Then the cowgirls’ turn came. Women in pretty costumes rode fast-moving horses around barrels. The crown watched to see which rider could race around four barrels then back to the field in the shortest time. Justin’s heart seemed to stand still as one rider, moving as fast as the wind, rode very close to the barrels. He felt sure she would run into a barrel and fall off her horse. But she didn’t touch a single barrel and became the winner. Justin shouted with joy.
When the crowd settled, the announcer was telling about calf roping and of another famous Black cowboy, Nat Love. Justin remembered Nat Love, nicknamed Deadwood Dick. He looked at Grandpa and smiled as the announcer went on, “Not only did Nat rope and tie calves, he roped and tied wild mustangs, too. Today, let’s watch a young cowboy from Prairie View, Texas, rope and tie calves.”
Justin jumped to his feet as a black calf came out of one gate and a cowboy on a horse came out of another. The race was on. Finally the cowboy threw his lasso and stopped the calf. The cowboy slid off his horse, threw the calf to the ground, folded its legs, and tied three of them together. Then he raised his hands to let the judges know he was done. The horse moved slowly backward, tightening the rope just enough to keep the calf in place.
Would the calf stay tied six seconds so the cowboy could win? Justin waited. The calf did not wriggle loose. Justin roared with the crowd. “What will his prize be?” Justin asked.
“Money,” Grandpa answered.
At last the event Justin had been waiting for arrived. The bulldogging began. A big black steer with long sharp horns raced out of a gate. Two cowboys on horses shot out after it. Suddenly, one of the cowboys jumped off his horse and grabbed the steer’s horns. He wrestled the steer to the ground, twisting its head back until its nose was up. This was done so quickly and easily that Justin stood and cheered with the crowd.
“That’s the way Bill Pickett did it, eh, Grandpa?”
“Yes, but even faster and easier,” Grandpa said.
When Justin was sadly thinking all the fun was over, the voice boomed over the loudspeaker. “All boys and girls ten years and younger can now become cowboys and cowgirls. We are going to let loose some baby Brahman bulls. Three of them will have red ribbons on their tails. The boy or girl who gets a ribbon will win a prize.”
Justin listened and wondered if he should try. A cowboy needs a hat, he thought. If only I had a cowboy hat. Suddenly he said to himself, If I win prize money, I will buy a hat. “Grandpa,” he asked, “can I try?”
“Sure you can. And bring back a ribbon, you hear?”
Justin waited at the gate with the other boys and girls who also wanted to try. The sharp horsy smell floated over him. He felt good and at ease with that smell he loved so much.
The gate to let the baby Brahmans out opened at the same time as the gate to let the boys and girls onto the field. The scramble was on as the blue-gray Brahmans raced about.
Justin waited. Then he saw a baby bull that he could head off and chase in the opposite direction.
The bull calf stopped and faced Justin. Justin stopped, too. He put his hands on his hips and looked at the bull. Suddenly Justin had an idea. He would grab that bull and wrestle it to the ground and draw cheers from the crowd the way the other cowboys had done.
Justin moved forward. Oh, no, he thought. This bull has no horns! A dogie needs horns. As he looked the bull in the eye it turned and ran away, waving its tail.
A red ribbon fluttered. In the nick of time, Justin snatched it. A winner!
When the judge awarded the prizes, he placed a cowboy hat on Justin’s head. The crowd roared. Justin waved the red ribbon and though he knew he could not be heard over the cheers, he shouted anyway. “I’m a real cowboy now, Grandpa!”
12
JUSTIN’S TRIUMPH
THE END OF the festival marked the end of the visit. The day for Justin to go home had arrived. Good times go fast, he thought as he packed his things, feeling both happy and sad. Happy because he had enjoyed himself and was going home; sad because he had to leave Grandpa.
He had so much to tell his family and his friend Anthony. He could hardly wait to tell Anthony about Don and the pies. Then he thought of Evelyn. How surprised she’ll be when she sees the ribbons and the hat. Wait’ll she sees that I can make a bed smooth as glass and wash dishes sparkly clean, he thought, and smiled. Then he remembered the burning rice. If only I could show her I can cook, too.
