“He’d have run off except Mandy got hold of him and put him on his rope,” Estelle said. “He’s still growling.”
“Peculiar,” Philomena said. Setting the potato and the knife on the table, she rose, smoothed her apron, and went out the back and around to where Blue was tied.
A big mongrel they had acquired when he was a pup from a man giving a litter away, Blue was so named because he had one brown eye and one blue eye.
At the moment, the hackles of his short, bristly hair were raised, and he was half-crouched, staring at a tract of woodland about a hundred yards away, and growling.
Mandy was next to him, her arms crossed, quizzically studying the same patch of woods.
“What has his dander up?” Philomena asked.
“The devil if I know,” Mandy said. “He’s been this way for about ten minutes now. I was weeding the garden when he started in. I’ve shushed him, but it does no good.”
Philomena moved past Blue and scanned the woods. Everything appeared normal.
“What do you think, Ma?” Mandy said. “A bear, maybe? Or a mountain lion?”
“It could be anything,” Philomena said. “The wind must be blowing just right, and Blue has picked up the scent.” She tested her notion by licking the tip of her index finger and holding it up. Sure enough, the breeze was blowing from the woods toward them.
“I don’t like it,” Estelle said.
“Relax, little sister,” Mandy teased. “No bear or mountain lion will attack us in broad daylight.”
“A bear might,” Philomena said, although bear attacks were rare these days. In early times there had been a few.
“What if it’s not an animal?” Estelle said. “What if it’s Indians?”
“Unlikely,” Philomena said. “The last report of hostiles hereabouts was years ago.”
“One of us should go have a look-see,” Mandy suggested.
Philomena shook her head. “Not on your life. Neither of you is to go anywhere. Stay close to the house, you hear me?”
“I won’t go anywhere, Ma,” Estelle said.
“Amanda?”
“What?”
“Don’t act dumb. You’re not to go look. Whatever is out there, we leave it be and it will leave us be. Understood?”
“Yes, Ma,” Mandy said with little enthusiasm.
“I mean it,” Philomena impressed on her. “I know that independent streak of yours. You might take it into your head to go anyway.”
“I won’t go if you don’t want us to.”
“Promise me,” Philomena said.
“Oh, Ma.”
“Promise.”
Mandy frowned. “All right. I promise. Happy now?”
“You promise what?”
“Must you make such an issue of this?” Mandy said indignantly.
“Let me hear the words,” Philomena insisted. Ever since Amanda was little, she’d always kept her promises. Which was why she was sometimes reluctant to make them.
Exhaling and fluttering her lips, Mandy said, “I promise not to go off to those woods. Happy now?”
“Don’t take that tone with me, young lady,” Philomena said. “And yes, I’m happy.”
“But what if it is Indians?” Estelle brought up again. “Wouldn’t you want to know?”
“What can I do if it is?” Philomena said. “They’re not going to run from a woman.” She shook her head. “No, we’re better off here. Be ready to rush inside if you have to. In fact”—she came to an abrupt decision—“both of you come in right now.” They would stay there until she was sure it was safe.
“Oh, Ma,” Mandy said. “All Blue is doing is growling.”
“I wont brook any sass,” Philomena said. “In you go.” She motioned and waited for them to precede her. Estelle did so without complaining, but Mandy grumbled under her breath.
Philomena didn’t care that Mandy was upset. Their lives came first. Beasts and Indians weren’t the only things they had to worry about. A lot of hard cases prowled the Texas frontier, outlaws and whatnot who might regard a mother and her two girls as plum pudding. Once they were inside, she threw the bolt.
“Estelle, go bolt the back door. Then you and your sister go from room to room and make sure all the windows are latched.”
“Pa always says you’re too cautious by half,” Mandy said.
“One of us has to be.” Philomena smiled and patted Mandy’s arm and returned to the potatoes. She got so involved with preparing their meal that she forgot about Blue and the woods until Estelle hurried in.
“Ma! You have to come see.”
“What is it?”
“Come. Quick.”
Estelle led her up to the girls’ bedroom. Mandy was at the window when Philomena walked in, and beckoned.
“I take back what I said, Ma. You were right.”
A knot in the pit of her stomach, Philomena went over. The window overlooked the barn and the corral, and the woods beyond. At first all seemed to be normal.
“I don’t see . . .” Philomena began, and stopped. Well back in the trees, in the shadows where they couldn’t be seen from the yard, were horses. She couldn’t count how many, but there had to be a dozen, at least. All she could tell was that they didn’t have saddles.
“Ma?” Mandy said.
A cold finger rippled down Philomena’s spine, and she almost trembled. Struggling to keep her voice calm, she said, “I see them.”
“Are they what I think they are? Injun horses?”
“They appear to be,” Philomena said.
“Are they friendly, do you think?” Estelle asked.
“Use your head,” Mandy said. “If they were, would they be hiding?”
“If they mean us harm, what are they waiting for?” Estelle said.
Philomena knew the answer to that. The Indians were waiting for night to fall. Under the cover of darkness, they could slip in close.
