Horse Tradin'

by Ben K. Green

  Mr. Wise thought this was a little bit funny, and he had a sort of sarcastic smile on his face when he said: “If you should ever have the privilege of riding a mare that moves down the road as this mare does, your life wouldn’t be complete until you owned her.”

  He went on to tell me that she could move at ten or twelve miles an hour in a nice swinging fox trot or some other saddle gait and that an egg wouldn’t fall off her back, she’d be moving with such rhythm in motion and such smoothness. You’d hardly know that you were gliding across the country at such a terrific rate of speed. All of this sounded very interesting to me, but still it never dawned on me that I had any business with the mare.

  But I looked her over, just the same. She was a beautiful mare. She had a nice deep body, a beautiful topline, a good-looking hindquarter for a mare of such breeding, and good legs. She couldn’t have been more than about an eight-year-old, judging from the dapples and the amount of dark hair that was still in her coat. (You know, gray horses are born black with a few little gray hairs in them, and as they get older they get lighter until when they are old they are white. When they are from six to ten years old, if they are properly cared for and brushed and curried, they have just that beautiful gray dappling around over their bodies; and their legs, from their knees and hocks to the ground, are usually very dark. They’ll have black manes and tails and a little tip of black on their ears. To me, this is about the most beautiful color you can have on a horse.) Of course, I know color doesn’t make much difference with horses; but it just happens I’ve had some good gray horses, and so I’m partial to the color. But I still didn’t entertain the idea that I was able to afford to own such a mare. So I told Mr. Wise that I was going uptown to loaf and visit around, and I’d be back in the morning. He said he’d have his man give my horse plenty of hay for the night.

  I reached down and untied my little roll that I had tied on the back of my saddle. It was the proper way for a man to travel, to have a little roll like that, maybe with some extra clothes or some extra money, maybe a six-shooter or something he thought he might need on a trip across the country on horseback. I had another shirt in mine, and maybe something else.

  I found a rooming house that wasn’t too close to the Crazy Hotel. They weren’t offering Crazy Baths, but they would sell you some Crazy Mineral Water, if you’d buy it. That didn’t appeal to me; I’d always thought that spring water and windmill water and even good clean pool water wasn’t bad, and I couldn’t see the point of drinking that Crazy Water. I was afraid it might make me act like some of those people I’d seen who’d been on it up at the Crazy Hotel.

  This rooming house was good enough. My room had a good bed and a great big bowl and a great big pitcher of plain, common water. The pitcher might have been cracked and the bowl was chipped, but as far as I was concerned it was luxury, and I knew I could make the night in a stall that was rigged like this one. I rinsed my face and hands and took my britches legs out of my boot tops and let them down over my boots, and got a jacket that was sort of new out of my bedroll and went out on the street and walked up to the Crazy Hotel. I stood around against one of the big pillars in the lobby and watched people play games and visit and talk. I’d see men kind of squire around and stand on one foot and hold their hat just right in the curve of their elbow. And some of the fancy ladies would come through the hotel with high-heeled shoes on, and they’d kinda trill one of those heels across that tile floor. Of course nearly everybody would look up, especially the menfolks. There were some old white-headed men and ladies sitting around visiting. The men were carrying walking canes, and the ladies had some eyeglasses hung out on the end of a stick, and you’d see the old men kind of straighten their mustaches and rub their bald heads and think of something nice to say. Every now and then somebody would glance up and see me, and you’d see them take a second glance; they wondered if I was one of the guests of the hotel or something wild that had just struck the town, and I hoped they decided the latter because I sure didn’t want to be one of their crowd.

  I moseyed into the dining room, which was a great big place with an awful lot of trimming in it just to serve chuck. I ordered up a batch of stuff and ate it, and it was good. There must have been a chuckwagon cook in the kitchen.

