Avery rather enjoyed having Smeaton at his camp. It gave him some one to
talk to during the long weeks of winter and early spring that followed.
"Red" sulked at first, but the old man overcame this by his unwavering
kindness and good humor.
Fisty Harrigan had waited anxiously for Smeaton's return. Finally, he
sent a man to Tramworth, suspecting that "Red" had sold the pelts and
was dissipating the proceeds in riotous living. Upon ascertaining
Smeaton's whereabouts, Harrigan, mistrusting his informant, came to Lost
Farm himself just after Swickey had left for her final term at the
Tramworth school. What Avery said to Harrigan before he allowed him to
see his partner was in part overheard by the latter, as he lay bolstered
up in the old man's bed. He grinned as Avery drove home some picturesque
suggestions of what might happen in the way of physical violence, "to
folks ketched stealin' other folkses' fur." Avery intimated that a
broken leg was a mere incident compared with the overwhelming results
should he undertake to assist Providence in administering justice.
Harrigan listened with poorly dissembled hate, which was not appreciably
overcome by Smeaton's attitude of apparent satisfaction with his host
and his surroundings. The Irishman licked his lips nervously while he
talked with "Red" and seemed ill at ease, possibly on account of the
proximity of Smoke, who lay crouched near the box stove in an attitude
of alert patience.
Several days after Harrigan's departure, Smeaton called to Avery, who
was in the kitchen mixing biscuits. The old man came in, arms bare to
the elbow and a dash of flour on the end of his nose.
"Wal, Joe?"
Smeaton twisted his shoulders uncomfortably, but said nothing.
"Wantin' a drink?"
Smeaton nodded.
The old man went out and returned with the dipper. "Reckon I hain't jest
a fust-class nuss," he said, "but you'll have to put up with me fur a
spell yit. How's the leg feelin'?"
"Can't kick," replied Smeaton.
"I persume not," replied Avery, with a touch of irony.
"Say, Hoss--I--a feller--you wouldn't say as I was much on looks, would
you?"
"Not if I didn't want to put a dent in my rep'tation fur callin' hosses
hosses."
"U-huh. I knowed it. Wimmen-folks don't fancy red hair as a giniral
thing, do they?"
"Depends on the man what's wearin' it. Had red hair m'self when I were a
colt. Don't jest rec'llect any females jumpin' fences when I come by."
"Your'n's white now," said Smeaton, with a shade of envy in his pale
blue eyes.
"What they is of it. But what you drivin' at?"
Smeaton flushed and blinked uneasily. "Oh, nothin'--'cept I was thinkin'
when I got this here hind leg so she'd go ag'in, mebby I'd kind of
settle down and quit lumberin' and farm it. Have a place of my own."
"What's her name?" said Avery, quite seriously.
"Huh!" Smeaton's eyes glared in astonishment. "I ain't said nothin'
'bout gettin' married, Hoss."
"'Course you ain't. Nuther have I." Avery's beard twitched.
"Now, if a feller was thinkin' of gettin' married to a gal," continued
Smeaton, "do you reckon she'd think he was gettin' kind of old, if he
was, say, thutty-five?"
"Thet's suthin' like the red hair, Joe. Depends mostly on the man. I was
older'n thet when I got married.--But I got to mix them biscuits. A'ter
supper I'm willin' to listen to the rest of it."
"All right, Hoss,"--Smeaton sighed heavily,--"but I guess they ain't no
'rest of it' yit."
Several weeks elapsed before the subject was mentioned again. The doctor
had been up from Tramworth to take the splints from Smeaton's leg and
had mentioned Swickey's message to the convalescent, which was that she
hoped he would soon be able to be up again, and that she knew he would
be just as strong and active as ever in a little while.
"Strong and active. Strong and active." The phrase fixed itself in
Smeaton's memory and he repeated it to himself daily, usually concluding
with, "Wal, I guess I am--even if I ain't no dude fur looks."
When "Red" was able to hobble about the house, it was noticed by Avery
that he gave more than a passing glance at the kitchen looking-glass
after his regular ablutions. By a determined and constant application of
soap and water he discovered that he could part his hair for a distance
of perhaps two inches, but beyond that the trail was a blind one. He
shaved regularly, and sent to Tramworth for some much-needed clothing.
