The Lawyer, the Rancher, the Cowboy
By Queena Foster
Riding into town, Lou Jensen casually scanned the boardwalks for anyone giving him more attention than strictly necessary. Stockton was a decent sized place, big enough to get lost in, but a fella couldn't be too careful. His last visit to California was some time back, down around San Diego, and he no longer had the beard he'd worn when he was catting around down there. No reason anyone should be looking for him in the San Joaquin. Still, a wanted man knew it was in his best interests to pay attention.
Since he was a young pup, he'd always been just a couple jumps ahead of the law. On rare occasions, some sheriff or other had caught up to him, and he'd spent time in a few jails 'round about. Still, he got away more often than not, and that suited him just fine.
Unfortunately, he was running out of civilized places that hadn't heard of him. There were folks looking to stretch his neck down around Yuma and over in Virginia City. And it wasn't much better in Santa Fe and El Paso. The situation wasn't quite so dire in Denver, but he didn't think he could risk going back to Colorado right now. And so, he figured to try California again. It was a big state with lots of people; chances were that no one would be looking for him.
Checking out the Stockton street, he noticed a couple of wagons from local ranches. Maybe hiring for round up. Lucky for him, that was just the kind of work he could do. And it was a lot easier to hide with a job.
He pulled his horse up to a post and dismounted. The nearby saloon was just what he needed. He pushed open the swinging doors and ambled up to the bar. The bartender handed over a beer and took the coin Jensen laid down.
"Ask you a question?"
The bartender shrugged, "Make it snappy, fella."
Jensen bit his tongue. As he needed to hide for a while, he figured he'd better swallow his temper for the time being. "Looking for work. Know any places might be hiring on?"
"You a chuck-line rider?"
That was too much, and he grabbed the mouthy man by the shirt, "I ain't no range bum. Just looking to sign on for the season somewhere."
The bartender brought his hands up and broke the hold. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, fella. You think I'm gonna recommend you to some of the best ranches in the state when I don't even know ya? Not even ask a simple question as to your plans?"
"Just cause I'm looking for work don't mean I'm a saddle tramp. Now do you know anyone might be hiring?"
The barman shrugged again, "Most of the bigger ranches are still looking. Not many of the one horse outfits, but I reckon you should be able to find something round about. A couple of the big boys are out there now. Just walk down the street, and you'll find someone."
"If you was looking, where would you go?"
"The Barkley Ranch is the biggest in the valley, maybe biggest in the state. I hear they pay pretty well, too. Some of their hands have been there for years, so it must be a decent place to work."
Jensen nodded, "Thanks. And uh...sorry. 'Bout before. It's been a long ride."
The bartender grunted and turned away.
Lou Jensen turned to look at the other customers. If any of them had noticed the scuffle, they weren't paying attention now. Stupid losing his temper like that with the bartender. You'd think a man his age would be better able to control hisself, but sometimes the rage just swelled up in him and was out before he knew it. That's why he was back in California instead of Virginia City. If only that stupid miner had kept his yap shut and left him alone... But he hadn't, and Jensen's bowie knife had taken care of the problem and the yap. So now he was trying to lose himself again in Stockton.
He strode back out to the street and looked around. Down near the livery, he saw the wagon with Barkley Ranch on the side of it. Must be the place. And even better, it was on the opposite end of the street from the sheriff's office.
Lou sauntered up to the 'table' near the wagon. Really, it was a couple sheets of wood set over two saw horses, but it did the trick. "You boys hiring?"
The man on the right looked up from his newspaper, "Yeah. Looking for work?"
Jensen nodded," I'm here for a season at least."
"Where've you been?"
He shrugged, "All over. If it's west of the mountains, I've probably been there. Worked for Loving down in Texas, Gallagher and Lehman in Nevada, Chisum down New Mexico way. Anywhere and everywhere."
The man at the table studied him a bit. Jensen stood still and pretended like it didn't bother him. He supposed the boss had a right to look over the goods. Still, Jensen really hoped this fella didn't take the time to check with all them ranches he'd named. He'd worked for a couple, but not all. Over the years, he'd learned that, when looking for a job, it was best to name the biggest spreads when he gave his experience. Main reason was that a lot of cowpunchers had worked for 'em over the years, and anyone there who got asked would probably say he couldn't remember every hand. Jensen just hoped that these Barkley Ranch people didn't actually know any of the ranchers he'd just named. Or that they were too busy to check.
"Well, I reckon we can give it a go. What's your name?"
