Bunch Grass: A Chronicle of Life on a Cattle Ranch

  I

  ALETHEA-BELLE

  In the early eighties, when my brother Ajax and I were raising cattlein the foothills of Southern California, our ranch-house was used as astopping-place by the teamsters hauling freight across the CoastRange; and after the boom began, while the village of Paradise wasevolving itself out of rough timber, we were obliged to furnish allcomers with board and lodging. Hardly a day passed without some"prairie schooner" (the canvas-covered wagon of the squatter) creakinginto our corral; and the quiet gulches and canons where Ajax and I hadshot quail and deer began to re-echo to the shouts of the children ofthe rough folk from the mid-West and Missouri. These "Pikers," socalled, settled thickly upon the sage-brush hills to the south andeast of us, and took up all the land they could claim from theGovernment. Before spring was over, we were asked to lend an old_adobe_ building to the village fathers, to be used as aschoolhouse, until the schoolhouse proper was built. At that time aNew England family of the name of Spafford was working for us. Mrs.Spafford, having two children of her own, tried to enlist oursympathies.

  "I'm kinder sick," she told us, "of cookin' an' teachin'; an' the hotweather's comin' on, too. You'd oughter let 'em hev that old_adobe_."

  "But who will teach the children?" we asked.

  "We've fixed that," said Mrs. Spafford. "'Tain't everyone as'd want tocome into this wilderness, but my auntie's cousin, Alethea-BelleBuchanan, is willin' to take the job."

  "Is she able?" we asked doubtfully.

  "She's her father's daughter," Mrs. Spafford replied. "Abram Buchananwas as fine an' brave a man as ever preached the Gospel. An' clever,too. My sakes, he never done but one foolish thing, and that was whenhe merried his wife."

  "Tell us about her," said that inveterate gossip, Ajax.

  Mrs. Spafford sniffed.

  "I seen her once--that was once too much fer me. One o' themlackadaisical, wear-a-wrapper-in-the-mornin', soft, pulpy Southerners.Pretty--yes, in a spindlin', pink an' white soon-washed-out pattern,but without backbone. I've no patience with sech."

  "Her daughter won't be able to halter-break these wild colts."

  "Didn't I say that Alethea-Belle took after her father? She must hevconsid'able snap an' nerve, fer she's put in the last year, senceAbram died, sellin' books in this State."

  "A book agent?"

  "Yes, sir, a book agent."

  If Mrs. Spafford had said road agent, which means highwayman inCalifornia, we could not have been more surprised. A successful bookagent must have the hide of a rhinoceros, the guile of a serpent, theobstinacy of a mule, and the persuasive notes of a nightingale.

  "If Miss Buchanan has been a book agent, she'll do," said Ajax.

  * * * * *

  She arrived at Paradise on the ramshackle old stage-coach late oneSaturday afternoon. Ajax and I carried her small hair-trunk into theranch-house; Mrs. Spafford received her. We retreated to the corrals.

  "She'll never, never do," said Ajax.

  "Never," said I.

  Alethea-Belle Buchanan looked about eighteen; and her face was whiteas the dust that lay thick upon her grey linen cloak. Under the cloakwe had caught a glimpse of a thin, slab-chested figure. She worethread gloves, and said "I thank you" in a prim, New England accent.

  "Depend upon it, she's had pie for breakfast ever since she was born,"said Ajax, "and it's not agreed with her. She'll keep a foothillschool in order just about two minutes--and no longer!"

  At supper, however, she surprised us. She was very plain-featured, butthe men--the rough teamsters, for instance--could not keep their eyesoff her. She was the most amazing mixture of boldness and timidity Ihad ever met. We were about to plump ourselves down at table, forinstance, when Miss Buchanan, folding her hands and raising her eyes,said grace; but to our first questions she replied, blushing, in timidmonosyllables.

  After supper, Mrs. Spafford and she washed up. Later, they broughttheir sewing into the sitting-room. While we were trying to thaw thelittle schoolmarm's shyness, a mouse ran across the floor. In aninstant Miss Buchanan was on her chair. The mouse ran round the roomand vanished; the girl who had been sent to Paradise to keep in orderthe turbulent children of the foothills stepped down from her chair.

