The Americans (20 page)

They were a pair of sunburned and likable Canadians, Sylvanus Ferris and Bill Merrifield. Ferris was in his late twenties, Merrifield a few years older. The job of showing Will around the place fell to Ferris. The others went inside as Ferris led the visitor past, the kitchen garden to the circular horse corral with its snubbing post in the center. Beyond the corral was a much larger one filled with lowing cattle that had already been rounded up and tallied according to their brands, Ferris explained. "That about takes care of the real estate," he said with a smile. "Hungry?" "Starved," Will said. He was worn out from the journey and the trouble at the depot. The tiredness began to erode his new-found confidence. They started back toward the main building. The air was cool; the spring sun was almost down in the west. At the horse corral, Ferris stopped and rested one of his low- heeled boots on the bottom rail. "In case the boss didn't tell you, you'll be working in this kind of corral up at the Elkhorn. Green hands always start out as wranglers. It's the meanest, dirtiest job on a ranch. But it's also very important, and fairly easy to learn. One of the boys will show you the fundamentals. Then they'll take you out on the roundup. By the way-was He turned his back toward the ranch house. "Even though most of the hands are a lot older than the boss, nobody calls him Theodore. Or Teddy, either. He hates Teddy. It's always Mr. Roosevelt." "I'll remember that. But if he's your partner, why do you call him the boss?" "Guess it just seems to fit. He's the smartest one of the bunch." Ferris" tone grew wry. "And you'll notice he has a way of taking charge." Will smiled. "Yes, I noticed that already." "One more thing. Occasionally, one of us drinks a wee bit too much and calls him Old Four Eyes. Wouldn't advise you to do it until you know him a little better." "I heard someone in town call him that." "Maunders? Bill Sewall told me about your run-in with him. Bet a dollar he. just said Four Eyes." Will looked puzzled. "What's the difference?" "A mighty big one. When the boss first came out here, he took a lot of ragging because of his voice and his fancy clothes and his glasses. One day in town, a drunk got pushy, and really took after him. Kept calling him Four Eyes. The boss was patient for as long as he could stand it, but pretty soon he couldn't stand it any more. He put that drunken bully on the ground with two punches. Ever since, his friends have taken to calling him Old Four Eyes. It's meant kindly, and I think he sort of likes it. He's a hell of a fine fellow," Ferris concluded. Bill Sewall appeared at the ranch house door. Squinting into the copper light of the sunset, he called, "Come and get it!" Ferris clapped a hand on Will's shoulder: "You heard him. Hasten forward quickly there." "What'd you say, Mr. Ferris?" "Oh-was A chuckle. "That's another local joke. Goes back to the first summer Mr. Roosevelt was out here. He went on his first roundup, and a couple of yearlings bolted. He thought it was the start of a caret stampede. That's the most dangerous thing any of us has got to contend with, a stampede at roundup time. Anyway, the boss got all excited and started waving his arms and hollering at some riders who were coming his way. But instead of hollering for help so any cowhand would understand, he yelled, "Hasten forward quickly there!" It's the same as Old Four Eyes-something folks say because they like the boss and know he's got a sense of humor. So hasten forward-to " Ferris hooked a thumb toward the house. "You need to eat your fill, every chance you get. Wrangling's hard work." "I've ridden a lot, but I don't know a thing about handling work horses. I hope I can do it." Ferris gave him a swift, questioning look. His smile was less cordial all at once: "Let me give you one last piece of advice. Like I said, the boss is a damn fine man. But he can't stand anyone who's timid or unsure of himself. If you got any doubts that you're big enough for the job, don't let on to him. Now come on, let's eat."

