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  “I feel the same way about her myself,” Bat said.

  “In fact, if that bonnet is for Mrs. Sommers, I wouldn't say a word to let the cat out of the bag. I'd understand if you're trying to surprise her or someone else,” Leta suggested, fishing for the name of the woman the bonnet was a gift for.

  “That's right kind of ya to keep the bonnet a secret. That's the way I want it,” Bat evaded, touching the brim of his hat as he backed to the door. “I best be goin' now, Leta. See ya Sunday mornin'.”

  Chapter Eight

  Sunday went almost like any other Sunday with his sister, Billie. Only this time he had a woman on each arm. After church, Billie insisted on Leta coming home with them for Sunday dinner. He had kind of thought she might invite Leta for dinner, but if she hadn't, he would have taken Leta to the hotel again for the Sunday meal.

  That afternoon, Bat spent most of his time listening to the women talk. They had a lot in common once he thought about it. Billie was a business woman, too. As such, she had made it clear she wasn't interested in finding a husband any time soon. Reckon that must be the way Leta felt. She sure seemed to be the same sort of independent woman his sister was.

  On Monday Bat headed for the ranch to spend the week, helping round up and sort cattle with his cowboys. Some of the hands had been branding the calves.

  The steers were sorted and drove to the west pasture by the creek, and the heifers grazed along the mountain range in the south pasture with the spring fed pond.

  That first evening when Bat stopped work, he was glad he'd brought a bag of groceries with him. He fried potatoes and threw in some eggs. After supper, he sat on the porch in the cool evening air by himself, trying to relax away the aches and pains. It was very clear he wasn't used to hard work.

  He believed this to be the quietest night he had ever known. It wasn't a bad thing, being alone with his thoughts. He was just about too tired to talk if someone had stopped to visit.

  When darkness moved in, Bat went inside and hunted the match box off the shelf by the cookstove. He took the shade off the lamp in the parlor and rub the match head fast against his jeans. The match whispered, and a flame flashed. Once the wick caught, Bat turned the flame down and put the shade back on.

  In the lamp light, his shadow shimmered on the dark wall behind him as he sat down in his rocking chair. It was an automatic reflex for him to glance up to smile a greeting at Hannah. The smile dried up on his face when he remembered Hannah wasn't looking down on him anymore.

  Billie had left a stack of Penny Dreadfuls on the lamp table. He was surprised she didn't throw them out with all the rest of the clutter when she was cleaning up. It must have been because she knew the books belonged to him and not Hannah.

  He picked up the book on top. Beadle's Dime Novels stuck out in big letters. The title was The Seminole Chief. Bat chuckled. He remembered Hannah telling him the Indian chief on the cover, waving his hands at three white men, reminded her of the Indian she had the fight with all those years ago.

  The next one was Ted Strong's Vigilantes. A good looking, well dressed cowboy in a red shirt was in the top of a tree. Bat decided he'd have to read that book over to find out why the man had to climb the tree. He'd forgot how the story went.

  Seth Jones, a frontier man in buckskins, was the cover of another one of the books. Bat always liked reading the wildly fantasized stories about the west. Even though he knew he'd read the whole stack, a bit of time had passed. Rereading the books would be like reading them for the first time.

  Bat started with The Seminole Chief and read until his eyes grew heavy. He realized he was going to have to give up reading for the night. He turned the corner of the page down to bookmark his place, figuring on starting where he left off the next night.

  The next evening, Bat had just barely sat down in his rocker and opened the book when there was a knock on the door.

  He found Hunker standing on the porch.

  “Come on in, Hunker. What can I do fer ya?” Bat asked.

  Hunker shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “Ya got anythin' important you're doin' tonight, Boss?”

  “Nope, I'm just readin' one of the Penny Dreadfuls I started a few years back is all. Why ya ask?”

  “The boys and me were wonderin' if ya would like to come over to the bunkhouse and play a game of cards or checkers with us?”

  “Much obliged for askin'. I believe I'd enjoy bein' with ya boys a lot better than sittin' here by myself. Let me get my hat.”

