Ma Pettengill Page 5

  V

  ONE ARROWHEAD DAY

  It began with the wonted incitement to murder. A wooden staff projectssome five feet above the topmost roof peak of the Arrowhead ranch house,and to this staff is affixed a bell of brazen malignity. At five-thirtyeach morning the cord controlling this engine of discord is jerkedmadly and forever by Lew Wee, our Chinese chef. It is believed by thosecompelled to obey the horrid summons that this is Lew Wee's one momentof gladness in a spoiled life. The sound of the noon bell, the caressingcall of the night bell--these he must know to be welcome. The morningclangour he must know to be a tragedy of foulest import. It is undeniablyrung with a keener relish. There will be some effort at rhythm with theother bells, but that morning bell jangles in a broken frenzy of clangs,ruthlessly prolonged, devilish to the last insulting stroke. Surely onewithout malice could manage this waking bell more tactfully.

  A reckless Chinaman, then, takes his life in his hands each morning atfive-thirty. Something like a dozen men are alarmed from deep sleep tohalf-awakened incredulity, in which they believe the bell to be a dreambell and try to dream on of something noiseless. Ten seconds later thesestartled men have become demons, with their nice warm feet on the icyfloor of the bunk-house, and with prayers of simple fervour that theso-and-so Chink may be struck dead while his hand is still on therope. This prayer is never answered; so something like a dozen mendress hurriedly and reach the Arrowhead kitchen hurriedly, meaning toperform instantly there a gracious deed which Providence has thus farunaccountably left undone.

  That the Arrowhead annals are, as yet, unspiced with a crime of violenceis due, I consider, to Lew Wee's superb control of his facial muscles.His expression when he maniacally yanks the bell cord is believed byhis victims to be one of hellish glee; so they eagerly seek each morningfor one little remaining trace of this. The tiniest hint would suffice.But they encounter only a rather sad-faced, middle-aged Chinaman, withimmovable eyes and a strained devotion to delicate tasks, of whom it isimpossible to believe that ever a ray of joy gladdened his life.

  There is a secondary reason why the spirit of Lew Wee has not long sincebeen disembodied by able hands: His static Gorgon face stays the firstmurderous impulse; then his genial kitchen aroma overpowers their highernatures and the deed of high justice is weakly postponed. This genialkitchen aroma is warm, and composed cunningly from steaming coffee andfrying ham or beef, together with eggs and hot cakes almost as largeas the enamelled iron plates from which they are eaten. It is nocontemptible combination on a frosty morning. No wonder strong menforget the simple act of manslaughter they come there to achieve andsit sullenly down to be pandered to by him who was erst their torturer.

  On a morning in late May, when I had been invited to fare abroad withmy hostess, Mrs. Lysander John Pettengill--who would breakfast in herown apartment--I joined this assemblage of thwarted murderers as theydoggedly ate. It is a grim business, that ranch breakfast. Two palinglamps struggle with the dawn, now edging in, and the half light is heldlow in tone by smoke from the cake griddle, so that no man may seeanother too plainly. But no man wishes to see another. He stares dullyinto his own plate and eats with stern aversion. We might be so manystrangers in a strange place, aloof, suspicious, bitter, not to saytruculent.

  No quip or jest will lighten the gloom. Necessary requests for thesugar or the milk or the stewed apples are phrased with a curtlyformal civility. We shall be other men at noon or at night, vastlyother, sunnier men, with abundance of quip and jest and playful sallywith the acid personal tang. But from warm beds of repose! We avoideach other's eyes, and one's subdued "please pass that sirup pitcher!"is but tolerated like some boorish profanation of a church service.

  The simple truth, of course, is that this is the one hour of the daywhen we are face to face with the evil visage of life unmasked; ourlittle rosy illusions of yestereve are stale and crumpled. Not until weare well out in the sun, with the second cigarette going good, shall weagain become credulous about life and safe to address. It is no meal tolinger over. We grimly rise from the wrecked table and clatter out.

  Only one of us--that matchless optimist, Sandy Sawtelle--sounds a flatnote in the symphony of disillusion. His humanness rebounds more quicklythan ours, who will not fawn upon life for twenty minutes yet. Sandycomes back to the table from the hook whence he had lifted his hat. Heholds aloft a solitary hot cake and addresses Lew Wee in his bestAnglo-Chinese, and with humorous intent:

  "I think take-um hot cake, nail over big knot hole in bunk-house--lastdamn long time better than sheet iron!"

  Swiftly departing pessimists accord no praise or attention to thisill-timed sketch; least of all Lew Wee, who it is meant to insult.His face retains the sad impassivity of a granite cliff as yet beyondthe dawn.

  Now I am out by the saddle rack under the poplars, where two horsesare tied. Ma Pettengill's long-barrelled roan is saddled. My ownflea-bitten gray, Dandy Jim, is clad only in the rope by which he wasled up from the caviata. I approach him with the respectful attentionhis reputed character merits and try to ascertain his mood of themoment. He is a middle-aged horse, apparently of sterling character,and in my presence has always conducted himself as a horse should. Butthe shadow of scandal has been flung athwart him. I have been assuredthat he has a hideous genius for cinch binding. Listening at firstwithout proper alarm, it has been disclosed to me that a cinch binderain't any joke, by a darned sight! A cinch binder will stand up straightand lean over backward on me. If I'm there when he hits the ground I'llwish I wasn't--if I am able to wish anything at all and don't simply haveto be shipped off to wherever my family wants it to take place.

  I am further enlightened: Dandy Jim ain't so likely to start acting ifnot saddled when too cold. If I saddle him then he will be expecting tohave more fun out of it than I have any right to. But if the sun is wellup, why, sometimes a baby could handle him. So for three weeks I havesaddled Dandy Jim with the utmost circumspection and with the sun wellup. Now the sun is not well up. Shall I still survive? I pause to wishthat the range of high hills on the east may be instantly levelled. Theland will then be worth something and the sun will be farther up. Butnothing of a topographical nature ensues. The hills remain to obscure thesun. And the brute has to be saddled. The mood of that grim breakfast,voiceless, tense, high with portent, is still upon me.

