Date: Mon, 19 May 2008 22:58:25 -0500
From: fireflywatcher <fireflywatcher@gmail.com>
Subject: Story: Short Grass Prairie, chapter eight

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content is illegal, read no further.

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give written permission to reproduce or publish it.

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fireflywatcher@gmail.com

Short Grass Prairie

Chapter Eight

by fireflywatcher- Phil Ford

I poured water from the pitcher into the basin and splashed my face. It
wasn't light yet, but the full moon through the windows was enough
illumination for me to get around the house. I slipped on my denims, shirt,
and boots, before going to the fireplace and adding a couple of splits. That
caught fire without stirring the coals. A cold front moved in during the
night, but the fireplace being in the center of the house would lift the
chill in a hurry. Moonlight streamed in, but from the west now that morning
approached. I lit a twig from the fire and touched it to the wick of the
Aladdin lamp and put the chimney in place, illuminating the kitchen. The
door creaked and Walt entered with a pot of coffee in his hand.



"I saw the light from the window and figured you had no need to wait on a
cup if we had some made already", he told me. "I'll leave it here on the
table so you have a spell to wake up. It got cold during the night. You'll
need a good coat today. If you need to use the facilities, you might want to
do your business in the outhouse by the bunkhouse. It's larger and has a
small single grate wood stove. I got it warmed up already."

I filled my cup and got a small fire going in the stove to keep the pot warm
and make another one when everyone was up. I sat alone quite a while. Henry
was the first to appear.

"Morning papa", he said. "I was cold and woke up. Then it got warmer and I
couldn't go back to sleep."

"It's almost time to get up anyway", I replied, "See the moon?", I said,
pointing out the window, "It's about to set and that means the sun is about
to come up."

"How do you know that , papa?", Henry asked. "I thought it was always
changing."

"No, when the moon is full it always rises when the sun sets and sets when
the sun rises", I answered.

I checked my watch and it was just past seven which was close to the time
for sunrise that time of year. We were normally up much earlier, near five
in the morning, when it was still dark. Henry and I walked across to the
bunkhouse after bundling up against the cold. "Come on in here!", Walt said,
greeting us at the door. "We ain't harnessed the teams yet, figuring you
might of changed your mind today. An hours ride in the cold with no place to
warm up and an hours ride home, don't sound tempting at all. You know the
weather in this part of the country. If you don't like it, wait a spell and
it'll change. Damn well might be ninety degrees tomorrow, never can tell."

"The Comanche only had a few teepee's set up. Most of the people were
sleeping in bedrolls or on pallets", I replied, "I don't think many will be
there until it warms up, when they have nice warm houses nearby."

"What do you think, Henry?", Walt asked.

"I'd stay home where it's warm and look out the window at the moon", Henry
replied.

"Most of the festival is at night", Swift informed us. He'd just come inside
the bunkhouse. "When it started to turn cold, they probably left the camp
for their homes. Is there any pie left?"

"Pie, cake, pudding, and cobbler, are all on the sideboard", John responded.
"I had a piece of cake with my coffee."

Others began to filter in a few at a time until all our group was assembled
in the bunkhouse, drinking coffee, having sweets, or some breakfast Walt
fixed. Horse was going to ride with one of the hands to his place and
collect some things for the stay down south. The Pullman car was on a side
track in Lawton since we'd taken it for a week. We packed our belongings and
got them loaded on the wagons, and then we tidied up the three little houses
as best we could.

"Would it be alright if me and Walt came south with you for a visit?", John
asked me. "I wouldn't impose, but Frank and Henry asked us to be their
adopted granddaddies. We couldn't say no and they asked us to visit, too. I
figured I better ask first."

"You're always welcome, John", I replied. "Get your stuff packed and loaded.
If we make it by three, we'll get hooked to the train for the ride south,
but the trains always run late."

When Horse returned, he and Nate did a chant and used some smoke in a
medicine ritual for Coyote. The old medicine man showed it to Nate the day
before and Horse had helped perform it several times. It was to drive the
spirits out of Coyote that made him crazy. When they finished, we left for
Lawton, with some of the hands along to bring the wagons back. The train
line north went to Dodge City and Denver. Going south it passed near Short
Grass and went on to Austin and San Antonio where it split with one line to
Laredo and another to Corpus Christi and Brownsville. Other lines
intersected with it going east and west or north and south. It was after
five before the train left Lawton, towing us home.

