“Yeah?” Charlie said. “Well, we’ll keep an eye on him.”
He and Silsby were assigned to go with Angelo Kennedy to the Number Three Line Shack on the far northwestern range. Several wagonloads of hay would be sent after them. It was a two-day trip up to the winter station, and they brought an extra riding horse and two draft animals with them. Silsby and Charlie were glad to see that Angelo was cheerful and sane throughout the arduous trip. They also noticed that the leaves on the trees, which had turned their autumn colors only a couple of weeks before, were already beginning to drop off the limbs.
When they reached the shack, the first thing they did was put the shelter in order after a spring and summer of neglect. They straightened it up, cleaned it out, and ran off various rodents and snakes that had hoped to hibernate through the winter in the place. With everything ready, the men and their six horses moved in and settled down.
The interior of the habitat consisted of a bunk on each of three sides. This gave the inhabitants a bit of space and privacy. A single stove for heating and cooking was located in the middle of the room along with a table and some chairs. A wood bin and food larder were next to the door leading to the stable. A corral extended out from that point, allowing the horses a chance to walk or trot in fresh air during periods of good weather.
The next day the hay arrived to be stored in the fenced-in fodder yard beside the corral. As they unloaded the stuff, Charlie snorted a sardonic laugh. “I’ll bet this is the second time we’ve handled these weeds,” he said. Silsby, unhappy about more farm-like work, said nothing as he wielded his pitchfork. Several bags of oats were included in the supplies to augment the horses’ rations now and then. Although the mounts would also consume hay, the majority of the stuff would be used for the cattle.
The next order of business was chopping wood. Angelo set both Silsby and Charlie to the task. They dragged a sled with them across the sloping ground to a patch of woods. The two went to work swinging axes to cut down as much fuel as they could before the bad weather set in. While they tended to that most important job, Angelo made a solitary circuit of their area of responsibility to find the spots where the wandering cattle had situated themselves.
A routine of sorts developed as the first weeks eased by. Silsby and Charlie prepared their meals when they were hungry, while Angelo cooked his own at different times. During the evenings, the two cowboys from Medicine Bundle played cards. Their invitations for Angelo to join in were always turned down. On the other hand, he was ready to engage in a game of checkers any time. The evenings’ passing included a few quiet hours before bedtime in small talk as well as the games. Each man brought out things from his past. During one of his rare garrulous spells, Angelo, who was part Mexican and spoke Spanish, told them of life along the border. They, in turn, told him about the Rocking H. The two couldn’t praise their old boss Dewey Harknell enough. Angelo thought the old man sounded like a square fellow, and they all hoped he was getting along fine now that the Rocking H Ranch was no more.
As those preliminary weeks passed, Silsby and Charlie kept up a close, nervous scrutiny of Angelo, but the man continued to behave quite normally except for his habit of going long periods without talking. Then suddenly he would become an active conversationalist, showing a great deal of friendliness for a day or two before lapsing back into his close-mouth ways.
Since that trait didn’t particularly upset Silsby or Charlie, they decided that Angelo would more than likely get through the winter in a sane sensible manner.
~*~
The first real ominous change in the weather became evident on a day in early October when they were being given a final tour of the territory. Angelo wanted to make sure they knew the area well in case they had to find their way back during a blinding snow storm. However, Angelo pointed out it would probably be impossible to ever locate the line shack during a white-out.
“But don’t worry,” he told them. “If you croak and freeze in a blizzard, you’ll stay nice and fresh through the cold months until we can find you for a decent burial come springtime.”
“Now that’s right pleasing to know,” Charlie said in contrived cheerfulness.
“Yeah,” Silsby sourly agreed.
They continued the easy circuit of the range for a couple of more hours. The sun’s warmth suddenly faded away when thick, gray clouds drifted across its face. It was a startling experience, and all three men instinctively looked skyward.
“First snow is coming,” Angelo announced. “We’d best get back to the shack.”
