CHAPTER II
THE DINNER AT HEART'S DESIRE
_This continuing the Relation of Curly, the Can of Oysters, and theGirl from Kansas; and Introducing Others_
There were no stockings hung up in Heart's Desire that Christmas Eve,for all the population was adult, male, and stern of habit. The greatmoon flooded the street with splendor. Afar there came voices ofrioting. There were some adherents to the traditions of the South inregard to firecrackers at Yuletide, albeit the six-shooter furnishedthe only firecracker obtainable. Yet upon that night the very shotsseemed cheerful, not ominous, as was usually the case upon that longand crooked street, which had seen duels, affairs, affrays,--even riotsof mounted men in the days when the desperadoes of the range cameriding into town now and again for love of danger, or for lack of_aguardiente_. It was so very white and solemn and content,--thisstreet of Heart's Desire on Christmas Eve. Far across the _arroyo_,as Curly had said, there gleamed red the double windows of the cabinwhich had been preempted by the man from Leavenworth. To-night the manfrom Leavenworth sat with bowed head and beard upon his bosom.
Christmas Day dawned, brilliant, glorious. There was not a Christmastree in all Heart's Desire. There was not a child within two hundredmiles who had ever seen a Christmas tree. There was not a woman in allHeart's Desire saving those three newcomers in the cabin across the_arroyo_. Yet these new-comers were acquainted with the etiquette ofthe land. There was occasion for public announcement in such matters.
At eleven o'clock in the morning the man from Leavenworth and theLittlest Girl from Kansas came out upon the street. They wereostensibly bound to get the mail, although there had been no mail stagefor three days, and could be none for four days more, even had the manfrom Leavenworth entertained the slightest thought of getting any mailat this purely accidental residence into which the fate of a tired teamhad thrown him. Yet there must be the proper notification that he andhis family had concluded to abide in Heart's Desire; that he was now acitizen; that he was now entitled by the length of his beard to becalled "'Squire," and to be accepted into all the councils of the town.This walk along the street was notice to the pure democracy of thatland that all might now leave cards at the cabin across the _arroyo_.One need hardly doubt that the populace of Heart's Desire was lined upalong the street to say good morning and to receive befittingly thistacit pledge of its newest citizen. Moreover, as to the Littlest Girl,all Heart's Desire puffed out its chest. Once more, indeed, the campwas entitled to hold up its head. There were Women in the town!_Ergo_ Home; _ergo_ Civilization; _ergo_ Society; and ergo all therest. Heretofore Heart's Desire had wilfully been but an unorganizedsection of savagery; but your Anglo Saxon, craving ever savagery, hasno sooner found it than he seeks to civilize it; there being for him inhis aeon of the world no real content or peace.
"I reckon the old man is goin' to take a look at the post-office to seehow he likes the place," said Curly, reflectively, as he gazed afterthe gentleman whom he had frankly elected as his father-in-law. "He'llget it, all right. Never saw a man from Leavenworth who wasn't a goodshot at a postoffice. But say, about that Littlest Girl--well, Iwonder!"
Curly was very restless until dinner-time, which, for one reason oranother, was postponed until about four of the afternoon. We met atDan Anderson's law office, which was also his residence, a room about adozen feet by twenty in size. The bunks were cleaned up, the blanketsput out of the way, and the centre of the room given over to a table,small and home-made, but very full of good cheer for that time andplace. At the fireplace, McKinney, flushed and red, was broiling somereally good loin steaks. McKinney also allowed his imagination to soarto the height of biscuits. Coffee was there assuredly, as one mighttell by the welcome odor now ascending. Upon the table there wassomething masked under an ancient copy of a newspaper. Outside thedoor of the adobe, in the deepest shade obtainable, sat two soap boxesfull of snow, or at least partly full, for Tom Osby had done his best.In one of these boxes appeared the proof of Curly's truthfulness--threecans of oysters, delicacies hitherto unheard of in that land! In theother box was an object almost as unfamiliar as an oyster can,--anoblong, smooth, and now partially frost-covered object with tinfoilabout its upper end. A certain tense excitement obtained.
"I wonder if she'll get _frappe_ enough," said Dan Anderson. He was aPrinceton man once upon a time.
"It don't make no difference about the frappy part," said Curly, "justso she gets _cold_ enough. I reckon I savvy wine some. I never wasup the trail, not none! No, I reckon not! Huh?"
We agreed on Curly's worldliness cheerfully; indeed, agreed cheerfullythat all the world was a good place and all its inhabitants wereeverything that could be asked. Life was young and fresh and strong.The spell of Heart's Desire was upon us all that Christmas Day.
