She was so tired she could hardly stand up. But when she found a place to sit down, she discovered her body was too stiff and sore to bend. She walked slowly back to her wagon to work some the knots out of her muscles.
She had let the cook choose the meal because of what Monty said. The men seemed to be enjoying it more than anything she had ordered for them. She tasted some beans. Ugh. They were disgusting. She might as well be eating husks. They didn't have any flavor except for the molasses, and she hated molasses.
The salt pork didn't taste too bad, but she refused to touch the bread fried in bacon grease. It made her queasy just to think of putting it in her mouth. At least she had had the good sense to bring some wine. It wasn't a substitute for food, but it would get the taste of molasses out of her mouth.
But she no sooner decided to get the wine from her wagon then she remembered where she had seen Quince Honeyman. He had been talking to one of her crew a day or two before they started up the trail.
The wine and the taste of molasses forgotten, Iris hurried back to the campfire to warn for Frank. She thought the cowhand's name was Bill Lovell, but she wasn't sure. She hadn't learned the names of all the crew yet.
Neither Frank nor Bill Lovell was in. She handed the cook her barely touched plate. "Where's Frank?"
"He was headed off in that direction last time I saw him," one hand said, pointing toward where the herd was being bedded down for the night. "But I wouldn't walk that way. You never know what you might step in."
Iris was tempted to return a sharp reply, but the brazen way the boy stared at her caused her to change her mind. If this was how the crew behaved with women, no wonder her mother had kept her distance. She would speak to Frank. She had no intention of being treated like that by men when she was paying their wages.
Night was falling, and Iris felt uneasy leaving the campfire behind. It was difficult for her to overcome a fear that something might be hiding in the shadows. She hadn't often gone out at night in St. Louis, and then never alone. The sight of the humps of cattle, some lying down, some still grazing, didn't reassure her. Her limited experience with longhorns had not led her to trust them. She could remember too many of her father's stories about wild mossy-horns being as willing to attack a man on horseback as not.
Iris rounded a clump of brush to see Frank no more than thirty yards off talking to one of the hands. Just as she opened her mouth to call to him, she realized he was talking with Lovell.
She stopped dead in her tracks. Frank wasn't berating Lovell. His voice was lowered. They appeared to be having a private conversation.
A horrible thought occurred to Iris. She staggered backwards, around the brush out of their line of vision. Suppose Frank was in league with the rustlers? Suppose he was responsible for the stampede?
It didn't seem possible, but it explained a number of things she hadn't understood, most particularly why the rustlers always seemed to know when and where to attack without being caught.
It could also explain why Frank was so upset when she made up her mind to go to Wyoming. It could explain why he didn't want Monty around, why he was furious when Monty showed up with the missing cattle.
Iris tried to slow her racing thoughts. Frank didn't have to be the informer. His orders weren't a secret. The crew always knew about the plans because they all had a part to play. Lovell could be the sneak. Frank could be telling him something confidential without even realizing he was talking to a double-crosser.
But Iris couldn't be sure. She had to think before she decided what to do.
Turning back toward camp, Iris stumbled over a root. Barely keeping her balance, she walked on, her mind in a whirl. What was she going to do? She still found it hard to believe Frank could be involved with the rustlers. He had been her father's foreman for years. Her father had trusted him. He even left the ranch in his care for months at a time.
That's when the ranch stopped making money. Up until then not even Helena Richmond's extravagances had exhausted the income.
Still Iris had no proof. She couldn't accuse him without it. Besides, who would take his place? If one of the hands was involved, several others probably were as well, including the insolent cowhand at the campfire. She felt an overwhelming desire to talk to Monty. A brute and insensitive bully he may be, but he'd know what to do.
Iris stumbled over another bit of brush. Just as she was telling herself to pay more attention to where she was going, she heard a plaintive bleat and saw a tiny calf lying almost out of sight beneath the brush. It must have been born since the herd stopped for the night. It looked so tiny and new.
But before a second thought could enter her head, Iris heard a baleful bawling from somewhere behind her and turned to see a wild-eyed longhorn cow bearing down in her direction. She was about to be attacked by the calf's mother. A frantic look around told her there was no place to hide except the lowly bush already sheltering the frightened calf.
Chapter Six
Iris started to run in a stumbling, awkward stride. Her abused muscles refused to work normally. The frightened calf bleated so piteously she hoped the mother would be more concerned about comforting her baby than attacking a perfectly innocent bystander.
A glance over her shoulder told her she was not so lucky. Not only that, but several other longhorns, attracted by the calf's call for help, were converging on the spot as well. Iris knew there was no hope of reaching the camp ahead of the charging cattle. No one seemed to have been alerted by their bellows. Not even the cowhands on herd duty had noticed anything wrong.
Iris stumbled but righted herself and struggled on, her abused muscles shrieking in protest. If she could just reach one of the trees.
Suddenly she heard the thunder of hooves approaching from the direction of the camp. She looked up to see Monty galloping toward her. Flinging herself at him, Iris clung desperately to the arm that swooped down and scooped her up like she was a featherweight.
"Hold on," Monty shouted, as he wheeled his horse and started toward the camp. "They're mad enough to attack anything living."
