Date: Sat, 10 May 2008 12:05:46 -0500 From: fireflywatcher ford Subject: Short Grass Prairie,chapter 6 The usual disclaimers apply, if you are under eighteen or sexual content is illegal where you live, read no further. This is an original work of fiction and I reserver all rights to myself, the author, unless I give written permission to publish or reproduce it. I appreciate all comments and will reply to every email. fireflywatcher@gmail.com If you are getting bored, by all means let me know so I ccan bring this story to a close. Short Grass Prairie by fireflywatcher- Phil Ford CHAPTER SIX Rich couldn't play any music. He'd tried and knew the notes and chords on several instruments, learning from the other men, but his attempts didn't resemble the songs he was playing, at all. He could scoot a boot with the best of them, though. When he danced with Taylor, no matter the step, he liked to do a fast step, belly to belly, buckle to buckle, and have a tight grip around his partner's waist. This Saturday night he wore the new denims made by Levi Strauss with the rivets and the button fly that was becoming very popular among cowboys. They bulged at the crotch giving the impression of a larger endowment to the wearer. He had a brand new white pearl snap shirt, a white silk bandana around his neck, and new boots he and Taylor had made themselves. Taylor matched him to a tee but his bandana was red silk and bright as fire. Fine silver grey felt hats topped their heads. His shirt was open down a few snaps showing the fur peeking out at his neck and Taylor's smooth chest was revealed the same way. Each time he looked at Taylor's smooth coffee colored skin he felt a tremble in his groin, a yearning for play that would come later that night. Lance had been bold enough to make feather hat bands that resembled Comanche war bonnets. Arch wore one, too, and they got a lot of requests for more. Even Wes had put out some cash to dress up for the dance. A butcher made thirty cents an hour, where other workmen still only made a dime. Justin would have bought him what he wanted in any case, but he was proud he could buy his own duds. We decked out the barn with blue bonnets and Indian paint brush gathered from the pasture, just for the ladies. The high stone walls and the off white hue of the smooth concrete floor reflected the lamp light in every direction. Steel drums blazed around the space to lessen the chill of the night and the smoke they emitted rose to pass out through the high loft doors. Besides the daughter-in-laws, Sean and Ned had been courting two young widows they brought along and it looked like marriage was in the wind. Donald had a beau on his arm, too. A dozen odd more ladies danced with what we assumed to be husbands or beaus, but even local men danced together just as our men did because there were few women in this part of the country. Any man who spotted a lady to his liking had to follow the rule, "Dance with them what brung you", it was no time for getting into a fight. They'd have to see her another day and ask permission to come calling. In far flung places, people might travel for a couple of days to attend a dance, something only happening on rare occasions. Men would bunk in the barn, deserting the house to the women, and staying several days before going home. Ranches and people weren't so strung out here anymore. The ladies of our family did their share playing music. They got in plenty of dancing, too. Well before midnight the women, their men, and the respectable men at the gathering, began to filter out and head for home. Drinking wasn't acceptable in mixed company, but with only men left, we broke out the whiskey and beer. The whole evening I'd noticed how Bart satisfied his needs. He'd dance a dance and duck out the back door of the barn, sometimes with one man, sometimes with several. When the whiskey came out he didn't bother to dance anymore. Finally, he didn't come back inside anymore at all. I figured he'd gone home since he lived very close by. We pushed bales together and bedded down, just as we'd done in the past. Ian arrived with coffee the next morning. We'd even brought the piano and had to load everything for the trip home. "Where's Luke?", I asked. "Bart told us to wake him so he could help", Ian replied. "Bart's been beaten up pretty bad", Luke told us, coming in. "I'm going for Nate, Justin and Wes are cleaning him up right now." The boys and their wives had spent the night at the ranch. The long drive to town was too far to travel in the dark of the night. They had a woman at home caring for the children. Luke and Nate arrived to find us all outside Bart's house with Justin inside tending him. "God, he's lost a lot of blood", Nate told us. "I stitched him up and can't find any broken bones but the bruises tell me it happened several