Karen's Cowboy

  “That’s wonderful, honey,” said Mommy, sounding tired. She eased herself down into a big, puffy chair and groaned a little bit.

  “Did you have a nice ride?” asked Granny.

  “Oh, it was lovely,” said Mommy. “But I am afraid it was a little too much riding for me. I need to go soak in a hot tub.”

  “Did you tell everyone what we saw?” asked Seth, sitting gingerly on the edge of the couch.

  “Oh, we saw two gray wolves,” said Mommy, her eyes lighting up. “They were beautiful, just like silver shadows. And Mrs. Webb thought she may have seen a cougar.”

  “Cougars are very rare around here,” said Jon, taking off his cowboy hat. “But you do see the occasional wolf.”

  I looked at Andrew. His eyes were wide and blue.

  “Wolves?” he whispered. “And a cougar?”

  Western Dancing

  Sometimes I forget that Andrew is only four going on five. Most of the time he seems almost as old as me. There are times, though, when he seems a lot younger than me. One of those times was right after dinner that evening. We were in our room getting ready for our line-dancing lessons. I had changed into a pair of leggings and a T-shirt. Andrew was sitting on his bed, looking out of the window at the wide, black Colorado sky.

  “Karen?” he said. “I think I will stay up here instead of going to the dance lessons.”

  “Andrew,” I said firmly, “I know what is bothering you. But I promise you that no wolf or cougar will come into the ranch house when it is chockful of people line-dancing to loud music. Now, come on.”

  Andrew went downstairs with me.

  * * *

  If you have never line-danced before, you do not know that it is gigundoly fun. It is kind of like square dancing, except you all dance in a long line, instead of in a square.

  “Mommy, come on!” I called as I sashayed forward and back to the music.

  Mommy was perched carefully on the couch. She smiled and waved her hand. I think maybe she was still a little sore from riding. In fact, almost all of the grown-up guests who had gone on the challenging trail ride were either in their rooms or sitting out the line dancing. Since I had been busy all day long, I started to get tired too. I flopped down next to Seth on the couch. He winced.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “It is okay, honey. It is not your fault I am sore all over.”

  “Maybe you should take some Motrin,” I suggested, just the way Mommy does when I do not feel well. “And a hot bath.” It was fun pretending I was the mommy, and Seth and my real mommy were the children. “Then you can go right to bed.”

  “That sounds good.” Mommy moaned. “Is everyone ready to go to bed?”

  Andrew and I nodded, and I stood up. All of a sudden, over the loud music, we heard a long, ghostly howl. Then another howl started up, over the first one. Then another. It was a chorus of spooky howls.

  Andrew froze, his eyes wide and frightened. I saw him look quickly toward the front door and the back door and the kitchen door. “Wh-what was that?” he whispered, his face white.

  Maybe it was Western ghosts! I had been hoping for an extra-spooky Halloween this year. Maybe I would have one.

  “I do not know,” I said excitedly. “Jon, do ghosts haunt the ranch?”

  Jon laughed. He turned off the music, then sat next to Andrew. He patted Andrew on the shoulder, just as the long, low howls started again. All the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. It was great!

  “Nope, sorry,” said Jon. “I do not want to disappoint you, Karen, but those are ordinary, everyday wolves.”

  “Wolves?” squeaked Andrew, grabbing Jon’s sleeve.

  Jon did not seem to mind. “Yessir, wolves. Gray wolves. They howl at night sometimes. They are talking to one another — asking how their day went, I guess.”

  “You should chase the wolves away from here,” said Andrew.

  “Oh, no, I would not want to do that. Many people are afraid of wolves, it is true. But wolves are not all bad. In fact, the gray wolf is endangered. People have been working hard to make sure wolves are protected.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Years ago,” said Jon, “many ranchers tried to get rid of all the wolves in the area. Now, it is true that sometimes wolves will steal a calf or an injured cow. But the ranchers found that without the wolves, the rest of nature got out of balance. For instance, wolves help keep the deer population in check. Without wolves, deer become too numerous. They eat down the vegetation, causing the land to suffer. Without trees and bushes to build their nests in, birds become endangered. Like any other animal, wolves help to keep nature working right.” Jon smiled down at Andrew.

