by Murray Pura
The crying of a calf jolted her out of her thoughts. She put her horse into a trot and saw the calf standing by a large rock, its young eyes wide in terror, bawling for help. Without even thinking about it, Charlotte slid the Winchester from its scabbard and walked the horse closer. Now she saw the body of a cow just beyond where the calf was tottering on its thin legs. Instinctively she knew it was the calf’s mother. Then a head lifted from the far side of the carcass. A mountain lion.
Charlotte barely had time to take it all in before the big cat growled deep in its chest and sprang, bounding over the dead body and making for the horse. Daybreak reared just as Charlotte fired, and the shot went wild. The mare kicked out at the lion with her front hooves. The cat darted around to the horse’s back, and Daybreak whirled and struck with her hind legs, missing the mountain lion but throwing Charlotte to the ground. Just missing a pile of rocks, she rolled and took dirt and grass into her mouth. The palomino ran off, squealing loudly, and the lion turned to Charlotte, its eyes spitting fury. She had trouble bringing the Winchester to bear, the barrel sticking into the soft soil. The cat was going to pounce.
Jesus, help me. Help me.
The lion was on top of her, roaring and trying to bite through her neck and head. She yanked the barrel clear and shoved it into the cat’s snarling mouth. Her finger was outside the trigger guard, and she wasn’t able to fire. The cat thrust claws at her face, and Charlotte twisted her head and shoulders. This movement jerked her finger onto the trigger. She squeezed. The blast made her ears sting. She was able to work the lever and fire again. Then the weight and hot breath of the lion were on her face, and she almost passed out.
The lion was not biting or moving. Charlotte tried to push herself out from underneath, but it took some time. Finally she was free and sat back, trying to get a lungful of air and staring at the animal, her carbine still in her hands. As frightened as she was, she could not help but marvel at the mountain lion’s strong body and long tail, at its wild and powerful beauty. She bent her head and leaned it against the warm Winchester barrel.
I wish it had never hunted my cattle. I wish it had never strayed onto our range. But thank You, God, that I’m alive. Thank You.
Finally she climbed to her feet and glanced around for Daybreak. The mare was about a hundred feet away, her head turned toward her mistress and the cat. Charlotte slowly walked to her, speaking softly.
“It’s all right, girl. The lion won’t bother you anymore. Don’t run. You’re safe. Yes, it’s me.”
The mare didn’t move, but rubbed its nose on Charlotte’s arm and snuffled against the sleeve of her thick winter jacket. Charlotte put her head against the mare’s and closed her eyes. “We’re both alive. We made it. Rest easy, girl. Thank God, we’re both okay.”
The crying of the calf made her look up.
“That’s enough excitement for today,” she said to Daybreak. “Let’s get the calf back to the ranch and get it some milk. Keep it alive. It’s all about life, girl, all about keeping things alive.”
Not wanting to take the mare close to the cat’s body, she tied the horse’s reins to a nearby aspen and then walked over to get the calf. It was happy to be picked up and comforted, burying its little head in Charlotte’s chest. Then she came back to Daybreak, took the reins in her hand while holding the calf tightly with the other, and after a couple of tries, got up into the saddle. The calf cried out at this but once the horse started moving, the rocking motion seemed to comfort it. Charlotte kept to the valley floor and moved the palomino along at a slow trot. It would take a couple of hours to reach the main ranch.
“You hold on, young one,” Charlotte whispered to the calf. “I intend to take good care of a little orphan like you.”
The calf was asleep but alive when Charlotte walked Daybreak into the yard in front of the house. It was about ten o’clock, she reckoned. She never used a watch while out on horseback but preferred to estimate time by the position of the sun. Billy Gallagher was sitting on his horse and gulping down a mug full of coffee Pete had just handed up to him when they both saw her. Billy was off his horse and at her side in an instant.
“What happened to you?” he asked, reaching up for the calf.
Charlotte placed it in his arms. “I guess I ran into that panther of yours.”