hours ago, before dawn. Wes has been washing and scrubbing everything with iodine. He never made it to the bed. He was laying on the floor when Luke found him. I'll stay until his condition changes and Wes will spell me when I need to rest. Amy can handle the cases that come up by herself." Wes had come outside and puked his guts up three times before Nate arrived. Who would have thought blood would sicken a butcher? Jake ribbed him about it and he responded saying, "We slit their throats and bleed them dry in the killing shed. I never see the carcass then. It's dry and cold when I get my hands on it." Jake ribbed him some more and Wes snapped at him, "You bastard, it wasn't just the blood. Let Nate explain it to you when he gets here." Wes rushed to the ditch near the street and puked again, returning inside the house once he regained his composure. I've given Bart morphine", Nate continued. "Most of the blood came from his ass and the damage wasn't done by a dick. Someone rammed something up inside him. The morphine will constipate him and that helps healing one way but there is a danger of his intestines growing shut which will cause a blockage and kill him. I can't stitch him up inside there. We'll have to put ointment inside regularly to take care it heals properly. The morphine will reduce the swelling on his brain, too, and help him come to consciousness quicker. Then he'll need more morphine to kill the pain. Another danger is inflammation and infection of the gut called peritonitis if his colon was punctured. That will kill him, too. Wes and I will be with him for a couple of weeks at best." I stammered realizing the meaning of Nate's words, then I blurted out, "We need to know who did this!" "You damn right", Nate responded. "Think about it dad. There are miles of pasture in every direction and this was done in the dark of the early morning. A body dumped would be eliminated by coyotes and varmints. This bastard was sending a message. He hates queers and he thinks killing them is a service to the community. He wants other queers scared shitless and he's saying he's going to do the same thing again." The boys and their wives passed by and were briefed by Nate. Bob went into town with them to bring back medical supplies and we went home to the ranch. The piano would ruin if it rained and we got caught out in it. It took eight men to load or unload and we had to get it home, it was the rainy time of year. Along with medicines and supplies Bob brought back word from the churches in town. They were in the business of saving souls, not caring for orphans. They would pray for God to provide for the needs of the children and nothing more. I remembered Paw-paw paraphrasing Jesus, saying, "He who harms the least of my children will answer to me." In my mind harm by neglect was the same as harm done through actions when a body was aware of the consequences. We were two men short with Bart laid up and Wes nursing him. Amy was a husband and a doctor short. Life would go on but a child starving to death couldn't be righted later. We sent Travis and Bob, each with wagon loads, to see to the needs of the children. They could serve Amy at the same time by reporting back to her of those in need of her care. At least one of us went to Bart's house every day to check on him. His parents and family visited but were never told why we thought he was attacked. Sexuality wasn't ever openly discussed. After two days Bart would drink a little but wasn't aware of his surroundings. He didn't speak, he moaned. He didn't open his eyes. Only consuming clear broth and water meant he just pissed the bed. Things could have been worse. Then one morning while Wes and Nate were sitting at the table having coffee, Bart got up and walked out on the porch and pissed. He went right back to the bed but he was talking. "Do you know who beat you up?", Wes asked. "Oh hell yeah", Bart answered. "It was that big guy over near Santa Ana mountain called Moose. I went out back with him and sucked his dick a minute or so. He had a big one and said he wanted to fuck. I brought him home and inside the door he started hitting me. That's all I remember right now." "Are you hurting any?", Nate inquired. "My ass hurts something terrible", Bart replied. "I hurt pretty much all over." Nate gave him more morphine and he slept again. Wes rode immediately to the ranch to pass on the news. Moose was found the next morning dead, tied to a telegraph pole with his genitals cut off and stuffed in his mouth, just a short distance from the small town. He couldn't scream with his mouth full as he bled to death. "I would have burned him alive if you let me have my way", Hawk commented. "The son of a bitch enjoyed our hospitality at the dance and look what he did to thank us." "If you'd burned him alive the law would be