A HUMAN TALKING MACHINE
"Of course, of course. I--I--well, I'll talk to my friends about it,"
answered Tom lamely. He was flustrated and flushed, greatly to the
enjoyment of the Overland girls.
"That's all right, Tom," soothed Grace. "I am positive that Miss
Shafto--"
"Mrs. Shafto," corrected the woman. "Mrs. Joe Shafto. Git the handle
right."
"I am positive that Mrs. Shafto will answer our purpose very nicely,"
finished Grace.
"Yes, yes. I--I agree with you," mumbled Tom. "If you have time, or when
you do have time, we shall have to talk over our plans with you and--"
"Ain't got no time for nothin' to-day. Had yer dinners?"
"We had luncheon on the way," replied Grace.
"Lucky for ye. I'll go work at the ironin'; then I've got to clean
house. Mebby then I'll talk to ye."
Joe stamped back into the house, slamming the door behind her, and the
Overland Riders lost themselves in gales of laughter, galloping their
horses on beyond the house so that Joe might not hear. Tom followed
along slowly, considerably crestfallen.
"Tom Gray, you surely have distinguished yourself," declared Anne
Nesbit.
"My Hippy couldn't have done worse," added Nora.
"It gives me a pain in my back just to look at her," averred Elfroda.
"Listening to her is worse."
"I shan't listen at all. Thank goodness I have the voices of nature to
listen to," observed Emma.
"Girls, I admit that I have made a mess of it. I suppose we can go on
without a guide, but really it is not wise for you girls, inexperienced
as you are in woodcraft, to venture into the Big Woods."
"I do not agree with you folks," interjected Grace. "That woman is
sharp-tongued, but she is a sturdy and dependable character. It is my
opinion that we might have done a great deal worse in selecting a
guide. Let's go back to the house, make camp nearby, and wait until the
sturdy warrior is ready for us. She will be out again to talk to us soon
enough, if I am a judge of human nature."
The Overlanders acted upon the suggestion and pitched their little tents
among the trees across the trail from Joe Shafto's home. While they were
thus engaged Joe came over and watched the operations, but without
uttering a word until the camp was made and a little cook fire started
for a cup of afternoon tea.
"What's that for?" she demanded, pointing to the fire.
"Afternoon tea now, and to cook our supper on later," answered Grace.
"Yer all goin' to eat supper with me."
The girls protested, but Joe, when once she had made an assertion, would
brook no opposition.
"Six o'clock; no earlier, no later. To-morrow mornin' we start at four
o'clock. I've got all yer fodder, which-all I'll carry on June and July.
Them's my pack mules. Work singly or in pairs. Kin kick like all
possessed. No great scratch whether there's anythin' to kick at or not,
but they know better'n to kick me, though they ain't no love for Henry,
and he gives them heels plenty of room, 'cept one time when he forgot
hisself and got kicked clear out into the road, and nigh into kingdom
come, and I'll bet the pair of 'em that ye folks ain't got a hoss in the
outfit, not even that bronco with the glassy eye, that kin kick once to
June or July's twenty kicks, and, if you don't believe it, just heave a
tin can at one or t'other of 'em and see if ye can count the kicks, but
keep the road between ye and the kicks or I shan't be responsible for
what happens to ye, because I know them mules and I know what they can
do, and then agin--"
"Oh, help!" wailed Emma.
"The voice of nature," chuckled Hippy. "And to think we've got to listen
to it for weeks to come."
"What's that ye say?" demanded Joe.
"I--I think I was thinking out loud. I didn't mean to say anything.
Honest to goodness I didn't," apologized Hippy lamely.
Joe fixed him with threatening eyes, then launched into another
monologue on mules, which wound up with some remarks on lumberjacks,
and a leaf from her family history.
The Overland Riders learned that Joe's husband, who was a timber
cruiser, had been killed by lumberjacks, and that she was the sworn
enemy of every man who wore a Mackinaw coat and worked in the woods.
"Since my man's death I've been livin' up here in the woods, guidin'
huntin' parties, makin' an honest livin' and layin' for the men who
killed my man. I'll find 'em yet. Now who be ye all? I hain't had no
interduction except as Mister Gray interduced himself to me, and--"
"This is my wife, Grace Harlowe Gray," said Tom.
The forest woman shook hands and glared into Grace's smiling eyes.
"Glad to meet ye, Miss Gray. Ye look like one of them boudwarriors that
I seen pictures of in the high saciety papers."
"Miss Emma Dean," announced Tom, pointing to Emma.
"Glad to meet ye." Joe gave Emma a searching look. "Pert as a bird,
ain't ye?"
"Some of my ancestors, I have reason to believe, were birds, and it is
quite possible that I have inherited some of their traits," answered
Emma airily.
"Sparrows! No good. Don't git swelled up over some of yer folks wearin'
feathers. The kind ye belong to they shoot on sight. And now who be
_ye_?" demanded the woman, stepping up to the dignified J. Elfreda
Briggs.
Elfreda introduced herself.
"Glad to meet ye. Yer quite set up, but I guess ye might come down a peg
after ye git acquainted."