Jensen didn't even blink. "Robert Louis."
"You get that, Brahma?"
The other fella was older. He started writing in a ledger book, "Is that L-E-W or L-O-U?"
Jensen answered, "L-O-U-I-S. Robert."
"Got a nickname? We already got three Roberts or Bobs and two Lous."
"I'll answer to pretty much anything. Robert, Rob, Robbie, Bob, Bobby, Louis, Lou, Red, Brick, Sunset, ...even 'hey, you'. Whatever you throw my way, I'll catch."
"Yeah, I can see that with your red hair. We do have a Red, but we don't have a Brick. That all right?"
Jensen shrugged. "Sure."
The first man stood up and extended his hand, "I'm Nick Barkley, and this is Brahma, one of my top hands. We'll be heading out to the ranch about five o'clock if you got any errands you need to do before we leave town."
Jensen shook the man's hand, "Thanks, boss. Much obliged." And then he headed back down the street to sit and watch the comings and goings.
Finding a seat outside the barbershop a few doors down, Jensen tilted his chair back. He watched as the owner of the Barkley ranch stretched his legs. Younger than he would've expected for such a big place. Probably close to his own age. Usually the 'old man' of the biggest ranch in the area could be expected to be an old man...or at least older than what Jensen guessed was about thirty or thirty-five. But then, the man hadn't said he was the owner. He could have a father back on that ranch.
Either way, Nick Barkley was a pretty good sized fella. Tall, broad chested and shouldered, he stood straight and proud. His carriage and walk spoke of confidence and spirit. He wore mostly dark clothing, and Jensen wondered if that meant anything.
Barkley's stance and stride indicated he spent a fair amount of time on horseback, but Jensen doubted a man with that much money did any real work. If he did, it'd be the first time Lou ever saw such a thing. Jensen had worked several big spreads, and most of the folks who owned them never darkened the barn or had much to do with any real work on the place. Far as he could tell, they sat in their big houses and counted their money. Or they traveled back east or over to the old country while their range-bosses handled all the dirty work.
But then again, it was a bit unusual for the old-man's son to do the hiring himself. Be kind of interesting to find out what was what at the Barkley ranch.
When the clock hands neared five, Jensen gathered his horse and rode down to where Barkley and Brahma and a few other men were loading the wagon. Brahma called to the horses, and the parade out to the ranch began. After nearly an hour and a half, they came to a large sign indicating they had finally reached their destination. A large, gray house loomed on the other side.
Well, well. Jensen had to admit he was impressed. That was some fancy manor, bigger than pretty much any hacienda he'd ever seen. As the wagon passed to the far side of the house, it continued to be just as impressive. There were at least three barns and two bunk houses. Everything was neat, clean, and well maintained. Whoever was running this place sure knew what was what. At least from what Jensen could see. He supposed it could be just this area was kept nice so the owner stayed quiet and happy while the rest of the ranch was a shambles, but a place didn't usually get so big by being a half-baked operation. Glancing around, the other new hires seemed a bit awed as well.
Anyhow, it was getting dark as the wagon pulled to a stop. Brahma directed the men to take their horses into the nearest barn. Inside, Jensen found a big, rangy vaquero who called himself Ciego directing them to open stalls. In the barn. Most of the ranches he'd worked had the hands turn their horses into a large corral with the remuda. But this place had a barn for the hand's personal mounts. Ciego said they could use their own horses or change them out however they pleased. Jensen was beginning to understand why a fella might like to work here. These Barkleys did appear to take care of their men.
After caring for their horses and engaging in a bit of small talk from which Jensen generally abstained, the new hires headed to the bunk house Ciego pointed to. Inside, a bunch of men were eating the evening meal. The new boys lined up for their food and sat wherever a place could be made.
Jensen scooped up the chow which turned out to be steak and peppers with rice. Really good chow. He kept eating as the talk flowed over him, listening as jokes, insults, teasing, laughter, and bragging flew around. He laughed at the appropriate places and answered any questions directed at him, but he mostly kept his own council. Luckily, a couple of other new boys jumped right in and held the attention of the Barkley hands. As they traded all the usual cowpuncher talk—where they'd worked, who they knew—Jensen just listened and tried to get a feel for the place.
After supper, bunks were assigned. Other ranches Jensen had worked, the bunk house usually had a nickname of 'dump,' 'dive,' or 'shack.' But this place was decent. Pretty clean considering there were probably thirty men living under one roof. They weren't real crowded together, and each man had a trunk at the end of his bunk for personal stuff. It didn't even smell that bad.
