The Rancher's Courtship

Chapter Five

Raleigh Masterson, Jack’s ramrod, rose from where he’d been hunkered down by the campfire when he saw Jack approach. He poured coffee into a tin cup, holding it out to Jack as he dismounted. He was the only trail hand by the campfire. Cookie was busy mixing one of his concoctions at the chuck wagon. The rest of the drovers were grooming the remuda horses, mending or cleaning tack, or riding herd. The cattle were clustered on the banks of Simpson Creek, some grazing on the lush grass that grew nearby, while others had waded into the creek flank deep and drank the cool water. It was a peaceful sight, and it gave Jack a sense of contentment, even though he knew those same placid cattle could be off in a flash, spooked by thunder or seemingly nothing, stampeding until the trailhands succeeded in turning them or until they just ran out of the need to run. Impulsive beasts, longhorns, and as dangerous as they were silly. A man never trusted their apparent docility while grazing; he always approached them on horseback because they were so unpredictable.

“You find your brother all right, and settle the girls with him and his bride?” Raleigh asked, as Jack took the cup.

“No on both counts,” Jack said, sitting on a saddle blanket someone had left lying there. Staring into the black Arbuckles’ coffee, he told Raleigh about the events of yesterday. “Miss Wallace tried to notify me. Sent it General Delivery. Don’t know why I never got that letter,” he said with a shrug.

Raleigh whistled. “That’s too bad. I’m sorry about your brother, boss.”

Jack nodded grimly. “I should have written again,” he said, almost to himself. “Pete must not have saved my letters.”

“What’re you gonna do, then?” Raleigh asked. “Now that you can’t leave the girls with your brother and his wife?”

Jack knew his ramrod was too polite to say so, but his mind had already leaped ahead and concluded that Jack would be forced by the unexpected circumstances to take girls along with them.

“Thought I’d talk to you and the rest of the men about that. And I only want to say this once,” he said, half turning and raising his voice, “so, Cookie, call the men in.” He knew the cook had been listening in on the conversation.

Cookie reached for the iron triangle that hung on the chuck wagon. The carrying jangle of metal on metal yanked cowboy heads up wherever they rode or worked, and they started drifting in toward the campfire.

“Fine, but you tell them yahoos right off that we ain’t eatin’ early jes’ ’cause you’re holdin’ a palaver,” Cookie groused, going back to kneading the biscuit dough. “It’ll be ready when it’s ready, an’ not a moment before.”

“So noted,” Jack responded, too used to the older man’s crotchets to take offense.

When everyone had assembled, he repeated what he’d told his ramrod about Pete’s death and let his mind wander as they murmured their shocked condolences.

“Now, we knew we were going to have to winter somewhere along the way,” he went on, “and I’ve been told it’d be smarter to spend the time right here than to head north and pass right by where the Comanches’re spendin’ the winter.”

“Told you that when I got thrown in th’ calaboose,” Raleigh muttered. “Told you you oughta leave me there and ride on so you’d be past the Staked Plains before the redskins made their winter camp.”

“And I told you I wasn’t leaving you behind,” Jack snapped. No one but his ramrod dared talk to him the way Raleigh had, and even he would guess from Jack’s curtness that he was treading on thin ice. Jack hadn’t heeded his advice, not only because of their friendship, but because he knew none of the other men were seasoned enough to be the new ramrod.

“That’s all water under the bridge,” Jack went on, and told them about the vacant ranch and the deal the bank was offering if they built a cabin.

Around the circle of men, some faces sparked with interest. In others, eyes narrowed.

“But, boss, it’s already October,” one of the men pointed out.

“I’m a cowboy, not a carpenter,” another groused.

It was what Jack had expected. “I know it would mean getting right to work on building, but I’m told it doesn’t get that cold around here until December or so. It wouldn’t take that long for us to put up a cabin if we don’t dillydally. The bank won’t charge me rent if we put up some kind of dwelling, ’cause it’ll add to the value of the place. Now, I know you didn’t sign on for building anything, so you men are free to stay on or not—no hard feelings if you decide to ride on. But if you stay, I’ll expect you to help build.”

Two men announced right off they were quitting. Jack wasn’t surprised. They were nephews of his stepmother, and he’d judged them as lazy and unreliable from the start, but he’d been nagged into hiring them. With any luck, he could find a pair of hands to replace them come spring.

“All right, you can collect your wages in the morning,” he told the two men and studied the rest of them, hoping they would stick. One of the other trail hands rubbed the back of his neck consideringly.

“Simpson Creek got any pretty girls? A saloon? A parlor house? We’d be allowed to ride inta town on Saturday nights, wouldn’t we?”

“I sure haven’t had time to scout all that out for you, Wes,” Jack said evenly, “but I do remember seeing a saloon. You couldn’t all go at once, of course—and I’ll warn y’all right now I’ll tolerate no rowdy behavior in town,” he told them, thinking of Caroline and the other ladies of the Spinsters’ Club. Trail hands weren’t saints, and he didn’t want bad behavior to make them unwelcome in town and reflect back on him. “You get thrown in jail, you’re fired.”

