Rated K

Word Count=2672

Summary: Ben has hired a new hand to help with the branding. Is there more to him than meets the eye?

Disclaimer: I don’t own the Cartwrights or Bonanza. No copyright infringement is intended. Original plot and characters are property of the author. This story is for entertainment and no money was made from it.

Reviews from the Old Library are on the last page.

A Man Named Missouri

Hoss was in charge of the branding for once.  Pa was away in Placerville at a Cattlemen’s Association meeting and Adam was up at one of the timber camps for a few days.  At nineteen, what Hoss lacked in smarts he more than made up for in size.  The hands knew he wasn’t as clever as Adam or as strict as Ben, but they knew better than to cross The Boss’ middle son.  His way with animals got respect from all of the hands on the ranch, especially during branding.  Hoss could calm a steer about to be branded so that it wouldn’t thrash as much, endangering the crew.

He decided to check at the bunkhouse to make sure that everyone was ready for the branding tomorrow.  Pa had hired a new hand called Missouri.  Bill, one of the Ponderosa’s regulars had vouched for Missouri.  The man had worked over at the Wilson place until recently and was supposed to be a good cowhand.  Hoss sure hoped so.

Reaching the bunkhouse, Hoss went in to check on the men.  Four were sitting at the table playing cards.  Missouri was checking over his gear.  “Settlin’ in okay?” Hoss asked.

“Yes, Hoss” replied Missouri.

With that, Hoss went into the house.  Hop Sing was in San Francisco and the family was left to fend for themselves.  Hoss knew that Little Joe wouldn’t have any food ready for supper, so he’d probably have to fix them something.

“Hey, Hoss” said Little Joe as Hoss walked in, “I fixed up some sandwiches.  Want some?” he asked holding out the plate.

Hoss took one and bit into it.  “Cheese?!?” he asked.  “Why’d ya hafta put cheese on it?”

“Well just take that off” said Joe in reply.  He happily munched away at his sandwich.  Hopefully, Hop Sing would be home soon.

“That new hand Pa hired is goin’ to be workin’ on the brandin’ with us tomorrow, Lil Joe.  His name’s Missouri.”

“What kind of a name is that?” asked Joe with a mouth full of sandwich.

“He used ta be a boxer or somethin’ accordin’ to Bill.  Don’t ya go makin’ no trouble to find out though” warned Hoss.  He really didn’t want to have to explain any injuries to Pa.  “Even though Pa is lettin’ ya help out tomorrow, I wantcha to stay out of the way so ya don’t get hurt.  Understand?”

“Sure” said Joe with some disappointment.  When was everyone going to stop treating him like a baby and more like a man?

The next day, the branding got started early.  Every man was working hard, sweating up a storm.  Little Joe was in charge of getting the irons good and hot, so he was sweating profusely from being by the fire.  At least this way, Hoss could be sure that Joe wasn’t trying to catch the steers or hold them to the ground and get hurt.

“Hey, Missouri” said Hoss, “cut that little heifer out of the herd.  We may as well brand her even though she’ll just be a milk cow.”

Missouri got the little heifer roped first try and over to the branding pit without much trouble.  After she’d been branded and set loose, Hoss decided it was time for the hands to take a break.

“Who named you Missouri?” asked Joe with one eyebrow cocked.

“Mostly my friends” came the reply.  “They all claimed that my punch was as hard as a kick from a Missouri mule.”

The other hands let out a chuckle at that.  Joe had heard about the new hand but didn’t believe that any man would let himself be called by such a girlish sounding name as Missouri.

“Can you really hit that hard?” asked Joe.

“Do you want to find out?” replied Missouri.

Some of the hands were getting nervous at the idea of the new hand going at it hand to hand with The Boss’ son.  Especially The Boss’ favorite son.

“It’s about time we got back to work, fellas” declared Hoss, putting an end to any speculation about Missouri’s abilities.

Thirteen year old Little Joe tried to tail Missouri for the rest of the day just to observe him.  For a man who supposedly could hit like a mule could kick, Missouri’s hands didn’t seem to have that many calluses.  Not that Joe’s did yet, either, but he was developing quite a few from the work he was doing on the ranch.  Hoss was the best puncher that Joe knew; he could take down most men with just a few swings.

