Banjo

by Graham Salisbury

  Dynamite would work better, Danny thought.

  He and Tyrell leaned on their picks, studying the stump. Almost four feet across. They’d done a fair amount of digging already, but not near enough to start rocking it out.

  “Why doesn’t Dad just get a backhoe to take this out?” Danny said.

  “Money. Besides, he’s got us.”

  “Right.”

  After twenty minutes of pummeling the ground around the stump, Danny looked up to see Ricky making his way over from the barn.

  “You forgot your pick,” Danny called.

  “That’s grunt work,” Ricky said. “Anyway, I have a better idea than hacking at a stump.”

  “Any idea is a better idea than this,” Tyrell said. “What is it?”

  Ricky pulled a beat-up leather glove out of his rear pocket. “Today I ride your crazy bull.”

  Danny groaned. “It’s a steer, not a bull.”

  “So? He acts like a bull.”

  Tyrell sank his pick into the stump. “I like it.”

  Danny grinned at Ricky. “I guess it would be fun to see that beast stomp your butt into the dirt.”

  Ricky smiled. “Now you’re talking. Let’s do it.”

  Danny saddled Pete, then cut the wild steer out of the bunch and, along with Tyrell and Ricky, hazed him into the working pen.

  The steer lowered his head and hoofed the dirt. He looked mean with his ten-inch horns, but Danny knew he wasn’t. He just had an attitude.

  “Hoo-ee,” Tyrell said, keeping clear of the steer. “He wants your hide, Ricky. You sure you want to do this?”

  “Oh yeah.” He pulled his bull-riding glove on. “Let’s go get him.”

  Danny, on Pete, roped the steer and pulled him toward the roping chute. It wasn’t a perfect situation. A real bull-riding chute opened to the side, not front. But this would do. Tyrell and Ricky pushed and shoved and snugged him up close to the front. Danny slid off Pete and stuck a board through the fencing to keep the steer from backing up.

  Ricky climbed the fence and looked down on the steer. “Got a piece of rope we can tie around his belly? I need something to hang on to.”

  Danny got one from the barn, and Ricky and Tyrell ran the rope around the steer’s chest, just behind the front legs. They pulled it up tight. “That ought to do it,” Tyrell said.

  “Now, to get on this thing,” Ricky said. “You two hold him tight. He’s not going to like me on his back.”

  Danny and Tyrell each took one side of the steer to hold him in place. “How we going to get out of the way when we turn him loose?” Danny said, looking at Tyrell across the steer’s back. “He could go out kicking.”

  “Climb over the fence after I get on,” Ricky said. “Open the gate when I say.”

  Ricky got up on the fence and lowered himself down onto the steer’s back.

  The steer jumped forward, snorted, and tried to climb the gate.

  Tyrell and Danny leaped out of the way but came back when the steer settled down. “Hurry up,” Tyrell said.

  The steer kicked and leaned into Danny, pushing him into the fence. Danny slapped its rump and the steer shifted toward Tyrell.

  Ricky worked his gloved hand under the rope.

  “Aren’t you supposed to tie your hand down?” Danny asked.

  “On a real bull, yeah. But for a little guy, this will do.”

  “Five hundred pounds isn’t so little,” Tyrell said.

  Ricky raised his eyebrows. “That what he weighs?”

  “Looks like it.”

  Danny shoved the steer. It was crowding him again. “Come on. He’s gonna squash me.”

  “Okay,” Ricky said. “Get the gate.”

  Danny climbed over the fence.

  Tyrell got up on the top rung and sat with his feet on the steer, trying to hold him in place.

  Ricky pulled his hat low and held tight. He nodded. “Go!”

  Danny sprang the gate open.

  Tyrell reached down and slapped the steer’s rump. “Haw!”

  He did it again. “Hawww!”

  The steer just stood there.

  Tyrell shoved it with his foot. “Git! Go!”

  The steer turned to look at him.

