Part 28 (1/2)
”You must have found things changed when you got to the ranch.”
”Didn't get there. I'd news at Hat Creek, and kep' the road main north.
Mother wasn't at the ranch any more. She'd poisoned Jesse's bear. Oh, mum, I don't want to hurt.”
”Go on, dear lad.”
”Mother'd took up with Polly at Spite House.”
”Spite House?”
”It's the Ninety-Nine Mile House. There's a sign-board right across the road:--
THE NINETY-NINE MRS. JESSE SMITH HOTEL, STORE, LIVERY.
”She did that to spite Jesse, and they call the place Spite House.”
Just then the maid brought in the tea things, so, cowardly as usual, I played hostess, delaying all the news I dared not face. We gossiped of Captain Taylor's half-bred child, Wee James at school down East, of Tearful George married to that dreadful young person at Eighty Mile House who scratched herself at meals, so Jesse said. At the Hundred-and-Four, where Hundred Mile Hill casts its tremendous shadow on the lowlands northward, Pete Mathson and his wife were making new harness for the Star Pack-train. There a shadow fell on our attempt at gossip--why does the conversation always stop at twenty minutes past?
Billy began to tell me about Spite House.
Spite House! How right Father Jared was. ”Sword versus dragon,” he told us, ”is heroic: sword versus c.o.c.kroach is heroics. Don't draw your sword on a c.o.c.kroach.”
This much I tried to explain to young O'Flynn, whose Irish blood has a fine sense of humor. But the smile he gave me was one of pity, turning my heart to ice. ”Jesse,” he said, ”made that mistake. That's why I've come six thousand miles to warn you. Howly Mother, if I'd only the eddication to talk so I'd be understood!
”I'm going to try another course. See here, mum. You've heered tell of Cachalot whales. They runs say eighty tons for full whales--one hundred fifty horse-power, dunno how many knots, full of fight to the last drop of blood. That stands for Jesse.
”And them sperm whales is so contemptuous of the giant squid they uses her for food. She's small along of a sperm whale, but she's mean as eight python snakes with a devil in the middle. That'll do for Polly.
”Well, last voyage I seen one of them she-nightmares strangle a bull Cachalot, and the sight turned me sick as a dog. Now, d'ye understand what Polly's doing? I told you I hated Jesse. I told you straight to your face why I hated him. And now, mum, I'm only sorry for poor Jesse.”
It was then, I think, that I began really to be terrified. Never in the old days at the ranch had Billy been off his guard even with me. Now he let me know his very heart. I could not help but trust him, and it was no small uneasiness which had brought the lad to England.
I had fought so hard, schooling myself to think of Jesse as of the dead, with reverent tenderness. Little by little I had filled a bleak and empty widowhood with mother duties, womanly service, my holy art of song, and harmless fairies, making the best of it while age and plainness were my destiny. But now of a sudden my poor peace was shattered, and that gift of imagination which had imagined even contentment, played traitor and made havoc. Laws, conventions, mean respectabilities, seemed only cobwebs now. Love swept them all away, and nothing mattered. Jesse! Jesse!
”Them devil-squids,” he was saying, ”has a habit of throwing out ink to fog the water, so you won't see what they're up to until they lash out to grapple. That's where they're so like this Polly. She's a fat, hearty, good-natured body, and it's the surest fact she's kind to men in trouble. Anybody can have a drink, a meal and a bed, no matter how broke he is; and Spite House is free hospital for the district. She'll sit up nights nursing a sick man, and, till I went an' lived there, I'd have sworn she was good as they make 'em. That's the ink.
”Then you begins to find out, and what I didn't see, mother would tell me. She'd been three years there. Besides, I seen most of what we calls sailor towns, and I'd thought I'd known the toughest there was in the way of boardin'-houses; but rough house in 'Frisco itself is holiness compared with what goes on there under the sign of Mrs. Jesse Smith.
That name ain't exactly clean.”
”That's enough, I think, if you don't mind. I'd rather have news about our old friends--Captain Taylor, for instance, and Iron Dale, and how is dear Doctor McGee?”
”Dear Doctor McGee, is it? Well, you see he lived within a mile of Polly. She got him drinkin', skinned him at cards, then told him he'd best shoot himself. The snow drifts through his house.
”And Iron Dale? Oh, of course, he was Jesse's friend, too. I'd forgot.
She got him drunk and went through him. That money was for paying his hands at the Sky-line--wasn't his to lose, so he skipped the country.
The mines closed down and there wasn't no more packing contracts for Jesse.”
I began to understand what Billy meant, and it was with sick fear I asked concerning my dear man's stanchest friend, his banker, Captain Boulton Taylor.
”You'd better know, mum.” There was pain in the lad's face, reluctance in his voice. ”Being the nearest magistrate, he tried to down Polly for keeping a disorderly house. But then, as old man Taylor owned, he didn't know enough law to plug a rat hole. There ain't no munic.i.p.ality, so Spite House is outside the law. But Polly's friends proved all the good she done to men who was hurt, or sick, or broke. Then she showed up how her store and hotel was cutting into the trade of Hundred Mile House.