McDonough John - Brighty of the Grand Canyon

Other Books by Marguerite Henry

Justin Morgan Had a Horse

Misty of Chincoteague

King of the Wind

Sea Star: Orphan of Chincoteague

Born to Trot

Black Gold

Stormy, Mistys Foal

Mustang, Spirit of the West

San Domingo, The Medicine Hat Stallion

To

HAROLD C. BRYANT

Superintendent Grand Canyon National Park

and

ERNIE APPLING

Uncle Jims friend and a cowboys cowboy

T HIS IS THE STORY of a little lone burro who lived in the Grand Canyon of Arizona.

An old prospector found him running wild along Bright Angel Creek, that tumbles down the north wall of the canyon into the Colorado River. The prospector roped and gentled him, but then he gave him his freedom! Instead of hobbles or pickets, he held onto him by the invisible cord of friendshipflapjacks shared, and small talk around the campfire, and a warm hand scratching the itchy places on his back.

In return, the burro carried the prospectors pick and pan and even packed water for him. The rest of the time was his own. He was free to browse or to splash in the creek, or just to sit, dog-fashion, dozing in the sun.

After the prospector died, Brighty became a wild spirit again. He migrated like a bird. In winter, all alone, he roamed the warm inner reaches of the canyon where snow never falls. But in summer he hightailed it to the rim, to live in the cool mountain meadows of the Kaibab Forest.

Soon men began using the trail he madeexplorers and rangers, artists and tourists. Brighty greeted them with hearty brays, took potluck with them, and enjoyed their company; that is, until they tried to hobble him. Then he went bounding off, heehawing at their foolishness.

But in spite of thisor perhaps because of itmen loved him, respected him, and envied him. He became their symbol of a joyous way of life.

To Brighty, then, my gratefulness for luring me to the Grand Canyon. May his wild, free spirit forever call men to his haunts. And on still summer nights may they hear, as I did, his faraway voice singing to the moon.

M. H.

A SHAGGY young burro lay asleep in the gray dust of the canyon trail. Except for the slow heaving of his sides and an occasional flick of an ear, he seemed part of the dust and the ageless limestone that rose in great towering battlements behind him.

The sun had been shining fiercely on his belly and now began climbing up over his sides, then slowly up the canyon wall. But for a long time the rocks held their heat and the solitary figure dozed on.

A ground squirrel peered out from a chink in the wall, watching a moment with friendly eyes, then dived back where it came from. A cottontail rabbit played hop, skip, and jump around him. But nothing disturbed the little gray lump, not even a nuthatch hammering away at a juniper tree.

It was the wind, an uprising current of wind from the depths of the canyon, that finally aroused him. It whirled up his nose and down his ears, tickling him awake.

With a grunting sigh he began rolling, and with each turn just missed falling off his ledge into Bright Angel Creek, hundreds of feet below. Now he sat up on his haunches, squirming his back against the rough, warm limestone. He gave a luxurious yawn and gazed at the opposite wall as if in search of some creature like himself. But there was only rock, rising sheer and lonely to the sky.

He stretched his forelegs and then he was up, shaking the dust from his coat. Over the ledge a few spears of bunch grass grew in a crevice. He leaned out into space and cropped them, jaws swinging sideways as he chewed, while his eyes, from under their thatched roof of hair, looked out over his world. It was a world of rock piled up and up, layer on layer to the sky, and down and down to the Colorado River far below.

Slowly, as if balancing the weight of his great ears, the little fellow swung his head around to follow the winding river. His eyes suddenly fixed on a tiny white spot, and at sight of it he opened wide his jaws, swelled out his nostrils, and began braying: Yeeee-awyee-aw! Yee-a-a-aw!

Instantly the canyon took up the cry. South wall to north and back again it banged and bounced the bray until there was nothing left of it.

The burro waited, listening. His ears probed the white spot as if to pull something out of it. There it was! An answering sound! A bellowing halloa, almost as big and brassy as his own. It set the little burro into action.

Down the trail he plunged, zigzagging from ledge to ledge, ears flopping, tail swinging, hoofs toe-dancing the narrow path. Once on his way, a kind of momentum took hold of him and he fairly flew, rounding one cliff only to face another.

Time and again he crossed Bright Angel Creek, a foaming mountain stream that tumbled downward to the river. For yards and yards he walked in its bed, picking his way around the glossy boulders. But he neither drank nor played in the water.

Only once did he stop to study his goal. The white spot had grown to a tent, and nearby, campfire smoke was curling upward. Satisfied, he plunged on again, always traveling within sight and sound of the busy creek.

The afternoon was late and purple shadows were spilling down the canyon walls when he came at last upon the source of the smoke. An old, old prospector with flowing white hair was piling driftwood on a fire. And beside the fire stood an iron skillet and a bowl of yellow batter.

S TEPPING SOFTLY in the sand, the burro sneaked behind the prospector and playfully butted him up from his crouching position. The old man spun around, his face lighting with joy.

Brighty! he shouted happily. You lil ole pussyfooter! You eenamost upset the batter, to say nothing of me, myself. He let the burro nuzzle his grizzly beard. Taint hay! he howled with laughter.

He laid more driftwood on the fire, then turned and began scratching Brighty, starting with the scruff of mane and kneading down the dark stripe along his back.

Feller! he thundered above the rivers roar. You sure got an alarum clock in your head! Tan my hide if you dont arrive zactly at suppertime. Its flapjacks tonight, see? Got the batter all done. Aint it nice and bubbly?