Bull Rider Read online

“Don’t matter,” I said. “‘You can brand with a fever or you can brand without,’ that’s what he’ll say.”

  “So go ahead and tell him what you’re doing,” Mike suggested.

  That was some idea. “Tell him I’m lying about my name and my age and I’m going to Redding to ride a bull? I don’t think so.”

  Favi sighed. “Use your head, Cam. Your mom will let you go. Tell her we’re having a study group—all day. You can say we’re all going down to Winnemucca to use the library. I’ll ask my mom to drive us. When she leaves, you can go to the bus station.” I had to give her credit. Favi could think on her feet.

  “Okay. See, I knew we’d figure it out,” I said. “High five, Favi!” We had a plan. A good one. “But what about when I don’t come home?”

  “I can tell my mom you went home with Mike,” Favi said.

  “And by the time your folks find out, you’ll already be gone,” Mike said, grinning.

  The plan would have worked too, except Grandpa Roy heard me talking to Mom in the kitchen and he was none too happy. “You can’t take all day, even if you are studying,” he said.

  “Of course he can,” Mom said. “His grades are important. He’ll help on Sunday.” Not that I’d be awake on Sunday morning after spending all night riding home on the bus, but as long as I wasn’t handling the hot branding iron or the ear-notch knife, I figured I wouldn’t be too dangerous. And if I came home with fifteen thousand dollars and a kick in the pants for Ben ’cause I’d won our bet, well, they might just decide to let me sleep in.

  “You can get in some time at the corral before Favi’s mom picks you up. Tell her to meet you at the house at nine thirty. That way, we can start at six when the sun’s up and you’ll get in three hours.”

  “Nine thirty’s late,” I said.

  Mom laughed. “Since when have you worried about missing a half hour of library research? That sounds good to me, Roy.”

  So there I was, with half an hour to shave off the time I needed to get to the bus station already. Maybe this wouldn’t work. But I peeked into Ben’s room as I left the kitchen and he was napping again. Yeah, I was ready to try it.

  Saturday morning started out well enough. Men get a rhythm going, working the calves, and since I was leaving early, that made me the pick-up man. Pick up the ropes. Pick up the coffee. Pick up the stray O’Mara calves over at Jones’s and herd ’em back. I had enough time to do it too, and I was happy to get the ride on Pepper.

  I didn’t go out to the corral where they were working on the calves but rode directly to Jones’s ranch to fetch three of our calves and their mothers that they’d brought in on their roundup. They were waiting for me in a little pen behind the big barn. I waved at Neil Jones, opened the gate, and shooed the cows ahead of me. I swung my rope, and they started down the road. It’s mornings like that when you could take me for a real cowboy. The cattle were moving good, and my adrenaline was already kicking in. I got a rush from thinking about my plan and another one from thinking about Ugly. That got my heart pumping more.

  I was feeling good, riding along and watching some quail rustle around in a mahogany bush that was about to bloom. Then I glanced up at the cows. Three cows. Two calves. That wasn’t right. Now, I could lose a mom and her baby, and it would make me mad, but we’d find them sooner or later. But you can’t just lose a calf. They need their moms, and there’s coyotes and mountain lions and stuff that will take down a lone calf. I pulled up my horse and scanned the desert. The little group I was herding got to grazing and picking at the ground. The cow missed her baby and started calling in long, sad wails. She’d wander off too if I didn’t keep them moving. I had to choose. And it wasn’t really a choice. I whistled and hurried the cattle toward our own corral. Grandpa met me at the gate.

  “Get ’em all?” he asked.

  “One of the calves took off halfway between Joneses’ and here. I couldn’t see him. I brought these on over and figure I’ll go back for the calf.”

  “Okay,” Grandpa said. He handed me a thermos of coffee and closed the gate on the five animals I’d collected.

  I rode back at a fast lope and started making circles from where I’d first missed the calf. I checked for tracks, but the ground was hard and I wasn’t finding any. The sun got higher and I knew it was getting late. I had to go. I’d ask Dad to come back on the ATV. I started riding toward our corral and just then, I heard a bawl. It started low and went high and long. It was a calf calling for its mom. I turned Pepper toward the sound. She stepped carefully down a slope and into a dry wash. The calf was still mooing. The little guy was getting pretty worked up from the sound of him. “Keep calling,” I said. “Just keep calling.”