There was no time to stop and pull herself up behind Monty. Longhorns could run with the speed of an antelope. Monty galloped away with Iris swinging at his side, her body perilously close to flying hooves, only barely ahead of the flashing horns. They headed straight for the camp, Monty hollering like a painted Indian to warn the cowhands.
The men had run to their horses by the time Monty and Iris burst into camp. Monty's horse jumped the fire. The maddened cow plowed right through it, scattering ashes and bits of flame all around. By the time Monty had slowed his horse and circled back, the hands had gotten between them and the dozen or so longhorns. The angry cow made a couple of lunges at their ponies, but the repeated calls of her frightened calf distracted her, and she soon turned back. With a little encouragement, the other longhorns followed.
"Are you all right?" Monty asked as he lowered Iris to ground. "I saw you trip and fall."
Monty dropped from the saddle and helped Iris over to the only blanket that hadn't been torn up by the rampaging longhorns. She looked white. She couldn't stand by herself. Monty put his arm around her or she would have collapsed. He wasn't feeling too steady himself. He couldn't remember feeling so shaken since that time twelve years ago when Hen arrived just in time to prevent some bandits from hanging him.
Blind luck had caused him to be close enough to save Iris. He had been riding slowly, trying to come up with a good excuse for showing up at her camp so soon after she had thrown him out, as well as trying to work up the courage to apologize for his behavior, when the bleat of the calf caught his attention. If it hadn't, he might never have looked up in time.
He couldn't bear to think of what would have happened to Iris if he hadn't.
"Would you like something to drink?" he asked.
"I'll be fine in a minute," she managed to say. "I'm just feeling a little weak."
"You're lucky you're alive," Monty said, relief causing him
to speak sharply. "A couple more jumps and that cow would have had you."
"I know," Iris said, her eyes still wide with fright.
What was she doing wandering about in the dark? He had nearly been paralyzed with fear when he looked up and saw that cow bearing down on her.
"Now you know why I kept trying to get you to go back," Monty said. "This is no place for a woman."
Monty cursed himself for letting his irritation show. It didn't matter that she had done something wildly dangerous. She was scared and upset. She needed comfort, not a lecture. She looked like she would bust out crying at any moment. He hoped she wouldn't. He was no good with crying women.
Taking his courage in his hands, Monty settled down next to Iris and put his arm around her. "It's all over now. You're safe."
With a convulsive sob, Iris threw herself against him. She clutched the front of his shirt with both hands and held on like she was afraid of being washed away in a flood. Monty, who normally knew by instinct how to handle a woman, felt stiff and uncomfortable. He put his other arm around Iris, relieved her wrenching sob had been a solo effort. She still had a death grip on his shirt, but she had herself under control.
"Thank you for saving my life," she murmured.
"I couldn't do anything else," Monty said, his smile showing. "After all the trouble I went to to rescue you from that butte, I couldn't give up on you now."
Iris smiled in spite of herself. She had climbed an isolated rocky outcropping called The Devil's Tooth because Monty had told her not to. He had had to climb up, fashion a harness out of his rope, and lower her to the ground. He had fallen on the way down. He explained the nasty set of bruises by saying his horse had stumbled.
"You told me longhorns were dangerous," Iris said. "I should have listened."
Iris had finally admitted he was right, but Monty didn't feel very triumphant. He wasn't precisely sure what he did feel beyond confused. But then he shouldn't have expected anything else. Things never went the way they should when Iris was around.
"What the hell was that all about?" the cook demanded as he returned from his hiding place somewhere in the trees down by the creek.
Iris felt Monty withdraw, breaking the fragile thread of intimacy. It was an ephemeral feeling, one almost too slight to notice, but she had noticed it, and she regretted its passing.
"Who is the fool who let Miss Richmond go wandering about on foot?" Monty demanded, getting to his feet and pulling Iris up with him.
"I reckon she let herself."
Iris looked up to see the rude cowhand drop to the ground from a tree used to anchor one corner of the rope corral that held the horses. "She didn't tell nobody what she was going to do."
"And I suppose you couldn't use your eyes for a looksee," Monty growled.
Iris could have told the boy Monty was dangerously angry, but the kid seemed impervious to his danger. He sauntered toward them. "I was eating," he said with the same insolent tone he'd used to Iris.
Monty's fist snaked out and grabbed him by the throat. "You're a sorry, white-livered piece of cow dung," he thundered, shaking the boy like he weighed nothing. "You're fired."
"You can't fire me," the cowhand managed to gasp. "I don't work for you." He tried to retain his devil-may-care attitude, but Monty's reputation as a fighter was well known. Iris saw the fear in his eyes.
Monty tossed the cowhand from him with all the unconcern of a man tossing away an apple core. "Collect your gear and get out. If you're still here next time I come around, you won't have a choice about how to get to your next stopping place."
The man turned to Iris, but she was still too overcome by her near brush with death and Monty's miraculous rescue to respond. Frank galloped into camp, clearly furious.
"Do you know you nearly caused a stampede?" he bellowed at Monty. "What the hell have you done to our camp?" he demanded as he stared in disbelief at the destruction all around him. "I told you once before to stay away from here. Now I'm telling you for the last time." Frank pulled his rifle from its scabbard. "Now get out, or I'll see you carried out."
