Sunday's Colt & Other Stories (15 page)

Within minutes she was on her feet, licking the calf clean and urging it to stand, but in the raging storm, the calf was freezing in spite of her efforts. I helped rub the calf clean and heaved it into the saddle, knowing that the cow would follow us into the corrals. By the time I had gathered the calf and cow it was growing dark and I could see no more than a few yards as the snow and ice pelted me from all directions. Nightfall found me hopelessly lost in the rolling maze of sandhills.

Realizing that the cow would be unable to follow, I returned the calf to her, hoping they could survive on their own. For the first time in my life, I feared for my life. If I didn't get back to the protection of the farmstead quickly, I knew I would freeze to death.

I gave Lightning his head, hoping he would know the way back to the barns. I could feel the cold penetrating into me. I struggled to maintain consciousness.

It seemed like hours as the pony struggled through the darkness. I was concerned that we were going in circles. I thought of sleeping in the saddle but knew that the urge to sleep was the first sign of freezing.

Lightning stopped. I urged him forward but he refused to move. I was afraid; he was my last hope of making it back. I dismounted to lead him. Perhaps if I kept moving I wouldn't freeze. I took two steps and walked right into the side of a building. I was standing against the wall of the barn. I worked my way along the wall, searching for a doorway. I soon found a sliding door but it was frozen solid. I worked my way further to the north to the west walk-in door and knocked the ice loose from the door latch. The latch freed and I swung the door open, leading Lightning inside.

I fumbled down the central alleyway until I found the end stall. We kept a kerosene lantern hanging there for late-night milking and checking stock. I opened the great coat and fished a match from my vest pocket.

In the dim glow of the lantern light, the interior of the barn took on the bizarre appearance of an ice cave as fine snow filtered through the walls and coated itself throughout the interior. Lightning's nose and eyes were coated with a layer of ice and snow. I wondered how long he could have continued. I wiped his nose and eyes clear and gave him a hug around the neck. After putting Lightning into his stall and giving him a large ration of grain and hay, I briefly considered trying to walk to the house. It was at least a hundred yards and I couldn't see a foot. I had heard stories of the old days when men had frozen to death within a few feet of a house in a blizzard. I crawled into a pile of loose hay, wrapped my feet in saddle blankets, drew the heavy buffalo coat closely about me, and settled in for a long night.

Jenny's voice woke me. As I opened my eyes, I saw her grim expression of concern. Grandpa was standing behind her, holding a lantern.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“It must be around four. When the storm broke a bit and we could see the barn, we came out to see if you had made it back.”

“I almost didn't. I thought I was a goner there for a while. If it hadn't been for Lightning, I would have lost my way.”

“We need to get back to the house as soon as possible,” Grandpa said. “The wind could rise again at any moment and I would just as soon spend the rest of this storm in the house.”

It wasn't long after we had settled in the kitchen for some warming coffee that the wind increased. The blizzard continued for most of the following day. When it cleared, the buildings were surrounded by snowdrifts to the eaves. We lost eight calves in the storm. I didn't find the newborn bull calf of that night until after the snow thawed. Although she had survived the storm, his mother had not been able to save him. We marketed several short-eared and bob-tailed calves that year. Thanks to Lightning, the worst injury I had from the cold was a frostbitten big toe on my left foot that took most of the spring to heal.

We took on a contract to break one hundred mules for the French government that spring for the war effort in Europe. Bill Sunday was a partner in the venture and we hired some Larned men to help. With our regular farm work and the contract, we put in many long days. To add to the pressure, Grandpa was kicked in the leg and was laid up for several weeks. One of the Larned men broke an arm struggling with a mule in the breaking corral.

Cooking for five men that spring kept Jenny busy. The potential profits kept us working hard in hopes of buying more land if everything worked out. The contract was substantial and we cleared several thousand dollars.

Certain jobs were neglected. We had only been able to patch up our fences from the damage of the blizzard instead of a thorough repair. By mid-summer we were having trouble with stock getting into the crops. It was mid-July when Bill Sunday requested my help gathering some stray cows. Bill had a wild half-Longhorn. We had to rope her to get her back to Bill's home range. Grandpa was not fully healed from the mule kick, so it was up to Bill and me to get the cow alone.