“Where?”
“Just below the Sentinel. It killed the calf’s mother.”
“What happened to the cat?” “It’s dead.”
“Are you cut? Are you bleeding anywhere?”
“I don’t know.”
“You look like you took a tumble down a mountain slope.”
Pete helped her down from the mare. “Better let me look you over. Come inside.”
She looked at Billy. “The calf needs warm milk.”
“Did it have a few days to feed off its mother?”
“I think so. She’s pretty sturdy.”
Billy nodded. “I’ll take care of it.” He headed toward the barn.
“What about Daybreak?” called Charlotte.
“I’ll take care of her, too. Don’t fret. Let Pete clean you up.”
It didn’t take long for word to get around the ranch that the Spence outfit’s ramrod had tangled with a mountain lion, and the mountain lion had come up short. Not only that, but Charlotte Spence hardly had a nick on her despite firing off two rounds with the lion pretty much sitting on her head. Charlotte lay down for an hour in her room but heard the ruckus when the hands came in for lunch. Scotty had brought in the cat, and most of the men would have seen it when they rode up. She could tell that the talk around the table was louder than usual and pushed herself off the bed.
I had plans to do chores in town this afternoon. A brush with a mountain lion shouldn’t change that. And the boys will want to see me.
She put on a blue dress with lace at the collar, pinned up her hair, and headed down the staircase. The men all stood up when she entered the kitchen, dropping their forks and knives and asking after her health. She smiled. They treated her like one of their sisters.
“Boys, I’m fine. It was a good bit of excitement, I can tell you that, but I’m none the worse for wear. Pete has given me a clean bill of health, haven’t you, Pete?”
Pete was wearing a large apron and placing another pot of coffee on the table. “A few thumps and bumps, but she’s sturdy as an oak.”
“There you are. So thank you all for your concern, but please, sit down and finish your meals. How is the calf, Mr. Gallagher?”
“Top notch, Miss Spence. Drank her fill and more. She’ll be all right.”
“That’s good news. And Daybreak?”
“Not a scratch on her, Miss Spence. I rubbed her down and gave her some oats, and she’s resting in her stall.”
“Thank you very much. You’re a good man.” She looked around the table. “You’re all good men. I’m blessed to have such a solid outfit to keep the Spence ranch up and running.”
“Our pleasure, ma’am,” said Laycock.
“And now, if you don’t mind, I’ll need the black hitched up to my Philadelphia buggy, Mr. Martin, for I have some matters in town to attend to.”
“Miss Spence,” Martin protested, “are you sure you’re fit for that?”
“I certainly am. After all, the excitement only lasted a minute or two. I’m rested up. Pete stood over me and forced me to eat hot buttermilk biscuits with gravy to restore my strength, and now I need to get into Iron Springs before this lovely February day is gone forever. I assure you, gentlemen, that considering the morning I had, an afternoon in town is going to prove most uneventful.”
She was on her way in ten minutes, the black stepping smartly along the road into Iron Springs, the dark buggy rolling smoothly through the puddles and mud behind it. Charlotte was wearing a bonnet and leaning back, comfortably holding the traces in her hands. She thought about her work at the library, some sewing items and fabric she meant to purchase at the general store, and whether today was a good
time to discuss some issues with her attorney, Mr. King.
A bird burst across her path and startled her. For some reason, a face popped into her head immediately afterwards. A man she had been interested in once. Zephaniah Parker. A kind man. A strong man. A young man about her age, who had his own small ranch and ran it well. A man who honored God. She bit her lower lip and thought about him for a few minutes. Then she shook her head in annoyance and flicked the reins. She had hardly seen him more than once or twice over the past year, and for all she knew, he didn’t even live in the region anymore. She might never see him again and that was that.
“God’s will be done,” she murmured to herself and turned her mind back to the sorts of fabrics she needed to pick out at the store and which sorts of buttons would go best with what colors.
