A short time later, sitting around the kitchen table, the four people enjoyed a lunch of cold beef, bread, and coffee. Luther chewed and swallowed a piece of meat and slurped from his cup. “Say, Grant, I was curious as to what made you decide to leave the Army. Not that I want to pry.”
“You’re not prying,” Grant assured his father-in-law. “Things started to look worse and worse. Some senior officers transferred in from other regiments. That cut down my chances for promotion or advancement. So after all that happened, I didn’t have much of a future in the Army. The best I could have done was end up as a captain with a small pension after thirty years of service.”
“I wasn’t real happy either,” Rebecca said. “I got snubbed a lot by the other officers’ wives. Most of them were from uppity families in the east, and a Missouri farm girl didn’t fit in too well.”
“Don’t belittle yourself, darling,” Grant said. He turned to his in-laws. “We got some books on etiquette and grammar. After a couple of months Rebecca was able to hold her own at all the garrison social functions.” He grinned. “I think those old biddies were just jealous of a pretty young woman.”
Fionna said, “So that’s why you talk differ’nt now.”
“Yes, Ma,” Rebecca said. She laughed. “I guess I’m supposed to call you Mother or Mater according to all those Mrs. Colonels and Mrs. Majors.”
Luther snorted. “It sounds like a lot of stuff and nonsense to me.”
“It is,” Grant said.
“Well, son, don’t worry none. You’re a farmer now.”
“That’s right,” Grant said. “A gentleman farmer.”
Luther frowned in puzzlement. “What’s a gentleman farmer?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Silsby McCracken and Charlie Ainsley, trail-weary, hungry, sun- and wind burned, crossed the Kansas border and rode into the Oklahoma Territory.
Both swore they never again would spend a winter on the high ranges of Montana. If the blizzards didn’t cause them all sorts of trouble, having to deal with a crazed partner in an isolated line shack did. And there were those damn mountains to the west that were like high staggered walls, forming a gigantic fortress that blocked the view and hemmed a man in like he was in prison. The two young cowboys now sought the openness of the prairie that knew no limits in vistas. Their current goal in life was to find employment on a spacious Texas ranch.
Charlie glanced wearily at his traveling companion. “If I cain’t find some spread that’ll hire me on, then I’ll go to sea. They sure ain’t nothing out there that gets in the way when a feller wants to take a look around him.”
“I don’t like the idee of being stuck on a boat,” Silsby said. “That sounds about as bad as a line shack, if’n you ask me.”
“At least it’s moving around,” Charlie pointed out. “You can see islands and other stuff like fishes.”
“How’re you gonna see them fishes under the water?”
“They’s flying fishes out there,” Charlie said. “They got wings on ’em and they come out of the water and fly along before splashing back down again.”
“What a lot of hooey!” Silsby shouted in laughing derision.
“I seen a pitcher of ’em in a book one time,” Charlie said testily as he defended his scientific knowledge. “The feller that owned the book explained ever’thing to me.”
Silsby cackled again. “Well, I ain’t never heard of ’em. But if you can see fish fly then you can see mermaids too. At least you’d be around women.”
“What good’s a damn woman with a fish bottom?” Charlie asked. “You cain’t poke her. On the other hand, if’n you’re a sailor you can have a gal in ever’ port. Ain’t you ever heard of that?”
“I suppose,” Silsby allowed. “But I still don’t want to be on no damn ship. You cain’t take no long walks and you cain’t ride a horse.”
“They got ropes,” Charlie pointed out. “They’s ropes all over ships. And you like ropes.”
“Only if I can lasso cattle and horses with ’em.”
“Well then, let’s just press on and see what things hold for us on dry land.”
Their destination for that day was their former hangout in Kensaw. They wanted to find out where their old pals Dennis Nettles and Tommy Chatsworth had ended up. It would be nice to see them again and relive old times.
“Maybe Mr. Harkness has changed his mind and started up a place in Texas,” Silsby commented. “Hell! I bet Dennis and Tommy is working for him down there.”
