She pointed toward two crates sitting on the ground. He squinted, but it didn’t help him make out much. The eggs Bat referred to most likely. The other crate had some kind of greens it. As water dripped out the corner of one eye, he turned his other eye back to the crate holding the eggs. His mouth practically watered. He’d considered buying eggs while in town, but there had only been half a dozen in the basket on the counter of the mercantile. Not nearly enough for eighteen hungry men. The cowboys had to be as hungry for something besides beans, biscuits and bacon as he was.
“Those for the calf and its mother,” the woman said.
Disappointment that neither he nor anyone else would be eating eggs filtered in amongst his frustration at not being able to see. “We don’t have any calves, ma’am.” Another heifer had better not have let loose. That was about the last thing he needed this close to Dodge.
“Yes, you do,” she said. “The one you ordered to have shot this morning.”
The loss of that calf had hung in the back of his mind all day. Not only for the critter. He’d counted on getting the entire herd to the stockyards. The money every cow would bring in. Before leaving Texas, he’d calculated on giving a few head to the Indians; they expected it, and he’d gladly given them the beeves for allowing safe passage, but loosing another one, even a calf, was not in his plan. Furthermore, her snooty attitude settled about as well as the hornet sting had. “How do you know about that?”
Her entire frame, though it was no taller than JoJo when his rheumatism didn’t have him stooped over, stiffened. “There’s no need for cursing,” she snapped. “Just as there is no need to kill an innocent calf. Such actions border on despicable.”
“Border on—”
“Despicable,” she repeated. “It means appalling. Disgraceful.”
“I know what it means.” Holding back a few choice words that she probably didn’t know the meanings of, he glared at JoJo with one eye. “Where’s the calf?”
“Brad is...” JoJo gestured with his chin. “Was looking for its momma. Looks like he found her.”
Garth spun around and made out the blurry sight of a rider climbing off a horse. There was a cow behind the horse, and sure as hell, a calf beside the cow.
Sucking in air hot enough to blister his lungs, Garth walked past the woman, heading directly towards Brad. The young cowhand was probably shaking in his boots. As he should be.
“What part of my order didn’t you hear this morning?” Garth asked as he strode forward.
“No part of it, Boss. I—I was ready to shoot it when this woman’s husband—”
“He’s not my husband,” she interrupted.
Garth didn’t bother looking over his shoulder. Feeling her following was enough.
“The boys ain’t had eggs since we left Texas,” JoJo said. “It sure would help their morale. The green beans, too.”
Garth spun to glare at his cook. He had expected JoJo to stay behind. Cooking. That was his job. “I know how long it’s been since we had eggs, and there’s nothing wrong with the morale around here.” They’d traveled dang near six hundred miles since heading out. Six hundred grueling miles of dust and dirt, and wind and rain, and sun hot enough to fry a man’s brains in his head. Every man here knew that before they headed out. If any one of them was pissing and moaning about it now, it was their own fault, and they damn well better be keeping their complaints to themselves. His hornet-stung face was their first injury.
“If’n you say so, Boss,” JoJo said. “It’s your call, but it’s a mighty fine deal. A mighty fine one. Eggs and green beans. A mighty fine deal.”
“You’ve. Said. That,” Garth growled, emphasizing each word. His head hurt, and what he wouldn’t give to have two good eyes right now.
“I sure enough did,” JoJo answered.
He didn’t need to see JoJo, there was a grin in his tone. The old coot never questioned authority, because he knew in the grand scheme of things, he was the only one who could share his opinion without fear of repercussion. Turning back to Brad, Garth asked, “Why didn’t you shoot that calf?” He expected orders to be followed at all times, and the kid better have a good reason for not doing as told.
Brad shifted from foot to foot. Watching the movement made Garth’s eye water more, and his temper flare.
“I—I was about to, Boss, but this man rode up and asked if he could have the calf.” Still shifting from foot to foot, Brad continued, “I—I figured that was as good as shooting it. Knew it wouldn’t live long without its momma.”
“So you’d rather it suffered than putting it out of its misery?” Garth asked.
Brad took off his hat and then put it back on.
Garth balled one hand into a fist. Fidgeting was a sure sign of weakness, and he was close to losing his patience with this kid. He’d fired a man for fidgeting before, and probably should have again. He hadn’t because he’d hoped Brad would grow up during the trip, and hadn’t wanted to be wrong.
“I didn’t think of it that way,” Brad said. “I guess I thought the man had a cow it could nurse on.”
Holding his temper was difficult. If the woman hadn’t been there, he might not have kept it in control. That might not be true. If his face wasn’t on fire and if he could see, he would have already lost his temper. Completely. As it was, it just boiled inside him. “I told you that’s rare.” Garth growled. “It takes a lot of work to make a cow take on a calf that’s not her own, and that’s hard on a calf. Smelling milk and not getting any.”
Shifting again, Brad shook his head. “I didn’t think of that, Boss. I didn’t know that.”
Garth wasn’t sure what increased his irritation more. Brad’s constant fidgeting and lack of knowledge, the pain throbbing in his head, or how the woman had stepped forward to pat the cowboy’s arm consolingly.
As much as he didn’t want to have to order it again, there was a lesson Brad needed to learn here for future reference. “Take that cow back to the herd,” Garth ordered. “And then shoot the calf.”
“He most certainly will not!” the woman bellowed as she stomped forward to put herself between Brad and him.
Damn, she was uppity. And full of herself. She had a lesson to learn, too. “Fine.” He’d had enough and pulled out his pistol.
She launched forward, grabbing his arm. “You can’t shoot it.”
“Like hell I can’t.” Except he couldn’t see the animal very well. Good thing he was a good shot.
“Like hell you will!”
She had gumption, and that reminded him of Bridgette. They’d both been kids, but he’d never forgotten how she’d stepped up to his defense all those years ago. “I thought you didn’t take to cursing,” he pointed out.
Ignoring his statement, she tried pushing his arm down. “You will not be shooting this calf, nor will anyone else.”
She was stronger than she looked, but not strong enough to move his arm or change his aim. “It’s not going to survive without its mother,” he said.
“I know that,” she said. “That’s why I brought the eggs and beans, to trade for the mother and the calf.”
“The