During the course of reading a wild west novel, Texas Blood Feud, by Dusty Richards I came across an interesting chapter.
It was the winter of 1875 that a Texas rancher and his hired hand were tracking a group of horse thieves traveling north from somewhere near San Antonio. By noon the second day they still hadn’t caught up to them, but it became obvious the outlaws were headed for the Red River with the remuda.
It was time to rest their horses, so they tied their mounts at the hitching rail of a small, isolated store and then asked about the possibility of a hot meal.
“Yes sir, my wife is cooking back in the kitchen,” he said. Shouting over his shoulder he told her they had two hungry customers and pointed them to a table.
Directly, she arrived with two chicken noodle dinners, two cups of coffee, and two large biscuits. “That’ll be twenty cents,” she said.
“Where are we?” asked the rancher while fishing coins from his canvas trousers.
“You’re about forty miles west of Fort Worth.”
There was no more conversation other than the hired hand making small talk about this lady’s the biscuit and asking for a second one. His carrying on so lodged in my head. I couldn’t shake it.
This morning as Barb and I were enjoying our morning coffee I mentioned to Barb that baking powder biscuits and strawberry jam would sure hit the spot. And it did.