Gentle Rebellion

GENTLE

REBELLION

by

Doug Ball

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2015 Douglas H. Ball

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GENTLE

REBELLION

By

Doug Ball

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.

All errors in historic fact are on purpose.

Any deviation from the truth is fiction.

Enjoy

To Patti

And Larry Hamblen and Miss SuAnn,

You are the cheer team.

And my kids, Mike, Claire, Doug, Sean, Christopher, and Johnathan.

You all make me proud to be a father.

Chapter 1

Warlock Springs wasn’t much of a town, but then again, what town can be much of a town when it’s 28 miles of dirt road from the nearest pavement.

There weren’t but three occupations in town. Storekeeping was all sewed up by the Brewers. Mr. Brewer was even the Mayor, but that title was honorary because we weren’t really a town even, and the whole danged city council, school board and fire chief. Mizz Mertz, age 48, was the school teacher. (I was one of her eight pupils, but I don’t count bein’ a student as an occupation. Occupations are voluntary.) And then there were cowboys, which I was going to be, someday.

There used to be a fourth job in these parts, but the mines never reopened after the strike in ’48. That would be 1948.

I was a month past fourteen in June of 1956 and sitting on the front stoop of Mr. Brewer’s store, when I saw the dust coming down the road from the north. It rounded the Rafter X windmill, dropped down to cross Arrowhead Wash and then slowly labored back up to the flats for the three mile run into town across 3T’s south pasture.

I was sitting on the stoop because I was waiting for my door to the future to get knocked on. (We were just too danged far from water for my ship to come in.) I was doing what the traveling preacher, Reverend Hollace, had said, praying for what I wanted. What I wanted in the worst way was a job as a cowboy, and if I got one, there weren’t no way they’d ever get me back in Mizz Mertz’s classroom come September.

School had been out for two weeks and I had yet to find me a job. Without a job, Warlock Springs was a mighty dull place in the summertime. It was mighty dull any time, but somehow it was worse in the summer. The only other kid my age was that danged Melissa, and who wants to play with girls.

The dust got mighty close to my perch before I realized it was somebody new to town. If they made it to town, that is.

Somebody new was always good for excitement in Warlock Springs. Last time it had happened was a couple of years back when them newlyweds got lost and showed up coming from the wrong way where there weren’t no real road, just a couple of thin ruts coming down out of the mountains. Said they had been lost for three days. Plumb tuckered out they was. We set them on the right path to the highway after selling them some gas. The ways she looked at him you woulda thought that . . .

Pa says I ain’t supposed to think like that.

The new fella made it. Stopped right in front of me, too, radiator cap hissing like a Bull Snake with its tail in a wringer.

As he stepped out of the truck, I got the feeling he weren’t never going to quit going up. He finished standing at somewhere’s near seven feet. He weren’t much bigger around than the steering column on that battered ’36 Ford truck he’d just unfolded out of.

I’d never met a black man before.

In a voice as deep as the Rafter X well, he asked, What do they call you, young man?

I looked around to see who he was calling a young man before I got out with, Al, Sir. It’s short for Alexander.

Well now, Alexander is a fine name. Named after the conqueror, no doubt.

I’d not heard of that feller, so I had to set him straight, Nope. Named after my Ma’s father.

He chuckled like I’d told a tiny joke, Most folks call me Mr. Pinkley.

I commenced to grinnin’.

Doesn’t match me much, does it, Alexander?

I busted out laughing right there and then.

When I tried to stop laughing, he said, Most youngsters your age call me, Teacher.

That stopped me right cold in my tracks, real cold.

Teacher?

Why, yes, I’m here to replace your Miss Mertz and, according to the County School Superintendent, I’m to start summer school on Monday for those children who need it.

Quite a mess of thoughts ran through my head in no time at all. The first had to do with a black man as teacher, while the second flashed my last report card in front of my mind’s eye. If Pa found out there was to be a summer session of school, I’d not only not get a job cowboyin’, I’d be the first student signed on. The last thought that flashed was, what was going to happen to Mizz Mertz?

I asked Mr. Pinkley.

She is leaving to go back east. I’ve been led to believe she has family back there and one of them is ailing and needs her, was his reply.

Now if you will just tell me where I may find Miss Mertz, I’ll thank you, Alexander, and be on my way.

I told him, drawing a map in the dirt as I spoke. He said, Thank you, Alexander, and, folding himself back into the rusty, tan truck, drove off in the direction I’d told him.

It was the right direction, too.

# # #

By Saturday afternoon, Pa had me signed up for summer school. His only comment about the teacher was, If the county says he’s a teacher, he’s a teacher.

Mizz Mertz must have felt the same way, because she left town not twenty minutes after I’d waved Mr. Pinkley on his way to her house. She hadn’t waved as she passed. All she’d done was stomp the pedal on her ’41 Ford sedan to the floor as soon as she cleared town.

Pa and me went to Church Sunday for the first time in months. Service was in the early afternoon. The Preacher hit Warlock Springs third on his circuit and had two stops to make after he left us. He put a lot of miles on his car, but the collections must have been worth it, he had a new truck every other year.

