Sunday's Colt & Other Stories

by Randy D. Smith

  After a brief consultation, Grandpa and Liddie agreed that they would give her a try. With that question settled, our life with Jenny began. She worked like a trooper and ran the house like a railroad yard foreman. She cared for Grandma, baked, cleaned, sewed, fixed meals, and monitored all household activities. She made suggestions for improvement of the farm, crops, gardens, livestock program, and certain poor male personal habits that Grandpa and I had developed. Rather than the quiet nights that Grandpa and I spent reading or just sitting, activities were now filled with conversation, new project proposals, teasing, and laughter. In the spring, a new trellis was built for rose vines, the house received a fresh coat of paint, the gardens were expanded, trees planted, the chicken flock expanded, and extra rows of sweet corn planted for caning. A new clothesline was installed and a place for muddy-boot storage assigned, all at Jenny’s direction.

  Old Bill Sunday was having a ball just keeping track of proceedings. More than once he reminded me of his prediction that she would make me walk the straight and narrow. Just as quickly I reminded him that I was not married to the girl and did not expect to be. Besides, she was too young. I was almost six years older—a vast age and maturity gap. We were also related. After all, her father was my grandpa’s second cousin. I had my eye on a girl in Seward named Lucy Bowden. She was the daughter of a prosperous farmer and much sweeter.

  But what I told Bill Sunday and thought to myself were two different stories. After being around Jenny, Lucy Bowden was boring. Jenny always had something to talk about. Lucy seemed dull-witted by comparison. Lucy was pretty, but Jenny was prettier and interesting to boot—although her constant defense of the Democrats and President Wilson didn’t sit well in the house. After all, everyone knew that the greatest president that ever lived was Theodore Roosevelt. It was Roosevelt who carried the big stick and the Republican Party that provided high farm prices for the country by staying out of the war. All Wilson could talk about was income tax and international involvement. Other than that one shortcoming, I thought a great deal of Jenny. She was honest, forthright, hardworking, and dependable. Her personality was funny, clever, and outgoing.

  It was Jenny’s care of Grandma that most impressed me. Grandma’s condition demanded almost constant attention. By mid-summer she was totally bed-ridden. Taking care of her was a staggering responsibility. In spite of Jenny’s attentions, Grandma drifted ever deeper into a sea of darkness. By fall sores were developing on her back, and no matter what Jenny tried to do, they grew worse. The doctor diagnosed the sores as a cancer. He figured Grandma was full of it. Grandma lasted through the winter but passed on two days before Easter.

  I was hitching a team in front of the barn when Grandpa walked from the house. He was sad, but he seemed to move more smoothly than he had in months. It seemed as though the burden he had been carrying had been lifted.

  “Grandma’s gone,” he stated bluntly.

  In spite of the fact that I knew it was coming, I felt like a mule had kicked me in the stomach. I leaned forward and placed my head on the back of the mule I was hitching to the team. I was hurt that we had lost her, but relieved that she didn’t have to suffer anymore.

  “Don’t let it affect you that way,” Grandpa said. “It’s for the best. I know she’s happier. That cancer was eating her up. She’s got to be in a better place.”

  “I know that. I’ll just miss her.”

  “She’s been gone for some time, Andy. That wasn’t her in that bed. It was just her body.”

  He then turned away and went for a walk in the pasture. I believe he took Grandma with him for one last visit.

  We buried Grandma in the Eden Valley Community Cemetery. One fellow counted over two hundred buggies and wagons in her funeral procession. We used Lightning to pull our buggy at Grandpa’s insistence. The preacher gave a sermon about mothers and what the Bible teaches about them. He also stated that if the meek and good would inherit the earth, Nell Tate would be first in line for the rewards.

  Although there were tears, my feelings weren’t the same as they had been the day we had searched for Grandma when she wandered off. I had already said my good-byes long before.

