Ticket to Curlew (6 page)

In just a few minutes they were riding down a short slope. There in a big hollow in the prairie was a small pond, deep blue like the sky above it. There were reeds all around its edge, showing that in spring the pond would be much bigger. Small willows grew in clumps at the edge of the reeds. And standing knee-deep in the blue water were two large brown oxen.

Sam reached out and slapped Gregor on the back.

“You were right,” he said. “The Martingales will be so happy.”

Gregor looked pleased but he didn't smile. He was staring at the oxen. Sam looked at the huge beasts again and realized that finding the oxen was just the first step. Now they had to get them out of the pond and home. He had rope wound around his waist, but he could not believe that those oxen would follow him if he tried to lead them out of a place where they seemed so content.

Suddenly he realized that Gregor was off his horse. He was striding through the reeds and into the shallow water. He slapped the oxen on their large rumps and spoke to them in a quiet, firm voice. To Sam's amazement the animals turned toward shore and walked out of the water, sending waves across the pond.

Sam slid down off Prince. He handed the rope to Gregor who quickly tied an end to the harness on each ox. He looked at the long rope with an ox at each end and made a face. Sam had the answer to that problem. He took out his pocket knife and cut the rope in the middle. Now they could get back on their horses and each lead one ox.

When they got to the top of the hill, Sam looked back at the little pond. The water was golden now. It shone in the midst of the darkening prairie. Sam had the feeling that it would disappear as soon as they could no longer see it. He looked around him. The sky was filled with golden clouds that seemed to catch fire in the west near the setting sun.

Gregor laid the reins on his horse's neck and, still holding the end of the rope, he stretched his arms wide as if he wanted to touch the pale gold sky to the east and the blazing orange sky to the west. Then he picked up the reins and moved restlessly on the horse's back. Sam knew what he meant. He wanted to make his horse fly across the darkening land. So did Sam. But instead they walked slowly and steadily, with the oxen plodding behind.

As they neared the track, Sam saw Pa riding toward them. “Good for you, boys,” he said. “You've done a good job. The Martingales will certainly think so, too.”

“It was really Gregor, Pa,” said Sam. “He guessed where the oxen might be and he knew how to get them out of the pond.”

“Thank you, Gregor,” said Pa. “Thank you from the Martingales.”

Gregor looked pleased. He gestured toward Sam as if to say. You deserve some credit, too. But Sam just shook his head.

As they rode along the track, Sam said to Pa, “I guess you found my message.”

I did,” said Pa. “Gregor's father made sure I saw it. He seemed to think you were a smart young fellow.”

How Pa could know what Gregor's father thought, Sam had no idea. But when they came to Gregor's place, there was his whole family out in the yard to greet them. The dogs barked, the younger children waved and Gregor's mother smiled. Gregor's father came over to Sam and Pa. He put his hand on his chest.

“Ivan Chomyk,” he said.

Pa held out his hand. “James Ferrier,” he said. “And Sam Ferrier.”

Mr. Chomyk put both of his hands around Pa's and shook hard. Then he stepped back toward his family.

Gregor handed Pa the rope he was still holding. He knew that the Ferriers had to be starting home. It was nearly dark and it would be a slow journey with the oxen.

Sam and Pa rode in silence for a few minutes. The wind had blown the clouds away and the stars were starting to show themselves.

Pa looked up and said, “This country grows on you, Sam. I admit it can seem lonely, but it grows on you. I guess you're not so lonely now.”

“No,” said Sam. Besides his whole family there was Gregor and Prince, especially Prince. Prince was always there, ready to go with him, needing no words. Gregor was a friend, but they did need words. Sam had to figure out what to do about that.

THE SMALL WHITE
horse and the tall black one stood side by side on the wagon road. The two boys looked at each other.

“Allo,” said Gregor. He smiled but he looked puzzled. He pointed down the track and raised his eyebrows at Sam.

“Hello,” said Sam. He was thinking hard. If he could make Gregor understand about the strayed oxen, he might be able to help find them.

Sam shaded his eyes and peered all around to show that he was searching for something. Then he pointed at Prince and at Gregor's horse and shook his head. He held up two fingers and hunched his shoulders, hoping he would look a little like an ox.

