CHAPTER III
PATTY GOES TO TOWN
Ma Watts called loudly from the doorway and numerous small Wattsesappeared as if by magic from the direction of the creek and thecottonwood thicket. Dinner consisted of flabby salt pork, swimming inits own grease, into which were dipped by means of fingers or forks,huge misshapen slices of sour white bread. There was also an abundanceof corn pone, black molasses, and a vile concoction that Ma Wattscalled coffee. Flies swarmed above the table and settled upon the foodfrom which they arose in clouds at each repetition of the dippingprocess.
How she got through the meal Patty did not know, but to her surpriseand disgust, realized that she had actually consumed a considerableportion of the unappetizing mess. Watts arose, stretched prodigiously,and sauntered to his chair which, true to calculation was already justwithin the shadow of the east side of the house.
Baby on hip, Ma Watts, assisted by Microby Dandeline and LillianRussell, attacked the dishes. All offers of help from Patty weredeclined.
"Yo' welcome to stay yere jest as long as yo' want to, honey, an' yo'hain't got to work none neither. They's a old piece o' stack-coversomewheres around an' them young-uns kin rig 'em up a tent an' sleepin hit all summer, an' yo' kin hev their shake-down like yo' done las'night. I s'pose yo're yere about yo' pa's claim?"
"Yes," answered the girl, "and I certainly appreciate yourhospitality. I hope I can repay you some day, but I cannot think ofsettling myself upon you this way. My work will take me out into thehills and----"
"Jest like yo' pa usta say. He wus that fond o' rale home cookin' thethe'd come 'long every onct in a month 'er so, an' git him a squr meal,an' then away he'd go out to his camp."
"Where was his camp?" asked the girl eagerly.
"Lawzie, his camp wus a tent, an' he moved hit around so they couldn'tno one tell from one day to 'nother where he'd be at. But, he neverwus no great ways from here, gen'ally within ten mile, one way er'nother. Hits out yonder in the barn--his tent an' outfit--pick an'pan an' shovel an' dishes, all ready to throw onto his pack hosswhich hits a mewl an' runnin' in the hills with them hosses of ourn.If hit wusn't fer the fences they'd be in the pasture. Watts aims tofix 'em when he gits time."
"I don't know much about tents, but I guess I'll have to use it, thatis, if there isn't another ranch, or a--a house, or something, where Ican rent a room all to myself."
"Great sakes, child! They hain't another ranch within twenty-fivemile, an' thet's towards town." As if suddenly smitten with an idea,she paused with her hand full of dishes and called loudly to herspouse:
"Watts! Watts!"
The chair was eased to its four legs, and the lank form appeared inthe doorway. "Yeh?"
"How about the sheep camp?"
The man's fingers fumbled at his beard and he appeared plunged intodeep thought. "What yo' mean, how 'bout hit?"
"Why not we-all leave Mr. Sinclair's darter live up there?"
Again the thoughtful silence. At length the man spoke: "Why, shore,she kin stay there long as she likes, an' welcome."
"Hit's a cabin four mile up the crick," explained Ma Watts, "what webuilt on our upper desert fer a man thet wanted to run a band o'sheep. He wus rentin' the range offen us, till they druv him off--thecattlemen claimed they wouldn't 'low no sheep in the hill country.They warned him an' pestered him a spell, an' then they jest up an'druv him off--thet Vil Holland wus into hit, an' some more."
"Who is this Vil Holland you speak of, and why did he want to driveoff the sheep?"
"Oh, he's a cowpuncher--they say they hain't a better cowpuncher inMontany, when he'll work. But he won't work only when he takes anotion--'druther hang around the hills an' prospeck. He hain't nevermade no strike, but he allus aims to, like all the rest. Ef he'dsettle down, he could draw his forty dollars a month the year 'round,'stead of which, he works on the round-up, an' gits him a stake, an'then quits an' strikes out fer the hills."
"I couldn't think of occupying your cabin without paying for it. Howmuch will you rent it to me for?"
"'Tain't wuth nothin' at all," said Watts. "'Tain't doin' no goodsettin' wher' it's at, an' yo' won't hurt hit none a-livin' in hit.Jest move in, an' welcome."
"No, indeed! Now, you tell me, is ten dollars a month enough rent?"
