IN A BIT OF A FIX
THOUGH THE LONG RIDE had tired her Eudora spent a restless night. The cabin was clean, and if plainly furnished, not too uncomfortable. She could give it a few little touches, she thought, that would make it livable. But it was strange, and the creaking of the roof and rattling of the windows, as well as the night sounds without, kept her wide-eyed and apprehensive. The Nichols’s chickens brought the coyotes in close to the yard. Once, the shrill, hideous yipping seemed to come from just beyond the window at the foot of her bed. She buried her face in the pillow and lay there trembling.
“This is foolish!” she told herself. “I’ve got to get used to it. No one in Arizona bothers about a coyote.”
It was such a sound argument that it tended to quiet her fears in that direction. She could find no comparable logic to ease her mind in regard to those blazing guns in the Willow Creek bottoms, however, and it was that sinister and unexplained cracking of rifles in the blackness of the night that was at the bottom of her anxiety and nervousness.
The shots had been so spaced that she knew instinctively that there had been a fight. She believed Webb had spoken the truth when he said he didn’t know what it meant, or who was a party to it. But the sharpness of the admonition he had given her, and his refusal to say anything further, thereafter, indicated plainly enough that he wasn’t totally in the dark.
Eudora fell asleep just before dawn, but it seemed she had barely closed her eyes before she heard the younger Nichols children playing in the yard. Shyness, or a parental command, kept them away from the cabin. They trooped in to breakfast before she finished dressing.
It was a clean blue and white morning, the sun pleasantly warm, the air invigorating. Eudora’s spirits lifted and she smiled ruefully over having spent such an uneasy night.
“I won’t go to pieces like that again,” she promised herself. “I’m going to love this high country.”
A line of willows and heavy buckbrush plainly marked the twisting course of Willow Creek. It looked so peaceful in the morning sunshine that she wondered if her imagination hadn’t enlarged on the violence of the clash in the bottoms, the previous evening.
The road that continued eastward across the basin was just a beaten path through the sagebrush. Eudora’s glance followed it as she started across the yard. In the distance, she could see the schoolhouse. It looked small. But so did the house and barn, for the country had been fashioned on such a grand scale that whatever man built seemed tiny and inadequate.
Having spent several years of her childhood on an Ohio farm, she looked about her with interest. Save for the chickens and the truck patch down by the creek, she found little that was familiar. Beyond the barn, there was a pole corral, decorated by several coyote pelts that had been hung up to dry. A young Cottonwood, its catkins just beginning to swell, raised its head outside the kitchen door, where it obviously had the benefit of the daily dishwater. It was the only tree in the yard. But it was the absence of the usual litter of farm tools and machinery, rather than the lack of living green things, that she missed most.
The truth was that Webb had little need for anything beyond a plow and mowing machine, which were carefully kept under cover, for 40 acres of alfalfa hay was the only crop he took from the soil; his cows ranged over the rest of his original quarter section and the 80 acres he had acquired recently.
The kitchen door stood open and Eudora saw that the family was at the table. At that moment, a shaggy dog, of uncertain parentage, came running from the direction of the barn and set up a great barking. It brought a teen-aged boy to the door. He picked up a stick and brandished it at the dog.
“Stop that, Bruno!” he yelled. “Go on!”
The dog slunk away, and the boy turned to Eudora, jerking up his head to toss his tawny, unkempt hair back from his face. Young as he was, he was almost a six-footer. She correctly surmised that he was Verne Nichols, Webb’s oldest son. “He makes a lot of noise, but he won’t bite, less you tease him,” he said, selfconsciously.
Webb shouldered him aside. “Come in, Miss Stoddard,” he invited. “We just set down.”
Mrs. Nichols got up as Eudora stepped into the kitchen. “Laws, Miss, you didn’t need to git up so early!” she exclaimed, apologetically. “If you hear us stirrin’, don’t pay no attention to it. The teacher can have her breakfast as late as seven o’clock.”
“It’s such a beautiful morning that I’m glad to be up early,” Eudora assured her. “I thought I’d walk over to the school and get things ready for Monday.”
The two younger children, Elly, a dark-eyed girl of eight, who strongly resembled her mother, and Hagar, a tot of three or four, were giggling nervously. Verne and his brother Moroni, two years his junior, continued eating, but they stole furtive glances at Eudora.