  I approach and speak harshly to the potential cinch binder, telling himto get over there! He does not; so I let it pass. After all, he is onlya horse. Why should I terrorize him? I bridle him with a manner far fromharsh. He doesn't like the taste of the bit--not seasoned right, orsomething. But at last he takes it without biting my fingers off; whichshows that the horse has no mind to speak of.

  I look him calmly in the eye for a moment; then pull his head about, sothat I can look him calmly in the other eye for a moment. This is to showthe animal that he has met his master and had better not try any of thatcinch-binding stuff if he knows when he's well off. Still, I treat himfairly. I smooth his back of little vegetable bits that cling there,shake out the saddle blanket and tenderly adjust it. Whistling carelesslyI swing up the saddle. Dandy Jim flinches pitifully when it rests uponhim and reaches swiftly round to bite my arm off. I think this is quiteperfunctory on his part. He must have learned long since that he willnever really bite any one's arm off. His neck is not enough like aswan's.

  I adjust saddle and blanket carefully from both sides, pulling theblanket well up under the horn of the saddle and making sure thatit sets comfortably. One should be considerate of the feelings of adumb beast placed at one's mercy. Then I reach for the cinch, pass ittwice through the rings, and delicately draw it up the merest trifle.Dandy Jim shudders and moans pathetically. He wishes to convey theimpression that his ribs have been sprung. This, of course, isnonsense. I measureably increase the pressure. Dandy Jim againregisters consternation, coughs feebly, and rolls his eyes roundappealingly, as if wondering whether the world is to sit, withoutheart, and watch a poor defenseless horse being slain. He is aboutto expire. />
  I now lead him gently about by the bridle. It occurs to me that a horsewith this curious mania for binding cinches or cinching binders--or,in other words, a cinch binder--will be as willing to indulge in hisfavourite sport with the saddle unoccupied as otherwise. He may likeit even better with no one up there; and I know I will. Nothing happens,except that Dandy Jim stumbles stiffly and pretends to be lame. Thesun is not yet well up; still, it is a lot better. Perhaps danger forthe day is over. I again lead the dangerous beast--

  "What you humouring that old skate for?"

  Ma Pettengill, arrayed in olive-drab shirt and breeches, leather puttees,and the wide-brimmed hat of her calling with the four careful dents inthe top, observed me with friendly curiosity as she ties a corduroy coatto the back of her saddle.

  Hereupon I explained my tactful handling of the reputed cinch binder. Itevoked the first cheerful sound I had heard that day:

  Ma Pettengill laughed heartily.

  "That old hair trunk never had the jazz to be any cinch binder. Who toldyou he was?"

  I named names--all I could remember. Almost everyone on the ranch hadpassed me the friendly warning, and never had I saddled the brute withouta thrill.

  "Sure! Them chuckleheads always got to tell everybody something. It'sa wonder they ain't sent you in to the Chink to borrow his meat auger,or out to the blacksmith shop for a left-handed monkey wrench, orsomething. Come on!"

  So that was it! Just another bit of stale ranch humour--allegedhumour--as if it could be at all funny to have me saddle this wreckwith the tenderest solicitude morning after morning!

  "Just one moment!" I said briskly.

  I think Dandy Jim realized that everything of a tender nature betweenus was over. Some curious and quite charming respect I had been wontto show him was now gone out of my manner. He began to do deep breathingexercises before I touched the cinch. I pulled with the strength of afearless man. Dandy Jim forthwith inflated his chest like a gentlemanhaving his photograph taken in a bathing suit. I waited, apparentlyfoiled. I stepped back, spoke to Ma Pettengill of the day's promise,and seemed carelessly to forget what I was there for. Slowly Dandy Jimdeflated himself; and then, on the fair and just instant, I pulled.I pulled hard and long. The game was won. Dandy Jim had now the waistof that matron wearing the Sveltina corset, over in the part of themagazine where the stories die away. I fearlessly bestrode him andthe day was on.

  I opened something less than a hundred gates, so that we could take ourway through the lower fields. Ma Pettengill said she must see this hereTilton and this here Snell, and have that two hundred yards of fencebuilt like they had agreed to, as man to man; and no more of this herenonsense of putting it off from day to day.

  She was going to talk straight to them because, come Thursday, she hadto turn a herd of beef cattle into that field.

  Then I opened a few dozen more gates and we were down on the flats.Here the lady spied a coyote, furtively skirting some willows on ourleft. So, for a few merry miles, we played the game of coyote. It isa simple game to learn, but requires a trained eye. When one playersees a coyote the other becomes indebted to him in the sum of one dollar.

  This sport dispelled the early morning gloom that had beset me. I wona dollar almost immediately. It may have been the same coyote, as myopponent painfully suggested; but it showed at a different breach inthe willows, and I was firm.

  Then the game went fiercely against me. Ma Pettengill detected coyotesat the far edges of fields--so far that I would have ignored them forjack rabbits had I observed them at all. I claimed an occasionalclose one; but these were few. The outlook was again not cheering. It wasan excellent morning for distant coyotes, and presently I owed Mrs.Lysander John Pettengill seven dollars, she having won two doubleheadersin succession. This ride was costing me too much a mile. Being so utterlyoutclassed I was resolving to demand a handicap, but was saved from thisignominy by our imminent arrival at the abode of this here Tilton, whopresently sauntered out of a feeding corral and chewed a straw at usidly.

  We soon took all that out of him. The air went something like this:

  * * * * *

  MRS. L. J. P.--brightly: Morning, Chester! Say, look here! About that gapin the fence across Stony Creek field--I got to turn a beef herd in thereThursday.

  TILTON--crouching luxuriously on one knee still chewing the straw: Well,now, about that little job--I tell you, Mis' Pett'ngill; I been kind o'holdin' off account o' Snell bein' rushed with his final plowin'. Heclaims--

  MRS. L. J. P.--still brightly: Oh, that's all right! Snell will be overthere, with his men, to-morrow morning at seven o'clock. He said you'dhave to be there, too.

