CHAPTER XVI

PLAIN SALT AND COMMON CLAY

H

ARVEY STOKES became conscious of Nan's

developing womanhood gradually, and yet suddenly-in much the same way a farmer might become aware of spring. Yesterday the familiar slender willow shoot beside the frozen pasture stream was merely a graceful, satin-barked wand; to-day its swelling buds catch the eye and stir the imagination to picturing imminent leafage and caressing sunshine.

At the conference about the hay, disappointed as she felt at giving up the fun of going to the Colbert dance with Tom, Nan had nevertheless given her mind to the discussion of the work that was to help her father. Drawing her chair close to Harvey's in order to check his calculations, she followed his laborious manipulations of fractions with a growing admiration of the certainty of his results. He worked in a literal agony of perspiring concentration until figures were out of the way, then sat back to slow discussion, guarded promises. His broad face, colored by the sun to a dull brick-red up to the point where his low-worn hat preserved a liberal zone of white under his yellow

ish hair, showed such obvious single-minded honesty as he talked that Nan said later to her aunt:

"I guess Harvey's just plain salt of the earth."

Nan had touched Harvey's hand, her shoulder had brushed his during the figuring and discussion-accidental contacts that yet stirred the man vaguely, turned his thoughts ever so slightly from the details of the contract he was shaping with Billy Dines. When, paper and pencil put aside, Nan sat back and instinctively pulled down her still rather short skirt, his new impression of her became more definite; and he confirmed it by a fleeting sideways glance at the widespaced, firm little mounds of her breasts. A question had been asked and answered in his thoughts:

"How old is Nan? Past sixteen? Yes, that's right; an' older'n her age, too." A slow, dumb admiration of her lithe young beauty, and her obvious quick intelligence was born at that moment in Harvey's brain.

The background of her own mind filled with the image of Tom Winger, Nan was wholly unconscious of any change in Harvey. She followed him to the gate, down the lamp-lighted walk, stroked the thick mane of his stout gray horse, looked up into his face and said:

"Give my love to Jennie—and kiss that darling little nephew of yours for me. I'm coming to steal him some day!" with no realization that Harvey's eyes

were fixed on her with a new intentness or that the pressure of his awkward big hand was somewhat prolonged.

Almost daily sight of Nan in the long weeks of haying that followed the news Jennie gave him, that Nan and Tom Winger had quarreled, that Winger had fallen for Ruby Engel and that Nan was "actin' as independent as a hog on ice" set Harvey Stokes to dreaming: "What a home a fellow could have with a strong, smart girl like Nan!"

Consigning to oblivion the confirmed bachelorhood he had always professed, after much careful weighing of his chances, Harvey confessed his ambition to Jennie Stokes:

"Why, Harve," she exclaimed, "I thought no girl could ever get your number!" But she liked Nan, and was sure that her big brother-in-law couldn't find a better wife. To help on his slow courtship, sometime later she suggested:

"You ask her over to hear Vergil's speechifyin' next Saturday." Jennie's husband was to launch his campaign for tribal councilor at a neighborhood rally and picnic on Thunder Creek. "I'll have her stay to supper with us, an' you can ride back with her by moonlight. . . . Too bad you hate dances, Harve!"

Vergil's mid-July meeting was welcomed by farmers and haymen as a brief respite in the busy season's grind of hard work; and it drew the Indian and negro voters (negro "freedmen" voted by virtue of membership in

the tribe granted when they had ceased to be slaves of Indian owners) who were curious to "size up this white man that wants to help make laws for Indians." Also, they were attracted by rumors of the huge iron kettles of lye hominy-"sofkey"-great platters of chicken and dumplings and barrels of lemonade which Jennie Stokes and her women friends meant to provide after the speaking.

"Well, of all things!" was Susan Dines's comment when Nan told her of Harvey's invitation; and on Friday she accompanied Billy Dines to Big Grove. In the evening, she brought out for Nan's delighted approval a new side saddle, bridle and decorated saddle cloth.

"Might as well go in style, Nancy," she beamed. “I been intendin' to fix you up for gaddin', an' I expect it's time." The old woman was pleased by the girl's response to Harvey's interest, her resolute determination to forget Winger; and Stokes was, in Susan Dines's opinion, a "good catch.”

In his dumb fashion, Harvey recognized his golden opportunity and sought to overcome the heavy embarrassment he felt at riding with Nan as a suitor. Admiration shone from his gray eyes, unexpected shrill laughter forced its way upwards from his broad chest and bull-like throat, and a deeper red flowed over his brick-red cheeks. But he had only brief answers, dull comments to oppose to Nan's chatter.

Nan felt a sense of relief when Jennie ran out to

meet them on their arrival, even though Jennie confided in a whisper:

"Nan, Tom Winger's here, an' so is Ruby, but they didn't come with one another. She came with Bill Ridge."

Nan was conscious of burning cheeks and an inner rush of emotion, but she smiled at her friend's agitation; Jennie, looking relieved, invited:

"You an' Harve come an' set with me soon's the speakin' begins. Do you think Vergil can really make a speech?" Before Nan could answer, and while she led them through the crowd, she rattled on: "I'm so worried over the whole thing, but the baby's so good, settin' over there in his little express wagon crowin' an' wavin' his hands at all the people—ain't he cunnin'! I'll have to leave you before the speakin's finished an' see to dishin' the chicken an' dumplin's."

The three found places in old Abe Madden's wagon near the small stand erected for the speakers. Nan and Jennie climbed into the wagon, while Harvey stood leaning against the wheel, as Vergil blew a lusty blast on a cow horn trumpet. Glancing around, Nan saw Winger coming towards the wagon and, in a panic, turned ostentatiously away. Yet out of the corner of her eye, she caught his long look at her, saw him stop abruptly, to settle to a squatting position beside goodlooking, black-mustached Jack Hayes. Jack had disposed his slender, alert self against the pole of a near-by wagon, a new Stetson hat tipped negligently over one