After the chuck wagon started out, Elmer came riding up to Duff, Meghan, and Falcon, who were sitting their horses on top of a gentle rise that allowed them to see the entire herd.
“We’re ready to get underway, Duff. Just give us the word.”
“All right, get them started,” Duff said.
Elmer galloped back down toward the rest of the herd. Taking his hat off, he held it above his head, and shouted out at the top of his voice.
“Yee, haw!”
The other cowboys, whistling and shouting, got the big herd in motion, a few cows in front at first, then, as if picking up momentum, more and more of the herd started moving. Finally, like unraveling a ball of twine, the herd began stringing out until eventually, every cow was in motion.
“Unless you have some other place in mind, I’ll take the far side,” Falcon said.
“Good enough,” Duff replied. “Meghan and I will stay on this side.”
“Listen, you two pay attention to the cattle now,” Falcon said. “I don’t want to look over here and see you sparking.”
“Mind your own business,” Meghan replied with a little laugh.
Live Oaks Ranch, Saturday, November 8
Two wagons, four riders, and eleven unsaddled horses were lined up on the road in front of the arched gate that led up to Live Oaks Ranch. Big Ben and Julia were there, along with about thirty other ranch hands. Maria was sitting in the driver’s seat of the chuck wagon, smiling broadly at the prospect of going with her husband. Dalton was sitting on the driver’s seat of the supply wagon, frowning to show his displeasure at having been selected for this job.
For the moment, Clay was alongside Big Ben, getting his last minute instructions.
“I’m sending twenty-five hundred dollars in cash with you, along with my letter of credit,” Big Ben said. “That should take care of just about any emergency you might encounter along the way. Send me a wire when you get to Dodge to let me know that you got there all right, and send me another just before you start back with the herd.”
“Yes, sir,” Clay replied.
“I know Dalton is a little upset now at having to drive the hoodlum wagon, but he’ll get over it. I’m reasonably sure he will make a good hand for you.”
“I’m sure he will,” Clay agreed.
Big Ben stuck his hand out, and Clay took it.
“Good luck,” Big Ben said.
“Thank you,” Clay replied. Pulling his horse around, Clay galloped back down to where the little party was assembled.
“Let’s go!” he shouted.
Maria slapped the reins against the back of her team of mules, and the wagon started forward. Dalton started behind her. The riders held their horses to a slow walk, equal to the speed of the wagons, and with the whistles and cheers of those assembled to watch them depart, the Black Angus retrieval party got underway.
Dodge City, November 8
It was noon, and for the moment there were very few customers in the Lucky Chance. Because of that Rebecca, Candy, and the two other bar girls who worked in the saloon were sharing a table for lunch. Candy was talking about Billy Lovejoy.
“I know he cares for me,” Candy said, wiping away a tear. “He knows what I have been, but he also knows that I would be a good and faithful wife to him. But he is afraid to go against his father.”
Rebecca didn’t comment, though she knew exactly what Candy was going through. The only difference was that their roles were reversed. Candy was perceived as not good enough for Billy Lovejoy, whereas Rebecca was perceived as too good for Tom Whitman.
“Honey, it’s all a dream,” Kate said. “Girls like us never leave the line. We never get married.”
“Janie did,” Candy said. “She told me that she was just like us, once, but she met Oscar.”
Suddenly Candy realized that she might have spoken out of turn, and she put her hand on Rebecca’s hand. “Becca, I’m sorry, I don’t mean any disrespect for your Mama.”
“Nor were you disrespectful,” Rebecca said. “I know all about my mother’s past, and I am proud of her for what she has become.”
“Well if you ask me, you don’t have any business getting involved with the Lovejoy family in the first place,” Rena said. “I know they are rich, but Frank Lovejoy is a horrid person.”
“Billy is nothing like Frank,” Candy insisted. “Nothing at all.”
“I know he’s not, honey,” Rena said, reaching out to put her hand on Candy’s. “It’s just that nothing good is going to come of this, and I don’t want to see you hurt.”
“None of us want to see you hurt,” Kate said.
At that moment Rebecca saw Oscar come back down the stairs. He stood at the foot of the stairs for a moment, his head bowed, and his shoulders shaking. Rebecca felt a sudden rush of anxiety, and getting up from the table, she hurried over to him.
“Mama?” she asked, her voice catching on the word.
“She’s dead, child,” Oscar said, sobbing as he told her. “The light of my life is dead.”
Boot Hill Cemetery, November 10
A cold, dry wind whipped through the cemetery as nearly one hundred people gathered for Janie’s funeral. The coffin lay on the edge of the already opened grave, and Oscar stood beside it with his hand resting on the gleaming rosewood. His head was bowed, whether in prayer or grief, Rebecca didn’t know.
Rebecca had never actually known her mother until this past few months, and though she had grown close to her, the truth was that, in her mind, Julia was, always had been, and always would be her mother. But she had come to appreciate Janie, even finding it easier than she thought to call her “Mama.” She was saddened by Janie’s death, but had to confess that her grief didn’t match Oscar’s.
Most of the mourners were the men who frequented the Lucky Chance Saloon, and they stood in little clumps around the grave, a few of them coming over to mumble something to Rebecca before stepping up to Oscar to reach out and touch him. They were obviously uncomfortable around a weeping man, feeling powerless to help assuage his grief. Candy, Kate, and Rena were there as well, not dressed as they did when they greeted the customers, but as modestly as any schoolmarm.
All three of the girls had been solicitous of Rebecca, but even more so toward Oscar, whose grief was almost inconsolable.
There had not been a church service, but the Reverend T.J. Boyd volunteered to say a few words at the committal. Tall and thin, his nose was red in the cold wind as he stood looking out over the mourners.
“As I look out over those gathered here, I am reminded that I have never seen any of you in church, and that means that your souls are in peril.” He pointed to the coffin. “It is too late for this poor woman, who even now, is writhing in the agony of hell’s eternal fire. But it isn’t too late for all of you. Leave the saloons, the whorehouses, the dens of iniquity, and repent. Accept our Savior Jesus Christ and be born again, or you, like this poor miserable wretch, will burn in hell for eternity.”
The Reverend T.J. Boyd raised his right hand high in the air, his index finger pointed to heaven as his oratory rose to a pitch. “I ask you now to open your heart and accept ...”
That was as far as he got before Oscar laid him out with a hard uppercut to the preacher’s chin. Then something happened at a graveside interment that had never happened before. The mourners broke out into a loud, rousing cheer.