The Mesa Trail Read online

  CHAPTER X--MRS. CRUMP SAYS SOMETHING

  Over the rough table Fred Ross delivered himself.

  "Something about you I like, Thady Shea," he said, level-eyed. "The oldman who fetched you here told me your name. Don't know anything moreabout you. Didn't know whiskey was bad for you; anyway, it cured thefever. First I knew about you was in yonder, when you talked. Damn goodthing for you, pardner! Savvy? Yes.

  "Tell you somethin'. I used to be range rider--a puncher, savvy? Forty amonth. No future. Never mind the details, but it come to me that if Ididn't get somethin' to work for, I might's well quit livin'. So I tookup this here quarter section and started in. It cost me dear, I'mtellin' you!

  "I sweat blood over every inch o' this here land. Folks said it was nogood. I put up this shack, put it up right. I set in to raise crops. Iput my body into it. I put my heart into it. I put my livin' eternalsoul into it--and by the Lord I'm goin' to win! I had somethin' to workfor, that's all."

  Ross leaned back. The flame died from his eyes. He surveyed Thady Sheacritically, appraisingly, generously.

  "When I heard what you said, in yonder," he pursued, "I seen all of asudden that you were a man like me. Savvy? Yes. I don't blame you, now,for lamming me over the ear like you done. My Lord! Ain't I talked toGod like you done in there? Ain't things come up to rip the very gutsout o' my soul? Well, it's like that with all folks, I guess, only itcomes different. Savvy? Yes. I gave you whiskey, and I was a damn fool.That's all."

  Ross rose and began to clatter dishes into the dishpan. Thady Shea roseand went to the doorway. He stood there, looking up the east-runningcanon toward the morning sun. He did not see the half-plowed flat, hedid not see the horses and plow; he did not see the pinon trees and thetrickle of water. Tears were in his eyes. For one blazing moment he hadseen into the soul of Fred Ross, the iron soul, the gentle soul, thebrave soul of Fred Ross.

  Suddenly he turned about, feeling upon his shoulder the hand of theother man.

  "Shea, you asked a while ago if there wasn't no help. Well, maybe thereis--if you want it. Do you?"

  "Yes," said Thady Shea, huskily.

  Upon the following morning he started in to work; he was a bit weak, buthe insisted upon working. He dared not do without working. He began toclear another flat farther up the canon, ridding it of brush and scruboak and pinons.

  As he worked, Thady Shea thought much of that wicker demijohn, back inthe cupboard of the shack. Once, when he came in to luncheon ahead ofRoss, he opened the cupboard. He looked at the clean wicker demijohn,the new demijohn, the demijohn which hung so heavily and lovingly to thehand; as he looked, a sunbeam struck the glass behind the woven wickerand made it seem filled with rich thin blood. Thady Shea shivered--andshut the door. But he could not shut that demijohn from his thoughts.

  He prayed, every hour he worked, that Ross would hide away thatdemijohn. He said nothing to Ross about it; he felt vaguely ashamed tolet Ross know of his struggles with himself. He shrank from revealinghow he was tempted.

  Days passed. Twice, now, Thady Shea had come in from work merely to openthat door and look at the demijohn. The first time, he had forcedhimself to be content with the look. The second time he hefted it; thenhe reached for the cork, trembling--but just then the step of Rossapproached, and Shea replaced the demijohn. He knew that he had beensaturated with liquor, that in his involuntary carouse his body hadseeped up the whiskey as the thirsty earth seeps up water. The cravingwas there, the wicked craving of the cracked earth for water.

  Terrible were the first few nights. Despite weariness, sleep would notcome. On tiptoe Thady Shea would sneak out of the shack, out into thebitter cold night, out under the white, cold stars. He would stride upand down the cold earth until the chill ate into his bones; then,shivering, he would tiptoe back and roll up in his blankets, thinkinghow a drink would warm him.

  As the days passed, he worked harder. He slaved until, at darkness, hewould nod over his pipe. He did not shave, remembering the words of theancient, and his gaunt face became filled and strengthened by aniron-gray beard.

  All the while he cursed his aimlessness, his lack of purpose. He waslooking out, beyond the present; he was looking over the horizon. He wasthinking of Mrs. Crump. He prayed under a sweat-soaked brow that somegreat flaming purpose would come into his life. The word "purpose" hadbecome to him a creed, a mania.

  He did not realize, except very dimly, that for him life had alreadycentred upon one immediate and tremendous purpose: to avoid, to shrinkfrom, that clean wicker demijohn in the corner cupboard! Unawares, thepurpose had come to him.

