The Home Ranch by Ralph Moody
I had to hold the herd for three or four hours while Mr. Batchlett was selling the range steers in Rocky Ford. But after he came back I told him I needed to ride into town for half an hour. I’d brought my sixty cents with me, and fifty-five of it was money that Hazel had won from me the first day we hunted cows and calves on the home ranch.
Mr. Batchlett didn’t ask me why I wanted to go into town, but told me to take my time. I didn’t need very much time, because I knew what I wanted. The first store I went into had some real nice calfskin gloves, with long gauntlets that had big red stars sewed on them. There was a pair that I thought would be just about Hazel’s size, but they were sixty-five cents. When I said I guessed I’d have to look at something else because they cost too much for me, the man in the store asked, “How much did you aim to spend, Sonny?”
“Sixty cents,” I told him; “that’s all I’ve got.”
“Want ’em for your best girl?” he asked.
“Well—” I said, “I haven’t got a best girl—but—for a girl—she’s my best friend.”
While he listened, the man began wrapping up the gloves, as if I’d said I’d take them. “If she was your best girl, they’d be four bits,” he told me, “but bein’ she’s only your best girl friend they’ll cost you sixty cents.”
I didn’t have any saddle bags, so I carried the gloves back inside my shirt, but that night I stowed them in my war sack.
Mr. Batchlett found the trading good all the way up the valley, and before we reached the mouth of the Black Squirrel, he’d traded what was left of our young stock for forty-seven milk cows. The creek had water in it until we were nearly to the place where we’d crossed on our way east, and from there we turned west toward the home ranch.
After the dust storm, Blueboy wasn’t of any use for herding, because he hated cattle too much. But Pinch and Lady held up in better shape than either Mr. Batchlett or I expected. By early twilight on Saturday we came in sight of the home ranch, and Mr. Bendt and Hazel rode out to meet us.
Hazel didn’t say she was glad to see me back, and I didn’t tell her I was glad to see her either. I didn’t even give her the gloves until after Sunday School the next day.
24
Four-Flush
WHEN Mr. Batchlett and I got back to the home ranch, we found Zeb and Sid there ahead of us. They’d come in during the afternoon, both had missed the dust storm, and they’d had pretty good luck trading—but Sid wasn’t happy. Trinidad had taken his guitar to the chuckhouse at suppertime. He was still there, playing and singing, when Mr. Batchlett and I went in to eat. I didn’t like Trinidad any better than I had from the first minute I saw him, but he could really sing and play that guitar—and it was easy to see that Jenny liked to listen to him.
Sid and I sat on the bunkhouse steps for a long time after the other men turned in, but Trinidad was still at the chuckhouse, playing and singing to Jenny and Mrs. Bendt. I tried to talk to Sid, and tell him about the dust storm and the gloves I’d bought for Hazel, but I don’t think he heard a word I said. He just sat looking glum until the moon rose. Then he got up, and said, “Might as leave turn in, I reckon. With the moon up, that coyote’ll prob’ly howl all night.”
It was lucky that Mr. Batchlett decided not to go all the way to the Purgatory, and that we got back to the home ranch Saturday night. Sunday noontime, when we were cutting out trail herds for the next trips, the station agent from Castle Rock rode in on a lathered horse. He brought a telegram, saying that Mrs. Batchlett was very sick, and that Mr. Batchlett had to get to Littleton as fast as he could. The agent had wired to have the one o’clock Santa Fé express stop at The Monument, and had nearly run his horse to death so Mr. Batchlett would have time to make it.
I’d seen men catch a fresh horse and change saddles fast, but I never saw one do it as fast as Mr. Batchlett did that Sunday. We could all see that he was worried and scared, but he didn’t lose his head a bit. As he cinched his saddle onto Starlight, he called to Mr. Bendt: “Send Sid into the west end of the Arkansas Valley! Let Zeb work between The Springs and Pueblo! If I ain’t back by Tuesday noon, turn my herd back to grass! I’ll get word to you!” Then he flipped into his saddle and raced away to the east.
