The Land (15 page)

Robert shook his head. “You can't ride him, Paul. I've seen that grey. He could throw you.”

“If he does, he does. Like I said, it's my business.”

“I won't let you do it.”

“How're you going to stop me?”

He looked right at me and said, “I'll tell our daddy.”

I looked right at him too. “I'd expect you to do that.”

“I mean it,” said Robert, unapologetic. “I mean it, Paul. I'll find our daddy, and I'll get him to stop you.”

I started to turn away. He grabbed at my arm. I stopped and looked hard at him, and I said, “I remember the last time you did that.” Those were my last words to Robert. My eyes said everything else. Robert flushed, then let me go, and I went back to brushing the gelding. Mitchell looked my way without uttering a word. Robert turned and left the stables.

 

When Mitchell and I finished all the work we were supposed to do for my daddy, we didn't go immediately to Ray Sutcliffe's grey. I figured I needed to know something about that horse before I even saw him, so we headed out to find Ray Sutcliffe's rider, the one that was laid up sick. The man was known by the name of Eddie Hawks, and we found him in a livery on a dirty pile of hay where a number of the colored riders were bunked. He looked to be in a bad way, and was suspicious of talking to me at first, but finally he did. “You fool 'nough t' try and ride that horse?” he asked from where he lay.

“I suppose I am,” I said.

“You tryin' t' take my job?”

“Just for this ride. You can't ride, I can. Got no interest in the job after this day.”

“So what you come t' me 'bout?”

“I want to know how to ride that grey.”

“Thought you done said you knowed that already.”

“Maybe I should've said I wanted to know how to ride him and win.”

Eddie Hawks breathed in short spurts. “Maybe I told you that, I be givin' up my job.”

“Told you I don't want it. You can trust me on that.” Eddie Hawks closed his eyes like he was thinking on whether to help me or not, on whether to trust me or not. “Thing is,” I went on while he was deciding, “your boss came to me. Seems to me he needs this race won, and seems to me if you tell me how to win it, once you're better, you'll have a job to go back to.”

Eddie Hawks slowly opened his eyes. “How old you, boy?” “Fourteen.”

“Umph,” he grunted. “Say you know horses, huh?”

“Some.”

“Well, you don't know none like that ole grey. Ole grey, he got mule in him.”

“How's that?”

“Don't know, but he gots it, way he act. He got his own way t' thinkin'. Now, you let that ole horse get out front first, he likely t' rare back and let every other hoss runnin' get 'head-a him. You keep him back some, other horses 'head-a him, and he gets his dander up 'cause he can't stand that! He gotta pass each one. That ole grey, he'll race 'til his heart burst t' git 'head-a somethin' in front-a him already. After that, once he out front, he don't care if they go on and pass or not, 'cause he done figured he done proved hisself. He done passed 'em, done proved hisself already, and he ain't got nothin' else t' prove. You can hold him when he need holdin' and know when t' let him loose when the time come, then you done got that race won.”

I thanked Eddie Hawks for his help. Then Mitchell and I went to check out the grey. He was a tremendous-looking horse. “So, you really gonna ride this monster?” asked Mitchell as we took our first closeup look at the stallion.

“I s'pose so. I want that money.”

“You know, you could be lookin' for a broken neck.”

“You sounding like my daddy now.”

Mitchell almost smiled. “Well, don't want that. Thing is, though, Paul, this here's a dangerous-looking animal.”

“Dangerous enough for me to reconsider?”

“Well, that's up to you. You the one hafta ride him.”

I walked up to the grey and looked into his eyes. “I'll ride him,” I decided right then for a fact. “I've got only my neck to lose and four times a rider's pay to gain.”

“And a whippin' from your daddy, don't forget that.”

I looked at Mitchell. “I win this race and get my money, then I'll be on my own. My daddy won't be whipping me again.”

Ray Sutcliffe joined us. “You, boy,” he said to me, “you ready to give my grey a try?”

“I'm ready to start getting to know him,” I answered. “Not ready to mount him yet.”

“Now, what you mean by that? Get on that horse.”

“No, sir, I can't. You need to give me some time with him first.”