  The two men walked into the bunkhouse. An average sized, young man with rusty red hair, Jughead Smith pointed to an empty chair next to him. “Want in on a poker game, Boss?”

  “Depends on how high the stakes are?”

  “If ya can afford to lose some match sticks not high at all,” Hunker joked.

  “I didn't bring a box of matches with me,” Bat said.

  “No problem, Boss,” Windy Grant, a stout, muscle bound man, said. “We'll all spare ya a few of ours.”

  A couple hours went by. First one then the other of the cowhands yawned. Bat said, “Believe I better hit the hay before I go to sleep on this table. What ya boys got planned for tomorrow, Hunker?”

  Mick and Baldy are going to cut fire wood. The rest will be in the north range, finishin' up the branding. A couple more days should about do it.”

  “I reckon I can help with the brandin'. I'll be ready to leave with ya boys in the mornin',” Bat said.

  The next morning, Bat helped the men round up the cow and calf pairs they needed to pen up in the log corral. The men sorted the cows out of the corral and drove them over the hill to graze. The protesting cows would get in the way when the calves bawled if they weren't driven out of sight.

  Jughead had a fire going and the branding irons heated up by the time Hunker had a calf roped by the hind legs. Hunker dragged the calf out of the corral. A cowhand shut the gate and waited.

  Bat offered to hold the calf down while Jughead branded its rump. He hunkered down over the calf with a knee in its shoulder. Jughead touched the rump with the red hot iron. The calf struggled, bucked and threw Bat off. He landed hard on his back. Jughead put the iron back into the fire and helped Bat up.

  “Are ya all right, Boss?”

  “Sure, Jughead. I'll be more prepared for the next one,” Bat said sheepishly.

  Jughead shrugged with a look that said he questioned the wisdom of having an old man like Bat help them.

  Bat figured he better do a heck of a lot better if he wanted to keep his men's respect. For the duration of the morning, he used all the brawn and determination he could muster to hold down the struggling calves.

  After the noon meal, Hunker told Bat it was customary to change off with the hard jobs. Jake could hold the calves and Bat could open and shut the corral gate.

  When the day's work was over because the corral was empty, the cowhands quit for the day. Bat rode close to his porch steps and dismounted.

  Windy said, “I'll put yer horse up, Boss. I'm goin' that way any how.”

  “Much obliged,” Bat said. Stiffness settled into his aching muscles. He stepped down from his horse, tired enough to go right to bed.

  “See ya in the mornin',” Windy said, leading Blaze away.

  Morning came too soon. Bat had trouble getting out of bed, but after he moved around for awhile, he limbered up some. When he stepped out on the porch, Blaze was tied to the hitch rack in front of the house. Bat mounted and joined the crew gathering at the barn.

  When the cowboys started off they headed west. Bat caught up with Hunker. “Why we goin' to the west pasture?”

  “We got some late born steers left over from last summer we need to brand,” Hunker answered.

  The men gathered the herd up and penned them in a makeshift log corral. Bat eyed the steers with a grim determination. They were larger, stronger and twice as ornery as the small calves he'd held down the day before. Not that he was going to back away from his turn at throwing the steers
down.

  Windy roped a steer's back legs and dragged him out of the corral over by the fire. As the steer danced one way then the other with his front feet, Bat made a grab and twisted the steer's neck. The steer shook Bat off, sending him sailing a few feet away.

  Bat got up, wiped the sweat off his forehead with his shirt sleeve and headed back for more. Windy nodded at Jughead then toward Bat. Not that Bat minded the help. If he had that sucker down on the ground, he'd keep the big bruiser there.

  Jughead dropped the iron back in the fire. “Let me help ya, Boss.”

  The young cowboy made it look so easy when he grabbed the steer around the neck and twisted the calf off its feet. Jughead held him down long enough for Bat to get his knees in place on the calf's shoulders.

  “Got him now, Boss?” Jughead asked, picking up the red hot running iron.

  “Sure I do.” Bat grinned as he bragged, “He won't get away from me now.”

