Dry Divide (13 page)

Then too, I had to find the horses, harness, and wagons to do the job with, and I had to get them in a hurry, or Gus and Lars wouldn't have time to do the rebuilding. On top of all that, the weather conspired against us. It rained all day on the Saturday after we finished harvesting, turning the roads into a mass of sticky gumbo, and making it necessary to cultivate Mrs. Hudson's corn while we were trying to get ready for the hauling jobs.

Saturday and Sunday would have been lost days if Gus and Lars hadn't moved their repairing into the barn before the old wagons became too wet to work on, and if Kitten hadn't been a cracking good mud horse. I saddled her right after breakfast, turned the other horses out to pasture, put Doc's overalls and jumper on over my own, and started off on the route Bones had drawn on his map.

None of the horses that were offered to me that day were worth their feed, but I found some pretty good harness, a saddle that Paco could use, and a few wagons that could be rebuilt and put into good condition. Whenever I found anything I could use, I marked the price I'd offer for it down beside the price Bones had put on the map, but I kept mine as much below the real value as he had set his above it. It was after dark before I got home, and from being soaked all day my legs had rubbed raw against the saddle, but I'd had better luck than I'd expected. I'd covered more than half the route, found four good sets of harness, five usable wagons, and two double-row cultivators that I rented for a dollar a day until we'd finished with the corn.

Paco and Jaikus had moved our beds into the barn, but the roof leaked more or less, so we spent the whole evening in the kitchen, and I started Judy off on her bookkeeping. Of course, we didn't have any books like those that are used in banks and businesses, but she'd brought a school notebook from home, and it had plenty of room in it for all the accounts we needed to keep track of. Before the war, I'd taken a correspondence course in bookkeeping, and knew there had to be a debit for every credit, but I couldn't remember just how it worked, so we had a few debits without any credits, and a few credits without and debits, but when we finally had our book brought up to date it showed where everybody stood. There was a page for each one in the crew, credited with $256, and charged with whatever he'd drawn: Doc $50, Jaikus $10, and Bill $5. Then I remembered about promising Gus and Lars my first day's pay if they'd stay on the job and double up for Edgar and Everett, so we credited each of them with an extra $4.50.

After we'd finished all the bookkeeping I showed Judy how to make a Profit and Loss Statement for the harvesting. Her handwriting was fine, and it looked like a real business statement, but the profit wasn't as much as I'd hoped it would be, and I owed almost as much as I had in the bank.

The statement showed:

Even at that, it wasn't too bad, considering that I had the horses and equipment left.

Sunday morning was bright and clear, but the roads were still too muddy for automobile driving. Right after breakfast I gave Judy all the hauling orders that had come in, and the township maps the County Clerk had marked for me. I told her she'd better figure out some routes, because, as soon as the roads dried, I wanted her to call at each place where I'd heard from the owner, so as to find out the tenant's thrashing dates. Then I set the rest of the crew to helping Gus and Lars, saddled Kitten, and started out to find the rest of the wagons and harness I needed, and to see what might be done about worthwhile horses.

By noon I'd found all the harness and wagons I needed, and had been shown a couple of dozen horses I could have bought for fifty dollars apiece, but there wasn't one of them as good as my old bay mares. I didn't want to stick my neck out and go into debt any deeper than I had to, but I made up my mind that I'd buy the best horses I could find for the job, and pay whatever was necessary to get them.

From then on I had better luck. I headed straight down Beaver Valley, stopped only at the most prosperous looking places, and told the men who came out to meet me exactly what I was looking for—small, young, mustang horses, that had been worked enough through the spring and summer to be hard and tough. I told them that I didn't care how ornery or hard to handle they might be, as long as they had plenty of go and toughness. The farmers I called on didn't have that kind of horses, but sent me on to places where they thought I might find them. I didn't have time to get around to all the places, but by sunset I'd bought four cracking good teams—and they'd cost me $885. What's more, I'd made friends with a lot of prosperous farmers, and found that I could hire all the teams of heavy horses I wanted, together with first-rate wagons, for five dollars a day.

