THE MYSTERIOUS DROVER

By PJ Davis

Prologue:

McKenzie Donnelly stood up in her stirrups, shielded her eyes against the bright sun, and looked over the horizon, watching a huge cloud of dust. She knew that soon the dust cloud, consisting of an untold number of steers, would reach her father’s ranch by the next day. Here on the Donnelly property, the steers would have good graze and plenty of water. When the drovers left, they would be taking 750 head of Donnelly steers with them from Texas all the way to Sedalia, Missouri.

McKenzie sighed. She had been born and raised on her father’s ranch and had never had the opportunity to see any other part of the country. The only place she had been able to visit was the small town close by. Oh, the people were very friendly, and there were quite a few young men who had come to court her, but she longed for an adventure that would take her away from home, even if it were just for a while. She was 26 years old and had married two years before. It was Hank’s promise of traveling to faraway places that prompted the marriage; she knew she never loved him at all and that the marriage was a mistake. She was hard-headed and married him anyway. He never took her anywhere, despite his promises. And, within 3 months, he turned out to be a verbally abusive man (and a drunk and a liar to boot), so she couldn’t honestly say that she was at all unhappy when his horse tripped, fell on him and killed him.

The Donnelly ranch, owned by her parents, was not the biggest spread in the area, but the cattle were prime and would fetch a good price in Sedalia. With that money, Sean and Bonnie Donnelly could buy more seed bulls and cows and raise more cattle for the drives that would be coming again. Paying a trail boss to drive the current herd to market would make the Donnelly family low on money, but her father knew that the end result would be a large pay-off.

McKenzie had two constant companions: a dog (an Australian Shepherd named “Pete”) and a beautiful buckskin cutting horse named “Dusty.” Pete was invaluable and was one of the reasons that the Donnellys needed fewer working hands on the ranch because, even though he was bred to herd sheep, he had been trained to herd cattle. He was worth his weight in gold and could do the work of several ranch hands. Dusty was another great asset because of his spirit, his speed, his quickness, and his savvy at herding and cutting out cattle. McKenzie (who loved all animals) couldn’t imagine life without these four-legged creatures: they were her friends, her playmates, and her confidants. There was a genuine mutual love among these three.

Patting Dusty on the neck affectionately, McKenzie turned him around. She was devising a plan and was trying to figure out how to implement it. As Dusty began to trot away, Pete was close by, tongue lolling happily, as the three headed for home.

**********

Very seldom did Sean Donnelly shout at his daughter. But he did this day. He was second-generation Irish and hardly had an accent, but when he was angry (as he was now), he often lapsed into the “auld sod” brogue.

“Faith and begorra, bairn!” He ranted. “Believin’ my ears, I’m not!”

McKenzie stood her ground, glaring back into her father’s eyes. All Bonnie could do was to hope that the windows didn’t crack and that the mirrors didn’t fall off the wall. She was most superstitious, and the thought of mirrors breaking drove her to more distraction than the shouting did.

McKenzie wasn’t bothered by the shouting, but she WAS bothered by the fact that her plan wouldn’t work. So she presented it again, this time in a different manner. She spoke softly. “Now, don’t go getting all riled up. It makes perfect sense. If I go on this cattle drive, I can keep a good eye on our own beef. I can learn a lot about cattle from the drovers, maybe even some things that YOU don’t even know. I can look the buyers of our cattle in the eye and get the best price. Then I can come back here on the train. This is a good plan. It will work. I know it will.”

Sean paced and fumed. “I’ll not be havin’ me gurrl leavin’ with a gang of men for two months. ‘Tisn’t prroperr!” But in his mind, he knew she had made several good points. He just didn’t want to give in. Imagining his only daughter out on the range for such a long time with God-only-knew what kind of men gave him the willies.

“Listen to me, Da,” McKenzie began, using the endearing Irish word for “father.” But she never got to finish the sentence because Sean had stalked out the door.

Bonnie, seeing that the shouting was over, put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “Your father is right, you know. If anything happened to you, it would kill him.”

McKenzie patted her mother’s hand and, still plotting, peeked outside to see what her father was doing. He was still pacing but his face was less florid. Pacing is good; that means he’s thinking about what I said. She knew her father and his moods well. She was definitely her father’s child.

**********

Standing in front of the mirror, she took a good look at her reflection. She had always loved her long auburn hair. The thick tresses had natural curl and required very little care. Though she was not really short in stature, she was only moderately tall. That might present a problem. And, of course, there was her body. God had blessed her with the curves that a woman needs, but she already had a plan of how to solve THAT problem. Her voice was melodious but also was thankfully a wee bit low-pitched. I can work on that.

The first thing she did was to scrub her face completely clean. She was used to wearing powder and a light lipstick every day. That had to be erased from her face completely. Okay, that’s done.

Reaching into her closet, she found some of Hank’s old clothes. I knew he would be good for something one day. Stripping naked, she donned the faded jeans and then put on the plaid shirt. She looked in the mirror. The jeans are baggy enough to conceal the shape of my hips, but oh, dear. This won’t do. My breasts are too obvious. Well, where there’s a will, there’s a way. Pausing for only a moment, she tore an old sheet and, with one long strip, bound her breasts securely and then re-buttoned the shirt. Much better. With an old vest worn over the shirt, who’ll be looking?

Concentrating hard, she practiced dropping her voice into a much lower pitch and found that it wouldn’t be as difficult to change her voice as she had thought it would be. But my hair. My beautiful hair!

Before she could change her mind, she snatched up her sewing scissors and began hacking away at the beloved auburn locks. When she was finished, most of her hair was on the floor. Very little hair was on her head. It’s too late to turn back now. Putting Hank’s weathered cowboy hat on her head and pulling on her own boots, she looked into the mirror and scrutinized her image. She was pleased with the transformation. She was sure, if nobody looked too close, she could pass as a man. She would worry later about how she would explain not shaving if this plan actually worked.

Bonnie screamed when the strange “man” walked into the kitchen. Before McKenzie could say anything, Sean ran in the back door and grabbed his father’s old gnarled walking stick and began to swing it about. “Out with ye! Out with ye!” he shouted. “I’ll no be havin’ strange men muckin’ about me house!” McKenzie saw a mirror fall off the wall.

She couldn’t help it. She started to laugh and couldn’t stop. If her own family couldn’t recognize her, then the plan would be a success. “Da,” she hiccupped between giggles. “It’s me. It’s your daughter.”

Sean stopped brandishing the walking stick. Bonnie’s mouth dropped open. The only sounds in the kitchen were the echoes of McKenzie’s laughter.

“What’ve ye done, gurrl?” roared an incredulous Sean. He snatched the hat off her head and reeled in surprise at her new haircut. Bonnie, close to hysterics, began touching her daughter from head to foot. Only by touching her could she believe that this was her child. Not knowing what to say, she turned her attention to the broken mirror and had horrible thoughts about the old adage of “seven years of bad luck.”

Sean was, for the first time, absolutely speechless. Taking advantage of his silence, McKenzie spoke. “Da, I wouldn’t be able to go on the cattle drive as a girl, that’s true. But I CAN go if I look like a man.”

Sitting down heavily, Sean looked at his daughter. “’Tis true, bairn. Ye have the look of a man. But a man ye are not. Ye will be found out and only the Good Lord knows what’ll happen to ye then.”

