GREATER RAGTOWN
Indeed he was an important-looking individual who greeted the freight
outfit of Jerkline Jo when it came to a weary halt at the foot of the
desert buttes. He wore a new olive-drab suit, composed of Norfolk
jacket and bellows breeches, an imposing Columbia-shape Stetson, and
shiny new russet-leather puttees. From one corner of his mouth,
aligned with his twisted nose, protruded long, expensive-looking cigar.
This was Twitter-or-Tweet Orr Tweet.
Hat removed, bowing like a Japanese, he approached the astonished
skinners and offered his hand to Jerkline Jo.
"Madam," he said, "permit me to extend to you Ragtown's most cordial
welcome. And you, gentlemen, are included, of course. When you have
the time, Miss Modock, I should like the pleasure of your presence in
the office of the Paloma Rancho Investment Company. If I may offer a
suggestion, too, it might be well to deposit Mr. Demarest's freight
close to my office, so that I can look out for it until the arrival of
the outfit. Hooker, come with your employer if you can conveniently do
so."
So saying, Mr. Tweet recrowned himself with his new Stetson, turned,
and strolled impressively toward his tent, disappearing between its
lazily flapping portals.
With the exception of Hiram Hooker, Jo's skinners shouted with
laughter. Jo and Hiram merely exchanged bewildered looks.
"We'll go over now, Wild Cat," she said. "There's lots of time to
unload. We can't make it out of here to-day, anyway."
Side by side they walked toward the lonesome little tent with the big
sign on a pole in front of it--a mere atom of white in the vast desert.
Orr Tweet sat at an oaken desk in one corner of the tent. In another
corner was his bunk, a new suit case, and a new trunk, both in keeping
with Tweet's expensive outdoor clothes. There were several chairs.
Tweet arose briskly and held one for the girl with all the ceremony of
a head waiter in a restaurant of repute.
"Jo," he began, "I hope you'll pardon the familiarity; there is a
matter of sixteen or seventeen dollars due you, I believe, for my
transportation from Frisco to Palada. And, Hiram, I believe I owe you
somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty dollars--the exact amount
escapes me temporarily. Now, both of you, the question is this: Do you
prefer cash, or stock in the Paloma Rancho Investment Company, or land?
The choice is yours."
"Tweet," ordered Hiram, "get down off your high horse and talk sense.
What on earth is all this, anyway?"
Tweet laughed and winked and became himself again.
"Hiram, old boy," he confided, "I'm on the road to fortune. This is
gonta be the biggest deal I ever tried to swing. And, by golly! I'm
the little boy that c'n swing 'er!"
"Tell us about it," pleaded Jerkline Jo.
"Well, sir, Jo, I owe everything to you, and I'll prove I'm not the man
to be slow in showin' my gratitude. I'm a go-getter, and no mistake.
I couldn't make you folks believe it, so I had to go to work and show
you. But I bear you no ill will. You didn't know anything about me.
"Well, dear little playmates, here's the dope:
"That night watchman over there at Julia told me who owned all the land
about here, and said they were in tight financial circumstances--badly
in need o' ready money. They're big land owners--land poor. I drank
that all down, and she listened good to me. For the rest, I banked on
the accurate judgment of a party known as Jerkline Jo. I says to
myself: 'Jo's been on the grade all her life and savvies conditions.
If she says Ragtown is goin' to be located at the buttes, that part o'
the country's the part to get toehold on. Anyway, Playmate,' I says,
'we'll take a chance on Jerkline Jo.' And that's what me and Playmate
did.
"I hunted up the owners o' the land when I gets to Los Angeles, and
makes 'em an offer on twelve thousan' acres--comprisin' the entire
tract known as Paloma Rancho, an ancient Spanish grant. Good for
nothin', I'd been told, but to run cows on in winter, when the filaree
and bunch grass are green. Just the same, there are other parts o'
this ole desert that are comin' out with a bang here lately. Lookit up
in Lucerne Valley and around Victorville! Good pear land, once she's
cleared o' the desert growth and a little humus-bearin' fertilizer
added to the soil. Produces good alfalfa, too. Anyway, I says I'll
take a chance, so I made 'em an offer.
"They pretended like they thought the railroad was gonta do 'em a lot
o' good in a few years; that they didn't care whether they disposed o'
the property or not. But that bunk's old stuff to me, so I shut 'em up
and made 'em talk turkey. I made 'em an offer o' ten dollars an acre
for Paloma Rancho, payment to be made in quarterly installments of six
thousan' dollars, each, contract to run for five years, with interest
at seven per cent on deferred payments--first payment o' six thousan'
dollars to be made in advance.
"They refused, and I picked up my hat and started out. They called me
back, and for ten minutes we puttered around between ten dollars an
acre and fifteen, and at last they fell into my arms. We had the
papers drawn up, and I slips 'em a certified check for six thousan'
buckerinos."
