The Traherns #1 (35 page)

This gave me plenty of control as I led him down the ramp and
onto the platform. People scattered, and I took him to the end and then off,
onto the ground. Henry had picked up the grain bag that was left over and
carried it along.

“Put it there. I’ll have someone else take it the rest of the
way. You don’t want to be left behind.”

He nodded, said “Thanks, again,” then ran back to the train.

Where was Mr. Trahern? Our train was on time, so I expected him
to be. Sir Galahad was hard to miss, so I just stood there, holding onto his
halter chain. He wiggled his ears and flipped his tail and looked quite
contented. A gang of boys surrounded me, awestruck. I was getting used to these
reactions by now. Soon their fathers joined them.

“Why didn’t they put you off at the livestock yards, miss?” one
asked.

“Where’s that?”

“On the other side of town. They shouldn’t be putting you off
here. This is for the passengers. You need to get back on the train.”

*3*

I was at the wrong stop?
“I’ll need help. Someone carry his grain.”

Several of the boys ran ahead to stop the train while I led Sir
Galahad up the platform and into the car again. They closed the door just as
the train started to move. I hoped I had done the right thing.

It chugged away for less than five minutes, then slowed to a
stop. I could see fences and the stockyard. They stopped, opened the doors
again, and a man walked in. He was dressed a lot like Shorty had been, only his
hat was nicer. He had no gun in his waistband. It was in a holster. Like
Shorty, he had wide shoulders and narrow hips. Unlike Shorty, he had beautiful
eyes.

He looked surprised to see me.

“Who are you?”

“Brynn Porter. Who are you?”

“James Trahern. I own this bull.”

“Then, hello. I brought him out to you.”

The cowhand walked around Sir Galahad and me. “I didn’t realize
he was so big.”

“Hadn’t you seen him?”

“My uncle couldn’t stop talking about his bull. He bought one
from your employer.”

“My father.”

“Your father. I see. I didn’t realize a daughter came with him.”

“I didn’t. I’m just delivering him. I have a friend in Walla
Walla I came to visit. That’s the rest of his grain, there. Come on, Galahad.”
I led him off, and Mr. Trahern picked up the sack of grain as easily as I’d
carry my purse, and followed us.

I looked around the stockyards. They were offloading some horses
and cattle, then putting a few others on.

“What’s the difference?” I asked. “Some going on, others off.”

“Those coming off are mainly cows for breeding. Those going on
are steers headed for market.”

“The steers don’t look like they have much weight on them.”

“That’s why I bought your bull.”

“Sir Galahad.”

“Where did he get that name?”

“I named him. His mama died and I bottle raised him.”

“Your pet?”

“In a way. But I always knew he would be sold.”

“My horse is over here,” Mr. Trahern said, leading the way,
still carrying the bag of grain. He stopped beside a tall roan and looked at
the grain bag. There wasn’t much left. I had tied the end securely. He untied
it, retied it closer to the neck, then threw it over his horse’s back, behind
the saddle. It fell into place like a loose saddlebag, some grain on each side.

He tightened the cinch, then mounted. “I’ll take him from here,”
he said. “You can take the halter off.”

I was planning on going over his feeding. I didn’t want him to
bloat just because he had had his food switched so suddenly.

I pulled off his halter. Looked at him and Mr. Trahern.

“I really should tell you about his feed.”

“Tell me.”

“He gets three parts oats, two barley, two sorghum, and one
corn. I mixed them and put them in the bag, so it’s already measured out. He’s
been having sorghum molasses over everything, but I stopped that two days ago.
You should just ease him off the grain if he will be on hay. At least for a
week.”

“All right. Open the gate.”

I walked over, pulled the latch, then swung the gate open. Sir
Galahad followed me out.

Mr. Trahern rode up behind him and shouted at him to get him
moving. The bull just looked at him.

“He’s never been shouted at,” I said.

“He’ll figure it out.” He reached down and slapped Galahad on
the rump. The bull turned and faced him.

Mr. Trahern’s horse was taller than Sir Galahad, but the bull
outweighed them both. He wasn’t going to be pushed around.

