Cooksin

by Rick Alan Rice

  Frank saw it and was glad the two of them were alone. It wasn't only the autumn that was passing by too fast. So were their final days together.

  When they reached the trees beneath the cliffs, they slowed down so that they could ride alongside each other. Lily's cheeks were flush with color, her eyes sparkling blue, as the temperature fell toward day's end. Frank, too, was feeling the nip of the late afternoon air, though his complexion was long ago set permanently by the sun, cast in a ready state of leathery brown that encased his own set of sky blue eyes. Lily had her mother's creamy complexion, but the eyes were Frank's, though now his seemed faded, diminished somehow. Lily's beamed like azure beacons, broadcasting her unharnessed, vernal energy.

  "You cold?" Frank asked. "I'm fine," Lily said.

  "I didn't really expect it to get so chilly tonight. I would've had you get some pants on, and a hat to keep your head wa1m."

  "I'm fine, daddy."

  Frank momentarily turned his attention to the tree line, along which stood several head of Hereford cattle. Lily could hear him counting under his breath as he surveyed the scene. "Hold on just a second, honey – I believe there's a couple back up in that draw. Other'n that, I believe they're all right here." Then Frank spurred on his horse and Lily watched as General, with her father tall atop him, cut a quick path into the trees, then shortly thereafter re-emerged, trailing two steers. "Hee-awwwh! Hee-awwwh!" Frank hurried the two strays back over to where the others from the main herd stood chewing on the long grass near the pond. "Lily!" he yelled. "Why don't you work around the side there and help me get this bunch headed back north." And with that, Lily spurred Star and the little quarter horse quickly jumped to the task of moving the cattle in the desired direction.

  Once they had them started, Frank fell in beside Lily, riding at a casual pace behind the herd. "Hell, that wasn't so bad," he said. "If I'd have known they were all going to stay right there around the pond, there wouldn't of been any need for us to ride clear over here."

  Lily looked at him and smiled, resigned to the fact that there was no way of knowing.

  "I'm actually glad though, to tell you the truth," Frank said. "I've been hoping we could talk a little." He looked at her cautiously. "Seems like it's that time thing again – never seem to find the time to talk, you know, like I know we should."

  "What do you want to talk about?"

  Frank gave a quick nod, as if to indicate that she'd hit directly on the proper question. But then he seemed stumped for an answer. "Oh, I don't know," he finally said. "Just talk, about how things have been, what's on your mind, that type of thing. Maybe you got something you need to say to your old man. I don't know, do you?"

  "Have anything to say to you?"

  "Yeah – you know, just anything," Frank said. "It doesn't have to be earth shaking, or anything like that. Just anything'll do."

  Lily frowned for a moment and seemed to do a cursory inventory of possible topics. "Well, I don't have anything to talk about, really," she said.

  Frank seemed to survey the horizon for a moment, searching for his own topic, from somewhere out there in the distance. "Well, let me ask you something then. Rosa told me that you aren't cheer leading this year. Is that right?"

  "I dropped off the squad," Lily said, matter of fact.

  "I didn't know anything about that," Frank said. "When did this happen?"

  "This summer, daddy – don't you remember? I told you I wasn't going to go to camp?"

  Frank seemed puzzled. "I remember you saying something about camp. Is that what that was about?"

  "I decided I didn't want to do it," Lily said. "I did it three years. Let somebody else have a chance."

  "Is that it? You’re just tired of it?" Frank asked, to which Lily nodded in the affirmative. "Gosh, honey, it seems like such a nice thing, being elected to the team and all, representing your school. I bet a lot of girls want to do it and never get the chance."

  "Well, I'm giving it to them..."

  Frank shook his head, not quite understanding. "I just don't see why you don't want to do it anymore. Heck, I thought you liked it."

  "Well, I did at one time," Lily said. "But now it seems – juvenile." Frank frowned. "Why 'now?"'

  "Well, you know – I'm older now. I'm not a kid anymore."

