Date: Tue, 29 Apr 2008 00:09:54 -0500
From: fireflywatcher ford <fireflywatcher@gmail.com>
Subject: Story: Short Grass Prairie,chapter 4

The usual disclaimers apply, if you are under eighteen or live where
material with sexual content is illegal, read no further. All rights to this
original work of fiction are reserved by me, the author, Phil Ford, unless
given permission to reproduce or publish is given by me in writing.

My thanks to everyone who has written and for your many suggestions. I
appreciate your comments and look forward to hearing from readers. I will
answer all emails.

fireflywatcher@gmail.com


Short Grass Prairie

Chapter Four

by fireflywatcher-  Phil Ford


"Ian, Ian, come here boy", Sean McCorkle called to his son. He and Rich sat
on the steps at the entrance doors to his store. A sixteen year old young
man appeared. "Run to your Uncle Ned's and tell him to stop whatever he's
fixing to do and come here straight away, It's a matter of important
business. And give this a taste first."

At first Ian took a small sip but turned the jug up again for a decent gulp.
"Da, this reminds me of home. I'll fetch Uncle Ned and be back quick."

"My brother and me don't rightly work for his Lordship the railroad Baron,
as I said. We contracted to him. We got the store, houses for the both of
us, and what they sit on, in exchange for operating the store with a
guarantee of business, but required to operate it for five years", Sean
explained. "We both lost our wives to the typhoid last year and he his
daughter. His boy is twelve and Ian sixteen. Business comes mostly once a
week after payroll is made.  But for the store and the selling of food, we'd
be a starving, that's for sure."

Rich had left the ranch through the north gate and circled, visiting his old
customers. He only stopped here last because he was passing by, going home
through the old road and the east gate. It was late in the day. "My sympathy
for your losses", Rich responded. "We haven't heard of your diseases and the
tribe that camped near here every year for generations nearly all died in
one winter from sickness. Fear of sickness kept us all close to home the
last two years, except for buying necessary supplies. We ain't in no hurry
to die."

"Ned, this is Rich Langston", he introduced Rich when his brother
approached. "He has a variety to offer us that might increase our sales."
Sean passed the jug after Ned and Rich exchanged handshakes. Then it was
passed to Ned's boy.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Langston", Ned said. "This is my boy, Donald. You
have some good whiskey, sir."

"Why don't the four of you come to supper. The house is a fifteen minute
ride straight down the road through that gate", Rich pointed. "We serve a
heavy meal for men who work hard and always have plenty."

"It's closing time now", Sean answered. "We'll be right behind you as soon
as we saddle our mounts."

Rich arrived with enough time to put the milk and cheese away, unhitch his
horses and brush them down, and to take the days earnings in and give it to
Jake. He'd brought in fifty dollars. When most men made ten cents an hour,
it was a good amount for a days work. Jake went out with Rich to show the
merchants around. They put them men's horses in a lot and saw the stock at
the barn first. The next stop was the smokehouse followed by the milking
parlor and ice house. The poultry and the garden came last. At the house,
Matt's boys, Sam and Nate were swimming. Jake asked if they cared to swim
before supper. Donald was near the same age as Sam and Nate, so he stripped
off and jumped in with them. Ian and the men went inside.

They sat in the parlor with the men of the ranch, sipping on glasses of
whiskey while I cranked on the ice cream freezer. When I couldn't turn the
handle anymore, I called the boys in for supper. We had chicken and
dumplings, fresh green beans, roasted  ears of corn, sour dough bread and
peach cobbler with ice cream for dessert.

We played music after supper and had more whiskey. They were familiar with
the Irish instruments and joined in. Ian played the fiddle beautifully. Two
hours into the playing, Jake offered them the use of a spare room saying we
were up at five and it was a short ride to town, but best done in daylight.
Rich went with Ian to see to their horses after they agreed. The music
continued until late that night, sipping a fair amount of whiskey as they
played.

