While Janet was determinedly putting her foot down on pain and keeping
up the light of faith on the distant sky-line, another and quite
separate horizon was witnessing a little incident of its own. On a
spot on the prairie which was no more a particular place than any other
part of it, a lamb was born. The two occupants of those parts, a man
and a dog (not to mention a flock of sheep), were soon at the spot
where it lay, its small body marking down in white the beginning of the
Season. Nature had thus dropped her card announcing that lambing-time
was now here; and so the little white form in the grass, meaning so
much, claimed all the attention due to an important message--albeit the
message was delivered with somewhat the carelessness of a handbill.
The man stooped over and looked straight down with an expression at
once pleased and perplexed. As coming troubles cast their shadows
before, this little memento, coming on ahead of a gay and giddy throng,
raised visions of troublous and erratic times. The dog, a genteel,
white-ruffed collie, sat down and viewed the infant with a fine look of
high-browed intelligence, as if he were the physician in the case. The
lamb was an old friend of his--just back from nature's laundry. The
newcomer, about a minute of age and not yet fully aware of itself,
raised its round white poll and looked forthwith a fixed gaze as
foolishly irresponsible as if it were a lamb that had just fallen off a
Christmas tree.
The man turned and strode away, leaving the dog on watch to mark the
place. Just below a water-hole near by was a place thickly covered
with dry marsh grass, all combed over by the wind and matted down like
a thatched roof, beneath which shelter opossums and rabbits ran about
in tunnels of their own making. To this place he went, and having
grabbed a handful of hay from the convenient mouth of a burrow, he
returned to the lamb, and kneeling down beside it he rubbed it into a
comfortable warmth and dryness. Not quite satisfied with the results
(there was a touch of chill in the air), he produced a white pocket
handkerchief which had not yet been unfolded, and he used this to
perfect the work.
This latter touch was more than a Texas lamb can reasonably expect; but
there were distant circumstances which prompted the act, and the
sentimental effects of these were much augmented by the fact that the
first and only lamb was disowned by its mother. She had given it a
cold-eyed look and walked away without even the formality of taking its
scent. As she was now back at her grazing again, it was plain to be
seen that she was going to give herself no further concern in the
matter; indeed, it was likely that when the lamb should come forward to
make his claims upon her, she would resent and oppose such intimacy,
sheep being different from other animals in this regard. The man felt,
naturally enough, that the first-born of such a host, and the
representative of so many idiots, mothered and motherless, who were
soon to arrive, deserved a better reception. The lamb spelled Duty as
plain as chalk; and so he rubbed away, with a look of weighty concern
which almost obliterated the smile with which he began. When the
fleece was perfectly dry and warm he stood up to await developments.
By this time the lamb, which had already tried to stand up, decided to
do it. It got part-way up and fell. Again it came up on its stilts,
wavered drunkenly and collapsed. It had made a mistake of some kind.
But the only way to learn walking is to do it; and a lamb, being more
ambitious than either a colt or a calf, rises at once and starts right
in, regardless of the fact that it does not understand the machinery.
This one was weak but game; and it went down only to rise again. It
went in for a course of Experience; and finally, having got the hang of
things, it was balancing on all fours with fair prospects of success.
Its status was a little uncertain,--like a sailor just landed on a
continent which seems to have been drinking,--but still it was up and
ready to try a step or two if necessary. But now the dog, who had been
keeping a sharp eye on every move, became so personally interested that
he gave it a poke with his nose; and over it went. This must have been
discouraging. The lamb, dazed for a moment, waited for the spirit to
move it, and up it came again, a little groggy but still in the ring.
It staggered, got its legs crossed and dug its nose in the dirt, but by
using that for an extra support it got its bearings again and was not
frustrated. This time it succeeded, its legs widely braced. With the
general demeanor of a carpenter jack it continued to stand, for that
way was solid and scientific; and now it looked straight ahead for the
sheep that was not present. In her place was empty air--nothing. This
not being according to the order of nature, the lamb was at its wits'
end.