  When they realized the steer wasn’t going anywhere, Danny and Tyrell cracked up. They staggered around, laughing at Ricky.

  “Come on!” Ricky shouted. “Buck, you lazy beast!”

  Nothing.

  Danny pointed at Ricky on the parked steer. “That has got to be the funniest thing I’ve ever seen!”

  “Dang,” Ricky said.

  He got off and, together with Tyrell, pushed the steer out of the chute. “Show’s over. You can go home.”

  The steer walked out into the arena and looked back at them, the rope around his chest beginning to slip off.

  “He’s a wild one, all right,” Danny said, still laughing.

  The steer lowered its head and trotted over to the open gate. Danny watched it meander out into the pasture. For thirty minutes he hadn’t thought a thing about what he’d done to Banjo.

  It all came rushing back.

  44

  FRIDAY

  On Friday, Danny and Dad brought two steers into the arena and took turns roping and running the chute. They practiced for three hours, and the whole time Danny worried about what Dad and Mr. Brodie had talked about on the phone. Dad hadn’t said a word about that conversation.

  But if he’d called about Banjo, Dad would have been all over it.

  Wouldn’t he?

  Just after they’d sent the steers back out into the pasture, Mr. Brodie came dusting up the drive.

  He parked, got out, and put on his hat. “Ray. Danny.”

  Dad and Mr. Brodie shook hands. “How’s the family?” Dad said.

  “Good, good. Boys like to work less and less, though. Must be the age.”

  Dad nodded.

  “So—what I called about…,” Mr. Brodie said.

  A wave of fear washed over Danny, his hands instantly sweating. He saw the dog sign.

  Dad turned to Danny. “Go on and get the post-hole digger for Harmon, would you?”

  Danny hesitated. What?

  “You forget where it is?”

  “Ah…no, no…I’ll get it.”

  He headed to the toolshed and laid his head against the door.

  I can’t live like this. Tell Dad. Tell him as soon as Mr. Brodie leaves.

  He took a deep breath, got the post-hole digger, and brought it out.

  “Keep it as long as you want,” Dad said. “We won’t need it anytime soon.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  Mr. Brodie drove off.

  Tell him!

  “Dad, I…”

  He stopped. He couldn’t do it. Not before the rodeo. In the arena, Dad had to trust him. Every second.

  “…I think I’ll stay out here and rope the dummy for a while.”

  Dad nodded and went into the house.

  45

  SATURDAY

  Meg woke and sprang up: Rodeo day. Danny Mack.

  This was the day she would find him, this kid she didn’t like.

  In the kitchen, Dad was towering over a huge mess on the counter. He smiled. “Homemade pancakes. Want some?”

  Meg looked at the box of Bisquick. “Homemade, huh?”

  “Made them at home, didn’t I?”

  “Thanks, Dad, but I’m not hungry.”

  Jacob and Jeremy stumbled in and hunched over the table. Mr. Harris handed each of them a plate stacked with pancakes.

  Meg managed one, then pushed her chair back. “Thanks for making breakfast, Dad. It was good.”

  “That all you’re having?”

  “I have to check
on Banjo.”

  Jeremy grabbed her plate and scraped her leftovers onto his.

  “Oink,” she said.

  Banjo was sitting out in the pasture watching the horses again. He stood when he saw her.

  “Come, Banjo. Come here, boy.”

  He hesitated, then reluctantly came toward her, head down, tail brushing the grass. He stopped halfway and sat.

  Meg sighed but was pleased that he’d at least done that much.

  If Danny Mack showed one ounce of not caring for Banjo, she’d walk away, just like that.

  “Meg?”

  Mom tiptoed out into the dewy pasture in her sheepskin slippers with a plate of leftover pancakes. “I thought Banjo might like these.”

  Meg took one and held it up. “Look what I’ve got for you.”

  Banjo snatched it and ate it in two gulps. He looked up for more.

  “Wow!” Meg said. “Who knew pancakes were the key?”

