Diane R. Jewkes (3 page)

He remembered what Arthur Cove had told him when they met in London; this land would change a man. He was beginning to understand how the man might think so. Cove’s enthusiasm for the raw untamed West had played into his decision to correspond with Case Jonston.

The rancher seemed to be not only surprisingly open to his suggestions, but also very forthright and honest, someone he could have a solid working relationship with.

“Have you fallen asleep looking out at this unchanging brown nothingness?” Alec grumbled. “I thought you said this ranch was in the mountains. I see nothing but dry ground and scraggly trees all around.” The time it took to cross the country had astounded and wearied both of them. “Why would anyone want to live out here?”

“There’s more here than you’re seeing,” Hawke said, pointing towards the mountains looming ahead. “This is not just dry ground, Alec. Look around. Don’t you see the river down there, the trees? Look at how tall the grass is. Don’t look at this land the same way you look at the manicured lawns of England, or the suffocating jungles of India, but more like the highlands of home. It’s vast, but it’s far from empty. Think of it, soil that hasn’t been depleted by over-planting and great areas yet to be developed. The possibilities are staggering.”

Alec snorted. “I haven’t seen anything bigger than a rabbit since we left St. Louis. And dirt is dirt to me, laddie. I thought you said this place was full of game. You know I had hoped to do some hunting while here … guess it won’t happen.” He looked sullenly out the window. “It all looks the same to me … shades of brown.”

The conductor came down the aisle, announcing they would arrive in Socorro in thirty minutes. He stopped by the two men.

“Sirs,” he nodded, touching a finger to his cap. “I would venture this is your first trip out West. I hope you enjoy your stay. If you look out your window and to the left, you’ll see one of the many herds of pronghorn in this area, good eating should you be lucky enough to shoot one.” Tipping his hat again, the conductor continued down the aisle, calling out the upcoming station.

The men spotted the group of tan-and-white pronghorns sprinting and hopping across the plain. Laughing, Hawke slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Those look like rather large rabbits to me.”

• • •

Stepping down from the train, the two men walked through the hissing steam from the locomotive’s brakes and headed for the freight cars to oversee the unloading of their gear and their livestock.

“Excuse me, are you Mr. Stoneham?”

A thin whip of a man in a brown western-style hat, blue shirt, leather vest, denim pants, and boots approached the two men.

“It’s Lord Stoneham,” Alec replied arrogantly. “And who are you?”

“I’m Joe Harding,” the man replied. “I’m the foreman for the Ladder J.”

Hawke stepped forward, smiling, and extending his hand to the older man. “Mr. Harding, I’m Stoneham, and this is Alec MacCairn, Lord Peyton … but please, call us Hawke and Alec.” He shot a quelling look at his companion. “After all, this is America, and our titles mean little here. I’m glad you received my wire in time to meet us.”

“Pleasure to meet you, sir. Where’s your baggage and the cattle you brung? I’ve got a wagon and a couple of the boys from the ranch here to help. It’s a long trip, and we need to git moving.” Turning, he spit a stream of tobacco juice on the wood platform. “Now do you have horses with you, or are you riding in the wagon?”

Hawke heard Alec behind him mumbling something about impertinent Americans, but chose to ignore him. “We brought twenty cows and three bulls, and our horses.” He nodded towards the livestock cars, “Though fairly docile, the cattle are likely to be nervous after the long train trip.”

“Well, let’s get to it.” Joe turned to the men standing by a wagon. “Secondino, you come get the luggage. Darcy! You and Eddie mount up and check those cattle being unloaded.” Turning to Hawke, “I trust you can get your own horses and gear.” The older man mounted a stout buckskin horse, spun the animal on its hocks, and headed toward the cattle car, shouting directions to his men.

“I’m not sure,” Alec said, a hint of humor lacing his voice, “but I don’t think Mr. Harding holds a very high opinion of us.”

“Remember, Alec, we are in America, where they could not care less if you are a peer of the realm or the lowliest pauper. Your arrogance and your title don’t impress people out here. Don’t forget.” He smiled wryly. “They won. Let’s get the horses and get going.”

They untied their horses and led them down the wooden ramp past the holding pens where the cattle were being put as they came out of the livestock cars. Hawke’s gray stallion pranced at the end of his lead, tossing his head and flaring his nostrils at the strange scents and sounds. Jerking lightly on the reins, he caught the animal’s eye. “Settle down, you silly beast,” he said affectionately. The horse rolled his eyes, snorted, then calmed down.

