Mamma looked at Papa. “Maybe he broke a neighbor’s window playing ball or something,” she said.
“No, I didn’t,” I said.
“Then what did you do?” Mamma asked.
“I can’t tell you because it’s personal,” I said.
Papa saved me. “Let’s respect the boy’s privacy,” he said, “as long as we know he wasn’t forced into weeding the garden byT.D.”
Boy, oh, boy, that brother of mine was something. He looked Papa right in the eye.
“You don’t have to say it, Papa,” Tom said. “I know you are sorry you accused me of backsliding, and I accept your apology.”
I began weeding the garden after breakfast while Tom and Frankie did the chores. When they finished, Tom saddled up Sweyn’s mustang, Dusty, and went for a ride. Eddie Huddle came over to play with Frankie-They started pitch-ing horseshoes-I could hear them yelling and laughing and having fun as I pulled weeds. Oh, to be a little kid again, I thought, too little to know the difference between a weed and a vegetable.
Howard Kay and Jimmie Peterson came into the back yard as I stood up to relieve my aching back. Howard had a disappointed look on his pumpkin face. Jimmie hitched up his pants, which were too big for him. He didn’t have any younger brothers to wear his hand-me-downs, so his mother
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always bought him clothing that; was one size too big.
“You told us to come over and play basketball this morning,” Jimmie said.
For Christmas I’d been given the first basketball and backboard anybody in Adenville had ever seen. Papa had nailed the backboard to our coal and wood shed on the alley side-
“I forgot I had to weed the garden,” I said.
“Shucks,” Howard said.
Then I got a brilliant idea. “Help me weed the garden,” I said, “and then we’ll play.”
Jimmie hitched up his pants again. “If we help you weed your garden will you help us weed our gardens?” he asked.
It wasn’t such a brilliant idea after all. Jimmie’s mother ran a boardinghouse and had a vegetable garden three times as big as ours.
“Forget it,” I said. “The basketball is in the coal and wood shed.”
By this time more kids were coming down the alley. In a few minutes I could hear the happy shouts of kids playing basketball and of Frankie and Eddie playing horseshoes. But there were no happy shouts tor me. I was just a slave doomed to pull weeds while other kids had fun. And that afternoon while other kids were swimming in the nice cool river, I was still pulling weeds in the hot sun, my shirt wringing wet with sweat. Instead of happy shouts there were only groans com-ing from my lips because of my aching back.
The next day was Sunday. Bishop Aden announced dur-ing church services that there would be a town meeting in the Town Hall on Monday evening at eight o’clock. Rever-
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end Holcomb made the same announcement at the Community Church. That afternoon Papa and Sweyn went to the Advocate oflue and printed handbills urging all adult citizens to attend the meeting. Monday morning Tom and I tacked tlie handbills to trees and light posts and put them in store windows on the east and west sides of town. For my money if anyone didn’t know about the town meeting he had to be deaf, dumb, and blind.
Only adults were admitted to the meeting, but Papa told us about it during breakfast on Tuesday morning. The parents of thirty-three boys and girls had promised to enroll them at the Academy and pay a tuition fee of from thirty to forty dollars.
Papa told the audience the tuition money was just to pay a teacher’s salary, and he called for donations to build and furnish the Academy. He began the donations by pledging five hundred dollars. Then Bishop Aden pledged the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints would donate the land upon which to build the Academy and alsw pledged one thousand dollars. Mayor Whitlock, who was also president of the Adenville Bank, pledged five hundred dollars. Mr. Monaire, a big sheep rancher, pledged five hundred-I guess Mr. Pearson, who was a big cattle rancher, didn’t want a sheepman outdoing a cattleman and he pledged five hundred. Mr. Daniels, the owner of the Fairplay Saloon, and Mr. Harper of the Whitehorse Saloon each gave five hundred dollars. And there were quite a few people who pledged from ten to one hundred dollars, and just about every able-bodied man in town volunteered to work for nothing to help build the school. Mayor Whitlock then made a motion that one Mormon, one Catholic, and one Protestant be elected as a board of directors to run the Academy. Bishop Aden, Papa,
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and Mayor Whitlock were elected. Mayor Whitlock became the chairman of the board of directors, Bishop Aden the treasurer, and Papa the secretary. Papa said Bishop Aden was leaving for Salt Lake City the next day to order the furniture, books, and school supplies, and also to arrange to hire a teacher,
“And.” Papa said as he finished, “Mr. Jamison is working on blueprints for the building, and construction will start tomorrow.” Then he looked across the table at Tom- “So, T.D., you won’t be going to the Catholic Academy in Salt Lake City after all.”
