Cartwright Christmas

            Here is the third Christmas story I have. It is a Bonanza story. Ben wonders where his sons are. Hoss, Joe, and Candy are lost and need help to get home from some elves. Adam is back east and thinks about his family.                                 

                                          Cartwright Christmas

            A fire crackled in the huge fireplace warming the large, log, ranch house. Jamie gently removed the fragile, blown glass Christmas decorations from their bed of straw in the wooden box where they nestled most of the year. Carefully he hung each colored ball on a branch of the Ponderosa pine tree that stood to the side of the staircase.

            Ben sat his desk, where he had been working on the ranch ledgers, and watched the boy that he had taken into his home. He packed fresh tobacco into his pipe and lit it. He and Jamie had ridden to a meadow where Jamie had selected a seven foot tall Ponderosa as the perfect tree to be the Cartwright’s Christmas tree.

Jamie had made chains out of some colored Chinese rice paper that Hop Sing had, while Hop Sing had folded the same rice paper to make birds, flowers, and animals.  

            Ben looked at the different ornaments on the tree. They brought back lots of memories. Draped around the tree were the strings of brightly colored beads that Marie, Little Joe’s Ma, had brought from New Orleans. There were the tiny crocheted stockings that Hoss’s Ma, Inger, had made, and the tiny cloth dolls, fairies, and snowmen that Adam’s Ma had contributed. On the top was a polished tin star that Ben, himself, had made. Under the tree sat a tattered and well-used rocking horse that had been Adams, but had been ridden by all three little boys, and most liked by Joe. With the wooden horse were a set of wooden blocks with the alphabet on them. Near by was a well-read copy of a book, entitled ‘The Night Before Christmas’ written by Clement Moore in 1822.

            Thinking of his sons caused Ben to wonder where all three of them were. It had been months since they had heard from Adam. According to his last letter, Adam had been traveling all over the eastern states, seeing the country, he said, while doing some buying and trading for a friend who owned a marketing company.

            Hoss, Joe, and their friend, Candy, a hired hand from the ranch, were off in northern California somewhere. Hopefully on their way back home. They had gone to deliver a small herd of breeder cows and a bull to the Dinsmore ranch near a little town called Willow Creek a few miles from the coast. It was a long trip, especially at this time of the year, but Dinsmore had paid well for the herd as a wedding gift for his son, and new daughter-in-law. Besides, Joe, Hoss, and Candy had been excited to go and see the country there.

            They should have been back by now, but a telegram a few days before had said they were staying for an extra couple of days with the Dinsmores. The telegram didn’t say why, but Ben made a bet with himself that it might have had something to do with a need to see more of the northern California country. If he had gone, Ben was sure he might have done the same.

            But he wasn’t so sure that they were going to make it home in time for Christmas. It was already the 15^th of December.

            Hop Sing came in from the kitchen and set a plate of cookies and a cup of coffee on the desk for Ben. “You no worry, Mister Cartwright. Hoss, and Little Joe, and Candy. They be back for Christmas.”

            “I know, Hop Sing. I’m not worried,” said Ben to his cook, housekeeper, and special friend.

            “That Mister Hoss, he can smell my cakes and cookies all the way to California.”

 

 

The black horse stopped when he felt his rider shift back in the saddle. Cochise had stopped when Chub stopped, and so had Candy’s bay horse that he called, Rusty. 

“Ya know? I could a sworn I smelled some a Hop Sing’s ginger bread,” commented Hoss where he sat on Chub.

 Little Joe cackled. “Big brother, every time you get a teensy-weensy hollow spot in your belly, you think you smell something that Hop Sing might be cookin’.”

“Hoss, I gotta agree with Joe. But some food does sound good right now,” said Candy.

Joe clucked to Cochise, who walked on, while Joe called back over his shoulder. “Let’s go a little farther. We still got daylight.”

Candy and Hoss followed Joe. “What’s the rush, Joe?” asked Hoss.

Candy pulled his coat closer around himself, and his hat a bit lower. “A fire would feel good, too.”

Joe answered Hoss as he rode on. “It will put us that much closer to home, and I could use some a Hop Sing’s cookin’, too.”

They road for a few more minutes when suddenly Candy pulled up his bay, and stared off through the forest of big trees that they were riding through. “What was that?”

“What was what?” asked Joe. He and Hoss stared where Candy stared.

“Over there.” Candy pointed. “I thought I saw someone or maybe more than one someone darting through the trees.”

“I don’t see nothin’,” said Hoss.

“Me neither,” said Joe. “You’re imaging things, Candy.”

At that moment a large, gray hoot owl drifted down to pass just inches over their heads, making all three men duck. It continued on to land high in a dead tree. It hooted three times at them. All three of them laughed at the scare an owl had given them.

 Candy shook his head then urged the bay on. “I don’t think what I saw was an owl, but I know I’m getting’ tired, and I still think we’re on the wrong trail. We should’a turned east by now.”

“Well, this is the way that hand at the last ranch we stopped at said to go. This way, through the trees, ‘til we came to a fork in the road that has a sign saying Big Trees, then turn east. Said it was the best and fastest way to get to Redding where we could catch the train to go to Sacramento.”

“Well, Little Brother. I think he was foolin’ with ya. We should a turned east back at the saloon and gone to Redding.”

“Over there?” Candy hissed in a loud whisper, and pointed to his right. “I thought I saw someone, again.”

They all looked but couldn’t see anything.

“Joe, I think we gotta get Candy some food and a bed for the night.”

They rode on for a while in silence. There were huge trees everywhere they looked. Big trees that had almost a scary look to them. It was as if the trees were watching them.

“Them sure is ‘bout the biggest trees I done ever seen,” commented Hoss. “You could build a whole house out a just one tree. They make our Ponderosa pines look like match sticks.”

“They sure are big,” agreed Joe. “Would be a lot of board feet in each one. They must be them giant redwood cedars we heard about from Hank Dinsmore.” Joe stopped Cochise and scrutinized the area around them from one side of the trail to the other, then back. “Over there. A little old man. Peakin’ round that tree.” He pointed at a huge redwood among the forest of trees, ferns, and brush that seemed to be getting thicker and more impenetrable the farther they went.

“You’re as bad as Candy, Joe. I don’t see nothin’,”

“So I’m imagin’ things, am I? Now who’s imagin’, cause I don’t see nothin’, either.” Candy crossed his arms and leaned on his saddle horn. “Did he have a funny, pointed, pullover cap?”

“Yeah, he did and he had green clothes on. Bright green, with red trim.”

“See, didn’t I tell ya I saw him, too.”

Hoss slowly followed after Joe and Candy as they rode on, looking and searching through the thick trees for a sign of the little man. “You fella’s sound like you’re talkin’ ‘bout elves or leprechauns. Joe, ya see anything now?”

“Nah.” Joe guided Cochise around several of the big trees where he thought he had seen the man. “Maybe it was the owl again. Or a deer or some other animal.” A big layer of fog rolled in toward them, making it more difficult to see. As they watched the fog fill each corner and crevice of the forest a deer did poke its head out around a tree and stared at them with great, big eyes filled with wonder at finding humans in its home.

All three men sighed. “Just a deer,” said Candy.

“Come on, Joe. It’s getting’ late, and I’m starvin’, and we got this dang fog comin’ in. It’s makin’ me cold. And all this talk of little green men, and this fog, and these big trees is givin’ me the creeps.” Hoss pulled his big coat about him and fastened the top button under his chin. “Let’s find a place to hole up for the night. With this fog we’re gonna get more lost then we already are.” He urged his horse on.

Candy followed Hoss. “Yeah, thanks to our all knowing, well-informed guide.”

After a minute Joe sent his pinto after his brother and friend at a trot so he could catch up. Maybe tomorrow would be a better day. The fog continued to settle deeper, and silently around them. It thickened and lay heavy making the trees and brush look like shadows. It deprived them of their usually good since of direction. Not real sure of where to go they continued on, looking for a place to spend the night.

In the distance was the faint hoot of an owl.

 

One horse blew softly, another shifted on the short picket line near the camp, while the third still dozed as the first distant glow to the east attempted to lighten the sky. Candy snored where he lay wrapped in a blanket, head on his saddle. Joe turned over and pulled his blanket tighter around him. Hoss cracked his eyes open slightly when his stomach growled at him. Expecting to see the fire down to just a few coals, he was surprised to see several chunks of wood had been recently added to it, and it was roaring with flames.

Hoss sat up quickly at the sight of a little man sitting on the far side of the campfire cooking a piece of meat on a stick he held over several hot coals he had pulled to the side of the fire.

“A good, fine morning to you, Hoss,” said the man.

His right hand going quickly to the Colt pistol that lay beside him, Hoss rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with his left hand. He still wasn’t sure he really was seeing the little man or if he might be dreaming. “Who are you?”

The little man was dressed in green, with high, black leather boots and a brown leather jacket. There was a green cap that came to a point and had a red tassel on its tip. His pointed ears twitched as he stared back at the man who was three or four times bigger than he was.

Hoss could tell he wasn’t afraid, and he didn’t seem to be a threat. There was a gleam in his bright blue eyes and a knowing smile on his face. “I am called Donner.” He withdrew the stick and meat from the fire. He tested the meat with a finger, then tore a strip off and ate it. “My friends are called Dasher, and Blitzen. My wife is Crystal, and my daughter is Dancer.

Without Hoss realizing it four other people had come out from where they had been hiding. Two were men and two were women. Crystal removed a burlap bag from the pack of supplies that Hoss had brought so he didn’t starve on the trip. She removed the chunk of meat and sliced off several pieces. She pierced them with sticks and handed them out to the others. Dancer took two; apparently one was for her mother. Crystal sliced off a larger piece, put it on a stick and handed it to Hoss. The smell of roasting meat filled the camp. “Where ya from,” queried Hoss as he turned the stick slowly so each side of the meat could cook.

Donner took another bite. “We are from here. The Big Tree Forest. At least we are now.”

“Now?” echoed Hoss.

Donner nodded his head. “Now. Our people used to be from other places. And I think there are still some in those places. Places you call Germany, Sweden, England, Ireland. Before that we were from a far, far away planet called Vol-Can.”

“Vol-Can? Another plant? I never heard of such nonsense.” This time the questions were from Joe who had awakened and had been listening to their guests. He returned the revolver he had in his hand to its holster. He pulled on his boots, then stood, picked up the coffee pot, filled it with water from a canteen, added a measure of coffee, and set it on a hot rock at the edge of the fire. “No one can come from another planet. It’s impossible, and stupid to even think about. Keep the fantasies to your self. Just tell us who you are and what you want.”

Donner laughed. “Want? We don’t want anything, Little Joe, other than to share your fire and food. We have just been ----curious----shall I say-----about why you are here.”

“Well, we’re headed for Redding so’s we can catch a train to Sacramento, and get home fer Christmas,” explained Hoss. “But my little brother, here, listened to some drunk cowhand fer directions, and done got us lost.”

One of the other little men snickered. Joe and Hoss didn’t know if it was Dasher or Blitzen. They couldn’t tell them apart. Donner and the two women just smiled at the story.

Candy continued to snore in what appeared to be a very sound sleep.

