Maw's Vacation: The Story of a Human Being in the Yellowstone

by Emerson Hough

  "Me arrested?" exclaimed Maw in sudden consternation. "What'll that mando to me?"

  "He'll fine you ten dollars and costs. If you had written it a littlebit larger it would have been twenty-five dollars and costs. Now getdown and rub it out before it sets, and do it quick, before the geyserplays again."

  And so Maw got down on her knees and rubbed out her first feeling ofidentity. And the commissioner fined her ten dollars and costs in duetime--for Maw was honest as the day and didn't try to evade thepunishment that she thought was hers.

  "I ought to have knew better," she said "me, a woman of my years. Idon't begretch the money, and I think the young man was right, and sowas the judge, and I'll never do it again. The commissioner said that Ilooked like a woman of sense. I always did have sense before. I think itmust be these mountains, or the moon, or something. I never felt thatway before."

  It was this young man who walked down to Maw's camp to take her number.It was there that he met Cynthy, and I am inclined to think that shetook his number at the time. Later on I often saw them walking together,past the great log hotel with its jazz architecture, and beyond thefringe of pine that separates the camp trippers from the O'Cleaves, wholive in the hotels. The young ranger was contrite about arresting Maw,but that latter was the first to exonerate him.

  "You only done right," said she. "I done what I knew was wrong. Now,Hattie, and you, Roweny, don't you let this spoil your trip none at all.It's once your Maw has allowed herself the privilege of being an oldfool, the first time in her life. I dunno but it was worth ten dollars,at that."

  And so I suppose we should let Cynthy and the young ranger go out intothe moonshine to learn how the algae grow, of how many different colors.Consider the algae of the geysers, how they grow. Solomon in all hisglory had nothing on the algae; and the Queen of Sheba nothing onCynthy.

  "--and The Queen of Sheba had nothing on Cynthy."--p.22.]

  Sometimes, even yet, Maw and I talk about the time she was fined tendollars for writing her name. "It might have been worse," said she tome. "When we was coming through some place a ways back we heard about aman there that was sentenced to be hung after he had been tried severaltimes. His friends done what they could with the governor, but it didn'tcome to nothing. So after a while his lawyer come in the jail, and hesays: 'Bill, I can't do nothing more for you. On next Monday morning atsix o'clock you've got to be hung by the neck until you're dead, and mayGod have mercy on your soul.' 'Well, all I can say,' says Bill, 'that'sa fine way to begin the week, ain't it now?'"

  The time she wrote her name upon the geyser will always remain the greatevent in Maw's life. When she makes down her bedquilt bed in the pinewoods, from which she can hear the music of the hotel orchestra when thenocturnal dance has begun, and can see the searchlight playing on thetowering pillar of Old Faithful, once more in its twenty-four dailyessays from the bowels of the mysterious earth shooting up into themysterious blackness of the night sky, Maw on her hands and knees saysto herself: "I'm glad my name ain't on that thing. It was too little togo with that, even if for a minute I felt like somebody."

  Speaking of the midnight and the music, sometimes I go over to the hotelto tread a measure with Stella O'Cleave, able for a moment to forgetStella's father in the opulent beauty of Stella herself. Her mother iswhat is called a fine figure of a woman, and so will Stella be some day.Sometimes, when we have left the dance floor to sit along the rail wherethe yellow cars will line up next morning to sweep Stella away within aday after she and her putties have come into my young life, I may saythat I find Stella O'Cleave not difficult to look upon. I always feel asense of Oriental luxury, as though I had bought a new rug, when Stellaturns on me the slumberous midnight of her eyes. I am enamored of thepiled black shadows of Stella's hair, even as displayed in the somewhatextreme cootie garages which, in the vernacular of the A. E. F.,indicate the presence of her ears. I admire the long sure lines whichher evidently expensive New York tailor has given to hers; they areamong the best I have seen in the park. I could wish that the heels onStella's French shoes were less than five inches high. I could wish thatshe did not wrap her putties, one from the inside out, and the otherfrom the outside in. But these are details. The splendor of her eyes,the ripe redness of her lips, the softness of her voice, combined, havedisposed me to forgive her all.

  "There are times," sighed Stella that evening, beneath the moon, as wesat against the log rail and listened to the jazz, "out here in thesemountains, when I feel as though I were a wild creature, like theseothers."

