I’d won quite a few races by the end of the week. There wasn’t any racing the Saturday afternoon before Labor Day, and Mr. Batchlett had told all the men that I couldn’t ride on Sunday. Before I went home, he came into the stable where I was currying the sorrel. He leaned against the stall door, and said, “Had a pretty good week, didn’t ya?”
I just grinned and nodded my head.
“Get a good rest tomorrow,” he told me. “Monday’s roundup day; that’s the big one. I want you to ride the chestnut in the bareback quarter-mile, and the sorrel in the hundred-dollar race. We’ll win ’em both.”
I was thinking, and I didn’t say anything for a few minutes; I just kept on currying the sorrel. Then Mr. Batchlett asked, “What’s the matter, Little Britches? What’s bitin’ ya, kid?”
“Well,” I said, “I think Fred Aultland’s counting on me to ride his bay in the hundred-dollar race.”
“Hell!” Mr. Batchlett shouted. “Fred’s the one we got to beat. I can’t let ya do that.”
I just kept on currying. My throat hurt and I didn’t want to talk. After a couple of minutes, he said, “Well?”
“Well, I think Hi and all the fellows out by our old ranch are counting on it too. Fred’s been our friend for a long time. He was Father’s best friend.”
I didn’t look up, so I didn’t know Mr. Batchlett had come into the stall till he rumpled up my hair. “You’re all right,” he told me. “Some day you’ll stick by me that-a-way. Understand though, I aim to win that race—but I won’t put the Le Beau kid against ya. You’ll ride for me in the bareback?”
My throat hurt worse than ever. I just said, “Sure. And I’ll win if I can.” Then Mr. Batchlett rumpled my hair again and went out.
14
Grace and I Buy Ducklegs
I HURRIED home early, and got Grace to climb up into the hayloft with me. I wanted her to see how much hay there was and how good it smelled, but, mostly, I wanted a chance to talk to her alone. Before we climbed up the ladder, I dug my marble sack out of the corner of the bran bin. I was still worried for fear Carl Henry might talk Mother into trading Lady for Ducklegs.
We brushed the hay and chaff back to make a clean place on the loft floor where we could count the money. Grace always liked to do the counting, and that time I was kind of proud to have her. Grace’s eyes bugged out, and she whispered, “Eighty-four dollars and sixty cents! You’d better get this right in the bank! With all this dry hay around, the barn could catch fire as quick as a wink, and then where’d you be?”
“I don’t know if I’d be much worse off than I am now,” I said. “If I put it in the bank, Mother’ll have to know about it. And, if she knows about it, I’ll have to tell her where I got it. And then? You know what she thinks about match races. She’d probably say I could never ride a horse again. She might even make me take Lady back to Carl Henry’s.”
Grace always liked to act the way Mother did. She pinched her upper lip a few times, and said, “Hmmm, hmmm, let . . . me . . . think.”
I didn’t let her think very long, though. I’d already done that. “You know, I was kind of wondering this way, Grace: With Mother well again, we’ll be starting the cookery route pretty soon. We’ve got enough hay now for all winter, and more than half enough coal. Maybe we don’t need the real money as much as we need other things. I was thinking maybe I could buy Ducklegs from Carl Henry. That way, Mother could just think he was keeping on lending her to us, but we’d never have to give her back. Then, we could pay the bill at Mr. Shellabarger’s store, and whatever money’s left could be from working for Mr. Batchlett. You see, that wouldn’t really be a lie, because I made it by doing jobs that he got for me.”
Grace said, “Hmmm . . . hmmm,” a few more times, then she told me, “Well, it sounds like a lie to me, but I guess it isn’t a black lie. Anyway, I don’t know how you could buy Ducklegs from Carl Henry without Mother knowing about it. Boys can’t just be going around buying cows without their mothers knowing about it. And you wouldn’t know what a cow’s worth, either.”
“I would, too,” I said. “I know what we paid for Holstein and Brindle. Anybody knows that cows are worth anywhere from twenty to fifty dollars—and we know Ducklegs is a good one. And, besides, Mr. Batchlett knows all about cows. I’d ask him what she was worth before I talked to Carl.”
