Texas Tomboy

  “Oh, I can’t wait till it comes!” cried Charlie.

  A visit to the hardware store for the windmill leather concluded Dan Carter’s purchases. He stopped to talk a while with Tex McCloud, then he and Charlie started for home. They jogged along, enjoying each other’s company. Back at Triangle Ranch, Charlie slid off Old Sam, lifted her long skirt and ran into the house.

  “My goodness!” cried Mrs. Carter. “You look like Mrs. Duffy. Where did you get that… er…garment?”

  Grace and Bones, Bud and Gus were all there at the table eating. They stared at Charlie as if they had never seen her before. Then they laughed, and their laughter nearly lifted the roof off the house. Charlie’s face turned red, and she was embarrassed.

  “Holy smoke! What’s the matter? What’s so funny?” cried Dan Carter, following her in.

  They all shouted at once: “The dress!” “That calico dress!” “It’s an old hoe woman’s Mother Hubbard!” “It’s dragging on the ground!” “It’s got a train!”

  Charlie faced them bravely: “What’s so funny about that? A hoe woman is a human being, so there!” She was surprised at her own words. Then she ran to the bedroom, took the dress off and stamped on it. “I hate dresses! I hate dresses!” she cried. She put on her old pants and shirt to be comfortable.

  Then she had what was, for her, a surprisingly unselfish idea. They had called it an old hoe woman’s dress and said she looked like Mrs. Duffy. She’d give it to Mrs. Duffy. She’d show them. So there!

  She picked the dress up, folded it neatly and laid it away.

  After the fuss was over, Dan Carter said to his wife: “I saw your sister Eleanor in town. She wept on my shoulder because her geranium died. Too bad those town people can’t sprinkle their lawns any more. Met Tex McCloud too. He’s having ten fits about no rain. He don’t believe it can rain. Poor Tex—he’s so new at ranching, he don’t know what it is to live through two or three years without rain.”

  “What did you tell him?” asked Mrs. Carter.

  “I told him it might be two or three more years before it rains,” said Dan, “but he’d live through it.”

  Old Man Drake brought Charlie’s new saddle out on the freightwagon, along with the next load of feed and supplies. Everybody was there, even Uncle Moe.

  “It’s high time Charlie had a saddle,” said Uncle Moe. “She’s ridden bareback so long, just like an Indian kid.”

  “Why should she get a saddle?” asked Grace. “What has she done to deserve it? She’s only ten years old!”

  “I’ll be eleven next month!” shouted Charlie.

  The saddle was beautiful. It was made of russet skirting leather, hand-tooled with a crisscross pattern. It had long lace leather strings.

  “I’m the Queen of Triangle Ranch!” cried Charlie the first time she sat on it. “I’m the Queen of Sheba!” She rode proudly round and round the lot. The saddle gave her greater dignity and made her feel not one, but ten, years older.

  “She’s a ranchwoman already—at ten!” cried Dan Carter, bursting with pride.

  “She’ll never stay in the house any more,” mourned Mrs. Carter. “She’ll never wear a dress again. Oh, this ranch life!”

  “A house is for eating and sleeping,” said Moe Carter. “That’s all it’s good for. Charlie knows that.”

  “Charlie Boy will never keep house,” said Dan Carter. “She’ll never be satisfied in a house. She’s got to bust the walls open and get out—out in the pastures, out in the air, under the big blue sky…”

  “You men!” scolded Mrs. Carter, half in tears. “You are ruining my daughters for me. Thank goodness, Benoni doesn’t like all this.”

  Moe laughed. “You’ve got him tied tight to your apron strings, Beatrice.”

  That night, Charlie brought the saddle into the house for safekeeping. She took it into the room that was going to be the bathroom and hung it over the side of the big bathtub.

  “Mama!” scolded Grace, when she saw it. “Make Charlotte take her saddle out to the barn. First she brings her old dogies into the bathroom and now her saddle.”

  “Somebody might steal it,” said Charlie. “There’s no way to lock the saddle room at night. Rats and mice might chew the leather to pieces.”

  “We’ve got a cat in the barn to keep the rats and mice away,” said Grace.

