by Jim Cox
“You’re more than welcome to come along, Bart,” said Mrs. Douglas. “Could you have the buggy ready to go by seven in the morning? We should be ready to leave by then.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll have it ready. But if you don’t mind, I’ll ride Maude?”
“That’s fine,” she said. “I can handle the buggy.”
It was close to ten o’clock when the three entered the mercantile at Flat Peaks. The women went to the dress materials, and Bart looked for clothing. Within minutes, he had selected and paid for his new attire, but the ladies had not made their minds up on a single selection. “I’m going to the livery to see Eli,” Bart announced as he passed by the women. “Why don’t we meet at Jenny’s Place around noon?” He didn’t know if they heard him or not, since they were engulfed in the choices before them and didn’t respond.
Bart grinned as he approached the livery to find Eli leaning back in his chair with his hat tilted over his eyes. “I’m not asleep, just resting my eyes,” Eli said as he slid his hat back. When he saw Bart, he jumped up with a smile and gave him a firm handshake. “Sure is good to see you. I been wondering what you’ve been up to? I hear you’ve hooked up for a cattle drive with the James outfit. They’ll work you hard, but a finer group of folks can’t be found. I’ve done a great deal of work for them. Shoeing horses, mending wagon wheels, and the sort. They’ve always treated me good and paid in full when the job was done.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Eli. They seem like fine folks to me.” Eli went to the stove for coffee while Bart moved a couple of chairs to the shade.
Eli blew his coffee and then took a careful swallow, causing his Adam’s apple to bob up and down. After a few more swallows, he asked, “Bart, do you have your gear ready for the trip? I mean, has anyone talked to you about what’s needed for a two or three month cattle drive?”
“No one’s given me any advice on the matter, Eli, but I’m sure Thomas would help if I ask.”
As Eli was sitting back down after refilling their cups, Bart asked. “Could you help me out, Eli? I won’t be coming to town again before the drive, so I’d probably be smart to buy whatever’s needed while I’m here.”
“I was hoping you’d ask,” Eli said with a grin. And after a short pause to collect his thoughts, Eli started naming items as if he was reading from a manifest. Bart made a mental note of his suggestions and was preparing to head back to the mercantile to purchase them when Eli asked, “Do you have a knife? I don’t mean a pocket knife, but one you can keep in your boot?”
“No, sir, I don’t.”
“Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
Eli came from the barn holding a sheathed knife ten inches long. “Put this in your right boot, Bart. You never know when it might be needed.” He handed the knife to Bart and asked, “Where’s Maude?”
“She’s standing in front of the mercantile. Why do you ask?”
“Will you call her over? I want to suggest something.” Maude ambled toward the livery after hearing Bart’s whistle. Eli went back inside the barn, and when he returned, he was carrying a saddle, a saddle blanket, and a lariat.
“What’s that for, Eli? I never ride in a saddle.”
“I know that Bart, but you’ll need one on the drive. Besides, you’re gaining weight, and a saddle will help distribute your weight, easing the load for Maude. It’ll be more comfortable for her. This saddle has a rifle boot, and leather straps in the back for your bedroll and saddlebags.” Eli placed the blanket on Maude’s back and then swung the saddle in place. Maude immediately turned her head for a look and then stomped her hoof and swished her tail at a pesky fly.
Bart saw the sun straight overhead. “I’ve got to go, Eli. I’m to meet Liz and Mrs. Douglas at Jenny’s Place at noon. How much do I owe you for the knife and saddle?”
“Not a thing, Bart. They’ve just been laying around getting moldy. Let’s say they’re a late birthday present. I hear you had your sixteenth a month or so back.”
“Yes, sir, I did.” Bart reached for Eli’s hand, gave him a firm, manly handshake, and said, “I’m sure obliged to you for everything you’ve done for me, Eli. If you ever need help, count me in.”
Eli watched Bart step into the saddle and ride toward Jenny’s. “Yes, sir, you’re going to be quite a man someday—someone to ride the land with.” Eli cracked a smile as he watched Bart ride off.
