Home Ranch (10 page)

I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, and went running down the mountain, yelling, “ZEB! ZEB!” as loud as I could. Then my legs went all to jelly, and I fell, tumbling and rolling like a stick in a spring flood. I must have bumped my head, because when I woke up, Zeb was holding me as if I were a baby, and was splashing cold water from a creek onto my face.

I tried to tell Zeb I was all right, and that I'd wait right there while he went to get Hank, but he wouldn't do it. He just shook his head, and said, “Covered over warm, the way you say, that old rooster'd hold out a week if he had to. Batch and the boys is somewheres hereabouts; I'll fetch him after I get you took care of.”

“Then we weren't very far from the home ranch?” I asked.

“'Bout twenty odd miles due west, I'd say.”

“Then how did you know where to look for us?” I asked.

“Cal'clated old Hank might head for Californy. Most men goes the wrong way when they get scairt. Don't stop to take note of signs around 'em. You set there till I let off a blast to call the boys in.”

I hadn't noticed till then that Zeb was carrying a six-shooter. He pointed it at the sky and emptied it—two and two and two. Then he picked me up, hung me over his shoulders like a shawl, and slouched away down the canyon. He didn't seem to hurry, or pay much attention to where he stepped, but his loose-jointed stride would have kept me trotting. And he wound through boulders and brush without breaking a twig or rolling a stone.

9

Goin' to Make Out

W
HEN
Zeb brought me out of the side canyon, Mr. Batchlett and Sid were waiting. They both came running, and Mr. Batchlett called out, “Is he all right, Zeb? Where'd you find him?”

“Didn't find him no place!” Zeb called back. “Little varmint found me! He's got Hank wropped in cotton wool atop a ridge back yonder.”

By that time I was rested enough to have ridden alone, but Mr. Batchlett wouldn't let me. He took me back to the home ranch—wrapped in blankets like a papoose—and Mrs. Bendt had him put me to bed in the house. But all she'd let me have to eat was about half a cup of chicken soup.

I wasn't really sick from being out in the mountains, but I'd fallen down so many times I was scratched and black and blue all over, and was as weak as a brand new kitten. I don't think I'd been in bed five minutes before I was sound asleep. When I woke up, Hank was in another bed in the same room, and was really sick. Mrs. Bendt was sitting by his bed, trying to spoon medicine into his mouth. I could hear it gurgle in his throat as he groaned and mumbled. Then he flailed out one arm, and, shouted, “Go towards the sunrise!”

That first day Hank thought he was still up in the mountains, and that something was after him. Mrs. Bendt hardly left his bedside, but couldn't do much with him, because he'd yank away and strike out at her. It was Mr. Batchlett who finally got him quieted down and asleep, but at first I thought he was being pretty rough. He cuffed Hank, scolded him, and forced his mouth open while he spooned in some whiskey. But after Hank went to sleep Mr. Batchlett tucked the covers up around his shoulders, told Mrs. Bendt to keep bottles of hot water around him, and said, “Poor old maverick! Ought to had better sense than to crowd him. Ought to knew he'd try to bull his way out when he seen he was bested.”

Mr. Batchlett wasn't talking to me, but I didn't want Hank to get blamed too much, or fired for not having brought in a load of posts, so I said, “We had the wagon half-loaded when the team ran away, and I didn't have Hank bested. He'd cut a lot more trees than I had.”

Mr. Batchlett looked around at me, and said, “So I seen when I went up there. Traded axes with you too, didn't he? Lucky thing he didn't drop that tree right atop the team! Might as well try stoppin' a cyclone as old Hank when he's got the bit in his teeth.”

I hadn't said a word about our post-cutting, but Mr. Batchlett seemed to know the whole story, so I just said, “Yes, sir, I know it.” Then he told me I needed to get some more sleep and went out.

By that time I wasn't half as much interested in sleeping as eating. After more than two days without a bite, I felt as if I could eat a whole steer, but they wouldn't give me anything but soup. As soon as Hank went to sleep, Jenny started being our nurse. She kept bringing bottles of hot water to lay around Hank, and once in a while she'd bring me a cup of chicken soup. But it wasn't until supper time that she let me have a cracker to go with it.

I liked Mrs. Bendt fine, and she was real good to me, but I liked Jenny a lot better for a nurse. Every time Mrs. Bendt came in she called me a poor little boy, and said it was a shame I'd had to go through any such a hardship, but Jenny never said a word about it. Each time she came in to see Hank she'd sit on my bed and talk a few minutes, or make some kind of joke. But she always talked about things that had happened at her school, or let me tell her things that had happened at home.

