the Colorado family will come in when the leaves have hit their peak of fall color. That shouldn't be for another week or two."

"So, it's just us, is it?"

"Yep, most of the workers have the week off to set up for the long fall run of family in the house. I'm yer cook and general handyman, I'm afraid."

"Suits me just fine," I said.

"So, do you still want to take that ride up in the hills rather than just staying down here?"

"Yes, and the sooner the better. Can you get the horses and all that we'll need together in the next hour or two? And supplies for sleeping out under the stars? I've been looking forward to this for months."

"I sure can," Big Bill responded. "But, uh, where are my manners. Jawing away like this, and not even introducing you to the new hand. Mr. H., this is Long Jack; Long Jack, Mr. H."

As we shook hands, my mind worked over what the "Long Jack" could mean. None of the cowboys went by their real names—in truth, most cowboys out here were escaping something or someone and had no intention of bandying their real names about. I'd found out where the "Big Bill" had come from last summer. I wondered what "Long Jack's" story was. Whatever it was, he was one muscled, blond hunk of a man. Probably Scandinavian in background; maybe over from Minnesota. And handsome. The sun and wind hadn't had time to etch his features yet. He beamed at me, obviously a very friendly fellow.

"And, do you mind if Long Jack comes along, Mr. H.? I think he'd like a ride too, if that's OK with you."

"Yeah, of course," I replied, all smiles. "I'd like that."

"I kinda thought you would," Big Bill said with a big grin.

Less than two hours later, we were in the saddle on three stallions and riding up the ridgeline of a spur rising up from the ranch house into the foothills of the Rockies to the west of the Medicine Bow parkland. This was gorgeous scenery, visited rarely by man. The trees were beginning to change color, but we were in a very warm spell—so warm that we all stripped off our shirts. Although both hard bodied, Big Bill and Long Jack were a contrast in fine manhood. The older wrangler, black haired and on the edge of hirsute, was sinewy and on the thin side, with swarthy, leathery skin beaten by the cruel elements. His arms and chest were ropy with veins standing out on top of hard muscle. In contrast, the younger wrangler obviously hadn't been in the elements out here all that long. He was blond, fair, smooth skinned, and bulky without an apparent ounce of fat on him. He had a deep chest tapering down to a thin waist and biceps as thick as some men's waists. He probably could have broken me in two.

Traveling west toward the Rockies as our horses climbed into the hills, we reached a high meadow where the air was so clear and clean and the distant snow-capped Mount Zirkel appeared so close that it gave the illusion we could reach out and touch it. Big Bill called a halt at a grassy spot beside a burbling creek, and I was still drinking in the majestic scenery when both Big Bill and Long Jack came down off their