“Money isn’t a burden. It makes life easier. You can buy your own roof.”
“I’ll build a bow and arrow and shoot a deer or two, skin them, and make a tepee. I need no money for that.”
“What about food?”
“The deer that provides my home will also give me food.”
Mort waved a fist at her. “What about when you need clothes? Your deerskins are on your tepee.”
“I will shoot another and dry the meat into jerky so I can survive for a long while before I have to hunt again. For the cold months, I will find an animal with fur for a warm coat—a buffalo or bear. What good would money do me for that task? Why did you come to this wild beautiful land, overrun with food, clothing, all the things you need to live, then shut yourself away from it inside these ridiculous walls?”
Mort snorted like an enraged buffalo. “Help me up. Come over here. I try to keep the chair from moving but it won’t stay put.”
Abby narrowed her eyes at him. Their gazes locked. As if they were in a fight, neither of them broke the contact. Abby felt her temper rise, her patience shorten.
Finally, when she’d decided to just walk out, Mort looked away. “Please.”
“What?”
“Please. I’m asking you please to help me get in my chair.”
That word, please. It went with thank you. Wade had reminded her of these white men’s manners. Mort said it like the word was painful to force from his lips. She realized that, to a stubborn tyrant like Mort Sawyer, saying please was an act of humility. And she knew how much a tyrant hated to ask for anything.
Her Wild Eagle had been like that. He didn’t ask; he ordered. Abby was used to it, but Wade’s kindness had been a surprise and a delight to her. Was this man like Wild Eagle? Would Wild Eagle have been any better if life brought him so low?
“Fine.” With a deep breath, Abby rolled the chair to the side of Mort’s bed.
They made several attempts to get Mort transferred to the chair, and finally, using his arms and with Abby supporting him almost completely, they made it.
Gasping, Mort finally caught his breath enough to say, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” The words came almost as a reflex, without thought.
“Can…can you push me to the kitchen? There’s a window there. I’d like to look out over my ranch.”
“Use your arms. Push the wheels. Can you not do a thing for yourself?” Disgusted and ashamed that she’d had a moment of sympathy for the weakling, she stalked out of the room.
Before she’d gotten her knife’s edge to suit her, Mort was in the kitchen studying the huge piece of the earth he so foolishly claimed as his. The earth was the Lord’s, given to everyone, teeming with food, fuel to burn for warmth, and beauty to soothe the soul.
White men seemed to understand none of that. What a strange breed.
“What’s that idiot son of mine doing?” Mort punched the arm of his chair.
What were these idiots doing?
Wade saddled up and met the first bunch of cattle the men drove into the yard. They’d been at it for hours and Wade should have gone out to help, but he’d made a quick trip to town instead to arrange for the lumber to make some changes to the house that would make his pa’s life easier. Sam Jeffreys, one of Libby Jeffreys’s mule skinner sons, usually had a few days between hauling loads. Wade needed to focus on the spring roundup, so he’d asked Libby to have Sam ride out next time he was in Divide.
With that all in order, he’d returned home to find his men just bringing in the first herd. Watching, Wade knew why it had taken so long. The herd milled and broke away.
Wade charged his horse into the fractious cattle. Chewing on dust, Wade cut this way and that to force the critters forward. It was almost as if the men here had no idea how to handle cattle or run a ranch. Or if they knew how, they didn’t care enough to break a sweat trying.
The bawling cattle and the thundering hooves of Wade’s horse kept Wade from thinking too much about his incompetent cowhands. When he got the herd headed in the right direction, Wade watched. He drove the whole herd with the help of about three of the old hands. A dozen other men spent their time making the day harder for everyone.
They got the longhorns herded into the lush valley. A few of them found the gushing spring. The rest waded into the belly-deep spring grass. They all settled in quickly, as Wade knew they would.
Wade waved his drovers in. He’d seen his father operate long enough to know what he needed to do. Run most of these men off, including the foreman. But that wasn’t what God wanted from him. He saw some laziness but mostly incompetence. “I want you, you, you, you ….” Wade jabbed a finger at ten of the men. He skipped Sid Garver for now. The man had to go, but not in front of the whole crew. No use humiliating him.
