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Lasso Love

By Robin Densmore Fuson

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Deer Creek Area of Colorado Territory, 1869
Impatience wells up in me. It feels like we are sitting here forever. I love a good tree to climb and straddle a limb, lean back against the trunk, and dream of adventure, but waiting for a stupid cub to leave—bores me out of my gourd. I’d heard that expression from my companion across from me. “How long do we sit in this here tree?” Eliza careens over the branch and peers at the bear cub. “Shouldn’t be long now, I reckon. Wesley, try to be patient, and don’t whisper so loud.” Bossy and sure of herself, as always. My best friend. Too bad me and my ma were headed east away from this beautiful and rugged land I’ve only known, and the skinny girl I share adventures. “I got to get home, Ma needs help hauling the trunk down from the loft. She skims her finger down the page of her dime novel she always carries. Her head tilts at an angle to the side. She whispers so soft I barely catch it, “Listen. The mama bear is calling.” We lean over and I detect a ripple of the fur beneath us. An answer squeal from the little fella, and he pushes off the tree. He runs toward the grunt and clicking sound. Branches part and slam as he glides through the brush. I start to scramble down when she grabs my arm and hisses, “Wait. We need to make sure they both don’t come back.” Ten minutes, I think, went by before she says in her normal voice, “I’m hungry, let’s go get some grub.” We clamber down. “Grub, in the book too?” “Yes, very informative. The book said the bear cub would do us no harm.” The smug expression shouts, ‘I told you so!’ but she never utters those words. Another reason why I like her. As we walk, I ask, “Did the book say the mama bear would call its cub?” She shakes her head. “The story told of a man frightened up the tree by a bear. As he waited, a weird howling blew through the trees in the woods and the bear up and left. No one knows to this day where the strange noise came from. After I read that, and then that cub ran after us and we scrambled into the branches, I reckoned the cub would leave. Seems things in this here book happen to me, only a little bit different. So, now you understand why we needed to wait. Hurry up, it’s getting late.” “All of a sudden you’re in a rush. You were pokey earlier and you and I got stuck in the tree.” She socks me in my shoulder. I laugh and she joins in. I would wrestle her to the ground if she were a boy. Sometimes the temptation almost overcomes me. I laugh at her antics which helps.








Deer Creek Area of Colorado, 1877
“No! I won’t marry him.” “Dadburntit, Eliza, you’re nineteen! I shook on the deal and I don’t back out on my word. He can provide for you. Either that or go East to school, which way, Eliza?” She crossed her arms and tilted her jaw toward the celling. “I’m my own person and able to make my own decisions. This is not the dark ages. We women are enlightened and educated. If Ma were here, she’d agree with me. Anyway, I desire a man close to my age. Mr. Jenkins is ancient! And I’ve never liked him. No! I’ll say it again, No!” “What do you propose to do with your life? Don’t you want a home and children? We could merge the ranches if you two married. Your future would be secure. You don’t know him well yet. You’d most likely grow fond of the man. Eliza, the doctor said…” Her posture slumped and she ran to his arms. “Oh, Pa. I’m sorry to disappoint you. I would do anything for you, but not marriage. I’ll be fine. I can run the ranch myself, you’ll see. The doctor said you need rest and I’ll take up more of the burden. Your cough is better and you’ve gotten stronger.” “Doc said to make arrangements.” He held up his hand to stop her protest. “It’s just precaution and besides, any decent father would worry over his only child’s future and that’s what I’m doing.” He patted her back and released her. “Now, how about you cut me a slice of that berry pie and pour me some coffee. Since I must rest, you might as well tote and carry for me too.” His wink brought a smile to her lips and a sparkle to her eyes. She scooted over to the table and did his bidding. She set the items at his place, pulled out his wooden chair, and dusted it off with a dish towel. She curtsied. “Here, dear Father, I hope this is satisfactory.” He chuckled as he took his seat. She tried to push his chair in close, but he put his full weight down, making it difficult. She swatted at him and said, “Oh dear, maybe you shouldn’t consume any more pie, you’re getting heavy.” His hand shot out, stopping her from grabbing the plate. She grinned, slid her arm back, and planted a kiss on his balding, grey head. He waited until she sat, napkin on her lap, and fork ready before taking a bite. “Eliza, this is one of your best.” She closed her eyes as she pulled the silver utensil from her compressed lips. Sweet, yet a bit of tartness. Flaky crust. She thought he was right. “Hm, it’s fair.” “The pie is superb! Thank you for foraging for the huckleberries before the bears ate them. Better in my stomach than theirs. How far did you go?” “Oh, a couple of miles. The walk gave me time to think and plan out the next few days. The early morning dew sparkled as the sun slid over the horizon and a nip in the air caused me to scoot along. I came around a rock cropping and frightened a herd of deer. I believe I counted ten or more does and a few fawns. Beautiful beasts.”