Gregor looked puzzled.

Sam pointed to himself and to the north side of the track. He drew the shape of a house in the air with his hand. Then he pointed to the south side of the track and drew another house.

“Martingale,” he said and looked hopefully at Gregor.

Gregor nodded vigorously. “Martingale,” he repeated.

That was good, Sam thought, but not enough.

There was only one thing to do. He slid off Prince's back and got down on his elbows and knees, lowered his head, poked his fingers up above his ears to indicate horns and slowly crawled down the track. After a minute he looked up to see Gregor standing beside his horse nodding and laughing.

Sam stood up. He pointed in all directions, shrugged his shoulders and held out empty hands to show loss. Gregor suddenly looked serious. Sam knew that he finally understood.

Gregor frowned for a moment. Then he said, “Sam!” He put his fingers above his ears like horns and said a word.

Sam said, “Oxen? You mean oxen?”

“Oxen,” repeated Gregor. They stared at each other. It seemed that a whole world of communication had opened between them.

“Oxen!” they both shouted and shook hands for the second time.

Then Gregor stopped smiling. For a moment he stood perfectly still with his eyebrows drawn together. Then he made a bowl shape with his hands, put his face into the bowl and lapped with his tongue.

“Water?” said Sam.

Gregor spread his arms to show that the bowl was now huge, wider than his arms could reach. He pointed to the southwest. Then he went back to lapping with his tongue.

Sam was very excited. “You mean there's a pond down that way? You think the oxen might be there?”

Gregor picked out the only word he understood. “Oxen,” he said firmly and pointed again to the southwest.

Sam scrambled up on Prince. He looked at Gregor. “Will you show me?” he asked, holding his open palm toward the pond. He could now imagine it as clearly as if he had seen it himself.

But Gregor looked uncertain. He pointed along the track to the south and said a word that sounded very much like papa. Sam knew what he was saying. He had to go home now. Sam shrugged and smiled, trying to show Gregor that he didn't mind, though he really did.

Gregor smiled his wide smile. He made a beckoning gesture with his hand. He was saying, Come with me. So Sam followed.

He felt very shy as they rode up to the sod house. Gregor's father was on the roof of a long shed nailing poles in place. Sam thought that he was probably going to cover the poles with sod. Gregor went and spoke to him. The man did not smile at all, but Gregor kept explaining, pointing to Sam and in the direction of the pond.

At last Gregor's father nodded slowly, but Sam saw him look at the sun, which was nearing the horizon. Then he spoke firmly to Gregor. The tone of his voice made Sam think of his own father. Pa might come here looking for him. If only he could leave a message.

When Gregor came over to him, nodding that they could go now, Sam made writing motions in the palm of his hand, pointed to Gregor and to his father, then to himself and to a tall invisible figure beside him.

Gregor made a face and shook his head. He understood, but they had no paper or pen.

Sam thought a minute, got off Prince and took up a sharp stone. He found a smooth patch of dusty earth near the track and scratched out a message. “Pa, Gone to look for oxen. Not far. Sam.” He hoped the “not far” part was true.

Gregor looked at the message and nodded. He told his father about it and the man looked at Sam with a small smile of approval. Then he went back to his pounding, and Sam and Gregor guided their horses across the track and started west.

As they rode, the tall dry grass brushed their boots and a spray of grasshoppers rose before the horses' hoofs. The slanting late afternoon sunlight made everything golden. The boys couldn't talk to each other, but the sense that someone, a friend, was riding beside him filled Sam with excitement. It was as if they were setting off together on an adventure.

The sky was still blue, but an edge of clouds along the horizon seemed to be rising to meet the sun. They were dark underneath and touched with gold above. Sam was just about to point them out to Gregor when his friend said, “Sam,” and pointed ahead of him by lifting his chin. Sam looked. He could see the tops of trees rising above the grass.

In just a few minutes they were riding down a short slope. There in a big hollow in the prairie was a small pond, deep blue like the sky above it. There were reeds all around its edge, showing that in spring the pond would be much bigger. Small willows grew in clumps at the edge of the reeds. And standing knee-deep in the blue water were two large brown oxen.

Sam reached out and slapped Gregor on the back.

“You were right,” he said. “The Martingales will be so happy.”

