Dry Divide

by Ralph Moody

  Even at that, I didn’t mind if the other fellow tried to do a little deceiving in a dicker. It was to be expected, and made it more fun to match wits against him. What made me sore was having Bones try to bunko me into thinking that he was dickering on my side when he was actually my opponent. I’d have boiled over if I’d walked into the bank right after leaving that farmer, but I had time to simmer down before we got back to The Bluffs.

  Bones was talking on the phone when I went in. I waited until he’d hung up, then opened the gate and went back to his desk. He seemed surprised when he looked up and saw me, cracked a couple of knuckles, and asked, “Something more I can do for you, Son?”

  “No,” I told him, “you’ve done more than enough already. I just dropped in to bring back this map. I won’t be needing it; I’m going to buy my stuff at Oberlin.”

  Bones scowled at me, angrily, “Now wait a minute, Son! I went to a lot of trouble on your account, running down all that stuff for you, and haggling over prices. I don’t aim to . . .”

  “Neither do I,” I cut in. “Just because I pulled you out of the hole on your worthless loans to Hudson is no reason for expecting me to pull you out on all the rest of them. I’ll buy what I need from men who are free to do their own trading; not from dupes for a banker who has already foreclosed on them.”

  Bones sat cracking his knuckles till I’d finished, and most of his belligerence drained away. “You’re dead wrong, Son,” he told me. “I haven’t foreclosed on a single one of ’em.”

  “I believe you,” I said, “but the only reason you haven’t is because you couldn’t find anyone who would take the junk off your hands—and you haven’t found one yet. If you’d come right out in the beginning and told me where you stood, instead of giving me all that blarney about haggling for me, I might have done business with you, but now . . .”

  “Now wait a minute, wait a minute, Son,” he broke in, this time persuasively instead of irritably. “Don’t forget that I wrote all those letters of recommendation for you, and that you’re going to make a heap of money on the hauling jobs I got for you. I scratched your back for you when you needed it, now you owe it to me to scratch mine.”

  “The scratching was fine,” I said, “and I appreciate it, but keep your fingernails short; I don’t like to be gouged. Now that we’re out in the open, maybe we can do some business. I’ll gamble time enough to go around and look at the stuff you’ve marked on the map, and I’ll put my bid figure beside each of your offer prices. If we can come to an agreement on the difference, I’ll do business with you; if not, I’ll buy what I need elsewhere.”

  The first ten days of August were about as hectic as any I can remember; not because Bones was still trying to hook me—he’d given up on that—but because everything, including the weather, was setting me too fast a pace. Every mail brought more orders for hauling wheat, until I had so many I couldn’t have handled them all with a hundred horses. The only honest thing I could do was to write back to some of the owners, telling them I was unable to handle their jobs but would try to find them haulers who could. The big question to decide was which orders to confirm, and which to turn down, and I couldn’t do that until I knew when the thrashing would be done on each place. Otherwise, I might have ten times as much hauling as I could handle on some days, and none on others.

  Then too, I had to find the horses, harness, and wagons to do the job with, and I had to get them in a hurry, or Gus and Lars wouldn’t have time to do the rebuilding. On top of all that, the weather conspired against us. It rained all day on the Saturday after we finished harvesting, turning the roads into a mass of sticky gumbo, and making it necessary to cultivate Mrs. Hudson’s corn while we were trying to get ready for the hauling jobs.

  Saturday and Sunday would have been lost days if Gus and Lars hadn’t moved their repairing into the barn before the old wagons became too wet to work on, and if Kitten hadn’t been a cracking good mud horse. I saddled her right after breakfast, turned the other horses out to pasture, put Doc’s overalls and jumper on over my own, and started off on the route Bones had drawn on his map.