  TILTON--alarmed, he rises, takes straw from his mouth, examines thechewed end with dismay and casts it from him; removes his hat, looks atthis dubiously, burnishes it with a sleeve, and sighs: To-morrowmorning! You don't mean to-morrow--

  MRS. L. J. P.--carefully yet rapidly: To-morrow morning at seven o'clock.You don't want to throw Snell down on this; and he's going to be there.How many men can you take?

  TILTON--dazed: Now--now lemme see!

  MRS. L. J. P.--quickly: You can take Chris and Shorty and Jake andyourself. Any one else?

  TILTON--swept over the falls: Why, no'm; I don't guess there's any otherI could spare, account of--

  MRS. L. J. P.--almost sweetly: All right, then. To-morrow; seven sharp.

  TILTON--from the whirlpool, helplessly: Yes'm! Yes'm!

  MRS. L. J. P.: Morning!

  * * * * *

  We ride on. Tilton fades back toward the corral; he has forgotten toreplace his hat.

  I now decided to make a little conversation rather than have the stupidand ruinous game of coyote for a pastime.

  "I thought you hadn't seen Snell yet."

  "I haven't; not since he promised his half of the job two weeks ago."

  "But you just told Tilton--"

  "Well, Snell is going to be there, ain't he?"

  "How do you know?"

  "I'm going to tell him now."

  And the woman did even so. If you wish the scene with Snell go back andread the scene with Tilton, changing the names. Nothing else need youchange. Snell was hitching two mules to a wood wagon; but he heard thesame speeches and made approximately the same replies. And the deed wasdone.

  "There now!" boomed Mrs. Talleyrand as we rode beyond earshot of thedazed and lingering Snell. "Them two men been trying for two weeks toagree on a day to do this trifling job. They wasn't able; so I agreed ona day myself. Anything wrong with it?"

  "You said you were going to talk straight to them."

  "Ain't I just talked straight to Snell? Tilton will be there, won't he?"

  "How about the way you talked to Tilton before you saw Snell?"

  "Well, my lands! How you talk! You got to have a foundation to build on,haven't you?"

  I saw it as a feat beyond my prowess to convict this woman in her owneyes of a dubious and considering veracity. So I merely wondered, intones that would easily reach her, how the gentlemen might relish herdiplomacy when they discovered it on the morrow. I preceded the worddiplomacy with a slight and very affected cough.

  The lady replied that they would never discover her diplomacy, notcoughing in the least before the word. She said each of them would beso mad at the other for setting a day that they would talk little. Theywould simply build fence. She added that a woman in this business hadto be looking for the worst of it all the time. She was bound to getthe elbow if she didn't use her common sense.

  I ignored her casuistry, for she was now rolling a cigarette with an airof insufferable probity. I gave her up and played a new game of smashinghorseflies as they settled on my mount. Dandy Jim plays the game ably.When a big fly settles on his nose he holds his head round so I can reachit. He does not flinch at the terrific smash of my hat across his face.If a fly alights on his neck or shoulder, and I do not remark it, heturns his head slightly toward me and wink
s, so I can stalk and pot it.He is very crafty here. If the fly is on his right side he turns andwinks his left eye at me so the insect will not observe him. And yetthere are people who say horses don't reason.

  I now opened fifty more gates and we left the cool green of the fieldsfor a dusty side road that skirts the base of the mesa. We jogged alongin silence, which I presently heard stir with the faint, sweet strain ofa violin; an air that rose and wailed and fell again, on a violin playedwith a certain back-country expertness. The road bent to show us itssource. We were abreast of the forlorn little shack of a dry-farmer,weathered and patched, set a dozen yards from the road and surroundedby hard-packed earth. Before the open door basked children and pigs anda few spiritless chickens.

  All the children ran to the door when we halted and called to someonewithin. The fiddle played on with no faltering, but a woman cameout--a gaunt and tattered woman who was yet curiously cheerful. Thechildren lurked in her wake as she came to us and peered from beyondher while we did our business.

  Our business was that the redskin, Laura, official laundress of theArrowhead, had lately attended an evening affair in the valley at whichthe hitherto smart tipple of Jamaica ginger had been supplanted by anovel and potent beverage, Nature's own remedy for chills, dyspepsia,deafness, rheumatism, despair, carbuncles, jaundice, and ennui. Laura hadpartaken freely and yet again of this delectable brew, and now sufferednot only from a sprained wrist but from detention, having suffered arreston complaint of the tribal sister who had been nearest to her when shesprained her wrist. Therefore, if Mrs. Dave Pickens wanted to come overto-morrow and wash for us, all right; she could bring her oldest girl tohelp.

  Mrs. Dave thereupon turned her head languidly toward the ignoble dwellingand called: "Dave!" Then again, for the fiddle stayed not: "Dave! Oh,Dave!"

  The fiddle ceased to moan--complainingly it seemed to me--and Dave framedhis graceful figure in the doorway. He was one appealing droop, from hismoustache to his moccasin-clad feet. He wore an air of elegant leisure,but was otherwise not fussily arrayed.

  "Dave, Mis' Pett'ngill says there's now a day's washin' to do over to herplace to-morrow. What think?"

  Dave deliberated, then pondered, then thought, then spoke:

  "Well, I d'no', Addie; I d'no' as I got any objections if you ain't.I d'no' but it's all the same to me."

  Hereupon we meanly put something in Dave's unsuspecting way, too.

  "You must want a day's work yourself," called out Ma Pettengill. "You goup to Snell's about six in the morning and he'll need you to help do somefencing on that gap in Stony Creek field. If he don't need you Tiltonwill. One of 'em is bound to be short a man."

  "Fencin'?" said Dave with noticeable disrelish.

  "You reckon we better both leave the place at once?" suggested Mrs. Dave.

  "That's so," said Dave brightly. "Mebbe I--"

  "Nonsense!" boomed Ma Pettengill, dispelling his brightness. "Addiecan drop you at Snell's when she comes over to Arrowhead. Now that'ssettled!"

  And we rode off as unvoiced expostulations were gathering. I began towonder whether it must, throughout a beautiful day, be the stern missionof this woman to put tribulation upon her neighbours. She was becoming afell destroyer. The sun was well up. I thirsted. Also, breakfast seemedto have been a thing in the remote past.

