A Lone Star Christmas

CHAPTER SIX

“What are you doing here, boy?” a man’s gruff voice asked.

Opening her eyes, Rebecca saw that it was daylight.

“I want to go on the trail drive,” Rebecca said.

The man who had awakened her was John Cornett, the Rocking H foreman. Cornett had known Rebecca for most of her life, so this would be a really good test as to whether or not her disguise was working.

Cornett chuckled. “Well you damn near slept through it,” he said. “Better get on out there, Mr. Hannah is signing on the riders now.”

“Thanks,” Rebecca said, smiling with relief that she had not been recognized. She picked up the little canvas bag that held her other clothes, then went outside. There were ten or eleven young men standing around a table. Walter Hannah was at the table, signing them up.

“Who’s next?” Hannah called.

When nobody else stepped up to the table, Rebecca did. Hannah looked up at her and for a moment, she thought she saw recognition in his eyes. But thankfully, that moment passed.

“How old are you, boy?” he asked.

“I’m sixteen.”

“You think you can handle the work?”

Rebecca was an excellent horsewoman, and she had cut cows at her father’s ranch many times.

“Yes, sir, I’m certain I can,” she replied.

Hannah stared at her for a moment longer, then shrugged and picked up his pen.

“Pay is ten dollars a week, and found,” Hannah said. “Figure six weeks there. Is that all right with you?”

“Yes, sir,” Rebecca said.

“What’s your name?”

Rebecca had already thought this out. Her saddle had the initials RC worked into the side flaps.

“Ron,” she answered. “Ron Carmody.”

“All right, Carmody. Go see Julius Jackson. He’s the wrangler, and he’ll help you select your string. You have a saddle?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

Julius was a black man, shorter even than Rebecca. He helped her pick out three horses, which she would rotate during the drive. He, on the other hand, as the wrangler, would be responsible for keeping the remuda together for Rebecca and the other cowboys.

“Gracious Lord, boy,” Julius said when he saw Rebecca’s saddle. “That is one bodacious saddle.”

Live Oaks, July 5

“Rebecca hasn’t come down for breakfast yet?” Big Ben asked as he split open a biscuit and lathered butter onto it. “That’s odd, she’s always an early riser.”

“Well, we did stay up late last night for the fireworks display,” Julia said. “Perhaps she is just tired.”

At forty-eight years old, Julia’s blonde hair was now showing flashes of gray. She was five feet six inches tall, more than a full foot shorter than her husband. But if they were mismatched in size, they were a perfect match in background, for Julia had come from a very wealthy family. Her father, Justin Caldwell, owned a bank in Fort Worth.

“Go check on her,” Big Ben said.

Though Big Ben didn’t say anything about it, he was thinking about the discussion he and Rebecca had had last night, and he had a bad feeling about it.

That feeling was confirmed when Julia came back into the dining room a minute later with a confused and worried look on her face.

“She isn’t there,” Julia said. “Rebecca isn’t in her room.”

“I knew it!” Big Ben said, slapping the table. “Damn it, I knew it!”

“You knew what? Ben, what is wrong? Where is Rebecca? What has happened to her?”

“I don’t know,” Big Ben said. “But I intend to find out.”

Big Ben walked out to the cookhouse. He could smell the biscuits and coffee before he got there, and he could hear the conversations and laughter from the cowboys at their breakfast. When he stepped inside the cookhouse most of the conversation stopped, and all the cowboys looked toward the ranch owner, curious as to why he might have come into the building. Though he owned the building and had every right to come into it any time he wanted, the cookhouse, like the bunkhouses, were generally regarded as the private domain of the cowboys.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Conyers,” Dusty said. “Do you need something?”

Big Ben looked around the cookhouse and saw Tom Whitman at the table with Dusty, Mo, and a half-dozen other cowboys. Seeing Tom here surprised him, because he was almost certain that Rebecca had run off with him. Big Ben studied Tom’s face for a long moment to see if he could detect a look of guilt or nervousness, but he saw nothing.

“Uh, no, nothing,” Big Ben said.

Beyond the cookhouse and the two bunkhouses sat a row of ten small, green-painted clapboard houses. Most of them were one-room houses, with the bedroom, kitchen, dining, and sitting rooms combined. But one house, considerably bigger than the others, had three rooms: a bedroom, sitting room, and kitchen-dining room combination. This was the house of Clay Ramsey, the foreman of Live Oaks.

