Ransom turned to his mother. “You want to come along with us tomorrow? You’ve not been out riding for months.”
“Come to think of it, that sounds marvelous. Let’s do it, even if Lucas gets one tonight. The aspen must be at their peak color right about now. I’d like another elk hide too. Been thinking of sewing gloves. Although deerskin would be better.”
“Who’s going to tan them?” Lucas shook his head. “Ah, Mor, you know I don’t like tanning hides.”
“Well, sometimes I don’t like making breakfast either but . . .”
Ransom rolled his lips together to keep from laughing out loud at the look on his brother’s face. “You could chew them like the squaws used to do.”
“Eww. Ick.” Gretchen came in on Ransom’s words and shut the door behind her. “It stinks bad enough when you do it the modern way. But to chew one—ick!”
“Old Indians say that was the best way. Made the softest hides for pants and shirts. Be glad you don’t have to chew elk and buffalo. ’Course they were used for the tepees and blankets and didn’t need to be too soft.”
“Remember that rabbit-skin vest I had for so many years? I’d like one again.” Gretchen lifted the lid of the kettle on the stove and sniffed. “Sure smells good.”
“If we’re not back from hunting in time tomorrow, you make the supper when you get home, before milking.”
Gretchen made a face but nodded. “I could skip school and go along.”
“You could, but you won’t. Sorry.”
Ransom felt sorry for his sister. He remembered the days when he’d missed out on things at the ranch because of school. “We can go again on Saturday.” He returned the smile shot his way from his mother.
“But Saturday is the barn dance.” Lucas glanced from his brother to his mother.
“We can be back in time for that.” Mavis handed the plates to her younger son. “Put these on the table. And Gretchen, go wash your hands. Coffee or milk?”
“Milk,” she shot over her shoulder as she trotted down the hall.
Lucas set the plates down on the table and headed for the back door, grabbing his coat and hat as he passed the pegs on the wall by the door. “I’ll be back soon. Tell Gretchen next time.” The screen door slammed behind him.
Ransom shook his head. Covering the screen door with oiled cloth was another one of the jobs that needed doing before winter set in. He ambled over to the cabinet and dug the silverware out of the drawer. Somewhere along the years, the line between men’s work and women’s work had blurred, and they all pitched in to finish whatever task needed to be done. With all of them gathered in the kitchen, setting the table together felt like part of the natural order of things.
It hadn’t been that way when their pa was alive. Ivar took it for granted that he would be served by his wife and daughter. He demanded the respect of his sons, and if he had ever been able to laugh, something had stolen that through the years. While they had all been sad when he died ten years earlier, they had recovered quickly. Especially when Mor teased them or made them laugh. They’d been careful before then to make jokes away from their father’s sight and hearing.
Ransom had learned in the years since that laughter did indeed make the load lighter.
But at the same time, Pa had been an excellent rancher, fair to his hands, and well respected in town. There was no one more honest than Ivar Engstrom, nor more respected. Ransom had always felt God must be like his earthly father, stern and unbending, always ready to correct and steer his sons on the path of life. But they’d finally met the God of love after Ivar went on to his heavenly reward.
Ransom brought in several more armloads of wood before he brushed the bark and wood bits off his coat and gloves. Several fingers had worn through his leather gloves. Like his shoes that needed fixing. Pa’s motto: If it is worn, fix it before it breaks. Days like today, Ransom wondered how his father ever managed to do all he did.
“Thank you, son,” his mother said. “Ever since you took over the woodboxes, I’ve never run out of wood.”
“You are welcome.” He knew Lucas had always hated filling the woodboxes, and since it was a mindless chore, Ransom had taken it over. “You know, I’ve been thinking. We should take some of that elk hide, cut a rectangle about so big”—he spread his arms to show the size—“sew handles on the two shorter sides and use it for hauling in wood. One could carry a lot more at a time that way. Fact is, two would balance the carrier.”
Mavis nodded. He could see her already figuring how to do it.
