The Practical Jokers: Western Novel for Young People

By Richard A. Davis

About the Book:
When Stace arrives at the saloon at the rail head of the Double Bar M Ranch, he finds a young half-Indian lad, Rabbit, being terrorized by the local cowboys. He rescues the boy, and when Colonel McFarley invites him to join the crew, he insists that Rabbit be given a job as well. But he discovers that having rescued Rabbit, he has not stopped the harassment, though the other cowboys are judging exactly what Satce will tolerate. So Stace works up a scheme to trick the other cowboys into accepting Rabbit. In the process, Rabbit learns about the nature and special meanings of tricks and practical jokes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 9, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499044935

Richard A. Davis

The Rev. Richard A. Davis is ordained in the Presbyterian Church, U.S.A. and since 1971 has done student ministry in America and Europe and pastored churches in Minnesota, Northern Ireland, and Switzerland. In 2009, he was named pastor emeritus of The International Protestant Church of Zurich, Switzerland. Richard has led study tours and spoken at churches, schools, conferences, camps, and other venues around the world and has written dozens of articles for publication and authored 15 books, including God, I Don't Get It: Critical Thinking on Critical Questions, and his latest, Internal Affairs: How to Mend a Wounded Soul. He is a graduate of the University of Minnesota, Luther Theological Seminary, and San Francisco Theological Seminary and has been scholar-in-residence at Westminster College, Cambridge University, England. Richard and Susan reside in Palm Desert, California and are the parents of two adult children, Sarah and Benjamin.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

I t was the town, all right. Stace could just make out the fly-speck buildings strung out along the slash of the railroad where it cut the yellow smudge of trail coming out from the foothills. But it must be a good two days’ ride and at least three thousand feet straight down.

Except for the railroad and the fly-speck town, the flats below were as brown and empty as a miscolored sea. The plain seemed to shimmer with heat and melt into the brown horizon.

Summer had already left the mountains. The days had been cool and the nights frosty. The aspens were fading to a pale yellow. There was a dusting of white on the peaks above.

Stace had been riding for days up along a broad, clear river that watered a meadow between the double crest of the mountains The river had gotten narrower and faster as he rode upstream. Gradually the meadow had given way to scrub and finally to pine and aspen forest as he moved higher. It was beautiful country, but utterly empty except for jackrabbits, antelope, and mountain sheep.

But he had picked up a cattle trail which to his surprise got bigger as he followed it upward. Now he could see why. Though the valley tilted up towards the south, it ended abruptly in a jumble of peaks at the closed end and dropped away to the plain below. There must be a trail down to the flats that was steep but easy enough for cattle.

As he looked down at the town, Stace pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through matted hair. He straightened his hat and adjusted the gun at his thigh. He hoped he would not have to camp out again tonight. It would be nice to ride into town without two weeks of trail dust all over him. He ran his palm over his chin. And with a shave, too. Some men looked rugged with several days’ growth of whiskers, but Stace never thought he was one of them. He thought he just looked unshaven.

Come on, Mizpah, we might as well start down. Stace patted his horse and picked his way through the jumble of rocks back down from the overlook to the trail. Mizpah was a big horse. He needed to be, because his owner was big. He was a dark chestnut with black mane and tail. There was not a spot of white on him anywhere.

The trail that dropped out of the mountains was wide and pounded smooth, so they made good time. It was dimpled with the prints of thousands of hooves. Stace figured that if he had come through a few days earlier, the high meadows would not have been empty. It seemed early to have left the high country. Maybe the autumn had fooled them and come up with a surprise Indian Summer. More likely, the drovers had to make allowances not only for getting the cattle out of the mountains before winter set in, but rounded up and shipped East while trains could still get over the Great Divide.

They descended in lazy loops, cutting back and forth down the face of the escarpment. Sometimes the trail descended far back into canyons cut into the mass of the mountain, and sometimes it ran along the sheer face of the cliff, with a thousand foot drop practically under them.

