by Lois Lenski
“Oh well,” said Charlie, reluctantly. “I’ll think about it.”
“You’ll do it,” said Mrs. Carter firmly.
Mama was right. There was no easy way to earn money at Triangle Ranch and Charlie knew it. Her father was shorter of cash than ever. The prolonged cattle feeding, even for fewer cows, was putting him deeper and deeper in debt. Bud and Gus could not help her out. They had not yet had their last two months’ pay from her father. Nobody had money but Homer. He had peeled her five-dollar bill off a big fat roll. Why did he have so much? If he had so much, why need she pay him back?
Charlie could not give up the beautiful bathing suit. She decided to keep her eyes and ears open. Sooner or later a way would present itself to earn the money. Papa would come home and they would all go to Christoval for a week. She could hardly wait.
The day came for Grace to go to Aunt Eleanor’s, but there was no one to take her. Bud and Gus had a busy day ahead in the pastures, checking the waterings and catching “wormies.” Papa was still at Uncle Moe’s. Homer was working at headquarters and had not been at Triangle Ranch since the day he paid Charlie the money. One of the buggy horses was lame.
“Let me ride Gypsy, Charlotte,” begged Grace.
“And get a stone in her foot and keep her in town for three days and two nights? What do you think I am?” sputtered Charlie.
“Charlotte Clarissa,” said Mrs. Carter sternly, “it is time you stopped being so selfish. Of course you will let Grace take Gypsy.”
“If I had a horse of my own,” said Grace reasonably, “I wouldn’t ask you. But I have to get about a hundred and fifty more breakfasts before Uncle Moe gives me mine.”
“I’ll take you in,” said Charlie grudgingly, “and bring Gypsy back.”
“Very well,” said Mrs. Carter. She turned to Grace. “You can stay at Eleanor’s until somebody comes for you.”
“Oh! That’s nice,” said Grace. “I hope they don’t come for a week.”
“And Charlotte,” Mrs. Carter went on, “this will be a good time for you to return your bathing suit to McKeever’s.”
“I’ll think about it,” said Charlie.
Mrs. Carter and Benoni came out to see the girls off. Grace looked very pretty, dressed in a navy blue sailor dress, trimmed with red braid. She wore a red bow on her hair, and a small straw hat. She carried a suitcase and a red pocketbook.
“Oh Mama!” cried Grace. “Couldn’t Charlie at least put on a dress? Does she have to go like that?”
Charlie had her usual comfortable ranch clothes on—overalls and shirt, and her father’s old slouch hat pulled low. Her feet were bare—and very dirty. “Come on, if you want me to take you,” she cried, mounting the horse. “Let’s go.”
Grace climbed up behind the saddle. “Don’t ride fast or I’ll fall off,” she said. “I don’t ride as much as you do and I don’t want to get stiff and sore.”
“Charlotte,” called Mrs. Carter, “do you have the bathing suit with you?”
“She put it in my suitcase, Mama,” said Grace. “I’ll remind her.”
“I do believe we may get some rain,” said Mrs. Carter, looking up. “It seems to be clouding over, and the wind’s starting to blow. Don’t ride too fast, Charlotte. Take it easy both ways, so you can get back as soon as possible before it rains.”
“Good-by, good-by,” called Benoni.
Ringo followed the horse part way through Little Pasture, then turned around and went home.
The girls talked about the longed-for camping trip. They did not speak of the drouth, although both knew that their living depended on the coming of rain. It seemed better to trust blindly and keep one’s hope hidden.
“Gee-whillikens! Look!” cried Charlie, glancing back over her shoulder, when they were halfway to town. “Maybe it’s another flash storm coming. I hope Mama will set buckets and barrels out to catch water.”
“I never saw rain make the sky such a funny color,” said Grace. “It looks brown, not black. That’s not rain—it’s a dust cloud. Oh dear, it will get all over my clothes.”
The girls were silent now, worried and anxious. Gypsy was nervous too, so Charlie kept a firm hold on the reins. They were crossing a bare, rocky pasture, moving toward Grundy Draw—a dry creek, which drained into Devil’s River far to the south.
