The Uncertain Generation

By Arnold Hokanson

The story, The Uncertain Generation, is a follow-up to the authors first novel, The Uncertainties of Life.

While, both novels are a work of fiction, The Uncertainties of Life, covers the problems, the hardships, and the triumphs, of ranch life over a large part of the twentieth century. It also served to point out how the problems of the world, eventually, came to effect ranchers and ranches, even, in the most remote areas.

The Uncertain Generation, brings us up to the mid nineteen-nineties. While, the ranch setting remains the same, the grandson, the third generation, has taken over the operation of the ranch, and while basic ranching practices remain somewhat the same, finds himself faced with problems completely different from those of his forbearers. The largest problem being that he is locked into a running battle with a giant corporation, where some of the top personnel show more interest in personal gain than in company profits, and are willing to use any approach to obtain their goals.

Although, friendships remain strong, and ranchers continue to be dedicated to one another, and work together in a helpful manner, while at times chiding one another in a good natured manner. The change in the type of livestock and equipment, used in some cases, as well as in morals of the times is quite evident, and also how such change is accepted. The story also shows how inflation has reflected upon the attitudes of people, as our hero is willing to put everything on the line in hopes of making that big score that people of the past just dreamed about.

Add a beautiful woman, who fits into todays business world, to tempt a lonely bachelor. Our heros frequent reflections upon his previous generations, while making comparisons to his own position in life, and, The Uncertain Generation, all adds up to a story of mystery, romance, violence, and even financial manipulation, accustomed to our times.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491815168

Book preview

Prefix

T he story, The Uncertain Generation, is a follow-up to the author’s first novel, The Uncertainties of Life.

While, both novels are a work of fiction, The Uncertainties of Life, covers the problems, the hardships, and the triumphs, of ranch life over a large part of the twentieth century. It also served to point out how the problems of the world, eventually, came to effect ranchers and ranches, even, in the most remote areas.

The Uncertain Generation, brings us up to the mid nineteen-

nineties. While, the ranch setting remains the same, the grandson, the third generation, has taken over the operation of the ranch, and while basic ranching practices remain somewhat the same, finds himself faced with problems completely different from those of his forbearers. The largest problem being that he is locked into a running battle with a giant corporation, where some of the top personnel show more interest in personal gain than in company profits, and are willing to use any approach to obtain their goals.

Add to the fact that some questionable characters continue to lurk around the edges of the story and at times wander into the ranch for unknown purposes, all, which helps to confuse the issues.

Although, friendships remain strong, and ranchers continue to be dedicated to one another, and work together in a helpful manner, while at times chiding one another in a good natured manner. The change in the type of livestock and equipment, used in some cases, as well as in morals of the times is quite evident, and also how such change is accepted. The story also shows how inflation has reflected upon the attitudes of people, as our hero is willing to put everything on the line in hopes of making that big score that people of the past just dreamed about.

Add a beautiful woman, who fits into today’s business world, to tempt a lonely bachelor. Our hero’s frequent reflections upon his previous generations, while making comparisons to his own position in life, and, The Uncertain Generation, all adds up to a story of mystery, romance, violence, and even financial manipulation, accustomed to our times.

Recognitions

In recognition of all their help toward the

publishing of, The Uncertain Generation,

and other books published by this author.

I hereby dedicate this book to:

Dolly and Don Weaver.

Chapter One

J eff Bowens tightened his bridle reins gently, and muttered, Whoa Bum.

The trim bay horse stopped, turned his head a bit as though looking back at his rider, and wondering what was the purpose of the stop. He then turned his head forward, perked up his ears and turned his gaze to the expanse that lay ahead in an attempt to determine what it was that caught the attention of the man on his back.

Jeff Bowens gazed off across the countryside from his vantage point of the rim of the divide which formed the backbone of the Bear’s Paw Mountain Range. The recent rains had painted the range an emerald green, making the darker contrast of the evergreen trees, which ran down along the slope below him and scattered along the ridges that descended below at a lower level to both the east and west, even more appealing to the eye than usual. A lighter color of green marked small growths of Quaking Aspen scattered along the coulees, branching off away from the evergreens.

