by Karen Baney
“Much obliged,” Will said. “Would you and Mr. Smith like to join us for dinner?”
The miners both nodded and followed Will to the valley below, to where his men camped.
“Where are you from,” Will asked as Bob Groom and Van Smith took a seat.
“Originally from Kentucky. But more recently, California,” Bob replied. “Between mining there and other ventures, I spent some time in the legislature. Also, spent time surveying various places.”
That explained why the man had surveying equipment and seemed to know what he was doing. They talked throughout the rest of the meal, telling stories of their travels. Will enjoyed getting to know his new neighbors.
As Will wished Groom and Smith farewell following dinner, he stood looking around at his land. This was his new home! Colter Ranch. A new home for a new life. Breathing deeply, he smiled over at Ben.
“Mighty fine piece of land you picked for yourself. Your pa would be proud,” Ben said, slapping the younger man on the shoulder. “I’ll go tell the men this is our new home and leave you to your planning.”
Will found a spot near the lake. Sitting down, leaning against a tree, he looked out over his land. Digging through his saddle bags, he found a piece of paper and pencil. He started to sketch out where he would put his house, the bunkhouse, and a barn. His first priority was the bunkhouse. He could stay there for the time being—probably through the winter. He knew his father liked to keep some distance between him and his men, but it seemed foolish to Will to build a house for himself at this juncture.
That aside, he couldn’t keep himself from dreaming of what that house would look like. He would place it so the back faced the lake. Maybe he would even put a porch on the back, where he could sit and rock and watch the sunset over the mountains. The space between the house and lake would be a great place for children to play.
Ha! Children. Where had that thought come from? There is not a woman within one hundred miles, and here he was dreaming of family and children.
It’s not that he didn’t want to marry. At twenty-nine, he just never made it a priority. Perhaps, deep down he always knew he would not be at the Star C forever. Of course, he didn’t know Reuben would get the ranch or that his father would pass away so young. He always dreamed of starting his own ranch, even discussed it with his father on more than one occasion. Oddly, the way things turned out, it was as if his father nudged him in that direction with the terms of his will. But, the dream of starting his own ranch and the work it would entail, had it been enough to stop him for looking for a wife?
He shook off such thoughts, though a hint of loneliness took root. Not much sense on dwelling on such things now, especially when there was no possibility of changing the situation anytime soon. Certainly, when the time was right, he would know it and could think on it then.
Tomorrow he would pick which men would be on the crew to build the bunkhouse and then they would get started. Standing, he brushed the bits of grass from his levis and whistled for Jackson to come. Walking in front, he led the horse over to the camp Snake and the others set up a few days ago.
“Congratulations, Boss,” Snake said as Will removed the saddle from his stallion. “I hear this lovely piece of land is all yours.”
“Thanks, Snake. Be sure to feed the boys well. Tomorrow, barring any bad weather, we start on the bunkhouse.”
Snake let out a whelp for joy and continued banging pots and pans around. Within a half hour he presented a tasty supper of beans, biscuits, and beef steak. Each of the cowboys shoved their way to the front of the line with their tin plates. Will waited for his men to be served before holding out his plate. Not that Snake was not a good cook, but he would be thankful when they could get more variety to the meals.
“No more sitting on a horse all day and night!” Jed exclaimed.
“You’re still a cowboy,” Hawk teased, nudging Jed in the arm. “Last I heard, cowboys sit on a horse most days.”
Jed rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”
“Don’t think it’ll be easy for awhile yet,” Whitten said dolefully. “Case you haven’t noticed, there ain’t no bunkhouse sittin’ around waitin’ for us.”
“Yeah,” Owens butted in. “Who do you think is gonna’ build all that?”
“Might be griping about strippin’ one too many logs—longing for that saddle in a few days,” Ben added, with a teasing smile.
“I’ll take what I can git. That drive was ‘bout four times as long as any other,” Jed said. “I’ll just be glad to stay in one place for a bit.”
“Me, too,” Hawk agreed. “It’s nice to be home.”
Murmurs of agreement echoed Hawk’s sentiment.
Sitting down next to Ben, Will shared his plans. They discussed the best way to start clearing the land and where each of the buildings would be constructed. They would keep the herd close to allow them better control with a smaller number of men, leaving two or three in charge of the herd. The rest of the men would help fell, strip, and sand the logs for the buildings.
As the sky grew dark, a feeling of contentment settled over Will. He had his ranch at last.
Chapter 16
The next day, early in the morning, a cloud of dust puffed from the trail leading into the valley. Will watched as a line of miner topped mules came into view led by George Lount. Will set aside the tool he used to strip the bark from the log at his feet. Holding out his hand, he greeted George.
“Thought you could use some help,” George said before introducing his fellow miners: Captain Joe Walker and his son, Joe Junior, Daniel Conner, Bob Groom, and Van Smith.
“Ever been to a log-rolling before?” George asked Will.
“No, this is my first.”
“Looks like you’ve got the general gist of it. Mind if I help get the miners organized?”
“Be my guest.”
