The Diary of Jerrod Bently, J.W. Osborn [the false prince series TXT] 📗

and now was using my Christian name when we spoke. Scrub Pot always seemed to have that all knowing look on his face when he saw us together and I could not figure out why or what the old man might have up his sleeve. I had fallen for Sam and I had grown to love her Grandfather too. When the drive was over it would be hard to say good bye, but I figured that would be what would happen. I began to dread Abilene and the end of the trail. Our trail boss was still missing and no one seemed to know where he had gotten to. No body but Scrub Pot that is. But the problem at the moment was getting Ned Travis to Portersville and turned over to the law. I had never heard such complaining from a person as I heard from him. He was suffering the after effects of being shot with rock salt in an area I’d rather not discuss with ladies present and he was letting the world know about it. We tied him up and threw him in the back of Scrub Pot’s wagon when we moved out. He didn’t like it much, but he was so afraid of Scrub Pot that he quit his bellyaching and shut up. I don’t know what the old man said to him, but it sure had him spooked. Scrub Pot calmly drove his mules, his usual sour look on his face, his fluffy white dog sitting beside him on the wagon seat. The gray canvas cover of the wagon was stained red from the boysenberry jam incident and he seemed pretty touchy about that, so no one ever mentioned it, and where was Doc? No one had seen him for over a week and he should have been back with the supplies long ago. Little did we know, that the peaceful little town of Portersville was going to need him far more than we would.

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Sam seemed concerned when she spoke to her Grandfather about Angus Watson. “His horse is still here and he has been gone for three days,” she said as she rode her stallion along side the chuck wagon, “I have to get this herd to market and to tell you the truth, it has been much easier without him.”
“I know,” Scrub Pot replied. Sam could read him like a book as she looked back at his face. “You know where he is,” she said “Don’t you.”
“And what if I did, Granddaughter?,” the old Indian replied. He was playing games with her as he had done ever since she was a child. “You always answer with a question,” she stated “Now are you going to tell me what happened to Watson?”
“Do you not believe you can get to Abilene without Red Hair?, he asked.
“Well, it seems like I have been the one doing all the work since we started and he was the one giving all the orders,” Sam replied.
“Red Hair is no cattleman, Samantha Ann,” Scrub Pot said “It is better with him gone. You will see.”
“What happened to him?”, Sam pressed. “If he is out there hurt or something we need to go back for him.”
“He is not hurt,” Scrub Pot replied “He is with a woman.”
“What woman?”, she asked.
“He would have traded many horses for Bird That Squawks , Scrub Pot replied “But I made it so he did not have to.”
“Oh no,” Sam said, a worried look on her face “What did you do, Grandfather?”
“Nothing,” the old man defended “I merely introduced them and I have not seen them since.”
It started with a smile and then a grin and a few seconds later, Sam Dodge was laughing so hard she nearly fell off her horse.
“Do not make light of two people in love,” Scrub Pot advised, a sly grin on his face “one day it could be you.”
She pushed her reins froward sending Trouble into a trot “You are a crafty old fox,”she said as she rode away. He watched after her “And you are my pride and joy, Samantha Ann,” he said to himself. If only his son could see her, could have known her. How he would have loved her. It always made him sad to think of the past. Joseph died when Sam was only five months old. The only father she’d ever known was Scrub Pot and for that he was grateful.
The sun was sinking slow behind the hills, and quitting time was close. We’d covered a lot of ground that day and true to form, Sam had found good grazing land and water for the herd. Still no sign of the trail boss. We were less than a ten miles from the Oklahoma Territory and after that, barring any mishaps, which were always possible, we’d be crossing into Kansas. The drive would be over when we got to Abilene and the thought made me sad. I could not imagine parting with Mud, or not having the comradery of the boys, or Scrub Pot. It seemed that the old Indian was the glue that held the whole outfit together. His cooking was not what I would call good, but we survived on it and didn’t complain too much. I had gotten used to the dust and the noise and the smell that went along with driving cattle. Once we reached Abilene, the herd would be sold, loaded into cattle cars and taken to packing houses in Chicago. It seemed that since the war, the demand for beef had grown and so had many of the cattle ranches throughout Texas and the West. I thought about the Flying S. Sam was so excited about owning it and raising her horses there, but to me it was just a broken down place with a big ranch house in the middle of it. Fences would need mending, roofs would have to be patched and shingled. It all seemed to be too much for one woman to handle, but then, that woman was Sam Dodge and as I came to know her, I did not think there was anything she couldn’t do. I tried not to think about it, but I knew our parting was coming and saying good bye to her would be hard to do. However, we were close enough to civilization to haul Ned Travis into a little town called Portersville and have him locked up.

I was with the crew , bringing back some strays, when our foreman, a man called Caleb Tyler rode up next to me. “Hey Bently,” he hollered “The boss wants to see you back at camp.”
“The boss?” I questioned to myself, “Watson was missing, or so I thought.”
“Get a move on, Bently,” the man prompted “We’ve got work to do before sundown.”
“All right,” I replied “I’ll get back as soon as I am done.” I turned Mud around and rode on until I saw the white covers of the wagons and figured that was where I would find Watson. I could not imagine what he wanted with me. I was just a half experienced drover. I saw Scrub Pot with a rope in his hand and he was heading to the back of the wagon. “Where is Watson?”, I called out to him. The old man turned toward me. “Watson is gone, Jerrod Bently,” he said “Sam sent for you.” Suddenly I was encouraged. Sam had sent for me, maybe that was a good sign. I slid off my horse and led him behind me as I walked over to where Sam was brushing her new mare. “I’m here, Sam,” I said “What did you want? I was a little confused when Tyler told me that the boss wanted to see me.”
“Well, I have discovered that our trail boss has vamoosed to parts unknown with that Pawnee squaw who came into camp a while back,” she said “So with him gone for the last three days, I guess I am the boss now.”
“So what would that have to do with me coming in from work?” I asked.
“Because I need a ram rod,” Sam replied “And I think you can do it.”
“What about Ely Jax,” I said “He has more experience than I do.”
“I sent for you, Bently,” she stated “Not Ely. Now do you want the job or not.”
“ Well, sure, Sam,” I said, not knowing what else to say.
She smiled and then glanced back down at the mare’s shiny flanks. “In view of what has happened, Jerrod,” she said “I think it is best that I tell the men the truth about who I really am.”
At first I was horrified by the idea. After all, I spent most of my time with the other drovers and I had heard them talk about women and the lack of them on the trail. “No, Sam,” I said “I don’t think it would be a good idea.”
She looked up at me , that spark of defiance in her dark eyes. “Do you think they will change the way they work with me if they know I am really a woman?”
“That is not what worries me, Sam,” I said “I know they respect you and have all along, but this changes everything. You could put yourself in danger.”
“If Watson had not run off, I would have made it to the end of the drive with only you knowing who I really am,” she said “But now I have to see just how much respect these men have for me, and I am not going to go on fooling them. I do not like dishonesty and I did not like doing this, but I had to.”
“Sam, these men