And all the time the air got warmer and warmer in spite of the hastening evening. It was like coming down into a different world. The trees gave way to scrub, and the scrub to brush, and there were different cactus for each level. Though it was not a hard trail, Mizpah foamed and lathered.

Toward sunset, Stace found himself riding along the crest of a low ridge above a shallow watercourse. The trail doubled back up the watercourse a while to lose altitude and then came out again right beside where the water would have been if there had been any. He came out into a little plateau well down the mountain but still above the foothills. The sun was low, but the air had not begun to cool off much.

At the far end of the plateau was a house. It was a simple hut of uncut stone with a sod roof. A woman had spied Stace when he had first turned out onto the plateau, and now she and her husband were standing in front of the hut, waiting for him.

Howdy, said Stace when he got close.

Evenin’, Mister, the man said. He watched Stace politely but carefully, like a cow pony new off the winter range in the spring. Stace was surprised that he spoke unaccented English. He had taken the pair for Indians. They were dressed Indian-fashion. But up close Stace saw that though the man was dark from a lifetime of sun, his lined face was the face of an Anglo. But Stace was right about the woman. Though she was not young, Stace guessed that she was a lot younger than her husband.

I don’t think I can make it all the way to town tonight, Stace said. Would you be willing to put us up?

The man looked at the woman and said something in a strange tongue. The woman’s shrug said it was up to the man. He thought a long time before he spoke.

We cain’t offer you much, but I reckon you’re welcome to what we have, he said.

Anything at all will be more comfortable than another night on the trail, Stace said. I saw the town from the top of the trail, and figure it’s another day’s ride.

You never been hereabouts before?

No, I haven’t.

The old man softened. Then you ain’t one of the Colonel’s men?

The Colonel?

Colonel McFarlie. It’s his town.

No, said Stace, though he’s probably the man I’m looking for. Does he own the Double Bar M?

That’s the man. You don’t know him?

No. I just heard there’s a big spread down here whose boss is a big man in the territory.

That’s the Colonel, all right. They’s none bigger.

The woman made a sign to the man and went inside the hut.

Come in, the man said. You can sleep in the loft. It was our son’s bed. I’ll see to your horse.

Stace saw that the old man was relieved to learn he was not one of McFarlie’s men. He felt a little foolish walking around with guns on, so he slipped off his belt and shoved it into his bedroll.

The old man noticed that Stace did not have his gun on when he went out to help with Mizpah.

You an outlaw? he asked bluntly.

Why, no, Stace said, taken a bit by surprise. Not really. I got in a fight, but he lived. His father was somebody, so it seemed best to move on. Would it make a difference?

Not out here, the man said, busy with the horse. I reckon everybody out here is runnin’ from something or he wouldn’t be out here. That’s a fine critter you got.

Thanks, said Stace. Mizpah’s been a good friend. He patted the horse on the nose, and Mizpah nuzzled his shoulder.

McFarlie likes a man with a reputation, the old man said, but he don’t abide no nonsense between his men. He keeps a firm hand in.

What kind of a man is McFarlie?

Oh, he’s decent enough, I suppose, though he’s not above letting his men throw their weight around. You learn not to test a man’s sense of fair play too much out here.

How much spread does he have?

Depends on who you ask. But well up into the mountains you came out of and most of the flats.

Does he own this plot?

He says so.

But you don’t?

The old man looked at Stace to say, if you’re fixing to work for the man, I can hardly tell you everything. Stace shrugged.

Well, ’tain’t no secret, the old man said after a while. "When I first come out here there warn’t no other white man this side o’ Topeka. I was a trapper. I’d a wife back East, but she died. I lived amongst the Injuns and did them favors as come my way. When I got ready to settle down, Chief Yellow Thunder give me his daughter and this bit o’ land. He figgered it was his to give.

I been here twenty years before McFarlie ever set eyes on this place. That was when the railroad opened up the country, made cattle raising out here a money-making proposition. He has a deed from the railroad for the whole country. He don’t reckonize my claim.

But he hasn’t run you off?

