Barefoot Boy
Part 2
Let the million-dollared ride!
Barefoot, trudging at his side,
Thou hast more than he can buy
In the reach of ear and eye, --
Outward sunshine, inward joy:
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!
~~~John Greenleaf Whittier
***
April 1874

"Fifty-six divided by seven," Jim grunted out while splitting another log.

"Aw, Papa. Can't we stop now?"

"You need to know your multiplication and division tables cold for Miss Erwin when we go into town next," Jim patiently replied to the whiny question. "I promised her you'd keep up with your schooling. Now, fifty-six divided by seven."

"Seven?"

Jim halted mid-swing and fixed his fidgeting son with a disapproving glare.

"Don't guess. Think about it. What mulitplied by seven is fifty-six?"

"Eight!"

"So?"

"Fifty-six divided by seven is eight. Can I go fishing now?"

"May I go ---"

"May I go fishing now?...Please."

"Yes, Little Bit. Let's get your gear together."

Jim took his time checking over the tackle, ignoring the impatient boy bouncing in front of him. Satisfied that everything was in order he handed the rod and tackle box to his eager son.

"Now remember, Blair, stay on the trail and don't go wading out into the river." The rancher overlooked the rolled eye response his little lecture received and continued. "I should be finished loading this wood in about thirty minutes. I'll call for you when I'm ready to go, so don't go too far either."

"Yes, Papa," Blair groaned before heading down the trail toward the river.

The rancher scratched his head and grinned at the receding figure jaunting down the path. He'd like to have gone with him, since the boy was finally taking an interest in fishing, but he had work to do. There would be plenty of other times. Jim concentrated on listening to Blair's progress down the path, the boy long out of sight, while he continued to load the wagon.

Blair bounded down the deer trail toward the stream with his fishing pole. He felt like such a big boy being allowed to go off on his own in an area he didn't know well.

About time papa let me loose of the apron strings, he thought proudly. I'm almost nine.

Arriving at a likely fishing spot, Blair cast his line out over the water and made himself comfortable on the bank, mighty pleased with himself.

Yep, his birthday was less than two weeks away. Papa had promised they'd spend it in town and, "paint the town red." His father had been real closed mouthed about Blair's birthday present. All of his wheedling, and not too subtle questions, couldn't break down Jim Ellison's resolve to keep it a surprise.

Blair'd caught three fair size trout when a crying yelp caught his attention. Turning toward the whining, Blair gasped and let his pole fall to the ground. There before him scampered his dream come true, a puppy! How the cute little thing got out here all alone, Blair didn't care. He'd been nagging and leaving hints of his great desire for a dog since last September. How could his father say no now that this poor little thing needed a home? Blair wasted no time in scooping up the
soft, furry, face-licking, wiggling beast to hug it to his chest. Forgetting his fishing gear, Blair hurried back up the trail to show his father his new dog.

Jim turned back to the pile of split logs to get another load when he heard Blair's gasp. He spun around expecting to see Blair standing there, but the boy was no where in sight. The rancher strained to hear his son. In the distance he could hear the boy talking to someone. He grabbed his Winchester and without further thought, the worried father sprinted down the trail. He'd gone about quarter mile when Blair came into view, running with...

"Papa! Papa! Look what I found," Blair shouted, his face beaming. He held the puppy for his father to see and cooed, "Isn't he cute? We can keep him can't we? He's all alone. Please, Papa."

Jim Ellison froze at the sight before him.

"Blair, where did you find that wolf pup?"

"Wolf? He's just a puppy. I found him down by the river all by himself."

Jim put his arm around the boy's shoulders and guided the boy back down the path.

"Son, that's a wolf pup. His mama left him in their den while she went hunting. If he's not there when she gets back, she'll be worried sick. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

He looked down at the boy by his side. Blair sadly petted the puppy in his arms.

"No, sir. I didn't mean to take him away from his mama. I thought he was alone."

Arriving back at the stream, Jim quickly located the den and put the pup back inside. It's pitiful whimpering brought a quiver to the little boy's chin.

"He's gonna be all right isn't he?" Blair asked as Jim picked up the fish and equipment before heading them away from the wolf den, grateful the she-wolf hadn't shown up, and praying the pup would be accepted back.

"Yes, Little Bit, he'll be fine. I want your word that you will never go near young animals again. Their mother's can be quite protective and may well attack you."

Blair stopped abruptly. "I'd never hurt one!"

Sliding an arm around the boy's shoulders, Jim pulled the sulking child up the trail. "They don't know that, Blair. They see you as a stranger interfering with their baby, and I can understand that. I'd be looking for blood if someone were to hurt you. This is serious, son, do as I say."

"Yes, sir." Blair grumbled, clearly not happy about losing the puppy. Jim walked along in quiet contemplation. They hiked the quarter mile distance to the wagon quickly, but still, at that distance...how could he've heard Blair? Packing their gear and heading the wagon for home, Jim dismissed his concerns. He remembered instances from his own childhood of being caught in the act when his parents couldn't have possibly know what he was up to. That had to be the answer. After eleven months with the rambunctious boy, he'd developed the proverbial
"eyes in the back of his head."

End, part 2

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