  We now rode three torrid miles up a narrow green slit in the hillsfor a scant ten minutes of talk with a most uninteresting person, whosesole claim to notice seemed to be that he had gone and fenced the wrongwater hole over back of Horsefly Mountain, where we have a summer range.The talk was quick and pointed and buttressed with a blue-print map,and the too-hasty fencer was left helpless after a pitiful essay atquibbling. We rode off saying that he could do just as he liked aboutsending someone over right away to take that fence down, because wehad already took it down the minute we set eyes on it. We was justletting him know so he needn't waste any more wire and posts and timein committing felonious depredations that would get him nothing buthigh trouble if he was so minded. Another scalp to our belt!

  I now briefly recalled to the woman that we had stopped at no peacefulhome that morning save to wreck its peace. I said I was getting intothe spirit of the ride myself. I suggested that at the next ranch wepassed we should stop and set fire to the haystacks, just to crown theday's brutalities with something really splendid. I also said I wasstarving to death in a land of plenty.

  Ma Pettengill gazed aloft at the sun and said it was half-past twelve.I looked at my watch and said the sun was over ten minutes slow, whichwas probably due to the heavy continuous gunfire on the Western Front.This neat bit went for just nothing. As we rode on I fondly recalled thatlast cold hot cake which Sandy Sawtelle had sacrificed to his gift fordebased whimsy. I also recalled other items of that gloomy repast,wondering how I could so weakly have quit when I did.

  We rode now under a sun that retained its old fervour if not itsvelocity. We traversed an endless lane between fields, in one of whichgrazed a herd of the Arrowhead cattle. These I was made to contemplatefor many valuable moments. I had to be told that I was regarding theswallow-fork herd, pure-breds that for one reason or another--the chiefbeing careless help--had not been registered. The omission was denotedby the swallow fork in the left ear.

  The owner looked upon them with fond calculation. She was fondlycalculating that they would have been worth about fifty per cent. moreto her with ears unmutilated. She grew resentful that their true worthshould not be acclaimed by the world. In the sight of heaven they werepure-breds; so why should they suffer through the oversight of a herdboss that hadn't anywhere near such distinguished ancestry? And so on,as the lady says.

  We left the lane at last and were on the county road, but headed awayfrom the Arrowhead and food. No doubt there remained other homes for usto wreck. We mounted a rise and the road fell from us in a long, gentleslope. And then a mile beyond, where the slope ended, I beheld a mostinviting tiny pleasance in this overwhelming welter of ranch land, withits more or less grim business of cattle.

  It was a little homestead fit to adorn an art calendar to be entitledPeace and Plenty--a veritable small farm from some softer little countryfar to the east. It looked strangely lost amid these bleaker holdings.There was a white little house and it sported nothing less than greenblinds. There was a red barn, with toy outbuildings. There was avegetable garden, an orchard of blossoming fruit trees, and, in front ofthe glistening little house, a gay garden of flowers. Even now I coulddetect the yellow of daffodils and the martial--at least it used to bemartial--scarlet of tulips. The little place seemed to drowse here inthe noontide, dreaming of its lost home and other little farms that oncecompanioned it.

  To my pleased surprise this unbelievable little farm proved to be ournext stopping place. At its gate Ma Pettengill dismounted, eased thecinch of her saddle and tied her horse to the hitching rack. I didlikewise by the one-time cinch binder.

  "Now," I wondered, "what devastating bomb shall we hurl into thisflower-spiced Arcady? What woe will she put upon its unsuspectingdwellers, even as she has ruined four other homes this day? This shouldbe something really choice." But I said no word and followed where theavenger stalked.

  We unlatched the white gate and went up a gravelled walk between therows of daffodils and tulips and hyacinths. We did not ascend thespotless front porch to assault its innocent white door, but turned asideon a narrow-gauge branch of the gravelled pathway and came to a sideporch, shaded by maples. And here, in strict conformity to the soundestbehests of tradition, sat two entirely genuine Arcadians in woodenrocking-chairs. The male was a smiling old thing with winter-applecheeks and white hair, and the female was a smiling old thing withwinter-apple cheeks and white hair; both had bright eyes of doll blue,and both wore, among other neat things, loose and lovely carpet slippersand white stockings.

  And, of course, the male was named Uncle Henry and the other one wasnamed Aunt Mollie, for I was now presented to them. They shyly greetedme as one returned to them after
many years in which they had given meup. And again I wondered what particular iniquity we had come here to do.

  Then Ma Pettengill eased my worry. She said in a few simple but affectingwords, that we had stopped in for a bite to eat. No self-torturingstylist could have put the thing better. And results were sudden. UncleHenry, the male one, went to take our horses round to the barn, and theother one said they had et an hour ago; but give her ten minutes andshe'd have a couple of them young pullets skinned and on the fire.

  Ma Pettengill said, with very questionable taste, I thought: "Oh, no;nothing like that!"--because we didn't want to make the least bit oftrouble. The woman is dense at times. What else had we come therefor? But Aunt Mollie said, then, how about some prime young porktenderline? And Ma Pettengill said she guessed that would do, and Isaid I guessed that would do. And there we were! The ladies went tothe kitchen, where they made quick and grateful noises.

  Pretty soon Uncle Henry came round a lovely corner and said try a tumblerof this here grape wine, which he poured from a pressed-glass pitcher; soI tried it and gave him a town cigarette, which he tucked between hisbeautiful white moustache and his beautiful white whiskers. And I hopedhe didn't use gasoline to get them so clean, because if he did somethingmight happen when he lighted the cigarette; but nothing did, so probablyhe didn't. I tried the grape wine again; and dear old Uncle Henry said hewas turning out quite a bit of it since the Gov'ment had shet down onregular dram-shops, quite considerable of parties happening along fromtime to time to barter with him, getting it for dances or colds, orsomething.

  A yellow cat, with blue eyes like Uncle Henry's, came and slept onhis lap. A large fussy hen with a litter of chickens--or however a hendesignates her assemblage of little ones--clucked her way to our feet.I could see three hives of bees, a grape arbour, and a row of milk pansdrying in the sun, each leaning on its neighbour along a white bench.Uncle Henry said drink it up while it was cold. All Nature seemed tosmile. The hen found a large and charming bug, and chuckled humorouslywhile her cunning little ones tore it limb from limb. It was idyllic.

