Horse Tradin' (5 page)

I socialized around and drank a coke and visited and listened to some of the nice things people had to say. I was polite, but I had kind of begun to tell about a few of the wonders of Texas. They found this all very interesting and were very attentive when I started to tell something and, of course, a man from Texas in Mississippi would appreciate a good listener. I kind of got my visit out and paid for all the drinks in the house, which I thought was awful cheap for dues, and stepped out of the front door. Coming down the street I saw Colonel Bob driving a beautiful black horse with shiny black leather harness on him. This horse had his head reined up high and was hooked to a beautiful red-wheeled gig. He was stepping at a smooth, nice rate of speed that showed he was a real harness horse with a lot of breeding and a lot of speed.

Colonel Bob looked neither to the right nor to the left. He drove right on through town and toward his house.

The druggist saw me watching. He stepped out of the door and said: “Colonel Bob has a farm on the other side of town. He drives out occasionally and looks things over, but he tries to get back to the house pretty early in the morning.”

I said: “He's driving a beautiful horse.”

“Yes, but we worry about Colonel Bob driving the Rebel Commander. You know he has been raced and is so spirited. We just hope the horse doesn't hurt him. The whole town is fond of Colonel Bob.”

I told him I could readily understand that; I was fond of Colonel Bob and I'd known him just two days.

The druggist laughed a nice little chuckle and said: “Mister Green, the town's getting fond of you, too. We hope you make your visit a long stay.”

I thanked him and went on off to the depot to check up on when my mules would get in. The depot agent said that if they were shipped when I thought they were, they ought to get to Dixon the next afternoon about four o'clock. Well, it seemed to me that would be a nice time of day to get in a load of mules. You could unload them and get them to the barn, feed and water and look them over before dark.

I spent the rest of the day socializing around the town. After supper that night I sat around in the hotel lobby and listened to the radio and listened to the people tell me about the country. They talked about the cotton crop and how long the staple was—what a good fall it was going to be for everybody.

Next morning I visited around town again and made coke-time at the drugstore, dropped by the bank and visited with Tom for a minute, went over by the post office and started back down to the mule barn; then I decided all of a sudden it would be nice to go by and get Colonel Bob and take him to see how the barn looked after his men had gotten through with it. I turned and drove up in front of Colonel Bob's house, but he wasn't in sight. I stepped
out of the car and went up to the front door and knocked. One of the house servants came to the door and told me the Colonel was out at the barn, she thought, seeing about Rebel Commander.

Well, I had been wanting to get a firsthand look at this Rebel Commander; so I went around the side of the house, through the garden, and out to the barn. Sure enough, Colonel Bob was standing in the hallway. Old William was currying and brushing Rebel Commander. I cleared up my throat and whistled a little bit so he would know I was coming, and he turned around and propped himself on his walking cane and said: “Why, Ben, my boy, it's a pleasah to see you this mawnin'. I want you to look at the Rebel Commandah.”

I walked around this good black horse. He was about fifteen-one hands high and would weigh eleven hundred. His legs were clean and sound, his feet were good, and he had the top line and shape of a horse that could trot. The muscle development on his forelegs and the stifles of his hind legs plainly indicated he was a horse of terrific speed.

As I observed all this I said to Colonel Bob: “He's truly a fine animal and a fine specimen of the Standard blood horse.”

“I'm glad you appreciate good hossflesh, Ben. The Rebel Commandah is a direct descendant of the great horse Pilot Medium on his sire's side. On his dam's side he runs into Peter the Great.”

I knew both bloodlines and commented on what good breeding he carried. He had a beautiful patent leather bridle on him with black patent leather blinds on it. They were drawn up tight, and the reflected light made his
eyes just sparkle. He was truly a beautiful horse.

Colonel Bob and I started walking back up toward the house, and I told him why I had come by. He said: “Ben, that is very thoughtful of you, but I have had my morning's outing. I hear youah mules will be in heah this afternoon. Let me come by and see them in the mawnin'.”

