by Lois Lenski
The station master began shouting. The refrigerators were quickly rolled up into the freight car, the door was closed and locked and the car was hooked on behind the train. Soon the strawberries were on their way to the far north, and Pa and Birdie were on their way home again.
All the way home, Pa felt cheerful because he had sold so many berries. He began to sing and Birdie joined in:
“Jaybird sittin’ on a swingin’ limb,
swingin’ limb,
swingin’ limb!
Jaybird sittin’ on a swingin’ limb,
High oh, high oh, high oh!
I picked up a rock and hit him on the chin,
hit him on the chin,
hit him on the chin!
I picked up a rock and hit him on the chin,
High oh, high oh, high oh!
Looky here, my little man, don’t you do that agin,
don’t you do that agin,
don’t you do that agin! Looky here, my little man, don’t you do that agin,
High oh, high oh, high oh!”
They sang at the top of their voices and were very happy together. Pa started off on another song, but stopped in the middle of a line. “Look yonder!” he said, pointing.
They had returned to the cypress swamp, where they saw buzzards circling above the feathery green foliage of the trees. The great black birds swooped down to the ground and then up again.
“That big ole ’gator been killed?” asked Birdie.
“He might could,” said Pa, “walkin’ out, on the road that way, did some man come along with a shotgun on his shoulder.”
But the alligator was not in sight. Instead, in the marshy grass at the edge of the swamp, a cow was bogged up to her neck. She mooed in distress, as the greedy buzzards all but lighted on her head.
“Pore thing!” cried Birdie. “Oh, Pa, the buzzards are after her and she’s still alive. Iffen she moves, she’s shore to sink.”
“That’s what happens when you have Open Range,” said Pa angrily. “Cows go everywhere, and the owner never knows how many he loses. Better keep ’em fenced up and give ’em a little care.” He paused. “Did I fetch my shotgun, I’d shoot her quick to end her misery. Or did I have a rope …” He jumped from the wagon.
“What you fixin’ to do, Pa?” asked Birdie. “Kin I help?”
“No, sugar. Stay where you air.”
He went to a tree and began pulling down a great length of heavy grapevine, which was growing up the trunk. He cut it loose, made a loop in one end and threw it over the cow’s head. After several tries, he succeeded in lassoing the animal. Then he pulled slowly and steadily until she gradually regained her footing, and came up on the more solid bank of the road.
He knocked mud off her, looked at her ear-mark and then saw that her brand was the circle S.
“Hit’s Slater’s cow!” he said. “Likely he won’t even thank me for savin’ her life.”
“The buzzards have all gone away,” said Birdie.
“Gone back to town to sit on the tops of the chimneys,” said Pa, “to swoop down and git the garbage folkses throw out. Them birds ain’t exactly choice what food they eat. They got cheated out of a good dinner here.”
Pa used the grapevine to tie the rescued cow to the rear of the wagon. Osceola started on.
They, went first to the Slaters.
At first they thought there was nobody at home, then Mrs. Slater came out on the porch with her baby slung on her hip. “Howdy!” she said.
“Found one of your cows bogged up in the cypress swamp,” explained Mr. Boyer. “I pulled her out and brung her home behind my wagon.”
He untied the grapevine. The animal was covered with black, mucky slime and was hardly able to stand on her feet. Under the muck, she looked thin and bony. Mrs. Slater stared at her.
“Don’t look like none of our’n,” she said.
“She’s got your markin’ brand, circle S,” said Boyer. “She belongs to be scrubbed off and fed up and took care of for a week or two.”
“Can’t do that,” said the woman.
“Your men folks can,” said Boyer.
“All gone off,” replied Mrs. Slater. “Ain’t worth it, nohow.”
“She needs water to drink,” said Boyer.
“I wouldn’t tote a bucket o’ water for no cow on earth,” said the woman. “I purely hate cattle.”
“She’s worth ten or twelve dollars, do you feed her up a bit,” said Boyer.
“I’d not see ary penny of it, did they sell her.”
“I’d as good to let her bog down and die, then, in the swamp,” said Boyer crossly. “You got feed for her?”
“I never see ary cow worth feedin’ or totin’ water for,” insisted Mrs. Slater.