By Monday the roads had dried enough that I could drive the Maxwell, so I started out with it as soon as we'd had breakfast. I stopped only at the places where I'd been told I might find the kind of horses I wanted, let the farmer set his price on any team I'd have been glad to own, then drove on to the next place. By the time I'd finished my round, I'd seen eight or ten teams that were just what I needed, and the prices ranged anywhere from $200 to $250 a team. I set my limit at $200, then started back to make the round again, but made my bid only on the best teams. I failed to get the two that I liked best, but by half-past-nine I'd bought the next best three.

I was waiting outside the bank when Bones unlocked the door that morning. He acted grouchy when I told him I was going to buy no horses from farmers he'd sent me to, and he screamed like a trapped wildcat when I showed him the prices I was offering on the wagons and harness. I spent an hour haggling with him, just to let him feel he'd made the best deal he was going to get, then told him, “I'll tell you what'll do: you add up all the figures you put down on the map for these items, then add up my offers, and I'll split the difference with you. If that doesn't suit you, I'll have to take a drive over to Oberlin.”

I think Bones had known where we'd end up as well as I had, but a deal of that kind isn't a good one without a little haggling, and we'd both had fun doing it. Of course, we told each other we'd been stuck by a sharper trader, but we were both tickled enough to squirm with our ends of the bargain. I'd bought equipment for $720 that I'd thought would cost me nearly $1000, and he'd collected $720 on loans that he'd believed to be dead losses.

Mrs. Hudson fixed us an early dinner, and by noon we had the old Maxwell back on the road, loaded with the whole crew, and Judy doing the driving. First we picked up the horses, then went on at a pace no faster than they could trot comfortably, until we'd picked up all the harness and wagons. As soon as we had a set of harness and a wagon together, we dropped off a driver and pair of horses, then drew a map so he'd know where to pick up another wagon or a cultivator on the way home. It was mid-afternoon when Judy dropped me off, then went on to make some of her calls. I hadn't driven more than a mile before I knew that the horses I was holding the reins on were exactly the kind I needed. Even though they'd been at an almost steady trot for four hours, they were as full of go as if they'd been fresh from the corral—and I let them go.

Being the last one dropped, I was last to get back to the place, and anyone might have thought there was a barn raising going on there. Eight wagons were drawn up in the yard, the harness spread over the wheels, and the corral was a heaving mass of tough little broncos. They were biting, kicking, and laying their ears back as they got acquainted with each other, but it was easy to see that they'd discovered who the boss was; Kitten was feeding by herself, and the new horses were all giving her a wide berth. I pulled my wagon in beside the others, and Paco helped me unharness. Then we wasted an hour, standing by the corral gate and gloating over the horses. I was the proudest I'd ever been in my life, but I was in debt $2000, and the only part of my bank account that belonged to me was $16.15. When I mentioned it there wasn't a man in the crew who didn't tell me to use his share of the account as though it had been my own.

12

Tricky Business

I
don't believe I slept more than an hour the night we brought the new horses home, but lay awake, thinking and planning. The success or failure of my new business wouldn't depend alone on tough, fast horses, but on using wagons in pairs, and that was going to be tricky business. There were sharp corners to turn, steep hills to go down as well as up, and the elevator rocker to be coped with. The rocker was a great trap door in the floor of a narrow driveway through the elevator. When a wagon was pulled onto it, the wheels were blocked, the end-gate removed, and the rocker tilted to dump the load into the grain pit below.

With light horses and trailers, the uphill climbs would be rugged, but it was the steep downgrades that worried me. A wagon and trailer, each loaded with fifty bushels of wheat, would weigh about four tons, and two light horses on the pole couldn't possibly keep it from running wild. Both wagon and trailer would have to be held back by over-sized brakes, and a driver could actuate them only if the trailer were coupled close and rigidly to the lead wagon. Still, the coupling would have to be flexible enough to allow for sharp turns, and to permit each wagon to be tilted separately on the elevator rocker.

