by Bret Harte
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT
CHAPTER I
It was an enormous wheat-field in the Santa Clara valley, stretching tothe horizon line unbroken. The meridian sun shone upon it without glintor shadow; but at times, when a stronger gust of the trade winds passedover it, there was a quick slanting impression of the whole surface thatwas, however, as unlike a billow as itself was unlike a sea. Even whena lighter zephyr played down its long level, the agitation wassuperficial, and seemed only to momentarily lift a veil of greenishmist that hung above its immovable depths. Occasional puffs of dustalternately rose and fell along an imaginary line across the field,as if a current of air were passing through it, but were otherwiseinexplicable.
Suddenly a faint shout, apparently somewhere in the vicinity of theline, brought out a perfectly clear response, followed by the audiblemurmur of voices, which it was impossible to localize. Yet the wholefield was so devoid of any suggestion of human life or motion thatit seemed rather as if the vast expanse itself had become suddenlyarticulate and intelligible.
"Wot say?"
"Wheel off."
"Whare?"
"In the road."
One of the voices here indicated itself in the direction of the line ofdust, and said, "Comin'," and a man stepped out from the wheat into abroad and dusty avenue.
With his presence three things became apparent.
First, that the puffs of dust indicated the existence of the invisibleavenue through the unlimited and unfenced field of grain; secondly, thatthe stalks of wheat on either side of it were so tall as to actuallyhide a passing vehicle; and thirdly, that a vehicle had just passed, hadlost a wheel, and been dragged partly into the grain by its frightenedhorse, which a dusty man was trying to restrain and pacify.
The horse, given up to equine hysterics, and evidently convinced thatthe ordinary buggy behind him had been changed into some dangerous andappalling creation, still plunged and kicked violently to rid himselfof it. The man who had stepped out of the depths of the wheat quicklycrossed the road, unhitched the traces, drew back the vehicle, and,glancing at the traveler's dusty and disordered clothes, said, with curtsympathy:--
"Spilt, too; but not hurt, eh?"
"No, neither of us. I went over with the buggy when the wheel cramped,but SHE jumped clear."
He made a gesture indicating the presence of another. The man turnedquickly. There was a second figure, a young girl standing beside thegrain from which he had emerged, embracing a few stalks of wheat withone arm and a hand in which she still held her parasol, while shegrasped her gathered skirts with the other, and trying to find a securefoothold for her two neat narrow slippers on a crumbling cake of adobeabove the fathomless dust of the roadway. Her face, although annoyedand discontented, was pretty, and her light dress and slim figure weresuggestive of a certain superior condition.
The man's manner at once softened with Western courtesy. He swunghis broad-brimmed hat from his head, and bent his body with theceremoniousness of the country ball-room. "I reckon the lady had bettercome up to the shanty out o' the dust and sun till we kin help you getthese things fixed," he said to the driver. "I'll send round by the roadfor your hoss, and have one of mine fetch up your wagon."
"Is it far?" asked the girl, slightly acknowledging his salutation,without waiting for her companion to reply.
"Only a step this way," he answered, motioning to the field of wheatbeside her.
"What in THERE? I never could go in there," she said, decidedly.
"It's a heap shorter than by the road, and not so dusty. I'll go withyou, and pilot you."
The young girl cast a vexed look at her companion as the probable causeof all this trouble, and shook her head. But at the same moment onelittle foot slipped from the adobe into the dust again. She instantlyclambered back with a little feminine shriek, and ejaculated: "Well,of all things!" and then, fixing her blue annoyed eyes on the stranger,asked impatiently, "Why couldn't I go there by the road 'n the wagon? Icould manage to hold on and keep in."
"Because I reckon you'd find it too pow'ful hot waitin' here till we gotround to ye."
There was no doubt it was very hot; the radiation from the bakingroadway beating up under her parasol, and pricking her cheekbones andeyeballs like needles. She gave a fastidious little shudder, furled herparasol, gathered her skirts still tighter, faced about, and said, "Goon, then." The man slipped backwards into the ranks of stalks, partingthem with one hand, and holding out the other as if to lead her. Butshe evaded the invitation by holding her tightly-drawn skirt with bothhands, and bending her head forward as if she had not noticed it. Thenext moment the road, and even the whole outer world, disappeared behindthem, and they seemed floating in a choking green translucent mist.
