Chapter 3

"Kenny, you've been drinking instead of working. Sam, have you broken your pledge? I can smell whisky on you too."

"Mary Eustis, I just took a swig. Kenny and I came to an agreement and thought more than a handshake was needed."

"What was the agreement?" I looked at Jessie, who had asked a question I had no answer for.

Thinking fast, and seeing Hattie and Pete coming across the yard, I came up with, "Kenny has agreed to give Pete and Hattie a deed to the little valley where the line shack is. My suggestion."

Kenny stared at me, not saying anything. Pete came in and put a bucket of potatoes on the sideboard. "Tops are dying. Time to dig these. They are small, but there will be enough to get us all through the winter."

"Pete, Sam made the suggestion to giving you the deed to the valley where you live. The only restriction is, if you ever pull up stakes, the land comes back to the ranch." Kenny was pretty damn fast at thinking, himself.

Cold weather was coming. I had never considered it, but Kenny said we should cut hay to feed the horses. There were some fields off the road to Button Box that the cattle hadn't got to. Kenny was in town and hired a crew to come out and cut and build stacks for the winter supply. It would have been nice to do this for the cattle, but with the size of our herd, now it was impossible.

We made our gather of cattle to trail to the Indian Reservation headquarters. The Indian commissioner would parcel out the cattle as rations to those under his supervision. The Silvercloud clan was on this side of the reservation, and we subcontracted to see that they were fed. The commissioner wasn't aware of how close the clan and the Ryeback ranch were involved. Selling the Indian's cattle under the Ryeback iron, money came through for them as well. We would have cared for the clan to the last cow if need be.

This was our first sale and the money was welcomed. So far, I was the one who had supplied the funds to keep the ranch going and my pouch was empty. "Guess we better check our reserves, Sam."

"What do you mean? You got money hidden up somewhere?"

"Yeah. When the woman I was fighting over started talking against me, I sold off some cattle and hid the money. I figured I'd die in prison and no one would get it. Especially her. If I did survive, I'd need it to get the ranch going again. If the ranch was gone, I'd sneak in here and retrieve it."

"Kenny, you never said a word."

"I know. Think about it, though. I'm in prison. This young cattle rustler becomes my cellmate and is only in for two years while I've got another year and a half after he gets out. Would I tell him about some money I had stashed?"

"No I wouldn't. Don't blame you a bit. How come now though?"

"We aren't going to see any more cash money until greenup in the spring. Even then, if the cattle don't winter well, it'll be fall before we do. I guess I'd trust you more than I would my mother, you've done that well by me, so let's go digging. We'll need a pail."

We went down into a small cellar that was dug under the north side of the ranch house. There was a door with strap metal hinges that just swung closed. This was where we had stored the vegetables. Sand had been brought in and covered the floor. There was an air vent that went up the outside of the house. The whole area was cool and dry.

Kenny got his bearings and started digging. It wasn't long before his shovel clinked something and he got down on his knees, pawing the sand aside. The coins had been in a cloth sack which was totally disintegrated. He was picking up handfuls of coins and throwing them into the bucket. There were both gold and silver. The silver coins were black with tarnish. The gold were just a dark bronze color.

"That's about it." He kept pawing around and came up with two more, one gold and one silver. He commenced filling in the hole, raking the top smooth. "It's been a good hiding place. Let's get up into the kitchen and count it." We went into the bank the next day and made a deposit.

"What are we having for Harvest Day?" This was George Wilcox asking.

"Beef, I expect."

"Sam, let's look for something different. There's a hog ranch over on the other side of Button Box. I'm going over there and see if they got a pig we can roast. If we can find one that'll dress out 60-75 pounds, we'll build us a pit and roast the sucker."

"Okay by me. I'll go with you." We took a pack horse and headed out in the morning. Two miles beyond the town we topped out and looked down into a bowl shaped valley of about forty acres. Hogs all over, enclosed by a stockade fence and there had to be between three and four hundred of them. Along one side were a bunch of open-sided sheds made out of slabs for the sows to birth in. Four huge cast iron pots were suspended from some tripods hanging close over the fire pits.

Near each one of these was a raised platform that held wooden scalding tubs. Over each tub there was a raised beam with a rope dangling from it. Each end of the round beam was nestled into a "v" and had four holes bored into it. George was familiar and explained the operation.

"The water is heated in the pot and when hot, pailed into the wooden scalding tub. While the water is heating, the hog is killed and suspended over the tub. Wooden tubs are best for this, as the water doesn't cool off as quick. When the scalding tub is filled, the pig is lowered into the water. Immediately the pig is raised and rosin is worked into the bristles of the hog. This is to make them stick together.

"The hog is lowered again and this time it stays in the hot water until the bristles are loosened and can be pulled or scraped off the hog. See that cover for the tub? The pig is raised out of the water and the cover is put over it. That's now your work area that you stand on as you scrape the bristles off the hog.

"That finished, you open up the hog and take the guts out, saving whatever parts you want to keep, such as the heart and liver. It's wet, slippery work, but two people can do this surprisingly fast."

"You mentioned the four holes in the end of the beam. What are those for?"

"The beam is a primitive pulley and it takes two men to lift a big hog. There are two stakes. One man puts his stake into a hole and pulls down. The other man catches the next hole and pulls down. The rope winds around the beam until the pig is in the air to where it can be worked on. The last stake is tied off and there you go. It is almost as hard to get a pig down especially if it weighs three or four hundred pounds. You just reverse the process."

"We don't need one that big."

"No. I imagine we can take our pick." We rode up to the small house. A large woman came out. She had on bib overalls and a woolen shirt. At forty-five or so, she was no beauty.

"You after buying a hog?"