  Grandpa asked Jenny to stay on with us. He said the house would be lonely without her. I gave brief thought of approaching Grandpa about going off on my own, but decided against it. Jenny was the reason. She had become a good friend and a part of the family. Although we were friends, I didn’t know how she would feel about the idea of courting. I finally found the opportunity when I learned of a dance to be held in Seward. I stewed over the decision the entire night before, mustering the courage. My problem was that I didn’t know how to dance. I had never been on a dance floor in my life. If she accepted the invitation, I didn’t know what she would do when we got there and all I could do was stand around stupidly and watch her dance with other guys.

  We were eating our breakfast when I finally mustered the courage to ask. I blurted the invitation in the middle of the meal, totally changing the conversation. Both of them stared at me like they had been assaulted. I felt stupid and awkward. After her initial shock, Jenny smiled and nodded.

  That Saturday night, I hitched Lightning to the buggy and drove it up to the house. I couldn’t believe it when Jenny stepped from the porch door. She was wearing a fine purple dress. A matching purple hat made her look like one of those Gibson girls in the magazines. I helped her into the buggy and we set off to Seward.

  We made small talk for a while before Jenny presented her confession. She didn’t know how to dance. I immediately consoled her, confessing that I didn’t know how to dance either.

  “Then why are we going to a dance?” Jenny asked.

  “Because I wanted to take you out,” I answered honestly. It seemed the best course of action.

  “What are we going to do? Just stand around?”

  “No, I thought we would dance.”

  “How?”

  “It can’t be that difficult—certainly no worse than learning to ride a horse. I figured we’d learn together.”

  A sudden gleam came to her eye. “Why not?”

  I urged Lightning forward. All my fears vanished and I was eager to learn to dance with Jenny.

  When we stepped into the hall—her in her fanciest purple dress and me in my store-bought suit—we saw everyone else dressed in work clothes, swinging their partners, do-si-do-ing, alman left-ing, and cutting up a storm.

  I looked toward Jenny with a feeling of embarrassed wonderment. She only laughed and removed her hat.

  “I’d a lot rather learn this kind of dancing, anyhow. Wouldn’t you?”

  “Sure would!” I slipped off my coat, loosened my tie, and led my partner to the dance floor. By the end of the evening we were old pros at the social art of square dancing.

  As we made our way home, I stopped the buggy to allow Lightning a breather. There was only a quarter moon, but the stars filled the sky. Out there on the open prairie, under that canopy of stars, it felt like we were the only people in the world. We sat in silence for quite a while.

  “Mama says she’d rather I waited until I was eighteen.”

  “For what?”

  “But, I’ll be seventeen in February.”

  “You will?”

  “Sometimes you’re the slowest person in the world. If I had to wait for you to ask me, I’d probably die an old maid!”

  “Would you?”

  “Would I what?”

  My throat was so tight I thought I was going to choke. “Marry me.”

  “Finally! Yes, Andy, I’ll marry you.”

  For several moments I didn’t know what to do. I thought about urging Lightning forward. I wondered if I should say “thank you.” I considered jumping from the buggy and running for my life.

  “I would think it would be all right for you to kiss me, if you wanted to,” she said softly.

  That suggestion sounded like a reasonable alternative to any of my plans. So I did.

  Grandpa wa
s quite pleased when we informed him of our decision over breakfast the following morning. He asked us what we intended to do after we were married. Neither of us had given the matter much thought. He offered us a full partnership in the ranch, stating that there was more than enough work for all and that he was getting to an age where it wouldn’t be long before he simply would not be able to handle the physical challenges of maintaining the place alone. He also surprised us with the news that he had already consulted my aunts and uncles about the partnership during Grandma’s funeral. They had agreed and the family was waiting for Jenny and me to get on with it.

  We were married at Eden Valley Community Church on Jenny’s birthday, February 11, 1917. It was a small service with only close family and friends attending. Jenny’s parents were unable to attend because of the distance, but insisted that we spend some time with them at our earliest convenience. Her mother also sent her wedding dress for the occasion. Our honeymoon consisted of a weekend trip to Great Bend. Lightning pulled the buggy. We returned to the ranch the following Monday. In those days there wasn’t the luxury of long absences or vacations. Ranch chores and responsibilities made it impossible for us to be gone any longer. Livestock needed care and feeding during the winter. Calving season usually began the last week of February and we had several first-calf heifers demanding constant monitoring.

