this way with four good horses and plenty of powder and shot and damn little money left over. But we figured weâd eat. Weâd heard there was plenty of game and anything you stuck in the ground would grow. Heard there was miles and miles of open country with nary a soul to bother you. Well, we was damn fool kids or that would have told us something right there. If the country was so wonderful, how come it wasnât full of people? Weâd heard about the Comanches and that they was supposed to be powerful bad, but weâd been around the Cherokees and we didnât figure the Comanches could be that much worse. Weâd also heard a little about Mexican banditos, but we wasnât scared of the devil himself, so what was a few outlaws?
âSo on we come. Full of piss and vinegar and already figuring out how we was going to spend all the money we was gonna make. Took us about a week to figure out weâd cut ourselves out a job of work. Took about a month to come to the conclusion we might have made a mistake. And that month was mostly spent building a dugout cabin. I can damn near see the little knoll we cut it into from here. Yonder, just beyond that far windmill. Course there wasnât no windmills in them days. But if youâd of seen that dugoutâwasnât no more than eight feet across in any directionâyouâd of asked what we was doing the rest of the time because we couldnât have spent no more than a day and a half building such a shelter. But a month was what it took. Nearest timber of any size was four miles away on Caney Creek, and that was just willow and cottonwood. Reason we couldnât make it no biggerân eight feet in any direction was we couldnât get no saplings or small logs that was longer than that in a straight line. And of course, weâd dug it into the side of that hump so we could use the earth for most of the walls. Except the earth was so damn wet it just oozed. So after that we had to go six miles to find clay on upper Caney Creek, and haul that back and stick the clay to the walls over a patchwork of branches. Then we had to build a damn fire in the damn dugout and harden the clay. Well, anytime it takes you a month just to build a temporary camp, you can bet you ainât getting no work done that would put a dime in your pocket.â
âWhat about the cattle?â
He cut his eyes around at me. âCattle? More like wild animals you be talkinâ about. You rememberâten years ago, I guess, maybe moreâwhen you started talking to me about bringing in some of them little gentle northern cattle to try and calm these Longhorns down and fatten âem up? I remember you saying killing two horses to bring in one cow wasnât good business. Well, them Longhorns you was talking about was as tame as kittens next to them brutes me and Charlie was tryinâ to gather. Anâ we didnât have but two horses apiece, anâ them worn to a frazzle a week after we started trying to gather cattle.â
I was getting a little impatient. âAll right, Iâm real interested in this pioneer business, not like I ainât heard it a dozen times before. But what has it got to do with what you want me to do and why?â
âWaâl, damnit, just have a little patience, canât you? Iâm tryinâ to make the point that Charlie had damn good reason to pull out. I didnât think it at the time. I thought he was runninâ out on me. Anâ it was that attitude that caused me to think it was all right what I did. Of course lookinâ back, I can see that Charlie done the right thing, anâ that if Iâd of had a lick of sense anâ hadnât been as stubborn as a mule Iâd a gone with him.â
âButââ
He waved his hand at me. âDamnit, you asked to hear it, now shut up your mouth an listen. A damn fool could see it wasnât gonna work. Even if we could have