Hoss had to ask some more questions. “I don’t mean to offend you people but why are ya’ll so small. And yer ears are pointed.”

“And how come ya know our names,” put in Joe.

One of the women, Crystal, the wife of Donner spoke. “We are unsure of why we are not like you or other people. We only have our legends to go by. Stories passed down by mouth from generation to generation for many hundreds of years.”

“Well, I always liked a good tale, don’t you, Joe?”

“Yeah. Sure I do,” answered Joe, sarcastically.

“I am called Crystal, because I can use crystal rocks to see into the future, and into the past, and to remember the stories.” She reached in the bag she had brought to the camp, and produced a shiny, bright crystal. It was about two inches long, an inch wide and pointed on one end. It almost seemed to glow. “Our stories say that hundreds of hundreds of years ago our first people came from another planet or maybe it was a star. We only know it was somewhere in the far heavens. It was called Vol-Can. The leader or king of Vol-Can wanted to send his people to other places to learn about other people and cultures.”

“But – But – How -?” Hoss tried to ask.

Crystal held up a hand to silence him. “We do not know how we got from Vol-Can to Earth. Our king put us here, and now we can never go back. As to why we are small and have pointed ears. – it is just the way we are. The legends say we were not always small. I think it has happened when we married with other earth people. There were not enough of us to continue our tribe and we found it necessary to find husbands and wives among other tribes.”

“I never heard of no Vol-Cans before. You’re just making this up,” smirked Joe.

“Maybe you have not heard of Vol-Cans. Many have not. We are also known by other names. Elves, leprechauns, fairies, gnomes, pixies, and alfars, spirits, and dwarfs. Only some people can see us. Like you, Hoss, and you, Joe. But your friend Candy can not see or hear us.”

“Now, I wouldn’t be so sure about that, if’n I was you,” said Hoss, shifting position on his bedroll trying to get more comfortable. “Candy saw one of you first, yesterday. Then Joe and I didn’t see you all ‘til I woke up this mornin’.”

“Did he now,” said Donner showing surprise, and the others looked just as upset that Candy had seen them. “Now fancy that, would you.”

“Now tell us, Mister Donner, what do ya’ll do out here?” questioned Hoss.

Donner’s daughter, Dancer was quick to answer. “We work, of course. We make things – toys, furniture, clothes, toys, and – and things. And then we sell them – in – certain – markets.”

“Did you say we make toys,” cut in Blitzen.

“Yes, toys,” Crystal added.

“We make lots of toys,” came from Dasher.

“Toys,” solemnly echoed Donner.

“Enough about the toys,” exclaimed Joe disgustedly. “So what if you make toys?”

Sweetly Dancer continued,” We do live here, so we have families, and raise our food, and chickens, and goats, and ponies. She pointed back toward the trees where four small horses or ponies stood. They had short legs, and very shaggy manes and tails. Mostly we keep to ourselves. But sometimes – sometimes we help people – like travelers who are lost.” She smiled at Joe and wiggled her pointed ears.

Joe wasn’t overly impressed. Her pointed ears sort of made him sick to his stomach. He reached for his coffee pot but it hadn’t even started to boil yet. Changing his mind he grabbed a canteen and took a swig of water. When he looked up all the elves or Vol-Cans or whoever they were had disappeared; except for Donner.

“Go back about ten miles. There is a fork you missed that goes east. It will take you to Redding. I have sent Blitzen and Dasher ahead to mark it properly. You won’t miss it this time.” He held up his right hand and made a V with his fingers. Two fingers to each side, the V in the middle. “May you have peace and a long life.” He picked up a stick and poked at the fire causing sparks to fly up. “Your friend is waking up.”

Hoss and Joe both looked over toward where Candy lay. The cowhand groaned, raised his head and noticed the two brothers gawking at him. “What’s the mater?” he asked, “you two look like you seen a ghost or somethin’.”

“Or something,” said Joe.

“Candy,” said Hoss, “I want you to meet Mister Donner.” He looked back toward the elf but there was no one there. “Where did he go?”

“Who?” asked Candy, as he pulled on his boots. “That coffee ready yet?”

Hoss tried to explain about the little elf people, but Candy just cackled with laughter. “Heck of a dream you had, Hoss.” He looked at Joe.

“Oh, it wasn’t a dream,” Joe assured Candy. “I saw ‘em, too. And so did you, yesterday.”

“You’re both pullin’ my leg.” Candy reached for the now boiling coffee pot and poured a cup. He nearly dropped it when an owl hooted at them from a nearby tree. On silent wings it lifted into the air and in seconds was gone from sight.

 

 

Big flakes of snow swirled down covering the ground, the trees, and the small travelers’ inn and eatery located in the countryside somewhere south of Boston. It looked like a welcome place of rest to the weary rider as he rode up. He dismounted, led his horse into a nearby stable, unsaddled, and rubbed down the tired animal, then gave it some hay and oats. He picked up his saddlebags, and a satchel, and stepped up on the porch of The Highland Hotel. He slapped off as much of the snow as he could, petted a small black and white collie dog that wagged its tail in greeting and opened the door. He stepped inside and took a look around the establishment. It looked clean, and neat and there was the smell of stew, fresh bread, and coffee. Just what he needed on a cold, snowy night.

A handful of people looked back at him then returned to what they were doing, except for one. “Evenin’, Sir. If’in you need a room or a meal, you have come to the right place,” said a man of about fifty with a Scottish accent. “I’m Angus McNell, but most just call me Scotty.”

The traveler dropped his bags on the floor. “I’m Adam Cartwright. A meal and a room sounds good.”

Adam drank a beer then ate a meal of the hot stew and bread. When a woman brought a pot of coffee and a cup he accepted. She poured coffee in the cup, smiled sweetly at Adam and left to refill the cups of the other diners. He leaned back in his chair, sipped the coffee and surveyed the room. Two men who looked like drummers or salesmen talked in low tones while they finished their meals. The woman who had waited on him cleaned off a table and returned the dishes to a small kitchen in the back. Scotty stood behind a bar and wiped at it absentmindedly.

Adam noticed a small tree standing in a corner by a rocking chair near the kitchen door. It was decorated with strings of popcorn, wooden stars with intricate designs cut into them and small wooden birds. On a nearby table stood three candles illuminating a small wooden nativity. Adam decided someone was a very good woodcarver. As he thought that Scotty came from behind the bar, sat in the rocker, picked up a chunk of wood and a knife from a wooden crate beside him and started carving.

Seeing the tree caused Adam to wonder what the date might be. He knew it was close to Christmas but with all the traveling he had been doing he wasn’t sure of the exact date. Maybe it was Christmas Eve.

The two drummers stood and went up the stairs to their rooms. For a few long moments there was only the sound of the fire and the snick of Scotty’s old knife as he worked on the wood.

Finally Adam spoke. “I believe it might be close to Christmas, but I’ve lost track of the date. Could you tell me what it is?”

“Ay, Mr. Cartwright. You are correct. Christmas it ‘tis. Or rather Christmas Eve. It’s still the 24^th of December for a bit yet.”  

Adam nodded his head. “I’m glad I didn’t miss it. I think I might have been a bit disappointed if you had said it was after Christmas.” For a moment he thought of the package of books he had sent to his family on the Ponderosa Ranch. He wondered if they had received them yet. He hoped they had, as it had been about a month since he mailed them. Memories of growing up on the Ponderosa flooded him mind, causing him to smile and wonder what his father, and brothers were doing on this Christmas Eve. Christmas had always been a magical time for him and his family.

Both women came out of the kitchen, the older one carrying a tray with two cups and a teapot. They took seats at a table where they sat drinking tea and relaxing.

The front door opened and a boy of about seven or eight came in followed by a swirl of snowflakes. The boy had an armful of wood that he dropped in a big wood box by the door. He did this about four times until the wood box was filled. The last time the collie came in with him. The snow was coming down harder and faster. It looked like they might be in for a blizzard.

Scotty added a few pieces to the fire, bringing it to a roar that warmed the big room, making everyone drozy, especially Adam. It had been a long day but he felt relucent to go to his room.

The younger woman went back to the kitchen and returned with a plate covered in sugar cookies, gingerbread and shortcakes. She offered some first to Adam, who gladly took several, and then to the other. The first bite almost melted in his mouth. They were as good as the ones he remembered Hop Sing making. Again thoughts of Hop Sing made him think of the Ponderosa Ranch and home. He wished he had gone back for Christmas but at least he had found this place to stay for the night. He decided he liked the small hotel and its residents. Maybe it would be a good idea to head west for Virginia City when spring came.

Scotty interrupted his thoughts. “That is my daughter, Kayla. She is almost as good a cook as her ma, my wife, Katherine.” He looked at the two women and winked. They ducked their heads in embarrassment. “And the boy is my grandson, Patrick. He is a good boy. Usually.”

Adam acknowledged the introduction. “I am pleased to meet you.” He nodded his head at the women. “These cookies are delightful. Patrick, thanks for keeping the wood box full of wood on a night like this.”

Patrick then ran upstairs but came back soon with four stocking. The adults grinned at him but didn’t say anything as he hung them on nails next to the tree.

Scotty teased him a bit saying, “I said you were good but do you think Saint Nick will think you have been good enough so that he can leave you a present.”

Patrick grabbed another piece of shortbread. “I hope so. I want a new book to read.”

The boys comment caused Adam to think of a story. “I know a Christmas poem,” he said. “If you would like to hear it.”

“Oh, yes, please, Mr. Cartwright.” Patrick clapped his hands in excitement.

“’Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,” Adam continued with the well-known poem to the delight of the boy, his mother, and grandparents.

When he had finished Katherine said to Patrick, “Is it not time for you to go to bed?”

“Ah, Grandma, it is early yet.”

“Saint Nick will not come until you go to sleep.”

“But how does he know, Grandma, and what about the snow storm. Will he be able to come in it?”

“He uses his magic,” she whispered loud enough for all to hear.

“Off to bed with you, Lad. Morning will come soon enough,” said Scotty to the boy.

Kayla ushered her son up the stairs, with her mother following.

“Angus, are you coming?” asked Katherine, when halfway up the stairs.

“Go on with you, Woman. I’ll be along in a bit.” Scotty walked behind the bar, took down a bottle of whiskey, picked up two shot glasses, and then went to the table where Adam sat. “Will you have a drink with me, Mr. Cartwright?”

“I’ll be glad to, Scotty. And, please, call me Adam.”

“Adam, it is then, Lad.” He poured a drink into each of the two shot glasses. “To a Merry Christmas.” He raised his glass in a toast.

Adam echoed his toast. “To a Merry Christmas.”

Kayla appeared on the stairs and came down. She put a finger to her lips asking for Scotty and Adam to keep silent. As the two men watched she laid a small white shirt, and a pair of dark brown pants under the tree. Then a pair of knitted socks and gloves. She and her mom had worked hard on them so Patrick could have a new set of clothes.

Scotty went behind the bar again. He dug around for a bit and returned with a beautifully carved pony. He set it under the tree with the clothing.

“It is so pretty, Papa,” said Kayla. “Thanks for making it for Patrick.”

“Go on with you, Lass. Off to bed.”

