the first time Iâve heard you mention it with this Charlie Stevens.â
âWell we did, him and me.â He said it kind of defiantly. âWas good friends, damn good friends. Thatâs how come it was us come West together looking for a new range, new opportunities. Weâd heard all the stories about Texas and about the Oklahoma Territory and we figured that was the place to head for. I reckon that was in about 1851, â52. We was both just young bucks, barely reached our majority. Couldnât been more than twenty-one. I think Charlie might have been a year olderân me though not quite. Big good-lookinâ fella. Good in a fight, good with horses. Good man to partner up with. Had an even temper, laughed a lot. I remember him beinâ mighty popular with the young ladies back in Georgia. Easygoing feller. Didnât care much for arguing, though heâd back his partner in a fight.â
He spit tobacco juice again and this time cleared the rail. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. âAnyways, we set out and ended up in the Indian Territory to start with. Thatâs what they called Oklahoma then. Set out to catch on with some cattle outfit and learn the business and then set up on our own. Was plenty of land, though it wasnât shucks to what we got around here. There was plenty of water, but the dirt was poor, wouldnât grow grass like it did here. But anyways, we got in with some small outfit, canât remember the brand. Mostly what they was doinâ was mavericking, and it didnât take no scholar to see wasnât much point on puttinâ another manâs brand on an ownerless calf when you could just as easy put your own on it. But we was drawinâ wages and the outfit was providing the horses, so we played it straight. Was a good bit of Injuns around. Cherokees. Hell, theyâd been moved from Georgia their own self. Army moved âem anâ put âem on a reservation. They didnât much care for it, but they was a good people, nothinâ like them murderinâ goddam Comanches we had down here. And they was a handsome people. Some of the women . . .â
He stopped and didnât say anything for a moment.
I said, âWhat was you saying?â
He cleared his throat. âThis talkinâ is mighty hard work.â
âAnd you figure a little drink would make it go easier?â
âWell, it is going on for noon.â
I got up. âHell, Howard, it ainât even eleven oâclock. But if itâll speed you up Iâll bring you a short one. But itâll be watered.â
âNow, Justa,â he said, but I was already going in the house.
I brought him back his drink. Iâd been a little more generous with the whiskey than Iâd meant to be, forgetting for a second who it was for, and he smiled his appreciation as he took a sip. I said, âYou was talking about the Cherokee women.â
I thought I saw a little flinch come over his face. But he said, âJust in passinâ. They was a handsome people, and as civilized as some white folks and more so than others. But that ainât got nothinâ to do with what I was talkinâ about. Where was I?â
âYou and Charlie Stevens was branding mavericks for some small outfit.â
âYeah. Well, we done that about a year and right quick seen we wasnât getting nowhere. And I could see the country wasnât going to amount to much neither. Like I said, there was plenty of free land, but it was poor. You couldnât run one cow over at least twenty acres. âBout that time weâd commenced to hear about this country in the Gulf Coast. This here country weâre settinâ in right now. We heard it was belly-deep to a tall cow in grass, and plenty of water and mustangs and wild Longhorns and land for the asking. So we drawed what wages we had coming, throwed in together, and bought us an outfit, then headed