“Papa told me never to go down in a draw,” said Charlie. “A draw is miles long and very deep. It can hold a lot of water, and it runs a few hours after every rain. People get drowned when the draw fills with water so quick.”
“It’s a dust storm,” said Grace, “not a flash flood.”
“What will we do?” asked Charlie. Suddenly she felt helpless, and dependent on her older sister.
“We’ll have to get covered up and let it blow over us,” said Grace. “Go over to those trees.”
They could see the heavy cloud coming closer and closer, as the wind blew stronger. They jumped off Gypsy and led her to the trees. She nickered once, then stood quietly with her head down, her tail turned toward the wind. Grace opened her suitcase and pulled out a ruffled muslin petticoat, the one she intended to wear under the dotted-swiss party dress.
“Here, take this, Charlotte,” she said. She thrust her hat inside and closed the suitcase, then lifted the skirt of the dress she was wearing and covered her head. The two girls crouched together beside a large rock.
They were none too soon. The fury of the storm struck them with full force. The sun went out and heavy darkness fell. The wind made a noise like deafening thunder. The girls waited what seemed an endless time, as the dust-laden wind went by. A half-hour later, Gypsy nickered and they peeped out. The rush of wind was dying down and the sky was brightening.
“It’s all over,” said Charlie. “Duffy’s top-soil’s on its way to Kansas.”
“I hope Aunt Eleanor won’t scold me for being late,” said Grace.
“She ought to be in a dust storm once,” growled Charlie.
“Oh, my clothes are ruined—ruined!” mourned Grace. “What will I do? How can I go to the party?” Even the clothes inside the suitcase were covered with dust.
“Aunt Eleanor will clean them up for you,” said Charlie lightly.
The girls looked at each other, and their faces were as black as the cowboys’ faces after a roundup. They rubbed the dust off with Grace’s ruffled petticoat.
“You can let me down at the corner by McKeever’s store,” said Grace. “I’ll walk the rest of the way.”
“So Aunt Eleanor won’t see me?” laughed Charlie.
The town looked deserted when they reached it. The stores and houses had their doors and windows tightly closed. Great drifts of dust were piled up against buildings and fences. No one was in the street. Grace dismounted, opened her suitcase and gave Charlie her bathing suit. Then she walked gingerly down the street, picking out places to step where the dust was thinnest. She did not want to get her shoes filled.
“Tell Genevieve Happy Birthday!” called Charlie.
“I will—good-by,” said Grace.
Charlie dropped Gypsy’s reins and went over to McKeever’s store. She rattled the door and peeped through the glass. She knocked and called and pounded, but no one was there.
“I tried to return it, but I couldn’t,” she said to herself. Sticking the bathing suit inside her shirt, she mounted the horse again.
As Gypsy started off toward home, Charlie lolled comfortably in the saddle. One thought was in her mind. How could she earn the money to pay Homer back? There ought to be some easy way. She still had several miles to go, when Gypsy began to stumble. The horse was tired. Charlie knew she should let her rest, so she rode into the gate of the Lazy D, Sam Reed’s ranch. She made straight for the barn instead of the house.
Mrs. Reed was dressy and particular, worse than her own mother, and Charlie did not like her much. She had fine linen, silverware and ladder-back chairs, and she talked about her fine possessions continually.
“I hope I don’t see h
er, she’s too starchy,” said Charlie to herself.
The girl felt more comfortable with Sam. He was like the cowboys, as plain as an old boot. She could talk to him the way she talked to Bud.
“Hi, young un!” called Sam, when he saw her coming in. “Were you out in that dust storm?”
He helped her down from her horse, took Gypsy in the barn, brought water and oats and made the horse comfortable. Charlie remained silent and thoughtful.
“Bet you’re worryin’ about that dust storm,” said Sam in a kindly voice. “Bet you’re afraid there’s gonna be another. Bet you’d like to have me ride home with you.”
“Oh no,” said Charlie. “I wasn’t thinking about that at all. Dust storms don’t bother me any. I was worryin’ about how to earn a little money.”
“Hum! Financial troubles, like all us cattlemen!” Sam laughed. “Come and see what I’m tryin’ to do. Maybe you can help me. Don’t know when I’ve struck such a hard job.”
