a window and a door on the east side, and the south room has two
windows on the south with space between for my heater, which is one of
those with a grate front so I can see the fire burn. It is almost as
good as a fireplace. The logs are unhewed outside because I like the
rough finish, but inside the walls are perfectly square and smooth. The
cracks in the walls are snugly filled with "daubing" and then the walls
are covered with heavy gray building-paper, which makes the room very
warm, and I really like the appearance. I had two rolls of wall-paper
with a bold rose pattern. By being very careful I was able to cut out
enough of the roses, which are divided in their choice of color as to
whether they should be red, yellow, or pink, to make a border about
eighteen inches from the ceiling. They brighten up the wall and the
gray paper is fine to hang pictures upon. Those you have sent us make
our room very attractive. The woodwork is stained a walnut brown, oil
finish, and the floor is stained and oiled just like it. In the corners
by the stove and before the windows we take our comfort.
From some broken bamboo fishing-rods I made frames for two screens.
These I painted black with some paint that was left from the buggy, and
Gavotte fixed the screens so they will stay balanced, and put in
casters for me. I had a piece of blue curtain calico and with
brass-headed tacks I put it on the frame of Jerrine's screen, then I
mixed some paste and let her decorate it to suit herself on the side
that should be next her corner. She used the cards you sent her. Some
of the people have a suspiciously tottering appearance, perhaps not so
very artistic, but they all mean something to a little girl whose
small fingers worked patiently to attain satisfactory results. She has
a set of shelves on which her treasures of china are arranged. On the
floor is a rug made of two goatskins dyed black, a present from
Gavotte, who heard her admiring Zebbie's bearskin. She has a tiny red
rocking-chair which she has outgrown, but her rather dilapidated family
of dolls use it for an automobile. For a seat for herself she has a
small hassock that you gave me, and behind the blue screen is a world
apart.
My screen is made just like Jerrine's except that the cover is cream
material with sprays of wild roses over it. In my corner I have a cot
made up like a couch. One of my pillows is covered with some checked
gingham that "Dawsie" cross-stitched for me. I have a cabinet bookcase
made from an old walnut bedstead that was a relic of the Mountain
Meadow Massacre. Gavotte made it for me. In it I have my few books,
some odds and ends of china, all gifts, and a few fossil curios. For a
floor-covering I have a braided rug of blue and white, made from old
sheets and Jerrine's old dresses. In the center of my room is a square
table made of pine and stained brown. Over it is a table-cover that you
gave me. Against the wall near my bed is my "dresser." It is a box with
shelves and is covered with the same material as my screen. Above it I
have a mirror, but it makes ugly faces at me every time I look into it.
Upon the wall near by is a match-holder that you gave me. It is the
heads of two fisher-folk. The man has lost his nose, but the old lady
still thrusts out her tongue. The material on my screen and "dresser" I
bought for curtains, then decided to use some white crossbar I had. But
I wish I had not, for every time I look at them I think of poor little
Mary Ann Parker.
I am going to make you a cup of tea and wonder if you will see anything
familiar about the teapot. You should, I think, for it is another of
your many gifts to me. Now I feel that you have a fairly good idea of
what my house looks like, on the inside anyway. The magazines and
Jerrine's cards and Mother Goose book came long ago, and Jerrine and I
were both made happy. I wish I could do nice things for you, but all I
can do is to love you.
Your sincere friend,
ELINORE RUPERT.
XV
THE "STOCKING-LEG" DINNER
_February, 1912._
DEAR MRS. CONEY,--
... This time I want to tell you about a "stocking-leg" dinner which I
attended not long ago. It doesn't sound very respectable, but it was
one of the happiest events I ever remember.
Mrs. Louderer was here visiting us, and one afternoon we were all in
the kitchen when Gavotte came skimming along on the first pair of
snowshoes I ever saw. We have had lots of snow this winter, and many of
the hollows and gullies are packed full. Gavotte had no difficulty in
coming, and he had come for the mail and to invite us to a feast of "ze
hose." I could not think what kind of a dinner it could be, and I did
not believe that Mr. Stewart would go, but after Gavotte had explained
how much easier it was now than at any other time because the
hard-packed snow made it possible to go with bobsleds, I knew he would
go. I can't say I really wanted to go, but Mrs. Louderer took it for
granted that it would be delightful, so she and Mr. Stewart did the
planning. Next morning Gavotte met Mrs. O'Shaughnessy and invited her.
