Little Britches (9 page)

Mother didn't look up, but said, "Yes, dear."

"Well, Mother, would it be sinful to feed cows on Sunday?"

That time Mother did look up. "Why, of course it wouldn't be sinful; it would be cruel not to feed them on Sunday. What in the world makes you ask such a silly question?"

"Well… if it wouldn't be sinful to feed them on Sunday, it wouldn't be sinful to herd them on Sunday either, would it? I was just wondering if you were going to let Ralph herd the Corcorans' cows on Sundays."

Mother jabbed the needle down into the pad and looked up frowning. "Most certainly not!" she said. "Mr. Corcoran can feed his cows hay on Sunday. Now put that pad away and bring me the Bible. Ralph has to go to bed early and get his rest."

Father had been reading a farm magazine. When Grace started asking Mother about cooking on Sunday, he let it down enough so he could look over the top, but as soon as she said, "Most certainly not," he boosted it right up again. I couldn't see how his face looked, but he had wrinkles at the corners of his eyes just before he lifted it.

I GOT AWAY from home on Fanny a little after half-past six the next morning. Father must have sat up kind of late the night before, because he had made me a new sort of whip for the cows. It was the end of a broom handle about a foot long with a piece of harness rein fastened to one end and a rawhide loop to the other. The piece of rein leather was five or six feet long, with the end sliced into four narrow strips. It was a lot lighter than the blacksnake Fred had lent me. Father showed me how to put the rawhide loop around my arm and snap the stick so that I could hit things with the split end of the rein.

I didn't take any lunch that day. Before, Mother put me up sandwiches and cake, but I tied the package on my overall strap and lost it while I was chasing cows in the alfalfa. She said Grace would bring me a hot dinner at noon, and watch the cows while I ate it.

I was scared to death when I took the cows out into the road. I knew they would run for Fred Aultland's alfalfa as soon as we got past his house, and I was pretty sure I couldn't keep them out alone. That was before I knew much about Fanny. The Corcorans had one spotted brown and white cow that was skinny as an old hound dog. She was always way out in front of all the rest, and she could run like a horse. We were hardly past Aultland's driveway before she started running for the alfalfa, and I knew the others would follow her unless I could head her off. I was just thinking about going after her, and I guess maybe I leaned forward a little bit. Anyway, before I clucked to her, or kicked my heels, or anything, Fanny was after her on a dead run. She almost went right out from under me, she started so quick, but I grabbed hold of her mane and stayed on. We caught up to the spotted cow before she got halfway to the alfalfa. I planned to slow Fanny down beyond her and get turned around so I could drive her back with the others. Fanny hadn't planned it that way. When her head was a foot or two in front of the cow's, she and the cow both turned—all in a second. I was the only one that didn't. It all happened so fast that I never remembered hitting the ground. I scrambled to my feet, scared that Fanny would run for the barn at home. She didn't, but stood and let me get hold of her rein. The old cow was running back to the herd as fast as she had run away from it.

The ground was as flat as a table, and I was panicky for fear I couldn't get back on Fanny before the cows were all in the alfalfa. Then I remembered how Fred told me to climb on Ned's neck the day before, but first I had to get Fanny's head down. I ran over to the side of the road, yanked up a handful of grass, and held it out toward her nose. When she started to nibble, I dropped it in the road and threw myself on her neck as soon as she put her head down for it.

I took half a dozen more spills before we reached the pasture, but none of them hurt very much. Fanny knew all the tricks there were about making cows do what she wanted them to, and my biggest job was guessing which way she was going to turn, and when. And all the way there were fields of alfalfa or oats along one side of the road, so I could climb back on her neck when she put her head down to eat. Just before we turned into the pasture, I filled the front of my blouse with green oats. I knew I'd fall off some more, and I had to have a way of making Fanny put her head down.

Fanny was much easier to ride than Ned—even if she did spill me once in a while. The only time she ever took a trotting step was when she was slowing down to a walk after cantering. She could canter along as slow as old Ned trotted, or she could go like a streak of greased lightning. I found out that the farther I leaned over her neck, the faster she would go, and maybe I ran her fast lots of times when I didn't need to.

