North to the Salt Fork (6 page)

“We never sent no cattle north this year,” Israel said, shaking his head as if he regretted it. “Figured if we saved them up to build a big enough herd, we could find us a real ramrod. Truth is, we haven't found one yet, and we're losin' out.”

“You'll probably be able to find a dozen good ones at Fort Worth this winter,” Jack said, unswayed.

“Some of us are thinking you'd make a good one,” Joe chimed in.

“Why? Cause I threw two boys out of a schoolhouse dance for fighting? Wranglin' boys ain't the same as herdin' cattle.”

“That and you brought back them horses with three boys who were more than a little wet behind the ears,” Israel said, clearly impressed with Jack's work.

Jack shifted his weight to his other leg. “Craig was in on it too.”

“He's a good man,” Israel said. “But he couldn't've took a posse and got them ponies back.” Joe quickly agreed with his brother.

Jack shook his head. “I'm sorry, boys, but I don't know where I'll be next year.”

“We're sorry to hear that, but you think on it and let us know if you can't find a way to make it work,” Joe said. “We'd be mighty pleased to have you.”

“You boys get a chance to hire a good one, you better sign him on.” Jack stood, ready to excuse himself.

“Captain, Captain,” Luke called, hobbling toward Jack on his sticks and nearly falling over in excitement. “They've got a broom-tail mare here they say no one can ride. Offering thirty bucks to the man who can.”

“What's the fee to try?”

“Ten bucks. You want to try her?” Luke was out of breath, leaning on his sticks, his face flushed with excitement.

“Excuse me, gents,” Jack said to Joe and Israel, who tipped their hats to him as he headed off with Luke. “You ever tried to ride her?”

“Once.” Luke said. “I couldn't hold on. But I got a feeling you could do it.” Luke looked at him eagerly.

Jack shrugged. “Aw, why not? Let's try her.”

Luke whooped and pulled Jack toward the waiting bronc.

They walked slowly toward the gathered crowd to allow Luke to catch his breath on the crutches. The day's temperature was climbing and a good rain wouldn't hurt anything, for his money. Jack wanted to put the cattle-drive business out of his mind, and a real challenging bronc ride might do just that.

“What do they call her?” he asked Luke as the boy worked to keep pace.

“Black Widow.”

Jack let out a low whistle. “I bet she's a real one too.”

“She's the worst bucking horse I've ever seen or been on,” Luke confirmed.

When they found her, they noticed the onlookers were standing a safe distance back from her heels and teeth. The mare had a black broom tail, coated in dust, which she gently swished from side to side. Her head down as far as her binds would allow, she stood hip shot between two posts, practically unmoving. Her face and eyes were hidden behind a long double mane that hung way down on both sides of her neck. Unfortunately, the mane couldn't hide her ragged right ear, which looked like it had been bitten off. Hardly taller than twelve hands, she looked more like a kid's buggy horse, but neither her small size nor her seemingly calm disposition fooled Jack. He knew that blasting powder came in small, tight packages.

A tall Indian came toward him. The hot afternoon wind rattled the eagle feather tied on his unblocked hat. “You want to ride her?” he asked.

Everyone stopped talking to hear Jack's answer.

“She looks pretty tough,” Jack said.

“Naw, just a pony,” the Indian said, concealing his real thoughts behind a smug smile.

“I suppose your squaw rides her to church every Sunday.”

The Indian laughed, as did the onlookers.

“How many men has she stomped?”

“A few,” the Indian said cryptically.

“I'll take ten dollars of her, but first I need a shorter girth. Mine's too long to screw down a saddle on her.”

“I'll get you one,” a cowboy offered.

Jack thanked him, then beckoned to a boy of about ten who was standing nearby.

“Yes, sir,” the boy said, sweeping the red hair back from his freckled face.

“There's a D-T wagon down there.” He pointed to the branded one. “There's a saddle in the back. Bring my rigging up here and there's a dime in the deal for you.”

“Yes, sir!” The barefoot boy tore off to get Jack's gear while everyone laughed at his eagerness.

