Collected Works of Zane Grey, page 1260
“Logan, you amaze me. You’re a splendid cook,” she said. “It’s just fine to think I won’t have to cook and bake.”
“Ha! ha! No you won’t at all!” he ejaculated, gaily. “But I’m gad you see I can do it...Now we’ll clear up. I’ll wash, and you dry.”
After these chores were finished Logan went into the woods with an axe, to come forth burdened under an immense load of green, fragrant boughs. This he threw down beside the wagon. Then he unrolled a canvas to take out blankets.
“There’s hardly enough room in the wagon for you to sleep, let alone me,” he said. “I’ll make my bed on the ground. If skunks and coyotes, scorpions, tarantulas, and sidewinders come around, they’ll get me first. Ha! ha! But really they’re not to be laughed at. I won’t take any risk of you being bitten, especially by a hydrophobia skunk. You’re too doggone precious. I’d never find another woman like you.”
Lucinda said nothing. His words, like his actions, were so natural, so inevitable. Yet he showed fine feeling. She was a bride, and this was her wedding-night. Dusk came trooping out of the forest. She heard a sough of wind in the pines, an uneasy, breathing, melancholy sound. How lonely! She shivered a little. Logan’s observations were keen. He fetched her heavy coat. Then he threw a bundle of the green pine foliage into the wagon, and some blankets, and climbed in the door after them. Lucinda heard him rummaging around at a great rate. Presently he leaped out, his hair rumpled.
“There! All you got to do is use your coat for a pillow, take off your boots, crawl under the blankets, and you’ll be jake...Well, the day is done. Our first day!...Now for a smoke. Lucinda, better stretch your legs a little before we turn in.”
She walked under the pines, along the brook, out into the open. But she did not go far. The windfalls, the clumps of sage might harbour some of the varmints Logan feared. She looked back to see he had replenished the camp fire. He stood beside it, a tall, dark, stalwart figure, singularly fitting this unfamiliar scene. There appeared to be something wild and raw, yet thrilling about it. The flames lighted up the exquisite lacy foliage of the pines. Sparks flew upwards. The great white wagon loomed like a spectre. Black always depressed Lucinda, but white frightened her. Logan stood there spreading his hands...He was splendid, she thought. She could well transfer the love she had given him as a boy to the grown man, for Logan had matured beyond his years. In repose his face showed fine, stern lines. He had suffered pain, hardship, if not grief. Lucinda’s fears of Logan vanished like the columns of smoke blowing away into the darkness. She had vague fears of this West, and she divined they would be magnified and multiplied, but never would there be a fear of Logan Huett. Whatever it would cost her, she was glad she had answered to his call for a mate, and she would try to make herself a worthy one.
She returned to the fire and warmed her hands over the blaze. How quickly the air had chilled!
“I never knew how good fire could feel,” she said, laughing.
“Ha! You said a lot.” Then he drew her to a seat on the log near by. He removed his pipe and knocked the ashes from it. “Lucinda,’ I’m not much of a fellow to talk,” he said, earnestly, with the light from the fire playing on his dark strong face and in his clear grey eyes. “Sure, I’ll talk your head off about cattle and range, bears and cougars, Indians and all that’s wild. But I mean the — the deep things — the things here — —” and he tapped his broad breast. “I’ve got them here, only they’re hard to say...Anyway, words would never tell how I appreciate your leaving your people, your friends and civilized comforts, to come out to this wild Arizona range. To be my wife — my pardner I It’s almost too good to be true. And I love you for it...I reckon I was selfish to make you come to me and rush you at that. But you’ll forgive me when you see our ranch — the work that’s to be done — and winter coming fast...You’re only a young girl, Lucinda. Only eighteen! And I feel shame to think what you must have overcome — before you accepted. But, my dear, don’t fear I’ll rush you into real wifehood — you know, like I did into marriage. All in good time, Lucinda, when you feel you know me as I am now, and love me, and want to come to me...That’s all, little girl. Kiss me good night and go to your bed in our prairie-schooner.”
Lucinda did as she was bidden, relieved and comforted as she had not thought possible except after long trial. She peeped out to see Logan in the flickering firelight. Then she crawled under the warm woollen blankets. How strange! How marvellous to be there! She would not have exchanged that bed, and the canvas roof with its moving weird shadows, for the palace of a princess. But the wind moaned through the pines — moaned of the terrible loneliness, the distance, the wildness of this West.