Tom had a funny expression on his face. I couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or happy about it-
“Can they have the Academy ready by the time school starts?” he asked.
“Definitely,” Papa said. “School won’t start this year until Monday, September the fifth.”
Mamma was smiling. “It is going to be wonderful hav-ing Tom D. home,” she said to Papa.
Papa nodded. “After all the trouble he got into at the Jesuit Academy in Salt Lake City last year,” he said, “it is going to be a relief having him where we can keep an eye on him.”
All I can say is that for my money Papa had better keep a sharp eye on The Great Brain.
I’d seen many bees, as they were called in those days-We had barn-raising bees and house-raising bees where neighbors and friends pitched in to help a newly married couple build a house or barn. And we had corn-husking bees where friends and neighbors helped harvest corn, and any
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fellow who found a red ear of corn got to kiss the girl of his choice. We had a church-raising bee when the Community Church was built. But I’d never seen one like the Academy-raising bee.
It began on Wednesday morning. All the kids in town were on hand to watch after doing their morning chores. Mr. Jamison, the town’s best carpenter and contractor, was boss-ing the job. Men were digging the trench for the foundation when we arrived. Women were spreading two picnic tables with baked beans, baked ham, fried chicken, bread and butter sandwiches, pies, cakes, and other good things to eat-Some Mormon women arrived with lemonade, cider, and cold milk in crocks. Mr. Daniels, the proprietor of the Fairplay Saloon, delivered a keg of beer, and so did Mr. Harper of the Whitehorse Saloon.
By noon the trench for the foundation of the building had been dug and some of the wooden forms for the concrete completed. The men working stopped to eat .and drink, but only their wives and children could remain and eat after the men did. We had to go home for lunch. Just before we left, wagonloads of gravel and cement began to arrive.
Papa told us during lunch that he would be working on the Academy during the afternoon. “Mr. Jamison has decided to use two crews,” he said, “one in the morning and a different one in the afternoon because so many men volunteered to help.”
The Advocate office wasn’t the only place of business that had a sign reading, CLOSED AT NOONWORKING ON THE ACADEMY, that afternoon. I saw the same sign on several places of business.
Mr. Jamison was ready to start pouring concrete for the
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foundation when we arrived. Papa and Danny’s father, Mr. Forester, were given long sticks that Mr. Jamison called puddlers.
Frankie pointed at Papa. “Why is Papa pushing the stick up and down in the concrete?” he asked.
“To get the air out of the concrete so there won’t be any air bubbles,” Tom said, “and to help settle the concrete.”
There was food for the afternoon crew too, and
two more kegs of beer arrived from the saloons. That was one afternoon when not one kid in town went swimming. We watched until the last wheelbarrow of concrete had been poured for the foundation.
Papa told us during supper that it would take all night and all the next day and night for the concrete to cure.
Frankie looked at him. “Is the concrete sick?” he asked-
“No,” Papa said, laughing. “To cure concrete means to wait for it to dry and harden.”
The next morning Mr. Jamison was using only men with saws. They cut two-by-fours into studs, joists, and rafters until noon. There was nothing more that could be done on the Academy until the next morning when the forms on the concrete foundation could be removed. We watched the men begin building the frame for the Academy the next morning but went swimming that afternoon.