The McCorkles made no mention of the different races present . They ignored
who bunked together and there were no outward expressions of affection
revealing any thing other that a relationship as friends or brothers  among
the ranch men. Rich and Taylor were the first to slip away from the
gathering to bathe in the washroom. Taylor carried a jug and some fresh
towels to the room as the basin filled. He went for clean drawers while Rich
stripped of his dusty clothes. The he shed his own and stepped over the
ledge to join Rich in the hot water. "I brought some of this soap Bon made",
he told Rich, holding up a rough cut bar. "He said his grandmother made it a
lot and he'd watched enough to know how. He steeped roses in hot water to
catch the scent and used that to make the soap."

"You'll have me smelling like a French whore", Rich declared.

"I never smelled no French whore", Taylor answered. "I hope that's a good
thing."

"I ain't smelled one either", Rich confided. "I ain't even seen a Frenchman.
It's just what the cowboy's say when anybody puts on fu fu or that  cheap
barbershop cologne."

Dan usually did the hair cutting on the ranch. He could take a comb and a
pair of scissors and in a few minutes you'd see a pile of hair on the floor
and a neatly trimmed head before you. Rich had neglected to get his cut for
a while. It hung in  loose inch wide curls down to his shoulders. He plunged
his head below the water and rising out of it the water heavy straightened
locks hung to the angel's wings of his shoulder blades in back.

Taylor took a bar of the rose scented soap and began to lather Rich gently
 Rich stood motionless entranced by Taylor's ministrations. Taylor mounded
his hair on top of his head, lathering it as Rich inhaled the sweet aroma.
Taylor worked his way downward. He could move full circle around Rich in the
big basin. Rich moaned when Taylor massaged the soap into his arm pits, and
cried when Taylor stroked circles of lather around his nipples. Rich was
fully hard before Taylor left his nipples.

As Taylor lathered his way down the front of Rich's body he lightly touched
his tongue to Rich's knob, tasting the soap. "Hum, it's not that bad, might
make some nice hard candy with the rose water. Why do white men say 'wash
out your mouth with soap when you say some words?", Taylor asked.


"Most soap tastes really bad", Rich answered. "There are words we don't use
around women and it's a threat of punishment mothers give you for using
them."

When Taylor moved to soap Rich's back, he lingered and stroked his fingers
down Rich's crack. Then he pushed a finger inside the pucker, then two, then
three, and pumped them in and out. Rich crumpled at the knees and Taylor
firmly held him up with his free arm wrapped around Rich's chest.

He lowered Rich , baptizing him below to surface to rinse the lather from
Rich's hair and settled him to rest with his back against the side of the
basin. Then he lifted one leg at a time, finishing his work. They each took
several long draws on the jug and Rich reciprocated Taylor's favor. Taylor
moaned louder and more frequently than Rich had done, relishing the intimate
contact. They took a few more slugs of whiskey and Rich sprawled across the
wide ledge of the basin, raising his butt in the air. "You have some
business back there you started with your fingers you need to finish with
something more substantial, buddy", he told Taylor.

Taylor rose and buried his face in the gap between Rich's cheeks, working
his tongue inside. He continued his attack and had to grip Rich by the hips
to hold him in place as Rich tried to force himself back into Taylor's face.
"The rose flavor improves after it's rinsed with water", Taylor commented.
Then he began the job Rich had wanted. He moved his prick in slowly until
their bodies fully met and started the pistoning action, building speed a
little at a time. Their joining was of short duration, maybe ten minutes at
most before reaching it's height. Ropes of white cream shot from Rich into
the water below and Taylor began to throb and release his own within Rich.

The pulled the plug to drain the basin and the drying off was as stimulating
as the bathing had been. Rich's locks had drawn back into tight curls. The
put on their drawers and took the jug to their bedroom unnoticed.

"How is it you are all related?", Sean asked as they drank coffee the next
morning.

"Some of us are blood relatives and some are adopted", Jake answered. "Life
has been pretty hard here until the last few years. I'm thirty two and Jim's
mom was my sister. He's twenty six now. Dan is his cousin. The Fosters are
all cousins, Bob and Rich are adopted as are Luis and the Comachos. Matt's
sons are Harlan and Rufus who are twins. I adopted Sam and Jim adopted Nate.
My mom and sister along with Jim's grandmother Taylor were killed when I was
twenty and he was fourteen. Their husbands died in the Civil War. Life has
been hard."

