Frontier and pioneer life -- West (U.S.) -- Fiction; West (U.S.) -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Western stories
“Hold on! hold on! Did you never hear tell of a raft? I'll put you folks
over this river. Wait till I git my pants on,” said he, stalking nimbly
to where they lay.
“It's just this way,” Clallam continued; “we're bound for the upper
Okanagon country, and we must get in there to build our cabin before
cold weather.”
“Don't you worry about that. It'll take you three days to the next
ferry, while you and me and the boy kin build a raft right here by
to-morrow noon. You hev an axe, I expect? Well, here is timber close,
and your trail takes over to my place on the Okanagon, where you've got
another crossin' to make. And all this time we're keeping the ladies
waitin' up the hill! We'll talk business as we go along; and, see here,
if I don't suit yu', or fail in my bargain, you needn't to pay me a
cent.”
He began climbing, and on the way they came to an agreement. Wild-Goose
Jake bowed low to Mrs. Clallam, and as low to Nancy, who held her
mother's dress and said nothing, keeping one finger in her mouth.
All began emptying the wagon quickly, and tins of baking-powder, with
rocking-chairs and flowered quilts, lay on the hill. Wild-Goose Jake
worked hard, and sustained a pleasant talk by himself. His fluency was
of an eagerness that parried interruption or inquiry.
“So you've come acrosst the Big Bend! Ain't it a cosey place? Reminds me
of them medicine pictures, 'Before and After Using.' The Big Bend's the
way this world looked before using--before the Bible fixed it up, ye
know. Ever seen specimens of Big Bend produce, ma'am? They send
'em East. Grain and plums and such. The feller that gathered them
curiosities hed hunt forty square miles apiece for 'em. But it's
good-payin' policy, and it fetches lots of settlers to the Territory.
They come here hummin' and walks around the wilderness, and 'Where's the
plums?' says they. 'Can't you see I'm busy?' says the land agent; and
out they goes. But you needn't to worry, ma'am. The country where you're
goin' ain't like that. There's water and timber and rich soil and mines.
Billy Moon has gone there--he's the man run the ferry. When she wrecked,
he pulled his freight for the new mines at Loop Loop.”
“Did the man live in the little house?” said Nancy.
“Right there, miss. And nobody lives there any more, so you take it if
you're wantin' a place of your own.”
“What made you kick the other man if it wasn't your house?”
“Well, now, if it ain't a good one on him to hev you see that! I'll tell
him a little girl seen that, and maybe he'll feel the disgrace. Only
he's no account, and don't take any experience the reg'lar way. He's
nigh onto thirty, and you'll not believe me, I know, but he ain't never
even learned to spit right.”
“Is he yours?” inquired Nancy.
“Gosh! no, miss--beggin' pardon. He's jest workin' for me.”
“Did he know you were coming to kick him when he hid?”
“Hid? What's that?” The man's eyes narrowed again into points. “You
folks seen him hide?” he said to Clallam.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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