by Jessie Haas
Cole unhitched. He took Nip’s bridle off, and at Uncle Daney’s suggestion he lifted the collar and wiped Nip’s sweaty shoulders with an old towel. Then he got the hay out of the cart—half of one of the bales Pop had bought for the calf this winter. He put it in front of Nip, and Nip lowered his head to it peacefully.
Uncle Daney yawned and stretched. “Oh, I’m tuckered! Think I’ll catch forty winks.” He settled his chair in the shadow of the cart and closed his eyes.
Cole sat on the ground beside him, with his back against the cart’s tire. Sleep was out of the question, but he could rest and watch the men walking to and fro, laughing.…
When he opened his eyes an hour later, Uncle Daney was gone.
Cole looked toward the midway. There were lots of people there, bright spots of color moving against the bright background of tents and signs. He couldn’t see a wheelchair anywhere.
Some people were setting up a loudspeaker system in the back of a pickup truck. Cole walked over toward them, and the lady who was testing the system looked up. “Oh, you’re awake! Your uncle met somebody he knew. Said to tell you he’d be right back.”
Cole went back to the cart and waited. He watched the men in blue T-shirts set up the road cones and the tennis balls. Then they put up signs, showing the pattern to follow through the cones. Cole memorized it. Uncle Daney should be doing this! he thought, but Uncle Daney wasn’t back yet.
A big truck pulled in, and a team of black horses was unloaded. The horses were much bigger than Nip, tall and broad and shiny. Cole watched a big man harness them, and then Uncle Daney came back. An old man in overalls was pushing him because Uncle Daney’s hands were full—a plate of sausage with peppers and onions and two big cones of cotton candy.
“Mom’s bringing supper,” Cole said. Uncle Daney shouldn’t be going around spending money. They were here to make money.
“I never been to a fair where I didn’t eat m’self sick,” Uncle Daney said, “and I’m too old to reform.” He handed the plate of sausage and a cotton candy to Cole. The sausage had been smelling good to Cole for half an hour now. It tasted just as good as it smelled.
After he’d finished eating, Cole showed Uncle Daney the pattern for the Single-Horse Log Skid. Uncle Daney looked at it for a minute and traced it with a sticky, pink-stained finger. Then he turned away to watch the trucks come in and the teams unload. Cole squirmed and read the pattern again. He’d be right behind Uncle Daney, pushing, he reminded himself. He’d be able to whisper in Uncle Daney’s ear.
Now there were a dozen teams in the little tie-up area: huge horses, bays and sorrels and grays. They all were in harness, and people were driving them around, each horse separate but looking toward his mate, some of them moving together stride for stride, just as if they were in double harness. Nip stood beside the cart, pointing his ears at them. He looked small and humble.
Ray West arrived, with giant Cloud and Pewter. Shouts rang back and forth, and Uncle Daney and Cole were introduced to more people than they could possibly remember. The Allard brothers pulled in with two big trucks, four big teams. Roger was there, working with all the rest of them.
Now the loudspeaker crackled to life. “Welcome to the fifth annual Farm Horse Contest here at the Richfield Fair. We’re ready to start the first class, the Single-Horse Log Skid. Anybody that hasn’t registered better come up here now.”
Oops! Cole thought. He went up and put their names down, Uncle Daney for the Single-Horse Log Skid, himself for the Egg and Spoon Race. While he was doing that, the first driver started.
There were three logs lined up at the start. A chain was wrapped around the middle log, and hooked to the chain, a whippletree. The man drove up to the log, dropped the reins on the ground, and tried to hitch on. His horse swung around restlessly. He had to speak to the horse and bring him back in line with the log. Finally he was ready, and the horse started walking.
Until this moment the pairs of orange cones had looked far apart to Cole. But as he saw the huge horse heading toward them, he realized this was impossible. No one could do this.
First the horse and then the whole length of the log passed between the cones. Cole heard a sigh from the people near him. Nobody else had thought it possible either.
He went back to Uncle Daney, who was sitting near the cart with an ever-growing crowd of old men. There was a lot of talking and joking, and Cole could hardly get close. He wanted to be next to Uncle Daney, so they could comment together about this driver, plan their strategy. But Uncle Daney didn’t seem to be paying as much attention as Cole had hoped.