  Then Aunt Mollie pushed open the screen door and said come in and set up;so I came in and set up quickly, having fried pork tenderloin and friedpotatoes, and hot biscuit and pork gravy, and cucumber pickles, andcocoanut cake and pear preserves, peach preserves, apricot preserves,loganberry jelly, crab-apple jelly, and another kind of preserves I wasunable to identify, though trying again and again.

  Ma Pettengill ate somewhat, but talked also, keeping Uncle Henry and AuntMollie shiny with smiles. They both have polished white teeth of the mostamazing regularity. I ate almost exclusively, affecting to be preoccupiedabout something. The time was urgent. I formed an entangling alliancewith the pork tenderloin, which endured to a point where but one smallfragment was left on the platter. I coolly left it there, so that AuntMollie might believe she had cooked more than enough.

  I have never ceased to regret that hollow bit of chivalry. Was ithonest, genuine, open? No! Why will men at critical junctures stoopto such trickery? Aunt Mollie said I might think that tenderline wasfresh-killed; but not so--she has fried it last December and put it downin its own juice in a four-gallon crock, and now look how fresh it comeout! She seemed as proud as if she had invented something. She had aright to be. It was a charming notion and I could have eaten the rest ofthe crock--but, no matter. Half a dozen biscuits copiously gummed up withpreserves of one kind or another would do as well--almost.

  So Aunt Mollie showed me objects of interest in the room, includingher new carpet sweeper, a stuffed road runner, a ship built in a bottle,and the coloured crayon portraits of herself and Uncle Henry, wearingblue clothes and gold jewellery and white collars and ecru neckties.Also, the marriage certificate. This was no mere official certificate.It was the kind that costs three dollars flat, over and above what yougive to the party that does it for you, being genuine steel-engraved,with a beautiful bridal couple under a floral bell, the groom in severeevening dress, and liberally spotted with cupids and pigeons. It is worththe money and an ornament to any wall, especially in the gilt frame.

  Aunt Mollie seemed as proud of this document as she had been with thetenderloin. I scanned it word by word for her pleasure. I noticedespecially the date. Aunt Mollie said that her and Henry were now inthe fortieth year on this place, and it had changed in looks a wholelot since they came here. I again looked at the date of the certificate.

  Ma Pettengill said, well, we must be getting on, and they must both comeover to the Arrowhead for a day right soon. And Uncle Henry said herewas a quart bottle of his peach brandy, going on eight year old, andwould I take it along back with me and try it? Parties had told him itwas good; but he didn't know--mebbe so, mebbe not. He'd like to know whatI thought. It seemed little enough to do to bring a bit of gladness intothis old gentleman's life, and I was not the man to wound him by refusal.It was as if Michelangelo had said "Come on round to the Sistine Chapelthis afternoon and look over a little thing I've dashed off." If he hadbrought two bottles instead of one my answer would have been the same.

  So we were out on our refreshed horses and heading home; and I said,without loss of time, that Aunt Mollie might have a good heart and acunning way with pork interiors, and it was none of my business, anyway;but, nevertheless, she had mentioned forty long years with this amateursaloon keeper, whereas her marriage certificate was dated but one yearprevious, in figures all too shamefully legible. So what about it? Isaid I mind observing the underworld from time to time; but I liketo be warned in advance, even when its denizens were such a charming,bright-eyed winter-apple-cheeked old couple as the two we were nowleaving.

  The sun was on our backs, a light breeze fanned us, the horses knew whichway they were going, and work for the day was over; so Ma Pettengillspoke, in part, as follows:

  "Oh, well, of course everyone knows about that. Simple enough! AuntMollie and her first husband trekked in here forty years ago. He was aconsumptive and the first winter put him out. They had a hard time; noneighbours to speak of, harsh weather, hard work, poor shelter, and adying man. Henry Mortimer happened by and stayed to help--nursed theinvalid, kept the few head of stock together, nailed up holes in theshack, rustled grub and acted like a friend in need. At the last henailed a coffin together; did the rest of that job; then stayed on tonurse Aunt Mollie, who was all in herself. After he got her to steppingagain he put in a crop for her. Then he stayed to build a barn and dosome fencing. Then he harvested the crop. And getting no wages! They wasboth living off the land. Pretty soon they got fond of each other anddecided to marry. It's one of Aunt Mollie's jokes that she owed him twoyears' wages and had to marry him.

  "Marriage was easier said than done. No preacher, or even a justice ofthe peace, was within ninety miles, which meant a four days' trip overthe roads of that day, and four days back, providing high water or someother calamity didn't make it a month; and no one to leave on the place,which meant there wouldn't be a head of stock left when they got back,what with Indians and rustlers. Uncle Henry will tell you how it seemedtoo bad that just one of 'em wouldn't make the trip down and have theceremony done, leaving the other to protect the place.

  "Then along comes a horse trader, who stops over to rest his stock,and learns their trouble. He tells 'em to quit their worry; that he's anotary public and can perform a marriage as good as any Baptist preacherthey ever saw. I never been able to make out whether he was crazy or justa witty, practical joker. Anyway, he married the pair with something likesuitable words, wouldn't take a cent for it, and gave 'em a paper sayinghe had performed the deed. It had a seal on it showing he was a genuinenotary public, though from back in Iowa somewhere. That made nodifference to the new bride and groom. A notary public was a notarypublic to them, highly important and official.

  "They had enough other things to worry about, anyway. They had to buckledown to the hard life that waits for any young couple without capital ina new country. They had years of hard sledding; but they must of had agood time somehow,
because they never have any but pleasant things totell of it. Whatever that notary public was, he seemed to of pulled offa marriage that took as well or better than a great many that may bemore legal. So that's all there is to it--only, here about a year agothey was persuaded to have it done proper at last by a real preacher whomakes Kulanche two Sundays a month. That's why the late date's on thatcertificate. The old lady is right kittenish about that; shows it toeveryone, in spite of the fact that it makes her out of been leadingan obliquitous life, or something, for about thirty-eight years.

