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Dude Wrangler

<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> <h3>THE WATER WITCH</h3> In former days Wallie had wished for a yacht, his own stables, and such luxuries, but now he wanted a well with far greater intensity than he had desired those extravagances. The all-important question had been whether he could at present afford it, with his money vanishing like a belated snowbank. Then, while he had been debating, Rufus Reed appeared at such a timely moment that it had seemed providential. Mr. Reed, lately arrived from Illinois, was now sitting with his feet on the stove-hearth and so close to the coals that the cabin was strong with the odour of frying rubber, and declaring modestly: "I may say, without braggin', that I have made an enormous success since I gave up my flour and feed store and took to well-diggin' as a perfession. By acci-dent I discovered that I was peculiarly gifted." Watching the smoke rising from Rufus's arctics and speculating as to what might be the composition of his soles that he could endure so much heat without discomfort, Wallie inquired politely: "In what way, may I ask?" Mr. Reed's tone became impressive: "I am—a water witch." Wallie looked puzzled. "Some call it magic, but the fact is, I am able to locate water with a forked willer and you can call it anything you want to." Wallie regarded the worker of miracles with fresh attention. His belief in his own powers was evidently so sincere that even a skeptic could not fail to be impressed by him. He continued: "With my divinin' rod I have flew in the faces of the biggest geologists in the country and found water where they said there wasn't any." "Will the divining rod tell you how far you must dig for it?" "Pretty close to it. I count a foot to every bob of the willer." "In a state like Illinois where there is a great deal of moisture I presume it would be possible to get water anywhere if one went deep enough, but in Wyoming—frankly, I should not like to rely on the divining rod in Wyoming, Mr. Reed." Mr. Reed looked somewhat offended and declared with spirit: "I'll tell you what I'll do—I'll make you a sportin' proposition. I'll test the ground with the willer and if it says we'll get water at a certain depth and we don't strike it, I'll dig till we do, for nothin', if we have to go till we hear the Chinamen gibber. That's fair, ain't it?" Wallie could not gainsay it. "I got a willer on my saddle and it won't cost nothin' for a demonstration. Say the word," persuasively, "and you've good as got a fine, flowing well of water." It would do no harm to let the water witch make his test, Wallie decided, so he followed sheepishly in the wake of Rufus and his willow as he walked over the greater part of the one hundred and sixty acres. "'Tain't nowise plentiful," the latter admitted, as with each hand gripping a prong of the willow he kept his eyes fixed upon it. "But if it's here I'm bound to find it, so don't get discouraged." Expecting nothing, Wallie was not disappointed. At the top of a draw some hundred and fifty yards from the cabin Rufus suddenly halted. "I felt somethin'," he said, hopefully. "Where?" Wallie asked, interested. "In my arm—like pins and needles—it's a symptom. She's goin' to bob!" Excitedly. "You watch and count along of me." The willow bobbed unmistakably. "Sixty-eight!" They finished together. "I told you!" Rufus cried, triumphantly. He stamped his foot: "Right here is where you'll strike it." His tone was as positive as if he saw it flowing beneath the surface. Impressed in spite of himself, Wallie endeavoured to be conservative. "Could it have been your subconscious mind?" he asked, doubtfully. "I ain't any. Rufus Reed is right out in the open. I'll stake my reputation there's plenty of water if you'll go after it." "It's rather far from the house for convenience," he objected. "Water in Wyoming is like whiskey, you have to take it where you can get it and not be particular." It was a temptation, and the cost at three dollars a foot was not excessive. Wallie pondered it and said finally: "You will agree in writing to dig without remuneration until you get water if you do not strike it at sixty-eight feet?" "An iron-clad contract will suit yours truly," Mr. Reed declared, emphatically. He added: "I'll bring two men to work the h'ist and empty the bucket. Of course you'd aim to board us?" "Why, yes, I can," Wallie said a little uncertainly. He had not thought of that feature, but he realized it would be necessary. He had figured that with strict economy he had provisions enough to last him well toward summer. Three men eating three meals daily might make some difference in his calculations, but nothing serious probably. So the contract was drawn up and signed and Rufus departed, eminently satisfied, as was Wallie, who was so eager to see his well started that he could hardly wait until the following Monday. In the interim he dreamed of his well of cold, pure water, and every time he made use of his "toe-holts" he told himself that that inconvenience would soon be eliminated. He meant to have a windmill as soon as