



Produced by Donald Lainson





A FIRST FAMILY OF TASAJARA


By Bret Harte




CHAPTER I.


"It blows," said Joe Wingate.

As if to accent the words of the speaker a heavy gust of wind at that
moment shook the long light wooden structure which served as the general
store of Sidon settlement, in Contra Costa. Even after it had passed a
prolonged whistle came through the keyhole, sides, and openings of the
closed glass front doors, that served equally for windows, and filled
the canvas ceiling which hid the roof above like a bellying sail. A wave
of enthusiastic emotion seemed to be communicated to a line of straw
hats and sou-westers suspended from a cross-beam, and swung them with
every appearance of festive rejoicing, while a few dusters, overcoats,
and "hickory" shirts hanging on the side walls exhibited such marked
though idiotic animation that it had the effect of a satirical comment
on the lazy, purposeless figures of the four living inmates of the
store.

Ned Billings momentarily raised his head and shoulders depressed in the
back of his wooden armchair, glanced wearily around, said, "You bet,
it's no slouch of a storm," and then lapsed again with further extended
legs and an added sense of comfort.

Here the third figure, which had been leaning listlessly against the
shelves, putting aside the arm of a swaying overcoat that seemed to
be emptily embracing him, walked slowly from behind the counter to the
door, examined its fastenings, and gazed at the prospect. He was the
owner of the store, and the view was a familiar one,--a long stretch of
treeless waste before him meeting an equal stretch of dreary sky above,
and night hovering somewhere between the two. This was indicated by
splashes of darker shadow as if washed