  And then, upon a day, Fred Ross patched the broken flivver and went toDatil for grub. Thady Shea was left alone, alone with the ranch, alonewith the pinon trees and the horses, alone with the shack, alone withthe corner cupboard and the clean wicker demijohn. Fred Ross did notseem to perceive any danger in leaving Shea thus alone.

  Fred Ross reached the store at Datil about noon, after a long pull.Datil lay on the highway, where lordly Packards and lowly Fords wendedeast and west, between California and St Louis. Datil was nothing morethan a frame store-hotel-post office. In the rear of the long buildingwere sheds, relics of the days when the far ranchers came in onhorseback, of the days when burros and bearded prospectors andunrestricted Indians roused talk of great and blood-stirring events.

  A mixed company lunched that day in the long dining room. Ross was toolate for the first table, and he stood waiting in the adjoining room,smoking by the huge cobbled fireplace, talking with other men who haddrifted along too late for the first serving.

  The talk struck upon Thady Shea and the huge joke of which Abel Doraleshad been the victim. Ross listened and said nothing, as was his wont. Heheard that Thady Shea had skipped the country; had, at any rate, notbeen found--must have gone over the Arizona line.

  "Too bad," commented a sturdy rancher from Quemado way. "He must ha'been a right strapping guy, eh? And what he done down to Zacaton, whenBen Aimes give him a drink--say, ain't ye heard 'bout that? It's surerich!"

  The speaker recounted, with many added elaborations and details, thestory of Thady Shea and his axe helve. Fred Ross listened in silence.Fred Ross thought of that heavy white crockery cup; reflectively, herubbed his head above his ear, and grinned to himself. He was not theonly one who had suffered for giving Thady Shea a drink, then!

  When the talk turned upon reprisals, Fred Ross listened with moreattention. Charges had been sworn out against Shea, it appeared; theyhad been sworn out by that fool Aimes, but had later been withdrawn.Abel Dorales had seen to it that they had been withdrawn. Abel Doraleshad come to Magdalena; there he had half killed three drunken miners whohad ventured to taunt him, and for the same reason he had taken ablacksnake to a sheepman. Abel Dorales had given out that he, and healone, intended to deal with Thady Shea whenever the latter was found.It was a personal matter, outside the law. This attitude met withgeneral approval.

  "Not so bad!" reflected Fred Ross, as he passed in to his meal. "Not sobad! The law ain't after him, anyhow. Now, if he's let that demijohnalone to-day, I reckon he's all right. Pretty tough on him, maybe, toleave him alone, but----"

  The ins and outs of the business transaction attempted by Dorales, thetransaction concerning Number Sixteen, had, of course, not been madepublic. But the general gist of the matter was an open secret. The jokeon Dorales was huge, and was immensely appreciated.

  The meal over, Ross went out to his car in order to get his tobacco. Heidly observed that alongside his own flivver had been run another, adust-white flivver with new tires. He paid no attention to it until hewas drawn by the sound of a voice which he instantly recognized. Hestood quiet, listening, looking toward the two figures on the far sideof the dust-white flivver; they did not see him at all.

  "No'm," said the voice which Ross had recognized. "No'm, I couldn't getno work to Magdalena. Things is in a goshly-gorful state in the printingbusiness! I done walked here, aiming to make for Saint Johns, over theArizony line. Seein'
s you're headed that way, ma'am, if ye could give mea lift----"

  "Walked here, did ye?" cut in a voice strange to Ross. "Had anyvittles?"

  "Not to speak of, ma'am. I'm busted."

  "Well, you trot right in alongside o' me. Hurry up, now--ain't got muchtime to waste. My land, of all the fool men--and at your age! Hurry up."

  The two figures departed toward the stirrup-high open flooring thatformed a porch the length of the frame building. One was the figure ofDad Griffith. The other was the figure of a very large woman, harsh offeatures; she was clad in ragged but neat khaki, and beneath her chinwere tied the strings of an old black bonnet. Against her wrinkledfeatures glowed two bright-blue eyes with the brilliancy of livingjewels, giving the lie to their surrounding tokens of age. She wasunknown to Fred Ross.

  Filling his pipe, the homesteader sought out the store, and, withinevitable delays, set to work making his purchases. This was anoccupation demanding ceremony. Other men were here on the same errand,and there was gossip of crops, land, and war to be swapped. This was theforum of the countryside, the agora of the scattered ranches.

  Thus it happened that by the time Ross went to his car with an armloadof supplies old Dad Griffith had finished his meal and was lounging onthe steps of the stirrup-high porch. He started up at sight of Ross, whopaid no attention to him, and followed the rancher out to the car.

