XIII
At noon of the second day of a journey that led him up the windingwatered valleys of the lower ranges, Bob surmounted a ridge higher thanthe rest and rode down a long, wide slope. Here the character of thecountry changed completely. Scrub oaks, young pines and chaparralcovered the ground. Among this growth Bob made out the ancient stumps ofgreat trees. The ranch houses were built of sawn lumber, and possessedbrick chimneys. In appearance they seemed midway between the farm housesof the older settled plains and the rougher cabins of the mountaineers.
Bob continued on a dusty road until he rode into a little town which heknew must be Durham. Its main street contained three stores, twosaloons, a shady tree, a windmill and watering trough and a dozenchair-tilted loafers. A wooden sidewalk shaded by a wooden awning ranthe entire length of this collection of commercial enterprises. Aredwood hitching rail, much chewed, flanked it. Three saddle horses, andas many rigs, dozed in the sun.
Bob tied his saddle horse to the rail, leaving the pack animal to itsown devices. Without attention to the curious stares of the loafers, hepushed into the first store, and asked directions of the proprietor. Theman, a type of the transplanted Yankee, pushed the spectacles up overhis forehead, and coolly surveyed his questioner from head to footbefore answering.
"I see you're a ranger," he remarked drily. "Well, I wouldn't go toSamuels's if I was you. He's give it out that he'll kill the next rangerthat sets foot on his place."
"I've heard that sort of talk before," replied Bob impatiently.
"Samuels means what he says," stated the storekeeper. "He drove off thelast of you fellows with a shotgun--and he went too."
"You haven't told me how to get there," Bob pointed out.
"All you have to do is to turn to the right at the white church andfollow your nose," replied the man curtly.
"How far is it?"
"About four mile."
"Thank you," said Bob, and started out.
The man let him get to the door.
"Say, you!" he called.
Bob stopped.
"You might be in better business than to turn a poor man out of hishouse and home."
Bob did not wait to hear the rest. As he untied his saddle horse, a manbrushed by him with what was evidently intentional rudeness, for heactually jostled Bob's shoulder. The man jerked loose the tie rein ofhis own mount, leaped to the saddle, and clattered away. Bob noticedthat he turned to the right at the white church.
The four-mile ride, Bob discovered, was almost straight up. At the endof it he found himself well elevated above the valley, and once more inthe sugar-pine belt. The road wound among shades of great trees. Pilesof shakes, gleaming and fragrant, awaited the wagon. Rude signs, daubedon the riven shingles, instructed the wayfarer that this or that dimtrack through the forest led to So-and-so's shake camp.
It was by now after four of the afternoon. Bob met nobody on the road,but he saw in the dust fresh tracks which he shrewdly surmised to bethose of the man who had jostled him. Samuels had his warning. Themountaineer would be ready. Bob had no intention of delivering a frontalattack.
He rode circumspectly, therefore, until he discerned an opening in theforest. Here he dismounted. The opening, of course, might be only thatof a natural meadow, but in fact proved to be the homestead claim ofwhich Bob was in search.
The improvements consisted of a small log cabin with a stone and mudchimney; a log stable slightly larger in size; a rickety fence madepartly of riven pickets, partly of split rails, but long since weatheredand rotted; and what had been a tiny orchard of a score of apple trees.At some remote period this orchard had evidently been cultivated, butnow the weeds and grasses grew rank and matted around neglected trees.The whole place was down at the heels. Tin cans and rusty baling wirestrewed the back yard; an ill-cared-for wagon stood squarely in front;broken panes of glass in the windows had been replaced respectively byan old straw hat and the dirty remains of overalls. The supports of thelittle verandah roof sagged crazily. Over it clambered a vine. Closeabout drew the forest. That was it: the forest! The "homestead" was amere hovel; the cultivation a patch; the improvements sketchy andancient; but the forest, become valuable for lumber where long it hadbeen considered available only for shakes, furnished the real motive forthis desperate attempt to rehabilitate old and lapsed rights.
