Saddlebags

by Bonnie Bryant

  John had put the plates and cups in a bucket and taken them down to the creek. There he filled the bucket with water and soap and started washing dishes.

  “I brought you a few little dogies,” said Lisa as she walked up with a stack of dirty dishes.

  John smiled. “Perfect timing.” He put the dishes in the bucket and pointed to a towel hanging on the twig of a nearby tree. “You can rinse them in the stream and then dry, if you like.”

  Lisa took the towel and started rinsing and drying plates and silverware. “I’ve really had fun watching you work on Tex,” she said. “I can’t believe those sliding stops. I mean, it looks as though he’s going to do a somersault, and he keeps his balance so perfectly. And so do you. You guys look great!”

  John kept his eyes on the dishes. “Thanks,” he said.

  “When do you get a chance to do the work?” Lisa asked.

  John looked up at her. “Actually, I get up around five every morning—”

  “Five?”

  He nodded. “And I do barn chores, then work with Tex for an hour before school. Then we work again when I get home.”

  “Yikes! It must be fun though.”

  “It is.”

  “With riding—there’s always more than enough to learn, even for an excellent rider,” Lisa said thoughtfully. “I’m not sure some people get that.”

  “Like who?”

  “Like our parents,” she said with a sigh.

  He came over to her and gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Your parents are really no different from most of the dudes who come here on vacation. They enjoy being at the Bar None, and get into it, but they don’t really get what it’s all about. At least your folks are having a good time.”

  Lisa thought about what he said. John had a better perspective on her parents than she did, she realized. “Thanks,” she told him. “I guess I’m just embarrassed or something.”

  John kept his arm around her shoulders. “Anyway,” he said, “I’m glad you’re here.”

  Lisa swallowed hard. She couldn’t think of what to say next.

  They were silent for a while, listening to the sound of the horses munching on the scrub grass nearby, and the soft lowing of the cattle in the distance. In the sky over their heads, millions of stars twinkled, and the Milky Way was a wash of soft white.

  As Lisa stared upward, John gently brought his hand to her face and turned her toward him. He brushed his lips against hers.

  Crunch crunch crunch.

  Footsteps, coming closer. John and Lisa pulled back from each other and turned toward the sound.

  Lisa couldn’t believe her eyes. It was her mother.

  MRS. ATWOOD WALKED up to John and Lisa and put her hands on her hips. “So. I guess you two are on cleanup crew.”

  Lisa could feel her face turning beet red. She couldn’t tell if her mother was angry, or embarrassed, or both. At that moment all Lisa wanted was for the ground to open beneath her feet and swallow her up.

  “Uh, Mom,” squeaked Lisa, “could you take this stack of clean plates?”

  Mrs. Atwood picked up a load of clean dishes. So did Lisa and John. As they headed back to the campsite, Mrs. Atwood turned to John and said, “What’s your name again?”

  Lisa stumbled over a root and fell down headfirst, scattering the tin plates everywhere.

  Her mother helped her to her feet. “Let me just take these dishes back to the campsite, and I’ll come back and help you with the others.”

  Lisa watched her go, then bent down to pick up the plates. As John leaned over to help her, they both started giggling. Pretty soon, Lisa and John were doubled over in giggles, and having trouble holding on to the plates they were picking up. Luckily, Mrs. Atwood didn’t come back to help out.

  When they finally returned to the campsite, story time was just breaking up.

  “Any dishes left for me to do?” asked Mrs. Atwood.

  “No,” said Lisa, avoiding her mother’s eyes. “But there’ll be other chances tomorrow.”

  She headed for her bedroll. John gave her a silent wave. And from under his shock of black bangs she thought she saw him flash a quick wink.

  She laid out her bedroll between the sleeping bags of her two best friends. She opened it up and took out her toothbrush.

  “Coming with me to the washhouse under the stars?” Stevie asked.

  “Sure am,” said Lisa. They walked back to the creek to brush their teeth.

  “You’ll never guess what happened,” said Lisa to Stevie under her breath.