At the moment, Clay was having breakfast with his wife, Maria. Without being asked, she got up from the table and poured a second cup of coffee for Clay.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Clay said.

“I made some cinnamon sopapillas,” Maria said. “Would you like one?”

“You are being awfully sweet to me this morning, Maria, pouring my coffee and offering me sopapillas. Is there something I should know?”

Maria sat down across the table from him and as she looked at him, a huge smile spread across her face.

“Estoy embarazada!” Maria was so excited that she spoke the words in Spanish, then translated. “I am with child!” she said.

“What? Are you sure?” Clay asked, his smile now as wide as Maria’s.

“Si! I have thought so, but I wasn’t sure. I talked to Mama and she said it is so.”

Clay walked around the table, and when she started to get up, he put his hand on her shoulder.

“No, you should be careful now,” he said. “I will come down to you.”

Clay leaned over and embraced his young wife.

“Are you happy, my husband?” Maria asked.

“Happier than I can tell you, Maria,” he said. “And I don’t care if it is a boy or a girl.”

“It will be a boy,” Maria said.

“How do you know it will be a boy?”

“Because I had a dream. And in my dream, my abuelo came to visit me, and he said it would be a boy.”

“Your abuelo? Your grandfather?”

“Si.”

“Your grandfather is dead.”

“Even the muerto can visit you in your dreams,” Maria said as if it were something everyone should know.

“It would be good if it is a boy, but I will be happy no matter what it is,” Clay said.

A loud knock on the door interrupted their conversation and Clay went to open it. Big Ben was standing there, and he was obviously agitated.

“Have you seen her?” he asked.

Clay had a confused look on his face. “Have I seen who?”

“Rebecca,” Big Ben said, as if it should be obvious. “She’s gone. Have you seen her?”

“No, I haven’t. When did she leave?”

“She left in the middle of the night,” Big Ben said. “Turn out all the men, Clay. We have to find her.”

All work stopped while everyone searched for Rebecca. The mystery was deepened when they discovered that, while her saddle was gone, her horse was not, though it wasn’t in the corral. They found her horse cropping grass about half a mile from the Big House.

Clay and Tom rode into town to check the railroad and stagecoach depots, but neither of them reported that Rebecca had bought a ticket.

“Tom, is there something going on that I don’t know about?” Clay asked as the two men started back toward Live Oaks.

“What do you mean?”

“You have everyone on the ranch talking about you. None of us have ever known anyone as smart as you are. You are from back East, but you ride a horse like you were born in the saddle. There is something in your past, something that you don’t want anyone to know about.”

“I’m told there are a lot of men out here who have pasts that they don’t want to share,” Tom said. “That’s one of the reasons I came West.”

“So there is something in your past. What is it?”

“You said it yourself, Clay. It is something that I don’t want anyone to know about.”

“Are you wanted by the law?”

“Is Dusty wanted by the law?” Tom replied.

“Dusty? Well, I—I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you know?”

“Because I’ve never asked him.”

“Then why are you asking me?”

“Because it is different with you,” Clay said. “Maria tells me that Rebecca has set her cap for you. Now, I don’t know about such things, but Maria does, and if that’s what she says, then that’s the way it is. And if that is true, then sure as hell, it’s not something that Big Ben would approve of. So I’m going to ask you right out. Is there something going on between the two of you? Do you know where Rebecca is?”

“I don’t know where she is,” Tom said. “But I think it is my fault that she is gone.”

“Why would it be your fault?” Clay asked.

“I’m afraid I hurt her.”

“Clay stopped riding and glared at Tom. “Tom, did you hit that girl?”

“What? No, no,” Tom said quickly.

“You didn’t hit her, or—do anything to her? Because if you did, friendship be damned, I’ll have you fired off this place and run out of Texas.”

“It was nothing like that, Clay,” Tom said. “I promise you. I guess I just told her something she didn’t want to hear.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her that I didn’t love her.”

Clay was quiet for a long moment. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I can see how that could be more than she wants to deal with.”

“The thing is, I lied to her,” Tom said.

“Why did you lie?”

“Under the circumstances, I thought it might be best,” Tom said.

“Yeah, with Big Ben, I see your point,” Clay said. “I’m not sure how he would take it, his daughter being in love with one of his hired hands. She’s probably hurt now, because she’s young, and young people feel this more.”

The circumstances Tom was referring to were his own circumstances, not Big Ben’s, but it was easier to let Clay think that.

