Lone Wolf Ranch - 2. Chapter 2

Dakota

Dakota Two Guns reached out and picked up his phone, swiping left to snooze his alarm for ten minutes. He had just closed his eyes when his grandfather opened the bedroom door and turned on the lights.

“Out of bed, Ashkii!! You have a long day ahead of you. I had a dream last night. This trip is special.”

Dakota sighed as he rolled over and glared at his grandfather. “I’ll get up, geesh! And don’t call me boy. I’m 16!”

Wamblee Two Guns turned to leave the room, saying, “I didn’t call you boy. Your mother did.” This was a running joke between them, as Dakota’s full name was Mingan Ashkii Dakota Two Guns, which translates to ‘Wolf Boy Friend’ in a combination of Sioux and Navajo. “Now get up and get moving. You promised Mr. Custer you would be at the ranch this afternoon.”

Dakota grumbled but got up and headed for his bathroom. He unbraided his hair and climbed into the shower. Normally he would spend more time showering, but he needed to get on the road. He quickly washed his waist-length, raven-colored hair, ran a soapy cloth across his body, rinsed off, and stepped out. He toweled his hair dry and carefully combed it. He then pulled it into a tight ponytail, securing it with a leather thong that held a single feather. Returning to his room, he pulled on his Wranglers, a tee shirt, and his well-worn Justin boots, then followed the smell of sausage cooking to join his grandfather at the kitchen table.

As he poured syrup on his pancakes, Dakota asked, “Will you tell me about your dream, Shinálí? Why is this trip special?”

Wamblee’s grin answered the question before he spoke. “You know I will not reveal my dreams. To do so would offend the spirits that have entrusted me with their knowledge. Just know that your journey will be safe, you will represent your ancestors honorably, and you will look back on the next two weeks for many years to come.”

Dakota just nodded, then proceeded to remove the three pancakes and six sausage links from his plate as quickly as his fork would allow, interrupting his eating only to drain the milk from his glass. He waited for his grandfather to finish his meal, then stood and cleared the dishes, putting them in the dishwasher. He went to his room and grabbed the bags he had packed the previous night. Carrying them to the truck, he then went to the workshop and gathered the measuring profiles, his tablet, and four books of leather samples. He put all of this in the back seat of the Ram 2500 his grandfather’s business owned. He then went back into the kitchen to find his grandfather packing sandwiches for the trip.

Smiling, he took the sandwiches from his grandfather and said, “Thank you, Shinálí. I could have made these.” He then pulled four bottles of water and two cans of soda from the refrigerator and put them in the small cooler with the sandwiches.

Wamblee nodded as he replied, “Yes, you could have made them, but I did. Do you have your profiles? The leather? Did you pack the pattern samples as well?”

Dakota turned to his grandfather and rolled his eyes. “Yes. I have the profiles. I took four books of leather, and I…” He blushed, then admitted, “and I forgot the pattern samples. I’ll grab them on my way out. Thank you for checking on me.”

Wamblee grinned as he encouraged his grandson, “We all forget things. It is wise to check, then double-check, then check again. Just as when you are cutting your leather, measure twice, cut once.”

Dakota was happy that his grandfather trusted him with something this important, but he was also scared. Scared he would let Mr. Custer down. Scared he would let himself down. Scared he would let his grandfather down. He lowered his head and mumbled, “Am I really ready to do this, Grandfather?”

Wamblee smiled and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder as he reassured him, “You are more skilled than any tack master I have ever met. Your reputation brings us business from a thousand miles away. You are certainly ready.”

Dakota nodded and said, “If I’m ready, why am I so scared.”

Grinning, the old man pulled the boy into a hug as he said, “Fear is natural when you face the unknown. You have always had me at your side to catch you if you fell. For the next two weeks, you think you will be alone. Remember, when you think you are alone, you have everything I have taught you. I will be there, at your side, for the rest of your life.”

