2
Sunday morning. We have just had breakfast. One week from tomorrow school will be out, so I can go to our home ranch for the summer. With me there is always something different. Father has promised a new saddle for my tenth birthday, in July, only a short time away. Brother Bud has ordered me a new custom-made pair of cowboy boots, just like he wears, black and tan with the small heel. My measurements and order have been sent to Mr. Hier in Kansas City. With my big Stetson hat, long pants stuck down in the boots and a special belt with a silver buckle to hold my pants up, I’ll look just like my brother, only he is twelve years my senior. To be just like him, to rope and ride as he does, will be something. I practice hard with the rope. I can spin and do fancy tricks now, but Bud says that is only for show. To front-foot and rope from your horse is what makes a good cowhand. He is the best.
The new saddle is not going to be a boy’s saddle. It will be a full-sized man’s, the kind bronco riders use.
This morning at breakfast I lost my final battle with Father. It wasn’t much of a battle, with what I have coming up soon, a birthday and summer vacation. I know when to quit and did.
Last week one of my aunts in the East sent me a waist which she made. Father thinks it is very beautiful, but it makes me sick to look at the thing. It is white with a great big collar with lace all around the edge and sleeves with lace cuffs that fold back over the end of your coat sleeves. Up the front are two rows of lace. The bottom of the waist ties around your middle, and it doesn’t stick down in your britches like a man’s shirt. This affair you wear over the suspenders that keep your pants up. It is horrible looking, and I am much too old for this kind of junk. Today I am to wear it to Sunday school and then church. I have a new blue suit with knee pants. This I wouldn’t mind so much if I could wear a real shirt with a tail to tuck in my pants. With me in black shoes, black stockings, my new blue suit and the damn waist with a ribbon bow tie, the kids are going to make it plenty tough. But Father won’t understand. He is the finest father I know and usually easy to handle, but after my attempt at breakfast, I know I’m sunk. He says I will look just like little Lord Fauntleroy, whoever he is, and all the little girls will be after me. Them I can do without. They smell terrible, all perfume and stuff. Horses smell better. Bud says girls will smell better as I get older, but he is always kidding. There is one thing I know: I’ll never let my ponies see me. I wouldn’t be caught dead in the stable in this outfit, and if some kid pulls the lace I won’t even sock him. My big brother and Sally, who runs the place and is my good friend (who even Father doesn’t sass), are always on my side. But this time, they have given me no help. They have just looked at each other, grinned and kept still like a couple of dumb clucks.
The time to dress is approaching, so up the back stairs from the kitchen to my room I go. From my back window I can see our big back yard with a board sidewalk running from our kitchen door to the stable. Our home is at the very edge of town and sits high on a terrace. It is a three-story frame building painted white with green trimmings, as are the stable, corrals and a picket fence that stands at the foot of the terrace on both sides and in front of the house. At the front and back of the house are large lawns with beautiful green grass sloping down to the picket fence. There is only one eyesore, the boardwalk to the stable. Several boards are broken, heads of many nails stick up, and Father is always going to have them removed but never does. I look out my window to the stable where Bud’s two cow ponies and Father’s two fancy horses are quartered and to the corral where my two ponies are munching hay I’m pretty proud of the whole affair, especially the three people downstairs. It is nine now and Sunday school starts at ten. Then church, where I am supposed to sing with the choir. Maybe something will happen before that.
Taking my time dressing, I am thinking of my new boots and saddle to come, along with my summer vacation. So if I get by today, life will be pretty good. Looking myself over in the mirror, big white collar on the outside of my coat collar, white lace cuffs over the ends of my sleeves, I am an awful sight.
Everything is ready, except Sally to brush my hair and put on the black ribbon tie, when I take a last look out the window. Here is something to gladden the heart of any small boy On our lawn, eating our wonderful green grass, are five of the prettiest antelope I have ever seen. They evidently have just landed, because when I looked out the window before, they were not there.
Three of this bunch I have seen before, the two little guys are new. The three largest ones were here in the winter looking for food on a day when there was a big blizzard. Sally fed them some potato peelings and Bud put out some hay on top of the snow. Then they were very thin and didn’t look good, but today they are fat and beautiful, with their big bunch of white hair for a tail and their slick coat. They are a sight to see. This is the only time I ever saw antelope this close to town in the summer. In the winter they are a common sight, especially around our house at the edge of town where they seem to know they’re welcome. Today, these babies must have been just traveling and spotted our nice green grass. I start to call my family to see the sight, when I have a better idea. Gone is any thought of Sunday school, my blue suit, or future plans. I have immediate business. Down the back stairs I go, through the kitchen and the front room where Bud is playing solitaire and Father is reading. All this without attracting undue attention, and I am out the front door, down the steps and out the front gate. The coast is clear. Ducking down so I won’t be seen, I run along the front and turn back to the stable, keeping well out of sight of my antelope until I reach the back of our corral. Here I slow up because it seems I have escaped safely from the house. My babies are still deep in grass.
Ignoring my ponies, I go through the stable to the front of the mangers where there is a runway between the manger and the door opening toward our house. Here hang three saddles, Father’s, Bud’s and mine. But what I am after is a dandy thirty-five-foot rope which Bud uses for front-footing. This is coiled up and hangs on the horn of his saddle. I remove it quickly. Looking out through a crack in the door, I spot my babies all happy with their heads in the grass, the largest of the five not ten feet from the door.