Silsby and Charlie followed him as the temperature continued to slowly but perceptively drop. The countryside took on a baleful appearance as the three cowboys headed for their winter quarters. A deep silence had settled over the high country, and the wind began to pick up, shaking the leafless limbs of the trees. The atmosphere was unsettling and threatening.
Angelo sensed his companions’ foreboding. He grinned at them and said, “Bienvenidos a las montañas. Welcome to the mountains.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The first blizzard to descend on the boys in the Circle Bar’s Number Three Line Shack was a white howler that came straight out of hell to launch the winter of 1889-1890.
The storm, after hours of sonorous buffeting, came to an end in the predawn hours. The cessation of pounding wind against the small building gradually lessened as the tempest eased out of the area. This brought about a stillness inside the shack as the creaking of rafters and squeaking of shutter hinges came to a halt. The noise had become so familiar that the silence brought them all awake. Charlie Ainsley sat up in his bunk. “What the hell was that?”
Angelo Kennedy, the mist of his breath ascending from the depth of his blankets, announced, “The storm is over.”
Silsby McCracken huddled farther into his covers. “Whose turn is it to light the stove?”
“Yours,” Charlie said, snuggling back into his bedding.
“Shit!” said Silsby in a muffled complaint.
“It’s early yet,” Angelo said. “They ain’t no sense in getting up ‘til daylight.”
“That won’t be long from now,” Silsby said. “I’m gonna stir up the coals and get some heat going.” He quickly slipped out of his bunk and padded across the floor in his stocking feet. He prodded the remnants of the previous evening’s fire into a weak glow, trying to ignore the numbing cold that seeped through his longjohns. Small flames flickered after a handful of shavings were added to the coals. Silsby stuck in a couple of thick pieces of wood, then retreated back to his sleeping area to dive under the blankets and shiver until his body heat once more built up warmth within the bedding.
The three dozed as the fire gained in flickering strength. An hour later Silsby got up and fed the flames again, getting it to a roaring intensity. When the chore was complete, he got his clothes. “C’mon, fellers!”
Charlie and Angelo quickly emerged from their blankets, going directly to the comfort of the heat to dress. When he’d finished, Angelo walked to the door and looked out. “That sky is as clear as a summer day.”
“I wish it was just as warm,” Charlie said, setting a pot on the stove to make coffee.
“It’ll be warm enough for the few hours the sun is gonna reflect off the snow,” Angelo said. “A feller could even get sunburnt.”
“Right now that sounds like a dandy idee,” Silsby said.
“Yeah,” Charlie agreed. “Maybe if a feller got sunburned enough it would keep him warm through the rest of the winter.”
“That’d take one hell of a sunburn,” Angelo remarked.
Silsby asked, “What’s to do today?”
“After grub we’d best make a round of the range,” Angelo said. “I don’t expect to find any of the herd in trouble, ’cept for a calf or two maybe.”
“I don’t know,” Silsby said. “That was a hell of a storm.”
“We’ll have worser,” Angelo said. “And longer too.”
“I see why you ti
ed that rope between the shack and the outhouse,” Silsby said. “I had to go out there early last evening, and I don’t think I could have found my way back without it. I couldn’t see nothing.”
“They’s been more’n one cowpoke wander off when he couldn’t see up from down,” Angelo said.
“I’m gonna go to the shelter of that outhouse to piss too,” Charlie said. “Ever’time I stepped through that door and pulled my pecker out in the wind, it felt like it was gonna get froze off.”
Silsby laughed. “That’d save you money when we go to town. You wouldn’t be able to poke no saloon gals.”
“Let’s not start talking about women,” Charlie said. “It’s gonna be a few more weeks before we get into Little Boite again. I’m so damn randy I’m starting to rut like a buck deer.”
“You better take ‘at picture down then,” Silsby said.
Charlie had the top of a cigar box fastened to the wall beside his bunk. It depicted a Spanish lady wearing tights and a low-cut bodice. He pointed to the image of the smiling brunette. “I keep that so’s I can recollect what women look like.”
