America 1883: The Western Homeland

Chapter 19 Cowboy, Elsa

The campfire crackled and popped, and the aroma of stewing meat in the iron pot forcefully tore through the night wind, wafting straight into people's noses.

"Finally, something hot to eat!" Tom rubbed his hands together vigorously, his eyes practically popping into the bubbling pot. The biscuits, dry bread, and tortillas he'd had at noon were long gone from his stomach.

"Be careful!" Margaret scolded, afraid that her son would fall headfirst into the hole.

Tom gulped down a mouthful of cool water and announced loudly, "We just had a meeting, so we're not traveling tomorrow! We need to teach those immigrants how to ride horses and drive carriages!"

"Really?" Margaret immediately looked at her husband, James.

Tom loves to sleep, so being able to sleep in late is fantastic news.

James leaned against the saddle, leisurely sipped his whiskey, and nodded slightly.

The tired faces around the campfire immediately relaxed, revealing long-lost smiles.

This damned migration route is so bumpy, whether you're driving, riding, or on horseback, it's enough to shake your bones to pieces.

Margaret lifted the lid of the pot, and the rich aroma of bean and meat porridge instantly and domineeringly filled the camp.

Just then, a thunderous rumble suddenly erupted, originating from Tom's stomach.

He remained unfazed, pretending not to hear the murmurs around him, took the plate Margaret offered, and began to devour the food. Heaven knows how much effort he had expended that day.

"Slow down, no one's going to take it from you!" Margaret shoved a thick tortilla into his hand.

James watched his son wolf down his food and put down his glass. "Let's go somewhere further away tomorrow and see if we can get some fresh meat."

Tom paused.

He frowned slightly at the fresh meat, watching the temperature rise day by day, knowing this stuff would only become more and more difficult to handle.

There's no other way; in the end, it still has to be cured with salt until it becomes hard and salty.

But the taste of salted meat, tsk, can't compare to the freshness and deliciousness of freshly cut meat!

He lifted his face, which was covered in bean paste: "You're going?"

"No," James took another sip of his drink, his gaze calm, "you go."

Margaret cast a questioning glance at him, which James avoided.

Tom shoveled down his porridge in a few bites, wiped his mouth, and casually remarked, "This cowboy job looks pretty good, huh? Maybe I should give it a try?"

James and Margaret exchanged a quick glance.

"Then go ask Elsa," Margaret interjected, her tone casual.

Tom, as if just noticing, looked around and asked, "Where's Elsa?"

The newly minted cowgirl was nowhere to be found at the dinner table.

"A cowboy has to guard his herd," James said calmly, as if stating a fundamental truth.

"Wow! Still working so late," Tom clicked his tongue, drawing out the words, "Being a cowboy—it's really tough!"

James seemed not to hear him, only uttering a curt, "If you're tired, go rest!"

Tom shrugged and had just stood up when little John rushed over like a cannonball, grabbed his clothes, and excitedly shouted to his parents, "Tom! Wait for me!"

Margaret looked puzzled: "Why?"

Little John chuckled smugly, "Tom can sleep in!"

He remembered perfectly who was the last to get out of bed this morning.

Tom looked at the grinning boy and glanced helplessly at his parents.

"Tom?" Little John asked, tugging at him expectantly.

Tom shrugged nonchalantly: "Sure, but I'm on night duty tonight."

He started walking, and little John immediately followed, wagging his tail like a little dog that had recognized its master.

Strangely, the expected sound of obstruction did not occur.

Just as the two were about to slip into the tent flap, Margaret's voice caught up with them: "John! Don't wet the bed tonight!"

"I would never wet the bed!" Little John immediately retorted, his neck turning red.

Tom grinned and vigorously rubbed his little head with his big hand.

By the campfire, Margaret picked up her glass and took a sip, her gaze following the couple.

"Tom just said being a cowboy is tough," she looked at her husband, firelight flickering in her eyes, "What do you think, James?"

James did not answer, silently gazing at the faint outlines of the cattle herd undulating in the darkness, like a rock blending into the night.

The buffalo herd, having eaten and drunk their fill, finally lay down quietly, their massive bodies resembling solidified black mountains.

A figure silently approached Elsa, stepping on the soft grass.

Elsa turned around alertly, and Ennis was standing a few steps away, his eyes shining in the moonlight beneath his hat brim.

"It's late," Ennis's voice carried the coolness of the prairie night wind, yet with a hint of barely perceptible gentleness. "It's late, go back and rest." A smile played on his lips as his gaze fell on Elsa's wind-blown hair.

Elsa met his gaze, a faint smile curving her lips. "Goodnight, Ennis."

Her voice was as light and cheerful as a nightingale's, with a hint of sweetness.

She deftly turned her horse around, and her figure was quickly swallowed up by the thick night.

Ennis stood rooted to the spot, as if nailed to the spot, the smile on his lips stubbornly lingering until the beautiful figure completely disappeared.

"Hey! Ennis! You can only slack off when I'm not looking, can you?" Wade's rough voice broke the silence like a stone. He crossed his arms and leaned against the nearby covered wagon, looking mischievous.

Ennis snapped back to reality, looking somewhat embarrassed.

"Your soul must have wandered off, right? How long have you been standing here?" Wade continued to tease.

"Elsa is gone!" Ennis retorted instinctively.

"Nonsense," Wade, the head of the cattle herd, glanced at the resting herd. "The cows are all lying down, of course she's gone back to rest." He took two steps closer, nudged Ennis with his shoulder, and said in a low, teasing voice, "What? Can't bear to part with that little wild horse?"

Ennis's ears burned, he turned his face away and said in a muffled voice, "...She's a good girl."

Wade also looked into the vast darkness, smacked his lips, his Adam's apple bobbing as if he had swallowed a mouthful of bitter wine mixed with sand, and that indescribable bitterness welled up in his heart again.

Elsa rode back to the campfire at her own camp, her cheeks still carrying the coolness of the night wind and the lingering blush, her eyes shining brightly.

Looking at her daughter's state, Margaret sighed inwardly: Tom's efforts have probably been in vain.

"You must be exhausted?" She handed her a cup of hot water.

Elsa shook her head, brimming with boundless energy: "Not tired at all! I feel like I could ride another fifty miles!"

These words startled Margaret, and even Claire, who was sewing next to her, stopped stitching and glared at Elsa with a sharp look.

"Elsa," Claire's voice, deliberately sharp, pierced the warmth, "you wouldn't... have done something shady with that cowboy covered in horse manure in the fields, would you?"

"Claire!" Margaret shouted sharply, like a mother wolf protecting her cubs.

"What? Did I say something wrong?" Claire jumped to her feet, her withered fingers pointing directly at Elsa. "Look at her! She's lost all semblance of a girl! She's always hanging out with cattle, mingling with those rough men, her very bones are oozing with wildness!" Her voice was shrill and sharp, carrying a vicious insult. "Look at yourself! Aren't you ashamed?"

The radiance on Elsa's face froze and shattered instantly!