Part 15 (1/2)

”It is built to go,” the girl a.s.sured him.

”Stutterin' Demosthenes! I didn't think there were enough horses in the world to move the thing! Madam, I have swiftly reached the conclusion 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 as that.”

”We've six more just like it,” she told him, ”and some lighter trailers. The man who made them is dead. I doubt if the world will ever again see such wagons when these are gone. Now, I want you to hook up, Mr. Hooker, and show me what you can do.”

”Hook up, Hooker!” laughed Tweet, always ready to embrace the slightest opportunity for a joke.

The girl led the way into the stable, and Heine Schultz, temporary wrangler, showed Hiram ten immense black horses, not one of them under sixteen hundred pounds.

”Get 'em out,” ordered Jo.

Hiram went to work immediately, with a briskness that caused Heine to wink at Jo, he threw on the heavy harness and led forth the big-footed teams. He did not ask which were the leaders or the wheelers, for this was indicated by the nature of their respective harness and bridles.

Heine noted this and winked again. Hiram was told, when he asked, the names of the ten, and pointers and swing teams were indicated. In a period of time utterly bewildering to Mr. Tweet the man from Wild-cat Hill had his ten black beauties strung out in twos before one of the wagons, and was speaking to Jerkline Jo.

”I see you ride in the wagons,” he observed. ”I always rode the nigh wheeler 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 did likewise. Mr. Tweet, being a gregarious person, did not like to be left 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,” she directed.

The wagon was about half loaded with the blacksmith's outfit. To add to 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 with a jingle of chains and bells and the creak of harness.

Heine released the brake and looked at Jo, and this time he merely nodded.

A block up the street Hiram gave a single pull on his jerkline, and called: ”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 into the cross street, and the pointers heaving slightly to the right, the long string made the turn, and the wagon rolled around the corner in the middle of the street.

This street that they had entered was one of the oldest in Palada--built by Mexicans in the old Spanish style. There were no sidewalks--there was not room for them.

”Turn to your right at the next corner,” commanded Jerkline Jo.

Hiram Hooker nodded.