"I understand that well enough. Ned and I have our sons, but it is hard
raising them being alone", Sean revealed. "I think what has been the
roughest is Ian not having any mates. Back home he was still a boy at
sixteen. Here those his age, even those that came along with us, are men
dealing with the reality of life. They've past their time of being boys and
he is lost because of it."

"Send him out here when he has no pressing work and maybe we can help him
enjoy life a little", Jake replied, "We have a lot of leisure time because
we work together and provide most of our needs. The work of the season  is
all that we must get done when it is due."

"I'll do that", Sean assured him. It was half past five and the sun was up.
They saddled up and went home to get their store open for the day. It was
Tuesday and on Thursday morning Ian rode up at the ranch.

"Da sent me with a list of things you could bring him tomorrow if you can",
Ian told Rich. "I can stay the night if I'm no trouble and ride in with
you."

Rich took the list saying they'd gather it up the next morning. "If you feel
like a short ride, I know some boys your age across the river I could take
you to meet."

"That would be fine with me", Ian replied. "I've been lonesome as hell for a
time and would love to meet some boys my age."

Three brothers named Thornton in their forties ranched together across the
river. The each had a passel of kids and though just passing acquaintances,
Rich knew them from roundups and cattle sales. He and Ian rode across at the
low water dam and turned east. Their place wasn't far but when the river was
up it may as well have been on the other side of the world. "Hey Bart", Rich
called as they approached.

"Hey Rich", Bart answered.

"This here's Ian. I brought him to meet you boys", Rich explained, "And to
give you an invite. We'll feed you and put you up if you've a mind to visit
and get to know him."

"Wye sure, you still got them Indians at the ranch? Your buddy Taylor is a
hoot", Bart answered. "Hey Ma", he yelled out, "Me and the boys are going
coon hunting. See you when we see you." Bart chewed tobacco and spit about
every third word. "This is Justin and Luke, Ian, my cousins. Get your guns
boys. You can't coon hunt with no guns."

"Are we really going to hunt?", Ian asked.

"Hell no. If we don't disappear they'll keep us standing around trying to
think of something for us to do. There ain't no work this time of year",
Bart replied. They saddled their horses and followed Rich and Ian back to
the ranch. "Can we drink some of your whiskey and beer?", Bart begged.

"You ain't been told no yet have you?", Rich answered.

As they rode beside one another, Bart gave Ian's shoulder a squeeze saying,
"You seem like a fine fellow, Ian, but you talk kind of funny. Where are you
from?"

"The north of Ireland", Ian informed him. "My Da and my Uncle have the store
just across the river, there", he pointed in the direction of Leaday.

"How'd you get here?", Justin quizzed.

"We came by ship and then by train", Ian answered.

"I ain't ever been in a row boat much less a ship", Luke piped up. "I seen a
train, but that's about it. We ain't been any further than we could ride.
You want to go for a swim before we go to Short Grass?"

"Wye sure", Ian answered.

"I'll leave you boys to swim then", Rich told them, "And see you when you
get to the ranch."  Rich took the crossing at the dam and the boys all rode
further up river on the far bank.

"Are we going to swim in our underpants?", Ian asked.

"What kind of drawers do you wear, Ian?", Bart  questioned him.

"The knit sort like most men, I guess", Ian replied.

"Well, we ain't wearing no drawers, so I guess not", Bart answered him.
They dismounted beside the pool and tethered their horses in the dappled
light to graze, shedding their clothes after and hanging them on the brush
branches. "Don't be diving in now. This water may be clear as glass instead
of muddy red like the Colorado, but you still can't tell how far down those
rocks are. You'll break your fool neck", Bart told Ian.

They splashed around and played for over an hour and were about to get out
and dress. Ian was floating on his back when Luke swam up beside him.
"You've got a nice pole, Ian. Has anyone ever sucked it for you?", Luke
asked him.