Maybe it was Mrs. Batchlett’s being sick, or Trinidad’s singing, but everybody seemed touchy and irritable that Sunday afternoon. Twice, Sid and Trinidad ran their horses together when they were taking away the trade cattle that Clay and I cut from the big herd. Even Zeb lost his temper. He told Hank to “Shut up,” when he was yelling at me for being slow in cutting out a steer.
After dinner Hazel and I rode out to the secret spring, but she was just about as ornery as the men. She said she liked the gloves I’d brought her, and that they were beautiful, but two minutes later she called me a fool for spending every cent I had and going broke. I’d had about all the riding I wanted in the last couple of weeks, and would have liked to stay at the spring and rest a little while, but Hazel couldn’t sit still a minute. She wanted me to ride back and ask her father if we could practice the somersault trick. Then, when he said we couldn’t, she got peeved—but at me instead of him—and went to the house, where Trinidad was playing his guitar and singing for Jenny and the other girls.
When I went to the bunkhouse, Sid was mooning around like a sick calf, and he kept it up all afternoon. He wouldn’t talk, and three different times he got his pieces of leather out to work on, but he’d only fiddle with them a few minutes, then put them back into his war sack. But he must have found a chance to talk to Jenny before the rest of us went to the chuckhouse for supper. Anyways, he waited at the kitchen door after we’d eaten, and when the dishes were done, Jenny came out and went for a walk with him.
I tried to write a letter to Mother after supper, but all I could think of was our trip, and I knew she’d worry if I told her about that. I spoiled two or three pieces of paper, but, with the men all sitting around glum and working on their gear, I couldn’t write anything worth mailing, so I gave it up and turned in early. I think I’d drowsed off once or twice before I heard Sid coming toward the bunkhouse, whistling like a meadow lark. A minute later, I thought we were going to have a free-for-all fight.
Sid was hardly through the bunkhouse doorway when Trinidad looked up from the bridle he was polishing, and told him, “Stay away from that little heifer, Redhead! I’m runnin’ my brand on her!”
Sid was as feisty as a little terrier, and yipped right back, “You’re workin’ with a cold iron, Big Boy! I don’t reckon your brand’ll take!”
Trinidad’s voice had sounded real mean when he told Sid to stay away from Jenny, but, except for looking up, he hadn’t made a move. He came up like a wild stallion when Sid answered him. Before I could do any more than catch my breath, he’d leaped to his feet and swung the bridle, with its heavy bit, above his head. It would have caught Sid right across the face if Zeb hadn’t grabbed it in mid-air.
Trinidad whirled at him with a fist drawn back, and hissed, “Stay out of this, Old Man!”
When Zeb grabbed the bridle, it jerked out of Trinidad’s hand and dropped to the floor. As Trinidad whirled toward him, Zeb didn’t say a word or make any quick move, but just stood there—crouched a bit, and with his arms hanging loose at his sides. Before Trinidad could make a move, Tom and Ned grabbed his arms and pulled them behind him. He kicked and tried to jerk away for a minute, then stuck out his jaw at Sid, and rasped slowly, “You heard me! I won’t be tellin’ you again, Redhead!”
I don’t think Sid weighed more than half as much as Trinidad, but he didn’t scare worth a dime. He set himself, with his fists up and his chin tucked in behind his left shoulder. “Turn him loose!” he told Tom and Ned. “He’s got a four-flush, and he’s yella to the liver!”
Trinidad made a few more jerks, as if he were trying to pull away, but it didn’t seem to me that he was trying very hard. And when Tom told him he’d break his arm if he didn’t behave, he just said, “All right! All right! I know when I’m
I was up before dawn to help Sid and Zeb get away on their trips. Until Sid left, he and Trinidad walked around stiff-legged—the way dogs do when neither of them quite dares to fight, but both want to look as if they did. Jenny didn’t come to the chuckhouse at breakfast, and I think Mr. Bendt knew there’d been trouble. He always managed to be around when Sid and Trinidad were near each other.
Mr. Batchlett came back to the home ranch some time Monday night. I didn’t hear him come into the bunkhouse, but when I woke up at dawn Tuesday, he was dressing. The first thing, I asked him how Mrs. Batchlett was. “Out of danger,” he told me. “Out of danger, but not too good! Had Doc Crysler worried Sunday mornin’! Your maw’s goin’ to look after her for the next few days. Told her you was doin’ fine, but I didn’t say nothin’ about the dust storm. Reckoned you could tell her if you had a mind to.”
