IX
Mrs. Yellett And Her "Gov'ment"
The buckboard drew up to the back or open-faced entrance of the Rodneyhouse with a splendid sweep, terminating in a brilliantly staccato halt,as if to convey to the residents the flattering implication that theirhouse was reached via a gravelled driveway, rather than across lumpishinequalities of prairie overgrown with cactus stumps and clumps ofsage-brush. From the buckboard stepped a figure whose agility wascompatible with her driving.
No sketchy outline can do justice to Mrs. Yellett or her costume. Like thebee, the ant, and other wonders of the economy of nature, she was not tobe disposed of with a glance. And yet there was no attempt at subtlety onher part; on the contrary, no one could have an appearance of greatercandor than the lady whose children Mary Carmichael had come West toteach. Her costume was a thing apart, suggesting neither sex, epoch, norpersonal vanity, but what it lacked of these more usual sartorialcharacteristics, it more than made up in a passionate individualism; anexcessively short skirt, so innocent of "fit" or "hang" in its wavering,indeterminate outline as to suggest the possible workmanship of teethrather than of scissors; and riding-boots coming well to the knee,displaying a well-shaped, ample foot, perched aloft on the usual high heelthat cow-punchers affect as the expression of their chiefest vanity. ButMrs. Yellett was not wholly mannish in her tastes, and to offset the bootsshe wore a bodice of the type that a generation ago used to be known as a"basque." It fitted her ample form as a cover fits a pin-cushion, the rowof jet buttons down the front looking as if a deep breath might cause themto shoot into space at any moment with the force of Mauser bullets.
Such a garb was not, after all, incongruous with this original lady'sweather-beaten face. Her skin was tanned to a fine russet, showing tiny,radiating lines about the eyes when they twinkled with laughter, which wasoften. No individual feature was especially striking, but the generalimpression of her countenance was of animation and activity, mingled withgeniality and with native shrewdness.
"Howdy, Miz Yellett," called out old Sally, hitching her rocker forward,in an excitement she could ill conceal. "You-uns' gov'ment come, an' sheain't much bigger'n a lettle green gourd. Don't seem to have drawed allthe growth comin' to her yit."
"In roundin' up the p'ints of my gov'ment, Mis' Rodney, you don't want toforget that green gourds and green grapes is mighty apt to belong to thesour fambly, when they hangs beyant your reach."
"Ai-yi!" grimaced old Sally. "It's tol'able far to send East for greenfruit. We can take our own pep'mint."
The prospective advent of a governess in the Yellett family, moreover, onefrom that mysterious centre of culture, the East, had not only rent theneighborhood with bitter factions, but had submitted the Yelletts to thereproach of ostentation. In those days there were no schools in thatportion of the Wind River country where the Yelletts grazed their flocksand herds. Parents anxious to obtain "educational advantages"--that was theterm, irrespective of the age of the student or the school heattended--sent them, often, with parental blindness as to the equivocalnature of the blessing thus conferred, to visit friends in the neighboringtowns while they "got their education." Or they went uneducated, or theypicked up such crumbs of knowledge as fell from the scant parental board.But never, up to the present moment, had any one flown into the face ofneighborly precedent except sturdy Sarah Yellett.
Old Sally, in her eagerness to convey that she was in no degree impressedwith the pedagogical importation, like many another belligerent lost thefirst round of the battle through an excess of personal feeling. Butthough down, Sally was by no means out, and after a brief session with thesnuff-brush she returned to the field prepared to maintain that theYellett children, for all their pampering in the matter of having agoverness imported for their benefit, were no better off than her ownbrood, who had taken the learning the gods provided.
"Too bad, Miz Yellett, that you-uns had to hire that gov'ment withoutlookin' over her p'ints. I've ben takin' her in durin' supper, and she'llnever be able to thrash 'em past Clem. She mought be able to thrash Clemif she got plumb mad, these yere slim wimmin is tarrible wiry 'n' activeat such times, but she'll never be able to thrash beyant her." And havinginjected the vitriolic drop in her neighbor's cup of happiness, Old Sallystruck a gait on her chair which was the equivalent of a gallop.
But Mrs. Yellett was not the sort of antagonist to be left gaping on theroad, awed to silence by the action of a rocking-chair, no matter howbrilliant.
"I reckon I can thrash my own children when it's needed, without gettin'in help from the East, or hereabouts either, for that matter. If otherfolks would only take out their public-spirited reformin' tendencies ontheir own famblies, there'd be a heap less lynchin' likely to happen roundthe country in the course of the next ten years."