  "Hey!" he exclaimed, eagerly. "Where's that there partner of mine?"

  Ross dumped his purchases into the car and turned. He desired only to berid of this parasite, to be rid of him for good and all--and to ridThady Shea of him.

  "He's where you left him, old-timer--and where you're not wanted."

  "Is--is he all right?"

  "Sure. I fed him whiskey until he got well. He's there now with ademijohn. I never seen a man able to swallow more red licker than thatpartner of yours! But you needn't go showing your nose around there,savvy? He's workin' for me and you're not wanted."

  "You go to hell!" spluttered the wrathful ancient. "You goshly-gorfulold ranch hand! That's what you are!"

  Ross laughed, swung about to his flivver, and cranked up. He turned thecar and vanished amid a trail of dust, leaving the ancient to sputtersenile threats and curses. He accounted himself well rid of that oldvagabond, in which he was quite right.

  It was late in the afternoon when Ross got home; the trail to his canonfrom the county road was wretchedly rough. As he drove, he began toblame himself for having left Thady Shea all alone, throughout the dayfrom sunrise to sunset, with that wicker demijohn. He began to thinkthat he had stacked the cards too heavily. He began to think that hisdesire to test Thady Shea had been a mite too strong.

  He drove up to the shed, seeing no sign of his guest. The house, too,was deserted. Ross went straight to the corner cupboard and jerked openthe door. The clean wicker demijohn was gone. It was not in the house.

  "Hell's bells!" quoth Ross, savagely.

  He strode outside and scanned the vicinity. Nothing was in sight. Theteam was gone. He walked up the canon, seeing that the lower flat wasempty of life. At the turn he came in sight of the upper flat, andpaused.

  The team was there; Thady Shea had been plowing. Thady Shea was there,too, but he was not plowing. He was standing at one corner of the flatbeside a pile of brush. He was lifting something in his hand. It was thewicker demijohn. He set it on his arm and laid the mouth to his lips.Ross could see him drink, gulpingly. He drank long, avidly, until Rossswore in blank amazement that a man could drink thus; he drank as thesun-cracked earth drinks water.

  Ross strode forward. Thady Shea turned to meet him.

  "Hello, Ross! I was just knocking off work for the day. Drink?"

  Ross took the demijohn. He looked at Thady Shea with hard, bitter coldeyes. His eyes softened as he remembered his misgivings. After all, wasit not his own fault? He lifted the demijohn on his arm and laid themouth to his lips.

  "Hell!" He spluttered in stark surprise. He stared at the demijohn,stared at the smiling Thady Shea. "Hell! I thought----"

  Thady Shea laughed. It was a deep, sonorous laugh.

  "I couldn't stand it, Ross," he said. "That cursed jug was too much forme. So I emptied out the whiskey and filled it with water, and went towork. I'm sorry about the whiskey--I'll pay you back."

  "Damn the whiskey!" roared Fred Ross, delightedly, and wiped his lips."Come on back to the shack and let's eat!"

  For the first time in long days, the two men talked over their meal.They talked of the world outside, talked of ranch gossip, talked of thewar and the government and the high price of wool. Ross meant to runsome sheep up at the head of the canon, and discoursed on the project atlength. Not until their pipes were going, and the red afterglow wasshrouding the fading day, did he mention what he had learned at Datil.

  "Heard something over to the hotel," he mentioned, casually. "They weretalking about you. It appears that Abel Dorales has called off thesheriff and withdrawn all charges agin' you. He's lookin' for you hisown self, I hear. Makin' it a personal matter."

  Thady Shea drew a deep breath. Nothing to fear from the law, then! Themore personal menace of Abel Dorales he did not consider at all.

  "I'll tell you what happened--if you don't mind," he said, diffidently.It was the first time, since that day when he had felled Ross with thecup, that personalities had been touched upon between them.

  He told his story. Ross made no comment whatever; in that story heperceived that Thady Shea was a queer, impulsive child, a man whose fearand reason were overruled by his impulses, a man whose primitive soularose in a lonely grandeur of sincerity, of absolute and wonderfulsincerity. Ross felt awed, as a man feels awed when confronted by themystery of a child's soul.

  The name of Mehitabel Crump meant nothing to the rancher; he had perhapsheard of her in past years, but had forgotten her name. When Thady Sheafell silent, Ross knocked the dottle from his pipe and filled it anew.

  "You watch out for Dorales," he said. "I know him. He's bad med'cine."

