Bret Harte
A First Family of Tasajara
CHAPTER I
It blows, said Joe Wingate.
As if to accent the words of the speaker a heavy gust of wind at that moment shook the long light wooden structure which served as the general store of Sidon settlement, in Contra Costa. Even after it had passed a prolonged whistle came through the keyhole, sides, and openings of the closed glass front doors, that served equally for windows, and filled the canvas ceiling which hid the roof above like a bellying sail. A wave of enthusiastic emotion seemed to be communicated to a line of straw hats and sou-westers suspended from a cross-beam, and swung them with every appearance of festive rejoicing, while a few dusters, overcoats, and hickory shirts hanging on the side walls exhibited such marked though idiotic animation that it had the effect of a satirical comment on the lazy, purposeless figures of the four living inmates of the store.
Ned Billings momentarily raised his head and shoulders depressed in the back of his wooden armchair, glanced wearily around, said, You bet, its no slouch of a storm, and then lapsed again with further extended legs and an added sense of comfort.
Here the third figure, which had been leaning listlessly against the shelves, putting aside the arm of a swaying overcoat that seemed to be emptily embracing him, walked slowly from behind the counter to the door, examined its fastenings, and gazed at the prospect. He was the owner of the store, and the view was a familiar one,a long stretch of treeless waste before him meeting an equal stretch of dreary sky above, and night hovering somewhere between the two. This was indicated by splashes of darker shadow as if washed in with india ink, and a lighter low-lying streak that might have been the horizon, but was not. To the right, on a line with the front door of the store, were several scattered, widely dispersed objects, that, although vague in outline, were rigid enough in angles to suggest sheds or barns, but certainly not trees.
Theres a heap more wet to come afore the wind goes down, he said, glancing at the sky. Hark to that, now!
They listened lazily. There was a faint murmur from the shingles above; then suddenly the whole window was filmed and blurred as if the entire prospect had been wiped out with a damp sponge. The man turned listlessly away.
Thats the kind that soaks in; thar wont be much teamin over Tasajara for the next two weeks, I reckon, said the fourth lounger, who, seated on a high barrel, was nibblingalbeit critically and fastidiouslybiscuits and dried apples alternately from open boxes on the counter. Its lucky youve got in your winter stock, Harkutt.
The shrewd eyes of Mr. Harkutt, proprietor, glanced at the occupation of the speaker as if even his foresight might have its possible drawbacks, but he said nothing.
Therell be no show for Sidon until youve got a wagon road from here to the creek, said Billings languidly, from the depths of his chair. But whats the use o talkin? Thar aint energy enough in all Tasajara to build it. A God-forsaken place, that two months of the year can only be reached by a mail-rider once a week, dont look ez if it was goin to break its back haulin in goods and settlers. I tell ye what, gentlemen, it makes me sick! And apparently it had enfeebled him to the extent of interfering with his aim in that expectoration of disgust against the stove with which he concluded his sentence.
Why dont YOU build it? asked Wingate, carelessly.
I wouldnt on principle, said Billings. Its govment work. What did we whoop up things here last spring to elect Kennedy to the legislation for? What did I rig up my shed and a thousand feet of lumber for benches at the barbecue for? Why, to get Kennedy elected and make him get a bill passed for the road! Thats MY share of building it, if it comes to that. And I only wish some folks, that blow enough about what oughter be done to bulge out that ceiling, would only do as much as I have done for Sidon.
As this remark seemed to have a personal as well as local application, the storekeeper diplomatically turned it. Theres a good many as DONT believe that a road from here to the creek is going to do any good to Sidon. Its very well to say the creek is an embarcadero, but callin it so dont put anough water into it to float a steamboat from the bay, nor clear out the reeds and tules in it. Even if the State builds you roads, it aint got no call to make Tasajara Creek navigable for ye; and as that will cost as much as the road, I dont see where the moneys comin from for both.
Theres water enough in front of Lige Curtiss shanty, and his location is only a mile along the bank, returned Billings.
Water enough for him to laze away his time fishin when hes sober, and deep enough to drown him when hes drunk, said Wingate. If you call that an embarcadero, you kin buy it any day from Lige,title, possession, and shanty thrown in,for a demijohn o whiskey.
