Part 27 (1/2)
The male plotter experienced no difficulty in finding the grizzled desert rat. He was evidently a self-starter, having brought his own, and, all alone at Ghost Falcott's bar, he was pouring raw jacka.s.s brandy down a throat that seemed urgently in need of it. Seeing that he was satisfactorily working out his own destruction, Drummond shot c.r.a.ps to divert himself until the prospector should become mellowed to a point where it was safe to approach him.
It seemed though that the old man had an enormous capacity. An hour pa.s.sed, and, though he drank repeatedly on his high-lonesome, he seemed little the worse for it. Drummond patiently watched and waited. He knew that with some newly distilled brandy does not take immediate effect, but that drunkenness comes on suddenly when the victim least expects it.
CHAPTER XXII
JERKLINE JO'S SURPRISE
Meantime events were happening out in the street which were to have a distinct bearing on Lucy and Al's plot to separate Basil Filer from the contents of his buckskin poke.
These events, however, were quite commonplace on the face of them. The first was the arrival of Jerkline Jo's wagon train, loaded to the gunwales with case goods, general merchandise, and food for stock.
The arrival of Jerkline Jo and her proud huskies always was an event of importance at Ragtown. They made a picture as the heavy eight and ten-horse teams with the hundreds of bells a-jingle rolled the immense wagons down the street, while Jo's skinners, quite aware of the furor they were creating, called ”Gee” and ”Haw” and manipulated their jerklines unnecessarily, for the sole purpose of awing the spectators.
One wagon was stopped at Huber's store; the rest continued on through to Demarest, Spruce & Tillou's Camp Number One, a half mile beyond the town.
It was Jo's whites that had been brought to a halt before Huber's. The proprietor came out and asked that the load be discharged in the rear, as he had just completed a new freight platform at the back entrance.
”Right!” called Jo. Then, ”Annie! Ned! Feel of it, white folks!
Bert! Snip! All together. Let's go!”
Like a well-trained company of infantry, the ten whites leaned to the collars, and the eight tons behind them moved off as easily as a baby buggy. The hub of all eyes, the attractive girl with cries of ”Gee”
and ”Haw” and picturesque manipulation of the jerkline, swung her team around the corner and into the alley. Men with whom she had a standing agreement to unload freight for her when their services were needed already had come through the store, and were waiting for her on the new platform. Dexterously she guided the team with the jerkline and by word of mouth, so that the load crept along not two inches from the edge of the platform and came to a stop.
She left her team standing, for Hiram Hooker was to ride back on her black saddle pony for them as soon as the remainder of the outfit had reached the camp. Whistling, with her leather chaps swis.h.i.+ng, she walked through the store, smiling right and left at the clerks.
”Well, Jo, how was the trip?” asked Huber as she leaned on the edge of the window to the proprietor's office and handed him her bills of lading.
”Oh, much the same as usual,” she replied. ”The whirlwinds gave us some trouble. They're prevalent this time of year on the desert, and are sometimes fearfully annoying--especially so if it's been dry for a few days and the top of the sand isn't moist.”
”What do they do to you, Jo?” asked Huber interestedly.
”Drive you crazy sometimes,” she laughed. ”They're just like little cyclones, you know. You'll be moving along serenely, when one of them will steal up behind you, and before you know it you're the center of a maelstrom of sand and dust, unable to see, your hat gone, your mouth and nose filled with--well, about everything that the desert boasts of.
I was feeding hay to a pair of my horses this noon, when a whirlwind slipped up on me. I threw myself flat on the ground, as one must do or be swept off his feet, and when it had pa.s.sed there was not one sc.r.a.p of that dry alfalfa hay where I'd thrown it. I found my hat a mile distant. My nostrils and ears and eyes and mouth were literally loaded with dirt and fine hay chaff. And my hair! Heavens!” She put her hands to it. ”I usually wear it in braids, you know, but to-day I thought I'd be smart and perk up a bit. Now I'll have to 'go to the cleaners,' as Heine says.”
Huber laughed. ”Say, Jo,” he said, ”that reminds me. There's a girl here that'll give you a shampoo. She runs a shooting gallery, and has a little beauty parlor on the side. Oh, we're getting quite urban at Ragtown. We'll have Turkish baths next. Go to see her--she'll fix you up.”
”I'll just do that,” said Jo, and went out on the street.
Then for the first time she became aware that Lucy Dalles was the proprietress of Ragtown's beauty parlor, and even then she did not find it out until she was inside the parlor and Lucy entered by a side door that connected with the gallery. It was too late to back out gracefully, even had Jo been inclined to do so.
”Why, h.e.l.lo!” she said. ”I didn't know you ran this place. Miss Dalles, isn't it? We met in the Palace Dance Hall one night, didn't we?”
Lucy smiled professionally. She did not like this strong, rugged, beautiful girl who strode along the street with such a firm, conquering tread and left men gaping after her. Still, she could not afford to show her dislike.
”Oh, yes--I remember you perfectly well,” she said. ”Who wouldn't remember the famous Jerkline Jo! Is there something I can do for you?”
”Mercy, yes!” laughed Jo. ”One look at me ought to show you that.”