After supper all the men came in, but they tiptoed as if they'd been walking up a church aisle in the middle of a sermon. Then, after they'd whispered a few words, asking me how I felt, they looked at Hank and tiptoed out. I really didn't feel sick at all—just a little weak and awfully hungry—but I liked having them come in to see me, and maybe I acted a little bit sicker than I was.

During the night Hank went out of his head again, thought we were still lost, and kept mumbling for me to go toward the sunrise. Mr. Batchlett came in and stayed with him most of the night, and soon after daylight Sid brought the doctor from Castle Rock. He was a gruff old man, but I liked him. After he'd put his ear horn on Hank for about two minutes, he said, “Shock and exposure! Heart's as steady as an eight-day clock! He'll be all right, but he'll need care. Try to get some broth into him—a little whiskey wouldn't hurt. Keep him warm and out of drafts. He'd be better off in a room by himself.”

Then he came over and put his ear trumpet all over my chest and stomach. Mr. Batchlett was standing beside him, and said, “His mother's a widow woman in Littleton. Ain't it best I take him home to her?”

There were lots of reasons I didn't want Mr. Batchlett to take me home. In the first place, Mother would worry too much, and in the second place, I knew I couldn't find another job that would pay me a dollar a day. Besides that, I liked Batchlett's ranch and everybody on it, and I wanted to stay right there, so I said, “The only thing the matter with me is that I'm half starved to death.”

The doctor shook his head at Mr. Batchlett. “No need to take him home,” he said. “The boy's more than half right. These little skinny ones stand the gaff in pretty good shape, but he'd better be kept quiet a few days. Needs to gain his weight and strength back.”

“Well, if I could just have something to eat, I'd be all right now,” I said.

“Mmmm, hmmm, I wouldn't doubt it,” he told me, “but we're not going at it too fast.” Then he turned to Mrs. Bendt and said, “I'd move him out of here if I could. Wouldn't hurt to let him have a little solid food now; maybe an egg and a piece of toast. A little something light every couple of hours till supper time, then he'll be ready for meat and potatoes.”

“Hadn't I better take him back to town when he's up and around?” Mr. Batchlett asked.

“That's up to you, Batch,” the doctor told him. “Might be good for him to be out here, but I wouldn't let him overdo for a week or two. Isn't this the boy who rode your bay in the matched race I saw last summer?”

“That's him. Little Britches, they call him around town.”

“Mmmm, hmmm,” the doctor said slowly. “No . . . don't believe I'd take him back . . . can't get hurt any more around here than around a race track.” Then he put his things back in his bag and went out.

I think Kenny liked me to be sick, because Mrs. Bendt moved me into his room and let him sleep in the bunkhouse—and I think Sid liked it even better. Hank was pretty sick the first few days, but he slept quite a bit, and when he was sleeping Jenny came in to stay with me. There wasn't much for her to do, except to bring me an eggnog once in a while, but she'd sit on my bed and visit, sometimes for an hour or so.

After Hank and I got lost the men didn't cut any more posts, but were getting stock ready for trading trips. That kept them around the corrals most of the time, and Sid came in to see me five or six times a day. He always managed to come when Jenny was visiting me, and I think he came to see her a lot more than to see me. If he did, he might just as well have stayed at the corrals. The minute he'd stick his head in the doorway, he'd sing out, “Hello there, Jenny Wren! How's this little old pardner o' mine makin' out?”

The first couple of times, she said, “Oh, he's getting along fine.” Then she shook up my pillows, straightened out the bed clothes, and said she'd better go see if Hank needed anything. I think Jenny had to count Hank's pulse every little while and write it down for the doctor, but she only counted mine when Sid came in. He always told her how pretty she looked, and asked if she'd hold his hand like that if he'd get lost in the mountains. But she'd just say, “Can't you keep quiet a minute? How can I count a pulse with you chattering like a magpie?” About the third time he asked her, she snapped, “Well, run right along and get lost if you want to. I'll have Watt look for you when he goes up after the Christmas tree.” Then, when all the men came in after supper, she talked to everybody else, but acted as if she didn't know Sid was there.

Mrs. Bendt didn't let Kenny come in to see me, but Hazel came the second afternoon. She didn't tell me she was sorry we got lost, and she didn't ask me how I was feeling. But she didn't make fun of me for falling off Kenny's donkey, either. When Jenny told me Hazel was coming in, I lay back on the pillow and tried to act a little bit sick, but she just looked at me and said, “Hmmmf! I was sicker'n that when I had chicken pox! You don't look sick enough to me that Jenny has to stay in here with you half the time!”

“Who said I was?” I asked her. “Do you think I'm staying in this bed because I want to?”

“Then why are you tryin' to look so puny? If I was a boy I wouldn't stay in no old bed when I didn't have to!”

