The Great Brain (16 page)

“What will I do with it?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I just thought you might like it to sort of remember me.”

“That would be nice,” I had to admit.

I helped Andy get into the gunnysack. I closed the top of it and tied it with twine. Then I rolled him in the gunnysack to the riverbank. I located his head in the sack and patted it.

“We are at the diving board,” I told him. “I’m going to roll you up the diving board now. You can sort of help by turning yourself as I push you.”

I was afraid Andy would fall off the diving board before we reached the end of it, but he didn’t. Again I patted him on the head.

“One more push and you are a goner,” I said. “Are you ready, old pal?”

“Tell my folks I did it because I’m plumb useless.” Andy’s voice came out of the gunnysack. “And I sure appreciate you helping me to do myself in. You are a real pal, John. I’m ready.”

“Good-bye, old pal,” I said, feeling very sad as I rolled Andy off the end of the diving board.

The gunnysack with Andy in it hit the water. I was expecting to see a few air bubbles after the big splash as Andy went to his death. Instead the water began to churn and to my astonishment Andy’s head popped out of it. He began swimming toward the river bank as the gunnysack floated down the river. I ran to meet him.

“Gee whizz, John,” he said with his teeth chattering from the cold water, “couldn’t you tie a knot that would hold? The sack busted right open when I hit the water.”

I was a little nettled by his attitude. I thought I’d tied a good knot. “You could have pretended the sack didn’t open and let yourself drown,” I pointed out to him.

“Even a fool knows when you know how to swim you can’t let yourself drown,” he said as if completely disgusted with me.

“I’ll run back to the barn and get another sack and some baling wire,” I said. “I’ll tie you in with baling wire so you’ll never get out.”

“It is too darn cold,” Andy said as he started to dress with his clothes sticking to his wet body. “Let’s figure out a better way.”

“Maybe you’ll get pneumonia and die,” I said, trying to cheer him up.

“I ain’t that lucky,” he said.

We were both pretty disgusted when we returned to the barn. Andy was disgusted because he was still alive. I was disgusted because I’d let a pal down. We sat down at the rear of the barn in the sun so Andy’s clothes would dry.

“I guess we’ll have to get Tom to help us,” I said. “With his great brain he could figure out a dozen ways to put you out of your misery.”

“No, John,” Andy said. “Tom might decide to tell my folks instead. It is up to you and me. I know I can trust you.”

I saw a broken bottle lying in the weeds. “How about slashing your wrists with that broken bottle and letting yourself bleed to death right here?” I suggested.

Andy thought about it for a moment. “That is too messy,” he finally said.

We sat there until Andy’s clothes were all dry, trying to think of a way for him to commit suicide. I was about to give up when I heard Sweyn’s mustang, Dusty, moving around in his stall inside the barn. It reminded me of how they hang outlaws.

“I’ve got it!” I cried with excitement. “How about hanging you? That isn’t messy.”

Andy’s face broke into a grin. “That is a peach of an idea,” he said.

“We’ll hang you just like they hang outlaws,” I said.

“But I’m no outlaw,” Andy protested.

“You can pretend you are one can’t you?” I asked.

“Why must I pretend to be an outlaw?” Andy wanted to know.

“Look, Andy,” I said a little exasperated with him, “I promised Sweyn when he went to Salt Lake to school that I would take good care of Dusty. You don’t think I’d let Dusty hang anybody who wasn’t an outlaw, do you? It wouldn’t be fair to Dusty. He’s got to think he is hanging a sure enough outlaw.”

“All right,” Andy agreed. “I’ll pretend I’m an outlaw for Dusty’s sake.”

We went into the barn. I got Sweyn’s lariat and climbed up the rope ladder to Tom’s loft. I tossed one end of the lariat over a rafter and let the rope slide down until Andy got a hold of it. I climbed down the rope ladder. I tied a slipknot noose on one end of the lariat. I was still a little angry about Andy bawling me out for the knot I’d tied on the gunnysack. I handed the rope to him.

“Are you satisfied that is a good strong noose that won’t come loose?” I asked.

Andy inspected the noose very carefully. “I’m satisfied,” he said.