We were provided with some baskets of food from a Lawton restaurant and a
steward turned down the berths later in the evening. Again, we arrived about
mid-morning, after waiting on a side track for the north bound train to pass
along the way. Jake sent a telegram before we left Lawton and both the
wagons and horses were waiting when we arrived.

"Sean told me you were coming", Bud informed us. He was sitting on the porch
whittling, waiting on us. "I had to fetch a few things across the way for my
missus and saw the wagons lined up and the horses saddled, so I asked where
you were."

"Pop, Pop!", Charlie exclaimed, running up to give Bud a hug. "I'm a
Comanche now. I went to the reservation. I saw the chiefs and the medicine
men, and everything." Frank and Henry stood beside him nodding in agreement.


"Howdy", John said. "I'm John and this here is Walt. We've been running the
ranches on the reservation for these men, nearly twenty years, now."

"I'm Bud, Charlie's granddad. Pleased to meet you", Bud replied.

"I guess we're in position", Walt remarked. "Frank and Henry adopted us both
as their granddads. Never made enough as a cowboy to support a family. It
feels good."

"You're fitted out pretty good for a cowboy", Bud replied.

"Well, before the rush, Jake and Jim had us fence in more land. Figured if
it was a giveaway, we could use some more land. All the hands got big enough
a piece to make a good living and some extra for any younguns that come
along. Charlie got a piece on reservation land that would've gone to
settlers. So did Frank and Henry, and the other adopted kids", Walt
answered. "The rest is outside the old boundaries."

"That beats all", Bud responded, "The little charmer got his self a ranch
and ain't but six years old."

"Not just a ranch", John added, "All the cattle to stock it. We've had
twenty years to build the herds. You get a cow to five acres there in that
tall grass, not one to ten like you get here." They bantered numbers back
and forth for a few minutes.

"Hell, he'll make as much as I do and I've spent my lifetime getting to this
point", Bud assessed. "Sara says he's damn smart, so I guess he better get
an education. He's already as cowboy as he can be, just needs a little
practical experience doing the work."

"Sounds like the words of a grandpa to me", Walt declared. "But we can take
care of the ranches and cattle, and all three of these boys can do what they
already do best, just being little boys."

Justin rode up, greeted everyone, and rode home with Charlie and Bud beside
him. I drove a wagon with Henry and John riding beside me, Horse and Coyote
in the back, and Frank, Swift, and Walt, on horseback. After we got settled
and had dinner there would be time for a tour of the ranch. While we got the
wagon unloaded and the draft team unharnessed, Frank and Henry had to show
off the pups. "You got any herding dogs back in Oklahoma?", Henry asked,
knowing he hadn't seen any there.

"No, we ain't got no dogs there", John answered.

The orphan calves being bottle fed had been herded by the young dogs so
much, they were almost trained themselves. Henry demonstrated the whistle
commands for move right, move left, move ahead, move back, and hold, and the
whistle to call the pups. The nine month old dogs were only pups because
they weren't fully grown and weighed in at about twenty five pounds. Each
whistle had a hand signal that they understood, too, and most of the
training was learned by watching the grown dogs before any training by the
boys was done. "See!", Henry exclaimed, "They work cows good. Do you think
you might need a couple to help you out? We still got four left."

Swift and I left them to make their pitch and showed Horse and Coyote around
the yard, garden, and lots. Horse's nephew, Mark stayed with the boys. Lance
and Arch's horses drew their attention and we looked them over. They kept
twenty or so head in the lot to break and train most of the year. Bloodlines
among them varied. Half there now were quarter horses. A few were the Pasos
like the little mare of Wes's with their distinctive gait. A couple were a
big draft breed called Belgians. They'd had Jake buy some rare breeds like
the Belgians and some thoroughbreds on one of his trips and had a couple of
Appaloosas, too. Lance and Arch didn't have any of the Paints that the
Comanche were accustomed to at all. Of course, I showed off Old Jack who was
officially retired now at thirty one and couldn't really carry much of a
load anymore. He would still follow me around wherever I went, if allowed
to. Now days, he might forget what he's doing and stop to graze. Then he'd
notice I was gone and come running and bellering after me like he was afraid
to be left alone.

