Waltz with the Lady Page 19

  “I am sorry we’re late, but Pa lost his pipe and he wouldn’t come without it,” said Clarett. She hurried around to assist the elderly man from the wagon. She gave him a crutch when he finally managed to climb down. One leg and arm hung limp as he pulled himself along.

  Russ and Gat had come over to shake hands and India took particular notice that the taller of the two sisters, whom she had heard Eugenie call Bess, looped her arm through Gat’s and sauntered with him over to the corral without even a “howdy do” in India’s direction. Right off she didn’t warm to Bess.

  “India, this is Clarett Anderson and her father, Lars,” introduced Eugenie. “No doubt Bess will introduce herself to you later. She’s a little preoccupied right now.” Eugenie and Clarett exchanged knowing smiles, which stirred not only India’s curiosity but another emotion, jealousy. Evidently Bess and Gat were more than friends. At the thought, something plunged to the bottom of her stomach. Maybe it was her heart.

  Forgetting her manners for a moment, India stared at Gat and Bess standing by the corral. Along with the other cowhands, they watched Ty Pierre expertly ride a bucking horse from the unbroken remuda.

  She pulled her eyes away. “Glad to meet you, Clarett, Mr. Anderson.” Her voice was flat.

  Anderson nodded absently, his own focus on the activity in the corral. Clarett helped him over to a chair with a clear view. She came to stand beside India.

  “Pa fell off his horse last fall. He hasn’t been the same since,” Clarett said to India in explanation. “I’ve brought some apple pies and fresh-baked bread. I’ll put them out on the table.”

  At first glance India judged the sisters to be nearing their twenties, perhaps only a year apart in age. Their coloring was similar, but Bess appeared to be a little more flamboyant in her manner—a flirt, in fact. Well, India thought with a touch of aggravation as she ducked back inside the cabin, the least Bess Anderson could do was renew her acquaintance with Gat after she’d lent a hand getting the meal on the table.

  India called the children inside, lined them up and filled their arms with plates, bowls and pots filled with food to pile on the table.

  “I’ll call everyone to come and eat. Looks like the last couple of hands are riding up now,” called Eugenie through the doorway.

  India gave a nod and began rolling out one last batch of biscuits, then she cut the dollar-size circles for the baking sheet. Putting the batch in the oven she picked up butter and a coffeepot and started out the door. It was oddly still outside as she plopped the butter dish and coffeepot on the table. Everyone seemed so stiff, as if they were posing for a group photograph. Her own eyes followed the direction of everyone’s attention.

  Gat and a stranger stood facing each other, hands poised above their holstered guns. She could see how tense Ransom’s shoulders were and by his very stance she knew there was trouble. The two men eyed each other threateningly.

  Suddenly, little Florence ran around the corner of the cabin and toddled into the space between the men. India leaped forward and bent to pick up the child.

  “Ma’am, step out of the way. You might get hurt,” warned the man facing Ransom.

  India was in no mood to be intimidated. She stood her ground between the two, facing the stranger. “I guess I’ll have to get hurt, then, Mr…?”

  The man gave her a black look for her interfering.

  “India,” Ransom called her name in a quiet, but deadly plea. She ignored him.

  “My name’s Bitterman and Ransom here killed my brother.”

  India felt sick. Her article in the newspaper had prompted this showdown. Ransom had anticipated as much. She was at least partly responsible.

  “Have you ever thought that your brother needed killing?” she began bravely. “You knew he tried to kill the territorial governor, didn’t you? Mr. Ransom was only protecting the governor when he shot your brother. I believe you folks call that provocation.”

  The weathered lines of Bitterman’s face pinched into a sneer.

  India straightened up confidently. “Now, why not put your gun away?” She turned to Ransom. “You too, Mr. Ransom. I’ve spent two days cooking this supper, and I’m not going to have everybody lose their appetite because two men decided to shoot each other in front of us all.” She took a step closer, little Florence wiggled in her arms.

  Bitterman looked around warily like a cornered coyote. His hand relaxed on his gun handle.

