CHAPTER XII
SKINNERS FROM FRISCO
Back at Palada, Jerkline Jo began hunting up the expert skinners whohad pulled the long sash-cord lines for her foster father, and who haddrifted to parts unknown since the completion of the paved road thathad virtually put Pickhandle Modock out of the running. The world hasnot an oversupply of expert jerkline skinners, and the plucky girl'schances for success depended in great part on obtaining good men tohandle her teams. She was able to trace some of the men, and her offerto pay their expenses to Palada brought replies favorable to theproject in each case. For jerkline jobs are scarce these days, and ajerkline skinner would rather follow his calling than do any other sortof work.
The blacksmith, horseshoer, and wagoner, Carter Potts, was still inPalada, and wished for nothing better than to serve the girl. They haddecided to reopen the shop at Julia, and for his devotion Jo promisedhim a generous per cent of any profits which might accrue from workaside from the care of the immense wagons and shoeing the teams. Thisin addition to his monthly salary of a hundred dollars and board.
From Oregon now came "Blink" Keddie, who had driven teams forPickhandle Modock since long before the old railroader had settled atPalada. Tom Gulick came from Utah, where he had been working on acattle ranch. Heine Schultz and Jim McAllen came from remote regionsin the northern lumber woods. But of Ed Hopkins, the prince of muleskinners, and Harry Powell the girl could get no trace.
With the dependable force that she had mustered, however, she took thestock from pasture, broke even on a job to a desert town to the west inorder to put the teams in shape, and then made ready for thehundred-and-fifty-mile trip to Julia. She had written Mr. Demarest andasked him to advertise for two good jerkline skinners to be shippedwith the first draft of laborers he would get from San Francisco. Shehad small hopes of obtaining good skinners by this method, but no othercourse presented itself.
Two days before the start for Julia came a wire from the San Franciscooffice of Demarest, Spruce & Tillou. It read:
Employment office notifies two jerkline skinners applied re advertisement in paper and have been forwarded Palada. Arrive day after to-morrow.
Jo showed the telegram to Heine Schultz when she went to the corralsthis morning.
"I'll bet you get a couple o' peaches, Jo," he laughed. "Why, anytramp's likely to go to an employment office and say he's anything theywant him to be, just to get on the job. And maybe, even, he'll ditchthe train before he reaches the job. Just wanted the trip, you know."
Jo's broad, smooth brow puckered. "I do hope that will not prove thecase," she said. "Jerkline skinners are so hard to get, particularlyin this country. Every man who has ever driven a horse or mule seemsto imagine he can drive jerkline, but you know and I know that it takesknack and years of practice. But I'm hoping that because these twoapplied for this particular job they're all right. If they merelywished to get free transportation out of San Francisco, it was notnecessary for them to apply as jerkies. They could as easily havearranged to be shipped as plain skinners, or rock men, or muckers."
"I'll bet you draw a prize, all right," Heine chuckled disconcertingly.
Jerkline Jo postponed the start a day, and awaited the coming of theapplicants.
As the local passenger train from Los Angeles whistled for Palada, Mr.Orr Tweet roused himself from his seat in the smoker and slapped themuscle-corded thigh of the disconsolate Hiram Hooker.
"She blows, Hiram, old boy!" cried Mr. Tweet. "Fame and fortune awaitus just ahead. She slows! She creeps! Palada opens her arms to us!Perk up, Hiram! The girl wasn't your kind, my boy. You'd have steppedall over her little feet, and she'd got a divorce and alimony on thegrounds o' cruelty."
Hiram Hooker sighed and stretched his columnar arms. For a moment ortwo the new prospects that loomed kept his mind busy, then his thoughtsreverted to Lucy Dalles, and gloom claimed him once more.
"Don't talk like that, Playmate," he said. "You don't understand. Iloved the girl."
"Prune juice! She'd 'a' made a regular sucker outa you. Good thing Igot you away. A big mountain o' blood and bone like you fallin' for adash o' cake frosting like that little hasher. Hiram, you've got aman's body and a man's brains, and I like you better the more I see ofyou. If you're goin' to weep over a woman, weep over a regular woman,boy--a man's woman. There! Look out the window. See that straight,strong, black-headed desert girl in chaps and a Stetson? Look at thebrown of her! Look at her stride! Queen o' the earth, hey? That'sthe kind of a woman for a man with the body of an elephant and theimagination of a poet, like you've got. There's a girl worth sighin'for, only she wears leather chaps! Well, out we go. Palada for atoehold on the ladder o' fame and fortune!"
The train had squeaked to a stop, and the effervescent Mr. Tweet andhis huge companion descended the steps to the sunny platform. Thebusinesslike Mr. Tweet buttonholed the first villager he met, andinformed him:
"We're lookin' for a party called Jerkline Jo--a lady with a far-flungreputation. Can you steer us to her rendezvous, my friend?"
The man stared at him a moment, then jerked his thumb over his shoulder.
"There's Jo over there," he said. "She's lookin' for ye, I reckon.That pretty girl in the chaps."
"Her!" gasped Mr. Tweet. "Lordy! And I was just eulogizin' herthrough the window o' the coach. I saw her first--Hiram--I saw herfirst!"
Next second Mr. Tweet was before Jerkline Jo, lifting his hat andbowing politely. Behind him, Hiram Hooker stood awkwardly looking atthe girl he had traveled six hundred miles to work for.
