The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, Volume 27, Issue 21, 27 May 1909, Page 803

The Storyteller

THE SHEEP HERDER Mack, shivering on the doorstep, his muzzle pressed close against a narrow crack in the door, quit snuffing lustfully at the smell of frying bacon long enough to cock one ear at the swirl behind him. The breathless swish of wind-driven snow was all about him. He listened a* moment and turned, whining, to the crack again. He hated the cold and the bitter drive of the storm, and he was hungry with the hunger that comes to growing dogs and children. He could hear Dot setting the table, and he could smell the coffee boiling — not that he cared for coffee, however. It was the bacon — and the warm boards behind the stove just under the reservoir where he could curl up and sleep — and it was Dot with her soft hands patting his sleek, black head ami making believe pulling his ears. When Mike was gone he Avas not shut out like this to freeze, and he was not kicked cruelly in the ribs either. He hated Mike and he hated Mike's big overshoes, that were at this very minute lying in his favorite place under the reservoir, making the boards nasty and wet with melting snow. If Mike were a dog — Surely there was something, back there in the siorm. Mack stopped whining, listened, shook the snow off his back, and rushed out to the gate, barking loudly. There he waited, boAv-wowing .hysterically, keeping one eye on the floor behind him. > ' - In a moment the knob turned and Mike's tousled head! appeared in a jealously meagre opening, while the warmth: of the kitchen, doing battle with the cold from without, enveloped head and shoulders in a white haze. ' Cm back here, you fool, you ! Cm 'ere ! ' Mack only barked the louder. And then even Mike's dull ears heard alien sounds — the yelp, yelp of sheepdogs and the confused murmur of many animals. A shape took form beyond the gate and a voice greeted Mack, who subsided after a querulous growl or two that he should have made such a mistake. . ; ' Hello ! Cm in, whoever yuh be,' called Mike, and opened the door wider. Mack, trying to sneak in uanoticed behind the stranger, got another kick for his pains, and retired to nurse his wrath and his ribs in the coal shed. Mike shut the door and growled at the cold. ' Oh, it's you, Joe ! Come up t' the fire and thaw out. Didn't walk, did yuh?' Thanky, Mike. I can't stop. My sheep's out here. I just stopped t' get located, for -I was plumb Jost. I seen the light, but I couldn't tell who's 'twas.' 'Sheep driftin', hey? Hope they pile over a cut bank som'ers. Supper's about ready — ain't it, Dot? You warm up a little, and then we'll eat.' A fair-haired girl in blue dress and checked apron was kneeling on the further sjide of the stove taking something from the oven. The man looked- again and saw ib was biscuits — long rows of biscuits in a pan with crusty, light brown tops and a delicious smell. ' Why, Joe Porter ! You sure have drifted off your range, haven't you? You're just in time. Supper's ready, and I guess there's plenty of it.' She smiled at him, showing him three dimples and a row of pretty teeth, surely an unfair array of weapous to flash before a weary man's face. And the biscuits — and the bacon. He smiled back at her, but shook his head regretfully. 'It looks good — all right — but I can't stop. The dogs can hold the sheep t'gether-for a few minutes, but I cant stop t' supper. The river ain't fenced down- here in your field, is it, Mike?' ' You still herdin' fur Taylor ? ' Mike's face took on a crafty smile. He hated Taylor and he hated Taylor s sheep. He stopped just short of hating Taylor's her-ler as well. ' Man, you're crazy t' follow them fool fh^ep a night like this. They'll stay in the field likely. "My line fence is good ; it'll hold 'em. Set down and iake off them overshoes and git yer feet in the oven.' 'Is the river fenced ? ' persisted Joe. Mike moved the coffee pot from the back of the stove to the hearth, where the steam of it smote the herds* s nostrils; his empty stomach yearned after it. ' Aw, never mind the river ; come and eat yer /upper. If yuh want t' commit soocide they's easier (Ways than freezin'.' •„ 'I'll have t' go; much obliged, Mike; I couldn't p«t 'em home against this storm, so I'll just have t' stay with 'em. There am't — could I get 'em in a corral or so-ne place for the night, Mike ? ' ■

