Pinto Lowery

by G. Clifton Wisler

“Figure to turn de Double R to mustangs?” Pinto called.

  “Pa’s spoke of it,” Jared confessed.

  “It would make a lot of sense,” Ryan Richardson insisted as he emerged from the barn with a pair of hands. The men immediately took charge of the mules and began stripping harness.

  “We borrowed de critters,” Pinto told the rancher. “Our job to tend ’em.”

  “No, I’ve got men to do that,” Richardson argued. “I wouldn’t mind a moment or two’s help with something else, though.”

  “I figure to owe you fer de loan o’ de mules and wagons,” Pinto said. “You got all de time you need so far’s I got it.”

  “Fine. Come have a look at this sorrel mare of mine. She’s gone lame and I’m hanged if I can figure out why.”

  Pinto and Richardson marched off toward a nearby corral to examine the sorrel, leaving Jared to entertain his three young visitors. Jim and Job appeared as if by magic, and the six boys wasted no time hurrying off to look over Jared’s new Winchester. When Pinto had finished working the sorrel’s tendons, he turned in time to see Jared and Truett shooting tin cans off a fence rail.

  “Good gun, as I hear it,” Pinto said as he observed a can fly a foot in the air.

  “Put a dent in a band o’ rustlers easy enough,” Richardson noted. “What’s wrong with the mare?”

  “Leg’s hot,” Pinto announced. “I’d judge she’s pulled a tendon. I’d try some liniment. Rub it in good. Give her a res’ and see, but I guess she’ll recover easy enough.”

  “Good news. I thought it likely the trouble, but I had a horse last year with a sliver of bone split off. Thought that was only a bad tendon, too, and it wound up lamin’ her. Had to put her down. This sorrel’s a particular favorite o’ Arabella, and I’d pay a high price to have her not disappointed.”

  “I’ll give it a rub. Have one o’ yer men work it regular. I’ll come out and check on her in a day or so.”

  “Obliged, Lowery.”

  “Nothing to it.”

  Pinto then located a bottle of liniment in the barn and trotted over to the sorrel. As he worked on the injured tendon, he could hear the boys hooting and hollering in the distance. It was a good thing the Richardsons were wealthy. Bullets weren’t cheap, and the Winchester was spitting them out quicker than lightning. It was only after he finished with the mare that he joined Richardson. The two men then walked over to where the youngsters were shooting.

  ”This is quite a gun, Cousin Ryan!” Truett announced. “Shoots straight and true. A repeater, too. Fifteen shots without reloadin’ ! A dozen men armed with these are a regular army.”

  “Only if they hit their target,” Jared added. “You hit what, two of ten shots?”

  “But I got fifteen to fire,” Truett pointed out. “Even a bad shot will hit something in that many tries.”

  “Not if you’re after deer,” Jared argued. “They’d be off at the first shot. And you’d’ve stalked the fool buck a whole day for naught.”

  ”The boys and I’ve planned a hunt,” Richardson said, turning toward Truett in particular. “Last few years your pa and I fell out,nu, but before that we scoured the Trinity bottoms for game a half-dozen times a year. Of course back then we’d likely starve if we didn’t put meat on the table. Especially come winter.”

  “I already spoke to Tru on it, Pa,” Jared explained. “Says he’s of a mind to go. Wondered if maybe Ben was of an age to join us.”

  “And me,” Brax chimed in.

  “Sure, it’s time you boys had a try at it,” Richardson agreed. “Job and Jim’ve been along, carryin’ gear. Brax, I’d say this year you might do the same. Rifle might be a bit much.”

  Braxton dropped his chin and scowled.

  “There’s another thing,” Richardson went on to say. “Six youngsters is a trial I’m too old to face alone. We’ll be needin’ another man with us. I suppose Pinto might be of a mind to be persuaded to come along.”

  “Sure,” Job said enthusiastically.

  “Well, Pinto?” Ben asked.

  “I thought he was off to chase range ponies,” Truett said, shaking his head. “Got to be a hand or two on the Double R with a shooter’s eye.”

  “Takes more’n an eye,” Richardson declared. “Best sort of hunter’s one with a nose for game and a feel for the land. I’d guess Pinto here has both.”

  “He ain’t comin’,” Truett objected. “This is a family hunt.”

  “Whose family?” Richardson asked. “Jared, does it trouble you to have this fellow along?”

