Buffalo Summer

The next room they were shown was the bathroom. It was small, basic, no bathtub, just a shower. Clean, Pony noticed. The entire place was spanking clean. The Mexican woman might not care to host a passel of Crow Indians, but she was a good housekeeper.

Ramalda led them back to the kitchen. “You eat now,” she said gruffly, motioning for them to sit. Pony stood for a moment in indecision, wondering if their hunger was that obvious, and then nodded to the boys, who immediately dropped into five chairs. Pony slowly followed suit. Ramalda then served them a meal that could have fed Pony and the boys for a week. It began with a thick spicy stew of lamb, onions, beans and chili peppers ladled into deep colorful Mexican bowls and set before them with big bone-handled soupspoons on the side. A platter of fresh soft tortillas, still warm, was plunked down in the middle of the table, along with a brimming pitcher of cold milk and six tall glasses. The savory aroma of the stew overcame the awkwardness of the moment. They glanced respectfully at the strange old woman who stood by the stove and watched them eat with a fixed scowl on her face.

Breathless with the joy of having full stomachs, they pushed back from the table with dazed expressions. Every bit of the delicious stew was gone, every tender tortilla devoured, the pitcher of milk empty. Ramalda nodded grimly, went to the oven and drew forth a pan of beef ribs done to a tender turn and dripping with sauce. She used a spatula to push them all onto a serving platter and slid the dish into the center of the table, refilled the pitcher with more cold milk, then stood back and waited.

They stared around the table at each other, and then at the ribs. Even Roon was smiling as they dug into them with rapturous abandon, wearing the sauce shamelessly on their chins and laughing, finally, when there was nothing left but a stack of gnawed bones.

“WE’VE MISSED the noon meal, I guess,” Caleb said as they let their horses pick a careful descent down the steep draw. “Ramalda was going to make barbecued ribs.”

Guthrie was ahead of him. “Don’t worry. She’ll save some for you.” He glanced back, grinning beneath his hat brim. “She likes watching you get fat.”

Caleb didn’t presume to tell Billy how to get down the steep slope. He gave the gelding free rein and shamelessly clutched the saddle horn to keep from tumbling over the horse’s shoulders. “That’s no lie,” he said. “I was in a whole lot better shape when I first came here than I am now.”

“Winter,” Guthrie called back. “All those long dark days with nothing to do but eat what Ramalda cooks, and she’s a damn fine cook. Thinks if a person ain’t always hungry they must be sick. But don’t worry, you’ll burn it off. From now till the snow flies you can eat whatever you want and you’ll still lose weight.”

The slope bottomed out, and Guthrie drew rein, leaning over his horse’s shoulder and studying something on the ground. “That’s fresh,” he said. “Them buff are here somewhere close by.” He straightened and sat for a moment, contemplating. “Wind’s out of the south. We ought to be able to work up this draw and maybe catch sight of them, but if they catch a whiff of us, they’ll be on the far side of tomorrow in the blink of an eye. Ride quiet and follow me.”

Caleb did just that, and in less than an hour they had ridden up onto a knoll that overlooked a high, pretty meadow shaped like a basin lying amongst the lower flanks of three rugged snow-clad mountains. “That’s Piney Creek,” Guthrie said, raising his arm and pointing toward a dark ribbon that snaked through the meadow. “The old line camp is in that big clump of fir.”

Caleb had seen the camp once. “Joe Nash flew me in here last fall,” he said. “He said it was the prettiest place in all of Montana, but it wasn’t quite so pretty on that particular afternoon.” He looked at Guthrie. “That was the day we brought you down off the mountain more dead than alive.”

Guthrie glanced sidelong at him and then faced forward again. A muscle in his jaw corded. He pulled his hat brim down a little lower. “Well, that’s all in the past, and right now we’re hunting for your buffalo.” He shifted in his saddle. “As a matter of fact, I think I’m lookin’ right at one.”

Caleb leaned forward. “Where?”

“See that little black dot way down there, followed by a dash? Down near the creek? That black dot is a buff, sure as I’m sitting here. That dash is three or four others, following along behind. I bet the entire bunch is hiding in that brush along the creek.”

“How close do you think we can get?”

“If the wind holds, pretty close. Close enough to count ’em, anyhow. You game?”

“Hell yes, I’m game. What are we waiting for?”

