25) A Cold Camp…
Charlie had fallen into a sound sleep while the truck bounced its way across the north range. When it came to a stop, he fell deeper into his slumber, so much so that when Carl Sr. let the tail gate drop, Charlie rolled out onto the ground at his grandfather’s feet. “What in tar nation?”
Disoriented and confused, Charlie sat up and rubbed his head as he looked around. It took a few seconds, but once he saw his grandfather’s face above him in the dark shadows, he realized that he should have spent more time working on what he would say in this moment. He had fallen to sleep working on it, but had come up with nothing concrete. “Um…hi, sir.”
“Boy, what do you think you’re doing?”
“I…well, sir, I have no excuse.”
Carl pushed his hat back on his head and scratched at his thinning hairline. “You realize that we’re better than fifty miles north of town?”
“No, sir, I had no idea.”
“That’s a long way for a boy your age to walk…” Carl turned and went up the ramp into the trailer. A moment later, as Charlie got to his feet, he backed Cleo down the ramp. She turned at once and began to sniff of Charlie. He could not resist reaching up and rubbing on her nose and between her eyes. His only experience with a horse had been the month before when he and pilot had carried Jesus up into the cuts. “Hi there, girl.”
Cleo nudged him in the chest and he had to step back a bit.
Charlie was not sure what to do now. This was as far away from his element as he had ever thought to get. His grandfather had as much as told him that he would be walking back to town, in the dark of night, on his own, over fifty miles of hard ground. All of a sudden, he felt tears well up in his eyes and he hated himself for it, grateful for the dark that hid it from his grandfather. “Guess I’ll go now…”
He turned away from the trailer when his grandfather said nothing to his announcement. Looking around, he could see the stars and the outlines of the cattle, but there was little else, save for the grass. He took a few steps and then a thought occurred to him. Clearing his throat, he turned back to the trailer. “Is this the way back to town?”
“Depends on which town you wanna get to. Any direction will get you to one eventually.” The old man was pulling his gear from the back of his pick up; he had a saddle and a couple of burlap bags in his full arms.
“I was talking about Agony, sir.”
Carl actually chuckled. “I figured you was.”
“Is it really fifty miles?”
“As the crow flies, ‘course crows don’t have to jump fences or dance around rattle snakes.”
The snake comment forced Charlie’s eyes down to his feet.
“Ever dealt with a rattler?” Carl said, setting his things down.
“Yes, sir. When I was stuck over in the cuts with Jesus, we had one that got into the place and was hiding under the cot. I had to get him out of there, Jesus was in no shape at the time.”
“Well, then, that should give you enough experience to handle that part of it.”
“Yes, sir. It’s the rest I’m not sure of.”
“The rest of what?”
“Of … being out here. I guess I snuck into your trailer because I want to know what all this is like.”
“What do you mean, all this?”
“Cowboying, sir.”
This time Carl could not hide his chuckle. He realized that it was the first time he had chuckled, or displayed his sense of humor in a very long time. Most often, it was Cleo that gave him reason to smile, when he did. “Might wanna wait it out till daylight. Make it easier if you head out at sunrise. Not as likely to turn an ankle on a cow patty.”
“You mean, I can stay here with you tonight?”
“I reckon so…gonna be a cold camp though.”
Charlie walked back toward the dark form of his grandfather. The man’s white hat stood out, almost phosphorescent in the gloom. “You have a tent or anything?”
“Nope. I like to look at the stars before I fall to sleep.”
“What do you do when it rains?” Charlie squatted down across from Carl.
“It don’t hardly rain around these parts. But, when it does, I usually head in to one of the range shacks.”
“Dad used to tell me about this place. I always wanted to be out here like this.”
“Did your daddy ever tell you how much he hated being out here?”
“He never said he liked it, if that’s what you mean.”
“He was a ball player. Not a cowboy. I never blamed him none for it though.”
“We used to go to every cowboy movie when one was playing. I’ve read a lot of books on it too.”
“Feel like you’re ready to be a cowboy then?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that, sir. But, I figure you have to start someplace, right?”
Carl nodded as he rolled a smoke. “When I was a boy, me and my brother couldn’t wait to be cowboys. It was all we ever wanted to do, that and be good with a pistol.”
“I’ve never shot a pistol, sir.”
“Ever shot any sort of firearm?”
“No, sir.”
“Caleb says you’re a good worker.”
“I try, sir.”
“Look in the back of my truck. There’s another couple of bedrolls. Get yourself one, unless you wanna feed the fleas all night.”
“Yes, sir…” Charlie found the stack of three woolen rolls and grabbed one. He walked back to the campsite and saw how Carl had already unfurled his; Charlie copied him, setting up opposite. “How come you have no fire?”
“Too late,” Carl said as he struck a stove match and lit his smoke. “Normally, me and Cleo gather bits and pieces of wood while we’re working the range. Otherwise, we use dried cow patties. The make good fuel.”
