Cowgirl Trail Read online

  COWGIRL TRAIL

  SUSAN PAGE DAVIS

  A

  MORGAN FAMILY

  SERIES

  MOODY PUBLISHERS

  CHICAGO

  ©2012 by

  SUSAN PAGE DAVIS

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Edited by Pam Pugh

  Interior design: Ragont Design

  Cover design: Gearbox

  Cover image: Masterfile (842-03198572)

  Author photo: Marion Sprague of Elm City Photo

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Davis, Susan Page.

  Cowgirl trail / Susan Page Davis.

  p. cm.—(Texas trails : a Morgan Family series)

  ISBN 978-0-8024-0586-9

  1. Cowgirls—Fiction. 2. Cattle drives—Fiction. 3. Families—History—Fiction. 4. Texas—History—19th century—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3604.A976C69 2012

  y 813’.6—dc22

  2011042354

  We hope you enjoy this book from River North Fiction by Moody Publishers. Our goal is to provide high-quality, thought-provoking books and products that connect truth to your real needs and challenges. For more information on other books and products written and produced from a biblical perspective, go to www.moodypublishers.com or write to:

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  Imprint of Moody Publishers

  820 N. LaSalle Boulevard

  Chicago, IL 60610

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  Printed in the United States of America

  Susan Page Davis is a gifted writer with a passion for God. Her stories never fail to delight and intrigue. Susan gives special attention to those wonderful details that readers love, and I highly recommend her books.

  —TRACIE PETERSON, bestselling author of the Striking a Match series

  Susan Page Davis is one of the few authors whose books occupy a great deal of space on my bookshelves. I discovered her several years ago and immediately set out acquiring as many of her titles as I could find. Susan’s books are a must for anyone who demands great writing, memorable characters, accurate settings, and attention-holding plots. I consider her one of today’s finest Christian novelists.

  —COLLEEN L. REECE, author of more than 140 books

  Susan Page Davis always gives the reader an amazing read. Strong characters, intriguing plotlines, and settings that are completely authentic. Her books immediately go to the top of my to-be-read pile when they release.

  —LENA NELSON DOOLEY, author of the McKenna’s Daughters series and Will Rogers Medallion award winning Love Finds You in Golden, New Mexico

  Susan Page Davis has a storyteller’s knack for pulling a page-turning novel from real historical events.

  —LYNETTE SOWELL, author of All That Glitters, 2009 Carol Award finalist, Short Historical

  I have come to expect exciting plots, great characters overcoming physical and spiritual challenges, and vibrant and historically accurate settings from Susan Page Davis. And she doesn’t disappoint.

  —HENRY MCLAUGHLIN, award-winning author of Journey to Riverbend

  To Vickie and Darlene,

  my fellow authors in this series.

  Thank you so much for your support

  and encouragement all along the trail.

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  EPILOGUE

  PROLOGUE

  ROCKING P RANCH,

  NEAR BRADY, TEXAS, JULY 1877

  The princess wants to ride this morning. Saddle up her horse.” Jack Hubble, the ranch foreman, clapped Alex on the shoulder and walked past him into the barn.

  Alex shot a glance toward the house, but the boss’s daughter hadn’t come out yet. “Uh … which horse?”

  “Duchess, of course. Come on, I’ll show you her gear.” Jack strode into the tack room, and Alex hurried after him.

  “That’s the chestnut mare out back?”

  “That’s right. Here’s Miss Maggie’s saddle.” Jack laid a hand on the horn of a fancy stock saddle with tooled flowers and scrollwork on the skirts.

  “She doesn’t ride sidesaddle?”

  “Nah. Maggie’s been riding like a boy since she was a little kid. Her father lets her get away with it, so don’t say anything.”

  Alex nodded. His own sisters rode astride around the home place, and no one thought a thing about it. Why should he expect the boss’s thirteen-year-old daughter to behave differently? But he had. Maggie Porter was a pretty girl, blonde and blue-eyed. She’d looked like a doll on Sunday morning, wearing a pink dress with gloves and a white straw bonnet when the family set out for church in the buckboard.

  “Here’s Duchess’s bridle.” Jack placed it in his hand.

  “Just saddle the mare and take it out to her?” Alex asked.

  “Get your horse ready, too.”

  Alex stared at him. “Me? You mean I’m going with her?” He’d been hired at the Rocking P less than two weeks earlier. Now wasn’t the time to argue with his foreman, but it seemed a little strange.

  Jack laughed. “You’re low man around here. Oh, the fellas don’t mind, but it gets kind of boring. It’s an easy morning for you. And Maggie’s a good kid. Let her go wherever she wants on Rocking P land, but make sure she doesn’t do anything dangerous. Where’s your gun?”

  “In the bunkhouse.”

  “You’ll want it today, just in case.”

  “In case of what?” Alex’s first thought was Comanche, but the tribes were now confined to reservations—his parents had followed the saga of the Numinu with special interest.

  “You never know, do you?” Jack said. “Snakes, wild hogs, drifters.”

  “All right. How long does she ride?”

