A Horse Named Alice

Chapter 1

More Than a New Dawn

Allen North pulled the rough wool blanket up over his head to muffle the sound of his father pounding on his bedroom door.

Orin North called again, Come on boy, we’re a burning daylight.

Allen pushed the blanket from his face, raised himself on one elbow and looked out of the small window at the head of his bed. He groaned and mumbled to himself, Ah, Pa, there ain’t even daylight yet.

He swung out of bed and was pulling on his pants when he heard a gentle knock on his door, I’m going to do the wash today, Son. Put on clean drawers, and bring down anything else you want washed. Leave ’em by the washtub on your way to the barn.

Allen pulled on his clean long drawers and stood to button them up the front. He paused a moment to look at the length of the sleeves and then the legs. Shucks! I got to get me some clothes that fit better than this. He tugged at each of the sleeves in an effort to stretch them and then unbuttoned the top five or so buttons to give himself a little more freedom across his chest. He looked in the small mirror next to the door. His well-muscled, six-foot-tall, lean frame strained the underwear in all directions. He smiled at himself and said out loud, Cowboy, I think your ma feeds you too good.

In the kitchen of their small ranch house, Beatrice North, Allen’s mother, stuffed another piece of wood into the stove. She was dressed in a flannel robe tied at the waist making her full bosom and hips look even larger than they were. Her hair was bound up in a sleep cap, and in place of slippers she wore a pair of high-top shoes without laces. At the sound of Allen’s bedroom door closing, she tugged at the belt of her robe, shuffled in her oversize shoes to the table, and picked up the mug of coffee that had been waiting for him.

Hurry now. Your pa is already in the barn. When you get back I’ll have biscuits and gravy ready.

Allen took the cup in his left hand and put his right arm around his mother’s shoulders giving her a hug. Her head came to about the middle of his chest. I surely do hope those lazy hens get to laying again. It don’t seem like breakfast without eggs.

Eggs indeed. Breakfast is breakfast. If you and your pa don’t do something about keeping the weasels and critters out of the hen house at night, we never will have eggs again. Now get along with you so I can get myself dressed and my hair brushed.

Drinking the last drop of coffee, Allen left his mug on top of a corral post. The bang of the privy door closing made him turn. His father stepped out and pulled on his large wool coat. Orin North and his son looked as if they were made from the same stamping. As they walked toward the barn, even their rolling gait was alike.

Allen took a firm grip on the saddle horn and rocked his saddle from side to side, then gave the cinch another pull and tied it off. He spoke softly to his horse, All right, old girl, let’s get on with the morning’s work. He put a foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle. The cold leather seat caused him to squirm against the chill. He took a moment to pull the collar of his sheepskin coat higher to fend off the predawn chill. To his right, the smoke rose from the chimney of their ranch house. To his left, his father held a tight rein as his horse crow-hopped resisting the burden on its back. In a moment the horse settled down and they were in an easy lope toward the east. The fading of the rose-colored sky was announcing another day on the high desert.

The morning sun was barely over the eastern horizon as Orin North sat on his horse watching the calf on the end of his rope give in to the strength of horse and rider. Allen stepped down from his horse to look at the calf’s hind leg. The torn flesh puckered along a short but nasty cut. He put his knees against the calf’s side, reached over its back, took hold of its hide, and in one easy motion pulled the calf off balance and dropped it onto its side. He put a knee on its hip to hold it still and took a tin of salve from his coat pocket and doctored the cut. Without looking at his dad he called, Sure as anything, looks as if he cut himself on a rock. Allen stood and screwed the lid on the medicine tin. He walked to his horse and placed it in the saddlebag. Orin eased the tension on his rope, and the horse stepped forward to let the calf stand and kick out of the holding loop.

Allen watched the calf run in search of its mother as he unbuttoned the last of the buttons holding his great coat closed and without turning said, Pa, the grass must be special good this spring. Those calves are fleshing out really fine.

Orin nodded in agreement, That late rain gave us good grass. I believe that’s the last of the calves that need attention, let’s head back.

As Allen swung into the saddle he spotted a horse and rider on the crest of a rise about a mile or so north heading generally in their direction, Pa, what’d you make of that?

Orin turned in his saddle and shielded his eyes, We won’t have to go very far out of our way to find out.

Allen heeled his horse into an easy lope, his father followed, and they headed toward the figure. When they intersected the rider’s line of travel, they reined their horses to a walk. The sun was fully up by now. Allen tugged at his coat collar again as they waited.

