Ainslee's Magazine/Leander's Rebellion

by Roy Norton

 

LEANDER'S REBELLION

By Roy Norton

IT was a kettle full of sour beans, a two-pound cake of limburger cheese, and a picture of the girl who used Zozodoes chewing-gum that caused the uprising on Snodgrass Gulch, and for a time disrupted, broke, smashed, and punctured the peace of the cabin on its rugged crest. It even disjointed the friendly relations, which had existed for so many years that both had forgotten the date, between Leander Boggs, the man who owned the claim, and his force, which consisted of one Silas Jones. And it took much to do that; for Leander Boggs was a meek and lowly man, entitled by the word of the Good Book to inherit a goodly portion of the earth.

It is certain, however, that until the event of the beans, the limburger, and the Zozodoes girl, Leander had leaned upon the graces of “the force,” for Silas had charms. It was Silas who did some of the work, what there was done, who did some of the cooking, what there was of it, and who, with a flow of language that was bombastic, if not enlightening, smoothed the wrinkles from Leander's troubled brow when there were any wrinkles to smooth. As Leander was wont to remark: “I don' know th' meanin' of them highfalutin words o' his'n, but it sutinly pearks me up to hear Si talk.”

So, as time went on, Silas generously allowed his employer the lion's share of their toil, permitted him to cut all the wood, bring all the water, wash the dishes, and sharpen the tools, and in return gave words of consolation and—kept most of the money. But Leander, being meek and lowly, made neither protest nor complaint. That is, he had not until the eventful day when the rebellion against conditions and all things really started—when a lack of culinary methods aroused his long-slumbering ire.

It took him some time to get aroused, and in the interim he sat on the porch of his humble abode, his lank, angular figure hunched up and his hardened fingers thoughtfully toying with a large and glistening wart on the end of his large and bony nose, an infallible sign of wretchedness.

“Somethin',” he said, addressing an inquisitive bluejay that hopped impertinently at his feet, “oughter be did. Seems like this place is goin' plumb to rack an' ruin. Now, that Si's an awful good feller but lacks—lacks jedgment! Knew I could think o' that word,” he added triumphantly. “Yes, sir, he lacks jedgment.”

He hoisted himself into his boots, turned slowly to the door, and looked pensively inside.

“There's them beans! Cooked a kettle full nigh onto a week ago, we've been chewin' on 'em a week, they ain't half gone yit, and there you air. All right in the winter-time but ten days at a stretch is too much for hot weather, and that's what makes me feel bad now. Then there's that dodgasted pickle-kag that he always forgits to cover, with the flies hangin' round it as if it was their'n. Wuss'n that, Si had to go an' dump them salmon bellies in a-top of 'em because there wa'n't no vinegar within twenty mile. So they all taste a heap wuss now. Beds ain't been made for a month when they orter be made at least onct a week, floor ain't been swept since New-year's, an' the lamp-chimbleys ain't been swiped out; but all that don't explain ter me why this place has smelled like a fertilizin' factory ever since Si made that last trip to town. Somethin's got ter be did.”

He began a determined inspection, lifting the covers from cans and pots and sniffing his way like an ancient hound on the trail. At last he opened a lard-pail and staggered back.

“That's it!' he muttered triumphantly. “Si toted up two whole pounds o' limbugger, chawed a hunk off one corner an' left it sitting on the stove when he cooked breakfast. He knows I hate limbugger. It don' taste good, and it's a cinch it don' smell good, an' I ain't goin' to stand for it no more. Ef he ain't got no jedgment, I'll use mine.”

It was the moment of fate, for in looking around for something with which to handle the cheese his eye lighted on the merry, caressing glance of the peroxide girl who smiled at him from the heart of the Zozodoes labels above the shelf. It was like an inspiration. His fingers worked themselves thoughtfully through his scant hair and he smiled back. He wondered why he hadn't thought of that solution before.

“Ef I had you fur a wife,” he said, addressing her, “we'd have fresh beans every day, you'd keep the kiver on the pickle-kag, and there wouldn't be no limbugger hangin' around the stove; but I reckon you're tooken by this time, fur you've been a-hangin' up there goin' on ten year, an' besides I ain' used to talkin' to women, except Bill Rigg's wife down at the camp an' she's married a few.”

“What time's it gittin' to be, Leander?”

A voice broke into his meditations, and he turned to discern Si's stumpy figure framed in the doorway.

“About two hours to quittin'-time, Si.”

