by J P S Brown
Paul headed out to check a watergap in the fence that crossed the ranch's biggest arroyo. He was not surprised to find that a flood of rainwater had broken the fence that was supposed to span the channel. The wire had broken in the middle and lay along both banks of the arroyo. He saw the tracks of a bovine that had slipped through the gap into Big Nose Blythe's pasture. Big Nose was a voracious man and liable to eat any neighbor's animal that trespassed on his place. Big Nose espoused the belief that it was bad for a body to eat his own beef. This was not an uncommon belief. Fat strays were not safe anywhere they might wander in the West. Big Nose was a Texan who had come to Arizona with his pockets full of money. He shipped trainloads of Sonora steers to various parts of the nation, even in those hard times. He put every cent he made into range, water, and mother cows. He was so cold-blooded that Paul and Buster left him alone. Paul knew he was not smart enough to associate with Big Nose without being done out of his chaps buckles. He also knew one of his bovines could not stray to Big Nose's ranch without disappearing hide, hair, horns, tracks, and all.
Paul followed the tracks and caught up to one of his steers in sight of Big Nose's camp. Big Nose's headquarters office was under a canvas fly that stretched between a tent and a chuck wagon; he was too stingy to spend money on permanent shelter, or on wages for a cook. He cooked good meals for himself and camped alone, but was not too stingy to invite a neighbor to eat with him. He was not too stingy to stay clean, either, and when he went to town he bathed and shaved in a room he kept in the Bowman Hotel, and before he went out on the street he put on a fine 7X Stetson hat and
a sharply creased three-piece suit and necktie.
Paul drove his steer home. At the watergap, instead of heading into the pasture where he belonged, the steer sidled into a thicket on Big Nose's side. Paul burst through the thicket to get around him, then headed him toward the watergap and stayed close behind him so he would not double back or stop and hide in the thicket. When the steer reached the steep bank of the arroyo, he shied at something on the ground, jumped high off the bank, twisted in the air to look back at his tracks, landed in the wash, and bucked into the pasture where he belonged.
When Little Buck reached the edge of the wash, he shied and sprang off the bank into space the same way the steer did. Paul looked down in time to see that the horse had stepped on a coyote. Paul stopped Little Buck in the bottom of the arroyo and looked back. The coyote was not a bit excited. He sauntered into the arroyo with his head down, climbed the opposite bank, stopped, and looked away. Paul spurred Little Buck up the bank after him and drew his pistol.
A cow with coyotes to contend with was a protective mother. A faraway coyote's howl warned a cow that she had better stay close to her calf. Coyotes did not normally prey on cattle. If they were seen near cows, it was probably because they wanted the protein they could get from fresh cow manure. Wolves were different. Sometimes wolves killed cattle for fun and left the meat for the buzzards.
Paul ordinarily did not shoot coyotes. He liked them, but Paul thought this coyote might be rabid because he was too unconcerned about being stepped on. He cocked his pistol. Little Buck danced sideways and rolled an eye at the weapon. Paul knew the horse was afraid of firearms, but he fired at the coyote anyway, and the horse threw an absolute fit. The bullet only dusted the ground under the coyote's belly. Paul kept Little Buck from bucking, but the horse would not stand still. Paul fired four shots in the coyote's direction and missed them all. The coyote was only twenty yards away but had not been made to believe this was an unsafe distance, so he did not even quicken his step. Paul charged up the bank behind the coyote, pointed his pistol right down between Little Buck's ears, and fired at a range of ten yards. This was more than any horse could stand. Little Buck downed his shaking head, bucked to the fence, turned sharply along its side, and flew off the high bank. He landed hard in the sand of the arroyo beside an upright steel stake and his knees buckled. The sharp top of the stake gouged through Paul's left arm all the way to the bone. Paul could see his brush jacket was torn, and knew he was badly hurt and bleeding, but he only stuffed his neckerchief into the wound under the tear and headed for home.