Shoestring came round the house and stopped when he heard voices. He had a fish—a bream—in his hands.
“Hey, Birdie!” he called. “See what I got! Dropped right down from the sky!”
“Huh!” said Birdie. “Expect me to believe that? You been fishin’.”
“I was down yonder by the lake,” said the boy, “and I looked up and heard a loud squallin’ and I see a bream flyin’ through the air. I held out my hat and caught it and here it is!”
“You caught it on a hook!” said Birdie.
“Naw-sir-ree!” Shoestring continued in a boastful tone. “Fish hawk dove down in the lake and caught him this fish. Ole eagle was settin’ on a dead limb watchin’. When the fish hawk started off with it, the eagle flew up and hit him in the back and they had a fight and made a terrible noise. The eagle got the fish away from the fish hawk, but when he seen me and heard me holler at him, he got scared and dropped the fish—right in my hat! Neither of ’em will eat this fish for supper—I will.”
“Looky here, son!” said Mr. Boyer, pointing. “That cow belongs to be scrubbed clean, fed and watered and looked after.”
Shoestring stared at the animal. “She shore do!” he said.
“Never did a stroke of work in your life, did you, son?” asked Boyer.
“No sir—I mean, yes sir!” said the boy.
“Hit’s your Pa’s cow,” said Boyer. “He and your brothers are gone off. Can’t you …”
“I ain’t messin’ up with no cows!” said Shoestring, shrugging his shoulders.
“I thought you was a cowman and rode a cowhorse,” said Birdie.
“Hit’s fun to ride a horse …”
“So you ain’t messin’ up with no cows!” Like a gust of mighty wind, Mr. Boyer’s anger rose. “Well, you air! But first I’ll whop you good to make shore!”
He grabbed the boy by the shirt collar, pulled a strong but limber branch off a tree and began to lay on strenuous blows. The fish flew up in the air and fell again on the sand. Shoestring yelled at the top of his voice.
Mrs. Slater screamed, “You’re killin’ him! You’re killin’ him! You leave my pore Jeff alone!” The baby on her hip cried lustily and Essie and Zephy came running out. “Don’t you hurt our Jeffie! Don’t you hurt our Jeffie!” they screamed.
But Mr. Boyer did not stop until he had done a thorough job.
“Now you do what I tell you to!”
He stood over the whimpering boy and told him how to take care of the cow. After he had seen the animal comfortably installed in the shelter behind the house, he was ready to leave.
Birdie had stood by and watched it all. She knew how much her father loved animals and insisted on proper care and feed for them—even if they were not his own. She herself could not bear to see an animal suffer without wanting to help it. She wanted the poor cow to be taken care of, after its narrow escape. But she also knew that the Slaters would never forgive Pa for whipping Shoestring. It would be harder than ever to be friends with them after this.
Essie and Zephy rushed out and beat at her with their fists. They told her to go away and not come back. She had always been kind to the two little girls, no matter what their parents did. She thought they were her friend
s. Now they began throwing sticks at her new Sunday hat.
Quickly she climbed up into the wagon seat beside Pa. Mrs. Slater was still scolding at the top of her voice.
“All you folks do is make trouble!” she wailed. “After what your wife done …
Boyer let the reins drop. “What’s she done?” he asked quietly.
“She bought herself a Bible from that feller who come around sellin’ ’em,” said Mrs. Slater.
“What’s wrong with that?” asked Boyer.
“The Bible-sellin’ feller done tole me she bought one, so I was obliged to buy one too.”
“Why on earth?” asked the man, puzzled. “Nobody’s forcin’ you to buy a Bible iffen you don’t want one. But it might do ye a heap o’ good to read it now and then. Did you not want it, why buy it?”
“I heard tell hit’s unlucky not to buy one,” admitted Mrs. Slater.
“Wal—read it then,” said Boyer. “Hit says somethin’ about lovin’ your neighbor.” He picked up the reins and drove off.
CHAPTER XI
Spotted Calf
THINGS WERE PRETTY QUIET for the rest of the winter. “I wisht them cows would never come back,” said Mrs. Boyer, “so we might could go on livin’ peaceable.”
