The H&R Cattle Company (16 page)

Rollins spent several days in Fort Worth and left town convinced that Hereford cattle was the way to go. A dealer named Rafe Baskin had assured him that he could obtain some Hereford bulls if Rollins should ever decide to buy. Rollins wrote the man's name and address in his book, for he felt that the day would come when he would surely do some business with Mister Rafe Baskin.

Being warm and dry for the first time today, Bret dozed off in his chair after a while. He was sound asleep when Zack walked into the room. “Wake up, partner,” Zack said loudly, “and I'll cook you a good supper.”

“You've got a deal,” Rollins said. He walked to the kitchen, where Zack was busy unloading various cans and packages of foodstuffs from a large basket. “Most of that looks mighty good,” Bret said, shaking Zack's hand and patting his shoulder. “The last good meal I had was in Fort Worth.”

Zack returned Bret's firm grip, then began to unwrap red meat, dumping it on a platter. “Lewis's Meat Market had sirloin steak on special for nine cents a pound today. I bought six pounds. If we don't eat it all for supper and breakfast, I'll cut the rest up for the stewpot.”

“You're a good man,” Bret said, lifting one of the stoves' eyes. “Let me stoke up this fire, 'cause I sure hate to see a good man working under a handicap.”

Throughout the late afternoon and early evening, the partners discussed the things Bret had learned on his trip. “I wrote most of the facts and figures in this,” he said, handing the notebook to Zack. “If you'll read it all, I believe you'll come to the same conclusion I did. While you're thinking on it, remember that I've already got the money to put a thousand head of longhorns on this ranch, along with as many Hereford bulls as we need.

“We'll breed the longhorn strain right out of 'em, Zack. After we get a calf or two out of 'em, we'll send the longhorn cows up the trail to market. I believe we can recoup our entire investment from the sale of the longhorn cows.”

Zack chuckled. “Are you saying you believe that we can end up stocking the ranch with Herefords for nothing?”

“Absolutely. Well, it won't exactly be for nothing. We'll have a few years' work invested, and we'll have to hire some ranch hands and farmers, but we can do it, Zack. I know damn well we can.”

Zack nodded and sat quietly for a long time. “I guess we should build a new house and barn closer to the center of the ranch,” he said finally. “Or maybe you'd rather tear down these buildings and move them up there.”

“It'll be cheaper and quicker to move these buildings, Zack. Of course we'll have to build a bunkhouse that'll sleep at least a dozen men, and we'll also need line shacks. We've got a lot of things to do, old buddy, and I think we should hire the help we need and get on with it.

“I opened an account at the bank for the H and R Cattle Company, so you can write a check for whatever you need. We have a balance of twenty-five thousand, and I believe that'll hold things together till the ranch begins to pay its own way.”

“Twenty-five thousand,” Zack repeated. “That sounds to me like as much as we're gonna need, Bret. We can sell the longhorn cows in the summer of seventy-eight and still have at least a thousand head of crossbreeds left on the ranch.”

“Exactly,” Rollins said. “Then we'll start making money.”

Hunter sat staring into the fire for a while. “After we buy the cattle, our biggest expense is gonna be wages,” he said. “The payroll for half a dozen men'll add up in a hurry.”

“I think we'll need more than six men when we first bring the cattle home,” Rollins said. “Jolly'll know more about that than either of us.” He pointed to the notebook, still in Zack's hand. “Over in the back of that book you'll see Manuel Gonzalez' name and address. Will Dempsey says Gonzalez and his vaqueros will drag the longhorns out of the brakes and the Big Thicket and road-brand them for five dollars a head. The man lives just north of Beaumont, right close to the Big Thicket, and he knows where the cattle hide.

“Could be that we could get the Mexicans to rope nothing but cows. Seems like they'd be anxious to pass up the bulls anyway, 'cause bulls fight so much harder. And Dempsey says that it's wise to buy a couple head of tame oxen to lead the cows away from the only home they've ever known.”

“Well, we'll worry about that problem when we come to it,” Zack said, stretching his arms over his head and yawning. “What I need most right now is a good night's sleep. I believe Jolly had the right idea when he went to bed more than an hour ago.” Zack was on his feet now. “I think we should choose a homesite, then build the bunkhouse first so we'll have somewhere to live while we're building the house and the barn. We'll need a corral up there right away, too.” He headed for his bedroom, adding over his shoulder, “I'll go into town tomorrow and pick up some of the things we need.”