The place was populous enough, for all its squalor. A half-dozen smallchildren, scantily clothed, swarmed amongst the tin cans; two women, onewith a baby in her arms, appeared and disappeared through the lowdoorway of the cabin; a horse or two dozed among the trees of theneglected orchard; chickens scratched everywhere. Square in the middleof the verandah, in a wooden chair, sat an old man whom Bob guessed tobe Samuels. He sat bolt upright, facing the front, his knees spreadapart, his feet planted solidly. A patriarchal beard swept his greatchest; thick, white hair crowned his head; bushy white brows, likethatch, overshadowed his eyes. Even at the distance, Bob could imaginethe deep-set, flashing, vigorous eyes of the old man. For everythingabout him, save the colour of his hair and beard, bespoke great vigour.His solidly planted attitude in his chair, the straight carriage of hisback, the set of his shoulders, the very poise of his head told of thepower and energy of an autocrat. Across his knees rested a shotgun.
As Bob watched, a tall youth sauntered around the corner of the cabin.He spoke to the old man. Samuels did not look around, but nodded hismassive head. The young man disappeared in the cabin to return after amoment, accompanied by the individual Bob had seen in Durham. The twospoke again to the old man; then sauntered off in the direction of thebarn.
Bob returned, untied his horse; and, leading that animal, approached thecabin afoot. No sooner had he emerged into view when the old man aroseand came squarely and uncompromisingly to meet him. The two encounteredperhaps fifty yards from the cabin door.
Bob found that a closer inspection of his antagonist rather strengthenedthan diminished the impression of force. The old man's eyes wereflashing fire, and his great chest rose and fell rapidly. He held hisweapon across the hollow of his left arm, but the muscles of his righthand were white with the power of his grip.
"Get out of here!" he fairly panted at Bob. "I warned you fellows!"
Bob replied calmly.
"I came in to see if I could get to stay for supper, and to feed myhorse."
At this the old man exploded in a violent rage. He ordered Bob off theplace instantly, and menaced him with his shotgun. Had Bob been mounted,Samuels would probably have shot him; but the mere position of ahorseman afoot conveys subtly an impression of defencelessness that isdifficult to overcome. He is, as it were, anchored to the spot, and atthe other man's mercy. Samuels raged, but he did not shoot.
At the sounds of altercation, however, the whole hive swarmed. Thenumerous children scuttled for cover like quail, but immediately peeredforth again. The two women thrust their heads from the doorway. From thedirection of the stable the younger men came running. One of them held arevolver in his hand.
During all this turmoil and furore Bob had stood perfectly still, sayingno word. Provided he did nothing to invite it, he was now safe frompersonal violence. To be sure, a very slight mistake would invite it.Bob waited patiently.
He remembered, and was acting upon, a conversation he had once held withWare. The talk had fallen on gunfighting, and Bob, as usual, was tryingto draw Ware out. The latter was, also, as usual, exceedingly reticentand disinclined to open up.
"What would you do if a man got your hands up?" chaffed Bob.
Ware turned on him quick as a flash.
"No man ever got my hands up!"
"No?" said Bob, hugely delighted at the success of his stratagem. "Whatdo you do, then, when a man gets the cold drop on you?"
But now Ware saw the trap into which his feet were leading him, and drewback into his shell.
"Oh, shoot out, or bluff out," said he briefly.
"But look here, Ware," insisted Bob, "it's all very well to talk likethat. But suppose a man a
ctually has his gun down on you. How can you'shoot out or bluff out'?"
Ware suddenly became serious.
"No man," said he, "can hold a gun on you for over ten seconds withouthis eyes flickering. It's too big a strain. He don't let go for mor'nabout the hundredth part of a second. After that he has holt again foranother ten seconds, and will pull trigger if you bat an eyelash. _Butif you take it when his eyes flicker, and are quick, you'll get him!_"
"What about the other way around?" asked Bob.
"I never pulled a gun unless I meant to shoot," said Ware grimly.
The practical philosophy of this Bob was now utilizing. If he had riddenup boldly, Samuels would probably have shot him from the saddle. Havinggained the respite, Bob now awaited the inevitable momentary relaxingfrom this top pitch of excitement. It came.
"I have not the slightest intention of tacking up any notices or servingany papers," he said quietly, referring to the errand of the man whomSamuels had driven off at the point of his weapon. "I am travelling onbusiness; and I asked for shelter and supper."
