The rancher took his time counting out the notes. He tallied them aloud, not stopping until there was a stack totaling three hundred dollars on the table. Then he pushed the stack toward Buck.
Buck didn't reach for it. There had to be a mistake - or a catch. Three hundred was nearly twice what a cowboy earned for a three-month cattle drive like the one he'd just finished. He eyed the stack, and then the rancher silently. Maybe the man was testing him. Maybe he had a strange sense of humor. This was the first time Buck had worked for him and they'd only spoken a handful of times. He knew little about him. Still, the man had a good reputation. The cowhands who had driven cattle for him before said that he was fair.
The rancher was regarding him expectantly. "Is there a problem?" he asked.
"I'm not sure," Buck said slowly. "Am I supposed to deliver half of this to one of the other hands?"
The rancher shook his head. "No. It's all yours."
"This is what you would pay the trail boss."
"Yes, it is."
"But I'm not the trail boss."
The rancher shrugged. "From what the men tell me, you scouted the route and decided where and when to stop each night. You made sure the cattle were never far from grass and water. They arrived here healthy and at a good weight - the best I've seen in years. I'll get a nice price for them. So, from what I hear, you did the trail boss's job a damn sight better than the man I hired to be trail boss. Which means you get the money."
"Oh." Buck didn't know what to say. He was amazed the cowhands had spoken at all about him to the rancher, let alone said good things. It was true he'd chosen the route. He could read the land well enough to pick a trail that kept the cattle fed and watered, which was a good way of ensuring their cooperation. There had been no emergencies on the drive. Things had gone smoothly, with the cattle moving steadily and predictably from Texas to the stockyard in Abilene, Kansas. But Buck hadn't gone out of his way to be sociable with the other men, and he hadn't formed any friendships. He'd done his job; that was all.
"You seem surprised," the rancher remarked.
Buck looked at him and said nothing.
"I'm thinking you haven't always been given a fair chance," the man continued, "because you're half-Kiowa. Well, I don't give a damn who your parents were. You do the job, you get the pay...and my appreciation when you do the job well."
And that, Buck thought, was more astonishing than the three hundred dollars. He was beginning to understand why the other hands liked working for the rancher. Buck hadn't had many bosses who recognized his skills - or taken the interest to learn that he was half-Kiowa, for that matter. Most just looked at his skin and thought, Indian, then relegated him to some lower level of human. Teaspoon, of course, had been an exception. He'd appreciated Buck's talents and had treated him with respect and affection - almost like a son. But there weren't many Teaspoon Hunters in the world.
"I'd like to you offer you the job officially," the rancher went on. "Trail Boss on next year's drive. And in the meantime, I'd like you to come work for me at my ranch in Texas. I think you'd be a real asset."
Buck still said nothing. It was a lot to take in. Fifteen minutes ago he'd anticipated collecting his pay and heading to Nebraska to spend time at Lou and Kid's place. Now, he was being offered a different life.
The rancher laughed. "Well, I guess they weren't lying when they told me you were quiet. I'm generally good with quiet, but I'm not a mind reader. You've got to give me a sense of what you're thinking."
Buck looked down at his hands, which had moved no closer to the money. "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't mean to be rude. I'm just surprised. I never thought of myself as a boss. I'm thinking maybe I'm too quiet to be one. You need someone the men will follow."
The rancher smiled. "They followed you just fine. Being a leader doesn't mean having a big mouth. It means knowing what you're doing and setting an example. You've got their respect. They wouldn't have talked to me about you you otherwise." He paused. "Do you have a wife to consider? Is that why you're hesitating? Because the job in Texas comes with a small house. It's not much, but you won't have to live in the bunkhouse. You can have your family with you."
Buck shook his head. "No, that's not it. I lost my wife some time ago, giving birth to our first child. The baby didn't make it, either." He pressed his lips together and looked away. Even though it had been more than five years, the pain of Caroline's loss was still fresh. Buck wondered if it would ever stop being fresh.