When the figure was still several hundred yards off, a smile spread across Allen’s face, That’s Martin Carney.

Martin Carney was a large man. He was well over six feet tall and weighed about two hundred and fifty pounds. He had a ruddy complexion, and his red hair had mostly turned gray. Martin reined his horse to a stop between Allen and Orin. He leaned across and shook hands first with Orin and then Allen. He pushed his hat back with one finger of his gloved hand and said, I believe you must have gotten up before breakfast to be this far from the house so early.

Orin pushed back his hat and rested both hands on the horn of his saddle, You might say that.

Allen stepped down from his horse, loosened the cinch, and straightened the saddle blanket. Fact is we haven’t had breakfast. Ma will have it on the table by the time we get there. Want to come along? If you have any gossip or news, she’ll be real pleased to see you.

Well, I got some of both. My cooking is so bad I didn’t even bother with breakfast.

At the sound of horses coming Beatrice stepped to the window. Seeing Martin Carney she threw up her hands in delight and rushed to the door. Before opening it she smoothed her fresh dress and touched the bun of freshly braided hair at the back of her head. She looked down at the lace-less, high-top shoes, quickly stepped out of them and into her town shoes.

Beatrice stood behind Orin as the three men sat at the table eating. Martin pushed his chair back and rolled his eyes, Beatrice North, every time I have the privilege of sitting at your table I think I fall in love with you all over again.

Beatrice turned away and went to her stove. She picked up the coffee pot and poured a little more into Martin’s cup, Martin Carney, you had better be careful. You know I’m going to tell your wife everything you said. Enough of the flattery, what’s the news?

Martin looked into the cup and then up at Beatrice, Thank you. Well, there isn’t much to tell. No new babies. No weddings. Haven’t heard of any woman throwing her man out or banging him with a frying pan.

They all laughed at the thought.

Martin continued, But there is one thing Allen might be interested in.

Orin and Beatrice both turned their attention to Allen and then back to Martin.

Martin stood and pushed in his chair, I really should get back on my way home, but I heard that one of Bill Nysonger’s men is leaving. He’s going to go on down to Texas to try a cattle operation with his brother.

Allen raised an eyebrow and cocked his head a little. He looked first at his father and then his mother, That does sound good. Yes sir, real good.

Orin nodded in agreement and turned to Beatrice, It sure ought to be worth a ride up there and some conversation.

Martin chimed in, Bill Nysonger’s Morning Side Ranch is the best-run operation in the whole north of the territory. I understand that Bill is as fair a man as anyone could expect to find.

Not anxious for his son to leave home but knowing that sooner or later he must, Orin mused. This could be my boy’s place to learn.

As Allen and his father saddled up to go back out onto the prairie, Orin crossed his arms across his saddle. He looked off at the horizon and rested for a moment. He glanced at Allen, In the old days when we had to have a hired man or two, I was always the most impressed with the man that showed up to ask for a job right after breakfast and before the day’s work began.

Allen nodded in agreement, I remember you liked that in a man. He paused a moment and went on, It seems most of the work is all caught up.

Orin nodded in agreement and stepped up into the saddle.

I reckon I should head out after dinner. I’ll spend the night in Elko and be on my way again at first light. I’ll worry about eating after I get to the Morning Side. He swung into the saddle, and they headed back out to finish the morning’s work. Neither was talkative by nature, but this morning they were unusually quiet.

After the noonday meal, Allen packed a few of his belongings. His mother fussed about wanting to do something to help. As he laid out several shirts, pants, and underwear, she folded and refolded each piece of clothing, I don’t know what I’ll do not seeing you each day. It seems that it was just yesterday that you were a little boy. And now my boy is a full-growed man and going out on his own. She turned her face away, cleared her throat and choked back a tear.

He appreciated his mother’s concern but he wanted to be on the trail. Allen carefully, but quickly, packed his saddlebags, Now Ma, it ain’t as if I was going off somewhere a long way off. And, I may not even get the job.

As she followed him out to where Orin waited she muttered, I know, I know. Just outside the door she hesitated and choked back a tear.

Allen paused, kissed her on the cheek, and watched as she went back to watch and wait in the doorway of her kitchen.

At the corral Orin stood next to their grullo mare, I figured it might make some difference for you to get there on a better-than-average horse.

Shucks Pa, I know how special this animal is to you. Any one of the other horses would do just fine.

