Amethyst (31 page)

Amethyst, no longer Colleen, fingered the half-inch lace one more time and carried it with her other choices up to the counter to be cut. One yard for now for Carly. One day the fine lawn for herself.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Whoever heard of playing a harmonica in church?

Jeremiah shook his head at Rand’s suggestion. “If you say so,” he answered, chuckling inside. If his mother could only see him now. All those years she’d wanted him to sing in the choir and he had run the other way like the Indians he chased for so long. Now, here in this end-of-the-world town, he was joining the choir, on a mouth organ no less. Surely God had a marvelous sense of humor.

Of course, when you thought of it, his mother had most likely gathered her friends around, and they were all looking down laughing.

“I’ll need more practice time than that brief bit you all do on Sunday morning.”

“Come on out on Saturday, spend the day, and we’ll work it in. Maybe we’ll get Opal singing again that way.” Rand rubbed a raw place on his jaw, a close encounter with an angry mama. The few cows that were calving he’d kept close to home to be there if any needed help. While the cow needed help, she’d not been a bit polite about accepting it.

“Good. How many calves do you have?”

“Ten.”

McHenry swallowed.
God above, help my friend
. “More still to come?” The two men were riding the range, taking it slow and easy so that Kentucky wouldn’t wear out. The Dresden blue sky wore whipped-cream clouds kissed by the golden sun—a spring day all the more glorious after the terrible winter. A song sparrow invited a mate to come see the territory he’d picked out. The earliest butterflies tasted from gold flower to blue, a smorgasbord of choices.

“Hope so. We found a few wandering the plain a couple days ago. The steers seemed to have fared better than the cows.”

“Sure. They were only eatin’ for one.”

“How many logs you got cut? Enough to start the walls?”

“Not really. And I’ve not got the logs rounded up in one place yet.” McHenry crossed his arms on the saddle horn. It seemed strange, after all his years riding a military saddle, to be using a western saddle, but the heavy pommel and horn were necessary for roping and the daily business of ranching. He intended to do it right—ranching, that is.

Right now the twenty head he’d bought, from someone who wanted out, grazed with Rand’s herd. Jeremiah hadn’t a cow in the bunch, and the steers looked like moving bones with skin on. Their horns weighed more than the rest of the body.

“You going to file on the land around your house?”

“Ruby’s been after me to do that. Just seems to stick in my craw. The land should be free for all to use, just the way God made it. The Indians have the right attitude there. You use and take what you need and leave plenty for the next that come along.” Rand blew out a sigh. “I know times are changing, but the thought of fences all over these plains makes me want to choke.”

“De Mores had a bad time with the ones he put up, but you already have that one plot fenced.”

“Right. And if I plant grain, I’ll have to fence to keep the cattle out rather than in.”

“You seriously thinking of seeding? Oats or wheat?” Jeremiah looked up when he heard a hawk scree, the sound so wild and free his heart leaped as if to join the dark wings lifting the bird on the air currents. He’d been reading a book by Theodore Roosevelt about his times here on the prairie, hunting and ranching both. The man had a love of the western lands, that was for sure, along with a keen eye.

“You know when Roosevelt is coming back?”

“Nope. He was just here for the cattlemen’s meeting—that one in Miles City.”

“Why didn’t you go?”

“Didn’t want to be away. And besides, it’s bad enough seeing what happened here, let alone listening to the horror stories from the big ranchers.” Rand nudged his horse forward and shook out his rope. The two men had been riding the prairie, searching out living stock, pulling some from mudholes, putting a bullet in the head of one too far gone, ending its misery.

McHenry followed suit, not yet seeing what Rand had seen. Times like this he wanted to rip the patch from his face and have the sight of both eyes again. He’d been known as an eagle eye, the greatest compliment anyone could give him, and look at him now. One-eyed, a gimpy leg that clung to its pain, and the stamina of a girl in a tight corset.

Rand pointed to a recently dead cow lying in the mud of a water hole. She’d been too weak to pull her feet out of the mud. A calf tottered along the edge, bawling for her to come and feed him.

“We’ll take him on home with us.” He settled the loop over the baby’s head and stepped to the ground, Buck taking up the slack, as any well-trained cow horse would.

“Your cow has enough milk for hers, the house, and this one?” McHenry nudged Kentucky over to give the bawling calf some shade. The sun shone hot as if to make up for lost time.

“I think so. You want him in front of you?”

“Sure, why not?”

Rand threw the calf on its side, tied front legs together and then the rear, then hoisted the struggling baby up to his chest and up to McHenry’s arms. “This’ll give Opal something to care for. Now, if we could trap some wild horses, maybe she’d come back to herself.”

“You’re that worried about her?” McHenry settled the calf in the saddle in front of him and stroked the mottled hide. “Hey, little one, easy now. We’ll get you fed.”

“I am.” Rand swung back on Buck and recoiled his rope. “Let’s head on home. Tomorrow, if you want to come along and file on that piece you decided on, we’ll take the train to Dickinson and get the deed done. I’ll ask Cora Robertson if she wants to go too. Might as well make a day of it.”

“What about Charlie, Carl, and the others?”

Rand shrugged. “Near as they are to town, I think it’s different. We’re looking at a quarter to half a section. Should think more, but I’m hoping the range can stay free. I thought to have Opal file on a piece too, but—”

“Where?”

“Next to me.” Rand shrugged and stood in his stirrups, peering off to the east. “Someone’s coming.”

“Opal?”

“No, I think it’s Beans. I told Opal not to come out here. Seeing all the carcasses is just too much for her.”

