American fiction -- 19th century; California -- Fiction; Contra Costa County (Calif.) -- Fiction; Western stories
The light had disappeared from the nearest house; only an uncertain bulk
of shapeless shadows remained. Other remoter and more vague outlines
near the horizon seemed to have a funereal suggestion of tombs and grave
mounds, and one--a low shed near the road--looked not unlike a halted
bier. He hurriedly put up the shutters in a momentary lulling of the
wind, and re-entering the store began to fasten them from within.
While thus engaged an inner door behind the counter opened softly and
cautiously, projecting a brighter light into the deserted apartment from
some sacred domestic interior with the warm and wholesome incense of
cooking. It served to introduce also the equally agreeable presence of a
young girl, who, after assuring herself of the absence of every one but
the proprietor, idly slipped into the store, and placing her rounded
elbows, from which her sleeves were uprolled, upon the counter, leaned
lazily upon them, with both hands supporting her dimpled chin, and gazed
indolently at him; so indolently that, with her pretty face once
fixed in this comfortable attitude, she was constrained to follow his
movements with her eyes alone, and often at an uncomfortable angle. It
was evident that she offered the final but charming illustration of the
enfeebling listlessness of Sidon.
“So those loafers have gone at last,” she said, meditatively. “They'll
take root here some day, pop. The idea of three strong men like that
lazing round for two mortal hours doin' nothin'. Well!” As if to
emphasize her disgust she threw her whole weight upon the counter by
swinging her feet from the floor to touch the shelves behind her.
Mr. Harkutt only replied by a slight grunt as he continued to screw on
the shutters.
“Want me to help you, dad?” she said, without moving.
Mr. Harkutt muttered something unintelligible, which, however, seemed to
imply a negative, and her attention here feebly wandered to the roll of
paper, and she began slowly and lazily to read it aloud.
“'For value received, I hereby sell, assign, and transfer to Daniel D.
Harkutt all my right, titles and interest in, and to the undivided
half of, Quarter Section 4, Range 5, Tasajara Township'--hum--hum,” she
murmured, running her eyes to the bottom of the page. “Why, Lord! It's
that 'Lige Curtis!” she laughed. “The idea of HIM having property! Why,
dad, you ain't been THAT silly!”
“Put down that paper, miss,” he said, aggrievedly; “bring the candle
here, and help me to find one of these infernal screws that's dropped.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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