Joe pulled the collar of his jacket up tighter around his ears, shrugged his shoulders higher, and hunched lower in the saddle. The unnatural posture helped to keep the wind off his neck a little, but not much. Wish I’d taken that muffler Hop Sing offered this mornin’, he thought. He nudged Dusty to a gentle trot.

The spring wind suited his mood, though, with its mournful, icy fingers sneaking through the gap between his sleeve-ends and his gloves. He felt like an exile, riding out alone, like a lonesome, ill-treated hero in one of Adam’s books. Exiled-that’s what he was-exiled to the south meadow to look for strays, the job farthest from where the rest of the crew was working. The job farthest from his brothers’ eyes and ears, because, as Adam put it, “Joe, if you don’t make yourself scarce, I won’t be responsible for my actions! I can’t stand to be around you right now, you hardheaded, foolish, contrary troublemaker. Don’t come back until you’ve mended your attitude!”

Hoss had swiped his hat at him and simply said, “Go away and let the stink blow off of you, ya ornery little cuss.”

They were the ones who were ornery, giving him the worst jobs of the roundup, reminding him every chance they got that he was smaller, weaker, less capable-just plain younger, damn it! 

The sad truth is, he thought, hunching further into his misery, I’m always going to be smaller and younger. Always. He was never going to measure up to the smart, strong, well-respected, competent men his big brothers were, not at age thirteen, not at age thirty, not ever. And that truth made him so mad and sad sometimes, he just had to fight them.

**********

The cold wind cooled his temper quickly, but magnified his misery. The drovers had made a sweep through this area already; he was unlikely to find any additional strays. This was a make-work task, pure and simple, the trail equivalent of being sent to his room, and he knew it. But he also knew better than to shirk the job or cut any corners. No, he’d ride the perimeter of the meadow, and work his way through the brushy places where cattle might hide, if it took him all night. He’d show them he could do the job.

He’d completed most of the search and was headed back toward the trail camp, when to his surprise, he did find a stray. A cow, standing and bawling mournfully at the boggy edge of the water hole. Standing and stretching her neck to make a long, drawn out moan of a sound.

As he rode closer, he saw why she wasn’t moving, and why she was bawling.

Stuck nearly up to its ears in the quagmire at the edge of the waterhole, was a very young calf, bawling weakly in response to it’s mother’s call. The long shadows of late afternoon couldn’t hide the whites of the calf’s eyes as it struggled ineffectively to free itself from the mud.

“Dadburn it!” Joe said, untying his rope from his saddle. “You sure got yourself stuck, little one.” He swung down from the saddle, keeping his horse between him and the nervous cow. 

“Hold steady, Dusty,” Joe murmured. “You keep an eye on the mammy, while I get that calf outa there.”

He threw the rope over his shoulder as he stepped toward the edge of the mud. Wasn’t likely to need it after all. Had the calf been larger or older, he might have roped it around the horns and dragged it out on its back. No horns on this one, though. Pulling the calf straight out with a rope around its neck would likely cause injury. The calf was already weakened by its struggle, and wouldn’t be much help. There was nothing for it; he’d have to pull or push the calf free himself.

He waded in, slogging deeper and deeper, and felt the mud come up over the top of his boots. He cursed under his breath. That damned mud is cold! He shivered, but kept moving closer to the calf. He kept an eye on the cow, but Dusty was working, keeping himself in between the cow and Joe. 

“Good job, Dusty,” Joe called. He turned back to the calf, wondering if he would be strong enough to pull the calf free.

He slung the rope more securely over his shoulder, and bent to pull at the calf’s tail, trying to hoist the calf out of the mud. He hauled upward with all his strength, grunting with exertion, trying to break the grip of the mud. The calf bawled, long and loud. Startled, Joe dropped his tail. He looked the calf over, breathing hard.

“You remind me of a friend of mine, named Gabe,” he said. “His singing voice is pretty much like yours. He’s got big ears, too, just like you, and he’s stubborn as the day is long.” Joe paused to rub a hand over his face. The suction of the mud was holding the calf in a solid, cast iron grip. “Gabe ain’t one to give up, so if I’m gonna call you Little Gabe, you can’t give up, either.” 

