Banjo's New Song Publisher: Heartsong Presents HSB 559 Pages: 160 Paperback ISBN 1-58660-692-1 $5.00

Joe Calahan-known to all as Banjo-laid a loop around the neck of a wild-eyed yearling and cinched it down. He urged the longhorn toward a smoldering fire manned by two men: his boss, Steven Chamberlin, and an extra hand Steve had hired for the roundup and cattle drive, an hombre with a gray beard.

In seconds, Steve wrestled the yearling to the ground, tied his own rope on the steer’s legs and pulled Banjo’s loop loose. Steve had been in the West for only five years, but he was a seasoned rancher now.

Winding up his lasso with automatic movements, Banjo squeezed his knees against his donkey’s sides and urged him into the herd. That made fourteen brands for him this morning. Not bad for the first few hours’ work.

At noon, the men gathered around the chuck wagon to pick up tin plates of beans and biscuits from Chance Calahan, a cook by trade and a farmer by choice. His wife, Em, basted a roasting cow on a spit nearby. Chance and Em were freed slaves who had chosen to take Banjo’s last name when he led Chance to Christ.

“How’s it goin’, Brother?” Banjo asked Chance, reaching for a loaded plate. He glanced at the mound of pinto beans. “This smells good enough to eat.”

Chance’s seamed face broke into an easy grin. “You can quit while you’re ahead, Banjo,” he said. “I’ve only got four dried apple pies, so sweet talking the cook won’t help you.”

“You’re breaking my heart,” Banjo shot back, moving on. He stepped beyond the chuck wagon, then turned and looked up as three riders approached. They were riding herd on two dozen cows. Their leader was small and wiry, a natural rider whose body moved in unison with his lively dun mustang. He wore tan buckskin breeches and a cowhide vest. The hands bunched the cattle near the edge of the canyon while their boss approached the chuck wagon.

Banjo balanced his plate on the tongue of the wagon and strode toward him, studying hard, trying to place him. Banjo knew most everybody in these parts, but he’d never met this gent. When Banjo drew near, the rider swung his leg over the saddle, slid down in a single lithe movement, and stepped toward him.

Banjo drew up and stared. That walk wasn’t the usual cowboy stride. The next moment he gazed into a pair of wide-set blue eyes above high cheekbones and full, rounded lips. The rider was a woman. Her skin was tanned, and she’d seen some hard times, but she was striking. He blinked, trying not to stare but failing miserably.

His normal “Howdy” died in his throat.

“’Morning,” she said, all business. “My name is Sally Newcomb. I’m looking for the Bar N outfit. Do you know my son, Jake?”

Banjo pulled off his stained Stetson and scratched the creased ridge at the back of his gray hair. “I reckon I do, Ma’am,” he said, still a little off balance. “I know your husband too. What’s happened to Mickey?”

She tensed. “He died in an accident last winter.”

“I met him and your boy last year in Juniper. We ate a steak together at the hotel. I’m real sorry, Ma’am.”

She cut him off. “I need to find our outfit,” she said. “On the way here we found some cows hiding in an arroyo, so we stopped to gather them up. Jake’s probably worried to death because we’re late.”

Banjo turned north and pointed. “Head that away, and you’ll come to him. When I saw him this morning, he was holding a branding iron. We swapped howdies yesterday, but he never mentioned your husband.” Banjo glanced back at the eight Circle C hands gathered around the chuck wagon. “If you need more help, give a holler, and we’ll cut someone loose.”

“Thank you, Mr…?” For the first time, she looked into his eyes. Her gaze seemed to come from far away.

“My name’s Banjo, and I’d be obliged if you didn’t hang a mister on it.”

She nodded. “I’m happy to know you, Banjo.” She turned back to her horse. With another agile move, she slid into the saddle. “Thank you,” she said, and her mount stepped away.

Banjo stood in his boot tracks, staring after her. He’d never seen anyone like her, and he’d been down the pike and up the river. Sure, many a widow kept going after her husband died, but this was the first time he’d seen one suited up like a cowhand and bulldogging cattle like a pro.

He turned back to the chuck wagon, paused, and glanced again at the dun mustang moving the cattle toward the north.

“What’s the matter, Banjo?” a deep voice asked behind him. “You look like a calf staring at a new gate.”

Banjo shook his head and adjusted his hat. “Steve, that was Sally Newcomb, Mickey Newcomb’s widow. She’s ramrodding the Bar N, an outfit a couple of hours west of here. Looks like she’s doing a fine job of it too.”

“You mean a widow’s bulldogging for the roundup?” Steve stared after the mustang.

The men ambled back toward their food, and Banjo went on. “I met Mickey Newcomb last year. He’d been in this area about two years then. I’ve never seen his spread, but I hear it’s a pretty place in the hills.” The men reclaimed their dinner plates and found a place on the back of a nearby buckboard.

“Did she say what happened to her husband?” Steve asked, lifting a biscuit.

“An accident.” Banjo forked beans into his mouth and chewed. He swallowed and said, “Mickey Newcomb was a good man-honest, hardworking, and all-but he was hardheaded as they come. Treated his son like he was a dumb houseboy.”

“If you notice that Widow Newcomb needs help, we’ll send Hank over for a few hours,” Steve said.

“Right, Boss,” Banjo replied, grinning. “I already told her.”