"Now," said Curly, dropping easily into the somewhat vague position ofhost, when McKinney had finally placed his platter of screeching hotsteaks upon the table. "Now, then, grub pi-i-i-i-le!" He sang thesummons loud and clear, as it has sounded on many a frosty morning orsultry noon in many a corner of the range. "Set up, fellers," saidCurly. "It's bridles off now, and cinches down, and the trusties nextto the mirror." (By this speech Curly probably meant that the time wasone of ease and safety, wherein one might place his six-shooter back ofthe bar, in sign that he was in search of no man, and that none was insearch of him. It was not good form to eat in a private family inHeart's Desire with one's gun at one's belt.)
We sat down and McKinney uncovered the cake which had been made by thewife of the man from Leavenworth. It appeared somewhat imposing.Curly wanted to cut into it at the first course, but Dan Andersonrebelled and coaxed him off upon the subject of oysters. There wasabundance for all. The cake itself would have weighed perhaps five orsix pounds. There was a part of a can of oysters for each man, anyquantity of wholesome steaks and coffee, with condensed milk if onecared for it, and at least enough champagne for any one who cared forprecisely that sort of champagne.
It was nightfall before we were willing to leave the little pine table.Meantime we had talked of many things; of the new strike on theHomestake, of the vein of coal lately found in the Patos, of Apacherumors below Tularosa, and other matters interesting to citizens ofthat land. We mentioned an impending visit of Eastern Capital bentupon investigating our mineral wealth. We spoke of the vague rumorthat a railroad was heading north from El Paso, and might come close toHeart's Desire if all went well; and, generous in the enthusiasm of thehour, we builded upon that fancy, ending by a toast to Dan Anderson asour first delegate to Congress. Dan bowed gravely, not knowing thefuture any more than ourselves. Nor should it be denied that there wastalk of the new inhabitants across the arroyo. The morning promenadeof the man from Leavenworth had been productive of results; add tothese the results of so noble a feast as this Christmas dinner of ours,and it was foregone that our hearts must expand to include in welcomeall humanity west of the Pecos.
After all, no man is better than the prettiest woman in hisenvironment. As to these girls from Kansas, it is to be said thatthere had never before been a real woman in Heart's Desire. You, whohave always lived where there is law, and society, and women, andhome,--you cannot know what it is to see all these things gradually orswiftly dawning upon your personal horizon. Yet this was the way ofHeart's Desire, where women and law and property were not.
It was perhaps the moon, or perhaps youth, or perhaps this state oflife to which I have referred. Assuredly the street was again floodedwith a grand, white moonlight, bright almost as a Northern day, when welooked out of the little window.
Dan Anderson was the first to speak, after a silence which had fallenamidst the dense tobacco smoke. "It cost us less than fifteen dollarsa plate," said he. "I've paid more for worse--yes, a lot worse. Butby the way, Mac, where's that other can of oysters? I thought you saidthere were four."
"That's what I said," broke in Tom Osby. "I done told Mac I ought tobring 'em all down, but h
e said only three."
"Well," said McKinney, always a conservative and level-headed man, "Iallowed that if they would keep a month, they would keep a littlelonger. Now you all know there's goin' to be a stage in next week, andlikely it'll bring the president of the New Jersey Gold Mills, who'sbeen due here a couple of weeks. Now here we are, hollerin' all thetime for Eastern Capital. What's the right thing for us to do when weget any Eastern Capital into our town? This here man comes fromPhiladelphy, which I reckon is right near the place where oystersgrows. What are you goin' to _do_? He's used to oysters; like enoughhe eats 'em every day in the year, because he's shore rich. Firstthing he hollers for when he gets here is _oysters_. Looks like youall didn't have no public spirit. Are we goin' to give this hereEastern man the things he's used to, kinder gentle him along like, youknow, and so get all the closeter and easier to him, or are we goin' tothrow him down cold, and leave him dissatisfied the first day hestrikes our camp? It shore looks to me like there ain't but one way toanswer that."
"And that there one answer," said Tom Osby, "is now a-reclinin' in thesnowbank up on Carrizy."
"I reckon that's so, all right, Mac," assented Curly, reflectively. "I_could_ have et one more oyster or so, but I can quit if it's for thegood of the country."
"Well, I'm feeling just a little bit guilty as it is," said DanAnderson, who was in fairly good post-prandial condition. "Here weare, eating like lords. Now who knows what that poor family fromKansas is having for Christmas dinner? Mac, I appoint you a committeeof one to see how they are getting along. Pass the hat. Make it aboutten for the cake. Come on, now, let's find out about these folks."