With a father’s pride, Orin shook his head, No, you take her. You’ll be traveling a lot of miles, and this horse is as tough as they come. We haven’t been able to pay you much for all the years of work, the least we can do is send you off with a good mount.

Allen had always enjoyed the mouse-colored grullo. She was an incredibly tough horse with the staying power to go along in an easy lope for great distances and never raise a sweat. Allen would let the horse lope along for about a mile and then pull her back to a walk for another mile or so. Riding in this manner was easy on horse and rider, and ate up the miles quickly.

He had just pulled his horse to a walk, and after a few yards he pushed his hat back and took the time to appreciate the high desert. On a slight rise to his left he watched a female coyote and two pups trot along a trail toward him. The mother stopped when she saw him, turned tail and disappeared. There was a whir of wings as a flight of mountain quail flew at the approach of the coyote family.

Allen took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He thought of his mother standing in the doorway of her kitchen as he rode off and how his father had disappeared into the barn. Showing your feelings wasn’t something that they often did.

The sun was nearing the western peaks when Allen first saw a spiral of smoke that marked where Elko would soon rise out of the desert. With no command other than the shifting of his body, the grullo lifted her head and eased into a slow lope. He had seen Battle Mountain and Winnemucca, but they were only tiny gatherings of a few buildings. Elko was the only real town he had ever known, and coming into town was always exciting. The horse recognized his excitement. When the town’s buildings finally came into view, Allen pulled the grullo to a walk again. He felt a sudden thrill as he heard the southbound train whistling its arrival.

His horse danced nervously as they walked along the main street. The sounds of the idling steam engine, people on the sidewalk and other horses on the street were sights seldom seen by this horse. Allen reined his horse into the livery stable. He smiled down at the old man that stepped out to greet him, Well hi there, Mr. Adkins.

Hiram Adkins beamed, Now, this is a surprise. Is your pa with you?

Not this time. I got me a little business of my own. I’ll be on the trail at first light, and I’d like her to have a little grain in the morning, but just hay tonight.

This is a stout old horse but she surely is a strange color. What do you call this animal?

Mouse. My ma called her that when she was born. Ma said she looked like a giant mouse.

Allen walked along the board sidewalk with his saddlebags over his shoulder. He paused at the door to the hotel and then walked on toward the general store. He smiled broadly at each face, familiar and stranger alike. He shifted his saddlebags to his other shoulder as he passed through the doors of the general store. The contrast of fading daylight to the dim interior caused him to stop and wait a moment for his eyes to adjust.

From deep within the store he heard, Oh my lord, look who’s here. It was the voice of Mrs. Jenkins. Where’s your ma and pa? The owners of the store were longtime friends of his parents.

Allen let his saddlebag slide down his arm, and he put it on the counter, I’m all alone, Mrs. Jenkins. I’m on my way out to the Morning Side to inquire about a job.

From the other side of the store Mr. Jenkins chimed in, You going out there tonight?

Allen turned but couldn’t see Mr. Jenkins. After only a few seconds Mr. Jenkins stepped from behind a rack of dresses. He was of slight build, about five foot six or seven, almost completely bald, and wore wire-rimmed glasses.

Allen raised his hand in recognition, No sir, I figured to be on the trail at first light and be out there early.

Mrs. Jenkins finished stacking the goods she was working with and stepped out into the light. She and Mr. Jenkins, except for the hair, looked like a matched set. Wonderful, wonderful. That Mr. Nysonger is a good man. But tonight, where are you going to stay?

I figured to stay at the hotel.

Nonsense. We have the room in the back. You can stay there and have supper with us tonight. Mr. Jenkins was by this time advancing on Allen with his hand outstretched to shake, Now Mother, he may have some plans of his own. He took Allen’s hand in his and shook it vigorously.

The vigor of the handshake made Allen wait just a few seconds before answering. I think I’d like to take a walk around town and see folks, but that’s about all the plans I had.

The next morning, about two hours after daylight, he found himself turning off on the road north of Elko looking up at an arched gateway. Beyond the arch, a wagon track led over the crest of a slight hill to the west. He rested both hands on the saddle horn and marveled at the color of the grass. The roots of the bunch-grass could reach deep within the earth for precious water. On most of this high desert there was little water to reach for. Dang, this is pretty range. I wonder how come the grass at home don’t look this good?

On top of the arch were wrought iron letters that spelled out Morning Side. A smile spread across his face as he thought of hearing men less fortunate say that the sign was a waste of expensive iron.

