Home Ranch (19 page)

Hazel swiped a quick X on the front of her blouse, and said, “Cross my heart! But it's all right if we practice when Ralph's on the home ranch, ain't it, Paw?”

Mr. Bendt nodded slowly, and I did the trick a few more times to show Hazel how I kept from falling forward. When it came time for her to try the trick alone, I could see she was nervous, so I rode to the starting line with her. We'd turned the horses, and while I was telling her to stay loose and not to be afraid, her lip began to quiver. “Ride with me, Ralph,” she almost begged; “I'm scairt.”

I knew that the longer we waited the more afraid she'd get, so I yipped, “Let's GO!” and kicked my heels against Pinch.

Both horses jumped at the word, and we were racing neck and neck by the time we'd gone fifty yards—then I hissed. I had to—so Hazel would somersault again without thinking about it or having time to tighten up. It worked fine. She went all the way over, lit on her feet, staggered a couple of steps, then stopped without falling down. She didn't remember to put her arms out till she was already on her feet, but I knew she had the trick learned—and so did her father.

He didn't even bother to come over to us, but called, “Two more times and we're goin' in! Your maw'll be wonderin' where we're at.”

18

A Glow of Light

T
HAT
Saturday was a good day for me in lots of ways. I'd found that I was growing again, Mr. Bendt had said I'd done a good job cutting cattle, and I'd taught Hazel to do a hard trick-riding stunt without getting hurt. But the two things that made me the happiest came after that.

We'd eaten supper and I was sitting on the bunkhouse steps with Hank and Ned when I heard a cow bellow from far to the east. I listened, and heard another bellow with a different tone. Mr. Bendt was at the harness shop, and I called to him, “I think one of the trail herds is coming in! I heard cows bellowing way off to the east!”

Mr. Bendt came out and listened for a minute, then called back, “Betcha my life it's Batch! You boys want to saddle up and come along to meet him?”

Ned and I started to get our saddles from the harness shop, but Hank beat us there. He hadn't been on a horse since he'd been sick, and had been acting as if he were too weak to open the gates, but he yanked his saddle down and hurried off to catch up a horse.

I hadn't used Lady all week, so I whistled for her when I reached the corral. It didn't surprise me much that Pinch and Clay came to the gate with her, but I could hardly believe it when I looked up and saw Blueboy follow them half way across the corral. He stuck out his muzzle and sniffed while I was saddling, then stamped a fore hoof and turned back.

Both trail herds had met in the early afternoon, and Mr. Batchlett had thrown them together. When we were still half a mile away, I could hear Sid and Tom yipping and driving. We met them about two miles east of the corrals when twilight was just beginning to settle. There were over a hundred cattle in the combined herd—all cows that were going to have calves before long—and they were so trail-weary they were hard to keep from scattering.

We spread out wide, so we wouldn't turn the herd, and I went to the side where I'd heard Sid's voice. “Hi, there, Little Britches!” he called, when he saw me coming through the brush. “How you doin'? How's that little Jenny Wren?”

“Fine!” I told him. “Everybody's fine, even Hank. He rode out with us. Did you have a good trip?”

Instead of answering me, Sid started to say something about Hank being a lucky old buzzard to get sick and have Jenny take care of him. But some cows pushed out of his side of the herd and he had to ride after them. I rode a little farther on and began pushing back stragglers. In a few minutes I heard Hank doing the same thing still farther toward the back of the herd. From the way he was shouting, anyone might have thought he was trying to handle the whole herd alone.

As twilight deepened the tired cows tried to leave the herd and find places to bed down. If I'd used my head I'd have known how they'd act, and would have ridden Pinch. But I didn't think about it when I'd saddled, and Lady wasn't much good in scrub oak. A dozen cows had slipped past us—and things were about as bad as they could be—when I heard Mr. Batchlett's voice from back where Hank was, “Take it easy, Hank! They'll scatter if you rough 'em!”

I hadn't seen Hank since we met the herd, and in that tall scrub oak he couldn't have seen me, but he shouted back to Mr. Batchlett, “Don't you fret none about me, Batch! I got 'em fenced in tighter'n hog wire, but that there kid's in plenty trouble up yonder.”

In a minute or two Mr. Batchlett rode into sight and began rounding up my stragglers. I helped as much as I could, but it was a poor job, and he had to double back for cows that I'd let slip past me. He didn't say a word when he rode up, and all he said when he left was, “Keep 'em in close as you can!” Then he rode on toward where Sid was working.

