Jake

as he might wish that something had been garbled in transmission, he knew in his heart that all of it was accurate.
He was still shaken by the news but felt a measure of guilt as well. He hadn’t written to his mother in almost four months. He’d received four letters from her during that time and hadn’t bothered to reply. He thought that she would always be there. Now he’d never receive another letter from his precious mother. Nor would never hear her strong, yet still gentle voice or her soothing, soft laugh.
While he and his father rarely saw eye-to-eye on almost anything, Jake still found it impossible to believe that his father was capable of such an act. His father was a hard and unforgiving man, but Jake couldn’t imagine him as a murderer. Those traits were what made him persevere and turn his fledgling Elk Ranch into the largest and most productive spread in the northeastern quarter of Montana Territory. Yet those same qualities which made him into a powerful ranch owner didn’t translate well as a father.
Jake was his firstborn and Chester James Elliott was determined, almost before he was weaned, that Jake needed to be as hard as the man who had sired him. His younger brothers might have deflected some of his father’s attention, but neither lived to see his first birthday. His second brother’s birth had almost taken his mother’s life. She had survived but had never conceived again. Jake was only three when Mack died but was five when Sam was born and died that same day. He didn’t understand what was happening at the time, but vividly remembered bawling like a baby when he thought he might lose his mother.
When his father saw his flood of tears, he was hardly sympathetic. Jake still recalled his seeing his father’s fierce eyes and hearing his growling voice telling the five-year-old that he needed to behave like a man.
Jake hadn’t challenged his father in his early years and had been determined to make his father proud. He learned everything he could about ranching and the other skills he’d need to survive in the dangerous environment. But it seemed that no matter how well he did, it was never good enough for Chet Elliott.
Jake’s efforts been praised by all of the other ranch hands, as well as the other employees on the spread, but he never received a smile or even a nod of appreciation from his father.
The foreman, Dave Forrest, was just a couple of years younger than his father. He’d been hired when Jake was thirteen and had quickly filled a void created by his father’s stern treatment. Dave made him laugh and constantly complimented him on his performance.
But it was his mother who was the focus of his life. She was smart, compassionate, and had a great sense of humor. She told him stories and made him believe that he could do anything he wanted in life. His father’s goal of turning Jake into a tough, cold man was more than offset by Rose Elliott’s gentle guidance. She whispered that he wouldn’t have to be a rancher just to please his father.
While he didn’t attend school past the third grade, his mother was his teacher before he even entered his first year. Then once he began spending his days with the herds, her invaluable hours of expanding his world of knowledge continued each evening.
Jake had been surprised that his father hadn’t ordered her to stop his lessons. It was only when he was around ten that he realized how much reading, writing and arithmetic was necessary to run the ranch. But his mother’s instruction included much, much more. He doubted if college professors knew as much as his mother.
It was when he was almost thirteen that Jake and his father began to seriously butt heads. Jake had visited a nearby Sioux village to deliver a couple of steers as insurance against raids. He stayed too long after he met a pretty Lakota maiden. As he already spoke their language, he was able to do more than just smile at her.
When he returned four hours late, his father had accused him of laziness and denied him supper.
When he’d snapped back at his father, essentially telling him that he’d eat what and when he damned well pleased, he expected his father to strike him with his gloved fist. But even then, his father hadn’t resorted to physical punishment. He used his terrifying face and dominating voice to try to cower Jake. But this time, Jake was determined not to show any fear and just glared back at his father. For just a fleeting moment, Jake thought he saw a measure of pride in his father’s gray eyes before he turned and stalked away.
Jake didn’t go to the chow house as he normally did but walked to the ranch house where he told his mother what had happened. He didn’t want her to suffer from any of his father’s deflected anger. As she fixed him his dinner, he said that he didn’t understand why he was suddenly so rebellious. She asked him why he had spent so long at the Indian village, and after he confessed the reason for the delay, she smiled. She explained that it was just part of becoming a man. That led into the boy-girl discussion which put him into an almost permanent scarlet state, even as he ate his steak and potatoes.
After that first incident, the confrontations with his father became almost routine. But no matter how vehement they became; his father had never even swatted his behind.
It was the last, and most explosive face-off that drove him to enlist just four days after his eighteenth birthday. Not surprisingly, it was caused by his interest in a girl. He’d met Kay Smith in Fort Benton when he’d gone to town in June of ’78 to