Frontier and pioneer life -- West (U.S.) -- Fiction; Western stories
I suppose the drive was long to him, but to me it was not. Noon and
Cedar Springs prematurely ended the first half of this day most
memorable in the whole medley of my excursion, and we got down to dine.
Two travellers bound for Thomas by our same road were just setting out,
but they firmly declined to transport our cook, and Pidcock moodily saw
them depart in their wagon, leaving him burdened still; for this was the
day the stage made its down trip from Thomas. Never before had I seen
water paid for. When the Major, with windy importance, came to settle
his bill, our dozen or fourteen escort horses and mules made an item,
the price of watering two head being two bits, quite separate from the
feed; and I learned that water was thus precious over most of the
Territory.
Our cook remounted the box in high feather, and began at once to comment
upon Arizona. "Dere ain't no winter, nor no spring, nor no rain de hole
year roun'. My! what a country fo' to gib de chick'ns courage! Dey hens
must jus' sit an' lay an' lay. But de po' ducks done have a mean time.
"'O--Lawd!
Sinner is in my way, Daniel.'"
"I would not permit a cook like that inside my house," said Major
Pidcock.
"She may not be dangerous," I suggested.
"Land! is dey folks gwineter shoot me?" Naturally I looked, and so did
the Major; but it was two of our own mounted escort that she saw out to
the right of us among the hills. "Tell dem nigger jockeys I got no
money. Why do dey triflin' chillun ride in de kerridge?" She did not
mean ourselves, but the men with their carbines in the escort wagon in
front of us. I looked out at them, and their mouths were wide open for
joy at her. It was not a stately progress for twenty-eight thousand
dollars in gold and a paymaster to be making. Major Pidcock unbuttoned
his duster and reclined to sleep, and presently I also felt the
after-dinner sloth shutting my eyes pleasantly to this black road.
"Heave it, chillun! can't you heave?" I heard our cook say, and felt us
stop.
"What's that?" I asked, drowsily.
"Seems to be a rock fallen down," the Major answered. "Start it, men;
roll it!"
I roused myself. We were between rocks and banks on the brow of a hill,
down which the narrow road descended with a slight turn. I could see the
escort wagon halted ahead of us, and beyond it the men stooping at a
large stone, around which there was no possible room to drive. This
stone had fallen, I reflected, since those travellers for Thomas--
There was a shot, and a mule rolled over.
I shall never forget that. It was like the theatre for one paralyzed
second! The black soldiers, the mule, the hill, all a clear picture seen
through an opera-glass, stock-still, and nothing to do with me--for a
congealed second. And, dear me, what a time we had then!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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