Then, taking the mail, he went on ahead to blaze a trail we should
follow with the sleds. We were to start two days later. They planned we
could easily make the trip in a day, as, with the gulches filled with
snow, short cuts were possible, and we could travel at a good pace, as
we would have a strong team. To me it seemed dangerous, but
dinner-parties have not been so plenty that I could miss one. So, when
the day came on which we were to start, we were up betimes and had a
mess-box packed and Mr. Stewart had a big pile of rocks hot. We all
wore our warmest clothes, and the rest carried out hot rocks and
blankets while I put the kitchen in such order that the men left to
feed the stock would have no trouble in getting their meals. Mr.
Stewart carried out the mess-box, and presently we were off. We had a
wagon-box on bobsleds, and the box was filled with hay and hot rocks
with blankets on top and more to cover us. Mr. Stewart had two big bags
of grain in front, feed for the horses, and he sat on them.
It was a beautiful day and we jogged along merrily. We had lots of fun,
and as we went a new way, there was much that was new to Mrs.
O'Shaughnessy and myself, and it was all new to the rest. Gavotte had
told us where we should noon, and we reached the place shortly after
twelve. Mr. Stewart went to lift out the mess-box,--but he had
forgotten to put it in! Oh, dear! We were a disappointed lot. I don't
think I was ever so hungry, but there was nothing for it but to grin
and bear it. It did me some good, though, to remember how a man misses
his dinner. The horses had to be fed, so we walked about while they
were eating. We went up a cañon that had high cliffs on one side, and
came to a place where, high up on the rock wall, in great black
letters, was this legend: "Dick fell off of this here clift and died."
I should think there would be no question that any one who fell from
that place on to the boulders below _would_ die.
Soon we started again, and if not quite so jolly as we were before, at
least we looked forward to our supper with a keen relish and the horses
were urged faster than they otherwise would have been. The beautiful
snow is rather depressing, however, when there is snow everywhere. The
afternoon passed swiftly and the horses were becoming jaded. At four
o'clock it was almost dark. We had been going up a deep cañon and came
upon an appalling sight. There had been a snow-slide and the cañon was
half-filled with snow, rock, and broken trees. The whole way was
blocked, and what to do we didn't know, for the horses could hardly be
gotten along and we could not pass the snow-slide. We were twenty-five
miles from home, night was almost upon us, and we were almost starved.
But we were afraid to stay in that cañon lest more snow should slide
and bury us, so sadly we turned back to find as comfortable a place as
we could to spend the night. The prospects were very discouraging, and
I am afraid we were all near tears, when suddenly there came upon the
cold air a clear blast from a horn. Mrs. Louderer cried, "Ach, der
reveille!" Once I heard a lecturer tell of climbing the Matterhorn and
the calls we heard brought his story to mind. No music could have been
so beautiful. It soon became apparent that we were being signaled; so
we drove in the direction of the sound and found ourselves going up a
wide cañon. We had passed the mouth of it shortly before we had come to
the slide. Even the tired horses took new courage, and every few
moments a sweet, clear call put new heart into us. Soon we saw a light.
We had to drive very slowly and in places barely crept. The bugler
changed his notes and we knew he was wondering if we were coming, so
Mr. Stewart helloed. At once we had an answer, and after that we were
steadily guided by the horn. Many times we could not see the light, but
we drove in the right direction because we could hear the horn.
At last, when it was quite dark and the horses could go no farther, we
drew up before the fire that had been our beacon light. It was a
bonfire built out upon a point of rock at the end of the cañon. Back
from it among the pines was a 'dobe house. A dried-up mummy of a man
advanced from the fire to meet us, explaining that he had seen us
through his field-glasses and, knowing about the snow-slide, had
ventured to attract us to his poor place. Carlota Juanita was within,
prepared for the _señoras_, if they would but walk in. If they would!
More dead than alive, we scrambled out, cold-stiffened and hungry.
Carlota Juanita threw open the low, wide door and we stumbled into
comfort. She hastened to help us off with our wraps, piled more wood on
the open fire, and busied herself to make us welcome and comfortable.
Poor Carlota Juanita! Perhaps you think she was some slender,
limpid-eyed, olive-cheeked beauty. She was fat and forty, but not fair.