The fourth man here distastefully threw back a half-nibbled biscuit into the box, and languidly slipped from the barrel to the floor, fastidiously flicking the crumbs from his clothes as he did so. I reckon somebodyll get it for nothing, if Lige dont pull up mighty soon. Hell either go off his head with jim-jams or jump into the creek. Hes about as near desprit as they make em, and havin no partner to look after him, and him alone in the tules, ther s no tellin WHAT he may do.
Billings, stretched at full length in his chair, here gurgled derisively. Desprit!ketch him! Why, thats his little game! Hes jist playin off his desprit condition to frighten Sidon. Whenever any one asks him why he dont go to work, whenever hes hard up for a drink, whenever hes had too much or too little, hes workin that desprit dodge, and even talkin o killin himself! Why, look here, he continued, momentarily raising himself to a sitting posture in his disgust, it was only last week he was over at Rawletts trying to raise provisions and whiskey outer his water rights on the creek! Fact, sir,had it all written down lawyer-like on paper. Rawlett didnt exactly see it in that light, and told him so. Then he up with the desprit dodge and began to work that. Said if he had to starve in a swamp like a dog he might as well kill himself at once, and would too if he could afford the weppins. Johnson said it was not a bad idea, and offered to lend him his revolver; Bilson handed up his shot-gun, and left it alongside of him, and turned his head away considerate-like and thoughtful while Rawlett handed him a box of rat pizon over the counter, in case he preferred suthin more quiet. Well, what did Lige do? Nothin! Smiled kinder sickly, looked sorter wild, and shut up. He didnt suicide much. No, sir! He didnt kill himself,not he. Why, old Bixbyand hes a deacon in good standinallowed, in Liges hearin and for Liges benefit, that self-destruction was better nor bad example, and proved it by Scripture too. And yet Lige did nothin! Desprit! Hes only desprit to laze around and fish all day off a log in the tules, and soak up with whiskey, until, betwixt fever an ague and the jumps, he kinder shakes hisself free o responsibility.
A long silence followed; it was somehow felt that the subject was incongruously exciting; Billings allowed himself to lapse again behind the back of his chair. Meantime it had grown so dark that the dull glow of the stove was beginning to outline a faint halo on the ceiling even while it plunged the further lines of shelves behind the counter into greater obscurity.
Time to light up, Harkutt, aint it? said Wingate, tentatively.
Well, I was reckoning ez its such a wild night there wouldnt be any use keepin open, and when you fellows left Id just shut up for good and make things fast, said Harkutt, dubiously. Before his guests had time to fully weigh this delicate hint, another gust of wind shook the tenement, and even forced the unbolted upper part of the door to yield far enough to admit an eager current of humid air that seemed to justify the wisdom of Harkutts suggestion. Billings slowly and with a sigh assumed a sitting posture in the chair. The biscuit-nibbler selected a fresh dainty from the counter, and Wingate abstractedly walked to the window and rubbed the glass. Sky and water had already disappeared behind a curtain of darkness that was illuminated by a single point of lightthe lamp in the window of some invisible but nearer housewhich threw its rays across the glistening shallows in the road. Well, said Wingate, buttoning up his coat in slow dejection, I reckon I oughter be travelin to help the old woman do the chores before supper. He had just recognized the light in his own dining-room, and knew by that sign that his long-waiting helpmeet had finally done the chores herself.
Some folks have it mighty easy, said Billings, with long-drawn discontent, as he struggled to his feet. Youve only a step to go, and yers me and Peters thereindicating the biscuit-nibbler, who was beginning to show alarming signs of returning to the barrel againhev got to trapse five times that distance.
Moren half a mile, if it comes to that, said Peters, gloomily. He paused in putting on his overcoat as if thinking better of it, while even the more fortunate and contiguous Wingate languidly lapsed against the counter again.
The moment was a critical one. Billings was evidently also regretfully eying the chair he had just quitted. Harkutt resolved on a heroic effort.
Come, boys, he said, with brisk conviviality, take a parting drink with me before you go. Producing a black bottle from some obscurity beneath the counter that smelt strongly of india-rubber boots, he placed it with four glasses before his guests. Each made a feint of holding his glass against the opaque window while filling it, although nothing could be seen. A sudden tumult of wind and rain again shook the building, but even after it had passed the glass door still rattled violently.
Just see whats loose, Peters, said Billings; youre nearest it.
Peters, still holding the undrained glass in his hand, walked slowly towards it.