Old Sally let the home-thrust pass. "Who ever hearn tell of a good teacherthat wasn't a fine thrasher in the bargain?" She swung the chair aboutwith a pivotal motion, as if she were addressing an assemblage instead ofa single listener, and then, bethinking herself of a clinchingillustration, she called aloud to her daughter to bear witness. "Eudory!Eu-do-ry! You-do-ry!"
"Ye-'s ma'am," drawled the daughter, coming most unwillingly from theopen-faced room opposite, where she had been inciting all four of thesuitors to battle.
"What was it they called that teacher down to Caspar that larruped thehide off'n the boys?"
"A fine dis-a-_ply_-narian, maw."
"Yes, that's it--a dis-a-_ply_-narian. What kin a lettle green gourd likeher know 'bout dis-apply-in?"
"Your remarks shore remind me of a sayin' that 'the discomfort of havin'to swallow other folks' dust causes a heap of anxiety over their recklessdriving.'"
Mrs. Yellett flicked her riding-boot with her whip. Her voice dropped acouple of tones, her accent became one of honeyed sweetness.
"Your consumin' anxiety regardin' my gov'ment and my children shorereminds me of a narrative appertainin' to two dawgs. Them dawgs wasneighbors, livin' in adj'inin' yards separated by a fence, and one day oneof them got a good meaty bone and settled hisself down to the enj'ymentthereof. And his intimate friend and neighbor on the other side of thefence, who had no bone to engage his faculties, he began to fret hisself'bout the business of his friend. S'pose he was to choke hisself over thatbone. S'pose the meat disagreed with him. And he begins to bark warnin's,but the dawg with the bone he keeps right on. But the other dawg he dasheshisself again the fence and he scratches with his claws. He whinespitiful, he's that anxious about his friend. But the dawg with the bone hewent right on till he gnawed it down to the last morsel, and, goin' to thehole in the fence whar his friend had kep' that anxious vigil, he says:'Friend, the only thing that consoled me while having to endure theanguish of eatin' that bone was the thought of your watchful sympathy!'Which bein' the case, I'd thank you to tell me whar I can find mygov'ment."
"Ai-yi!" said old Sally. "I ain't seein' no bone this deal. Just a lettlegreen gourd 's all I see with my strongest specs."
Mary Carmichael, in one of the inner rooms, was writing a home letter,which was chiefly remarkable for what it failed to relate. It gave longaccounts of the scenery, it waxed didactic over the future of the country;but the adventures of the trip, with her incidental acquaintance with theDaxes and Chugg, were not recorded. Eudora announced the arrival of Mrs.Yellett, and Mary, at the news, dropped the contents of her portfolio andstarted up with much the feeling a marooned sailor might have on hearing asail has been sighted. At this particular stage of her career MissCarmichael had not developed the philosophy that later in life wasdestined to become her most valuable asset. Her sense of humor no longerresponded to the vagaries of pioneer life. The comedy element was coming alittle too thick and fast. She was getting a bit heart-sick for a glimpseof her own kind, a word with some one who spoke her language. And here, atlast, was the woman who had written such a charming letter, who had sograciously intimated that there was room for her at the hearth-stone. Marywas, indeed, eager to
make the acquaintance of Mrs. Yellett.
To the end of her life she never forgot that first meeting--the perfectconfidence with which she followed Eudora to the open room, the ensuingblank amazement, the utter inability to reconcile the Mrs. Yellett of theletter with the Mrs. Yellett of fact. The lamp on the table, burningfeebly, seemed to burst into a thousand shooting-stars as the girlstruggled with her tears. Home was so far, and Mrs. Yellett was sodifferent from what she had expected! And yet, as she felt her fingerscrush in the grip of that hard but not unkindly hand, there was in thewoman's rugged personality a sustaining quality; and, thinking again ofArchie's prospects, Mary was not altogether sorry that she had come.
"You be a right smart young maverick not to get lost none on this longtrail, and no one to p'int you right if you strayed," commented Mary'spatroness, affably. "But we won't roominate here no longer than we canhelp. It's too hard on old Ma'am Rodney. She's just 'bout the color ofwithered cabbage now, 'long of me havin' you."
While she talked, Mrs. Yellett picked up Mary's trunk and bags and stowedthem in the back of the buckboard with the ease with which another womanmight handle pasteboard boxes. One or two of the male Rodneys offered tohelp, but she waved them aside and lashed the luggage to the buckboard,handling the ropes with the skill of an old sailor. The entire Rodneyfamily and the suitors of Eudora assembled to witness the departure. "It'sa heap friendly of you to fret so," was the parting stab of Sarah Yellettto Sally Rodney; and she swung the backboard about, cleared the cactusstumps in the Rodney door-yard, and gained the mountain-road.