I put a halter on Dusty and led the mustang out of his stall to the side of a bale of hay. I helped Andy onto the bale of hay and from there to Dusty’s back. I got some twine and stood on the bale of hay while I tied Andy’s hands behind his back. Then I put the noose over Andy’s head and pulled the slipknot until the noose was tight around his neck. I jumped down from the bale of hay and got the other end of the lariat. I tied it securely to a stall post. I stood back and looked at the lariat from the stall post to the rafter and back down to Andy’s neck. It was tight. All was in readiness for the hanging.

“Dusty,” I said to the mustang, “that isn’t Andy Anderson on your back. That is the no good outlaw Peg Leg Andy you are about to hang.”

Dusty looked at me as if he understood. I walked around behind him.

“Are you ready to hang, you no good outlaw?” I asked Andy.

“Ready,” Andy replied. “And before I go, John, I want you to know how much I appreciate you helping me to do myself in. You are a real pal.”

I took off my cap and raised my arm. I hit Dusty over the rump with my cap. I expected the mustang to jump and leave Andy dangling from the end of the lariat. Dusty didn’t move. I hit him again with my cap and let out an Indian war cry at the same time. Dusty turned his head and looked at me with his ears flattened back, which meant he was angry.

I hit him again with my cap and let out a real blood-curdling Indian war cry.

Dusty turned slowly around so Andy wouldn’t fall off. He grabbed my cap out of my hand with his teeth. He dropped the cap by his forelegs and put a hoof on it. Then he twisted his head and rubbed his nose against Andy’s good leg.

“He knows you because Sweyn let you ride him a few times “ I said. “He knows you aren’t an outlaw.”

“See if you can lead him,” Andy said. “I ain’t got all day.”

I took hold of the halter. I pulled on it. I begged Dusty to move. I coaxed him. I threatened him. All Dusty did was to flatten his ears back to let me know he was plenty angry at me.

“Try kicking him in the flanks,” I said to Andy.

Andy kicked Dusty in the flanks. At any other time Dusty would have bucked like crazy. But he didn’t move an inch. His ears got flatter and flatter as Andy kicked him in the flanks and I pulled on the halter.

“What the devil is going on here?” I heard Tom’s voice behind me.

“I’m trying to hang an outlaw,” I said over my shoulder, “but Dusty won’t help me.”

“Stop it, you fool!” Tom shouted. “You could kill Andy.”

“That is the idea,” I said as I continued to pull on the halter and Andy kept on kicking Dusty in the flanks. “Andy is plumb useless with his peg leg and wants to do himself in. I’m his pal and I’m helping him.”

Tom grabbed the halter out of my hands. “Steady, boy,” he said to Dusty as he patted the mustang on the nose. “Now, J.D.,” he said to me as he kept patting Dusty on the nose, “untie the lariat from the stall post.”

I knew Dusty wasn’t going to cooperate so I untied the lariat.

Tom let go of the halter. He took out his jackknife and stepped on top of the bale of hay. He cut the twine I’d used to tie Andy’s wrists. Then he loosened the noose and slipped the lariat over Andy’s head. He then helped Andy down from the mustang. If he was expecting any thanks, he sure got a surprise.

“Why did you have to butt in?” Andy asked as tears came into his eyes.

Tom looked surprised all right. “You mean you actually wanted to commit suicide and weren’t just playing a game?” he asked, looking astonished.

“What good is a kid with a peg leg?” Andy sobbed as he sat down on the bale of hay and put his face in his hands. “I can’t play with the other kids. I can’t do my chores. I’m just plumb useless like Pa said and better off dead.”

“Nobody is plumb useless.” Tom said.

“A lot you know,” Andy cried. “Even with your great brain you can’t grow me another leg.”

“Of course I can’t,” Tom admitted. “But my great brain can prove to the world that you aren’t plumb useless.”

For the first time since Andy had lost his leg, I saw hope come into his eyes as he looked at Tom. “If you can prove I’m not plumb useless to my pa, I’ll give you anything I’ve got “ he promised.

A cunning look spread over Tom’s face. “Even your erector set?” he asked.

Andy hesitated. “I don’t know if Pa would let me,” he said.

“What would your pa do with the erector set if you committed suicide?” Tom asked. “If you want to commit suicide or go on being plumb useless over an erector set, that is your business.” Tom started for the barn door.

“‘Wait. Tom!” Andy shouted. “It’s a deal.”

Tom turned around and walked over to the bale of hay. He held out his hand. “Let’s shake on it,” he said.

They shook hands to seal the bargain.