“Guess I won't work no more to-day. I ain't feelin' what you'd call booteous—kind of a disorganizin' of my diaframe.”

“Mebbe it's them beans,” Leander suggested, poking a tentative finger into the kettle. “Mebbe they ain' fresh.”

“They're as sweet as the balm of Gillod,” Silas asserted in self-defense.

Leander turned and fronted him.

“Si, why don' you take that infernal limbugger an'——” he began angrily, but paused as he noted the surprised and injured expression on “the force's” face. He fumbled for words. “An'—an' put it off the stove when there's a fire goin'?” he concluded meekly.

“What fur?”

“Well, it ain't no roses when it gets het up.”

“Toasted cheese is the finest remedy on this here earth. When th' functions of the inner man need invigeratin' all you got to do is to mastercate a hunk o' that bovine solidity an'—zip! ev'ry orgin begins to vibrate. That there cheese is a blessin' to human man, Leander Boggs, an' if you'd eat some once in a while you'd be a blamed sight more industrious, not to speak of——”

Leander threw his fists up in a despairing, repugnant gesture, and asserted his superiority, a thing which he had not had the temerity to do before in three years.

“You kin just toddle back an' work an hour more, an' I'll cook up the grub this evenin',” he said, and Silas, after a dazed look, started toward the door with the air of one who has been betrayed by his best friend. He even evidenced a thought of mollifying his employer, and turned back with a sudden assumption of something important to impart. He pulled a scrap of a newspaper from his pocket and carefully laid it on the pine table between the offending bean-kettle and the baking-powder can.

“I knocked off a leetle sooner, Leander, because I found this where them feller's that was a-huntin' left it last week, an' thought I'd bring it to you.”

He passed out on the trail and Leander looked regretfully after him. He felt that he had been unduly harsh in asking his “hired hand” to work more than four hours a day. He had a notion that he should call him back and apologize. He did, and Silas accepted the reprieve gratefully, asserting that he “didn't feel none too galvanic nohow.” There was an era of good feeling, but Leander cooked the evening meal while “the force” went peacefully to sleep on the front porch. Fate was again at work, for between whiles Leander looked at the paper, painfully deciphering in the personal column the following:

Wanted—A good husband by a young and sprightly widow lady.I am clever, refined, and well educated, am of a loving, cheerful disposition, and have no incumbrance. Wish to correspond with a middle-aged man of good moral character and some means who will make me a kind and loving helpmate. No triflers need apply. Address Cynthia Blazer, Lock Box 23, Hopperville, Kansas.

He stopped work for a long, long time, and the biscuits burned in the oven. His finger hovered over the words “No incumbrance.” When the smoke from the stove recalled him he said a few harsh things he had learned while driving mules, made up another batch, and still looked thoughtful.

“Never heard tell on 'em advutisin' before,” he muttered. “Wants to git married, an' so do I.” He put the fresh batch in the oven. “Bet she'd make some feller a slappin' good wife.”

He stopped and looked thoughtfully at the Zozodoes girl and gave her a sly Lothario wink. But it was not until after the evening meal that he craftily broached the mystifying difficulty of the advertisement to his mentor.

“Si,” he said awkwardly, “they's a couple o' words I see here I cain't understan'. What's this?” he demanded, pointing a grimy finger at “sprightly.”

“That there, um-mh!” Si paused to take several puffs at his pipe. “That there means, Dod gast this pipe—out again—wait till I light her.” He arose, walked slowly to the match-box hanging on the wall, selected one with great care and lit his pipe with a contemplative expression. “That there word means red-headed,” he announced as he resumed his chair with the air of a man who has solved a problem. “One o' them blondes.”

“Like that one up there?” Leander pointed at the Zozodoes girl who still smiled back.

“Sure! That's a sprightly one—meanin' red-headed—blonde. Sure!”

“And this?” Leander pointed at “No incumbrance.”

Silas was quicker this time. He had an air of great learning.

“That means she's got no physical deframaties. Ain't spavined, nor nothin' like that. Got no brands or saddle galls. Got no children, or livin' husbands, or—oh, well—that's it!'

Leander evinced great joy and pronounced eagerness.

“Now, look here,” he said, bringing his fist down on the table with a bang. “I want you to answer this for me. Don't go and use them highfalutin words just cause you been through college, bekase I don't allow to make her think I'm eddycated when I ain't. Jest write her the facts an' say I'm her man.”

