Fred Blevins stood on the porch. “Howdy, Big Ed.”
“Howdy, Fred,” Big Ed said, walking up to him. He looked around. “It ain’t much of a turnout, is it?”
“It’s a shame,” Fred said. “In normal times when a man like Zeb Hawkins dies, folks come in droves to pay their last respects. But with a shortage of cowboys and a big herd to be watched, it’ll just be his own family and crew along with us other ranchers and our wives.”
“These is terrible times on the Diablos, all right,’ Big Ed said. “I just hope you fellers can either straighten things up or take the chance I offered you to get out smelling perty.”
“You know what we’re gonna do,” Fred said.
“Yeah,” Big Ed said. “Well, excuse me, Fred. I’ll go pay my respects to the departed and Tim and Miss Nancy.” He walked across the porch and went inside the house. The ranchers and their wives were gathered in the living room, drinking coffee that Norma Watkins and Penny Blevins had made for the small crowd.
A coffin, set up on a couple of sawhorses, was situated in front of the fireplace. Big Ed walked over and looked into it. He shook his head. “Poor ol’ Zeb.”
“He’s got kind of a pinched expression on his face,” Doak Timmons remarked. “I reckon that comes from getting hit in the chest by a big-caliber bullet.”
“I reckon it does,” Big Ed agreed. “A feller’d blink mighty hard in a case like that.”
“Yeah, he would,” Doak said.
Tim Hawkins walked over and offered his hand to Big Ed. “I appreciate you coming out.”
“I knowed your pa,” Big Ed said. “Maybe I didn’t see a lot of him, but I at least wanted to say a last goodbye.” He looked around. “Now where might Miss Nancy be? I’d be proud to offer my condolences.”
“She’s out to the kitchen,” Tim said.
Big Ed went through the door, and found Nancy sitting at the table with Myra Timmons and Darlene Lawson. “Good morning, ladies,” Big Ed said.
Myra Timmons was a deeply devout woman who insisted that all the cowhands on her husband’s Diamond T ranch attend divine services on Sunday morning—hungover or not. She did not approve of Big Ed MacWilliams, his saloon, and especially the women who worked for him. “This is a funeral we’re having today, Mr MacWilliams,” she said coldly.
“I am painfully aware o’ that, Miz Timmons,” Big Ed said.
“It is a religious affair in which we’ll be offering up prayers for the good of Brother Zeb Hawkins’ soul,” Myra Timmons said.
“I only wish to bid a mournful farewell to a man I respected and admired so much,” Big Ed said. “Surely there ain’t no harm in that.”
“When the prayers is said, maybe you should listen closely to ’em, Mr MacWilliams,” Myra said.
“I promise I will,” Big Ed said. He turned to Nancy Hawkins. “I’m terrible, terrible sorry, Miss Nancy.”
“Thank you kindly, Mr MacWilliams,” Nancy replied softly.
“If there is any service I might do for you, let me know,” Big Ed continued. “There’s nothing too much you could ask from me.”
Nancy nodded.
“I’d be proud if you’d care to take my arm during the services,” Big Ed said.
“I think not,” Nancy said. She found the thought of being with Big Ed MacWilliams repugnant. “I have an escort, thank you just the same.”
“That’s nice,” Big Ed remarked. “Your brother no doubt will offer you some degree of comfort during this hard time.”
“My escort is not only my brother. I will also be with Mr Rawley Pierson,” Nancy said. The words surprised even her, and she didn’t know why she’d spoken them.
“Pierson?” Big Ed asked. His face reddened a bit, then he brought his temper under control. “Well. I can see I can’t do you much good. At least not today. I’ll see you later, Miss Nancy.” He walked from the kitchen.
“Are you really going to be on the arm of that handsome Rawley Pierson?” Darlene Lawson asked.
“I just said that,” Nancy said. “I didn’t want to have to hang on to Mr MacWilliams. This day is bad enough.”
“I’ll take care of that,” Darlene said. She left the table and went out into the living room, going directly up to Tim Hawkins. She whispered in his ear, “You go tell Rawley Pierson he’s to escort Nancy with you.”
“What?” Tim asked.
“You heard me!” Darlene said. “Do it now.”
