CHAPTER VIII
POISON OAK RANCH
The trail that meandered down Clinker Creek Canyon extended at rightangles to the one that led to the Selden ranch. The latter climbed abaldpate hill; then, winding its narrow way through dense lockedchaparral higher than horse and rider, dipped down precipitously intothe deep canyon of the American River.
Jessamy waved good-bye to her new friend at the parting of the ways andlifted White Ann into her long lope to the summit of the denuded hill.For a little, as they crossed the topmost part of it, the deep, ruggedscar that marked the course of the river was visible. Ragged and rockyand covered with trees and chaparral, the canyonside slanted down dizzilyfor over fifteen hundred feet. At the bottom the deep green river rushedpell-mell to the lower levels. A moment and the view was lost to thegirl, as White Ann entered the thick chaparral and started the swiftdescent.
At last they reached the bottom, forded the swirling stream, and beganclambering up a trail as steep as the first on the other side. Soon theriver was lost to view again, for once more the trail had been cutthrough a seemingly impenetrable chaparral of buckthorn, manzanita andscrub oak. Around and about tributary canyons they wound their way, andat last reached the end of the steep climb. For a quarter of a mile nowthe trail followed the backbone of a ridge, then entered a canyon thateventually spread out into a pine-bordered plateau on the mountainside.Just ahead lay Poison Oak Ranch. Beyond, the deep, dark forest extendedin miles numbered by hundreds to the snow-mantled peaks of the SierraNevada range.
While it was possible to reach Poison Oak Ranch from this side of theriver, the journey on Shank's mare would have taken on something of thenature of an exploring expedition into unmapped lands. Occasionallyhunters wandered to or past the ranch on this side; but for the mostpart any one who fancied that he had business at Poison Oak Ranch cameover the narrow trail that connected the spot with outside civilization.Few entertained such a fancy, however, for Poison Oak Ranch, secluded,hidden from sight, tucked away in the Hills of Nowhere, and difficult ofaccess, was owned and controlled by a clannish family that had little incommon with the world.
There was a large log house that Adam Selden's father had built in thedays of '49, in which the Old Man Selden of today had first opened hiseyes on life. There were several lesser cabins in the mountainside cup,two of which were occupied by Hurlock Selden and Winthrop Selden andtheir families. The remaining two boys, Moffat and Bolar, lived in thebig house with Jessamy, her mother, and the wicked Old Man of the Hills.
There was an extensive garden, watered by a generous spring that gushedpicturesquely from under a gigantic boulder set in the hillside. Therewere perhaps ten acres of pasture, and a small deciduous orchard. Littlemore in the way of agricultural land. The Seldens merely made this placetheir home and headquarters--their cattle ranged the hills outside, andmost of their activities toward a livelihood were carried on away fromhome. Selden owned a thousand acres over in the Clinker Creek Countryand a winter range a trifle larger fifty miles below the foothills. Hemoved his herds three times in a year--from the winter pastures to theClinker Creek Country for the spring grass, keeping them there tillAugust, when they were driven to government mountain ranges at analtitude of six thousand feet; and from thence, in October, to winterrange once more. The Clinker Creek range, however, was comprised ofseveral thousand acres beside the thousand owned by Selden. Thisrepresented lands long since deserted by their owners as useless foragricultural purposes, and upon which Selden kept up the taxes, orappropriated without negotiations, as conditions demanded. Oliver Drew'sforty had been a part of this until Oliver's inopportune arrival.
Jessamy rode into the rail corral and unsaddled her mare. Then shehurried to the house to help her mother, a tired looking, once comelywoman of fifty-eight.
Mrs. Selden had been an Ivison--a sister of Old Tabor Ivison, who hadhomesteaded Oliver's forty acres thirty years before. As a girl she hadmarried Herman Lomax, a country youth with ambitions for the city. Hehad done fairly well in the mercantile business in San Francisco, andJessamy, the only child, was born to them. The girl had been raised toyoung womanhood and attended the State University. Then her father haddied, leaving his business in an involved condition; and in the end thewidow and her daughter found there was little left for them.
They returned to the scene of Mrs. Lomax's girlhood, where they triedwithout success to farm the old home place, to which, in the interim,the widow had fallen heir. Then to the surprise of every one--Jessamymost of all--Mrs. Lomax consented to marry Old Adam Selden, the fatherof four strapping sons and "the meanest man in the country." At the timeJessamy had not known this last, but she knew it now.
However, such an independent young woman as Jessamy would not consent tosuffer a great deal at the hands of a step-father. She stayed on withthe family for her mother's sake, but she had her own neat living roomand bedroom and went her own way entirely. It must end someday. Old AdamSelden, though hard and tough as a time-battered oak, could not live forever. Her mother would not divorce him. So Jessamy stayed and waited,and rode over the hills alone, unafraid and independent.