Steve laughed. “If you hadn’t, I would have been surprised.” Banjo finished his lunch in silence, the Newcomb family still on his mind. Always on the alert for people in need, he had a gut feeling about that widow and her boy. Maybe the Lord wanted him to help them until they got on their feet again. He had a hankering to ride on up the Bar N this fall and offer his services. Steve could get another hand for a couple of months before winter. Still distracted, he mounted his donkey, Kelsey, and went back to work.

The rest of the day passed in a dusty cloud of activity. Only darkness brought riders and ropers back to their campfires for a well-earned meal and rest. They had to be back in the saddle in seven short hours.

The next morning, Banjo was on the job before the last twinkling star had vanished overhead. He felt good. Roundup was the highpoint of his year. He enjoyed it all: the bawling cattle, the dust and the heat, the jokes over a hot plate of beans. Not long after dawn the next morning, he met Jake Newcomb while combing the dips and gullies for strays. The boy he’d met last year was man-grown now. Tight muscles filled out his blue-checkered shirt. His dark hair formed a fringe under his black Stetson. At Banjo’s wave, Jake rode to meet Banjo beside a lone cottonwood.

“How you doing, Jake?” Banjo called when he drew near. “I’ve been waiting for a chance to speak to you.”

“Yeah?” the young man muttered. His high cheekbones and blue eyes gave him a strong resemblance to his mother, but his face was sullen. He watched Banjo, waiting for the older man to speak.

“I met your mother yesterday,” Banjo went on. “Y’all been having a time of it, haven’t you?”

“We do all right.”

“If you ever need any help, give me a holler. I’m at the Circle C, but I can cut loose if I want to.”

Gazing at the ground, Jake nodded. “Thanks for the offer. I’ll tell Ma,” he said and turned away.

A moment later, Banjo spotted a long brown horn sticking up above a wide bush and set Kelsey after the stray. He worked without a break until near noon when he heard a man shout, a harsh sound that meant trouble. The noise came from a small stand of cottonwoods near a stream.

Banjo urged Kelsey into a gallop. Seconds later he saw a mossy-horned outlaw bull bearing down on a paint horse and its rider. It was Jake Newcomb. The boy had a loop over one of the bull’s horns. His pony backed up, trying to pull the line taut, but the bull kept heading for him, pawing and snorting.

Banjo spurred his mount forward, lasso at hand. Before he could get close enough to throw, the bull rammed the pony’s front quarter and threw rider and horse to the ground. Jake screamed in pain.

Banjo’s loop slid over the bull’s neck as the crazed animal circled for the kill. Bawling, the bull lunged into Banjo’s rope, but Kelsey held fast. Banjo guided his mount to a tree and quickly circled it. He tied off the end and moved away, leaving the angry bull to work out his frustration on the cottonwood.

By the time Banjo reached the fallen rider, the downed mustang had scrambled to his feet. Jake’s hat was off, and blood smeared the side of his head. His right leg lay at an odd angle between the knee and thigh. Jake gripped the wounded limb and moaned. “It’s broken!” His head rolled from side to side, his eyes half closed. “I know it’s broken.”

"Hold on, Partner,” Banjo called, sliding to the ground. “Hold on.” He knelt beside the injured man. The leg was surely broken, one of the worst Banjo had seen in his thirty years of ranch work. “I’ll git Doc Leatherwood. He’s at the Sanders’ camp.” He reached for a stick and tied his red bandanna to it. Riding Kelsey to the rise above the roundup, he waved the flag back and forth in quick strokes. Within seconds, hawk-faced Hank Andrews rode up, and Banjo called, “Jake Newcomb has a busted leg. It’s bad. Get the doc!”

Hank’s mustang set off in a cloud of dust.

Riding back to the injured boy, Banjo pulled the bandana from the stick and pressed it to Jake’s head. The cloth was soon saturated. All Banjo could do was press and wait. . .and pray.

Dr. Leatherwood was an old friend of the family. Over the past four years he’d patched up more than one broken body at the Chamberlin home. He’d delivered the Chamberlins’ two children, as well. Thickset, with heavy features and a broken nose, Dr. Leatherwood resembled a boxer more than a medical man, but his rugged face was compassionate, and his thick fingers were gentle.

The doctor reached them about fifteen minutes later. Instead of his usual black broadcloth suit, he wore jeans and a leather vest. Holding his black bag, he slid to the ground beside the wounded man. Right behind him, Hank arrived with Steve and several other riders.

“His name’s Jake Newcomb,” Banjo told the doctor.

Leatherwood took hold of Jake’s face to turn his head for a better look. “Jake?” he said, his voice firm. “Jake? Can you hear me?”

Scowling as though angry, the young man tried to pull away from the doctor’s grip. His eyelids fluttered, and he didn’t answer.

“Looks like he may have a concussion,” the doc said, tilting Jake’s head back to look into his eyes. “Keep holding that rag on his cut, Banjo. I’d best set that leg right away before it swells too much.” With quick, sure movements, he felt the limb. He glanced up. “Men, take a strong hold on his body for me, will you?” Six pairs of hands reached for Jake’s shoulders, arms, ribs, and waist. Leatherwood gave the leg a sharp yank.

Jake screamed and fainted.

“That was a mercy,” Leatherwood said, feeling the break and nodding in satisfaction. “He probably won’t remember this.” He looked at the crowd that had gathered around them, some on horseback and some standing. “Someone fetch me two flat sticks from the bundle tied behind my saddle,” he called.

