Matt Sims was just heading to the kitchen with his dishes when, he heard his name and paused at the door. He had been hired because of his knowledge of horsemanship and history of ranch work with sheep and cattle.

Like many Native Americans, he had grown up in the central United States and had worked on the ranch his father owned, as a young man. When he became older and was ready to head out into the world, he saw the ad for ranch hands and applied for it. Long story short, he got the job.

He liked this job, the other hands were okay, he didn't have to pay rent anywhere, because housing was provided and it was a rotating, five day work week, doing what he liked doing anyway. At 21, he could save a lot of money, if he didn't go crazy with his checks and he planned not to.

The negative stereotype of drunken Indians, had convinced him that drinking was not a good thing to do. Therefore, he was actually a non drinker, had never tasted alcohol and didn't really want to.

Matt had heard what the Foreman was telling Greg so, after stacking the dishes politely next to the sink, tipping his hat to Kelly, as he smiled with a wink for her explanation of the frying pan. “Atta girl, Kelly.” he chuckled.

He then turned and left the kitchen chuckling, shaking his head.

Matt didn't know if the Foreman wanted to use the Baruch or the buck-board wagon for his inventorying, so he decided he'd just put the collars on the two Morgans, along with the harness saddles, bits, bridles and blinders. Then, which ever wagon the boss wanted to use, could be hooked to the two horses quickly.

Matt, was already putting the wagon saddles on the horses and buckling the straps when Greg entered the wagon barn from the back of the house. “Which wagon does he want to use, Greg?” Matt asked, so he could take the horses to the wagon to be hitched to, from the corral.

Greg stopped in his tracks and said, “Damn! I don't remember, if he said or not! I don't think he likes me.” Greg looked worried and Matt couldn't help feeling sorry for him, even though Greg was a bit of a jerk. Matt was used to it and like his grandma had told him to do, he killed 'em with kindness.

“Don't sweat it, Greg. He's a hard ass. My Dad was a hard ass. When in doubt, use the buck-board. There's an umbrella rig for it, in back, there.” Matt said as he led the two horse team out of the corral while wave pointing to the back corner of the wagon shelter.

Greg nodded and went to the tongue of the buck-board, lifting it, preparing to hitch the horses to it.

As they were hooking up the traces and collars to the wagon tongue, Greg said, “'Preciate ya helpin' me out, Dude. You ain't so bad, fer an Injun.”

Matt bristled at the remark and said, “Don't get used to it, Dude. We have to work together, we don't have to like each other. It's a new ranch and owner, Greg. We're all new hires. It's Shake Out time, man. My advice, bust ass and help anyone and everyone if you can. Ranch work is team work. You should understand that concept, Dude.”

They finished hooking the team to the wagon and brought it out in silence, as the rest of the men were getting their horses saddled, preparing for their day.