Dale picked up his saddle bags and bed roll and looked around the ranch as he walked. As he watched the wind kick up a dust devil in the barn lot, he thought about the work he had done here over the last few years, and felt that the old man would be satisfied with it. Old Tom had been a successful cattleman in Scotland, and had been just as prosperous in his new country. The old man was the kind of rancher who kept his boots dirty and his gloves in his back pocket. He kept as involved in the daily operations as his ranch hands and manager did. Riding out almost daily to some part of the ranch, he often camped overnight in order to reach the remote areas of the Leaning Y. He was respected by his men because he had never asked of them what he could not, or would not, do himself. Watching Old Tom take charge, Dale had been reminded of what his Confederate Battalion Commander had often said to his junior officers
“ You can demand respect, and gain compliance perhaps, but never confuse compliance with respect. Honest-to-goodness respect must be earned.” That’s the way Old Tom had run his ranch, Dale remembered, working along side his men and managing hands on. The men had responded to Dale’s leadership when he took over, because had shared the same philosophies. He had earned their respect, and that was important to him. He never wanted to do anything to lose it. He still believed in “Duty with Honor”. The new Leaning Y owner? Well, the younger Tom had a different management style.As a young man, Tom had been sent to the East to be educated. While in college, he found a love for business, and most of all, politics . The old ranch hands had told Dale that after young Toms return, he became less involved with the day to day “dirty work of ranching” and more concerned with the business end of it. Running a twenty thousand acre spread took good business savvy of course, so Old Tom had been contented to slowly turn the “ledger part” of the ranch over to his son. Old Tom had been satisfied to oversee the daily operations of managing land and herd.
A few of the horses saw Dale approaching the barn and started toward the fence, looking for a hand out. Little clouds of dust surrounded their hooves as they ambled over. The slamming of the privy door told Dale that the bunk house boys were slowly rising. He grinned at the thought of Con waking soon, and spending his day nursing an aching head. Tom Jr. had a great bunch of cowboys working for him, Dale thought, not that he ever saw them much.
Tom Jr. was gone for weeks at a time to start cattlemen’s associations, to garner contracts, and curry favors from political allies and friends. His politics had brought in much money to the Leaning Y. Dale liked Tom personally, and admired his business skills, but Tom’s long absences from the ranch was putting distance between him and his ranch hands. He barely knew the new men's names. These cow punchers often had to be reminded that the Leaning Y was still Tom McCubbin’s ranch. When Tom was home, he seldom rode out of sight of the house and buildings. There was much of the ranch Tom hadn’t viewed in ten years. The men had come to put their faith in Dale to keep the ranch running. If they needed anything more, they counted on the capable lady of the ranch, Tom’s wife, Rebecca.
Dale threw his saddle bags and bed roll over the fence rail just as Midnight, Rebecca’s favorite horse, nosed up beside him. Dale scratched the geldings forehead. “ Keep your nose out my bags, blacky, Willies biscuits are dinner for me down the road.” The smells of horses, leather, wood and hay filled his senses as he walked into the barn . Reaching for his saddle, he thought about Rebecca McCubbins. He had admired Rebecca’s spunk and tenacity from the first time he saw her… branding calves with the men at Bear Creek. She never shirked a task because it was dirty or demeaning. Work was work, and she wasn’t afraid of any of it. To watch her, you would think she had grown up on a ranch herself ; she had come from a different life all together, however.
Tom had met Rebecca Long, a lawyers daughter, while in college. A green eyed, auburn haired beauty from Philadelphia, she had become attracted to Tom’s good looks, and his stories of his rugged western ranch life. Tom and Rebecca were married upon Tom’s graduation and he brought her home to the ranch. She fell in love with the Leaning Y from the first day she set eyes on it. The view of the foothills, the sand and rock outcroppings, the rolling river and creeks were “ a gift from God” she had said. The ranch soon grew to love Rebecca too.
Rebecca had lost her own father at nineteen, and kind Old Tom had soon become her “ Pa”. Old Tom loved her as his own daughter. She worked along side him and learned about the breeding stock and selection, nursing sick calves, and the difference between a fine buggy horse and a cutting horse. She learned much about to how make a ranch a profitable business, and a home. Since Old Tom’s wife Sally had been gone, Rebecca had become the lady of the house, and mother to the younger cowboys. The men loved and valued her. She was adept at being a society queen on the occasions where she needed to be. She had honed those skills in Philly. And, at forty nine she still turned heads when she walked the boardwalks of town. Yes, she could converse easily with Tucson’s elite, but it was the work life of the ranch that had become her passion. Working together, she and Dale kept the Leaning Y in top notch condition. They had become close.
Dale exited the barn and went back to the the corral. He whistled for Stonewall, who came at a trot. Dale opened the wooden gate and walked his big Appaloosa through. The horse looked into his owners eyes and placed his nose on Dales cheek. Dale rubbed Stonewall's head with both hands,"Yeah, Stoney Boy, we've got a ride ahead of us. Just you and me."The big Appaloosa nodded his head up and down as if to say, 'I'm ready'. Dale threw a saddle blanket over the horses back and pulled the saddle from the fence rail. After he cinched up, he shoved his Henry rifle deep into the scabbard.
He then paused and clinched his hands, resting his arms on the saddle. He looked at his boots for a few seconds, then looked up over his horse toward the house, and up at Rebecca’s bedroom window.
Over the years, the mutual respect and admiration that he and Rebecca shared for each other had turned into genuine affection. Affection had, in these last months, become something stronger. Something that required restraint and real strength to keep in check… and that had become impossible recently. Dale had come to a decision to do what was best for the ranch, to do what he felt was the honorable thing. And that was to move on. He had written to Tom and told him he was going south to look for cow punchers to help with the upcoming cattle drive. He never mentioned how long it might take.
Dale stuck his foot in the stirrup and swung his leg across the saddle. When he reigned Stonewall around, Bo stood before him . “Mighty fat saddle bags for a trip huntin' for vaqueros, Dale.” Bo stroked Stonewalls' neck and looked up at his boss. “ If I didn't know better, I‘d think you wasn't comin' back.” Dale just removed his hat, rubbed his pepper gray hair, and looked off into the distance. Bo went on, “You know there’s some things you can’t just ride away from, Pard.” Dale finally looked at Bo and said “ When did you get so gabby anyway ?” Bo loosed a crooked smile, ‘Just because I don’t say a lot, don’t mean I don’t see a lot’ he said. Dale smiled down at him and stuck his hand out, “Goodbye friend”. Bo shook his hand and sighed, ‘Vaya Con Dios, Amigo.' Dale nudged his horse and headed for the gate.
“ Becky, when a man opens the gate that frees a corral full of mustangs, he doesn’t entertain much hope of ever getting ‘em all corralled again.” After a pause he said “It’s a little late for closing the gate now”. Rebecca looked at the ground for a few seconds, regained her composure, then looked up and asked “ Will you ever come back here Dale?” Dale looked down at her, then glanced back at the bunkhouse as Willie and Shawn were stepping out on the porch. He returned to Rebecca’s gaze and resisted the impulse to touch her upturned face. “ I will come back here, Becky,” he said as he placed his hat on his head, “every time I close my eyes”. He took one long last look at her, then gave his horse a gentle kick, trotted through the gate, and headed south toward Old Mexico.