Its suthinor somebody outside, he said, hesitatingly.
The three others came eagerly to his side. Through the glass, clouded from within by their breath, and filmed from without by the rain, some vague object was moving, and what seemed to be a mop of tangled hair was apparently brushing against the pane. The door shook again, but less strongly. Billings pressed his face against the glass. Hol on, he said in a quick whisper,its Lige! But it was too late. Harkutt had already drawn the lower bolt, and a man stumbled from the outer obscurity into the darker room.
The inmates drew away as he leaned back for a moment against the door that closed behind him. Then dimly, but instinctively, discerning the glass of liquor which Wingate still mechanically held in his hand, he reached forward eagerly, took it from Wingates surprised and unresisting fingers, and drained it at a gulp. The four men laughed vaguely, but not as cheerfully as they might.
I was just shutting up, began Harkutt, dubiously.
I wont keep you a minit, said the intruder, nervously fumbling in the breast pocket of his hickory shirt. Its a matter of businessHarkuttIBut he was obliged to stop here to wipe his face and forehead with the ends of a loose handkerchief tied round his throat. From the action, and what could be seen of his pale, exhausted face, it was evident that the moisture upon it was beads of perspiration, and not the rain which some abnormal heat of his body was converting into vapor from his sodden garments as he stood there.
Ive got a document here, he began again, producing a roll of paper tremblingly from his pocket, that Id like you to glance over, and perhaps youdHis voice, which had been feverishly exalted, here broke and rattled with a cough.
Billings, Wingate, and Peters fell apart and looked out of the window. Its too dark to read anything now, Lige, said Harkutt, with evasive good humor, and I aint lightin up to-night.
But I can tell you the substance of it, said the man, with a faintness that however had all the distinctness of a whisper, if youll just step inside a minute. Its a matter of importance and a bargain
I reckon we must be goin, said Billings to the others, with marked emphasis. Were keepin Harkutt from shuttin up. Good-night! Good-night! added Peters and Wingate, ostentatiously following Billings hurriedly through the door. So long!
The door closed behind them, leaving Harkutt alone with his importunate intruder. Possibly his resentment at his customers selfish abandonment of him at this moment developed a vague spirit of opposition to them and mitigated his feeling towards Lige. He groped his way to the counter, struck a match, and lit a candle. Its feeble rays faintly illuminated the pale, drawn face of the applicant, set in a tangle of wet, unkempt, party-colored hair. It was not the face of an ordinary drunkard; although tremulous and sensitive from some artificial excitement, there was no ENGORGEMENT or congestion in the features or complexion, albeit they were morbid and unhealthy. The expression was of a suffering that was as much mental as physical, and yet in some vague way appeared unmeaningand unheroic.
I want to see you about selling my place on the creek. I want you to take it off my hands for a bargain. I want to get quit of it, at once, for just enough to take me out o this. I dont want any profit; only money enough to get away. His utterance, which had a certain kind of cultivation, here grew thick and harsh again, and he looked eagerly at the bottle which stood on the counter.
Look here, Lige, said Harkutt, not unkindly. Its too late to do anythin tonight. You come in to-morrow. He would have added when youre sober, but for a traders sense of politeness to a possible customer, and probably some doubt of the mans actual condition.
God knows where or what I may be tomorrow! It would kill me to go back and spend another night as the last, if I dont kill myself on the way to do it.
Harkutts face darkened grimly. It was indeed as Billings had said. The pitiable weakness of the mans manner not only made his desperation inadequate and ineffective, but even lent it all the cheapness of acting. And, as if to accent his simulation of a part, his fingers, feebly groping in his shirt bosom, slipped aimlessly and helplessly from the shining handle of a pistol in his pocket to wander hesitatingly towards the bottle on the counter.
Harkutt took the bottle, poured out a glass of the liquor, and pushed it before his companion, who drank it eagerly. Whether it gave him more confidence, or his attention was no longer diverted, he went on more collectedly and cheerfully, and with no trace of his previous desperation in his manner. Come, Harkutt, buy my place. Its a bargain, I tell you. Ill sell it cheap. I only want enough to get away with. Give me twenty-five dollars and its yours. See, theres the papersthe quitclaimall drawn up and signed. He drew the roll of paper from his pocket again, apparently forgetful of the adjacent weapon.