by Wilson Rawls
Grandpa laughed. “I don’t believe that I’ve ever seen so much game in the river bottoms,” he said. “After we catch those monkeys, maybe we can take a few days off and really do some hunting.”
“I’d like that, Grandpa,” I said, “and I know Rowdy would.”
About halfway through the bottoms, the road made a sharp left turn. Just as we made the turn, a big old mama coon with three little babies waddled across the road. This was too much for Rowdy. He just simply couldn’t stand it any longer. Letting out a bellow that all but busted my eardrums and came close to scaring the mares out of their harness, he leaped down from the buckboard and took off after the coons.
I stood up in the buckboard and yelled as loud as I could, “Rowdy, you’d better leave those baby coons alone. That old mama coon will skin you alive! You come back here now!”
Mumbling something about a yelling boy and a bawling hound, Grandpa finally got the mares settled down. We sat there waiting to see what would happen. From far out in the bottoms, we heard a loud commotion. The mama coon was squalling and Rowdy was howling like he was hung up in a barbed-wire fence.
With a worried look on his face, Grandpa said, “Boy, they’re sure going after it, aren’t they? Do you think Rowdy’ll be all right?”
“Oh, don’t worry about Rowdy, Grandpa,” I said, “he’s been through this a hundred times. You would think that by now he would learn to leave coons alone. He never does though. He always goes back for more.”
It wasn’t long until the squalling and howling stopped. About a minute later, Rowdy came tearing out of the brush with a sheepish look on his face and with his tail between his legs. I didn’t have to tell him to get in the buckboard. He made one leap and landed in the spring seat. He had a raw, red scratch on his nose.
“Rowdy,” I said, as I rubbed his nose with my hand, “I don’t believe that you’ll ever learn anything. I really don’t. You know that you can’t whip a coon; especially, a mama coon with babies.”
Chuckling to himself, Grandpa tapped the mares with his buggy whip and said, “Well, there’s one thing you can say for Rowdy, he sure can make things exciting.”
Sitting high on the spring seat with my grandpa and my lop-eared hound, no boy could have been happier. “Grandpa,” I said, “I really think we’re going to catch those monkeys this time, don’t you?”
Grandpa smiled. “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised,” he said. “If there’s a book in that library that can tell us how to catch monkeys, we’ll catch them all right. Yes, sir-e-e, those monkeys have won the first few rounds, but they can’t win all the time.”
For the hundredth time, I began to plan what all I would do when I got my pony and .22.
On reaching the river, I knew we had to cross it but I wasn’t prepared for what took place. Grandpa stopped the team. He looked at me and said, “You know, I saw a painting once that showed a little boy and his grandpa crossing a stream with a wagon and team. The little boy was driving. The name of the painting was ‘The Big Moment.’ How about you and I painting a picture of our own? You drive across the river.”
I was so stunned and scared, I couldn’t say a word. I just sat there with my mouth open, staring at Grandpa.
“Come on,” Grandpa said, offering me the reins. “There’s nothing to it.”
I was so scared I had to swallow four or five times before any words came out. “Oh, no, Grandpa!” I said. “I don’t think I’d better do any driving. Papa lets me drive our old mules once in a while but I don’t know about driving these mares. They’re kinda spooky, you know.”
“Aw,” Grandpa said, offering me the reins again, “come on—drive them across. I tell you, there’s nothing to it. A fellow never knows what he can do until he tries.”
Half of me was saying, “Take the reins.” The other half was saying, “Jump out of the buckboard and run.”
I didn’t even know I had the reins in my hands until I looked down and there they were. Chuckling, Grandpa tapped the mares with his buggy whip and the buckboard eased into the river. I didn’t do any driving at all. I just sat there as stiff as a boat paddle; staring across the river at the faraway bank that looked like it was a hundred miles away.
About halfway across the river, I glanced down at the water and came close to screaming. The water was almost up to the bed of the buckboard. Rowdy must have seen the same thing I had and got scared. He started whimpering and whining and fidgeting on the spring seat.
