I Have Slaved for You

(Found here)

Drawing a deep breath, he buried his face in his arms and sighed. Idly kicking the dust into a small pile with his toe, he faced the bleak reality: he could wait no longer. The cattle were in the corrals, the men off to the bunkhouse, his own saddle hung up, and his horse combed and stabled. He’d even paid off the temporary help and seen them on their way. He had delayed as long as he could; it was time to go in. His stomach tightened at the thought, and weariness washed over him like a cold wave as he shoved himself away from the fence. How could he explain it? How would Dad take the news? How tired he was! He slapped his hat a few sharp blows against the fencepost and jammed it on his head. He’d faced tougher situations before; he’d weather this one as well. His head hung with exhaustion and discouragement; he did not see the scurrying figure coming from the house toward him until it was almost upon him. When he glanced up and noticed the other for the first time, they were within speaking distance. He tightened his lips momentarily, drew another short breath, and spoke.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Son!” boomed the figure in response, his arms spreading out as wide as his smile. “One of the hands told me you were back. It’s so good to see you again!” The son endured his father’s hearty embrace with a weak smile. “I told Jimmy to hold supper for you, but then you took so long that I thought I’d run out to see if everything was all right.”

Something inside him tightened in anger at those words. That was Dad for you: always checking up, never trusting a guy to do his job without being watched. Of course, he mused glumly, his news wouldn’t help convince Dad that he could be trusted—perhaps he really couldn’t.

They were walking toward the ranch house now, Dad prattling on about some trivial happenings about the ranch that day. “Uh, Dad—” he said nervously, interrupting his father’s cheery monologue as his anxiety overcame his dread.

The father stopped talking and looked at him. “Yes, son?”

“I—uh—I’ve got some bad news about the drive. There was a—I mean, I made a mistake”, he stammered, searching for just the right words. Dad just looked at him, waiting, causing him to feel even more keenly the weight of his failure. “Dad, I lost six head crossing the North Ford”, he blurted out, surprised to find himself fighting back tears at the bitterness of his admission. “I—I knew the South Ford was safer, especially with the rains in the mountains recently, but I didn’t want to take the extra two days. I—”

“Son,” his father interrupted gently, “six head from a herd of fifteen hundred is nothing. Don’t worry about it. Things like this happen on drives.”

“But—but Dad,” the son continued, “I tried to send too many across at once, and they jostled each other out of the shallows. I should have known better—I did know better, but I—”

“Don’t worry about it, son”, his father interrupted again, even more gently than before. “It’s nothing at all.” They were at the ranch house now, and the father opened the door for his son to enter. “With your fine management I’ve so many cattle that I don’t know what to do with ‘em all. The important thing is that you’re home safe from another successful drive.”

Fine management indeed. Much more fine management like that and they’d all be looking for a new home. The son wrung his hat in his hands. Dad always talked like that—if he really knew how inept . . .

“I’ve had Jimmy cook up your favorite supper.” Dad was speaking again. “Though the biscuits may be a little hard by now—but that’s okay. It’s just good to have you home again, son!” This earned another of Dad’s wide grins and hearty back-slaps as they sat down at the table.

The savory stew was indeed his favorite, and the biscuits were still fresh, but he just didn’t seem hungry. He picked at his food as Dad chattered cheerfully about something “I know. . .” he suddenly exclaimed, startling his father. “Tomorrow’s auction day, isn’t it? I can run into town and get six more head-out of my own money, of course. I can get an early start and be back. . .”

“Son,” his father said gently but firmly, fixing him with a steady gaze, “forget the animals. Just forget about them. They mean nothing.”

“Yes, Dad”, the son whispered and dropped his eyes, stung by his father’s disapproval.

“You did a fine job on the drive”, Dad continued. “But now that you’re back, I thought we might take a day or so to spend together, just you and me. Get an early start tomorrow and go for a ride. Ask Jimmy to pack us a lunch and just head out like we used to. Maybe go inspect the back fences on the summer range, or whatever. Make a day of it, just the two of us—a long, lazy day. How does that sound?”

How did that sound? The son didn’t respond, instead tightening his jaw and staring blankly at his plate. The back fences! They were in terrible shape! How many times in the past months had he reminded himself to get out there and fix them? But had he done it? No, not him—he’d let a thousand details distract him, and hundreds of petty tasks demand his attention, all the while letting the back fences go to ruin. And now Dad was going to see them! His insides churned at the prospect of displaying for Dad—again—such clear evidence of his incompetence.

But Dad was talking again: “. . . get to see you any more, what with the ranchwork and all.” Then he stopped, and a note of concern crept into his voice. “Are you all right, son? You look a bit peaked. Coming down with something?”

“Er, no, Dad—I’m fine”, the son replied. “Just tired from the drive, that’s all.”

“Of course, lad”, his father said. “You just need a chance to rest. Say, if tomorrow’s too soon to go riding together, we could always. . .”

“No, no, Dad—that’s okay. Don’t change your plans for my sake”, the son said, rising from the table. “I’ll be fine—just need a little rest, that’s all. Think I’ll turn in now, though.”

“Sure thing, son. See you in the morning”, his father said gently. He gave a little sigh and shook his head as he watched his son trudge off to his room. Then he turned to the cook, who was standing in the kitchen door. “Jimmy,” he said, “could we have two early breakfasts tomorrow? And that pack lunch I talked to you about earlier? Please have it ready to go immediately afterward.”

“Sure thing, Boss”, the cook replied.

The eastern sky was just beginning to turn rose as the father buttoned his vest and smiled in anticipation of the day to come. He could hear Jimmy clattering about in the kitchen downstairs, and the smell of the sizzling sausage was tantalizing. He’d waited weeks for this day. When he came down the stairs, however, he saw only one place set at the table.

“Jimmy!” he called. “Jimmy, I asked for two places this morning.”

“You sure did, Boss,” Jimmy replied, stepping into the doorway holding a spatula. “But your son was up when I was, and he grabbed a bite before I even started cookin’. He said somethin’ about an auction in town he had to go to. He told me to tell you he’d be back real soon—real soon. He said to make sure you knew that. Definitely by lunchtime, he said, definitely. Real soon.”

The father said nothing, but sank down in his chair and buried his face in his hands.

~Roger Thomas (from The Last Ugly Person: And Other Stories)