Wyoming Wildfire (15 page)

Augusta knotted her thread and bit if off. There,” she said, draping the lace-trimmed cloth over a table in the large front parlor the ladies had taken for their own use. “How do you like it?”

“It does help, but this room is still so depressingly bare I don’t think I could stand it at all if it weren’t for the wallpaper.” A thorough rummaging of the attics and barn lofts had turned up some miscellaneous furniture and a large assortment of wallpaper. Sibyl enjoyed deciding which pattern would look best in each room, but since Ned and Balaam had the actual job of cutting and fitting the paper and there was hardly enough furniture to make its disposition difficult, her interest soon flagged.

“I’m bored,” complained Sibyl, tossing her own piece of needlework from her. “I think I’ll go out of my mind if I don’t do something.”

“It is rather quiet with the men gone,” agreed Augusta, who was looking more like herself after the prolonged period of inactivity.

“I’m so desperate, I’d even welcome Lasso with open arms.”

“That’s not very nice, dear, when you know how much he thinks of you.”

“Not nearly as much as he thinks of you,” said Sibyl, making another attempt to goad her aunt into talking about her suitor.

“He is a kind man, and it’s very thoughtful of him to try so hard to make us feel welcome.”

“What a fib, Aunt. You know Lasso doesn’t have five minutes to give me. He’s so anxious to get you off to himself I doubt he would know whether I was comfortable or dying of a fever.”

“You have been rather rough with him. I’m persuaded if you would speak kindly to him, he would be more open.”

“He’s already as
open
as those double doors. As for stopping his speeches, I might as well try to stop a train going downhill.”

“He does have a lighthearted disposition.”

“He’s positively jocular. How can you endure hours of it without throwing something at him?”

“I could never be rude to anyone, especially not someone as thoughtful and pleasant as Mr. Slaughter. The poor man is lonely for adult company. It would be nice if you would try to talk to him more.”

“Tired of him already?” she teased wickedly.

“I don’t know what you mean,” said the lady, wrapped in an invincible serenity, “but I can guess from the gleam in your eye that it is something naughty. I merely meant that it would be more mannerly than running off to shoot or ride every time he arrives. It is not exactly polite to leave me to entertain him alone.”

“You don’t seem to mind too much.”

“I would never be so rude as to let it show if I did,” said her aunt with mild reproof. Sibyl abandoned her inquisition concerning the persistent Lasso Slaughter. It was clear Augusta wasn’t going to tell her anything.

“I think I shall go find the roundup.” Sibyl announced suddenly. Augusta looked up quickly but answered with studied indifference.

“Do you think you should?”

“Why not? They’re my cows, and I always wanted to see what they do on a roundup.”

“But it’s all men there, and Burch might not like it.”

“Then he will just have to put a good face on it, because I don’t mean to ask his permission.”

“But you can’t decide to go just like that,” Augusta said with a wave of her hand. “What will you do? Where will you sleep?”

“I’ll take the wagon and my horse. That way I’ll have a place to sleep and still be able to get about on the range with the men.”

“But you can’t just head off into the distance,” Augusta persisted, not ready to give up. They must be miles from here and you have never been out on your own.”

“I’ve been studying the map Burch left. They’re coming this way. They shouldn’t be more than a day from us now.”

“You really mean to go, don’t you? You’ve already thought it all out.”

“I’m not going just from boredom or idle curiosity,” Sibyl said with unexpected heat. “If I’m ever to be a real partner in this ranch, I must know what goes on on the range. I may not be able to do the work, but I’ve got to know what needs to be done and how to do it. What would happen if Burch weren’t here?”

“Jesse could run things for you.”

“I don’t want anybody to run the ranch for me; I want to do it myself. And I can’t learn mat here arranging furniture and baking pies.”

“The men really like your pies.”

“I intend to use some of them as a bribe,” she confessed guiltily. “Maybe they won’t be so upset at having their exclusive male society invaded if their stomachs are pleasantly full.”

Chapter 11

Sibyl had a lot more than pies in her wagon when she and Ned started off before dawn a couple of days later. She hoped to reach camp in time for dinner and had brought enough food to feed the whole crew. A half dozen young cocks and two pigs had been slaughtered to add fresh meat to the menu, and a huge beef pie rested in a deep cooker. “After beans and canned ham they ought to be as hungry was a swarm of locusts,” Balaam told her jealously as he saw them off.

A basket each of fresh tomatoes and late peaches rested in deep straw. “It would be a shame to can all this and never eat any of it fresh,” Sibyl reasoned as she selected the most perfect fruits from each pile. Augusta kept her own counsel and relieved Sibyl’s sense of guilt by assuring her that she had absolutely no curiosity to see a roundup and was perfectly comfortable being left with Balaam.

There’s a great deal of work to be done yet, and Balaam is quite handy, in spite of his complaining.” So Sibyl looked forward to her expedition with a clear conscience and a sense of rising excitement.

The trip was much more enjoyable than she had expected. She had been tired, irritable, and a bit apprehensive when she first arrived at the Elkhorn and in no mood to admire the very scenery that was the source of her discomfort. In the beginning, its strangeness had been sufficient to condemn it. But the past weeks had accustomed her to its contours and familiarity had bred a kind of fondness. She took great pleasure in sighting a distant herd of antelope or watching a pair of huge bald eagles soar overhead, and the crisp, clear air was exhilarating as it whipped through her streaming hair.

The once characterless prairie was now defined by ridges, bluffs, canyons, creeks, and many kinds and sizes of vegetation. Everywhere she looked there was something new to excite her but something familiar to reassure her as well. Several times she insisted upon riding to some distant point to get a better view of a spectacular canyon or butte. Ned’s requests to be careful and “think of what Mr. Randall would say if I was to let you do yourself a hurt” did not deter her in the least.