here taking all of you Comanche to hang", Jake replied. "They'd know an Indian did it. As it is no one asked us any questions. I'd bet he bragged to friends about beating Bart, too." "Well, they can get in line", I responded. "If they think beating or killing a man for who he chooses to bed down with, they are wasting air someone else could be breathing." "It ain't the same as it's always been, now", Jake answered. "We got all these people around us. They talk. They mind other peoples business. We got to act proper in public or face the trouble that comes." We hashed it over between us for a while and it was soon time for bed. Hard days lay ahead finishing the spring roundup and steer sales. Swift drug me to our bedroom while others remained talking. "I want a decent amount of loving before we sleep tonight", he insisted. "This ain't going to be no damn quick job for once." It was cool. He pushed me down on the bed and turned to the small fireplace in our bedroom, lighting a fire, first, and adding a couple of logs. "I want it comfortable enough to lay around naked. All I want on top of me is your hairy body and no blankets or quilts to weigh us down." "We should have bathed", I told him. "I like the smell of you better like you are", he replied, licking up my arm from my elbow. "Let me get these clothes off you now." He straddled one leg and slid off the boot, moved to the other leg and did the same. Then he knelt on the floor before me and unbuttoned my denims. Pulling the legs as I lifted my butt, he slid them into a wad on the floor. I was bare underneath so he arose and went for the snaps of my shirt, then slid it down from my shoulders and added it to make a pile on the floor. "I'll leave you your socks until the room warms some, but don't fret, those toes of yours will get some attention before we're done." In a flurry of motion, he held one of his boots with his other foot and stepped out of the first boot, then the other, dropped his pants and shirt into the pile, and flung himself beside me on the bed. I opened my mouth to accept his invading tongue as his lips touched mine. His dick was already hard and as he pressed it against my groin and mine soon reached the same fullness. "I think I can take care of that bath you wanted now and get my fill of your smell and taste at the same time", Swift declared. I sincerely thought something about my body just wasn't made right. I really didn't get a thing out of getting my nipples or my ass tongued or chewed on. That would drive Swift wild and I loved doing it for him. I even played the part of liking it done to me because he enjoyed it so much. All that really got me was him licking my arm pits and I was so ticklish there I almost couldn't stand it. It wasn't a sexual feeling, just me being ticklish. He licked me all over until he was satisfied and I returned the favor. After that he spurted twice, once down my throat and the second time grinding into my ass. I took his ass myself and truly enjoyed it. Something about spurting is it makes you sleepy when you're done. Our love making wasn't a long session, but it was long enough. Nate stayed with Bart a couple more days to make sure his guts were working right and went back home to Amy and his practice. Wes stayed another week with Justin joining him every evening, before they returned to their house down the road. We continued working the cattle until the first week in June when the last group of finished steers were loaded into cattle cars bound for market. Swift planned a trip to the reservation lands with several of the men but they could only accommodate three, so he, Luis, and Chance took the trip. As Swift started to ride off to the train depot, he clicked his tongue and reined his horse to turn a circle and stopped facing me again. He repeated it three times and said, "I just want you fresh in my mind for the trip", and I told him I'd miss him. They rode and slept in the caboose and took their horses along just as they had done the last time they traveled north together. June was a dryer time. The grasses had taken the golden hue of ripened wheat instead of the fresh green we saw at spring roundup time. The heat had set in and with the golden colors we'd see in the fall, but there was no brisk feel to the air. It was unbearably hot. Traveling north, the afternoon sky to the west turned black with high billowing clouds that stood tall like a range of mountains. Usually the thunderstorms were infrequent by June and into the high summer until the Mexican monsoon fell on us. It hadn't rained a drop in a month and this front looked mean. The storm hadn't reached the rail line by dark and when it approached it was a brilliant show of lightening in every direction. The kerosene lanterns were swaying as the train buffeted in the strong winds. "Damn, I hope it