CHAPTER XXXIV
WHILE SPRING APPROACHED
At a late hour in the evening of the day that Hiram Hooker set out toride with the sheepskin to Jerkline Jo, on her way to Julia, a strangefigure presented itself at the door of the lighted commissary tent ofDemarest, Spruce & Tillou's Camp Number Two.
"Well, who in thunder are you?" exclaimed the young commissary clerk,as his eyes fell upon a set of shaggy gray brows and a dusty,bewhiskered face.
"I'm Basil Filer--ole Filer," was the croaking reply. "I jest stoppedin to see if ye got a' automobile, or a hoss an' buggy, or somethin'here."
"Well, what if we have?"
"Thought maybe ye'd give Tehachapi Hank a ride," came the answer."He's too heavy for Muta--that's my biggest burro. His feet drags andketches in the greasewood, and Muta she gets provoked at him. He won'tbother you none--Hank won't. He's peaceable. But he oughta be got toa constable or somethin'. You see, Hank he's dead."
This brought the clerk out into the night; and there in the lightstreaming from the tent door lay the figure of a man crosswise and facedown on a burro's back.
"Ye see, I know Hank some time," explained Basil Filer simply. "Andjest last night a friend o' mine he camped with me, and said Hank wasup to his old devilment ag'in. So I was camped on the desert out therethis evenin', and Hank he drifts in. And--well, I'm watchin', you see;and so when Hank he sidles round and I see somethin' heavylike in hishand, why, I ups and goes for my cannon. Then Hank he goes for his,and I have to let him have it from the hip. Got any ca'tridges,pardner? Hank he wasted the last one I had."
"You--you killed this man?" faltered the clerk.
"I hadn't only one ca'tridge, pardner," Filer said patiently. "AndHank he's accounted a pretty clever gunman. Well, maybe he was. OleFiler he shoots ole jack rabbits in the eye at twenty paces with a six,they'll tell ye. Anyway ye can figger that out, here's Hank. And heoughta see a coroner er somethin'. I don't want 'im. Besides, timeMuta'd packed him to Ragtown, Hank he'd spoil. Muta she never did likeTehachapi Hank, nohow."
The following day the mortal remains of Tehachapi Hank were broughtinto Ragtown, together with his self-confessed killer Basil Filer. Theconstable--for Ragtown had one now--took Filer in charge and hurriedhim to the county seat in Twitter-or-Tweet's machine. The burros hadbeen loosed to pick their living on the desert.
"So that failed beautifully!" exclaimed Al Drummond to Lucy Dalles."Who'd have thought that old rabbit would be too quick for Hank! Hemust have been on his guard."
Lucy shrugged indifferently. "Filer was a master shot," she observed."Failed beautifully is right, Al--beautifully for us. It couldn't havehappened better. Now Brother Hank is out of it. If you can contrivesome way to shake Hank's partner, Pete, there'll be no one but you andme to whack up.
"Since Hank is numbered among the late lamented," she continued, "I canforgive you for bungling the Hooker end of your job. With Hank'sfinger out of the pot, I'm content to split with Jerkline Jo. So, nothanks to you, everything has worked out all right after all. Can'tyou send Pete out with instructions to bite a rattlesnake, or somethinglike that?"
"You're mighty good-natured to-day, kid," Al said.
"Why shouldn't I be? Since we know the original document and thatboob's copy are both destroyed--and that before he had time to committhe directions to memory. We have nothing whatever to do but wait forJerkline Jo to come to us and ask us what our terms are. Then if youand I aren't foxy enough to squeeze out the amiable Mr. Pete---- Well,leave it to me!"
"But have you thought," Drummond pointed out, "that perhaps Filer hascommitted the instructions to memory?"
Lucy scoffed at this and dismissed it with: "That old lunatic? Never!He can hardly remember the story, and now and then forgets that he'shunting for Baby Jean and hikes back for the desert. Don't worry abouthis having committed anything to memory. He has no memory to commit itto!"
