Dude Ranch

by Bonnie Bryant

He was almost all a reddish-brown color with a bright pink nose and little eyes that sparkled in the daylight. He was much smaller than most of the other calves in the herd and it seemed that the majority of him was spindly legs with knobby knees—and those spindly legs were having quite a time with the rushing water. At first, he was okay, but when he got a few steps out into the creek, it was clear that he was having trouble holding his balance. He stepped sideways, downstream, his legs being pushed by the water. Stevie realized that if he took one more step forward, the rush of the water was going to be too much for him, and he might drown.

  She’d already watched one animal die that day, and she wasn’t going to see it happen again.

  Stevie turned to Carole. “Come on. We’ve got a job to do.” The two of them went over to where the little calf was quaking in the water. The creek was about a foot deep there—not deep enough to cause Stevie and Carole harm, but just deep enough to get their boots soaking wet. Stevie consoled herself with the knowledge that she did, after all, have a clean pair of socks with her.

  The girls slid down off their horses and, wrapping the reins around their wrists, they leaned over to pick up the little calf together. It was still struggling against the water. He may have been a little calf, but he was heavy. Using every ounce of their strength, and working in perfect unity, they lifted the calf up to Stewball’s withers.

  “Let me get on the other side to make sure he’s not just going to slide off,” Carole said. She dodged under Stewball’s neck, taking hold of the calf’s front hooves. “Push him a bit!” Carole told Stevie.

  Stevie hefted the calf, evading the angry kicking of his rear hooves. “I don’t think he likes this much,” she told Carole. “I don’t think I’d like it much either,” she added.

  “Beats drowning,” Carole reminded her.

  The girls shifted the calf’s weight a couple of times. When they were pretty sure he was balanced, Carole remounted Berry and held Stewball’s reins for Stevie, keeping the horse steady under his new and heavy burden. Stevie rose in the stirrups carefully, sitting right behind the straddled calf. Carole handed her Stewball’s reins. “Good luck!” she said.

  Stevie had the feeling she was going to need it. She adjusted the calf against her thighs so he wouldn’t slide off, and proceeded across the creek. The calf protested his rather uncomfortable position with grunts and bleats. Stevie tried to pat him, but that just made him kick and that could lead to disaster. She started to sing to him. “Git along, little dogie, git along!” He calmed down. Stevie figured that meant he liked her singing; or maybe it just sounded like the cows’ moos! Whatever the reason, it worked. The calf lay quietly, and its mother followed Stewball obediently.

  When she and Carole reached the far side of the creek, Eli spotted them, and grinned broadly at Stevie.

  “I’ll make a wrangler of you yet,” he said. “Never did that on one of your sissy English trail rides, did you?”

  Stevie knew it was a compliment, so she smiled back at him. “I’m learning,” she said. “But how do I get this guy down from here?”

  Eli rode over to her. He dismounted and helped Stevie remove the calf from Stewball’s withers. Stewball stood absolutely still even when the calf’s sharp hooves scraped across his withers. Stevie was admiring the horse more and more with every passing minute.

  “Here you go, boy,” Eli said, slapping the rump of the startled calf. “Time to go to Mama!”

  The cow approached her newborn, sniffed him a few times, glanced at Stewball and Stevie, then nudged the calf ahead. In a few seconds, the pair had merged with the herd and it was soon impossible for Stevie to tell just which calf it was that she had saved from drowning.

  THAT NIGHT, STEVIE lay in her bedroll, staring up at the million stars that were sprinkled across the sky like so many grains of spilled sugar on black velvet. She thought with sadness about Tomahawk’s death, and then she remembered Eli’s dog, Mel, and her puppies. Stevie wondered whether one of Mel’s puppies could ever make up for Tomahawk, but she knew that an animal like that couldn’t be replaced. She hoped she’d be able to think of some way to thank Christine, but she knew it wasn’t by trying to fill Tomahawk’s place.

  She thought about the other things that had happened during the day. She couldn’t remember a more eventful day in her whole life, or a day in which she’d had more new experiences. It had been an odd mix of fear, sadness, friendship, happiness, love. Eli was right that there was a lot to learn. But despite her hectic, even traumatic, day, Stevie fell into a deep, dreamless sleep almost immediately.

