pie.”
“My name's Mattie Pruitt.” She finally smiled
at Jodi as she spoke. “And my boy's name is Mathew. A Bible name,
you'll notice. I want your promise” —she glanced at Hunt— “that you
will have no rough play, nor drinking on the drive.” She dished out
the cornbread and beans, and then passed them the potatoes. Every
child sat very still until all the adults had loaded their
plates.
“That's a rule on my drive, ma'am.” Hunt
nodded as he noticed their manners. “I run a clean outfit. Not
looking for trouble, but am aware of the Indians, jayhawkers,
storms, and swimming the river.” Hunt gave a charming smile. “Can
the boy swim?”
“His pa learned him early. I won't forget the
day he threw him in the river and turned his back on him. It scared
the livin' daylights out of me. But I reckon he knew what he was
doin' because Mathew swam like a fish.” She chuckled. “It's good
you know about all the dangers ahead of you; don't like any
jackasses that think its some easy jolt from here to there. At
least you ain't blind.” His mother asked directly, “And will he be
paid like the others?”
Hunt considered her question, and then smiled
at Mathew. “If he's really worth his salt, I'll pay him like any
other drover, thirty dollars a month and a horse.”
“Fair enough,” she said with a tolerant
chuckle. A blinding, unreasonable melancholy settled over Matt's
mother. Hunt admired the courage it took to separate herself from
her son so instantly. It was plain she hated to see him go, but was
proud of the fact that he was man enough to want to. He made
himself a promise right there and then. He would see after the
boy.
After they ate, Mrs. Pruitt checked the pie
and set it out to cool for a bit. It was baked to a golden
brown.
Less than an hour later, Mathew kissed and
hugged his family, each of them in a special way, and then he
gathered his shotgun, his rope, and his father's new boots and
headed for the door. He left childhood and memories behind.
“God go with you, son,” his mother cried as
she herded the rest of the children back into the house, a
handkerchief dabbled at her eyes. The sad slump of her shoulders
spoke louder than her voice could.
“Bye, Mama…” Mathew said, and didn't look
back. “I'll be back, with thirty dollars or more.”
≈≈≈
Jodi looked at the boy; he was as tall as she
and kind of cute. His hair needed cutting, but then that wasn't
important. He wore overalls and a faded shirt that was homespun.
His shoes were worn out, but at least he had the good sense to
bring his father's boots. “You really know how to handle a wagon?”
she asked, her brows going up for his answer.
“Yes, ma'am, my daddy was a freighter. I been
helpin' him since I was big enough to put a saddle on the horse,”
Mathew explained as he nearly ran to keep up with them.
“Then your job is to drive the chuck wagon.
Help my wife when she stops for cooking. You'll take orders from
me, and her, understood?” Hunt eyed him as they neared the
horses.
Jubilant, Matt's face shone with pride.
“Understood,” Mathew replied. “Call me
Matt.”
“All right, Matt. You are officially hired.
We'll get you a horse of your own when we get to the herd,” Hunt
said and hoisted him behind him.
Matt beamed with exhilarated joy as he
adjusted his flop hat. “Wow, my own horse, now that'll be
somethin'. We had a team of ox to pull the wagon, and an old mule,
but I ain't never had my own horse.”
“Well, you will now,” Hunt laughed. “You can
pick him out of the remuda when we get back. As long as he doesn't
belong to someone else, he's yours.”
“Fair enough,” Mathew replied with a smile.
“What do you want me to call you?”
“I'm Hunt, or Boss. She's Jodi.” He smiled
and they rode out of town.
Jodi balanced the pie against the saddle.
“What about the horses?” she asked, miffed
that he would disregard the horse flesh. “Don't you want to take a
look at
“My name's Mattie Pruitt.” She finally smiled
at Jodi as she spoke. “And my boy's name is Mathew. A Bible name,
you'll notice. I want your promise” —she glanced at Hunt— “that you
will have no rough play, nor drinking on the drive.” She dished out
the cornbread and beans, and then passed them the potatoes. Every
child sat very still until all the adults had loaded their
plates.
“That's a rule on my drive, ma'am.” Hunt
nodded as he noticed their manners. “I run a clean outfit. Not
looking for trouble, but am aware of the Indians, jayhawkers,
storms, and swimming the river.” Hunt gave a charming smile. “Can
the boy swim?”
“His pa learned him early. I won't forget the
day he threw him in the river and turned his back on him. It scared
the livin' daylights out of me. But I reckon he knew what he was
doin' because Mathew swam like a fish.” She chuckled. “It's good
you know about all the dangers ahead of you; don't like any
jackasses that think its some easy jolt from here to there. At
least you ain't blind.” His mother asked directly, “And will he be
paid like the others?”
Hunt considered her question, and then smiled
at Mathew. “If he's really worth his salt, I'll pay him like any
other drover, thirty dollars a month and a horse.”
“Fair enough,” she said with a tolerant
chuckle. A blinding, unreasonable melancholy settled over Matt's
mother. Hunt admired the courage it took to separate herself from
her son so instantly. It was plain she hated to see him go, but was
proud of the fact that he was man enough to want to. He made
himself a promise right there and then. He would see after the
boy.
After they ate, Mrs. Pruitt checked the pie
and set it out to cool for a bit. It was baked to a golden
brown.
Less than an hour later, Mathew kissed and
hugged his family, each of them in a special way, and then he
gathered his shotgun, his rope, and his father's new boots and
headed for the door. He left childhood and memories behind.
“God go with you, son,” his mother cried as
she herded the rest of the children back into the house, a
handkerchief dabbled at her eyes. The sad slump of her shoulders
spoke louder than her voice could.
“Bye, Mama…” Mathew said, and didn't look
back. “I'll be back, with thirty dollars or more.”
≈≈≈
Jodi looked at the boy; he was as tall as she
and kind of cute. His hair needed cutting, but then that wasn't
important. He wore overalls and a faded shirt that was homespun.
His shoes were worn out, but at least he had the good sense to
bring his father's boots. “You really know how to handle a wagon?”
she asked, her brows going up for his answer.
“Yes, ma'am, my daddy was a freighter. I been
helpin' him since I was big enough to put a saddle on the horse,”
Mathew explained as he nearly ran to keep up with them.
“Then your job is to drive the chuck wagon.
Help my wife when she stops for cooking. You'll take orders from
me, and her, understood?” Hunt eyed him as they neared the
horses.
Jubilant, Matt's face shone with pride.
“Understood,” Mathew replied. “Call me
Matt.”
“All right, Matt. You are officially hired.
We'll get you a horse of your own when we get to the herd,” Hunt
said and hoisted him behind him.
Matt beamed with exhilarated joy as he
adjusted his flop hat. “Wow, my own horse, now that'll be
somethin'. We had a team of ox to pull the wagon, and an old mule,
but I ain't never had my own horse.”
“Well, you will now,” Hunt laughed. “You can
pick him out of the remuda when we get back. As long as he doesn't
belong to someone else, he's yours.”
“Fair enough,” Mathew replied with a smile.
“What do you want me to call you?”
“I'm Hunt, or Boss. She's Jodi.” He smiled
and they rode out of town.
Jodi balanced the pie against the saddle.
“What about the horses?” she asked, miffed
that he would disregard the horse flesh. “Don't you want to take a
look at
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