“All right, I believe you. But do me a favor, will you? Don’t say anything about this to anyone else. And especially not to Big Ben.”

Tom had no intention of talking about it to Big Ben, but as it turned out, he didn’t have any choice. When he and Clay returned from town, Big Ben was waiting there for them. And as soon as he learned from them that Rebecca had not taken a train or a stagecoach, he asked Tom to come into his house and talk to him.

Tom glanced over at Clay, but if he was looking for some support from the foreman, he got none, because Clay merely stared down at his own boots.

Tom followed Big Ben into the parlor. This was the first time he had been in the parlor since that first day when Big Ben hired him.

“I’ll get right to the point, Whitman,” Big Ben said.

Tom flinched at the way Big Ben addressed him. Clay had made it a point to call all of his cowboys by their first name. That he referred to Tom as ‘Whitman’ couldn’t be good.

“I want to know what has been going on between you and my daughter.”

“Going on? Mr. Conyers, nothing has been going on per se.”

“Nothing has been going on per se? That doesn’t tell me a damn thing,” Big Ben said. “What do you mean per se? That means something has been going on.”

“By per se, I mean that your daughter has not been compromised in any way.”

“Something is happening,” Big Ben insisted. “She told me that she loved you. Is that true?”

“Yes, she told me that.”

“And she told me that you said you didn’t love her.”

“That’s not exactly true,” Tom said.

“What’s not exactly true? Are you calling my daughter a liar?”

“No, I did tell her that. But I was lying, Mr. Conyers. The truth is, I do love your daughter. I love her more than I thought would ever be possible.”

“Then why did you tell her that you didn’t love her?”

“Because I am not deserving of her love.”

Big Ben blinked in surprise, for he had not expected that answer. Then he nodded.

“Do you have any idea where she is, Tom?” This time the words were soft, and non-accusatory. They were pleading. “I’m not asking you this as an angry employer, but as an anguished father. Do you know where she is? Did she say anything to you before she left?”

“No, sir, she said nothing to me before she left, because I didn’t know she was going to leave. And I have no idea where she is. Mr. Conyers, if it is your wish, I will leave the ranch.”

Big Ben shook his head. “No,” he said. “No, there is no need for that. Clay likes you, all the cowboys like you. Damn it, I like you. I just don’t think that a marriage between you and Rebecca would be for the best.”

“And on that subject, you and I agree,” Tom said.

On the trail

For the first several days, the Rocking H company pushed the cattle hard, not only to get them away from their customary range so as to make them less hesitant to wander away, but also too tired to run at night. By then, the trail was fairly routine with the cattle moving along by habit. The strongest steers had taken their place as leaders; others had positioned themselves somewhere in the long column, and they too, took their places every day, like soldiers with assigned positions.

Because Rebecca was the newest and greenest of the cowboys, she was given the job of riding drag. She came away from the herd each evening with a heavy coating of dust on her hat and eyebrows. That was because the thousands of cattle pulverized the ground into a fine dust.

A typical day began with the last change of guards before breakfast at four o’clock in the morning. Those heading back to their bedrolls for half an hour or so more sleep would awaken the cook, who would build his fire and start breakfast, mostly biscuits and bacon.

Hearing the cook rattling his pots and pans would signal the wrangler to ride out and bring in the remuda. Then, when breakfast was ready, Cornett and the cowboys who would be riding point would rise so they could eat first, then ride out to be with the herd as the cows began rising from their bed ground.

Finally, the cook would start banging on a pot with a large spoon, making a terrible racket as he called out.

“People, people, people! Out of your sacks and into the heat! Off your ass and on your feet! Come and get it, or I’ll throw it out!”

“Hey, Bailey, you wouldn’t really throw it out, would you?” a young cowboy named Stewart asked.

“You damn right I’d throw it out!” Bailey replied. “I gotta get my wagon ready and move on to the next spot so I can set up for lunch. I don’t have time to be lollygaggin’ around.”

“You better go up there first, kid,” Stewart teased. “Because if you don’t beat Forney through the chow line, he’ll gobble it all up like a pig wallowing through slop.”

“What are you calling slop, boy?” Bailey said. “You don’t want breakfast, you just say so and I won’t even bother to cook it.”

“I wasn’t talking about your food, Bailey,” Stewart said. “I was just funnin’ with the kid is all.”

