THE LANDLORD
_Kate's Narrative_
Of his life before he reached this province Jesse will so far tell me
nothing, yet his speech betrays him, for under the vivid dialect of the
stock range, there is a streak of sailor, and beneath that I detect
traces of brogue which may be native perhaps to Labrador. Out of a chaos
of books he has picked words which pleased him, pronounced of course to
suit himself, and used in some sense which would shock any dictionary.
His manners and customs, too, are a field for research. Of course one
expects him to be professional with rope, gun, and ax, but how did he
learn the rest? I wanted a lantern--he made one; my boot was torn--he
made one; my water-proof coat was ruined--he made one; and if I asked
for a sewing-machine, he would refuse to move camp until he had one
finished. If his name were not Smith I could prove him directly
descended from the Swiss family Robinson. If a project sounds risky, I
have to assume that it is something unusually safe, as the only way to
keep him out of danger. If I should ever wish to be a widow, I have only
to doubt his power to fly without wings.
Our journey last autumn led us into most awesome recesses of the coast
range. Heads of the sea fiords lay dismal among crowding glaciers, white
cataracts came roaring down through belt after belt of clouds, to where
a grim surf battled with black rocks. In that dread region of avalanche
and rockslide, of hanging ice-cliffs, roaring storms, ear-shattering
thunder, our camp seemed too frail a thing to claim existence, our
thread of smoke a little prayer for mercy. "Nary a dollar in sight," was
Jesse's comment. "Such microbes don't breed here. D'ye think they'll
ever vaccinate agin selfishness, Kate? That plague kills more souls than
smallpox."
Guided by his uncanny woodcraft, I began to meet the parishioners,
mountain sheep and goats, the elk and cariboo, eagles, bears,
wolverines, and certainly I shared something of Jesse's untiring
delight in all wild creatures. Even when we needed meat in camp, and
some plump goose or mallard was at the mercy of his gun, Jesse would
sometimes beg the victim off, and catch more trout. "So long as they
don't hunt us," he would say, "I'd rather tote your camera than my gun.
But thar's that dog-gone beaver down the crick, he tried to bite me
yesterday again. If he don't tame himself, I'll slap his face. Thinks
he's editor."
Were there no clouds, would we realize that the sky is blue? If no
little misunderstandings had risen above our horizon, would Jesse and I
have realized our wedded happiness? How should I know when I read his
pocket diary, what was meant by "one night out. Took Matilda," or
"Matilda and Fussy to-night," or "marched with Harem!" Matilda and
Fussy if you please, are blankets, and the Harem is his winter camp
equipment.
What would you think if you found this in a book?
[Illustration]
He says it means, "Eating-house woman chasing--Jesse galloping--home
dead finish."
And some of it is worse!
I dare not accuse my dear man of being narrow-minded. I have no doubt
that he is quite justified in his intense antipathy to niggers, dagos,
and chinks--indeed, he will not allow my Chinese servant on the ranch.
But if I wished to uncork a choice vintage of stories, I alluded to his
prejudice against the word "grizzly" as applied to his pet bear.
"Now that's whar yo're dead wrong." He threw a log of cedar upon our
camp altar, making fresh incense to the wild gods. "The landlord's a
silver-tip, fat as butter. Down in the low country, whar feed is mean,
and Britishers around, the b'ars is poor, and called grizzlies. I'd be
shamed to have a grizzly on my ranch. Come to think, though, Kate, the
landlord was a sure-enough grizzly three years back. He'd had
misfortunes."
"Tell me." As he stirred the fire, gathering his thoughts, I watched the
cedar sparks, a very torchlight procession of fairies flowing upward
into the darkness overhead.
"Wall, you see, he and the landlady was always around same as you and
me, but not together. No. Being respectable b'ars they'd feed at
opposite ends of the pasture."
"But don't the married couples live together?"
"None. They feels it ain't quite modest to make a show of their
marriage. You see, Kate, after all, these b'ars is not like us but sort
of foreigners. Mother gets kind of secluded when there's cubs, 'cause
father's so careless and eats 'em."
"How disgusting!"
"I dunno. Time I speak of, their three young lady b'ars was married
somewheres up in the black pines, whar it takes say fifty square miles
to feed one silver-tip--and no tourists to help out in times of famine.
That country was gettin' over-stocked, with a high protective tariff
agin canyon b'ars.
"And here's the landlady down on our ranch, chuck full of fiscal
theories. 'B'ars is good,' says she, 'the more cubs the merrier,' says
she, 'let's be fruitful and multiply.' And it's only a two b'ar ranch.
Thar ain't no England handy whar she can dump spare cubs.
"So the landlord gets provident and eats the cubs. Naturally thar's a
sort of coolness arises over that, so that she's feeding north, while
he's around south. Then the salmon season happens. There's only two
fishing rocks in our reach, the same being close together. The landlord,
he fishes at the back-water rock. The landlady fishes at the rapids
rock. They has to pretend they've not been introjuiced.
"There's been heavy rains, and up on the edge of the bench I seen a new
crack opening across Apex Rock. I'd have put up a danger notice, only
these people thinks it's for scratching their backs on. There's the
crack getting wider, and the landlady fishing right underneath, and me
hollerin,' but she's too full of pride to care about my worries. So I
thinks maybe if I just drop her a hint she'll begin to set up and take
notice. I run home for my rifle, posts myself at big pine, takes a
steady bead, and lets fly, knocking a salmon out of the lady's mouth.
Then I remembers that the shock of a gunshot is enough to loose the end
of Apex Rock. It does, and while the scenery is being rearranged, the
landlady sets up, wondering what's the trouble. When the dust clears,
Apex Rock up here is reduced to a stump; down thar by the rapids the
fishing rock's extended with additions; the landlord's a widower,
running for all he's worth; and the landlady is no more--not enough left
of her to warrant funeral obsequies."