  Jughead touched the steer's rump with the running iron. The steer roared a protest as he buckled back on himself, throwing Bat back with him. Bat's right leg stretched out over the steer's rump and under the hot branding iron.

  Bat smelled burning cloth as hot pain seared through his lower leg. The steer bucked again. He scrambled to get off the steer and out of the way. He wasn't fast enough. The steer rolled over on Bat, penning his legs to the ground. Bat let out a howl. Windy backed his horse up and pulled the steer away from Bat.

  Next thing, Bat knew he woke up in his house. He was stretched out on the settee in his parlor with Hunker and Jughead leaning over him. Hunker's face looked worried as he laid a wet compress on Bat's brand burn and pulled the cover over him.

  Jughead felt Bat's forehead with a shaky hand. “Boss, ya awake?”

  “Yip, but I wish I wasn't,” Bat groaned.

  “I'd say he has a fever,” Jughead fretted.

  “Boss, I sent Baldy for the doctor,” Hunker said. “Ya need some tendin' to for that burn and both yer legs are swelled up to yer knees. We need to know fer sure ya don't have broken bones.”

  “All right,” Bat said. “That mean I have to stay put?”

  Hunker didn't feel like smiling. “I'm afraid ya don't have any choice.”

  Bat doze off as Hunker was speaking to him. When he woke, the house was dark except for the low flamed lamp on the reading table. He swore he heard Billie's voice in the kitchen. He figured he was dreaming and dozed back off.

  The next time, Bat woke up Doc Martin and Billie were staring down at him. Doc was shaking him on the shoulder.

  “What are ya two doin' here?”

  “Baldy stopped to tell me I might be needed out here to help you,” Billie said. “He said you got in to a fight with a steer, and you lost.”

  “Funny,” Bat said, licking his hot, cracked lips.

  “You've been hurt,” Doc said. He took his gold rim glasses off, folded them and stuffed them in his suit coat pocket. “Hunker sent for me to check you out.”

  “Well, how am I?” Bat asked.

  “You will live,” the doc cracked. “Your fever is going down. You need to drink some water to keep from dehydrating. Your legs are going to be stiff and sore for a few days. Keep them elevated as much as possible until the swelling goes down. I'm sending out a crutch from town for you to use for support when you get up. I'll leave some sulfur for Billie to put on the burn.” Doc, a gray haired distinguished man, winked at Billie. “Bat, when you run a cattle ranch, you really should do a better job of teaching your young cowhands what to brand. Let me clue you in. It ain't the boss.”

  Bat put his arm over his eyes and said dryly. “Ha, ha! The two ya would make a good pair of clowns.”

  The week passed with Bat struggling to walk. His legs had a mind of their own, and his lower legs were painful. At first, the crutch wasn't much help. It wanted to go one way, and he went the other. By Friday noon, he was finally getting around better.

  After dinner, he announced, “Sis, I've decided to spend the weekend in town at the girls. I'm tired of bein' shut in this house.”

  “Are you sure you're up to traveling to town?” Billie asked. She watched him move slowly, limping on one foot then the other from the table back to the settee.

  “I am,” Bat said through clinched teeth.

  “All right, if you say so. I'll have one of the cowhands hitch up my buggy and tie your horse on behind.”

  Once they arrived in Dead Horse, Billie helped Bat into the his daughters house and drove her buggy to the livery stable.

  Sunday morning, Bat was determined to go to church like usual. He had to get away from his girls. They were about to mother hen him to death. When the girls left for church, he told them to stop by the livery. He wanted Billie's buggy prepared and brought to the house. He'd drive over to Billie's from there.

  With a little effort, Bat managed to walk up the church steps and back down them. While he ate dinner with Billie, she asked him what his plans were for the next week.

  “I'm going back out to the ranch. By golly, ranch life isn't so bad,” Bat declared.

  Billie steepled her fingers under her chin. “You're going to be more choosy about which jobs you volunteer for from now on I hope.”

  “I might be,” Bat uttered.

  “You are the boss you know. As such you can pick and choose your jobs,” Billie lectured, looking down her nose at him.

  “We'll see. It might just be a matter of me being more careful when I do a job,” Bat said stubbornly.