“Rowdy,” I said, in a quavering voice, “if you don’t sit still, and stop that whining, I’ll put a muzzle on you and leave it on for ten years.”
Laughing, Grandpa said, “That’s about as deep as it will get. From here on across, it’s not so deep.”
I glanced down again, and sure enough, I could see that it was getting more shallow. I began to get a little of my courage back, but not very much.
On reaching the other side of the river, I stopped the team and handed the reins to Grandpa. As I turned loose of the leather, I saw that my hands were so wet with sweat they looked as wet as they did when I washed dishes for Mama once in a while.
Grandpa smiled and said, “You see how easy it was? There wasn’t anything to it, was there?”
Glancing back across the river, I said, “Wait till I tell Daisy about this. She won’t believe it though.”
Tapping the mares with his buggy whip, Grandpa said, “If you think it’ll do any good, I’ll be a witness for you.”
About noon, we drove into the town of Tahlequah. Just before we entered the main street, off to my right, I saw several large buildings. They were on a small hill in the middle of about ten acres of beautiful green lawn. Huge red oaks, white oaks, maple, locust, and elm trees were growing here and there on the lawn. In the shade of those beautiful trees, small groups of people were either sitting or lying on the green grass. Practically everyone had a book in his hand. I thought, “The people in this town really like to read books.”
“Grandpa,” I asked, “what are all those buildings up there?”
“Those buildings are the pride and joy of the Cherokee Nation,” he said. “That’s their college.”
“What are all those people doing under the trees?” I asked.
“Those are students,” Grandpa said. “They’re probably studying their lessons. They have their classes inside those buildings.”
“That wouldn’t be a bad place to go to school,” I said. “Instead of having to stay in the schoolhouse to study, you could just go outside and sit under a tree. I think I’d like that.”
“I hope I live to see the day when you go to college here,” Grandpa said. “Do you think you’d like it?”
“I think I would, Grandpa,” I said.
Not far from the college, we crossed a bridge over a small creek. A sign on the bridge said, “Bear Creek.”
Grandpa said, “This is the main street. Tahlequah is a nice town, and it’s the county seat of the Cherokee Nation.”
I had never seen so many buildings. There were little ones and big ones. Some of them were two stories high. They lined both sides of the street and were jammed up so close together it looked like you couldn’t have driven a nail between them.
I had never seen so many people. They were milling around everywhere. Some were going into stores and some were coming out of stores. Others were just walking up and down the streets. I could hear little kids bawling, and big kids laughing. A man and his wife passed by. They had so many kids following along behind them they looked like a covey of quails.
Everywhere I looked I could see wagons, buggies, buckboards, and saddle horses. Some were tied to hitching rails and others were moving along the street. Dogs were barking and trace chains were jingling.
I was still gawking when Grandpa slowed the mares down and said, “Well, here we are. This is the Eubanks Hotel and Wagon Yard. I’ll get us a room in the hotel and we’ll eat our meals there, too.”
The large, two-story hotel building was on our left. Its
second story had a porch that hung out over the sidewalk. I saw several people sitting in chairs up there. They were just sitting there, as comfortable as could be, looking the town over. I thought, “They sure have a bird’s-eye view of the town.”
Grandpa made a left turn off the main street at the hotel and passed under a big arch. About one hundred yards behind it was one of the biggest barns I had ever seen. Above its huge open doors was a sign in big blue letters that said, “Eubanks Wagon Yard—Fifty Cents for Teams—Twenty-five Cents for Feed.”
“Boy, this wagon yard must be doing a lot of business,” I said. “Did you ever see so many wagons and teams?”
“This is the only wagon yard in town,” Grandpa said. “They do a good business all right. The fellow who owns this place is a fine man. He’s a good friend of mine.”
Grandpa stopped the team in front of an empty stall. With a few grunts and groans, he got down from the buckboard.
“Grandpa,” I said, “I’d feel a lot better if I had a rope on Rowdy.”
