CHAPTER XIII
THE START FOR JULIA
Jerkline Jo walked ahead of Hiram Hooker and Tweet to the stables andcorrals, where her three-score horses and mules and her big wagons wereawaiting the start.
"We're all ready to go," she told the pair. "I was only waiting foryou. We'll start at once, whether you are jerkline skinners or not, ofcourse; but if you're not, I'm afraid we'll go without you."
Mr. Tweet glanced at Hiram and whispered: "I'm 'fraid this is where weseparate, Hooker. Still, I don't know. Maybe I'm a jerkline skinner,after all. I'll never know till I try."
In front of the stable Tweet came to an abrupt halt and studiouslyregarded one of the huge freight wagons.
"Just a moment," he began quaintly. "Was that wagon built to go, or isit just an advertisement to show what the wagonmaker could do?"
Jo's wagons weighed nearly six thousand pounds. Each separate wheelhad cost her foster father seventy-five dollars, prewar price. Theinvestment that a single complete wagon represented was in theneighborhood of six hundred dollars; and as there were seven of them,besides the lighter trailers, the total outlay was no mean sum. Thespokes of the great wheels were as large as Mr. Tweet's thighs; thehubs were larger than his waist; the tires were ten inches in width;the entire running-gear looked as if a small forest of sturdy hardwoodhad been felled for its construction.
"It is built to go," the girl assured him.
"Stutterin' Demosthenes! I didn't think there were enough horses inthe world to move the thing! Madam, I have swiftly reached theconclusion that I am not a jerkline skinner. Are you, Hooker?"
Hiram smiled and spoke to Jerkline Jo.
"That's a fine wagon, ma'am," he said. "I never saw any as good asthat."
"We've six more just like it," she told him, "and some lightertrailers. The man who made them is dead. I doubt if the world willever again see such wagons when these are gone. Now, I want you tohook up, Mr. Hooker, and show me what you can do."
"Hook up, Hooker!" laughed Tweet, always ready to embrace the slightestopportunity for a joke.
The girl led the way into the stable, and Heine Schultz, temporarywrangler, showed Hiram ten immense black horses, not one of them undersixteen hundred pounds.
"Get 'em out," ordered Jo.
Hiram went to work immediately, with a briskness that caused Heine towink at Jo, he threw on the heavy harness and led forth the big-footedteams. He did not ask which were the leaders or the wheelers, for thiswas indicated by the nature of their respective harness and bridles.Heine noted this and winked again. Hiram was told, when he asked, thenames of the ten, and pointers and swing teams were indicated. In aperiod of time utterly bewildering to Mr. Tweet the man from Wild-catHill had his ten black beauties strung out in twos before one of thewagons, and was speaking to Jerkline Jo.
"I see you ride in the wagons," he observed. "I always rode the nighwheeler hoss, ma'am."
"You may do so if you choose. We've saddles."
"Your way suits me," Hiram returned. "It's easier work, I reckon."
The girl climbed into the wagon with Hiram. Heine Schultz didlikewise. Mr. Tweet, being a gregarious person, did not like to beleft alone, so followed the others' example.
"Which way, ma'am?" asked the new skinner.
Jo pointed. "Up that street, and turn the corner to your left," shedirected.
The wagon was about half loaded with the blacksmith's outfit. To addto this the horse wrangler set the heavy brakes.
Hiram grasped the jerkline, but allowed it to hang slack in his hands.Now came his soft, caressing drawl, low and musical:
"Pete! Abe! Feel of it! Molly! Steve! Ben! Prince! Up ahead,there--Jane! Buck!"
As a team the great animals started the heavy wagon, and moved off witha jingle of chains and bells and the creak of harness.
Heine released the brake and looked at Jo, and this time he merelynodded.
A block up the street Hiram gave a single pull on his jerkline, andcalled: "Haw, Jane!" An instant later--"Gee, Steve! Gee, Molly!_Gee_, Molly! Steady! Good enough!"
With the leaders and the swings pulling to the left and turning intothe cross street, and the pointers heaving slightly to the right, thelong string made the turn, and the wagon rolled around the corner inthe middle of the street.
This street that they had entered was one of the oldest inPalada--built by Mexicans in the old Spanish style. There were nosidewalks--there was not room for them.
"Turn to your right at the next corner," commanded Jerkline Jo.
Hiram Hooker nodded.
As the leaders neared the corner Hiram cried: "Haw, Jane! Haw, Buck!"and tugged once on his jerkline. Obeying the command, the leaders,followed by the eight, brought the wagon close to the left-hand side ofthe street. Two quick jerks on the line, and the sharp cries, "Gee,Buck! Gee, Jane!" turned the well-trained leaders to the right andheaded them toward the entrance to the cross street. "Haw, Steve!Haw, Molly! Over the chain, Molly! Haw, boys, haw!"
