Finding their way.
July 17, 1870
We are now almost two months into our first summer here at Lancer and it is already quite hot and oppressive. It amazes me how quickly the appearance of the land has changed under the weight of the California sun. The grass that was, just a short while ago, green and lush and alive with wildflowers is fading to a burnished gold, and the soft greens of spring are hardening to the bluer tones of summer. Apparently this spring has been abnormally hot and dry and my father has expressed concern about the water supply to some of the more distant pastures. Yesterday he dispatched Johnny and me to the outer reaches of the ranch to check the water level in Peek-a-Boo Creek, one of our smaller waterways.
Before leaving the hacienda, I spent a moment studying Murdoch’s pride and joy, the large map of the ranch. I am still working on finding my way around this huge piece of countryside that is Lancer. More and more of it is becoming familiar to me but I still have a tendency to go astray and the map reassures me. Although I do find that there is a big difference between the crisp certainty of lines on paper and the acres and acres of unfamiliar territory.
After breakfast, Johnny and I mounted up and rode out, heading down toward Cantua Creek. I had intended to ride along that waterway to Agua Verde Creek and then follow that to the point where it is joined by Peek-a-Boo Creek. It would be shorter to cut across country but this would be a more certain way to reach my goal.
I had almost reached the river when a piercing whistle and a shout pulled me up short. I looked over my shoulder to see my brother riding away from me at an angle, toward the northwest. He glanced back and motioned with his arm. “This way, Scott.”
“Johnny, wait,” I shouted but he just motioned again that I should follow and then pushed his palomino into a canter. I looked once more at the river and then back to my rapidly disappearing sibling. It was either follow him or continue on by myself and, as I had looked forward to spending the day with him, I shrugged and turned away from the water. “Wait up,” I shouted.
We rode for two and a half hours alternately walking and trotting. Johnny led us up hills and down gullies, around deadfalls, and across sunny meadows. Once when we stopped to give the horses a breather, I asked him if he had ever been to Peek-a-Boo Creek.
“Nope,” he said. “But it’s just over that way.” He waved vaguely to the northwest. “We should be there in another forty-five minutes or so. Or at least we will if we don’t spend all day lazing around in the sun.” He grinned and hauled himself back into the saddle. “Come on, Boston. Time’s a wastin’.”
By the way, have I mentioned that my younger brother can be irritating? Yes, I’m sure I must have.
Almost an hour later, I was thinking about questioning him again when we topped out on the crest of a ridge and Johnny pulled up.
“We’re here.” He tipped off his hat and wiped his forehead against the sleeve of his shirt.
Below us, a line of trees, brush and green grass wound through the bottom of a pretty valley. The flash and glitter of running water could be seen through breaks in the trees.
“Are you sure that that’s the right creek?”
Johnny uncorked his canteen and took a deep drink before pouring some of the water over his head. He shook off the excess and re-corked the canteen. “Yup, that’s her.” He waved a hand toward the hills to our right. “Rises over on Little Alma Peak and joins up with the Agua Verde before it flows into Cantua Creek.”
He pulled his hat back up and nudged Barranca over the ridge and down the slope toward the water.
I followed.
It wasn’t a very impressive waterway. Where we first came upon it, it was no more than three feet wide and six or seven inches deep but it was pretty. The sun painted dappled patterns as it shone through the oaks and cottonwoods that lined the banks, and the creek made the happy sound of water busily trying to be elsewhere. So far Peek-a-Boo Creek showed no sign of living up to its name. Apparently it had been so named because of its tendency to disappear between one heartbeat and another whenever the weather turned dry.
The horses pushed forward eagerly and shoved their noses into the clear water. Johnny dismounted and took my canteen as well as his own. He emptied them and moving upstream, refilled them with fresh, cool water.
“Well.” I shifted in the saddle and looked up and down the creek. “It doesn’t look like there’s any problem here yet.”
“Nope.” Johnny walked over and handed me my canteen. “Good grass, good water, happy cows.” He stepped over to Barranca and gathered up the reins before swinging into the saddle. He adjusted his hat and glanced over at me. “If the cows are happy then Murdoch is happy, and if Murdoch is happy then all’s right with the world. Right brother?”
Something in his tone caused me to pause. I was going to ask him about it but he was already moving.
“How about we ride down the stream,” I said, “and then see if we can find any of those cows and check on their condition? Murdoch’s sure to ask.”
Johnny nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”
And we moved off. Several times we stopped to clear away debris that might clog the waterway, moving logs and brush away from the stream. It was hard work but the shade of the trees and the song of the water made it less than it might have been.
Noon found us stopped by a larger pool. An outcrop of stone had formed a small pond surrounded by trees, with lush grass growing down to the water’s edge. We loosened the girths on the horses and allowed them to graze while we sat down with the packages that Maria had provided for our lunch.
“So tell me, brother,” I asked when we had finished, “how did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Find your way cross country to a spot you’ve never visited before?”
“Oh, that. I spent some time lookin’ at that big ol’ map of Murdoch’s.”