Kayla gave her father a hug and headed back up the stairs, then turned back and called to Adam. “Goodnight, Mr. Cartwright. I’ll see you in the mornin’ for breakfast.”

“Goodnight, Kayla.”

Scotty had returned to digging behind the bar. Again he went to the tree and placed a carved cat near the pony, and an intricately carved wooden vase with it. As he returned to the bar for more things he explained to Adam. “Kayla loves Patrick more than anything. She is a widow, now, and misses her man.” He added several wooden bowls nested together and some wooden spoons. He stood up. “Mr. Cartwright, Adam, I wish you goodnight, sir.” He hesitated. “Adam, we would be pleased if you would join us for Christmas dinner tomorrow. Stay here for a day or so, if you wish. Wait out this storm. It is warm and dry here.”

Adam, too, had been listening to the storm that sounded as if it were getting worse. “I think that sounds like a good idea, Scotty. And a goodnight to you, too.”

 

 

The two Cartwright brothers and Candy had found their way out of the huge redwood forest with the help of the Elves. They had made their way to Redding and caught a train to Sacramento, with their horses riding in a stock car. Then it had been on to Virginia City, Nevada. It had been a long trip and the thought of the Ponderosa Ranch and home was better and better.

It was a huge relief when they were finally able to guide their horses into the ranch yard and dismount. The evening was late and the smell of supper drifted out to them when the front door opened and Jamie came running out asking a string of questions that no one could answer before he would ask another.

Ben came out to greet his sons and friend, and there was much slapping of backs and a few hug as everyone was glad they had made it back before Christmas. “How was the trip? Did the cattle get there in good condition?”

“They were in fine condition and Hank Dinsmore was pleased with them,” said Joe.

“It was a good trip, Pa,” said Hoss. “Just long. But we made it. Thanks to some help from some little people called Elves, when Joe got us lost.”

Ben crossed his arms and stared at his middle son, not sure he had heard him right. “What did you say, Hoss? Joe got you lost? Elves?”

“Elves,” echoed Jamie. “What about elves?”

“It’s a long story, Pa,” said Joe, as he swung his saddlebags over his shoulder.

“Yeah, and I’ve heard it to many times, already,” added Candy.

“Oh, and Pa, we stopped in Virginia City and picked up the mail, and there was a package from Adam” Joe un-strapped a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine from where he had put it behind his saddle on top of his bedroll.

“Well,” said Ben excitedly. “It’s nice to know that he remembered us at last. Too bad we didn’t have an address to send him at least a letter.”

“Come on,” said Hoss entering the ranch house. “I can’t wait to eat some a Hop Sings good cookin’.”

 

Later that Christmas Eve Ben sat by the fire watching and listening to his son’s and friends as they laughed and joked. They ate candy and cookies that Hop Sing had made. Jamie held a skillet over the fire to pop more popcorn. Hoss made a vain attempt to sing Jingle Bells.

Ben wondered where his oldest son, Adam might be on this night. They had added his gifts to the others under the tree. They felt like books, which would be like Adam who had always loved to read, as did all the Cartwrights.

Ben hoped Adam knew they were thinking of him.

 

 

Adam sat by the fire for a few more moments thinking of how much he liked it here. He liked Scotty and his family and was glad he had been asked to stay over until the storm was gone. He wondered if Scotty was trying to play matchmaker for his daughter. 

 The wind blew and moaned and threw sleet and snow against the windowpanes. The collie lay in front of the fire softly wined and wiggled his legs in his sleep. Probably chasing rabbits in his dreams, thought Adam. Two cats, a big tabby, and a smaller half-grown calico silently drifted in from the kitchen. They curled up together on a rag rug that lay under a small table.

Quietly Adam stood, set his valise on the table and took out several items. Going to the tree he knelt and laid two silk scarves near the gifts Scotty and Kayla had left. One was a shimmery sky blue to match Kayla’s eyes. The other was a deep yellow that would be nice for Katherine. He placed a small but sharp skinning knife with a bone handle in Scotty’s rocker. Then he put a book beneath Patrick’s stocking. It was ‘Huckleberry Finn’ by Mark Twain. He thought the boy would like it. He knew he always had.

Turning he thought he saw a face at the window, peeking in. It had looked like a short man, maybe heavy set with a long, white beard. He seemed to have on a reddish brown, pullover cap and a matching coat. Adam opened the door wondering if a late traveler needed to come in for the night. He could see no one on the porch. As he hesitated the sound of sleigh bells and hoof beats came faintly through the wind and snow. Adam could have sworn he heard someone calling out “Merry Christmas.”

 

Christmas at the Ranch

This is a Bonanza Christmas story with some comedy added.

           

                                                Christmas at the Ranch

            “Hey, Joe, if you would pick up on your end maybe I could get this thing into the house.”

            “I am holding my end. Hoss, why don’t you just get goin’ so that I can move my end.”

            “Why don’t both of you get moving so that I can go in the house.”

            “Hey, Adam, can’t you see we’re busy,” said Joe, who was holding just the top tip of a Ponderosa pine tree that he and Hoss were attempting to take into the house. You can go around through the kitchen door.”

            “I already tried that, and Hop Sing came at me with a meat cleave. Seems like someone already tracked up the kitchen with, as he called it ‘horse dodo’. Now may I please enter the house? It’s cold out here.”

            “Yes, it is cold out here. And I said you could have a small Christmas tree. This thing is way too big.” Ben Cartwright had come up behind his oldest son, Adam. (He didn’t want to admit to them that he had gone behind the backs of all those producers, directors, writers, and etcetera and was letting his sons and friends have Christmas this year. Some years the directors, writers and such allowed the Cartwrights to have Christmas and some years they didn’t.)

            Hoss gave a big pull on the trunk of the tree that he was holding in the door way to the ranch house while Joe gave a tiny little shove on the top of the tree from where he stood ten feet out from the door and the pine tree folded its branches just enough to scrape its way into the house. Hoss and Joe lifted it over the table and couch and stood it beside the fireplace on the side nearest to the dining room.

            “How ‘bout right here,” said Hoss.

            “That looks good,” said Joe standing back to admire the tree while Hoss held it up.

            “No, no, no,” said Adam. “It will catch fire there. The tree always goes over here by the staircase. There’s more room here.” He picked up the small table that was sitting where he indicated to make way for Hoss and Joe to move the tree over by the staircase.

            “And stand it in a bucket of water so it don’t dry out so fast,” added Ben.

            “Well, how are we gonna make it stand here?” asked Hoss.

            “You know you have to wrap a rope around it and tie it to the staircase,” fussed Adam. “That’s the way we always do it.”

            Hop Sing, the Cartwrights cook, housekeeper and friend had been watching as the Christmas tree was brought in and stood up. He started sweeping the floor. “You make big mess. Now house all dirty again. Now got to sweep floor again. All covered with pine needles. I never understand this having to bring tree into house every year.”

            A wooden box of fragile, hand-blown, glass Christmas decorations had been brought in earlier and now Joe, Hoss, and Adam took them carefully out of the straw that kept the decorations safe in the box and hung them on the tree.

            Hoss took a short paper chain out of the box.

            Joe snorted in disgust. “That old thing. We need a new one.”

            “This one is just fine,” said Hoss as he gently added it to the tree.

            “You made that when you were five years old,” scoffed Joe.

            “What about this?” asked Adam as he held up a small, white, china plate with a child’s handprint in the center and Merry Christmas misspelled around it.

            “That’s mine,” yelped Joe grabbing it away from Adam and hanging it on the tree by a red ribbon attached to the back.

            Ben sat in his chair smiling at the child-like antics of his three grown sons. He hoped it would be a good Christmas without any of the problems there had been on other Christmas’s. He thought that the only thing missing was a woman or two to add to the enthusiasm of the room. He sighed at the thought that not one of his three boys had found a wife yet and he wondered if they ever would. (Or would be allowed to by the writers.)

            After supper Hop Sing brought another small box into the room and took out a few brightly colored paper birds, and paper lanterns to add to the tree. Ben had found the old, wooden, hand-carved nativity and nutcracker that had belonged to Adam’s mother and set them under the tree. Hoss hung five large, new, knit stockings from the staircase railing once he had been convinced it was to dangerous to hang them from a fireplace that was usually in use at this time of the year. Adam tied several large, red ribbon bows on the ends of several branches. Joe stood on the landing of the staircase and leaned way out over the top of the tree to add a silver star, and a gold angel to the top of the tree. Everyone agreed it was the best looking Christmas tree they had ever had.

           

 

            A few days before Christmas there had been more decorations added to the tree and many gifts were under the tree. Evergreen wreaths with big red bows hung on the door, the staircase and on Ben’s desk. Mistletoe hung near the doorways just in case an attractive woman should wonder in so that the men in the house would have an excuse to kiss her. And there were plenty of attractive women at the Christmas party that the Cartwrights had. Ben had hopes that maybe, just maybe, with all the holiday spirit that one of his sons would ask one of the attractive women at the party to become part of the Cartwright family.

            Hop Sing oversaw the roasting of half a beef in a pit that the cowhands had dug in the yard, while all of the guests had arrived with plates, and bowls full of potato salad, jars of pickles, green beans casseroles, pinto beans with jalapeño pepper seasoning, and homemade breads. There were a dozen or so of different kinds of cookies, cakes, and pies. A Mexican family brought enchiladas, tacos, burritos, and sapodillas. An American Indian family brought venison, wild rabbit stew, roast turkey and the greasy, Indian fry bread that is so popular with the newcomers to America. (The writers weren’t too informed about different cultures at this time in the life of the Cartwrights.) For once there were even left overs. Hoss had eaten all he could consume and then some and kept complaining about how his tummy hurt and his mouth was on fire after eating that hot Mexican food with the jalapeno seasoning in it. 

            There was fun and games for all. Sack races, horse races, (of course Little Joe won) poker games, and hide and seek were popular. Joe and Adam especially like the hide and seek games they played with several of the young women that came to the party in their very colorful, party dresses. Of course the men all were wearing their dreary, boring suits topped off by big western hats. And each and every man had on a pair of the heavy, pointed, cowboy boots that the women dreaded having their feet stomped with when the dancing began. Those cowboys had to get drunk and really show the women a good time when it came to square dancing, but only Adam seemed to be able to waltz decently so all the women wanted to argue over who’s turn it was to dance with Adam when a waltz was played.

            The party went on for hours and hours and finally broke up at the very late hour of about eight o-clock in the evening. The cowhands retired to the bunk house, to snore the night away as they had to get up early the next morning to do all those cowboy jobs like punching cows and building fences. The Cartwrights went to their house to gather around the big fireplace and discuss the party.

            “Well, did any of you boys ask any of those cute young ladies to be your wife?”

            “Wife!” echoed all three of the boys. (They wondered if Pa had forgot about the unwritten rules of all those producers, writers, directors, and such.)

            “Why would I ask any of them to get married?” asked Adam, from where he sat on the couch. “When I get married I want someone that is smart. That has been to school. Someone that can do something besides be a ranchers wife, cooking and cleaning, splitting wood, chasing cows, breaking broncs and having kids.”