“Wouldn’t it be great to find the Rocking H back in business?”
“You bet!” Charlie said. “Even if that ain’t happened, Mr. Harknell could give us a line on some jobs somewheres. Anyhow we oughta be able to get a good start in Kensaw.”
They followed old landmarks, noting a gully here, a stand of cottonwoods there, and a particular creek or prairie pond to show them in which direction to travel. “Whoa!” Charlie called out, reining in.
Silsby, who had been intermittently dozing in his saddle, came wide awake. “What’s the matter?”
“Looky yonder.”
“What the hell?” Silsby exclaimed.
What had once been the wondrously empty breadth of the Medicine Bundle Grasslands showed miles of barbed wire fence and a quilt-like pattern of plowed land. A couple of roads, running straight as arrows, added to the malformation of the once familiar landscape. “They’s a house over there,” Charlie said, pointing. “And a barn too.”
“Are you sure we ain’t wandered off somewheres?” Silsby asked. He stood in the stirrups and looked around.
“Nope,” Charlie said. “We’re dead on the way to Kensaw. See that stand of redbuds? That’s where that creek is on the other side where we’d always find stray cattle during round-ups.”
“You’re right. Damn! But you’re right.”
“I wonder where all that came from,” Charlie said. “Do you reckon the Boomers finally got their way.” He was thoughtful for a moment. “Hell, yes! That’s why the gov’ment run off the ranchers. Just to make room for all them damn dirt farmers.”
“Let’s get to Kensaw and find out.”
“We ain’t got much choice,” Charlie said. “But from the looks of things, none of our ol’ pards is gonna be there.”
“I don’t figger they will be either. But we got no other place to go right now.”
They continued down a slight incline until they reached a road. After traveling to the intersection, they were surprised to see that someone had put up a sign. The words on it hit them like a slap in the face as Silsby read them aloud for Charlie’s benefit.
KENSAW, OKLAHOMA TERRITORY
FIVE MILES
“You mean it says Oklahoma Territory and not Injun Territory?” Charlie asked.
“Sure does,” Silsby assured him. “They’s been something going on all right.”
Charlie pointed. “That-a-way for five miles if’n you read that sign right.”
“I read it right. Don’t worry none about that.”
It felt strange to travel along a thoroughfare, even a crude one, after days of following their noses out of Montana and across Colorado to traverse the flat emptiness of western Kansas. The two cowboys continued, noting the wagon tracks in the road that showed it bore plenty of traffic. After traveling less than a mile they met a farmer in a wagon coming toward them. He gave them a friendly wave and they responded with nods. The man came to a stop, and they rode up to his conveyance. Silsby said, “They’s a sign back there that says Kensaw is this-a-way.”
“Sure is,” the farmer said. “Not that I’d go there.”
“Well, we’re going there and we’re happy about it,” Charlie said.
The farmer noted they were cowboys. “You fellers new around here?”
“We was herding cattle on this land while you was back in Iowa or someplace walking in pig shit,” Charlie snapped.
“You’re in a bad mood, ain’t you?” the farmer remarked with a frown.
The man had nothing more to say. He wanted no trouble with the two rough-looking kids who were packing pistols. He quickly got his team moving to continue on his way. He glanced back once to make sure the two cowboys weren’t following him.
~*~
When Silsby and Charlie reached Kensaw, they came to a stop, staring wide-eyed at what had once been their bucolic recreational area. The place had tripled in size since they’d last seen it. The crude buildings, formerly set haphazardly in the level open area that served as an avenue of sorts were gone. In their places stood well-constructed structures with plate-glass windows, signs on the front, and even a boardwalk going down on both sides of the street. Some residences, though far from fancy, formed neighborhoods on both sides of the business district.
“Are you sure this is Kensaw?” Silsby asked.
“Hell, yes! See that knoll up there? We used to ride over it and could look down on the saloon and gen’ral store. Remember?”
“I reckon I do.”
The pair rode into town, noting the changes that had occurred during their absence. They reached a building with a sign proclaiming it a saloon, and they stopped and dismounted. Silsby spent another moment observing the town. “It still ain’t the fanciest place, is it? Little Boite up there in Montana was nicer.”