' Naw, yuh couldn't. I ain't got no shelter for Taylor's sheep. You can turn 'em loose in the field and let 'era take chances,' seem' they're here, an' you're welcome t' stay here with a good supper an' a good bed; I ain't got any quarrel with you.' Dot had poured a cup of coffee, trickled a thin stream of canned cream into it, and added sugar. 'Here, Joe, you drink this anyway; it'll warm you up. You better stay. A man's worth more than a bunch of sheep.' * Joe took off a mitten and emptied the cup in two great gulps. ' That's sure all right, Miss Hawkins, thanks. I'd like to stay all right. I ain't stuck on blizzards, but I can't leave them poor animals t' face it alone.' He pulled the door open and listened, then closed it, and set his broad back against it. The dogs, were holdingthe sheep; he could tell by the sound. He could afford to steal another minute of light and warmth and of being in Dot's presence. ' Oh, here's that song yuh wanted, Miss Hawkins,' he said, fumbling inside his overcoat. ' I copied it off last night. I hope yuh can make it out. It's all there, I guess.' Dot took the paper, written closely with lead pencil, and slipped it into her pocket. Then she held out a paper bag, warm and moist from the hot biscuits and bacon >t held. ' Take this along, Joe ; it'll come handy maybe. Oh, it's just to pay for the song, so don't say anything. I'm awfully obliged.' Joe looked wistfully around the shabby little room and at the face of the girl. ' Well, I must get in motion. Good-bye.' ' Good-bye,' repeated Dot, her eyes misty. ' Good luck.' The door slammed, shutting out the wind and the snow and the cold ; shutting out the tall form of the sheepherder as well. Mike lifted the lid of the stove and laid in a lump of coal, dragged his chair across the floor to the table, and took up knife and fork. ' What d' you want t' give him all the biscuits fur ? ' he growled. ' A fool like that ought t' go hungry — and freeze, too.' ' I didn't,' retorted his sister calmly. ' There's plenty left. He ain't a fool either; he's what I call a brave man.' ' He's what I call a darned fool,' reiterated Mike sullenly. Dot crumpled the paper in her pocket and listened shuddering to the wind. • ■ Out in the field, where the world seemed but a dizzying dance of frozen white meal, Joe plodded steadily against the wind, guided by the staccato of his dogs. The sheep huddled together, their weazened, reproachful little faces turned from the cruel beat of the blizzard. Joe took his station behind, and once his face was sheltered set his teeth greedily into the crusty warmth of a biscuit. He had eaten breakfast before day, had munched a chunk of sour dough bread with a cold slice of bacon at noon, and had drunk from a brackish stream. Then the blizzard swept down upon him before he could reach shelter and the sheep refused to face it home, and he had walked and shouted and raved against the shivering, drifting block of gray. So they had wandered blindly until now. Joe thrust his bare fingers into the bag and counted the biscuits. Two — three-^-four — there had been five — light, fluffy things, such as only a woman can make. He caressed them each in turn. The warmth of them — and "the smell — and the crisp, sweet bacon between! " Only a healthy man who has walked long hours in the cold may know the keen agony of hunger or the ecstasy of yearning at the whiff of fresh fried bacon. The fingers closed around a biscuit. ' Oh-h, Bonnie ! ' A dog voice — a tired, patient voice — answered away to the right. He could hear Tier scurry toward him, and he knew the trustful shine in her eyes even though he could not see. The little creature bounded against his legs and whimpered pitifully. Joe stooped in the snow and patted her eager little head. 'It's ladies first, ain't it, Bonnie, old girl? Here! What d'yuh think of this now? Smell it once! Ainf that the stuff? Yuh wasn't looking for no such hand-out as that out here in this frozen hell, where the freeze is ground up into flour and throwed into your face, hey? Naw, it's a cinch yuh wasn't. That went down easy, didn't it? Here's another, old lady; put it away where it'll do the most good. They're out uh sight,them biscuits are, Bonnie, 'cause — Dottie made 'em ! ' It seemed that even the dog read the wistfulness of the last whispered words, for she raised her cold muzzle

