Chapter 2

Rounding Up

The indigo night lightened at its edges when Tom Jenkins and his branding crew rode from the ranch on Pass Creek toward the Divide. The Divide was on the crest of the Jenkins’ rangeland which was a series of rolling hills covered with bunch grass. Between some of the hills were coulees, sometimes called draws if they weren’t so deep. What trees stood at the bottom of a draw were juniper and wild berry. Millie rode at her father’s side, and her four brothers and three cowboys from neighboring ranches spread out on each side of them. Tom, in his flinty style, gave everybody their orders: what coulees, corners, and creeks to check for cattle.

Earlier, when Millie saddled Banji, she threw the horseblanket on his back, and he stepped back in surprise. She cooed to him and straightened the blanket and used both arms to heft the saddle high enough to align with the blanket. In contrast, the men steadied their horse with one hand and threw the saddle onto the horse’s back with the other.

Millie grabbed the left stirrup and tossed it over the saddle and reached under Banji’s belly to pull the girth toward her. She was about to cinch the saddle when she noticed Banji puff up. “Can’t fool me. I know you don’t want the cinch tight,” she said, and led him around in a small circle.

Eli was already saddled and sauntered over to his sister to provide assistance.

“Today you become a ‘cowpuncher’, sis,” he said. “Did old Banji swell up when you went to tighten the cinch?” Millie nodded and smiled. “If he remembers that trick, he should remember how to ‘punch’ cattle. Good luck. Give your beloved pet a workout. He’s getting fat.”

When Millie was ready to mount, she moved Banji forward again, then grabbed the cantle and swung herself up. She was grateful he stood still. With the tips of her boots in the stirrups, she couldn’t help remembering the warning her mother had once given her about not sliding the whole foot into the stirrup. If she fell off, she might not be able to remove her foot from the stirrup and could then be dragged to death. Millie had never forgotten that advice.

There was a chill in the air and she was glad she wore a denim jacket, another loan from Nate, in addition to the trousers. This time she asked him. He let her know he appreciated being asked and said, “Any time.” Like all his brothers, he adored his bossy sister. They would do anything for her, as she would do for them. As she grew up, each one took a turn at being her best friend and right now it was Eli. But Nate had always been her long-time “pardner in crime.” As a new member of the branding crew, he gave her a bag of Bull Durham tobacco and some matches he found in the bunkhouse. They had earlier tried to roll their own cigarettes with little success, but a lot of laughter. He promised to save them for her until branding day. It seemed to her the day wouldn’t be authentic unless, like most cowboys, she had a smoke while tailing up a cow and calf or two. Of course, she had to be alone.

Smoking was discouraged by Tom and Trixie, and she had never seen her brothers smoke, but once in a while she would catch the scent of tobacco in the barn. Although Nate had told her that a cowboy overnighting had left the Bull Durham in the bunkhouse, Millie suspected it belonged to one of her brothers. Now the white muslin bag was snug in her jacket pocket with a small box of matches. She would have to choose the moment carefully. Heaven forbid, if anyone would catch her.

The further up the wide slope they rode, the further apart the cowboys became, until all but Tom and Millie remained. When they finally reached the Divide, her father told her to go to Lottie’s Draw and pick up any livestock she found there. He yelled after her, “Don’t spend too long eating the sarvisberries,” and gave her an angular grin.

It made her feel grown up to be given the responsibility of rounding up her own little herd and trailing them to join the main herd. By the time Millie reached Lottie’s Draw, a pink spray of light was slowly replacing a bright yellow one. The grass in the draw was dewy and green. Three head of cows, their calves, plus a dry cow were having a feast. They barely moved when she circled behind them to flush them out and begin the drive. She had seen none of the cowboys when she dipped down into the draw. This was the time to roll her cigarette.

Millie withdrew the orange packet from the little cloth bag and removed one thin, white paper. She tapped out enough tobacco bits to fill the creased paper, then wet one edge of it with her tongue, rolling it between her thumb and fingers, like a genuine cowboy, she thought, after which satisfaction spilled over her.