Grace was fussing with my five-dollar gold pieces, making a little cylinder with them in the palm of her hand. She banged them down on the floor, and said, “Well, if you want to know what I think: I think you’re getting too thick with Mr. Batchlett. Mother thinks so, too. She doesn’t even want you to work for him, and I’ll bet she’d skin him alive if she knew anything about this match-race business. What’s the matter with Hi? Why don’t you get him to tell you how much Ducklegs is worth?”
That was all I needed. I knew Grace wanted me to buy Ducklegs. So I told her I’d talk to both Hi and Mr. Batchlett before I did anything, and I wouldn’t work for Mr. Batchlett any more till Mother had a chance to talk to him and said I could. Grace was still trying to act stuffy when she went to the house.
I thought it would be best for Mother to talk to Mr. Batchlett while she was still happy about his men having helped me with the hay, so I put my saddle on Lady and went down to the fairgrounds again. Mr. Batchlett was talking to some men near the cattle barn. I waited till he came over and asked, “What did ya do, change your mind about ridin’ for Fred?”
“No, I wanted to talk to you about some other business,” I said. “My mother doesn’t know I rode in the races and made a lot of money. She’s kind of old-fashioned, I guess. If she found out about it, I probably couldn’t ride any more; and if I put the money in the bank, she’ll want to know where it came from. You know, I told you Carl Henry lent us a cow. I was thinking that, if I bought her, Mother’d never have to know. What I need is for you to look at the cow and tell me how much I ought to pay Carl for her.”
I never saw Mr. Batchlett when he didn’t have a saddled horse standing around. The one he had that day was as clever as a collie dog. When Mr. Batchlett whistled, the bay came around the corner of the barn, holding his head way to one side to keep the trailing reins out from under his feet. All the way over to our house we talked about gentle-breaking horses, and how much better they always were than busted ones.
Ducklegs was picketed near the river. I could have taken Mr. Batchlett right down there to look at her, but I didn’t want to. The only excuse I could have found to bring him back to the house would have been to ask him if he’d like to see our new baby, and I didn’t think he’d be interested in babies. So, first, I showed him how much hay we had in the loft, and next, how much coal we had saved up for the winter. Then I told him to wait just a minute and I’d bring Ducklegs.
When I got back, Mother and Mr. Batchlett were talking together by the kitchen door. She was standing on the top step with Elizabeth in her arms, and Mr. Batchlett was standing down on the well platform with his hat in his hand. He was turning it around and around by the brim. I didn’t see them till I’d led Ducklegs past the corner of the barn, and I felt as if I’d been caught trying to steal something.
When I came out from putting Ducklegs in the tie-up, Mr. Batchlett had gone part way up the steps. He had his head over close to Elizabeth, and looked as if he were talking to her. Then he stepped down and said, loud enough for me to hear, “The little fella tells me your cow’s dryin’ up a bit; he wanted me to take a look at her. Sure glad I met you. That’s a mighty pretty baby.” He made a sort of little bow, put his hat on, and came out to the barn.
When Mr. Batchlett looked a cow over, he looked her all over. After he was through feeling of her teeth, and even looking in her ears, he said, “Litttle Britches, I reckon you got more cow here than you got any use for. You sure she ain’t purebred?”
I told him I knew Carl had some purebreds, but I didn’t think he’d be lending one of them out.
Mr. Batchlett stood back a few feet, and looked Duckle
gs over from the tip of her tail to the points of her crumpled horns. “By doggies, if she ain’t, she’s dang close to it,” he said. “Don’t know what to tell ya, Little Britches; don’t know what to tell ya. If she’s commonbred, she’s worth every dime of fifty dollars. If she’s registered, you ain’t got money enough to buy her—and you ain’t got no business ownin’ her. She’s a dang fine cow. Does that help you any?”
As soon as Mr. Batchlett was gone, I hurried right into the house. I wanted Mother to like him, and from what Grace had said, I knew some old lady had been saying bad things about him.
I didn’t have to wait very long when I came in. Mother was humming. It was the first time I’d heard her hum since Elizabeth was born. I was pretty sure what it meant, but I didn’t want to come right out and ask her, so I took the water bucket out to the well and filled it. As I sat it back on the sink shelf, Mother said, “Son, I’m awfully glad you brought Mr. Batchlett home with you. I’ve heard some of the gossip about him, but he’s a fine man—just as tender inside as a woman. Son, I’m not going to worry about you while you’re with him.”