            “Oh,” commented Ben.

            Adam continued, “I want a wife that is sophisticated, plays the piano, reads poetry, and enjoys going to the opera and ballet.”

            “Now, I can’t say much for them kind a things, Adam.” Hoss stood in front of the fireplace, “Me, I’d rather have that there strong, rancher’s wife. She seems more to my way of thinkin’ to make a good wife.” He picked up the fireplace poker and stirred the ashes in the fire then added a couple of pieces of firewood from the woodbox.

            “Oh,” said Ben again.

            Joe giggled from his seat on the big, coffee table in front of the fireplace. “Now I don’t want either of them kinds of women for a wife. I want one that’s cute, with a sassy type of personality. One that wants to have fun and maybe we’ll raise us a few cute, little spotted ponies as well as one or two little kids.” He too, stared into the fire as if he could see just the right girl to be his wife.

            “Oh,” said Ben for the third time. Under his breath so that his sons couldn’t hear he muttered something that sounded like, “But the powers that be won’t let any of you have a wife. Or if they do she will get sick and die.” (Was he talking about all those writers, directors, producers and such?)

            After a moment he stood and stretched. “I think we are all getting too melancholy for our own good. First thing you know we’ll be cryin’ in our milk. So why don’t we have a drink of whiskey and a couple of those left over cookies before we go to bed. Christmas should be a happy time.”

 

            The next day the Cartwrights got up early so they could join there cowhands in some good, old-fashioned cowboy work. Ben wondered into the barn with a coffee cup still in his hand. He wasn’t sure if he was really up to climbing onto a horse and riding. Why, oh, why did the powers that be want him to keep riding horses? And which one of those obnoxious buckskins would it be today. Why was in necessary for him to always ride a jugheaded buckskin? Why couldn’t he have a nice, gentle, well-trained sorrel like the one Adam had? Why couldn’t Adam get the buckskin with that rough, jarring trot that tried to shake his teeth out? He leaned against a post, sipped on his coffee, and waited for the wrangler to figure out he was there and get his horse saddled for him.

            Adam had followed his father into the barn and was trying to get warmer by turning the collar of his jacket up and pulling on a pair of leather gloves. He noticed Ben had a cup of coffee. He should have thought of getting one before he came out. But if he drank another cup of the brew he would just have to get on and off of his horse more times so he could pee. Drinking coffee and then riding a horse at any gait wasn’t the smartest thing to do. And which of those idiot sorrel nags did he get today. The powers that be always put him on a sorrel, usually with white stockings. They didn’t seem to realize that the audience really could tell the difference between all those different horses that he and his family had to ride. He might have to ride only sorrels but the watchers could tell that difference in them even if it was something as minor as the white stocking was on a right foreleg instead of a left hind leg. (Not that the directors, writers, or producers could tell the difference. They really weren’t as smart as they thought they were.)

Hoss bumped into Adam when he walked into the barn because he was sleep walking again and eating a rolled up flapjack filled full of honey that was dripping out and down his shirt. “Sssssarry Aaadommm,” he said with his mouth full. He sat down on a hay bale to finish consuming the flapjack and to let a hound-dog that had followed him to lick off the honey on his shirt. Hoss let the hound finish then looked up to see that Little Joe was watching him and the hound.

“That’s gross,” said Joe making a face at his brother.

Ben sighed, “Can’t we have just one day without the three of you boys doing something to make each other mad so that a fight gets started?

“I’m not starting any fight today,” said Adam. “I’m still too tired after being up so late after having to dance with all those ladies at your party last night. I didn’t get to bed until ten-o-clock.”

Two wranglers came into the barnyard leading four horses. A buckskin, a sorrel, a black, and a black and white pinto. Ben, Joe, Adam, and Hoss stepped out of the barn looking at the four horses with disgust.

“Not again,” whined Joe. “I don’t like that one. He always moves the wrong way when I go to jump on him without using the stirrup. When he does that I fall on the ground. Why can’t I have a good horse for a change? And why do they all have to be named Cochise?” (How dumb are those producers, directors and writers anyway. Just once, just once I’d like to have a big, black horse. Maybe one of those Friesian that I been hearing about. They sure are pretty.)

Each wrangler handed the proper set of reins to the proper Cartwright making sure they got the correct color of horse. One wrangler spoke to the four men, “These nags are all ready for you guys. They’ll make you look good as long as you don’t fall of like last time.” (It was Joe that had fallen off when he had given the wrong command to his horse.)

Hoss took the reins of Chub and dug into his pocket for a sugar cube. The horse ate it smacking its lips just like Hoss did after he ate a sugar cube.

With a creaking of his joints Ben climbed into Buck’s saddle. Joe jumped onto Cochise without falling on the ground. Adam got Beauty to stop circling him long enough to mount. Hoss succeeded in distracting Chub with another sugar cube so he could get on. All four rode out of the yard and off across the pasture to find where the cow herd was for the day.

    There were a lot of action shots that day, but after a day full of riding here and there so they could chase cows, rope a calf or two and shoot a couple of outlaws the dumb man with the clacking boards yelled a final cut and the Cartwrights were allowed to get off their horses and hobble back to the ranch house. As they did so the storm that had been brewing all day decided to cut loose with a tremendous clap of thunder and dump several bucketfuls of cold rain water on the four men. (The directors never paid attention when their assistants told them the weather would get to bad for filming.) Soaked to the skin they ran into the house where they stood around the fireplace dripping water on the floor while Hop Sing complained to them in Chinese about the mess they were making.

“It’s not supposed to be raining,” fumed Hoss as he took off his boots so he could dry his socks. Another noisy round of thunder shook the house. “It’s Christmas Eve and it’s supposed to snow. How can Santa Claus get here if it’s pouring down rain?”

“Hoss,” shouted Adam at his younger, but bigger brother, “how many times have I told you that Santa Claus doesn’t exist.” He was trying to be heard over the sound of the storm as well as being disgusted at such immature ideas as his brothers seemed to have.

“Yes, he does, yes, he does, yes, he does,” chanted Little Joe. “I saw him once. I swear I saw Santa Claus when I was three years old, but no one will ever believe me.” The rumble of thunder snarled all around them.

“Stop it,” bellowed Ben at his sons. “I have a headache, and you’re acting like children. Grow up.”

“Supper is ready,” screeched Hop Sing. “Come eat or I throw it out.”

“Oh, goody, stew,” commented Hoss, as he ran to the table, sat down and took a big helping.

While the storm raged they ate a meal of hot stew and had a round of brandy. By then Cartwrights were more than ready for a good nights sleep. Tomorrow they would be up early to open their Christmas presents. (Not only was it Christmas it was their day off.) That is if Santa Claus found his way to their home and thought they had been good enough all year so they could have a present.

            As they started to climb the stairs to their bedrooms Hop Sing came running in from the kitchen. “It snowing now. Great big snowflakes come down and make big piles of snow. Santa Claus can come now.” He giggled to himself at the thought of a magical person that brought presents to those that were good.

            With yelps of joy Adam, Hoss, and Little Joe went off to bed, although they swore they wouldn’t be able to go to sleep because they were going to try to see Santa when he did come. Ben told them to shut up and go to bed so he could get some sleep.

            Lying in their individual beds in their individual bedrooms all the Cartwrights listened with their ears wide open hoping to hear the clatter of tiny reindeer hooves on the roof. But instead they began to hear the whistling and whining of wind as it came in through all the tiny little cracks that were all over their logcabin home. In minutes the wind got worse turning Christmas Night into a blizzard that was piling snowdrifts higher and higher around the ranch house.

 Adam got up and looked out his window after wiping a layer of frost off the glass. He couldn’t see much except the snowflakes flying here and there before the terrible wind. Ben looked out his window and wondered if the roof to the house would stay on in as bad a storm as it looked like they would have. Joe tiptoed into Hoss’ room but Hoss hadn’t woke up. The roar of the wind was so loud it was even hard to hear his brother snore. He shivered in his nightshirt and went back to his room to crawl under the covers where he could hide his head and hope that Santa would make it regardless of the storm.

            After laying in their beds for several hours Ben and Adam were finally lulled to sleep by the screaming and screeching of the wind and pinging of frozen snowflakes on the windows. Hoss snored on while Joe trembled and quaked under his blankets until he reminded himself he wasn’t a little boy anymore and drifted off to sleep. For a brief second he was sure he heard the sound of sleigh bells and tiny hooves stomping on the roof and someone calling ‘Ho-ho-ho, and a Merry Christmas to All’. He tried to keep awake so that he could get up and go see if Santa Claus actually was leaving presents but he couldn’t keep his eyes open or his thoughts clear and off to slumber-land he went.

Hop Sing snoozed on all night as he wasn’t bothered by the storm or the thought of a strange fat man in a red suit accompanied by reindeer coming to visit.

 

It was early, very early, about eight o-clock, when the residents of the Ponderosa woke up to a Christmas-card-like landscape that would make photographers and directors shudder and quiver with delight at the sight. There were huge drifts of snow against the north sides of all the buildings. The new snow sparkled as if covered with millions of infinitesimal diamonds. Long ice cycles hung from the eves glittering in the early morning light. Bluejays squawked, sparrows chirped, and a big red rooster crowed a welcome to the new day. Squirrels chattered and flitted through the snow covered Ponderosa pine trees that surrounded the ranch house. In the pasture the cows came out of the protection of the stands of trees, shook off their snow coats and began to dig through the snow looking for grass to eat. Several deer and elk appeared on the edges of the pasture also looking for food. A group of horses decided it was time to run and play so they went bucking and squealing as they raced across the field and back again. They scattered the snow as if it was water making it sparkle even more.

In a few moments the cowhands slowly came out of the bunkhouse to see the new day and watch the animals at play. A young collie dog chased one of the barn cats around the corner of the woodpile. As the cook worked in the cookshack and Hop Sing in the kitchen smoke drifted out of the chimneys and up into the blue sky that had only a few white fluffy clouds that was all that was left of the terrible storm from the night before. Moments later the smell of coffee, bacon, and fresh bread floated out to tantalize the cowboys. Before they went in for breakfast a snowball fight broke out. The cowboys grabbed up handfuls of the white stuff and made big balls to throw at each other. They would take time to have a little fun, even if on Christmas day the stock still had to be fed and watered.

At the sound of boots thudding down the stairs Hop Sing set plates full of hotcakes, and scrambled eggs on the table. By the time Ben pulled his chair out at the head of the table Hop Sing was pouring a steaming cup of coffee for his boss.

The three Cartwright brothers trooped down the stairs, Adam following his father to the table while Hoss and Joe took time to peak at the Christmas tree. There were the same presents that had been there yesterday but now there was the addition of a new pair of boots in Joe’s size, a super sized coat that would fit only Hoss, a fancy dress shirt that looked like something Adam would wear, a couple of copper bottom cook pots for Hop Sing, and a new Stetson hat that Ben might like.

Large smiles lit the faces of all the men as they looked but didn’t touch the gifts. It was as if they were afraid if they did the gifts would disappear.

There was the sound of banging on the front door. When Joe opened it he was hit in the face by another of the snowballs that had been aimed at the door. Quickly he grabbed a jacket and ran out to join in the fun with Hoss right behind him. Even Adam was lured into the foray.

