The Great Brain (15 page)

“This is the best of the litter,” Tom said.

I held the puppy so he could lick my face and get to know me.

“Take your second pick,” Allan said to Tom.

I looked at Allan. “Are you going to give T.D. a pup for rescuing you from Skeleton Cave?” I asked.

“Shucks, no,” Allan said. “You can’t pay anybody for saving your life. This is part of the deal we made with Tom before we got lost in the cave.”

“What deal?” I asked, and couldn’t help feeling I was somehow getting swindled.

“Tom wouldn’t let us mate Lady with Brownie until we promised him the pick of the litter for you and a male pup for him,” Allan explained.

Well, I should have known there had to be a catch in it when Tom had so generously offered to help me get the best pup for nothing.

Tom made his selection. He cradled the male pup in his arm. “You’re sure they have been weaned for at least three weeks?” he asked Frank.

Frank nodded. “Just like Mr. Monaire said.”

I knew Mr. Monaire was the biggest sheepman in the county. I couldn’t understand what business it was of his. I looked at Frank and Allan.

“Are you going to give Mr. Monaire the extra pups?” I asked, knowing the owner of a female dog usually kept only one or two pups out of a litter.

They both looked at Tom, who answered me. “Mr. Monaire wanted the pups he is going to buy to be old enough to send out with his sheepherders,” he said.

“Going to buy?” I asked with astonishment. In all my life I’d never heard of anybody paying for a pup.

“These aren’t ordinary pups,” Tom said. “They will make excellent sheep dogs. Mr. Monaire promised to pay two dollars for each male and one dollar for each female.”

Then he looked at Frank and Allan. “How many are you going to sell?” he asked.

Frank shrugged. “We can only sell two of the females,” he said. “Pa promised neighbors two male pups and one female. He said we could keep just one male pup.”

Allan picked up two of the female puppies as Lady began to whine.

I followed them, with Brownie tagging along at my heels, down to the stockyards by the railroad tracks. There were hundreds of sheep in the stock pens. Sheepherders with sheep dogs were busy separating the sheep being sent to market from the ones to be turned out for winter grazing.

Mr. Monaire was standing by the shearing pens.

“Here are the pups by Brownie and Lady like I promised last spring,” Tom said to Mr. Monaire. “This one is a male. Frank and Allan have two females they want to sell.”

Mr. Monaire carefully examined the three pups. “They will make fine sheep dogs,” he said. Then he called to a sheepherder and told the man to take the pups.

I watched bug-eyed as Mr. Monaire took out his purse and handed Tom two silver dollars and Frank and Allan a silver dollar apiece.

Mr. Monaire patted the head of the pup in my arms.

“Want to sell your pup, son?” he asked. “I promise we’ll take good care of him.”

“No sir “ I said.

We left the stockyards with Tom jingling the two silver dollars in his pocket and Frank and Allan flipping their dollars into the air and catching them. I was so full of indignation I thought I’d bust wide open. I wanted to denounce my brother as a swindler and cheat on the spot. But I’d made a promise to Mamma one time that I would never argue with my brothers in front of other kids. I waited until we got to Main Street and Frank and Allan turned of to go home.

“You cheated me!” I cried.

Tom stopped and stared at me as if I’d suddenly turned into a horned toad.

“How can you say a thing like that?” he asked with indignation. “You got the pick of the litter didn’t you?”

“But you got two dollars,” I accused him.

“You can sell your pup for two dollars too,” Tom said.

‘I don’t want to sell my pup,” I cried.

“Then what are you griping about?” Tom demanded.

“I think I got cheated.” I said.

Tom put his hand on my shoulder. “Now listen to me, J.D.,” he said earnestly. “Last spring when I saw Brownie making up to a female dog for the first time, I put my great brain to work. I took Brownie and Lady to see Mr. Monaire. I told him that Brownie was a purebred Alaskan and Lady was a genuine sheep dog. He carefully examined both dogs and agreed with me. I then drove a hard bargain with Mr. Monaire. I got him to agree to pay two dollars for any male pup and one dollar for any female pup by Lady and Brownie.”

“So what?” I asked. “I still say you cheated me.”

“Now, let us assume,” Tom said, “that I hadn’t put my great brain to work last spring. What would have happened? We would have mated Brownie with Lady. Right?”

“Right,” I said.

