I guess I was about nine years old the first time I met Charlie. Pa and me had been ranching up at the Double BB about five miles north of town and we was getting ready for the cattle drive. We were needin’ couple extra hands and Pa put up a sign at the blacksmith shop for cowpokes.

Charlie arrived on brandin’ day. Now I ain’t goin into to much detail about brandin ’cause there’s ladies readin’ this story and it’s just to much for a lady to have to bear to read. But, I will say this, brandin’ is hard messy work and ya need all the good hands ya can muster up.

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I was the first to notice Charlie standin’ by the gate. He had on chaps. That meant he was ready to get to work. He was an old cowpoke, maybe all of forty years. He was tall. I don’t know how tall Charlie was, but, he was taller Pa, and ya’ll know how tall Pa is. He can stand flat-footed and look over the heads of most men. Now that I think on it for a spell, I think Charlie’s just about the biggest, toughest cowpoke I ever met.

Nother thing about Charlie that seemed odd to me, his skin was black as coal. Now I never seen a black man before, havin lived on the ranch my whole life and only goin’ to town one time a month for supplies and stuff. Might a-been other folks there with skin the color of coal, but I never seen um. I just figured he must have spent a lot of time in the sun for his skin to turn that dark. I had seen folk’s skin get dark from bein’ in the sun all day. But, Charlie must have gotten an extra dose of sun when he was young or somethin’.

I walked over to Charlie, “You here ’bout the cowpoke job?”

Charlie squinted against the sun. He didn’t look at me, he was watchin’ Pa and Buster brandin’ a calf. “Yup,” he answered me.

“You know anything about brandin and droven?”

“Yup!”

“Fair enough, we pay five dollars a day, plus two squares, noon and supper. Bunkhouse is over there. If’n you kill a deer, Pa pays two dollars a month extra for deer. He loves venison steaks and the pesky deer eat all the corn before we can harvest. You still interested?”

“Yup!”

“Well, alright then, guess you can start whenever you’re ready,” I said.

“Yup,” he said walking toward Pa and Buster.

I walked beside Charlie, “My name’s Gary, but, most folks call be Squirt ’cause I’m the shortest man on the ranch. That’s Buster and my Pa is known as Big Al. You got a handle you go by?”

“Yup!”

Pa was holdn’ down a calf while Buster placed the hot brandin’ iron on its rear. They released the calf and Pa turn to speak to Charlie, “Howdy, mister, Squirt hire you to cowpoke for us?”

“Yup.”

“Okay, I’ll say this up front. I don’t mind a man drinkin’ or smokin’ a little weed to ease the pain of cowpokin’, but, getting’ drunk or high on weed you do on your own time. Fair enough?”

“Yup.”

“You got a handle you go by?”

“Yup.”

“Well,” Pa said, “You can either tell me your handle or I’ll call you Yup, your choice.”

“Charlie.”

“Squirt, go tell Cook we got a new hand for supper. Then you get your chores done and you can quit for the rest of the day. Check on your Ma, too.”

I took out runnin’ ‘fore Pa had a chance to change his mind. Not that it mattered Pa never changes his mind. Once Pa says somethin’ that was the way it is. Pa is a man o’ his word that is for sure.

I ran into the cookhouse, “Cook, I mean, Brave Eagle, Pa said to tell ya’ we got a new hand so there’ll be one more for supper. Big feller, bigger ‘n Pa.”

“Do not call me Cook. My name is Brave Eagle and I’ve counted many coups in my younger years. I’ve earned the name Brave Eagle.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “Pa said I could finish up my chores and check on Ma then I can have the rest of the day off.”

“Then I recommend that you get busy with your chores. I expect you to be on time for supper. I’m not going to be holding anything back for you.”

I took off runnin’ to the barn to get started on the milkin’. I thought about Brave Eagle. He was the only man on the ranch that could read and write. When he was a kid the government had forced him to go to the white man’s school for Indians. He had been about eleven or twelve years old. His grandfather had been the chief and had made Brave Eagle a full fledged brave before he left. Then the soldiers had raided the village so Brave Eagle had been able to count coups before he went to the school.

Now for those readin’ this that don’t understand coups, Indians is proud, brave folks and they keep track of things like acts of bravery. After a battle the braves tell all their acts of bravery to the whole tribe and they keep a tally called coups. So, them Indian’s is real good at ciphering. Indians is good at lots o’ stuff, huntin’, fishin’, and plantin’ crops to name a few. Indian medicine man or woman is the best bone doctor you can find. Pa won’t go to no white doctor. He prefers the Indian Medicine Man.

I ain’t never been to no school. Pa says that’s okay for the Indians ’cause they’s smart folks anyway. But, there ain’t no need for a cowpoke to go to school. If’n you got somethin’ needs to be read, just get an Indian to read it to you. They can explain it to you if’n you don’t understand. All of them go to the white man’s Indian School. They make good neighbors most of the time. They got their rules. Stay off their sacred ground is the most important rule. Stay outta their way during huntin’ season is rule number two.

I finished up my chores and went to the house ta’ check on Ma. Pa says that Ma and me was two blessings he got in one day. The Lord don’t bless cowpokes too much ’cause he’s all the time blessin’ them church goin’ folks that beggin’ for blessin’s all the time. Pa says a cowpoke thanks God for what he got and don’t ask for nothin’ in return.