The place has changed. Eight years will do that. I reach down and pat my horse’s neck. “We’re home, Marauder.” I click with my tongue and cheek. Marauder ambles on. The sun rests just above the mountains I remember. A slight breeze tickles my senses and collides with thoughts of the last few years and memories for this land, animals, and people. “Whoa, fella.” I tether him to the hitching rail in front of the wide porch. Rex, my dog, is anxious for a command. I bring out jerky and pour water from my canteen into the small bowl I carry. “Stay here, boy.” I bound up the three steps, snatch off my hat, comb fingers through my hair, and knock. He opens the door and we eye each other. He hasn’t changed much except the grey in his hair. Still almost six foot. I feel taller. Maybe the slight stoop of his shoulders, or the creases on his forehead and around the eyes coupled with slack jowls, make him appear smaller. “Wesley. You’re a strapping fella, resemble your pa, but in your eyes I see your ma. Come in.” I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I held. “Thanks.” “I’ve got rabbit stew in the kettle. Hungry?” I nod. “Yes sir.” “Call me Thaddeus or Mr. Jenkins if you’ve a mind. The ‘Uncle’ can wait until we ascertain this’ll last. Sit here. This will be your place if we dine together. Mine is at this end.” He brings over a large bowl of stew and a biscuit on a plate. “Thanks, Thaddeus.” “Help ya’self to that pitcher of water. Oh, and butter. I let Maria, my cook and housekeeper, go home early tonight. Dig in, no worry, I didn’t make it.” The stew tastes heavenly, especially to a man who hasn’t eaten since breakfast. Words are scarce as we eat. I wash up the dishes, as I figure I need to do my keep. He dries them and places them in a well-equipped cupboard. “Come on to the veranda, as Maria likes to call it.” He heads out the front and I follow. We plop down on pine rocking chairs which had been sanded and polished to a light honey color, smooth as well-worn leather. He hauls out his pipe, taps it on his palm, and ignites it. The puffs reach my nostrils and awaken another recollection. “The tobacco reminds me of what my pa used.” “Good memory, son. Yes. We agreed on many pleasantries, and tobacco was one. I can get it more readily now that the railroad came to Denver in ’70. Smoke?” “No. Ma didn’t favor smoking much, so I didn’t start up. Probably never will.” “Fine woman, your ma. Saddened me when you both got on that stage. I shed a few, readin’ your letter. I always hoped she’d change her mind and come back. Both of you, of course.” “I forgot how quickly it gets dark here. The sun has no chance against the mountains. Get up there much?” “A few days for huntin’ and I help with the herd some. Now you’re here, I’ll let you do the heavy liftin’. The ground seems harder each year. Heck, my back complains more from the cold. Don’t matter how many blankets I use. Still it’s good, honest labor and better than workin’ the mines in my rip roarin’ days. I’d like ya to get comfortable with the men and the way of doin’ things. You can bunk with them. Work hard. You’ll have to prove your salt to be the foreman on this spread.” He put his hand up even though my mouth rests shut and I didn’t move a muscle. “I told them I’d hired out a new man for the job. The boys’ll be ’spectin you. Have a bed roll and
everything? Oh, the boys don’t know you’re my nephew and I want to keep it that way in case things don’t work out. Anyways, if you need anythin’ best get her now.” “I’ve all my gear and such. Thanks. I’ll head on over. Same place?” “Yup.” I take the steps down one at a time, place my hat back on my head, and grab Marauder’s reins. I spring up into the saddle. “Oats in the barn and stall for my horse?” “Yup. Both.” I hadn’t expected much—memory had warned. As a kid, he’d kept me at arm’s length but tried to engulf Ma. As I look back, I wonder which perturbed her more. Times hadn’t changed. Not at least with my uncle. The ache for Pa squeezes my heart a little tighter. I’ll miss both parents until my dying day, but sometimes… I turn and gaze at the form of what we’d called the Hogback. A shiver twirls up my spine. “Giddy up!” Marauder leaps forward and we race the quarter mile to the bunkhouse. An empty stall beckons Marauder and I supply him with oats he munches as I rub him down. I toss a blanket over him and tie Rex next to him until I find out how my sleeping quarters will be. The bunkhouse blazes with light through the windows. Smoke curls out the chimney. Muffled voices sound from within. I open the door. Immediate silence greets me. I mosey in, shutting the door behind me. Every man sizes me up. I slowly scan the men as I take in the room. At the back wall a fire blazes and beside it stands a tripod with a swivel arm which holds a huge pot. In front of that, six fellers sit at a large table, dirty plates pushed toward the middle, and a game of cards appears to be in play. Smoke comes from two men who hold hand rolled quirlies. A spittoon is near, for others. Beds are scattered all around. Clothes lay in heaps or are strung on the line across the side wall. I can’t discern an unused bunk. I clear my throat. “I’m the new foreman. Which bed is mine?” One man thumbs. “That one yonder.” I set the saddlebags on the one he indicated and turn back. “I’ll be getting my dog. Any objections?” A few muffled replies follow me out. Moments later, Rex walks beside me through the door. He will provide me with needed sleep. Nothing gets past him. The men appraise him. This seems to be a good choice. My hope is everything will be fine after we know each other.

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