Texas Tomboy

by Lois Lenski

  The men took a long time in the pens and corral, riding in and out and yelling back and forth. Finally the gate opened, and a stream of cows passed through the water lot and on out the front gate into Little Pasture. It was like watching a funeral procession to see them go. Dan Carter, Uncle Moe, Mama and Grace stood out in the lot and watched. Standing by the barn door, Charlie watched too, while tears rolled down her face.

  Suddenly she heard voices close by, then a weak little scream from Bones: “Help! Help! Charlie, come quick!”

  Club in hand, she flew to the rear door. Bones’s club was on the ground and he was pointing. A large man, wearing chaps and a Stetson hat, a man whom she had never seen before, was pounding the padlock open with a rock.

  “What you hidin’ in here?” the man demanded. “I’ve got to look in all the barns, pens and corrals for cows. Got some cows locked up in here, have you?”

  “Run and get Papa, Bones,” cried Charlie. She went up to the man and said, “You let that door alone, mister.”

  The man looked around and laughed. “Who are you, pretty face? What you got hid in this barn? A few of our cows?”

  “Our pet stock is in there, if you want to know, sir,” said Charlie, “and you can’t have it.”

  “Who says I can’t?”

  “I do!” Charlie raised her club and rushed toward him. The next minute, the man tore it from her grasp, twisted her arm and held it as in a vise. He tossed the club on the ground.

  “Plenty fierce, ain’t you, pretty face?” he growled.

  “Better watch out, mister!” cried Dan Carter, who came up quickly. “What you think you’re doing?”

  The man let go of Charlie’s arm, and demanded that the doors be unlocked so he could search the barn. When Moe Carter and two more of Skinflint’s men appeared, a hot argument began as to whether the children’s pet stock was included in the mortgage. Uncle Moe unlocked the barn doors, so the men could see that no cows were being hidden.

  “How many pets you got here?” growled Skinflint.

  “There’s Snowball, and this one’s Tomato,” began Charlie. “That’s Bones’s Spotty and here’s Grace’s Isabel…”

  “Shut up, pretty face. I’m talkin’ to your father,” said the man.

  “That Bradshaw-Tyler court case settled this question once and for all,” said Moe Carter. “The courts decided the banks cannot take the children’s pets.”

  “Too many pets! These kids got too many pets!” said the man, starting to count the calves.

  Charlie burst out: “That’s my Mustard and Grace’s Lucille and Bones’s Curly…”

  Skinflint came to a pen of younger calves that had not been named. “What’s this one’s name?” he asked.

  Charlie was stumped for a minute, then she rattled off names glibly: “Reddy, Whitey, Bluey, Horny, Hoofy, Nosey, Tailey…”

  The man scratched his head. “How many kids in this family anyhow?” He looked around and saw thin little Bones trailing behind his sister. “Just you two? All I can say is you got too many pets, too many pets.”

  “Oh, but all my brothers and sisters are in the house,” lied Charlie cheerfully. “They wouldn’t come out, they were too scared.”

  “They don’t carry clubs like you?” asked the man.

  “No sir,” said Charlie. “They’re too little. They’re just babies.” She was getting in deep water now.

  “What are their names?” asked the man.

  “Well…er…there’s Tom and Dick and Harry, they’re twins, no, I mean triplets, and Mary and Myra and Martha and Miranda…”

  “Quadruplets, eh?”

  Old Skinflint burst into a roar of laughter. Dan Carter and Uncle Moe and the other men joined in.

  “What’s your name, pretty face?” asked the man.

  “Charlotte Clarissa Carter, sir, but they call me Charlie Boy,” answered the girl. “I’m the future owner of Triangle Ranch.”

  “Let me shake you by the hand,” said Old Skinflint. “It will take more than a drouth to put you out of the ranch business. You’re a ranchwoman already.”

  Charlie shook hands gravely. “You won’t take our pet stock then?”

  “Not on your life, pretty face.”

  “Your name’s not really Skinflint, I suppose,” said Charlie.

  “Who’s been callin’ me Skinflint?” sputtered the man.

  “Well, we didn’t know your real name,” answered Charlie.

  The man had mounted his horse and was about to follow the herd of cattle. He looked back and said: “Just call me Smith.”

