Jack and I were early about in the morning, intent upon making our
prospecting arrangements. We asked a casual question of an early morning
lounger at a livery stable--some of these fellows seemed to get up at
daylight for the express purpose of lounging--and he flung his voice
over his shoulder into the recesses of the barn. "Jake!" he called; "two
guys here to see yuh."
Jake was evidently feeding his horses, for we heard the rustle of hay
and caught a whiff of its fragrance, but presently he came stumping down
the main thoroughfare between the stalls. He was a short man with an
over-developed waist line--quite the opposite of the lean and lanky
Westerner our imaginations had been picturing. Although it was still
early and there was a nip to the air of the first morning in May, he
wore neither coat nor waistcoat nor collar nor tie, and the neckband of
his shirt was unbuttoned and revealed a generous expanse of throat and
chest. He had recently been clean shaven, and he chewed tobacco with
great gusto; tiny streamlets of the seductive fluid wound their way
through little creases in his flesh which seemed to have been cut for
the purpose from the corners of his mouth to the bottom of his chin.
"Well," he said, bringing his weight to a poise on his pudgy feet, and
scrutinizing us closely through shrewd, half-closed eyes. "You fellows
lookin' fer land?"
"That's what," said Jack, who was already beginning to pick up some of
the direct vernacular of the West. "We want a man who knows the country
to show us about."
"I'm your gazabo," said Jake, stuffing a fist in a trouser pocket and
bringing forth a half-eaten plug of tobacco, from which he helped
himself liberally. Then, evidently in sudden embarrassment over his bad
manners, he exclaimed, "Pardon me; my mistake!" and extended the plug to
Jack and me. We declined.
"As I was sayin', I'm the original Kid McCoy when it comes to locatin'
land," he continued, when satisfied that we really did not chew tobacco,
and that there was no offence in our refusal. "I know every badger-hole
from Estevan to Prince Albert. I know every patch of stink-weed from
Arcola to Swift Current. I've druv this country till there ain't a
coyote between Montana an' the Saskatch'wan river but knows the rattle
o' my bone-shaker. You boys hit luck with your first throw--runnin' into
me like this." Then, with a sharp squint through his half-closed eyes,
and dropping his voice to a confidential note, "How much money you got?"
"Enough," said Jack, "but none to waste. What are your rates?"
Jake seemed to be turning a problem heavily in his mind. "I like you
fellows," he said at length, "and I make you a special price. Usual I
get seven dollars a day an' found fer drivin', an' fifty dollars for
locatin'. That's fer each gent. Now I calls you two boys one gent an'
makes you the same price--seven bones an' a grub-stake whether we hit
oil or not, an' fifty plunks extra if we do. An' we will. No question
about that. I know two claims that's jus' sittin' up an' yelpin' fer you
lads to come along."
We withdrew and talked the matter over for a few minutes. In spite of
Jake's unprepossessing appearance and boastful language there was
something appealing about him. He threw out a bluff, frank, independent
suggestion of friendliness which reacted readily upon us, and he looked
like a man who knew the country. We returned presently with our minds
made up.
"We'll take your offer, Mr. ----" Jack commenced.
"Jake," he interrupted. "No mister."
"All right, Jake, we'll take your offer. When do we start, what do we
take, and where do we go?"
Jake looked interrogatively at the morning sun. Then, "Had breakfast?"
he demanded.
"No."
"Well, fill up. You must be feelin' pretty well bored out after your
trip. I'll start get the outfit together. I got a team of buckskins
that's tougher than Little Eva in an Uncle Tom's Cabin show, an' a
democrat bone-shaker that scuds across the prairie like the shadow of a
cloud." (He had his poetic turns, had Jake). "I got a tent, but you'll
need your own blankets. After breakfast we'll go over to a store an' buy
a lay-out o' grub."
"How long will we be away?"
"Well, nat'rally we have to figger on driving out a good spell. Ain't no
free land nowhere close to a city, a C-I-T-Y"--he spelled it out, with a
whimisical mixture of pride and ridicule--"like this. Now I've a spot in
my mind I think'll suit you boys right down the calf of the leg. It'll
take us about three days to go, an' a day to look it over, an' three
days to come back, which knocks the hell out o' a week, don't it? An' it
might be longer."
"You see, we have our sisters here. We have to give them some idea----"
"Sisters!" Jake exclaimed, evidently in some panic. "They ain't goin'
along?"