  “Does it have anything to do with your mom’s showing up at the creek?” Stevie asked.

  Lisa nodded. “John was about to kiss me, when my mom walked up.”

  Stevie gasped. “You must’ve been soooo embarrassed!” she said. “I remember once, when Phil had walked me home and was kissing me good-bye, Chad opened up the front door! I wanted to absolutely disappear right then and there!”

  “Yup,” Lisa agreed. “I wanted the exact same thing. But instead, I scattered clean dishes all over the ground!”

  “How dramatic!” Stevie said, and they both burst out laughing.

  After they’d gone to check the horses one last time, The Saddle Club members headed back to their section of the campsite. They all used their old technique of putting tomorrow’s clean socks and underwear in the bottom of their sleeping bags. That way, when morning came, they could change into their already warm clean clothes right inside their sleeping bags.

  Stevie kissed her parents good night. “Do me a favor, Dad,” she said.

  “What’s that, honey?”

  “Please! No singing before breakfast!” Stevie gave him and her mother a hug and scooted back to The Saddle Club’s row of bedrolls.

  Carole went over to say good night to her father. He was straightening out his bedroll, his ten-gallon hat still on his head.

  “Are you going to sleep with that hat on?” Carole asked him.

  “Not sure, not sure,” was his answer. “See you in the morning, hon.”

  “Good night, Dad.”

  “Night, Mom. Night, Dad,” said Lisa softly as she gave each of her parents a kiss.

  Kate was already tucked in her bedroll when the other three girls came back.

  “I thought we were going to have a quick meeting of The Saddle Club,” said Stevie, “to sort of wrap up the day.”

  “Jaddadh wheep …,” Kate attempted to say.

  Lisa grinned. “I think that translates into ‘Gotta sleep.’ And I for one second the motion.”

  “Okay, okay,” Stevie agreed, and the four girls snuggled deep down in their bedrolls.

  Lisa couldn’t believe how far they were from Willow Creek. She’d been on overnight trail rides back east, but they never felt like these cattle drives did. She looked up and started counting stars.

  One, two, three … She listened to the cattle lowing in the near distance. She felt surrounded by huge, expansive warmth. The earth beneath her, the stars like a big high blanket, the hum of the hundreds of cattle in her ears. Nine, ten, eleven … By the time she’d counted the nineteenth star, she was fast asleep.

  Carole drifted off too, leaving Stevie the only Saddle Clubber awake. Stevie leaned up on her elbow and watched the grown-ups get settled on the other side of the dimming campfire. She smiled and shook her head. It had been up and down, she thought, but her parents were starting to get the hang of things. Tomorrow was the drive—that might be a different story.

  Stevie lay back down and snuggled into her sleeping bag. Just as she drifted off, she thought she heard a call of some sort in the distance. Was it a coyote? Or just the wind? She couldn’t keep herself awake long enough to wait for it to come again. She didn’t hear the high, mournful sound when it pierced the silence again a moment later, nor did she hear the screeching answer of an eagle in the black distance.

  LISA OPENED ONE eye. The sky was a dark, rich blue, like cobalt-colored glass. An owl hooted softly in the distance. She closed her eye
s, then opened them again. Now she remembered she was sleeping outside, in the middle of Colorado, under a big sky. The cattle drive was today.

  She sat up and looked around. She could see Walter and a few of the parents already getting up and out of their sleeping bags and heading down to the creek. She quickly changed clothes in the warmth of her sleeping bag and got up. “Wake up, you cowgirls!” she said, nudging her sleeping friends before heading down to the creek to wash up.

  By the time the sun edged its way up from behind the acres of cows, the whole group was up.

  Mr. Atwood eyed his breakfast—beef jerky—skeptically. Finally, he bit off a hunk and chewed. After he swallowed it, he cleared his throat and said to his wife, “Mmm. Honey, you should serve this stuff at home!”

  Mrs. Atwood worked quietly on her own portion. “Kind of spicy,” she said between chews.

  Mr. Lake laughed. “I thought you ate this junk only if you didn’t have a fire nearby. Sort of like K rations.”