"No, but I might like to try it", Ian answered.

"You bunk with me tonight and I'll do it for you", Luke told him.

It was still early, not even noon yet, when the boys rode up at the ranch.
Rich met them and showed them where to pen their horses and put up their
tack. Luis was cooking Mexican food for lunch and was just getting started.
All four watched with great interest and took tastes when Luis offered them,
so they could fix the same dishes themselves back at home.  Since it was
June, all the cooking was done in the outdoor kitchen.

The Comanche men had taken to playing a game they played as kids to fill
some time and burn off some energy after a meal. Taylor had made a ball with
a bladder inside full of air  he'd blown in to fill it and he'd stitched a
smooth leather covering over the top.  The game was a free for all. The
objective was to keep control of the ball and you could only use your feet.
It ended when everyone was too tired to run any more and there was no
winner. Ian commented that a similar game was gaining popularity back in
Europe, but had a goal at each end of a field and timed play periods.

Dan called for a beer break after half an hour. A barrel was kept in the ice
house all the time now. Everyone drank down a couple of glasses and play
resumed. Only the small boys stayed out of the game, saying they always got
run over, and they swam in the spring pond instead. The second round was
shorter. The men wore baggy drawers or loin pouches, some handed out by
Taylor from those he'd made and all wore moccasins. The Thornton boys and
Ian were in boots and denims. Bart teased and flirted with Taylor
constantly. Finally Bart told Taylor he could have his ass in exchange for
Taylor giving him his and they'd judge who had the best ass.

Taylor brought a quilt and balm from the house to find Bart naked and
waiting. Bart moved on to the quilt on hands and knees and Taylor pushed
right in. Bart was average size, about six inches, while Taylor had about
eight. When Taylor spurted, Bart didn't want a turn, he wanted another dick.
Matt went next and when he finished he went around the house to the spring
pond to keep the younger boys occupied. All the men took a turn but only
lasted three or four minutes. Ian reluctantly went last. This was something
he'd never done. He spurted as soon as he entered Bart's ass but to keep
everyone from knowing he kept fucking until he spurted a second time, nearly
fifteen minutes later. He was larger than average, too, at about nine
inches. Bart was moaning and saying every nasty word in the book before he
came and spurted across Ian's chest, causing Ian to spurt that second time.

Bart and Ian cleaned up and the whole group dressed, putting denims on
again. It was whiskey drinking time through the afternoon and again after
supper. The Thorntons had never played around with the Short Grass men
before and were a little young for it. Rich was the youngest at the ranch at
twenty three, other than the boys.

"Hell, our older brothers have been making us suck them off and fucking our
asses for several years. We found out it was more fun to get a little
pleasure, too, than it was just to give it", Bart declared. "If we court
some gal we're likely to get shot by her paw and there's damn few gals
around these parts. If we go to the whores in town we might get something
that won't wash off. Helping each other out is all good and I've gotten to
like getting fucked as you can see."

Justin bunked in with Jake and Chance. Bart went back with Taylor and Rich.
That left Ian and Luke to bunk alone as Luke wanted. Rich was up early
loading the order and had to get help to get it done. He thought it was an
awful lot for one store but it was a short ride home with anything not sold.
The box wagon was filled with milk, butter, cream, buttermilk (which usually
just got fed to the hogs), cheeses, and eggs. A second Box wagon that was
larger and hadn't been used yet, was filled with ice. One wagon carried
produce from the garden, another carried poultry in crates, and a third held
fresh meat and smoked meats, fish, and sausages. They carried honey and
ribbon cane syrup and lastly beer and the fine whiskey and moonshine they
made.  It was just after seven when they arrived and a number of other
merchants from stores contracted on other parts of the railroad man's ranch
were gathered at Sean's store.

The McCorkle brothers and the other merchants ran genuine general stores
with every need met to the best of their abilities. What the Short Grass
offered were things not easily shipped over any distance and they ate it up.
The long time residents of the area either produced what they needed or did
without, but the European settlers were accustomed to buying what they
needed. Ice was the single item in greatest demand. The homes and stores had
been equipped with ice boxes only to find there was no ice plant, that they
knew of.