Tim walked through the group of people and walked outside. He met Rawley and Chaw coming to the house. “Pierson,” he said. “You are gonna help me escort my sister at the services.”
Rawley was speechless for a moment. “Sure. Be proud to, Tim. I didn’t expect that.”
“Just do what you’re told,” Tim said coldly.
The three went into the house. Rawley and Chaw went up to the coffin and stood there for a moment giving Zeb a final, silent farewell. Then they walked over to one side of the room to stand by Jim Pauley and Duane Wheeler.
Doak Timmons, besides running the Diamond T, also acted as a lay preacher on various occasions. He checked his watch. “Well, folks,” he announced. “Let’s take ol’ Zeb up to the burying spot and tend to this sad chore.”
Jim Pauley went behind the coffin and lifted the lid he’d made for it. Trying to be as quiet and dignified as possible, he nailed the top shut over the dead man.
Nancy came out of the kitchen with Myra and Darlene. When Tim walked over to her, Rawley followed. The two men flanked her and she slipped her arms into theirs. Rawley felt a thrill at this first touch of the woman who’d caught his fancy.
The pallbearers lifted the coffin and followed Doak out the front door. Rawley, Nancy, and Tim went next, followed by the rest of the people.
The burial place was on a knoll a hundred yards from the main house. There was a gnarled, old cottonwood tree there with a thick trunk and spreading branches that offered a wide shady area on sunny days. Three graves had already been put in on the spot, which was surrounded by a low, wrought iron fence Zeb Hawkins had ordered from a Pennsylvania company almost fifty years previously.
Two of the people buried in the peaceful spot were Zeb’s wives. The third grave was that of an infant child, Nancy and Tim’s half-brother, who had succumbed to a summer fever many years before they were born.
The coffin was taken to a freshly dug excavation that Jim Pauley and Duane Wheeler had worked on the previous evening. Using lariats, the pallbearers wasted no time in lowering the coffin containing remains of Zeb Hawkins.
Doak Timmons held his bible as he addressed the mourners. “Folks,” he began, “we’re all here for the sad task of putting Zeb Hawkins into his final resting place. There ain’t nothing too good you can say about a man who left Kentucky and come out West to establish hisself as a honest, hardworking cattle rancher. I can say for sure that Zeb never lied, cheated, nor stole from anybody. He dealt fair and square, giving what he was paid for, and never held a running iron in his hand all the days of his life. Some might think he got a poor reward for being such a good man since he was shot down by masked bushwhackers, but I’d like to remind each and ever’ person here that your just rewards don’t come to you here on earth—you get ’em in the Kingdom of the Lord. And it comforts me plenty, and I hope it does you too, to know that a good man like Zeb will be sitting pretty up there with the Lord.”
Rawley barely paid attention to the words. He was more conscious of feeling pretty Nancy Hawkins’s arm on his, the sensation both sweet and sensuous at the same time. He looked over at her, and was surprised to see her looking at him. He smiled and she returned it, sadly, but with the nicest expression in her eyes that Rawley Pierson had ever seen.
Doak continued, “Now let’s bow our heads and offer up a prayer for our dear, departed brother.” He waited a beat, then said, “Lord, we’re sending Zeb Hawkins to you today. He was shot down defending his property from owlhoots who wore masks. Now, Lord, we ain’t saying Zeb was perfect, but he sure did a
lot more good in this world than bad. He was a Christian and a family man who worked hard, paid out fair, and never put his brand on another man’s cow. We’re humbly asking you to take him in with you, Lord, and remember that none of us is perfect down here. We ask this in Jesus’ name. Amen.”
“Amen!” the crowd responded.
Each person, beginning with Zeb’s children, picked up a handful of dirt and dropped it in on the coffin. Then the crowd, with the exception of Jim Pauley and Duane Wheeler, who stayed to fill in the grave, walked slowly off the knoll and back to the house.
When they reached the porch, Nancy turned to Rawley. “Thank you for your support, Mr Pierson.”
“My pleasure, Miss Nancy.”
Chaw stood beside Rawley, watching everyone go into the house to eat the meal prepared by the ranchers’ wives. “How come you’re standing out here, Rawley? Ain’t you hungry?”
Rawley shook his head. “I got some thinking to do.”