I said: “That's fine, Colonel Bob. I'll come after you.”

“That's a lot of trouble to you, my boy.”

“It's no trouble. It's a pleasure, and I'll be after you in the morning.”

I was leaving the front steps and started toward the yard gate. As I glanced up, one of the most beautiful young ladies you ever saw was coming through that yard gate. She was blonde, as small and petite and cute as they come, and she traveled with more style than the Rebel Commander would ever have. She had long, wavy, naturally honey-colored hair, beautiful big blue eyes, and a smile that was very contagious. She glanced up at me and said: “Good morning, sir.”

Colonel Bob turned around on the porch. “Mistah Green, that's my granddaughtah, Baby Belle.”

I grabbed my hat and told Baby Belle what a pleasure it was to meet her—that I had met her mother, I was very much impressed with her grandfather, I had met her Uncle Tom—and we had quite a little talk. The old man watched us a minute—you could see the half-smile that came over the corners of his mouth—and he turned and walked on back toward the back of the porch. Then Baby Belle said she was delighted to have met me and for me to come back to see them again.

I thanked her and left, but for the next couple of
hours I thought more about the way Baby Belle looked than I thought about how my mules were going to look when they got here.

That afternoon when the train came in, I unloaded two carloads of good Texas mules: twenty-four to the car, forty-eight head in all. My men led them and drove them on foot down to the barn where we divided them into pens, put some of them in stalls, and got them separated where they wouldn't be fighting and bothering each other. I got plenty of feed and water for them, and had them pretty well located by late afternoon when a number of townspeople dropped by to see them. Nobody said anything that wasn't complimentary, and justly so because they were good, straight, sound young mules with plenty of size and plenty of flesh. They were the right kind to do a good job in that heavy land along the Mississippi Delta.

By suppertime I was satisfied my mules were in good shape and they weren't bothering me much—but Baby Belle was. I couldn't get that doll off my mind—which wasn't exactly normal for me. I had always attended to horses and mules and business a heap better than I had tended to social affairs. The general run of fillies didn't upset me too much when they trotted by, but there weren't very many of them moved like this one—and didn't any of them that I'd seen lately have the style that she had. She moved about as nice as anything I'd seen since I sold my last race horse. She had a sweet, Southern-drawl kind of voice, a bright flashing blue eye, and smooth peaches-and-cream complexion. She was a Southern belle, if there were any left on this earth. Just from what I could
see, she was away outgrown that term “Baby.” A belle—but she wasn't a baby belle.

I ate supper at the hotel like I had been doing, but as soon as I finished eating I didn't loaf around the lobby to see what kind of smart talk the old people were going to carry on. I stepped out on the gallery, looked around a few minutes, and walked on down to the drugstore. I didn't get in my car. I just thought I would amble around afoot a little bit and take in some fresh air. The air had begun to have that fallish feeling after dark—a cotton-picking time of year smell to it—and it was a very pleasant time of day.

I walked in the drugstore. Nobody was there but the druggist and some man sitting at the back reading a magazine. The druggist and I got to talking a little bit, and he said that he'd heard I had some nice mules and folks felt like I was going to do well with them. I thanked him and told him I believed I would too, but I wouldn't be ready to show them for a day or two—until I got some of the rough knocked off them and until they filled up and got over looking chowsed and drawn from shipping.

I moved over to the fountain and asked him to draw me a big coke. I was just sitting there, wondering how to pass off the time of night, when I glanced up in the mirror and saw Baby Belle bounce in through the door with another beautiful young girl. These kids were three or four years younger than I was, but they hadn't noticed it and I wasn't going to bring it up. After all, they were grown girls and I was a grown boy, and they were far the most interesting people I had seen around. Mule business could get kind of dull if that's all you had to do. So
I stepped up real quick off my stool, turned and took my hat off, and spoke to the ladies. Baby Belle introduced me to her friend Charlotte. Charlotte was a real nice young girl. She didn't have near the style that Baby Belle did, but she was good company. Of course I asked them to join me in a drink, and we moved over to one of those little tables where the seats swung out from under the glass-case tabletop.