“And Lady would have had her litter of pups. Right?”

“Right,” I agreed.

“And as the owner of the male dog you would have been entitled to the pick of the litter. Right?”

“Right” I said.

“And the pup you now hold in your arms is the pick of the litter. Right?”

“Right,” I said.

“Then how can you possibly say I cheated you?” Tom asked as if I’d hurt his feelings terribly.

“I don’t know,” I said all confused, “but it still doesn’t seem right to me.”

“But you just agreed with me that everything I said was right, J.D., and how can so many rights be wrong?”

“I know I did but…” I couldn’t finish the sentence because I couldn’t think of anything to put after the but.

“You know the Jensens are not rich,” Tom said.

“Sure,” I admitted, “but what has that got to do with it?”

“Frank and Allan never had a whole dollar of their own in their lives,” Tom said. “If it hadn’t been for me and my great brain, their father would’ have given the extra pups away. Are you so selfish and jealous, J.D., that you wouldn’t want poor Frank and Allan to ever have a dollar of their own?”

“Gosh no,” I said.

“Well, you are certainly acting like it,” Tom said.

“I am?” I asked.

“You certainly are,” Tom said.

I felt ashamed. “I didn’t mean to,” I said, trying to defend myself.

“And to top it off,” Tom said, looking really hurt now, “you accuse me, your own brother, of cheating you. I was only looking out for your interest all the time. I wanted to be sure you got the best male pup of the litter and you did. To show you my heart is in the right place, J.D., I’m going to treat you to a nickel’s worth of candy at the Z.C.M.I. store.”

Such generosity made me feel even more ashamed. “I’m sorry I said you cheated me,” I apologized.

We walked over to the Z.C.M.I. store, and not until I was munching on a stick of licorice did my brother speak to me again.

“I accept the apology you made a while ago on one condition,” he said.

Eating licorice purchased by and given to me by my brother, I was in no position to argue. But I did think I was at least entitled to know what the condition was.

“What condition?” I asked.

“That you don’t tell Mamma and Papa about the deal I made with Mr. Monaire,” Tom said. “When my great brain rescued Frank and Allan from Skeleton Cave, it made me quite a hero in Mamma’s and Papa’s eyes. I wouldn’t want them thinking the deal I made with Mr. Monaire had anything to do with it. I would have put my great brain to work to rescue Frank and Allan even if Lady hadn’t been with them.”

I couldn’t remember exactly at the moment, but it seemed to me Tom hadn’t put his great brain to work on the rescue until after he’d told me it would cost him a fortune if Frank and Allan weren’t rescued. I couldn’t bite the hand that was feeding me licorice at the moment, so I gave my brother the benefit of the doubt. And yet…

I didn’t realize how cruel we kids were to Andy Anderson until the following Saturday. Tom and I were playing marbles with Andy in our backyard. It was one of the few games Andy could still play. Sammy Leeds, Basil, Jimmie Peterson, Danny Forester, and Howard Kay came into the yard from the alley.

“We’re going to play Kick the Can,” Sammy said. “Want to play?”

“Sure,” I said, jumping to my feet.

Tom picked up his marbles and shoved them into his pocket. He got to his feet. “Let’s go,” he said.

We all ran into the alley except Andy. Tom drew a line in the dirt. We stood twenty feet away and tossed rocks at the line. Sammy’s rock landed farthest from the line. He was “it.” The rest of us ran to hide as Sammy set up a tin can in the alley. The purpose of the game was to kick the can without letting Sammy tag us. If he did tag one of us before we kicked the can, then whoever he tagged had to be “it.” Tom ran into the alley, pretending he was going to kick the can, just to get Sammy to chase him. Basil sneaked behind Sammy and kicked the can. Sammy had to get the can and put it back in place.

We had been playing for some time and Basil was “it” when I decided to sneak into our woodshed. I could watch through a crack until Basil got far enough away from the can for me to run out of the woodshed and kick it. I entered the woodshed.

Andy was sitting on the chopping block with his back toward me. He was crying.

“Darn old peg leg,” he sobbed. “Darn no good old peg leg. I wish I was dead.”

I crept back out of the woodshed without letting him know I’d seen and heard.