At about the time the foregoing dialogue was being spoken in Ragtown,Jerkline Jo, in her tent at Julia, was making strange remarks to HiramHooker, to wit, as follows:
"Hi-_ram_! It ti-i-i-ickles! Sto-op-op! Wait a minute, Hiram!"
"Huh!" snorted the unfeeling man. "Whoever heard of anybody beingticklish on the head!"
"But I am, Hiram! I just know I am! And isn't that razor far toosharp?"
"'There ain't no such thing,'" quoted the man out of the store of hismasculine experience. "Now quit wiggling, Jo, or I'm liable to cutyou."
"Now go slow, Hiram. And if I say it feels funny, you stop. Now easyat first! Horrors! I wouldn't be a man for anything!"
"Don't blame me," mumbled Hiram. "Now quit wrinkling your scalp, Jo.Fella'd think I was going to cut your head off, the way you dodge andshrink."
They were alone in the tent. Jo was on her knees on the ground, andbehind her and over her stood Hiram with an old-fashioned razor in hishand. Beside them on a chair lay a strand of almost black hair threefeet in length, which Hiram swore that he would preserve until hisdying breath. On the back of Jo's head appeared a round spot, coveredwith hairs half an inch in length, and these the brutal man was tryingto shave off with the razor. Never had barber a more provokingcustomer.
"Oh, I'll look like a fright, Hiram! I've always been proud of myhair."
"It'll grow out again," he said soothingly. "Besides, what I cut offdidn't cover a spot an inch and a half in diameter. With hair likeyours, it can't be noticed. If I'd thought it would disfigure yourhair, girl, I'd have said, 'Let the old gold go!' What an idea!"
"I positively never heard of such a weird thing. And to think it's onme! And---- Oo-oo-oo-oo! You cut me, Hiram! It's bleeding!"
"No, no, no! Only more lather. Don't wiggle, Jo!"
"There! It's all over," Hiram said after a minute of silence.
Four days later Lucy Dalles and Al Drummond stood behind the counter ofthe shooting gallery at Ragtown, and with a certain amount of nervousexpectancy watched the freight outfit of Jerkline Jo grow larger andlarger as it neared the journey's end.
Soon they heard the merry jingling of hundreds of bells, and next thebig horses were planting their heavy fetlocked feet in the street,their glossy necks arched proudly as Ragtown turned out to greet them.
Lucy stood on tiptoe and craned her neck along the line of heavilyloaded wagons. "Don't see Jo's whites at the tail end," she remarked.
And presently her companion supplemented: "Nor Hooker's blacks. Say,that's funny. There's only four teams, Hooker and the girl didn'tcome!"
"Oh, dear, dear! What can that mean? Al, Hooker must have memorizedthe directions! And----"
"Nonsense!" he exclaimed. "If he'd memorized them, why did he sit downon the desert to copy em?"
"Oh, that's right, of course! But I'm worried, Al. Something must bewrong."
Just then two men passed along the street, and a fragment of theirconversation floated to the anxious pair: "Says Jo's sick at Julia-----"
"Oh that's it!" Lucy murmured in relief. "And the hick stayed to nurseher. There's not so much freight to be hauled right now. See,Al--Heine and Keddie each are driving sixteen, with trailers. Theextra horses are white and black--Jo's and Hiram's. I wonder what'sthe matter with Jo."
"Huh!" snickered Drummond. "The package we handed her is enough tomake anybody sick! But I don't just like the way things look, either.By golly, aren't we to know where we stand until Jo gets well!"
Three of the wagons and trailers groaned on through the town towardDemarest, Spruce & Tillou's Camp Number One, while the fourth--HeineSchultz driving--entered the alley to reach the rear of Huber's store.Twenty minutes later Schultz suddenly presented himself at the shootinggallery.
"Howdy," he greeted Al and Lucy, touching the broad brim of his hatwith a forefinger. "Jo's sick. I guess you've heard."
"Yes, so some one said," Lucy smiled amiably at the dusty skinner."Isn't it too bad! What seems to be wrong, Heine?"
