The Great Brain

by John D. Fitzgerald

  We were both pretty disgusted when we returned to the barn. Andy was disgusted because he was still alive. I was disgusted because I’d let a pal down. We sat down at the rear of the barn in the sun so Andy’s clothes would dry.

  “I guess we’ll have to get Tom to help us,” I said. “With his great brain he could figure out a dozen ways to put you out of your misery.”

  “No, John,” Andy said. “Tom might decide to tell my folks instead. It is up to you and me. I know I can trust you.”

  I saw a broken bottle lying in the weeds. “How about slashing your wrists with that broken bottle and letting yourself bleed to death right here?” I suggested.

  Andy thought about it for a moment. “That is too messy,” he finally said.

  We sat there until Andy’s clothes were all dry, trying to think of a way for him to commit suicide. I was about to give up when I heard Sweyn’s mustang, Dusty, moving around in his stall inside the barn. It reminded me of how they hang outlaws.

  “I’ve got it!” I cried with excitement. “How about hanging you? That isn’t messy.”

  Andy’s face broke into a grin. “That is a peach of an idea,” he said.

  “We’ll hang you just like they hang outlaws,” I said.

  “But I’m no outlaw,” Andy protested.

  “You can pretend you are one can’t you?” I asked.

  “Why must I pretend to be an outlaw?” Andy wanted to know.

  “Look, Andy,” I said a little exasperated with him, “I promised Sweyn when he went to Salt Lake to school that I would take good care of Dusty. You don’t think I’d let Dusty hang anybody who wasn’t an outlaw, do you? It wouldn’t be fair to Dusty. He’s got to think he is hanging a sure enough outlaw.”

  “All right,” Andy agreed. “I’ll pretend I’m an outlaw for Dusty’s sake.”

  We went into the barn. I got Sweyn’s lariat and climbed up the rope ladder to Tom’s loft. I tossed one end of the lariat over a rafter and let the rope slide down until Andy got a hold of it. I climbed down the rope ladder. I tied a slipknot noose on one end of the lariat. I was still a little angry about Andy bawling me out for the knot I’d tied on the gunnysack. I handed the rope to him.

  “Are you satisfied that is a good strong noose that won’t come loose?” I asked.

  Andy inspected the noose very carefully. “I’m satisfied,” he said.

  I put a halter on Dusty and led the mustang out of his stall to the side of a bale of hay. I helped Andy onto the bale of hay and from there to Dusty’s back. I got some twine and stood on the bale of hay while I tied Andy’s hands behind his back. Then I put the noose over Andy’s head and pulled the slipknot until the noose was tight around his neck. I jumped down from the bale of hay and got the other end of the lariat. I tied it securely to a stall post. I stood back and looked at the lariat from the stall post to the rafter and back down to Andy’s neck. It was tight. All was in readiness for the hanging.

  “Dusty,” I said to the mustang, “that isn’t Andy Anderson on your back. That is the no good outlaw Peg Leg Andy you are about to hang.”

  Dusty looked at me as if he understood. I walked around behind him.

  “Are you ready to hang, you no good outlaw?” I asked Andy.

  “Ready,” Andy replied. “And before I go, John, I want you to know how much I appreciate you helping me to do myself in. You are a real pal.”

  I took off my cap and raised my arm. I hit Dusty over the rump with my cap. I expected the mustang to jump and leave Andy dangling from the end of the lariat. Dusty didn’t move. I hit him again with my cap and let out an Indian war cry at the same time. Dusty turned his head and looked at me with his ears flattened back, which meant he was angry.

  I hit him again with my cap and let out a real blood-curdling Indian war cry.

  Dusty turned slowly around so Andy wouldn’t fall off. He grabbed my cap out of my hand with his teeth. He dropped the cap by his forelegs and put a hoof on it. Then he twisted his head and rubbed his nose against Andy’s good leg.

  “He knows you because Sweyn let you ride him a few times “ I said. “He knows you aren’t an outlaw.”

  “See if you can lead him,” Andy said. “I ain’t got all day.”

  I took hold of the halter. I pulled on it. I begged Dusty to move. I coaxed him. I threatened him. All Dusty did was to flatten his ears back to let me know he was plenty angry at me.

