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Swiggart can know nothing about it. She is a real good sort; the best wife and mother in the county. And I'm only quoting Uncle Jake. He says that fifteen steers at $30 a head make $450. Laban built a barn that spring, and put up a tank and windmill." With this Parthian shot my brother left me to some sorry reflections. I cordially liked and respected Laban Swiggart and his family.
I never see a chicken took with the gapes but I think o' Abram Skenk. Yes, Mr. Ajax, my daughters was all born here, 'ceptin' Alviry. She was born in Massachusetts. It did make a difference to the child. As a little girl she kep' herself to herself. And though I'd rather cut out my tongue than say a single word against Laban Swiggart, I do feel that he'd no business to pick the best in the basket.
"Boys," said he, throwing one leg over the horn of the saddle; "I didn't get there. I I mired down!" Later, he gave us some interesting details. It transpired that he had met his sweetheart, after Sabbath-school, and had sat beside her during the regular service; after church he had accepted a warm invitation from Mrs. Swiggart to join the family circle at dinner.
Swiggart, better known as Old Smarty, told me in confidence that "she wouldn't stand no foolishness"; and he added, reflectively, that she was something of a "bull-dozer." I knew that Old Smarty had sold his boarder an aged and foundered bronco for fifty dollars, and that within twenty-four hours the animal had been returned to him and the money refunded to Miss Birdie.
A barbed-wire fence divided his sterile hills from our fertile valleys, and emphasised sharply the difference between a Government claim and a Spanish grant. The County Assessor valued the Swiggart ranch at the rate of one, and our domain at six dollars per acre. We owned two leagues of land, our neighbours but half a section.
We drove up to the Swiggarts' house, and both Laban and his wife expressed great surprise at seeing us. "You're wet through, mother," said Mrs. Swiggart, "and all of a tremble." "Yes, Alviry, I've had a close call. This young man saved my life." "Nonsense," said Ajax gruffly. "I did nothing of the sort, Mrs. Skenk." "Yes, you did," she insisted, grimly obstinate. "Any ways," said Mrs.
"I hope your husband will find his mare," said Ajax. "We lost fifteen fat steers once, but we never found them." "That's so," observed Mr. Swiggart. "And I wore myself out a-hunting 'em. They was stolen sure." "The wickedness of some folk passes my understanding," remarked Mrs. Tapper. "Well, we're told that the triumphing of the wicked is short, but good Land! Job never lived in this State."
Favourite? No, sir; but I've said, many a time, that if Alviry went to her long home, I could not tarry here. Most women feel that way about the first-born. I've told Alviry to her face as she'd ought to have said 'No' to Laban Swiggart. Oh, the suffering that dear child has endured!
Packing bacon beneath the sunny skies of Southern California was a speculation, he said. Swiggart, he added, ought to know what good hams were, for he bought the very best Eastern brand. "What!" we cried simultaneously, "does Mr. Swiggart buy hams?" Yes; it seemed that only a few days previously Laban had carefully selected the choicest ham in the store. Ajax clutched my arm, and we fled.
So we decided to charge profit and loss with five hundred dollars, and to keep our eyes peeled for the future. By this time the skies had cleared, and the cataract was a creek again. The next day Mrs. Swiggart drove up to the barn, tied her horse to the hitching-post, and walked with impressive dignity up the garden path. We had time to note that something was amiss.
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