The Secret of Tabby Mountain
Neva Andrews

One

On May 16, 1935, Jo Barkley burst into the kitchen waving an envelope in her hand.

“Hey, Mom, a letter from Uncle Clint. Can I open it?”

A short, sturdy woman turned from the worktable where she was rolling out bread dough to make cinnamon rolls. A full length apron protected her print dress. Her black hair lay in neat waves back from her face and worry lines showed between her eyebrows.

“Is it addressed to Miss Josephine Barkley?”

“No. It’s addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Frank Barkley, Rural Route 3, Delta, Utah.”

“Then lay it on the table,” Mom said. “I’ll look at it when I get the cinnamon rolls made and the bread in the pans. You may get the fire going for me.”

Jo laid the letter on the round kitchen table and ran her fingers through her copper colored curls. How could Mom be so calm about a letter from Uncle Clint?

Maybe he needed help on the ranch. She went to the wood cookstove in the corner and lifted the lid. As she scraped down the ashes and laid crumpled paper and kindling in the firebox, she pictured herself riding a real cow pony on Uncle Clint’s ranch. Her hands trembled with excitement as she took a match from the box in the warming oven and lit the fire.

The tangy smell of burning cedar bark filled the room as Mom put the last perfectly shaped loaf of bread in the pan and covered the loaves and cinnamon rolls with a clean, flour-sack dish towel. She washed her hands at the washstand on the porch and threw the water out the back door. Then she carefully dried them on the towel at the end of the worktable before picking up the letter.

Jo stuffed her hands in the pockets of her bib overalls. She wanted to grab the letter and tear it open. She felt a thousand grasshoppers jumping in her stomach. Mom took a paring knife from the drawer and slit the envelope along the top edge.

“Oh, my goodness.” The worry lines on her forehead deepened as she read the letter.

“What does he say, Mom?” Jo hopped up and down on one bare foot.

“He wants you and Bobby to come to the ranch next month to help with the spring cattle drive.”

“Oh, can we Mom? Can we?” Jo wanted to turn cartwheels right there in the kitchen.

“We’ve invited Flora Mae, remember? She’ll arrive day after tomorrow to spend the rest of the summer with you. After being so sick during the winter, I don’t think she’d be strong enough to go to the ranch.”

“Darn that Flora Mae! Why does she have to come anyway? She’s—”

“Josephine Sue Barkley, watch your tongue. That’s no way to talk about your cousin.”

Jo ran outside. She slammed the screen door behind her. The grasshoppers in her stomach turned to stinging ants. She kicked a tin can and ignored the complaint from her bare toes. On she ran, past the pump and the woodpile, through the corral, past the cattail bog, and down the dusty cow trail to the pasture.

At the willow patch, Jo threw herself down in the salt grass and let the tears flow. She wrestled with thoughts of Flora Mae, thoughts too horrible to put into words. Tippy came and licked her face. She sat up and put her arm around the dog’s neck.

“Oh, Tippy, why does that sissy Flora Mae have to come, anyway? You know what a pantywaist she was last summer.” Jo remembered the Fourth-of-July when Flora Mae was afraid to set off a firecracker and couldn’t even understand what was fun about riding calves. “If it wasn’t for her, Bobby and I could ride in a real cattle drive.”

Bobby lived on a farm half a mile south of the Barkley place. He and Jo had shared adventures since they were four. Now at eleven they were old enough to ride in a real cattle drive. This would be the greatest adventure of all.

Jo sat for a long time with Tippy’s head in her lap. She scratched him behind his ears and rubbed her face in his soft fur. The zesty smell of willows soothed her mind, and her thoughts turned to Uncle Clint’s ranch. She had always wanted to visit the ranch in Tabiona Valley. She’d heard of the beautiful Duchesne River that flowed through the valley and the high Uintah Mountains near by. It would be so different from the farm here on this alkali flat. There were even Indians. Uncle Clint lived near the Ute Indian Reservation.

Jo was determined to have her own spread some day, with white face cattle and lots of good cow ponies. This would be her chance to see how things were done on a real ranch. She had to figure out a way to ride in that cattle drive.

