After nearly three hours, I saw a ramshackle farm in the distance. Was I going to just ride on by, or go up to the front door and ask for something to put in my growling stomach? My stomach decided for me, so I rode on to the front.
A brisk breeze whipped through the yard around the corner of the corral, bringing with it the scent of horse manure, reminding me of a livery stable, and causing my chest to ache with the thought of Pa standing at the door welcoming a stranger to bring his mount inside.
As I surveyed the place, I noticed it was more a cabin than a house. Built of both rock and hand-hewn wood planks, it had a main room and two other rooms that had been added to it. It looked like at two separate times. It had been a while since the walls were whitewashed, and there was a broken-down picket fence in the front yard. The roof was in need of a few shingles, and the big two-story barn, which was set off to the left, was also in need of repair. Two broken Brindle mares were in the corral, which had some of the fence boards missing. Beside the corral sat a dilapidated light buckboard that had seen better days. (A light buckboard could be pulled by either one or two horses.) It was a real rundown-looking place.
I pushed my hat up from my face and stepped down from the saddle. From the side of the house a man stepped out with a rifle and said, “Stand right where you are and explain whatcha doing here and whatcha want?”
As I turned to face him, I saw a middle-aged man, probably forty to fifty years old and 185 pounds, with a sunburned face and arms, and wearing a pair of faded, striped overalls with a slouch hat. The rifle was a Henry .45 caliber repeater like they used in the war.
“Just looking to trade a little work for something to eat, and maybe a place to bed down for the night,”
“How old might you be?” he asked.
I answered, “Going to be eighteen in a few months, which means I’m a growing lad who can work really hard for a little something to put in my belly.”
“Undo your sidearm and step forward away from it, and we’ll talk about it. What’s a young boy like you doing riding alone way out here? You in some kind of trouble, are you?”
“You could say that, depends on how you look at things. I don’t figure I did anything wrong, but there are some folks who feel otherwise.” As I unbuckled my gun belt and let it fall to the ground, I asked, “Is that better? My name’s Jedidiah Jenkins, and I sure would like to be jawing around some food instead of these here words.”
The man laughed as he slid his rifle under his arm, removed his hat, wiped his mostly bald head with his bandana, and said, “Name’s Orville Brewster. Pick up your gun and come on in the cabin and sit. Maybe we can stir up something for a hungry young man.” He placed the rifle at the side of the door as we walked in, then said with a grin, “Never know when you might need it. I always got some beans on the stove ready to eat, with some cold johnnycakes. Also, cool milk to drink if you’ve a mind to drink goat’s milk. Some folks swear by it, others swear at it, 'cause they say it smells funny. Anyhow, this’ll be the last of it, ‘cause she run off just yesterday morning. What kind of work you figure you can do? I’ll say this for you, you’re a stout-looking young fellow.”
I took after my pa with my looks. I weighed in at roughly 170 pounds, stood almost six feet tall, and had Pa’s trademark red hair. Kids in school and folks in town used to call me Red Junior, but I preferred Jed.
“Well, I reckon I can do just about anything you need done, just point in the direction you want me to go.”
“Okay, let’s eat and then we’ll discuss it.” He heaped two tin plates with beans, then poured milk into two tin cups and placed them on the homemade wooden table alongside a platter of johnnycakes.
“Sit and dig in afore the beans git cold. As you probably noticed when you rode up, the place needs lots of repair. It kind of got rundown while I was off fighting Rebs up north trying and to keep ’em from taking over the country. Not only did the place get run down, but when I got back my wife was nowhere around.
I reckon I can’t fault her for leaving the way she did, what with trying to scratch out a living on a scrub farm and having a man who thought going off and fighting for his convictions was more important than staying home and fighting for his wife and house and land, but I always did feel no man should own another human being. Kind of lost my desire to fix the place up by myself. Guess you might say I been feeling kinda sorry for myself, and mighty lonesome too. I was about ready to shuck it all and sell out to that ornery neighbor of mine who’s wanted my land ever since we come here in ’54, so I’m glad you showed up when you did. Been wanting somebody to jaw with for a spell now. Here I am running my mouth and not letting you talk. How about that trouble you said you might be in. Anything I can do to help?”