  "My dear," said I, "I can believe you. Your putties do look wild."

  "Listen," said she to me. "You do not get me."

  The sob of the saxophone came through the window near by, the froufrouof the dancers made a soft susurration faintly audible. I looked intoStella's dark eyes, at her clouded brow.

  "Come again, loved one," said I to her.

  "What I mean to say," she resumed, "is that there are times when I feelas though I did not care what I did or what became of me out here."

  My hand fell upon her slender fingers as they lay twitching in thetwilight.

  "Stella," I exclaimed, "lit-tel one, if that is the way you reallyfeel--or the way really you feel--or really the way you feel--why don'tyou go down to Jackson's Hole and try a congressional lunch?"

  Enough for Five More

  The spruce trees rustled amid their umbrageous boughs. The sob of thesaxophone still came through the window. I saw Stella tremble throughall her tall young body. A tear fell upon the floor and reboundedagainst one of the rustic posts.

  "No, No!" said she in sudden contrition, burying her face in both hershapely hands. "Say anything but that! I did not mean me hasty words. Myuncle is a congressman, and he has told me all."

  A silence fell between us. The sob of the saxophone, still doing jazz,came through the window. Once more I recalled the classic story--nodoubt you know it well. A musician one evening passed a hat among thedancers, after a number had been concluded.

  "Please, sir," said he to each, "would you give fifty cents to bury asaxophone player?" Then out spoke one jovial guest, to the clink of hisaccompanying coin: "Here's three dollars, friend. Bury six saxophoneplayers!"

  Absent-mindedly recalling this story I reached out my hand with afive-dollar bill in it, as I saw a quiet-looking gentleman passing bywith a hat in his hand.

  "Bury ten saxophone players," I hissed through my set lips. He turned tome mildly.

  "Excuse me sir," said he, "I am not an undertaker. I am only theSecretary of the Interior."

  Of course one will make mistakes. Still, under our form of governmentmethinks the Secretary of the Interior really is responsible for theexistence of saxophone players within the limits of the park.

  In common with Maw and others, I realized that in many ways the parkmight be better. It might be far more practicably administered. Thismorning I met a procession of fifty women, all in overalls, who alllooked precisely alike. Maw was at their head.

  "We're going over to the store to get a loaf of bread," said she, "and apicture of Old Faithful Geyser and a burnt-leather pillow. And lookithere, mister, here is a book I bought for Roweny to read. I can standfor most of it. But here it says that the geysers is run by hot water,and when they freeze up in the winter the men that live in the park cutthe ice and use it for foot warmers, it's so hot. That might be true,and then again it might not. If it ain't, why should they try to foolthe people?"

  I referred Maw to the superintendent of the park, with the explanationthat he has full control over all the natural objects, and that if anygeyser proves guilty of obnoxious conduct he is empowered to eject it.

  "I dunno but what that would be the best way to do," said she. "If theseplaces ain't fit to walk on, summer or winter neither one, somethingought to be done about it.

  "But lookit here," she went on, "if you want to see people busy, comedown to our camp, some sundown. There ain't that many mosquitoes in allIoway, and they call this place a natio
nal playground. It ain't no suchplace. And yet, when I go to the post office, store, or thesuperintendent's office, or the head clerk's house, or the curio storeto get some mosquito dope to rub on myself, they ain't got no mosquitodope; but for four dollars you can buy a lovely leather pillow with'Mother' on it. What do I want with a leather pillow with 'Mother' on itwhen mosquitoes are biting; or a picture of an Indian on one side of asheepskin; or bead bags; or moccasins that they say are made by theIndians? What I want is mosquito dope and bread; something practical.When you got a bite on your elbow you don't care a durn about a cardshowing a picture of Artist Point, and I am as good a Presbyterian asanybody. I say them stores ain't practical."

  Quite often when I stroll down to interview Maw and her family at theircamp I am able to obtain free expression of opinion on current matters.The other evening Paw was hammering at something which at first lookedlike a piece of stone.

  "It breaks right easy," said he. "I got this piece off the Angel CakeTerrace. Having so many in the car I have to cut down the weight. Butwhat I and Maw want," he said, "is a pair of them elk horns. If I canget a good pair I allow to paint them red and black, with gold round thelower ends. Maw and me think they'd look right good in the parlor."