  WHEN MORNING CAME, there was just a short ride before the herd arrived at the ranch. The riders brought the herd into the corrals at The Bar None before lunchtime. The girls watched while the wranglers cut and counted the herd and while the calves were branded with The Bar None symbol. Stevie thought she could tell which calf she’d carried across the creek, but when she saw another almost like it, she wasn’t so sure.

  “Come on, let’s go shower and change our clothes before lunch,” Kate suggested to her friends.

  “Why?” Stevie asked. “We’ll just ride again after lunch, won’t we?”

  “Probably,” Kate agreed. “But would you really want to sit next to yourself at lunch after two days on the trail?”

  The girls laughed. They did smell like horses, and cattle, and dust.

  “I guess a shower isn’t such a bad idea after all,” Stevie agreed. “And, of course, a change of socks!”

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE how hungry I am!” Lisa said, looking at her plate. “Why, I must have had two helpings of everything!”

  “You had three helpings of rolls,” Carole teased. “But don’t worry, I did, too. Everything out here tastes so good.”

  “That’s because you can really build up an appetite herding cattle,” Kate said. “I told you so, didn’t I?”

  “I think I’ll give herding a rest for a few days,” Stevie said, “but I’m ready to go for another ride. When shall we go out?” she asked.

  Kate, Lisa, and Carole exchanged looks. Stevie wondered what that was about.

  “I think I’ve done enough riding for the day,” Lisa said. “I wanted to take some time to send my mother another postcard, maybe take a nap this afternoon. I didn’t sleep all that well last night.”

  “Me, too,” Kate said. “Besides, my mom asked me to give her a hand with a chore.”

  “Carole?” Stevie asked.

  “I promised the little kids I’d show them how to tack up a horse. They want to use the ponies and Eli’s too busy with the cutting and branding.”

  Stevie couldn’t figure her friends out. Normally, they’d be happy to ride fifteen hours a day. What was going on?

  “Well, then, I’ll just ride by myself,” she said, the annoyance clear in her voice. “Stewball and I will have a wonderful time!”

  With that, she pushed back her chair, picked up her plates to clear, and strode out of the mess hall.

  “I’m on wrapping!” Lisa announced as soon as the door closed behind Stevie. “I love to wrap.”

  “That’s okay,” Carole said. “I always get the paper bunched up at the corners. I’ll finish the lanterns I was working on. What are you going to do?” she asked Kate.

  “Mom and I have some planning to do on the cake and the rest of the barbecue. Let’s get to work. Time’s a-wastin’!”

  AT FOUR-THIRTY the next morning, the four members of The Saddle Club awaited Christine’s arrival. They would join Christine on her morning ride and end up at her house for breakfast. Their horses were in the corral. Each had a bridle, but no saddle. Christine was serious about bareback riding!

  The girls had ridden bareback before. It was part of basic equestrian training to be able to ride bareback, but they all thought saddles were more comfortable. Still, bareback was the traditional Native American way and if they were going to ride with Christine, they’d do it her way.

  They waited in the quiet predawn darkness. Nobody spoke.
The only sounds were those made by their horses. Berry whinnied. Stewball snorted.

  “Riders up!” It was Christine. She and Arrow had arrived so quietly that the girls hadn’t even heard them approach.

  “You’re something,” Stevie said admiringly.

  “Old Native American trick,” Christine said, pretending to speak like a Hollywood Indian.

  “Give me a break,” Kate teased. “The county just put fresh dirt on the road and graded it. That’s how you snuck up on us!”

  “Like I said,” Christine joked, “an old trick! Come on, let’s go.”

  The girls mounted their horses from the corral fence. It was tricky to get on a full-size horse without stirrups, but they found that they could climb on from the top of the fence.

  In a few seconds, they were all ready to follow Christine. She led them across the range. Their eyes had become accustomed to the darkness. Although they couldn’t always distinguish a bush from a rock, they could see well enough to navigate—and to follow Christine.

