Ambling over to the fire, Ben greeted or nodded at his men.

Adam and Hoss, the eldest of Ben’s sons, sat near the fire, eating from plates loaded with beans cooked up by the trail cook, Lucky, cousin of the Ponderosa’s cook, Hop Sing. Both Adam and Hoss noted their father’s stiff-legged gait but politely kept their thoughts bottled up.

Ben leaned over but a soft hiss of pain escaped his lips as his muscles protested.

Hoss grabbed up a nearby plate, plopped a large scoop of beans onto it, and handed it up to his father along with a spoon. “Here you go, Pa.”

“Thanks,” was Ben’s weary reply.

Amos and Hank, two of the older hands, walked stiff-legged over to the fire and squatted down, their bodies protesting the movement with snaps and cracks.

“I ain’t a spring chicken no more,” Amos said to no one in particular as he filled his plate from the pot.

Hank grunted in agreement, concentrating on shoveling beans into his mouth.

A horse galloped into the camp and its rider, Calvin Walker, pulled the animal to a sudden stop, resulting in clods of dirt flying onto plates and onto sleeping men. Several protests were yelled until Ben calmed the men with an order for quiet.

After securing his mount at the hitching line, Calvin strolled over to the fire and squatted on his haunches as he scooped a generous serving of beans from the pot. As he stood, he surveyed the faces of the older men and laughed. “You grandpas better drink some milk to settle your stomachs and go to bed.”

“We may be old but we ain’t wet behind the ears,” grumbled Amos.

“This isn’t my first cattle drive, old man,” said Calvin with a growl in his voice.

“It’ll be your last if you don’t show some respect to your elders,” warned Ben.

Calvin swallowed a hard lump of beans. “Yes, sir, Mr. Cartwright,” he said. “Guess I’d better get some rest before my watch tonight.”

“You do that,” said Ben.

Finishing their suppers, Hoss and Adam pried themselves from the ground and stretched their legs before taking their empty plates over to Lucky.

“You got any more of that cobbler?” asked Hoss, his hopes as high as his hat.

“All men eat. No more.”

“Dadburnit,” Hoss grumbled under his breath.

“At least you’ll stay awake thinking about it,” said Adam with a grin on his face.

Hoss and Adam had the first watch of the night shift. All of the men, including Cartwrights, often dozed in the saddles as their horses circled the herd in the hours between midnight and dawn. The trick was for a man to find something to think on that kept his mind alert.

Adam slung his guitar over his shoulder before hoisting his saddle. He often crooned to the steers to keep the animals calm. A few of the hands complained at the repetitiveness of his repertoire but they appreciated hearing tunes that reminded them of the camaraderie of evenings spent in saloons or nights in soft beds.

“Night, Pa,” said Hoss as he and Adam passed Ben.

Ben grunted a goodnight as he spooned more beans into his mouth.

Across the fire, two of the men played rummy while another read from a bible so worn the print was barely visible even in broad daylight.

After finishing his supper, Ben managed to lurch to his feet without assistance but the prickling pins and needles in his feet made him wish he’d stayed rooted by the fire. As he walked to restore the circulation, he saw Joe arrive at the hitching line.

“How’s the herd?” Ben asked.

“Fat and lazy, like one of my brothers,” said Joe as he flashed a charming smile at his father.

Ben frowned and was about to rebuke his youngest son when another rider arrived.

Thumbs, whose real name was Thomas, was one of the older hands on the crew. He’d earned his nickname as a boy for his spectacular bouts of clumsiness. Now an adult, he’d lost much of the ungainliness of his youth yet he still had his bouts. Most of the younger men prayed for assignments that kept them far from Thumbs, and he knew it, but folks like Joe, Hoss, and Adam made him strive to do his job with as few mistakes as possible.

“Evenin’, Mr. Cartwright,” said Thumbs to Ben. “With this near full moon the coyotes will be singing tonight. You reckon Adam can teach ‘em another tune?”

