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HECTOR AND VINEGAR MILLER ARRIVE IN CAPROCK COUNTY
I had turned under my twentieth birthday just a couple of
weeks earlier when I first came to Caprock County. It was in
mid
January, 1927, and it was cold; bitter, bitterly cold. I was
helping my older brother Hector, an enterprising and ingenious
fast talking swapper - trader- dealer, haul two stringy maybe part
holstein milk cows home to Kansas. His old hybrid truck, made
from Ford,
Dodge, Studebaker, and farm machinery parts, had been rigged as a
furniture van so it had a roof of sorts which made the cows' crowded
compartment just about the warmest place available as we drove
through
the early night. But we had to keep driving to try to find warmer
shelter
for them, and for us.
We had to take corners at about a mile an hour because overloaded
as we were with those cows in there, plus the chairs, bicycles,
window
frames, and other valuables Heck had traded for and stashed on
the boxed in
rooftop, that outfit was so topheavy, every time those cows
moved or we
swerved the tiniest little bit, I figured we were done for.
We were dirty and cold and, I believed, damn near broke, and the
truck was
old and the engine was spitting and missing but at least it had
always been
consistent so we chugged along steadily. We'd piled a ragged
rag rug and a
balding astrakan coat over the engine and they had to be adjusted
every ten miles
or so to keep the temperature from blowing off the radiator thermometer
or
freezing the engine solid. Heck would slow the small truck and I'd
jump out
and run alongside in a sort of a dance to the front fender, move the
coverings here and there, and dance back onto my seat.
We got so good at it we'd do the complete operation without ever
coming to a
stop. It seems pretty backward now, but it beat the hell out of
crunching along with a team of horses and a grain wagon.
The truck had no heater but we had blankets on our laps and I had
on a tough
and sturdy long sheepskin working coat with a high collar,
a railroad
brakeman's black wool cap with earflops that came down to my neck
if I
wanted, six buckle knee high overboots and a pair of heavy wool
mittens
inside leather covers. I might have been a little dirty and
soiled and a
helluva mess so I was warm and ready for anything but like
always,
Heck was decked out in style like he was on his way to either
a
wedding or a funeral. He had on a fancy new wool plaid mackinaw,
with only
a few recent stains, checkered wool scarf, a dark green derby,
new style zip
up overshoes, and wool gloves with no covers, like dandies wore.
You'd think
he'd freeze to death but he had a secret he thought no one else
knew. I hadn't
been his brother all my life without knowing just about everything
about him.
He was wearing "silk longjohns"! Where on earth he ever got hold
of them was
a secret he could even keep from me. But that's the way he was too.
Silk
longjohns. Real silk. I'd read where silk longjohns were just as
warm if not
warmer, than my bristly wool longjohns. Heck always was way out
in front of
everybody on such things.
To stay warm we stomped our feet and Heck slapped his hands
against the
steering wheel and I kept the windshield frost free in front
of Heck with
constant scraping with an old cement trowel. We'd sing and
holler at each
other trying to keep things as lively as we could because we
had another
five or six hours ahead of us, with luck, and we'd taken trips
like this
before, but not in such ungodly cold.
But this was a trip I'd never forget because it was the only
time I can
remember that Heck and I got along well with each other, most
of the time.
He was real touchy and had always had a quick triggered temper
that
blew up when you least expected it. You really had to watch
what you'd say
but that would only work some of the time. He was short with me
all the time it
seemed and whenever I did something that he didn't think was the
right thing
to be doing at that second he'd recite a history of everything I
ever did wrong.
It could get pretty tiresome.
We chugged along until we came to a small town and Heck pulled
in at a gas
pump in front of a lighted garage and on a trip like that at night,
we'd fill
up at any town that had an open place with a gas pump because the
last few
hours we knew we'd have to make it without stopping.
We had an extra four gallons in a can strapped on the running
board but that
was for emergencies and the last sixty or so miles if needed.
We both decided to get out and Heck in his superior style
voice told
the kid who came stomping out of the tumble down building that
looked like an
overgrown wood shed to "fill her up" and he went looking for a
toilet.