Ever since I'd first had the idea of hauling with trailers, I'd been trying to figure out types of coupling and brake rigs that would do the job the way it would have to be done. Some of those I'd thought of were so complicated that I could hardly keep track of all the pieces in my mind, but as I lay there in the darkness I suddenly had an idea, so simple that any child might have thought of it. All I had to do was to have heavy angle irons bent into the shape of three-foot V's, with hinges at the upper ends, and the point flattened out to make a turnplate with a bolt hole at the center.

By hinging one V to the back axle of the lead wagon, and another on the front axle of the trailer, the coupling would be made when the two turnplates were bolted together. It would hold one wagon rigidly behind the other, with no possibility of swaying, but the pivot bolt would make it possible to turn sharp corners, and the hinges would allow each wagon to be tilted separately on the elevator rocker. Then, too, that type of coupling solved my brake problem, as the pivot bolt would give me a dead center between the front and back wagon. By using an eyebolt, I could run a steel cable through the eye, connecting the brake beam on the trailer with a foot pedal on the lead wagon, and the pressure could be held constant, no matter how sharp a downhill curve might be.

Tuesday morning we loaded the cultivators onto our best wagon, harnessed six of the new horses, and I sent Old Bill, Jaikus, and Paco to begin the corn cultivating. Judy drove ahead to show them were the quarter-section was, then would go on from there to make more calls on tenants, so as to list their thrashing schedules.

As soon as they had driven away I called Gus, Lars, and Doc to the middle of the yard. There I drew on a ground a full-sized plan of the coupling and brake assembly I'd thought of during the night, and asked them if they could see any reason it wouldn't work, or could think of anything that might be better. Doc made up his mind within two minutes, but Gus and Lars studied the plan for at least fifteen minutes, mumbling to each other in Swedish, before they told me they thought it would be the best we could do.

Next, we went over each wagon carefully, listing the parts and lumber we'd need for each one, since the repairing would be our biggest job in getting ready for the hauling. Every wheel had to be taken apart, new spokes and fellies shaped and fitted into place where the old ones were cracked or broken, and the tires sweated back on so tightly there would be no possibility of their loosening or slipping under the most severe use. Weak tongues, stretchers, bolsters, axles, and doubletrees had to be replaced. The bodies had to be rebuilt and strengthened with steel bands, making them almost water-tight, so they wouldn't leak wheat when jounced over rough roads. New side boards had to be fitted in here and there, new front-gates and end-gates made, seats repaired, and over-sized brakes made and installed, together with seven sets of coupling rigs.

It was mid-forenoon when we finished examining the wagons and making up lists of the tools and materials we'd need for the job, so I said, “Let's harness a team and drive to Oberlin. There's a lot of this stuff we couldn't get at The Bluffs, and I want to start a blacksmith working on those coupling irons right away.”

As I spoke, I picked up a set of harness from a wagon wheel and started toward the corral. I expected the others to follow me, but they didn't. When I looked back from the corral gate, Gus and Lars were still standing where I'd left them, and they appeared to be arguing, but Doc was nowhere in sight.

Alone, and without a throw rope, I had a little trouble in catching the pair of horses I wanted. It might have taken me fifteen minutes to catch and harness them, and when I led them to one of the wagons Gus and Lars were waiting for me. Gus did the talking, and I couldn't have been more surprised if I'd discovered that Doc was actually an M.D. They were blacksmiths by trade, but had sold their shop in the spring, and had planned to spend the summer seeing the country, then go on to California for the winter. They'd intended to put in only a week at harvesting, just long enough to see how it was done in the West.

