Hard Winter Page 5

  Her accent was straight out of Sir Walter Scott, too.

  “I left Chicago as soon as I could. Saw no need dallying around there, Blaire.” Mr. Gow kissed her cheek, and Mrs. MacDunn stepped back. They seemed to be admiring one another.

  “Can we see the bulls?” Lainie MacDunn asked.

  “Lainie!”

  Let me tell you this—Mrs. MacDunn could scowl with the best of them. Back in those days, that wasn’t a question befitting a proper girl—you didn’t even say bull in front of a lady—but I figured any girl who wore duck trousers wasn’t proper.

  “Lass,” Mr. Gow said, “I promised these young lads they could have coffee first. I dare say they’ve earned it, and maybe a bowl of your mother’s delicious pudding. Blaire MacDunn, these fine cowmen are John Henry Kenton, Tommy O’Hallahan, and Jim Hawkins.”

  “Jim Hawkins?” That took Lainie’s attention away from Angus bulls or Tommy O’Hallahan. She sized me up right quickly. “With an i-n or an e-n?”

  I didn’t know what to say. Wasn’t sure I heard right, or what it mattered, or maybe I was just flummoxed to have to try to converse with a girl, a real pretty girl, who wore pants.

  “I-n.” It was Tommy who answered. “H-a-w-k-i-n-s.”

  Well, my ears started burning red again. “I can spell my own name, Tommy,” I told him, and that was true. Ma had learned me my ABCs, and, while I couldn’t read real good—all right, I couldn’t read hardly nothing at all—I knew how to sign my own name, even though I made the J and S backwards, and my K always turned out crooked.

  “Is that true?” Lainie asked.

  Now, I was really mad. “Yes, ma’am. I can spell my own name. J-i-m. That’s short for James, but nobody ever calls me James. H-a-. . .”

  “Not that, you dumb oaf.”

  “Lainie MacDunn!” her mother snapped.

  “I don’t care if he can read or write, Mother,” Lainie said. By that time, John Henry was shuffling his feet, wondering if he’d ever get his coffee. “I just wanted to know how he spelled his name. It’s Jim Hawkins, Mother, just like. . .”

  “You apologize to Master Hawkins at once, Lainie.” Mrs. MacDunn was nobody to trifle with when she got riled, and her daughter had riled her. Looked like everyone was getting riled, because I was plumb ready to thrash Tommy for embarrassing me so. “You do not insult our guest, young lady!”

  Lainie drew a deep breath, let it out, and stared at me, but I didn’t see no forgiveness in her eyes as she told me: “I’m sorry I called you a dumb oaf, Jim Hawkins.” She extended her right hand, and now it was Tommy who was getting riled at me. Because I got to touch Lainie MacDunn first.

  Yes, boy, that was the first time I met your grandma. To tell you the truth, on that day, I kind of hoped I’d never see that irksome girl again.

  Chapter Eight

  No argument about it—Mrs. MacDunn was a good cook. She let us sample her sucamagrowl, about as tasty and sweet a pudding as ever I ate. But they used Folgers at the Bar DD, and me and Tommy had grown accustomed to Arbuckles’ coffee. Folgers didn’t put a stick of peppermint in its can, so I figured it would be hard for Mrs. MacDunn to get any help from us cowboys since she couldn’t bribe us none with a piece of candy. That’s because I hadn’t met Major MacDunn yet.

  “Where is William?” Mr. Gow asked.

  “The gather,” she said. “I do not know when he shall return.” Mr. Gow gave her a large envelope. “Here are the bills of sale, and a detailed invoice for the amount he owes me. Alas, we underestimated the expense not only of those three animals, but the price of everything in Chicago. He may pay me when next we meet. And I picked up a book, which might interest both you and William.”

  She tore open that envelope, pulling out a book, leaving the papers alone, gasping and giving Mr. Gow the most fetching look of appreciation, till he announced: “I must take my leave after we eat.”

  “But, Papa!” Camdan cried out, him looking as hurt as Mrs. MacDunn. “You just got here.”

  “Aye, but we are gathering cattle, too. Work, lad. There’s always work.”

  “I wish you could stay, Tristram,” Mrs. MacDunn said.

  “Company is so rare in this country.”

