by Nancy Radke
Unlike the other men I had tried to hire, these didn’t back off, but came closer and admired him.
“Would you look at the weight on him?”
“As square as a box car.”
“He’d give a buffalo a good fight.”
“Naw, I think the buff would win. Have you seen the heads on those things? They’re twice as wide as his.”
“Where’d you get him, Ma’am?”
“My father raises them,” I said. “This one lost his mother when he was but a calf and I hand-raised him. So he knows me.”
“Bulls can be unpredictable,” one said. “Kill a lot of people.”
“Dairy bulls,” I agreed. “Herefords are much easier to handle.”
They looked over at the door, where I had thrown the manure in a heap. It needed moving.
“Short straw loses,” Shorty said, with a wink at me. “Long straw gets dinner with the lady.” He picked up a handful of straw, took out a knife and cut it into pieces. Arranging them carefully in his hand, he made a fist so just a small part showed, and held it up. They each drew a straw.
“Long one!” a young cowboy exclaimed.
“Short one,” soon came the disgusted grunt from another. He looked at me. “What do I do?”
“The train will stop for water in a half hour. Be here with Sir Galahad. I’ll come, too. They will bring by a wagon and check all the cattle cars. Some horses are being shipped, and I think other cows. They’ll open the door and give you a few minutes to throw the waste into the wagon. That’s it.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes. I’ll pay—”
“No, you don’t,” Shorty said. “He lost short straw. No pay for him.”
“But—”
“Pay is long straw. Dinner with a lady.”
“Then dinner it is.”
“I’ll see you at dinner.” Shorty said. He was not the one who had drawn the long straw. I looked at him puzzled, but he just grinned.
They stood around for a few more minutes admiring Sir Galahad and trying to figure out how many steaks he had in him. They reminded me of some of the kids I’d seen around the college in town, poking fun at each other, but secure in their group.
Their attention then turned to the lad who had won the long straw. They tried tricking him out of it, then betting on things, making his bet the straw, but he wouldn’t do it. Finally Shorty offered him a dollar for it.
“No. It’s my straw.”
Smart kid. But it was Shorty who showed up afterwards for dinner. He’d changed his shirt and shaved and looked much more presentable. I met him just outside the dining car.
The steward seated us at a table covered with a monogramed, stiff white tablecloth, with china plates and matching, monogramed silverware.
I had been having my meals brought to my car, as I didn’t want to eat alone, but I wasn’t going to eat there with a strange man. I had the steward add my name to the list of persons eating there tonight. Consequently, we were among the last ones seated.
“What did you do to get the straw from that boy?” I asked after we sat down and ordered our meal.
He just smiled, a secret kind of smile and said, “It was easy.”
“What?”
“I made him an offer.”
“What?”
“You don’t want to know. He thinks he came out ahead. That’s all.”
“Did he?”
“He did. And I did. Dinner with a lady didn’t mean anything to him, but he knew the straw was valuable, so dickered pretty hard for it.”
I found Shorty the easiest man to talk to I’d ever met. Everything was a joke to him. He didn’t take life seriously.
He told me about cowboy’s work, and how dangerous it was droving, and I realized why money and clothes didn’t matter to him. He didn’t figure on living very long.
So I threw etiquette aside and quizzed him on things. Like the clothes he wore.
“The tight pants are more comfortable in the saddle. Shirt cuffs are tight so they’ll fit into your gloves and out of the way for roping. You don’t want extra clothes flapping around when you have to move fast. The heels keep you from getting a foot caught in the stirrup and drug to death if your horse throws you. They also help you dig in, if you’re standing on the ground with a horse on the other end of your lasso, trying to leave the country. You’ll find all things have a reason, Ma’am. The bandana keeps dust out of your face and the hat is an umbrella.”
“And your gun?” He hadn’t worn it to dinner, as I had looked to see if it was there.
“For shootin’ varmints. Two-legged, four-legged, and those without legs.”
I looked puzzled, so he added, “Snakes, Ma’am.”
“Oh.”
“We have a lot of them in Texas.”
“Are you from Texas?”
“I’m from a lot of places. Texas was the last stop.”
“Where are you from originally?”
“Some things you don’t ask, Ma’am.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“If you’re going west, you need to know that. If people want you to know their name and where they’re from, they’ll tell you. Just don’t ask.”
“I see. May I ask if you’re returning to Texas?”
“You can. I’m not. That was the last drive my boss was making. Now that we’ve had our time in town, the boys and I are headed to Wyoming. Maybe Montana. Wherever the jobs are.”
Our meal was served and we ate, attending to the business of eating the excellent food served in the dining car. Looking outside, we had an ever-changing panorama of scenery, as the train was following a stream. As a place to have dinner, it was quite unique.
When our dessert came, Shorty proceeded to ask me about raising bulls like Sir Galahad, how much they were selling for, and how well their get did on the open range.
“That last I don’t know,” I said. “I know father shipped some out to Oregon last year. And several to California. I don’t know if they kept them penned or what, or if they graze their calves out on the open land.”