doesn't blow us off the track", the conductor remarked after a particularly strong gust hit us. Chance sat near one window watching the light show the entire time. Luis and Swift ignored the storm since they weren't out in it and dosed off atop their bedrolls. The storm moved quickly and soon passed the course the train took. They were nearly halfway to Fort Cobb. "I've got some coffee made if you want any", the conductor offered as Luis stirred from his sleep. "Thank you kindly, mister", Luis replied, pouring himself a cup. The steamy liquid was blacker than they usually made at the ranch, but the taste was passable. Chance and Swift stirred directly and joined the two men drinking coffee. Each had to take a turn stepping through the door out onto the back deck to piss into the wind. If accommodations existed for more serious business, they hadn't asked. By midmorning they had crossed the trestle over the Red River and soon after pulled into the station at the new town of Lawton, Oklahoma Territory. Clouds of dust rose in their wake as they rode to the ranch. Their pace was a steady trot and no more. Either the rain of the night had passed this country by or little enough had fallen to dry out again in the morning breeze. The grass here grew untroubled by invading scrub. Instead of the knee height short grass of the ranch it's lush growth reached the breast of the horses when they strayed from the road. It held the same golden hues of the hot season. Chance gave his horse a deep drink before looping the rains around the rail at the barn. Luis and Swift did the same in turn. They found John Grayson, the foreman, milking an angus cow in the barn. "Howdy, John", Chance greeted him. "You see what I'm down to doing at my old age", Grayson explained, "I get to bottle feed the orphans and hang around the barn most of the time." He rose, pressing a hand firmly to his lower back. "I've got more sore places than I do body parts. Every time you hurt yourself when you're younger, it comes back to haunt you later on in life." They exchanged handshakes. The bunkhouse there stood empty now. Each man had his own house on his own land and they worked all the property together just as we did at the ranch. Several had married now that they could take care of a family and some still remained unmarried, but not necessarily alone. John partnered with Walt, a cowboy twelve years his junior. Walt was to take the foreman's position before fall roundup and though John would still be around, he would just advise and see to the accounts. Several of the wives had cleaned Swift's house and put fresh linens on the beds. Each of the Comanche men, the two grown boys, and Luis had houses. They were sparsely furnished and easily cleaned before a visit. One house was more than enough space for the three visitors. John shook off the twang of pain that shot through his shoulders as he stood fully erect now. His shoulders wanted to fall back into the hunched position he'd been in milking the cow. He reached for the cane he'd taken to using and walked out into the sunshine with the men. "I've no place else to go and any kin I had, I lost track of more than forty years ago. I have to say I'll be glad to be rid of the burden of running this place, but I'll still be here to lend a hand as long as I'm able. I'm sure Walt will do a good job for ya'll and ya'll have done more that right by each of us." His cane traced the path before him, acted as an extension of his hand to point or express his thoughts, and it was a ready weapon should a rattler cross his path. "Jake wrote that a bad sickness hit down your way and that's why I didn't hear from you last year. I can't be sure but I don't think it passed through here. We don't get to town much, just to drive the finished stock to sale and load supplies we need." "That's probably for the best", Chance responded, "I'm sure some sickness moves on the wind and from the cattle disease like hoof and mouth, and anthrax, some stays in the dirt, but most passes from person to person and animal to animal." "I put the case of whiskey you shipped here on the table in Swift's house. I gave the stuff up in my twenties when I couldn't handle it, but I think I'm old enough to drink now. I started taking a shot before bed each evening. It and Walt's strong hands working out my sore spots, helps me get to sleep easier.", John told them. "You might bring a bottle along to supper and I know he'd appreciate it." The men talked with John a while longer. Then the rode the pastures looking at the herds. Pronghorn antelope moved across fence lines, in groups, as if they weren't there. Their numbers weren't huge or great enough to affect grazing, but the sight of them was a change from the home ranch. Wells and water towers had been put in here as they were at Short Grass. Buffalo