Grace brought my lunch at noon. It was "everything stew" in a lard pail, and biscuits and a cup cake. When she brought it, my cows had wandered nearly to the south end of the pasture, so there were a couple of hills between us and our house. Grace said Mother had told her to herd the cows while I ate, and she wanted me to bend over so she could use my back for a stepping-stone to get on Fanny. I tried to tell her she didn't know how to ride and would fall off, but she got kind of mean and made me do it. She knew a couple of things about my fighting at school and riding on the donkey that I didn't want her to talk about at home. She didn't really say she'd tell if I didn't help her get on Fanny, but she did remind me that she hadn't yet.

I told her about clamping her knees and watching Fanny's ears. I was getting so I could tell when she was going to turn and which way, because she would point her ears that way first. Just as I got the lid off the lard pail, my old spotted cow started toward Carl's oat field at a trot. I yelled to Grace to head her off, and Fanny acted as if she knew exactly what I had said. She went racing off after the old cow as fast as she could go. Grace was almost lying down on Fanny's neck, and her bottom slewed way over to one side. I knew she wasn't squeezing with her knees, and yelled to her. It was too late.

Fanny caught up to the cow, and Grace wasn't watching her ears. How she ever fell as she did, I'll never know. She was clinging to Fanny's neck with both arms and had dropped the reins— I had them tied together so they wouldn't fall if I let go of them. When Fanny turned so quick, it swung Grace out like a gate, and her feet came down between Fanny's forelegs, but she was still holding on with her arms. Fanny kept right on going until she had the old cow headed back, then she stopped and just stood still. By the time I got over there, Grace was standing on the ground—laughing and crying all at the same time.

Grace had heard Willie Aldivote tell me that if you fell off you had to get right back on and try again, else you'd be too scared to try later—and besides the horse would know you were scared and you could never ride that one again. I knew Grace was frightened silly to get back on Fanny, because she was shivering as if it were the middle of winter, but she wasn't going to let me be able to do something she couldn't, so she made me bend over again while she stood on my back. That time she didn't act so smart when I reminded her about pinching her knees and sitting up straight and watching Fanny's ears. I told her her hands weren't very stout yet, just as Fred Aultland told me, and showed her how to wrap the reins around them.

She must have been even more scared than I thought she was. I started her going away from where the cows were, so Fanny wouldn't see some old heifer she thought ought to be chased. As soon as she moved one foot, Grace pulled up hard on the reins and Fanny stopped. I clucked to her, but Grace pulled harder and yelled at me to keep quiet. Her pulling and yelling made Fanny cranky, and she began bobbing her head as she did when she didn't want to plow. Then she started going backward so fast she was almost sitting down. I yelled to Grace to let up on the reins, but I don't think she heard me. She grabbed hold of Fanny's mane with her right hand, so that rein went loose, but she kept on pulling with the other hand. Fanny began going around in a circle backwards, and I didn't know what to tell Grace to do. I guess we were both yelling as loud as we could, and the louder we hollered the faster Fanny went around.

Father always used to say the worst things you expected never happened to you. That's the way it worked with Fanny. I didn't dare tell Grace to slide off for fear Fanny would step on her, and I guess she didn't dare to either. When I thought she was a goner for sure, she fell forward and hugged Fanny around the neck again. As soon as both reins went slack Fanny stopped, and I ran in and got hold of her bridle. Grace was glad enough to call it a day's ride, and even bent over to let me climb on. It would have been easier to shin up Fanny's neck as I usually did, because Grace's back was wobbling around like a patted dog's. After I had the cows rounded up again, she herded them on foot while I finished my dinner. Then she took the bucket and started for home, but when she got to the top of the first hill she yelled back to me, "I can ride better than you can any old day. I can ride her going backwards and you can't." I didn't even bother to answer her.