  None of the horses that were offered to me that day were worth their feed, but I found some pretty good harness, a saddle that Paco could use, and a few wagons that could be rebuilt and put into good condition. Whenever I found anything I could use, I marked the price I’d offer for it down beside the price Bones had put on the map, but I kept mine as much below the real value as he had set his above it. It was after dark before I got home, and from being soaked all day my legs had rubbed raw against the saddle, but I’d had better luck than I’d expected. I’d covered more than half the route, found four good sets of harness, five usable wagons, and two double-row cultivators that I rented for a dollar a day until we’d finished with the corn.

  Paco and Jaikus had moved our beds into the barn, but the roof leaked more or less, so we spent the whole evening in the kitchen, and I started Judy off on her bookkeeping. Of course, we didn’t have any books like those that are used in banks and businesses, but she’d brought a school notebook from home, and it had plenty of room in it for all the accounts we needed to keep track of. Before the war, I’d taken a correspondence course in bookkeeping, and knew there had to be a debit for every credit, but I couldn’t remember just how it worked, so we had a few debits without any credits, and a few credits without and debits, but when we finally had our book brought up to date it showed where everybody stood. There was a page for each one in the crew, credited with $256, and charged with whatever he’d drawn: Doc $50, Jaikus $10, and Bill $5. Then I remembered about promising Gus and Lars my first day’s pay if they’d stay on the job and double up for Edgar and Everett, so we credited each of them with an extra $4.50.

  After we’d finished all the bookkeeping I showed Judy how to make a Profit and Loss Statement for the harvesting. Her handwriting was fine, and it looked like a real business statement, but the profit wasn’t as much as I’d hoped it would be, and I owed almost as much as I had in the bank.

  The statement showed:

  Even at that, it wasn’t too bad, considering that I had the horses and equipment left.

  Sunday morning was bright and clear, but the roads were still too muddy for automobile driving. Right after breakfast I gave Judy all the hauling orders that had come in, and the township maps the County Clerk had marked for me. I told her she’d better figure out some routes, because, as soon as the roads dried, I wanted her to call at each place where I’d heard from the owner, so as to find out the tenant’s thrashing dates. Then I set the rest of the crew to helping Gus and Lars, saddled Kitten, and started out to find the rest of the wagons and harness I needed, and to see what might be done about worthwhile horses.

  By noon I’d found all the harness and wagons I needed, and had been shown a couple of dozen horses I could have bought for fifty dollars apiece, but there wasn’t one of them as good as my old bay mares. I didn’t want to stick my neck out and go into debt any deeper than I had to, but I made up my mind that I’d buy the best horses I could find for the job, and pay whatever was necessary to get them.

  From then on I had better luck. I headed straight down Beaver Valley, stopped only at the most prosperous looking places, and told the men who came out to meet me exactly what I was looking for—small, young, mustang horses, that had been worked enough through the spring and summer to be hard and tough. I told them that I didn’t care how ornery or hard to handle they might be, as long as they had plenty of go and toughness. The farmers I called on didn’t have that kind of horses, but sent me on to places where they thought I might find them. I didn’t have time to get around to all the places, but by sunset I’d bought four cracking good teams—and they’d cost me $885. What’s more, I’d made friends with a lot of prosperous farmers, and found that I could hire all the teams of heavy horses I wanted, together with first-rate wagons, for five dollars a day.

  By Monday the roads had dried enough that I could drive the Maxwell,
so I started out with it as soon as we’d had breakfast. I stopped only at the places where I’d been told I might find the kind of horses I wanted, let the farmer set his price on any team I’d have been glad to own, then drove on to the next place. By the time I’d finished my round, I’d seen eight or ten teams that were just what I needed, and the prices ranged anywhere from $200 to $250 a team. I set my limit at $200, then started back to make the round again, but made my bid only on the best teams. I failed to get the two that I liked best, but by half-past-nine I’d bought the next best three.

  I was waiting outside the bank when Bones unlocked the door that morning. He acted grouchy when I told him I was going to buy no horses from farmers he’d sent me to, and he screamed like a trapped wildcat when I showed him the prices I was offering on the wagons and harness. I spent an hour haggling with him, just to let him feel he’d made the best deal he was going to get, then told him, “I’ll tell you what’ll do: you add up all the figures you put down on the map for these items, then add up my offers, and I’ll split the difference with you. If that doesn’t suit you, I’ll have to take a drive over to Oberlin.”

