Duster (9781310020889)

by Roderus, Frank

  Now, with earned money the next thing to being in my pocket, I'd been setting up to buy boots for myself after we got to Rockport. Yet some folks out east, even growed folks, would of give most anything to of had the shoes that—I admitted it to myself—that I was ashamed of wearing on a cow drive.

  Most real riding hands take a whole lot of pride in a few things about them like a hat, a pair of boots with fancy stitching on the sides, and a double-rigged saddle with a sound tree and a wide, strong horn. Pa's saddle was good as they come even if it did have a flat, high tilted horn like the old style and the old, narrow stirrups with long toe fenders in front. Nowadays, the fancier saddles I'd seen had wide stirrups without the tapaderos, and some had pockets all over them to hold a man's possibles.

  I'd never of parted with Pa's saddle, but I'd surely been thinking of getting a proper hat and some boots with yellow stitching on the sides. I'd been thinking about those boots night after night for ever so long now, and I had decided on having them made up with a DD brand stitched on each side. In fact I'd been thinking about leaving the DD for just Ma and the little kids and maybe having my boots made up with a special brand all my own. 3D would be the same enough to keep Ma from getting unhappy, but it would be different enough to keep things straight when Tom and Johnny and even little Bo got to a size that they'd be working cows.

  Oh, I had really been thinking tall of myself. It's a wonder I never split my shirt open from puffing my chest out.

  Thinking about them folks in Georgia, though, I made a resolve to myself right then and there. When we got in to Rock-port and Mister Sam Silas paid us all off, I was going to get just plain old store boots off the counter top—with no yellow stitching to spell out 3D. I made up my mind I was going to be saving so Ma and the little tads wouldn't have to scrimp too awful bad.

  I felt better after that, and I grinned up at those racing clouds just as happy as if I had good sense.

  The horses seemed to be feeling about as chipper as me, and I pushed them right along. It didn't take any time hardly to reach the creek Bill had told me about. It was a little farther than he'd said, but there wasn't any mistaking that it was the right one.

  It came in from due north just about like Digger Bill had said. That meant it came in at an awful narrow angle, for the Nueces here was falling more south than east. I just hadn't stopped before to think of the direction we'd been following, so it surprised me some.

  Anyway, the creek was narrow and a couple of feet deep, and it ran water real quick. I could tell it carried some flow most all year around, for there were nice big trees along it, and upstream there was a big, thick clump of willows that hung all the way over the water from both sides so that I couldn't see anything beyond them.

  Right at the mouth where it widened out to meet the Nueces, there was a good place to ford so I didn't have to get wet, and the bottom was flat and hard. And up under those willows I was just betting I'd find some nice rocks that would be perfect for crawdads to hide under.

  I put those horses across quick as could be and drove them on a little ways until I found a good place to leave them, close along the river so they hadn't far to go for water or grass either one. Then I hustled myself back to the creek and gathered up more than enough wood to last Bill for the night and the morning too.

  I'd been feeling kind of low earlier, but now I was just bouncing and ready to go. After all of Bill's wood was gathered, I went right on busting around looking for downed wood until I had another good pile laid on the bank upstream close to the willows.

  This, I got started and built into a right cheerful fire, just for me. I shucked out of my clothes and rubbed them together in the water some. I hadn't soap, nor even fine sand to really go at them with, the creek bottom being full of stone and pebbles like it was, but I guessed plain water and a fair amount of muscle would likely do them some good.

  When my stuff was about as clean as I could get it, I heaped some more wood on the fire, wrung my clothes as dry as I could get them, and hung everything on bent poles close to the fire to finish the drying.

  Then, I did what I'd been looking forward to more than anything. With that fire waiting to dry me off, I walked smack into that little creek and sat myself down in it. I let water just run all over me and scrubbed some too, using a handful of leaves from off the bank. It felt so good I couldn't hardly stand it, and I sat and did nothing but soak until I had to get out to put more wood on the fire and to turn my clothes around wetside-to.