  Walter looked up from the coffee he was pouring out. “No point in bacon and eggs today—too much to do before the drive. Takes too big a fire.”

  “Bigger than what you need for coffee?” Mr. Atwood said.

  “Oh, come on, Richard,” said his wife. “You won’t starve.”

  “Well, this is supposed to hold us—”

  “Sure is tasty,” Colonel Hanson said. “First you eat ’em, then you drive a herd of ’em. Mmm.”

  When Carole heard that, she practically choked on hers. “I’ll never look at a cow the same way again,” she said to Kate.

  “Well, wranglers,” said Walter, “it’s an authentic wrangler’s breakfast.”

  “I’ll take a little more coffee to wash down all that local flavor,” said Mr. Lake, holding his mug out to Walter.

  Lisa glanced away from the grown-ups. Their teasing was getting more than a little annoying. She heard Carole talking to her father about the topic on the way over to wash out coffee mugs, and she was glad Carole had picked up on their snooty tone too.

  “What’s the deal, Dad?” said Carole. “Does it have to be bacon and eggs for you too, every morning?”

  “No, honey. But don’t you think beef jerky is too authentic?”

  Carole squinted at her father. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Don’t you think they’re humoring us dudes a little bit?”

  “Well, beef jerky is quick, light to carry along, and convenient. And besides, what’s wrong with authenticity anyway? I mean, Dad, we couldn’t very well bring a cappuccino machine and muffin tins.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Just think of the pots and pans you’d have to wash,” Carole added.

  “I love washing pots and pans!” said her father.

  “Dad. The whole point is to ride well, pack light, make it easy on the horses—”

  “Ah, yes, the horses,” he said.

  “Stop teasing, it’s true.”

  “Okay. But for a short cattle drive like this, does it really make a difference how easy we go on the horses?”

  “Sure it does,” said Carole. “After all, you never know how hard they’re going to have to work once the drive gets under way. Or how hard you’re going to have to work, for that matter.”

  “But, Carole, honey, come on. Don’t you think Walter and John could do this drive by themselves? Easily? To me it feels a little staged, that’s all.”

  “I know, we felt that way on our first drive before it began. But we didn’t feel that way for long. After all, it’s real cattle we’re moving, over real range. And most important, it’s on—”

  “I know,” her father said, and they both said “real horses” at the same time.

  Carole knew she was taking things a bit too seriously, but she was glad she’d said something to her father. The parents’ making fun of the food and drive had hurt her feelings a bit. And she was worried they’d hurt Walter and John too. Maybe once the cattle drive started, the Saddlebags would start taking things more seriously.

  “WHAT’S WRONG, MOM?” Lisa asked. Her mother frowned as she drank her morning coffee.

  “Oh, nothing, really.”

  Lisa wasn’t convinced. “You haven’t smiled once since you got up.”

  “Well, I didn’t sleep very well at all,” Mrs. Atwood admitted. “Must’ve been the hard ground.”

  Lisa wasn’t so sure about her mother’s excuse. She thought the scowl might have more to do with Lisa’s friendship with John Brightstar than the hard ground. Then again, she thought, her mother was not the outdoorsy type. Maybe she was telling the truth.

  John came walking up. “Morning, Lisa. Morning, Mrs. Atwood. How’d everyone sleep last night?”

  “Not so well, thanks,” said Lisa’s mother. “I don’t feel rested at all. And this coffee hasn’t helped a bit.”

  She took one more sip, then handed her empty coffee cup to John.

  Lisa blinked. It was as if her mother thought he was a servant.

  But John seemed to take it in stride. He took the cup and dumped it into the bucket of dirty dishes.

  After finishing with her bedroll, Lisa gathered up the bucket of dirty dishes and headed down to the stream.

  Her mother went with her. “I thought this was John’s job, honey.”

  “We all pitch in,” she stated, struggling to hide her annoyance. “And since John’s with the horses right now, it’s our job.” She handed her mother a towel.

  Her mother didn’t say another word.