I didn't see anybody else till we had the cows out of the brush and headed across the valley to the corrals, and I didn't want to. All week I'd been proud of the job I was doing, and had been anxious for Mr. Batchlett to get back, so he could see how much I'd learned. Then, when he'd come, he'd found me doing a terrible job, and Hank had made it sound as if I never did any better. After that, I was sure Mr. Batchlett wouldn't take me on a trading trip with him, and I thought he might pay me off and send me home.

All the others stood around after the herd was in the corrals, but I unsaddled and went right to the bunkhouse. I didn't light the lamp, but undressed and crawled into my bunk. It wasn't that I was tired; I wasn't. I just didn't want to see anybody, and particularly Mr. Batchlett.

I must have lain there fifteen or twenty minutes when I heard Mr. Bendt's and Mr. Batchlett's voices coming toward the bunkhouse. I was sure Mr. Batchlett was going to turn in early, and I didn't want him to see me awake when he lit the lamp—and to have him tell me I was no good and that he was going to pay me off. So I turned over to face the wall and tried to snore quietly, as if I were sound asleep.

We always left the bunkhouse door open on summer evenings, and I heard the voices come nearer and nearer till they stopped there, outside the doorway. Mr. Batchlett was telling Mr. Bendt something about his trip, but I didn't pay any attention until I heard him ask, “Where'd Little Britches go to? Ain't seen him since we come in.”

“Betcha my life him and Hazel's up to somethin',” Mr. Bendt sort of chuckled. “Them kids is as full o' beans as poorhouse chili.”

Mr. Batchlett's voice hadn't sounded as if he were peeved at me, so I turned back from the wall. Just then there was a glow of light from the doorway, and against it I saw the dark shadows of two pairs of wide shoulders and two hats nearly as wide. The men were sitting on the bunkhouse steps, and Mr. Batchlett was lighting a cigarette. When he'd snapped out the match, he asked, “How's the kid doing? Still raring into things like he was killin' snakes?”

“Never seen the beat! Must'a been that stay abed, or Hazel, or . . .”

“What's he been up to now?” Mr. Batchlett asked, with a little edge to his voice.

“Ever see him do that trick where he dives off a horse and lands on his feet?”

“Yep, half a dozen times,” Mr. Batchlett said. “Quite a stunt, ain't it?”

“Betcha my life! He's been learnin' it to Hazel.”

“Break their necks, the both of 'em!” Mr. Batchlett said. “Ought to had better sense than to fetch him out here. Been gettin' too much attention around town—ruins a kid that age. Had some hopes for him when I left here, but . . .”

A big lump came into my throat, and I was turning back toward the wall again when Mr. Bendt said, “Trade you Tom for him.”

“What's that?” Mr. Batchlett snapped.

“Trade you Tom for him,” Mr. Bendt said again. “Him and Hazel's the best team of calf hunters ever I seen, and you'd ought to lay eyes on him and that old Clay horse cuttin' cattle—smoother'n cat hair. Old horse gets around mighty spry with a light kid on him—cut and handled every critter on the place in less'n six half days.”

“Well, I'll be go to . . .! Reckon maybe the kid was right. Reckon maybe that losin' up in the mountains didn't do him no hurt,” Mr. Batchlett said, and I knew he was remembering what I'd said to him when he'd left for his trading trip. Then he asked, “Usin' his head, you say?”

“Ought to seen him learnin' Hazel that trick stunt; learnt it to her like a schoolma'am—wouldn't let her make no move till she'd learnt the one before it dead right. Fetched her through without a scratch. ‘Course she ain't no ways good as him at it yet, but she's honin' to show it off to you.” Then he chuckled, and said, “Won a poker hand off'n me, the kid did! Come up with a full house on a one-card draw.”

“Don't reckon his maw would . . .”

“Oh, 'twasn't no card game, Batch! It was on learnin' Hazel that stunt. I reckoned 'twas too dangerous for her, and was about to freeze him out o' the game, but he called my hand. Wasn't ornery. Just called for a one-card draw and laid his hand down.”

I didn't feel right about lying there and listening when they were talking about me, and I couldn't get out of the bunkhouse, so I coughed.

“Reckon Hank turned in early,” Mr. Batchlett said quietly. Then he asked, “The kid gained any of his weight back?”

