Dorothy Garlock Read Free

I'll put holes in you big enough for the sun to shine through.”
    Attracted by the commotion, two roustabouts paused on the walk to watch. Fresh from an oil rig, in oil-soaked clothes and with grimy faces, they shouted with laughter.
    “Skeeter, ya goin 'to let that little wildcat run ya off? She ain't no bigger than a good-sized chigger.”
    “That yore summer bath, Skeeter? Ya'll need another'n 'bout Christmastime.”
    “What'd ya do to get her so riled up? ”
    “He spit on my clean floor, is what he did, ”Jill yelled. “If he does it again, I'll do more than douse him with water. I'll break this broom handle over that knot on his shoulders.”
    “Wow, Skeeter! That little wildcat is madder than a wet hen. Ya'd better watch yore step.”
    “Ya just wait, ya little split-tail. Justine'll set ya straight about a few things.” Skeeter wiped the water from his face with the sleeve of his shirt.
    Jill ignored him and vigorously swept the water from the porch, flinging it as far as possible toward the street. She had been in Rainwater for only a few weeks and doubted there was a dirtier town anyplace on the face of the earth.
    The town had been just a wide spot in the road until a wildcatter brought in an oil well a half mile from town. Now, three years later, a dozen pumping wells surrounded the town and a dozen more were being drilled. Rainwater had doubled, then tripled in size until now it housed almost five thousand oil-hungry souls and was still growing.
    The unpaved street that divided the two rows of buildings was hard-packed clay. The crude structures that had been hastily erected along Main Street had gradually been replaced by sawed-lumber buildings. The new boards were darkened with oil carried by the wind from a gusher before it was capped. The well, not far from town, had been cheered by the citizens of Rainwater even as they were being coated with what they called black gold.
    Jill waited until the three men ambled on down the street toward the stores, pool halls, eating places and speakeasies where bootleg whiskey was as easy to come by as a cup of coffee. All were eager to part the roustabouts from their money. The sheriff had more than he could handle with fights, thieves and robbers to spend much time arresting bootleggers.
    Everyone knew that it was just a matter of time before Prohibition would be repealed. The law was not working as intended and was instead making millionaires out of a few big-time operators in places like Kansas City and Chicago.
    Jill picked up the bucket and went back into the small lobby of the hotel, then on through the kitchen. When she pushed on the screen door to go out onto the back porch, a black and white shaggy dog jumped up, moved a few feet away and waited expectantly.
    “Are you still here? ”she snapped.
    The dog's tail made a half wave, then sagged between her hind legs. Jill hung the bucket on a nail.
    “Go home.” The mongrel looked at Jill with sorrowful eyes, then lay down and rested her head on her forepaws.
    “Suit yourself. But don't expect me to keep feeding you. A few bread scraps doesn't make us lifelong friends, ”Jill grumbled, then went back into the kitchen and slammed the screen door.
    “Mercy me. What's got your tail in a crack? ”It was always a surprise to Jill to hear the melodious voice that came from Radna, the bronze-faced woman who sat at the table peeling potatoes. None of the Indians she had ever known had such musical voices, nor spoke so precisely.
    “A nasty old man spit a glob of tobacco juice on my clean porch.”
    “Well, now, isn't that a surprise? ”There was lilting laughter in her voice.
    “I gave him a bath with my mop water.”
    “I bet he loved that.” The dark eyes continued to smile at her.
    Jill giggled. “I couldn't have surprised him more if I had sprouted wings.”
    “That must have been Skeeter Ridge.”
    “How do you know that? ”
    “He's harmless. He's been sitting on the porch for years. Thinks he