CHAPTER THREE
LUCINDA AWAKENED SOME time in the night, coming out of a dream of a strange, pale place, where she wandered down empty, echoing streets, fearful lest she should be seen in her boy’s garb. The night was pitch dark and silent as the grave. The crickets, the wind, the brook had all but ceased their sounds. She was cold despite the blankets. She lay there shivering while the black canopy of the canvas changed to grey. Soon she heard sharp, weird, piercing yelps, wild and haunting.
Dawn came. The ring of an axe and splitting of wood told her that Logan had begun his work. Lucinda sat up with an impulse to go out and join him. But the keen air made her change her mind. When she heard a fire crackling, however, she threw back the blankets and hunted for her boots. By the time she had the second one laced her little fingers were numb. She donned her coat, took her little bag and crawled out.
Logan was not in sight. Lucinda made for the fire. If it had felt good the night before, what did it feel now? She had not known the blessing of heat. While she warmed her hands she gazed about. The grass was grey-white with frost; tar across the open Logan appeared astride one of the horses, driving in the oxen. The sky in the east was ruddy, but the all-encompassing wall of pines appeared cold, forbidding. Logan had been thoughtful to put on a bucket of water to heat. Before he arrived at the camp Lucinda had washed her face and hands and combed her hair. This morning she braided it and let it hang.
“Howdy, settler,” she called to Logan.
“Well! Hello, red-cheeks! Say, but you’re good to see this morning...How’d you rest?”
“Slept like a log. Awoke once, after a queer dream. I was in a deserted town wandering about in these pants. What made those barks I heard?”
“Coyotes. I like to hear them. But wolves make me shiver. I saw the track of a big lofer out there.”
“Lofer?”
“That’s local for wolf. Perhaps that track was made by Killer Gray. He’s got a black ruff, Lucinda. I’ll shoot him and cure his hide for a rug. We must live off the land.”
Lucinda helped him prepare breakfast. Afterwards, while Logan hitched the oxen to the wagon, Lucinda went after the second horse. He was not easy to catch, and the best she could do, was to drive him into camp, where Logan secured him. The exercise made her blood tingle, but she was glad to warm hands and feet at the fire. The red in the east paled and sun arose steely. Logan, remarking that the day was not going to be so good, advised Lucinda to procure her gloves and put a blanket on the seat.
Presently the oxen were swinging on, tirelessly, their great heads nodding in unison. Lucinda marvelled at them. How patient, how plodding were these gentle beasts of burden! She had her first inkling of the value of such animals to the settlers in the wilderness. Thick woods swallowed up the wagon and claimed it for hours. But Lucinda was more at ease because the cold wind was shut off and the sun shone now and then.
“Move over here and take your lesson,” said Logan, at length, and put the whip in Lucinda’s hands.
“What’ll I do?” she asked, breathlessly.
“Drive,” he replied, laconically.
Before she realized it, Lucinda was piloting a prairie-schooner. The oxen went along as well for her as for Logan. But what would she do when he left the wagon to handle the cattle?
“It’s easy,” said Logan— “much easier than driving a team.”
“But suppose they do something,” protested Lucinda.
“Yell ‘whoa’ when you want them to stop, ‘gee’ when you want to go to the right, ‘haw’ to the left, and when you start up — a crack of the whip and ‘gidap,’” replied Logan, with suppressed mirth.
“It’s not so funny,” said Lucinda petulantly. “It looks too easy. They do go right along — but it’s straight road. What if a herd of buffalo or band of Indians broke out of the woods...”
“That sure wouldn’t be funny. But the buffalo are gone, Lucinda, and we put the Apaches on the reservation. Reminds me of Matazel.”
“Who was he?” asked Lucinda, a little fearfully.
“Young Apache buck. Said to be one of old Geronimo’s sons. He sure didn’t favour that ugly old devil. Matazel looks a noble red man if ever an Indian gave reason for such a fool idea. Lucinda, the Navajo braves caught your fancy. Matazel would have done that and more. He had grey eyes — the most wonderful eyes! Wild, bright, fierce! I’ll never forget the look in them when he tapped me on the breast and said: ‘Matazel live — get even!’”
