The Yellow Rose by Gilbert Morris

wits and his eyes and his legs against the Cheyenne.
    Maybe I ought to go back to the mountains. I hear they found gold out in California. Maybe I ought to go try to fill my pockets up with nuggets. He toyed with the idea, and as he did, he saw Julie come out from around the house. She had been boiling clothes, washing them, and now she had come to hang them on a wire that was strung between two big walnut trees that stood to the east of the house. His eyes narrowed, for he saw that she was wearing a pair of pants and a man’s shirt. He recognized the pants as belonging to Clinton, who had outgrown them—and noted with appreciation that Julie filled them out thoroughly. A smile touched his lips as he watched her fasten a dress to the line and then a petticoat and then a pair of men’s drawers. He thought, There’s somethin’ downright unseemly about hangin’ men’s underwear alongside of women’s, but that wouldn’t bother Julie none.
    He tilted back, enjoying watching her. Though she could be difficult at times, he was fond of Julie. He never knew what she would do next, although whatever it was would be fairly audacious. He liked that about her, but he was careful around her. He knew he would have to answer to Jerusalem if he ever took up with Julie.
    He heard a shout and brought his chair down and twisted to the right. Clinton had come sailing out of the barn, shouting as he approached. Clay grinned, for it amused him to watch Clinton’s religious fits. He was convinced that one day Clinton would calm down, but right now the young man had all the fiery heat of an evangelist.
    “What do you think you’re doin’?” Clinton shouted, coming up to Julie. She turned to face him and did not answer for a moment. “Don’t you know you’ll go to hell for wearin’ forked pants?” Julie laughed. “I never read that anywhere in the Bible.”
    “Well, it’s there somewhere,” Clinton said loudly. “It ain’t decent.
    You get in the house right now and put on a dress like the Bible says.”
    “Go on about your business, Clinton. I’m going riding when I finish this, and I can’t ride in a skirt.”
    “You ain’t goin’ nowhere in them pants! It’s downright scandalous!”
    Clay leaned back, his eyes slitted, and his lips turned upward in a grin.
    “Give it to her, Clinton,” he murmured. “Let’s hear you rip and roar and see how far you get.”
    At that very moment Jerusalem came out, no doubt drawn by the sounds of the two shouting at each other. She stopped on the porch alongside of Clay, took in the scene, then turned and looked at him. “Why don’t you stop that, Clay?”
    Clay looked up slowly and said innocently, “Why, if they was my young’uns, I would, but they ain’t.”
    His answer angered Jerusalem. She was irritated with Clay anyhow, for ever since he’d come back from the war with Santa Anna, he had been impossible to live with. Even after his wound had healed, he’d done very little work, and now the irritation that had been growing in her boiled over. “Clay, you’ve been moping around for days now doing nothing but complain. It’s about time you acted like a man.”
    Her words gave Clay a guilty feeling, which he hated. He jumped to his feet and shoved his hat back on his head. “I reckon I’m the judge of what I’ll do around this place.”
    “Well, go do something worthwhile. You’re acting like a spoiled brat.”
    Clay glared at her. “I reckon I will do something worthwhile. I guess I’ll just go into town, have a few drinks, and play some cards.” He whirled and leaped off the porch, and her words followed him.
    “Good, you won’t be underfoot.”
    Jerusalem watched him as he headed for the barn and knew that she shouldn’t have said what she did. She owed Clay Taliferro more than she could ever repay for all he had done to help her, but he was hard to live with at times. Putting him out of her mind, she moved across the yard until she stood in front of