Man of the Family (25 page)

In the dark, Mrs. Callahan looked like a big boulder lying there—and there was a smaller boulder beside her. The little fellow couldn't have been more than half an hour old. And he was still wet, where she'd licked him. I patted Mrs. Callahan on the neck as I bent down to get a look at her calf in the dark. I think she kind of liked me—even if I had popped her with the line end. She turned her head toward the calf for half a minute, then looked up at me. And the tone of her voice said, “This is my beloved son,” just as plain as could be.

There wasn't any sense in thinking about moving that morning with a brand-new calf; he wouldn't be strong enough to travel. And I'd eaten my last biscuits and bacon for supper. I just sat down on a scrub oak root and waited for full daylight to come, so I could really have a good look at Mrs. Callahan's calf. While I was waiting, I named him Sean. I'd seen it in a book about a red-headed Irish boy, and I thought it was a nice name to go with Callahan. Little Sean's head was bright red, too. He was bright red all over—without a single white spot—and his hoofs were white instead of black.

With daylight, I didn't dare leave the rest of the herd too long, so I went back to our camp. Most of the cows were up, and a couple of them had already wandered off into the edge of the brush. It only took Lady and me a few minutes to round them up again. And then there was nothing to do but sit and wait. I knew we must be about halfway between Palmer Lake and Larkspur, and it was Sunday, but I thought I could get one of the storekeepers to open up and sell me the things I'd need. A milk cow with a new calf has to travel pretty slow if she's going to graze as she goes. I had plenty of money, so I planned that, instead of buying oats for Lady, I'd buy twenty-five pounds of meal. That way, I could divide it with Mrs. Callahan—meal is all right for horses, but oats aren't very good for cows.

There wouldn't be any sense in going to town before half past seven or eight o'clock. Once in a while I rode over to see how Mrs. Callahan and Sean were getting along. There wasn't much else to do; just ride around the herd now and again to keep the cows from drifting into the brush. To keep from just sitting and doing nothing, I found a good solid chunk of driftwood, whetted my knife blade on the sole of my boot, and started whittling a little Sean. I got so interested in it that I forgot about going to the store till after eight o'clock. Then I flipped my five-dollar gold piece to see whether I'd ride back to Palmer Lake or ahead to Larkspur. It came down tails up, and I'd decided that would be Larkspur.

I knew the cows would scatter a bit while I was gone. But it was only four or five miles, so I left them bunched in the middle of the meadow, and put Lady into a good swinging canter. It only took us about twenty minutes to get to Larkspur. And then it didn't do us any good. The storekeeper had left for Castle Rock half an hour earlier, so all I could do was ride back to camp. Altogether, we hadn't been away a bit more than an hour.

There wasn't a cow in sight when we got back to camp. And, except for a few droppings, you couldn't have told that we'd ever been there. They'd just disappeared like pheasants in hunting season. For a bunch of old cows that couldn't be driven much more than a mile an hour, they'd really done a good job of scattering. Some of them had drifted as much as two miles from camp before I found them. And it took me till way after noon to get them all rounded up again.

By that time I was really hungry, but I couldn't do anything about it. There were three ranch houses within a couple of miles. The woman in any one of them would have given me a meal, but I didn't dare leave the cows long enough to go and get it. If they got scattered again, I might not get them rounded up before dark. And then I really would be dished. I might not find them all for a week.

The only good grazing near us was right there in our little meadow. If they'd stayed there and fed during the morning, we'd have been ready to move on by noon. But, from scattering so far, most of them were as empty as rain barrels in August. I decided I'd have to hold them where we were for a couple of hours, to graze. If Mrs. Callahan grazed too, she and Sean should be in pretty fair shape to travel after that, and I could push them along until nine or ten at night.

Mrs. Callahan didn't graze worth a nickel. She was so proud of Sean that she spent all her time licking him, feeding him, and bragging about him to the other cows. When I brought them out into the meadow, most of the other cows went over to smell him. And every time one did, Mrs. Callahan would gurgle in her throat as though she were saying, “Isn't he pretty? Don't you think he looks like me?”

If we had been where there was open prairie, I could have moved the herd along a little as they grazed. I couldn't do that, though, with the scrub oak and sagebrush growing right up close to the road. If I'd tried it, I'd have had cows dodging away behind every clump. And it would have taken all my time to keep them rounded up.

