Ya know, sometimes I ‘really’ wonder about people and their ‘intelligence’…
But Twitworld is truly the gift that keeps on giving…
With the stoopid, that is…
Of course Farcebook isn’t any better…
Sigh… One has to wonder. I’ll be in the corner crying for humanity and the ability to actually think and communicate civilly!!!
Dupuy hovered over their table at breakfast, to the point that Rio finally said, “Sir. We will leave shortly. We will not shoot up the place or cause you any trouble.” Dupuy wandered off, still looking concerned, and Jack laughed.
“Well, I talked to a couple of Mattie Silk’s girls’ last night, and one of them remembered Stiles mentioning the Hole, so that’s probably where you’ll find them. They might take a job with Herrera or Jarvie, if either is hiring. Otherwise, they’d probably hide out in one of the shacks or dugouts up there.” He poured another cup of coffee and asked, “You got a spare horse or a packhorse?”
Rio shook his head glumly. “No, I guess I’ll have to buy them today. It’s what, a week, maybe two from here to the Hole?”
Jack waggled his hand. “At least a week. Depends on whether we get early snow. Two weeks at the outside. The way they told me was up Clear Creek to the falls, then up that canyon to Wolford Mountain, then follow Pass Creek up to the flats, then turn west. Cross the Yampa, then the Little Snake and follow Vermillion Creek down the valley into the Hole. Oh, and I’ve got a packhorse, so you only need a spare.”
Rio grumbled his thanks, thinking of what he needed, and wondered if he had enough money on him to pay for everything. “Since Dupuy is so attentive, maybe we can get him to stake us to some grub. Say we meet back here in two hours. That should give me enough time to go get what I need. You need forty-fours?”
Jack nodded. “I’m down to one box left.”
Two hours later and a lot poorer, Rio tied Red to the hitching rail and moved the reins of the line back dun to the hitching rail, tying him beside Red. “No biting Red. He’s your relief, so be nice.” He lifted the sack off the saddle and started for the hotel when Jack rode up with two horses in trail. He turned and dropped the sack on the boardwalk. “Spare forty-four, forty-five, two bags of tobacco, and three bags of Arbuckle’s.” He rooted around and pulled out two cans. “And peaches and apples.” He reached in and pulled out a union suit and a pair of socks. “I’ll be back in ten minutes, then we’ll approach Mr. Dupuy about some food.”
He came back down to find Jack chuckling and tying off the load on the pack mule. “What’s so funny?”
“You don’t have to worry about Dupuy. I guess he saw you going upstairs, and he come running out wanting to know what we needed. Told him, and he had the cooks put together a couple of week’s worth of food. We got bacon, beans, dried apples, more Arbuckle’s, flour, salt, pepper, and some beef we’ll need to cook tonight.”
Rio laughed. “Think they want to get rid of us? I know the livery owner wanted the dun gone. Apparently he’s not used to Texas horses.”
Jack smiled. “Yeah, noticed the Pitchfork brand. Any idea what happened to his rider?”
“Apparently got in a fight with some miners over a soiled dove. He didn’t survive it.”
“Oh.” Jack swung up on his horse and said, “Well, we’re burning daylight here. Let’s make tracks.” Rio swung up without a word and followed Jack as he trotted out of town, heading down the canyon. They rode in silence, switching horses every two hours, and topped out on Jones’ Pass as the sun started dropping in the west. Jack nodded toward the trail ahead of them then said, “We should be able to make it down to Bobtail Creek, we can camp there. Supposedly there’s good grass there.”
Rio arched his back with a grimace. “Sounds good. I’m tired, Red’s tired, and the dun is not doing much better.” An hour later, they reached the bottom of the canyon and found a little bench above the creek with grass and a combination of spruce and fir trees. “Camp back in the trees? I don’t think the Utes are out, but I don’t want to chance anything.”
Jack unsaddled his horses and staked them on the bench, then led the packhorse back under the evergreens. “Makes sense. The injuns should be headed to winter camp, but you never know what they are thinking.”
Rio grunted as he swung Red’s saddle down. “Yep. Dammit, Red. Stand still!” He pulled the saddle blanket off and pushed him. “Go roll. I know that’s what you’re gonna do.” Red whinnied at him, then promptly rolled on the grass, all four hooves in the air, twisting with pleasure. The dun pawed the grass, and Rio sighed. “You too? What is it with Texas horses and rolling in the dirt?”
Jack laughed. “Who knows? I’ll get a fire going and get the meat and beans on.”
“And Arbuckle’s.”
Jack pitched the coffee pot to him. “Water.” Rio caught it, then took the reins for both horses and led them down to the creek. Dipping water above where they were drinking, he relieved himself after they finished, and led them back up to the camp.
“Here ya go, Jack. Picket line the horses?”
Jack nodded as he kindled the fire. “Makes sense. I’d rather keep them close.”
Rio took his lasso off the saddle, picked two trees far enough apart that the horses wouldn’t be crowded, and tied the lasso between them. He pulled out two hackamores, put one on each horse, and tied them to the lasso, then asked, “Where are your hackamores?”
Jack jerked a thumb to the pack saddle lying on the ground. “Right side. Poke in the back of the little pack.” Rio finished picketing the horses and shivered as the temperature continued to drop. He stepped a little further back in the brush and saw a bunch of low bushes with purple berries on them.