Dakota blinked quickly, trying to keep his tears from falling. He felt safe with his grandfather. When Dakota was four, cancer took his mother from him. At times, he could still see her beautiful face as she laughed at him playing. After she died, his father brought him to Montana to live here with his grandfather while he went to serve a six-month tour in Iraq. Dakota’s father never came home. Dakota still got a cold feeling in his stomach when a law enforcement officer pulled into the driveway.

For the first year, Dakota followed his grandfather around the saddle shop, handing him tools and watching. By the time he was six, he was using stamps to create patterns on fenders and straps. At eight, he was stitching, and by his ninth birthday, he was making complete saddles. From building the tree to stamping the seat to crafting his own conchos. When he was eleven, he saw a video about casting with resin and had an idea. Dakota spent that winter creating adjustable molds to cast a custom-fit resin saddle tree based on his measurements. Due to this, and a few other innovations he had developed, Dakota was quickly becoming a tack master, whose saddles were highly desired by cowboys from Calgary to Cheyenne.

The previous night, Dakota and his grandfather had packed the back of the truck with the molds he would need, his leatherworking tools, and enough resin and leather to make a few saddles, along with several other small projects. He was headed to Last Stand Boy’s Home, where he would spend two weeks teaching the boys the basics of leatherwork and showing them how saddles were made.

With Wamblee guiding him, Dakota maneuvered the truck to hook up the trailer. He was hoping to find a horse or two for himself at the rescue that was hosted by the home. Taini, his paw-print paint mare, would soon be turning twenty-one. While she was more than happy to share a leisurely ride, she couldn’t handle the long days of work on the local ranches where Dakota often helped as a cowhand. If he wanted to continue his ranch work, he needed at least two horses so he could work them alternate days.

It was 6 AM when Dakota hugged his grandfather and got behind the wheel. He said he would stop and call from Grass Range and Miles City. The entire drive was nine hours, and this was the farthest he had driven pulling a trailer. Wamblee needed reassurance that his grandson was safe. With the tank full of diesel, his GPS programmed, his seatbelt fastened, and his playlist started, he pulled onto US-2.

When Dakota pulled into the gravel parking lot and up to the pumps of the small truck stop in Grass Range, the fuel gauge said half, but he didn’t want to risk running out. As he filled the tank, he phoned home to check-in. With the fuel tank full, he opened one of the waters and continued south. As he drove through Miles City, he remembered there was a truck stop on the south side, so he decided to get fuel there. After he fueled, he parked in the shade and unwrapped a sandwich. While he was eating, he phoned his grandfather to say he was safe. Then he phoned Mr. Custer to let him know when he would arrive. When he finished his lunch, he got back on the road and was turning onto the drive for Last Stand Ranch at 3:30.

As Dakota pulled up, he saw two young men coming out of the house and a third coming from the barn. He stepped out and offered his hand to the nearest, saying, “I am Dakota Two Guns. Would one of you be Mr. Custer?”

All three laughed, and finally, the tallest one said, “I’m Matt Custer. This handsome man is my husband, Colt Custer.” he pointed to the man beside him. “And behind you is James Custer, my brother-in-law. I think you’re looking for James, but it’s nice to meet you, Dakota.”

Colt and Matt headed toward one of the four large barns where a boy was waiting on a cremello colt. James led Dakota inside the office and picked up the ringing phone. When he hung up, he said, “That was Dylan Johnson. He runs the rescue. He’ll be providing you with the workspace, living space, as well as horses. We should go meet him, so you don’t have to explain everything twice. If you don’t mind, I’ll ride with you?”

As they were pulling up in front of one of the barns at Last Stand Rescue, Dylan was getting out of his truck, followed by a golden retriever who excitedly headed for the ramp of the trailer. Dakota and James offered their help, and soon they were introduced to Maʹiitsoh (Ma-e-Eet-So), a young buckskin quarter horse stallion, Fenrir (Fen-reer), a palomino quarter horse stallion, Dusty, a flaxen chestnut quarter horse stallion, Mac Tíre (Mok Chee-ra), a cremello quarter horse mare, and a black mustang mare named Sally. When Dakota reached out to allow Sally to sniff him, she pulled him in with her head, hugging him. Smiling, he grabbed her halter and followed James, who was leading Dusty to a stall. After pointing to stalls where James and Dakota could put their horses, Dylan put Fenrir in a stall, then he and James went outside and returned, leading Maʹiitsoh and Mac Tíre to their stalls.