“My word! Logan, whatever did you do to incur his hatred?”
“Huh. I did a lot. I was one of General Crook’s scouts. Crook sent me out with some soldiers to round up Matazel and his braves. I trailed them across the mesa and cornered them. We had a skirmish. Nobody killed. We captured Matazel and sent him back to the reservation with the rest of Jeronimo’s outfit. They’ll break out some day.”
“Won’t that be bad for the settlers?”
“I reckon it will. But no danger for us. We are a long way from the Cibeque.”
The wind increased until it began to blow the dust. This, added to the cold, induced Lucinda to crawl back over the eat and wrap herself in the blankets. Lucinda propped herself against the packs and gazed out, thinking wearily of the women who had crossed the plains in caravans. What incredible hardship and privation they must have endured! The dim, dark forest, with its threshing foliage, the open range with its flying dust, the lowering sky, the slow steady roll of wheels, the dry permeating pitchy odour that filled her nostrils-=these held Lucinda’s senses until she fell asleep.
When she awakened, Logan informed her that the lake was in sight. Cramped and stiff, Lucinda crawled back on the seat with Logan. Grey pastures fringed by pine led to a wide sheet of water, dark as the clouds. She saw fences running tip to cabins on the shore. The west side of the lake sheered up in a bold bronze bluff, while the road ran along the east shore, a ragged, rocky slope, desolate and uninviting to Lucinda’s gaze.
“Will these settlers want to take us in?” she asked.
“Sure. We’ll eat with them, but we’ll’ sleep same as last night. They’re crowded in those log shacks. You’ll be more comfortable in the wagon.”
“I’d like that better,” said Lucinda, with a sense of relief.
Lucinda found herself welcomed by Holbert and his womenfolk. If she had not been so cold and hungry and miserable, she might have regarded that poor cabin and its plain inmates in some such way as she had the long day and the hard country. But she realized that what counted were protection and nourishment, and the kind hearts that furnished them. Holbert’s wife, two daughters, and a sister lived there with him. She gathered that one of the daughters was married and lived in an adjoining cabin. They seemed to take Lucinda’s advent as a matter of course. The married daughter was younger than Lucinda and had a baby. None of them had been to Flagg since spring — six months — and they were hungry for the news that was easy for Lucinda to furnish.
Presently the son-in-law came in, accompanied by a grey-furred, wild-looking dog. He at once joined Holbert and Logan in a discussion of cattle.
“What a strange dog!” exclaimed Lucinda, who loved dogs. “Is he a shepherd?”
“Half shepherd an’ half wolf,” replied the settler’s wife. “Her mother is John’s best cattle-dog.”
“How interesting! Half wolf? I never saw a wolf. What’s her name?”
“Reckon she hasn’t none. She’s no good, because she won’t run cattle, an’ fights the other dogs. John would be glad toil get rid of her.”
“Logan,” asked Lucinda, eagerly interrupting the trio of, men, “may I have this dog, if Mr. Holbert will give her to me?”
“Why, sure. How about it, Holbert?”
“You’re welcome, if you can get her to go with you,” replied the settler.
Lucinda made overtures to the unwanted wolf-dog, and they were accepted. When presently Lucinda grew so drowsy from the hot fire that she could scarcely keep her eyes open, Logan came to her rescue. They bade their new friends goodnight and left for their wagon. The dog came readily with Lucinda.
“Rustle up to bed before you freeze again,” said Logan, helping her along. “And here’s your dog. I like his looks. I’ll bet he sticks to you.”
“It’s a she, Logan. What’ll I call her?...Come, doggie, you can sleep right here at my feet.”
“A good name always comes...Luce, I’ll go back and finish my deal with Holbert. He’ll sell me some stock very cheap and give me more on credit. The drawback is there’s no one here to help me drive the cattle. But by gosh! if you’ll drive the oxen I’ll drive all the cattle Holbert will let me have.”
“I’ll try,” rejoined Lucinda, suppressing her fears because of his eager hope.
“There’s an old homestead half-way to our place. If we can make that to-morrow night and turn the stock inside the fence we’ll be jake. Next night we’ll be home!”
