Dry Divide (20 page)

Of course, with Mrs. Hudson no longer on the ranch, Judy had to move back to her folks' house. After we'd finished entering the books that evening, I told her there was no need of her coming out before eight o'clock the next morning; that I'd cook breakfast for Paco and myself, and that we'd ride saddle horses to the rig. With a day off, the rest of the crew would probably sleep late. She'd always put the books away and filed the tally slips when we finished, but that night she left it for me to do, and hurried away to the Maxwell. I heard the motor backfire and start within two minutes, but Judy didn't drive away until I'd finished the filing and blown out the lamp in the kitchen.

She was just leaving the yard when I started for our camp, and in the starlight I saw the dark outline of a man going around the corner of the barn. I knew from the size and shape that it was Doc. There was no reason he couldn't talk to Judy if he wanted to, or she to him, but for some reason it made me a bit edgy. I killed a few minutes by going to the corral, more to cool down than to see if the men had fed the horses that wouldn't be working next day. By the time I reached the camp Doc was rolled in his blanket, and lying as still as if he'd been asleep for hours.

I was a little slow about going to sleep that night, but not about waking up the next morning. The stars were just turning pale with the coming of dawn when the clattering of the old Maxwell wakened me. There was no sense in getting up that early, when we didn't need to be on the job till six-thirty, but I shook Paco, and we dressed. When we came around to the yard, an oblong of yellow light was streaming from the kitchen window, and for the first time I ever heard her, Judy was singing as she cooked breakfast. From what I'd seen the night before, I had a pretty good idea why she was singing, and it didn't make me very happy. I don't think I said a word to Paco as we fed and watered the horses, then washed up for breakfast.

I was even less happy when we went in to eat. Judy had breakfast on the table, and was humming as she stowed grub into a paper sack. “You'll have to make out with a cold lunch this noontime,” she told me. “I've got a lot of things to do today, and won't have time to cook a hot dinner and fetch it to you.”

I didn't mind eating a cold lunch, and at any other time it wouldn't have bothered me a particle, but that morning it did. I felt as though I were being treated like a step-child in my own house. I tried not to show that I felt a bit grumpy, but I couldn't think of much to say during breakfast, and I don't think we were at the table more than ten minutes. Then, when I saddled Kitten, she acted as ornery as I felt. I thought I'd handled her as carefully as always, but when I stepped into the saddle she buck jumped for a quarter mile before she'd quiet down.

The whole day was one of those sour ones. Grampa George was grouchy because his men had been to town Saturday night, got into the tanglefoot, and were doing a poor job of pitching. The scaleman at the elevator was peevish because he'd planned on having that Sunday off. And I must have let some of my own peevishness get through the reins to my horses; they snapped at each other all day, cornered like a bunch of half-broken colts, and spooked when there was no reason for it.

It was six-thirty, and sunset, when I delivered my last load at the elevator, and seven-thirty by the time Paco and I had driven our rigs home. When we drove into the yard, the place seemed deserted. There was no light in the house, and no one came to help us unharness. The only way I could account for it was that the whole crew had gone to town for the day, and that Judy hadn't even bothered to come back and cook supper for us. We unharnessed, put the horses into the corral, washed at the windmill, and went to the house to get ourselves something to eat. The kitchen door was closed, there was a peculiar smell about it, and when I pushed it open Judy sang out, “Surprise! Surprise!”

If ever a man was surprised, I was the one. And if ever a man was ashamed of himself for being a jealous, sulky fool, I was that one, too. Just as Judy sang out, Doc lighted a lamp, and I could hardly believe I was looking into the same kitchen I had left so grumpily that morning. The whole crew was standing there, spattered with paint and laughing at my bewilderment, and the only thing I could recognize was the old cook stove. Even that had been blackened and polished till it sparkled. The walls, woodwork, and ceiling had been painted, the floor scrubbed with lye until it was bleached almost white, and there were checkered curtains hung at the windows. Eight solid oak chairs sat around a big table that was covered with a tablecloth to match the curtains, and set with brightly patterned dishes and sparkling silverware. At the far end of the kitchen there was an old-fashioned, ornate sideboard, with more dishes showing through the glass-paned doors. Beside it there was a work table, with four new pine shelves bracketed to the wall above, each loaded with groceries, pots, and pans.

Judy was fairly jumping with excitement, and the rest of the crew wasn't far from it. I'd barely had time to look around before she took my arm with one hand, the lamp with the other, and told me, “Come see the rest of it, Bud, but don't get against the paint; it's still kind of wet.”