Momentarily distracted by Bonnie’s wailing over the prospect of seven years of bad luck, Sean spoke harshly to his wife. “Hush, woman! The deed is done.” He, of course, was referring to what his daughter had done to her appearance, but Bonnie’s focus was on the broken mirror. She was a good wife and a wonderful mother, but both Sean and McKenzie often wondered if she might not be just a “wee bit dotty.”

Sean pursed his mouth and spoke softly, losing the brogue he had slipped into in anger. “It might work. It just might work.” His face brightened as the idea began appealing to him. “We could call you ‘Mac’.”

There was an audible sigh of relief from McKenzie. If her father thought it could work, then it could really work. She would have to be extremely careful on the trail.

“This is the deal,” said Sean. “If the trail boss can be tricked into hiring you, then you can go. But if he isn’t fooled and refuses to hire you, then you stay home where you belong.”

McKenzie threw her arms around her father’s neck. “It will work. I just know it will!”

Bonnie, shards of mirror in her hands, spoke words of doom. “We’re going to have bad luck. For seven years.”

Father and daughter looked first at Bonnie and then at each other. They rolled their eyes and smothered their laughter.

**********

Early the next morning, Gil Favor and Pete Nolan arrived at the Donnelly ranch. Though the two men declined the breakfast that Bonnie had been determined to cook for them, they did take some biscuits with them as Sean rode out with them to where McKenzie and only one other ranch hand were gathering the cattle.

“Seven hundred fifty head and only two hands herding them?” Mr. Favor asked, munching on a biscuit.

Mr. Nolan shook his head. “That’s a pretty daunting task.”

Sean beamed. “Two hands, one dog.”

“A dog?” choked Mr. Favor.

“You’ll see,” came Sean’s proud answer.

And it was true. As the three men looked into the valley, they could see two riders and one dog. And the herd was completely under control and coming their way. There was one rider on each side of the steers, and the dog took care of the rest, tirelessly keeping errant steers in line by nipping at their heels and running from side to side. There was the sound of annoyed mooing from the steers, and the sound of whistles could be heard frequently.

“Well, I’ve heard of sheep dogs,” began Mr. Favor. “But I’ve never known of a cattle dog.”

Sean leaned back in his saddle comfortably. “The dog belongs to my…ah…son, McKenzie. Mac trained him on his own. The whistles you hear are commands to the dog.” Calling his daughter “son” was difficult, and Sean secretly prayed he wouldn’t slip and let them know that “Mac” was a girl.

“Which one is your son?” asked Mr. Nolan, watching both riders and sizing them up. There were fewer drovers on this trail drive than usual, and Mr. Nolan was keeping an eye out for an experienced top hand. Sean had mentioned that he could spare only one ranch hand to go on the trail drive, and he wanted the trail boss to see Mac in action.

“Mac is over there on the far side,” answered Sean.

Three pairs of eyes focused on Mac. And she was impressive. She knew what she was doing and could sit a saddle easily, cutting and hazing grudging steers back into the group. No matter how sharp her horse turned, no matter how quickly the horse moved, Mac couldn’t be unseated. Horse and rider moved as one entity. Gil and Pete looked at each other and nodded a silent assent. Mac just might be the man to hire.

Sean sat back and let Mr. Favor and Mr. Nolan peruse the stock. The beef was prime, as Sean had said it would be. After looking over the whole herd, Mr. Favor suggested that they return to the ranch and get the paperwork done. And there was the matter of whether or not to hire Mac.

**********

While the paperwork for moving the cattle was being read, re-read, and signed, Mac waited outside nervously. Both Dusty and the dog could feel the anxiety and were restless. Finally Mac heard Sean call her name. Taking a deep breath, and trying to walk like a man instead of a woman, McKenzie entered the house, her dog at her side.

Sean made the introductions. “Mr. Favor, Mr. Nolan, this is my son Mac.” Sean again almost tripped over the word “son.” McKenzie shook hands with both men, making sure that her grip was a strong, firm one.

But she could see that she was being sized up. She was intimidated by Mr. Favor’s height and direct gaze and wondered if he and Mr. Nolan were scrutinizing HER in the same manner.

Both men were doing just that. Though this young man was slighter built in stature, and was small-boned to boot, it was obvious that he knew his way around horses and cattle. And it was a fact that another drover would be useful.

“Your father tells me that you want to hire on as a trail hand,” Mr. Favor said, still taking stock of the young man standing before him. There was something odd about the young man, but he just couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Yessir,” came the answer.

“You know it’s not an easy job,” Mr. Nolan announced. “The work is hard, sometimes we stay in the saddle all night and all day. The weather can be brutal: rainstorms, scorching days, dust storms, Indian raids….” He let his voice drift off. “And I see that you don’t carry a gun.”

McKenzie answered, making sure her voice was as deep as she could make it. “I herd cattle here almost every day. I can stay in the saddle just as long as anyone. The weather is bad here, just as it is on the trail. I don’t have a gun on today because I don’t need it. My father taught me how to use both a gun and a rifle, and I can assure you that there is no better teacher than he is.”

There was a silence in the room. Bonnie wrung her hands, torn between letting her daughter go and wanting her to stay home where she belonged. Sean’s heart was pounding.

Still looking Mac straight in the eyes, Mr. Favor recapped the situation. “You want to hire on as a drover, go to market with your cattle, and then bring the money home.”

Mac nodded and waited.

“Okay. Consider yourself hired,” Mr. Favor said as he began to write on the paper in front of him.

“Just one thing,” interjected Mac. “My dog and my horse go with me. For free.”

Both Mr. Favor and Mr. Nolan considered this for a moment. Then Mr. Nolan commented, “We’ve never had a working dog on a trail drive before. I’ve seen the dog work, and I’m impressed. I’ve seen you ride that horse, and I’m impressed with that too. But you will have to ride horses from the remuda also. Can you do that?”

Looking slightly insulted, Mac answered. “I can ride any horse you give me. And my dog is worth at least two men, if not more.”

Mr. Favor tried to hide a grin at the defiant jut of Mac’s chin. “Okay. You’re hired. And you can bring the horse and the dog. Just sign here.” He pointed to the contract in his hand.

Mac took the pencil and disguised her normal handwriting so it would tend to look like a man’s scrawl. She handed the paper back, breathing a sigh of relief. She had passed the test.

“By the way,” Mr. Nolan asked. “What’s the dog’s name?” He reached down to scratch the pet behind the ears.

“Pete,” came the answer.

Mr. Favor laughed out loud while Mr. Nolan groaned. Mac looked at them quizzically.

“That’s Mr. Nolan’s name,” laughed Mr. Favor. “Looks like we’re gonna have to have a ‘big Pete’ and a ‘little Pete’!” Mr. Nolan didn’t seem to find the humor in this but kept his mouth shut.

Mac went to her room to get her already-packed bedroll (and her husband’s gun and holster), took one look around the room and almost lost her nerve. She had plotted and planned for this adventure, but she hated to leave her “girl” things behind her: the cheerful wallpaper, the soft bed with the flowered quilt, and the dolls she no longer played with but was loathe to leave. Quickly, before she changed her mind, she spun and walked out of the doorway, closing the door softly behind her.

Mr. Favor and Mr. Nolan were already in their saddles when she walked out onto the front porch. McKenzie turned to her parents to tell them goodbye. “Don’t hug me,” she whispered. “I can’t blow my cover now!” So she shook her father’s hand and kissed her mother lightly on the cheek. With heartiness she didn’t feel, she swung up onto Dusty’s back and called back, “See ya in a couple of months!”