Chaw patted his shoulder. “You sure as hell do.” He took a deep breath. “Well, I’m going in and get some o’ them vittles afore they’re all gone. I ain’t got no romantic thoughts troubling my belly.” He cackled. “Losing your appetite is another drawback to being in love.”
Rawley turned and walked slowly toward the corral. When he reached it, he climbed up on the fence and settled down on the top rail. His mind deeply occupied, he stared in at the horses inside the enclosure.
Life wasn’t so simple and easy anymore.
Nine
After his father’s death, Tim Hawkins became the ramrod of the Circle H Bar by both custom and the law of the State of Texas. And true to his arrogant ways, the slim, young man wasted no time in establishing his authority over the ranch’s four working cowboys.
He began by meeting his four-man crew in the bunkhouse at wake-up time the day following the funeral. When the drovers rolled out of their blankets, they found the new boss impatiently pacing back and forth. Finally, the rookie ramrod stood by the table in the middle of the bunkhouse, one foot up on a chair as he waited for Rawley, Chaw, Jim, and Duane to pull on their work clothes and boots. After they had dressed, they gathered around their employer.
Duane displayed a lazy smile. “What can we do you for, Tim?”
“The first thing is to stop calling me Tim,” the new boss of the ranch said. His face wore a near-sneer. “There’s two ways I’m gonna be known on the Circle H Bar. It’s gonna be either Mr Hawkins or Boss. Y’all got that?”
Duane, a bit embarrassed and taken aback by the direct snub, was miffed. “Yeah, I reckon.”
“That’s yes, sir!” Tim snapped.
“Yes, sir,” Duane said sullenly.
“And you’ll do your eating out here like hired help is supposed to do,” Tim continued. “No more o’ sharing the Hawkins’ table. Ever’body got that? Nancy has already been told to serve you off the stove like off a chuck wagon. Then you bring your grub to the bunkhouse or eat it at the corral or wherever you damn well please. But not in the house.”
“Say, Boss,” Chaw remarked. “Are we gonna still get to use the outhouse behind the barn or do we gotta go out on the prairie somewheres?”
Tim looked directly at the older man. “Is that supposed to be funny?”
“Seems like a reasonable question to me,” Chaw said. “Seeing as how there’s some rule changes going on around here.”
“Well, old-timer, don’t worry too much about it, ’cause you’re gonna be working them dogies at Rattlesnake Arroyo anyhow ’stead a lazying around the ranch,” the youngster said. “So you’ll do your business out on the Diablos anyhow. You don’t mind pissing on the range, do you?”
“Right now,” Chaw said, “there’s a couple o’ other places I’d like to piss on.”
Tim decided to ignore the remark since he wasn’t sure what Chaw meant. He glared at Rawley. “You got any questions, Pierson?”
Rawley’s eyes glinted with anger and he stared straight at Tim Hawkins. He slowly shook his head, keeping a steady gaze on the new boss. “It’s always good for a man to know where he stands.”
“You’re right about that,” Tim said. “I want you in particular to stay in your place.”
Jim Pauley said nothing, but the mixed expression of anger and disappointment on his face left no question as to how he felt.
“Let’s get on over to the kitchen for your grub,” Tim said. “Nancy is gonna give you some tin plates and spoons. Hang on to ’em, ’cause you’ll be using them ever’ meal. Let’s go! There’s work to be done!”
Rawley led the way as the cowboys followed Tim out of the bunkhouse and across the ranch yard. They stopped at the back door to the kitchen. Tim went inside to eat as Nancy appeared and began handing out plates heaped with eggs, ham, potatoes, and her good biscuits. It was easy for the crew to tell she wanted to make up for this form of snobbery by giving them extra helpings of her cooking.
“Thank you kindly, Miss Nancy,” Rawley said as he took his food.
“I’m real sorry it has to be done this way, Mr Pierson,” Nancy said. She looked at the three others. “I apologize.”
Chaw was cheerful. “Why, Miss Nancy, I’d stand out under a hot sun on the Staked Plains all of a blazing summer day without no sombrero just to smell that good cooking o’ your’n.”
She smiled at his crude compliment. “Let’s hope this doesn’t go on too long.”
“And I’d stand in a Montana blizzard on the worstest winter day too,” Chaw went on.