What they'd been arguing about was whether it would be cheaper for me to buy an anvil, iron working tools, and bricks and bellows for a forge, or to have our work done by a blacksmith in town. There was no question in my mind. Half the job of rebuilding the wagons would be iron work and resetting the tires. Doc and I could do the woodwork, and if they could do our blacksmithing right on the place it would save us several days time, so the cost didn't matter too much.

With angle iron, materials for a forge, and lumber to haul, we'd have too heavy a load for two light horses, so I told Gus, “We'll use a four-horse hitch. If you'll rig a doubletree to the end of that wagon pole, I'll get the long reins and have another team ready in a few minutes.”

I was so excited about being able to do our own blacksmithing right on the place that I'd forgotten there was any such a man as Doc, but he didn't let me forget it long. As I hurried into the barn for the reins, his vibrant medicine-man oratory came rolling toward me like a tidal wave from the darkness of the farthest stall, “My dear companion, some treacherous oaf has sullied my raiment with foul and offensive offal, and to escape detection of his perfidious act has ensconced it . . .”

“Hold it, Doc! Save it till we get to town,” I called back. “We're both treacherous oafs; you did the sullying when you got into the tanglefoot, and I did the ensconcing when I shucked the raiment off you.”

As my eyes became accustomed to the dimness, I could see Doc standing at the end of the farthest stall, dressed in his wrinkled and dirty medicine-man clothes, and trying to wipe some of the grime off his frock coat with his work shirt. “Better get out of those fancy duds, and back into your overalls,” I told him. “We've got a lot of work to do in town, and you can have that gorgeous raiment cleaned and pressed while we're doing it.”

By the time I'd caught and harnessed the second team, Doc was not only back in his overalls, but back to being a harvest hand. He'd stowed his raiment, carefully wrapped in newspaper, in the wagon, and he'd stowed his oratory right along with it.

I knew that a lot of men found a tremendous thrill in getting behind the wheel of an automobile and tramping the gas pedal clear to the floor, but it didn't do very much for me. Maybe it was because horses were too much in my blood, but I found a lot more fun in sitting on the high seat of a jouncing wagon, and shaking the lines above the backs of a fast-stepping four-horse hitch—particularly if the horses were my own. In choosing the horses for cultivating, I'd tried to pick out the steadiest teams in the new bunch, but for the trip to town I'd picked the four toughest and liveliest—and they didn't disappoint me.

Doc held the bridles of the snap team until I was on the seat with the lines gathered between my fingers, and Gus and Lars were standing with a good hold on the back of the seat. Then Doc turned the little broncs loose, scrambled up onto the seat beside me, and we were on our way in a cloud of dust. As we swung out of the yard with the wheels skidding, anyone might have thought I was an old-time stage driver, trying to escape the Comanches. I could almost have believed it myself. The teams had come from different places, and each seemed to be trying to outrun the other. The wagon we'd hitched to was in pretty good shape and we had a straight, level half mile to the first corner, so I let the horses work off a little of their fire. I cocked one foot up on the brake pedal, shook the lines enough to keep the bit rings jingling, and shouted, “Hya! Haa! Haa!”

We covered that half mile like Man o' War coming down the home stretch. As we neared the corner, I braced myself against the brake pedal till the hind wheels squealed like fighting hogs, leaned back on the seat, and gathered the reins to make a stab at keeping in the roadway as we made the turn. We made it, with the wagon slewing around as though it had been on slick ice, but it wasn't because of my skill with the reins. That little snap team knew its business so much better than I knew mine that it made me feel silly. They didn't turn the instant they reached the corner, but kept straight on for another length, giving the wagon room to clear the turn, then swung over so fast they were leaning at a 45° angle, and neither horse ever missed a beat in his stride. I was too busy watching the snap team to pay any attention to the wheelers, but they must have had to lean fully as far, and I don't believe they ever left the wheel tracks.

I let them have another Hya! Haa! Haa! as soon as we'd rounded the corner, and while Doc, Gus, and Lars clung to the seat with both hands, the old wagon went leaping along the roadway like a frightened jack rabbit. After a quarter mile I soft-talked the broncs down to a spanking trot, then let them hold it till we reached the county road, a mile and a quarter farther on.

