Stand here on the draw bar. And hang on. You don’t want to get yourself dumped off and mashed under these iron wagon wheels.
The boy put his coat back on and stepped up behind Raymond, holding on to the back of the metal seat, and they went clattering and bouncing out of the haylot into the pasture, rocking across the rough ground on a track through the sagebrush and soapweed, and on out to where the mother cows and calves were milling about and shoving into one another, waiting for their morning feed.
Raymond braked to a stop. You think you can drive this tractor?
I don’t know. I’ve never driven one before.
Climb up here and I’ll show you.
They traded places and Raymond showed him which gear to use so the tractor would creep along, and indicated to him the two foot brakes and the clutch and the hand throttle.
I expect you’ve drove a stick shift before.
I’ve done that much.
There isn’t anything to it. Just keep it in compound and let it crawl. Give it a little gas when you need to, going up any rise.
The boy sat in the metal seat and they started out, the tractor rocking and heaving.
You want to head out this way, Raymond said. Follow that trail of worn ground there where I been feeding.
Along there?
You think you can do that?
Yes.
All right then. Let’s feed these cattle.
Raymond climbed onto the hay wagon and pulled the twine from the first bale, draped the twine over an upright, and broke the bale open and shoved it off the side onto the ground, and they went creeping ahead as he broke and scattered the next bale, and the hungry cattle and calves began to bunch and feed, strung out in a long line behind the lurching wagon, their heads all lowered, a fog of steam and hot breath above them. From the tractor the boy looked back to see how things were going and he saw the old man working steadily, shoving the loose hay out on the ground. Then he looked forward again and noticed a deep dip in the ground ahead of them where the sand was hollowed out. He turned sharply to miss it and the corner of the hay wagon rode up the cleats of the tractor wheel as far as the first stringer, tilting the wagon bed at a sharp dangerous angle and lifting the bed four feet off the ground. Raymond hollered at him. The boy turned to look and slammed on the brakes, then turned back again. Raymond was holding on to the upright.
The boy’s face had turned to ash. Oh shit, he said. What’d I do?
You turned too sharp. You can’t turn that sharp pulling something behind you. Turn it hard the other way now.
Did I hurt the wagon?
Not yet. But turn it hard and go slow.
Maybe you better come up and do it.
No. Go ahead. You’ll do all right. Just take it slow.
I don’t know about this.
Go on now. Try it.
The boy sat forward in the seat and cranked the steering wheel to the left and slowly let out the clutch. The tractor made a sharp turn and the corner of the wagon bumped down the tractor wheel’s big cleats, splintering the wood a little, and then the wheel was free and the hay wagon stood flat on the ground again.
Straighten it out, Raymond hollered. But real slow or you’ll have her up on the wheel again.
The boy drove forward and the wagon swung around behind the tractor, and when he looked back Raymond waved for him to go on. He drove very slowly, staring straight ahead past the exhaust stack as they crossed the cold worn ground. After a while Raymond hollered for him to stop, then stepped down from the wagon and climbed onto the back of the tractor. That’ll do for today. Take us up to the haylot.
I think you better drive.
How come? You’re doing okay. But shift up. We don’t want to stay in grandma all the way home.
What about what I did back there?
That happens. You just don’t have to do it twice. Pay attention next time and it’ll be all right. Let’s go have us some breakfast.