She was helping her mother to get supper in the commodious kitchen, withits black log walls and immense stone fireplace, which room served asdining room and living room as well, when Adam Selden, Bolar, and Moffatrode in from the trail and corraled their horses. Supper was ready asthe three clanked to the house in spurs and chaps, and washed noisily inbasins under a gigantic liveoak at the cabin door. Then Jessamy tookOliver Drew's letter from her bosom and propped it against old Adam'scoffee cup.
Selden's bushy brows came down as he scraped his chair to the table.Mail for any Selden was an unusual occurrence.
"What's this here?" Adam's thick fingers held the envelope before hiseyes, and the beetling grey brows strained lower.
"Mail," indifferently answered Jessamy, setting a pan of steamingbiscuits, covered with a spotless cloth, on the table.
"Fer me?"
"'Adam Selden, Esquire,'" she quoted.
"'Esquire,' eh? Who's she from?"
"It's generally customary to open a letter and read who it is from,"said Jessamy lightly. "In this instance, however, you will find anotation on the flap of the envelope that reads: 'From Oliver Drew,Halfmoon Flat, California.'"
"Huh!" Selden raised his shaggy head and bent a condemnatory glance onthe girl.
"D'he give it to ye?"
"It is postmarked Halfmoon Flat," said Jessamy, taking her seat besideBolar, who, indifferent to his father's difficulties, had alreadyconsumed three fluffy biscuits spread with butter and wild honey.
"Ye got her out o' the office, then?" The cold blue eyes werechallenging.
"Oh, certainly, certainly!" Jessamy chirruped impatiently. "One mightimagine you'd never received a letter before."
Adam fingered it thoughtfully. "Yes," he said deliberatingly at last,reverting to his customary drawl, "I got letters before now. But I wasjust wonderin' if this Drew fella give thisun to you to give to me."
Jessamy's round left shoulder gave a little shrug of indifference."Coffee, Moffat?" she asked.
"Sure Mike," said Moffat.
"Did he?" Selden's tones descended to the deep bass boom which markedcertain moods.
"Oh, dear!" Jessamy complained good-naturedly. "What's the use? Can'tyou see the postmark and the cancelled stamp, Mr. Selden?"
Selden contemplated them. "Yes, I see 'em," he admitted; "I see 'em. ButI thought, s' long's ye was with that young Drew fella today, he might'a' saved his stamp and sent her to me by you."
"That being satisfactorily decided," chirped Jessamy, "let us now openthe missive and learn what Mr. Drew has to communicate."
"Heaven's sake, Pap, open it and shut up!" growled Moffat, his mouthfull of potato.
"I'll take a quirt to you if ye tell me to shut up ag'in!" thunderedSelden.
Thereupon he tore the envelope and leaned out from his chair so that thelight from a window flooded the single sheet which the
envelopecontained.
He read silently, slowly, craggy brows drawn down. His cold blue eyeswidened, and the large nostrils of his pitted Bourbon nose spreadangrily.
"Moffat, listen here!" he boomed at last. "You, too, Bolar."
"Yes, be sure to listen, Bolar," laughed Jessamy. "But if you don't wishto, go down into the canyon of the American."
"'Adam Selden, Esquire,'" Selden boomed on, unheeding the girl'sbantering. "'Poison Oak Ranch, Halfmoon Flat, Californy:'
"'My dear Mr. Selden.' Get that, Moffat! 'My dear Mr. Selden!' Say,who's that Ike think he's writin' to? His gal? Huh! 'My _dear_ Mr.Selden:'
"'I rode to the county seat on Wednesday, this week, and looked over therecords in the office of the recorder of deeds. I found that you areentirely mistaken in the matter that you brought to my attention onTuesday. The forty acres known as the Old Ivison Place are recorded inmy name, the date of the recording being January fifth, this year. Itappears that Nancy Fleet sold the place years ago to my father, but thatthe transfer was not placed on record until the date I have mentioned.'
"'With kindest regards,'
"'Yours sincerely, Oliver Drew.'"
Selden came to an ominous pause and glared about the table. "Writ with atypewriter, all but his name," he announced impressively. "And he's aliar by the clock!"
Jessamy threw back her head in that whole-souled laughter that madeevery one who heard her laugh.
"He's crazy," complacently mumbled Bolar, still at war on the biscuits.
"Jess'my"--Selden's eyes were fixed sternly on hisstep-daughter--"What're ye laughin' at?"
"At humanity's infinite variety," answered Jessamy.
"Does that mean me?"
"Me, too, Pete!" she rippled.
"Looky-here"--he leaned toward her--"there's some funny business goin'on 'round here. Two times ye been seen ridin' with that new fella downon the Old Ivison Place."
"Two times is right," she slangily agreed.
"And ye rode with 'im to the county seat when he went to see therecords. Just so!"
"Your informer is accurate," taunted the girl.
"What for?"