"He tried to fire me," the cowhand said. "He just stomped in here and told me to collect my gear and get out."
Frank raised the rifle and pointed it directly at Monty. "You just don't know when to stop, do you?"
"Go ahead and pull that trigger," Monty said. "But I'll kill you with my bare hands before I die."
Iris could hardly believe what was happening. One moment she was being chased by a dozen longhorns. Seconds later she was nestled securely in Monty's arms. Now, before her unbelieving eyes, Frank and Monty were preparing for a gun battle. Nothing in her world had ever moved with such speed. Nothing had ever been so violent.
Iris struggled to gather her wits. This was her camp, her cattle drive. She should be the one giving the orders. Besides, her ignorance had caused the trouble, pitted Monty and Frank against each other once again. If she wasn't to deserve every brutally unkind, rudely unflattering word Monty had ever said, she had to put a stop to this before someone got hurt.
"Put down that rifle, Frank," she said with all the composure she could command. "I won't have any shooting in my camp."
"I'm just going to rid us of this coyote," Frank answered. His rife didn't move.
"Put that rifle down, or draw your pay and ride out right now."
Iris could hear a new confidence in her voice, an element of authority that had never been there before. It caused Frank to spin around in the saddle to look at her.
"I mean it. Put it away or you're fired."
"Do you know what he did?"
"Yes, but you don't. I was the one who nearly started that stampede. If Monty hadn't ridden up when he did, you'd be burying my remains." She gave her hands a significant look. They all avoided meeting her eyes.
"But the camp, firing Crowder?"
"I rode through the camp so your boys could get those cows off my heels," Monty explained. "That cow was intent on hooking something, and I didn't want it to be my horse, especially not while I was still on him. I fired that no-good sonofabitch because he let Iris go looking for you on foot. Any fool knows the first rule when working around half-wild longhorns is never go anywhere on foot."
Only now did Iris remember hearing her father say the same thing.
"That doesn't give you the right to fire my crew," Frank protested. "You--"
"If he hadn't fired him, I would have," Iris said.
That wasn't exactly true. She hadn't been able to think well enough to make such a decision. But she had told Crowder where she was going, and she remembered his insolent reply. She also remembered the look between him and Frank. There was something there. She didn't know what, but she intended to find out.
"What are you doing here?" Frank demanded. "Seems like every time I turn around, you turn up."
"I brought a couple more steers over. They must have been hiding in the brush. They joined our herd last night."
"Well next time send one of your men," Frank said.
Iris faced Monty, ignoring Frank. "I'm grateful for what you did, and I'll be happy to have you drop by any time you like. Have you had dinner?"
"No. Tyler is experimenting again. I was waiting to see if any of the hands got sick before I ate it."
"You can eat with us. We're having your favorite meal, bacon, beans, and bread fried in bacon grease. At least we were."
Monty hesitated. His eyes cut to Crowder, then to Frank Cain.
"I'm afraid you'll have only me for company," Iris said. "Frank has to get back to the herd, and Mr. Crowder has fifteen minutes to leave camp."
The cowhand glared at Iris, anger in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but a glance at Monty caused him to change his mind. He picked up his saddle and stalked off toward the horses.
"Better make sure he takes his own horse," Monty advised Frank. The foreman cast Monty a hate-filled glance before he stomped off after the young cowhand.
"You shouldn't be out
here alone with that man," Monty said, turning back to Iris. "You ought to take the train and meet him in Cheyenne."
Iris dropped her gaze so she wouldn't have to look into Monty's eyes. "He just doesn't like you."
"I don't like him, either. More important, I don't trust him."
"Why not? My father did."
"Your father and I didn't always see eye to eye." Monty looked like he wanted to say more, then apparently thought better of it. "Did that cow leave any grub?" he asked, turning to the cook.
"Sure," Bob Jenson replied. "My cook fire was on the other side of the chuck wagon. I had the coffee pot on this one."
"How about some beans? Not too many. I got to leave some room for whatever Tyler's fixing up. I have to admit it usually tastes pretty good. It just looks funny."
Monty accepted a plate and sat down to eat.
Iris's resistance collapsed the minute Monty backed away from criticizing her father. Her feeling of isolation had become more and more oppressive. After the episode with Crowder, she didn't feel there was anybody on her crew she could trust.
"Hell!" Monty exclaimed, and set his plate down. "Tyler's food is ruining me."
"What do you mean?" Iris asked.
"Perfectly good beans, and I don't like them," Monty moaned. "I used to like nothing better, unless it was Rose's roast turkey. Now Tyler keeps shoving things at me I don't even want to look at, but I like them better than beans." He spat out a husk. "Sorry, man," he said turning to the cook, "but they just don't taste good anymore."
Iris laughed. "I hate them, too. Let me get you a glass of wine. It'll take the taste out of your mouth."
"No, thank you," Monty said getting to his feet. "Randolphs don't drink."
"Not at all?"
"Madison will have a brandy once in a while, but the rest of us drink milk."
Iris Page 7
