So Far from Spring. Peggy Simson Curry

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СКАЧАТЬ just outside the yard. He dipped his face deep in the trough, scrubbing the sweat from it with his hands. He dried himself carefully on a worn handkerchief. He didn’t want to look dirty when he met Monte Maguire. A man who owned three ranches and two thousand head of cattle was important, and Monte Maguire might be the key to his future.

      He pushed open the kitchen door, took an automatic step toward his place at the foot of the table, and then stopped and stood, staring at the stranger who occupied the place of honor at the head of the table. From a distance he heard Tommy’s voice. “Monte, this is my cousin Kelsey, from the old country. Thought maybe we could use him for the spring work.”

      The eyes looking at him so sharply were a cold sky-blue. The hair was smooth and blond and swept severely back from the tanned face with its high cheekbones and pointed chin. But the mouth was full and wide, and against the faded wool shirt the firm, swelling breasts were plainly outlined.

      “Sit down, young fella,” she said. Her voice was curt and husky.

      He was too stunned to speak. He fumbled for the backless chair, sank into it, unable to take his eyes from her as she got up and moved to the stove and poured herself another cup of coffee. He saw with shock that she wore men’s rough trousers; her hips strained against them. Below the knees her legs were wrapped with gunnysacks that extended down into the worn high-buckled overshoes. As she walked back to the table he was sharply aware of the bigness of her. And he thought, Only a tramp along the shore in the old country would wear such shabby clothes.

      “If you want any grub,” she said, looking at him with amusement in her eyes, “you better get it while it’s still there.”

      He reached automatically for a biscuit.

      “So you rode the ditch this afternoon, eh?” The amusement had gone from her eyes now, and the cold, probing look was in them again.

      How old was she—twenty-five, thirty-five? There was no way of knowing. And was it Miss or Mrs. Maguire?

      “Yes, sir—I mean, Miss—”

      “Madam,” she corrected and glanced around the table, the full mouth quirked in a smile. Long Dalton snickered.

      “Yes, madam.” He heard Tommy laughing softly now and looked at his cousin angrily.

      “And what did you see when you rode the ditch?”

      Kelsey’s hand paused midway between his plate and the platter of meat that oozed blood. “See?”

      “Why, yes.” Her voice was impatient. “Were there any holes in the ditch bank?”

      “I—uh—I didn’t see any.”

      “Then where did the water come out?” she asked dryly.

      The muffled sound of stifled laughter swept around the table. Kelsey’s face burned.

      “And was there any cattle along the ditch, young fella?”

      It annoyed him that she addressed him as “young fella.” Who did she think she was—his grandmother? “I didn’t notice any,” he answered.

      “See any cow tracks?”

      “Tracks—I didn’t look for cow tracks.”

      “Did you notice if the south slopes of the hills north of the ranch were greenin’ or still brown?”

      He swallowed and said nothing.

      “See any cow manure up there, young fella?”

      He shook his head, torn between humiliation and disgust. A woman, a woman talking about things like cow manure! It was—well, not proper at all. And he disliked Monte Maguire intensely. A big bold piece of brass, that’s what she was!

      She put down her fork and leaned forward. “Listen, young fella,” she said, “a cattleman’s life depends on noticin’ things. When you ride anywhere on a ranch you see everything. You gotta see if a ditch is runnin’ high or low, if the outlets are washed or plugged. You gotta look at cattle and see what shape they’re in—thin or fat or ailing. You gotta see fences—if they’re up or down or about to fall. And you always check the grass, notice if it’s greenin’ or still hung over from winter. Young fella, you gotta learn to keep your eyes open if you expect to work for me!”

      Kelsey sawed at the tough steak, his face smarting. The meat tasted like sawdust. Then he heard the curt, husky voice again. “I come in from the flats this afternoon. I seen three cows, two of ’em dry, up in that country you were supposed to be ridin’ over. By lookin’ across the upper meadow, I could tell by the shine of water the ditch was carryin’ a full head and the outlets filled. I seen green showin’ on the hills north of the ranch and lots of green under the spread ditch. Those three cows bound to have been along the ditch where it was greenest and left their tracks and their manure plain for anybody with eyes to see.”

      He felt miserable; he felt smaller than he’d ever felt in knee pants when the schoolmaster laid the strap to his hand. There was the sound of chairs being pushed back from the table, and then Monte Maguire said, “Jake, I seen lots of dry cows in the meadow.”

      Kelsey looked at the boss puncher. Jake fingered the black silk handkerchief at the throat of his clean wool shirt. Now Jake examined the nails of one hand.

      “That so, Monte? Didn’t figure there were any more drys than usual.”

      “Well, there are. What happened?”

      “Couldn’t say,” Jake said in his soft, slow voice. “We run the bulls with ’em like always.”

      “Some of the cows are pretty old, ain’t they?”

      “About eight years, I figure.”

      “Ship ’em come fall. I can’t afford to keep cows that don’t calf. We got enough cost in this country, having to feed hay all winter. How are the two-year-old heifers? I question if it’s smart to breed them as long yearlings.”

      “Well, they’re comin’ along. We’ll have some loss, as usual. They don’t calf easy when they’re so young—gotta pull lots of ’em, too. Most places in Wyoming ranchers don’t try to breed long yearlings.”

      “It’s different here, though,” she replied. “Costs us to carry a cow through the winter. In Wyoming they don’t put so much into a cow—not when she can rustle most of the winter. Besides, the way we have to feed heifers in this country, they get too beefy if they’re not bred young. Still, I wonder if it’s practical, breedin’ ’em the way we do. Now, about so many cows showin’ up dry this spring—”

      “I tell you,” Jake said, clearing his throat, “I handled things the same as all the years before. But it did get terrible hot last July when we turned the bulls out with the cows. Wasn’t like this country at all. Cows was layin’ around in the aspen shade with their tongues hangin’ out. Might be that had something to do with ’em showing up dry.”

      “Christ a’mighty,” Monte Maguire said, “wasn’t that hot, was it?”

      Kelsey pushed back his chair and left the table. If a woman wanted to use such language, he wouldn’t listen to it.

      Her СКАЧАТЬ