Ben chuckled and he smiled for the first time that day, softening the deep lines etched on his face. “Beans and coffee are still hot. Goodnight.”

Joe watched his father walk away into the shadows beyond the campfire. Even though his pa had done physical labor most of his life, the years were catching up to him. Joe recalled Adam once saying he’d never known a man yet who didn’t think he was as good as the best day he ever saw. In his mind’s eye, his pa might still think he was the young man who’d built a ranch from nothing but a dream but Joe knew his father’s body told a different story.

Thumbs got his horse settled on the line, removed the saddle, and strolled over to the patch of ground he’d staked out for his bed. Tripping over Calvin’s foot, Thumbs stumbled and dropped the saddle, one of the stirrups landing on Calvin’s thigh.

Calvin sprang to his feet and yelled, “You got no more sense than a jackass!” He balled up his fist and grabbed the front of Thumbs’ shirt. “I oughta thrash you . . . .”

Thumbs threw the first punch and the other hands were drawn to the spectacle like flies to honey, cheering for their favorite. Joe sprinted to quench tempers before the fight turned into a brawl. Calvin and Thumbs fell to the ground within the circle of boots and wrestled for domination as Joe shoved his way through the ring of men.

Joe got his hands on Thumbs, pulling the man to his feet.

Ben’s voice rang out. “Break it up!”

The circle parted to reveal Ben standing in the firelight.

Calvin stood, wiping his hands along his thighs. He said to Thumbs, “Good thing you were rescued, old timer. You’d have crumbled to pieces anyway.”

Thumbs lunged and Joe shoved Calvin out of the way. Unable to stop his momentum, Thumbs’ fist collided with Ben’s jaw.

Eyes widened and the silence was punctuated by the crack of logs in the fire.

“You’re fired,” said Ben in a low voice that brooked no argument.

Thumbs wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and stared at his employer. Ben didn’t yield and the muscle in his jaw twitched.

“Gimme my wages,” said Thumbs. “I didn’t sign on to wet nurse a tinhorn.”

Without taking his eyes off Thumbs, Ben reached into a pocket and pulled forth a wad of bills. He then lowered his eyes to count out Thumbs’ wages earned to date. Extending his hand, Ben held forth the crumpled paper between his fingers.

Thumbs frowned and glared at Ben. He snatched the money from his now former employer and then gathered up his gear.

Joe followed to make sure Thumbs only took what belonged to him.

As the echo of hoof beats faded, Joe returned to his father’s side and stood, hands on hips. “Good thing we’ll reach town in a few days seeing that we’re down a man.”

“I won’t tolerate my men fighting each other instead of driving the cattle,” said Ben in a low voice. He stalked off to the place he’d claimed as his patch of camp.

Joe rubbed the back of his neck and blew out his cheeks. “Get some rest,” he told the hands remaining in camp. “We’ve got a few more days on the trail.”

During shift change that night, Adam and Hoss got the story from Hank. Assignments would have to be modified to account for Thumbs’ duties. When Adam and Hoss returned to camp, their father was asleep so they bedded down.

*****

In the morning, Adam stretched his legs by walking around the camp perimeter while drinking from a steaming cup of Lucky’s coffee. He wanted to catch his father alone, away from the hands, to discuss the fight.

Seeing an opportunity to speak, Adam approached his pa, stood behind him, and said, “Shapin’ up to be another hot day.”

Ben answered with a sound more akin to throat clearing. He looked over his shoulder and said, “Out with it.”

“We’ve had men get punchy on drives before and we’ve never fired them for it. Thumbs is a good hand. Loyal. He’s worked for us for nearly ten years. Sure, he’s got a temper but the same can be said for Joe. Besides, from what I understand Calvin goaded Thumbs into it. If you had to fire one of them, why didn’t you . . . ?”

Ben turned, his eyes steely rather than friendly and his face reddening like the ball of fire that was the sun peeking over the eastern horizon. “I won’t tolerate an experienced hand picking fights with cocky pups. As long as I’m in charge . . . .”