“Moroni, you slide over on the bench with the girls and give Miss Stoddard yore chair,” Webb ordered, his tone leaving no doubt that when he spoke he was to be obeyed. “The key to the schoolhouse is hangin’ there beside the door,” he told Eudora. “You take charge of it.”
Mrs. Nichols brought Eudora’s breakfast from the stove. She was younger than Webb, but hard work had left its mark on her hands and face and made her look old beyond her years. She sat down after filling Eudora’s cup and ate a mouthful or two.
“My, you are young to be out teachin’!” she observed, studying Eudora with frank interest. “Maybe you’ll git along better with the children on that account. When a woman gits to be an old maid, she gits so set in her ways that all the patience dries out of her and she don’t understand young folks. When I was goin’ to school, I always got more learnin’ from young teachers.”
Eudora smiled at this bit of homely philosophy and said she hoped it would hold true in her case.
“I see no reason why it won’t,” Mrs. Nichols told her. “Of course, the trouble with attractive young wimmen like you is that yo’re always runnin’ off and gittin’ married, and that’s the end of the teachin’.”
She recalled an incident of her girlhood in Utah to prove her point. She seemed happy to have someone of her own sex to whom she could talk. Webb gave her a glance, however, and she fell silent.
Trivial as the incident was, it confirmed Eudora’s feeling that Rheba Nichols was only the family drudge; that authority rested solely in Webb. Proof of it came a few minutes later, when Elly asked Eudora if she could accompany her to the schoolhouse.
“Elly, you talk too much!” Verne said, with a reprimanding scowl. “Miss Stoddard don’t want to be bothered with you.”
The little girl ignored him and appealed to her father. “May I, Papa?”
Webb was ready to say no, when Eudora told him she would be happy to have Elly go with her. “I may be there several hours, but I’ll send her home as soon as she’s shown me where I can find everything.”
Webb considered. “If she can help you any, she can go.”
No one asked Mrs. Nichols what she thought about it.
The shooting had not been mentioned, and though Elly chattered like a magpie as she tried to keep step with Eudora on the long walk to the schoolhouse, she made no reference to it. Eudora was above trying to draw her out, though she suspected the child wasn’t totally ignorant about it. She found the youngster’s prattling enlightening, not to say disturbing, when it touched on the Caney children.
“You’re too nice a little girl, Elly, to be saying such dreadful things,” she protested firmly. “I’m not acquainted with Cissy Caney, but she can’t be as mean and wicked as you say.”
“Yes, she is, Miss Stoddard!” Elly insisted. “I hate all them Caneys!”
“All those Caneys,” Eudora corrected.
“All those Caneys,” Elly parroted. “The whole pack of them tell lies and cheat. Verne says they’ll steal the pennies off a dead man’s eyes if they get the chance. But I’m not afraid of Cissy, less she’s got Lorenzo and that big Jeb to help her.”
“Elly, do you mean to tell me the three of them attacked you?” Eudora demanded incredulously.
“Right in the schoolyard! They knocked me down and Cissy pulled my hair something awful. But Verne laid for ’em and gave Jeb and Lorenzo a good punching.”
Eudora knew she was venturing on dangerous ground in offering advice, but she refused to remain silent. It made her blood run cold to see how the feud between Webb Nichols and Shad had poisoned the minds of their children.
“The thing for you to do, Elly, is to go straight home from school. You won’t have any trouble if you do.” Elly would have contradicted her, but she said, “Let me finish! There’s always two sides to every story. When the Caney children come to me with their side of it, I’ll give them the same advice I’m giving you. I won’t permit any of you to loiter around the schoolhouse after class has been dismissed. Nor will there be any quarreling in the yard at the noon recess. If there is, whoever takes part in it will be sent home promptly. And they won’t be allowed back until they have convinced me they mean to behave themselves. I want to make things as pleasant as I can for all of you, but you children will have to do your part.”
She realized Elly was very young to be spoken to so seriously. She felt certain, however, that the little girl would repeat their conversation to her brothers, and she had spoken with that in mind, feeling she had been given an opportunity to make her position known that was not to be missed.
