The Smartest Horse in Texas (The Traherns #2) Read online

  He walked with a limp. I stopped and check his feet. A stone bruise, likely, from being ridden too fast over the sharp rocks. I walked slower, picking the smoothest trail I could find.

  “Poor fellow. You’ve always given me your best, so you tried to do it for that lowlife scum. Take it easy.”

  I had some leather shoes that I’d made for him during the war, to hide his tracks when necessary. I pulled these out of my saddlebag and tied them on his feet. It would give him more protection while the stone bruises healed. They worked fine, but when we eventually reached the sandy valley floor, I removed them, as he fussed about them.

  We crossed the desert area on a narrow trail, very different from the wide stage road that the Butterfield trail had been. This was almost just a direction in the sand. Each step of Hero’s feet in the fine dust sent tiny streams of dirt flowing ahead of each hoof, as if stepping in shallow water.

  My first impression of Texas was that everything bit or stung, and walking along, keeping my eyes open for snakes and scorpions and batting away the bugs did not change that any. There were plenty of animals in the desert, they just hid until you came by.

  Towards evening I saw some bees headed in one direction and I followed those bees to a small watering hole, and on the way shot me a long-eared jackrabbit for supper. I got a drink and let Hero drink, then moved back from the water apiece so that the desert animals and birds could come in for their share. I found a camp site that allowed me to watch them come in, a bobcat family, a passel of wild hogs, a wolf, and all the little animals, birds, and insects, taking their turns, including several families of quail. An owl nested in a cactus right next to my camp, looking out at me solemnly until it flew away.

  It took me two more days to come into the area where Cummings said he had his ranch.

  Coming down the ridge into the wide valley of the Brazos River, Hero lifted his head and snorted. I stopped and looked more carefully at what had caught his interest. An eagle, soaring on the heat waves rising above the valley floor, searched for a tasty treat like a long-tailed mouse, but that wasn’t what Hero had focused on.

  2

  A young woman, sleek and fine-boned with long blond hair, stood in a small corral just southwest of me. She was enough to stir the spirits of any man, and the filly running in circles around the young lady was enough to stir Hero’s blood. He started forward, pushing at me to hurry up.

  I took my time walking up to the corral, enjoying the lift of her head, the grace of her movements. The filly was good looking too, circling the young woman with head and tail held high and snorting like one of those new-fangled trains I’d seen during the war.

  The lady had a rope in her hand, about six feet long and she let it trail out in front of her. I was trying to figure out if she was attempting to catch the animal, when it suddenly occurred to me that she was taming it.

  Not wanting to distract either one, I led Hero into the shade of a thorn bush and settled down to watch.

  She let that filly keep running around in circles until it suddenly stopped, snorted, and faced her. She still did nothing, although she might have been talking to it, since its ears pricked up and it nodded its head and chewed air like it was talking back.

  She moved the rope a little and the filly ran again, only this time not so long and more reluctantly. Finally it just walked over to where she stood and nuzzled her.

  She walked around the corral a few times, with that horse following like a big dog. She finally stopped where a hackamore and saddle were placed on the lower poles, took the hackamore and rubbed it against the filly’s shoulder, then placed it gently on the horse’s head.

  Next she put the saddle on and cinched it up. The filly looked curious, but not afraid. The lady mounted and I realized her skirt was divided, as she was able to sit astride. The filly looked completely comfortable, and she urged it to move, working at getting it to respond to the reins.

  I watched, amazed, realizing that in the short time I had been there the animal had gone from looking wild to acting like it had been hand-raised.

  So what kind of witchcraft was this? I’d heard of some of the Indian tribes who tamed horses this way. Where had this girl learned the secret of stillness? For that was what it was. She was still while the horse ran around, then gave up and came to her.

  Even when she dismounted and walked across the corral with the filly following, she was a study in stillness. I’d seen it in some older women, but never in one so young.

  I had to get to know her.

  I waited until she was done and had turned the filly loose, then got up and walked over to the corral.

  “Howdy, ma’am. I was wondering if I could get a drink for me and my horse.”

  She looked at me and then at Hero. Her expression changed. She looked back at me like I had just crawled out of a pig wallow. I knew I didn’t look like much, but when she said, “There’s water for your horse, but none for you,” I changed my mind about her. She wasn’t a quiet, gentle sort after all. At least not to humans. Or maybe just not to stray men?

  “Then Hero thanks you,” I said, and led him to the water trough. I had given him all my water and was sufficiently thirsty that after he had drunk, I ducked my head in.

  “I said, not you.” She was right behind me.

  “I didn’t drink,” I said, straightening up, the water dripping off my head and face. “But I’ve got to ask, why won’t you let me have any water?”

  She didn’t answer, just pointed at Hero and walked away.

  Something had riled her up. She had a manner that blocked me out. It wasn’t arrogance or pride, I’d seen that too many times. It was as if she had seen enough life, somehow so early, that nothing new surprised her.

  I took Hero and started leading him down the road.

  “Wait. I’d like to buy your horse,” she said.

  “Sorry, ma’am. He’s not for sale.

  “Not even for ten dollars?”