  "I'm scared to death of mice," she confessed. My brother Ajax scowled.

  "Fancy sending that whey-faced little coward--here!" he whispered tome.

  "Have you taught school before?" I asked.

  "Oh yes, indeed," she answered; "and I know something of your foothillfolks. I've been a book agent. Oh, indeed? You know that. Well, I didfirst-rate, but that was the book, which sold itself--a beautifulbook. Maybe you know it--_The Milk of Human Kindness_? When we'rebetter acquainted, I'd like to read you," she looked hard at Ajax,"some o' my favourite passages."

  "Thanks," said Ajax stiffly.

  Next day was Sunday. At breakfast the schoolmarm asked Ajax if therewas likely to be a prayer-meeting.

  "A prayer-meeting, Miss Buchanan?"

  "It's the Sabbath, you know."

  "Yes--er--so it is. Well, you see," he smiled feebly, "the cathedralisn't built yet."

  "Why, what's the matter with the schoolhouse? I presume you're allchurch-members?"

  Her grey eyes examined each of us in turn, and each made confession.One of the teamsters was a Baptist; another a Latter-Day Adventist;the Spaffords were Presbyterians; we, of course, belonged to theChurch of England.

  "We ought to have a prayer-meeting," said the little schoolmarm.

  "Yes; we did oughter," assented Mrs. Spafford.

  "I kin pray first-rate when I git started," said the Baptist teamster.

  The prayer-meeting took place. Afterwards Ajax said to me--

  "She's very small, is Whey-face, but somehow she seemed to fill the_adobe_."

  In the afternoon we had an adventure which gave us further insightinto the character and temperament of the new schoolmarm.

  We all walked to Paradise across the home pasture, for Miss Buchananwas anxious to inspect the site--there was nothing else then--of theproposed schoolhouse. Her childlike simplicity and assurance in takingfor granted that she would eventually occupy that unbuilt academystruck us as pathetic.

  "I give her one week," said Ajax, "not a day more."

  Coming back we called a halt under some willows near the creek. Theshade invited us to sit down.

  "Are there snakes--rattlesnakes?" Miss Buchanan asked nervously.

  "In the brush-hills--yes; here--no," replied my brother.

  By a singular coincidence, the words were hardly out of his mouth whenwe heard the familiar warning, the whirring, never-to-be-forgottensound of the beast known to the Indians as "death in the grass."

  "Mercy!" exclaimed the schoolmarm, staring wildly about her. It is noteasy to localise the exact position of a coiled rattlesnake by thesound of his rattle.

  "Don't move!" said Ajax. "Ah, I see him! There he is! I must find astick."

  The snake was coiled some half-dozen yards from us. Upon the top coilwas poised his hideous head; above it vibrated the bony, fleshlessvertebrae of the tail. The little schoolmarm stared at the beast,fascinated by fear and horror. Ajax cut a switch from a willow; thenhe advanced.

  "Oh!" entreated Miss Buchanan, "please don't go so near."

  "There's no danger," said Ajax. "I've never been able to understandwhy rattlers inspire such terror. They can't strike except at objectswithin half their length, and one little tap, as you will see, breakstheir backbone. Now watch! I'm going to provoke this chap to strike;and then I shall kill him."

  He held the end of the stick about eighteen inches from the glaring,lidless eyes. With incredible speed the poised head shot forth. Ajaxlaughed. The snake was recoiling, as he struck it on the neck.Instantly it writhed impotently. My brother set the heel of his heavyboot upon the skull, crushing it into the ground.

  "Now let's sit down," said he.

  "Hark!" said the little schoolmarm.

  Another snake was rattling wit
hin a yard or two of the first.

  "It's the mate," said I. "At this time of year they run in pairs. Weought to have thought of that."

  "I'll have him in a jiffy," said my brother.

  As he spoke I happened to be watching the schoolmarm. Her face waspainfully white, but her eyes were shining, and her lips set above asmall, resolute chin.

  "Let me kill him," she said, in a low voice.

  "You, Miss Buchanan?"

