The cows mooed in a tight herd against the dense boughs of the red cedars that created a natural barrier between the river and the prairie. Jerry knew the trail that led through these invasive prairie trees controlled by clipping and burning but allowed to flourish along the banks of creeks and rivers. He had spent many a day in his youth playing with his sister at the river’s bend where a backwater cove, deep with cool water, refreshed them on a hot summer day. His granddad had slung over a branch of mighty sycamore a thick rope with a massive knot on which to stand and swing out over the water. The sycamore's towering boughs had provided generations with a shady, cool spot to picnic and host family reunions. He recalled his granddad loading the chuck wagon with food and supplies and riding atop with him as he proudly held the reins.
A gate blocked the trail to the river lest wandering cattle find it and spend their days loafing in the cool water or under the shade of the sprawling sycamores that held the bank in place. Who wants to swim where the cow’s poop? His dad would say to him as a reminder to close the gate upon his return.
The smoke lay lower at the entrance to the cove. The hills protected it as a natural windbreak. Jerry breathed in the acrid odor. His eyes began to sting as his mare snorted and swung her head.
“It’s okay, Sky,” Jerry soothed her as he patted the side of her neck.
He reached the edge of the barbed wire fence. A half-mile further at the opposite end was a gate positioned for close access to the outbuildings, now shadowed in a light fog of brownish rolling smoke. Although wind pulled by the storm front whipped the open prairie, the air in the protected cove had caused the smoke to stagnate. As a seasoned rancher, he kept in his saddlebag the tools for fence mending, and with that in mind, he dismounted and cut the wires to shortcut his way to the herd, a coalescence of black dots at the far corner of the pasture. Once inside, he galloped Sky through the cut grass recently harvested with its hay bales that dotted the plain. Crap, if that wildfire cuts through, we’ll lose a fourth of the crop.
Reaching the river trail gate, he swung it wide and faced it out into the pasture. He mounted and raced towards the herd a quarter mile yonder. The calving season was a bounty that spring with 99 dams and their calves. The matriarch of the herd was called “Who-see,” and responded to the call as far as two pastures away. Jerry slowed Sky to a trot when the drove began to take form, close enough for the cow leader to hear his voice against the wind.
“Who-see, who-see, who-see,” he shrilled with a singsong call.
His dad headed down the slope to the plain and then galloped towards the outbuildings. He had two miles to cover, about half of which the trail was clear of exposed flint rock on which Moonwalk could maintain her average quarter-horse speed of 30 mph. Hidden rock in the tallgrass made a fast ride a risk of injuring or breaking a leg. He fought against adrenalin to contain the fire and knew he would be of no use without Moonwalk. On foot, the wildfire could overtake him. Wind change was another uncontrollable factor that he continually monitored. What was a wall of fire heading east, was now angling north—a wedge of fire that looked purposeful to cut off his chase to the ranch. Using landmarks throughout his years as a rancher to gauge distance over the open range, he judged the firewall to be a mile from the outer wooden fencerow, then another 100 yards to the first outbuilding and the ponderosa ranch only 100 feet beyond.
The wind whipped across his face as he slowed to a trot through the tall grass. Ash and super-dried debris filled the blaze-seared air that spontaneously combusted with snaps and crackles. A few sparks singed his face and long, bushy sideburns. Rick pulled his bandana over his face and nose. His eyes, squeezed tight, burned from the acrid fog of smoke.
Again he heeled Moonwalk into a gallop for the last half-mile stretch to the barn stored with implements. He had not the opportunity to use the firestick this spring, being short two hands, and the burn risk too high due to the drought that began the year before. It became a gamble—a crap shot of rain versus the lightning from these dry thunderstorms. The heat index was near 100 all week and hydrating the livestock was an essential daily chore with two wells now drained from the yearlong drought.
He played in his mind the firestick hanging with a long chain from a wooden peg, a two-inch steel pipe, one end sealed, the other plugged, with a small hole in the removable cap so that gasoline could drip out and catch fire. He figured he had time for one filling of the pipe and could cover the distance of an opposing wedge that pointed westward towards the direction of the wildfire. As the wedge burned, the two edges of fire would burn towards each other, and when they met, they would extinguish due to lack of grassy fuel. The arrowhead of burned out tallgrass would split the wall of fire, shrinking its advance to its two outer edges. This burn split would buy him some time, and if needed, he could return and refuel. The fastest way to cover the most ground was on horseback, dragging the firestick behind. Truck, tractor, or ATV—better options for a spring-staged fire—but he did not have the time of an all-day affair to create this backfire to save his ranch.
