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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:22:11 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:22:11 -0700 |
| commit | b479b6987bb02be7341337b14d87677f5cc9deb9 (patch) | |
| tree | b9eed0a3baf1644058999891e9f7b1a9d7e46951 | |
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| -rw-r--r-- | 3732-0.txt | 8779 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 3732-h/3732-h.htm | 9942 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/3732.txt | 9162 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/3732-0.txt b/3732-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1b0012e --- /dev/null +++ b/3732-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8779 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 3732 *** +WOLFVILLE + +BY + +ALFRED HENRY LEWIS +(Dan Quin) + + + + +TO +WILLIAM RANDOLPH HEARST + + + + +CONTENTS + + CHAPTER I. WOLFVILLE'S FIRST FUNERAL + CHAPTER II. THE STINGING LIZARD + CHAPTER III. THE STORY OF WILKINS + CHAPTER IV. THE WASHWOMAN'S WAR + CHAPTER V. ENRIGHT'S PARD, JIM WILLIS + CHAPTER VI. TUCSON JENNIE'S HEART + CHAPTER VII. TUCSON JENNIE'S JEALOUSY + CHAPTER VIII. THE MAN FROM RED DOG + CHAPTER IX. CHEROKEE HALL + CHAPTER X. TEXAS THOMPSON'S "ELECTION" + CHAPTER XI. A WOLFVILLE FOUNDLING + CHAPTER XII. THE MAN FROM YELLOWHOUSE + CHAPTER XIII. JACKS UP ON EIGHTS + CHAPTER XIV. THE RIVAL DANCE-HALLS + CHAPTER XV. SLIM JIM'S SISTER + CHAPTER XVI. JAYBIRD BOB'S JOKE + CHAPTER XVII. BOGGS'S EXPERIENCE +CHAPTER XVIII. DAWSON & RUDD, PARTNERS + CHAPTER XIX. MACE BOWMAN, SHERIFF + CHAPTER XX. A WOLFVILLE THANKSGIVING + CHAPTER XXI. BILL HOSKINS'S COON + CHAPTER XXII. OLD SAM ENRIGHT'S "ROMANCE," +CHAPTER XXIII. PINON BILL'S BLUFF + CHAPTER XXIV. CRAWFISH JIM + + + + +PREFACE. + +These tales by the Old Cattleman have been submitted to perhaps a +dozen people. They have read, criticised, and advised. The advice +was good; the criticism just. Some suggested a sketch which might in +detail set forth Toffville; there were those who wanted something +like a picture of the Old Cattleman; while others urged an +elaboration of the personal characteristics of Old Man Enright, Doc +Peets, Cherokee Hall, Moore, Tutt, Boggs, Faro Nell, Old Monte, and +Texas Thompson. I have, how-ever, concluded to leave all these +matters to the illustrations of Mr. Remington and the imaginations +of those who read. I think it the better way-certainly it is the +easier one for me. I shall therefore permit the Old Cattleman to +tell his stories in his own fashion. The style will be crude, +abrupt, and meagre, but I trust it will prove as satisfactory to the +reader as it has to me. + + A. H. L. + New York, May 15,1897. + + + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +WOLFVILLE'S FIRST FUNERAL. + + +"These yere obsequies which I'm about mentionin'," observed the Old +Cattleman, "is the first real funeral Wolfville has." + +The old fellow had lighted a cob pipe and tilted his chair back in a +fashion which proclaimed a plan to be comfortable. He had begun to +tolerate--even encourage--my society, although it was clear that as +a tenderfoot he regarded me with a species of gentle disdain. + +I had provoked the subject of funeral ceremonies by a recurrence to +the affair of the Yellowhouse Man, and a query as to what would have +been the programme of the public-spirited hamlet of Wolfville if +that invalid had died instead of yielding to the nursing of Jack +Moore and that tariff on draw-poker which the genius of Old Man +Enright decreed. + +It came in easy illustration, as answer to my question, for the Old +Cattleman to recall the funeral of a former leading spirit of +Southwestern society. The name of this worthy was Jack King; and +with a brief exposition of his more salient traits, my grizzled +raconteur led down to his burial with the remark before quoted. + +"Of course," continued the Old Cattleman, "of course while thar's +some like this Yallerhouse gent who survives; thar's others of the +boys who is downed one time an' another, an' goes shoutin' home to +heaven by various trails. But ontil the event I now recalls, the +remainders has been freighted east or west every time, an' the camp +gets left. It's hard luck, but at last it comes toward us; an' thar +we be one day with a corpse all our'n, an' no partnership with +nobody nor nothin'. + +"'It's the chance of our life,' says Doc Peets, 'an' we plays it. +Thar's nothin' too rich for our blood, an' these obsequies is goin' +to be spread-eagle, you bet! We'll show Red Dog an' sim'lar villages +they ain't sign-camps compared with Wolfville.' + +"So we begins to draw in our belts an' get a big ready. Jack King, +as I says before, is corpse, eemergin' outen a game of poker as +sech. Which prior tharto, Jack's been peevish, an' pesterin' an' +pervadin' 'round for several days. The camp stands a heap o' trouble +with him an' tries to smooth it along by givin' him his whiskey an' +his way about as he wants 'em, hopin' for a change. But man is only +human, an' when Jack starts in one night to make a flush beat a tray +full for seven hundred dollars, he asks too much. + +"Thar ain't no ondertakers, so we rounds up the outfit, an' knowin' +he'd take a pride in it, an' do the slam-up thing, we puts in Doc +Peets to deal the game unanimous. + +"'Gents,' he says, as we-alls turns into the Red Light to be +refreshed, 'in assoomin' the present pressure I feels the +compliments paid me in the seelection. I shall act for the credit of +the camp, an' I needs your help. I desires that these rites be a +howlin' vict'ry. I don't want people comin' 'round next week +allowin' thar ain't been no funeral, an' I don't reckon much that +they will. We've got the corpse, an' if we gets bucked off now it's +our fault.' + +"So he app'ints Old Monte an' Dan Boggs to go for a box for Jack, +an' details a couple of niggers from the corral to dig a tomb. + +"'An' mind you-alls,' says Peets, `I wants that hole at least a mile +from camp. In order to make a funeral a success, you needs distance. +That's where deceased gets action. It gives the procession a chance +to spread an' show up. You can't make no funeral imposin' except +you're plumb liberal on distances.' + +"It all goes smooth right off the reel. We gets a box an' grave +ready, an' Peets sticks up a notice on the stage-station door, +settin' the excitement for third-drink time next day. Prompt at the +drop of the hat the camp lets go all holds an' turns loose in a body +to put Jack through right. He's laid out in splendid shape in the +New York Store, with nothin' to complain of if he's asked to make +the kick himse'f. He has a new silk necktie, blue shirt an' pearl +buttons, trousers, an' boots. Some one--Benson Annie, I reckons--has +pasted some co't plaster over the hole on his cheek-bone where the +bullet gets in, an' all 'round Jack looks better than I ever sees +him. + +"'Let the congregation remove its hats,' says Peets, a-settin' down +on a box up at Jack's head, 'an' as many as can will please get +somethin' to camp on. Now, my friends," he continues, "thar ain't no +need of my puttin' on any frills or gettin' in any scroll work. The +objects of this convention is plain an' straight. Mister King, here +present, is dead. Deceased is a very headstrong person, an' persists +yesterday in entertainin' views touchin' a club flush, queen at the +head, which results in life everlastin'. Now, gents, this is a +racket full of solemnity. We wants nothin' but good words. Don't +mind about the trooth; which the same ain't in play at a funeral, +nohow. We all knows Jack; we knows his record. Our information is +ample that a-way; how he steals a hoss at Tucson; how be robs a gent +last fall at Tombstone; how he downs a party at Cruces; how that +scar on his neck he gets from Wells-Fargo's people when he stands up +the stage over on the Lordsburg trail. But we lays it all aside to- +day. We don't copper nary bet. Yesterday mornin', accompanied by the +report of a Colt's forty-five, Mister King, who lies yere so cool +an' easy, leaves us to enter in behind the great white shinin' gates +of pearl an' gold, which swings inward to glory eternal. It's a +great set back at this time thar ain't no sky-pilot in the camp. +This deeficiency in sky-pilots is a hoss onto us, but we does our +best. At a time like this I hears that singin' is a good, safe +break, an' I tharfore calls on that little girl from Flagstaff to +give us "The Dyin' Ranger." + +"So the little Flagstaff girl cl'ars her valves with a drink, an' +gives us the song; an' when the entire congregation draws kyards on +the last verse it does everybody good. + + "'Far away from his dear old Texas, + We laid him down to rest; + With his saddle for a pillow, + And his gun across his breast.' + +"Then Peets gets out the Scriptures. 'I'm goin' to read a chapter +outen these yere Testaments,' he says. 'I ain't makin' no claim for +it, except it's part of the game an' accordin' to Hoyle. If thar's a +preacher yere he'd do it, but bein' thar's no sech brand on this +range I makes it as a forced play myse'f.' + +"So he reads us, a chapter about the sepulcher, an' Mary Magdalene, +an' the resurrection; an' everybody takes it in profound as prairie- +dogs, for that's the lead to make, an' we knows it. + +"Then Peets allows he'd like to hear from any gent onder the head of +'good of the order.' + +"'Mister Ondertaker an' Chairman,' says Jim Hamilton, 'I yields to +an inward impulse to say that this yere play weighs on me plumb +heavy. As keeper of the dance-hall I sees a heap of the corpse an' +knows him well. Mister King is my friend, an' while his moods is +variable an' oncertain; an' it's cl'arly worth while to wear your +gun while he's hoverin' near, I loves him. He has his weaknesses, as +do we all. A disp'sition to make new rooles as he plays along for +sech games of chance as enjoys his notice is perhaps his greatest +failin'. His givin' way to this habit is primar'ly the cause of his +bein' garnered in. I hopes he'll get along thar, an' offers a side +bet, even money, up to five hundred dollars, he will. He may alter +his system an' stand way up with the angels an' seraphs, an' if +words from me could fix it, I'd shorely stack 'em in. I would say +further that after consultin' with Billy Burns, who keeps the Red +Light, we has, in honor of the dead an' to mark the occasion of his +cashin' in, agreed upon a business departure of interest to all. +This departure Mister Burns will state. I mournfully gives way to +him for said purpose.' + +"'Mister Peets, an' ladies an' gents,' says Burns, 'like Mister +Hamilton, who I'm proud to meet yere as gent, citizen, an' friend, I +knows deceased. He's a good man, an' a dead-game sport from 'way +back. A protracted wrastle with the remorseless drinks of the +frontier had begun to tell on him, an' for a year or so he's been +liable to have spells. Referrin' to the remarks of Mister Hamilton, +I states that by agreement between us an' in honor to departed, the +quotations on whiskey in this yere camp, from now on, will be two +drinks for two bits, instead of one as previous. We don't want to +onsettle trade, an' we don't believe this will. We makes it as a ray +of light in the darkness an' gloom of the hour. + +"After this yere utterance, which is well received, we forms the +procession. Doc Peets, with two buglers from the Fort, takes the +lead, with Jack an' his box in one of the stage coaches comin' next. +Enright, Tutt, Boggs, Short Creek Dave, Texas Thompson, an' me, +bein' the six pallbearers, is on hosses next in line; an' Jack Moore +commandin' of the rest of the outfit, lines out permiscus. + +"'This is a great day for Wolfville," says Peets, as he rides up an' +down the line. 'Thar ain't no camp this side of St. Looey could turn +this trick. Which I only wishes Jack could see it himse'f. It's more +calculated to bring this outfit into fav'rable notice than a +lynchin'.' + +"At the grave we turns in an' gives three cheers for King, an' three +for Doc Peets; an' last we gives three more an' a tiger for the +camp. The buglers cuts loose everythin' they knows, from the 'water- +call' to the 'retreat,' an' while the niggers is a-shovelin' in the +sand we bangs away with our six-shooters for general results +delightful. You can gamble thar ain't been no funeral like it before +or since. + +"At the last Peets hauls outen the stage we uses for Jack, a +headboard. When it's set up it looks like if Jack ain't satisfied, +he's shorely hard to suit. On it in big letters is: + + JaCK KinG + LIfE AiN'T + IN + HOLDiNG A GOOD HAND + BUT + In PLAYiNG A PORE HANd + WeLL. + +"'You sees, we has to work in a little sentiment,' says Doc Peets. + +"Then we details the niggers to stand watch-an'-watch every night +till further orders. No; we ain't afraid Jack'll get out none, but +the coyotes is shore due to come an' dig for him, so the niggers has +to stand gyard. We don't allow to find spec'mens of Jack spread +'round loose after all the trouble we takes." + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE STINGING LIZARD. + + +"Thar's no sorter doubt to it," said the Old Cattleman after a long +pause devoted to meditation, and finally to the refilling of his cob +pipe, "thar ain't the slightest room for cavil but them ceremonies +over Jack King, deceased, is the most satisfactory pageant Wolfville +ever promotes." + +It was at this point I proved my cunning by saying nothing. I was +pleased to hear the old man talk, and rightly theorized that the +better method of invoking his reminiscences just at this time was to +say never a word. + +"However," he continued, "I don't reckon it's many weeks after we +follows Jack to the tomb, when we comes a heap near schedoolin' +another funeral, with the general public a-contributin' of the +corpse. To be speecific, I refers to a occasion when we-alls comes +powerful close to lynchin' Cherokee Hall. + +"I don't mind on bosomin' myself about it. It's all a +misonderstandin'; the same bein' Cherokee's fault complete. We don't +know him more'n to merely drink with at that eepock, an' he's that +sly an' furtive in his plays, an' covers his trails so speshul, he +nacherally breeds sech suspicions that when the stage begins to be +stood up reg'lar once a week, an' all onaccountable, Cherokee comes +mighty close to culminatin' in a rope. Which goes to show that you +can't be too open an' free in your game, an' Cherokee would tell you +so himse'f. + +"This yere tangle I'm thinkin' of ain't more'n a month after +Cherokee takes to residin' in Wolfville. He comes trailin' in one +evenin' from Tucson, an' onfolds a layout an' goes to turnin' faro- +bank in the Red Light. No one remarks this partic'lar, which said +spectacles is frequent. The general idee is that Cherokee's on the +squar' an' his game is straight, an' of course public interest don't +delve no further into his affairs. + +"Cherokee, himse'f, is one of these yere slim, silent people who +ain't talkin' much, an' his eye for color is one of them raw grays, +like a new bowie. + +"It's perhaps the third day when Cherokee begins to struggle into +public notice. Thar's a felon whose name is Boone, but who calls +himse'f the 'Stingin' Lizard,' an' who's been pesterin' 'round +Wolfville, mebby, it's a month. This yere Stingin' Lizard is thar +when Cherokee comes into camp; an' it looks like the Stingin' Lizard +takes a notion ag'in Cherokee from the jump. + +"Not that this yere Lizard is likely to control public feelin' in +the matter; none whatever. He's some onpop'lar himself. He's too +toomultuous for one thing, an' he has a habit of molestin' towerists +an' folks he don't know at all, which palls on disinterested people +who has dooties to perform. About once a week this Lizard man goes +an' gets the treemers, an' then the camp has to set up with him till +his visions subsides. Fact is, he's what you-alls East calls 'a +disturbin' element,' an' we makes ready to hang him once or twice, +but somethin' comes up an' puts it off, an' we sorter neglects it. + +"But as I says, he takes a notion ag'in Cherokee. It's the third +night after Cherokee gets in, an' he's ca'mly behind his box at the +Red Light, when in peramb'lates this Lizard. Seems like Cherokee, +bein' one of them quiet wolves, fools up the Lizard a lot. This +Lizard's been hostile an' blood-hungry all day, an' I reckons he all +at once recalls Cherokee; an', deemin' of him easy, he allows he'll +go an' chew his mane some for relaxation. + +"If I was low an' ornery like this Lizard, I ain't none shore but +I'd be fooled them days on Cherokee myse'f. He's been fretful about +his whiskey, Cherokee has,--puttin' it up she don't taste right, +which not onlikely it don't; but beyond pickin' flaws in his nose- +paint thar ain't much to take hold on about him. He's so slim an' +noiseless besides, thar ain't none of us but figgers this yere +Stingin' Lizard's due to stampede him if he tries; which makes what +follows all the more impressive. + +"So the Lizard projects along into the Red Light, whoopin' an' +carryin' on by himse'f. Straightway he goes up ag'inst Cherokee's +layout. + +"I don't buy no chips," says the Lizard to Cherokee, as he gets in +opposite. "I puts money in play; an' when I wins I wants money +sim'lar. Thar's fifty dollars on the king coppered; an' fifty +dollars on the eight open. Turn your kyards, an' turn 'em squar'. If +you don't, I'll peel the ha'r an' hide plumb off the top of your +head." + +"Cherokee looks at the Lizard sorter soopercillus an' indifferent; +but he don't say nothin'. He goes on with the deal, an', the kyards +comin' that a-way, he takes in the Lizard's two bets. + +"Durin' the next deal the Lizard ain't sayin' much direct, but keeps +cussin' an' wranglin' to himse'f. But he's gettin' his money up all +the time; an' with the fifty dollars he lose on the turn, he's shy +mebby four hundred an' fifty at the close. + +"'Bein' in the hole about five hundred dollars,' says the Lizard, in +a manner which is a heap onrespectful, ' an' so that a wayfarin' +gent may not be misled to rooin utter, I now rises to ask what for a +limit do you put on this deadfall anyhow?' + +"'The bridle's plumb off to you, amigo,' says Cherokee, an' his +tones is some hard. I notices it all right enough, 'cause I'm doin' +business at the table myse'f at the time, an' keepin' likewise case +on the game. `The bridle's plumb off for you,' says Cherokee, 'so +any notion you entertains in favor of bankruptin' of yourse'f quick +may riot right along.' + +"'You're dead shore of that?' says the Lizard with a sneer. `Now I +reckons a thousand-dollar bet would scare this puerile game you +deals a-screechin' up a tree or into a hole, too easy.' + +"`I never likes to see no gent strugglin' in the coils of error,' +says Cherokee, with a sneer a size larger than the Lizard's; `I +don't know what wads of wealth them pore old clothes of yours +conceals, but jest the same I tells you what I'll do. Climb right +onto the layout, body, soul, an' roll, an' put a figger on your +worthless se'f, an' I'll turn you for the whole shootin'-match. +You're in yere to make things interestin', I sees that, an' I'll +voylate my business principles an' take a night off to entertain +you.' An' yere Cherokee lugs out a roll of bills big enough to choke +a cow. + +"'I goes you if I lose,' says the Stingin' Lizard. Then assoomin' a +sooperior air, he remarks: 'Mebby it's a drink back on the trail +when I has misgivin's as to the rectitood of this yere brace you're +dealin'. Bein' public-sperited that a-way, in my first frenzy I +allows I'll take my gun an' abate it a whole lot. But a ca'mer mood +comes on, an' I decides, as not bein' so likely to disturb a peace- +lovin' camp, I removes this trap for the onwary by merely bustin' +the bank. Thar,' goes on the Stingin' Lizard, at the same time +dumpin' a large wad on the layout, 'thar's even four thousand +dollars. Roll your game for that jest as it lays.' + +"'Straighten up your dust,' says Cherokee, his eyes gettin' a kind +of gleam into 'em, 'straighten up your stuff an' get it some'ers. +Don't leave it all spraddled over the scene. I turns for it ready +enough, but we ain't goin' to argue none as to where it lays after +the kyard falls.' + +"The rest of us who's been buckin' the game moderate an' right +cashes in at this, an' leaves an onobstructed cloth to the Stingin' +Lizard. This yere's more caution than good nacher. As long as folks +is bettin' along in limits, say onder fifty dollars, thar ain't no +shootin' likely to ensoo. But whenever a game gets immoderate that +a-way, an' the limit's off, an' things is goin' that locoed they +begins to play a thousand an' over on a kyard an' scream for action, +gents of experience stands ready to go to duckin' lead an' dodgin' +bullets instanter. + +"But to resoome: The Stingin' Lizard lines up his stuff, an' the +deal begins. It ain't thirty seconds till the bank wins, an' the +Stingin' Lizard is the wrong side of the layout from his money. He +takes it onusual ugly, only he ain't sayin' much. He sa'nters over +to the bar, an' gets a big drink. Cherokee is rifflin' the deck, but +I notes he's got his gray eye on the Stingin' Lizard, an' my respect +for him increases rapid. I sees he ain't goin' to get the worst of +no deal, an' is organized to protect his game plumb through if this +Lizard makes a break. "'Do you--all know where I hails from?' asks +the Stingin' Lizard, comin' back to Cherokee after he's done hid his +drink. + +"'Which I shorely don't;' says Cherokee. 'I has from time to time +much worthless information thrust upon me, but so far I escapes all +news of you complete.' + +"'Where I comes from, which is Texas,' says the Lizard, ignorin' of +Cherokee's manner, the same bein' some insultin', `they teaches the +babies two things,-never eat your own beef, an' never let no kyard- +thief down you: + +"'Which is highly thrillin',' says Cherokee, 'as reminiscences of +your yooth, but where does you-all get action on 'em in Arizona?' + +"'Where I gets action won't be no question long,' says the Lizard, +mighty truculent. 