Under the Tonto Rim (1991) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Zane Grey
the Rim."
"I've heard of this white mule," replied. Lucy.
"Of course it's a drink, and I gather that it kicks like a mule. But just what is it?"
"Just plain moonshine whisky without colour. It looks like alcohol. It is alcohol. I once took a taste. Fire and brimstone! I nearly choked to death...The people of this district make it to some extent. They raise a kind of cane from which they distil the liquor. But I'm bound to say that seldom indeed do I see a drunken man."
Beyond this deserted clearing the road tunnelled into a denser forest where the pungent odour of pine thickly pervaded the atmosphere. The ground was a smooth mat of pine needles, only sparsely grown over with underbrush. Live-oak trees appeared, at first stunted, but gradually developing into rugged members of the forest. Noon found the travellers halted beside the first brook, a tiny trickling rill of clear water. Lucy was grateful for a cool drink. Mr. Jenks had been thoughtful to provide a lunch, of which they partook while sitting in the shade of an oak.
Here Lucy had opportunity to observe a small reddish-brown squirrel that was the sauciest little animal she had ever beheld. It occupied a branch above her and barked in no uncertain notes its displeasure and curiosity. Presently its chatter attracted a beautiful crested blue jay that flew close and uttered high-pitched notes, wild and fierce in their intensity.
"I hope the people here are not as antagonistic as this squirrel and bird," observed Lucy.
"A few of them are--like the Spralls, for instance," replied. Mr. Jenks. "Well, we still have far to go. I call it five miles from here to Johnson's. You'll say it's five leagues."
If Lucy had not been eager and anxious to establish her position securely here in the region she would have revelled in the winding shady road through the green-canopied, sun-flecked forest. Along here it had a considerable sameness, that added to the distance. Lucy indeed found the so-called five miles almost interminable. About two o'clock Mr. Jenks drove into another clearing, somewhat less hideous than the first one, but still a crude, ragged, unpastoral kind of farm. A wide green field dotted by cows and horses was the only redeeming feature. Log corrals and pole fences led the eye to a large log cabin surrounded by shacks old and mouldy roofed, manifestly the first buildings erected.
"This is the Johnson place, where I live," said Mr. Jenks, with a smile. "That framework of boards, covered by a tent, is my humble domicile. Do you know, Miss Watson, I have actually grown to love sleeping out there?...This is Sunday, which means the Johnsons will all be home or all away visiting."
The school teacher drove through an open gate in the log fence, and past a huge flat barn, dark and odorous of horses, to draw rein at the back of the cabin. "I was wrong. Sam Johnson is home, at least. I don't know the boy with him," said Mr. Jenks as he threw the reins and got down.
"I'd like to walk a little," rejoined Lucy.
"You'll probably walk, and climb, and besides ride horseback, before you're through to-day," replied Mr. Jenks, laughing, as he reached for his parcels on the seat.
"Oh, that'll be fine!" exclaimed Lucy, delighted. And naturally she gazed over at the young men sitting on the rude porch. They might have been two of the boys she had seen in the dining-room at Cedar Ridge.
"Sam, she's a looker," drawled one of them in a perfectly audible voice.
The other stood up, disclosing a tall, lithe form clad in blue jeans. He had a shock of tousled chestnut hair and a freckled face that on the moment bore a broad grin.
"Dog-gone me!" he ejaculated. "Teacher has fetched back a wife."
Lucy met the teacher's eyes. They were twinkling. She could not restrain a laugh, yet she felt a blush rise to her face.
"Sam flatters me, Miss Watson," said Mr. Jenks in a low voice. "But that illustrates."
"They must have this wife business on the brain," retorted Lucy, half nettled.
The
"I've heard of this white mule," replied. Lucy.
"Of course it's a drink, and I gather that it kicks like a mule. But just what is it?"
"Just plain moonshine whisky without colour. It looks like alcohol. It is alcohol. I once took a taste. Fire and brimstone! I nearly choked to death...The people of this district make it to some extent. They raise a kind of cane from which they distil the liquor. But I'm bound to say that seldom indeed do I see a drunken man."
Beyond this deserted clearing the road tunnelled into a denser forest where the pungent odour of pine thickly pervaded the atmosphere. The ground was a smooth mat of pine needles, only sparsely grown over with underbrush. Live-oak trees appeared, at first stunted, but gradually developing into rugged members of the forest. Noon found the travellers halted beside the first brook, a tiny trickling rill of clear water. Lucy was grateful for a cool drink. Mr. Jenks had been thoughtful to provide a lunch, of which they partook while sitting in the shade of an oak.
Here Lucy had opportunity to observe a small reddish-brown squirrel that was the sauciest little animal she had ever beheld. It occupied a branch above her and barked in no uncertain notes its displeasure and curiosity. Presently its chatter attracted a beautiful crested blue jay that flew close and uttered high-pitched notes, wild and fierce in their intensity.
"I hope the people here are not as antagonistic as this squirrel and bird," observed Lucy.
"A few of them are--like the Spralls, for instance," replied. Mr. Jenks. "Well, we still have far to go. I call it five miles from here to Johnson's. You'll say it's five leagues."
If Lucy had not been eager and anxious to establish her position securely here in the region she would have revelled in the winding shady road through the green-canopied, sun-flecked forest. Along here it had a considerable sameness, that added to the distance. Lucy indeed found the so-called five miles almost interminable. About two o'clock Mr. Jenks drove into another clearing, somewhat less hideous than the first one, but still a crude, ragged, unpastoral kind of farm. A wide green field dotted by cows and horses was the only redeeming feature. Log corrals and pole fences led the eye to a large log cabin surrounded by shacks old and mouldy roofed, manifestly the first buildings erected.
"This is the Johnson place, where I live," said Mr. Jenks, with a smile. "That framework of boards, covered by a tent, is my humble domicile. Do you know, Miss Watson, I have actually grown to love sleeping out there?...This is Sunday, which means the Johnsons will all be home or all away visiting."
The school teacher drove through an open gate in the log fence, and past a huge flat barn, dark and odorous of horses, to draw rein at the back of the cabin. "I was wrong. Sam Johnson is home, at least. I don't know the boy with him," said Mr. Jenks as he threw the reins and got down.
"I'd like to walk a little," rejoined Lucy.
"You'll probably walk, and climb, and besides ride horseback, before you're through to-day," replied Mr. Jenks, laughing, as he reached for his parcels on the seat.
"Oh, that'll be fine!" exclaimed Lucy, delighted. And naturally she gazed over at the young men sitting on the rude porch. They might have been two of the boys she had seen in the dining-room at Cedar Ridge.
"Sam, she's a looker," drawled one of them in a perfectly audible voice.
The other stood up, disclosing a tall, lithe form clad in blue jeans. He had a shock of tousled chestnut hair and a freckled face that on the moment bore a broad grin.
"Dog-gone me!" he ejaculated. "Teacher has fetched back a wife."
Lucy met the teacher's eyes. They were twinkling. She could not restrain a laugh, yet she felt a blush rise to her face.
"Sam flatters me, Miss Watson," said Mr. Jenks in a low voice. "But that illustrates."
"They must have this wife business on the brain," retorted Lucy, half nettled.
The
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