Tom and the squatter's son : a stirring tale of adventures in the pioneer days for boys from 7 to 60

Front matter

<E>Y OPIE READ

A STIRRING TALE FOR BOYS FROM 7 TO 60 AND ALL LOVERS OF THE EXCITING SCENES OF PIONEER LIFE

Cliica6o LAIRD 6 LLL Publishers

Chapter I

Along a new-cut road in the forest of Oklahoma a young fellow briskly walked. The sun was low, its beams streaming through the underbrush, and from time to time he quickened his pace as if anxious to reach some sort of habitation before the fall of night. The country was wild, recently opened up to the settlement of the white man. In the heavy woods skirting the strips of prairie land the black bear still roamed about, keeping time to the tune of his own humorous mood, and among the pine covered hills the newcomer in his log house with dirt floor, was still startled out of his midnight slumber by the scream of the panther. There were but few Indians remaining in the territory. When Congress after many years of delay gave over Oklahoma to the different races of the earth, the red man, dark and glum with the traditions of his race, grunted contemptuously, rolled up his blanket and turned away, to find a home where strange waters flowed.

The sun was almost down when the youth came upon the cabin of that species of citizen known as a squatter, a man almost as roving as the Indian, a quaint character who never stopped to investigate the ownership of land, but who built his log hut and remained there until told to move on, or until neighbors began to appear, and then, complaining of being crowded, he would pick up his traps and move of his own accord. This habitation did not look older than a few days. New chips were scattered about it and the roof was not quite completed. Beside a stump lay a yellow dog, stretched out to catch the last rays of the sun. In front of the door stood a mule colt, nearly as woolly as a sheep. The youth “halloed” and instantly the tow head of a boy was thrust over the comb of the roof. From his post of observation he had been evidently watching the approach of the stranger.

“Whut do you want?” the tow head inquired, showing an eye above the ridge of boards.

“I want to see your father.”

“How do you know I’ve got one?”

“I don’t know that you have.”

“Then how do you know you want to see him?”

“It isn’t likely that you are living here alone.”

“No. Thar’s the dog down thar and thar’s the colt.”

“And I guess I can get as much information out of either one of them as I can draw out of you.”

Hereupon the mule colt kicked up his heels and scampered off into the woods and the dog looked up with one eye and, again yielding to the soothing rays of the sun, dropped off to sleep.

“Come down,” said the traveler, “I want to talk to you.”

“Can’t you talk to me whar I am?”

“Yes, but I can’t get anything out of you.”

“Wall, I don’t reckon you could get anything out of me down thar.”

“Come down and I’ll try.”

“Can you rassle?” the tow head inquired, showing his shoulders above the roof. “If you can and think you can fling me down, all right.”

“If you want to wrestle I’ll try to accommodate you,” the youth replied.

“All right,” rejoined tow head, scrambling along the roof. “I ain’t had no fun since I come here.” He dropped to the ground and the youth saw that he was tall and with evidences of wire strength and agility. He appeared to be constructed entirely of bone. His yellowish hair looked like swamp grass scorched by the sun. He wore what is known as a hickory shirt and soiled flax trousers, held up by one “bed-tick” suspender.

“So you want to wrestle with me?”

“Yes, specially as I ain’t had no fun since pap come here.”

“All right, come on.”

The youth threw him, and the dog jumped up, with both eyes wide open.

“I don’t believe it,” remarked tow head. “Nobody can throw me that easy. Give me another proof.”

Again he was tumbled upon the ground. “That looks easy,” remarked tow head,

“but some how I don’t believe it. Why, I have flung down all the young fellers in north Arkansas, and come mighty nigh breakin’ the neck of a feller that worked on a flat boat. You ain’t flung me yet. I have jest been a dreamin’. Come at me.”

This time he arose with his mouth full of dirt. “Are you convinced now?” the youth inquired.

“Dinged if I don’t believe I am. Whar are you from?”

“From away off yonder,” answered the youth, waving his hand.

“How did you learn all this?”

“In a gymnasium.”

“In a what? But don’t say it again. It sorter skeers a feller. But you are strong. And you are about the finest lookin’ chap I ever seed. But you are so good lookin’ I didn’t think you could rassle. What is it you want with pap?”

“I wanted to know if he would let me stay all night.”

“Why, you can stay till he comes and then if you can fling him down I reckon he’ll let you stay as long as you want to. Here he is now.”

A tall raw-boned man, not as old as he looked, came around the corner of the house. The dog ran to him with a caper of welcome, and the mule colt, standing o ft in the woods, gave him a bray of recognition.

