PAGE 9
The Promised Land
by
So they decided to leave the wagon behind and cross to the cabin. The horses put them with not much wetting to the other bank, where Jake, most eager and friendly, hovered to meet his party, and when they were safe ashore pervaded his premises in their behalf.
“Turn them horses into the pasture, Andy,” said he, “and first feed ’em a couple of quarts.” It may have been hearing himself say this, but tone and voice dropped to the confidential and his sentences came with a chuckle. “Quarts to the horses and quarts to the Siwashes and a skookum pack of trouble all round, Mrs. Clallam! If I hedn’t a-came to stop it a while ago, why about all the spirits that’s in stock jest now was bein’ traded off for some blamed ponies the bears hev let hobble on the range unswallered ever since I settled here. A store on a trail like this here, ye see, it hez to keep spirits, of course; and–well, well! here’s my room; you ladies’ll excuse, and make yourselves at home as well as you can.”
It was of a surprising neatness, due all to him, they presently saw; the log walls covered with a sort of bunting that was also stretched across to make a ceiling below the shingles of the roof; fresh soap and towels, china service, a clean floor and bed, on the wall a print of some white and red village among elms, with a covered bridge and the water running over an apron-dam just above; and a rich smell of whiskey everywhere. “Fix up as comfortable as yu’ can,” the host repeated, “and I’ll see how Mrs. Jake’s tossin’ the flapjacks. She’s Injun, yu’ know, and five years of married life hadn’t learned her to toss flapjacks. Now if I was you” (he was lingering in the doorway) “I wouldn’t shet that winder so quick. It don’t smell nice yet for ladies in here, and I’d hev liked to git the time to do better for ye; but them Siwashes–well, of course, you folks see how it is. Maybe it ain’t always and only white men that patronizes our goods. Uncle Sam is a long way off, and I don’t say we’d ought to, but when the cat’s away, why the mice will, ye know–they most always will.”
There was a rattle of boards outside, at which he shut the door quickly, and they heard him run. A light muttering came in at the window, and the mother, peeping out, saw Andy fallen among a rubbish of crates and empty cans, where he lay staring, while his two fists beat up and down like a disordered toy. Wild-Goose Jake came, and having lifted him with great tenderness, was laying him flat as Elizabeth Clallam hurried to his help.
“No, ma’am,” he sighed, “you can’t do nothing, I guess.”
“Just let me go over and get our medicines.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” said Jake, and the pain on his face was miserable to see; “there ain’t no medicine. We’re kind of used to this, Andy and me. Maybe, if you wouldn’t mind stayin’ till he comes to–Why, a sick man takes comfort at the sight of a lady.”
When the fit had passed they helped him to his feet, and Jake led him away.
Mrs. Jake made her first appearance upon the guests sitting down to their meal, when she waited on table, passing busily forth from the kitchen with her dishes. She had but three or four English words, and her best years were plainly behind her; but her cooking was good, fried and boiled with sticks of her own chopping, and she served with industry. Indeed, a squaw is one of the few species of the domestic wife that survive today upon our continent. Andy seemed now to keep all his dislike for her, and followed her with a scowling eye, while he frequented Jake, drawing a chair to sit next him when he smoked by the wall after supper, and sometimes watching him with a sort of clouded affection upon his face. He did not talk, and the seizure had evidently jarred his mind as well as his frame. When the squaw was about lighting a lamp he brushed her arm in a childish way so that the match went out, and set him laughing. She poured out a harangue in Chinook, showing the dead match to Jake, who rose and gravely lighted the lamp himself, Andy laughing more than ever. When Mrs. Clallam had taken Nancy with her to bed, Jake walked John Clallam to the river-bank, and looking up and down, spoke a little of his real mind.