'I now announces that this yere game is a skin an' +a brace. Tharfore I returns for my money; an', to be frank, I +returns a-shootin': + +"It's at this p'int we-alls who represents the public kicks back our +chairs an' stampedes outen range. As the Lizard makes his bluff his +hand goes to his artillery like a flash. + +"The Lizard's some quick, but Cherokee's too soon for him. With the +first move of the Lizard's hand, he searches out a bowie from +som'ers back of his neck. I'm some employed placin' myse'f at the +time, an' don't decern it none till Cherokee brings it over his +shoulder like a stream of white light. + +"It's shore great knife-work. Cherokee gives the Lizard aige an +p'int, an' all in one motion. Before the Lizard more'n lifts his +weepon, Cherokee half slashes his gun-hand off at the wrist; an' +then, jest as the Lizard begins to wonder at it, he gets the nine- +inch blade plumb through his neck. He's let out right thar. + +"'It looks like I has more of this thing to do,' says Cherokee, an' +his tone shows he's half-way mournin' over it, ` than any sport in +the Territory. I tries to keep outen this, but that Lizard gent +would have it.' + +"After the killin', Enright an' Doc Peets, with Boggs, Tutt, an' +Jack Moore, sorter talks it over quiet, an' allows it's all right. + +"'This Stingin' Lizard gent,' says Enright, has been projectin' +'round lustin' for trouble now, mebby it's six weeks. It's amazin' +to me he lasts as long as he does, an' it speaks volumes for the +forbearin', law-abiding temper of the Wolfville public. This +Lizard's a mighty oppressive person, an' a heap obnoxious; an' while +I don't like a knife none myse'f as a trail out, an' inclines to +distrust a gent who does, I s'pose it's after all a heap a matter of +taste an' the way your folks brings you up. I leans to the view, +gents, that this yere corpse is constructed on the squar'. What do +you-all think, Peets?' + +"'I entertains ideas sim'lar,' says Doc Peets. 'Of course I takes it +this kyard-sharp, Cherokee, aims to bury his dead. He nacherally +ain't look. in' for the camp to go 'round cleanin' up after him +none.' "That's about how it stands. Nobody finds fault with +Cherokee, an' as he ups an' plants the Stingin' Lizard's remainder +the next day, makin' the deal with a stained box, crape, an' the +full regalia, it all leaves the camp with a mighty decent +impression. By first-drink time in the evenin' of the second day, we +ain't thinkin' no more about it. + +"Now you-all begins to marvel where do we get to the hangin' of +Cherokee Hall? We're workin' in towards it now. + +"You sees, followin' the Stingin' Lizard's jump into the misty +beyond--which it's that sudden I offers two to one them angels notes +a look of s'prise on the Stingin' Lizard's face as to how he comes +to make the trip-Cherokee goes on dealin' faro same as usual. As I +says before, he ain't no talker, nohow; now he says less than ever. + +"But what strikes us as onusual is, he saddles up a pinto pony he's +got over to the corral, an' jumps off every now an' then for two an' +three days at a clatter. No one knows where he p'ints to, more'n he +says he's due over in Tucson. These yere vacations of Cherokee's is +all in the month after the Stingin' Lizard gets downed. "It's about +this time, too, the stage gets held up sech a scand'lous number of +times it gives people a tired feelin'. All by one party, too. He +merely prances out in onexpected places with a Winchester; stands up +the stage in an onconcerned way, an' then goes through everythin' +an' everybody, from mail-bags to passengers, like the grace of +heaven through a camp-meetin'. Nacheral, it all creates a heap of +disgust. "'If this yere industrious hold-up keeps up his lick,' says +Texas Thompson about the third time the stage gets rustled, `an' +heads off a few more letters of mine, all I has to say is my wife +back in Laredo ain't goin' to onderstand it none. She ain't lottin' +much on me nohow, an' if the correspondence between us gets much +more fitful, she's goin' p'intin' out for a divorce. This deal's +liable to turn a split for me in my domestic affairs.' An' that's +the way we-alls feels. This stage agent is shorely in disrepoot some +in Wolfville. If he'd been shakin' up Red Dog's letter-bags, we +wouldn't have minded so much. + +"I never does know who's the first to think of Cherokee Hall, but +all at once it's all over camp Talkin' it over, it's noticed mighty +soon that, come right to cases, no one knows his record, where he's +been or why he's yere. Then his stampedin' out of camp like he's +been doin' for a month is too many for us. + +"'I puts no trust in them Tucson lies he tells, neither,' says Doc +Peets. 'Whatever would he be shakin' up over in Tucson? His game's +yere, an' this theery that he's got to go scatterin' over thar once +a week is some gauzy.' + +"'That's whatever,' says Dan Boggs, who allers trails in after Doc +Peets, an' plays the same system emphatic. An' I says myse'f, not +findin' no fault with Boggs tharfor, that this yere Peets is the +finest-eddicated an' levelest-headed sharp in Arizona. + +"'Well,' says Jack Moore, who as I says before does the rope work +for the Stranglers, 'if you-alls gets it settled that this faro +gent's turnin' them tricks with the stage an' mail-bags, the sooner +he's swingin' to the windmill, the sooner we hears from our loved +ones at home. What do you say, Enright?' + +"'Why,' says Enright, all thoughtful, 'I reckons it's a case. S'pose +you caper over where he feeds at the O.K. House an' bring him to us. +The signs an' signal-smokes shorely p'ints to this yere Cherokee as +our meat; but these things has to be done in order. Bring him in, +Jack, an', to save another trip, s'pose you bring a lariat from the +corral at the same time.' + +"It don't take Moore no time to throw a gun on Cherokee where he's +consoomin' flapjacks at the O. K. House, an' tell him the committee +needs him at the New York Store. Cherokee don't buck none, but comes +along, passive as a tabby cat. + +"'Whatever's the hock kyard to all this?' he says to Jack Moore. 'Is +it this Stingin' Lizard play a month ago?' + +"'No,' says Moore, "t'ain't quite sech ancient hist'ry. It's stage +coaches. Thar's a passel of people down yere as allows you've been +rustlin' the mails.' + +"Old Man Rucker, who keeps the O. K. House, is away when Moore +rounds up his party. But Missis Rucker's thar, an' the way that old +lady talks to Enright an' the committee is a shame. She comes over +to the store, too, along of Moore an' Cherokee, an' prances in an' +comes mighty near stampedin' the whole outfit. + +"'See yere, Sam Enright,' she shouts, wipin' her hands on her bib, +'what be you-alls aimin' for to do? Linin' up, I s'pose to hang the +only decent man in town?' + +"'Ma'am,' says Enright, 'this yere sharp is 'cused of standin' up +the stage them times recent over by Tucson. Do you know anythin' +about it?' + +"'No; I don't,' says Missis Rucker. 'You don't reckon, now, I did it +none, do you? I says this, though; it's a heap sight more likely +some drunkard a-settin' right yere on this committee stops them +stages than Cherokee Hall.' + +"'Woman's nacher's that emotional,' says Enright to the rest of us, +'she's oncapable of doin' right. While she's the loveliest of +created things, still sech is the infirmities of her intellects, +that gov'ment would bog down in its most important functions, if +left to woman.' + +"'Bog down or not,' says Missis Rucker, gettin' red an' heated, 'you +fools settin' up thar like a band of prairie-dogs don't hang this +yere Cherokee Hall. 'Nother thing, you ain't goin' to hang nobody to +the windmill ag'in nohow. I has my work to do, an' thar's enough on +my hands, feedin' sech swine as you-alls three times a day, without +havin' to cut down dead folks outen my way every time I goes for a +bucket of water. You-alls takes notice now; you don't hang nothin' +to the windmill no more. As for this yere Cherokee, he ain't stopped +no more stages than I be.' + +"'But you sees yourse'f, ma'am, you hasn't the slightest evidence +tharof,' says Enright, tryin' to soothe her down. + +"'I has, however, what's a mighty sight better than evidence,' says +Missis Rucker, 'an' that's my firm convictions.' + +"'Well, see yere,' says Cherokee, who's been listenin' all peaceful, +'let me in on this. What be you-alls doin' this on? I reckons I'm +entitled to a look at your hand for my money.' + +"Enright goes on an' lays it off for Cherokee; how he's outen camp +every time the stage is robbed, an' the idee is abroad he does it. + +"'As the kyards lay in the box,' says Cherokee, 'I don't reckon +thar's much doubt but you-alls will wind up the deal by hangin' me?' + +"'It's shorely five to one that a-way,' says Enright. 'Although I'm +bound to say it ain't none decisive as yet.' + +"'The trooth is,' says Cherokee, sorter thoughtful, 'I wasn't aimin' +to be hung none this autumn. I ain't got time, gents, for one thing, +an' has arranged a heap diff'rent. In the next place, I never stands +up no stage.' + +"'That's what they all says,' puts in Boggs, who's a mighty +impatient man. 'I shorely notes no reason why we-alls can't proceed +with this yere lynchin' at once. S'pose this Cherokee ain't stood up +no stage; he's done plenty of other things as merits death. It +strikes me thar's a sight of onnecessary talk yere." + +"'If you ain't out working the road,' says Doc Peets to Cherokee, +not heedin' of Bogg's petulance, 'them stage-robbin' times, s'pose +you onfolds where you was at?" + +"Well, son, not to string this yere story out longer'n three drinks, +yere is how it is: This Cherokee it looks like is soft-hearted that +a-way,--what you calls romantic. An' it seems likewise that shovin' +the Stingin' Lizard from shore that time sorter takes advantage an' +feeds on him. So he goes browsin' 'round the postmaster all casooal, +an' puts questions. Cherokee gets a p'inter about some yearlin' or +other in Tucson this Stingin' Lizard sends money to an' makes good +for, which he finds the same to be fact on caperin' over. It's a +nephy or some sech play. An' the Stingin' Lizard has the young one +staked out over thar, an' is puttin' up for his raiment an' grub all +reg'lar enough. + +"'Which I yereafter backs this infant's play myse'f,' says Cherokee +to the barkeep of the Oriental Saloon over in Tucson, which is the +party the Stingin' Lizard pastures the young one on. 'You're all +right, Bill,' goes on this Cherokee to the barkeep,' but now I goes +back of the box for this infant boy, I reckons I'll saw him off onto +a preacher, or some sharp sim'lar, where he gets a Christian +example. Whatever do you think?' + +"The barkeep says himse'f he allows it's the play to make. So he an' +Cherokee goes surgin' 'round, an' at last they camps the boy--who's +seven years comin' grass--on the only pulpit-sharp in Tucson. This +gospel-spreader says he'll feed an' bed down the boy for some sum; +which was shore a giant one, but the figgers I now forgets. + +"Cherokee gives him a stack of blues to start his game, an' is now +pesterin' 'round in a co't tryin' to get the young one counter- +branded from the Stingin' Lizard's outfit into his, an' given the +name of Cherokee Hall. That's what takes him over to Tucson them +times, an' not stage-robbin'. + +"Two days later, in fact, to make shore all doubts is over, Cherokee +even rings in said divine on us; which the divine tells the same +story. I don't reckon now he's much of a preacher neither; for he +gives Wolfville one whirl for luck over in the warehouse back of the +New York Store, an' I shore hears 'em as makes a mighty sight more +noise, an' bangs the Bible twice as hard, back in the States. I says +so to Cherokee; but he puts it up he don't bank none on his +preachin'. + +"'What I aims at,' says Cherokee, 'is someone who rides herd on the +boy all right, an' don't let him stampede off none into vicious +ways.' + +"'Why don't you keep the camp informed of this yere orphan an' the +play you makes?' says Enright, at the time it's explained to the +committee,--the time they trees Cherokee about them stages. + +"'It's that benev'lent an' mushy,' says Cherokee, 'I'm plumb ashamed +of the deal, an' don't allow to go postin' no notices tharof. But +along comes this yere hold-up business, an', all inadvertent, tips +my hand; which the same I stands, however, jest the same.' + +"'It's all right,' says Enright, some disgusted though; 'but the +next time you makes them foundlin' asylum trips, don't walk in the +water so much. Leave your trail so Wolfville sees it, an' then folks +ain't so likely to jump your camp in the dark an' take to shootin' +you up for Injuns an' sim'lar hostiles.' + +"'But one thing more,' continues Enright, an' then we orders the +drinks. Jack Moore is yereby instructed to present the compliments +of the committee to Rucker, when he trails in from Tucson; which he +also notifies him to hobble his wife yereafter durin' sessions of +this body. She's not to go draggin' her lariat 'round loose no more, +settin' law an' order at defiance durin' sech hours as is given to +business by the Stranglers." + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE STORY OF WILKINS + + +"No; I don't reckon I ever cuts the trail of this yere Wilson you +mentions, once. If I does, the fact's done pulled its picket-pin an' +strayed from my recollections." + +I had recalled the name of a former friend, one Wilson, who, sore +given to liquor, had drifted to Arizona many years before and +disappeared. Suggesting "Wilson" to the Old Cattleman, I asked if he +had met with such a name and character in his Wolfville rambles. + +As often chanced, however, the question bore fruit in a story. It +frequently needed but a slight blow from the rod of casual inquiry, +and the fountains of my old friend's reminiscences gushed forth. + +"No, I never crosses up with him," observed the old Cattleman; "but +speakin' of Wilson puts in my mind a gent by the name of Wilkins, +who it's some likely is as disrepootable as your old pard Wilson." + +"What about Wilkins?" I asked. + +"Nothin' thrillin', "answered the old gentleman; "nothin' you'd stay +up nights to hear, I don't reckon. It's Wilkins's daughter who is +the only redeemin' thing about the old Cimmaron; an' it's a heap +likely right now it's her I remembers about instead of him. + +"Not at all," he continued, "I don't mind onfoldin' as to Wilkins, +nor yet of an' concernin' his daughter. You see this Wilkins is +herdin' 'round Wolfville when I first trails in. I never does know +where he hails from. I don't reckon' though, he ever grades no ways +high, an' at the crisis I'm mentionin' his speshul play is gettin' +drunk mostly; an' not allowin' to hurt himse'f none with work. + +"'Workin' with your fins,' says this Wilkins, 'is low an' +onendoorin' to a gent with pride to wound. It ain't no use neither. +I knows folks as works, an' folks as don't, an' you can't tell one +from which. They gets along entirely sim'lar. + +"'But how you goin' to live?' says Dave Tutt, when he makes this +remark, an' who is fussin' with Wilkins for bein' so reedic'lous an' +shiftless. + +"'That's all right about my livin',' says Wilkins; 'don't you-all +pass no restless nights on my account. Go read your Scriptures; read +that bluff about feedin' the young ravens an' sparrers. Well, that's +me this trip. I'm goin' to rap for a show-down on them promises an' +see what's in 'em.' + +"'This camp ain't strong on Holy Writ, nohow,' says Dave Tutt, 'an' +I'm partic'lar puny that a-way. It's your game though, an' your +American jedgement goes soopreme as to how you plays it.' + +"This Wilkins lives in a wickeyup out on the aige of the town, an' a +girl, which she's his daughter, about 19 years old, keeps camp for +him. No one knows her well. She stays on her reservation mighty +close, an' never seems visible much. I notices her in the New York +Store once, buyin' some salt hoss, an'she ain't no dream of +loveliness neither as to looks. + +"Her face makes you feel she's good people though, with her big soft +eyes. They has a tired, broke-down look, like somehow she's been +packed more'n she can carry, an' has two or three notions about +layin' down with the load. + +"It's mebby two weeks after Dave Tutt's talk with Wilkins, when +we're all in the Red Light takin' our forty drops, an' Sam Enright +brings up this yere Wilkins. + +"'It has been a question with me,' he says, 'how this old shorthorn +and his girl manages for to make out; an' while I care none whatever +for Wilkins, it ain't no credit to a live camp like this to permit a +young female to suffer, an' I pauses yere to add, it ain't goin' to +occur no more. Yesterday, allowin' to bushwhack some trooth about +'em, I waits till old Wilkins drifts over to the corral, an' then I +goes projectin' 'round for facts. I works it plenty cunnin', an' +sorter happens up to the old man's tepee. I calls the girl out an' +puts it up I wants to see her paw a heap on some business. + +"'"I wants to see him speshul,"' I says. + +"'"Well, he ain't here now,"' says the girl, "so whatever'll you +do?"' + +"'"I don't reckon you could prance 'round some an' find him for me, +could you, Miss?"' I says. + +"'So the girl,' continues Enright, 'which her name is Susan, puts on +her shaker an' goes stampedin' off; an' while she's gone I injuns +an' spies 'round a whole lot; an', comin' down to the turn, Wilkins +an' that girl ain't got nothin' to eat. The question now is, what +action does Wolfville 'naugerate at a juncture sech as this?' +"'What's the matter with takin' up a donation like they does for a +preacher, an' saw it onto the girl?' says Dan Boggs. + +"'You couldn't open your game that a-way, nohow,' says Doc Peets. +'That's accordin' to Hoyle for sky-pilots an' missionary people; but +a young female a-hoidin' of herse'f high spurns your money. Thar's +nothin' ketches me like a female of my species in distress, an' I +recalls offerin' to stake a lady, who's lost her money somehow, back +in St. Looey once. This yere female was strange to me entire, but if +she'd knowed me from 'way back she couldn't a-blazed up more +frightful. The minute I pulls my bankroll on her, she goes cavortin' +off too hostile to talk. It takes ten minutes to get her back to the +agency to hear me 'pologize, an' even then she glares an' snorts +like she's liable to stampede ag'in. No; you don't want to try an' +give this girl no money. What we-alls needs is to hunt up somethin' +for her to work at an' pay her.' + +"'The Doc's right,' says Enright, 'an' the thing is to find +somethin' for this yere lady to do. Any gent with a notion on the +subject can't speak too quick.' + +"'No party need take my remarks as personal,' says Burns, who runs +the Red Light, 'as nothin' invidjous is intended; but I rises to say +that a heap of my business is on credit. A gent comes in free an' +sociable, names his sozodont, an' gets it. If he pays cash, all +right; if he wants credit, all right. "You names your day to drink, +an' you names your day to pay," is my motto, as you-alls knows. This +bein' troo, onder present exigences what for a scheme would it be +for me to get an outfit of books,--day-books, week-books, ledgers, +an' the rest of the layout,--an' let this yere maiden keep 'em a +whole lot? I throws this out as a su'gestion.' + +"'I ain't meanin' nothin' ag'inst Burns's su'gestion,' says Texas +Thompson, 'but in my opinion this camp ain't ripe for keepin' books +as yet. Things like that has to be come to by degrees. I've knowed a +heap of trouble arise from keepin' books, an' as long as this yere's +a peaceful camp let's keep it that a-way.' + +"'That settles it,' says Burns, 'thar's enough said, an' I don't +keep no books.' + +"'You-alls present knows me,' says Cherokee Hall, who, as I says +previous, is turnin' faro in the Red Light, 'an' most of you has met +me frequent in a business way. Thar's my game goin' every night +reg'lar. Thar's nothin' tin-horn about it. It ain't no skin game +neither. Any gent with doubts can step over an' test my box, which +he'll find all comfortable on the layout awaitin' his convenience. +It ain't been usual for me to blow my own bazoo to any extent, an' I +only does it now as bein' preliminary to the statement that my game +ain't no deadfall, an' is one as a respectable an' virchus female +person could set in on with perfect safetytood to her reputation. +This yere lady in question needs light, reg'lar employment, an' I +lets it fly that if she wants in on any sech deal I'll go her a blue +stack a week to hold down the chair as look-out for my game.' + +"'Cherokee's offer is all right,' says Enright; 'it's good talk from +a squar' man. Women, however, is partic'lar, an' like hosses they +shies at things thar ain't no danger in. You sees how that is; a +woman don't reason nothin', she feels an' mighty likely this young +person is loaded to the gyards with sech notions ag'in gamblin' as +would send her flyin' at the bare mention. The fact is, I thinks of +somethin' sim'lar, but has to give it up. I figgers, first dash out +o' the box, that a safe, easy trail to high ground is to give her a +table an' let her deal a little stud for the boys. This yere +wouldn't be no resk, an' the rake is a shore thing for nine or ten +dollars a night. Bein' a benev'lence, I knows the boys would set in +mighty free, an' the trouble would be corraled right thar. With this +yere in my mind I taps her gently about our various games when I +calls for her paw; an' to put it straight, she takes it reluctant +an' disgusted at the mere hint. Of course we-alls has to stand these +things from woman, an' we might as well p'int up some other way an' +no time lost.' + +"'Don't you-alls reckon for to make a speshul rake on all poker +goin', same as about that Yallerhouse gent, might be an ondefeasible +way to get at the neck of this business?' says Dave Tutt. 