“I was going to write Sunday,” I told him, as I pulled on my overalls, “but I was afraid she might worry. Will we get started away early this morning?”
Mr. Batchlett nodded, but said, “Reckon I’ll be takin’ Tom along—not that you didn’t do as good as any man could, but I aim to work close around Pueblo for the next couple of weeks. Got to be where Doc can get word to me in a hurry—aim to sleep in town and leave Tom with the herd nights. Watt’s got plenty for you to do right here on the home ranch—calves ain’t been fetched in for three weeks—lot of cuttin’ and sortin’ to be done.”
25
Swing-Over
WHEN Mr. Batchlett hired me I thought I was going to spend the whole summer on trading trips. And when we’d picked our horse strings I thought Sid was going to be my partner. But things didn’t work out that way. After the dust-storm trip, I spent most all my time on the home ranch, and things just sort of worked themselves out so Hazel was my partner. While Mr. Bendt and Ned rounded up the stock in the forenoons, Hazel and I hunted out the new calves and any sick or lame cattle. Then, in the early evenings, we’d all work together—cutting, booking, and making up the trail herds for the trading crews.
Hazel had ridden with her father ever since she was big enough to sit on a horse, but that summer was the first time she ever worked as a hand. Mr. Batchlett had her father put her on the payroll at fifty cents a day, and she didn’t have to wash dishes or help take care of the baby. And, even if she was a girl, she was a good partner for handling milk cows. She didn’t play around when we were working, and she didn’t try to push all the dirty jobs off onto me. There was never a day when my job at the home ranch wasn’t fun, but the evenings were even better than the days.
When the trading teams were away, we had supper as soon as the day’s sweep of cattle had been cut and sorted. Sometimes there was an hour or so of daylight afterwards, and Hazel always pestered me to teach her more riding stunts. Mr. Bendt didn’t want me to show her any new ones unless he was with us, and he didn’t have a spare minute during the first week I was back from the dust-storm trip.
Most of the really good tricks I knew were ones that Hi Beckman and I had done together. I couldn’t teach those to Hazel, because I was neither big enough nor strong enough. But there were a couple of solo tricks that I thought she might learn.
One of them was done by crawling all the way around a horse while he was at a full gallop. All it took was two loops of strap on the cinch, a little timing, muscles strong enough to keep tight against the horse’s belly, lots of practice, and not being afraid. Hi had made me practice the trick on a standing horse until I could do it like a squirrel going around a cage. After that, I’d never had any trouble in doing it on a running horse.
If the horse was well-trained for the somersault trick, there wasn’t much to the other solo stunt. With the horse in a hard run, I’d take a shoulder stand on his neck, bracing my chest against the saddle horn. When I’d hiss, the quick stop of the horse would throw me forward, feet first. By arching my back a little and spreading my arms wide, I’d travel in a quarter circle, and land on my feet in front of the horse. Neither of the tricks was hard, but, of course, there was always danger of being trampled if I fell.
Every evening that first week, Hazel and I practiced the somersault trick a dozen times or more. But the better she could do it, the more she pestered me to show her new stunts. I wouldn’t do it, but finally I told her that when she could do five somersaults in a row without a bobble, I’d talk to her father about new tricks. Saturday evening she did seven somersaults, and landed on her feet every time.
After I told Hazel I’d talk to her father, I riveted straps on my cinch, and practiced a little with Pinch—when everyone had gone to bed—first standing, and then running. With his being used to the somersault trick, it didn’t take much teaching for him to learn the new ones. Then, Sunday forenoon, when Mrs. Bendt, Jenny, and all the children were at Sunday School, I asked Mr. Bendt if he’d go down to the little practice meadow with me while I showed him a couple of new tricks.