"No. They'll stay here until we get settled."
"That's all right, then," said Jake, visibly relieved. "Well, you tell
'em a week or ten days."
We related the morning's transactions to the girls, who accepted the
situation with resignation, as it had been agreed that they would stay
in Regina while we did our prospecting. They would at once set about to
find cheaper lodgings, or a couple of rooms where they could keep house;
they insisted that they were quite able to shift for themselves. They
would leave word of their new location at the hotel.
The forenoon was well gone by the time we had finished our arrangements
and bought our "grub", which consisted mainly of canned goods and other
preparations that would not spoil in the heat. The democrat was a
two-seated affair, and the tent and supplies were bundled on behind, or
laid in the bottom. We noted that Jake added a rifle to the equipment.
Then we started off, Jack in the front seat with the driver, and I alone
behind.
For most of that day we drove through a country of almost absolutely
level prairie, save for occasional rough spots which Jake described as
"buffalo wallows", which threatened to throw us out of the
"bone-shaker", as the buckskins never changed their pace, evidently
still supposing that the democrat was following them like the shadow of
a cloud. Jake told us that the buffalo wallows were once wet spots on
the prairie where the buffalo came to roll in the mud, which had
afterwards been baked hard by the sun. We did not know whether to accept
this at face value, as it was not easy to tell when Jake was to be taken
at par, but we agreed that that was a satisfactory explanation, and did
not enter into a discussion. Through this country there were many
evidences of prosperity and of the fertility of the soil, but Jake
assured us that there was nothing to be had here, and in any case it was
not to be compared with what we would find further on. The Westerner has
a faith, which amounts almost to a religion, that there is always
something better farther on.
During the day we discovered, also, that our guide was something of a
philosopher. He had many shrewd remarks to make about immigrants, and
homesteaders, and the business of settling up a country. It appeared
that he had no very regular scale for his services. This came out in his
account of the location of a young Englishman whom he described as Mr.
Spoof.
"He had a carload of baggage," said Jake, with Western extravagance of
language, "and when I suggested that he start up a second-hand clothing
store he said, 'Ah, I'm afraid you're spoofin' me.' So I named him Mr.
Spoof, an' he gets mail now addressed that way."
It seemed that Mr. Spoof had been inquiring in one of the hotels where
he could cash a draft for sixty pounds when Jake took him in tow. "I
knew that was no place for him--an' sixty pounds," said Jake, "so I
hustled him out an' planted him on as slick a piece of farm land as ever
grew a gopher. 'How much is your fee?' said he, very courtly, when it
was all fixed up.
"'Sixty pounds,' says I, knowin' in advance the size of his wad.
"'My word!' says he. 'Isn't that a bit thick?'
"'Thick nothin'!' says I. 'Here I gets you a hundred an' sixty acres of
land, as good as lies out doors, an' a chance to be a farmer, an' have
your own stock an' herds an' house an' barn an' a wife an' a
half-a-dozen kids--whad'ye expect for sixty pounds?'
"'It's a bit thick,' he kep' on sayin'.
"'See here,' says I. 'If you think this is a bit thick, as you call it,
pay me the sixty pounds now, an' in three years bring me the title to
your farm, an' I'll give you back your sixty pounds, an' not charge you
a cent for the use of the land for those three years.' That seemed to
shush 'im, an' he coughed up."
We laughed over the story. "I suppose you get them here as green as
grass," I ventured.
"Oh, terrible, terrible," Jake agreed gravely. "An' in most unexpected
places. But jus' you watch out!" he continued with a strange sharpness.
"I took his sixty pounds because there was a dozen sharks on his trail,
and he might as well give it to me fer somethin' as to them fer nothin'.
But jus' you watch out that in ten or twenty years he don't have _you_
beat to a custard. Dang me! I can't explain it, but there's somethin' in
those fellows that won't go down--an' stay down. That is, most of 'em.
Course there's failures everywhere," he added, generously. "They don'
count."
"But do you think it quite fair," said Jack, and I knew that he was
bantering our guide, or wanting to draw out his conclusions,--"do you
think it quite fair to charge different fees for the same service?"