"Ten dollars a month!" exclaimed Watts. "Why, we-all only got fifteenfo' a herder an' a dog an' a band o' sheep! No, ef yo' bound to pay,I'll take two dollars a month. We-all might be po' but we hain't norobbers."
"I'll take it," said Patty. "And now I'll have to have a lot of thingsfrom town--food and blankets, and furniture, and----"
"Hit's all furnished," broke in Ma Watts. "They's a bunk, an' a table,an' a stove, an a couple o' wooden chairs."
"Oh, that's fine!" cried the girl, becoming really enthusiastic overthe prospect of having a cabin all her very own. "But, about the otherthings: Mr. Watts can you haul them from town?"
Watts tugged at his beard and stared out across the hills. "Yes, mom,I reckon I kin. Le's see, the work's a-pilin' up on me right smart."He cast his eye skyward, where the sun shone hot from the cloudlessblue. "Hit mought rain to-morrow, an' hit moughtn't. The front ex onthe wagon needs fixin'--le's see, this here's a Wednesday. How'd nextSunday, a week do?"
The girl stared at him in dismay. Ten days of Ma Watts's "homecooking" loomed before her.
"Oh, couldn't you _possibly_ go before that?" she pleaded.
"Well, there's them fences. I'd orter hev' time to study 'bout howmany steeples hit's a-goin' to tak' to fix 'em. An' besides, Ferd Rowe'lowed he wus comin' 'long some day to trade hosses an' I'd hate tomiss him."
"Why can't I go to town. I know the way. Will you rent me your horsesand wagon? I can drive and I can bring out your tools and things,too." As she awaited Watts's reply her eyes met the wistful gaze ofMicroby Dandeline. She turned to Ma Watts. "And maybe you would letMicroby Dandeline go with me. It would be loads of fun."
"Lawzie, honey, yo' wouldn't want to be pestered with her."
"Yes, I would really. Please let her go with me, that is, if Mr. Wattswill let me have the team."
"Why, shore, yo' welcome to 'em. They hain't sich a good span o'hosses, but they'll git yo' there, an' back, give 'em time."
"And can we start in the morning?"
"My! Yo' in a sight o' hurry. They's thet front ex----"
"Is it anything very serious? Maybe I could help fix it. Do let metry."
Watts rubbed his beard reflectively. "Well, no, I reckon it's mebbethe wheels needs greasin'. 'Twouldn't take no sight o' time to do, ifa body could only git at hit. Reckon I mought grease 'em all 'round,onct I git started. The young-uns kin help, yo' jest stay here withMa. Ef yo' so plumb sot on goin' we'll see't yo' git off."
"I kin go, cain't I, Ma?" Microby Dandeline's eyes were big withexcitement, as she wrung out her dish towel and hung it to dry in thesun.
"Why, yas, I reckon yo' mought's well--but seem's like yo' allusa-wantin' to gad. Yo' be'n to town twict a'ready."
"Twice!" cried Patty. "In how long?"
"She's goin' on eighteen. Four years, come July she wus to town. Theywus a circust."
"I know Mr. Christie. He lives to town."
"He's the preacher. He's a 'piscopalium preacher, an' one time thatVil Holland an' him come ridin' 'long, an' they stopped in fer dinner,an' that Vil Holland, he's allus up to some kind o' devilment er'nother, he says: 'Ma Watts, why don't yo' hev the kids allbabitized?' I hadn't never thought much 'bout hit, but thar wus thepreacher, an' he seemed to think mighty proud of hit, an' hit didn'tcost nothin', so I tol' him to go ahead. He started in on MicrobyDandeline--we jest called her Dandeline furst, bein' thet yallar withjanders when she wus a baby, but when she got about two year, I wus areadin' a piece in a paper a man left, 'bout these yere littlemicrobys thet gits into everywheres they shouldn't ort to, jest likeshe done, so I says to Watts how she'd ort to had two names anyways,only I couldn't think of none but common ones when we give her hern. Isays, we'll name her Microby Dandeline
Watts an' Watts, he didn't careone way er t'other." Ma Watts shifted the baby to the other hip."Babitizin' is nice, but hit works both ways, too. Take the baby,yere. When we'd got down to the bottom of the batch it come her turn,an', lawzie, I wus that flustered, comin' so sudden, thet way, Icouldn't think of no name fer her 'cept Chattenoogy Tennessee, where Icome from near, an' the very nex' day I wus readin' in the almanac an'I found one I liked better. Watts, he hain't no help to a body, hehain't no aggucation to speak of, an' don't never read none, an'would as soon I'd name his children John, like his ma done him. As Iwas sayin' there hit wus in the almanac the name 'twould of fitten thebaby to a T. Vernal Esquimaux, hit said, March 21, 5:26 A.M. The babywas borned March the 21st, 'tween five an' six in the mornin'. Nex'time I wus to town I hunted up preacher Christie, but he said hecouldn't onbabitize her, an' he reckoned Chatenoogy Tennessee wus asgood as Vernal Esquimaux, anyhow, an' we could save Vernal Esquimauxfer the next one--jest's ef yo' could hev 'em like a time table!"
