Bobby Joe Barnes

10 September 1868

Early Afternoon

Wyoming Territoryi

We was head’n out of backcountry follow’n a high rigid'ed hogback through a little known pass in the Snowies, that is, Bobby Joe ‘an me was head'n down toward a little town some folk call Centerville in lower Wyoming Territory. From there, I'd cross eastward 'n up into Cheyenne ‘n pick up an eastbound U P back into Columbus or Pittsburg then find sum'n some other connection into New York. Wanted noth’n to do with Laramie no more 'cause of all the damn shenanigans go'n on 'round that town.

We’d been traveling ‘bout three days . . .Bobby Joe 'n me, my partner, 'an couple Chestnuts and two old mules pack’n all our supplies on the backs of those damn little gray critters, the other two ornery mules I’d sent back to camp with the boys.

I'd been letting the horse pick its way ‘round some large granites border'n a winter erosion still hold’n some of last winter’s snow ‘cross traces of rocks strewn ‘bout the hardpan. Now we was nearing another treeless ridgeback, when the damn horse stiff-legged me to a sharp, painful jolt, running my manhood up against the damn pommel!

For cry’ sake you gall-damned horse what in the cold side of Hell you stopping for? I slid back in the leather trying to straighten up from the damn animal’s abrupt stop ‘an reach’n down for my aching parts the same time. I wasn’t watching where the horse was moving so when I looked up there was nothing much ahead of me but open space and those damn southern Snowies cover’n the horizon.

Well shit ‘o dear horse. Damn that hurt! What the hell you stop’n for like that? I slid carefully outa leather ‘an stood there hold'n them ache'n parts, my head rest'n on my arms which was rest'n across my saddle wait’n for the pain to stop. When the pain slowed a bit, I managed to jiggle those parts back to where they belong. I pulled the rifle from the scabbard 'an stepped around to the front of that damn Chestnut and looked it square in the eye. Holding my manhood ‘an hope’n the ache would disappear some more, I stared that damn horse square in the eye. The Chestnut gave me a little brown-eyed blink an’ a soft blow, as if to say ‘look behind ya sucker'. I studied that ugly tan face a second longer before tak’n a glance out from the horse’s viewpoint. Huh, I thought, then turned back to those dull brown eyes and patted his hard, tan face.

Well, I guess you’re not too stupid after all horse. You did good keep’n me from killing us both. The edge of that cliff was no more than four or five feet up front from where the Chestnut had pulled up quick. I finally was able to let go of myself and stepped over for a closer look at that cliff ridge and what lay below. Crap! That damn trail’d run out for me ‘an the horses. That trail was now the size some small critter might use, way too narrow for us. Big enough maybe for those critters but not a horse . . . if I pushed it with the horse he might go but I wasn’t ‘bout to lose ‘em or what they carried just to be mak’n my point.

The damn path petered out half way down. One miss step and we’d all be over the side before you could say hasta la vista hombre. Not too sure why I’d taken this particular track outa the Snowies anyway, did have other choices. Well, I knew why but I'll come back to that part later, maybe. The trail looked promising at first but now . . . not so promising. I was look’n to save time. Instead, I'd lost time, probably near two days worth if my math was correct.

Have’n been gone from home the past six months I was anxious to get back . . . back to Mary Beth and my boy. I'd left my farm last April for New York, then for the west . . . seems like it was six years not six months. Came out west to work railroad survey; came out with my partner Bobby Joe Barnes. Lots happened in six months.

I’d thought for sure this trail was a shorter way outa the Snowies even though there was a possibility I’d travel through some bad terrain. The Territory had many different directions we could’a gone and my partner and me seen some of the worst of them over those six months. Now . . . I’d need to retrace my steps. What a waste of time and energy. Crap!

Well, you got me down on the ground now ‘horse’, might as well have a smoke and rest us all. I moved the animals about twenty feet from the cliff’s edge then lifted the split-eared bridle from the Chestnuts. They found some aging late summer grass to crop so as to allow me my smoke. After get’n the animals happy, I stepped to a large flat granite boulder sitting all by its lonesome maybe thirty feet on the other side of them Chestnuts and flopped my tired arse down . . . cautiously of course not want'n to bump them tender parts. Sat there looking out over them snow covered mountains and stared at one of the higher peaks that me ‘an Bobby Joe knew well. It was maybe a minute later ‘fore I looked down over the cliff look’n at the boulder high walls of rock and green shrubs below me; damn place had no promise of a future ‘cept maybe to help hold the earth together.