At first he shook his head, but then he said, “Bein’ it’s Sunday, and after you kids done such a good job this past week, I’ll go along with you for half an hour, but don’t get no idees this is goin’ to be a regular thing. Trick stunts is fine for roundups, but they ain’t no good around a cow ranch—kill too much of a man’s time. If I let you show Hazel another trick, you tell her to quit pesterin’ the life out of me to come watch her practice.”
“Well,” I said, “I told her she couldn’t even see me do these tricks unless you saw them first and said she could learn them. They wouldn’t take but a little of your time. Most all the early practicing has to be done with a standing horse, so you wouldn’t have to spend hardly any time with us.”
“Get your horse saddled, then!” he told me. “I’ll spare you half an hour. But, understand me right, this ain’t goin’ to be no regular thing!”
Mr. Bendt watched me do both tricks three or four times, then he shook his head, and said, “Don’t you never let Hazel see you do them stunts, and don’t you be doin’ ’em yourself while you’re around here! They’re too danged dangerous! One slip and you’d be a goner.”
“All right; I won’t,” I told him, “but I could teach Hazel to twist a little in the air on the shoulder-stand trick, and to land at one side. Then a horse couldn’t run over her if he failed to make a full stop.”
“Ain’t one trick enough?” he asked a little bit crossly. “You kids get all het up over trick stunts and you won’t be worth a nickel as cowhands. Short-handed, with Tom away, there won’t be no time for playin’. Besides, them tricks is too dangerous for any girl.”
It looked as if our trick-riding was just about over, and I knew Hazel would be mad at me for not doing a better job with her father. We’d turned the horses and were riding out of the little meadow when I got an idea. “I know how busy we are now,” I told Mr. Bendt, “but I know a couple of tricks that aren’t very dangerous—ones you could teach Hazel yourself after the busy season is over. I can’t explain them very well, but if you could spare a few more minutes I could show you how they work.”
Mr. Bendt was riding along with his face set hard when I started to talk, but when I’d finished he was looking at me as if he were real interested. “Betcha my life!” he said, “If it won’t take more’n five or ten minutes. Helen’s due to raise hob if I don’t have the kettle on and spuds boilin’ when she gets home from church.”
The two tricks I wanted to show Mr. Bendt were ones that Hi Beckman and I had done together at the Littleton roundup. They depended a lot on timing and horse training, but even more on one rider’s being twice as big as the other. I was pretty sure that if Mr. Bendt tried them once he’d want to be able to do them with Hazel, and that he might be a bit more willing for us to practice a little.
As we rode back to the bottom of the meadow, I said, “For the easier trick, I stand on the ground facing you, with my
The pickup trick wouldn’t work when Mr. Bendt tried to use his bay. It shied off when it passed me, and our hands missed. But old Pinch was getting used to tricks. When Mr. Bendt tried him, he ran past me perfectly. Our wrists met, our hands grabbed hold, and I went sailing up behind the saddle smoothly. I’d barely landed when I asked, “Don’t you think that would be a good trick for you to teach Hazel?”
“Betcha my life! Betcha my life!” he sang out. “Want we should try it again . . . so’s I get the hang of it good?”
I guess Mr. Bendt forgot about the potatoes. Anyway, we tried the pickup trick at least a dozen more times, and on five of them I went up behind the saddle. I took a few nosedives when our hands missed their hold, and I broke open the cracks I’d got in my lips during the dust storm, but they didn’t bleed much or bother our practicing.
After the fifth time I’d gone up behind his saddle, Mr. Bendt turned his head back, and asked, “Didn’t you say there was two tricks I could maybe learn Hazel?”
I nodded, and said, “The other one is harder to learn. You’d have to practice a lot before you could do it good.”
“How does it work?” he asked.
“Well,” I told him, “it has to be done with two horses running side by side at a high gallop and in perfect step. I ride at your left, and we lean toward each other, with our arms up and bent into an arch. After we’ve taken a good tight double wrist hold, you straighten up, jerk me out of my saddle, and swing me over your head in a half circle. As my feet touch the ground on the far side of your horse, I bounce hard, so you’ll be able to swing me back into the saddle. All I have to do is the bouncing, but you’ll have to hold the saddle real tight with your knees or you’ll get pulled off balance. It’s better to practice with the horses standing still until we get used to doing it together.”