  It was the third week of March when a spring blizzard roared in from the north. Heavy snow, accompanied by violent winds, began falling in the late afternoon. After a brief family conference concerning our options, Grandpa gathered stock into the barn stalls and I saddled Lightning to bring in the cattle and small calves into the corrals. Small calves, especially newborns, often suffocate in snowdrifts. It seemed a simple task, but none of us imagined the ferocity that this storm held. Grandpa insisted that I wear a heavy buffalo robe coat of his in case of trouble. That old coat weighed at least thirty pounds, but it could provide warmth in the worst of weather.

  Before I reached the far end of the pastures a blinding onslaught of snow and wind engulfed me. I wrapped a bandana around my mouth and ears for added protection and pulled the heavy collar of the coat up to my neck.

  I found a cow trying to give birth on the downwind side of a steep hill. She was down and the calf’s badly swollen nose and tongue were exposed at the opening of the birth canal. There was no sign of the calf’s front feet. I needed to help with the birth. I had to push the calf’s head back into the birth canal and adjust the position of the feet. I dreaded removing my coat and rolling up my shirtsleeves in the midst of a blizzard, but there was nothing else to do if I wanted to save the cow.

  The cow was already weak from straining and did not resist my efforts. I had to push the calf back in as far as my arm could reach, then locate the feet and start them through. I had to move fast because the placenta had already ruptured, exposing the calf’s face, and the calf would drown within minutes. The problem with the maneuver was that the cow continued to strain and the pressure upon my arm was painful. It took patience to locate the feet and pull them into position, one leg at a time.

  As snow pounded against my face and cold ripped through my chest and exposed left arm, I found the feet quickly and started them through. The calf’s head had swollen so badly that I had to help with the birth by pulling on the calf. With feet still slick from birth fluid, it was difficult to pull the calf with bare hands. Once the feet were out, I slipped the noose of my lariat around them and tried to pull in time with the cow’s straining. It was no use as there simply wasn’t enough room left for the swollen head. After a few attempts, the calf came through. I cleaned the mouth of debris and fluids. He was a large bull calf but his tongue was so swollen that he couldn’t breath. I spun him by his back legs in a circle to clear the breathing passage. He took a breath. I placed the calf beside his mother’s head so she could recognize him.

  Within minutes she was on her feet, licking the calf clean and urging it to stand, but in the raging storm, the calf was freezing in spite of her efforts. I helped rub the calf clean and heaved it into the saddle, knowing that the cow would follow us into the corrals. By the time I had gathered the calf and cow it was growing dark and I could see no more than a few yards as the snow and ice pelted me from all directions. Nightfall found me hopelessly lost in the rolling maze of sandhills.

  Realizing that the cow would be unable to follow, I returned the calf to her, hoping they could survive on their own. For the first time in my life, I feared for my life. If I didn’t get back to the protection of the farmstead quickly, I knew I would freeze to death.

  I gave Lightning his head, hoping he would know the way back to the barns. I could feel the cold penetrating into me. I struggled to maintain consciousness.

  It seemed like hours as the pony struggled through the darkness. I was concerned that we were going in circles. I thought of sleeping in the saddle but knew that the urge to sleep was the first sign of freezing.

  Lightning stopped. I urged him forward but he refused to move. I was afraid; he was my last hope of making it back. I dismounted to lead him. Perhaps if I kept moving I wouldn’t freeze. I took two steps and walked right into the side of a building. I was standing against the wall of the barn. I worked my way along the wall, searching for a doorway. I soon found a sliding door but it was frozen solid. I worked my way further to the north to the west walk-in door and knocked the ice loose from the door latch. The latch freed and I swung the door open, leading Lightning inside.

  I fumbled down the central alleyway until I found the end stall. We kept a kerosene lantern hanging there for late-night milking and checking stock. I opened the great coat and fished a match from my vest pocket.