Liz and Mrs. Douglas were sitting with Jenny at a back table when Bart entered. “Sit down, Bart,” Jenny said as she motioned toward the bench, “we’ve been waiting for you.” As soon as Bart sat down, Jenny left but soon returned with three plates of food and then fetched the coffee pot for refills. “I’ll be back in a little while, but right now I’m needed in the kitchen.” The food was delicious, but words were nonexistent. Bart could tell from the ladies’ silence and expressions something was bothering them, but he remained quiet.
When their meals were eaten, Mrs. Douglas rose and said, “Think I’ll go to the kitchen and talk with the women.” She gathered up the empty plates and utensils and headed for the batwing doors.
A couple minutes passed before Liz spoke. “Mama left on purpose, Bart, so we could be alone, I have something to tell you.” Tears welled up in Liz’s eyes and ran down her cheeks.
“What’s wrong, Liz? What is it?” Bart whispered, reaching for her hand.
Liz collected herself. “I’ll…I’ll be going to a finishing school in Pennsylvania, Bart. It’s a girl’s school where I’ll become qualified to be a school teacher. I’ll also be trained to instruct young ladies how to be sociable.”
“When are you leaving, Liz?”
“Papa’s made arrangements for us to leave in a week. We’ll take a stagecoach from Flat Peaks to Colorado Springs, and from there we’ll ride a train to Pennsylvania.”
“Who’s going with you?”
“Jenny knows a lady who wants to visit her family back east. She’ll be my escort. Mama has it all worked out for the price of her tickets.”
“Have you told anyone else, Liz? Do any of the other Double D folks know about your leaving?”
“Yes, they all know. They’ve known for some time. I’m sorry, Bart, but I couldn’t bring myself around to telling you. Mama planned this shopping trip so I could inform you.”
“That’s all right, Liz, I understand. How long will you be gone?”
Tears filled her eyes again as she said, “It’s a two-year course. I’ll be gone for two years, Bart. Two long years.” She started crying again, so Bart pulled her to him and held her tightly as she sobbed on his shoulder. Listening behind the batwings were three strong Western women with swollen red eyes and streaked cheeks.
The trip home seemed to stretch on for hours. And even though Bart had depressing thoughts about Liz leaving the ranch, he was pleased with the feel of the saddle. Few words were spoken in the buggy as it plodded onward, filled with dress fabric, household supplies, and an array of items Bart had bought.
Liz’s last week was solemn. The ladies stayed busy making dresses and packing things in Liz’s chest for the trip. The Double D men continued their normal routines but had long faces with little enthusiasm. Her departure was on everyone’s mind.
Bart planned an evening walk with Liz the day before she was to leave. They headed north along the stream, admiring the budding field flowers and occasionally seeing a rabbit or ground squirrel run into hiding. With only two hours of daylight remaining, the sky was beautiful. Floating clouds of all colors and sunbeams that carried the right amount of heat made the spring afternoon perfect. Bart carried a basket for Liz, hoping it contained something to eat. He also carried the leather bag with his mother’s bible inside.
They heard falling water minutes before coming to the pond. When they arrived, Bart placed the basket and bag on a rough-hewn table, and the two sat down. “This is a lovely place for a picnic, Bart. Who built the table and benches? I’ve never seen them before.”
“I did, Liz, I built them this morning. I wanted our
last evening together to be…to be…well, you know.” Liz smiled and nodded.
Falling water was the only sound for several minutes. Finally, Liz broke the silence. “Are you ready to eat, Bart? I made your favorite sandwich and packed a couple pieces of apple pie.” She started unpacking the basket and held up a single cup. “I only had room for one cup.” She smiled. “I thought we could share.”
After eating, Bart reached for his leather bag and removed the Bible. Liz was unsure of its purpose under these circumstances but remained quiet waiting for his explanation. “Liz, this is the most precious thing I own, and I want you to have it.”
“Bart, I can’t accept your mother’s Bible. It’s the only thing you have of hers. It’ll hold memories for years to come. Why do you want me to have it?”
“You’re right, it is special to me, but so are you. And besides, it might get damaged in a rainstorm if I take it with me.”
Liz accepted the Bible. “I’ll keep it until you get settled, then I’ll return it.”
