This Calder Range (Calder Saga 1)

“I suppose.” But it was very fresh for her now, too fresh to accept so philosophically.

“A woman doesn’t have much choice in this world. When she’s being raised, her parents tell her what to do. And after she’s married, it’s her husband.”

“It isn’t fair,” Lorna replied, not truly realizing what she was saying.

“Life isn’t fair, but it can be good.” Mary smiled faintly. The girl had a little more pluck than she thought.

It didn’t seem possible to Lorna, not when she might never see her parents again. Married life wasn’t turning out to be what she thought it would be. From what Mary said, it wasn’t going to get any better. It was so hard to think with the noise of bawling cattle and the clatter of the wagon hammering at her eardrums as they bounced and jolted over the rough prairie ground.

All her thoughts were turned inward. Lorna didn’t notice that the Texas prairie was garbed in its best dress to see her off. Spring had brought green grass to the land again, and the few trees were swelling and bursting with green buds. Wildflowers gave color to the rolling hillsides. Purpling blue patches of bluebonnets, yellow clusters of wild mustard, and the scarlet-orange stands of Indian paintbrush dotted the land.

It was a season that reached out to the restless. Benteen felt its call. He’d answered it enough times in the past. From the vantage point of a high knoll he watched the Longhorns string out. The brindle steer had already shouldered its way to the front, assuming leadership of the herd. It was characteristic for individual animals to keep the same position in a trail herd every day. Some would always be in the middle, some closer to the front, and others lagging behind. No matter where they started at the beginning of a day’s drive, by the time it ended, they would have established their habitual position.

Spanish Bill and Jessie Trumbo were the point men, riding in the lead on either side of the herd to guide it in the right direction. The swing, flank, and drag riders would rotate their positions each day, but not the point men. It was a critical position, requiring experience and skill. Benteen had given the responsibility to the two men he trusted most.

The herd wasn’t driven so much as it was drifted in the right direction—always at a leisurely walk. The long-striding cattle could eat up ground without losing weight as long as they were kept out of a trot. In most cases, the Longhorns gained weight on the trail north to the railheads if there was plenty of water and graze along the way.

Ahead, the wagons were disappearing into a crease in the prairie. Benteen watched the canvas-topped wagon that carried Lorna, until it dipped out of sight. He hoped he’d done the right thing—having Mary Stanton ride with her. He hadn’t wanted her to be alone, yet he had the responsibility of the herd.

The trail boss of any drive had one motto that he lived by: Look out for the cows’ feet and the horses’ backs, and let the cowboys and cooks look after themselves. That partially applied to his new bride as well. These cattle represented their tomorrow. She had to understand that. He put the spurs to his horse and galloped to the point.

Because of the late start, Benteen let the herd drift north an hour longer than usual, until the sun was straight up, before letting them stop to graze on a midday break. The spot had been preselected, so the chuck wagon was waiting with a light meal for the drovers. The cowboys ate in shifts, a few always staying with the herd.

Benteen carried his plate over to where Lorna was seated by the wagon. Her cheeks were dry, but she still looked numbed to her surroundings.

“How about something to eat?” He crouched down beside her, pushing his hat to the back of his head.

“I’m not hungry.” She didn’t look at him.

“Suit yourself.” Sitting on his heels, he started eating. He glanced around, again seeing the wildflowers and the bursting of spring green. “It’s a pretty day.”

“Here.” She dug his red bandanna out of her pocket and handed it to him.

“Are you and Mary Stanton getting along all right?” For the time being, Benteen tucked the bandanna in his shirt pocket.

“Yes.”

“I can arrange for her to ride with you this afternoon if you want,” Benteen offered.

“I can manage the team,” Lorna retorted.

He set the plate down, unable to eat with all this cold tension in the air. “Lorna, I’m sorry about your parents. I know you feel bad, but there isn’t much I can do.”

“There isn’t much you want to do.” She stood up and walked over to the Stanton wagon.

Picking up his plate, Benteen started eating again, but he didn’t taste a thing except anger. It was a hell of a way to start the first day of married life, but he’d be damned if he’d apologize again.

When the Longhorns had grazed long enough, they began to lie down. That was the signal to start them back on the trail. It was easier driving a herd in the afternoon, because they were thirsty and willing to walk to water.

This part of the trail, Benteen knew well. Ordinarily he wouldn’t ride ahead at this point to check out the night’s bedding ground, except he remembered Stoney at the livery stable mentioning some of the water holes had been fenced by farmers. Sure enough, he found new barbed wire fencing off the water.

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nbsp; Spanish had ridden with him. “A man selling this wire built a fence with it in San Antonio. He stampeded some Longhorns into it to show how strong it was. They knocked a post out of the ground, but the wire held.”

“Cut it,” Benteen ordered.

“The farmer isn’t going to like it.” Spanish turned a curious pair of black eyes on the man.