He saw a rope in the hay cart, and at once possessed himself of it. He fastened it to the pole of their own waggon, and attached it to the horses. Then once more Ben cracked the black snake, and the horses, being now on solid ground, tugged and tugged, and at last pulled out the waggon.
“You ought to thank your stars you had me with you,” said Holles, as they started on their way again. “I’m so wonderfully ingenious.”
He drove into the village in grand style, much elated that he and Ben had come off so easily. A great many men were gathered together at the grocery-store, which was also the post-office, and horses and buggies of every description were crowding the road: most of the horses looked as though they had been mired, and several of them wore an air of depression born of wounded pride. Others obviously did not care whether or not their appearance was changed for the worse, and received with stolid indifference the various uncomplimentary remarks bestowed on their tails.
This was the first time of meeting since the great storm, and every one had something to tell about his own experiences. There was anxiety expressed about the enormous earth dam of the Nagales reservoir which supplied the Flume. If it had burst, as some one reported, untold-of damage would have been done; and moreover, the whole water-supply for the summer months’ irrigating would have been wasted. This was a terrible prospect, and especially so after a long drought of exceptional severity. But the postmaster, who was busy distributing the accumulation of several days’ mail, said there was no truth in the report.
“I wish there was no truth in the news about poor old Strafford’s dam,” said some one. “Can’t you contradict it, Overleigh?”
Ben shook his head.
“It is only too true,” he said sorrowfully.
“Well, it’s a miserable thing to happen, and so soon after his marriage,” said the postmaster. “Are you taking his mail, Mr. Holles?”
“Yes,” answered Holles. “Great powers! Is this cart-load for him? Oh, I see, it’s mostly for his wife. What a stunning lot of papers! By Jove! I wish my people would send me some. The only thing I ever get from the old country is ‘The Young Christian at Home.’ And Lauderdale gets ‘The Christian Household.’ No wonder we are always depressed. Here, stay a moment, Ben. I’m not through with the shopping. I’ve nearly forgotten Mrs. Strafford’s sack of flour. And I want a tin of oysters. Graham is so upset about losing his three acres of olives, that he says the only possible thing to help him is boiled oysters on toast. Well, now I am about ready.”
With a greeting here and a nod there, the two friends drove off. Ben took the reins, and Holles sorted the mail, and seemed greatly interested in the outsides of Mrs. Strafford’s newspapers and magazines, and in their insides too, for he held each one up to the light, looking through it as though through a telescope.