  Mom pulled Meg close. “If we don’t find who he belongs to, you can keep him.”

  “Really?”

  “But you’ll have to do all the extra work. This place is turning into a zoo.”

  “You know I will.”

  “Give him another pancake before his eyes bug out.”

  Meg gave him the last two, then knelt and rubbed his back, his pancake breath warm on her face.

  “Mom…how can you tell if someone abandoned his dog? He sure wouldn’t tell you.”

  “No.”

  “I guess Banjo’s not lost at all, is he?”

  “Listen,” Mom said. “If it feels wrong to give Banjo back, we won’t. But people should have a chance to have their say.”

  “His story better be good, then, because if it isn’t, I’ll have my say.”

  46

  Tyrell and Danny left early that morning to pick Ann up. It was a clear and sunny high desert day, no wind to kick up dust. Perfect weather for rodeo competition. Danny was sorry Ricky had to miss it, but he had to go to Medford with his family. Danny grinned, thinking of him sitting in the chute on the stock-still steer.

  After a few minutes of silence, Danny turned to Tyrell. “Want to hear something weird?”

  “Tell me.”

  “Couple days ago I found an empty beer bottle up on the ridge. There was still some beer in it.”

  “Strange. How you suppose it got there?”

  Danny looked at him.

  Tyrell laughed. “Wasn’t me, little brother.”

  “Then who?”

  “Ghosts,” Tyrell said.

  Danny looked out the window, the country rolling by, gold and clean in the morning sun. Ghosts. Almost funny, because the mysterious beer bottle haunted him.

  Danny closed his eyes and slept until they got to Ann’s house.

  * * *

  • • •

  “Thanks for inviting me,” Ann said as she sat between them on the bench seat in Tyrell’s truck. She elbowed Danny. “Nervous?”

  “Me?”

  “The rodeo.”

  He held out a hand. “Steady as a tire iron.”

  Of course he was nervous. If he ever wasn’t, then that was when he should be. Nerves gave him a sharper edge.

  “Don’t you need a horse?” Ann asked.

  Tyrell barked a laugh.

  “Dad drove the horses over this morning,” Danny said.

  Warm air flowed in the window. Danny took a deep breath. “Love that country air.”

  “Smells like cow manure,” Ann said.

  “That’s what I mean.”

  Ann laughed. “Cowboys.”

  “Tie-down roper, ma’am,” Tyrell said. “That’s what he is. Team roper, too.”

  Danny tapped the door with his hand. “I’m hoping to get a rodeo scholarship at Colorado State and compete in the college nationals.”

  Ann smiled. “I hope you do, too….And don’t you boys call me ma’am.”

  Tyrell turned to her. “Yes, miss.”

  She slugged him.

  “Hey. That’s my tire-changing arm.”

  Danny drifted off in a confusion of thoughts.

  Banjo.

  Meg Harris.

  Dad.

  Lies.

  Stop! Focus!

  He couldn’t let Dad down in the arena. They were a team. If one of them couldn’t concentrate, they’d both pay the price.

  He’d call Meg right after the rodeo.

  And he’d tell Dad the truth…tonight.

  Looking at the landscape made him feel lighter; it filled him with something good, this place of outrageous skies, mountains, icy clean waters that flowed in creeks and streams and rivers. Dad called it “God’s country.”

  Up ahead, trucks and cars were lined along the road, turning off toward the rodeo grounds. Danny clicked on country music radio to get into the spirit.

  Ann leaned forward. “I love this!”

  Tyrell tapped to the beat on the steering wheel as they turned in. When they parked, Danny jumped out and offered his hand to Ann.

  “Thank you, Mr. Tie-Down Roper.”

  Danny touched his hat. “A pleasure, miss.” He cracked up.

  Danny wore a silver rodeo buckle, a blue snap-button shirt, and his black Resistol triple-X hat, pulled down to his ears, shading his face, almost hiding it. There wasn’t anything else in the world as good as rodeo. Except maybe Ricky’s mom’s peach pie.