  When I walked out onto the street it was better than dark and getting pretty chilly. I wandered around a little while and watched the bright lights, then went back to the rooming house and went to bed. I got kinda wallowed out into that bed and thought it was time to get unconscious. That was never any problem with me, but that night I rolled and tumbled a little bit. I could see that long, wavy, black mane on that gray mare, and every now and then it’d kind of pass through my mind how she looked standing in that stall and how clean her legs were from scars or blemishes, and that dappling color kind of fascinated me. I finally got around to wondering how much a mare like that was worth; it just dawned on me that I’d never asked Mr. Wise how much she would cost. I got to wondering if, in the dead of winter when there was no riding season, maybe she was in a range I could afford. The more I thought about it, the less I could sleep.

  I got up and put my boots on and dressed and walked down to the livery stable. There were a lot of lights up and down the hall of the barn, and it wasn’t locked up. I walked down the hall, and the mare was standing with her head over the stall door. I rubbed her and talked to her and ran my fingers through her foretop and noticed how soft her ears were and how nice and big her eyes were and that they were out on the side of her head where they belonged. I sure got to wondering how it would feel to ride a horse like Mr. Wise said she was. The more I thought about it, the more I got to wondering about her price. I’d had a pretty good year and I was carrying a lot of trading money. So I thought, well, I’ll go back to the rooming house and go back to bed, but I’ll look into this gray mare business a little more in the morning.

  Of course, I woke up awful early. I had been raised to believe it was a disgrace to be found in bed after daylight. I unrolled my little roll and took out what clothes and money I wanted, and rolled it back up and tied the strings around it good and tight. Country-like, I had paid for my room when I came in the night before. Nobody was at the desk, so I just took my little bedroll and went on back to the barn. About halfway down there, I stopped in a café that had opened up and ate a batch of stuff and waited for daylight before going to the barn.

  I glanced in my old horse’s stall and saw he was all right. He was living just about as fancy as he ever thought of; he was lying down in the stall with deep straw in it and had all the hay and grain he wanted. I guess he was wondering if some horses lived like that all the time. The sun was coming up and began to warm things, and the horses began to nicker, and sure enough, here came Mr. Wise with his man to feed and tend the horses and open up for the day’s business. I saw them coming, so I got in the stall with my horse. I’d picked up a brush in the hall of the barn, and when they got there I was rubbing his fetlocks and his knees and ankles a little bit, and letting on like I’d listened pretty close to what Mr. Wise said the night before.

  He came in and spoke and stood around a minute and said: “Well, I see you’re trying to give your horse a little better attention. You know, with the proper schooling, somebody to show you and tell you, you could make a horseman.” Then he told his man: “Bring out Easter Lily and clean her off before you do anything else.”

  Well, I didn’t know who he meant, but I looked up and saw his man bring out the gray mare. That was Easter Lily! He brushed and curried and combed her mane and combed her tail, and I stepped outside my horse’s stall and stood and watched. The more I looked at her, the nicer she got.

  Mr. Wise said: “Ben, if you should ever own a mare like Easter Lily, you will know what it means to ride and own the finest in horseflesh.”

  Well, ordinarily I’d have thought this was a sales talk, but he’d made such an impression that he wasn’t in the business to buy and sell horses, that it was just a love, a part
of his life, that I couldn’t believe he was getting ready to sell me that Easter Lily mare. I finally stumbled around and said: “I never saw too many horses in the class of this mare, and I ain’t too well posted on what the going price would be for a mare of this kind. Just for my edification, what is this mare worth?”

  “Oh,” he said, “she could be worth several thousand dollars, if the right person came along. It will probably be summer before somebody comes along that will truly appreciate her and pay what she’s worth. I suppose I’ll keep her through the winter, take care of her, and have her ready for some real horse-person to enjoy the coming riding season.”

  That still hadn’t told me what he wanted for the mare, so I turned around and picked up my saddle and kind of shook it around and knocked some of the straw and dirt off the sheepskin lining, like I was getting ready to get my horse out of his stall.

  He said: “Are you riding out so early today and leaving me?” like it was hurting him to see me go.