  "You're a senior in high school!" Frank said, letting his voice rise a little, but then he softened the effect with a chuckle that came across as a clumsy afterthought. "You know what I mean – you ought to enjoy the things that are available to you at this age."

  "I've done it, dad. I've done it for three years, and now it just doesn't interest me anymore."

  "I just can't believe its over, that's all," Frank said. "That's a big deal in a father's life, when his daughter's participating in school events and all. I just don't want to have missed seeing it."

  "Well where have you been for the last three years?" Her tone sounded a little accusatory. He'd had his chance, after all. Then he just hadn't seemed to care much about it.

  Frank seemed to search the air for an explanation. "It's been hard for me to go up there – you know, to the school. Every time I go there I just can't help but remember back to when Frank Junior was there. You know, I see him in his football uniform, and playing basketball, running track... I don't think the school's ever had a better athlete. I remember when he got Homecoming King, and ran that long touchdown against Fort Collins – sixty-four yards. Phew! Just like that! Man, that was something. All those great games. They just come back to me like... like he's still here. Going up there now, though... It just reminds me that he isn't."

  "I am, Dad," Lily said coldly. "I am still here."

  Frank closed his eyes for a moment, stung by the message. "I know you are, honey," he said. "I know you are."

  Lily cast a glance at him that was laced with resentment. Didn't he care about her? Was he so consumed by memories of her wonderful dead brother that he couldn't for one moment think of her?

  "You know, I told you I wanted you to come out here with me so that we could talk," Frank said. "Well, what I wanted to talk to you about was... I don't know quite how to say this." Frank forced a smile, his way of masking how hard this was for him. "I know I haven't been to you what a father should. I guess it's no good telling you why. I guess that's all I've ever done is explain why I haven't done the things I should've done.

  But I've been thinkin' about it different lately. I been seein' things I've never seen before."

  Lily seemed a little surprised by her father, by the nervousness she was hearing in his voice, which was something she had never heard there before. It hit her odd, and she quickly looked away from him, hoping he hadn't noticed her reaction. She patted Star's shoulder, then leaned forward and briefly wrapped herself around the horse's neck in an affectionate embrace. It was a curious display of loving emotion that even seemed to surprise Star, who looked back over his shoulder with that expression peculiar to equestrians, part distress and part excitement.

  "Lily – you are all I've got left of family," Frank said after a moment. "You and me, that's all there is. Sister-in-law is remarried and moved away. Her kids are all called something else now – not Walker, but Landis, or Lankas, or something like that. I can't remember. Frank Junior was all the blood there was to carry on the Walker name, and now he's gone, so you and I are it – the last of the line."

  Lily didn't seem to get it. "It’s just a name, Daddy."

  Frank chuckled. "Yeah, I guess it is. It's just a name. The thing is, honey – it's our name, yours and mine. And sometimes it seems like it's all we have between us.

  When I think that someday – probably someday soon – even that'll be gone... Well, it breaks my heart. That's what I wanted to ride out here to tell you. I've been thinking a lot about it of late, and I just can't bear the thought of losin' you."

  "Oh Dad – you're not going to lose me..."

  "Because I never had you to begin with?" Frank grinned as he said it, as if he knew the r
eason underlying her meaning, but the water in his eyes belied his detachment.

  "That's not true, it's not what I mean."

  Frank took a deep breath, as if he needed one to gird his strength. "Well, if I haven't it's been my fault, and I feel terrible about it." He sniffed a little, humbled by the emotion that welled up within him. "I want you to know that I know where I've fallen short. I know it and I want it to change before it's too late, before we got nothin' left." Frank watched her for a moment, studying her for a reaction. "Do you know what I'm saying?"

  Lily looked at him and felt a shiver run through her body. "I'm starting to get cold," she said. ''I'll race you home." And with that she dug her heels into Star's flanks and Frank watched as she disappeared in a cloud of dust.