Tinned foods, dry meal and flour, and dry beans had been what was sustaining
the population. Even grain to feed a flock of chickens had been difficult to
find so few kept them. What remained to fill the needs of the settlers was a
bakery and a butcher, even with the meat provided by Short Grass. The meats
they preferred were lamb and fresh pork. Winter greens that would store so
well through the seasons in the cellar, onions, leeks, and potatoes were
their preferred produce. Most had never tasted corn on the cob, tomatoes,
peppers, or squash. Irish soda bread was their quick bread and cornbread was
unfamiliar to them. They found hot peppers inedible. Everything loaded was
sold with the merchants clamoring for more. Saturday was their biggest sale
day and they were looking forward to making a fair share of the worker's pay
this week. It had been slow since they'd arrived and these offerings would
draw in everyone.

The take was nearly a thousand dollars, an unimaginable sum.  I could see
the gears turning in Jakes mind. "Uncle Ned is a good butcher", Ian informed
us. "He's been teaching me for several years but we haven't the time or
space to slaughter animals here at the store."

Later after each of the Thornton boys had bought new straw hats, they made
an offer to do any work we might need done raising more produce. "We don't
have the time to do much gardening at home", Bart said, "When the cattle
need to be worked the ranch is busy. When we're idle it ain't the right time
for doing other chores. Our paw's could do without us, though. Our brother's
can get everything done and we could use a way to make our own living."

I thought there were probably a few other businesses that might make a go
now, too. Jake just said he'd give things some thought.  I rode back with
him to talk, but that really meant listen. "First off", Jake began, "We have
all the money we'd ever need. We have more land than we need. Just Sam and
Nate are due our share and Harlan and Rufus have an equal amount from Matt
and Dan. The rest is divied up between the men to do as they see fit. Ain't
none of going to start chasing skirts and if we'd wanted to adopt more kids
it would have happened already."

"Cattle is our business. We dug the ditches so if a drought came we could
feed the cattle. That river flows even when we don't get rain, but it's only
good for so long. We've seen grasshoppers eat every blade of grass, dry or
green, and eat every leaf off every tree. Comes a point, like it or not, you
sell the damn cattle and wait until the grass grows, then you buy new
cattle. That's just the way it is. Steers reach two years of age and full
growth, and fattened up, you sell them if you damn near give them away cause
they'll never be better than that. Most ranchers are selling year old steers
for a third the price and letting some stockyard fatten them to finish them
out. We don't. Most graze their pasture at one head to ten acres or heavier
grazing. We graze at one head to twenty acres. To others, a cow is a cow.
Ours are all pure bred now and we only keep the best. We made a space for
the buffalo and the small herd of longhorns. We have the sheep, goats, and
hogs. We have the poultry."

"The garden has enough producing to keep these stores satisfied until fall
produce starts getting ready. We can crank up the ice production and
increase the dairy production. We can run the still more and brew more beer.
We can plant more winter grain. We can even build a slaughter house or
another ice house if we can benefit from it, but we shouldn't be involved in
the work, just provide the money and check the books. We should insist that
it runs in a fair manner, where all involved get a decent living for their
work", and he shut up for the rest of the ride.

I was thinking the widows left from that sickness that hit the settlers
might want to work a bakery or a seamstress shop. I thought Swift and Hawk
could make a trip to Fort Cobb and see if the Comanche wanted to sell hides
since Taylor and Tanner did such fine leather work. Boots , shoes, saddles,
and gloves were always needed. I thought a feed mill and a flour mill would
work, too. I'd let him stew on what he'd said for a while, and then tell him
my ideas. I agreed with him that we shouldn't be involved except as
investors, though. I had no desire to do any more work that I did already.
We reloaded the wagons back at the ranch and left to make the rounds selling
what was ordered. It took two trips and we tripled the take.

