CHAPTER II
AT THE WATTS RANCH
It was with a decided feeling of depression that Patty Sinclairapproached the Watts ranch. Long before she reached the buildings anair of shiftless dilapidation was manifest in the ill-lined barbedwire fences whose rotting posts sagged drunkenly upon loosely strungwire. A dry weed-choked irrigation ditch paralleled the trail, itswooden flumes, like the fence posts, rotting where they stood, and itswalls all but obliterated by the wash of spring freshets. Thedepression increased as she passed close beside the ramshackle logstable, where her horse sank to his ankles in a filthy brown seepageof mud and rotting straw before the door. Two small, slouchily builtstacks of weather-stained hay occupied a fenced-off enclosure, besidewhich, with no attempt to protect them from the weather, stood adish-wheeled hay rake, and a rusty mowing machine, its cutter-barburied in weeds.
Passing through a small clump of cottonwoods, in which three or fourraw-boned horses had taken refuge from the mosquitoes, she camesuddenly upon the ranch house, a squat, dirt-roofed cabin of unpeeledlogs. So, _this_ was the Watts ranch! Again and again in the deliriumthat preceded her father's death, he had muttered of Monte's Creek andthe Watts ranch, until she had come to think of it as a place of coolhalls and broad verandahs situated at the head of some wide mountainvalley in which sleek cattle grazed belly-deep in lush grasses.
A rabble of nondescript curs came snapping and yapping about herhorse's legs until dispersed by a harsh command from the dark interiorof the cabin.
"Yere, yo' git out o' thet!"
The dogs slunk away and their places were immediately taken by ahalf-dozen ill-kempt, bedraggled children. A tousled head was thrustfrom the doorway, and after a moment of inspection a man stepped outupon the hard-trodden earth of the dooryard. He was bootless and agreat toe protruded from a hole in the point of his sock. He wore afaded hickory shirt, and the knees of his bleached-out overalls werepatched with blue gingham.
"Howdy," he greeted, in a not unkindly tone, and paused awkwardlywhile the protruding toe tried vainly to burrow from sight in the hardearth.
"Is--is this the Watts ranch?" The girl suppressed a wild desire toburst into tears.
"Yes, mom, this is hit--what they is of hit." His fingers pickedvaguely at his scraggly beard. An idea seemed suddenly to strike him,and turning, he thrust his head in at the door. "Ma!" he called,loudly, and again "Ma! _Ma!_"
The opening of a door within was followed by the sound of a harshvoice. "Lawzie me, John Watts, what's ailin' yo' now--got a burr inunder yo' gallus?" A tall woman with a broad, kindly face pushed pastthe man, wiping suds upon her apron from a pair of very large and veryred hands.
"Sakes alive, if hit hain't a lady! Hain't yo' done tol' her to gitoff an' come in? Looks like yer manners, what little yo' ever hed of'em, fell in the crick an' got drownded. Jest yo' climb right downoffen thet cayuse, dearie, an' come on in the house. John, yo' oncinchthet saddle, an' then, Horatius Ezek'l, yo' an' David Golieth, takenthe hoss to the barn an' see't he's hayed an' watered 'fore yo' comeback. Microby Dandeline, yo' git a pot o' tea abilin' an' fry up abate o' bacon, an' cut some bread, an' warm up the rest o' thet pone,an' yo', Lillian Russell, yo' finish dryin' them dishes an' set 'emback on the table. An' Abraham Lincoln Wirt, yo' fetch a pail o'water, an' wrinch out the worsh dish, an' set a piece o' soap by, an'a clean towel, an' light up the lamp."
Under Ma Watts's volley of orders, issued without pause for breath,things began to happen with admirable promptitude.
"Land sakes!" cried the woman, as Patty climbed painfully to theground, "hain't yo' that sore an' stiff! Yo' must a-rode clean fromtown, an' hits fifty mile, an' yo' not use to ridin' neither, to tellby the whiteness of yo' face. I'll help yo' git off them hat an'gloves, an' thar sets the worsh dish on the bench beside the do'.Microby Dandeline 'll hev a bite for ye d'rec'ly an' I'll fix yo' up ashake-down. Horatius Ezek'l an' David Golieth kin go out an' crawl inthe hay an' yo' c'n hev theirn." Words flowed from Ma Watts naturallyand continuously without effort, as water flows from a spring. Pattywho had made several unsuccessful attempts to speak, interruptedabruptly.