He picked a couple, sniffed them and crushed them, then touched the juice to the tip of his tongue, Damn! Blueberries, and big ones too! He picked a double handful, stuffing them in his jacket pocket, then took them back to the fire, spilling them in the pan with the fry bread mix. “Found a couple of blueberry bushes up there. Maybe add a little sugar if we’ve got it?”
Jack nodded and he took care to lay out his bedroll under the firs, then came back to the fire. Rubbing his hands, he said, “Lot colder up here than down in Denver.” He touched the coffee pot and winced as it burned his fingers. He went back and pulled a cup out of his saddlebags, then used one leg of his shotgun chaps to pick up the pot and pour a cup.
Jack flipped the steaks and stirred the little pot with the beans, then sat back on his heels. “I think we can make it afore it snows.” He took a deep breath. “Never did like the altitude up here. Hard to breathe and hard to work. And it wears the horses out in a hurry.” He took the little pan with the fry bread mix and blueberries added a little water, and set it on the rocks beside the fire.
Rio nodded as he sipped the coffee. “Up here, the number of horses in the remuda just about double. Although they apparently do breed some mountain ponies up here. Smaller, but with bigger barrels. They seem to handle it better than flatland horses.” He took the plate Jack handed him, pulled his knife out of the sheath, and set to on the steak. “Good job on the steaks and beans.”
“De Nada.” Jack ate his straight out of the pan, along with the beans, burped and poured a cup of coffee.
Rio picked up the pan and plate, went down to the creek and washed them with sand, rinsed them, and brought them back and set them by the fire to dry. He poured one more cup of coffee and leaned back against his saddle. “We need a watch tonight? I know Red will wake me up if anything gets close.”
Jack shook his head as he repacked the pack saddle. “Naw, my horse is the same way. We’re gonna be moving pretty good, so get what sleep you can.”
Rio took a last sip of coffee, flipped the grounds out, and stuffed the cup back in his saddlebags. Yawning, he said, “Okay.” He took off his boots, set his hat on top of them, and rolled up in his bedroll, feet toward the pocket-sized fire. Jack wasn’t far behind him, and the fire soon burned down to a few dim coals. Wolves howled in the distance, but neither woke up, nor did the horses respond.
The next morning, Rio shook the frost off his bedroll and grumped, “Too early to be this cold.”
Jack replied, “Another reason to get where we’re going. Your turn to cook.”
Rio scrambled out of his bedroll, shook his boots out and stomped quickly into them. He checked the horses, then took care of business back under the trees, before he dug in the pack and pulled out the coffeepot. Walking down to the creek, he rinsed his face in the ice cold water, shivered, and stomped back to the camp. There weren’t any coals left, so he had to restart the fire, and he finally set the coffeepot in the fire’s edge saying, “Gonna water the horses.”
Jack was up by the time he got back and moved the horses to a new picket line while Rio cooked some bacon and fry bread. Jack looked at him speculatively. “Why are you after these guys? Ranchers lose cows all the time.”
Rio handed him a plate and poured more coffee as he watched the fry bread. He finally said, “Because those sumbitches killed one of my…partners. Bear Molina was…well, he was a mountain man. Crazy as a loon, damn near seventy, maybe more. He’d roamed these mountains since he was a kid. He…didn’t particularly like bears. Shot ever one he saw. He was a loner and down at a line cabin by himself.” He scrubbed his face and shot a look at Jack. “And they shot him in the back. He didn’t even get a chance to face them. From the wound, I’m guessing they shot him with a rifle, not a pistol. And they left him lay.”
Jack nodded solemnly. “Yep, they deserve to die for that. No wonder you ain’t sayin’ much about the money owed.”
Rio took a bite of the fry bread and sighed. “Naw, this ain’t about money anymore. You don’t shoot my partner and get away with it. You gotta fork your own bronc, you know that.” Jack took the skillet and coffeepot to the creek, washed them, and loaded them in the pack on the packhorse as Rio cleaned up the camp. Saddling up, they rode north into a chill wind, under a cloudless sky. The smell of evergreens permeated the air, and Rio chuckled. “Sure as hell don’t smell like Texas.”
Jack laughed. “Never got over around Lufkin did you?”
“Nope. Furthest east I’ve been was Fort Worth, and that was only once.”
***
Six days later, they finally descended into yet another valley, and Jack said, “This should be Vermillion Creek. We should be there tomorrow.”
“Good. My butt is flat, and I’m not sure Red isn’t trying to throw a shoe. I don’t think we have any spares in the pack, do we?”
“Naw, that’s…not something I brought. But I think we can get him shoed in the Hole. Mexican Joe will probably be there, and I think he’s running cows, so he’s probably got some shoes.”
They stopped to eat the last of the venison from the buck Rio had shot two days ago, and Jack boiled a pot of coffee as Rio checked Red’s shoes. “Dammit. I’m going to change to the dun and ride him the rest of the way. Ain’t worth taking a chance. Speaking of chances, how are we going to get in there? You’re known, I’m not.”
Jack chuckled. “If I introduce you as the Laredo Kid, you’re known, and they’ll accept you.”
