not
taken time to visit his mother or send for her before it was too late. Now he
was the only family Cay had left, and his mother had known Jesse would accept
responsibility for him. Jesse didn't have a problem with that. Family was
family.
"We're lucky to have her so we can bury her on our land, Cay.
This whole valley is a graveyard for folks who died on their way west. We're on
the Overland Trail here. Oregon Trail's the same."
Cay checked the surrounding vista with a concerned gaze.
"The graves aren't marked," Jesse said. "So you
won't be seein' 'em. After the person's buried, their family or friends roll
their wagons over the place so Indians or animals won't find it."
At that the boy looked a little pale. "Oh."
"So having her buried on our land with a marker is good. Even
if we don't have a long drawn-out mourning time like back home."
Cay nodded his understanding.
The boy seemed withdrawn, and Jesse hadn't managed to find a
subject that interested him. Cay was grieving and Jesse felt powerless to offer
him comfort. He'd already learned that you couldn't force consolation on a
person who didn't want it.
From the direction of the river came a sharp yelping sound. Both
of them turned their attention toward the noise.
A small butterscotch-colored dog with darker fur on its ears and
chin bounded across the dry prairie grass, sending grasshoppers whirring into
the air. Keeping its distance, the dog ran alongside barking furiously.
"Where'd he come from?" Cay asked.
"Probably got left behind or lost from a wagon train,"
Jesse replied.
"How will he live?"
"Catching mice and prairie dogs, I suppose."
"What about winter? Don't it get cold here?"
"Mighty cold." Jesse glanced at the dog, then at Cay's
face. It was the first interest he'd shown in anything. If a dog could be a
comfort to the boy, Jesse was all for taking the mutt home. "You thinkin'
you'd like to keep 'im?"
Cay shrugged. "He'd probably die out here when it got real
cold."
"Probably. Whoa, there, whoa." Jesse stopped the team,
and Cay jumped to the ground.
The feisty critter barked and ran in circles.
Cay took a few steps toward it, and the dog ran about ten feet,
then stopped and darted back to bark again. Cay squinted up at the wagon.
"We got any o' them biscuits left?"
Jesse twisted back to reach the crate they'd been munching from
since morning and tossed Cay a biscuit.
Kneeling down, Cay held out the offering. "Come get this,
boy. You need a place to bunk? Ain't nobody gonna hurt ya."
Jesse listened to the childish coaxing, instinctively knowing Cay
was saying the things he needed to hear and know. His mother had cast him off
like an old shoe and never come back. Now his grandmother was gone.
After a few minutes of coaxing, the dog finally wagged its tail
and moved cautiously forward, eating the biscuit from Cay's hand, then licking
the boy's fingers.
Cay picked him up and rubbed his ears.
"What're you gonna call 'im?" Jesse asked when they were
back on their way, the dog settled in Cay's lap.
Cay petted the animal, who'd already shown a fondness for having
his ears scratched. "Biscuit?"
Jesse grinned.
"That okay?"
"Fine by me. He's your dog."
***
An hour later, Shelby Station came into sight, and the view moved
Jesse as it always did. Cottonwoods formed a windbreak across the south. The
buildings were spread out in a nook between two hills of pastureland, a hay
field to the west and the river to the east. A windmill turned lazily in the
breeze, and a clothesline full of white towels and linens flapped beneath the
sun.
"This is your home now," he told Cay. "You're
family, and I'm glad you're here."
Cay said nothing, but studied the station a little more intently.
A dozen fine horses grazed in one of the pastures, and twenty
others stood in paddocks. The repetitive ring of an anvil was proof that work
never stopped. Once this had been everything Jesse had ever wanted.
Here were the horses he'd planned to train and sell. The
taken time to visit his mother or send for her before it was too late. Now he
was the only family Cay had left, and his mother had known Jesse would accept
responsibility for him. Jesse didn't have a problem with that. Family was
family.
"We're lucky to have her so we can bury her on our land, Cay.
This whole valley is a graveyard for folks who died on their way west. We're on
the Overland Trail here. Oregon Trail's the same."
Cay checked the surrounding vista with a concerned gaze.
"The graves aren't marked," Jesse said. "So you
won't be seein' 'em. After the person's buried, their family or friends roll
their wagons over the place so Indians or animals won't find it."
At that the boy looked a little pale. "Oh."
"So having her buried on our land with a marker is good. Even
if we don't have a long drawn-out mourning time like back home."
Cay nodded his understanding.
The boy seemed withdrawn, and Jesse hadn't managed to find a
subject that interested him. Cay was grieving and Jesse felt powerless to offer
him comfort. He'd already learned that you couldn't force consolation on a
person who didn't want it.
From the direction of the river came a sharp yelping sound. Both
of them turned their attention toward the noise.
A small butterscotch-colored dog with darker fur on its ears and
chin bounded across the dry prairie grass, sending grasshoppers whirring into
the air. Keeping its distance, the dog ran alongside barking furiously.
"Where'd he come from?" Cay asked.
"Probably got left behind or lost from a wagon train,"
Jesse replied.
"How will he live?"
"Catching mice and prairie dogs, I suppose."
"What about winter? Don't it get cold here?"
"Mighty cold." Jesse glanced at the dog, then at Cay's
face. It was the first interest he'd shown in anything. If a dog could be a
comfort to the boy, Jesse was all for taking the mutt home. "You thinkin'
you'd like to keep 'im?"
Cay shrugged. "He'd probably die out here when it got real
cold."
"Probably. Whoa, there, whoa." Jesse stopped the team,
and Cay jumped to the ground.
The feisty critter barked and ran in circles.
Cay took a few steps toward it, and the dog ran about ten feet,
then stopped and darted back to bark again. Cay squinted up at the wagon.
"We got any o' them biscuits left?"
Jesse twisted back to reach the crate they'd been munching from
since morning and tossed Cay a biscuit.
Kneeling down, Cay held out the offering. "Come get this,
boy. You need a place to bunk? Ain't nobody gonna hurt ya."
Jesse listened to the childish coaxing, instinctively knowing Cay
was saying the things he needed to hear and know. His mother had cast him off
like an old shoe and never come back. Now his grandmother was gone.
After a few minutes of coaxing, the dog finally wagged its tail
and moved cautiously forward, eating the biscuit from Cay's hand, then licking
the boy's fingers.
Cay picked him up and rubbed his ears.
"What're you gonna call 'im?" Jesse asked when they were
back on their way, the dog settled in Cay's lap.
Cay petted the animal, who'd already shown a fondness for having
his ears scratched. "Biscuit?"
Jesse grinned.
"That okay?"
"Fine by me. He's your dog."
***
An hour later, Shelby Station came into sight, and the view moved
Jesse as it always did. Cottonwoods formed a windbreak across the south. The
buildings were spread out in a nook between two hills of pastureland, a hay
field to the west and the river to the east. A windmill turned lazily in the
breeze, and a clothesline full of white towels and linens flapped beneath the
sun.
"This is your home now," he told Cay. "You're
family, and I'm glad you're here."
Cay said nothing, but studied the station a little more intently.
A dozen fine horses grazed in one of the pastures, and twenty
others stood in paddocks. The repetitive ring of an anvil was proof that work
never stopped. Once this had been everything Jesse had ever wanted.
Here were the horses he'd planned to train and sell. The
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