She had the biggest wad of hair that I ever saw, and her face was so
fat that her eyes looked beady. She wore an old heelless pair of
slippers or sandals that would hardly stay on, and at every step they
made the most exasperating sliding noise, but she was all kindness and
made us feel very welcome. The floor was of dirt, and they had the
largest fireplace I have ever seen, with the widest, cleanest hearth,
which was where they did their cooking. All their furniture was
home-made, and on a low bench near the door were three water-jars
which, I am sure, were handmade. Away back in a corner they had a small
altar, on which was a little statue of Mary and the Child. Before it,
suspended by a wire from the rafters, was a cow's horn in which a piece
of punk was burning, just as the incense is kept burning in churches.
Supper was already prepared and was simmering and smoking on the
hearth. As soon as the men came in, Carlota Juanita put it on the
table, which was bare of cloth. I can't say that I really like Mexican
bread, but they certainly know how to cook meat. They had a most
wonderful pot-roast with potatoes and corn dumplings that were
delicious. The roast had been slashed in places and small bits of
garlic, pepper, bacon, and, I think, parsley, inserted. After it and
the potatoes and the dumplings were done, Carlota had poured in a can
of tomatoes. You may not think that was good, but I can assure you it
was and that we did ample justice to it. After we had eaten until we
were hardly able to swallow, Carlota Juanita served a queer Mexican
pie. It was made of dried buffalo-berries, stewed and made very sweet.
A layer of batter had been poured into a deep baking-dish, then the
berries, and then more batter. Then it was baked and served hot with
plenty of hard sauce; and it was powerful good, too. She had very
peculiar coffee with goat's milk in it. I took mine without the milk,
but I couldn't make up my mind that I liked the coffee. We sat around
the fire drinking it, when Manuel Pedro Felipe told us it was some he
had brought from Mexico. I didn't know they raised it there, but he
told us many interesting things about it. He and Carlota Juanita both
spoke fairly good English. They had lived for many years in their
present home and had some sheep, a few goats, a cow or two, a few pigs,
and chickens and turkeys. They had a small patch of land that Carlota
Juanita tilled and on which was raised the squaw corn that hung in
bunches from the rafters. Down where we live we can't get sweet corn to
mature, but here, so much higher up, they have a sheltered little nook
where they are able to raise many things. Upon a long shelf above the
fire was an ugly old stone image, the bottom broken off and some
plaster applied to make it set level. The ugly thing they had brought
with them from some old ruined temple in Mexico. We were all so very
tired that soon Carlota Juanita brought out an armful of the thickest,
brightest rugs and spread them over the floor for us to sleep upon. The
men retired to a lean-to room, where they slept, but not before Manuel
Pedro Felipe and Carlota had knelt before their altar for their
devotions. Mrs. O'Shaughnessy and myself and Jerrine, knowing the
rosary, surprised them by kneeling with them. It is good to meet with
kindred faith away off in the mountains. It seems there could not
possibly be a mistake when people so far away from creeds and doctrines
hold to the faith of their childhood and find the practice a pleasure
after so many years. The men bade us good-night, and we lost no time in
settling ourselves to rest. Luckily we had plenty of blankets.
Away in the night I was awakened by a noise that frightened me. All was
still, but instantly there flashed through my mind tales of murdered
travelers, and I was almost paralyzed with fear when again I heard that
stealthy, sliding noise, just like Carlota Juanita's old slippers. The
fire had burned down, but just then the moon came from behind a cloud
and shone through the window upon Carlota Juanita, who was asleep with
her mouth open. I could also see a pine bough which was scraping
against the wall outside, which was perhaps making the noise. I turned
over and saw the punk burning, which cast a dim light over the serene
face of the Blessed Virgin, so all fear vanished and I slept as long as
they would let me in the morning. After a breakfast of _tortillas_,
cheese, and rancid butter, and some more of the coffee, we started
again for the stocking-leg dinner. Carlota Juanita stood in the door,
waving to us as long as we could see her, and Manuel P.F. sat with Mr.
Stewart to guide us around the snow-slide. Under one arm he carried the
horn with which he had called us to him. It came from some long-horned
cow in Mexico, was beautifully polished, and had a fancy rim of silver.
I should like to own it, but I could not make it produce a sound. When
we were safe on our way our guide left us, and our spirits ran high
again. The horses were feeling good also, so it was a merry, laughing
party that drew up before Zebbie's two hours later.