They heeled their horses and set off at a slow jog. The distance to be covered was over a mile. Guthrie reined his horse to a walk when they got within a quarter mile, and Caleb did the same. The afternoon was a fine one, with a steady breeze and the warm June sun to gentle it. Caleb wished he’d brought his field book along because he was seeing birds and flowers he’d never seen before. The vitality and diversity of the land continually astounded and humbled him. He wondered if he would ever truly be connected to it the way he really wanted to be.

Sometimes he felt he was so close…

“Whoa,” Guthrie said, his voice low, and they stopped side by side, stirrup to stirrup. “That big old cow there. See her?”

Caleb tried to follow Guthrie’s point but he could see nothing yet. No buffalo. He shook his head.

“She’s watching us, standing in that bunch of chokecherry down in that brushy draw. Hold now. Hold…”

They sat very still and the horses were motionless as if they knew that any small movement would betray them. There was a sudden explosion in the thicket and before Caleb’s dazzled eyes a huge buffalo cow burst from the draw, tail held high, and made off at a dead run. She climbed a knoll at a speed that seemed impossible for such an ungainly-looking beast and yet she was pure grace and incredible power as she fled their presence and sought the safety of the rest of the herd.

“What’s that?” Caleb said, his breath catching in his throat. “Look, beside her. What is that!” He watched the little blond ball that bounced at the cow’s flank as she raced up the knoll.

Guthrie’s reply was an affirmation of something Caleb already knew. “That’s a baby buff, boss,” he said. “That cute little critter is one of your first baby buffs.”

THE EUPHORIA of the afternoon stayed with Caleb on the long ride home. The buffalo were all there. Not only were they all there, but the ten cows had made seven calves. Not bad at all, considering he’d bought all ten without having them certified pregnant. Seven out of ten wasn’t bad, and maybe they weren’t done calving, either. Caleb was feeling pretty good about things.

“Lord, they were something, weren’t they?” he said for the umpteenth time as they jogged home.

“Yessir,” Guthrie said.

Hard to tell what Guthrie really thought about it all. Did he really think the buffalo were a good thing? Or was he too much of a cattleman to ever change his ways? “They scare me a little, I won’t lie,” Caleb said. “But they’re the true natives of this land. They belong here.”

“Yessir.”

“I think this ranch will be a better place for having them.”

“Me, too,” Guthrie said.

Caleb drew rein so abruptly that Billy snorted in protest. Guthrie was slower to follow suit, easing his horse to a walk and pivoting it around to face him. He gave Caleb a questioning look.

“Do you mean that?” Caleb said.

“You forget that I grew up here with Jessie,” Guthrie replied. “I’ve been working on this ranch since I was thirteen years old, and she’s been wanting this to happen for a long time. Ripping down the cross fences and bringing back the buffalo. Giving the land back to itself and letting it heal the wounds we’ve made in it over the years.”

“But what about you? How do you feel about it?”

Guthrie studied him for a moment then shifted his gaze to the distant mountains. “All my life has been about beef cows and alfalfa hay,” he admitted. “Worrying about the weather and the cows. Worrying about the graze and the cows. Worrying about makin’ hay and makin’ money and losin’ all of it when the cattle prices just dropped and dropped. I’m just like all them other ranchers. I think in beef cow. But when I look at them buffalo I feel like someone’s taken me by the scruff of the neck and given me a good shake, and I catch myself thinkin’, what the hell took us so long to get smart?”

The two men regarded each other for a long silent moment. Caleb nodded. “I want to make this work.”

“So do I,” Guthrie said.

“Good.” He nudged Billy with his heels and walked him up beside Guthrie’s horse. “You really think Ramalda saved any of those ribs?”

Guthrie grinned. “Dunno. How much do you suppose five hungry boys can eat?”

“I think they could eat a whole buffalo.”

“Let’s just hope they don’t, or we might be out of business by summer’s end.”

CHAPTER THREE

CALEB WAS RENDERED speechless at the size of the boys. He’d been expecting a spread of five-to twelve-year-olds. He’d been expecting to have to smooth Ramalda’s feathers when she realized she’d be babysitting in addition to her other duties at the ranch, but he’d been way off base. These weren’t little kids. He sat in the saddle, gazing at the five young men who stared silently back at him, lined up along the corral fence just outside the pole barn. They’d been sitting on the top rail when he and Guthrie had ridden in, studying the horses inside the corral, and had jumped down at their arrival, lining up as if for inspection. Pony was nowhere to be seen.

“Well,” he finally managed to say. “I see you made it here all right. Did Ramalda feed you?”

All five nodded.

“Good. Did she show you where you’d be bunking?”

Another somber nod of five heads.

“You picking out your horses, are you?”