  "But then, she's a sentimental old mush-head, anyhow. Guess what she toldme out in the kitchen! She's been reading what the Germans did to womenand children in Belgium, and she says: 'Of course I hate Germans; and yetit don't seem as if I could ever hate 'em enough to want to kill a lot ofGerman babies!' Wasn't that the confession of a weakling? I guess that'sall you'd want to know about that woman. My sakes! Will you look at thatmess of clouds? I bet it's falling weather over in Surprise Valley. Agood moisting wouldn't hurt us any either."

  That seemed to be about all. Yet I was loath to leave the topic. I stillhad a warm glow in my heart for the aged couple, and I could hear UncleHenry's bottle of adolescent peach brandy laughing to itself from whereit was lashed to the back of my saddle. I struck in the only weak spotin the wall.

  "You say they were persuaded into this marriage. Well, who persuadedthem? Isn't there something interesting about that?"

  It had, indeed, been a shrewd stroke. Ma Pettengill's eyes lighted.

  "Say, didn't I ever tell you about Mrs. Julia Wood Atkins, the well-knownlady reformer?"

  "You did not. We have eight miles yet."

  "Oh, very well!"

  So for eight miles of a road that led between green fields on our rightand a rolling expanse of sagebrush on our left, I heard something likethis:

  "Well, this prominent club lady had been out on the Coast for some timeheading movements and telling people how to do things, and she had gotrun down. She's a friend of Mrs. W.B. Hemingway, the well-known socialleader and club president of Yonkers, who is an old friend of mine; andMrs. W.B. writes that dear Julia is giving her life to the cause--Iforget what cause it was right then--and how would it be for me to haveher up here on the ranch for a vacation, where she could recover herspirits and be once more fitted to enter the arena. I say I'm only tooglad to oblige, and the lady comes along.

  "She seemed right human at first--kind of haggard and overtrained, butwith plenty of fights left in her; a lady from forty-eight to fifty-four,with a fine hearty manner that must go well on a platform, and a kindof accusing face. That's the only word I can think of for it. She'd bepretty busy a good part of the day with pamphlets and papers that she orsomeone else had wrote, but I finally managed to get her out on a gentleold horse--that one you're riding--so she could liven up some; and we gotalong quite well together.

  "The only thing that kind of went against me was, she's one of them thatthinks a kind word and a pleasant smile will get 'em anywhere, and sheworked both on me a little too much like it was something professional.

  "Still, I put it by and listened to her tell about the awful state theworld is in, and how a few earnest women could set it right in a week ifit wasn't for the police.

  "Prison reform, for instance. That was the first topic on which shedelivered addresses to me. I couldn't make much out of it, except that wedon't rely enough on our convicts' rugged honour. It was only a side linewith her; still, she didn't slight it. She could talk at length about theinnate sterling goodness of the misunderstood burglar. I got tired of it.I told her one day that, if you come right down to it, I'd bet the meninside penitentiaries didn't average up one bit higher morally than themen outside. She said, with her pleasantest smile, that I didn'tunderstand; so I never tried to after that.

  "The lady had a prowling mind. Mebbe that ain't the right word, butit come to me soon after she got here. I think it was the day she begunabout our drinking water. She wanted to know what the analysis showedit to contain. She was scared out of her pleasant smile for a minute whenshe found I'd never had the water analyzed. I thought, first, the poorthing had been reading these beer advertisements; you know--the kind theyprint asking if you are certain about the purity of your drinking water,telling of the fatal germs that will probably be swimming there, andintimating that probably the only dead-safe bet when you are thirstyis a pint of their pure, wholesome beer, which never yet gave typhoidfever to any one. But, no; Julia just thought all water ought to beanalyzed on general principles, and wouldn't I have a sample of ourssent off at once? She'd filled a bottle with some and suggested it withher pleasantest platform smile.

  "'Yes,' I says; 'and suppose the report comes back that this water isfatal to man and beast? And it's the only water round here. What then?I'd be in a hell of a fix--wouldn't I?'

  "I don't deny I used to fall back on words now and then when her smilegot to me. And we went right on using water that might or might not makespicy reading in a chemist's report; I only been here thirty years andit's too soon to tell. Anyway, it was then I see she was gifted with aprowling mind, which is all I can think of to call it. It went with heraccusing face. She didn't think anything in this world was as near rightas it could be made by some good woman.

  "Of course she had other things besides the water to worry about. Shewas a writer, too. She would write about how friction in the home lifemay be avoided by one of the parties giving in to the other and lettingthe wife say how the money shall be spent, and pieces about what theyoung girl should do next, and what the young wife should do ifnecessary, and so on. For some reason she was paid money for thesepieces.

  "However, she was taking longer rides and getting her pep back, whichwas what she had come here for. And having failed to reform anythingon the Arrowhead, she looked abroad for more plastic corruption as youmight say. She rode in one night and said she was amazed that this herecommunity didn't do something about Dave Pickens. That's the place westopped this morning. She said his children were neglected and starving,his wife worked to the bone, and Dave doing nothing but play on a cheapfiddle! How did they get their bread from day to day?

  "I told her no one in the wide world had ever been able to answer thispuzzle. There was Dave and his wife and five children, all healthy, andeating somehow, and Dave never doing a stroke of work he could side-step.I told her it was such a familiar puzzle we'd quit being puzzled by it.

  "She said someone ought to smash his fiddle and make him work. She saidshe would do something about it. I applauded. I said we needed new bloodup here and she seemed to of fetched it.

  "She come back the next day with a flush of triumph on her severelysimple face. And guess the first thing she asked me to do! She asked meto take chances in a raffle for Dave's fiddle. Yes, sir; with her kindwords and pleasant smile she had got Dave to consent to raffle off hisfiddle, and she was going to sell twenty-four chances at fifty cents achance, which would bring twelve dollars cash to the squalid home. I hadto respect the woman at that moment.

  "'There they are, penniless,' says she, 'and in want for the barestnecessities; and this man fiddling his time away! I had a strugglepersuading him to give up his wretched toy; but I've handled hardercases. You should of seen the light in the mother's wan face whenhe consented! The twelve dollars won't be much, though it will dosomething for her and those starving children; and then he will nolonger have the instrument to tempt him.'