  Old Stanley's Story

  They have visitors now and then, Paw and Maw, at their camp. The localold-timers seem to gravitate toward them. One evening I found old manStanley sitting on a log and talking to them in reminiscent mood abouthimself, his deeds and his dentition.

  "It looks to me like a fellow could work hard enough in three months tolast him the hull year," said old man Stanley. "Just last week the campfolks wanted me to go to work for them. I told them I wouldn't work fornobody but the Gover'ment, and only three months in the year at that.But they persuaded me to go to work for night watchman. I said allright, only I had to go down to Gardiner and get my teeth fixed. Theyasked me why I didn't go to Livingston. I told them some of my friendsdown to Gardiner had been pulling my teeth for me for six or eightyears, them having a good pair of forceps. Of course they break some,but take it one way with the other, them uppers of mine get along rightwell. So I goes down to them friends last week, and had some more teethpulled. They mostly get nearly all the pieces out. I've got four teethleft now, and that's enough for anybody. I sort of wish they'd track alittle better; but still, four teeth is enough for any reasonable man."

  Maw spoke to me in an aside: "I wisht I could believe everything I seeand hear," said she, _sotto voce_. "Now, here, this man and old TomNewcomb, they both tell me that them and old John Yancey, which is deadnow, was here so long ago they saw the water turned into YellowstoneRiver. Of course it may be true; but then again, sometimes I doubt thethings I hear."

  "The safest thing you could do is to doubt them geysers," interruptedher husband, who overheard her. "I was walking round on them just theother day, right where signs said 'Dangerous.' It didn't seem to methere was no danger at all, for nothing was happening. But one of themrangers come up to me and asked if I didn't see the sign. 'That's allright, brother,' says I. 'I've tried this place and it's all right.' Andright then she went off."

  "And you should have seen Paw come down off from there," commented hisspouse. "I didn't know he could run that fast, his time of life."

  "If they let me have my gun," said Paw, uncrossing one leg from theother, "I could mighty soon get me a pair of elk horns for myself. Butwhat can a fellow do when they tie his gun up, time he comes in thepark?"

  "You ain't maybe noticed that hole in the back end of our car,"explained Maw to me, pointing to an aperture in the curtain which lookedas though a cat had been thrown through it with claws extended. "Tellhim about it Paw."

  Spontaneous Eruption

  "Well, I dunno as it's much to tell," said that gentleman, somewhatcrestfallen. "This here old musket of mine is the hardest shooting gunin our country. I've kilt me a goose with it many a time, at a hundredyards. She's a Harper's Ferry musket that done good service in the CivilWar. She's been hanging in my room, loaded, for three or four years, Ireckon, and when I told the ranger man, coming in, that she was loadedhe says: 'You can't take no loaded gun through the park. We'll have toshoot her off before you can go in the park.' So we took old Suse roundbehind the house, and snaps six or eight caps on her, but she didn't gooff. Finally the ranger allowed that that gun was perfectly safe, andthey let me bring her on in, of course, having wired up the working end.

  "I think old Suse must have got some sort of examples from thesegeysers. I just throwed her in back of the car, on top of the bedclothes, pointing back behind where the girls was setting. All at once,several hours later, without no warning, she just erupted. There'ssomething eruptious in the air up here I guess."

  "And they do the funniest things," nodded Maw. "I was saying I thoughtthis park wasn't practical, but some ways I believe it is. For instance,they told me about how when they was making the new road from the LakeHotel over to the Canyon the engineer run the line in the winter time,and it run right over on top a grave, where a man was buried. There wasa headstone there, but the snow was so deep the engineer didn't see it.Come spring, the road crew graded the road right through, grave and all.When the superintendent heard of that he come down and complained aboutit.

  "'Now,' says he, 'you've gone built that expensive road right over thatfeller, and we've got to take him up and move him.' There was an Irishforeman that had run the road crew, and he reasons thoughtful for awhile, and then he says to the superintendent, says he: 'Why can't wejust move the headstone and leave him where he's at?' So they done that,and everybody is perfectly contented, his widow and all. What I don'tsee is why don't the yellow cars stop there and point out that for apoint of interest? But they don't. I believe I'll speak to thesuperintendent about that."