Elly had begun to lose some of her enthusiasm for her new teacher. The laughter had faded from her eyes and the expression that settled on her mouth was sullen. Eudora put an arm about the child’s shoulders and gave her an affectionate hug. Pretending not to be aware of the pouting lips, she said, “I’m sure you’ll help me, Elly, and that will mean a lot to me. But we won’t say anything more about it; it’s too nice a morning for us to be troubling our heads with such things. Do you know the song about the gingerbread boy who jumped out of the cooky jar?”
“I know part of it,” Elly answered, without looking up.
“Suppose you sing it with me,” Eudora urged. “It’s a jolly song. Hold out your hand—First a pit, and then a pat.”
Elly knew the song well enough, and Eudora soon had her laughing and smiling again.
When they reached the schoolhouse, they found the front door smeared with dried blood. The carcass of a dead jack rabbit lay on the ground beside the steps.
“I bet Jeb Caney did it!” Elly declared at once. “Their place is only a couple of miles east of Jerusalem Crick. When he’s out hunting, he comes this way.”
Eudora bit her lips. “I’ll get some soap and water and give the door a scrubbing.”
She found the appointments of the school less primitive than she expected. Elly knew where everything was to be found, from the bell to the closet where the broom and dustpan were kept.
Eudora rolled up her sleeves and put on an apron. “I’ll scrub that door before I do anything else!” she said, more to herself than Elly.
The latter took a bucket out to the well and filled it. Armed with a stiff brush and soap, Eudora soon had the door clean and shining. Elly laughed as she saw her looking askance at the dead rabbit. Without any ado, she picked it up by its long ears and tossed it over the fence. “There’s nothing about a rabbit that’ll hurt you, Miss Stoddard.”
Eudora shuddered. “I don’t suppose there is,” she admitted. “But you go to the pump and wash your hands, Elly. And then you had better be starting back. I promised your father—”
“Can’t I clean the blackboard before I go?” the youngster pleaded.
“Yes, you may. But then you’ll have to go.”
When Elly left, Eudora stood on the steps and watched her tripping down the road. I suppose Aunt Jude would call her a little savage, she thought, and shook her head. I’m going to like Elly.
For half an hour, she busied herself rearranging her desk. She felt singularly self-possessed as she sat there alone in the empty schoolroom. She filled the seats with, imaginary pupils and pretended to address them in a silent rehearsal of what she would say on Monday morning. Even with the sunshine streaming through the windows, the room was drab.
The first time I go into Mescal, I must remember to clip some pictures from the magazines, she thought. Some gay prints will brighten the walls. I’ll get some geranium slips from Aunt Jude too. Flowers in the windows are always cheerful.
Her predecessor had left a record of the work that had been accomplished up to the close of the last term. Seventeen pupils had attended the Willow Creek school during the winter, the majority of them in the lower grades.
The frequent erasures in the report made it hard to follow and seemed to indicate some confusion in the mind of the compiler.
I shouldn’t wonder! Eudora thought. Teaching four grades in one room could confuse anyone.
She sat there struggling with it for some time, when she became conscious of a shadow at the west window. She looked up and was thoroughly startled to find a man peering in at her. As she stared at him helplessly, he left the window and she could hear him hurrying around to the door, where he took the key out of the lock. When he stepped in, he closed the door behind him.
Eudora had got to her feet, not knowing what to expect.
“You needn’t be scared, ma’am,” he said. “Reckon I look purty tough this mornin’, but don’t let that bother you.”
He had a crooked smile that Eudora found engaging, frightened though she was. His right arm hung helplessly by his side. Her eyes widened as she gazed at it.
“Your arm!” she exclaimed. “You’ve been shot!”
“It ain’t nuthin’ serious,” he drawled. “You’ve got to do me a favor. I’m in a little bit of a fix— No, I don’t mean bind up my arm. I want you to git out of here. There’s some parties lookin’ for me. They’ll be comin’ down the road in a few minutes. When they show up, I want you to step out and let ’em see you lockin’ the door. You go on back to Nichols’s place, then. These gents will ask you if you’ve seen me. I’ll appreciate it, ma’am, if you tell ’em no.”
From the moment he had entered, Eudora had found something faintly familiar about him. What he had said quickened her memory. Finally, she was sure.
“You’re Steve Jennings, the rustler! I’ve seen your picture on the reward notices in Mescal!”
She felt her knees shaking.
“Yeh, I’m Steve Jennings, ma’am,” he admitted, with a grin.