“So do I, Ma,” said Birdie.
But they were not to have their wish. The return of the cattle from Lake Weller in the spring stirred up immediate trouble. Things began to happen fast. It began with the spotted heifer calf.
Buzz and the Slater boys, Gus, Joe and Shoestring, went on the cow hunt to bring the cattle back. They were gone ten days, rounding up the cows that had strayed. One of the Boyers’ cows could not be found. After several days they located her several miles away from the others. She had a pretty spotted heifer calf.
When the boys got back, the Boyers all came out to see the calves.
“We got to brand ’em right away,” Pa said, “before anybody gets their hands on ’em.”
Pa felt good to see so many. He tossed Bunny up in the air.
“The spotted calf belongs to Bunny,” he said. “Can’t start too young to make a cowman out of him. Time the boy’s growed, he’ll have a herd of his own.”
“Pa’s brand was the double B brand: BB for Bihu Boyer. He created a new one for Bunny; the diamond.
The first time he went to town, he had a branding iron made at the blacksmith shop, with the new mark on it. On the day of the branding, he made a fire of lightwood knots in the barnyard, and put the branding irons in to heat.
Buzz and Dan had fenced the calves away from their mothers, in one of the cowpens. Now they brought them out one at a time. Joe Slater came over to help. Birdie and Dovey hung over the fence to watch.
The men took one calf at a time. Joe threw it to the ground, Buzz put his knee on the calf’s neck, then Joe and Dan held its feet. Pa took the red hot iron from the fire and pressed it firmly on the calf’s hip, just long enough to make the mark. The burned hair and flesh smoked and smelled, while the calf blatted piteously.
It made Birdie feel sick. She turned to go into the house. Then she heard Pa calling for the spotted calf, the one that was to be Bunny’s. She waited to see what the new marking brand would look like.
Buzz and Dan had not seen the calf since they penned the others up. Joe Slater insisted he didn’t even know they had a spotted heifer. Pa looked at Joe suspiciously and wondered why he was so sure about it.
Birdie and Dovey went to look for the calf. It was not in the pen or the crib. They looked in the pasture and the fields, but could not find it anywhere. The mother cow set up a noisy bawling.
Buzz decided to go on a cow hunt. He got the horse out, and rode through the woods and scrub, hunting for the calf. He took the hunting dogs along to trail it, in case it had been carried off by some wild beast. It was late that night when he returned.
“I ain’t seen hide nor hair of that calf,” he said grimly. “It ain’t been killed. Somebody’s takened it. That’s shore.”
Pa frowned. The loss of a heifer calf was serious.
“Remember what Joe said?” asked Buzz. “Said he didn’t even know we had a spotted heifer!”
“Now jest why did Joe say that?” asked Pa.
It was Birdie who answered his question.
She came tearing home the next day, running as fast as the wind.
“What’s after you, gal young un?” demanded Pa, smiling. “Bear? Wildcat? Alligator? Must be somethin’ fierce to make you run so fast!”
“Pa! Pa!” Birdie stopped to catch breath. “Pa, I saw the spotted heifer calf! Hit’s got Slaters’ markin’ brand on it, the circle S! Like this!” She leaned over and drew the mark in the sand with her finger: (S). “And Essie done told me their mother cow’s got two calves. I seen ’em both, and they ain’t twins. T’other calf’s a head taller’n the spotted one.”
Pa’s lips closed in a tight line.
“Sugar, how did you happen to see all this?” he asked. All the family crowded round to hear Birdie’s answer.
“Ma sent me over to the Slaters’,” said she, “to ask could I bring back the clothespins Mrs. Slater borrowed. There warn’t nobody in their house. They was all out back, where the men was brandin’ calves. I didn’t want to see no more brandin’, so when I see the little girls playin’ near the shelter back o’ the house, I went over and asked ’em could I take back Ma’s clothespins. They was still mad, count of you whopped Shoestring, but they talked to me anyhow.
“Right there in the shelter, I see our spotted heifer calf and t’other one. Essie done tole me the mother cow had got two calves. And Zephy explained. She said her Pa penned the first calf up and turned its mother loose for a few days. When the mother cow come back home, she had another calf with her—the spotted one. Now she’s got two! And they both got Slaters’ markin’ brand on ’em.”
