"Uncle Jake says," murmured Ajax, "that Laban Swiggart has been
'milking' us ever since we bought this ranch."
Laban was our neighbour. A barbed-wire fence divided his sterile hills
from our fertile valleys, and emphasised sharply the difference
between a Government claim and a Spanish grant. The County Assessor
valued the Swiggart ranch at the rate of _one_, and our domain at
_six_ dollars per acre. We owned two leagues of land, our
neighbours but half a section. Yet, in consequence of dry seasons and
low prices, we were hardly able to pay our bills, whereas the
Swiggarts confounded all laws of cause and effect by living in
comparative splendour and luxury.
"Uncle Jake believes that he stole our steers," continued Ajax,
puffing slowly at his pipe.
Some two years before we had lost fifteen fat steers. We had employed
Laban to look for them, and he had charged us thirty dollars for
labours that were in vain.
"Ajax," said I, "we have eaten the Swiggarts' salt, not to mention
their fatted chicks, their pickled peaches, their jams and jellies.
It's an outrage to insinuate, as you do, that these kind neighbours
are common thieves."
My brother looked quite distressed. "Of course Mrs. Swiggart can know
nothing about it. She is a real good sort; the best wife and mother in
the county. And I'm only quoting Uncle Jake. He says that fifteen
steers at $30 a head make $450. Laban built a barn that spring, and
put up a tank and windmill."
With this Parthian shot my brother left me to some sorry reflections.
I cordially liked and respected Laban Swiggart and his family. He had
married a Skenk. No name in our county smelled sweeter than Skenk: a
synonym, indeed, for piety, deportment, shell-work, and the preserving
of fruits. The Widow Skenk lived in San Lorenzo, hard by the
Congregational Church; and it was generally conceded that the hand of
one of her daughters in marriage was a certificate of character to the
groom. No Skenk had been known to wed a drunkard, a blasphemer, or an
evil liver. Moreover, Laban had been the first to welcome us--two raw
Englishmen--to a country where inexperience is a sin. He had helped us
over many a stile; he had saved us many dollars. And he had an honest
face. Broad, benignant brows surmounted a pair of keen and kindly
eyes; his nose proclaimed a sense of humour; his mouth and chin were
concealed by a beard almost apostolic in its silky beauty. Could such
a man be a thief?
The very next day Laban rode down his steep slopes and asked us to
help him and his to eat a Christmas turkey. He said something, too,
about a fine ham, and a "proposition," a money-making scheme, to be
submitted to us after the banquet.
"Hard times are making you rich," said Ajax.
"My God!" he exclaimed passionately, "have I not been poor long
enough? Have I not seen my wife and children suffering for want of
proper food and clothing? If prosperity is coming my way, boys, I've
paid the price for it, and don't you forget it."
His eyes were suffused with tears, and Ajax took note of it. My
brother told me later that so tender a husband and father was
assuredly no cattle-thief.
Upon Christmas Day we sat at meat for nearly two hours. Mrs. Doctor
Tapper, the wife of the stout dentist of San Miguelito, was present.
Of the three Misses Skenk she had made the best match--from a worldly
point of view. She wore diamonds; she kept two hired girls; she
entertained on a handsome scale, and never failed to invite her less
fortunate sisters to her large and select parties--she was, in a word,
a most superior person, and a devout church-member. To this lady Ajax
made himself mightily agreeable.
"Now really," said she, "I do wish the doctor was here. He does so
dearly love badinage. That, and bridgework, is his forte."
"And why isn't he here?" demanded my brother.
"He's hunting our bay mare. It broke out of the barn this morning. I
told him that I wouldn't disappoint Alviry for an ark full of bay
mares. I knew she would count on me to help her entertain you
gentlemen."
"I hope your husband will find his mare," said Ajax. "We lost fifteen
fat steers once, but we never found them."
"That's so," observed Mr. Swiggart. "And I wore myself out a-hunting
'em. They was stolen--sure."
