Racing Home (17 page)

“Olaf!” she exclaimed. “Come see how smart our brother is!”

Olaf crouched beside the bed, extending a finger for Leif to grab. The baby’s hair was coming in red, like his father’s. And Olaf’s.

“He’s going to look like you,” Inga said, setting aside her handwork and rising. “He has your eyes.”

“You think so?” said Olaf, and Erik thought he was pleased.

With more than fifty businesses and dozens of homes in Green Valley, the town decided to celebrate with a Dominion Day picnic.

On the days that Elsa and Erik walked to school, they saw the preparation work in progress. A half-mile racetrack was laid out near the railroad station, with bleachers for five hundred people rising beside it. A baseball diamond was planned for the centre of the racetrack, and the football field would be to the east.

“Will there be enough people to fill those seats?” Elsa asked one day.

“I don’t know where they will come from,” said Erik. “There aren’t five hundred people in the area.”

Kirsten had invited the family to a birthday supper for Lars, so Erik and Elsa didn’t go home after school. Elsa went to Sara’s house and Erik walked with Colin to Pete’s livery stable to pay for boarding the O’Briens’ horses.

“It would be better if we had a barn of our own to keep them in,” Colin confided. “Da is not always sure they feed the horses what they say they do.”

“If he thinks Pete is not honest, why does he keep your horses there?” Erik asked.

Colin shrugged. “He charges less than the other livery stable.”

Erik nodded. Saving money was something he understood.

Erik looked around curiously. He’d walked by sometimes when the wide front door was open, but this was the first time he’d been inside. The horses faced the wall, their tails flicking at flies. Every stall was filled; some even had two horses. Some of the horses turned their heads and nickered when the boys walked past. Erik walked slowly, admiring the horses, noting the brands on their hindquarters. Most common was the Boxed Q. He guessed it must be Pete’s own brand. None had the same brand as Tapper, the Bar C.

At the end of the centre alley, Erik followed Colin through a door into the back room that Olaf had mentioned.
Several men played cards at a table. A tall bottle stood on a side table and a couple more on the floor. Money was scattered on the table, more money than Erik had ever seen in one place.

One of the men stood up when the boys walked in. Erik guessed he was Pete. Older than the other men, he had long brown hair and a scar across his face, partly hidden by his beard. He smiled at the boys, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Colin handed him the money his father had given him. Pete counted it carefully and nodded his head at Colin. “That’s good for one more week.”

“Da said to get a receipt,” said Colin quickly.

“A receipt?” repeated Pete. He laughed shortly. “All right, then.” He went to a desk against one wall and pulled a paper out of a drawer. He dipped his pen in the ink, then wrote something on the paper. Without waiting for the ink to dry, he handed it to Colin. Colin glanced at the paper and nodded his head.

“Thank you.” He turned to the door, holding the paper carefully.

“Good doing business with you.”

One of the men at the table looked up from his cards and Erik recognized Olaf’s friend Jim. Erik nodded, but Jim looked at him as if they’d never met.

After dropping the receipt at Colin’s house, they walked down to the river through the valley of trees. The water in the river was high and moving quickly. They walked along the shoreline, tossing stones into the rushing water, climbing partway up the hill when there was no room to walk between the water and the brush.

Colin scrambled over a fallen tree trunk and started grabbing at short, sturdy plants, pulling himself up a cliff. Erik walked along the fallen trunk as far as he could, then followed Colin. Once at the top they collapsed on the grass and looked out over the river.

“They want to put a ferry there,” said Erik, looking south down the river to where the shore was sloped more gradually. “Then people from that side of the river could buy in Uncle’s store.”

“Sometimes people ford the river,” said Colin. “They drive across right through the water.”

“Not today,” said Erik. “A horse couldn’t walk the river today. Or swim, either.”

As he spoke, he heard the whinny of a horse. There were no horses to be seen, not in the water or anywhere else, but Erik knew sounds could carry a long way on a day like this without any wind.