We found that old Longhorn hiding in some scrub thickets ten miles east of Bill's place. She was in no mood to return peaceably. I was riding Lightning and Bill was using his best roper, a sorrel mare named Trixie. Once I was able to drive the Longhorn from the thickets, she took off at a full run. The moment we would get into range, she would cut away or turn back on us. We decided to haze her from both sides. She made her way into a grove of catalpa trees and I almost lost my head in a collision with a low-hanging branch. We drove her from the grove across open grassland. Bill and I swung our horses in behind at a full run. Just as we were closing in, Trixie put her foot into a gofer hole and crashed nose-first into the sand, flipping head-over-heels. Bill was caught in his saddle and was bent backward over the high cantle. I could hear bones breaking as they crashed into the ground.

Trixie's front right leg was broken in half. As she thrashed in agony, Bill hung in the saddle like a rag doll. I jumped from the saddle and tried to settle the frantic mare. Bill's eyes were open but his mouth was full of dirt. His arms hung loosely to his sides. I threw my weight on Trixie's neck to hold her and tried to talk Bill into getting free from the saddle. Although he was conscious and could hear what I was saying, he was simply hurt too badly to move. His Colt and holster were slung in front of him. I crawled from the mare's neck and pulled the pistol. As the mare tried to gain her footing, I placed the muzzle of the barrel against her ear and pulled the trigger.

I reached into Bill's mouth with my fingers and raked out the lodged dirt. He took a deep breath and coughed up blood. I tried to drag him free from under the horse but he only groaned in pain. I had to leave him on his side, his left leg under the mare. I retrieved my canteen and soaked my bandana to wash the dirt from Bill's mouth and nose.

As I washed the filth from his face, Bill was able to speak. “Don't move me. I'm all busted up inside. My ribs are crushed, and I think my back may be broke. I couldn't stand it.”

I could feel myself shaking uncontrollably. “I've got to do something. I can't leave you like this. It must be fifteen miles to help.”

Bright blood oozed from the side of Bill's mouth as he coughed softly. He shook his head weakly. “It's no use. You've got to go. I'll make out all right until you get back.”

“God, I hate to do this.”

Bill smiled. “I know boy, but you've got no choice. Go…go now.”

The Davis place was fifteen miles north but I had no idea if anyone would be home. My best option was to head for the house where I knew there were men and equipment. I swung into the saddle and set Lightning for home at a full run.

No man should push a horse the way I did. With each pounding mile, I unmercifully drove him forward. He was wheezing for breath and lathered throughout when we staggered into the yard. As I stepped from the saddle and ran for the house, I heard him collapse. I was afraid to look back. I knew I had run him to death.

Jenny met me at the door. Her face reflected the fear in my own as I told her of Bill's condition. She gathered sheets and a mattress from one of the beds as I hitched two mules to the buckboard. Grandpa followed her from the house, supporting himself with a cane. As they drove the wagon from the yard, I saddled old Ben. I couldn't tolerate looking toward Lightning lying on his side in the yard.

We found Bill as I left him. As Jenny and I lifted on the mare, Grandpa dragged him free. He lifted Bill into a sitting position as Jenny and I arranged the mattress on the buckboard.

Grandpa offered him some water but he shook his head. He looked up at Grandpa and made an effort to smile. “Hell of a wreck.”

“You just be still. We'll get you home directly.”

“No use for that. I'll never stand the trip.”

“Don't be saying that. You'll make it.”

Bill took hold of Grandpa's hand. “Is there any message you have for Nell?”

Grandpa gasped and shook his head. “Just that I love her.”

Bill smiled and nodded. He shuddered slightly and a deep rattle came from his chest. His eyes faded but never left the face of his old friend.

Grandpa slowly raised his free hand to close Bill's eyes. Jenny and I waited silently until Grandpa lowered Bill's head back to the ground.