  CHAPTER 18 – Grand Plan

  "Come on in, you guys. We're doing something here that I want you to know about." Pete motioned for Jake and Py to pull up a chair around the dining room table. "Victoria here has been running the numbers, working out a plan for gettin' us back into the cattle business. I thought you guys might like to hear about it."

  Tory sat behind a stack of papers on which notes were scribbled, numbers and mathematical calculations. "It's quite a balancing act, boys, but I think I've come up with a way to use what little seed money we have to get us started."

  "Let's hear about it," Jake said, pulling up a chair, with Py doing the same.

  "As you probably know, our main asset is that big white bull out there in the pen." Tory chaired the meeting with real authority, leaving Jake with the impression that Pete and her had already held some private sessions regarding ranch finance. She seemed to be reporting what had been agreed upon. "If everything goes well, he can get us into the commercial cow-calf business, but before any of that can happen, we need some breeding stock. The problem is, we don't really have the money to get brood cows right away, so we've come up with a strategy."

  Py glanced over at Jake, excited by the handle Tory seemed to have on their business.

  "What we need to do is develop a cash flow as soon as possible," Tory said. "We know we can't buy good quality brood cows right now, and if we buy heifers and try to bring them along we won't see income off of them for three years – until fall, 1950."

  "And then they won't likely be calves out of Cooksin," Pete interjected. "I'm sold on crossing Herefords with our Charolais, because we'll get bigger beef that way, but what I'm being told is that there's nothing but trouble doing that with first-calf Hereford heifers. The calves are too big, and you get delivery problems."

  "Not only that," Tory said, "if we do try to build a brood herd from heifers – which we can afford to do, in a small way – it means Cooksin doesn't do anything for almost two years other than get older and cost us money. He wouldn't breed until June, almost two years from now."

  "I knew when I bought him that I was getting the cart before the horse, not having an established brood herd, but you don't get a registered cross-breed every day at the price I paid," Pete said. "So, I put the money down when I had it." He apparently felt moved to explain their fix.

  "Since we need to generate income so we can get started on the breeding side, we've decided to start with a yearling operation," Tory said. "Dad and I have talked a lot about it. It isn't really the way he wants to go, but I don't see any other possibility."

  Pete explained – "If we buy thirty or so head of light yearling, we can sell 'em at auction next fall for cash money – probably get three times what we'll pay for 'em this year."

  "That seems pretty optimistic, Pete," Jake said. "You got the summer pasture land, but what about this winter? You're going to have to lease some wheat or oat pasture from someone if you’re gonna put any weight on 'em, or even hold 'em stable."

  Pete nodded in agreement. "That's where Cooksin comes into play. I've already talked to Jess Willingham. He's got a quarter section of winter wheat that he might be willing to graze out in exchange for turning Cooksin in with some of his brood herd.

  He's got some real fine Hereford over there that have dropped calves before. I've finagled a trade-out with him that'll pretty much cover our winter feeding expenses and make the stocker idea work."

  "Next year we can have a cash crop, plus know a little more about what kind of a stud the Charolais is going to be," said Tory. "Mr. Willingham says he could handle some summer calves, so we could get Cooksin started right away..."

  "We're still talking about how that'd work," said Pete. "We might bring his brood herd over here for winter, which would mean we'd have to move in some hay. Old man Willingham puts up a lot of alfalfa, so it'd be a lot of winter feeding work, but at least we'd keep Cooksin here where we could keep an eye on him." This was an issue for Pete, who could barely stand the thought of having his prized bull in someone else's care. It was a big enough compromise to accept that some other rancher might get the first calves out of his big animal.

  "Next year there would be a little more money to work with, if everything goes right," Tory said, "then we could start developing our own brood herd. Next fall we could sell feeder weight cows and buy another herd of light yearling and start the cycle over again. It's going to take time..."

  "It's a five year plan," Pete explained.

  "...but down the road we'd end up in the commercial cow-calf business that dad wants," Tory said. She looked at Jake and Py. "Well, what do you think?"