“What’s yo’ name, young feller?” the squatter inquired.

“Just plain Tom Smith.”

“Plain enough. Whar you from?”

“Indiana.”

“Still plain enough. But they tell me they send out some right good men from thar. In fact I know they do. I met one not long ago that was powerful entertainin’. Fixed up a fight with him, and he knocked out this tooth right here, flattened my nose and took away my appetite for corn bread. Most amusin’ cuss I ever met. But what are you doin’ down here — lookin’ for a fight?”

“No, I want to stay all night, and — ”

“Come all the way down here jest to stay all night? Ain’t thar no places to stay whar you come from?”

“Plenty of them. No. I didn’t come to fight, unless I have to. I am looking around

Squatter s Son n

and may settle somewhere in this part of the country.”

“Want to stay all night. Have you attended to him, Fletch?” the squatter asked, speaking to his son.

“Yep. Had a few falls.”

“What did he do?”

“Proved that he had a right to wait for you.”

“That so? All right. Young feller, you may not understand our customs right well. We hold that a family’s got the right to make its own laws, so we have made ourn. It might seem funny to some folks, but natural enough to us. You see we love fun better than anything in the world, but we don’t get none except when a stranger comes along. I’ve jest moved in here. Which way do you want to rassle?”

“Makes no difference to me.”

“Wall, you are an accommodatin’ chap. Jest come on an’ grab as grab can and I won’t hurt you any mo’ than I can naturally help.”

There was a rush, a swirl of yellow in the air, and the squatter lay stretched out on the ground. He got up, dusted himself and looked about surprised. “It seems that somethin’ has happened,” he said, “but it ain’t reasonable that a man should believe everythin’. Tell me that happenin’ once agi’n.”

Again he was thrown upon the ground harder than before, and this time when he got up he turned to his son and said: “Fletch, go kill a couple of them young chickens and fry ’em for the stranger. Fetch out them biscuit and warm ’em up. Young feller, you can stay with me jest as long as you want to,”

Chapter II

In the night there came a heavy dash of rain, and half asleep, Tom lay upon his pallet listening, dreamily, to the galloping of swift cavalry through the air and upon the roof; and when the forces of the night had all passed, with the occasional patter of a belated troop, he lay there musing upon his hosts, the squatter and his none less peculiar son. Of such people he had read, in books and sketches which seemed to be careless of the truth, but in their real existence he had never believed. To him they had been but the humorous fairies of a frolicsome mind. But now they lay, almost within arm’s reach of him, full of strange whims, hardly knowing the value of money, ignorant of the world’s commerce and the ambitions for which men risk their lives.

Among the meagre furnishings of this habitation there was not a scrap of printed paper. Always living beyond the refining touch of education, but learned in woodcraft and apt in the unconscious figures of x 4 speech which seem to come up naturally out of the soil, they spent their lives, quaintly joking. But behind them there lives a vivid history; Watt Tylers who with sledge hammers resented the insults of heartless nobles ; Cromwells who cut off the heads of imperious oppression and held high a hand that was red but free. And the youth thought of this as he lay there musing. He thought of the slave market that followed the western rebellion in England, when to follow Monmouth the people arrayed themselves against James, who were crushed, hanged, sold into slavery — who, some of them, bought by the ladies of the court, were sent to the Southern colonies in America. Some of the ancestors of this squatter doubtless stood looking into the merciless eye of Jeffreys, the most heartless of all judges; some of them died in the hull of a disease-stricken ship. Thus he was musing when the squatter arose and stretched himself :

“Wall, reckon we better git up and eat a bite.”

“It isn’t daylight yet,” replied Tom.

“That may be, but it’s time to git up. A feller that lays in bed till the sun rises never will amount to nuthin’.”

“Have you got anything very important to do to-day?”

“Yes, got to get up and see the sun rise. Don’t want the sun to ketch you in bed, do you? It never would forgive you. One time thar come along a feller that was runnin’ for governor of the state, and the sun riz one mornin’ and cotch him in bed, told the moon and stars on him and beat him five to one. Git up, Fletch, and go out and look at the mule colt.”

Fletch was drowsy. He was a squatter, with all the traditions of his class, but more than all he was a boy. “What’s the use in lookin’ at him, pap? He’s thar all right.”

“Wall, go out and let him know you know he’s thar. What, want to go to sleep ag’in? You’ll never be governor of no state.”

The boy yawned. “Wall, you’ve been a gittin’ up this early all yo’ life an’ I ain’t seed you governor of no state.”