Lucinda pulled off her boots, and folding, her coat for a pillow, crawled under the blankets. The dog nestled close to her. Outside, the wind was blowing a gale. As Logan had laced up the front flaps of the wagon, Lucinda was protected. But to hear it was enough. It whistled hauntingly around the canvas and roared through the trees overhead and swept away, scattering the pebbles and propelling the dust along the road. Finally Lucinda’s drowsy spell ended in sleep.
Logan’s voice penetrated Lucinda’s deep slumbers. “Daybreak, Luce! Pile out and get going...Did your dog stay with you?...Well, she did, by gosh! No man or varmint who ever pleased you would quit.”
“Compliment so early? — Oh, Logan, I can’t get up. It’s so nice and warm in here. Ugh!...I guess I’m a tenderfoot.”
“Well, Luce dear, you won’t be one by nightfall, that’s a good bet,” replied Huett, grimly. “I’m going to start you out with the oxen and follow you with the stock. Then I’ll be close to you. So you can’t stop to pick flowers by the roadside.”
The day promised better than yesterday. Clouds were wanting in the brightening sky and the wind had abated. Still Lucinda’s fingers ached again when she had laced her boots. After breakfast the womenfolk detained Lucinda for a little, while Holbert accompanied Logan out to the wagon. But Lucinda soon followed, promising to stop on her first trip into Flagg.
“Hope thet’ll be soon. But winter’s comin’,” called Mrs. Holbert after her. “Don’t get in front of thet bull John sold your man. He’s wilder’n a skeered jack-rabbit!”
Lucinda’s breast felt as if it had suddenly been crushed. She was glad the Holberts could not see her face as she ran off, with the dog leaping at her side. Her husband and Holbert were not in sight, but she heard a halloaing over in the corral. Presently Logan appeared riding one horse and leading another.
“Climb aboard, Luce,” he said briskly, in a matter-of-fact tone. “Better keep the dog with you. Here, coyote — say! there’s a name for her.”
“Coyote? Oh, it’s pretty,” replied Lucinda, as she climbed up. “Here, lift her up...Well! She doesn’t need to be packed. Logan, I believe she won’t have to be tied.”
Huett leaped up to the seat and yelled: “Gadep!” The oxen moved away with the wagon creaking. “Gee! gee!” They turned into the main road. “Now, Luce, it’s all plain sailing, without a turn-off for fifteen miles — to the old homestead. We’ve got to make it before dark...Put on your gloves...Gosh! if we make it with all my stock — one brindle bull, a mean cuss, eight cows, six two-year-old steers, and five heifers — oh! I’ll feel rich. But I’ll have to ride some.”
With outward composure Lucinda took the whip he tendered her, and averted her face. Was the man stark mad to set her this task? Or was he paying her the tribute due the women of the Oregon Trail? She chose not to let him guess her perturbation. Logan leaped off while the wagon was moving.
“Good luck, old girl!” he called, happily. “If this isn’t great? Luce Huett, ox-driver of the Arizona range! Whoopee!”
Lucinda failed completely to share his enthusiasm, although she was glad to find that a really momentous occasion could pierce his practicality. She was left alone on that high driver’s seat, too high to leap off without risking life and limb. Coyote regarded her with intelligent eyes, as if she understood Lucinda’s predicament. Lucinda held the whip with nerveless hand. The wagging beasts plodded on unmindful of her tightly oppressed breast and staring dyes. Ahead the road followed the lake-shore for miles, as far as she could see. Her ponderous steeds could not turn to the left; but supposed they turned to the right? The wagon and she, with her trunks of pretty clothes and her chest full of even more precious and perishable belongings, and Logan’s utensils and supplies for his great enterprise — these must all go toppling down into the lake. But while Lucinda watched with uncertain breath the oxen travelled along, slowly and steadily, ponderously, as they had done the day before. Probably they were not even aware that a woman-driver now held the whip. Lucinda hugged that comforting thought to her heart. She determined not to yell “Gee,” “Haw,” or “Whoa” until necessity compelled it; and gradually her fears subsided. She could look at the slope and out upon the lake, and far ahead with a growing sense of something beside the risk of the situation. She was doing an unprecedented thing: driving a prairie-schooner drawn by oxen! Here was an amazing fact that should have indulged her primitive side to the full. But that part of her seemed in abeyance.
