by Darrel Bird
farm on the Cowlitz river.”
“You look harmless enough, are you hungry?”
“We could use a bite to eat if you can spare it.”
“Leave your weapons on the porch, won’t anybody steal them here. You can leave your packs under the tree there. The men will take care of the horses, then we’ll get you something to eat.”
“I’m not sure about sitting our weapons aside Mr.; we ran onto some mean looking me at the next farm over.”
“The name is Gabriel Anderson; most people just call me Gabe. Yeah, that was Boyd’s men. They took over the Weston farm a week ago. You can keep your side arms, can’t say as I blame you. Unpack and we’ll talk. I’ll tell Maria you are here, and you ladies can wash up.”
The women went into the house as Austin and Josh unpacked the horses, then the man who had greeted them led them away toward the barn.
“We can sit here on the porch a spell while the women fix something to eat, it’s cooler out here than in the house.”
After the introductions were made, Austin explained that they were looking for a place to farm in preparation for the coming winter.
Gabe sat for a few minutes in deep thought, then he looked at each of them carefully.
“You’re welcome to go and look for a place of course, but we would welcome you to live here, and take a share in this three hundred acre farm …those men you saw…there is a man named Henry Boyd, who heads up a gang of cut throats that call themselves the Yakima growers association. They are just a bunch of thieves is all they are, but I’m afraid we are going to have to fight them. They are gobbling up the farms while the government is lying low, and by the time the government takes action, they will own the most, if not all, of this valley.”
“Where would we stay?”
“Your immediate family could stay here in the main house, Your friend, there could stay in the little bunk house out back. Maria and I have no children, and it would be a delight for Maria to have women folk in the house.”
“That would be fine with me Austin; it sounds like it is our best bet.” Josh said.
“I agree. I was hoping we could avoid fights in general, but I think it is the only way honest men can survive this is if we all band together.”
“Well then, its settled; we'll get your packs inside and tell the women.” Gabe looked at each of them, and extended his hand.
We the people
Gabriel ‘Gabe’ Anderson had been a farmer most of his life. After serving a three-year hitch in the Marine Corps, he had returned to the family farm just east of Yakima. He loved farming. He loved to till the ground, and make things grow. His father, and mother had passed on, and were buried at the family cemetery that lay two hundred yards from the main house. Since the world had gone to hell in a hand basket, he had turned down people who wanted to settle on his farm. He had just settled down to eat with his wife Maria when a call came from the front yard. He hadn’t heard the car drive up.
“Gabe! Gabe! Come out here, I want to talk!” The strident voice of Henry Boyd called.
Recognizing the voice immediately, he arose quickly, picked up the Winchester rifle and walked through the door, “What do you want Boyd?”
“Gabe, you know the growers association needs this farm.” Boyd returned, but he didn’t look up as he kicked at the dirt with the toe of his fancy western boots. Two tough looking men looked sullenly around at the house and out buildings.
“You know damn well that this growers association of yours is a bunch of land grabbing thieves Boyd. There weren’t any growers association before everything went to hell.”
“Gabe, we went to school together since we were seven years old. Would I lie to you?”
“Yeah, you were always a sniveling lying little shit, and you haven’t changed.”
“There’s no call to insult me Anderson, the growers association is going to have this land, whether you like it or not.”
“Boyd, if you don’t get into that car in two seconds, I’m going to put a bullet in your worthless brain.” Gabe said as he injected a shell into the Winchester. Boyd paled at the ominous nicking sound the rifle made as Gabe slammed a bullet into the barrel of the 30. 06 Winchester. He opened the door to the car, and piled in beside the driver.
“Drive on! Drive on damit! He’ll shoot; I know him!” The driver floored the car, and it left throwing gravel at Gabe.
Gabe walked into the house, sitting the rifle by the door. Maria looked at him wide eyed from the table, “what's happening Gabriel? What did he mean?” She only called him Gabriel when she was upset.
“I reckon it means they are going to try to take the farm honey.” Gabe said, as he sat back down to his breakfast of fruit. He had taken to eating fruit when the bacon ran out, he didn’t like eggs without bacon. “Won’t be long until the hog is ready for slaughter, then I’m going to have me some bacon.”
“But why do they want our farm?”
“Because it is in close proximity to Yakima. They want to control the land around Yakima; they can feed their gut this coming winter.”
“We’ve shared our food with those who pass through.”
“They don’t care about them; they won’t share with the less fortunate; they want it for themselves, and over my dead body is the only way they are going to get it. We have to keep this farm, and keep it going, not only for ourselves, but the sake of others, but Boyd will be back with a gang of thugs.”
He looked lovingly at his wife of fifteen years; he had first seen her when a work contractor had contracted some migrant workers to pick his apples. It was love at first sight, and he had dated her, and then married her. Her family had given their blessing, cried many tears, but had gone back to California to work in the grapes, and he hadn’t seen them since as the migrant workers just didn’t have the money to make long trips.
They wrote often, but since the mail had gone under, she hadn’t had word from them, and worried if they were still alive or not. She hoped they had made it back to Mexico after the trouble had started, but doubted it because the fuel had disappeared so fast.
“By the grace of God we will do what has to be done my husband.” When Maria got feeling deeply about something, she almost lapsed into speaking Spanish, and he only knew a few words.
“Yes, well, I hope we got grace coming.”
“The thing is you cannot do it all by yourself.”
“Who am I gonna get? The farmers for ten mile around have all given in to the slick talk of Boyd, there is only the camp of immigrant workers down by the river.”
“That is a start.”
“Why would they fight for us?”
“Because they understand the need for farms.”
“Can you go talk to them?”
“I will go tomorrow.”
“I’ll saddle Bessie for you the first thing. Right now, I have to go fix some fence so that we don’t lose any cattle.”
The next morning Gabe led the mare up to the front porch where Maria waited, “You sure you don’t want me going with you? I don’t like the idea of you riding that far in this day and time.”
“I will be ok, and it would be better for me to talk to them alone.”
Maria put her foot in the stirrup, and Gabe gave her a boost up, “I will be back soon, can I trust you to gather the eggs while I am gone?
“I don’t reckon them chickens will mind who gathers their eggs, off with you now, before I change my mind.”
She leaned down and kissed him, “I love you. Come horse, we have a job to do.”
She rode pass the laborers cabins, and observed their shoddy condition. When the laborers came to pick apples, they were there only four days. We have to fix those up. Thoughts drifted through her mind as the horse plodded along the road. She would turn left along the county road when she came to it, then turn right a half mile until she came to the river.
She hoped the migrant workers were still camped there. There was really no place for them to go without fuel, but they
could have moved the camp for various reasons.
She felt relief when she came upon the banks along the river, and the migrants were still there. When she got down to open the gate to the fence, a small dog gave the alarm, barking furiously.
She observed the squalor of the camp as she walked the horse up to the edge of the place, the tents were torn, there were blackened pots on smoking fires; the women stared at her, but made no move to come to where she was. An older man who appeared to be about seventy came out of one of the tents and nodded to her cordially.
“I have come to offer you a better place to live.”
“We do not need a better place; we fish; we gather what we can, we eat a little.”
“That may be true, but there are evil men who want to take the farm from us, and if that happens, there will be no farms left. The others around have given their farms to the men who want to take ours.”
“So you need fighters, we are not fighters; we are workers. You offer us a place to fight and die?”
“We offer you a place on the farm, houses to live in, and share what there is to eat, and yes; it may come into the place you will need to fight to keep it.”
“And die?”
“Yes, it may come