CHAPTER XI
WHAT JEAN BAPTISTE FOUND IN THE WELL
"Well, my friend," said A.M. Barr, stopping before Baptiste's hut oneday shortly after his visit to Kaden's, "I have my date and will makeproof on the 22nd of March. I have listed you as one of my witnesses.Guess I may depend on you to be ready that day?"
"I shall remember it, Mr. Barr," answered Baptiste. "Have you rentedyour place yet?"
"No, I have not. Rather, not the buildings. My neighbor across the road,however, will put the thirty acres I have broken into crop, and break afew more."
"M-m."
"How much do you plan seeding this season?"
"All of both places anyhow."
"Ah, young man, I tell you, you are a worker! Such young men as you willbe the making of this country. And you'll be rich in time."
"Oh, no," cried Baptiste disdainfully.
"If I were young and strong like you, I would be doing the same."
"You expect to go away when you have completed your proof...."
"Well, I don't know," whereupon A.M. Barr cast a furtive glance in hisdirection. Baptiste pretended not to see it.
"What'll you do with your horses?" Another furtive glance.
"Well, I might advertise a sale," he said boldly. He cast a dark look inBaptiste's direction, which the other pretended not to see--but did seenevertheless. "Why, what could he know," was in Barr's mind. "Nothing,"he answered his own question. A moment later he was the same Barr; theofficious Englishman when he drove down the road a few minutes later,and none the wiser therefor.
March the twenty-second came and went, and Augustus offered proof on hishomestead, and passed, Baptiste assisting him as witness.
Sunday was the next day, and when it came, all calm and beautiful,Baptiste realized that he did not have enough seed wheat to sow all hisland that he wished put in wheat. A squaw man had raised a large crop tothe southwest of him the year before, and this, he understood, was forsale. He decided to call on the squaw man, ascertain the fact, and ifso, purchase a share of it for his purpose.
Accordingly, Sunday morning after he had breakfasted, and piled thedishes bachelor fashion (unwashed) he started out.
The route he took carried him directly by Peter Kaden's claim, and whenhe had gone that far, and found himself looking at the low, sod housethat stood a few paces back from the road, he was curious. He pausedunconsciously before the house and observed it idly a few moments.
He was struck with the quietness about, and at once became curiouslyapprehensive. No smoke emerged from the chimney. There was no evidencethat any one was about. Impelled by his growing curiosity, he approachedthe house and knocked at the door. There was no response from within. Hetried it again. Still no response. He tried the knob. It gave. He pushedthe door open cautiously, and peered in. The house was empty but for thecrude furniture. He entered curiously and looked about. The bed wasspread over, there was no fire in the stove, the coldness of theatmosphere within impressed him with a theory that no fire had been inthe stove that day or the night before. The dishes were clean and piledon the table with a cloth spread over them. He went outside, closing thedoor behind him and swept the surrounding country with his gaze whichrevealed no Peter Kaden. He lowered his eyes in thought as his lipsmuttered:
"Wonder where he is?"
A path began at his feet. It led down to a draw some two hundred yardsaway. He fell into it aimlessly and followed its course for a short way.Presently, upon looking up, he saw a well at the side of the draw whichobviously was the terminus of the path.
Forthwith he made the well his objective. In that country wells were notplentiful. The soil was of the richest and blackest loam with a claysubsoil; but water except where there was sand, was not easily foundonly in or near a draw, or a flat. He reached the well, and, drawingaside the bucket that reposed on the lid, he opened the well and loweredthe bucket to the water some thirty feet below.
The bright sun rays somewhat blinded him and for a moment he could notsee the water clearly. The bucket struck, in due time, however, and hewondered why there was no splash. He jerked it over, and when it struckagain there was the sound of water, but it appeared difficult to sinkit. He peered down into it again to ascertain what the matter was. Awave of ripples caught his gaze, while the bucket seemed to be restingon something. He gave the rope another jerk and twist, and it came downbottom-side up on the dark object.
"Hell," he muttered, "this well is dry!" He took another look. "No, itisn't dry. There is something in the well." Bending until his face wasshaded by the shadow of the well, he searched below very closely withhis eyes. He could distinguish that there was something; and that _thesomething_ seemed to bobble. He withdrew the bucket, unfilled, and,allowing a few moments for the ripples to subside, he searched thedarkness below again closely. He became conscious of a cold feelingstealing up his spine, then he caught and held his breath as slowly whatwas below took outline. It was not a dog, a coyote, a pig, or an animalof any kind. It was _something_ else ... and the _something_ else hadfeatures that were familiar. At last realization was upon him, hisfingers gripped the boards they held as he gradually straightened up.
"My God!" he cried at last, terror stricken.
For below him, with white face turned upward as if laughing, was thedead body of Peter Kaden.
The Homesteader: A Novel Page 14