As Jeff looked down across and beyond the range and hay land below, the land that he owned, he noticed that the emerald effect also persisted off in the distance, in the farming country, even, south of the Bear’s Paws, some forty miles away. There were a few spots of summer fallow, but even those, which the farmers now sprayed rather than tilled, showed a sort of off color gold as the sun bounced its rays off of last year’s straw, still standing in the fields. The shadows of a few scattered clouds that drifted across the fields added still more contrast and a hint of mystery to the scene.

Beyond the Missouri River, the mountains that made up the Lewistown and Judith Ranges as well as old Square Butte, which marked the east end of the Highwood Range, showed blue in the distance. While to the southeast, the Little Rockies, some fifty miles away, looked almost as close as though one could reach out and touch them, still they picked up the blue haze of distance.

As he took in this panorama of color that beautiful day in early June, Jeff Bowens wondered if his Grandfather, Ace Bowens, had ever sat on his horse, perhaps in this very same spot, and viewed and appreciated such a scene. Jeff knew that his Father, John, would have never taken the time. For while John recognized the beauty of nature and the world around him, he was always too busy concentrating on the next job that awaited him, to take the time to fully appreciate his surroundings. Ace, on the other hand, although, a hard worker and an excellent manager, would take a few minutes, at times, to pay nature the respect it deserved.

Jeff slackened the reins and said, Okay Bum, let’s go.

Bum had turned eight years old that spring of 1995. Jeff had picked him up as a starved out colt. Jeff, like his father and grandfather before him, preferred to buy his horses rather than raise them. Ace had always said, This is a cow ranch, not a horse outfit, and Jeff agreed. It would be eight years the upcoming fall, when Jeff saw that a rancher north of Chinook was advertising unbroke two year old and yearling colts for sale. The price seemed right and Jeff went to look at the colts. He bought a yearling and a two year old gelding. He asked about a little bay colt in the herd. The man that owned the horses said that the colt’s mother had died about a month earlier, that the colt was surviving and that was about all. Jeff asked the man what he would take for the colt. He thought about it for a while scratched his chin and finally told Jeff that he would sell him the colt for one hundred dollars. Jeff bought the colt. He kept the colt in close around the buildings where there was good grass and fed him a little grain and got him started on horse pellets. The colt was always trying to bum more pellets from Jeff, and Jeff began calling him a little bum. By the time the bay had grown into a two year old, he was a fine looking horse. He broke out easy and it seemed from the first day Jeff rode him. His main purpose in life was to please the young rancher. He turned out to be an excellent stock horse and he was fast. Jeff had used him as a rope horse, both in calf roping and team roping since he was four, but the name, Bum, had stuck.

As Bum plodded down the road, which had been cut into the side of the divide many years before, and been improved on several occasions through the years. Jeff’s thoughts continued to drift back to his grandfather’s time. He had spent about half of his time, while growing up, with Ace and Kate Bowens. He had stayed with them at the home ranch and ridden down the creek to the little schoolhouse all through his grade school years. He, Jeff thought, had probably learned more from Ace Bowens, than anyone else. And Kate was a great person too. I probably spent some of the happiest days of my life with them, Jeff thought, as his thoughts were punctuated by the creak of saddle leather and the song of birds singing off somewhere to the side of the road.

It doesn’t seem as though Ace could have been dead for ten years already, Jeff thought. One good thing, he was active right up until the day he died. He never got old, even though he was seventy-one when he died. He came in from ridin’ and told Kate he was kind of tired. He went in and laid down on the bed and died.

Poor Kate, she wasn’t that lucky. It seemed that after Ace died, she lost all interest in life. It was about a year later that she developed cancer. Her will to live or to fight was gone. She died six months later. Kate was a wonderful woman. A great cook and housekeeper, and she was a good hand with stock too. I remember Ace tellin’ how Kate helped hay during World War ll, when there was no help to hire, mowin’ and rakin’ hay all summer. And she could be a lady and hobnob with the best of them and she and Ace reached the point where they were in that class. But under it all they were still just a plain ol’ ranch couple. She was smart too. I remember how Ace used to brag as to how Kate’s family was pretty liberal back during the thirties and forties. How Ace explained his conservative views to Kate and she understood what he told her and became a fierce conservative, to the annoyance of her family. But they changed their views too as time went by. Especially Ben, and as Kate told it, even her Father, old John, changed his views in later years, although he hated to admit it.