"Just a small one ma'am. Something we can roast on a day of thanksgiving."

"Well, ride around out there and find what you want. You want to butcher it here? I got everything. You need to help, 'cause I got nobody else."

George grinned. "It's been awhile, but I can manage. How come you got no hand?"

"Husband died couple of months ago. I can't get no one to help. When I do things, I want them done right. Had one young feller, an' I guess he thought I was something to mount. I wasn't. Had another one and he went about chasing the hogs for the fun of it. I run him off might sudden. Thems hogs are animals same as me and I ain't having them abused even though I'm killing them eventually."

"You got a sticking knife? Do any harm to kill it in the field and drag it in?"

"Pick one near the fence and pull it around would be fine. Don't want to upset the others. Here, use this small caliber pistol to shoot it. Hogs are used to the noise and won't get scared. Take a bait of grain to tease him with."

George and I eased across the pasture. "That's the one I want." It was near the fence and he dabbed his rope on it. It squealed some at being caught. George was off his mount and had the grain under the pig's nose. He loosened the rope just a little and the pig started snuffling the grain. He had the gun in his hand and the knife in his teeth.

Lining up the gun just above the snout and at the same angle, he fired into the head lower than the eyes. The pig went down and George tossed the gun to me. Quick like, he plunged the knife in just back of the junction of the head and neck on the underside, looking for the jugular. He turned the knife back and forth once and blood came spiriting out. "We'll wait a few minutes until it bleeds out."

I had butchered many a beef, but this was entirely different. "How come you shot him like that? Why didn't you pop him the same's with a steer?"

"Pigs are different. They have a massive bone in their forehead. Bullet like this would bounce right off. You have to get it in where the bone is thinner. There's a trick to it." I agreed there must be when we got the pig to the work area and George was complimented heartily.

"Now that's what I call a professional job. Never saw it done prettier. You sure do know pigs."

"Thanks Ma'am. As I say, it has been awhile. I grew up and my pappy did this for a living. I married up with a woman who was into cattle, which turned out to be the worst decision of my life."

"My name is Bertha, Bertha Bates. Married are you?"

"Yes, but same's not. Wife left and headed west to her brother's. I said good riddance when she took off."

"You living around here?"

"I come up the trail with Sam here. He owns half the Ryeback ranch with Kenny Ryeback. Sam's married to my former daughter-in-law. My son is dead and I wanted to keep track of my granddaughter. I been living in with him."

"That's fine, keeping track of them that belongs to you. Water's hot, let's see what you can do at butchering."

I stood and watched the operation. George anticipated every move that was to be made and he looked as if he enjoyed himself immensely. I wandered around watching the hogs out in the field. There was one sizable area that the pigs used for an outhouse. Not like cattle with their dropping any and everywhere, pigs chose a section and returned to it when they needed to. It was pretty damned rank, but the pigs stayed clean. This was if they had the room to have the chance.

We went away with Bertha watching us leave. She looked sad standing looking after us. George was pretty quiet as well. He was only ten years older than Bertha, but he was married. His only comment was that he had a most fun day. We had more than the pig we came for when we left. Bertha had pressed on us a couple slabs of bacon and some chunks of salt pork fatback. "A full four inches deep. I do have quality hogs." That was her brag.

On the way back to the ranch, George was telling me about when he was courting Sarah. "Her family was against our marriage from the beginning. They raised cattle down in west Texas. My family raised hogs, which made us lower than sheepherders to them. Why she chose me, I'll never really know. I suspect now that she might have been with child for she lost a fetus about two months after we were married.

"Her family was down on both of us even more at that time. I finally picked up and we ended all association with them and moved, settling on the land which you bought. Five years later Brad was born, but I was never really a part of him. Brad was Sarah's kid and I had no say at all. I think she was hoping I would die and then it would be just him and her. He was no good you know. Sarah had me turn the ranch over to him when he started courting Jessie, but that didn't straighten him out.

"I think Jessie is the winner in all of this. She has you and you are giving Felicity a wonderful home. Even if Sarah showed up now, I wouldn't let her back into my life. Oh well, I wouldn't expect she would look to find me. Let's move it along. Felicity is six months old now and if I'm gone a day, she amazes me how much she has changed when I see her again."

We had us quite a feast. Mary Eustis had sent word to her tribe that we were having a pow-wow. The Indians showed up with a deer and various items that on the surface looked like hell, but were surprisingly tasty. Over the years they had developed ways to preserve berries and nuts to supplement what they hunted. They had dried plants to add to their stews as some of their meat was dried and or smoked. Mary Eustis, more of the white men now, made pies and one big cake.

I made sure there was some whisky available which Mary Eustis rationed out. In the early evening the Indians performed some tribal dances. One was to honor those women who were pregnant. Mary Eustis was, of course. Hattie, red-faced got up and joined her. There were two squaws, one decidedly so and another that didn't show yet. Jessie whispered to me, "I was going to tell you later tonight, but I think I had better join the others."

Mary Eustis looked to see how I was taking this. I grinned and stuck out my chest. I now had two women to carry on the Jones' bloodline. I figured in my head and decided that a year and one or two months between Felicity and our child coming, would not be too soon. It was a great day and evening.

In some way I believe Mary Eustis was stronger than Kenny. All of us, for that matter. She convinced Kenny to start teaching the younger Indians the white man's language. They lived too far to make the trip often, so she convinced Hattie and Pete to let the whole tribe pitch their teepees in their valley for the winter. The Indians would return to their own land in the spring. This was great for me, as I went about learning the Indians' language while they were learning mine. I knew my son by Mary Eustis would be speaking both tongues and I wanted to be able to converse in either language with him.