He took time to look at Silas who had wilted down as if blighted by a frost.

“Jumpin' Jemimy!” he whispered hoarsely. “Ye ain't gittin' matrimoniously rampant, be ye, Leander? What in blazes do you want with a woman monkeyin' around here for?”

“Well,” Leander answered in a conciliatory spirit, “things look purty bad around here, Si, an' I'm gittin' tired of scrubbin' an' washin' and so on. It'll be a heap easier for both of us to come in from work and find everything cleaned up an' a hot supper waitin' for us, an' you cain't tell—mebbe she'll bring lace curtains with her an' a g'ranium or two.”

Silas brightened a trifle. He began to see some advantages.

“This conjugal bliss don't always make good,” he said as a last warning; “but I'll write an' you copy it.”

So it was that after two hours' tedious work the following literary gem was produced:

Deer Missus Blazer: i red youre lonesome notis in the Butte Intermountain and take my pen in hand to anser i am 41 year old and have black hare and eyes before it turned gray. i have one man Silas workin for me. i am a luving and lonesome man and will make you a good husband. i like sprightly women better than black-hared ones and make a hundred and fifty dollars sum months and sum months a leetle more, ansur at once as i am waitin for an ansur. i will ansur when you ansur.

luve from your friend

Leander Zeraboaim Boggs.
Post offis Silver Bow, montana.

It was mailed by Leander himself. He began to suspect Silas, so took no chances. And in due time Leander and Silas received, opened, and spelled out the reply:

Dear Leander: I hereby grasp my pen in hand to answer your sweet and loving letter, and I can't tell you how you made me love you when you wrote those sweet and loving words. And I want to tell you I am some past twenty-five years of age and have golden hair and am a good cook and tall and stately and not afraid to work, and if you love me answer at once because I have 63 other offers since I wrote in the paper, but I love you and if you will send the money for the ticket I will come at once because I would rather marry you than some one I don't know. I send you a picture of my sister Arabella. She lives in Paradise, Arkansaw. I ain't had no tintypes for a long time and my last husband used them to nail over mouse-holes in the corn-crib.

Love to my darling Leander,
Cynthia.

(xxxxxxxxxx)
kisses.

They decided Arabella looked like the Zozodoes girl. Indeed they passed most of the days loafing around and making comparisons in that long interim after Leander sent the money for the ticket and a liberal present of twenty-five dollars additional. And on the appointed day when she was to be met Leander drove tremblingly away after advising Silas to “clean up them dishes and the cabin a mite.” The decrepit old pony, nearly as old as his master and as meek in spirit, seemed to meander over the road, and Leander was fearful lest he miss the train; but he got there two hours before time and eagerly watched the track for “the cyars bringin' his blushin' intended.” Silas had given him those touching lines.

When the train finally hurried in and stopped it landed a drummer, the road-master, and a woman holding a girl of perhaps twelve years of age by the hand. Leander felt a wave of disappointment surge through his breast and muttered mournfully: “Them men ain't her, an' that there woman's got a incumbrance hangin' onto her.”

Slowly the platform emptied, the train went about its business, and Leander felt more sorrowful. The woman approached. °

“Be you Leander Boggs?” she asked. Shades of departed viragoes! Maybe this was she. Tall and angular, hair of fiery red, eyes deep-set and piercing, long and hooked nose, and a jaw that was ominously square. The girl brazen, monkey-faced, and curious, sized him up as he, meek and lowly, thought of the Zozodoes girl and wondered whether he could escape by flight. Before he knew it he had admitted his identity and was lost.

“Why, Leander!” Cynthia shouted, with a smile so effusive that it threatened to hook the point of her nose over the edge of her chin. “Ain't you goin' to kiss your lovey?” she added coyly.

Leander gulped several times, closed his eyes, and succeeded in pecking the bridge of her nose. His only protest was a feeble: “Thought you didn't have no incumbrance, Cynthy,” looking the meanwhile at the girl.

“Incumbrance, lovey! Lord, she ain't no incumbrance! Lilly's just a little angel, ain't you, Lilly?”

“Yep,” answered Lilly, pausing in her occupation of mauling the depot cat.

Before Leander could say anything further the lady from Hopperville had him by the arm and was leading him away. “We'll hustle right around and git married first thing, sugar plum,” she suggested, and he, unaccustomed to quick and resourceful action, meekly consented. There was a suggestion of domination in the way she ordered him to “Git a move on and chuck them trunks in,” but it wore away on the drive under the spell of that repeated “Lovey duck,” which she handed him when he told how much gold he had in the ground on Snodgrass Gulch. He thought maybe he'd get used to her after a while; but was not without signs of dejection when they reached the cabin.

