by Marva Dasef
“What’s got into him? He knows better’n that,” Mr. Braddock said with a puzzled look.
Then I saw what was gettin’ Pete so riled up. I pointed up and Pa’s and Mr. Braddock’s eyes followed where I was pointin’. A big golden eagle was soarin’ above the herd. He was circling round so it was clear he was lookin’ to take a lamb. The sheep got wind of him and started to get excited.
A flock of sheep on the move is like a school of fish. The front ewe turns one way and the whole bunch of them turn with her just like they were readin’ her mind. It’s quite a sight to behold. First they swarmed one way, then Pete came up to the flank and turned them the other. They were weavin’ back and forth across the field with Pete doin’ his durndest to head them toward the pens. We were helpin’ as much as we could with our boots stuck in the mud as they were.
Suddenly, the eagle nosed down and dove right for the sheep. He disappeared in the middle of ‘em, but you could see where he’d gone ‘cause the sheep at that spot were not only runnin’, but now they started jumpin’. So, if you can picture this, there’s this big wave of wooly sheep zigzaggin’ across the field with the middle of the flock eruptin’ like a wooly geyser. I didn’t know they could jump that high. I started to runnin’ for the flock to see if’n I could chase off the eagle, but the durned muddy ground tripped me up. I felt flat on my face after only a couple of steps. All I could do is watch.
The eagle took off again and he held a lamb in his claws. This near gave Pete a fit. After all, this was his bunch of sheep and no eagle was goin’ to take even one! Pete leaped up on the backs of the flock and jumped from sheep to sheep to get to the middle. The eagle was strugglin’ to hold on to the lamb, but hadn’t got much altitude; it was more than he could carry off easy. When Pete reached the middle of the sheep geyser, he jumped up himself and grabbed the lamb’s leg. Well, that was just too much for the eagle, so he let go of the lamb and took off.
Pete and the lamb came down and disappeared in the sheep wave. We just watched as there wasn’t a thing we could do.
The sheep started to slow down since the eagle was gone and pretty soon, Pete popped up in the middle of the flock and jumped out just like he’d jumped in.
“I ain’t never seen anything like that before,” Pa said, shakin’ his head.
“Oh, Pete does that all the time. He knows the quickest way from one side of the flock to t’other is a straight line.”
“That’s one fine dog, John,” my Pa said, still lookin’ somewhat amazed.
“Yep. One fine dog,” was all Mr. Braddock said, but he was grinnin’ from ear to ear. I was thinkin’ he could hardly wait to tell the story to the neighbors.
We finally rounded up our sheep and got ‘em loaded in the back of the truck. We found the lamb and saw he was fine except for a little scratch on the leg where Pete grabbed hold. I was thinkin’ I could hardly wait for school the next day as I’d get some pleasure from tellin’ the story, too.
Mr. Young’s Arkansas Cedar Float
All work and no play is not a way to grow up properly. Going fishing was an easy and cheap way to do both at the same time–catch some fish for dinner while enjoying a lazy afternoon by the creek.
Ever’ once in awhile, Pa lets me take off from my chores to go fishin’. This was one of those days, so I asked Ma if she could pack up some food to take along. She was agreeable to it, and made me a good meal with sandwiches and even a piece of chocolate cake. I filled my canteen at the pump.
I went out to the corral and chased Brownie a couple of times around the corral ‘til I caught up with him in a corner. He was a darn good horse once you managed to get a rope on him, but he sure did like to make you work for it. I saddled him up and threw the saddlebags with my lunch over the back of the saddle. I slid my fishing’ pole into the rifle scabbard. It stuck out a ways, but was easier than carrying it all the way in my hands.
It was about eight miles to the creek with the best fishin’, but I needed to stop at the Young’s place for a fishin’ float. Mr. Young made the floats hisself out of Arkansas cedar. He considered them to be the best floats and I won’t dispute the claim as they’d worked for me in the past.
When I got to their place, Mr. Young was out in the barn, so I just rode up there straightaway.
Howdy, Mr. Young,” I said, “I’d sure appreciate borrowin’ one of your fine floats.”
