down at the river where Alma washed clothes. Sunlight danced across the water, making a halo around her. Dang, he felt good. Under his breath he chuckled. He’d already told the world he felt good, but it didn’t hurt to repeat it. He straightened, turned, and picked out his next ride while Jones took a round with a sweet little dun.
That evening, they sat around the fire eating frijoles and tortillas and drinking black, scalding coffee right off the fire. Finishing her plate, Alma rose, dipped it into steaming water sitting on hot coals and moved to take the wash off the bushes where she’d hung it that morning.
“What about the big red?” Jones poured himself some more coffee to wash down the last of his supper.
“Tomorrow, I reckon. It’ll take both of us, not like settling down one of the young’uns. They ain’t got all their wild spirit yet. But him?” He shook his head in admiration. “He’s greased lightning.”
Jones nodded. “You on his back?”
The man knew Mark yearned to ride that red stallion. He’d made no bones about it, so there’d be no argument. That night, lying beside Alma snuggled into one bedroll, he went to sleep thinking about that horse. Not guns or battlefields or death, just that big wild horse and having it between his legs.
He woke up as the sun lightened the sky to the east and lay there for a while, watching blue tinges come alive above him. He eased out of the bedroll, careful not to wake Alma. Relieving himself in the brush, he imagined all the days ahead of them. Humming, he fastened his britches and gathered an armload of wood for the day’s fire. Dropping it beside the glowing coals from the night before, he grabbed a bucket and went down to the river to get water to put on the fire for washing up after breakfast.
Living out like this suited Mark okay, but he’d be glad when they built a proper house and moved up on the ranch. Alma stirred and joined him, laying kindling on the coals. He leaned toward her and gave her a kiss.
“What will you do today?” She slid the skillet onto a rock and laid bacon in it.
“Gonna break that big red stallion.”
She shook her head. “He is a big one. So pretty, but so mean.”
“He ain’t mean, just wild. We’ll take th
at out of him without killing his spirit. Jones is good at that. He talks to horses and they hear him.”
“Oh, and so the horse will just do what you ask?”
Mark laughed. “Well, not exactly, but he will know that we don’t want to hurt him, but simply to make him useful. He can still run when we want him to.”
“You will be his master.”
“Something like that, I guess.”
Shaking her head, she went about preparing breakfast.
What was coming with the red horse wouldn’t be any eight second joy ride. It would take both of them, him and Jones, to get this done. After breakfast, they got to it.
Left foot in the stirrup, Mark swung his other leg over and was ready for whatever the big red horse had to offer. Jones led him riding one of his stout horses. Still, it was no surprise when the wild-natured animal tried to buck him off. Jones had him snubbed tight enough on his horn so there was no head ducking allowed, and the snorting and kicking was short-lived.
It became an everyday ritual for him and Jones to get up at dawn to ride an unbroke horse snubbed to a tamed horse until all six were broke. Two of the horses were fine in no time. The others took more discipline. By about the fifth evening, it looked like they were about done. Six fine ponies stood eating hay in the corral, only spooking when startled instead of kicking up a fuss at every turn. They were good-natured, and Mark took to stopping to admire them while doing other chores.
There was wood to chop for Alma’s fire, water to carry from the creek, and of course the tending of all the stock including cutting them grass every day. It was the beginning of a good life and Alma took to it well.
On Tuesday into the second week, he and Alma went to Lehi where he made the call to Cline from the pay phone outside the store.
The man came on. “Hell, Mark, that Mayer lawyer, Hall, is talking about the Hancock Ranch like it was the King Family’s place in Texas that we’re thinking about buying.”
“Really?” He frowned at Alma standing beside him looking anxious.
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