Horse Tradin' (15 page)

Well, I listened to all this, but I didn't believe a whole batch of it. I picked up a bucket and got a little cool water and washed my horse's back off while he began to eat his oats. Mr. Wise continued to entertain me with the finer points of horsemanship: the proper thing to have done was to have washed the whole horse off and then to have blanketed him; and, of course, never curry a wet horse but wait until he's dried, then curry him and brush him. Well, he didn't know how little of that was soaking in on me, but it looked like it was giving him a lot of relief to get it off his chest, and I figured somebody ought to listen to him once in a while. It wasn't bothering me, so I didn't talk back to him, I just let him talk on. I finished
with my horse and Mr. Wise stepped out of the doorway of the stall, and I came out and closed the stall door and hung my bridle on the door. He had a nice, big, long barn with a brick floor in the hallway and lots of fancy tack rigging hanging up and down the sides of the wall. Of course, I didn't see any lariat ropes or hackamores or halters or tiedowns or any walking W's, things that would help a cowboy handle a rough bronc. Everything I saw there was for a horse that already had the rough took off him.

As we neared the back of the barn, I saw a great big stall, about twice as big as the other stalls, and a beautiful dapple-gray mare standing at the hay rack just sort of nibbling at some hay that she didn't want. She put her ears forward and looked at us like she might have some consideration for the human race, but not much. I mentioned that she sure was a pretty mare, and that was all it took to tap Mr. Wise off to tell me why that was a pretty mare. He went into a long rigmarole about her many illustrious ancestors, and called off names—Denmark, Rex Peavine, Stonewall, and a lot of others that sounded like he was describing people instead of horses. (I had owned a Denmard horse who was the grandmother of Beauty, the best horse I ever rode, and that had some Rex Peavine blood, but I didn't tell him I knew what he was talking about.) These were all American saddle blood, and this was an American saddle-bred mare that had been shipped out of Kentucky by a very elegant horsewoman. I didn't know what his “elegant” meant, but I could tell by the way he said it that this sure must have been quite a horsewoman he was talking about. He said that while she was in Mineral Wells she had ridden this mare around the streets
some, but mostly in the small pasture behind the barn. She'd come down in the morning and ride the mare a few rounds and then go back to the hotel. He told all about how her people in Kentucky had fine horses and had bred this mare, and she had brought her to Mineral Wells with her while she enjoyed the vacation wonders of the Crazy Hotel.

I could tell at a glance that this mare hadn't been ridden in a long time, so I asked: “Well, where's the lady now? Evidently, the mare ain't been rode in some time.”

He said the lady had gone back to Kentucky or to some other vacation resort, and that she'd left the mare there, and it would be a long time before spring and before there'd be anybody to ride the mare, and that the mare was for sale. Well, she was a beautiful mare with clean, straight legs and an intelligent eye and a handsome set of features, only I didn't know what business I had with her. She was worth a lot of money to somebody; but it didn't look to me like she could catch a yearling or drag a bronc horse or snub a wild mule for a man to harness, and I couldn't think right off why I'd have any need for her.

Mr. Wise thought this was a little bit funny, and he had a sort of sarcastic smile on his face when he said: “If you should ever have the privilege of riding a mare that moves down the road as this mare does, your life wouldn't be complete until you owned her.”

He went on to tell me that she could move at ten or twelve miles an hour in a nice swinging fox trot or some other saddle gait and that an egg wouldn't fall off her back, she'd be moving with such rhythm in motion and such smoothness. You'd hardly know that you were gliding
across the country at such a terrific rate of speed. All of this sounded very interesting to me, but still it never dawned on me that I had any business with the mare.