“Wonder why we didn’t think of such a simple thing years ago?”
“Do we have an elk hide lying around somewhere?”
“The one from Lucas’s first hunt isn’t tanned yet.” She narrowed her eyes and chewed on her bottom lip, a sure sign she was deep in thought. “Maybe we could use canvas. We could add leather handles.”
“Do that for a practice run. Then we can adjust for the leather one to make it just right.” He held up his gloves. “Is there any deer hide to fix these? And I need elk to repair my boot.”
“There’s plenty of scraps in the sewing room. Leave your gloves with me, but you’re going to need your father’s lasts to fix your boot. I think they are out in the barn in that pile of stuff on the back wall.”
Ransom thought about where the iron foot-shaped forms might be. It could take some time to find them. He cocked his head. “Two shots. Sure enough. Lucas did it again. He has more luck.”
“Thank you, Lord, for bringing the elk to us.”
Ransom nodded as he shrugged into his gear. Shame they didn’t come down before dusk.
By the time the two men returned to the house, an elk once again hanging in the barn, Gretchen was getting ready for bed. “Mor said to tell you your supper is in the warming oven.”
“Where is she?”
“In her sewing room. Can’t you hear the machine?”
The men hung up their outerwear and crossed to the kitchen sink to wash the blood off their hands.
“Your chin too.” Ransom touched his chin to show his brother where to wash. “Good thing Mor sold this one too. Keep this up and we could whittle that account at the store down without using the calf money.”
“But I thought Slatfield wants the feeders.”
“Yep, deliver them next week.” Ransom pulled both full plates out of the warming oven and set them on the table. “Coffee’s hot.”
They ate their meal without much discussion, using fresh bread to sop up the gravy. Gretchen, in her nightdress and robe, dipped water out of the reservoir to wash with. “There’s gingerbread in the pantry. You want applesauce or cream on it?”
“How about both?” Lucas leaned back in his chair. “Full belly, full day’s work, and now I’m ready for a full night’s sleep. How about you ride with me into town tomorrow, Gretchen?”
“How will I get home again?”
“Ride with the Hendersons.” The Hendersons, their neighbors to the east, had enough kids to have a school all their own. The oldest son who was still in school drove the wagon for all of them to ride in. Gretchen said she’d rather ride her horse to town most of the time, but she agreed to ride in with Lucas.
“You better be ready to leave early. If I show up tardy, that teacher will make me stay after school ‘to make up your time,’ ” she said, parroting an older woman’s voice.
“I will.” Lucas tugged on her braid.
“Ouch.” She glared at him and headed for her bedroom.
Ransom and his mother rode out the next morning after Lucas and Gretchen drove off to town. In the cool air their breath fogged as they rode the horses up into the timber. The elk trail was easy to follow, the biggest danger being dead branches that could sweep them off the horses if they weren’t careful. Ransom smiled at his mother’s obvious delight in being on horseback. She’d always enjoyed riding and had taken part in roundups and calf brandings, especially since her husband had died. While he was alive, Ivar had insisted she wear a full riding c
ostume and use only a sidesaddle. After he was gone, she donned pants for the outside work, finding them far more practical, but for propriety’s sake she never wore them to town.
They crested a ridge and paused at the bowl of glowing aspens below them. The sun turning the trees to brass and gold brought on sighs of delight.
“God is sure lavish with His paintbrush,” Mavis said. “Thank you for suggesting this.”
“You are welcome. Is your gun loaded?”
“Of course.”
“Looks like the elk have used this area to bed down during the day. If they’re around and smell us, they’ll be off before we can get a shot in.”
They nudged their horses to start down the slope, weaving their way among the boulders. Ransom let his horse have his head so that he could use his hands to clear aside the branches and hopefully see the elk. While bedded down, the animals appeared like brown rocks or bushes, until they moved. When his horse stepped into a clearing, the earth erupted. Like huge waves the elk herd drove straight up the hills, their haunches flashing the light hair on their hindquarters. With no heads visible, Ransom sat disgusted. Had he been on foot he might have gotten a shot.