When she led me through the doorway to the next room, I might have thought I was stepping into my grandmother's parlor. The walls and ceiling had been freshly papered, the woodwork painted, three braided rugs lay on the well-scrubbed floor, and the furniture was of about the same vintage as the sideboard in the kitchen. There was a horsehair sofa, a Morris chair, two rockers, and a six-sided center table, with a fringe-shaded, round-wick lamp hanging from the ceiling above it.

“There wasn't no sense in having two bedrooms for only men,” Judy told me, “so we fixed this one up for a place to sit down after supper—it getting dark so early now, and all. Then this other one's the bunkhouse.”

As she spoke, she opened the door to the third room, and led me in. It, too, had been freshly papered and painted. Two double bunks had been built against each side wall, and there was an old-fashioned dresser at each end of the room—one of them with a mirror, washbowl, and white pitcher. And at the center there was a narrow table, with another round-wick lamp hanging above it, and a chair at each end. “Without we'd used both rooms for sleeping, there wouldn't have been no place for seven cots, like you said I should get,” Judy told me, as she led me to one of the bunks, “but these will sleep real good, 'cause I got springs for 'em, and thick pads.” She turned the blanket back to show me the bed, made up with sheets, a pillow, and pillowcase.

“For heaven's sake,” I asked, “how did you folks get all this done in a single day, and where did you get the money to do it with?”

“Stuff like this old furniture don't cost next to nothing if you look in the right places for it,” Judy told me. “Old folks put it in their attics when their kids grow up and they move into smaller houses, and they're glad to get a couple of dollars out of it. That's how we had money enough for the springs and pads and lumber and stuff.”

“Even at that, I can't see how you did it all in a single day,” I said.

Judy grinned and told me, “We didn't. We been working on it ever since Sis took the children down home, so they wouldn't blab and spoil the surprise. I've been having the big stuff fetched to our place down home when I bought it, and Bill and Jaikus hauled it out last night when you was settling up with Sis and Bones at the bank. Then with Gus and Lars not going to work till nearly noon, and Doc home by four, we've had plenty of time for carpentering and paper hanging. Of course, we couldn't do no painting till you left this morning, and I was scairt we wouldn't get it all done 'fore you come home tonight. How do you like it, Bud?”

For some reason my throat had swollen enough that I couldn't talk very well, but they all knew how happy I was, though only I knew how ashamed.

17

Ragtag No More

F
ROM
the time Judy fixed up the house until the end of the hauling season, she worked far longer days than any of the rest of us, but she wouldn't have it any other way. Every morning she'd drive out from town in time to have our breakfast on the table by 5:30, she was never late with a dinner bucket at noon, and it was often 8:30 before we'd finished our bookkeeping in the evenings. We could have cooked our own breakfasts without any trouble, and I really didn't need her for the bookkeeping, but she'd never leave for home until the last entry had been made, and as the figures piled up her excitement grew right along with them. Just as a youngster will count off the days remaining until Christmas, she counted off the days till our profits would be enough to pay off my second note, the grocery and feed bill, the hire of extra teams, and all the wages earned by the crew. Whenever we struck a day without enough work to keep every rig going full time, she grieved about it, and blamed herself for not having found some fill-in job to keep the rig busy.

It was the third Friday evening in September when we went over the top. As near as Judy and I could figure—counting the bank balance and amounts due for hauling that was already completed—every penny I owed could be paid, and there'd be a balance of $34.27 left over. She jumped up from the table, dancing and calling to the crew that we'd already knocked the heligo out of Heligoland. I wanted to shout right along with her, but I didn't let myself do it. It wouldn't have been the right thing for a businessman to do. But I did tell the crew that we'd go to Oberlin on Saturday night and celebrate.

All day Saturday I worried about our celebration. Ever since the time I'd had Doc dunked in the watering trough, I'd kept the whole crew away from Oberlin, just to keep him from going on another binge, and I hated to run the risk now that we were heading into the homestretch. A dozen times during the day I thought about having a talk with Doc, but I didn't do it. For a kid like me to go preaching to a man of his age would have been foolishness, and I couldn't tell him I'd fire him if he got into the tanglefoot, because it would have been a straight-out lie. Of course, I couldn't let him touch a pair of reins again until I was positive he was cold sober, with all the shakes gone out of his hands, and until I knew that he didn't have a bottle stashed away somewhere, but I couldn't fire him—not with me making big profits and his having stuck by me the way he had.