'I merely +asks it as a question.' + +"'That wouldn't do,' says Doc Peets, 'but anyhow yere comes Wilkins +how, an' if, as Enright says, the're out of chuck up his way, I +reckons I'll lose a small bet to the old shorthorn ontil sech times +as we devises some scheme all reg'lar.' + +"'Howdy, Wilkins?' says Doc, mighty gay an' genial, 'how's things +stackin' up?' + +"'Mighty ornery,' says Wilkins. + +"'Feel like makin' a little wager this A. M.?' says Doc. + +"'What do you-all want to gamble at?' says Wilkins. + +"'Oh,' says Doc, 'I'm feelin' a heap careless about what I do gamble +at. S'pose I goes you ten dollars's worth of grub the Lordsburg +buckboard don't show up none to-day?' + +"'If I had ten dollars I'd about call you a lot on that,' says +Wilkins, 'but I'm a pore cuss an' ain't got no ten dollars, an' +what's the use? None of you-alls ain't got no Red Light whiskey- +chips you ain't usin', be you? S'pose you-alls gropes about in your +war-bags an' sees. I'm needin' of a drink mighty bad.' + +"Old Wilkins looks some queer about the eyes, an' more'n usual +shaky, so we gives him a big drink an' he sorter braces up. + +"'I'll back Wilkins's end of that bet you offers, Doc,' says Tutt, +'so consider it made, will you?' + +"'You was offerin' to bet grub,' says the old man, powerful peevish +an' fretful. 'What for do you want to bet grub? Why don't you bet +money, so I gets what I wants with it? It's my money when I wins. +Mebby I don't want no grub. Mebby I wants clothes or whiskey. You +ain't no sport, Doc, to tie up a play with a string like that. Gimme +another drink some one, I'm most dyin' for some.' + +"The old man 'pears like he's mighty sick that a-way, so thar's +nothin' for it but to give him another hooker, which we does +accordin'. + +"'I'm feelin' like I was shot hard by somethin',' he says, 'an' I +don't like for to go home till I'm better, an' scare Sue. I reckon +I'll camp down on this yere monte table for an hour till I comes +'round.' + +"So Wilkins curls up on the table, an' no one notices him for about +twenty minutes, when along comes rattlin' up the Lordsburg mail. + +"'You win, Wilkins,' says Peets; 'come over to the New York Store +an' cut out your stuff.' "The old man acts like he don't hear, so +Doc shakes him up some. No use, thar ain't no get up in him. + +"'Looks like he's gone to sleep for good,' says Doc. + +"Then he walks 'round him, shakes him, an' takes a look at his eye, +a-openin' of it with his finger. Finally he stands back, sticks his +thumb in his belt, an' whistles. + +"'What's up?' says Cherokee Hall. 'He ain't tryin' to work us for +another drink I hopes.' + +"Well, this is a deal,' says Doc, 'an' no humbug neither. Gents, I'm +blessed if this yere old prairie-dog ain't shorely up an' died.' + +"We-alls comes up an' takes a look at him, an' Doc has called the +turn. Shore enough the old man has cashed in. + +"`This is a hoss on us, an' no doubt about it,' says Enright. 'I +ain't worryin' for Wilkins, as he most likely is ahead on the deal; +but what gets me is how to break the news to this yere maiden. It's +goin' to be a hair-line play. I reckons, Doc, it's you an' me.' + +"So they goes over to Wilkins's wickeyup an' calls the young Sue +girl out, an' Enright begins tellin' her mighty soft as how her paw +is took bad down to the Red Light. But the girl seems to get it as +right as if she's scouted for it a month. + +"'He's dead!' she says; an' then cripples down alongside of the door +an' begins to sob. + +"'Thar ain't no use denyin' it, Miss,' says Enright, 'your paw +struck in on the big trail where the hoof-prints all p'ints one way. +But don't take it hard, Miss, thar ain't a gent don't give you +sympathy. What you do now is stay right yere, an' the camp'll tend +to the funeral, an' put it up right an' jest as you says, you bein' +mourner-in-chief. You can trust us for the proper play; since we +buries Jack King, obsequies is our long suit.' + +"The little Sue girl struggles through somehow, an' has her nerve +with her. The funeral, you bet, is right. This time we ropes in a +preacher belongin' to some deep-water outfit over in Tucson. He +somehow is strayed, an' happens along our way, an' we gets him +squar' in the door. He jumps in an' gives them ceremonies a +scientific whirl as ain't possible nohow to amatures. All 'round we +wouldn't have put on more dog if we'd been plantin' Enright; all of +course on the little Sue girl's account. Next day the outfit goes +over to find out whatever she allows to do. + +"'You sees, Miss; says Enright, 'anythin' you says, goes. Not +waitin' to learn its name, even, I'm directed to state as how the +camp backs your play an' makes good.' + +"'I'm allowin' to go to the States,' says the girl, 'an' I'm +obleeged to you.' + +"'We was hopin',' says Enright, 'as you'd stay yere. We-alls sorter +figgers you'd teach us a school. Of course thar ain't no papooses +yet, but as a forced play we arranges to borrow a small herd from +Tombstone, an' can do it too easy. Then, ag'in, a night-school would +hit our needs right; say one night a week. Thar's a heap of +ignorance in this yere camp, an' we needs a night-school bad. It +would win for fifty dollars a week, Miss; an' you thinks of it.' + +"No, the pore girl couldn't think of it nohow. + +"'Of course, Miss, says Enright, 'we alls ain't expectin' you to +open this yere academy the first kyards off the deck. You needs time +to line up your affairs, an' am likewise wrung with grief. You takes +your leesure as to that; meanwhile of course your stipend goes on +from now.' + +"But the little Sue girl couldn't listen. Her paw is dead, an' now +she's due in the States. She says things is all right thar. She has +friends as her paw never likes; but who's friends of hers, an' +she'll go to them. + +"'Well, Miss,' says Enright, mighty regretful, 'if that's how it +lays, I reckons you'll go, so thar's nothin' for us to do but settle +up an' fork over some dust we owes your paw. He bein' now deceased, +of course you represents.' + +"The girl couldn't see how any one owes her paw, ''cause he's been +too sick to work,' she says. + +"'We owes him all the same,' says Enright, mighty ferocious. 'We +onderstands well enough how we comes to owe him, don't we, Doc?' + +"'You can stack in your life we do,' says Doc, plenty prompt an' +cheerful. 'We-alls owes for his nailin' them hoss-thiefs when they +tries to clean out the corral.' + +"'That's it,' says Enright, 'for ketchin' of some rustlers who lays +for our stock. It's all right, Miss; you needn't look so doubtful. +You wouldn't if you knowed this camp. It's the last outfit on earth +as would go an' give money to people. It's a good straight camp, +Wolfville is; but business is business, an' we ain't pirootin' +'round none, givin' nothin' away, be we, Doc?' + +"'Not much,' says Doc. 'It's enough for a gent to pay debts, without +stampedin' 'round makin' presents of things.' + +"'That's whatever,' says Enright; 'so Miss, me an Doc'll vamos over +to the Red Light an' get the dust, an' I reckons we'll be back in an +hour. I s'pose we owes Mister Wilkins about 'five hundred dollars, +don't we, Doc?' + +"'Tain't so much,' says Doc, who's guileful that a-way. As he sees +the little Sue girl archin' for another buck, he pulls out a paper +an' makes a bluff. 'Yere it is,--four hundred an' ninety-three +dollars an' seventy-four cents. I puts it down all accurate, 'cause +I don't allow no sharp to come 'round an' beat me none.' + +"We-alls throws 'round an' makes up the pot to come to Doc's figger- +-which I wants to say right yere, Doc Peets is the ablest gent I +ever sees--an' the little Sue girl has to take it. + +"Which this money lets her out right, an' she cries an' thanks us, +an' the next day she takes the stage for Tucson. We're thar to say +'good-by' an' wish the little Sue girl luck. + +"'Adios,' says Peets, takin' off his hat to her; 'it ain't down on +the bills none, but if you-all could manage to kiss this yere outfit +once apiece, Miss, it would be regarded. You needn't be afraid. Some +of 'em looks a little off, but they're all right, an' b'ar huggin' +is barred.' + +"So the little Sue girl begins with Enright an' kisses us all, a- +sobbin' meantime some free. As the affection proceeds, Cherokee +sorter shoves back an' allows he'll pass. + +"'Not any pass!' says Enright. 'Any gent who throws off on that thar +little Sue girl, she willin', needn't look for any luck but +lynchin'.' + +"'That settles it,' says Cherokee, 'I saloots this yere lady.' + +"So he ups an' kisses the little Sue girl like she's a hot flat- +iron, an' backs into the crowd. + +"'Cherokee makes me tired,' says Peets, who's ridin' herd on the +play. When it comes his turn he kisses her slow an' rapturous, an' +is contemptuous of Cherokee. + +"When she's in the stage a-startin', Cherokee walks up, all +respectful. + +"'You've been away from the States some time, Miss,' he says, 'an' +it's an even break you won't find things the way you expects. Now, +you remember, shore; whatever game's bein' turned back thar, if it +goes ag'in you, raise the long yell for a sharp called Cherokee +Hall; an' his bank's yours to go behind your play.'" + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE WASHWOMAN'S WAR. + + +It was evening. The first dark foreshadowing of the coming night +clothed all in half obscurity. But I knew the way; I could have +travelled the little path at midnight. There he was, the Old +Cattleman, under a favorite tree, the better to avoid the heavy dew. +He sat motionless and seemed to be soaking himself, as one might +say, in the balmy weather of that hour. + +My wisdom had ordered Jim, my black man, to attend my steps. The +laconic, half-sad salutation of my old friend at once gave Black Jim +a mission. He was dispatched in quest of stimulants. After certain +exact and almost elaborate commands to Black Jim, and that useful +African's departure, I gently probed my companion with a question. + +"No, thar's nothin' the matter of me; sorter pensive, that's all," +was my return. + +The Old Cattleman appeared silent and out of sorts. Following the +coming of Black Jim, however, who brought a lusty toddy, he yielded +to a better mood. + +"It simply means I'm gettin' old; my settin' 'round balky this a- +way. Thar's some seventy wrinkles on my horns; nothin' young or +recent about that. Which now it often happens to me, like it does to +old folks general, that jest when it begins to grow night, I gets +moody an' bad. Looks like my thoughts has been out on some mental +feed-ground all day, an' they comes stringin' in like cattle to get +bedded down for the night. Nacheral, I s'pose they sorter mills an' +stands 'round oneasy like for a while before they lies down all +comfortable. Old people partic'lar gets dissatisfied. If they's +single-footers like me an' ain't wedded none; campin' 'round at +taverns an' findin' of 'em mockeries; they wishes they has a wife a +whole lot. If they be, they wish she'd go visit her folks. Gettin' +old that a-way an' lonely makes folks frequent mighty contrary. + +"No, as I imparts to you yeretofore,--mebby it's a month,--I never +marries nothin'. I reckons too, I'm in love one round-up an' another +mighty near a dozen times. But somehow I allers lose the trail an' +never does run up with none of 'em once. + +"Down in the Brazos country thar was a little blue-eyed girl,--back +forty years it is,--an' the way I adores her plumb tires people. I +reckons I ropes at her more'n fifty times, but I never could fasten. +Thar comes a time when it looks powerful like I'm goin' to run my +brand onto her; but she learns that Bill Jenks marks 150 calves the +last spring round-up, an' me only forty, an' that settles it; she +takes Jenks. + +"It's astonishin' how little I deems of this yere maiden after Bill +gets her. Two months before, I'd rode my pony to death to look once +in her eyes. She's like sunshine in the woods to me, an' I dotes on +every word she utters like it's a roast apple. But after she gets to +be Bill's wife I cools complete. + +"Not that lovin' Bill's wife, with his genius for shootin' a pistol, +is goin' to prove a picnic,--an' him sorter peevish an' hostile +nacheral. But lettin' that go in the discard, I shore don't care +nothin' about her nohow when she's Bill's. + +"I recalls that prior to them nuptials with Bill I gets that locoed +lovin' this girl I goes bulgin' out to make some poetry over her. I +compiles one stanza; an' I'm yere to remark it's harder work than a +June day in a brandin' pen. Ropin' an' flankin' calves an' standin' +off an old cow with one hand while you irons up her offspring with +t'other, from sun-up till dark, is sedentary compared to makin' +stanzas. What was the on I makes? Well, you can bet a hoss I ain't +forgot it none. + +"'A beautiful woman is shorely a moon, The nights of your life to +illoomine; She's all that is graceful, guileful an' soon, Is woman, +lovely woman.' + +"I'm plumb tangled up in my rope when I gets this far, an' I takes a +lay-off. Before I gathers strength to tackle it ag'in, Jenks gets +her; so bein' thar's no longer nothin' tharin I never makes a +finish. I allers allowed it would have been a powerful good poem if +I'd stampeded along cl'ar through. + +"Yes, son; women that a-way is shorely rangy cattle an' allers on +the move. Thar's a time once when two of 'em comes mighty near +splittin' Wolfville wide open an' leavin' it on both sides of the +trail. All that ever saves the day is the ca'm jedgement an' +promptitood of Old Man Enright. + +"This is how Wolfville walks into this petticoat ambush. The camp is +gettin' along all peaceful an' serene an' man-fashion. Thar's the +post-office for our letters; thar's the Red Light for our bug-juice; +thar's the O. K. Restauraw for our grub; an' thar's the stage an' +our ponies to pull our freight with when Wolfville life begins to +pull on us as too pastoral, an' we thirsts for the meetropolitan +gayety of Tucson. + +"As I says we alls has all that heart can hunger for; that is hunger +on the squar'. + +"Among other things, thar's a Chink runnin' a laundry an' a-doin' of +our washin'. This yere tub-trundler's name is Lung, which, however. +brands no cattle yere. + +"It's one afternoon when Doc Peets gets a letter from a barkeep over + +in Tucson sayin': Dear Doc: + +Thar's an esteemable lady due in Wolfville on to-morrer's stage. +She's p'intin' out to run a laundry. Please back her play. If thar's +a Chinaman in town, run him out. + +And obleege, yours, + +Dick. + +"'Whatever do you think, Enright?' says Doc Peets after readin' us +the letter. + +"'That's all right,' says Enright, 'the Chink goes. It's onbecomin' +as a spectacle for a Caucasian woman of full blood to be contendin' +for foul shirts with a slothful Mongol. Wolfville permits no sech +debasin' exhibitions, an' Lung must vamos. Jack,' he says, turnin' +to Jack Moore, 'take your gun an' sa'nter over an' stampede this +yere opium-slave. Tell him if he's visible to the naked eye in the +scenery yere-abouts to-morrow when this lady jumps into camp, he's +shore asked the price of soap the last time he ever will in this +vale of tears.' + +"'What's the matter of lynchin' this yere Chink?' says Dan Boggs. +'The camp's deadly dull, an' it would cheer up things a whole lot, +besides bein' compliments to this young female Old Monte's bringin' +in on the stage.' + +"'Oh no,' says Enright, 'no need of stringin him none. On second +thought, Jack, I don't reckon I'd run him out neither. It dignifies +him too much. S'pose you canter up to his tub-camp an' bring him +over, an' we'll reveal this upheaval in his shirt-burnin' destinies +by word of mouth. If he grows reluctant jest rope him 'round the +neck with his queue, an' yank him. It impresses 'em an' shows 'em +they're up ag'in the law. I s'pose, Peets, I voices your sentiments +in this?' + +"'Shore,'" says Doc Peets--which this Peets is the finest-eddicated +man I ever meets. 'This Chinaman must pull his freight. We-alls owes +it not only to this Tucson lady, but to the lovely sex she +represents. Woman, woman, what has she not done for man! As Johanna +of Arc she frees the sensuous vine-clad hills of far-off +Switzerland. As Grace Darling she smooths the fever-heated pillow of +the Crimea. In reecompense she asks one little, puny boon--to fire +from our midst a heathen from the Orient. Gents, thar's but one +answer: We plays the return game with woman. This Chinaman must go.' + +"When Jack comes back with Lung, which he does prompt, Enright +starts in to deal the game. + +"'It ain't no use, Lung,' says Enright, 'tryin' to explain to you- +all what's up. Your weak Asiatic intellect couldn't get the drop +onto it no-how. You've been brought to a show-down ag'in a woman, +an' you're out-held. You've got to quit; savey? Don't let us find +you yere to-morrow. By third-drink time we'll be a-scoutin' for you +with somethin' besides an op'ry glass, an' if you're noticed as part +of the landscape you're goin' to have a heap of bad luck. I'd advise +you to p'int for Red Dog, but as to that you plays your hand +yourse'f." + +"Next day that old drunkard Monte comes swingin' in with the stage; +the six hosses on the jump, same as he allers does with a woman +along. Over at the post-office, where he stops, a lady gets out, an' +of course we-alls bows p'lite an' hopes she's well an' frisky. She +allows she is, an' heads for the O. K. House. + +"It floats over pretty soon that her name's Annie, an' as none of us +wants to call her jest 'Annie'--the same bein' too free a play--an' +hearin' she lives a year or two at Benson, we concloods to call her +Benson Annie, an' let it go at that. + +"'The same bein' musical an' expressive,' says Doc Peets, as we all +lines up ag'in the Red Light bar, 'I su'gests we baptize this lady +"Benson Annie," an' yere's to her success.' + +"So we-alls turns up our glasses, an' Benson Annie it is. + +"The next day the fetid Lung is a thing of the past, an' Benson +Annie has the game to herse'f. Two days later she raises the tariff +to fifty cents on shirts, instead of twenty-five, as previous with +the Chink. But no one renigs. + +"'A gent,' says Doc Peets, 'as holds that a Caucasian woman is goin' +to wash a shirt for the miserable stipend of a slave of the Orient +must be plumb locoed. Wolfville pays fifty cents for shirts an' is +proud tharof.' + +"Things goes along for mighty like a month, an' then this yere +Benson Annie allows she'll have a visitor. + +"'I'm plumb, clean sick,' she says, 'of seein' nothin' but a lot of +drunken, good-for-nothin' sots a-pesterin' 'round, an' I done +reckons I'll have my friend Sal come over from Tombstone an' see me +a whole lot. It'll be some relaxation.' + +"Mebby it's four days after when this yere Sal hops outen the stage, +an' for the next week thar ain't no washin' done whatever, while +Benson Annie an' Sal works the wire aige offen their visit. + +"`A gent as would begretch two pore, hard-workin' girls a lay-off of +a week,' says Enright, 'ain't clean strain, an' I don't want to know +sech a hoss-thief nohow'; an' we-alls feels likewise. + +"But slap on the heels of all this yere gregar'ousness on the part +of Benson Annie an' Sal, the deal begins to come queer. At the end +of the week the two girls has a row, an' in the turn Sal goes to +t'other end of camp an' opens a laundry. That does settle it. Benson +Annie gives Sal fits, an' Sal shorely sends 'em back. Then they +quits speakin', an when they meets on the street they concocts +snoots at each other. This scares Enright, but he does his level +best an' tries to keep the boys from takin' sides. + +"'In a play like this yere,' he says, 'this camp don't take no +kyards. For the first time Wolfville passes out, an' offers to make +it a jack' + +"But as one day an' the next trails by, the boys sorter gets lined +up one way an' t'other; some for Benson Annie an' some for Sal, an' +things is shorely gettin' hot. Hamilton, over at the dance-hall, ups +an' names his place the 'Sal Saloon,' an' Burns takes down the sign +on the Red Light an' calls it the 'Benson Annie House.' Finally +things sorter culminates. + +"Dan Boggs, who's a open, voylent Annie man, comes a-prancin' into +the Red Light one night, an' after stampin' an' rappin' his horns +'round a whole lot, allows his shirt is cleaner than Dave Tutt's. + +"Tutt says he don't care nothin' for himse'f, an' none whatever for +the shirt; an' while he an' Dan's allers been friends an' crossed +the plains together, still he don't allow he'll stand 'round much +an' see a pore ondefended female, like Sal, maligned. So Tutt outs +with his gun an' gets Boggs in the laig. + +"This yere brings things down to cases. Enright is worried sick at +it. But he's been thinkin' mighty arduous for quite a spell, an' +when Boggs gets creased, he sees somethin' must be done, an' begins +to line himse'f for a play for out. + +"It's the next day after Boggs gets ag'in Tutt, an' Doc Peets has +plugged up the hole, when Enright rounds up the whole passel of us +in the Red Light. He looks that dignified an' what you-alls calls +impressive, that the barkeep, yieldin' to the gravity of the +situation, allows the drinks is on the house. We-alls gets our forty +drops, an' sorter stands pat tharon in silence, waitin' for Enright +to onfold his game. We shore knows if thar's a trail he'll find it. + +"'I Gents,' he says at last,--an' it seems like he's sorry an' hurt +that a-way,--'I'll not drift into them harrowin' differences which +has rent asunder what was aforetimes the peacefullest camp in +Arizona. I wants you-alls, however, to take note of my remarks, for +what I says is shorely goin' to go.' + +"Yere Enright pauses to take a small drink by himse'f, while we-alls +tarries about, some oneasy an' anxious as to what kyards falls next. +At last Enright p'ints out on the trail of his remarks ag'in. + +"'It is with pain an' mortification,' he says--an' yere he fixes his +eye some hard an' delib'rate on a young tenderfoot named French, +who's been lost from the States somethin' like six months--'it is +with pain an' mortification, I says, that I notes for a week past +our young friend an' townsman, Willyum French, payin' marked an' +ondiscreet attentions to Benson Annie, a female person whom we all +respects. At all times, day an' night, when he could escape his +dooties as book-keep for the stage company, he has pitched camp in +her s'ciety. Wolfville has been shocked, an' a pure lady +compromised. Standin' as we-alls does in the light of a parent to +this pore young female, we have determined the wrong must be made +right, an' Mister French must marry the girl. I have submitted these +yere views to Benson Annie, an' she concurs. I've took the trouble +to bring a gospel-sharp over from Tucson to do the marryin', an' +I've set the happy event for to-night, to conclood with a blow-out +in the dance-hall at my expense. We will, of course, yereby lose +Benson Annie