"Oh, I couldn't think of depriving the boys of their bed. I----"
"Now, honey, just yo' quit pesterin' 'bout thet. Them young-uns'druther sleep out'n in, any time. Ef I'd let 'em they'd grow up plumbwild. When yo've got worshed up come on right in the kitchen an' setby. Us Wattses is plain folks an' don't pile on no dog. We've et an'got through, but yo' take all the time yo're a mind to, an' me an'Microby Dandeline 'll set by an' yo' c'n tell us who yo' be, ef yo'rea mind to, an' ef not hit don't make no difference. We hain'tpartic'lar out here, nohow--we've hed preachers an' horse-thieves, an'never asked no odds of neither. I says to Watts----"
Again the girl made forcible entry into the conversation. "My name isSinclair. Patty Sinclair, of Middleton, Connecticut. My father----"
"Land o' love! So yo're Mr. Sinclair's darter! Yo' do favor him a miteabout the eyes, come to look; but yer nose is diff'rnt to hisn, an'so's yer mouth--must a be'n yer ma's was like that. But sometimes theydon't favor neither one. Take Microby Dandeline, here, 'tain't no onecould say she hain't Watts's, an' Horatius Ezek'l, he favors me, butfer's the rest of 'em goes, they mightn't b'long to neither one ofus." Microby Dandeline placed the food upon the table and sank, quietas a mouse into a chair beneath the glass bracket-lamp with her largedark eyes fixed upon Patty, who devoured the unappetizing food with anenthusiasm born of real hunger, while the older woman analyzed volublythe characteristics, facial and temperamental, of each and several ofthe numerous Watts progeny.
Having exhausted the subject of offspring, Ma Watts flashed a directquestion. "How's yer pa, an' where's he at?"
"My father died last month," answered the girl without raising hereyes from her plate.
"Fer the land sakes, child! I want to know!"
"Watts! Watts!" The lank form appeared in the doorway. "This here'sMr. Sinclair's darter, an' he's up an' died."
The man's fingers fumbled uncertainly at his beard, as his wife pausedfor the intelligence to strike home. "Folks does," he opined,judiciously after a profound interval.
"That's so, when yo' come to think 'bout hit," admitted Ma Watts."What did he die of?"
"Cerebrospinal meningitis."
"My goodness sakes! I should think he would! When my pa died--back inTennessee, hit wus, the doctor 'lowed hit wus the eetch, but sho',he'd hed thet fer hit wus goin' on seven year. 'Bout a week 'fore hecome to die, he got so's 't he couldn't eat nothin', an' he wus thethet up with the fever he like to burnt up, an' his head ached him fitto bust, an' he wus out of hit fer four days, an' I mistrust thet-allmought of hed somethin' to do with his dyin'. The doctor, he come an'bled him every day, but he died on him, an' then he claimed hit wasthe eetch, or mebbe hit wus jest his time hed come, he couldn't tellwhich. I've wondered sence if mebbe we'd got a town doctor he moughtof lived. But Doctor Swanky wus a mountain man an' we wus, too, so wetaken him. But, he wus more of a hoss doctor, an' seems like, he neverdid hev no luck, much, with folks."
Her nerves all a-jangle from trail-strain and the depressingatmosphere of the Watts ranch, it seemed to Patty she must shriekaloud if the woman persisted in her ceaseless gabble.
"Yer pa wus a nice man, an' well thought of. We-all know'd him well.It wus goin' on three year he prospected 'round here in the hills, an'many a time he's sot right where yo're settin' now, an' et his meal o'vittles. Some said las' fall 'fore he went back East how he'd made hisstrike, an' hit wus quartz gold, an' how he'd gone back to git moneyto work hit. Mr. Bethune thought so, an' Lord Clendenning. They mustof be'n thicker'n thieves with yer pa, 'cordin' to their tell." Thewoman paused and eyed the girl inquisitively. "Did he make his strike,an' why didn't he record hit?"
"I don't know," answered the girl wearily.