When I thought it was four o'clock, I put the herd on the highroad. It was still pretty warm, but not nearly as hot as it had been earlier, and I planned to keep pushing till we were just outside of Larkspur. Then I thought I could find a boy to watch the cows while I went and got something to eat. My belt buckle was nearly rubbing on my backbone.

We didn't get to Larkspur, though, for two days. Maybe it was Mrs. Callahan's bragging about Sean that did it, and maybe it was just because it was time. Anyway, a couple of my cows just couldn't travel. Before we'd gone a mile, an automobile came along and I had to get the cows off the road in a hurry. I didn't get them back on it till the next evening.

As soon as we were in the bush, my two tired cows lay down. They wouldn't even get up for tail twisting. And by morning, each of them had a calf. I was so hungry I didn't care how far the rest of them scattered. As soon as seven o'clock came, I rode into Larkspur. I didn't need to have bought quite as many groceries as I did. If I hadn't been so hungry, I probably wouldn't have done it, but I got a whole pound of cheese, a loaf of bread, a dozen eggs, and half a dozen sugared doughnuts. And I bought fifty pounds of meal for Lady and the cows with calves.

Really, I didn't get held up much by the cows having their calves that Sunday night. The next day was Labor Day, and they had an automobile race from Colorado Springs to Denver. From nine o'clock in the morning till dark, it wouldn't have been safe to have had a cow on the highroad. It wasn't only the automobiles in the race; I think everybody in Denver who owned one, had it on the Colorado Springs Highway that day. The dust was so thick I don't see how the fellows who drove the racing automobiles could see to stay on the road. They went whizzing by faster than an express train.

It isn't much more than ten miles from Larkspur to Castle Rock, but it took us five days to get there. There wasn't a single night when there wasn't at least one calf born. There were ten of them when we went through Castle Rock, and most of them were still wabbly on their legs. I'd run all out of money, buying groceries for myself and meal for Lady and the fresh cows. Of course, it didn't take very much for groceries. As soon as Sean was two days old, there was all the milk I could drink. Cow's milk isn't good for people to drink during the first couple of days.

The storekeeper at Castle Rock said I could have all the groceries and grain I wanted, and that he'd charge it to Mr. Batchlett. I really didn't need it, specially not enough to charge it, but I took a whole lemon pie—and I ate it all as soon as I got out to the edge of town where I'd left the herd. It was the first lemon pie I'd seen since before Decoration Day.

We didn't have too much trouble in getting from Castle Rock to Littleton. It was a little more than twenty-two miles, but there weren't any more new calves, and we made it in two days. I'd had about the best time of my life that summer, but I was awfully glad to get home.

27

Mother's Big Secret

E
VERYBODY
was glad to see me when I got home from Batchlett's ranch. In the three months I'd been gone, Grace had changed from being a little girl to a woman, and she didn't like me to josh her about Ed Bemis. Elizabeth was walking, and Philip was nearly as strong as I. Muriel and Hal seemed inches taller, and Mother's cheeks were rosy and pink. During cherry and berry season, Grace and the children had done about as well as we did the year before and, with my check from Mr. Batchlett, we had nearly three hundred dollars in the bank.

Philip and I got in the winter's hay alone that fall, and by Thanksgiving we had the woodshed stacked to the rafters with coal and ties sawed into stove length. In an early sleet storm we picked apples on shares, and the garden was a fine one; so our cellar was loaded with all the canned fruit, apples, and vegetables we could use through the winter, and my rabbit hutch was crowded.

At Christmas, Grace went up to the mountains with me for the tree. We only got one for ourselves. It was the nicest trip we ever had together. Grace could always remember things just the way I remembered them. It was a sharp, windy day, but we had so much fun talking that we didn't get cold at all.

On New Year's Day Carl Henry was in Littleton and dropped by our house. It was the first time we'd seen any of our old neighbors from the ranch since before Thanksgiving. Mother made him promise to stay for supper, and then sent me to dress our two largest young roosters.

I was glad to see Carl, too. For the past month I'd been planning to go out to his place to talk to him about our cow, but I hadn't had a chance to do it. Ducklegs didn't look as if she were going to have a calf the next summer, and I thought she ought to go back to his place for another visit. He knew a lot more about Jersey cows than most cattlemen, and I was sure he could tell in a minute when he had a look at her.

