Mystery in Arizona (16 page)

Trixie said nothing but she couldn’t help thinking,
People who own horses and ponies in the East are usually very rich. I wonder why Tenny has to support himself while he’s working for his Ph.D
.

As though he had been reading her mind, Tenny said, “When I was your age I suffered from asthma and was sent out here to school. I liked it so much I decided to stay on and go to the University. Dad wanted me to go to Harvard so we agreed to disagree. I won a scholarship
and managed to work my way through without any help from home.”

“That’s what Brian plans to do,” Trixie said. “It costs a lot of money to send a boy through medical school, Dad says. More than he can afford anyway. There are four of us, you see. Moms and Dad want us all to go through college but we’ll have to help with our expenses.”

“It’s a good idea,” Tenny said, “even if there’s plenty of money in the family. Dad would be perfectly willing to help me out now but he hasn’t a cent to spare. Something went sour with the stock market last year, at least so far as his investments were concerned.” Tenny shrugged. “It didn’t bother me one bit, thank goodness. If I’d been dependent on Dad for money I’d be feeling pretty sunk right now. Instead, I’m enjoying this job immensely.”

“That’s the way Jim and Honey and Di feel about money,” Trixie said. “They’re all very rich, you know, but they always act as though they didn’t have a cent except for the money they earn themselves. One of the rules of our club is that every member must contribute money to it that he or she earned himself.”

“That’s a good motto,” Tenny approved. “Mr. Wilson was lucky that kids like you arrived when you
did. And you’re all doing a great job, I hear.” He frowned thoughtfully. “It’s too bad Mr. Wellington’s children didn’t come out here for Christmas as they planned. He was telling me about them last night. They sound like spoiled brats to me. Meeting boys and girls like you Bob-Whites would have done them a world of good.”

“I don’t know about that,” Trixie said modestly, “but I wish they hadn’t disappointed their father. He’s so nice and jolly.”

It was getting late and they began to hurry.

“I’ll be sitting up in the op’ry house with the rest of you dudes,” Tenny told Trixie, “only I’ll act as a sort of emcee. You know. I’ll announce and interpret events and answer questions.”

“The opera house?” Trixie repeated. “I don’t get it.”

“That’s what cowboys call the top rail of the breaking corral,” he explained.

Trixie could see now that most of the seats in the “op’ry house” had already been taken. But when they got closer Honey waved and pointed to an empty space between her and Jim. Another space beside Mart had obviously been reserved for Tenny, and with a “ ’By now” to Trixie he hastened off to fill it.

As Trixie started to climb up Jim asked coldly, “Did you correct all of those problems?”

“Yes, dear teacher,” Trixie replied with mock humility. She turned her back to him as Tenny began his spiel.

“La-deez and gentlemen, atten
-shun
, please. This here puf-fomance which we cowpokes is about to put on ain’t nothin’ but a taste of what you-all will see in February at
La Fiesta de los Vaqueros
—in plain English, the Cowboy Festival. What we cowpunchers is about to do cain’t rightly be called a rodeo a-tall.

“
Rodeo
is a Spanish word meanin’ a goin’ around and that’s jist what it is—a roundup. Every spring and fall the cattle is driven in from the range to a corral. The spring roundup is generally called brandin’ time ’cause that’s when the calves is branded. In olden times when there weren’t no fences, the cattle from several ranches roamed the range all together. It was the cowboy’s job to round ’em up and separate them twice a year.

“The calves were branded accordin’ to the brand of the cow they were a-followin’. A calf without a mother was called a dogie and the finder of such was the keeper. Before fences was put up, any unbranded cow, calf, or steer on the range was called a maverick. A maverick belongs to whoever can rope an’ brand him fust. So jist natural-like, the rodeo pretty soon became a time when saddle-pounders got together to show off how
good they was at ropin’ and bull-ridin’ and bulldoggin’ which means wrestling with a steer.