Jerry continued his singsong shrill of “who-see.” Seconds later he heard a long lowing— “Mooo,” and then shortly, a chorus of “Mooos.” The loose herd began to coalesce behind the lead cow but in no particular hurry. On a typical cattle drive, time was not of the essence, but the wildfire and its stampeding direction towards him and the herd changed that. The flames had reached the pasture’s fence-line edge, and he needed to act swiftly to move the herd faster towards the gate, but not in a panic. The walk of a cow and their calves over a quarter mile was painstakingly slow under the heated circumstances.
He called again, “who-see, who-see, who-see,” and then headed at a gallop in the opposite direction against the cedar tree line. When he was clearly out of their range of vision, he circled back to make a loop and came up from behind the coalesced herd and maintained an approach line within their blind spot. He approached at a trot, the beat of Sky’s hooves drowned out by the cows and calves and their lowing.
“Yeeeeeeha!” he screamed and heeled Sky into a canter to round the rear of the herd and press them against the impenetrable cedar tree barrier. The cows felt the press from the back, and the calves sidled against and hugged their momma’s flank for protection. Jerry nudged Sky forward to apply pressure behind Who-see’s point of balance at a 45-degree angle to her shoulder at the edge of her flight zone. This tactic kept her running straight ahead, the thick cedar trees on her right and Jerry atop Sky on her left. The herd was accustomed to being directed in this manner, more typically with another rider on the opposite side of the herd, but the trees and the closing smoke and fire kept them bunched together.
As soon as the gate came into Jerry’s view, he pulled Sky left and headed out of Who-see’s field of vision. At the edge of the gate, fifty yards out from the tree line, he pulled Sky right and made a beeline at a 90-degree angle to Who-see’s left shoulder. With the gate extended into the pasture and now within Who-see’s field of vision, the tree line on her right, and Jerry pressing in from the left, she darted through the wide-open fence. He reined Sky in and stood as a sentry while the herd of nearly 200 ran through the wide gate onto the chuck wagon road that formed a natural chute through the thick cedar grove.
As Jerry’s dad approached the ranch, he saw Lisa searching the horizon with binoculars and Emily jumping up and down, waving frantically. As Rick dismounted at the barn, they ran towards him. He yelled out, “Lisa! I need a gallon of diesel from the tank. Check the workshop for an empty container. Emily! Grab the gas can by the mower.” He jogged to the barn and disappeared within to obtain the firestick.
They converged in the barnyard. He filled the four-foot tube a third with gasoline and felt the black iron for the top edge of the gasoline’s cooling effect and then topped it off with diesel. He screwed on the cap and made sure the hole-plug was in place.
“Matches! I need matches!”
Emily raced for the ranch house while Rick attached the chain’s loose end to the saddle horn.
“Call Barringer’s and Collett’s and warn ’em of the fire. Tell ’em I’m burnin’ out its head to the ranch, but it may head north and south—”
Lisa grabbed him by his tensed biceps. “Rick, it’s just property. Don’t do anything foolish. I’ll handle this end. Where’s Jerry?”
“He’s at the cove pasture, drivin’ ’em to the river. I told him to stay put until it passed.”
Emily ran back with a box of kitchen matches. “Daddy, be careful.” She threw her arms around him. Lisa and Emily stood arm-in-arm as Rick trotted off towards the fence line. The rising smoke and brown smog reflected the raging fire now just a quarter mile yonder.
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Excerpt from PURSUIT, a novel by Jeff Cambridge.
Author of transformational fiction—
Realistic characters in real life drama that tell the story of their transformation to become a better person.
To read the scenes sequentially, begin with
“PURSUIT: A Novel – Prologue”
Located in the May Blog Archive. Click on the episodes and enjoy.
This episode is pre-published. The book will be available Spring 2018.
Your comments are welcomed and appreciated. Check one of the reaction boxes below, write a comment, or email me at lightbycambridge@gmail.com.
This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, businesses, organizations, and locales are intended only to give the story a sense of reality and authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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One mistake changes the course of three lives…
Jessie – chasing the dark side of destiny
The daughter of an alcoholic father in prison for manslaughter and a mother who has abandoned her for her latest boyfriend, Jessie has but one objective in life – to find the big ticket out of her miserable childhood.
Christina – striving to bring comfort and light
The daughter of a nurse who served in the Army medical corps, she follows in her mother’s footsteps, pursuing her passion to care for the disadvantaged. A ballerina – a thousand eyes behold her, the dance flowing seamlessly.
Jerry – living in the grey of his circumstances
The son of a sixth-generation Kansas rancher, his desire is to make it rich – to find the American Dream. A cowboy with a tender heart and crystal blue eyes, he finds love in unforeseen places.
An allegory of destiny and choices, of wasted dreams, of paths that lead to nowhere… of trials, we face every day.
PURSUIT
Where will the chosen path lead?
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Copyright 2017 © Jeff Cambridge
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