Wanderlust Creek And Other Stories
“Her father, big old Gerald McCarthy, oversaw the Alton stockyards and wagon yard, mainly by using his enormous voice. His interest in the livestock that passed through the yards and the men who traded in it was purely vicarious, but he was terrifically proud of being in the middle of everything. “We’ve got the cream of Alton County right here in our own milk pitchers,” he was fond of telling his daughter. “Everybody that’s anybody in land and livestock, eating at our table. Ain’t many people ca...n say that.”
Lainey, motherless at twelve, through with school at fifteen, cooked three meals a day for her father and one for a long mess table of assorted drovers, buyers, mustangers and drummers. A slight but emphatic girl with rust-brown hair and a temperament like quicksilver, she kept their three-room shack on the edge of the stockyards as neat as an Army barrack, mainly because she didn’t have time for clutter. She knew all the livestock buyers by name and had her own opinions on horse trades and strains of cattle.MoreLess
Lainey, motherless at twelve, through with school at fifteen, cooked three meals a day for her father and one for a long mess table of assorted drovers, buyers, mustangers and drummers. A slight but emphatic girl with rust-brown hair and a temperament like quicksilver, she kept their three-room shack on the edge of the stockyards as neat as an Army barrack, mainly because she didn’t have time for clutter. She knew all the livestock buyers by name and had her own opinions on horse trades and strains of cattle.MoreLess
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