“When the cattle and the hosses was all safely in from the range, the cowboy’s next job was bronc-bustin’. And nowadays that’s jist as much a part of any rodeo as ropin’ is. Afore a cowpoke can do any ropin’ he’s got to know how to ride, and afore he can work the range proper he has got to train his hoss good. Specially his cuttin’ hoss. A real good cuttin’ hoss knows how to cut a cow or a calf or a steer outta the herd better than his rider does. Now fust on the program is Cowpoke Bill who’s goin’ to give you an exhibition of a cuttin’ hoss in action.”

He waved his hat and the gate was opened to admit a handsome cowboy on a beautiful white horse.

Trixie watched breathlessly as Bill, without the use of a bridle, put his powerfully muscled, wiry animal through the various movements: First a figure eight which included right and left turns, quarter and half turns—all so sharp that the horse seemed to be on his hind feet most of the time.

Bill departed amid loud applause and then another cowboy on a black pony rode into the corral.

“This here cowpoke is Jack,” Tenny announced, “and he’s goin’ to give you a demonstration of calf-ropin’ without a rope or a calf.”

Everyone laughed but sobered almost immediately. Jack and his horse performed so beautifully that you could almost see the calf. When Jack had “roped the calf” he put his pony into the stop-and-back and sprang to the ground. The horse braced its body to keep the invisible rope taut, and Jack hog-tied the invisible legs of the non-existent calf with an invisible piggin’ string. When he took off his ten-gallon Stetson and waved it, the enthusiastic crowd roared its praise.

“That’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen,” Honey gasped. “I felt so sorry for that poor little calf when he got lassoed—I mean roped.”

After that there were exciting exhibitions of bronc-riding, and Tenny explained that
bronco
is the Spanish word for rough or coarse; thus a wild ornery pony was called a bronco—bronc for short.

Watching tensely, Trixie realized what a truly dangerous sport the rodeo is. Rarely did one of the cowboys get bucked off, and when he did he landed on his feet, but it always seemed to Trixie that the rider couldn’t possibly stay in the saddle more than a split second. Tenny explained that when a bronc-buster is bucked off, other cowboys say, “That peeler was sent pickin’ daisies.”

“Are those horses really as wild as they seem to
be?” Honey asked him with a shudder. “Or is it all just an act for us dudes?”

“Them?” Tenny’s blue eyes twinkled. “Compared to a green bronc right off the range them hosses is as gentle as lambs ’cause they is already saddle-broke. They’re carryin’ on like that ’cause they ain’t used to havin’ the weight of a man on their backs and they don’t care for spurs, even dull ones, nohow.”

In a louder voice he said to the crowd, “Wal, that’s all fer now, folks, and it’s fittin’ that this here exhibition should be follered up tonight by a square dance, which we hope each and every one of you will attend.”

He slid down to the ground and in a few minutes joined the Bob-Whites beside the bunkhouse. Trixie was thrilled when he said to her, “There’s a heap o’ time twixt now and when you gotta report for chuck-wagon duty. Care to go for a short ride alongside o’ me?”

Trixie nodded, wordless with gratitude.

He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “Goin’ to put your leather on a bronc, or on a pony that’s been gentled some?”

“After what I’ve seen this afternoon,” Trixie told him, “the gentler the better.” She turned around to stick out her tongue at Brian and Jim. “ ’By now, wisdom-bringers.”

“Wha-at?” Jim demanded.

“Wisdom-bringers,” she repeated airily. “The Old West word for schoolmarms.”

Ten minutes later she and Tenny were galloping across the desert. “I can’t believe this is happening to me at last,” she called, waving a hand at the flat-topped mesas and majestic mountains in the distance. “And it’s just the way I imagined it would be. A sea of sand dotted with mesquite, cactus, and greasewood bushes.”

She giggled, her sense of humor breaking the spell. “Those were the words I used in the theme I wrote about Arizona last year. Right now I’m writing a theme about the Navahos. Brian makes me produce at least two pages a day. Maybe if I keep on researching I’ll discover some way we can help Rosita.”

“I doubt it,” Tenny said. “When it comes to family problems the Indians and the Mexicans are a very closemouthed people.”

“I know,” Trixie agreed. “One reason why I can’t concentrate on my theme and math problems is because I keep wondering why the Orlandos left so suddenly.”

