PETER DREW'S LAST MESSAGE
"I'll take a seegar," Mr. Damon Tamroy replied in response to Oliver's
invitation.
They lighted up and sat at a card-table against one wall of the gloomy
saloon.
"You speak of this as a gun country," remarked Oliver.
"Well, it's at least got traditions," returned Mr. Tamroy, adding the
unlettered man's apology for his little fanciful flight, "'as the fella
says.' Like father like son, you know. The Seldens are gunmen. Old Adam
Selden's dad was a 'Forty-niner; and Adam Selden--the Old Man Selden of
today--was born right close to here when his dad was about twenty-five
years old. Le's see--that makes Old Adam 'round about seventy. But he's
spry and full o' pep, and one o' the best rifle shots in the country.
"He takes after the old man, who was a bad actor in the days o'
'Forty-nine, and his boys take after him. They're a bad outfit, takin'
'em all in all. The boys are Hurlock, Moffat, Bolar, and Winthrop--four
of 'em. All gunmen. Then there's Jessamy Selden--the only girl--who
ain't rightly a Selden at all. None o' the old man's blood in Jessamy,
o' course. Mis' Selden--she was an Ivison before she married
Lomax--Myrtle Ivison was her name--she's a fine lady. But she won't
leave the old man for all his wickedness, and Miss Jessamy won't leave
her mother. So there you are!"
"I see," said Oliver musingly, not at all displeased with the present
subject of conversation.
"Now, here's this Digger Foss," Tamroy went on. "He's half-American,
quarter-Chinaman, and quarter-Digger-Indian. The last's what gives him
his name. There's a tribe o' Digger Indians close to here. He's killed
two men and got away with it. Now he's added a third to his list, and
likely he'll get away with that. The rest o' the Poison Oakers are Obed
Pence, Ed Buchanan, Jay Muenster, and Chuck Allegan--ten in all."
"Just what are the Poison Oakers?" Oliver asked as Damon Tamroy paused
reflectively.
"Well, _anybody_ who lives in this country is called a Poison Oaker.
You're one now. The woods about this country are full o' poison oak, and
that's where we get the name. That's what outsiders call us. But when we
ourselves speak of Poison Oakers we mean Old Man Selden's gang--him, his
four sons, and the hombres I just mentioned--a regular old back-country
gang o' rowdies, toughs, would-be bad men. You know what I mean.
"They just drifted together by natural instinct, I reckon. Old Man
Selden shot a man up around Willow Twig, and come clean at the trial.
Obed Pence is a thief, and did a stretch for cattle rustlin' here about
three years ago. Chuck and Ed have both done something to make 'em
eligible--knife fightin' at country dances, and the like. And the Selden
boys are chips off the old block."
"But what is the gang's particular purpose?"
"Meanness, s'far's I c'n see! Just meanness! Old Man Selden owns a ranch
down your way that you can get to only by a trail. No wheeled vehicle
can get in. All the boys live there with him. Kind of a colony, for two
o' the boys are married. The other Poison Oakers live here and there
about the country, on ranches. Ambition don't worry none of 'em much.
Old Man Selden's said to distil jackass brandy, but it's never been
proved."
"Now about the Old Tabor Ivison Place?" said Oliver.
"Well, it's there yet, I reckon; but I ain't been down that way for
years. Now and then a deer hunt leads me into Clinker Creek Canyon, but
not often.
"It's a lonely, deserted place, and the road to it is fierce. Several
families lived down in there thirty years ago; but the places have been
abandoned long since, and all the folks gone God knows where. It's a
pretty country if a fella likes trees and rocks and things, and wild and
rough; but down in that canyon it's too cold for pears and such
fruit--and that's about all we raise on these rocky hills.
"Old Tabor Ivison homesteaded your place. He's been dead matter o'
fifteen years. Died down there. For years he'd lived there all by
'imself. Good old man. Asked for little in life--and got it.
"But for years now all that country's been abandoned. There's pretty
good pickin's down in there; and Old Man Selden and some more o' the
Poison Oakers have been runnin' cattle on all of it."
"I'm glad there's pasture," Oliver interposed.
"Oh, pasture's all right. But Selden's outfit has looked at that land as
theirs for so long that you won't find it particularly congenial. You're
bound to have trouble with the Poison Oakers, Mr. Drew, and I'd consider
the land not worth it. Why, I can buy a thousan' acres down in there for
two and a half an acre! You'll starve to death if you have to depend on
that forty for a livin'. How come you to own the place?"
"My father willed it to me," Oliver replied.