"You gave them six thousand dollars!" cried Hiram.
"Sure," Tweet replied easily. "I'd already wired to Frisco and
disposed o' my ditch-digger holdin's for over eight thousan'; I got
over a thousan' left, five hundred paid on an automobile that's now
asleep back o' this office, and a toehold on Paloma Rancho, twelve
thousan' acres o' perfectly beautiful sand.
"And now that you folks have dumped a cargo o' freight here marked D.,
S. & T., No. 1, I know we win. We're goin' to make this one o' the
liveliest propositions in the West. Ragtown will move down here as
soon as the big outfit lands at the buttes. City lots in
Ragtown--which later probably will be known as Tweet--will be worth
from a hundred dollars to two hundred and fifty, accordin' to location.
My engineers will be here soon, and we'll lay off the town site. I've
made application for a post office, and by the time the papers come
from the department there'll be plenty o' signers here. Concessions
will be granted at reasonable figures. Farming lands will be sold at
from fifty dollars an acre up to a hundred and fifty, accordin' to
location, depth to water, et cetera. This will include stock in the
company's water right. Water will be developed up in the mountains, on
a site that goes with the ranch, at an approximate expense of one
hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars. I am organizing my water
company now, and will let all old friends in on the ground floor, of
course. Water at Butte Springs, by the way, Ragtown's present supply,
will cost twenty-five cents a head for stock, and five cents a drink
for human beings who are recognized citizens of Ragtown, the
Tweet-to-be. Old friends, however, are hereby extended the privilege
of watering free of charge while life shall last.
"So folks, we're off in a bunch. Keep your eye on Ragtown, metropolis
of the Homesteader's Promised Land of Milk and Honey."
"But how about your next payment?" asked Jerkline Jo. "If I'm not too
impertinent, can you meet it?"
"Right this moment," replied Tweet, "I couldn't even look like I wanted
to meet it. But why worry for nearly three months more? Ragtown will
pay it for me. I'll meet her when she's due--never fear. I always get
out some way. My middle name is Millions. Gogettersburg is my
birthplace. You folks and Pete are my first failure in convincin'
others of my shrewdness, honesty, and unbounded ability."
For an hour Mr. Tweet told of his glowing plans, but he found it
difficult to convince either Jo or Hiram that he had success within his
grasp. Not until the conversation worked around to the mountain-road
franchise did Jerkline Jo realize that, in befriending Orr Tweet, she
had enlisted an ally who would and could help her.
"Why, we've got 'em by the tail, girl!" he cried. "Just keep on payin'
what they ask till Ragtown moves down here, which will happen as soon
as Demarest gets settled. Then it'll cost this Drummond to travel
across Paloma Rancho exactly what it has cost you to come through the
pass. And I'll get me a roughneck with a gun, too, and see that he
pays. And if he eventually falls down and quits, you make him live up
to that franchise and keep that road in perfect repair, or sue him, by
golly! Leave it to me, Jo. I'll fix his timepiece. Every spare
dollar you get, you slip it to me to help me meet those payments.
It'll let you in on the ground floor, by golly! We'll make a million
out of it, Jo--you and me and the Gentle Wild Cat. And I'll show 'em
how to try and take advantage of a girl like you! Folks, the future
looks mighty bright for all of us!"
While they were conversing Blink Keddie's voice Came from outside the
tent:
"Jo! The trucks are comin' in."
The three went out and joined the head skinner, who pointed far over
the shimmering desert at three dots moving along from the mountains
toward the Washburn-Stokes camp.
"Poor fish!" Tweet said disgustedly. "They don't know what's in store
for 'em. Next trip they make, probably, Ragtown and the big camp will
be on Paloma Rancho, and then they're blocked."
Mr. Tweet ate supper with Jo and her skinners, and afterward the outfit
spent a pleasant evening listening to the promoter's rosy plannings.
Even the most skeptical among them gradually became convinced that, if
he could hold on and meet his payments, he might make a go of it.
Early next morning they started back, passed the polite Mr. Tehachapi
Hank in the course of time, and arrived in Julia without further mishap.
Now came a period of inactivity. There were orders for goods to be
hauled, but a great portion of what was demanded had not yet arrived by
train from the coast side of the mountain range.
Such delays were expensive. Jerkline Jo could have made a profit
running into four figures every month, allowing for deterioration and a
reasonable per cent on the investment represented, could she have kept
her teams moving steadily, with the wagons loaded to capacity every
trip. As yet, though, with so few camps established, this could not
reasonably be hoped for, and she had made due allowance for such
setbacks when deciding upon her freight rate. She had charged
Demarest, Spruce & Tillou three cents a pound for the last consignment.