  “Not hardly,” young Richardson answered. “I owe him for my chestnut mare, you know, and for more besides. He’s welcome as rain in August.”

  “Jim? Job?”

  “He tells good stories, Pa,” Job said. Jim nodded his agreement.

  “Ben, Brax?” the rancher asked in turn. Both encouraged Pinto to join the hunt.

  “Thu, I’ve always known you for a generous heart,” Richardson said, resting a large hand on the slim boy’s shoulder. “It’s up to you to come or not, but I value Pinto Lowery for a good man and I’m askin’ him to come along.”

  “Maybe I’d best stay,” Truett replied.

  “You do and you’ll have no buckskin britches to stave off the cold come winter,” Jared grumbled. “Nor’ll I abide your boasts o’ fightin’ rustlers up in Kansas.”

  “Come go with us,” Ben urged. “Huh, Tru?”

  “And him?” Truett asked, gazing at Pinto.

  “Be a need for a steady man with a Henry,” Jared answered. “Wait and see if there won’t be.”

  “Lowery?” Richardson asked. Pinto nodded. Truett scowled, shrugged his shoulders, and surrendered.

  “I figure that’s eight of us,” Jared told his father. “Better them deer have a lookout. Won’t a one of ’em skin out on me!”

  Pinto had to smile. He hadn’t been any different at fifteen. As for Ben and Brax, the notion of hunting deer had those boys buzzing like a pair of addled bees. They talked of little else on the walk homeward. Only Truett was mute. The storm behind his dark eyes was another matter.

  “You can’t stay mad at the whole world, Truett,” Elsie had scolded a few days before. “You’re not the first boy to ever lose a father.”

  “Figure that makes it any easier?” Truett had cried.

  In the two days before the Richardsons arrived to begin the hunt, it rained nearly every minute. Pinto passed most of that time in the loft, cleaning his rifle and piecing together a pair of moccasins from a cowhide. Sometimes Ben or Brax would sit and watch the work, and Winnie even sewed one side of the left moc.

  “Maybe yer jus’ a little gal,” Pinto observed, “but you know yer business where needle and thread’s concerned.”

  Winnie beamed and rested her head against his side. It warmed Pinto through and through.

  Truett devoted those two days to breaking down the old Springfield and oiling it proper.

  “You’ve got a gunsmith’s knack with that musket,” Pinto told the young man.

  “Wish I had a new barrel to put on her, though,” Truett grumbled. “Jared offered to share his Winchester, but ...”

  “Seems a fair offer,” Pinto declared. “Favor’s sometimes hard to accep’, but you shouldn’t mind sharin’ a cousin’s gun.”

  “Hard to think of Jared as a cousin. It’s our mas were related.”

  “Then he’s a friend. Good a one as yer likely to find. Leave dis here relic fer shootin’ at raiders.”

  “Ben’ll need it,” Truett pointed out.

  “Ben couldn’t balance that musket with a week’s practice. I’ll help him use my Henry.”

  “We ought to have a good gun in the family.”

  “You got money from de cattle drive,” Pinto reminded Truett. “Bet it’s enough fer a Winchester.”

  “I turned all the money over to Ma,” Truett said. “We’ll need it.”

  “Bound to spare some dollars fer a rifle,” Pinto argued. “We’ll have us a ride to
Decatur and see in a bit.”

  “You don’t have to go. Jared’ll go along.”

  “Sure. You call de tune, Truett. Bud I’m here if you need.”

  Truett started to bark a reply, but he stopped himself short. For just an instant his lip trembled, and his eyes lost their anger. That didn’t last.

  Ryan and Jared Richardson appeared at the Oakes farm early that next morning. It was barely light, but the skies were clear, and it promised to be a fine November day.

  “We brought along a spare saddle pony for Brax,” Richardson explained as he pointed out a trim gray mare. “And a pack mule for the meat. You, Ben, and Tru have mounts.”

  “We do,” Pinto said, motioning to the animals nibbling fodder in the corral. “Bes’ we saddle ’em.”

  Elsie escorted her sons onto the porch. As Truett rushed to his horse, Elsie warned the younger boys to mind their elders and be careful.

  “Stay close to Pinto,” she urged. “He’ll allow you to come to no harm.”

  “He said he’d let me fire off his rifle,” Ben explained. “Bet I’ll drop a buck big as a horse!”