“I’d think the deep snow would get them. Or the wolves. They run in packs, you know, and an animal must be quick to turn. A few wolves will go after his head and while he’s worried about them, one will slip in and hamstring him from behind. Once they get an animal down, he’s gone.”
“Do they take out many cows?”
“Oh yes. Every rancher carries a gun. Either to shoot wolves, or to kill an animal the wolves have injured. They do a lot of damage. Along with the bears and coyotes, though the coyotes are not quite so dangerous.”
“I hope Mr. Trahern keeps Sir Galahad where there’s a barn.”
“Trahern, you say?”
“Yes. James Trahern. That’s the man who bought him.”
“I knew a Trahern in Texas. A girl. Her father raises horses.”
“They might be kinfolk,” I said.
It was the most interesting conversation I’d ever had. Most men I’d talked too were either only interested in telling me about themselves or in trying to compliment me. I’d even had some recite poetry to me. I like poetry, but I didn’t feel the words of a poet described me as well as just a sincere unpoetic word might have. None of them had an interesting job, or if they did, they didn’t tell me about it. They probably thought I wouldn’t be interested.
We talked until I noticed the stewards had cleared out all around us.
“I must go,” I said. “Thank you for a very entertaining evening.”
“Thank you, Ma’am. My pleasure.” He left a tip and insisted on paying for the meal.
“But I was supposed to furnish the meal,” I said.
He waggled his finger at me. “You furnished the delightful company at the meal. A lady doesn’t pay.”
I wondered if all western men were as nice as Shorty, then remembered he carried a gun for shooting varmints. “Thank you. Goodnight, and I hope to see more of you.”
“It’s a small tr
ain,” he replied.
Back in my car, I got ready for bed. The stays in my corset were hurting my ribs, and I struggled with it and finally pulled it off and looked it over.
Why was I wearing this? I was thin enough. I didn’t need to look thinner. The stays hurt and bruised my ribs, although not so much right now, as I didn’t have Nell pulling on the ribbons. It was almost impossible to get in and out of without help.
The weather was getting hot during the day. I noticed the women here wore fairly loose cotton dresses and now I knew why.
They had looked sloppy to me when I first saw them. I had viewed them with my mother’s eye, feeling the gowns were poorly sewn. I now realized that they were cooler. It was full summer, and each day getting hotter as we moved inland. That night I threw open my windows to get a breeze created by the train, and slept with just a light sheet over me.
The next morning I searched through my steamer trunk until I found the dress I was thinking of. It was a light cotton shirtwaister, one of only two dresses I owned that were not fitted so tight I could hardly breathe in them. Consequently, they were loose enough I wouldn’t have to wear my corset underneath.
I washed, dressed and felt much cooler and comfortable. I put on a pair of old shoes I used around the garden, and went to check on Sir Galahad. The cowboys had already been there and cleaned his stall. They hadn’t fed him, probably because they didn’t know how much to give him out of the sacks of grain I had there. He got a mixture in the morning that I weighed out for him. It consisted of sorghum, rolled oats, barley, some dried corn and a tablespoon of sorghum molasses over the top.
Shorty came in while I was measuring, and watched me, asking why each different grain was fed.
“The sorghum is nutrient rich,” I told him. “My father swears by it, and always gives it to his bulls as they are growing up. It produces the weight you see on these bulls. It makes their bones strong, and just plain keeps them healthy. Once they are full grown, he doesn’t feed the molasses any more.”
“I thought he was full grown,” Shorty said, glancing at Sir Galahad.
“He is. Father was ready to take him off, when he sold him. He didn’t want to change feed all at once, especially on the trip. I’ve been instructed to keep feeding him the same until he’s in his new surroundings. Then I’m to taper off and do a food change.”
“Has he ever eaten grass?”
“Oh, yes. He loves it. I don’t feed him as much grain when he has grass to eat afterwards.”
“I’m leaving the train in a day. You’ll have to get some other help for the last leg of your trip.”
“It might just pile up on me. The first time I tried to hit the wagon, I wasn’t prepared for the speed they wanted it shoveled or the distance they wanted it thrown. They yelled at me.” Actually they swore at me, and told me to get a boy to do it.
“I understand why they were angry,” I added. “They had to get to all the cars before the train started up again. They couldn’t wait for me.”
“No, Ma’am. That they couldn’t. Do you want me to look through the train for help for you?”
“Would you? I sent the porter the first time, but he never found anyone who didn’t refuse as soon as they saw Sir Galahad.”
“There should be some farm families aboard now that we’re moving west. I’ll look out a farm boy for you, who won’t mind earning two dollars.”
“Thank you. That would really help.”
Later on that day, Shorty brought me Henry, a freckled-faced youth who looked like he could pick up Sir Galahad if he had to.
We were approaching Cheyenne, where the porter had told me a wagon would be ready. The stop was longer than normal as they had to take some cars off this train and route them south, and then add cars from the train that had come north to this one. Another wagon would follow with hay and straw that we could load into Sir Galahad’s car.