That fall the last of the Comanche were taken to Fort Concho near San Angelo
and later moved to join their tribe at Fort Cobb. They didn't get a choice
in the matter. Some of us would need to travel to Fort Cobb and Lawton to
check on our bunch of Comanche and the allotments due the boys and the
Comachos.

Sean and Ned McCorkle were businessmen. The kept their store and ran it, but
agreed to handle the other businesses for us. Luke and Ian started the
slaughterhouse and built feed lots, a feed mill, and a flour mill. Justin
and Bart tried raising produce for a while. The labor demands were too much,
so they joined Luke and Ian. Even the dairy business got shifted away from
the ranch. What we couldn't easily produce, Sean and Ned had shipped in by
rail and began supplying stores all around the area. Donald helped them a
lot. Taylor and Tanner considered their leather work as art and wanted
nothing to do with selling any of it or making things to order, so that
never came to be. Ian ran the slaughterhouse. Justin ran the dairy. Luke
took the management of both the feed and flour mills. Bart was left to care
for the feedlots.

We cut out land on the east line for the dairy, feed mill, flour mill, stock
yards, and slaughter house, but put them far enough from the McCorkle's
store and small town to be sure odors didn't offend the residents. Sean
dealt with the management of the huge ranch next to us and negotiated a
railroad easement for a spur to the town and our businesses. The spur was
for shipping and receiving, not for traffic. There would only be a few cars
arriving or departing throughout the year except for when we sent our steers
to market and would allow us to spread those shipments over a longer period,
making the work of the ranch easier.

The next wave of settlers to arrive were young Mexican men seeking work,
mostly on farms and ranches. The majority were unmarried and traveling in
pairs. Taken as a whole, they were a group of beautiful young men. They
gathered together from time to time and stayed out of the public eye. Many
worked in the combined Short Grass- McCorkle- Thornton businesses. There was
a line on the Short Grass land where none but family were welcome to cross
except by invitation and the private life of the men remained private.

The world lay in the hands of white men and more specifically, rich white
men. Farmers and ranchers had wrested control for the moment but they held
the same prejudices. Mexicans had been in Texas second only to the natives.
They'd fought against Mexico for independence right beside their white
neighbors, but now they were forced into inferior roles without privilege.
What they earned could be stolen at a whim. Spanish land grants that secured
property ownership for the older white families were worthless if they held
it. Like natives and blacks, they were denied use of facilities, access to
government or public buildings and had to ride like animals in freight cars
on trains. It was justifiable homicide to kill anyone rumored to be
homosexual. Towns frequently had a sign at their outskirts saying, "Don't
let the sun set on your black ass" and it applied to natives and Mexicans as
well.

If all the signs I saw were correct, these young Mexican men had neither the
security of their lives nor their property for more than the present
moment.  The railroad baron wouldn't hire Texans or Americans, much less
those of color. What his shop keepers did he allowed as their business, but
their employees better be off his ranch before dark, even though the people
owned their businesses and homes. They fell within his borders. To the east,
it was an hour's ride to the baron's property line. Across the river was the
closest land not part of Short Grass or part of his holdings.

Locals would make the long ride to work. The Mexicans arrived as a trickle
and new jobs came available at a trickle as well. While only a few worked at
the businesses where they came and went outside work was unnoticed. With a
larger number around, it became obvious they were camping on the river on
Short Grass property or across on the other shore. "You should see all the
dick flopping around down at the river", Swift told me, coming in late one
afternoon. He'd been down at the far end of the ditch checking fence. "Like
Ian and the Thornton's, none of them got shiny knobs, but they've got some
nice ones. There's nice smooth butts on those boys, too."

"I bet Bart's already been sampling some of them", I replied. "He just
didn't tell us, thinking we'd be mad at him for molesting the help."

"Well I don't mind looking, but we're a fine looking bunch of men here and
we don't mess around more than once in a blue moon. We need to do something
about housing though before we have trouble with the neighbors" Swift
insisted. Close to sixty people worked at the businesses and thirty five or
so were Mexican. Where they camped was near another gravel bar that formed a
natural low water crossing usable on horseback. Their presence would attract
attention.