And with Will’s willingness to accept assistance, George quickly organized the men in teams to fell trees, strip logs, dry and sand logs, and construct the bunkhouse. Including Will’s cowboys, there were roughly thirty men.
The belabored sawing sound echoed off the valley walls, stopping only when a warning of “timber” announced the successful felling of another tree. The smell of fresh cut pine hung in the air. Men chatted over the noise, adding an organic hum to the mix.
As Will resumed stripping the log he started before his visitors arrived, he tried not to let his jaw slack open in astonishment. Men he never met before today worked to help a neighbor. The community in Texas had been the same way; yet, Will never expected such generosity in the wilderness where working for yourself meant survival. Perhaps he underestimated his new neighbors.
With long strokes along the length of the log, Will cut off a section of bark. Pushing from the strength of his broad shoulders, he repeated the movement over and over until the log was bark-free. Then he ran the adze down the two sides making them flat. One of the flat hewn sides would face inside the bunkhouse, the other outside, making for a strong structure. Joe Junior worked next to him using similar motions on the log before him. When both logs were ready, Joe and Will each took an end of the log and laid it in the sun to dry.
Rolling another log into place, Will started the process anew while listening to Joe Junior’s baritone voice telling stories of the men from the Walker party.
“Dad, Daniel, and I spent many years in the mountains of Colorado and California and any range in between exploring and trapping,” Joe said, continuing to strip the log in front of him.
“After spending a few years in California, the Army hired us as guides. We led them all over the Colorado, New Mexico, and Arizona territories—mostly along the Old Spanish Trail. When dad got weary of working for the Army, he and Daniel cooked up the scheme to lead an expedition in search of gold. Most of the men you see here came from California, though a few joined up in Nevada.”
“How did you end up here at Granite Creek?” Will asked.
“Dad heard
that gold and other precious metals were widely available in the area. Met up with Jack Swilling when we were guiding the Army around. Jack mentioned he found some gold and silver at the headwaters of the Hassayampa. After trying our hand at looking for gold, and failing, dad finally followed Swilling here.
“Most of us pick up a fair amount of gold from sluicing, panning, or dredging. A few of the miners set up rockers to sift the dirt from the bank. Seems like too much work to me. I prefer panning, myself. Anyway, we pull a decent return.”
“How long you been here?”
“Since May, though we first left from California over two years ago. Dad thought it would be smart to see how the mining was being done in Colorado—see if we could learn a few useful techniques. It was time well spent. Just wish we’d have landed here sooner.”
“Why’s that?” Will asked.
“It’s just nice to stay put for a bit.”
Taking a quick break to down some water, Will nodded in agreement. It would be nice to settle down.
Some commotion nearby caught Will’s attention.
“Come on, Hawk, I bet I can get this log done before you!” Jed teased—a welcome change.
“I’m already half done. You just started,” Hawk volleyed back, putting his energy into the challenge.
“I bet I’ll beat you both,” Covington said, as he picked up a bucket of water and flung it at Jed.
A sopping wet Jed, frowned menacingly for just a minute before grabbing a nearby bucket himself. He doused Covington, saving enough to dampen Hawk. Hawk searched for a means of retaliation. Seeing none, he turned his attention back to his log.
“While you two are refilling those buckets, I’m going to win!” Hawk laughed.
The three continued their playfulness throughout the afternoon, confirming what Will suspected. They were becoming good friends, despite their rocky start.
Before his neighbors left a few days later, they had the bunkhouse completed. The next few weeks half of his men rode with the cattle while the other half worked on the outhouse and well. The last structure to be built, the barn, should be complete by the end of the week.
The labor was difficult, but the weather was perfect. The bright sun during the day took the edge off the cool temperatures. At night, the fire in the bunkhouse kept them warm. While some days white puffy clouds floated across the blue azure sky, Will had yet to see any rain or snow in the weeks since arriving in the territory.
Will stretched out the sore muscles of his back. Long months in the saddle on the trail had not prepared him for the strenuous labor of chopping wood, stripping logs, sanding, and sawing. After two weeks of this, he thought his body would adjust, but he was sore nonetheless. Purchasing the ticking in Santa Fe had been a good decision, one his muscles thanked him for nightly as he fell to sleep on his bunk.
Looking up from the log he was sanding, Will scanned the horizon and mountain slope. For days he had the strange sensation that they were not alone. At night, firelight dotted the hillside. Then, at random moments during the day, he felt like they were being watched. Seeing nothing unusual, he returned his focus to the log.
Will could not believe he had his own ranch. Would his father be proud, as Ben suggested?
A wave of homesickness washed over him. He missed his father and his counsel, though he seemed to be managing well on his own thus far. Still, he wished he could talk over his plans with his father. What would he think about Will’s ideas and dreams for Colter Ranch? Would his father see something Will missed? Would he have suggestions on the best way to make those dreams a reality?
Will sighed, brushing the sweat from his forehead. None of that mattered. He was on his own. He had to trust his own decisions now. No more second guessing. No more seeking his father’s counsel. Colter Ranch would be the product of his choices, whether wise or foolish.
