The Gold Girl Part 3

Ma Watts called loudly from the doorway and numerous small Wattses appeared as if by magic from the direction of the creek and the cottonwood thicket. Dinner consisted of flabby salt pork, swimming in its own grease, into which were dipped by means of fingers or forks, huge misshapen slices of sour white bread. There was also an abundance of corn pone, black mola.s.ses, and a vile concoction that Ma Watts called coffee. Flies swarmed above the table and settled upon the food from which they arose in clouds at each repet.i.tion of the dipping process.

How she got through the meal Patty did not know, but to her surprise and disgust, realized that she had actually consumed a considerable portion of the unappetizing mess. Watts arose, stretched prodigiously, and sauntered to his chair which, true to calculation was already just within the shadow of the east side of the house.

Baby on hip, Ma Watts, a.s.sisted by Microby Dandeline and Lillian Russell, attacked the dishes. All offers of help from Patty were declined.

"Yo' welcome to stay yere jest as long as yo' want to, honey, an' yo'

hain't got to work none neither. They's a old piece o' stack-cover somewheres around an' them young-uns kin rig 'em up a tent an' sleep in hit all summer, an' yo' kin hev their shake-down like yo' done las'

night. I s'pose yo're yere about yo' pa's claim?"

"Yes," answered the girl, "and I certainly appreciate your hospitality. I hope I can repay you some day, but I cannot think of settling myself upon you this way. My work will take me out into the hills and----"

"Jest like yo' pa usta say. He wus that fond o' rale home cookin' thet he'd come 'long every onct in a month 'er so, an' git him a squr meal, an' then away he'd go out to his camp."

"Where was his camp?" asked the girl eagerly.

"Lawzie, his camp wus a tent, an' he moved hit around so they couldn't no one tell from one day to 'nother where he'd be at. But, he never wus no great ways from here, gen'ally within ten mile, one way er 'nother. Hits out yonder in the barn--his tent an' outfit--pick an'

pan an' shovel an' dishes, all ready to throw onto his pack hoss which hits a mewl an' runnin' in the hills with them hosses of ourn.

If hit wusn't fer the fences they'd be in the pasture. Watts aims to fix 'em when he gits time."

"I don't know much about tents, but I guess I'll have to use it, that is, if there isn't another ranch, or a--a house, or something, where I can rent a room all to myself."

"Great sakes, child! They hain't another ranch within twenty-five mile, an' thet's towards town." As if suddenly smitten with an idea, she paused with her hand full of dishes and called loudly to her spouse:

"Watts! Watts!"

The chair was eased to its four legs, and the lank form appeared in the doorway. "Yeh?"

"How about the sheep camp?"

The man's fingers fumbled at his beard and he appeared plunged into deep thought. "What yo' mean, how 'bout hit?"

"Why not we-all leave Mr. Sinclair's darter live up there?"

Again the thoughtful silence. At length the man spoke: "Why, sh.o.r.e, she kin stay there long as she likes, an' welcome."

"Hit's a cabin four mile up the crick," explained Ma Watts, "what we built on our upper desert fer a man thet wanted to run a band o'

sheep. He wus rentin' the range offen us, till they druv him off--the cattlemen claimed they wouldn't 'low no sheep in the hill country.

They warned him an' pestered him a spell, an' then they jest up an'

druv him off--thet Vil Holland wus into hit, an' some more."

"Who is this Vil Holland you speak of, and why did he want to drive off the sheep?"

"Oh, he's a cowpuncher--they say they hain't a better cowpuncher in Montany, when he'll work. But he won't work only when he takes a notion--'druther hang around the hills an' prospeck. He hain't never made no strike, but he allus aims to, like all the rest. Ef he'd settle down, he could draw his forty dollars a month the year 'round, 'stead of which, he works on the round-up, an' gits him a stake, an'

then quits an' strikes out fer the hills."

"I couldn't think of occupying your cabin without paying for it. How much will you rent it to me for?"

"'Tain't wuth nothin' at all," said Watts. "'Tain't doin' no good settin' wher' it's at, an' yo' won't hurt hit none a-livin' in hit.

Jest move in, an' welcome."

"No, indeed! Now, you tell me, is ten dollars a month enough rent?"