“But ol’ Kensaw is a hell of a lot improved, you got to admit that,” Charlie said.
Silsby guffawed. “It couldn’t of got no worser.”
“Yeah,” Charlie agreed. “C’mon. Let’s go inside and cut this dust in our throats.”
“Then on to Texas!” Silsby said. “The sooner we start punching cattle in wide-open country again, the better.”
They stepped inside the saloon, noting it had a bar constructed of wood rather than planks laid across barrels like the old place. Crude but matching tables and chairs were arranged across the floor. Charlie grabbed Silsby’s arm, pointing to a couple of drinkers seated in a far corner of the room. Silsby turned his eyes in the indicated direction. “Tommy! Dennis!”
Tommy Chatsworth and Dennis Nettles looked up from their drinking. The two stared in surprise at Silsby and Charlie for a long moment as the reality of the situation sank in. They jumped to their feet and hurried over to exchange loud greetings with their old pards. Laughing, pummeling, punching, and an energetic shaking of hands went on among the friends. Tommy yelled, “We thought you two dumb son of a bitches had froze to death up there in Montana.”
“We damn near did,” Charlie said.
Dennis nudged Silsby. “I see you raised yourself a moustache.”
“Yeah. I done it up there to keep my mouth from icing over.”
Tommy said, “Let’s have a drink.”
“What the hell did you think we come in here for?” Charlie remarked. “To ask the time of day?”
“We got a bottle at our table,” Dennis said. “Go get some glasses and let’s do some catching up.”
“Hell! I’ll get an extry bottle too,” Charlie said. “C’mon, Silsby!” Charlie bought a bottle of rye from the bartender on duty. He took it over to the table while Silsby followed with two glasses. Within moments the drinking session was going all-out. Charlie raised his glass and said, “Here’ to the old Rocking H Ranch outfit.”
“Say,” Silsby said after downing his whiskey in two big swallows. “Where’d Mr. Harknell get off to?”
“Shit, Silsby!” Dennis said. “He shot hisself.”
“Dead?”
“As dead as dead can be,” Tommy interjected.
“Sure,” Dennis said. “I think it was a week or two after he paid us off and we all left.”
“He musta been real sad about how things turned out,” Tommy said. “Even worser than we thought.”
A sullen silence sank over the table for several long moments. It was Charlie who broke back into conversation. “Now, boys, hearing about poor ol’ Mr. Harknell takes me down a notch or two.”
“Let’s drink to his memory,” Dennis said, raising his glass.
“To Mr. Harknell!” they said in unison.
“They’s been a lot of changes on the Grasslands,” Dennis said.
“Yeah,” Silsby agreed. “It looks like them Boomers got moved in like they wanted to.”
“They opened the whole damn Cherokee Strip up in April last year,” Tommy said. “They’s even a new town called Medicine Bundle.” He nodded to Silsby. “Your pa has a nice place not far from there.”
Silsby did not acknowledge the remark.
“Well, damn it, boys,” Dennis said. “Tell us what happened up there in Montana.”
Silsby and Charlie took turns relating the tough ranching, cutting hay, living in a line shack, and having their partner go so crazy they had to tie him up. “It ain’t easy on the high ranges,” Charlie said, summing it up. “Short summers, long winters, and the roughest damn herd trailing you ever seen.”
“We come back to our own part of the world,” Silsby said. “By the way, Kensaw sure as hell has changed. Who owns this place?”
“Pete Baker,” Dennis answered. “He’s still the only saloon owner around here.”
“Who’s that feller behind the bar?” Silsby asked.
“He works for Pete.”
“Well, where the hell is Pete?” Charlie asked, looking around.
“He’s got the hotel down the street too,” Dennis answered. “He’s prob’ly there right now looking after things.”
Tommy leered. “That’s where the whores is.”
“Is Fat Dora and Fanny still working for him?” Charlie asked.