This is going to be perfect. If I can get my rope in position and open the door quietly but fast and get one shot. If I remember everything Bud has taught me. I will catch this guy, and will Father and Bud ever be proud of me! Clothes I have forgotten all about. Like I have been taught, I make a small loop for a quick throw, with the coil in my left hand, the loop in my right. I am about to open the door with my knee when I remember that, last month out to our ranch, I roped a wild horse going out a gate. I didn’t only lose the rope, I got my hands rope-burned. And worst of all, it was one of Bud’s best ropes and he spent a full day recovering it, which didn’t make him too happy. This time I will be safe. I tie the very end of the rope around my waist, leaving myself plenty to cast. Putting one of Bud’s gloves on my left hand, I leave my right hand free to cast my loop.
I am ready. All this has taken me practically no time. With one more look to see just where my prey is, I find everything to my liking. With a quick gentle push of my knee, the antelope and I are as one. My beautiful overhand loop has opened directly above and in front, so Mr. Antelope has no place to go. But go he does, straight up, turning in the air toward the wide open spaces.
This is possibly the first and only time a small boy has been attached to a jet-propelled antelope. This baby hits the end of the rope, jerking me straight up in the air and landing me on my belly, square on top of the broken part of Father’s boardwalk from which nail heads stick out everywhere. Mr. Antelope has barely cleared our picket fence, what with having me on the other end of the rope, and is flattened out. By the time I have unscrambled myself from the boards, he is on his feet again and away we go. One jerk and I am flat on my belly in the nice green grass, sliding across the lawn and down the terrace, where my head hits the bottom of the picket fence with a bang. I am not feeling so good. A shadow passes over the top of me and the fence, and I know I am being rescued by my long-suffering but faithful brother, who grabs the rope and, hand over hand, separates the loop from a surprised and very happy antelope. I have come to enough that I am trying to climb the terrace on my knees when Bud gives me a hand and unties the rope from around my waist.
Reality has returned. I am standing up wondering how soon Father will show up. The beautiful white shirt is no more. The big white collar is torn half off. Green grass covers the front of my shirt and suit. One stocking is down, the other is torn and there is a large rip in the pants leg. My head hurts like the dickens and my left eye feels like it is shutting. Worst of all, it is beginning to dawn on me that I haven’t gone to Sunday school. All of this has gone through my mind fast when Sally comes running out with “What has happened to my boy?” This is evidently too much for Bud and he starts to laugh and roll in the grass saying, “Sally, I told you he would make it. My God, Pard, you look terrible.” Then Sally starts laughing, only she doesn’t roll in the grass like Bud.
What I dreaded most is about to happen. Father is coming out the kitchen door. He takes one look at his bright young son. On his face is the funniest expression. His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. Finally he blurts out, “This is the first blue suit I have ever seen turn green so soon. What the hell happened?” Seeing the rope in Bud’s hand, he inquires, “My God, what could he possibly rope to do this in such a short space of time?” So Bud tells him. His mouth starts the old routine — open and close. He wipes his hand across his face several times, like he has lost his voice. Then he heads for the back door, making funny noises like he was choking. As he goes into the house he says, “Bud, I’ll make that deal of ours fifteen.”
Boy, am I glad he’s gone. I mention to Bud that Father didn’t say anything about church. This starts Bud and Sally off in more laughter, which to me is not a darn bit funny. “Pard, why did you tie that rope to your waist?” After I explain about not wanting to lose his rope, Bud exclaims, “To hell with the rope. Don’t ever do that again. I would rather lose all my ropes than lose my kid brother. And as for our father and church, I think you have convinced him that a minister you will never be. I don’t think he will ever mention today’s adventure, if you don’t.”
Sally pipes up, “Mention it? Did you see how hard he was trying not to laugh? I bet he will be down to that club where they all go, and everyone in town will know about that antelope.” To me Sally says, “Darling, I am going to take you in hand and bathe your cuts and do something for that eye, because it’s going to be a real shiner. And boy, you sure don’t have to go anywhere today.”
Bud says, “All right, Sally. You take care of our champion roper. I’m going to town. I can’t let Father have all the fun. I’ll make it fifteen.”
So I ask Bud for the meaning. It seems Father decided some time ago I wasn’t going to live too long. He promised Bud three of his best horses if he would keep me going until I am eighteen. Today he cut it down to fifteen. How do you like that?
My last week of school I am quite a hero with the black eye. Everyone seems to know about my friend, the antelope. The girls all giggle and look silly. The boys are all interested. Even our man teacher wants to know all about everything. My pals, the King boys, want to know what kind of a loop I used, and what did my father say, and would I teach them to throw the same kind of a loop. I agree to show them after school, but Willard has a little trouble with our lady teacher, so there can be no roping.
Teacher had Willard up in front of our class trying to read something aloud. This was very bad, as Willard stammers. When he’s excited, it’s awful. The words just don’t want to come out, and when they do, they come all of a sudden. She had Willard try to repeat the same thing over and over, each time getting worse. “I just can’t understand you, Willard,” she declared. By this time he is embarrassed and thinks she is having fun with him. He exclaims with an oath, “You, you, you thun of a vitch, see, see, see if you can unnerthtand that,” and socks her right in the belly. She folds up like a punctured accordion. The girls all scream, “He’s killed Teacher.” By the time our man teacher appears, Willard has ducked out through the hall taking his Stetson with him, then home to his pony and off to their ranch before his mother has a chance to find out what happened. I don’t see him again until after summer vacation.