  "I handed over a dollar for two chances right quick, and Julia went outto the bunk-house and wormed two dollars out of the boys there. And nextday she was out selling off the other chances. She didn't dislike thework. It give her a chance to enter our homes and see if they neededreforming, and if the children was subjected to refining influences, andso on. The first day she scared parties into taking fifteen tickets, andthe second day she got rid of the rest; and the next Sunday she held thedrawing over at Dave's house. The fiddle was won by a nester from over inSurprise Valley, who had always believed he c
ould play one if he onlyhad a fair chance.

  "So this good deed was now completed, there being no music, and twelvedollars in the Pickens home that night. And Mrs. Julia now felt that shewas ready for the next big feat of uplift, which was a lot more importantbecause it involved the very sanctity of the marriage tie. Yes, sir;she'd come back from her prowling one night and told me in a hushedvoice, behind a closed door, about a couple that had been for yearsliving in a state of open immorality.

  "I didn't get her, at first, not thinking of Uncle Henry and Aunt Mollie.But she meant just them two. I give her a good hearty laugh, at first;but it pained her so much I let her talk. It seems she'd gone there tosell raffle tickets, and they'd taken four, and cooked food for her, andgive her some cherry cordial, which she took on account of being far froma strong woman; and then Aunt Mollie had told all her past life, withthis horrid scandal about the notary public sticking innocently out ofit.

  "Mrs. Julia hadn't been able to see anything but the scandal, she beingan expert in that line. So she had started in to persuade Aunt Molliethat it was her sacred duty to be married decently to her companion incrime for forty years. And Aunt Mollie had been right taken with theidea; in fact, she had entered into it with a social enthusiasm thatdidn't seem to Mrs. Julia to have quite enough womanly shame for her darkpast in it. Still, anything to get the guilty couple lawful wedded;and before she left it was all fixed. Uncle Henry was to make an honestwoman of Aunt Mollie as soon as she could get her trousseau ready.

  "Me? I didn't know whether to laugh or get mad. I said the originalmarriage had satisfied the peace and dignity of the state of Washington;and it had done more--it had even satisfied the neighbours. So why notlet it rest? But, no, indeedy! It had never been a marriage in the sightof God and couldn't be one now. Facts was facts! And she talked some moreabout Aunt Mollie not taking her false position in the proper way.

  "It had been Mrs. Julia's idea to have the preacher come up and committhis ceremony quite furtively, with mebbe a couple of legal witnesses,keeping everything quiet, so as not to have a public scandal. But nothinglike that for the guilty woman! She was going to have a trousseau and awedding, with guests and gayety. She wasn't taking it the right way atall. It seemed like she wanted all the scandal there was going.

  "'Really, I can't understand the creature,' says Mrs. Julia. 'She evenspeaks of a wedding breakfast! Can you imagine her wishing to flaunt sucha thing?'

  "It was then I decided to laugh instead of telling this lady a few thingsshe couldn't of put in an article. I said Aunt Mollie's taking it thisway showed how depraved people could get after forty years of it; and wemust try to humour the old trollop, the main thing being to get her andher debased old Don Juan into a legal married state, even if they didinsist on going in with a brass band. Julia said she was glad I took itthis way.

  "She came back to my room again that night, after her hair was down. Theonly really human thing this lady ever did, so far as I could discover,was to put some of this magic remedy on her hair that restores thenatural colour if the natural colour happened to be what this remedyrestores it to. Any way, she now wanted to know if I thought it was rightfor Aunt Mollie to continue to reside there in that house between now andthe time when they would be lawful man and wife. I said no; I didn'tthink it was right. I thought it was a monstrous infamy and an affrontto public morals; but mebbe we better resolve to ignore it and plow astraight furrow, without stopping to pull weeds. She sadly said shesupposed I was right.

  "So Uncle Henry hitched up his fat white horse to the buggy, and him andAunt Mollie drove round the country for three days, inviting folks totheir wedding. Aunt Mollie had the time of her life. It seemed as ifthere wasn't no way whatever to get a sense of shame into that brazen oldhussy. And when this job was done she got busy with her trousseau, whichconsisted of a bridge gown in blue organdie, and a pair of high whiteshoes. She didn't know what a bridge gown was for, but she liked thelooks of one in a pattern book and sent down to Red Gap for MissGunslaugh to bring up the stuff and make it. And she'd always had thissecret yearning for a pair of high white shoes; so they come up, too.

  "Furthermore, Aunt Mollie had read the city paper for years and knewabout wedding breakfasts; so she was bound to have one of those. Itlooked like a good time was going to be had by all present except thelady who started it. Mrs. Julia was more malignantly scandalized by thesefestal preparations than she had been by the original crime; but she hadto go through with it now.

  "The date had been set and we was within three days of it when AuntMollie postponed it three days more because Dave Pickens couldn't bethere until this later day. Mrs. Julia made a violent protest, becauseshe had made her plans to leave for larger fields of crime; but AuntMollie was stubborn. She said Dave Pickens was one of the oldestneighbours and she wouldn't have a wedding he couldn't attend; andbesides, marriage was a serious step and she wasn't going to be hurriedinto it.

  "So Mrs. Julia went to a lot of trouble about her ticket andreservations, and stayed over. She was game enough not to run outbefore Uncle Henry had made Aunt Mollie a lady. I was a good dealpuzzled about this postponement. Dave Pickens was nothing to postponeanything for. There never was any date that he couldn't be anywhere--atleast, unless he had gone to work after losing his fiddle, which washighly ridiculous.

  "The date held this time. We get word the wedding is to be held in theevening and that everyone must stay there overnight. This was surprising,but simple after Aunt Mollie explained it. The guests, of course, hadto stay over for the wedding breakfast. Aunt Mollie had figured it allout. A breakfast is something you eat in the morning, about six-thirty orseven; so a wedding breakfast must be held the morning after the wedding.You couldn't fool Aunt Mollie on social niceties.