Most working people's homes ran two to three hundred dollars to have built
and were four rooms; a parlor, a kitchen, and two bedrooms. The front and
back were porches along the entire length. The front almost always faced
east so it was in the evening shade. The back porch was a working area,
mostly for laundry and where clothes hung to dry in rainy weather. It would
have a cistern to catch rain water, a well, and a two seater outhouse. A
smaller less expensive house was a shotgun, with three rooms in a row and
the kitchen in the center. Most added a pole barn for their horses and a
chicken house, after the initial building was complete.

The Mexican men would probably be content with a bunkhouse like used on
large ranches. It had bunk beds on each side, a long table in the center,
and a cooking area at one end, with some space for the four foot long
galvanized tub used for laundry and bathing in all the dwellings. The
outhouse for a bunkhouse usually had four seats or more. Figuring locals
might want regular houses and the single men, bunkhouse space, we built some
of both across the fence from Leaday and the McCorkle's store. They weren't
across the tracks, just across the fence.

Sean and Ned accommodated the preferences of the Mexicans just as they'd
done for their compatriots. They even employed a man to cook the dry corn
with lime, like making hominy, to produce the masa used so much in Mexican
cooking. The excess went out to other stores served by our businesses.
Another change Sean made was to extend tab accounts to their customers. Our
businesses and the baron's ranch paid by the week but most ranches paid by
the month and the small farmers and ranchers themselves might not see a
payday but once or twice a year. Coal and kerosene made a good profit and
were cheap to the customers. The coal freed up their time gathering or
cutting firewood and we didn't want trees cut on the ranch.

My grandmother had always told me that if we lost all the cattle and stock,
and the poultry, we'd never go hungry for a day if we could chunk a rock.
The prairie chicken, a bird the size of a bantam chicken that nested in the
grass would be there to feed us. Now they were becoming scarce. I guessed
cattle was the cause. The buffalo were always gone to the north when the
birds nested and cattle were here throughout the year. I caught some up and
kept them in a run to breed them and keep them around. The ones I raised
were easy prey for foxes and coyotes. No matter how many I raised and
released to the wild, the numbers never recovered. When we let the foul run
loose to graze and eat bugs they went right back to their run to roost at
night just like the rest. They'd become caged birds.

Some fool brought a thorny desert tree called mesquite and planted it for
shade , somewhere. Cows , deer, and birds ate the beans and the fast growing
little trees had spread everywhere over the last few years. No number of
goats or stock, grazing heavy, could hold it in check and it was not prairie
where the short grass grew anymore but scrubland. At least the grass still
grew.

We'd started having baled hay shipped in for the dairy and the feedlots. We
bought it to fill our lofts at the ranch and stored the cutting and bailing
equipment in a shed, but that only lasted a year. Any fields we didn't cut
for hay or plant in crops started filling up with mesquite. We expanded our
farming just to keep land clear of the damn trees. Worse still, cultivated
land never grew back into short grass prairie, it had grass but wasn't the
same. Jake and I would talk and reminisce, wishing all these people had
never come. When it was just the Comanche and the few ranches scattered
around, and the buffalo herds,  nothing changed.

Locals except some loners and cowboys had homes. The cowboys were used to
living in a bunkhouse. Some Mexicans shared houses but the rest bunked in
with the cowboys and a few houses stayed empty along with one bunkhouse. We
gave them housing for free. It was their choice to share a house or live in
the bunkhouse. Once a month or so, they'd ask for the use of a barn and have
a dance, just men, dancing, drinking, having something different to do to
break the monotony of life. Justin, Luke, Bart, and Ian had taken one of the
empty houses. They ate with us a lot and Justin bragged on the music the
Mexicans played for their dances knowing we all played music a lot.
Curiosity got the upper hand and we rode over, instruments in tow along with
a barrel of home brew and quite a few jugs of the fine Irish single malt,
one Saturday evening to join in.  It was an outrageous experience.

Instruments got passed around and a lot of men sang, but everything came out
in the campesino style with a sort of polka beat. We were so drunk when the
music stopped we slept on the hay bales scattered around the barn. A really
small cowboy was sandwiched between Swift and I when I woke up. I moved away
and his eyes opened.