  After Smith and his men were gone, Charlie opened the barn and let the calves out. Ringo chased them all over the water lot. Dan Carter, Uncle Moe and the cowboys came to look.

  “As pretty a bunch of calves as I ever saw,” said Dan. “Good thing I saw this catastrophe coming and prepared for it.”

  “ ‘Too many pets! Too many pets!’ ” laughed Uncle Moe. “Bless the courts for lettin’ the ranch kids keep their calves for seed.”

  “The cows are gone, so there’s nothin’ to do now,” drawled Bud. “Reckon I’ll take a nap in the bunkhouse. Might as well be a gentleman once in my life.”

  “Gonna clean my gun,” said Gus. “Ain’t had time the last year or two.”

  The ranch was quiet by dinner time, and the dust had begun to settle. The men seemed cheerful, but Charlie could not shake off her sadness. Feeling hungry, she went into the kitchen where Grace was cooking dinner. The clothes rack hung full of freshly ironed men’s work shirts. Mama had gone into the bedroom and was lying down.

  “Gee-whillikens!” exclaimed Charlie. “When’s dinner gonna be ready?” She smelled the ham frying, and it made her hungrier than ever.

  Instead of answering, Grace sat down suddenly and put her hand to her head.

  “So you’re going to live at Aunt Eleanor’s, are you?” growled Charlie. “Mama going too? When you moving out?”

  “School starts the first Monday in September,” said Grace in a faint voice. She got up and began turning the pieces of ham in the skillet.

  “School? Who gives a hoot for school?” cried Charlie. She pulled off her hat and threw it across the room.

  The men came up on the back porch to wash, and soon took their places at the table. Grace put the dinner on—a platter of fried ham, red beans boiled with salt pork, biscuits, coffee and milk, and a pan of gingerbread with raisins in it. Papa brought Mama to the table and coaxed her to eat a few bites. The food was good and soon all of it was gone.

  “Grace!” called Papa sharply. “More biscuits. More ham.”

  “That sure was good ham,” said Uncle Moe.

  Nobody had noticed that Grace had not come in to eat. Now at her father’s call, she still did not come, and she did not answer.

  “What’s the matter with Grace?” asked Mama.

  “Thinking about going to Aunt Eleanor’s, I bet,” snapped Charlie. “Wants to move to town.”

  “School starts the first Monday in September…” began Mama.

  Papa got up from the table and went into the kitchen. The others could hear what he said. “No more meat? No more biscuits? The men haven’t had enough to eat, Grace. Why can’t you cook enough?”

  No words came from Grace, only sobs.

  “Now there’s no sense in crying, Grace,” Papa went on. “It’s just that four hungry men …Beatrice, come here. Something’s the matter with this girl.”

  Mama left the table hurriedly and the cowboys got up.

  “Poor kid!” said Bud, strolling through the kitchen. “Ironin’ shirts the whole mornin’. Nobody can iron a shirt prettier than Grace, but she sure looks sick to me.” He went out and Gus followed.

  Uncle Moe and Charlie and Bones crowded round. Grace had fainted and lay unconscious in her father’s arms.

  “She’s sick,” said Mama. “Maybe she has been doing too much.”

  “Did she iron all those shirts?” demanded Papa. “Holy smoke! What did I scold her fo
r? Let’s get her to bed.”

  Papa carried her into the bedroom and put her down on the bed. Mama brought water to bathe her face and Uncle Moe held a glass of water to her lips.

  “We’ll have to get the doctor,” said Mama.

  “Is Grace gonna die?” whispered Bones, looking up at Charlie.

  Charlie took his hand and said: “No, we’ll get the doctor.”

  It seemed strange to see Grace lying in bed white and helpless—Grace who was always so useful and capable, Grace who was Mama’s constant helper. A panicky thought went through Charlie’s mind—what if something happened to Grace? How could they get along without her? Even if she just went to town to live with Aunt Eleanor, how could they get along without Grace? She had never appreciated her sister until now.

  “A good dose of bromo-quinine will fix her up,” said Uncle Moe cheerfully. “The doctor charges a dollar a mile to come out in the country, and we’re seven miles from town. We have to think of expense, now that our income is cut off.”

  “But she’s sick!” protested Mrs. Carter. “She’s burning up with fever.”

