Chet ate light—an egg and then a small piece of ham. He excused himself, then took his coffee and went back in the kitchen where Susie, May, and Louise were eating at a preparation table.
“You out of coffee?” May asked, ready to jump up.
He held out his hand to stop her, and went over to the large pot and refilled his own tin cup. Then he came back, put a boot on a chair, and blew on the steaming contents while looking at the three.
“We’re hiring two girls to help you ladies.”
“What for?” Louise demanded.
“We have two babies to look after.” He glanced around to insure privacy. “The folks are a handful enough for one person. We need two girls to help straighten the house, make meals—”
“You have some Mexican darling to move in on us?”
“Louise, you aren’t the only one here. I won’t pick them. I told Susie to. You can be civil to them. They won’t be slaves like you are used to. Now that’s settled.”
“If you ever—ever take my boys on another one of your vigilante rides, I’ll kill you.”
“Louise, you want the money to go home, I’ll settle with you.”
“Sure settle with me. What do I have left? A portion of a ranch depreciated by the war to nothing. You want to settle with me because my husband got himself killed in that damn war and left me with the potato peelings.” She shook her head. “I am damn sure not taking your sorry settlement!”
She threw down her fork and stormed off.
He wanted to go drag her back by the arm and shake her until he loosened her teeth. It would do no good. Louise came from a better life on a Louisiana plantation. She was accustomed to slaves doing her bidding, not her being the scullery help. Her days on the ranch had never pleased her. Without Mark to complain to, she’d turned her wrath on the rest of them.
“Chet?” Susie said quietly. “May and I can do it without help.”
“Hell, no, she doesn’t run this ranch. Hire the help.”
He stormed out into the dining room. “Saddle and get ready to ride. I want those last calves worked this morning and those oat field fences rode out and checked. Reg, get the irons, pine tar, and do we have fuel down there for a fire?”
“There’s plenty down there,” Dale Allen said, cradling a coffee cup in his hands.
“Good. Some of us want to go to the Saturday night dance at the schoolhouse. That means some of us will need to stay here.” No one said a word when he paused for their answer. “I’ll figure out who goes and who stays later.”
He put on his hat and went outside. He was still upset over his confrontation with Louise, and his breath raged through his nostrils. In the pale light, the cool air swept his cheeks and he scrubbed at the beard stubble with his palm. He still needed to shave.
They better go as a crowd to the dance. No telling what would happen because of the deaths of the rustlers.
Chapter 5
By Saturday at noon, the women had loaded the food, utensils, cooking gear, bedrolls, and a tarp for a fly in the army ambulance that had been converted into a chuck wagon. The wooden barrels on each side of the wagon were full of fresh water. Hat cocked back on his head, Reg sat on the spring seat, the lines in his gloved hands, and he kicked off the brake. He clucked to the big team of black mares with feathered hocks, and they stomped out the gate in a high-stepping trot.
On the buckboard sat Louise and Susie, who was driving the team of matched bays. Dale Allen; May, who was holding the baby; and J.D. stood on the porch, holding back the two young boys. All waved of them at the group’s departure. Heck and Chet rode out after the buckboard, waving good-bye to the people on the porch.
The Warner School House served as the social beacon for the countryside. Mason, the county seat, was thirty miles away. Besides serving as a church, the school also boasted a community cemetery. There wasn’t enough water close by to suit the Baptists, so they rode clear over to the San Saba River for their submersion of sinners. That’s why they named the branch that ran beside the school Methodist Creek.
The Byrnes set up in their usual place on the west side of the schoolyard. That gave them some cottonwoods to hang ropes between to make the fly work as a tent, or a shield against the north wind if it should it blow in. Reg had the chuck wagon wheels scotched and the backboard down for the women to prepare supper on. Susie was soon there to help him. Chet and Heck strung the ropes for the tarp. Heck held the bridle of Strawberry, a big red roan, and Chet stood on the saddle to get the ropes tied high enough on the tree trunks.
Louise came by on her way to go see Maude Mayes, another war widow. ”I don’t think it’ll rain, but it’ll be nice to have that up anyway.”
“I’d hate installing it in a storm,” Chet said, tying the side off, and Louise moved on.
Ten-year-old Heck grinned big. “So would I.”
The last rope strung, Chet slid down easily into the saddle and off the roan. “Thanks, Heck. Now we have to haul up that tarp and stake it down.”
“Lots of work making camp for women,” Heck said.
“Oh, I’ve seen the time I’d’ve gave my soul for a tent to get out of the rain under one.”
“When do you think they’ll let me go up the trail, Uncle Chet?”
“Year, maybe two, why?”
“I want to go. I want to go with you and the others.”
Reg was helping them unroll the large canvas. “There’s still going to be drives when you’re twelve.”
“I’m just itching to go.”
“So was I,” Reg said. “Now I been there, I can take it or leave it.”
“Yeah, but I ain’t been there.” He was pulling with Chet on the tarp slung across the ridge rope to start it over.
“Here, I’ll get Strawberry and let him pull it.” Chet ran for his horse and returned in the saddle. He soon had the rope dallied on the horn, and the gelding made short work of getting the tarp in place. Then Reg went to flipping it to spread it out overhead. He and Heck soon had it in place and the staking process began. In a short while, the shelter was up and secured.
Wade Morgan came by and squatted down on his boot heels to talk to Chet. “I guess you’re going north come spring?”
“I’m counting on it. We’ve got several head promised besides our own. You got some?”
“Not many, maybe two hundred steers.”
“I can take ’em.”
“What’ll it cost me?” Morgan was close to forty. Short, squat built man did some blacksmithing and had the shoulders for the job.
“About twelve bucks a head.”
“That’s higher than others’ve been quoting me.”
“I’ve not missed delivering them. My losses so far have been low. The prices I get there are all the market will allow. The France boys sent their cattle up two years ago with a man cheaper than I was, and they never saw that fella again. Lost everything.”
Morgan exhaled deep and nodded. “I know. I know. Five years ago, I send two hundred steers north with a fella named Sears and got the low price on fifty head. Said the others stampeded into a river and drowned.”
“So we’ve discussed the bargain deals. I may lose all of them. But I’ve paid life insurance of four hundred dollars on every hand I’ve lost, if they had an heir, plus their wages