Grandpa reached in the buckboard and picked up a short piece of good, stout rope. He smiled as he handed it to me. “I think you have a good idea,” he said.
After tying the rope to Rowdy’s collar, I hopped down from the buckboard and tied the other end to a wheel spoke. Rowdy never did like to be tied up and right away he started whimpering and whining. I petted him and said, “Look, boy, I don’t like to tie you up but there’s nothing else I can do.”
Grandpa said, “I have to put the team in a stall and feed and water them. After that, I’ll get us a room and then we’ll go downtown and take care of my business.”
“When are we going to the library, Grandpa?” I asked.
“We’ll do that the first thing in the morning,” Grandpa said. “I’d like to leave town about noon. That way we could get home before dark.”
Just then the yard master walked up to Grandpa and shook hands with him. They talked for a few minutes before he came over to where Rowdy and I were. He looked at Rowdy, smiled, and said, “Is this your dog, son?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Is he any good?” he asked.
I smiled and said, “He’s a pretty good dog.”
“If you want to,” the yard master said, “you can put him in the tack room. There’s a pan of water there and I’ll see that he gets some scraps from the table.”
“Thanks,” I said. “That’ll be a good place for him.” I took Rowdy to the tack room and made a nice bed of straw for him. He fussed a little about staying there, but not too much.
As I was locking the tack-room door, Grandpa came to me and said, “Come on, let’s see what the town looks like.”
Before the afternoon was over, Grandpa and I visited just about every place in town. I had the time of my life. Grandpa saw to it that I didn’t want for anything to eat.
That evening, we went back to the wagon yard. Grandpa took care of the team and I took care of Rowdy. Then we went into the hotel and ate supper. The food was served family style and I ate so much I came close to making myself sick.
The room Grandpa had gotten for us was upstairs in the hotel. I was so tired I fell asleep the minute I crawled into bed. I didn’t wake up once during the night—I didn’t even dream.
The next morning when I woke up the sun was way up in the sky. I could hear people talking and the rumble of wagons and teams moving along the street. Grandpa was gone. This scared me but I was pretty sure that he wouldn’t just run off and leave me. I jumped out of bed and hurried into my clothes. I didn’t even take time to wash my face or comb my hair before I ran downstairs.
A smiling, big, heavy woman poked her head out the kitchen door and said, “Are you Jay Berry?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
“I’m Big Gen,” she said. “Your grandpa said after you’ve had breakfast you’ll find him out in the barn. Come on in and sit down at the table. I’ll fix you a cup of hot chocolate.”
When Big Gen started setting breakfast on the table, my eyes got as big as goose eggs. There was a large slab of ham, two eggs, fried potatoes, hot biscuits, butter, and strawberry jam. I looked at the food and said, “Brother, if I hung around here very long, I’d get as fat as Sloppy Ann.”
“Who’s Sloppy Ann?” Big Gen asked.
“She’s our hog,” I said as I started eating.
Finished with breakfast, I thanked Big Gen and hurried out to the barn. Grandpa had just finished hitching the team to the buckboard. Rowdy was tied to a wheel spoke. He was wiggling all over and tickled to death to see me.
“There you are,” Grandpa said. “I was beginning to think you were going to sleep all day.”
“What time is it, Grandpa?” I asked as I bent down to pet Rowdy on the head.
“It’s about ten o’clock,” Grandpa said. “We’d better be going to the library.”
As Grandpa and I drove along the main street I asked him if he knew where the library was.
“Sure, I know where the library is,” Grandpa said. “I’ve never been in it but I know where it is.”
About halfway through town, Grandpa made a right turn off the main street. We hadn’t gone more than two blocks when Grandpa motioned with his left hand and said, “There it is—that’s the Carnegie Library.”
The library was a large, red-brick building. It was right in the middle of a beautiful green lawn and was surrounded by large trees. Steep sandstone steps led up between two huge marble columns to the front door, which was standing wide open.