Joe, seeing the stallion, rode up to the two men, and whistled softly. “That’s a fine piece of horseflesh you’ve got there.” He looked admiringly at the big gray. “Bet he can run like a house afire.”

“Aye, he can, and will jump anything he’s put to. I bred and trained him myself,” Hawke replied, patting the horse’s neck with pride.

Joe looked surprised. “He ain’t no thoroughbred … too thick in the bone.” He looked up. “What breed is he?”

“An Irish Hunter. I’m hoping there are some good mares at the ranch. I’d be interested to see the result of a cross with your working stock.”

Joe dismounted and stroked the smooth shoulder of the gray. “We’ve got some fine quarter horse mares at the spread. Yep,” he said, moving towards the horse’s head, “might make a good cross. Course, you’ll have to talk to Case and Kara. I don’t get involved with the horse breeding.”

“Who is Kara?” Alec walked up, leading his big bay behind him. “Is she the owner’s wife?”

Joe chuckled. “His daughter. Kara is Case’s only child. She works the ranch alongside the hands. She works every bit as hard as they do, too.” There was pride in the foreman’s voice as he spoke.

One of the hands came up to the men informing them the cattle were ready to be moved out.

“It’s time to go, Mr. Stoneham, Mr. MacCairn.” A small smile crossed his face as Alec bristled at “mister.”

• • •

The sun was setting when they finally stopped and made camp. Joe set Eddie on the first watch over the cattle while Luis started the fire and prepared supper. The men set their gear on the ground near the crackling fire. The man named Darcy watched Hawke and Alec pull their flat English saddles from their horses.

“Those look like cavalry saddles,” he said, grinning with tobacco-stained teeth. “Won’t do you no good workin’ cows.” Sitting on the ground and leaning against his western saddle, he patted the broad, worn leather seat and spat a stream of tobacco juice towards the fire. “Y’all are goin’ to need saddles like these if you plan on workin’ the ranch.”

Joe looked at them. “Ever ridden in a western saddle? Ain’t too different from those pancake saddles.” He laughed, spreading out his bedroll, “Just more of it.”

Hawke turned from brushing down his horse. “I guess we will need new saddles. Can we get them at the ranch or do we need to go somewhere to purchase them?”

“Naw, we got extras at the ranch. Might have to add leather to the stirrups to accommodate yer long legs though.”

Finished bedding down his horse, Hawke walked away from the camp to the top of a low hill. He watched as the sky turned from a deep clear blue to streaks of fiery red and orange, violet then midnight blue as the cloak of night covered the desert floor below. The air so dry and clear; he felt like he could reach up and touch the blazing colors spreading from horizon to horizon. The sun flashed its final gold brilliance in the sky, and the colors began to blend into the darkness.

Although it was late April, it had felt incredibly hot during the day. Not the suffocating wet heat of the jungle, but a dry baking heat shimmering over the land, sending waves dancing through the air. The heat disappeared with the sun and the air cooled rapidly. Turning back towards the camp, he watched as Secondino cooked beans over the open fire, the tangy smell of the mesquite wood scenting the air. In the distance, he heard a sound like hundreds of dogs barking. A chorus of high-pitched yips and long mournful howls seemed to be all around them. Walking towards the camp, he heard Joe explaining to Alec.

“Those ain’t dogs or wolves. It’s a pack of coyotes, worst scavengers in the desert. Seen ’em take down a full-grown bull. They just run ’em into the ground, rip out the leg muscles and overpower them by sheer numbers. When they yip and howl, they’re gettin’ ready to go huntin’. That’s what the boys are watchin’ for with yer cattle. You ever see ’em on the range, shoot. They’re nothin’ but worthless varmints.”

“Tell me, Joe.” Hawke eased himself to the ground, leaning back on his elbows on his bedroll. “Have you lived all your life out here, or did you come after the War Between the States, like Mr. Jonston?”

“Well, sir, I grew up in Northern Virginia. I served with Sherman during the war.” The haunted look of a man who had seen too much moved quickly across his face. “Nasty business. Case, fresh out of West Point, was my captain. Never served a better man.”

Hawke admired his loyalty and looked forward to meeting the man who had inspired it.

Alec, bored with talk of the past, looked at the cowboy next to him. “Where does a man go for entertainment in this empty land of yours? Where do you go for a drink and a little companionship, eh?” Darcy laughed as Alec waggled his eyebrows lasciviously.