"What for?" She levelled her disconcerting gaze at him. "Well, I likethat, Mr. Selden! Because I wanted to, if you must pry into my affairs."
"Ye wanted to, eh? Ye _wanted_ to! Did ye see the records?"
"I did."
"Is this here letter a lie?" He spanked the table with it.
"It is not."
He rose from his chair and bent over her. "D'ye mean to tell me yermaw's sister don't own that prop'ty?"
"Exactly. It belongs to Mr. Oliver Drew, according to the recorder'soffice. May I suggest that I am rather proud of my biscuits tonight, andthat they're growing cold as lumps of clay?"
"It's a lie!" roared Selden.
"Now, just a moment," said Jessamy coolly. "Do I gather that you arecalling me a liar, Mr. Selden? Because if you are, I'll get a cattlewhip and do my utmost to make you swallow it. I'll probably get theworst of it, but--"
"Shut up!" bawled Selden. "Ye know what I mean, right enough! The wholedam' thing's a lie!"
"Tell it to the county recorder, then," Jessamy advised serenely. "Haveanother piece of steak, Mother."
"I'll ride right up to Nancy Fleet's tomorrow. I'll get to the bottom o'this business. And you keep yer young nose outa my affairs, Jess'my!"
"Oh, I'll do that--gladly. That's easy."
"Just so! Then keep her outa this fella Drew's, too!"
"That's another matter entirely," she told him. "And I may as well addright here, while we're on the subject, that I wish you to keep yournose out of _my_ affairs. There, now--we've ruined our digestions byquarrelling at meal-time. Bolar hasn't, though--I'm glad somebodyappreciates my biscuits."
Bolar grinned, and his face grew red. Bolar was deeply in love with hisstep-sister, four years his senior; but a day in the saddle, with asharp spring wind in one's face, will scarce permit the tender passionto interfere with a lover's appetite.
Old Adam enveloped himself in his customary brooding silence. He was aholy terror when aroused, and would then spout torrents of words; butordinarily he was morosely quiet, taciturn. He would not have hesitatedto apply his quirt to his twenty-six-year-old son Moffat, as he hadthreatened to do, had not that young man possessed the wisdom born ofexperience to refrain from defying him. But with his step-daughter itwas different. For some inexplicable reason he "took more sass" from herthan from any other person living. Deep down in his scarred old heart,perhaps, there was hidden a deferential respect and fatherly admirationfor this breezy, strong-minded girl with whom a strange fortune hadplaced him in daily contact.
"Please eat your supper, Mr. Selden," Jessamy at last sincerely pleaded,when the old man's frowning abstraction had continued for minutes.
Dutifully, without a word, he scraped his chair closer to the table andfell to noisily. But he did not join in the conversation, which nowbecame general.
It was a custom in the House of Selden for each diner to leave the tablewhen he had finished eating--a custom antedating Jessamy's advent in thefamily, which she never had been able to correct. Bolar had long sincebolted the last morsel of food that his tough young stomach wouldpermit, and had hurried to a half-completed rawhide lariat. Moffat soonfollowed him out. Then Jessamy's mother arose and left the room. Thisleft together at the table the deliberate eater, Jessamy, and the oldman, who had not yet caught up with the time he had given to the letter.
He too finished before the girl, having completed his supper in the sameuntalkative mood. Now, however, he spoke to her as he pushed back hischair and rose.
"Jess'my," he said in a moderate tone, "I want to tell ye one thing. Yeknow that I shoot straight from the shoulder, or straight from the hip,whichever's handiest--and I don't shoot to scare."
He waited.
Jessamy nodded. "I'll have to admit that," she said. "I think it's thething I like most about you."
He pondered over this, and again his brows came down above his pittednose. "I didn't know they was anything ye liked about me," he at lengthsaid bluntly.
"Oh, yes," she remarked, levelling that straightforward look of hers athim. "I like your height and the breadth of your chest, and the way yousit in your saddle when your horse is on the dead run--and the otherthing I mentioned before."
Again he grew thoughtful. "Well, that's _somethin'_," he finallychuckled. "Ye like my way o' sayin' what I think, then. Well, get this:I'm the boss o' this country, from Red Mountain to the Gap. I been theboss of her since my pap died and turned her over to me. So it's theboss o' the Poison Oak Country that's talkin'. And he says this: Thatnew fella Drew that's made camp down on the Old Tabor Ivison Place can'tmake a livin' there, can't raise nothin', don't belong there. And if bysome funny business, that I'm gonta look into right away, he's gota-holt o' that forty, he's got to hit the trail."
"Why, how ridiculous!" laughed the girl. "Where do you think you are,Mr. Selden? In Russia--Germany? King Selden Second, Czar of all thePoison Oak Provinces! Mr. Drew, owning that land in his own right, musthit the trail and leave it for you simply because you say so!"
"Ye heard what I said, Jess'my"--and he clanked out of the room.
The Heritage of the Hills Page 8