in them industrial walks she now adorns, for I pauses +to give Mister French a p'inter; the sentiments of this camp is +ag'in a married female takin' in washin'. Not to play it too low +down on Mister French, who, while performin' a private dooty, is +also workin' for a public good, I heads a subscription with fifty +dollars for a present for the bride. I'd say in closin' that if I +was Mister French I wouldn't care to object to this union. The lady +is good-lookin', the subscription is cash, an' in the present heated +condition of the public mind, an' with the heart of the camp set on +this weddin', I wouldn't be responsible if he does. Now, gents, +who'll follow my fifty dollars with fifty more? Barkeep, do your +dooty while the subscription-paper goes 'round.' + +"The biddin' is mighty lively, an' in ten minutes seven hundred +dollars is raised for a dowry. Then French, who has been settin' in +a sort of daze, gets up: + +"'Mister Enright an' gents,' he says, `this yere is a s'prise-party +to me, but it goes. It's a hoss on me, but I stands it. I sees how +it is, an' as a forced play I marries Benson Annie in the interests +of peace. Which the same bein' settled, if Benson Annie is yere, +whirl her up an' I'll come flutterin' from my perch like a pan of +milk from a top shelf, an' put an end to this onhealthful +excitement. + +"We-alls applauds French an' is proud to note he's game. + +"`An' to be free an' open with you, French,' says Texas Thompson, so +as to make him feel he's ahead on the deal; which he shore is, for +this yere Benson Annie is corn-fed, 'if it ain't for a high-sperited +lady back in Laredo who relies on me, I'd be playin' your hand +myse'f.' + +"Well, no one delays the game. Enright brings over Benson Annie, +who's blushin' some, but ain't holdin' back; an' she an' French +fronts up for business. This yere preacher-sharp Enright's roped up +is jest shufflin' for the deal, when, whatever do you reckon takes +place? I'm a Mexican if this yere Sal don't come wanderin' in, a- +cryin' an' a-mournin' powerful. She allows with sobs if her dear +friend Annie's goin' to get married she wants in on the game as +bridesmaid. + +"'Which you-all shorely gets a hand as sech,' says Doc Peets, who's +actin' lookout for the deal; an' so he stakes out Sal over by the +nigh side of Benson Annie, who kisses her quite frantic, an' unites +her wails to Sal's. Both of 'em weepin' that a-way shorely makes the +occasion mighty sympathetic an' damp. But Peets says it's the +reg'lar caper, an' you can gamble Peets knows. "'Thar,' says +Enright, when the last kyard's out an' the French fam'ly is +receivin' congratulations, 'I reckons that now, with only one +laundry, Wolfville sees a season of peace. It's all right, but I'm +yere to remark that the next lady as dazzles this camp with her +deebut, an' onfurls a purpose to plunge into work, ain't goin' to +keep a laundry none. Gents, the bridle's plumb off the hoss. We'll +now repair to the dance-hall, if so be meets your tastes, an' take +the first steps in a debauch from which, when it's over, this yere +camp of Wolfville dates time.'" + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +ENRIGHT'S PARD, JIM WILLIS. + + +"If my mem'ry's dealin' a squar' game," remarked the Old Cattleman, +as he moved his chair a bit more into the shade, "it's some'ers over +in the foot-hills of, the Floridas when Enright vouchsafes why he +hates Mexicans." + +The morning was drowsy. Conversation between us had in a sleepy way +ranged a wide field. As had grown to be our habit we at last settled +on Wolfville and its volatile inhabitants. I asked to be enlightened +as to the sage Enright, and was informed that, aside from his +courage and love of strict justice, the prominent characteristic of +our Wolfville Lycurgus was his wrath against Mexicans. + +"Not that Enright loathes so much as he deplores 'em, "continued the +old gentleman. "However, I don't aim to be held as sayin' he +indorses their existence a little bit; none whatever. + +"Enright's tellin' of this tale arises outen a trivial incident +which a Mexican is the marrow of. We're out on the spring round-up, +an' combin' the draws an' dry ARROYAS over between the cow springs +an' the Floridas, when one night a Mexican runs off a passel of our +ponies. The hoss-hustler is asleep, I reckons, at the time this +Mexican stacks in. He says himse'f he's lyin' along the back of his +bronco gazin' at the stars when this robber jumps at the ponies an' +flaps a blanket or somethin', an' away patters every hoof in the +band. + +"This yere Mexican don't run off with only about a handful; I takes +it he can't round up no more in the dark. When you-all stampedes a +bunch of ponies that a-way they don't hold together like cattle, but +plunges off diffusive. It's every bronco for himse'f, disdainful of +all else, an' when it's sun-up you finds 'em spattered all over the +scene an' not regardin' of each other much. + +"But this yere Mexican, after he stampedes 'em, huddles what he can +together--as I says mebby it's a dozen--an' p'ints off into the +hills. + +"Of course it ain't no time after the sun shows the tracks when +Enright, Jack Moore, an' myse'f is on the trail. Tutt an' Dan Boggs +wants in on the play, but we can't spar' so many from the round-up. + +"It's one of the stolen ponies tips this Greaser's hand. It's the +second day, an' we-alls loses the trail for mebby it's fifteen +minutes. We're smellin' along a canyon to find it ag'in, when from +over a p'int of rocks we hears a bronco nicker. He gets the scent of +an acquaintance which Moore's ridin' on, an' says 'How!' pony- +fashion. + +"Thar's no need goin' into wearyin' details. Followin' the nicker we +comes surgin' in on our prey, an' it's over in a minute. Thar's two +Mexicans,--our criminal trackin' up with a pard that mornin'. But of +course we-alls knows he's thar long hours back by the tracks, so it +ain't no s'prise. + +"This yere second Mexican is downed on the run-in. He shows a heap +of interest in our comin', an' takes to shootin' us up mighty vivid +with a Winchester at the time; an' so Enright, who's close in, jumps +some lead into him an' stretches him. He don't manage to do no harm, +nohow, more'n he creases my hoss a little. However, as this yere +hoss is amazin' low-sperited, an' as bein' burnt that a-way with a +bullet sorter livens him up a heap, I don't complain none. Still +Enright's all-wise enough to copper the Greaser, for thar ain't no +sayin' what luck the felon has with that little old gun of his if he +keeps on shootin'. Which, as I observes, Enright downs him, an' his +powder-burnin' an' hoss-rustlin' stops immediate. + +"As for the other Mexican, which he's the party who jumps our ponies +in the first place, he throws up his hands an' allows he cashes in +his chips for whatever the bank says. + +"We-alls ropes out our captive; sorter hog-ties him hand an' foot, +wrist an' fetlock, an' then goes into camp all comfortable, where we +runs up on our game. + +"Jack Moore drops the loop of his lariat over the off moccasin of +the deceased Mexican, an' canters his pony down the draw with him, +so's we ain't offended none by the vision of him spraddled out that +a-way dead. This yere's thoughtful of Jack, an' shows he's +nacherally refined an' objects to remainders lyin' 'round loose. + +"'No, it ain't so much I'm refined,' says Jack, when I compliments +him that he exhibits his bringin' up, an' him bein' too modest that +a-way to accept; 'it ain't that I'm refined none--which my nacher is +shore coarse--I jest sorter protests in my bosom ag'in havin' a +corpse idlin' 'round that a-way where I'm camped. Tharfore I takes +my rope an' snatches deceased off where he ain't noticeable on the +scenery.' + +"Jack does it that gentle an' considerate, too, that when we passes +the Mexican next day on our way in, except he's some raveled an' +frayed coastin' along where it's rocky, an' which can't be he'ped +none, he's as excellent a corpse as when he comes off the shelf, +warm as the rifle Enright throws him with. + +"'Whatever be we goin' to do with this yere hoss-thief pris'ner of +ours?' says Jack Moore to Enright the next day, when we're saddlin' +up an' organizin' to pull our freight. 'He's shore due to bother us +a lot. We're plumb sixty miles from Tutt an' the boys, an' ridin' +herd on this yere saddle-colored gent, a-keepin' of him from lopin' +off, is mighty likely to be a heap exhaustin'. I knows men,' Jack +remarks at the close, lookin' wistful at Enright, 'as would beef him +right yere an' leave him as a companion piece to that compadre of +his you downs.' + +"'Nachers as would execute a pris'ner in cold blood,' says Enright, +'is roode an' oncivilized. Which I don't mean they is low neither; +but it's onconsiderate that a-way to go an' ca'mly kill a pris'ner, +an' no co't nor committee authorizin' the same. I never knows of it +bein' done but once. It's Mexicans who does it then; which is why +they ain't none pop'lar with me since.' + +"'It's shore what you calls a mighty indurated play,' says Jack, +shakin' his head, 'to go shootin' some he'pless gent you've took; +but, as I states, it's a cinch it'll be a heap fatiguin' keepin' +cases on this yere Mexican till we meets up with a quorum of the +committee. Still it's our dooty, an' of course we don't double-deal, +nor put back kyards on what's our plain dooty.' + +"'What you-all states,' says Enright,'`is to your credit, but I'll +tell you. Thar ain't no harm mountin' this marauder on a slow pony +that a-way; an' bein' humane s'fficient to leave his hands an' feet +ontied. Of course if he takes advantage of our leniency an' goes +stampedin' off to make his escape some'ers along the trail, I +reckons you'll shorely have to shoot. Thar's no pass-out then but +down him, an' we sadly treads tharin. An',' goes on Enright, some +thoughtful, if this yere Mexican, after we-alls is that patient an' +liberal with him, abuses our confidences an' escapes, we leaves it a +lone-hand play to you. My eyes is gettin' some old an' off, any way; +an' besides, if we three takes to bangin' away simooltaneous, in the +ardor of competition some of us might shoot the pony. So if this +yere captive runs--which he looks tame, an' I don't expect none he +will--we leaves the detainin' of him, Jack, to you entire." + +"In spite of Enright's faith it shore turns out this Mexican is +ornery enough, where the trail skirts the river, to wheel sudden an' +go plungin' across. But Jack gets him in midstream. As he goes over +the bronco's shoulder, hat first, he swings on the bridle long +enough with his dyin' hand to turn the pony so it comes out ag'in on +our side. + +"Which I'm glad he lives s'fficient to head that hoss our way,' says +jack. "It saves splashin' across after him an' wettin' your leggins +a lot." + +"It's that night in camp when jack brings up what Enright says about +the time the Mexicans downs a pris'ner, an' tharby fixes his views +of 'em. + +"'It's a long trail back,' says Enright,' an' I don't like this yarn +enough to find myse'f relatin' it to any excessive degrees. It draws +the cinch some tight an' painful, an' I don't teach my mind to dwell +on it no more'n is necessary. + +"'This is all when I'm a boy; mebby I ain't twenty years yet. It's +durin' the Mexican war. I gets a stack of white chips an' stands in +on the deal in a boyish way. All I saveys of the war is it's ag'in +the Mexicans, which, while I ain't got no feud with 'em personal at +the time, makes it plenty satisfactory to me. + +"'It's down off two days to the west of Chihuahua, an' seven of us +is projectin' 'round seein' whatever can we tie down an' brand, when +some Mexicans gets us out on a limb. It ain't a squar' deal; still I +reckons it's squar' enough, too; only bein' what you-alls calls +strategic, it's offensive an' sneakin' as a play. + +"'This yere lieutenant who's leadin' us 'round permiscus, looks like +he's some romantic about a young Mexican female, who's called the +Princess of Casa Grande. Which the repoote of this yere Princess +woman is bad, an' I strikes a story several times of how she's that +incensed ag'in Americans she once saws off a thimbleful of loco on a +captain in some whiskey he's allowin' to drink, an' he goes plumb +crazy an' dies. + +"'But loco or no loco, this yere Princess person is shore that good +lookin' a pinto pony don't compare tharwith; an' when she gets her +black eyes on our lieutenant, + +that settles it; we rounds up at her hacienda an' goes into camp. +"'Besides + +the lieutenant thar's six of us. One of 'em's a shorthorn who +matches me for age; which his name's Willis--Jim Willis. "'Now I +ain't out + +to make no descriptions of the friendship which goes on between this +yere Willis an' me. I sees a show one time when I'm pesterin' 'round +back in St. Looey--an' I'm yere to remark I don't go that far east + +no more--which takes on about a couple of sports who's named Damon +an' Pythias. Them two people's all right, an' game. An' they shore +deems high of one another. But at the time I sees this yere Damon +an' + +Pythias, I says to myse'f, an' ever since I makes onhesitatin' +assertion + +tharof, that the brotherly views them two gents entertains ain't a + +marker to Jim Willis an' me. "'This yere Jim I knows since we're +yearlin's. We-alls jumps outen the corral together back in +Tennessee, an' goes off into this Mexican war like twins. An' bein' +two boys that a-way + +among a band of men, I allows thar ain't nothin' before, nor then, +nor after. which I loves like Jim. "'As I observes, Jim an' me's in + +the outfit when this yere lieutenant comes trackin' 'round that +Princess of Casa Grande; which her love for him is a bluff an' a +deadfall; an' the same gets all of us before we're through. An' it +gets my Jim Willis speshul. "Mebby it's the third mornin' after we- +alls meanders into this nest of Mexicans, an' the lieutenant gets +lined out for that Princess of Casa Grande. We ain't been turnin' +out early nohow, thar bein' nothin' + +to turn out about; but this third mornin' somebody arouses us a heap +vigorous, like they aims to transact some business with us. Which +they shorely does; it's an outfit of Greaser guerillas, an' we-alls +ain't nothin' more or less than captives. "'The ornery an' +ongrateful part is that the Princess sends one of her own peonies +scoutin' 'round in the hills to bring in this band of cattle-eaters +onto us. "'When the lieutenant hears of the perfidy of the Princess +female, he's that mortified he gets a pistol the first jump he makes +an' blows off the top of his head; which if he only blows off the +top of hers it would have gone a heap further with the rest of us. +If he'd consulted any of us, it would have shorely been advised. But +he makes an impulsive play that + +a-way; an' is that sore an' chagrined he jest grabs a gun in a +frenzied way an' cashes his chips abrupt. "'No, as I states,' says +Enright, musin' to himse'f, 'if the lieutenant had only downed that +Princess who plays us in as pris'ners so smooth an' easy, it would +have been + +regarded. He could have gone caperin' over the brink after her with +the bridle off the next second, an' we-alls would still talk well of +him. "'As it is, however, this riotous female don't last two months. +Which it's also a fact that takin' us that time must have been a +heap + +on. lucky for them Greasers. Thar's nine of 'em, an' every last man +dies in the next five months; an' never a one, nor yet the Princess, +knows what they're ag'inst when they quits; or what breeze blows +their light out. I knows, because me an' a party whose name is Tate- +-Bill Tate--never leaves them hills till the last of that outfit's +got his heap of rocks piled up, with its little pine cross stickin' +outen the peak tharof, showin' he's done jumped this earthly game +for good. "'This Bill Tate an' me breaks camp on them Greasers +together while they're tankin' up on mescal, mebby it's two days +later; an' they never gets their lariats on us no more. "'"You ain't +got no dates, nor speshul engagements with nobody in the States, +have you?" says Tate to me when + +we're safe outen them Mexican's hands. "'"No,"says I,"whatever makes +you ask? "'"Oh, nothin',"says Tate lookin' at the sky sorter black +an' ugly, "only since you-all has the leesure, what for a play would +it be to make a long camp back in these hills by some water-hole +some'ers, + +an' stand pat ontil we downs these yere Greasers--squaws an' all-- +who's had us treed? It oughter be did; an' if we-ails don't do it +none, it's a heap likely it's goin' to be neglected complete. It's +easy as a play; every hoss-thief of 'em lives right in these yere +valleys, for I hears 'em talk. All we has to do is sa'nter back in +the hills, make a camp; an' by bein' slow an' shore, an' takin' time +an' pains, we bushwhacks an' kills the last one." "'The way I feels +about Willis makes the prospect + +mighty allurin,' an' tharupon Tate an' me opens a game with them +Mexicans it takes five months to deal. "'But it's plumb dealt out, +an' we win. When Tate crosses the Rio Grande with the army goin' +back, he shorely has the skelp of every Mexican incloosive of said +Princess. "'But I wanders from Willis. Where was I at when I bogs +down? As I says, this + +lieutenant nabs a pistol an' goes flutterin' from his limb. But this +don't do them Greasers. They puts up a claim that some Americans +tracks up on one of their outfit an' kills him off, they says, five +days before. + +They allows that, breakin' even on the deal, one of us is due to +die. Tate offers to let 'em count the lieutenant, but they shakes +their heads till the little bells on their sombreros tinkles, an' +declines the lieutenant emphatic. "'They p'ints out this yere +lieutenant dies in his own game, on his own deal. It's no racket of +theirs, an' it don't go to match the man they're shy. "`One of us +six who's left has to die to count even for this Greaser who's been +called in them five days ago. Tate can't move 'em; all he says is no +use; so he quits, + +an' as he's been talkin' Spanish--which the same is too muddy a +language for the rest of us--Tate turns in an' tells us how the +thing sizes up. "`"One of us is shorely elected to trail out after +the lieutenant,"says Tate. "The rest they holds as pris'ners. Either +way it's a hard, deep crossin', an' one's about as rough a toss as +the other." "'This last + +Tate stacks in to mebby win out a little comfort for the one the +Mexicans cuts outen our bunch to kill. "`After a brief pow-wow the +Greaser who's actin' range-boss for the outfit puts six beans in a +buckskin bag. Five is white an' one's black. Them Greasers is on the +gamble bigger'n wolves, an' they crowds up plenty gleeful to see us +take a gambler's chance for our lives. The one of us who draws a +black bean is to p'int out after the lieutenant. "`Sayin' somethin' +in Spanish which most + +likely means" Age before beauty,"the Mexicans makes Willis an' me +stand back while the four others searches one after the other into +the bag for his bean. "`Tate goes first an' wins a white bean. +"`Then a shiftless, no-account party whom we-alls calls "Chicken +Bill" reaches in. I shorely hopes, seein' it's bound to be somebody, +that this Chicken Bill acquires the black bean. But luck's ag'in us; +Chicken Bill backs off with a white bean. "`When the third gent +turns out a white bean the shadow begins to fall across Jim Willis +an' me. I looks at Jim; an' I gives it to you straight when I says +that I ain't at that time thinkin' of myse'f so much as about Jim. +To see this yere deal, black as midnight, closin' in on Jim, is +what's hurtin'; it don't somehow occur to me I'm likewise up ag'in +the iron my se'f. "`"Looks like this yere amiable deevice is out to +run its brand onto one of us,"says Jim to me; an' I looks at him. +"`An' then, as the fourth finds a white bean in the bag, an' draws a +deep sigh an' stands back, Jim says: "Well, Sam, it's up to us." +Then Jim looks at me keen an' steady a whole lot, an' the Mexicans, +bein' rather pleased with the situation, ain't goadin' of us to +hurry up none. + +"`When it's to Jim an' me they selects me out as the one to pull for +the next bean. Jim's still lookin' at me hard, an' I sees the water +in his eye.' + +"`"Let me have your draw, Sam," he says. + +"`"Shore,"I replies, standin' a step off from the bag." It's yours +too quick." + +"` But the Mexicans don't see it that a-way. It's my turn an' my +draw, an' Jim has to take what's left. So the Mexicans tells Tate to +send me after my bean ag'in. + +"`"Hold on a second, Sam," says Jim, an' by this time he's steady as +a church. "Sam," he goes on, "thar's no use you--all gettin' the +short end of this. Thar's reasons for you livin', which my case is +void tharof. Now let me ask you: be you up on beans? Can you tell a +black from a white bean by the feel? " + +"`"No," I says, "beans is all a heap the same to me." + +"'"That's what I allows," goes on this Jim. "Now yere's where my +sooperior knowledge gets in. If these Mexicans had let me draw for +you I'd fixed it, but it looks like they has scrooples. But listen, +an' you beats the deal as it is. Thar's a difference in beans same +as in ponies. Black beans is rough like a cactus compared to white +beans, which said last vegetable is shorely as smooth as glass. Now +yere's what you--all does; jest grp[e an' scout 'round in that bag +until you picks out the smooth bean. That's your bean; that's the +white bean. Cinch the smooth bean an' the black one comes to me." + +"When Jim says all this it seems like I'm in a daze an' sorter +woozy. I never doubts him for a moment. Of course I don't take no +advantage of what he says. I recalls the advice my old mother gives +me; it's long enough ago now. The old lady says: "Samyool, never let +me hear of you weakenin'. Be a man, or a mouse, or a long-tail rat." +So when Jim lays it off about them two beans bein' smooth an' rough +that a-way, an' the white bein' the smooth bean, I nacherally +searches out the rough bean, allowin' she'll shore be black; which +shows my intellects can't cope with Jim's none. + +"`The bean I brings to the surface is white. I'm pale as a ghost. My +heart wilts like water inside of me, an' I feels white as the bean +where it lays in my hand. Of course I'm some