  I didn't mind being wet when I knew I could get dry again anytime I wanted, so I walked back into the water, then, and commenced to sort of crawl my way up under the willows, turning rocks as I went. It wasn't long before I began finding dark, heavy crawdads and soon had to go back to get my rag hat to carry them in. I crawled back under the willows and worked my way up along the far bank, and I got a good-sized crawdad every few steps.

  Under the overhang from all them trees it was cool and shady. What little light there was was soft and looked almost green after bouncing down from switch to switch. It smelled soft too, somehow. I don't know exactly how to describe it, but with the fresh running water and cool shade and damp earth along the bank cuts it smelt fresh and clean and nice under there. It was so pleasant and comfortable with that fresh, clean odor and the nice feel of the water drying in the air from my back and shoulders that I wasn't in any hurry.

  I worked my way along slow, bending over to look for the crawdads and enjoying the feel of droopy willow switches running lightly over my back when I moved. Even though I wasn't really looking too hard, I found a whole mess of big crawdads easy, and pretty soon I had all my makeshift sack could hold, so I took them back to dump into a big sack I fashioned out of my leggings and then went back up the near bank looking for more.

  The stand of willows went for maybe fifty yards upstream and I hunted that whole section until I think I'd turned over every rock in that stream bed at least once and maybe more. I also had near a bushel of crawly gray-black critters stashed in my coat and leggings and finally in a rock and mud basin I heaped up near the creek bank.

  By then I was beginning to think about how the rest of the boys' eyes would pop when they saw all them pretty crawdads, and I guess I was wanting to lay it on plenty thick. When I ran out of luck under the willows I went right on upstream. I was all dried off by then, except for my legs, of course, where I was wading, but the sun had come out and felt nice on my back. I went wading right along, stooped over so as to reach the rocks under water, carrying an old rag half full of wiggling crawdads and not wearing a stitch of clothes.

  Every bit of my concentration was spent trying to hold my cloth full of crawdads together and trying to peer past the surface of the moving water to find likely looking rocks to search under. I wasn't paying no mind at all to what was up on the creek banks here above the willows.

  I was bent over trying to lever up a particularly long, flat rock when I heard some scuffling in the grass alongside the creek.

  "Hi," somebody said in a quavery sort of voice, and I heard some giggles.

  I'd been concentrating awful hard on that rock, trying to figure the best place to lift up on it to tip it out of the way, and I guess I still wasn't paying much mind to anything else when I looked up.

  "Hi yourself," I said just as natural as you please. There was a couple of girls standing there about ten feet away from me.

  The bigger one looked to be maybe fourteen. She had a round face that was sort of red in color, I noticed, and a dusting of freckles across the top of her nose. Her hair was about the color of a jack-squirrel and was pulled back and tied somehow at the back of her neck. She was wearing a long, floppy dress made out of homemade cloth. I could tell for it looked just like what Ma made. And she had an apron on that she was holding up in one hand to carry something down inside it. I couldn't see what they were gathering. There was pecan trees near, but it couldn't of been them at this time of year. Mushrooms, maybe.

  The little
one was maybe eight or nine years old and pretty much looked like a littler copy of the big one except she didn't have an apron on. I couldn't tell if she had freckles or not for both her hands was clapped up over her face. She was red complected too and seemed to be having giggle fits.

  That puzzled me-—for about half a second.

  I wasn't wearing no clothes.

  "Go 'way," I hollered. I didn't know what to do, but if I could, of I would of crawled underneath that rock I had been trying to lift. Instead, I stood there and turned red all over—as they could plainly see. "Go 'way now. Git."

  I started to cover myself up with my cloth but I thought better of that real quick. I didn't want those crawdads in my rag to be held anywheres near that close. Next, I wanted to scrunch down under water, but it wasn't deep enough right there. Finally, I did the third best thing I could think of. I flung myself straight for the bank and crouched down alongside it. Lucky for me, there was a couple foot of straight drop there, and I hid behind that as best I could.

