Lady Luck Chapter Three: The New Hand
Roy lay still in his bunk, staring at the ceiling. He didn't much like heights. Honch never made him sleep in no top bunk. Course they didn't have nothing but bottom bunks. Weren't even bunks really, just straw pallets thrown on crates. These Chaparral fellas sure could snore up a storm. Cain't nobody sleep with all that snorin'. Bet Mano sleeps in that big house. Course they all is his family so that's where he oughta stay.
Roy thought of his family. Momma and them buttermilk pies. Daddy. All gone now. Momma got took by the flu and Daddy got kilt by some drifter who said he owed him money. Nobody left. Honch gone now, too. Well, mebbe there would be a place on this ranch fer him. If nobody got mad at him. If nobody hollered at him. Roy's eyelids grew heavy. He drifted off.
It seemed like only ten minutes, but then Joe was hollerin' and everybody was pullin' on boots. Must be mornin'. Roy started to swing outta bed, but he remembered he was way up high and caught himself mid-swing. His eyes grew round and he looked down. Well, it weren't too far. He slid off the bunk and landed with a thump in his stocking feet.
Roy glanced out the open door and spied a couple of bowls of water. Fellas heading out jes' had their boots and pants on, no shirts, and they was washin' up before they finished dressing. Roy stomped into his boots and followed. Dang. I ain't got nuthin to wipe my face with, he realized, watching the others drying off. Gol-durnit, I just cain't fit in 'round here. He looked down, red-faced, and spun round to head back in the bunkhouse only to run into Joe, holding up a small towel.
"I figured you could use this," Joe said. "I expect you didn't bring one with you."
"Thanks, Joe!" Roy beamed. He hurried to splash himself with water and towel off—not much need to shave—and pull on his shirt. By then he was smelling bacon.
Nothin' in Roy's whole life ever tasted as good as the bacon, eggs, and biscuits that morning. He didn't even remember Momma or Granny ever makin' so much food before. He drank a whole cup of strong hot coffee. These boys sure had it made with all this free food. Anyways, he was ready to go to work, but he didn't know what he could do with his arm still ailing. He found Joe down by the corral.
"Hey Joe, watcha want me to do?"
"Well Roy, what can you do? Can you work cattle?"
"Nope, never been around 'em before. I mean I come acrost 'em sometimes out there," he waved in the direction of the desert, "but I jest steer clear of 'em."
"I see. How about horses?"
"Oh I know a bit about horses."
"Well, an awful lot of stuff we don't need in the corral comes out of the wrong end of a horse," Joe said, grinning. "And we need to get it cleaned up. Can you take that bucket and shovel and clear that corral?"
"Shore I can!" Roy grabbed the nearby bucket and shovel and lumbered toward the corral, pausing at the gate. Joe's brow furrowed. He stuck a toothpick in his mouth to chew and watched, appraising. He had expected Roy to barrel into the corral, pail and shovel clanking. Nope. Instead, Roy set these down, slid the gate latch, opened the gate without a squeak, and eased his bulk inside the fence before bending to reach back for the bucket and shovel. He placed these inside the corral before latching the gate again. He stood in silence, contemplating the remuda. Joe leaned against a bunkhouse post, watching now with interest.
Roy lifted the bucket and shovel and tiptoed toward the herd; the horses parted with nary a raised head. He edged near a pile of dung, set down his bucket and, grasping the shovel near its head with the hand of his good arm, scooped up the pile. With a muffled plop, the dung landed in the pail. Then he repeated the process, moving through the horses as if he were invisible. They paid him no mind. When he had finished, he reversed his tracks and exited the corral as he entered...to find Joe waiting for him, arms crossed.
Panic flared. I've gone and done it, Roy thought. Gonna get fired. His good hand shook a bit as he looked at Joe.
"Roy?"
"Yes, Joe?"
"Where did you learn to do that?"
"Do whut?"
"Move quiet around horses?"
"Oh, Honch taught me. Cuz if we wuz gonna steal someone's horse, we didn't want 'em to know it too soon. And that means you need to be real quiet and gentle. Also, the horses seem to like it better—and they liked me better—when I did it thataway."
"Well, Roy, I think I've got a job or two for you then. C'mon with me and I'll show you what needs doing next."
Roy beamed till his face felt like it was gonna crack. Heck, Joe liked him!
Mano lazed on the wooden slatted hammock strung between posts on the rancho porch. He blinked and gazed at the early morning sky, cloudless and blue. He inhaled the smell of straw and sage. Amazing what days in a cell within sight of one's personal gallows could do for a man's appreciation of the simple things in life. Simple things, eh? Mano wondered how Roy was getting along. He was loathe to go to the bunkhouse and find out, and he felt guilty about that.
"Mano ain't you ever gonna git goin'?"
"No, Buck, I am not!" The grin on Mano's face belied the harshness of his tone.
"Well, we need to git our corral fence fixed again, and then there's that bunch o' mavericks we spotted few weeks back. If we don't round 'em up and drive 'em down to Chaparral, the A-patch will git 'em and our ranch won't be worth ownin'."
Buck was right, of course. They had not been to their cabin for many weeks and if some work were not done soon, the whole place would fall to ruin. It had seemed like such a good idea to buy the Patterson spread. To have a little piece of this Arizona territory that did not belong to their relatives, but to them! Ay, Bendita! Why was he, Manolo Montoya, taking on all these responsibilities? Had he not come to Arizona to get away from such things?
"Vamonos, compadre," Mano's tone was lighter and his heart now, too, as he sat up in the hammock, then stood and stretched. "Un momento, por favor," he held up a hand, turned and hurried inside, returning with his brown suede jacket draped over his arm moments later.
"What you got there, S'nor Montoya?" Mano's jacket looked a might bulky to Buck.
"Nada, amigo. Nada."
Buck had already saddled both Rebel and Macadoo and led them to the hitching rail by the porch. Mano wouldn't feel like going up to their place, Buck knew. But a little more time together might wear off the smell of Stokertown and right now that's what Mano needed. Besides, the main Chaparral herd was sold. It was a good time to git goin' before Big John came up with a pile of new jobs for the both of them.
That's pretty much what Buck told Big John after Mano had shuffled Roy out last night. John grunted and scowled but voiced no objection. Victoria, overhearing, smiled. Buck saw it and gave her a wink. John and Victoria knew their brothers could get restless and it was best not to try to keep too tight a rein.
Mano and Buck mounted up. Buck kicked Rebel and headed for the gate but Mano, spying Roy sitting on the porch in front of the bunkhouse, nudged Macadoo in that direction instead.
"Hola, Roy! How goes it?" Mano called from his horse. Roy looked up, startled. Mano gave him no time to answer. "Amigo, I must check on my own rancho. I will see you in a few days, eh? Stay out of trouble, hombre!" Mano waved a gloved hand and urged Macadoo into a gallop without waiting for a reply.