“Ha! ha! No you won’t at all!” he ejaculated, gaily. “But I’m gad you see I can do it...Now we’ll clear up. I’ll wash, and you dry.”
After these chores were finished Logan went into the woods with an axe, to come forth burdened under an immense load of green, fragrant boughs. This he threw down beside the wagon. Then he unrolled a canvas to take out blankets.
“There’s hardly enough room in the wagon for you to sleep, let alone me,” he said. “I’ll make my bed on the ground. If skunks and coyotes, scorpions, tarantulas, and sidewinders come around, they’ll get me first. Ha! ha! But really they’re not to be laughed at. I won’t take any risk of you being bitten, especially by a hydrophobia skunk. You’re too doggone precious. I’d never find another woman like you.”
Lucinda said nothing. His words, like his actions, were so natural, so inevitable. Yet he showed fine feeling. She was a bride, and this was her wedding-night. Dusk came trooping out of the forest. She heard a sough of wind in the pines, an uneasy, breathing, melancholy sound. How lonely! She shivered a little. Logan’s observations were keen. He fetched her heavy coat. Then he threw a bundle of the green pine foliage into the wagon, and some blankets, and climbed in the door after them. Lucinda heard him rummaging around at a great rate. Presently he leaped out, his hair rumpled.
“There! All you got to do is use your coat for a pillow, take off your boots, crawl under the blankets, and you’ll be jake...Well, the day is done. Our first day!...Now for a smoke. Lucinda, better stretch your legs a little before we turn in.”
She walked under the pines, along the brook, out into the open. But she did not go far. The windfalls, the clumps of sage might harbour some of the varmints Logan feared. She looked back to see he had replenished the camp fire. He stood beside it, a tall, dark, stalwart figure, singularly fitting this unfamiliar scene. There appeared to be something wild and raw, yet thrilling about it. The flames lighted up the exquisite lacy foliage of the pines. Sparks flew upwards. The great white wagon loomed like a spectre. Black always depressed Lucinda, but white frightened her. Logan stood there spreading his hands...He was splendid, she thought. She could well transfer the love she had given him as a boy to the grown man, for Logan had matured beyond his years. In repose his face showed fine, stern lines. He had suffered pain, hardship, if not grief. Lucinda’s fears of Logan vanished like the columns of smoke blowing away into the darkness. She had vague fears of this West, and she divined they would be magnified and multiplied, but never would there be a fear of Logan Huett. Whatever it would cost her, she was glad she had answered to his call for a mate, and she would try to make herself a worthy one.
She returned to the fire and warmed her hands over the blaze. How quickly the air had chilled!
“I never knew how good fire could feel,” she said, laughing.
“Ha! You said a lot.” Then he drew her to a seat on the log near by. He removed his pipe and knocked the ashes from it. “Lucinda,’ I’m not much of a fellow to talk,” he said, earnestly, with the light from the fire playing on his dark strong face and in his clear grey eyes. “Sure, I’ll talk your head off about cattle and range, bears and cougars, Indians and all that’s wild. But I mean the — the deep things — the things here — —” and he tapped his broad breast. “I’ve got them here, only they’re hard to say...Anyway, words would never tell how I appreciate your leaving your people, your friends and civilized comforts, to come out to this wild Arizona range. To be my wife — my pardner I It’s almost too good to be true. And I love you for it...I reckon I was selfish to make you come to me and rush you at that. But you’ll forgive me when you see our ranch — the work that’s to be done — and winter coming fast...You’re only a young girl, Lucinda. Only eighteen! And I feel shame to think what you must have overcome — before you accepted. But, my dear, don’t fear I’ll rush you into real wifehood — you know, like I did into marriage. All in good time, Lucinda, when you feel you know me as I am now, and love me, and want to come to me...That’s all, little girl. Kiss me good night and go to your bed in our prairie-schooner.”
Lucinda did as she was bidden, relieved and comforted as she had not thought possible except after long trial. She peeped out to see Logan in the flickering firelight. Then she crawled under the warm woollen blankets. How strange! How marvellous to be there! She would not have exchanged that bed, and the canvas roof with its moving weird shadows, for the palace of a princess. But the wind moaned through the pines — moaned of the terrible loneliness, the distance, the wildness of this West.
