by Lou Bradshaw
At the end of the school term Miss Pritchett announced that there wouldn’t be anymore ninth or tenth grades – what they had been calling high school. There just wasn’t enough older students to make a class. That meant that Andy was finished, and that I only had one more year. Our spring cow drive had netted us four weaned calves, which had to have their ears notched, and the two bull calves needed cuttin. We were well used to that sort of thing.
We spent the summer pretty much as we had spent the one before, except we did a lot more riding than walking. Those outlaw horses needed the work and we enjoyed working them. We found that the fences were in good shape and didn’t need too much work. It got to be that we could move those cows around better from horseback than we could afoot, the horses seemed to know what to do with a little nudge from us.
Life was actually pretty slow and easy during the summer of 1867. The only difficulty I had was trying to learn how to cut Andy’s hair. He was pretty particular about it. It was all curly and went every which way, so all I could do was look for something sticking out and whack it off. Anyway, he couldn’t see the back, so it didn’t matter.
The biggest buzz of the summer came in late August when Elizabeth’s wedding was planned. You’d have thought that George Washington was marrying the Queen of France the way folks carried on. Well, in my mind, Elizabeth was better than any old queen, but Tim Davies was no George Washington. That was all the church ladies wanted to talk about, and the church girls talked even more about it than the ladies did. The older church boys and young men made themselves scarce when wedding talk was going around. I couldn’t figure out why Mr. Thompson was so pleased about it, after all he was going to lose a top rate housekeeper and cook. Yep, life was still a puzzle.
On the day of the wedding, Andy and I were all spruced up in our new white shirts. Our boots were shined, and Andy was wearing his father’s Sunday suit, it fit him like it was made for him. I tried on Andy’s old suit coat and my forearms stuck out like a scarecrow’s. I went without a coat; it was too hot anyway. After all, it was August in the Ozarks. Andy forced me to wear a waistcoat and poet tie. I couldn’t rhyme rain with train, but I was wearing a poet tie. I had plenty of lard on that red mess atop my head, and it had been long enough since the barber shop adventure that my ears didn’t stick out so bad. I would have liked a little of that violet water though.
Andy looked like a circuit ridin preacher in that suit with that broad brimmed black hat, which would come off as soon as the girls showed up. He checked himself in the mirror and declared himself good. If he’d been able to see the back of his head… well, maybe good wouldn’t be his exact words.
The ceremony was a ring-tailed gagger with all that talk about honoring and loving. I almost choked when the preacher got to the obeying part. That woman would do a lot of things, but I questioned her obeying any mortal man if he pushed it. When it was bride-kissing time, Elizabeth nearly squeezed me to death and whispered that she was sorry she couldn’t wait for me. I had to wipe my eyes, but she acted like she hadn’t seen me.
Being almost kin, Mr. Thompson put us to work at the refreshment table manning the punch bowl. There were two kinds of punch, and they both came out of the same bowl. The only difference was one kind was for the ladies and kids, while the other kind was boosted a little from the jug behind the table.
Mr. Thompson wanted Andy to do the boostin for the gent’s, but Andy had joined the church’s temperance group. That group had a bunch of girls in it, and they had all taken the pledge. Andy said it wouldn’t look right for him to pour corn liquor… him being a pledger and all. I told Mr. Thompson that I hadn’t pledged nothin, and I would be proud to make this shindig a happy one. He started to offer me a cigar but changed his mind. It really was a grand affair.
After school had started I was gone most every day, and Andy was there by himself for long periods of time. He had always been more moody than I was; a circus clown was moodier than me. So, I didn’t really notice that he didn’t have much to say. He had taken to wearing that outlaw’s gunbelt and gun. He’d be just walking along, and the next thing I knew that gun would be in his hand. Then he’d drop it back in the holster. I asked him what was going on and he said that he never wanted to be caught unarmed and not ready.