"Bad cold--settled in
her lungs," replied Heine briefly. "Er--now--Jotold me to ask you somethin', miss. Either you or Drummond, she said.I don't know what it's about. She just said: 'Go see Drummond or Lucywhen you get in and ask them their terms and let me know what they saywhen you get back to Julia.'"
Drummond darted a quick, triumphant glance at the girl.
"Oh, yes," she said lightly to the skinner, "I know what she refers to.Why, just tell her, 'Half,' Heine. That's all you need to say; she'llunderstand."
"Gotcha," said Heine, and lounged away, rolling a brown paper cigarette.
The outfit started back again early next morning; and eight days laterit returned, still minus its two important figures. Again HeineSchultz rested his bony elbows on the carpeted counter of the shootinggallery, and spoke to Lucy, who this time was alone.
"About that business between you folks and Jo," he said, indolentlyfilling a cigarette paper.
"Yes?" eagerly returned Lucy.
"Jo says tell you, 'Half is too much.'"
"Oh! She--she's still ill?"
Heine, shook his head sadly and tapped his chest. "Can't hardly hearher talk," he said. "It's fierce. Wild Cat's scared stiff about it.Well, what'll I tell 'er, Miss Lucy?"
"I'll have to see Al before giving you an answer," she told him."Can't you drop around after supper, Heine?"
"Sure. I'm on the water wagon, though," he added blandly, with nosuggestion of a deep meaning in his tones.
An hour afterward Drummond met Heine on the street and handed him asealed envelope. "Give that to Jerkline Jo," he commanded shortly.
"Gotcha!" drawled Heine, and slouched on up the street.
"Confound it!" Drummond grumbled to Lucy little later. "Why in thunderdoesn't Tweet put a telephone line to civilization? We're wastingtime!"
"Couldn't do anything, anyway, till Jo's on her feet again," the girlpractically pointed out. "Don't be overimpatient."
Eight days later Heine Schultz faced them again.
"Jo's still too sick to write," he announced. "But she's gettin'better right along. She told me to tell you that what you wrote wasfierce, and that you was too greedy. That's only what Jo said. Don'ttake it out on me. She said she'd be willin' to let you have a fourth,over an' above all expenses."
"Well, she'll do nothing of the sort!" Lucy cut in hotly.
"Come around later, Heine," put in Drummond. "I'll have another note."
"Gotcha!" replied Heine, and picked up a rifle to sight at a targetbefore strolling nonchalantly on.
Two miles out of town next morning Heine took out his pocketknife andslit the envelope covering the note that Drummond had given him to bedelivered to Jerkline Jo.
"M'm-m!" he mumbled, reading slowly, a great calloused forefingerfollowing the lines.
You'll come to our terms immediately, or our copy of the instructions goes into the fire. We've reached the end of our rope, and won't monkey any longer. Take your choice, Miss Modock--or Miss Jean Prince--half or nothing. Yes, we're just ornery enough to rob ourselves to spite you.
Heine scratched his head and muttered: "Lord, be merciful unto me, askinner! Now what'll I say to that? Guess I'll stretch this trip outto twelve days--we c'n have a breakdown or somethin'."
It was indeed twelve days before the outfit was again seen in Ragtown;and then Mr. Schultz had this to say to Drummond and the girl:
"Jo says she'll be about pretty soon now, and she'll come over with usnext trip and see you herself. Says for you not to do anything rash,or anything like that. What'll I tell her?"
"Tell her to hurry up!" Drummond said angrily.
"Gotcha!" drawled Heine, and betook himself to camp.
Ten days later Mr. Schultz had this to report:
"Well, sir, Jo she just naturally had a terrible relapse. Doctor'sworried blue about 'er. She can't talk, and she can't see to read.She just lays there and gasps somethin' fierce."
"What on earth has she?" cried Lucy.
Heine scratched his head. "The doc said it was a kind o' complicationor somethin'. Dip'theria and appendiseetus, I think he said. Yes,sir--that's it. Dip'theria and appendiseetus."
"Ridiculous!" scoffed Lucy. "Did they operate?"
