CHAPTER II
WANTED: A WIFE
"I couldn't have ate at Sim's place if he would of asked me to,"grumbled Wid Gardner aloud to himself as he busied himself about hisown household duties in his bachelor cabin. "He's too damn dirty, likeI said, and that's a fact."
Wid's cabin itself was in general appearance no better, if no worse,than the average in the Two Forks Valley. There was a bed on a rudepole frame--little more than a heap of blankets as they had been thrownaside that morning. The table still held the dishes which had beenused, but at least these had been washed, and there was thrown acrossthem what had served as a dish-towel, a washed and dried, fairly cleanflour sack which had been ripped out and turned into a towel. Therewas a box nailed up behind the stove which served as a sort of storeroom for the scant supplies, and this had a flap at the top, so that itwas partly curtained off. Another box nailed against the wall behindthe table served as book case and paper rack, holding, among a scantarray of ancient standard volumes, a few dog-eared paper-backed booksof cheap and dreadful sort, some illustrated journals showing picturesof actresses and film celebrities--precisely the sort of literaturewhich may be found in most wilderness bachelor homes.
At one end of the up-turned box which served as a sort of reading tablelay a pile of similar magazines, not of abundant folios, but apparentlyvalued, for they showed more care than any other of the owner'streasures. It was, curiously enough, to this little heap of literaturethat Wid Gardner presently turned.
Forgetful of the hour and of his waiting cows, he sat down, a copy inhis hands, his face taking on a new sort of light as he read. Attimes, as lone men will, he broke out into audible soliloquy. Now andagain his hand slapped his knee, his eye kindled, he grinned. Thepages were ill-printed, showing many paragraphs, apparently ofadvertising nature, in fine type, sometimes marked with display lines.
Wid turned page after page, grunting as he did so, until at last hetossed the magazine upon the top of the box and so went about hisevening chores. Thus the title of the publication was left showing toany observer. The headline was done in large black letters, advisingall who might have read that this was a copy of the magazine known as_Hearts Aflame_.
Curiously enough, on the front page the headline of a certainadvertisement showed plainly. It read, "Wanted: A Wife."
From this it may be divined that here was one of those periodicalsprinted no one knows where, circulated no one knows how, which none theless after some fashion of their own do find their way out in all thewomanless regions of the world--Alaska, South Africa, the dry plains ofCanada and our Western States, mining camps far out in the outlyingdistricts beyond the edge of the homekeeping lands--it is in regionssuch as these that periodicals such as the foregoing may be found.Their circulation is among those who seek "acquaintance with a view tomatrimony." They are the official organs of Cupid himself--_or_ Cupidcommercialized, or Cupid much misnamed and sailing his craft upon awide and uncharted sea. In lands of the first pick or the first plow,these half-illicit pages find their way for their own reasons; and menand women both sometimes have read them.
Wid Gardner finished his own brief work about the corral, came in,washed his hands, and began to cook for himself his simple supper.Then he washed his dishes, threw the towel above them as before, andwent to bed, since he had little else to do.
Early the next morning Wid had finished his breakfast, and was at theedge of the main valley road, which passed near to his own front gate.He lighted a pipe and sat down to smoke, now and again glancing downthe road at a slowly approaching figure.
It was the schoolma'am, Mrs. Davidson, who daily presided at the littlelog schoolhouse a mile further on up the road, where some twentychildren found their way over varying distances from the surroundingranches. This lady was of much dignity and of much avoirdupois aswell. Her ruddy face was wrinkled up somewhat like an apple in thelate fall. She walked slowly and ponderously, and her gait beingsomewhat restricted, it was needful that she make an early start eachday to her place of labor, since the only possible boarding place layalmost a mile below Sim Gage's ranch. She had been the only applicantfor this school, and perhaps was the only living being who could havecontented herself in that capacity in this valley. Wid Gardner pulledat the edge of his broken hat as he stepped down the narrow road tomeet her.
"'Morning, Mis' Davidson," said he.
"Good morning, Mr. Gar-r-r-dner," boomed out the great voice of Mrs.Davidson. "It is apparently promising us fair weather, sir-r-r."
Mrs. Davidson spoke with a certain singular rotund exactness, and hencewas held much in awe in all these parts.
"Yes, ma'am," said Wid, "it looks like it would rain, but it won't."
"Your hay in that case would not flourish so well, Mr. Gar-r-r-dner?"said she.
"Without rain, not worth a damn, ma'am, so to speak. But I'll get byif any one can. This is one of the best locations in the valley. Meand Sim Gage; and Sim, he says----"
"Sim Gage!" The lady snorted her contempt of the very name. "That man!Altogether impossible!"
"He shore is. He certainly is," assented Wid Gardner. "He seems to begetting impossible-er almost every year, now, don't he?"