- The evening meal was a hearty one-venison, beans, fried potatoes, sourdough bread, and strong black coffee. Roosevelt told Will how he'd met Bill Sewall. When he was a student at Harvard, he'd gone to Maine to hunt, and Sewall had been his guide. The young rancher spoke with zest and enthusiasm. He' laughed frequently and made abrupt verbal leaps from subject to subject, as if he were interested in everything, and couldn't begin to satisfy that interest in a normal lifetime. He discoursed on the weather, the roundup, national politics, the Marquis de Mores and his seamy friends, a prairie fire which had recently destroyed valuable grazing land, the plummeting price of beef in Chicago, his admiration of Tolstoy's novels, and the book he planned to finish writing over the summer. It was a life of Senator Thomas Hart Benton, for the well-known American Statesman Series. Even though Roosevelt talked and talked, Will never got the impression that he insisted on dominating the conversation. From time to time his partners broke in with a comment or a story, and he listened attentively. When he asked a question, his direct gaze made it evident that he was vitally interested in the answer. After the meal, Roosevelt drew Will off to a corner of the main room. He offered the young man a comfortable chair and took a rocker for himself. Full of food and close to falling asleep, Will fought a yawn as the rancher said: "Well, sir-how do you feel about the Bad Lands so far?" "It's beautiful country, Mr. Roosevelt." "Right you are. Hard country, too. But if a man gives it everything he has, the country gives back satisfaction in full measure. It's my plan to start you out as a horse wrangler, by the way." "Mr. Ferris mentioned that." The flames of a wall lamp flashed off his glasses. "Think you can handle the task?" Ferris' advice instantly came to mind. Will hid his true feelings: "Yes." Roosevelt slapped both hands on his knees. "Delighted to hear it. Thought that's how you'd answer. In ten days to two weeks, I'll stop at the Elkhorn, pick you up and take you out to the roundup with me." "That sounds exciting, sir." "It is, believe me. I suppose I ought to say something about the rules at the ranch. I never ask any more of a man than I'm willing to give myself. And it isn't my style to be bossy. But I insist on hard work, discipline, and regular habits. I can't tolerate malingering, half-finished jobs or hard luck stories. I demand complete integrity, too. That's what any Westerner expects of a man. I made my first business agreement with Ferris and Merrifield sitting on a log at Cannonball Creek. I handed them a check for four218 teen thousand dollars and didn't want a receipt. Their word and their handshakes were good." Will nodded to signify that he understood. Roosevelt went on: "One other, absolutely crucial point. On a ranch or a roundup, orders must be obeyed instantly, without pause or question. A man's life may be in the balance. Quick action may be the only way to-save him. If you have questions, save them until afterward." His sternness moderated. "I don't expect you'll have any trouble. Provided you avoid Mr. Maunders and the Medora saloons." Despite his doubts, Will murmured agreement. Then Roosevelt grinned that infectious grin and added, "You may have trouble in one area. Getting enough sleep. We work late and rise early. I'd suggest you turn in." Will climbed to his feet. "Gladly." "Do you need a lamp to light the way?" "No." The promptness of the reply brought another pleased look to Roosevelt's face. Will was thankful the ranchman didn't follow him outside to see how confused he became in the darkness. He really hadn't paid much attention to the precise layout of the Maltese Cross. He found the stable only by following sounds and smells. Good smells, he decided as he approached the little building. Sweet hay and horseflesh mingling in the clean, cold air. But he doubted he'd sleep well on a hard dirt floor with cow ponies fretting next to him all night long. He spread the blankets, crawled between them and put his head on his valise. He yawned. No pillow had ever felt softer. Surprisingly, it took him only a minute or so to drift off. He was stiff when he woke. But he couldn't remember ever having slept so soundly. in Roosevelt rode out before daylight. After breakfast, Se- wall drove Will back into Medora so he could spend some of his pocket money for work clothes-blue denim pants, flannel shirts, a sturdy pair of batwing chaps, mule-ear boots, and work spurs. Sewall's ranching experience was useful when Will was tempted to choose items more fancy than practical. The New Englander did approve the purchase of an expensive Montana-peak hat: "You'll drink out of it, fan a fire with it, hide from hailstones under it-so it pays to get a good one. Next to a horse, a hat's a cowboy's most important possession." Will gathered up the purchases and prepared to pay for them. Sewall tapped his arm. "Want one of those?" He was pointing to a dusty showcase containing several revolvers-one SandW .45-caliber six-shot model; four of the famous and dependable 1873 Colt Frontier .45 Peacemakers, one with a silver-plate finish, an extra-cost option; and one immaculate and expensive Buntline Special, which was basically the Peacemaker with an extra-long barrel and detachable rifle stock added. Will studied the weapons a moment. "Don't think so, Mr. Sewall. I know how to shoot. My father taught me when I was eleven. We used to drive into the country west of Boston, find some woods and plink away at bottles. But I haven't fired a gun since then. I'm not anxious to take it up again." "Smart,"" Sewall said with a brief smile. "Sometimes a gun's nothing but an invitation for some drunken pup to pick a fight." Sewall wore no side-arm, though while traveling from the ranch to town, Will had noticed that he kept a rifle in the wagon. By noon they were headed north along the river in the wagon. All day they traveled through wild, spectacular