  Later, when they were all waiting to mount up, Lisa’s mother took her bedroll over to Spot.

  “Lisa, dear,” she called. “Don’t you think John should’ve saddled our horses first, before getting his own horse ready?”

  John had saddled Tex and tied his lead to a tree, then gone on to saddle up the other horses. Walter and Carole were helping, and it wasn’t taking too long.

  “Oh, Mom, can’t you be a little more patient?” Lisa grumbled.

  “It’s just that this bedroll is getting heavy,” said Mrs. Atwood.

  “Well, put it on the ground, then!” This time Lisa didn’t even try to control her temper.

  FINALLY THEY BROKE camp, put out the fire, and secured all bedrolls and equipment behind the saddles.

  “May I have everyone’s attention for a minute?” Walter asked.

  Everyone gathered around, like teammates listening to their coach before a game.

  “Now, you must remember that every cattle drive can be challenging. You just never know. Don’t get lazy, or stop being alert, because that’s always the time things tend to go wrong.”

  Colonel Hanson and Mr. Lake nodded politely.

  “The less experienced riders,” Walter went on, “should make sure you stick with riders who’ve spent more time on horseback. Okay, everybody, let’s mount up.”

  “I don’t see what could possibly go wrong,” Mr. Lake mumbled as he climbed aboard his horse.

  Colonel Hanson shrugged. “Strategic maneuvers,” he said. “After you’ve herded humans all over the world, cows should be a piece of cake.”

  Mr. Lake and the colonel started heading their horses over to the herd. Walter trotted past them to take the lead, and the others followed behind.

  They were off.

  As the group approached, the herd started slowly walking away from the horses. Walter picked up the pace a bit, and the cattle followed suit, breaking into a loud chorus of moos as they walked faster and trotted along. Then Walter rode to the front of the herd, leaving the others to watch for strays along the sides.

  Lisa and John rode together along one side of the lowing herd, and they both spotted a tiny baby calf that had stopped to sniff a bush. When the dogie looked up, his mother was long gone. He raised his little head and started bleating anxiously.

  “Time to rescue this little fella,” said John as Tex broke into a lope. He rode up behind the calf to urge it along, and Lisa rode up alongside it to keep it from moving away from the herd. Togethe
r, with words of encouragement, they steered the dogie back to the herd, where his mother was now looking around anxiously for him. The cow and calf stopped so baby could nurse briefly. Lisa and John stayed close to them in case they got separated again.

  Carole found herself trotting beside Mr. Atwood. “Hey, look over there,” she cried, pointing off to the southwest. “A stray.” Carole started heading off in the stray steer’s direction.

  “Need some help?” called Mr. Atwood.

  “Sure.” Carole was in a lope by this time. Mr. Atwood rode beside her, and soon they had caught up to the steer, who seemed lost in thought, munching on a patch of greenish-brown scrub grass. Carole circled around the animal, and Mr. Atwood stayed behind him.

  He stopped grazing and looked up.

  “Hey, you,” called Carole to the steer, “don’t you know where the party is?” With the horses moving behind him, the steer got the message and started trotting off to join the rest.

  “So that’s how a roundup is done,” cried Mr. Atwood.

  “If you’re lucky,” Carole answered with a smile.

  They rode on, keeping their eyes open.

  On the other side of the herd, Mr. Lake told Walter, “I just spotted an animal that might need your help.”

  Sure enough, off to the left and just ahead of the herd was a steer who had gotten his horns caught in a bramble bush. The beast was trapped, head down, mooing loudly.

  They trotted over to the animal’s side. Walter dismounted and gave his reins to Mr. Lake. “Hold these, and try to keep my horse between you and that steer, just in case he gets any wild and crazy notions in his head.”

  But as soon as Walter walked up, patted the animal on its shoulders, and spoke to it quietly, the steer seemed to calm down. Then Walter took out his jackknife and quickly cut the bramble bush away.

  The steer looked around and trotted off to join the herd.

  “That was simple,” said Walter as he remounted his horse.