Cattle Kate (12 page)

A lot of things bothered me about this plan, and the list in my mind kept growing as I imagined the faces of my family, but I also saw the chances it provided. I saw the dreams it made come true. I'd left my home and my family to come west so I could own land. In my own name. I saw myself on my land and my cows and my garden and that was just too big a plate to throw away. All my concerns went into second place as I saw all the chances Jim was offering and how this was the only way.

And that's how I presented it to Mary Hayes.

“Is he going to marry you?” she asked right off, sounding very sharp.

“We don't have plans to marry right away.” I didn't want to go any further because this plan didn't work if people knew our secret. But as pleased as I was with how this would work, Mrs. Hayes was unpleased.

“Ella, you aren't the first of my girls to get her head turned by a man in these parts,” she told me. “But you have to do it like Mary Agnes did it—she worked for me at the Union Pacific Hotel before we built this. She was smitten with that nice Tom Sun who has such a beautiful spread out by Devil's Gate. But they were married here in Rawlins before she ever went out on the range with him. That's the way it's done, Ella. That's the
only
way it can be done. You have no business being out there with him if you aren't married. People will talk, and they'll say bad things about you. Terrible things. Even if this is on the up-and-up, they'll label you and you don't want that, Ella. That's the last thing you want. I say, marry the man right here in Rawlins and then go off to his place, and everything will be alright. But if you just go, you're in for a lot of trouble.”

I wouldn't believe her. I went and we followed our plan. On August 30, 1886, I paid my eighteen-dollar fee and that's how I ended up with Claim No. 2003 for one hundred sixty acres next to Mr. Averell's claim on Horse Creek.

But I've often wondered, considering how things worked out, how many times Mrs. Hayes said to herself or to her rosary beads, “Ella Watson, I told you so.”

Chapter Eight—The Man I Hate

I was sweeping the porch of the roadhouse when A.J. Bothwell rode up. And oh my, you couldn't miss him if you tried.

He rode higher in the saddle than most men, with a back so ramrod straight it screamed, “I'm one helluva man with business to do.” Yes, he was tall, and he wore that big black hat, but really, what I noticed first was that silly red vest he wore under his coat. Guess he wanted to be sure everyone knew he was coming, because that vest was the only spot of red you'd find out here in this dry countryside.

“What in the world?” I chuckled to myself.

Jimmy had already warned me about our neighbor, whose ranch was up the way from the roadhouse. Whenever I'd go to my claim, I passed right by his Broken Box Ranch and its big house and those awful wolves he kept. Jimmy told me to be careful with this man, because he thought was king of the Sweetwater Valley. Jimmy said he couldn't think of one decent thing to say about Bothwell, and that said it all.

I know more than most about swaggering, domineering men, so my mind was already set against him before my eyes ever confirmed the verdict.

I ignored him and kept sweeping.

“So what do we have here?” He said it in a very loud voice, like he was appraising a prized heifer. “I heard Jimmy got himself a cook and opened a dinner table, so am I right in guessing that's you?”

I turned full face on him. I will give him that he was right handsome behind that Van Dyke and mustache. I figured he was about Jimmy's age. His voice had that sneer of an arrogant man.

“That's me.”

I could see he was waiting for more as his eyes traveled over me. I bet if I'd offered my left hip, he would have branded me.

“I'm Ella Watson.” I announced myself like I was saying “I'm the Queen of England.”

“I'm one of the finer cooks you'll ever encounter and I'm an even better baker, and your money spends as good here as anyone else's.” I thought my speech was just snippy enough to show I could stand my own.

Bothwell threw back his head and laughed, like it was a joke that anyone could get the best of him. “Well, I'll be the judge of that. I'm Albert J. Bothwell, but you probably already knew that.”

He marched into the roadhouse and sat himself at one of the four new tables. He took off his hat and laid it on the oilcloth and looked around like he'd never seen the place before.

“What ya got, lady? I got me a bear appetite.”

“I can have the coffee boilin' in a minute and today I have fried prairie chicken, beans, and cornbread. I have apple and mince pie.” That's just how I'd have told anybody the day's menu.

“Mince pie—my mother made mince pie so I guess I'll be able to tell from the first bite if you really are the baker you say you are.” He barked at me like he was the territory's official pie eater. I smiled to myself because I knew I'd win this challenge.

By the time he finished his dinner and pie and coffee, Mr. A.J. Bothwell acted like a changed man. “Well, my dear, I must say, I haven't had a cut of pie like that since my mother's—I might just have to fall in love with you.”

I couldn't tell by his tone if he was laughing at me or saying something true.