“So this is it, is it?” she inquired as she looked around. “The Lord be merciful! This is the plague-takedest hole I ever set foot in in my life. Me, Cynthia Blazer, to come to this!” she stormed, throwing her arms in the air. “What's your name—you?” she demanded of Silas who stood in the doorway trying to smile a welcome.

“Why, Sis-Silas!” he stammered, swept from his feet by the suddenness of her verbal assault.

She looked at him scornfully and began to sniff, her trained scent leading her directly to the lard-pail whose cover she lifted at arm's length. She turned on Silas again.

“You jest grab this cheese and take it down in the timber and bury it good and deep.”

“But Cynthy——

“Shut up! My name ain't Cynthy to you—you ape! Jest take this stuff and do as I tell you.”

He was glad to escape; but disobeyed the burial notice and hid it in the coal-bin of the blacksmith shop. And that wasn't the end of his work, because far into the night both he and Leander scrubbed and labored, Silas with righteous though not outspoken indignation, and Leander still meek as was his wont. And for a week this cleansing process continued, reaching from the cabin to the “yard” and the stable. “The incumbrance” in the meantime grinned at them sardonically, made faces behind her mother's back, or in her absence goaded them on to more strenuous effort by warning them that they'd “better keep hustlin' or she'd tell maw, and then they could bet they'd ketch it!”

They had hoped to drop into the even tenor of their ways when the cleansing was finished; but on that eventful evening Leander was told to start the fire next morning at five o'clock, so he and “that no-account Si” could get to work by six. Leander expostulated.

“They ain't no two men kin stand it to work underground more'n eight hours a day an' I think——”

“Never mind what you think! Your thinks ain't worth thinkin' nohow. You keep your trap closed and I'll do all your thinkin' for you. If there's gold down there it's got to be digged, and you fellers has got to hump yourselves. If you don't I'll come down there and see that you do hump!”

Another job of forgotten cleaning caused her to change her instructions and order Leander to remain and work around the house; but Silas was hustled away at an hour when he did hate to get up. Discouraged, tired, and wrathful, he passed the day in planning for Cynthia's downfall. The first time he smiled was when on returning from a fourteen hours' shift, he found Leander doing laundry work. He had washed his own as well as Silas' clothes, the sheets, a horse-blanket, and a rag carpet, and the yard was full of things. Silas laughed unguardedly as Leander stiffly straightened the kinks in his weary back.

“After you git a little grub I've got a few things I want you to tend to, you bean-pole with a bunch of celery on top,” a wrathful voice screamed, and Silas sneaked away to the wash-basin beside the porch. She threw another bundle into the tub over which her liege lord was again bending, remarking that they were a few garments she'd overlooked. Leander lost his temper.

"I don't mind workin' at most ennything,” he said, putting a dripping hand to the beacon on his nose, “but dern me if I'm goin' to do any more washin'. You can jest put that in your pipe and smoke it.”

She looked at him in amazement and then burst out: “You big, onery brute, if I was as mean-tempered as you agin' a-poor lone woman, I——”

She threatened to burst into tears. Leander apologized profusely, and then with due meekness proceeded with his task. She regained her poise, and after supper was even pleasant.

“Now, Leander,” she ordered, “while that shiftless Si's a-washin' the dishes you sit down here and I'll cut your hair. You look like a Billy goat.”

“Oh, maw, let me do it,” Lilly insisted, clapping her hands, and Leander shivered.

“All right, honey dove; but be careful and don't cut his years. They look bad enough now.” And the incumbrance gleefully went at her task until his cranium looked like a relief map of Madagascar. When she had shorn the Samson, he took one look at himself in the glass, said something that sounded like “hell fired,” and retreated to his bunk where throughout the night he fondled his wart and sighed.

He came into the drift the next morning where Silas was putting in a set of timbers, and sat down on a stull, the picture of misery and dejection. It took time for Silas to learn that the incumbrance had playfully pulled his whiskers that morning after pouring molasses on her hands. He got up and moved around at the mouth of the drift as his agitation increased.

"I told Cynthy I didn't want that Lilly of her'n monkeyin' with my whiskers no more,” he said wrathfully, “and what do you s'pose she said? Says she's goin' to have Lilly chop 'em off! An' I ain't goin' to part with 'em. I've had 'em fifteen year. So there!”