he could afford it, for whatever else the country might lack there was no dearth of wind for motive power. There was something permanent-looking about a well and he chuckled as he speculated as to what Canby would say when he heard of it, and he wished with all his heart that he might be around when Helene Spenceley learned that he was sinking a well on his place for household and stock purposes. He had taken advantage of the opportunity which the gift of the cake presented to send her a note of thanks and appreciation. In reply he had received an invitation which had stung him worse than if she had written that she never wanted to see him cross her threshold. His eyes gleamed every time he read it, which was so often that it was worn through the creases from being folded and unfolded: <div class='blockquot'> Dear "Gentle Annie": Won't you stop at the ranch on your way out and pay us a visit? I presume the middle of the summer at latest will see the last of you as I have no idea that you will be able to go through the discouragements and hardships attendant upon proving up on a homestead. My brother also will enjoy meeting you as he has heard so much of you. Looking for you soon, I am Sincerely, Helene Spenceley. P.S. I have a new sweater pattern that I am sure will please you. </div> Every word had a nettle in it, a taunt that made him tingle. It seemed to Wallie he had never known such a "catty" woman, and he meant to tell her so, some day, when he was rich and successful and had proved how wrong she was in her estimate of him. He was tempted to send her word, on a postal, anonymously, of the well he was digging if he had not feared she would suspect him. It seemed so long to wait for Pinkey to convey the tidings. Rufus arrived on Monday morning, and the "crew" to which he had referred proved to be members of his own family—John and Will—whales as to size, and clownish. It came to Wallie's mind that if they did not move any faster when they worked than when they were at leisure, the well-digging would be a long process, and his heart sank when he saw them feeding their horses so liberally from the hay which had cost $20 a ton, delivered. The first intimation Wallie had of what he had let himself in for was when Rufus asked in a confidential tone, as if he were imparting something for Wallie's ear only: "I wonder if we could get a bite to eat before we start in? We eat so early this morning that I don't feel as if I had had anything." Wallie had a pan of biscuit which he had intended for dinner but he concealed his reluctance and managed to say with a show of hospitality: "Come right in; I'll get you something." "First rate!" declared Mr. Reed with disheartening enthusiasm as Wallie placed the biscuit, butter, and molasses before him and his helpers. Wallie hoped never again to see food—his, at least—disappear with such rapidity and in such quantities. When they had finished there was not a crumb left in the pan to tell what had been, and Rufus added to Wallie's feeling of apprehension by declaring gaily as he polished his mouth on the bandanna which he drew from his hip pocket with a flourish: "Us Reeds are all hearty eaters. We can eat a sheep at a settin' when we're all together." Biscuit-making was Wallie's special antipathy, and he now solaced himself with the thought that since they had eaten so many, they would eat less for dinner and he would have plenty of the fresh ones left for supper. But disappointment was again his portion. Any hope that he might have cherished that once they were well filled up their appetites would diminish was dissipated by their performance at supper which surpassed that of dinner. The manner in which the biscuits vanished was nothing less than appalling. In addition to which, he fried ham twice for them when they hinted that they were still hungry after devouring everything before them. He thought grimly that if their capacity for work was commensurate with their appetites, the well would be dug in twenty-four hours. But after observing them in "action" through the window he had a notion that he would have considerable more than that of their society. As they all sprawled on his bunk in a torpor while he washed their supper dishes, he felt not only consternation but a dislike for the Reed family growing within him. Long after they were snoring in their blankets, he lay awake calculating how long his provisions would last at such a rate of depletion. It did not sound so much of a "sporting proposition" as when Rufus had made his proposal, and Wallie sighed in the darkness as he thought that there seemed a million ways of making mistakes in Wyoming and this already had the earmarks of being one of them. If they found water at the depth indicated by the divining rod, it might not so much matter, but there was the other contingency confronting him—feeding the Reeds indefinitely! There was nothing to do in the circumstances but await developments, so Wallie slept finally to dream that he had discarded the table for a trough to which the Reeds came when he went to the door and called: "Soo-ee! Soo-ee!" The developments, however, were not of an