“That's fifty cents.” He was getting nothing extra from me!

He laid down a silver dollar and walked out the door, and the extravagant tip was a nod toward something true.

I spent a few seconds congratulating myself on how I'd come out on top with a man Jimmy so despised, and decided I could handle Bothwell.

I was anxious to share my first encounter with Bothwell that night when Jimmy and his ranch hand came in for supper. Jimmy beamed, like I'd done him proud, and Fales was beside himself.

“I can't wait to tell the boys who work for that blowhard,” John Fales announced in his Dakota drawl. “You know what his men call him behind his back? Robin Red Vest! He acts like he's some kind of European lord or something and everybody in the valley laughs at him. Behind his back, of course. Only behind his back. Oh, Miss Ella, the boys are going to love your story!”

I added another reason to love this strange man who constantly reminded me that first impressions can be deceiving.

John Fales was waiting on the porch when Jimmy and I arrived from Rawlins that first day. He jumped up and ran to the wagon to help me down.

“So this is the lady you speak so highly of,” he yelled at Jim as he grabbed my velvet satchel. “Ma'am, I'm real glad to know you. I'm John Fales and I do about everything around here—don't I, Jimmy?—and I just know we're going to be real good friends. Call me Fales.”

The man looked like a wreck. He didn't have a belly or a butt and his Levis were just waiting to fall off. His face always had stubble and his blue eyes looked like he was coming off a bender, but he never was. He smelled of smoke from his favorite pastime, and he had a face only a mother could love. But darned if he wasn't the most useful wreck I'd ever known. If Jimmy needed dinner tables, Fales could build them like he'd done it all his life. If he needed repairs on his house, they were fixed. If he needed someone to haul or load, Fales showed a strength you'd never guess. This was the man who'd build my cabin—it wouldn't be big, but I didn't need it to be big to start. All I needed was a place to establish my claim, and the two-room log cabin drawn on butcher paper looked like a palace. Besides, as Fales kept saying, I could always add on later.

I came to appreciate John Fales for far more than his skills with a saw and hammer. He constantly surprised me with how smart he was—a walking textbook on anything to do with W.T. or cattle ranching—and amazed me at how his ears were always primed for the latest news in the Sweetwater Valley. John Fales was the most gossipy man I would ever know.

And then there was John Fales the Entertainer. He was always ready with a joke or a sly observation—he saw the world as an amusement and thought everyone else should too. Some of his jokes were so bad they made me groan, but that was okay, because Fales would laugh and slap his leg like it was the most humorous thing he'd ever heard. His laugh was so infectious, I found myself laughing too, whether it was funny or not, and that was the effect Fales had on most people.

That first day, he'd immediately launched into his greeting joke. “Have you heard the one about the stranger who rode into town and stopped for a drink? Well, the locals always liked to pick on strangers so when he finished his drink he found his horse had been stolen. He went back in the bar and twirled his gun around his finger and tossed it behind his back from one hand to the other and then shot into the ceiling. ‘Which one of you sidewinders stole my horse?' he yelled and when nobody answered he told them: ‘Alright, I'm gonna have one more drink and if my horse ain't back, I'm gonna do what I dun in Texas. And I don't like to think about what I dun in Texas.' So he had his drink and when he went outside, his horse was tied up all nice and snug. He saddled up to ride out of town and the bartender couldn't stand it: ‘Say, partner, before you go, just what did you do in Texas?' As he rode off, the cowboy yelled back over his shoulder, ‘I walked home.'”

I stopped in my tracks, threw back my head and let out a belly laugh. “I sure didn't see that comin'.” And I liked him right off.

Fales also thought himself a singer and there would be many nights when he'd entertain after supper with a voice that was rough around the edges, but pretty much on key. He sang about beautiful cows and beautiful sunsets. He sang about missing your Ma when you're out on the range. He sang about girls left behind and steaks yet to eat. I knew some of the songs he sang had been sung around campfires for years, but others, Fales was making up on his own.

And it turned out he was an expert on reading cattle brands. At first I thought it was funny that a man who never owned a cow in his life knew everything there was to know about the strange symbols that made up brands. But eventually I saw how it fit with his sense of humor. Fales not only could read brands, he knew all the secrets of changing them.

“Ma'am, if you want to run a joke on the high and mighty cattle barons, just mess with their brands. There's all kinds of ways to change a man's brand so nobody can tell the difference. You don't do it to little guys, mind you. Never them. But those cattle barons. Well, that's about the best joke in Wyoming Territory.”