Ben and Hop Sing watched the antics and then Ben had a thought. He whispered to Hop Sing, “Where are those dang producers, writers, and cameramen when something really nice happens around here.”

           

           

The End

 

The Trail to Abilene

This story is about the old black and white western named Rawhide. It was about trailing cattle herds from Texas north to Kansas.

                                    The Trail to Abilene

 

 

 

The young cowboy nodded, half asleep, his head bobbing in time with the motion of his slow walking horse. The horse, knowing his job, continued around the herd of cattle without any guidance from the greenhorn boy on his back. He was a well-trained cowhorse, who had been on cattle drives before. Hay Soos had made sure the two new hands had horses that knew their jobs. The boys sure didn’t, but he figured they would learn. Learn or get fired, for that was what Gil Favor expected of his cowhands.

 

The ramrod eased his horse up beside the boy and shook his shoulder slightly to wake him up. “Hey, Kid. Fletcher, you better stay awake. The Boss don’t like to see none of us sleepin’ on watch. You never know when he might decide to saddle up and make a swing around the herd to check on things. Even in the middle of the night.”

 

 The boy shook his head and wiped his hand across his face, trying to wake up. “S – Sorry, Rowdy. Guess I dozed off for a minute or so.”

 

“Yeah, you sure did. Well, try and stay awake. Our watch’ll be over soon.” The two riders pulled up and watched as one of the few steers that had been standing up decided to lay down. The large spotted animal dropped to its knees, the weight of its huge horns causing its nose to almost hit the ground. A second later its hind legs folded and the steer grunted softly as it made it to the ground.

 

“I expected trail drivin’ to be hard work but this is worse than anything I sure ever imagined,” said the boy.

 

Rowdy Yates nudged his horse and the pair continued their ride. “Yeah, this has been a rough one. It ain’t never easy, but this one sure has been worse than usual.”

 

“Rowdy, how long do you think it will take to reach Abilene?” the young drover couldn’t even imagine how far it was to the railhead town of Abilene, Kansas. The drive had started in the south Texas brush country and would end up in Abilene.

 

“Don’t know for sure. If it goes smooth and easy with no trouble on the trail it might only take ‘bout three months. If we have a whole lot a trouble, like stampedes, bad water, no graze, Indians and such, it will take longer. But it ain’t often a drive don’t have no trouble at all. Like this one with all the stampedes”

 

“Do you think they’ll run tonight?” It was the question Cameron Fletcher had been asking himself all evening. They had only been on the trail for a week and the herd had stampeded three times already. It hadn’t been real bad runs, or at least that was what the other hands said. But it has sure been enough to put a scare in Cam. Each time they had only gone a few miles and then one of the more experienced hands had been able to get the herd to milling in a circle and then stopped. But three times was enough. Cam sincerely hoped it wouldn’t happen again. He asked again. “Will they run tonight, do you think, Rowdy?”

 

“I sure can’t say. Mr. Favor says they won’t and the Boss savvies more ‘bout cow critters than the critters themselves do. But who knows. You make sure you keep awake now, ya hear?” Rowdy rode on, leaving the boy to his own thoughts, and his night herding.

 

Cameron Fletcher continued his circle of the herd, thinking about the trailboss, Gil Favor. He was supposed to be one of the best to work for according to the campfire gossip. Favor was tall, thin, and had a deep baritone voice that could be heard easily over the noise of 2000 head of longhorn cattle. He expected his hands to work hard at all times but he worked himself even harder. Never smiling, he had dark eyes that could drill holes through you and he always seemed to know when you had been slacking off your job.

 

A week ago, Cam Fletcher never would have imagined he would be part of a trail crew going from south Texas to Abilene, Kansas on part of the Chisholm Trail. Oh, he would have dreamed it in his wildest daydreams, but figured that would be as close as he would come to actually going on a cattle drive. Then his pa heard that the Favor crew was still shorthanded and told him and his brother to go sign up. The Fletchers had come west two years before but had found dirt farmin’ on the Texas plains as bad as their life in the Tennessee hills had been. Cam’s pa had told him how trail drovin’ would let him grow up, make a man out of him, and let him see more of the world. He figured that was all true but knew his pa had also been thinking of not having so many mouths to feed. If the truth be told his pa had probably wanted to come worse than Cam had, but had known that ma wouldn’t be able to hold onto the farm if he did.

 

When he and Davy, his brother, first got to where the herd was being held there was a dozen or so others already there trying to sign up for the drive. Jobs just weren’t all that plentiful, and Cam and Davy didn’t think they had a chance at all of getting hired. They had all waited for a while, watching as the trail hands came and went as they were eating their noon meal. All the men had wide-brimmed felt hats, heavy shirts and pants, leather vests, and rawhide leggin’s or chaps as some called them. Each and everyone had on well-made leather boots with pointed toes and high heals with silver spurs attached. And all seemed to be decked out with a good saddle, bridle, and rope on real cowhorses, not plowhorses like Cam was familiar with. It was his and Davy’s first time in a real cowcamp with real cowboys and they couldn’t believe all that they were seeing. Cam knew there was little chance that a poor farm boy like himself would be picked to go with the herd.

 

Finally a man rode up on a big bay horse. It was easy to tell he was the trailboss by the way the others acted and spoke to him. Dismounting he walked to the campfire and spoke quietly to the cook who had handed him a cup of black coffee. “That them, Wishbone?” Favor asked.

 

“Yeah, Boss, that’s them. Don’t look like much, do they?” the short, bowlegged cook had answered.

 

Favor sipped his coffee, his back to the gathering of men who wanted to join his traildrive. He had looked them over as he rode in. He signed and spoke softly to himself so that only his longtime friend, Wishbone, heard him. “They’re mostly little boys. Should be home bein’ rocked by their mamas.”

 

Wishbone corrected him. “They ain’t such little boys and it’s boys that turn into men.”

 

“Ye – ah.” Favor took one last swallow of coffee, tossed out the dregs and turned to the would-be drovers.

 

“All – right. I can use five more men for this drive.” He walked from one end of the line of men and boys to the other end. Cam had noticed most of the boys were like himself, from other small nearby farms. He knew some of them and knew they didn’t know much more than he did about cowboying.

 

Hands on his hips, just above the gunbelt, holster and pistol that hung there, Favor stared at them. Two men had stood off to one side and it was easy to see they were experienced cowmen. Favor pointed at them. “You and you. Ever been on a traildrive before?”

 

“Yeah,” they both said at once.

 

“You’re hired.”

 

He gazed over the group of farm boys again. He knew they were all used to hard work but knew little of droving. He was sure it was like closing your eyes and reaching into a barrel of apples. Some would be good and some wouldn’t. He pointed at three that seemed to be big, strong, solid, and responsible. “You ------- you--------and you.” He had chosen two others and Cam. “Any of you got your own gear?” All three had shaken their heads ‘no’. Favor had looked down at his boots, frowning. “All right, see Wishbone for saddles and blankets, and Hay Soos will assign you your horses.” He shook his head as he walked back to the fire. “I should have my head examined for hiring babies,” he said.

 

All the others had already left, except Cam’s brother, Davy, who was upset at not being picked. “Why’d he pick you and not me?”

 

“ ‘Cause I’m the oldest.”

 

“Only by a year.”

 

“Well, anyway I think maybe he just picked. It was just dumb luck.” They had ridden double and bareback to the herd on one of the plowhorses. “You take the horse and ride on back home. Tell pa I got on and I’ll send some of my wages when I get paid.” He knew he would miss his family but he was excited at the idea of the cattle drive. “You take care, Davy. Maybe it will be your turn next year. Watch after the little ones now.” Davy swung up onto the broad back of the plowhorse. The brothers shook hand, said their goodbyes and parted. Davy riding home and Cam joining the other two boys as Wishbone dug out some old saddles that had seen better days and Mushy, the cooks’ helper, handed them some blankets for bedrolls.

 

“Grab a plate and get some grub,” Wishbone told them in his funny, always complaining voice. “Can’t work on an empty stomach. Get it for I throw it out. Hay Soos, these boys need horses. Give ‘em gentle ones. I don’t want to be doctorin’ ‘em more than they’re drivin’ cows.”

 

“Se, Senior Wishbone.” Even Hay Soos, the small Mexican horse wrangler had not been pleased with three boys who had never been drovers before.

 

                             *************************************

 

Early the next morning the drive had started. It had taken most of the first day to convince the stubborn longhorn cows that they were all supposed to go in the same direction. Cam, and Bobby Martin, and Tom Sayler were put to ‘ridin’ drag’ as the other hands called it. They brought up the tail end of the drive, making sure that the stragglers kept moving, and that none of the steers were left behind, and many tried. In fact most of the critters were very persistent in trying to keep from going on the drive. By the end of the day Cam was sure he had never worked so hard in all his life. Nor had he ever eaten so much dust and dirt. Even plowing dry fields didn’t stir up this much dust.

 

And the next day was more of the same. All the excitement and adventure had gone up in that cloud of dust that followed those 2000 head of steers. When he wasn’t pushing cows, he was night herding and in between he was given chores to help Wishbone. Helping Mushy haul water, and chopping wood. And because wood was scarce, picking up dry cowchips left by other herds. The cowchips burned as well as any wood. The three green cowhands all said they could have stayed home and not had as much to do. Sleep was unheard of, almost. He had heard one older hand, Quince, say that sleep was done in the wintertime, now was the time to drive cattle.

 

 Some of the adventure did come on the second night out. Cam had been asleep for only a few minutes when the yell “STAMPEDE” woke him. By the time he could pull his boots on and find his horse everyone else was gone after the cattle. It had all been over with by the time he caught up. As they had stood around at daybreak and drunk strong, hot coffee and chewed on warmed over beans and biscuits from the evening meal, Gil Favor rode in and asked. “Anyone get hurt?” All shook their heads. He turned to his ramrod, Rowdy Yates. “Anyone missing?”

 

“Yeah,” Rowdy said and when Favor stared at him, he explained. “That kid, Tom Sayler, was on watch when they ran. When we got back in he turned his horse loose, threw his saddle in the wagon, and took off walking back the way we came. I guess he quit.”

 

“Good riddance then – if he can’t do the job,” muttered Scarlet.

 

Favor had looked at the men, his scowl lingering on Martin and Fletcher as if he expected them to quit, also. Cam stared back as if to say ‘Not Me’, and then he thought he saw the trailboss nod slightly to him. All he had said was, “We got beeves to move. Get with it.”

 

As the drive progressed Cam and Bobby began to learn what was expected of them. They boys learned to keep their kerchiefs up over their nose and mouth to keep from choking so bad on the dust, and their muscles weren’t quite so sore from the long hours in the saddle. They learned how to spot a steer fixing to try to quit the herd almost before the steer knew it was going to try to quit. After the first few days the men had started rotating so that each got a turn in each of the different places on the drive. That way not every one had to ride drag everyday.

