



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 in with india ink, and a lighter
low-lying streak that might have been the horizon, but was not. To
the right, on a line with the front door of the store, were several
scattered, widely dispersed objects, that, although vague in outline,
were rigid enough in angles to suggest sheds or barns, but certainly not
trees.

"There's a heap more wet to come afore the wind goes down," he said,
glancing at the sky. "Hark to that, now!"

They listened lazily. There was a faint murmur from the shingles above;
then suddenly the whole window was filmed and blurred as if the
entire prospect had been wiped out with a damp sponge. The man turned
listlessly away.

"That's the kind that soaks in; thar won't be much teamin' over Tasajara
for the next two weeks, I reckon," said the fourth lounger, who,
seated on a high barrel, was nibbling--albeit critically and
fastidiously--biscuits and dried apples alternately from open boxes on
the counter. "It's lucky you've got in your winter stock, Harkutt."

The shrewd eyes of Mr. Harkutt, proprietor, glanced at the occupation of
the speaker as if even his foresight might have its possible drawbacks,
but he said nothing.

"There'll be no show for Sidon until you've got a wagon road from here
to the creek," said Billings languidly, from the depths of his chair.
"But what's the use o' talkin'? Thar ain't energy enough in all Tasajara
to build it. A God-forsaken place, that two months of the year can only
be reached by a mail-rider once a week, don't look ez if it was goin' to
break its back haulin' in goods and settlers. I tell ye what, gentlemen,
it makes me sick!" And apparently it had enfeebled him to the extent of
interfering with his aim in that expectoration of disgust against the
stove with which he concluded his sentence.

"Why don't YOU build it?" asked Wingate, carelessly.

"I wouldn't on principle," said Billings. "It