As Jensen rolled into his rack, he took stock. All in all, he could've—and had—landed in worse places. He could see himself staying here as long as no one recognized him or got suspicious. And if he could find a way to turn it to his advantage, well, all the better.
The next morning, Jensen joined the other hands for a hearty breakfast. Again, Cookie served up an excellent meal in Jensen's opinion. One thing was certain, he sure wasn't going to starve around here. Afterward, he followed the men outside where the hands from both bunkhouses gathered to get their orders for the day.
Sitting on the top rail of the corral was a husky, dark skinned man, and Jensen ambled over with the other hands.
"All right, now. Listen up. For those of you don't know me, my name is Joshua Watson, and I'm assistant range-boss here on the Barkley Ranch."
Jensen's eyes snapped wide open, and he glanced around. The veterans had no reaction, but the other men who had ridden in from town the previous night looked stunned.
"I know some of you may be surprised that a man like me would be in this position, but that's the way it is. If you got a problem with that, I'm sure you remember where the road is. I'm here, and I'm here to stay. If you can't deal with it, we'd best get that discussion out the way right now."
One of the new hires stared, then glanced around in disbelief. "Honest? Y'all put up with this?"
The seasoned hands never batted an eye. Jensen was more than a little surprised.
"Well, I ain't takin' orders from no Buffalo Soldier. My pa raised me to have more pride than that. There's other jobs."
A man standing next to Jensen answered, "Yeah, but there ain't no other job like here. You best think on this before you high tail it. This is a place where you get to prove what you can do, where they'll give you a second chance. Where the bosses'll back you even if you're different or if you mucked up so bad you ought to be rode out on a rail.
"A whole bunch of us are still here 'cause the Barkleys give us a chance when they shouldn't have or when no one else would. Or 'cause they give us a second chance when we done made mistakes so bad we ought to have been horsewhipped. There's something to be said for that. Also something to be said for loyalty."
The new man eyed Watson again and shook his head, "Nope. I've worked all over this here country, and I ain't never took no bossin' from someone like him. If y'all ain't got no pride in yourselves, that ain't my lookout." And then he turned and headed to the bunkhouse to collect his gear.
"Anyone else?"
Jensen turned back to face Watson, but none of the other new men offered to leave. He guessed they were like him...at least willing to give this place and this...fella...a chance. Jensen would just have to see how this played out.
"All right, now's we all know that we're getting on to the work, I'll just tell you what's what. We already got some men out working spring round up. The grass is greening up, and we're gathering 'em up to get the brand on. We're going out to relieve the men already there, so's they can come back, eat up, clean up, and then relieve us in a few days. That way, no one gets stuck out there for weeks on end. I know that ain't how most ranches do round up, but that's how it's done on Barkley Range. So get your gear ready for a week or so, mount up, and we'll head out."
Not sure what to think about the turn of events, Jensen followed along with the other hands. As he pulled his horse out of the barn, he heard a low whistle from one of the new hires, a tall, skinny young man who went by the nickname of 'Skeeter.'
"Would you look at that?"
Jensen followed his gaze till it landed on a beautiful blonde girl coming out of a nearby barn. She was tall and slender with rounded curves in all the right places. Her yellow hair fell in waves to just where those nice looking curves started getting real interesting.
A bump from behind reminded him to breathe again.
"Brick, you best just stay clear. Trust me on that." A Barkley vet named Wiley was shaking his head.
Jensen looked at the girl again, "I'll be the judge of that. That's one of the finest looking fillies I ever did see. Who is she?"
Wiley eyed the pretty blonde who had stopped at a corral full of mares and new foals. "That'd be Miss Audra—the only girl in the family. And if you think the Barkleys aren't protective of her, you've got another think coming. And believe me, they've got their hands full with that one. She's a wild 'un. But I'm a' gonna say this once, so's all you boys best listen close. You don't want no part of that. The Barkleys is good people. They run a class A operation here, and they're good to work for. But you ain't never seen any folks more committed to they own family. They fight tooth and nail for each other, and double for the young lass there. Mind your manners with her, or you won't never know what hit you."
Jensen's eyes traveled of their own accord back to the pretty girl. He'd bet good money that she'd caused many men to forget themselves. But as tempting as she was, his freedom meant more than whatever pleasures her shapeliness promised. He decided he'd best follow Wiley's advice and forget he ever saw her.