With that, two men, one woman, and one dog turned toward the waiting herd of cattle. The adventure was beginning.

**********

Getting the cattle to the main herd was no problem. Mr. Favor was deep in thought: Mac seemed to be well-experienced and had complete control over the dog’s movements by whistling and calling commands in a strange language (which was a cross between Irish and Scottish). But there was still daylight enough to do the branding to mark each steer with the trail drive’s insignia. Mac may have been hired to herd cattle, but could he handle the roping and branding that was to come?

Arriving at camp, Mac was introduced to Joe Scarlet, Jim Quince, Mushy, Wishbone, and Rowdy Yates. These were the same group that Mr. Favor had with him on every cattle drive; these were the ones he could count on always to know what to do. Then there were some new guys to meet. Mac felt overwhelmed with trying to keep track of names and faces and wondered if she would get along with such a large group of men. She took an instant liking to two men, also of Irish descent: Cahill and Plunket. Their ready smiles and genuine openness seemed to offer a “home away from home.” They also liked her dog, which was a big plus. The other hands didn’t quite know what to think of the dog and gave him a wide berth. Finding it quite humorous that the dog was named “Pete,” they teased Mr. Nolan unmercifully. Just as Mr. Favor had predicted, the dog became known as “Little Pete,” and Mr. Nolan was dubbed “Big Pete.” Mr. Nolan rolled his eyes skyward and went to get a cup of coffee.

“Mr. Favor,” whispered Wishbone, just loud enough for Mac to hear. “What’re we gonna feed that dog?”

Mac walked over with the solution. “He can eat scraps from left-over meals. He loves good food.”

This statement about the “good food” endeared Mac to Wishbone. His smile spread from ear to ear. Mushy tossed a leftover biscuit to Little Pete who caught the treat in mid-air and happily began to eat.

“See,” said Mac. “I told you. No problem here.”

Mr. Favor watched Mac walk away. There was still something “not right” about Mac. Maybe it was the way he moved, or maybe it was the fact that he spoke little, or maybe it was nothing. But he decided to keep an eye on “this one” to make sure there was no trouble.

“I want everybody to get ready for the branding,” ordered Mr. Favor. “In the saddles right now.” He needed to watch the “new” hands in particular because there was no use in keeping men who couldn’t handle any part of the work. They would be no help later on if there were a stampede or some other crisis.

Mac, Cahill, and Plunket were in their saddles in a flash. They knew they had much to prove and were eager to get started. Of course, Little Pete was ready; he was always ready to do the work that had been bred into him, even if it was taking care of cattle rather than sheep. By the time the other riders had climbed into their saddles, they had some fast catching up to do to reach the first three.

Mr. Favor mumbled to Mr. Nolan, “Well, one thing I can say: There are three eager hands. And one eager dog.”

Mr. Nolan nodded his head and then walked over to where the branding would take place. The irons needed to be hot and ready to use.

Mac, Cahill, and Plunket (as well as Little Pete) proved their worthiness immediately. They rode extremely well, roped accurately, brought in the steers to be branded, and then headed out for more steers. Little Pete kept the unbranded ones separate from the branded ones, and soon the work was done. Mr. Favor was impressed once again. In an aside to Mr. Nolan, he whispered, “Looks like we got some good hands here. But there are some that just won’t make the cut. Only time will tell.”

Hot, dusty, and weary, Mac tied Dusty up at the remuda and walked back to where Wishbone was handing out sandwiches. Being dusty was a good thing, Mac had decided, because it not only kept her from getting sunburned too quickly but also helped to disguise her face even more. She watched the other men as they approached, noting how they walked and making a mental note to imitate that walk. She knew she had a lot to learn if she were to keep her disguise until the end of the drive.

Some of the men grumbled at the sandwiches; they were hungry and wanted more. Wishbone looked angry when he heard their comments, so Mac was very careful to say, “Thank you, Mr. Wishbone. This looks delicious.” She had decided to win the drovers over to her side, one by one if necessary. Wishbone flashed her a smile. “It’s nice to hear something good for a change. Oh, by the way, here’s something for your dog.” He handed over a whole plateful of scraps. Mac knew she had scored a point with at least one man.

She decided she would have to work on the “older” hands first because they were the most important if she planned to keep this job. But she would have to be patient and wait for the right time. She would have to act like a man in thought, word, and deed every day and every night.

As with all drives, the newest hands would ride drag. This suited Mac just fine. She could get dusty and dirty, two things that would aid her disguise. But, as she was riding, the thoughts of bathing and shaving began to niggle at her. How would she accomplish these tasks without drawing attention to herself? It was time to make some more plans that she knew would have to be implemented soon.

**********

By the time darkness descended, several men had been cut from the job even though the extra hands were needed. Joyfully, she realized that she, Cahill, and Plunket still remained on the payroll. She felt dirty and gritty from the sand kicked up by the large herd but, as she looked at some of the other new guys, she realized that they were as dirty as she was. That was a comforting thought. She washed her hands and her face, taking enough time so that she would be close to the last in line as supper was being served. Approaching the chuck wagon, she was handed a plate full of stew. It looked awful. But she nodded at both Wishbone and Mushy and commented that she had not expected such a feast. Both Wishbone and Mushy gave her big smiles; they were not used to getting compliments, and their faces reflected their appreciation.

Mac took her place with some of the other newer hands and made sure she sat in the shadows. She also took notice of how the men ate and how they talked with their mouths full of food. She would have to imitate these actions if she was going to fit in. Secretly, some of their manners galled her, but she dared not call attention to herself. There were numerous belching noises, and she cringed. But, if she planned to be part of this bunch, she would have to laugh along with the rest of the men. So she did force a chuckle every now and then.

Supper being over, she returned her plate to Mushy and thanked him again for the “wonderful” meal. Mushy, whispering to Wishbone, passed on what Mac had said.

“Well,” said Wishbone proudly, “that young man has manners. Which is more than I can say for some of these men!” He glared as most of the plates were returned with not so much as a thank you. Little Pete ambled up, tail wagging and tongue lolling and, as a reward (and for some extra scraps), he was allowed to lick the plates before Mushy washed them in the nearby creek. “See, Mr. Wishbone?” said Mushy. “The dog even appreciates us.” Wishbone smiled broadly. “He has manners too.”

Mr. Favor now chose the groups who would be night herders, being careful to pair off more experienced hands with the newer hands for this first night. Mac and Little Pete were paired with Joe Scarlet and were to take the first watch. Mac was careful to ask good questions of Mr. Scarlet and was quick to act a little awed by his answers. Of course, Mac already knew her job, she knew to ride easy in the saddle, she knew to sing softly to the herd to keep them from becoming nervous, and she knew how to control her dog so that he would not frighten one single steer. But she pretended to take advice from Mr. Scarlet anyway. By the end of the watch, Mr. Scarlet was impressed with both Mac and the dog and felt proud that he could pass on important information about night herding. Mac knew that this information would be passed on to Mr. Favor. She scored Mr. Scarlet as another conquest.

