Molly Lee by Andrew Joyce

Author:Andrew Joyce
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Andrew Joyce

Thirty-Six

A few days later, Jeff announced that he would have to be away for a week. “Just a little business I have to attend to. You and Betty will be fine. This valley is off the beaten path. No one ever comes here except Two Elk, and he’s a friend. So if he comes, invite him in for dinner. He speaks good English.”

Seven days later, Betty and I were tending the garden when Jeff rode into the yard trailing two saddled horses. He walked his horse up to us and said with a smile on his face, “Got any coffee, ladies? I ran out two days ago, and I sure am hankering for a cup.”

Betty was not going to let him get away with that. She ran over to the horses and as she rubbed the muzzle of one of them, she asked her father, “Where did you get them?”

“Oh, these two old pieces of crow bait? I found them on the trail and thought we could render them down for tallow.”

They were anything but crow bait; they were two of the finest specimens of horseflesh I had ever seen except for my old horse, Huck. Betty was appalled. “You can’t do that, Father!”

Jeff chuckled, slipped his horse, and came over and kissed me. Then to Betty he said, “I was only funnin’. They’re for my two favorite women.”

I looked inquiringly at him and he explained. “I figured you’d be needing a horse of your own, and it’s high time Betty had one herself. So I went up to the canyon, separated two from the herd and broke them. On the way back, I stopped in at Resurrection and bought the saddles. I could have bought two horses in town, but none as fine as these. And besides, I wanted to put a little something of myself into getting them. It’s hard to explain.”

I understood.

They were mustangs: one a black mare, the other a red roan stallion. Betty named the stallion Falling Star because he had a white spot on his forehead. She claimed him for herself. I named the mare Cynthia. Then I went into the cabin to brew up some coffee for my husband.

Jeff was eager to show me the boundaries of his land, so a few days later we saddled up and rode out. We followed the stream east and after an hour, Jeff pulled up. “Here, where the stream turns north, is our eastern boundary. The southern boundary is two miles to the south. There’s a lone pine marking the limit of our land.”

I liked the way he said our land.

We made a leisurely pace following the stream for another two hours. It was a beautiful valley. The green grass met the blue sky off in the far distance and where they came together was still Jeff’s land. “This is our northern boundary,” he said as he pointed to the stream turning back towards the mountains.

“I went over to Virginia City and filed a deed of ownership four years ago.

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