I was afraid Grace might have ruined Fanny, but she didn't. I only fell off once all afternoon. But I thought I was sunk that once, because I had run all out of green oats to make her put her head down. I had planned to get some more while Grace was watching the cows at noon, but her getting in such a mess with Fanny made me forget all about it. I pulled a handful of dry buffalo grass and held it out to her, but she wouldn't even sniff it. When I had my mind all made up that I was going to have to lead her clear over to the oat patch, she hung her head down and I scrambled on. From that time on, Fanny and I had an understanding between us: if I fell off she'd put her head down for me to get on again, but if I got off by myself I had to get back on the best way I could.

I had a little trouble getting the cows home that night. Leaving the pasture, about half of them streaked off ahead toward Carl's oat field, while the rest dragged along behind. I went kiting after the leaders, and while I was getting them headed off, the others got past me by running up a little valley where I couldn't see them. Fanny and I got them out easy enough, but by that time the first bunch was back into the field a hundred yards or so farther down the road. We raced back and forth between the two herds till Fanny was in a lather, but as soon as I got one herd out, the other was in. Carl's house was beyond a hill, so he couldn't see me, but we were right in plain sight of Aultland's. I kept looking to see if Fred wasn't coming to help me again, but he didn't. At last I woke up to the fact that all I had to do to get them all out was to let one herd stay in till I could drive the other up to join them, then drive them all out together.

We got by Fred's alfalfa all right, and I was proud as I could be that I hadn't had to have any help all day long. I was still being proud of myself when Mrs. Corcoran came out with my quarter. She had a safety pin, too. Instead of giving me the quarter in my hand, she put it into the pocket of my blouse and safety-pinned it in. I left it there till I got clear out to the road, on my way to Aultland's for our milk. Then I took it out and put it in my overall pocket, so I could feel more like a man. But I stopped Fanny in the bottom of the last draw before we got to our house and pinned it back into my blouse pocket. I couldn't be sure Mrs. Corcoran and Mother hadn't cooked the idea up between them.

Fanny was pretty sweaty when I got home that night, and Father didn't like it. He told me I was wearing her down because I hadn't learned to make my head save her heels. I made the excuse about the two different bunches of cows getting into the oats and how hard I had to ride to get them out, but Father said, "Now wait a minute, Son. Every time you've been in sight all day, you've been playing cowboy, haven't you?"

Of course, I had been, but I didn't know how Father knew. I nodded my head. "Do you want to be a good cowboy like Hi," he asked, "or do you want to play at being a cowboy?"

"Like Hi," I said.

"Then spare your horse. A cowboy with a spent horse is in as bad a spot as if he didn't have any horse at all. Hi wouldn't waste his horse's strength any more than your mother would waste our money—that is, not unless he was showing him off for her benefit. Instead of racing around after every cow that strayed a few yards from the herd, he'd put them all at the back end of the pasture where he could see them from the top of a hill. Then he'd sit down and let his horse graze until some of his cows had wandered far enough away that they might get into the oats. When he did have to go after them, he wouldn't race as you do. He'd go at a nice easy lope till he was past the strays, then bring them back at a slow walk so as to keep them calm and quiet. Always remember, Son, the best boss is the one who bosses the least. Whether it's cattle, or horses, or men; the least government is the best government."

The next day went pretty fine for me. I only tumbled off Fanny once, and I wouldn't have had to that time if I'd grabbed hold of her mane. Once, the day before, I had got off balance and knew I was going to fall, so I let go of the lines and reached my hands out to catch myself on the ground. I came down smack on my face and nearly broke my arms. This time, we were right in the middle of a sandy spot at the bottom of a little valley. I had been studying all morning about the way Hi fell out of his saddle on purpose and somersaulted onto his feet, so I thought I'd try it. As I went off, I ducked my head and bucked up my hind end. It worked, but it worked too well. I went too far over in the air and came down on the seat of my pants with an awful thud. The sand wasn't half so soft as it looked, but at least I'd learned part of the trick of taking a fall.

That morning I herded the cows the way Father had told me Hi would do it. They seemed to know I had learned the trick, and I only had to go after them two or three times. The rest of the morning I kept right on top of a hill where Father could see me from our bean field. But when I saw Grace coming with my dinner I moved down into the little valley with the sandy spot.