Chapter 2
Zeph eased his horse over the ridge and down the slope. Cricket was making a lot of noise and grumbling into her bit. She didn’t like the slush, and she liked the ice even less.
“I know it,” Zeph said to her as she blew loudly through her nostrils. “But I’m keeping us off the trail because it’s even worse. We’ll be into some open grass in a bit.”
The sky was so blue and so bright it hurt Zeph’s eyes. It was February and ought to have been colder, but a thaw had come in with the west wind and melted all the snow back. Zeph liked the break from below zero, and so did his cattle, but when it cooled off at night you wound up with too many patches of ice—bad for horses, bad for the cows.
Cricket snapped her head back.
“Whoa!” called Zeph. “What was that for? You got grass under your hooves now.”
She reared. Zeph stared all around, trying to find out what was spooking her. All he saw was a thin line of smoke off to the left, coming from behind a clump of gray cottonwoods with their bare branches all tangled. That’s where some of the new homesteaders from out east had settled in back before Christmas. That wouldn’t be it. He looked down—there weren’t any snakes out in February, even during a thaw. What was going on with his mare?
She balked, didn’t want to go any farther. Zeph swung down and held her reins while he inspected the ground in front of them. Just dead winter grasses, brown as dust. Wet some from snowmelt, but that was about it. He got down on one knee—and saw the bloody footprint.
Not large. No boot. High arch. The wound seemed to be in the back by the heel. He squinted ahead. There were more of them, crossing over the grass and soft snow. Cricket protested, but he tugged her forward as he followed the prints.
“Two of ‘em,” he said out loud.
The two sets of tracks were obvious in the snow. The blood was pretty fresh. He kept walking, pulling Cricket along. The prints went into a gully. Cricket snorted. She had seen the two heads first.
“Hello!” Zeph called. “You all right?”
The heads ducked out of sight.
Zeph tilted his brown Stetson back and scratched at his head.
“One of you looks to have a cut. I have some bandage in my saddlebag. Good clean cloth.”
Still no answer. He rubbed his jaw and thought for a moment.
“I’m Zephaniah Parker. I own the Bar Zee, just a few miles west of here in the Two Back Valley. I’m out looking for strays. Been living by the mountains for five or six years. My brother’s the preacher at the church in town. And my other brother’s the federal marshal. You can come out. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
After a moment a boy stood up, tall and skinny, about twelve, Zeph figured. He seemed to totter on one leg. He didn’t say anything. Then a girl stood up and clutched the boy’s hand. She was half a foot shorter, straw-blond hair, maybe ten or eleven. Neither of them smiled.
“Can I come closer?” asked Zeph. “Take a look at that foot?”
The boy nodded. “All right.”
Cricket had calmed down, and Zeph brought her over to the gully and wrapped her reins around some thick scrub. He smiled at the girl and boy. Up close now, he could see their faces were scratched, their cheeks hollow; they looked tired and gaunt. He rummaged around in one of his saddlebags while Cricket munched grass. He finally held up some strips of white cotton cloth.
“Told you I had some.”
He knelt by the boy.
“You wanna show me your sore foot?”
The boy lifted his left foot, and Zeph saw the cut on the heel. It was pretty clean from all the melted snow, but he wiped some mud and grass away before he started wrapping.
“Neither of you have shoes?”
“No,” said the boy.
“What happened to ‘em?”
“I don’t know.”
Zeph shrugged, finished the wrapping, and stood up.
“The next thing is to get you home. Where are your parents? They’ll likely be worried about you, won’t they?”
The two kids stared right through Zeph. He’d seen that look before on ten or twelve-year-olds, but that was back during the war and coming through a town that had been fought over by both sides. He glanced at the pencil line of gray smoke.
“That your place over there? Your mom and dad with the new settlers?”
Still neither of them spoke. Zeph looked more closely at the girl. Her eyes were bluer than the sky. But the skin around them was swollen and red. She’d been crying, a lot.
“You don’t need to be scared,” he said to her gently. “I’ll get you back to your folks just as soon as you tell me where they are.”
