Photoplay (Jul - Dec 1940)

and Maisie sighed. Then she assumed an authoritative manner she didn't feel. "Hold it, Bert," she said. "We're goin' in there!" "But that's private!" Bert's whole philosophy was summed up in that one shocked sentence. "I know the guy that owns it — he's got a well. We're stoppin' here to cook breakfast, anyway." "But hadn't we ought to ask him?" Jubie ordered, sure of her idol, "Do what Maisie says, Pop!" Maisie jumped out and held the gate open, waved the car through it with a defiant sweep of her hand. In the field below and to the right of the ranch house was a sad-looking Cottonwood tree; Maisie pointed to it and Bert nodded and headed the car that way. They took time only to set up the sheet-iron stove, build a fire in it and unpack a few dishes. They ate well, and at the end of the meal everyone was feeling more cheerful — everyone, that is, except Maisie. The leisure of sitting down and eating had given her time to think, and her thoughts were not pleasant. So there were no night clubs — no cafes, no saloons, even. Well. And again well. No place for Maisie Ravier, who had exactly fifty-five cents in her purse, a car that wouldn't go and a suitcase full of nonetoo-new clothes. It was a hundred miles to Truxton, if anyone were fool enough to want to go there, and two hundred to Phoenix. There weren't any very attractive prospects in Phoenix, either, but it was better than Truxton. ^WHAT you thinkin' about, Maisie?" Jubie inquired. " 'Bout that job you ain't gonna git? What you gonna do now?" "Well," Maisie said slowly, "I guess the best thing is to try and get back to Phoenix. I got a car that'd take me there if I could get it fixed up so it'd go." "Where is it now?" Jubie asked. Maisie looked at the place in the road where she'd left the car. "I don't know. Anders must've pushed it back into his barn, I guess." "I'm a pretty good hand at fixin' up cars myself," Bert offered. Maisie looked at the little man with renewed hope. "Why, of course you are! I never thought of that. Would you mind comin' and take a look at it? It's in pretty bad shape." "That don't skeer me none. Want to mosey up there now?" Jubie jumped up, too. "Kin I come along, Maisie?" "Sure, honey." Bert picked up a bucket. "Might's well git some "So you figured that gave you the right to hack my car to pieces and make paper clips out of it," Maisie stormed. "Well, you're wrong, Mouse-mind! You'll put it together like it was or you'll pay for it!" drinkin' water. We used up all they was in the canteen." It was a hundred yards or so to Anders' barn. As they approached it they heard the clatter of iron from a three-sided shed a few feet to one side. Bill Anders was there, shoeing a horse, so absorbed in his work he didn't hear them until they stood beside him. " 'Lo, Bill," Maisie said. He looked up — first surprised, then annoyed. "What're you doing back here?" he asked ungraciously. Maisie had come up smiling, but now the smile faded. She was in no mood to put up with Bill's grouchiness and she was thankful that just now there was no need to. "Take it easy," she said. "I just want to get my car, that's all." "Why come to me? I haven't got it." "I didn't think you had it in your pocket," Maisie said with some asperity. "I just want to know where it is. In the barn?" "I said I haven't got it!" "Well, where is it then?" "How should I know? I haven't got time to stand around here — " Maisie put her hands on her hips and said, "Now, wait a minute, Sonny Boy. I left it right out in front of your place. The last I saw of it four days ago it wouldn't budge. Somebody musta moved it and the only person around here who could of and who's got a place to keep it outta sight is vow.'" "Are you crazy? What would I want with that pile of junk?" Jubie's and Bert's heads swivelled from side to side, like spectators at a tennis match, following the argument. "You said you didn't have a car," Maisie reminded him. "Maybe it looked like a good chance to pick one up. I hate to spoil your plans, but I got a few myself!" Bill threw down the rasp with which he had been filing the horse's hoof. "All right!" he said, in a rage. "Take a look around the ranch if you won't believe me! Look in the bam!" He started out with long strides and Maisie and the others ran after him. The barn doors were drawn almost together. He seized one in each hand and with a powerful heave of his shoulders threw them apart — and stood there, staring open-mouthed and thunderstruck at the weird contraption inside. Fred Gubbins was there, hitching a mule to something that was not a car, or a wagon, but partook of the characteristics of both. It seemed to be a buckboard mounted on the wheels of a car, with the car's top and seat arranged to accommodate the driver. The car parts were recognizable, and Maisie yelped. "Hey! Well, of all the nerve!" "What the devil have you been up to?" Bill demanded harshly of Gubbins, whose bloodhound face became more lugubrious than usual. "Well, I — we needed a cart — " he mumbled. "So you remodeled my car!" Maisie snapped. She whirled on Bill. "I knew you had it, but I thought it'd at least be in one piece!" "I didn't know anything about it, I tell you!" He turned back to Gubbins. "Where's the engine?" Sheepishly, Gubbins replied, "Out back o' the barn. It warn't no good, so — " "What do you mean, no good?" Maisie stormed. "Mr. Davis here was gonna fix it up so I could get back to Phoenix, and now look at it!" Bill Anders was looking in disgust at Gubbins. Maisie began to believe his story