Maggie and Maudy Jane listened to Paul's car roll into the driveway, the car doors slam, and booted feet come through the back door. Maggie liked to hear the hardy scuff of a cowboy's boots when they came in a house.
Her brother Buster was the first one through the door. He put on his face of sorrow and shame and went to Maudy Jane, his mama, for a kiss. He was merry all the time, except in front of his mama. His sorrow and shame face let his mama know how repentant he was for doing things that made him merry. When he put on that face Maudy Jane did not feel she had to scold him, he did not have to make excuses, and they both could believe he would try to behave.
Maggie could smell mezcal on Buster and Paul when they came in. Paul seemed so tired and sick by what she thought was the drink that she did not want to look at him. He would have to clean up and rest a month before she would be nice to him again. "Here you come, worse off than ever," she said. "And why in the world do you think you have to grin at me like a Cheshire cat?"
"That's just your way, isn't it, Paul?" Maudy said.
Paul hugged Maudy and called her Granny, then went to kiss Maggie without a grin. After that day he always called her Granny and gradually the whole family called her that.
"No, don't kiss me," Maggie said. Paul leaned over her and slid his good arm under Mikey and picked him up. "And don't kiss Mikey. He doesn't want germs."
"Aw, I bet he can stand a kiss from his old dad." Paul kissed Mikey's forehead and laughed softly. "How's he doing? Did he get any "tittie?"
"There's something really wrong with him. He won't nurse."
"Believe me, I know why that is. You first have to give it to him, then hold still for him so he can suck. Otherwise, he won't be any better at it than his daddy."
"That's not it. I've offered it to him a hundred times. At first he tried to eat me alive. Now he just gives me dirty looks."
"Well, he's his father's son. He don't like iced tittie."
"Shut up. Just shut up, Paul. You think I'm cold and ornery? Well, I have a right to be. You never do anything right. Why don't you just go away and grin for Little Old Lupe on Canal Street?"
"Now, Sis, Paul can't go anywhere," Buster said. "He's hurt."
"How what has he done to himself?"
"He got bucked off onto a steel post."
"So that darned Ice finally bucked him off? I knew it would happen. Every time he starts showing off on one of those orangutans he rides I can expect to hear that his head's been driven into the ground."
"The bronc didn't do it. Little Buck did."
"Paul doesn't ride Little Buck."
"I'm telling you, Little Buck ruined his arm and we're wasting time. You ought to doctor his arm instead of bawling him out."
"Well, it serves him right. Who told him to ride my horse?"
"Little Buck needs to work once in a while the same as everybody else," Paul said. "No one has ridden him for three months."
"And what did you do to Little Buck?"
"Nothing at all."
"You deserve what you got for riding my horse without permission."
"Yeah, that's what I get for topping him off for you."
"I can top off my own horse."
"We have to call the doctor for Paul. He's really hurt," Buster said.
Granny sat Paul on a kitchen stool to look at the wound. Buster had made a compress of a dishtowel and pressed it against the wound under the brush jacket, then tied another dishtowel tightly around the arm before he loaded Paul in the ranch truck and ran for Granny's.
"Couldn't you at least have found clean towels?" Granny asked. "These must have been draped over the wood box,"
The shirt was stuck in the wound. Granny soaked the arm with warm water and peeled it off. The wound started to bleed. She brought out her own stash of two-hundred-proof pure spirit
of mezcal and bathed the wound. The fumes that issued from the uncorked bottle made Buster lick his lips.
Maggie hated that a cowboy's wife was expected to be a nurse for every hurt carcass that came along. She did not like to touch infirm bodies or attend to wounds and sores, especially if they were nasty with blood or pus. Granny ministered to Paul's wound quickly and efficiently, but Maggie did not even look at it. Then Granny, Buster, and Paul fell gravely silent. At the sound of a murmur, Maggie turned to look at Paul, went pale, and grabbed a better hold on Mikey so he would not fall off her lap if she fainted.
Paul's shoulder had been impaled, gouged, sliced, and torn from the bottom of the bicep up through the top of the shoulder. He slumped in the chair and Granny braced him with mezcal. Buster groped his way to another chair.