CHAPTER THREE
LUCINDA AWAKENED SOME time in the night, coming out of a dream of a strange, pale place, where she wandered down empty, echoing streets, fearful lest she should be seen in her boy’s garb. The night was pitch dark and silent as the grave. The crickets, the wind, the brook had all but ceased their sounds. She was cold despite the blankets. She lay there shivering while the black canopy of the canvas changed to grey. Soon she heard sharp, weird, piercing yelps, wild and haunting.
Dawn came. The ring of an axe and splitting of wood told her that Logan had begun his work. Lucinda sat up with an impulse to go out and join him. But the keen air made her change her mind. When she heard a fire crackling, however, she threw back the blankets and hunted for her boots. By the time she had the second one laced her little fingers were numb. She donned her coat, took her little bag and crawled out.
Logan was not in sight. Lucinda made for the fire. If it had felt good the night before, what did it feel now? She had not known the blessing of heat. While she warmed her hands she gazed about. The grass was grey-white with frost; tar across the open Logan appeared astride one of the horses, driving in the oxen. The sky in the east was ruddy, but the all-encompassing wall of pines appeared cold, forbidding. Logan had been thoughtful to put on a bucket of water to heat. Before he arrived at the camp Lucinda had washed her face and hands and combed her hair. This morning she braided it and let it hang.
“Howdy, settler,” she called to Logan.
“Well! Hello, red-cheeks! Say, but you’re good to see this morning...How’d you rest?”
“Slept like a log. Awoke once, after a queer dream. I was in a deserted town wandering about in these pants. What made those barks I heard?”
“Coyotes. I like to hear them. But wolves make me shiver. I saw the track of a big lofer out there.”
“Lofer?”
“That’s local for wolf. Perhaps that track was made by Killer Gray. He’s got a black ruff, Lucinda. I’ll shoot him and cure his hide for a rug. We must live off the land.”
Lucinda helped him prepare breakfast. Afterwards, while Logan hitched the oxen to the wagon, Lucinda went after the second horse. He was not easy to catch, and the best she could do, was to drive him into camp, where Logan secured him. The exercise made her blood tingle, but she was glad to warm hands and feet at the fire. The red in the east paled and sun arose steely. Logan, remarking that the day was not going to be so good, advised Lucinda to procure her gloves and put a blanket on the seat.
Presently the oxen were swinging on, tirelessly, their great heads nodding in unison. Lucinda marvelled at them. How patient, how plodding were these gentle beasts of burden! She had her first inkling of the value of such animals to the settlers in the wilderness. Thick woods swallowed up the wagon and claimed it for hours. But Lucinda was more at ease because the cold wind was shut off and the sun shone now and then.
“Move over here and take your lesson,” said Logan, at length, and put the whip in Lucinda’s hands.
“What’ll I do?” she asked, breathlessly.
“Drive,” he replied, laconically.
Before she realized it, Lucinda was piloting a prairie-schooner. The oxen went along as well for her as for Logan. But what would she do when he left the wagon to handle the cattle?
“It’s easy,” said Logan— “much easier than driving a team.”
“But suppose they do something,” protested Lucinda.
“Yell ‘whoa’ when you want them to stop, ‘gee’ when you want to go to the right, ‘haw’ to the left, and when you start up — a crack of the whip and ‘gidap,’” replied Logan, with suppressed mirth.
“It’s not so funny,” said Lucinda petulantly. “It looks too easy. They do go right along — but it’s straight road. What if a herd of buffalo or band of Indians broke out of the woods...”
“That sure wouldn’t be funny. But the buffalo are gone, Lucinda, and we put the Apaches on the reservation. Reminds me of Matazel.”
“Who was he?” asked Lucinda, a little fearfully.
“Young Apache buck. Said to be one of old Geronimo’s sons. He sure didn’t favour that ugly old devil. Matazel looks a noble red man if ever an Indian gave reason for such a fool idea. Lucinda, the Navajo braves caught your fancy. Matazel would have done that and more. He had grey eyes — the most wonderful eyes! Wild, bright, fierce! I’ll never forget the look in them when he tapped me on the breast and said: ‘Matazel live — get even!’”
