Fight for Powder Valley! (7 page)

The storekeeper was a bald man, with a fat paunch and a jolly, moon-like face. But he didn't look jolly as he eyed the lank overalled man in front of him. He asked, “Driving through?” in a voice that was hard with suspicion.

“We'll be driving on a little way, I guess.” The lean face of the man from Kansas glowed hopefully. “According to the map I've got, my place will be a couple of miles north. Have there … are there many other settlers ahead of us?”

Mr. Winters leaned forward and rested both elbows on the counter. His hard gaze appraised the tall farmer as he might have looked upon a visitor from Mars. He demanded, “You figure on settling here in Powder Valley?”

“We sure do. My land's bought and paid for.” There was a thin note of pride in Hartsell's voice. “We've drove a mighty long road and we're wearied to get settled. Looks like real good farming land to me.”

“It ain't.”

“Ain't what?”

“No good for farming. You'd best turn right around and go back where you came from.”

“We can't do that. We sold out everything when we left. Look here, Mister, how-come you say it's no good for farming? I can't see there's ever been a plow put to it.”

“There hasn't never been.” Winters paused to let his words sink in. “And there ain't never going to be.”

Joe Hartsell looked confused and uncertain. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he stammered, “I reckon you're mistaken, Mister I aim to cultivate my place soon as I get settled.”

Winters shrugged and drew back from his position on the counter. He turned his back on the man and girl, asked Sally, “You made out what else is on your list, Mrs. Stevens?”

Sally had been engrossed in the conversation and hadn't been trying to read her list. She said, “You haven't waited on him yet.”

“I've got nothing here to sell him.” The store-keeper's words were deliberate and harsh. “Let him go out and raise a crop if he's hungry.”

“Look here, Mister. I've got to have a list of groceries. We've used up most everything and I figured on stocking up before I drove out to locate my place.”

“You'll do no stocking up here.” Winters kept his back turned on the travel-weary man. “We don't want your kind in Powder Valley, and the quicker you find that out and
get
out the better off you'll be.”

Sally's heart gave a great leap of pity as she glanced sideways and observed the effect of Winters' blunt speech on the Kansan. Joe Hartsell stiffened as though he had been struck a blow in the face. The little girl pressed close to him, her eyes big and wondering, slowly filling with tears which welled over and made little ditches through the dust on her thin cheeks.

“I guess you can't refuse to sell a man a few groceries,” Hartsell said after a moment. “I've got a wife and two more hungry kids out in the wagon. We're out of most everything … and they tell me this is the only store around here.”

“Don't be sniveling to me about your wife and kids,” Winters said impatiently. “We didn't ask you to come here … and we don't want you to stay. Now, Mrs. Stevens …”

Sally bent her head and looked at her list again. Her eyes were dry and burning. She heard the little girl's frightened whisper, “What's he mad at us for, Pa?”

“I don't know, Mary. But never you mind. We'll make out …”

Another voice obtruded from the front of the store, “I declare, Joe, I forgot we were out of corn meal. You'd better get five pounds …” It was a woman's voice, lilting and almost gay; with a strained undertone which denied the assumption of gaiety.

Sally turned and saw the sunbonneted woman who had sat on the front seat of the prairie schooner with her husband when it drove up. She looked pitiably thin and undernourished, but there was a sweet look of contentment clinging to her face which told of her happiness at being so near to the end of their long trek.

The little girl scampered across the floor and flung herself against her mother, sobbing wildly, “They're mean people here, Mommy. They won't sell Papa anything. They don't like us.”

“Now, now, Mary. There must be some mistake. Of course they'll sell us …”

But Joe Hartsell was advancing toward her slowly, shaking his head. “We'd best be driving on, Molly. I'm afraid we're not … very welcome here.”

“Where can we drive on to? Without a thing to eat in the wagon! You know we planned to buy everything we needed here before we went on to the farm.”