  Later, when we was in the barn alone, that comment set Tommy off, her complaining about the lack of company, when me and Tommy and John Henry was standing right there.

  Sadly Mr. Gow shook his head, and offered Mrs. MacDunn a comforting smile.

  We ate our chuck, drunk our coffee, outside, it being warm.

  And windy. Wind picked up, had no plans of relenting. I noticed Tommy kept making eyes at Lainie, while Camdan Gow busied himself trying to size up us newcomers. Then Mr. Gow said he needed to ride back to his ranch, told John Henry they’d best get a move on. Me and Tommy tossed our dirty dishes into the wreck pan, tipped our hats at Mrs. MacDunn, and started to follow our pard, but he turned around, holding up his hand. Had this funny look on his face, kept moving his lips around like he was trying to think of something to say. So Mr. Gow said it for him.

  “You shall be staying here, laddies.”

  “We ride with John Henry,” Tommy said. Defiant. Like he had expected this sort of ambuscade all along. That’s when I figured out what John Henry and Mr. Gow had been conspiring all along on the drive up from Helena. My ears started burning once more.

  “Ain’t no job for you two at the Seven-Three Connected,”

  John Henry finally said. “There is one for you here.”

  “But. . . .” That’s as far as I got.

  “Gow’s hired me,” John Henry said. “Big gather’s still going on up there. That’s where I’ll be working the rest of this summer.

  You two boys got a job here.”

  “That’s the first I’ve heard about it,” Tommy snapped back.

  “It is the truth,” Mrs. MacDunn said. She sounded kind of sad. “You boys are most welcome here.”

  “Reckon we’ll still ride with you,” Tommy said.

  “There’s no job for you.” This time John Henry spoke sharply.

  “Maybe Mister Gow isn’t hiring,” Tommy argued. “There are other outfits that way.”

  “Or we can ride the grubline,” I added.

  “Use your heads!” John Henry put his hands on his hips, maybe to keep from knocking us with his fists, and Mrs. MacDunn shooed the other boys and Lainie back toward the bunkhouse. “We’re new to this country. That’s why we’re splitting up. It ain’t permanent. You see what the Bar DD’s like, I’ll check out Gow’s ranch, and them other outfits working up yonder. You do your job here, maybe I can hire on come winter. If anybody’s hiring then. If we all get let go, which is mighty likely, we’ll have a good idea about what ranches to visit. So we don’t starve all winter. We need to learn about Montana, is all. This summer, we’ll all be getting an education.” He winked at Mr. Gow.

  “The MacDunn Ranch is the biggest on the Sun River range,” Mr. Gow said, trying to sell us on this plan. “You will not find better employers than William and Blaire. Fear not, laddies. I will return John Henry to you in fine form. And maybe I can hire you on next spring. My ranch is growing, and with that outstanding Aberdeen Angus specimen down there, it shall grow even more.”

  I looked for Tommy to say something. He thought for a spell, started to ask a question, then stopped. Knew it was hopeless, that everything had been decided long ago. John Henry took that as the signing of our peace treaty, so he turned away, and walked to the corral with Mr. Gow. Just like that, he was gone, leaving me and Tommy alone with a bunch of strangers. We left for the bunkhouse, as Mrs. MacDunn stood in front of the chuck house watching Mr. Gow and John Henry push the black bull over the hills.

  * * * * *

  Our beds was what we called “Montana feathers”—just hay on boards—about as comfortable as rocks. The log walls kept most of the wind out, although the MacDunns had knocked the chinking out to allow some wind to pass through. Good thing, too. That was turning out to be one hot summer
.

  Bunkhouse was practically empty. Most of the Bar DD hands was on their big summer gather—roundup, you call it—which is where I figured we’d be come next morning, but it turned out Mrs. MacDunn had another plan for us. John Henry had known about that, too, from all his conspiring with Mr. Gow. Ringing that cast-iron triangle next morn, Mrs. MacDunn kept hollering at us to hurry, else we’d be late for school.

  School!

  Walter Butler and Camdan Gow giggled like girls when we come out of the bunkhouse. Thought it was some mighty funny joke.

  It being warm again, even with the sun barely up, we ate in silence, then followed Mrs. MacDunn to that white building. Saw some other kids walking, or riding, over the hill, filing into that whitewashed building that wasn’t no church at all.