Long before I had lent Gavotte a set of the Leather-Stocking Tales,
which he had read aloud to Zebbie. Together they had planned a
Leather-Stocking dinner, at which should be served as many of the
viands mentioned in the Tales as possible. We stayed two days and it
was one long feast. We had venison served in half a dozen different
ways. We had antelope; we had porcupine, or hedgehog, as Pathfinder
called it; and also we had beaver-tail, which he found toothsome, but
which I did _not_. We had grouse and sage hen. They broke the ice and
snared a lot of trout. In their cellar they had a barrel of trout
prepared exactly like mackerel, and they were more delicious than
mackerel because they were finer-grained. I had been a little
disappointed in Zebbie after his return from home. It seemed to me that
Pauline had spoiled him. I guess I was jealous. This time he was the
same little old Zebbie I had first seen. He seemed to thoroughly enjoy
our visit, and I am sure we each had the time of our lives. We made it
home without mishap the same day we started, all of us sure life held
something new and enjoyable after all.
If nothing happens there are some more good times in store for me this
summer. Gavotte once worked under Professor Marsden when he was out
here getting fossils for the Smithsonian Institution, and he is very
interesting to listen to. He has invited us to go with him out to the
Bad-Land hills in the summer to search for fossils. The hills are only
a few miles from here and I look forward to a splendid time.
XVI
THE HORSE-THIEVES
[No date.]
DEAR MRS. CONEY,--
... I am so afraid that you will get an overdose of culture from your
visit to the Hub and am sending you an antidote of our sage, sand, and
sunshine.
Mrs. Louderer had come over to see our boy. Together we had prepared
supper and were waiting for Clyde, who had gone to the post-office.
Soon he came, and after the usual friendly wrangling between him and
Mrs. Louderer we had supper. Then they began their inevitable game of
cribbage, while I sat near the fire with Baby on my lap. Clyde was
telling us of a raid on a ranch about seventy-five miles away, in which
the thieves had driven off thirty head of fine horses. There were only
two of the thieves, and the sheriff with a large posse was pursuing
them and forcing every man they came across into the chase, and a
regular man-hunt was on. It was interesting only because one of the
thieves was a noted outlaw then out on parole and known to be
desperate. We were in no way alarmed; the trouble was all in the next
county, and somehow that always seems so far away. We knew if the men
ever came together there would be a pitched battle, with bloodshed and
death, but there seemed little chance that the sheriff would ever
overtake the men.
I remember I was feeling sorry for the poor fellows with a price on
their heads,--the little pink man on my lap had softened my heart
wonderfully. Jerrine was enjoying the pictures in a paper illustrating
early days on the range, wild scenes of roping and branding. I had
remarked that I didn't believe there were any more such times, when Mrs
Louderer replied, "Dot yust shows how much it iss you do not know. You
shall come to mine house and when away you come it shall be wiser as
when you left." I had kept at home very closely all summer, and a
little trip seemed the most desirable thing I could think of,
particularly as the baby would be in no way endangered. But long ago I
learned that the quickest way to get what I want is not to want it,
outwardly, at least. So I assumed an indifference that was not very
real. The result was that next morning every one was in a hurry to get
me started,--Clyde greasing the little old wagon that looks like a twin
to Cora Belle's, and Mrs. Louderer, who thinks no baby can be properly
brought up without goose-grease, busy greasing the baby "so as he shall
not some cold take yet." Mrs. Louderer had ridden over, so her saddle
was laid in the wagon and her pony, Bismarck, was hitched in with Chub,
the laziest horse in all Wyoming. I knew Clyde could manage very well
while I should be gone, and there wasn't a worry to interfere with the
pleasure of my outing.
We jogged along right merrily, Mrs. Louderer devoting her entire
attention to trying to make Chub pull even with Bismarck, Jerrine and
myself enjoying the ever-changing views. I wish I could lay it all
before you. Summer was departing with reluctant feet, unafraid of
Winter's messengers, the chill winds. That day was especially
beautiful. The gleaming snow peaks and heavy forest south and at our
back; west, north, and east, long, broken lines of the distant
mountains with their blue haze. Pilot Butte to the north, one hundred
miles away, stood out clear and distinct as though we could drive there
in an hour or two. The dull, neutral-colored "Bad Land" hills nearer us
are interesting only because we know they are full of the fossil
remains of strange creatures long since extinct.