"I'm sorry to hear that," the rancher said.
He didn't offer platitudes like, it's not too late to marry again, or, it's part of God's plan - all things Buck had heard before and hated. He'd said, I'm sorry; simply and honestly. For a moment, Buck was tempted to talk to the man - really talk to him - and tell him that the worst part of all of it was the guilt. Guilt, because if Caroline hadn't been carrying his child, she would be alive today. But he held his tongue.
From the moment he'd met Caroline, he'd known there was something a little bit delicate about her, a little bit fragile. It was part of her attraction, that gentleness. She reminded him of a wildflower, blowing and bending in the prairie breeze. But flowers could also be resilient, and Caroline had worked her garden and managed their home with unfailing energy. It hadn't occurred to him that she might not be prepared for the rigors of childbirth.
When he'd confessed his guilt to Lou she had said nothing as she heard him out. Then she'd shaken her head.
"You can't think that way," she'd said. "There ain't always an explanation for who gets to live and who doesn't. There are plenty of delicate women who give birth just fine. Sometimes life is cruel and unfair. It ain't your fault."
"Still..." Buck had begun, but she'd cut him off short.
"Did Caroline want to be a mother?" she'd asked.
"Yes. More than anything."
"And did she love you?"
"Yes."
"So, she was with the person she loved, and she died doing the thing she wanted to do. I'd bet if she had the choice, she'd do the same thing all over. Life would have been empty for her if she hadn't tried to have a family."
Knowing Caroline, Buck supposed that was true. Lou's words had offered a small amount of comfort because he could see that she really meant them - she wasn't just saying them to ease his mind. But later, when he was alone, it was tough not to feel the weight of responsibility return.
"Son?"
The rancher's voice brought him back to the present. He looked up at the man, wondering why the rancher felt comfortable calling him "son." He couldn't have been more than ten or fifteen years older than Buck.
"You think you might be interested in the job?" he asked.
Was he? Buck wouldn't say no to being trail boss. He was used to spending several months each year out on a drive. And if, as the rancher said, he was already acting as the leader, he may as well have the title and the money. But settling down and working on a ranch in Texas was a different story. He knew very little about running a huge cattle spread. He was more comfortable on the move; scouting routes, studying the earth and sky to interpret their messages. It was what he had done for the Pony Express, during the war, and now driving cattle.
On the other hand, he wasn't a kid any more, whatever the rancher might think. He was in his mid-thirties, and there were nights when he would have been happy to trade sleeping on the ground for the comfort of a bed. Taking a job at the ranch could be a way of preparing for the time he no longer wanted to earn a living in the saddle. Of course, he could make Lou and Kid's place his permanent home if he wanted. They had made that clear plenty of times. But there were two sides to that coin.
Lou and Kid were family. They treated him like a brother, and their boys loved him as if he were their blood. His namesake, Little Buck, spent hours with him, sharing his list of boyish hopes, dreams and grievances. There was never a time when Buck didn't feel wanted or appreciated. But sometimes it was hard, seeing Lou and Kid. They'd had so many years together that they functioned as one. Even when things weren't going well, there was an undercurrent of contentment, just in being with each other and their children. It was what Buck had hoped to find with Caroline. It hurt to think that he'd lost that chance.
"Can I take a little time to think about it?" he asked the rancher. "I'm happy to take on trail boss, but I've got family south of Lincoln, Nebraska. I'd like to talk to them before I decide to move to Texas."
The rancher nodded. "I understand. Family is important. I'm going to be here in Abilene for a few more weeks to fatten the cattle and then finish the sale. Come see me before the end of the month and we'll talk again."
Buck nodded. "Thanks."
The rancher smiled. "You can take the money now. It's yours."
For the first time, Buck allowed himself to grin. "Thanks," he said again, sweeping the notes off the table and tucking them in his saddlebags.
With a good horse, it was only a two day ride to Lou and Kid's. He was curious to hear what they would think.