"The wickedness of some folk passes my understanding," remarked Mrs.
Tapper. "Well, we're told that the triumphing of the wicked is short,
but--good Land!--Job never lived in this State."
"He'd been more to home in New England," said Laban slily. The Skenks
were from Massachusetts, the Swiggarts from Illinois.
"There's a pit digged for such," continued Mrs. Tapper, ignoring the
interruption, "a pit full o' brimstone and fire. Yes, sister, I will
take one more slice of the ham. I never ate sweeter meat. Eastern, I
presume, my dear?"
"No, sister. Laban cured that ham. Pork-packing was his trade back
east."
Laban added: "Boys, I hope ye like that ham. I've a reason for
asking."
We assured our host that the ham was superlatively good. Mince and
pumpkin pies followed, coffee, then grace. As we rose from the table,
Laban said pleasantly, "Boys, here are some imported cigars. We'll
smoke outside."
Having, so to speak, soaped the ways, Mr. Swiggart launched his
"proposition." He wished to pack bacon. Hogs, he pointed out, were
selling at two cents a pound; bacon and hams at twelve and fifteen
cents. We had some two hundred and fifty hogs ready for market. These
Laban wanted to buy on credit. He proposed to turn them into lard,
hams, and bacon, to sell the same to local merchants (thereby saving
cost of transportation), and to divide the profits with us after the
original price of the hogs was paid. This seemed a one-sided bargain.
He was to do all the work; we should, in any case, get the market
price for the hogs, while the profits were to be divided. However, our
host explained that we took all the risk. If the bacon spoiled he
would not agree to pay us a cent. With the taste of that famous ham in
our mouths, this contingency seemed sufficiently remote; and we said
as much.
"Well, I could rob ye right and left. Ye've got to trust me, and
there's a saying: 'To trust is to bust.'"
He was so candid in explaining the many ways by which an unscrupulous
man might take advantage of two ignorant Britons, that Ajax, not
relishing the personal flavour of the talk, rose and strolled across
to the branding-corral. When he returned he was unusually silent, and,
riding home, he said thoughtfully: "I saw Laban's brand this
afternoon. It is 81, and the 8 is the same size as our S. His ear-mark
is a crop, which obliterates our swallow-fork. Queer--eh?"
"Not at all," I replied indignantly. "It's a social crime to eat, as
you did to-day, three large helpings of turkey, and then----"
"Bosh!" he interrupted. "If Laban is an honest man, no harm has been
done. If he stole our steers--and, mind you, I don't say he did--three
slices off the breast of a turkey will hardly offset my interest in
five tons of beef. As for this packing scheme, it sounds promising;
but we lack figures. To-morrow we will drive into San Lorenzo, and
talk to the Children of Israel. If Ikey Rosenbaum says that bacon is
likely to rise or stay where it is, we will accept Laban's
proposition."
The following morning we started early. The short cut to San Lorenzo
lay through the Swiggart claim, and the road passed within a few yards
of the house. We saw Mrs. Swiggart on the verandah, and offered to
execute any commissions that she cared to entrust to two bachelors. In
reply she said that she hated to ask favours, but--if we were going to
town in a two-seater, would we be so very kind as to bring back her
mother, Mrs. Skenk, who was ailing, and in need of a change.
"Gran'ma's hard on the springs," observed Euphemia, Mrs. Swiggart's
youngest girl, "but she'll tell you more stories than you can shake a
stick at; not 'bout fairies, Mr. Ajax, but reel folks." We assured
Mrs. Swiggart that we should esteem it a pleasure to give her mother a
lift. Ajax had met the old lady at a church social some six months
before, and, finding her a bonanza of gossip, had extracted some rich
and curious ore.