young them days, an' it +don't need so much to stagger me. "`I recollects like it was in a +vision hearin' Jim laugh. "Sam," he says, "I reads you like so much +sunshine. An' I shorely fools you up a lot. Don't you reckon I +allows you'll double on the trail, p'intin' south if I says 'north' +at a show like this? The white bean is allers a rough, sandy bean; +allers was an' allers will be; an' never let no one fool you that a- +way ag'in. An' now, Sam, ADIOS." + +"'I'm standin' lookin' at the white bean. I feels Jim grip my other +hand as lie says "ADIOS," an' the next is the" bang! "of the +Mexicans's guns. Jim's dead then; he's out in a second; never bats +an eye nor wags a y'ear. + +"'Which now,' says Enright at the end, as he yanks his saddle 'round +so he makes a place for his head, 'which now that you-alls is fully +informed why I appears averse to Greasers, I reckons I'll slumber +some. I never does see one, I don't think of that boy, Jim Willis; +an' I never thinks of Jim but I wants to murder a Mexican.' + +"Enright don't say no more; sorter rolls up in his blankets, drops +his head on his saddle, an' lays a long time quiet, like he's +asleep. Jack Moore an' me ain't sayin' nothin'; merely settin' thar +peerin' into the fire an' listenin' to the coyotes. At last Enright +lifts his head off the saddle. + +"'Mebby it's twenty years ago when a party over on the Rio Grande +allows as how Jim's aimin' to cold-deck me when he onfolds about the +habits of them beans. It takes seven months, a iron constitootion, +an' three medicine-sharps--an' each as good as Doc Peets,--before +that Rio Grande party is regarded as outen danger.'" + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +TUCSON JENNIES HEART. + + +"'Whyever ain't I married?' says you." The Old Cattleman repeated +the question after me as he settled himself for one of our many +"pow-wows," as he described them. "Looks like you've dealt me that +conundrum before. Why ain't I wedded? The answer to that, son, is a +long shot an' a limb in the way. + +"Now I reckons the reason why I'm allers wifeless a whole lot is +mainly due to the wide pop'larity of them females I takes after. +Some other gent sorter gets her first each time, an' nacherally that +bars me. Bill Jenks's wife on that occasion is a spec'men case. +That's one of the disapp'intments I onfolds to you. Now thar's a +maiden I not only wants, but needs; jest the same, Bill gets her. +An' it's allers sim'lar; I never yet holds better than ace-high when +the stake's a lady. + +"It's troo," he continued, reflectively puffing his pipe. "I was +disp'sitioned for a wife that a-way when I'm a colt. But that's a +long time ago; I ain't in line for no sech gymnastics no more; my +years is 'way ag'in it. + +"You've got to ketch folks young to marry 'em. After they gets to be +thirty years they goes slowly to the altar. If you aims to marry a +gent after he's thirty you has to blindfold him an' back him in. +Females, of course, ain't so obdurate. No; I s'pose this yere bein' +married is a heap habit, same as tobacco an' jig-juice. If a gent +takes a hand early, it's a good game, I makes no sort of doubt. But +let him get to millin' 'round in the thirties or later, an' him not +begun none as yet; you bet he don't marry nothin'. + +"Bar an onexplainable difference with the girl's old man," he went +on with an air of thought, "I s'pose I'd be all married right now. I +was twenty, them times. It's 'way back in Tennessee. Her folks lives +about 'leven miles from me out on the Pine Knot Pike, an' once in +two weeks I saddles up an' sorter sidles over. Thar's jest her old +pap an' her mother an' her in the fam'ly, an' it's that far I allers +made to stay all night. Thar's only two beds, an' so I'm put to camp +along of the old man the times I stays. + +"Them days I'm 'way bashful an' behind on all social plays, an' am +plenty awe-struck about the old foiks. I never feels happy a minute +where they be. The old lady does her best to make me easy an' free, +too. Comes out when I rides up, an' lets down the bars for my hoss, +an' asks me to rest my hat the second I'm in the door. + +"Which matters goes on good enough ontil mebby it's the eighth time +I'm thar. I remembers the night all perfect. Me an' the girl sets up +awhile, an' then I quits her an' turns in. I gets to sleep a-layin' +along the aige of the bed, aimin' to keep 'way from the old man, +who's snorln' an' thrashin' 'round an' takin' on over in the middle. + +"I don't recall much of nothin' ontil I comes to, a-holdin' to the +old man's y'ear with one hand an' a-hammerin' of his features with +t'other. I don't know yet, why. I s'pose I'm locoed an' dreamin', an +allows he's a b'ar or somethin' in my sleep that a-way, an' tries to +kill him. "Son, it's 'way back a long time, but I shudders yet when +I reflects on that old man's language. I jumps up when I realizes +things, grabs my raiment, an', gettin' my hoss outen the corral, +goes p'intin' down the pike more'n a mile 'fore I even stops to +dress. The last I sees of the old man lie's buckin' an' pitchin' an' +tossin', an' the females a-holdin' of him, an' he reachin' to get a +Hawkins's rifle as hangs over the door. I never goes back no more, +'cause he's mighty tindictive about it. He tries to make it a +grandjury matter next co't-time. + +"Speakin' of nuptials, however, you can't tell much about women. +Thar's a girl who shorely s'prises us once in a way out in +Wolfville. Missis Rucker, who runs the O. K. Restauraw, gets this +female from Tucson to fry flap-jacks an' salt hoss, an' he'p her +deal her little gastronomic game. This yere girl's name is Jennie- +Tucson Jennie. She looks like she's a nice, good girl, too; one of +them which it's easy to love, an' in less'n two weeks thar's half +the camp gets smitten. "It affects business, it's that bad. Cherokee +Hall tells me thar ain't half the money gets changed in at faro as +usual, an' the New York Store reports gents goin' broke ag'in biled +shirts, an' sim'lar deadfalls daily. Of course this yere first +frenzy subsides a whole lot after a month. "All this time Jennie +ain't sayin' a word. She jest shoves them foolish yooths their +enchiladas an' ckile con carne, an' ignores all winks an' looks +complete. + +"Thar's a party named Jim Baxter in camp, an' he sets in to win +Jennie hard. Jim tries to crowd the game an' get action. It looks +like he's due to make the trip too. Missis Rucker is backin' his +play, an' Jennie herse'f sorter lets him set 'round in the kitchen +an' watch her work; which this yore is license an' riot itse'f +compared with how she treats others. Occasionally some of us sorter +tries to stack up for Jim an' figger out where he stands with the +the game. + +"'How's it goin', Baxter?' Enright asks one day. + +"'It's too many for me,' says Jim. 'Some-times I thinks I corrals +her, an' then ag'in it looks like I ain't in it. Jest now I'm +feelin' some dejected.' + +"'Somethin' oughter be schemed to settle this yere,' says Enright. +'It keeps the camp in a fever, an' mebby gets serious an' spreads.' + +"'If somebody would only prance in,' says Doc Peets, 'an' shoot Jim +up some, you'd have her easy. Females is like a rabbit in a bush- +pile; you has to shake things up a lot to make 'em come out. Now, if +Jim is dyin' an' she cares for him, she's shorely goin' to show her +hand.' + +"I wants to pause right yere to observe that Doc Peets is the best- +eddicated sharp I ever encounters in my life. An' what he don't know +about squaws is valueless as information. But to go on with the +deal. + +"'That's right,' says Cherokee Hall, 'but of course it ain't goin' +to do to shoot Jim up none.' + +"'I don't know,' says Jim; 'I stands quite a racket if I'm shore it +fetches her.' + +"'What for a game,' says Cherokee, 'would it be to play like Jim's +shot? Wouldn't that make her come a-runnin' same as if it's shore +'nough?' + +"'I don't see why not,' says Enright. + +"Well, the idee gains ground like an antelope, an' at last gets to +be quite a conspir'cy. It's settled we plays it, with Dave Tutt to +do the shootin'. + +"'An' we makes the game complete,' says Jack Moore, 'by grabbin' +Dave immediate an' bringin' of him before the committee, which +convenes all reg'lar an' deecorous in the Red Light for said +purpose. We-alls must line out like we're goin' to hang Dave for the +killin'; otherwise it don't look nacheral nohow, an' the lady +detects it's a bluff.' + +"We gets things all ready, an' in the middle of the afternoon, when +Jennie is draggin' her lariat 'round loose an' nothin' much to do-- +'cause we ain't aimin' to disturb her none in her dooties touchin' +them flapjacks an' salt hoss--we-alls assembles over in the New York +Store. As a preliminary step we lays Jim on some boxes, with a +wagon-cover over him, like he's deceased. + +"'Cl'ar things out of the way along by Jim's head,' says Jack Moore, +who is takin' a big interest. 'We wants to fix things so Jen can +swarm in at him easy. You hear me! she's goin' to come stampedin' in +yere like wild cattle when she gets the news.' + +"When everythin's ready, Tutt an' Jack, who concloods it's well to +have a good deal of shootin', bangs away with their guns about four +times apiece. + +"'Jest shootin' once or twice,' says Jack, 'might arouse her +s'picions. It would be a heap too brief for the real thing.' + +"The minute the shootin' is ceased we-alls takes Tutt an' surges +over to the Red Light to try him; a-pendin' of which Dan Boggs +sa'nters across to the O. K. Restauraw an' remarks, all casooal an' +careless like: + +"'Dave Tutt downs Jim Baxter a minute back; good clean gun-play as +ever I sees, too. Mighty big credit to both boys this yere is. No +shootin' up the scenery an' the bystanders; no sech slobberin' work; +but everythin' carries straight to centers.' + +"'Where is he?' says Jennie, lookin' breathless an' sick. + +"'Jim's remainder is in the New York Store,' says Dan. + +"'Is he hurt?' she gasps. + +"'I don't reckon he hurts none now,' says Dan, ''cause he's done +cashed in his stack. Why! girl, he's dead; eighteen bullets, caliber +forty-five, plumb through him.' + +"'No, but Dave! Is Dave shot?' Tucson Jennie says, a-wringin' of her +small paws. + +"'Now don't you go to feelin' discouraged none,' says Dan, beginnin' +to feel sorry for her. 'We fixes the wretch so his murderin' sperit +won't be an hour behind Jim's gettin' in. The Stranglers has him in +the Red Light, makin' plans to stretch him right now.' + +"We-alls has consoomed drinks all 'round, an' Enright is in the +chair, an' we're busy settin' up a big front about hearin' the case, +when Tucson Jennie, with a scream as scares up surroundin' things to +sech a limit that five ponies hops out of the corral an' flies, +comes chargin' into the Red Light, an' the next instant she drifts +'round Tutt's neck like so much snow. + +"'What for a game do you call this, anyhow?' says Jack Moore, who's +a heap scand'lized. 'Is this yere maiden playin' anythin' on this +camp?' + +"'She's plumb locoed with grief,' says Dan Boggs, who follers her +in, 'an' she's done got 'em mixed in her mind. She thinks Dave is +Baxter.' + +"'That's it,' says Cherokee. 'Her mind's stampeded with the shock. +Me an' Jack takes her over to Jim's corpse, an' that's shore to +revive her.' An' with that Cherokee an' Jack goes up to lead her +away. + +"'Save him, Mister Enright; save him!' she pleads, still clingin' to +Tutt's neck like the loop of a lariat. 'Don't let 'em hang him! Save +him for my sake!' + +"'Hold on, Jack,' says Enright, who by now is lookin' some +thoughtful. 'Jest everybody stand their hands yere till I counts the +pot an' notes who's shy. It looks like we're cinchin' the hull onto +the wrong bronco. Let me ask this female a question. Young woman,' +he says to Tucson Jennie, 'be you fully informed as to whose neck +you're hangin' to?' + +"'It's Dave's, ain't it?' she says, lookin' all tearful in his face +to make shore. + +"Enright an' the rest of us don't say nothin', but gazes at each +other. Tutt flushes up an' shows pleased both at once. But all the +same he puts his arms 'round her like the dead-game gent he is. + +"'What'll you-alls have, gents?" Enright says at last, quiet an' +thoughtful. 'The drinks is on me, barkeep.' + +"'Excuse me,' says Doc Peets, 'but as the author of this yere plot, +I takes it the p'ison is on me. Barkeep, set out all your bottles.' + +"'Gents,' says Jack Moore, 'I'm as peaceful a person as ever jingled +a spur or pulled a gun in Wolfville; but as I reflects on the active +part I takes in these yere ceremonies, I won't be responsible for +results if any citizen comes between me an' payin' for the drinks. +Barkeep, I'm doin' this myse'f.' + +"Well, it's hard enoomeratin' how many drinks we do have. Jim Baxter +throws away the wagon cover an' comes over from the New York Store +an' stands in with us. It gets to be a orgy. + +"'Of course it's all right,' says Enright, 'the camp wins with Tutt +instead of Baxter; that's all. It 'lustrates one of them beautiful +characteristics of the gentler sex, too. Yere's Baxter, to say +nothin' of twenty others, as besieges an' beleaguers this yere +female for six weeks, an' she scorns 'em. Yere's Tutt, who ain't +makin' a move, an' she grabs him. It is sech oncertainties, gents, +as makes + +the love of woman valuable.' "'You-alls should have asked me,' says +Faro Nell, who comes in right then an' rounds up close to Cherokee. +'I could tell you two weeks ago Jennie's in love with Tutt. Anybody +could see it. Why! she's been feedin' of him twice as good grub as +she does anybody else.'" + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +TUCSON JENNIE'S JEALOUSY. + + +"No; Dave an' his wife prospers along all right. That is, they +prospers all but once; that's when Jennie gets jealous." + +The Old Cattleman was responding to my question. I was full of an +idle interest and disposed to go further into the affairs of Tutt +and Tucson Jennie. + +"Doc Peets," continued the old gentleman, "allers tells me on the +side thar's nothin' in Dave's conduct onbecomin' a fam'ly man that +a-way, an' that Jen's simply barkin' at a knot. But, however that +is, Dave don't seem to gain no comfort of it at the time. I can see +myse'f she gets Dave plumb treed an' out on a limb by them +accusations when she makes 'em. He shorely looks guilty; an' yet, +while I stands over the play from the first, I can't see where Dave +does wrong. + +"However, I don't put myse'f for'ard as no good jedge in domestic +affairs. Bein' single myse'f that a-way, females is ondoubted what +Doc Peets calls a 'theery' with me. But nevertheless, in an +onpresoomin', lowly way, I gives it as my meager jedgement, an' I +gives it cold, as how a jealous woman is worse than t'rant'lers. +She's plumb locoed for one thing; an' thar's no sech thing as +organizin' to meet her game. For myse'f, I don't want no +transactions with 'em; none whatever. + +"This yere domestic uprisin' of Dave's wife breaks on Wolfville as +onexpected as a fifth ace in a poker deck; it leaves the camp all +spraddled out. Tucson Jennie an' Dave's been wedded goin' on six +months. The camp, as I relates, attends the nuptials in a body, an', +followin' of the festivities, Tucson Jennie an' Dave tumbles into +housekeepin' peaceful as two pups in a basket. + +"Wolfville's proud of 'em, an'every time some ign'rant bein' asks +about Wolfville an' the social features of the camp, we allers +mentions Tutt an' his wife, an' tells how they keeps house, sorter +upholsterin' our bluff. + +"That's how the deal stands, when one day up jumps this Tucson +Jennie, puts on her sunbunnit, an' goes stampedin' down to the U. K. +House, an' allows to Missis Rucker that she's done lived with Dave +all she aims to, an' has shore pulled her picket pin for good. She +puts it up Dave is a base, deceitful sharp that a-way, an' informs +Missis Rucker, all mixed up with tears, as how she now desires to go +back in the kitchen an' cook, same as when Dave rounds her up for +his wife. + +"Yere's the whole story, an' while I nurses certain views tharon, I +leaves it to you entire to say how much Tucson Jennie is jestified. +I knows all about it, for I'm obleeged to be in on the deal from +soda to hock. + +"It's mighty likely a month before the time Tucson Jennie breaks +through Dave's lines this a-way. Dave an' me's due to go over +towards the Tres Hermanas about some cattle. Likewise thar's an +English outfit allowin' they'll go along some, to see where they've +been stackin' in heavy on some ranch lands. They was eager for Dave +an' me to trail along with 'em, an' sorter ride herd on' em, an' +keep 'em from gettin' mixed up with the scenery--which the same is +shorely complicated in the foot-hills of the Tres Hermanas--an' +losin' themse'fs a heap. + +"'Which you'd better do it, boys,' says Enright. 'S'pose them folks +be some trouble. It's a mighty sight better than havin' 'em go +p'intin' off alone that a-way. They would shore miss the way if they +does; an' the first we-alls knows, these yere Britons would be +runnin' cimmaron in the hills, scarin' up things a lot, an' a- +stampedin' the cattle plumb off the range. It's easier to go along +careful with 'em an' bring'em back.' + +"It comes, then, that one mornin' Dave an' me an' these yere aliens +lines out for the hills. They've got ponies, an' wagons, an' camp- +outfit to that extent a casooal onlooker might think they aims to be +away for years. + +"As we p'ints out from the O.K. House, where them Britons has been +wrastlin' their chuck pendin' the start, Tucson Jennie is thar +sayin' 'goodby' to Dave. I notes then she ain't tickled to death +none about somethin', but don't deem nothin' speshul of it. + +"The Britons is made up of two gents, mebby as old as Enright-- +brothers is what they be--an' a female who's the daughter of one of +'em. Which thar's nothin' recent about this yere lady, though; an' I +reckons she's mighty likely forty years old. I learns later, +however, it's this female which Tucson Jennie resents when she says +"adios" to Dave. + +"It shore strikes me now, when years is passed, as some marv'lous +how a han'some, corn-fed female like Tucson Jennie manages to found +a fight with Dave over this yere towerist woman. I'm nacherally slow +to go decidin' bets ag'in a lady's looks, but whatever Tucson Jennie +sees in the appearance of this person which is likely to inviggle +Dave is too many for me. I softens the statement a heap when I says +she's uglier than a Mexican sheep. + +"However, that don't seem to occur to Tucson Jennie; an' Doc Peets-- +who's the wisest sharp in Arizona--allows to me afterwards as how +Tucson Jennie is cuttin' the kyards with herse'f desp'rate to see +whether she declar's war at the very time we makes our start. If she +does, she turns the low kyard, for she don't say nothin', an' we +gets away, an' all is profound peace. + +"Four days later we're in camp by a water-hole in the frill of the +foot-hills. The Britons has got up a wall tent an' is shorely havin' +a high an' lavish time. Dave an' me ain't payin' no attention to 'em +speshul, as we don't see how none is needed. Besides, we has some +hard ridin' to do lookin' up places for a line of sign camps. + +"It's the second day when we notices an outfit of Injuns camped down +the valley from us. They's all serene an' peaceful enough; with +squaws, papooses, an' dogs; an' ain't thinkin' no more of bein' +hostile than we be. + +"Of course, no sooner does these yere Britons of ours behold this +band of savages than they has to go projectin' round 'em. That's the +worst thing about a towerist; he's that loaded with cur'osity, an' +that gregar'ous an' amiable, he has to go foolin' 'round every +stranger lie tracks up with. In their ign'rance they even gets that +roode an' insultin' at times, that I knows 'em who's that regardless +an' imp'lite as to up an' ask a rank stranger that a-way to pass'em +his gun to look at. + +"An' so, as I says, no sooner does them Injuns get near us, than +them three blessed foreigners is over after 'em; ropin' at em' with +questions an' invadin' of 'em, an' examinin' of 'em like the whole +tribe's for sale an' they aims to acquire 'em if figgers is +reasonable. + +"I never does know what the female towerist says or does to that +partic'lar aborigine-nothin' most likely; but it ain't a day when +one of them Injuns settles it with himse'f he wants to wed her. The +towerists is in ign'rance of the views of this savage, who goes +about dealin' his game Injun fashion. + +"It's this a-way: Dave an' me trails in one evenin' some weary an' +played; it's been a hard ride that day. Which the first thing we +lays eyes on at the camp shorely livens us up a lot. Thar, tied to +the wagon-wheels, is nine ponies, which the same belongs to the +Injuns. + +"'Whatever be these y ere broncos doin' yere?' says Dave, for we +allows, the first dash outen the box, mebby the Britons makes a +purchase. + +"One of the towerists tells a long an' delighted story about the +gen'rosity of the Injuns. + +"'Actooally,' says this towerist,"them gen'rous savages leads up +these yere nine ponies an' donates 'em.' + +"Dave an' me asks questions; and all thar is to the deal--which it's +shore enough to bust Dave's fam'ly before it's over--them Injuns +brings up the nine ponies all respectful, an' leaves 'em hobbled +out, mebby it's a hundred yards from the Britons, an' rides away. +The Britons, deemin' this bluff as in the line of gifts, capers over +an' possesses themse'fs of the ponies an' leads 'em in. That's the +outside of the store. + +"'Well, stranger,' says Dave in reply, takin' of the towerist one +side, 'I ain't aimin' to discourage you none, but you-alls has gone +an' got all tangled up in your lariat.' + +"'What for an ontanglement is it?' asks the towerist. + +"'Nothin',' says Dave, sorter breakin' it to him easy, 'nothin', +only you've done married your daughter to one of them Injuns.' + +"When Dave announces this yere trooth it shore looks like the +Briton's goin' to need whiskey to uphold himse'f. But he +reorganizes, an' Dave explains that the Injuns, when they trails in +with the ponies, is simply shufflin' for a weddin'; they's offerin' +what they-alls calls a 'price' for the woman. + +"'An' when you-alls leads in the ponies,' says Dave,'that settles +it. You agrees to deal right thar. To-morrow, now, this yere buck, +whoever he is, will come surgin' in with his relations plumb down to +third cousins; an' he expects you'll be dead ready to feed 'em, an' +wind up the orgy by passin' over the bride.' + +"You can bet them reecitals of Dave's is plenty horrible to the +towerist. He allows we must keep it from his daughter; an' then he +puts hip whole outfit in Dave's hands, to get 'em safe onto high +grounds. + +"'Can't we pull our freight in the night?'says the towerist, an' +he's shorely anxious. + +"'Too much moon,' says Dave; 'an' then, ag'in, the whole Injun +outfit's below us in the draw, an' we never gets by once in a +thousand times. No,' goes on Dave, 'one shore thing we can't back +out nor crawl off. We-alls has to play the hand plumb through: + +"Then Dave tells the towerist him an' me talks over this yere +weddin' which he done goes into so inadvertent; an' if thar's a +chance to save him from becomin' a father-in-law abrupt, we'll play +it to win. + +"'This yere is the only wagon-track out; says Dave to me, after we +pow-wows an hour. 