As I jumped down from the truck, my feet got tangled in a rope
on the end
of the log chain on the floor of the truck. The kid had to
jump back because
I came tumbling out almost on top
of him with the log chain and an old funnel rattling along
behind.
To make it look like a stunt and that I meant to fall out I
decided to
continue the action so I rolled around on the ground for a
few seconds,
getting further tangled in the chain and growling and groaning
to add to the
drama. I saw right away that I'd gone too far because the kid
looked
pretty scared so to ease things up for him I jumped up and
spread out
my arms and smiled at him to show him it was just a joke.
I put the chain back in the truck and tossed the funnel in
behind and then
jumped back in to move the spark up a little. The kid grinned
a little and
edged up to the truck, put the nozzle in the tank and began to
fill it.
I don't know why I did what I did next but after I sat
down in my seat and
opened the window which was right next to the kid filling the
tank, I opened
my eyes as wide as I could and stared at him as I reached down
and took the
chain and began to wrap it around me. When I had it pretty well
all the way
around several times I kept staring at him and pretended to
struggle to free
myself. He was a good kid and he grinned at me like he was enjoying
the show
so to show my appreciation for such a sophisticated audience I
got a little
wilder and lunged back and forth in the truck and groaned and
growled and
kicked around on the floor. I picked up a dented bucket off the
floor that
held a clevis and a monkey wrench and a couple of nuts and bolts
and shook
them around like a giant baby rattle. Then I threw them out the
window onto
the ground which made a proper and significant noise to celebrate
the entire
event.
I was starting to feel pretty good because of all the action
so with a little
more enthusiasm I thrust myself around from door to door and banged
my
head on the dashboard and got so wild somehow the door opened and I
fell out and flopped
flat on my back and had the wind knocked out of me for a few seconds.
While I was waiting for my lungs to get working again, I realized
how tired
I'd been getting on this trip, from the long hours, lack of rest or sleep,
and the stinking and raunchy dirty work of trying to move cattle around to
every place but those where they wanted to go. Just lying on my back on that
old gravel felt
good. My wool long johns were well broken in and already had formed into
a
mid-winter custom fitted second skin but the activity of my performing had
shifted them around and where I'd become used to the itching, the wool was
now taking a second life. I took advantage of the chance to loosen up my
stiffness and so to rearrange my woolies I began to writhe around on the
gravel and rub and scratch my back on the sharp stones. I was feeling
better
fast and the relief from the itching was rejuvenating my hide. I threw in
a few ooohs and aaahhhs and ohhhhs and uuhhs and ooofs loud enough to let the
whole world know how much I appreciated such a wonderful unexpected gift of
relief and overdue pleasure; and to scare the kid a little more.
By then I was ready to face the next leg of the trip so I took a
deep breath and looked up and there was the kid standing about ten feet
away, with eyes wide and looking like his feet were frozen to the ground.
He'd lost his grin and he was holding the nozzle of the hose and he looked
like he was in the final stage of being electrocuted. I felt flattered by
his tribute to my show. He was a great audience. But it was time to
move
on and the maybe part holsteins were stomping in impatience to get
something
happening so I decided to free the kid. For a finale I took in all the
air I could
and let out a long tortured howl that I tried to make sound like a wolf
who hadn't had a bite to eat or a friendly lick in seven or eight years.
I shook and rattled the chains around me and rolled back and forth on that
cold stage like I was trying to put out a burning shirt. I pretended to be
fighting and struggling hard and finally defeating some imaginary evil
thing that was trying to knock me off balance. When I won, like a boxing
champ I clamped my hands together above my head and stood upright weaving,
tired looking, after a fakey effort in trying to stand by myself.
Then for a dramatic punctuation to the end of my acting deboot
I reached deep to the very bottom of my almost empty talent sack and
bayed and bayed like a hound who'd treed a bobcat.
I hopped to the truck and rolled my head around and kept my eyes
wide open and stared with cross eyes at the kid until he finally came
alive
and took off running. I had to duck as he threw the gas cap at
my head, dropped the gas hose on the ground and scattered flying gravel
behind his run over at the heels boots. He almost left the ground as he
dug out for
the doubtful safety of his until now, surely much unappreciated and even
more
squalid, gas station shed office.