  “We are lucky to hear those wolves,” Jon continued. “Sometimes we do not hear one here at the ranch for weeks on end. That is because wolves are more scared of humans — even small humans — than we are of them. They would rather steer clear of us and the places we live. How about listening again — shhhh.”

  Everyone grew quiet as could be. Andrew had a listening-hard expression on his face.

  Outside, the wolves howled again, more faintly this time. They sounded farther away than they had the first time we had heard them. The howls faded, until we could not hear them anymore.

  Andrew smiled. “Sounds like they went away.”

  Jon nodded. “Sounds like it.” He gave Andrew’s shoulders a squeeze. “Maybe, if you are lucky, they will come back soon, and you will get to hear them one more time before you leave.”

  “I hope so,” said Andrew, yawning. “I cannot wait to tell all my friends at home that I heard real live wolves. Good night, everyone,” he said as he went upstairs to our room.

  As I followed him, I overheard Mommy say to Jon, “Thank you so much for reassuring Andrew.”

  I turned around and gazed at Jon. Jon Wayne really was the King of the Cowboys.

  Jon Wayne’s Problem

  On Wednesday morning I was itching to ride Mud Puddle again.

  “Oohhhh.” Mommy moaned when I asked her to go riding with me. Mommy was eating breakfast standing up at the big kitchen counter. Seth was standing next to her, and so was the younger Mr. Nemchinov and Mrs. Webb. None of them could sit down after their six-hour ride the day before.

  “I’d like to go riding too,” said Jenny.

  “Oohhh.” Mrs. Webb moaned.

  “I will go with you,” said Mr. Webb.

  “You can go with me this morning, if you like,” said Jon, gulping down some black coffee. “I have to ride fence a little bit. No problem if you want to tag along.”

  “I do! I do!” I shouted, jumping up and down.

  “Me too!” said Jenny. So it was decided.

  Granny said she would stay home with Andrew and Phil. Andrew wanted to work on his roping skills. I decided I would practice my archery later in the afternoon. But first I had a date with a horse.

  Twenty minutes later I was in my La-Z-Boy Western saddle, sitting high on Mud Puddle’s back. Jon was on his big brown-and-white horse. I was behind him, Jenny was behind me, and Mr. Webb was behind her. We were riding slowly on a narrow trail toward what Jon called the east pasture.

  “Riding fence means I have to ride alongside some of our fencing and check to see whether it needs repair,” explained Jon. “If I see a broken section, I make a note of it. Then my men and I come back to repair it.”

  “It is a lot of work to keep a ranch running,” I said thoughtfully.

  “Yes, it is,” said Jon. “I never realized how hard my grandfather and father worked to run this place. Until last year, I was only the ranch foreman — not the boss in charge of everything. This past year has been a lot of hard work.”

  “Tell me more about Annie Hancock,” I said as we rode along.

  “I never knew her, of course,” said Jon. “Most of what I know about her, my grandfather told me when I was little. Annie was his mother, and he adored her. He used to tell wonderful stories about her.”

  “Like what?”
I asked. I was not trying to be nosy. I am just curious. I like to know about everything.

  “Well, stories about what a terrific shot she was with her bow and arrow,” said Jon. “Stories about how she could hit anything she aimed at — a leaf, a target, a spot on the ground…. What I remember best was the way Granddad always seemed to think she could do anything she set her mind to — shooting arrows, herding cattle, running a dude ranch.”

  We rode along peacefully for a few minutes. It was a beautiful Colorado day. Everything felt so different from Connecticut. The birds were different, the trees were different, my saddle was different. I liked being Cow-girl Karen. I wondered if this was how Annie Hancock had felt.

  “Yes, Annie could do anything,” Jon said after he had checked a length of fence. “So could Granddad. So could my dad.” He straightened up and smiled at me, but it looked as if his eyes did not know his mouth was smiling. “Me, I am not so sure about.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Jenny. “You are the best!”

  “I was a good ranch foreman,” said Jon, swinging back up into his saddle. “And sometimes I think I am good at running a dude ranch. But I am not sure I can do both.”

