Chapter 12
12. Farewell to the Poachers. This was ready to start, until DeJane and the boys stood in the doorway watching him tie on his snowshoes. Now, sons, he said, straightening himself up and drawing on his woolen mittens, I'm going one way and you another. But if ye act contrary and pouty to that little gal, I'll
knew it, for she's going to write me, and if there's any complaint, there'll be such a walloping. As these ones this mornin' would be a shatter and a dream to. His lecture over, he looked over his shoulder and narrowly inspected the faces of his two boys. They were reserved, almost expressionless. It might be a month before he saw them again. He forgot tilled
DeJane for an instant, sons, you know your pop loves you, don't ye? His tone had suddenly changed, and the two big boys ran to him as if they still were children. Pop, can't we come back after we take her out? they exclaimed, with backward jerks of their heads toward tilled DeJane. Their hands were on his arms, and they were roughly fondling his shoulders, these two unmanorily cubs of his.
Sons, he said in a broken voice, I ain't been a good father to ye. I've got to spend the last of my life in rootin' up the weeds I sowed the first pot. I don't want you to have such a crop. Now you go long out and be good sons. Your mother'll be sought up, and you mind what she says, then I'll soon come home. Take good care of the little gal." In passing his hand first over one brown head, and then over the other, he tramped away,
out of view, among the snowy spruces. The boys and tilled DeJane went back into the cabin. The two former sat together by the fire and talked, taking little notice of her. All their friendliness of the evening before was gone, yet they were not openly unkind, but simply neglectful. T'o'er noon the snow ceased falling. As Lucas had predicted, the sun came out brilliantly, and they began making preparations for departure. Zebedee was to
wear an old pair of snow shoes that had been left in the cabin, until DeJane was to put on his new ones. Her humility and unselfishness slightly thawed the boys' reserve, and when they at last started her ridiculous attempts at snowshoeing threw them into fits of laughter. Zebedee carried the infirm Gipy, who otherwise would have sunk to his neck in the snow. Hoacher soberly plunged his way along while Joe assisted till DeJane in keeping her equilibrium.
After an hour's travel she had become quite expert in the art of taking wide steps and no longer needed his helping hand. "'Ere we most there?' she asked. "'In the span of another hour and a half,' said Joe. The hour and a half went by. They tramped on under the serene blue of the sky, and in
such a solemn stillness that it seemed as if never a bird nor beast could have inhabited this white wilderness. Only the voiceless silent trees were there, clad all in white like ghosts of departed living things. But at last their winding way through the wood came to an end, and they stepped out on the old road. Here were evidences of trouble. A few teams had passed by, and there were snowshoe tracks alongside those of the sleigh-runners.
The trees also grew more sparsely, and soon gave place to clearings. Then the distant roof of a barn appeared, and finally a long thin string of small farmhouses winding down a bleak road before them. "'Is this your home?' asked till DeJane of the boys. "'Nup,' answered Joe.
"'We live often that way,' he pointed down a road to the left. "'But we've got to take you here to the Mercers,' Pop said. He drew up before the first in the string of houses, a poor enough place and unspeakably chilling in the deadly whiteness. A tiny white house, a white barn, a white fence, a white cow in the yard, white snow over everything.
"'Looks as if they'd all died and gone to heaven,' thought till DeJane with a shiver. "'Hold on,' said Joe. "'I'll run ahead and see if the folks is home. Ain't no smoke coming out of the chimney.' He swung open the gate, hurried in, pounded at the front door, pounded at the back door, and finally returned. Guess there must be a funeral or something. All off anyway.
"'What'll we do, Zeb?' Zebedee shrugged his shoulders. "'Spose we go next door?' "'Adem's the Falkharts,' objected Joe. "'Suppose they be?' "'Well, you know, guess they can drive as well as Mercers folks.'
"'What would Pop say? It's nearer than the next house.' "'I'm kind of tired,' said till DeJane politely and faintly. "'Just drop me in. You go back. I'll find someone.' "'Nope,' said Joe firmly. "'We promised Pop.'
"'Come on,' said Zebedee. "'Let's try the Falkharts.' They went slowly on to the next blot on the landscape. This one a low-roofed red house with untidy windows and a feeble wavering line of smoke rising from the kitchen chimney. They all went round to the back door, and in response to their knock a slatternly woman
appeared. "'What do you want, boys?' "'Pop says will you take this gal to Nikitu Station?' asked Joe. "'He'll square up with you when he comes out.' The woman looked till DeJane all over. "'The roads is main heavy.'
Till DeJane leaned up against the doorpost and the woman relented. "'I guess it won't kill our horse,' she remarked. "'Is it the seven o'clocker you want?' Till DeJane appealed to the boys. "'Yes, ma'am,' responded Joe promptly.
"'Needn't start for an hour yet. Come on in, boys.' "'I guess we'll be going on home,' said Zebedee. Joe, for some reason or other, seemed reluctant to leave Till DeJane. He carefully lifted Gipy to a resting place by the kitchen stove, untied Till DeJane's snowshoes, and strapped them on his back, stroked Poacher repeatedly, and finally with a hearty,
"'So long, little gal. Let's hear from you.' He made her an awkward bob of his head and ran after his brother who had reached the road. Till DeJane drew up to the stove and while she sat drying her dress, looked about her. What a dirty kitchen! The log cabin she had just left was neatness itself compared with this place. Pots and pans were heaped in a corner of the room. The table was littered with soiled dishes.