“Are hard work and loyalty no longer the currency of the Ponderosa?” asked Adam, his voice as low and his face as hard as his father’s.

“Don’t question my decisions,” ordered Ben, pointing a finger in his son’s face. “No matter what you boys may think, I’m not ready for pasture.”

With that, Ben stalked off and shouted an order to his men to pack up camp. The hands scrambled to finish their breakfasts and gather their gear before the boss launched into a tirade.

Adam stood rooted, arms crossed over his chest, leaning so his weight was supported more on his right leg than left; one eyebrow was raised in silent question.

Hoss ambled over, a partially eaten apple in hand. “Pa sleep on gravel last night?”

Adam scratched at an insect bite on his cheek, rasping the stubble that had taken root. Looking at his brother, he said, “I think he’s feeling his years, maybe trying to prove to himself he’s still got what it takes to be the head man.”

Through a crunch of apple Hoss said, “Pa ain’t no spring chicken but he’s far from porch sittin’.”

The two men returned to camp to attend to their own gear and help Lucky with the chuck wagon.

*****

The remaining days on the trail passed uneventfully. The hands accepted longer shifts without complaint to make up for the loss of Thumbs. Calvin avoided close proximity to Ben and kept his opinions to himself in regard to the older hands.

A weary bunch drove the herd down the main street of Oroville, California. Once the cattle were confined, Ben collected the money to pay off his men. Afterwards, the hands drew from matches broken into various lengths to determine who got first chance at the bath house. When that was finished, all of the men trudged to the sheriff’s office to turn in their side arms as required by an ordinance posted on a sign on the outskirts of town.

While his men were occupied at the bath house or the saloon, Ben curried his horse over at the livery stable. He’d ordered an extra ration of oats for Buck and the horse contentedly munched the grain.

“Well old boy,” Ben said to his horse as he ran the curry comb along the animal’s back, “several people figure it’s time for us to be put out to pasture.”

Buck snorted and shifted his weight.

“We’re still fit to keep men and cattle in line, aren’t we?”

The horse nodded his head as if in agreement.

“We won’t let anyone tell us any different, old boy.”

Finishing up, Ben hoisted his saddlebags over a shoulder and headed for the bath house. He’d deliberately held back the shortest match stick, figuring his men and sons would want to clean up to preen for the ladies over at one of the saloons.

He paid for a bath to be drawn and when it was ready he stripped off his dirty clothes and settled into the steaming tub to clean off the dust that had become a second skin. Ben’s trail-weary muscles relaxed and he sunk down to rest the back of his head against the porcelain rim. A long sigh of contentment escaped his lips as muscles that that hadn’t seen use in several years let go of their knots and tension.

The sound of water splashing onto the floor caught Ben’s attention and he opened one eye to look over at his neighbor. Hoss was attempting to stretch out his legs in a tub several inches too short to accommodate his body.

“Dadburnit! Why do these tubs always seem a mite too small?” asked Hoss.

“Maybe the tubs aren’t too small. Maybe you’re a mite too big.”

“That ain’t funny, Pa. How’s a man supposed to get comfortable in such a small contraption?”

Through a sigh Ben said, “For your sake, I hope the beds aren’t as small as the tubs.”

“Hmph!” was his son’s only reply as more water splashed out of the tub.

“You and the boys have big plans for this evening?” Ben asked as he stretched out far enough to recline the back of his head.

Hoss’ jaw cracked as he yawned. “I’m too tired to do more than crawl into bed.”

“A cold beer sure would be good,” answered Ben through a yawn of his own.

“I believe I’ll pass on that beer and maybe just have me a light supper. Lucky’s cookin’ is good but I’m ready for a home-cooked meal.”

“Don’t let Lucky hear you say that,” warned Ben. “He’s cooked everything from Hop Sing’s instructions.”

“Well dadgummit, food just don’t taste the same with a mouthful of trail dust in each bite.”

Ben chuckled even though he silently agreed with his son’s assessment.

Hoss wriggled around in the tub until most of the water had splashed onto the floor. Declaring he was as clean as he would get, he left his father to his own thoughts and headed for the hotel.