“I’m guessing you ain’t looking for a church social.” Darcy thought for a minute. “There’s Miss Lila’s house in White Oaks. It’d be the closest. Then there’s Madame Varnish’s Casino if yer wantin’ to drink and play a little poker or faro. Them places and others like ’em are in Hogtown.”

“Now this sounds promising.” Alec smiled, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “Maybe it won’t be so bad here after all.”

“Several of yer countrymen hang out at Madam Varnish’s.” Joe stood and walked over to the iron pot hanging over the fire, filling his tin plate with beans and grabbing a biscuit. “Yep, they seem to enjoy spending their days looking down the bottom of a bottle. Who knows, maybe you might know some of them.”

“You wouldn’t by chance know their names … would you?” Hawke tried to sound casual, but inside his gut clenched in anticipation. Maybe he was closer to Tompkins than he realized.

“Naw,” Joe replied, chewing a biscuit, “Never bothered. All they want to do is sit around and tell us how inferior we are, and how much better it is back in England, while waiting for remittance money sent to keep them away.” He snorted in disgust. “Let ’em go back if they miss it so much.”

“Will any of these gentlemen be at the dinner Mr. Jonston has arranged?” Alec asked, leaning forward to scoop more beans from the bubbling pot.

“Case don’t hold with drunks and wastrels. You won’t see them anywhere around the ranch. Tried hiring one of them remittance men awhile back. Seems he was too good to do regular work.” Contempt colored every word. “Wouldn’t dirty his hands working cattle, but thought nothing of trying to put his hands on Miss Kara. He’s lucky he left the ranch alive.”

“Mr. Jonston beat the man?” Hawke’s words were spoken quietly, wondering if it could have been Tompkins.

“Nope,” Joe said with a cold smile. “I did. All the men working for me know Miss Kara is off limits.”

“Will Miss Kara be the only lady at this dinner?” Alec asked. “Or are there any women out here other than those in town?”

“Sure. Several of the ranchers and businessmen have daughters. Most of the girls go back East for schooling, but there should be several at the barbecue.”

“If the daughters are sent away for schooling, then why is your boss’s daughter here, working the ranch?”

Hawke twisted around, surprised at the vitriol in Alec’s voice. What was the matter with him? He acted like he already knew this woman and found her intensely distasteful.

“Excuse the rudeness of Mr. MacCairn. He’s only come to keep me company. I fear he gets surly when he’s away from his clubs and his mistress too long.”

The men were laughing at Alec’s remarks. Again laughter?

Thinking of his own sister, he wondered how these men, who seemed to like this woman one minute, could laugh at her the next. “What is wrong with this woman that you can laugh at her shortcomings so easily?”

“No, senor,” laughed Luis, scraping the plates while he cleaned up from the meal. “Senorita Kara, she is no why we laugh. You will find out soon enough, verdad. Those of us who know her respect and love her very much. You and your friend will understand soon enough.” Luis chuckled. “Shortcomings … hah.” He shook his head and continued cleaning.

Alec shot Hawke a bemused look. “Well, beats me. Can’t say what passes for humor around here. I tell you; the longer I’m out here with these ‘gentlemen’ the more I miss the pleasures of London.” Alec flopped over onto his side grumbling about the hard ground, the outdoors, and the coarseness of the blanket he pulled up around his shoulders.

Hawke lay on his back with his hands behind his head and marveled at the clarity of the stars overhead in the midnight blue sky until he drifted to sleep.

• • •

Shortly after dawn, they broke camp. Asking how much further until they were on the ranch, Hawke was surprised to learn they had been on ranch since yesterday, and would reach the headquarters later in the afternoon.

They stopped at the top of a hill and Joe showed the two men the boundaries of the property. “The ranch stretches from the Mal Pies.” He pointed to dark rocks in the distance. “That long outcrop of volcanic rock to the south and into the mountains further north. The eastern edge is where the foothills begin and through the pass is the town of White Oaks and a little south and further is Lincoln, the county seat.”

Hawke looked around, fascinated. The grasslands rolled like some great beast shaking its hide, the wind softly bending the miles of tall grass. Jagged peaks stabbed into the clear sky. The entire land bathed in a golden light cast by the rays of the rising sun. A warm breeze caressed his face with the gentleness of a lover. The sky was the purest blue he had ever seen, the color only broken by wispy clouds drifting along. An eagle above them played lazily on the shifting currents of air, rising and falling as gracefully as a leaf floating on a breeze. Inhaling deeply, he noted the complex blend of wildflowers, grass, and dust and rising heat in the air. The stark beauty of this land reminded him of his highlands, but he felt a greater sense of freedom here.