By the time breakfast was over, the trail boss and those who rode point had already reached the herd, and the cattle were beginning to leave the bed ground and start their own breakfast, grazing as they started moving north. Those on point positioned themselves well back from the lead steers so the cattle could spread out and graze along at their own pace.

Although Rebecca had been around cowboys for her entire life, she had always observed them from the lofty station of being the daughter of one of the biggest ranchers in Texas. She had thought them to be like children in a way, laughing much, finding fun where they could, but always respectful of her and her parents.

Now she was seeing cowboy life from the other side. The cowboy worked for forty dollars a month and food, and for this the cowboy was prepared to perform labor, no matter how hard it be, fight against Indians or cattle thieves, even to the point of risking his life, put in eighteen hours a day in the saddle, twenty-four in case of an emergency, all the while providing his own clothes, bedding, hat, boots, saddle, bridle, clothes, rope, spurs, pistol, and ammunition. The diet consisted of biscuits, bacon, beef or salt pork, beans, potatoes, dried fruit, and coffee.

Rebecca had not brought a pistol. She didn’t own one, and had not thought about it. She took a little ribbing for that.

“Hey, Carmody, what are you going to do if the Injuns decide to attack us? How are you going to fight off the cattle rustlers? What are you going to do, throw rocks at them?”

Rebecca took the teasing good-naturedly, and when the others saw the skill with which she could cut cattle, or run down an errant steer and push him back into the herd, they accepted the new young cowboy as one of them. They even accepted her staying by herself as much as possible, passing it off as being shy.

The storm hit midway through their second week on the trail. Far in the distance, Rebecca could see a line of dark clouds on the horizon. As she stared at the clouds, she saw flashes of light from within. She knew that those were flashes of lightning, but the thunder came so long after the lightning flashes, and was so low, that it was little more than a very distant rumble.

Then the breeze, such as it was, stopped, and it was as if the air itself couldn’t move. Sweat began to form on Rebecca’s face, actually mixing with the dust to turn into mud. Gradually the flashes became brighter, the thunder closer upon the flashes and louder. In addition, a heavy mist rose from the ground.

Then, as the cloud bank came toward them, it seemed to hang menacingly just overhead. Now it grew dark, almost as dark as nightfall. A sudden, blinding flash of lightning lit up the countryside, followed immediately by a roaring thunderclap. Before the thunder even faded away, the herd was running, and even above the sound of the storm, Rebecca could hear the rumble of hooves and the frightened bellow of the cattle.

Rebecca let go of her reins and squeezed down hard on the saddle horn, hoping that the horse she was riding could keep its feet and stay out of harm’s way. Finally the storm abated and the cows stopped running, but the cattle were strung out in one long string and it took until mid-afternoon to get the herd reassembled.

But even though the rain had stopped, their problems weren’t over. The rain had turned the prairie into a huge mud bog, making it hard for man and animal to eat. With the cattle, it was because the grass had been pretty much trampled down into the mud, and when the cattle could eat, they wound up consuming as much mud as grass. The cook had a hard time finding dry wood for a meal, and on the night after the big storm, nobody slept due to wet blankets and water on the ground.

It took two more days to dry out, but finally the cowboys were rested because they had been able to sleep dry, and the cattle were content because once more the grass was green and sweet, and the cows were eating well. Then, one week after the great storm, they ran into another problem.

At first, Rebecca didn’t believe what she was seeing, but she heard Stewart talking to one of the other cowboys so she knew that she wasn’t just imagining things. There, in front of them, far up in the panhandle just west of the Caprock Escarpment and south of the Canadian River breaks—

“What the hell?” Stewart said. “Sheep! Do any of the rest of you see what I’m seeing? Hell, they must be two or three thousand of ’em.”

“Where did they come from?” Fowler asked.

“Look at ’em! They’re eatin’ all the grass,” one of the other cowboys complained.

“No problem,” a third cowboy said. “All we got to do is start killin’ sheep. The rest of ’em will leave.”

“Yeah, either that or kill us a few sheep herders,” Stewart suggested.

Rebecca listened to the angry comments of Stewart and the other cowboys and cringed. She wanted no part of killing men or sheep. She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard John Cornett’s reply.

“Hold on, let’s don’t get ahead of ourselves here. Bring the sheep herders to me.”

“Be glad to. You want ’em draped over their horses? Or just bound and gagged?” Stewart asked.

“Neither,” Cornett replied. “Just bring them here and let me talk to them.”

