by Owen Wister
PART I
Children have many special endowments, and of these the chiefest is toask questions that their elders must skirmish to evade. Married peopleand aunts and uncles commonly discover this, but mere instinct does notguide one to it. A maiden of twenty-three will not necessarily divineit. Now except in one unhappy hour of stress and surprise, MissJessamine Buckner had been more than equal to life thus far. But neveryet had she been shut up a whole day in one room with a boy of nine.Had this experience been hers, perhaps she would not have written to Mr.McLean the friendly and singular letter in which she hoped he was well,and said that she was very well, and how was dear little Billy? Shewas glad Mr. McLean had stayed away. That was just like his honorablenature, and what she expected of him. And she was perfectly happy atSepar, and "yours sincerely and always, 'Neighbor.'" Postscript. Talkingof Billy Lusk--if Lin was busy with gathering the cattle, why not sendBilly down to stop quietly with her. She would make him a bed in theticket-office, and there she would be to see after him all the time. Sheknew Lin did not like his adopted child to be too much in cow-camp withthe men. She would adopt him, too, for just as long as convenient toLin--until the school opened on Bear Creek, if Lin so wished. Jessaminewrote a good deal about how much better care any woman can take of a boyof Billy's age than any man knows. The stage-coach brought the answerto this remarkably soon--young Billy with a trunk and a letter of twelvepages in pencil and ink--the only writing of this length ever done byMr. McLean.
"I can write a lot quicker than Lin," said Billy, upon arriving. "He wasfussing at that away late by the fire in camp, an' waked me up crawlingin our bed. An' then he had to finish it next night when he went over tothe cabin for my clothes."
"You don't say!" said Jessamine. And Billy suffered her to kiss himagain.
When not otherwise occupied Jessamine took the letter out of its lockedbox and read it, or looked at it. Thus the first days had gone finelyat Separ, the weather being beautiful and Billy much out-of-doors.But sometimes the weather changes in Wyoming; and now it was that MissJessamine learned the talents of childhood.
Soon after breakfast this stormy morning Billy observed the twelve pagesbeing taken out of their box, and spoke from his sudden brain. "HoneyWiggin says Lin's losing his grip about girls," he remarked. "He saysyou couldn't 'a' downed him onced. You'd 'a' had to marry him. Honeysays Lin ain't worked it like he done in old times."
"Now I shouldn't wonder if he was right," said Jessamine, buoyantly."And that being the case, I'm going to set to work at your things tillit clears, and then we'll go for our ride."
"Yes," said Billy. "When does a man get too old to marry?"
"I'm only a girl, you see. I don't know."
"Yes. Honey said he wouldn't 'a' thought Lin was that old. But I guesshe must be thirty."
"Old!" exclaimed Jessamine. And she looked at a photograph upon hertable.
"But Lin ain't been married very much," pursued Billy. "Mother's theonly one they speak of. You don't have to stay married always, do you?"
"It's better to," said Jessamine.
"Ah, I don't think so," said Billy, with disparagement. "You ought tosee mother and father. I wish you would leave Lin marry you, though,"said the boy, coming to her with an impulse of affection. "Why won't youif he don't mind?"
She continued to parry him, but this was not a very smooth start foreight in the morning. Moments of lull there were, when the telegraphcalled her to the front room, and Billy's young mind shifted toinquiries about the cipher alphabet. And she gained at least an hourteaching him to read various words by the sound. At dinner, too, he wasrefreshingly silent. But such silences are unsafe, and the weather wasstill bad. Four o'clock found them much where they had been at eight.
"Please tell me why you won't leave Lin marry you." He was at thewindow, kicking the wall.
"That's nine times since dinner," she replied, with tireless good humor."Now if you ask me twelve--"
"You'll tell?" said the boy, swiftly.
She broke into a laugh. "No. I'll go riding and you'll stay at home.When I was little and would ask things beyond me, they only gave methree times."
"I've got two more, anyway. Ha-ha!"
"Better save 'em up, though."