"Ten dollars a month!" exclaimed Watts. "Why, we-all only got fifteen fo' a herder an' a dog an' a band o' sheep! No, ef yo' bound to pay, I'll take two dollars a month. We-all might be po' but we hain't no robbers."

"I'll take it," said Patty. "And now I'll have to have a lot of things from town--food and blankets, and furniture, and----"

"Hit's all furnished," broke in Ma Watts. "They's a bunk, an' a table, an' a stove, an a couple o' wooden chairs."

"Oh, that's fine!" cried the girl, becoming really enthusiastic over the prospect of having a cabin all her very own. "But, about the other things: Mr. Watts can you haul them from town?"

Watts tugged at his beard and stared out across the hills. "Yes, mom, I reckon I kin. Le's see, the work's a-pilin' up on me right smart."

He cast his eye skyward, where the sun shone hot from the cloudless blue. "Hit mought rain to-morrow, an' hit moughtn't. The front ex on the wagon needs fixin'--le's see, this here's a Wednesday. How'd next Sunday, a week do?"

The girl stared at him in dismay. Ten days of Ma Watts's "home cooking" loomed before her.

"Oh, couldn't you _possibly_ go before that?" she pleaded.

"Well, there's them fences. I'd orter hev' time to study 'bout how many steeples. .h.i.t's a-goin' to tak' to fix 'em. An' besides, Ferd Rowe 'lowed he wus comin' 'long some day to trade hosses an' I'd hate to miss him."

"Why can't I go to town. I know the way. Will you rent me your horses and wagon? I can drive and I can bring out your tools and things, too." As she awaited Watts's reply her eyes met the wistful gaze of Microby Dandeline. She turned to Ma Watts. "And maybe you would let Microby Dandeline go with me. It would be loads of fun."

"Lawzie, honey, yo' wouldn't want to be pestered with her."

"Yes, I would really. Please let her go with me, that is, if Mr. Watts will let me have the team."

"Why, sh.o.r.e, yo' welcome to 'em. They hain't sich a good span o'

hosses, but they'll git yo' there, an' back, give 'em time."

"And can we start in the morning?"

"My! Yo' in a sight o' hurry. They's thet front ex----"

"Is it anything very serious? Maybe I could help fix it. Do let me try."

Watts rubbed his beard reflectively. "Well, no, I reckon it's mebbe the wheels needs greasin'. 'Twouldn't take no sight o' time to do, if a body could only git at hit. Reckon I mought grease 'em all 'round, onct I git started. The young-uns kin help, yo' jest stay here with Ma. Ef yo' so plumb sot on goin' we'll see't yo' git off."

"I kin go, cain't I, Ma?" Microby Dandeline's eyes were big with excitement, as she wrung out her dish towel and hung it to dry in the sun.

"Why, yas, I reckon yo' mought's well--but seem's like yo' allus a-wantin' to gad. Yo' be'n to town twict a'ready."

"Twice!" cried Patty. "In how long?"

"She's goin' on eighteen. Four years, come July she wus to town. They wus a circust."

"I know Mr. Christie. He lives to town."

"He's the preacher. He's a 'piscopalium preacher, an' one time that Vil Holland an' him come ridin' 'long, an' they stopped in fer dinner, an' that Vil Holland, he's allus up to some kind o' devilment er 'nother, he says: 'Ma Watts, why don't yo' hev the kids all babitized?' I hadn't never thought much 'bout hit, but thar wus the preacher, an' he seemed to think mighty proud of hit, an' hit didn't cost nothin', so I tol' him to go ahead. He started in on Microby Dandeline--we jest called her Dandeline furst, bein' thet yallar with janders when she wus a baby, but when she got about two year, I wus a readin' a piece in a paper a man left, 'bout these yere little microbys thet gits into everywheres they shouldn't ort to, jest like she done, so I says to Watts how she'd ort to had two names anyways, only I couldn't think of none but common ones when we give her hern. I says, we'll name her Microby Dandeline Watts an' Watts, he didn't care one way er t'other." Ma Watts shifted the baby to the other hip.

"Babitizin' is nice, but hit works both ways, too. Take the baby, yere. When we'd got down to the bottom of the batch it come her turn, an', lawzie, I wus that fl.u.s.tered, comin' so sudden, thet way, I couldn't think of no name fer her 'cept Chattenoogy Tennessee, where I come from near, an' the very nex' day I wus readin' in the almanac an'