  "So everyone says," returned Shea, gravely serious. "I hadn't found itso."

  Ross seemed to discern humour in this, and chuckled. "Think ye'll stayhere, Shea? Glad to have ye."

  "Unless something turns up--yes. I--well, I haven't found that purposewe spoke about once. I'm trying hard. I'm trying to find it, to make itcome, to figure out what I must do. Yet I seem all helpless,bewildered----"

  "I never heard of any one puttin' a rush label on Providence, not withany success to mention," said Ross, dryly. "You're lookin' so hard forsomething that you can't find it. You're too damn serious. About sixty,ain't ye? Well, at sixty you're goin' through what ye should ha' gonethrough at thirty or less. Limber up your joints an' take it easier,pardner. Wait for what turns up, an' remember God ain't dealing from acold deck."

  Here was wisdom, and Thady Shea tried to accept it.

  Upon the following afternoon Thady Shea was laboriously plowing theupper flat. Down at the shack, Fred Ross was cleaning house. He wascleaning house in his own simple and thorough fashion. He tookeverything outside in the sun. Then he set to work with a bucket of sudsand a broom, and scrubbed the walls, floor, and ceiling; he was figuringon papering the walls a little later. The result of this cleaning wasdamp but satisfactory.

  Having returned most of his belongings to their proper places, Ross wasengaged in fitting together the iron bed. He heard the grinding roar ofa car coming up the canon trail in low gear, and went to the doorway. Adust-white flivver was approaching. As he watched, it came up to theshed and halted. There was but one person in the car.

  From the dust-white flivver alighted a tall, large woman clad in old butneat khaki, upon her head a black bonnet. With surprise, Ross recognizedher; it was the woman whom he had seen at Datil the previous day. It wasthe woman who had bought Dad Griffith a meal, and who, presumably, hadgiven the ancient a lift toward the Arizona line.

  She approached the doorway and transfixed Ross with keen, glitteringblue eyes. Her look was o
ne of unmistakable truculence, of hostility.

  "Your name Ross?" she demanded.

  "It is, ma'am," he meekly answered. "Will----"

  "My name's Mehitabel Crump, with a Mrs. for a handle," she stated. "Yougot a man by the name o' Shea workin' here?"

  "Yes'm," said Ross, staring. So this was the Mrs. Crump of whom Shea hadspoken! "Yes'm. Will ye come in? I'll go right up the canon and fetchhim----"

  "You shut up," she snapped, harshly. "I aim to do my own fetchin', and Iaim to have a word with you here and now, stranger. I hear you beenkeepin' Thady Shea filled up with booze."

  Ross was staggered, not only by the amazing appearance of this womanhere, but by her direct attack. She meant business, savage business, andshowed it.

  Those last words, however, suggested an explanation to Ross. On theprevious day he had given the ancient an "earful" about Thady Shea andthe whiskey. This woman, who now turned out to be Shea's friend Mrs.Crump, had given the ancient a ride westward. The connection was tooobvious to miss.

  "You got all that dope from old Griffith, eh?" he said. "I was at Datilyesterday and seen you there. If I ever see that old fool Griffithagain, I'll poke a bullet through him!"

  "Then you ain't real liable to do it," said Mrs. Crump, grimly. "If thatold vagabone told me the truth, I aim to put you where you won't givewhiskey to no more men. Now, hombre, speak up real soft and sudden! Didyou give Thady Shea whiskey--or not?"

  In the blue eyes of Mrs. Crump was a look which Ross had not seen sincethe days of his boyhood. Even then he had seen it only once or twice,before the "killers" of the old days were put under sod. Knowing whatcaused that look, Ross laughed--but he laughed to himself.

  "Well," he responded, gravely, "in a way it is true, ma'am. I sure didfill Shea with red licker, filled him plumb to the brim. And when I wentto Datil yesterday, there was a jug two thirds full o' licker in thatcupboard. When I come home las' night, ma'am, there wasn't a single dropo' whiskey left. For a fact."

  Try as he might, he could not keep the twinkle from his eye. Thattwinkle was something Mrs. Crump could not understand; it bade her goslow, be cautious. She knew her type of man animal, and that twinklegave her covert warning not to make a fool of herself.

  "I'm goin' to see him," she declared, after compressing her lips andeying Fred Ross suspiciously. "If you've made a soak out o' him, pilgrimRoss, I'm coming right back here and perforate you without no furtherwarning. That goes as it lays--so ile up your gun."

  She turned about and strode away, up the canon. Once she glanced back,to see Ross standing where she had left him, and upon his face was awide grin.