The cowman rode behind Sir Galahad and reached over to tweak his
tail. The bull tossed his head and turned to face him again.

“He’s never been driven,” I said. “He doesn’t know what you
want. He’s always been led. Maybe I should put his halter back on him.”

“Maybe you better,” the man said.

So I slipped Galahad’s halter on him and led him out of the
stockyards to the road.

Mr. Trahern leaned over and took the lead chain from me. “Thank
you. I’ll take him from here.”

“Goodbye, Sir Galahad,” I said. “You’ve been a good bull.”

I walked back the way I came, tears misting my eyes. I didn’t
want to watch him walk away.

“Miss! Hey! Miss Porter.”

I turned. Galahad was following me. He had yanked the lead right
out of Mr. Trahern’s hand.

“No. You must go with him,” I said. I picked up his lead and
took him back. “I’m sorry. He doesn’t understand. Just tell me where you want
him and I’ll lead him there.”

The cowhand looked at me with a smile. “I want him on my ranch.”

“Fine. I’ll take him there. Where is it?”

“Down that road.” He pointed to a dirt road that stretched
around the edge of town. I started walking. Galahad walked behind me, content
to follow.

The cowboy rode alongside of me for a ways, singing a song I’d
never heard before, something about cowboys and little doggies. There sure were
a lot of verses. I walked about two miles and stopped. There wasn’t a house in
sight in front of us, although the road continued off to the horizon. Up the
hills, headed toward the mountains.

“Just where is your ranch, Mr. Trahern?”

He pointed up the road.

“I don’t see it.”

“It’s there all right. About twenty more miles.”

“Twenty?” Two sounded too far. “Were you planning on letting me
walk the whole distance?”

“No, Ma’am. I thought you’d figure it out before you got there.”

“And then what?”

“You can ride up behind me here, and hang onto that chain. We’ll
go a little faster that way, although I can already see that Sir Galahad
chooses his own speed.”

“Do you regret buying him?” I asked.

“Oh, no. If his calves look anything like him, they’ll outweigh
three of what I’m feeding right now. That’s why I bought him.”

I handed the lead to the cattleman. He pulled his foot out of
the stirrup and reached down for my hand. I put one foot in the stirrup,
grabbed his hand and he pulled me gently up behind him. I sat sideways on the
sack, took Sir Galahad’s lead, and we started off down the road. Slowly.

“The sun is hot, Ma’am, and you don’t have a hat. If’n you don’t
mind, you can wear mine.”

“Oh, I don’t—”

“You’ll burn if you don’t, you’re so fair. Be all red and sore.
You mustn’t take the sun lightly out here. With the air so dry, people burn
fast. I’m about as brown as I can get, but I still wear a hat.”

“Then I will. Thank you.”

He lifted it off his head and handed it to me.

I put it on. It was too big and dropped down over my ears, but
it put me into shade. I hadn’t realized how hot I was getting until then.

“Do you have a big ranch, Mr. Trahern?”

“Only about ten thousand acres, Ma’am. But it’s well located.”

“Ten thousand? All in cattle?”

“No. We have wheat, oats, and barley. It’s in the foothills. We
get good rain.”

We rode along in silence for a few minutes.

“What did you do about your luggage, Miss Porter? Did your
friend take it?”

“Oh. Lizzie!” I had not thought about her since we left the
train. “She’ll be worried. I didn’t get off the train where she was.”

“I’ll take you to her home as soon as we get Sir Galahad to the
barn. Where does she live?”

“In Walla Walla. On West Poplar. Do you know where it is?”

“Yes.”

“Is it close?”

“Depends on your idea of close. So, if your friend didn’t get
your luggage, where is it?”

“On a train. Somewhere.”

“Not this train?”

“I had a private car, but when they were switching trains around
in Cheyenne, they sent my car south. To Texas or some such place. All my
luggage was on it.”

“So you’ve been traveling without any luggage?”

“Yes. The train never stopped long enough to let me get anything
else. Why, I wouldn’t even have a comb if Shorty hadn’t bought me one.”