I told Judy not to bother about cooking any supper that night, so when I took my first load to the elevator I phoned the restaurant in Oberlin, telling them to have nine of the best steaks in town ready for us at seven o'clock. Then I rented a flivver from one of the pitchers on the thrashing crew, so we wouldn't overload the old Maxwell. By leaving three loads in the fields, we had plenty of time to wash up, shave, and be at the restaurant on time. When we went in we must have looked like a gang of hoodlums who had abducted the banker's daughter. Judy had gone home late in the afternoon to dress up in her prettiest clothes, while the rest of us were in blue shirts and overalls.

The supper was a good one, and since it was a celebration, I ate steak right along with everyone else. As soon as we'd finished, I fished out my checkbook, and said, “I'm taking Judy to the movies if she'll let me. We'd sure like to have you fellows come along if you'd like to, or do anything else you'd rather, just so long as we're all back at the cars by midnight. How much money would you like to draw?—all or any part.”

I'd always paid our new man every Saturday, and had already given him his check. Gus and Lars shook their heads, Jaikus and Bill took ten apiece, and Doc took twenty. Paco had never had a check or drawn a dime, but I gave him a ten-dollar bill from my pocket. Then everyone just sat, saying nothing and looking uncomfortable, so I was pretty sure they didn't want to spend the evening in a movie, but to break it up, I asked, “How about it, Judy? Would you go to the movies with a bum in overalls, or is there something else you'd rather do?”

I must have put a little emphasis on the
you'd
, because Judy had barely said she'd like to go before Old Bill told me, “I'd sure like to go along if you hadn't rather to take her alone, Bud, but I got an errand I'd kind of like to run first . . . it being the only time we've been to the big town, and all.”

All the others—except Doc and Paco—said the same thing, then they all left the table and went out while I was paying the waiter. At the door, Old Bill called back, “See you in front of the theater in about fifteen minutes.”

I tried to make some pleasant chatter as I hooked Judy's arm under mine and walked her up the main street toward the theater, but I wasn't a bit happy. I didn't have to be very smart to know that my crew had been doing a little conniving behind my back, and that Paco was in on it, right up to the knees. What was more, I had a durned good idea as to what the conniving had been about, and that it could easily blow my hauling business to smithereens. It would be bad enough to have Doc get into the tanglefoot, and with his having drawn twenty dollars there wasn't much doubt of his doing it, but if he got the rest of the crew pickled I could be out of business.

Until that night in front of the theater, Judy and I could usually find plenty to talk about, but that night we both acted as if we were tongue-tied, and for the same reason. Fifteen minutes passed, and five more, and another five was nearly up when I saw our whole crew come out of the department store across the street, looking as if they were Santa Claus' little helpers. Everyone of them was lugging packages, and Doc had what looked to be a megaphone in one hand. They trooped across the street like a bunch of kids just out of school, Paco in the lead, with his teeth gleaming and his eyes sparkling. He crossed the sidewalk in a single bound, swept off his sombrero, bowed low to Judy, held out his package, and said haltingly, “Forrr . . . ourrr . . .,” then ran out of English words and finished joyfully, “amada señorita.”

The others left no doubt that Judy was, “our beloved girl.” Every one of them had brought her a box of candy, along with a bottle of perfume, a blouse, a half dozen handkerchiefs, or some other pretty trinket—and Doc's megaphone turned out to be a dozen hothouse roses.

I don't even remember what the movie was about, but we had ice-cream sodas before we left town, and we sang all the way home—I loudest of all.

At noon on the Monday after our celebration, Bones sent word that he wanted to see me right away. I couldn't imagine what he wanted to see me about in such a hurry, since my note wasn't due for another twenty days, and he could see from looking at my account that I had plenty of money to pay it, but I cranked up the old Maxwell and drove to The Bluffs.

When I went into the bank Bones came hurrying to the little gate in the railing, swung it open, and said, “Come in, Son! Come right in! I've got some mighty good news for you.” He led the way to his desk, waved his hand toward the chair beside it, sat down, and pulled a roll of papers from a pigeonhole.

I'd have had to be awfully stupid not to smell a mouse, but I sat down, grinned, and said, “Let's have it. If there's anything I like to hear, it's good news.”

Bones leaned toward me confidentially, and said, “Son, I've been doing a lot of worrying about you in the last three or four weeks. Sure, you've done fine with your hauling business, better'n ever I expected, but you've got all your profit tied up in horses and wagons. You might as leave try to sell firecrackers at Thanksgiving time as to try selling that kind of stuff now that harvest and thrashing is over. It wouldn't bring you half of what you paid for it.”