No one spoke except in hushed tones as one of the men got the requested equipment.

“Jake!” a woman’s husky shout rose above their quiet voices. “Jake!” Sally Newcomb flung herself from the saddle and would have thrown herself at her boy’s body, but Steve caught her and held her back.

“The doc just set his leg, Ma’am,” Steve told her. “You’d best let him be until they can get a splint made.”

At that moment, Chance and Em Calahan arrived in a buckboard. Em was a seasoned nurse and always eager to help. Totally focused on her boy, Sally’s face was an agony of fear and grief. “He’s passed out!”

“He fainted when I set the leg,” the doctor told her. He reached into his bag for a wide roll of cloth and went on, “He hit his head when he fell, so I think he may have a concussion.” He glanced at the frantic mother. “We’ll have to keep him quiet for a couple of weeks, Ma’am.” With Banjo’s help, he bound the cloth around the splints and the injured leg.

“You can bring him to our house,” Steve told Sally. “My wife, Megan, is good at nursing folks. We live about half an hour over that rise. It’s the closest ranch.”

Pulling off her gloves, Sally passed her trembling hand across her mouth. She stared at Jake, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Em Calahan stepped close to her. “Me and Miss Megan will take good care of y’all, “she said. “We used to patch up the soldiers at Fredericksburg, Honey. He’ll be in good hands.” She kept talking, her voice soothing and low.

The doctor finished splinting the leg and put three black stitches across the cut on Jake’s head. Someone brought some blankets and spread them in the back of the buckboard. The men gently lifted Jake and laid him on the blankets. Sally climbed in beside him.

“Banjo, go ahead and take them home,” Steve said. He turned to Sally. “I’ll send one of my men to help your hands,” he told her. “We’ll see your cattle are taken care of.” She nodded as though hardly hearing him.

“I’ll come along home,” Em told them. “Megan will need me.” She looked at her husband. “Jeremy can come back to help you with the cooking.” Jeremy was Megan Chamberlin’s fourteen-year-old brother. Since both of their parents were dead, Jeremy had come to live with Megan and Steve shortly after they married. Em came too. When the slaves had gained their freedom, Em had begged Megan’s mother to let her remain with the family. Love kept her bound to the family with greater chains than slavery ever could. Even her recent marriage to Chance hadn’t taken her far from her “children.”

Chance nodded and gave Em’s shoulders a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be praying,” he said.

Banjo stepped closer. “Chance, I’d appreciate it if you’d ride Kelsey back to camp for me. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” He looked at Em. “I guess it’s you and me again, Em.”

She shook her head, her seamed face full of concern. “I wish it weren’t like this, Banjo,” she said.

He helped her into the buckboard and shook the reins.

The roundup was located in a canyon a few miles west of Juniper Junction, Colorado. Juniper sat on the edge of the plain, a brown lump on a swaying green landscape. As the foothills of the Rocky Mountains rose toward the skies, small valleys and canyons appeared. For the roundup, the men had chosen a large canyon, actually a section of the plain that had been partitioned off by an upthrust of soil and rock-a handy spot to keep the cattle until they could be sorted, branded, counted, and herded north to the railroad in Denver.

On the ride higher into the hills, Em turned often to see if Jake had come around, but he hadn’t. Sally didn’t speak once. She just sat beside her boy and cried.

Steve Chamberlin’s ranch wasn’t far as the crow flies, but crows can climb thousands of feet with a few flaps of their black wings. The buckboard had to gain altitude through the sheer muscle power of two horses that leaned forward into their harness to pull the buckboard up a trail that circled hillsides and looped around giant brown boulders. As they moved upward, the rocks became smaller, the aspen and pine groves became thicker, the constant breeze became cooler.

When they topped a rise, the Circle C ranch house came into view. It stood in front of a massive rock cliff at the top of a hill that was just a few feet shy of being a mountain. The original cabin made from stone had a newer log addition on the west side. The horses picked up their pace as they headed down the well-worn trail toward a wide stream. The wagon wheels rumbled over the half-log planks forming a crude bridge, and they began the final climb to the house.

A field of swaying corn covered the thirty acres between the stream and the ranch yard. Thousands of yellow-brown tassels bowed with a gentle rustle as the wagon passed.

When the buckboard neared the edge of the yard, a gray and white dog with a wolflike face came from the barn to bark. Steve’s wife, Megan, soon appeared on the porch. She wore a dark dress with a white apron, her honey-colored hair pulled back into a bun. She twisted her hands inside her apron, and her face was full of dread. A tiny girl with dark pigtails stood beside her mother, her brown eyes wide, her index finger in her mouth.

When the buckboard pulled to a halt, Megan cried, “What is it, Em? Who’s hurt?”

“It’s Jake Newcomb,” Em told her, climbing down. “He took a fall. His head’s cut, and he’s broke his leg. He and his ma live a good distance away, so Steve sent him up here.” She glanced toward Sally. “This is his ma, Sally Newcomb.”

Megan let out a quick breath then swallowed convulsively. “I was afraid it was Steve,” she said, her shoulders sagging. She moved to the back of the buckboard and peered over the low side. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Newcomb,” she said. “You’re welcome to stay with us. We’ll do all we can for your boy.”

