The rolling hillside was covered in a blanket of blue bonnet flowers which stretched for as far as the eye could see. The tall figure of the silver haired rancher stood silently amid them and held his black ten gallon hat in his rugged gloved hands as though in silent prayer. He had not moved in more than an hour apart from the occasional turn of his head as he studied the tranquil scenery which surrounded him. This was a sacred place to Gene Lon Adams. A place where the dead rested beneath a canopy of a million blue flowers. The place where his beloved sweetheart had been laid to rest so very long before. Over the years which had followed that tragic event he had buried many of his loyal cowboys beneath the blue bonnets if they had not had kinfolk to claim their broken bodies.
Far below the hillside his chestnut mare patiently waited as she had done countless times before. She would not move or stray until the rancher finished his silent ritual and return to her. It was as if the handsome horse could actually read her masters mind. There was no hurry in either the man nor the beast. Some things required time.
Adams always came to this remote part of the Bar 10 ranch when he was troubled or when like now was about to set out on a cattle drive. Unlike her master the horse heard the two horsemen approaching and turned her head to watch the familiar cowboys as they rode up to her.
Johnny Puma reined in and leapt from his saddle. He held on to the long leathers of his pinto pony and waited for the elderly Tomahawk to reach him. The older rider drew back and then carefully dismounted beside the youngster and gave a knowing nod.
‘I told ya we’d find him here.’ Tomahawk said.
‘Reckon you did.’ Johnny admitted. ‘I figured as much myself. I just never said it.’
‘Hold on a dang minute there, boy.’ Tomahawk screwed up his wrinkled features and moved to the smiling Johnny. His beard jutted at the young cowboy as though pointing. ‘You wanted to go to town. You said Gene would be there not here as I recall.’
Johnny grinned. ‘I was thinking of you, old timer. I was thinking if we went to town you could go looking for Gene in one of the saloons. You could have had a beer or two.’
The bushy eyebrows of the seasoned old cowboy rose. ‘Why didn’t ya say that before, ya young whippersnapper? I am a leetle bit thirsty now I thinks about it.’
Johnny touched the arm of his far older friend and then pointed at the rancher. Adams remained like a statue set in the middle of the knee high blue bonnets.
‘Gene sure is quiet, Tomahawk. How come?’
‘He always is when he comes here.’ Tomahawk sighed heavily and shook his head sadly. ‘He’s thinking on all the cowboys we buried here over the years. He’s also thinking about his old sweetheart.’
Johnny looked down at the skinny figure. ‘Gene had himself a sweetheart?’
‘Yep.’ Tomahawk nodded and then thoughtfully smiled at his younger companion. ‘Prettiest thing ya ever set eyes upon, Johnny. She was the love of his life.’
‘What happened to her?’
‘Injuns.’ Tomahawk answered. ‘They didn’t cotton to folks invading their land. We was scouting for a wagon train and when we was off to the north looking for water for the oxen and horses the train was attacked. Killed them all.’
Johnny rubbed his neck. ‘Killed them all? How many folks were in the wagon train?’
‘Too many, boy.’ Tomahawk looked at the ground. ‘Way too many. We buried them all here. That’s why Gene stayed here and we set up the ranch. She’s buried somewhere around here. Gene knows where he buried her. She sure was pretty, Johnny.’
Johnny exhaled. ‘What was her name?’
Tomahawk looked into the face of the younger man. ‘Amy.’
The name had no sooner left the lips of the old timer when Gene turned and started to walk down the slope toward them. The morning sun rested on his wide unbending shoulders. As he approached he placed his wide brimmed hat on his head of silver hair and tightened its drawstring. He did not look at either of them as he navigated a course through the countless blue flowers. It was as if he did not want to step on any of them.
‘Thought we’d find ya here, Gene boy.’ Tomahawk grinned as the tall man reached them and his horse.
‘Why you boys looking for me?’ Adams asked as he took the reins of his mount. ‘Something happened?’
Both men looked sheepish. Neither answered.
Adams held on to his saddle horn, poked a boot in a stirrup and then mounted his faithful horse. He sat looking at them.
‘What happened?’
‘Nothing happened, Gene.’ Johnny bluffed.
Adams glanced at Tomahawk. ‘Is Johnny telling the truth, old timer?’