"An' don't yo' tell no one ef yo' do know. I b'lieve in folks bein'close-mouthed. Like I'm allus a-tellin' Watts. But yo' must be plumbwore out, what with ridin' all day, an' a-tellin
' me all aboutyo'se'f. I'll slip in an' turn them blankets an' yo' kin jest crawlright into 'em an' sleep 'til yo' slep' out."
Ma Watts bustled away, and Microby Dandeline began to clear away thedishes.
"Can't I help?" offered Patty.
The large, wistful eyes regarded her seriously.
"No. I like yo'. Yo' hain't to worsh no dishes. Yo're purty. I likeMr. Bethune, an' Lord Clendenning, an' that Vil Holland. I likeeverybody. Folks is nice, hain't they?"
"Why--yes," agreed Patty, smiling into the big serious eyes. "How oldare you?"
"I'm seventeen, goin' on eighteen. Yo' come to live with us-uns?"
"No--that is--I don't know exactly where I am going to live."
"That Vil Holland, he's got a nice camp, an' 'tain't only him there.Why don't yo' live there? I want to live there an' I go to his camp onGee Dot, but he chases me away, an' sometimes he gits mad."
"What is Gee Dot?" Patty stared in amazement at this girl with themind of a child.
"Oh, he's my pony. I reckon Mr. Bethune wouldn't git mad, but I don'tknow where he lives."
"I think you had better stay right here," advised Patty, seriously."This is your home, you know."
"Yes, but they hain't much room. Me, an' Lillian Russell, an' DavidGolieth sleeps on a shake-down, an' they-all shoves an' kicks, an'sometimes when I want to sleep, Chattenoogy Tennessee sets up asquarkin' an' I cain't. Babies is a lot of bother. An' they's a lot ofdishes an' chores an' things. Wisht I hed a dress like yo'n!" The girlpassed a timid finger over the fabric of Patty's moleskin riding coat.Ma Watts appeared in the doorway connecting the two rooms.
"Well, fer the lands sakes! Listen at that! Microby Dandeline Watts,where's yo' manners?" She turned to Patty. "Don't mind her, she's kindo' simple, an' don't mean no harm. Yo' shake-down's ready fer yo' an'I reckon yo' glad, bein' that wore out. Hit's agin the east wall. Jestgo on right in, don't mind Watts. Hit's dark in thar, an' he's rolledin. We hain't only one bed an' me an' Watts an' the baby sleeps inhit, on 'tother side the room. Watts, he aims to put up some bunkswhen he gits time."
Sick at heart, and too tired and sore of body to protest against anyarrangement that would allow her to sleep the girl murmured her thanksand crossed to the door of the bedroom. Not at all sure of herbearings she paused uncertainly in the doorway until a sound of heavybreathing located the slumbering Watts, and turning toward theopposite side of the room, proceeded cautiously through the blacknessuntil her feet came in contact with her "shake-down," which consistedof a pair of blankets placed upon a hay tick. The odor of the blanketswas anything but fresh, but she sank to the floor, and with mucheffort and torturing of strained muscles, succeeded in removing herboots and jacket and throwing herself upon the bed. Almost at themoment her head touched the coarse, unslipped pillow, she fell into adeep sleep, from which hours later she was awakened by an insistenttap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. "Someone has forgotten to pull up thecanoe and the waves are slapping it against the side of the dock," shethought drowsily. "Did I have it last?" She stirred uneasily and thepain of movement caused her to gasp. She opened her eyes, and insteadof her great airy chamber in Aunt Rebecca's mansion by the sea, shewas greeted by the sight of the hot, stuffy room of the Watts cabin. Arumpled pile of blankets was mounded upon the bed against the oppositewall, and a shake-down similar to her own occupied a space beside theopen door through which hot, bright sunlight streamed.
Several hens pecked assiduously at some crumbs, and Patty realizedthat it was the sound of their bills upon the wooden floor that hadawakened her. She succeeded after several painful attempts in pullingon her boots, and as she rose to her feet, Ma Watts thrust her head inat the door.
"Lawzie! Honey, did them hens wake yo' up? Sho'! ef I'd a thought o'thet, I'd o' fed 'em outside, an' yo' could of kep' on sleepin'. 'Theyain't nothin' like a good long sleep when yo' tired,' Watts says, an'he ort to know. He aims to build a house fer them hens when he gitstime. Yo' know where the worsh dish is, jest make yo'se'f to home,dinner'll be ready d'rec'ly." The feel of the cold water was gratefulas the girl dashed it over her face and hands from the little tinwash-basin on the bench beside the door. Watts sat with his chairresting upon its rear legs and its back against the shady west wall ofthe cabin.