Rio hung his head. “Dammit, I don’t want to be…that’s not who I am.”
“You want to die? They don’t let people in who aren’t outlaws. If you ain’t known, or recognized, they just shoot you. That’s why no lawman comes up here. Like you said, you fork your own bronc. And they got a rule against shooting somebody lessen’ they need it.”
Rio groused, “They damn well need it. And I’m gonna do it.” And I wonder what Jack would do if he found that badge in my saddlebags. Or what anybody else would do…no, I know what they’d do. Shoot me. Just gotta hope nobody finds out.
They camped at a bend in the Green River just before the canyon narrowed down. “We want to go the rest of the way in daylight. They probably got guards in the canyon, and they’d shoot you if you try it at night.”
They camped out in the open once again, picketing the horses with pins, since there weren’t any trees close. Rio had trouble going to sleep, instead staring at the night sky and all the stars in view, Is this my last night on this earth? I’m tired of killing, but I’ve got it to do. I’ve got a life to go back to. At some point, he dropped off to sleep and slept until he heard Jack cussing as he crawled out of his bedroll. “Damn! It’s cold!” Rio sat up to see a light dusting of snow on the bedroll and shook his head. He got up quickly, got the fire started, and walked down to the river bank to get some water for the coffee.
The cold water shocked him awake, and he vigorously scrubbed his face and arms, then quickly slipped his jacket back on. The scant piece of bacon, the last piece of venison, and the little bit of flour left all went in the pan, and he mumbled, “I wonder if they have chickens? I’d really like an egg, and a glass of milk.”
Jack smiled as he walked up to the fire. “Pretty sure you can’t get milk out of a chicken. That kinda takes a cow.”
Rio looked up at him. “Huh?”
“You said eggs and milk from a chicken.”
Rio shook his head, adding, “And a damn bath. I stink.” Jack laughed but said nothing as he poured a cup of coffee. Rio dished up the concoction and asked, “What are we going to do when we get…there.”
Jack shrugged. “See if there is any work available, we can punch cows or wrangle horses. If not, go find a dugout that’s not occupied. We can hunt, and if worse comes to worst, we’ve got horses we can sell.”
“Or I can kill the bastards and just ride out.”
“Maybe. If it’s a fair fight, if it’s not, they’ll shoot you down on the spot.”
Rio looked up. “Honor among thieves?”
“More like self-enforcement. If you know you’ll get killed for doing something stupid, that tends to make even these people stop and think.”
They finished the coffee, cleaned the dishes, and packed up the horses. Kicking dirt over the coals, Rio loosened his pistols in their holsters, and unbuttoned his jacket. “Let’s get this over with.”
***
Four hours and two challenges later, they rode down toward the small group of cabins on a bench above the Green River. Smoke rose from most of the chimneys, and they saw a few cowboys herding some shorthorn cattle toward a set of pole corrals on the other side of the river. Jack pointed to one rider sitting off to the side. “That’s Mexican Joe. I don’t see Stiles or Harvey in that bunch.”
No sooner had he said that, than the rider turned his horse and trotted toward the ford, splashing across and riding toward them. Rio saw a squat Mexican, hair going grey, with a drooping moustache, riding with the casual elegance typical of vaqueros like Juan. He stopped in front of them and nodded to Jack, “Tejas Jack. You in trouble again?”
Jack wagged his hand. “Not so much. Just tired of shooting people who are stupid.”
Joe looked at Rio. “Who’s this?”
Jack smiled. “Joe, this is the Laredo Kid.”
“Laredo Kid? I don’t hear you went outlaw.” Joe sat back in his saddle, as if bracing for trouble.
Rio instantly decided to tell the truth. “I’m looking for the men that killed my partner, Bear Molina, by shootin’ him in the back. Buck Stiles and Jack Harvey also stole the cows Bear was watching while I was in town buying supplies.”
Joe looked angrily at Rio. “How I know you know Bear?”
Rio replied calmly, “Because I’ve seen the scars on his belly and leg. I’ve seen him hobble anytime he’s… he was not on a horse. I’ve seen him shoot any bear he saw, and he told me that every claw on his necklace was a bear he’d killed.”
Joe started to say something, but Rio continued relentlessly, “He was from Chihuahua and originally came north as a horse herder for one of the Spanish trains. He stayed and worked with the US Army after he went back home and found his family had been wiped out by the Apache.”
Joe held up a hand. “I…you knew Bear. I did not know he was dead. Bear…he helped me a few times, driving horses up here.” He shook his head. “Stiles and Harvey are here. They do not work, they buy food from Cruz and his wife. They are staying in a dugout north of the bend in the river.”
Three days went by without a sign of either Stiles or Harvey, while Jack and Rio picked up some work rebranding cows. Bolen, a rustler who worked for Mexican Joe, was a wizard with a cinch ring, and it amazed Rio at how quickly he could change brands, even to the point of making them look as aged or off center as the original brand he worked over. They had been roping and throwing cows all day, and Rio was tired, grumpy, and stank as they let the last cow up. “I don’t care how cold the water is, I’m going to go clean up. I can’t even stand myself at this point.”
Jack laughed and said, “I don’t know which is worse, you or the cows, but it’ll be nice to sleep with the door closed for a change.”
