Texas Tomboy Page 3

  “You shut up, Bud Whitaker,” snapped Charlie, “or I’ll beat you over the head with a two by four. Even if you are Papa’s foreman, you don’t need to talk like that. Snowball’s not going to be butchered, and you know it. Nor Coal Oil, nor Fleabite. You just stop hoo-rahing me or I’ll…”

  “Charlotte, take those clothes off this minute, and get dressed for school,” interrupted Mrs. Carter.

  “Got to feed my dogies!” The girl flew out the back door with the dog, Ringo, at her heels.

  “I declare, I don’t know what I’m going to do with her,” said Mrs. Carter. “She won’t wear dresses, and goes around in overalls all the time.”

  “It ain’t what you wear,” drawled Bud slowly. “Anybody’s just as good in a pair of overalls. Now that kid…Hey, Grace, what you so mad about? Your face looks like a thunder cloud. Gonna bring us some rain?”

  “That was cream she took,” said Grace angrily.

  “Stealin’ cream to feed her dogies, is she?” Bud laughed.

  “Even when we hide it, she gets hold of it,” said Grace.

  “Them little old dogies o’ hers don’t even know they ain’t got a Mama,” said Bud. He filled his cup with black coffee from the pot, held the spoon back with his thumb, and drank. “That second one she found was so starved and pore and weak, it like to died. It looked so fleabitten, it shore earned its name. She’ll make a nice calf out o’ Fleabite.”

  “Sure!” said Grace. “Fattenin’ it on cream instead of milk.”

  “This coffee’s strong enough to walk,” said Bud. “Better drink some, Grace. It’s guaranteed to curl your hair and make you yell like an Indian. It’ll make you lay off that kid sister o’ yours, too.”

  “Bud, you’re a little windy this morning. You talk too much!” Grace flounced out the back door. Soon she was back, staggering under a huge armload of stove wood.

  “Where’s Bones?” asked Bud. “Ain’t that his job?”

  “Still in bed,” said Grace. “Maybe Mama’s dressing him. And the lazy cowboys, they just sit around and spout.”

  “Well now, Grace,” drawled Bud, “if you’d a paid me, I coulda brought that wood in for you.”

  “Gus is out there with the horses,” said Grace sharply. “Why don’t you get goin’, Bud? Why don’t you get your big carcass out of the kitchen where you’re not wanted?”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” said Bud. He walked out slowly, chewing a toothpick.

  “Mama, it’s time to start to school,” said Grace. “Papa’s got the team hitched to the buggy. Is Charlotte going today or not?”

  “You and Benoni go on,” said Mama. “When Charlotte gets dressed, I’ll have Papa take her on Old Sam. Maybe he can catch up with you.”

  It was still early when Grace and Benoni drove out of the horse trap and through the gates on the wagon path across Little Pasture. They had seven miles to drive on a dirt road to school, and the horses were slow. The snow of several weeks before was gone now.

  “Charlotte! Char - lotte!” Mrs. Carter went out on the back porch and called. “Charlotte! Come here!”

  But the girl did not answer or come in.

  Was it true, as Gus said, that she hid in the barn and watched through a crack until the buggy was gone? Wherever the girl was hiding, it meant another day of school missed, and this distressed her mother. The child would never learn anything. Day after day, always some excuse for staying at home.

  A little later, Mrs. Carter looked out the window. There was Charlotte mounting Old Sam behind her father. She went everywhere with him. He thought nothing of keeping her home from school. Mrs. Carter watched as they started out the gate to ride pasture. She turned back to her housework with a sigh.

  That afternoon, after Grace and Bones had returned from school, Mrs. Carter saw a Ford truck drive in and stop by the barn. She and the children hurried out.

  A huge, white-faced Hereford bull was standing stolidly at the base of the ramp, where it had been unloaded from the truck. Uncle Moe Carter, Dan’s brother, was a short, rugged-looking man, dressed in shabby clothes, and chewing tobacco. Gus had come up to help.

  “We’ve got to improve the breed of our cattle,” said Uncle Moe with pride. “He’s called Beau Columbus and he cost me five hundred dollars. I bought him in Kansas City and they shipped him down to Texas by rail, with a special cowboy to tend him. I never thought that railroad would do the ranch country any good, but I was the first man to ship cattle on it, and now it’s brought me my first registered Hereford bull. Those old long-horns are only skin and bone. We’ll start breeding for meat. We want short-legged, low-hung, stocky animals.”