“Team up, each of you. Everyone needs to learn a few cowhand tricks.” Wade turned to the oldest hand. “Chester, pick who you want to work with from the men I’ve pointed out.” Noticing Chester’s disgruntled face, Wade said, “Let’s head for the high pasture to the west. It’s next closest. I want to move at least three more herds today.”
The men turned to ride out.
“Chester, wait a minute.”
Turning his horse with only the pressure of his knees, the old cowpoke dropped back to Wade’s side. “Well, you got part of it. You saw what a bunch we’ve got here. But instead of teaming them up with the older hands, you should have shown them the road.”
Taking a quick look around, Wade made sure no one was within earshot. “I did it that way because not all of these men are no-accounts. Some of ’em are just new. I don’t want to fire a man when I can teach him a skill. If I’d have run ten men off, with rustlers in the area, they might have thrown in with outlaws. They might have headed to Divide with their pay and a grudge and drunk all their money away. That’d leave ’em mad and broke, and in some men that adds up to dangerous.”
“Some of these men are just bums. All the training in the world isn’t gonna help.”
Nodding, Wade said, “In a week I’ll decide who’s a bum and who’s just new at ranching. The ones who don’t shape up will get run off my range. Fair enough?”
“A week is too long.”
With a bark of a laugh, Wade said, “I’ll bet we know enough to tell who’s gonna at least try to work hard by the end of the day. So maybe I won’t give ’em a week.”
Chester scowled. “I always knew you were soft, boy. To my way a’thinkin’ you’re just provin’ it the first day.”
“I know how to handle a horse, Chester. And I know a cowhand when I see one. Have all these men been hired since Pa was hurt? I can’t believe he’d’ve been fooled by them.”
“Sid Garver hired them. So they’re loyal to him. And Garver ain’t loyal to anyone but himself. Watch your step, Wade.”
“Watch yours, too, old man, because I’m naming you the new foreman.”
“I’m doing the job anyway; I sure had oughta get the title. And if I’m the foreman, then you’d be better off listenin’ to me and just get the worst of these drovers off the property. Instead you’ve hurt their pride by askin’ ’em to pair up like they were greenhorns. Now you’ll have a bunch of cowboys carryin’ a grudge.”
“Maybe, but that’s the way it’s gonna be.” Wade met Chester eye to eye. “That’s the way God wants me to handle it.”
Chester wasn’t a bad man, not much of a talker. A grizzled gray beard, lean and brown and tough as leather. He’d never joined in the harassment of Wade as so many of the hands had. But there’d been plenty of contempt in the old coot’s eyes back then. Wade had a lot to prove before the wrangler gave Wade any respect.
“I didn’t understand your pa, Wade. He rode you hard, held you up for a fool, and he was too ready with the back of his hand. I have my own beliefs when it comes to the Almighty, and I can see that there’s been a change in you. But I’ve lived long enough to be sure God ain’t gonna send lightning bolts to run off a b
ad bunch’a cowhands. Without your pa here to rule the roost, we’re all looking to you. But no one’s gonna hand you the reins. You’re gonna have to take ’em. And the best way would be to run off the no-accounts and the malcontents.”
“Which would leave us about fifteen men short for spring roundup.” Wade quirked a smile.
“Not really.” Chester looked around. “If all of ’em are worthless, we’re shorthanded anyway.”
“I’ll give you that. I’ll decide soon who stays and who goes, and I’ll listen to your opinions when I decide.”
“I already know who I’d pick. I just hope you figure it out before it’s too late.” Chester reined his horse around and took off after the cowhands.
Wade rode up beside Sid, who was teamed with one of the men who’d been lazing in the barn this morning. Paddy, that was his name. An Irishman for sure with that name, but nothing about him looked Irish. He was just another Montana cowboy.
“Paddy, mind ridin’ ahead? Sid and I need to make some plans.”