“Hussle out, we ain’t got no time to talk politics. We’ll git a bite to eat, an’ then if you want to you may go to bed ag’in.”

The clouds were gone and the sun was i6 ablaze when Tom told his friends good bye. They shook his hand affectionately, and when the boy had gone with him to the rise of the hill, he halted and said:

“Wall, reckon I’ll go back here. Got to count the mule ag’in, you know. Pap has him counted about eight times a day. That’s about all I’ve got to do — git a bite to eat now and then and count the mule. Wish you’d steal him^ so I wouldn’t be kept so busy. Wait a minit. Whar are you goin’?”

“You have heard of the little town known as Blue J ay, haven’t you ?”

“Yes, feller come along yistidy an’ said he was from thar. He said thar was more than six stores in the place, but I didn’t believe him. I wonder if it’s true. One of these days I ’low to go over thar and see. Do you reckon you’ll be thar long?”

“I don’t know.”

“Reckon a feller would git lost among all them stores? Wall, good bye, you may see me ag’in some time.”

Along in the afternoon, when he had trudged many a tiresome mile, Tom came to a house which bore some of the features of modern civilization. Out in front a man

1 7 was harnessing a horse to a buggy, and in the hope of being set forward on his journey by a more speedy way than walking, he halted and addressed the man, inquired as to the direction he intended to drive.

“To Blue Jay,” he answered.

“How far is it from here?”

“About ten miles.”

“Is any one going with you?”

“Why all these questions? If you want to ride why don’t you say so? I am a doctor and a man of few words. I have come out from Blue Jay to see a man that was pretty badly crushed by a bear, and if I hadn’t got here in time he would have died. Whoa, here, come under while I buckle this strap. Don’t believe you ever belonged to a doctor before. I haven’t owned him very long. In fact I haven’t been here but a short time — came from Kansas where there are doctors a plenty, I tell you. Are you going to Blue Jay. If you are, why don’t you say so? My name is Dr. Plum. You haven’t told me your name.”

“You haven’t given me a chance.”

“Haven’t? I’ve given you all the chance there is. I am a man of few words — man of action, I might say. Come, climb in if you are going with me.”

They started off at a dash, and Dr. Plum took off his hat to catch upon his prematurely bald head the rush of cool air. He wore a short-cropped reddish beard, with upper lip shaved, and the links to which his watch was attached were large enough for a dog chain; the checks on his clothes almost reminded one of the mosaics in the floor of an art institute; he wore boots made of alligator hide.

“Come, sir, your name?”

Tom told him.

“But your business, sir. You’ve said nothing about that. Out in this country we want to know a man’s business. You ain’t a man yet, but the way boys shoot up these days you may be at any minute. I guess you’ve had your collar bone broken playing foot ball. Come, own up — don’t try to get out of it.”

“I’ve had two of my ribs broken.”

“So? Ah, hah. Where, let me see.” He began to grabble under Tom’s coat, and found the location of the ribs that once were broken. “So? They knit with first intention — a fair physician attended you. If it had been some exterior hurt I might tell from the scar as to the school of the doctor that did the work. But no matter. Why have you come out here? Don’t you know that when a young fellow comes out here alone we naturally suspect that he has done some deviltry and has had to run away from home? You didn’t know that? Well, you will learn a good lot about real life if you stay out here long. But you didn’t come riding a horse — that’s one evidence that you may be all right — evidence, you see, that you didn’t steal the horse. Laughing at me, eh? Well, I’ve known fellows to come here laughing and after a short time set up a laugh on the other side of the mouth. What can you do? Know anything about any sort of trade?”

“I have never learned a trade. What’s the use of learning one when they are having so many strikes all over the country?”

“Pretty good sense in that. Ever take a prize in your class at Sunday School?”

“If you question me very closely you’ll find that there are a great many things T have neglected. I don’t lay claims to being good. All things considered I guess I’m about as natural a boy as you’ve struck for some time. I never robbed birds’ nests while other boys were studying; I never saw a boy drown because he went out in a boat on Sunday, but if you pin me down I’m afraid that once upon a time I tied a tin can to a dog’s tail.”

“Well, well, you are a singular chap. Just an all round American boy, eh? And you are a fine looking duck, I can tell you that; and a man that has looked very close into that dark eye of yours wouldn’t care to tackle you. I’ve got a friend in Blue Jay that will take to you — Major Barton, fine fellow, smart as they make ’em; Yale man,

I believe. Brought money out here and invested it in land around about the town and has done more for our place than all other agencies combined. Unfortunately he hasn’t - needed my medical services yet, but I may get at him after a while. What sort of business do you expect to engage in?”