Gregor looked pleased but he didn't smile. He was staring at the oxen. Sam looked at the huge beasts again and realized that finding the oxen was just the first step. Now they had to get them out of the pond and home. He had rope wound around his waist, but he could not believe that those oxen would follow him if he tried to lead them out of a place where they seemed so content.

Suddenly he realized that Gregor was off his horse. He was striding through the reeds and into the shallow water. He slapped the oxen on their large rumps and spoke to them in a quiet, firm voice. To Sam's amazement the animals turned toward shore and walked out of the water, sending waves across the pond.

Sam slid down off Prince. He handed the rope to Gregor who quickly tied an end to the harness on each ox. He looked at the long rope with an ox at each end and made a face. Sam had the answer to that problem. He took out his pocket knife and cut the rope in the middle. Now they could get back on their horses and each lead one ox.

When they got to the top of the hill, Sam looked back at the little pond. The water was golden now. It shone in the midst of the darkening prairie. Sam had the feeling that it would disappear as soon as they could no longer see it. He looked around him. The sky was filled with golden clouds that seemed to catch fire in the west near the setting sun.

Gregor laid the reins on his horse's neck and, still holding the end of the rope, he stretched his arms wide as if he wanted to touch the pale gold sky to the east and the blazing orange sky to the west. Then he picked up the reins and moved restlessly on the horse's back. Sam knew what he meant. He wanted to make his horse fly across the darkening land. So did Sam. But instead they walked slowly and steadily, with the oxen plodding behind.

As they neared the track, Sam saw Pa riding toward them. “Good for you, boys,” he said. “You've done a good job. The Martingales will certainly think so, too.”

“It was really Gregor, Pa,” said Sam. “He guessed where the oxen might be and he knew how to get them out of the pond.”

“Thank you, Gregor,” said Pa. “Thank you from the Martingales.”

Gregor looked pleased. He gestured toward Sam as if to say. You deserve some credit, too. But Sam just shook his head.

As they rode along the track, Sam said to Pa, “I guess you found my message.”

I did,” said Pa. “Gregor's father made sure I saw it. He seemed to think you were a smart young fellow.”

How Pa could know what Gregor's father thought, Sam had no idea. But when they came to Gregor's place, there was his whole family out in the yard to greet them. The dogs barked, the younger children waved and Gregor's mother smiled. Gregor's father came over to Sam and Pa. He put his hand on his chest.

“Ivan Chomyk,” he said.

Pa held out his hand. “James Ferrier,” he said. “And Sam Ferrier.”

Mr. Chomyk put both of his hands around Pa's and shook hard. Then he stepped back toward his family.

Gregor handed Pa the rope he was still holding. He knew that the Ferriers had to be starting home. It was nearly dark and it would be a slow journey with the oxen.

Sam and Pa rode in silence for a few minutes. The wind had blown the clouds away and the stars were starting to show themselves.

Pa looked up and said, “This country grows on you, Sam. I admit it can seem lonely, but it grows on you. I guess you're not so lonely now.”

“No,” said Sam. Besides his whole family there was Gregor and Prince, especially Prince. Prince was always there, ready to go with him, needing no words. Gregor was a friend, but they did need words. Sam had to figure out what to do about that.

EVERY DAY GEESE
flew over in great V-shaped lines pointing south. Sam felt as if they were pulling winter after them, down from the north. There was a silver edging of frost on the grass in the mornings, and the strong hot winds that had blown all summer were changing into the sharper winds of autumn. People who had been on the prairies for one winter were telling their blizzard stories.

“That wind from the north blows the snow something awful,” Mr. Pratt told Pa and Sam. “Why, in a bad blizzard you can lose your way between the house and the barn. Be sure to string up a rope to guide you. At fifty below a fellow will freeze to death pretty fast.”

For now, though, the world seemed caught at the end of summer. The sunlight was pale, but it was warm in the afternoons, and goldenrod bloomed in the fields. Every chance he could get, Sam took Prince out for a gallop. He found three more buffalo skulls for his collection and several buffalo wallows. He imagined that fall was a time when the buffalo moved in great herds, thousands of brown shaggy beasts making their way across the dry prairie toward the foothills where they would spend the winter.

