Two Wyoming Girls and Their Homestead Claim Part 8

Joe had been sitting in his corner, saying nothing, but, just at this point, I saw him roll his eyes scornfully at our neighbor, and wondered if it could be that the old man was jealous of her openly expressed interest in the little family to which he laid prior claim.

"Yes," Jessie said, replying to Mrs. Horton's question: "It is a great relief, and, after all, we've done about all that we can to make ready for it."

"I'm not doubting that, still, I wish, now that we've thought of it, that you did have time to earn a little more by sewing. How much are the witnesses' fees?"

"Six dollars each; it will take eighteen dollars for that alone,"

Jessie told her.

"Eighteen dollars! and I don't suppose you can have much more than that on hand!" Mrs. Horton's face lengthened. "I wish I had it to lend you," she remarked, at last. "You could pay me in sewing; but Jake--"

We had heard of Mr. Horton's views on the money question. He always ran bills at the store because, he said, a woman couldn't be trusted with ready cash. "Give a woman her head and she'll spend all a man has on knick-knacks!" was an observation with which even his chance acquaintances were unduly familiar. How often, then, must his poor wife have heard it.

Pitying her halting effort to give a good excuse for not having the sum needed--when they were so wealthy--and still loyally shield her tyrant, I said: "I'm sure the witnesses will not be at all hard on us; they will be willing to wait a little if necessary, don't you think so, Jessie?"

But before Jessie could reply, Joe interposed: "Mr. Wilson, he done say he goin' gib me a chance for to wuck for him w'en I wants to; mebbe I goin' want ter wuck out dem witness fee; no tellin'."

This was ambiguous, but we well understood that the old man did not like to talk of business matters before strangers--as he regarded every one outside the immediate family.

"Your first notice came out along in the spring, didn't it?" Mrs.

Horton inquired.

"In April," Jessie replied, and was silent, a dreamy look in her eyes, while I vividly recalled the stormy day when father came back from a visit to the post-office with the paper containing the first notice in his hand. I heard the April rain beating against the window panes while father told us children--for Jessie and I were children then; it was so long ago, measured by heart-beats, oh! so long ago--that our notice was out and the witnesses named.

Joe broke a little silence by remarking: "Dere's ten acres ob as fine w'eat as ebber growed out doahs, a waitin' to be cut an' threshed atwixt dat day an' dis."

"Ten acres!" Mrs. Horton echoed. "What a help that'll be to you! I do hope you'll get it taken care of all right."

"I'se goin' tek keer ob hit; yo' needn't fur to fret about dat. I'se goin' at hit, hammer an' tongs, day arter to-morry mornin'."

"Why not to-morrow?" Jessie inquired eagerly; "Leslie and I can help you."

"I reckons dere can't n.o.body help me much w'en I'se done got a broken reaper to wuck with."

"Oh, that's too bad! How long will it take to get it fixed?" Jessie asked.

"I'se done get hit fixed to-morry, sure, den--we see."

"Leslie and I will help you," Jessie repeated. "The wheat is worth more than any sewing that we can do. If we can get it marketed it will pay up all our bills, nearly, won't it, Joe?"

"I spec' maybe hit will, honey," Joe returned, grinning complacently.

"Doan you chillen fret about nothin'," he continued earnestly. "Dem bills all goin' be paid up, clean to de handle."

I confess that I felt far less sanguine than he appeared to be on that point.

"Isn't it a mercy that our corn and wheat have been let to grow in peace this year?" I said, after Mrs. Horton had taken her leave. "It's the first year since we have been here that such a thing has happened."

"I hope it will be the last year that we will have to try raising a crop without a fence," Jessie replied. For our fence building had stopped abruptly with the digging of some post holes on that day in April. Pumping the water out of the mine had been an expensive piece of work, and all the valley people who had lost relatives in the accident, many who had not, indeed, had come gallantly to the Gray Eagle's aid when that task was undertaken. Because of the aid that we had furnished, our fence was still unbuilt.

CHAPTER X

RALPH AND I GO BLACKBERRYING

"Chillen's, dere's lots ob blackberries on de hill above de w'eat fiel'," Joe stopped to remark, as he was about starting for the blacksmith shop with the reaper, the next morning.

"They'll have to stay there as far as I'm concerned," returned Jessie, who was busily engaged in sewing up the gaping rents in Mr. Horton's coat; "I haven't time to gather them."