Fellows like Parley, Sammy, and Seth were very happy for the opportunity to get a seventh and eighth gr-.de education. But it sure as heck made a few kids unhappy. Take a fellow like Danny Forester.
“I’m going to be a barber like my father,” he told us at the swimming hole that afternoon. “My folks think I ought to get an education now that there’s an academy right here in Adenville. But who needs more than a sixth grade
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education to learn how to give shaves and haircuts?”
Even Tom with his great brain couldn’t answer that one.
I know it sounds silly, but I felt both happy and sad about the Academy. I was sad knowing Tom would blackmail and swindle me every chance he got instead of being at the Academy in Salt Lake City. I was unhappy knowing he had not really reformed and that sooner or later he would be caught swindling somebody who would tell. That would not only break Papa’s and Mamma’s hearts but also revoke his suspended sentence, and none of the fellows would have anything to do with him. I was happy knowing fellows like Parley, Seth, and Sammy would have a chance to make something of themselves. And I guess I was happy knowing Tom would remain at home, because with all his faults I loved him.
I asked Tom how he felt about the Academy as we walked home from the swimming hole with-Frankie.
“I’m going to miss the good friends I made at the Jesuit Academy,” he said. “But when I think of how strict the Jesuit priests were, I thank my lucky stars I’m not going back.”
“Well,” I said, “you had better keep your nose clean around here or Papa will send you back.”
Tom seemed unconcerned. “With my great brain,” he said, “I’ll always be one step ahead of Papa and everybody else around here.”
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CHAPTER TWO
Tom and the Wild Jackass
MONDAY MORNING Just a week before school was due to begin I went to Smith’s vacant lot with Tom and Frankie to play. We were surprised to see only one kid there. My friend Howard Kay came running to meet us with an excited look on his pumpkin face.
“I waited for you,” he shouted.
“Where are all the fellows?” Tom asked.
“At Parley’s place,” Howard said. “His father brought home three wild mares and a wild jackass last night Mr. Benson is going to break the mares this morning.”
Parley’s father was a wild animal bounty hunter. When-ever cattlemen and sheepmen began losing livestock to wild
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animals they sent for Mr. Benson. He hunted down wolves, coyotes, mountain lions, and other wild animals that killed livestock. The ranchers paid him a bounty for each one he killed.
He had never bothered to capture wild horses before the 1890s. Thousands of wild horses roamed throughout the west during the 1800s, but it cost more to capture and break them than they were worth. But with the beginning of the Boer War the British government sent agents to the western states looking for horses to ship to South Africa. A sound animal broken to the saddle brought as much as forty dollars. This caused a shortage of work horses, roping horses, cutting horses, riding horses, and brood mares among the ranchers. Mr. Benson sold the wild stallions and mares he caught to the ranchers after breaking them. Us kids always hoped Mr. Benson would bring back mustangs because they were the hardest of all wild horses to break. They lived up to their Spanish name, which means “running wild.”
The Bensons lived just inside the town limits. They had a big barn and corral in back of their house with a pasture beyond. There were about twenty kids sitting on the log railing of the pasture fence when we arrived. The wild mares were running around in the pasture trying to find a way out. The wild jackass was standing in the middle of the pasture. He sure didn’t look wild to me. He looked as if he were asleep. He was a male which made him a Jackass. The female burro is called a jennet or a jenny. Mr. Benson’s big roan gelding, two pack mules, team of horses, and milk cow were grazing in the pasture not paying any attention to the wild mares or the jackass.
We climbed up on the fence and sat by Parley. He was wearing his coonskin cap that he would never take off
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w
outside unless he was about to go in swimming.
Tom stared at the burro. “Why did your father capture a wild jackass?” he asked.
“He didn’t capture him,” Parley said. “After Pa got the lead ropes on the three wild mares and started for home that jackass followed him. Pa reckons as how one of the mares could be his mate. The only way you get a mule is to breed a jackass to a horse mare.”
“I know that,” Tom said as if his great brain had been insulted. “How old is the jackass?”