At Hiram's command, the off pointer, Molly, had stepped daintily overthe heavy chain that ran between her and her mate, and now both of themwere pulling the heavy tongue at right angles to the left, the wheelershelping. As neatly as most men might have made the corner with asingle buggy, the string of ten and the heavy wagon swung into theintersecting street, as narrow as the other, and not a hub touched.
Jerkline Jo's dark eyes were sparkling. "You've got a job, Hiram," shesaid. "A jerkline driver who can make that corner without scraping ahub is a real jerkline driver."
"Thank you," replied Hiram, with a merry grin, thrilling at her use ofhis given name. "And I'll say that the man that trained this team wasa jerkline driver, too."
"A man didn't train them," Jerkline Jo informed him proudly. "Itrained them."
"Just the same," returned Hiram, "I stick by what I said."
"Now you take the line, Mr. Tweet," instructed Jerkline Jo.
"I don't care for it," said Tweet. "I'm a promoter and capitalist.I'll go to work and get a job here in this burg, Miss Jo, and pay youfor my transportation down when I've earned the price. But I have asneaking feeling that Molly wouldn't care for the cadence of my voice;and Pete he eyed me kinda suspiciously when Hiram led 'im out.No--there's a limit. I've reached it."
"Drive back to the stable, Hiram," Jo ordered. "We'll start for Juliaat once."
She turned to Tweet. "I'm sorry," she said. "Why did you ship downhere as a jerkline skinner, Mr. Tweet? You came over a rival railroad,of course, and your transportation will cost me full fare."
"Madam," he replied guiltily, "I was broke, and just had to get outaFrisco. And I couldn't leave Hiram. Why, that boy would 'a' been asuicide, if it hadn't been for me. He was in love, and wouldn't work,and in another day he'd been broke--a hick from Wild-cat Hill alone andfriendless and in love in big, cruel San Francisco. If it wasn't forme, you'd never got 'im."
"That's right," spoke up Hiram. "He made me come."
"Madam," added Tweet, "I hope you'll forgive me. I'll pay you all Iowe you with interest. I'm the original go-getter from Gogettersburg,on the Grabemoff River. I'm down and out right now, but any day I'mliable to turn into a skyrocket. Madam, you trust me. I've promisedHooker to lead him to fame and fortune, and to do that I gotta stickwith 'im, ain't I? Well, then, can't you find somethin' for me to dofor you, so's I c'n ride with you to this new railroad? That countrysounds good to me. I'll maybe go to work and get a toehold over there.You'll never regret befriendin' me, Miss Jo."
The girl stood, thoughtful, her feet planted against the jolting of thewagon.
"Could you help about the cooking?" she asked.
"Madam, I could--and would."
"I like to be accommodating," she told him. "I know how it is. I wasraised in the camps, and know all about being broke and knocking aboutthe country. I'll take you along, and I'll take a chance on yourpaying me for the transportation."
"Y
ou'll never regret it, Miss Jo. Pile whatever you want done on me.I'm a good roustabout, willin' and cheerful, and always a kind, happylittle playmate. Thank you."
An hour later ten heavy wagons, some of them trailing because of thelack of skinners, rumbled through Palada, with an eight or ten-horseteam pulling, the remainder of the horses and mules and Jerkline Jo'sblack saddle mare following like devoted dogs. Palada was out in abody to wave good-by and good luck to Jerkline Jo. She drove the lastteam, ten magnificent whites, spotless as circus horses, with thirtytiny bells jingling over their proud necks. Ahead of her in the trainHiram Hooker drove his blacks. As long as she could see anybody atPalada, Jerkline Jo stood in the front of her wagon, facing rearward,and waved her hat. There were tears in her dark eyes as she turned toher team at last, and the desert opened its arms to their coming.
Slowly the teams forged ahead into the infinite sandy waste, wherewhispering yuccas and thorny cactus grew, and jack rabbits went loopingaway among bronze greasewood bushes. A cloud of dust hung over thewagon trail. Ahead stretched seeming nothingness for mile after wearymile.
Jerkline Jo hoped to make twenty miles a day, loaded as the wagons werewith only the blacksmith outfit. She might have made perhapstwenty-four miles under such conditions, had it not been for thecounteracting softness of the teams. Loaded, they would make from tento twelve miles daily, which seems intolerably slow in these days ofspeed and nerve-wracking restlessness. But with six of the teamsworking steadily the outfit would transport upward of thirty tonstwelve miles a day, which represents an enormous amount of provisionsfor man and beast.
Twitter-or-Tweet Orr Tweet rode with Hiram. The train had beentraveling perhaps two hours, and it was after eleven o'clock, whenthere came a "Who-hoo!" from Jerkline Jo. Hiram and Tweet looked back.