  Ann hooked one arm through his and one through Tyrell’s as they headed toward the arena. They walked along with women in tight jeans, some wearing wide-brimmed hats like Danny’s, and guys in Wranglers with belts and big silver buckles.

  “We need to find Dad,” Danny said. “But first, let’s get you a seat with the sun to your back ’fore they’re all taken.”

  Tyrell ran ahead and picked out a spot, dead center.

  As Ann sat down, Danny said, “See you in a bit. I got to get ready.”

  Tyrell touched Ann’s shoulder. “Save my seat. I’ll check in with Dad, then get us something to drink.”

  “Don’t worry about me. Great people watching.”

  Danny and Tyrell headed down the stands.

  47

  Higher up, and a little to the right, Jacob leaned close to Meg. “See the guy down there in the blue shirt and black hat with that other guy showing the blonde where to sit? That’s Danny Mack.”

  Meg watched them, eight or ten rows down. They were laughing. She couldn’t see much of Danny’s face because of his hat. But the girl was pretty.

  “So there he is,” Jeremy said. “You going to ask him about the dog?”

  “Maybe.”

  Jeremy spat between his feet. “Dog dumper.”

  Mrs. Harris leaned over and glared at him. “No spitting.”

  “Sorry.”

  “He doesn’t look like a dog dumper,” Meg said.

  Strangely, she hoped this boy wasn’t the Danny Mack she was looking for. He looked nice.

  Danny and the other guy made their way down the stands and headed toward the rough-stock pens.

  Meg stood.

  “Go get him,” Jacob said.

  “Yep.” She started down, heading toward the chutes, where the contestants were.

  It was a different world back there.

  Men and boys barely out of high school milled around, brooding, thinking whatever they thought before going out to get stomped and broken.

  She moved through them.

  Who are you, Danny Mack?

  48

  Tyrell headed over to the concessions as Danny made his way past the stock pens to find Dad and get Pete warmed up.

  The Brahma bulls were bug-eyed and kicking up dust. Danny stopped and looked them over, leaning on the metal rails al
ong with the silent wranglers who’d be riding them. Some weren’t much older than he was, but every one of them was iron tough. Some walked with slight limps. Some squatted down to peer through the fencing. Others leaned up against walls, unmoving. One looked about twelve.

  Danny jumped back as a huge snorty bull came at him. Then it hopped up on another bull, raising a cloud of dust. He couldn’t imagine getting up on a Brahma. Guys who did were made of something he wasn’t.

  He sensed someone watching him and turned to look.

  A girl. Long blond hair, tied back. Light blue eyes, serious.

  He touched his hat.

  49

  Meg froze.

  That’s him, watching the bulls!

  She took a step back. Her scalp prickled.

  He looked to be about her age, and yet older at the same time. Middle school face, high school body.

  He turned and looked at her.

  Meg stopped breathing. Something inside made her stop.

  Slowly Danny Mack reached up and touched the brim of his hat with his thumb and two fingers.

  Meg backed away. Heat rushed to her face. She wanted to turn back and face him. But she was so embarrassed, caught looking at him.

  She shoved her way through the crowd, back to the stands. This wasn’t going the way she wanted it to.

  Someone grabbed her arm. “Hey, slow down,” Jacob said. “You running from something?”

  “No…I’m not…I mean…”

  “You talk to him?”

  She shook her head. “I couldn’t.”

  Jacob looked over her head at the stock pens. “Well, I sure can.”

  “No! Jacob, don’t. Let me do this my way, okay?”

  “All right. I’ll stay out of it…for now.”

  “I can do this,” Meg said. “I just need to think it through.”

  Jacob mussed her hair and headed over to the concessions.

  Meg leaned against a metal rail.

  I’ll just go back and tell him I have his dog. What’s so hard about that? It’s not like I’m asking him for anything, or wanting something from him. I have a dog that might be his. That’s all.