'You go down to them Injuns, an' find the right +buck that a-way, an' tell him the squaw's got a buck now. Tell him +he's barred. Which at this p'int in your revelations he's due to +offer a fight, an' of course you takes him. Tell him at first-drink +time to-morrow mornin' he finds me ready to fight for the squaw.' + +"'This whole business makes metired, though,' says Dave, a heap +disgustad. ' If these eediots had let them Injuns alone-, or even if +they disdains the ponies when they was brought up, this yere could +be fixed easy. But now it's fight or give up the woman, so you go +down, as I says, an' arrange for the dance.' + +"Of course thar's no explainin' nothin' to Injuns. You might as well +waste time expoundin' to coyotes an' jack-rabbits. All that's left +for me to do is trail out after my savage, as Dave says, an' notify +him that this weddin' he pro. poses is postponed an' all bets is +off. + +"I finds him easy enough, an' saws it off on him in Spanish how the +game stacks up. But he ain't cheerful about it, an' displays a +mighty baleful sperit. Jest as Tutt allows he's out to shoot for the +squaw in a minute, an' as thar's no gettin' away from it, I tells +him to paint himse'f for war an' come a-runnin'. + +"I has to carry a hard face; for we're shorely in for it. Yere we be +four days from Wolfville, an' the Injuns--an' I reckons thar's +twenty bucks in the outfit-is camped in between us an' he'p. + +"This Injun who's after the woman is named Black Dog. The next +mornin' Tutt saddles up an' rides off to one side of our camp, mebby +it's a quarter of a mile, an' then gets offen his pony an' stands +thar. We-alls don't onfold to the towerists the details of the deal, +not even to the Injun's father-in-law. The towerist female is that +ign'rant of what's going' on, she's pesterin' 'round all +onconscious, makin' bakin'-powder biscuit at the time. I looks at +her close, an' I wonders even yet what that Black Dog's thinkin' of. +But I don't get much time to be disgusted over this Black Dog's +taste before he comes p'intin' out from among his people. + +"The sun's jest gettin' over the hills to the east, an', as it +strikes him, he's shore a fash'nable lookin' Injun. He ain't got +nothin' on but a war-bunnit an' a coat of paint. The rest of his +trousseau he confines to his Winchester an' belt. He's on his war- +pony, an' the bronco's stripped as bare as this Black Dog is; not a +strap from muzzle to tail. This bridegroom Injun's tied its mane +full of ribbons, an' throws a red blanket across his pony's withers +for general effects. Take it all over, he's a nifty-lookin' savage. + +"So far as the dooel goes, Dave ain't runnin' no resk. He stands +thar on the ground an' keeps his hoss between him an' this yere +Black Dog. It's a play which forces the bridegroom's hand, too. He's +due, bein' Injun, to go cirelin' Dave an' do his shootin' on the +canter. + +"An' that's what this weak-minded savage does. He breaks into a lope +an' goes sailin' 'round Dave like a hawk. Durin' them exercises he +lays over on the shoulder of his hoss an' bangs away from onder its +neck with one hand, permiscus. + +"This is mere frivolity. Thar ain't no white gent who could shoot +none onder sech conditions; an' Injuns can't shoot nohow. They don't +savey a hind sight. An', as I remarks, if Dave's hit any, it's goin' +to shorely be an accident, an' accidents don't happen none in +Arizona; leastwise not with guns. + +'Mebby this Black Dog's banged away three times, when Dave, who's +been followin' of him, through the sights for thirty seconds, +onhooks his rifle, an' the deal comes to a full stop. Dave's +shootin' a Sharp's, with a hundred an' twenty grains of powder, an' +the way he sends a bullet plumb through that war-pony an' this yere +Black Dog, who's hangin' on its off side, don't bother him a bit. +The pony an' the Black Dog goes over on their heads. + +"Dave rides in, an' brings the blanket an' war-bunnit. Even then, +the female towerist, which is the object of the meetin', don't seem +informed none of the course of events. The fact is, she never does +acquire the rights of it till we-alls is two days back on the return +trail. + +"Thar's no more bother. Injuns is partic'lar people, that a-way, +about etiquette as they saveys it, an' followin' Dave's downin' this +Black Dog they ain't makin' a moan or a move. They takes it plenty +solemn an' mute, an' goes to layin' out the Black Dog's obsequies +without no more notice of us. It's a squar deal; they sees that; an' +they ain't filin' no objections. As for our end of the game, we +moves out for Wolfville, makin' no idle delays whatever. + +"Goin' in, Dave, after thinkin' some, su'gests to me that it's +likely to be a heap good story not to tell Tucson Jennie. + +"'Females is illogical, that a-way,' says Dave, 'an' I ain't goin' +to have time to eddicate Jennie to a proper view of this yere. So I +reckons it's goin' to be a crafty play not to tell her.' + +"The Britons has been gone two weeks when Tucson Jennie learns the +story. Them towerists is plumb weary of Arizona when we trails into +Wolfville, an' don't seem to tarry a second before they lines out +for Tucson. + +"'They jest hits a high place or two,' says Jack Moore, after he +hears of them designs of the Black Dog, 'an' they'll be 'way yonder +out of the country. I don't reckon none of 'em'll ever come back +soon, neither.' + +"But it's the towerist woman makes the trouble from start to finish. +It's a letter from her which she writes back to Dave, allowin' +she'll thank him some more as her preserver, that brings the news to +Jennie. Tucson Jennie gets this missive, an' ups an' rifles an' +reads it to herse'f a whole lot. It's then Tucson Jennie gives it +out cold, Dave is breakin' her heart, an' tharupon prances 'round +for her shaker an' goes over to Missis Rucker's. + +"The whole camp knows the story in an hour, an' while we-ails +sympathizes with Dave of course, no one's blamin' Tucson Jennie. +She's a female, an' onresponsible, for one thing; an' then, ag'in +Dave's a heap onlikely to stand any condemnations of his wife. + +"'She's as good a woman as ever wears a moccasin,' says Dave, while +he's recoverin' of his sperits at the Red Light bar. + +"An' we-alls allows she shorely is; an' then everybody looks pensive +an' sincere that a-way, so's not to harrow Dave none an' make his +burdens more. + +"'But whatever can I do to fetch her back to camp?' asks Dave, +appealin' to Enright mighty wretched. 'I goes plumb locoed if this +yere keeps on.' + +"'My notion is, we-alls better put Missis Rucker in to play the +hand,' says Enright. 'Missis Rucker's a female, an' is shorely due +to know what kyards to draw. But this oughter be a lesson to you, +Dave, not to go romancin' 'round with strange women no more.' + +"'It's a forced play, I tells you,' says Dave. 'Them Injuns has us +treed. It's a case of fight or give up that she-towerist, so what +was I to do?' + +"`Well,' says Enright, some severe,' you might at least have +consulted with this yere towerist woman some. But you don't. You +simply gets a gun an' goes trackin' 'round in her destinies, an' +shootin' up her prospects like you has a personal interest. You +don't know but she deplores the deal complete. Peets, an' me, an' +Boggs, an' all the rest of us is your friends, an' nacherally +partial on your side. We-alls figgers you means well. But what I +says is this: It ain't no s'prisin' thing when Tucson Jennie, a- +hearin' of them pronounced attentions which you pays this towerist +lady, is filled with grief. This shootin' up an Injun, cause he's +plannin' to wed this female some, is what I shorely calls pronounced +attentions. What do you think yourse'f, Peets?' + +"'Why! I readily concedes what Dave says,' remarks Peets. +'Ondoubtedly he acts for the best as he sees it. But jest as you +puts it: s'pose Dave ain't hungerin' none for this towerist woman +himse'f, the headlong way he goes after this yere Black Dog, settin' +of the war-jig the next sun-up, an' all without even sayin' "Let me +look at your hand," to this female, jestifies them inferences of +yours. Of course I don't say--an' I don't reckon none--Dave thinks +of this old-maid maverick once; but, he sees himse'f, ht shore goes +to war a heap precipitate an' onconsiderate, an' Tucson Jennie has +ondoubted grounds to buck. + +"'Which, when you-alls puts it so cl'ar, I thinks so too,' says +Dave, who's listenin' to Enright an' Peets a mighty sight dejected. +I But I ain't been wedded long--ain't more'n what you might call an +amature husband. What you-alls oughter do now is he'p me to round +her up. If Tucson Jennie's a bunch of cattle, or a band of ponies as +has stampeded, you'd be in the saddle too quick.' + +"Missis Rucker shore does all she knows to soften Tucson Jennie. She +reminds her how in the old times, when Dave gets his chile con carne +at the O. K. House, and the party from the States takes to reprovin' +of Missis Rucker about thar bein' nothin' but coffee an' beans to +eat, Dave onlimbers his six-shooter an' goes to the front. + +"'The grub's dealt down,' says Dave, explainin' to this obnoxious +tenderfoot, 'till thar's nothin' left in the box but beans, coffee, +an' beans. It's a cat-hop, but it can't be he'ped none.' + +"'Cat-hop or no cat-hop,' says this tenderfoot, 'I'm dead ag'in +beans; an' you can gamble I ain't out to devour no sech low +veg'tables; none whatever.' + +"'You jest thinks you don't like beans,' says Dave, an' with that he +sorter dictates at the tenderfoot with his gun, an' the tenderfoot +thar-upon lays for his frijoles like he's actooally honin' tharfor. + +"'Which it all shows Dave's got a good heart,' says Missis Rucker to +Tucson Jennie. + +"'That's nothin' to do with his makin' love to the British woman,' +says Tucson Jennie, grittin' her teeth like she could eat the sights +offen a six-shooter. + +"'He never makes no love to this yere woman,' says Missis Rucker. + +"'When he ketches her flirtin' with that Injun,' demands Tucson +Jennie, 'don't Dave shoot him up a lot? What do you-all call makin' +love? He never downs no Injuns for me, an' I'm his lawful wife.' An' +yere Missis Rucker allows, when she reports to Enright an' Dave an' +the rest of the outfit in the Red Light, Tucson Jennie weeps like +her heart is shorely broke. + +"'Which the pore girl's to be pitied,' says Enright. 'Dave,' he goes +on, turnin' to Tutt some fierce, 'you don't deserve no sech devotion +as this.' + +"'That's whatever,' says Dan Boggs, lookin' red an' truculent, 'this +yere Tucson Jennie's a angel.' + +"But thar we be, up ag'inst it, an' not a man knows a thing to do to +squar' the deal with Dave's wife. We-alls, calls for drinks all +'round, an' sets about an' delib'rates. At last Dave speaks up in a +low-sperited way. + +"'I reckons she done jumps the game for good,' he says. 'But if +she's goin', I wants her to have a layout. If you-alls cares to go +over to the New York Store, I allows I'll play in a blue stack or +two an' win her out some duds. I wants her to quit the deal ahead.' + +"So Dave sets out for the New York Store, an' the rest of us sorter +straggles along. Thar's nothin' gay about us. Dave gets a shawl an' +a dress; nothin' gaudy; it's a plain red an' yaller. Missis Rucker +packs 'em over to Tucson Jennie an' gets that wrapped up in the deal +she forgets utter to rustle us our grub. + +"Which, it's the onexpeeted as happens in Wolfville same as +everywhere else. The minute Tucson Jennie sees the raiment, an' +realizes how Dave loves her, that settles it. Her heart melts right +thar. She ain't sayin' nothin'; jest ropes onto the dry-goods an' +starts sobbin' out for the 'doby where she an' Dave lives at. + +"Dave, when he observes this yere from 'cross the street, shakes +hands all 'round, but don't trust himse'f with no remarks. He gives +our paws a squeeze like he knows he can rely on our friendship an' +hunts his way across to Tucson Jennie without a word. + +"'It's all right about bein' yoothful an' light, that a-way,' says +Enright, after Dave pulls his freight, 'but Tutt oughter remember +yereafter, before he goes mixin' himse'f up with sech vain things as +towerists an' Injuns an' British, that he's a married man.'" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +THE MAN FROM RED DOG. + + +"Let me try one of them thar seegyars." + +It was the pleasant after-dinner hour, and I was on the veranda for +a quiet smoke. The Old Cattleman had just thrown down his paper; the +half-light of the waning sun was a bit too dim for his eyes of +seventy years. + +"Whenever I beholds a seegyar," said the old fellow, as he puffed +voluminously at the principe I passed over, "I thinks of what that +witness says in the murder trial at Socorro. + +"'What was you-all doin' in camp yourse'f,' asks the jedge of this +yere witness, 'the day of the killin'?' + +"'Which,' says the witness, oncrossin' his laigs an' lettin' on he +ain't made bashful an' oneasy by so much attentions bein' shown +hire, 'which I was a-eatin' of a few sardines, a-drinkin' of a few +drinks of whiskey, a-smokin' of a few seegyars, an' a-romancin' +'round.'" + +After this abrupt, not to say ambiguous reminiscence, the Old +Cattleman puffed contentedly a moment. + +"What murder trial was this you speak of?" I asked. "Who had been +killed?" + +"Now I don't reckon I ever does know who it is gets downed," he +replied. "This yere murder trial itse'f is news to me complete. They +was waggin' along with it when I trails into Socorro that time, an' +I merely sa'nters over to the co't that a-way to hear what's goin' +on. The jedge is sorter gettin' in on the play while I'm listenin'. + +"'What was the last words of this yere gent who's killed?' asks the +jedge of this witness. + +"'As nearly as I keeps tabs, jedge,' says the witness, `the dyin' +statement of this person is: "Four aces to beat."' + +"'Which if deceased had knowed Socorro like I does,' says the jedge, +like he's commentin' to himse'f, 'he'd shorely realized that sech +remarks is simply sooicidal.'" + +Again the Old Cattleman relapsed into silence and the smoke of the +principe. + +"How did the trial come out?" I queried. "Was the accused found +guilty?" + +"Which the trial itse'f," he replied, "don't come out. Thar's a +passel of the boys who's come into town to see that jestice is done, +an' bein' the round-up is goin' for'ard at the time, they nacherally +feels hurried an' pressed for leesure. Theyalls oughter be back on +the range with their cattle. So the fifth day, when things is +loiterin' along at the trial till it looks like the law has hobbles +on, an' the word goes round it's goin' to be a week yet before the +jury gets action on this miscreant who's bein' tried, the boys +becomes plumb aggravated an' wearied out that a-way; an', kickin' in +the door of the calaboose, they searches out the felon, swings him +to a cottonwood not otherwise engaged, an' the right prevails. +Nacherally the trial bogs down right thar." + +After another season of silence and smoke, the Old Cattleman struck +in again. + +"Speakn' of killin's, while I'm the last gent to go fosterin' idees +of bloodshed, I'm some discouraged jest now by what I've been +readin' in that paper about a dooel between some Eytalians, an' it +shorely tries me the way them aliens plays hoss. It's obvious as +stars on a cl'ar night, they never means fight a little bit. I +abhors dooels, an' cowers from the mere idee. But, after all, +business is business, an' when folks fights 'em the objects of the +meetin' oughter be blood. But the way these yere European shorthorns +fixes it, a gent shorely runs a heap more resk of becomin' a angel +abrupt, attendin' of a Texas cake-walk in a purely social way. + +"Do they ever fight dooels in the West? Why, yes--some. My mem'ry +comes a-canterin' up right now with the details of an encounter I +once beholds in Wolfville. Thar ain't no time much throwed away with +a dooel in the Southwest. The people's mighty extemporaneous, an' +don't go browsin' 'round none sendin' challenges in writin', an' +that sort of flapdoodle. When a gent notices the signs a-gettin' +about right for him to go on the war-path, he picks out his meat, +surges up, an' declar's himse'f. The victim, who is most likely a +mighty serious an' experienced person, don't copper the play by +makin' vain remarks, but brings his gatlin' into play surprisin'. +Next it's bang! bang! bang! mixed up with flashes an' white smoke, +an' the dooel is over complete. The gent who still adorns our midst +takes a drink on the house, while St. Peter onbars things a lot an' +arranges gate an' seat checks with the other in the realms of light. +That's all thar is to it. The tide of life ag'in flows onward to the +eternal sea, an' nary ripple. + +"Oh, this yere Wolfville dooel! `Well, it's this a-way. The day is +blazin' hot, an' business layin' prone an' dead--jest blistered to +death. A passel of us is sorter pervadin' 'round the dance-hall, it +bein' the biggest an' coolest store in camp. A monte game is +strugglin' for breath in a feeble, fitful way in the corner, an' +some of us is a-watchin'; an' some a-settin' 'round loose a- +thinkin'; but all keepin' mum an' still, 'cause it's so hot. + +"Jest then some gent on a hoss goes whoopin' up the street a-yellin' +an' a-whirlin' the loop of his rope, an' allowin' generally he's +havin' a mighty good time. + +"'Who's this yere toomultuous man on the hoss?' says Enright, a- +regardin' of him in a displeased way from the door. + +"'I meets him up the street a minute back,' says Dan Boggs, 'an' he +allows he's called "The Man from Red Dog." He says he's took a day +off to visit us, an' aims to lay waste the camp some before he goes +back.' + +"About then the Red Dog man notes old Santa Rosa, who keeps the +Mexican baile hall, an' his old woman, Marie, a-fussin' with each +other in front of the New York Store. They's locked horns over a +drink or somethin', an' is pow-wowin' mighty onamiable. + +"'Whatever does this yere Mexican fam'ly mean,' says the Red Dog +man, a-surveyin' of 'em plenty scornful, 'a-draggin' of their +domestic brawls out yere to offend a sufferin' public for? Whyever +don't they stay in their wickeyup an' fight, an' not take to puttin' +it all over the American race which ain't in the play none an' don't +thirst tharfor? However, I unites an' reeconciles this divided +household easy.' + +"With this the Red Dog man drops the loop of his lariat 'round the +two contestants an' jumps his bronco up the street like it's come +outen a gun. Of course Santa Rosa an' Marie goes along on their +heads permiscus. + +"They goes coastin' along ontil they gets pulled into a mesquite- +bush, an' the rope slips offen the saddle, an' thar they be. We-alls +goes over from the dance-hall, extricatin' of 'em, an' final they +rounds up mighty hapless an' weak, an' can only walk. They shorely +lose enough hide to make a pair of leggin's. + +"'Which I brings 'em together like twins,' says the Red Dog man, +ridin' back for his rope. 'I offers two to one, no limit, they don't +fight none whatever for a month.' + +"Which, as it shorely looks like he's right, no one takes him. So +the Red Dog man leaves his bluff a-hangin' an' goes into the dance- +hall, a-givin' of it out cold an' clammy he meditates libatin'. + +"'All promenade to the bar,' yells the Red Dog man as he goes in. +'I'm a wolf, an' it's my night to howl. Don't 'rouse me, barkeep, +with the sight of merely one bottle; set 'em all up. I'm some +fastidious about my fire-water an' likes a chance to select.' + +"Well, we-alls takes our inspiration, an' the Red Dog man tucks his +onder his belt an' then turns round to Enright. + +"'I takes it you're the old he-coon of this yere outfit?' says the +Red Dog man, soopercillious-like. + +"'Which, if I ain't,' says Enright, 'it's plenty safe as a play to +let your wisdom flow this a-way till the he-coon gets yere.' + +"'If thar's anythin',' says the Red Dog man, 'I turns from sick, +it's voylence an' deevastation. But I hears sech complaints constant +of this yere camp of Wolfville, I takes my first idle day to ride +over an' line things up. Now yere I be, an' while I regrets it, I +finds you-alls is a lawless, onregenerate set, a heap sight worse +than roomer. I now takes the notion--for I sees no other trail--that +by next drink time I climbs into the saddle, throws my rope 'round +this den of sin, an' removes it from the map.' + +"'Nacherally,' says Enright, some sarcastic, 'in makin' them schemes +you ain't lookin' for no trouble whatever with a band of tarrapins +like us.' + +"'None whatever,' says the Red Dog man, mighty confident. 'In thirty +minutes I distributes this yere hamlet 'round in the landscape same +as them Greasers; which feat becomin' hist'ry, I then canters back +to Red Dog.' + +"'Well,' says Enright, 'it's plenty p'lite to let us know what's +comin' this a-way.' + +"'Oh! I ain't tellin' you none,' says the Red Dog man, 'I simply +lets fly this hint, so any of you-alls as has got bric-a-brac he +values speshul, he takes warnin' some an' packs it off all safe.' + +"It's about then when Cherokee Hall, who's lookin' on, shoulders in +between Enright an' the Red Dog man, mighty positive. Cherokee is a +heap sot in his idees, an' I sees right off he's took a notion ag'in +the Red Dog man. + +"'As you've got a lot of work cut out,' says Cherokee, eyein' the +Red Dog man malignant, 's'pose we tips the canteen ag'in.' + +"'I shorely goes you,' says the Red Dog man. 