  The air was still cool. Stevie could feel goose bumps rise, caused by the breeze that washed over her as Stewball trotted along comfortably. She rubbed her arm for warmth, then leaned toward the horse’s mane, brushing his soft, warm coat.

  One of the most important things Stevie had ever learned about riding—and it had taken her a long time to master it—was balance. A rider had to be careful to be centered on the horse, not too far forward or back, and most important, not to one side or the other. Learning balance had meant learning the horse’s motion because the balance of the horse itself changed with each step as the horse’s weight shifted from one foot to the next. What was a little tricky in a saddle was really tricky without one. Fortunately, all of the dudes were good enough riders to be able to manage bareback. In fact, after a short while, Stevie and the others got used to it.

  “This is kind of neat,” Lisa remarked, voicing what was on all of their minds. “I mean, Max is always telling me to feel the movement of the horse, but it’s hard with a saddle. Now I can really feel the motion. It’s easier to tell the paces and how they are different from one another. How do you think Max will like it when we want to take his horses out bareback?”

  “I think he’ll think we should have our heads examined,” Carole said.

  “It’s not the head that can become damaged from riding without a saddle!” Christine teased. The girls all laughed. It was true that one of the other differences was the lack of cushion for the rider’s backside.

  “Now, come on up this way,” Christine said. “It’s a little tricky, though, so be careful.”

  The path turned out to be a narrow trail that snaked around one of the hills on the range, rising gently most of the time. However, it had hairpin turns in it, and it was rocky all the way. They walked their horses very slowly so that the surefooted animals could pick their way.

  Stevie was paying so much attention to the path that she didn’t realize how breathtakingly beautiful the landscape was around her. When she arrived at the crest of the hill and Stewball drew to a halt next to Arrow, she looked up.

  “Oh!” she gasped.

  “I knew you’d understand,” Christine said.

  Stevie looked out over the range. From the top of the hill, in the dissipating darkness, she could see for miles in all directions. To the west, the sky was still dim, though the stars had disappeared and the moon was long set. To the east, however, the sun was cresting over the mountains that surrounded the valley, home of The Bar None, Two Mile Creek, and Christine’s family. The sky was a brilliant mix of pinks, purples, and gold, boldly streaking the horizon.

  “Look at that orange stripe!” Lisa said. “Isn’t that something?”

  “And the clouds that are pink, by the mountain peak there,” Carole observed. “It looks just like cotton candy.”

  “Wait a minute, though, and all the colors will switch,” Christine said.

  While they watched, the sky brightened and the bold colors of dawn become pale pastels, and, finally, the deep blue of the daylight sky, streaked by high white wispy clouds.

  “Look, there are our horses!” Kate said. The girls followed her gaze. The ranch’s horses were in their pasture, perhaps two miles away, awakening for the day. They lifted their heads to see the dawn and then began munching contentedly on the sweet grass of the range.

  “And there’s the main house,” Carole said.

  “And our bunkhouse,” Lisa added. “They look so small from here!”

  “They even look smaller than my house,” Christine said.

  “Where is your house?” Stevie asked, suddenly very curious.

  “Over that way,” Christine said, pointing. “See, there’s a small wood-frame house with an old barn attached. That’s my home. Mom promised breakfast for us. We should get there just as the first griddle cakes go on the skillet.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Stevie said. “Because the next sound you’re going to hear is the growling of my stomach. I can’t believe how hungry I am these days!”

  “Oh, yes I can,” Christine said. “So let’s get to it!”

  Going down the hill turned out to be even trickier than going up it. At least there was more daylight for the riders to see by so they managed okay. It just went slowly.

  When they reached the flat part of the range, the girls first began trotting and then loping along, enjoying the freedom of the open countryside.

  Stevie, Carole, and Lisa had never had more fun or felt more joyful on horseback. They were almost sorry when they pulled up to the Lonetrees’ house.

