The Jimmyjohn Boss, and Other Stories by Owen Wister (the best novels to read TXT) 📗
- Author: Owen Wister
Book online «The Jimmyjohn Boss, and Other Stories by Owen Wister (the best novels to read TXT) 📗». Author Owen Wister
The others nodded. “Heap cheap,” they said.
“We don't want you,” said Elizabeth.
“No cross? Maybe he going cross you? What yes?”
Again Elizabeth nodded.
“Maybe he Jake?” pursued the Indian.
“Yes, he is. We don't want you.”
“We cross you all same. He not.”
The Indian spoke loud and thick, and Elizabeth looked over the river where her husband was running with a rifle, and Jake behind him, holding a warning hand on his arm. Jake called across to the Indians, who listened sullenly, but got on their horses and went up the river.
“Now,” said Jake to Clallam, “they ain't gone. Get your wife over here so she kin set in my room till I see what kin be done.”
John left him at once, and crossed on the raft. His wife was stepping on it, when the noise and flight of riders descended along the other bank, where Jake was waiting. They went in a circle, with hoarse shouts, round the cabin as Mart with Nancy came from the pasture. The boy no sooner saw them than he caught his sister up and carried her quickly away among the corrals and sheds, where the two went out of sight.
“You stay here, Liza,” her husband said. “I'll go back over.”
But Mrs. Clallam laughed.
“Get ashore,” he cried to her. “Quick!”
“Where you go, I go, John.”
“What good, what good, in the name—”
“Then I'll get myself over,” said she. And he seized her as she would have jumped into the stream.
While they crossed, the Indians had tied their horses and rambled into the cabin. Jake came from it to stop the Clallams.
“They're after your contract,” said he, quietly. “They say they're going to have the job of takin' the balance of your stuff that's left acrosst the Okanagon over to this side.”
“What did you say?” asked Mrs. Clallam.
“I set 'em up drinks to gain time.”
“Do you want me there?” said Clallam.
“Begosh, no! That would mix things worse.”
“Can't you make them go away?” Elizabeth inquired.
“Me and them, ye see, ma'am, we hev a sort of bargain they're to git certain ferryin'. I can't make 'em savvy how I took charge of you. If you want them—” He paused.
“We want them!” exclaimed Elizabeth. “If you're joking, it's a poor joke.”
“It ain't no joke at all, ma'am.” Jake's face grew brooding. “Of course folks kin say who they'll be ferried by. And you may believe I'd rather do it. I didn't look for jest this complication; but maybe I kin steer through; and it's myself I've got to thank. Of course, if them Siwashes did git your job, they'd sober up gittin' ready. And—”
The emigrants waited, but he did not go on with what was in his mind. “It's all right,” said he, in a brisk tone. “Whatever's a-comin's a-comin'.” He turned abruptly towards the door. “Keep yerselves away jest now,” he added, and went inside.
The parents sought their children, finding Mart had concealed Nancy in the haystack. They put Mrs. Clallam also in a protected place, as a loud altercation seemed to be rising at the cabin; this grew as they listened, and Jake's squaw came running to hide herself. She could tell them nothing, nor make them understand more than they knew; but she touched John's rifle, signing to know if it were loaded, and was greatly relieved when he showed her the magazine full of cartridges. The quarrelling had fallen silent, but rose in a new gust of fierceness, sounding as if in the open air and coming their way. No Indian appeared, however, and the noise passed to the river, where the emigrants soon could hear wood being split in pieces.
John risked a survey. “It's the raft,” he said. “They're smashing it. Now they're going back. Stay with the children, Liza.”
“You're never going to that cabin?” she said.
“He's in a scrape, mother.”
John started away, heedless of his wife's despair. At his coming the Indians shouted and surrounded him, while he heard Jake say, “Drop your gun and drink with them.”
“Drink!” said Andy, laughing with the same screech he had made at the match going out. “We re all going to Canaan, Connecticut.”
Each Indian held a tin cup, and at the instant these were emptied they were thrust towards Jake, who filled them again, going and coming through a door that led a step or two down into a dark place which was half underground. Once he was not quick, or was imagined to be refusing, for an Indian raised his cup and drunkenly dashed it on Jake's head. Jake laughed good-humoredly, and filled the cup.
“It's our one chance,” said he to John as the Indian, propping himself by a hand on the wall, offered the whiskey to Clallam.
“We cross you Okanagon,” he said. “What yes?”
“Maybe you say no?” said another, pressing the emigrant to the wall.
A third interfered, saying something in their language, at which the other two disagreed. They talked a moment with threatening rage till suddenly all drew pistols. At this the two remaining stumbled among the group, and a shot went into the roof. Jake was there in one step with a keg, that they no sooner saw than they fell upon it, and the liquor jetted out as they clinched, wrestling over the room till one lay on his back with his mouth at the open bung. It was wrenched from him, and directly there was not a drop more in it. They tilted it, and when none ran out, flung the keg out of doors and crowded to the door of the dark place, where Jake barred the way. “Don't take to that yet!” he said to Clallam, for John was lifting his rifle.
“Piah-chuck!” yelled the Indians, scarcely able to stand. All other thought had left them, and a new thought came to Jake. He reached for a fresh keg, while they held their tin cups in the left hand and pistols in the right, pushing so it was a slow matter to get the keg opened. They were fast nearing the sodden stage, and one sank on the floor. Jake glanced in at the door behind him, and filled the cups once again. While all were drinking he went in the store-room and set more liquor open, beckoning them to come as
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