“That’s enough, Chaw!” Duane snapped. “The rest of us want to eat too.”
Nancy went back inside, and returned with tin cups filled to the brim with strong, hot coffee. “There’s plenty, so if you want seconds, don’t be bashful. Just come on back and knock on the door,” Nancy said.
The crew took their breakfasts back to the bunkhouse and settled around the table. They ate hungrily, devouring the delicious food between slurps of coffee.
When Chaw finished, he wiped his mouth. “I been doing some thinking while taking the wrinkles outta my belly.”
“Is that why you didn’t do no talking?” Rawley asked. He was used to Chaw keeping a conversation going no matter what.
“That’s right,” Chaw said looking at him. “And I reached a decision. I’m gonna quit.”
“Me too!” Duane Wheeler said.
“And me!” Jim Pauley echoed. “I don’t need to be treated like I was a damn farmhand instead of a honest, working cowboy.”
“Look, boys,” Rawley interjected. “I don’t like Tim any better’n you. But we got to stick to this job. At least till the drive to Kansas.”
“Oh, yeah?” Chaw asked. “Just tell us why, will you?”
“Out o’ respect for the mem’ry of Zeb Hawkins!” Rawley exclaimed. “We all promised him we’d see this thing through. He may be dead, buried, and gone, but the job is still there. We got to stick it out ’cause we give our word to a damn good man. And that includes either making the trail drive to Kansas or die trying like hell to do it.”
That made all the sense in the world to the cowboys in the bunkhouse.
“You’re right,” Duane said. “You don’t make a final goodbye to a hell of a man, then forget any deals you made with him.”
“I’ll make the drive up to Kansas,” Chaw said. Then he added, “That is, ifn one o’ them masked bushwhackers don’t get me first.”
The door burst open and Tim Hawkins leaned in. “You’ve had enough time to eat! Let’s saddle up and head out for Rattlesnake Arroyo. Now!”
“But this is gonna be trying,” Chaw said under his breath as he drank down the last of his coffee.
It took the crew three quarters of an hour before they arrived at the place where the herd was still gathered under the watchful care of the other ranches’ cowboys. Rawley and his friends dropped their bedrolls off at the chuck wagon, which was now manned by the cook from the Diamond T. Then they rode out to relieve some of the other drovers so they could come i
n for eats and a rest.
The day’s work was fairly easy but monotonous. The cattle, fattening up on the lush prairie grass, had to be kept in check or they would begin their natural wandering over the wide-open Diablos Range. There was also the possibility of attack, so the cowboys had to be doubly alert, watching animals and the surrounding countryside with equal care. That suspenseful routine would go on for at least another month until the herd was ready for market.
The noises of the day consisted of an occasional moo from a cow and angry shouts from drovers when miscreant cattle disregarded what their human keepers wanted by wandering off. Meadowlarks sang and insects buzzed around under the hot sun. Taking everything into consideration, it wasn’t a bad day, except when Tim Hawkins felt like showing off his new position.
The young man shouted unnecessary orders at his drovers throughout the long afternoon, moving them from one place to another for no better reason than to boss them around.
Toward the end of the day, however, that came to a halt when Tim abruptly left the arroyo and galloped away without a word to anybody. Chaw, watching him disappear over the far horizon, chuckled. “That boy’s getting to be about as nice to have around as a wildcat with a thorn in its paw.”
Rawley displayed a lazy grin. “Yeah! He can sure brighten a place by just leaving it, can’t he?”
While the cowboys continued their work, Tim returned to the ranch and had a hasty supper with Nancy.
“How are the boys doing?” she asked serving him the meal.
“Fine, as long as I keep on their backs,” Tim said. “They ain’t getting away with nothing as long as I ramrod the Circle H Bar.”
Nancy’s temper flared up. “Tim! You’re acting perfectly awful toward—”
He held up his hand. “That’s enough, sis! We went through all this early this morning. I’m the boss o’ this cattle spread and things are gonna be done my way. Understand? My way!”
“There’re two things you’re going to have to learn and learn quick,” she said. “Gratitude and humility!” Nancy said nothing more. She angrily began to clear the table, working rapidly as she stacked the few dishes on the kitchen counter. She grabbed the bucket from the corner of the room and started for the door to get water to do the washing.
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