One day he set up a bunch of cans to shoot at. He stood there with that pistol stickin straight out and looking down the barrel and shot. All he hit was the hill behind the cans. He emptied the cylinder that way with nothin but the hill bein shot. Mumblin and grumblin’ he reloaded and got ready to try again. I said, “Andy, your killin’ that hill. Why don’t you just look and shoot instead of aimin?” He looked at me, as if I was the village idiot. “No,” I said, “don’t you remember when you shot that fella in the yard? That’s how you said it happened. Remember?”
He just looked at me for a few seconds and bobbed his head like he was thinking. “Yeah, that’s right.” he said, “It’s worth a try.” He pulled out the gun, and I heard bang, bang, bang, bang, and I saw three cans jump and the hill took another one.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Was all he said. That was the first time I ever heard Andy use strong language. Without thinking, I repeated what he’d said, but that wasn’t the first time I had heard me use strong language.
“Three out of four and a near miss.” I yelled, “Whoopee, brother, that’s good shootin.” He just stood there grinning and reloading the empties. It dawned on me that it was the first time I’d seen him smile in weeks.
Later that night, while we were going over my lessons I asked him what was bothering him. At first he said nothing was wrong, but I wouldn’t take that, so I kept at him until he said, “I don’t know, Ben. It’s like somethin ain’t finished. We’re doin all right, me and you. But, Ma and Pa are dead, and it ain’t right. It ain’t right at all”
I didn’t say anything. What could I say; he had a right to feel sorry. He had a right to feel like somebody stole something from him. I didn’t say anything, I just sat there looking at my arithmetic paper and not seeing anything.
He went on, “Ben, I’m going to track the rest of that bunch down and kill them if it takes me forever.”
“But, Andy.” I said, “We don’t know where they are or what they look like. Or anything else except their names. And we’re just a couple of kids.”
“That don’t matter,” he said, “I got time. If someone else beats me to ‘em, that’s okay. Just as long as they get it.”
I tried to argue him out of thinking that way, but he had that notion planted square between his ears and wouldn’t hear a thing I said. He told me that I could go with him or I could stay here, but he was going to track those men down. I asked him when we were leaving.
“When it’s time, Ben, when it’s time.” was all he said.
The fall and winter weren’t much different than the year before, so everything became pretty much routine. From the amount of powder and lead, Andy went through, I’d say he spent as much time working with that gun as he did working at anything else. He was getting almighty good with it. He had always been a fair shot with a long gun so he didn’t seem to be concerned with a rifle. He even hunted rabbits with that pistol.
He was changing, that much was for sure, but I laid most of it off as growing up. I was growing too, but my growing was more physical than his. I was busting out of everything I owned. My new boots were full of feet, and I mean full.
Things were slow around the farm, so I started spending time with Cletus. I wanted to learn how to work cows and horses, and I figured he knew about as much or more than anyone in the county. He sure did. He knew things that he couldn’t teach, but a person could learn by seeing him do it and then ask him about it. When I would ask him he could explain, show, and teach. He had worked with cattle in Texas before the war. During the fighting, he’d been in a number of skirmishes, and after one had just hobbled away with a Union mini-ball in his thigh. Mr. Thompson took him in and gave him work without ever asking which side
he had fought on.
Cletus showed me how to use a rope and how to make one of rawhide. He told me about the Mexican vaqueros and what great riders they were, and how they could stick to a horse no matter what. Their saddles, he said were like big easy chairs, some of them all decked out with silver. Texas sounded like a wonderful place to me, and I had it in my mind to go there as soon as I got the chance.
Cletus told-showed me how to make jerky, and he showed me how to make my own clothes from buckskin, and he showed me how to make moccasins, but he said that elk or buffalo hide was better. Those two lessons have served me well by keeping me fed and covered most of the time. I put my new moccasin making skill into use right away because my boots were getting a might crowded inside. I had expected to get a bit of funnin from the other kids about my moccasins, but I suppose being at least a head taller than anyone else may have called that off. They all knew I wouldn’t take offense at a little joshin’. Besides, most of those kids were as poor as we were, and when I looked around, I saw almost every kind of patched up footgear imaginable.