  “Try kicking him in the flanks,” I said to Andy.

  Andy kicked Dusty in the flanks. At any other time Dusty would have bucked like crazy. But he didn’t move an inch. His ears got flatter and flatter as Andy kicked him in the flanks and I pulled on the halter.

  “What the devil is going on here?” I heard Tom’s voice behind me.

  “I’m trying to hang an outlaw,” I said over my shoulder, “but Dusty won’t help me.”

  “Stop it, you fool!” Tom shouted. “You could kill Andy.”

  “That is the idea,” I said as I continued to pull on the halter and Andy kept on kicking Dusty in the flanks. “Andy is plumb useless with his peg leg and wants to do himself in. I’m his pal and I’m helping him.”

  Tom grabbed the halter out of my hands. “Steady, boy,” he said to Dusty as he patted the mustang on the nose. “Now, J.D.,” he said to me as he kept patting Dusty on the nose, “untie the lariat from the stall post.”

  I knew Dusty wasn’t going to cooperate so I untied the lariat.

  Tom let go of the halter. He took out his jackknife and stepped on top of the bale of hay. He cut the twine I’d used to tie Andy’s wrists. Then he loosened the noose and slipped the lariat over Andy’s head. He then helped Andy down from the mustang. If he was expecting any thanks, he sure got a surprise.

  “Why did you have to butt in?” Andy asked as tears came into his eyes.

  Tom looked surprised all right. “You mean you actually wanted to commit suicide and weren’t just playing a game?” he asked, looking astonished.

  “What good is a kid with a peg leg?” Andy sobbed as he sat down on the bale of hay and put his face in his hands. “I can’t play with the other kids. I can’t do my chores. I’m just plumb useless like Pa said and better off dead.”

  “Nobody is plumb useless.” Tom said.

  “A lot you know,” Andy cried. “Even with your great brain you can’t grow me another leg.”

  “Of course I can’t,” Tom admitted. “But my great brain can prove to the world that you aren’t plumb useless.”

  For the first time since Andy had lost his leg, I saw hope come into his eyes as he looked at Tom. “If you can prove I’m not plumb useless to my pa, I’ll give you anything I’ve got “ he promised.

  A cunning look spread over Tom’s face. “Even your erector set?” he asked.

  Andy hesitated. “I don’t know if Pa would let me,” he said.

  “What would your pa do with the erector set if you committed suicide?” Tom asked. “If you want to commit suicide or go on being plumb useless over an erector set, that is your business.” Tom started for the barn door.

  “‘Wait. Tom!” Andy shouted. “It’s a deal.”

  Tom turned around and walked over to the bale of hay. He held out his hand. “Let’s shake on it,” he said.

  They shook hands to seal the bargain.

  “I’ll put my great brain to work on it right away,” Tom promised Andy. “Meet me here after school starting Monday.”

  After Andy left the barn to go home, Tom began to rub his hands together gleefully. “I’ll make a fortune with that erector set, charging kids a penny an hour to play with it,” he said.

  That evening after supper Tom sat staring into the burning log in the fireplace in our parlor for a long time before he got up and walked over to Papa.

  “Papa,” he said, “is it true that when a person loses an arm or a leg, they get twice the strength in the other arm or leg?”

  Papa laid aside a book he was reading. “Perhaps not twice the strength, T.D.,” h
e said, “but I have heard it said on good authority that a person does have more strength in the remaining limb. One theory is that it is a biological thing, and when a human body loses a limb, an organic change takes place which transfers more strength to the remaining limb. Another theory, and a much more logical one, is that when a person loses an arm or a leg, he will naturally use the remaining limb a great deal more, and this would of course strengthen that limb. I did know a one-armed miner in Silverlode who had twice the strength of a normal man in his one arm. I saw him perform feats of strength with that one arm that were amazing.”

  “Thank you, Papa,” Tom said, smiling.

  Tom and I were waiting in our barn Monday after school when Andy arrived. Tom put his hands on Andy’s shoulders.

  “Do you promise to put yourself in complete charge of my great brain and do everything I tell you to do?” he asked.