Silas turned his back, and his shoulders twitched.

“Leander,” he said after a moment, “I'm goin' down-town to-morrer, no matter if Cynthy says I cain't, and I want you to go along. Got to get a suit of clothes and want you to help pick 'em out.”

And that a new air of determination was manifest was proven when, on the following day, despite Cynthia's protests, they went gaily away together.

Silas was adroit. He cajoled, persuaded, and induced Leander to take a first nip and—after that it was easy. He succeeded in getting his employer started homeward late in the day, primed to tackle anything from a half-grown wildcat to a full-grown bear. Silas used all his oratorical powers to goad Leander on to desperation, and as he started him toward the house whispered in his ear: “Now while I'm unhitchin' old Badger, you jest go in an' tell her to git off'n the ranch to-morrer mornin' or—you'll eat her alive.”

Leander swaggered to the door with the light of a stern resolution illuminating his face, and found Cynthia in an abandonment of rage awaiting him.

“What do you mean, you old scalawag, by sneakin' off and——” she began in high-pitched anger, but the tirade died on her lips in astonishment as he kicked the door shut with such violence that the cabin shook, and let out a hoarse roar.

“Whoo-pp-ee! Shet up, you ole cat! Don' say another word or I'll grab you by your beak an' pull your brains out! Wow! Wooooo!”

The victor of a hundred matrimonial set-tos was not to be vanquished so easily. She threw a stick of stove-wood which Leander skilfully ducked, and it tore away the window-sash as it went out into the night where the chortling Silas decided that “there was a right big argyment in there,” and got behind a tree.

Before Cynthia could come again Leander plumped her into a chair with a jarring suddenness.

“You sit down thar and listen to me,” he bellowed, “an' if you try any more shanannigan business, I'll chuck you after the wood. I've scrubbed, washed, had my whiskers pulled and gummed with molasses, and then you let that there imp o' Satan cut my hair. Look at it, woman! I wanted to make a good home for you, you ol' Jezebel; but I ain't a-goin' to stand it no longer.”

“You know I love you, dearie, and I'll promise to——”

“Shet up! You're goin' to hit the road. You pack your duds and be ready to move in the mornin', an' take that incumbrance with you. You can go to Hopperville, Halifax, or Hell, for all I keer, an' I ain't no choice which one you decide on. Here's money enough to buy tickets to any on 'em.”

He threw ten twenty-dollar gold pieces on the table.

“Si'll haul you to town in the mornin', an' if ever I ketch you or that sugar-tit o' your'n on these diggin's again, I'll have your hides on the fence to dry in less'n an hour!”

He ambled out down the trail declaring that the roof wasn't big enough to hold him until his better half had vacated; and Silas, slipping after, saw that he was all right and merely wanted uninterrupted rest.

He was awakened on the following noon by his factotum who inquired jovially if “his cranium wasn't vibratin' some.”

He sat up in a daze of bewilderment and rubbed his hand over the jagged protuberances of hair that covered his head, and then felt to see if the wart was still there.

“I'm mighty sick and thirsty, Si,” he murmured faintly. “I must of had a orful load; I hope I didn't rile Cynthy 'cause she's sure got a temper, and when I git up she'll——”

He groaned with dejection and tried to get to his feet.

Silas was orating.

“Cynthy's short but domineering reign is over with. She's gone. I took her an' the incumbrance down with me in the rig at six o'clock this mornin', with the big tin trunk and all them boxes, put her on the train, and she's gone. Said to tell you she'd decided to go to Hopperville as she know'd you'd go to some of the other places you'd mentioned, an' she didn't want to take any chances o' meetin' you. Yes, siree! She's gone!”

Leander arose to his feet, his face expressing transports of relief and delight. He forgot his swimming head.

“Gone? The Lord be praised! Si, go up an' git your limbugger out an' heat her red-hot ef you wanter. I kin stand it. Fire up the beans, a wash-boiler full ef you want 'em. Hang the expense! An', by the way, Si, afore I come up to the cabin I wisht you'd take that dam' Zozodoes gal off'n the wall an' chuck her in the stove. I'm down on 'sprightly' women. Ef the Lord cares for me arter I'm dead, they ain't a-goin' to be nothin' but black-haired angels in my part of He'vin, and that goes!”

And thus, in one brief outburst, was ended the rebellion on Snodgrass Gulch.