The sheep were being worked by three dogs, so the three shepherds had nothing to do but to stand around and watch the dogs keep the sheep in line. Pierre Dubois was the first to see the rider approaching them, riding fast. He was also the first to see that the rider was holding a pistol in his hand.

“Gaston!” Pierre called to the one that the others recognized as the leader of their little group. “Quel-qu’un vient, et il a une arme à feu!”

“Yes, Pierre, I see that he has a gun.”

Stewart, the rider dispatched by Cornett to summon the shepherds, pulled his horse to an abrupt stop, and shouted angrily.

“Who is in charge? What are these sheep doing here?”

“Comme vous pouvez le voir, les moutons paissent,” Gaston said.

“What? What the hell did you say? What lingo is that?”

Neither Gaston, nor either of the other two, responded.

“All right, come with me,” Stewart said. And, making a motioning effort with his pistol, he made it known by sign language that he expected them to follow him, and follow him they did.

Rebecca waited with Cornett and the others, holding The Rockin H herd in place until the shepherds were brought into camp. There were three of them, tall thin men, all with beards and wearing black berets. It was not only their hats that differentiated them from the cowboys. They were wearing short jackets, crimson in color, and dark blue trousers. None were wearing boots.

“Here they are, Boss,” Stewart said. “But there ain’t none of ’em spoke a word yet that I can understand.”

“Spanish?” Cornett asked.

“It ain’t Spanish. I don’t speak the lingo all that good, but I do recognize Spanish when I hear it. I ain’t never heard nothin’ like this.”

“Leur dire pas que nous pouvons parler Anglais, jusqu’à ce que nous apprenons ce qu’ils veulent,” one of them said.

“They’re speaking French,” Julius Jackson, the black wrangler said. “This one,” he pointed to the man who had spoken, “just told the others not to let us know they can speak English until they find out what we want.”

“Damn, Julius, are you telling me that you can speak French?” Cornett asked. “I’m impressed.”

“No need to be impressed, Mr. Cornett. I’m what you call a Griffe. I’m from New Orleans. My Papa was a colored man, but my Mama was Cajun mulatto and she spoke French.”

“What’s your name?” Cornett asked the man who had spoken.

“Pas leur dire quoi que ce soit,” one of the three said.

“It is too late. They already know we speak English,” the shepherd Cornett had addressed said to the others. Then, to Cornett, he said, “My name is Gaston. This is Pierre and this is Andre.”

“Well, Gaston, Pierre, and Andre, I have a question for you. Are you just passing through here? And if so, how long to you plan to stay?”

“We are not passing through,” Gaston said. “We plan to stay here for the entire summer.”

“The hell you will!” Stewart said, angrily.

“Why are you so angry?” Gaston asked. “We mean you no harm.”

“Well, maybe you don’t mean us any harm, but here is the problem we have,” Cornett said. “You see, we have to trail our cattle through here. And our cattle need to graze. Now we’ve been using this trail for better than twenty years, not only us, but just about every cattle ranch in Texas. This is free range territory, and we depend on grass being available. Our cattle don’t eat all the grass, just enough grass to keep us going as we pass through. That way we leave grass for the others who are coming along behind us. And believe me, there will be other herds and thousands more cattle, and they will need grass as well. And, like us, after they pass through, they will leave enough grass for the following herds.

“But your sheep now, they are wiping the prairie clean. They’re eating right down to the roots so that there’s nothing left. So, here is what I’m going to ask you to do. I’m going to ask you to move your sheep, and I’m asking you nice.”

“We can’t move our sheep, Monsieur. Our employer told us to graze the sheep here,” Gaston said.

“All right, let’s take this to the next step,” Cornett said. “Bailey?”

“Yeah, Boss?” the trail cook replied.

“Do you know any recipes for lamb?”

“Oh, yeah, I could make a nice roast of lamb,” Bailey said.

“Stewart, go out and kill us a lamb for supper.”

“Yes, sir!” Stewart said, pulling his pistol and riding out toward the flock of sheep grazing peacefully nearby.

“Monsieur, non!” Gaston cried out.

“Do I have your attention yet, Gaston?” Cornett asked. “If you take your sheep on out of here, it will just end with us having lamb for supper. If you don’t, then we’ll kill as many as we can. And since cowboys hate sheep, I expect we can kill a hell of a lot of them. And if killin’ the sheep don’t make you move, well, we might just start havin’ to kill a couple of you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Even as Cornett was explaining the situation to Gaston, they heard the sound of a gunshot, then Stewart’s triumphant yell. Looking over toward the flock, Rebecca saw one of the sheep fall over onto its side, its legs sticking straight out.