Bart nodded his approval and then continued. “Liz, the main reason I want you to have the Bible is to meet my ma, to get to know her. She was a God-fearing woman, a wonderful person. I know you would have liked her. Nearly every page in her Bible has handwritten notations about her beliefs on matters. Examples of why she knew the scripture is true. If you read her Bible, you’ll get to know her.”
Liz flipped through the pages, coming to the letter. “Here’s your mother’s letter. Do you want me to keep it, too?”
“Yes, I want it kept with her Bible. Liz, I’d like to read Ma’s letter to you if it’s all right.” Liz only nodded. Bart unfolded the paper and began reading. He had to pause a time or two to stifle the ache, but he continued. Liz’s heart was about to break, imagining the pain Bart was enduring as he read the letter that brought back painful memories of not so long ago. Her mind clung to every word—to every thought.
When he concluded, Bart folded and replaced the letter. Neither spoke. Liz simply reached for his hand, and they sat watching the water spill over the rocks. Finally, Bart spoke.
“That’s some name, isn’t it? Azro Bartholomew Carter.” He laughed, but Liz remained sober.
“I agree with your mother, Bart. It’s a name to be proud of, especially considering the characteristics of your grandfathers.”
“I knew you’d agree with her, Liz. It must be a woman thing. By the way, what’s your full name? Your Christian name?”
Liz straightened up, and with an expression of pride, said, “My full name is Eliza Ann Douglas, and I’m proud of it.” Long shadows were forming when Bart started to rise, but Liz pulled him back and kissed him softly on his left cheek. He turned facing her. Their eyes froze on each other. Their faces were serious.
Words were not spoken as they remained sitting. Only the sound of falling water echoed around them. Bart reached for Liz’s hand. She obliged. “Thank you for that kiss, Liz. It means a great deal to me.” She gave a nod with twinkling eyes.
Before the last glimmer of light passed, Bart said, “We’d better go. Your folks may be worried.” The two walked hand in hand back home, knowing it would be a long, long time before they’d see each other again.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Six weeks later, the Double D roundup was complete, and their cattle for sale were driven to the James’ ranch. Ten or twelve of the cows carried the HJ brand. When the men topped the last hill before getting to the James spread, they saw a sea of cattle roaming the hillsides and beyond; they were overwhelmed. Bart asked, “How many head would you say are down there, Thomas?”
“There’s around three thousand head, at least that’s the usual size of a James’ drive.” Douglas felt small-time bringing in his two hundred head, but he also felt proud of the accomplishments they’d made at the Double D in only two years. He had calculated this year’s returns to be about a thousand dollars less than last year, but still more than enough to operate the ranch. “If all goes well, we’ll have over three hundred head next year, which should bring in nearly five thousand dollars.” Douglas smiled at the thought.
At first light the next morning, the three Double D men said their goodbyes to Bart and the Henry James’ folks and headed home to start phase two of the Douglas house-building project. As Bart watched them leave, he wondered if he had made the right decision by signing on with the James’ drive. After all, he was a complete stranger to this type of work, while everyone else had experience from past cattle drives. He’d probably have to do all the work no one else wanted.
Bart had a melancholy minute as he watched the Double D men ride out of sight, but was soon rejuvenated when a rather plump man ambled toward him with an extended hand. “Howdy,” he said, shaking Bart’s hand like a pump handle. “You must be Scar? My name’s Rowdy. I’m the trail cook.”
“Glad to meet you Mister…” Bart hesitated not knowing Rowdy’s last name, but Rowdy quickly interjected, “You can forget that mister stuff. Call me Rowdy.”
Rowdy was a short, heavyset man. He was less than five and a half feet, yet he probably tipped the scales at well over two hundred pounds. Bart guessed him to be around fifty, due to his sunbaked, wrinkled skin, gray beard, and a few strands of gray hair escaping from his hat. He wore a red checked flannel shirt with sleeves rolled up, showing dingy long johns with food spots on them. The bottoms of his black wool trousers were stuffed into skinned-up, muddy boots. Bart couldn’t tell whether he’d missed a shave or was growing a beard. Stubble covered his face. He wore a flimsy, shapeless, dark brown hat pulled down to his ears.
