cow.
“Give me a bucket, Caroline,” said Pa. He 168 was going to milk the cow, right away.
He took the bucket, he pushed back his hat, and he squatted by the cow to milk her. And that cow hunched herself and kicked Pa flat on his back.
Pa jumped up. His face was blazing red and his eyes snapped blue sparks.
“Now, by the Great Horn Spoon, I'll milk her!” he said.
He got his ax and he sharpened two stout slabs of oak. He pushed the cow against the stable, and he drove those slabs deep into the ground beside her. The cow bawled and the little calf squalled. Pa tied poles firmly to the posts and stuck their ends into the cracks of the stable, to make a fence.
Now the cow could not move forward or backward or sidewise. But the little calf could nudge its way between its mother and the stable. So the baby calf felt safe and stopped bawling. It stood on that side of the cow and drank its supper, and Pa put his hand through the fence and milked from the other side. He got a tin cup almost full of milk.
“We'll try again in the morning,” he said.
“The poor thing's as wild as a deer. But we'll gentle her, we'll gentle her.”
The dark was coming on. Nighthawks were chasing insects in the dark air. Bullfrogs were croaking in the creek bottoms. A bird called “Whip! Whip! Whip-poor-Will!” "Who?
Whooo?" said an owl. Far away the wolves howled, and Jack was growling.
“The wolves are following the herds,” Pa said. “Tomorrow I'll build a strong, high yard for the cow, that wolves can't get into.”
So they all went into the house with the 170 beef. Pa and Ma and Mary and Laura all agreed to give the milk to Baby Carrie. They watched her drink it. The tin cup hid her face, but Laura could see the gulps of milk going down her throat. Gulp by gulp, she swallowed all that good milk. Then she licked the foam from her lip with her red tongue, and laughed.
It seemed a long time before the cornbread and the sizzling beef steaks were done. But nothing had ever tasted so good as that tough, juicy beef. And everyone was happy because now there would be milk to drink, and perhaps even butter for the cornbread.
The lowing of the cattle herds was far away again, and the songs of the cowboys were almost too faint to be heard. All those cattle were on the other side of the creek bottoms now, in Kansas. Tomorrow they would slowly go farther on their long way northward to Fort Dodge, where the soldiers were.
INDIAN CAMP
Day after day was hotter than the day before. The wind was hot. “As if it came out of an oven,” Ma said.
The grass was turning yellow. The whole world was rippling green and gold under the blazing sky.
At noon the wind died. No birds sang.
Everything was so still that Laura could hear the squirrels chattering in the trees down by the creek. Suddenly black crows flew overhead, cawing their rough, sharp caws. Then everything was still again.
Ma said that this was midsummer.
Pa wondered where the Indians had gone.
He said they had left their little camp on the prairie. And one day he asked Laura and Mary if they would like to see that camp.
Laura jumped up and down and clapped her hands, but Ma objected.
“It is so far, Charles,” she said. “And in this heat.”
Pa's blue eyes twinkled. “This heat doesn't hurt the Indians and it won't hurt us,” he said.
“Come on, girls!”
“Please, can't Jack come, too?” Laura begged. Pa had taken his gun, but he looked at Laura and he looked at Jack, then he looked at Ma, and he put the gun up on its pegs again.
“All right, Laura,” he said. “I'll take Jack, Caroline, and leave you the gun.”
Jack jumped around them, wagging his 173 stump of a tail. As soon as he saw which way they were going, he set off, trotting ahead. Pa came next and behind him came Mary, and then Laura. Mary kept her sunbonnet on, but Laura let hers dangle down her back.
The ground was hot under their bare feet.
The sunshine pierced through their faded dresses and
“Give me a bucket, Caroline,” said Pa. He 168 was going to milk the cow, right away.
He took the bucket, he pushed back his hat, and he squatted by the cow to milk her. And that cow hunched herself and kicked Pa flat on his back.
Pa jumped up. His face was blazing red and his eyes snapped blue sparks.
“Now, by the Great Horn Spoon, I'll milk her!” he said.
He got his ax and he sharpened two stout slabs of oak. He pushed the cow against the stable, and he drove those slabs deep into the ground beside her. The cow bawled and the little calf squalled. Pa tied poles firmly to the posts and stuck their ends into the cracks of the stable, to make a fence.
Now the cow could not move forward or backward or sidewise. But the little calf could nudge its way between its mother and the stable. So the baby calf felt safe and stopped bawling. It stood on that side of the cow and drank its supper, and Pa put his hand through the fence and milked from the other side. He got a tin cup almost full of milk.
“We'll try again in the morning,” he said.
“The poor thing's as wild as a deer. But we'll gentle her, we'll gentle her.”
The dark was coming on. Nighthawks were chasing insects in the dark air. Bullfrogs were croaking in the creek bottoms. A bird called “Whip! Whip! Whip-poor-Will!” "Who?
Whooo?" said an owl. Far away the wolves howled, and Jack was growling.
“The wolves are following the herds,” Pa said. “Tomorrow I'll build a strong, high yard for the cow, that wolves can't get into.”
So they all went into the house with the 170 beef. Pa and Ma and Mary and Laura all agreed to give the milk to Baby Carrie. They watched her drink it. The tin cup hid her face, but Laura could see the gulps of milk going down her throat. Gulp by gulp, she swallowed all that good milk. Then she licked the foam from her lip with her red tongue, and laughed.
It seemed a long time before the cornbread and the sizzling beef steaks were done. But nothing had ever tasted so good as that tough, juicy beef. And everyone was happy because now there would be milk to drink, and perhaps even butter for the cornbread.
The lowing of the cattle herds was far away again, and the songs of the cowboys were almost too faint to be heard. All those cattle were on the other side of the creek bottoms now, in Kansas. Tomorrow they would slowly go farther on their long way northward to Fort Dodge, where the soldiers were.
INDIAN CAMP
Day after day was hotter than the day before. The wind was hot. “As if it came out of an oven,” Ma said.
The grass was turning yellow. The whole world was rippling green and gold under the blazing sky.
At noon the wind died. No birds sang.
Everything was so still that Laura could hear the squirrels chattering in the trees down by the creek. Suddenly black crows flew overhead, cawing their rough, sharp caws. Then everything was still again.
Ma said that this was midsummer.
Pa wondered where the Indians had gone.
He said they had left their little camp on the prairie. And one day he asked Laura and Mary if they would like to see that camp.
Laura jumped up and down and clapped her hands, but Ma objected.
“It is so far, Charles,” she said. “And in this heat.”
Pa's blue eyes twinkled. “This heat doesn't hurt the Indians and it won't hurt us,” he said.
“Come on, girls!”
“Please, can't Jack come, too?” Laura begged. Pa had taken his gun, but he looked at Laura and he looked at Jack, then he looked at Ma, and he put the gun up on its pegs again.
“All right, Laura,” he said. “I'll take Jack, Caroline, and leave you the gun.”
Jack jumped around them, wagging his 173 stump of a tail. As soon as he saw which way they were going, he set off, trotting ahead. Pa came next and behind him came Mary, and then Laura. Mary kept her sunbonnet on, but Laura let hers dangle down her back.
The ground was hot under their bare feet.
The sunshine pierced through their faded dresses and
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