“Well, I don't have none of that.”

“It's important. Now, I said I'd ride your horse, Mister Sutcliffe, but I've got my own way of dealing with horses. You want me to win, then I've got to deal with this grey my way.”

Ray Sutcliffe looked me up and down, and I knew he hadn't liked what he'd heard from me. But he gave me the leeway. “You just make sure you win. We've got less than two hours before that start.”

He left me then with the grey, and I slipped a rope around the grey's neck, took a saddle, a bridle, and a brush, and led the horse off to a shady spot in a nearby pasture, away from the commotion of the stables, away from all the people milling about, away even from Mitchell. I needed to be alone with the stallion.

“You know,” I said quietly when we were to ourselves, “maybe this race isn't important to you, but it is to me, so I figure we best get to knowing each other quick. I'm Paul Logan, out of Georgia, and you need to know I've ridden a lot of fine horses, maybe some not as fine as you, maybe some better. Now, I know we don't know each other, but I understand from your rider, Eddie Hawks, you've got a real mind of your own. You like to win if you do it in your own way. Well, that's all right with me, long as you let me ride you and help you out a little bit. See, I figure to prove my daddy and Robert wrong. I figure to ride you, even though I don't know you, and Ole Grey, I figure to win.”

I talked on that way to the grey for some while, and after a bit I began to stroke him as I talked. I pulled some apple wedges from my pocket and gave them to him, kept on with my talk, then began to brush him down. When I put the brush aside, I leaned my head against his forehead and I told that ole grey: “I'm going to mount you soon, you hear? Let's see how we work together.”

At first I just walked the grey, letting him get used to me. Then I bridled and saddled him and finally I mounted. I let him get accustomed to my weight on his back as he walked around the pasture, then knowing our time was short, I put him through paces, first a trot followed by a gallop before slowing him down and taking him back to the cool of a shade tree. I gave him more apple wedges. I let him drink from a stream nearby before I brushed him again. All the while I never stopped talking to him. “Well, ole thing, I don't know if we're ready or not, but I see that Ray Sutcliffe over there, waving his arms to come on, so I guess we better go. One thing I want you to remember, though. Like I said, I figure to win this race.” With that I led the grey over to Ray Sutcliffe and then headed for the starting line.

Now, these few minutes I'd put in with the grey weren't enough for me to truly know him or for him to know me, but it was all the time I had. It wasn't much, and I recognized that and I was nervous, not knowing how this old horse-mule was going to go down the stretch with me on his back. Still, I had done what I could, and I was as ready as I could be in this short time. I figured to prove my daddy wrong and myself a man. All I hoped now, besides winning this race, was that Robert hadn't been successful in finding our daddy. Last thing I needed was for my daddy to show up.

 

The race course was a country road stretching from the railroad spur line on the east to a stagecoach stop on the west and back again. I was familiar with it. It was the same course I had run the first day on my daddy's mare and had ridden a number of times since, exercising my daddy's horses. The race was to begin and end at the spur line. Two trains were on the spur, and goods were stacked high for loading on the platform. Throngs of people lined the road. Six horses were entered in the race. I was already mounted on the grey when I reached the spur. Now I waited.

When the gun was fired, the grey and I made a slow start. Three other horses were in front of us. According to what Eddie Hawks had said, that was good. The grey's start was all its own, but now as we shot out on the course, I held him back. Eddie Hawks had told me the grey needed a challenge and not to come up too quick on the lead. Now, this was hard for me. I was used to riding horses that came out not only wanting to win, but to lead. I was used to the thoroughbreds that made that run from the start, and all I had to do was just let them rip, right from the gun. After that, all I did was steer the course and hold on. But I respected what Eddie Hawks had said. He knew this grey a whole lot better than I did.

While riding any course I always had markers in my mind to help me keep pace. The first marker was an old shack setting off the side of the road. It was about there that one of the horses trailing us began to pass, and I was surprised to find the grey not willing for that to happen. I could feel the strength of the grey pulling from my grasp, trying to keep that horse at bay, from passing us. And despite Eddie Hawks's warning, I figured it best to let that grey have his way right then. I figured the grey had to know something about winning, and it seemed foolish to me to fall any farther behind. But when the grey neared the third lead horse at the next marker, a huge double-trunked oak by the side of the road, I pulled up hard on the reins trying to keep him in check. I could tell he didn't like that, but I held him. It wasn't time yet to make the run.