I looked at him and thought to myself, should I trust him? Working in the livery stable with Pa had given me a pretty good instinct about people. I had a good feeling about him, and proceeded to tell how things happened and why I was on the run.
He said, “Sounds like you drew the short straw in this deal. You did the right thing to hightail it out of there. That fellow must have learned how to be mean from his older brother, the one you said was the sheriff.”
As he cleared the table after we’d finished eating, he said, “Why don’t you go put your horse in the barn, then come back and bed down in that room off to your right.
It was supposed to be a room for our baby, but that didn’t work out. Wife miscarried in the seventh month. He’d a been about your age if he’d lived. Wife never was the same after that.”
I told him I’d be right back, then went to put Sugar in the barn. I counted my blessings that I had stopped at a place with a man who, although he looked absolutely nothing at all like my pa, had a fatherly aura about him that gave me a really good feeling. I might consider him a friend someday. And believe you me, I could really use a friend about now. Sounded like Orville Brewster could use a friend, too.
I unsaddled Sugar, guided her into a stall, scooped some oats from a brown burlap bag sitting over on a bench, then gave her a good brushing, told her Goodnight, and turned to go back inside. Before I got to the front door, I stopped, glanced up into the dark cloudy sky with just a yellow moon smiling down at me, then bowed my head and told the Lord how much I appreciated Him watching over me and guiding me to Mr. Orville Brewster’s home.
Mr. Brewster was banking the fire in the fireplace when I returned. I said, “Goodnight, Mr. Brewster,” and headed for the room where he had said I could sleep.
He said, “You can call me Orville.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
After a restless night, I awoke to the smell of coffee and bacon. I tell you there ain’t nothing smells better than fresh-brewed coffee when you wake up in the morning. I slipped into my blue dungarees, pulled on my blue chambray shirt and my boots, then trotted outside to take care of business, just as dawn gradually spilled over the land and turned the pewter sky into a cloudless, clear blue. I hurried right back in, ‘cause there was a slight chill in the south Texas morning air and a little bit of frost on the ground.
Orville was just pouring dark, thick coffee into a battered tin cup when I came through the door, and he said I should sit and eat. I sat on the far side of the homemade wooden table, bowed my head, said a little prayer of thanks for the food and the company of a man like Orville, and dug into the bacon, eggs and pan gravy. The coffee was just as good as it smelled, even though it was a little thick.
As I soaked a piece of hardtack in the gravy left in the plate, Orville straddled the old wooden chair, propped his hairy arms across the back, and asked what I planned on doing today.
He told me, he’d be proud if I could see myself clear to stay on with him a while and help get the place back in shape. He couldn’t pay much, but I would have a roof over my head and something to eat every day; maybe not three square, but enough to get by. Then he said, “To be completely honest, I’m mighty lonesome, and I can see you might need some company too. Plus
, you’re the same age as my boy would have been.”
I told him I would be proud to stay and help him. The long dry days turned into months, and the weather turned cooler. The place began to shape up and look like something any man could be proud of.
CHAPTER NINE
On September second, we began working before sunup, hauling hay from the field and storing it in the barn loft. Even though Orville had no cattle, he said there wasn’t any reason to let the hay go to waste. I was in the loft forking the hay to the back wall while Orville tossed it up to me.
We had become mighty close during the months that I had been here. Even though he was not anything like my Pa, he reminded me of him in so many ways. We talked all the time, him telling about his time in the Calvary, me telling him about Penelope and how much I missed my pa. We each shared our dreams and what we wanted to do with the rest of our lives.
Around ten o’clock that morning, a man rode into the yard and hollered for Mr. Orville Brewster to show his face. Orville told me to stay put, as this was that ornery neighbor he was telling me about, and there “ain’t no telling what he’ll do. It looked like the perfect spot to camp, so” Neither one of us had our weapons with us. I reckon things had been so peaceful while we worked that we had gotten to feeling safe and weren’t expecting no trouble at all.