country; a country of twisting gullies, huge rocky outcrops, and looming buttes. The only living creatures they saw were a few mule deer, some trilling larks, and pickerel and sunfish in a stream. Gnarled trees creaked in a wind that grew steadily colder as the day progressed. High above, sunlight painted the summits of the buttes. Down where the wagon rumbled along there was only deepening blue shadow. It was late at night before they reached the Elkhorh. The ranch was twelve miles from the nearest human habitation. It was situated on a low bluff near the broad, shallow river. The place had been named for a pair of wapiti skulls found on the site. The two bull elk had ap220 parently gotten their horns locked during combat and had never been able to pull them apart. They'd died that way. The main building, long and low, was constructed of hewn logs. Its veranda faced the Little Missouri and some intervening cottonwoods where mourning doves cooed. As the wagon pulled in, Will heard an owl hoot. On the veranda he met Sewall's nephew Wilmot Dow, another New England Yankee of about the same age as Roosevelt. Together, Sewall and Dow ran the ranch for their boss, Dow told him. Will managed to murmur something. He was numb from the cold. But he refused to let on. Inside, he was introduced to two other residents of the ranch about whom he'd heard nothing up till now-the wives of the two men. Both Mrs. Sewall and Mrs. Dow were visibly pregnant, and sleepy from awaiting Sewall's arrival with the new hand. But the women insisted Will have something to eat before he bedded down in the stable. He didn't argue. While he wolfed freshly warmed biscuits and drank milk, he studied the interior of the ranch house. It had some unusual features, including three long shelves crowded with books. The spines of a few of them bore the gold tea-bottle colophon of Kent and Son, he was pleased to see. There was also a rocking chair, and a large pan-like object whose composition and function he didn't immediately understand. Amused by Will's expression, Sewall enlightened him: caret "That's Mr. Roosevelt's bathtub. It's rubber. Came all the way from Minneapolis. You don't usually find such on a working ranch. But the boss is a stickler for keeping clean." "Wish some others would follow his example," Mrs. Sewall said with a teasing smile. Sewall's nephew Dow showed Will to quarters like those he'd occupied the night before. Even before Dow wished him good night and carried his lantern away, Will was arranging blankets. He sank down on the hard ground with a sigh of satisfaction, as if he were resting in a plush hotel. After what seemed a very short sleep, he was awakened by the prodding boot of a sinister-looking fellow with bad teeth and a stubbled chin: "Rise an' shine, Kent, if that's your name." 221 He sat up, rubbing his frozen arms and yawning. It was still pitch dark. "What time is it? Feels like the middle of the night." "Just about," the man agreed. He gave off a strong odor of horse. He wiped his nose with the sleeve of a huge sheepskin-lined coat that made him look even smaller than he was. The lantern in his hand threw a grotesque shadow of his head-mostly big ears and untrimmed hair-on the stable ceiling. Will had never seen so many wrinkles on one human face. He couldn't tell whether they'd been put there by age, weather, misery, or all three. The man went on: "But I got half a dozen wild jugheads to bust "fore noontime. Guess you're the one they give me for a helper. Christ on the mount, the things a man's reduced tp doin" to survive in this world. I got to be a teacher-as if wrangling ain't bad enough. Y'know these ranchers around here won't pay more'n five bones for gentling a cow pony?" "Bones-?" "Dollars." "Oh." He reached toward the nail on which he'd hung his hat. The man studied him with an increasingly skeptical eye: "Say, where you from, anyway?" "Boston." "Boston." A pause. "That anywhere near Illinois?" Will decided it would be foolish to antagonize a man with whom he had to work. "It's in the same general direction." "I was in Chicago oncet. A year after the big fire. Couldn't stand the goddamn crowds. Let me ask you some- pin', Kent. You ever rode a wild mustang before?" "I've never even seen one." The man gnawed his lip. Then: "Ever handled a lariat?" "No." "Jesus on the road on Easter morning. May my dear mother forgive my language. Might as well tell me the worst. Are you a complete dude?" "I guess that's what you'd call it. But I'm here to learn, Mister-was "Tompkins. Christopher P. Tompkins. My pals call me Chris." His tone and expression suggested Will was not so privileged. The young man felt a flare of resentment, but he struggled to remain friendly. Unconsciously, he imitated Roosevelt's smile and greeting: "Delighted to meet you, Mr. Tompkins." "Wish I could say the same. Don't try acttn' like the boss. There's only one of him, thank the Lord. Human race ain't ready for two. And get this. You ever tell Mr. Roosevelt you heard me cussin', I'll rip your gizzard out with my T8are hands. The boss and I don't see eye to eye when it comes to profane language. I say a wrangler's entitled to all he wants, seem' as how his job's so dangerous. I "spect you'll come to share my view pretty quick." Despite Tompkins" irascibility, Will sensed a good- humored streak in the man. Tompkins snatched his lantern from the empty nail keg on which he'd set it. "Well, come on, Kent, come on. Hasten forward quickly there! Let's see whether you can stay alive in a horse corral long enough to learn a little something." CHAPTER VI Jhe Horse Corral THE NEXT WEEK HAD an unreal quality for W. To be sure, the days were essentially the same as all days; darkness gave way to light, and light to darkness again. But on the Elkhorn-especially if you worked for the head wrangler-the rising and setting of the sun had little impact on your routine. Will quickly began to think of his existence as divided among three main functions, and on