  “Is he dangerous?” asked Mrs. Carter.

  “Is who dangerous?” asked Uncle Moe. “Beau Columbus? He’s tame as a kitten. He’s halter-broke.”

  Charlie and Dan Carter, back from the pasture, came in and dismounted by the barn.

  “There’s Uncle Moe,” said Dan Carter. “That’s his new pickup truck. He’s brought the new bull.”

  “Uncle Moe?” cried Charlie. “Gee-whillikens! How does Little Boy Blue go, anyhow? I’ll say it today and make him go get my horse.” They walked over to the group by the truck.

  “But Moe, is he dangerous?” asked Mrs. Carter again.

  “I told you, Beatrice, he’s halter-broke!” shouted Uncle Moe.

  Grace turned to Charlie. “Miss Price said if you keep on being absent, Charlotte, she won’t pass you to the next grade.”

  But Charlie was not thinking of school. She looked at the magnificent animal with its curly-haired face, soft velvety red fur and drooping horns. She walked up and rubbed its head with her hand.

  “Charlotte!” cried her mother. “Don’t! Please don’t!”

  “I’ll get a curling-iron and curl your hair, Christopher Columbus,” said Charlie, absolutely fearless.

  She climbed the fence, the top of which was level with the bull’s back. The men went into the barn to see about the stall. As soon as they were out of sight, Charlie slipped gently onto the bull’s back.

  “Oh!” screamed Mrs. Carter. “Charlotte! Don’t!”

  She put her hands over her eyes and turned toward the house. She could not look at what she knew was going to happen. She walked fast. She heard hoofbeats behind her, and she knew the bull was walking fast too. She began to run. She heard the bull running too, coming closer and closer.

  “Benoni! Grace! The bull’s after me!” cried Mrs. Carter.

  “Get up, Christopher Columbus!” cried Charlie gleefully. “What a baby Mama is, to be afraid of such a nice gentle bull.”

  Grace was suddenly furious with Charlotte for frightening Mama so. “Get some hay, quick, Bones,” she called. “We’ll toll him off.”

  “Dan! Moe! Dan! Moe!” cried Mrs. Carter. There was real terror and pathetic fear in her voice. “The bull! The bull!”

  The men came out of the barn and saw a funny sight.

  The bull trotted placidly around the lot, with Charlie perched on his back. Grace and Bones dodged back and forth in front of him, bravely offering bunches of hay. Ringo danced about, barking. Ahead ran Mrs. Carter, frightened and crying out in a most unladylike manner. She sought the nearest refuge. Into the cowboys’ bunkhouse she went, quickly closing the door behind her.

  “Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!” laughed the men.

  “Beatrice will never get over this,” said Dan Carter. “She’ll never love Beau Columbus, I’m afraid.”

  “Look at that kid! A born tomboy!” said Moe Carter. “At home on a strange bull’s back. By george! What a ranchwoman she’ll make!”

  “If she can resist her mother’s efforts to make a lady out of her,” said Dan. The brothers looked at each other and laughed.

  “She’s plenty stubborn,” said Moe. “Beatrice has a big job on her hands. You don’t help her much, takin’ the kid out ridin’ pasture every day. Maybe Beatrice is right, and the girl ought to learn a few manners. That reminds me…” Then he saw Gus come out of the barn. />
  “Gus,” he called. “Go get Mrs. Carter out of the bunkhouse and escort her safely back to the kitchen.”

  Gus’s eyes opened wide. “The bunkhouse? What’s she doin’ in there?”

  “Gone in to see how you make up your bed,” said Moe.

  But Mrs. Carter said nothing about bed-making, as Gus led her to the house. She looked very white and did not talk at all.

  The bull had stopped at the fence to eat hay. Uncle Moe went over.

  “Gentle as a kitten!” said Charlie, from her perch on the animal’s back.

  “Charlie Boy, you get right down off there!” scolded Uncle Moe, angry now. “Don’t let me catch you doin’ anything so dumb again. Everybody knows that bulls don’t like strangers. He’d kill you if he knocked you down.”

  Charlie slid off and stood defiant. “I’m not afraid of him,” she said. “You told us he’s halter-broke. I’m gonna curl his hair.”

  The man started to walk away.

  “Uncle Moe, Uncle Moe, I can say my poem. I know Little Boy Blue by Eugene Field. I know it all by heart.”

