All my life I'd heard many a trading tale about Will Gorman. Some were pretty far-fetched.
One Saturday down at the mill a man told a tale. "Thar was this man who went to ask about buying a young milk cow off that Will Gorman fellow. Will told him, 'When we got this heifer, the kids milked her in a tin cup. Now they have to milk her in a ten-quart bucket.'
"The man bought the cow and took her home. When his wife went to milk, she didn't get enough to cover the bottom of the bucket. So, the man went back on Will. 'Didn't you say when you got this cow the kids milked her in a tin cup and now they have to use a ten-quart bucket?'
"'I sure told you that,' says Will. 'The kids lost the tin cup.'"
There was this man from here by the name of Vondell Strubbs. He was a large man who lived a little piece out of town on farmland his granddaddy had got through a land grant. Folks knew he was an only child from an only child, so his bragging on his things and stuff got their dander up.
With Vondell's nature being what it was, he had a hard time even hiring a teamster to turn his ground. Even though he had money, most of the men wouldn't work for him. They'd rather skid pole wood off the mountains for a dollar a cord.
"He throws off on everything that ain't his'n," a teamster told us one day when he stopped by the creek to water his horses. "Besides which, you cain't never do enough to please him."
Vondell fashioned himself as a man that knew livestock. He'd looked here, there, and everywhere for a mule to replace his that had died back in the winter. It was springtime and no one had a horse, mule, or steer for sale that would suit him.
One Sunday as we stood around the stove in the meetinghouse, Strubbs brought up news about a mule. "I hear tell Will Gorman has a young mule that stands eighteen hands high."
"Are you sure?" I asked. "I hadn't heard Calvin say a thing about having a good mule like that."
Strubbs didn't like folks to ask him questions; he spoke right up. "I am. That's my kind of stock--I hear he looks the best--long-legged with sound feet and teeth."
He seemed to put a lot of thought in how it looked, but nothing about how it worked or rode.
Strubbs went right on, like he was talking over my head. "I need an outstanding mule to replace Big Red, my good mule that died a while back."
Everyone in the church knew that Big Red had been wind-broke. Strubbs had to sprinkle water and mineral oil on its hay so the poor mule could get its breath. Most of the men tried to hint to him that any stock Will Gorman had that late in the season had something bad wrong with it.
"I'd be a'studyin on it before I'd buy this time of year from Will," Albert Sizemore said.
"Amen," Reverend Laban said. "That's clear as spring water."
"Well," Strubbs said, "I know more about stock than any of you."
I was over at the Gorman's place a week or so later when Strubbs came walking up. He'd got a For-Hire to bring him. A thunderstorm had made the road so bad the little truck couldn't make it all the way. Strubbs had to walk from Footers.
"I've come to trade on the big young mule," Strubbs said, right off. "That truck driver is the poorest hand to drive I've ever witnessed."
"Calvin!" Will said. "Go fetch the black mule out."
"Why don't you work with this mule any?" I said as we led the critter back toward the house.