About sundown, two days later, they stopped pushing the cattle, let them water at the river, and then settle down for the night. Bo appointed himself to ride around, and he finally found enough kindling wood for their cooking fire. First chore he did as soon as the fire was going was put on a pot of crushed coffee beans and water. They all had coffee, a can of beans each, and some fried bacon, thanks to Bo. Jeff posted the three hired cowboys to each take a take shift guarding the cattle till daylight. When the coffeepot was empty, Smitty and Bo rolled up in their blankets by the dying campfire. Jeff sat by the coals till after they grew cold before he slept.
At breakfast Bo remarked, “Firewood’s scarce in this part of the country, boys. We’ll have to cut back on our coffee makin’.”
Mack, the oldest one of the Fort Davis cowboys, remarked dryly, “You ain’t never cooked with chips, have you, Virginia?”
“You call me Virginia once more, and I’ll brain you with my skillet,” replied Bo.
“Sorry, saddle mate, I ’pologize to ya.”
“Now then, you mentioned chips? What’s chips?”
“Cow chips, buffalo chips, that’s what,” drawled the old cowboy.
“It still don’t explain to me what the heck a chip is, feller.”
“It’s dried cow pies and buffalo pies…you know…their pies of caca, that’s Mex. For shit, saddle mate.”
“You mean you can cook with that?”
“Shore ’nuff, iff’en it’s dried out chips. They won’t burn iff’en they’re fresh as well as hard to handle. Dried ’ens make a nice quick fire, burns hot. Us South Texas cowboys don’t never cook our coffee a using anythang else but chips. You wantin’ me to go and round up you some to use? I will, young friend, after I have my coffee, if you got a tote sack for me to be puttin’ ’em in,” Mack replied.
“I’d sure be obliged to you, Mack, if you would.”
“Fetch me a tote sack and as soon as I finish this coffee. I’ll be a scootin’ and brang ya back some.”
“Why does river water always make the best tasting coffee?” Bo asked.
“I don’t know that it does. Good old well water is plenty hard to beat,” replied Smitty.
“I agree, Smitty, but any camp coffee tastes good if the coffee maker doesn’t talk as much while he cooks the coffee,” remarked Jeff.
“Thanks, boss, I really ’preciate your compliments,” said Bo.
“Dang it, Jeff. This Southwest Texas sure is mighty purty country,” Bo remarked. “You reckon yer’s will look as good?”
Jeff laid his saddle down near Bo’s cook fire; he sat down and propped his left elbow on it and replied, “I hope so, my young friend. This land we’re camped on now looks mighty fine to me.”
Smitty had to agree. The land was spacious, almost treeless, yet lush with shin-high grasses that would guarantee to make cattle grow fast in no time. Jeff’s land, just over the next small rise, would have the same gentle, rolling hills. There was a hill and flat across the top. Mack said don’t ask him why, but the locals called that flat mesa Gun Barrel Hill.
That was his and where Jeff decided he’d build his ranch house. From that mesa, his land gently sloped all around. Toward the south was the Saber River, a gravel bed stream that was forty feet or so wide and usually no more than four feet deep at the deepest end. The river water was crystal clear and sweet to taste. Huge fish could always be seen swimming in it. Jeff was extremely glad he’d picked these sections. It was hard to imagine if any other ranchland around looked any better than his.
They’d lived out of their chuck wagon while four busy carpenters from Fort Davis, with three wagons stacked high with posts and lumber, began nailing together Jeff’s ranch. Jeff told ’em to build their bunkhouse first, plus two two-seat outhouses. Next, he wanted two round corrals, one for cows and one for horses, then the hay barn with an attached blacksmith shop. Jeff’s ranch house would be special and the last built. The JN Brand Ranch was taking shape. The beginning herd count was adequate for starting out. Their grass for cows was almost knee-high, the weather was warm at that time of the year in South Texas, and their rainfall was plentiful. The pregnant cows by then were swollen with their calves. They soon dropped a hundred and four calves, sixty heifers, and forty-four bull calves that late spring-early summer. The two JN bulls would be enjoying themselves, and they’d certainly earn their keep when the breeding time rolled around.
Chapter Sixteen
So far, they’d seen Indians passing by on the distant horizons, but no skirmishes with them had yet taken place. They’d found where they’d killed a beef and left the head. Thankfully, it had been a steer. The sheriff of Casper County had ridden by, welcomed Jeff to his fair community, and collected the county property taxes. He told Jeff a bunch of rustlers were creating problems for some of the ranchers, and he and his boys should be on the lookout. One ranch hand had been shot dead and about fifty head of cattle had been stolen from a neighbor’s ranch not far from Jeff’s place.
“Where’s your office located, Sheriff Sizemore, just in case we catch some rustlers and need you to lock ’em up?”
“No need for botherin’ me with ’em, son. You and your boy’s just hang ’em from the nearest tree, if you can find one, and you’ll be shet of your problem. I’ll be doing the same thang if you wanna waste yor time bringin’ ’em into town. My jailhouse is in Jasper, it’s a few miles on west from here and on the main road. Ya can’t miss us. We have a right nice town, son. It’s the county seat of Casper County. I reckon they told you all that when you bought yer place. We got ourselves eight saloons, four whorehouses, four churches, two banks, one apothecary shop for two pretty good doctors, if you can catch ’em sober. Don’t go bad hurtin’ yourself way out here, son, ’cause by the time y’all git to town, either one of them two drunk doctors will most likely finish y’all off.”
“Thanks for the information, Sheriff. We’ll be remembering it.”
Jeff’s three Fort Davis cowboys, Mack, Sam, and Ted, after they were paid their wages, asked if they could ride into town one Saturday, have a payday drink at a saloon, and visit a whorehouse. Jeff said yes. Smitty and Bo would’ve enjoyed going into town, and Smitty would’ve visited a whorehouse, but they elected to stay at the ranch with Jeff. Two cowboys came back after sundown; Ted had stayed in town. He was in jail, they said, for drinking and fighting with two townies he’d known from Fort Davis. Jeff decided he’d wait till the cowboy sobered up, and they let him out of jail. However, after two days, the young kid never showed back up at the ranch, so Jeff decided he’d better ride into Jasper and see what happened to Ted.
He needed supplies anyway, so he took Bo and left Smitty, whom he’d promoted to foreman, to look after things while he and Bo were gone. They drove a team and wagon into Jasper and Jeff left Bo propped up at the bar of the nearest saloon while he went to the jailhouse to see the about of his young employee.
“He’s dead, Mr. Nelson,” said Sheriff Sizemore. “I didn’t know he worked for you, or I’d a sent someone to tell you. He got into another fight with them same two fellers after I let all three of ’em out of jail and one of ’em knifed him. It was said to be a fair fight so I couldn’t hold the feller, Lester Willis, for killing him. He’s a mean ’un, that Willis, and he works for a meaner feller who has a spread west of town.”
“This