that he hadn't known anything about what was being done to the car, but she wouldn't let her anger subside. "Well, you went away and left it — " Gubbins said. "So you figured that gave you the right to hack it up and make paper clips out of it! You're wrong, Mouse-mind! I paid twenty-five bucks for that car and either you put it back together like it was, or — " she glared at Bill — "you'll pay!" Bill whipped a wallet from his pocket. "Here. I'll give you five bucks and that's more than you could have raised on it before." Maisie grabbed the five dollars he held out, but she didn't stop talking. "Five nothin'! You'll pay ten or I'll call a cop!" "What cop?" he sneered, but he fished out another five. "Here — it's worth it to get rid of you." "Don't worry." She stuffed the bills down the front of her dress. "I won't be around. Hard-shelled crabs give me ptomaine." Bill started back toward the horse-shoeing shed. Halfway there he stopped suddenly, staring down into the field where the Davis encampment was in plain view. "Fred!" he said sharply. "Who're those imbeciles parked over there?" "I dunno, boss," Gubbins said, anxious to make amends. "Honest, I don't." Maisie sailed up to them. "Those aren't imbeciles. They're my friends." The muscles of Bill's jaw worked and he swallowed hard, as if someone were torturing him and he was determined not to cry out. "Well," he said in a strained voice, "tell 'em to beat it! Right now!" "Listen, Mr. Big-mouth," Maisie said, "just because you've got it in for me because I beat you to the punch once is no reason to take out your spite on these folks." There was just the barest trace of pleading in her tone, but Bill chose to ignore it "Don't think that bothers me! Get 'em off! This is private property." "Looks like it's all private property around this neck of the woods! They're chargin' five bucks a week to camp any place near water, and the Davises haven't got the price." His body still tense, Bill said, "I'm not running a camp for a bunch of gold -crazy tourists — " "Tourists?" The half-concilatory note was gone now. "Gold-crazy? Just because they're snatchin' at a chance to make a halfway decent livin' for their kids? All I can say is that they've been pushed around long enough — and you're not gonna push 'em around any more!" "You heard what I said." "Yeah — and I've seen that big gun of yours, too! Go ahead and get it. Just try to put us off! Ill be waitin' there to meet you! . . . Come on, folks." "Boy!" Jubie said, on the way back to the car. "You sure told him off, Maisie!" Bert was no less admiring. "Yessir! Stood right up to him, not a bit scared." Maisie, still burning, snorted. "Scared? Of him? Just let him try to wave that gun under my nose and put us off. We're stayin' right where we are!" "We?" Jubie echoed joyfully. "You stayin' too, Maisie?" Maisie's swift steps faltered. Some of the fight of battle faded from her face. "Well — " she said. "I haven't exactly figured out what I am gonna do." "Why don't you stay and stake out a claim?" Bert suggested. "Or you and me could go pardners if you want" "Yes, but . . ." Maisie stopped stock-still, thinking. "We got a swell tent and plenty o' beddin', ain't we, Pop?" Jubie offered. "Sure. We could rig things up easy! Don't need no equipment but a pickaxe and I got a spare. You oughta save them good clothes o' your'n, but between Sarah and me, we could fit you out fine." Maisie gnawed on her underlip in deep thought. "Yeah," she murmured. "And we could use that ten dollars he gave me for groceries. . . ." "You want to make your fortune, don't you?" Jubie urged. Maisie smiled down at her upturned face. "You bet I do," she said. "You bet I do . . ." Abruptly she shrugged and held out her hand to Bert. "Put it there, pardner! The pleasure's all mine!" After a minute she began to laugh. "And to think I took a swing at a fresh guy once for darin' to call me a gold-digger!" LAUGHING, they marched the rest of the way to the camp and told a pleased Sarah of Maisie's decision. "Well, better start right now," Sarah ordered. "Quicker you stake us out a claim, quicker we'll be rich. You run along, Bert — the kids and I'll rassle the tent up." There was a slight delay while Maisie was outfitted in a khaki shirt, an old pair of Bert's dungarees and a pair of work shoes many sizes too big for her; then she and Bert set out into the desert past the Anders ranch. "You know how to hunt for gold?" Maisie asked as they trudged along. The pickaxe was heavy as she swung it by her side. "All you do is break up rocks and look at the pieces to see if they's gold in 'em," Bert told her. "It's easy." It didn't sound easy to Maisie, but she said nothing. After fifteen minutes of walking Bert set down his pickaxe. "Here's a likely-lookin' spot," he said, and began to roll up his sleeves. It looked like any other place to Maisie: a hillock of sand and boulders, sparsely covered with drylooking brush. She climbed up on it and gazed around. The desert was alive with people — little groups of two or three scattered here and there, bending over, digging in the ground. "Well, here goes!" Bert said. He lifted his pickaxe and brought it down in a mighty sweep. Maisie tried to follow his example. The implement was even heavier than she had thought. The sun bored into the skin of her back, right through the heavy khaki of the shirt. She felt sweat begin to prickle all over her body. The pickaxe got heavier and heavier. It didn't look as if there was any gold in the rocks she was so laboriously breaking up. 83