set the lamp carefully on the low box, went to the one small window, and opened it. The air inside was very stale, and the blankets on the bed smelled of men and sweat. He took the blankets to the window and aired them, shaking them carefully, and then remade the bed. After that he opened his suitcase, feeling a need to see and to touch the few belongings that were part of home. He folded and unfolded the heavy sweater Taraleean had knitted for him before he left Scotland, and he took out his father’s old Bible, a small one John Cameron had always carried in his pocket. Kelsey held it tenderly in his hands, stroking the worn leather. He found a shirt Prim had given him. In the pocket was a postcard she’d once sent him from Edinburgh while she was on a trip. He peered in the dim light to read the brief, neatly written message: “Be home in a fortnight—your loving lass, Prim.” For a long time he sat with the postcard in his hand, staring at the log walls of the bedroom with a sense of unreality. At last he closed the suitcase, undressed, blew out the lamp, and got into bed.
The bunk was very hard; his sore heels burned like fire, and his legs kept twitching. His mind began to work feverishly with thoughts of the past and the future. He figured again the amount of money he owed Big Mina and tried to guess what would happen to him if Monte Maguire didn’t let him stay on at the Red Hill Ranch. And when he thought of his meeting with Tommy a sense of distress filled him; although Tommy had been pleasant at the supper table and during the rest of the evening, there had been something lacking. It’s like there’s no warmth left in him, Kelsey thought. Had this strange, cold country changed his cousin from the easy, big-hearted lad Kelsey had known around the harbor? Or had he never really known Tommy well enough in those early years to understand what kind of person he was?
Kelsey’s eyelids closed. He dropped into deep sleep and began to dream of the day his father died, the day he had been a lad of thirteen, walking down the village street with his mother. Taraleean had a little basket over her arm; she’d fried a fresh fish and baked scones for her husband’s lunch. They came into the shop and saw his father slumped forward in the old chair, his chin resting on his chest. Taraleean put down the basket and tiptoed forward, bending over John Cameron to cover his eyes with her hands and whisper, “Who is it?” It was so quiet then, and Kelsey heard her voice change as she said, “John—John!” And the sound of her sorrow began, drifting out to the quiet harbor street. The women of the village came running, their long full skirts fluttering like frightened birds. They pushed past him, saying, “Oh, dear God! It is the sound the Irish mothers make when their sons have been drowned at the sea! Taraleean has lost her man!”
Kelsey wakened, shaking, and felt the strange bed under him. And he thought that grief was a thing a man was never free of, for it came back from some far place in the mind to live again when least expected. He lay in the darkness, remembering the night he had sat with family and friends by the casket of his father in the front parlor at home. All that night his sisters had combed their black hair, weeping and using the new tortoise-shell combs an uncle had given them. And toward morning he had cried to his mother, “Make the lassies leave their hair be!”
Then Taraleean had put her arms around him and said, “Steady, lad. You must be strong. Who is to help me run the shop if I can’t count on you?”
He turned over in bed, punching the lumpy pillow that smelled even more rank than the blankets, and he longed for his room in Taraleean’s house, the big clean room with the fireplace in the corner. I mustn’t think on it, he told himself. That’s all past. He heard a cow bawl on the Red Hill meadow. Cattle, that was what he must put his mind on. And the cow foreman, the man Jake. Jake could tell him what he must know.
CHAPTER III
Kelsey wakened early. He stretched his aching legs and tried to go back to sleep. Finally he got up, dressed, and went down to the kitchen. There was no one around; the fire hadn’t been started in the coal range. From one of the main-floor bedrooms came the sound of Tommy’s snoring. Kelsey found an old jacket hanging on the kitchen wall, slipped into it, and went outside. It was a cold, clear morning; a faint red showed in the east. He walked toward the barn, looking curiously at the corrals. He was leaning against the fence when a man came out of the barn—a tall, stooped man with wide hips like a woman’s. He was leading a saddle horse, walking mincingly in high-heeled boots and wearing wide, flapping leather pants. A black handkerchief was tied around his neck. He saw Kelsey, shoved his hat back from his forehead where a line of white lay above the tan of his face, and grinned.
“Mornin’, Kelsey.” His voice was low and soft. “Heard you’d blown in when I come home last night. I gotta ride the north pasture—coupla heifers are on my mind.” He moved on up to Kelsey, pulled off a glove, and thrust out his hand. It was a smooth white hand, but the grip was firm. “I’m Jake, Monte’s cow boss.”
Everything about Jake was neat and immaculate, from the creased trousers to the top of his big dark hat. Kelsey tried to keep from staring at him, finally blurted out, “Man, how can you have hands like that and work?”
Jake smiled. “I keep ’em that way. Cowpunchers got a reputation for havin’ pretty hands. That’s why the women like us; we don’t rough ’em up too much. I see what I gotta see from the saddle, and most of the work I do can be done with gloves on. Punchin’ cows ain’t like fixin’ fence or shovelin’ manure, kid.”
“I’d like to go with you to see the heifers.”
“You would, huh?” Jake blinked. “Well, I never could figure out a man who wanted to get outta bed until he had to, but you’re welcome to string along. Hold this nag and I’ll fetch you a horse.” He started toward the barn and turned. “Ever been on a horse before?”
“No.”
“It’s a damn good job I asked. You mighta been kissin’ the sagebrush. Don’t worry. I’ll get you an old cowpony that knows more than both of us put together. Say, you don’t have any boots or chaps—well, it won’t matter, for we’re not travelin’ far. North pasture’s only a step.” He looked Kelsey over for a moment. “Reckon you’ll do, kid.” A little later he came out of the barn with the horse. Kelsey stepped eagerly forward.
“Hold it, kid! Even an old horse ain’t gonna tolerate that. You’re on the wrong side. Start over. Take the reins and the horn in one hand—like so. Now reach for the stirrup, and up you go.” And he laughed as Kelsey pulled himself awkwardly to the saddle. “Them stirrups is long, but you won’t be runnin’ no races.”
They rode slowly through the pasture Kelsey had walked across the day before. The cattle were scattered and quiet. There was no wind, and to Kelsey the earth seemed more remote than before, for it had a darker, bleaker appearance.
“We always keep the heifers here,” Jake said. “They been bred as long yearlings, so they’ll calf early, for first calves don’t always come easy. We gotta watch ’em, and we don’t turn ’em out on the flats as soon as the older cows. Older cows can calf by themselves.”
“I don’t know anything about cattle,” Kelsey said. “I couldn’t ask a question that made sense.”
Jake gave him a sidelong glance. “Well, there ain’t much to say about it. You can put the whole shebang in a few words—feed ’em and breed ’em. That’s all of it, kid.” Jake yawned and then straightened in the saddle, staring ahead. “Just the way I had it figured; them two have dropped their calves, but trouble’s started. Well, I’ll be damned. One of ’em don’t want her calf; she’s tryin’ to steal the other heifer’s.” He kicked his horse into a lope, heading toward two young cows standing off by themselves. Kelsey’s horse plunged after Jake’s, and he clung to the saddle horn while the saddle smacked him briskly on the backside.
He