The man in the case, acting upon the philosophy of Mahomet, gathered up
the lamb and went to the ewe--which would have been more easily done
had the ewe been willing. Having caught her and made her fast by
putting her head between his legs, which made very good stanchions, he
hung the lamb across his palm and set it down carefully on the proper
spot on the prairie; and now, everything being arranged as such things
should be arranged, little Me went straightway to the point, his
underpinning braced outward like the legs of a milking-stool.
With a well-filled stomach, the lamb stared out at the world in
general, and seemed greatly edified. The man was about to let the ewe
go, but hesitated, considering that after she got back among the
multitude it might be quite a while before the lamb would have another
chance. He had better keep her till he had made sure that the lamb
could not hold any more. The lamb grew visibly in gumption; and
finally, after another swig at the bar of life, he was a made lamb. He
actually started to walk. His steps, to be sure, were rather
theoretical and absent-minded, and as he had not yet discovered just
where earth begins and air leaves off, he seemed to be putting his feet
into places that were not there; but considering the dizzy height of
his legs, and the unevenness of this wabbly world, he did as well as
any lamb can do on one dose of milk. Once he seemed to be struck with
the idea of having fun; he gave a frisky twitch to a leg and a sort of
little jump-up in the rear. The man, satisfied with this evidence, let
the ewe go, first taking the precaution to mark her by tying the
handkerchief round her neck.
All of which took but a short while. A lamb, upon arriving, needs a
few moments to take notice that this is the Earth; but he has not much
more than come to a stop when he realizes that it is the place for
refreshments. For this reason, the force of gravity cannot keep a good
lamb down; and as nature has provided him with just enough strength to
rise and partake, the sooner he is about it the better. After a few
draughts from the fount of knowledge his education is complete; and it
is not many days till sheep life is too dull for him and he must lead a
livelier career. Mary's lamb "followed her to school one day," and the
reason he followed her to school was (a fact never before published)
that he thought Mary was his mother. It was a lamb whose mother had
disowned him, leaving the responsibility to Mary. And if there were
any tag-ends or trimmings on Mary's dress, it is safe to say that they
bore evidence of having been in the lamb's mouth.
The present lamb, again deserted by its parent, was completely at sea;
and not having anything to attach itself to, it simply kept on standing
up, which was plenty of exercise for it just now. The man, having
released the ewe, who went back to the flock with an inane _baa_ which
reminded a scattered score of other ewes to do the same, now turned his
attention to the problem of carrying the little stranger. As this
visitation was entirely unlooked-for, he had not brought the lamb-bag
along, so he had to find some other way. His coat, unbuttoned at the
top for the better insertion of his hand, he had been using as a sort
of capacious breast-pocket in which he stowed his lunch and other
incumbrances. One side of it now bulged out with the carcass of a
cotton-tail which he had scared out of the marsh grass, together with
various conveniences which he had brought along from the shack. These
things out of the way there would be room for the lamb to ride; he
therefore spilled everything on the ground and set to work to make an
entirely new arrangement, pausing, however, when he had unbuttoned his
coat (he had left his vest off) to observe the present state of his
white shirt-front, one side of which, in addition to its generally
soiled condition and the darker streak which marked the pathway of his
hand, had now a crimson spot from the head of the cotton-tail. That
side, in comparison with the spotless and polished condition of the
other, presented a contrast as striking as did the new white lamb and
the weather-stained flock. Having hung the rabbit to the canteen
strap, he put the lamb in where it was warm; and now, as he resumed his
ramble with the flock, the little grass orphan (or whatever we may call
an orphan whose parents are both living) bobbed his head up and down at
the powerful chest of his protector, and looked out upon the world with
all the advantages, and none of the disadvantages, of having been born.
This way with the young had previously been adopted by the aforesaid
Mrs. O'Possum, who always carries the children in her pocket; and whom
we may imagine noting the fact in terms of the very highest approval.
It had been his intention that morning to get back to the corral at an
earlier hour than usual; and as the sun was well past meridian he
ordered the dog out to turn the flock, the leaders of which were now
about a quarter of a mile away. The collie, eager for work, skirted
round and brought them all face-about suddenly, barking his threats
along the van, and then closed in some stragglers, according to
instructions received from the distance. The man stayed where he was
till the flock had drifted past him; then he took his place at the rear
again, the dog falling in close behind. He idled along after them,
revolving in his mind his plans for the evening--some boards to be
nailed tight on the storm-shed, and certain repairs on the south side
of the pen.