  He rode on ahead. I let Mud Puddle slow up a bit, until I was riding next to Jenny. I looked at her, and she looked at me.

  “Jon seems sad,” said Jenny.

  “I know,” I replied. “He should not be sad. He is a great dude-ranch host! And he seems great at running the ranch.”

  “He can do both,” agreed Jenny.

  “But how can we convince him?” I asked. Suddenly, I felt as if we needed to. But I was not sure how. I would have to think about it.

  The Granny Chair

  The Ghost Town

  “I do not want to go to a ghost town,” said Andrew firmly on Thursday morning.

  “There are no real ghosts, Andrew,” said Mommy, taking another bite of flapjack.

  “It is just called a ghost town because people used to live there, but no one does anymore,” explained Kate as she brought a bowl of fruit salad to the long table. “Nowadays, although no one lives there, it is still a fascinating place. You can visit an old-fashioned general store, a saloon that serves lunches, and a doctor’s office preserved as a museum. It is really worth visiting.”

  “Come on, Andrew,” I said. “We will ride there in stagecoaches!”

  “All right,” said Andrew. “As long as there are no real ghosts.”

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, Jenny and I were waiting for the stagecoach to be brought to the front of the ranch house.

  “There it is!” I cried, pointing.

  The stagecoach could hold six people inside, plus the driver and another person outside, up high. Jenny, Mommy, Granny, Andrew, Mrs. Webb, and I rode inside. Jon drove, with Mr. Nemchinov (the younger one) sitting beside him. Everyone else rode in an open wagon, on benches. The wagon and the stagecoach were pulled by four horses each.

  “Giddyap!” I heard Jon call, and we were off.

  Well. If you have never ridden in a stage-coach (and I bet you have not), then you probably do not know that it is not as comfy as it looks. In fact, it is the bounciest, jounciest, teeth-rattlingest ride you can imagine! After just a few minutes I felt as if all my bones were coming unglued. And we were sitting on thickly padded seats! You see, the stagecoach has big wooden wheels, so you feel every single rock, pebble, dip, puddle, and bunch of grass that you roll over!

  “How much farther?” asked Andrew. “I am starting to feel carsick. I mean stagecoach-sick.”

  “Not much farther,” Mommy assured him. “I think we are almost there.”

  The ghost town, which was called Wayne Junction, sat just outside the ranch property. It did not look like a real town — more like a movie set. I saw two rows of old buildings, lining a dusty, dirty unpaved road. The whole thing could not have been more than three blocks long.

  “As you see, it is impossible to get lost here,” said Jon. “You may look around, have lunch at the saloon, and shop. We can meet back here at one o’clock.”

  “Ugh.” I groaned, rubbing my back. “I think I would rather walk back to the ranch. I do not want to ride in that stagecoach again!”

  Mommy laughed and rubbed my back where I could not reach. “Here is the general store,” she said. “How about seeing what is inside?”

  The general store was not a ghost store. Inside, it was jam-packed with a million and one cool things. It looked just like it did back in the 1870s (a sign said so). I saw wooden barrels of pickles and crackers, sacks of flour and sugar and salt, glass jars of penny candies, and that is not all. There were saddles and bridles and yokes and plows and bolts of cloth. Hams were hanging from the ceiling. I saw tins of coffee and tea. I did not know where to look first.

  There were also some new-timey things: postcards, packets of aspirin and Pepto-Bismol, sunscreen. I bought some postcards to send to the other two Musketeers and to my big-house family.

  Andrew and I each bought cowboy hats with some money Mommy had given us. Andrew’s was red and mine was white. Andrew also bought himself a silver sheriff’s badge.

  Then we went next door to the barbershop. Everything had been left just the way it used to look, as if the barber would be back any minute. Besides all the hair-cutting things, there were some dentistry tools. Seth read us a sign explaining that in the old West, the barber was often the dentist too. He would cut your hair, then pull your sore teeth — with no pain-killing shot! Yikes, I thought.

