Chapter 11—A MEETING OF THE BOARD

Sherman Ranch, Tuesday, July 21... Jess and Andy were experimenting with backing a green horse in a radically different manner from the way they'd always done it—slapping a saddle on a terrified, snubbed and blindfolded animal, climbing aboard and letting it buck itself into submission or exhaustion. Slim and Adam Niederhauser observed from their perch on the top rail of the corral, the latter nodding in approval.

"Glad to see you're takin' my advice an' startin' 'em young, slow an' gentle," Adam drawled in his syrupy Georgia accent. "How old's that one? Two? Hope you're plannin' on givin' 'im at least another year to mature before putting too much weight on his back or workin' him too hard."

"That's what Pa always said was best."

"Your Pa was a wise man. Too much too soon an' you're just askin' for joint trouble in the long run. Besides, breakin' 'em the old way is not only stressful for the animal but insalubrious for the rider."

"You can say that again!" Slim agreed.

For damn sure I know I'm getting too old for broncbusting! Jess is, too, although he'd crawl over broken glass before he'd ever admit it.

"Say, I'm lookin' to get my lady wife a couple of young mares to fiddle with—as an anniversary present. She's a Marylander, you know. Horse-crazy. We got all that land an' no cattle or young un's an' she needs a hobby in the worst way. You got anythin' suitable?"

"Couple of maidens, two-year-olds I haven't decided to sell or keep as replacements but you're welcome to look 'em over."

The two men slipped off the rail, Slim leading the way past the barn and the milk cow's pasture out to the field where the broodmares lived. He'd never intended on getting into the horse breeding business but they'd always kept a few mares around... just because. He'd never had the time to fool with them much but Andy'd always enjoyed looking after them and their babies. Of course, then Slim'd had to put up with his brother's sulks when it came time to sell off their get. He'd expected he'd be done with that when Andy'd gone off to school... only to be confronted with Jess' passionate pleas to keep every foal dropped on the place.

At the moment they had four mature Quarterhorse/Morgan crosses. Two had foals at heel and had not been bred back that spring, thanks to Adam's insistence that mares lived longer and stayed healthier if allowed every other year off. The two on non-maternity leave were now bred to Garland Bartlett's Morgan stallion for next year's crop. In addition, there were two yearling fillies and the two maidens. All the previous colts had been gelded and sold except the two Slim had allowed Jess to hold back.

Slim Sherman and Adam Niederhauser (Class of '66, Veterinary College of Philadelphia) had become good friends in the year since the Atlanta native had established his practice in Laramie. He and his missus had bought a small farm north of town, adjacent to the convent of the Dominican Sisters of the Divine Illumination.

Having a bona fide horse doctor in town was a new development viewed with distrust by frontiersmen accustomed to doctoring their own livestock with various homemade remedies. They weren't particularly open to suggestions by some citified gent from 'back East.' If it hadn't been for Slim and a few other relatively better-educated and open-minded members of the community, the practice might have folded. It gained momentum after the ladies of the town shyly started bringing in their pet doggies, kitties and canaries. Cognizant of the influence wives wielded over their menfolk, Nicola Niederhauser threw her first open-house tea party. Thereafter the couple's... and the practice's... popularity was signed, sealed and delivered.

Slim pointed out the two maidens, classic examples of the Morgan breed even though they weren't purebred—compact blood bays with not a white hair to be seen.

"Very nice!" Adam commented, "But—in my professional opinion—from the looks of those other mares I'd say they won't need replacin' for years to come—they're in fine fettle. If you're of a mind to sell that pair, I'm interested. What'll you take for 'em?"

Slim scratched his chin. "Well... Bartlett gets anywhere from three to six hundred for his registered Morgans, two to five for the halfbloods, depending on how they turn out."

Adam whistled. "Good Lord! That's a lotta money for a horse!"

Slim grinned. "Yeah... but how about I make you a deal? Four hundred for both… two hundred up front and the rest in services, if that suits."

"Suits just fine but I don't want to take advantage... you hardly ever need my services!"

"I suspect we'll be needing 'em more often than not pretty soon. Jess and I are scheming on doubling our herd... cattle, that is... in the near future."

Why did I say that? We haven't even decided on that yet... or on making a bid on the Keogh place. Maybe my heart's already made the decision and it just hasn't filtered up to my brain until now... I'll tell Jess tonight...

The two men shook on it and Adam opined he'd better light a shuck for home. He'd only stopped by to say howdy and hadn't intended to stay so long. Nikki'd have his dick in a wringer if he was late for supper again. As he was climbing into his buggy another thought occurred.

"About this rustler threat Corey's been yappin' about... you might not think you've got enough stock to attract attention, but if I were you I'd lock those mares in the barn at night for the time being."

"You would?"

"From what I hear they're goin' after breedin' stock only. Your saddle horses an' coach stock oughta be safe enough. Bartlett might wanna bed down that stallion of his in the parlor!"