  I think Bones had known where we’d end up as well as I had, but a deal of that kind isn’t a good one without a little haggling, and we’d both had fun doing it. Of course, we told each other we’d been stuck by a sharper trader, but we were both tickled enough to squirm with our ends of the bargain. I’d bought equipment for $720 that I’d thought would cost me nearly $1000, and he’d collected $720 on loans that he’d believed to be dead losses.

  Mrs. Hudson fixed us an early dinner, and by noon we had the old Maxwell back on the road, loaded with the whole crew, and Judy doing the driving. First we picked up the horses, then went on at a pace no faster than they could trot comfortably, until we’d picked up all the harness and wagons. As soon as we had a set of harness and a wagon together, we dropped off a driver and pair of horses, then drew a map so he’d know where to pick up another wagon or a cultivator on the way home. It was mid-afternoon when Judy dropped me off, then went on to make some of her calls. I hadn’t driven more than a mile before I knew that the horses I was holding the reins on were exactly the kind I needed. Even though they’d been at an almost steady trot for four hours, they were as full of go as if they’d been fresh from the corral—and I let them go.

  Being the last one dropped, I was last to get back to the place, and anyone might have thought there was a barn raising going on there. Eight wagons were drawn up in the yard, the harness spread over the wheels, and the corral was a heaving mass of tough little broncos. They were biting, kicking, and laying their ears back as they got acquainted with each other, but it was easy to see that they’d discovered who the boss was; Kitten was feeding by herself, and the new horses were all giving her a wide berth. I pulled my wagon in beside the others, and Paco helped me unharness. Then we wasted an hour, standing by the corral gate and gloating over the horses. I was the proudest I’d ever been in my life, but I was in debt $2000, and the only part of my bank account that belonged to me was $16.15. When I mentioned it there wasn’t a man in the crew who didn’t tell me to use his share of the account as though it had been my own.

  12

  Tricky Business

  I don’t believe I slept more than an hour the night we brought the new horses home, but lay awake, thinking and planning. The success or failure of my new business wouldn’t depend alone on tough, fast horses, but on using wagons in pairs, and that was going to be tricky business. There were sharp corners to turn, steep hills to go down as well as up, and the elevator rocker to be coped with. The rocker was a great trap door in the floor of a narrow driveway through the elevator. When a wagon was pulled onto it, the wheels were blocked, the end-gate removed, and the rocker tilted to dump the load into the grain pit below.

  With light horses and trailers, the uphill climbs would be rugged, but it was the steep downgrades that worried me. A wagon and trailer, each loaded with fifty bushels of wheat, would weigh about four tons, and two light horses on the pole couldn’t possibly keep it from running wild. Both wagon and trailer would have to be held back by over-sized brakes, and a driver could actuate them only if the trailer were coupled close and rigidly to the lead wagon. Still, the coupling would have to be flexible enough to allow for sharp turns, and to permit each wagon to be tilted separately on the elevator rocker.

  Ever since I’d first had the idea of hauling with trailers, I’d been trying to figure out types of coupling and brake rigs that would do the job the way it would have to be done. Some of those I’d thought of were so complicated that I could hardly keep track of all the pieces in my mind, but as I lay there in the darkness I suddenly had an idea, so simple that any child might have thought of it. All I had to do was to have heavy angle irons bent into the shape of three-foot V’s, with hinges at the upper ends, and the point flattened out to make a turnplate with a bolt hole at the center.