She beckoned with her hand. Both Hiram and Tweet placed fingers ontheir breasts inquisitively; then she cupped her hands about her mouthand called:
"_Hi_-ram!"
"'_Hi_-ram,' huh?" grunted Tweet. "For one hungering second I thoughtmaybe she wanted me." He grasped his twisted nose and straightened it."'Twon't stay," he observed gloomily. "Go on and ride with her, youbig soft-voiced lady killer! I'll stick with Pete, and maybe he'lllearn to love me. What'll I do if they begin to get rambunctious,Hiram?"
"Don't worry," Hiram returned. "They won't do anything they're notdoing right now. Just let 'em drift right along."
He swung himself to the ground and waited until the girl's wagon cameabreast, then climbed up over a brake-shoe and squeezed himself betweenthe slats of the tall freight rack with which her wagon was equipped.
The girl stood in the front end of the rack, and such material as thewagon carried was piled behind her, leaving a little compartment freeof encumbrance in which she might move about. There was no driver'sseat, and therefore quite a little room was hers.
Hiram gazed in utter bewilderment at what he saw. A coal-oil stove wasburning, and on it pots were steaming. There was a tinyoilcloth-covered table, and on it and under it were pots and pans andother utensils of the kitchen.
What surprised him more, though, was another lower table before whichstood a collapsible stool. On it were books and papers and a portabletypewriter, with a half-typed sheet on the platen. There were ink andpens and other articles necessary to an officer or a study. Againstthe front end of the wagon rack stood a chest, with its lid closed, andmore cooking utensils were on top of it.
Jerkline Jo smiled at his bewilderment.
"I'm cooking our dinner, you see," she explained. "To keep good men, Ifigure that they must be well cared for. When my father ran thisfreight outfit our skinners cooked for themselves, and often wereobliged to eat cold lunches. When they did cook, there was no time foranything better than fried steak, or fried ham, or fried bacon andeggs. One grows terribly tired of fried things, and, besides, they'renot good for the digestion.
"I've resolved that on this job we're going to live like people who arepermanently situated. That chest there is a fireless cooker. My ownscheme. In it now vegetables and a beef roast are cooking, and they'llbe ready by noon. I mean to make biscuits and bread and cakes and piesin my oil-stove oven, which is a dandy. I can arrange to do all thaton the smoothest portions of the road. I'll roll my biscuit dough soonnow, and when we camp there'll be fresh, hot biscuits, roast beef withbrown gravy, and steamed vegetables all ready for us. What do youthink of my scheme, Hiram?"
Hiram knew nothing of the advantages of a fireless cooker, but he didknow that food such as she had spoken of was unheard of on a freightingtrip, and told her so.
"Besides," she added, "I have bought some large thermos bottles, and nomatter how hot the desert is we'll always have cold water to drink.Every night it will get almost ice cold in this country, you know; andif we bottle it early in the morning it will remain cold all day."
Hiram was looking at the typewriter. "This is my office and study,"said the girl. "My foster father's recent death called me from apreparatory school back in the Middle West, just when I was gettingalong so well toward gaining an education. I decided not to give up.I am taking two correspondence courses, and mean to continue my studieshere in my wagon. Also I am learning stenography and touch-typewriting.
"At first I thought I'd open an office at Julia or the rag town thatwill spring up soon, and not drive a team myself. Then it occurred tome that I could save money by driving a team, and could continue mystudies and attend to my business affairs while on the road. Withwell-trained teams, like we have, a freight skinner has hours and hourson the road when he has nothing to do but loll on his seat and smoke.As I don't smoke, I mean to improve the time with study. Don't youthink I'm a wonderful schemer, Hiram?"
Hiram nodded, and thoughts of pink-and-white little Lucy Dalles and herambitions were far in the background of his mind. Jerkline Jo was abeautiful girl--as different in her beauty from Lucy Dalles as is dayfrom night. Her hair was dark and heavy, and crowned a low, broadbrow. Her skin was now tanned a rich mahogany, but was clear andflawless, and her bare arms were round and brown. Her confident poise,her sturdy shoulders, showed character and strength far above theordinary. She was a man's woman, was Jerkline Jo Modock, and only aman among men might hope to become her mate. She wore a broad-brimmedStetson with a horsehair band, a blue-flannel man's shirt, worn leatherchaps for comfort, and riding boots. A holstered six-shooter hungclose at hand, the ivory-handled butt of the big weapon ready to hergrasp. Here was a wonderful woman, and Hiram Hooker knew it, and knew,too, that here at last was the adventure girl who, in his dreams upthere on Wild-cat Hill in the big woods of the North had been beckoninghim to come and work for her, to fight for her--to die for her if fateshould so decree.