  “I promise,” Andy said.

  “Good,” Tom said. “The first thing you’ve got to do is to stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

  “I’ll betcha you’d feel sorry for yourself if you had a peg leg,” Andy said.

  “No I wouldn’t,” Tom said to my surprise, “because I’d show every kid in town and my mother and my father that a peg leg didn’t make any difference. We will start by making you the best Indian squaw wrestler in town.”

  “Fat chance,” Andy said. “Basil is the champion.”

  “Now you listen to me, Andy Anderson,” Tom said, getting angry. “When a person loses one leg, he gets twice the strength in the remaining leg. That means you’ve got double the strength in your right leg of any kid your age and size in town. My papa is the smartest man in town and he said this was true. Are you calling my father a liar?”

  “Gosh, no,” Andy said quickly. “My pa always said that your pa was the smartest man in town.”

  “Then you must believe you’ve got twice the strength in your right leg than you would have if you had two legs,” Tom said. “And that means you should be able to beat any kids at Indian squaw wrestling who are bigger and older than you.”

  Tom got a horse blanket from Dusty’s stall. He spread it out on the floor of the barn. He lay down on his back. He motioned for Andy to lay down beside him with their feet at each other’s head. They locked their right arms at the elbow. Tom began to count. They raised their right legs at the count of one and let them down. At the count of two they again raised their right legs and let them down. At the count of three they locked their right legs at the knees. The winner in Indian squaw wrestling was the one who could force an opponent’s leg down, and keel the opponent over backward in a somersault.

  I watched breathlessly as they both began to grunt. Tom slowly forced Andy’s leg down and Andy went over backward.

  Tom sat up on the horse blanket. He looked sternly at Andy. “Papa says you’ve got twice the strength in your right leg of any kid in town your age,” he said.

  That wasn’t what Papa had said at all, but I knew it was part of The Great Brain’s plan so I kept quiet.

  “I’m older and bigger than you,” Tom continued, “but according to my father you should be able to beat me at Indian squaw wrestling. You either aren’t trying or you don’t believe my father.”

  “I tried, honest I did,” Andy protested.

  “Then you didn’t try hard enough,” Tom said. “You’ve got to keep telling yourself that your right leg is twice as strong as any boy in town your age. Now, let’s try again.”

  They took their positions lying on their backs. Again Tom counted. At the count of three they locked legs. They began to grunt and strain. I couldn’t believe my eyes as I watched Andy slowly force Tom’s leg down and keel my brother over in a somersault.

  “You did it!” Tom shouted as he pounded Andy on the back.

  “You mean I won fair and square?” Andy asked as if he couldn’t believe it.

  “Fair and square,” Tom said, “but you need a lot of practice. We’ll put in one hour of practice every day until you are the best Indian squaw wrestler in town.”

  Andy was whistling for the first time since he’d lost his leg as he left our barn an hour later. I asked Tom if Andy had really won most of the matches that afternoon.

  “No, J.D.,” Tom said, “but he thinks he did and that is what counts. I’ve got to build up his confidence.”

  At the end of two weeks daily practice Tom pronounced Andy ready to meet all comers at Indian squaw wrestling.

  “The next thing is to prove you can play any game as good as a kid with two legs,” Tom announced in the barn after school that day. “We’ll start with Duck on a Rock.”

  I helped Tom carry two flat slabs of rock into the barn and place them ten paces apart. We put a round rock about the size of a baseball on each slab. We laid six round rocks about the size of a baseball near one of the slabs. Tom picked one up. The idea of the game was to knock the rock representing the duck off the slab. Tom threw and hit the duck, knocking it off. I ran to put it back.

  Andy then made an underarm pitch and missed the slab by three feet.

  “It’s no good,” he said, discouraged. “I can’t balance myself right with this peg leg.”

  “Take it off,” Tom said.

  I watched Tom strap the peg leg to his left knee. Tom took a few steps around on the peg leg. Then he tried pitching rocks at the duck on a rock with his left leg in front of him. Then he tried pitching with his right leg in front of him.