“I haven’t any idea; anything that comes up.”

“Got any money?”

“If I had I wouldn’t have walked.”

“Logic, sir; logic. Old Whateley himself might sometimes learn from a youngster. But in coming out here you must have had some idea. Not looking for a lost father, I hope.”

“No, my parents are not living.”

“Good. I mean it’s good that you don’t have to look for them. Not on track of a stolen will, I suppose.”

“There’s no will that has any bearing on me.”

“Well, sir, I guess you are a natural boy, and I wish I had some sort of work to give you. But you ain’t likely to starve. Out in a new country they don’t let folks starve. To go home and sit down by a comfortable fire knowing that not far away are little children cold and hungry belongs to the civilization of old places. Out here we help one another and forgive short-comings — nearly everything but horse stealing, and my advice to you is — my only advice in fact, is that you’d better walk until you can buy a horse. Going to a stable at night and taking one out may be easier, and a good deal quicker, but it is better to work for him. Of course if you can cheat a man out of one in a trade that’s all right; society is a good bit of a cheat itself, you know. Well, from the top of that hill over yonder we can see our town.”

Chapter III

The Doctor continued to talk, asking questions or firing off his opinions of the world, and Tom was not slow to express himself, but as they neared the hill-top which was to give him the first view of the town, he fell into silence. And when they had reached the summit of the hill, when the tin-covered dome of the sourt house flashed its light into his eyes, the young fellow stood up and exclaimed: “So, that at last is the place.”

“Sit down. There’s no mistake as to the name of the town — can’t say that I would have selected it, but it was named by a gang of adventurous fellows that had no ear for music. What do you mean by saying at last it is the place? Do you expect to meet any friends there?”

“No, sir; I’m not acquainted with any one in the town.”

“But your words carry a note of mystery. Being a short-spoken man I don’t like mystery. Tell me out and out why you are coming here?”

“I have heard that it is the place for me — that I may do well there.”

“All right, no mystery in that. I’ll help you all I can — will introduce you to Barton, but you musn’t beat about the bush. Speak out.”

“I don’t think you’ll have any cause to complain, sir.”

“That’s the way to talk. And, by the way, you might go into my office and study medicine.”

“Don’t think I should like that very well. Is there a newspaper in the town?”

“Yes, sir, one of the very worst you ever saw, the Blue Jay Gazette.”

“I used to send dispatches to the Chicago papers and I think I might do something in a printing office.”

“You could w T rite up my cases, that’s a fact. The fellow that’s running the Gazette now doesn’t care anything at all about news — made only five inches of the fact that I was attending the bear-crushed patient and gave a foot and a half to a dog fight in a livery stable. He prints only once a week, but he doesn’t give enough news to last five minutes. I have sometimes wished he would steal a horse.”

“Why?”

“I want to get rid of him. I don’t think it would take much to buy him out. If we could scare him he might run away. I have heard that he committed forgery back where he came from, but out here they don’t understand forgery and it ain’t much of a crime — • some of them look on it as a sort of accomplishment, like piano tuning or something of that sort. I’ll take you around and introduce you to him. You’ll like it out here. I reckon we’ve got the liveliest set of boys you ever saw. Up to all sorts of pranks — took a fellow out one night and hung him over on that knob, right yonder. He didn’t want to be hung — said he was busy — but the boys told him they would look after his affairs. He was a playful sort of a fellow — played with fire and tried to walk off with some goods while a store was burning. I’ll introduce you to them. From this hill we can see the town again.”

“The place at last,” the young man mused.

Blue jay was a small town, ragged in appearance, with loose boards flapping when the wind was strong. It was constructed almost wholly of wood, with here and there a

“commercial” palace of merchants more adventurous than their neighbors. There was no railway in the town, which was two miles from the river, a necessity brought about by the existence of low lands that were subject to overflow. Like all such towns faith in the future was the source of all its energy. Within a few moments any real estate dealer could explain why Blue Jay was to be one of the centers of commerce and manufacture.

The doctor drove to a drug store, and pointing to a window in the second story remarked that it looked out of his place of business. He shouted to a negro boy who came forward to take care of the horse, and telling Tom to follow him, he entered the drug store. Behind the counter stood a young fellow who addressed the physician as “Doc .”

“Anything going on, Charley?”

“Nothing, Doc.”

“Nobody needs me, I guess.”

“Not that I have heard.”

“How do these people expect me to live if they don’t send for me? Mr. Brown, this is young Smith; I found him out here almost dead of swamp fever — had been given up by three doctors — but I attended him and you see what he now is.”