Matt and Dan had dinner fixed and set out for anyone that was hungry, but we
didn't all sit down at the same time. It was a warm sunny day here at Short
Grass and not to be wasted when tomorrow might be bleak and cool.

"Could we visit that burial ground you mentioned?", Horse requested. "My
winter camp was pretty far west of here on the Pecos River and I've never
been around here. We don't know where most of our burial grounds were. When
people died while we were traveling on the hunt, they were raised up where
they died. Summer and winter camps had special grounds for the dead. So many
of us died before we went to the reservation, we don't know where many of
those grounds are located and sometimes we don't know where the camps were
anymore. If we loose our history, our language, and our culture, we aren't
Comanche, we're just some dark skinned Americans. We're nothing."

"It's not very far", Swift told them. "We can go and get back this
afternoon. We'll go right after we eat." The river was knee high on our
horses at the crossing, high to risk it, but moving very slowly. If it was
higher on the return ride, we'd have to go to the Thornton place and wait it
out. It could be a beautiful sunny day and way farther up river be raining
heavily, causing a torrential flood where we were in less time than it took
to cross. We were riding on the dam we'd built. It had drain pipe embedded
in the concrete that could give us some safety margin, but that was below
water already. November and May were the rainiest months when caution was
needed. The older visitors and all four boys went along, too, making ten of
us riding in single file. The muddy water didn't give any sign of the dam
below either, it was feel your way. A wrong step to either side put the
horse and the rider in deep water. The boys were giggling. The men were
talking. I was the only one concerned and the only one so happy to reach the
far bank. I had held my breath the whole way across.

We rambled along the trail that followed the river. First we came to the
divergence of the Concho and the Colorado, and saw the deep hole where we
loved to fish on the Concho.

"See this ugly old head here", Henry pointed out the head tied up to a tree,
to John and Walt, but we were all watching. "That was the biggest purdiest
yellow bellied channel cat you ever did see. He was bigger than me. I caught
him on a chicken liver and had to tie the line to my saddle horn, and get
the horse to pull him up on the bank." Henry walked to the bank and pointed.
"He was right there in that deep spot."

Looking into the clear water, you could see the bottom. Several more large
catfish were in the same area, but none looked as big as the head hanging
from the tree. "Those big old fish are just plain lazy", Frank commented.
'You have to put your bait right in front of them. Then, they'll go for it,
but they don't chase nothing."

Weathered rock cliffs lined both sides of the Concho from the deep hole
going west. A wide flat bank was below the cliffs and the lowest bank was a
narrow strip along the riverbed. Occasional gaps in the cliff face marked
where men and animals had come down from the plain above seeking water over
centuries. When we reached the painted rocks, we dismounted to look around a
while, then remounted and climbed to the top and the burial ground. After
twenty years, no signs remained that this had ever been a place for burial.
All you could see was more rock paintings on the large rocks above the
cliff, just like those painted on the cliff face.

"Some of these paintings are the same as we paint today. The burial grounds
on the Pecos, at my winter camp, had paintings like these", Horse confirmed.
"Some were done by people who lived here before the Comanche came. They
aren't like our paintings. On the Pecos, some paintings are old like these,
too. This has been Comanche land for a long time, longer than the Comanche
can remember."

"So, what do you think of this place?", Swift asked.

"Hell, I like it", Horse replied. "You could plant me here like the white
man does, and it would be the same to me as being raised up the Comanche
way. I'll be dead if that happens anyway. I like the rocks, the trees, and
the river down below. It's a peaceful place."

"I like it here, too", Coyote added. "We don't need a sea of grass without
the buffalo. I could be happy planted here, if you put me next to Horse so I
wouldn't be lonely. You wouldn't want some crazy spirit roaming the place."

The boys were climbing around on the rocks at the cliff edge. It was a good
thing the rattlers were denned up for the winter. John and Walt sat watching
them, laughing at their antics. "The view is great from here", Walt
observed. "I can see a little mountain back to the north east there. I never
saw it from the train and we must have gotten close."

"We did", I replied. "Down in a low spot, you can't see much. That place is
full of worthless Yankees anyway. You didn't miss a thing."



"What did they do to get on your bad side?", John asked.

"For starters, they hung me", I answered.