  Next came the doctor’s office museum, which had all sorts of interesting things in it. Medicine back in the old days was pretty gross. You know the expression “bite the bullet”? You say that if something bad happens but you just have to put up with it anyway. In the old days, doctors used to operate on patients sometimes with no painkillers, and the patient would be given a bullet to bite on. Well, at the Wayne Junction museum I saw a bullet with tooth marks on it! I am not kidding. That is how hard the patient was biting when the doctor was doing whatever he was doing (and I do not even want to think about what that was).

  As much as I love the cowboy days, seeing those tooth marks made me so, so glad I was born in modern times.

  I wrote in my journal about the barbershop and the tooth-marked bullet and the saloon (where we had yummy hamburgers and root beer on tap for lunch) and the old broken-down spooky abandoned houses and stables. Wayne Junction was the perfect ghost town.

  The Haunted Mine

  After lunch, we piled into the stagecoach and wagon again and headed back to the Arrow-A. I rode in the wagon this time, with Seth, Andrew, Jenny, Mommy, and the Nemchinovs. Punkie was our driver. This time Jon took a different route home, the long way around a big flat-topped hill. Jon called the hill a butte. He pronounced the word like this: byoot. That is what they call a flat-topped hill in the West.

  The road curved around close to the butte. When we were at the base of it, Jon pulled the stagecoach team to a stop. Punkie stopped the wagon. Everyone hopped down.

  “We are back on Arrow-A land now,” said Jon. “The ranch house is on the other side of this butte, about a mile and a half away. But right here before us is the most important piece of the Arrow-A’s history.”

  I looked around. I did not see anything except the side of a steep rocky hill and scrubby grass and bushes on the ground.

  “Step this way, everyone,” said Jon, motioning to us. He disappeared behind a large boulder. We followed him.

  On the other side of the boulder, I saw an opening in the hillside — a sort of cave, with big squared-off logs set around the edges. A miniature train track, maybe three feet wide, led into the cave.

  “This is the silver mine that Annie Hancock’s father, my great-great-grandfather, built,” Jon explained. “There was not enough silver to make him a rich man. But there was enough so his family could buy a small piece of land and start their ranch. It is thanks to this hole in the ground that I am a rancher today.”

&nb
sp; “Can we go in?” I asked. The old mine looked spooky — all dark and lonesome — but really neat.

  “Yup,” said Jon. “Though of course you cannot go in very far. It was boarded up over eighty years ago, to prevent anyone from going in and getting lost or hurt. Even I have never been past the entrance, though I tried to explore many a time, when I was about your age.” Jon winked at me and smiled.

  I smiled and winked back. Then cautiously, with the others, I walked into the mine, following the little railroad tracks down a gentle slope into the darkness.

  Heavens to Betsy, was it spooky! Black and musty and echoey and damp and chilly. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I could make out words carved into the timbers holding up the mine. One of them said JONATHAN WAYNE 1965.

  “I put that there when I was a little bit older than you,” Jon said from behind me.

  “Gosh,” I said.

  About twenty feet in, we came to the end of the shaft. Big rocks, piled up against huge logs jammed in every which way, blocked the tunnel. The light from the entrance behind us was pretty faint. This was the spookiest place of all.

  “I bet there are ghosts down here,” I said, only half kidding. “The ghosts of miners who were killed in cave-ins.”

  Jon laughed. “Sorry to disappoint you, but we never had any cave-ins here. No miners were ever killed at the Arrow-A. But the old ranch hands do say there might be a ghost who haunts the mine.”

  “Really?” I said.

  In the weak light I saw Jon nod. “They say my great-grandmother — Annie Hancock Wayne — haunts the mine,” he said. “No one knows why she haunts this place. I do not believe it, exactly, myself. But on the other hand, you never know. Maybe Annie is here with us now.”

  I shivered. A haunted mine! And a mystery — why would Annie haunt it?

  Western Rain

  When we got back to the ranch, it was cool and cloudy. I visited Mud Puddle in the paddock and told him about my morning. He looked very interested. After that, I had a snack of Kate’s delicious homemade apple pie, then practiced my archery behind the house. Saturday was the hoedown, and I wanted to be sharp for the show.