IN LETTERS OF BLACK
There was a general outburst of indignation on the part of Jerkline
Jo's devoted retainers when the outfit went into camp at noon,
quarterway through the mountain pass.
"We'll fix 'im, Jo!" Heine Schultz exclaimed angrily. "All we gotta do
is make out to get ahead o' his old cough wagons and not let 'em pass.
We can hold 'im back clear through the pass, if we string out. Le's
figger it out fer the rest o' the trip, Jo. There's not over six
places where one vehicle can pass another. Now what we gotta do is
string out our outfit so's none o' us'll hit one o' those places when
the machines are comin'. Say, we can hold 'em up till----"
"Heine," said Jerkline Jo quietly, "is that your idea of business."
"Course it is. Stick it to the Al Drummond, Jo! He's started
somethin' that he'll have a hard time finishin', that's all. Say, we
can slip it to him till he'll be sick o' that dirty deal he handed you.
Leave it to Blink and me. We got it all schemed out."
"Heine," Jo remarked, "we'll travel right along as we have always
traveled. If one of Mr. Drummond's trucks comes up behind us and wants
to pass we will let it pass when it is convenient to do so."
"Not here, Jo! My team don't put one foot outa the road to let a truck
pass."
"No, I don't expect you to do that. But it will depend on conditions.
If you are loaded and he is empty, of course he must look out for
himself. Again, if you are climbing and he is coming down, he must get
out of the difficulty as best he can. But when you, loaded, reach a
place where a truck can pass you, and you know one is coming up behind
you and wishes to pass, you will stop your team in the road and let it
circle around you."
"I won't, Jo! I----"
"Yes, you will. You will do as I say, as you always do." She smiled
at him sweetly and patted his shoulder. "Loyal old Heinrich!" she
said. "Just the same old-timer, we must observe the courtesy of the
road always. Think it over--you'll see I'm right."
"Jo, you can't afford a jolt like that," said Jim McAllen.
"I can't," Jo told him frankly. "Right now I don't know what to do. I
must keep on, by some hook or crook, till I can get advice from some
one who's onto such tricks--Demarest, perhaps."
"It's a rotten deal!"
"I have an idea it's perfectly legitimate, Jim."
"They ain't gonta do anything to the road to make it worth a tenth o'
what they ask to travel on it. You saw the little putterin' jobs they
did, Jo."
"I have an idea," replied the girl, "that when winter comes they'll be
quite busy. And it also occurs to me that, now that they've agreed to
maintain the road if given the franchise, we can make them do it down
to the letter, or render their franchise void."
"By golly, I bet you can at that, Jo!" put in Tom Gulick. "I've heard,
though, there's a rotten bunch of grafters runnin' this county. They'd
probably beat you out some way, so long as Drummond was puttin' up
cigar money for them."
Up until now Hiram Hooker had said nothing. Now came his soothing
drawl, and the others listened.
"I don't know much about automobiles and what they can do," he said.
"But I do know mountains and mountain roads, and somethin' about
mountain soil. And I've this to say: If Jo can hang on till winter
there'll be no trucks runnin' against her. Then if they still collect
for crossin' through the pass, all she's got to do is raise the freight
rate to meet the extra expense. There's exactly ten places on the road
where we're goin' to hook maybe thirty horses on every wagon to get
across next winter. And I'll bet my month's wages against a dollar of
Mr. Drummond's money that he'll be begging for teams to haul him out.
Then, of course, the price ought to be about fifty-six dollars a haul,
regardless of distance, hadn't it?"
"Good boy!" cried Keddie. "Listen to our Gentle Wild Cat pur! He's
right, too, I'll say. If we can hang on till winter, Jo can collect
back all she's paid out for tolls--and I'll say a little profit on the
deal wouldn't make me weep."'
"But winter's a long way off," Jim McAllen gloomily pointed out.
After this there was thoughtful silence.
