CHAPTER TEN
_Hungry_
Pete, Jed, and Cindy sat together at the edge of the oak grove. Armsclasped around his knees, Pete stared at the horizon. Mr. Simpson used apiece of broken stick to dig interestedly into the rich soil of this newland, and Cindy gazed hungrily at the wagon.
"They seem," she said hopefully, "like such nice people."
"I'm sure they are," her father said.
"And they must have just loads of things in that big wagon."
"They must have," said Mr. Simpson.
"So if I went over there and sort of--"
"Cindy!" her father roared. "Food is given, not asked for!"
"I wasn't going to ask for any."
"No. You were just going to hint around until they gave you some."
"Dang it, Jed," Pete broke in, "we didn't really give 'em a chance tooffer us any."
"So we didn't."
"If all _three_ of us go over," Cindy suggested, "they'll have achance."
Mr. Simpson said reluctantly, "We might find out."
Side by side, they walked over to where the newcomers were setting up onthe claim accidentally staked by Cindy. The man, who had built a firewith wood carried in from his wagon, did not look tired any more. Helooked refreshed and ten years younger. Far from seeming worried, thewoman now bloomed like a girl. The four children's eyes were big assaucers. It was a completely happy family.
Something that couldn't possibly happen to them had happened. They ownedtheir own farm. The man came to meet the approaching trio.
"I was so flustered that I plumb forgot to be civil," he said. "I'mSilas Wentworth." He shook hands with Jed and Pete and bowed to Cindy."Young lady, we'll never forget you."
"It was just luck," Cindy murmured.
"Come meet the family," said Silas Wentworth. "This is my Missus, Jean,and these," he indicated the children in their turn, "are Sally, Silas,Sylvia, and Serena. Say hello, children."
"Hello," Sally, about eight, said bashfully. The younger childrengiggled.
"Had breakfast?" Silas Wentworth questioned.
"Well, now--" Mr. Simpson began.
"We ain't got a great store of diffe'nt things," Silas Wentworth seemeda little embarrassed. "Truth is, we're down to beans. But they's lots ofthem."
"Then why'd you tell uth, Pa," Silas, Jr., lisped, "that we'd have tomake out with light mealth till you can get thome?"
"We've had breakfast," Mr. Simpson said firmly.
"Yes, we have," Pete seconded.
"Uh-huh," said Cindy.
"Silas!" said his father, who had turned red as a glass of crabapplejelly. He looked apologetically at his guests. "Truth is, we are a miteshort. But I've got money, seven whole dollars, an' there must be a townwhere a body can buy vittles an' maybe get work too."
"Plains City is two miles east," Pete directed. "There'll be a grocerythere soon if one hasn't set up already."
"I'll ride there tomorra," Silas Wentworth declared. "I'll go the minuteI can leave my fam'ly. But a body who can ask more than his quartersection of land like this," he looked happily about his farm, "sure ishard to please."
"What we really came for," Mr. Simpson spoke up, "is to see if we canborrow a couple of spades."
"Sure thing an' welcome," Silas Wentworth said. He brought a couple ofgood spades from his wagon. "Anything else the Wentworths got, you canhave."
"Thanks," said Pete, "but these are all we need right now."
They started back. Pete Brent and Mr. Simpson each carried a spade.Cindy carried her thoughts, which centered about the hard biscuits shehad eaten last night. If she had one of them right now, just one, sheknew she'd never ask for anything else. Her father touched her shouldersoftly.
"Sorry, honey."
"That's all right," Cindy said stoutly.
"You don't take food from babies, do you?" her father asked.
"Of course not!" said Cindy.
"I knew it would be like this at first," Mr. Simpson said. "I'm, I'm--"
"Yes?" Cindy questioned.
"I'm glad you came," her father said firmly, though Cindy had a feelingthat he had been about to say he was sorry she'd come. "Maybe I can turnup something. If I can't, Alec will be here with the wagon tomorrow, andhe's sure to bring some food."