Suddenly Justin had an idea. Hurriedly he finished packing and went to Grandpa’s room. Grandpa was just getting dressed.
“I guess you’re anxious to leave me,” Grandpa said. “You’re up so early.”
“Oh, no. I don’t want to leave you.” He hugged Grandpa around the waist.
“We had fun, eh?”
“Best time I ever had. Grandpa, can you show me how to make your biscuits?”
“Think you can learn how to make the best biscuits in the world?”
“I want to try.”
“All right. The first thing we’ll do is wash our hands carefully.”
After they had washed their hands, Grandpa said, “Now we’ll need to make some dishwater.”
“Why dishwater, Grandpa?” Justin asked.
“A good cook always cleans as he goes along. Then the place is not a mess when everything is cooked.”
Grandpa showed Justin how he made biscuit mix with flour, powdered milk, baking powder, and salt. So that’s why he only added shortening and water when he made his biscuits, Justin thought.
Grandpa let Justin measure the shortening and the right amount of water. “Remember now,” Grandpa said, “the secret of good biscuits is in your touch. Handle the dough with tender loving care.”
The bigger part of the morning went by with them in the kitchen. Justin learned to measure, mix, and bake biscuits. He learned how to cook stewed raisins and smoked pork, too.
Now, feeling he knew how to cook, Justin raced out to the meadow to say good-bye to the horses and to share with them some leftover biscuits. He stood for a moment looking at the blackish-green rolling hills in the distance. No fog floated like clouds today. The sky, crystal clear, was as blue as the lake.
He gave Cropper a biscuit first; he petted Palaver, gave him a biscuit, walked away, and whistled. Black came on the run. Justin pulled his head down. Hugging Black’s head, Justin rubbed Black’s velvety nose with his own. He let Black nibble the gift slowly. “Goodbye, boy. Be good, now. See you soon.” Slowly he walked back to the house, wishing he didn’t have to leave.
By the time all the chores were done, animals fed and watered, the afternoon had moved toward early evening.
Finally the Iron Pony, packed with eggs, ham, Justin’s biscuit mix, raisins, and pork, was ready to go. The bag of goodies had written on it: For Justin’s hands and eyes only. Do not look, do not touch.
On the road, Justin’s excitement doubled. He could hardly wait to see them all back home. Even though Grandpa stopped only once for gas, they arrived way after dark. Already the family was in bed. Mama let them in, delighted to have them home.
“We had better say our goodbye now,” Grandpa said to Justin. “By the time you get up in the morning, I’ll be well on the way back to the ranch.”
Grandpa stooped for Justin’s hug and kiss. “‘Bye, Grandpa. Thanks for the best time ever,” Justin said.
Even though he was very tired and sleepy, Justin noticed that nothing had changed in his room. He got into his lumpy bed knowing that a lot of work lay ahead of him. He fell asleep, happy to be home.
The next morning he slept late. It was almost noon when the sound of the telephone woke him. What is that? he wondered, then remembered he was home. He jumped out of bed, rummaged through his desk, and found a big white card. PLEASE DO NOT DISTURB, he wrote. Then he punched in two holes. Using one of his old shoelaces, he hung the card on the doorknob, and set to work.
First he pulled everything out of the closet. He replaced his shirts, hanging them so they did not touch.
Then his jackets. Finally the closet looked neat. He stood back and smiled. I did that all by myself.
Now the bed. After he had removed the sheets and the light blanket, he carefully put them on again the way Grandpa had shown him. At first, he forgot what Grandpa had said. How should he tuck the blanket and sheets at the foot of the bed in angles? He tried to see it in his mind. Triangle! It was easy now. His bed looked almost as smooth as Hadiya’s.
He had to do something to his walls, he thought. But he couldn’t decide whether to remove a football, basketball, or rock star. Where would he put his ribbons? And his hat? There was no space. What could he do?