“What did you do then?” asked Pa.
“I found the clothespins on the back porch and I was jest startin’ for home when Shoestring seen me. He ain’t spoke to me since you whopped him, Pa. ‘What you doin’,’ he says. ‘Stealin’ clothespins?’ ‘They’re my Ma’s,’ says I, ‘and my Ma said your Ma had kept ’em long enough and for me to go fetch ’em back.’ He said, ‘You jest better leave our clothespins alone! You’re always meddlin’ in other folkses’ business.’ I says, ‘Well, I don’t steal things like you Slaters do!’
“‘What do we steal?’ asks Shoestring and I says, ‘Bunny’s spotted heifer and you know it. You penned her own calf away from that mother cow so she’d go out and find another and she brung in our spotted heifer and your Pa branded it with your markin’ brand, but hit’s our’n, hit’s Bunny’s!’ I says. ‘You stoled it!’”
Birdie stopped, flushed with anger.
“Sugar,” said Pa quietly, “hit war a waste o’ breath to say all that to the boy. What’d he answer?”
“He said the calf belonged to their cow and not to Bunny,” said Birdie. “He called me a liar. He chunked pine knots at me all the way home.”
“Honey, he might a hit ye and hurted ye,” said Pa. “Hit don’t pay to sass them Slater folks.”
“I don’t care noways at all,” said Birdie. “That calf’s Bunny’s.”
Pa looked very serious. He did not speak.
“Can he keep Bunny’s calf,” asked Birdie, “now he’s put the Slater brand on it?”
“I reckon so,” said Pa quietly. “Can’t nobody go changin’ brands without landin’ in jail.”
As if things were not bad enough already, the Slater hogs began to come round again. They were tame enough now. They came to the back door sniffing for slops and Birdie had to drag them away and put them outside the fence. Perhaps Shoestring had stopped feeding them and they had resumed their wild ways. They could get under any fence in the world and they began to root up crops in the Boyers’ fields.
A night came when the air was filled with squealing and whacking. Birdie woke to hear it and shivered with dread. The hogs were inside t
he fence, and this time Pa was good and angry because of the loss of the heifer calf. This time, Birdie knew, Pa would do more than mark a hog’s ears and send it home for a warning.
Birdie ducked under the covers to shut the sounds out. Even then she could hear, so she put her fingers in her ears. Silence came at last, and she fell asleep. In the morning, she woke early, thinking she heard footsteps on the porch. She came out in the early dawn.
There were Essie and Zephy Slater scuttling down the steps like scared rabbits and running towards the palmetto bushes.
“What you-all doin’ here?” cried Birdie. She ran after them, and grabbed them by the arms. “What you been doin’ on our porch so early in the mornin? Why, it ain’t even light yet!”
“We can’t tell …” wailed Essie.
“Hit’s a secret,” added Zephy.
Essie’s eyes were red and Zephy began to cry.
“What you-all cryin’ for?” repeated Birdie. “You-all come tell me.” She dragged them back to the porch steps.
“Pa’s fightin’ mad at you-uns,” said Essie.
“What for?” Birdie’s heart began to pound.
“They’re dead,” said Zephy.
“What are?” asked Birdie patiently.
“The two calves? The spotted heifer and t’other one?”
“No,” said Essie. “Three hogs.”
“They got our mark in the ears, so they’re our’n,” added Zephy.
“Pa found ’em dead on our front porch,” said Essie, “when he got up this mornin’
Birdie gasped. Now she knew how angry her father must have been last night. Pa had killed three of Slater’s hogs, the way he said he would. All because of the spotted calf.
“There!” Essie pointed to a folded paper which she had tucked under the front door. “That’s what we come for—Pa made us bring it.”
Birdie picked it up with trembling fingers.
Like pale shadows, the little girls scuttled off and disappeared in the clump of palmetto bushes, which was the short cut between the two homes. Birdie looked down at the paper in her hand. She opened it. It was written in Gus’s uncertain handwriting, but the meaning of the words was plain. The note said: Will git you yet iffen we got to burn you out! There was no name signed to it.