The cow gave a mournful, drawn-out moo. Dusty stepped toward her, and she stopped moving, but shifted her weight back and forth, eying Joe closely.

“Sounds like your mammy prefers you to be called Gabriel.” He giggled, and then cut his laugh off abruptly. “I’m so blamed tired that that seemed funny. Sorry, Mammy.” He tipped his hat to the cow, and turned back to the bogged down calf.

**********

“The most hard-headed, foolish, ornery, consarn stupid animal–“

Standing nearly hip deep in mud, he bent over, panting from exertion. He was struck by the familiarity of the string of words he’d just used. Leaning, back, muscles aching, resting for a moment, he remembered when he heard them. Earlier today, spoken by his brothers. Foolish, contrary, that had been Adam. Ornery, that had been Hoss. To be fair, though, no one had called him stupid. Somehow, that made him feel better. 

“You and me, Little Gabe, we gotta come to an understanding,” Joe said wearily. “I’m gonna pull your legs free again. Your job is to hold still, and let me do it. Don’t be putting your feet right back down in the mud. That’s what you been doin’ and it ain’t workin’.”

Dusty looked at him with infinite patience, waiting for him to figure it out. The cow eyed him with suspicion, snorting and shifting her feet.

“You all think I’ve got all the answers, ’cause I’m the one with the rope,” he told the mother’s large brown eyes. “I’ll tell you right now, I don’t have any kind of notion how I’m going to get your little one out of there.”

The calf bawled, and it sounded like it was calling-“mama,” maybe? Whatever the sound meant, it was pathetic and yearning and fearful.

He studied the calf. 

“My brother Adam says you can think your way out of a situation better than you can bull your way out of it,” Joe said thoughtfully. He glanced at the calf, who seemed to look back reproachfully. “Oh, sorry, no reflection on your daddy.”

Leverage, maybe, to maximize his strength? Better yet, use strength that he didn’t have. He waded back out of the mud, and tied the rope to Dusty’s saddle horn. He waded back into the mud, carrying the other end of the rope toward the now listless calf. 

“Now listen, Little Gabe, I’m gonna slip this rope under your belly,” he said, and he pushed against the calf’s side, trying to worm his arm under the calf. Belly down in the mud himself, he pushed against what seemed to be a living stone. He was entirely covered with mud once he finally managed to pull the rope through to the other side. He needed several tries before he could fasten a loop with his numbed fingers.

He felt the cold seep into his bones as he pushed himself back off his belly. He pulled hard, testing the rope.

“Back, Dusty, back” and the little horse stepped backwards, pulling the rope taut and adding enough tension to allow Joe to use the rope to pull himself to his feet. The pony pulled, the calf bawled in what sounded like pain. The mud suction refused to release its legs.

“Whoa, son, whoa.” The cowpony stood stock still, braced naturally, like a solid wall, like a rock, like a big brother-

Joe laughed mirthlessly, and pulled himself higher in the mud, leaning against the taut rope. He was tired, tired of the cold mud, tired of aching muscles that lacked the strength to yank the calf free. Tired of being at odds with his brothers.

“Don’t look at me like that!” he said to Dusty. “It ain’t my fault this dadburn calf was so blind that he walked right into a mudhole. It ain’t my fault this mud’s stickier than molasses. It ain’t my fault the sun’s goin’ down and we ain’t any closer to camp than we were two hours ago.”

Dusty’s ears twitched. “I know,” Joe sighed. “You’re right. This ain’t getting us anywhere.”

He heaved himself upright further, and leaned back, testing the rope for any further give. 

The mood between him and his brothers had been as tense as his rope, and that was his fault. He knew it. Just like this calf here, he’d walked blindly into a bog. Hoss and Adam had been patient all afternoon, intent on getting him free, putting his feet back on solid ground, steering him away from the mud they saw sucking him down. 

That’s the trouble, he thought. What’s a bog to them, looks like a swimming hole to me.

“Is that what you told your mammy, Little Gabe?” Joe said, watching the calf’s ears. “I’m just going for a little swim?“

He was starting to have darker thoughts about rescuing this calf. His strength might not be enough. If he couldn’t free Little Gabe, he also couldn’t leave him suffering the way he was. But the thought of having to use his rifle-he redoubled his efforts to free the calf’s legs. 