For a distance our way lay up Henry's Fork valley; prosperous little
ranches dotted the view, ripening grain rustled pleasantly in the warm
morning sunshine, and closely cut alfalfa fields made bright spots of
emerald against the dun landscape. The quaking aspens were just
beginning to turn yellow; everywhere purple asters were a blaze of
glory except where the rabbit-bush grew in clumps, waving its feathery
plumes of gold. Over it all the sky was so deeply blue, with little,
airy, white clouds drifting lazily along. Every breeze brought scents
of cedar, pine, and sage. At this point the road wound along the base
of cedar hills; some magpies were holding a noisy caucus among the
trees, a pair of bluebirds twittered excitedly upon a fence, and high
overhead a great black eagle soared. All was so peaceful that
horse-thieves and desperate men seemed too remote to think about.
Presently we crossed the creek and headed our course due north toward
the desert and the buttes. I saw that we were not going right to reach
Mrs. Louderer's ranch, so I asked where we were supposed to be going.
"We iss going to the mouth of Dry Creek by, where it goes Black's Fork
into. Dere mine punchers holdts five huntert steers. We shall de camp
visit and you shall come back wiser as when you went."
Well, we both came away wiser. I had thought we were going only to the
Louderer ranch, so I put up no lunch, and there was nothing for the
horses either. But it was too beautiful a time to let such things annoy
us. Anyway, we expected to reach camp just after noon, so a little
delay about dinner didn't seem so bad. We had entered the desert by
noon; the warm, red sands fell away from the wheels with soft, hissing
sounds. Occasionally a little horned toad sped panting along before us,
suddenly darting aside to watch with bright, cunning eyes as we passed.
Some one had placed a buffalo's skull beside a big bunch of sage and on
the sage a splendid pair of elk's antlers. We saw many such scattered
over the sands, grim reminders of a past forever gone.
About three o'clock we reached our destination, but no camp was there.
We were more disappointed than I can tell you, but Mrs. Louderer merely
went down to the river, a few yards away, and cut an armful of willow
sticks wherewith to coax Chub to a little brisker pace, and then we
took the trail of the departed mess-wagon. Shortly, we topped a low
range of hills, and beyond, in a cuplike valley, was the herd of sleek
beauties feeding contentedly on the lush green grass. I suppose it
sounds odd to hear desert and river in the same breath, but within a
few feet of the river the desert begins, where nothing grows but sage
and greasewood. In oasis-like spots will be found plenty of grass where
the soil is nearer the surface and where sub-irrigation keeps the roots
watered. In one of these spots the herd was being held. When the grass
became short they would be moved to another such place.
It required, altogether, fifteen men to take care of the herd, because
many of the cattle had been bought in different places, some in Utah,
and these were always trying to run away and work back toward home, so
they required constant herding. Soon we caught the glimmer of white
canvas, and knew it was the cover of the mess-wagon, so we headed that
way.
The camp was quite near the river so as to be handy to water and to
have the willows for wood. Not a soul was at camp. The fire was out,
and even the ashes had blown away. The mess-box was locked and Mrs.
Louderer's loud calls brought only echoes from the high rock walls
across the river. However, there was nothing to do but to make the best
of it, so we tethered the horses and went down to the river to relieve
ourselves of the dust that seemed determined to unite with the dust
that we were made of. Mrs. Louderer declared she was "so mat as nodings
and would fire dot Herman so soon as she could see him alreaty."
Presently we saw the most grotesque figure approaching camp. It was
Herman, the fat cook, on Hunks, a gaunt, ugly old horse, whose days of
usefulness under the saddle were past and who had degenerated into a
workhorse. The disgrace of it seemed to be driving him into a decline,
but he stumbled along bravely under his heavy load. A string of a dozen
sage chickens swung on one side, and across the saddle in front of
Herman lay a young antelope. A volley of German abuse was hurled at
poor Herman, wound up in as plain American as Mrs. Louderer could
speak: "And who iss going to pay de game warden de fine of dot antelope
what you haf shot? And how iss it that we haf come de camp by und so
starved as we iss hungry, and no cook und no food? Iss dat for why you
iss paid?"
Herman was some Dutch himself, however. "How iss it," he demanded, "dat
you haf not so much sense as you haf tongue? How haf you lived so long
as always in de West und don't know enough to hunt a bean-hole when you
reach your own camp. Hey?"