Minky nodded, but his eyes were gloomily watching the two strangers sitting under the window. Sandy, however, suddenly brightened into a wide smile.
"Sure," he cried delightedly, slapping his thigh in his exuberance.
"That"s it. Course. It"s all writ in the reg"lations fer raisin" them kids. Gee! you had me beat clear to death. Physic ev"ry Sat.u.r.day night. Blamed if this ain"t Sat.u.r.day--an" t"-morrer"s Sunday. An" I tho"t you was sufferin" and needed physic. Say--"
But Bill, too, was watching the strangers with interested eyes. He was paying no sort of attention to this wonderful discovery of his bright friend.
CHAPTER XXI
SCIPIO MAKES PREPARATIONS
Scipio"s impulses were, from his own point of view, entirely practical. Whatever he did, he did with his whole heart. And if his results somehow missed coming out as he intended them, it was scarcely his fault. Rather was it the misfortune of being burdened with a superfluous energy, supported by inadequate thought.
And he felt something of this as he sat in his living-room and glanced round him at the unaccountable disorder that maintained. It was Sunday morning, and all his spare time in his home on Sat.u.r.day had been spent in cleaning and scrubbing and putting straight, and yet--and yet--He pa.s.sed a stubby hand across his forehead, as though to brush aside the vision of the confusion he beheld.
He knew everything was wrong, and a subconscious feeling told him that he had no power to put things right. It was curious, too. Every utensil, every stick of furniture, the floor, the stove, everything had been scrubbed and garnished at a great expense of labor.
Everything had been carefully bestowed in the place which, to his mind, seemed most suited for its disposal. Yet now, as he gazed about him at the result, he knew that only a cleanly untidiness prevailed, and he felt disheartened.
Look at the children"s clean clothes, carefully folded with almost painful exactness; yet they were like a pile of rags just thrown together. And their unironed condition added to the illusion. Every cooking-pot and pan had been cleaned and polished, yet, to his eyes, the litter of them suggested one of the heaps of iron sc.r.a.ps out on the dumps. How was it every piece of china looked forlornly suggestive of a wanderer without a home? No, he did not know. He had done his very best, and yet everything seemed to need just that magic touch to give his home the requisite well-cared-for air.
He was disappointed, and his feelings were plainly to be perceived in the regretful glance of his pale eyes. For some moments his optimistic energy rose and prompted him to begin all over again, but he denied himself this satisfaction as he glanced through the window at the morning sun. It was too high up in the sky. There was other work yet before him, with none too much time for its performance before the midday meal.
Instead, he turned to the "regulations" which Sunny Oak had furnished him with, and, with an index finger following out the words, he read down the details of the work for Sunday--in so far as his twins were concerned.
"Ah," he murmured, "I got the wash done yesterday. It says here Monday. That"s kind of a pity." Then he brightened into hopefulness.
"Guess I kin do those things again Monday. I sort o" fancy they could do with another wash "fore the kiddies wear them. I never could wash clothes right, first time. Now, Sunday." His finger pa.s.sed slowly from one detail to another. "Breakfast--yes. Bath. Ah, guess that comes next. Now, "bout that bath." He glanced anxiously round him. Then he turned back to the regulations. "It don"t say whether hot or cold," he muttered disappointedly.
For a moment he stood perplexed. Then he began to reason the matter out with himself. It was summer. For grown-ups it would naturally be a cold bath, but he was not so sure about children. They were very young, and it would be so easy for them to take cold, he thought. No, it had best be hot. He would cook some water. This thought prompting him, he set the saucepan on the stove and stirred the fire.
He was turning back to his regulations, when it occurred to him that he must now find something to bathe the children in. Glancing about amongst the few pots he possessed, he realized that the largest saucepan, or "billy," in the house would not hold more than a gallon of water. No, these were no use, for though he exercised all his ingenuity he could see no way of bathing the children in any of them.
Once during his cogitations he was very nearly inspired. It flashed through his mind that he might stand each child outside of a couple of pots and wash them all over that way. But he quickly negatived the thought. That wasn"t his idea of a bath. They must sit _in_ the water.
He was about to give the matter up in despair, when, in a moment of inspiration, he remembered the washing-tub. Of course, that was the very thing. They could both sit in that together. It was down at the river, but he could easily fetch it up.
So he turned again in relief to the regulations. What next? He found his place, and read the directions out slowly.
""After their bath kids needs an hour"s Bible talk.""
He read it again. And then a third time, so as to make quite sure.
Then he turned thoughtfully to the door, staring out at the bright sunlight beyond. He could hear the children"s voices as they played outside, but he was not heeding them. He was delving around in a hazy recollection of Bible subjects, which he vaguely remembered having studied when a child.
It was difficult--very difficult. But he was not beaten. There were several subjects that occurred to him in sc.r.a.ps. There was Noah. Then there was Moses. He recalled something of Solomon, and he knew that David slew a giant.
But none of these subjects amounted to more than a dim recollection.