At least once a month Elizabeth would fix Sunday dinner at her father’s place just to make sure that he and Cletus and us two boys got at least one good meal a month. For which we were truly thankful. Along about January she started looking a little filled out, and was proud to tell us all why. Old Tim was even prouder. We all told her to sit down and we would clean up the dishes, but she shooed everyone else into the parlor saying, “I’ll let Ben help with the clean up. He doesn’t break as many dishes as you others.”
When we were alone, with her washing and me drying, she asked me how Andy was doing. She said he hasn’t been the same since that day. I said, “No’m, he ain’t. But I don’t pry too much cause he gets pretty moody when I bring it up. And, you know me. I don’t like moodiness, so I just try to let it be.” She nodded to show that she understood, but she was doing some thinking. I didn’t tell her what Andy had said about wanting to track down the rest of the gang and kill them, it would only worry her. I did tell her of the talk we had about moving on someday. I also told her, I’d like to go to Texas and chase cows from one of those big easy chair Mexican saddles. She laughed, but I don’t think she took me serious.
She got seriouser and said, “Ben, I worry about Andy. Oh, I worry about you too, but you’ve got so much of your daddy in you that things will bounce off you like rain off a tin roof. But, Andy’s different, he’s more sensitive. See if you can understand this, you’re getting older now so maybe it will make some sense. Andy is the type who will love hard, hurt hard, and hate hard. I believe that you on the other hand are going to enjoy almost every moment of your life. So, stay with him. He’s going to need your strength and friendship. By strength, I mean that Andy will act on his feelings. Whereas, you will consider the consequences first.” I must’ve been growing up because I understood exactly what she was saying.
We passed the rest of the winter and spring without too much excitement. Chores, lessons, shoring up fences, and keeping varmints away from the cattle kept us from getting bored. There were wolves and cougars to worry about, so we kept a sharp eye for signs. Those Missouri red wolves weren’t overly big, but they worked in packs and could harass a grown steer until he made a slip up or got hurt. Then they would be all over him. When we would get a ten or twelve inch snow we would have to bring the cattle down to the main farm so we could feed them hay. The hogs would just hunker in and live off their own fat for a couple of days.
Along about April when Elizabeth was really getting big, she started to have Sunday dinners at their place so she wouldn’t have to be bouncing around needlessly in a wagon. After the dinner was over, and I was helping her clean up, I asked her about my family. I knew very little and she was the only one I felt comfortable asking. She said, “Ben, it’s too bad you don’t remember much about them. They were wonderful people and my very good friends. I’ve told you often enough that Daniel… Danny, your pa was a big happy Irishman and was well liked by most everyone. But I haven’t told you near enough about your mother. She was an O’Doul from the old country. She was smaller than me, but she could hold her own with anybody either working in the field or at settin’ your pa straight. She was a sweetheart and a wonderful mother. You can be assured that if the circumstances had been different she would have been there to take Andy in the way Alice took you in.”
“We all came out together from Tennessee, the Moore’s, the Blues, and my pa and me. I was only thirteen with no ma, so Kathleen and Alice helped me learn what I needed to know about being a woman. That’s why I took to you boys and did all I could to help when you needed the help only a woman can give, and besides I liked your raggedy sorry selves. You’re looking more and more like your pa’ every day, but that red hair comes only from Kathleen. There were a few kinfolk still in Tennessee, but with that damned war washing back and forth across the state I wouldn’t be surprised if they were all gone.”
We sat at the table drinking coffee and talking while the others were on the porch smoking their pipes and drinking cider.
As the weather warmed up, our workload got heavier. We took another small heard of fresh milk cows to Joplin with Mr. Thompson, and got top price. On the way back we camped by a river under a bluff and we were all tired and full of supper. We were having coffee and I was thinking of my bedroll, when Andy turned to Mr. Thompson and asked, “Does your offer to buy our places still hold?”