“My word! Logan, whatever did you do to incur his hatred?”
“Huh. I did a lot. I was one of General Crook’s scouts. Crook sent me out with some soldiers to round up Matazel and his braves. I trailed them across the mesa and cornered them. We had a skirmish. Nobody killed. We captured Matazel and sent him back to the reservation with the rest of Jeronimo’s outfit. They’ll break out some day.”
“Won’t that be bad for the settlers?”
“I reckon it will. But no danger for us. We are a long way from the Cibeque.”
The wind increased until it began to blow the dust. This, added to the cold, induced Lucinda to crawl back over the eat and wrap herself in the blankets. Lucinda propped herself against the packs and gazed out, thinking wearily of the women who had crossed the plains in caravans. What incredible hardship and privation they must have endured! The dim, dark forest, with its threshing foliage, the open range with its flying dust, the lowering sky, the slow steady roll of wheels, the dry permeating pitchy odour that filled her nostrils-=these held Lucinda’s senses until she fell asleep.
When she awakened, Logan informed her that the lake was in sight. Cramped and stiff, Lucinda crawled back on the seat with Logan. Grey pastures fringed by pine led to a wide sheet of water, dark as the clouds. She saw fences running tip to cabins on the shore. The west side of the lake sheered up in a bold bronze bluff, while the road ran along the east shore, a ragged, rocky slope, desolate and uninviting to Lucinda’s gaze.
“Will these settlers want to take us in?” she asked.
“Sure. We’ll eat with them, but we’ll’ sleep same as last night. They’re crowded in those log shacks. You’ll be more comfortable in the wagon.”
“I’d like that better,” said Lucinda, with a sense of relief.
Lucinda found herself welcomed by Holbert and his womenfolk. If she had not been so cold and hungry and miserable, she might have regarded that poor cabin and its plain inmates in some such way as she had the long day and the hard country. But she realized that what counted were protection and nourishment, and the kind hearts that furnished them. Holbert’s wife, two daughters, and a sister lived there with him. She gathered that one of the daughters was married and lived in an adjoining cabin. They seemed to take Lucinda’s advent as a matter of course. The married daughter was younger than Lucinda and had a baby. None of them had been to Flagg since spring — six months — and they were hungry for the news that was easy for Lucinda to furnish.
Presently the son-in-law came in, accompanied by a grey-furred, wild-looking dog. He at once joined Holbert and Logan in a discussion of cattle.
“What a strange dog!” exclaimed Lucinda, who loved dogs. “Is he a shepherd?”
“Half shepherd an’ half wolf,” replied the settler’s wife. “Her mother is John’s best cattle-dog.”
“How interesting! Half wolf? I never saw a wolf. What’s her name?”
“Reckon she hasn’t none. She’s no good, because she won’t run cattle, an’ fights the other dogs. John would be glad toil get rid of her.”
“Logan,” asked Lucinda, eagerly interrupting the trio of, men, “may I have this dog, if Mr. Holbert will give her to me?”
“Why, sure. How about it, Holbert?”
“You’re welcome, if you can get her to go with you,” replied the settler.
Lucinda made overtures to the unwanted wolf-dog, and they were accepted. When presently Lucinda grew so drowsy from the hot fire that she could scarcely keep her eyes open, Logan came to her rescue. They bade their new friends goodnight and left for their wagon. The dog came readily with Lucinda.
“Rustle up to bed before you freeze again,” said Logan, helping her along. “And here’s your dog. I like his looks. I’ll bet he sticks to you.”
“It’s a she, Logan. What’ll I call her?...Come, doggie, you can sleep right here at my feet.”
“A good name always comes...Luce, I’ll go back and finish my deal with Holbert. He’ll sell me some stock very cheap and give me more on credit. The drawback is there’s no one here to help me drive the cattle. But by gosh! if you’ll drive the oxen I’ll drive all the cattle Holbert will let me have.”
“I’ll try,” rejoined Lucinda, suppressing her fears because of his eager hope.
“There’s an old homestead half-way to our place. If we can make that to-morrow night and turn the stock inside the fence we’ll be jake. Next night we’ll be home!”