"I do not care to discuss Mr. Gage," replied the apostle of learning."I was in his abode once. I should never care to go there again."
Already she was leaning partially forward, ponderously, as about toresume her journey toward the school house.
"Well, now, Sim Gage," began Wid, raising a restraining hand, "he ain'tso bad as you might think, ma'am. He's just kind of fell into this wayof living."
"Mr. Gar-r-r-dner," said the lady positively, "I doubt if he has made abed or washed a dish in twenty years. His place is worse than anIndian camp. I have taught schools among the savages myself, inGovernment service, and therefore I may speak with authority."
"Well, now, ma'am, I reckon that's all true. But you see, if morewomen come out in here, now, things'd be different. I been thinking ofSim Gage, ma'am. I wanted you to do something fer me, or him, ma'am."
"Indeed?" demanded she. "And what may that be?"
"I don't mean nothing in the world that ain't perfectly all right,"began Wid, hesitatingly. "I only wanted you to write something fer me.I'm this kind of a man, that when he wants anything to be fixed up, hewants it to be fixed up right. I kind of got out of practice writing.I want you to write a ad fer me."
"A what?" she demanded. "Oh, I see--you have something to sell?"
"No, ma'am, I ain't got nothing to sell--not unlessen--well, I'll tellyou. I want to advertise fer a woman--fer a wife--that is to say,really fer him, Sim Gage--a feller's got to have something to sort ofoccupy his mind, hain't he?"
Mrs. Davidson was too much astonished to speak, and he blundered on.
"Folks has done such things," said he.
"You offer me a somewhat difficult problem," rejoined the other, "sinceI do not in the least understand what you desire to do."
"Well, it's this away, ma'am. There's papers that prints theseads--sometimes big dailies does, they tell me--where folks advertisesfor acquaintances just fer to get acquainted, you know--'acquaintancewith a view to matrimony' is the way they usually say it--and that maybe a tip fer you--I mean about this here ad I want you to write. Why,folks has got married that way, plenty of 'em--I'll bet there ain'tmore'n half the homesteaders in this state out here, leastways in thesagebrush country, that didn't get married just that way--it's theonliest way they _can_ get married, ma'am, half the time.
"Once, up in Helleny, years ago, right after the old Alder Gulch placermining days, there was eleven millionaires, each of 'em married to aInjun woman, and not one of them women could set on a chair withoutfalling off. Now, there wasn't no papers then like this one here, orthem millionaires might of done better."
She gasped, unable to speak, her lips rotund and pursed, and he went onwith more assertiveness.
"They turn out just as good as any marriages there is," sa
id he. "I'veknowed plenty of 'em. There's three in this valley--although theydon't say much about it now. _I_ know how they got acquainted, allright."
"And you desire me to aid you in your endeavor to entr-r-r-ap somefoolish woman?"
"They don't have to answer. They don't have to get married if theydon't want to. You can't tell how things'll turn out."
"Indeed! _Indeed_!"
"Well, now, I was just hoping you would write the ad, that's all. Justyou write me a ad like you was a sagebrusher out here in this country,and you was awful lonesome, and had a good ranch, and waskind-hearted--and not too good-looking--and that you'd be kind to awoman. Well, that's about as far as I can go. I was going to leavethe rest to you."
Mrs. Davidson's lips still remained round, her forehead puckered. Sheleaned ponderously, fell forward into her weighty walk.
"I make no promise, sir-r-r!" said she, as she veered in passing.
But still, human psychology being what it is, and woman's curiositywhat it also is, and Mrs. Davidson being after all woman, that eveningwhen Wid Gardner passed out to his gate, he found pinned to thefastening stick an envelope which he opened curiously. He spelled outthe words:
"Wanted: A Wife. A well-to-do and chivalrous rancher of abundant meansand large holdings in a Western State wishes to correspond with arespectable young woman who will be willing to appreciate a good homeand loving care. Object--matrimony."
Wid Gardner read this once, and he read it twice. "Good God A'mighty!"said he to himself. "Sim Gage!"
He turned back to his cabin, and managed to find a corroded pen and thepart of a bottle of thickened ink. With much labor he signed to thetext of his enclosure two initials, and added his own post office routebox for forwarding of any possible replies. Then he addressed a dirtyenvelope to the street number of the eastern city which appeared on thepage of his matrimonial journal. Even he managed to fish out a curledstamp from somewhere in the wall pocket. Then he sat down and lookedout the door over the willow bushes shivering in the evening air.
"'Chi_val_erous!'" said he. "'Well-to-do! A good home--and lovingcare!' If that can be put acrosst with any woman in the whole wideworld, I'll have faith again in prospectin'!"
The Sagebrusher: A Story of the West Page 2