One day Sam and Matt rode together out to their valley. The little willow trees had turned yellow, and instead of the red lilies, goldenrod bloomed in the hidden meadow.

Geese were not the only birds that were flying south. Ducks and herons and cranes sometimes seemed to fill the sky. In the evening they flew low looking for water where they could rest for the night.

The duck-hunting season had opened weeks before. Some children brought leftover roast duck to school in their lunch boxes. Pa talked of going duck hunting but he never quite had time and, anyway, he didn't own a shotgun. Sam had gone rabbit hunting with the rifle more than once, and the family had enjoyed several rabbit dinners. Any kind of fresh meat was a real treat, but a duck dinner would be really special.

One day when Pa had gone to town with Josie and Matt, Mr. Corbett stopped by the house. He had taken over the land of the young man who refused to bake biscuits. No one knew just what had become of him, but Sam and Pa were sure that he had gone home to his mother's cooking. Mr. Corbett was reputed to have one hundred head of cattle. He also had several grown sons working with him, but today he was alone.

“I'm running some cattle on the quarter section to the east of Martingales and I'm going out to check on them,” he said to Mama and Sam. “Do you mind if I leave my shotgun here? I thought I might get a few ducks, but the gun is in my way.” He turned to Sam. “Maybe you'd like to take it and do a little duck hunting yourself. Just remember to fire the left barrel. The right one is jammed. It could give you an awful kick.” He leaned the gun against the house, tipped his hat to Mama, mounted his horse and rode off.

Sam looked at the shotgun. John Martingale had talked to him about the sport of hunting water fowl, so Sam knew just what to do.

He looked at Mama. “Can I go?” he asked. “I expect there will be ducks on the pond. I'll take care with Mr. Corbett's shotgun.”

“Take care with yourself,” said Mama. “Just remember what your father has taught you about guns. I would indeed enjoy a duck dinner.”

Sam went to open the gate and Prince trotted right over and nuzzled his neck. He was definitely ready for an excursion. Sam led him out, shut the gate and mounted. The long gun was awkward to hold so he kept Prince to a gentle canter.

Sam knew exactly where the pond was now. He had been there many times, sometimes with Gregor. The two of them had worked out some language between them, but understanding each other took effort. Sometimes it was easier to be alone.

When Sam got to the pond, he was disappointed to see that there were no ducks waiting for him on the still surface of the water. He knew what to do, however. He tied Prince to a willow on one side of the pond. Then he walked around to the other side. He broke off a large bundle of tall reeds and made them into a hiding place like a little tent. John said such a shelter was called a blind.

Sam made himself as comfortable as he could on the hard ground. He peered between the reeds waiting for ducks to land on the pond. He waited a long time. It was warm in the sheltered hollow and the reeds made a pleasant shade. Sam began to feel that duck hunting was mostly boring. The sun on the water was dazzling. He tried squinting up his eyes to rest them.

Suddenly Sam was jolted by a blow to the back of his head. He opened his eyes wide and found himself staring at the sky. Reeds were tickling his face. He must have gone to sleep and fallen backwards.

He was about to sit up when he remembered there might be ducks on the pond. Above all he must not move suddenly and scare them away.

Sam carefully raised himself on one elbow and peered through the tumbled reeds. There were five ducks on the pond. It should be an easy shot, but he didn't dare move enough to get the shotgun in a good position. Slowly he reached for the gun and lifted it. His neck was cricked and the gun wobbled. He had to turn his feet out. He didn't want to shoot a toe off.

Sam was just going to pull the trigger when he remembered about the jammed barrel. It was the left one he had to keep in mind. So he sighted carefully at the nearest duck and fired the right barrel.

The stock of the gun whammed into his shoulder and knocked him backwards. His head bounced against the ground. For several moments he couldn't think at all. Then he heard Mr. Corbett's voice. “Be sure to fire the left barrel. The right one will give you an awful kick.” An awful kick for sure, he thought, rubbing the back of his head.

Then he thought of the ducks and sat straight up. There were two ducks floating on the water. The others had flown, of course. But two. With one shot he had gotten two ducks!