“Oui, monsieur, I understand.”

“Do we need to kill any more of your animals?” Cornett asked.

“Non, monsier, please do not kill any more. We will move the flock.”

Cornett smiled. “I thought we might be able to come to some sort of an agreement. How much is that one lamb worth?”

“Nine dollars, monsieur,” Gaston said.

Cornett took out a ten-dollar bill and gave it to Gaston. “Here,” he said. “This is for the lamb we killed, with an extra dollar for your trouble. Now please, move the rest of them as quickly as you can.”

Bailey did an excellent job with the lamb, and that night the cowboys enjoyed the best meal they had eaten so far.

“Damn. If I had known that sheep tasted this good, I might ’a become a sheep herder myself,” Stewart said as he gnawed the meat away from a small bone.

“Ha! Can you see Stewart wearin’ one of them funny-lookin’ little hats and that jacket?” one of the other cowboys asked.

“What’s the hat got to do with it?” Another cowboy wanted to know.

“Well hell, you seen it, didn’t you? All three of them fellers was wearin’ those funny hats. You have to wear one of them funny hats to be a sheep herder. That’s the law.”

“That ain’t the law,” Stewart insisted.

“Yes it is. If you are goin’ to herd sheep, you’ve got to wear one of them hats and that jacket.”

As the others laughed and teased Stewart about the funny hat and jacket he would have to wear, Rebecca walked over to Cornett, who was sitting on the ground, leaning back against the wheel of the chuck wagon.

“That was a very good thing you did,” she said.

“What was?”

“Finding a way to resolve this issue without resorting to killing.”

“Hell, boy, did you really think I’d kill the sheep herders?”

“I don’t know,” Rebecca said. “I suppose that I was afraid you might.”

Cornett had just taken a bite of meat. He chewed on it for a moment, then sucked his fingers and stared up at Rebecca before he answered. He stared at her for such long time that she became self-conscious. Had he recognized her?

“Yeah, well, that’s just what I wanted Gaston to think too,” Cornett said. “If I scared him as much as I scared you, then I guess I did my job.”

Rebecca’s laugh was one of relief.

“I wonder what those people are,” Cornett said. “They aren’t Mexicans, and they damn sure aren’t Americans. They was speakin’ French, but it don’t seem likely that there would be any Frenchmen over here herdin’ sheep.”

“I believe they were Basque,” Rebecca said.

“They were what?”

“Basque,” Rebecca repeated. “It’s a group of people who originated in the Pyrenees between France and Spain.”

“How do know that?”

“I read about it,” Rebecca said. “The Basque have a long history of tending sheep, and a lot of them have come to America for that purpose.”

“Carmody, you are a most interesting young man,” Cornett said.

Dodge City, Kansas, August 22

It took them forty-two days to reach Dodge City, and Cornett held them just south of the Arkansas River for two days before taking the herd into town. It was another two days before the herd was loaded onto the train and the cowboys were paid out.

Though everyone had missed a lot of sleep while on the trail, the cowboys were more eager to “have fun” than they were to catch up on their sleep. The first stop for most of them was a barbershop, where they had their hair trimmed and got professional shaves. Then they bought new clothes, took baths, dressed, and headed for the nearest saloon, dance hall, gambling establishment or whorehouse.

“Come on, Carmody, let’s go get a haircut and shave, then find us some friendly women,” Carter invited. “Well, in your case, I guess you’re too young to need a shave. But you ain’t too young to have yourself some fun.”

“Thank you, but I’d rather get a hotel room and catch up on my sleep,” Rebecca said.

“Sleep? Hell, why waste time sleepin’? You’re goin’ to die one of these days, then you can sleep forever. Come on. I’ll bet you ain’t ever even had a woman, have you?”

“I’d rather not, thank you just the same.”

“Leave the boy alone, Stewart,” Cornett said to the others. “When we start back he’ll still have his pay, and the only thing the rest of you will have will be bruised heads, hangovers, and a couple of cases of the clap.”

At the Dodge House Rebecca got a room, then asked for a key to the washroom.

“The men’s washroom is the one in front,” the desk clerk said as he handed the key to Rebecca.

For a moment, Rebecca hesitated. Should she take a key to the men’s room? She would have to, or she would be found out. On the other hand, what if another man came into the washroom while she was there?