  “As long as she wants, but get her home by noon. Her mother gets fretful if she’s late for dinner.” Jack looked him up and down. “Oh, there’s one other thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Maggie’s young, but she’s starting to notice you boys. Don’t do anything to give her ideas.”

  “You mean—”

  “I mean, she’s a thirteen-year-old girl on an isolated ranch. She’s cute, and she’s smart. She’s getting to the age, if you take my meaning.”

  “I’m not sure I do, sir.”

  “It’s Jack,” the foreman said. “My meaning is this: if you lay a finger on that girl, I’ll tear you apart, and then her father will flay your hide. You got it?”

  “Yes, sir. Jack.”

  “Good.” Jack ambled out to the corral.

  Alex pulled in a deep breath and hefted Maggie’s saddle.

  Maggie watched the new cowpuncher saddle the horses. He’d sure taken long enough to get the tack out and hitch Duchess and his own mount in the corral. The rest of the hands were long gone, out toward the north range.

  She stood outside the fence while he saddled Duchess, then a black-and-white pinto
for himself. He never looked her way once while he worked. He wasn’t very old—seventeen or eighteen, she guessed. And he was cute. If Carlotta were here, she’d swoon. Maybe sometime she’d ask Papa if the new cowboy could escort her as far as the Herreras’ ranch.

  Her cheeks heated at the idea. When had she started thinking about boys that way—and showing one off to her best friend? She supposed it was Carlotta’s fault. She always chattered about the boys in town and the young men on the various ranches. Carlotta was a year older than Maggie, and her mother was talking of sending her to Mexico City to stay with her aunt for a year or two and finish her education. Maggie hoped she wouldn’t go.

  The cowboy finished adjusting the straps and then double-checked Duchess’s cinch before he led the horses out of the corral.

  “Here you go, Miss Porter.”

  “It’s Maggie. You’re Alex, aren’t you?”

  “That’s right. Do you need a boost?”

  She scowled at him. “Not since I was seven.”

  “Oh. Excuse me.” He turned away and hid his smile.

  It was a very nice smile, not mean or anything. Maggie wished she had let him help her, but she’d gotten to the age where Mama said she mustn’t let any of the men boost her into the saddle. Except Papa, of course.

  Alex swung onto the pinto’s back. By the time Maggie was up and had smoothed her divided skirt and gathered the reins, he looked as though he’d sat there an age, waiting for her.

  “Where are we goin’?” he asked.

  The wind gusted and caught the brim of the felt hat she wore riding. She reached up and pulled it down over her ears. “I thought we’d head south. There’s a pond there, and sometimes there are birds on the water.”

  “All right. I’ve never done this before. Do you want to lead the way, or what?”

  She flushed again, and her embarrassment was compounded by the realization that he noticed. “You can ride beside me.”

  He nodded, and she couldn’t read the expression in his eyes. Did he think she was too old to need a nursemaid? Or too young to be blushing when a cowboy looked her way?

  They walked the horses for a few minutes, until they got off the road and onto the range. The grass was dry and brownish—it hadn’t rained in weeks. But the wind never stopped blowing.

  Alex didn’t say anything, but matched his horse’s stride to Duchess’s when Maggie picked up a trot.

  After a minute, she said, “I’m sorry to keep you from your regular work. I expect you’d rather be with Jack and the others.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t mind riding. Beats sinking fence posts.”

  Maggie nodded. Some of the men complained about all the new fences they were stringing. Her father said they had to do it, so Jack told the men to put a lid on it—she’d heard him tell Harry and Nevada that.

  “Some of the men think riding with kids is a waste of their time,” she ventured.

  “Well, I can see your pa not wanting you out here alone. It’s a big range. My sisters aren’t allowed to go far by themselves.”

  “You have sisters?”

  “Two. One’s about your age.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Elena.”

  Maggie thought about that. Elena sounded Spanish, though Alex didn’t look Mexican. He had brown hair and eyes, but not too dark, and not the olive-toned skin Carlotta and her family had.

  “I wish I had a sister.” Sometimes she felt the loneliness sharply. With only her parents and the ranch hands around, some days she thought she’d die of boredom. She’d never been to school—her mother taught her at home. But they did have regular church in Brady, and she saw the Bradleys or the Herreras once a month or so.

  They came over a rise and looked down on the pond.

  “Now, that’s a pretty sight.” Alex gazed down at the water and the trails leading over the prairie to it, the two cottonwoods on the far bank, and the waterfowl gliding on the surface.

  Maggie smiled and squeezed Duchess a little with her legs. The mare pricked up her ears and tensed. “Race you there.” She kicked Duchess, and they tore for the pond. A moment later, Alex and the pinto edged up beside them. He didn’t tell her to be careful or to watch out for holes. He just sneaked that pinto past her inch by inch. He reached the pond first and turned to look at her, grinning.

  Maggie laughed at the joy of it. Finally, someone to ride with who wouldn’t let her win a race and wouldn’t scold her or fuss over her. She was almost there when the wind seized her hat and blew it off.

