ALONE ON THE CLAIM
Joe glanced at the clock as we re-entered the house, after the cart
had disappeared down the road. "Now, if yo' gits right to bed, Leslie,
chile, yo's gwine git right sma'ht ob sleep afore yo' has to git up
ter holp me git stahted," he said.
It was past one o'clock. "I don't know, Joe," I returned. "It seems
hardly worth while to try to sleep at all; we must get up so soon."
"Hit's wuf while ter git sleep w'enebber, an' wharebber yo' kin," the
old man insisted, with the wisdom of experience.
Accordingly, I lay down on my bed without taking the trouble to
undress--I was so fearful of oversleeping. For a long time I lay
thinking of Jessie, on her hurried night ride, of old Joe, and the
blessed relief that his coming had brought us, and, above all, of Mr.
Horton and his machinations. I meant to be awake when the hour that
Joe had suggested for rising struck. The hour was five o'clock, but it
was well past, when a gentle tap on the door awoke me, and Joe's voice
announced: "Hit's done struck fibe, Miss Leslie; yo's bettah be
stirrin."
My reply was forestalled by a delighted cry from the crib, where Ralph
was supposed to lie asleep: "Oho! Mine Joe is tum 'ome! Mine Joe is
tum 'ome!"
I heard the negro shuffle quickly across the floor, and the next
instant Ralph was in his arms and being borne triumphantly into the
kitchen. The friendship between the two was mutual, and it was not at
all surprising that Ralph was beside himself with joy at Joe's return.
He hurried through his own breakfast, watched Joe, gravely, through
his, and then announced his intention of accompanying the latter, "in
'e waggin." He had gathered from our conversation that Joe was going
somewhere, and, wherever it was, he was willing to bear him company.
"W'er my 'at?" he asked, trotting about in search of that article, as
Joe drove up to the door with the horses and light wagon.
"Your hat is under your crib, dear, but you can't go with Joe to-day."
"'Ess; me doin'," he returned, obstinately, securing the hat, while I
was carrying the Bible out to Joe.
"Now, Joe, take good care of it!" I counseled him, as he stooped down
to take the bulky volume from my arms.
"Keer? Ha! I reckons I'se boun' fur tek' keer ob dat book! Lots ob
folks w'at done all sorts ob t'ings, shet up 'atween de leds ob dat
book. Some good t'ings dey done, an' a mighty lot o' bad ones, an' I
ain' goin' let none ob 'em git out! Leslie, chile, I'se gwine sot on
dat book, an' keep dem folks squelched 'til we all roun's up in front
ob de 'lan' office; yo' kin count on dat!"
Placing the book on the wagon-seat, he spread a blanket over it, then
planted himself, squarely and with emphasis, upon it. "Dere, dey's
safe!" He gathered up the lines; the outfit was in motion when its
progress was suddenly arrested by a piercing cry from Ralph:
"'Top, 'top, Joe! Me's doin' wiv' 'oo, me is!"
The little fellow was standing beside the wagon, his arms upstretched
to be taken, and the tears streaming down his cheeks. Joe looked at
him, and scratched his head in perplexity. "I'se wisht' yo'd stayed
asleep till I'se done got away, honey, chile--I does so!" he muttered,
ruefully.
"Me's doin'!" Ralph insisted, taking advantage of the halt to swarm up
over the wheel-hub, and to get his white apron covered with
wagon-grease.
"Me is doin'!" he repeated.
"Train up a chile in de way w'at he wants ter go, an' w'en he is ole
he won't depart from it!" Joe quoted, with fatal aptness. "Dat chile
cain't be 'lowed fur ter run t'ings dish yer way; he cain't be 'lowed
ter go to town, noway; but I tell yo' w'at, honey, yo' might jess
slip er clean apern on ter him an' let him ride down ter Wilson's
'long 'er me. Dat Mis' Wilson, she always bein' tickled when she see
Ralph."
"'Ess; me do see Mif' 'Ilson," Ralph declared, brightening. It was
true that the good ranchman's wife had always made much of him, and
was glad to have him with her, and I had a particular reason for being
glad of the temporary freedom that his going over there would give me.
I made haste to change his soiled dress and get him ready. "Tell her,"
I said, as I lifted him into the wagon, "that I'll come over after him
some time this afternoon; it isn't far, and if I start early enough he
can easily walk home with me before night."
