Strawberry Girl

by Lois Lenski

  CHAPTER VIII

  Cattle

  “I JEST KNEW HE WOULD!” said Pa. He spat in the sand.

  “What you fixin’ to do, Pa?” asked Birdie.

  Mr. Boyer put his hand under her chin and tilted up her birdlike face. “Sugar,” he said softly, “don’t you git worried now.”

  “You won’t make a ruckus, Pa?” she asked. “Ma says you jest love to make a ruckus.”

  “Sugar, I’m studyin’ what’s best to do,” said Pa. “Of one thing I’m certain. When there’s trouble: waitin’ for you, you jest as good go out to meet it.”

  It was the morning after the cane grinding. Birdie had found tracks of cattle running straight through the strawberry field, across the pasture and on down to the lake. The new wire fence had been deliberately cut to let the cattle through.

  Her father looked at the trampled strawberries and the mangled, fence.

  “He ain’t forgot, after all!” he said.

  Birdie had not believed Slater would do it, even when Shoestring told her about the pliers. That time, in early summer, .when Pa Boyer had marked the hog’s ears, as a warning to Slater, nothing had happened except the note on the porch, which she. herself tore to bits.

  After that, the hogs had not come so often. She wondered if Shoestring fed them every night and if regular feeding had kept them home. He never told her, and she had never asked him. Some way, she didn’t like to bring the subject up.

  It was better, as Pa said, to let sleeping hogs lie. Time enough, when they woke, to deal with them. This looked like the time. Slater had not forgotten. He was getting even.

  Pa was as determined as ever to get his farm fenced. Through the fall, he and Buzz had been using their spare time to stretch barbed wire on all their outer boundaries. Now it was cut to bits. All four wires were cut between every post for the distance of a quarter of a mile.

  Pa just stood and looked at it. He didn’t say another word. He didn’t do anything about it. He didn’t go near the Slaters or call them to account. He didn’t even mention the Slaters by name.

  The next Saturday he took a lot of cane syrup to town to sell. He said he wanted to buy white paint to paint the house.

  “You mean you want to get more barbed wire,” said Ma.

  “You shore do love a ruckus. Why don’t you let the fence go, and live peaceable?”

  Pa ignored her question. “I’m studyin’ to paint the house, come spring. I want to buy the paint now, when I can pay for it.”

  Ma stayed at home to hoe up the trampled strawberry plants.

  Birdie and Dovey went along to town with Pa and Buzz. Birdie took her leghorn hat to Miss Liddy’s, the way Ma told her to. Azuloy worked on it most of the afternoon, while the girls watched. She bleached it, reshaped and retrimmed it. When it was all done, it had a beautiful red rose on it. This one was made of silk, not paper. The hat looked as good as new.

  Birdie and Dovey waited at Miss Liddy’s while Pa took care of his business. It took him a long time. They thought he would never come. They watched for him at the front window. Miss Liddy gave them cold boiled sweet potatoes to eat, to keep them from getting hungry.

  The Tatums passed, and other people they knew, but Pa did not come. Suddenly a loud, shuffling noise filled the air, a rumble made by the tramping of sharp hoofs, and the mooing of cattle. Above the commotion, loud shouts rang out.

  “What’s that? Shootin?” asked Birdie.

  “Oh, I’m scared!” wailed Dovey.

  Miss Liddy hurried over. “The Crackers are coming,” she explained. “Just cowmen with their cattle! Hear how they crack their long, rawhide whips. They’re driving a big herd to market at Tampa, to ship to Cuba most likely. Probably came from way up yonder by Jacksonville, buyin’ up beef cattle all along the way.” She paused. “Folks born in Florida or who have lived here a long time are called Crackers—after the cowmen.”

  “We’re Crackers!” said Birdie proudly. “We was born in Marion County!”

  For half an hour, the air was filled with horseflies and gritty dust; the clay-packed street was ground to dry powder by sharp hoofs. The cowmen rode small, wiry cowhorses, and cracked their whips beside the herd, shouting and whooping and singing lustily:

  “Sittin’ on a cowhorse

  The whole day long,

  Thinkin’ of those good times, All past and gone.

  Apple like a cherry,

  Cherry like a rose;

  Oh, how I love my Cindy

  Nobody livin’ knows!”