Heck had reappeared while I was howling and baying and had stopped and
watched and listened to my performance and he started hollering at me,
"What the hell you doing Vinegar?!" I growled at him and grabbed the
funnel and tossed it at him. He caught it and the kid was yelling from the
door of the station that he was calling the sheriff. Heck gathered up
the clevis and bucket and monkey wrench and ran and jumped in and got the
truck moving and away we went, him cussing at me and trying to steer with
his head sticking out the window because the windshield was completely
frosted over. The holsteins were stomping around trying to keep their
balance and there I was trussed up and squirming like a giant worm
hanging onto whatever I could while trying to work my way into the truck.
I got to laughing so hard at times I would have slid back out and
no doubt would have been done in when the rear tire rolled over my head
if Heck hadn't finally reached across and hauled me back onto my seat.
He cussed for a full twenty miles while I would get laughing so hard that
tears came rolling down my cheeks and froze on my chin. Finally I was able
to unwrap myself from the chain and settled myself down and turned my
attention back to scraping away at the windshield frost with that damned
old trowel. Heck kept trying to see if anyone was chasing us by looking
in the rear view mirror which was cracked so bad that he couldn't have made
out much even if he had been able to see it through the frosted over window.
That playing around was something I'll never forget. It was sure the
most
fun I'd had on that trip since the biggest of the two maybe part holsteins
had chased Heck and me around the sale barn pen while we were trying to get
her loaded.
After a few minutes I asked Heck how much he'd paid for the gas
and
that got him stopped cussing. He was quiet and very sober looking for
the
longest time and he looked at me and asked me if I hadn't paid for the
gas
and I told him he knew I'd given him my last two dollars. Instead of
getting
mad again he started to giggle and then got to laughing and told me
that he
didn't give the kid any money because of the confusion while I was
pulling
my stunt and we'd gotten away with a good one. Free gas. We both
got to
laughing and we kept up laughing and joking until we came to the next
town.
The buildings were all dark and we didn't see anyone moving
around
but Heck pulled off on the first side street and ducked around through
the
town past houses until we got back on the road on the other side of
town.
As if no one would notice us or remember that old truck. We knew that
gas
station guy or a cop would have telephoned ahead and warned the law
in this
town but we figured we got away free and clear so we chugged on into
the
night. We had a good time dodging imaginary roadblocks and pretending
we
were real outlaws with the lawmen hot on our trail. That kept us wide
awake
and untroubled by the cold and when we figured we were far enough down
the
road we decided to find another gas pump and fill up one last time if
we
could and that should take us home.
Another hour and the lights I thought we'd never reach turned
out to
be in a place I'd never heard of before. The town of Foursquare, in
Caprock
County, like the sign said. It was just above the plains at the beginning
of the couple of hundred mile climb to the foothills of the mountains
farther
west, where I'd never been either. Heck said he'd been here last spring
and
there were some rent cabins up ahead that had a gas pump. Sure enough
in a
couple of minutes we pulled in front of the rent cabin's office where
inside
a guy was reading a newspaper and smoking a pipe and looking warm and
comfortable.
Heck told me he'd check the cows and for me to send the guy out to
fill up
the truck so I went in and the gent was real polite and pleasant and
pulled
on a big sheepskin coat and a fur hat and while I stayed getting
acquainted
with a mighty warm stove he went to Heck.
It wasn't but a few minutes that there was a big ruckus
going on out
front and I thought the maybe part holsteins had broken out or
kicked Heck
so I dashed out and in two or three steps I stopped dead in my
tracks like I'd run into a pine tree.
I thought I was seeing Heck finally going looney. But it didn't
take me more
than a second to know that Heck hadn't been checking the cows.
He'd been getting
ready for his try at outdoing me with his rendition of a big
scene. He'd wrapped
himself in the log chain and rope and was hollering and baying at
the moon and
rolling around on the ground with the funnel and making noises
like I'd never
heard coming from him except when he was cussing at me for some
imaginary crime
he'd like to think I'd pulled on humanity.
I should have guess he'd do something like that because
knowing Heck
and how he loved to line his pockets with some easy cash, that
stunt I'd
pulled for fun, Heck was pulling for free gas on purpose. That
was Heck all over.