“Shorty? Who’s he?”

“A cowboy from Texas and other places. He and his crew were on
the train. He helped take care of Sir Galahad.” So I commenced telling Mr.
Trahern about my trip out. It sounded funny when I told about it.

“Sounds like all you missed were a buffalo stampede and a bridge
out,” he said, when I finished.

At that moment, Sir Galahad stopped and almost yanked me off the
horse. I dropped the lead chain as it was pulled out of my hands. He had found
him a spot of sweet grass and decided it was time to eat.

“He is a pampered pet,” Mr. Trahern observed.

“He’s got a mind of his own,” I defended him. “He knows when
it’s time to eat.” I slid off the horse, taking care to do it gracefully, but
landed in a heap when the horse moved just as I was leaving him.

Mr. Trahern dismounted and took a canteen off his saddle.

“Drink?” he asked as I got to my feet and brushed myself off.

“Yes, please.”

I wouldn’t have drunk from someone else’s canteen a week ago,
but a lot had happened in a week, and I wiped off the rim and took a good
drink. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was. The water was slightly warm, but
still good.

“Maybe we won’t get back until tomorrow,” he said. “I didn’t
realize how slow he moves.”

“He can run when he has to. Just not for very long.”

“And not when you need him to.”

“Oh, no. Never then. He’s a gentleman and never exerts himself.”

A rider was coming our way at a fast trot. He rode up and stared
at Sir Galahad, then at me, then at Mr. Trahern. “Land of Goshen, Jim, that
there is one big bull.”

“Greg, this young lady is helping me take our bull home. He
won’t go without her. But she was expected by a Mrs. Lizzie Smith on West
Poplar Avenue. Would you please give Mrs. Smith a message?”

“Sure, Boss.”

“Tell her that Miss Porter is with me, and will be joining her
tomorrow. I’ll make sure she gets there safely.”

“Sure thing, Jim. Trey sent me to see if you needed help.”

“Just help getting a message to Mrs. Smith. We’ll be home before
you get back. I hope.”

I gave him the address, and the cowboy tipped his hat and rode
off. “A big bull,” he said.

“Thank you. I was a little concerned about Lizzie,” I said.

“Greg will enjoy taking a message to a young lady, even if she
is married.”

“That’s good.”

“Have you ever been west before?” Mr. Trahern asked, as we
walked over to a single tree providing the only shade for miles around. We
stood there with his horse and waited for Sir Galahad to finish. The horse
started eating, too.

“No. This is my first time. I’ve never been west of upper New
York.”

“What do you think of us?”

“Well your language is different, and your saddles and your
method of reining. And the clothes. I learned why you folks wear the clothes
you do. It’s extremely practical. But I haven’t figured out the reining. How do
you turn when just one hand holds the reins?”

“I’ll show you when we get on again.”

“How much further do we have to go to reach your place?”

“We’re on it, right now. Have been for the last hour. But the
ranch house is in the foothills, up there. Only about two miles further.”

“Is it cooler?” I asked, for the afternoon heat had become hard
to take. I felt like I was wilting, even with the light shirtwaister I wore. I
tried to imagine myself on the back of the horse wearing the clothes I had worn
when I left Baltimore. Tight skirt and tight corset and long sleeves. I would
have collapsed in this heat.

“You mentioned your luggage went with your car. Have you been
wearing that same outfit the whole trip?”

“Do I smell that bad?”

“No. Not at all. That wasn’t what I was implying, Miss Porter.
But my mother, Mally, is about your size. We could see if she has anything for
you to change into, once we get there.”

That was good to hear. I was wondering what would happen to my
reputation if I had to spend the night at his ranch. Hearing his mother was
there, was the best news I’d gotten this trip.

“That sounds wonderful, Mr. Trahern.”

“You’d better call me James. At Sir Galahad’s speed, we’re going
to get well acquainted.”

“Then call me Brynn. I don’t think we were introduced.” I put
out my hand. “How do you do?”

He grinned and shook it. “Top of the morning to you, too.”

“I like your horse. He has a smooth gait.”