  An oxcart brought up the rear, carrying supplies. The teamster, who also served as cook, walked to the left of the cart, swinging his whip back over his shoulder, then whipping it forward in a startling crack, that sounded like a shot from a gun.

  The great stream of cattle passed slowly out on the rutty Tampa road. The dust settled down and the town was left to its usual quiet.

  When it was time for Miss Liddy to go home for supper, she said, “I must buy those schoolbooks for the Harden children—they’re coming in to town to school; they live near enough. Their Pa asked me to. We’ll go down the street and keep an eye out for your father.”

  Miss Liddy bought the books at the drug store, then they walked round the block. It was supper time and there were few people about. The square was deserted. A mule, pulling a rickety wagon, went by. An old woman on the seat had a little bell which she rang now and then.

  “That’s old Janey Pokes sellin’ vegetables,” said Miss Liddy.

  “When I start sellin’ strawberries,” said Birdie, “I’ll get me a wagon and a bell.”

  “You’ll be a strawberry girl, won’t you?” said Miss Liddy.

  When they passed by the saloon on the other side of the street, they heard a loud commotion inside. The double half-screen which covered the open front door swayed back and forth. Men’s legs could be seen beneath it, kicking and fighting in lively fashion. Loud voices were shouting.

  “Come away!” cried Miss Liddy. “Such wicked men, in such a wicked place! They’ve been drinking!”

  She pulled the two girls after her.

  “But I heard Pa!” protested Birdie. “I’m sure it was Pa!”

  “Why Birdie!” said Miss Liddy. “I hope your father never goes in there!”

  “He’s in there now,” said Birdie, pointing. “I can tell him by his overalls. That’s the patch Ma put on yesterday.” The overalls in question were still kicking briskly.

  Miss Liddy was struck dumb with astonishment.

  “Can’t I go in and tell him we want to go home?” asked Birdie.

  “I should say not!” Miss Liddy put her arms around the girls. The shouting of the men continued. While they waited, they could not help but hear what the men were saying.

  “You’ve no right to cut my fence!” shouted Mr. Boyer.

  “You’ve no tight to cut off my right o’ way!” answered Slater. “We’ve always lived there, me and my Pa and my Grandpa before me! Grandpa was an old Indian fighter and he come there right after the Seminole War! We’ve always had the use of all that land for pasture, for moss pickin’ and frog huntin’ and anything else we want. You got no right to fence it up!”

  “I’ll fence in what I paid for!” shouted Mr. Boyer defiantly. “What’s mine’s my own! I’ll fence it in and keep other folks and their stock out!”

  “Ary time you fence off the right o’ way to the lake, so my cows can’t get to water, I’ll cut your fence!” Slater’s voice was shrill with anger. “See, I got my pliers right here!”

  “Better not try it again!” warned Boyer. “I’m allowed to shoot a man if he enters my house or bothers my property! If I catch anybody on my property that I paid good money for, I’ll shoot! Did you pay money for your land?”

  “No …” admitted Slater. “We done always lived there since Grandpappy’s days.”

  “You’re a squatter! You don’t own an inch of land and yet you got three hundred head of cattle to pasture out on other people’s prop
erty! You don’t even own the land your house is settin’ on, do you?”

  “Wal—not exactly … but what difference do that make?” cried Slater. “Hit’s Open Range! Everybody knows that! Everybody leaves their stock run loose!”

  “Not across my place they don’t!” said Boyer in a quiet tone.

  “I warned you before: if I catch a cow or a hog of your’n on my place, I’ll shoot on sight! Open Range—we’ll see! We’ll get a Fence Law passed!”

  “A No-Fence Law, you mean!” yelled Slater.

  Other men chimed in. “That question won’t never be settled till doomsday!” they said.

  “Fence cutting!” cried Miss Liddy, standing outside on the plank sidewalk. “So that’s it! Nothin’ like fence cuttin’ for causin’ trouble. Florida won’t never be a peaceable place to live till that question gets settled. But such talk is not fitten for you children to hear. Come, I’ll take you home with me. You can sleep to my house.”

  But Birdie and Dovey refused to go.

  “Pa-a-a! Pa-a-a!” Dovey began to cry. “Pa-a-a!”

