Steve Mills took his cap off, shook his head, and then put the cap back on. “That’s ridiculous, Bob. Bill Bradshaw knows that you’re one of the best ranchers in Nevada.”
“Bill don’t own the bank anymore. It got bought by some California outfit.”
Steve shook his head again. “Things change, don’t they?”
“Too much. Had some government inspector from Reno out here snooping around my dairy, saying it’s a health hazard. Saying my milk’s ‘unsafe.’
Neal heard the indignation in the man’s voice.
“Shit,” said Steve.
“Of course,” Hansen continued, his voice starting to rise, “with the price you get for milk these days-and I mean the price I get, not the middlemen-I might as well go out of business, maybe just sit around and drink whiskey.”
“Hey,” Steve asked, “would you mind giving Neal here a tour of your place? He’s from New York City. It’d be an education for him. While you’re doing that, I’ll wrestle this calf here into my truck.”
“Oh, a man from New York wouldn’t be interested in my operation.”
Actually, Mr. Hansen, this man from New York would be very interested in looking around your operation. Neal said, “I’d like to see it if you feel like showing it to me.”
Hansen shook his head a little but looked pleased nevertheless. “Well, come on.”
When he stepped into the livestock barn Neal wished that Joe Graham were there with him. Graham would have loved it-the long narrow building was immaculate. The floors had been scrubbed and disinfected, the stanchions shone from metal polish, the equipment glistened.
“This is really something,” Neal said. And he meant it-anyone could see the dedication and hard work that went into Hansen’s operation.
“Thank you. Care to see the rest?”
“Yes, please.”
Hansen gave him the tour. He showed Neal the neatly laid out barns, the tool shop, the equipment shed. He took him along the different pastures that separated the breeds of cattle and explained how he rotated the grazing schedules to let the land refresh itself. He pointed out the wooded slopes above the pasture that he had left pristine so he could hunt deer for the meat locker and take firewood from the deadfall.
He took him around to the large garden-almost a farm in itself-behind the house where he grew all of the vegetables for their table.
“How many people work here?” Neal asked.
“Oh… that depends on the season and the economy. Right now only about twelve. That’s not including my boy Jory and the cook. My wife used to do the cooking, but since the cancer took her…” His voice trailed off. “We ought to get back to Steve.”
“Thanks for the tour.”
“My pleasure, young man,” Hansen answered. Then he added shyly, “Thank you for your interest.”
Steve was leaning against the truck. The calf stood trembling in the truck bed.
“Sorry you had to load her yourself,” Hansen said. “The hands are up bringing a herd in for inoculations and I think Jory’s out running around with your Shelly.”
He chuckled a little and Steve joined in, a shared joke between fathers of teenagers.
Steve said, “Youth will be served.”
“I suppose.”
“Aw, Bob, it’s just one of those homecoming king and queen things. They ain’t gonna run off and get married or nothing.”
“No, I guess not.”
“Well, you take care, Bob.”
“Yup. Nice to meet you, Neal.”
“Nice to meet you, sir.”
Bob’s head came up a little on the “sir” and he gave Neal an evaluating look before he turned around and headed back to the barn.
“Climb in the back and hold on to that calf, will you, Neal? Steve asked.
“Do you have a rope?”
“Yep. At home where I forgot it. Just get a headlock on the calf and keep it from jumping out or tumbling around.”
Neal found that the only way he could get a headlock on the calf was by kneeling on the metal bed of the truck. This wasn’t too bad until the truck got bumping down the road, bouncing Neal’s knees off the steel studs with every rut, rock, and jolt, of which there were about two thousand. Neal winced, groaned, whimpered, and finally cursed every time his kneecaps slammed into the steel, but he held on to the calf.
The calf wasn’t all that thrilled either. Bawling and trembling, she let loose a stream of urine all over both of Neal’s pant legs. Neal could feel it soaking through and sticking to his legs, but he held on to the calf until the truck took a particularly daredevil bounce and the calf squirmed out of Neal’s hold and attempted to jump over the back end. Neal sprawled on his stomach and managed to get a hold of her left rear leg.
This was a tactical error, because it left her right rear leg free. Not a calf to miss an opportunity, she hauled off and gave him a Bruce Lee to the diaphragm. Neal got a grip on the hoof implanted in his chest and managed to flip the calf over onto his lap, discovering that a baby cow weighs a lot more than the baby person he’d probably never be able to have, judging by the sudden pain in his crotch. But he held on to the calf.
He could hear Steve happily singing along to some tune on the radio about a mother not letting her babies grow up to be cowboys or something, which Neal didn’t think was very funny. But the calf must have liked it, because she let out a big sigh and relaxed in his lap. She felt so relaxed she let loose the contents of her bowels on those parts of his pant legs that she’d missed soaking with urine. Neal kind of wished that Steve had remembered that rope, but he held on to the calf, stroked her neck, and cooed soothing endearments. He hurt like crazy from the earlier beating, but he held on to the calf.
Steve stopped the truck by the back of the Mills’ house, got out, and took a look at Neal and the calf.
“She piss and shit on you?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, they’ll do that. Do you two want to snuggle some more or shall we introduce her to her new mama?”
He dropped the back gate and the calf scrambled out the back end. Steve opened a rickety wood and wire gate and shooed her into the small corral behind the barn.
Neal stepped in behind him. The sun was getting low and the sky was turning a soft salmon pink. The air was crisp and cool. Neal could see how you could fall in love with all of this and never want to leave.
“Now the fun begins,” Steve said.
“I don’t know if I can stand any more fun.”
“See, Eleanor has a calf of her own and she’s too dumb to figure out we’re trying to help her by bringing in this young interloper. So even though she needs another calf to suck on those udders, she’s going to resist. She’ll try to kick that calf, and if I know Eleanor like I do know Eleanor, she’ll try to kick it square in the head.”
No, Neal thought. She’s not going to kill that calf. I have two broken knees, a purple chest, I’m covered with shit and soaked with piss, and I’ve become kind of possessive of that calf.
“So what do we do?” Neal asked.
“Well, we do a number of things. See, these are range cattle. They’re about half-wild anyway, and long about dusk they hide their calves in the brush on the lower slope. So first we have to find Eleanor’s calf before the lions or the coyotes do-”
“Lions?”
“Mountain lions-and then drive the little thing back to the barn. Eleanor’ll follow even though she already suspects an ambush. Then we finagle Eleanor into a stanchion, sneak around her backside, and tie a rope around her hips so it pinches a nerve and hurts if she tries to kick. Then we introduce the new calf to its new lunch counter, which won’t be difficult because a calf will just naturally go for it, if you know what I mean. After the new calf sucks for a while, Eleanor’ll forget it ain’t really hers and then she’ll take care of it.”
“Lions?”
“They’re scared of people.”
Oh, good.
“However,” Steve said, “I’m going to bring the rifle along, just in case.”
“In case of what?”