  “Yes, sir,” I said, “I guess I spent about as much time here as I ought to. I think I’ll drift down on the Brazos River and see if I can buy some horses or mules.”

  He looked real surprised and said: “Why, I didn’t know you bought horses!”

  I said: “Well, I do, such as they are. I don’t buy any like the Easter Lily, but I buy some good horses; sell them to people that’s got a use for them.” I thought I’d just cut him a little bit, so I said: “I don’t generally have any trouble getting people to price the kind of horses I’m interested in buying.”

  He gasped his breath a little and said: “Oh, Ben, I didn’t realize you were asking the price of the Easter Lily mare. I would dearly love to see you with a mare of this quality; she’d be something you could ride and enjoy and brag about, and cherish and remember all your life.”

  I said: “Well, that may not be sales talk, but it sounds pretty much like it. You still ain’t give me no price on this mare.”

  He said: “Well, you wouldn’t think she is worth what she is, and I had no idea that you’d buy her. You really wouldn’t have any need for a mare of this quality; however, just for your information, a mare like this is worth about five hundred dollars in the winter and about twice that much in the summer, when there are buyers around.”

  Of course, I knew enough right off to know he was kind of baiting me, to let me know I could get a bargain by buying her in the dead of winter. So I said: “Well, I don’t know that she ain’t worth that, so I couldn’t give you any argument. But I wonder, just as a favor to a country boy, would you let me put my saddle on her and ride her?”

  “Oh, Ben,” he said, “I’d be glad for you to ride this mare. I’d just be delighted. And you’d feel better in your own saddle, so go ahead and put your saddle on her.”

  He went to helping me get her saddled. Then he looked down at my spurs and said: “I think you’d be better off without those spurs. She won’t need them.”

  I glanced up and saw the way he was looking at me, like I was going through military inspection before he would allow me to ride the Easter Lily. So I pulled my spurs off, wondering whether I was going to have to go get my britches pressed or get a shave and comb my hair before he’d think it wouldn’t be too disgraceful to let me ride her. I never did like to get on a horse inside the barn, so I turned to lead her out the back door and he said: “Just ride her off down in that little pasture yonder.”

  Well, the gate to the little pasture was open, and it was a nice spot that was used to exercise horses in, and I thought it would be all right to comply with the man’s request. After all, it was his mare, and it was fixing to be my rare privilege to ride her. I stepped on the mare, and she stood perfectly still. I got my reins in hand and sort of shook myself a little bit and sat down real comfortable, and she still hadn’t moved. I reached over and stroked her on the neck and spoke to her, and she just started off in a nice straight walk with her head a little above the level and her ears standing out looking at the world, taking an interest in everything that was about her. By the time I got to the pasture gate, she’d eased into the nicest fox trot you ever felt under you. She moved beautifully, and she didn’t jar you, shake her head, or pop her neck around, and she wasn’t wringing her tail. Mr. Wise had told the truth: she did get you across the world without much effort on your part or, seemingly, on her part.

  The little pasture probably had twenty-five acres in it. I rode her around the outside fence. She never crow-hopped with me or hit the ground crooked or made any kind of half-hammer motion. I brought her to the center of the pasture and figure-eighted her along in a little fox trot. Then I eased her up into a little more speed, and she very easily shifted into a sweet rack, and that mare could rack as fast as the average horse could run. I didn’t want to get her too hot—after all, this was a guest ride I was making—so I reined her up a little. I thought: “Well, this will make her cross her legs and do the half hammer,” but sure enough, just with one stride and one motion, she dropped into that easy natural fox trot, touching the ground as light as a thief in the dark. I knew then that this was one of the good mares of all the horse kingdom. I hated to go back to the barn with her, but I rode in a walk back to the barn so she would cool off a little. I hadn’t noticed Mr. Wise watching me at all. If he had been, he was watching through a crack in the barn. As I came into the barn, I stepped off the mare and he stepped out of his office.