The woman herself was unkempt, frowsy, and dispirited in appearance. She was also cunning, for while she seized a broom and stirred about the accumulation of dust on the floor, she inspected the little girl with curious, furtive glances. "'You been stopping with the Lucas's?' she asked at last. She opened the door and while she looked one way, she carelessly tried to sweep in another way the pile of rubbish she had collected.
"'Yes, ma'am,' said Till DeJane wearily. "'How is Miss Lucas?' Till DeJane paused to gaze out the open door. Why did not the woman shut it? And why when it was so pure and clean without, did she not feel ashamed to keep so dull and untidy a house? If it were summertime and the ground was brown and green, this dun-colored room would not be so bad. But now the contrast made her sick. "'How is Miss Lucas?' repeated her hostess in a dull voice.
"'I don't know,' replied Till DeJane. Miss Fulcott poised herself on her broom and, with a rustic deliberation, weighed the statement just made. Then she said, "'She ain't gone away.' I don't know,' said Till DeJane. I never see her in my life.' Here was a puzzle and Mrs. Fulcott pondered over it in silence until the draught of chilly air made her remember to close the door. Are we to start soon, inquire Till DeJane, after a time?' "'I ain't a-gonna take ya,' said her hostess
unamiably. "'It's Uzaya.' "'Uzaya!' she went to an open stairway leading from the kitchen. "'What's your want?' came back in an impatient tone. "'Your wanted. Passenger for the station.' A boy speedily appeared. Till DeJane was not predisposed in his favor as he came lumbering down the staircase and she was still as so. When he stood before her he had his mother's sharp face, lean head and cunning eyes, and he was so alarmingly
dirty that she found herself wondering whether he had ever touched water to his face and hands since the winter began. "'Go hitch up and take this gal to the station,' said his mother in feeble command. He stood scrutinizing Till DeJane. "'Who fur?' Bob Lucas. "'How much'll he give me?' "'I don't know. He'll pay when he comes out. Suppose the warden catches him.' "'He ain't been catched yet.' "'He's gone, so they say at the post office.'
"'I've got fifty cents,' said Till DeJane with dignity. "'Here it is.' And she laid it on the table. The youthful fox snatched it up and grinned at his mother as he pocketed it. "'Say, that ain't fair,' remarked Till DeJane. "'You ain't carried me yet.' "'She's right,' said the more mature fox. "'Give it back, Uzi.' Uzaya unwillingly restored the coin to Till DeJane.
"'Now go hitch up,' said his mother. He sidled out of the room and disappeared, and Mrs. Fulcott's covetous eye wandered over Till DeJane's wearing apparel. "'Say, sissy.' "'That's a pootie fair shawl you took off on your dog. I always favor stripes.' "'So do I,' replied Till DeJane, and with a premonition of what was coming, she turned her head and gazed out the window. "'I guess you might as well square up with us,'
said the slatternly lady, seating herself near her collar and speaking in persuasive accents. "'And then you'll not have to be beholden to Bob Lucas. It's just as well for a nice little gal like you to have no dealings with them Lucas's. That shawl ain't mine,' said Till DeJane sharply. This statement did not seem worth challenging by the woman, for she went on in the same wheedling voice. "'You'll not have no call for it on the cars. I can lend you something for the dog
to ride down in. It's too good for Rappenham,' and she gazed contemptuously at Gipy. Till DeJane drew in her wandering gaze from the window and fixed it desperately on Poacher, who was lying under the stove, winking sadly but amiably at her. "'Was no one perfect? Lucas hunted deer. This good dog helped him. His boys were naughty. This woman was a sloven and a kind of thief. Her boy was a rogue, and she herself,' till DeJane, was a little runaway girl. "'You can have this tippet,' she said
sternly. "'That shawl's got to be sent back to where it comes from.' "'Oh, you stole it, did you?' said the woman with a sneer. "'Well, I guess we can hitch up for no thieves,' and she got up and moved deliberately toward the door as if she would recall her son. Till DeJane's nimble fancy ran over possibilities. She had fallen among sharpers. She must be as sharp as they. Her offensive manner fell from her. "'Look here,' she said bluntly. "'I ain't got one mite of money but that fifty-cent
piece. If your boy'll drive me to Nicotus right off, I'll give him that, as I said, and I'll send back the shawl by him. But if you don't want to do it, speak right up, and I'll move on to the next house.' And she continued boldly as she saw consent on the cunning face. "'You've got to give me something to eat and drink with it, because I've got two dogs to take care of, and I don't want to get to Ciscassid and tumble over from being feinty.' Mrs. Volcott's gray face became illumined by a silly
smile. There was not a shawl like that in the settlement, and bustling to her feet, she stroked it and felt it with admiring fingers until admonished by Tilda DeJane. That time was passing, and if she was going to get her anything to eat, she better be quick about it. The little girl almost choked over the sloppy tea from the venerable teapot, the shady bread and butter, and the composite dish of preserves set before her. Yet, resolutely shutting her eyes,
she ate and drank and forced Gipy to do the same. Poacher would touch nothing. "'Don't you know them hunting dogs eats only once a day?' said Mrs. Volcott contemptuously."