“If I were you,” Tenny advised her, “I’d follow the Old West rule of ‘Pay no mind to nothin’ what don’t concern ye!’ ”

“That,” said Trixie, “is the kind of thing Honey and the boys are forever telling me. But I can’t help worrying about little Petey.”

“Why worry about him?” Tenny demanded. “He’s as happy a little boy as I have ever seen.”

“I know,” Trixie said, “but I’m afraid he’s going to run away.”

Tenny reined in his horse and stared at her in amazement when she stopped beside him. “Why should any kid want to run away from this ranch? Why, it’s sheer heaven to Petey. Mr. Wilson is going to buy a little burro for him soon, and he’ll have the time of his life with it when school closes for the holidays.”

“I still think,” Trixie argued, “that he’d rather be with his grandparents wherever they are.” And she started to explain.

When she finished Tenny shrugged. “Kids that age are always talking about running away but they never go very far, even on the rare occasions when they screw up enough courage to depart at all. Let’s talk about something more cheerful.”

They turned their horses and started back toward the ranch.

“I hope to have the pleasure of shakin’ a hoof with you at the square dance tonight, ma’am,” Tenny said, lapsing into the lingo.

“I’m just going to watch,” Trixie told him. “I don’t know any of the complicated steps.”

“You don’t need to know ’em,” he said, grinning. “You don’t need to do nothin’ but sashay forward and backward or prance around your podner. Mr. Wilson is going to do the calling and he’s no expert; sort of makes it all up as he goes along.”

“Well, maybe I will try it,” Trixie said dubiously.

“Sho,” he predicted enthusiastically. “It’ll be a rompin’ and stompin’ shindig—more fun than a barrel of rattlesnakes!”

That evening Trixie discovered that Tenny was right. Square dances were lots of fun whether you were an expert or not.

While the guests were eating dinner, the ranch hands moved most of the furniture out of the huge living-room to the patios. Then Bill and Jack settled down in one corner with their guitars while Tenny, the fiddler, tuned up his violin. Trixie, Di, and Honey were so excited they could hardly eat.

A great many of the guests felt the same way. Miss Jane Brown, who never had much of an appetite anyway, didn’t even try to do more than nibble at a roll. Now that she was an employee, too, she ate her meals with the girls and Rosita at the table near the swinging door to the kitchen.

“I just love my job,” she told them, with an especially warm smile for Di. “Your uncle is a darling. How do you like my dress?” She was wearing a highwaisted dotted Swiss frock that had a low neckline, puffed sleeves, and a long full skirt. “Do I look as
though I’d arrived in a covered wagon?”

“Oh, yes,” Honey replied, “only much prettier than the ladies you see in western movies.”

Jane Brown blushed. “You’re very sweet, Honey, and I can guess why you were given that nickname. Oh, I wish I weren’t so nervous. I haven’t the faintest idea of how to behave at a square dance.”

“We don’t know any of the tricky steps,” Di said soothingly, “and I guess nobody does. The idea is just to dance around and have fun.” She turned to Rosita. “You’re going with us, aren’t you?”

Rosita shook her head. “I do not know any of the steps and I have nothing suitable to wear.”

“Oh, Rosita,” Trixie cried out, “that’s no excuse. You’ll have a good time even if you don’t dance, and you look darling in your uniform.”

“We’re just about the same size,” Jane Brown added. “I’d love to lend you an informal evening gown. One of mine would look stunning on you. It’s a red and green plaid gingham with a wide red sash that ties in a huge bow.”

Rosita’s dark eyes sparkled. “It sounds perfectly lovely, Miss Brown, and you are too generous to offer to lend it to me. I would accept if there were only something I could do for you in return.” She spread her pretty hands hopelessly. “But I have nothing.”

“Oh, yes, you have,” Miss Brown corrected her. “You have your own sweet personality. Frankly, I can’t bear the thought of going into that huge room all alone. I’m terribly shy, you see. Won’t you go with me?”

Rosita’s dimples appeared as she said impulsively, “In that case, yes.”