"Fair as fightin'," Jake declared. "It's like this. You go into the
butcher's an' you order a cut of steak, an' he sets you back six bits,
an' it doesn't matter whether it's you or me or the king--six bits is
the price. That's business. But you go into a lawyer's or a doctor's an'
what does he do? Looks you up an' down an' figgers out in his mind what
you can damn-well pay, an' that's what he soaks you. That's a
perfession. Locatin' homesteads is a perfession."
With this explanation of the ethics of his "perfession" we had to be
satisfied. As the day wore on, the sun, pouring through a cloudless sky
as clear as space, and the fresh wind which blew steadily in our faces,
began to have effect, and we felt a smarting, tingling sensation over
our cheeks and across our noses and chins. Jake had provided against
this contingency with a box of axle grease; not the daintiest cosmetic,
but a cheap and effective one. He now produced the box with the
instructions, "Plaster it on. Don't be afraid of it."
We did so, somewhat gingerly, and laughed whenever we looked in each
other's faces.
Jake turned in to a farm place in mid-afternoon for water. We could see
the farmer seeding in his field; he made no stop on our account, and if
he had a wife she remained indoors. We pumped as much water as the
horses would drink, and filled our water keg, and then sat for a while
in the shade of one of his buildings, chewing at straws and gazing into
the blank distance. There was a supreme satisfaction, a fine relaxation
and relief, in idling in such an hour. I was impressed with the off-hand
way in which we seemed to have taken possession of the man's farm, and
his complete indifference to our presence.
"Some people say," said Jake at length, yawning and digging his heels in
the ground preparatory to getting up, "some people say that the Indian
is a fool, an' the Indian says the white man is a fool. On a day like
this I al'us reckon the Indian has a little the best o' the argyment."
He pulled his team out from the side of a haystack, where they had been
feeding with as little concern as if the hay were their own, and
presently we rattled off down the trail again. On the way we passed the
field in which the farmer was seeding. We waved our hats at him, and
from the distance he waved his hat back at us, and we drove on into the
prairies.
On account of our afternoon rest Jake drove until almost sundown. We
were now in a slightly rolling country, and suddenly he swung from the
trail and pulled up on the top of a little knoll. From this little
vantage point we could see the unbroken sweep of the prairies, miles and
miles in every direction.
"Is this the bald-headed?" I asked in a low voice, as though touching on
something almost sacred.
"This is the bald-headed," he answered, solemnly. "See, everywhere, sky
an' grass--sky an' grass. Ah, there, there's an exception." I followed
the line of his extended arm. Far across the plains I saw a flashing
light, as of a heliograph.
"The window of a settler's shanty, twenty miles from here, if it's a
foot," he explained. "Look how green the grass is. The evenin' light
makes it that way, somehow."
It was true. The grass had taken a deeper shade of green with the light
falling aslant across it. The sun hung like a yellow ball in a sky of
champagne, and the long shadows of our horses and wagon stretched down
the slope of the little hill. But most impressive of all was the
silence, a silence as of heaven and earth brooding, brooding, brooding
over this scene as they had done from the dawn of time; aye, and before
that, far into the vague aeons of eternity. . . . I wished that Jean
might have been there.
We made our camp on the hill, if we can be said to have made camp at
all. Jake found a little slough (pronounced _slew_) of snow water not
far away, and he unharnessed his horses and hobbled them nearby. I was
fussing with the tent when he returned.
"We won't need that, son," and I thought there was a note almost of
affection in his voice that made me warm to the man. "It couldn't rain
to-night on a bet. Clean out the wagon an' you two boys sleep on the
floor of it. You get the benefit o' the springs that way, an' it's
dryer'n the ground."
"But where will you sleep?"
"Oh, I'll roll up somewhere. I'm an old-timer."
Jake gathered some dry grass and buffalo chips and out of an
astonishingly little fire he soon had the tea boiling. Then he fried
bacon and laid the strips of hot bacon on slabs of bread. And we ate
bacon and bread, and then jam and bread, and drank hot black tea, while
the slow twilight settled down about us.
Once, only, Jake startled us by springing to his feet and running to the
wagon. He slung his rifle over his arm as we heard a sort of rushing
whistle in the darkness overhead.
"No use," he said, laying the weapon down reluctantly. "Wouldn't get
one with a carload o' cartridges."
"What was it?" we asked. "We didn't see anything."
"Didn't you? You ain't got prairie eyes yet. Them was wild ducks, goin'
north a-hootin'. Wouldn't hit one with a rifle in a million years."
"Why don't you carry a shot gun?" asked Jack.