Mr. Scarlet told her it was time to return to camp and awaken the next group of night herders. But Mac had other plans. Asking if it were okay for her to go back to the creek to water her horse and dog, Scarlet gave his okay. Mac sighed in relief and headed for the creek. Dusty drank the cold water noisily; Little Pete jumped in happily and was followed by a naked Mac who tried to quickly wash the dust and dirt and grit off her body. She washed the strip of sheet used to bind her breasts and hastily exited the water, rebinding the sheet. Returning to camp, she could see that most of the men were already asleep, so she sneaked over to where there was an old piece of burned wood, rubbed her hands across it, then smudged her cheeks lightly. If she made the mistake of oversleeping in the morning, then she would at least look like she had a slight stubble of beard. Slipping wearily into her bedroll, she prayed that her “bindings” would be dry by the morning. She had made it through the first day, and that was her last thought before sleep overtook her.

**********

It was the aroma of fresh coffee and the sound of bacon sizzling in the pan that woke Mac. Though the ground had been hard and rocky, apparently it wasn’t bad enough to wake her. Little Pete, her usual “alarm clock” at home, was obviously not going to be helpful out here, for he was standing next to Mushy and receiving bits of scraps as Wishbone cooked. Wishbone, of course, pretended not to notice; he had taken quite a liking to the dog (as had most of the hands).

Mac was careful not to grumble about having to get up at such an ungodly hour. She looked over the horizon and saw the sun just beginning to show itself. She carefully got her bedroll packed and, seeing that there was no one standing by the mirror on the back of the chuck wagon, she grabbed her husband’s razor and hurried over to beat anybody else wanting to shave. She was lucky and soaped her face and pretended to shave just before Jim Quince walked up behind her. She knew she would have to be more careful in the future, but she was gratified to know that her trick with the smudge of burned wood had looked realistic at this early hour.

Apparently, the protocol for breakfast was that the more experienced men got served first. She nodded at the other new men as she stood in line. She was famished! Looking around, she saw Mr. Favor and Mr. Yates already sitting down to eat. They were in deep conversation and never looked her way. That was good. She didn’t stand out like a sore thumb today; she looked just like the rest of the sleepy-eyed men who were grouping around the chuck wagon. Little Pete pranced back and forth from her to Mushy and then made the rounds of those who were already eating. If he couldn’t get someone’s attention, he would roll over and wave all his paws in the air until a tasty tidbit came his way. She had been worried that Little Pete would be a nuisance but this obviously was not the case judging by the smiles he got and the many pats on the head and scratches behind his ears.

Mac, her plate and cup full, sat down with the new guys. She looked around when she heard a burst of laughter coming from Mr. Favor’s direction and saw that the “older” guys were looking at the “new” guys with big grins.

“Wonder what’s so funny?’ Mac asked. “I’d like to be in on the laughter too.”

Plunket stretched his long legs and whispered to her and to Cahill. “They’re plotting against us.”

Mac rolled her eyes. “Plunket, I swear! You are just plain paranoid!”

“Nope. It’s tradition at the beginning of a drive. The older guys have all kinds of tricks up their sleeves to pull on us new guys. This is my second trail drive, and I learned all about this on the first one. It’s all done in fun and shows how well we can handle things. It also shows if we can laugh at ourselves; it shows who gets mad and who doesn’t. It’s a kinda who-can-get-along-with-who situation.”

“What kind of tricks do they pull?” asked Cahill suspiciously. “And why are you whispering?”

“Keep your voice down. This is just our secret; it’s to keep us on our toes and be watchful. Let the other new guys fend for themselves. On my first drive, some guys had knots tied in their bedrolls, some had their feet tied to their saddles so when they tried to get up they fell on their faces, some had strange creatures in their blankets. Just be alert and aware.”

“Thanks for letting us know,” Mac whispered gratefully. “We better keep our eyes open.” She didn’t even want to consider what kinds of “strange creatures” she might find wrapped up in her blankets. She looked over and saw that Mr. Favor was staring at her and laughing. She knew from the grin on his face that she was in for some surprises. She hoped she could handle whatever they might be. Being the smallest “guy” in the group might make her a better target for practical jokes than some of the others; she had to prove herself worthy.

**********

The order was given to saddle up, so Mac grabbed her bedroll and threw it in the supply wagon. Then she hoisted her saddle and blanket to her shoulders and headed for the remuda. As she approached Dusty, Jim Quince told her that today would be Dusty’s “day of rest” and that she would be riding another horse. Mac was not immediately suspicious because she knew that horses were rotated often. Mr. Quince directed her to a big roan gelding that seemed gentle enough as she threw her blanket and saddle on him. She noticed that the “older” guys seemed to be watching her out of the corner of their eyes and immediately became suspicious. She noticed that Cahill and Plunket were directed to different horses also. Was this going to become a practical joke as predicted by Plunket?

She heard chuckles that were beginning to grow into outright laughter. Plunket had been thrown. Then Cahill got thrown. Gritting her teeth for what her gut told her was to come, Mac swung into her saddle; she felt the big horse tremble beneath her. Then the animal fairly exploded into a bucking episode, eventually throwing her to the ground. She was unhurt but was embarrassed, and she noticed that all eyes seemed to be on her. Only Little Pete came to her rescue, licking her face and wagging his tail. Taking a deep breath, Mac approached the horse that was eyeing her with great suspicion. Taking a good hold on his bit, she began talking to him in a voice so low that nobody could hear her. Then she swung into the saddle, gripped hard with her thighs, and waited to see what would happen. “Lightning” bucked twice before Mac reacted. Grabbing his right rein, she turned his head as close to her right leg as was possible, then dug her heels into his sides. Again and again, without a break, she forced him into running in tight circles. When she stopped that process, she repeated it but this time with a left neck-rein and tight left circles. By the time she let the animal come to a complete halt, both horse and rider were a little dizzy and quite worn out. But “Lightning” ceased his bucking, and Mac leaned forward and whispered something in his ear. Again, though her lips were moving, nobody heard exactly what she said. In reality, she had spoken to the horse and told him that she would continue the circling until he understood that she was in control; what he wanted to do from there was up to him. She walked him, urged him into a trot, then a canter; there were no problems. (She would never have any more trouble with him, and Lightning would become her second mount from that time on. Nobody else could ride him.)

Still astride the horse, she looked into the faces of Mr. Favor, Mr. Yates, and Mr. Nolan. Though they said nothing, their grins belied the fact that they were impressed. She had won the first round of practical jokes. But some of the other men had not fared so well. Cahill and Plunket had been thrown three times before they got their mounts under control. Frank’s horse had galloped out of site, and Frank was limping back to the remuda alone. There were loud guffaws from the onlookers, and nobody made a move to go look for the missing mount. Mac took this opportunity to show off a bit by goading Lightning from a standing start into a gallop to fetch the runaway horse. When she found him, grazing happily on a big patch of green grass less than a mile away, she explained to him that he had work to do and that this was no time for him to be so disagreeable. When she brought him back to the remuda, Frank climbed into the saddle and had no further trouble.

Mr. Quince and Mr. Scarlet approached the new guys. “Hey, this was all in fun, you know. Some of these horses are still a little green.”

Plunket winked at Mac who, in turn winked at Cahill. Frank was rubbing his shoulder and backside, and he was angry. “I might’ve been killed on that horse. Any one of us could have been seriously hurt.” And he stalked off.

Mr. Yates commented, “ Some folks got no sense of humor. We’ve all been through this at one time or another. There’s no reason to get so mad.” Mr. Favor made a mental note to keep an eye on Frank. A long cattle drive was no place to have a hand who had a hair-trigger temper. He also noted that Mac had been the only one of the group who knew how to handle both the horse and the “joke.”