wallows formed ponds dotting the landscape. Surely some had existed for centuries and the banks were lined with cattails except for a few breaks kept open by the cattle. Red wing blackbirds nesting in the cattails, cackled at the men when they stopped for a swim at a larger pond. Bathing at the houses here was more of a chore using a long galvanized tub and heating water. A swim washed off the road dust without the fuss. Supper that evening was attended by all the men, their wives, and children. Those with families left early after the meal was finished and those still single lingered. Whiskey and conversation took up the balance of the time before all went to their beds. The next morning was occupied by a trip to visit the remaining winter camp Comanche. It was the time for the summer moon festival and all the Comanche were preparing for it. Chance followed Luis and Swift around visiting the different groups in awe of the fancy dress for the celebrations. Two days passed in visiting and joining in the celebration with the Comanche. Members of other tribes had come to the festival, too. Some tribes celebrated at the full moon closest to the longest day of summer, the solstice, or the solstice itself. For the native hunters of the plains this was the fattest time of year when the buffalo still covered the grass lands. Having adapted to the new life of ranching cattle and farming, it was once again becoming a fat time of year. A young Comanche man had a harder time sorting out his place among the other men his age. There was no war to prove his worth in battle and his bravery. With so many people living close together, hunting skills were less important. There was much less game and no buffalo. All the Comanche were fine looking people, maybe a few a little heavier and a few thinner, but none were down right ugly or even plain. Wrestling and some sport they played at helped a little but a victor one day could be a looser the next. The ceremonial dress for the festival did more to sort the young men from one another than anything else. For Chance, Luis, and Swift the scenery improved when the younger men wore less. Men who preferred the company of other men and younger men in search of the easiest sexual satisfaction they could find, gathered along a creek back away from the main area of the festival. All the areas where specific groups gathered were well known. There was no prejudice against men enjoying other men, but those that wanted their activity kept private might circle around the cams and enter from the far side. Others would more brazenly flirt with someone they desired. They might undress in front of them, taunting, "That maiden you like won't give herself to you until you marry her, but look what you can have today. You can feel my strength or my moist soft lips. You can taste my crème or give me yours, and tomorrow you'll still be waiting to marry that maiden." Then he would walk off toward the men's camp with his clothing over his shoulder, turning back to say, "Come on, go with me." Chance attracted some and angered others for the same reason, he was white. When his clothes came off and his tattoo's showed, he was accepted. He couldn't speak many Comanche words but he didn't need words. When he met Swift and Luis before dawn after a night of play, he said, "Man oh man, I wish I had two dicks", Chance told Swift. "This one is sore, I can't cum anymore, and my hardon won't go away." "You'll be fine by the time we get back home", Luis consoled him. "I just hope our guys aren't mad because we played around." "They would be doing it too, if they were here", Swift observed. "Look at all these fine men. Who could say no?" They bathed in the creek and dressed having had enough of of the sexual fun. Back in the main camp area which was at the center of what had been the reservation, near the trading post, the wandered around seeing the sights. Some people had their handiwork laid out for trade. Old women cooked in big pots and tended babies. Chiefs and old men sat telling tales of their younger days and bragging about their bravery and hunting skills. Children played a kind of stick ball and other games to pass the time. The medicine men sat discussing cures and magic. When told by Swift that his boy had gone to the white man's school to study medicine and had returned with a white doctor as his wife, they were all impressed. They used the white medicine they had learned, themselves. The main festivities wouldn't be held for several days. On the evening of the full moon there would be the beating drums, the dancing, the singing and chanting, and a giant feast. As the evening approached they mounted their horses and rode back to the ranch. It was time to take the train ride back home to their simple lives as cowboys, with their partners. "We forget there's a world