Misery

May Round-up Challenge

By Bakerj
~~~

Mud dripped from my fingertips.  Shaking it off was a waste of time.  My butt was sunk in thick, freezing muck.  Only my knees survived the dunking when I’d gone head over heels—seemed fitting for how this round-up was going.

I flinched.  A clod of sludge slipped down my neck.  Why even move?  At least if I stayed put, nothing else could happen.

When the bawling began again, I twisted to face the cow.  “You keep that up, and I’ll leave your fool baby right where he is.” 

I glared at the stubborn calf responsible for my dunking.  Reaching over, I dragged out my hat, shook it off, and slammed it on my head.  The mud sucked at my pants, trying to hold me down as I pulled myself up.  Grabbing the rope, I squelched out of the hole.

Stiff-legged, I moved toward Cochise to do what I should’ve done in the first place.  Cooch tossed his head and took a step back.  “Hey, it’s not that bad.”  I looked down and grimaced.  “Well, maybe it is.  Sorry, boy.”

Winding the rope around the saddle horn, I mounted.  I rolled my right shoulder, easing the tension.  It still ached from the fall we’d taken in those first few days out.  Cooch had stumbled on loose shale.  Fortunately, he was okay, but I’d come down hard.  Not that I’d made a fuss.  Bumps and bruises were part of a round-up, but I was dumb to think I could haul an eighty-pound calf out of the mud hole by myself.

Settling into the saddle, I wiggled soggy toes in my boots, pushed them deeper into the stirrups, and backed Cooch up.  “C’mon, you mule-headed flea bag!”

The darn brute fought every step, but eventually we got it back onto firm ground.  I led it away, leaving Mama to follow. 

When I slacked the lasso, the calf ran loose, kicking up its heels.  I herded them back toward the pens and the branding pits.

Hoss took one look and laughed.  “You run into another owl?”

I didn’t need reminding.  My insides squirmed every time I remembered limping back into camp after the newly broken horse I had switched to for night watch dumped me in the dirt.  All because a stupid owl screeched and startled it. 

When the hands joined in with the joke, I rolled my eyes.  “Haha.  Laugh it up, fellas.”

I nudged Cooch away from the cackling hens and headed for the camp.  The drying mud was starting to itch in places I didn’t want to think about.  I needed hot water and a wash.

“Hot water?  Too busy boil Little Joe hot water.  You want wash?  You go stream.”

Heck.  I might’ve known my timing would be off.  In the middle of cooking lunch for twelve hungry men, Hop Sing was in no mood for my request.

“But, Hop Sing, it’s freezing.”

“No like cold water.  Stay out of mud!”

I dipped my fingers in the stream and snatched them back.  The melt from the late snowfall the other night was proving a thorn in my side.  First mud holes and now ice-cold water.  I’d settle for washing my face.

The stream was running fast, and my luck was still running bad.  As I knelt on the bank, it crumbled.  Icy water knocked the breath from my lungs.   My fingers clawed at the bottom.  Sharp little stones dug into my flesh.  I lurched upright and sat there coughing and sucking in air. 

I dragged a hand down my face.  My hat bobbed past me.  Before it sailed away, I snatched it up.

“Joseph!  What’re you doing in there?”

I glared at Pa.  “What does it look like?  I’m taking a swim.”

When his eyebrows rose, I swallowed my temper.  “Sorry, Pa.”

“Hmm… let me help you out before you catch your death.”

Hop Sing dropped an extra blanket around me.  Every time my teeth chattered, his face scrunched with guilt.  He’d already rigged up a line to dry my clothes and pressed a cup of hot coffee into my shaking hands, but he still murmured.  “Very sorry, Little Joe.”

“What for?  It’s not like you pushed me in.”

Hoss chuckled.  “Yeah.  If Little Brother decides to go skinny dipping, it ain’t your fault.”

I pulled a face at my witty brother, then smiled at Hop Sing.  His smile at least cheered me up.

~~~

I took a long, long draft from my canteen.  The water hardly helped.  My throat was drier than a sandstorm and twice as uncomfortable.  I turned at the noise.  It was Hoss.  Corking the canteen, I straightened and wiped the sweat from my brow. 

“Hey, you found some.”  His big, goofy smile broke out as he saw the steers in the rocks behind me.  “Let’s get ‘em.”

Spurring Chubb on, Hoss began whooping and swinging his rope.  Just watching wore me out.

I followed Hoss.  The sun had turned into one mean son-of-a-bitch.  Sweat poured down my back and front.  When we reached the pens, I brushed my sleeve over my eyes, trying to clear my vision.  The sky turned pink, and a noise throbbed in my ears. 

“Hoss… ”

His worried face stared up at me.  “You all right?”

I fell rather than dismounted.  Cradled by my brother, Pa rushed over.  His palm covered my forehead.  Beyond them, the hands stood watching.  In a few weeks, I’d be their trail boss.  I pushed Pa’s hand away and tried to stand.  “I’m fine.  Just a little dizzy is all.”

“You’re far from fine.  You’re burning up.”

The worried looks from Pa and Hoss twisted something hard in my gut.  Pushing through bruises was part of ranch work, but ignoring a fever was plain stupid.  
~~~

I got lucky.  Influenza, but no pneumonia, and I’d be fit to lead the drive.  But I was the fool who had to be taken home in the chuck wagon.  I’d have to earn back what I had lost.

~ The End ~