Part 14 (2/2)
”What a G.o.dlike physique!” she thought.
Then impulsively she stepped forward and extended her hand.
”I'm glad you've come, Mr. Hooker,” she said. ”And I do hope you are really a jerkline skinner.”
”And how 'bout me?” complained Mr. Tweet.
”I beg your pardon,” said the girl, biting her lip. ”What a stupid thing for me to say! But really--well, Mr. Hooker does look more like an outdoors man than you do, Mr. Tweet. I didn't mean to discriminate between you in my offer of welcome, though. Mr. Hooker, _are_ you a jerkline skinner?”
For the first time Hiram's soft voice began to drawl. ”Yes, ma'am,” he told her earnestly. ”I've driven jerkline since I was knee-high to a duck--eight and ten and twelve, and even sixteen, ma'am. I reckon I can make 'em pull, no matter how far out you hook 'em on.”
”Where have you worked?”
”At home, ma'am--in the big timber o' Mendocino County--haulin' tanbark and ties and shakes and posts over the mountains to the lumber steamers on the coast.”
”Do you love horses and mules?” she queried eagerly.
”I love everything that breathes, I reckon, ma'am,” he told her softly.
”I kill nothin' that lives, except rattlesnakes, unless I need the meat. Then sometimes I don't kill.”
Jerkline Jo's dark eyes glowed. She turned to Mr. Tweet.
”And you?” she asked.
”Madam,” he replied, ”I came down here under false pretenses, but now I'll make a clean breast o' my treachery. I was broke; I had to get out o' Frisco and get a toehold somewhere. But after seein' you, I can't try to put one over on you. Couldn't if I wanted to try, I guess. I am not a jerkline skinner, but I love animals. I am one of those confident persons who will try anything once--even twice. The things I have done, and was told I could not do, are legion. If you will give me a trial for my inseparable friend's sake, I have no doubt at all but that in the course of a short time your mules will refuse to lift a foot unless I am behind 'em with my persuasive voice. In other words, Miss Jo, I am yours to command.”
She smiled, a finger to her lips. ”Well, come over to the corrals, both of you,” she said, ”and we'll see what we can do. I simply must have Mr. Hooker. So if you two are inseparable, why----” She paused.
”I understand,” Tweet put in. ”All women are that way, once they're subjected to Hooker's spell. I simply can't get it myself, but it's a fact.”
Jerkline Jo blushed furiously. She who had withstood the ordeal of a hundred proposals, she who had been raised where men were continually twitting her about some man who was yearning to bestow his affections upon her, was blus.h.i.+ng at Tweet's harmless suggestions.
CHAPTER XIII
THE START FOR JULIA
Jerkline Jo walked ahead of Hiram Hooker and Tweet to the stables and corrals, where her three-score horses and mules and her big wagons were awaiting the start.
”We're all ready to go,” she told the pair. ”I was only waiting for you. We'll start at once, whether you are jerkline skinners or not, of course; 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 we separate, 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 studiously regarded one of the huge freight wagons.
”Just a moment,” he began quaintly. ”Was that wagon built to go, or is it just an advertis.e.m.e.nt to show what the wagonmaker could do?”
Jo's wagons weighed nearly six thousand pounds. Each separate wheel had cost her foster father seventy-five dollars, prewar price. The investment that a single complete wagon represented was in the neighborhood of six hundred dollars; and as there were seven of them, besides the lighter trailers, the total outlay was no mean sum. The spokes of the great wheels were as large as Mr. Tweet's thighs; the hubs were larger than his waist; the tires were ten inches in width; the entire running-gear looked as if a small forest of st.u.r.dy hardwood had been felled for its construction.
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