Although the lamb had delayed him, the sun was still above the horizon
as he drew near home--if a word which means so much may be applied to a
herder's shack. A shack is a residence about like a farmer's
smokehouse, being taller than it is wide or long; and as it is intended
only for sleeping purposes there is just enough floor space to allow
for a door, and room to turn yourself in as you shut the door. Its
breadth is equal to the length of a Texan when he lies down in the bunk
built into it, the headboard and footboard of which are the walls of
the building itself. It might be called a bedroom on the inside, but
as it is only a two-story bunk boarded in and roofed over, it is more
properly a room-bed; or rather it is comparable to a passage at sea
with its upper and lower bunk and the surrounding ocean of prairie--a
sort of stateroom in the flight of Time. The architect of this one had
been short of lumber, or too economical, the result being that the
present occupant was a trifle too long for it; and he had considered
the advisability of cutting a little window in the side to let his feet
out. Its inconveniences bothered him little, however, as he spent his
evenings stretched out on the prairie by the fire. It was so far from
being Home to him that he never felt so far from home as when he
entered it; and as he seldom entered it except in the dark, it was
hardly a familiar place to him. Outside it might be home all over;
inside was a timber tomb and the far-away country of sleep. This
edifice stood on a low knoll from the heart of which issued a small
spring-fed stream which had cut itself a deep ditch or gully down to
the general level; and on the slope opposite to where the stream went
out was a narrow path where the sheep ran up. The little eminence,
with its structures, was a shanty acropolis to a universe otherwise
unimproved.
It was to this place he was at last coming, his blatant rabble moving
gradually together as they neared their familiar destination. Now that
he felt relieved of responsibility, his thoughts, which had hurried on
before him, as it were, dwelt with much satisfaction upon a certain
little prison-pen on the hill ahead. Once arrived here, the lamb,
could get a meal from his unwilling mother, who would be confined in
such straits in the narrow little pen that she could not move nor help
herself. The advantages of this arrangement the lamb would make full
use of; and thereafter he would get along very well, interrupting his
slumbers at any time and supping to his full satisfaction. There was a
row of the separate little stalls or sheep stocks along the outside of
the corral, this department being the orphan asylum of the community;
and hereabouts there galloped and capered, in springtime, lambs whose
mothers had died in "havin'" them, lambs whose own mothers were too
poor to support them, and most frequently the child of a ewe like this.
The sheep crowded still closer together as they reached the beginning
of the sheep-path; and now the man's face may be said to have taken on
two coats of expression--a stern judicial look with a smile underneath.
The thought that he was about to execute Justice occupied his mind
wholly as the old wether led them into the strait and narrow way. With
the object of catching the ewe, he ran on ahead toward the path, beside
which he stationed himself, halfway up the hillock, just as the head of
the column was coming; and when the misbehaved mother came trotting
along he laid hands upon her and pulled her out of the procession. At
this, the lamb, which had become a very warm spot on his breast, said
something which sounded very much like _Ma-a-a_; whereupon he decided
that it might as well have supper at once, after which it could follow
afoot. The lamb, having been carried so far through life, came down
rather carelessly on its newly unfolded legs and stumbled; but it soon
picked up what it had learned of the laws of mechanics and fell to
supper forthwith. The man held the ewe as before, and when he judged
the lamb held a sufficiency, he hauled her away toward prison, pulling
her unceremoniously out of the lamb's mouth. And then the lamb,
instead of following, stood braced on the spot as if unable to
comprehend that such a thing was possible. It let out a quavering
complaint, a melting infant cry, at which the man stopped and turned
his head, and, seeing it standing there and looking ahead in a wooden
sort of way, he returned to get it, marching the ewe down the hill
again.
"I hope I'll have five hundred like you," he said, scooping it up under
his arm. "Yes, I do. You'll have me talking to myself yet. Yes, you
will."
For a sheep-man to talk to himself is considered a bad sign; but the
present hermit had no chance to go farther in this course. The dog,
dashing suddenly ahead, stopped at the corner of the shack and growled.
