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Show 50 Best, who lived in what we called The Other House, two rooms with a flat, adobe-covered roof, located about a quarter of a mile from the house which had burned down, down by the river bottom. The Bests only had one kid, a baby, so the house was enough for them, and though he was paid only $30 a month, he got the house free, land for a garden, a cow for milk, chickens and grain to feed them. He slopped a hog and kept rabbits and picked up a bum lamb somewhere, all to fatten and butcher, and so they had to buy very little, flour for bread and sugar for canning. Mona Best canned fruit and vegetables and meat for the winter, they had a root cellar, and so they spent little, a new pair of jeans now and then, a picture show now and then, and certainly a country dance now and then, and two-bits for the collection plate on Sunday. They were rich compared to the Sanders. Not that I paid much attention to them until one night when somebody left a gate unlocked and two of our riding horses got out. The next morning I threw bridles into the back of the pickup and we went after them, tracking them up the road, across the river bridge and to the highway, then toward town. At Sanders' place we saw Buck cultivating corn so my father stopped and we got out and walked down across the barrow pit to the fence. When Buck came abreast he stopped his team, horses blowing hard, and got down and walked over to the fence. "Hello there, Buck. Ain't seen a couple of horses come by here, have you?1 Buck pushed his hat back and gave Dad that impudent grin, full-toothed then and good ones. "Ridin' horses?" "Yep. Bay gelding and a black stallion." "Yeah, I seen 'em earlier. They was feeding right up there." He pointed up the highway to a patch of grass beneath three big cottonwoods, a place where roaming Okies often camped. "I thought I'd catch me that black and have a little ride before breakfast. He wasn't having nothing doing though. Pretty fat horses," he said with lazy insolence. |