No. I’ll say that for him. My puny plot don’t count for much, though it has a good spring. So he waters his cows here on the way up and the way down and leaves me alone the rest o’ the year.

When they got back to the hut, the woman showed Stace to a lean-to where she set out a tub of hot water. He was glad to get out of his smelly clothes and into the steaming tub. He almost fell asleep soaking, but he woke with a jerk when the woman crept in and began picking up his clothes.

Hey, what are you doing? he yelled, but she did not seem to understand English, and he couldn’t very well jump up and stop her. He was wondering what he was going to do for clothes when the old man came in with what looked like a nightshirt and some old overalls.

My son’s, he said. They won’t hardly fit, but they’ll do for tonight.

He was right. They didn’t fit. Stace felt foolish in pantlegs up to his shins and sleeves that hardly came below his elbows. He saw the woman smile behind her shoulder when he came into the hut. He was glad there was nobody else to see him besides the old couple.

There was chicken and beans and squash. Stace wondered how often they had chicken for supper.

Do you still do any trapping? he asked as they ate.

Not really, the old man said. I’m too old for the mountains.

How do you live?

Oh, it don’t take much when you’re old. I sell a few pelts and things. Mostly we make do with what we have.

Poor folk, to have lost their only son. Stace changed the subject.

How come the town is in the flats? It must be hot as the devil.

If you’d come through a month from now, you’d know, the old man said. Once it starts to snow, the high country is sealed in tight. It’s only hot down here about three or four months. The soil ain’t much on the flats, but there’s water if you dig for it. You’ll be coming out into the winter pasture just below here.

Where’s the ranch house?

The old man scrunched back in his chair. It’s off to the right in the last low hills. But you’d better ask for the Colonel in town. He don’t cotton to strangers less’n he knows ’em.

Thanks for the advice, Stace said. I suppose the cattle are all out of the high country now.

All he could round up, anyhow. They come through a week or so ago. The Colonel’s probably shipping ’em out right now.

Isn’t it early?

Not for these mountains. This hot spell is late. Last year this time they was two foot of snow in the mountains. They’s a beast lives up there. He comes down in the meadows soon as the weather turns. Kills a lot o’ cows and skeers hell out’n the rest.

What sort of beast?

Don’t know for sure. A big grizzly, mebbe. The Injuns say he cain’t be kilt. I never seen him, but I heard him and seen his trail o’ blood. He’ll come down here if the winter gets hard enough. He’ll raid the Colonel in his own barnyard.

Aren’t you afraid of him?

The old man spat into the fireplace.

Naw. In a way, McFarlie protects me. Why bother with my scrawny cow when there’s a lot fatter beef just below? If the hunting stays good in the high country, he won’t come down, though. Not if McFarlie warn’t too greedy about gettin’ every last cow down. He hasn’t bothered us for four-five years now.

It was time for bed. The old man showed Stace to the pallet of straw in the loft. After all those nights on bare ground, it was like a hotel.

CHAPTER 2

S tace woke to the smell of cornbread and coffee. The morning was crisp and dewy before the sun had a chance to bake out the brown earth. He found his clothes, freshly washed, laid out on the foot of the bed. Good, he thought, he would not have to look like a trail bum as he rode into town.

Mornin’, Sonny, said the old man when Stace came down the ladder. I thought I was gonna have to roust you. You’ll be wanting an early start if you reckon to make it to town today.

He had just come in from milking and was pouring the milk through a cloth into a wide, shallow crock.

Been so long since I climbed into a bed, I hated to climb out again, Stace said. Can I really make it to town today?

From here to town, but not t’other way. They’s a lot of downhill yet. But you got a good hoss. I fed him.

Thanks. Would it be all right if I shave?

Sure thing, the old man said. He got a tin wash pan and poured out some hot water from a kettle on the hearth. The woman was busy making breakfast and took no notice of the men. The old man put the pan of water on a bench outside by the door and hung a mirror on a nail in the door post. The level rays of the sun came right over Stace’s shoulder, and he shaved in their reflection onto his chin.

He shaved