  I spotted him at the bottom of a second slope that was covered in talus—slippery little rocks that bust off the mountains from freezing and thawing. Walking down talus is like trying to keep your footing on ball bearings. The calf had slipped down and was wedged between a boulder and a piñon pine that was growing out from under it. “You got yourself in a fix, didn’t you?” I said. I stopped Pepper at the top of the slope. I tied my rope to her saddle horn, grabbed it, and slid down the hill on my butt, letting the rope unwind as I went. The rocks showered out in all directions. “No wonder you got stuck.” I dug my heels in as I got close to the bottom and coughed from the dust I stirred up. The calf was scared to death, bawling and pawing at the rocks, trying to get a grip. “You’re a cute one,” I told him. I looped the rope over his neck. Then I got behind the calf and pushed. He yelled some more, but with me lifting his tail end, he got some traction on the front and moved out. He ran straight down the wash. The rope pulled taut and jerked him back.

  Pepper’s a good cow horse. She held him tight. “So now we have to get you back there,” I said, pointing to the top of the slope. I crawled up on my hands and knees. The rocks scratched my palms and dug into my shins. At the top, I pulled myself onto my horse and walked her backwards. She worked the rope hard. With each step she took, the calf climbed closer to the top. He lost his footing a couple of times, but Pepper didn’t let him slip. She’d sidestep and pull harder. Slowly, the little guy made his way up the hill.

  “You’re a troublemaker,” I told him. He looked at me like nothing had happened. His eyes were big and soft against his cinnamon-colored face. “That took some doing. Now let’s get you back.” I pulled in the rope and led him toward our branding corral. The sun heated my back. I stopped to judge its height and it was well above the mountains. I’d forgotten how late it was getting. Maybe too late already. I kicked my horse and tugged on the calf’s rope. Pepper took off at a lope, and the calf barely kept up. Still, it seemed like it took forever to cover any ground. Finally, we saw our corral.

  I handed the calf off to Grandpa Roy and rode back to the barn. Favi’s car was in front of the house. She ran out to meet me. “Where have you been?”

  “I had to bring in a calf. I’ll cool Pepper off and we’ll go.”

  “No, we won’t,” she said. “It’s ten forty-five. The bus is gone and you’ll have to take a jet to get to Redding if you leave now.”

  It took a minute to sink in. “We can’t get there,” I said to myself.

  “No,” Favi answered. “My mom’s waiting.”

  There was no getting out of that part of the plan. Favi and I spent the day writing history reports at the Winnemucca library. And, I imagined, Darrell was on his way to Redding to ride Ugly and win my prize money.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Okay, I’ll say right off—I couldn’t wait to hear if he’d won. I called Darrell’s cell phone late on Saturday night. Now, he might have thought I was cheering him on, but I was dying to know if the prize money was still on the table.

  “So, did you ride Ugly?” I asked.

  “Well, I sat on him,” Darrell said. “That’s one bad bull. I sat on him and then he just shot me over his shoulder to the left. He’s a left-hander, but the dang beast did an about-face. I’ve got the feel of him now, t
hough. I’ll give it a good go next time.”

  “Next time?” I asked. “When’s next time?”

  “Well, that’s the good part. If nobody rides him in Bakersfield next week, they’re bringing him on over to Winnemucca.”

  “Winnemucca? Are you gonna try in Winnemucca?”

  “Darn right, unless some fool sits eight seconds in Bakersfield. They’re only doing three more challenges, then they’re shipping him out on the pro circuit.”

  “Where’s the last one?” I asked. Bakersfield was too far away, and I figured I’d have to have a hole clean through my head to try to pass myself off as Adam Carl and ride Ugly in Winnemucca. Everybody’d know me there.

  “Colorado, down near Grand Junction. That’s in June, but don’t count on seeing him there. I’m riding him right here at home first.”

  “Sure you are,” I said. “Well, sorry you didn’t win.”