He also was an expert reader of men. After he snickered at how well I had bested Bothwell, Fales got serious a moment. “But you be careful, Miss Ella, because that man is dangerous. He acts like he's been here for years. He's a newcomer, but you'd never know it. He takes ownership of anything he wants, whether it's his due or not. He's got brothers that's just as bad and they've tried every trick in the book to make a buck—had an oil well that got no oil and a railroad that never saw a foot of track. Who knows what they'll come up with next. He's makin' a fortune on his cattle, lets them roam everywhere—the ‘open range,' you know—and he's a big stick in the stock growers. But for all his high and mighty, he's really not much of anything. Don't know he's ever done an honest day's work. Won't get his hands dirty. I'll tell you what—that man's a snake and never forget it.”

***

The roadhouse was more than I had expected. The wooden building was large, with big windows looking onto the front porch. The entrance room was a spacious grocery store. Behind it was a pretty good kitchen with a big pantry. There was a cozy room behind the cookstove, and I made a point of telling everyone that it was now my bedroom. I didn't want people thinking I was bedding down with Jimmy in his three-room cabin next door.

The first week at the roadhouse was a flurry of reorganizing the entrance room into a dining room. Fales built more shelves on the walls behind the counter, and his new tables fit just right. I got the kitchen rearranged to my liking and made a long list of supplies to fill up that pantry. By the time we were done, it looked like this roadhouse had sported a dining room for ages.

It wasn't until the next weekend that we finally found the time to go out to my claim. I had expected Jimmy promised more than he could deliver, but that wasn't the case at all. My land had a sweeping view of a beautiful valley with rolling hills and dramatic rock outcroppings. In the distance were hills that looked like mountains to me. The creek was even more perfect than I imagined. The water moved gently, but there was plenty for thirsty cattle and more than I'd ever need for a household. The best part was there were plenty of berry bushes. Oh, the jams I'd make!

I got out of the wagon and walked around on land that I would claim in my own name, and that does something to a person. I did a full circle to see everything I could see from here and everything I saw was beautiful. I loved the gray tint to the sagebrush. Even the dirt and the rocks looked like the best dirt and rocks anyone could ever want. The hills changed colors and shapes as the sun moved across the sky, and the hills at the end of the day were bathed in purples and golds. Off in the distance I saw a herd of antelopes and yelled at Jimmy to see.

“There's antelopes all over this valley. That will get old.”

But I knew it never would. I hoped one day they'd come close enough so I could pet their bone-white hides.

“And you should know we've got mountain lions, so when you get your chicken coop up, you need to make sure they can't get in.”

I knew I'd never want a mountain lion close enough to pet.

“Coyotes and gray wolves are everywhere. Their howling can keep you awake at night. And never leave a window open because they'll come right in, and you sure don't want that.”

Jimmy had never mentioned any of these dangers when he was bragging about this land.

On my own, I discovered prairie chickens. Before I got my own gun, I borrowed Jimmy's, and my aim was pretty good. Had to be. Chicken was a mainstay on my menu, and although Fales liked to bring me ones he shot, I thought I should be carrying my own weight there.

I scared Fales one day when I told him I'd seen their courting dance and described it in great detail. Every sentence, his eyes kept getting bigger. At first, I thought he was enjoying my story.

“I went out this morning real early to get me some chickens and I heard the most startling sound. Everything had been quiet the moment before—just the usual birdcalls here and there—and then the prairie erupted with sound. I was so startled, I crouched down to stay clear of the sound. And that's when I heard their courting dance. It sounds like music. Like a chorus singing. The males boom and cluck and cackle and even hum. Each one had its own song and they sang over one another. They puffed up their cheeks into red balls and fluffed up their head feathers like an Indian chief and strutted—they actually strutted like they were the king of the walk. One would hop up high, facing another male as if to say ‘you ain't much' and the other would hop even higher to answer the challenge. I must have sat there a good forty minutes before the dance ended and the chickens scattered. And that's when I realized I hadn't shot anything for dinner.”

By now, Fales didn't look like he was enjoying this story at all, but that he didn't like a word I was saying.

“This ain't going to queer you on killin' prairie chickens for dinner, is it, Miss Ella?”

I burst out in an open mouth laugh.

“No, Fales, no worry of that.” Boy, there was relief on that man's face.

Yes, this land and its critters suit me. I thanked the Lord every day that I'd had the guts to come west and He had given me Jimmy and all this.

Everything was all the more sweet because Jimmy felt the same way about me.

“After my Sophia died, I thought I'd never again find anyone to love. I thought I'd spend the rest of my life alone. So you're a lovely surprise. I haven't been so lucky since the Indian Wars.”