"I'll live," said Cindy.
Choosing a knoll near the creek, Mr. Simpson sank his spade. Then hesank it again, and again, and when he had cut a good-sized sod, he laidit aside. Cindy knew what he was doing, for Pete had told her how manyOklahomans would build their first houses. They'd dig into the ground,saving all the sod they cut out. Then they'd make a cellar as wide anddeep as they thought necessary. The dirt sides would be shored withsticks, stones, anything they could find, and the house would extendabove ground too. The sides and roof might be all sod, but since theyowned the oak grove, Pete and her father would have wood if they caredto use it.
It was not, of course, the good house that every Oklahoman would haveshortly after the homesteads began to pay in the form of crops to begrown and sold. But it would be snug and warm, and Cindy looked forwardto living in such a place.
She watched her father for some time, and the harder Mr. Simpson worked,the happier he seemed. He was digging in his own rich soil, and hungerwas a small price to pay for such a privilege. But Cindy, growinghungrier by the minute, could think of nothing except food. She wanderedaway, watched Sparkle crop grass, and wished mightily that she were ahorse. She'd eat until her stomach burst.
But she wasn't a horse and she could think of no practical way to makeherself into one. Cindy went to their last night's camp, and when hereye was attracted by something bright among the foliage, she picked upthe coil of fine wire that Cal Macklin thought he was putting into hispocket last night. Instead, he must have dropped it. Cindy slipped thecoil into her own pocket.
Kicking idly among last year's withered leaves, she uncovered abrown-shelled acorn. She picked it up, cracked it with her teeth, andimmediately puckered her lips. Cindy spat the acorn out. It was betterto be hungry than to feel as though she had a mouth full of flannel.
She returned to the camp, looked at the skillet and knife Pete had used,and conjured up fond memories of the glorious feast they'd enjoyed lastnight. Suddenly inspired by the thought that more water might help, shereturned to the creek, and chance alone brought her opposite the pool onthe far bank.
The big fish were still there, lying sluggishly in the bottom of thepool until such time as they fared forth to catch more minnows. Nearthem was a pile of driftwood, and Cindy's fertile mind produced awonderful idea.
Looking all around, she saw nobody. It followed, therefore, that nobodycould see her; the creek had four-foot banks, and grass grew on top ofthose. Stripping to her underwear, Cindy took her clothing in her armsand waded into the creek. The water was cold at first, and she shrankfrom it. But it felt warmer after a second, and she began to enjoy it.
As she waded, she located a chunk of log among the driftwood. And assoon as she was in shallow water on the other side of the creek, sheacted swiftly. Throwing her clothes down on the bank, she picked up thelog and dropped it across the narrow entrance to the pool.
Seeing her, the big fish swam frantically toward the creek. But theycouldn't pass the log, and they did not like to stay in such shallowwater. They swam back into the pool, dashed here and there, and finallycame to rest almost where they had been before. Cindy proceeded with thenext part of her plan.
She took the coil of wire from her jeans, picked up a long, dead branch,and tied the wire to its end. In the other end of the wire she made asliding loop. Careful to ruffle the water no more than was necessary,she let her loop sink.
The first fish she touched on the nose, and that sent all of them intoanother panic. But they all came back again, and on Cindy's second try,the loop settled nicely over a fish. Cindy jerked the pole, tightenedthe loop, and yanked out a wriggling bass. One was not enough; shethought she herself could eat all fifteen of the big fish if only
shehad them--but after she caught one more, hunger triumphed.
Carrying the two fish and her clothes, she waded back across the creek,dressed, and went to camp. She knew what to do. She'd cleaned fishbefore, and there was still grease in the frying pan. Forty-five minuteslater she called:
"Father!"
"Yes?" Mr. Simpson answered.
"Mr. Brent!" Cindy called.
"What do you want, Cindy?"
"Come on! Dinner's ready!"
We Were There at the Oklahoma Land Run Page 10
