"He don't mind what yu'use of his canned goods--pickled salmon and truck.He is hospitable all right enough till it comes to an egg.Then he'll tell any lie.But shucks!Yu'can read Tommy right through his clothing.'Make yourself at home,Lin,'says he,yesterday.And he showed me his fresh milk and his stuff.'Here's a new ham,'says he;'too bad my damned hens ain't been layin'.The sons-o'guns have quit on me ever since Christmas.'And away he goes to Powder River for the mail.'You swore too heavy about them hens,'thinks I.Well,I expect he may have travelled half a mile by the time I'd found four nests."I am fond of eggs,and eat them constantly--and in Wyoming they were always a luxury.But I never forget those that day,and how Lin and Ienjoyed them thinking of Tommy.Perhaps manhood was not quite established in my own soul at that time--and perhaps that is the reason why it is the only time I have ever known which I would live over again,those years when people said,"You are old enough to know better"--and one didn't care!
Salmon,apricots,eggs,we dealt with them all properly,and I had some cigars.It was now that the news came back into my head.
"What do you think of--"I began,and stopped.
I spoke out of a long silence,the slack,luxurious silence of digestion.
I got no answer,naturally,from the torpid Lin,and then it occurred to me that he would have asked me what I thought,long before this,had he known.So,observing how comfortable he was,I began differently.
"What is the most important event that can happen in this country?"said I.
Mr.McLean heard me where he lay along the floor of the cabin on his back,dozing by the fire;but his eyes remained closed.He waggled one limp,open hand slightly at me,and torpor resumed her dominion over him.
"I want to know what you consider the most important event that can happen in this country,"said I,again,enunciating each word with slow clearness.
The throat and lips of Mr.McLean moved,and a sulky sound came forth that I recognized to be meant for the word "War."Then he rolled over so that his face was away from me,and put an arm over his eyes.
"I don't mean country in the sense of United States,"said I."I mean this country here,and Bear Creek,and--well,the ranches southward for fifty miles,say.Important to this section.""Mosquitoes'll be due in about three weeks,"said Lin."Yu'might leave a man rest till then.""I want your opinion,"said I.
"Oh,misery!Well,a raise in the price of steers.""No."
"Yu'said yu'wanted my opinion,"said Lin."Seems like yu'merely figure on givin'me yours.""Very well,"said I."Very well,then."
I took up a copy of the Cheyenne Sun.It was five weeks old,and I soon perceived that I had read it three weeks ago;but I read it again for some minutes now.
"I expect a railroad would be more important,"said Mr.McLean,persuasively,from the floor.
"Than a rise in steers?"said I,occupied with the Cheyenne Sun."Oh yes.
Yes,a railroad certainly would."
"It's got to be money,anyhow,"stated Lin,thoroughly wakened."Money in some shape.""How little you understand the real wants of the country!"said I,coming to the point."It's a girl."Mr.McLean lay quite still on the floor.
"A girl,"I repeated."A new girl coming to this starved country."The cow-puncher took a long,gradual stretch and began to smile."Well,"said he,"yu'caught me--if that's much to do when a man is half-witted with dinner and sleep."He closed his eyes again and lay with a specious expression of indifference.But that sort of thing is a solitary entertainment,and palls."Starved,"he presently muttered."We are kind o'starved that way I'll admit.More dollars than girls to the square mile.And to think of all of us nice,healthy,young--bet yu'I know who she is!"he triumphantly cried.He had sat up and levelled a finger at me with the throw-down jerk of a marksman."Sidney,Nebraska."I nodded.This was not the lady's name--he could not recall her name--but his geography of her was accurate.
One day in February my friend,Mrs.Taylor over on Bear Creek,had received a letter--no common event for her.Therefore,during several days she had all callers read it just as naturally as she had them all see the new baby,and baby and letter had both been brought out for me.
The letter was signed,"Ever your afectionite frend.
"Katie Peck,and was not easy to read,here and there.But you could piece out the drift of it,and there was Mrs.Taylor by your side,eager to help you when you stumbled.Miss Peck wrote that she was overworked in Sidney,Nebraska,and needed a holiday.When the weather grew warm she should like to come to Bear Creek and be like old times."Like to come and be like old times"filled Mrs.Taylor with sentiment and the cow-punchers with expectation.But it is a long way from February to warm weather on Bear Creek,and even cow-punchers will forget about a new girl if she does not come.For several weeks I had not heard Miss Peck mentioned,and old girls had to do.Yesterday,however,when I paid a visit to Miss Molly Wood (the Bear Creek schoolmistress),I found her keeping in order the cabin and the children of the Taylors,while they were gone forty-five miles to the stage station to meet their guest.
"Well,"said Lin,judicially,"Miss Wood is a lady.""Yes,"said I,with deep gravity.For I was thinking of an occasion when Mr.McLean had discovered that truth somewhat abruptly.
Lin thoughtfully continued."She is--she's--she's--what are you laughin' at?"
"Oh,nothing.You don't see quite so much of Miss Wood as you used to,do you?""Huh!So that's got around.Well,o'course I'd ought t've knowed better,I suppose.All the same,there's lots and lots of girls do like gettin'
kissed against their wishes--and you know it.""But the point would rather seem to be that she--""Would rather seem!Don't yu'start that professor style o'yours,or I'll--I'll talk more wickedness in worse language than ever yu've heard me do yet.""Impossible!"I murmured,sweetly,and Master Lin went on.