The boys walked along the top of the hills, following a valley, until they looked down on the weathered shack and the corral Erik had seen in the fall. Now it held at least twenty horses.

“Nice horses,” said Erik. They scrambled down to the bottom of the coulee. There was no sign of people.

“This is strange,” said Colin, his voice hushed. “It doesn’t look like a farm.”

“And what farmer has so many horses?” asked Erik. He wanted to go up to the horses, but something told him that this wasn’t a good place to be.

He heard the sound of hooves and, grabbing Colin’s arm, pulled him down behind a clump of bushes.

Peeking through the screen of branches, they saw two horses and riders come into the valley from the south. The men unsaddled their horses and put them in the corral with the others.

The door of the shack opened and a man came out, stretching and yawning.

“So how are things in town?” he asked.

“Hoppin’,” replied one of the men. “Pete wants us to get the rest of these branded.”

“I thought he was waiting for his pal from Montana to do it.”

“Not any more.” The three men leaned against the top rail of the corral. Their voices carried easily to where Erik and Colin were hiding.

“He says horses are turning over so fast, he doesn’t want to wait.”

“That’s right,” said the third man. “He’s planning to send us to Saskatoon with a few. We should be able to sell them quickly, then we’ll go south and find us some more.”

“You got the coffee pot on?”

“I surely do.”

“Well, then, what are we doing talking out here when we could be drinking coffee in there?”

The three men laughed and walked into the shack.

“I wish Rolf would sell our oxen and buy two horses,” said Erik.

“Those aren’t field horses,” said Colin. “I’m not even a farmer and I know that. Those horses are for riding and pulling buggies.”

“Like Tapper.” They both went to see Tapper whenever they could, finding him in the corral at the edge of town or sometimes in the stable at the lumberyard. Erik had ridden Tapper again a few times, always faster than he wanted to go.

Erik looked wistfully at the horses for a moment, then stood up. “We better go. It must be close to suppertime.”

On the last day of June, Erik moved the manure pile from beside the chicken hutch, where he’d heaped it over the winter, to nearer the garden where it would be ready to use when rotted.

It was a breezy day, sunny but not too hot. A good day for working outside, or it would be if he didn’t want to do something else. Anything else, really.

Rolf was out with the oxen breaking more land. Erik would need them to move the manure, but he thought that he and Elsa could push the empty wagon over to the pile so he could get started.

On his way to the house to get Elsa, he glanced toward the trail. A rider was approaching in a cloud of dust. Erik smiled, knowing it had to be Olaf – no one else went from one place to another that quickly.

“Morn,
Erik,” called Olaf as he turned toward the yard. “What? You aren’t working?”

“Of course I’m working,” said Erik. “I was waiting for you to come and help me push the wagon over here.”

“What? Did those big strong oxen die?” Olaf swung off Tapper and led him into the shed.

Erik followed, protesting. “I just cleaned in here. If Tapper makes a mess you have to clean it.”

“Fine, fine,” said Olaf. “Now where are these dead oxen?”

Erik laughed, leading the way to the wagon. “They’re not dead, Rolf is breaking land.” He waved his arm to the north. “Somewhere out there.”

“Ah, well, I’m as strong as an ox,” said Olaf. They pushed the wagon over to the shed, then Erik offered a fork to Olaf.

“Since you’re so strong, do you want to shovel manure?”

“I’ll watch,” said Olaf, shaking his head. “See how it’s done.”

“Oh, sure,” said Erik, “like you’ve never shovelled manure.”

Olaf’s head suddenly jerked back, and he whipped around. “Did you hear something?” he said. “I’ll be in the shed with Tapper. I’ll keep him quiet. Don’t tell anyone I’m here.”

“Who? What?” stammered Erik, wondering if he was worried about Rolf coming back. Then he saw three horsemen approaching the yard.