Slim laughed. "I'll tell him you said so... he might just do that even if he has to send his wife and kids out to sleep in the barn!"

As the bullshit hour approached... Slim startled Andy by requesting that he join them on the front porch. Even though Jonesy'd explained a long time ago why Slim and Jess needed 'buddy' time to get to know each other—undistracted by work or other folks—Andy'd always harbored a grain of resentment over being excluded. Not so much now that he was older and wiser... but it'd sure hurt back then. Essaying an unconcerned demeanor though crawling with curiosity, he followed his brother out the door to where Jess awaited. Slim took the other rocker and Andy made himself comfortable on the floor facing them, legs crossed with his back wedged against a baluster.

"I guess this is as good a time as any for the first official meeting of the board of directors," Slim said with a chuckle. "We've got a couple of items to discuss and vote on and it's time we brought Andy up to speed."

" 'Scuse me... but I got a question," Jess interrupted, "I mean... I know Andy owns one-third but how come he didn't have to sign no papers?"

"Because he's underage and can't be held accountable. As legal guardian until he turns twenty-one, I can sign on his behalf."

"Which means I don't really have a vote," Andy appended snidely.

"Yes... I mean no, not officially. But you're old enough that you ought to have a voice in how we proceed. Don't you agree, Jess?"

The other pondered that for a moment.

What I'm thinkin' ain't necessarily somethin' Slim wants to hear. But maybe speakin' honestly is one a them new responsibilities. At seventeen I hadda make my own decisions... wasn't no one to make 'em for me. Weren't always good 'uns an' a lotta mistakes happened... some 'cause a not listenin' to folks older an' smarter than me an' others on account a not standin' up for what I believed in or knew was the right thing to do...

"Ain't so much a matter a age as learnin', Slim. 'Spect Andy's got educated ideas 'bout cattle an' ranchin' we ain't even thought of... an' I'd sure like to hear 'em."

Slim pounced. "There... you see, Andy? Your input is valuable and we'd really like your thoughts on some of the things we're gonna talk about."

"It is? You would?" From his tone, Andy was obviously dubious. True, his brother had sought his opinion six months ago when the subject of making Jess partner had first come up, but he hadn't been involved in the implementation.

Slim regained the floor...

"There's been an interesting development since Jess and I signed the papers. He's unexpectedly come into a fair amount of money and wants to invest it in the ranch." Slim didn't elaborate and Andy was astute enough not to ask.

What money? Andy already knew that Jess wasn't going to benefit from that old lady's legacy—that it was instead going to his niece and maybe that missing sister if she could ever be located. So how had Jess managed to lay his paws on enough money to invest in anything? Had to've been ill-gotten gains... and there was Slim being all casual about it. Good thing it was so dark those two couldn't see what he was sure was shock on his face.

"We talked some about how best to put it to use and came up with some ideas, but nothing final. I told Jess I'd think about it and now I have."

"You have?" The query came from Jess this time.

"Let me run this by Andy first and see what he has to say about it..."

"Uh... okay."

"There're several different avenues, but we have to decide what's most important—make improvements to the homeplace, replace our existing stock with a better grade of beeves... or buy more land. We can't do all three."

A long silence prevailed as the two men rocked and Andy gave it serious thought. At last he spoke... slowly, hesitantly.

"There's not much more we can do with the house unless we put a second floor on it. Seems adequate for the time being. Instead of wasting money on renovations, why not hold off until there's need?"

"You're right about that," Slim agreed. "And I don't see any need for a new house right now. Go on..."

"The existing barn could do with improvements—making it weather-tight, for one thing—and adding on inside storage for hay. We lose a lot to mold every winter when rain and snow blow in under the shelter out back. The cross-country stage business'll be over by the end of the decade if not sooner, so we won't be needing as much hay 'cause we won't have as many horses."

Slim and Jess both nodded. Yeah, they'd known for some time they'd be losing that source of revenue, what with all the new rail lines being laid in.

"By subdividing the big field out front into three separate pastures, we'd still have enough for the saddle horses plus the broodmares and the milk cow and orphans."

"What would we do with their pastures out back?" Slim inquired.

"You mentioned buying better breeding stock. We could combine Deecy's and the broodmares' pastures and use it as a staging area for new heifers in season, leave 'em long enough for Percy to get the job done, then turn 'em out. That way you could keep him close to hand and not have to worry all the time that something might happen to him."

That, too, made sense. They had worried that their very valuable, paddock-raised purebred short-horned Hereford bull might not be able to hold his own with his longer-horned and more vicious competitors out on the range. Therefore, other than letting him out to do his duty under supervision, they'd kept him in the barn or the fenced field he shared with the milk cow.

"Good thoughts, Andy. We'll add those to the pot for consideration. Now, what about cattle? X amount of money gets us X head of grade cattle but only half the number of prime breeding stock. I recall you did some courses in animal husbandry and agronomics last semester?"

"Yeah... I did. But that involves grazing land availability and cow-calf unit sustainability per acre—two different but related issues. I'd need pencil and paper to work that out."