  Grace had opened her eyes, but she did not speak. Her face was no longer white, but flushed a deep pink. She began to cough.

  “Is her throat sore?” asked Papa.

  “She complained a few days ago about her throat,” said Mama, “but I thought it was better. She didn’t speak of it this morning.”

  “She ironed those shirts and cooked that dinner in this condition!” said Dan Carter. “No wonder she’s sick. We’ve all been thinking of other things, and poor Grace has been neglected.”

  Charlie took Bones by the hand and slipped out. Sitting on the back porch, she kept telling Bones that the doctor would make Grace well. Then for no reason at all, she thought of all those breakfasts that Grace still had to cook to earn a horse. She listened, but did not hear any one telephoning.

  When Uncle Moe came out, Charlie asked: “Did you telephone the doctor?”

  Uncle Moe smiled. “No, Grace will be well tomorrow,” he said. “She don’t need a doctor. We dosed her up with bromo-quinine.” He mounted his horse ready to ride off.

  Charlie rushed up to him and shook her fists. “That’s not enough!” she shouted. “There’s just two things Grace needs to make her well.”

  Uncle Moe looked down, startled. “What are they?”

  “A doctor and a horse of her own,” said Charlie. “And don’t be so slow about it, or it will be too late.”

  Grace was not well the next day, and the doctor came before daylight, summoned by telephone at midnight by Dan Carter. Uncle Moe returned to Triangle Ranch, expecting to see Grace recovered, but stayed instead to help nurse and care for her. He admitted that he had been wrong and was full of regret. He could not do enough for Grace now.

  The doctor pronounced it influenza.

  And now the family forgot the former calamity in the face of this new one. Somehow the loss of the cows seemed to be put into its proper perspective by Grace’s illness. Grace, always the conscientious, willing helper, had quietly been doing her part in keeping the ranch going. No one realized what an important part she had played until now. She became the center of attention around whom the entire ranch revolved.

  Bud and Charlie took over the cooking and dishwashing. Uncle Moe and Papa took turns with the night-nursing. Mrs. Duffy came over and helped Mrs. Carter with the day nursing. Bones assumed care of the calves and did other ranch chores.

  After the third week, when Grace was getting better, Charlie and Bones slipped into her room one day.

  “If we tell her,” Charlie whispered to Bones, “it will help her to get well. Then maybe she’ll stay.”

  “I’ll tell her first,” said Bones. “Grace,”—he went to the side of the bed—“I’m taking care of the calves now.”

  Grace looked at her brother and smiled.

  “I’m going to keep on doing it,” Bones went on, “so Charlie will have more time to help you in the kitchen.”

  Grace looked at Charlie in surprise. This was a changed Charlie, a meeker, quieter, more considerate Charlie. She no longer stamped her feet and threw things. She stopped to think before she spoke.

  “I hate housework,” said Charlie, “but I’ll help with it if you’ll stay.”

  “You don’t want me to go to Aunt Eleanor’s?” asked Grace. “I thought you’d be glad to have me gone.”

  “If you go, it will break up the ranch,” said Charlie simply. “If you go, Mama’ll go, then Mama will take Bones, and the only woman left will be me, and first thing we’ll all be living in town. Bones and I want to stay on the ranch. And we want you, too. And we want you to like it the way we do, even when troubles come.”

  “Oh, I’ve always liked it,” said Grace. “I’ve liked riding horses and gathering cattle…but I always had to help Mama, and never got the chance to be outdoors, so I thought I might as well go live in town. But if you want me…”

  It was a new feeling to Grace to be wanted, and she glowed with satisfaction. Charlie was a good sort, after all. All at once, Grace’s jealousy of her sister melted away. Charlie cared more for the good of the ranch than for herself. Charlie was giving unselfish devotion to the ranch, and she needed the support of the rest of the family.

  “I’ll stay,” said Grace.

  “You won’t complain about the cow-horns on the wall, and saddles and harness on the floor?”

  “No,” laughed Grace.

  “You’ll put up with an empty bathtub and no running water?”

  “Sure,” said Grace. “I’m used to that.”

  “Would you like a horse to ride?” Charlie’s eyes sparkled.

  “You mean Gypsy?” asked Grace. “You never want anybody else to ride her.”

