Iris

by Greenwood, Leigh

  "But this is wine."

  "It's still spirits." Monty handed his plate to the cook. "Besides, you shouldn't bring it on a drive. It's just about the worst thing you can do for the hands."

  "I don't give it to the hands," Iris said, irritated Monty was criticizing her again. "It's for my own personal use."

  "That's even worse." Monty picked up his gloves and adjusted his hat. "It's not right for the foreman to be doing something his men can't."

  "I'm not the foreman," Iris said, her tone glacial. "I'm the owner."

  "Same difference," Monty said, heading for his horse. "You take my advice and pour every bit of it into the creek."

  "I'll do no such thing," Iris snapped. "My father paid more than five dollars a bottle for this wine."

  "I doubt he would have wasted his money if Helena hadn't been prodding him," Monty said, mounting up. He rode his horse up next to Iris. "You stick close to your wagon, and stay away from that herd. You want to do something, ask your cook if it's okay. He seems a sensible man."

  "I can make my own decisions without having to ask the cook."

  "Yeah, but you'll probably make the wrong ones," Monty replied, not the least bit impressed by her irritation. "If you need anything, just give me a holler. I won't be far behind you."

  "I'll have you know, Monty Randolph, I don't holler -- not for you or anybody else."

  "Try it sometime. It'll take some of the starch out of you."

  He rode off and left her standing there, simmering mad. She sensed a grin on Bob Jenson's face, but when she turned he was scraping out Monty's plate.

  "I'm going to bed," she announced. "Tell Frank I want to see him first thing in the morning."

  But once she was settled in bed, she couldn't decide what to say to him. If she told him of her suspicions, she would only put him on his guard. It wouldn't do any good to face him with an accusation. If he were guilty, he would simply deny it. If he weren't, he might get angry enough to leave.

  She wanted to tell Monty, but she didn't know what to say to him any more than to say to Frank. She had no proof, and she didn't want to make a false accusation. It wasn't a crime for two men to talk to each other.

  She was beginning to realize there was a great deal she didn't know about managing men. She had underestimated Monty's responsibilities. Getting a herd to Wyoming wasn't nearly as simple as it looked.

  Chapter Seven

  Monty rode back to his camp, unwelcome thoughts jostling each other in his mind. Something was going on with Iris's crew. She knew it, too. She might not know what it was, but she was uneasy. He could see it in the way she moved closer to him when Frank rode in. He could see it in the way she immediately relaxed when Frank left.

  He thought for a moment it might stem from a struggle over who was going to run the drive, but he quickly set that aside. She might be the owner and the most beautiful, desirable women in Texas, but the cowhands weren't likely to listen to her unless Frank told them to. That was obvious in Crowder's attitude.

  Besides, Iris didn't look angry. She looked uneasy. Not exactly frightened. She was too spirited, too accustomed to immunity from danger to be frightened, but he could sense the uncertainty.

  Monty wished now he had tried harder to capture at least one of the rustlers. It was unlikely all three knew who hired them to stampede the herd, but he would bet his hat Quince Honeyman did. That man had lit out the moment he saw Monty on his trail.

  But even if he suspected Frank Cain of having something to do with the rustling attempt, he had no proof. He couldn't just go busting in there acting like he was the boss. He'd already gone over the line in firing Crowder.

  He felt the heat of embarrassment flow from under his collar. Wouldn't George love to find out about that. It didn't matter the kid was a jerk, that he was probably a coward, that he was definitely an insolent whelp. Monty shouldn't have laid hands on him. It was Frank's responsibility to discipline his crew. If Iris hadn't backed him up, Monty could have been in a world of trouble.

  His temper again. It didn't seem he could keep in under control. But he didn't know how he could be expected to, not with Iris nearly gored to death and that sonofabitch hiding up a tree. Monty guessed he lost his head when she saw that cow heading for Iris. The look of pure terror on her face still caused him to feel weak in the knees. She could have been killed.