The afternoon was assiduously devoted to overhauling the contents of ahuge tin trunk in an effort to find a frock suitable for the momentousoccasion of Microby Dandeline's journey. The one that had served forthe previous visit, a tight little affair of pink gingham, provedentirely inadequate in its important dimensions, and automaticallybecame the property of the younger and smaller Lillian Russell.Patty's suggestion of a simple white lawn that reposed upon the verybottom of the trunk was overruled in favor of a betucked andbeflounced creation of red calico in which Ma Watts had beamed uponthe gay panoply of the long remembered "circust." An hour's work withscissors and needle reduced the dress to approximately the requiredsize. When the task was completed Watts appeared with the informationthat he reckoned the wagon would run, and that the "young-uns" wereout in the hills hunting the "hosses."
At early dawn the following morning Patty was awakened by a timid handupon her shoulder.
"Hit's daylight, an' Pa's hitchin' up the hosses." Arrayed in the reddress, her eyes round with excitement and anticipation, MicrobyDandeline was bending over her whispering excitedly, "An' breakfus'sready, an' me an' Ma's got the lunch putten up, an' hit's a pow'fullong ways to town, an' we better git a-goin'."
"Stay right clost an' don't go gittin' lost," admonished Ma watts, asshe stood in the doorway and surveyed her daughter with approval bornof motherly pride. The pink gingham sunbonnet that matched the tightlittle dress had required only a slight "letting out" to make it "do,"and taken in conjunction with the flaming red dress, made a study incolor that would have delighted the heart of a Gros Ventre squaw.Thick, home-knit stockings, and a pair of stiff cow-hide shoescompleted the costume, and made Microby Dandeline the center of anadmiring semi-circle of Wattses.
"Yo' shore look right pert an' briggity, darter," admitted Watts."Don't yo' give the lady no trouble, keep offen the railroad cartracks, an' don't go talkin' to strangers yo' don't know, an' ef yo'see preacher Christie tell him howdy, an' how's he gittin' 'long, an'we're doin' the same, an' stop in nex' time he's out in the hills." Hehanded Patty the reins. "An' mom, yo' won't fergit them steeples, an'a ax, an' a spade?"
"I won't forget," Patty assured him, and as Microby Dandeline wassaying good-by to the small brothers and sisters, the man leanedcloser. "Ef they's any change left over I wisht yo'd give her aboutten cents to spend jest as she pleases."
The girl nodded, and as Microby Dandeline scrambled up over the wheeland settled herself beside her upon the board that served as a seat,she called a cheery good-by, and clucked to the horses.
The trail down Monte's Creek was a fearsome road that sidleddangerously along narrow rock ledges, and plunged by steep pitchesinto the creek bed and out again. Partly by sheer luck, partly bybits of really skillful driving, but mostly because the horses,themselves knew every foot of the tortuous trail, the descent of thecreek was made without serious mishap. It was with a sigh of reliefthat Patty turned into the smoother trail that lead down through thecanyon toward town. In comparison with the bumping and jolting of thespringless lumber wagon, she realized that the saddle that had rackedand tortured her upon her outward trip had been a thing of ease andcomfort. Released from her post at the brake-rope, Microby Dandelineimmediately proceeded to remove her shoes and stockings. Pattyventured remonstrance.
"Hit's hot an' them stockin's scratches. 'Tain't no good to wear 'emin the summer, nohow, 'cept in town, an' I kin put 'em on when we gitthere. Why does folks wear 'em in town?"
"Why, because it is nicer, and--and people couldn't very well goaround barefooted."
