they hate the wire. They don’t like the way things have gone these last few years, and they hate seeing all the changes.
There are just four brothers living there. Rough as cobs they are. None of their women folk have stayed long. They’re drinkers, I believe.
The place never did amount to much, but they still run a couple dozen or so head on the range.
They stayed out of the trouble and never gave Coltrane any reason to harm them. I expect Coltrane figures they’re no threat to him. He might be wrong in his thinking.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Like I say, they’re OK once you get to know um, but it ain’t easy. They’re a prickly bunch and they stick together. Mean and ornery, I expect if they got riled enough, there would be some killing done. They got no love for Coltrane. If anyone in his bunch crosses one of them, there’ll be bloodshed. They won’t be interfered with and they won’t run.
They’ve been living off the land since long before I come here, about twelve years ago
When you meet um, you should say I sent you, and don’t take offense at um. Like I say, they’re rough as cobs and prickly as all get out, but it ain’t nothin’ personal. They treat each other the same way.
Another thing, you might not want to mention you’re the law. If you know what I mean.”
***
Dusty and I found the trail leading up to their headquarters on the side of a low hill covered in pinõn, scrub pine and brush, with a little creek running by at the base of the hill.
The ranch headquarters turned out to be four little shacks and a run-down barn. Next to the barn were some pole corrals holding half a dozen horses. In front of one of the shacks a gutted mule deer hung from a corner of the porch. I could smell and hear hogs rooting around in a wallow behind the barn.
Before I reached the clearing between the buildings a bearded man stepped out onto his porch. He had a shotgun cradled in one arm and a nearly empty whiskey bottle in his other hand. He whistled and the other men appeared in their doorways, each man similarly bearded and armed.
“Who the hell are you, and what the hell are you doing trespassing on our place?” The older of the four spoke up, loudly.
“My name is John. I’m riding for the Rocking M. Ace Johnson said I should come talk to you boys. Can I step down?”
“Hell no, you can’t step down. What do you want?”
“The roundup starts on Friday. I was wondering if you were going to be there.”
“That’s none of your damn business.” Another one of the men spoke up.
“Shut up, Carl. He’s talking to me.”
“Shut up, your own self, Curt. I’ll talk to him if’n I want to.”
I decided to carry on.
“The reason I was asking is because I’m new around here and I just wanted to say ‘howdy’, before we start working cows.”
“I heard the Murphy outfit got wiped out.” A different man spoke up.
I nodded.
“It nearly did. Sean Murphy and his wife are dead, but their children are safe. Murphy’s partner, a man named Kennemer, is somewhere around here.
“Did you say, Kennemer, he any relation to Old Bill Kennemer?” The first man, Curt, asked.
I nodded.
“Himself.”
“You’re saying Old Bill was Murphy’s partner?” The fourth man asked.
“Yep, he still is. Listen, I told you my name, but I don’t know yours.”
“Well, step down, mister. I’m Curt. These sorry excuses are my brothers, Carl, Ken and Calvin. Folks call us the Cross brothers.”
I had to smile, as I stepped off Dusty and shook hands with the rough and bearded men. It was evident none of them had bathed since…maybe ever.
“You got any whisky, Sage?” Calvin asked.
“No. I’m sorry, boys. I’m traveling light.”
“Well then, how’re we sposed to have a drink, eh?” Kevin asked.
Even out in the fresh air on the edge of the mountains, the smell of the four unwashed men was something terrible.
“Shut up, Kevin. Go fetch a fresh bottle.” Curt said.
“You shut up.
There are just four brothers living there. Rough as cobs they are. None of their women folk have stayed long. They’re drinkers, I believe.
The place never did amount to much, but they still run a couple dozen or so head on the range.
They stayed out of the trouble and never gave Coltrane any reason to harm them. I expect Coltrane figures they’re no threat to him. He might be wrong in his thinking.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Like I say, they’re OK once you get to know um, but it ain’t easy. They’re a prickly bunch and they stick together. Mean and ornery, I expect if they got riled enough, there would be some killing done. They got no love for Coltrane. If anyone in his bunch crosses one of them, there’ll be bloodshed. They won’t be interfered with and they won’t run.
They’ve been living off the land since long before I come here, about twelve years ago
When you meet um, you should say I sent you, and don’t take offense at um. Like I say, they’re rough as cobs and prickly as all get out, but it ain’t nothin’ personal. They treat each other the same way.
Another thing, you might not want to mention you’re the law. If you know what I mean.”
***
Dusty and I found the trail leading up to their headquarters on the side of a low hill covered in pinõn, scrub pine and brush, with a little creek running by at the base of the hill.
The ranch headquarters turned out to be four little shacks and a run-down barn. Next to the barn were some pole corrals holding half a dozen horses. In front of one of the shacks a gutted mule deer hung from a corner of the porch. I could smell and hear hogs rooting around in a wallow behind the barn.
Before I reached the clearing between the buildings a bearded man stepped out onto his porch. He had a shotgun cradled in one arm and a nearly empty whiskey bottle in his other hand. He whistled and the other men appeared in their doorways, each man similarly bearded and armed.
“Who the hell are you, and what the hell are you doing trespassing on our place?” The older of the four spoke up, loudly.
“My name is John. I’m riding for the Rocking M. Ace Johnson said I should come talk to you boys. Can I step down?”
“Hell no, you can’t step down. What do you want?”
“The roundup starts on Friday. I was wondering if you were going to be there.”
“That’s none of your damn business.” Another one of the men spoke up.
“Shut up, Carl. He’s talking to me.”
“Shut up, your own self, Curt. I’ll talk to him if’n I want to.”
I decided to carry on.
“The reason I was asking is because I’m new around here and I just wanted to say ‘howdy’, before we start working cows.”
“I heard the Murphy outfit got wiped out.” A different man spoke up.
I nodded.
“It nearly did. Sean Murphy and his wife are dead, but their children are safe. Murphy’s partner, a man named Kennemer, is somewhere around here.
“Did you say, Kennemer, he any relation to Old Bill Kennemer?” The first man, Curt, asked.
I nodded.
“Himself.”
“You’re saying Old Bill was Murphy’s partner?” The fourth man asked.
“Yep, he still is. Listen, I told you my name, but I don’t know yours.”
“Well, step down, mister. I’m Curt. These sorry excuses are my brothers, Carl, Ken and Calvin. Folks call us the Cross brothers.”
I had to smile, as I stepped off Dusty and shook hands with the rough and bearded men. It was evident none of them had bathed since…maybe ever.
“You got any whisky, Sage?” Calvin asked.
“No. I’m sorry, boys. I’m traveling light.”
“Well then, how’re we sposed to have a drink, eh?” Kevin asked.
Even out in the fresh air on the edge of the mountains, the smell of the four unwashed men was something terrible.
“Shut up, Kevin. Go fetch a fresh bottle.” Curt said.
“You shut up.
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