“How did you figure out the girth deal?” Luke asked under his breath.

“Part of the game. They get you-all ready. Toss the usual saddle on, draw up both sides—but it just won't come all the way. ‘Oh, the saddle is on tight, but not tight enough,' they'll say, and you'll say, ‘Aw hell, let's go.' ”

Luke laughed and shook his head at this newfound knowledge. “Damn. I won't forget that for next time. That's what happened with that miserable horse at home that broke my leg. I thought it was tight enough. Only lacked a little notch, but the girth was all the way up.”

Jack smiled. “I've been suckered in like that before too.”

The redheaded boy delivered the saddle and they stripped off the longer girth and replaced it with one Jack borrowed from Hoy, a local cowboy. Hoy was a tough man with steel blue eyes, which pierced the Indian as he straightened the double girth, making certain that the Indian wasn't trying to pull one over on Jack.

“She's a stem-winding sumbitch,” Hoy said under his breath.

“I figured she must be. How does she break?” Jack asked quietly.

“She'll tear out furious in crow hops, then she'll plant all four. And if she ain't thrown you, she'll turn her old belly up to the sun. A sun-fishing son of a gun. And the longer you ride her, the madder she gets.”

Jack straightened. “Guess you tried her, huh?”

“Twice. I never lasted very long.”

“Well, let's see what she can do today.”

A crowd was beginning to circle around them. Kids climbed on wagons for a better view. Money started to change hands. As he sat on the ground, Jack used some leather thongs to better tie down his spurs. He caught parts of conversations around him as he busied himself with the straps.

“The new guy. . . the one that brought the stolen horses back . . . Lucille Thornton's new man . . . a captain in the war, they say . . . Cap'n Jack they call him . . . How should I know if he can ride?”

Amused, he rose and brushed off the seat of his pants. Luke rested on his crutches, watching the mare stomp impatiently at the flies buzzing around her.

“See her temper, Captain?” Luke asked worriedly.

“Yes, I do. How far did you ride her?” Jack asked.

“Not far at all. Maybe ten yards. She shook me off like a tick both times.”

“Your mother know about it?”

Luke shook his head. “No way. She'd have given me a real licking.”

“Heck, she might give me one.”

They both chuckled at the thought.

The Indian and his helper put the blinders on Widow. Jack noted how careful they were of her front hooves. After you were bucked off, she might come back to pay you for trying her.

Widow began making deep-throated threats and Jack could see the knowing nods in the crowd of onlookers; the devil in her was waking up. They sure weren't horse sounds.

The last-minute bets were going down as the Indian led the mare to the center of the open field, with Jack following close behind. As he placed his foot in the stirrup and swung himself onto the saddle, he could feel Widow trembling beneath him. Her trembling felt more like an earthquake as the Indian handed him the leads, jerked down the blinds and ran away.

Her hooves left the dirt and flew skyward, her head between her knees as she made a high-kicking, fierce run-buck like Hoy predicted. She landed in a four-footed stop that would have loosened most punchers and sent them flying over her head, but Jack was braced for landing and managed to hold on, every muscle in his body strained.

In a flash she whirled to the right, rising on her hind legs and showing her old belly to the midday sun. It felt like she was trying to turn herself inside out. Jack kept his seat, punishing her with a quick jab of his spurs to the flank.

She bucked left, then right in a furious fashion to shake him loose. With the arches of his boots pressed down firmly in the stirrups he spurred her even harder. Her fury grew more powerful and Jack had to struggle to hold tight. Instead of getting tired the little Widow was bucking harder than ever.

Her fierce bucking began to shake him and he knew how sore he'd be after this was over. Sharp pains in his neck and shoulders jolted him like lightning. He was satisfied with his performance and knew that prolonging the ride would only break her spirit.

He kicked his right boot out of the stirrup and propelled himself off Widow. Landing on his feet, he swept off his hat and bowed to her as she reared up on her hind legs.

