Neighbours Part 4

"'It's a bit thick,' he kep' on sayin'.

"'See here,' says I. 'If you think this is a bit thick, as you call it, pay me the sixty pounds now, an' in three years bring me the t.i.tle to your farm, an' I'll give you back your sixty pounds, an' not charge you a cent for the use of the land for those three years.' That seemed to shush 'im, an' he coughed up."

We laughed over the story. "I suppose you get them here as green as gra.s.s," I ventured.

"Oh, terrible, terrible," Jake agreed gravely. "An' in most unexpected places. But jus' you watch out!" he continued with a strange sharpness.

"I took his sixty pounds because there was a dozen sharks on his trail, and he might as well give it to me fer somethin' as to them fer nothin'.

But jus' you watch out that in ten or twenty years he don't have _you_ beat to a custard. Dang me! I can't explain it, but there's somethin' in those fellows that won't go down--an' stay down. That is, most of 'em.

Course there's failures everywhere," he added, generously. "They don'

count."

"But do you think it quite fair," said Jack, and I knew that he was bantering our guide, or wanting to draw out his conclusions,--"do you think it quite fair to charge different fees for the same service?"

"Fair as fightin'," Jake declared. "It's like this. You go into the butcher's an' you order a cut of steak, an' he sets you back six bits, an' it doesn't matter whether it's you or me or the king--six bits is the price. That's business. But you go into a lawyer's or a doctor's an'

what does he do? Looks you up an' down an' figgers out in his mind what you can d.a.m.n-well pay, an' that's what he soaks you. That's a perfession. Locatin' homesteads is a perfession."

With this explanation of the ethics of his "perfession" we had to be satisfied. As the day wore on, the sun, pouring through a cloudless sky as clear as s.p.a.ce, and the fresh wind which blew steadily in our faces, began to have effect, and we felt a smarting, tingling sensation over our cheeks and across our noses and chins. Jake had provided against this contingency with a box of axle grease; not the daintiest cosmetic, but a cheap and effective one. He now produced the box with the instructions, "Plaster it on. Don't be afraid of it."

We did so, somewhat gingerly, and laughed whenever we looked in each other's faces.

Jake turned in to a farm place in mid-afternoon for water. We could see the farmer seeding in his field; he made no stop on our account, and if he had a wife she remained indoors. We pumped as much water as the horses would drink, and filled our water keg, and then sat for a while in the shade of one of his buildings, chewing at straws and gazing into the blank distance. There was a supreme satisfaction, a fine relaxation and relief, in idling in such an hour. I was impressed with the off-hand way in which we seemed to have taken possession of the man's farm, and his complete indifference to our presence.

"Some people say," said Jake at length, yawning and digging his heels in the ground preparatory to getting up, "some people say that the Indian is a fool, an' the Indian says the white man is a fool. On a day like this I al'us reckon the Indian has a little the best o' the argyment."

He pulled his team out from the side of a haystack, where they had been feeding with as little concern as if the hay were their own, and presently we rattled off down the trail again. On the way we pa.s.sed the field in which the farmer was seeding. We waved our hats at him, and from the distance he waved his hat back at us, and we drove on into the prairies.

On account of our afternoon rest Jake drove until almost sundown. We were now in a slightly rolling country, and suddenly he swung from the trail and pulled up on the top of a little knoll. From this little vantage point we could see the unbroken sweep of the prairies, miles and miles in every direction.

"Is this the bald-headed?" I asked in a low voice, as though touching on something almost sacred.

"This is the bald-headed," he answered, solemnly. "See, everywhere, sky an' gra.s.s--sky an' gra.s.s. Ah, there, there's an exception." I followed the line of his extended arm. Far across the plains I saw a flas.h.i.+ng light, as of a heliograph.

"The window of a settler's shanty, twenty miles from here, if it's a foot," he explained. "Look how green the gra.s.s is. The evenin' light makes it that way, somehow."

It was true. The gra.s.s had taken a deeper shade of green with the light falling aslant across it. The sun hung like a yellow ball in a sky of champagne, and the long shadows of our horses and wagon stretched down the slope of the little hill. But most impressive of all was the silence, a silence as of heaven and earth brooding, brooding, brooding over this scene as they had done from the dawn of time; aye, and before that, far into the vague aeons of eternity. . . . I wished that Jean might have been there.