"What the devil' you talkin' about? What units?" Jess asked.

"It'll take a while to explain. Maybe we can do this tomorrow? It's past my bedtime!" Andy was only partly joking... his eyelids were getting heavy.

"Sure... tomorrow'd be fine," Slim said. "You go on to bed."

Andy unwound himself from the floor and said goodnight, feeling rather pleased with himself. Mathematics wasn't his strongest suit but he'd grasped enough to understand the necessity of revolutionizing their approach to cattle production. The era of range cattle and massive drives to market was over. The consuming public demanded a higher quality of beef on their tables... and demand drove economics, after all. Tomorrow he aimed to prove more wasn't better... that better was better.

Ben's Journal, Tuesday, July 21: Well, we're here and I have to admit it's somewhat of a letdown—Laramie town seems as ordinary as any little burg back home. Of course, we haven't see that much of it yet... just the four blocks we walked from the station to the boarding house. There're a couple of major differences from home, of course. First of all, the cowboys loitering around the saloons and pool halls don't in any way, shape or form resemble the noble heroes of Beadle's and Buntline's novels. They're mostly dirty and drunk, but maybe that's because they're the unemployed dregs, otherwise they'd be out on the range somewhere? Guess I should reserve judgment until we find some actually working at something. Hopefully our uncles aren't like these men.

But let me back up a little. After Cheyenne the scenery improved dramatically until we went over the pass in the Sherman mountain range (what a coincidence, huh?) and then it started getting not so pretty. At one point when we rounded a curve we could see the whole town laid out below in a neat grid pattern with a river snaking through it. I guess we were expecting a mountain village? At the bottom of the grade we noticed it was right on the edge of a huge empty plain that seemed to stretch forever with tall mountains in the distance. This is called the Laramie Basin and the hills are the Snowy Range, which are actually only 50 miles away. (And they really do have snow on them... in July, no less!)

The girls were anxious to find a hotel where they could get baths. I asked the stationmaster where would be the best place to stay, as we didn't have a whole lot of money (which is a semi-white lie) and planned to be here about a week visiting relatives. He recommended Missus Jackson's Boarding House... but neglected to mention one minor detail. (Apparently people around here think it's great fun to prank out-of-towners.)

We assumed the colored lady who answered the door was the housekeeper but it turns out she and her husband own the house, a livery stable and blacksmith forge. The house is well-kept and extra tidy. The Jacksons live on the first floor with their two small children. An older son and two stable employees live on the second floor. We have two rooms on the top floor and the price includes three meals a day which we will be taking with the family.

Missus Jackson said she was a little reluctant because she'd never rented to white people before. I assured we were very quiet, clean and well-behaved and I guess the girls were looking pretty pitiful by then so she finally agreed. Then dadgummed if she didn't get to fussing over them like a biddy with chicks.

When Max asked if she minded her and Tabbie wearing boys' clothes to the dinner table because they hadn't packed any extra dresses, Missus Jackson said not at all and offered to wash and iron their dresses while they got their baths. Then she wanted to know all about us and why we were here, but not in a nosey-parker way so Max told her (except about our parents not knowing). We met Mister Jackson when he came in. They are both very nice people. We learned that they're buying on time from the previous owner who used to be their employer and have lived there so long the neighbors don't care that they're not white.

Another couple checked in not long after us, but we didn't see them until later because they went straight to their room near ours and didn't come out until just before supper. Turns out they're white, too—newlyweds John and Mary Brown. Max says she's sure they've eloped because they're awfully young... about our age... and look a little nervous. They're only staying a night or two. I overheard Missus Jackson telling Mister Jackson she might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, letting white folks stay. I'm not sure what that means. Missus Jackson mentioned they're 'mountain people'... meaning not overly sociable and don't talk much.

The big news is... the Jacksons are very good friends with the Shermans! How about them apples? Now we know exactly where they are and won't have to go traipsing all over creation looking for them. Our uncle Matthew goes by 'Slim' and Uncle Andrew goes by 'Andy'. He goes to school in St. Louis but is home for the summer. They have a cattle ranch and stage relay station 12 miles east of town and are not married but have an adopted boy named Mike and a live-in housekeeper, Missus Daisy Cooper. They have a business partner called Jess Harper who also lives there. Grampa Matthew died a long time ago but we'd pretty much anticipated that.

Missus Jackson didn't have time to tell more because she had to start supper. I hope to learn more about all of them tomorrow before we go visiting. Missus Jackson says Mister Jackson will rent us a team and a rig at a very reasonable price, or we can ride the morning stage out there and catch a ride back on the afternoon run.

I'm pretty sure that by now our folks have figured out where we've gone and why. They're old and slow but they're not dumb. No telling what they might do about it, if anything. Maybe they won't do anything, knowing we know we all have to be back by the end of August anyway, before school starts. Even if they send someone out here to get us, that someone can't get here until next Saturday anyway so why worry?