We carried on a lot of light conversation. Baby Belle told Charlotte I was the mule man from Texas that was using her granddaddy Bob's barn, and so on. I asked them what they were doing out in the night air, and they said they had started to the picture show. I didn't waste any time telling them I hadn't known there was one in town and that I liked to see a picture show. I wondered if I could come along. You could tell they were kind of sparring for that, and we didn't have much argument. I got up and paid for the drinks and we all went to the picture show.

After it was over and I was going to walk the girls back home I said: “Why don't we go by the hotel and get my automobile?”

Baby Belle answered: “I'm just dying to ride in that car, but I dasn't to tonight.”

“Dasn't to—where did you get that?”

“That is good Southern English, I'll have you to know!”

“Well,” I said, “then why dasn't you to?”

“I haven't asked Mamma Belle.”

I said: “I know how we can fix that. It's kind of early yet—let's go get the car and we'll go down and get Mamma Belle and we'll all go riding.”

That turned on a good note. She said: “That just might work.”

We drove up to the house, and she called her mother to come out to the car. I said: “Don't be hollering at your mother. Let's go up to the gallery.” So I got out and opened the door for her like a gentleman.

Sure enough, when we got up to the porch Mamma Belle was standing in the front door listening to the commotion. I pled guilty and told her it wasn't Baby Belle's fault that she had ridden in the car without asking. I told Mamma Belle we had just come by to get her, and that seemed to please her. So Mamma Belle and Baby Belle and Charlotte and I, we all drove around a while and made light conversation and told some cute little things. Mamma Belle entered into everything, but finally she suggested maybe it was about time we had better go home.

We took Charlotte home, and then we drove up to Daddy Bob's house where I said my good-byes. I thought I'd had a pretty good day. I'd got my mules unloaded, put in the barn, and fed and watered. I'd got to take Baby Belle to the picture show, and Mamma Belle when I left them that night had said: “Mistah Green, you feel free to come callin' any time.”

It looked to me like I was getting off to an awful good start in the town of Dixon, Mississippi.

I was down at the barn by daylight the next morning. My helpers were already there, and we started brushing and currying and cleaning off mules. Later I got in my car and went after Colonel Bob. The old gentleman had just finished his breakfast. As I stepped on the porch he was coming to the door, and he said: “Ben, my boy, I heah you have some good mules.”

I said: “Colonel Bob, I don't think anybody could tell quite as much about that as you could. I would value your opinion. Will you go down with me to the barn and look at my mules? Of course, I'll bring you back.”

“Oh, that will be fine, Ben.” And he reached over on the hatrack at the side of the door, got his old black Southern hat, and pulled it down over his eyes. He reached over again and got his walking cane and started out to the car with me.

Just as I opened the car door for Colonel Bob to step in, Baby Belle bounced up from somewhere. She came dashing out of the yard, ran between Colonel Bob and me, and sat down in the car seat. She flopped those long golden curls and rolled her blue eyes at her grandfather and said: “Daddy Bob”—the way she said it, it fairly jingled—“Daddy Bob, I want to go, too.”

You could see that it delighted the old man, but he said: “Baby Belle, honey, you are a nuisance I seem to enjoy. Come on, we'll try to …” and he looked at me. “Young man, I'll try to not let my granddaughtah get in the way of the mules or cause you too much trouble.”

“Colonel Bob,” I said, “we won't bother about her.” Of course I caught his eye off and gave her a short wink after I said it.

We got to the barn and Colonel Bob got out and Baby Belle bounced out over the steering wheel on my side, and we started down the hall of the barn. I showed the Colonel several matched pairs that I had stalled off to themselves. He found another pair, and still another, that he wanted to see. He called Jake, and he called Munroe, and had them bring out the mules so he could walk around them. You could tell the old man just reveled in having
that barn full of mules and hollering at Jake and hollering at Munroe. He was living a lot of his horse and mule business over again at my expense. But it wasn't an expense, really, it was my pleasure.