Ben didn’t live to be very old either, somewhere in his early fifties. My relatives on either side of the family were not known for their longevity, Ace’s dad, they said died in his mid-twenties. Of course, he died in an accident with a horse, so that’s kind of immaterial as the lawyers say. But Ace wasn’t old by today’s standards, and Dad was only fifty. But he was murdered by that damn Natural Gas Incorporated outfit, those dirty sons-a-bitches. The guy responsible should have been hanged or at least be sittin’ in jail. But the damn NGI lawyers came in, in force, and they probably bribed the judge to boot, and that bastard got off free as a bird.

It’s funny how sometimes the death of one person has such an effect on the life of another. When Albert Hillman, who established the ranch originally, died, it set Ace up for life. I remember, Jeff’s thoughts went on, how Ace told how he went to work for Hillman as a teen-age kid. Ace said he came to love both Albert and Nan Hillman. But about a year and a half after Ace came to the ranch, Nan Hillman took sick and died. Several years later, Hillman told Ace that the place still held too many memories and offered to sell the ranch to Ace, and Ace bought the place. Hillman bought a house in Havre and moved to town. Hillman would carry the debt and Ace would pay him interest. Ace had said it was a tough pull trying to pay for a ranch during the drought and depression days of the dirty thirties, but he was making the payments. He had it figured that he would have the ranch paid for in ten years time.

But the night before Thanksgiving of 1937, Albert Hillman committed suicide. The Hillmans had no family and the will was made out to the effect that Ace was to get title to the ranch with no further payments. Hillman’s death, Jeff thought, actually gave Ace ten years of the good life. Oh sure, Ace worked hard and deserved what he made. But he was able to hire more help; he built a new house and married Kate over that ten year period. Still, Ace always said that Hillman’s death was one of the black spots in his life as he considered the man as his best friend and felt somewhat guilty as to how he came into possession of the ranch.

By the same token, Jeff thought, Dad’s death put me behind the eight ball. I thought I had it made when I got out of high school and was taken into the family corporation. With Ace and Kate and Mom and Dad, I was to have a one fifth interest in the corporation and as it worked out I received one fifth of the net income. Not a bad way to start out in life. After Ace and Kate both died, we restructured the corporation, and I received a third for several years. I was makin’ money and puttin’ some aside, thank goodness. When Dad was killed, Mom got his share. I was still doin’ okay, but then the unthinkable happened. Mom went on a cruise and met David Sands. They were married six months later. I sure didn’t think Mom would ever marry again, but I can’t blame her. She was pretty lonesome after Dad was killed, and Dave Sands is a real nice guy and damn near what one might call handsome for a man his age, and being a retired industrialist, he’s richer than a skunk, and has a fine home in Florida.

Since Mom was gonna to be livin’ in Florida, she no longer wanted to be a part of the ranch and wanted me to buy her interest in the outfit. The price of two and a quarter million for two thirds of the outfit was a bargain. But with Mom carrying the debt at a five per cent interest rate and with the operating expense being what it is today, unless something changes, I’ll be in my seventies by the time I get the debt paid off. Of course, that would put Mom in her nineties, and I hope she does live that long, as long as she stays in good health, now that she has something to live for again.

Oh, I could sell the damn ranch; pay off the debt, and come out with a good profit. I think I could sell it for around five million. But then, what the hell would I do? Ten years ago I could have taken off down the rodeo trail. I have no illusions about ever becoming a world champion. But I probably could have made a livin’ with my rope, if I didn’t get to drinkin’ too much. But that happens to lots of guys who start followin’ the pro circuit. They don’t have much else to do between shows so they drink. It’s an occupational hazard. But, now I’m too old to do that, and I’m too young to retire and I don’t have a talent like Ben had, so I might as well stick it out and see where the chips fall.

