House of Winslow 14 The Valiant Gunman

by Gilbert, Morris

  There was strength in the man, she knew, and because of this she was both drawn to him and repelled by him. This dual response was, perhaps, a natural result of her entire life—especially the last few years as she had grown out of girlhood. She had always been conscious of being different from her brothers and sisters, and her mother had made this more evident by her attitude. Delores had loved Logan Mann at first, but it had been a romantic impulse that had caused her to marry him, and the romance had soon died away. Logan Mann had taken her from her home to a small town on the northern Texas border where there were few Mexicans. Delores had never felt accepted by the white community, and six months after they were married, she had begged her husband to take her back to San Saba. But Mann had refused and had gone off to fight in the war soon after Rosa’s birth. Delores had returned to San Saba on her own, and never considered taking Mann back as her husband. She always spoke of Mann with disgust, giving Rosa the impression that he had been a cruel husband.

  Rosa had always been the odd child in the family, the half-gringo. It had caused her to feel unloved—which, in fact, she was. Only her grandmother—Abuelita, as she was called—loved her.

  If her early childhood was difficult, her life after she blossomed into a youthful beauty was even more so. Girls married in her world at an early age, and by the time she was thirteen, the young men were beginning to notice her. This attention had pleased Rosa, and she had encouraged it. As she grew older, however, she was aware that the men who paid attention to her only wanted her to satisfy their own desires. If a young man had come seeking marriage, she might have been different, but none did, and she became cynical about men, aware of her power over them—and using it. The stern warnings of her mother and the whippings administered by her stepfather had only hardened her, so that she had determined to leave as soon as possible.

  Now, lying wrapped in the blanket and regarding Winslow, she thought of what sort of man he was. In her world, the only choice a young woman had was to marry—or become a common woman. There were no jobs for such as her, so it was natural that she would see every man as a possible suitor.

  Winslow was rich, in her estimation, and a fine-looking man. He was strong, which frightened her, for she knew that she was totally at his mercy in the desert. But that strength drew her as well, for all her life she had been alone, with no one to watch over her except those who treated her harshly.

  Winslow fascinated her, and now in repose she saw no sign of cruelty on his face. The firelight threw its flickering shadows on his form, and she admired the smooth planes of his jaw and the steadiness that now appeared in his eyes. He was much older than she, but she knew of young girls who married men much older; it was common enough, and she was aware that this man, though older, was in the prime of his life.

  Finally Winslow straightened up, glancing toward her. Rosa stiffened instantly, a stab of fear running through her, but he got up and went to the opposite side of the fire, wrapped his blanket around himself, and settled down. Rosa relaxed and soon dropped off to sleep, thinking of how different this night was from all others in her life.

  ****

  “You’ve done a fine job, Diego!”

  Dan looked over the herd, noting the fresh brands and the notches in the ears of the cattle. He was tired from the five-day trip to get Rosa, but the sight of the cattle gave him pleasure. “How many do we have?” he asked.

  “Two hundred and four, Señor Winslow,” Diego beamed. “All strong animals.”

  It was far better than Dan had hoped, and he smiled at the small vaquero. “Maybe I can find a little bonus for you. You sure deserve it.”

  “Gracias, señor!” Diego bobbed his head, making the huge sombrero fan the still air. “We will leave soon?”

  “Tomorrow—daybreak if we can. We’ll have to pick up a wagon in town and fill it with supplies.” He hesitated, then added, “I figure the young lady can use it for a bed, too.”

  “It is a hard trip for a young lady, but we will do our best to make her comfortable.” Diego had said nothing when Dan had ridden in with Rosa, but now he seemed to have something on his mind. “I would not offend, señor, but it might be best if we make some rules. My men are young and will be drawn to such a beautiful girl. We must have no fighting over Señorita Rosa!”

  “My thoughts exactly, Diego,” Winslow nodded. “I guess one rule should be plenty—no romancing the girl!”

  “Ah, that is simple—and very easy to say, but it may be that a little reminding will have to be done, not only for my men, but—”

  Diego paused, and Dan stared at him. The man’s meaning came to him, and he said hastily, “No problem with me, Diego. She’s just a child, and I’m just looking out for her.”