Sam collected the ducks and Prince and rode home. The back of his head had a bump on it, but he didn't care. He got into the yard just ahead of Mr. Corbett. Pa, Josie and Matt were already there. For once Sam was glad of an audience. Mr. Corbett laughed when he heard about the kick of the gun, but Pa just kept saying, “Two with one shot. Pretty good, Sam Ferrier, pretty good.” Even Josie was impressed.

Mama said, “I'll clean these right away. They're nice and fat. Mr. Corbett, won't you stay to dinner? I'm going to open the last jar of applesauce I brought from Iowa.”

Mr. Corbett was pleased to stay. During dinner Sam gave his full attention to the duck and mashed potatoes and applesauce. Mr. Corbett did justice to the meal but he talked, too.

“Did you folks know they get the Edmonton paper in town every Saturday?” he said. “Bring it in on the train, they do.”

“I didn't know that,” said Pa. “Of course, I don't get to town every Saturday. It will be fine to read the news now and then.”

“I have a proposition for you,” said Mr. Corbett. “I can send one of my boys into town to get the paper hot off the train every Saturday. Then me and my boys can bring it over for you to read.”

“That's mighty nice of you,” said Pa. “But wouldn't that be extra trouble? It's out of your way to come here.”

“The thing is,” said Mr. Corbett, “me and my boys don't read. When my wife was alive she used to read us the paper. Now that she's gone we get hungry for the news and the stories. I was thinking that maybe you'd be willing to read the paper to us.”

“Oh,” said Pa, and his eyes lit up. “Read the paper out loud! Why, it would be a pleasure.”

That is how the Saturday afternoon newspaper readings began. Mr. Corbett and his three sons turned up every Saturday just between chores and supper. The boys were all enormous, bigger than their father, but they did what he told them to do.

“Don't worry about chairs, Mrs. Ferrier,” said Mr. Corbett the first time. “The boys will just hunker down.”

The three tall young men squatted down and sat on their heels while Pa read the news of politics, crops and the war in Europe. Sam, Josie and Matt sat on the floor and listened, too. Mama and Mr. Corbett occupied chairs. Pa liked to read standing up.

Everybody's favorite part of the paper was the continued story. Every week there was a chapter of a novel full of mystery and adventure. Pa became every character as he read, and all the listeners were spellbound.

If one of the Corbett boys shifted or muttered during the reading, Mr. Corbett reached out his long arm and rapped the offender on the head with his bony knuckles.

“You set still and listen to Mr. Ferrier,” he would say. “He's doing this for your improvement.” Sam was always careful to sit quietly. He was afraid Mr. Corbett would automatically rap anyone who didn't listen the way he thought they should.

One Saturday Pa did go to town, and he wasn't back by the time the Corbetts showed up.

“I'm sorry,” said Mama. “James must have gotten held up. He would never want to miss the reading. Wait a bit. He'll probably get here soon.”

Mr. Corbett looked around. The little house seemed very full of Corbetts and Ferriers. The Corbett boys looked as though they might bolt into the fresh air at any moment. Sam waited to see what would happen.

Suddenly Mr. Corbett's eyes were resting on him. “Sam Ferrier,” he said. “You can read. Stand up and read us the paper.”

Sam turned red. He could read, all right, but he hated standing up to read his page in the reader at school. Besides, the newspaper was full of names he couldn't pronounce.

Mr. Corbett would not be put off. “Any young fellow who can shoot two ducks with one shot has enough moxie to read the newspaper to a few neighbors,” he said.

Mama nodded. “Yes, Sam. Read to us.”

Sam was stuck. He took the newspaper that Mr. Corbett handed him. “I think I'll start with the story,” he said in a scratchy voice. Everyone looked pleased.

“You've got the right idea,” said Mr. Corbett. “Start with the best part.”

So Sam started. At first he stumbled over words, but no one, not even Josie, seemed to mind. As he read, his voice grew stronger. He became interested in what was happening in the story.

About halfway through, the door opened and Pa came in. When he saw what Sam was doing, he pulled a chair away from the table and sat down.

Sam read right to the end. When he stopped, everyone looked at him for a moment. Then Pa began to clap and they all clapped.

“Thank you,” said Sam. He was surprised at how easy it had been. But he had done enough. “Will you read the news now, Pa? I think I'd like to sit down.”