“I’ve looked at the map too but I still get turned around.”
“You haven’t been doing too bad.” He picked up a handful of pebbles and tossed one of them into the water. “So far as I know, nobody’s had to go out to find you and drag your sorry butt back to the ranch. Not yet.”
I glared at him but he just grinned and lobbed another pebble into the water. “Seems that was a disappointment for a few of the boys. As I recall some money changed hands over that issue.”
My head came up sharply at that. “They were betting on whether I’d get lost and have to be rescued?”
He didn’t look at me but I could see the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Well, you being a greenhorn and all, some of ‘em thought it was a sure bet.”
“And how did you bet?”
He turned and lifted one expressive eyebrow. “Me?” he asked, putting his hand over his heart. “Are you questioning my faith in you, brother?” He shook his head. “You disappoint me, Boston. Besides, I was just a poor wounded cowboy. I didn’t even hear about it until it was over.”
I swatted him with the napkin that had wrapped my sandwich.
“Hey!” He raised an arm in defense and then he threw one of his pebbles at me.
We pushed and shoved back and forth for a moment before I settled back on the grassy bank with a sigh. He gathered up more ammunition and resumed his assault on the water. “At least Murdoch has stopped worrying.”
He’d taken me by surprise again. “Murdoch was worried?”
He snorted. “He was for a while, and damn, that man gets downright snarly when he’s worried. Of course, I don’t take too kindly to being snarled at so things got a little loud for a while. I was real grateful when he finally decided that you were OK out on your own.”
“So all that shouting that went on, that was all my fault?”
He gave me a look out of the corner of his eye and dumped the remainder of the stones into the water. “Don’t get a big head Boston. I don’t need your help to get into it with the old man.”
The easy tone had gone out of his voice.
“Some of it was your fault, but not all of it. Not nearly all of it.” The last was said very softly and he stood suddenly. “Let’s get this job finished.”
“Wait, you still haven’t told me how you did it.”
He walked over to Barranca. “I just did is all. Hell, I’ve been doing it all my life. When was the last time you had to find your way around in wild country like this, Scott? With no roads or signs or anything?”
I shrugged. “Probably a few times during the war. A couple of times when I was about 15 and went hunting with friends.”
“Well that’s the difference. I’m used to it. I can’t remember a time I wasn’t out ridin’ across open country. You’re getting the knack of it.” He led Barranca over and checked his cinch. “Besides, I’ve been through here before.”
“You said you hadn’t been to Peek-a-Boo Creek before.” I dusted off my seat and went to retrieve Charlie.
“Not this very spot, but Lancer. I’ve drifted through Lancer a time or two.”
“What?” I all but dropped my canteen. “You’ve been to the ranch before?”
“Yeah.” Johnny tugged on the saddle a couple of times to make sure it was secure. “I passed by a couple times on the way to someplace else. Just sort of rode through and took a look at the layout.” He glanced over at me and grinned. “I was curious. You gonna tell me that if you were in the neighborhood, you wouldn’t have stopped by?”
I snorted. “I used to dream of dropping in on our father and giving him a piece of my mind, or my fist. Funny how it didn’t turn out that way.” The silence stretched out between us. “But you never stopped at the hacienda? You never spoke to Murdoch.”
“Hell no, why would I? Not after what Mama said.” Johnny took a deep breath and reset his hat. “Saw him once though. I was about 17 and I stopped in Morro Coyo for some supplies. Somebody called to him on the street. I turned around and there he was. Never saw anybody that big in my entire life, and loud too. I took one look, climbed on my horse and lit out for parts unknown. Didn’t stop runnin’ for a week.”
I stared at him for a moment, a baffled look on my face and then I laughed. “Brother, you are so full of it. Besides, I thought you wanted to shoot our esteemed father.”
He looked at me and all the humor had fled from his countenance. “That too,” he said and swung up on his horse.
Barranca jerked and shied and Johnny had his hands full for a minute settling him down. He eased him back beside my horse, his face once again under control. “So, you saying you don’t believe me, Boston?”
I just shook my head and mounted. “Only about half the time, brother. Only about half the time. Let’s get to work.”
We resumed our ride. We left the creek after a while and rode out into the hills where we found about thirty head of cattle grazing, all of them looking fat and happy. It was turning out to be a pleasant and peaceful day.
As the sun slid down the afternoon sky we turned and headed for home. Or at least the direction that I assumed was home. Which brought me back to my original question.
I turned to the man riding next to me. “Do you ever get lost, riding alone in all this nameless country?”
“Get lost? No, I don’t get lost.”
Barranca threw in a little hop and shied at something only he could see. Johnny rode it out and brought him back to my side. “Now mind you,” he said, as if there had been no interruption, “a time or two I may have gotten a little distracted from the most direct route, but lost? Never.” He grinned at me and touched his spurs to his horse before I could reach out and punch him.
The sound of his laughter mixed with the song of the wind in the grass and I couldn’t help but smile. I hadn’t gotten lost either, at least not since I got on that train, headed for California.