“Do you reckon they know that Pa and Luke and Sam aren’t here?” Estelle asked.
“I don’t see how they would,” Philomena said. Not that it mattered. “Mandy, I want you to fetch that old revolver out of the top drawer in our bedroom. And Estelle, you go find Sam’s squirrel rifle.”
“What do you aim to do, Ma?” Mandy said.
“Fight for our lives,” Philomena said.
Chapter 41
The branding was going well. There had been no sign of any Comanches, and as Reuben Weaver put it, “Looks like we were worried over nothing.”
Hostiles or not, they needed to eat, and they were almost out of meat. Gareth proposed to Owen that he would take his two oldest and go off into the hills after deer or whatever else they could bring down.
“We should be back by dark. There’s plenty of game hereabouts.”
“Be careful,” Owen said. “If Comanches are around, you’ll need eyes in the backs of your heads. We don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Gareth led Harland and Thaxter off to the west. Once the forest closed around them, Harland let out a hard laugh.
“Did you hear that jackass, Pa? He doesn’t want anything to happen to us.”
“I’d call that right neighborly,” Thaxter said, and grinned.
“It was,” Gareth said. He had taken his rifle from the scabbard and was holding it across his saddle. When they spooked a deer, they’d have to shoot quick to drop it.
“Listen to you,” Harland said. “As if you give a damn about Owen Burnett.”
“As if any of us do,” Thaxter said.
The trees teemed with bird life. A squirrel scampered from limb to limb. Bees buzzed, and a butterfly flitted in search of flowers.
“Thanks for reminding me,” Gareth said, and wheeled his horse side-on to his sons.
“About what?” Harland said.
“When are you fixing to tell Lorette, Silsby, and Iden?” Thaxter wanted to know.
“Your sister is too fond of Sam Burnett. I’m not sure I can trust her to keep it secret. As for your brothers, they’re too young yet. They might not understand it’s for their own good.”
“They’re not that dumb,” Harland said.
“They’re not as hard as they need to be, either,” Gareth said. “I doubt either of them would shoot Owen Burnett in the back if I asked them to.”
“I would,” Thaxter said.
“You’d shoot anybody,” Gareth said. “Harland, there, too. Which is why I can trust the both of you.”
“Speaking of which, you should turn us loose on them,” Harland said. “We don’t need the Burnetts or the Weavers any longer.”
Gareth gazed back toward their camp and glimpsed their campfire through the trees. “That’s your problem, son. You’re too impatient.”
“We’re more likely to be caught if we wait until after Abilene,” Harland said. “By then too many folks will have seen them. The buyers, too.”
Thaxter nodded. “We should do it soon. We don’t need their help on the drive. Longhorns aren’t as fearsome as we were told they’d be.”
“Just the seven of us to herd twenty-five hundred cattle?” Gareth said. “The cowboy I talked to told me there should be at least ten tending a herd that size. No, we need Owen and Jasper a while yet.”
“I don’t agree,” Harland said.
“It’s my opinion that counts,” Gareth reminded him.
“Don’t you worry they’ll catch on somewhere along the way?” Thaxter asked. “It’s a far piece from Texas to Kansas.”
“Why should they?” Gareth said. We’ve worked as hard as them, and treated them more decent than we’ve ever treated anybody. Owen Burnett trusts me. I can see it in his eyes, and in how he acts. He has no cause at all to be suspicious.”
Harland chortled. “Won’t he be surprised when you splatter his brains?”
“He’ll reckon I’ve gone loco,” Gareth said. “A man like him, an honorable man, sees honor in others even when there is none. It would never occur to Owen that I’d betray his trust and turn on him, because it’s something he would never do.”
“I never have understood folks like him,” Harland said.
“All of them sheep, waiting to be sheared.” Gareth rested the stock of his rifle on his thigh. “I almost feel sorry for them.”
“I still think we should kill them now, Pa,” Harland said. “We could use the Comanches as scapegoats. We’ll say the war party killed the Burnetts and the Weavers, and everyone will believe us.”
“When I said no I meant no,” Gareth said. “Not until we have the money. We’ll claim outlaws jumped us and tried to take it. Folks will believe that as much as Comanches. Once we make it back, we should put tombstones in the graveyard in town in honor of our dear, departed friends.”
“Waste money on tombstones?” Thaxter said. “You’re joshing, Pa, aren’t you?”
“I sure as hell am.”
They laughed and rode on.
Gareth found it hard to concentrate on the hunt. He couldn’t stop thinking about the money. Twenty-five hundred head at forty dollars each came to one hundred thousand dollars. More than he’d ever dreamed he’d have. One hundred thousand. Gareth rolled the sum in his mind and then on his tongue under his breath. They’d be rich. Or, rather, he would.
Once he had the money, the question became how much to give to his sons. He got the impression Harland and Thaxter were expecting a lot. Five to ten thousand apiece, maybe. Fat chance. He was their pa. The lion’s share went to him. And by lion’s share, he was thinking ninety eight thousand was the right amount. The other two thousand he’d pass out to his sons and Lorette.