Orville stepped out of the barn and walked over to where his neighbor, Mr. Sheffield, was looking down from his mount, like a king sitting on a throne.
“Looks like you got my place fixed up real nice, now I’m gonna expect you to move on by the end of the week.”
“What are you talking about? This here’s my place. Has been for almost fifteen years. You can’t just waltz in here and take something that belongs to somebody else.”
“While you was off fighting that stupid war, you got delinquent on your taxes and an auction was held in town for this place, and guess who won that auction? I’ll give you till the end of the week, and then me and my boys will be coming to claim this here property.”
A slight resemblance of someone came to mind, as he had the same mannerisms of the sheriff back in town. He was sitting astride his mount with a haughty way of looking down his nose at the person he was conversing with, like he owned and controlled the world and everyone in it.
Suddenly I felt a bitterness begin to build, and I had to ask God for help in quelling this awful feeling that was taking root in me. I could sense the hurt that Orville was feeling. If I’d had my pistol, I would have shot that man right on the spot. As I think back on that day, I guess the Good Lord had His hand on me and Orville, as we had left our weapons in the house.
Sheffield jerked his horse around, spurred him, and then galloped out of the yard and down the road.
Orville was just standing there with a surprised look on his face.
“Well, boy, I reckon we fixed up the place for somebody else to enjoy. Like I told you before, he’s wanted this place ever since me and my wife first settled here. Well, I reckon he got it.
Where was it you were headed when you got here? If you don’t mind, I’d kind of like to be your traveling partner and tag along with you.
”I climbed down out of the loft and stood beside Orville, then placed my arm on his shoulder as we watched the dust from Sheffield’s horse disappear.
CHAPTER TEN
The following morning we were packed and ready to ride. Neither of Orville’s brindle mares were very good horses, and they weren’t broke for the saddle, so he hooked them up to the old buckboard in which he had loaded all the items he wanted to take with him.
“There’s a big horse ranch called Val Verde Ranchos about a 175 miles to the south, owned by a Mexican named Joaquin Murrieta, who claims he inherited the land from his Spanish ancestors. Maybe I can talk him into trading one of his horses for my two.” Having worked in Pa’s livery stable since I was a little lad gave me a pretty good instinct about horse flesh. If Orville could give his horses away, he would be one lucky fellow.
In any event, we headed south for that horse ranch. When we got about 150 yards out, Orville pulled up on the reins, turned in the seat, then took a really long look, wiped a tear from his eye and said, “Good riddance, been nothing but heartache since I first seen you.” He turned back, grinned at me, and said, “I'd burn the place down just for meanness, but he's probably gonna do that hisself, cause he only wants the land. Let’s ride!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
All we heard for the next few miles was the noise of the wagon wheels and the clip-clopping of the horse’s hooves on the hard-packed earth. The trip was long, dry, and dusty as we passed vast flats of scrub grass, dull-hued spaces of mesquite, cacti, and cedar trees off in the distance. I had often heard about the dry Texas plains, but this was the first I had experienced them.
We had traveled for about four hours when Orville suggested we stop and eat something. As a growing boy, I had no complaints when it came to eating. We hobbled the horses and started a small fire with the kindling we found close by. Orville always had a pot of beans heating on the stove back home, and he had simply picked up the pot and brought it along. This time he also had a pot of potatoes, which made it that much better. He hung them over the flames and gathered the tin plates and forks that he had stowed in the wagon. He also set the coffee pot to the side of the fire to keep it hot. When the meal was warm enough, we piled a heap of both beans and taters on a plate, grabbed a cup of coffee, and sat down to enjoy a very-much-appreciated meal. It was probably two o’clock in the afternoon when a warm breeze swept down from the North across the dry grass, bringing with it the sweet scent of rain. Gray clouds gathered in the Northwest, rolling one on top of the other, and bumping out the slight rumbling sound of thunder. The farmers and ranchers would welcome the rain but, as for me, I didn’t want to get caught out in a thunderstorm without a slicker.