  “You are her protector, that is true—but she is no child,” Diego shrugged. “I do not think she should be treated as one. But I will explain the problem to Pedro and Mateo.” A humorous light touched his brown eyes, but he didn’t smile as he suggested, “Perhaps you will explain your rule to Señorita Rosa?”

  “Why—!” Winslow stammered uneasily, then finally nodded, “I guess I’ll have to do that, Diego.”

  They made their last camp beside a small pond large enough to water the stock. Mateo, the younger of the two new hands, slaughtered a calf too weak to make the drive, and that night they had fresh beef. Since neither Mateo nor Pedro knew much English, most of the conversation was in Spanish. Winslow, who had only a smattering of that language, felt somewhat left out. He spoke with Diego about the supplies they’d have to pick up at the small town of Sandstone twenty miles north, but soon Diego spoke to the two younger men, and they moved to a discreet distance to unroll their blankets.

  Dan looked across to where Rosa was sitting and said to her, “I’m hoping we can pick up a wagon at Sandstone. We need one for supplies on the drive.” When she made no answer, he said, “It’d be a good bed for you, Rosa, a chuck wagon. We’ll have some weather, I’d guess. Besides,”—he took a deep breath and plunged into his “little talk” with her—“a young woman on a cattle drive can cause problems.”

  This last comment caught her attention. “Problems? What sort of problems?”

  “Why, you know,” he said quickly, “it’s a rough sort of thing, not too bad for men, but for a young woman, it can be uncomfortable. I mean—well, a girl needs some privacy.” Winslow was groping for words, feeling about as awkward as a man could feel, but it had to be said. “I guess if we can get a wagon, you can fix up a bedroom and have that—but I need to talk to you about other—problems.”

  Rosa sat up and leaned forward. The firelight threw her into relief, her face smoothly carved and almost golden by its gleam. “What problems are you talking about?”

  “Well, I don’t expect any sort of . . .” he faltered, almost using the word problem again, but it seemed to have been overused. “ . . . any sort of difficulty, but where there are men and a young woman on a long trip, it might be best if we kind of made some sort of rule.”

  “I see.” Rosa slowly reached up and took a pin out of her hair, a graceful motion that caused Winslow even more discomfort. “A rule,” she repeated, and as her hair was freed from the pins, it spilled over her shoulders. It was very long and glossy black, but Winslow could see some reddish gleams in the long luxurious tresses—the heritage from Logan Mann. Pulling a brush out of the small pouch near her, she began stroking her hair, and there was something sensuous about the motion, as when a cat stretches and extends her claws.

  “Tell me more, Señor Winslow—about this ‘rule’ you speak of.”

  Dan shifted uneasily, trying to find words to put the thing, and finally could do no better than to say, “Well, you know that young men sometimes get into fights over young women, Rosa.” He saw a tiny smile on her lips, the first he’d seen from her, but it didn’t make him feel any more comfortable. “The two young men, Mateo and Pedro, they can’t be blamed for noticing that you’re a very attractive young lady.”

  “No?
”

  “Why—!” Winslow felt her eyes on him and dropped his own. To conceal his nervousness, he moved around to find his cup, filled it from the pot, and tasted it cautiously. “That’s good coffee Diego made,” he remarked.

  Rosa continued to stroke her hair, and the slight curl in it made glossy waves. It fell over her shoulders almost like a silken cloak, and from time to time, she would change hands. Her eyes were lustrous and picked up the glow of the fire, and now she asked again, “What is the rule you speak of, señor?”

  “Well—it might be best if you sort of—keep away from the young men while we’re on the drive.”

  “I see. And why do you not tell them to keep away from me?”

  “Diego’s already done that, Rosa.” He sipped the coffee and tried to make the thing seem ordinary. “It’s unusual for a girl to be on a drive. I’ve never seen it happen. What I have seen is that men, all by themselves, get pretty tough. Not much in the way of manners. We talk rough—which doesn’t matter when it’s just men. But with you along, we’ll all have to be careful of our speech and—and other things,” he ended lamely.