Jeff looked down at his saddle. It was quite a thing, how Ben became a well known saddle maker after he sold the ranch and moved to the west side of the Rockies. This old saddle that he made me is still in good shape even after all the years I rode it. I must have rode it a million miles. I wonder just how many calves I’ve roped out of it brandin’, and rodeoin’, not to mention the number of steers in team ropin’. And it will last me probably for more years than what it already has, especially, if I keep it in good repair. I suppose that’s why so many people bought saddles from Ben, because they lasted.

I wonder if Helen is still alive? It’s strange, I remember the family talkin’ about how Helen took care of Martha Holmes after she developed Alzheimer’s disease, and then the same thing happened to Helen when she got older. I kind of lost track of Helen after Ben died.

I guess I would almost qualify as an orphan, now, with about all my relatives dead and Mom living in Florida. There was Ben and Helen’s daughter, Georgia. She died young too. That was kind of a freak accident too, as I remember it. The wheel fell off her car. Where the hell was it that that happened? Somewhere in Arkansas, I believe. She was only in her mid-forties at the time. She had a tough life too. Married that bronc rider and gambler by the name of Rogers. Ben took him in and he had a chance to really get somewhere. But he couldn’t behave himself. I was pretty young, but I remember ‘em talkin’ about how Ben beat the hell out of him. I heard it said many times that he was one of the best lookin’ men to ever hit north central Montana. I remember seein’ him in Billings a few years back. He was one bad lookin’ dude. Ben apparently really changed his looks. Funny that Georgia never remarried; just spent the rest of her life teachin’ school.

Her two kids, according to Ben and Helen, were her whole life. The girl, what the hell was her name? Edna? Yeah, Edna, the last I heard she was in Texas, married a doctor of some kind. She probably has a lot better life than what poor Georgia ever had. And there was the boy Roy. I wouldn’t know either one of ‘em anymore, if they came walkin’ right up the road in front of me.

Roy, yeah, he went into high tech. Seems that I remember somebody say that he went to work in one of Harvey’s plants. Oh yes! Old Harvey, he’s still around, though nobody ever knows just where. Harvey, the ugly duckling of the family, Harvey, the black sheep of the family. Harvey, Ben’s son, who wouldn’t ride a horse from the time he was a little kid. Harvey, who just wanted to stick his nose in a book all the time. Harvey, who was a millionaire by the time he graduated from college. Harvey, who is listed among the wealthiest one hundred individuals in the world. I wouldn’t know him either if he came walkin’ up the road to meet me, Jeff thought.

As they approached the car gate that spanned the road at that point, Bum moved off the road, toward the wire gate beside it and came to a stop. Jeff swung down and opened the gate, led Bum through, and swung back into the saddle. As he did so, he stroked the horse’s neck with a show of affection toward his mount.

Unconscious of the movement, Jeff let his eyes drift up along the fence line to a spot of about two acres where nothing much grew except a few weeds, a small scrub pine and a few spears of cheat grass.

Goddamn NGI, Jeff muttered aloud. Those eyesores, he thought, have been with us since the seventies and I guess they’ll remain as long as the world stands. That was one place where Ace made a mistake, when he signed an oil and gas lease with that damn outfit.

I would have only been seven years old, but I remember how excited everybody got when natural gas was discovered farther down on Clear Creek. It got to the point when ranchers met, the first question everyone asked was, Have you leased for gas and oil yet? It almost got to be an obsession with people. I remember Ace telling Dad, If those damn oil companies have money they want to give away, we’ll take some of it. At a buck an acre, that’ll give us a little over another ten thousand a year that we don’t have to work for.

I remember Dad agreeing, It’s just like gettin’ money from home.

I guess I can’t condemn them or any of the rest for wanting to get in on what appeared to be some easy money. But when the drilling rigs moved into the country, it changed everything. People have become less trusting and more suspicious even of neighbors as we’ve been exposed to a different element of society. Dad didn’t know it at the time, of course, but he was signing his own death warrant.

I wish they would drop that damn lease, Jeff thought. I don’t know why they want to keep it up, after drilling three dry holes through the years they must know there’s nothing under this ground here on the ranch. They probably want to hang onto the lease just to harass me, the dirty sons-a-bitches.