The next obstacle was four cones set up in a rectangle. The horse went through without touching, and the driver started to turn him. Too soon, Cole thought, and he heard Uncle Daney grunt. So he was watching! The log rolled with the turn and knocked over a cone.
Next the driver had to zigzag through five cones set up in a line. His horse turned hard, in big fat loops. “That’ll cost him time,” somebody said, and Cole began to feel better. He watched as the log knocked over another cone and a dangling chain from the whippletree picked off a tennis ball.
Now the lawn chair. The driver dropped his reins on the ground and sat down, while the timekeeper looked at his watch. The horse stood with his ears back and his head high, and the man watched sharply, as if he didn’t believe the horse would stand. At the end of thirty seconds he jumped up and grabbed the reins and walked the horse back to the starting point.
Now he had to line the log up even with the other two logs and perfectly parallel. Cole had spent a long time practicing that, and he wasn’t surprised to see this driver leave the log crooked. “We can beat that,” Uncle Daney said.
“Nice round for Hank Taylor,” the loudspeaker lady said, and Cole heard clapping. He looked to the bleachers and was surprised to see that they were nearly full. Behind the bleachers the Ferris wheel whirled, and the carnival music squawked. The people in the bleachers paid no attention. They leaned forward to watch as the next horse came up to the logs. Cole hadn’t imagined that so many people would be watching or that they’d care so much.
The second horse was worse than the first. Now Cole could relax. He put Nip’s bridle on, and he untied the baling twine reins from the bit. He got the crowbar from under the seat, ready for Uncle Daney to use when he hitched on. He led Nip closer to the starting line, and he stood beside him, looking around at the big horses, the men in work pants and dark-colored T-shirts—the kind of men you see on road crews or coming out of the factory at the end of a shift. Most of them were older. Only the Allard brothers seemed as young as Pop. They stood a little apart, making a crowd on their own with their wives, their children, and their teams.
Somebody hit his shoulder. “Hey, Cole!” It was Roger. “Saw you last week.” Roger was smiling, as if it were easier to say something friendly here at the fair than in school.
“Saw you, too,” Cole said. He put his hand on Nip’s neck.
“This your uncle’s horse? Hey, you forgot to put the reins on.”
Cole didn’t answer, and Roger stood quiet, watching the third man wipe out three cones on the zigzag. Was Roger worried, too? Cole wondered. After a minute he turned away. “Think I’m next.”
When the third man was finished, the loudspeaker lady said, “And now we have a special competitor—for his first drive here, Roger Allard, driving Buster. Roger’s a member of the famous Allard family”—a cheer went up from the little crowd of Allards—“and he’s the youngest driver here today. Roger’s twelve years old. Let’s give him a big hand!”
Claps went up from the crowd in the bleachers. Cole saw Mom and Pop over there. Pop had his good blue shirt on—
“How old are you, Coley?”
Cole jumped. Uncle Daney had wheeled over to him, out of the crowd of old men.
“Twelve,” Cole said. “I’m twelve, too.” He watched Roger drive his bay horse up to the log and try to hook on. He was driving the way the men drove the pulling teams
, leaning back on the reins, his arms bulging. Uncle Daney shook his head.
“Seems to me if a feller’s got muscles, he uses ’em, instead of usin’ his brain. Now this kid can no more hold that horse than a fly could, but he don’t know it!” Uncle Daney gave a cackle. “Bet ye the horse does, though!”
Cole watched as Roger hitched. The bay horse wouldn’t stand, and after a minute one of the Allards had to come over to hold it. The tips of Roger’s ears got red, and Cole felt sorry for him. He didn’t know if he wanted Roger to do well or not.
Roger made it through the first set of cones and swung the horse around. He looked small now, to Cole, and he was pulling hard on the reins. The horse went crooked and wiped out two of the next four cones.
Turn again; now the horse was heading straight toward the ropes. When Roger tried to turn him, he just kept going. People sitting near the ropes scrambled up quickly. Roger dug in his heels and pulled hard, and at the last possible moment the bay horse turned. People cheered, and Uncle Daney shook his head.