Hunter spent a large part of the next day shopping, with Jolly Ross close at his heels. Rollins said that he himself had traveled enough lately, and chose to remain at the ranch. Zack suspected that he would spend most of the day practicing his fast draw.

Zack bought two wagons and two teams of large horses. The seller swore that although the big beasts were primarily wagon teams, they had also been trained to work in the fields and were equally resigned to pulling plows and harvesting machines. Zack was well pleased with the price and thought that the only bad part of the bargain was his having to feed the oversize animals all winter. Jolly was also impressed with the size of the horses, saying they could pull anything that could be stacked onto a wagon. “They'll go close to fourteen hundred pounds apiece, Zack,” he said. “Maybe fifteen hundred.”

Zack bought a keg of nails and a variety of tools at the hardware store, along with a stove and several joints of pipe that would be needed for the new bunkhouse. And two large tarpaulins. The tarps would be attached to the tops of tall posts, with the stove, tents, table and chairs set up underneath. That would be home to all of the men until better accommodations could be constructed.

On the way out of town, they stopped at the feed store, where they finished loading both wagons with sacks of grain and bales of hay. “These horses won't even know that the wagons are loaded,” Ross said, seemingly awed by the size of the animals. “As big as both these teams are, though, they're small compared to their Belgian ancestors. Their great-granddaddies probably weighed twenty-five hundred pounds apiece.”

“I believe you're right, Jolly. I'm sure it took years of careful breeding to even get 'em down to this size. I can't imagine a man wanting anything bigger.”

“Nope. Especially at feeding time.”

With a saddle horse trailing each of the wagons, the men turned west on County Line Road, knowing that the last half of their journey home would be traveled by lantern light.

At home, they stabled and fed the horses, then set about preparing their supper as quietly as possible. The blanket covered the doorway to Rollins' bedroom, and Zack assumed that Bret had gone to bed when the sun went down. Probably all tuckered out from a hard day of practicing his fast draw. Zack and Jolly ate cold beef and biscuits without speaking, then Zack went to his own bedroom, leaving Ross to blow out the lamp.

Shortly after daybreak, all three men were dining on ham, eggs, warmed-over biscuits and strong coffee. “I'm gonna be riding north this morning,” Zack said, sopping up the last of his egg yolk with a biscuit. He nodded toward Rollins. “I think you ought to go too, Bret. We've got to stake out a homesite somewhere near the center of the ranch. I already spotted one place I want you to look at, saw it the day Carl Odom showed me the boundaries.”

Rollins nodded. “Guess you intend to build the bunkhouse first, huh?”

“Right.” Zack stepped to the stove to refill his coffee cup, then reseated himself. “I'd like to build it a little closer to the main house than most folks do. If the day ever comes when the men in the bunkhouse have to defend the ranch house, I don't want 'em to have to run a hundred yards before they can do it.”

Jolly Ross put a sack of ham and biscuits in his saddlebag, and each man put a canteen on his saddle. “The place I want you to see is about eight miles north,” Zack said to Bret, stepping into the saddle. “It's about three hundred yards east of the river. If we decide to use it as a homesite, I want to dig a well before we even drive a stake. If we don't like the water, we can go someplace else.”

Rollins mounted, then sat for a moment looking between his horse's ears. “How deep a well do you think we'll need, Zack?” he asked, emitting an audible sigh.

Zack looked at Bret out of the corner of his eye. “No way of knowing till we hit a vein of water.” He chuckled to himself, then motioned to Ross. “Jolly and I will dig the well—wouldn't want you to mess up your gun hand.” He laughed aloud, then added, “Seriously, Bret, only two men can work on a well at a time. One digging and shoveling, the other hauling up dirt with a windlass.”

“Hell, I know that, Zack, but I'll certainly let you dig the well. As soon as we settle on a homesite, I'll go to town and hire some men: carpenters, if I can find them. We need to get this ranch in shape in a hurry. Three months from now, I want to order some longhorn cows and Hereford bulls.”