"Dat's right; we's got dat all fixed," Joe responded cheerfully. He
started the team again, while Ralph, his good humor restored, threw me
kisses as the wagon rattled away.
I had mentioned it to no one, but I was secretly a good deal worried
over the non-appearance of Guard. In the present absorbed interest in
other matters, I think none of the family, save myself, had taken note
of the fact that the dog had not been seen since his noisy scramble up
the hillside in pursuit of some animal, the evening before.
Only hunters, or those who dwell in remote and lonely places, can
realize how fully one's canine followers may become, in certain
surroundings, at once comrades and friends. I missed the dog's shaggy
black head and attentive eyes as I hurried through with the morning's
milking. He was wont to sit beside me during that operation, and watch
proceedings with absorbed and judicial interest. I missed him again
as I heard a fluttering and squawking that might mean mischief, near
the poultry yard. Above all, in the absence of the other members of
the family, I missed his companionship. So, as I hastened with the
morning's tasks, I resolved to take the opportunity afforded by
Ralph's absence, and go in search of him. Disquieting recollections
of the wildcat that he and I had dared, and of the wildcat that had
dared Mrs. Lloyd, came to my mind. It seemed to me by no means
improbable that Guard had treed one of these creatures and was
holding it until help came or until the cat should become tired of
imprisonment and make a rush for liberty; a rush that, if it came to
close quarters, would be pretty certain to result disastrously for
Guard. So thinking, I took father's light rifle--which was always kept
loaded--down from its place on the kitchen wall, buckled a belt of
cartridges around my waist, and, locking the door behind me, started
on my quest.
Guard's vanishing bark, on the previous evening, had led up the
hillside, behind the house. So, up the hillside I went, scanning the
ground eagerly for tracks, or for any sign that might indicate which
direction to take. The ground was thickly strewn with pine needles and
the search for tracks was fruitless; an elephant's track would not
have shown on such ground as that. After a little, though, I did find
something that puzzled me. Lying conspicuously near the cattle trail
that led upward into the higher hills, was a large piece of fresh
beef. Stopping, I turned the meat over cautiously with the toe of my
shoe, wondering greatly how it came to be just there. It was cut--not
torn--so it could not have been dropped there by any wild beast, but
by some person. As I looked attentively at it, some white substance,
lying half hidden in a deep cleft in the meat, attracted my attention.
I stood still for a long time, studying that bit of beef. That the
white substance was poison I had not a doubt. If some one were anxious
to kill a dog--like a flash the recollection of Guard's indiscreet
charge on Mr. Horton's horse, and of Mr. Horton's speechless rage
thereat, came to my mind. An attempt to poison Guard did not strike
me, at the moment, as an act indicating anything more than a
determination to be revenged on him for the trouble that he
had already given Mr. Horton. Afterward, I understood its full
significance. A little beyond the spot where I found the poisoned
meat, well out of sight from the house, or of any chance passers-by,
I came to a tree under which a horse had evidently been recently
tethered, and that, too, for a long time. I wondered at this, for,
among us, people seldom tether a horse; it is considered an essential
part of a cow pony's training to learn to remain long in one place
without being fastened in any way. Still, as I reflected, the matter
was not one to cause wonder. The ground was torn and trampled by the
impatient, pawing hoofs, and I knew very well what horse it was that,
for his recent sins, might have been compelled to do penance in this
manner.
Something over half a mile from our house there was a break in the
hills--the beginning of a long and dark ravine that, trending
southward, led, if one cared to traverse it, in a tolerably straight
course to the far lower end of the valley, near where the Hortons
lived.
It was an uncanny place--dark at all times, as well as damp, and so
uninviting in its wildness, even as a short cut to a brighter place,
that it was very seldom entered. As I stood on the hill above it,
peering down into its shadows, a great longing took possession of me
to know whether Mr. Horton had really gone to town as he threatened.
Besides, if Guard were really standing sentinel over a wildcat, no
more promising place to search for him could be found. So thinking,
I readjusted my cartridge-belt, swung the rifle muzzle to the front,
ready for instant use, should occasion demand it, and, not without
some unpleasant, creepy sensations at the roots of my hair, I dropped
down into the ravine.