Rio slapped Jack’s horse and got him bucking as he headed back to the old cabin they were sharing. “Ride ‘em, cowboy,” Jack barely stayed in the saddle and cursed Rio the rest of the way back to the cabin but stayed well away from him. An hour later, blue and shivering, Rio stomped back into the cabin. “Damn! That water’s cold! What the hell do they do when the river freezes up?”
Jack looked up. “Well, most of ‘em don’t bathe anyway, so they don’t care. But I don’t know a cowboy out there that doesn’t hate having to chop a hole in the ice for the cows. What are you going to do about your clothes, other than leave them outside?”
“I hear Cruz’s wife will wash them. These are my last clean ones, well mostly clean. Which cabin are they in?”
Jack got up and sniffed. “Much better. I think I know which one. We can walk down there.”
Rio buckled his pistols on, checked the thongs, and picked up his dirty clothes. “Let’s go. Somebody down there was cooking something that smelled good, and I’ll buy supper, if they’ll sell some to us.”
Jack slipped his jacket on and headed out the door. “Good! You owe me for that little bucking incident.” They walked down the hill from the cabin toward the five cabins a hundred yards away, discussing what to do to smoke out Stiles and Harvey. They were about twenty yards away when two men came out of one of the cabins, and Jack stopped. “Well, looks like we won’t have to smoke them out. That’s Stiles on the left.”
Really OLD school…
How many of you have ever used one?
Wood with a brass scrub board. More below the fold…
The pushback is definitely starting…
Some governors are going further and further into their power trips, pushing more and more restrictions, and people are tired of it. HERE is a vid from Raleigh, NC. Also, people are tired of being told by people living in metro areas than rural areas ‘need to self- quarantine’… When there are less than 25 people per square MILE in a lot of these areas because they are farmers and ranchers. Working on a farm or ranch is pretty much the definition of social distancing…
It looks like roughly twenty states are ready to get on with life, and drop the stay at home requirements. It’s not the Fed’s call, it does default to the states, but the Administration has said they will support the state’s decisions, which is as it should be.
And some reports are coming out that China knew for 6 weeks about the WuFlu and didn’t tell anyone because of trade agreements… Grrr…
Re the numbers on the WuFlu, there does appear to be a lot of ‘fudge factoring’ going on world-wide. Honestly, I don’t know that we will ever know the truth…
Which brings to mind Mark Twain’s infamous quote…
I watch the Our World in Data site, and they are honest about what they know and don’t know, HERE.
Another thing to note is the ‘lack’ of utilization of Comfort and Mercy. I ‘think’ between the two, they have maybe 50 patients. Part of that is the fact that they are not taking WuFlu patients because they are not set up for isolation wards.
Funny how, if you believe the NY Times, people are dying in the hallways, can’t get a ventilator, etc… Yet, Cuomo says there are adequate numbers of both beds and ventilators…
Everybody needs to take care of themselves and not worry about things outside our control. We’re not in charge, nothing we can do will change that, and no amount of hysterics is going to change things either…
Day 1 – I Can Do This!! Got enough food and wine to last a month!
Day 2 – Opening my 8th bottle of Wine. I fear wine supplies might not last!
Day 3 – Strawberries: Some have 210 seeds, some have 235 seeds. Who Knew??
Day 4 – 8:00pm. Removed my Day Pajamas and put on my Night Pajamas.
Day 5 – Today, I tried to make Hand Sanitizer. It came out as Jello Shots!!
Day 6 – I get to take the Garbage out. I’m So excited, I can’t decide what to wear.
Day 7 – Laughing way too much at my own jokes!!
Day 8 – Went to a new restaurant called “The Kitchen”. You have to gather all the ingredients and make your own meal. I have No clue how this place is still in business.
Day 9 – I put liquor bottles in every room. Tonight, I’m getting all dressed up and going Bar hopping.
Day 10 – Struck up a conversation with a Spider today. Seems nice. He’s a Web Designer.
Day 11 – Isolation is hard. I swear my fridge just said, “What the hell do you want now?”
Day 12 – I realized why dogs get so excited about something moving outside, going for walks or car rides. I think I just barked at a squirrel.
Day 14 – Watched the birds fight over a worm. The Cardinals lead the Blue Jays 3–1.
Day 15 – Anybody else feel like they’ve cooked dinner about 395 times this month?
And in other news, if the Last Supper was happening now…
And listen to the original radio presentation of God Bless America. We can use this sentiment today…
Here’s the ‘rest of the story’…behind the first public showing of the song.
The time was 1940. America was still in a terrible economic depression. Hitler was taking over Europe and Americans were afraid we’d have to go to war. It was a time of hardship and worry for most Americans.
This was the era just before TV when radio shows were HUGE and American families sat around their radios in the evenings, listening to their favorite entertainers and no entertainer of that era was bigger than Kate Smith.
Kate was also large; plus size as we now say and the popular phrase still used today is in deference to her; “It ain’t over till the fat lady sings.”Kate Smith might not have made it big in the age of TV but with her voicecoming over the radio, she was the biggest star of her time.