"Mo'nin'," he greeted. "Hit's right hot; I be'n studyin' 'bout fixin'them thar arrigation ditches."
Patty smiled brightly. "All they need is cleaning out, isn't it?"
"Yas, mom. Thet an' riggin' up them flumes. But it's a right smart o'work, an' then the resevoy's busted, too. I be'n aimin' to fix 'emwhen I git time. They hain't had no water in 'em fer three year. Yo'see, two year ago hit looked like rain mos' every day. Hit didn't rainnone to speak, but hit kep' a body hatin' to start workin' fer fear itwould. An' las' year hit never looked like rain none, so hit wasn't nouse fixin' 'em. An' this year I don't know jest what to do, hit might,an' then agin hit mightn't. Drat thet sun! Here hit is dinner time.Seems like hit never lets a body set in one place long 'nough to studyout _whut_ he'd ort to do." Watts rose slowly to his feet, andpicking up his chair, walked deliberately around to the east side ofthe house, where he planted it with the precision born of longpractice in the exact spot that the shadow would be longest at theconclusion of the midday meal.
Patty entered the cabin and a few minutes later the sound of voicesreached her ears. Ma Watts hurried to the window.
"Well, if hit ain't Mr. Bethune an' Lord Clendenning! Ef you see oneyou know the other hain't fer off. Hain't he good lookin' though--Mr.Bethune? Lord hain't so much fer looks, but he's some high up nobilitylike over to England where he come from, only over yere they call 'emremittance men, an' they don't do nothin' much but ride around an'drink whisky, an' they git paid for hit, too. Folks says how Mr.Bethune's gran'ma wus a squaw, but I don't believe 'em. Anyways, Iallus like him. He's got manners, an' hit don't stan' to reason nobreed would have manners."
Patty could distinctly see the two riders as they lounged in theirsaddles. The larger, whose bulging blue eyes and drooping blondmustache gave him a peculiar walrus-like expression, she swept at aglance. The other was talking to Watts and the girl noted the slenderfigure with its almost feminine delicacy of mold, and the finelychiseled features dominated by eyes black as jet--eyes that glowedwith a velvety softness as he spoke.
"We have been looking over your upper pasture," he said. "A fellownamed Schmidt over in the Blackfoot country will be delivering somehorses across the line this summer and he wants to rent some pasturesat different points along the trail. How about it?"
Watts rubbed his beard uncertainly. "Them fences hain't hoss tight. Ibe'n studyin' 'bout fixin' 'em."
"Why don't you get at it?"
"Well they's the resevoy, an' the ditches----"
"Never mind the ditches. All that fence needs is a few posts and somestaples."
"My ax hain't fitten to chop with no mo', an' I druv over the spadean' bruk the handle. I hain't got no luck."
Reaching into his pocket, Bethune withdrew a gold piece which hetossed to Watts. "Maybe this will change your luck," he smiled. "Thefact is I want that pasture--or, rather, Schultz does."
"Thought yo' said Schmidt."
"Did I? Those kraut names all sound alike to me. But his name isSchultz. The point is, he'll pay you five dollars a month to hold thepasture, and five dollars for every day or night he uses it. That tenspot pays for the first two months. Better buy a new ax and spade andsome staples and get to work. The exercise will do you good, andSchultz may want to use that pasture in a couple of weeks or so."
"Well, I reckon I kin. Hit's powerful hot fer to work much, but that'sa sight o' money. As I wus sayin' to Mr. Sinclair's darter----"
"Sinclair's daughter! What do you mean? Is Sinclair back?"
Patty noted the sudden flash of the jet black eyes at the mention ofher father's name. It was as though a point of polished steel hadsplit their velvet softness. Yet there was no hostility in the glance;rather, it was a gleam of intense interest. The girl's own
interest inthe quarter-breed had been casual at most, hardly more than thataccorded by a passing glance until she had chanced to hear him referto the man in the Blackfoot country in one breath as Schmidt, and inthe next as Schultz. She wondered at that and so had remained standingbeside Mrs. Watts, screened from the outside by the morning-gloryvines that served as a curtain for the window. The trifling incidentof the changed name was forgotten in the speculation as to why herfather's return to the hill country should be a matter of evidentimport to this sagebrush cavalier. So intent had she become that shehardly noticed the cruel bluntness of Watts's reply.