encouraging nature. In addition to a capacity for food which placed the Reeds among the world's marvels they were of a slowness of movement Wallie never had seen equalled. Whenever he looked through the window, it was to see one or the other resting from the exertion of emptying a bucket of dirt or turning the windlass. The well deepened by inches rather than feet while Wallie sweated, and his suspicion gradually became a conviction as he watched them that they were prolonging the work purposely. It seemed to be in the nature of a vacation for them with just enough exercise to keep them in condition. His antipathy had become aversion, and Wallie sometimes caught himself with his fork poised in mid air, stopping to hate John, who munched and smacked beside him, or Will, who gobbled at the end of the table, or Rufus, shovelling opposite him. Again, as they came at a trot in response to his dinner call, he visualized himself braining them with the axe as they entered, and found pleasure in the picture. If hatred generated a poison in the system as asserted, Wallie had a notion that his bite would have been as fatal as a cobra's. His feeling reached a point where the well became of secondary importance. To find a way to rid himself of the Reed family was in his thoughts constantly, but there seemed nothing to do but endure them somehow until they had sunk the sixty-eight feet, according to the contract, so he went on suffering and cooking with all the grace he could muster. Yet as the hole deepened he could not help a certain feeling of pride in it. The sense of possession was a strong trait in him, and this was his well on his homestead. He always felt the same pleasant glow of ownership when he looked at his cabin and his fence, even at his dry cow and his locoed horses, and once he had a well with a curb over it! Wallie always expanded his chest a little as he thought of it. He made frequent pilgrimages to the well, and as he hung over the edge and called down, Rufus always replied to his inquiry: "I don't see any indications yet but I look for it to come with a gush when we do strike it." When they reached sixty-eight feet and there was still no sign of moisture Wallie told Reed that he was willing to abrogate the contract. "No, sir!" Rufus declared, vigorously. "I've staked my reputation on this well and I'm goin' to keep on diggin'." At seventy-two feet Wallie was desperate. The hole was still as dry as punk, and boarding the Reeds was nothing less than ruinous; besides, he was nauseated with cooking for three persons whom he detested. They could not be insulted, he discovered, and were determined to make him abide by his contract to board them. A solution of his problem came in the night with such force and suddenness that he rolled to and fro in his bunk, hugging himself in ecstasy. He longed for morning to put his idea into execution and when it came, for the first time since their arrival, he was delighted to see the Reeds seating themselves at the table. There were potatoes, bacon, and pancakes, with coffee, for breakfast. John dubiously eyed the transparent fluid in his cup which might as easily have been tea, and commented: "You musta left out somethin'." Will made a wry face after filling it with half a pancake: "Gosh! But you throwed in the sody. They ain't fit fer a dog to eat. I can't go 'em." With the intention of taking the taste of soda out of his mouth he filled it with potato, and immediately afterward he and John jammed in the doorway as they tried to get through it simultaneously. Wiping their streaming eyes and gulping water, they said accusingly: "There's a can of cayenne if there's a pinch in them pertaters!" "And the bacon's burned to a cracklin'," observed Rufus. "Perhaps you're getting tired of my cooking?" Wallie suggested, artlessly. "I'm tired now if this is a spec'min of what you aim to feed us," John declared, suspiciously. "I bleeve you done it on purpose." Wallie did not deny it. "I'm holler to the toes and I can't work on an empty stummick," said Will, disgustedly. Only Rufus went on eating as if it took more than a can of soda and a box of pepper to spoil his food for him and he explained as they wondered at it: "I ain't no taste sence I had scarlet fever so it don't bother me." "Ain't you goin' to git us somethin'?" John demanded, finally, seeing Wallie made no move to cook fresh food for them. "No," Wallie answered, bluntly. "There's nothing in the contract which specifies the manner in which I shall prepare your food for you or the amount of it. Dinner will be worse than breakfast if you want the truth from me." "I'm quittin'!" the two declared together. "Now, look here, boys!" the old man expostulated. "We got to finish this job and you know the reason." "Reason or no reason, I ain't starvin' myself to oblige nobody," John declared, vigorously, "and he's got the drop on us about the eatin'." "Then go—the two of you!" Reed cried, angrily, "I'm goin' to stay—I ain't nothin' to complain of. Him and me," he nodded at Wallie, "can dig that well without ye." Surly, and without speaking, the boys took their departure. "They got bad dispositions—they