  She was a mettlesome female and a lot of trouble, but her crew ought to be looking after her. If she had been traveling with him, there wouldn't have been a man in the group who wouldn't have been pumping bullets into the cow before she got within twenty yards of Iris.

  Okay, she should have known better than to go anywhere near a longhorn on foot, but a decent cowhand wouldn't have let her go looking for Frank by herself. It was almost like they hoped something would happen to her.

  A chill raced down Monty's spine. The possibilities of accidents or danger on the trail were endless. Once they reached Indian territory, there was no law, no one to know if anything happened to her. It wasn't much better in Kansas and Nebraska. As far as Monty knew, there was nothing in Wyoming. She could disappear, and no one would ever know.

  Monty cursed to himself. He'd kill the whole damned crew if anything happened to Iris.

  He had to keep an eye on her. Even if he had to manufacture excuses, he was going to visit her camp every day. More often if he didn't like the way things were going. He might even get Hen to take a ride over. They might avoid him, but everybody walked in fear of Hen.

  But Monty knew he wouldn't entrust this task to Hen or any other member of his crew. He was going to do it himself.

  * * * * *

  "There she was, running like a heifer with a panther on its trail," Monty told his brothers as they waited for Tyler to finish cooking dinner, "and that cow right on her heels, her eyes crazy wild. I expected Iris to start screaming any minute, but she took out for the trees instead."

  "Seems like a sensible thing to do," Hen replied, rather bored.

  "Of course it was," Monty said, irritated his twin seemed so uninterested in his story, "but you can't expect Iris to do the sensible thing. Being brought up like she was, she doesn't know any more than a kitten. I expected her to fall down in a fainting fit."

  "It might not be a bad idea. That cow wouldn't attack her if she thought she was dead."

  "You ever seen a woman faint? They don't lie quiet. They moan and groan and twist about like they were dying of the miseries."

  "That wouldn't fool a cow."

  "Sounds like a fake to me," Zac said.

  "Of course it is," Monty said. "Why would a woman faint if she's just going to lie there. A man might get bored and go off somewhere else."

  "I wouldn't," said Zac. "I'd carry her inside and bathe her head with cool water."

  "And get slapped for your troubles when you got it all over her dress," Monty said. "You've been reading too many books at that school. I told George it would ruin you."

  "He won't be fit for anything but living in Chicago with Madison," Hen commented.

  "Salty said I've been doing the best job with the horses he's ever seen."

  "Anybody can take care of horses," Monty scoffed. "It's handling cows that separates the men from the boys."

  "I could handle cows, too, if you'd let me," Zac protested. "George said I could. He said you'd let me before we got to Wyoming." This was the first time Zac had been allowed to leave school to take part in a trail drive, and Monty knew he was anxious to prove himself.

  "Stop worrying about cows and eat," Tyler said. "It never tastes as good after it gets cold."

  "It had better taste like a turkey," Monty said, getting to his feet.

  "It's the herbs and spices," Zac said, anxious to show off some of what he'd learned watching Tyler. "He uses them for flavor."

  "Turkey tastes fine when it tastes like turkey," Monty said. "I don't like it full of chopped up weeds and little bitty seeds." He eyed his plate with dissatisfaction. "Do you always have to
drown everything in a lot of goop?"

  "That's a sauce," Tyler told him, completely indifferent to his brother's complaints about his cooking. "It adds moisture."

  "It looks like you spilled something all over it," Monty complained.

  "Sit down and eat," Hen said. "It doesn't look worth a damn, but it sure tastes good."

  "Rose never serves anything like this," Monty said, not willing to give up yet.

  "That's because she likes to please you," Tyler said, turning to feed the hands who were lining up with none of Monty's reluctance. "I cook what I want. I don't care if you eat or not."

  * * * * *

  Tension in the Double-D camp had escalated during the last two days. Iris could almost feel the men watching her.

