They did not labor at these tasks. Nor were
they tasks. Merely in passing, they paused,
from time to time, and lent a hand to nature.
These flowers and shrubs grew of themselves, and their
presence was no violation of the natural environment.
The man and the woman made no effort to introduce
a flower or shrub that did not of its own right belong.
Nor did they protect them from their enemies.
The horses and the colts and the cows and the calves
ran at pasture among them or over them, and flower
or shrub had to take its chance. But the beasts
were not noticeably destructive, for they were few
in number and the ranch was large.
On the other hand, Daylight could have taken in fully
a dozen horses to pasture, which would have earned
him a dollar and a half per head per month.
But this he refused to do, because of the devastation
such close pasturing would produce.
Ferguson came over to celebrate the housewarming that
followed the achievement of the great stone fireplace.
Daylight had ridden across the valley more than once
to confer with him about the undertaking, and he was
the only other present at the sacred function of lighting
the first fire. By removing a partition, Daylight
had thrown two rooms into one, and this was the big
living-room where Dede’s treasures were placed—her
books, and paintings and photographs, her piano, the
Crouched Venus, the chafing-dish and all its glittering
accessories. Already, in addition to her own
wild-animal skins, were those of deer and coyote and
one mountain-lion which Daylight had killed.
The tanning he had done himself, slowly and laboriously,
in frontier fashion.
He handed the match to Dede, who struck it and lighted
the fire. The crisp manzanita wood crackled as
the flames leaped up and assailed the dry bark of
the larger logs. Then she leaned in the shelter
of her husband’s arm, and the three stood and
looked in breathless suspense. When Ferguson
gave judgment, it was with beaming face and extended
hand.
“She draws! By crickey, she draws!”
he cried.
He shook Daylight’s hand ecstatically, and Daylight
shook his with equal fervor, and, bending, kissed
Dede on the lips. They were as exultant over
the success of their simple handiwork as any great
captain at astonishing victory. In Ferguson’s
eyes was actually a suspicious moisture while the
woman pressed even more closely against the man whose
achievement it was. He caught her up suddenly
in his arms and whirled her away to the piano, crying
out: “Come on, Dede! The Gloria!
The Gloria!”
And while the flames in the fireplace that worked,
the triumphant strains of the Twelfth Mass rolled
forth.
Daylight had made no assertion of total abstinence
though he had not taken a drink for months after the
day he resolved to let his business go to smash.
Soon he proved himself strong enough to dare to take
a drink without taking a second. On the other
hand, with his coming to live in the country, had
passed all desire and need for drink. He felt
no yearning for it, and even forgot that it existed.
Yet he refused to be afraid of it, and in town, on
occasion, when invited by the storekeeper, would reply:
“All right, son. If my taking a drink
will make you happy here goes. Whiskey for mine.”
