Desert Angel (5 page)

His own belly growled with hunger as Jim poured water into a bowl to wash the bottles. Grabbing the heel of the loaf of bread, the only remaining piece, he wondered why he had never before considered white bread as a luxurious thing. Only when faced with doing without any did he realize how much he depended on it. As he chewed the bread, he knew that it would be the last until one of his neighbors took pity on him and brought some over.

It was a sure bet that neither Hank nor Woods would volunteer to bake bread.

Jim didn’t know what he would have done without the two old men, or without Breed. A routine, or the form of one, had developed the morning after the funeral. He would get up, take care of the baby, and then head out, leaving his son in the dubious care of the two men. Breed was handling the heaviest part of the roundup, making it possible for Jim to return to the ranch house before dark each evening.

It wasn’t a perfect routine, not even a good one, but it was working for now. He just didn’t know how much longer he could continue it. Breed did what was necessary without a word of complaint, and the two old men did what they could with ceaseless complaints.

He had to find a housekeeper soon, or face the real possibility of giving up his son. He wasn’t sure exactly what he felt about the child. It was difficult to develop a relationship with someone who cried, ate, and slept, but he knew he didn’t want to let the town people adopt him.

After scrubbing the bottles and nipples, he rinsed them and put them in a pot of boiling water. Either Hank or Woods had left a pot of beans and a pan of corn bread near the fire, and feeling as greedy as his son, Jim finished them.

Knowing it was necessary, but dreading it nonetheless, he made a quick trip back upstairs, grabbed the baby’s dirty linens, and carried them to the kitchen. His nose wrinkled with disgust as he opened the bucket lid and poured water over the contents. Using the scrub board from the back porch, he scrubbed each towel ten times, ignored the stains, wrung it out, and threw it into the dry sink.

By the time he had finished the towels, he estimated that the bottles had boiled long enough. Carefully removing them with a knife stuck in the opening, he saved the water and added the clean towels. Returning it to the fire, Jim sat at the kitchen table and waited for them to boil.

His head nodded and he rested it against his hand, drifting into a much-needed sleep. The sound of the baby crying woke him abruptly, and as he climbed wearily to his feet, he shook his numb hand. Pouring the remainder of the can of Murdock’s Liquid Food into a bottle and capping it with the rubber nipple, he cursed at the necessity of dirtying one of the clean bottles.

Before he left the kitchen, he remembered to remove the boiling diapers from the fire. The baby was squealing in rage by the time Jim entered the bedroom. His face was flushed and he had managed to wedge his head into the corner of the baby bed.

“Hold on a minute, fella,” Jim mumbled, as he set the bottle down and reached for the infant. “If you aren’t the hungriest boy ever born, I’d sure hate to meet the winner.”

He rolled the baby over and changed his dirty towel for a dry one. The baby squirmed and cried pitifully, tugging at his father’s heart.

“It’s coming, boy.” In spite of the fatigue dragging at him, Jim smiled at the tiny infant. “If you’d hold still ‘til I get this on you, then you’d get your snack sooner.”

As always, the crying ceased abruptly when Jim put the nipple into the child’s mouth. Leaning against the windowsill with the baby cradled in his arm, he looked out at the darkness. A crescent moon gave little light, but the display of stars was magnificent. Millions of tiny specks of light glittered in the night sky.

It was at this time of night that he felt the guilt for Melanie crowd into his thoughts. Trying to take care of the ranch and his son at the same time, he had a better idea of what her life had been like.

She had never herded cattle or taken care of an infant, but she had cooked, cleaned, and washed. Sometimes she had been alone for several days while he’d been on the range, seeing no one. She’d had no close friends to confide in, or other women to share her fears with.

For a woman who had been raised in a city with maids to do her bidding and someone always within the sound of her voice, Jim realized that the ranch must have been hell on earth for her.

Guilt ate at him relentlessly; it had taken her death for him to see her desperation. He wondered if he had paid more attention to her, or listened seriously to her complaints, if she might be alive now.

With a sad shake of his head for all the things he should have done differently, Jim placed the baby against his shoulder and gently rubbed his back.

He had to finish the feeding, wring out the wet towels, hang them over the porch railing, and wash some of the trail dirt from his body, before he could seek out his own bed. Five o’clock came early on any day, but lately it seemed to be coming hours too early for him.

As Jim approached the line shack, he checked the Winchester rifle in the saddle scabbard and unclipped the Colt .45 on his thigh. He knew of more than one man who had met his death trying to convince nesters that it was time to move on.

Breed had found the family in the line shack several months earlier in the dead of winter, but when he told Jim of the number of children, Jim hadn’t had the heart to chase them off. First one thing and then another had delayed his trip out here, but spring was well underway, and it was time for the family to move on. He’d use force if necessary, but he hoped it wouldn’t be.

When he arrived at the shack, it was obvious that the family had moved in with the intent to stay. A garden spot had been scraped out of the dry soil and someone had constructed a chaparral brush corral. As he rode closer he counted at least nine people, adults and several children, wandering around the cabin that had been built as overnight shelter for one or two cowhands riding the lower range. He couldn’t imagine all of these people crammed into the tiny structure.

Jim stopped beside the cabin, but didn’t dismount. He waited for someone to approach him and watched as a man turned in his direction, hitching up his pants as he crossed the sand.

” ‘Mornin’, what cain I do ya for?” the man asked, his eyes shaded by a straw hat.

“I’m Jim Travis, owner of the Falling Creek Ranch.” Jim’s alert gaze noticed the interest of the others, particularly the two boys who were nearly grown. “You’re on my land.”

