A PLOT FOILED
It was a full month after the mine accident, and things had settled back as nearly into the old routine as was possible with the head of the household gone. I doubt if Jessie and I could have carried the burden of responsibility that now fell upon our unaccustomed shoulders had it not been for Joe. The day after father’s funeral he walked quietly into the kitchen with the announcement:
“I’se come ter stay, chillen! Whar yo’ gwine want me ter drap dis bun’le?”
The bundle was done up in a handkerchief—not a large one at that—and it contained all of Joe’s worldly possessions. Jessie gave him the little bed-room off the kitchen, and there Joe established himself, to our great satisfaction. He was not less reticent than usual, but there was immense comfort to us, even in Joe’s silence. The only explanation that he ever gave as to his intentions was contained in the brief declaration:
“Yo’s no ’casion fur t’ worry yo’se’ves no mo’, chillen; I’se come ter tek holt.”
And take hold he did. Early and late the faithful black hands were toiling for the children of the man whom he had so devotedly loved.
On this particular morning Jessie and I were seated in the kitchen busily employed in doing some much-needed mending, when I dropped my work and said to Jessie: “I believe something is taking the chickens, Jessie.”
Jessie glanced at the garment that I had let fall, a torn little dress of Ralph’s. “Do you?” she said.
“Yes; I’m sure there are not so many as there should be.”
“Don’t you count them every night?”
“Yes, I do; but they should be counted oftener. At mid-day, too, I should say.” I submitted this proposition deferentially, but with a covert glance at the clock; it was nearly twelve, and I did so dislike mending.
“Very well,” Jessie said, “count them a dozen times a day if you think best, of course.”
The elation with which I arose to comply with this generous permission was tempered somewhat by a little haunting sense of meanness. “Still,” I reasoned, “when one’s home depends on such things as cats, dogs, and chickens, one cannot take account of stock too often. Besides, Jessie likes to mend, at least I’ve never heard her say she does not, but I have heard her say that she doesn’t like to tend poultry.”
When I re-entered the house, after conscientiously enumerating every pair of yellow legs on the place, and finding, somewhat to my chagrin, that the tally was the same as that of the previous evening, I found Jessie sitting at the table with her face hidden in her hands. Afraid that she was crying I at first pretended not to notice. We had more than enough cause for tears. I picked up the discarded little dress and, in a spasm of repentance, murmured ostensibly to Ralph, who was playing near the table, but really for Jessie’s benefit: “Sister is going to mend the pretty blouse that you tore on the oak bush after she gets this dress done.”
“’En w’en oo’ puts it on me, me do in ’e oak bush an’ tear it adain,” the child declared, cheerfully.
“You naughty boy!”
“’Es; me notty boy,” with which announcement he went and leaned against Jessie’s knees. Jessie looked up; she was not crying, but her face was haggard with pain.
“I’ve got a dreadful toothache,” she said, and then I remembered that she had been very restless during the night. “I’m afraid I shall know no peace until it is out,” Jessie went on, “and it’s half a day’s journey to a dentist.”
“And Joe has taken both the horses to go up into the Jerusalem settlement after that seed-corn, and he can’t get back before to-morrow night!” I exclaimed, in consternation. As I sat looking at her with eyes more tearful than her own there came to our ears the welcome sound of wheels, and a wagon stopped at the gate. I sprang up and ran to the door, with some faint hope, for the moment, that Joe had returned. It was not Joe who was sitting immovable on the seat of the light wagon that was drawn up before the gate, but my astonishment would not have been so great if it had been. The small, bronzed-faced, wiry individual who sat still, calmly returning my inquiring gaze was none other than our persevering enemy, Mr. Jacob Horton. I did not fancy our caller, but thinking that he would not have called if he had not some reason for so doing, I walked out and down the path toward him, saying, “Good morning, Mr. Horton.”
“Mornin’, Miss Leslie. Folks all well?”
“Not very well; at least, Jessie isn’t. She’s got a dreadful toothache.”
“Toothache, eh? That’s bad. Nothin’ like yankin’ out fur an achin’ tooth. That’s my experience, and you may pass it along to Miss Jessie for what it’s worth.”
“I don’t know what good it will do her if I do,” I replied, rather irritably, for Jessie was sobbing now, and the sound hurt me almost as much as a physical pain could have done.
“Why, the good it will do is that that old nigger of yours—Joe, you call him—will tackle up, she’ll tie on her bunnet, hop into the wagon, and away for Dr. Green’s office in Antonito, and she’ll set as still as a mouse while the doctor yanks out that tooth; that’s the good it’ll do.”
“Yes, that might all be if Joe wasn’t away with the team.”
“Wal’, that does rather spoil my program. Goin’ to be gone all day, is he?”
“Yes; maybe for two or three days. He’s gone up to the Archer settlement on the Jerusalem trail.”
“Oh, has he? Wal’, now!”
Mr. Horton had been sitting all this time with the reins in one hand, his hat in the other. He now replaced the hat on his head and stood up. He remained standing so, motionless, for more than a minute, gazing steadfastly at his horses’ ears, while his brow puckered and his small eyes narrowed like those of a person in deep thought. Finally he exclaimed:
“Say, I tell you how we’ll fix it. You all get in here with me and come over to my house. Maria, she’ll be sure to think of something to ease that tooth the minute she claps eyes on ye; then, in the mornin’, she or I’ll take ye over to the doctor’s office, and bring ye home afterward. Hey, what do you say, Miss Jessie?” for Jessie had by this time come out of the gate, with Ralph clinging to her hand.
Jessie, the pain of her aching tooth dulled for the moment by sheer amazement, said that he was very kind. She said it almost timidly. We had had so little reason hitherto to look for any neighborly kindness at Mr. Horton’s hands.