  By hinging one V to the back axle of the lead wagon, and another on the front axle of the trailer, the coupling would be made when the two turnplates were bolted together. It would hold one wagon rigidly behind the other, with no possibility of swaying, but the pivot bolt would make it possible to turn sharp corners, and the hinges would allow each wagon to be tilted separately on the elevator rocker. Then, too, that type of coupling solved my brake problem, as the pivot bolt would give me a dead center between the front and back wagon. By using an eyebolt, I could run a steel cable through the eye, connecting the brake beam on the trailer with a foot pedal on the lead wagon, and the pressure could be held constant, no matter how sharp a downhill curve might be.

  Tuesday morning we loaded the cultivators onto our best wagon, harnessed six of the new horses, and I sent Old Bill, Jaikus, and Paco to begin the corn cultivating. Judy drove ahead to show them were the quarter-section was, then would go on from there to make more calls on tenants, so as to list their thrashing schedules.

  As soon as they had driven away I called Gus, Lars, and Doc to the middle of the yard. There I drew on a ground a full-sized plan of the coupling and brake assembly I’d thought of during the night, and asked them if they could see any reason it wouldn’t work, or could think of anything that might be better. Doc made up his mind within two minutes, but Gus and Lars studied the plan for at least fifteen minutes, mumbling to each other in Swedish, before they told me they thought it would be the best we could do.

  Next, we went over each wagon carefully, listing the parts and lumber we’d need for each one, since the repairing would be our biggest job in getting ready for the hauling. Every wheel had to be taken apart, new spokes and fellies shaped and fitted into place where the old ones were cracked or broken, and the tires sweated back on so tightly there would be no possibility of their loosening or slipping under the most severe use. Weak tongues, stretchers, bolsters, axles, and doubletrees had to be replaced. The bodies had to be rebuilt and strengthened with steel bands, making them almost water-tight, so they wouldn’t leak wheat when jounced over rough roads. New side boards had to be fitted in here and there, new front-gates and end-gates made, seats repaired, and over-sized brakes made and installed, together with seven sets of coupling rigs.

  It was mid-forenoon when we finished examining the wagons and making up lists of the tools and materials we’d need for the job, so I said, “Let’s harness a team and drive to Oberlin. There’s a lot of this stuff we couldn’t get at The Bluffs, and I want to start a blacksmith working on those coupling irons right away.”

  As I spoke, I picked up a set of harness from a wagon wheel and started toward the corral. I expected the others to follow me, but they didn’t. When I looked back from the corral gate, Gus and Lars were still standing where I’d left them, and they appeared to be arguing, but Doc was nowhere in sight.

  Alone, and without a throw rope, I had a little trouble in catching the pair of horses I wanted. It might have taken me fifteen minutes to catch and harness them, and when I led them to one of the wa
gons Gus and Lars were waiting for me. Gus did the talking, and I couldn’t have been more surprised if I’d discovered that Doc was actually an M.D. They were blacksmiths by trade, but had sold their shop in the spring, and had planned to spend the summer seeing the country, then go on to California for the winter. They’d intended to put in only a week at harvesting, just long enough to see how it was done in the West.

  What they’d been arguing about was whether it would be cheaper for me to buy an anvil, iron working tools, and bricks and bellows for a forge, or to have our work done by a blacksmith in town. There was no question in my mind. Half the job of rebuilding the wagons would be iron work and resetting the tires. Doc and I could do the woodwork, and if they could do our blacksmithing right on the place it would save us several days time, so the cost didn’t matter too much.

  With angle iron, materials for a forge, and lumber to haul, we’d have too heavy a load for two light horses, so I told Gus, “We’ll use a four-horse hitch. If you’ll rig a doubletree to the end of that wagon pole, I’ll get the long reins and have another team ready in a few minutes.”

  I was so excited about being able to do our own blacksmithing right on the place that I’d forgotten there was any such a man as Doc, but he didn’t let me forget it long. As I hurried into the barn for the reins, his vibrant medicine-man oratory came rolling toward me like a tidal wave from the darkness of the farthest stall, “My dear companion, some treacherous oaf has sullied my raiment with foul and offensive offal, and to escape detection of his perfidious act has ensconced it . . .”