Both cowboys looked at one another. It was like two small children trying to work out if they might be in serious trouble.
‘We had us a leetle trouble with Cookie.’ Tomahawk finally said. ‘Just a leetle bit.’
Adams sucked in his cheeks. ‘What kinda trouble?’
‘He bust his leg.’ Johnny quickly interrupted.
‘What?’ Adams voice raised. ‘The man who is the most important part of the cattle drive has broken his leg? We can’t start for McCoy with thousands of longhorns without a cook to wake and feed us. Cookie runs the whole show.’
Tomahawk waved his bony hands in the air. ‘He only bust the one leg, Gene boy. Just the one.’
Johnny turned away.
Adams inhaled deeply. ‘So we ain’t got us a cook for the drive. Am I right?’
Tomahawk gave a slow nod. ‘Yep.’
The rancher looked at the heavens above them. It was as though he was seeking spiritual guidance in the blue sky.
‘It ain’t so bad, Gene boy.’ Tomahawk gave a toothless smile. ‘I ain’t so bad with a skillet. I could be the cook for the trail drive.’
Adams looked down at the two figures. ‘What? I ain’t gonna let you cook for the boys, Tomahawk. Hell. They’ll either end up poisoned, dead or they’ll quit after the first day.’
Tomahawk blinked. ‘That’s a leetle bit harsh.’
‘Gene’s right, you old fool.’ Johnny held on to his saddle horn and threw himself on to the back of the pinto pony. ‘You can’t boil water without burning it. We need a real experienced critter to replace Cookie.’
‘We could go to town and have us a look for a cook, Gene boy.’ The wily old cowboy suggested. ‘Have us a drink while we’re there looking.’
Adams began to stare at the older man. ‘You had something to do with this, Tomahawk. You bust his leg somehow.’
Johnny drew the reins up high. ‘He’s right. We could go to town and try and find us a new cook, Gene.’
Gene Adams continued to exhale as though attempting to blow his frustration out of his body. ‘A trail drive cook is a pretty tough job and not many folks can handle it. They have to survive on a couple of hour’s shuteye a day and keep the boys not only fed but tell them when to work and when to rest up. Nope. We ain’t likely to find us an experienced cook in town, Johnny.’
Tomahawk clambered up on to his horse. ‘Maybe we could find one over in Fargo Springs, Gene boy. I heard that the Circle J has just returned from their drive to McCoy. They gotta have themselves a cook for hire. What ya think?’
Adams turned the mare. He sat staring at the bluebonnets for a while before answering. ‘We were going to set out in two days and now we have to ride for at least two days over to the Circle J. Then if we do find us a cook we have to bring him back and that’ll take us another two days.’
Tomahawk shrugged. ‘Could be worse.’
‘How?’ Adams raised an eyebrow.
‘Could be a three day ride, Gene boy.’
Johnny rubbed his jaw. ‘So we’ll be a few days late. We can always make it up if we get the boys ride an extra hour or so a day to make up the time.’
Adams frowned. ‘I’ve given my word to the cattle agents up north that we’ll have the herd in McCoy by the first of next month. I sure hate running that close to the wire.’
‘We sure ain’t gonna get no place unless we stops gabbing and starts for Fargo Springs.’ Tomahawk turned his black quarter horse and tapped his spurs. The horse galloped off. Tomahawk yelled back at them. ‘C’mon.’
Johnny and the rancher swung their horses around and stared through the hoof dust at the wily old timer as he rode away from them. Both men rose in their stirrups and whipped their reins across their horses tails. The horses took flight in pursuit.
When Adams’ high shouldered mount drew level with the smaller horseman he looked at the whiskered face. He leaned across the distance between them at his old friend and then shouted at the top of his voice.
‘Hey. You ain’t told me exactly how Cookie bust his leg, Tomahawk. Did you have anything to do with it?’
Tomahawk spurred harder. He did not answer.
Adams glanced at Johnny as the youngster’s pinto pony moved to where the quarter horse had been only seconds before. Both men smiled at one another. ‘C’mon, boy. We got us an old goat to catch up with.’
The two Bar 10 riders thundered through the clouds of dust and started to catch up with the wily character. Gene Adams did not like it, but he was headed for Fargo Springs and the Circle J.
