The Wrong Woman (16 page)

Eventually, as oxen always do, they arrived. Having navigated them up to the
kitchen door and brought them to a stop with a stentorian
Wo
, he unhooked
the wheelers, dropped the chain from each yoke, and turned them loose to graze
or lie down as each pair might decide; then he went around the corner of the
house and set to work making a fire in the stove. It was an outdoor stove of the
locomotive variety, having two large iron wheels upon which it had traveled
thousands of miles in the service of the J. W. Cattle Company. Mr. Hicks had
fastened its tongue or handle to a staple in the chimney of the house, for which
chimney it had no use, having a smoke-stack of its own.

When the stove was belching forth smoke he turned his attention to the inside
of the house. Presently he came out with a pan of flour and various kitchen
utensils which he placed on a bench beside the door; then he drew a bucket of
water and proceeded to mix pancake batter. He had not accomplished much when he
was interrupted. Just when the batter was mixed to the right consistency, and
the first spoonful was ready to go on, a little girl appeared. She had a pie
which she bore before her with a look of great responsibility.

"Ma says maybe you would like to have a pie."

"Why, how do, Susie. How 's Susie getting along these days?"

"Real well," replied Susan, holding the pie up higher.

Mr. Hicks bent his tall Texas form in the middle and took it from her. The
pie had the outlines of a star in its centre by way of a vent-hole; the edges
were nicely crimped.

"It's a mighty good-looking pie. What does that stand for, Susie?" he asked,
holding the pie up so that she could view its face and placing his finger upon
its centre.

"That stands for Texas," answered Susan promptly.

Mr. Hicks put the pie on the bench and sat down beside it with his elbows on
his knees.

Something like a smile betrayed itself in the lean muscles of his jaw and
showed somehow around his large aggressive chin.

"How does it come that you did n't go to school to-day, Susie?" He pointed to
the white frame school-house which occupied a corner of his place.

"'Cause," answered Susan, by way of complete explanation.

"That's a mighty good reason. If I had an excuse like that I would n't go to
school myself. How's your ma? Is she well?"

"Yes, sir. Only she had a kinda headache this morning, and I wiped the
dishes."

"You did? How did you know so quick that I was back? Were you watching for me
so that you could bring over the pie?"

"Oh!" exclaimed Susan, "we heard you coming. We could hear you saying bad
words when you was 'way up the road."

A change suddenly came over the spirit of Mr. Hicks's physiognomy. He sat
stroking his wide-spreading moustache. Jonas Hicks had a self-made moustache
which seemed to have borrowed its style from the horns of a Texas steer. It
might be said that, for the moment, he looked serious; but you could never tell
from his face exactly what his emotions were. It was against his principles to
be caught laughing, and yet his solemnity was somewhat radiant despite him.

Suddenly he rose and went into the house. In a little while he reappeared
carrying a milk-pan filled with comb-honey. It was white honey which the bees
had deposited in his useless chimney; the sirup filled the pan almost to its
edge, while the middle was piled high with oozing chunks of comb. He placed it
on the bench beside him. The eyes of Susan opened wide as she saw this sight. He
talked about one thing and another and asked her many inconsequential questions.
After much tantalizing talk on Mr. Hicks's part, she learned that the honey was
for her and that she was to take it all home with her.

Susan was for starting home at once.

"What' s your hurry, Susie? Won't you stay a while and have a piece of pie?"

"I 'd rather I 'd have a pancake," said Susan, looking furtively at the
smoking griddle.

He rose at once and put on a large spoonful of batter. When the cake was
ready to turn, he caused it to turn a somersault with a quick toss of the
griddle; then he spread it evenly with honey and rolled it into the form of a
cylinder with the honey inside.

"There, now, Susie. That's what I call a joof-lickum
tamale
. It's
pancake
de la verandah
. Watch out that you don't burn your fingers."

He set the griddle temporarily aside and sat down again. While Susan ate, she
leaned across his tall knee and looked up at him admiringly.

"I like your pancakes," she volunteered. "Your pancakes has got fringe on
them."

Mr. Hicks's countenance took on more of an expression around the eyes; he
regarded her with deep interest.

"All the boys at school like your pancakes, too," she continued. "They are
coming over some other recess when you are home, and you can make them all a
pancake again. Will you put honey on their pancakes?"