But I looked her over, just the same. She was a beautiful mare. She had a nice deep body, a beautiful topline, a good-looking hindquarter for a mare of such breeding, and good legs. She couldn't have been more than about an eight-year-old, judging from the dapples and the amount of dark hair that was still in her coat. (You know, gray horses are born black with a few little gray hairs in them, and as they get older they get lighter until when they are old they are white. When they are from six to ten years old, if they are properly cared for and brushed and curried, they have just that beautiful gray dappling around over their bodies; and their legs, from their knees and hocks to the ground, are usually very dark. They'll have black manes and tails and a little tip of black on their ears. To me, this is about the most beautiful color you can have on a horse.) Of course, I know color doesn't make much difference with horses; but it just happens I've had some good gray horses, and so I'm partial to the color. But I still didn't entertain the idea that I was able to afford to own such a mare. So I told Mr. Wise that I was going uptown to loaf and visit around, and I'd be back in the morning. He said he'd have his man give my horse plenty of hay for the night.

I reached down and untied my little roll that I had tied on the back of my saddle. It was the proper way for a man to travel, to have a little roll like that, maybe with some extra clothes or some extra money, maybe a six-shooter or something he thought he might need on a trip
across the country on horseback. I had another shirt in mine, and maybe something else.

I found a rooming house that wasn't too close to the Crazy Hotel. They weren't offering Crazy Baths, but they would sell you some Crazy Mineral Water, if you'd buy it. That didn't appeal to me; I'd always thought that spring water and windmill water and even good clean pool water wasn't bad, and I couldn't see the point of drinking that Crazy Water. I was afraid it might make me act like some of those people I'd seen who'd been on it up at the Crazy Hotel.

This rooming house was good enough. My room had a good bed and a great big bowl and a great big pitcher of plain, common water. The pitcher might have been cracked and the bowl was chipped, but as far as I was concerned it was luxury, and I knew I could make the night in a stall that was rigged like this one. I rinsed my face and hands and took my britches legs out of my boot tops and let them down over my boots, and got a jacket that was sort of new out of my bedroll and went out on the street and walked up to the Crazy Hotel. I stood around against one of the big pillars in the lobby and watched people play games and visit and talk. I'd see men kind of squire around and stand on one foot and hold their hat just right in the curve of their elbow. And some of the fancy ladies would come through the hotel with high-heeled shoes on, and they'd kinda trill one of those heels across that tile floor. Of course nearly everybody would look up, especially the menfolks. There were some old white-headed men and ladies sitting around visiting. The men were carrying walking canes, and the ladies had some eyeglasses hung out on the end of a stick, and you'd see the old men
kind of straighten their mustaches and rub their bald heads and think of something nice to say. Every now and then somebody would glance up and see me, and you'd see them take a second glance; they wondered if I was one of the guests of the hotel or something wild that had just struck the town, and I hoped they decided the latter because I sure didn't want to be one of their crowd.

I moseyed into the dining room, which was a great big place with an awful lot of trimming in it just to serve chuck. I ordered up a batch of stuff and ate it, and it was good. There must have been a chuckwagon cook in the kitchen.

When I walked out onto the street it was better than dark and getting pretty chilly. I wandered around a little while and watched the bright lights, then went back to the rooming house and went to bed. I got kinda wallowed out into that bed and thought it was time to get unconscious. That was never any problem with me, but that night I rolled and tumbled a little bit. I could see that long, wavy, black mane on that gray mare, and every now and then it'd kind of pass through my mind how she looked standing in that stall and how clean her legs were from scars or blemishes, and that dappling color kind of fascinated me. I finally got around to wondering how much a mare like that was worth; it just dawned on me that I'd never asked Mr. Wise how much she would cost. I got to wondering if, in the dead of winter when there was no riding season, maybe she was in a range I could afford. The more I thought about it, the less I could sleep.

I got up and put my boots on and dressed and walked down to the livery stable. There were a lot of lights up and down the hall of the barn, and it wasn't locked up. I
walked down the hall, and the mare was standing with her head over the stall door. I rubbed her and talked to her and ran my fingers through her foretop and noticed how soft her ears were and how nice and big her eyes were and that they were out on the side of her head where they belonged. I sure got to wondering how it would feel to ride a horse like Mr. Wise said she was. The more I thought about it, the more I got to wondering about her price. I'd had a pretty good year and I was carrying a lot of trading money. So I thought, well, I'll go back to the rooming house and go back to bed, but I'll look into this gray mare business a little more in the morning.