Avery attributed "Red's" outward reformation to his own example, never
dreaming that the real cause was Swickey, who, for the first two weeks
of Smeaton's disability, had tended him with that kindly sympathy
natural to her and her father, a sympathy which seemed to the injured
man, unused to having women about him, nothing less than angelic. Her
manifest interest in his welfare and recovery he magnified to
proportions that his egotism approved immensely, but could hardly
justify through any known sense of attractiveness in himself.
For the first time in his life, "Red" Smeaton was in love, and the
illusion of vague possibilities was heightened rather than otherwise by
Swickey's absence.
"Suthin' wuss than a busted leg ails Joe. He ain't 'Red' no more. He's
gettin' almost fit to be called Joseph, by stretchin' things a leetle,
and it ain't my doin's, howcome I done what I could. I'm sca'd he's got
a shock to his spine or suthin' when he fell that time. He ain't actin'
nacheral, 'ceptin' his appetite. He ain't hurt thet none."
Avery soliloquized, Beelzebub asleep on his knee, as he watched Smeaton
working in the garden-patch which was left soft by the recent spring
rains.
"Says he's goin' back on the drive when she comes through--and she'll be
comin' purty quick now. Mighty resky, I take it. But Joe knows his
business. Danged if I ain't gettin' to like the cuss."
Beelzebub stretched himself lazily, and worked his claws luxuriously,
and incidentally through Avery's blue jeans.
"Hi, thar, Beelzy, you hop down. My leg ain't no fence-post!"
The cat dropped to the ground, turning a reproachful eye on the old man.
"Reckon Joe's did enough fur to-day. He sot at it hisself, howcome it
won't hurt him none. Hey, Joe!"
Smeaton turned and limped toward the cabin, dragging the hoe after him.
"What do you think about the drive this spring?" asked Avery. "She goin'
to be late?"
"Been purty dry," replied Smeaton. "Only 'bout two feet in the cut and
the gates both on 'em down. I ain't expectin' to see 'em before June."
"Dave's comin' in June," remarked Avery, half to himself.
"Calc'late she'll tie up here sure," continued Smeaton. "Bad enough when
they's plenty of water. They'll need the dinnimite ag'in."
"Ya-a-s. I shot the last two tie-ups fur 'em, but you recollec' you was
drivin' yourself."
"U-huh."
"Jim Cameron's tellin' me young Andy Slocum's goin' on the drive ag'in
this trip. He's got guts, but ain't he a leetle young fur the job?"
"Hell! there's nothin' to drivin' nowadays," replied Smeaton. "Any kid
can turn the trick with a good man to tell him what to do. 'Sides,
Andy's ole man is jobbin' fur the Comp'ny and Andy's got to work the
same as any of us. He won't work fur the ole man, so he gits him a job
with the Great Western to be shet of him."
"Pull?" queried Avery.
Smeaton winked suggestively.
"Wisht I knowed jest when they was goin' to run 'em through. My gal
Swickey's got a camera what Dave Ross sent her and she's jest dyin' to
take some pictures of the drive. She writ me about it, and I sent word
by Jim thet I'd let her know in time so'st she could come along up with
the picture-machine."
"I'm thinkin' of goin' over to 'Fifteen-Two,' to-morrow, and I'll find
out what I kin 'bout the drive," said Smeaton.
"I'm obleeged to you, Joe. They ain't no rush about it, howcome I reckon
you're gettin' lonesome-like fur the boys."
Smeaton leaned on the hoe he had been scraping clean with his foot. "No,
I hain't. What I'm gettin' lonesome fur is a pay-check what's comin' and
a chanct to make a leetle more drivin', and then I'm goin' to pay Hoss
Avery what I owes him, includin' the skins I tuk, and put the rest in a
piece of land and farm it. No more lumberin' fur mine."
"If you can hold your lady friend off a spell, mebby I kin give you a
job on the asbestos. They's a expert and some city-folks comin' up in
June and look around this here asbestos diggin's. When we git started
it'll beat farmin' all to shavin's."
"Say, Hoss, you're whiter than a skunk's necktie, you are. By hokey, I'm
haffen a mind to go you on thet."
Visions of a cabin and a grass-plot, with a certain dark-eyed young
woman keeping house, fired Smeaton's inflammable imagination. He
secretly vowed that Hoss would make the "all-firedest, plumb-squardest"
father-in-law this side of a place frequently mentioned in his daily
conversation.
"Jest an idee fur you to chaw on, Joe," said Avery. "But if you'll quit
huggin' thet hoe-handle and come inside we'll have suthin' more
solid-like."