We made our camp on the hill, if we can be said to have made camp at all. Jake found a little slough (p.r.o.nounced _slew_) of snow water not far away, and he unharnessed his horses and hobbled them nearby. I was fussing with the tent when he returned.

"We won't need that, son," and I thought there was a note almost of affection in his voice that made me warm to the man. "It couldn't rain to-night on a bet. Clean out the wagon an' you two boys sleep on the floor of it. You get the benefit o' the springs that way, an' it's dryer'n the ground."

"But where will you sleep?"

"Oh, I'll roll up somewhere. I'm an old-timer."

Jake gathered some dry gra.s.s and buffalo chips and out of an astonis.h.i.+ngly little fire he soon had the tea boiling. Then he fried bacon and laid the strips of hot bacon on slabs of bread. And we ate bacon and bread, and then jam and bread, and drank hot black tea, while the slow twilight settled down about us.

Once, only, Jake startled us by springing to his feet and running to the wagon. He slung his rifle over his arm as we heard a sort of rus.h.i.+ng whistle in the darkness overhead.

"No use," he said, laying the weapon down reluctantly. "Wouldn't get one with a carload o' cartridges."

"What was it?" we asked. "We didn't see anything."

"Didn't you? You ain't got prairie eyes yet. Them was wild ducks, goin'

north a-hootin'. Wouldn't hit one with a rifle in a million years."

"Why don't you carry a shot gun?" asked Jack.

"Sometimes a rifle is better," he answered, quietly.

As we were getting ready for bed we noticed him take up the rifle again, make sure that the magazine was charged, and even throw a cartridge into the barrel. Then he sat with it over his arm, a few yards from the wagon.

At last our curiosity became too much for us, so Jack said, "What's the idea, Jake?"

Jake was smoking now, having changed off from chewing tobacco after supper. For a moment or two he sat, puffing silently. Then he got up and walked over beside us.

"I didn' mean to say nothin' about it to you lads," he said, in a low voice. "What you don' know you don' worry over. But since you ask me, old Sittin' Crow's been givin' trouble. He's off his reserve again, with a few rash bucks followin' him, an' if he should catch us unawares he'd likely dangle three new scalps at his belt. The buckskins, the democrat, an' the grub would look mighty good to Sittin' Crow."

I felt a strange tremor run up my spine. My scalp was still in place all right; I could feel the hair rising on it.

"Why didn't you tell us sooner," Jack remonstrated. "We should have had a rifle each. What is one rifle against a band like that?"

"One rifle, if it's pointed right, will puncture old Sittin' Crow, an'

that's the last thing he's hopin' fer," said Jake. "With one rifle on guard we're safe as Sunday. Now you boys go to sleep, an' I'll jus'

watch the camp."

"But you can't do that!" Jack insisted. "You can't sit up on guard all night and drive all day. We'll take our turn. Won't we, Frank?"

"Of course," said I, a.s.suming a confidence I could not feel. It was quite dark now, and a rising breeze came with an eerie note across the plains.

"Well, that's decent," said Jake, "but I couldn't let you take no such chances."

"Chances nothing!" Jack exploded. "We're in the same boat, and we're going to row together. Divide the night up, and Frank and I will take s.h.i.+ft about."

"Well, if you insist," said Jake, reluctantly. "I'll hold it down till midnight, which is the most dang'rous time; then you can take it till three o'clock, an' Frank till six. I'll call you at midnight."

He was as good as his word. I heard them whispering in the gloom, while the stars blinked at me from a depthless heaven overhead.

"I thought I heard a noise once, down by the horses, but it must ha'

been a coyote or a badger," Jake was saying. "It's jet black now, and if they haven't seen us they won't 'till daylight. I think you'll be safe enough. If you get up against it don't lose your head. Take your time; aim safe--not too high--an' let 'im have it."

Jack climbed out bravely, but I thought I felt his frame tremble as he went. I was none too happy myself. I lay awake, I don't know how long, counting the stars. Jake had made a bed of the tent on the prairie and was snoring with provoking regularity. It seemed to me that snore of his must be heard for miles through the silent night.

Suddenly Jack came rus.h.i.+ng in upon us, falling over Jake and tumbling himself, headlong, on the ground. The rifle flew from his hands, and he was hunting about for it, frantically, in the darkness.

"It won't go off!" he shouted, in a hoa.r.s.e whisper. "The d.a.m.ned thing won't go off!"

"Did you see him?" whispered Jake, while I, wide awake, jumped from the wagon.