"The grullo sensed that it was time to move on and began a slow lope along the wagon track. Less than a mile from the gate Allen came to the ranch proper. He reined his horse to a stop to admire the whitewashed buildings. The main house was on a slight rise to his left. The bunkhouse, cook house, barns, and corrals were on his right. As if waiting for the morning breeze, a thin layer of wood smoke hung over the buildings. Allen sat back in the saddle and the horse began to walk forward. Lord, lord, now ain’t that about beautiful.

As he rode in, he saw a fiftyish-looking man, about the same stature as his pa, with collar-length gray hair. His pants were dark blue wool pin stripe and his boots were well polished. He wore a starched white shirt and no hat. Without a hat the tan line across his forehead made his head appear long and narrow. The drooping mustache gave him the look of a permanent scowl, but the crinkle of the skin at the corners of his eyes belied that.

Allen reined his horse to a stop a respectable distance away, touched his hat and asked, Mr. Nysonger?

Bill Nysonger nodded.

Mind if I step down?

The corners of Bill’s mouth curled in a slight smile. Asking permission to step down when riding into a strange camp or ranch was an almost forgotten courtesy.

Allen pulled off his hat and held it in front of himself. Standing in awe of this man he felt his mouth go dry, Mr. Nysonger, my name is Allen North. I hear tell that one of your hands is leaving, and I’d like to be thought of for his job. I know I’m young, and to tell the truth I ain’t never worked for no one but my pa, and off and on for some of the neighbors. I ain’t afraid of work, and I’m willing to do anything you tell me to do to prove myself. Allen tried desperately to keep his voice even. He had no idea what kind of an impression he was making. He squared his shoulders and looked Bill full in the face. When he saw Bill wrinkle his forehead and measure him with his eyes, Allen’s heart stood still.

Whoa there boy. Slow down a little. Bill’s voice resonated with strength, but still and all was kind.

Allen held the eye contact, Tell you what, let me work for you for a week and if I ain’t good enough, well, you don’t owe me nothing.

Bill put his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes, but before he could speak Allen started again, My pa says if I want to learn the ranching business, you’re the best there is to learn from.

Allen watched as Bill stepped a little to one side, look him over again, and then his horse and outfit. I know I’ve seen you in town, but where you from, boy?

My ma and pa have a place down by the Carlin crossing on the Humboldt.

Bill nodded, Yes, now I remember who they are. Nice folks. How’d you get here so early?

I stayed with Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins last night and was on the trail long before they woke. Me and Pa figured the best time of day to talk to a man about a job is right after breakfast.

Bill turned toward the cookhouse and began to walk. Over his shoulder he continued, Well you and your pa figured about right, but I ain’t had my breakfast yet.

Allen’s face went slack with disappointment, and there was a sudden knot in his stomach.

After only a step or two, Bill turned back to Allen, Well I guess any man as determined as you should get a tryout. I don’t suppose you’ve eaten yet, have you? Come along now. He glanced at Allen’s horse and outfit, Is that all the outfit you have? Appears you travel light.

Chapter 2

The Beginning of a Darkness

The dusty, windswept frontier town of Liberal, Kansas survives in the southwestern corner of the state. The railroads had taken away the cattle drives leaving only a few struggling farmers. The sun was just over the eastern horizon as the door to the sheriff’s office opened and a young man stepped out ahead of the barrel-shaped sheriff.

The sheriff gazed for a moment at his now-released prisoner and wondered what made this slightly overweight saddle tramp of medium height tick. With his pockmarked cheeks, greased-down hair, and small, round potbelly that hung over his belt to make him look older than his age, the sheriff guessed him to be about eighteen or twenty years.

With one eye closed he looked the kid up and down, OK, kid. You’re expected over at the café. Breakfast is on the county. Your horse is in the livery stable, and when you’re done eating, I want you to get on that horse of yours and light a shuck out of here.

As the young man stepped down into the street and turned back to the sheriff, he gingerly touched the bump on the back of his head, What about my gun? And I had forty dollars when I got into that dust up last night.

The sheriff picked up the chair next to the door of his office, turned it, tapped the front legs to knock the dust off, and settled himself in the morning sun, Ah, that’s right. That damn gun. Well, when you’re heading out of town, stop by and I’ll give it back to you. As for as the forty dollars, you had thirty-two. The county is going to keep ten of it. Pick up your twenty-two dollars when you get your gun.

The young man squared his shoulders and walked slowly across to the café. He stopped just short of the sidewalk and looked back at the sheriff. Not