James asked, “What’s the story with these five? They look very healthy for rescues. And when did you get that dog?”

Dylan laughed as he replied, “The dog came with the horses, that’s Harry, and supposedly, he fell in love when he met Sally. They all belonged to a working cowboy from Keystone. He was killed in a car crash last month, and his widow can’t bear to have them around. She hopes we can find a home for them where they’ll still be able to work, hopefully together, but she knows the odds of us finding someone that needs four working horses are slim. When you add in the colt and the dog, I doubt we’ll be able to keep them together.”

Dakota thought for a moment, then said, “Well, I think they’re beautiful. That mustang came right to me, and I’ve always wanted a dog. Maʹiitsoh is a Navajo name, but he’s kinda young for what I need. I’d like to get to know them while I’m here if that’s all right with you. I can’t take all of them on, but I had planned on adopting some horses if you had the right ones.”

Dylan smiled and said, “I’m always happy to allow someone who loves horses to get to know our rescues.” When he looked down, he added, “And it seems Harry has already made up his mind.”

Dakota laughed as he leaned down and ran his fingers through the hair of the dog sitting at his feet.

After Dakota explained the program he planned, James suggested some minor schedule changes, including adding a short introduction for the boys tomorrow afternoon. Once the schedules were done, Dylan led them to a two-story shed that had a large workshop on the ground floor. It had ample light, six sturdy workbenches, four alcoves, a laundry-style sink, as well as an attached restroom. When Dakota agreed that the space was ideal, Dylan handed him the keys.

“It’s yours while you’re here. There’s an apartment upstairs that you can use as well. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s clean and comfortable, and yes, Harry can go with you. You’re welcome to join Sarah, Tommy, and me for meals anytime.”

James added, “You’re also welcome to take meals at the home with the boys. Considering how teenage boys eat, I’m not sure how, but we always have room for one more. Would you like to see the home now? Or unload and get set up first?”

While Harry explored the corners, Dakota looked around the workshop, then replied, “I think I’ll unload and get set up for tomorrow. I’ll accept your invitation to dinner, Dylan, if you’re sure. That way, I won’t be a stranger around all the boys. Once they’ve met me, I can eat at the home. May I use Sally or one of her friends for a demo tomorrow? I won’t be riding, just demonstrating how I measure for a saddle.”

As Dakota folded the tonneau cover on the Ram, Dylan said, “That colt seemed a bit skittish when I led him in. Sally seemed to love you, but I’m not sure about you and Maʹiitsoh yet. The others seemed gentle enough, so you can use any of them. I’ll tell Sarah to expect you for dinner. We usually eat at 6.”

Dakota pulled a box out, saying, “Sally will be fine for what I need. Thank you both. I guess I’ll see you at dinner?” When James reached for the box, Dakota asked, “Will you be coming to any of the sessions tomorrow?”

James said he would try. With the extra help, the truck was unloaded in minutes. Not knowing if Dakota had a system, Dylan and James simply stacked boxes on the workbenches. Once the truck was empty, Dylan showed Dakota where to drop his trailer, and when that was done, Dylan and James headed off to check on the horses.

Dakota spent a few minutes exploring the workshop, trying to get a feel for what might work best. Once he had things in his mind, he set about unpacking molds, trees, leathers, leatherworking tools, chemicals, and the one finished saddle he had brought. The alcoves became displays. He placed the saddle in one, the stacks of leather in the next, the trees in the next, and the molds and chemicals in the final one, which was closest to the sink.

He and James had agreed that separating the boys into groups of 25 would make things more manageable, so he began setting up five tables with five belts made of unworked leather, punches, stamps, and mallets. Tomorrow was only to introduce the boys to the basics, explain the parts of a saddle, and let them do some stamping on a belt they could keep. He knew from experience that actually doing something interested boys much more than watching something. He would spend two hours with each group on Sunday then those who wanted would return for classes every afternoon for the next two weeks. The first week would focus on leatherworking, while the second would revolve around the basics of measuring and constructing a saddle. No one expected this short course to create saddle makers, but hopefully, it would pique the interest of a few who might go on to be leatherworkers or, dare he hope, tack masters.