In San Lorenzo we duly found Isaac Rosenbaum, who proved an optimist
on the subject of bacon. Indeed, he chattered so glibly of rising
prices and better times that the packing scheme was immediately
referred to his mature judgment; and he not only recommended it
heartily, but offered to handle our "stuff" on commission, or to buy
it outright if it proved marketable. According to Ikey the conjunction
"if" could not be ignored. Packing bacon beneath the sunny skies of
Southern California was a speculation, he said. Swiggart, he added,
ought to know what good hams were, for he bought the very best Eastern
brand.
"What!" we cried simultaneously, "does Mr. Swiggart _buy_ hams?"
Yes; it seemed that only a few days previously Laban had carefully
selected the choicest ham in the store.
Ajax clutched my arm, and we fled.
"We have convicted the wretch," he said presently.
"The _wretches_," I amended.
The use of the plural smote him in the face.
"This is awful," he groaned. "Why, when you were away last summer, and
I broke my leg, she nursed me like a mother."
"Women throw such sops to a barking conscience."
I was positive now that Laban had stolen the steers, and that his wife
was privy to the theft. The lie about the ham had been doubtless
concocted for purposes of plunder. The kindness and hospitality of our
neighbours had been, after all, but a snare for tenderfeet.
* * * * *
We found Mrs. Skenk--whom we had seen on arrival--sitting on her front
porch, satchel in hand, patiently awaiting us. Ajax helped her to
mount--no light task, for she was a very heavy and enfeebled woman. I
drove. As we trotted down the long straggling street our passenger
spoke with feeling of the changes that had taken place in the old
mission town.
"I've lived here thirty years. Twenty mighty hard ones as a married
woman; and ten tol'able easy ones as a widder. Mr. Skenk was a saintly
man, but tryin' to live with on account o' deefness and the azmy. I
never see a chicken took with the gapes but I think o' Abram Skenk.
Yes, Mr. Ajax, my daughters was all born here, 'ceptin' Alviry. She
was born in Massachusetts. It did make a difference to the child. As a
little girl she kep' herself to herself. And though I'd rather cut out
my tongue than say a single word against Laban Swiggart, I do feel
that he'd no business to pick the best in the basket. Favourite? No,
sir; but I've said, many a time, that if Alviry went to her long home,
I could not tarry here. Most women feel that way about the first-born.
I've told Alviry to her face as she'd ought to have said 'No' to Laban
Swiggart. Oh, the suffering that dear child has endured! It did seem
till lately as if horse-tradin', cattle-raisin', and the butcher
business was industries against which the Lord had set his face. Sairy
married an undertaker; Samanthy _couldn't_ refuse Doctor Tapper.
And, rain or shine, folks must have teeth if they want to eat the
steaks they sell in Californy, and likewise they must have caskets
when their time comes. Yes, Alviry does take after me, Mr. Ajax.
You're reel clever to say so. She ain't a talker, but brainy. You've
seen her wax flowers? Yes; and the shell table with 'Bless our Home'
on it, in pink cowries? Mercy sakes! There's a big storm a'comin' up."
The rain began to fall as she spoke; at first lightly, then more
heavily as we began to cross the mountains. Long before we came to the
Salinas River it was pouring down in torrents--an inch of water to the
hour.
"It's a cloud-burst," said Mrs. Skenk, from beneath a prehistoric
umbrella. "This'll flush the creeks good."
I whipped up the horses, thinking of the Salinas and its treacherous
waters. In California, when the ground is well sodden, a very small
storm will create a very big freshet. At such times most rivers are
dangerous to ford on account of quicksands.
"I'll guess we'll make it," observed the old lady. "I've crossed when
it was bilin' from bank to bank. I mind me when Jim Tarburt was
drowned: No 'count, Jim. He'd no more sense than a yaller dog. 'Twas a
big streak o' luck for his wife and babies, for Susannah Tarburt
married old man Hopping, and when he died the very next year she was
left rich. Then there was that pore thin school-marm, Ireen Bunker.
She--"
And Mrs. Skenk continued with a catalogue, long as that of the ships
in the _Iliad_, of travellers who, in fording the Salinas, had
crossed that other grim river which flows for ever between time and
eternity. We had reached the banks before she had drained her memory
of those who had perished.