Some folks think being strong is everything, Hoss’ voice reminded him.But I’ll tell you a secret Little Brother. Being stubborn, not giving up-that’s more important than being strong.

Stubborn. Well, they hadn’t seen anything like stubborn yet.

He slogged his way back out of the mud, shivering, and released the rope from the saddle horn. He climbed back on Dusty, and his seat made a squelching sound as he settled into the saddle.

He headed toward a nearby copse of aspen. There were pine trees behind the aspen, and it was these he wanted, with their broad pine boughs, dense and thick with long needles. He gathered springy, tough boughs, propping as many as he could hold against the saddle. He climbed back on Dusty’s back and rode back to the bog.

He let the branches drop as he slid from the saddle. The cow hadn’t moved, but the calf looked like it had sunk a little deeper. He tied the rope to the saddle horn once more, and waded back into the mud, arms full of pine boughs. He spread them near the calf, and began the tedious task of pulling each leg free of the mud all over again.

This time, though, he placed a pine bough beneath each leg as he freed it. At first, the calf stubbornly insisted on returning its legs to their original position. 

“It’s going to be cold, tonight,” he muttered, “and I ain’t much for spendin’ the night in hip deep in the mud. So, we’re gonna do what Hoss would do, and that’s keep on tryin’. We’re gonna do what Adam would do, and that’s be smart. And we’re gonna do what Pa would do, and that’s work together, you and me and Dusty.”

The pine boughs spread near the calf’s sides, Joe tried again, patiently, trying a new angle, struggling to get the pine boughs under each leg and keep it from being sucked back into the mud. He bent each little leg on the mat of branches, and they seemed to hold. When all four legs were freed, he and pushed and pushed, rolling the calf on its side, then piled more branches under the little hooves.

“Back, Dusty! Back son, back up, that’s the boy, good boy,” and Joe moved around to the calf’s rump. When he felt the calf move, he hoisted the rump by its tail, and the calf slid forward.

“Back! Back! Back up, you blasted pony, back!” Joe scrambled through the mud on his knees as the calf moved faster, bawling again, freed from the mud at last. Quickly he reached around the calf’s belly and freed the rope, then hauled the calf to its feet with another yank on its tail. The calf stood, shaking on wobbly legs. It was a bull-calf and he couldn’t have been more than a few days old.

Dusty turned quickly as soon as the tension left the rope, returning to his duty of heading off the cow. Joe leaped to his feet, dodging behind his horse as the cow surged forward. She stopped when she reached her baby, and nuzzled the trembling calf, Joe apparently forgotten. With a sigh of relief, Joe leaned against Dusty’s flank and watched the calf seek its mother’s milk.

“You might’ve thought, when you seen me,” Joe said to the calf, “Well, I’m done for, this fella is too small and too young to be much help. But I’m more than just me. Every darn day my brothers show me extra know-how, extra stubbornness, every darn day, and it’s bound to rub off on a feller, ain’t it? So you are one lucky calf, running into me.” And don’t you forget it, he added to himself.

**********

They met him on his way in, Hoss and Adam, riding out in the near-dark to find him when he didn’t return to camp by sunset.

“See, that’s what it’s like to have big brothers,” he said to the calf. “They send you off, can’t wait to be shed of ya, then they watch and watch for you to come back.” Those two mother hens had made him snapping mad this morning, but those same mother hens drove away the cold this evening. 

He smiled to himself, accurately predicting the first words Adam would say.

“You all right, Joe?” Adam looked him over carefully in the twilight, noting the muddy clothes, the calf slung across his saddle bow, the cow following behind.

Joe waited. 

“Joe, where you been, you look like you been dragged though a swamp,” Hoss said, and Joe smiled again. His brothers were so predictable.

“Bringing home a stray,” Joe said. “He got stuck in a bog.”

“From the look of you, he was bogged down pretty good,” Hoss said. “How’d you manage to pull that critter free all by yourself?” 

Joe smiled. “I had a lot of help.”

The End

August 2007