The next test would be to light it! A stir of air would be enough to extinguish the match, but she had watched an old man light his pipe. He had struck the phosphorous tip of the match with his thumbnail, and when it ignited, sheltered it with his other hand. Such a neat action! She and Nate had scavenged some matches from the kitchen and practiced lighting them in the bunkhouse’s lee. If only I’m as successful as I was that day! Father has always stressed the rule of a “one match fire,” saying “that may be all you have.” With that thought, Millie struck the match, and it flared up, burning her fingers, but she held it to the pinched tip of the cigarette and lit it. In a hurried motion, she blew out the match and puffed on the cigarette. After a long draw, she held the smoke in her mouth and inhaled it like she had seen the men do. “Ugh,” she sputtered, slapping her chest. The pain in her chest burned, causing her to cough violently and gag. She felt dizzy and leaned forward over the saddle. It seemed forever before all the unpleasant sensations ceased. She snubbed out the cigarette on the saddlehorn and threw it into the bushes. When she picked a sarvisberry, hoping it would replace the tobacco taste, she found it too sour. They’re not ripe yet. Father should’ve known. Maybe he meant to trick me, and she smiled to herself. “Let’s go, Banji and do some cowpunching.”

Millie didn’t find her father again until all the cowboys approached the hill above Lottie’s Draw. He and Zeke, one of the helping hands, were bringing in a bunch of yearlings picked up on Cub Creek. Millie, herself, had gathered nine head and driven them into the back of the herd.

She paused to tie the jacket at the back of the cantle. The sun was high, and she was warm. Her mother’s wide-brimmed hat kept the sun out of her eyes and her head cool. Trixie had worn it on the wagon trip from Missouri to Wyoming Territory. It was special, and when her mother had given up wearing it, Millie took it over, remembering her mother’s happiness during the journey. It wasn’t a cowboy hat, and when she dressed this morning, she knew she would not escape the teasing her younger brothers would give her about it. She knew she could talk back to them, but she wasn’t sure how she’d deal with either Phinn’s voiced disapproval or Jerry’s unvoiced one. She didn’t really care what other people thought, but her older brothers’ opinions mattered.

Everyone was now focused on funneling the livestock down the hill and toward the Flats where the corral was located. This was where Millie was likely to prove herself an excellent horsewoman or not. She knew her father was watching.

She knew from having watched behind a post in years past, that before the cattle got into the corral, all hell broke loose. Calves, which had been separated from their mothers, made a last-ditch run for the Divide looking for their mothers, while cowboys would gallop after them to turn them back. It was always surprising how fast some calves were, how far they could get away. She guessed a cowboy felt foolish losing or almost losing a calf. I wouldn’t let that happen to me, the shame of it!

Banji’s dark-brown ears twitched forward and back. He was alert and ready. Millie leaned over the saddlehorn and pulled her fingers through his foretop. He had rounded up cattle many times before, but was she ready? In front of her was an unsettled herd of cows and calves, stirring up the dust. They were being driven toward the corral gate. If there was one cow who knew what it was all about, she would lead the others through the gate into the corral. If not, Jerry would ride in front of the herd and show them what to do. Millie had seen this maneuver before and was always amazed it worked.

She was nervous though. Several calves darted in and out of the herd, smelling for their mothers. Any moment, one of them might break away. Millie hoped it would be near another rider. She didn’t want to be tested. Suddenly Millie heard Phinn shout to Eli, “There’s that fighting cow. The one with her head in the air, looking for us. Can’t believe she’d be up to tangling with one of us while her calf is missing, but she’s crazier than hell. She almost got me this winter when I was throwing hay off the bobsled.”

“But wouldn’t you be agitated if a bunch of cowpokes interrupted your morning graze? Spooking your calf, making it run off,” Eli asked. “Remember these calves are seeing us for the first time.”

“Here she comes,” yelled Phinn. “She’s not worried about her calf.” He raised his rope and ran his horse right at her. That did the trick. She swerved back into the herd. “I’m telling you. Look out for her, especially if you’ve dismounted, and she’s anywhere around.”

Millie thought the moment had passed when a panicked calf would make a run for it. But no. A gamboling calf tried to get by Banji...