Paddy looked as if he was planning to refuse. Something about his expression sent a chill up Wade’s spine. It wasn’t anger but rather vicious amusement laced with a hunger to hurt. Wade decided then and there he’d watch his back whenever Paddy was around. And if Paddy was friends with Sid, then Wade would keep an eye on Sid, too.
Especially after Wade gave him the bad news. “I’m naming Chester foreman, Sid. He knows the way things work on the Sawyer range.”
Sid’s eyes flashed fire. For a second Wade wondered if Sid would throw a fist. He controlled his rage. “I’ve been running the Sawyer range to suit your pa.”
“You’re nearly a month late with the roundup, Sid. That doesn’t suit my father. I’ll be interested to see if he knows when I get in tonight. Maybe where you’re from the winter doesn’t let loose of the land until now, but that just proves you don’t know how we work here on the M Bar S. Stay on as a cowhand if you like. But if you have any influence on the men, you’d better tell ’em to pick up the pace, because I’ll decide who stays and who goes by week’s end.”
Sid’s brow arched. “You want me to push the men after you took away my job as boss?”
“I do. Because one of the men who may stay or go is you. And I can make decisions before week’s end if I need to. I’m watching close.” Wade turned away from Sid and picked out an inept pair of cowhands who had paired up with each other. Had they deliberately defied him, or were they just that stupid?
Wade rode over to find out, and out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Sid and Paddy riding together, talking up a storm.
CHAPTER 12
Abby caught herself watching out the window for Wade to come in.
Not Wade really, all of them. It was her job.
Gertie had spent the morning working endlessly in the kitchen. Along with a huge baking of bread, she’d made pan after pan of apple cobbler and a mountain of doughnuts. When a bawling, shoving herd of cattle appeared out of a cloud of dust a short distance from the ranch yard, Gertie carried the warm sugary doughnuts out to the men, and Abby hurried along behind her with two huge pots of ink black coffee.
The milling cattle, their horns long and sharp, their coats brown and white and black and red, all colors, all sizes, were shaggy and mean. Baby calves kicking up their heels in the lush grass bawled. Their mothers answered with low crooning moos as their pace sped up to the smell of water.
Abby realized that Mort Sawyer had built his own herd, but longhorns instead of buffalo. But there were no fences. How did the man keep them from heading south when the weather turned cold? Shaking her head, she searched the crowd for Wade.
He emerged from the chaos and came riding toward them.
He called over his shoulder, “Coffee, men.”
All the riders began trotting their horses toward Gertie and Abby. Gertie reached a waist-high flat rock near the entrance to the canyon, set her huge tray of doughnuts on top, and pulled off the cloth towel. Abby set one tin coffeepot on the ground and the other one beside the doughnuts.
Wade swung down and fished a tin coffee cup out of his saddlebag. His eyes met Abby’s, but he didn’t come toward her. Instead he dropped back and waved all the men in first. They ground-hitched their horses and dove into the food.
“Why do the cattle stay around, Gertie?” Abby asked. “And why do the horses stand without being held?”
Gertie smiled. “We’ll talk ranching once this mob is fed. Or maybe you oughta ask Mort. That man, grouchy as he is, knows more about running a spread this size than any man around these parts. Talking might get him to let up on his self-pity.” Gertie focused on the men.
One grunted, “Thanks,” and moved toward Abby.
She didn’t like the intent shine in his eyes and moved close to Gertie. A quick exchanged glance between the women was all it took to keep Gertie from telling Abby to move over.
The other men took their turn speaking to her, eager to say, “Thanks for the coffee,” and a few words more. She felt them all staring at her.
Wade came around the back of the flat rock and stood by her side so that he and Gertie had her surrounded.
“You want coffee?” She did her best not to glare at him. Just another man who prized her fair skin and pale hair.
“In a minute. I’ll wait.” Wade said no more, but Abby, despite being annoyed at Wade’s nearness, realized she felt safe with Gertie on one side and Wade on the other. How could she think she’d be safe in the white man’s world? Of course, she had turned out not to be safe in her Flathead people’s world, too, now, hadn’t she?
When Wade finally got his turn, he drank his coffee while Gertie asked questions about the progress of the roundup.