Cash money to him was sort of like his god. Saving money or
grabbing money.
It made no difference. Just as though no one else had a right
to it. The
fun was going out of the trip fast.
The worst thing of all, Heck was a flop as an actor.
I'd only been
to one tent vaudeville show so I sure would never get hired as
a paid criticizer of drama
but watching Heck, he deserved to be hooked off stage like the
guy in the
checkered suit and a goose sitting on his head who was trying
to be funny
in that show. Being someone who always wanted to show his good
side to
everybody Heck looked like he'd completely lost touch with his
ordinary being.
He could count his pennies faster than anyone I'd ever seen but
now he looked
as out of place as a banker rolling around in gravel and manure
and trying to
look normal. It looked like he was trying to be funny but there
was nothing
funny about it. It just looked and sounded sort of sad, like a
tired little
kid throwing a phony temper tantrum.
What he was doing just wasn't believable and it sure as
shooting
wasn't
scaring the proprietor of the establishment. He and I just
stood there
while Heck ranted and raved and tossed gravel and barked like
a dog and even
went so far as to bang his head against the door of the truck
which must have
hurt because it made a good noise but he only did it once.
His act petered
out pretty fast when he noticed the audience wasn't being moved.
To save
face when he got up off the ground and unwound the log chain he
grinned at
the guy and shuffled around and fake laughed and tried to cover
up the top
of his silk underwear that was sticking out. He told the guy he
put on the
performance for him to relieve his boredom by providing him with
a chuckle
or two to warm up his long night.
The guy stood there smiling like he knew a second
scene was
coming on
stage and sure enough, from his pocket the guy pulled out a large
shiny
silver star and he said, "Boys, the show is over and the brightest
thing
and the only star that counts in this here infirmanent is this one.
Welcome to Caprock County. I heard your act was on the road and
headed this
way. I'm closing you down boys. This is my county. I'm the sheriff
here and I've got
a couple of nice firm bunks and a tight room all ready for you.
Don't you
worry about those animals or whatever that is stomping around in your
handy dandy shack on wheels.
We've got a
barn out back of the jail and in the morning you can visit with
the judge
and I'll just take a guess that all your shady goods will be staying
right here in
Foursquare, property of the county, for the rest of this century
at least."
I for one felt relieved. I was tireder and colder than I
thought. The
jail was warm and that alone was enough to make the plank bunk I
was
assigned feel like a feather bed. I didn't even wait for Heck
to get
settled in. I was sleeping in a minute.
The jailer rattling the cell door when he unlocked it in
the morning
woke me six hours later and I sat up slowly on my bed board,
looked around,
figured out where I was, and noticed Heck wasn't there. I
asked the jailer,
who was handing me a tin plate of what looked like moldy
alfalfa and a dozen
rabbit droppings and what he proudly announced was breakfast,
about Heck,
and he said that Heck had made a deal with the sheriff just
after being
locked up and had gone back down the road with the truck, the cows, a full
tank of gas,
and left me for security.
They let me make a long distance collect telephone
call to home and
who answered it? Heck of all people, and he wouldn't accept the call.
Like most any guy with an older brother, I'd calculated the risks
of taking
a trip with him and having something like this happening. It was
just his
habit toward me. I didn't take it personally. I mean, think about
it,
Cain slew his kid brother Abel. Heck hadn't tried yet to slew me.
Not that I knew of anyhow.
The sheriff told me I wouldn't have to stay in jail but
could live in
one of his rental cabins at a cut rate and he'd help me find a
job so I
could work and pay off the $4.50 fine, with court costs of
another three
and a half bucks, plus one simoleon and two bits for the gas
Heck hadn't
paid for in that first town.
There were a few pluses however. If I had ever owed
Hector something
it was now paid up forever, whatever it might have been.
Brother or not,
he had no more claim on me. And that made me feel just fine.
Kinda happy actually.
Well, that's how I came to be here and knowing what you
know now is going
to help you understand the almost impossible to predict things
that have
happened since. I guarantee you won't be able to believe much
of what I'll
be telling you. I still hardly believe much of it myself.
Vinegar P. Miller
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