"Me do det 'em!" exclaimed Ralph, starting up from the floor, where he had been vainly trying to fasten some paper boots on Guard's paws.

Guard did not object, but, when a boot was, after much trouble, partially secured, he took it in his mouth and calmly pulled it off.

"Me do dit 'ackburries yite now," reiterated Ralph.

"No," said Jessie, "Ralphie can't go."

Thus summarily enjoined, Ralph began to roar, as a matter of course.

Joe, who had already started to climb into the reaper seat, came back and looked in at the door, the better to look reproachfully at us.

"I doan like dish yer sperrit ob money-gettin'," he declared, frowning. "Denyin' a little chile all his innercent pleasures fo' de sake ob sc.r.a.pin' a few censes togedder!" he exclaimed severely.

Jessie laughed, with a suspicious little catch in her voice; it was hard to be misunderstood, if only by blundering, faithful old Joe. "I really must not spare time to go with him, Joe," she said in self-defense, "but perhaps Leslie had better go. It will do you good, dear," she added, mindful of my inexplicable paleness on the preceding day.

"I don't need being done good to, Jessie, but evidently Ralph does, so I'll take him out," I said, while old Joe nodded approvingly.

"Dat's right; dat's right, honey, chile," he declared, and again betook himself to the waiting team and reaper. Freed from the danger of being compelled to wear boots, Guard had gone outside and placed himself by the doorstep, where he was, to all appearances, peacefully dozing when Joe started. But, before the team had turned the shoulder of the nearest hill, he arose, stretched himself lazily, and trotted slowly down the road after them.

Soon after Joe's departure, Ralph and I, baskets in hand, started for the blackberry patch. Ralph's basket was a little toy candy pail, which he a.s.sured Jessie he should bring to her "filled way up on 'e top wiv burries." The blackberry vines grew along the upper edge of the wheat field. We stopped when fairly above the field to admire the square of yellow grain spread out below us, the bended heads of wheat nodding and swaying in the light breeze, and the tall stalks now and then rippling in soft, undulating waves, as if a gentle wind had moved over a sea of gold. Next to the wheat stood the corn in file after file, the leaves rustling and the ta.s.seled heads held bravely aloft.

Green uniformed soldiers of peace and plenty they seemed to me, bidding defiance to want and famine. I might better say that I stopped to admire the grain fields, for Ralph had no aesthetic enthusiasm. His one desire was to reach the "'ackburry" patch and begin stuffing them into that little red mouth of his.

"Tum on, 'Essie," he said, tugging at my hand impatiently as I lingered. "Me's so hungry."

"Yes; it must be half an hour at least since you had breakfast," I replied unfeelingly, but turning my back on the fields nevertheless and hastening on.

There were, as Joe had said, lots of blackberries, as we found on reaching the spot. I helped Ralph to fill his little bucket and he trudged along at my side, eating steadfastly, but sometimes suspending even that fascinating employment to cling to my skirts and shrink closer to me as we came upon a particularly luxuriant cl.u.s.ter of vines. They were so tall and arched so high above his sunny little head, and the p.r.i.c.kly vines extended away and away in vistas that must have seemed so endless to his small stature that it was no wonder if he felt somewhat overawed at times.

We were well up on the hillside, and the fields below us were hidden from our view, when he suddenly announced that it was time to go home.

"Oh, no, Ralph," I said, "see, sister hasn't got her basket nearly full yet. Here's some nice large berries; let me fill your bucket again."

"No; 'eys sour. Me don't like 'ackburries any more!"

"I don't wonder!" I thought, recalling the number of times that I had filled the small bucket, and he had emptied it, but I remained discreetly silent. The little fellow had been humored so much since father's death--and, perhaps, before--that the moment he was opposed he cried, so now he began to whimper forlornly: "Me 'ants to do home, 'Essie!"

"What for, dear?"

"Me's s'eepy."

That appeared very probable, too, but I disliked to return with a half-filled bucket when the berries were so abundant and fairly begging to be picked. Looking around, inquiringly, I saw, under a clump of bushes at some little distance, an inviting carpet of cool green gra.s.s. Taking the child in my arms I carried him over and laid him down on the gra.s.s, putting my ap.r.o.n under his head for a pillow.