“There’s nothing to hurt me out here. All the Indians are gone and the cows rounded up.”

“Just the market steers, miss. The bulls, cows, branded calves, and the young steers are still loose.”

“Never mind about them, I’ll be careful not to get hurt. I’m not a good patient. I’d worry my aunt until she abandoned me. And I’m sure Burch would make a terrible nurse.” Ned thought he probably wouldn’t be that good.

Sibyl’s spirits remained high throughout the day, but when they came within view of the camp, she felt a little less certain of herself and resumed her seat without any prodding from Ned. She didn’t know what to expect from a roundup, but what she saw staggered her. From a small rise, she could see over a plain that was literally covered with horses and cows as far as she could see. There were several herds of them spread out to graze, all being carefully controlled by the cowboys who constantly rode among them. Sanchez’s chuck wagon was pulled up along a small stream and preparations for dinner had already begun. But most of the men were gathered in one spot and it was this vortex of activity that drew Sibyl’s attention.

“I see Sanchez’s wagon,” Ned said, relieved to have solved his first problem, but Sibyl had no interest in food now. She burned with curiosity about the gathering that was sending up a steady cloud of dust into the pure Wyoming air.

“You take the wagon and go help Sanchez,” she said. “I’m going to find out what’s going on over there.”

“But what am I to do with all this food?”

“Surely Sanchez can figure out how to serve it without being told,” she said impatiently. “I’ll be back before supper anyway.” She mounted her horse—Burch had named him Hospitality to aggravate her—and struck out through the bawling cattle and circling riders.

At first she looked for Burch or Jesse, any familiar face to make her feel more comfortable, but soon she was so caught up by the color and pageantry that she forgot everything else. One group of men was branding the calves that had been missed during the spring roundup. The bawling and the stench of burned flesh was heavy in the air. Another group was cutting out the steers meant for market. This was done carefully to avoid a stampede and to keep from running any weight off the animals. These were then held in one tightly controlled group while the rest of the herd would be driven out into the range the next day.

Sibyl drew near the circle where the men heated the irons and branded each calf with proper brand and recorded it in the book. She was fascinated by the men whose job it was to cut the desired calf from the herd, keep it from its mother, rope it, and bring it near the fire. And all of this without frightening the rest of the animals. It was tedious, demanding work, and coming at the end of the day made it all the more difficult and exhausting. But the men proceeded with high spirits and a constant flow of kidding and shouted directions that were so heavily laced with unprintable cursing Sibyl didn’t know what they were saying a good bit of the time. But she found it didn’t offend her ears. It somehow became an inseparable part of the men and their brutally exhausting work.

“You should have come earlier. We’re just about through.” The unexpected sound of Burch’s voice at her elbow caught her unaware and she blushed furiously, but she was not too flustered to notice that he seemed very pleased to see her. That caused her to blush even more.

“I couldn’t stand it at the ranch any longer,” she confessed with an impudent smile. “After two weeks of hanging pictures and trimming table covers I was ready to do something reckless.”

“Weren’t you bored in Virginia?” he asked, wondering why he hadn’t thought to invite her himself. This was
his
territory and the circumstance of her having to depend on him would be a welcome change.

“I didn’t have time to be bored,” Sibyl answered. “I had the farm to run, the house to manage, and there was always someone to visit or invite to dinner. You won’t let me help with the ranch and the only person who visits is Lasso Slaughter. He only comes to see Aunt Augusta and I suspect he wouldn’t even speak to me if she didn’t make him.”

“There’s always me—and Jesse.” Sibyl could not miss the invitation in his voice nor the change of inflection when he added Jesse’s name.

“You don’t count,” she replied, trying not to show how untruthful she was being. “Jesse’s nice enough, but he’s always saying exactly what he thinks will please me.”

“Is that why I don’t count, because I don’t say what pleases you?”

“I didn’t mean that,” she said, catching herself before she blurted out that he was the only one who
did
count. “But I didn’t come here to argue. I’ve been wanting to see a roundup ever since I got to Wyoming and I couldn’t stand it any longer. Now stop trying to goad me to say something cross and explain to me what those men are doing.” Maybe if he were doing all the talking she wouldn’t betray herself, at least not so soon.

Burch spent the next hour taking Sibyl over the whole site, explaining what each group was doing and introducing her to the foreman of Lasso’s crew. But even though they were on horseback and the noise and dust were unbelievable, she found it hard to keep her mind on the cows and not on the man riding next to her. After two weeks of seeing only Ned and Balaam, being next to Burch was like being thrown into a rapids after floating in a duck pond.

“Our cattle wander over so much territory it’s easier to cover it if we work together. Everyone gets to see that his calves are properly branded and settle what to do with the mavericks. It works out well for some of the smaller ranchers, too, because they can send their steers to the railhead with ours. This way everybody knows exactly what’s happening on the range and there’s no questions later when a cow turns up without a calf. And mavericks don’t appear with funny brands.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, trying to focus her attention on the cows instead of his intoxicating nearness.

“There’s always some rustling, but there’s more this year than I can remember.”

“Who’s doing it?”

“I don’t know, but I think our herd has been hit the hardest.”

“Then you’ve got to find out who it is,” she demanded, her attention on the cows at last. “What do you do with rustlers?”

Burch’s eyes became very hard. “That depends, but it’s not unusual for a man suspected of rustling to be found shot or even hung.”

“That’s horrible,” shuddered Sibyl.

“We can’t afford to let rustlers run loose. I figure we lost between twenty and thirty head this year.”

“But to hang a man for stealing cows!”

“It’s our property, our way of life. Wouldn’t you shoot a thief in your house?”