At breakfast the next morning, I asked Mother if I could take Lady and ride out to our old neighborhood. I told her I hadn’t seen but one or two of the kids from out that way since we moved to Littleton, and I wanted to drop around and see Hi and Carl Henry before the roundup.
Mother always sat at one end of the table, and I sat at the other—in Father’s chair with the arms. Mother had a forkful of fried potatoes halfway up to her mouth when I started to speak, but she put it down, and smiled at me as though I’d done something to make her real happy. “Why, of course you may go, Son. My, I should have thought of it sooner. For the past two or three weeks I’ve known there was something bothering you. You’ve looked so drawn and worried, but it never occurred to me that you might be getting lonesome for the boys in the old neighborhood. You run right along just as soon as breakfast is over. It will do you a world of good.”
I didn’t dare to look at Grace. I was feeling sneaky enough anyway, so I finished my breakfast as quick as I could and went out to saddle Lady. Grace came out while I was doing it. That was the first time I’d had a chance to tell her what Mr. Batchlett had said about Ducklegs. When I was through, she whispered back, “All the time you’re gone I’ll be saying a prayer that she isn’t purebred, but don’t you take more than fifty dollars with you. That’s all we can afford to pay for a cow, and that way you can’t be tempted.”
It seemed to me that Grace and I were sort of partners on the money in the marble bag. And I wanted her to have part of the fun of spending it, so I said, “All right, you fish me out the ten five-dollar gold pieces; then you could go down and pay up Mr. Shellabarger’s bill next Tuesday. There’d still be a little left over.”
I could see by Grace’s face how much she wanted to do it, but she pinched the smile out of her lips, and said, “Well, I’m going to be pretty busy then, but I’ll try and find time for it.”
Grace tied the gold pieces up in the corner of her handkerchief, and stuffed them down into the little rule pocket on the leg of my overalls so I couldn’t lose them. As I rode down the lane, Mother waved to me from the kitchen door, and called, “Say hello for me to any of the ladies you see, and tell them to come by and see our new baby when they’re in town.”
I didn’t ride Lady fast that morning, because it was hot, but I did ride her far. I wanted to see Hi first, and he wasn’t at Cooper’s home ranch, so I had to go up to the moutain pasture. The hands were eating at the chuck wagon when I got there, and I was as hungry as a wolf. After we had eaten, Hi and I jogged around the herd for half an hour. He wanted to show me how the spring calves were doing, and I wanted to talk to him about Ducklegs—and my not wanting Mother to know about the races. When I had finished, Hi looked over and said, “So happens I’m ridin’ in to the Fort this afternoon; mind if I trail along as far as Carl’s place with you? ’Pears to me fifty dollars is a right smart o’ money for a milk cow, but Batch, he knows ’em a heap better’n I do. Beefs my line.”
I was never sure about Ducklegs. Hi started talking about cold watermelon just about as soon as we got to Carl’s place. And then, when I was right in the middle of a big piece of it—icy cold from the well—Hi and Carl drifted off to the barns. Carl wouldn’t tell me whether she was purebred or not. All he’d say was that there wouldn’t be any papers with her, but—if I’d let him take care of her breeding, and sell him her calves for twenty dollars apiece—we could buy her for fifty dollars. And all he’d say about telling Mother was that he’d never lie to her about it, but he’d be careful never to get in a spot where there was any call to.
15
Labor-Day Roundup
LABOR DAY morning, Hi rode up to our house just after we’d finished breakfast. He had on a whole new outfit, from Spanish boots to ten-gallon Stetson—only his was nearer being a fifteen-gallon. It was the first time he’d come to our house in more than a year. “Mornin’, Little Britches,” he said when I opened the door. “I jest come by to see if you folks was fixin’ to go to the roundup.”
“Why, yes, of course, Hi,” I said. “Didn’t I tell you I’d ride in the cow horse races? It’s only the trick-riding Mother doesn’t want me to do. What’s the matter, Hi? Come on in and see our new baby.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Hi was hugging two packages under his right arm and took his hat off with the other hand. He took it by the side and lifted it easy, as if he were afraid he’d roll the brim or muss up his hair—he couldn’t have been out of the barbershop ten minutes.