"Operate! I should say they did! They whittled that woman down tosuch a frazzle and when the doc goes to see her in the mornin' he hasto shake the sheets to find her!"
"Heine, I believe you're a humorist," Lucy said doubtfully.
Heine grinned. "She's gettin' better now, though; and the doc saysnext trip she'll probably be over. Then she c'n 'tend to her businesswith you herself. I wish she would. I get things all mixed up."
Drummond and Lucy stared at each other when the skinner had left.
"Gypped!" exclaimed Drummond. "There's something phony about this! ByGeorge, I'm--I'm scared there's something wrong! Heine's been lyinglike a sailor. I believe I'll drive over to Julia tomorrow and seewhat I can find out."
"Sit down, Heine," invited Twitter-or-Tweet Orr Tweet, rising andlowering the window shade in his little pine office as the jerklineskinner entered.
Heine accepted.
"Well?" queried Tweet, with a look of worriment in his face.
"Ain't heard a word from 'em, Playmate, since they come in and filed,and went back with a minin' engineer," said Heine. "I'm gettin'worried myself. You see, that's a bad country up in there wherethey've gone. Many a man's gone in there and left his bones for thebuzzards to pick."
"But weren't they fixed for an ordeal, Heine?"
"No one ever hit Death Valley better fixed," was the reply. "Jo, shehires two big trucks and takes horses and pack burros and feed and gruband water till you couldn't rest. They aimed to go as far as theycould with the trucks, and then make a headquarters there, leave thedrivers to look out for the camp, and her and Wild Cat was gonta makeit on in with the horses and the canaries. They had a scout that knowsthat country from the southern end o' the Panamints to Lost Valley.Oh, they went heeled; but it's a big job and takes time. Still, theyoughta be showin' up by now."
Orr Tweet heaved a great sigh. "Jo's simply forgotten all about me,"he said mournfully. "Heine, I don't mind tellin' you--but if somethin'don't happen pretty soon one Tweet goes up Salt Creek. Here it's onlyten days till I gotta plunk down six thousan' iron men, plus a raft o'interest money. And the mortgages o' this blame rancho are watchin' melike buzzards, ready to swoop down the minute I begin to gasp. Theygot me where the hair's short, Heine. I not only lose the rancho andall, but every cent Jo and me and Hiram's put into her. I ain'tsellin' an acre these days. Won't till summer's here, and theblame'-fool homesteaders see that Paloma Rancho's worth ten times whatthe government land's worth. The work on the grade is nearin'completion, and the steel's creepin' closer every day. Every mornin',when it's still, you c'n hear the whistle o' the track-layin' engine.The camps are finishin' and movin' on, one by one. That takes tradeaway from Ragtown, and concessionaires are quittin', too. A month fromnow Ragtown will be only a memory, Heine. Not that, as Tweet, shewon't build up later and more substantially, when the steel's laid andtrains are runnin'. But to keep a stiff upper lip till then bringsgray hairs!"
"Don't you worry," Heine said consolingly. "You just set tight andwatch the spring blossoms come. Jerkline Jo never failed man nor horsenor dog in her life, and she ain't forgot you for a second. You betyour last dime on Jerkline Jo, ol'-timer--and Wild Cat, too, s'far'sthat goes. They'll ramble home in time to save you. I'll bet my bankroll on it!"
"Only ten days more," Tweet sighed heavily. "Oh, papa, what prettyfireworks you made! Heine, are you still keepin' Drummond in hotwater?"
"Oh, yes," Heine assured him. "They're doin' very well. GuessDrummond'll be drivin' to see how Jo's gettin' along pretty soon. Iguess I queered things to-day. Tried to get funny, and pretty nearspilled the beans. I'll say he'd better take along about five huskiesto move boulders outa the road, if he tries to make it through thepass. Them big boys just naturally roll d
own behind us the minutewe've passed. And comin' back, we hook on and snake 'em outa the way.And then, by golly, they spring right back again! Funny rocks in thiscountry, Tweet."
The She Boss: A Western Story Page 34