The Rancher's Courtship. Laurie Kingery

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      Chapter Five

      Raleigh Masterson, Jack’s ramrod, rose from where he’d been hunkered down by the campfire when he saw Jack approach. He poured coffee into a tin cup, holding it out to Jack as he dismounted. He was the only trail hand by the campfire. Cookie was busy mixing one of his concoctions at the chuck wagon. The rest of the drovers were grooming the remuda horses, mending or cleaning tack, or riding herd. The cattle were clustered on the banks of Simpson Creek, some grazing on the lush grass that grew nearby, while others had waded into the creek flank deep and drank the cool water. It was a peaceful sight, and it gave Jack a sense of contentment, even though he knew those same placid cattle could be off in a flash, spooked by thunder or seemingly nothing, stampeding until the trailhands succeeded in turning them or until they just ran out of the need to run. Impulsive beasts, longhorns, and as dangerous as they were silly. A man never trusted their apparent docility while grazing; he always approached them on horseback because they were so unpredictable.

       “You find your brother all right, and settle the girls with him and his bride?” Raleigh asked, as Jack took the cup.

       “No on both counts,” Jack said, sitting on a saddle blanket someone had left lying there. Staring into the black Arbuckles’ coffee, he told Raleigh about the events of yesterday. “Miss Wallace tried to notify me. Sent it General Delivery. Don’t know why I never got that letter,” he said with a shrug.

       Raleigh whistled. “That’s too bad. I’m sorry about your brother, boss.”

       Jack nodded grimly. “I should have written again,” he said, almost to himself. “Pete must not have saved my letters.”

       “What’re you gonna do, then?” Raleigh asked. “Now that you can’t leave the girls with your brother and his wife?”

       Jack knew his ramrod was too polite to say so, but his mind had already leaped ahead and concluded that Jack would be forced by the unexpected circumstances to take girls along with them.

       “Thought I’d talk to you and the rest of the men about that. And I only want to say this once,” he said, half turning and raising his voice, “so, Cookie, call the men in.” He knew the cook had been listening in on the conversation.

       Cookie reached for the iron triangle that hung on the chuck wagon. The carrying jangle of metal on metal yanked cowboy heads up wherever they rode or worked, and they started drifting in toward the campfire.

       “Fine, but you tell them yahoos right off that we ain’t eatin’ early jes’ ’cause you’re holdin’ a palaver,” Cookie groused, going back to kneading the biscuit dough. “It’ll be ready when it’s ready, an’ not a moment before.”

       “So noted,” Jack responded, too used to the older man’s crotchets to take offense.

       When everyone had assembled, he repeated what he’d told his ramrod about Pete’s death and let his mind wander as they murmured their shocked condolences.

       “Now, we knew we were going to have to winter somewhere along the way,” he went on, “and I’ve been told it’d be smarter to spend the time right here than to head north and pass right by where the Comanches’re spendin’ the winter.”

       “Told you that when I got thrown in th’ calaboose,” Raleigh muttered. “Told you you oughta leave me there and ride on so you’d be past the Staked Plains before the redskins made their winter camp.”

       “And I told you I wasn’t leaving you behind,” Jack snapped. No one but his ramrod dared talk to him the way Raleigh had, and even he would guess from Jack’s curtness that he was treading on thin ice. Jack hadn’t heeded his advice, not only because of their friendship, but because he knew none of the other men were seasoned enough to be the new ramrod.

       “That’s all water under the bridge,” Jack went on, and told them about the vacant ranch and the deal the bank was offering if they built a cabin.

       Around the circle of men, some faces sparked with interest. In others, eyes narrowed.

       “But, boss, it’s already October,” one of the men pointed out.

       “I’m a cowboy, not a carpenter,” another groused.

       It was what Jack had expected. “I know it would mean getting right to work on building, but I’m told it doesn’t get that cold around here until December or so. It wouldn’t take that long for us to put up a cabin if we don’t dillydally. The bank won’t charge me rent if we put up some kind of dwelling, ’cause it’ll add to the value of the place. Now, I know you didn’t sign on for building anything, so you men are free to stay on or not—no hard feelings if you decide to ride on. But if you stay, I’ll expect you to help build.”

       Two men announced right off they were quitting. Jack wasn’t surprised. They were nephews of his stepmother, and he’d judged them as lazy and unreliable from the start, but he’d been nagged into hiring them. With any luck, he could find a pair of hands to replace them come spring.

       “All right, you can collect your wages in the morning,” he told the two men and studied the rest of them, hoping they would stick. One of the other trail hands rubbed the back of his neck consideringly.

       “Simpson Creek got any pretty girls? A saloon? A parlor house? We’d be allowed to ride inta town on Saturday nights, wouldn’t we?”

       “I sure haven’t had time to scout all that out for you, Wes,” Jack said evenly, “but I do remember seeing a saloon. You couldn’t all go at once, of course—and I’ll warn y’all right now I’ll tolerate no rowdy behavior in town,” he told them, thinking of Caroline and the other ladies of the Spinsters’ Club. Trail hands weren’t saints, and he didn’t want bad behavior to make them unwelcome in town and reflect back on him. “You get thrown in jail, you’re fired.”

       “Aw, boss, you’re takin’ all the fun out of it,” someone grumbled good-naturedly.

       “You know where this ranch is, boss?” Raleigh asked. “Why don’t a few of us go take a look at it?”

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