away from the ranch", Chance commented. They were staring out the windows of the caboose as it chugged along, going south. "We don't forget", Luis countered, "They don't know we exist. We ain't even got a spot on a map." "The way Jim talks we should put up a sign that says, 'You've reached the end of the world, now turn around and go back'. I tend to agree with him. I remember the plains open as far as I could see and herds of buffalo as wide as the sky. I don't like all the damn white man's rules like us having to ride in the caboose", Swift complained. "And I love the one my heart tells me to love and no man can tell me who to love, either." "There's a man in a fancy suit and a silk hat with a big box full of money back east, making up all those rules", the conductor stated, "He's the reason people come out here. They want to get away from his rules, too." "It's a big country", Chance answered. "I just hope the piece of it these new folks want ain't mine." The train clattered along the track. The smell of ozone filled the air, meaning rain was coming again, or was it a false promise? The sky shone clear and the morning warmth was becoming the afternoon heat. Only the breeze through the windows offered relief. The smell of man sweat and coal smoke grew in the mix. Luis drew a bottle from his satchel. After taking a bite, he passed it on. The conductor refrained but Swift and Chance joined him happily. Late in the evening before the sun set the train stopped for them to get off and unload their horses. Normally they would have had to ride on to town and come back by horse to the ranch, but an exception was made. Without the ramp Sean had built, it wouldn't have been possible. A horse might have broken a leg jumping down from the rail car. Tanner took their horses leaving their satchels on the porch. "What you got for a weary traveler?", Luis asked Hawk. "A good home cooked meal, a soft bed, or a hard Comanche dick. Which do you want first?", Hawk replied. "Tell me more about that hard dick while I eat", Luis told him. "You know it was summer moon, don't you?' "Of course! I hope you fucked some tight young brave twice to get my share of the fun", Hawk told him. "I'm going to put some extra effort in myself to remind you why you love me best." Chance explained to Jake that he was a little sore. Jake chuckled and said, "Fine then, I'll make use of your back side since it didn't get used much." Since they had eaten earlier, they sat with us at the table while we ate. "Amy made a count of the orphan children while ya'll were gone", I told them. "There are about a hundred who lost their parents. She found homes for the youngest. Some of the older children just need help and a few could use a family and help. We can ride along when Bob and Trace deliver food, if you like." "I ain't got nothing better to do", answered Swift. Women just don't want to hear the word 'no' whether it comes from an adult or a child, and Amy was more determined than most. Lance and Arch were already riding back to the ranch with an eight year old girl behind Lance and an eleven year old boy behind Arch, holding on tight, arms wrapped around their Comanche cowboys. Swift and I were the next up. She'd stopped a mile back of a house telling us she had packages for two boys named Henry and Frank. We were to hand them out once we stopped at the house. I spotted a cotton headed boy holding his open hand above his brow to shade his eyes, standing in a garden where he'd been hoeing. He gave a full wave of both arms and ran to the house to meet us. Another slightly smaller boy waved from the porch. Both wore clothes several sizes too large that hung on their frames. Amy lifted a basket as she stepped down from her buggy and Bob carried a jug with him from the wagon. She motioned for us to bring the packages. "I brought some lunch", she yelled to the house. "Can you take a look at Henry's foot, Doc Amy?", the older boy asked. "The hoe bit him yesterday when he was helping me in the garden. He bled a whole bunch and I wouldn't let him help today." "You sit on the bench next to Henry, Frank, and I'll get my bag so I can fix him up", Amy instructed. Both boys steadily pumped their legs, swinging them in and kicking back out as they sat. She stuck a sandwich in each mouth and held Henry's foot still to examine him. "You got enough dirt on that foot to grow tomatoes", Amy declared, taking a wet cloth to clean him some. Henry winced and let out a gasp. "I ain't going to kill you Henry, I'm cleaning you up to take a look." "I'll be still, Doc Amy", Henry replied. "You don't sound like a fine Boston lady", I whispered in Amy's ear. "You have to speak like the people you are with or they think you're talking down to them", Amy whispered back. "Practicing medicine is more about talking to your patient than it