  Stevie hadn’t known quite what to expect, but whatever it was, the Lonetree house wasn’t it. They lived in a modern ranch house set near a hillside, with a creek cutting across their backyard. The barn, next to the main house, was home to Arrow and two other horses. There was a small paddock out back of the barn. The girls unbridled their horses and put them in the paddock. They also saw to it that there was plenty of cool water in the trough for the horses, and some fresh hay.

  “Our turn!” Christine announced, once the horses had been taken care of.

  The girls followed her into the house. It was very modern, decorated in a distinctly southwestern style. The floors were bare ceramic tile, and each of the rooms had tile set into the adobe walls. The tiles were decorated with Indian patterns. There was a big fireplace in the living room, which was also decorated with linen-covered chairs and a low coffee table, inlaid with more of the decorative tiles.

  The kitchen, where they met Mrs. Lonetree, was completely modern, down to the microwave oven. Mrs. Lonetree greeted the girls with a warm smile and a handshake.

  “I’m so glad to meet you all,” she said. “Christine told me about how wonderful you were to her when Tomahawk died. I just want to thank you.”

  “Thank us?” Stevie asked, surprised. “Tomahawk saved my life. It’s him we need to thank.”

  “Well, he was a wonderful dog,” Mrs. Lonetree agreed. “Now, are you hungry? I hope so because I’ve made an awful lot of food for you.”

  “Starved,” Carole said, speaking for all of them.

  “Then have a seat.”

  The girls sat at the kitchen table, which had been set for them with beautiful earthenware plates.

  “Where did you get these plates?” Stevie asked. “I’ve never seen anything like them.”

  “My mother made them,” Christine told her friends proudly.

  “You’re a potter?” Lisa asked. “That’s neat.”

  “Part-time,” Mrs. Lonetree said. “Most of the time I’m a teacher. I teach modern European and Russian history at the Two Mile Creek High School. In the summertime, though, I usually have some extra time on my hands, so I throw pots—”

  “Don’t they break?” Stevie asked.

  Christine stifled a giggle. “No, Stevie,” she said. “Throwing pots is what potters do when they are working with wet clay on a potter’s wheel. It’s how they make things,”

 
“Oh,” Stevie said sheepishly.

  “See,” Mrs. Lonetree explained, “working with clay is a traditional Indian craft. I learned most of what I know from my mother. I love the work I do and I love to use the traditional patterns of our people when I make pots. These things we keep at home. I also do a lot of urns and sort of primitive bowls. Those I sell at the tourist traps in town. A lot of the dudes like to think they’ve bought something made by an aged Indian woman working in the shade of her mud hut. They’d hate to see the high-quality work I can really do. They’d never pay for it!”

  Stevie, Carole, and Lisa grinned at one another.

  “Where’s Dad?” Christine asked.

  “He had to leave for work early this morning,” Mrs. Lonetree explained.

  “Dad’s a research scientist,” Christine told them. “He’s always having to check on his experiments at odd hours.”

  Mrs. Lonetree served up the pancakes and sausages she’d prepared for the girls and they dug into them with relish. It was delicious, especially when they covered their pancakes with honey.

  Stevie smiled to herself. A week earlier, she could never have imagined herself doing so many of the things she’d done in just the past few days, everything from going on a roundup, to riding bareback before dawn, to gobbling down pancakes in the home of a full-blooded American Indian. Life was full of surprises and a lot of them were pretty terrific, she concluded.

  Christine said she wanted to show the girls something and excused herself for a few minutes. As soon as she was out of the room, Mrs. Lonetree leaned forward to speak to The Saddle Club in confidence.

  “She’s been heartbroken about Tomahawk, you know, but, of course, she doesn’t blame you, Stevie. She knows these things happen. I’m trying to find a way to console her. I wanted to take her into town yesterday and see if we could buy her a pup from the breeder in town. Christine refused. I don’t know what to do. Do you girls have any ideas?”

  “I do,” Carole said. Stevie knew that Carole understood Christine’s loss better than any of them could since she’d lost the horse she’d loved the most in the world. His name had been Cobalt. “You can’t replace an animal that’s died any more than you can replace a person who has died. There’s only one cure and that’s time. In time, Christine will find that she can love another dog. But that other dog won’t ever replace Tomahawk.”