Two or three times, after I'd dressed the roosters, I went in to see if he would come to the barn with me. He was in the kitchen where Mother was getting supper ready, and they were so busy talking that I couldn't get a word in edgewise. It was the same way at the supper table. The minute I finished saying the blessing, they went right on talking about different friends we hadn't seen for a long time. Then, as soon as we'd finished our pie, Mother said, “Now you children may all be excused. Philip, do you think you could take Hal to bed while the girls are clearing up the supper dishes? And, Ralph, I know you'll be anxious to get at your evening chores. Mother's just going to be a lady tonight and visit with Carl.”

Carl hadn't unhitched his horses when he came but had tied them to one of the cottonwood trees in front of our house. I was sure he'd have to be getting home to look after his own chores, so all the time I was milking I kept worrying for fear he'd go before I could show him Ducklegs. Two or three times I pushed my head in against her flank to see if I could feel any kick, but there wasn't a flicker.

I took the bucket of milk into the house after I'd finished my chores. Mother and Carl were still talking in the parlor. I didn't want Carl to get away before he'd looked at Ducklegs, so I went and stood in the parlor doorway. Mother looked up, smiled, and motioned for me to sit down by her. Then she went on talking to Carl. “And what ever became of Mr. Loediker?” she asked.

“Oh, the Crazy Dutchman?” Carl said. “Why, he disappeared right after you folks moved away. I hear he died.”

“Poor man,” Mother said; “I always had a warm spot in my heart for that unfortunate man.”

“You always had a warm spot in your heart for every unfortunate,” Carl chuckled, “or you wouldn't have taken me in for a good supper tonight. But why do you call the Crazy Dutchman unfortunate?”

Mother sat for a moment pinching her upper lip with her thumb and finger. Her voice was quiet when she said, “Carl, now that he's gone, I'm going to tell you something that I've never told anyone before.

“Edward Loediker was one of the most intelligent men I ever knew. He was generous, warmhearted, and—when he was himself—had a wonderful mind. But it was as delicately balanced as a watch and the least bit of alcohol would unbalance it.”

I found myself listening as though Mother were reading a story from a strange book. The Dutchman had been our nearest neighbor for over two years, and I'd worked with him a little, but I'd never known much about him. He was good to me when he wasn't crazy, and Father wouldn't let me go near him when he was having one of his spells. Carl had been leaning back in the Morris chair when Mother started talking, but when I glanced that way he had straightened up and was listening as closely as I.

“I shall never forget the first day Mr. Loediker came to our house,” Mother went on. “He knocked just as we were finishing breakfast. When Charlie went to the door, Mr. Loediker clicked his heels together and stood there like an Army officer reporting to his superior—head high and shoulders well back. Then he spoke a few guttural words. Though I didn't know the language, I was sure it was German.

“You know, Charlie's parents were deaf mutes, and he had the knack of making almost any foreigner understand him through sign language—but not Mr. Loediker. It only seemed to confuse him when Charlie used his hands, and he spoke more rapidly, but in an entirely different tongue.

“I'd had no German when I was in school, but quantities of Latin. Suddenly I recognized familiar Latin words. I went and stood beside Charlie and, in such halting Latin as I could muster, asked if we could be of any help.

“The man's whole appearance changed. He lost his military bearing, smiled, and spoke fluently in Latin. Of course, I could understand very little of it. He sensed the situation in a moment, spoke slowly, and chose familiar words. I had no trouble in understanding that he wanted to buy milk, butter, and eggs from us, and to know if there were German-speaking people in the neighborhood. I understood more than that, Carl; I understood that he was terribly lonely and that what he needed most of all was our friendship.

“You remember how, for all those months before they started building the Wellborn house, he lived alone in his little tent up there on the hill? Nearly every evening he'd come down to our house for his milk. It was seldom that he'd stop more than ten or fifteen minutes, but, as he became better acquainted, he'd sometimes spend as much as an hour with us.

“Mr. Loediker learned English rapidly, and we could soon carry on a conversation with very little difficulty. He told us of his early life in Germany, of his becoming one of the youngest officers in the German army, and of the girl who had jilted him almost on his wedding day. He had gone to South Africa, taken part in the Boer War, and been clubbed on the head with a rifle butt. For months he had lain in a hospital between life and death, then went to South America, and eventually came to this country.”

Carl was leaning forward in the Morris chair with his chin resting in his hand. “Mame,” he said, “are you sure he wasn't inventing a lot of that for your benefit? You know, the insane are often very clever in building air castles.”