  "Anyway, there we all was at the wedding; Uncle Henry in his black suitand his shiny new teeth, and Aunt Mollie in her bridge gown and whiteshoes, and this young minister that wore a puzzled look from startto finish. I guess he never did know what kind of a game he was helpingout in. But he got through with the ceremony. There proved to be nota soul present knowing any reason why this pair shouldn't be joinedtogether in holy wedlock, though Mrs. Julia looked more severe than usualat this part of the ceremony. Uncle Henry and Aunt Mollie was firm intheir responses and promised to cling to each other till death did thempart. They really sounded as if they meant it.

  "Mrs. Julia looked highly noble and sweet when all was over, like she hadrescued an erring sister from the depths. You could see she felt that theworld would indeed be a better place if she could only give a littlemore time to it.

  "We stood round and talked some after the ceremony; but not for long.Aunt Mollie wound the clock and set the mouse-trap, and hustled us alloff to bed so we could be up bright and early for the wedding breakfast.You'd think she'd been handling these affairs in metropolitan society foryears. The women slept on beds and sofas, and different places, and themen slept out in the barn and in a tent Uncle Henry had put up or tooktheir blanket rolls and bunked under a tree.

  "Then ho! for the merry wedding breakfast at six-thirty A.M.! The weddingbreakfast consisted of ham and eggs and champagne. Yes, sir; don't thinkAunt Mollie had overlooked the fashionable drink. Hadn't she been readingall her life about champagne being served at wedding breakfasts? So thereit was in a new wash boiler, buried in cracked ice. And while the womenwas serving the ham and eggs and hot biscuits at the long table built outin the side yard, Uncle Henry exploded several bottles of this wine andpassed it to one and all, and a toast was drunk to the legal bride andgroom; after which eating was indulged in heartily.

  "It was a merry feast, even without the lobster salad, which Aunt Mollieapologized for not having. She said she knew lobster salad went with awedding breakfast, the same as champagne; but the canned lobster she hadordered hadn't come, so we'd have to make out with the home-cured ham andsome pork sausage that now come along. Nobody seemed downhearted aboutthe missing lobster salad. Uncle Henry passed up and down the tablefilling cups a
nd glasses, and Aunt Mollie, in her wedding finery, keptthe food coming with some buckwheat cakes at the finish.

  "It was a very satisfactory wedding breakfast, if any one should evermake inquiries of you. By the time Uncle Henry had the ends out of halfthe champagne bottles I guess everyone there was glad he had decidedto drag Aunt Mollie back from the primrose path.

  "It all passed off beautifully, except for one tragedy. Oh, yes; there'salways something to mar these affairs. But this hellish incident didn'tcome till the very last. After the guests had pretty well et themselvesto a standstill, Dave Pickens got up and come back with a fiddle, andstood at the end of the grape arbour and played a piece.

  "'Someone must have supplied that wretch with another fiddle!' says Mrs.Julia, who was kind of cross, anyway, having been bedded down on a shortsofa and not liking champagne for breakfast--and, therefore, not likingto see others drink it.

  "'Oh, he's probably borrowed one for your celebration,' I says.

  "Dave played a couple more lively pieces; and pretty soon, when we got upfrom the table, he come over to Mrs. Julia and me.

  "'It's a peach of a fiddle,' says Dave. 'It says in the catalogue it's agenuine Cremonika--looks like a Cremona and plays just as good. I betit's the best fiddle in the world to be had for twelve dollars!'

  "'What's that?' says Mrs. Julia, erecting herself like an alarmedrattlesnake.

  "'Sure! It's a genuine twelve-dollar one,' says Dave proudly. 'My oldone, that you so kindly raffled off, cost only five. I always wanted abetter one, but I never had the money to spare till you come along. It'sawful hard to save up money round here.'

  "'Do you mean to tell me--' says Mrs. Julia. She was so mad she couldn'tget any farther. Dave thought she was merely enthusiastic about his newfiddle.

  "'Sure! Only twelve dollars for this beauty,' he says, fondling theinstrument. 'We got down the mail-order catalogue the minute you leftthat money with us, and had a postal order on the way to Chicago thatvery night. I must say, lady, you brought a great pleasure into ourlife.'

  "'What about your poor wife?' snaps Mrs. Julia.

  "His poor wife comes up just then and looks affectionately at Dave andthe new fiddle.

  "'He spent that money for another fiddle!' says Mrs. Julia to her in lowtones of horror.

  "'Sure! What did you think he was going to do with it?' says Mrs. Dave.'I must say we had two mighty dull weeks while Dave was waiting for thisnew one. He just mopes round the house when he ain't got anythingto play on. But this is a lot better than the old fiddle; it was worthwaiting for. Did you thank the lady, Dave?'

  "Mrs. Julia was now plumb speechless and kind of weak. And on top ofthese blows up comes Aunt Mollie the new-wed, and beams fondly on her.

  "'There!' says she. 'Ain't that a fine new fiddle that Dave bought withhis twelve dollars? And wasn't it worth postponing my wedding for, so wecould have some music?'

  "'What's that?' says Mrs. Julia again. 'Why did you postpone it?'

  "'Because the fiddle didn't get here till last night,' says Aunt Mollie,'and I wasn't going to have a wedding without music. It wouldn't seemright. And don't you think, yourself, it's a lot better fiddle thanDave's old one?'

  "So this poor Mrs. Julia woman was now stricken for fair, thinking of allthe trouble she'd been to about her tickets, and all to see this newfiddle.

  "She went weakly into the house and lay down, with a headache, till I wasready to leave the gay throng. And the next day she left us to our fate.Still, she'd done us good. Dave has a new fiddle and Aunt Mollie has herhigh white shoes. So now you know all about it."

  We neared the Arrowhead gate. Presently its bell would peal a sweetmessage to those who laboured. Ma Pettengill turned in her saddle to scanthe western horizon.

  "A red sun has water in his eye," said she. "Well, a good soak won't hurtus."

  And a moment later:

  "Curious thing about reformers: They don't seem to get a lot of pleasureout of their labours unless the ones they reform resist and suffer, andshow a proper sense of their degradation. I bet a lot of reformers wouldquit to-morrow if they knew their work wasn't going to bother peopleany."