"What did they do to you? Ah, I don't want to go a-riding. It's nastyall over." He stared out at the day against which Separ's doors had beentight closed since morning. Eight hours of furious wind had raised thedust like a sea. "I wish the old train would come," observed Billy,continuing to kick the wall. "I wish I was going somewheres." Smoky,level, and hot, the south wind leapt into Separ across five hundredunbroken miles. The plain was blanketed in a tawny eclipse. Each minutethe near buildings became invisible in a turbulent herd of clouds. Abovethis travelling blur of the soil the top of the water-tank alone rosebulging into the clear sun. The sand spirals would lick like flamesalong the bulk of the lofty tub, and soar skyward. It was not shippingseason. The freight-cars stood idle in a long line. No cattle huddled inthe corrals. No strangers moved in town. No cow-ponies dozed in front ofthe saloon. Their riders were distant in ranch and camp. Human noise wasextinct in Separ. Beneath the thunder of the sultry blasts the placelay dead in its flapping shroud of dust. "Why won't you tell me?" dronedBilly. For some time he had been returning, like a mosquito brushedaway.
"That's ten times," said Jessamine, promptly.
"Oh, goodness! Pretty soon I'll not be glad I came. I'm about twiced asless glad now."
"Well," said Jessamine, "there's a man coming to-day to mend thegovernment telegraph-line between Drybone and McKinney. Maybe he wouldtake you back as far as Box Elder, if you want to go very much. Shall Iask him?"
Billy was disappointed at this cordial seconding of his mood. He did notmake a direct rejoinder. "I guess I'll go outside now," said he, with athreat in his tone.
She continued mending his stockings. Finished ones lay rolled at oneside of her chair, and upon the other were more waiting her attention.
"And I'm going to turn back hand-springs on top of all thefreight-cars," he stated, more loudly.
She indulged again in merriment, laughing sweetly at him, and withoutrestraint.
"And I'm sick of what you all keep a-saying to me!" he shouted. "Just asif I was a baby."
"Why, Billy, who ever said you were a baby?"
"All of you do. Honey, and Lin, and you, now, and everybody. What makesyou say 'that's nine times, Billy; oh, Billy, that's ten times,' if youdon't mean I'm a baby? And you laugh me off, just like they do, and justlike I was a regular baby. You won't tell me--"
"Billy, listen. Did nobody ever ask you something you did not want totell them?"
"That's not a bit the same, because--because--because I treat 'em squareand because it's not their business. But every time I ask anybody 'mostanything, they say I'm not old enough to understand; and I'll be tensoon. And it is my business when it's about the kind of a mother I'magoing to have. Suppose I quit acting square, an' told 'em, when theybothered me, they weren't young enough to understand! Wish I had. GuessI will, too, and watch 'em step around." For a moment his mind dweltupon this, and he whistled a revengeful strain.
"Goodness, Billy!" said Jessamine, at the sight of the next stocking."The whole heel is scorched off."
He eyed the ruin with indifference. "Ah, that was last month when Iand Lin shot the bear in the swamp willows. He made me dry off my legs.Chuck it away."
"And spoil the pair? No, indeed!"
"Mother always chucked 'em, an' father'd buy new ones till I skippedfrom home. Lin kind o' mends 'em."
"Does he?" said Jessamine, softly. And she looked at the photograph.
"Yes. What made you write him for to let me come and bring my stockin'sand things?"
"Don't you see, Billy, there is so little work at this station that I'dbe looking out of the window all day just the pitiful way you do?"
"Oh!" Billy pondered. "And so I said to Lin," he continued, "why didn'the send down his own clothes, too, an' let you fix 'e
m all. And HoneyWiggin laughed right in his coffee-cup so it all sploshed out. And thecook he asked me if mother used to mend Lin's clothes. But I guess shechucked 'em like she always did father's and mine. I was with father,you know, when mother was married to Lin that time." He paused again,while his thoughts and fears struggled. "But Lin says I needn't evergo back," he went on, reasoning and confiding to her. "Lin don't likemother any more, I guess." His pondering grew still deeper, and helooked at Jessamine for some while. Then his face wakened with a newtheory. "Don't Lin like you any more?" he inquired.
"Oh," cried Jessamine, crimsoning, "yes! Why, he sent you to me!"
"Well, he got hot in camp when I said that about sending his clothes toyou. He quit supper pretty soon, and went away off a walking. And that'sanother time they said I was too young. But Lin don't come to see youany more."
"Why, I hope he loves me," murmured Jessamine. "Always."
"Well, I hope so too," said Billy, earnestly. "For I like you. When Iseen him show you our cabin on Box Elder, and the room he had fixedfor you, I was glad you were coming to be my mother. Mother used to beawful. I wouldn't 'a' minded her licking me if she'd done other things.Ah, pshaw! I wasn't going to stand that." Billy now came close toJessamine. "I do wish you would come and live with me and Lin," said he."Lin's awful nice."
"Don't I know it?" said Jessamine, tenderly.
