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of the Nebraska sandhills. From there the trail swung west to Cheyenne and the
Wyoming Territory north of it.
The herd of two-thousand-plus Longhorns, their numbers depleted by the sale of
three hundred steers, was a week out of Dodge City. Since they were handling
fewer cattle, Benteen hadn't hired more trailhands to take Jonesy and Andy
Young's places. The herd was trailing kindly, so his present crew would be
able to handle them.
Benteen was scouting ahead on the trail to choose a site to bed the cattle for
the night. It was a sweltering July afternoon in the sun. There wasn't any
change on the flat prairie. It seemed they had traveled for miles without
seeing a tree. Behind him, the herd made a dust cloud on the horizon.
Off to his left, he heard the distant clatter of a wagon. His gaze swung
toward the sound. A pair of mules was pulling a high-sided wagon across the
prairie. It looked like a Conestoga with the canvas removed.Some homesteader
had probably hauled his family west in it, then converted it for farm use. Not
wanting any trouble with farmers if it could be avoided, Benteen reined his
horse toward the wagon to intercept it before it reached the herd.
The man pulled in his mules when Benteen rode up. The unrelenting Kansas sun
had burned the farmer's face to a ruddy shade. His eyes were sunken and dull,
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resigned to his constant war with nature.
"Hot day, isn't it?" Benteen remarked idly, and took off his hat to wipe the
sweat from his brow with his sleeved forearm.
"Always is. You with that trail herd?" The man spoke in chopped sentences, as
if complete ones required too much effort.
"It's my herd," he acknowledged. "The name's Calder. Benteen Calder."
"Got a place off the trail." The farmer gestured over his shoulder. "Water in
the crick, and grass. Welcome to bed 'em there. Missus and me be needin' fuel
for the winter."
Dried cow and buffalo manure was often referred to as "prairie coal." Where
trees were scarce, it was the only source of fuel. With a little bacon rind
for kindling, it burned with a hot flame.
"I'll ride over and take a look," Benteen said.
"Hail took my crop a week back." Which explained why he was willing to let the
cattle graze on his land. They couldn't damage a crop already destroyed.
Handling the team like the veteran driver she'd become, Lorna followed the
chuck wagon to the site Benteen had selected for the night's camp. The wagons
were going to be positioned between the herd and the farmer's homestead, a
hundred yards away.
Their route took them close to the farmer's home. It was the first time Lorna
had seen a sod house, although she'd heard about them. She couldn't help
staring at the strange-looking structure with tufts of grass sticking out
between layers of earth. The door and windows were framed with wood and the
roof appeared to be a combination of brush, earth, and poles.
A woman was standing in the doorway of the primitive cabin, halted in the act
of wiping her hands on the long apron around her waist. Lorna raised a hand
and waved to her. Suddenly the woman started running toward the wagon.
"Stop!" she cried out. "Please, stop!"
The woman sounded so desperate that Lorna thought she needed help and hauled
back on the reins to stop the team. Tears were streaming down the woman's face
as she ran alongside the wagon. Her hand was reaching out to Lorna while she
continued to sob brcathlessly for her to stop.
When the wagon rumbled to a halt, lorna climbed quickly down. "What is it?
What's wrong?" she asked anxiously as the woman stood and covered her mouth
with a hand.
"Thank you." It came out in a muffled sob, as her hand made a tentative
gesture toward Lorna as if she wanted to touch her.
"What is it?" Lorna asked again, and glanced toward the sod home, wondering if
someone was sick or hurt.
"I'm sorry." A laugh bubbled through her sobs. "It's just been so long ...
since I've seen another white woman."
A cold shiver went down Lorna's spine at the explanation. My God, what kind of
life was it that reduced a woman to tears at the sight of another woman?
"You probably think I'm crazy." The woman brought her hands together and
clasped them in a prayerful attitude at her breast. "But I just couldn't let
you go by ... without talking. Alfred never mentiomcd there were any women
with the trail herd." She glanced sideways as Mary came up to see what was
wrong. "Alfred's my husband. I thought I was seeing things when you waved to
me. I thought this emptiness had finally driven me crazy."
Her words were tumbling out, rushing over themseIves in her anxiety. Lorna was
torn with pity for the woman, and a little frightened by the picture she
painted, too.
"You aren't imagining things," Lorna promised. "'I'his is Mary Stanton, and
I'm Lorna Calder."
"My name's Emma Jenkins." She suddenly raised a hand to the fly wisps of hair
that had escaped from the carelessly gathered bun. "Gracious, I must look a
sight.
Lorna guessed that the woman had ceased to care about her appearance, probably
discouraged by the dark hollows under her eyes and the thinness of her face.
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She made a vow to herself that she would never let it happen to her.
"It's this land, ou know," Emma Jenkins insisted with a resentful glance at
the lonely prairie that stretched from horizon to horizon. "The wind moans so.
"
Benteen came riding back to find out what was holding up the two wagons. His
horse stopped a few feet short of the women and did a sidestepping dance under
him.
"What's the problem?" His glance traveled over the three on the ground.
"Mrs. Jenkins I'd like you to meet my husband, Benteen Cider." Lorna tactfully
ignored his question and introduced them instead.
"Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Jenkins." With a nod, he touched his fingers to the
front of his hat brim.
The excitement of the moment had made the woman so highly emotional that all
her reactions were exaggerated. Now it was guilt and remorse that claimed her.
"I'm sorry. I'm afraid I detained your wife," she admitted anxiously. "I know
you're wanting to set up camp for the night, and I'm keeping you."
" I 'm glad you stopped us," Lorna said. "It's given us a chance to thank you
for letting us camp here."
"Would you....?" She started to put the question to Lorna, then turned eagerly
to Benteen. "Would you and your wife please come eat with us tonight?"
Swinging to Mary, she included her, too. "And you and your husband Mrs
Stanton? It would be so wonderful having company...... and someone to talk to
in the evening. Oh, please come."
"We'd be proud to come," Lorna assured her. It nearly made her cry to see how
hungry Emma Jenkins was for company.
Mary was more aware of the strain feeding four extra mouths could put on the
food supplies of a frontier family. "We wouldn't want you to go to extra work
for us," she said in mild protest. "Maybe it would be better if we came to
visit after the evening meal."
"Please, I want you to come," Emma Jenkins insisted. "We have a nasty old
rooster who pecks my little girl every time she goes outside. It's been
begging to have its neck wrung for a long time."
"As long as you're sure . . ." Mary accepted with reluctance. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]