"Morning Jim", he said and looked toward Swift saying just, "Swift", and he
rolled on his belly pillowing his head in his arms. I gave his little butt a
squeeze and he mumbled, "Thanks", without opening his eyes. We were both
fully dressed except for our boots. Pulling mine on I noticed the boys were
falling apart.

"Hey, I'm leaving you some money. Go get you some new boots today", I told
him. He mumbled "OK", without moving.

Swift and I loaded the instruments in the wagon I'd driven over to haul it
all, got the team hitched up, and left for the house. The boy and some of
our men were still sleeping. "Do you think we fucked him?", I asked Swift.

"I don't know", Swift answered. "I don't remember much, but we're still
dressed. We would have broke him if we'd fucked him. He's so little."

Both of us were a little over six foot tall and near two hundred pounds. The
boy was all of five foot tall and I doubted he weighed a hundred. He had
black curly hair and brown eyes, the only difference in his appearance from
a Mexican being his pale light skin. The boys rushed out to help us unload
and get the draft horses penned up. I looked at Sam and Nate who were twelve
and thirteen, seeing both of them were larger in stature than the boy was.
They had him by a couple of inches in height and thirty pounds easily.

The boys had a Sunday dinner of fried chicken, biscuits, and gravy with some
things from the garden fixed already. We waited for the other men to get
home so we could eat. The boys had been training some pups to follow the
whistles we used to direct them all morning. The pups were nine months old.
"They wander a bit, wanting to play and don't concentrate on their job", Sam
declared. They had the pups demonstrate their training and each of them
looked proficient and even tempered to me.

"You're doing a great job", I praised all of the boys.  Shortly, the men
rode up and we had our dinner.  We spent the afternoon drinking sweet iced
tea on the porch, recovering from our self abuse the night before. After
supper I was brave enough to have a beer. Sitting on the porch again, the
small cowboy rode up to the house.

"I had to show you my boots, Jim", he announced. "He only had a made up pair
in red and one in green, that would fit me", he said displaying the red
ones. "Said I had a girl sized foot. The red are growing on me but I sure
wasn't happy at first. You gave me enough for two and he'll have brown ones
ready by next Saturday."

"They look right nice on you", I told him. "What was your name? I had a lot
to drink last night and don't remember it."

He sat petting one of the pups, looking down, and I thought he was tearing
up. "Wes", he said, almost under his breath. "Dad named me for that Hardin
fellow, John Wesley", he almost whispered, "John Smith don't appeal to me so
I go by Wes."

"Well, Wes, we had a hell of a good time last night and I apologize for
forgetting your name", I told him.

"I like them red boots", Swift offered, "Couldn't miss you in a crowd."

He brightened at that. It was dusk and the boys took to him as if he was one
of them. They settled it that he'd stay the night and helped him get his
horse and tack tended to. He slept in Sam and Nate's room and they got him
off to work in time the next morning. "Dad", Nate said, "Wes is only
fourteen, he lied to Ian so he could get a job. He was fourteen Saturday and
said you and Swift made it the best birthday he ever had. Sam's only a few
months younger than Wes."

"Sometimes there is a good reason to lie, son. I'll talk to Ian and see if
he can keep him working even if he's too young", I told Nate.

"You know he can't saddle or unsaddle that horse without some help or
standing on top of something, don't you?", Sam asked me. "I looked at the
horse's teeth and he must be fourteen and he's over sixteen hands. Even if
the saddle was lighter, Wes can't lift that high. Wes said he bought him for
forty bucks if that tells you anything."

"We might be able to do a few things to help Wes out", Jake told the boys.
"He's pretty young to be on his own. Did he tell you how that came to be?"

"He said his paw died about two years ago", Sam spouted, "It ain't his
fault!" Rufus and Harlan nodded in agreement. "We do our share of work and
our studies. We just ain't got to worry about a bed for the night or food
for our bellies. Wes ain't asking for nothing either. He's working and
earning his own keep."

(continued in chapter five)