After two hours, Hunter halted his horse at the top of a rise. He sat quietly for a moment, then pointed down the hill to the small plateau that was a quarter mile wide. The grassy little mesa was treeless except for a few mesquite bushes that could be eliminated with a small amount of effort. It appeared to be level for the most part, the exception being the west side, where it gradually sloped down to the water's edge. Overall, the location offered a spectacular view of the surrounding area and the Colorado River.

“Hell, that's it, Zack,” Rollins said, pointing to the west side of the mesa. “No use wasting a lot of time looking around, that's it.”

Jolly Ross said nothing, but both Hunter and Rollins noticed that he was nodding and wore a big smile.

They rode down the hill for a closer look. Zack was soon riding up and down the mesa, pointing to one place, then another. “We'll dig the well right here,” he was saying. “This will be the front yard. We'll put the bunkhouse right over there, the barn and corral right down yonder, and fence in a garden spot right back there.” He backed up a dozen steps. “The house will be right back here, and the front porch will be right where I'm standing.” He cleared his throat and continued. “Now, right over here.…”

*   *   *

Rollins ate dinner at Toby's T-Bone next day. When he finished his meal, he got to his feet. “Please give me your attention for a minute!” he said loudly, addressing a sizable crowd of men. His deep, booming voice stopped all conversation. “I've got some old buildings to move and some new ones to build,” he said, “and I need to hire two or three good carpenters.” All was quiet. He looked around the room for a moment, then continued. “I believe the job will last about two months, and I'll pay two dollars a day and found.”

A fork dropped into a plate noisily and a middle-aged man began to talk: “By God, for that kind of money, I'd sure like to hear a little more about it.” He motioned toward two young men at his table who appeared to be in their late teens. “Me and the boys are in the middle of a job right now, but there ain't no hurry on it. We can finish it next spring.”

Rollins walked to the man's table. “Mind if I sit?” he asked, offering a handshake. “My name's Bret Rollins.”

The man was on his feet quickly, grasping the hand. “My name's Walt Dalton,” he said, then nodded toward the boys. “And these are my sons, Willie and Walt Junior.” He pushed a chair toward Bret and continued to talk: “Don't go judging the boys by their young ages, now. They grew up with hammers in their hands and they can handle any job you've got.”

Rollins smiled and shook hands with each of the young men. “I believe you, Mister Dalton, and I'll pay your sons the same wage I'd pay any other man.”

Dalton nodded. “Now,” he said, “let's hear some more about this job.”

Rollins seated himself and began to describe the situation at the ranch, making sure the men understood that they would be living beneath a tarpaulin and sleeping in tents till the bunkhouse was completed.

“Nothing we ain't done before,” Dalton said.

“One more thing,” Bret said, “maybe the main thing. I don't mind spending whatever it takes to make sure everybody eats good, but I don't have a cook out at the ranch. Maybe I should start looking around, see if I can get somebody.”

“Nope,” Dalton said, scratching at a three-day growth of stubble on his chin. “What you need to do is hire my pappy. He's sixty years old now and he ain't gonna win no footraces, but he still gets around pretty good, plenty good enough to hold down a cooking job. He knows enough good jokes to last two months, but the main reason you ought to hire him is that he knows how to cook. He's been cooking in cow camps off and on for the past thirty years.”

“You think he'd take the job?”

“Sure he'll take it. You're paying two dollars a day, ain't you?”

“To carpenters, yes. To cooks, no. I'll pay a cook a dollar and a half a day.”

Dalton scratched his beard again. “Like I say, Mister Rollins, he'll take the job. You'll have to send a wagon after him 'cause he's got a lot of stuff. Even insists on using his own pots and pans.”

“Transportation is no problem,” Rollins said. “I'll take care of it myself. What is your father's name?”

“Well, his name is William, but don't nobody call him nothing but Dixie. Dixie Dalton. That's all I've ever heard anybody call him.”

Rollins nodded. “Dixie Dalton,” he repeated. “An easy name to remember.” They talked for another half hour, then Rollins headed home. It had been agreed upon that Walt Dalton and his sons would come to the ranch the day after tomorrow, and Rollins would pick up Dixie Dalton at his home on the same day.