  Her hair was brushed out now, and she lifted her arms and began to braid it. The action threw her young figure into prominence, and she asked curiously, “What other things do you mean?” Her voice was soft, yet the emphasis on the words revealed to Winslow that he was not going to put anything over on this young woman.

  “Rosa, men anywhere will try to make up to pretty girls. Not just on a cattle drive. I’m sure you’ve had it happen to you. At a party or a dance at home, I’d guess, young men have tried to—to get your attention. I mean, put their arms around you—things like that.”

  Rosa didn’t take her eyes from Winslow’s face. “And you are making a rule against that for me?”

  “Well—yes. But it’s for your own good, Rosa. I’m not expecting any trouble from Mateo or Pedro—but we’ll be meeting up with other outfits. When we do, there’ll be young fellows there, and I’d be surprised if some of them didn’t try to romance you.”

  “And your rule is that I must not let them?”

  Winslow nodded, relieved to have the conversation over. “I knew you’d see it my way.”

  Rosa stared at him, her hands busy with the braids. The silence ran on as she wound the thick plaits around her head and pinned them into place. Only then did she remark, “You evidently think that women are like dogs.” Her dark eyes narrowed. “That the females must be locked up to keep them away from the males.”

  Dan understood then that he had insulted her, and he retorted, “That’s not fair, Rosa! I only want to be sure you’re safe.”

  “No, you only want to be sure that the men are safe from me! Or is it perhaps that you wish to keep the others away from me so that you can—how did you say it? You can romance me yourself?”

  Her lips curled with scorn, and she rose and moved back into the darkness. Her accusation had caught Dan off guard, so that he sat there speechless. Then a wave of anger rose in him: Blasted fool girl! he thought savagely. I wish she’d stayed home where she belongs! He rose and stalked out of camp, and Rosa listened carefully to his retreating footsteps. She thought of his face as he’d tried to explain his rule—so serious! And she’d known all the time exactly where he was going. Suddenly she giggled, pleased that she had embarrassed him, and at the same time relieved that she would not have to worry about the young men. But even as she lay back, she thought, He’s so—so awkward! Just like a gringo! All that talk, as if I were a child who needed a lecture! She smiled again, then thought, It could be much worse. He could be fat and ugly—and always out to get his hands on me. And then she considered the fact that he had shown no interest in her at all, not the sort of attention a man would show to a woman.

  The campfire cast its gleam over the prairie, and as she lay there thinking, listening to the occasional soft lowing of a cow, another thought came to her. Perhaps he does not think I am attractive at all. The thought disturbed her, and it was followed almost at once by another: I can make him notice me—he’s a man, isn’t he?

  She was still awake when Winslow returned, and she listened as he went to his blankets. Even though the campfire was between them, he was close enough that she could hear him sigh as he lay down, using his saddle for a pillow.

  A smile touched her lips, and she snuggled down into her blanket, thinking: We will see how well Señor Winslow observes his little ‘rule’!

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  HARD-LUCK TRAIL

  When they were ten miles from Sandstone, Winslow rode up to Diego, who was riding point, to say, “I’ll go on ahead and try to buy a wagon, Diego. Anything else you need that’s not on the list?”

  “No, Señor Dan. We will rest the herd for the night at the river, yes?”

  Winslow nodded. “We’ve made good time. I’ll take Señorita Rosa with me to get the things she needs.” He wheeled his horse and rode back to where Rosa was walking her horse slowly off to one side of the herd to avoid the dust. “Rosa, we’ll ride on ahead.”

  She smiled brightly. “That will be nice.” She spoke to her horse and pulled up beside Dan as he moved ahead. They left the herd behind and headed for Sandstone. It was an old trading post, consisting of no more than half a dozen stores, two saloons, a blacksmith shop, a livery stable, and several weathered houses scattered almost at random on the flat plain. “We’ll see about a wagon first,” he said, pulling up at the livery stable. “Then get our supplies.”

  The owner came out, a stocky man of fifty with a huge mop of black hair and a pair of sharp gray eyes. “Howdy,” he greeted them. “I’m Hooper. Help you with something?” He listened as Dan told him he needed a wagon, then nodded. “Well, I got jist the thing fer you. C’mon around to the back.” Leading them around the stable, he waved his hand toward a wagon, saying, “There she is—ready to go.”