  “Whoa!” She pulled Duchess up and wheeled to see where her hat went. The wind buffeted it along like a tumbleweed. Before she could decide how best to fetch it, Alex’s horse streaked past her.

  At first she thought he’d fallen off—the saddle was empty. Then she saw his boot sticking over the cantle, and one hand clamped on the saddle horn. The next thing she knew, he’d galloped the pinto right up to the hat, reached down while hanging off the horse’s side, and snatched it off the ground. Then he bounced up into his saddle, pivoted the horse on his haunches, and bounded back to her.

  He halted next to Duchess and dusted off Maggie’s hat with his cuff. Smiling, he bowed from the waist and held the Stetson out to her. “Your chapeau, Miss Maggie.”

  She stared at him, still not believing what she’d seen. “How did you learn to do that? Are you a circus rider?”

  He chuckled, obviously pleased that he’d startled her. “My mother used to live with the Comanche, and she learned a lot of their riding tricks.”

  She eyed the tousle-haired boy keenly—because he seemed more like a boy now than a hired man—and decided he was telling the truth. “That was amazing.”

  “Thank you, miss. Now where would you like to go?”

  Maggie put her hat on and tugged it down. “Guess I need a string on this thing. Let’s follow the stream up to the hills. There used to be buffalo bones up there.”

  Alex grinned. “Let’s go. We just have to be back by noon.” He glanced up at the sun.

  Maggie fumbled inside her collar and pulled out the pendant watch her mother made her wear when she went out. It had a pretty enameled flower design on the back. She wouldn’t mind, except that she had to wear it. She’d have liked it better if Mama didn’t remind her all the time.

  “It’s not even ten o’clock. We’ve got ages.” She set out gleefully, her heart singing. A friend. She would try not to think of him as a cute boy. But she could hardly wait to tell Carlotta about him.

  CHAPTER ONE

  ROCKING P Ranch

  near BRADY, TEXAS, MAY 1884

  Cattle herded easier than cowboys any day. Alex Bright often wondered why he’d agreed to be foreman on the Rocking P, when riding fence and busting broncs was so much easier.

  “It ain’t right,” Leo Eagleton insisted. “You gotta tell the boss, Alex.”

  “Tell him what?” Alex asked. “You know he’s not changing his mind on this.”

  “Well, we don’t have to take it.” Nevada Hatch, Alex’s righthand man on the ranch, looked as angry as Leo. “Mr. Porter used to let us run our own herds on the range. If he’s going to take that away from us, he’s got to raise our wages. That’s all.”

  “He won’t,” Leo said.

  “I’m thinking of looking for work at another ranch,” Joe Moore, the wrangler, said as he untied the cinch on his saddle. “We hardly get enough pay here as it is, but if we can’t run our own brands—”

  “We oughta strike,” Nevada said.

  Alex stared at him. “Strike?”

  “Sure. They did it last year, in the panhandle.”

  “Yeah, but …” Alex shook his head. “That’d be shooting your horse out from under you. This ranch is a good place to work.”

  “Was,” Nevada conceded. “Lately it’s not so great.”

  “That’s right,” Leo said. “Mr. Porter won’t give me time to fix the roof on the cabin. Sela complains about it all the time. Drip, drip, drip—she nags j
ust like the leaky roof when it rains.”

  The other men laughed, and Joe said, “At least it ain’t rained for a while.”

  “Yeah, be thankful for that,” Alex told him. But he knew Leo spoke the truth, and it bothered him. In the last year, the ranch’s owner had paid out less and less for maintenance on the buildings. He hadn’t given the men who stayed on over the winter the Christmas “extra” he’d always handed out in the past—a few dollars and some new clothes, usually. The lack of a celebration and gifts hadn’t sat well with the men.

  One of the older men, Harry Jensen, had been on the Rocking P a lot longer than Alex had. “You know, our wages haven’t been raised in ten years,” he said.

  “Prices have gone up, though,” Joe said.

  Alex let out a deep breath. He was going to have to talk to Mr. Porter, no getting around it. This new edict about the men’s herds was the last straw. Being able to brand a few mavericks and sell off a few beeves of their own each year meant a lot to the men, especially married men like Leo.

  A couple of the other hands ambled over. Usually when they rode in for the night, the boys couldn’t wait to get inside for supper, but this time they lingered as if waiting for him to say more.

  “You know Porter’s got enough land for every one of us to run a dozen head or so,” Nevada said.

  “Yeah, but he claims all the mavericks on his range belong to him, and he might have a point,” Alex said.

  “Then he should up our wages.” Harry looked around at the others, and a murmur of agreement supported him.

  “But we’re starting spring roundup tomorrow,” Alex said.

  “Exactly.” Nevada’s bushy eyebrows drew together. “We hit him when it will hurt the most.”

  Joe spat tobacco juice in the grass. “If we refuse to round up his stock, Porter won’t have a herd to sell this spring.”

  Harry nodded. “I say we strike.”

  “Hold on,” Alex said. “What makes you think Mr. Porter wouldn’t go and hire a new crew?”

  “We’d have to get the men on the other ranches in on it,” Nevada said. “Tell them what we’re doing.”