dude picked the wrong time to get off the train,” Doc said.
No one disagreed.
Jessie got back on the train and had a cry.
- 44 -
“Miguel throws the prettiest loop of any vaquero I’ve ever seen,” Goodnight said to San Saba. They were watching a team of six cowboys castrate some long yearlings that should have been cut months before. The vaquero Goodnight was praising was neither a young man nor a large man, but his skill with the lariat exceeded anything she had ever seen.
“Yes, quite a pretty loop,” San Saba said. In her time with Goodnight she had acquired some roping skills herself, but her roping did not compare with Miguel’s.
Goodnight, who rarely praised anyone, could not heap praise enough on Miguel.
“And it ain’t just his roping,” Goodnight went on. “He’s the best trail boss I know, and I’m pretty good with a trail myself. But Miguel will pick up a herd of three thousand and let them graze along and not lose a head—and most of them will weigh more in Kansas than they weighed in Texas. I’ve not the patience for that kind of driving. I push, and that’s asking for trouble.”
“You do push, Mr. Goodnight,” San Saba told him. “And for some reason you’re still nervous about me. I don’t know why.”
“I don’t either,” Goodnight admitted. “I suppose I’ve not had your opportunities. I know cattle and not much else.”
“How about your wife . . . there’s a lot to know there,” she said.
“Mary’s a force of nature and I’ve only one lifetime to learn about her.”
In the lots Miguel made a particularly difficult throw. The yearling went down and the cowboys were on him.
Miguel flashed a look and San Saba returned it. Goodnight saw the look but let it pass. He didn’t ask.
“I confess I’ve grown fond of Miguel, Mr. Goodnight,” she said. “He makes wonderful snares and gives me what he catches: prairie chickens, sometimes a quail. Mary and I and Flo often lunch on what Miguel snares.”
“I could probably eat a prairie chicken, if I was offered one,” Goodnight said.
“Maybe Mary will ask you to lunch,” she said. “Then you’ll be back to get another trail herd and we ladies will be back to beefsteak.”
“Miguel has a wife and thirteen children—did you know that, Mr. Goodnight?” she asked.
“I didn’t,” Goodnight admitted. “When I need Miguel I go to San Antonio and send for him. So far he’s always come.”
“Thirteen is a passel of children,” he said. “Maybe he likes to get away from them. I would.”
“Maybe, but mainly he comes for me,” she said. “We’re having a little romance. A very light one, no threats to the rest of our arrangements. There’s just a smile, like the one today. Just a smile, now and then. That’s as far as I care to go, romantically.”
Goodnight searched his mind for a reply, couldn’t find one—so he tipped his hat politely and walked off.
It stuck in his mind through supper, or dinner as the women came to call it. He mentioned it to Mary as she was getting ready for bed. She had her gown in her hand and held it in front of her while she looked at him.
“Did Saba tell you that or did you finally notice?”
“Notice what—I mainly just complimented his roping.”
With women it didn’t take long for things to slip out of kilter.
“I mainly just said what a good trail boss he was.”
“You managed to miss the main point, Charlie,” she said.
“I don’t have even a notion but I’m sure you’re going to tell me what the main point is,” he said. “I’ll just await the news.”
“Miguel’s in love with San Saba, that’s plain as the nose on your face,” Mary said just as she blew out the lantern—after which she pulled down her gown.
“Good lord,” Goodnight said. “He lives in the brush country, which is a damn long way from here. He only gets this way when I hire him to bring a herd—maybe twice a year. If he wants to snare prairie chickens and give
No one disagreed.
Jessie got back on the train and had a cry.
- 44 -
“Miguel throws the prettiest loop of any vaquero I’ve ever seen,” Goodnight said to San Saba. They were watching a team of six cowboys castrate some long yearlings that should have been cut months before. The vaquero Goodnight was praising was neither a young man nor a large man, but his skill with the lariat exceeded anything she had ever seen.
“Yes, quite a pretty loop,” San Saba said. In her time with Goodnight she had acquired some roping skills herself, but her roping did not compare with Miguel’s.
Goodnight, who rarely praised anyone, could not heap praise enough on Miguel.
“And it ain’t just his roping,” Goodnight went on. “He’s the best trail boss I know, and I’m pretty good with a trail myself. But Miguel will pick up a herd of three thousand and let them graze along and not lose a head—and most of them will weigh more in Kansas than they weighed in Texas. I’ve not the patience for that kind of driving. I push, and that’s asking for trouble.”
“You do push, Mr. Goodnight,” San Saba told him. “And for some reason you’re still nervous about me. I don’t know why.”
“I don’t either,” Goodnight admitted. “I suppose I’ve not had your opportunities. I know cattle and not much else.”
“How about your wife . . . there’s a lot to know there,” she said.
“Mary’s a force of nature and I’ve only one lifetime to learn about her.”
In the lots Miguel made a particularly difficult throw. The yearling went down and the cowboys were on him.
Miguel flashed a look and San Saba returned it. Goodnight saw the look but let it pass. He didn’t ask.
“I confess I’ve grown fond of Miguel, Mr. Goodnight,” she said. “He makes wonderful snares and gives me what he catches: prairie chickens, sometimes a quail. Mary and I and Flo often lunch on what Miguel snares.”
“I could probably eat a prairie chicken, if I was offered one,” Goodnight said.
“Maybe Mary will ask you to lunch,” she said. “Then you’ll be back to get another trail herd and we ladies will be back to beefsteak.”
“Miguel has a wife and thirteen children—did you know that, Mr. Goodnight?” she asked.
“I didn’t,” Goodnight admitted. “When I need Miguel I go to San Antonio and send for him. So far he’s always come.”
“Thirteen is a passel of children,” he said. “Maybe he likes to get away from them. I would.”
“Maybe, but mainly he comes for me,” she said. “We’re having a little romance. A very light one, no threats to the rest of our arrangements. There’s just a smile, like the one today. Just a smile, now and then. That’s as far as I care to go, romantically.”
Goodnight searched his mind for a reply, couldn’t find one—so he tipped his hat politely and walked off.
It stuck in his mind through supper, or dinner as the women came to call it. He mentioned it to Mary as she was getting ready for bed. She had her gown in her hand and held it in front of her while she looked at him.
“Did Saba tell you that or did you finally notice?”
“Notice what—I mainly just complimented his roping.”
With women it didn’t take long for things to slip out of kilter.
“I mainly just said what a good trail boss he was.”
“You managed to miss the main point, Charlie,” she said.
“I don’t have even a notion but I’m sure you’re going to tell me what the main point is,” he said. “I’ll just await the news.”
“Miguel’s in love with San Saba, that’s plain as the nose on your face,” Mary said just as she blew out the lantern—after which she pulled down her gown.
“Good lord,” Goodnight said. “He lives in the brush country, which is a damn long way from here. He only gets this way when I hire him to bring a herd—maybe twice a year. If he wants to snare prairie chickens and give
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