  "Yes."

  "It's easy enough, but one mustn't--er--miss."

  "I shan't miss."

  She took the willow stick from my brother's hand. Every movement ofhis she reproduced exactly, even to the setting of her heel upon theserpent's head. Then she smiled at us apologetically.

  "I hated to do it. I was scared to death, but I wanted to conquer thatcowardly Belle. It's just as you say, they're killed mighty easy. Ifwe could kill the Old Serpent as easy----" she sighed, not finishingthe sentence.

  Ajax, who has a trick of saying what others think, blurted out--

  "What do you mean by conquering--Belle?"

  We sat down.

  "My name is Alethea-Belle, a double name. Father wanted to call meAlethea; but mother fancied Belle. Father, you know, was aMassachusetts minister; mother came from way down south. She died whenI was a child. She--she was not very strong, poor mother, but father,"she spoke proudly, "father was the best man that ever lived."

  All her self-consciousness had vanished. Somehow we felt that thedaughter of the New England parson was speaking, not the child of theinvertebrate Southerner.

  "I had to take to selling books," she continued, speaking more toherself than to us, "because of Belle. That miserable girl got intodebt. Father left her a little money. Belle squandered it sinfully onclothes and pleasure. She'd a rose silk dress----"

  "A rose silk dress?" repeated Ajax.

  "It was just too lovely--that dress," said the little schoolmarm,reflectively.

  "Even Alethea could not resist it," said I.

  She blushed, and her shyness, her awkwardness, returned.

  "Alethea had to pay for it," she replied primly. "I ask your pardonfor speaking so foolishly and improperly of--myself."

  After this, behind her back, Ajax and I invariably called her Alethea-Belle.

  * * * * *

  School began at nine sharp the next morning. We expected a largeattendance, and were not disappointed. Some of the boys grinnedbroadly when Alethea-Belle appeared carrying books and maps. Shelooked absurdly small, very nervous, and painfully frail. The fatherspresent exchanged significant glances; the mothers sniffed. Alethea-Belle entered the names of her scholars in a neat ledger, and shookhands with each. Then she made a short speech.

  "Friends," she said, "I'm glad to make your acquaintance. I shallexpect my big boys and girls to set an example to the little ones bybeing punctual, clean, and obedient. We will now begin our exerciseswith prayer and a hymn. After that the parents will please retire."

  That evening Alethea-Belle went early to bed with a raging headache.Next morning she appeared whiter than ever, but her eyelids were red.However, she seemed self-possessed and even cheerful. Riding togetheracross the range, Ajax said to me: "Alethea-Belle is scared out of herlife."

  "You mean Belle. Alethea is as brave as her father was before her."

  "You're right. Poor little Belle! Perhaps we'd better find some job orother round the _adobe_ this afternoon. There'll be ructions."

  But the ructions did not take place that day. It seems that Alethea-Belle told her scholars she was suffering severely from headache. Shebegged them politely to be as quiet as possible. Perhaps amazementconstrained obedience.

  "These foothill imps will kill her," said Ajax.

  Within a week we knew that the big boys were becoming unmanageable,but no such information leaked from Alethea-Belle's lips. Each eveningat supper we asked how she had fared during the day. Always shereplied primly: "I thank you; I'm getting along nicely, better than Iexpected."

  Mrs. Spafford, a peeper through doors and keyholes, explained theschoolmarm's methods.

  "I jest happened to be passin' by," she told me, "and I peeked inthrough--through the winder. That great big hoodlum of a George Spraggwas a-sassin' Miss Buchanan an' makin' faces at her. The crowd was a-whoopin' him up. In the middle o' the uproar she kneels down. 'OLord,' says she, 'I pray Thee to soften the heart of pore GeorgeSpragg, and give me, a weak woman, the strength to prevail against hiseverlastin' ignorance and foolishness!' George got the colour of abeet, but he quit his foolin'. Yes sir, she prays for 'em, and shecoaxes 'em, an' she never knows when she's beat; but they'll be toomuch for her. She's losin' her appetite, an' she don't sleep good. Wewon't be boardin' her much longer."