If I'd had on anything more than my underdrawers, I'd have jumped right out to show her I wasn't staying there because I wanted to. But, of course, I couldn't do that, so I said, “You bring me my clothes, and I'll show you how long I'll stay in this bed!”

“Betcha my life you wouldn't either!” she sniffed. “Maw washed 'em, and they're hangin' out on the line, drippin' wet. By the looks of 'em you must'a been crawlin' 'round in a hog wallow!”

I think her mother heard her being snippy, because she called, “That's enough, Hazel! You come and tend the baby while I get supper ready!”

All the time Hazel had been talking to me, she'd been holding a little grape basket filled with milkweed silk. Just before she left, she set it down on the bed beside me, and said, “You can have these! I don't want 'em no more!” After she'd gone, I took the silk out, real carefully, and there were seventeen birds' eggs hidden in it—every one different.

There was no reason why I couldn't have been up after two days of just eating and resting and sleeping, but Jenny wouldn't let me. And every time Sid came in she'd fuss around, counting my pulse and taking my temperature, as if I were really sick. After those first two days he didn't ask if she'd count his pulse, but he kept on calling her Jenny Wren, and watched—sort of calf-eyed—every move she made. Then, when I was all well, he asked if she didn't think I'd better stay in bed till the doctor came to see Hank again. She said she didn't think anything of the kind, but that's what she made me do.

Either girls and women are a lot alike, or Hazel was trying to copy Jenny. She came in to see me every day, but she was just as snippy with me as Jenny was with Sid. When I tried to thank her for the birds' eggs, she turned down the corners of her mouth, and said, “Hmfff, I didn't want 'em any more. I'm getting too big to be playin' with birds' eggs. Throw 'em away if you don't want 'em!”

I didn't really want the eggs, and didn't know what I'd do with them around the bunkhouse. Besides, I was older than Hazel anyhow. But I couldn't just throw them away after she'd given them to me. Sometimes I looked them over while Jenny wasn't there—they were the prettiest ones I'd ever seen—but I always put the basket under the bed before she came back. And when the doctor finally came and let me up, Hazel said she'd keep them in the house, just as a favor.

Mr. Batchlett was as fussy with me as Jenny had been. In a couple of days he and Sid were going for a trading trip into the mountains, and Zeb and Tom were going along the foothills south of Pueblo. More than a hundred cattle had to be gotten ready for the trips, and I wanted to help with the work, but Mr. Batchlett wouldn't let me. He'd only let me exercise Lady and Pinch an hour a day, and I couldn't go near Blueboy or get on Clay. But on the third morning he let me get up at sunrise, to help with starting the trading herds away.

I'd almost have given an arm to go on the trip with Mr. Batchlett, but I don't think Sid wanted to go at all. When Zeb was lashing his camp gear onto the pack saddle, he noticed that Tom had forgotten the coffee pot, and asked me to get it from the chuckhouse. Sid was coming out just as I got there, and looked as if his best friend had died.

“What's the matter?” I asked. “Is Hank worse this morning?”

“Worse!” he snapped. “Wisht I was that worse off! Wisht I knowed what I done to get that little Jenny Wren so daggoned down on me! Reckon she figures I'm the most no-account cowpoke this side the Divide.” Then he snatched up his grub sack and walked off fast toward the corrals.

When I came into the chuckhouse, Jenny was standing at one of the little windows by the fireplace, looking out toward the corrals. She stepped away from it quickly when I opened the door, and said, “Well, how's my patient this morning?”

“Fine,” I said, “but Tom forgot to take a coffee pot, and Zeb sent me to get one.”

“Didn't you just come across one that was boiling over?”

I shook my head, and must have looked dumb, because she laughed, and said, “A little pot with a red top?”

“No, ma'am,” I said, “all I saw was Sid and his grub sack, but he didn't drop any coffee pot.”

She laughed again, and said, “I thought I heard steam blowing off just before you came in. I must have been mistaken.”

“I guess so,” I told her, “because I didn't hear any. But I've got to hurry; Zeb's waiting for the coffee pot.”

Zeb and Tom got away from the home ranch first, and when Mr. Batchlett and Sid went I rode a few miles with them. They both seemed glum, and Sid didn't want to talk, but Mr. Batchlett had me ride beside him. “Reckon I let old Doc Gann talk me into a tangle,” he said. “I ought to took you home when you got up and about. Promised your maw I'd keep an eye on you, and I ain't done a very good job of it.”

“Well, you'd have had to be an eagle to keep an eye on me when Hank and I got lost,” I told him.

“Not if I'd went along on the post-hackin', and not if I'd kept Hank with Zeb and the others. And I ain't proud about goin' off and leaving you run loose for the next couple of weeks. You're too like to go raring into things you hadn't ought to and get your neck broke.”