Read Online Dry Divide by Ralph Moody - Free Book Online

goldpiece. He peeked up at me from under the visor of his cap, grinned, and told me, “I’ll handle ’em, Bud. Just give me a hand a-gettin’ ’em hooked to the barge the first time. Always did like a team with a little get-up-and-go to it.”
    As soon as Bill’s team was hitched to a barge I went to the corral, where Hudson had the six little broncos lined up in two teams of three each, with the two wildest in the centers. Each team was poled together with the sticks he’d brought from the barn, one end wired to a hame, and the other to a bit ring on the next horse’s bridle. With the sticks crossed in X’s between each pair, no horse in a team could rear, crowd, or pull aside more than an inch or two without tearing its mouth. Paco was helping Hudson put jerk lines on one of the teams when I swung the gate back to go into the corral, but Hudson shouted to me, “Leave that gate open and take this team out! This Mex can’t talk American.”
    Those little horses knew the punishment of jockey poles too well to fight them, and I had no trouble in driving when I picked up the jerk lines. Hudson led the way with the other team, trailing his blacksnake behind him. Although the horses had stood all night without water, he didn’t let them go to the tank, but yanked them around and drove them to the header. The only trouble we had in hooking them to it was in being careful to avoid a flying heel or two. I’d lost all track of time during the harnessing, and when I stepped back from hooking the last trace chain I was surprised to see that the sun was only an hour high. I’d also forgotten that we were short one driver until Hudson turned toward the house, and yelled, “Hey, you! Get out here!”
    Hudson’s voice had barely echoed back before Judy came around the corner from the kitchen. She had on a faded denim jacket that must have been her sister’s, and pulled up over it was a pair of overalls that must have been Hudson’s. The shoulder straps had been shortened until the bib reached nearly to her chin, and a foot or more of the legs was folded into cuffs. With her hair tucked inside a big cap that pulled down over her ears, she looked like a teddy bear as she came running toward the first barge in the line, the one with the two old mares hitched to it. Edgar and Everett headed for it too, but Hudson bawled at them, “Get outa there and take that barge where the Swedes are at!” That left Paco and Jaikus to go as Old Bill’s pitchers. And since I’d hired out to do the stacking I just picked up a pitchfork and stood off to one side—anxious to see how a header worked, and how Hudson was going to steer it and handle all the levers and pulleys while driving two teams of half-wild mustangs.
    Astraddle of the rudder bar, and perched, nearly standing, on the little seat at the top of the steering post, he hung each pair of jerk lines around his neck, then pulled down the boom that lifted the cutting machinery. As it rose, not more than two or three feet in front of the already frightened horses’ heads, they went into a panic, fear of the monster rising toward them greater than their fear of the punishing jockey poles wired to their bits. Dancing, plunging, and rearing till the poles jerked them down, each team swung outward, trying to escape the awesome contraption, but Hudson yanked the inside jerk lines with all his tremendous strength. At the same time he swung his whip from side to side, lashing the outside horses on their faces and driving them inward.
    Whether intentionally or through carelessness, Hudson had left the machine in gear. As the horses plunged away from the sting of his whip they lurched forward into their collars, turning the drive wheel and setting the clattering cutter bar, the reel, and the conveyor belts into motion. Insane with fright the horses leaped back, but Hudson poured the blacksnake across their backs