At the next break, Joe tried asking some of the other hands what they thought of Missouri.  Most said he worked hard, but they wouldn’t rile a man who could hit like a mule.  When Joe asked about Missouri’s hands, the answers he got were unsatisfying.  Nobody except for him had seemed to notice Missouri’s hands.

By the end of the day, everyone was exhausted and heading back for the bunkhouse.  Many of the hands decided to overcome their exhaustion by heading for the Bucket of Blood saloon in Virginia City.  Missouri decided to stay behind and enjoy the cool night air.

Following supper, Hoss and Little Joe stepped out onto the front porch for some air and to loosen their belts. Hoss had cooked up some thick juicy steaks.  Too bad that Adam hadn’t been there to enjoy the meal, thought Hoss.  Just as Hoss let out a large belch, Adam rode up on Sport.

“How’d the timberin’ go the past few days, Adam?” asked Hoss.

“Good evening to you, too” replied Adam.  “It went alright.  The mill is short-handed and I’m so sore from pulling boards that I don’t think I can walk into the house.  My legs are almost too stiff to move and I know I couldn’t lift a fork right now.  Why don’t you be my horse and carry me in, Hoss?” asked Adam with a hint of mischief.

Joe giggled at the thought of Adam riding Hoss like a horse.  That made Little Joe long for all of the horsy rides his brothers had given him as a small child.

“Did I hear you complain about soreness, Sir?” asked Missouri.

Adam looked over at the newcomer walking towards him and nodded his head. “You can call me Adam instead of Sir.  I’m sorry that I can’t extend my hand to you in welcome.  I’m just too sore to move much.  Did you recently start working for my Pa?”

“Yes, Adam” responded Missouri.  “Everyone calls me Missouri.”

“He claims that he can hit as strong as a mule can kick” Joe told Adam.

“That might be a useful skill on Saturday nights” said Adam.  “Why did you ask about how sore I am, Missouri?” Adam asked.

“I think I might be able to help you out with that” Missouri replied.  “Is there somewhere solid you can lie down?”

No one could think of anything outside, but Joe asked “What about the table inside?”

“We eat offa that table” responded Hoss.

“What about Pa’s desk then?” asked Joe.  “He won’t be home from the Cattlemen’s meeting for a while.  He’d never know that we used it.”

Adam reluctantly agreed and stiffly followed Hoss and Joe into the house.  Missouri brought up the rear and watched Hoss and Joe clean off the desk.

“Remove your shirt and lay face down on the table, please” Missouri told Adam.

“You want him to what?!?” asked Hoss and Joe, rather stunned at what Missouri had just told Adam.

Adam’s face lit up as he realized that he was in for a massage.  He had been treated to a couple of massages at a hotel in Boston while he was in college.  Those masseurs though had been Swedish and wore starched white clothing.  He couldn’t remember any masseuse ever smelling of cattle.

When Adam lay down on the desk, Missouri went to work on Adam’s shoulders and upper back.  All Adam could do was groan in pleasure as his stiff muscles relaxed under the kneading provided by Missouri.  Hoss and Joe looked on in astonishment.  How could anyone seem to get pleasure out of that, they wondered.

“Don’t that hurt?” asked Hoss.

“Some” answered Adam.

“The idea,” said Missouri “is to increase the blood flow to the areas that are stiff or sore so that the muscles will relax.  The pain doesn’t last long and as the body relaxes, the soreness goes away.”

“Well I’ll be,” said Hoss.  “Where did ya learn somethin’ like that?”

“I used to work for a luxury hotel in New York” replied Missouri.  “My clients included the Vanderbilts and the Astors.”

“What did they ever do to get so sore?” asked Hoss.

“Not much” answered Missouri.  “But they could afford to pamper themselves when the mood suited them.”

Joe had been watching Adam’s massage with an odd fascination.  “Have you ever done that massage stuff on girls?” he asked.

“Joe!!” said Adam.  “That’s a rude question!”

“No, I haven’t” replied Missouri.  “Massage is not a suitable activity for a lady.”

“Can you really hit like a mule?” asked Joe, now wondering if Missouri had made that stuff up so he wouldn’t have to fight anyone and ruin his hands.