To add to the misfortunes of the second trip to the camps, Jim McAllen
broke a reach when the train neared the foot of the grade. There were
spare reaches in the outfit, of course, but they had to unload the
wagon to substitute one, and it all took a great deal of time. Then a
horse became sick, and Jerkline Jo positively refused to work a sick
horse. The animal was taken out of harness and allowed to tag along
behind with his mate, who automatically became useless, too. A ton of
supplies was taken from the wagon to which the sick horse belonged, and
distributed among the other loads. This took more time, and night
overtook the outfit with several miles between them and the tank wagon
that awaited their coming on the desert.
Hour after hour they plodded along, not daring to camp until they had
water. There was no moon, and as the desert road was little more than
a trail Heine Schultz let his team tag Keddie's and walked ahead with a
lantern to guide the lead skinner. Thirsty and hungry and weary, they
reached the tank about nine o'clock. Then came a hearty curse from the
man with the lantern, followed by:
"Lord, be merciful unto me, a skinner! The tank's empty, Jo!"
The party descended hurriedly and crowded about him. It was a steel
tank, and a careful search failed to show that any of its plates had
sprung a leak. Then the light was held under the spigot, and, though
the hot desert sun had evaporated every drop of water, there was a hole
worn in the sand where it had fallen in a stream. The spigot was open.
"How 'bout it now, Jo?" Heine queried. "Is this what you call
legitimate business--huh? I guess now you'll let me hold 'em back when
I can."
Without replying Jo stooped and made an examination.
"Some one has turned the water out," she said, rising wearily. "Will
we be obliged to hire a watchman to camp by our water tank? This is
serious, boys. The unwritten law of the desert would condemn whoever
did this to a lariat and a yucca palm. Still, we don't know who did
it. It's too dark to find tracks or to learn anything about it. It's
seventeen miles to the Washburn-Stokes outfit--the nearest water ahead.
Or it's eight miles back to the lake in the mountains. What's best to
do?"
They turned the problem over and over, and finally decided unanimously
that to send the tank with six horses back to the lake, to be refilled,
was the wiser plan. Hiram volunteered for the trip, and Schultz
volunteered to go with him. At once the two set off behind six of
Hiram's lamenting animals for the long night trip, eating a hasty lunch
as they traveled.
Dawn was breaking when they returned with a full tank, and were greeted
by the braying of the mules and the expectant nickering of the horses,
who smelled the water from afar.
Jo ordered a rest until ten o'clock, to counteract the suffering that
the thirsty animals had undergone and to rest Hiram's six after the
performance of their double task.
These setbacks made them late in their arrival at the scene of coming
toil, but gradually the distant buttes grew plainer as they moved on
steadily toward them over the crunching sands, so hot and barren.
Hiram Hooker was riding with Jerkline Jo as they approached the buttes.
She was hammering away on her typewriter, while Hiram was deep in a
mathematical problem, his tongue out and gripped by his teeth. The
clicking of the typewriter ceased suddenly, and Jo asked:
"Isn't that a tent over there near the buttes, Wild Cat?"
Hiram looked up and shielded his eyes, straining his vision over the
rolling white backs of Jo's team into the yellow vastness beyond.
"Looks like it," he said.
"We'll not have to arrange for a watchman then. Demarest has sent a
man, I guess. Get out my binoculars, please, and see what you can make
out."
Hiram took the strong glasses from their case, and, steadying himself
against a side of the freight rack, trained them on the distant speck
of white that represented a lonely tent.
At once the tent seemed to jump across the desert to a point a short
distance ahead of them. Hiram's lips parted and a snort of surprise
escaped him.
Before the front of the tent, on a pole planted there, was a big sign
composed of black letters against a white background. And this is what
Hiram Hooker read:
The Homesteader's Promised Land of Milk and Honey
OFFICE OF THE PALOMA RANCHO INVESTMENT COMPANY
Orr Tweet, President. Walk In