At noon, when Ben joined his parents at the dinner table, he knew there was going to be a scene. Keeping his eyes down, he silently filled his plate and began to eat, waiting to hear what his punishment would be.
His dad opened fire. "Well, have you caused enough trouble today? Or what did you have planned for this afternoon?"
Ben didn't answer. Why does Dad have to use that sarcastic tone, he thought. I hate that.
"You've pulled some careless stunts before but this takes the cake. Let's see...Skeeter's broken reins, a runaway horse which is still on the loose, and a bunch of bulls that have to be gathered for the second time." His voice rose. "Did you stop to think before you brought that berserk squirrel around the horses?"
Ben cringed.
"No," he muttered.
"What? Look me in the eye when you're speaking to me," his father said sternly.
Ben looked up. His father's eyes were the same color of blue as his own, but sometimes they could be as hard as ice.
"No," he answered a little louder. "I didn't think."
Susie protested. "Pete, I don't know what this is all about, but that tone of voice is not necessary."
Ben flushed. He pushed his food around on the plate with his fork, losing his appetite. Taking a deep breath, he said, "I'm sorry. Like I already told you, I'm sorry."
"You won't be seeing any of your friends for the next month except at school. No company, no going to visit, no phone calls. You'll have plenty of time to learn to think before you act!"
Ben hung his head.
"And as soon as you finish eating, you get your room cleaned up. It looks like a whirlwind hit it."
Ben started to get up.
"Then you spend the rest of the day shoveling manure."
That's not so bad, thought Ben. Cleaning corrals was one of his regular jobs anyhow.
"And you won't be getting paid for it for the next month."
"Aw, Dad!" Ben whined.
His father narrowed his eyes at Ben. Ben's eyes dropped. He cleared his dishes and slouched to his bedroom. He could hear his father telling his mother of the disastrous morning.
Ben turned on his stereo, cranked up the volume and kicked at a pile of clothes on the floor. In a moment, boots clumped down the hall.
"Turn that down!" his dad said.
Ben obeyed, but made a face.
"And one more thing!" came the voice through the door. "Before you come home for supper, I want you to go apologize to Fred. He's really mad." The boots clumped back down the hall.
A couple of hours later Ben stood dejectedly at the scene of his disgrace. Well, I'd better get these corrals cleaned, he thought. That'll give me plenty of time to figure out what to say to grouchy old Fred.
The wheelbarrow stood on end against the side of the barn. The rake and the scoop shovel hung next to it on big nails. With a clang Ben dropped them into the wheelbarrow and pushed it toward the gate of the corral. He stopped short. Half covered in dirt lay the orange twine.
The slipknot was enlarged and had obviously loosened and fallen off the squirrel as it ran. Ben couldn't hold back a mischievous smile. It was pretty cool how I caught that little booger, he thought.
Man, did he jump and flip!
Sighing, Ben coiled the twine and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. He let himself into the corral and slid the latch into place. Half a day shoveling manure was definitely to be preferred to an hour or two of cleaning his room. Outside, life always seemed better.
Ben loved the fresh air, even cold and crisp like today, the earthy smell of manure, the audience of horses, the bawling of cattle, and the rugged snow-tipped Ruby Mountains rising like a fortress above the ranch buildings. It was almost enough to make a person forget his troubles. Ben raked up mounds of manure, then scooped them into the wheelbarrow until it could be heaped no higher.
Working hard, Ben forgot about Fred. As he pushed the wheelbarrow toward the gate, the sight of Fred's truck brought him up short. It was headed his way.
"Aw, shoot!" he said to himself.
He set down the wheelbarrow and slid back the latch. Fred pulled up in front of him, shut off the motor and rolled down his window. Ben pushed open the creaking gate and took a few reluctant steps toward the old man.
"Uh, Fred, I just wanted to say that..."
Fred never even heard him.
"There you are, you dad-blamed kid!" he yelled. "Do you know how long it took to get them spooky bulls rounded back up? And what about the horse that jumped that fence? He stepped in a squirrel hole and broke his dang leg!"
Ben's head jerked up.
"Broke his leg?" He knew what that meant.
"That's what I said, didn't I? He broke his leg!"
"I...I'm..." Ben stuttered. His stomach flip-flopped. He knew that a horse with a broken leg had to be put out of its misery. Only very valuable horses had their broken legs set.
"You killed that horse, boy! Guess it'll be coming out of your dad's pay. And I hope he whips the tar out of you!"
Ben slowly wiped a cold hand across his sweaty forehead.
"And those broken reins of Skeeter's, a good set of braided rawhide reins! Who's going to pay for that? I'll tell you who! You are, that's who! You're going to buy him a new set of reins!"
Ben bit his lip.
"I'm sorry, Fred," he said, talking fast. "I really am. I didn't know this would happen. I didn't mean to cause all that trouble." His voice was shaking. "I'll never make trouble again. I swear it."
"Yeah, sorry...You're always sorry about something. I never seen a sorrier kid than you."
Fred looked past Ben.
"HEY!" he yelled. "Those horses are coming out the gate behind you!"
Ben spun around and flapped his arms. "Git! Git!"
The horse nearest him wheeled around, eyes rolling. He careened into the arm of the wheelbarrow.
"Oh no," Ben groaned. With a clang the wheelbarrow, shovel and rake tipped over. The four snorting horses raced around the corral, kicking and squealing playfully. Ben pulled the gate closed and latched it. After retrieving his shovel and rake, he set the nearly empty wheelbarrow back up and glanced over his shoulder.
Fred was climbing stiffly out of his pickup. As the shriveled-up old cowboy marched toward Ben, a small slender border collie jumped out of the back of the truck and glided along behind his heels like a shadow. The dark look on Fred's face, under the brim of his battered black felt hat, gave Ben an uneasy feeling.
"I've had it with you, boy," he growled, shaking a bony finger at Ben. "I've had it with your shenanigans. I been telling your dad that you're too young to be hanging around."
One of the cowboys, Seth, was trotting his horse toward the barn. At 19, he was the youngest hand on the outfit. Glancing at Fred, he reined his horse to a slow walk, pulled the brim of his hat down lower over his eyes, and went on by.
"All you do is cause trouble! Every time you come around, you're BAD NEWS! You're plumb USELESS!"
"But I promise! It'll never happen again!"
"I've heard that story one too many times! The only reason I let your dad bring you around here is because he's my top hand. But no more, you hear? I don't EVER want to see you around my barn and my horses again! Starting RIGHT NOW! Now git! Put them things away and get home!"
"But my dad told me to clean the corrals!"
"And I'm your dad's boss! And I said GIT!"
Ben pointed at the pile of manure. "Do you want me to…"
"GIT!" Fred bellowed. "NOW!"
The skinny little man turned and stumped angrily back to his pickup. Scowling at Ben, he started the motor and drove away.
The knot in Ben's stomach tightened. So much for apologizing, he thought.