“Practical joke” time being over, it was time to get to work. Mac and Little Pete, Cahill, and Plunket (and an angry Frank) were riding drag again (and would be for the rest of the week), so the four of them headed off to the back of the herd. Frank was still complaining. And Mr. Favor heard him and shook his head.

**********

Riding drag was not fun for anybody. There were too many steers, too much dust, too much dirt, but Mac did her best to not complain, even to Cahill and Plunket. The main thorn in Mac’s side was Frank who continued to be angry and very difficult to get along with; he was not winning any popularity contests. Even at the lunch break, he remained in a bad mood, and the other hands kept a good distance away from him. Little Pete, who seemed to love everybody, never approached Frank. Mac, Cahill, and Plunket whispered among themselves and wondered why Mr. Favor let such a man remain on the drive when it was obvious that he wasn’t good with horses, steers, or people. The three decided to keep their mouths closed and make the best of a bad situation.

The day wore on without event. There was supper and then night herd duty. Mac was secretly glad to be riding night herd for it afforded her the opportunity to take a bath when it was dark and nobody could catch her. How she would manage to bathe when there was no water near by concerned her, but she decided she could figure it out when the time came. She was unaware that the “older” guys were favorably impressed by her good nature and her abilities and that her job was not in jeopardy.

After her bath, she returned to camp where only the light from the fire illuminated the sleeping men. Cahill and Plunket were whispering together when she approached them. More tricks had been played on the new guys: Cahill’s bedroll had been smeared with honey and there was an army of ants all over his blanket. Plunket, too, had found a horned toad stowed deep in his bedroll. Having already smeared her face with soot from a burned log, Mac approached her own roll with trepidation and let Little Pete precede her. He growled, and Mac could see several lumps under her blanket. The lumps, thankfully, weren’t moving, and she decided (correctly) to pretend she noticed nothing. Sliding under the blanket, she felt two long, thin bodies next to her legs. They had to be snakes! Oh, Lordy, she hated snakes. But she also knew that they were either dead poisonous ones (who would put a poisonous snake in her bedroll?) or that they were harmless snakes meant to scare her. Praying that it was the latter case, she put on her most innocent face and slid beneath the blanket. The snakes moved causing the hair on the back of her neck to stand up. But she gritted her teeth and commented, “It appears I have unwanted company in bed with me. It’s time for eviction!” With that, she threw back her blanket, grabbed the snakes, and tossed them into the brush. While she was shaking out her blanket, she could hear several chuckles, but she knew in her heart that she had passed yet another test. She let Little Pete sleep next to her for the rest of the night.

**********

Mac rose earlier this morning and pretended to shave before most of the men were up. But she spun around quickly when she heard shouting and cursing and realized that Frank was the cause of the uproar. Apparently he had put his boots on without remembering to shake them out upside down before putting his feet into them. He had jammed his boot on and encountered a pile of rocks. He swore and fell over, pulling off the offending boot and then realized that there was no scorpion, no snake, and no horned toad. There were just rocks. He screamed at the top of his lungs, “This is not funny! We’re supposed to be grown men instead of kids playing jokes. I want to know who did this!” Of course, there were innocent faces all around; nobody would admit to pulling this prank. Frank stalked off, not even bothering to eat breakfast, and (amid hearty laughter) headed for his horse at the remuda. Mac heard Mr. Yates’ comment of “some people just can’t take a joke.” And then he added, looking at Mac, “and some people can.”

**********

There were no more jokes played on the new guys after that. “Initiation” was over. But Mac had a plan of her own. Only Wishbone knew what the plan was and agreed to keep his mouth shut. That morning, he and Mac smiled slyly at each other. There was another uproar as the “older” guys spit out their coffee, coughing and choking. Only Mr. Favor drank his coffee black, and he had no idea what was wrong with his regular crew. Mac, standing nearby, tried desperately to hide her fit of the giggles as she sneakily edged backwards toward the fire and poured out the contents of a small bowl.

“Wish!” shouted Mr. Favor. “What in the world is wrong with this coffee?” Quince, Scarlet, and Big Pete were still coughing and choking.

Wish looked around and pointed out that nothing was wrong with the coffee. “Mr. Favor, your coffee is fine, isn’t it? You poured yours from the same pot that everybody else did.”

Mr. Favor had to agree. But he knew that something was amiss, so he poured out his cup and refilled it. It tasted, of course, like regular coffee.

“Salt!” gagged Mr. Yates. “There’s salt in my coffee!”

Mr. Favor and Mr. Yates each stuck a finger in the sugar bowl and found there was sugar in there. But where did the salt come from? They looked around at the newer guys and saw grins but there were no complaints forthcoming from any of them. Mr. Favor, being no fool, knew that a joke had been played on his regular crew, but he knew that fair was fair. Somebody had put salt in the sugar bowl.

“Wish, did you make a mistake and put salt where the sugar should’ve been?” he questioned.

Wishbone looked insulted. “’Course not. I would never do such a thing!” But there was a twinkle in his eyes that made Mr. Favor have a strong gut feeling that his cook wasn’t telling the truth. And, there was that same twinkle in Mac’s eyes, plus the dusting of something that looked suspiciously like salt clinging to one pant leg. Mr. Favor knew who the culprit was, and he knew the culprit had a partner, but he said nothing. Wiping a hand across his mouth to hide his smile, he sat down, ate his breakfast and wondered what would happen next.

It wasn’t until darkness fell, after the tired drovers had laid out their bedrolls and were sitting around the fire discussing how well things were going, that mischief began to occur behind their backs. Headless rattlesnakes, toads, and rocks were quickly hidden in bedrolls. The cover of night made this sneakiness a success. As the men slipped under their blankets, the air was filled with screeches of surprise, and more than a few oaths were uttered as each man discovered that his bedroll was not empty. Loud snickers were heard from the direction of the new guys; it was obvious that they had been quite busy earlier in the evening.

All Mr. Favor could do was to try to calm his men down and to repeat his thoughts of the morning that “fair is fair.” There was much grumbling as snakes, toads and rocks were thrown out; blankets were re-checked for any other strange things. What could they say? They had pulled the same stunts on the new guys.

Mac waited patiently behind some scrub brush. Soon Mr. Favor would be settling into his blankets for the night. When the time finally came and he had gotten comfortable, Mac slipped silently over and deposited a small, black and white animal onto his blanket.

“Um, Mr. Favor,” she said, clearing her throat.

“What?” came the answer.

“Um, I think you ought to hold real still. There seems to be something on your blanket.”

Mr. Favor’s eyes popped open, and he found he was staring straight into the eyes of a skunk. He dared not move, but he did manage a loud, “Skunk!”

He had never seen men move faster than these drovers did at that moment. They scattered everywhere: behind brush, behind the chuck wagon, behind big rocks. Some of the men ran as far away as the remuda. Never moving a muscle himself, Mr. Favor closed his eyes and contemplated on what to do. Being sprayed by a skunk would not be pleasant.

Mac spoke again and startled him. He thought the young man had fled along with the others. “Mr. Favor?”

“What?” he snapped.

“I think I can help you if you don’t move. I’m real good with animals.”

“I ain’t gonna move. If we scare this polecat, you know what’ll happen. He’ll move on when he gets ready.”

“Oh, I don’t think he’s ready. He looks pretty comfortable where he is. But I won’t scare him. I promise.” With that, Mac sat down slowly and began talking softly to the striped creature. Then she reached out her hand with a bit of meat held in her fingers. It seemed like a lifetime to the trapped Gil Favor before the skunk wandered over amiably to eat the meat and, as soon as it had left his blanket, Mr. Favor rolled over and over in the opposite direction. Startled by the sudden movement, the skunk took this opportunity to scurry off into the brush and disappeared from sight.