So occupied had the herder been with his distracting duties that he had
not taken much notice of the shack as he drew nearer to it; but now
that the dog raised the alarm he looked and saw a blue wraith of smoke
hovering over the roof. His fire-hole, it seemed, was lit. This was
not unwelcome news, as any one may imagine who has lived even a few
days so utterly alone. But whether the visitor was a stranger or a
friend was made a matter of doubt by the conduct of the dog, who was
barking and growling and wagging his tail. And his only change in
conduct towards his friend the enemy consisted in doing it all more
industriously, making threats with one end of himself and waving a
welcome with the other. But no sound came from the other side of the
shack. The intruder did not stand forth and show himself. The herder
wondered that his approach had not been discovered. In the meantime
the ewe, which he had absent-mindedly let go of, had made her escape
and was again mingling with the multitude which was now running
pell-mell into the corral. It seemed strange that the person behind
the shack did not step forth. Being now free of the ewe (who had in no
wise thwarted Justice by her act), he proceeded to investigate his
home. And when he reached the corner of the shack he saw--a Woman.
A Woman. At a sheep-shack. She had his tin stew-pan on the fire and
was bending over it, sampling the contents. On the ground was a
strange sight--two pieces of pie, two peaches, half a chicken,
sandwiches,--some with ham and some with jam,--pickles and cheese. And
the coffee-pot under full steam. The large-hearted and healthy Lena
had put all this into the package rolled into the slicker. It was
partly this that had made Janet's burden so heavy.
The man's jaw dropped, as almost did the lamb; but catching himself in
time he hugged it closer with unconscious strength. The woman replaced
the cover on the stew-pan, straightened up, and spoke.
"Good-evening," she said. This in a tone of positive welcome (possibly
a little overdone).
"How do you do," he replied.
"I have just been making use of your fire-hole. And your coffee-pot.
You see I was--I was--"
"Oh, that's all right. That's all right. Just make yourself right at
home. Are the men folks gone somewhere?" He cast his eyes about.
"There are no--no men folks. You see I was just coming along by
myself--alone--without anybody--any men folks." These words nearly
choked her. But immediately she added, with the most brightening
smile, "I was _so_ frightened by your dog. He scared me so."
Having said this, she dropped her eyes to the stew-pan, the contents of
which seemed to need attention just at that moment.
"Oh, he won't bite. Anyway, he won't bite you. He knows ladies."
"I am so afraid of them," she said, her eyes still occupied.
She needed a moment to recover her courage, thinking rapidly. And as
for the man, he thought nothing whatever; he just looked. She was
bright-eyed and fair and wholly perfect. She was dressed in plain
black, with deep white cuffs which turned back upon the sleeves, and a
white turnover collar, as neat as a nun. Offsetting, somehow, the
severity of this, was the boyish side-sweep of her hair, and the
watch-chain looped to a crocheted pocket on her breast. And on the
ground lay the soldierly three-cornered hat.
To a man who had been expecting to come home to doughy hot bread and
fried rabbit and solitude, this was a surprise. It was somewhat as if
Providence had taken note of his case and sent out a Sister of Charity;
and one who had the charming advantage of being also a dimpled Daughter
of the Regiment. Once his eye had taken in the regular contour of her
nose and rested on that dimple, his gaze did not wander. He did not
even wink--it would have been a complete loss of looking. When she
removed the lid from the saucepan a spicy aroma spread itself abroad.
Dog and herder sniffed the evening air, sampling the new odor. It was
a whiff of Araby the Blest.
"As I was just going to explain," she said, straightening up again, "I
had an accident with my horse. I came in here to find a water-hole and
he ran away and threw me off. Then I found I was lost"; and she went
on to relate the details of her adventure up to the time of her arrival
at the shack.
As she spoke, she felt as if she had been thrust out into the middle of
a big empty stage to make a speech to that momentous audience of one
man--a speech upon which everything depended. However panic-stricken
she might be, she must not show it. For that would give him an opening
for assurances, for allusions which would have to be recognized, for
asseverations which would have to be formally confided in--intimacy.