  “We’d jest as soon wait here till Pa comes out,” said Birdie, with spirit. “Pa can beat the starch out of Slater, I reckon! He’ll take us home, soon as he gits done.”

  “You don’t think he might be … drinking?” asked Miss Liddy.

  “No ma’am,” said Birdie. “He’s not drunk, if that’s what you mean. He don’t drink. He just came here to find Mr. Slater and give him a talkin’-to, ’cause he cut our fence.”

  Miss Liddy had to hurry home to supper, so she could get back to the millinery store for the Saturday night trade. After she left, Birdie and Dovey waited a long time. Things quieted down inside the saloon. After a while Slater left, looking feeble and battered, with a man on each side holding him up. Then

  Mr. Boyer came out alone. He looked quite unharmed.

  The girls ran to him and took him by the hand.

  They went to the wagon, but Buzz was not there. Pa had bought barbed wire and white paint both. He loaded them on. They waited till Buzz came. He had a black eye, and said he had had a fight with Gus Slater. Pa grinned.

  “But he got worse than I did,” added Buzz. “He’s in jail.”

  It was night when they got home. Ma reported that the Slater herd had gone through the strawberry field again on their way to the lake. Shoestring had driven them.

  Pa unloaded the wagon. Ma did not say a word about the white paint.

  “I see you got more wire,” she said.

  Then she scolded Pa and Buzz for fighting the Slaters.

  “Fighting don’t settle anything. There’s more peaceable ways to handle this …”

  “Now jest what,” asked Pa, with sarcasm in his voice, “would you do?”

  “I’ll show you!” said Ma with spirit. “Next time he comes to cut that fence, I’ll get him to turn round and leave it uncut. And I won’t say a word to him neither.”

  Birdie opened her eyes wide. Could Ma handle Slater better than Pa and keep things peaceable?

  The following week Mr. Boyer lost no time in putting the new fence up. Mrs. Boyer expected something to happen. She told the children to keep a sharp lookout and to let her know if any of the Slaters appeared—or any of the Slaters’ cows or hogs. She did not have to wait long.

  One day toward the end of the week, Dovey and Dan came running in. “The Slaters are comin’!” they called. “They’re drivin’ their cattle this-a-way!”

  Pa was off on the other side of the farm, but Ma was ready. She told the little children to stay in the house with Dixie. Armed with flour sacks, she and Birdie hurried out to the strawberry field. They sprinkled flour on the strawberry plants in the rows next to the wire fence.

  The herd of woods cattle came closer and closer, on through the scrub. They were small, thin and wiry, with protruding hip bones and long horns. They had grown runty from foraging for tough wire grass, from traveling through saw palmetto thickets, sidestepping rattlesnakes, jumping over gopher holes, and withstanding heat, rain, flies and mosquitoes.

  The cattle came up to the fence and stopped. They massed in a confused huddle.

  Shoestring, riding his cowhorse, pushed his way through the herd. His father, on another horse, made his way up from behind. They had expected to drive the cows right through, but the new fence was in the way.

  “Got your pliers, Pa?” called Shoestring. He shouted in a loud bragging tone, so Birdie could hear.

  “There ain’t no fence can stop me!” called Slater. “Do Boyer think he can keep me from comin’ through here with my cattle, he’ll soon find out different. He knows we got the right o’ way through here to the lake!”

  Mrs. Boyer did not look up or reply. She kept on sprinkling flour.

  Slater stared at her and Birdie. Shoestring, beside him, stared too. Wide-eyed, they looked at the suspicious white powder on the strawberry plants.

  Slater turned and spoke to Shoestring. He said only one word.

  They wheeled their horses sharply and drove the cows off in another direction, skirting the fenced field, taking a longer, roundabout route to the lake. They let the new fence alone.

  When Pa heard they’d come and gone without cutting the fence, he asked, “How did that happen?” He poked Ma in the ribs. “Did you use the little ole shotgun?”

  “No,” said Ma, “hit wasn’t necessary. I just played a little trick on them. Now maybe we can live peaceable for a while.” She let Birdie explain about the flour sacks.

  “Flour!” exclaimed Pa. “Flour on the strawberry plants. What for? What did he think it was? What did he say?”

  “‘Poison! ’” said Ma.

