“Fair enough. Cody wants us to promote his drama show trial run. He sent over a stack of promotional flyers and photographs of several of his star Indians.”
“And the Olive guy? Not too impressive in any positive way. You’d think a guy heading to town to do business would wash the stink and mud off before sitting down with townsfolk. Hell, two bits would get him a hot bath right next door.”
“He might not clean up that well, but I hear he’s a serious cattleman up out of Texas. He’s running big herds up north of Plum Creek. Wouldn’t surprise me if we start seeing some of his men in town for a good time when their pockets are full on paydays.”
Dart, anxious for the obvious, jumped in. “What’s his stake in this thing?”
“He’s just the messenger. He’s a neighbor of Cody’s and was heading here to talk to the UP agent about a load of cattle he plans to ship east. He figured he’d save Cody a day’s ride.”
“That it?”
“Yep.”
“So, tell him we’ll do it so we can get on with more important things.”
“Already did.”
“We get free passes to the drama?” Dart piped in.
“Don’t know,” F. G. answered. “I doubt we’ll see or hear from Olive again.”
…
As he cleared the town limits on his way west, the look on Print’s face was more a grimace than a smile. He was thinking-Cody owes me big time. I hate having to sit down with a dandy like Mr. F. G. Keens, all superior inch of him and his useless top hat. I’ll bet neither he nor his two overfed buddies can so much as tie a damned Bowline knot between the three of him. His thinking revealing maybe a hint of an inferiority complex showing through his steely exterior.
The sudden gust that drove a stinging sand into his unprotected face was nothing new to Print. He was born facing a carving headwind, had fought one all his life. A little puff of dust like this was brushed off as he drew his kerchief over his nose. Bring It, he challenged.
That attitude was ingrained early on in his life. His father James had drifted southwest from his native Piedmont region in North Carolina. The rules there were set by, and for, the plantation owners. Plantations needed slaves and a poor, uneducated workforce. James figured neither of those choices suited him. He learned early that a man needed to own his land in order to provide security for his family. and he moved west where he thought prospects were better.
First stop was Mississippi where he met and married Julia Brashear of the land-holding Brashear family. Julia’s family carried more than a trace of Cherokee blood in their veins, and all of her children, especially her son Prentice, had the jet-black hair, the tawny skin and the striking dark eyes of the Cherokee.
James and Julia farmed on shares and raised livestock for six years, earning and saving a grubstake that would build toward the dream, the plan, of land ownership. When their first son Prentice was three years old, the huckster cries of free land from the likes of Sam Houston, Davy Crockett and the Republic of Texas lured them west.
James halted the westward movement at the banks of the Colorado river, turned north, and settled on a tract of land near present day Austin. The land was partly black, open-prairie soil, part timberland and part brushy undergrowth. The prairie would serve for crops. The timberland would provide the lumber to build homes, barns and fences, and the brush a grazing area for cattle. James had found his stopping place. Modern subdivisions rarely offer that kind of all-in-one survival package.
Radical Winds ~ by Steve Buttress, posted by Chuck Peek