 

They would have eaten almost any kind of food but found that Wishbone was an excellent cook, even with all the complaining the hands did. The always grumbling, grouchy cook never stinted on supplies. There was always a big pot of coffee going from the time camp was first made each evening until it broke the next morning. There were big dutch ovens full of beans and stew and biscuits, and skillets with thick steaks or potatoes frying. Everything was well seasoned with pepper, salt, chili, and other spices depending on what Wishbone had decided to use that day.

 

Mushy, not much more than a boy himself, helped Wishbone and drove the supply wagon while Wishbone drove the chuckwagon. Both wagons usually lead out each day and stayed ahead of the drive to avoid the dust, and have camp ready for each meal. Mushy told Cam and Bobby that he had been on drives before. He never could get the hang of riding a horse very well but was determined to be as good a trail cook as Mr. Wishbone some day. He said that Mr. Wishbone was at his best now, but as the drive went on it would be beans, beans, and more beans.

 

By the next day Cam realized the steers were actually becoming a trailherd instead of a large group of cows. Most had settled down into the day-to-day grind of walking, constantly walking. On about the fifth day Cam had found himself riding by Quince, a hand who had been over the trail several times with Gil Favor and Rowdy Yates. Quince knew Cam was young and green but trying hard to learn and took the time to give some pointers to the boy. “You notice them two big steers in the lead?” he asked.

 

“Yeah, the black one and the lineback dun.”

 

“Yeah, that’s them,” said Quince as they continued to ride along. “Them two’s goin’ a be our leaders.”

 

“Leaders?” questioned Cam.

 

“Ever herd goes over the trail has its leaders. You never know which ones it’ll be. It’s always interestin’ to watch  ‘em figure it out amongst themselves. Sometimes there’s some fightin’ over it but most times not much. You’ll find one or sometimes, two, like these, just naturally are the first ones to lead out ever mornin’ and the others just get to where they always foller ‘em. Looks as if it’ll be that big black and the dun this time.”

 

“How come they got such big horns anyway, Quince?”

 

“Don’t know, kid. I always wondered that, too. Heard tell they’re mostly descended from them Spanish bulls and cows brought over from Spain by them conquistadors. Them and a few other breeds thrown in. Now they’re just longhorns.”

 

Cam studied the herd. There were almost as many colors and horn sizes and shapes as there were steers. There were blacks, whites, duns, reds, browns, brindles, and everything in between and some with ever color on one animal. Many of them had horns, some curved, others twisted, or corkscrewed. They were lean, slab-sided critters, tough and mean as any animal could be. A man on horseback was usually ignored by the steers. When Cam or the other hands rode near they simply moved out of the way. But a man on foot was still considered fair game by the contrary, half-wild critters. Only a fool would have gone near the herd on foot.

 

                             ************************************

 

Now, after a week, it was pretty much a trailherd. Every morning the black and the dun steers would head out when Rowdy, Quince and the other hands started pushing the herd off their bedground. All day they would follow the trail. They went slow enough to give the animals a chance to graze a little but the steady movement could cover a lot of miles depending on the terrain. Favor always seemed to know of one good place to water the steers each day. That in its self could take quite a while.

 

There had been only one major river crossing so far and it hadn’t presented any serious problems. In fact Cam had found it fun. The cows had been crowded into the wide river by the whooping, yelling, rope popping cowboys. From the drag, Cam had been able to look down from the riverbank and see the leaders come out of the water as the last cows were pushed in. The steers had seemed to disappear as they swam, with only the sun glistened horns showing above heads thrust out of the water just enough to keep their noses dry. Cam and Martin had laughed at the sight of so many sets of horns seeming to float across the river. After the crossing had been made the cowboys had taken time to wash their cloths and themselves, splashing, dunking, and playing like small boys.

 

Now here he was again riding night herd and his mind was back to the same question. “Will they run again tonight?” They had run last night and the night before. It had been a horrifying experience for the boy. It had seemed to Cam as if on some signal, known only to the steers, they had jumped up and run, all in the same direction. One second they had been sleeping, the next up and running.

 

It had been to dark to see that much. A flash of long white horn in the moonlight, a light colored cow running full out, a glimpse of the white of wide, rolling eyes. To Cam the noise had been the worse part. The rumble of 8000 hooves pounding the ground had been deafening. It had been louder than any thunder with the barely heard shouts and yells of the cowboys, and the occasional crack of horns banging together. Anything that was in front of them was destroyed. Bushes and small trees where pounded into the ground. The ground looked like it had been plowed over by some sort of strange plow afterward. The stampede stopped for nothing in its path.

 

Each time the stampede had been over almost before Cam could realize what was happening. The older cowboys were old hands at turning the herd back on itself and circling them until they came to a standstill.

 

On this night Cam sang to the cows as his horse kept to its route around the herd. “Ride ‘round the little doggies, O ride ‘round ‘em slow, for the fieries an’ snuffies are a rarin’ to go.” It was an old song he had heard the other cowboys singing. No telling what it really meant or who had first started singing it, but it was a favorite of all the hands.

 

When he was about to give up hope of ever being relived of his watch Bobby Martin rode up beside him. “Howdy, Cam. How’s it going?”

 

“Quiet, Bobby, real quiet.”

 

“You think they’ll run tonight?” asked Bobby.

 

“Rowdy says Mr. Favor knows what he’s talkin’ ‘bout with that troublemaker. He said if the boss says they won’t run, they won’t run.”

 

Both boys thought of the steer the trailboss had called a troublemaker. A smallish brindle steer no one had paid much attention to. The past evening after the herd had been well watered and allowed to eat their fill on a large, grassy plain, Gil Favor had ridden slowly around the herd, then had cut back and forth through the cows careful not to disturb them. Finally he called to a cowboy. “Quince, that brindle steer there,” he pointed at the cow, “put a rope on him and take him ‘bout a mile up that wash south of the herd and tie him up for the night. I’m pretty sure he’s our troublemaker. The one causin’ ‘em to run. It’s too dumb or stupid to sleep at night. Jumps at any little ‘ol thing. He can just spend the night away from the herd and we’ll see what happens.”

 

                           **************************************

 

“Rise and Shine, you lazy, would-be waddies. Coffees hot and grubs on.” Wishbones’ wake up yell was followed by Mushy beating on a large metal pan with a wooden spoon. The sun was barely hinting at daylight over the eastern horizon. Both cook and his helper had been up for an hour already to get the fire going, coffee boiling, and biscuits baking.

 

Cam Fletcher could smell the savory biscuits and pungent coffee even before he could force his eyes open. He was sure he had only been asleep for a minute.

 

As he rolled up his blankets and threw them into the wagon Bobby Martin rode up to the camp. “I turned that brindle back into the herd, Mr. Favor,” he said to the trailboss who was pouring himself a cup of the hot, black brew.

 

“You pull him back out again tonight, kid,” said Favor as he blew on the enamel cup to cool his coffee enough to be able to drink it.

 

There had not been a stamped that night. Favor and all the hand had enjoyed a fairly calm night. Now it was time to start them moving again.

 

                  ***********************************************

 

At about mid-morning Cam saw Rowdy suddenly ride at a full gallop to where Gil Favor sat watching the herd. They spoke for a moment then both of them rode toward the front of the herd. Cam thought there must be something important going on.

 

The steers slowed and spread out coming to a halt and beginning to graze. The cowboys gathered behind the trailboss and the ramrod, and all watched as four Indians broke off from the small group of about twenty that had appeared to the north of them. The four leaders came toward the herd as the drovers waited.

 

Cam and Bobby wondered if they should be afraid or not. Both wished they had guns incase a battle broke out with the Indians. Cam could see that although the Indians tried to look big and brave, holding lances, and old muzzleloader rifles. They, also, had bows and quivers of arrows on their backs. But in reality it was just two old men and two boys maybe even younger than Cam and Bobby were.

 

When they were about twenty feet from Mr. Favor they pulled up their scrawny-looking mustang ponies. They waited a moment. Finally Favor broke the silence and spoke, “Howdy. Nice day for palavering.”  

 

The oldest Indian spoke. “Want four ‘Wo-haws’.” He held up four fingers. He had white hair in two long braids down his back. His face was a mass of wrinkles and a red scrap of cloth was tired around his head. The Indian boys looked as nervous as Cam and Bobby felt.

 

Favor seemed to consider the offer for a moment. Then he held up one finger. “One Wo-haw.”

 

“What’s a wo-haw?” whispered Bobby to Joe Scarlett.

 

“Wo-haws are what the Indians call a cow. Comes from hearing wagon drivers callin’ out Whoa and Haw and Gee to their oxen teams. Them Indians won’t be no trouble. Just some old men, women, and kids.”

 

The trail boss and the old Indian stared at each other. Favor spoke to Scarlett. “Get the brindle steer. He might be good for something yet.”

 

“Joe, he’s in the drag,” said Cam, “I just seen him.”

 

Scarlett took off and returned several minutes later with the brindle troublemaker in tow.

 

“One wo-haw,” Favor said to the Indians again.

 

The two older Indians discussed it, then the spokesman said with emphasis, “Little wo-haw, Not enough.”

 

Favor turned in the saddle and looked at the steer still tugging and pulling at the end of Scarlett's rope. He nodded. “It’s small, all right,” he said in agreement to the Indians. “Fletcher,” he looked back at the herd, “Cut out that red steer over there.”

 

Cam took off and dropped his rope over the large, fat animal. He was pleased that he had been able to rope the animal on the first try. If he hadn’t, he would have been so embarrassed here in front of all the cowhands, Mr. Favor and the Indians he swore he would have fallen over dead. But he hadn’t. He had roped it just as Quince had taught him to. He dragged the steer behind his horse over to where everyone waited.

 

Favor spoke to the Indians again. “Two wo-haw. No more.” The Indians seemed to realize he meant it. They nodded in understanding. The two Indian boys each reached for a rope and began dragging the reluctant steers toward the waiting women and children. Cam thought they looked as if they hadn’t eaten in days. They seemed to get excited at the sight of the cows and started shouting and yelling.

 

About that time, Wishbone and Mushy pulled up in the wagons. They had come back to see what was going on.

 

“Wishbone, hand down a couple of sacks of flour, one of sugar, and a little coffee to go with them beeves.”

 

Wishbone grinned at his boss as he got the supplies out. Favor could be hard as nails when need be, but he could be a bit compassionate at times, too. Especially when it came to little kids.

 

“We got a herd to move.” The trail boss yelled at his hands, and the crew scattered out to their jobs. “I must be getting’ soft,” muttered Favor under his breath.

 

Cam had heard Favors comment to himself. He smiled. Yeah, he was learning a lot about life. Learning you had to be hard and tough but to keep a soft spot, too. He rode at a lope to his place in the drag.

 

Wishbone and Mushy started the wagons rolling. As the Indians watched the cowboys and the big bunch of steers, Favor took off his hat, waved it over his head in a signal and roared out to his men.

 

“Head ‘em up! Move ‘em out!”

 

 

                          ***********************************

  

With the brindle steer gone. there was no more threat of stampede at night from the huge herd of cattle. Each morning, the longhorns continued their march toward Abilene, Kansas with the big black steer and his dun sidekick leading the way. The trail drive had proceeded across Texas following the Chisholm Trail and was almost to the Red River where they would cross into Oklahoma Territory. Gil Favor watched from the sidelines as Cam Fletcher chased a red cow back to the herd that had tried to get away. He nodded his head in satisfaction. Moments later Rowdy Yates rode up beside him. Neither man spoke for a moment as they watched the stream of cows.