The sun was headed toward the western mountains when Jo finally stood up and spoke to her dog. “Well, Tippy, we may as well take the cows in. The chores have to be done even if the world is falling apart. Go round ’em up, boy.” She raised her hand and made a sweeping motion toward the lower pasture. Together they ran to get the cows. “Easy, boy. You know they won’t give much milk if we run them.”

Tippy quietly headed the cows toward the barn. If one stopped to graze, he nipped her heel and ducked to avoid the wicked jab of her hind foot. Jo walked along behind, so absorbed in her thoughts she didn’t notice the stream of fresh manure Pet left in the trail until she stepped in it.

“Yuck!” Jo shuddered as she felt the warm muck squish between her toes. She dragged her bare feet through the grass along the edge of the trail and thought of what Dad had said just the other day. The crops weren’t doing well on this alkali flat. Maybe he’d say they couldn’t afford a trip to the ranch. She spit at a cow pie. It didn’t matter. They couldn’t go anyway with Flora Mae coming.

Jo dragged through her chores. She measured the cows’ grain into their individual feed boxes and forked hay into the manger in the barn. She imagined what it would be like on Uncle Clint’s ranch. They probably had a real barn, with a hay loft and everything, not like this open straw shed.

The rattle of the milk cart interrupted her thoughts. Her brother, Clyde, came with the ten gallon milk can and two buckets. Without a word, Jo took a bucket and grabbed a milk stool. She scuffed her toes in the loose dirt of the barn floor as she stepped to her favorite cow. Jo pressed her head into the cow’s flank and felt Pet’s warm belly against her shoulder. She listened to the rasp of rough tongues in the wooden feed boxes. The milk beat a rapid rhythm in the bottom of the empty bucket and soon foam began to rise. But thoughts still blew like tumbleweeds through her mind.

“What’s the matter, Sis?” Clyde pulled his stool up to the cow on the other side of Pet. “You’re sure quiet tonight.”

Clyde was four years older than Jo. He loved to tease, but he could be a good friend, too.

“Didn’t Mom tell you about the letter from Uncle Clint?”

“No. She wasn’t in the house when I came in. Guess she must be out in the garden. What about the letter?”

“He wants Bobby and me to come help with the spring cattle drive.”

“Great! That should make you happy.”

“Yeah, but Flora Mae’s comin’.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot. She got over her sick spell, didn’t she?”

“Yes, but the folks thought a summer on the farm would make her stronger. Of course, I have to be her nursemaid!” Jo gave one last furious pull on Pet’s teat and got up to empty her bucket into the strainer in the ten gallon milk can. They finished the milking in silence.

Clyde lifted the ten gallon milk can onto the cart as if it were filled with feathers. Jo watched him with pride. He was average height and only weighed 120 pounds, but it was all muscle.

“Gee, Sis, I’m sorry you can’t go to the ranch,” he said as they started toward the house, “but I don’t know what we can do about it. The folks already promised Flora Mae she could come.”

“I know.”

Dad came up from the pigpen, swinging the slop bucket in his big right hand. His long strides reminded Jo of when she used to try to walk in his footsteps. His straw hat was pushed back on his head, revealing a strip of fair skin above his deeply tanned face. He wore blue bib overalls tucked into laced boots.

In a few minutes, the family of four gathered around the kitchen table and bowed their heads while Dad said the blessing. Even the smell of fresh cinnamon rolls couldn’t lift the gloom from Jo’s mind. While they ate, Mom told about Uncle Clint’s letter and his request for help with the cattle drive.

“What do you say, Jo? Think you’d like to spend a couple weeks on your uncle’s ranch?” Dad’s sky blue eyes twinkled as he looked across the table at his daughter.

Jo glared at her bowl of bread and milk. “Flora Mae’s comin’,” she said, without looking up.

“Oh, that’s right. I’m sorry, Jo. That would be great fun for you and Bobby. Good experience, too, but I s’pose there’ll be another time.”