"Why is the landlord called Eph?"
"Christian name. Most b'ars is Ephraim, but he's Ephrata which means
'be open.' I tried to get him to be open with me instead of stealing
chickens. That's when the bad year come."
"Were you in difficulties?"
"Eph was. Them canneries down to salt water, had fished the Fraser out,
and the hatchery didn't get to its work until the fourth year, when the
new spawn come back to their home river. Yes, and the sarvis berries
failed. I dunno why, but the silver-tips of this districk ain't partial
to the same kinds of feed as they practises in Montana and Idaho. Down
south they'll lunch on grubs, ants, or dog-tooth violets, but Eph ain't
an original thinker. He runs to application, and shies at new ideas.
He'd vote conservative. So when the salmon and berries went back on him,
he sort of petered out. He come to the cabin and said, plain as talk, he
was nigh quitting business."
"But, Jesse! A starving gr--I mean b'ar. Weren't you afraid even then?"
"Why for? My pardner attends to his business, and don't interfere with
my hawss ranch. He owns the grubs, berries, salmon, wild honey and
fixings. I owns the grass, stock, chickens, and garden sass. When we
disagreed about them cabbages, I shot holes in his ears until he
allowed they was mine. His ears is still sort of untidy. As to his
eating Sarah, wall, I warned her not to tempt poor Eph too much."
"Sarah?"
"Jones' foal. Being a fool runs in her family. Wall, Sarah died, and
cabbages was gettin' seldom, and Eph was losing confidence in my aim,
although I told him I'm tough as sea beef."
"He did attack you then?"
"Not exactly. His acts might have been misunderstood, though. Seemed to
me it was time to survey the pasture, and see how much in the way of
grub could be spared to a poor widower. These people eats meat, but they
like it butchered for 'em, and ripened. Down at the south end, I spared
Eph a family of wolverines, one at a time, to make the rations hold out.
He began to get encouraged. Then this place was just humming with
rattlesnakes, so Eph and me just went around together so long as the
hunting was worth the trouble. I doubt if there's any left."
At that I breathed a sigh of relief.
"Then Eph gets sassy, wanting squir'ls and chipmunks. Now thar I was
firm. Every striped varmint of 'em may rob my oat sacks, every squir'l
may set up and cuss me all day, but they won't get hurt. They scold and
swear, but every lil' devil among them knows I like being insulted.
Though they has enemies--foxes, mink, skunk, weasel, I fed that lot to
Eph, saving the foxes. Tell you, Kate, the landlord began to get so
proud he wouldn't know me."
"Your great eagles, Jesse; they kill squirrels, too."
"That's a fact. If I shot the eagles, them squir'ls would get too
joyful. Eagles acks as a sort of religion to squir'ls, or they'd forget
their prayers. The next proposition was cougars."
"Oh, I'm glad you killed them. At the old ranch I was so terrified I'd
lie awake all night."
"And you a musician! Now that's curious. You like lil' small cats, only
one foot from top to tip, although I own they're songsters for their
size. But a nine foot cougar, with a ten-thousand cat-power voice,
composing along as he goes, why he's full of music. Now I was goin' to
propose a cougar opera troupe. They'd knock the stuffing out of that
Wagner, anyway."
"Not for me, dear. You see, there's trade rivalry. I wish you had shot
them."
"I'm sort of sorry. Many's the time, camped on your bench land, which I
own is a good place for cougars, I'd set up half the night to listen.
They'd come purring so close I could see their eyes glint. Seemed to me
they sat round on their tails and purred because they liked a camp whar
there was no gun-smell. They sang love songs, big war songs, and all
kinds of music. Fancy you bein' scared!
"Kill them? They're hard to see as ghosts, and every time you fire they
just get absent. That ain't the reason though, for if the landlord
wanted cat's meat, I'd like to see the fight."
"They'd never dare to fight that giant bear!"
"I dunno. Eph ain't lost no cougars. He treats them as total strangers.
"But the real reason I fed no mountain-lions to Eph is mostly connected
with sheep. Cougars does a right smart business in sheep, 'specially
Surly Brown's. Sheep is meaner's snakes, sheepmen is meaner'n sheep, and
if the herders disagrees with the cougars, give me the cougars. Sheepmen
is dirt."
There spoke the unregenerate cow-boy!
"But, Jesse dear, are you sure that Eph won't expect me to be 'spared'
next time he's hungry?"
"Why, no. He was raised respectable, and there's a proper etiquette for
b'ars on meeting a lady. It's sort of first dance-movements:--'general
slide, pass the cloak-room, and whar's my little home?'"
* * * * *
_Jesse's Note_
N. B.--Kate and me agrees that the next chapter has to be cut out, being
dull. It's all about the barn-raising after we got home to the ranch.
The neighbors put us up a fine big cabin connecting to the old one by a
covered porch of cedar shakes. That's where the fire-wood lives, the
water-butt, the grind-stone, which Kate says is exactly like my singing
voice, likewise the ax and saw.
Of course our house-raising was a celebration, with a dance, camp-fire,
water-butt full of punch, and headaches. I bet five dollars I was the
only semaphore signaler in our district, and lost it to Iron Dale, who
learned signaling five years ago during the Riel rebellion. Cap Taylor
put up a signal system for our use, of fires by night or big smokes by
day. One means a celebration, two means help, and three means war. The
women beat the men at tug-of-war, but that was due to the widow's wooden
leg being a rallying point for the battle. Eph being holed up for the
winter, I got more popular.
After the celebration we settled for the winter, and I put all the
ponies except Jones and the sleigh team down in the canyon pasture. That
made the ranch sort of lonesome, but we're short of hay on account of
the wedding-trip. We're broke.