But the effect was only momentary; a few steps further she found thatshe could walk with little difficulty between the ranks of stalks, whichwere regularly spaced, and the resemblance now changed to that of a longpillared conservatory of greenish glass, that touched all objects withits pervading hue. She also found that the close air above her headwas continually freshened by the interchange of currents of lowertemperature from below,--as if the whole vast field had a circulation ofits own,--and that the adobe beneath her feet was gratefully cool toher tread. There was no dust, as he had said; what had at first halfsuffocated her seemed to be some stimulating aroma of creation thatfilled the narrow green aisles, and now imparted a strange vigor andexcitement to her as she walked along. Meantime her guide was notconversationally idle. Now, no doubt, she had never seen anything likethis before? It was ordinary wheat, only it was grown on adobe soil--therichest in the valley. These stalks, she could see herself, were ten andtwelve feet high. That was the trouble, they all ran too much to stalk,though the grain yield was "suthen' pow'ful." She could tell that toher friends, for he reckoned she was the only young lady that had everwalked under such a growth. Perhaps she was new to Californy? He thoughtso from the start. Well, this was Californy, and this was not the leastof the ways it could "lay over" every other country on God's yearth.Many folks thought it was the gold and the climate, but she could seefor herself what it could do with wheat. He wondered if her brother hadever told, her of it? No, the stranger wasn't her brother. Nor cousin,nor company? No; only the hired driver from a San Jose hotel, who wastakin' her over to Major Randolph's. Yes, he knew the old major; theranch was a pretty place, nigh unto three miles further on. Now that heknew the driver was no relation of hers he didn't mind telling her thatthe buggy was a "rather old consarn," and the driver didn't know hisbusiness. Yes, it might be fixed up so as to take her over to themajor's; there was one of their own men--a young fellow--who could doanything that COULD be done with wood and iron,--a reg'lar genius!--andHE'D tackle it. It might take an hour, but she'd find it quite coolwaiting in the shanty. It was a rough place, for they only camped outthere during the season to look after the crop, and lived at their ownhomes the rest of the time. Was she going to stay long at the major's?He noticed she had not brought her trunk with her. Had she known themajor's wife long? Perhaps she thought of settling in the neighborhood?
All this naive, good-humored questioning--so often cruelly misunderstoodas mere vulgar curiosity, but as often the courteous instinct of simpleunaffected people to entertain the stranger by inviting him to talk ofwhat concerns himself rather than their own selves--was nevertheless,I fear, met only by monosyllables from the young lady or an impatientquestion in return. She scarcely raised her eyes to the broadjean-shirted back that preceded her through the grain until theman abruptly ceased talking, and his manner, without losing itshalf-paternal courtesy, became graver. She was beginning to be consciousof her incivility, and was trying to think of something to say, whenhe exclaimed with a slight air of relief, "Here we are!" and the shantysuddenly appeared before them.
It certainly was very rough--a mere shell of unpainted boards thatscarcely rose above the level of the surrounding grain, and a few yardsdistant was invisible. Its slightly sloping roof, alre
ady warped andshrunken into long fissures that permitted glimpses of the steel-bluesky above, was evidently intended only as a shelter from the cloudlesssun in those two months of rainless days and dewless nights when it wasinhabited. Through the open doors and windows she could see a row of"bunks," or rude sleeping berths against the walls, furnished withcoarse mattresses and blankets. As the young girl halted, the manwith an instinct of delicacy hurried forward, entered the shanty, anddragging a rude bench to the doorway, placed it so that she could sitbeneath the shade of the roof, yet with her back to these domesticrevelations. Two or three men, who had been apparently lounging there,rose quietly, and unobtrusively withdrew. Her guide brought her a tincup of deliciously cool water, exchanged a few