against the man's chilled brown cheek and whined, Joe pushed her gently from him and stood up. 'That's all, Bonnie. Lad's got t' work, too. this night, and he's going t' have a taste. There now— go on — way round 'em ! ' The dog gave a short, shrill yelp which held more of courage and not so much of weariness and bounded away into the blur. ' Joe listened until he heard her driving in the stragglers on the far side of ~ the band. Then he sang out cheerfully : & 'Hi, Laddy!' From the left came a glad yelp, and another doe -wallowed up to the master and crouched, fawning, at his reet. As before, Joe stooped and greeted him like a comrade. 'Good boy. You're sure the proper stuff, Lad. And what d yuh think, say? Here's your supper, all hot from the stove. Ain't that the clear article? Say, Lad hows your appetite for warm biscuits, hey? Set your teeth into that once and tell us what yuh think. Ain't it a peach? Say! You're sure the lad that can appreciate good grub an a cold stunt like this, you bet. If : you'd a-seen her, Lad, with the lamp a-shining on 'er hair and in er eyes when she handed these out t' me you'd love her, Lad, you sure would. No, there ain't any moreI took one myself (it was an odd one, yuh see). I just had to, it smelled so good— and she made it. Well, lick my fingers, then. I wish I hadn't eat that other one, Lad, on my soul I do. I was a big chump, that's what. There go back and keep 'em close; go on.' *ij ?x, dog rai \ back to llis P° st and th © man sighed, folded the paper bag as best he could, and put it tenderly away inside his coat before he followed after his sheep Tramping blindly with the wind at his back he' pictured the little room he had left behind. He smelt the coffee boiling and heard the rattle of the dishes while they ate. He felt .the warmth even while he thrashed his body with his arms to fight off the creeping numbness in his hands. He called cheering words to his dogs and tried to forget the gnawing hunger while he hummed the song he had pencilled so painstakingly the night before in the little cabin where he lived alone with his friends— the dogs : ' There's a sob on every breeze ' — ' There sure is, all right, on this one. What's the matter, Bonnie? _Oh-h, Bonnie! Why, hang it! It's the river— and no fence!' He set off at a run toward Bonnie, raging at her charges and trying all she could to turn them. Stumbling breathless, slipping on the wiry sand grass which bordered the river, Joe reached her and heard the rush of water close below — too close. He whistled imperiously to Lad, who, all unconscious, was pressing the band nearer to the death that waited a scant two rods away. Lad came with a rush, and together they charged the bunch desperately. It was harl -work in the face of that gale, and by the time they were safe away from that treacherous overhanging bank Joe felt almost warm. Then the dreary march began again. Mike Hawkins' south fence held them for a few minutes, but it had only three wires, and they were not- of the tightest, and" the sheep crawled under, leaving whole handfuls of wool to gather snow and swing on the barbs. Beyond there was no river but there were dangerous washouts, where the surrounding country drained into the coulees. Into one of these the sheep drifted, and followed its windings like gray, troubled - waters to- its outlet in the coulee Then, worn with travel and pinched with cold, they halted at last under a high rocky bank and crowded close for warmth, while the wind passed harmlessly over their heads to the hillside beyond, and only the snow sifted silently down upon their qowering backs. . ..11. 11 TT Ihe 1 he d °S s lav down °n the outer edge and licked their chilled feet while they rested, while their master tramped up and down beside them, beating his hands to keep the blood moving, and thinking of many things. He wondered how a man felt who could refuse shelter to suffering brutes on such a night because of a prejudice against their owner and calmly allow a comrade to face that wilderness of cold also because of that prejudice. He wondered if Dot read the song he had given her and if she noticed the smudges where he erased words not spelled at first to his liking. He wondered if the coffee pot still stood on the stotre with the coffee hot and strong and fragrant. ' What a bitter thing is a blizzard— a blizzard at night! How the cold eats up a man's courage and grips at his blood, chilling, it even as it bubbles fresh from his heart Why hadn't he left the sheep ? What was it Dot had saidP 'A man is worth more than a bunch of sheep.' 1 Well yes. But is a .•man worth more than his honor? ' What if he had left them? No one could blame him surely— no one, that> is, except himself— and— yes, Dot!