  As to the latter personage mentioned by my friends, one must search farto find a more long-suffering man. As a boy the superintendent was wild,and during a moment of unrestraint he slew his Sabbath-school teacherwhile yet a youth. The judge, in sentencing him, said that hanging wouldnot be severe enough, so he condemned him to a life as superintendent ofa national park--a sentence barely constitutional.

  The park superintendent is a study in natural history. During the openseason on superintendents, some three months in duration, he does notsleep at all. For one month after the first snowfall he digs a holebeneath a rock, somewhere above timberline, and falls into a torpor,using no food for thirty days. Then he goes to Washington to meet theDirector of Parks, after which he gets no more sleep until next fall. Itis this perpetual insomnia which gives a park superintendent his hauntedlook. He knows he ought not to have killed his teacher, so he suffers insilence.

  When the superintendent comes down to his office in the morning Maw issitting on the front steps, sixty thousand of her. She has not got thatletter with the money in it yet; and it's such things as that whichkeeps people away from the parks. And what has become of her dog? He wasright in the car last night and he never harmed nobody in his life andwouldn't bite nobody's bears if left alone. And what can folks do whenit rains this way and the roads so slippy? And about that man on thetruck that sassed us the other day? And about the price of gas--how canfolks afford it even if they only need two gallons to get to therailroad? And if I couldn't make better soup than they serve at thecamps I'd resign from the church. And how far is it to Norris GeyserBasin and why do they call it a basin and who was Mr. Norris and do theyname all the things after people and why not name something afterCongressman Smith or the editor of some Montana paper and what's thereason people have to pay to ride in the parks anyways and why can't webottle Apollinaris Spring and would some salts help the Iron Spring andwhat makes the pelican's mouth so funny that way and do they eat fishand is there any swans on Swan Lake Flats and which way is the garageand is there church on Sundays and who preaches and why don't they havea Presbyterian and is that map up to date and are you a married man andhow many people does it take to run the park and how much do the hotelsmake and why i
s the owner of the camps always in such a hurry to getaway when you want to talk with him and who is the man who drives thesprinkler wagon with specs and can you get pictures cheaper if you takesay a dozen and why can't everybody sell pictures and run hotels--wecould take them right with our Kapoks anyways--and is there a placewhere you can get some writing paper and an envelope and do you writeall your own letters yourself but of course how could a stenographerstand the altitude? Why, I get out of breath sometimes.

  His Busy Day

  I think Maw, sixty thousand of her, does sometimes get out of breath,but not often and not for long. The superintendent, contrite because ofhis past, is patient when he replies.

  "Dear madam," he begins, the tips of his fingers together as he sitsback in his chair, "your inquiry regarding this national park is noted,and in reply I beg to state that I will answer all your questions afterI have told the rangers where to let the hotels cut wood and where torun their milk herd and how to feed the hay crews and where to send theroad crews and where to have the gravel crews sleep and where to getfour more good trucks and two more garage men and a steno and a new manon the files and look after the Appropriations Committee and write myannual report to the Secretary of the Interior and my weekly report tothe Director of the Parks and my daily report for the records and mypersonal correspondence and see where the automobile blanks all havegone and get the daily total of visitors classified and find a new sitefor a camp and lay out twelve miles of new road and have the garbagemoved and get the elk counted again and the antelope estimated and stopthe sale of elk teeth and investigate the reasons why the bears don'tcome in and look at a sick lady at the Fountain and wire the Shrinersthat I will meet them at the train and write Congressman Jones that histrip is all arranged for and pick out a camp site for the director'sChicago friends and make my daily drive of five hundred miles round thepark to see if they haven't carried off the mountains and tell theUnited States commissioner to soak that party who wrote six names on theCastle Geyser and get in oats for the road teams and take up thetopographic maps with the U. S. engineers and send some photos to twelvemagazines and arrange for the last movie man to photograph the bearsand see about some colored prints of Old Faithful and have the bridalchambers of the hotel renovated for the party of New York editors andget a new collar for my wife's dog, and explain why there are so manymosquitoes this year even under a Republican Administration--and a lotmore things that are on the daily tickler pad. Then I have to keep mypersonal books and write my longhand letters until after midnight andread up some more of the geology of the park and the times ofintermission for the geysers and the altitudes of all the peaks andlearn the personal names of all the geysers and woodchucks and----"