  “If Ransom wants to hide behind a meddlesome woman’s petticoats, that’s his choice, but I aim to get my revenge one way or the other.” His lips pursed into a deep frown, but his gun hand went slack to his side.

  “Thank you, Mr. Bitterman.” She turned to Gat. “Mr. Ransom?”

  He gave her a short nod, but disapproval was clearly marked on his face.

  “I don’t expect you two to shake hands, but I swear, if either of you starts trouble I’ll shoot you both myself.” She put the child down and walked toward the cabin. Ransom and Bitterman left in opposite directions.

  Someone gave a half-nervous laugh. Russ took advantage of the quiet to step forward with a word of grace over the food. He included a passage about the importance of loving thy enemy.

  India stood within the shadows of the cabin and leaned against the wall for support. Her knees were buckling, and her heart was pounding as loudly as summer rain on a tin roof.

  Chapter 13

  “Get up and hear the birds sing,” Russ Hedemen’s voice sounded at the open cabin door. India was positive no birds were awake this early. She controlled the urge to put the pillow over her head and go back to sleep by concentrating on the smell of hot coffee brewing on the woodstove.

  Through a waking fog she heard the chink of spurs across the wooden floor. “Time to earn your grub, Miss Simms. All hands need to be up and at it. We’ve got no use for layabouts.” Gat’s voice, so early in the morning, was an unnerving tonic to India’s ears.

  She found her voice and managed to open one eye. “I’m not a layabout. The sun’s not even up yet!”

  “Gat, it’s her first roundup. Let her wake up before you saddle her on a horse,” Eugenie advised, standing with Bess and Clarett Anderson in the doorway.

  The sight of Bess up and dressed brought India fully awake. She brushed a tangle of auburn hair away from her face. “I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

  Gat smiled and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Your little mare has a swollen foreleg. We’ll cut out a cayuse from the remuda for you.”

  This news disturbed India, for she’d learned the value of a good horse. Her little mare had become quite a pet. She’d named her Bluestocking because she was very sensible and intelligent. The mare seemed to have the feet of a cat, and the way she climbed up and down hillsides and around obstacles was truly wonderful. During their travels they’d become great companions. Everyone was amused by the way Bluestocking walked after her, teasing for sugar and affection.

  Reluctantly, India climbed out of bed. Behind a patch quilt curtain she quickly pulled on her doeskin dress and boots, then she headed out into the dawn for the outhouse. A few minutes later she spied Eugenie giving Russ last-minute instructions while he and Gat were saddling the horses by the corral.

  She walked over to join them. “I need a horse,” India said, eyeing the skittish horses. Most didn’t have the look or temperament of having been ridden regularly. The past days she’d watched Ransom and the other hands break horses to the saddle that had roamed free all winter.

  “I’ll try and pick a gentle one, but they are all fit and rarin’ to go,” Russ said.

  “What do you think about givin’ her Smart Charlie?” Gat suggested.

  “Well, he’s a good cow pony, but he’s kinda high-strung.”

  “Don’t put her on something that’ll kill her,” admonished Eugenie.

  “Ah,” Gat said, “if the lady’s gonna do a man’s work, she needs a man’s horse.”

  India bore his folksy comparison with grace, but inward
ly she wanted to gag him with his own handkerchief.

  “Bring out Smart Charlie,” Russ yelled to a hand.

  Soon after, India was being handed Charlie’s reins. She didn’t like the spooky way his eyes rolled back and showed the whites when his head jerked at the bit, but he looked healthy enough. “You sure he’s been broke?”

  “Yesterday. I rode him myself,” Gat assured her.

  India took a deep breath and hefted herself up into the saddle.

  “Now all you have to do is lean forward and press your legs against his sides and away he’ll go,” Russ instructed.

  “I’ve learned that part already,” she said, and that’s just what she did and away she went. With every lunge of the horse, India feared she would fall off. Around and around the corral Charlie galloped. India held on. Then suddenly, Charlie stopped short where they had started and India slid forward and slipped off over his lowered head.

  She picked herself up off the ground. A blush of embarrassment tinged her cheeks. She was not hurt, and when she looked around to assure everyone of that fact, she realized they were all more than entertained by the incident. A smirk covered Bess Anderson’s face, but beside her Eugenie was giving Russ hell. And Ransom…the light of his dark eyes was the heart of laughter itself.