Curly was distinctly unhappy all the time McKinney was away. It washalf an hour before the latter came back, but the look on his facebetrayed him. Dan Anderson made him confess that he still had the tendollars in his pocket, that he had been afraid to knock at the door,and that he had learned nothing whatever of the household from Kansas.McKinney admitted that his nerve had failed, and that he dared notknock, but he said that he had summoned courage enough to look in atthe window. The family had either finished its dinner long ago, hadnot eaten, or did not intend to eat at all. "The table looked someshy," declared McKinney. Beyond this he was incoherent, distressed,and plainly nervous. Silence fell upon the entire group, and for sometime each man in Dan Andersen's salon was wrapped in thought. Perhapseach one cast a furtive look from the tail of his eye at his neighbors.Of all present, Curly seemed the happiest. "Didn't see the LittlestGirl?" he asked. McKinney shook his head.
"Well, I guess I'll be gettin' up to see about my wagon before long,"said Tom Osby, rising and knocking his pipe upon his boot-heel. "I'vegot a few cans of stuff up here in my load that I don't really need.In the mornin', you know--well, so long, boys."
"I heard that Jim Peterson killed a deer the other day," suggested DanAnderson. "I believe I'll just step over and see if I can't get aquarter of venison for those folks."
"Shore," said McKinney, "I'll go along. No, I won't; I'll take a_pasear_ acrost the street and have a look at a little stuff I brungup from the ranch yesterday."
"No Christmas," said Curly, staring ahead of himself into the tobaccosmoke, and indulging in a rare soliloquy. "No Christmas dinner--andthis here is in Ameriky!"
It is difficult to tell just how it occurred; but presently, had anyone of us turned to look about him, he must have found himself alone.The moonlight streamed brilliantly over the long street of Heart'sDesire. . . . The scarred sides of old Carrizo looked so close thatone might almost have touched them with one's hand. . . .
It was about three miles from the street, up over the foot-hills, alongthe fiat canon which debouched below the spring where lay the snowbank.There were different routes which one could take. . . .
I knew the place very well from Curly's description, and found it easyto follow up the trickle of water which came down the canon from thespring. Having found the spring, it was easy to locate the spot in thesnowbank where the oysters had been cached. I was not conscious oftarrying upon the way, yet, even so, there had been feet more swiftthan mine. As I came up to the spring, I heard voices and saw twoforms sitting at the edge of the snowbank.
"Here's another one!" called out Dan Anderson as I appeared; andforthwith they broke into peals of unrighteous laughter. "You're alittle slow; you're number three; Mac was first."
"I thought I heard an elk as I came up," said I, as I sat down besidethe others and tried to look unconcerned, although plainly out ofbreath.
"Elk!" snorted McKinney, as he arose and walked to the other edge ofthe snowbank. "Here's your elk tracks." McKinney, foreman onCarrizoso, was an old range-rider, and he was right. Here was thetrack, plunging through the snow, and here was a deep hole where anelk, or something, had digged hurriedly, deeply, and, as it proved,effectively.
"Elk!" said McKinney again, savagely. "Damn that cow puncher! He tookto his horse, 'course he did, and not one of us thought of ridin'.Who'd ever think a man would ride up here at all, let alone at night?Come on, fellers, we might as well go home."
"Well, I'm pleased to have met you, gentlemen," said Anderson, lightinga philosophic pipe, "and I don't mind walking back with you. It's atrifle lonesome in the hills after dark. Why didn't you tell me youwere coming up?" He grinned with what seemed to us bad taste.
When we got down across the foot-hills and into the broad white streetof Heart's Desire, we espied a dark figure slowly approaching. Itproved to be Tom Osby, who later declared that he had found himselfunable to sleep. He had things in his pockets. By common consent wenow turned our footsteps across the _arroyo_, toward the cabin wheredwelt the family from Kansas.
The house of the man from Leavenworth was lighted as though for somefunction. There were no curtains at the windows, and even had therebeen, the shock of this spectacle which went on before our eyes wouldhave been sufficient to set aside all laws and conventions. With handsin pockets we stood and gazed blankly in at the open window. There wasa sound of revelry by night. The narrow Mexican fireplace again heldabundance of snapping, sparkling, crooked pinon wood. The table wasspread. At its head sat the next postmaster; near him a latelysorrowful but now smiling lady, his wife, the woman from Kansas. Theelder daughter was busy at the fire. At the right of the man fromLeavenworth sat none less than Curly, the same whose cow pony, withbridle thrown down over its head, now stood nodding in the bright floodof the moonlight of Heart's Desire. At the side of Curly was theLittlest Girl from Kansas, and she was looking into his eyes.
It was thus that the social compact was first set on in the valley ofHeart's Desire.
A vast steaming fragrance arose from the bowl which stood at the headof the table. In the home of the girl from Kansas there was light,warmth, comfort, joy. It was Christmas, after all.
"By the great jumpin' Jehossophat!" said Tom Osby, "them's _our_oysters!"
"And to think," mused Dan Anderson, softly, as we turned away,--"we_fried_ ours!"
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