“Fat Dora died from a cancer,” Dennis said. “Fanny said the doctor told her it was from having too many peckers poked in her over the years.”
“The cancer ate up Fat Dora’s female parts or something,” Tommy added. “But Fanny and three other gals is down there. They sit around in a reg’lar parlor, then you pick the one you want and go out to little rooms in the back.”
“We’ll have to try the place out,” Charlie said. “What about Arky Bob? Does he still have a cafe here?”
“Nope,” Dennis answered. “Another feller opened up an eating place and nobody wanted to go to Arky Bob’s no more.”
“I ain’t surprised,” Silsby said.
Tommy said, “Now he has a hog farm south of here.”
“What kind of town is this new one?” Charlie asked. “The one they call Medicine Bundle.”
“Medicine Bundle ain’t no place to have fun,” Tommy said. “They don’t allow no whorehouses or gambling. All the fellers looking for a good time come over here to Kensaw. That’s how come Pete put on three extry gals. He’s doing real good for hisself.”
Charlie laughed. “In other words, that hotel is really a whorehouse, ain’t it?”
“Yeah,” Dennis said. “But they’s rooms upstairs for rent too.”
“Where’s the ranches around here?” Charlie asked. “What spread are you boys working on?”
Dennis leaned forward and whispered. “Any one that’s got horses.”
“What are you talking about?” Silsby asked.
Dennis reached in his pocket and pulled out a large roll of bills. “We’re making more money than we ever did cowpunching.”
“And they’s more where that came from,” Tommy added with a wink.
“Just tell us what the hell’s going on?” Charlie demanded.
“We’re rustling horses around here and in the Cherokee Nation and selling ’em to a feller up in Kansas,” Dennis explained.
Silsby and Charlie said nothing as they glared at their two old friends.
“I know what y’all are thinking,” Tommy said. “But what we’re doing ain’t wrong.”
Charlie glowered. “They ain’t nothing lower’n a rustler. You know that too. We fought off enough of ’em in our day.”
“We’re rustling from folks that came down here during the Run,” Dennis said. “As far as we�
��re concerned it’s their fault we lost the Rocking H and Mr. Harknell shot hisself. And that goes for the godamned Injuns too. I don’t feel nothing bad about stealing from ’em, hear?”
“We’re getting even, that’s what we’re doing,” Tommy added.
“They ain’t no cowboy work hereabouts,” Dennis said. “It’s either be a damn dirt farmer or go to Texas.” He snickered. “Or up to Montana.”
“A feller come through here while the town was building up and said he was looking for cowboys,” Dennis said. “We’d run out of money and we was desperate for any kind of grubstake. He said he’d pay cash money for horses, no questions asked.”
“So we said we didn’t have no horses to spare,” Tommy said. “He said why didn’t we go to some of the places around here where horse raisers is staked claims.”
“Take them horses, he said,” Dennis continued, “and don’t forget the Injuns farther east and south.”
“Them Injuns is Creeks and Seminoles,” Charlie pointed out. “They didn’t have nothing to do with the Medicine Bundle Grasslands.”
“That don’t mean shit,” Dennis said.
“We even went farther and took animals from the Choctaws too,” Tommy said. “That don’t make us no worser than homesteaders that take land from the Injuns. It’s all the same.”
“Ever’body takes from ever’body else as far as me and Tommy are concerned,” Dennis said. “The gov’ment took ever’thing from the Five Civilized Tribes back east a long time ago. Then they give ’em land out here and made ’em walk all the way to come live on it. Then the poor Injuns got a bunch of that took away too.”
“That’s right,” Tommy said. “If the gov’ment takes a million thousand acres away from the Injuns all at once, what the hell’s the differ’nce if me and Dennis take a few head of horses now and then, huh?”
“Taking from Injuns is a white man’s right,” Dennis said. “It’s always been that-a-way.”
Charlie thoughtfully sipped his whiskey. “Maybe y’all are right.”
“Glad you see it our way,” Tommy said.
“How’d you like to go along with us?” Dennis asked. “A couple more fellers means more horses.”
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