  “Besides, this is not a bathroom yet,” Charlie went on. “Look at the stuff Gus and Bud have brought in.”

  The room looked almost as bad as when the two cowboys used to sleep there. Ropes, whips, boots and harness parts were strewn about. Another saddle, an old one, was lying in the corner with a pile of branding irons.

  “Other people keep harness and saddles in the barn!” stormed Grace. “What would Aunt Eleanor say if she could see our bathroom?”

  “I won’t ask her to come until the water is hooked up,” said Mrs. Carter. “The cowboys have always used that room—it’s so handy, opening off the porch. I can’t seem to keep them out.”

  She did not mention Charlotte and her saddle. When Charlotte was set on something, there was little use opposing her.

  Charlie lived in the new saddle all day and every day. She appeared at the house only for morning and evening meals, and to sleep. As summer advanced, the extra feeding of the cattle was slackened off, since the cows had some summer grasses and mesquite beans for food. But the ranch work was heavier than ever. Warm weather meant an increase of screw worms, and the cowboys rode in all directions to “catch wormies.” Some animals were roped and doctored out in the pasture, but if more attention was needed, they were brought home. A small pasture beyond the barn became the “worm trap,” where the cows and calves were kept until cured.

  One day, while riding together, Charlie and her father stopped on a rise and looked off. “Our country sure is pretty!” said Dan Carter dreamily.

  “Prettiest in the world!” Charlie assured him.

  The mesquite trees had leafed out late and were covered with thin, fernlike foliage and long slender beans. Dwarf catclaw bushes with thorns like the claws of a wildcat, had blossomed out in feathery pink flowers. Prickly pear cactus was covered with colorful red apples.

  “I mean, it would be pretty,” Dan went on, “if only we had water. I’ve seen the grass so tall in this pasture, I was afraid it would catch on fire and burn the cattle to death.”

  “Nothin’ to burn any more,” mourned Charlie, staring at the sodless ground, “but it’s pretty anyhow.”

  Their deep love and constant hope blinded them to the desolation of the actual scene before them. And yet no one knew the full meaning of the word drouth better than they.

  “Things are getting worse all the time, hon,” said Dan Carter. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to sell off some of the stock.”

  “Oh no!” cried Charlie, distressed. She had never heard a tone of defeat in her father’s voice before.

  “It’s the only way,” he said. “But let’s not talk of it now.”

  They were driving a bunch of cows over to the windmill in North Pasture. At the gate, Dan told Charlie to hold them.

  Homer Barton was breaking a blue roan horse which Moe Carter had sent, in the field adjoining. Homer had bragged about his ability to handle horses: “There’s only one rule for breaking a horse. If you get thrown off, get up and get back on.”

  Dan Carter had said, “Well, here’s your chance.”

  Charlie was tickled. She was in time to see how Homer did it.

  Homer noticed Charlie’s new saddle. “Hi, kiddo!” he called out. “Got your saddle on backwards, ain’t you?”

  Charlie tossed her head. Homer always had to have his little joke. To say ugly things about her new saddle did not spoil its beauty for her.

  Homer mounted the horse. The horse would not go, so he hit him with his quirt. The horse “swallowed his head” and began to pitch. Charlie laughed to see Homer go bouncing up and down over the pasture. The horse was mad, and Homer clung on for dear life. He did
not want to be thrown in front of the girl, but he could not help it. Down on the hard ground with a sharp thwack he went. The blue roan trotted off quietly, making straight for the home corral, glad to be rid of his burden.

  Homer lay limp on the ground. Charlie stared with real concern. “The silly fool—maybe he’s really hurt!” she said to herself.

  The men ran over, but before they got there, Homer had picked himself up, still all in one piece. The men began to tease him.

  “You-all quit hoo-rahin’ me!” whined Homer.

  Charlie did not say a word. She just smiled.

  “Why, Homer,” said Bud Whitaker. “Thought you knew how to break a horse. Remember that rule of yours—if you get thrown off, you got to get up and get right back on?”

  Homer looked up dizzily and mumbled: “I do when I’m able.”

  “He gets back on when he’s able!” shouted Bud and the others.

  Dan Carter called out: “Charlie Boy, you come and get on Old Sam with me and let Homer ride your horse. He can’t walk—he may be seriously hurt.”