There was an explosion of loud guffaws from the entire camp then. Realizing that he had been the butt of a joke, and knowing that he shouldn’t show his anger, Mr. Favor stood up. Looking into Mac’s face, he knew beyond all doubt that somehow the young man had lured the skunk into camp. He just couldn’t prove it. But how in the world could a man get such a wild creature to act like that? Sighing, he knew he had to be a good sport, though the thought of throttling the new guy was very appealing at the moment.

“Okay, okay, the fun is over,” he said brusquely as he watched the men return to camp from their hiding places. “I suggest we call a truce and let bygones be bygones. From now on, we are one group of men working together for a common cause. No more snakes, no more toads, no more rocks, and no more skunks. No more ‘older’ guys versus the ‘new guys.’ Agreed?”

There was good-natured laughter then, and a lot of shaking of hands and promises of no more practical jokes. Mac was the first to shake Mr. Favor’s hand and she heard him whisper, “I know you got that skunk in here. I don’t know how you did it, but I do know you did it. Don’t do it again.” Mac just smiled innocently, shrugged her shoulders, and then headed for the remuda. She was riding early night herd again.

As Mr. Favor watched her go, he shook his head. What was it about this guy that just didn’t feel right? Was he the only one who felt that something was amiss?

**********

The next morning’s breakfast showed a new camaraderie. Gone were the cliques of the “old” and the “new.” Both groups mixed together in comfortable conversation, with the exception of Frank. Being his usual paranoid self, he was sure that he was the one being blamed for the “skunk incident” and he had a more sour approach than usual. As Little Pete approached the chuck wagon for a handout, he took his anger out on the dog by aiming a kick at the dog’s head. Fortunately, Little Pete was quick and avoided having his head bashed but he took a glancing blow to the ribs. He yelped in pain and surprise. Mac was so quick to get to her feet that nobody actually saw her stand up and, before anyone could make a move, Mac had knocked Frank to the ground and had a death grip around his windpipe. She knew she couldn’t beat him in a fight, so surprise was her only defense. Jamming the heel of her free hand under Frank’s nose, she spoke in such a guttural voice that it sent chills up several spines: Frank’s most of all. “You can have a choice, Frank,” she spat. “I can jam your nose up into your brain and make you a vegetable for the rest of your life, or I can just tear out your windpipe and kill you right here.” Frank could neither move nor speak, so overcome was he with fear. “What’s it gonna be, you miserable excuse for a man?”

Mac felt hands trying to pull her off Frank, but she wouldn’t release her hold. The harder she was pulled, the tighter her grip got. “How’s my dog?” was all she said. The answer came from Wishbone. “He’s okay, Mac. Bruised some, but he’s okay.”

Mac breathed a sigh of relief but didn’t loosen her grip or take her dark eyes from Frank’s terrified ones. She couldn’t know that Mr. Favor really did have a fondness for Little Pete and that he tolerated no cruelty to any animal. But he couldn’t allow one of his drovers to kill another one either.

Looking toward Mr. Favor, Frank could plainly see that he was not going to get help from the trail boss. Mr. Favor’s face was almost black with rage. “Mac, let Frank go,” he said tersely and put one hand on Mac’s shoulder. “I said to let him go.”

Slowly, very slowly, Mac removed one hand first from under Frank’s nose and then released her grip on his windpipe with the other hand. Frank’s neck was bloody from where her short fingernails had dug into his flesh.

Gasping for air, he got to his feet and was met by a solid punch to the jaw. “That,” growled Mr. Favor, “is for kicking the dog. Little Pete is worth two of you. Now, go draw your pay and get out of here.”

At that moment, Mac almost forgot she was supposed to be a man and had to remind herself of that fact pronto. Her initial reaction was to throw her arms gratefully around Mr. Favor, but she made herself settle for a quick nod of thanks before she went to Little Pete. Running her hands over her dog’s body, she could feel no broken bones. But the dog did flinch when she touched his ribs on one side. Mr. Favor and Wishbone both decided that, at least for the day, Little Pete should ride in the supply wagon; tomorrow they would check him to see if he felt better.

“Frank was the last hand we dare to lose on this drive, Boss,” interjected Mr. Yates.

“No loss there. He had a bad attitude. I’m sorry about the dog, but it was perfect timing to get rid of a bad trail hand,” came the answer. “Besides, I kinda liked giving him a good punch.”

Mac heard this exchange, and she began to see Mr. Favor in a new light. He was not so intimidating any more. He cared for his men, and he cared for Little Pete. He obviously had a soft spot that very few people were allowed to see. He was respected because he was a good man, an honest man, and a fair man. And he was handsome. And he had beautiful blue eyes. It was at this moment that Mac realized she was seeing her boss through the eyes of the woman that she was. She knew how physical attraction felt, and that was what she was feeling now. She would have to be extra careful to not let any of those feelings show or she would bungle her disguise. This was going to be harder than she had planned on.

**********

The days passed quickly, and it wasn’t long before all the drovers were rotating positions at riding drag, flank, swing, or point. Little Pete had long since healed from Frank’s kick, and Frank was all but forgotten. Sometimes tempers flared but those same tempers cooled quickly. The word “mister” never preceded a name (except for Mr. Favor); it wasn’t a planned thing but something that just happened quite naturally on its own. Genuine friendships began to form and nighttime discussions took place often. Tonight’s discussion was centered around the next night’s visit into a nearby town. Mac, having finished her usual quick bath, blundered into a large group of men graphically describing what they planned to do when they got into town. She could feel herself blushing and turned to make a discreet disappearance, but Scarlet saw her and motioned for her to come over and sit down.

What could she do? She was supposed to be a guy, and to not sit down and at least listen to what was being said would make her look snobby. She took a deep breath and sat on a log next to Rowdy and Pete and forced an interested look on her face.

Plunket was just finishing his story about one of the saloon girls he had met on the last trail drive. “She got me drunk, and I had just enough money to pay her when we went upstairs. Hell, it was over so quick that I wasn’t even sure we had done anything! I guess I had gotten too rough with her and torn her dress off or somethin’. Anyhow, she wanted more money to pay for the dress and the poke, and I didn’t have enough to give her extra. She took my britches and threw ‘em out the window and left me standing there nekkid!”

“Well,” laughed Rowdy, “what’d you do then?”

“I had to beg her to go downstairs and find one of my friends. She brought him upstairs and all he could do was laugh at me. I couldn’t go nowhere without my britches, and that redhead swore that she would march me down the street to the sheriff’s office and have me arrested for not paying for her services.”

“Did your friend come up with the money?” asked Quince, slapping his knee and laughing.

“Nope. He had done spent all his money on liquor and didn’t even have enough left for a girl. He had to go back downstairs and take up a collection for me. That seemed to satisfy that ole redhead, so she said that she wouldn’t take me to the sheriff after all.”

Big Pete, who was grinning from ear to ear, asked the question before anybody else could. “What happened to your britches?”

Plunket shook his head sorrowfully. “I guess somebody on the street took ‘em. I had to sneak out of the saloon and ride back to the herd with an old blanket wrapped around me.”