 

Favor shifted in his saddle and looked at his ramrod. “That Cam Fletcher, he’s getting’ the hang of bein’ a drover real quick, ain’t he?” For a moment he thought he could smell smoke. Maybe Wishbone had the noon fire going already. He would ride over in a minute and get a cup of coffee if it was ready.

 

“Yeah, Boss, he is, but I’m not so sure about his friend, Martin.”

 

“Oh, he’ll make it. He won’t never be as good as Fletcher, but he’ll be an all-right drover. The feller that worries me is that man, Ben Erwin, that hired on at the same time as the boys did. He’s a slacker. Seems to avoid pullin’ his share of the work.”

 

“Yeah, and he seems to disappear a lot every evening. Says he don’t like sleepin’ in the camp. Likes to be by himself.” Rowdy looked around him at the surrounding countryside of low rolling hills with lots of tall, dry plains grass and a few trees. “You smell smoke?”

 

“Wish probably has the noon fire goin’. I hope so, anyway. I’m getting’ hungry.” Favor took another look around him. “I’ve known a lot of men didn’t like sleepin’ in camp, and don’t have no problem with it as long as they do their job. But Erwin don’t. If we didn’t need him, I’d send him packin’.” Favor looked up at the sound of hoof beats coming toward him and Rowdy. Trail scout Pete Nolen was riding his big bay horse hard.

 

“Boss, we got trouble,” shouted Pete even before his horse came to a complete stop. “There’s a brush fire about two miles north of us, coming fast toward us.”

 

All three men looked toward the northern sky. Rowdy and the trailboss realized that what they had been smelling hadn’t been the smoke from Wishbone’s noon camp but from the brush fire that was now billowing up over a distance rise in front of them. They could see a long column of black smoke with bright orange flames streaking up into it. The men knew the danger and problems a prairie fire could cause. If the herd got caught up in the fire there could loose a lot of the animals, and maybe even men and horses. And prairie fires moved fast. Faster than a herd of cattle did.

 

Quickly Favor thought about the lay of the land and how it would be best to avoid the fire. “That fire is coming right at us. Right near that river crossing on the Red River that we usually use. Pete, can we swing southeast a bit and avoid the fire and still get across the river? The fire probably won’t jump the river and we’d be safe from it then.”

 

“Yeah, I guess we could. I know of another crossing place. I ain’t checked it out this time. But other times it wasn’t near as good. Usually a lot deeper and more current, with some rocks that made a little bit of a rapids above it. The trail into the river is a lot steeper, too, but I think we could make it.”

 

The smoke was advancing rapidly toward them. “Good,” said Favor. “From the looks of that smoke headed this way we’re going to have to make a run for it. Rowdy, you ride up to the lead, tell Scarlett, and start passing the word back. I want ‘em movin’ faster. Even if we got a run ‘em into a stampede. When you get to the drag, start pushing them hard with the men back there.” He looked at the trail scout’s tired, wore out horse. “Pete, go get a fresh horse from Hay Soos. Then head for that other crossing so you can help get the lead steers into the water at the right place. I’ll let Wishbone know and then I’m going to ride point with Scarlett.” The trailboss knew it would be a job to get the 2000 head of cows turned from the straight north direction they had been traveling into more of a southeast direction to come out at the crossing Pete was recommending.

 

Rowdy kicked his horse into a run as he headed for the rear of the traildrive. Gil Favor turned his horse for where he thought the chuckwagon was, and Pete Nolan went in search of the remuda to get another mount. They all knew it was going to be a long day.

 

                          *****************************************

 

Cam Fletcher and Bobby Martin had noticed the smoke drifting toward them from the north and that the cows were getting a bit restless from it, and then it seemed as if the cows in front of them were moving faster. The critters were used to the smoke from a campfire but this was a lot more. Just as they were thinking of asking someone what was going on Rowdy rode up at a run.

 

 “Martin! Fletcher! We got a prairie fire ahead of us. Boss wants to swing ‘em southeast for the river. Wants ‘em movin’ fast!” Rowdy already had his rope loose and he popped a steer on the rump, and then another. “Where’s Erwin? Ain’t he back here with you?”

 

The two young punchers looked at each other briefly. “Ain’t seen him for a while,” said Cam. Bobby just shrugged his shoulders. Both did as Rowdy was doing and began to push the cows at a faster pace. They knew a prairie fire could mean lots of trouble.

 

Within a few miles of travel, the smoke was getting thicker and it became obvious that the fire was moving faster than the cattle, even though the herd was now moving at a fast trot. The drovers had all taken a moment to drench their bandanas in water from their canteens before tying them over their faces so they could breathe a bit easier. Suddenly Pete Nolen appeared out of the dust and smoke beside of the trailboss.

 

“Not far,” he said. “Just about a hundred yards, and there’s a drop off down to the river. But the water’s higher than I figured on.”

 

“Can we make it over?” asked Favor.

 

Pete hesitated. “I reckon. If we’re careful.”

 

“No time for careful. We got to get ‘em across. You and Scarlett. Each of you drop a rope on them lead steers and get ‘em in the water.”

 

Pete whirled his horse around and rode back to Joe Scarlett. They each shook out a loop of rope. Pete dropped his on the big black steer with the huge horns. Joe put his on the lineback dun. Smelling water and not liking the smoke and fire behind them the two steers were more than willing to follow the two cowboys down the riverbank and into the muddy, rolling water. Favor and another cowhand pushed the first group of cows after the leaders. At first they wouldn’t go and tried to turn, but by yelling, popping ropes and swinging rain slickers the men got about one hundred head into the water and swimming for the distant shore. By that time Nolen and Scarlett had the lead steers across and were releasing them.

 

Seeing the break in the cattle, Wishbone drove the chuckwagon down the bank and into the river with Mushy driving the supply wagon right behind him. He briefly thought about the fact that there could be rocks the wagons might hang up on, or quicksand to get bogged down into, or the water would flood the inside of the wagon ruining supplies. But the thought was brief as the fire behind them was even more of a problem than what they might find in the river. Their luck held and the two wagons went across with out any mishap and up the other bank to pull up, dripping wet, beside the cattle that had already made the crossing. Wishbone looked into the wagon to see how much water and got in. Not much, he though. He saw his rifle and gunbelt lying where they might get wet so pulled them right up behind his seat where they would be safer. Sure didn’t want to get his guns wet.

 

After watching to make sure the wagons made it across, Gil looked back for more cattle to drive into the river but there was a gap in the herd. Cursing he galloped back. “Quince! Get ‘em movin’! Don’t let ‘em stop!” He rode on for the rear of the herd. When he reached it, he rode along side of Rowdy. “Push ‘em harder! We ain’t got much time. Stampede ‘em if you have to.” He pulled his pistol and fired it into the air. The sound of the shot rolled over the excited cattle. Rowdy drew his gun and fired it at the smoke covered sky. They fired again. One cow let loose a very loud, terrified bawl and the herd was off at a dead run, with the drovers trying to keep them headed for the river.

 

Racing his horse along side the frightened cattle, Cam could only think that a few weeks back they had been trying to keep the cattle from stampeding and now they were doing it on purpose. But he wasn’t complaining. That brush fire was way to close for comfort. He yelled and snapped his rope. The smoke from the fire and dust from the dirt were so thick you could cut it with a knife, he thought. His nose, throat and ears were clogged with it. His skin felt heavy with it. For one brief moment he thought he could see the river. Would they ever reach it? Bobby rode up beside him, yelled something he couldn’t understand and then went on. Seconds later the earth seemed to drop out from under the hooves of his horse and they were plunging over a steep, twenty foot bank down into the famous Red River.

 

The Red was roaring, and muddy, and swollen from recent thunderstorms to the north. The storms had raised the level of the river and the cows were swimming within a few steps after they hit the water. Cam’s horse sank into the dirty water and then its head came up and it started swimming for the distant shore. Cam could only hang on grimly to the pommel of his saddle, hoping his mount could pull him across the river and that his weight wouldn’t pull the animal down. Cam knew if he lost his grip that he would be swept under the raging current and wouldn’t have a chance of surviving. Several times water swamped over his head. Once he was bumped hard by the horns of a steer swimming beside him and his horse. Just as he was giving up hope of ever making land, his horse lunged upward and jerked Cam up the north bank of the mighty river.

 

Losing his grip on the saddle, Cam slipped in the red, slimy mud and fell down in front of several steers coming up the sloping bank. Instantly a strong arm snaked down to catch Cam around his waist and jerked him in a belly flop across the front of a saddle where it felt as if the saddlehorn would poke a hole in his ribs. Seconds later he slid off the saddle to stand on solid ground and look up into the face of Rowdy Yates.

 

“You all right, kid?” the ramrod asked.

 

Cam took a deep breath, rubbed his rib to ease the ache, and finally was able to answer. “Ya – yeah. Yeah, I think I am. Thanks, Rowdy.”

 

“Just get your horse and get back to work.” Yates wheeled his horse and headed back into the melee of cattle and riders coming out of the river.

 

Minutes later, the tired herd was scattering out on the prairie to rest and begin grazing, while the drovers were watching transfixed by the sight of the brush fire burning itself out on the south side of the river where they had been so recently.

 

Favor took his hat off, swiped at the water still running down his face and neck, gave up and put his hat back on. “All right, we still got cows to take care off. Move ‘em on north a half mile or so, let ‘em graze and then start movin’ ‘em in small groups back to the river so’s they can water.” He looked around for the chuck wagon. “Wishbone, make camp. We’ll stay here for the night.”

 

“Sure thing, Mr. Favor.”

 

“Yes, Sir-eee, Mr. Favor. I do think it’s a wise thing for you and your drovers to make camp right here and now.”

 

Favor whirled his horse around at the sound of the loud, rough, sarcastic voice behind him. In all the excitement, no one had noticed the group of nine riders that had quietly come up behind them as they stood watching the fire and the river. Riders that included Ben Erwin, the drover that had hired on with Cam and Bobby. “And just who might you be, to be tellin’ me and my men what we should do?” asked Favor.  His hand as well as Rowdy’s and several of the other men’s hands had gone to their gun butts. “Erwin, what you doin’ with this bunch of cow thieves?”

 

“I wouldn’t pull none of them shootin’ irons, if I was you. They’re wet anyway,” said the man. He had a rifle pointed at the trailboss. Each of the group of men with him had a gun drawn. “I’m Zeke Abner. Ever hear of me?” He was a big man, with a huge stomach that overhung his belt. He wore a bearskin coat over ragged, dirty homespun clothes. He had brogans on his feet and an old ragged black bowler hat on his head. His men were a motley lot; each dressed different from the next, and different in size and stature. But each had a mean, hard look on his face and a gun in his hand. Erwin laughed at the surprise on the cowhands faces.

 

“Nope. Can’t say that I have,” Favor replied.  With all the guns already pointed at him, Favor let his hand drift over to his saddlehorn. Besides, the man was right most of the guns were wet and might not shoot. “And you still ain’t told me why your pointin’ them guns at us and tellin’ us what we’re gonna do.”

