Longarm swept his eyes over the nibbled stubble of buffalo grass and said, “I see a break in the fence, over to the left of your windmill and watering tank. What are you missing?”
“I just told you. A cow,” Durler said impatiently.
“They’re all cows, damn it. Are you short a calf, a heifer, a steer, or what?”
“Hell, Longarm, I just count ‘em. I don’t know ‘em personal.”
“Yeah, you’re overgrazing too. Takes more than five acres a head of this short grass to graze longhorn. You’re treating them like a dairy herd instead of range cows.”
“Look, it’s the only way I know. How would you do it if you were me?”
“You’ve got a water tank to keep them from straying more than a few miles. I’d get rid of that foolish barbed wire and let ‘em at the grass all about.”
“Then how would we catch ‘em when it comes time to slaughter?”
“Round ‘em up, of course. Don’t you have any Indians who know how to drive critters in off the range?”
“I can’t get ‘em to watch the fool cows while they’re fenced, and to tell the truth, I don’t know much more than they do about working these spooky cattle.”
“I see some that ain’t branded, too. You do need help and that’s a fact.” Before Calvin could defend himself, Longarm squinted off to the east and said, “I see twenty—no, twenty-one head coming out to join you.”
Durler looked across the quarter-section and nodded, saying, “That’s Roping Sally and two of her hands with the new stock I ordered. Wait till you meet her. She is purely something.”
“We met in town this afternoon. Sure sits a horse nice andBoy, look at that, will you? The herd smelled strangers and was about to spill before she cut and milled the leader. That gal knows her cows!”
“She’s crazy, too. Nan says it’s not natural for a gal to dress like a man and ride astride like that. Nan’s scared of her. Thinks she might be one of those funny gals who are queer for their own kind.”
Longarm didn’t answer, not knowing about Roping Sally one way or the other. The cowgirl spotted the break in the fence and, thinking in the saddle, swung the leaders for it with a slap of her coiled leather reata. Her two helpers swung in behind the stragglers without being ordered, and together, the three of them worked the little herd through the gap to join the others.
Roping Sally called out something to one of her hands and the man dismounted to repair the fence as Roping Sally loped her big buckskin their way, her long hair streaming from under her Stetson as she shook out a community loop from her coil. She was halfway to them as she twirled the braided leather rope above her head, letting the loop grow larger and larger as she came. Then she flicked her wrist and the loop dropped vertically in front of her like a huge hoop. The well-trained buckskin leaped through it without breaking stride as she twisted in the saddle and recovered her loop with a wild whoop of sheer animal joy.
Durler laughed and said, “Every time she does that I keep saying it ain’t possible. How in hell does she do that without hanging up in her own rope?”
Longarm said, “It’s not easy. Pretty as hell, though.”
Roping Sally reined in near them, reeling in her reata like a fishing line with a series of blurred wrist movements and slapping the coil back in place neatly as she called out, “I found a stray I suspicioned was yours, Cal. Likely a half-weaned calf looking for his mama and halfway to town when he run into us. You gonna take my word on the weights this time or do we have to cut ‘em out and run ‘em over to your fool scales by the slaughterhouse again?”
Before the agent could answer, Longarm said, “We were just talking about that, Sally. New government policy. Uncle Sam’s buying them by the head, now.”
“Do tell? What’s the offering price per head these days?”
“They’re offering ten dollars a head for scrub stock. But seeing you’ve got some prime beef mixed in with those other cripples, how does fifteen sound?”
“Shit! I can sell ‘em to the meat packers at railside for more than that!”
“I know. Maybe you’d do better that way.”
She grinned and said, “Might have known you’d wise old Cal up. When do I get my money? Ain’t been paid for the last beef yet.”
Durler said, “I sent the voucher weeks ago, Sally. You know how Washington is.”
“That’s for damn sure. I’d starve to death if nobody was buying my good beef. Say, Longarm, what are you doing in that army saddle? I thought you was a cow man.”
“Used to be. Working for Uncle Sam on a government horse and rig these days.”
“Hell, I wanted to see if you could throw a rope without hanging yourself. You want to borrow Buck?”
Longarm was about to decline, but he noticed a handful of young Blackfoot had drifted over to watch the sundown diversions.
He remembered the idea he’d had in the cigar store and nodded. By now one of the teenaged hands riding with Roping Sally had joined them and the girl swung out of her dally saddle as he steadied the buckskin for her. She walked over to Longarm with a swish of her chaps and said, “You can tie down if you’ve a mind to. My reata’s a new one.”
Longarm dismounted and walked around to the near side of the buckskin. He shot a glance at the girl’s mount before he put a foot in the stirrup, muttering, “That’s the way it’s going to be, huh?”
He swung up in the saddle as the grinning boy passed him the reins and moved away. The buckskin took a deep, shuddering breath and exploded between Longarm’s legs.
He’d expected it since noticing the white of the buckskin’s rolling left eye, so he was braced for a dispute from the one-woman horse. Buck crow-hopped five or six times, saw he had a rider aboard, and started getting serious.
Roping Sally yelled, “Ride him, cowboy! Wahooooo!” as Buck and Longarm got acquainted. The buckskin shook himself like a wet dog at the top of every ascent through the evening sky and came down with the spine-snapping jolt of a serious bronc who wasn’t afraid of sinking up to his knees in bedrock. The Indian kids were shouting now. Longarm didn’t know if they were rooting for him or the horse as he noticed Buck was losing interest in killing him. He yanked his hat off with his free hand and started slapping it across the buckskin’s face, grunting, “Let’s get it all out of you, you old son of a bitch!”
But Buck had had enough. He was sensible as well as ornery and it’s tedious to work up a sweat over a man who won’t be thrown. Longarm saw that he had the buckskin under control and ran him hard once around the inside of the fence line to get the feel of him as he uncoiled a loop of reata. As he came by at a dead run, he whirled his medium-sized loop just twice to open it, and threw.
The dismounted Roping Sally crabbed sideways as she saw his intention but the leather loop came down around her head and shoulders anyway as she grabbed it, yelling, “You drag me and I’ll kill you!”
Longarm let go the coil to keep from doing any such thing as he reined Buck to a skidding stop, whirled him around, and dropped to the earth with a bow of mock gallantry.
Roping Sally looked relieved and said, “I thought you were mad. I forgot to tell you old Buck ain’t named after his color.”
“It was sort of interesting. You want to do me another favor?”
Roping Sally disentangled herself from her own rope and coiled the other thirty-five feet in, clucking about the way he’d let the oiled leather lay in the dusty stubble before she asked, “What’s your pleasure? I don’t screw, if that’s what you mean.”
“You see them Indian kids watching? Cal, here, has been trying to get them interested in working cows. I thought maybe you, your hands, and me might show them how much fun it can be.”