“Opal is stronger than you think.”

Rand shot him a warning look over his shoulder.

Okay, my friend, I won’t go there, but women are stronger than you think, and Opal is one of the stronger
. He wasn’t sure how he knew this, but he did. When she first came to Little Missouri she learned to fish faster than anyone he’d seen, gave her all to learn to ride, getting back on when she fell off, listening to what he taught her, and making herself do it. Opal had more spunk than three ordinary kids. And a sense of humor that took life on the chin and came back punching.

The calf bawled and bopped him in the sore thigh with his head.

Jeremiah grunted and wished he’d slung the animal the opposite direction.

Beans waved to them before they were close enough to shout.

Rand nudged his horse to a lope, leaving McHenry and his burden to catch up at their own pace. When he caught up to them, Rand turned in the saddle. “How about you take the calf back to the barn and give him to Opal. I’m going to help round up the bunch Beans found. Tell Ruby I’ll be late for supper.”

“Will do.” How strange not to be the one giving the orders. Not that Rand ordered, but he was obviously the one in charge. As he should be. Jeremiah felt a warmth run down his pant leg. He looked down to see that the calf had let loose, and the odor was less than pleasant. He waved Rand and Beans off and stroked Kentucky’s sweat-dotted shoulder. “Just us, old son, and we can take our time.”

“Opal, you there? I brought you a present,” he called from the hitching rail some time later.

Opal came through the door, no bounce in her step and a smile that didn’t quite make it. “Hey, Mr. McHenry.”

“You want to heat some milk and bring it on down to the barn? Teaching this little feller to use a bucket is going to take some doin’.”

“The cow died?”

“In a water hole. Poor beast was too weak to pull her feet out of the mud. This young’un was bawling fit to be tied.”

She glanced at his pant leg, then raised an eyebrow, a slight hint of the girl he remembered in her eyes.

“Yeah, his mother didn’t have time to teach him good manners.”

“I’ll get some milk.” She waved as she headed back into the house.

Down at the barn McHenry dismounted, giving a grunt of pain when he put the weight on his right leg. He’d been too long in the saddle without a break, and now he was paying for it. Shame he’d not brought his medicinal flask along. A good pull or two and the whiskey dulled the knives ripping into his thigh muscles. When he got moving again, he lifted the calf down and carried it into the barn, where he found an empty box stall. He braced the calf while he fumbled for the latch, swung the door open, and laid the critter down with a grunt.

The baby bawled and thrashed his tied legs, struggling to get up in spite of the leather strings on his legs.

McHenry knelt and untied the knots, then rocked back on his heels as the calf aimed a kick at him and wobbled to his feet. The little one stood spraddle-legged to catch his breath, then tottered forward to inspect his surroundings, his plaintive calls for his mother echoing in the empty barn.

Opal eased her way in the door a few minutes later, a bucket with warmed milk in hand. She looked up at McHenry leaning against the stall half wall. “You know how to teach a calf to drink from a bucket?”

He shook his head. “The ones I knew all used their mother.”

“All right, then, let’s get a rope around his neck. I’ll braid him a halter or fashion a collar later, but for now you hold him, and I’ll see if I can get him sucking my fingers. Then I’ll lower my fingers into the bucket, and he’s supposed to start drinking.”

“Supposed to?”

“That’s the theory. Some learn faster than others.”

“Sort of like people, eh?”

“Right.”

Together they trapped the calf in the corner, and while McHenry held him there, she fetched the bucket and stroked the calf’s head and neck. “Easy now, baby, let’s get some milk into you, and then you can fuss all you want.” She stuck her fingers down in the milk, then held them in front of his nose. He reared back, but when she did it again, he sniffed, and when she eased her fingers into his mouth, he sucked. Keeping her fingers in his mouth, she lowered them into the bucket. He jerked back, almost knocking the bucket out of her hands, the milk sloshing.

McHenry grabbed for a more secure hold, winced when his weight landed full on his right leg, and muttered something that he apologized to Opal for.

“That’s all right. We’ll get this yet. Thought to use the milking stanchion, but his head is so small he’d probably pull right out.” She stood up and took a quieting breath. “Here we go, young sprout. Let’s try again. You’d think we were trying to kill you rather than feed you, the way you’re acting.” She dipped her fingers again, got him sucking them, then slowly lowered her fingers to the milk in the bucket. This time he followed her down and kept on sucking. His tail twitched like a metronome as he sucked and swallowed. He bopped the bucket, as calves do to get their mother to let down her milk. If Opal had not had lightning reflexes, she’d have had a milk bath. But with some fancy grappling, she managed to keep the bucket from flying away.

“You are good, my friend.” McHenry grinned at her. “Again?”

“Again. He’s learning.” Dip fingers, get him sucking, lower fingers, and sure enough, he drank again. Down to the last drop. Milk dripped from his mottled red-and-white muzzle as McHenry let him go and Opal set the bucket on the hard-packed dirt floor. The calf stuck his head back in the bucket, then bumped it over.

“And that’s your opinion on an empty bucket, eh, Sprout?” Opal actually smiled.

“Sprout? That’s his name already?”

“Sounds like a good one to me. Now to keep him alive without the scours.”

“Scours?”

Opal picked up the bucket and exited the stall. “The runs. Calves sometimes have a problem going from nursing the cow to bucket feeding. If we had a cow that had lost her calf, we’d see if we could get her to accept this one. You can skin the dead calf and wrap the hide around the orphan. The cow smells it and thinks it is her own. I don’t think we have any nurse cows this year.”