The third marker was a fork in the road, with one road leading to the stagecoach station and the other to I don't know where. I made that curve, rounded the stagecoach station, and headed back toward the spur. It was then I let up some on the grey's reins. The grey seemed to be waiting for that. We easily passed the horse directly ahead of us. Passing the next horse, though, took more time than I wanted, but that ole grey kept on pounding dirt and all I did was nudge him on. This part of the course was winding, and it was not my intention to pass the horse coming up on a curve. But the grey's intention was to pass it, curve or no curve, and when the two horses came neck and neck on the curve, I almost fell off. When I gained control again, that ole grey had slipped into second place.

The last stretch of the course toward the train spur was up a steep hill, then a smooth slope down to the spur. Now, uphill on a last stretch is tough on any horse, but this was where the mule in the grey was at its best. All we could see, that grey and I, on that last stretch was the rider ahead and that other horse's rump; we couldn't see anything beyond on the other side. Yet I knew, just like Ole Grey knew, that the spur was there, and the finish line. I loosened up some more on the reins and let the grey have his way. The grey then took charge: climbed that hill, and, with all stops pulled out, passed that last stallion and sizzled like lightning down the hill, toward the spur, and across the finish line.

 

It was tumultuous, the win. The grey and I slid across that finish line, and Mitchell himself pulled me off in congratulations and gave me a bear hug. As for me, I felt as if I were outside myself, having done the impossible. I hugged that ole grey first, right up around the neck, and he let me, but then folks took him from me and I had no time to talk to him. People crowded near, praising the grey and congratulating Ray Sutcliffe. Ray Sutcliffe, cigar in hand and a big grin across his face, bragged loudly about the win, but made no mention of me. No one else mentioned me either. I stayed by the spur, ignored.

“Well, 'spect that says somethin',” observed Mitchell as we moved away.

“What do you mean?” I said.

“Jus' look. When do you 'spect to get yours?”

I did look. Several of the men standing with Ray Sutcliffe were now paying him money. They were, of course, all white men, and I knew we had to wait until Ray Sutcliffe was alone before asking for my pay. I tried to wait patiently, though Mitchell was restless as we kept a lookout for my daddy and his too. After more than an hour, though, when Ray Sutcliffe was still wallowing in his win, Mitchell said, “I can't take no more of this. We got t' get your money and go.”

I glanced over at the group of white men. Now, one thing I had learned growing up amidst my white brothers and my white daddy was knowing when and when not to intrude upon a white person's so-called good time, and I knew definitely now was not the time to intrude.

“Come on,” said Mitchell.

“No,” I said.

“Well, what you gonna do then, Paul? Stand here all day? Wait 'til your daddy come t' whip ya?”

Mention of my daddy made me look around nervously, but I said, “I can wait.”

“Well, I can't,” said Mitchell. “Man said he'd pay when the ride was done, not after he'd finished jawin' with every cracker in East Texas. I figure it's time he paid.” Mitchell said that and headed straight for Ray Sutcliffe.

I yanked on his arm. “It's my money!” Mitchell looked at me hard. I released his arm and looked over at the group of men. I knew if I didn't go see Ray Sutcliffe about this money, Mitchell would. “Like I said, it's my money. I'll get it.”

Mitchell nodded to that and let me go without him. I went over to that group of boisterous white men, even though I knew perfectly well this was not the time or the place to confront Ray Sutcliffe, but I also knew it was better I did it than Mitchell. At first I stood outside the group, saying nothing, just waiting until Ray Sutcliffe finished his bragging about the win and took notice of me. But that didn't happen. As I kept watch for my daddy, I also kept an eye on Mitchell. I could see he was becoming impatient. When he started toward the group to join me, I spoke right up to Ray Sutcliffe, interrupting his talk. “Mister Sutcliffe, excuse me please, but I need to talk to you about my pay. I need to get it so I can go.”