“Right glad to hear it,” he said, as he came up the steps. “Do your maw a heap of good to get out and see some folks. I got half a dozen reserved seat tickets off’n Ed Bemis—right down near the front in the middle of the grandstand, so’s your maw wouldn’t have to climb no steps.” He said it the same way Philip spoke his first piece at Sunday school.
Mother had been sitting at the table when I went to the door, but as Hi came up the steps I heard the teakettle slide along the top of the stove, and Mother called, “Why, Hi! We’re so glad to see you! Come right in; you’re just in time for a hot cup of coffee.”
Mother never drank anything except tea for breakfast, but there was some coffee in the mill by the kitchen window. Before she had even finished talking she was turning the crank as fast as she could go. “Gracie, you fix a place for Hi right there beside Ralph, while I put on a couple of fritters. Do you like corn fritters, Hi?”
“Yes, ma’am, I sure do,” Hi said, but neither of us could think what to do or say, and just stood there by the door. At times like that, Mother could be quick and smooth. No one would ever have guessed that she was just up from being sick in bed. She flipped the big iron spider onto the top of the stove, whisked the coffee pot off the shelf, and dumped the mill hopper into it in less than a jiffy.
Then she pulled out the chair next to mine, and said, “Now, you men sit right down; I’ll only be a moment. Hi, let me take your hat. My, isn’t it a handsome one!”
First, Hi turned toward the chair, and then he turned back toward Mother. “Here’s a little somethin’ for you women folks to chaw on durin’ the roundup show. Hope it didn’t get shook up too much in the express.”
Grace and I knew it was a two-pound box of chocolates. There was only thin paper on it, and we could see the roses just the way they looked in the Sears Roebuck catalog. Mother knew what it was, too. “Oh, my!” she said. “I’ll bet it’s a box of candy. Why, Hi, this was awfully thoughtful of you. Won’t we have a lovely time with it, girls? I can’t remember when we’ve had a box of candy like this before, can you? Now, you sit right down, Hi, while I get the fritters going.”
Hi and I sat down, and Hi laid the other box between us on the table. He pushed it over toward me. “’Peared to me, Little . . . ’Peared to us fellas, Ralph, like them boots of yourn was gettin’ a mite wore down at the heels, and was pretty near outgrowed, anyhow. These h
ere is dead ringers for mine, only in ten-year-old size. That’s right, ain’t it? I brung along the ticket so’s you could send ’em back if they ain’t a good fit.”
It was the first time Hi had ever called me Ralph, and, coming from him, it sounded as funny as it would have, if Mother had called me Little Britches. I don’t know why she noticed it, but she did. “You go right ahead and call him Litttle Britches, Hi. I like to hear it. And, from what the children tell me, I don’t believe very many people know him by any other name.”
By that time I had the box open and was lifting out my new boots. They were just exactly like Hi’s—bright-brown Spanish, with good high heels, sharp-pointed toes, and cut-out patterns around the top. All the other children crowded around my chair, and Mother came from the stove and looked over my shoulder. “My! Aren’t they beautiful!” she said. “Hi, I’m afraid you’re going to completely spoil this boy.”
“No’m, he don’t spoil so easy as some, and he had these here boots a-comin’. He won u—. . . He’s always been mighty obligin’ with us boys.”
Mother put her hand on my shoulder and squeezed a little bit. “I know about his riding at the fairgrounds,” she said. “We were all very proud of him. . . .”
My heart jumped right up into my throat when Mother said she knew about my riding at the fairgrounds. I looked over at Grace kind of hard, because I thought she must have tattled about the match races of the past week. She looked right back at me, though, and shook her head just the least little bit. Then Mother went on, “. . . and I know his father would have been proud, too. Hi, you must think I’m a very timid woman. Really, I’m not. I know you have taught Ralph to be an excellent little horseman, and I don’t worry about his riding with you boys in your cow-horse races—I’m sure you wouldn’t put him on a bad horse—it’s the match racing and trick-riding that frightens me.”