“He’s with them loggin’ Allards, ain’t he? Ought to know better’n to drive a horse like that.” He watched Roger’s meandering struggle through the obstacles in silent disapproval.
Cole felt sorry for Roger as long as his back was turned. But when Roger headed toward the finish line and Cole saw the manly, satisfied look on his face, he changed his mind.
“A big hand for a promising young teamster,” the loudspeaker lady said as Roger stopped the log, crooked and out of line. Uncle Daney snorted.
“We’ll show ’em a promisin’ young teamster!”
“But I’m not skidding,” Cole said. “You are.”
Uncle Daney looked up at him and after a long moment put one hand on his stomach. “Think maybe that cotton candy gave me a bellyache,” he said.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
COLE STARED at him. Uncle Daney was the healthiest-looking old man he had ever seen, wheelchair or not.
“But I thought you wanted to!” Cole knew he had wanted it: Uncle Daney in his wheelchair out in that ring, showing the teamsters and the old men on the sidelines, the tourists, and Mom and Pop how it was done. He’d been looking forward to that almost as much as to the prize money. “Anyway, you’ve got a lot better chance!”
Uncle Daney shook his head. “I could get through clean, I betcha, but we’re still too danged slow. Watch Ray now. Here’s the man you got to beat.”
Ray West was driving his big silver horse Cloud through the obstacles. Man and horse walked along easily, relaxed. The reins were long and loose, and Ray turned Cloud lightly, skimming through the zigzag in flat, shallow curves. In the lawn chair he crossed his legs and chatted with the timekeeper. He stopped the log perfectly parallel to the others and perfectly even. He had knocked off only two tennis balls. The crowd set up a loud cheer even before the announcer could call for one.
“Go up and change the names, Cole,” Uncle Daney said. “And quit aglowerin’.”
Cole had registered last, so he had to stand and watch all the Allards go before him—big men, with bulging muscles and red, outdoor faces. Some drove better than others, but none was as good as Ray West. Cole watched closely, noting every place that was hard for them. But they drove so differently, with their muscles, with their high, broad shoulders, arms spread wide, the reins making tight lines back to their tight fists. It didn’t seem as if Cole could learn anything. He and Nip weren’t going to do it that way.
Finally the last Allard pulled up at the finish line, and the loudspeaker lady spoke Cole’s name. Cole’s heart beat so hard he thought it must be fluttering his shirt-front. He glanced once, quickly, at the bleachers, where Mom was sitting frozen and Pop had stood up. Then he said, “Walk, Nip,” and went up to the logs. As he turned Nip around to hitch on, he heard the slow, wondering murmur of the crowd.
“That’s right, folks,” the loudspeaker lady said cheerfully. “He doesn’t have any reins. That’s how they do it in some of the camps up north, so they tell me, so watch close. You’re going to see something special.”
Cole’s face went hot. Why had Uncle Daney done this to him? “Walk, Nip,” he said, and as the log started moving, he looked ahead to the narrow space between the cones. “Haw a little. Walk on.”
Nip walked through without touching. The log followed.
“Turn him now!” Uncle Daney would be saying if this were their sap bucket course in the pasture. Cole stepped away from Nip, so he could see what angle to take. “Haw, Nip. Haw a little. Walk on!” This was where he had an advantage. Working without reins, he didn’t have to stay close behind Nip, where he couldn’t see.
He didn’t know what to do with his hands, though. He shoved them in his pockets. “Gee now! Okay, walk.”
Nip walked along comfortably, his ears at their usual mild angle. When he turned and saw the bleachers filled with people, he seemed surprised for a moment. Cole tried not to see Mom and Pop, but he couldn’t help it. They were standing right at the rope now, looking at him. Pop had a big grin on his face, and Mom was smiling her helpless, Uncle Daney smile. “Haw, Nip,” Cole said, and looked away from them.
Now the zigzag. That was the hardest part. Cole couldn’t think and speak quickly enough, Nip couldn’t respond quickly enough, to move through it the way Ray West had. They made fat, time-wasting curves like everyone else. The one time Cole did manage to flatten out the curve, the log brushed a cone, and the tennis ball fell off.