  It may have been that those girls thought I was chasing after them, but when I jumped for the bank it was in their direction and they left off giggling and flat went to do some running. They ran upstream for a ways and then got brave enough to stop for a second and giggle some more before they disappeared behind some trees.

  When they was gone, I started breathing again. I hadn't realized it at the time, but I had sort of forgot to breathe for a little while there. Then I got mad at them girls for making light of me like they had. That passed quick, too, and all I felt was embarrassed.

  I blushed all over again and duck-walked most of the way back to the willow overhang, this time keeping a careful eye out for stray folks along the banks.

  I surely felt better when I got back to where my stuff was. I dumped my last catch of crawdads—I'd kept hold of them all the while—in with the others and crawled into some warm, dry clothing just as quick as I could. For some reason, I'd begun to feel cold, and that fire-dried shirt and britches felt awful good to me.

  When the rest of the crew pulled in later on that day, they were plenty happy with the mess of fresh crawdads, and we had quite a feed on them. In their own wisecracking way, they were all real appreciative of the change in diet.

  I accepted the thanks just as quiet as I could and never said much about what I'd gone through to get them things. In fact, I never said word one about it.

  18

  "HEY, YOU CRAZY or something? lemme alone..." I'd been sound asleep until somebody came over and started shaking me around. I sat up and rubbed a hand over my eyes. "Lemme be."

  "Naw, now, Duster boy. Git youself up. We needs some mo' wood for the fahr."

  "More wood my left foot. You got more'n you need now if you don't burn it all up for light to gamble by. Now lemme alone and lemme go back to sleep."

  "Huh-uh," Bill insisted. "Get yoursel' up now an' fetch us some more. Crazy Longo's sick an' we gotta make him some poultices, boy. Now, get up. I ain't funnin' with you. He needs help bad."

  "Well, shoot. Whyn't you say so?"

  Bill went on back to where the fire was going, and I hunted around on the ground for my shoes and stuff. Most times when I woke up on the ground, I felt stiff and a little cold for a while, but this time I never noticed.

  When I got over by the fire I could see Crazy Longo stretched out close up to the blaze. He was laying there under a whole pile of blankets and bedrolls, but underneath all that I could see he was twisting and twitching some from the pain. His face seemed to of been pulled back tight over his skull and he was sweating so that his hair was all wet, and the water running over his head showed up bright and streaky in the firelight. He didn't look good, for a fact.

  Everybody in the whole outfit was gathered in close except for B.J. Hollis and Tommy Lucas. They were out with the cows, which meant it was about the middle of the night or a little less since Jesus and Eben Dyer had been supposed to take the morning watch. There wasn't nobody laughing nor even talking much.

  I went and got my soogan and laid it over top of him and then went off into the woods around us to collect some more firewood. It was plenty dark, but I had a pretty fair recollection of the lay of things after all the wandering around I'd done that afternoon. There was a little blowdown just above the willow stand so I made my way up there, going slow so as to not fall down on my face if I tripped over something in the dark. I found the downed wood easy enough and loaded myself up with all I could carry and then dragged another long piece behind. I made a power of noise on the way back, but I got it done even if my arms was a bit aching and sore by then.

  When I got back, Digger Bill was stirring up some nasty looking stuff in a couple of pots, and there was a big can of coffee already set to one side on a rock where it would stay hot without boiling any more.

  Mister Sam Silas and Ike was kneeled down beside Crazy Longo. Ike was swabbing at his face with a wet rag, and Mister Sam Silas was just looking on. He looked awful worried, too. The way Crazy Longo was thrashing and pouring sweat it was easy to see there was something more than just a run-of-the-mill bellyache wrong with him.

  "Hurry up with those poultices," Mister Sam Silas called out.

  "They be ready in a minit. Cain't hurry them or they ain't no good."

