A Life To Be Proud Of
Joe knew without having to be told. He asked anyway, his voice revealing his forlorn hope.
“Did you…I heard a shot…” Joe took a deep breath. He tried to control his voice. I can’t act like a kid, he told himself. It was a heart-breaking fact of ranch life: sometimes even the best horses couldn’t be saved.
“There wasn’t anything else we could do, Joe,” Adam said. “I’m so sorry. Hoss and Charlie agreed. He was too badly injured.”
“Who…”
“I took care of him,” Adam said softly.
Joe felt a small measure of relief, then shame. I should have at least done that for him, he thought. I should have at least been with him.
As if he read his thoughts, Adam said, “It was all right, Joe. Dusty knew that you wanted to help him. I told him.”
The tender understanding in the simple words cracked the dam holding back the tears. Joe tried for a moment to suppress them, gulping and gasping. Finally he gave in, saying in a strangled tone, “I can’t help it, Adam. I owe Dusty a lot, and I feel so bad inside…”
Joe bent sideways, as far as his splinted left leg would allow, and sobbed, pressing his face into his pillow. Adam let his brother cry, not touching him, waiting.
When Joe was a child, it was easy to comfort him; he would just scoop him into his lap, rocking steadily until the storm of tears passed. But Joe was a young man now, with all the self-consciousness that went along with being not quite grown but no longer a child. He was hurting, both physically and emotionally, but any attempt at comfort might destroy the façade of maturity he was trying so hard to maintain. So Adam sat next to his brother, aching for him silently, as he gave in to his grief.
When Joe’s sobs gave way to hiccupping breaths, Adam put a hand on his brother’s arm to get his attention. “I owe Dusty a lot, too,” he said.
Joe wiped his nightshirt sleeve across his nose. “What do you mean?”
Frowning, Adam pointedly handed Joe his bandana. Joe sheepishly used it to blow his nose.
“Our work can be very dangerous. On many, many occasions, his quick reactions and cleverness around cattle kept my little brother safe.”
Joe looked up, startled.
“I worry about you, the chances you take. But when you were riding Dusty, I knew you had his common sense to draw on, even if your own deserted you.”
Joe’s face flushed a little at this, and he looked down.
Adam tapped Joe’s arm. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of in mourning a friend. Dusty was a good friend.”
Adam let that statement sink in for a while. Joe pleated the edge of the sheet, staring down at his hands.
“You and Dusty were quite a team,” Adam said, watching Joe’s face carefully. “He never worked as well for anyone else as he did for you.”
Joe sat quietly for a while, his aching leg only a dim echo of the ache in his heart.
“He saved my life today,” Joe said.
Adam closed his eyes against the memory. “I know it, Little Brother. And he will ever have my gratitude for that.”
**********
Joe had been working in the holding corral, assisting the branding crew by cutting out and roping the next animal to be branded. This particular herd held many outlaws -- maverick cows and bulls that had repeatedly escaped the general herd. Most had never felt the touch of a rope, and they were likely to fight anything that stepped in front of them.
Joe had put a loop on the neck of a one-horned cow, but the touch of the rope sent the cow into a spinning frenzy. Joe was just leaning back to dally his rope when the cow’s sudden bellowing fit yanked him straight out of the saddle -- right under the hooves of the ornery, milling herd. He gasped in the dust, the breath knocked out of him and he struggled to get to his feet under him. But he was knocked over again and stepped on repeatedly. He felt his leg give; he threw both arms up to protect his head.
When Dusty felt his rider’s weight leave his back, he turned, and with the quickness and agility so prized in a cutting horse, went to work. Like threading a needle, the little cutting horse dodged between Joe and the scalawag cattle, turning them away from the man on the ground. Adam quickly pulled Joe to safety while Dusty approached the ornery cow.
The one-horned cow, instead of sensibly turning back, lowered its head and charged straight on as if the little horse wasn’t even there. The collision forced both horse and cow into the boards, and both went down hard, taking a section of corral fence with them.
Ropes snaked from several directions as the drovers secured the frantic cow. Joe yanked at the hands under his arms, trying to get free, but Adam kept dragging him further away. Joe looked frantically over to Dusty; the dun-colored pony was on his feet, but he held his right rear leg bent high.
His brothers carried Joe, protesting all the way, into the house. His father met them at the porch. Adam and Hoss, seeing Joe in his father’s care, turned back to the holding corral.
Hop Sing worked to immobilize Joe’s leg and Ben sent for the doctor. Joe had begged to check on Dusty, but Ben would not even consider allowing him to move until after the doctor had seen him.
Joe knew, though, with dreadful near certainty. His last glimpse of Dusty showed him the injury was bad. Dusty was holding his head low and he was shuddering, his nose nearly touching the ground, a posture that indicated extreme pain.
And then he heard the shot...
When Adam returned, a quick jerk of his head was all it took to get Ben to leave him alone with Joe.
**********
Adam reached out and turned the lamp down.
“Remember when Coop worked for us?” Adam said, deliberately not looking at his brother. “He recognized how good that pony was early on, and he and Charlie singled Dusty out for extra training. Remember? You were around ten years old, I think.”
“I remember watching Charlie work him. I don’t remember Coop ridin’ him, though.” Joe’s voice was listless, as if he forced himself to answer.
“He didn’t ride him long. After that roundup with the Diamond C, when you and Dusty were both were injured, and you both took so long to recover —well, Dusty decided to become your horse. Everyone knew it. And once a horse like Dusty claims you, he’s yours. It wouldn’t have mattered who held the ownership papers.”
Joe nodded, a little surprised that Adam understood. He knew Dusty had chosen him, but it wasn’t anything he would ever have talked to anyone about.
“He was the best cutting horse; once I showed him which steer I wanted, I never had to touch the reins again,” Joe said, pride in his voice. “With no more direction than that, he would cut that steer out of the herd, easy as you please. He was just as good when it came to roping, too.” Joe paused, looking down at his hands again. “He was so good, I actually felt a little…humble, you know? I think he knew more than I did about working cattle.”
“Jasper Holt wanted to buy him, did you know? He offered Pa five hundred dollars.”
“Really?” Joe said, a hint of the usual spark back in his eyes. “Pa never said anything about it.”
“Because he knew Dusty was yours.”
It really was as simple as that, Joe thought. Dusty was mine, and I was his.
Adam saw Joe’s lower lip quiver, and quickly spoke again. “Remember when you were about twelve or thirteen and you tried to make him wear Pa’s old hat for the Fourth of July parade? He pushed back at you so hard you fell into the water trough.”
“And ruined my firecrackers!” said Joe. He grinned in genuine mirth, and Adam felt a little of the tension go out of his shoulders.
“He never liked the sound of firecrackers,” Joe added. “I always thought he somehow knew I had ‘em in my pocket when he pushed me in.”
“Hoss said that Dusty was the only horse he ever knew with a sense of humor.” Adam smiled in reply. “I guess he’s like the rest of us in that regard — a sense of humor is the best defense against Joe Cartwright’s schemes.”
“Hey!” Joe said indignantly. Adam merely smiled.
They sat for a while, remembering.
“It’s hard to accept that every life comes to an end,” Adam said softly. “But doing your best, staying true to those you love, finding joy in your work…well, that’s a life to be proud of, isn’t it? For Dusty. For anyone.”
Joe smiled. “I reckon Dusty had that kind of life, Adam, don’t you?”
“I do, Joe,” Adam said, looking into his brother’s soft eyes. “I do indeed.”
*****End*****
Our authors appreciate comments on their stories. If you would like to send comments on this story, click on the author’s name at the top of this page.