“No, Carl,” Mother said, “they weren't illusions. At first, Charlie and I both thought so, but we were mistaken. One evening Mr. Loediker brought a shallow metal box to our house. He unlocked it with a little key that he wore around his neck, and showed us its contents proudly. Carl, there was no possibility of questioning his story after seeing what that box held. There were university diplomas, crested letters from people of the German nobility in which he was addressed as ‘Du,' military commissions, insignia, and medals. To me, it was evident that they were his only tie to the life he had once loved.”

“Good Heavens!” Carl said. “I'm more than surprised; I'm amazed. I'd never guessed he was anything but a crackpot, and thought his military bearing was put on. Do you think it was that blow on the head that made him crazy?”

“Possibly,” Mother said, “but I'm inclined to believe it was something more than that. However, I do know that he was only unbalanced when liquor or some other pressure upset him. At all other times he was as rational as you or I. It was soon after he brought the box that the girl came.”

“Hmmmm,” Carl said, “I wondered how much you knew about the girl.”

“Not enough, Carl, though I wish I did. It was common gossip, so you must have known that she often came and spent weekends during the time the house was building.”

“She must have been cracked, too,” Carl said. “Nobody ever saw her closer than a quarter mile—unless you did.”

“No,” Mother said, “I never saw her at all, and I'm sure she wasn't a bit ‘cracked,' as you say, but scheming. She would bring liquor to Mr. Loediker's tent when she came, and sometimes he wouldn't be himself again for days.”

“You mean he'd go on a drunk?”

“It wasn't that exactly, Carl. Charlie looked after him several times. He'd be entirely unbalanced—go for days without a morsel of food—and become completely intoxicated on a tablespoon of whiskey. I'm sure the girl planned it deliberately to gain control of him.”

Carl frowned a little. “Well, what did she want control of him for? He didn't have anything but his medals, did he?”

“I'm coming to that,” Mother said. “Do you remember when those two fine horses were stolen from the D.C.D. ranch?”

“Sure I do. Everyone in Colorado remembers that. Why?”

“Carl, Mr. Loediker stole those horses!”

I caught a quick breath, and Carl Henry's head jerked up as though he had been hit. “What!” he cried. “The Crazy Dutchman stole them? Why, Mame! Do you mean to tell me that with all you've gone through since Charlie died—and with a reward of five thousand dollars offered for information—you've kept quiet all this time?”

Mother's voice was even quieter than it had been. “Yes, Carl, and I'm sure you would have done the same. The morning after those horses were stolen, Mr. Loediker came to our house. Charlie and Ralph were at the barn milking, and the other children were still in bed. When I went to the door, I could see in a moment that he was unbalanced, and there was liquor on his breath. He was wildly excited and very proud of himself, and insisted on telling me what he had done.

“He kept referring to the girl as his sweetheart. She had come to his tent soon after dark with lariat and halters. At moonrise they had ridden to the north D.C.D. pasture, cut the fence wire, and Mr. Loediker had brought the horses out to her. They were well-trained horses, easy to handle, and she had led them straight for the Wyoming border. He had ridden with her well up past Golden, then run his horse to a lather in order to be back before daylight.”

I looked over at Carl, and he was watching Mother as if he thought she were the crazy one. His mouth was a little way open and I guess mine was, too, but Mother kept on: “I hurried to make him hot tea, got him to eat some scrambled eggs, and finally managed to quiet him enough that he could understand the awfulness of the thing he had done.”

Mother's voice almost choked up. “Carl, it was the most pathetic sight I've ever seen. He was as remorseful as a little boy. Tears streamed down his face as he rushed from our house to ride and overtake the girl. No doubt she had hidden during daylight in one of the mountain canyons. Of course, he never found her. And, if he were still living, I'm sure he never could.

“By the time he returned, there were reward notices on fence posts all along our road and in the Post Office at Fort Logan. That afternoon he came to our house when Hal and I were there alone. When I answered the knock, he was standing on our back porch with his head bowed. He didn't look up, but said, ‘Liebe Frau, my life is in your hands!'”

“‘Mr. Loediker,' I said, ‘it will always be safe in my hands,' and, Carl, it always has been. Charlie had told me that the penalty for horse stealing in Colorado was hanging, and I knew in my heart that Mr. Loediker was not morally guilty of the crime he had committed.”

Just then, Grace came to the door on her way to bed, and said, “Good night.”

Mother patted me on the head, and said, “You'd better run along too, Son. There's so much to be done tomorrow, and you'll need a good night's sleep.”

Before I was undressed, I heard Carl unhitch his team and drive away, and I'd forgotten to ask him to look at Ducklegs.