Kate was also patriotic. It hurt her to see Americans so depressed and afraid of what the next day would bring. She had hope for America, andfaith in her fellow Americans. She wanted to do something to cheer them up, so she went to the famous American songwriter Irving Berlin (who also wrote White Christmas) and asked him to write a song that would make Americans feel good again about their country. When she described what she was looking for, he said he had just the song for her. He went to his files and found a song that he had written but never published, 22 years before – in 1917.
He gave it to her and she worked on it with her studio orchestra. She and Irving Berlin were not sure how the song would be received by the public, but both agreed they would not take any profits from God Bless America. Any profits would go to the Boy Scouts of America . Over the years, the Boy Scouts have received millions of dollars in royalties from this song.
This video starts out with Kate Smith coming into the radio studio with the orchestra and an audience. She introduces the new song for the very first time and starts singing. After the first couple verses, with her voice in the background, scenes are shown from the 1940 movie, You’re In The Army Now. At the 4:20 mark of the video you see a young actor in the movie, sitting in an office, reading a paper; you might recognize him…
Have a good week!
Edit- Wirecutter is having hosting problems yet again on his blog Knuckledraggin…
As you know I’ve had some ongoing issues with my blog and I had called my hosting service to get them fixed. Obviously that didn’t happen, the entire site crashed. I’ve been on the phone for hours with tech support trying to get it figured out and I’ll probably do the same today. GoDaddy screwed it up royally when they migrated it back to linux which I had requested they do because of ongoing problems.What I’m going to do starting tomorrow sometime is start posting on my original blog as a fill-in until they get it squared away once and for all.The formatting and design of the fill-in blog will be a little different at first until I get some time to revise it but the content will be what you’re used to. Right now it’s mostly photos, but once I start posting on it tomorrow, you’ll find the same stuff you find on Knuckledraggin.While the blogs have the same name, the URL is different so please bookmark it.
” Always remember to pillage before you burn”
THE EASTER LILY HOLIDAY TRADITION
Each holiday is marked by cherished traditions that bring joy, comfort, and warmth, and provide continuity from one generation to the next. Easter has its share of traditions: egg decorations and hunts; gift baskets and chocolate bunnies, sunrise church services, parades, and, of course, the Easter Lily. For many, the beautiful trumpet-shaped white flowers symbolize purity, virtue, innocence, hope and life – the spiritual essence of Easter.
History, mythology, literature, poetry and the world of art are rife with stories and images that speak of the beauty and majesty of the elegant white flowers. Dating back to Biblical lore, the lily is mentioned numerous times in the Bible. One of the most famous Biblical references is in the Sermon on the Mount, when Christ told his listeners: “Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they toil not, neither do they spin; and yet….. Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.”
Often called the “white-robed apostles of hope,” lilies were found growing in the Garden of Gethsemane after Christ’s agony. Tradition has it that the beautiful white lilies sprung up where drops of Christ’s sweat fell to the ground in his final hours of sorrow and deep distress. Churches continue this tradition at Easter time by banking their alters and surrounding their crosses with masses of Easter Lilies, to commemorate the resurrection of Jesus Christ and hope of life everlasting.
Since the beginning of time, lilies have played significant roles in allegorical tales concerning the sacrament of motherhood. Ancient fables tell us the lily sprang from the milk of Hera, the mythological Queen of Heaven.
The pure white lily has long been closely associated with the Virgin Mary. In early paintings, the Angel Gabriel is pictured extending to the Virgin Mary a branch of pure white lilies, announcing that she is to be the mother of the Christ Child. In other paintings, saints are pictured bringing vases full of white lilies to Mary and the infant Jesus.
The legend is told that when the Virgin Mary’s tomb was visited three days after her burial, it was found empty save for bunches of majestic white lilies. Early writers and artists made the lily the emblem of the Annunciation, the Resurrection of the Virgin: the pure white petals signifying her spotless body and the golden anthers her soul glowing with heavenly light.
It seems the thirteenth-century Barthololmeus Anglicus had this in mind when he wrote: ‘The Lily is an herbe with a white flower; and though the leaves of the floure be white, yet within shineth the likeness of gold.” So goes the saying, ‘To gild a lily is to attempt, foolishly, to improve on perfection.” To many artists and poets it seemed that, if any flower could have one, the lily had a soul.
In yet another expression of womanhood, lilies had a significant presence in the paradise of Adam and Eve. Tradition has it that when Eve left the Garden of Eden she shed real tears of repentance, and from those remorseful tears sprung up lilies. The spiritual principle held here is that true repentance is the beginning of beauty.
A mark of purity and grace throughout the ages, the regal white lily is a fitting symbol of the greater meaning of Easter. Gracing millions of homes and churches, the flowers embody joy, hope and life. Whether given as a gift or enjoyed in your own home, the Easter Lily serves as a beautiful reminder that Easter is a time for rejoicing and celebrating.
Ironically, the white (Easter) lily is a native plant of Southern Japan…
In this time of social distancing, we can STILL do things, especially for the kids (and kids in us)… including easter egg hunts…
And I wish you plenty of Easter eggs (all found), and Peeps to your heart’s content!
Courtesy of MASH!
These are actually pretty good!
Kudos to whomever put this one together!
He settled up with Mrs. Lincoln, took the proffered paper bag with some biscuits and a slice of ham, and stuffed it in the poke he carried over the saddle horn. Red humped his back as Rio mounted, and Rio settled himself a little more deeply in the saddle. “Don’t even think about it Red. I’m not in the mood this morning!”