Jo gritted her teeth. Didn’t Dad care she was going to miss the opportunity of her life?

“May I be excused?” she asked. “I’m goin’ for a ride on Prince.”

“What about the woodbox?” Mom looked across the table at her daughter.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot. Can I go after I get the wood and kindlin’?”

“Just be back by bedtime,” Dad said.

Jo picked up the kindling box and went out the door. The sun had already dropped behind the distant mountains. At the woodpile, she sat on a log and nibbled a cedar chip. The bitter taste fit her mood. Even in her despair, though, Jo felt the magic of the evening. A small gray cloud edged in rose hung near the western horizon. She watched the nighthawks swoop to catch their evening meal, heard the burrowing owl call “cu-coo.”

As the light in the western sky faded, the mountains turned purple and the evening star appeared. Jo whispered:

“Star light, star bright,

First star I see tonight,

I wish I may, I wish I might

Have the wish I wish tonight.”

Tippy barked. Bobby’s dog, Shepp, came bounding up the driveway and Jo turned to see Bobby ride into the yard on his horse, Flaxen. Bare feet dangled below bib overalls and his blond hair looked like his mother put a bowl on his head and cut around the edges.

“Hi, short stuff. What brings you out tonight?” Jo threw down the cedar chip she’d been nibbling.

“Aren’t your chores done yet? I wanna go for a ride.”

“Get off that long legged horse of yours and help me get this wood in. Then we’ll go for a ride. We need to talk.”

“What’ve I done now?”

“Nothin’. We just need to talk.”

When the woodbox was full, Jo caught Prince and she and Bobby rode down the winding driveway. Tall greasewood bushes, with their green, needle-like leaves and sharp thorns grew close on either side. At the road, they turned south across the bridge then swung west along a dirt road that followed the canal. The damp smell hung heavy on the evening air. Greasewood grew here and there in the wasteland to their left. They rode in silence for a while, Bobby on his tall sorrel gelding, Jo on her short Welsh pony. Shepp and Tippy romped along, taking side trips to check out fresh scents.

Bobby finally broke the silence. “Well, what did you want to talk about?”

“Uncle Clint wants us to come to the ranch to help with the spring cattle drive.”

“Hot ziggity dog! I’ll ask my folks. I’m sure they’ll let me go. When do we leave?”

“We don’t. That’s the problem.”

“How come?” Bobby turned and scowled at Jo.

“Flora Mae’s comin’ for the summer. Remember what a pantywaist she was last summer?”

“I thought she was kinda nice.”

“Wipe that silly grin off your face. She was a real pain. She had a sick spell last winter and my folks thought a summer on the farm would help her get strong again. I think Mom hopes some of her ‘lady-like’ ways will rub off on me. Anyway, I been appointed nursemaid.”

Neither said anything for a while. Then Bobby asked, “How soon does your Uncle Clint want us?”

“About three weeks.”

“I’ve got an idea. In three weeks, with good farm food and plenty of fresh air and exercise, she’ll be strong enough to go to the ranch with us.”

“Bobby, you crazy? Take Flora Mae to the ranch? She’d ruin everything.”

A nearly full moon had risen behind them and the greasewood cast eerie shadows along the trail.

“We better head back,” Jo said. “I’ll be in trouble with Dad if I’m not home by bedtime.”

Jo lay awake far into the night thinking about Bobby’s suggestion. Would it be any fun at the ranch with Flora Mae? Would she even want to go? What would Flora Mae’s folks say? What about Mom and Dad? Would they agree to it? Maybe it would be better to stay home. Flora Mae would be such a drag.

Jo pulled her pillow over her head and fell into a fitful sleep. She dreamed they were at the ranch. She, Bobby, and Flora Mae were exploring a cave, and Flora Mae turned into a huge snake. Just as it was about to strangle Jo, Bobby whipped out his sword and killed the snake. Jo woke up with a start. She felt clammy all over. Her pillow was wet with sweat. She puzzled over the dream for a long time. Tomorrow she’d have to talk to Grandpa. Finally, her mind quieted enough to go back to sleep.