“I know we did, Molly.” Joe Hartsell's back was to Sally. His voice was low and it throbbed with bewilderment and hurt. “Seems like there's some mistake. We'll figure a way to make out …”

“We will not.” Molly Hartsell spoke hotly. She pushed past her husband. “I'm not going to see our children go hungry.” She approached the counter. “I need some flour and corn meal and a can of baking powder … and some side meat …”

Mr. Winters kept his back turned as though he was unaware of her presence. He said, “You haven't told me what else, Mrs. Stevens.”

“Don't you be treating me like the dirt under your feet.” Molly Hartsell's voice was brittle. “We've got money to pay for what we buy. Just as good money as anybody else's.”

“That's where you're wrong, ma'am.” Mr. Winters turned around to face the outraged mother. “Your money won't buy anything anywhere in Dutch Springs.”

“But I … don't understand.” Molly gripped the counter with thin fingers. Her voice was edged with strain. “We've … bought a farm here in the valley. As soon as we can get settled with some chickens and a cow, get a garden planted, we'll be all right. But we've got to have food right now … food that we're willing to pay for …”

The storekeeper shook his head. He got out a bandanna to mop his face, averting his gaze from Molly Hartsell's tragic, pleading eyes. “I'm sorry, ma'am. I'm not a hard man, but it'll save a mighty lot of trouble if you folks turn around now and go back. This is cow-country, and we don't cotton to hoe-men in Powder Valley.” He blew his nose vehemently and turned his back on the Hartsells.

Molly dented her under lip with a row of even white teeth. She turned her stricken gaze slowly toward Sally, swaying a trifle as she clung tightly to the counter for support. “What … am I going to do?” she whispered. “Our team needs a rest and grain. We've been on the road for two weeks.”

Sally's gaze went beyond the woman to Joe Hartsell, and to Mary, clinging to her father while the tears silently ran down her pinched cheeks.

Sally thought of Dock. Suppose
he
were hungry—among strangers!

She turned back impulsively to Molly Hartsell and gave her a secret smile of encouragement and a nod of her blond head. Aloud, to Mr. Winters, she said, “I can read my list now: Flour and corn meal, and a can of baking powder. And some side meat …”

The storekeeper turned about with a slow frown. “I just wrapped you up some salt pork.”

“I know, but I want side meat, too. About …” She turned and looked inquiringly at Molly. The Kansas woman moved closer. Her eyes were bright with understanding. She smiled shyly and her lips formed the word, “Three.”

“About three pounds,” Sally told Mr. Winters briskly.

The storekeeper hesitated, but Sally gave him a level, direct glance. “Set those things out while I study out some more from my list.”

When he moved away reluctantly, Sally stepped close to Molly and asked in a low tone, “Do you need anything else?”

“A sack of potatoes and a piece of boiling meat. That's all.”

Sally stepped back to the counter and calmly ordered the rest of the things the Hartsells needed. When all the things were set out, Sally directed coolly, “Total these up separately from my other order and put them in a box.”

“See here, Sally Stevens.” Mr. Winters faced her with his arms akimbo, his red face glowering. “If you're buying this stuff for these trashy nesters …”

“I'm buying it,” Sally told him icily. “That's enough for you.
My
money has been mighty good in this store for ten years.”

“People are going to be plenty mad when they hear about this, Mrs. Stevens. They listened to Pat and let things ride along on his say-so, and you know that this here was his plan … that we'd starve 'em out before they got settled …”

“Put that order up for me, Mr. Winters,” Sally cut in. She took out her purse. “How much is it?”

The amount was slightly over five dollars. Sally paid it, and Mr. Winters accepted the money, trembling with indignation but not quite daring to refuse to make the sale to one of his most important customers. When the transaction was completed, Sally turned to Molly Hartsell with a smile. “Now, I'm going to sell this to you. But … take my advice and don't try to stay here in the valley.”