Red’s ears flipped back and forth, and Rio shook his head as he felt the horse mouthing the bit. “Good boy, Red.” He leaned down and patted his neck, then turned Red northwest. A half hour later, he came to the landmark where the cowboy had said he’d seen the cattle and rode around until he found the old tracks of cattle trailing off to the southwest. He followed them for about a mile, and they branched off toward Georgetown, Oh, boy. This is…not going to be good. Georgetown is a mining town, and if they’re up there, they are likely already gone. He got down, dug the short barreled six shooter and holster out of his saddlebags, slipped the holster on his belt in a cross draw position, then loaded the pistol and shoved it in the holster. He thought for a second, then pulled the 73 Winchester out of the scabbard and topped it off, then slipped it back in the scabbard.
Mounting up, he gigged Red to a trot, then a canter, following the tracks up the side of Clear Creek as he climbed higher into the mountains. He stopped as the sun topped out overhead, put a hackamore on Red, and let him drink from the creek before hobbling him on some grass the cattle had missed. Taking the biscuits and ham out of the poke, he sat on a log and munched on them as he watched wagons trundling up the road, Lot busier than I thought. Am I missing something here?
He put the bridle back on Red, tightened the girth and took the hobbles off. He shivered as the wind changed, blowing down the canyon, and pulled the slicker off the back of the saddle, unrolled it, and took out the sheepskin jacket. Re-rolling everything, he tied it back behind the saddle and slipped into the jacket, then mounted and trotted Red up the road. Four hours later, Red was blowing a little, and he slowed as the canyon turned and flattened out. “You want a break, Red?” He guided Red off the road, got down and took a piss in the brush on the side of the road before grabbing a piece of pemmican out of the poke on the saddle. Idly chewing on it, he led Red over to the creek bank and found an approach that allowed him to lead him down to the water. Scooping up a mouthful of water, he rinsed his mouth, then spit it out, Gah, tastes like…metal? Copper? Something?
Even Red didn’t seem to like it all that well, and they were soon back on the road. As he came to a Y in the canyon, he watched the tracks swinging up the left canyon and followed them. As he rounded the bend in the canyon, he came on a rising bench on the left side with a rundown cabin and what looked like pole fencing. He trotted Red up to the poles and saw longhorns grazing inside the fence. One was close enough to read the brand, and it was Rafter H. As he rode along the fence, a bowlegged old man stepped out of the cabin. “Hey, what are you doing?”
Rio noted that he carried a rifle in one hand, but he didn’t see a six shooter, so he waved and rode over. “Strange to see longhorns this far up in the mountains. Interesting brand, too.”
The old cowboy grumbled, “Got a problem, go talk to Olshanski at the Three Queens. He bought ‘em and pays me to keep ‘em penned up down here.”
Rio hooked a leg on the saddle horn, “Olshanski? Three Queens?”
“Big Polack, he won the saloon in a card game with three queens. He bought the cows off’n a couple of cowboys a week or so ago. They said someone had told them to drive them to the mine in Empire, but they didn’t want them.”
“Huh, I thought most Polacks were miners, not saloon owners.”
The cowboy hawked and spit. “Olshanski was a miner. Had, maybe still has, a claim up the canyon.”
“Three Queens, huh?”
“Yeah, right on Sixth Street. Two blocks from the hotel.”
“Hotel? Or a trumped up boarding house?”
The cowboy spit again. “Naw, it’s a real hotel, used to be Delmonico’s bakery. Some Frenchy, Dupuis or some’tin like that bought it, and now it’s the Hotel de Paree.”
Rio stretched and found the stirrup again. “Thanks. I think I’ll ride up that way and see what there is to see.”
“Ain’t no jobs for cowboys, and I like my job.” The old cowboy motioned with the rifle as he said that.
“Got a job, ain’t looking for one.” He reined Red around and trotted back toward the road, whistling as Red flipped his ears and humped his back. “Fine, no more whistling. Stubborn damn horse.”
The old cowboy got a look at Red’s brand. He hawked and spat, then turned back toward the cabin as quickly as he could, mumbling to himself. An hour later, Rio rode into Georgetown and stopped dead, This ain’t a bunch of shacks. This…it’s a real town. Dunno why I thought…oh well, time to find out what’s going on. He rode through town, marveling at the Victorian houses, the brick buildings going up, and the prosperous citizens he saw on the boardwalks. The sun was close to hitting the top of the mountains to the west, and he decided to try the hotel the old cowboy told him about.
Tying Red at the hitching rail, he stepped up on the boardwalk and walked through the door into a world of good smells coming from the restaurant. His stomach growled at him, reminding him lunch was a long time ago. The older man behind the counter looked up as he said, “Afternoon, any chance of a room?”
“Oui, Monsieur. How many nights?”
“Um, one, maybe two.”
He flipped the register around saying, “Two dollars a night. Please sign in.”
“Two dollars?” Rio asked, outraged.
“Two dollars. Each room is a private room. Fresh linens. And indoor bathing.”
Rio reached in his vest pocket and pulled out two dollars, dropping them on the counter as he signed the book. The man took a key off the board, “Room six, upstairs to the right. Door is numbered. They will serve dinner at six o’clock.”