  He looked up at me, smiled, and said: “Well, young man, now you’ve been horseback!”

  I said: “Yes, sir, and I believe all you’ve said about the mare is true. I suppose she’s worth $500, but I don’t have any way of knowing because I’ve never been on a mare like this before.”

  He said: “I’d probably have more need for the horse you’re riding, and more opportunities to sell him than I would this mare, between now and spring. If you’re really interested in her and feel you can afford a mare of this kind, we might have a trade.”

  I knew then that he’d already looked at my horse while I was gone, and had sneaked into his office just for a blind. I began to decide this Mr. Cush Wise was a horse trader. I decided that it was the dead of winter, he had a good many horses on feed, and I didn’t know how much money he had in the bank. I thought: “Well now, I might own this gray mare before this session’s over.”

  I set out to tell him how good my horse was—how much substance he had, how much riding he could stand, what a good horse he was in a tight when you had to rope something or pull a bronc horse or cross a bridge or catch a wild mule in the pasture. “Well,” he said, “I’d hardly have any need for the horse for these things myself, but there are people in this country besides you who use horses, and I’d have some occasion to sell him, provided I could own him at a modest figure.”

  I wasn’t quite used to this word modest, in place of cheap, but I did savvy that they meant the same thing. So I asked him: “What do you think this modest amount would be?”

  He answered: “Oh, I’d have to do some things to your horse before I could sell him. He needs quite a bit of finishing up to knock off the rough edges, but I suppose I could allow you $125 for him if you chose to buy the Easter Lily.”

  Well, my dun horse was a good horse and worth a little more money than that, but not a whole lot. I said I couldn’t afford the mare at that price, but that I thought my horse was worth $200 and I’d give $300 difference if he wanted to trade.

  He said not to be ridiculous, that the mare was worth several times more than he was asking for her to begin with. So then we started to wrangle, and it went on quite a long time. Finally I started to saddle my own horse, and I was about to put my foot in the stirrup when he said: “Well, now, Ben, don’t rush off. Just because you’re a nice young man and I want to do you a favor, I’m going to trade with you for the $300.”

  It had been my idea for about thirty minutes that that’s what he was finally going to do. I had just wondered how long he’d hold out. So I smiled and looked back through the bar
n where they were cleaning the mare off after the little ride I had made on her. I could hardly keep from jumping up and down. I said: “Well, Mr. Wise, that suits me if it does you.”

  So I unsaddled my horse and took my bridle off him and turned him loose, and reached down into my pocket and shuffled and came up with some money, and paid Mr. Wise his $300 in twenty-dollar bills. He looked at it, smiled, and said: “Well, you’re a man that carries your money with you.”

  Rather than show my hand any, I said: “No, I’m a man that did carry my money with me. You’ve got it now.”

  He gave a nice sociable kind of laugh at that remark and called to his man to bring the Easter Lily up to the new, proud owner. When the man came leading the mare up, I could tell that he was well pleased that she had been sold, which was sort of a surprise to me. He handed me the halter rope, and I slipped the halter off, put my bridle on her, fastened the throat latch, and proceeded to saddle her. My little traveling roll was on the back of my saddle, and I thought it helped her looks a little to have a working man’s rig on her.

  Mr. Wise said: “Ben, you’ll get home so quick on your new mare that the folks won’t think you’ve been gone.”

  We both laughed, and I waved good-bye to him and started to ride the mare out into the street. I had to ride across the street the livery stable was on and up another street about a block, before I turned on the road that led out of town. I got across the street; Easter Lily was moving nice. I was just thinking that I was about the luckiest man in the world when all of a sudden she snorted and squatted and turned back suddenly and nearly lost me. If I hadn’t been riding a good saddle, I couldn’t have stayed on. She grabbed the bits between her teeth, dashed across that paved street and right into the hall of the barn, and stopped. It all happened so fast I hadn’t had time to figure it out. This mare had action, and could whirl completely around and face the other direction as quick as the winter wind could flip a leaf.