mother and I should love her because she gave me life.”
“She’ll run me off.” There was resignation in the young boy’s voice.
Mary Lee put her hand on his arm. “No. She’ll not run you off. You can stay as long as you want. I’m in charge here and I need you.”
It was late evening and Mary Lee was showing a cabin to a couple from Missouri when Jake drove in. He lifted a hand in greeting. She waved back. He parked beside his cabin, then walked behind the other five to the washhouse. Eli was sitting in the open doorway, rubbing his boots with a soft cloth.
Jake’s “few things” to be washed had turned out to be three shirts, two pairs of pants, four pairs of socks and three underdrawers, besides the sheets, pillowcases and towels.
Eli saw the heavy ankle-high, rubber-soled shoes first. He looked up the long legs to the dusty, whiskered face. He got quickly to his feet and placed the boots inside the doorway, out of sight.
Jake looked down at the boy. Memories came rushing back to the time when, after working an entire summer as cook’s helper on a chuck wagon, he had bought his first pair of cowboy boots. Lord, but he had been proud of those boots. Then, to be ornery, a cowhand had spit tobacco juice in one. Jake had run at him, even though the man was twice his size, and butted him in the groin with his head, causing enough pain to lay him out. He’d wanted to kill him; instead he had made an enemy for life. The cowboy, a distant relative of the owner of the ranch, had been so humiliated at being bested by a boy that he swore to get even. The man developed a deep hatred for the boy that existed even fifteen years later.
“I didn’t steal ’em, if that’s what you’re thinkin’,” Eli said belligerently.
“Why would I think that?”
“It’s what most folks think . . . when they see ’em.”
“I’m not most folks, son. I’ve been in your shoes.”
“I’m not your son.”
“I reckon you’re not, but I’d have sworn you’re somebody’s son.”
Eli glared at him. “Well, I ain’t. I ain’t nobody’s and don’t want to be nobody’s. I’m not lookin’ out for nobody but me.”
“Not even Mary Lee?”
“I’ll get your wash.”
“I’d be obliged . . . that is if you can get down off your high horse long enough.”
Eli stepped inside the washhouse and came out with a bushel basket of neatly folded wash.
“Miss Mary Lee said collect a dollar.”
“I don’t guess Miss Mary Lee would give me credit.” “She said collect.”
Jake rammed his hand down in his pocket and came out with a silver dollar. He flipped it up and caught it a time or two, then flipped it to Eli and picked up the basket.
“You stayin’ here nights?”
“Plannin’ on it.”
“Keep an eye on that bird in number one. If he gets smart with Miss Mary Lee, come get me pronto. Understand?”
“Yeah.”
Eli watched him walk away, then sat down on the doorstep and reached for his boots. Jake Ramero must have a reason for thinking the fella in number one was going to be mean to Miss Mary Lee. If he did, he’d fix him. He’d learned a lot about getting even since he’d been fending for himself. Eli figured he owed the lady a lot. His stomach was full, he was clean and he had a place to sleep. It was more than he’d had for several weeks.
Eli was still sitting on the doorstep when Jake, bathed and in clean clothes, came back on his way to town to eat. He paused.
“Do you like to listen to
Amos ’n Andy
?”
“Only heard ’em a time or two.”
“I’m going uptown to eat. They’ll be on soon after I get back. You’re welcome to come listen.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Jake went across the lot behind the motor court, taking the shortcut to town. The kid reminded him of himself at that age: gawky and with a chip on his shoulder as big as a boulder, but, he reckoned, not for the same reason.
When he entered Ruby’s Diner, it was empty except for Frank Pierce, who sat at the
“She’ll run me off.” There was resignation in the young boy’s voice.
Mary Lee put her hand on his arm. “No. She’ll not run you off. You can stay as long as you want. I’m in charge here and I need you.”
It was late evening and Mary Lee was showing a cabin to a couple from Missouri when Jake drove in. He lifted a hand in greeting. She waved back. He parked beside his cabin, then walked behind the other five to the washhouse. Eli was sitting in the open doorway, rubbing his boots with a soft cloth.
Jake’s “few things” to be washed had turned out to be three shirts, two pairs of pants, four pairs of socks and three underdrawers, besides the sheets, pillowcases and towels.
Eli saw the heavy ankle-high, rubber-soled shoes first. He looked up the long legs to the dusty, whiskered face. He got quickly to his feet and placed the boots inside the doorway, out of sight.
Jake looked down at the boy. Memories came rushing back to the time when, after working an entire summer as cook’s helper on a chuck wagon, he had bought his first pair of cowboy boots. Lord, but he had been proud of those boots. Then, to be ornery, a cowhand had spit tobacco juice in one. Jake had run at him, even though the man was twice his size, and butted him in the groin with his head, causing enough pain to lay him out. He’d wanted to kill him; instead he had made an enemy for life. The cowboy, a distant relative of the owner of the ranch, had been so humiliated at being bested by a boy that he swore to get even. The man developed a deep hatred for the boy that existed even fifteen years later.
“I didn’t steal ’em, if that’s what you’re thinkin’,” Eli said belligerently.
“Why would I think that?”
“It’s what most folks think . . . when they see ’em.”
“I’m not most folks, son. I’ve been in your shoes.”
“I’m not your son.”
“I reckon you’re not, but I’d have sworn you’re somebody’s son.”
Eli glared at him. “Well, I ain’t. I ain’t nobody’s and don’t want to be nobody’s. I’m not lookin’ out for nobody but me.”
“Not even Mary Lee?”
“I’ll get your wash.”
“I’d be obliged . . . that is if you can get down off your high horse long enough.”
Eli stepped inside the washhouse and came out with a bushel basket of neatly folded wash.
“Miss Mary Lee said collect a dollar.”
“I don’t guess Miss Mary Lee would give me credit.” “She said collect.”
Jake rammed his hand down in his pocket and came out with a silver dollar. He flipped it up and caught it a time or two, then flipped it to Eli and picked up the basket.
“You stayin’ here nights?”
“Plannin’ on it.”
“Keep an eye on that bird in number one. If he gets smart with Miss Mary Lee, come get me pronto. Understand?”
“Yeah.”
Eli watched him walk away, then sat down on the doorstep and reached for his boots. Jake Ramero must have a reason for thinking the fella in number one was going to be mean to Miss Mary Lee. If he did, he’d fix him. He’d learned a lot about getting even since he’d been fending for himself. Eli figured he owed the lady a lot. His stomach was full, he was clean and he had a place to sleep. It was more than he’d had for several weeks.
Eli was still sitting on the doorstep when Jake, bathed and in clean clothes, came back on his way to town to eat. He paused.
“Do you like to listen to
Amos ’n Andy
?”
“Only heard ’em a time or two.”
“I’m going uptown to eat. They’ll be on soon after I get back. You’re welcome to come listen.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Jake went across the lot behind the motor court, taking the shortcut to town. The kid reminded him of himself at that age: gawky and with a chip on his shoulder as big as a boulder, but, he reckoned, not for the same reason.
When he entered Ruby’s Diner, it was empty except for Frank Pierce, who sat at the
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