 

“Why, yes I have, Mr. Trailboss. I said you’re gonna make camp here for the night. But me and my boys is gonna take them cows and push ‘em on down the trial.” The man grinned, showing dirty, chipped teeth.

 

At first, none of the cowboys were unable to comprehend that these men wanted to take his whole herd. Favor voiced the thoughts of all of the men. “The whole herd?” He shifted in his saddle again. “I don’t think so.” His face became almost livid at the thought.

 

“Yeah, trailboss. I do think so. The whole herd. And we ain’t gonna have no trouble from you or your men.” He looked to his right. “Handley, I want you and Forger to stay here and keep your guns on these men. Erwin, you and the rest of the boys get that bunch of critters movin’.”

 

Pete Nolen snorted in disgust. “Erwin, I might of known you was up to no good when I seen you headin’ out west this morning, early. You set that fire, didn’t ya? You set it so’s we would have to run the herd across at this point right to your friends.”

 

Ben Erwin laughed. “Looks like I won’t be havin’ to take no more orders from you bunch of dumb cowhands,” he said.

 

Favor shook his head dumbfounded at what was happening. “Damn,” he muttered. Then he let loose a string of curses. “What a damn fool I’ve been not to a seen it comin’.”

 

“You know, don’t ya,” said Rowdy causally, “that them beeves is tired and they ain’t gonna want a leave this good grass and the water.” His hand drifted toward the gun on his hip again.

 

Abner’s rifle swung to point at Rowdy. “Take that pistol out nice and slow, mister. And toss it on the ground. All you men. Take your guns out and drop ‘em.” He waited until Favor, Yates and the rest of the drovers dropped their guns on the ground. “They’ll move, cowboy. Don’t you go worrying none. We’ll see to that,” said Zeke. 

 

Wishbone still sat on the seat of the chuckwagon. “Mr. Favor, you ain’t gonna let ‘em take the herd, are you?” Several other men echoed the cooks’ words. The men couldn’t believe that Gil Favor was just going to hand the herd over to the cattle thieves.

 

“Well-ll, I can’t see that there’s anything we can do about it. Not with all them guns pointin’ at us.” The trailboss seemed to slouch in his saddle in resignation.

 

“Now, that’s smart, trailboss. Real smart.” Zeke waved his hand in the direction of the herd. “You men get at it. Get that herd movin’.” Erwin and five others took off toward the herd, yelling and shouting. Reluctantly the first of the cows started slowly moving to the north. Zeke and the two men who had stayed behind seemed to relax. This had been easier than they had thought it would be.

 

“Maybe these cowhands ain’t as tough as I always heard,” said Handley to Zeke and Forger.

 

Forger agreed with him. “They sure ain’t.”

 

“Mr. Favor, you can’t let them just have the herd.” Rowdy was getting mad. He couldn’t believer that Favor was giving up so easily.

 

Favor looked at his ramrod. “And just whose herd is this anyway, Yates?” He raised his voice into a shout. “I’ll tell you whose herd it is. It’s my herd. And I can do anything I damn well please with it. If I want to give it away, I will.”

 

Rowdy didn’t know what to think of what his boss was saying. He couldn’t remember a time that Gil Favor hadn’t fought to keep his herd regardless of what the situation called for. He was starting to get really angry. In fact he was very angry at his friend and Zeke Abner. Now he was yelling, too. “I don’t understand, Mr. Favor. It don’t make no since. Why would you want to let this feller take the herd?”

 

“Ain’t nothin’ we can do ‘bout it now, Yates.” He dismounted from his horse and called out to the wrangler. “Hay Soos, you set up a picket line. Wishbone, get supper started. I could use a cup of coffee.” He led his horse over to the chuckwagon and tied it to the tailgate.

 

The cattle thieves relaxed a bit more as the trailboss gave his orders to his men to set up camp as if nothing was wrong. Deciding there was no point in continuing to sit there on his horse. Zeke got off with a groan. His rear end was sure tired of sitting on a horse anyway. He was already thinking of the fine time he could have this winter livin’ in a town with a woman to warm his bed when he sold the herd. He grinned his snaggle-toothed smile at Handley and Forger again. Everything had gone just as he had planned. Nothing could have been simpler. “Yeah, cookie, I could use some coffee.” With everything going his way, Zeke let his guard down and with it the muzzle of his rife. The weapon was now pointed at the ground.

 

It was the moment Gil Favor was waiting for. Knowing that Wishbone usually kept a rifle in the rear of the chuckwagon as well as one behind the seat, he lunged at the one behind the tailgate. He was able to grasp it on the first try. He had it out, cocked and throwing hot lead at the outlaw Zeke Abner before the cow thief could realize what was happening. The big outlaw went down with a thud when the first bullet drove into his belly. The second caught him his right shoulder.

 

Wishbone knew that the trailboss was waiting for the right moment and as soon as Favor fired his first shot he had his pistol out and he was shooting at Handley. The man grabbed his arm and screamed as a bullet plowed through it.

 

Knowing that Favor would never give up the herd that easy, Rowdy had been ready, too. As Abner went down, so did Rowdy in a dive for his six-guns. He hit the ground and rolled coming up with the pistol and sent a wild shot toward Forger. The man’s hat went flying and his horse reared and began bucking. Forger didn’t last two jumps before he came out of the saddle, hitting the ground and getting the breath knocked out of him. Instantly Quince jumped on him to keep him from getting up and Scarlett ran in with a rope to tie him up with.

 

Not bothering to do more than glance at Abner, Handley, and Forger, the trailboss leaped onto his horse, kicked it into a run and was gone after the other cattle thieves. Rowdy, Pete Nolen and several others were right behind him.

 

Quince and Scarlett made short work of tying up Handley, but didn’t bother with Zeke Abner. The man sat on the ground where he had fallen, gripping his belly with blood leaking between his fingers. He kept whimpering about being gut shot. Minutes later as Wishbone tried to see if he could help, the man's eyes began to glaze over then he fell on his side and shuttered out his last breath.

 

Cam Fletcher and Bobby Martin didn’t know what to think or do as they watched from the edge of the group of men. They had never seen a man die from a bullet before and they both felt sick to their stomachs. But they didn’t have time to think about it for long.

Wishbone looked up at the drovers around him. “Quince, Scarlett, Fletcher, and you rest. Grab some rifles out of the wagon and go after Mr. Favor and Rowdy. Their goin’ to need help catchin’ them other cow thieves. Mushy and me can take care of these two.” He gestured at Forger and Handley lying trussed up on the ground nearby. The men jumped at Wishbones words. Scarlett handed out rifles from the bed of the supply wagon to those who didn’t have one. 

 

Gunshots could be heard as the men rode at a hard gallop toward the herd. Cam had never fired a gun at a man, but he, too, took a rifle and went with the drovers to help their trailboss. But by the time he and Bobby got to the rear of the herd, everything was under control. They paused for a second when they saw one man lying dead by the trail, his horse standing nearby. Soon they saw another rolling in pain where he had fallen after being shot. Then they had caught up with Rowdy and Pete, who had their guns pointed at three of the would-be-thieves who sat their horses with hands raised. A drover began tying their hands to their saddlehorns.

 

They all looked toward the west where they could hear the crack of gunfire. “Quince, take care of these three,” yelled Rowdy as he kicked his horse into a run. Pete and Scarlett followed. After a second, Cam did, too.

 

Minutes later they drew up at the sight of Gil Favor riding toward them. He led a horse with a body draped across the saddle. As they got closer they could see it was Ben Erwin, and that the man was dead.

 

As the men rode up beside him, the trailboss pulled up. They all sat there a moment giving a brief thought to the ordeals they had survived that day. A prairie fire, a stampede across a rain-swollen river, the theft of the herd by outlaws and now the death of several men to get the herd back. “Everyone all right?” asked Favor as he eyed his wet, dusty, sweaty, and very tired crew.

 

Rowdy was the first to answer. “Far as I know, no one from the crew was hurt. Just,” he pointed at Erwin, “him and another one dead and one hurt, besides Abner and the other two at the wagons.”

 

All the men shook their heads and muttered agreement with the ramrod. Then Quince spoke up. “Boss, I saw one steer down from being shot and another with a busted leg.”

 

“Figures,” said Favor. “All right. Quince, you go find them steers again, and put ‘em out of their misery, if need be. Martin, Smith, you go with Quince and give him a hand. Butcher out the best meat and take it to Wishbone. Rest of you men get busy roundin’ up the beeves and getting’ ‘em to water and good graze. As I said we’ll make camp where the wagons are.” He clucked to his horse, pulled on the reins of the one carrying the body of Ben Erwin and headed for the camp. As he left they all heard him say, “Ain’t nobody takes my herd away from me.”

 

                            *********************************

 

All the drovers, including Gil Favor, thought that the rest of the drive to Abilene, Kansas went off without a hitch. Oh, there were a few problems. Like when Rowdy got into a fight with two local men over a girl in a saloon one evening when the trailboss let some of the hands go into town for a night off. And there was the time that those five steers got struck by lightning in that heck of a thunderstorm just as they crossed over from Oklahoma Territory into Kansas. Of course there were the usual cuts, bruises and broken bones, and a few fistfights between grumpy cowhands. And then there were the three farmers in Kansas that wanted to charge them for crossing their farms until the trailboss gave them some cows that were about to have calves anytime. Wishbone had explained to Cam and Bobby that the calves wouldn’t have been able to keep up with the drive and that it would have been really hard to get the cows to leave their calves behind.

 

What a relief it was to finally be getting the herd all the way to Abilene. All the men were getting really excited. The thought of selling the herd and being paid was on the mind of each and every drover as they held the herd outside of town while Gil Favor went in to town to talk to the buyers and find out what the going price was. The men could tell he was happy when he came back. He had a buyer with him and they quickly made a deal. The next day the buyer sent his men out to count the herd and take over. By late afternoon, he had paid the trailboss and Favor was paying off his cowhands.

 

All the men made a mad dash for the nearest saloon for a drink and then to the closest store for new clothes. That was followed by a hot bath at a nearby bathhouse and barbershop. When each and everyone was cleaned up and dressed in their new clothes, they started at one end of Abilene and proceeded to the other end, with a stop in each saloon as they went.

 

It was the first time that Cam Fletcher or Bobby Martin had ever been in so many saloons all in one day. As Cam followed Rowdy and Pete into yet another saloon, he considered just how many firsts he had encountered in the three and a half months since he had left his home in Texas. Considering the several beers he had also had, he soon decided it wasn’t worth trying to count at this time. He did know that now he had without a doubt earned the name of trail drover and was considered just one of the men instead of that “greenhorn kid” as he had been called at first. Now Cam had all the trapping of a true cowboy from his hat all the way down to his boots and spurs. He grinned a big grin at the thought of being a cowboy and knew that he would make the trail drive again next year.

 

“Hey, Cam. Quit your daydreamin’ and come on.” Rowdy Yates had a saloon girl on each arm as he called out to the young cowboy. “Let’s see if we can find you a couple of girls, too.” 

 

*****End*****