dirt over the fire. “Toss your gear in the wagon. And start hooking up the mules.”
If Cook ignored the cowboys, so would she.
Jackson grabbed a saddle off the porch railing. “We’ve got work to do.” All the men went to the round pen and picked a horse to saddle.
The wagon was the biggest one she had ever seen. Usually, they used one with two wheels. This monster had four large wheels and siding that was taller than her. De Zavala was painted on the side. Leave it to her father to make a grand statement.
The mules for the wagon grazed nearby with long ropes attached to their leather hackamores. There were six. One of her jobs would be hitching them to the wagon that carried all the food supplies. Cook told her the placement was important to keep everything balanced.
She bit her lip and put her hands on her hips.
For years, she rode with her father, learning how to handle a horse, rope and brand cattle. Not once did she wonder how it all came to be. That had been someone else’s job.
Now she was expected to harness mules that didn’t look very cooperative. She could do this. Really, how difficult could it be? She knew tack and how to...she lifted the pieces of leather.
Long lines, straps, loops and the large collar with loose pieces that she didn’t have any knowledge of.
When Jackson realized she didn’t even know how to do her first job, he would leave her behind.
Maybe if she got the mules in line, the pieces would come together. The mules ignored her when she tried to move them. “Boys, this would be a great deal easier if you would stand in front of the wagon.”
After pulling and pushing, coercing and urging, she stood with her hands on her hips. It appeared that figuring out how to arrange the tack was not her biggest problem.
The creaking of leather warned her she wasn’t alone. “It helps if you attach the mules to the wagon.”
At the sound of Jackson’s deep voice, her shoulders sagged. She was caught. With a deep breath, she turned, making sure to stand tall.
Confidence was all about how the world saw you. Leaning across the saddle horn, the grim set of his mouth was at odds with the merriment in his eyes.
Everything about Jackson confused her.
He dismounted and let the reins drop to the ground. “Here.” From his pocket, he pulled wedges of apples. “Make friends with them, and they will do whatever you want. A good wrangler can get his mules to line up in order with one signal. They like routine and treats.” He laid his hand flat, and the dark gray mule followed him to the wagon.
“Cook wanted oxen, but the mules move out faster and are easier to train.”
She approached the one closest to her. It reached for the apple with its large lips and nudged her. Taking the rope, she placed him next to the gray mule in front of the wagon.
As they moved the six mules, Jackson explained the importance of their order. Step by step, he walked her through attaching the collars and lines.
“Make sure to use the pads, and that all the straps are lying flat. If they develop sores, they can’t pull and we can’t move.”
“How does this look?” She stepped back and watched him check her work.
Testing the cinches and traces, he nodded. “This is good. You want to make sure they don’t get tangled. Once you get this down, it will go by much faster. You’ll be doing this on your own from now on, so make sure to do it correctly.” He went on to explain all the things that could go wrong if she messed up.
Not that she didn’t already have enough to worry about. This was it. Now it was her responsibility.
Once the mules stood ready, Jackson leaped onto his horse with one swing of his leg. He tipped his hat and left for the cattle station.
Alone, she turned to the gray long-eared mule. “I can do this.”
Teams of cowboys gathered small groups of steers into holding pens to finish the last brandings. Jackson leaned over the saddle horn and watched the ranch’s Mexican cowboys lasso and brand. They were doing two to three for every one steer his cowboys covered. The Americans were proficient. They just weren’t as fast as the Mexicans.
One of his men, Rory Brosnen, went over to see how they were moving through the herd so quickly. The local men seemed to anticipate what the longhorns were going to do every step of the way.
From behind him, the boy yelled a warning. With a sharp movement, Jackson turned to see a two-thousand-pound bull charging at him.
He pulled on the reins to move his horse, but before he had time to do anything else, Tiago had his rope swinging over his head and caught the bull by both back legs, causing it to stumble. The vaquero who had been showing one of the American cowboys some tricks, had his rope around the bull’s wide sharp horns.
The angry animal forgot his original target and turned to the horseless vaquero. Jackson swung his rope and caught a front leg of the bull, bringing him down for a short time. The cowboy joined the vaquero and looped his rope over the horns.
Once the bull was down, the horses and men set back and kept the rope taut, the boy jumped from his horse and ran to the bull, ready to tie him. Worried about the kid’s size, Jackson did the same and met the boy at the sharp hooves. “Give me the tie, and I’ll do it.” He held his hand out. Without hesitation, the kid dropped the short tie into his grasp.
While the others kept the dangerous horns out of the way, he tied the legs and stepped back. Turning to the newest member of his crew, he slapped him on his small shoulder. The kid’s chest moved in double time, and his whole body had a slight tremor. He might have been scared, but he reacted quickly. He was stronger and faster than his height would indicate.
“Good work. You saved my horse and me from a tussle with an angry bull.”
Head down, the boy took a step back and cleared his throat. “What’s a full-grown bull doing here? I thought we were driving steers?”
“Good question.”
“Don’t worry, jefe.” One of the vaqueros yelled over his shoulder. Jackson wasn’t used to being called boss, in English or Spanish. “He’ll be a steer before you leave mañana.”
The boy was already back on his horse. Jackson watched him as he coiled his rope and left the work area. He narrowed his eyes and studied the boy’s movements.
Something was off. If he didn’t know better, he’d say the young Santiago moved like a girl.
He frowned and shook his head. There was no way, with those kinds of skills, that he was a female. He’d hardly seen grown men act so fast with such precision. It would be impossible for a young female.
The crews worked together, starting to mix and talk. He hoped his cowboys learned a few tricks before going on the drive.
He