Jeff glanced again at the bare patch of ground. It’s no wonder nothin’ ever grew there. Back then they didn’t even pump out the mud pits or try to restore the site. They just drilled a hole and pulled out when they didn’t hit anything. I don’t know why Ace let them get away with it. He finally had to hire a guy with a Cat and dozer to come in and squeeze the mud out of the pits and level the site off. It ruined the ground. After a few years of that kind of bullshit the landowners got organized and things improved a little. At least they made ‘em keep the top soil separate and clean up their messes.

I suppose they look at the money they pay me each year in the form of a lease and the payments I get every month from the royalties Kate left me and think they can win me over. But it will take more than a measly twenty grand a year for me to ever forgive those bastards. As a matter of fact, they don’t have enough money to buy me.

I wonder why John Holmes gave Kate a part of the mineral rights on the old Holmes Ranch. I suppose he thought he should give Kate something. But the mineral rights should have stayed with the land or at least should have gone to Ben. Of course, no exploration occurred while John was alive and he probably thought none ever would. I wonder who wound up with the other half of the mineral rights on the old Holmes Ranch? Harvey? Harvey certainly wouldn’t need them. Maybe Georgia’s kids, that would be better, they could probably use the money. Oh well, that little check every month does give me a little spendin’ money. Drinkin’ money, Ace would have called it, Jeff told himself, with a kind of a chuckle.

Predictions are that the price of natural gas is gonna increase drastically over the next few years and that NGI is gearing up for a big drilling program. I pity that poor bastard that bought the old Holmes place. Since production has been established there they’ll probably have the whole ranch lookin’ worse than a prairie dog town. Me and whoever else will get the royalties and all that guy will get is the headache. Oh well, he just bought the place as an investment, but a pile of tin houses and stale water holes don’t make for a very good investment. But that’s his problem.

The steady hum of a working engine had been growing in Jeff’s ears, and as Bum followed the road around the point of a low finger ridge that came in from the east. Jeff looked off across the hay meadow that came into sight. The rays of the sun created a mini-rainbow that played back and forth through the water spurting from the nozzles of the quarter mile long sprinkler system, adding still more color to the scene.

That was one of the smartest things I ever did, Jeff silently congratulated himself, converting that gasoline engine to propane. All we have to do now when we change the location of the motor is pull in the trailer with the tank mounted on it and hook up the propane line. When the tank starts gettin’ low I just call the propane man and tell him to get out here and fill me up. It avoids all that haulin’ gas out in barrels and pumpin’ fuel and all that.

I wish I had a set up like that on the sprinkler on the home place. But with that big gun type it needs the power of that old diesel tractor. So I have to haul fuel and pump diesel for it. But there isn’t the work of movin’ the pipe twice a day like there is on this old hand move line. I wonder how many billion gallons of water have ran through these old pipes through the years. I remember Dad tellin’ how he and Ted Smith talked Ace into buying the system on a kind of dry year, way back in the early fifties. Dad said he was only eleven or twelve years old at the time. I don’t know how many motors and pumps it’s gone through. All the rubber washers in the connections have been replaced several times and the nozzles have been replaced but the water still keeps flowing through those old pipes.

I’m lucky to have a man like Neil, who don’t mind hard work. Oh, I help him move it whenever I can, but if I’m busy at something else, he just goes ahead with no problem. After the two years Neil and Sally have been here, I don’t know what I would do without them. It was tough, those years after Dad died. Trying to do the most of the work myself; hiring drifters. A lot of ‘em didn’t stay long and I was glad of it.

Then there was Walt Grewe. Walt could do anything whether it was machinery or workin’ stock. He was good with horses and a hard worker and a nice guy to have around. I would have kept him forever. But after six months, he had to be on his way. It’s strange, how some guys like that can never settle down. I guess that’s what makes ‘em drifters.

