Stories of the Foot-hills Part 28

The newcomer spread his bony hands over Mrs. Brandt's cheery fire, and the soft, dull eyes followed her movements wistfully.

"The fire feels kind o' homey, ma'am; Californy ain't much of a place for fires, it 'pears."

"Been long on the coast, stranger?" Joel squared himself interrogatively.

"'Bout a week. I'm from Indianny. Brice's my name--Posey Brice the boys 'n the gla.s.s-mill called me. I wuz blowed up in a gla.s.s-mill oncet." The speaker turned to show an ugly scar on his neck. "Didn't know where I wuz fer six weeks--thought I hadn't lit. When I come to, there wuz Loisy potterin' over me; but I ain't been rugged sence."

"Married?"

The man's answer broke through the patient homeliness of his face at once. He fumbled in his pocket silently, like one who has no common disclosure to make.

"What d' ye think o' them, stranger?"

Joel took the little, rusty, black case in his hands reverently. A woman's face, not grand, nor fair even, some bits of tawdry finery making its plainness plainer; and beside it a round-eyed boy plumped into a high chair, with two little feet sticking st.u.r.dily out in Joel's face.

Mrs. Brandt looked over her husband's shoulder with kindly curiosity.

"The boy favors you amazingly about the mouth; but he's got his mother's eyes, and they're sharp, knowin' eyes, too. He's a bright one, I'll be bound."

"Yours, I reckon?"

"Yes, that's Loisy an' the boy," fighting the conscious pride in his voice like one who tries to wear his honors meekly.

He took the well-worn case again, gazing into the two faces an instant with helpless yearning, and returned it to its place. The very way he handled it was a caress, fastening the little bra.s.s hook with scrupulous care.

"I'll be sendin' fur 'em when I git red o' this pesterin' cough."

II.

A very quiet, un.o.btrusive guest Mrs. Brandt found the man Brice; talking little save in a sudden gush of confidence, and always of his wife and child; choosing a quiet corner of the kitchen in the chill California nights, where he watched his hostess's deft movements with wistful admiration.

"Try huntin', Brice; the doctors mostly say it's healthy."

And Brice tried hunting, as Joel advised, taking the gun from its crotch over the door after breakfast, and wandering for hours in the yellow, wine-like air of the mesa. He came in at noon and nightfall always empty-handed, yet no one derided his failure. There was something about the man that smothered derision.

"A sort o' thunderin' patience that knocks a fellow," Bert Fox put it.

Mrs. Brandt had always an encouraging word for the hunter.

"Greasewood's bad fer huntin'. Joel says it don't pay to look fer quail in the brush when he does fetch 'em down."

"Like enough. I dunno, ma'am. Reckon I've had a good many shots at the little wild critters, but they allus turn their heads so kind o'

innocent like. A man as has been blowed up oncet hisself ain't much at separatin' fam'lies. But I s'pose it ain't the shootin' that's healthy, mebbe."

And so the hunting came to an end without bloodshed. Whether the doctors were right, or whether it was the mingled resin and honey of the sage and chaparral, no one cared to ask. Certain it is that the "pesterin'

cough" yielded a little, and the bent form grew a trifle more erect.

"I think likely it's the lookin' up, ma'am. Mountains seem to straighten a fellow some way. 'Pears to me somebody writ oncet uv liftin' his eyes to the hills fer help. Mebbe not, though. I ain't much at recollectin'

verses. Loisy's a powerful hand that way."

Perhaps the man was right. It was the looking up.

He followed Joel from the table one morning, stopping outside, his face full of patient eagerness.

"I'm gittin' right smart o' strength, neighbor. Ef there's odd jobs you could gi' me; I'd be slow, mebbe, but seems like 'most anything 'ud be better 'n settin' 'round."

Joel scratched his head reflectively. The big, brawny-handed fellow felt no disposition to smile at his weak brother.

"Fox and I wuz sayin' yesterday we'd like to put another man on the ditch; it'll be easy work fer a week, till we strike rock again. Then there's the greasewood. It's always on hand. You might take it slow, grubbin' when you wuz able. I guess we'll find you jobs enough, man."

The scarred, colorless face brightened.

"Thank ye, neighbor. Ef you'll be so kind, there's another little matter. I'll have a trifle over when I've paid your woman fer her trouble. I wuz thinkin' like enough you'd let me run up a shanty on yer place here. Loisy wouldn't mind about style--just a roof to bring 'em to. It's fer her and the boy, you know," watching Joel's face eagerly.

"Yes, yes, Brice; we'll make it all right. Just take things kind o'

easy. I'll be goin' in with wood next week, and I'll fetch you out a load o' lumber. We'll make a day of it after 'while, and put up your house in a jiffy."

And so Brice went to work on the ditch, gently at first, spared from the heaviest work by strong arms and rough kindliness. And so, ere long, another rude dwelling went up on the mesa, the blue smoke from its fireside curling slowly toward the pine-plumed mountain-tops.

The building fund, scanty enough at best, was unexpectedly swelled by a sudden and obstinate attack of forgetfulness which seized good Mrs.

Brandt.

"No, Brice, you haven't made me a spark o' trouble, not a spark. I'm sure you've paid your way twice over bringin' in wood, and grindin'

coffee, an' the like. Many a man'd asked wages for the half you've done, so I'm gettin' off easy to call it square." And the good lady stood her ground unflinchingly.

"You've been powerful good to me, ma'am. We'll be watchin' our chance to make it up to you,--Loisy an' me. I'll be sendin' fer Loisy d'reckly now."

"Yes, yes, man, and there'll be bits o' furniture and things to get.

Spread your money thin, and Mrs. Fox and me'll come in and put you to rights when you're lookin' for her."

He brought the money to Joel at last, a motley collection of gold and silver pieces.

"Ef ye'll be so kind as to send it to 'er, neighbor,--Mrs. Loisy Brice, Plattsville, Indianny. I've writ the letter tellin' her how to come.

There's enough fer the ticket and a trifle to spare. The boy's a master hand at scuffin' out shoes an' things. You'll not make any mistake sendin' it, will you?"

"No, no, Brice; it'll go straight as a rocket. Let me see now. The letter'll be a week, then 'lowin' 'em a week to get started"--

"Loisy won't be a week startin', neighbor."

"Never you mind, man. 'Lowin' 'em a week to get off, that's two weeks; then them emigrant trains is slow, say thirteen days on the road,--that's about another fortnight,--four weeks; this is the fifth, ain't it? Twenty-eight and five's thirty-three; that'll be the third o'

next month, say. Now mind what I tell you, Brice; don't look fer 'em a minute before the third,--not a minute."

"'Pears like a long spell to wait, neighbor."

"I know it, man; but it'll seem a thunderin' sight longer after you begin to look fer 'em."

"I reckon you're right. Say four weeks from to-day, then. Like enough you'll be goin' in."