Granny washed her hands with Ivory soap, dressed and bandaged the wound, washed again, and took Mikey away from Maggie. "Well, Michael Paul, I guess you and I are the only ones still fit enough to make a hand in this lash-up," she said. Maggie recovered, helped Paul to the bedroom, undressed him, and started bathing him. He told her how good a bath he had taken in the stock water tank at Cibuta only a few days ago on the trail. She told him the best he had done was make a hard adobe crust for her to wash.
"I'm sorry I don't bathe to suit you," Paul said. "I get out of practice."
"Oh, you don't do so bad when you're home. Your feet are always clean."
"That's one good thing about me—you don't mind my feet in your bed."
"I like your feet. Mikey's are just like them."
"I guess I'll just have to work harder so you'll like me again."
"You don't have far to go. You're not afraid of work, but you have to stay sober."
"Then, by God, I'll do that."
"Don't make brags you can't back up."
"Well, I'm a cowpuncher, not a professor of the dance."
"How about you just grow up? You have a son and you've got the last of our money. How about you do right for a change?"
Paul laughed as he always did at Maggie's statements of unswerving resolve. "Would that mean I couldn't have fun with Buster anymore?"
"Don't be a dope. It means you're a good man, so it's time you grew up and stopped spurring hell out of everything that comes along just so you can see what will come apart."
Granny and Buster came in with Dr. Noon. The doctor undressed the wound and sewed some of the muscle back together, but he said that most of the tear was too ragged for a doctor to repair. Paul would have to repair it after it healed by using it as much as he could.
Buster gave Maggie an accusing look. "See there, Maggie? Your poor man is hurt bad."
"How did you do this, Paul?" Dr. Noon asked. "I didn't know you had a river on the Rock Corral."
"We don't have any river. We've only got wells, tanks, springs, and windmills."
"No swamps or marshes, either?"
"Got the Santa Cruz River nearby, but it's dry as bonemeal."
"How do you explain that awful wound, then?"
"Doc, Maggie's horse stumbled with me and I stuck a fence post through it. What's that got to do with waterholes?"
"Looks like a crocodile got you. Any such thing as a dry land croc?"
Paul laughed.
"Because it's hard to believe a fence post did that. That wound is so ragged and deep, it looks like some old bull crocodile from the Belgian Congo tried to feed on you."
"Maybe a crocodile did do it, Doc. I've always said I leave crocodiles in the toilet when I go to the bathroom drunk, and I've darned sure been drunk."
"Paul!" Maggie scolded.
"He does," Buster said. "He tells everybody that he drops crocodiles when he's drunk."
"Now I've heard everything," Maggie said.
"Anything can happen when we're drunk," Buster said.
"My gosh," Maggie said.
Dr. Noon closed his bag and stepped out of the room with Granny. "That's an awful gash, Maude," he said. "There wasn't much I could do for it. I think, between us, we did get it clean."
"I think we better keep him in for a while," Granny said.
"The wound doesn't smell good and may already be septic. The man has to rest and stay sober. I'd hate to lose old Paul to the whiskey."
"He won't keep still if we take away his whiskey/' Granny said. Maggie joined them. "What's this about the whiskey?"
"He can have whiskey, Maggie," Dr. Noon said, "but only enough to keep him quiet. I don't want him getting drunk."
"I'll not let him have any darned old whiskey."
"He ought to be able to have a little drop to keep him home," Granny said. "You can't just take a man's whiskey away when he's been living on it as much as Paul has."
"I'll pour all he wants on the gash," Maggie said. "He won't get a drop down his gullet."
Dr. Noon smiled reservedly and started toward the door, then stopped and turned back. "Dr. Gustetter was with me at the hospital when you called. He wants to know how your baby's doing."
"Not good," Maggie said. "Not good in any shape or form."
"Why not?"
"He won't nurse."
"You mean he hasn't nursed at all?"