“You mean, the…dung?”
“I thought you said you read all them books. No body ever wrote nothing about how you make fire on the prairie?”
“Oh, well, yes, sir they do, did I mean. I just forgot that part momentarily.”
They sat in silence a bit, Carl smoking, Charlie’s eyes roaming from the brilliance of the stars to the glow of his grandfather’s smoke. “Do you eat in a cold camp?” His stomach was rumbling.
Carl nodded. “Sure do, jerky and hard tack.”
Charlie had heard of both of those, but had never tried any. His stomach told him that it was willing to try just about anything short of dirt. He was thirsty, too. “Is there any water?”
Carl’s cigarette pointed to the truck. “Got ten big jugs in the bed. Help yourself.”
The water was hot. The jugs were thick ceramic, like a stereotypical whisky jug, only these were big, five gallons each. It took all he had to lift one up to the side of the truck bed. He pulled the cork and leaned it to his lips. Even warm, it cut through the dust in his throat. He cupped a little in his palm and brushed it over his face, head and neck. Then he stuck the cork back in and grunted as he set the jug back in place.
When he returned to his bedroll, he sucked a big breath and asked a question that had bothered him since he set out on this ill-advised adventure. “What should I call you, sir? I mean, how should I address you?”
“My name is Carl.”
“My name is Charlie.”
“So I heard. You hungry?”
“Yes, sir…”
A burlap bag landed by Charlie; he had not seen the old man toss it over. It surprised him when he picked it up; it was far heavier than he expected. It took a minute to work out the knot of string that held it closed in a gather at the top. The dark worked against him, he had to feel his way through. Finally, the string slipped away and he stuck his hand inside. It felt like crackers, only thicker. He could smell a strong flour aroma lifting up. “This must be the hard tack?”
“Yup…”
“They’re already cooked and everything?”
“That’s right.”
He took a bite, it was, as advertised: hard as a tack, maybe even a ten-penny nail. It crunched as he chewed and made him thirsty all over again.
Another bag landed by his legs. This time, the string did not give as much trouble. He pulled a big hunk of jerky out and tried to bite off a piece. The salt stung his tongue and his teeth could not go through. He had to pull and pull to finally get a bite of it to tear away. Then, he sat there chewing for several minutes to get the beef soft enough to consider swallowing it. All the time he chewed, a delicious juice formed and filled his mouth. It ran down his throat and excited his sense of hunger.
“How you like it?” Carl asked, sounding a little bemused.
“It’s really good,” Charlie answered with his mouth still full. He took another bite of hard tack, just to help staunch the flow of saliva that the jerky caused. That was when he figured out that by mixing a little of each, it actually felt like he was eating a meal. Content, he sat there and chewed for a long, long time, going after another few hunks of meat. Then, he realized that his grandfather had not had any. “Gosh, I’m hogging it all to myself. Here…Carl…don’t you want to eat too?”
“Oh, I ate me a big lunch. I might nibble on a piece here in a bit. You go on ahead.”
“Sure is good.”
“Don’t eat too much of it.”
“Why?”
“Them’s rations, boy. Made to keep a man from starvin’ to death. It ain’t meant for filling up on.”
“Oh…” Charlie said with his mouth full. The jerky got better, he noticed, the more he chewed; the meat sucked up his saliva, then sort of rejuvenated into something approaching steak, when you got right down to it. He loved steak, always had, yet, the more he chewed, the more he realized that his jaws were beginning to ache from the effort. He closed up the bags and finished chewing what he already had. “Thanks, Carl. I was way more hungry than I thought.”
“Once, when we was boys, me and my brother et a whole bag of jerky like that. Made us sick as dogs.”
Charlie chuckled. “What was it like back in those days?”
“Bout like it is now, cept the streets in town are paved and all. They was only five automobiles in the entire county back then.”
“I’ve never been on a horse, well…except for a little bit when I rode on Pilot, but we didn’t have a saddle or anything.”
“Well, if you want, I have three more horses. I don’t normally ride the others much, Cleo is my best, so I tend to keep with her. You can give it a try if you want to learn how.”
“Really?” Charlie wanted to jump up and down, but he kept cool and remained where he sat. “That would be really great.”
“Work a day in a saddle and tell me how great you think it is then.”
“You mean…you’ll let me work with you tomorrow?”
“First off, you need to tell me why you jumped in my trailer, like some sprat off to join up with the circus or something.”
Charlie swallowed. The last thing he thought he would have to do is explain all this, but he nodded and gave Carl the five minute speech about his mom, the Doc, the little town and how things had changed so much in the last six weeks, since they had come down here from Chicago. “So, that’s why I did what I did.”
“We’ll need to get word to town, soes your momma won’t spend time worrying needlessly.”
“Is there a phone or anything out here?”
“Not for miles.”
“Then, will I need to go back into town to tell her?”
“I think we can figger us out something else.”
~
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