So, it must o’ been a day when God was blessin’ cowpokes when Pa came across Ma all alone in the woods tryin’ to give birth to me. “No fancy blessin’s for an ol’ cowpoke.” Pa said, “Kinda like God deliverin’ Eve to Adam. Just suddenly there in my path and gave me a good, strong son the same day. That was a great gift God gave me that day. I thank him ever’ day for blessin’ me like that.”

Pa took Ma and me to the Indian village so the medicine woman could take care us after I was born. Ma wasn’t more a kid herself, maybe thirteen or fourteen at the time. Anyway, Ma and me stayed with the Indians for about three months while Pa built a cabin for us to live in. Pa said that’s a man’s job ta’ give a woman a house, a yard to plant flowers and let the kids run, and a garden for her to grow vegetables. A man also needs to make sure she has plenty to eat. It’s a shameful thing if your wife and kids is hungry.

While Ma and me were at the Indian village the medicine man went on a vision quest. A vision quest is a religious experience for an Indian. They have visions and talk to their God. It’s real important to go on a vision quest. He told chief that that he had a vision that my name was White Feather. So they had the naming ceremony and my name is Gary White Feather Marshall.

Pa calls Ma Eve ’cause Ma can’t remember her real name. She says she remembers a big fire and lots of men and horses and trying to find her Mammy. But ever thing else is a blank up ’til Pa came across her in the woods.

I finished up my chores and went to the house. Ma and her friend, Mourning Dove, were hullin’ peas and laughin’ at somethin’ funny when I came in the back door. “Afternoon, Miss Mourning Dove, it’s good ta see ya’ again.”

“Good afternoon, White Feather.”

“Why ain’t you at the brandin’?” Ma asked.

“We hired a new cowpoke, so Pa said for me ta finish up the chores an’ I could take off the rest o’ the day.”

“What is his name?” Mourning Dove asked.

“His name’s Charlie. Big feller, bigger ‘n Pa even. Don’t say much mostly just says ‘yup’. I think he got to much sun when he was younger cause he’s black as coal.”

Ma stopped movin’. She almost seemed to be frozen and it was a hot July day. Her eyes were movin’ about like she was watchin’ something and there wasn’t nothin’ to watch except the curtain blowing in the breeze. “Pa,” she said.

She stood up so fast her chair turned over an’ she didn’t seem to notice. She ran outta the door with Mourning Dove and me behind her. Ma ran to the brandin’ yard and was climbin’ the fence when we got there.

“Pa! Pa!” Ma was screamin’.

Brave Eagle came runnin’ outta the cookhouse. Pa, Buster, an’ Charlie turned to look at Ma hangin’ on the fence screamin’. Charlie dropped the brandin’ iron and stared at Ma.

“Angel?” Charlie was across that brandin’ yard lickity split. He plucked Ma off that fence and hugged her and kissed her. I never before, or since, seen a cowpoke cry. But, big o’ Charlie was cryin’ like a baby.

“My Angel, I’ve been lookin’ for ya’ for near ten years.”

“Mammy, where’s Mammy?”

“Oh, Angel, them outlaws killed her, shot her through the head, and burned down the cabin. I was scared to think what they might have done to you. I buried your Mammy and I’ve been trackin’ em ever since.”

Ma started cryin’ an’ carryin’ on somethin’ awful an’ I was scared she was gonna have some kinda fit or somethin’.

Pa had a puzzled look on his face, “‘cuse me, I don’t mean to be rude, but, how can you be her Pa?”

“Well,” Charlie said, “I guess I found her on a day when God was blessin’ cowpokes. That’s the only thing I know. My wife, Bertha, was botherin’ me somethin’ terrible for months ’cause she wanted a baby. Only thing I ever found I couldn’t give her and the thing she wanted the most. She was always botherin’ me to make her a baby. I couldn’t hardly get my work done ’cause she wanted a baby so bad.”

“Then one day I was workin’ out close to the dirt road that ran in front o’ our cabin. Things suddenly got quiet, no birds chirpin’, no wind, nothin’. Then I heard a baby cry. I thought, ‘I can’t be hearin’ a baby cry.’ But, then I heard it again. So I went down the road toward the sound. And there she was in the weeds. I don’t know how she got there, never did know. I never noticed anybody come by the house. We so seldom had people come by the house that I would have noticed. Anyway there she was, in the weeds, covered with bug bites and a big ol’ rattler bearin’ down on her. I shot the rattler and took her home to Bertha.”

“Bertha got all excited. She started sayin’ God had answered her prayers. I told Bertha, cowpokes don’t ask God for no favors. That’s for church goin’ folks. I ain’t got nothin’ against church goin’ folks. I’ve even known some cowpokes that went to church when their women made them go and they was better off for it.”

“Anytime somebody asked Bertha how she had a white child, she would say that God delivered her to us on a day when He was blessin’ cowpokes. God must be color blind, ’cause he sent us a white child.”

Charlie stayed with us for the rest of his life. The Indians had a big ceremony and made him a brave. They named him Black Bear. It seemed to fit. I was in the army in France during the Great War to End All Wars when I got a telegram that Charlie had passed. I got leave to go home ’cause my grandpa had died. The Indians buried him on their sacred ground and gave him a proper send off for a brave.

After that, I had to sit down with the tribe and tell all my brave acts so they could count coups. I don’t know that my coups count is any higher than any other brave. I never did ask for the tally. I ain’t any good at cipherin’ anyway.

Pa still tells the story of how Charlie found Ma in the ditch when she was a baby. Then years later he found her in the woods tryin’ to give birth to me. It seems that she was born to be a cowpoke’s blessin’.