Chapter 6
Mr. Thompson and Cletus both looked up from their coffee cups, a little surprised I suppose. I know I was. “The offer stands.” he said, “I’ll make you a fair market deal. I don’t see that the place has lost any value in the last couple a years. If anything the fences and the fact that you’re not trying to raise crops makes it all the more to my likin.”
“When do you want to sell? You got some plans?”
“Well,” said Andy, “I gotta talk things over with my partner first. See if he’s of the same mind. He’s sure been wantin to go chase cows down in Texas.” With that, Mr. Thompson scowled at the grinning Cletus. Then all three were looking at me.
I looked back at them not knowing why they were looking at me. Then Andy said, “Well? What do you say, partner?” Then it dawned on me that I was the partner.
“Uh…oh.” I was able to get out. “You’re the big brother of this outfit, Andy. I’m just taggin’ on your coattails. I go where you go.”
Mr. Thompson made his offer and we accepted it. It was fair, as I knew it would be. “Now, when do you want to make it official?” he asked.
Andy thought for a minute and said, “We better wait till school is out, and Ben gets his certificate, or Miss Elizabeth will bring a wrath down on us.” That made sense to everyone, and we all shook hands on it – even Cletus. It was almost too simple.
When I got home from school on the second Friday in June with my paper in my hand, Andy had almost all our stuff packed. Mr. Thompson had bought everything except our personal gear, two horses, and a pack pony. We had money in the bank in separate accounts but equal amounts. We had made up wills leaving everything to each other, and if we both were killed, it all went to Elizabeth’s new baby girl Alice Kathleen Davies. We thought that was a nice touch.
The next morning we were cleaning up our breakfast mess as the sun was coming up. All our goodbyes had been said, so all we had to do was stow our skillet and coffee pot on the pony and ride out. When we left the yard and went down the road we didn’t look back; we made a clean break. The Thompson place was on the way, so we stopped to be neighborly and let him know that it was all his. At Elizabeth’s insistence, Mr. Thompson had hired an older Negro couple to help with the farm work and to do his cooking and cleaning. That old gal had a big bundle of fried chicken waiting for us to take along – we didn’t refuse.
Our immediate destination was Ft. Smith, Arkansas, which as close as we could figure was about a hundred miles away. We didn’t know exactly how to get there, but we knew that it was south
west – more south than west. That was all we needed to know. Joplin was the only place that either of us had ever been, so we weren’t great travelers. If we were going south and came to a road going west, we took it. If we were heading west and we came to a south aiming road, we took that one. We camped that first night in Arkansas.
When we got closer to Ft. Smith there were road signs, and the roads were more crowded with folks moving in both directions. After four days of riding, we were there.
Ft. Smith wasn’t as big as Joplin, but it was booming. There was something going on everywhere at once. I nearly twisted my neck off trying to see it all. Joplin was busy all right, but it was more orderly with wagon trains all bunched and forming up. Ft. Smith was all higgledy-piggledy with no order at all. There were folks coming in from every direction either trying to get across the river into the Nations or going to the courthouse on some business or other. Then there were just plain low down scavengers trying to steal something.
After getting the lay of the land, and finding out where the courthouse and the saloon street were, we went south of town and made camp in a thicket. We unloaded the pack pony, picketed him in some nice grass, and then went back into town. Our first stop was the U.S. Marshall’s office at the courthouse. Andy approached the desk and asked the pinched little face with the eyeshade sitting just above his eyebrows if he could help us. The pinched face jerked up and said none too friendly like, “That’s what I’m here for. It’s my job. What is it? Come on. Come on. Speak up. I’m a busy man.”
Andy’s head snapped back, and he stammered, “W…We’re lookin for some fellas and wanted to know if you seen em.”
“Do you think I see everyone that comes through this town?” the clerk barked at him, “I’ve got enough to do without going out in the street seein who comes into town.”