  “Sure, you will,” Elsie said, hugging first Ben and then Braxton. She hurried over to the barn next and embraced Truett in like manner. Finally she turned to Pinto.

  “No need to say it,” he told her. “I’ll keep ’em from harm, ma’am.”

  Elsie returned to the house, and Pinto climbed atop the white-faced stallion. Ben rode over on old Sugarcane and led the way to the others. Then the eight of them trotted off toward the Trinity bottoms.

  It wasn’t a hunt in the fashion Pinto was accustomed. Deer were thick as fleas along that stretch of the river, and sign was everywhere.

  “Bet there’s not a berry bush or sapling for ten miles that’s not gnawed to a stub,” Jared said as he pointed to several clear tracks in the sandy soil. “Look, there’s one now.”

  Pinto followed the fifteen-year-old’s long arm toward the river. A whitetail bounded along the bank and vanished into a nearby thicket.

  “Leave the horses here,” Richardson instructed. “We’ll go ahead on foot. Tie ’em off with a double loop, boys. I don’t plan to carry my weight in venison back to the ranch nor to feed every wolf pack for twenty miles, either.”

  “Best you and me follow Pa and Job,” Jared told Thuett. “Jim’s sure to tag along last. Your brothers can stick to Pinto like your ma said.”

  “They should be with me,” Truett argued.

  “Can’t but two of us shoot this one rifle,” Jared said, shaking his head. “Bring Brax along if you want. He ain’t shootin’. If Ben wants a try, he’d best share the Henry.”

  “Ben?” Truett asked.

  “Go ahead on,” Ben answered.

  “Brax?” Truett said, turning to his younger brother.

  “Ma said stick with Pinto,” Brax said, sliding an inch nearer the mustanger. “’Sides, I’d only be in your way.”

  “I’ll look after ’em,” Pinto vowed.

  “You ain’t our pa, you know,” Thuett remarked bitterly. “Ain’t your place to—”

  “Figure it’s yers, Truett?” Pinto asked. “I’ll turn de Henry over to you and let you take charge.”

  “Tru?” Jared asked.

  “I never shot a Henry rifle once in my whole life,” Truett confessed. “How’m I to show ’em to do somethin’ I don’t know myself?”

  “Now there’s wisdom speakin’,” Pinto declared. “It’s all I been tryin’ do tell you all along. Never said I’d walk in anybody’s boots but my own. Not yer pa’s nor yers. But give yerself some time, Tru.”

  “We huntin’ or gabbin’?” Richardson called from the river.

  “Huntin’, Pa,” Jared said, waving Tru to his side.

  They walked a quarter of a mile or so before reaching a muddy stretch of bank. Deer tracks led from dense underbrush to the river, and Ryan Richardson spaced out his companions along a knoll overlooking the deer run. The wind blew sharply out of the north and stung their eyes, but it would carry no alarming scent to the deer approaching the river. Theirs was the perfect blind.

  The first buck appeared half an hour after Pinto nestled himself among the scrub oaks and buffalo grass. Richardson motioned to leave the animal be, and soon three does joined the big buck. Others followed until there were close to a dozen animals enjoying their afternoon drink.

  Richardson silently pointed to himself and raised one finger. In like fashion he bid Jared take the second shot and Pinto the third. Afterward it wouldn’t matter as the alerted deer would scatter in every direction.

  Pinto readied his rifle, but he didn’t elect to take the first shot. Instead he motioned Ben over. The boy lay at Pinto’s side, eagerly reaching for the rifle. Pinto cradled it in Ben’s long, thin arms and helped him to sight down the barrel.

  “Hold her steady, and aim fer de ches’,” Pinto whispered. Ben took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He took another and fired a split second after Ryan Richardson dropped a big buck on the left. Ben’s bullet struck a second buck in the neck, dropping the animal to the ground. Jared’s shot hit a smallish doe.

  “Your turn, Pinto,” an excited Ben said as he gave up the Henry. Pinto calmly advanced a second cartridge into the firing chamber and drew down on the fleeing deer. He picked out a doe and fired, dropping the animal a foot shy of the river.

  “Can I?” Brax pleaded.

  “Second shot?” Ben asked.

  “We got food enough,” Pinto asserted. “And work enough skinnin’ and butcherin’.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ben muttered. He then perked up and started down the hillside.