We followed the county road ten miles into Oberlin, and by the time we got there I wouldn't have sold that four-horse hitch for twice what I'd paid for it—and on the way I learned a few things that were going to help us in our hauling business. Where the road was fairly level I held the team to a moderate trot, then when we came to a gulch I let them take off at a dead run, giving the wagon just enough brake that it wouldn't run up onto the wheelers' heels. Just before we swooped through the bottom of each gulch, I kicked the brake loose, giving the wagon its full momentum to race up the hill beyond. A man would be out of his mind to run most horses downhill the way I ran those little cayuses, but they had so much mustang in them that they were sure-footed as mountain goats, and I knew there wasn't the slightest danger that any one of them would stumble and fall. Of course, if one had, the next passer-by might have had to pick us up in pieces.

That trip to town took us no more than an hour, and when we reached the main street my snap team was still fresh enough to rear and spook at noisy jalopies. They kept me plenty busy until we'd pulled off the main street and into the yard of a blacksmith's shop. Gus and Lars thought it would be best to stop there first, so they could find out from the blacksmith whether or not there was a supplier in Oberlin who carried steel, and the blacksmithing tools and equipment they would need. As soon as they'd gone inside, Doc fished his bundle out from under the seat, and told me, “I'd better take this stuff over to the tailor's shop right away, so they'll have time to get it cleaned and pressed while we're picking up our load. Write me a check for twenty, will you?”

I was in a bit of a spot. Doc had a couple of hundred dollars coming to him, so I couldn't refuse to write him a check for any part of it he asked for, but I didn't feel too safe about him. As I pulled out my checkbook, I said, “Sure, Doc, you can draw whatever you want, but don't you get into the tanglefoot again. If Gus and Lars do the blacksmithing, I'll need your help with the woodwork, and you won't be any help if you're plastered.”

“Aw, Bud,” he said in an injured tone, “you know me better'n that. You know I wouldn't let you down at a time like this! Just because I stubbed my toe once, you don't have to rub it in with a rough cob. If you can't spare twenty, five'll do. Only thing is, I'd like to pick up a couple of pairs of overalls and some shirts before we go back.”

“Sorry, Doc,” I told him as I wrote the check for twenty dollars, “I wasn't rubbing it in, and I know you're the last man in the crew that would let me down. Maybe I'm too jumpy about this hauling business and getting the wagons fixed up. I didn't sleep worth a dime last night.”

“Don't lose any sleep over me and the corn squeezings,” he told me as he climbed down over the wheel. “Only time I have any trouble with the stuff is when I get one of my seizures, and I don't get more than two or three of 'em in a year's time. You wait right here for me; I'll be back in ten minutes.”

Doc wasn't back in ten minutes, or twenty, and neither were Gus and Lars. I could see them inside the shop, talking with the blacksmith, walking all around the place, and looking it over as though they might be planning to buy it. And the longer they looked the more jumpy my nerves got. If I lost those two men, and Doc went on a bender, my hauling business would be blown sky high.

By the time another ten minutes had passed I was so keyed up that I could have flown—and with no more than two feathers on each shoulder blade. When I was almost ready to explode, Gus and Lars came out to the wagon, bringing the blacksmith with them. He was fully as big as they, and as slow spoken. He spit a stream of tobacco juice at the near wheeler's heels, cocked a foot in the hub, and said, “Your men tell me you aim to set up a shop, but there ain't a supplier no nearer than Denver, and it would take leastways a fortnight to get a shipment out. We been lookin' around my shop, and I reckon I could spare enough tools to get you by, along with an anvil and an old bellows that could be patched up, but I'd have to charge you twenty-five dollars for the use of 'em. I got plenty of strap steel and angle iron on hand, but I'd have to have cash on the barrel head—you being a stranger hereabouts.”