Pulled out my fix’ns and rolled a smoke. Fired that lucifer up off the end of that rock and touched it to the quirley, drawing in its offering. The vast enormity of these mountains could overwhelm a man. Folks down in Laramie just called ‘em The Snowies. They were big ones alright. Stared at one of those peaks right in front of me. Gota be ten or eleven thousand feet up, maybe even twelve. Ground was still cool this high up, and though the sun was nearing its zenith for the day, it was drifting closer to the south’s horizon; September was only a couple days old. The sky held an azure blue feel to it ‘an fall would be passing into winter real soon up here. Knew I needed to keep move’n down this mountain otherwise I’d be caught in an early snow.

Well now Bobby Joe, just what the hell you intend to do ‘bout this mess you got me into this time? Seems like I’m always pulling your backside outa some fire you’ve fallen into. There was no answer from Bobby Joe. Knew there wouldn’t be . . . though it would have been nice talk’n with the man again. Bobby Joe and I met and joined up in New York; we’d become partners, then friends. Nice fella Bobby Joe. You’d like him.

I looked over at that boy’s Chestnut . . . at Bobby Joe . . . strapped across his saddle. I killed the man who’d shot Bobby Joe. Mean sum-bitch if there ever was. Bobby Joe did him no harm. Damn Bobby Joe . . . had ‘em tied down snuggly so he wouldn’t slip off somewhere out here and I not know it till it was too late.

I’d ridden with my friend these past six months, like I’d said before. He an’ I’d been talking one night about what to do case one of us gets killed out here. Our promise that star-spangled night was a simple one to make at the time, get the other fella back home, well . . . that would take ingenuity on the living fella’s part. But, we'd made that promise to each other that second night stay’n in the UP cabin while we was sit’n outside have’n a couple of whiskies; it had difficulties attached to it, the promise that is; difficulties we hadn’t thought ‘bout back then before mak’n it.

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Return to Beginning

Bobby Joe Barnes

Partners

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Chapter One

20 April 1868

Six months earlier

I’d rode into New York thanks to a route Central New England Railway had from Waterbury to some station near the Central rail yards in New York City, along the Hudson River I think, then hitched a ride with a farmer ‘an his boy over nearly to the Eastern rail yards. He knew where I was supposed to go’n 'an I was grateful for his know'n the area as he did. It was a big place New York ‘an it was near thirty minutes later we was there. I offered the man some coin for his efforts but he’d have none of that, just happy to help a young’n off on a fresh start. I thanked him for the lift again and crawled outa the wagon with the little amount of personals I had ‘an walked ‘nother half mile to where Union Pacific maintained a temporary office for their ‘Supervisor of Survey’. I’d just finished a year and a half of schooling dedicated to survey studies outside my hometown of Woodbury Connecticut. I was now ready to take on the world and start doing what engineers for the railroad do . . . survey all this new western lands our country was look’n to lay track across.

The war had been over now three years and the folk up here in the old states was busting to move out west. The railroads promis’n to get ‘em there. Union Pacific was move’n westward outa Missouri and Central Pacific move’n east from Sacramento California. They was hope’n to meet up somewhere in Utah I’d been told . . . where ever the hell that place was. I was hoping we’d have ourselves a new President too, hope’n my war hero Ulysses S. Grant would be elected come November. We was all hope’n for good things to come from Grant, if my fellow Americans elected him, him being the one to bring that damn war of succession to an end.

It was near two in the afternoon of April 20 when I arrived at those rail yards. I’d left home before dawn for the ride into New York. Mary Beth had cooked me up ‘bout a half dozen eggs and a pound of bacon just to make sure I didn’t get hungry on the trip. My new son was still saw’n a log at that early hour and I was not about to bother the little fella. Gave Mary Beth, a big kiss and hug then climbed aboard our buggy.