She knew he would not stay, else why did she pour that cup of coffee? Coffee? What wouldn't he give for a cup now ? Yes, and one of those biscuits. Br-r-r! but the cold could bite. There would be a loss among the sheep — the weak ones couudn't stand a night like this. It was tough enough .011 the strong. Was that a coyoto? What business had even a coyote out' on such a night? For comfort he turned to his dogs. 'Bonnie, old girl, this is sure hard lines, ain't it? I'd set down and let you snuggle agin me and got warm if I darst. It's mighty little warmth you'll get, though. I ain't running no furnace at the present time, old lady, I tell yuh those. How's it coming, Lad? Think they'll find us when it lets up, hey? I'd hate t' have any money up on it, wouldn't you? But we ain't all in yet, you bet you my life we ain't. Our paws don't go in the air just so long's they can wiggle-waggle. Ain't that right? ' Gee, Bonnie, I wisht I could lick my paws and get some feel into 'em ! I wisht I could stick 'em into the oven them biscuits ccme out of — Dotty Hawkins's oven. I wisht I could get hold of her little paws — they're soft and warm — that warm yuh can feel 'em clear to your toes, lad. That's right. Yuh can.' When day sifted through the snow clouds the storm had not lifted, though it raged less fiercely. Dot cleared the breakfast away feverishly and swept the kitchen with less care for the dust under the stove and in the corners than was usual to her methodical nature. Mike toasted his feet in the oven and smoked. ' There's five calves missin',' he grumbled. ' Drifted off when the blizzard struck yist'day. I wisht it'd clear off so'st I cd go and look fur 'em.' 'I'll go,' volunteered Dot, eagerly; .'I don't mind the storm a bit. I think it's fun to ride in it.' Mike sucked on his pipe and grunted. ' Anything's fun that yuh don't have t' do. If yuh go yuh want t' fix fur it. This ain't no day for women's skirts a-floppin' on a side saddle. You go like a man if you go at all. Put on my chaps an' fur coat.' Having thus eased his conscience, he dropped his lank body to the heat and prepared for a comfortable forenoon, at least. Dot, having put on masculine attire, made other strange preparations for hunting- stray calves. For one thing she took a pint flask and filled it nearly full of strong, black coffee, stole into Mike's room and finished filling it from Mike's jug of brandy, then corked it tightly and slipped it into a pocket in the fur overcoat. 'Has the wind changed since last night?' she asked when she was ready, with only her eyes to tell you who she was. ' Nah. Ain't likely to, either,' grunted Mike. Outside, she called Mack and waded awkwardly in her strange garb to the barn, where she saddled not one horse, but two. Mike had not even offered to saddle up for her, and it took some time, cumbered as she was by the fur coat. She wondered as she struggled into the saddle how men managed to carry so many clothes. She was stifling with heat as she rode away to the south. Following the line fence, she discovered the place where many ragged little white bunches swayed on the lower wire and rolled precipitately off her pony. With a hammer which she had stuck in her pocket for just this emergency she deliberately pulled staples, the number of which would have wrung the soul of Mike had he seen her. When the wires lay flat she led the horses over them, mounted, and rode on before the wind. A mile of straight level, then came the broken ground where the washouts lay. She stopped, called Mack to her, and held something down for him to smell — a folded, white paper covered with pencilled writing. 'Seek him, Mack!' Mack understood. It was the tall fellow who never kicked a dog, but always had time for a pleasant greeting, and who followed sheep around the country. It was per* fectly simple. To find him one had only to find the sheep, and did not the odor of many sheep cry aloud to the very heavens? Seek him? It was a joke at which he could have laughed. Down this washout, for instance,* the air was rank with sheep. A little further now Dot rode up to the shivering grey patch under the bank where two weary dogs stood --guard and a wearier man stumbled back and fell along a pitiful black beaten trail. He eyed her stupidly, still staggering along -the path he had made. ' Hello !' he said, as one half -wakened from sleep. ' Are yuh — looking — f 'r some one ?' ' I'm looking for you, Joe.' Dot choked and swallowed hard. Joe lurched nearer, studying her figure wonderingly. . 'Dotty — is it — you? I'm — about all in, my girl,'

' No, you ain't either,' cried Dot, fiercely tearing open her coat. - 'A man like you — to keep your feet and your wits all night — you ain't going to give up now. I never slept for thinking of you in the storm. Here, drink this and climb on to Mike's horse. Here, it will steady you.' Joe lifted a wooden hand and dropped it again with the shadow of a smile. ' Can't, Dot. My hands — they're snowed under, yuh see.' Dot tore at the cork, with her teeth. ' Here, Joe — lean against me — that way. I'll hold the bottle. Drink it all — every drop. There's brandy in it- — I stole some of Mike's.' When Joe spoke again his voice was firmer. The light came into his eyes. ' ' You're the proper stuff, little girl. A little more, and I'd a-been all in. I can't climb into that saddle. I'm limber as a froze jack rabbit — that's Avhat.' • So Dot got down and helped him, while the horse, which was used to having Mike boosted into the saddle in the grey of a morning, waited decorously till they were quite ready. 'I'll send Mike after some one for the sheep. A man's life comes first — yours does, Joe. Mother'll be home t'day and she's as good as forty doctors. You'll stop with us till you're well.' Joe steadied himself in the saddle, though he could not hold the reins with his frozen fingers. ' Come, Lad,' he said huskily. ' Come, Bonnie, rry girl. Yuh mind them biscuits yuh had? You'll get some more just' like 'em, maybe. We're going t' heaven, sure. We're going — horne — with Dottie.' — The Sphere.