Sally dabbed the back of her hand across her swollen red eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. The spunky woman who had ridden into the roundup that morning had disappeared, leaving a bent and grieving mother in her place.

“We’ll put him in the children’s room,” Megan told Em. She turned to Banjo. “I’ll change the bedding on Katie’s bed while you get him inside.” She gazed at the barn. “Jeremy!” she called. “Jeremy, come here!” She turned to Banjo. “He can help you get the boy inside.” Looking at her daughter, she added, “Come along, Katie,” and hurried inside, the little girl close behind her.

As Banjo watched them leave, he noticed Jeremy emerge from the barn’s wide doorway. When the boy saw the buckboard, he set off running, the wolf-faced dog bounding up to meet him, then following him back.

Letting down the back of the buckboard, Banjo told Jeremy the story of Jake’s accident, ending with, “You’ll have to help me carry him in.”

“I can help,” Sally said. She stood up in the buckboard, then paused to gaze at her son as though she’d forgotten what she’d meant to do.

“Fetch me a board from the ones stacked in the barn,” Banjo told Jeremy. “We’ll lay him on it and carry him inside.”

The straw-haired boy dashed away. “C’mon, Lobo,” he called to the dog. Moments later he reappeared dragging a long piece of dark wood.

Banjo helped Sally to the ground, then he and Jeremy laid the board beside Jake. Taking a firm grip on the blanket beneath the injured boy, they had Jake on the board in one smooth motion. Then they began the slow move into the house.

The Chamberlins’ home was simple and square, with one room cut out of a corner on the east side of the house, leaving an L-shaped space that served as the living room, dining room, and kitchen. A wide, stone fireplace filled much of the front wall. The floor was also stone, smooth and carefully crafted. An open loft under the rafters was Jeremy’s domain. Steve and Megan’s children occupied the newer addition on the western side of the house, and it was toward that room that Banjo and Jeremy carried Jake.

Em and Megan were already there, working with the speed of women who are used to being together. On the other end of the narrow room stood a crib containing Megan’s sleeping baby boy, about six months old. His sister, Katie, stood near the head of the bed, watching every move the two women made.

“Why are you changing the covers, Mama?” she asked, her voice lilting and shrill.

“The sick man will have to use your bed for awhile, Katie,” Megan said. “You can sleep with me and Daddy.”

“I can?” she asked, swinging on the headboard. “Goody!…Goody!”

“Sh-h,” Em said, grinning at the little girl. “You’ll wake Stevie.” From the day Megan and Jeremy had been born in Virginia, Em had been a second mother to them. Now she was like a grandmother to Megan’s children.

Banjo backed into the bedroom, one end of the stretcher in his hands. Jake’s head lolled to one side. He seemed in danger of falling off the board. “Hold tight there, Jeremy,” Banjo said. “Just a few more steps.”

The women had the sheets changed by the time the makeshift stretcher arrived.

Katie ran to Em and threw her arms around Em’s knees. The dark-skinned woman lifted the little girl and moved over to the window to give room for the stretcher to pass her. Megan stood at the head of the bed, hands ready to help. Sally hovered behind Jeremy. She was white to the lips.

When Jake was settled into the bed, Em set Katie down and left the room.

Sally grabbed Megan’s hands. “Thank you for helping us,” she said. “I don’t know what I would have done. . . .”

Megan drew the distraught woman into a brief hug. “That’s what neighbors are for.” She turned toward a rocking chair in the corner. “Here. Let’s pull this closer so you can rest yourself.”

A rustle and a small cry from the crib caught Megan’s attention. “It’s time for Stevie to wake up from his nap,” she said. “He’s hungry.” She went to the crib and scooped up her son. He nestled his head under her chin and sucked his pudgy thumb, his eyes still closed.

“I guess I’ll go,” Banjo said, his hat in his hand. “Okay if I take Jeremy along to help Chance?” he asked Megan.

Immediately, the boy’s face lit up. Banjo grinned. He knew that Jeremy had wanted to go to the roundup in the worst way, but Steve had said he ought to stay home to do the chores.

“Of course,” Megan said. Stroking her baby’s soft head, she smiled at her younger brother. “We’ll manage for a few days. Em’s here now.”

Jeremy scooted out the door and almost ran into Em, who held a basin of water in her hands.

“Land sakes, chile!” she gasped, drawing back. Shaking her head, she moved forward to set the basin on the narrow chest of drawers near the window.

Banjo knelt beside Sally in the rocking chair. Flipping his hat gently between his hands, he asked, “Would you mind if I say a prayer for him before I go?”

“I’d be grateful,” Sally murmured. “I know the good Lord says that he won’t give us more than we can bear, but. . .” Tears welled up, and she couldn’t go on

. Banjo bowed his head, and the three women closed their eyes. His gruff voice rang out. “Father, I’m asking that You watch over Jake and make him well. You know that Miz Newcomb just lost her husband. We ask that You spare her son. But above all, I pray that Your will be done.”

He stood, and Sally held out her hand to him. He clasped it gently in his calloused paw. “Thank you, Banjo,” she said, focusing on him for the first time since the accident. “I’m grateful to you.”

He cleared his throat, tried to think of something to say, and failed. Finally he remembered to let go of her hand. “Chance’ll come home tonight to check on things here,” he said. “The doc will be by later on.” With the jingle of spurs, he strode out.