Mac had never heard such boisterous laughter, nor had she ever known that men talked of such things in such detail. She pretended to laugh along with the others, but she was horribly embarrassed as she realized that the stories were becoming more graphic as time went on.

When she could stand it no more, she finally spoke up. “You know what’s wrong with all of you? You just don’t know how to treat women. It doesn’t matter if she’s working in a saloon or if she’s the bank president’s wife!”

“Oh, and you do?” queried Rowdy.

Mac was in over her head; she would have to finesse herself out of this situation very carefully. She stretched her legs and answered, “As a matter of fact, I do.”

She had everyone’s attention. “A woman craves respect and dignity. No woman wants a man to get drunk and tear off her clothes and give her a poke that he won’t even remember the next day.” She was glad that the dying firelight hid the redness of her face.

“But that’s what she’s paid to do,” growled Cahill.

“True,” Mac answered. “But that’s not how she really wants it done. You have to pretend to be a gentleman, woo her a little, take some time, make her feel special.”

“Make a saloon tramp feel ‘special?’” came the answer from the far side of the fire.

Mac fidgeted. She could see Mr. Favor, leaning against the chuck wagon, and his eyes were on her. “A saloon ‘tramp,’ as you call it, is a woman first and foremost. Maybe she hates her job but it’s the only one she could get to put food on the table. Maybe she’s a homely girl who can get a man’s attention only by working in a saloon. But I can guarantee you that she has a heart, she has dreams, and she has feelings. You’ll get more for your money if you can at least pretend that you think she’s special.”

There was complete silence. Pete rubbed his jaw, deep in thought. Quince and Scarlet looked confused. Plunket’s mouth dropped open. And Mr. Favor was openly staring at her and began walking her way.

“You seem to know a lot about women and how they feel, what they think,” he said.

“I do,” she answered succinctly, “and so would all of you if you stopped to think about it.”

“Okay,” piped up Scarlet. “So what do you suggest we do?”

Mac, trying desperately to think like a man but having the true feelings of a woman, thought a minute and then answered. “Have a coupla drinks. If you see a gal you wanna poke, stop drinking and go poke her. Then you can come back to the bar and get roarin’ drunk if you feel like it. She’ll be happy, you’ll be satisfied, and you can come back to the herd with a big grin on your face. Try it and see if I’m not right.”

Mr. Favor’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. He shrugged. “Try it. It seems to work for Mac.”

Before she could get into more discussion, Mac decided she’d better head for her bedroll. “I’m turnin’ in. Wake me when it’s my turn for night guard.” With that, she made a quick exit with the feeling that her face was beet red.

With Little Pete curled up beside her, she could still hear the men talking as she drifted off to sleep. If she had turned her face toward the fire, she would have seen the quizzical look on Mr. Favor’s face. But it would be quite a while before she knew that his gut feeling about her being “strange” would put her and her job in jeopardy.

**********

Mac chose not to go into town the next night, saying that she didn’t mind staying behind with some of the other guys and keeping an eye on the herd. (She didn’t drink, she didn’t smoke, and she really didn’t want to be put in the position of being in a saloon and sticking out like a sore thumb. What would she do if one of the saloon girls could see through her disguise?) But she did watch with delight the preparations being made for the guys who were going: bathing, shaving, much hair-combing, and picking out the right clothes to wear. Mac decided that men were basically like women in wanting to look nice, and she hid an understanding smile. She was certainly learning about men!

She waved a cheerful goodbye as Mr. Favor led half the drovers into town. The excitement had been contagious, and she was a little sad that she had made the decision to remain. However, staying with the herd gave her some extra time to slip off down to the creek bed with a bar of soap, some scissors, and another clean strip of sheet to bind her breasts with. Nobody asked where she was going; nobody ever asked about anybody’s whereabouts unless that person was gone too long. It was just an accepted fact that every man had to answer a “call of nature,” so short disappearances were taken as a matter of course.

Mac, for the first time, was able to take her time bathing in the cold creek water. She lathered herself from head to toe with soap, rinsed, and then lathered again. She washed a very dirty set of clothing as well. Feeling that she had finally gotten the dirt out of all her pores and out of her scalp, she climbed up on a rock to let herself dry off before putting on clean clothes. Little Pete had accompanied her, as usual, and she heard him give a low growl. Not far from where she was sitting, she saw Mushy as he began washing the supper dishes. Panicky, she quietly hushed the dog and scrambled into her clean clothes. And it wasn’t a moment too soon because, as she was pulling up her britches, Mushy spotted her and ambled over. Glancing around hurriedly, Mac realized that she had not yet bound her breasts, and the strips of sheet were both out in plain view. There was no time to hide them.

Mushy left the dirty dishes and pots and strolled over to greet Mac. Little Pete jumped up and ran over to see if Mushy had any tidbits and sat down dejectedly when he discovered there was no food to be had.

Mac had an idea but it had to be done in a big hurry. “Mushy, Little Pete could be a big help at cleaning those plates and pots. If you let him lick most of the food away, there’ll be less of a washing chore. All you have to do is take him over there (she pointed to the dishes) and tell him to help himself.”

Mushy was not the brightest fella in the world, but Mac was standing in profile to him, and the moonlight caused him to look at her twice. She did not have the same shape that she usually did. But he couldn’t quite figure out what was different. Knitting his brow, he was torn between finding out what was so “odd” about Mac and whether to let Little Pete help him with the dishes. Mac held her breath. Mushy decided on the dishes and turned to walk the dog back to where the pots were stacked. As quickly as she could, Mac snatched up the clean strip of sheet, took off her shirt, bound herself in a flash, put the shirt back on and then sat back down with the scissors in her hand. She tried to look nonchalant, but her heart was pounding. What would she have done if Mushy had come down to the creek earlier and caught her in the water naked? What would she have done if it had been one of the other drovers who wanted to take a bath at the same time as she did?

Leaving Little Pete to lick the plates and pots clean, Mushy returned. He still had a feeling that he had seen something strange about Mac and wanted to figure out what it was. But Mac looked like the same old Mac now; maybe the moonlight had just been playing tricks on him.

Mac was staring into the water and was busily trying to cut her hair by looking at her reflection. This was not working well. Mushy looked around and saw the freshly-washed strip of sheet and innocently asked what it was for. Mac laughed and grabbed up the wet cloth. “Usually when I cut my hair, I wear this around the neck of my shirt. Because it’s wet, it catches my hair better as I cut, then I can rinse it again in the water.

She sneaked a peek at Mushy’s face. This answer seemed to satisfy him. “I’m pretty good at cutting hair,” he said. “Do you want me to cut yours?”

“Mushy,” answered Mac, trying to not think about what Mushy might do to her short locks, “thank you so much. But this curly hair has to be cut a certain way or it just won’t look right.” She hurriedly snipped off some more locks and prayed that she would be done before Mushy got his feelings hurt. “It’s not like Scarlet or Quince’s hair that is very straight. I always cut my own hair.” Mac was buying time, and it was all the time she needed. Though her hair didn’t look as good as it should have, she had cut enough off so that it didn’t look too long.

“There,” she announced, standing up. “How does it look?”

Mushy shrugged. “It looks fine to me.”

After gathering up her freshly-washed clothes, the two walked to where Little Pete was finishing the last tidbits out of the cooking pot. When Mac asked if she could help Mushy wash everything, he declined politely. He knew Wishbone would not approve of any help and said so. Mac just laughed. “I sure don’t want you to get in trouble with Wish, so I’ll head back to camp and get a little sleep before it’s my turn for night guard.” She patted Mushy on the back and tried hard to stroll casually back to camp. But her mind was reeling. That whole incident was too close for comfort.