From then on they kept their voices low, but it was so still that I couldn't help hearing, and I couldn't just sit up and say, “I'm not Hank, and I can't help hearing you.”

“All back, and a couple to spare,” Mr. Bendt said. “Says he reckons he's started to grow again—first weight he's gained since his paw passed on.”

“Reckon I'll be takin' him along next week,” Mr. Batchlett said. “Told him I would if he gained back and done a good job while I was away. Dang shame he ain't got a better string of horses for trail work! Couldn't keep his hands off that blue devil, and his own mare ain't worth a dime in the brush. Pinch is too old for hard trail work, and Clay's needed here. What you reckon ailed the kid to pick that kind of a string?”

“He didn't pick none but Blueboy—and you're the man ought to know why he done that,” Mr. Bendt said slowly. “Hazel picked him the rest of 'em.” Then he chuckled again. “And I'm getting a sneakin' idee why she done it.”

I wanted to know what Mr. Bendt's idea was, but Mr. Batchlett didn't ask him. Instead, he asked quickly, “That little devil been on Blueboy? I told him to stay off.”

“Nope! Nope! Ain't had a strap, a rope, or a leg on him since you been gone. But he's workin' on him. Been out there in the horse corral till late in the nights—soft-talkin' him and feeding him biscuits that he tells Helen he wants for his mare. And dag-goned if the ornery maverick ain't cottonin' up to it like a spring foal. What routes you figure on workin' this next trip out?”

I couldn't guess how Mr. Bendt knew about my working with Blueboy, and I couldn't ask. I didn't cough again, but lay with my eyes and ears wide open.

Mr. Batchlett lit another cigarette, and didn't answer for two or three minutes. Then he said, “Figured I was licked on putting out more than two teams this next trip, but with the kid . . . and this little Sid turned out to be a right smart trader—joshes a man into a pretty good deal and makes him like it. Might send him back into the South Park country. Lots of good milkers over there that's due for fall calves, and the ranchers don't want to winter 'em through. They'll trade even-up for a dry cow that'll drop a spring calf.”

“Who you aim to send along for driver?” Mr. Bendt asked.

Mr. Batchlett dropped his voice even lower than it had been, and asked, “You reckon old Hank's in shape to go?”

“Betcha my life!” Mr. Bendt whispered back. “Old bluff's been belly-achin' 'round here all week account of I put him to swingin' a gate, but he sure perked up when he heard you was comin'. Do him good to wear out a little saddle leather.” Then his voice boomed up again, and he asked, “Who you figure to send out with Zeb? You ain't countin' on taking the kid and Tom both away from the home ranch, are you, Batch? I got to have . . .”

“Wasn't counting on it,” Mr. Batchlett told him. “Wasn't counting on having three teams out when I sat down here. Reckon I'll ride on over to The Springs tomorrow; see what I can pick up to go along with Zeb. He can get along with most anybody, but I wouldn't dast send a new man with Sid or Hank. Little Sid ain't got that red hair for nothing, and Hank would like as not get a new man lost.”

“Sendin' Zeb back down Pueblo way?”

“Aim to,” Mr. Batchlett said. “That'll leave him where he can keep an eye on the peak, and he says there's still some good cows to be had down that way.”

“And you?”

“Well . . . I been studyin' on it here for a bit,” Mr. Batchlett said slowly. “Been wanting to get down the Arkansas Valley for the past three, four years. Like to take a look at that country as far down as the Purgatory. Hear there's some right good ranches down there; ought to be some good trades to be made.”

“Mighty long swing for two weeks, ain't it, Batch?”

“Longish, but I aim to take all young stock, push straight across country to the Purgatory, then trade back along the Arkansas. If I'm lucky enough to trade for late fall calvers they'll travel good, and I ought to make out all right. Wish, by dang, that kid had picked a better string of trail horses!”

“Wish, by dang, you was takin' Tom,” Mr. Bendt told him. “With three teams out there'll be a heap of cuttin' work to do around here, and havin' the kid to handle Clay would leave me loose for other jobs I ought to get done.”

“Nope!” Mr. Batchlett said, and I saw his shadow against the sky as he stood up. “I promised the kid I'd take him if he done a good job, and I ain't going back on it. Reckon I'll turn in; it's been a long day. Tell Hazel I'll be rarin' to see her do that trick of hers in the mornin'.”