"Cause I heard you say you were going to marry him," went on Billy."And I seen him kiss you and you let him that time we went away when youfound out about mother. And you're not mad, and he's not, and nothinghappens at all, all the same! Won't you tell me, please?"
Jessamine's eyes were glistening, and she took him in her lap. She wasnot going to tell him that he was too young this time. But whateverthings she had shaped to say to the boy were never said.
Through the noise of the gale came the steadier sound of the train,and the girl rose quickly to preside over her ticket-office and dutiesbehind the railing in the front room of the station. The boy ran to thewindow to watch the great event of Separ's day. The locomotive loomedout from the yellow clots of drift, paused at the water-tank, and thenwith steam and humming came slowly on by the platform. Slowly its longdust-choked train emerged trundling behind it, and ponderously halted.There was no one to go. No one came to buy a ticket of Jessamine. Theconductor looked in on business, but she had no telegraphic ordersfor him. The express agent jumped off and looked in for pleasure. Hereceived his daily smile and nod of friendly discouragement. Then thelight bundle of mail was flung inside the door. Separ had no mail togo out. As she was picking up the letters young Billy passed her like ashadow, and fled out. Two passengers had descended from the train, a manand a large woman. His clothes were loose and careless upon him. He heldvalises, and stood uncertainly looking about him in the storm. Herfirm, heavy body was closely dressed. In her hat was a large, handsomefeather. Along between the several cars brakemen leaned out, watchedher, and grinned to each other. But her big, hard-shining blue eyes werefixed curiously upon the station where Jessamine was.
"It's all night we may be here, is it?" she said to the man, harshly.
"How am I to help that?" he retorted.
"I'll help it. If this hotel's the sty it used to be, I'll walk toTommy's. I've not saw him since I left Bear Creek."
She stalked into the hotel, while the man went slowly to the station. Heentered, and found Jessamine behind her railing, sorting the slim mail.
"Good-evening," he said. "Excuse me. There was to be a wagon sent here."
"For the telegraph-mender? Yes, sir. It came Tuesday. You're to find thepole-wagon at Drybone."
This news was good, and all that he wished to know. He could drive outand escape a night at the Hotel Brunswick. But he lingered, becauseJessamine spoke so pleasantly to him. He had heard of her also.
"Governor Barker has not been around here?" he said.
"Not yet, sir. We understand he is expected through on a hunting-trip."
"I suppose there is room for two and a trunk on that wagon?"
"I reckon so, sir." Jessamine glanced at the man, and he took himselfout. Most men took themselves out if Jessamine so willed; and it wasmostly achieved thus, in amity.
On the platform the man found his wife again.
"Then I needn't to walk to Tommy's," she said. "And we'll eat as wetravel. But you'll wait till I'm through with her." She made a gesturetoward the station.
"Why--why--what do you want with her. Don't you know who she is?"
"It was me told you who she was, James Lusk. You'll wait till I've beenand asked her after Lin McLean's health, and till I've saw how the likesof her talks to the likes of me."
He made a feeble protest that this would do no one any good.
"Sew yourself up, James Lusk. If it has been your idea I come with yusclear from Laramie to watch yus plant telegraph-poles in the sage-brush,why you're off. I ain't heard much 'o Lin since the day he learned itwas you and not him that was my husband. And I've come back in thiscountry to have a look at my old friends--and" (she laughed loudly andnodded at the station) "my old friends' new friends!"
Thus ordered, the husband wandered away to find his wagon and the horse.
Jessamine, in the office, had finished her station duties and returnedto her needle. She sat contemplating the scorched sock of Billy's, andheard a heavy step at the threshold. She turned, and there was thelarge woman with the feather quietly surveying her. The words which thestranger spoke then were usual enough for a beginning. But there wassomething of threat in the strong animal countenance, something oflaughter ready to break out. Much beauty of its kind had evidently beenin the face, and now, as substitute for what was gone, was the braglook of assertion that it was still all there. Many stranded travellersknocked at Jessamine's door, and now, as always, she offered thehospitalities of her neat abode, the only room in Separ fit for a woman.As she spoke, and the guest surveyed and listened, the door blew shutwith a crash.
Outside, in a shed, Billy had placed the wagon between himself and hisfather.
"How you have grown!" the man was saying; and he smiled. "Come, shakehands. I did not think to see you here."
"Dare you to touch me!" Billy screamed. "No, I'll never come with you.Lin says I needn't to."
The man passed his hand across his forehead, and leaned against thewheel. "Lord, Lord!" he muttered.
His son warily slid out of the shed and left him leaning there.