“I’d rather recollect what they feel like,” Silsby commented.
Angelo was anxious to get the day’s work done. “Let get some grub in our bellies and head out.”
The three toasted some bread on the stove and spread it with marmalade. Between the food and several cups of hot coffee, their blood began to circulate faster. After dressing for the weather, they went through the door leading to the stable. The body heat of the horses, their hair now grown thick and heavy, kept the enclosed area survivable for them. The cowboys worked fast in saddling their mounts.
Angelo led the way through the deep drifts as they left the shack and headed out on the snow-covered range. The crust of the frigid covering crunched with each step of the horses’ hooves. Although it was cold, the temperature had an invigorating quality about it. The bright sun on the windless day made it an enjoyable ride as they began their inspection.
The herd had fared well. They had instinctively sought out the shelter of draws and canyons at the height of the blizzard, and showed no distress. Even the yearlings displayed a remarkable playful side as they scampered in the snow. Angelo’s practiced eye showed him there was nothing to worry about. “They can still paw down to the grass to graze so we won’t have to haul out no hay this time.”
The three cowboys were relieved to note they didn’t have to break up any ice at the water holes. The sun had already softened the glaze to the extent that the bovines could easily push their way to the water. After a couple of hours, the trio returned to the shack. When the horses were reinstalled in the stable, the riders stayed outside. As the day progressed, it became pleasantly comfortable in the sunlight. They were able to take off their mackinaws, and sit on the bench outside the door to enjoy the natural warmth.
“Hell, this ain’t so bad,” Silsby commented.
“You ain’t seen shit,” Angelo said. “This is the first blow of Ol’ Man Winter. From now on when he comes, he’s gonna be serious and mean. So don’t you go belittling him, or he’ll get mad as hell.”
Silsby snorted. “You talk like the winter weather has a soul all its own.”
Angelo looked over at him with a serious expression. “You’ll find out quick enough that it does. It’s got a soul that belongs to the devil.”
“That’s right cheerful to think on,” Charlie said.
“Just watch out what you say about Mr. Winter,” Angelo warned them again.
~*~
In less than a week the white hell once more descended on them. This time it was worse with stronger winds that stayed longer. The howling of the northers seemed endless and the buffeting made the line shack shudder and shake in several directions at once. Even the stove rattled.
Remembering Leroy O’Neil’s warning to keep any eye on Angelo, both Silsby and Charlie maintained a wary vigil. But the older cowboy seemed unaffected by the violent weather. His behavior still alternated between talkativeness and silence, but he showed no peculiar traits. His conversations were directed at his real companions rather than some phantoms conjured up in his mind.
That storm, with several intermittent lessening periods of intensity, lasted for most of a week. But before they could make a ride around the range, another tumultuous blast of winter swept over the area causing them to remain within the shelter of their sturdy quarters. This time, after the tempest subsided back to a deep winter stillness, Angelo knew the cattle would need help. Before riding out, the three cowboys piled hay high on top of a large sled. After hitching the draft horses to it, they mounted up and rode out onto the snow-covered range to search out potential problems.
They found several animals frozen to death. These victims, lying stiff legged and iced over, had been unable to locate any shelter and were forced to dumbly stand in the storm until death overtook them. “We’ll load a couple of ’em on the sled on our way back,” Angelo said. “They’ll stay froze outside the shack and we can enjoy us some steak on a reg’lar basis.”
“I reckon they’s advantages to ever’thing,” Charlie remarked.
Each time a group of survivors were encountered, the cowboys stopped and pitched off some hay. The hungry animals eagerly plowed their way through the snow to the fodder. It was an all-day job and the sun had begun its rapid descent on the other side of the mountains to the west when the trio finally finished and returned to the line shack. After putting away the horses, they dumped the two dead cows outside the stable to keep in the deep, bitter cold. With that done, the three went into the shack for their first meal in ten hours. They ate in the silence of exhaustion as the winter night settled in heavily around the shack.