Swift bent slightly and kissed my neck. "He's got a nice straight neck for a
man who's been hung, don't you think?", Swift asked. "They'd hired Dan as
the hangman and he rigged the rope." I was sitting on a rock, slightly
higher than my waist. Swift scooted back between my spread legs. I wrapped
my arms around him and planted my chin on his shoulder.

Dan hadn't ever seen me", I continued. "He'd come looking for Jake and me.
The fools had started building a town smack in the middle of the winter
camp."

"What I'd expect is a bunch of dead Yankees if they were doing that", Walt
commented.

"Jake spoiled all my fun", Swift added. "They could have gotten by, building
almost anywhere else, but building on our camp was like moving into your
house while you're gone. I was a young brave and hadn't gone with any war
parties. Getting all painted up and proving how fierce we Comanche warriors
were was all I wanted to do. He bought them out and forced them to move
before we came back."

"He bought the land here on this side of the river to save the burial ground
and for hunting grounds when the Comanche were here", I told them. "He
bought a nice comfort zone around the ranch to keep the carpetbaggers from
moving in too close."

"Hawk was scouting out the camp a few weeks before we would get here. Jim,
Jake, Dan, and Luis were over here being neighborly, working on a garden for
our band. Hawk spotted Luis", Swift continued. "They'd been in love before
Luis took off. When we arrived, I knew Jim was the man for me, right off. It
took me a while to convince him of that."

"I put signs directed at the Yankees up saying, 'Trespassers Will Be Shot,
Survivors Will be Prosecuted' and we ain't had a lick of trouble out of them
since", I concluded. "Me and Swift partnered up and are still together after
twenty years."

"Bart Thornton, who runs the feedlot, Bud's nephew, damn near got killed by
a fellow from over that way. It wasn't long ago that it happened", Swift
added. "That man won't hurt anyone ever again. We see to our own."

The boys had grown tired of exploring. We descended the cliff face down a
game trail back to the horses. There wasn't enough daylight left to visit
the winter camp, so we went to the houses, crossing the river as easily as
we'd come. It was dusk as we walked to the house after putting the tack away
and brushing down the horses.

"Ya'll have a good ride?" Jake asked. He was strumming his guitar as he sat
on the porch. "Supper is ready when everybody wants to eat."

"I like the ranch", Horse replied. "I wouldn't mind seeing more of it."

"I like it, too", Walt told him. "I may be looking to retire myself, same as
John, and want to pass my days down this way. There's enough grass for the
plainsman in me to be happy and trees to provide a shady spot for an old man
to rest his bones."

"When you're ready for retirement there's plenty of room for you here", Jake
answered. "You've worked a lifetime already, seeing how most men never reach
your age around these parts." Jake passed the jug to John. "This is a new
recipe. It's a bourbon. It's not got that touch of sweet like the single
malt, or maybe it's just a different sweet. Tell me what you think."

John swished it around in his mouth and swallowed. Then he took another swig
and passed the jug on. "The taste is like some Kentucky whiskey I've had.
There's a little bite, but that should smooth down when it ages for a
while."

I brought a couple of pitchers of beer from the ice house and set some
glasses out for anyone that wanted some. "What's for supper?", I asked.

"Pork chops and gravy", Chance replied.

"And white bread, I made eight loaves", Dan added. He took a swig and passed
the jug to Horse. "This is better than we can buy, same as the single malt",
he told Jake.

Horse passed the jug on to Luis. "I'll stick to the beer", he said.

"We had it all fixed except the gravy, at dinner time. The stove was hot",
Matt told us.

Coyote picked up the jug from the table and tasted. Then he sipped on his
beer. "I ain't had either one before, but I think I like beer better", he
observed. "The whiskey reminds of how the soldiers at the fort smelled. I
can do without remembering that."

Jake wasn't playing any song. He just let his fingers roam the frets and the
other hand, strum. "We got some hard cider and fresh cider if these don't
suit you, Coyote", Jake offered. "The boys would probably like some of
those, too. Henry, will you go get some?" Coyote drained his glass of beer
and poured some of the fresh cider, then replenished it with the hard cider
from the jug. Jake kept strumming.

"The fresh is on the sweet side for my taste. The hard cider is just right.
I like it best", Coyote declared. The boys preferred the fresh. The chill
was settling in. We moved to the big table in the kitchen. Jake leaned his
guitar in the corner and took a seat.