“What a glorious sight.” His mother sat with her hands crossed on the saddle horn, shaking her head in delight. Glancing at her son, she chuckled at the disgusted look on his face. “I’ve only seen that one other time, years ago. Some things you never forget.”
Ransom nodded and smiled back at her. “It is indeed a glorious sight, but dropping one would have made it perfect. They’ll run for miles now.”
“That’s okay. Let’s ride to the top of the next ridge and check out the deer hollow.”
“Be prepared to do some walking, then. Or . . .” He narrowed his eyes in thought. “I know. Let me get around that thicket, and then you ride in. Some might take the game trail, where I’ll be waiting. Or you want to do the shooting?”
“No, thanks. You go on ahead.”
He nudged his horse up the trail and, checking the wind direction, rode on around the area. He should have told her to give him half an hour. Ransom left his horse higher on the ridge and made his way down to take up a shooting position off one of the larger tracks. Okay, Mor, anytime now. The silence that had greeted him slipped away, overcome by the sounds of the forest. A dove called off to the right. Something small scratched in the leaves. How could he be so lucky as to not have a crow announce the presence of a stranger? The wind sighed in the tops of the pine trees. He inhaled a deep breath of forest perfume, redolent of pine, rotting leaves, and fall.
Holding his rifle at the ready, he listened. Was that his mother’s horse snapping twigs and moving rocks?
Two bucks broke through the brush, heading right toward him. He sighted and fired. One down. Tracking the other, he shot again. Two down. He waited to see if they would move. Three does rushed past his hiding place, but he ignored them and made his way to the closest buck. Clean shot, right in the heart. He slit the animal’s throat to let it bleed out and went back down to the first one. As he was bending down to slit the throat, he heard his mother’s voice.
“Did you get one?” she called.
“No, I got two.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes. Congratulations.”
Ransom counted the points: one had six and the other four. Good-sized mule deer and in excellent condition. This had been a good year for the animals, plenty of feed, and they’d seen twin fawns with many of the does. They liked the apples that fell from the trees not far from the ranch house. His father had planted them when he first settled the land.
“Lucas will be happy with those sets of antlers,” he said when his mother rode in.
“You did well. I thought it maybe took two shots to down one.” Mavis dismounted and pulled her knife from its sheath. “I’ll start on this one.”
Between the two of them, they soon had the deer gutted and slung across their horses’ rumps, behind the saddles. They tied them in place and then mounted to head home.
“Well, you think the hotel might like one? And we’ll keep the other? I want both hides.”
“Either that or JD might like one. He’s not done much hunting since his accident.” They rode back to the ranch and hung both deer up with the pulley. Skinning a deer was like skinning a rabbit. Cut the skin around the rear legs and pull it down and off the front legs. Mavis folded one hide while Ransom finished the other.
“I guess we’ll have dinner at the house after all,” she said. “It’s not much after noon. Thanks for asking me to go along. I needed some time out in the woods for a change.” She patted his shoulder. “And with you.” She paused at the door. “I’ll take care of the horses.”
Ransom finished by wrapping clean sheeting around the carcasses. He gathered up that used on the first elk and dumped it in a tub of water to soak before picking up the bucket that held the hearts and livers and making his way to the house. Fried liver sounded right good for dinner.
“I wish Gretchen had taken her horse in after all,” Ransom said after finishing his last bit of liver sometime later. “Now I’ll have to go get her.”
“I thought she was coming home with the Hendersons.”
“They make too many stops dropping off other kids.”
“I’m surprised Lucas isn’t back yet.”
“Maybe he stopped to swap tales at the store. Prob’ly some of the old-timers chewin’ the fat there.”
“Most likely.” She refilled their coffee cups and sat back down. “I finished that wood carrier last night. It’s in the woodbox. See how it goes.” She propped her elbows on the table and sipped from her coffee cup. “When I make the ones out of leather, I’ll use rivets at the stress points.”