The crowd, puzzled at first that Jack had chosen to dismount, soon realized that he did so out of respect to Widow. A sense of awe pervaded the crowd as they began to clap, the applause building and building.

The Indian led the horse away, and Luke hobbled quickly toward Jack, a look of wonder on his face. “You rode her. You rode her good!”

“That I did. But I didn't wanna break her. She's too great a spirit.” He stretched his arms high over his head as he scanned the smiling crowd. “All the riding's got me starved. Let's go find us some lunch.”

“Wait, wait!” the Indian called, running to catch up with them. “You rode her longer than any man ever rode her, but you didn't try to break her.” A look of respect briefly crossed his otherwise immobile face. “She'll live to buck some more.” He handed Jack thirty dollars, then went after his horse.

“That mean the bet's off?” someone asked. Everyone laughed as the crowd disbanded.

Jack bought two bowls of beef stew at a dime a bowl from a woman that Luke knew. They squatted under the shade of a tree to eat their lunch. The food was hot and the chunks of beef were tender as well as flavorful. The sweet, buttery cornbread crumbled in Jack's mouth, drawing saliva in a flood.

The woman came by and collected their bowls when they were finished with the stew and filled them with cherry cobbler.

“Sure is good eating,” Jack told Luke. The youth grinned in return, his mouth full of flaky pastry and warm cherry compote.

“I'm just glad you brought me along.”

Several townsfolk came by and introduced themselves to Jack. Friendly folks, he decided, despite the fact that he had heard them quietly arguing about his decision to bail off Widow short of a so-called conclusion. He paid it no mind.

After exchanging pleasantries, he excused himself as he saw Jangles, Cotton and Arnold—his three ranger friends from the rescue missions—approach.

“Damn, heard we missed a wild ride,” Jangles said, shaking his head. “I'd like to have seen that.”

“Aw, I'd bet on the captain,” Cotton said as he looked hungrily at Luke's bowl of cobbler.

Jack caught the look. “I'll buy you jaybirds some pipin'-hot stew and cornbread if you're willing to sit and visit a spell,” he offered. He knew that the state didn't pay them for their services, so a free lunch would be much appreciated.

“That would be nice,” Cotton said while the other two bobbed their heads eagerly. “But what we really came by for was to tell you we found a few signs that Indians've been snooping around the country. We'd like your opinion on the matter.”

Jack considered the boy's words thoughtfully. “What does McIntyre say?”

“Well, he's gone to Fort Worth for the week and we don't trust just anyone else with this information,” Cotton whispered conspiratorially.

Arnold, who had remained silent until then, looked around to be certain they were alone. “We don't want folks panicking over nothing, but if them red devils're scouting things we need to stop them.”

Jack paid up and passed bowls of stew to the boys, contemplating Arnold's words. But before he could answer, he was distracted by the sight of two men in conspicuous dress pulling up to the gathering.

“Who are those two men wearing coats in this heat?” Jangles nodded toward the riders.

“Looks like the law to me,” Jack replied.

“You mean the carpetbagger's law?” Luke asked, with a sneer of disgust.

“Could be.” Jack frowned when he noticed the pair talking to someone in the crowd who pointed in his direction. The riders appraised him with cold eyes as they turned their horses toward him.

The older one, with a white mustache and cold blue eyes, rode in the lead.

“You Jack Starr?”

Jack nodded, but refused to say a word.

The younger one drew his six-shooter, keeping it low at his side. “You're under arrest for the murder of Judge William Streeter.”

“Who?” Jack said in confusion. This had to be a mistake. He certainly didn't know any Streeter.

“I'm afraid we're gonna have to take you in, Mr. Starr,” the older man said, a cruel smile on his face.

“You can't do that—” Luke defiantly protested, nearly losing his balance on his crutches.

“What in the hell is going on?” Jangles asked, returning with his second bowl of food.

“These men are arresting me for murder,” Jack said in a soft voice. “But don't no one interfere. Cotton, you three boys see that Luke gets home alright with the wagon.”

“Mister,” Cotton said to the older man, “we're rangers. This man is one of us.”