Bart heard Boss calling him, so he excused himself. “Don’t let his looks fool you, Scar,” said Boss. “Rowdy’s the best cook there is in this part of the country. We have men join up simply because they’ve heard of Rowdy’s cookin’. He’ll talk rough and be bossy sometimes, but don’t let it bother you. You’ll learn a lot from him if you pay attention.”
Boss could see the men starting to gather, so he turned and called out to get their attention, “It’s about time to get started, men, but first I want to say a few words.” He motioned for everyone to gather around the water trough. There were fourteen men who stepped forward, not counting Boss, Rowdy, or Bart. “Listen up, everyone. We have a new hand this year. His name is Scar, and he’ll be helping Rowdy. Introduce yourselves when time allows.” Bart had accepted the fact he would always be known as Scar, except to the Douglases.
“The rules are simple and the same as last year. There’ll be no liquor allowed. If you have a bottle, give it to Rowdy. He’ll keep it on hand for medicinal purposes. There’s no job too trivial. If you see something that needs to be done, do it yourself. We’ll work around the clock taking shifts. You’re allowed six hours of sleep and an hour to eat the noon and supper meal. Don’t overwork your horse. We’re taking sixty extra head, so give every horse a rest when they need it. Are there any questions?”
“Where are we headed, Boss?” called a voice.
“The plan is to go to Omaha, but we’ve heard reports prices may be depressed there, so we may continue on to Chicago.”
“I didn’t know drives from this area went to Chicago,” someone shouted from the crowd.
Boss responded, “You’re right, but it’s been done. The trail might be a little tough. There’s the Mississippi River to contend with, but it’s normally running low this time of the year. Farmers may be a problem too, but we’ll make out.”
“How long would it take to reach Chicago?” someone shouted.
Boss responded. “Omaha takes about ten weeks, but if we go on to Chicago, it’ll take an additional two months. When we get closer to the market, we’ll have to let the herd graze for a week to get their weight back on. If there are no more questions, let’s get started.” The men walked to their horses, stepped into their saddles, and headed for the cows. Scar noticed every man wore chaps and spurs with a gun hanging at his side.
Rowdy hung back to talk. “What’s the plan, Boss? Want m
e to have the nooner ready at the regular place? I imagine there’ll be plenty of water in the creek.”
“We’ll follow your lead, Rowdy. You’re the trail boss when it comes to our course and where we stop.” Rowdy shook his head and walked off, grumbling under his breath. Boss winked at Scar.
When Scar caught up with Rowdy, he was hitching six matched oxen to a huge wagon with oversized wheels. His horse was tied to the back. “Ever see a rig like this, Scar?” he asked as he continued working.
“No, sir, I haven’t. I’ve never been around oxen, and I didn’t know they made wagons this large.”
“It takes a lot of grub to last three months for a group our size. That’s why we attach a smaller wagon to the rear. It’s called a Backaction. The main wagon is called a Prairie Schooner, and it’s suited for trips like ours. The wheels are oversized to handle the rugged terrain, and the bed is like a boat for crossing rivers—it won’t leak. The bonnet is extra high and watertight, too.”
Rowdy took Scar to the back of the wagon where a box was bolted on and pulled down its hinged lid, which provided a large work table. Above the table was a honeycomb of small storage bins containing food, pots and pans, and medicine items, including the cure-all—carbolic acid. “We call this the chuck box,” Rowdy said with a smile. “I’ve got it chucked full.”
“Why do you use oxen instead of horses? They seem slow and sort of lazy to me.”
“You’re partly right. They are slow, but they’re not lazy. Oxen have more staying power than horses. Their watering stops are less frequent, and their feet and legs give fewer problems. But the most important reason is, oxen don’t start running or get excited in a thunderstorm like horses do.
“It’s important to train them at an early age. I trained these myself. If you teach them to walk at a good pace, it’ll stay with them for a lifetime. Some people think bullwhips are constantly used on an ox team, and I suppose some drivers use them, but I don’t.” Rowdy continued, “Scar, an ox team is not guided with bits and driving lines, like horses. They respond to voice signals. I’ll teach you the words as we travel.”