  “Class,” she said as everybody but me and Tommy sat down in his or her desk, “we have two new students joining us for the rest of the school year. Please give Tommy O’Hallahan and Jim Hawkins a hearty Montana Territory welcome.”

  On account of the warmth, Mrs. MacDunn had left the door and windows open, so, hat in hand, I shot a glance at the door behind me.

  Through clenched mouth, Tommy whispered: “Don’t you dare run out on me, Hawkins.”

  Every kid in that schoolhouse greeted us, not too enthusiastic, with hellos and howdies, and then I told Mrs. MacDunn that I had hired on as a cowhand, not to go to some school. I also heard the sound of horses, lots of them, over toward the ranch. That sound sure interested me more than any schooling.

  “And you will work, Jim,” she said firmly. “After school. That’s the law.”

  “Law?”

  Tommy wasn’t no help. He just stared ahead, and he wasn’t even looking at Lainie. Probably wasn’t seeing anything.

  “Three years ago,” Mrs. MacDunn said, “the territorial legislature enacted a compulsory school attendance law.”

  I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I told her that in Texas and Indiana, they didn’t hold school in summers on account of all the work to be done. ’Course, I hadn’t really boned up on the school laws, but I thought it was true.

  Mrs. MacDunn had a pleasant laugh. “Well, this is Montana, and our school break is during winter. As I said, Jim, you will work. On Saturdays, and every day after school. Shall we get started?”

  I wasn’t finished yet. “I don’t see how come me and Tommy is here while John Henry ain’t. I can sign my own name. John Henry has to make a big old X. Granted, he puts a lot of flourish in that mark, but he’s the one that needs schooling. Not us.”

  “Excellent,” she said. “I wish Mister Kenton were here, too, but the law does not require adults attend school, just children. Let’s see.” Leaving us standing there, she picked up a writing tablet, and called out a bunch of names, the boys and girls answering—“Here” or “Present.”—while me and Tommy stood between the American flag and a picture of President Cleveland like a couple of cads. Next, she put down the tablet, picked up a book, and planted herself between me and Tommy.

  “Class,” she said, “Mister Gow yesterday brought a fascinating book that we shall use to practice our reading. At the same time, this book will educate us on the wonders of what most of your parents do, and that is ranching.” She held up the book for all to see. “It is titled Cattle-Raising on the Plains of North America, written by Walter Baron von Ritchofen, presently of Colorado, although he is a native of Prussia, and published only last year.” She smiled. That lady had a lovely smile. “This book reminds me of a similar one authored by James Brisbin. Mister Brisbin’s book, The Beef Bonanza, with its glorious subtitle, How to Get Rich on the Plains, lured Major MacDunn, Lainie, and me to America.” She opened the book, and handed it to Tommy.

  “Tommy, please read the first paragraph.”

  The kids, all except Lainie, just sniggered while Tommy took the book in his trembling hands. Mrs. MacDunn pretended like she didn’t hear. Maybe she didn’t. I don’t know why Tommy was acting scared, but I knew why those other kids was giggling. They pegged us as a couple of yacks. Well, Tommy showed them.

  “‘No doubt,’” Tommy began, “‘some of my older readers will remember that when as boys they studied the geography of America, they were taught that all the land west of the Missouri River was barren and worthless, and that it would forever remain so. It was known that it was the abode of Indians and wild beasts; that the buffalo roamed over its vast plains; and it commonly bore the name of ‘The Great American Desert.’”

  No, sir, there wasn’t no giggling being done then. The kids had fallen real quiet, and Mrs. MacDunn just stood there, amazed. She took the book, her eyes just blooming, and said: “Fantastic. Utterly fantastic, Thomas.” Reckon she didn’t think Tommy was befitting a name for a boy who read so fine. “Here, take a seat behind Richard there.”

  Tommy hesitated, because Mrs. MacDunn had give me the baron’s book, and my mouth went as dry Mobeetie in the summer. My pard wanted to stay with me, help me, maybe whisper the words to me, somehow, but Mrs. MacDunn shooed him to his desk.

  “Go on, Jim,” she instructed me, looking lovely, expecting me—since I had done told her how good I could sign my own name—to read as fantastic as Tommy O’Hallahan. “Read the second paragraph.”