  “We didn’t know what was goin’ to happen,” Russ said.

  “Of course,” Eugenie returned. “You and Gat don’t know nothin’, because both of you are crazy and shouldn’t be allowed to mingle with civilized people!”

  “Eugenie, I’m all right,” India said, tying her hat back on her head.

  “Sorry.” Gat walked over to India. “Charlie has his tricks.” He climbed up on the fence and called to one of the hands. “Cut out that little mare with the foal at her heels. Miss Simms can ride her.”

  Meanwhile, Ty Pierre had walked up beside her. His nut-brown face radiated honest concern. “Pardon me for saying so, ma’am, but Charlie’s a trick horse. That’s why they call him Smart Charlie. You make friends with him and he be a regular lady’s horse. Don’t let them cowpokes best you.”

  India looked over at Russ and Gat. The looks on their faces were serious, but she didn’t miss the underlying amusement they were sharing. Well, no one liked looking foolish, especially her. If she was to prove herself, it was now or never. She fished in her pocket for two lumps of sugar and rubbed Charlie’s neck for a moment, speaking softly, for she believed animals instinctively recognized kindness. Charlie nosed her hand and sampled the sugar.

  “Mr. Ransom,” she called out. “I’m satisfied with Charlie. No need to put yourself out saddling another horse for me.” She winked at Ty and climbed back up on Charlie. Still talking softly, she walked him through a few paces and discovered him to be responsive to her control. Hopefully they’d reached an understanding.

  “Are you sure?” Russ Hedemen asked.

  “I’ve no intention of flying over the moon with another of Mr. Ransom’s choices. At least I know what Charlie is up to. Now we’ve had our fun, perhaps we should begin the roundup.”

  “Let’s go get ’em,” Russ shouted in agreement.

  The fifteen or so cowhands let loose with whoops and hollers. Soon everyone was saddled up and ready to go. Charlie danced with excitement, but India held him in as the cowboys rode past her.

  Ty called over to her. “Ma’am, jist give Charlie his head and he do all the work.”

  Bess Anderson, with Gat riding beside her, rode past. “Tally ho, Miss Simms!” She spurred her horse forward. Admittedly, India was envious of her. Bess was confident in the saddle and in every other aspect of frontier life. It was obvious to India that Bess Anderson had everyone’s respect—including Ransom’s.

  Ransom hung back. “I hope you’re none the worse. The boys admire someone who can take a joke.”

  “No harm was done.” With this tight reply and an air of independence, she spurred Charlie forward, leaving Gat in her dust. She was miffed at him and it would be some time before she would forget the incident.

  It was a ride of about ten miles—two hours over rugged landscape—before the main herd of cattle was found feeding in a valley. The leaders of the herd scented the approaching riders and began to move in the wrong direction. India thought they showed the habits of wild animals rather than the domestic cattle she was familiar with.

  Russ, riding point, yelled, “Head ’em off, boys!” India didn’t know what to do, but her quandary was soon solved by Charlie. She couldn’t hold him in. Downhill, uphill, leaping over rocks and bushes, Charlie galloped. Dogs, horses and riders dashed on at racing speed, passing and repassing each other.

  Suddenly, Chic Bitterman swerved toward India, and with a wicked leer, took his quirt and whipped Charlie maliciously. Charlie leaped forward and India hung on for dear life. The wild ride prompted India to pray and to rue her decision to leave Ransom’s side. The terror of being thrown and then trampled by the moving herd gave India the strength to keep her seat. Dizzied and breathless, she saw Ransom riding ahead with the others. They were turning the surge of bellowing cattle into themselves. At last, Charlie began to slow with the swirling cattle. This was not reassuring to India, because of the proximity of their huge, wide-spread horns and wild eyes. The cows with calves at their sides seemed to charge at anything.

