Free Riding For The Brand: Sage Country Book Three by Dan Arnold Page A

part right and part wrong about the thing you said, John. The land don’t change. The landmarks pretty much stay the same. Injuns say, ‘Only the rocks live forever’. Times change, but the land don’t. There’re more people now, though.
    “Reckon so. More people, but not better.”
    “I reckon we’re all just passing through. You said you ride for the Rocking M?”
    “That’s right.”
    “I’ve seen Rocking M cattle scattered all over the range. Why is that?”
    I thought about it. How should I answer? Could I trust this old man?
    “There’s been no one around to tend to the ranch for some time.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “Well, Bill, the Murphys are dead. The children are safe, but the ranch hasn’t been worked in weeks. I just got here, today.”
    “The old man set his jaw, his mouth shrinking into a narrow slit, again disappearing under his mustache.
    “Did you know the Murphys?” I asked.
    “I knew Sean Murphy.”
    We sat in silence until he felt like telling me his story.
    “I first come west through the Republic of Texas about fifty years ago. After the war with Mexico, in ’48, I scouted with Fremont and Carson with the blessing of President Polk. There were damn few white men in this country then, plenty of Indians though. I was in California with Fremont in ‘49. I always had the itch to see new country, so I guided wagon trains, and roamed all over, from St Louis to San Francisco. I fought with Carson in New Mexico, during the big war you spoke of. When I first came through here, about thirty years ago, I was prospecting.
    It was me named Buttercup Creek. I staked a claim on a couple sections of land on the edge of the mountains, just west of Yellow Butte, with Buttercup Creek running right through the middle of it, thinking I would make a ranch here one day.”
    It suddenly dawned on me I was talking to the legendary frontier scout, Indian fighter, and wagon master, Rupert William “Old Bill” Kennemer. I hadn’t realized who he was. I remembered the deed to Murphy was from “R.W. Kennemer”. I hadn’t made the connection. Like most folks, I’d heard of him, but I figured he was long since dead.
    “Why did you call it Buttercup Creek? I haven’t seen any Buttercups.”
    Bill chuckled.
    “Buttercups is poison to cattle and horses. I figured the name would keep cow men away from it, till I was ready to build my ranch. Well, the years go by and things don’t always go the way you think they will,” he observed. “I was scouting for the army over in Arizona territory about fifteen years back. This young Lieutenant named Murphy saved my hair. We became friends and he told me he was sick of the desert country and wanted to get out of the army and build a ranch somewhere with good water and mountain views. I was headed for Mexico and I decided to sell him some of my land in Colorado territory. I deeded him a section and a half, keeping a half section for myself. We were to be partners in the ranch, if he could make it work.”
    “I believe he did that.” I said.
    “Hell yes, he did. Sean had a head for business and he weren’t afraid of work. He got him a fine wife, a couple of kids, and he built us a herd. Got near wiped out one winter, a few years back. Altogether, it took him more than ten years to really turn a profit. He wrote me and said I should come see the place. Why I’m here.”
    “Did you know he was dead?”
    The old man lowered his head.
    “No,” he said. ”I just got here myself.”
    The old man pulled a bone colored pipe with a silver mounted stem and a tobacco pouch out of a vest pocket. He tamped tobacco into the bowl and popped a match, lighting the pipe. He sat and smoked while I sipped my coffee.
    “What will you do now,” I asked.
    “We’ll see…You say you ride for the Rocking M. What’s all this to you?”
    “A few weeks ago I found two little kids, Jacob and Sarah Murphy, hiding in the barn at the livery stable up in Bear Creek. My wife and I took