  “Not yet!” Pinto shouted as he yanked Ben back into cover. “Jus’ ’cause we done our shootin’ don’t mean everybody has.”

  Sure enough two shots rang out from the left a moment later, and Ben shuddered. Neither bullet found a deer.

  “All clear here!” Pinto called.

  “Clear here!” Job countered. The eight hunters then emerged from their cover and began collecting their kills. Jared’s doe required a second shot, and his father’s buck had somehow dragged itself fifty feet or so into the woods.

  “Look here, Tru!” Ben exclaimed as he dashed down beside his buck. “Where’s yours?”

  “Halfway to tomorrow, little brother,” Tru said, shaking his head. “Moved a hair before I fired. A clean miss.”

  “We got four,” Brax announced. “That’s enough.”

  “Not if we’re all to have a new coat,” Truett muttered.

  “Tru, you can have my deer’s hide,” Jared offered. “Only fair. Was my shot scattered ’em. Pa and I come for the meat and the adventure. I’m no hand at tannin’ hides.”

  “Pinto is,” Brax boasted. “Look at his new mocs.”

  “Was yer little sister mos’ly sewed ’em up,” Pinto told the Oakes youngsters. “As fer tannin’ buckskin, ain’t any secrets to it.”

  “You’ll teach us then?” Ben asked.

  “Us, too?” Job added.

  “Anybody cares to learn,” Pinto promised.

  Chapter 14

  For a week the Oakes family feasted on venison steaks. What wasn’t eaten fresh was salted away against later need. As Pinto stripped the tough deerhides of dried flesh and soaked them in oak bark to toughen the texture, he felt winter’s approach. Nightly the north wind shrieked across the land, and frost now greeted each dawn. By now birds had set off southward, and all but the live oaks down by the river had shed their leaves.

  “It’s grown cold,” Elsie noted as she built up the fire one night after supper. “That barn must be an ice house.”

  “I’m pretty far off de ground, and dere’s plenty o’ hay,” Pinto explained. “Could be warmer, I’d warrant, but it’ll get colder ’fore it brightens much. I got blankets, you know.”

  “I know you’re killin’ yourself to work those deerhides into jackets and trousers for the boys. And you don’t have anything resembling a proper winter coat for yourself.” />
  “Intended de pick up a buff hide and shape it fer a coat. Forgot. Been occupied with things.”

  “Well, you’ll do no one any good frozen,” she complained. “I’ve got one of Tully’s old coats put back. I cut down the other so Tru could wear it.”

  “He won’t favor me wearin’ his pa’s coat,” Pinto argued.

  “I’ll speak with him first,” Elsie promised. “You know, it’s a puzzlement how Truett’s actin’. He told me yesterday he’s the only one misses his pa. Me, I think of Tully every wakin’ minute. Shouldn’t I? We’d known each other since we were walkin’. But Tru never got on with Tully.”

  “Jared Richardson said that.”

  “And now, to take on so, you’d judge they were twin branches off the same tree.”

  “Could be they come to terms on de trail north.”

  “Maybe, but Ryan told me different. Tully gave Tru a whippin’ the mornin’ his horse threw him.”

  “Well, that’s not so hard to unnerstand then. Boy didn’t measure up. Who can say? Maybe Tru hoped somethin’d happen. Now he’s gone and gotten guilty. Makes sense of a kind.”

  “I suppose it does,” Elsie agreed. “Never looked at it from that direction. I need to do some talkin’ to him.”

  “Be careful you don’t give him to feel he ain’t needed,” Pinto warned. “Promised Tully he’d see to things. Been hard doin’ that, but he’s tried. Give him to know you lean on him.”

  “How is it, Pinto Lowery, you know so much? I thought you spent your life around horses.”

  “Boy critter’s not so different from a spry colt,” Pinto said, grinning. “Jus’ use a different liniment fer mendin’ ’em, and you can pass up de bit mos’ times.”

  She laughed at the remark, and he did, too. Then she threw a fresh log on the fire, and Pinto set off for the barn to resume his work on the hides.

  That night the wind whined eerily, and the barn itself seemed to shudder under its force. Pinto was twice awakened by the nervous stomping of the horses out in the corral, and he finally wrapped himself in a blanket and pulled on his trousers. Half asleep, he didn’t think to step into his boots, so his nigh frozen feet managed to collect a dozen or so splinters from the loft ladder and then numb themselves on the walk over to the corral.