30,000 On the Hoof. Zane Grey

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СКАЧАТЬ and then shook her finger at the urchins. “I’ve spanked many boys as big as you.”

      Logan climbed up on the other side to seize a short stick with a long leather thong.

      “Hardy, how do you drive these oxen?” called Logan, as if remembering an important item at the last moment.

      “Wal, Logan, thar’s nothin’ to thet but gadep, gee, whoa, an’ haw.” replied the blacksmith, with a grin. “Easy as pie. They’re a fine trained brace.”

      “Adios, folks. See you next spring,” called Logan, and cracked the whip with a yell: “Gidap!”

      The oxen swung their huge heads together and moved. The heavy wagon rolled easily. Lucinda waved to the blacksmith’s wife, and then at the boys. Their freckled faces expressed glee and excitement. The departure of that wagon meant something they felt but did not understand. One of them cupped his hands round his mouth to shrill a last word to Lucinda.

      “All right, lady. Yu can be our schoolmarm an’ spank us if you wear them pants!”

      Lucinda turned quickly to the front. “Oh, the nerve of that little rascal! . . . Logan, what’s the matter with my blue-jeans pants—that boys should talk so?”

      “Nothing. They’re just great. Blue-jeans are as common out here as flapjacks. But I never saw such a—a revealing pair as yours.”

      The oxen plodded along, the canvas-covered wagon rolled down the side street. It must have been an ordinary sight in Flagg, because the few passers-by did not look twice at it. Lucinda felt relieved at escaping more curiosity and ridicule. What would that trio of cowboys have said? Logan drove across the railroad, on over a rattling wooden bridge, by the cottages and cabins, and at last by the black and yellow sawmill.

      “Darling, we’re off!” exclaimed Logan, quite suddenly, and he placed a powerful hand over hers. With the whip he pointed south beyond the hideous slash of forest, to the dim blur of range beyond. His voice sang deep and rich with emotion. “We’re on our way to my ranch—to our home in Sycamore Canyon.”

      “Yes, Logan. I gathered something of the kind. . . . I’m very happy,” she replied, softly, surprised and moved by his term of endearment and the manifestation of strong feeling.

      “I’ve just lived for this. It’s what I worked for—saved my money for. Down there hides my canyon—the grandest range for cattle—grass and water—all fenced. And here’s my outfit all paid for. And last and best the finest little women who ever came out to help build up the West!”

      Lucinda settled back happily. She had misjudged Logan’s appreciation of her and her sacrifice if not his absorption in his passion for the cattle-range. But she could forgive that, respect it, and cleave to him with joy now that she knew he loved her.

      The road wound through the denuded forest-land, dry but not dusty, and down-grade enough to make an easy pull for the oxen. A sweet musty fragrance came on the slight warm breeze. It grew from pleasant to exhilarating, and Lucinda asked her husband what it was. Dry Arizona he replied—a mixture of sage, cedar, piñon and pine. Lucinda liked it, which was all she did like on that six mile drive out to the forest. Here the cabin and pastures, with their crude fences of poles, appeared to end. Driving into the forest was like entering a green-canopied brown-pillared tunnel. It was still, shadowed, lighted by golden shafts, and strangely haunting. Lucinda was affected by a peculiar feeling she could not define. It had to do with a strange sense of familiarity when she had never before been in a forest.

      Before sunset Logan drove into a wide open place. “We’ll camp on the far side,” he said. “Water and grass. And firewood—well, Lucinda, we’ll never be in want for firewood.”

      They halted under great pines that stood out from the wall of forest. Wrecks of trees that Logan called windfalls lay about, some yellow and splintered still, others old and gray, falling to decay. Logan leaped down, and when Lucinda essayed to follow he lifted her down with a hug. “Now, tenderfoot wife, tight pants and all, you can begin!” he said, gayly. But he did not tell her what to begin, and Lucinda stood there stupidly while he unyoked the oxen, turned them loose, then started to lift bags and boxes out of the wagon. He lifted her trunk down with such ease that Lucinda marveled, remembering how her father had to have help in moving it.

      “That’ll go under the wagon,” he said. “Don’t worry. I’ll cover it. But the rains are past, Lucinda. What we get next will be snow. Whew! Does it snow and blow!”

      “Logan, I hate wind and I don’t like snow.”

      “I daresay. You’ll get over that in Arizona. . . . Now, Lucinda, you watch me and learn.” He spread a heavy canvas on the grass. Then from a box he took canvas bags of varying sizes, which he set down side by side. He emptied a burlap sack of jangling things that proved to be funny little iron kettles with lids, coffee-pot, skillet, pans and plates, cups of tin, and other utensils. Then he loosened several buckets that fit one into the other. These he plunged into the brook to swing out brimming full of water. All his movements were quick, vigorous, yet deft. It was wonderful to watch him ply an axe. Chips and splinters and billets flew as if by magic. He built a roaring fire, explaining that it must burn down to a bed of red coals. Next, like a juggler, he produced washbasin, soap and towel, and thoroughly washed his hands. . . . “Most important of all,” he said with a grin. “Now watch me mix sourdough biscuits.” She did watch the procedure with intense interest. Here was her husband encroaching on the preserves of a housewife. But she was fascinated. He was efficient, he was really wonderful to a tenderfoot girl. To see that brawny-shouldered young man on his knees before a pan of flour and water, to watch his big brown hands skillfully mix the dough was a revelation to Lucinda. With the further preparation of the meal he was equally skillful. She sat down cross-legged, despite the tight breeches, and most heartily enjoyed her first supper in Arizona. She was famished. Logan had forgotten to take her to lunch. Ham and eggs, biscuits and coffee, with canned peaches for dessert, and finally the big box of candy that Logan produced from somewhere, as an especial present on that day—these certainly satisfied more than hunger for Lucinda.

      “Logan, you amaze me. You’re a splendid cook,” she said. “It’s just fine to think I won’t have to cook and bake.”

      “Ha! Ha! No you won’t atall!” he ejaculated, gayly. “But I’m glad you see I can do it. . . . Now we’ll clear up. I’ll wash and you dry.”

      After these chores were finished Logan went into the woods with an axe, to come forth burdened under an immense load of green fragrant boughs. This he threw down beside the wagon. Then he unrolled a canvas to take out blankets.

      “There’s hardly enough room in the wagon for you to sleep, let alone me,” he said. “I’ll make my bed on the ground. If skunks and coyotes, scorpions, tarantulas and sidewinders come around they’ll get me first. Ha! Ha! But really they’re not to be laughed at. I won’t take any risk of you being bitten, especially by a hydrophobia skunk. You’re too dog-gone precious. I’d never find another woman like you.”

      Lucinda said nothing. His words, like his actions, were so natural, so inevitable. Yet he showed fine feeling. She was a bride and this was her wedding-night. Dusk came trooping out of the forest. She heard a sough of wind in the pines, an uneasy breathing melancholy sound. How lonely! She shivered a little. Logan’s observations were keen. He fetched her heavy coat. Then he threw a bundle of the green pine foliage into the wagon, and some blankets, and climbed in the door after them. Lucinda heard him rummaging around at a great rate. Presently he leaped out, his hair rumpled.

      “There! All you got to do is use your СКАЧАТЬ