“Well now, I don’t be knowin’ ‘bout that. There waren’t no signs up sayin‘ this land be yores. We found the cabin and figured someone had done decided to move on, so we claimed it for ours.”

The man’s family had gathered behind him, and a quick count showed two adults and eight children ranging in age from a toddler still in towels to the two boys who were in their late teens. The woman, aged beyond her years, balanced the baby on her hip.

“The line shack is mine. You’ll have to move on.”

The man scratched his head beneath his battered hat and stared off into the distance. “I’d be happy to oblige you, but there ain’t nowhere for us to go, nor no money to go on.”

Jim had expected this and had already decided to give the family a little money. It was much better than the alternative, which might result in the death of the father, then he’d feel responsible for the rest of the family. He had enough problems without adding these people to them.

“How much do you think it would take?” Jim asked.

“Oh, a hundret, maybe a little more.” The man looked slyly beneath lowered lids.

An idea began to brew as Jim looked at the oldest girl. She wasn’t more than thirteen, but with this family of children he had little doubt that she knew more about child care than he ever would. He reached into his shirt pocket, already aware of the amount it contained.

“I’ll work a deal with you.” He pulled out the bills and held them in sight of the man. “I’ll give you enough to get started, if you’ll agree to leave in the morning. I’d also be interested in talking to your oldest girl about a job at my ranch.”

“Well now, there be possibilities in that, yes,

sir’ee, thar just might be possibilities. Name’s George Evans, git down off ‘en that horse and sit a spell, and let’s do some talkin‘.”

The man motioned for the others to go away as Jim dismounted. In the sparse shade of a cottonwood tree, they soon struck a deal. For fifty dollars, the man would pack up his family and leave, and the oldest girl would go back to the ranch with Jim.

“Feb, go get yore sister. Tell her to pack her belongin’s, she’s goin‘ with Mr. Travis.”

As the boy moved toward the cabin, George turned to Jim and smiled cordially. “She’s a mite peeked right now, it bein‘ her woman’s time and such, but she’s a good hard worker. Ain’t never had me much trouble outta her, and what I did was soon beat away.”

Jim hadn’t thought his impression of the man could have gotten much lower, but it sank further with George’s lack of concern of his oldest daughter’s welfare. What kind of a man would let his child go off with a stranger, not knowing or caring how she would be treated?

Her few possessions in a roll beneath her arm, the girl moved slowly out of the cabin, her hand on the wall as if in support. She wasn’t the same girl Jim had seen when he rode up. This one had been in the cabin until now.

She was so tiny that at first Jim thought she was far too young for his purposes, but as she drew closer he realized that she was older than he thought. Her badly worn dress was too small,

ending several inches above her bare feet and pulling snugly over breasts impossibly large for such a small frame. Still young, maybe fourteen or fifteen, but old enough to be responsible for his son.

Her bewildered gaze rested on her father. “Pa, you’re sending me off with him?”

“Don’t give me no sass, girl,” George said harshly.

She looked with disbelief, first at Jim and then at her father. Pa had done many shady things, some of them despicable and a few she suspected were illegal, but she couldn’t believe he was doing this to her.

“We’ll be movin‘ on come mornin‘. Say yore goodbyes to the youn’ens and head out. If’en Mr. Travis won’t let you on the back of his horse, you’ll hafta walk.”

“You know I can’t ride a horse, Pa.”

“Don’t make no never mind to me if’en you ride or walk.” Without a further comment, George turned and walked away, stuffing the money into his pants pocket.

“Ma? He’s sending me away?”

The woman looked sadly at her oldest daughter, then turned and followed her husband. One by one the children came and hugged her, but none shed a tear for this sister they would never see again.

Wanting to be away from this strange family and afraid he had been foolish to offer this girl a job, Jim mounted his horse. He was already wondering what he would do with her if she didn’t work out. His desperation had caused him to overlook his better judgment, and he prayed he didn’t live to regret it.

“Hand me your things, girl.” Jim held his hand out, then stuck her small roll at the front of the saddle.

Her big gray eyes looked up — way up. And what she saw was far from reassuring. The man was big, easily twice her size. The sun was behind him, making it impossible for her to see him clearly, but he looked like many of the men who hung around the cabin with a layer of trail dust clinging to his clothes and the stubble of a beard darkening his face.

His hat was pulled low over his forehead, making it difficult for her to see much of his face. She wished she could push it back, so that she could study his eyes. Mama had always claimed you could tell a good man from a bad one by studying his eyes.

“I can’t sit a horse, Mr. Travis.”

“Your pa explained that you were poorly.” Jim felt uncomfortable discussing such a personal matter with a stranger. “If you sit sideways and hold onto me, you should do all right.”

With a lot of help, she was able to get onto the rump of the horse. It was a precarious position with her legs dangling freely and only her grasp on his waist to keep her on the horse, but the discomfort and weakness that plagued her far outweighed her concern about falling off.

She didn’t dare turn to take a final look at her family, and tears clouded her eyes. What would Ma and the little ones do without her? Pa didn’t care if they starved or went without clothing. He wasn’t concerned if they were sick. During her mother’s many confinements, she was the one who made sure there was food on the table and a warm fire burning.

“What’s your name, girl?” Jim asked as he slowly walked the horse back toward the house.

“March,” she answered softly.

“March? What kind of name is that?”

“Mine.” Wiping the tears from her cheeks, she wondered what was in store for her now. She’d already suffered dearly, surely nothing could be worse than that.

“How’d you end up with March?” he asked.

“I’m the third.”

“Like in a calendar; January, February, March, April?” He wondered why it surprised him that someone would name their children after the months of the year. After seeing the lack of concern George had shown this girl, nothing should have come as a surprise.

“January and February are my two older brothers,” she clarified.