“I’ll put my great brain to work on it right away,” Tom promised Andy. “Meet me here after school starting Monday.”

After Andy left the barn to go home, Tom began to rub his hands together gleefully. “I’ll make a fortune with that erector set, charging kids a penny an hour to play with it,” he said.

That evening after supper Tom sat staring into the burning log in the fireplace in our parlor for a long time before he got up and walked over to Papa.

“Papa,” he said, “is it true that when a person loses an arm or a leg, they get twice the strength in the other arm or leg?”

Papa laid aside a book he was reading. “Perhaps not twice the strength, T.D.,” he said, “but I have heard it said on good authority that a person does have more strength in the remaining limb. One theory is that it is a biological thing, and when a human body loses a limb, an organic change takes place which transfers more strength to the remaining limb. Another theory, and a much more logical one, is that when a person loses an arm or a leg, he will naturally use the remaining limb a great deal more, and this would of course strengthen that limb. I did know a one-armed miner in Silverlode who had twice the strength of a normal man in his one arm. I saw him perform feats of strength with that one arm that were amazing.”

“Thank you, Papa,” Tom said, smiling.

Tom and I were waiting in our barn Monday after school when Andy arrived. Tom put his hands on Andy’s shoulders.

“Do you promise to put yourself in complete charge of my great brain and do everything I tell you to do?” he asked.

“I promise,” Andy said.

“Good,” Tom said. “The first thing you’ve got to do is to stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

“I’ll betcha you’d feel sorry for yourself if you had a peg leg,” Andy said.

“No I wouldn’t,” Tom said to my surprise, “because I’d show every kid in town and my mother and my father that a peg leg didn’t make any difference. We will start by making you the best Indian squaw wrestler in town.”

“Fat chance,” Andy said. “Basil is the champion.”

“Now you listen to me, Andy Anderson,” Tom said, getting angry. “When a person loses one leg, he gets twice the strength in the remaining leg. That means you’ve got double the strength in your right leg of any kid your age and size in town. My papa is the smartest man in town and he said this was true. Are you calling my father a liar?”

“Gosh, no,” Andy said quickly. “My pa always said that your pa was the smartest man in town.”

“Then you must believe you’ve got twice the strength in your right leg than you would have if you had two legs,” Tom said. “And that means you should be able to beat any kids at Indian squaw wrestling who are bigger and older than you.”

Tom got a horse blanket from Dusty’s stall. He spread it out on the floor of the barn. He lay down on his back. He motioned for Andy to lay down beside him with their feet at each other’s head. They locked their right arms at the elbow. Tom began to count. They raised their right legs at the count of one and let them down. At the count of two they again raised their right legs and let them down. At the count of three they locked their right legs at the knees. The winner in Indian squaw wrestling was the one who could force an opponent’s leg down, and keel the opponent over backward in a somersault.

I watched breathlessly as they both began to grunt. Tom slowly forced Andy’s leg down and Andy went over backward.

Tom sat up on the horse blanket. He looked sternly at Andy. “Papa says you’ve got twice the strength in your right leg of any kid in town your age,” he said.

That wasn’t what Papa had said at all, but I knew it was part of The Great Brain’s plan so I kept quiet.

“I’m older and bigger than you,” Tom continued, “but according to my father you should be able to beat me at Indian squaw wrestling. You either aren’t trying or you don’t believe my father.”

“I tried, honest I did,” Andy protested.

“Then you didn’t try hard enough,” Tom said. “You’ve got to keep telling yourself that your right leg is twice as strong as any boy in town your age. Now, let’s try again.”

They took their positions lying on their backs. Again Tom counted. At the count of three they locked legs. They began to grunt and strain. I couldn’t believe my eyes as I watched Andy slowly force Tom’s leg down and keel my brother over in a somersault.

“You did it!” Tom shouted as he pounded Andy on the back.

“You mean I won fair and square?” Andy asked as if he couldn’t believe it.

“Fair and square,” Tom said, “but you need a lot of practice. We’ll put in one hour of practice every day until you are the best Indian squaw wrestler in town.”

Andy was whistling for the first time since he’d lost his leg as he left our barn an hour later. I asked Tom if Andy had really won most of the matches that afternoon.

“No, J.D.,” Tom said, “but he thinks he did and that is what counts. I’ve got to build up his confidence.”