  That next week, he enjoyed the time he spent on the ranch. Hunker told him he needed to take it easy until his brand wound healed, and he was walking better. If he wanted, he could rode along to keep the cowboys company.

  Leisure time in the evenings was especially fun, spending time with the cowhands at the bunkhouse card parties. Bat suddenly found himself wondering what he needed a wife for?

  Chapter Nine

  Another week went past. Bat didn't feel up to riding back to Dead Horse for the weekend. Saturday morning, he decided to go fishing. He caught a mess of bullheads in the pond. He cleaned the fish and fried them and a large cast iron skillet of fried potatoes. For bread, he baked a pan of cornbread.

  When Bat heard the cowhands ride in, he went out on the porch and watched them dismount by the barn. He beat the triangle dangling from the porch eave to get their attention.

  “What's up, Boss?” Hunker called.

  “I caught a whoppin' platter of fish, and ya all are invited to come over and eat supper with me,” Bat yelled. “Hunker, make sure to bring the cards.”

  Bat was pretty sure that evening was the most fun that old house had seen in years, including when Hannah was alive. He knew she would have approved.

  The next week, Hunker said they didn't require Bat's help with anything. The foreman surmised that his boss was walking a little tender yet. He could ride along as long as he didn't get the burn wound dirty.

  Monday of the next week Bat was eager to be helpful. Hunker made him roll up his jean leg so he could inspect the wound burn. The scabs weren't much, and the red area was smaller.

  “All right, Boss. That wound is lookin' real good so far.” Hunker rubbed his chin as he thought. “Tell ya what, ya want to go around to all the line shacks and make a list of what we need for repairs for the buildings and corrals. We need to work on them before winter gets here.”

  “Sure, I can do that,” Bat said eagerly.

  “Just be careful not to bump that bad leg. Burns are hard to heal, and that one is takin' its own sweet time,” Hunker said.

  “I'll be careful.”

  “It might take all week to get from one to the other of those line shacks. Take yer time. Be sure to take paper and a pencil with ya to write down what ya need to order,” Hunker instructed.

  “Since the west end is the farthest away, how about after I check the line shack I ride the fence line as long as I'm there. I should be back by Friday afternoon. Don't ya think?”

  “Re
ckon so,” Hunker agreed.

  The distance between the line shacks were a day. By the time Bat got to the north one and looked around, it was time to spend the night. The next morning, he rode for the east shack and the next day to the south shack. The only left one more. It would take two days by the time he rode along the fence line on the way to the line shack.

  The time on horse back, Bat spent watching the scenery and animals at play. The steers appeared to be fat and sassy this summer. Just the way he liked to see them.

  About noon on Thursday, Bat rode up on a hole in the fence. Not a pile of wire weighed down by the snow or knocked down by deer hooves. Bat dismounted and tied Blaze to a scrub tree while he looked around. The barbed wire was pulled back out of the way up against the fence line, making the gap wide.

  Bat walked from the gap into the neighboring ranch, checking out three sizes of boot prints walking on cattle tracks. Some of his cattle went through that gap driven by rustlers. The land belonged to Lim Withman. He'd have to do something about this. He was willing to overlook a beef missing once ever so often to feed the Withman younguns, but Lim couldn't get away with rustling cattle.

  It took Bat an hour to repair the gap, before he rode to the line shack. By the time he looked around there to see what needed repaired, it was supper time. He warmed a can of beans and turned in early.

  In the middle of the night, Bat woke up to the sound of dogs yapping. He listened a minute and decided maybe he better go check. The dogs might be chasing his cattle. He didn't want them to stampede through the fence. His beef would get all cut up.

  Bat decided he didn't want to take the time to saddle his horse. He'd go on foot since the dogs sounded close. He carried his rife for a long range shot at them. Just over a knoll an eighth of a mile from the line shack, three dark figures on foot and a pack of dogs were running six of Bat's steers through a hole in the fence. He slipped up as close as he dared and watched. He recognized the long strides of the taller of the rustlers. It was Lim Withman and his boys back for more steers.