  CHAPTER IX

  Strawberries

  “THERE WON’T BE NO more cow squabbles for a while, anyway,” said Mrs. Slater.

  “And no more fence cutting,” added Mrs. Boyer.

  “You mighty right,” said Mrs. Slater with a sigh.

  Mrs. Slater had come over to call as soon as the boys drove off with the cows.

  The winter pasture was not good. The cattle could not get enough to eat. So Boyer and Slater forgot their differences and decided to have the boys drive their cows twenty-five miles to Lake Weller, where winter grass was better.

  “I’m jest pinin’ for egg custard,” said Mrs. Slater. “Seems like I can’t stand it, do I have to live another day without. I ain’t seen milk for so long …”

  “With all them cows? Three hundred?” asked Mrs. Boyer.

  “Oh, them ain’t milk cows, them’s beef cattle—some calves and some yearlings,” said Mrs. Slater.

  “Your baby and little girls belong to have milk to drink,” said Mrs. Boyer. “They look right puny.”

  “We had a milk cow once,” sighed Mrs. Slater, “but she give so little, hit war a waste o’time to milk her.”

  Mrs. Boyer turned to Birdie. “Go milk Susie Belle.” Then to her visitor: “You shall have your egg custard. Got eggs?”

  “Yes, plenty hens,” said Mrs. Slater.

  Birdie took the milk bucket and went out. “You got a cow?” asked Mrs. Slater in astonishment.

  “Shore have,” replied Mrs. Boyer.

  “But I thought Buzz and Shoestring and Gus and Sam drove all your cows to Lake Weller with our’n!”

  “All but one,” said Mrs. Boyer. “We keep one cow up all the time.”

  “Up to the house? In winter?” asked Mrs. Slater. “What do she eat?”

  “Corn and fodder and whatever we feed her.”

  “You mean you feed her?”

  “Shore do,” said Mrs. Boyer, “so we’ll get plenty milk. We use all we want and I make butter.”

  Mrs. Slater glanced out the window. “What’s she tied to that orange tree for? Why don’t you leave her run loose?”

  “Manure’s good for the tree,” explained Mrs. Boyer. “First I tie her to one tree, then move her to the next. The children gather ‘cow-chips,’ dried cow droppings, out in the pasture, and we dump them round the o
range trees, too, to manure ’em.”

  “Why, I never see a cow from fall till spring,” said Mrs. Slater. “Sam always drives ’em a fur piece for winter grass. Good riddance too. I purely hate havin’ the critters prancin’ round loose. Can’t have me no flower beds nor nothin’.” She peered out again. “Who’s that up in the orange tree?”

  “Pa and Dan are picking oranges,” said Mrs. Boyer. “The seedlings are fine now. We’re sellin’ ’em by the barrel. I’ll give you some for the children, since you ain’t got no grove.”

  “Shucks—oranges! We never eat them!” sniffed Mrs. Slater. “They don’t appeal to our notion.”

  Birdie brought the milk in and filled a bucket for Mrs. Slater.

  “Lawzy!” cried Mrs. Slater. “Keepin’ a cow up all the time!”

  “We’ll soon be pickin’ our first strawberries,” said Birdie, filled with pride.

  “I’ll send some over soon’s they’re ripe,” added Mrs. Boyer.

  “Nothin’ don’t grow like hit belongs to,” mourned Mrs. Slater. “Even sweet ’taters don’t make this year. Strawberries! Why, ain’t them strawberry plants dead yet?”

  Mrs. Slater took the milk home with her and feasted her family on egg custard. After that, through the winter months, the Slaters were seldom seen or heard from. With the cows removed from the scene, life for the Boyers became peaceful—but busier than ever.

  The strawberry plants were not dead yet. With the advent of cooler weather, they began to grow sturdy and to send out blossoms. Early in January, the fruit began to form and it was not long until it showed color.

  “Ain’t them right purty, Ma?”

  Birdie brought the first cupful in and Ma made shortcake.

  “I think that’s jest plumb good,” said Pa.

  It wasn’t long until the rows were covered with bright red berries and Pa said they were ready to be picked. “Where’s my strawberry family?” he inquired.

  “Here!” “Here!” They all answered from Dixie down to Bunny. All but Buzz, who at seventeen considered himself too grown-up for such childish work.