As though from a distance, Sally watched Megan and Em follow Banjo out of the room. Pulling off her Stetson, she leaned back in the rocking chair. She wanted to climb onto the bed and hold Jake like she’d done after he’d fallen off the corral gate and cut his forehead when he was four years old. Then she’d bandaged his face, and he’d cried himself to sleep in her arms. Two days later, the accident was almost forgotten.

Watching Jake’s still form, she knew it would be weeks before he recovered from this. Maybe he never would. What if he couldn’t walk once the leg healed? What if he. . .”

She shuddered and drew in a quivering breath. When Mickey died, she had cried. But she’d also felt a little relieved to be free of his strict control. Mickey had watched her portion out sugar as though it were gold dust. He’d insisted that Jake wear his shoes until they were worn out, even though the stiff leather pinched the toes of their growing son. Mickey was hardworking and honest, but he wasn’t easy to live with.

Jake was an entirely different matter. Since Mickey had died, Jake had become more than a son for her to nurture. He was her ranching partner, her strength, her reason to go on in this pain-filled life. How could she go on if he was taken from her? Fresh tears slid down her cheeks.

The door to the room creaked open, and Megan’s gentle voice said, “Here, Sally.” She handed Sally a few clean handkerchiefs. “I’ve got plenty of these. You may keep them.”

“Thank you,” Sally said. She wiped her face. Blinking hard, she tried to pull herself together.

“Would you like to bathe his face?” Megan asked, moving to the enamel bowl. “Em brought some warm water.” She squeezed out the cloth in the basin and handed it to Sally. “Here’s a towel too.”

Taking the cloth and towel, Sally glanced down at her dust-covered buckskins. “I’m sorry about my clothes. My kit is at the roundup, and I didn’t bring a dress along with me. I figured I wouldn’t need it.’

Megan smiled. She had a gentle, comforting way. “When you’re ready to wash up, I can loan you a clean dress. You’re at home here, Sally. Please let me know if you need anything at all.” She moved to the door. “I’m going to start supper. If you need someone to set with Jake a spell, just let us know.” She opened the door and went out.

Later that evening, Chance arrived with Sally’s kit bag. He helped Megan move the crib into the master bedroom, stayed for an hour to visit with Em, then left. After dark, Dr. Leatherwood came to check on Jake. Concerned that the boy was still unconscious, the doctor left some pain powder in case Jake woke up. Closing his bag, he promised to return the next evening.

By the time Megan had the evening meal prepared, Sally was dizzy with exhaustion. She ate a few bites of beans, then lay down on the pallet Em had spread for her on the floor near the bed. Instantly, she fell asleep.

Em filled the chair beside the sickbed through that first night. Shortly after dawn, Megan stepped into the room with Stevie in her arms.

“Get yourself some coffee, Em,” she whispered. “I’ve got some fresh and hot on the stove.

Jake groaned and moved his head. Watching him, Megan and Em leaned closer. “Ma?” he rasped. “Ma? I need some water.”

Em leaned forward. “I’ll get you some, Son,” she said. The chair continued swaying when she darted out of it and left the room. In seconds she was back with a tin cup in her hand.

“What is it?” Sally asked, sitting up. She squinted toward Jake.

“He wants some water,” Megan said.

Sally was on her feet in one movement. “Jake?” she cried, bending over the bed. “Can you hear me?”

“Water,” he rasped.

Em handed Sally the cup, then moved to the head of the bed to support Jake so he could drink. Sally held the cup to his lips, and he sipped.

When he lay back, he moaned, “My leg! It’s hurtin’, Ma!”

“You fell off your horse,” Sally told him. She handed Em the cup and leaned close to her boy’s face. “You broke your leg. The doctor left you something for pain.”

Em was already stirring powder into his water. She handed the glass to Sally. “Get him to drink all of it,” Em said. “It’ll make him sleep.”

After several attempts and a few spills, the tin cup was finally empty. A few minutes later, Jake was dozing, and Sally was alone with him again.

Sinking back into the rocking chair, Sally sighed and pushed at her scruffy hair. With automatic movements, she began removing the pins holding her black knot of hair on top of her head. Wearing a Stetson over her high bun let her ride herd on cattle without fear of her hair coming down and getting tangled by the wind. Wishing for a hot tub and some strong soap, she pulled at the thick strands, trying to smooth them out. Her brush was in her kit, but she was too tired to fetch it.

A few minutes later, Megan came in holding a tray containing a plate of eggs and buttered toast. A steaming mug of coffee gave a warm aroma to the room.

“I filled the water reservoir on the back of the stove,” Megan told her. “When you’re ready to wash up, just let me know.”

“You are so kind,” Sally said, watching her with wonder. “You don’t know me at all, but you treat me and Jake like we’re family.”

“I had a lot of trouble myself when we first came here,” Megan replied. “God has been so good to me. Sometime I’d like to tell you the story of how I came here, and what God did for Steve and me. Then you’d understand why we’re anxious to help others.” She set down the tray. “I’ll bring you a fresh change of clothes.”

Jake didn’t awaken again until the doctor arrived late that afternoon. “How bad is it, Doc?” he asked between clenched teeth. His face was white, his eyes wandering over the ceiling, across their faces, and back again.

“It was a bad break,” Leatherwood said, shaking his head. “But I think I got to you soon enough that you’ll heal up good as new. The danger with a break like this is that the swelling will prevent the bones from going back together right. I think we got you fixed up just fine.”