The storms and trips out to the herd continued through Christmas and past New Year’s Day 1890. The cowboys kept doggedly to their routine of idleness that was broken now and then by hard labor in the freezing weather. Their friendly rapport continued to evolve even in the close confinement of the shack, and both Silsby McCracken and Charlie Ainsley completely forgot about the potential insanity of Angelo Kennedy.
~*~
The weather cleared up in late February and showed every indication of staying that way for a while. A relief crew showed up to give them a chance to leave the range and head back to the ranch for a few days of rest. This would include a one-night visit to Little Boite.
After a daily ration of steak, Silsby, Charlie, and Angelo were not concerned about eating a good meal. They wanted to take the customary bath cattlemen looked forward to after working the range. Cowboy wisdom dictated that it was unhealthy to bathe, shave or trim one’s hair while out on the job in the winter. Natural body oils and hirsuteness helped fight the cold. It also slowed down freezing to death if a man happened to get cut off from the line shack. But now they were back in civilization, and cleanliness was once again desirable and practical.
The three soaked in the hot water of the bunkhouse tubs. After bathing, they shaved and took turns cutting their long locks. Silsby’s beard wasn’t as thick as those of his pards, but he decided to leave the moustache since it showed the promise of getting thick enough for waxing within a few more weeks.
Their boss Leroy O’Neil came into the bunkhouse while they tended to their tonsorial chores. He was in a good mood. “Boys,” he said. “Did you get the news?”
“We ain’t heard nothing, Mr. O’Neil,” Charlie said, carefully scissoring Silsby’s hair. “We might as well’ve been on the moon.”
“Well, it’s a great event,” O’Neil said. “Montana became a state back in November. We ain’t a territory no more.” He was disappointed when they didn’t show much interest or enthusiasm. “This gives us all sorts of advantages for representation in Washington, not to mention services and —” He stopped and shrugged. “I reckon it don’t mean much to you fellers, does it?”
“I reckon not, Mr. O’Neil,” Silsby said. “As long as they don’t open up range land to homesteaders, we’ll keep p
lugging away. But thanks for telling us just the same.”
They immediately put statehood out of the minds, and went to town. All three got roaring drunk, poked the saloon gals, and even danced with a couple of them afterward. They had to pay a nickel a dance for the privilege. The women expected compensation for any companionship, even if socially acceptable and innocent.
The fun spiked for a bit when Charlie got into a fight with a cowboy from another outfit. Both were so intoxicated they could barely hit each other, and the stumbling brawl was a source of hilarity to the onlookers.
The next morning, hung-over and sexually-satiated, the three cowboys of Line Shack Three waved goodbye to Mr. O’Neil and headed back to the range to relieve their relievers.
~*~
The first couple of weeks back on the job were easy. But the lull ended with the arrival of pre-spring storms that came one on top of another with a fury that made the other blizzards seem like only stiff breezes. The snow left behind by these roaring tempests was so deep it filled draws and gullies from the depths to the rims. “We’ll find dead critters in them places after the thaw,” Angelo told them. “That’ll draw the wolves, so we’ll be riding with carbines when the good weather comes on us.”
The north side of the shack was covered up to the eaves by the snow. But the resultant natural insulation made the interior much warmer. The horses out in the stable were more comfortable too. The only problem was the line shack was locked in tight by the frigid conditions, and the cowboys would not be able to return to civilization until warmer weather set in. That was many weeks away.
Silsby, like his companions, began turning in early. It made the time pass faster by sleeping. It was easy to slip into a deep slumber with the cold and the drumming of the wind outside. The shack felt cozy, especially when he was wrapped up snug and warm in his blankets. Sometimes, just before falling asleep, he would think about his folks. The lonely times helped him put things into a solid perspective about his former life. This deep concentration brought him to the realization that he didn’t miss his parents. He would never be able to forgive his father for hitting him so much, nor his mother for standing by and doing nothing about it.
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