The following Saturday afternoon Tom and I were on our front lawn playing at Indian wrestling with Andy watching us. Sammy and the gang came along on their way to the Smiths’ vacant lot to play One-O-Cat ball. Sammy had his ball and bat with him. Tom and I ran into the house to get our mitts.

Just as we came out the front door with our mitts, I saw Andy going around the corner of our house. I tossed my mitt on the front porch swing and followed him. I saw Andy walk around to the rear of our barn. I crept closer.

Andy was sitting with his back against the barn. He had his arms around his knees, with his head buried on them. His shoulders were shaking. He was crying so hard it looked as if his whole body was trembling.

I didn’t want him to know I’d been spying on him. I crept around to the front of the barn. I made a lot of noise entering it. Then I pushed the loose board aside at the rear and stepped out.

Andy was wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “I thought you went to play ball,” he said as if he resented me being there.

“I changed my mind,” I said as I sat down beside him.

“Because you feel sorry for me,” he said with bitterness in his voice.

“Sure I feel sorry for you,” I said. “But is it really so bad having a peg leg?”

“What good is a kid with a peg leg?” he asked hopelessly. “I can’t run and play with the other kids. I can’t do my chores. It’s like my Pa said. I’m plumb useless.”

“Your father said you were plumb useless?” I asked, unable to believe any father could be so cruel.

“He didn’t know I heard him,” Andy said. “I tried doing my chores for the first time when I got home from school yesterday. I got an armful of kindling from the woodshed. I fell trying to get up the back porch steps and spilled it. Then I dropped and spilled a bucket of coal. Then I tried to collect the eggs in the hen house and I dropped and broke them. Then Ma told me not to try to do any chores anymore. And when Pa came home, she told him. Pa didn’t know I was on the back porch and could hear him and Ma in the kitchen. That was when he said they would have to take care of me the rest of my life because I was plumb useless.”

“I guess that makes you plumb useless all right,” I said.

“What’s the use of me going on living when I’m plumb useless?” Andy asked.

“Not much,” I said, thinking how it would be if I couldn’t play with other kids and my own father thought I was plumb useless.

“I’m going to do myself in,” Andy said desperately.

I couldn’t help getting excited. “You mean you are going to kill yourself?” I cried.

“Give me one good reason why not,” Andy said.

I thought and I thought and I thought but I couldn’t think of one good reason. I was about ready to give up when I thought of the erector set.

“You are the only kid in town with an erector set,” I said, hoping that would cheer him up.

“What good is an erector set when I’m plumb useless like my pa said?” Andy asked. Then he looked at me. “Will you help me, John?”

I couldn’t turn down a friend in need. “Sure,” I promised.

“We’ve got to figure out a way to do myself in good and proper,” Andy said with a serious expression.

We discussed several ways for Andy to kill himself, only to discard them. I had never realized before what a problem it was for a person to figure out a way to kill himself. I was about to suggest we get Tom and his great brain to figure it out for us when Andy came up with an idea that sounded promising.

“When people want to get rid of kittens they don’t want,” he said, “they put them in a gunnysack and throw them into the river.”

“That is a good idea,” I admitted, “but I’m not strong enough to carry you in a gunnysack down to the river and throw you in.”

“You don’t have to carry me down there,” Andy said.

“You mean I’ll tie you up in the sack when we get there?” I asked.

“You’ll have to tie the sack good and hard so I can’t get out,” Andy said, “because I’m a good swimmer, peg leg and all.”

I was by this time quite excited and enthusiastic about the plan. “I’ll tie you in the sack and roll you off the diving board into the deepest part of the swimming hole,” I said. Then I looked up at the snow on the mountain peaks. “But that water in the river is going to be mighty cold,” I warned him.

“Who cares how cold the water is when I’m going to drown?” Andy asked. “Let’s go.”

We went into the barn. I got a big gunnysack that was empty. It was the kind oats came in to feed to our team of horses and Sweyn’s mustang, Dusty. It was plenty big enough for drowning Andy. Then I got some twine. We started out for the river. Andy was very happy and cheerful at the prospect of doing himself in. It made me feel good knowing I was helping to make him happy and cheerful.

When we arrived at the swimming hole, Andy took off his peg leg and stripped down to his underwear.

“Maybe my folks will have another son someday who can wear my clothes,” he said as his body began shivering from the cold wind blowing off the mountains. “See that they get them. I’m giving my peg leg to you, John.”