Suddenly he got the idea to count backward from ten. The picture his hand touched when he reached zero would have to go. Wow! Just missed his favorite, Halley’s Comet. He was glad that the one on zero was not one he really cared about. He was happy, too, that the space was big enough for his hat and ribbons.
“Justin, Justin,” Evelyn called, and knocked on his door.
He locked the door and answered, “Yeah?”
“Don’t you want to see us?”
Quickly he unlocked the door and stepped outside. “You mean you want to see me?”
“Sure, stupid,” Evelyn said, hugging him. Hadiya stood by, smiling.
Justin hugged them both, feeling good inside.
“What’s this ‘Do Not Disturb’ and that bag in the fridge, ‘don’t look, don’t touch’?” Hadiya asked. “I’m coming in.”
Justin blocked the door. “No way, and you’d better not bother my bag.”
“How would you know if I did?” Hadiya asked.
“I’ll know, and if you don’t believe me, try it.”
“Aw, Justin, let us see.”
“No.” He went into his room and quickly closed his door.
“You think you’re so great since you’ve been with Grandpa,” Evelyn shouted through the closed door.
Justin stayed in his room, pleased that he had them guessing. He wished there was a way to get them out of the house. With them away, he’d feel more at ease trying to cook a surprise supper for the family.
Now knowing that Hadiya and Evelyn liked him and wanted him back, he thought about going to the playground. But he still had work to do.
The phone rang. Again Evelyn knocked on his door. “Justin, Mama called. She’s coming home early. Hadiya and I are going to the mall. Want to come?”
His heart pounded with excitement. They’ll be out of the house! No way will I go, he thought. He didn’t like shopping with them anyway. They took forever. He begged off.
When Mama came home, Justin rushed to meet her. “Can I cook supper for us?”
“Justin, no.”
“But, why, Mama?”
“I don’t want you messing in my kitchen.”
He tried to assure her that he could cook without being messy. A good cook always starts with clean hands and clean dishwater. Clean up as you go along. Grandpa’s words and example guided his plea.
“Please, Mama. I know what to do,” he begged.
“But I don’t want you in the kitchen.”
“I can do it. Just try me. And promise you won’t come in unless I call you, OK?”
“OK.”
Now that he had the go-ahead, he felt frightened. Would he remember all he had done when Grandpa showed him how to make biscuits: just enough shortening, not too much water? He placed the bag with all of his ingredients on the counter.
More worried about the biscuits than about the raisins and pork, he decided to make biscuits first. After putting the mix in a bowl he made a round hole in the center of the mix just as Grandpa had. Then he added shortening, mixed it in, and added water. He tried to blend it all together with his fingers. It felt too icky, he thought. He used a spoon to work in more mix with tender loving care.
When he began to think it was taking longer than he remembered, his mama called at the door, “Justin, you all right in there?”
Maybe he should ask her. But he called, “I’m OK,” hoping the dough would become smooth and round.
Finally he had twelve biscuits, close together, on a greased shiny pan.
The biscuits safe on the counter, he quickly washed the bowl and spoon. Now he was ready for the next task. The pork. It took the longest to cook. He found a heavy skillet and put the pork in it with a little water. With the fire turned low, he waited and watched. He didn’t want it to burn. Pretty soon it boiled slowly. He smiled and put the raisins in a pot to prepare them the way Grandpa had shown him. Turning the fire very low under them, he noticed that the pork was now bubbling in its own fat.
Mama called again, “Need me, Justin?”
“Not yet.”
“OK. It smells like you know what you’re doing.”
Finally, he went to find Mama to tell her he was ready to turn on the oven. She wanted to come into the kitchen even though she knew he had turned the oven on before.
“No, no, not yet. I can do it,” he pleaded.
The biscuits went into a hot 425-degree oven. Justin was very careful. With the oven door closed, he called Mama to set the timer for fifteen minutes. “Now come in, but don’t open the oven, and don’t look in the pots!”
Before the biscuits were done, he heard Hadiya and Evelyn come back from shopping.
“Mama,” Hadiya called. “What’s smelling so good? I’m starved.”
He heard Mama say, “That’s Justin cooking, and don’t go in the kitchen.”