take after their mother," Rufus remarked, looking after them. "With you to work the windlass and empty the bucket we'll make out without them till I pick up another crew somewhere." "I am willing to accept my loss and quit," Wallie pleaded. "Well, I ain't!" declared Rufus, unnecessarily bellicose. "A contract is a contract and I got you in writin'." Wallie could not deny it and subsided meekly, putting a ham on to boil with a cabbage while Rufus smoked until he was ready to assist him. "If they's anything I like it's a good mess of ham and cabbage," he observed. "I am glad to have found something to stimulate your appetite—it's worried me," replied Wallie. But his sarcasm was wasted on Rufus who arose, yawning, when Wallie indicated that he was ready. Turning the windlass according to instructions, Wallie deposited Rufus in the bottom. Then at intervals he hoisted the bucket which Rufus filled in leisurely fashion, and emptied it, performing the two men's work easily. Wallie went down occasionally to stoke the fire, and upon his return reported so favourably upon the ham and cabbage that Rufus took to consulting his watch rather frequently after ten-thirty. "I'll quit at 'leven," he informed Wallie, "and that'll give you plenty of time to make a batch of biscuit and get dinner." Wallie agreed with him that it was an excellent idea and promptly at eleven pulled up the bucket of dirt which was to be the last one. When it did not come down immediately, Rufus called to him: "Hi! I'm ready! Get a move on, for I'm starvin'." There was no response at the opening. "What's the matter with you?" he demanded, impatiently. The echo of his own voice answered him. Slightly alarmed he called louder: "Macpherson! What's happened to ye?" Still no answer. Distinctly nervous, Rufus shouted at the top of his lungs for Wallie and the bucket, breaking into a perspiration at the continued silence. Was he sick? Fainted? Dead? Many things that could occur came to Reed as he halloed futilely. When one o'clock came he was hoarse from yelling and sick with fear at his predicament. His imagination painted gruesome pictures as he sweated. He saw himself weak and emaciated, dying slowly of starvation, collapsing, finally to lie undiscovered for days, weeks maybe. The memory of a field mouse that had fallen into a pit haunted him, its futile, frantic struggles to scale the steep sides, and he remembered that when he had passed that way again he had looked and found it dead in the bottom. He wished now that he had rescued it. His suffering would be worse than that of the field mouse, for he had the intelligence to know that it was useless to struggle, that there was no hope for him unless someone came to his assistance. And merciful heavens, how hungry he was at only an hour past his dinner time; what would his sensations be at an hour past his supper time or at one o'clock to-morrow? He made a sound like someone groaning in a rain barrel as he thought of the ham and cabbage boiling dry in the cabin. It made the back of his neck ache to watch the opening of his prison and the patch of blue sky, from which he prayed, vaguely, that a rope ladder might descend to rescue him. So he sat down finally with his back against the side of the well, his knees to his chin, and his head bowed, to await the inevitable. When three o'clock came he could no longer doubt but that some accident had befallen Wallie. He had given up hope and endeavoured to resign himself to the fate awaiting him. Remorse mingled with the pangs of hunger and the cold fear of dying which was upon him. He wondered if this torturing end was a judgment sent upon him. He could scarcely doubt it. But if by some miracle he got out—if the Lord saw fit to save him—he would be a different man. The Almighty had his word for it. Still sitting with his back against the wall and his cramped legs extended in front of him, Rufus rolled his eyes in supplication to the circular blue space above him and registered this vow with all the fervour and sincerity of which he was capable. He moved uneasily. He was vaguely conscious of a dampness. He felt mechanically of that section of his overalls upon which he was sitting. He sprang to his feet with an exclamation and looked at the spot he had occupied. Moisture! A seepage! Water! His eyes grew big with horror. Even as he looked with dilating pupils he could see the earth darken with the spreading moisture. He had sunk too many wells not to know what it portended. Not only his days but his hours perhaps were numbered. If it was alkali, it would seep in slowly and prolong his agony, if it were not, it would come faster. He would die literally in a grave of his own digging. He sat down again because his shaking legs refused to support him, and leaned his head against the side for the same reason. Rufus was no hero and there was no need to pretend to be, drowning by himself like a rat in a bucket. As he leaned there, nauseated, he caught a sound, or thought so, which increased the sinking sensation, the feeling of collapse that overwhelmed him. He took off his hat and laid his ear against the wall to be sure of it. He