"Madam," said his companion, "if you are Jerkline Jo, permit me tointroduce myself and my friend. I am Mr. Tweet--PlaymateTweet--Twitter-or-Tweet Orr Tweet. My friend and companion in arms isHiram Hooker, from the virgin forests of Wild-cat Hill. I hope we findyou well, and a look into your face tells me that I never hoped for asurer thing in my life. Madam, when you know me better, you will learnthat I am not fresh, merely bubbling over with the joy of existence."
For a little Jerkline Jo gazed at him, then burst into ringinglaughter. "Well, if you can drive jerkline," she said, "there's nodoubt but that you will be a pleasant addition to our little family.I'm happy to meet you, Mr.----"
"Playmate Tweet--Twitter-or-Tweet Orr Tweet."
"_What_?"
"Orr Tweet--Twitter-or-Tweet Orr Tweet," patiently repeated Mr. Tweet.
"Are you trying to be funny?" The dark eyes narrowed dangerously.
"I am funny," corrected Mr. Tweet. "I can't help it. Allow me toexplain: My last name, unfortunately, is Tweet. Tweet is thewell-known conversational effort of a bird, and also 'Twitter,' if weare to believe the bird lovers. Therefore, I am ruthlessly calledTwitter at times by my friends, and more often Twitter-or-Tweet. Orris my first name. Orr Tweet. Suppose, for instance, my name happenedto be Jim Brown, and I had been given the nickname of Blister. Then Iwould be called Blister Jim Brown, or Blister Brown. But my name isOrr Tweet, and my nickname is Twitter-or-Tweet. Therefore, I amTwitter-or-Tweet Orr Tweet, or Twitter-or-Tweet Tweet. You've heardthe story of the lady who asked the ticket agent for 'Two to Duluth,'haven't you? He thought she was flirting with him, and came back with'Tweedle-de-dee;' whereupon she slapped him. So far I have escapedsuch consequences when telling people my name. But if, when asked, Ireply 'Orr Tweet,' they say 'What or Tweet?' Then if I reply'Twitter-or-Tweet _Orr_ Tweet,' they look at me as if they thought Iwas trying to kid 'em. So I begin my explanation by giving them mynickname, or monaker, 'Playmate,' and follow it with my second monaker,'Twitter-or-Tweet,' as I am frequently called, or Twitter-or-Tweet OrrTweet, or Twitter-or-Tweet Tweet. It's very simple."
Jerkline Jo laughed again at the end of this seemingly nonsensicalharangue, and fixed her dark eyes on Hiram Hooker. The giant stoodstaring at her, and not a thought of Lucy Dalles was in his mind now.His blue eyes caught her dark ones, and his glance was lowered inconfusion. Womanlike, Jerkline Jo took him in at a g
lance, andsomething within her responded to the appeal that his handsome manhoodmade to femininity.
"What a godlike physique!" she thought.
Then impulsively she stepped forward and extended her hand.
"I'm glad you've come, Mr. Hooker," she said. "And I do hope you arereally a jerkline skinner."
"And how 'bout me?" complained Mr. Tweet.
"I beg your pardon," said the girl, biting her lip. "What a stupidthing for me to say! But really--well, Mr. Hooker does look more likean outdoors man than you do, Mr. Tweet. I didn't mean to discriminatebetween you in my offer of welcome, though. Mr. Hooker, _are_ you ajerkline skinner?"
For the first time Hiram's soft voice began to drawl. "Yes, ma'am," hetold her earnestly. "I've driven jerkline since I was knee-high to aduck--eight and ten and twelve, and even sixteen, ma'am. I reckon Ican make 'em pull, no matter how far out you hook 'em on."
"Where have you worked?"
"At home, ma'am--in the big timber o' Mendocino County--haulin' tanbarkand ties and shakes and posts over the mountains to the lumber steamerson the coast."
"Do you love horses and mules?" she queried eagerly.
"I love everything that breathes, I reckon, ma'am," he told her softly."I kill nothin' that lives, except rattlesnakes, unless I need themeat. Then sometimes I don't kill."
Jerkline Jo's dark eyes glowed. She turned to Mr. Tweet.
"And you?" she asked.
"Madam," he replied, "I came down here under false pretenses, but nowI'll make a clean breast o' my treachery. I was broke; I had to getout o' Frisco and get a toehold somewhere. But after seein' you, Ican't try to put one over on you. Couldn't if I wanted to try, Iguess. I am not a jerkline skinner, but I love animals. I am one ofthose confident persons who will try anything once--even twice. Thethings I have done, and was told I could not do, are legion. If youwill give me a trial for my inseparable friend's sake, I have no doubtat all but that in the course of a short time your mules will refuse tolift a foot unless I am behind 'em with my persuasive voice. In otherwords, Miss Jo, I am yours to command."
She smiled, a finger to her lips. "Well, come over to the corrals,both of you," she said, "and we'll see what we can do. I simply musthave Mr. Hooker. So if you two are inseparable, why----" She paused.
"I understand," Tweet put in. "All women are that way, once they'resubjected to Hooker's spell. I simply can't get it myself, but it's afact."
Jerkline Jo blushed furiously. She who had withstood the ordeal of ahundred proposals, she who had been raised where men were continuallytwitting her about some man who was yearning to bestow his affectionsupon her, was blushing at Tweet's harmless suggestions.
The She Boss: A Western Story Page 12