“Prob’ly last a hundred years or so.”
“Well, it never pays to build something flimsy, you know.”
Ransom recognized the quote from his father. When Ivar Engstrom built something, it was built to last. Flimsy was near to a swearword for him. “Liver and onions for supper?”
“One of your pa’s favorites. This seems to be a remembering kind of day.”
He watched her face. Whatever she was thinking on was definitely a good one. Ransom left her at the table and, grabbing the new carrier off the edge of the box, headed for the woodpile. That was another thing to be done before winter set in—stack this pile of split wood and start working on the tree that needed to be cut to shorter lengths for the cookstove. The longer lengths would be stacked for use in the fireplace and when needed would be piled on the porch near the door. The roof’s overhang would keep the wood dry and handy. If only he could keep the mice from nesting there. He’d seen a pack rat scurrying away down the porch. Who knew what they’d find in its nest when they got down to it. One year they’d found two shiny buttons and a thimble that Mor had accused someone of misplacing. They’d torn the house apart looking for it.
He set the log carrier down, and it flopped open. Stacking the wood on it, about twice the amount he could carry in his arms, he grabbed the handles and hauled the load inside.
“Works, eh?”
“Yep. A real muscle builder, that one.” He dumped it into the box and continued on to do the same with the wood for the fireplace. Outside, after he’d stacked kitchen wood for about an hour, he loaded up again and carried it in. “You need to make one for the front porch too. This is right handy.”
“You better head on over to get Gretchen. School’s about out.”
“And no Lucas. Surely he didn’t stop off somewhere.”
“He better not have.” The look in his mother’s eyes said there would be misery to pay if he did. After her husband died, she swore there would never be a drop of liquor in her house again. Or in anyone, if they wanted to stay.
What else could have kept him? Ransom went out to the corral and whistled for Gray Bar, his favorite mount. He tied the horse in the opening of the barn after a struggle to get him near the door. Gray Bar did not like the smell of blood, so Ran
som never took this horse hunting.
He was tightening the cinch to go to town to get Gretchen when he heard a dog bark. He’d wondered where Benny was, but the dog often went visiting if a female from miles around came in heat. Most likely some other ranch or even a family in town would have puppies in a couple of months.
He heard something in the distance and could see the Henderson wagon drawing near. He took off the saddle and let Gray Bar back in the field with the other horses. No trip to town necessary.
Gretchen yelled at him when the wagon drew near enough. “Guess what happened at school today!”
Ransom’s stomach clenched. Now what?
Gretchen and the others groaned. “Two boys got in a fight, and we all had to make up time.”
A sigh released Ransom’s tight muscles. “You better get a move on.”
10
NORTH DAKOTA
Cassie ran back to the gully with a blanket in her arms.
Micah met her, shaking his head.
“Is she still alive?”
“Barely.”
Cassie handed him the blanket and knelt by the woman, ignoring the growls of the dog, warning her away. She felt the woman’s forehead. No fever. Instead, she was very cold. “How long do you think she’s been here?”
“At least a day. If the snow was still here, she’d be dead by now.” Chief and Micah spread the blanket between them and laid it on the ground. “You hold her leg while we lift.”
“But the dog . . .”
“Shoot if it attacks.”
Cassie gulped. She couldn’t shoot a dog. But she couldn’t let it rip a hole in one of the men either. Should she run back to the wagon and get her pistol? “Please, dog, we’re just trying to help her. You brought us here. Now let us help.”
The dog continued to growl, but it sat down just beyond the blanket, watching the woman, then glancing at the men.
Cassie studied the leg. At least there were no bones poking through the skin. She touched the swollen lower leg, but the woman didn’t respond. Perhaps her being unconscious was a good thing. “Roll one side of the blanket and lay it next to her. We can scoot her over easier than lifting her.” Micah did as she suggested.
Lauraine Snelling - [Wild West Wind 01] Page 8