  “Ma’am, he’s not for sale.” The fact that she would offer ten for him, in the bad shape he was in, just showed how well she could judge horseflesh. I’d been offered fourteen for him when he was in good condition, from a man who almost cried when I wouldn’t sell.

  I started walking, Hero limping behind.

  “Ten fifty,” she said.

  “No.” I kept walking.

  “Twelve.”

  I stopped and looked at her. Shrugged and walked on. My feet were sore, I was thirsty, and I had a lame horse. I didn’t want to argue with anyone.

  “It’s over eighty miles to town,” she said.

  It figured. I kept walking. Maybe I should have gulped in some of that water while my head was in the trough. Hopefully I’d find some along the way.

  “Mister, come back here. My pa would skin me if he found out I turned a man away from water. Even one such as you.”

  I stopped. I was actually too weary to turn around, but I did it. I know I looked trail-worn, but lots of folks did now-a-days.

  I took me a step, then Hero shoved me from behind. He evidently didn’t want to leave the watering trough, and prodded me all the way back.

  “That horse has more sense than you,” she said.

  “I know it. And he knows it. And he’s not for sale.” I moved my feet, one in front of the other back to the watering trough. A tin cup lay next to the trough and I picked it up, took hold of that pump handle and give it a few pumps. Water came out, perfectly clear, and I filled that cup six times before I figured I wouldn’t blow away with the next dust storm.

  Hero thrust his nose in the water and splashed it around, then drank some more.

  “Thank you, ma’am. I reckon we can do those miles now.”

  I turned to lead Hero down the road. I took two steps before I realized Hero wasn’t budging.

  She laughed when I turned back and tried to get him to move.

  “Is that horse of yours part mule?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve wondered that myself. He
saved my life twice during the war. One of those times it included the life of my whole regiment.”

  “What happened?”

  “We were ordered to check out an area that had a pretty deep ravine, hard to cross except for a long narrow bridge. I decided to cross the bridge rather than take my men down into what could be a death trap if we got caught down there. We could cross the bridge in no time at all.”

  “And?”

  “And Hero refused to go. He put two feet on the bridge and then just backed off and refused to move. He’d never acted like that before, so I sent two scouts on foot across the bridge. They came back and said it was fine. But Hero still refused to set foot on it. So I sent two other men down streams a ways to work their way down into the ravine, then come back towards us. When they returned, they said they could see Union soldiers lined up on the other bank, ready to fire. The bridge itself had been cut, so the weight of men and horses would have collapsed it, dumping us all into the ravine. I think Hero could feel the damage they’d done.”

  “What did you do?”

  “We rode downstream for around for two miles, found a place to cross, then cut that troop off from their battalion. They couldn’t cross the bridge—I’d left a few men to guard the other side—so we had them trapped.”

  “And the other time?”

  “It was while I was escaping after being captured. They chased me and he outran them. I thought I’d gotten away and tried to slow him down, but he refused and kept running. Then I spotted a soldier coming in from the side. If I’d have slowed down, he’d have had me. He was shooting, but Hero kept the distance far enough, he didn’t hit me.”

  “Is that smarts or speed?”

  “I don’t know.” I looked Hero in the eye. “Don’t be stubborn, now. We’re leaving. Come on.” He wouldn’t budge.

  “Wait,” she said.

  Now what? I looked at her. She appeared puzzled.

  She pointed at my moccasins. “Where did you get those?”

  “At an Indian village. Cherokee.”

  She was looking me over good now. “And the rest of your outfit?”

  “The war, ma’am. I traded off my uniform for clothes that’ll stand this country. I’ll get me a rawhide lariat, first pay.”

  “They didn’t pay you for soldiering?”

  “My side lost. No pay. I’m just glad I have Hero.”

  She frowned. “You fought to keep slaves?”

  “No, ma’am. States’ rights. I fought for the right of each state to plot its own destiny. I don’t believe in letting the federal government get too powerful. Which it is now. So in a way both sides lost. I figured Christian folks in our southern states would start freeing the slaves on their own accord. Many of the plantation owners were already doing so. There just wasn’t enough of them soon enough.”

  “I’ve never heard of states’ rights.”

  “The Constitution. ‘The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people,’” I quoted. “The tenth amendment. You should read it sometime. Those writers really knew how to say a lot in a few words.”

  She looked puzzled.

  “It limits the power of the federal government. After dealing with King George, they were afraid of it getting too strong.”

  She frowned. “How come you know it?”

  “My ma was a school teacher. She made all of us memorize the entire constitution. And the Bible. Large parts of it anyway. And we had to know the meanings of all the words and what the writer meant.”

  “You looking for a job?”

  “Got one. Going there.”

  “Where?”

  She sure was full of questions, for having refused me water earlier. “Here abouts. I got to find the place. Gent told me to go to his ranch and wait.”

  “What was his name?”

  “James Cummings.”

  “My pa.” She looked me up and down. “Why’d he hire you?”

  She made it sound like I was the last person she’d ever hire and I wondered if I was even going to get a chance at this job. “I can calculate. Man wanted someone to keep his books for a spell.”