Of course, I woke up awful early. I had been raised to believe it was a disgrace to be found in bed after daylight. I unrolled my little roll and took out what clothes and money I wanted, and rolled it back up and tied the strings around it good and tight. Country-like, I had paid for my room when I came in the night before. Nobody was at the desk, so I just took my little bedroll and went on back to the barn. About halfway down there, I stopped in a café that had opened up and ate a batch of stuff and waited for daylight before going to the barn.

I glanced in my old horse's stall and saw he was all right. He was living just about as fancy as he ever thought of; he was lying down in the stall with deep straw in it and had all the hay and grain he wanted. I guess he was wondering if some horses lived like that all the time. The sun was coming up and began to warm things, and the horses began to nicker, and sure enough, here came Mr. Wise with his man to feed and tend the horses and open up for the day's business. I saw them coming, so I got in the stall with my horse. I'd picked up a brush in the hall of the
barn, and when they got there I was rubbing his fetlocks and his knees and ankles a little bit, and letting on like I'd listened pretty close to what Mr. Wise said the night before.

He came in and spoke and stood around a minute and said: “Well, I see you're trying to give your horse a little better attention. You know, with the proper schooling, somebody to show you and tell you, you could make a horseman.” Then he told his man: “Bring out Easter Lily and clean her off before you do anything else.”

Well, I didn't know who he meant, but I looked up and saw his man bring out the gray mare. That was Easter Lily! He brushed and curried and combed her mane and combed her tail, and I stepped outside my horse's stall and stood and watched. The more I looked at her, the nicer she got.

Mr. Wise said: “Ben, if you should ever own a mare like Easter Lily, you will know what it means to ride and own the finest in horseflesh.”

Well, ordinarily I'd have thought this was a sales talk, but he'd made such an impression that he wasn't in the business to buy and sell horses, that it was just a love, a part of his life, that I couldn't believe he was getting ready to sell me that Easter Lily mare. I finally stumbled around and said: “I never saw too many horses in the class of this mare, and I ain't too well posted on what the going price would be for a mare of this kind. Just for my edification, what is this mare worth?”

“Oh,” he said, “she could be worth several thousand dollars, if the right person came along. It will probably be summer before somebody comes along that will truly appreciate her and pay what she's worth. I suppose I'll keep
her through the winter, take care of her, and have her ready for some real horse-person to enjoy the coming riding season.”

That still hadn't told me what he wanted for the mare, so I turned around and picked up my saddle and kind of shook it around and knocked some of the straw and dirt off the sheepskin lining, like I was getting ready to get my horse out of his stall.

He said: “Are you riding out so early today and leaving me?” like it was hurting him to see me go.

“Yes, sir,” I said, “I guess I spent about as much time here as I ought to. I think I'll drift down on the Brazos River and see if I can buy some horses or mules.”

He looked real surprised and said: “Why, I didn't know you bought horses!”

I said: “Well, I do, such as they are. I don't buy any like the Easter Lily, but I buy some good horses; sell them to people that's got a use for them.” I thought I'd just cut him a little bit, so I said: “I don't generally have any trouble getting people to price the kind of horses I'm interested in buying.”

He gasped his breath a little and said: “Oh, Ben, I didn't realize you were asking the price of the Easter Lily mare. I would dearly love to see you with a mare of this quality; she'd be something you could ride and enjoy and brag about, and cherish and remember all your life.”

I said: “Well, that may not be sales talk, but it sounds pretty much like it. You still ain't give me no price on this mare.”

He said: “Well, you wouldn't think she is worth what she is, and I had no idea that you'd buy her. You really wouldn't have any need for a mare of this quality; however,
just for your information, a mare like this is worth about five hundred dollars in the winter and about twice that much in the summer, when there are buyers around.”