“How long until he can ride?” Sally asked. “We’ve got to get back to our ranch.”

“It’ll be at least six weeks until he can put any weight on that leg. At least six. We’ll have to wait and see how he gets on before we can know for sure.”

She wilted into her chair. “Six weeks? We can’t impose on these good people for that long. It’s too much to ask.”

Megan clucked her tongue. “Don’t even say that, Sally,” she said. “I told you that you were welcome here, and you are. Any rancher in these hills would do the same.” She touched Sally’s shoulder. “You’ve got enough on your mind without worrying about us.”

Doc Leatherwood promised to come back in two or three days, then hurried back to the roundup.

The next morning, Sally stood at the bedroom window and watched Banjo ride in on Kelsey. A few seconds later, he tapped on the bedroom door. Sally opened it, and he motioned for her to step outside. She moved into the dining room and closed the door behind her.

“I come to see what you had planned for your stock,” he said, his voice low. “We put Hank to work on your brand, but your hands weren’t sure of what to do about the drive. None of them cottons to the job of ramrodding the outfit.”

Sally hesitated. She didn’t want to leave Jake for any reason. But the sale of those cows meant survival to the Bar N. Someone had to take the final responsibility of getting her cattle to market in Denver. She didn’t have a foreman to organize the men for the two-week drive and then handle the business of selling the cattle once they arrived at the holding pens beside the railroad.

“Why don’t you let us move them with our herd?” Banjo asked, tilting his head a little and gazing into her eyes. “We’ll tally them up when we get there and bring you your portion.” He paused. “That is, unless you have someone else you’d rather have.”

She still hesitated, trying to think but too tired to feel certain about any decision.

His stained hat in his hands, Banjo waited without saying more.

Searching her weary mind for an answer, Sally’s gaze drifted from Megan, who stood at the stove stirring something in a large iron pot, to Em, who sat in the living room folding diapers. Sitting on the floor near Em, Katie was arranging clothespins into the shape of a house and singing, “Good-bye, Old Paint.”

Finally Sally looked at Banjo and said, “I don’t like to put you out, but if you could take my cattle to Denver, I’d surely appreciate it. There’s no one else I can call on. Our spread is so far back in the hills that we haven’t made the acquaintance of many folk. Just our one neighbor, and he’s no friend.” She felt her face tighten at the thought of the man and tried to cover it up with a smile. “Thank you, Banjo. You’ve been a godsend to Jake and me.”

He cleared his throat. “It’s only fittin’ that we should help. Everybody needs a hand sometime or another. This happens to be your time. You’d do the same for us, if need be.” He lifted his hat to his head. “I’ll get myself along then. Bye, Miss Megan.” He paused beside Em and added, “Chance said to have a big plate of biscuits for him when we get back.”

Em grinned. “You can tell him I’ll have two plates filled and ready. And a gingerbread cake besides.”

Katie stood and held up her arms for Banjo to pick her up. He lifted her, planted a kiss on her forehead, and gently set her down. “Bye now, Honey,” he said. “When I get back, I’ll whittle you a whistle.” He stroked her hair once. The next moment he was gone.

“He’s a fine man,” Sally murmured, moving to the window to watch him ride away.

“He’s fine as silk,” Em said, nodding. She laid a folded diaper on the stack.

Megan chuckled. “Rough silk, but pure through and through.”

Eighteen days after Jake’s accident, Steve and Banjo returned to the Circle C with Chance and Jeremy. The moment they appeared on the horizon, the house came alive with excitement.

Little Katie bounced on the plank flooring of the porch and squealed, “Daddy! Daddy!” Lobo ran toward the horses and buckboard, giving short, shrill barks, his tail swishing back and forth like a ship’s sail on stormy seas.

The baby on her hip, Megan ran out into the yard with Em. They waved, stopped a moment to hug each other, then waved some more. Sally watched from Jake’s window. She wore a deep blue dress of Megan’s. Her hair lay in soft waves over her ears and wound into a wide bun at the base of her neck.

“What is it, Ma?” Jake asked. He was sitting up, a two-year-old copy of Harper’s Bazaar in his hands. He wasn’t strong enough to whittle yet, so he was leafing through old magazines and glancing at the drawings, his least favorite pastime since he couldn’t read.

“The men are back from the cattle drive,” Sally told him, still watching the horses approach the house. “They made it home safe.”

“I wish we had,” he grumbled. He threw the magazine to the floor. “I wish they had a decent picture book. Even baby stuff would be better than these sissy magazines. This morning, Mrs. Chamberlin actually asked me if I’d like to read her Bible.” He shook his head, disgusted. “I’ve got to get out of this bed, or I’m liable to start chewing the bedpost and kill myself swallowing the splinters.”

“Jake! Hush!” Sally said, not paying attention to his rambling. His pain had made him so irritable that she was growing tired of listening to him.

Half an hour later, Megan came in to prop open the bedroom door. “Why don’t you join us at the table tonight, Sally?” she asked. “We can keep this door open so Jake can feel like he’s part of the family too. The table is just outside his door.”

“That’s okay. You can go ahead and close it,” Jake said. “I’m tired, and I’d like to take a nap.”

“Thank you, Megan,” Sally said, frowning toward Jake. “I’d be honored to join you. I hope you’ll forgive Jake. He’s still in a lot of pain.”