“Pa figures about tour years old,” Parley answered.
“What is your father going to do with him?” Tom asked.
“He said I could have the jackass if I gentled him,” Parley said.
“I know how you break a horse,” Tom said. “But how do you gentle a jackass?”
“Same as a horse,” Parley said. “Pa says all I’ve got to do is ride him and break his spirit and prove I’m the boss. Then it will be easy to break him to pack saddle and harness.”
“You’ve got one of the best saddle ponies in town,” Tom said. “You sure aren’t going to be seen riding around on a dumb old jackass.”
“Shucks, no,” Parley said as he pushed his coonskin cap to the back of his head. “I’ll sell him to a prospector or a trapper after I gentle him.”
“When are you going to gentle him?” Tom asked.
“This afternoon,” Parley answered.
Mr. Benson came to the pasture. He was a clean-shaven man with skin as tanned as the leather chaps he was wearing. He was wearing California spurs with two-inch rowels,
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which he used when breaking horses. We watched him lasso one of the wild mares with a leather lariat-He led the mare to the corral with all us kids following him. Parley helped his father get a bridle and saddle on the mare. He ran for the fence as Mr. Benson mounted the mare. She stood still, trembling, for a few seconds and then began to buck. But no wild mare can buck like a wild stallion. She only bucked for about two or three minutes and then gave up. Mr. Ben-son rode the mare around the corral a few times and then rode her back to the pasture. The other two mares were just as easy to gentle, so easy that Mr. Benson apologized to us.
“Sorry, boys,” he said. “It wasn’t much of a show. But maybe next time I’ll get some wild stallions instead of mares.”
Parley told us his father was leaving right after lunch to take the three mares to Pete Gunderson’s ranch to sell and would stay at the ranch to do some bounty hunting.
“Don’t try to gentle that wild jackass until we get here,” Tom told Parley.
None of the kids went swimming that afternoon. We all went to watch Parley gentle the wild jackass. He had a halter on the burro in the corral when Tom, Frankie, and
I arrived.
“Help me get a bridle on Chalky,” Parley said to Tom.
“Chalky?” Tom asked. “I named him Chalky because he is the color of chalk
cliffs,” Parley said.
They tried to get a bridle on the
jackass, but Chalky refused to open his mouth and take the bit. Then they tried Parley’s Morgan saddle on Chalky, but it was too big.
“I’ll ride him bareback with just the halter,” Parley said.
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Tom shook his head. “At least put a girth around him to hold on to,” he said—
They joined the girth from Parley’s saddle to an extra strong girth Mr. Benson used for breaking horses. Tom held Chalky by the halter and one ear while Parley put the girth around the burro and tightened it. Then Tom handed Parley the rein rope of the braided rope halter and ran to climb on the top railing of the corral fence.
Parley jumped on Chalky’s back holding the rein rope in his left hand and grabbing hold of the girth with his right hand. That wild Jackass began to buck as if he were a wild mustang. He pitched Parley off his back in about ten seconds. He continued to buck for a couple of minutes. Then he stopped and looked at Parley who had run for the pro-tection of the fence. And I’ll be a six-legged jackass myself if Chalky didn’t let go with a loud, “Hee haw,” as if he were giving Parley the raspberry.
Danny Forester cupped his hands to his mouth. “Some broncobuster,” he shouted. “Can’t even ride a little burro!”
Parley went back inside the corral. He picked up his coonskin cap that he’d lost when he was bucked off. He walked up to Chalky with a-determined look on his face, took the rein rope in his left hand, and grabbing the girth with his right hand, jumped on the jackass’s back.
“Ride ‘em, cowboy!” all of us kids watching began to yell.
We only got to yell, “Ride ‘em, cowboy!” for about fifteen seconds before that wild jackass pitched Parley off his back. Parley got up limping. Some of the kids began giving him the raspberry as he walked to the fence. Then all the kids began laughing as Chalky let go with another loud,
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