I explained what I was feeling to Orville, and he said, “Don’t worry, I know of a place close by that we can hunker down until this rain blows over. It’s just over that little rise off to the east a bit.”
When we arrived, there was an outcropping of rocks and a large clump of trees covered with grape vines so thick there wasn’t any way to get inside.
“We’ll have to chop a trail into there, but I guarantee it will keep us as dry as any man-made structure. And it just so happens I brought my trusty sword with me when I packed the wagon, so we can open a doorway.”
Having been a Sergeant in the Union Army, he still had his Model 1840 Non-commissioned Officers' Sword. The sword had a 31-inch blade, a cast brass hilt resembling the more expensive wire-wrapped leather grips, a leather scabbard rather than the steel, and was used by cavalry troopers and officers. As Orville chopped, I tossed the limbs and vines out of the way. Pretty soon, we had a path large enough for the horses and us.
Just as we got the two Brindles unhitched, the first rain drops began pelting down. We hurried to the center, where Orville kept chopping until there was a big enough hole for us to settle down. It was almost pitch dark because of the grapevines obscuring the sunlight. We built a small fire and hunkered down with a cup of coffee to wait out the storm. As we were waiting, I felt a little drowsy, so I laid back, closed my eyes and, before the next thunder clap, I was fast asleep.
I dreamed of someone very special in my life besides my Pa. She was the same age as me, and we hung around together with Jeremy Johansen, who was also the same age. The three musketeers, we used to call ourselves. She had turned into the most beautiful thing that I’d ever laid eyes on, probably five foot five, with strawberry blonde hair, ruby-red lips, the clearest pale blue eyes you ever looked into, and a pert little turned-up nose. Three days before I left town she had let me taste her lips, and they were so soft and sweet I thought I had died and gone to heaven. Her name was Penelope Anne Coe and I loved her and planned on marrying her someday. I reckoned that since I was out of the picture, Jeremy would just step in, as Penelope always said she couldn’t decide which one of
us she liked the most. Just as we were fixing to kiss again, I woke up to a still quietness, and knew the storm had passed us by.
Orville was snoring so loud. I don’t know how I slept through all that thunder plus his snoring. I woke him and suggested that we head out, as we had a way to go to reach that Ranchos and trade for a horse.
CHAPTER TWELVE
We traveled until midnight, and headed down into a little washed-out arroyo, long absent of any moisture at all. I unsaddled Sugar and placed my saddle upwind of the horses, because I had made the mistake of camping downwind one time, when Sugar decided to have a bad case of diarrhea. Do not want to go through that again.
Orville returned with some sticks and twigs and built a small camp fire, just enough to heat a pot of coffee. We both enjoyed a cup, and then bedded down for the night.
As I studied the stars, a pale slice of moonlight illuminated the side of the arroyo with a yellowish tint. I said a little prayer of thanks to the Lord for watching over Orville and me.
The heat was unbearable, and I was so uncomfortable that I got up and walked out a ways from camp where there was a slight northeast breeze blowing across the prairie. I decided that since it was cooler there than in the arroyo, I would get my bedroll and sleep under the starry nighttime sky. I slept pretty well for what was left of the night, seeing as how it was after midnight when we stopped.
When I woke up, I rolled up my bedroll and headed back down into the arroyo where Orville had some breakfast frying in the skillet. Bacon, beans, and thick, hot coffee. It couldn’t get much better than that. After we ate, we sat and jawed a while about what kind of horse Orville wanted. He said, even though he had been in the Calvary while in the army, they didn’t let him have a horse because he was a mess sergeant. He said he was partial to Morgan Horses, because his Captain had a big beautiful brown Morgan that was about the finest horse he had ever seen. Or I might like a Big Blue Roan Brindle Stallion, but I understand they are pretty rare ‘cause of the way their coat changes color every year. Maybe I’ll get lucky, though. God knows it’s about time my luck changed.