  In the dim glow of the lantern light, the interior of the barn took on the bizarre appearance of an ice cave as fine snow filtered through the walls and coated itself throughout the interior. Lightning’s nose and eyes were coated with a layer of ice and snow. I wondered how long he could have continued. I wiped his nose and eyes clear and gave him a hug around the neck. After putting Lightning into his stall and giving him a large ration of grain and hay, I briefly considered trying to walk to the house. It was at least a hundred yards and I couldn’t see a foot. I had heard stories of the old days when men had frozen to death within a few feet of a house in a blizzard. I crawled into a pile of loose hay, wrapped my feet in saddle blankets, drew the heavy buffalo coat closely about me, and settled in for a long night.

  Jenny’s voice woke me. As I opened my eyes, I saw her grim expression of concern. Grandpa was standing behind her, holding a lantern.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  “It must be around four. When the storm broke a bit and we could see the barn, we came out to see if you had made it back.”

  “I almost didn’t. I thought I was a goner there for a while. If it hadn’t been for Lightning, I would have lost my way.”

  “We need to get back to the house as soon as possible,” Grandpa said. “The wind could rise again at any moment and I would just as soon spend the rest of this storm in the house.”

  It wasn’t long after we had settled in the kitchen for some warming coffee that the wind increased. The blizzard continued for most of the following day. When it cleared, the buildings were surrounded by snowdrifts to the eaves. We lost eight calves in the storm. I didn’t find the newborn bull calf of that night until after the snow thawed. Although she had survived the storm, his mother had not been able to save him. We marketed several short-eared and bob-tailed calves that year. Thanks to Lightning, the worst injury I had from the cold was a frostbitten big toe on my left foot that took most of the spring to heal.

  We took on a contract to break one hundred mules for the French government that spring for the war effort in Europe. Bill Sunday was a partner in the venture and we hired some Larned men to help. With our regular farm work and the contract, we put in many long days. To add to the pressure, Grandpa was kicked in the leg and was laid up for several weeks. One of the L
arned men broke an arm struggling with a mule in the breaking corral.

  Cooking for five men that spring kept Jenny busy. The potential profits kept us working hard in hopes of buying more land if everything worked out. The contract was substantial and we cleared several thousand dollars.

  Certain jobs were neglected. We had only been able to patch up our fences from the damage of the blizzard instead of a thorough repair. By mid-summer we were having trouble with stock getting into the crops. It was mid-July when Bill Sunday requested my help gathering some stray cows. Bill had a wild half-Longhorn. We had to rope her to get her back to Bill’s home range. Grandpa was not fully healed from the mule kick, so it was up to Bill and me to get the cow alone.

  We found that old Longhorn hiding in some scrub thickets ten miles east of Bill’s place. She was in no mood to return peaceably. I was riding Lightning and Bill was using his best roper, a sorrel mare named Trixie. Once I was able to drive the Longhorn from the thickets, she took off at a full run. The moment we would get into range, she would cut away or turn back on us. We decided to haze her from both sides. She made her way into a grove of catalpa trees and I almost lost my head in a collision with a low-hanging branch. We drove her from the grove across open grassland. Bill and I swung our horses in behind at a full run. Just as we were closing in, Trixie put her foot into a gofer hole and crashed nose-first into the sand, flipping head-over-heels. Bill was caught in his saddle and was bent backward over the high cantle. I could hear bones breaking as they crashed into the ground.

  Trixie’s front right leg was broken in half. As she thrashed in agony, Bill hung in the saddle like a rag doll. I jumped from the saddle and tried to settle the frantic mare. Bill’s eyes were open but his mouth was full of dirt. His arms hung loosely to his sides. I threw my weight on Trixie’s neck to hold her and tried to talk Bill into getting free from the saddle. Although he was conscious and could hear what I was saying, he was simply hurt too badly to move. His Colt and holster were slung in front of him. I crawled from the mare’s neck and pulled the pistol. As the mare tried to gain her footing, I placed the muzzle of the barrel against her ear and pulled the trigger.