“We hain’t got folks,” she said. “We hain’t got a home.” Zeph smiled as warmly as he could. “Now, what do you mean by that? Everybody’s got folks and a home.”
“We hain’t.”
Her voice had a trace of an accent. From another country. One part of Zeph’s mind worked on that while another part tried to figure out what to do next.
“Well, look, I tell you what, let’s go to that farm over there behind the cottonwoods, and maybe they can help us out. Do you know them?”
The girl began to cry. She buried her head in the boy’s arm.
Now what did I say? Zeph asked himself.
“Mister Parker,” said the boy, “we can’t go there.”
“Why not?”
“We can’t.”
Zeph looked up at the sun. It was about three o’clock.
“The sun’ll be down in a few hours. We’ve got to get to someplace. Now Cricket here’ll take you both easy. How about we go into town and get you some food and a safe place to stay, and then we’ll figure out the rest of it?”
“Don’t leave us!” the girl suddenly blurted, tears running muddy down her cheeks.
Zeph shook his head. “I won’t leave you. I’ll stick right with you. Now let’s get you up on Cricket and into town. You hungry?”
“Yah, sir,” she answered. “What would you like to eat?” “Potatoes and meat.”
“I guess it’ll be easy enough to rustle up some of that. You got a name, young lady?”
She didn’t answer. He held out his hand to help her onto Cricket, and she slowly stepped forward and took it. He hoisted her into the saddle. She was as light as a snowflake.
“No name?” he asked again.
But she just sat on the horse and clung to its mane. The boy came up and put one hand on the pommel. “I can get up myself, Mister Parker.” “Help yourself.”
The boy winced when his left foot touched the stirrup, but he swung his leg over Cricket as if he’d been born to the saddle. He has that accent, too, thought Zeph. What is it?
Zeph started leading Cricket cross-country and to their right.
“You like horses, boy?”
“Yes.”
“Have any of your own at your place?” The boy didn’t answer.
Zeph walked for a while in silence. The sun dipped lower.
“We’re not far from the town,” he told them. “We cut across the fields like this, and we’ll be there in another hour. You seen it yet? Not a bad little place. Iron Springs. For the iron ore the miners been
pulling out of the earth. Used to be a lot of gold here in the ‘60s. I think we’re making more money now off the iron and the beef. You’ll catch sight of it in a little while.”
“Thank you, Mister Parker.”
“You’re welcome, son. How about you? Your folks drop you into this world without a name, too?”
But the boy didn’t say anything. Zeph looked at his dark hair and green eyes a moment and then glanced ahead.
“Well, I got to call you something. How about I give you each a nickname? So I don’t have to say, ‘hey, boy’ or ‘hey, girl’ the whole time?”
They didn’t respond.
“I come from out of Wyoming. They’ve got some nice towns there. I grew up just north of what’s now Cheyenne, the Magic City of the Plains. If you don’t mind, young lady, I’ll call you Cheyenne Wyoming. That’ll be your name just for this trip. Is that all right with you?”
She stared straight ahead.
Zeph nodded. “Glad you like it. Now, son, do you want a town name, too?” “It doesn’t matter.”
That accent again. Zeph had his head down while they plowed through a snowdrift.
“There’s a man I greatly admire that I met in Wyoming a few years ago. Cody was his name. He rode for the Pony Express when he was hardly older than you. Then he was a scout. They gave him the Medal of Honor for the work he did. How about we hang his name on you until we reach town?”
“All right.”
“Well, there we have it then. Cody Wyoming and Cheyenne Wyoming. Brother and sister. I guess I should have asked—you are brother and sister, aren’t you?”
But no one spoke. And Zeph did not open his mouth again until the three of them spotted the riders coming at them over the snow and the dead grass. There looked to be six or seven men, and they were riding hard. Zeph was sure he recognized the lead horse.
Cricket reared. Zeph glanced behind him. Both the kids had jumped off the horse and were running away as fast as they could.
