Jo-Jo had visions during his nighttime rest. A lovely blonde-haired woman, just beyond his reach, smiled so sweetly at him. Her long hair caressed the shoulders of a rawhide jacket with quills in a curved design on each side of the buttons down the front. Long fringe from the middle of the armholes made a curve to the bottom of the jacket. She wore a cream-colored Stetson on her head.
He awoke with a sense of determination. He was twenty-three years old and time to strike out on his own. Find him a loving and good woman. Jo-Jo felt he had found the woman he wanted. He had watched her from afar several times before he approached her. Now, how did he change her mind so she would be acceptable to his courting?
From what he'd heard of her father, he was a strict man. His ideas of how to live were the only way worth considering. Jo-Jo had a little money saved but not near enough for a ranch of his own. He had a few head of cattle that he had earned while working for his uncle. That would give him a start, but he needed more.
In the white man's way everything seemed to revolve around how much money you had, how fine a house you could build. Could he ever adjust to that kind of thinking?
For the love of a good woman, he would do most anything. He couldn't bring a woman such as Rebecca Ames to live on the reservation. And he would have a fight on his hands if he pursued Becky. Her father would challenge him every step of the way. He thought the Indians were like a bunch of mindless children-they had to be led around by the hand. They didn't have a mind and capable of thinking for themselves.
Jo-Jo could see still see Becky as she trudged along yesterday, the wind whipping her skirt against her legs, her lovely blonde hair tousled about. Fire and passion emanated from her body. He wanted that woman so bad he could taste it.
Somehow he had to make her his! It wouldn't be easy. Was he up to the challenge? Jo-Jo could hardly wait to talk to his uncle. He always gave him good advice and he was wise beyond his years.
Two hours later he joined his uncle in spreading hay for the cattle. He gave the broad-shouldered man a wry grin. "Unké, I've got a problem."
"Fellows like you always have problems, Joe. What's wrong?" He laughed and went right on pitching hay down to the cattle.
"I want a woman-a wife."
"Well, who you got cornered this time? That last one didn't stay around long."
"A white girl, maybe. She's the new teacher that's filling in for that Hobart. She's real pretty."
"Pretty, huh? Haven't they all been? When you going to learn that a pretty face gets you nowhere unless you have some substance to back it up?" George stuck the pitchfork back into the wire enclosure and climbed down from the long stack.
Jo-Jo followed him down the makeshift ladder. "I'm serious, Unké. She's got more than a pretty face, but her father is that bible-spouting preacher. He doesn't like Indians. He thinks we're all mindless fools."
"Yeah, I heard of him. How old is this girl?" He winked at Jo-Jo as they walked toward their horses.
"Twenty, I think. She's old enough to make up her own mind."
"Well, how do you know she wants you? Has she said so?"
"No. Guess I have to do some courting, and show her I can provide for her. I want to get that ranch started. I'm ready to go out on my own." He stuck his foot into the stirrup and lifted himself into the saddle.
"You've got twenty head here, and I'll add ten more head for you. So see someone about what you need to do. I don't know the procedure, Son."
"Yes sir! Thank you." Jo-Jo threw his hat into the air, raced his paint down the valley, and then came back for his hat. He waved to his uncle and galloped away, a smile on his face. He needed to go talk to Wes Maclure, his friend. Maybe they had to go to Lander to start this procedure.
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