  But that night, as usual, when I asked Alethea-Belle how she did, shereplied, in her prim, formal accents: "I'm doing real well, I thankyou; much, much better than I expected."

  Two days later I detected a bruise upon her forehead. With greatdifficulty I extracted the truth. Tom Eubanks had thrown an apple atthe schoolmarm.

  "And what did you do?"

  Her grey eyes were unruffled, her delicately cut lips never smiled, asshe replied austerely: "I told Thomas that I was sure he meant well,but that if a boy wished to give an apple to a lady he'd ought to handit politely, and not throw it. Then I ate the apple. It was a Newtownpippin, and real good. After recess Thomas apologised."

  "What did the brute say?"

  "He is not a brute. He said he was sorry he'd thrown the pippin sohard."

  Next day I happened to meet Tom Eubanks. He had a basket of Newtownpippins for the schoolmarm. He was very red when he told me that MissBuchanan liked--apples. Apples at that time did not grow in the brush-hills. Tom had bought them at the village store.

  * * * * *

  But Alethea-Belle grew thinner and whiter.

  Just before the end of the term the climax came. I happened to findthe little schoolmarm crying bitterly in a clump of sage-brush nearthe water-troughs.

  "It's like this," she confessed presently: "I can't rid myself of thatweak, hateful Belle. She's going to lie down soon, and let the boystrample on her; then she'll have to quit. And Alethea sees thePromised Land. Oh, oh! I do despise the worst half of myself!"

  "The sooner you leave these young devils the better."

  "What do you say?"

  She confronted me with flashing eyes. I swear that she lookedbeautiful. The angularities, the lack of colour, the thin chest, thestooping back were effaced. I could not see them, because--well,because I was looking through them, far beyond them, at somethingelse.

  "I love my boys, my foothill boys; and if they are rough, brutal attimes, they're strong." Her emphasis on the word was pathetic."They're strong, and they're young, and they're poised for flight--now. To me, me, has been given the opportunity to direct that flight--upward, and if I fail them, if I quit----" She trembled violently.

  "You won't quit," said I, with conviction.

  "To-morrow," said she, "they've fixed things for a real battle."

  She refused obstinately to tell me more, and obtained a solemn promisefrom me that I would not interfere.

  * * * * *

  Afterwards I got most of the facts out of George Spragg. Three of thebiggest boys had planned rank mutiny. Doubtless they resented acompulsory attendance at school, and with short-sighted policy madecertain that if they got rid of Alethea-Belle the schoolhouse would beclosed for ever. And what chance could she have--one frail girlagainst three burly young giants?

  A full attendance warned her that her scholars expected somethinginteresting to happen. Boys and girls filed into the schoolroomquietly enough, and the proceedings opened with prayer, but not theusual prayer. Alethea-Belle prayed fervently that right might prevailagainst might, now, and for ever. Amen.

  Within a minute the three mutineers had marched into the middle of theroom. In loud, ear-piercing notes they began
to sing "Pull for theShore." The girls giggled nervously; the boys grinned; several openedtheir mouths to sing, but closed them again as Alethea-Belle descendedfrom the rostrum and approached the rebels. The smallest child knewthat a fight to a finish had begun.

  The schoolmarm raised her thin hand and her thin voice. No attentionwas paid to either. Then she walked swiftly to the door and locked it.The old _adobe_ had been built at a time when Indian raids werecommon in Southern California. The door was of oak, very massive; thewindows, narrow openings in the thick walls, were heavily barred. Thechildren wondered what was about to happen. The three rebels sang witha louder, more defiant note as Alethea-Belle walked past them and onto the rostrum. Upon her desk stood a covered basket. Taking this inher hand, she came back to the middle of the room. The boys eyed hermovements curiously. She carried, besides the basket, a cane. Then shebent down and placed the basket between herself and the boys. Theystill sang "Pull for the Shore," but faintly, feebly. They stared hardat the basket and the cane. Alethea-Belle stood back, with a curiousexpression upon her white face; very swiftly she flicked open the lidof the basket. Silence fell on the scholars.

