pages 266-269

Pages 266-269

                Pulling up a small incline, I happened to glance back.  There was the half grown brown and white shepherd puppy following as fast as his legs would carry him.  The horses had slowed to a walk and he was catching up fast with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.  He had almost gotten to the wagon when we heard the hoof beats of a horse in pursuit, hearing the man’s whistle and calling  “Here Brownie,”  Jim pulled the team to a stop saying,  “we just found out he was following.”

                The man dismounted and Brownie took off, giving his master quite a chase, coming back partly out of breath with the puppy in his arms said,  “Looks like he wants to choose who will be his owner.  I wish now I could give him to you, but a man has to keep his word.”  He mounted his horse and rode off with Brownie protesting in a whimpering like way.  The horse got into a gallop and he was soon round the bend and out of sight.

                Jim urged the horses into a slow trot.  The day was slipping fast.  He wanted to get it unloaded that evening for the stock wasted much when eating from the wagon overnight.

                Now the tall lombard poplar trees loomed into view, a very tall slim tree planted close together to form a wind break, brought to this country by the early pioneers.  These trees were at Sublett and were the last we would see for awhile.  Heading now into the dry farm country and into the narrow sage road leading to our ranch in the little valley on Shirley Creek.

                Jackie’s keen ears had picked up the clattering noise of the wagon for we could faintly hear his braying and I could picture him galloping up to the gate with his head sticking over it waiting patiently.  He always seemed to appreciate having us around for when Jim got down to open the gate, he rubbed his head up and down on his coat as a token of affection.  He then galloped off to the barn as thought he had done his good deed.  I never could understand why the horses humored him.  I looked time and again to see him kicked to pieces form both sides when he would crowd in between them to get to the part of the rack where the best and most feed was, all I could figure out was they put up with his whims because he was small and looked different from them.

                Jim pulled the team into line, getting them as close as he could to the stack lot, threw off about half then climbed down saying it would be easier for me now, for we did have an extra high load.  “Now turn around and put your feet on the cross piece of the standard and work your way down.”  He said holding on to me.  I did just that and soon I had my feet on the ground.  Jim unhitched the team, and finished the unloading.  And so supper was ready when Jim came in from the chores.  He said, “The wind has come up cool from the canyon a bit nippy on the ears,”  and going over by the stove to warm before sitting down.  The sun’s last rays had slipped behind the horizon, but the sky was still red.  The reflection showed plainly through our window as we sat down for our last meal of the day.

                I had enjoyed the trip immensely, being out of doors in the fresh clean air and those delightful rides on top of a load of sweet smelling hay.  I told Jim, “I felt badly about Brownie, wouldn’t it have been nice if we could have had him?” I said, “and a good stock dog too.”  “Yes,” Jim answered, “But we’ll get a good one sometime, maybe next time we go to Rupert.”  Little Brownie stuck in my mind.  He seemed to be the doggie for us and he wanted to belong to us.  I began to wonder if we knew the man that was to get him, just maybe we could buy him.  I did not say this to Jim.  I was afraid he’d laugh at me for such a suggestion, so I dismissed the subject.

                The table cleaned away, I washed and stacked the dishes neatly in the cupboard, standing some of the prettier plates and a platter at the back of the cupboard so it would appear attractive.  While I did this, Jim was reading aloud from a continued story, where he sat in his comfortable chair by the library table.  He had turned the wick in the burner a bit high, smoking the lamp chimney badly on one side, dimming his light.

                Noticing this I took the coal oil lamp from the kitchen table, and placed it in line with his book, then removed the smoky one.  As I did this the faint cry of a cat came to my ears.  I opened the door to peer out and in walked a pretty black and white cat.  Where he came from we never knew, but at last we had a cat.  He was friendly to the point of being too much so for when I sat down he jumped in my lap, immediately curled himself up and evidently was comfortable and content for he soon purred himself to sleep.  I left him for awhile, then opened the outside door and put him out for the night.

                We retired, but he was not content to set by the back door or go out and hunt, instead sat on the ledge of our bedroom window mewing at intervals, until we drooped off to sleep and heard no more until we awake early the next morning.

                When Jim came in from chores he said, “You know, I think we had visitors yesterday while we were gone from the looks of it,  a team and wagon other than ours turned around out by the corral.”  “That’s so? I wonder who it could have been,”  I answered.  “Could have been your folks or anyone of a number of people we know.  Came on business or a friendly visit , perhaps,” said Jim.  “Yes it could be,”  I said as we set down to breakfast and there the cat was gazing through the window at us from the outside ledge in a most hungry manner with a continual “mew.”

                After breakfast I fed him, then put him out, but every time the door was open in he came.  I said to Jim, “that’s the tamest and most domesticated pest we’ve ever had on this place.  How in the world do you suppose it ever got to our place?”  “I like cats,” I finished, “but just a little less tame.”  “Oh, well,” Jim said, “he’ll soon get wild around here,”  and so we wondered thoughout the day about our newly found pet.

                As dusk we saw a horseman come through the gate at the top of the hill and wondered who he could be.  Jim went out before he dismounted.  He was a neighbor from down by Yale.  I went out to invite him in, but said he hardly had time.  He and his family were here yesterday and found us gone, but what his business mostly was he’d like to hire the rail or help Jim to rail brush so he could get to use it.  “Well,” said Jim,  “we might make a deal, although the rail isn’t mine.  “This other fellow and I are working together, might be we could work you in too, help for help.”  He thought that would be fine.  He said, “And by the way, did you happen to see anything of a black and white cat?” “We sure did,” I replied.  Said his little girl had cried and cried because she let him jump out of the wagon yesterday and try as they may, they couldn’t find him.  I began calling “Kitty, kitty,” but no kitty came.

                Looking toward the window, I could see him sitting one the table.  I hadn’t removed the food and I thought as I went to get him,  “Am I glad to get rid of you. “  But as I neared the man on the horse he scratched me, jumping from my arms and fled.   Then the man tried his luck with “Kitty, kitty.”  I had left the door open, so instead of going to the man, fled into the house.  This time I said, “Oh, boy, this is going to be for keeps.”  Calling him nicely to me, I grabbed him and into a gunny sack he went, tying it good, delivered him to his rightful owner, figuring I preferred squirrels and chipmunks.  Where upon the man rode away and I went back to dispose of our uneaten supper, knowing not what the cat had walked or eaten on.

                Later I said to Jim, “Some cats are fine, but not house pets.”  Thus another day came to an end and perhaps a happy one for the little girl.

                More days went by and February was gone.  The days were still cool and the nights chilly.  The coyotes still howled in the wee hours of the night from his lonely surroundings and the night birds whistle-like cry still came at times from the canyon.  The plaintive—like bawl of a cow lost from the herd or a calf separated from its mother, the ornery magpie with his horse call of “maggie” all during the day.  The hoofbeats of range horses in the section, sometimes fighting, squealing, and kicking, taking off at the clap of your hands, the winds, the rains and snow that came and went, drifting and tossing tumble weeds, brush and sand, whistling around the corners of the house, the rain that pelted against the window and dripped from the eaves in the night, the snow storms that came at early dawn, covering the earth with a blanket of white, sometimes leaving four and five foot drifts, plastering trees and bushes in the canyon, causing them to shine like jewels in the sun.

                All this and more, but our hearts were filled with love for each other for we were happy and had compassion for our neighbors, who were trying as we to make a home, and harvest crops from this fertile, but dry country with its unpredictable climate, people who were “THE SALT OF THE EARTH” and more.