“We’ll have lunch in the bunkhouse. You don’t need to feed this mob.” He watched his men ride back to the next herd as he told Gertie about the morning. He decided to wait until the men were out of sight to make sure none of them bothered Abby.
“I’ve been talking to Cookie. He’s got a pot of stew going, but I’ve baked a day’s worth of bread this morning, so I’m taking that and enough apple cobbler to give every man a bite. While roundup is going on, we’ll keep your bellies full.”
“Sounds great, Gertie. Thanks.”
Looking at Abby, Gertie said, “I need to hustle back to the house. Do you mind waiting until the men are done then bringing along the tray and coffeepots?”
Abby nodded.
Gertie did hustle. In fact, Abby didn’t think she’d ever seen the older woman move so fast.
Realizing that while she’d stared after Gertie, the cowhands had swung up on horseback and headed out, she stood alone with Wade. She began collecting the pots as Wade went to his chestnut, the last animal still standing idle.
Wade tossed the reins over the gelding’s head. He grabbed the pommel then paused. “If…uh…the men…ever bother you, Abby, you should let me know. I…I don’t like the looks of some of them, and…well…I …”
Abby looked away from the tray she reached for. “What is it?”
“I suppose I made ’em mad. Some of ’em at least.”
“What did you do?” Abby had a flicker of memory when she spoke the scolding words. She thought maybe her white mother had taken that exact tone with her long ago.
Wade dropped the reins again and stepped close. “I changed foremen. I didn’t like the looks of the one we had. And a lot of the cowhands are new since Pa got hurt. The foreman looked mad enough to take my head off when I told him. But he’s not runnin’ the ranch to suit me nor my pa. And I teamed up my better cowhands with the ones who weren’t up to snuff. I suppose I stepped on some pride with that. But it was either that or send ’em down the trail to hunt work somewhere else. Anyway, they might be mad, maybe fightin’ mad, and I want you to stay well away from them.”
“It suits me to stay far away from all of you.” Abby tossed her braid over her shoulder. “I will gladly avoid your men.”
“Well, okay then, good. I�
��ll be going.” Wade went back to his horse.
Abby turned away to gather the rest of her things. She heard the leather creak as Wade swung up. She wasn’t quite able to stop herself from sneaking a look at him—lean and strong and kind—mounting his horse.
As he landed on the saddle, the horse went berserk. Exploding in noise and motion, it launched itself straight up, neighing and fighting the bit. The chestnut’s head jerked back. Its head would have smashed Wade’s face if Wade wasn’t off balance and leaning to the side.
Stiff-legged, the chestnut landed hard. Abby heard Wade’s teeth click together. Rearing and squealing, the normally gentle gelding rose up and up. It looked certain to go over backward.
Wade threw his weight forward and the horse landed on all fours. Wheeling, it lashed its heels high in the air, and the iron-shod hooves whizzed past Abby’s face.
“Abby, look out!” Wade’s voice roared over the shrill whistles of the maddened animal.
She threw her body backward, trapping herself against the rock.
Wade fought for control.
The horse whirled again then lunged forward. Its front hooves raked at her.
Throwing herself sideways, Abby watched as the horse missed her by inches. As she landed, she saw an arrow protruding from the sleeve of her dress, but it didn’t hurt. It must have missed her arm. Without a split second to think under the hooves of the maddened horse, Abby regained her feet then timed her leap to the horse’s jumps. Swift as a pouncing cougar, Abby grabbed the horse’s bridle.
The horse lifted her off her feet. Her weight brought the horse back to the ground as a second arrow whipped by so close that feathers attached to it swiped her face.
With the horse still, Wade leapt from the saddle. “What are you doing?” He raced to the horse’s head.
“Holding your horse.” Abby gasped from exertion, pulling the horse around so its big body protected them from the arrows.
“You could”—Wade’s chest heaved—“have been killed.”
Abby seriously doubted it. She caught the fabric covering Wade’s shoulder and dragged him out of the line of fire. “What happened to him?”
Mary Connealy Page 66