had not been mistaken. His time on earth was shorter even than he had imagined. The sound he had heard was the rumble of a subterranean current that would soon break through, flowing faster and faster as the opening enlarged until it came with a gush, finally. He could visualize it because he had seen it happen. It would rise to his ankles, his knees, his armpits, then cover him, and he would go to his final punishment by the last route he ever had pictured! Rufus got on his knees in an attitude of prayer and supplication. The cracked remnants of his stentorian voice he used to the utmost advantage. No Methodist exhorter ever prayed with more passionate fervour, and he could not in a lifetime have kept the promises he made to his Maker if only He would release him from the trap into which he had gotten himself through his own evil doing. "Lord, it was wrong for me to take that $150, but Canby tempted me. I needed the money or I don't know as I would have done it. If You'll jest get me out of this, Lord, all the rest of my life I'll do what I can for You! I'll go to church—I'll give to the heathen—I'll stop takin' Your name in vain, and say my prayers reg'lar! Oh, Lord! Once I stole a halter and I ask Your forgiveness. And I left a neighbour's gate open on purpose so the stock got into his cornfield, but I ain't a bad man naturally, and this is the first real crookedness I ever done intentionally. Lord," he pleaded, "hear my humble prayer and send somebody!" At the top of the well Wallie had his suspicions verified. So Canby had laid one more straw on the camel's back to break it! Any compunctions of conscience he might have had for putting Rufus through such mental anguish vanished. Leaning over the edge of the well, he called down cheerily: "How you making it?" Wallie's voice sounded like the voice of an angel to the prisoner. Relief and joy beyond description filled him. Hoarse as a bullfrog, he quavered: "In Mercy's name let me out of here, Macpherson!" "You're all right where you are, Rufus," Wallie answered. "When you're down there you are out of mischief." "I'm hungry—I'm starvin'——" "I don't know when I've eaten such a ham, tender, a delicious flavour, and just enough fat on it—I thought of you all through dinner, Rufus." "We've struck water—a big flow—I can hear it—it'll break through any minute!" "That's fine! Splendid!" "You don't understand!" Rufus cried, desperately. "I'm liable to be drowned before you can h'ist me out of here. I can heard it roar—like a cloudburst!" "Tell me about that deal between you and Canby," Wallie suggested. "Let down the bucket!" Rufus chattered. "Couldn't think of it. My eyeteeth are coming through and I don't like to interrupt 'em." "I'll make a clean breast of it." "I don't want to pollute my well unless I have to, but that's the only way you'll get out of there," Wallie told him, grimly. "Canby's out to break you in one way and another. He thought there was no water over here and he paid me to talk you into diggin' for it. He seen me and my boys eat one day in the mess house and he said 'twould break the Bank of England to board us, so he wanted that clause in the contract, and after sixty-eight feet he paid us, besides a hundred and fifty dollars bonus. I done wrong, Mr. Macpherson, and I freely admit it!" "And you like my cooking, Rufus? You like your food highly seasoned with plenty of soda in the pancakes and dough-goods?" "Yes, Mr. Macpherson," whined Rufus. "I never complained about your cookin', I've nothin' against you personal, and I'll knock off somethin' on the bill for bringin' in water if you'll jest let down that——" A screech finished the sentence. Then: "C-r-rr-ripes! She's busted through! She's comin' like a river!" He jumped and clawed at the sides in his frenzy, and Wallie could see that Rufus well might do so, for even as Wallie looked the water rushed in and rose to Rufus's ankles, and before he could get the bucket over the edge and started downward it was well to his knees, bubbling faster with every second as the opening widened. It was indeed time for action, and Wallie himself felt relief when the windlass spun and he heard the splash of the bucket in the bottom. Rufus's shrieks urged haste as he began to wind laboriously, and with reason, for Rufus was heavy and though Wallie put forth all his strength it was no easy task single-handed, and Rufus rose so slowly that the water gained rapidly. It became a race between Wallie and the subterranean stream that had been tapped, and he was panting and all but exhausted when Rufus rose to the surface. As he stepped from the bucket the water reached the top, poured over the edge, and rushed down the "draw" to Skull Creek. Wallie looked with bulging eyes for a moment and when he had recovered from his astonishment, he turned joyfully, his grudge forgotten, and shook Rufus's hand in congratulation. A moment later his enthusiasm was tempered somewhat by the discovery that he had brought to the surface the strongest flow of salt water in the country! <hr class="major" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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