“You sure can, Eddie,” he replied right off. He went over to a cupboard he’d nailed up in the barn. I got down off Brownie and walked on over. The cupboard was full of fishin’ gear, but mostly it held floats, dozens of ‘em, in all sizes. We discussed what I was goin’ for, which happened to be perch, and he looked over my pole before choosin’ one for me.
“Now, you be real careful with this, Eddie. I’ve told you before these floats are made of Arkansas cedar and it ain’t easy gettin’ that wood.”
”I sure will, Mr. Young, and I surely do appreciate the loan.”
I put the float into my saddlebag and mounted up. I headed down the road and waved goodbye to him and he waved back. I was all set and ready to catch some fish.
It took over’n hour to reach the creek, but I’d left early enough I had all afternoon to fish. I took all the gear off Brownie and put some hobbles on him so he wouldn’t go home without me. I settled in by the creek and tied the float to the line. I cast out away and then stuck the pole into a crack in some rocks while I ate my lunch. Bees were buzzin’ and the birds chirpin’. It was just a downright nice day. I’m afraid I kind of dozed off once. A fish got on my line and pulled my pole right out of the crack while I was snoozin’. I needed to wade out to get hold of it again. Other’n that, I had no problems and managed to catch a few fish, which I cleaned right away to keep ‘em fresh.
It was time to go around about three o’clock. I packed everything up and headed back. I was goin’ along pretty good as Brownie saw we were goin’ home. He usually moved a mite faster on a comin’ back than a goin’ to.
I’d got about half way home, when I realized I didn’t put the float back in my saddlebag. I stopped and checked. Sure enough, I’d left that danged float back at the creek. I turned Brownie around, which he didn’t like at all, and headed for the creek again.
I found the float easy enough. It was sittin’ right where I’d been fishin’. Now, it was really gettin’ late, so I kicked up Brownie to a fast trot goin’ back to the Young’s place.
We got there and Mr. Young was still out in the barn. He did spend a goodly amount of time out there. Anyways, I got off Brownie and dug the float out’n my saddlebags.
“Thanks for the loan, Mr. Young,” I says like Ma taught me.
“Oh, that’s okay Eddie. You can just keep it. I got plenty of ‘em,” he says.
I thought how it would have been easier if’n he’d just give me the float in the first place. But, it was the way things were, so I just thanked him and started out toward home. I was glad to have the float. Too bad I had to dump the fish I’d caught. They’d just been out of the creek too long.
By this time, it was gettin’ near sunset. Now, I’m not afeared of the dark, but I didn’t like to ride when it was pitch black neither. It was gettin’ darker all the time, and I still had a couple of miles to go when I saw a campfire on the hillside, not far off the road.
I thought about it awhile, and decided to stop at the camp and see who was there. It might be a neighbor camped out for some reason. Certain times of the year, like when the cows are calvin’, any number of people might be camped out on the prairie.
When I reached the campfire, a dog came up to greet me. I saw he was a sheepdog, so I figured the camp belonged to one of the herders what kept their flocks around these parts. I saw a little chuck wagon, too. It was hardly six feet long and just wide enough to hold a single driver. A man was crouched down by the campfire and workin’ away with a big iron skillet.
“Howdy,” I said, and the man looked up. I could see he was Mexican and thought maybe he didn�
��t speak English as he didn’t answer me right away. He just looked at me kind of sharp like he was sizin’ me up. Finally, he stood up and waved me over to the campfire. I got down off Brownie and walked over.
The smell hit me like a rock fell on my head. I never smelled anything so good in all my life. I knew right away this man could really handle camp cookin’. First, I got a waft of sourdough—biscuits, I figured. Then, the smell of the mutton stew came over me and my stomach started jerkin’ and grumblin’. It’d been quite awhile since Ma’s lunch and I was pretty hungry.
“Sientese por favor,” he said, and I knew for sure he was Mexican. “¿Le gustaria un poco de guisado de cordero?” He pointed at the skillet.
I figured out he was asking me to stay for dinner. “Si, me encantaria. Gracias Señor,” I answered, hopin’ my little bit of Spanish was close to right.