With his ‘classroom’ set up, Dakota grabbed his Stetson from the truck and put it on. He grabbed his two bags and headed up the stairs to the apartment. He looked around the apartment and thought, ‘I’d hate to see what Dylan considers fancy.’ The kitchen was all stainless steel and granite, with dark hardwood cabinets. The sofa and chairs in the living room were overstuffed leather and faced a huge flatscreen television. In the main bedroom was a king-size bed, a dresser with a mirror, a tall chest of drawers, and a nightstand. The smaller room had two stacks of bunk beds and two large dressers.

The bathroom had a massive soaking tub and a shower. Dakota thought that both would easily fit three adults. The shower had caught his attention, and while Harry was napping on the bedroom floor, Dakota was relaxing under the hot spray as it rinsed the shampoo out of his hair. As he relaxed, he thought of his grandfather, who had raised him to honor the ways of all his ancestors. To honor his Sioux ancestors, he never spoke in the company of an elder unless directly addressed, and he never spoke to an unmarried female. While he had material possessions, his life didn’t revolve around them, and he lived by the motto ‘Not to have, but to be.’ To be a help to those in need, to be a friend and defender to the weak, and to be a mate, when he finds his soulmate.

In honor of his Navajo ancestors, Dakota’s grandfather had traveled with him to Arizona so he could spend four days in a sweat lodge on his 16th birthday. As he stood under the water, images of the visions flashed through his mind. He had walked the mountain forests with his spirit guide and seen flashes of a massive stone and log home filled with young voices. He had flown over the grasslands of home and seen cattle and bison grazing, and he had finally accepted his two-spirited nature. This revelation was followed by visions of his soulmate, a smaller boy he never saw clearly, but who his spirit guide said would appear soon. His soulmate was, of course, a two-spirit as well, but he was like Dakota in several other ways as well. When he emerged from the lodge, his grandfather had made it clear that his visions were private and not to be discussed.

When he emerged from the shower, he felt his spirit rejoice, as it had when he left the sweat lodge. He always used this passing feeling to help keep himself centered. He stared into the mirror and considered his thoughts as he parted his hair in the center, then braided each side as tight as he could braid, tying each off with a leather thong that held a single crow’s feather to honor his father. He pulled on a clean pair of Wrangler’s, a white tee shirt, a turquoise button-up shirt, and his Stetson.

Dinner with the Johnsons was much livelier than dinner at home. Dylan refused Dakota’s attempt at paying for the groceries in his apartment, and Sarah wondered why he even needed them, as he was welcome at their table for all meals. Dylan’s son, Tommy, and his boyfriend, Bill, were there. Both older teens were interested in Dakota’s heritage.

“Dude, when did you cut your hair last?” Tommy asked.

“And why do you braid it?” Billy added.

Dakota explained, “To some American Indians, long hair represents our ties to Mother Earth. It reflects Her long grasses and is a connection to all things. Some believe that when one’s hair is cut, they lose part of what makes them unique.”

The boys were nodding, so Dakota went on, “While I trim the ends at times, my last haircut was my first. The Navajo ceremonially cut our children’s hair on their first birthday, then let it grow for their entire lives. The braids have several meanings. Some say the braids represent our union with The Creator. To others, they symbolize the strength of the community. Single strands are weak while a braid of many strands together is strong.”

Tommy was intrigued. He asked, “And the feathers? Is there a meaning or is it just decoration?”

“To some, a feather signifies honor. It represents a connection between the owner, The Creator, and the bird the feather came from. Personally, I wear crow feathers to honor my father. His name, Kangee, means black raven or crow.”