He lay back and pulled the covers high under his chin. Eyes closed, he pretended to sleep, but Sally saw his eyelids twitch and knew better.

“I’ll bring you a tray in awhile,” Sally told him and followed Megan out the door. She desperately needed a break from Jake’s dour mood. Part of her pitied him for his constant agony, but another part of her was growing impatient with his self-centered attitude. It wasn’t like her Jake to be so grumpy.

The long table was set with blue enamel plates and tin cups. A large pewter platter of steaks and a bowl of mashed potatoes sat in the center flanked by green beans, shredded cabbage in a vinegar brine, and hot rolls. It smelled heavenly. Holding a dish of pickles, Megan asked, “Sally, you’ve met my husband, Steve, haven’t you?”

“Just for a second after the accident,” Sally replied. She held out her hand. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Chamberlin,” she said.

“It’s Steve,” he replied, clasping her hand for an instant. “We don’t cotton much to mister around here, do we, Banjo?”

The cowhand chuckled and rubbed the gray bristles on his chin. “Mister’s one handle I can’t carry,” he said.

Sally held her hand out to him. “Thank you for your help too, Banjo,” she said. “I don’t know what Jake and I would have done without your kindness.”

“I’m only glad I was nearby,” he said.

After Megan introduced Chance to Sally, Steve handed Sally a worn saddlebag. “Here’s your take from your herd,” he told her. “I paid off your hands so they could be on their way. You had a 142 beeves at $6 a head. That came to $652. I paid the four hands $40 apiece. That left you $492.”

She blinked. At first she thought there must be a mistake, but he’d said 142 beeves, and that was the number of cattle she’d sent to market. She smiled and said, “That’s almost $100 more than I’d hoped for.” She took the leather bag to the bedroom and told Jake the good news. He lay still with his eyes closed as though he hadn’t heard. Sally stood near him for a moment, wondering if he were asleep or in one of his moods. Finally she decided it wasn’t worth finding out and returned to the dining room.

Everyone found a place around the table. Steve offered thanks for the food and for their safe return from a dangerous journey. When he lifted his head, he sent his wife a warm smile. “I’ve been waiting for this meal for nearly three weeks. Pass those steaks.”

Banjo picked up the bowl of potatoes and handed it to Sally. “How’s your boy coming along?” he asked.

She took the bowl and said, “He’s at that awful stage where he feels better, but he still can’t do anything.”

“Now that Jeremy’s back, maybe they can play checkers or something,” he replied, winking at Jeremy. “This boy’s gotten to be a champ at checkers since I’ve been schoolin’ him at it.”

“I can beat him three times in five,” Jeremy announced between bites.

“Jake used to play checkers with his father. He’s pretty good at it.”

“I’ll get the board after I wash up,” Jeremy said, reaching for another roll. “It’ll be good to have some competition for a change.”

Banjo laughed. “See how much respect I get around here?”

The talk turned to the cattle drive and getting in the corn crop. After the meal, Chance and Em set off for their cabin across the meadow, and Sally lent a hand with the dishes. A few minutes later, Jeremy came in from the spring behind the house wearing clean pants and a red flannel shirt. His hair was wet and plastered down. He skittered up the ladder to the loft and reappeared holding a homemade wooden checkerboard and a small box.

“You reckon Jake would like to play?” he asked Sally, who was drying the last of the dinner dishes.

“Ask him, Jeremy,” Sally said, putting away the yellow crockery bowl and draping her cloth over the edge of the counter. “If he’s not too tired, I know he’ll be glad to play. He loves the game.”

Jeremy dashed away.

Sally moved to the bedroom door to watch Jake sit up and reach for the wooden tray he set his meals on. “Would you like some supper now?” she asked him.

“After we finish a game,” he said, not looking at her.

When Jeremy laid the checkerboard on the tray, Sally let the door softly close. What a relief to have Jake occupied for an hour or so.

“I believe I’ll get some air,” she told Megan, who was nursing baby Stevie on the settee near the dark fireplace. His tiny fingers pressed at his mother’s mouth.

“Don’t hurry back,” Megan said, lifting her head away from Stevie’s hand. “If Jake needs anything, Jeremy can fetch it for him. You’ve earned some time to yourself.” Still nursing, the baby kicked out, and Megan cradled his foot in her slender hand.

The evening breeze was still warm, but it had lost the searing heat so common to late summer in Colorado. Sally let her hands hang free and tilted her head back to enjoy the wind on her face and in her hair. She strolled along a well-worn path that went along the rocky cliff behind the house and sloped down to a stream. She’d been here several times before. Now that Jake had company, she wouldn’t have to hurry back.

Carefully lifting her skirts, she hopped from stone to stone across the swift water. The air above the stream felt cool, and she paused near the center to enjoy it for a moment longer.

“Howdy!” A gruff voice behind her startled her.

Her arms flew out, and her skirt was instantly soaked. Lifting it to free her feet, she skipped from one stone to another and landed on the other side, shaken but still partly dry.

“I’m sorry,” Banjo said grinning. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She drew in a quick breath and tried to settle her jumping nerves. “That’s all right,” she stated. “I may get startled, but I never fall.”

He stepped across the stones. “You sure can ride,” he said as he moved. He was surprisingly agile. When he reached dry ground, he went on, “I never did see a woman ride like you.”