The range of tall grass swayed in the gentle breeze beneath the Texas sun as Adams led his two comrades through the grazing herd of long horn steers. A line shack stood with three horses tied up to a rail at its side. Adams recognized the mounts as he drew rein beside them and knew exactly which of his many cowhands belonged in each of their saddles. The chestnut mare halted. He swung a long leg over his bed roll and dismounted as Tomahawk and Johnny caught up with him. He tossed his reins up to the older horseman.
‘You stay here, you old goat.’ Adams ordered.
Johnny looked at both men in turn. ‘What’ll I do?’
‘You make sure Tomahawk don’t do nothing dangerous.’ Adams grinned and then stepped up on the boards outside the cabin door. It opened and the rancher stopped in his tracks. He studied the familiar faces which greeted him.
Rip Calloway, Happy Summers and Red Evans meandered out into the blazing sunshine. They looked at the rancher in a mixture of surprise and concern.
‘What ya doing here, Gene?’ Happy asked as he ran his tongue across the gummed paper of his cigarette, rolled it between his fingers and then poked it into the corner of his mouth. ‘We was about to bring these steers down to the ranch house to mix them in with the others. Ya come to help?’
‘Not hardly, Happy.’ Adams said dryly.
‘Then why are ya here?’ Red wondered.
‘Change of plan, boys.’ Adams announced.
Rip plucked his chaps off the hitching rail and wrapped them around his long lean legs. ‘I don’t like the sound of that, Gene. You never change your plans unless you gotta change your plans.’
Adams looked at Red and pointed a gloved finger. ‘Ride back to the house, Red. Tell the rest of the hands that we ain’t setting out for McCoy the day after tomorrow like we planned. Not until I get us a trail drive cook.’
‘Why’d we need a new cook, Gene. What happened to Cookie?’ Rip asked as he buckled up his chaps.
‘Bust his leg.’ Tomahawk piped up.
Adams glanced at the bearded man. ‘Shut up, Tomahawk. I still reckon you did something to Cookie.’
Red pulled his reins free of the rail and threw himself on top of his mount. ‘Anything else ya want me to tell the crew, Gene?’
‘Nope.’ The rancher shook his head and watched as the cowboy spurred and galloped away from the line shack in the direction of the distant ranch house. Adams then walked to the edge of the shack and stared at the well fed herd of steers. He had five times as many long horns spread across the vast Bar 10. These steers were ready for market and any delay in heading out on the drive annoyed the tall man.
‘We still gonna take these steers down to the ranch house, Gene?’ Happy asked as he struck a match and cupped its flame. He sucked in smoke and then blew at the match.
‘Nope.’ Adams replied without looking at any of the wranglers around him. ‘We’re gonna let them get a little fatter eating this sweet grass for a few more days.’
Rip moved closer to Adams. He was one of the few cowboys who was actually taller than the silver haired rancher but had learned many years earlier that it did not pay to look down on Gene Adams. He rested a hip on the hitching rail.
‘So you three are headed to Fargo Springs, huh?’ Rip asked.
‘Nope.’ Adams corrected. ‘The five of us are headed to Fargo, Rip.’
‘It don’t take five men to find and hire a cook, Gene.’ Rip shrugged as he lifted his gunbelt off the rail and checked his six-shooter.
‘It does sometimes, Rip.’ Adams glanced at the cowboy.
‘How come?’ Happy enquired through a cloud of smoke.
‘We’re going cap in hand to the Circle J.’ Adams smiled.
‘The Circle J?’ Rip repeated.
‘Yep. And you know how old Bret Jarvis gets when he sets eyes on me or any of you Bar 10 boys. We’re gonna try and hire his trail cook and that’ll cost a pretty penny.’
‘There’s gonna be blood spilled.’ Happy said sadly.
‘I lost me a tooth last time we bumped into Jarvis and his cowpokes, Gene boy.’ Tomahawk sniffed.
‘You ain’t got no teeth.’ Johnny laughed.
‘Not now.’ Tomahawk sighed.
‘Safety in numbers.’ Rip looked at the rancher. ‘Right?’
Adams gave a chuckle. ‘Yep. Dead right, Rip.’