It was sunset when we drove the buckboard into the yard. Lightning was standing by the breaking corral.

We lifted Bill from the wagon and took him into the house where we could clean him up and arrange his final position. I checked Lightning and unsaddled him. I spent an hour currying, graining, and stroking him. Once again I had demanded more than I should have and he had given his all. I decided that I would never work him again. Sunday's colt would live out his days in retirement.

We buried Bill on a sandy knoll west of the house in the shade of a small cottonwood tree. He told Grandpa years before that he didn't want to be planted in some city or church cemetery. Grandpa emptied a small jar of dirt from Bill's cabin over his remains before we closed the grave. It was Texas dirt and was to be placed over him when he went under. Grandpa told the Eden Valley congregation that Bill loved his place in the sandhills of Kansas but wanted a little Texas dirt to comfort him through the ages. I never imagined Bill to be so sentimental.

A lawyer in St. John wrote us a letter informing that Bill had ordered a last will and testament document shortly after Jenny and I were married. Bill's place was left to Jenny and I. He also asked that Lightning be buried next to him. The lawyer wrote that he had never heard of a man requesting that he be buried next to a horse and had advised that it wasn't a proper request, but the eccentric Texan had been firm in his stipulation. The lawyer stated that there would be no mention of the stipulation if we decided against it. In those days there were no laws concerning where a person should be buried, and if Bill Sunday wanted to be buried next to a horse that is exactly what we would do.

The country went to war the following year. We took another contract for mules for the French army and continued with ranch activities. I registered for the draft but was never called to service. Younger, unmarried men filled the county quota.

We had a son the following year and a daughter fourteen months after. Six years later, a second son was born but didn't survive more than a week. Jenny gave birth to a third son two years later.

The world changed greatly after the war. It wasn't long before the demand for horses and mules dwindled, replaced by new-fangled tractors and automobiles. By the time our oldest boy was ready for fieldwork, we used mules only for row crop tillage and hay harvest. A Caterpillar tractor, Baldwin combine, and Model T Ford automobile slowly replaced the teams. Grandpa had the first Baldwin combine in the county.

During the twenties, farm prices fell and we struggled to keep the place going. If oil hadn't been discovered in the west pastures during the thirties, we would have lost the ranch during the Great Depression and Dust Bowl. Wheat that had sold for two dollars a bushel during World War I was worth no more than six cents. Prices for our cattle fell from fifteen cents a pound to three. Great dust storms from the west blocked sun and filtered through the walls of the house during the bad years. Jenny developed the habit of placing the dishes upside down when setting the table so they wouldn't be covered with dust when we ate. There were times when we would leave lanterns burning all day to light the house. The oil production income was sufficient for us to save our place while others all around us failed. Those were sad times and we spent many helpless nights wondering how we were going to survive. The Porters, Thairs, and several other families left for town work, leaving their farms abandoned. For two years I took a job on a public works program grading roads with mules just to have money to send the children to school.

The depression and President Roosevelt's programs also brought positive changes to the farm. We received telephone service and a few years later the Rural Electric Authority was established to supply electricity. We were able to have refrigeration and wringer washing machines. In the evenings we would gather around the radio and listen to broadcasts from Chicago and New York. Just before World War II, we installed an indoor toilet and shower bath in a converted closet of the original house.

We began receiving daily mail delivery. Trips to St. John, Larned, and Great Bend could be made in a matter of minutes rather than hours. Our one-room community school was closed and we sent our children to high school in St. John. We developed the habit of regular Saturday visits to the town grocery for store-bought bread and to the produce stores to market eggs and lard.

Grandpa passed away in his sleep in 1937 at the age of ninety-five. We buried him next to Grandma in the Eden Valley cemetery. He lived a happy and productive life up to the very end.

I kept my oath to Lightning. He lived to a ripe old age. Often, especially when I was troubled, I would visit him in the pasture with my dog, Laddie, offering a treat of sugar or grain. He would always respond to my call and eagerly accept the treat. Unlike his days as a colt, however, he would stand calmly and accept my attentions.