'I drinks with friend, +an' I drinks with foe; with the pard of my bosom an' the shudderin' +victim of my wrath all sim'lar.' + +"Cherokee turns out a big drink an' stands a-holdin' of it in his +hand. I wants to say right yere, this Cherokee's plenty guileful. + +"'You was namin',' says Cherokee, 'some public improvements you aims +to make; sech as movin' this yere camp 'round some, I believes?' + +"'That's whatever,' says the Red Dog man, 'an' the holycaust I +'nitiates is due to start in fifteen minutes.' + +"'I've been figgerin' on you,' says Cherokee, 'an' I gives you the +result in strict confidence without holdin' out a kyard. When you- +all talks of tearin' up Wolfville, you're a liar an' a hoss-thief, +an' you ain't goin' to tear up nothin'.' + +"'What's this I hears!' yells the frenzied Red Dog man, reachin' for +his gun. + +"But he never gets it, for the same second Cherokee spills the glass +of whiskey straight in his eyes, an' the next he's anguished an' +blind as a mole. + +"'I'll fool this yere human simoon up a lot,' says Cherokee, a- +hurlin' of the Red Dog man to the floor, face down, while his nine- +inch bowie shines in his hand like the sting of a wasp. 'I shore +fixes him so he can't get a job clerkin' in a store,' an' grabbin' +the Red Dog man's ha'r, which is long as the mane of a pony, he +slashes it off close in one motion. + +"'Thar's a fringe for your leggin's, Nell,' remarks Cherokee, a- +turnin' of the crop over to Faro Nell. 'Now, Doc,' Cherokee goes on +to Doc Peets, 'take this yere Red Dog stranger over to the Red +Light, fix his eyes all right, an' then tell him, if he thinks he +needs blood in this, to take his Winchester an' go north in the +middle of the street. In twenty minutes by the watch I steps outen +the dance-hall door a-lookin' for him. P'int him to the door all +fair an' squar'. I don't aim to play nothin' low on this yere gent. +He gets a chance for his ante.' + +"Doc Peets sorter accoomilates the Red Dog man, who is cussin' an' +carryin' on scand'lous, an' leads him over to the Red Light. In a +minute word comes to Cherokee as his eyes is roundin' up all proper, +an' that he's makin' war-medicine an' is growin' more hostile +constant, an' to heel himse'f. At that Cherokee, mighty ca'm, sends +out for Jack Moore's Winchester, which is an 'eight-squar',' latest +model. + +"'Oh, Cherokee!' says Faro Nell, beginnin' to cry, an' curlin' her +arms 'round his neck. 'I'm 'fraid he's goin' to down you. Ain't thar +no way to fix it? Can't Dan yere settle with this Red Dog man?' + +"'Cert,' says Dan Boggs, 'an' I makes the trip too gleeful. Jest to +spar' Nell's feelin's, Cherokee, an' not to interfere with no gent's +little game, I takes your hand an' plays it.' + +"'Not none,' says Cherokee; 'this is my deal. Don't cry, Nellie,' he +adds, smoothin' down her yaller ha'r. 'Folks in my business has to +hold themse'fs ready to face any game on the word, an' they never +weakens or lays down. An' another thing, little girl; I gets this +Red Dog sharp, shore. I'm in the middle of a run of luck; I holds +fours twice last night, with a flush an' a full hand out ag'in 'em.' + +"Nell at last lets go of Cherokee's neck, an', bein' a female an' +timid that a-way, allows she'll go, an' won't stop to see the +shootin' none. We applauds the idee, thinkin' she might shake +Cherokee some if she stays; an' of course a gent out shootin' for +his life needs his nerve. + +"Well, the twenty minutes is up; the Red Dog man gets his rifle +offen his saddle an' goes down the middle of the street. Turnin' up +his big sombrero, he squar's 'round, cocks his gun, an' waits. Then +Enright goes out with Cherokee an' stands him in the street about a +hundred yards from the Red Dog man. After Cherokee's placed he holds +up his hand for attention an' says: + +"'When all is ready I stands to one side an' drops my hat. You-alls +fires at will.' + +"Enright goes over to the side of the street, counts 'one,' 'two,' +'three,' an' drops his hat. Bangety! Bang! Bang! goes the rifles +like the roll of a drum. Cherokee can work a Winchester like one of +these yere Yankee 'larm-clocks, an' that Red Dog hold-up don't seem +none behind. + +"About the fifth fire the Red Dog man sorter steps for'ard an' drops +his gun; an' after standin' onsteady for a second, he starts to +cripplin' down at his knees. At last he comes ahead on his face like +a landslide. Thar's two bullets plumb through his lungs, an' when we +gets to him the red froth is comin' outen his mouth some plenteous. + +"We packs him back into the Red Light an' lays him onto a monte- +table. Bimeby he comes to a little an' Peets asks him whatever he +thinks he wants. + +"'I wants you-alls to take off my moccasins an' pack me into the +street,' says the Red Dog man. 'I ain't allowin' for my old mother +in Missoury to be told as how I dies in no gin-mill, which she +shorely 'bominates of 'em. An' I don't die with no boots on, +neither.' + +"We-alls packs him back into the street ag'in, an' pulls away at his +boots. About the time we gets 'em off he sags back convulsive, an' +thar he is as dead as Santa Anna. + +"'What sort of a game is this, anyhow?' says Dan Boggs, who, while +we stands thar, has been pawin' over the Red Dog man's rifle. 'Looks +like this vivacious party's plumb locoed. Yere's his hind-sights +wedged up for a thousand yards, an' he's been a-shootin' of +cartridges with a hundred an' twenty grains of powder into 'em. +Between the sights an' the jump of the powder, he's shootin' plumb +over Cherokee an' aimin' straight at him.' + +"'Nellie,' says Enright, lookin' remorseful at the girl, who colors +up an' begins to cry ag'in, 'did you cold-deck this yere Red Dog +sport this a-way?' + +"'I'm 'fraid,' sobs Nell, 'he gets Cherokee; so I slides over when +you-alls is waitin' an' fixes his gun some.' + +"'Which I should shorely concede you did,' says Enright. 'The way +that Red Dog gent manip'lates his weepon shows he knows his game; +an' except for you a-settin' things up on him, I'm powerful afraid +he'd spoiled Cherokee a whole lot.' + +"'Well, gents,' goes on Enright, after thinkin' a while, 'I reckons +we-alls might as well drink on it. Hist'ry never shows a game yet, +an' a woman in it, which is on the squar', an' we meekly b'ars our +burdens with the rest.'" + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +CHEROKEE HALL. + + +"An' you can't schedoole too much good about him," remarked the Old +Cattleman. Here he threw away the remnant of the principe, and, +securing his pipe, beat the ashes there-out and carefully reloaded +with cut plug. Inevitably the old gentleman must smoke. His tone and +air as he made the remark quoted were those of a man whose +convictions touching the one discussed were not to be shaken. "No, +sir," he continued; "when I looks back'ard down the trail of life, +if thar's one gent who aforetime holds forth in Wolfville on whom I +reflects with satisfaction, it's this yere Cherokee Hall." + +"To judge from his conduct," I said, "in the hard case of the +Wilkins girl, as well as his remark as she left on the stage, I +should hold him to be a person of sensibilities as well as +benevolent impulse." + +It was my purpose to coax the old gentleman to further reminiscence. + +"Benev'lent!" retorted the old man. "Which I should shore admit it! +What he does for this yere young Wilkins female ain't a marker. +Thar's the Red Dog man he lets out. Thar's the Stingin' Lizard's +nephy; he stakes said yooth from infancy. 'Benev'lent!' says you. +This party Cherokee is that benev'lent he'd give away a poker hand. +I've done set an' see him give away his hand in a jack-pot for two +hundred dollars to some gent 'cross the table who's organizin' to go +ag'in him an' can't afford to lose. An' you can onderscore it; a +winnin' poker hand, an' him holdin' it, is the last thing a +thoroughbred kyard-sharp'll give away. But as I says, I sees this +Cherokee do it when the opp'sition is settin' in hard luck an' +couldn't stand to lose. + +"How would he give his hand away? Throw it in the diskyard an' not +play it none; jest nacherally let the gent who's needy that a-way +rake in the chips on the low hand. Cherokee mebby does it this +fashion so's he don't wound the feelin's of this yere victim of his +gen'rosity. Thar's folks who turns sens'tive an' ain't out to take +alms none, who's feelin's he spar's that a-way by losin' to 'em at +poker what they declines with scorn direct. "'Benev'lent,' is the +way you puts it! Son, 'benev'lent' ain't the word. This sport +Cherokee Hall ain't nothin' short of char'table. + +"Speakin' wide flung an' onrestrained, Cherokee, as I mentions to +you before, is the modestest, decentest longhorn as ever shakes his +antlers in Arizona. He is slim an' light, an' a ondoubted kyard- +sharp from his moccasins up. An' I never knows him to have a peso he +don't gamble for. Nothin' common, though; I sees him one night when +he sets ca'mly into some four-handed poker, five thousand dollars +table stake, an' he's sanguine an' hopeful about landin' on his feet +as a Cimmaron sheep. Of course times is plenty flush in them days, +an' five thousand don't seem no sech mammoth sum. Trade is eager an' +values high; aces-up frequent callin' for five hundred dollars +before the draw. Still we ain't none of us makin' cigarettes of no +sech roll as five thousand. The days ain't quite so halcyon as all +that neither. + +"But what I likes speshul in Cherokee Hall is his jedgement. He's +every time right. He ain't talkin' much, an' he ain't needin' advice +neither, more'n a steer needs a saddle-blanket. But when he +concloodes to do things, you can gamble he's got it plenty right. + +"One time this Cherokee an' Texas Thompson is comin' in from Tucson +on the stage. Besides Cherokee an' Texas, along comes a female, +close-herdin' of two young-ones; which them infants might have been +t'rant'lers an' every one a heap happier. Sorter as range-boss of +the whole out. fit is a lean gent in a black coat. Well, they hops +in, an' Cherokee gives 'em the two back seats on account of the +female an' the yearlin's. + +"'My name is Jones,' says the gent in the black coat, when he gets +settled back an' the stage is goin', I an' I'm an exhortin' +evangelist. I plucks brands from the burnin'.' + +"'I'm powerful glad to know it,' says Texas, who likes talk. 'Them +games of chance which has vogue in this yere clime is some various, +an' I did think I shorely tests 'em all; but if ever the device you +names is open in Wolfville I overlooks the same complete.' + +"'Pore, sinkin' soul!' says the black-coat gent to the female; 'he's +a-flounderin' in the mire of sin. Don't you know,' he goes on to +Texas, 'my perishin' friend, you are bein' swept downward in the +river of your own sinful life till your soul will be drowned in the +abyss?" + +"'Well, no,' says Texas, 'I don't. I allows I'm makin' a mighty dry +ford of it.' + +"'Lost! lost! lost!' says the black-coat gent, a-leanin' back like +he's plumb dejected that a-way an' hopeless. 'It is a stiff-necked +gen'ration an' sorely perverse a lot.' + +"The stage jolts along two or three miles, an' nothin' more bein' +said. The black-coat gent he groans occasionally, which worries +Texas; an' the two infants, gettin' restless, comes tumblin' over +onto Cherokee an' is searchin' of his pockets for mementoes. Which +this is about as refreshin' to Cherokee as bein' burned at the +stake. But the mother she leans back an' smiles, an' of course he's +plumb he'pless. Finally the black. coat gent p'ints in for another +talk. + +"'What is your name, my pore worm?' says the black-coat gent, +addressin' of Texas; 'an' whatever avocation has you an' your lost +companion?' + +"I Why,' says Texas, 'this yere's Hall--Cherokee Hall. He turns faro +in the Red Light; an',' continues Texas, a-lowerin' of his voice, +'he's as squar' a gent as ever counted a deck. Actooally, pard, you +might not think it, but all that gent knows about settin' up kyards, +or dealin' double, or anv sech sinful scheme, is mere tradition.' +"'Brother,' says the female, bristlin' up an' tacklin' the black- +coat gent, 'don't talk to them persons no more. Them's gamblers, an' +mighty awful men;' an' with that she snatches away the yearlin's +like they's contam'nated. + +'This is relief to Cherokee, but the young-ones howls like coyotes, +an' wants to come back an' finish pillagin' him. But the mother she +spanks 'em, an' when Texas is goin' to give 'em some cartridges +outen his belt to amoose 'em, she sasses him scand'lous, an' allows +she ain't needin' no attentions from him. Then she snorts at Texas +an' Cherokee contemptuous. The young-ones keeps on yellin' in a +mighty onmelodious way, an' while Cherokee is ca'm an' don't seem +like he minds it much, Texas gets some nervous. At last Texas lugs +out a bottle, aimin' to compose his feelins', which they's some +harrowed by now. + +"`Well, I never!' shouts the woman; 'I shorely sees inebriates ere +now, but at least they has the decency not to pull a bottle that a- +way + +before a lady.' "This stampedes Texas complete, an' he throws the +whiskey + +outen the stage an' don't get no drink. "It's along late in the +mornin' when the stage strikes the upper end of Apache Canyon. This +yere canyon + +is lately reckoned some bad. Nothin' ever happens on the line, but + +them is the days when Cochise is cavortin' 'round plenty loose, an' +it's mighty possible to stir up Apaches any time a-layin' in the +hills + +along the trail to Tucson. If they ever gets a notion to stand up +the stage, they's shore due to be in this canyon; wherefore Cherokee +an' Texas an' Old Monte who's drivin' regards it s'picious. "'Send +'em through on the jump, Monte,' says Cherokee, stickin' out his +head. "The six hosses lines out at a ten-mile gait, which rattles +things, an' makes the black-coat gent sigh, while the young-ones +pours forth some appallin' shrieks. The female gets speshul mad at +this, allowin' + +they's playin' it low down on her fam'ly. But she takes it out in +cuffin' the yearlin's now an' then, jest to keep 'em yellin', an' +don't say nothin'. "Which the stage is about half through the +canyon, when up on both sides a select assortment of Winchesters +begins to bang an' jump permiscus; the same goin' hand-in-hand with +whoops of onusual merit. With the first shot Old Monte pours the +leather into the team, an' them hosses surges into the collars like +cyclones. "It's lucky aborigines ain't no shots. They never yet gets +the phelosophy of a + +hind sight none, an' generally you can't reach their bullets with a +ten-foot pole, they's that high above your head. The only thing as + +gets hit this time is Texas. About the beginnin', a little cloud of +dust flies outen the shoulder of his coat, his face turns pale, an' +Cherokee knows he's creased. "'Did they get you, Old Man?' says +Cherokee, some anxious. "'No,' says Texas, tryin' to brace himse'f. +'I'll be + +on velvet ag'in in a second. I now longs, however, for that whiskey +I hurls overboard so graceful.' "The Apaches comes tumblin' down +onto the trail an' gives chase, a-shootin' an' a-yellin' a heap +zealous. As they's on foot, an' as Old Monte is makin' fifteen miles +an hour by now, they merely manages to hold their own in the race, +about forty yards to the r'ar. + +"This don't go on long when Cherokee, after thinkin', says to Texas, +'This yere is the way I figgers it, If we-alls keeps on, them Injuns +is that fervent they runs in on us at the ford. With half luck +they's due to down either a hoss or Monte--mebby both; in which +event the stage shorely stops, an' it's a fight. This bein' troo, +an' as I'm 'lected for war anyhow, I'm goin' to caper out right +yere, an' pull on the baile myse'f. This'll stop the chase, an' +between us, pard, it's about the last chance in the box this pore +female an' her offsprings has. An' I plays it for 'em, win or lose.' + +"'Them's my motives; says Texas, tryin' to pull himse'f together. +'Shall we take this he-shorthorn along?' An' he p'ints where them +four tenderfoots is mixed up together in the back of the stage. + +"'He wouldn't be worth a white chip,' says Cherokee, 'an' you-all is +too hard hit to go, Texas, yourse'f. So take my regards to Enright +an' the boys, an' smooth this all you know for Faro Nell. I makes +the trip alone.' + +"'Not much,' says Texas. 'My stack goes to the center, too.' + +"But it don't, though, 'cause Texas has bled more'n he thinks. The +first move he makes he tips over in a faint. + +"Cherokee picks up his Winchester, an', openin' the door of the +stage, jumps plumb free, an' they leaves him thar on the trail. + +"'It's mebby an hour later when the stage comes into Wolfville on +the lope. Texas is still in a fog, speakin' mental, an' about bled +to death; while them exhortin' people is outen their minds entire. + +"In no time thar's a dozen of us lined out for Cherokee. Do we +locate him? Which I should say we shorely discovers him. Thar's a +bullet through his laig, an' thar he is with his back ag'in a rock +wall, his Winchester to the front, his eyes glitterin', a-holdin' +the canyon. Thar never is no Injun gets by him. Of course they +stampedes prompt when they hears us a-comin', so we don't get no +fight. + +"'I hopes you nails one, Cherokee,' says Enright; 'playin' even on +this yere laig they shoots.' + +"'I win once, I reckons', says Cherokee, 'over behind that big rock +to the left.' + +"'Shore enough he's got one Injun spread out; an', comin' along a +little, Jack Moore turns up a second. + +"'Yere's another,' says Jack, 'which breaks even on the bullet in +Texas.' + +"'That's right,' says Cherokee, 'I remembers now than is two. The +kyards is comin' some Tast, an' I overlooks a bet.' + +"We-alls gets Cherokee in all right, an' next day 'round comes the +female tenderfoot to see him. + +"'I wants to thank my defender,' she says. + +"'You ain't onder no obligations, whatever, ma'am', says Cherokee, +risin' up a little, while Faro Nell puts another goose-h'ar piller +onder him. 'I simply prefers to do my fightin' in the canyon to +doin' it at the ford; that's all. It's only a matter of straight +business; nothin' more'n a preference I has. Another thing, ma'am; +you-all forgives it, seein' I'm a gent onused to childish ways: but +when I makes the play you names, I simply seizes on them savages +that a-way as an excuse to get loose from them blessed children of +your'n a whole lot.'" + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +TEXAS THOMPSON'S "ELECTION." + + +"An' between us," remarked the Old Cattle man, the observation being +relevant to the subject of our conversation on the occasion of one +of our many confabs, "between you an' me, I ain't none shore about +the merits of what you-all calls law an' order. Now a pains-takin' +an' discreet vig'lance committee is my notion of a bulwark. Let any +outfit take a bale of rope an' a week off, an' if their camp ain't +weeded down to right principles an' a quiet life at the end tharof, +then I've passed my days as vain as any coyote which ever yelps. + +"Of course thar dawns a time when Wolfville has to come to it, same +as others. They takes to diggin' for copper; an' they builds the +Bird Cage Op'ry House, an' puts in improvements general. We even +culminates in a paper, which Doc Peets assures us is the flower of +our progress. Nacherally on the heels of all them outbursts we gives +up our simple schemes, organizes, an' pulls off an 'lection. But as +Old Man Enright is made alcalde tharby, with Jack Moore marshal, the +jolt is not severe nor the change so full of notice. + +"It's not long prior to these yere stampedes into a higher +moonicipal life, however, when quite a b'ilin' of us is in the Red +Light discussin' some sech future. Our rival, Red Dog, is allowin' +it's goin' to have a mayor or somethin', an' we sorter feels like +our hands is forced. + +"'For myse'f,' says Old Man Enright, when the topic is circ'latin', +with the whiskey followin' suit, an' each gent is airin' his idees +an' paintin' his nose accordin' to his taste, 'for myse'f, I can see +it comin'. Thar's to be law yere an' 'lections; an' while at first +it's mighty likely both is goin' to turn out disturbin' elements, +still I looks on their approach without fear. Wolfville is too +strong, an' Wolfville intelligence is too well founded, to let any +law loco it or set it to millin'.' + +"'Still,' says Dan Boggs, 'I must remark I prefers a dooly +authorized band of Stranglers. A vig'lance committee gets my game +right along. They's more honest than any of these yere lawsharps +who's 'lected to be a jedge; an' they's a heap more zealous, which +last is important.' + +"'Boggs is right,' replies Enright. 'It may not become me, who is +head of the local body of that sort, to make boasts of the +excellence of a vig'lance committee; but I ain't bluffin' on a four- +flush when I challenges any gent to put his tongue to an event where +a vig'lance committee stretches a party who ain't in need tharof; or +which goes wastin' its lariats on the desert air. I puts it to you- +alls without heat or pride, gents; Jedge Lynch is right every time.' + +"'Put me down,' says Doc Peets, at the same time makin' signs for +the barkeep to remember his mission on earth, 'put me down as +coincidin' in them sentiments. An' I says further, that any party +who's lookin' for the place where the bad man is scarce, an' a law- +abidin' gent has the fullest liberty, pegged out to the shorest +safetytood, let him locate where he finds the most lynchin's, an' +where a vig'lance committee is steadily engaged discriminatin' +'round through the community. + +Which a camp thus provided is a model of heavenly peace.' + +"'You can + gamble, if anybody's plumb aware of these yore trooths, it's me,' +says Texas Thompson. + +'When I'm down in the South Paloduro country, workin' a passel of +Bar-K-7 cattle, I aids in an effort to 'lect a jedge an' institoot +reg'lar shore-'nough law; an' the same comes mighty near leavin' the +entire hamlet a howlin' waste. It deciminates a heap of our best +citizens. + +"'This yere misguided bluff comes to pass peculiar; an' I allers +allows if it ain't for the onforeseen way wherein things stacks up, +an' the muddle we-alls gets into tryin' to find a trail, the Plaza +Paloduro would have been a scene of bleatin' peace that day, instead +of a stric'ly corpse-an'-cartridge occasion. The death rate rises to +that degree in fact that the next roundup is shy on men; an' thar +ain't enough cartridges in camp, when the smoke blows away, to be +seed for a second crop. On the squar', gents, that 'lection day on +the South Paloduro was what you-alls might term a massacre, an' get +it right every time.' + +"'Well, what of this yere toomultuous 'lection?' demands Dave Tutt, +who gets impatient while Texas refreshes himse'f in his glass. 