“I, uh, am a very private person,” Rebecca said. “How private are the washrooms?”

“Sonny, once you go inside and lock the door, there ain’t nobody else goin’ to be comin’ in on you, if that’s what you’re worryin’ about,” the clerk said.

Rebecca smiled in relief. “Thank you,” she said.

Half an hour later, Rebecca let herself settle down into a tub full of hot water. It was the first real bath she had had since leaving home, and the sensation was delightful. After washing thoroughly, she just lay in the water for several moments, enjoying it.

Suddenly her moments of reverie were terminated by loud knocking outside.

“How long you goin’ to be in there, mister?” an insistent voice called from outside.

“I’m sorry,” Rebecca called back. “I’ll be right out.”

Rebecca got out of the tub, and drying herself as quickly as she could, put her clothes on over a body that was still half wet. Then, wrapping the towel around her head, she left the washroom and hurried down the hall toward her own room without making eye contact with the person who had hurried her so.

During the cattle drive up to Dodge, she had managed to keep one pair of denims and one shirt relatively clean, and that was what she put on now. She did not want to waste any money on buying any more men’s clothing, but neither did she want to buy women’s clothing, at least not until all the Rocking H cowboys were gone.

August 25

The Rocking H stayed in Dodge for at least two more days with the cowboys boisterous and noisy, sometimes riding at full gallop up and down Front Street, screaming at the top of their lungs, and often augmenting their huzzahs by firing their pistols into the air. Although every ounce of Rebecca’s being wanted to go look up her mother, she thought it best not to do so until the others left. And, since she had no intention of “rousting the town” with them, she spent all of her time in the hotel, leaving her room only to go downstairs to take her meals.

Finally, on the morning of the 25th of August, Cornett knocked on the door to her room.

“Carmody? Ron, you in there?”

Recognizing his voice, Rebecca put on her hat, then opened the door. “I’m here,” she said.

“We’re starting back,” he said. “We’ll be gathering out in front of the Wright-Beverly and Company General Store in about fifteen more minutes.”

“All right, thanks,” Rebecca said.

Rebecca closed the door and walked back over to look down onto Front Street from her hotel room window. She could see Julius Jackson standing with Parker and a couple of the others who had made the trip up. She had not yet told Cornett that she wasn’t going back, and thought about just not telling him, but was afraid he would come looking for her. So, she decided she would go down to the front of the store to tell him she wouldn’t be going back, and to tell everyone else goodbye.

When she got to the store she saw Cornett coming up the walk with Stewart. A deputy marshal was with them.

“I want to thank you, Deputy, for releasing Stewart to me,” Cornett said.

“Well, it wasn’t nothin’ but drunk and disorderly, so the marshal said I could let him go when you folks started back,” the deputy said.

“I didn’t appreciate spendin’ the night in jail,” Stewart complained. “I didn’t appreciate it none at all.”

“Son, you ought to be thankful you did wind up in jail,” the deputy said. “The way you was goin’, you could’a wound up in big trouble.”

“I was just tryin’ to have a little fun, is all,” Stewart said.

“Get on your horse, Stewart,” Cornett said. Then, seeing Rebecca standing on the porch, Cornett said, “Boy, you haven’t even saddled your horse yet.”

“I’ll not be going back with you, Mr. Cornett,” Rebecca said. “I’m going to stay here in Dodge.”

“You sure you won’t be goin’ back with us, boy?” Cornett asked. “You were a good hand. I could talk Mr. Hannah into takin’ you on full time if you wanted.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that,” Rebecca said. “But I have an older brother who lives here, and he’s asked me to come move in with him.”

“All right, if that’s what you want,” Cornett said. He extended his hand. “If you are ever down our way again and looking for a job, look me up.”

“Thanks,” Rebecca said.

“Dodge ain’t as much fun if you live here all the time,” one of the cowboys said.

“Hell, that don’t make no difference to Carmody,” Stewart said. “He didn’t leave his hotel room the whole time he was here.”

“You men be careful on your way back,” Rebecca said, waving goodbye to them as they started back south.

“Carmody,” Stewart called. “If you are going to stay in Dodge, you’d better buy yourself a gun. There’s some bad people up here.”

“I’ll consider it,” Rebecca replied.

“Yee, hah!” Stewart shouted, and firing their guns into the air, the riders of the Rocking H left the town at a gallop.