Mystified, Erik stood still as the men rode up to him. Olaf’s friend Jim stayed on his horse, watching Erik’s every move. The other two, Pete from the livery stable and a man with a droopy moustache and bushy eyebrows, dismounted, ground tying their horses where they stood.

“We’re looking for Olaf Hanson,” said Pete. There was no friendliness in his voice. “Where is he?”

What should he say? Olaf didn’t want them to know he was there. All Erik’s English left him.

“What’s the matter?” the other man growled. Erik stared at him, realizing he’d seen him before, not just at the livery stable, but in Hanley. “Can’t you understand English? Stupid Norwegian,” he said without waiting for an answer. “Just like his cousin.”

“Olaf,” said Pete with exaggerated emphasis. “We want Olaf.”

Erik shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know where he is,” he said in Norwegian. He shook his head, then added in English. “Not know where Olaf.” If they said he was a stupid Norwegian, thought Erik, he’d act like a stupid Norwegian.

He stuck his fork into the manure pile and tossed a forkful into the wagon. He hoped they wouldn’t see his hands shaking. He had no idea why they wanted Olaf, but it couldn’t be good, not from the expressions on their faces. Not from the way Olaf hid when he saw them coming.

The men stepped closer, Pete pressing in on one side of him, the man with the black moustache on the other.

“When you see Olaf, tell him Pete’s looking for him. Can you remember that?
Pete.”

“He’ll remember,” said the other man. His words sent a shiver down Erik’s back. Erik swallowed hard and nodded. The man grabbed the fork from Erik’s unresisting hands and stabbed it deep into the pile. “Won’t you?” he asked, his face so close Erik could smell his breath.

The men went back to their horses and mounted. Erik didn’t move, watching as they rode back to the trail.

“They’re gone,” he said when they were out of sight. He pulled the fork out of the pile and turned toward the shed.

Olaf stepped into the doorway.

“Why do they want you?” asked Erik. “I thought you were friends.”

“So did I,” said Olaf. His voice was hoarse and he cleared his throat. “I mean, Jim and I were friends, but lately…” His voice trailed away. “Something’s wrong. I don’t know what.”

Erik looked at Olaf’s face and wondered if that was true.

“Who were those men?” Erik and Olaf swung around as Elsa came running from the house. “I saw them talking to you and I was too scared to come outside.”

“No one,” said Olaf, “I mean, no one you should be scared of.”

“They wanted to know the way to…Hanley,” said Erik at the same moment.

“I’m glad they’re not going to Green Valley,” said Elsa. “I didn’t like them at all.”

“Tapper likes your shed,” Olaf said, changing the subject. “Can I leave him here overnight?”

“Sure,” said Erik, making no attempt to hide his surprise. “But you’ll have to walk to town.”

“I’ll get him in the morning,” Olaf said. “I’m riding in the races tomorrow at the celebration.”

“He’ll win for sure!” said Erik. “I can’t wait to see him beat the others!”

Olaf smiled, but Erik thought he still looked worried. “Here, let me help you with that.”

Olaf took Erik’s fork and furiously forked manure into the wagon, not stopping till his shirt was wet and sweat ran down his face.

CHAPT
ER NINETEEN

Celebration

When Rolf returned to the yard, he tethered the oxen, then went to the house. “Can supper wait a few minutes?” he asked.

Inga came to the door, holding Leif, with Elsa close behind her. Erik paused beside them, setting a pail of water on the ground.

“Look at our wheat and oats!” said Rolf, waving his arms. “You can almost see the plants grow.”

Rolf took Leif in one arm and put his other around Inga. They walked across the yard, with Erik and Elsa following.

Rolf led them right into the field. The grassy, green plants brushed their legs as they walked, reaching Erik’s knees. The field was bright green, much greener than the prairie around them. Maybe Rolf wasn’t such a bad farmer, after all.

“It looks like a beautiful crop, Rolf,” said Inga.