  Uncle Moe turned, smiling now. “Did you stay in the house and sit in a chair long enough to read your poem book and learn a poem? I can’t see that literature has tamed you down any.”

  “I’ll show you,” said the girl. “Just listen.”

  Charlie never walked anywhere. She always ran. She did not open gates. It took too much time and she did not believe in stopping. Starting out at a high lope, she hurdled the gate, flew across the horse trap and jumped the wire fence. She ran up on the back porch and began to shout her poem in a loud voice. Papa, Uncle Moe, Bud, Gus, Grace and Bones crowded up to hear. Mrs. Carter listened at the back door. With lively gestures, the girl recited Little Boy Blue through from beginning to end.

  “Was it correct, Benoni?” asked Mrs. Carter. “Did she get it right?”

  “Sounded all right to me,” said Benoni.

  Charlie ran and threw her arms around her uncle’s neck. “Where’s my horse? Where’s my horse?” she demanded.

  “Well, I reckon you’ve earned it,” said Uncle Moe. “You’ve kept your part of the bargain and I’ve arranged…”

  “Uncle Moe,” interrupted Grace, “I want a horse too. Bones doesn’t like horses and Clabber’s good enough for him, but if Charlotte gets a horse of her own, I think I should have one too. I can say a dozen poems. I know Horatius at the Bridge and Old Ironsides, Lord Ullin’s Daughter and The Wreck of the Hesperus. They’re all in the poem book you gave us for Christmas, and they are all longer than Little Boy Blue. Shall I say them for you?”

  “By george, no! Think I want to hear all that stuff?” Uncle Moe turned to go.

  “But if you give Charlotte a horse,” begged Grace, “why can’t you give me one, too? I’m older than she is.”

  “I’m not givin’ anybody anything,” said Uncle Moe crossly. “You’ve got to work for what you get. Charlie Boy worked hard to learn that poem, and it’s one of the saddest poems in the English language.”

  “What can I do to earn a horse, Uncle Moe?” Grace stood in front of the man and blocked his path.

  Dan Carter called out: “She’s got a case, Moe.”

  Moe scratched his head. “Well, let me see…”

  “I don’t want to stay in the house and do housework all the time,” said Grace. “I’d like to ride pasture every day. I want to be a ranchwoman when I grow up, just like Charlotte.”

  “Well, let me see…” Moe began. “You make good biscuits, don’t you? You can cook a good dinner, can’t you?”

  “Yes, yes, Uncle Moe, I sure can,” cried Grace eagerly.

  “Do you cook breakfast in the morning?”

  “No, Uncle Moe,” said Grace. “Mama never calls me until it’s ready.”

  “I think your mother has it too hard,” said Uncle Moe. “She was cut out for a city girl and not for a ranchwoman. She needs more help than she’s gettin’. You get up and cook breakfast for the family from now till next Christmas, and I’ll give you a horse of your own.”

  “Cook breakfast from now till Christmas?” cried Grace. “Why, that’s ten months!”

  “Sure,” said Uncle Moe. “Thirty or thirty-one breakfasts in every month. I told you you got to earn your horse.”

  “But Charlotte only had to learn a poem,” said Grace. “It took her about a week.”

  Uncle Moe turned away. “Charlie Boy is Charlie Boy,” he said. He took Charlie’s hand and walked out the gate into the lot. Charlie smiled up at him and asked, “Where’s my horse, Uncle Moe?”

  All at once, Grace was jealous of her sister. Charlotte was selfish and greedy. She always got what she wanted. From the time when she was a baby and refused to sit in her high chair, and Papa let her sit on the table and grab things, she had always had her own way.

  Grace felt sick at heart. Every one favored Charlotte. They thought her roughness and forwardness, and yes, her selfishness too, was cute. But Grace knew that she herself could not use such methods. She straightened her back and held up her head. It was not fair, but she would do what Uncle Moe asked. She would earn her horse the hard way.

  A rattle of flying stones was heard and a man on a horse came riding across Little Pasture and into the gate. It was one of Uncle Moe’s cowboys from headquarters. He jumped down and everybody crowded round the pretty little bay and white spotted horse.

  Charlie knew it was hers. “What’s her name, Uncle Moe?”

  “Gypsy,” her uncle replied. “Let’s see how you mount her.”