  He was a talkative man, and as Dan walked around the vehicle, Hooper kept on talking. “Big herd came through here ’bout two months ago, from Del Rio, they was. Boss was a big Texan, anyways, and fancied hisself a gambler. We locked horns in a big game one night, and I jist about lost my shirt! But finally I figgered him out, and when the smoke cleared I won this wagon and that Texican’s fancy gun with silver handles, on three eights. Well, what you think?”

  “Pretty good wagon,” Dan shrugged. “I guess it might make it through to Wyoming.”

  “Might make it through!” Hooper scoffed. “Lemme show you this wagon, mister—” He began pointing out the fine points with enthusiasm, and Dan tried to look unimpressed. It was, in fact, a much better wagon than he’d hoped for. It had iron axles, and to the basic wagon bed, where bulk goods such as foodstuffs and bedrolls could be stored, had been added three handy trail-drive appendages—on one side a water barrel big enough to hold two days’ supply of water; on the other a heavy tool box, and on top of that, bentwood bows to accommodate a canvas covering for protection against sun and rain.

  But even better was the chuck box! It was a structure built on the back of the wagon facing the rear. It had a hinged lid that let down onto a swinging leg to form a worktable. Like a Victorian desk, the box was honeycombed with drawers and cubbyholes. Here—and in the boot, which was between the rear wheels—the cook stored his utensils and whatever food he might need during the day.

  When Hooper finally ran down, Dan shook his head. “It’s a good enough wagon, but just not what I’m looking for. Thanks for your time.”

  Hooper had few customers and was anxious to make a sale. He immediately named a price, at which Dan laughed. Dan kept moving away, giving the appearance of a man who was on his way, but after about half an hour, he agreed to pay thirty dollars and two prime steers for the chuck wagon. After another half hour he had traded four more steers for two fine mules.

  Hooper shook his head sorrowfully as he took the cash from Dan. “I’m no trader,” he stated. “You got a good buy, mister!”

  Dan tied their horses to the rear of the
wagon and drove to the general store, where he spent some time buying supplies. Fortunately, the wagon had come equipped with cooking gear, grease, a lantern and kerosene, so he confined his purchases mostly to groceries. Not being a cook, he had to estimate, and wound up with green coffee beans, flour, pinto beans, sugar, salt, baking powder, molasses, lard, vinegar, dried apples, onions, potatoes, and grain for the work team. One of the drawers in the chuck box was called “the possible drawer.” For it he bought castor oil, calomel, bandages, needle and thread.

  “Well, Rosa, that’s all I can think of. How about you?”

  “You better get some chewing tobacco and whiskey,” she nodded. “I never saw men who didn’t need those.”

  Smiling, he added that to his order, then said to the clerk, “Fit this young lady out with some clothes, will you? You have any of those riding outfits for ladies—the kind with divided skirts?”

  “Yes, sir, we sure do!” the clerk nodded.

  “You get what you need, Rosa,” Dan said. “I’ll go down to the blacksmith shop and get the shoes checked.”

  “What will I get?” Rosa asked.

  “Why, something for the trail,” he answered. “Better get some new boots. Those shoes you’re wearing won’t hold up. And you’ll need some sort of bonnet, and—and whatever else a woman needs.” He turned and left the store quickly, saying, “I’ll be back pretty soon.”

  Rosa turned to the clerk. “Let me see the riding outfits, please.”

  The next hour was one of the most pleasant of her life, for aside from a small article or two, she had never been allowed to choose any of her clothing. True, she was not going to buy any of the party dresses she had always longed for—but they would have nothing like that in this small store isolated on the western plains anyway.

  She tried on several divided skirts and finally chose one made of soft light brown leather. By some miracle it fit her perfectly. While she was trying it on in the back room, her cheeks glowed as she examined herself in the cloudy mirror fastened to the wall. Since she had reached her teens, she had worn nothing but shapeless, full dresses, and when she saw how the soft leather fitted itself to her figure, she gasped. At once she knew she had to have it.