“Good morning, Jake, Dusty,” Smoke called back to them.
Over in the little row of small houses where his married employees lived, he could see smoke coming from the kitchen stove stacks as the wives were preparing breakfast. Juan Mendoza, one of his oldest hands, both in age and in the length of time he had worked for Smoke, was on the back porch pumping water into a bucket.
This was Smoke’s favorite time of day and, more often than not, he would make a point of watching the eastern sky change from the dark of night to the gray of predawn, then early morning pink, and finally the full light of day. He had heard a phrase once that he applied to these moments. “This is the first hour of the rest of your life.”
He knew that it was probably corny, coined, no doubt, by some would-be philosopher, but he liked it.
Last year, Smoke had introduced a few Hereford cattle into his herd to see how they would do. His experience yesterday, with the small amount of money that he had received for his cattle, convinced him that it was time to start raising Herefords exclusively.
Finishing his coffee, he went back into the kitchen. He stood just inside the door, looking at Sally for a moment, thinking how lucky he was to have found her and to have convinced the former schoolteacher to marry him. In Smoke’s eyes, Sally was as beautiful today as she had been the first day he ever saw her. She sensed him looking at her, and she turned toward him.
“Have the mountains moved?” she asked teasingly.
“What do you mean, have the mountains moved?”
“I just ask because you seem to have to check them every morning.”
“No, they’re still there,” Smoke replied.
Picking up a hot pad, Sally opened the oven door and took out a pan of biscuits. As soon as she set the pan down, Smoke reached for one of the biscuits and she slapped at his hand with the hot pad.
“Can’t you even wait for breakfast?” she asked.
“Huh-uh,” Smoke said. The biscuit was hot and he tossed it from hand to hand a couple of times, then took a bite. “Anyway, it’s your fault,” he said even as he chewed.
“My fault? What do you mean, it’s my fault?”
“You are such a good a cook and the biscuits look and smell too good to pass up. I tell you the truth, Sally, as good a cook as you are, I would have married you even if you were as ugly as a fence post.”
“What?” Sally shouted in feigned indignation. She threw the hot pad at him.
Smoke laughed and held up his hands to defend himself from the missile. “I’m teasing, I’m teasing!” he said. “Come on, Sally, you know that I think you are prettier than any fence post I’ve ever seen.”
“You had better stop while you are ahead, Mr. Smoke Jensen,” Sally said.
“Sally, what would you say if I told you I plan to get rid of all the longhorns?”
“You’re going to get rid of all of them?” Sally asked. “I thought we were going to run both longhorns and Herefords for a while.”
“Why should I? You saw what happened when we shipped this year’s beeves. You pointed it out yourself, we barely broke even.”
“We don’t have enough Herefords.”
“We’ll buy more, plus a champion seed bull. I don’t think we have any choice,” Smoke said. “What do you think?”
“Smoke, you are the rancher here,” Sally replied. “I’m just a rancher’s wife.”
“Ha!” Smoke said, laughing out loud. “You’re
“Well, I didn’t say I wasn’t a smart rancher’s wife,” Sally replied with a broad smile.
Before Smoke could respond, there was a knock on the kitchen door.
“That will be Cal,” Sally said.
“Of course it will be. It’s breakfast time, isn’t it? Cal always manages to find some reason to drop by at breakfast time, or dinnertime, or supper time. Or if you’ve made a pie, or a fresh batch of bear signs.”
“Cal is welcome at any meal, you know that, Smoke,” Sally said.
“Yeah, I know. I was just making an observation, that’s all.”
“Let him in.”
Smoke opened the door, and the young cowhand stepped inside. A few years earlier, a starving and destitute Cal, who was barely in his teens at the time, made the mistake of trying to rob Sally. It was a huge mistake, because Sally was as good with a gun as any man, and she got the drop on him. Instead of turning him over to the sheriff, however, Sally brought him home and made him, not just another cowhand, but one of the family.
“Smoke, I was wonderin’ if—oh, you’re about to have breakfast, are you? Maybe I should come back later.”
“Don’t be silly, Cal. I’ve already set a plate for you. Have a seat at the table,” Sally said.
“You’ve already set a plate? How did you know I would be here?”
“Like I said, Cal, don’t be silly.”
“Well, thank you, Miss Sally. You didn’t have to do that, but, oh, sausage, eggs, potatoes, and biscuits. It does