is about any treatment you can provide." "There Henry", she continued at full voice, "I can't stitch it, it's too late. I cleaned it with iodine and wrapped it up. You'll have to stay off your foot for a week and keep it clean." Frank began bawling like a baby. "I can't keep up with the weeds by myself. We don't know how to cook nothing and I just can't make it without Henry's help", Frank moaned. "Ain't there nothing we can do so he can help me?" "He could loose his foot or even die if it gets infected, Frank. Then you wouldn't have any help, ever", Amy warned. Frank crumpled to the floor and sobbed, tears flooding down his cheeks. "Frank", she said, grabbing his shoulder. "Frank, this is Jim and Swift. You know my husband, Doc Nate? They are his dad's and I think they can help." Frank looked up. Henry stared at us and said, "Dad's? I never heard of anybody having two dad's." "We figured a kid needed two parents and neither of us had wives", Swift answered. "Sam and Nate were like you and Frank. Their parents got sick and they were all alone. Me and Jim took Nate and Jim's uncle Jake and Chance, took Sam. That way if something happened to one of us they wouldn't be left alone again." "Do you think you might want to come home with us and see if you'd like to live there", I asked. "Hal would be awful lonesome and Sweet Thing just had a litter of pigs, and the chickens wouldn't have no one to chase those coons away, but they might be OK for a day or two", Frank replied. "I guess we could come visit." "Amy brought you both some new duds, too", Swift added. He plopped a box down in front of each of them, which they pulled open immediately. Frank insisted his momma would've tanned his hide if he put on new clothes without bathing. Swift helped fill the tub and I fished them each out a change of clothes, putting the boxes back on the wagon for the trip home. Amy and Bob drove on to the next farm and we stayed with the boys to ride home to the ranch. Frank dried his ears, talking the whole time. Water beaded down his back, dripping from his hair and I ran a comb through it. The denims had enough room left for him to grow a little and he had the legs turned up in a cuff with four inches to spare on his long legs. Swift held Henry's foot out of the water to keep the dressing dry. "I kept some lace up boots to go over your sore foot, Henry", I told him. "You have cowboy boots, too, but I sent the boxes with Bob for now." "You want to bring Hal on a lead back to the ranch so he won't be lonesome?", Swift inquired. They both nodded a yes. Frank was eleven and Henry was ten. They'd had an older brother and a younger sister who died from the same sickness that took their parents. Neither of them had gotten sick and felt guilty for being alive, like it was their fault. I think they were more impressed by the food and the spring pond as a handy swimming hole than anything else. I overheard them as they were swinging in the porch swing, two days later. Henry said, "We can't cook like they cook, Frank." "Yeah, I know", Frank replied. "We'll still have our place and we can bring Sweet Thing and the chickens over here", Henry continued. "Yeah, I know", Frank answered. "We ain't got to work over here, just go to some school, and we can be cowboys if we want to", Henry informed Frank. "So, are we going to stay?", Henry questioned. "Yeah, I guess, but only if you want to", Frank responded. "I do Frank, I do. I like Jim and Swift. I like it here", Henry concluded. "Let's go fishing", Frank stated and with that they jumped down from the porch swing and scampered out the door. A number of other faces joined our family at the ranch. The McCorkle households grew. Men working at the businesses and people in the small town where the store sat all took children. Those of the older children who could care for themselves, were given jobs if they wanted them, and helped to get their small plots in shape to support themselves. No siblings were separated. Amy diligently checked on all of them to be sure none were abused or used for free labor, and that they continued to be happy. "What do you think of the boys?", I asked Swift as we lay in bed days later. "I wish we had them for more years", he replied. "These boys are grown at sixteen , married and having their own babies by eighteen, and old dying men by the time they're our age, all worn out. The Comanche don't push you through life in a hurry to get all the living done with. A young man has to show his skills and bravery to be considered grown. He has to have wealth in the form of his horses, to pay the bride price for his wife. He probably spends time providing for his mother or grandmother or aunt, to demonstrate his ability to take care of a family. I love them both already and I want to see them grow up slowly." (continued in chapter seven)