He led the way to a stall at the back and pointed to a box. Charlie peered inside and saw a litter of newborn kittens, that had not opened their eyes yet. She turned away. “Oh, you can’t give me any little old cats. I don’t like cats. I like calves, cows, colts and horses. We’ve got one and that’s enough—a barn cat for catching rats and mice.”
“One’s enough for me too, here in the barn,” said Sam. “I want to get rid of the others.” He sat down on a saw-horse, and perspiration rolled off his face. “It’s near-about finished me. I just can’t do it.”
“Do what?” asked Charlie.
“Drown the cats,” said the man.
Charlie looked thoughtful. “What will you give me to do it for you?”
“How much do you want?” asked Sam.
“Well, I need exactly five dollars.”
“A dollar apiece,” said Sam. “Fair enough. I can see you are going to be a smart ranchwoman when you grow up.”
“Yes sir, I am,” said Charlie.
“I got everything ready—the tub of water, the sack and the stone. I’ll leave you to do it. Come in the house when you’re done.” Sam Reed went away and left her.
Somewhat later, Charlie strolled to the house, whistling. Sam was waiting at the door.
“Come in and see our piano,” he said. “My wife’s so proud of it. It was hauled fifty miles in a freight wagon, without the slightest harm.”
“I’d like my money,” said Charlie. “I don’t care about pianos.”
“Oh do come in, Charlotte,” called Mrs. Reed. “Come and hear what a lovely tone my piano has.” She began to play.
Charlie pattered over and stood beside her. She would ask for her money again, when the piece of music came to an end. The room was very elegant, and the carpet was soft. The windows were shrouded in draperies to keep the glare of the sun out.
Suddenly Mrs. Reed stopped playing and threw up her hands. “Oh dear,” she cried, “you frightened me so. I thought it was Charlotte Carter. I didn’t know there were any dirty little boys around. Are you that Mexican sheepherder’s boy…or one of the Duffys…?”
“I’m Charlotte Clarissa Carter, ma’m!” Charlie doffed her hat and whirled around to show her long braids, which had been tucked up under.
“But how did you get so…so…”
Charlie did not realize that her clothes were saturated with dust, that her face was thickly coated except for two white rings around her eyes, and that her dusty bare feet had left tracks across the carpet.
“She was riding all through that terrible dust storm, Alice,” explained Sam Reed. “You could hardly expect her to be clean.”
“But why does she dress like a boy?”
Charlie smiled and her teeth shone white in her blackened face. “Because I like to, ma’m.” She turned to Sam. “Five dollars, if you please, sir.”
Mrs. Reed gasped when she saw her husband put five one-dollar bills into the girl’s hand. But he did not explain. Charlie put the money in her pocket, and patted the bulge in front of her shirt. She still had her beautiful bathing suit—and it was safe.
Sam Reed went out, helped her on her horse and watched her ride away.
“That girl belongs to this country,” he said to himself. “It’s a hard life, but she’s got what it takes.”
He thought of his wife, of Mrs. Carter, of so many women who clung tightly to the trappings of civilization, refusing to adjust to ranch life. He thought of all the women who were enduring ranch life only in the hope of moving back to town. He said to himself: “They live out their lives in a wonderful country, of which they steadfastly refuse to become a part. Maybe the next generation will be hardier—or will softness win?”
Charlie was quite a heroine when she reached home. Mrs. Carter and the cowboys were relieved to hear that all was well, Grace safe at Aunt Eleanor’s and Charlie safe at home.
The dust storm brought Dan Carter home the next day. Not knowing that Grace was at her aunt’s in town, he had not stopped for her, so Grace stayed for a week, until Bud could be spared to go for her with the buggy. Grace talked happily about her stay in town.
“Young lady, you’re gettin’ weaned away from ranch life,” teased Bud. “Soon you’ll turn into one of them city gals.”
“Aunt Eleanor invited me to live with them next winter,” said Grace. “I’m to go as soon as school starts. I’ll like living there. Aunt Eleanor entertains and gives such lovely parties.”