I would have been in a heck of a fix after Mom left if I hadn’t had Sally and Neil. It’s too bad Neil didn’t have a chance to take over his family’s ranch in Wyoming. But like he said, the outfit would only support two families and his older brother was well established in the outfit by the time Neil got married, so it was up to him and Sally to strike out on their own, and it sure was to my advantage. Sally is a great gal, a good cook and housekeeper, and she isn’t above lending a hand outside if needed, and the best part is that they share my outlook as far as raisin’ a family. That was one reason why I kept hirin’ drifters. Most couples lookin’ for ranch jobs have kids.

I guess when they made me they forgot to put in a paternity gene. The Bowens tradition of one kid per family is about to come to an end with me. I guess it never was really a tradition. It just worked out that way. Ace’s parents would probably have had more if his dad hadn’t gotten killed at such an early age. As for Ace and Kate, Kate had complications when Dad was born, and that took care of any chance of any more family. Mom didn’t have any complications, so she said, except that I was the complication. She said she spent the last two months before I was born in bed and she wasn’t about to go through that again.

I guess I’ll probably never marry, with my outlook toward raisin’ a family. Funny, when I was in high school and while I was in my twenties, I had more than my share of girl friends. I recall Kate askin’ me once if I hadn’t ever found a girl that I liked better than any of the others. I told her that I was just sowin’ my wild oats. I remember her sayin’, Just be damn sure that none of it grows.

I believe in later years she probably wished that some of it had grown. Funny, how everybody thinks a person should be havin’ kids.

I guess I should have married ol’ Bev. She really wanted me. We talked about gettin’ married. But she wanted kids, so she wound up marrying that guy north of Havre with a little starve to death wheat farm. Bev kept workin’ at her job at the bank even when she was pregnant. She would take a week off when the kid was born and then get right back to work. She had to. They couldn’t make a livin’ otherwise. He either took care of the kids or they took care of themselves. The last time I saw her she looked like she was fifty years old. She looked worn out and all out of shape from havin’ kids. She’s had a tough life. But she’s got kids, five of ‘em.

Jeff heard the pickup coming up behind him. Bum kind of dropped one ear and moved over to the side of the road.

Neil Wells pulled up beside Bum. He shifted the pickup into compound low gear and paced the horse and rider.

Sticking his head out through the open window of the pickup he asked, How’s everything with the heifers?

Good, Jeff answered. They’re all there and the bulls look healthy.

The bulls look like they’re doin’ anything?

Yeah, I think so. I saw two heifers get bred while I was ridin’.

That’s good, Neil commented. Maybe we can get the most of ‘em out of the way before the cows start calvin’ next spring.

I guess that was the purpose of turnin’ the bulls in with the heifers a month earlier than with the cows, Jeff commented.

I kinda figured that, Neil answered with a laugh.

What kind of shape was the brandin’ corral in? asked Jeff.

I set two posts and raised the gate a little.

I hope you didn’t raise the gate enough that any calves will crawl out under it. Jeff chided his hired man.

Anything that goes out under that gate, you wouldn’t want to brand ‘em anyway. Neil answered with another laugh.

Well, I suppose Sal ‘bout has dinner ready, Neil said as he shifted up the pickup and drove up in front of the house on the old Higgins place, where John and Linda Bowens had spent their best years.

Jeff turned Bum toward the barn. It didn’t take much effort as Bum knew where the barn sat. As Jeff watched Neil get out of the ranch pickup, he thought to himself. Neil parked the pickup right where Dad used to say the old hitchin’ post used to stand when Higgins was here. Well. I guess it figures, what used to be the domain of horses is now the domain of machinery.

He swung down, led his horse into the barn and unsaddled. As he hung up his saddle, Jeff glanced around the old barn and concluded that the structure was still in good condition considering its age. We have done some work on it through the years, Jeff thought. But this barn has to be damn old. I don’t know if Higgins built it or maybe whoever owned the ranch before him might have built it. Hell, I don’t even know who established this ranch in the first place, if it was Higgins’ parents or somebody else. I don’t think Dad knew either. Why didn’t I think to ask Ace while he was still alive? I find that I’m running into that more and more now. Questions arise and there is no one to ask who knows the answers.

Jeff had turned Bum out into the small horse pasture behind the corral, while he had been pondering his thoughts. I don’t suppose Ted Smith would know either, if