"Ai-yi!" said old Sally. "What's this country comin' to?"
"A few more women, thank God!" remarked Ira. Eudora had just snubbed him,and he put a wealth of meaning into his look after the vanishingbuckboard.
The night was magnificent. From horizon to horizon the sky was sown withquivering points of light. Each straggling clump of sage-brush, rockyledge, and bowlder borrowed a beauty not its own from the yellow radianceof the stars.
They had gone a good two miles before Mary's patroness broke the silencewith, "Nothing plumb stampedes my temper like that Rodney outfit--old Sallybuckin' an' pitchin' in her rockin'-chair same as if she was breakin' abronco, an' that Eudory always corallin', deceivin', and jiltin' oneoutfit of men after another. If she was a daughter of mine, I'd medjureher length across my knee, full growed and courted though she is. The onlyone of the outfit that's wuth while is Judith, an' she ain't old womanRodney's girl, neither. You hyeard that already, did you? Well, this yerecountry may be lackin' in population, but it's handy as a sewin'-circle indistributin' news."
Mary mentioned Leander. "Yes," answered Mrs. Yellett, reflectively,"Leander's mouth do run about eight and a half octaves. Sometimes I don'tblame his wife for bangin' down the lid."
They talked of Jim Rodney's troubles, and the growing hatred between sheepand cattle men, because of range rights.
"Now that pore Jim had a heap of good citizen in him, before thatpestiferous cattle outfit druv' his sheep over the cliff. Relations 'twixtsheep and cattle men in this yere country is strained beyant thegoin'-back place, I can tell you. My pistol-eye 'ain't had a wink of sleepfor nigh on eighteen months, an' is broke to wakefulness same as ateethin' babe.
"Jim was wild as a coyote 'fore he marries that girl. She come all the wayfrom Topeka, Kansas, thinking she was goin' to find a respectable home,and when she come out hyear and found the place was a dance-hall, shecried all the time. She didn't add none to the hilarity of the place. An'one day Jim he strolled in, an' seem' the girl a-cryin' like a freshet andwishin' she was dead, he inquired the cause. She told him how that oldharpy wrote her, an', bein' an orphant, she come out thinkin' she wasgoin' to a respectable place as waitress, an' Jim he 'lowed it was a casefor the law. He was a little shy of twenty at the time, just a youngcockerel 'bout br'ilin' size. Some of the old hangers-on 'bout the placethey see a heap of fun in Jim's takin' on 'bout the girl, he bein' thatyoung that he had scarce growed a pair of spurs yet. An' one of 'em saysto him,' Sonny, if you're afeerd that this yere corral is onjurious to theyoung lady's morals, we'll call in the gospel sharp, if you'll stand forthe brand.' Now Jim hadn't a cent, nor no callin', nor a prospect to hisback, but he struts up to the man that was doin' the talkin', game as abantam, an' he says, 'The lady ain't rakin' in anythin' but a lettle whitechip, in takin' me, but if she's willin', here's my hand.'
"At which that pore young thing cried harder than ever. Well, Jim he upan' marries the girl an' it turns out fine. He gets a job herdin' sheep onshares, an' she stays with the Rodney outfit till he saves enough to builda cabin. Things is goin' with Jim like a prairie afire. In a few years heacquires a herd of his own, a fine herd, not a scabby sheep in the bunch.Alida she makes him the best kind of a wife, them kids is the pride of hislife, and then, them cursed cattle-men do for him. Of course, he takes torustlin'; I'd do more'n rustle if they'd touch mine."
The pair of broncos that Mrs. Yellett was driving humped their backs likecats as they climbed the steep mountain-road. With her, driving was anexact science. It was a treat to see her handle the ribbons. Mary askedsome trifling question about the children and it elicited the informationthat one of the girls was named Cacta. "Yes," she said, "I like new namesfor children, not old ones that is all frazzled out and folks has sufferedan' died to. It seems to start 'em fair, like playin' cards with a newdeck. Cacta's my oldest daughter, and I named her after the flowers thatblooms all over the desert spite of everything, heat, cold, an' rain an'alkali dust--the cactus blooms right through it all. Even its own thornsdon't seem to fret it none. I called her plain Cactus till she was three,and along came a sharp studyin' the flowers an' weeds out here, and he'lowed that Cactus was a boy's name an' Cacta was for girls--called it a_fee_minin tarnation, or somethin' like that, so we changed it. My seconddaughter 'ain't got quite so much of a name. She's called Clematis. Thatholds its own out here pretty well, 'long by the willows on the creek. Paw'lowed he was terrible afraid that I'd name the youngest girl Sage-brush,so he spoke to call her Lessie Viola, an' I giv' in. The boys is all plainnamed, Ben, Jack, and Ned. Paw wouldn't hear of a fancy brand bein' runonto 'em."