  Out of the basket, quite slowly and stealthily, came the head of asnake, a snake well known to the smallest child--known and dreaded.The flat head, the lidless, baleful eyes, the grey-green, diamond-barred skin of the neck were unmistakable.

  "It's a rattler!" shrieked one of the rebels.

  They sprang back; the other children rose, panic-stricken. Theschoolmarm spoke very quietly--

  "Don't move! The snake will not hurt any of you."

  As she spoke she flicked again the lid of the basket. It fell on thehead of the serpent. Alethea-Belle touched the horror, which withdrew.Then she picked up the basket, secured the lid, and spoke to thehuddled-up, terrified crowd--

  "You tried to scare me, didn't you, and I have scared you." Shelaughed pleasantly, but with a faint inflection of derision, as if sheknew, as she did, that the uncivilised children of the foothills, liketheir fathers, fear nothing on earth so much as rattlers and--ridicule. After a moment she continued: "I brought this here to-day asan object-lesson. You loathe and fear the serpent in this basket, as Iloathe and fear the serpent which is in you." She caught the eyes ofthe mutineers and held them. "And," her eyes shone, "I believe that Ihave been sent to kill the evil in you, as I am going to kill thisvenomous beast. Stand back!"

  They shrank back against the walls, open-eyed, open-mouthed,trembling. Alethea-Belle unfastened for the second time the lid of thebasket; once more the flat head protruded, hissing. Alethea-Bellestruck sharply.

  "It is harmless now," she said quietly; "its back is broken."

  But the snake still writhed. Alethea-Belle shuddered; then she set herheel firmly upon the head.

  "And now"--her voice was weak and quavering, but a note of triumph, ofmastery, informed it--"and now I am going to cane you three boys; I amgoing to try to break your stubborn wills; but you are big and strong,and you must let me do it. If you don't let me do it, you will breakmy heart, for if I am too weak to command here, I must resign. Oh, Iwish that I were strong!"

  The mutineers stared at each other, at the small white faceconfronting them, at the boys and girls about them. It was a greatmoment in their lives, an imperishable experience. The biggest spokefirst, sheepishly, roughly, almost defiantly--

  "Come on up, boys; we'll hev to take a lickin' this time."

  Alethea-Belle went back to the rostrum, trembling. She had never caneda boy before, and she loathed violence. And yet she gave those threelads a sound thrashing. When the last stroke was given, she totteredand fell back upon her chair--senseless.

  * * * * *

  Later, I asked her how she had caught the snake.

  "After you left me," she said, "I sat down to think. I knew that theboys wanted to scare me, and it struck me what a splendid thing'twould be to scare them. Just then I saw the snake asleep on therocks; and I remembered what one o' the cowboys had said about theirbeing stupid and sluggish at this time o' year. But my! when it cameto catching it alive--I--nearly had a fit, I'd chills and fever beforeI was able to brace up. Well, sir, I got me a long stick, and I fixeda noose at the end of it; and somehow--with the Lord's help--I got thecreature into my work-basket; and I carried it home, and put it undermy bed, with a big stone atop o' the lid. But I never slept a wink.I'm teetotal, but I know now what it is to have the--the--"

  "Jim-jams," said I.

  "I believe that's what they call it in California. Yes, I saw snakes,rattlers, everywhere!"

  "You're the pluckiest little woman in the world," said I.

  "Oh no! I'm a miserable coward, and always will be. Now it's over Ikind of wish I hadn't scared the little children quite so bad."

  About a month later, when Alethea-Belle was leaving us and about totake up new quarters in Paradise, near the just finished villageschoolhouse, Mrs. Spafford came to me. The schoolmarm, it seemed, hadstepped off our scales. She had gained nearly ten pounds since the dayof the great victory.

  "Your good cooking, Mrs. Spafford--" Mrs. Spafford smiled scornfully.

  "Did my good cooking help her any afore she whacked them boys? Notmuch. No, sir, her scholars hev put the flesh on to her pore bones;and I give them the credit. They air tryin' to pay for what theirschoolmarm's put into their heads and hearts."

  "Miss Buchanan has taught us a thing or two," I suggested.

  "Yes," Mrs. Spafford replied solemnly, "she hev."