He heaped up a big plate of stew and sourdough biscuits for me. We sat there by the campfire, neither one of us sayin’ a word. I guess he could tell by how I pronounced the Spanish I wasn’t very good at it. Since he didn’t offer to speak in English, I assumed it wasn’t a language he knew very well either.
I’ve got to tell you, that sheepherder made sourdough biscuits even better than Ma’s. I wouldn’t tell her, but it’s the truth. Maybe it was I was so hungry or maybe it was we were sittin’ out on the prairie under the stars, but whatever it was, I hardly ever enjoyed a meal so much as that one.
When I was finished, the man took my plate and handed it over to the dog to lick clean, not that I left much there. I nodded to him and said, “gracias.” I rubbed my stomach, too, so he’d know I liked the food.
He said, “De nada,” and went about cleanin’ up.
“I’ve got to go home now,” I said, not knowin’ the Spanish, but he nodded like he knew what I was sayin’.
I walked over to Brownie where he was ground-tied and got into my saddlebags. I took out the float and brought it over to the man. First, he shook his head and waved me off. “No, no.” I set the float down by the campfire. He nodded to show he accepted the gift.
“Gracias,” I said again and got up on Brownie.
We went on home and I’ll have to say Ma was none too pleased by me gettin’ back so late, but she forgave me, like she always does. Later, I told Pa about the meal with the sheepherder and givin’ him the float.
He looked at me for awhile, then said, “Eddie, you gotta learn more Spanish if you’re goin’ to live in Texas.”
I figured Pa was right. He most always was.
Beau the Jack
After Pa bought the jackass at the auction, Bucephalus earned his keep as a stud. However, he did provide some excitement on occasion.
A LOT OF people think a Jackass is just a mule. They’d be only half right since a Jackass is the daddy to a mule, with the mama bein’ a mare. You might hear someone call somebody else “son of a jack.” Well, that’s just polite language for sayin’ they’re a mule.
Now, in the south, a Jack is a valuable animal. They give the mule the brawn and the brains they’re famous for. One line of jackasses is called a Mammoth Jack. It can be up to eighteen hands high at the withers. For you city folk, that’s six feet to the base of the neck.
Pa named our Mammoth Jack Bucephalus, after Alexander the Great’s horse. I’m not sure why, except Pa liked ancient history and I think the name appealed to him.
Beau, as we took to callin’ him, was about as big as a Jack can get and every inch of him as mean as can be. When I’d go out to throw him some hay, I stood back a few feet ‘cause he’d snake his old head over the fence and clamp down with his big teeth wherever he could grab on. I’d got more’n one bruise ‘til I learned to stay way back. Course, a lot of hay got throwed on the ground, but I figured it was just too bad for Beau.
What I most dreaded, though, was when we took Beau out for breedin’. He was a pretty popular stud around here cause he was so big. The ranchers and farmers brought their mares to our place for the meet-up. We’d take the mares in to the barn and put them in a special stall so narrow so they couldn’t turn around. At the back, the business end my Pa calls it, a short gate would keep the mares from kickin’ but allowed Beau room to work.
The bad part was trying to catch Beau and bring him to the barn. Not that he wasn’t willin’, mind you, he was just in more of a hurry than we were. Pa always handled Beau ‘cause I was too small to hold onto him. But, I was expected to help out by openin’ the gates and closin’ ‘em behind. That took some runnin’ as Beau would be movin’ pretty fast just as soon as Pa buckled the halter on him. Once he didn’t even wait for me to open up the gate. Later, we replaced the wood gate with a metal one. Jacks are pretty smart and once he knew he could go through the gate, he’d not wait to do it again. His corral was made of eight-inch posts with one by twelve planks, so you can guess it was pretty strong.
The mares came into season in the spring, so that’s when Beau was busiest. Pa decided to make the fetchin’ a mite easier by keepin’ Beau’s halter with a lead rope on him. The six foot lead slowed Beau down some, but mostly it didn’t bother him to have it on all the time.
