Meadowlarks by Thomas Holladay (novels to improve english TXT) 📗

and put a hand on top of Jason’s head, No. “We don’t know anything about horses. They’re a big responsibility.”

“John Crow used to take care of Potter stock.” The sheriff reached up and pulled a skeleton key from a small opening in the stone wall of the barn. He unlocked the door and pulled it wide open, big enough to drive his truck and trailer inside but he'd already pointed it in the wrong direction. He smiled at Mom and took off his hat. “You must be Carolyn Potter.” His friend led Stoner into the barn.

Mom said, “Yes. I’m sorry, your name was . . .”

“Phil Nason, ma’am. That’s Jim Embry.” He motioned toward the open barn door and put his hat back on. “I’m the local deputy sheriff; not that we much need a sheriff up here.” He smiled, looking past Jason and his mom. “Ah, here comes Crow now.”

John Crow had already rounded the corner of the garage, walking toward the barn.

“Just in time,” said Embry, already backing the other horse down the ramp.

Jason said, “What’s this one's name? I forgot.”

Mr. Embry said, “Her name’s Dandy. She’s a real gentle eight-year-old. Anybody can ride her.” He led Dandy into the barn.

“Mornin’, John.” Sheriff Nason tipped his hat.

John smiled hello to the sheriff and spoke to Jason. “Good morning.” He took off his black hat with the feather to speak to Mom. “Morning, Mrs. Potter.”

“Please, call me Carolyn.” She shook John’s hand and smiled. “Good morning.” She shook hands with Sheriff Nason and Jim Embry too. “Anybody want breakfast?”

AFTER BREAKFAST, AFTER Jim Embry and Sheriff Nason left, John helped Jason give Barnabas a bath then Jason followed John into the barn. The horses stood way in back with nothing keeping them in their stalls but a length of rope hooked across an opening. The sand floor had footprints everywhere, both horse and human. High windows above a wraparound loft gave them plenty of light to see all the spider webs growing everywhere.

John opened a door near the front of the barn and Jason followed him into a room the size of Jason’s bedroom. Outside the two lower windows in here, thick iron bars had been fitted into the stonework. John said, “This is the tack room.” It was much more crowded than Jason’s bedroom; saddles on wood stands, folded blankets on wooden shelves, and open burlap bags filled with different kinds of grain. Rope and leather stuff hung from wood beams overhead. The wooden floor in the tack room had been littered with empty peanut bags and two empty whiskey bottles. Spiders lived in here too.

John swept a spider web away with his hand and shook his head. He didn’t like the mess. “There’s hay for fodder and more feed up on the loft.” He grabbed a bundle of fancy looking, interconnected leather straps and a short piece of rope from a sloppy pile of stuff on the floor. He handed those to Jason and slung a blanket and a piece of lamb’s wool over his shoulder, grabbed a saddle and led Jason across the barn.

He hoisted the saddle onto a rail fence near Stoner and spread the blanket and wool over the rail next to the saddle. He stepped sideways and looked into the horse’s eyes. “I don’t know what kind of horse this will be; came over from Gilpin’s just before . . .” He looked at Jason. “Should we find out?”

The big black horse looked at Jason, waiting for an answer.

Jason shrugged. “Okay.” He pointed to the lamb’s wool. “What’s that for?”

“Fleece?” John looked at Jason, making sure that’s what he meant.

Jason nodded.

“Fleece is used to cushion the saddle. These days, most saddles come with fleece sewn into the underside but not these. Willis made all the Potter saddles the old way, by hand.”

John’s hands had a mind of their own. He took the short piece of rope from Jason, quickly tied a knot and looped rope back through it. He unhooked the rope gate from the stall opening and walked slowly up to the horse, looking into his eyes.

Stoner’s head bobbed up and down, nervous.

John slipped the loop over his head with perfect timing and led him out. “I hope this horse hasn’t been ruined. He’s been with the Gilpins for the past two years, since he was just a colt.”

Barnabas sat over by the tack room, a safe distance, watching John lead the horse to a big wood post at the center of the barn. John looked into a wooden barrel.

Jason looked in; an empty barrel.

John said, “We usually keep green apples or carrots in there, but it’s been a while. Horses like apples and carrots. Jacobsen can deliver some out. Ask your mother to tell him it’s for the horses. He’ll bring out a full basket of whatever’s in season.”

“Did you know my father?”

Stupid.  

John had already said he did.

John smiled. “Your father was good with horses, good with all animals, really. Maybe he gave some of that to you.”

Jason hooked the post with one hand and walked slowly around it, getting nearer to the horse.

Stoner had a white blaze on his head and another one on his chest, black everywhere else except a ring of white above his front hooves. “Who are the Gilpins?”

“Some of your neighbors. They have a small place up Blind Creek Canyon, just across the river.”

Jason inched closer to Stoner.

John said, “Careful.” When the horse lowered his head and pressed it into Jason’s chest, Jason instinctively reached up and rubbed both sides of the horse’s massive neck.

“Never seen anything like that.” John shook his head and tied the leader rope to an iron ring in the post. He walked to another door at the side of the stone walled barn, not as big as the open front door. He lifted down a heavy looking wooden bar and leaned it against the wall. He pulled the thick wooden door inward and bright morning sunlight flooded the barn.