  “Me too,” he said. “But this way you can watch me ride.” The connection turned to static. “You’re cutting out. I’m…”

  Well, that about did it. There’d be no way I could ride Ugly now. I’d have to think of something else, or maybe Ben would just get better. And maybe the spring calves would bring a good price and things would look up all around. But who was I kidding? Ben was as depressed as he’d been since they let him out of the Marines and sent him home. Dad was selling more calves than we should part with, and Mom was stressing more every day from watching Ben turn sour. And without rubbing Ben’s nose in the idea of doing the impossible, without riding Ugly, I couldn’t do anything about it.

  I didn’t want to get out of bed on Sunday, but I had to. When I got to the corral, Grandpa Roy handed me the branding iron. “Mark ’em careful,” he said. “That’s our O’Mara name on there.” They’d brought in a big load of cows and calves from up Sugar Peak, and I set to heating the iron and etching our brand into the new calves’ behinds. It was hard to stay mad out there with the babies bawling and jogging off to their mamas. They were just so cute. And as I set that brand on the calves, one after another, it came to me. Ben and I, we were as good as branded too. O’Mara’s. We were the same. No wonder Ben was depressed. This was our life: working the ranch, stringing barbed wire, riding bulls. What did he have left to look forward to?

  And then, while the iron sizzled on a little caramel-colored heifer, Ruiz asked Grandpa, “Do you want me to run this bunch back up Sugar Peak? I’m not sure if the range will hold out after this winter. Maybe keep them at the salt lick?” And Grandpa answered what I’d heard him say a thousand times. You could call it O’Mara family rule number one. “Do what you think is right.”

  As I pulled the iron off the calf and Dad unwound the rope holding his feet, I knew what was right. I had to do something for Ben. If I couldn’t ride in Redding or Bakersfield, maybe I’d get myself to Grand Junction in June somehow. And if Grand Junction was too far, then there was only one place left to ride….

  Yeah, I had a hole in my head to ride in Winnemucca, but then, Ben had one too, so I guess we matched. At first, I figured I’d aim for Grand Junction, but it was even farther away than Bakersfield, and the more I thought about it, the more I worried that somebody’d ride Ugly first. The worst was knowing Darrell was giving it another try. And in Winnemucca, maybe Andrew or Favi’s uncle would throw in too. One of them could ride him before I got my chance. Grand Junction was too much of a long shot. I didn’t like it, but I was getting a clear picture.

  That evening I talked to Favi while we raced cars on one of her video games.

  “I’m riding Ugly at the next challenge,” I told her.

  “Where?” she asked.

  “Here. In Winnemucca. They’re bringing him over at the end of April.”

  “You’re crazy,” she said. She spun her car around a corner on the virtual racetrack. “How are you going to ride a bull in Winnemucca? Your mom will find out.”

  “She’ll find out anyway,” I said. “And Grandpa and Dad already let me ride up at the salt lick.”

  “Well, how are you going to pass for your dead cousin when everybody in the stands knows you?”

  She had me there. I watched as she ran her car off the track and crashed. “I don’t know. You figure it out.” I started up my car—a Ferrari—only the best for my race car.

  “Listen, Cam, this isn’t like skipping your algebra homework. I’m sure this whole thing is illegal.”

  I ran my car up to 180 miles an hour and accelerated into a turn. There were barrels on the right, and I turned hard left not to smash into them. “You’re right,” I said. “You forget I thought of it.” My car spun out and slammed into a concrete wall. The screen flashed, “You Lose.”

  “You know,” Favi said softly, “Ben can do correspondence classes. He can learn accounting like your mom or start an Internet business or something.”

  I shook my head. “Like, can you really see Ben as an accountant? And he won’t try anyway. That’s why I have to win our bet.”

  Favi started her car. She was way too careful on the straightaway. She’d never beat me if I could stay on the track. “Just don’t do anything stupid,” Favi whispered.

  “Too late. I sent in the entry fee.”

  Favi’s car flew right off the track. She put the controller down and stared at me. “Why’d you do that?”

  I punched her shoulder. “Just come to the fairgrounds and watch me ride. And maybe you can keep my mom from killing me when she finds out. That’s all I ask.”