We found out right soon this wasn’t a good idea. One mornin’ we’d come out to greet another farmer with his mare and we went round to the corral to fetch Beau. First off we didn’t see him and we thought he’d got himself out in the middle of the night. When we got closer, though, we saw he was lyin’ on his side near the fence, but he holdin’ his head way too high to be natural.
We took out runnin’ and come to see Beau got that six-foot lead wrapped around his neck and he was stranglin’ hisself on the fence. He was up too close to the fence to get his feet under him, so all’s he could do is hold his head as high as he could. We could hear him gaspin’ for air.
Pa jumped right over the fence. I was mighty surprised ‘cause I didn’t think he was that spry. But he was, and he started pullin’ on the rope tryin’ to get it from around Beau’s neck. Of course, Beau was not cooperatin’ so he was kickin’ and thrashin’. I was worried Pa would be kicked.
The farmer quick handed Pa his foldin’ knife with the blade out, but Pa seed it ain’t too sharp. Pa yelled at me, “Eddie, go get a big knife from your Ma!” Course, I took out like my pants’re on fire and ran up to the house.
“Ma, Ma,” I screamed, “gimme a knife, gimme a knife!” Well, Ma don’t just hand over knives to eight-year-olds, so she grabbed my arm and gave me a shake to settle me down.
“Eddie, you settle down. Now, what you want with a knife?” she asked. A reasonable question, but I don’t have breath to give her a reasonable answer.
I just pointed, sort of jumpin’ up and down and the same time and yelled “Beau’s a chokin’!”
Ma’s a pretty smart woman, so that’s all it took and she handed me the biggest butcher knife she had. I took out as fast as I could and she’s yellin’ after me, “Point it to the ground! Sakes alive, boy, you’ll fall and cut yerself!”
I pointed the knife down to the ground and kept runnin’ til I got back to the corral. Pa’s still wrestlin’ with Beau, who’s really bad off now. I didn’t think he was breathin’ and I could see his eyes all rolled up and only the whites showin’.
I slid the knife through the fence and Pa started sawin’ on the rope as hard as he can. I’m worried ‘cause I see Pa’s bleedin’ from a cut on his face. I thought maybe he should just let Beau choke to death.
Soon enough, Pa’d cut through the rope and Beau heaved himself up on all fours and stood head down, finally breathin’ again. We all just stood there watchin’ to see if Beau was goin’ to stay on his feet or not.
After a couple of minutes, Beau staggered off to the other side of the corral and Pa handed me the knife through the fence. He walked over to the gate rather than comin’ back over the fence again. He was lookin’ a mite worse for wear, too.
Pa told the farmer to leave his mare up in the barn, but we’d not be takin’ Beau out of the corral today.
No Angel
Idle hands are the devil’s workshop. So goes an old saying. A boy with nothing much to do can sometimes find the worst possible things to escape boredom.
From what you've heard about me, you might come to the conclusion I was a well-behaved child. Well, I don’t mean to give you a false picture of what I’m really like. I know it’s hard to believe, but sometimes I did stuff that was not exactly admired by my Ma and Pa. I wasn’t exactly the devil, but I weren’t no angel neither.
Ma and Pa liked to go to town, that bein’ Hereford, on Saturday nights. They’d visit friends and sometimes eat at the diner. They left me home to take care of my sister Dorothy. Generally, we behaved ourselves as we knew the consequences if we didn’t. One of them Saturdays, I was outside not doin’ much of anything. You know, just watchin’ the clouds and throwin’ rocks and so on.
I noticed a flock of blackbirds lit on Ma’s clothesline, so I went in and got the shotgun. I loaded it with smallshot and snuck around the side of the house so’s not to scare the birds. I figured I could get the whole flock of birds if I shot straight down the clothesline from one end to the other.
I had to be real quiet, so’s I thought I’d sneak up on ‘em like I was a Comanche. I got down on my belly and rested the shotgun across my arms. The grass was high enough so I’d not be seen. I dug in my elbows and pulled myself real slow around the corner of the house. When I got to the lilac bush, I got up behind it and checked if the birds had a notion I was there. They just sat on the line and didn’t even look my way, so I hunched over and ran lickety-split to the oak tree. From there, I was right at the end of the line and no more’n ten feet away.
