Miss Murray On The Cattle Trail. Lynna Banning
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time you turned tail and—”
She jerked upright and jabbed her forefinger into his chest. “Pilgrim! I am not a ‘pilgrim’ by any stretch of your minuscule imagination, Mr. Strickland.”
Hell, she sure had plenty of breath now. He caught her chest-poking hand and held it out to one side. “Damn right you’re a pilgrim. You’re a real beginner out here in the West. Oughtta know better than to ride close to the rocks on sunny days. And that’s another reason why—”
“I am most certainly not going back!” she hissed. “I can learn about snakes and rocks and...and other things. I intend to complete this cattle drive, and my newspaper assignment, so you can just stop yammering and let me get on with it!”
He stared at her.
She jerked her hand out of his grasp. “Did you hear me?”
“I heard you, all right. You’re more stubborn than a whole passel of mules, Dusty, but I’m the trail boss of this outfit, and I say you’re just too much damn trouble out here. I say you’re going back to the Rocking K.”
Before she could speak, Juan cantered up on his bay. “Is problema?”
“No!” Dusty yelled up at him.
“I’ll say,” Zach contradicted. “Horse threw her.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” she protested. “It...it was the snake!”
“Si,” Juan acknowledged with a sidelong glance at Zach. “The snake. And the horse, he did not like, so...” He made an eloquent somersaulting motion with his hand.
“Exactly,” Dusty said. She got to her feet, dusted off her jeans and advanced on her horse. Juan walked his mount forward, leaned over to grab the reins and laid them in her hand.
With a nod of thanks, she stuffed her boot into the stirrup and clawed her way up into the saddle. Then she tossed her head, stuck her nose in the air and kicked the horse into a gallop.
Juan and Zach looked at each other. “Mucho woman,” the young man breathed.
Zach shook his head. “Mucho trouble, you mean.”
“Si, maybe so. But ees ver’ pretty trouble, no? Like I say, Señor Boss, mucho woman.” Chuckling, he kicked his gelding and rode off.
Zach stomped over to remount, but instead stood looking after Dusty. Mucho problem. Very mucho.
* * *
Long days followed long days, one after the other, with nothing happening except endless hot, boring hours plodding after a herd of noisy cows, and listening to the thunder of hooves and the yipping of cowhands trying to keep them moving forward. Sometimes she wondered what the cowhands thought about during the interminable hours on horseback with nobody to talk to and nothing to do but chase after wandering animals.
They all smelled sweaty at the end of a day on the trail. When they could, the men bathed in creeks and rivers, and on Sundays, if Zach held the drive over for a day, they’d grab a cake of yellow lye soap and wash out their filthy garments. Like everyone else, she had only one pair of jeans plus an extra shirt and another pair of drawers, so every day she prayed for a camp beside a creek.
Did people in Chicago or Philadelphia or New York have any inkling what whole days lived like this were really like? She knew her readers would want to “see” what happened on a cattle drive, so part of the hours she spent on horseback she planned how she would write about it.
I’ll start out by describing the meadows full of red and yellow wildflowers that get trampled by thousands of animal hooves, and how the sky looks in the morning when the sun comes up, all pinky-orange, and how hot it gets at noon, and how the dust smells after it rains. And then I’ll...
* * *
A day later Zach’s frustration reached the boiling point. He told himself he was just tired, worried about getting a thousand head of prime beef to market, concerned about Cassidy and his over-interest in Dusty and just plain disgusted about nursemaiding a city girl who had no business on his cattle drive. He’d taken to watching her struggle to keep up with the herd as it lumbered along. Kinda enjoyed it, if he was honest about it.
She was green as grass on a horse, stiff in the saddle and inconsistent with the reins. Often the poor animal couldn’t read her contradictory signals and stopped dead in the middle of a meadow. Dusty had assured him she knew how to ride, but when he watched her, he sure doubted it. She probably rode on tame, city park bridle paths, ambling along with some poor dude she’d roped into an outing.
This afternoon was no different. There she was, trotting parallel to the herd through a meadow dotted with dandelions and patches of bright yellow mustard, pulling so hard on the reins he winced at what the bit was doing to the poor horse’s mouth. He spurred Dancer away and came up on the other side of the herd so he wouldn’t have to watch it.
Juan and Jase were riding flank, working hard because the herd seemed restless today. Probably the weather—part sun, part clouds and lots of wind. Juan tipped his hat. Jase started to say something, then broke off to chase a wandering steer.
Zach reined up and waited for the herd to pass, planning to relieve Curly, who was riding drag. The last animal lumbered past, and through the haze of dust behind them he glimpsed Dusty’s roan standing stock-still in the middle of a patch of grass. Riderless.
Guess the horse had had enough.
He trotted closer and sure enough, there was Dusty, in a heap on the ground. “You okay?” he shouted as he rode up.
“Yes, I think so. I fell off my horse.”
Zach snorted. Got bucked off, more likely. He dismounted and stood beside her. “Want a hand?”
“Yes, thank—” She started to reach up and gave a yelp of pain. “My arm hurts! And my shoulder.”
He knelt at her elbow. “Probably bruised it. Let me see.” He rolled back her shirt-sleeve to see if her arm was broken.
“Just sprained.” But when he touched her shoulder she cried out again.
“That hurt?”
“It most certainly does hurt,” she said through clenched teeth. “And I can’t move my arm.”
Oh, hell.
“Okay, let’s get you back on your horse.”
She sucked in a breath. “I—I don’t think I can ride. I’m right-handed and I won’t be able to hold the reins.”
“Gotta get you on your feet,” he said in a resigned tone. “You hold on to your hurt arm with your left hand.” He slid his hands around her waist and lifted her upright. “Ouch!” she cried. “That hurts!”
He walked the roan over and lifted her into the saddle as carefully as he could while she grabbed her injured arm and gave little groans of distress. Then he had to pry her left hand away from her right arm, which she was clutching, and lay the reins in her hand.
“Wait! I told you I’m right-handed, so how—”
“Any good cowhand can ride with the reins in either hand. So do it. And don’t jerk on the lines. Tossing you out of the saddle is the horse’s way of telling you that you’re not doing it right.”
“Oh.” Her voice sounded funny. “All right, I’ll try.”
Good girl. She might be green, but she had guts.
She urged the horse forward, and after the animal took a few halting steps, Zach strode over to where he’d left Dancer and hauled himself into the saddle. It was going to be a long, achy day for her. Part of him felt okay about that. Might teach her a lesson. The rest of him felt halfway sorry for her. He’d bruised a few shoulders in his time. Hurt like hell.
Hours later they came upon the chuck wagon and Cherry’s remuda on a rise overlooking a long