The druggist reached forth his hand and Tom shook him, blushing to think that he was a testimonial, but as he was grateful for the “lift” which the doctor had given him over the dreary road he said nothing.

“Of course you have come to live among us,” the druggist remarked, and Tom replied : “Yes, for a while at least.”

“Oh, if you stay here a while you are bound to become a fixture. Look at me. I expected simply to pass through here, but I’ve been here a year and am one of the oldest inhabitants.”

“He’ll be one of us all right,” said the doctor, and then speaking to Tom he continued : “I guess you’d better go over to the hotel and get your supper and in the morning if I’m not called away I’ll take you over and introduce you to the newspaper. Tell the hotel man that you are my friend and he won’t ask you to pay in advance. Haven’t got much baggage, have you? That bundle contain your all? Well, you ain’t a very promising guest, that’s a fact. But tell him you know me and he won’t charge you more than two prices.”

The hotel was a small affair, built of unplaned pine boards, consisting of two rooms down stairs and a number of stalls above. In the office were several boys of about Tom’s age, ranging from seventeen to twenty, and when he entered they eyed him suspiciously. When he asked of the proprietor, a dried-up old fellow, if he could be accommodated with supper and a bed, a red-headed boy turned to his companions and remarked : “Bill, I don’t reckon he wants to buy any of your dad’s land.”

“If I wanted to buy manners I wouldn’t stop to examine your stock,” Tom replied, and the boys laughed. “He got you that time, Abe,” one of them said, and Abe replied: “Yes, and I’ll get him the first thing he knows.”

Arrangements were completed with the landlord and Tom was about to go into the dining room when Abe stepped up and said :

“I want to see you a minute.”

“All right, two minutes if you think it will take that long.”

“If what will take that long?”

“The business you want to transact with me,”

“Yes, you bet your life I’ll transact business with you. What did you mean by saying that I hadn’t any manners? Don’t try to wriggle out of it. What did you mean?”

Tom began to laugh. “I meant exactly what I said — that if I wanted manners I wouldn’t examine your stock. And I wouldn’t. You are at home ; I am a stranger. I came in here modestly and you began to make sport of me, and if you don’t like what I said you may help yourself to something that you may like better.”

“Come, no rowin’ here,” said the landlord. “Abe, that chap could lick you in a minute.”

“Who, me?” Abe shouted, but there was a squeak in his voice. “Don’t you bet your money on it for you’d lose. If he wants anything out of me he can get it, I tell you that. I’m not goin’ to be run over by every feller that comes along.”

“Fight fair,” cried one of the boys, evidently a leader. “Here, stand back, fellers and let them go at it right.”

“Wait a minute,” said Tom. “I was the best boxer in my school and this chap’s no match for me. If there’s got to be a fight let it be somewhat equal. Select your best man and let him take this fellow’s place.”

“You talk pretty big,” replied the leader. “And mebby you don’t know me. My name is Jim Turner.”

“Well, what of that?”

The boys looked at one another. Some of them shook their heads. Was it possible that there was to be a revolution in the affairs of boydom?

“Don’t fight in here,” said the landlord,, showing by his manner that he was keen for the combat.

“I’ll fight this chap anywhere,” Jim Turner declared, pulling off his coat. Tom’s coat came off and the two lusty fellows stood facing each other. It was said afterward that Tom knocked him down with the first blow. Of course those among the boys who still had faith in their hero denied this, but not one among them went so far as not to acknowledge that the second blow brought him. When they had washed his face and given him his hat — when he had muttered about seeing him some other time, he passed through the crowd that had gathered about the door and went away, with one or two boys following him, but they soon came back to peep in at Tom as he sat eating his supper. Abe came into the room and approaching the table took off his slouch hat and said:

“It was all my fault. I ain’t no coward, you understand, and I would have fought you and been knocked silly, but I want to say I’m sorry for what I said. A feller don’t always know how soon he’s goin’ to be a fool. We ain’t a bad lot here, Jim and the rest of us, and we’ll do the right thing by you if you stay here, and I don’t think you can find a better place. Hope you won’t hold anything up against me.”

“Not at all,” Tom replied. “You boys have just reminded me of home, that’s all.”

“Where is he?” a voice called, and looking up Tom saw Dr. Plum coming toward him, “Ah, here you are.” He shook hands as if years had passed, inquired as to how Tom was getting along, presented the good wishes of Charley, the druggist, and then said: “Lively town here, my son. Glad they so soon extended to you the politeness of the season. Sometimes they are a little