  “Elmer does our bookkeeping.”

  “Man said Elmer’s eyes were failing him.”

  “I don’t know about that.” She looked down at the ground. “I can’t read. Or write.” She sounded like it was a flaw in her character.

  “You’re never too old to learn.”

  “For a fact?” It was the most interest she’d shown so far.

  “Right. I’ll teach you.” Maybe then she wouldn’t be so prickly. “Didn’t they have a school near here?”

  “Not where I was. Take your horse to the barn. I don’t know when Pa will be back.”

  I led Hero to the barn. He walked along behind me, right happy. “They caught the man they were after,” I said, as I opened the gate.

  She brightened at hearing that. “Did they string him up?”

  “No. The kid wanted to.”

  “My cousin? I don’t blame him. That man killed his pa. My uncle.”

  “Did anyone see it?”

  “Yes. My aunt and I. He’d robbed the store and was being chased. He demanded my uncle’s horse, and shot him when he wouldn’t give it to him.”

  “Why didn’t he get it saddled?”

  “We saw it happen from the house and I grabbed my uncle’s rifle and put a shot near him. If I’d been a better shot, I’d have brought him down. He didn’t stay, just jumped on the horse and took off.”

  We reached the barn and I led Hero in, removed my saddle and hung it on a rail that was there for that purpose. The barn was made of adobe, blocks of sun-dried mud that produced a cool but dark place for the livestock and grain storage. Poles supported the roof, which was finished off with cut blocks of sod.

  I started rubbing Hero down. “You have any grease I could put on these wounds?”

  “Yes.” She started to turn away, then turned back again. “Where are your spurs?”

  “I don’t use spurs on Hero.”

  “Then?” She looked puzzled and pointed to the deep spur marks on his side.

  “Your murderer did that. He took my horse and left your uncle’s horse with me, half dead.”

  “Oh.” She put her hand to her face, pushed back a stray lock of her long blond hair. “No wonder things weren’t making sense. I couldn’t understand why my father would hire a man who misused his horse.”

  “I wouldn’t either.”

  “Your horse had those terrible spur marks, yet you were wearing moccasins.”

  “I wear ‘em when I have to walk.”

  “I didn’t see you come in. So you were walking, not riding.”

  “Your killer just about ruined your uncle’s horse, then took mine. I was chasing him when your pa showed up.” And he made a quick judgement, just like you did.

  “Well, I’m glad that’s straight,” she said, and held out her hand. “Welcome to the C Bar C.”

  She actually smiled and the change in the air around her was enormous.

  “You thought I did this?” I motioned towards Hero’s legs and sides.

  “Yes. Sorry.”

  “No, don’t be. I should have said something. Especially after watching the show you put on. Impressive.”

  “How long were you there?”

  “She was running in circles around you. Where did you learn how to tame an animal like that?”

  “My father showed me.”

  “Most men don’t have the patience.”

  “The main thing is to let them have their run. And never look them straight in the eyes. They don’t like that.”

  “The piece of rope?”

  “To keep them running until they’ve had their run out. Now I just need to get Misty to know what I want her to do.”

  “Should be easy now.”

  “Yes.” She handed me some ointment to put on Hero’s side. I
t looked like grease, but smelled like pitch.

  “What is this?’

  “Bear grease mixed with tree sap. It heals fast.”

  I’d never tried it, but it was better ‘n nothing, so I smoothed a little on the deep cuts the outlaw’s spurs had made.

  “What’s your name,” she asked.

  “My full name is Matthew Joseph Mason Trahern.”

  “Now that’s a handle to live up to. Are there any more of you out there?”

  “Lots of us. Or at least everyone who survived the war. I know my cousin Trey was a major on the Union side. I don’t know if Trey is alive, but I’d bet he made it. Traherns are hard to kill.”

  I got Hero cleaned up and bedded down with a scoop of grain for supper. He ate that, then lay down in that hay like he would sleep till Monday.

  I helped her feed and water the horses. “What’s your name?” I asked as she led the way to the house.

  “Dawn.”

  “That’s a beautiful name.”

  “Thank you. My father chose it. He said my hair reminded him of the golden streaks of sunshine in the sky just before sunrise.”

  The ranch house was like most, showing that it had been built small, then added onto. It was sprawling, built out and not up. It was pretty impressive for this area but would have been looked down on from southern plantation standards.

  She gathered the milk buckets and milked the three cows while I fed the rest of the livestock, some pigs and goats and chickens, then helped her carry the buckets of milk back to the house. She strained the milk through some cloth and put the full jars into the cooler.

  The leftover milk we carried back down to the pigpen and poured it into a narrow trough as slop to the hogs.

  She did it all with the ease of habit, and we were just finished when two riders appeared.

  “That’s John and Lewis,” she said, speaking for the first time in a while. “They’ve been checking the amount of pasture left up river.” She watched them ride closer. “You can bunk with them.”

  “Thank you.”

  “We’ll eat as soon as they’re ready.”

  I put my gear into the bunkhouse, cleaned up, and joined the two men as they came in for supper. Dawn put out some good cooking, and I wondered anew why she wasn’t married.