"You boys get your bath when we're done eating", Jake instructed. His boys
were present at the table, too. "I expect your fellow travelers will want a
hot soak before bed, themselves", he said, directed to Frank and Henry.

The platters were passed around the table and at the conclusion there was
cobbler for desert. Walt and John praised the hot bath and the large basins
in the washroom. So did Horse and Coyote. We celebrated the ranch
Thanksgiving with a meal at the barn by the feedlots that Saturday. There
was a mountain of food and a dance afterward. Walt and John returned to
Oklahoma the next week, but Horse, Mark, and Coyote, stayed behind at Short
Grass. It was only a few weeks until Christmas.

I tried to come up with some gift ideas I could make. After making one set
of dominos, it proved to be too time consuming. I made plans to go into town
to buy some gifts and Coyote wanted to come along. It was much cooler, so I
hitched up one of the buggies that had enough space to carry a few things.
It had doors and a windshield, but we still had to bundle up to stay warm.

"I ain't really been in a town before", Coyote confessed as we rode down the
road. "You know, I mean I passed down some streets going to the fort and we
went into Lawton to get on the train, but I never just walked around. I
never had no money to buy nothing, so I ain't been inside a store neither."

"You got some money now", I reminded him. "We're stocking your place. You'll
be paying us back over time, but any money you need can be added in to that.
Paying us half of what you make off your cows, until they're paid off, still
leaves you a lot of money."

"I'd kind of like to get my hair cut and buy some boots, and some clothes.
I'd like buying a few presents, too", he pondered out loud. We arrived just
before seven and drove to the barber shop first. Coyote had his hair cut by
a black barber in a back room and mine was cut up front by the white barber.


"I look pretty damn good all dressed up", Coyote declared. "Ain't had a
mirror big enough to see my whole self before." We got him several sets of
clothes, a heavy coat, and set out for the boot maker next. Coyote had
praised a saddle when we entered the shop and while he tried on boots I had
it boxed and loaded on the back of the buggy. He got a couple of belts and
had forgotten about the saddle when we left. The next stop was the
habidasher. I'd reoutfitted myself and we put both new and old duds in the
buggy, walking around town all spiffed up nice.

"I'm used to people looking at me like I'm a dog they want to kick", Coyote
observed as we walked the boardwalk. "Dressed nice, they don't look at me
like that, they smile. Damn, will you look at that!", he exclaimed, seeing a
window full of toys. "We got to buy some of these for the kids." Each
present was wrapped and ribboned, and loaded into the back of the buggy.
Everyone's wants and needs were covered except Jake. We bough him some nice
things but couldn't find any gadgets. Coming out of the last store, a little
boy sat below the window bawling. Coyote asked him what was wrong.

"My daddy says we can't afford no toys. I wanted one, so bad", the boy
answered. Coyote spotted the father inside the store. He handed the man
twenty dollars and wished him a merry Christmas.

Coyote was a changed man. We'd gone until mid-afternoon without eating. We
found a little Mexican cantina that offered a good sampling of the fare, and
accepted a mixed clientele, not some stuffy whites only establishment. I
ordered a bottle of wine, asking for one that wasn't too sweet or too dry
and what came had an Italian name. I got a bottle of Mexican brandy to warm
our ride home. Kissing me on the cheek after we'd left town, Coyote said,
"Thank you for taking me with you. I had a very good time."

"No fair. No fair", Trace whined. We were stacking the packages beneath the
tree. "We can't wrap packages like that!", he continued. The tree was as
perfect a shape as you could find among the cedar breaks in the area. It
wasn't a round bush and had a pointed top. Glass balls of every color graced
the branches. Candles were placed all around, too, waiting for Christmas Eve
to be lit. The whole house smelled of fresh cedar.

"Sure you can", I responded. "Here's a list of what we bought the kids. Pass
it around and all of you can go shopping. They wrap the packages at the
stores."

I took the saddle into my bedroom while Coyote was busy with the packages.
"I asked the boot maker to make two more saddles", I told Swift. Mark and
Horse will need their own and we need to ask Lance and Arch if they have
three horses for the guys. It ain't good for a man's pride to be riding a
borrowed horse."

"They got horses", Swift answered. "In fact, there's three That would be
perfect. I've seen Coyote with his eye on a bay, Horse is fond of a sorrel,
and Mark wants that black stallion so bad he's hurting."

(continued in chapter nine)