  “Ride my horse?” cried Charlie. “You mean you want me to let Homer Barton ride my horse?”

  “Why yes, why not?” asked her father. “You can ride back of me on Old Sam like you used to.”

  “Let Homer Barton ride on my new saddle?” cried the girl again. “Papa, you don’t know what you’re asking.”

  “We change horses all the time, hon, you know that,” explained Dan Carter patiently. “Some horses can stand more, some need rest often, so we take turns. You’ll have to get used to the idea of other people riding Gypsy. Just because she’s yours…”

  But Charlie set her lips and said firmly, “Not Homer. Not Homer.”

  Dan Carter gave in, saying, “Well, you take Homer back to the ranchhouse with you then, so he can get another horse.”

  “Oh, shucks!” growled Charlie.

  A subdued and sullen Homer mounted Gypsy, sitting not on, but back of Charlie’s new saddle. They had four miles to go, and Gypsy started at a slow pace. Suddenly Charlie called out gaily: “Hold on, Homer, I’m gonna lope!”

  No reply came from behind, only a low moan. Charlie smiled to herself. Gypsy went from a lope into a run. It was funny—such a little old girl telling such a big smart young man to hold on. And Homer did. He was so dizzy, he clung tightly to the girl’s waist to avoid falling off. Poor Homer, he did not realize that he would long remember this unhappy day.

  Back at the ranchhouse, Homer did not find himself another horse. Nor did he return to North Pasture to give the blue roan another lesson in obedience. He spent the rest of the day on Gus’s bed in the bunkhouse. When he emerged and made his feeble way into the house at supper time, he was greeted by a chorus of laughter.

  “ ‘Hold on, Homer, I’m gonna lope! Hold on, Homer…’ ”

  Homer glared at Charlie. She sat at her usual place at the table, and was stuffing food into her mouth. Her mouth was so full, she could not speak.

  “ ‘Hold on, Homer, I’m gonna lope!’ ” The words rang in his ears. Would he ever be able to live them down?

  “You little fiend!” he snorted. “I’ll fix you!” His glance was poisoned with hatred.

  Charlie shivered. This was exciting. What would he do to her, because she had told on him? He’d be sure to pay her back, but he couldn’t really hurt her. Papa was always there to protect her. Maybe Papa would discharge Homer for falling off a horse when he was trying to break it. She’d be glad if she never saw his shiny red satin shirt again. She was sick of Homer Barton.

  She wasn’t afraid.

  She made up her mind to tell everybody she knew. She would tell the whole world.

  CHAPTER VII

  Once a Cowboy

  “HERE, BONES,” SAID CHARLIE. “Here’s a biscuit.”

  “Don’t want it,” said the boy.

  “You have to eat,” she went on, “if you’re going to be a cowboy and sleep on the ground.”

  “I’d rather sleep in my bed,” said Bones.

  The cowboys sitting around the campfire, eating their supper, laughed. Uncle Moe and his men and his cook were helping with the cattle drive. Half of the cows were to be sold and shipped from the town of Mertzon.

  “Looks like you’re the cowboy of the family, Charlie,” said Bud.

  “I’ll teach Bones,” said Charlie. “He’ll get used to it. Once a cowboy, always a cowboy.”

  The men laughed. “That’s right. Break him in, toughen him up.”

  “This is his first cattle drive,” explained the girl. “He’s never slept out before. If he does it a few times, he’ll like it all right. Let’s get your bedroll, Bones.”

  “I’d rather sleep in my bed,” wailed the boy.

  “Don’t say that again!” scolded Charlie. “Don’t be such a baby. You’re here now and you’re going to stay here and like it.”

  “I’ll stay but I won’t like it,” mourned Bones.

  Charlie took her brother by the hand and went to the wagon to make preparations for the night. From there, she could hear the men talking.

  “I figured now is the best time to sell,” said Dan Carter. “If we wait a month to ship them, they won’t be able to go. I’ve been feeding all these months. The feed is costing more than we can get for the cows.”

  “There’s not enough grass on a five-section pasture to feed one milk cow,” said Bud Whitaker bitterly. “Best thing to do is reduce the number of cattle, so the rest can git somethin’ to eat.”