Going to Church had been my idea, which shocked Pa some. I had two reasons for suggesting the move and neither of them had to do with the good, clean Christian living the Preacher was always goin’ on about.

The first reason involved finding out what everybody else thought about our new school teacher and the summer school idea. But, to me, the second was the most important. I figured it would be my last chance to round up a job with the ranchers. All the ranch bosses, except old man Murdock – and nobody wanted to work for that old codger – attended services.

The first thing I saw when we arrived was Mr. Pinkley glad handing everybody in sight, and most of them were gathered around close. So much for idea number one.

After an hour of singing, praying, and being sermonized, I found out none of the ranchers was short a hand. Strike two, and in this game, two strikes was out.

I went to school the next morning.

Tuesday and Wednesday found me in school, also.

On Thursday, I went fishing.

I just couldn’t face another day of Mr. Pinkley and school. Actually, it wasn’t Mr. Pinkley that was the problem or even the fact that it was school. It was because the only other student in the room was that danged Melissa and I couldn’t take another day of her giggles.

I didn’t catch anything at the reservoir.

I caught it when I got home.

I knew trouble was in the mill when Mr. Pinkley opened the front door as I came strolling up the walk. Looking over his shoulder was Pa.

Pa wasn’t in the best of health since the war and after only three weak swings of the belt, he handed it to Mr. Pinkley, who proceeded to lay on four good ones. When they’d finished on the hind end, they commenced to lecturing my top end about the necessity of a good education.

My only comment during the whole thing was, I don’t need no more education to be a cowboy.

Because I didn’t like that kind of lecture, I went to school on Friday.

# # #

The next Tuesday I went fishing, again.

There hadn’t been any bites – I really didn’t care – when old man Murdock and Pa come driving up, poles sticking out of the side of Murdock’s clunker pickup. They got out of the truck, baited up, set their worms to swimming and sat down, one on my left and the other on my right.

Caught anythin’? said Murdock.

Nope.

Nibbles? asked Pa.

Nope.

That was all the chatter or action for over two hours. We drowned a mess of worms before Pa said, Too old for school, huh?

Well, Sir, I didn’t really figure it would hurt to be nice and polite, I figure I’ve had all the education a cowboy really needs.

That so? chimed in old man Murdock. You figure cowboys is uneducated nincompoops?

No, Sir. They just don’t teach the stuff a cowboy needs in that there school house and Mr. Pinkley, like Mizz Mertz, don’t know the pointy end of a cow from the poopy end.

Well, son, Mr. Murdock and I had a long chat before we came out here. Mr. Murdock has a job for you, if you want it.

I was so shocked that nothing came out of my mouth when I worked my jaw, and when you’re fourteen, that’s the worst of feelings. Next to holding that danged Melissa’s sweaty hand during dance lessons at school, that is.

Mr. Murdock and Pa laid it all out for me. I’d get to work for Mr. Murdock as a hand – his only hand – for the rest of the summer. If I still felt I wanted to be a cowboy come Labor Day, I didn’t have to go to no more schoolin’. The only catch to the whole thing – from their point of view – was, if I took the job – I really don’t know why they kept saying IF – I had to stick it out until Labor Day, a little more than two months away. If – that word again – I didn’t stick, I didn’t get paid. My dream come true and getting’ paid to boot.

Rolling up my line and dumping the remains of my can of worms in the shade of a rock, I said, When do I start, Mr. Murdock? I couldn’t hold it against the man just because he didn’t go to Church.

# # #

Three hours later I was shown to my bunk in the bunkhouse. Mr. Murdock let me pick which of the four bunks I wanted. I spread my soogans, a quilt my Ma had made before she died on us, on the first bunk inside the door and threw the sack with my clothes in it under the same bunk.

The boss took me to the barn, pointed out the saddle I was to use, - seein’s as how I didn’t have one of my own, yet, and wagging a hand at the corral, said, You can pick your own horse from them when the time comes you need one.

Now there was nine horses in that corral and I could take my pick when I needed one. Yes, Sir! I said. I was in hog heaven and going to get paid to boot.

There’s saddle soap in the cupboard, yonder. Why don’t you spend the rest of the day getting your rig ready, I’ll call you for chuck, the boss said, turning for the house.

# # #

Boy, you goin’ to sleep all day? Breakfast is ready and iffen you ain’t there in about two minutes, I’m goin’ to toss it to the dog.

I was a cowboy. The only problem was it was so dark I couldn’t see the smile on my face.

I made it to breakfast, just in time.

The clock on the wall said it was 3:30. I assumed it was AM, which caused me to ask, Mr. Murdock, why are we up so early? Do we have a long way to ride to get to the cows we’re goin’ to work today?

Only cows you’re going to work today, boy, is them two milk cows out in the barn. I expect you to be done milkin’ them, their stalls mucked out and ready to get to work come first light. He said it all while he was eating his pancakes.

When’s that? I asked, with my chin down around my boot tops somewheres.