  Having brought her wagon up to the protective ring of the campfire, she now took all her meals with the crew. She also insisted that Frank talk to her before he gave his orders. He still didn't like her riding with the herd, but she made it a point to be in the saddle as soon as breakfast was over. He said it unsettled the men and made the cattle nervous, but she was determined to be at the center of things. Something was going on, and she intended to find out what it was.

  In that she failed, but she did noticed one thing. The crew had divided itself into two factions. It was a subtle thing, something she would never have noticed if she hadn't been looking for it. It only happened when the men were free to talk among themselves, eat, or sleep. Six of the cowhands stuck together, talking among themselves, working together as much as possible.

  And keeping an eye on her.

  Along with the cook, those men were the ones who had been with her father the longest. The other six seemed to gravitate toward Frank, away from her. Seven and seven. The crew was divided evenly. A stalemate. If she had had any doubts that something was afoot, they were gone now.

  She was certain Quince Honeyman and his cohorts would be waiting somewhere down the road, but she was not about to let them steal as much as one cow. At first she didn't know what to do about it. Then, just as she was dropping off to sleep the night before, she had an idea. It first it seemed too ridiculous to consider. Too crazy. Too dangerous. But the more she thought about it, the more it seemed to be the perfect solution. She had been thinking about it all day and had come to the conclusion it was her only chance.

  She'd do it tonight.

  * * * * *

  The camp had been quiet for hours. Only the sound of one of the riders singing as he circled the herd disturbed the night. Being careful to make no noise that would wake the men sleeping nearby, Iris carefully climbed down from the wagon and worked her way over to the rope corral that held the remuda. The horses were quiet. Some were lying down, others slept standing up. The night horses for each rider stood saddled and ready. Moving to the horse farthest from the sleeping men, Iris lifted a saddle to his back. The experience of the last week enabled her to saddle the horse quickly and quietly. Mounted up moments later, she rode out of camp.

  The quarter moon provided just enough light for Iris to find her way without being seen, but it seemed to her like she was riding in pitch dark. Her heart thumped painfully in her chest. She hated the dark. This wasn't like walking to her wagon. She'd soon be half a mile from camp with nobody to help her in case there was trouble.

  She told herself she had to develop some guts if she was ever going to be independent. She was always depending on Monty to pull her chestnuts out of the fire. It seemed ironic she should need to develop courage so she could depend on Monty more than ever.

  Iris had nearly gotten north of the herd when she came upon a second campsite. Two men sat talking quietly, their night horses tethered in the trees near the creek. Iris knew she wouldn't be able to get around the camp without being seen.

  But she had to get north of the herd. Cattle stampeded away from whatever frightened them, and she wanted them to stampede south. She had decided that the only way to protect herself was to stampede her cows into Monty's herd. Then he couldn't protect his herd without protecting hers as well.

  She would have to circle the herd to the south, and that would take a long time. She had timed everything so she wouldn't run into the riders on night watch. Having to go in the opposite direction messed up her schedule. She saw the first rider before she got back to the cook camp.

  Iris pulled into the shadows to wait until he passed.

  Two men rode night watch at a time, one on each side. It took thirty to forty minutes to circle the herd. Toby and Jack were on this watch. They were the slowest because Toby liked to sing sad songs. The hands complained his singing made them feel gloomy, but Frank let him sing what he wanted. The songs apparently made Toby's horse sad, too, because he walked very slowly.

  Tonight Toby sang about a senorita whose lover died in a duel. She was forced to marry the man who killed him. Naturally the senorita killed herself instead of submitting to such an awful fate.

  Iris shuddered and settled down to wait twenty minutes. By that time, both riders would be the same distance from her. It was important that everybody be as far away as possible. She didn't want anybody to suspect what she was about to do.

  Iris didn't enjoy the wait. The silence made her aware of the innumerable night sounds she couldn't identify. She didn't feel any better when she remembered Monty had once told her it was the animals she couldn't near she ought to worry about. She shivered. After the heat of the day, the night was cold and damp. It wouldn't surprise her if she developed a cold. She didn't need that added to her troubles. Worrying about the herd was enough.