Rio nodded. “Livery stable?”
“Two blocks over, east side of town. Fifty cents if you want anything other than hay.”
Rio grimaced, but took the key and went back out to Red, taking his blanket roll, saddlebags, poke, and rifle out of the scabbard before going to the room. Once there, he shoved the things under the bed, sniffed, and was surprised to find the bed really smelled clean, Maybe it is worth two dollars, but that’s still a lot of money just to sleep inside. He started to take the second pistol off, but changed his mind and left it on his belt. He dug the saddlebags out and dropped some spare rounds into his coat pocket.
Going back downstairs, he unhitched Red and rode down 6th Street past the Three Queens, Looks prosperous. Guess I’ll go find the stable, then decide whether to walk or ride. As it turned out, the stables were in the opposite direction, and he left Red at the stables. He rubbed him down, paid the extra for the feed, and piled his tack in the back corner of the stall, trusting Red to guard it overnight. He walked by the hotel on the way to the saloon, and his stomach growled again, Ah shut up. You’ll get fed. It ain’t like you’re starving. He walked through the doors of the saloon and immediately stepped to the side. It was fairly quiet, with two tables of miners off to one side and what looked like a couple of cowboys sitting as far away from the miners as they could get. He chuckled to himself and started toward the bar, noting that the sawdust was fresh, and it didn’t smell like stale beer. When he got there, he didn’t see anybody, and said, “I wonder—”
A huge, bearded man got up from behind the bar and asked in heavily accented English, “You wonder what cowboy?”
Rio laughed. “If I can get a beer, and if you are Olshanski.”
The big man pulled a beer and set it in front of Rio. “Dat will be a dime. I am Olshanski, why you want to know?” Leaning on his scarred forearms on the bar, he stared at Rio intently.
Rio dropped a dime on the bar, took a swig of the beer, nodded, and said, “Good beer. I hear you bought some cows from a couple of cowboys.”
“Ve did. Me and Dupuy, at ze hotel.”
“Did these cowboys have any papers for the cows?”
“Why you want to know?” Olshanski flexed his shoulders, and it was all Rio could do not to back up.
Instead, he took another swig of beer. “Well, those cows are stolen. They are Rafter H cows, and they were rustled three weeks ago.”
Olshanski’s face flushed red, and he started reaching for Rio, cursing under his breath. Rio backed up, and Olshanski finally said, “You lie! I paid for cows!”
Rio held up both hands as Olshanski started to reach under the bar. “I don’t doubt you paid for them, I’d appreciate it if your hands stayed where I can see them. But the problem is, you didn’t pay the owner for them. Just curious, how much did you pay?”
“We paid, twenty-five dollars a cow. Fifty-dree cows.”
A voice behind Rio startled him. “Rio, either make up with him or shoot him. My supper is getting cold over here.”
Rio swiftly stepped to the side, putting the bar and Olshanski both in his line of sight. He chuckled as he saw a stooped, middle-aged cowboy with prematurely white hair. “You’re a long way from home, Jack.”
“So are you. They Rafter H?” Rio nodded, and Texas Jack Hart laughed. “Polack, you got taken. Those cows belong to him, well to his daddy. And you really don’t want either one of them mad at you.”
Olshanski look between the two. “Why?”
Hart chuckled. “Because either of them will shoot your ass dead. Oh, let me introduce you to the Laredo Kid. You might have heard of him.”
There was a scramble as the other cowboys got out of the way, and the miners suddenly got very quiet. Rio shook his head sadly. “Dammit, Jack, you’re costing me friends again.”
Olshanski asked, “What we do to make right?”
Rio focused on him. “Give me the sumbitches that sold them to you, and I’ll call it even.”
Olshanski started to answer, but two men stepped through the door, and Rio and Jack both pivoted. An older, walrus mustached man with a star on his vest asked, “What is going on here?” Rio saw the hotel clerk behind the man and wondered if this was the owner, Dupuy.
“Well, Marshal, at least this man,” pointing to Olshanski, “and possibly that man,” pointing at the man behind the marshal, “If his name is Dupuy, bought stolen cattle.”
“You got proof of that?”
Jack laughed as Rio sighed. “I’m reaching in my jacket for papers.” He reached slowly into his jacket and pulled out the packet of letters. He laid them on the bar and stepped back. “Those papers are from the bank in Fort Collins that allow me to rep for the brand. And Jack, there, knows me and my dad from Texas. Sixty head were stolen from us about three weeks ago, and fifty-three head with Rafter H brands were sold to Olshanski and apparently a partner named Dupuy here for twenty-five a head. Now the going rate is forty to sixty a head, as I’m sure they know.”
Jack said, “Dammit, now my supper is cold.” But he remained standing, the thong off his pistol and his hand close to the holster.
The marshal stepped up to the bar, opened the letters, read them, and looked sharply at Rio. “Rafter H and H Bar?”
“H Bar is our ranch brand. Rafter H is our road brand. There are fifty some odd steers down on a bench about a mile from here with Rafter H brands, and the old cowboy down there says Olshanski here bought them.”
The marshal shook his head. “Oleg, he’s the authorized rep for the brand. Who did you and Rene buy the steers from?”