And that must not be. The least betrayal of fear by her would bring it
about. There must not be even the suggestion of a situation. It had
been a godsend that, upon the first failure of her courage, the dog had
offered himself as a reason. The dog had made an excellent cover for
her trepidation. And now it was a support to feel that the dog was
walking about--an object upon which to saddle her nervous apprehension
at any moment when she lost control.
She delivered her speech with a naturalness and ease which surprised
her. She even added a little high-handed touch or two, referring to
the aggravation of being thrown by one's horse and thus delayed in
one's business; not to speak of being made such an intruder.
The man stood and listened to the music of her voice. As she began to
speak with so much ease, he was smitten with a consciousness of his
personal appearance, with the four awkward legs dangling down in front
of him. In hope of making a more manly figure before her, he set the
lamb down, feasting his eyes meanwhile upon the dainty repast and the
two white napkins spread upon the ground. And when he stood up again,
no one knew less than he whether he had set the lamb on its legs or its
back or stood it on its head. It now occurred to him that he had not
removed his hat. He did so immediately.
"And as I was coming across the range," she continued, "I saw your
place. I had been so tired and hungry that I had lost my appetite. A
person does, you know. But I was just dying for a cup of hot coffee.
So I decided to use your conveniences. And I intended to leave your
fire-hole burning for you--"
"Oh, that's all right. I 'm glad you did."
She gave a sudden little scream. This was so unexpected that the man,
whose nerves were not easily touched, drew himself up straighter and
stared at her in amazement.
"Oo-o-o-o-o!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands together and fixing her
gaze upon the supper.
It was the lamb again. It was standing right in the middle of the
feast, its legs spread as usual and one foot deep in the sugar-bowl.
The lamb was waiting. It was waiting till the spirit should move it to
the next idiotic thing to do; and it would no doubt have achieved it
had not the man taken quick action. He seized upon the lamb
precipitately and snatched it away; then he stood with one hand around
its middle and its long legs hanging down, with the four hoofs together.
"Oh, is n't that a _sw-e-e-et_ little lamb!" she exclaimed,
delightedly. "Oh, _is n't_ he a darling!"
"Well--yes," said the man, holding it out and regarding it critically.
"It was certainly trying to be a sweet little lamb."
She blushed. She had not seen the lamb all by himself, before; and
these were the first free and natural words she had spoken. After this
spontaneous outburst she proceeded more guardedly.
"And after the coffee was on," she continued, "I thought it would be
such a shame for a man to have to get his own supper after I had left,
with so _much_ to eat. So I intended to leave your supper for you.
That is in case you did n't come along when I--I--You see I did n't
expect you home so early." To which she quickly added, "You know, when
I first came along, I thought the place might possibly be vacant. Of
course, I had to go in and see; and then, as long as I had already made
so free, I thought I might as well use your coffee-pot and things. And
your coffee, too."
"Oh, that's all right--perfectly all right. This place does n't all
belong to me. There's plenty of room for everybody."
He delivered this with a sweep of his arm that seemed to give her
everything inside the horizon, and possibly lap over the edges.
"So I did take your coffee--and sugar. And I hope you 'll like what I
have."
"Judging by the looks, it's mighty good. Perfectly grand. But I 'll
go now and put this lamb where he won't be scaring us again Miss----
Excuse me, but I haven't asked your name."
"My name is Smith. Janet Smith."
"My name is Brown. Stephen Brown. Glad to meet you, Miss Smith."
He put his hat to his head in order to take it off. She acknowledged
the formality with a slight bow.
"I 'll go and fix this lamb," he resumed. "I intended to do some
repairing before sundown; that's why I came home a little early. But
it's rather late now to do much. There's other work I have to 'tend
to, though. I hope it won't take very long."
So saying, he started away. When he had gone a little distance, and
observed that the dog was remaining behind, an interested spectator, he
called back: "Don't mind him if he watches you. His name is Shep. He
likes ladies."
Janet finished setting Mr. Brown's table, which consisted of a place
where the grass was worn short. When he was working among the sheep
with his back turned, she patted the dog on the head with the greatest
familiarity. Janet "loved" dogs. When next she looked up to see what
had become of her guest, or host, he was disappearing in the deep
little gully.