  I was standing up close so I could help feed the fire, and I could see that whatever Bill had in the pot he was stirring was getting mighty hot. I couldn't tell for sure since you can't see very well into a pot on top of the only light around, but from the steam coming off it seemed there was something boiling in there.

  Bill looked up at me and said, "Fetch me my dish dryin' rags, Duster."

  I knew what he meant all right. He had a sack that he carried full of real, machine-spun cloth towels. He never let anyone use them but himself and he washed them out and dried them most every day. I scrambled around in his stuff until I found the right bag and carried it to him.

  Bill never looked up or nodded or anything when I handed him the sack. He snatched it open and pulled out a big handful, near all he had of the clean, neat folded pieces of cloth.

  He took and shook them out longways and then put them together to make a long pad sort of rig about four layers thick and maybe two by four foot in size. Without saying a word, he held that out for somebody to grab hold of. I took one end and Jesus took the other and we stretched the pad out flat and held it off the ground.

  Bill got his pot off the fire and with a big, wood spoon he ladled heavy gobs of stuff down the center of the cloth pad. What the stuff looked to be was beef tallow thickened with something, flour maybe, and cooked along with some sort of weeds that I took to be wild herbs of some kind. I couldn't tell what the herbs had looked like to start with.

  Anyway, he built up a good, hot plaster of the stuff and then had us fold the pad over from each side so the stuff was in the middle of the cloth and couldn't drip out to burn the skin. Even just holding on to one end, I could feel how hot it was, and I was glad it wasn't me they were going to put it on.

  Bill carried the plaster over to Crazy Longo and waited while Ike and Mister Sam Silas stripped the pile of covers off him. They had a time getting his shirt up and his drawers loosened but finally they managed, and Bill wrapped that hot plaster around him at just about waist level and tied it in place good and firm with a couple of his packing strings.

  You'd of thought that hot plaster would of done something to Crazy Longo, given him some relief or else made him holler out from it being so hot, but he never made a sign one way or the other, just kept laying there twisting and sweating and not making a sound except for the whistle of air from awful heavy breathing. They got him covered back up like he'd been before, and from looking at him you couldn't tell they'd done a thing.

  Ike went back to swabbing Crazy Longo's face. Mister Sam Silas and Bill just shook their heads some, got themselves some coffee, and sat down to wait like the rest of us.

  We all sat around, not saying much, for what seemed like a
couple hours, though it couldn't of been near that long since I only had to throw a couple chunks on the fire and that only once. Crazy Longo didn't look a bit better, and everybody was starting to get really worried. Once I saw Jesus crossing himself, which is something he doesn't do all the time like some Mexicans.

  For lack of anything better to do, I went out and fetched some more wood and then sat and drank coffee, listening while most everybody tried to figure what Crazy Longo's problem was and how it might be helped. It was something to listen to, them fellows trying to hit on a remedy that might work.

  Lickety-Split Emmons thought juniper berry tea might do the trick, while Jesus favored the idea of burning some dried oak leaves and animal hair and then drifting the smoke over top of the sick man. Eben Dyer never said what he thought, but I seen him twisting some willow withes into some sort of a sign or talisman.

  Me, I didn't know what to think, though seeing Crazy Longo lying there so quiet brought me to mind of the time a year or so before when Little Bo was so bad sick and Ma'd had to sell our wagon for his doctoring. The doctor hadn't had to do a whole lot then to get him well, but I guess you paid for his knowing how to do more than for what he did. And he said Little Bo would of stayed an awful sick young'un if his belly hadn't been eased of the pain so his muscles could loosen and let some gas out.

  The more I thought on it, the more it seemed the same. After a spell, I slipped back away from the fire and went to catch up my night horse.

  I got mounted and eased along upstream, slow-like since I didn't know the country too well. The clouds had come back and hid what moon there was, so it was awful dark. My night horse was good about picking his way when I couldn't see a thing, though, and we got along all right at a walk.