"I kin. I like to 'cept fer the prickly pears. Is they prickly pearsin town?" Without waiting far a reply the girl chattered on, as sheplaced the offending stockings within her shoes and tossed them backupon the hay with which the wagon-box was filled. "I like to ride,don't you? We've got to ride all day an' then we'll git to town. Wegoin' to sleep in under the wagon?"
"Certainly not! We will go to the hotel."
"The hotel," breathed the girl, rapturously. "An' kin we eat theretoo?"
"Yes, we will eat there, too."
"An' kin I go to the store with yo'?"
"Yes."
Patty's answers became shorter as her attention centered upon ahorseman who was negotiating the descent of what looked like animpossibly steep ridge.
"That's Buck!" exclaimed Microby Dandeline, as she followed the girl'sgaze. The rider completed the descent of the ridge with an abruptslide that obscured him in a cloud of dust from which he emerged toapproach the trail at a swinging trot. Long before he was near enoughfor Patty to distinguish his features, she recognized him as her lonehorseman of the hills. "If it is his intention to presume upon ourchance meeting," she thought, "I'll----" The threat was unexpressedeven in thought, but her lips tightened and she flushed hotly as sheremembered how he had picked her up as though she had been a child andplaced her in the saddle.
"Who did you say he is?" she asked, with a glance toward the girl ather side.
"He's Vil Holland, an' his hoss's name is Buck. I like him, onlysometimes he chases me home."
"Vil Holland!" she exclaimed aloud, and her lips pressed tighter. Sothis man was Vil Holland--_that_ Vil Holland, everybody called him.The man who had chased an inoffensive sheep herder from the range, andwhose name stood for lawlessness in the hill country! So AuntRebecca's allusion to desperate characters had not been sofar-fetched, after all. He looked the part. Patty's glance took in thevivid blue scarf with its fastening of polished buffalo horn, the hugerevolver that swung in its holster, and the brown leather jug thatdangled from the horn of his saddle.
"Good-mornin'!" He drew up beside the trail, and the girl reined inher horses, flushing slightly as she did so--she had meant to drivepast without speaking. She acknowledged the greeting with a formalbow. The man ignored the frigidity.
"I see you found Watts's all right."
"Yes, thank you."
"Well, if there ain't Microby Dandeline! An' rigged out for whothrow'd the chunk! Goin' to town to take in the picture show, an allthe sights, I expect."
"We're goin' to the _hotel_," explained the girl proudly.
"My ain't that fine!"
"I got a red dress."
"Why so you have. Seein' you mentioned it, I can notice a shade of redto it. An' that bonnet just sets it off right. That'll make folks setup an' take notice, I'll bet."
"I'm a-goin' to the store, too."
"What do you think of that!" the man drew a half-dollar from hispockets. "Here, get you some candy an' take some home to the kids."
Microby reached for the coin, but Patty drew back her arm.
"Don't touch that!" she commanded sharply, then, with a withering lookthat encompassed both the man and his jug, she struck the horses withher whip and started down the trail.
"I could of boughten some candies," complained Microby Dandeline.
"I will buy you all the candy you want, but you must promise me neverto take any money from men--and especially from that man."
M
icroby glanced back wistfully, and as the wagon rumbled on her eyesclosed and her head began to nod.
"Why, child, you are sleepy!" exclaimed Patty, in surprise.
"Yes, mom. I reckon I laid awake all night a-thinkin' about goin' totown."
"If I were you I would lie down on the hay and take a nap."
The girl eyed the hay longingly and shook her head. "I like to ride,"she objected, sleepily.
"You will be riding just the same."
"Yes but we might see somethin'. Onct we seen a nortymobile without nohosses an' hit squarked louder'n a settin' hen an' went faster'n whata hoss kin run."
"You go to sleep and if there is anything to see I'll wake you up. Ifyou don't sleep now you'll have to sleep when you get to town and I'msure you don't want to do that."
"No, mom. Mebbe ef I hurry up an' sleep fast they won't nonortymobiles come, but if they does, you wake me."
"I will," promised Patty, and thus assured the girl curled up in thehay and in a moment was fast asleep.
Hour after hour as the horses plodded along the interminable trail,Patty Sinclair sat upon the hard wooden seat, while her thoughtsranged from plans for locating her father's lost claim, to thearrangement of her cabin; and from Vil Holland to the welfare of thegirl, a pathetic figure as she lay sprawled upon the hay, with herbare legs, and the gray dust settling thickly upon her red dress andvivid pink sunbonnet.
The Gold Girl Page 3