"Your father?"
"Yes, Peter Drew. Have you ever heard of him?"
"No," returned Damon Tamroy. "I reckon he was here before my time. How'd
he come by the place? I thought one o' the Ivison girls--Nancy--still
owned it."
"I'm sure I can't tell you how Dad came to own it," Oliver made answer.
"I haven't an abstract of title. I know, though, that Dad owned it for
some time before his death."
"Well, well!" Damon Tamroy's eyes roved curiously over the young man
once more. They steadied themselves on the silver-mounted Spanish spurs
on Oliver's riding boots. "Travellin' horseback?" he wanted to know, and
his look of puzzlement deepened.
"Yes," said Oliver a little bitterly. "I'm riding about all that I
possess in this world, since you have pronounced the Old Tabor Ivison
Place next to worthless." He grew thoughtful. "You're puzzled over me,"
he smiled at last. "Frankly, though, you're no more puzzled over me than
I am over myself and my rather odd situation. I'm a man of mystery." He
laughed. "I think I'll tell you all about it.
"As far back as I can remember, my home has been on a cow ranch in the
southern part of the state. I can't remember my mother, who died when I
was very young. I always thought my father wealthy until he died, two
weeks ago, and his will was read to me. He had orange and lemon groves
besides the cattle ranch, and was a stockholder in a substantial country
bank. I was graduated at the State University, and went from there to
France. Since, I've been resting up and sort of managing Dad's property.
"My father was a peculiar man, and was never overly confidential with
me. He was uneducated, as the term is understood today--a
rough-and-ready old Westerner who had made his strike and settled down
to peaceful days--or so I always imagined. But two weeks ago he died
suddenly from a stroke of apoplexy; and when his will was read to me I
got a jolt from which I haven't yet recovered.
"The home ranch and the other real estate, together with all livestock
and appurtenances--with one exception, which I shall mention later--were
willed to the Catholic Church, to be handled as they saw fit. It seemed
that there was little else to be disposed of. I was left five hundred
dollars in cash, a saddle horse named Poche, a silver-mounted bridle and
saddle and martingales, the old Spanish spurs you see on my feet, and
the Old Tabor Ivison Place, in Chaparral County, of which I knew almost
nothing. That was all--with the exception of the written instructions in
my father's handwriting that were given me by his lawyers. Maybe you can
throw some light on the matter, Mr. Tamroy. Would you care to hear my
father's last message to me?"
Tamroy evinced his eagerness by scraping forward his chair.
Oliver took from a leather billbook a folded piece of paper. "I don't
know that I ought to," he smiled, "but, after all, I'll never learn the
mystery of it if I keep the matter from people about here. So here goes:
"'_My dear son Oliver_:
"'As you know perfectly well, I am an ignorant old Westerner.
There is no use mincing matters in regard to this. When I was
young I didn't have much of a chance to get an education; but
when I grew up and married, and you was born, I said you'd
never be allowed to grow up in ignorance like I did. So I tried
to give you an education, and you didn't fail me.'
"'I did this for a double purpose, Oliver. I knew that I was
going to die someday, and that then you'd have to settle a
little matter that's bothered me since before you was born. For
pretty near thirty years, Oliver, I've had a problem to fight;
and I never knew how to settle the matter because I wasn't
educated. So I let it rest and waited for you to grow up, and
go through college. And now that's happened; and you're
educated and fit to answer the question that's bothered me for
nearly half my life. The answer is either Yes or No, and you've
got to find out which is right.'
"'I'm leaving you Poche, the best cow horse in Southern
California, my old silver-mounted saddle that's carried me
thousands of miles, the martingales, and my old silver-mounted
bridle, which same three things made me the envy of all the
vaqueros of the Clinker Creek Country over thirty years ago,
and my Spanish spurs that go along with the outfit. These
things, Oliver, and five hundred dollars in Cash, and forty
acres of land on Clinker Creek, in Chaparral county, called the
Old Tabor Ivison Place.'
"'They are all you'll need to find the answer to the question
that's bothered me for thirty years. Buckle on the spurs, throw
the saddle on Poche, bridle him, put the five hundred dollars
and the deed to the Old Tabor Ivison Place in your jeans, and
hit the trail for Clinker Creek. Stay there till you know
whether the answer is Yes or No. Then go to my lawyers and tell
them which it is. And the God of your mother go with you!'
"'Your affectionate father,'
"'PETER DREW.'
"'In his seventy-third year.'"
Oliver folded the paper. Damon Tamroy only sat and stared at him.