Grandpa drove around the library and came in the yard from behind it. He stopped the buckboard under a large white oak, got out, and tied the team to the tree.
Rowdy hopped out of the backboard. With his tail fanning the air, he started his inspection of the lawn.
“Grandpa,” I said, “I think I’d better tie Rowdy up, don’t you?”
Grandpa watched Rowdy for a couple of seconds, smiled, and said, “I don’t think you need to tie him up. He won’t get very far from us and this team.”
“All right,” I said, “but if he gets after a tomcat, we’ll probably find him way over in Arkansas somewhere.”
Grandpa laughed and said, “I don’t think Rowdy’s going to find any cats around this library. It just isn’t cat country.”
Grandpa and I walked around to the front of the library. Just as we started up the steps, Rowdy came loping around the corner of the building, up the steps, and heading for the open door. As he came by me, I grabbed his collar and said, “Hold on, boy! You can’t go in there. You’ll have to wait out here. We won’t be in there very long—I hope.”
I took Rowdy over to one of the big columns, made him lie down, and told him to stay there. He didn’t like it but he stayed there.
Grandpa and I took off our hats and walked into the library. The first thing I saw was about twenty boys and girls sitting at small tables—each one reading a book. Every one of them looked up as we walked in. It was so still in there that when one of them turned a page it sounded like someone was dragging a cotton sack across the floor.
Over to our right was a large U-shaped counter. Standing behind it was a little old gray-haired lady, wearing glasses. She had a pencil in one hand and a book in the other. With surprise written all over her face, she, too, looked at us.
Grandpa walked to the counter and put both hands on it. He cleared his throat and then, in that deep frog voice of his said, “We’d like to read a book that could tell us how to catch monkeys.”
I thought the little old lady was going to jump right out of her shoes. Glaring at Grandpa, she leaned toward him, put her finger over her lips, and said, “Sh-sh-sh!”
Grandpa was so startled he dropped his hat on the floor. He stepped back so fast he bumped into me. In a loud voice, he said, “What are you shushing me for?”
The lady didn’t say a word. She just pointed to a sign on the counter right in front of Grandpa. In silence we read the sign. It said, “Quiet—Children Studying.”
With a sheepish look on his red face, Grandpa said in a whisper, “I’m sorry. This is our first time in a library.”
The lady smiled and whispered, “I understand. Did you say you wanted a book that could tell you how to catch monkeys?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Grandpa whispered as he nodded his head.
The lady stood looking down at the floor for several seconds as if she were in deep thought. I saw the thinking wrinkles as they bunched up on her forehead. Then her face cleared. She went over to a large metal cabinet and pulled out one of its drawers. It was full of small yellow cards and all of them were standing on edge in the drawer.
I was fascinated by the fast delicate way the lady’s fingers started flipping the cards. It reminded me of our old white leghorn hens picking up yellow kernels of corn from the ground.
Easing one of the cards out of the drawer, she studied it for a second, turned to Grandpa, and whispered, “You and the boy go and sit down at one of the tables. I think I have the very book you’re looking for. It may take me a few minutes to find it.”
Grandpa and I whispered our thanks. We walked over to one of the small tables and sat down. I had never been in a place that was as still as it was in that library. If someone had batted an eye, it would have sounded like a firecracker had gone off. I was afraid to even move my bare feet for fear I’d make a noise.
I glanced around the room. Everywhere I looked I saw nothing but books, books, and more books. I didn’t think there were that many books in the world. I thought, “Boy, if Daisy were here she would be in book heaven.”
From somewhere far back in that book jungle, I could hear the little old lady moving around. The silence and the boys and girls watching us made me feel funny. I began feeling uneasy and out of place.
Finally, after what seemed like an hour, the lady came back to us. She had a book in her hand. She smiled as she handed it to Grandpa and whispered, “I hope you can find what you’re looking for in this book.”
In a whisper, Grandpa thanked her, and we watched as she walked back to her working stall. Grandpa laid the book on the table and both of us read the title, Trapping Monkeys in the Jungles of Borneo.