“Two cowboys, Buck and…”
Dupuy interrupted, “Jack, the other was named Jack, and I heard him call the other one Stiles. They took two rooms at my hotel.”
Jack glanced up at that. “Rio, that’s gotta be Stiles and Harvey. Couple of gunslicks, and I guess, now rustlers.”
Rio cocked his head. “I’ve heard those names, but…they don’t ring a bell.”
Jack laughed. “They’re smart enough to stay out of Texas, but I run across them a couple of times.”
He looked at Dupuy. “Are they still at the hotel?”
Dupuy shook his head. “No, they have been gone…three, maybe four days now. I heard them say something about Brown something north of here.”
The marshal sighed. “They must be heading for Brown’s Hole. That’s up in Utah or Wyoming territories. Bunch of thieves hang out up there. Bunch of shacks apparently.”
“Why haven’t they been cleaned out?”
The marshal shrugged. “Too many places to ambush a posse and too many ways out of there. Easier to hope they kill each other off or wait for them to come out.”
Dupuy said, “I will give you back your money, and your food is on me.”
Rio nodded. “Thank you. C’mon Jack, I’ll treat you, since I made you miss supper.”
Olshanski looked at them in confusion. “You not make us pay?”
“You paid. Just the wrong people. That isn’t your fault. I think you two are honest, and you told me who they are. Just don’t buy any of our cows again unless you buy from us directly.” He picked up the letters, bundled them back up, and stuck them back in his jacket, then faced the sheriff. “You satisfied?”
He nodded. “Yes, and I appreciate you not shooting anybody. I really didn’t want a gunfight before supper tonight.”
Rio laughed. “Honestly, neither did I.” He started for the door. “Supper’s on me, Jack. C’mon if you’re coming.” Jack grabbed his hat off the chair and followed Rio out into the night.
***
An hour later, Rio sat back and groaned. “Ate too much.”
Jack nodded, looked around at the empty restaurant, then whispered, “What are you really doing up here?”
“Running cows up by Fort Collins. Horsetooth Canyon. You think they went to the Hole? Is that where you’re heading?”
Jack grimaced. “Yeah, got a little too hot for me in Texas. Got into it with the Johnson brothers over at Johnson City. I don’t take kindly to men trying to force themselves on women, much less young girls.”
“How many did you kill?”
“Them two brothers the first night. Well, one for sure, got a lot of lead in the other one. He might’a died later that night. Anyway, their family came after me. I killed three more of them, then lit out. I’m tired of killing idjits. Figured I’d hole up over the winter and see what things look like next spring.”
Rio made a snap decision. “I think I’ll ride along with you. Maybe I can recover at least some money and take care of those two. That way I don’t have to deal with them next spring.”
“I’m leaving tomorrow.”
Rio nodded. “Meet me here in the morning, and I’ll buy breakfast.”
First up, a long awaited fourth novel in Holly Chism’s Modern Gods series- Gods and Monsters
As always, click on the cover for the Amazon link.
The blurb-
Here there be dragons…again, damn it.
Deshayna has her sanity back, and forces older than the gods have granted her a new purpose. Chronos, his freedom restored, fights for his sanity, and with it, a purpose in helping Deshayna—now called Shay—with hers. The gods are starting to pull together more…and it’s about time.
Millennia after the last dragons to threaten human existence have been hunted down, they’ve started to reappear, hinting to the surviving gods that something more sinister appeared first: Tiamat.
Instead of a confrontation, though, the gods—major, minor, and genus loci—are drawn into a frustrating hunt for a predator that flees rather than attempting to strike.
This is a fun read, well worth the time!
Pam Uphoff as a new book out in her Wine of the Gods series- War Party
The blurb-
Ice is a powerful magician and trained warrior. His day job, however, is political analyst, and it is once again election year.
Hopefully with fewer explosions and snipers than the last one, but in the Empire of the One, what sounds like a boring desk job is anything but.
Especially when al old flame gets pissed enough to jump into the presidential race.
Between assassins on the loose, duels to the death, and a sense of something nasty coming his way, Ice is going to be busy.
Last but not least, John C. Wright has the third book in the Lost on the Last Continent series out- Gods of Pangaea
The blurb-
Colonel Preston Lost didn’t think of himself as reckless. He believed in preparation, proper equipment, and patience in stalking the prey. But, in reality, he was not a cautious man. Having followed a spaceship into the black storm clouds above the Bermuda Triangle, he flew through a time portal to the end of days and crash-landed on Pangaea Ultima with few supplies and no way of returning home.
Lost now finds himself embroiled in a battle for dominance of not only the world, but all of time as well, and he is forced to concede that—just perhaps—he is a little reckless after all.
The Eighth Men have come, bringing the Fifth Men and all of their First Man fighting slaves, to conquer Threno, the City of Swift Death, and they have come with overwhelming force. Their dreadnought alone would be sufficient to defeat the entire Corsair Navy, and they have more. Much more.
The only things Lost has going for him are a broken-down machine from countless eons past, a whispered prophecy from an Atlantean girl, and his hope that the Watchers’ will err. It’s not much, but Lost really wants to kiss the girl at the end of the battle, so he’ll have to find a way to make it work!