This land opened up so many new opportunities, spurring on Will’s excitement. Besides being able to support a herd much larger than his current one, this land would be perfect for the horse breeding business he dreamed of starting. With a lack of readily available horseflesh and a growing population, he would be able to easily sell horses to new settlers, and perhaps even the army. Of course, breeding horses meant he would have plenty of quality animals for his own use.
Perhaps he would even be able to sell beef to the army or settlers.
Will’s stomach growled, bringing him back to reality. Must be time for supper. No sooner than the thought entered his mind did Snake ring the bell. Wiping the sweat from his brow, Will washed up outside the bunkhouse. A few days ago, someone threw together a crude table with benches on either side. It was barely big enough for the dozen broad-shouldered men crammed around it, but it was better than sitting on the floor. Perhaps he could make two chairs for each end to give them a little more space. Of course with several of them back caring for the cattle, it might not be an issue.
After the men gathered around the table, Will said grace. Even though some of the men didn’t like the custom, they knew better than to grumble. He, on the other hand, would never tire of thanking God for all that He provided.
As soon as grace was done, the teasing began.
“You better pick up the pace out there Owens, otherwise Covington’s gonna beat you today,” Jed said. The men made a competition out of who could prepare the most logs each day.
“My old bones don’t move as fast as you kids,” Owens shot back.
“Old! Ha! I’d hardly use your nineteen years as an excuse. You’re just slow,” Snake retorted, the oldest of the group besides Ben and Will.
“I suppose now that you have a warm cozy bunk to sleep in that you think you can just slack off,” the normally shy Covington piped up, jabbing Owens in the ribs.
“Hey, no fair injuring the competition,” Owens feigned injury grabbing his ribs.
Will enjoyed the friendly banter of the men. They had certainly worked out a lot of their differences. Hawk and Jed were now like brothers. Months ago, he would have put his money on Jed killing the young half-Indian, but now they had a strong friendship. Whenever one was riding flank, the other took the drag position at the back of the herd, so they could converse when the herd settled.
Owens and Whitten seemed to get along. When one was riding point in front of the herd, the other was out-riding, looking for strays. In the evenings, the two would convince Snake to pick up a game of poker—just playing for fun, as Will did not allow gambling.
The four Mexican vaqueros seemed inseparable as well. That could be because some of them still spoke little English. But that didn’t stop them from joining in the joking.
At the next bite, Will was reminded of the Mexicans’ good natured pranks, as fire burned through his mouth. He willed his eyes not to water, but it was too late. The heat was insatiable.
“Pedro, you got the boss today,” Miguel stated with his thick accent, nodding in Will’s direction.
All eyes turned to Will. He reached for some water, downed it and stole Whitten’s water as well. It had been much funnier when it wasn’t his mouth on fire. Snake tossed him a biscuit and he hoped the blandness would counteract the heat. He could see the men were uncertain if it was acceptable to laugh at the daily hot pepper joke when it was their boss suffering. Ben couldn’t control himself. He was laughing hysterically. That must have been all the encouragement the rest of them needed for they soon joined in. The burning gradually subsided and Will laughed at the clever prank.
“Good one, Pedro,” Will said slapping the man on the back. He wanted to make sure they knew it was okay to have a good time, even if it was at his expense. Too much of life was serious, as his father always told him. Laughter was rare and should be encouraged.
“I think I’d be volunteering for night duty, if I were you, Pedro,” Whitten said. “Don’t think I’d want to be on the other side of Boss’s scheming mind.”
Another round of laughter filled the room.
Following supper, Will took out hi
s guitar and strummed out the notes that danced in his head since setting foot on this new land. He found such peace and calm here, and those feelings came through the music he composed. He already felt like this place was home in a way that Texas never was. He loved this new land with its strange white boulders and miles of grassland.
Perhaps some of the peace came because his brother was not here. He did not miss the constant tension with Reuben. What a blessing to be far from his brother’s harassment and condescending attitude.
Then again, maybe the peace was coming from a stronger connection with his heavenly father because of this magnificent land. No matter where the peace was coming from, he hoped it would last a good long time. It refreshed his soul as never before.
As the cowboys around him grew weary and turned in for the night, Will put his guitar away. Stretching out on the bunk, he felt his own eyes get droopy.
Sometime during the night, Will woke with a start. Sitting up suddenly, he hit his head on the bunk above him. What had he heard? Rubbing his forehead, he waited for the sound to register. Gunshots! Grabbing his big fifty rifle, he looked through one of the small cutout slits in the wall. The slit was not more than a few inches wide and tall, but it was enough to aim a rifle and defend his land. Then he heard the blood piercing scream of the Apaches. Other men jumped up armed and ready. Peering through one of the slits, the full moon illuminated the corral rather well. Seeing none of his men were in the line of fire, Will motioned the cowboys in the bunkhouse over to the west wall. They began firing at the Apache bandits.
“I count about ten Indians,” Ben shouted over the rapid rifle fire. “They have the cattle corral open and are leading the herd out.” Pedro and his crew only had part of the herd in the field tonight, the rest were in the corral—an easy target for the thieves.
“Whitten, Owens, can you make it to the horses if we give you cover fire?” Will asked.