"'Tis bilin'," she muttered, as she peered up and down the yellow,
foam-speckled torrent that roared defiance at us; "but, good Land! we
can't go around now. Keep the horses' noses upstream, young man, and
use your whip."
We plunged in.
What followed took place quickly. In mid-stream the near horse
floundered into a quicksand and fell, swinging round the pole, and
with it the off horse. I lashed the poor struggling beasts
unmercifully, but the wagon settled slowly down--inch by inch. Death
grinned us in the teeth. Then I heard Mrs. Skenk say, quite
collectedly: "'Tis my fault, and my weight." Then Ajax roared out:
"For God's sake, sit down, ma'am, sit down. SIT DOWN!" he screamed,
his voice shrill above the bellowing, booming waters. A crash behind
told me that he had flung her back into her seat. At the same moment
the near horse found a footing; there was a mighty pull from both the
terrified animals, the harness held, and the danger was over. When we
reached the bank I looked round. Mrs. Skenk was smiling; Ajax was
white as chalk.
"She w-w-would have s-s-sacrificed her l-l-life," he stammered. "If I
hadn't grabbed her, she would be dead this minute."
"I reckon that's so," assented our passenger. "I took a notion to
jump. My weight and fool advice was like to cost three lives. Better
one, thinks I, than three. You saved my life, Mr. Ajax. Yes, you did.
Alviry, I reckon, will thank you."
The rest of the journey was accomplished in silence. We drove up to
the Swiggarts' house, and both Laban and his wife expressed great
surprise at seeing us.
"You're wet through, mother," said Mrs. Swiggart, "and all of a
tremble."
"Yes, Alviry, I've had a close call. This young man saved my life."
"Nonsense," said Ajax gruffly. "I did nothing of the sort, Mrs.
Skenk."
"Yes, you did," she insisted, grimly obstinate.
"Any ways," said Mrs. Swiggart, "you'll lose what has been saved,
mother, if you stand there in the rain."
For five days it rained steadily. Our creek, which for eleven months
in the year bleated sweetly at the foot of the garden, bellowed loudly
as any bull of Bashan, and kept us prisoners in the house, where we
had leisure to talk and reflect. We had been robbed and humbugged,
injured in pride and pocket, but the lagging hours anointed our
wounds. Philosophy touched us with healing finger.
"If we prosecute we advertise our own greenness," said Ajax. "After
all, if Laban did fleece us, he kept at bay other ravening wolves. And
there is Mrs. Skenk. That plucky old soul must never hear the story.
It would kill her."
So we decided to charge profit and loss with five hundred dollars, and
to keep our eyes peeled for the future. By this time the skies had
cleared, and the cataract was a creek again. The next day Mrs.
Swiggart drove up to the barn, tied her horse to the hitching-post,
and walked with impressive dignity up the garden path. We had time to
note that something was amiss. Her dark eyes, beneath darker brows,
intensified a curious pallor--that sickly hue which is seen upon the
faces of those who have suffered grievously in mind or body. Ajax
opened the door, and offered her a chair, but not his hand. She did
not seem to notice the discourtesy. We asked if her mother had
suffered from the effects of her wetting.
"Mother has been very sick," she replied, in a lifeless voice. "She's
been at death's door. For five days I've prayed to Almighty God, and I
swore that if He'd see fit to spare mother, I'd come down here, and on
my bended knees"--she sank on the floor--"ask for your forgiveness as
well as His. Don't come near me," she entreated; "let me say what must
be said in my own way. When I married Laban Swiggart I was an honest
woman, though full o' pride and conceit. And he was an honest man. To-
day we're thieves and liars."
"Mrs. Swiggart," said Ajax, springing forward and raising her to her
feet. "You must not kneel to us. There--sit down and say no more. We
know all about it, and it's blotted out so far as we're concerned."