Ben remained in the tub until the water was cool then he climbed out and dressed. With a feeling of renewed vigor, he headed to the saloon for a meal and that cold beer.

Despite the arrival of several Ponderosa hands in town, the saloon was relatively empty. A few regulars sat at tables and girls in flashy dresses loitered at the bar.

“Beer,” Ben ordered and a mug was placed on the bar top. He flipped a coin to the bartender and headed for a table.

“I see that you managed to drive in the herd with all those greenhorns,” said a familiar voice.

Ben stopped and glared at Thumbs. “I’d have thought a man as experienced as you would know better than to pick fights with a man half his age.” He took a swig of beer and wiped the back of his free hand across his mouth.

“I gave the best years of my life to the Ponderosa and how am I paid? With a knife to the back. You had no call to fire me for what Calvin started.”

“You started it, I finished it,” said Ben.

The two men glared at each other for close to a minute. Everyone else in the saloon watched as the two cowboys sized each other up. The bartender moved bottles and glasses to safety.

Spurs jingled as Thumbs approached Ben and Ben set his nearly empty glass down on a nearby table.

Ben closed a fist but was punched before he could launch his own attack.

The two men punched at bellies and faces as they fought for domination. An uppercut to the jaw sent Thumbs into a table, which collapsed beneath him. The man shook off the stars fluttering behind his eyes and charged at Ben. Sidestepping, Ben delivered a chop to Thumbs’ back, dropping the man to the floor.

Thumbs regained his feet and warily approached his former employer with both fists ready to find their mark. He launched a roundhouse, connecting with Ben’s jaw, sending him against the bar.

Ben and Thumbs traded punches until the sheriff arrived and broke up their fight with a shot to the ceiling. Neither man could argue with a Colt when their only weapons were fists.

The sheriff hauled both men off to jail and tossed them in separate cells with orders to cool their heels. Ben had ordered that one of his sons over at the hotel be notified to bail him out. A noncommittal grunt had been the sheriff’s answer.

*****

In the morning, Joe bounded into the restaurant eager for a cup of stove-brewed coffee. His brothers were seated at a table and Hoss was slicing the remainder of a plate-sized steak into bite-sized pieces. Joe glanced around and noted the absence of the remaining Cartwright.

“Seen Pa?”

Both Adam and Hoss answered no.

“One of you Cartwright?” asked the sheriff as he approached the table.

Joe answered, “All three of us are. You want one in particular?”

“Figure it’s your pa I’ve got in my jail. Arrested him last night for busting up the saloon. Bail’s five dollars. Come and get him when you’re ready.”

Adam tossed his napkin onto the table, Hoss stuffed as much of his remaining steak into his mouth as he could. The three Cartwrights hurried to the sheriff’s.

While Adam took care of bail, Joe and Hoss went back to the cells. Joe crossed his arms over his chest and rocked on the balls of his feet while shooting a grin at Hoss.

“Looks like Pa’s lost all sense of responsibility, doesn’t it?” asked Joe.

Hoss jammed his hands in his pockets and said, “Seems a man his age would know better.”

“Get me out of here,” snarled Ben.

“Maybe we should leave you in there, let you cool your heels,” said Hoss, his eyes twinkling in amusement at his father’s predicament.

The sheriff came back with the keys and unlocked the cell. Joe and Hoss returned to the office but Ben turned, hat in hand, to look at Thumbs.

Ben said, “I guess we’ve still got some fire in our bellies.”

“Can’t eat off that,” answered Thumbs in a dejected tone.

“Suppose not.”

Ben looked at the floor, fiddling with his hat. He took a deep breath and raised his head.

“Maybe I was too hasty back on the trail,” said Ben. “Didn’t think it over. I’ll raise your salary by a dollar if you’ll come back and ride herd on green hires.”

Thumbs jammed his hat on his head and nodded to Ben. “Always did like workin’ for the Ponderosa.”

“So did I,” answered Ben.

The End
September 2013