  “Time to sell is when they’re in good shape,” said Moe Carter, “not after they’ve run out of feed and got thin.”

  “Yep!” said Gus. “Git the herd to Mertzon and shipped out of ‘the country before they start dyin’ on us.”

  “I’m keeping a bunch of young Hereford calves,” said Dan. “Gave ’em to the kids for pets.”

  The men chuckled understandingly.

  “Always a good precaution,” said Moe. “Can’t tell what’s ahead of us.”

  Charlie spread the bedrolls out by the wagon. Bones was tired, so he left off talking and soon fell asleep.

  It had been an exciting day for Charlie. The cows had been rounded up the day before, and those that were to be sold had been separated from those that were to be kept. All preparations had been made the previous night for an early start that morning.

  Charlie had risen at daybreak. She wanted to be sure they did not take her dogies. She need not have worried, for instead of taking them, her father had given her three more calves. He had given three to Grace and three to Bones as well. Charlie had promptly named her three Vinegar, Mustard and Pepper. With Snowball, Fleabite and Coal Oil, she now had six calves of her own. She felt she was getting quite a start in the ranch business.

  She had begged to go on the cattle drive, and got permission only when she consented to take care of Benoni. Dan Carter wanted to initiate his son. “It’s time for him to learn a little about ranching,” said the man. “He can’t stay a baby all his life.” Mrs. Carter finally consented to let the boy go, if he could ride on the chuckwagon with the cook.

  Charlie rode Gypsy. She was glad she had a saddle, for it made the long ride easier. The saddle was on the ground near her now, so near that she could reach out and touch the strings. They were useful for tying a pack or bedroll on, or for carrying a lunch kit or worm medicine.

  Charlie’s muscles and joints ached. It had been a long hard ride across pastures. Bud Whitaker rode “point,” to hold the cows back. He had to keep them from going too fast and yet not too slow either, as that would scatter them in the back. Charlie rode beside her father at the rear, coming up at the sides when necessary, to hold the bunch of cattle together. The dust had been terrible all day, and it was very hot for early June.

  They drove the cattle directly across country; through the pastures. Whenever they came to a fence, they laid the fence down—knocking the staples out and laying the wire down on the ground, not disturbing the posts. After the cattle
were driven over, the wires had to be nailed back to the posts. So progress was slow.

  After crossing the Watkins Brothers’ east pasture, Moe and Dan Carter decided to camp for the night. There were no pens, so the men drove the cattle up to the fence, and two cowboys were chosen to ride herd at night to keep the cattle in a bunch. They would ride for half the night, then be replaced by two other men.

  Charlie dozed off at last. She felt she was dreaming, and exciting things were happening in her dream. People were rushing about and crying out. Then Papa was shaking her and Bones, and calling to them to wake up. Was it morning already?

  She looked up to see the deep darkness of a stormy night. It was not a dream at all. It was true—rain was coming. Thunder rolled and lightning flashed across the sky.

  “Get up, hon,” said Papa. “A storm’s coming. I’ll put you and Bones under the wagon-sheet in the wagon. You’ll be safe there. Keep Bones from getting scared if you can. I have to go now to look after the cattle. Can I depend upon you, sugar?”

  “Yes, Papa,” said Charlie, wide awake now. She knew this was one of the times when she had to act like a sensible adult, and she did. She must try to toughen Bones up too, by encouragement and example. She helped the sleepy boy climb under the canvas cover of the wagon. She lifted her saddle up too. She tried to spread the bedding out, but there wasn’t much room. Instead of going back to sleep again, Bones sat up and cried. Charlie put her arms tightly around him.

  The air was hot and sultry, filled with tension.

  Suddenly the rush of a mighty wind was upon them. It tore at the wagon-sheet, it rattled the wagon-bows, it picked up everything loose and carried it off. Then came the rain, beating, tearing, pouring. Above the noise of wind and rain came the sound of cows’ hoofs pounding, and the terrible bawling of frightened cows.

  Charlie sat, breathless, and held her brother close. She was not afraid, she was glad, glad, glad.

  Rain! Rain! The long awaited rain had come at last! A rush of such joy as she had not known before filled her being.