  Charlie led the horse to the fence, caught hold of her mane, climbed the fence and slipped on. Gypsy stood quietly as if she were used to children. Charlie sat there for a moment of blissful happiness. She had a horse of her own at last. She looked down and her eyes met her father’s. He knew just how she felt. She saw Grace, with an angry look on her face, rush quickly into the house, but that did not spoil her pleasure.

  “A little old kid pony,” said Uncle Moe. “Man said his four kids rode her everywhere.”

  “Now I don’t need a cushion any more, Papa,” cried Charlie.

  “Our stock saddles are too big,” said Dan Carter.

  “I don’t need a saddle,” said Charlie. “I can ride bareback.”

  “Charlie Boy, let me warn you,” said Uncle Moe. “You’ll have to watch Gypsy. Her sire was a thoroughbred, but her mother was Spanish. She’s gentle as a baby, but tricky and high-strung. She’s got some bad blood in her and sometimes she shows it. Better go a bit slow till she gets to know you.”

  “Oh, I’m not afraid,” said Charlie. “I want to try her out. Get up, Gypsy.” She slapped the reins. “She rides as smooth as a rocking-chair. Open the gate, open the gate, somebody!”

  Bones ran to open it. The horse moved gently at first, as the people stepped to one side. Then Ringo jumped suddenly forward, barking. The horse began to run, and the next minute was going fast across the pasture. Charlie looked back and saw the family waving and calling to her. They thought Gypsy was running off. She might as well give them a good show. She liked to be the center of attention.

  “Help! Help!” she cried at the top of her voice. She kicked the horse in her side to make her go faster. “Help! Help! Hel - p!” Let them think Gypsy was showing her Spanish blood and running off.

  Charlie began to pant. The horse was really running now. Maybe she shouldn’t have kicked her so hard, maybe she did have bad Spanish blood. She leaned over, lay flat and hung on. She had never known fear on a horse’s back since she had started to ride at the age of four. She told herself this was fun.

  It was Papa on Old Sam who finally caught up with her.

  “You scared, hon?” he asked.

  “Course not,” said the girl. “I kicked her just to see how fast she could go.”

  Papa grinned.

  CHAPTER III

  Crazy as a Sheepherder

  “PAPA, THERE’S SOMEBODY AT the back door,” said Charlie, early one Saturday.
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  Dan Carter and Charlie went out. There stood a dark-skinned man with a half-grown boy beside him. Their clothes were shabby and covered with dust. They took off their hats and bowed politely, smiling.

  “You sheepherders?” asked Dan Carter. “You making all this big dust? We thought it was a dust storm coming.”

  “Si, señor,” said the Mexican. “My name Pilar, this my boy, Salvador. We work sheep for Señor George Hicks. We take sheep San Angelo to sell. We go through your ranch, Señor, yes?”

  “You are driving your sheep to market, and want to fatten them on my grass as you go!” Dan Carter was angry. He hated sheep and all that they stood for. He had little enough grass in March. A big flock of sheep would nibble it down to the roots, and if rain did not come, the roots would die.

  “Please, we go through your ranch,” said the Mexican patiently. “The sheep not eat all grass, no.”

  Sheep never traveled on the roads, always across pastures, to the annoyance of the cattlemen. Dan Carter remembered how his father had kept them out at the point of a gun. But times were different now. A man did not take the law into his own hands any more. There was Moe, almost as bad as Grandfather Carter, building his water troughs so high the sheep could not drink out of them. No, Dan could not act like that.

  He looked at the Mexican and hesitated. At least now they came and asked permission. Moe would be furious if he let the sheep come through. But it wasn’t the sheepherder’s fault. He was working for George Hicks and had to do what he was told. If Dan told them they could not cross his ranch, they would cut fences and do it anyway.

  “You won’t cut my fence?” he asked. “You’ll take the staples out and lay the wires down on the ground? You’ll put the fence back? You got another man with you?”

  “Si, si, señor!” Pilar was all smiles. Salvador, the boy, smiled too. “We no cut fence, we no cut fence.”

  “You’ll keep moving at least three miles a

  day? That’s what the law requires.”

  The Mexican agreed.

  Charlie had been looking at Salvador. His feet were bare and his clothes were ragged, but she envied him. He lived out of doors all day and camped in a tent at night. She’d like to live like that—except for one thing. The sheepherders had to go afoot. They never used horses, usually an old mule to haul their camping things from one “dry camp” to the next. Charlie would be happy never to come near a house again, but she could not live without a horse.