"Sometimes a rifle is better," he answered, quietly.
As we were getting ready for bed we noticed him take up the rifle again,
make sure that the magazine was charged, and even throw a cartridge into
the barrel. Then he sat with it over his arm, a few yards from the
wagon.
At last our curiosity became too much for us, so Jack said, "What's the
idea, Jake?"
Jake was smoking now, having changed off from chewing tobacco after
supper. For a moment or two he sat, puffing silently. Then he got up and
walked over beside us.
"I didn' mean to say nothin' about it to you lads," he said, in a low
voice. "What you don' know you don' worry over. But since you ask me,
old Sittin' Crow's been givin' trouble. He's off his reserve again, with
a few rash bucks followin' him, an' if he should catch us unawares he'd
likely dangle three new scalps at his belt. The buckskins, the democrat,
an' the grub would look mighty good to Sittin' Crow."
I felt a strange tremor run up my spine. My scalp was still in place all
right; I could feel the hair rising on it.
"Why didn't you tell us sooner," Jack remonstrated. "We should have had
a rifle each. What is one rifle against a band like that?"
"One rifle, if it's pointed right, will puncture old Sittin' Crow, an'
that's the last thing he's hopin' fer," said Jake. "With one rifle on
guard we're safe as Sunday. Now you boys go to sleep, an' I'll jus'
watch the camp."
"But you can't do that!" Jack insisted. "You can't sit up on guard all
night and drive all day. We'll take our turn. Won't we, Frank?"
"Of course," said I, assuming a confidence I could not feel. It was
quite dark now, and a rising breeze came with an eerie note across the
plains.
"Well, that's decent," said Jake, "but I couldn't let you take no such
chances."
"Chances nothing!" Jack exploded. "We're in the same boat, and we're
going to row together. Divide the night up, and Frank and I will take
shift about."
"Well, if you insist," said Jake, reluctantly. "I'll hold it down till
midnight, which is the most dang'rous time; then you can take it till
three o'clock, an' Frank till six. I'll call you at midnight."
He was as good as his word. I heard them whispering in the gloom, while
the stars blinked at me from a depthless heaven overhead.
"I thought I heard a noise once, down by the horses, but it must ha'
been a coyote or a badger," Jake was saying. "It's jet black now, and if
they haven't seen us they won't 'till daylight. I think you'll be safe
enough. If you get up against it don't lose your head. Take your time;
aim safe--not too high--an' let 'im have it."
Jack climbed out bravely, but I thought I felt his frame tremble as he
went. I was none too happy myself. I lay awake, I don't know how long,
counting the stars. Jake had made a bed of the tent on the prairie and
was snoring with provoking regularity. It seemed to me that snore of his
must be heard for miles through the silent night.
Suddenly Jack came rushing in upon us, falling over Jake and tumbling
himself, headlong, on the ground. The rifle flew from his hands, and he
was hunting about for it, frantically, in the darkness.
"It won't go off!" he shouted, in a hoarse whisper. "The damned thing
won't go off!"
"Did you see him?" whispered Jake, while I, wide awake, jumped from the
wagon.
"As plain as day, coming up the hill. I pulled on him, steady and low
like you said, but it wouldn't go off."
Even as he spoke a dim form slowly hove in sight. I stood back with my
heart thumping. It did not come fast, but its approach out of the
darkness was the more terrifying for its deliberation. He was almost
upon us before, evidently scenting Jake, the buckskin whinnied.
Jack was almost in collapse from excitement and mortification, but Jake
rolled and doubled on his blanket with loud guffaws of merriment.
"But tell me, jokes aside," said Jack, at length, "why wouldn't the
rifle go off? Suppose it had been Sitting Crow? Why wouldn't it go
off?"
"Well, fer one reason," Jake explained when he could speak calmly, "I've
no notion fer walkin' back to Regina, nor fer drivin' with one nag,
neither. So when I took the hobbles off one o' the buckskins, figgerin'
he'd likely work up here durin' the night, I also took the cartridges
out o' the rifle. Can't afford to have no horse like that plunked low
down, careful, in the middle."
"But suppose it really had been Sitting Crow," Jack persisted. "A nice
mess we'd have been in."
"Can't suppose that," said Jake; "simply can't suppose it. Because, you
see, there ain't no Sittin' Crow. Yep, some of 'em is awful green," he
added.