"For boys!" exclaimed Susan's heroine in great surprise. "No honey for boys.
Honey is only for girls."

"And mas too," added Susan. "Ain't honey for mas too?"

"Does n't your ma make them with fringe on?" inquired Jonas, in hope of
making a new start.

Susan vouchsafed no reply. The subject stood in abeyance while she feasted
and took thought. Presently her attention rested upon the griddle. On it there
was a diminutive pancake which had made itself from the drippings of an
overgenerous spoonful.

"I like little pancakes too," she hinted.

Jonas took it off and presented it to her.

"There, Susie. When you go home you can give that to your dollie."

Susan's eyes seemed to expand as she turned them up to Mr. Hicks, the source
of supernal illumination. If the pancake had seemed desirable, this wonderful
idea
was ten times as much of a present. Her bliss grew visibly deeper as
she looked first at the pancake and then at the resourceful Mr. Hicks. She was
so completely won that she consented to sit on his knee. There she resumed her
tamale
in the intervals of conversation.

"Mr. Hicks. How did the bees come to go down your chimbly?"

"'Cause," replied Mr. Hicks.

"Oh,
Mister
Hickstell me
why
the bees went down your chimbly.
I want to know why."

"I guess they thought it was an old hollow tree."

"Do you think maybe they would think our chimbly was an old hollow tree? Oh,
I wish they would come down our chimbly."

"Oh, they would n't come down your chimney. That would n't do at all."

"Why would n't they, Mr. Hicks?"

"'Cause," answered Jonas, still pretending to be taciturn and mysterious.

"Oh, Mister
Hicks
.
Please
don't talk that way. Tell me why."

"Because," explained Mr. Hicks, "bees would know better than that. If they
came and stopped your chimney all up with honey, how would Santa Claus ever get
down? Who gave you the dolly?"

"Santa Claus."

"Well, don't you see if the chimney was all full of honey he would get it all
over his clothes? And all over
her
clothes? And besides, he would get his
whiskers all chock-full of honey. How would you like to have your curls all full
of molasses?"

As he made this remark he lifted a curl and contemplated it, the truth being
that he was not nearly so much interested in the honey as in her hair. He made
these remarks simply by way of sticking to the subject. Susan, conscious of her
curls, gave her head a toss which sent them flying about her face, one side and
then the other; then she took another bite and returned to her speculations.

"Did the bees know that you haven't got any little girl?"

Mr. Hicks was inclined to sanction the idea that the bees had this view of
the uselessness of his chimney. The subject of his girllessness leading on to
another case of "why," he fell back promptly upon the hollow tree theory pure
and simple; the which he took pains to establish by stories of trees filled with
honey and of terrible big bears that lived in the trees and ate the honey. He
was going on to consider the advantages of living in a hollow treewith a good
strong door to itwhen a new game offered itself.

Leaning forward and turning his head to see how the stove was doing, the end
of his long moustache stroked Susan under the chin and drew a fine trail of
titillation across her throat. To the surprise of the owner of the "whiskers,"
she clapped her chin to her shoulder and shrank from the excruciating touch.
Before long Mr. Hicks had occasion to turn his head to the other side. This time
it tickled even more and Susan had to giggle. After that a surprising number of
things, of all imaginable sorts, demanded his attention on one side or the
other, and every time the moustache acted in the same manner, much to the
surprise of the innocent Mr. Hicks. As soon as that beard developed its full
powers of tickling, it took effect wherever it touched, and Susan had to protect
herself by grabbing the moustache and pushing Mr. Hicks's face, which face
seemed able to stand any amount of rough usage. When finally his every move
produced such paroxysms of laughter that she could stand it no longer, Susan
squirmed out of his arms. Then, with sudden seriousness, she picked up the
doll's pancake which had fallen from her hand. Their visit thus brought to an
end, Jonas did not try to renew it; he was growing hungry. He gave her the pan
of honey and placed her hands so that she would hold it level.

"There, now, Susan. Be careful that you don't fall down and get any of it in
your mouth."

Susan, who was nobody's fool, knew that Mr. Hicks sometimes made remarks
which were purposely foolish. This one engaged her mind for a moment as if she
hoped to make head and tail of it, but as it seemed to be unanswerable she gave
him an amused look and started for home.