"Let’s just put it thisaway, boy, you ain’t got enough time to eat and ask foolish questions." He shoveled the last of his flapjacks in and started clearing the table, washing the grub down with the dregs of the coffee.

See, there’s a spot of knowledge the school hadn’t taught me. Didn’t teach me to milk cows.

# # #

Just before the lunch bell rang, I saw Pa and Mr. Pinkley heading for the reservoir. I had just laid aside the posthole digger and was reaching for the bar, when that more than welcome bell rang.

I straightened up and looked back at the twelve post holes I had made in the flinty ground that morning. My stomach was deeper and emptier than all them holes combined.

As I reached the house, Mr. Murdock was coming out the back door with a plate in his hand, You’re just in time, boy. I was goin’ to throw this to the dog. He handed me the plate.

Beans and cornbread were piled high on that plate. I parked right there on the porch steps, in front of the dog, and commenced to eating.

I was sopping up the last of the pot likker with the end shred of cornbread when Mr. Murdock come out the door and said, You still lounging around that lunch plate, boy? I still got books to catch up on and them post holes don’t dig themselves, you know.

I was going to ask for more, but instead handed him the plate and headed back to my row of holes. I hadn’t made friends with the dog by giving him any leftovers of that meal. I’d have to try harder later.

Long about mid-afternoon, the bell rang. I dropped everything and ran. He met me at the door with, Pick up them tools and put’em in the shed. Get to workin’ on that wood pile. He pointed at a jumbled pile of Sycamore and Cedar logs. Split’em and stack’em, neat.

Yes, Sir, I mumbled as my feet went into gear toward the tools.

# # #

That danged Melissa could have taken better licks at that wood than I was by the time the supper bell rang. I raced for the back door at a pace that would have allowed the tortoise to win the race by a country mile, only to be met with, Get them cows milked and come on in for chow.

I really don’t know who got hurt the most by the milking, the cows or me. My hands looked like raw meat and I was stopping often to bite off the flaps of skin where the blisters had busted. I was also in a hurry, hunger lay heavy on me. My stomach must’ve thought my throat was cut.

Last thing Murdock said as I finished chow and headed for the bunkhouse in the dark was, Tomorrow we work cows.

I went to sleep with a smile on my face.

# # #

It was everything I could do to pull myself up on that horse’s back, but I made it. We set off across the graze. Mr. Murdock figured to ship about 35 head and we - him, me, and the dog - were going to catch them up. We were also going to bring in any unbranded stuff we found and slap Murdock’s Rocking M return address on their left hip.

At midday, Murdock tossed me a can of Vienna Sausage and a couple packs of soda crackers, before moving back over to his side of the 33 head of mixed beeves we was a pushing. I was too worn out to worry about food and hanging on. The stuff went in my saddle bags.

As I stopped to take a drink from my canteen, 800 pounds of prime steer took off for the high country or somewheres else other than where we wanted him to go. Murdock had explained how it was my job to keep them critters in with the tour group and not allow any individuals to stray off by themselves. This was the first one that had broken out on my side of the herd.

With a sense of finally having it made as a cowboy, I sunk my loaner spurs into the horse’s ribs, pulled his head around after the steer, and reached for my rope.

Me and that horse turned that steer twice, but each time he cut off for scenic spots again. I shook out a loop.

Murdock’s voice come to me, yelling, Bust him, boy, bust him!

That steer was stretching out, belly to the ground throwing up dirt clods with every lunge, with my horse moving into position at his shoulder. My hat went sailing as I swung the loop over my head one time and down over the steer’s horns just like I’d seen at the rodeos Pa had took me to.

The horse stopped as soon as he saw that loop go past his ears.

The steer didn’t.

He reached the end of the rope, which I was still hanging on to, and kept right on going.

I let go of the rope somewheres between the third and fourth bounce. Murdock raced by laughing and shouting something about the herd.

I fell asleep with a tin of Vienna Sausages half eaten on the table next to the bed.

The next day we caught and branded 23 head of stock (I don’t think he had been doing much branding that past couple of years), including one two year old filly. The boss sat on his horse roping each head and I ran around on the ground, wrestling each of them down, tying the feet, and laying the irons to them. I learned quick to tie them well, because if I didn’t do it right the first time I’d have to do it again in order to give them their shots.

After two hours of this, I asked the boss, Want to trade places for a spell?

Nope.

Why not?

You don’t know how to rope.

Ain’t gonna learn running around down here, either. This was just one more example of that school not teaching me what I needed to know.

He threw his rope on a bull calf around 500 pounds heavy, saying, Get that one.

That night I ate everything in sight including the leftovers from the night before and was working on the second pitcher of milk when Murdock says, Boy, you goin’ to have to work a whole lot harder to pay for all the food you been putting away.

Got anymore biscuits in that dutch oven? was my only reply.

He chuckled.

# # #

A couple of days later we were cutting hay and digging post holes, him riding the tractor and me working the oaken handles of the post hole digger. When I asked when it was my turn to sit up there and drive the tractor, his reply was, You don’t know how.

Danged school.

I continued to diggin’ them holes while the hay cured on the ground. I was diggin’ when he drove the bailer through it. Come