**********

She was almost through with her shift of what she referred to as “babysitting” the steers when she heard the sounds of several drunken drovers making their way back to camp. She was tired and had looked forward to climbing under her blankets and going to sleep but knew that this would not happen tonight. And she was right.

She put off returning to camp as long as she could, but she also was aware that it was another guy’s turn to watch the cattle. She walked Dusty slowly back to the remuda and tried her best to remain in the shadows hoping she wouldn’t be seen. Suddenly she felt a hand slap her hard on the back and, when she looked up, she saw Cahill’s drunken face.

“Hey, old buddy, old pal!” he managed to say. There were some more words that were too slurred to understand and she tried to pull away from the hand now rested on her shoulder. “Come sit and talk to us and we’ll tell you what a great time we had tonight!” Cahill added. He stumbled, and Mac literally had to help him walk over to the campfire where there were other drunken (but happy) faces.

“Siddown, siddown,” mumbled Plunket, who immediately fell backwards over the rock he was sitting on. Too drunk to be hurt, he just climbed back up and swayed precariously.

“Mac, ole boy,” began Quince, “you sure did give us some good advice last night.”

Mac made a face. “And what advice are you referring to?” She knew better than to ask, but she was dying of curiosity.

“How to treat the wimmin, of course!” exclaimed Plunket.

Several heads nodded in unison. “We did what you told us to do, and them wimmin really liked it! Never had me such a good time in my whole life.” This statement was from Scarlet who was looking decidedly green in the face. “I don’t think I feel very good.”

Wishbone, who couldn’t sleep because of the ruckus, trudged over and led Scarlet away just before he began to retch. Wishbone looked back at Mac sympathetically. “The next sick one is yours. This might be a long night.”

For an hour, Mac listened to stories of drinking, to comments of small fights that had broken out, and to the more graphic details of what the guys had done with the women – and how many times they had done it. Frankly, she was disgusted with the whole conversation, but she had to keep up her appearance of being “one of the guys” and just tried to shut her ears. Actually, she prayed to be struck deaf but God was not listening to that particular prayer.

One by one, the drunken drovers either fell asleep where they were sitting or they shuffled off to their bedrolls. Mac sent a silent prayer of thanks heavenward. She rolled her eyes as Wishbone approached her and whispered that not all of the men were back yet. “Mr. Favor will be coming in with the rest of the men; when we see that everybody is here, then we can get some sleep.”

“Does this happen all the time when the men go to town?” asked Mac.

“Yep. Most always. Too many hot and dusty days get to ‘em and they need to blow off some steam. But they’re gonna be feelin’ pretty bad tomorrow when they have to saddle up and work. They’ll complain a lot, but they’ll do their jobs.”

The sound of approaching hooves heralded the arrival of Mr. Favor and the rest of the drovers. Mac knew that Mr. Favor had been drinking because she could smell the alcohol on his breath but, when he spoke, she could discern no sign of drunkenness. “Everybody here?” he asked. When Wishbone and Mac had literally counted the men, they nodded. Mr. Favor nodded, told them to get some shut-eye and then headed for his own bedroll.

Mac had to ask. “Wish, Mr. Favor has been drinking. But he’s not drunk, or at least he doesn’t appear to be drunk.”

“Mr. Favor never gets drunk. He looks like he’s drinkin’ as much as anybody, but he can actually make one drink last a long time. He just goes along to make sure there ain’t no trouble and that everybody gets back to camp okay. He lets them think he’s having a good time, but I don’t think he actually enjoys hisself. He just stands at the bar and pretends to be drinking and leaves the wimmin alone.”

Mac felt a wave of relief. Why in the world should she care what Mr. Favor did or didn’t do? So what if he got drunk and had several women? After all, he was a man, with a man’s needs, and he did deserve to blow off a little steam himself. Then why did she feel happy that he apparently stood by and did nothing? She was too tired to think about it and decided to get some sleep. Morning would arrive all too soon and she could think about it then.

**********

Wishbone was shaking his head as he handed out what the hungover men wanted most that morning: coffee. “I don’t know why they get so drunk every time,” he mused to Mac. “They know how bad they’ll feel the next day, they know they’ll have to saddle up and work. But they hit the bottle hard every single time.”

Looking around at the bleary eyes and haggard faces, Mac agreed with Wishbone. “I guess men will be men.”

It wasn’t only what she said but the way that she said it that made Wishbone give her a long look. There was something very odd about this young man but he just couldn’t figure it out. Mac was well-mannered, almost too polite, and there was something “off” about the way he looked. A thought flickered through his mind too quickly to be grabbed on to, so he continued to pour coffee and serve breakfast to the men who could actually keep food down.

Mr. Favor strolled up and scratched Little Pete behind the ears. “Wish, what kinda supplies do we need? We might as well stock up while we can.”

While Wishbone was reciting what was needed, Mr. Favor looked at Mac. “You goin’ into town this afternoon with the other half of the crew?”

Trying to look nonchalant, Mac answered. “Nah, I think I’ll stay here. I don’t care much for standing around and getting drunk. I’d just as soon help out around here.”

But Mr. Favor wouldn’t let it go. “Well, you can help out by going into town with Wish and stocking up on supplies. You can meet us at the saloon when you’re done. A glass or two of beer won’t hurt you.”

Was Mr. Favor daring her to go? It seemed like he scrutinized her more and more each day, and she was distinctly uncomfortable. Or was he just trying to make sure that she didn’t feel left out? Finally she shrugged and answered, “Sounds good. But if it’s okay, I’ll ride Dusty into town in case I wanna leave and Wish isn’t ready.”

“Okay by me,” came Mr. Favor’s reply. Then he turned and walked away and ordered the men into their saddles. There was work to be done whether they felt like it or not.

**********

By late afternoon, Mac was ready to ride out with Wishbone. It was obvious that she had taken a bath, shaved, and had put on clean clothes, but Wishbone couldn’t figure out when or how she had done it. He pursed his lips and then climbed into the supply wagon.

Soon other men had gathered and were ready to go. And Mr. Favor was with them again. Wishbone thought that this was quite unusual, but who was he to try to figure it out? Along with the other riders, he turned the wagon in the direction of town.

At the very first saloon, everybody except Wishbone and Mac had stopped and practically run in through the swinging doors. The supply wagon moved on toward the General Store, and Mac sneakily looked at a place she would have loved to have stopped in had she not been in disguise: a dressmaker shop. What beautiful dresses there were in the store window! Oh, how she would have loved to try some of those dresses on, to twirl in them, to feel the fabrics against her skin! She felt a lump in her throat. This being a “man” was much harder than she had bargained for.

Helping Wishbone get the supplies was more demanding than she had thought also. Carrying sacks of flour and large bags of salt was physically tiring and, by the time the wagon was loaded, she was exhausted. She tried to tell Wishbone that she was ready to head back to camp, but Wishbone wouldn’t hear of it. “All you need is some cold beer and a little fun to loosen you up.”

She dared not think of what Wishbone’s idea of “a little fun” was, but she knew that Mr. Favor was here, so she headed miserably behind Wish in the direction of the saloon. Mushy was back at camp, probably cooking supper by now, and she longed to be there instead of here.

Entering the saloon, she noticed that several of the drovers were missing. But Mr. Favor was standing at the bar enjoying