  “I mean…well, I won’t tell you now,” said Charlie. She and Bones rushed out of the room.

  The next afternoon, Aunt Eleanor and Cousin Genevieve came in their buggy to take Grace to town. Aunt Eleanor looked taller and thinner, and her nose sharper. Genevieve was such a well-behaved little lady, she never spoke at all.

  “No wonder poor Grace collapsed,” said Aunt Eleanor, “doing all this hard work, with no conveniences at all.” She turned to Dan Carter. “Grace told me you bought a bathtub. Have you installed running water yet?”

  “Running water?” cried Dan Carter. “We’re having a drouth, woman! There’s no running water in the whole of West Texas.”

  Aunt Eleanor went on: “You have two wells, haven’t you? If the windmills can pump water for cattle, why can’t they pump some for human beings too?”

  Uncle Moe slapped his levis and laughed. “A very good idea! Pity we never thought of that before.”

  “Grace will be nearer the doctor in town,” continued Aunt Eleanor, “and she can walk to school. She’ll cook no meals and iron no shirts.”

  “I’m afraid we cannot spare Grace from the ranch,” said Dan Carter sharply.

  “I’m sure the ranch will go to pieces without her,” said Moe.

  “Beatrice, you promised me she could come,” Aunt Eleanor insisted.

  “We will let Grace decide for herself,” said Mrs. Carter.

  Grace was sitting up now, still weak and thin, but growing stronger daily. “I want to stay here, Aunt Eleanor,” she said. “Mama and I both want to stay.”

  “So do I,” said Bones.

  “We can’t run away from the ranch in time of trouble,” said Grace. “We can’t leave Papa when he needs help most.”

  “Gee-whillikens!” cried Charlie. All at once she was so happy, she wanted to put her arms around Grace and tell her so. She hadn’t really thought Grace would do it, but now she realized how courageous and strong her sister was. Instead of hugging her, she slipped out of the room.

  “We don’t want to be one of those families that run their ranch from town,” said Mrs. Carter. “I thought I wanted to live in town, but even without conveniences, this is a real home here. I can’t leave Dan alone on the ranch fr
om Monday morning until Saturday night. We want to stay with him—he needs us.”

  “How about a horse of your own, Grace?” asked Uncle Moe. “Look out of the window.”

  Charlie rode up on a brand-new horse, a beautiful blue roan which Uncle Moe had brought over from headquarters.

  “Oh, how beautiful!” said Grace. “But I have to cook over a hundred more breakfasts before I earn my horse.”

  “That bargain is canceled,” said Uncle Moe. “Beauty is yours.”

  “Her name is Beauty? Oh, how beautiful she is!” cried Grace. “I’ll have to get well quickly, so I can ride again.”

  CHAPTER XIII

  The Promise

  “NOW THAT THE COWS are gone,” begged Charlie, “can’t we go to Christoval on our camping trip? You promised, Papa.’’

  Dan Carter shook his head. “Not till after a good rain. There’s not enough water in the South Concho to wet that pretty new bathing suit of yours.” He turned to Uncle Moe. “What about a bird-fry? Now that Grace is well again, we ought to celebrate.”

  “September is here, doves are in season,” laughed Uncle Moe, “and we haven’t done a thing about it.”

  “Nobody’s had much fun this summer,” said Dan Carter. “We all need cheering up.”

  “A bird-fry! A bird-fry!” Charlie and Bones clapped their hands.

  “Run and tell Mama and Grace,” said Papa.

  An old-fashioned bird-fry was always a gay and happy time. It had long been a custom in the Carter family, started many years before by the grandparents, and was considered the finest kind of a neighborly get-together. Gus was sent off on horseback to invite the Duffys to come. He was to stop at Lazy D and Half Circle Six ranches to ask the Reeds and McClouds too.

  The men took their guns and went to the dirt tank, where flocks of mourning dove came to drink. Uncle Moe hid behind the tank dump, loaded his shells and waited until he could get twelve or fifteen birds at one shot. Shells were too valuable to be wasted killing birds on the wing.

  “Got to get a whole meal at one shot,” growled Uncle Moe.

  Dan Carter was almost as good a shot as his brother. When more than a hundred birds were piled in a heap, the men lost count and soon decided they had enough.