“I’m so glad, daughter,” said Mrs. Carter. “I hoped Eleanor might ask you. It means she’s pleased with your good manners and all your accomplishments. Of course, Charlotte should be the one to go—she needs it more than you do. Eleanor could make a lady out of her.”
Charlie came stamping into the room, making as much noise as a herd of cattle.
“I won’t go!” stormed Charlie. “I won’t leave the ranch!”
“Charlotte, do be quiet!” said her mother. “Don’t make so much noise.”
“Don’t worry, Charlotte,” said Grace. “Aunt Eleanor doesn’t want you.”
“It looks as if the drouth will wipe us out,” said Mrs. Carter, “and then…when we start all over again, I hope it will be in town.”
“Don’t say that, Mama!” cried Charlie. “If you move to town, I’ll go and live with the sheepherders.”
But the sheepherders had gone four months before—and she knew it.
CHAPTER XI
The Enemy
“THERE’S A RATTLESNAKE OUT in the barn.”
“Who said so?” asked Bud Whitaker, looking up from his plate.
“I did!” answered Charlie. “I went to the oat-bin to get some oats for Gypsy. I heard a rattle and there was the snake by the door to the bin.”
“Oh, Charlotte!” Mrs. Carter shivered.
“It went under the floor,” said Charlie, “so I couldn’t kill it.”
“Oh-h-h!” cried Bones. “I’m afraid to go in the barn now. I can’t feed my calves.”
“You stay out of the barn, boy, till I kill the old fellow,” Bud told Bones. “Don’t go in the barn, any of you. That means you too, Charlie.”
“I’m not afraid of any old rattler!” bragged the girl. “He’s a-crawlin’ to bring us rain. I’ll kill him next time I see him.”
“You’d better be afraid,” said Bud. “You get snakebit once and you’ll learn your lesson. Don’t forget what happened to Clabber—he’s been a no-count horse ever since he got snakebit. Remember now, little girls don’t go killin’ rattlers, even if they are tomboys.” Bud stalked out of the house.
“Charlotte, you listen to Bud,” said Mrs. Carter, “and do as he says.” She looked out in the yard. “Oh, there’s Homer. He’s come to help your father with the branding. Charlotte, have you paid that money back to Homer?”
“Oh…no,” said Charlie, “I was just going to, but Homer hasn’t been around lately.”
“You have the money then?” asked her mother. “You returned the bathing suit to McKeever’s?”
“No ma’m,” said Charlie. “I earned the money. Don’t you remember I told you I had to have the bathing suit for our camping trip?”
“There’s not going to be a camping trip,” said Grace. “Papa says the water in the South Concho River is too low. He won’t take us till after a good rain. You don’t need a bathing suit at all.”
“I don’t, eh?” cried Charlie. “That’s all you know about it.”
Somehow the bathing suit had become a symbol—a symbol of the end of the drouth. Charlie felt that if she held onto it long enough, rain would come. Rain would come to end the drouth, and she could swim again.
But Mrs. Carter was not sidetracked. “You earned the money? How?”
It always annoyed Charlie when her mother asked such penetrating questions. Of course her mother had no idea how serious this feud was between the girl and Homer. Or—did she suspect?
“I did some work for Sam Reed on the Lazy D,” said Charlie. “He paid me for it.”
“What kind of work?” asked Mrs. Carter.
“Oh…just a little ranch job,” said Charlie. “Sam asked me to help him one day when I was passing by. He paid me for it.”
She could not mention a thing like drowning cats, because Mama was a lady and would be horrified. Mama would never be a ranchwoman, because she could not accept things like marking calves, branding cows with a hot iron, skinning dead cows…or drowning extra cats. Charlie remembered the cows that died last winter, and how Papa had skinned them and dried the hides to sell, and how Old Man Drake had hauled them off in his freight wagon. Ranch life wasn’t all just fun—riding horseback and roping cows. There were many unpleasant duties that had to be done by somebody. Why be so squeamish about it? The ladies who could not stand these things had better move to town and stay.
Charlie was trying not to conceal what she had done, but to spare her mother’s feelings.
“Charlotte,” said Mrs. Carter, “you know we do not take pay for helping our neighbors. Our neighbors are always willing to help us and we like to help them. Your father has called on Sam Reed many times for help…”