Nora Wingate and Anne Nesbit then introduced themselves, and Joe was
"glad to meet" them, but she forgot to address personal remarks to them,
for her eyes, glaring through the big spectacles, were fixed on Hippy
Wingate's grinning face. All this was "a powerful good joke to him," as
Emma confided to Grace in a loud whisper.
Joe strode over to Hippy and peered down into his face as he sat playing
with Hindenburg.
"I reckon some of yer ancestors must been monkeys, judgin' from that
monkey-grin on yer face. What's yer name?"
Hippy told her, adding that he had been a flying ace in the world war,
which announcement he made pompously.
"Glad to meet ye, Lieutenant; but look smart that ye don't try any of
yer flytricks on Joe Shafto. Six o'clock, folks. Remember!" was Joe's
parting word as she strode swiftly from their camp, screwing up her face
into a long-drawn wink as she passed Grace Harlowe. In that wink Grace
read what she had been searching for. Joe Shafto was human and a
humorist, crude, but with a keen mind and a love for banter that
promised much enjoyment for the Overland Riders.
"I wonder who is the Henry that she mentioned?" reflected Grace out
loud.
"Perhaps Henry may be a tame goose. Think of 'June' and 'July' as names
for mules," chortled Hippy. "Oh, we're going to have a merry, merry time
this coming two months--especially Hindenburg and myself."
Afternoon tea was an enjoyable occasion that day, at which the principal
topic was their new guide.
At five minutes before six, after stamping out their little campfire,
the Overland party started for the log cabin. As they crossed the road
Hippy sniffed the air.
"I smell food!" he cried.
"Onions! Save me!" moaned Emma.
"No. It is something far and away ahead of mere onions," answered Hippy.
"I don't know what it is, but were this not so formal an occasion, I
should break into a run for it."
The door of the cabin stood open, so the party filed in unbidden. The
table was long enough for a lumberjack boarding house, constructed of
boards nailed together with cleats and placed on two boxes. Oilcloth
covered the boards and hung clear to the floor on either side. The ends
were open. There was a freshness and wholesomeness about the place that
attracted the girls at once.
"Set down!" commanded Joe, entering with a heaping platter of meat.
"That is what I smelled!" exclaimed Hippy. "May I ask what that meat is,
Mrs. Shafto?"
"Venison."
"Eh? Don't wake me up," murmured Hippy.
"Is the deer season on?" questioned Tom.
"No. Not till November fifteenth. This is smoked venison, killed last
season. I put down a lot of it in caches where the water will keep it
cool."
Another dish, a tinpanful of baked potatoes, came on with other smaller
dishes of vegetables; then the coffee was poured into the thick
serviceable cups that had already been placed by the plates, which,
together with two loaves of bread, comprised the meal. Appetites were at
concert pitch and it was with difficulty that Hippy Wingate restrained
himself until the girls were seated.
"Miss Dean, set down at the end where I can watch ye that ye don't fly
away. Sorry ye have to set on a box, but there ain't chairs enough to go
around. I give the Lieutenant a chair 'cause a box ain't safe for him.
He's a big feeder and the box ain't strong. Dip in, folks. Get started.
Help yourselves. This ain't no saciety tea."
The food was passed along and each Rider helped herself from platter and
pan, and every plate was heaped under the observant eyes that were
glaring through the big horn-rimmed spectacles to see that each person
helped herself to liberal portions.
Exclamations were heard all around the table when the girls had tasted
of the smoked venison. Hippy, however, was too busy to talk or exclaim
unless he were forced to do so.
"Lieutenant, did ye et like that when ye was chasin' the flyin' Dutchmen
in France?" demanded Joe.
Hippy nodded.
"It's a eternal wonder ye didn't fall down then."
"I couldn't. I lived on angel food most of the time, and, after a while,
I could fly. See? You live on angel food long enough and you can fly,
too," promised Hippy gravely.
"I reckon I would at that," answered the forest woman, pursing her lips,
the nearest thing to a smile that the Overland Riders had seen on her
stern, rugged face.
The girls laughed merrily, and Nora turned a beaming face on her
husband.
"Hippy, my darlin', you've met your match this time," she said.
"I met you first, didn't I?" retorted Hippy, then returned to his
absorbing occupation and shortly afterwards passed his plate for another
helping.
"My land!" exclaimed Joe. "Ye do beat the bears for eatin'. Never seen
one that could stow it away the way ye do."
"You should see him when he is hungry," advised Emma. "Why, when we were
riding in the Kentucky Mountains last year we--"
"Well?" demanded the guide.
Emma had abruptly ceased speaking as she felt something rubbing against
her foot. At first she thought it was Hindenburg who had slipped into
the house and crawled under the table to salvage the crumbs. Now
something surely was nosing at her knee.
Emma Dean's face contracted ever so little when a cold something brushed
the back of the hand that hung at her side.
"Hi--Hippy, where's the pup?" she questioned weakly.
"Tied to a tree out yonder. Why?"
Emma groped cautiously with the hand, first wishing to assure herself
that she was not imagining, before making an exhibition of herself. The
hand came in contact with what she recognized instantly, as a cold nose.
Light fingers crept gingerly along the nose and paused at a huge, furry
head, now well at her side. She gave a quick, startled glance down at
what lay under her hand, and her face went ghastly pale.
Uttering a hysterical scream, Emma Dean toppled over backwards, crashing
to the cabin floor.