As Susan neared her front gate another visitor was approachingthis time from
the direction of Claxton Road. It was Mrs. Norton; she had in mind to get the
rockery returned. Jonas, watching Susan to see whether she got home with the
honey unspilt, was oblivious to the half of the world that was behind his back;
but when he turned about and took up the dish of batter, intending to pour out a
griddleful of pancakes, he saw her coming. Immediately he seized the pie and
hurried it into the house. By the time he came out she had arrived.

"Good-morning, Mrs. Norton."

"Good-morning, Mr. Hicks. Have you got all through with your work?"

"All except sewing on a few buttons. Ploughing is all done for the present, I
guess."

"Mr. Hicks, we have been wondering whether you could do us a little favor.
The ladies of the Chautauqua Circle have been studying geology,the earth, you
know,and we needed some stones for specimenssamples. And of course stones are
not very plentiful around here"

"Why don't you go and take some out of Steve Brown's rockery? Help yourself,
as God says."

"Why, that's just what we did do. We were passing there, and we each took
onewithout particularly thinking. They are lying behind Colonel Chase's big
gate. We got them up there, but found they were rather heavy. Could we get you
to haul them back for us?"

"I bet you could, Mrs. Norton. The next time I pass there with the wagon I
'll put them on. I don't suppose those stones are in any particular hurry, are
they?"

"Well," said Mrs. Norton, taking thought, "I have been thinking that perhaps
it would be just as well to get them back before he comes home. He is out at the
Thompson ranch tending to those sheep again, you know."

"Did you hear whether any one went with him?"

"Well, noeryes. That is, I don't really know whether there is or not. I
heard there was somebody out there."

Her answer, or the manner of it, struck Jonas as peculiar.

"Extra herder or two?" he suggested.

"One of the boys who was out at the ranch told somebody in town that there
was somebody out there. The regular herder was up at the county-seat and had n't
got back."

Mrs. Norton, now that she had boggled, by surprise, into the acknowledgment
that she knew anything whatever about the matter, felt herself in a
problematical position. She did not know whether his question had been
accidental or not; it sounded as if he knew; possibly he had put it as a feeler
to discover whether she knew. In which case the subject became rather difficult;
she did not know whether to dissemble, nor how much to dissemble, nor how to do
it.

Jonas, his curiosity aroused, persevered with more inquiries. Mrs. Norton,
after answering with a few vague references to Tuck Reedy's report, suddenly
made a bald evasion of the subject; she went back without ceremony to the
subject of rocks. Jonas had a new feeling that there was something peculiar
about the matter.

"And so I was thinking," continued Mrs. Norton, "that we had better return
them pretty soon. It was really an improper thing for us to dothough we did not
particularly think of it at the time. If he came home and found the rockery gone
he might not like it."

"Steve is rather peculiar, some ways," remarked Jonas.

"Is he? In what way?"

This remark of his had seemed to bear upon the hidden subject. She had hope
of receiving moral enlightenment from the masculine standpoint.

"Mostly about rocks. Did you ever hear about the time I hauled that tombstone
for him?"

"I knew you did, of course. What did he do?"

"Well, he did n't do anything much. He expected me to drive oxen without
using any strong language. Just took a sudden notion he did n't want it. I had
got that stone loaded onto a strong truck that I had rigged up apurpose; then I
started up and got the cattle headed up Main Street in fine shape. Steve was
coming along on the sidewalk. All of a sudden he stepped out into the road and
spoke to me. He said he did n't like the sound of it and he wished I 'd leave
out the swearing. He said it rather cool and solemn, like Pastor Gates does when
he says to omit the second stanza. For a minute I did n't know what to think. I
was doing a plain job of ox-driving and I told him so. 'That's all right; I
understand that,' he says. 'But you don't expect to go cussing into that
cemetery, do you?' 'Wellno,' I says. 'Not since you mention it.' For a minute
he had me where I could n't go ahead nor back up. A man has got to use language
to oxen, and what is he going to say? I am so used to it that I don't even hear
myself, unless I stop to listen; and so it does n't mean any more than the oxen
understand by it. And that is n't much. 'No,' I says, 'not since you mention
it.' 'Well, then,' he says, 'you might as well quit now. Afterwards you can
drive them any way you please and say anything you want. But it does n't sound
right to me now, and I don't want any swearing on this job.' He said it in such
a way that I could see just about how he felt about it. I saw that any more of
it would n't do. I guess I ought to 'a' thought of it myself."