Out of the zigzag, between two more cones—he misjudged, knocked off another ball. And now the lawn chair. “Whoa, Nip.” Nip stopped, steady and solid, as if he would stand there all day, and Cole sat down.
He could feel them all looking, their eyes like hard rain on his face. Even though he tried not to and sat looking at his knees, he could see Uncle Daney, his silvery head and the polished wheels of his chair gleaming in the late-afternoon sun. He could see Roger Allard standing with his mouth open, the rest of the Allards talking around him excitedly.
“This is something to see,” one of the timekeepers said to Cole, never taking his eyes from his watch. “My grandfather had a horse like this—all right! Time’s up!”
“Walk, Nip,” Cole said even before he got out of the chair. Nip walked to the finish line. Cole swung him around and stopped the log, even with the others and almost parallel.
“Let’s hear it for this young man!” said the loudspeaker lady as the bleachers burst into applause. The sound was loud enough to mute the carnival music for a moment. Cole unhitched from the log, keeping his head bent. As soon as he was unhitched, he led Nip straight into the group of horses behind the starting line. Only then could he lift his head. Even Nip was small here, and behind the giant bulk of Cloud and Pewter, he was hidden.
Ray West was standing behind his horses, the reins slack in his hands. He made a thumbs-up sign to Cole as Uncle Daney wheeled slowly forward to meet them.
When Cole saw the I-told-you-so look Uncle Daney flashed toward the group of old men, all the tightness eased out of his chest. Uncle Daney grinned and gripped Cole’s hand. His own hand was still sticky with cotton candy. He held his other palm out for Nip to lick. Cole rubbed Nip’s neck, and for a second the three of them were joined in a circle.
Then Pop was thumping him on the shoulders. “Nice job, Cole!”
And Mom was asking, “But your stomach’s all better now, Uncle Daney?”
Uncle Daney’s friends were gathering, congratulating Cole and congratulating Uncle Daney even more. Cole leaned against Nip’s warm shoulder. There was so much talk going on he didn’t have to say anything at all. He felt more relaxed and happy than he had in a long time. For just a moment he knew exactly who he was and what he looked like, where he fitted in the world. He could measure himself and Nip directly. Nip was a small work horse, and he was the smallest driver—a lot smaller even than Roger Allard. He could see what he must have looked like as he went around the course: a skinny little kid with big work boots on, his hands stuff
ed in his pockets.
He could even see what he’d be like when he grew up—not big and broad like Roger, like Sherm Allard and like Pop, but little and wispy. Like Mom. Like Uncle Daney. He would always need to do things Uncle Daney’s way. He was never going to outgrow that.…
“All right, in just a minute we’ll be ready to start the team events, but first here’s the results for the Single-Horse Log Skid.”
Cole straightened, waiting.
“First place goes to Ray West, with ninety points, time of five minutes forty-nine seconds. Second, Cole Tatro, eighty-five points, time of five minutes forty seconds. Third, Sherm Allard, eighty-five points, time five minutes fifty-five seconds—”
“You beat him on time!” Ray West said. “Heck, you beat me on time! If you’d gotten that log a hair straighter at the end, young feller, you’d have beat me altogether!”
Cole felt complicated now—proud and pleased—but he hadn’t won. That was forty dollars, not fifty. He listened to the loudspeaker. Fourth place, fifth place, sixth place …
Across the ring, between the huge teams, Cole saw Roger waiting, too. He was pretending not to listen, joshing with his uncles as they coupled two giant horses together to make a team. But when sixth place went by, and Roger’s name hadn’t been mentioned, he didn’t laugh off defeat the way his uncles had. A bright color burned in his cheeks, and his eyes never moved in Cole’s direction. There seemed to be an invisible wall in the air that turned Roger’s gaze away.
CHAPTER TWELVE
RAY WEST hadn’t entered the Wood Load Race. He needed a partner for that. But after Cole had hung the shining red ribbon on Nip’s collar and accepted more congratulations—too much, too visible in front of Roger Allard—Ray said he would enter if Pop would help him, and Pop said yes.