The Long Trail Home by Stephen A. Bly Page B

you could meet the children.”
    â€œHow many do you have?”
    â€œFour—and Hershel wants more. Two boys and two girls. How about you, Sam Fortune? Have you settled down yet?”
    â€œI’m not married, if that’s what you’re hintin’ at.”
    â€œOf course it is! I certainly like that suit on you. I’m glad you don’t wear a tie. It shows a certain flair. Most men wear one because they know women find them irresistibly attractive, but being independently minded like you are, you reject such appeal and go you’re own way. I like that. I always liked that in you. Now, what are you doing in Dodge, and can you stay for supper tonight? I’ll have the cook set an extra plate.”
    â€œI’m reppin’ for a rancher down in the Public Lands. I have to check on his cattle and get a crew to drive them out to the ranch. I’ll be leavin’ this afternoon, if I can.”
    She leaned over, stood on tiptoes, and kissed him on the cheek. “Sammy, it is wonderful to see you. I . . . I . . . well, frankly, I supposed you would be dead by now, the life you were living. I have to scoot over to a meeting at the church, but you must promise to have supper with us next time you are in town. Hershel will enjoy visiting with you. I’ve told him all about you and me.”
    â€œYou have?”
    â€œWell, . . .” Rachel rolled her eyes to the light blue sky. “Not exactly all . . . but you know what I mean. Say, did you ever get things settled with your daddy?”
    â€œWhy did you ask that, Rachel?” he snapped.
    â€œOh, my . . . I am sorry. I don’t know why it popped into my head. Please forgive me, Sammy. You’re right. It was uncalled for. I really must scoot. Promise me, Sam Fortune. Next time you come to Dodge you’ll have supper at our house.”
    â€œI promise,” he mumbled.
    â€œGood, because Sam Fortune is a rebel and a scamp, but he always keeps his word to women.”
    Sam stared after her until she turned the corner and headed south.
    He strolled along the shade of the covered boardwalk. It seems like ever’one I know is either dead or reformed. Rachel Dally—you looked good, girl. Gettin’ away from me was smart. Trouble is . . . I can’t ever get away from me.
    Why did she ask about Daddy?
    Lord, it’s like you’re naggin’ at me! You’ve ignored me and let me go my way for years, and now you’re nagging me!
    I do believe this is my last trip to Dodge City.
    A big, tall man with a neatly trimmed, salt and pepper beard rested his elbows on the hitching rail in front the Chicago Meat Packing office, watching two wagons full of bleached buffalo bones, stacked sixteen feet high, roll down Front Street. “That’s a lot of bones,” he muttered to no one in particular.
    Sam stopped beside the man. “There’s a lot more out on the prairie.”
    â€œYep, but there won’t be forever. Then, everyone out here— including the Indians—will have to eat beef instead of buffalo,” the man reasoned. “You just come up the trail?”
    Fortune pushed his stiff Stetson with old, rawhide stampede string to the back of his head. “Hard to hide, isn’t it?”
    â€œYou got cattle to sell? I’m the buyer.”
    Sam straightened his new black tie and brushed his thick mustache with his fingertips. “No, sir. I’m reppin’ for Mr. Rocklin.”
    â€œRocklin? Well, it’s about time you showed up. Your crew pushed in here over two weeks ago.”
    â€œThat’s what I heard. They were supposed to rendezvous down near the Canadian in the Public Lands.”
    â€œWell, they said the trail boss took a spill and died coming across the Red Desert. So, they hunted around a little for Rocklin, but he didn’t show, so they pushed them up. I bought them.”
    â€œYou what?”
    The man stroked his chin whiskers.