  “That’s all?” Favi said. “That’s all? You know you’ll be grounded till you graduate, and what if you do need an ID? You aren’t Adam Carl. What if they catch you? You’re certifiably crazy.”

  I started my Ferrari around the track. “Just be there, okay?” I glanced at her and my car crashed. “I need you.”

  Now I was the one marking off days on the calendar. I met with Darrell to help him train, I said, but I always got a chance to ride. I didn’t worry about Mom finding out. I was way past that. I did all my homework and tried to think of extra chores to do. I taught Lali to tie her shoes—finally—and I planted more of the garden with Mom and Grandma Jean. The last thing I had a mind to do was make anybody mad or crazy with me. Except maybe Ben. He watched more TV every day, replaying the same old videos and kung fu movies. He didn’t even read with Lali anymore.

  And his walking was getting worse instead of better.

  “Get up off your butt and do your exercises,” I told him.

  “You do ’em,” he said.

  “What about taking a correspondence course?” I asked him.

  “Are you going to read the books for me?”

  “Well, don’t just sit around.”

  Ben glared at me. “Go away.”

  The only thing that perked him up was going to the bull ring. Grandpa and I took him when we could, but the ranch chores and my homework kept us busy, and I wasn’t taking him when I practiced with Darrell. So there it was. Ben was sitting more and living less. It was like I was watching him shrink right down into himself, and I didn’t know how to reach in and grab him back. I wished he was a calf and I could just rope him and push on his butt to get him moving. Instead, he about finished me off when he came into the kitchen one night, pushing his walker.

  “You want some milk?” I asked him.

  “Sure.” He sat down and sipped at the milk. Some of it ran down his mouth on account of his right hand still wasn’t as steady as you might like. The milk soaked into his T-shirt, and he swatted at it with his hook.

  “I’ll get that.” I reached for a kitchen towel and wiped his shirt.

  “Stop. It’s okay,” Ben said.

  “Do you want a clean T-shirt?”

  “Just milk. That’s all I want.” Ben took another drink. Nothing spilled.

  “See. Now that’s working for you. Good job.”

  “Good job?” Ben asked. “Come on, I’m just drinking stupid milk. Don’t talk down to me, Cam.”

  “I wasn’t. I
don’t think I was…. Do you want anything else? Grandma made cookies.”

  He turned his head away and whispered, “Cam, I’m only nineteen.”

  “So?” I asked.

  “So, look at me. I can’t even…” He set down his glass. Tears ran down his face. “Cam, who’s gonna want me?”

  After that, I hung more and more hope on my eight seconds with Ugly.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  I got an envelope in the mail at the end of April. I grabbed it out of the pile from the PO box before anyone else saw it, and ran to the barn to open it. There it was, my number—thirteen—and my entry confirmation—The Ugly Challenge: Adam Carl, Hawthorne, NV, age 19. Registration on Saturday, April 25, between 5 and 6 p.m. Good luck.

  Now, I didn’t say anything to anyone. I just waited for Saturday. And when it came, I got up early, did my morning chores, and pretended to read the paper until Ben was watching cartoon videos with Lali. I went into his room and rustled around in his dresser until I found what I was looking for. I tucked his lucky socks into my pocket. Then I opened the closet and took out his bull rope, protective vest, and glove.

  “Sorry, Ben,” I said to the empty room. “I don’t have any of my own gear yet.”

  I zipped everything into my gym bag with my boots and the entry forms and slipped outside to the truck. I threw the stuff in the back and checked for the keys. Grandpa always left them in the ignition, and today wasn’t any different. Now, I’d already tried to buy a fake ID and lied to my mom all year, so I guessed taking our truck for the afternoon wouldn’t be much worse. I had to sign in at five o’clock. I’d leave right at four so I could get there on time and maybe my folks wouldn’t miss the truck in time to track me down before the bull riding was over.

  I tried to keep busy the rest of the morning. I took Pepper out for a ride. I helped Dad trim some low branches off the cottonwoods that lined our driveway and used the chainsaw to cut them up. I went back to the house and Grandma Jean had lunch going.