Old Yeller by Fred Gipson

he won’t kick you.”
    I went and stood to one side of Jumper and jerked a long hair out of his tail. Sure enough, he snorted and kicked at me, but he missed. I took the hair back to Mama, wondering as much about it as I had about the green-striped lizard. But when Mama pulled a long sewing needle from her dress front and poked the small end of the tail hair through the eye, I knew then.
    “Horse hair is always better than thread for sewing up a wound,” she said. She didn’t say why, and I never did think to ask her.
    Mama asked me if any of Yeller’s entrails had been cut and I told her that I didn’t think so.
    “Well, I won’t bother them then,” she said. “Anyway, if they are, I don’t think I could fix them.”
    It was a long, slow job, sewing up Old Yeller’s belly. And the way his flesh would flinch and quiver when Mama poked the needle through, it must have hurt. But if it did, Old Yeller didn’t say anything about it. He just lay there and licked my hands while I held him.
    We were wrapping him up in some clean rags that Mama had brought along when here came Little Arliss. He was running as hard as he’d been when he left. He was grinning and hollering at Mama. And in his right hand he carried a green-striped lizard, too.
    How on earth he’d managed to catch anything as fast running as one of those green-striped lizards, I don’t know; but he sure had one.
    You never saw such a proud look as he wore on his face when he handed the lizard to Mama.And I don’t guess I ever saw a more helpless look on Mama’s face as she took it. Mama had always been squeamish about lizards and snakes and bugs and things, and you could tell that it just made her flesh crawl to have to touch this one. But she took it and admired it and thanked Arliss. Then she asked him if he’d keep it for her till we got home. Which Little Arliss was glad to do.
    “Now, Arliss,” she told him, “we’re going to play a game. We’re playing like Old Yeller is sick and you are taking care of him. We’re going to let you both ride on a cowhide, like the sick Indians do sometimes.”
    It always pleased Little Arliss to play any sort of game, and this was a new one that he’d never heard about before. He was so anxious to get started that we could hardly keep him out from underfoot till Mama could get things ready.
    As soon as she took the cowhide off Jumper’s back and spread it hair-side down upon the ground, I began to get the idea. She placed the soft pillows on top of the hide, then helped me to ease Old Yeller’s hurt body onto the pillows.
    “Now, Arliss,” Mama said, “you sit there onthe pillows with Old Yeller and help hold him on. But remember now, don’t play with him or get on top of him. We’re playing like he’s sick, and when your dog is sick, you have to be real careful with him.”
    It was a fine game, and Little Arliss fell right in with it. He sat where Mama told him to. He held Old Yeller’s head in his lap, waiting for the ride to start.
    It didn’t take long. I’d already tied a rope around Jumper’s neck, leaving the loop big enough that it would pull back against his shoulders. Then, on each side of Jumper, we tied another rope into the one knotted about his shoulders, and carried the ends of them back to the cowhide. I took my knife and cut two slits into the edge of the cowhide, then tied a rope into each one. We measured to get each rope the same length and made sure they were far enough back that the cowhide wouldn’t touch Jumper’s heels. Like most mules, Jumper was mighty fussy about anything touching his heels.
    “Now, Travis, you ride him,” Mama said, “and I’ll lead him.”
    “You better let me walk,” I argued. “Jumper’sliable to throw a fit with that hide rattling along behind him, and you might not can hold him by yourself.”
    “You ride him,” Mama said. “I don’t want you walking on that leg any more. If Jumper acts up one time, I’ll take a club to