  Well, she had solved that problem, but she didn't like her solution. She might have if Monty had been the least bit cooperative, but he wasn't. Still he did seem to be around when she needed him. She liked that. She had always considered herself independent, but now she realized she had been dependent on others all her life. This trip had proved it. As much as she hated to, she could admit that now. But she was also going to learn to take care of herself. She never wanted to feel this helpless again.

  She walked her horse a little to work out some of the fidgets. She could feel the dew and the damp settling into her bones. She wished she had thought to put on a heavier shirt. She'd be lucky if she didn't get pneumonia. She looked at her watch. Ten minutes to go.

  But as the time drew nearer, she began to have second thoughts. There was no question in her mind she needed Monty's protection, but this was a cowardly way to go about getting it. It was the kind of devious trick her mother would pull. She ought to face Monty, tell him exactly what she suspected, and ask for his help. He had never refused to help her. Surely he wouldn't refuse now.

  Maybe he would.

  He didn't believe going to Wyoming was her only choice. He didn't believe she had any business on the trail, that she knew anything about cows, or that she could learn. He absolutely didn't understand why she couldn't let her herd out of her sight, and nothing she said had made any difference.

  She had to have his help. Since he wouldn't give it voluntarily, she had to get it any way she could.

  Her twenty minutes up, Iris moved out.

  She rode toward the herd. They were lying down, sleeping. Her horse seemed reluctant to approach too closely, so she let him choose his own path. She was just as happy to keep a safe distance. She doubted she'd ever trust a longhorn again after being chased by that cow.

  Damn. Now her conscience was bothering her. She actually felt guilty about what she was doing. She told herself Monty deserved it, that he had brought it on himself by being so stubborn and uncooperative, but she knew she was doing the wrong thing and she couldn't make herself think otherwise.

  This was her herd, and it was her responsibility. She had no right to force it on Monty. She had made the decision to set out for Wyoming. She had refused the help he had offered. She had scorned his advice. To force herself on him now that she had run into trouble was unfair. It was worse than that. It was cowardly.

  Iris had never before been interes
ted in playing fair. Her mother had taught her use every situation to her advantage. But Monty lived by a different set of rules. And she was coming to feel it was a better way than she had been taught.

  Muttering under her breath, Iris turned her horse back toward the camp. She didn't know where she'd find the courage, and she had no idea what she would say, but she would talk to Monty. If she expected him to get her out of this mess, she at least owed him the courtesy of explaining everything before she dumped it in his lap.

  Iris hadn't gone far before she found two big steers blocking her path. They didn't seem angry. Only curious.

  "Shoo! Scram!" Iris hissed. "Go back to sleep!" The steers continued to stare at her. A couple of cows close by raised their heads. Looking sleepily at Iris, they got up and came over to investigate.

  Iris felt relieved. The cows weren't going to attack her, but they didn't appear ready to go back to bed either. She slapped her hand against her saddle, but her pony wouldn't move. The only effect it had on the cattle was to cause more of them to grow curious enough to investigate. In a few minutes Iris was surrounded by cows.

  "Monty said you'd stampede at the slightest noise!" she hissed. "Why won't you move?"

  Iris tried everything she could think of, and still the cattle gathered around her. The guard would be coming around again soon.

  "You are the most obstinate beasts on the face of the earth," Iris said, trying to force her horse to push his way through the cattle. He refused to budge. All the while it had gotten colder. She could feel her head closing up, and she felt a sneeze coming on.

  "Now I've got a cold."

  Aaaaacchooo!

  At the same moment Iris sneezed, the bloodcurdling scream of a panther split the night.

  In an instant, nearly four thousand cows were on their feet and heading toward the Circle-7 herd as fast as they could go.

  * * * * *

  Monty and Hen came off their turn at night duty.

  "Fork out Nightmare and stake him near my bed," Monty said to a sleepy Zac, who got up to help put their horses in the corral. "I want a horse I can depend on. I'm so tired I could be halfway to the river before I opened my eyes."