"He's dead."
"Dead!"
"Yas, he died back East an' his darter's come."
"Does she know he made a strike?" Patty noted the look of eagernessthat accompanied the words.
"I do'no." Watts wagged his head slowly. "Mebbe so; mebbe not."
"Because, if she doesn't," Bethune hastened to add, "she should betold. Rod Sinclair was one of the best friends I had, and if he hasgone I'm right here to see that his daughter gets a square deal. Ofcourse if she has the location, she's all right." Patty wonderedwhether the man had purposely raised his voice, or was it herimagination?
Ma Watts had started for the door. "Come on out, honey, an' I'll makeyo' acquainted with Mr. Bethune. He wus a friend of yo' pa, an' Lordtoo." As she followed the woman to the door, the girl was conscious ofan indefinable feeling of distrust for the man. Somehow, his words hadnot rung true.
As the two women stepped from the house the horsemen swung from theirsaddles and stood with uncovered heads.
"This yere's Mr. Sinclair's darter, Mr. Bethune," beamed Ma Watts."An' I'd take hit proud ef yo'd all stay to dinner."
"Ah, Miss Sinclair, I am most happy to know you. Permit me to presentmy friend Lord Clendenning."
The Englishman bowed low. "The prefix is merely a euphonism MissSinclair. What you really behold in me is the decayed part of adecaying aristocracy."
Patty laughed. "My goodness, what frankness!"
"Come on, now, an' set by 'fore the vittles gits cold on us. Yere yo'Horatius Ezek'l an' David Golieth, yo' hay them hosses!"
"No, no! Really, Mrs. Watts, we must not presume on your hospitality.Important business demands our presence elsewhere."
"Lawzie, Mr. Bethune, there yo' go with them big words agin. Which Is'pose yo' mean yo' cain't stay. But they's a plenty, an' yo'welcome." Again Bethune declined and as the woman re-entered thehouse, he turned to the girl.
"I only just learned of your father's untimely death. Permit me toexpress my sincerest sympathy, and to assure you that if I can be ofservice to you in any way I am yours to command."
"Thank you," answered Patty, flushing slightly under the scrutiny ofthe black eyes. "I am here to locate my father's claim. I want to doit alone, but if I can't I shall certainly ask assistance of hisfriends."
"Exactly. But, my dear Miss Sinclair, let me warn you. There are menin these hills who suspected that your father made a strike, who wouldstop at nothing to wrest your secret from you." The girl nodded. "Isuppose so. But forewarned is forearmed, isn't it? I thank you."
"Thet Vil Holland wus by yeste'day," said Watts.
Bethune frowned. "What did he want?"
"Didn't want nothin'. Jest come a-ridin' by."
"I should think you'd had enough of him after the way he ran yoursheep man off."
Watts rubbed his beard. "Well, I do'no. The cattlemen pays me same asthat sheep man done. Vil Holland tended to that."
"That isn't the point. What right has Vil Holland and others of hisilk to tell you, or me, or anybody else who we shall, or shall notrent to? It is the principle of the thing. The running off of thosesheep was a lawless act, and the sooner lawlessness, as exemplified byVil Holland is stamped out of these hills, the better it will be forthe community. He better not try to bulldoze me." Bethune turned toPatty. "That Vil Holland is the man I had in mind, Miss Sinclair, whenI warned you to choose your friends wisely. He would stop at nothingto gain an end, even to posing as a friend of your father. In allprobability he will offer to assist you, but if you have any map ordescription of your father's location do not under any circumstancesshow it to him."
Patty smiled. "If any such paper exists I shall keep it to myself."
Bethune returned the smile. "Good-by," he said. "I shall look forwardto meeting you again. Shall you remain here?"
"I have made no plans," she answered, and as she watched the tworiders disappear down the creek trail her lips twisted into a smile."May pose as a friend of your father ... and probably will offer toassist you;" she repeated under her breath. "Well, Mr. Bethune, Ithank you again for the warning."
The Gold Girl Page 2