“I thank you, ma'am, for getting us the groceries and for the advice. But I don't see what else we can do except stay. We've got nowhere else to go. We sold out everything in Kansas before we started.” Molly was counting out the exact sum Sally had paid for the groceries. Joe Hartsell came forward to lift the box onto his shoulder, saying humbly:

“We don't' understand what any of this is about, ma'am. We're not aiming to start any trouble. All we want is a chance to farm the land we bought fair and square …”

A disturbance outside the store drew their attention. While they had been inside endeavoring to buy the necessities they desperately needed, an ominously silent crowd of cowpunchers and ranchers had gathered about the covered wagon outside. Up and down the main street of Dutch Springs the word had flown that the first of the invading army of hated farmers had reached the valley, and grim-faced men had been drifting down the board-walk to see what happened when Winters refused to sell them any groceries according to a prearranged plan figured out by Pat Stevens.

Now there was a loud altercation going on in the dusty street at the rear of the wagon. From inside the store, their view was cut off by a close-packed ring of grinning men, but there were shrill exclamations of anger and the sound of blows on bare flesh, and billowing clouds of dust rising above the heads of the watchers.

With a little cry of fear, Molly Hartsell darted out of the store. Sally was close behind her as she forced her way through the ring of grinning men. Two small forms were entwined in the dusty street, a tangle of arms and legs and faces so dirty they were unrecognizable.

Molly Hartsell bent over them, crying, “Joey! Stop it, Joey. Let go! Do you hear me?”

While the ranchers guffawed loudly, Molly caught a flailing arm of her seven-year-old son and dragged him up out of the dust. His nose was bleeding and he was weeping defiantly, trying to pull himself away from his mother to get another whack at his youthful antagonist.

When Sally saw the other small figure dragging himself up out of the dust, she cried out in shocked reproof, “Dock! Oh, Dock! How could you?”

Dock Stevens' nose was also bleeding, but he was grinning happily. “I guess I showed 'im,” he boasted. “Doggone homesteaders comin' in here to steal our ranches.”

“Dock! I'm so ashamed,” Sally wailed. She caught his shoulder and gave him a shake. “You apologize right now.”

“I ain't a-goin' to.” Dock hung his head stubbornly. “They ain't got any right to come here.”

Over her son's head, Sally's distraught eyes met those of Molly Hartsell. She said, “I'm terribly ashamed that this happened. I hope you'll forgive my son.”

Molly laughed shakily. “They're just boys. It doesn't mean a thing.” But in her heart Molly knew it did. It was a part of the strange animosity with which they were being greeted in Powder Valley, as inexplicable to her as it was menacing.

The ring of men had self-consciously broken apart as the two mothers separated their offspring, and as they stepped back they spied Joe Hartsell emerging from the store with a box of groceries on his shoulder.

An ominous murmur of anger greeted the sight. Mort Dawson, foreman for the Triangle H, stepped in front of Joe and demanded, “What you got there?”

Joe said, “Groceries.” He started to push past Mort. Dawson gave him a shove and he staggered against the front wheel of the wagon. His blue eyes blazed and his mouth set in a tight hard line. He boosted the box of groceries up onto the front seat, then turned to face the group of hostile faces with bunched fists. “I don't know what's up,” he began, “but …”

Mr. Winters nervously came to the door of his store. “Don't be blaming me for selling him that stuff, boys,” he called out placatingly. “I didn't, just like I promised. Mrs. Stevens ordered it and paid for it … then sold it to the plow-outfit …”

“I certainly did.” Sally pushed her way in front of the men, between them and Joe Hartsell. “You leave these folks alone now. They're tired and worn-out, and they have children …”

“Sally!” Pat Stevens came striding up and took Sally's arm angrily. “What's this all about? I was down the street and I heard …”

The creak of moving wagon wheels interrupted him. During the diversion created by Sally, Molly Hartsell had hustled her husband and children into the wagon, lifted the lines and started the weary team off down the street.

Sally turned to watch them go. She clung to Pat weakly, her eyes filling with tears. There was something symbolic in the slow, measured pace of the swaying prairie schooner with its cargo of pitiable souls seeking a place to put roots into the ground of this wild and untamed West. The Hartsells were not the type who would be easily dislodged and driven out once they had settled themselves on their own plot of ground.

In a shaky voice, Sally said defiantly, “I don't care what you think, Pat. There were little children in that wagon. I couldn't see them go hungry.”