With the rebuilding we'd done to the wagons, I knew they'd bring more than I'd put into them, but I told him, “That's right. That's why I'm not going to sell out, but keep everything over the winter.”

“Now you're talking!” he said, and slapped me on the leg. “I've got things worked out so you can keep those ponies of yours busy right up to freezing time, and make yourself a scad of money.”

It sounded to me like the deals he'd made for me on the broken-down old horses, wagons, and harness, but I said, “That's fine. I'm listening.”

“Well, Son,” he said, “the owner of that land Hudson had will let you have the whole kit and caboodle of it for next year; you to furnish the seed and take sixty percent of the crop, instead of a half, like Clara got. Of course, I'd lend you the money for seed, on notes running till next harvest time, and you'd make yourself a wealthy man.” He unrolled the sheaf of papers, pushed it toward me, and asked, “Have you any notion what sixty percent of the wheat off those two sections brought?”

“Sure,” I told him. “I brought the final statement from the elevator. It would amount to about thirty thousand dollars, after taking out thrashing and hauling. And as near as I can find out, it was the only crop worth harvesting that has been raised on that land in five years. I'm much obliged to you for the trouble you've gone to, but I'm going to let someone else gamble on that high divide wheat land.” There was no reason for telling him that the owner had already offered me two-thirds of the crop if I furnished the seed, or that I'd leased the buildings and pasture.

Bones became a little huffy when I told him I didn't want the deal he'd been planning to cook up. He straightened in his chair, scowled at me, and asked gruffly, “What you aiming to do when you run out of hauling? Loaf?”

“No,” I told him, “I don't care much about loafing. It looks as if Mrs. Hudson is going to have a pretty fair corn crop, and I've promised to harvest it for her. Until it's ready for shucking, I thought I might nose around a little and try my hand at the cattle business.”

Bones got over his huffiness in two seconds. He leaned forward again, and told me, “That's the ticket, Son! We had a trader here, good cattleman too, but he's gone into the feeding business, so there's no trader this side of Oberlin, and there's need for one. You work along close with me, and you could make a scad of money. With me knowing all these farmers hereabouts the way I do, I can tell you where to buy, and I'll lend you whatever money you need, on eight percent paper instead of ten. I'll do better than that for you, Son. I've got a good section of pasture land right up here on the hills, best place in the world for those horses of yours. I'll let you have it for what it cost me, and you won't have to put a nickel down. A man don't often sell a piece of land that way, but I like to see an ambitious young man get off to a good start. We'll make up the mortgage to cover what little other stuff you've got, along with the land.”

I kept my face straight, and tried to look as eager as I could till he'd made his pitch, then told him, “You're certainly kind to me—just like you were when you made those first deals for me on horses and wagons—but I can't afford it. I'll play along on my own.”

Bones glared at me till I grinned, then he grinned too, and said, “All right, Son, we talk the same language. You know the fix I'm in with some of these cattle farmers. What I need is a trader in this valley who will work close with me, buy some of the cattle I've got mortgages on but don't want to foreclose, ship 'em, and help me get my money out. You play along with me and I'll give you all the help I can, and the only edge I'll take on you will be the interest; that'll be eight per cent.”

I'd never thought about going into the cattle trading business. It had been my plan to buy a couple of dozen good yearling Hereford heifers, winter them along with the horses, and use them as my start in building a herd. But the cattle trading business sounded good to me, and I wasn't worried about the possibility that Bones might try to take the long end of any deals we made together. Any man is entitled to take the long end of the stick when dickering if the other fellow is careless enough to let him have it. What worried me was that Bones might squeeze the farmers whose mortgages he held, tight enough that they wouldn't be anxious to sell. After I'd thought about it a couple of minutes, I told him, “I'll give it a try on just one condition; that I can pay the farmers one-third of the price in cash.”

“A quarter,” he said quickly, like an auctioneer trying to run up a bid.

“No,” I told him, “a third. Otherwise you find yourself another cattle trader.”

Instead of answering, Bones stuck his hand out to shake.

When Judy and I had finished our bookkeeping that evening, I told her I planned to go into the cattle trading business, and of the deal I'd made with Bones. She became as excited as she was when the hauling business went over the top, danced around the kitchen, and wanted to know if it would be all right if she told her folks. “Sure,” I told her. “The more people who know about it the better. If those who want to sell come looking for me, instead of my going to look for them, I'll have a trading advantage.”