The three trucks that they had seen returned. They were of two-ton
capacity. More came in from the coast, which carried five tons, and
there was a fleet of five-ton trailers. Jo learned that Drummond had
made a price of two and three-quarter cents, so she promptly met it
and, by wire, notified Demarest to that effect.
She was anxious to see the five-tonners in operation. She believed
that machines carrying a large tonnage would meet with serious
difficulties in the pass, and also in the desert sand, in places. But
they would make the trip so quickly that she began to have grave
doubts. They might worm their way out of many difficulties, and still
make the camps while her teams were on the first lap of the journey.
So far, she had seen nothing of her competitor, Al Drummond.
There reached the Mulligan Supply Company a telegram from Demarest
instituting a standing order for baled alfalfa, and instructing that
all freight be hauled by Jo so long as she could keep ahead of the
congestion and haul as cheaply as others. Promptly, then, Jo loaded to
capacity with hay, and they were off again.
Four light trucks had preceded her with case goods, for Ragtown's
store, she supposed. But the remainder of the fleet remained idle at
Julia, and seemed to have no business. Jo was reasonably sure that,
for old friendship's sake, Philip Demarest would see to it that she got
all of his hauling, providing she could make deliveries to his
satisfaction. She thought that until new camps settled on the
grade--camps of bigger contractors who would buy their supplies direct
and not depend on Demarest, Spruce & Tillou--Mr. Drummond would have
many idle days. Then, of course, he might cut to the bone on the
freight rate, and Jo feared that, with the trucks eating nothing while
they rested, Drummond might be better able to withstand a rate war.
They were held up by the genial but exacting Tehachapi Hank at the foot
of the grade, as on their last trip. Jo paid cash this time, and
demanded a receipt, as ordered to do by Tweet.
As the wagon train neared the highest point in the pass she noticed
that her whites and Hiram's blacks seemed to be lagging behind. Still,
both teams seemed to be moving briskly enough and steadily. But the
other teams were far in the lead.
Then Hiram's wagon entered upon a system of hairpin curves, and for
nearly fifteen minutes none of her skinners was in sight.
She continued to wonder at the unwonted speed of the skinners ahead of
Hiram.
Just as she reached the outmost point of a bow in the second hairpin
curve, she heard a dull rumble behind her. Looking back, she saw
nothing unusual, for in this place the road wound about U's and S's in
the mountainside, and one could not see far along it, either ahead or
behind. Deciding that a tree had fallen, she dismissed the matter from
her thoughts, and gave her attention to manipulating the jerkline over
an exacting piece of road.
She worked out of the curves eventually, to see the other teams moving
placidly along ahead of her, but now she and Hiram had caught up again.
She spoke about it when they camped for the midday rest. It was Hiram
who made reply.
"I was wondering at their speed, too, Jo," he said. "The rest of 'em
were all way ahead of me and out o' sight for twenty minutes, maybe."
There followed a bantering conversation on the relative merits of the
various teams, with minute explanation by the foremost skinners as to
just why it was impossible for such miserable animals as the whites and
the blacks to keep in sight of the rest. And for the time being, this
ended the incident.
They left the delicately scented mountain country in due course and
took up the long, weary journey over the desert. When they were near
enough to the buttes to make out objects at their feet it became plain
to all that the big outfit of Demarest, Spruce & Tillou had arrived and
pitched its camp.
Shortly after they became aware of this a machine was discovered coming
toward them from the distant tents. Then another put in an appearance,
following the first. Jo now heard the cough of motors behind her, and,
looking back, saw two trucks.
The first machine coming from the camps swung from the road when it
neared Blink Keddie and waited, panting, until the outfit had passed
it. Only the driver was in it, a man Jerkline Jo had never before
seen. He lifted his hat politely as her whites rolled past, and she
thanked him for his patience. Then he moved his car into the road and
continued on toward the trucks. Looking back, Jo saw that all three
stopped when they came together.
Now, from ahead, came the second car, and at the wheel sat
Twitter-or-Tweet. He signaled Keddie to stop, and the outfit came to a
halt.
"Hello, Jo, and fellas!" cried the beaming Mr. Tweet, descending from
his car. "The man who just passed you in the touring car is Mr.
Richard Huber, one of our first citizens. He's Ragtown's first
merchant. He's gone to direct the trucks to come to Greater Ragtown
with their loads. For, folks, Ragtown is moving in a body, with its
traps on burros' and men's backs and in wagons and flivvers to the
Tweet-to-be. Talked Huber out o' leasing, and sold him fifteen town
lots, by golly! Half down, balance in three years--seven and a half
per cent interest on deferred payments. Man of discernment. I'll
proclaim to the high, green mountains! I'm on my way to collect our
fee for allowin' the trucks to cross Paloma Rancho. How much you been
held up for, Jo?"
"One hundred and twelve dollars," she told him.
"Just a minute. I'll hand it to you. Move on now, and I'll get back
in the road and collect."