Before Missouri could answer, the door opened and in walked Ben Cartwright.  He was so taken aback at what was happening at his desk that his jaw dropped and no noise came out of his mouth.

“Hi, Pa” said Joe. “Turns out that Missouri is a massagist and he’s showing us how it’s done.”

Embarrassed by the sudden attention from The Boss, Missouri stepped back and blushed an amazing shade of maroon.  Adam eased himself up off of the desk and into a standing position.  Hoss just looked at the floor, figuring that a lecture was about to begin.

“That’s a masseur, Joseph” said Ben once he could talk again.  “Would you care to enlighten me on how my home has been turned into a resort?”

“Well, Adam came in all sore and Missouri offered to fix him up” said Joe.  “He was showing me and Hoss how a massagist makes a person relax.”

“You look really tense, Pa” said Adam as he walked towards his father.  “Maybe you should let Missouri work on your shoulders.  Come over here and have a seat” Adam said as he steered Ben to a chair.

When Ben sat down, still looking kind of stunned, Adam nodded at Missouri to begin his work.  Missouri began kneading Ben’s tense shoulders and could feel some resistance at first.  As Ben began to relax under the pressure from Missouri’s hands, Joe saw an opportunity for his salesmanship skills.

“Hey, Pa” said Joe.  “We could set Missouri up here and charge folks around here a dollar for 15 minutes of massaging.  What do ya think?”

“Joseph” Ben replied, “that’s absurd.”

“Well, then can we keep him for our use and not have him work with the cattle anymore?” asked Joe.

Missouri stifled a laugh and tried to hide a smile.

“Missouri is not a pet, Joseph” Ben replied.  “That’ll be enough, Son” said Ben as he pulled away from Missouri’s hands.  Ben noticed that he wasn’t as tense and his mood had improved from earlier in the day.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this talent when I hired you on?” asked Ben.  “And where did you learn to rope and brand cattle?”

“I used to be employed by a hotel but I was invited to leave when a new manager took over.  He didn’t want colored folks to be touching his white clientele.  It didn’t matter that my family has been free for three generations and that I studied massage in Europe.  Nor did it matter that I was one of the best masseurs on the East Coast and that clients such as Cornelius Vanderbilt booked appointments with me exclusively.  So, I decided to head west where I figured attitudes might be different.  I’ve made money by working for small ranchers here and there on the way. To keep my skills up, I’ve mostly practiced on the horses when everyone else has gone into town.”  Missouri looked at the floor ashamed when he admitted that he had practiced his skills on horses.

Ben didn’t quite know what to say.  Missouri was a good hand from what he’d heard, but the young man obviously had a skill that could make him much more money if he could practice his trade again.  Ben suddenly thought of Jim Powell, owner of the Bay View Hotel in San Francisco.  Powell bought Ponderosa beef for his restaurant and he and Ben had become good friends as well as business partners over the years.  If he wrote a letter of recommendation for Missouri, Jim could hire the man and increase his hotel’s business by adding a spa.

“Well, Missouri” said Ben, “I hate to lose you…”

Before Ben could finish, Missouri looked up angrily and said “You’re no different than the others.  The idea of a colored man touching a white man appalls you!”

“As I was starting to say,” said Ben “there’s a hotel in San Francisco that could certainly benefit from your expertise.  I would be honored to write a letter of recommendation if you’re interested in taking up your former profession again.”

Missouri had turned maroon again with embarrassment.  “I’m sorry that I jumped to judgment, Sir.  I’m not used to people treating me with such tolerance anymore.  And I appreciate your offer.  Yes, I would like to practice massage again.”

“Well,” said Ben “I’ll telegraph a friend of mine in San Francisco and get a letter out tomorrow as well.  I travel to California quite a bit on business and hope to be one of your regular clients.”

“I’d like that very much, Sir” said Missouri.

“What’s your real name?” asked Joe.  There was no way that a massagist for a fancy hotel could be called Missouri.

“That’s an inappropriate question, Joe” said Adam.

“It’s alright,” responded Missouri.  “My given name is Nehemiah Ezekiel van Meteren.”

“That sure is a mouthful” said Hoss.

“How come Missouri then?” asked Joe.

“Because when I hit the manager at the hotel in New York, he said he felt like he’d just been kicked by a Missouri mule.”

The End