  I looked down at that book in my own shaking hands.

  “Go ahead, Jim.”

  I wet my lips.

  She pointed to the second paragraph. I spied the first word. It was a big one. Can’t recollect what exactly it was, but it started with a G. Funny, ain’t it? I remember the first paragraph that Tommy read so well, but that’s all I recollect from that book. I read it later. Bunch of lies, most of it. Maybe not lies, but cattle raising wasn’t no sure bet, and that’s what the baron and that Mr. Brisbin preached to everyone.

  I warrant you have to memorize the Pledge of Allegiance. We didn’t have that when I was in school. Your mama, when she was your age, I remember her having to learn something from the Declaration of Independence or the Constitution, both of them, I think, maybe a Bible verse or two. In that summer of 1886, though, Mrs. Blaire MacDunn had us all memorizing the first paragraph of Cattle-Raising on the Plains of North America. So it got burned into my brain, and, eventually, I could read it, too. Not as good as Tommy, but I could read it.

  But not that first morning.

  I looked at them letters, at that big word, then I lifted my head. Everyone stared at me, everyone but Tommy. He wouldn’t, couldn’t. Just set his eyes on his boots, embarrassed for me.

  “Go on, Jim,” Mrs. MacDunn coaxed, and I shamed myself.

  That’s what galls me, to this day. I burst out in tears, bawling like a kid. Shamed. Then, shame made way for anger, and I hurled that book across the room, near about tore off Camdan Gow’s head, and I run as fast as I could out of that schoolhouse.

  Chapter Nine

  Irun straight into the hands of a mighty big man.

  Rough hands gripped my arms tight, me squirming, kicking, snapping at him to let me go, but blinded by tears so I couldn’t see straight. He kept saying things like: “Hold on there, young man!” Scottish accent, of course. Sounded like everybody on Montana’s Front Range come from Scotland. Finally he give up on trying to shake any sense into me, calm me down, deciding I’d pretty soon nail his shins with the toes of my boots, and he threw me hard to the ground. “Stay there!” His voice sounded like thunder.

  “William,” Mrs. MacDunn said with a start. “Leave him. . . .” Her voice cracked; she couldn’t finish.

  Well, I started to my feet, my eyes clearing, and I saw him. Looked to stand about twelve feet tall, caked in dust and grime, plaid trousers tucked in stovepipe boots, and a big gray hat setting low on his forehead. ’Course, he wasn’t twelve feet tall, but he stood a good four inches over six feet. Big shoulders, broad chest, and muscles in his arms straining to tear his blue cotton shirt to nothing but threads. That giant, Major William Bruce MacDunn, turned to gather the reins of a blood bay gelding grazing just behind him.r />
  “What is going on here, Lainie?” the major asked his wife. “Who is this little hellion?”

  “He is just upset, William. A new student. A new hand for us.”

  The reins dropped back to the ground, and Major MacDunn turned, glaring at his wife now. He grunted something, took a step or two toward the schoolhouse, stopped, and give me another look before giving his wife an even harder look.

  “Where’s Gow?”

  “Tristram returned to his ranch. You have seen the two Angus he-cows?”

  “Aye, I did. Hardee, Ish, and I brought in some new mounts. When did Gow leave?”

  “Yesterday. He stayed just long enough to eat.”

  “And deposit yet another orphan!”

  Well, I snapped right back at him, “I ain’t no . . . !” Then I got smart enough to shut my trap. Let them think I was an orphan. If they learned that I was nothing but a runaway, they might send me back to Vigo County, Indiana, and I had no hankering to take up farming.

  “Two, William,” Mrs. MacDunn said softly, her eyes shining. “I don’t think either is older than fourteen.”

  Reckon we looked younger to her, but age didn’t make no difference to the major.

  “When I was fourteen years old,” he said, “I was . . .”

  “Yes, William,” she said, still gentle. “I know. We could use the help, and they are both hard workers.”

  The major glowered. He was looking at me again. “But not such good students.”

  “He’s young. Embarrassed. ’Twas my fault, not his, William. I did not understand the circumstances.”

  He stepped right up to me, staring down with the meanest blue eyes. Like looking up into two blue gun barrels. Felt like I was staring up into a big bronze statue. “And what name do you go by?”

  “Jim Hawkins,” I told him.