  Frightened, India wanted to turn Charlie around and ride back to the safety of the Hedemen ranch. She was frazzled before the roundup had even begun, but the sight of Bess Anderson, collected and tall in the saddle, renewed India’s resolve. Ransom had said it: If she wanted to vote like a man, then she must muster cattle like a man. Turning tail and riding back to the ranch would prove nothing. She must see it through no matter how grueling.

  After a time the real business of driving the cattle started, and Charlie began to break India in as he doubled back and forth like a fox after a hare. Still shaken from the episode with Bitterman, India chose to ride partner with Gat and together they rode up hollows and canyons hunting for strays to drive back to the herd. He showed her how to drive them as gently as possible so as not to frighten or excite them, riding first on one side, then on the other. When they deliberately went in the wrong direction, Charlie galloped in front of them to head them off. The great trial was when one would break away from the herd and run up and down the hills. Charlie took the challenge in a sporting way, galloping over and among the rocks and bushes, doubling when the cow doubled, heading it off till it went back into the herd.

  One cow gave India infinite trouble by standing at bay. It tossed a dog three times, and resisted all efforts to move. Gat rode over and suggested that since the cow had a yearling calf with her, and seemed very attached to it, that India should herd the calf instead. Accepting his guidance, she began herding the calf in the right direction. Soon the mother followed. The high point of India’s day came when she and Gat herded more than a hundred cows out of a canyon.

  “You’re catchin’ on,” he praised her.

  After that hard-won compliment she took a break to eat. Everyone carried lunch in a pouch slung on the saddle. Ty advised her to eat her lunch with her reins knotted over the saddle horn and both eyes open. This she did, but her eyes were on Chic Bitterman, not the cattle. She realized she’d made an enemy of him. Now she took the precaution of keeping out of his way.

  As the day wore on, India became exhausted, but she was determined to brave it out. Once Ransom rode past with the shouted order of, “Don’t get off your horse, it ain’t safe.” By his look, India thought he was thoroughly enjoying her tribulation. Like the other hands she’d tied a neckerchief over the lower half of her face. But her eyes still suffered from the combined effects of dust and sun glare. And then there were the buffalo flies, horrid pests that crept into everything—into her hair, down her collar, up her sleeves—and bit, driving her nearly crazy.

  By late afternoon, India had begun to get the knack of herding cattle. She found the bulls were easily routed, but the cows with calves, old or young,
were troublesome. By accident she rode between one cow and her calf in a narrow gully. The cow rushed her with slicing horns, but Charlie reared and spun agilely aside. India found Charlie so well trained that he kept perfectly cool at any threat, always jumping aside at the right moment without any direction on her part.

  One rolling-eyed red cow seemed determined to protect her large yearling calf from all fancied dangers. A young dog foolishly barked at her until she was infuriated. India counted her turning at bay at least forty times. She rushed at India several times with mad rage, and when India attempted to herd her and her calf across a stream she doubled back again and again. Tearing up the ground with her horns, she finally tossed the dog viciously. Letting her be, India left her to more experienced hands, and though she’d been warned not to get off her horse, she guided Charlie toward a grove of trees where the wounded dog had dragged itself.

  Climbing down, she inspected the dog as it lay dying. There was nothing she could do. She hadn’t witnessed many such things, and looking into its anxious eyes she pet the dog until it took its last breath. Afterward, she walked behind some bushes for privacy’s sake and then started back to her horse. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the red cow appeared. She snorted threateningly and swept the earth with her long horns. India knew better than to run. She stood stone-still, praying the cow would back off. Bellowing, the cow charged her.

  A shot rang out. The cow’s head and horns caught India’s skirt and knocked her to the ground. Momentarily stunned, she heard another shot and the cow’s legs buckled underneath it, only to struggle to stand and then collapse.

  “Damn it! I said stay on your horse!” Ransom shouted. Despite his angry words he was kneeling beside her, taking her tenderly into his arms. “You’re safe now.” His voice was filled with concern.

  Shaking, India sought the security of his nearness, his strength and his protection. Involuntarily, her arms went around him, she put her cheek against the leather of his vest and clung to him for a long moment. Then she drew back and slowly opened her eyes, meeting the dark intensity of his own. His lips hovered over hers and the moment became more tense than her collision with the cow.