“That’s the gist of the plan. Now, how does the scheme strike you?”
“I’d be glad enough to get a couple of dollars a day over our living,” replied Dan. “What do you think about it, Ethel?”
“I believe it would be an excellent thing for the present, at least. Of course, I won’t be satisfied till we get back to California, but we should be able to save money enough to make the trip comfortably in a few months if we manage carefully.”
“Well, so far as getting to California is concerned,” observed Mr. Adams, “we expect to arrive there about the middle of next December. We will work the territory between here and Cheyenne, then swing down across Colorado, pass through Arizona in November, and work California in the winter months. Then if you have not come to love this life, as I think you will, you can leave us and return to the old grubby existence.”
“Now, that will be splendid,” I cried enthusiastically. “We’ll not only reach home, but we’ll see the country and save some money for a fresh start—we’ll need all we can save before we get on our feet again, I’m afraid.”
“Very well, then, good people. We’ll consider the matter settled. You can camp here to-night and begin to learn the ropes the first thing in the morning.”
The conversation turned on the day’s work and I gathered a fair idea of the usual activities. Mr. Adams would take the light team and with Mr. Bates push ahead, leaving Mrs. Adams to pursue a leisurely course with the mules. The men struck the first little store they came to, or if the country was very sparsely settled, they stopped at a farm. If they secured a sign order from the store-keeper, Bates remained to place it, depending on Mrs. Adams to pick him up as she passed. Meanwhile, Mr. Adams drove on to solicit more orders, search out a suitable camping place, and otherwise prepare for the coming of his party. This particular morning Adams had left the light team with Bates, who was busy with a sign, and had caught a ride in a passing buggy to the little town where I had met him. Each day’s programme was the spontaneous result of immediate needs.
As we rose to say good-night, Mrs. Adams produced milk, eggs and whiskey, and they prepared a customary night cap. I was startled by the enormous draught of liquor poured out by our employer, who, noting my surprise, remarked apologetically, “I’ve been a frightful sufferer from insomnia for a number of years. That was one of the reasons which led me to adopt this mode of living, but even the open air has failed to relieve me. I’ve tried vigorous exercise, long walks, hot food and drink on retiring, medicines—everything—and I’ve found my only relief in these stiff jolts of whiskey. At times I am compelled to get up in the night and find the bottle. But I never become intoxicated.”
“I should think that sort of thing would ruin your digestion.”
“Well, I take certain precautions. I always take my evening dram in the form of an eggnog, and if I need a drink in the night, I take a large cup of milk first, which seems to prevent any untoward effects.”