He then shared the story of his mother’s death and his father’s sacrifice in Iraq. When Dakota finally returned to his apartment, he stripped, traded his feathered thongs for simple leather ones, and climbed into the soft bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

When his alarm woke him Sunday morning, it took Dakota a minute to remember where he was and why he was buried under a ball of bronze fur. Once he was oriented, he got up and made a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, and oatmeal. Dylan had given him a bag of dog food, so he found two cooking bowls which used to give Harry food and water. After eating, he exchanged the thongs on his braids and dressed in worn Wranglers and a tee shirt with the logo of a soft drink. He considered wearing something nicer but decided against it, knowing he was likely to be doing some work. He did put on his favorite working Stetson, mainly to make himself seem just a bit taller.

There were 100 boys, and James had come up with a schedule that divided the boys into four groups, with two hours per group and thirty minutes between groups for Dakota to reset the classroom and himself. He had laughed at the mention of resetting himself, but after the first group, he learned how tiring it can be to demonstrate something for a group, then help them as they attempt the skill you have just shared.

The second group of the day had left, and Dakota was placing new belts on the tables when Matt and Colt came in, followed by a boy that reminded him of Freddie Highmore in ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’, except this boy had jet black hair, and the bluest eyes Dakota had ever seen.

“Sorry to intrude, Dakota, but do you mind if we join you? Colt and I would love to see you at work, and Connor here is new to riding. It might be good for him to learn the basics of a saddle from a tack master.”

Dakota was ashamed of himself. He couldn’t take his eyes off this boy who couldn’t be more than ten or eleven years old, much too young to be anything but a friend, even if he were two-spirited. He realized he was staring and coughed, “Pardon me. Of course, you’re welcome to sit in. I’m having the boys do some work on a belt that they can keep. Would you like one to work on as well? Or do you just want to observe?”

Colt looked to his husband, then answered, “I doubt Matt, or I will ever do any leatherwork, but we’d enjoy observing.” He turned to Connor and asked, “What about you? Would you like to make a belt while we’re here?”

Connor’s pale skin showed his blush as he said, “Um, I’m not good with arts and crafts. I think I’ll just watch if that’s OK.”

The door opened, and 25 boys filed in, led by James, who said, “I’m sticking around with this group so I can finish my belt if you don’t mind, Dakota?”

Dakota indicated it was fine, then, for the third time today, said, “My name is Dakota Two Guns. My grandfather is a tack master, which is a fancy name for a saddle maker, and started teaching me his art before I started kindergarten. I am considered a tack master by some, but I know I have much to learn before I consider myself an artisan. Today will be a review for many of you who are horsemen, but I want to know that we all have the same basic vocabulary, so forgive me as I go over the parts of a saddle.”

Dakota spent the next fifteen minutes showing the boys the various parts of a western saddle, which parts were optional, and how the parts were assembled. He then pointed to a poster and went over the parts of an English saddle. He went on to say that leather working was just a part of saddlery, and while it is a vocation for some, many people enjoyed crafting items out of leather as a relaxing and profitable hobby. He admitted that most of them would never pick up a mallet and stamp again after today, but he hoped that some would, at some level.

He then demonstrated by wetting the leather and using his mallet to strike the stamp, leaving an impression on the leather. He paused as the boys imitated his actions, then explained the various reasons their stamps didn’t look like his. He demonstrated the most common mistakes, then showed the boys how to correct the mistakes and encouraged them to continue. Every time he looked to the back of the room, Connor was staring at him, and every time, they exchanged a smile.

Once he had demonstrated things, Dakota wandered from table to table to personally help each boy with his stamp placement or how he held the tools. When he got to Connor’s table, he was disappointed to find that Matt, Colt, and Connor were getting up to leave. Matt explained that they appreciated Dakota’s program, but none of them had an interest in making things from leather, so they felt they should let him focus on his students.

As the group of boys was filing out of the classroom, Dakota found himself thinking about the boy, Connor. He had never been attracted to younger guys, but he couldn’t get the image of Connor’s smile out of his mind. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that none of his thoughts were sexual. All he wanted was to connect with the boy and get to know him. He had two weeks at the ranch, and he had no idea how long Connor was here. Could he get to know him in that short time?