"At first he chewed on me like one of those crocodiles you talk about, then he lost interest."
"Why haven't you called your doctor?"
"I thought he would nurse if he got hungry enough, but now I'm worried."
"Let's have a look at him."
Maggie led the way to Mikey's crib.
"So this is the outfit's new cowboy," Dr. Noon said. After his examination he said, "His color's good, but his belly's too lanky."
Mikey started to bawl for Dr. Noon.
"Can you tell what's wrong with him?" she asked.
"I'm like you. I bet he's just hungry."
Maggie wailed. "I know it, but he still won't have me."
"Tell Buster to come in here," Dr. Noon said.
"Here I am," Buster said from the door.
"Buster, we're both cowmen. What do you think could be the matter with a healthy, newborn kid from strong stock who won't suck?"
"If Maggie don't look out, he'll leppy."
"Which means?"
"If he don't get some ninny soon, he won't ever want it, and he'll be a runt."
"Why isn't he getting his ninny if he's healthy?"
"He might be healthy, but he ain't quick enough. His mama needs to stand still so he can suck. Maggie's too wild and Mikey's too little to keep up with her."
"Now, wait a minute," Maggie said. "It's not my fault. I haven't gone off and left my baby alone for one minute."
"Maggie, I'm sorry, but you're too mean about giving your tittie," Buster said.
"I haven't been mean to my own baby."
"Buster, go out and catch the first wet cow you can find and milk this child a bottle of sweet old cow's milk," Dr. Noon said.
That was the way Mikey's parents got along when he was born. Maggie kept everyone in contention and did not exclude her newborn son. Contention gave her a reason to run out of control and she seemed to like that. She searched for ways to try people's patience until someone opposed her, then she threatened to throw a fit until everybody backed off. She never physically hurt anyone when she had a fit, but the embarrassment she caused was widespread. Paul had a terrible time with his arm. He was in a high fever when Dr. Noon came to see him the next day. The doctor said he might have to amputate the arm.
Paul said, "Ain't that something. Where would you start hacking, at my neck?"
Dr. Noon said the fever was a sign that Paul might have blood poisoning. It would spread and Paul would die. Paul said it was not the poison in his arm that caused the fever; it was because Maggie had deprived him of the Old Poison. Dr. Noon said that he would not prescribe whiskey for blood poisoning. Paul had better try to remember his prayers if whiskey was the only medicine he would take.
The patient did not suffer much longer. When Dr. Noon prescribed amputation, the arm got better f
ast. Buster cured the fever and delirium by smuggling Paul a bottle of Waterfill Frazier when Maggie was asleep. He took care of the rest of Paul's ailments with herbs. He put the yerba el pasimo on the wound to draw off the poison and hid a sack of mint leaves under the bed for them both to chew for the whiskey breath.
Maggie was hard to fool, but no two drunks in history ever stuck together more faithfully and cunningly than Paul Summers and Mikey's uncle Buster Sorrells. No two friends ever enjoyed each other more, or understood each other better than Buster and Paul. Buster supplied vital spirits and laughter and Paul recovered. Later, the family laughed and admitted that probably nothing else in the world of medicine could have saved that particular patient. Paul said that he was told by Dr. Noon that tuberculosis of the bone had infected his arm. Being told that would have been enough to scare anyone to death, but not Buster and Paul. No horror in all the world could have been worse for those two than being deprived of their whiskey.
TWO
PANCHO'S EYE
A cowboy is reckless. If he does not know how to risk his skin, he does not know how to make a hand. If he won't jump, he'll never land in the right place at the right time. A cowboy has to take chances if he is to put himself in the right place at the right time to stay ahead of his cows.
By the time he was three, Mikey spent all his waking hours outside and half of that time in the cottonwood, elderberry, and willow trees of his front yard. The only time he went in the house in the daytime was when Maggie called him back to Earth for noon sopa and siesta, the Sonorans' lunch of pasta soup and a nap. The tall cottonwood and willow trees were for adventure. The elderberry tree was for contemplation.