Lucinda pulled off her boots, and folding, her coat for a pillow, crawled under the blankets. The dog nestled close to her. Outside, the wind was blowing a gale. As Logan had laced up the front flaps of the wagon, Lucinda was protected. But to hear it was enough. It whistled hauntingly around the canvas and roared through the trees overhead and swept away, scattering the pebbles and propelling the dust along the road. Finally Lucinda’s drowsy spell ended in sleep.
Logan’s voice penetrated Lucinda’s deep slumbers. “Daybreak, Luce! Pile out and get going...Did your dog stay with you?...Well, she did, by gosh! No man or varmint who ever pleased you would quit.”
“Compliment so early? — Oh, Logan, I can’t get up. It’s so nice and warm in here. Ugh!...I guess I’m a tenderfoot.”
“Well, Luce dear, you won’t be one by nightfall, that’s a good bet,” replied Huett, grimly. “I’m going to start you out with the oxen and follow you with the stock. Then I’ll be close to you. So you can’t stop to pick flowers by the roadside.”
The day promised better than yesterday. Clouds were wanting in the brightening sky and the wind had abated. Still Lucinda’s fingers ached again when she had laced her boots. After breakfast the womenfolk detained Lucinda for a little, while Holbert accompanied Logan out to the wagon. But Lucinda soon followed, promising to stop on her first trip into Flagg.
“Hope thet’ll be soon. But winter’s comin’,” called Mrs. Holbert after her. “Don’t get in front of thet bull John sold your man. He’s wilder’n a skeered jack-rabbit!”
Lucinda’s breast felt as if it had suddenly been crushed. She was glad the Holberts could not see her face as she ran off, with the dog leaping at her side. Her husband and Holbert were not in sight, but she heard a halloaing over in the corral. Presently Logan appeared riding one horse and leading another.
“Climb aboard, Luce,” he said briskly, in a matter-of-fact tone. “Better keep the dog with you. Here, coyote — say! there’s a name for her.”
“Coyote? Oh, it’s pretty,” replied Lucinda, as she climbed up. “Here, lift her up...Well! She doesn’t need to be packed. Logan, I believe she won’t have to be tied.”
Huett leaped up to the seat and yelled: “Gadep!” The oxen moved away with the wagon creaking. “Gee! gee!” They turned into the main road. “Now, Luce, it’s all plain sailing, without a turn-off for fifteen miles — to the old homestead. We’ve got to make it before dark...Put on your gloves...Gosh! if we make it with all my stock — one brindle bull, a mean cuss, eight cows, six two-year-old steers, and five heifers — oh! I’ll feel rich. But I’ll have to ride some.”
With outward composure Lucinda took the whip he tendered her, and averted her face. Was the man stark mad to set her this task? Or was he paying her the tribute due the women of the Oregon Trail? She chose not to let him guess her perturbation. Logan leaped off while the wagon was moving.
“Good luck, old girl!” he called, happily. “If this isn’t great? Luce Huett, ox-driver of the Arizona range! Whoopee!”
Lucinda failed completely to share his enthusiasm, although she was glad to find that a really momentous occasion could pierce his practicality. She was left alone on that high driver’s seat, too high to leap off without risking life and limb. Coyote regarded her with intelligent eyes, as if she understood Lucinda’s predicament. Lucinda held the whip with nerveless hand. The wagging beasts plodded on unmindful of her tightly oppressed breast and staring dyes. Ahead the road followed the lake-shore for miles, as far as she could see. Her ponderous steeds could not turn to the left; but supposed they turned to the right? The wagon and she, with her trunks of pretty clothes and her chest full of even more precious and perishable belongings, and Logan’s utensils and supplies for his great enterprise — these must all go toppling down into the lake. But while Lucinda watched with uncertain breath the oxen travelled along, slowly and steadily, ponderously, as they had done the day before. Probably they were not even aware that a woman-driver now held the whip. Lucinda hugged that comforting thought to her heart. She determined not to yell “Gee,” “Haw,” or “Whoa” until necessity compelled it; and gradually her fears subsided. She could look at the slope and out upon the lake, and far ahead with a growing sense of something beside the risk of the situation. She was doing an unprecedented thing: driving a prairie-schooner drawn by oxen! Here was an amazing fact that should have indulged her primitive side to the full. But that part of her seemed in abeyance.