Of details he knew none. Worked into a thorough muddle with his worry, he was almost despairing again when suddenly he remembered that Jessie possessed a Bible. Perhaps it was still in the bedroom. He would go and see. It would surely help him. So he promptly went in search of it, and, in a few moments, was sitting down beside the table poring over it and studiously preparing himself for his forthcoming tutelary duties.
CHAPTER XXII
SUNDAY MORNING IN SUFFERING CREEK
On the veranda of the store was the usual Sunday morning gathering of the citizens of Suffering Creek, an impromptu function which occurred as regularly as the sun rose and set. Some of the men were clad in their best black broadcloth, resplendent, if shiny at the seams, and bespotted with drink and tobacco stains. But the majority had made no such effort to differentiate between the seventh day of the week and the other six. The only concession that everyone yielded, and then with bad enough grace in many instances, was to add to the boredom of their day of rest by performing a scanty ablution in the washing trough at the back of the store.
Minky was one of the few who clung to the customs of his up-bringing.
He was there, ample, and gayly beaming, in "boiled" shirt, and a highly colored vest, which clashed effusively with his brilliantly variegated bow-tie, but of which he was inordinately proud.
It was the custom at these meetings to discuss any matters which affected the well-being of the community, to listen to any item of interest pointing the prosperity of the local gold industry, to thresh out complaints. In fact, it became a sort of Local Government Board, of which the storekeeper was president, and such men as Wild Bill, Sandy Joyce and one or two of the more successful miners formed the governing committee.
But it was yet comparatively early, and many sore heads were still clinging to their rough pillows. Sat.u.r.day night was always a heavy occasion, and the Sunday morning sleep was a generally acknowledged necessity. However, this did not prevent discussion amongst those already a.s.sembled.
Wild Bill was not there. Sandy Joyce was still absent, although both had been long since stirring. Someone sarcastically suggested that they had gone off to inspect the gambler"s rich strike before Sandy got to work on it on the morrow. This drew a great laugh at Wild Bill"s expense. And it was only the loyal Minky"s voice that checked it.
"You"se fellers are laffin"," he said, in good-humored reproval. "Wal, laff. I can"t say I know why Bill"s bo"t that claim, but I"ll say this: I"d a heap sooner foller his money than any other man"s. I"ve sure got a notion we best do our laffin" right now."
"That"s so," agreed Joe Brand reluctantly. "Bill"s a cur"us feller.
He"s so mighty cur"us I ain"t got much use for him--personal. But I"ll say right here, he"s wide enough to beat most any feller at any bluff he"s got savvee to put up. Howsum, every "smart" falls fer things at times. Y"see, they get lookin" fer rich strikes that hard, an" are so busy keppin" other folks out o" them, it"s dead easy gettin" "em trippin". Guess that tow-headed sucker, Zip, "s got him trippin" about now, sure."
Minky shook his head. He did not believe it. If Bill had been caught napping, he must have willfully gone to sleep. He knew the man too well. However, he had no intention of arguing the matter with these people. So he turned away and stood staring out at the far distance beyond the creek.
In a few moments the whole matter was dismissed from his mind, and his thoughts filled with a something that lately had become a sort of obsession to him. It was the safety of his gold-dust that troubled, and as each day pa.s.sed his apprehensions grew. He felt that trouble was threatening in the air of Suffering Creek, and the thought of how easily he might be taken at a disadvantage worried him terribly. He knew that it was imperative for him to unload his gold. But how? How could it be done in safety, in the light of past events? It was suicidal to send it off to Sp.a.w.n City on a stage, with the James gang watching the district. And the Government--?
Suddenly his eyes lit excitedly. He pointed out across the creek with startling abruptness, in a direction where the land sloped gradually upwards towards the more distant foothills, in a broken carpet of pine woods. He was indicating a rift in the forest, where, for a long stretch, a wide clearing had been made by the axes of the pioneers of the camp.
"Ho, fellers!" he cried. "Get a peek yonder. Who"s that?"
In an instant every eye followed the direction of his outstretched arm. And the men stood silently watching the progress of a horseman racing headlong through the clearing and making for the creek in front of them as fast as his horse could lay legs to the ground. So silent and intent did the group on the veranda become, that faint, yet sharply distinct, even at that distance, the thrashing of the horse"s hoofs floated to their straining ears on the still morning air, and set them wondering.
On came the man at a furious pace. He was leaning far over his horse"s neck, so that the whole weight of his body was well clear of the saddle. And as he came the waiting men could plainly see the rise and fall of his arm, as he mercilessly flogged his straining beast. It was Joe Brand who first broke the silence.
"Looks like Sid Morton," he hazarded. "I kind o" seem to mind his sorrel with four white legs. He"s comin" from the right direction, too. Guess his ranch is ten miles up yonder. Say, he"s makin" a h.e.l.l of a bat."
"He sure is." Jim Wright, the oldest miner in the camp, blinked his red-rimmed eyes as they watered with the strain of watching, "It"s trouble that"s chasin" him," he added, with conviction. "Trouble o"
some kind."
"What sort o" trouble?" Minky spoke half to himself. Just now there was only one idea of trouble in his mind.
Somebody laughed foolishly.
"There ain"t many sorts o" trouble sets a man chasin" like that," said a voice in the background.
Minky glanced round.