  “You get off balance,” Tom said to Andy, “when you put the peg leg in front and bring your weight down on it when you pitch.”

  “But that is the way I pitch,” Andy protested. “I can’t pitch with my right leg in front.”

  “Of course you can,” Tom said “Now watch me.”

  Tom took a pitch. He missed the duck on a rock but did hit the slab. He took off the peg leg and handed it to Andy.

  “Now we’ll play,” Tom said. “The first one to knock the duck of the rock ten times is the winner.”

  The first game Tom got ten ducks before Andy knocked off even one. The second game Andy improved. He got two ducks before Tom knocked off ten. They kept at it until it was time for Andy to go home. During the last game Andy knocked off five ducks before Tom got ten.

  “Practice makes perfect,” Tom said as we came out of the barn. “We’ll keep at it until you can hold your own with any kid in town.”

  The next afternoon after school when Andy met us in the barn, his face was thoughtful.

  “I wish you’d do something about my chores,” he said to Tom. “My pa is going to think I’m useless as long as he has to do my chores for me.”

  “I guess that is more important than learning how to play games with your peg leg,” Tom said. “We’ll spend half our time each day teaching you how to do your chores and the other half teaching you how to play games. Now, why can’t you do your chores?”

  “Well gee,” Andy said, “you know I’ve got a peg leg.”

  “Answer the question,” Tom said.

  “Well, for one thing, I can’t get up and down the back porch steps without holding on to the railing with one hand. So I can’t carry an armful of kindling which you have to hold with both hands. And the bucketsful of coal are so heavy I have to lift them up the steps with both hands. And I wobble so much I can’t carry a pail of milk without—”

  “That’s enough,” Tom interrupted him. “Let’s go to our back porch.”

  We walked to the steps of our back porch.

  “Show me how you go up and down the steps,” Tom ordered Andy.

  Andy took hold of the railing and walked up and down the steps.

  “Take off the peg leg and let me try it,” Tom said. “You try to go up and down as if you had two good legs. When you put the peg leg up first, you have to pull yourself up by holding on to the railing.”

  Tom strapped on the peg leg. “Now watch me,” he said.

  He put his right foot on a step and using his right leg lifted his body up, b
ringing the peg leg up beside his right leg. “There is nothing to it,” he said. “Let your good right leg do all the work.”

  Andy watched bug-eyed as Tom went up the rest of the steps without holding on to the railing.

  “Now I’ll come down,” Tom said.

  He tried putting his right foot down first and lost his balance. He had to grab the railing to keep from falling.

  “It worked going up,” Tom said.

  Again he tried putting his right foot down first. Again he lost his balance. He sat down on the steps.

  “If it works going up, why won’t it work going down?” he asked as if talking to himself. “You fellows be quiet. I’ve got to put my great brain to work.”

  Andy and I remained quiet. I knew Tom’s great brain was working like sixty as I watched wrinkles come into his forehead. Suddenly the wrinkles disappeared. Tom was smiling as he stood up.

  “I used my good leg to lift my body going up,” he said. “I made the mistake of trying to use the peg leg to lift my body going down. Now watch this.”

  Tom balanced himself on his right leg, holding his weight as he put the peg leg down a step. Then he stood on the peg leg for just a second while he quickly brought his right foot down a step. He came like that all the way down the steps without losing his balance. He took of the peg leg and handed it to Andy.

  “You saw me go up using my right leg to lift my body and you saw me come down using my right leg to lift my body “ he said. “Now you try it.”

  Andy strapped on the peg leg. He had no trouble going up but lost his balance coming down.

  “It is harder to come down,” Tom said, “but don’t get discouraged. All it takes is practice.”

  Tom made Andy practice going up and down the steps

  for an hour.

  The next afternoon after school Tom and I were waiting for Andy on the steps of our back porch. Again Tom made Andy go up and down the steps for an hour. Andy got so he could practically run up and down the steps without holding on to the railing.

  The next afternoon Tom’s face was thoughtful as we waited for Andy. “You know, J.D.,” he said to me, “I think it is time for Andy to learn how to carry things up and down the steps. And to make sure he can do his chores to please his father, I think I’ll start letting him do ours.”