This boy wasn’t afraid of bulls and handled the pitchfork like he knew which end was the business end. He offered to come through and clean up every morning for no extra charge. He said, “My Pa says it’s not fitting for a woman to have to clean stalls when there’s a husky boy around to do it.”
“Then tell your pa, ‘Thank you.’ I’d appreciate it very much.”
He left, and I made sure Sir Galahad was tied and the big outside door well secured. I decided to go back to my car and rest before supper. It was the last sleeper car on the train, so no one would pass through it. They had put Sir Galahad’s car just ahead of it, and the freight cars behind it, as this train carried both passengers and local freight.
I opened the door from Sir Galahad’s car and saw a freight car where mine should have been. Where was my car?
*2*
Had they shuffled my car forward? I’d seen some cars going by while Henry was tossing manure, so I turned around and walked the length of the train. I went by Henry’s family and stopped to speak to them and tell them what a fine worker he was. I could tell they were proud of him.
Then I passed Shorty and his cowboys, lounging in the day section. Shorty said they didn’t bother with sleepers. If they could sleep out on rocks, they sure as shootin could sleep on train benches.
They didn’t look very comfortable. Shorty was just getting settled in when I walked by. He took one look at my face and jumped up.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, as he stepped over the tangle of legs and joined me in the aisle. “You look ready to panic.”
“I can’t find my car.”
“It’s at that end, isn’t it?”
“No. Not unless it’s behind the freight cars now. I thought they might have moved it forward, but I’m running out of train this end.”
We were close enough to the engine to see the sparks flying off.
“There’s nothing past our car like yours,” Shorty said. “There’s a car for the stewards and porters. Then the wood car and the engine.”
“Are you sure? How can you lose a car?”
Shorty walked up to the door leading into the employee’s section and beat on the door until the steward opened it. He glanced from me to Shorty.
“Miss Porter’s car has disappeared,” Shorty said. “Did they put it behind the freight cars when they were switching?”
“They shouldn’t have,” the steward said, alarmed. He shot out of the door and practically ran through the train. We followed, as he ran from one car to the next. When we got to the freight cars, he went up and over them. We waited until he returned. He dropped down where we were and we went inside.
“It’s not there,” he said. “I went all the way to the caboose. I don’t know what to say. This has never happened on my route. I’ll check and see if we have an empty room, but I don’t think we do.”
“What good is an empty room?” I said, wringing my hands in despair. “That car had my trunk and all my suitcases in it. I don’t have any of my things.”
“We can reroute it back, Miss. You can get off at the next stop and wait for it to come through.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know. If it really did get routed to Texas, it may take a week to get it back.”
“And my bull? Where is he going to room?”
“I’d forgotten.” He ran his fingers through his hair, knocking off his hat when he did so.
“The man who bought him is expecting him on this train,” I said. “So I’ll take him through on this train. But my trunk had better follow me.”
“Does your luggage have your address on it?”
“Yes, it does.”
“They’ll send it, then.”
“My Baltimore address. It’ll get home before I do.”
“They should send it to where you are going.”
“I hope so.”
We followed him back to where he had a list of passengers.
He looked over his list. “There are no empty sleeping cars, Miss. They’re all full.”
I was near tears. Nothing was going as planned. I f
elt all alone and vulnerable without my car. It was like I’d lost my home.
We had passed farmlands earlier. Now, as the climate grew drier, the farms gave way to ranches. I could see cattle grazing by the side of the tracks, and occasionally a cowboy.
“The next stop has a telegraph operator at the station. I’ll have him send a message down the line. They’ll find the car and send your thing on.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“The train will refund your money, Miss.”
“I don’t need the money, I need a place to sleep. I need my things. I don’t even have a comb.” Now I was beginning to panic. The people in the day cars barely had a toilet and a place to wash up. They got on the train, and except for a few stalwart souls like the cowboys, got off the same day.
This morning I had put on my oldest shirtwaister and some low heeled shoes, so I would be comfortable. I had no nice clothes to wear. Nothing to meet Mr. Trahern in, as would be fitting a daughter of the man he purchased a bull from. I knew no one on this train except a bunch of cowboys, who were due to get off before I did.
I was feeling extremely sorry for myself when Shorty said, “This is worse than the time a buffalo herd went through my camp. Almost died before I found my horse.”
“What happened to your things?” I asked him.
“There’s nothing left once a buffalo herd tromps on it. Food, blanket, saddle. All gone.”
“How did you get away?” the steward asked.
“They were running and the ground shook. I woke up and thought it was a storm, then an earthquake. I’d never seen several thousand buffs running together. I had camped near a rock formation that stuck up like a tooth. My horse was out grazing, as I didn’t tie him at night. I scrambled up the tooth, just as the herd hit. Took over an hour for them to run by. I clung to that rock the whole time.”
“Did you get to the top?” I asked.
“Not that good of a climber. I had pulled on my boots, first thing, then ran for the rock. But it was hard to climb, and I only made it about ten feet off the ground, so I was practically sitting on top of their horns. When they passed, there was nothing left. It was like I hadn’t even been there.”
“Why didn’t you jump on your horse and ride away?” I asked.