"No ranger sets foot on my premises," growled Samuels.
"Very well," said Bob, unpinning and pocketing his pine tree badge.(_"Oh, I'd have died rather than do that!" cried Amy when she heard."I'd have stuck to my guns!" "Heroic, but useless," replied her brotherdrily._) "I don't care whether the ranger is fed or not. But I'm a lotinterested in me. I ask you as a man, not as an official."
"Your sort ain't welcome here; and if you ain't got sense enough to seeit, you got to be shown!" the youngest man broke in roughly.
Bob turned to him calmly.
"I am not asking your sufferance," said he, "nor would I eat where I amnot welcome. I am asking Mr. Samuels to bid me welcome. If he will notdo so, I will ride on." He turned to the old man again. "Do you mean totell me that the North End is so far behind the South End in commonhospitality? We've fed enough men at the Wolverine Company in our time."
Bob let fly this shaft at a venture. He knew how many passingmountaineers paused for a meal at the cook house, and surmised itprobable that at least one of his three opponents might at some timehave stopped there. This proved to be the case.
"Are you with the Wolverine Company?" demanded the man who had jostledhim.
"I was for some years in charge of the woods."
"I've et there. You can stay to supper," said Samuels ungraciously.
He turned sharp on his heel and marched back to the cabin, leaving Bobto follow with his horse. The two younger men likewise went about theirbusiness. Bob found himself quite alone, with only this ungraciouspermission to act on.
Nevertheless, quite imperturbably, Bob unsaddled, led his animal intothe dark stable, threw it some of the wild hay stacked therein, washedhimself in the nearby creek, and took his station on the desertedverandah. The twilight fell. Some of the children ventured into sight,but remained utterly unmoved by the young man's tentative advances. Heheard people moving about inside, but no one came near him. Finally,just at dusk, the youngest man protruded his head from the doorway.
"Come to supper," said he surlily.
Bob ducked his head to enter a long, low room. Its walls were of therough logs; its floor of hewn timbers; its ceiling of round beams onwhich had been thrown untrimmed slabs as a floor to the loft above. Aboard table stood in the centre of this, flanked by homemade chairs andstools of all varieties of construction. A huge iron cooking stoveoccupied all of one end--an extraordinary piece of ordnance. The lightfrom a single glass lamp cast its feeble illumination over coarse dishessteaming with food.
Bob bowed politely to the two women, who stood, their arms crossed ontheir stomachs, without deigning his salutation the slightest attention.The children, of all sizes and ages, stared at him unblinking. The twomen shuffled to their seats, without looking up at the visitor. Only theold man vouchsafed him the least notice....
"Set thar!" he growled, indicating a stool.
Bob found on the board that abundance and variety which always so muchsurprises the stranger to a Sierra mountaineer's cabin. Besides theusual bacon, beans, and bread, there were dishes of canned string-beansand corn, potatoes, boiled beef, tomatoes and pressed glass dishes ofpreserves. Coffee, hot as fire, and strong as lye, came in thick chinacups without handles.
The meal went forward in absolute silence, which Bob knew better than tointerrupt. It ended for each as he or she finished eating. The two womenwere left at the last quite alone. Bob followed his host to the veranda.There he silently offered the old man a cigar; the younger men hadvanished.
Samuels took the cigar with a grunt of thanks, smelled it carefully, bitan inch off the end, and lit it with a slow-burning sulphur match. Bobalso lit up.
For one hour and a half--two cigars apiece--the two sat side by sidewithout uttering a syllable. The velvet dark drew close. The heavenssparkled as though frosted with light. Bob, sitting tight on what heknew was the one and only plan to accomplish his purpose, began todespair of his chance. Of his companion he could make out dimly only thewhite of his hair and beard, the glowing fire of his cigar. Inside thehouse the noises made by the inhabitants thereof increased and diedaway; evidently the household was seeking its slumber. A tree-toadchirped, loudest in all the world of stillness.
Suddenly, without warning, the old man scraped back his chair. Bob'sheart leaped. Was his one chance escaping him? Then to his reliefSamuels spoke. The long duel of silence was at an end.