BEDROCK : Robbery at Holliday Creek (2):

End of the Trail

Four months later he was home again, back from the cattle drive to the end of the railroad in Abilene, and looking down from the grassy ridge-line on his step-dad’s spread a half mile to the east. Ted Skillman let the reins go slack after his cow-pony came to a standstill. In one smooth movement he swung his lanky left leg over the horse’s neck and gripped the saddle horn behind his knee. He reached for his breast pocket and fished out cigarette makings.

Silhouetted against the setting sun, Ted’s form appeared gaunt. In reality, he was heftier than he seemed, and his physical build wasn’t the only thing deceptive about his appearance. One might guess him to be in his mid-twenties: the crow’s feet around the eyes, the chiseled chin and nose, the thin lips that now gripped an unlit cigarette. Ted pulled out a match, and flicked the sulfur end with his thumb nail. The flare of the match under the cowboy hat sparkled in the iceberg-blue eyes; and also, revealed long delicate fingers on narrow hands curled around the light.

The last twelve of his near eighteen years he’d spent growing up on that ranch down in the valley. After his father died in a farm accident back in Ohio, his mother re-married another farmer who moved the family to Texas to take advantage of the Homestead Act of 1862.

Ted took a long draw on his smoke; the pony nosed its reins to get a few extra morsels of grass, then flicked back its ear at the soothing sound of its master’s voice. “You know, little filly, we’re coming to the end of our cow punching days.” Ear twitch. He took another draw on his cigarette and exhaled slowly as he inventoried prospects for his future.

The frontier was filling with settlers, and they were mostly farmers: putting up fences, plowing the land for sustenance, raising a few cattle for cash; but, basically farmers. And that was not for him. His family had accumulated a hundred head of cattle, which they added to the rail-head drive. Though he was barely fifteen when his parents first allowed him to join the drive, it was important to keep a close eye on the family interests. His mother was a school teacher in Ohio, and she home-schooled Ted to read and write. Turned out, he was pretty good with his numbers, too. Having a member of the family on the drive was good insurance, and it got Ted out of farm work.

In a few minutes he would walk through the door down there to a warm, but subdued, welcome; he would wolf down his mother’s home cooking; and, most importantly, give his family an accounting of cash from the cattle sale. Theoretically, he was to deduct wages from the revenues, but as he looked down on the meager little farm, the soddy house, and the small acreage in cultivation, he knew he would not take much of his wages – again.