“My father was head boy at a rich man’s stable in New York while I was growing up. I started exercising horses when I was six. My sister helped Ma in the house while I worked in the stable with Dad.” She set off down the path toward a waist-high flat rock where she could sit and watch the rushing water.

“You don’t sound happy about that arrangement,’ Banjo said, falling into step with her.

She shrugged. “I guess I’ve always wished I was better prepared to be a housewife. Mickey always complained about my cooking, and I’ve burned more shirts with a hot iron than I can count.”

“You ought to let Miss Megan and Em show you a few things while you’re here. It’s never too late to learn, you know.”

She pulled at a piece of tall grass beside the path. “I reckon,” she said. She gazed upward at the orange cliff, brilliant in the setting sun. “That stone face almost looks like it’s on fire.”

“I love this place,” Banjo replied. “While I rode the grub line, there was another hombre here, and he’d hire me time and again. I stopped in to see if he needed a hand and found the Chamberlins had just moved in. The place had been empty for awhile, and it was in pretty bad shape.”

“What happened to the other family?”

“The wife died in childbirth, and the man went back East. I guess he’d had enough of the wide open spaces.”

She turned her back toward the wide flat stone and heaved herself up to sit on it. It was high enough to cause her feet to dangle. Banjo leaned against it next to her. “I had to come down here and find out something,” he began. “I hope you don’t mind me asking you.”

Wondering what he was getting at, Sally turned to watch his face. He had deep-set blue eyes that seemed to twinkle even when he was serious. For the first time it occurred to her that this man was more than the average cowpoke.

“Are you a believer?” he asked, turning to look her in the eye.

She stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“Have you ever put your faith in Jesus Christ?”

“Yes. I did that when I was about twelve years old.” She looked away. “I haven’t thought about it for a long time though.” She glanced at him. “Mickey wasn’t a Christian. He didn’t like churches or preachers. I never went to meeting after we started going together.”

“Was he from New York too?” Banjo asked.

She shook her head. “When I was fourteen, my family moved to Missouri. Dad had an idea about going to Oregon, but once we got to St. Louis, he decided to stay there and sell horses to the travelers passing through. Mickey was a buyer for one of the wagon masters. That’s how we got acquainted. We’d only known each other for three months when we got married. After that, we lived in St. Louis for twelve years. The wanderlust struck Mickey about four years ago, so we packed up two wagons and started for Denver. Somehow we ended up in the hills west of here.”

She sent him a sideways glance. “I never wanted to be a rancher’s wife,” she said. “Mickey wanted it, and I had to help him do what he wanted. It was my duty.”

“Why did you stay on after he passed?”

“Since Mickey died, I’ve had a couple of offers for the ranch. Every time I’ve told myself to take it, but I just can’t. Maybe I’m too stubborn to admit I can’t handle this life. Maybe I’ve put so much into the place that I can’t bear to leave it. I’m not sure why I haven’t sold it. Maybe I still will. . .especially now.” Her voice held a sour note.

She drew in a breath and smoothed her hair. “When we head home in a couple of weeks, I’ll have to make up my mind. Right now the only thing I can think of is getting Jake well again.” Her voice broke. “I can’t bear to lose him, Banjo. Mickey and I weren’t close, and it was hard enough losing him. If Jake. . .” She swallowed and went silent. Even in her mind she couldn’t finish that sentence.

“The good Lord will see you through, no matter what,” Banjo told her, his voice gentle. “I know whereof I speak. You see, I lost my wife and my boy on the same day.”

“How awful!”

He nodded. “It knocked me down right and proper. It was in the mid-fifties, almost twenty years ago, but it seems like just yesterday. I had a small ranch in Texas, the purtiest place you’ve ever seen. We ran a thousand head of longhorns. I was away from home on business when Kiowas burned my ranch, killed Mary, and took my boy. I’ve never learned what became of him.” He drew in a breath. “It’s the not knowing that’s worse than anything. When I think that Todd may be locked in some filthy reservation, I want to beat something with my bare fists.”

“How old was he?”

“About ten.”

They sat in silence for a few moments watching the water and listening to the call of a meadowlark.

“What hope is there in this life, Banjo?” she murmured. “Every time a person turns around twice there’s some new grief stabbing him like a jagged knife. What good is it going on?”

“Now, don’t go talking like that, Missy,” he said. “There’s all kinds of good. Being able to help you and Jake has been a good thing for me. It brings joy to a man’s heart to know he’s put a little light into someone’s dark day. Look at little Katie and that little boy of Steve’s. Don’t they make you smile?”

Looking at the ground, she nodded. “I guess so. It’s just hard for me to see things straight right now.”

A tepid breeze caught her dress and flipped up a corner of the damp hem. She slid off the stone. “We ought to get to the house,” she said. “It’ll be dark in half an hour.”

They walked back in quiet companionship. “How soon will Jake be ready to travel?” Banjo asked.

“The doctor said he won’t be able to sit astride a horse for another month or so.” She sighed. “With him down, I’ll have to hire a hand for the winter months. We’ll get by somehow.”

They said good-bye near the barn, and Sally returned to the house. Walking across the yard, she wondered about Banjo. He looked like a man with the bark on, as Mickey used to say, but underneath his gruff exterior lay warmth that surprised her. He was different from any man she’d ever met.

Lost in thought, she climbed the steps to the front porch and went inside the house.

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