The temperature fell perceptibly as they climbed the heights, and the airhad the heady quality of wine. It was awesome, this entering into thegreat company of the mountains. Presently Mary caught the glimmer ofsomething white against the dark background of the hills. It gleamed likea snow-bank, though they were far below the snow-line on the mountain-sidethey were climbing.
"Well, here be camp," announced Mrs. Yellett. What Mary had taken for abank of snow was a huge, canvas-covered wagon. Several dogs ran down togreet the buckboard, barking a welcome. In the background was a shadowygroup, huge of stature, making its way down the mountain-path. "And here'sall the children come to meet teacher." Mrs. Yellett's tone was tenderlymaternal, as if it was something of a feat for the children to walk downthe mountain-path to meet their teacher. But Mary, straining her eyes tocatch a glimpse of her little pupils, could discover nothing but a groupof persons that seemed to be the sole survivors of some titanic race. Notone among them but seemed to have reached the high-water mark of six feet.Was it an optical illusion, a hallucination born of the wonderfulstarlight? Or were they as huge as they seemed? The young men lookedgiants, the girls as if they had wandered out of the first chapters ofGenesis. Their mother introduced them. They all had huge, warm, perspiringhands, with grips like bears. Mary looked about for a house into which shecould escape to gather her scattered faculties, but the starlight, yellowand luminous, revealed none. There was the huge covered wagon that she hadtaken for a snow-bank, there was a small tent, there were two lightwagons, there were dogs innumerable, but there was no sign of a house.
"What do you think of it?" inquired Mrs. Yellett, smilingly, anticipatinga favorable answer.
"It's almost too beautiful to leave." Mary innocently supposed that Mrs.Yellett referred to the starlit landscape. "But I'm so tired, Mrs.Yellett, and so glad to get t
o a real home at last, that I'm going to askif you will not show me the way to the house so that I may go to bed rightaway."
This apparently reasonable request was greeted by a fine chorus of titaniclaughter from Mary's pupils. Mrs. Yellett waved her hand over thesurrounding landscape in comprehensive gesture.
"Ain't all this large enough for you?" she asked, gayly.
"You mean the mountains? They're wonderful. But--I really think I'd like togo in the house."
"I shore hope you ain't figgerin' on goin' into no house, 'cause thereain't no house to go into." She laughed merrily, as if the idea of such aneffete luxury as a house were amusing. "This yere family 'ain't ever had ahouse--it camps."
Mary gasped. The real meaning of words no longer had the power of makingan impression on her. If Mrs. Yellett had announced that they were in thehabit of sleeping in the moon, it would not have surprised her.
"If you are tired, an' want to go to bed, you can shuck off and lie downany time. Ben, Jack, Ned, go an' set with paw in the tent while thegov'ment gets ready for bed. Cacta and Clem, you help me with themquilts."
Mary stood helpless in the wilderness while quilts and pillows werefetched somewhere from the adjacent scenery, and Mrs. Yellett asked her,with the gravity of a Pullman porter interrogating a passenger as to thelocation of head and foot, if she liked to sleep "light or dark." Shechose "dark" at random, hating to display her ignorance of thealternatives, with the happy result that her bed was made up to leeward ofthe great sheep-wagon, in a nice little corner of the State of Wyoming.Mary was grateful that she had chosen dark.
As she dozed off, she was reminded of a certain magazine illustration thatArchie had pinned over his bed after the aunts had given a grudgingconsent to this westward journey. There was a line beneath the pictorialdecoy which read: "Ranch Life in the New West." And there were piazzaswith fringed Mexican hammocks, wild-grass cushions, a tea-table with asamovar, and, last, a lady in white muslin pouring tea. The stern realityapparently consisted in scorching alkali plains, with houses of thepacking-box school of architecture at a distance of seventy or eightymiles apart. No ladies in white muslin poured tea; they garbed themselvesin simple gunny-sacking, and their repartee had an acrid, personal note.But Mary was glad to know that Archie had that picture, and that hethought of her in such ideal surroundings.
Judith of the Plains Page 9