My younger brother Ike was giving me a lift into our little town to catch that southbound. Ike was two years younger than me and, along with my next younger brother, Teddy, another year younger, lived outa the bunkhouse behind where Mary Beth and I lived. I was very glad for that early morning lift he ‘n Teddy was give’n me. The farmhouse is where my folks slept when they were still both alive. It’s where Mary Beth ‘n me slept now . . . ‘an Mary Beth’s ma in the next room. Ike and Teddy would keep the farm running smooth for Mary Beth while I was gone. I took a long backward glance toward the house and saw Mary Beth still waving goodbye. When she dropped from sight, I turned my tired eyes toward the back end of that gray horse and the dark road ahead.

That New York Central train yard was ‘bout the biggest thing I’d ever seen. Must have been a dozen or more locomotives just sit’n in that yard. Had a roundhouse that could handle them all. Some were inside the ‘house’, some were outside the ‘house’, and one was sit'n on the table wait’n for it to stop ‘fore back’n into its own little place. Others sat off to a side get’n parts replaced and whatever else you do with something that size. After I finished gawking, I asked directions to the ‘Survey Office’, Tom Sowell was the super there.

I was pointed to some stairs hanging off the side of a gray clapboard building that sorely needing new paint and repair. The fella pointing his finger toward those rickety look’n stairs was a big boy near three hundred pounds with hair coming outa places unnatural for hair to be com’n out of. He was shoot’n some kind of grease or oil into wheel parts when I asked him my question about Sowell’s office.

He looked back at me ‘bout as perturbed as anyone might be when have’n to stop work to answer a fool question I guess. He took an added moment to run a greasy rag across a wet brow, then wiped his hands on it as if I was gona shake one of those greasy, calloused paws of his, before show'n me a wide toothless grin ‘an pointed up those stairs; snicker’n as he was point’n too. Through a noticeable lisp, he added, enjoy yor trip ssssonny, hope ya make it back alive. The old-timer couldn’t help speaking that way with all them teeth missing . . . specially with a word like sonny.

I thanked him for his directions ‘an tipping my fingers to the brim of my hat ignoring his last comment ‘bout ‘com’n back’ and headed off for those shaky-looking stairs taking two at a time ‘til I reached the top. Paused just long enough to catch a breath then opened the windowless door and walked in ‘n stopped cold in my tracks. Must have been twenty fellas in that small office all yammering at once and waiting for something to happen or someone important to arrive, like the super I guess. I moved inside closing the door behind me ‘n waited a dozen heart beats while look’n for ‘an open chair. Finally saw one near the back by a row of windows. Slid along that back row toward that open chair watched my shadow ‘cross’n everyone’s backside as I made my way toward that chair. I stopped halfway just to check on that empty chair again be’n sure it was still there ‘an empty and moved over to it. In front of the room, high up on the wall, hung a large, hand printed sign read’n ‘Supervisor of Survey’. Guess I’m in the right place, muttering to myself.

Sat down next to a man appear’n not much older than me but the fella had me by fifty pounds and three inches, maybe. I was sorta a skinny-assed willowy lightweight for being twenty-two so maybe his size was more normal than mine in the weight department. We both just sat there saying nothing and listening to the cacophony of chatter for other two or three minutes, until I turned to face this fella.

Afternoon, I said, name’s Ethan Allen Jensen. You hire on with UP too? He kinda swung his head in my direction giving me an up ‘n down look and a sizeable pierce from a pair of blue bedroom eyes; felt them burrow right through me till they softened up when his lips parted in slight smile; he extended his hand. He had a strong firmness in that shake and his hands weren’t calloused like mine. He looked well dressed. I mean his clothes were clean and pressed and looked almost new. Nicely polished boots too. Mine weren’t. He had a forward thrust to his square setting jaw. Remember thinking then that jaw would make an easy target to aim for, though I wouldn’t think too many would consider trying something like that with this boy.

He was rolling one of those new flat-brimmed range hats in his hands, pull’n the tan brim through his finger as one might do with a spoke less wheel. His short-sandy blond hair was all askew I’d guessed from the flat brim sit’n there a while an’ mess’n it up. It was a costly hat. Well, me