The buzzer sounded. The biscuits were done. He opened the oven door and was surprised to see golden biscuits. It is magic, he thought.
The raisins stewed, plump in their juice; the pork bubbled, brown and crisp. He called to Mama, “You can help me now.”
She helped put the food on the table. Evelyn and Hadiya were invited to share Justin’s supper. They all took generous helpings.
Hadiya bit into a biscuit. “M-mm-m, Justin, these are the best biscuits in the world.”
“Who believes Justin did these delicious biscuits?” Evelyn asked.
“I do, because he did,” Mama answered with great pride.
Justin beamed with pleasure.
Later, he invited them all to his room for open house to see the prize ribbons and hat he had won at the festival.
“Can you believe this room?” Evelyn cried as she entered. “Look at his bed, wow!”
Mama smiled. “I’ll give you first prize for your room,” she said, hugging him.
“And I’ll give you a gold medal for the best biscuits in the world,” Hadiya said.
“How’d you ever do it?” Evelyn wanted to know.
Justin felt he would burst with happiness. “Aw, it’s easy when you know how,” he said matter-of-factly. When he winked like Grandpa, they all laughed.
EXTRAS
Justin and the Best Biscuits in the World
Famous Black Cowboys
Talking about Biscuits
A Q & A with Mildred Pitts Walter
Famous Black Cowboys
Justin was surprised to find out that there were black cowboys. Maybe you were, too!
It’s estimated that there were between five and eight thousand black cowboys working on cattle drives out west between 1866 and 1896. Many were freed slaves. Some sources estimate that a third of all nineteenth century cowboys were of African, Native-American, or Mexican descent. The Black American West Museum in Denver, Colorado, and the American Cowboy Museum in Houston, Texas, were founded to honor these brave men.
Three African-American cowboys are especially well-known for their exciting rodeo appearances:
BILL PICKETT: He created a favorite rodeo event called bulldogging, or steer wrestling. Bill Pickett would grab a bull by the horns and wrestle it to the ground until its nose was in the air. It’s said that he’d bite the bull on the nose! In 1971 he became the first black honoree inducted into the National Rodeo Cowboy Hall of Fame. At the Bill Pickett Invitational Rodeo, sponsored every two years by the Black America
n West Museum, boys try to grab the red ribbon from a baby bull’s tail—just like Justin does.
JESSE STAHL: He’s still known as one of the best bronco riders in history.
NAT LOVE: This sharpshooter was famous for his ability to always hit the bull’s-eye in shooting matches. He was so good they called him “Deadwood Dick.”
Today more than twenty thousand people are members of the national Black Cowboy Association.
Talking about Biscuits
by Mildred Pitts Walter
Many readers have asked me if I make good biscuits. The answer is no. I try different recipes, but I never get the biscuits I want. They seldom even come out flaky. Perhaps I am heavy-handed and knead them too much.
When I wrote about Justin’s grandpa’s biscuits, I was remembering my father. My father made the best biscuits! He was a log cutter for Long Bell Lumber Company. He left home early in the morning and came home late all week long. I always looked forward to Sunday mornings because my father cooked breakfast. I hurried to get ready for church, and while the others in my family were getting dressed, I went to the kitchen to help him.
My father made what he called “fist biscuits.” He did not roll out the dough and cut it with a cookie cutter. He made a ball of dough, put it in a pan, and lightly shaped it with his fist. Sometime he let me shape one or two. He’d let me carefully put them in the hot oven. Oh, they smelled so good! Before everyone came to the kitchen I would have eaten a biscuit.
When we sat at the table to share them hot from the oven, I had more with butter and cane syrup. There were never any leftovers. His fresh, flakey, and golden brown biscuits were the best biscuits in the world.
A Q & A with Mildred Pitts Walter
Why did you decide to write Justin and the Best Biscuits in the World?
I went to a rodeo and saw boys and girls participating in several events. I decided it would be fun to find out more about rodeos. To make the story interesting, I thought a boy who figured that housework was woman’s work would learn a lot if he went to visit his grandpa who is a cowboy.
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