Her sobs--the vehement, heart-breaking sobs of a man rather than of a
woman--gradually ceased. She continued in a softer voice: "It began
'way back, when I was a little girl. Mother set me on a pedestal;
p'r'aps I'd ought to say I set myself there. It's like me to be
blaming mother. Anyways, I just thought myself a little mite cleverer
and handsomer and better than the rest o' the family. I aimed to beat
Sarah and Samanthy at whatever they undertook, and Satan let me do it.
Well, I did one good thing. I married a poor man because I loved him.
I said to myself, 'He has brains, and so have I. The dollars will
come.' But they didn't come. The children came.
"Then Sarah and Samanthy married. They married men o' means, and the
gall and wormwood entered into my soul, and ate it away. Laban was
awful good. He laughed and worked, but we couldn't make it. Times was
too hard. I'd see Samanthy trailin' silks and satins in the dust, and
--and my underskirts was made o' flour sacks. Yes--flour sacks! And me a
Skenk!"
She paused. Neither Ajax nor I spoke. Comedy lies lightly upon all
things, like foam upon the dark waters. Beneath are tragedy and the
tears of time.
"Then you gentlemen came and bought land. They said you was lords,
with money to burn. I told Laban to help you in the buyin' o' horses,
and cattle, and barb-wire, and groceries. He got big commissions, but
he kept off the other blood-suckers. We paid some of our debts, and
Laban bought me a black silk gown. I couldn't rest till Samanthy had
felt of it. She'd none better. If we'd only been satisfied with that!
"Well, that black silk made everything else look dreadful mean. 'Twas
then you spoke to Laban about choosin' a brand. Satan put it into my
head to say--S. It scart Laban. He was butcherin' then, and he
surmised what I was after; I persuaded him 'twas for the children's
sake. The first steer paid for Emanuel's baby clothes and cradle. They
was finer than what Sarah bought for her child. Then we killed the
others--one by one. Laban let 'em through the fence and then clapped
our brand a-top o' yours. They paid for the tank and windmill. After
that we robbed you when and where we could. We put up that bacon
scheme meanin' to ship the stuff to the city and to tell you that it
had spoiled on us. We robbed none else, only you. And we actually
justified ourselves. We surmised 'twas fittin' that Britishers should
pay for the support o' good Americans."
"I've read some of your histories," said Ajax drily, "and can
understand that point of view."
"Satan fools them as fool themselves, Mr. Ajax. But the truth struck
me and Laban when we watched by mother. She was not scared o' death.
And she praised me to Laban, and said that I'd chosen the better part
in marryin' a poor man for love, and that money hadn't made Christian
women of Sarah and Samanthy. She blamed herself, dear soul, for
settin' store overly much on dollars and cents. And she said she could
die easier thinking that what was good in her had passed to me, and
not what was evil. And, Mr. Ajax, that talk just drove me and Laban
crazy. Well, mother ain't going to die, and we ain't neither--till
we've paid back the last cent, we stole from you. Laban has figgered
it out, principal and interest, and he's drawn a note for fifteen
hundred dollars, which we've both signed. Here it is."
She tendered us a paper. Ajax stuck his hands into his pockets, and I
did the same.
She misinterpreted the action. "You ain't going to prosecute?" she
faltered.
Ajax nodded to me. Upon formal occasions he expects me, being the
elder, to speak. If I say more or less than he approves I am severely
taken to task.
"Mrs. Swiggart," I began, lamely enough, "I am sure that your husband
can cure hams----"
Ajax looked at me indignantly. With the best of motives I had given a
sore heart a grievous twist.
"We bought that ham," she said sadly, "a-purpose."
"No matter. We have decided to go into this packing business with your
husband. When--er--experience goes into partnership with ignorance,
ignorance expects to pay a premium. We have paid our premium."
She rose, and we held out our hands.
"No, gentlemen; I won't take your hands till that debt is cancelled.
The piano and the team will go some ways towards it. Good-bye, and--
thank you."