“Then ye’ll go?” Mr. Horton insisted.
Jessie looked inquiringly at me. Her face was swollen and her eyes red with crying.
“Yes, Jessie, do go. There’s no knowing when Joe will be back, and you—”
“Why, you’d better all come,” Mr. Horton interposed again. “There’s two seats in the wagon—plenty of room. Here, where’s the little shaver’s hat? Get your hat and climb in here, youngster.”
Ralph, who was enterprising and fearless, obeyed without protest. Peremptorily declining Mr. Horton’s invitation to sit with him, he took his station on the back seat, and from that vantage urged his sisters to make haste.
“Come, ’Essie, us yeady.”
Jessie ran in and got her hat, tossed her old coat over her shoulders without stopping to put her arms in the sleeves, and, by aid of the wheel, mounted to the seat beside Ralph. I, too, had put on my hat, but waited to secure the windows, and then to get the door-key. Mr. Horton, sitting silent on the front seat, observed my proceedings with interest; “You’re awful careful, ain’t ye?” he said, at length, and, in spite of his friendliness, it seemed to my sensitive fancy that there was a sneer in his voice. However, that did not greatly trouble me, for, from my slight speaking acquaintance with him before this, I had come to believe that he never spoke without one, so I replied, cheerfully:
“Yes; I guess I am careful enough.”
I had locked the door, and was approaching the wagon when Mr. Horton asked:
“Where’s your dog—you’ve got one, ain’t ye?”
“Guard? Yes, he’s with Joe. Why?”
I stopped short as I suddenly realized what Joe’s absence for the night meant.
“Why, I can’t go, Jessie; I shall have to milk both the cows to-night!”
“Oh, that’s true!” groaned Jessie. She started up.
“I’m sorry we have detained you at all, Mr. Horton, but Leslie can’t stay here alone all night, and the cows must be milked. Come, Ralph, we must get out.”
As Ralph slid obediently off his seat, Mr. Horton laid a detaining hand on his arm. Ralph wriggled himself loose, looking defiant.
“Wait!” Mr. Horton urged. “It’s too bad for you to have to keep on sufferin’ all night, Miss Jessie, when you might be helped.”
“Oh, I know it!” Jessie moaned, sinking back on the seat and covering her face with her hands.
“I’ve never had the toothache myself, but I know it must be dreadful. By the way, where are the cows?” Mr. Horton stood up and looked around as if he might spy them in the tree-tops or anywhere. “I do’no—I wisht’ ’twas so I could spend the time—” he muttered reflectively. Then, suddenly: “How long will it take ye to milk ’em? I might wait.”
“Oh, no! No indeed! I couldn’t think of asking you to do that on my account!” I exclaimed, feeling very grateful, nevertheless, for the interest he displayed. “The cows haven’t come up yet; besides, it would do no good to milk them now, at noon, for this evening,” I explained, although Mr. Horton, being a cattleman, should have known that without my telling him.
“I’ve thought what I can do,” I said, after a moment. “You and Ralph go with Mr. Horton, Jessie, and after the chores are done this evening I’ll slip over to Crusoe to Mrs. Riley’s.” Mrs. Riley being the kindly Irish-woman with whom old Joe usually boarded when working in the mines.
“That’s a good plan,” Jessie said. “I couldn’t bear to leave you here alone all night.”
Mr. Horton had seemed considerably nonplussed when he found that I was not coming with him; he now brightened visibly, remarking: “Yes, you can do that; lonesome work for a young gal stayin’ alone all night; no tellin’ what might happen,” and then, with that curious fatality that so often induces people to say exactly the wrong thing for their purpose, he added: “I should ’a’ thought your nigger would ’a’ left the dog here to purtect you young women whilst he was gone. But niggers is always thoughtless, and yourn is no exception.”
Inwardly resenting both the tone and words, I instantly resolved, in a spirit of loyalty to Joe, to remain where I was that night. Why should I not, indeed? I had never spent a night alone in my life, but I would let Mr. Horton know that I was not afraid to do it—I would let him know afterward—just at present I nodded my head in apparent acquiescence with his views, and bidding good-by to the trio, walked away toward the corral, intent on beguiling them into the belief, should they look back, that I was anxiously awaiting the arrival of the cows in order that I might the sooner get away myself. In the silence that followed upon the last faint rumble of their disappearing wheels I thought of something else. Something that made my blood run cold with a sickening apprehension of the calamity that had so nearly befallen us. A moment more and, the numb fit of terror passed, I was dancing down the corral path, saying jubilantly to myself: “Oh, ho, Mr. Horton! But it isn’t left alone! The homestead isn’t left alone. I’m here, I’m here!”
Jessie was half crazed with pain, no wonder that she had forgotten, but why should it have escaped my mind, until almost too late, that, under the homestead laws, the laws by which we hoped to obtain a title to this beautiful valley ranch, the house must not be left untenanted for a single night, until the deed to it was in the claimant’s possession. We had heard so much about the homestead laws from poor father that we accounted ourselves quite able to comply with them all—yet—how nearly we had come to leaving the house vacant that night!
And it was Mr. Horton, of all others, who had urged us to do so, and he understood the homestead laws; no one better.
The thought of our narrow escape was still with me when, towards evening, I heard the tinkle of old Cleo’s bell, coming musically down the mountain side, and went out to the corral to let down the bars. “After all,” I thought, looking back at the house as I stood waiting by the bars, “it might not have been a complete success for Mr. Horton if he had got us all away from home for the night. The house and furniture would be pretty good proof to the land agent of the honesty of our intentions.”