“Aw, boss, you’re takin’ all the fun out of it,” someone grumbled good-naturedly.

“You know where this ranch is, boss?” Raleigh asked. “Why don’t a few of us go take a look at it?”

It was a good idea, Jack thought. It was never good to buy a pig in a poke. Who knew if the banker had exaggerated the quality of the place?

“All right. Raleigh, Quint, Jase, Shep, you’re with me. We’ll ride over there after we eat. Cookie, any chance you’d have some grub we could take with us and eat in the saddle?” He winked at his ramrod, knowing his request would set Cookie’s temper on the boil, but knowing the trail cook wouldn’t protest too loudly to his boss.

“I’m a cook, not some kind’a miracle worker!” Cookie groused. “All I got’s jerky for ya if you’re not gonna wait till dinnertime.”

The five men rode up the dirt lane that led to the desolate, charred pile of timbers that was all that remained of the previous house. Jack recounted to his men how the Comanches had committed the initial attack upon the dwelling, but how it been white outlaws working for the so-called Ranchers’ Alliance who had finished the destruction just recently, burning down the house old Mr. Waters’s nephew had just started rebuilding.

“Those Alliance men are all gone now, right?” Jase asked, a little nervously.

Jack nodded. “I’m told they vamoosed when their bosses were either killed or put in prison, but as for the Comanches…well, this is Texas, boys, and they aren’t beaten yet. We ought to be safe enough this winter, though.”

“First thing to do would be to clear off the foundation, if you mean to build the bunkhouse in the same place as the old one, boss,” Raleigh said, eyeing the ruins.

Jack nodded, already envisioning what he and his men would do. Something about the ruined buildings in this hill country ranch called out to him, as if pleading to be nurtured so it could be reborn. Well, he would do what he could over the winter months, but it would be some future owner who enjoyed the fruits of whatever he and his men would be able to accomplish.

“I’ll think about that. Let’s ride on and see the rest of the place,” Jack said and kneed his roan into a trot past the site.

He liked what he saw of the land. It was good country, with plenty of shady live oak groves, mesquite and a small creek—probably a tributary of Simpson Creek—running onto his land under the western boundary fence. Just beyond the fence, on Brookfield land, the creek was broader and more inviting. He wondered if Brookfield would consider giving him access so his cattle would be able to drink from that broader part, at least on the western side, when summer heat dropped the water level.

But why was he thinking that way? He and the cattle would be long gone, come summer.

Yet he couldn’t seem to stop his imaginings. He pictured taking down the faded remains of the sign that read “Waters Ranch” and replacing it with one with his name. A rancher could do much worse than a place like this.

“Looks like a pretty good spot t’ spend the winter, boss,” Raleigh murmured, and the other men chorused their agreement.

“Yeah, and there’s lots of trees we could fell for logs, with plenty left,” Shep said.

“Looks like we could salvage a lot of stones from the old fireplace to make a new one,” Quint put in.

“Guess we got ourselves a winter camp, then,” Jack said, pleased his men agreed with him about the plan. “Mr. Wallace says there’s a hardware store in town that can sell us some saws and so forth—reckon I’ll stop in there and buy what we’ll need first thing tomorrow. We’ll have to rent a wagon from the livery for a while, too.” Maybe he could make it back to town before the bank closed today and tell Mr. Avery he was going to take him up on the offer. The rest of the men could easily move the herd on down the road to the Waters ranch without his assistance.

He’d told Caroline he’d leave the girls in town with her and her parents, regardless of whether he stayed on the ranch over the winter or not. He wished they could be with him, but leaving them at the Wallaces’ was the only practical thing to do. Though they’d slept under the chuck wagon during the journey, the weather would get colder. He didn’t want them sleeping in a tent, or later, in the bunkhouse with his men. Staying with the Wallaces, they could go to school, and that would be good for them.

Such an arrangement would mean frequent trips in from the ranch for him to see the girls, at least on Sunday. He pictured treating them to dinners at the hotel and taking them to church. It had been a long time since they’d gone regularly; for a time after Lucinda’s death, he hadn’t wanted anything to do with God.

But this arrangement would also mean he’d have to keep dealing with Caroline Wallace. He wasn’t at all sure exactly how he felt about regular contact with her.

Caroline heard boot heels on the kitchen steps. She forced herself to turn her attention back to where the twins laboriously practiced their letters on borrowed slates at the kitchen table, waiting to rise until he knocked. It wouldn’t do to let Jack Collier imagine she’d been watching for his arrival. Then she rose and let him in with a casual “Good afternoon, Jack.”

If she was sparing in her welcome, however, the twins had no such reservations. “Papa!” cried one of them—Amelia?—as they exploded away from the table and ran into his waiting arms.

“We’re learnin’ our ABCs, Papa!” cried the other.

Caroline realized she was going to have to find some foolproof way of telling one twin from the other. Should she have them dress differently?