As for Ariel, she didn’t deserve a cent. She hadn’t done anything to earn it. He might give her shopping money now and then, but she, like the money, was his to do with as he pleased.
The only hitch might be the Comanches. But as time went by and the hostiles didn’t show, Gareth became convinced they weren’t going to. Soon the drive could commence, and in a couple of months or so, he could claim his fortune.
Gareth went to laugh and caught himself. His boys might wonder. They didn’t realize that everything they did was for his good, not theirs. They’d get mad if they knew the truth. But that was part of being a parent.
You had to be tough with your kids whether they liked it or not.
Chapter 42
Sam Burnett wasn’t fond of branding. It was dangerous work. Longhorns were unpredictable, and now and then one would break free and turn on them. He also didn’t like the burning smell when the hot brand was pressed to the hides. It made him want to sneeze.
Sam had been at it with some of the others for over an hour, branding the last of the unmarked cattle. He was grateful when his pa came over and told him he could take a break. He was tired and sweaty, and his throat was parched. Instead of treating himself to water from his canteen, he went to the creek, dropped to his knees, cupped both hands, and wet his face and his neck. Then he cupped more, and drank.
“Look at you, kneeling there,” said a familiar voice behind him.
“You’ve never seen anyone kneel before?” Sam said.
Lorette came around, and hunkered. “Not anyone as handsome as you.”
“Keep it up,” Sam said.
Lorette laughed. “Admit it. You like that I pay so much attention to you.”
No, Sam definitely did not. “We have been through this before. Have your fun, if you must.”
“When will you get it into that head of yours that I’m serious?”
“There are times when I think you are and times when I think you’re not,” Sam admitted. “I can’t wait until after the drive so I don’t have to put up with your shenanigans anymore.”
“What a mean thing to say,” Lorette said, scrunching her face into an exaggerated pout.
Just then a cow came to the creek to drink. The longhorn ignored them and lowered her muzzle.
To Sam, it was a wonderment. All the tales he’d heard of how fierce longhorns were, and a lot of them were as gentle as kittens. A cow protecting a calf could be a problem, and the bigger bulls made trouble now and then, but overall, once they were caught and branded and thrown in with the rest, the longhorns gave them little trouble.
“A gold eagle for your thoughts,” Lorette said.
“Isn’t it supposed to be a penny?”
“You’re worth more.”
Sam gazed skyward. “Lord, save us from her kind.”
“Which kind is that?”
“Females.”
Sam loved to hear her laugh. It was like music, so light and airy, it was pleasant to the ears. But he couldn’t let her know. “Don’t you have someone else to annoy?”
“Is that what I’m doing? Annoying you?”
“What else?” Rising, Sam wiped his hands on his shirt and started toward their campfire. She fell into step, sashaying along, her hands clasped behind her back, that infernal smile on her face. “You’re enough to drive a man to drink.”
“I haven’t seen you ask Jasper for a swill from his flask.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I doubt even you do,” Lorette said. “Fortunately for you, I’m patient. You’ll stop fighting it eventually.”
“Fighting what?”
“Yourself.”
Sam snickered. “Has anyone ever told you that you hardly ever make a lick of sense?”
“Has anyone ever told you that you have the prettiest eyes?”
“Men aren’t pretty. Women are.”
“The handsome
st eyes, then.” Lorette bit her bottom lip, then cocked her head at him. “Do you think I’m pretty, Sam?”
“I’d rather talk about something else,” Sam said. Anything else, actually.
“No. Do you? I’m told I am. My brothers tease me that I’m ugly, but Ma says I’m pretty as can be. And the boys in town seem to think the same. Not that they matter. Only you do.”
Sam halted and turned. “Will you stop?”
“Stop what?” Lorette said innocently.
“Stop pretending you care for me. Stop pretending I’m special. You could have any boy in town you wanted. Or any boy in the territory, for that matter. Playacting with me only makes me mad.”
Lorette brightened. “Why, Sam. That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“What was sweet about it?”
“That I could have any boy in the whole territory,” Lorette said. “And the boy I want is you.”
“I could just scream,” Sam said. “If I was older, I’d take you over my knee and spank you.”
“You still can,” Lorette said, and giggled.
So annoyed he could spit tacks, Sam wheeled and went to the fire. If he thought he’d be shed of her, he was mistaken.
Lorette poured herself coffee and followed him to a grassy spot and sat. “This is nice,” she said. “Just you and me.”
“It’s supposed to be just me.”
“You don’t mean that,” Lorette said. “Secretly you like that I’m interested in you. Secretly you like that you and me are going to be man and wife.”
“Where do you get these notions of yours?” Sam went to swallow, and jerked his cup down. “Wait. What?”
“You should ask me. Right here and now. I’ll say yes. I promise I will.”
Flushing with embarrassment, Sam said, “You’re taking this too far. You’d no more marry me than you would a Comanche.”
“I’m beginning to wonder if you should have the sawbones check your hearing,” Lorette teased.
“I’ve no hankering to marry you or anyone else. Hellfire, I haven’t even kissed a girl yet. Not that way, anyhow.”
Ralph Compton Texas Hills Page 16