  "It sounds good to me," Py said.

  * * * * *

  "There you go, Pete. You’re all set." Harley Knapp handed Pete his bill of sale, marked PAID. "That's a good lookin' thirty head you got there. Hell of a good start, I'd say."

  Pete took the paper and stuffed it into his pocket. "Well, you guys took your blood," he said. "I never thought I'd see the day when I'd be payin' $35 a head for short yearling'."

  "They're cash cows, Pete," said Harley, grinning. "They'll get it back for you." "Well, I hope so. I just hope you'll do as well for me as I just did for you and

  Harry Phelps." Phelps was the rancher who had brought the herd to auction.

  "You bet we will, old buddy," said Harley. "I wish you the best of luck, Pete.

  I'm glad to see you gettin' back into the business. There ain't enough of you old timers in it anymore, and far as I'm concerned that's taken a lot of the fun out of it."

  "You don't like these young cowboys, huh?"

  Harley twisted his face up, disconcerted. "It's just business with them, and they're all young and still tryin' to grow balls, so they're pushy and arrogant. They don't give a shit about ranching and livestock – not really. It's all money with them."

  "Well, nothin' to be gained fallin' in love with a cow," Pete said. "You might have a different idea, knowin' you like I do. I always thought there was something weird about a man who spends too much time with farm animals." Harley seemed to enjoy the insult and he grinned appreciatively as Pete opened the door to his pickup and slid in behind the wheel. He closed the door behind him, then leaned out the window and said – "That's for callin' me an old timer." He cranked the engine, put the truck in gear, and with a final wave to Harley he drove away from the stock yard.

  Harley turned around, looking up to the bulldog-faced driver of the semi-trailer truck whose job it was to transport Pete's new herd out to Parker Ranch. "You know where you’re going?" he asked, to which the driver answered – "No." "Well, you better get goin' – follow him. It's about seven miles out the East County Road. He'll show you where he wants 'em." The driver nodded, then ground the big diesel into first gear and eased it ahead, his living load bawling noisily as they jostled together in the back.

  Harley turned and started walking back toward the sales office and found himself confronted by Frank Walker. "Hello Frank," he said.

  "HI, Harley. I just noticed that livestock you got headed out there and I saw you talking to Pete Parker," Frank said. "I missed the auction. Did Pete buy those?"

  "He sure did," said Harley. "Nice to see old Pete again. He hasn't
shown up at the sale barn since I can't remember when."

  "What'd he buy?"

  "Thirty head, Hereford yearling. I guess he's gettin' back in the stock business."

  Frank turned to see the eighteen wheeler disappearing over the rise as it barreled after Pete, who was well out in front and on his way home. "Well I'll be a son-of-a-bitch," Frank said.

  Harley didn't say anything, but he gave a furtive look that seemed to say that Frank had his tense all wrong.

  Frank was too distracted to notice. "Thanks," he said to Harley, then started walking at a brisk pace to his car.

  Frank was not happy to hear about Pete's purchase, because he knew what it meant. Frank had been trying for years to buy up Pete's remaining pasture land property which adjoined Walker Ranch and would have perfectly complemented Frank's cattle operation. Pete's six quarters ran in a straight line next to Frank's prime pastures. He hadn't dreamed that Pete, at his age, would suddenly re-energize and once again make use of the property. Now Frank was boiling mad at himself for not staying in touch with what Pete Parker had been thinking. As he raced across country, driving the county backroads toward Parker Ranch, he mentally chastised himself and wondered inside if he wasn't slipping, showing signs of age himself.

  It had been a dry summer on the plains. The dirt roads had turned to powder under the rumbling weight of wheat trucks and combines and the movement of farm implements as harvested land was disked to lay fallow for the next year. Now travel on these roads was treacherous, not only because it made steering and braking difficult, but because clouds of dust arose behind passing vehicles that rendered visibility zero for drivers moving within that cloud. Catastrophic head-on collisions were commonplace.