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circle. Lorna was sitting by the fire, staring into the flames, something no
range-wizened cowboy would do because it blinded him when he looked into the
night and its differing textures of darkness.
Knowing the night might be short and the following day long, most of the
trailhands were stretched out on the ground, a "soogan"-quilt-cushioning its
hardness. Many of them still had their hats on or were using them to cover
their faces. Bob Vernon, the scholar of the bunch, was reading a dog-eared
copy of Plato for the fifth time.
A cowboy's bedroll was more than just a soogan and a tarp. It held nearly all
his possessions that he didn't carry on his person. Everything from tobacco
sacks and cigarette papers to a spare cinch and a rope, from a change of
clothes to a picture of his family or his girl, from old letters and reading
material to a marlinespike, was kept in it.
Young Joe Dollarhide was sitting with Lorna, too green to the trail to know
that the sleep he was missing might be all he'd get for two days or more. It
happened like that sometimes when herds got it into their heads to stampede.
They could keep a man in the saddle for days with no sleep and only dried
jerky to eat.
"1'm plannin' on havin' a big spread of my own someday," Joe Dollarhide was
bragging to Lorna when Benteen walked up. "I already got my brand all picked
out. A dollar mark for my name-a dollar mark on a cowhide." He liked his
cleverness in coming up with the association and wanted Lorna to notice it,
too. Then he was absently modest. "'Course, it'll be a few years before I get
a place of my own."
"And a girl of your own?" Benteen asked to make sure the boy understood that
Lorna was private property.
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"Mr. Calder." He stood up quickly, almost snapping to attention.
Benteen took the challenge out of his voice. "Thanks for keeping my wife
company." There was still a slight emphasis placed on her marital status.
"Yes, sir." Joe Dollarhide awkwardly bowed to Lorna. "Night, ma'am."
When he started to retreat, Benteen said, "I want you to look over the remuda
tomorrow, Dollarhide, and see if there's a gentle horse in the lot-something a
lady can ride sidesaddle. If there isn't, I want you to pick the most likely
one and break it for my wife. Let me know whose string the horse is from and
I'll put it right with him."
"Yes, sir." The young man's shoulders were pushed back, proud that he had been
trusted with the responsibility.
As the lad moved intoo the shadows around the fire, sidestepping bedrolls,
Benteen reached for the coffeepot on the fire's edge. "If we can find a gentle
horse, you won't have to spend all your time bouncing in the wagon," he said
to Lorna as he filled an empty cup left near the pot. "Want some coffee?"
"No, thanks." She shook her head, the glow of the firelight flattering her
clear features. "I don't see how you can drink it when it's so thick."
"That's when it's good." He smiled and crouched on his heels beside her,
amused by her grimace of distaste. When he took a swallow, his glance ran
beyond the tin rim to sweep the camp area. "Where's Mary?"
"She and her husband have already retired for the evening," Lorna answered.
He glanced at the Stanton wagon, and said nothing, letting the silence run
between them. From a distant prairie ridge there was the yap-yapping howl of a
coyote, trailing off on a thin, wavering note.
"Coyotes?" Lorna asked.
"Yes."
"I heard them once before, when I was a child," she said. "I never realized
how lonely they sound."
"You're not used to the quiet."
She huddled closer toward the fire, as if seeking its warmth. The shawl was
pulled tightly around her shoulders to keep out the coolness of the Texas
night. There was a strange mixture of vulnerability and strength in her
profile.
"You'd better turn in," Benteen suggested. "Tomorrow's row's going to come
quick."
There was a second of hesitation as she glanced at him. "What about you?"
It was difficult to read her look, half-thrown into shadows by the firelight.
But something in her attitude fanned his close-held needs. She did that to
him, making him want to open up and let her into his most secrect thoughs
"I'll be along." Benteen took another drink of coffee, breaking contact with
her look, guarding himself with an aloofness, that he didn't fully understand.
Another second went by before she stood up and adjusted the ends of her shawl
more closely around her middle. Her long skirts made a soft swishing sound in
the tufted grass as she walked to the rear of their wagon. Benteen kept his
back to it, listening to the strike of a match and catching the brief flare of
light from the lantern wick. He thought of the long journey ahead of them and
the cattle land that waited for them in Montana. The picture of it was burned
in his mind-the thick grass, the limitless sky.
This Texas sod he stood on was part of the past he was putting behind him, the
lost causes that had been his father's and the Southern code of chivalry that
had often tied his father's hands. But not his. Nothing was going to stand in
his way.
"Holy Jesus." Shorty Niles swore under his breath somewhere in the collection
of bedrolls.
Benteen was snapped out of his inward-turned thoughts by the sudden
electricity that swept through the night. His first thought was the herd,
until he saw Rusty pivoting abruptly so he wasn't facing Benteen's direction.
Which was also the direction of his wagon. He jerked his glance over his
shoulder, where it was caught and held by the lantern backlighting the canvas
covering and a woman's silhouette. Her arms were rising above her head, taking
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with them a layer of clothing that changed the shape of her silhouette. The
roundness of the upper part of her body had its effect on him, filling Benteen
with a second of intense desire.
But he wasn't the only one seeing this. Springing upright, he discarded the
cup and crossed the short distance with long, reaching strides, outrage
vibrating through every sinew. He yanked the canvas flap loose and swung into
the wagon bed all in one move. Startled, Lorna swung around to face him,
halfundressed.
"Blow out that lantern," he snapped in a low growl.
"But I can't see." She blinked in innocent confusion.
He reached past her to do it himself. "You'll undress in the dark. You and
this light are putting on a show for the whole camp!"
His accusation was met with silence; then her embarrassed whisper came from
the wagon's darkness. "I didn't know."
"Now you do." Benteen turned to leave, angered yet aware she hadn't known. He
paused, fighting down his temper. "It's all right, Lorna," he said, to let her
know he wasn't putting any fault with her. "Just be more careful."
He swung down from the wagon and tied the flap back in place. His gaze made a
circle of the camp, but all the trailhands were on their side facing the other
direction.
Walking back to the fire, Benteen scooped up the cup he'd dropped and carried
it to the chuck wagon. Rusty was winding his alarm clock so he could rise
before any of the others and have breakfast going by the time the first light
touched the sky.
"Havin' women along presents all sorts of difficulties that ain't even thought
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