'You- +all reminds me a mighty sight, Texas, of the Tucson preacher who +pulls his freight the other day. They puts it to him, the Tucson +folks do, that he talks an' he talks, but he don't p'int out; an' he +argufies an' he argufies, but he never shows wherein. A party who's +goin' to make a pulpit-play, or shine in Arizona as a racontoor, has +done got to cult'vate a direct, incisive style.' + +"'That's all c'rect,' remarks Texas, some savage, as he recovers his +nose outen his glass; 'never you fret me none about my style not +bein' incisive. Thar be other plays where any gent who comes puttin' +it all over me with roode an' intemp'rate remarks will find me +plenty incisive; not to say some soon: + +"'Yere!' interrupts Enright, quick an' sharp. 'This is plumb outside +the line. Texas ain't got no call to wake up so malignant over +what's most likely nothin' worse than humor on Tutt's part; an', +Tutt, it ain't up to you none neither, to go spurrin' Texas in the +shoulder in the midst of what I'm yere to maintain is a mighty +thrillin' narration.' + +"'Texas is good people,' says Dave, 'an' the last gent with which I +thirsts to dig up the war-axe. Which I'm proud to be his friend; an' +I means no offense when I su'gests that he whirl a smaller loop when +he onbosoms himse'f of a tale. I yere tenders Texas my hand, +assurin' of him that I means my language an' ain't holdin' out +nothin'. Shake!' An' at this Dave reaches his pistol-hand to Texas +Thompson, an' the same is seized prompt an' friendly. + +"`This yere is my fault,' says Texas. 'I reckons now my wife +recoverin' that Laredo divorce I'm mentionin' to you-alls, sorter +leaves me a heap petulant, that a-way. But to go back to this war- +jig I was relatin' about down at Plaza Paloduro. + +"'It's this a-way: No, Nellie; thar's no female in it. This yere +grows from a business transaction; an' the effort tharfrom to +improve on present conditions, institoot a reign of law, an' lect a +jedge. + +"'Which the comin' of a miscreant named Cimmaron Pete, from some'ers +over near the 'Doby Walls, is the beginnin' of the deal. This +Cimmaron Pete comes trailin' in one day; an' a shorthorn called +Glidden, who runs a store at the ford, comes ropin' at Cimmaron Pete +to race ponies. "'"What for stakes do you-all aim to race for?" +demands this Cimmaron Pete. + +"'"I'll run you for hoss an' saddle," says Glidden. + +"'"Say hoss ag'in hoss," says Cimmaron Pete, "an' I'm liable to go +you. Saddles is hard to get, an' I won't resk mine. Ponies, however, +is easy. I can get 'em every moonlight night." + +"'When them sports is racin',--which the run is to be a quarter of a +mile, only they never finishes,--jest as Cimmaron begins to pull +ahead, his pony bein' a shade suddener than Glidden's, whatever does +the latter do but rope this Cimmaron Pete's pony by the feet an' +down him. + +"'It's shore fine work with a lariat, but it comes high for Glidden. +For, as he stampedes by, this Cimmaron turns loose his six-shooter +from where he's tangled up with his bronco on the ground; an' as the +first bullet gets Glidden in the back of his head, his light goes +out like a candle. + +"'When the committee looks into the play they jestifies this +Cimmaron. "While on the surface," they says, "the deal seems a +little florid; still, when a gent armed with nothin' but a cold +sense of jestice comes to pirootin' plumb through the affair with a +lantern, he's due to emerge a lot with the conviction that Glidden's +wrong." So Cimmaron is free in a minute. + +"'But thar's Glidden's store! Thar's nobody to claim it; thar bein' +no fam'ly to Glidden nohow; not even a hired man. + +"'"Which, as it seems to be a case open to doubt," observes this +yere Cimmaron, "I nacherally takes this Glidden party's store an' +deals his game myse'f." + +"'It ain't much of a store; an' bein' as the rest of us is havin' +all we-alls can ride herd on for ourse'fs, no gent makes objections, +an' Cimmaron turns himse'f loose in Glidden's store, an' begins to +sell things a whole lot. He's shorely doin' well, I reckons, when +mebby it's a week later he comes chargin' over to a passel of us an' +allows he wants the committee to settle some trouble which has cut +his trail. + +"'"It's about the debts of this yere Glidden, deceased," says +Cimmaron. "I succeeds to the business of course; which it's little +enough for departed ropin' my pony that time. But you-alls can +gamble I ain't goin' 'way back on this yere dead person's trail, an' +settle all his gray an' hoary indebtnesses. Would it be right, +gents? I puts it to you-alls on the squar'; do I immerse myse'f, I'd +like for to be told, in deceased's liabilities merely for resentin' +of his wrongs ag'in me with my gun? If a gent can go blindly +shootin' himse'f into bankruptcy that a-way, the American gov'ment +is a rank loser, an' the State of Texas is plumb played out." + +When we-alls proceeds to ferret into this yere myst'ry, we finds +thar's a sharp come up from Dallas who claims that Cimmaron's got to +pay him what Glidden owes. This yere Dallas party puts said +indebtednesses at five stacks of blues. + +"'An' this yere longhorn's got 'em to make good, "says the Dallas +sharp, p'intin' at Cimmaron, "'cause he inherits the store." + +"'Now, whatever do you-alls think of that?" says Cimmaron, appealin' +to us. "Yere I've told this perverse sport that Glidden's done +cashed in an' quit; an' now he lays for me with them indebtednesses. +It shorely wearies me." + +"'It don't take the vig'lance committee no time to agree it ain't +got nothin' to say in the case. + +"'" It's only on killin's, an' hoss-rustlin's, an' sim'lar breaks." +explains Old Monroe, who's chief of the Paloduro Stranglers, "where +we-alls gets kyards. We ain't in on what's a mere open-an'-shet case +of debt." + +"'But this Dallas sharp stays right with Cimmaron. He gives it out +cold he's goin' to c'lect. He puts it up he'll shore sue Cimmaron a +lot. + +"'You-alls don't mean to say thar ain't no jedge yere?" remarks the +Dallas sharp, when Old Monroe explains we ain't organized none for +sech games as law cases. "Well, this yere Plaza Paloduro is for +certain the locodest camp of which I ever cuts the trail! You-alls +better get a hustle on right now an' 'lect a jedge. If I goes back +to Dallas an' tells this story of how you-alls ain't got no jedge +nor no law yere, they won't let this Plaza Paloduro get close enough +to 'em in business to hand 'em a ripe peach. If thar's enough sense +in this camp to make bakin'-powder biscuit, you-alls will have a +jedge 'lected ready for me to have law cases with by second-drink +time to-morrow mornin'." + +"'After hangin' up this bluff the Dallas sharp, puttin' on a heap of +hawtoor an' dog, walks over to the tavern ag'in, an' leaves us to +size up the play at our lcesure. + +"'What this obdurate party from Dallas says," finally remarks Old +Monroe, "is not with. out what the Comanches calls tum-tum. Thar's +savey an' jestice in them observations. It's my idee, that thar +bein' no jedge yere, that a-way, to make a money round-up for a gent +when his debtor don't make good, is mighty likely a palin' offen our +fence. I shorely thinks we better rectify them omissions an' 'lect a +jedge at once." + +"'Which I'm opposed to these proceedin's," interrupts Cimmaron. "I'm +plumb adverse to co'ts. Them law-wolves gets into 'em, an' when they +can't find no gate to come at you, they ups an' pushes down a panel +of fence, an' lays for you, cross-lots. I'm dead ag'in these +proceedin's." + +"'See yere," says Old Monroe, turnin' on this Cimmaron," you-all is +becomin' too apparent in this camp; what I might describe as a heap +too obvious. Now if you gets your stack in ag'in when it ain't your +turn; or picks up anybody's hand but your own, I'll find a short way +of knockin' your horns off. You don't seem gifted enough to realize +that you're lucky to be alive right now." + +"'Bar Cimmaron, who lapses into silence after Old Monroe gives him +notice, the entire camp lines up fav'rable on the idee to 'lect a +jedge. They sends over to the corral an' gets a nose-bag for to +deposit the votes; an' it's decided that Old Monroe an' a Cross-Z +party named Randall has got to do the runnin'. Randall is plenty +p'lite, an' allows he don't want to be jedge none nohow, an' says, +give it to Old Monroe; but the latter gent, who is organizin' the +play, insists that it wouldn't be legal. + +"'"Thar's got to be two gents to do the runnin'," so Old Monroe +says, "or it don't go. The 'lection ain't legal that a-way onless +thar's two candidates." + +"'They puts Bronco Charlie an' a sport named Ormsby in to be +'lection supervisors. They was to hold the nose-bag; an' as votes is +dropped in, they's to count 'em out accordin' to Hoyle, so we-alls +can tell where the play's headin'. Bronco Charlie is jedge for +Randall, an' Ormsby fronts up all sim'lar for Old Monroe. The +'lection we-alls decides to hold in the Lone Star Saloon, so's to be +conducted with comfort. + +"'"Make your game, now, gents," says Old Monroe, when everythin' is +shorely ready. "Get in your votes. These yere polls is open for one +hour." + +"'"One for Randall," says Bronco Charlie as Old Monroe votes. + +"'"An' one for Old Monroe," remarks Ormsby when Randall votes next. + +"'This gives the deal tone to have Randall an' Old Monroe p'int out +by votin' for each other that a-way, and thar ain't one of us who +don't feel more respectable by it. + +"'It's the opinion of level-headed gents even yet, that the Plaza +Paloduro could have pulled off this 'lection an' got plumb away, an' +never had no friction, if it ain't for a Greaser from San Antonio +who tries to ring in on us. Thar's twenty-one of us has voted, an' +it stands nine for Randall an' twelve for Old Monroe; when up lopes +this yere Mexican an' allows he's locoed to vote. "'Who do you-all +think you're goin' to vote for?" asks Ormsby. + +"'"Senior Monroe," says the Mexican, p'intin' at Old Monroe. + +"'Stop this deal," yells Bronco Charlie, "'I challenges that vote. +Mexicans is barred." + +"'Which Mexicans is not barred," replies Ormsby. "An' the vote of +this yere enlightened maverick from south of the Rio Grande goes. +Thirteen for Old Monroe." + +"'Twelve for Old Monroe," remonstrates Bronco Charlie, feelin' for +his gun. + +"'Thirteen for Old Monroe," retorts Ormsby, as his Colt's comes into +action an' he busts Bronco's arm at the elbow. + +"'As his obstinacy has destroyed the further efficiency of my +colleague," goes on Ormsby, as he shakes down the ballots in the +nose-bag, "I'll now conduct these yere polls alone. Gents who +haven't voted will please come a-runnin'. As I states a moment ago, +she stands thirteen for Old Monroe." + +"'An' I says she's twelve for Old Monroe," shouts Red River Tom, +crowdin' for'ard. "'You-all can't ring in Mexicans an' snake no play +on us. This yere 'lection's goin' to be on the squar', or it's goin' +to come off in the smoke." + +"'With this, Red River, who's been sorter domineerin' at Ormsby with +his six-shooter while he's freein' his mind, slams her loose. Red +River over-shoots, an' Ormsby downs him with a bullet in his laig. + +"'Thirteen for Old Monroe," says Ormsby. + +"'But that's where the 'lection ends. Followin' the subsidence of +Red River Tom, the air is as full of lead as a bag of bullets. +Through the smoke, an' the flashes, an' the noise, you can hear +Ormsby whoopin' + +"'Thirteen for Old Monroe." + +"'You can gamble Ormsby's as squar' a 'lection jedge as any gent +could ask. You gets a play for your money with Ormsby; but he dies +the next day, so he never is 'lection jedge no more. Five gents gets +downed, an' a whole corralfull is hurt. I, myse'f, reaps some lead +in the shoulder; an' even at that I never goes nearer than the +suburbs of the fight. + +"'No; Cimmaron Pete claws off all sound, an' no new holes in him. +But as the Dallas party, who comes caperin' over with the first +shot, is layin' at the windup outside the Lone Star door, plumb +defunct, thar's an end to the root of the disorder. + +"'The 'lection itse'f is looked on as a draw. Old Monroe allows +that, all things considered, he don't regard himse'f as 'lected +none; and Randall, who a doctor is feelin' 'round in for a bullet at +the time, sends over word that he indorses Old Monroe's p'sition; +an' that as long as the Dallas sharp hits the trail after Glidden, +an' is tharby able to look after his debts himse'f, he, Randall, +holds it's no use disturbin' of a returned sereenity, an' to let +everythin' go as it lays. + +"'An' that,' concloods Texas Thompson, as he reaches for his licker, +'is what comes of an effort at law an' order in Plaza Paloduro. I +ain't over-statin' it, gents, when I says, that that 'lection leaves +me plumb gun-shy for over a year.'" + + + + +CHAPTER XL. + +A WOLFVILLE FOUNDLING. + + +"Does Jack Moore have sand? Son, is this yere query meant for humor +by you? Which for mere sand the Mohave desert is a fool to Jack." + +The Old Cattleman's face was full of an earnest, fine sincerity. It +was plain, too, that my question nettled the old fellow a bit; as +might a doubt cast at an idol. But the sharpness had passed from his +tone when he resumed + +"Not only is Jack long on sand that a-way, but he's plumb loaded +with what you-alls calls 'nitiative. Leastwise that's what one of +these yere fernologists allows, who straggles into camp an' goes to +thumbin' our bumps one day. + +"'Which this young person,' says the bumpsharp, while his fingers is +caperin' about on Jack's head, I is remarkable for his 'nitiative. +He's the sort of gent who builds his fire before he gets his wood; +an' issues more invites to drink than he receives. Which his +weakness, speakin' general, is he overplays.' + +"Which this yere bump party might have gone wrong in his wagers a +heap of times; but he shorely calls the turn on Jack when he says +he's some strong on 'nitiative. + +"An' it's this yere proneness for the prematoor, an' nacheral +willin'ness to open any pot that a-way, that makes Jack sech a slam- +up offishul. Bein' full of 'nitiative, like this fernologist states, +Jack don't idle along ontil somethin's happened. Not much; he abates +it in the bud. + +"Once when most of the outfit's over in Tucson, an' Jack is sorter +holdin' down the camp alone, a band of rustlers comes trackin' in, +allowin' they'll run Wolfville some. Which, that's where Jack's +'nitiative shows up big. He goes after 'em readily, like they's +antelope. Them hold-ups is a long majority over Jack, an' heeled; +but that Jack stands thar--right up ag'in the iron--an' he tells 'em +what he thinks an' why he thinks it for; makes his minority report +onto 'em all free, like he outnumbers 'em two to one; an' winds up +by backin' the game with his gun in a way that commands confidence. + +"'You-alls hears my remarks,' he says at the close, briefly flashin' +his six-shooters on the outfit; 'thar ain't no band of bad men in +Arizona can tree this town an' me informed. Now go slow, or I'll +jest stretch a few of you for luck. It's sech consoomin' toil, a- +diggin' of sepulchers in this yere rock-ribbed landscape, or I'd do +it anyhow.' + +"An' tharupon them rustlers, notin' Jack's got the drop on 'em, +kicks up a dense cloud of dust an is seen no more. + +"But bein' replete with sand an' 'nitiative, that a-way, don't state +all thar is good of Jack. Let any pore, he'pless party cut Jack's +trail, an' he's plumb tender. On sech times Jack's a dove; leastwise +he's a dove a whole lot. + +"One hot afternoon, Enright an' Doc Peets is away about some cattle +I reckons. Which the rest of us is noomerous enough; an' we're +sorter revolvin' 'round the post-office, a-waitin' for Old Monte an' +the stage. Yere she comes, final, a-rattlin' an' a-creakin'; that +old drunkard Monte a-poppin' of his whip, the six hosses on the +canter, an' the whole sheebang puttin' on more dog than a Mexican +officer of revenoo. When the stage draws up, Old Monte throws off +the mailbags an' the Wells-Fargo box, an' gets down an' opens the +door. But nobody emerges out. + +"'Well, I'm a coyote! ' says Monte, a heap disgusted, `wherever is +the female?' + +"Then we-alls peers into the stage an' thar's only a baby, with +mebby a ten-months' start down this vale of tears, inside; an' no +mother nor nothin' along. Jack Moore, jest as I says when I begins, +reaches in an' gets him. The baby ain't sayin' nothin', an' sorter +takes it out in smilin' on Jack; which last pleases him excessive. + +"'He knows me for a hundred dollars!' says Jack. 'I'm an Apache if +he ain't allowin' he knows me! Wherever did you get him, Monte?' + +"'Give me a drink,' says Monte, p'intin' along into the Red Light. +'This yere makes me sick.' + +"After Old Monte gets about four fingers of carnation onder his +belt, he turns in an' explains as how the mother starts along in the +stage all right enough from Tucson. The last time he sees her, so he +puts it up, is at the last station back some twenty miles in the +hills; an' he s'poses all the time later, she's inside ridin' herd +on her progeny, ontil now. + +"'I don't reckon,' says Old Monte, lookin' gloomy-like at the +infant, 'that lady is aimin' to saw this yore young-one onto the +stage company none?' + +"'Don't upset your whiskey frettin' about the company,' says Jack, +a-plantin' of the infant on the bar, while we-alls crowds in for a +look at him. `The camp'll play this hand; an' the company ain't +goin' to be in it a little bit.' + +"'I wish Enright an' Peets was yere,' says Cherokee Hall, 'to be +heard hereon; which I shore deems this a grave occasion. Yere we- +alls finds ourse'fs possessed of an onexpected child of tender +years; an' the question nacheral enough is, whatever'll we do with +it?' + +"'Let's maverick it,' says Dan Boggs, who's a mighty good man, but +onthinkful that a-way. + +"'No,' says Cherokee; 'its mother'll come hoppin' along to-morrow, +a-yellin'. This yere sot Monte has jest done drove off an' left her +some'ers up the trail; she'll come romancin' along in time.' + +"'Meanwhile,' says Jack, 'the infant's got to be took care of, to +which dooty I volunteers. Thar's a tenderfoot a-sleepin' in the room +back of the dance-hall, an' he's that 'feminate an' effeet, he's got +a shore-'nough bed an' some goose-ha'r pillers; which the same I do +yereby confiscate to public use to take care of this yearlin'. Is +the sentiment pleasin'?' + +"'Jack's scheme is right,' says Boggs; 'an' I'm present to announce +he's allers right. Let the shorthorn go sleep onder a mesquite-bush; +it'll do him good a whole lot.' + +"'I'm some doobersome of this play,' says Cherokee. 'Small infants +is mighty myster'ous people, an' no livin' gent is ever onto their +game an' able to foresee their needs. Do you-all reckon now you can +take care of this yere young-one, Jack? Be you equal to it?' + +"'Take care of a small baby like this' says Jack, plenty scornful; +'which the same ain't weighin' twenty pounds? Well, it'll be some +funny if I can't. I could break even with him if he's four times as +big. All I asks is for you-alls to stand by in crisises an' back the +play; an', that settled, you can go make side bets we-alls comes out +winners on the deal.' + +'I ain't absolootly shore,' says Dave Tutt, 'bein' some shy of +practice with infants myse'f, but jedgin' by his lookin' smooth an' +silky, I offers fifty dollars even he ain't weaned none yet.' + +"'I won't bet none on his bein' weaned complete; says Jack, 'but +I'll hang up fifty he drinks outen a bottle as easy as Old Monte! + +"'I'll go you once,' says Tutt; 'it's fifty dollars even he grows +contemptuous at a bottle, an' disdains it.' + +"Which we-alls talks it over an' decides that Jack's to nurse said +infant; after which a passel of us proceed's to make a procession +for the tenderfoot's bed, which he shorely resigns without a +struggle. We packs it back to Jack; an' Cherokee Hall an' Boggs then +goes over to the corral an' lays for a goat to milk her. This yere +goat is mighty reluctant, an' refuses to enter into the sperit of +the thing; but they swings an' rastles with her, makes their p'int +right along, an' after a frightful time comes back with'most a +dipper-full. + +"'That's all right,' says Jack, who's done camped in a room back of +the Red Light, 'now hop out an' tell the barkeep to give you a pint +bottle. We-alls has this yere game payin' div'dends in two minutes.' + +"Jack gets his bottle an' fills her up with goat's milk; an' makes a +stopper outen cotton cloth an' molasses for the infant to draw it +through. Which it's about this time the infant puts up a yell, an' +refuses peace ag'in till Jack gives him his six-shooter to play +with. + +"'Which shows my confidence in him,' says Jack. 'Thar's only a few +folks left I'll pass my gun to.' + +"Jack gets along with him first-rate, a-feedin' of him the goat's +milk, which he goes for with avidity; tharby nettin' Jack that fifty +from Dave Tutt. Boggs builds a fire so Jack keeps the milk warm. +Jack turns loose that earnest he don't even go for no grub; jest +nacherally has 'em pack it to him. + +"'We-alls'll have to stand night gyards on this yere foundlin' to- +night, I reckons?" asks Boggs of Jack, when he's bringin' Jack +things. + +"'I s'pose most likely we'll have to make a play that a-way,' says +Jack. + +"'All right,' says Boggs, tappin' his shirt with his pistol-finger; +'you-all knows me an' Cherokee. We're in on this yere any time you +says.' + +"So a band of us sorter camps along with Jack an' the infant ontil +mebby it's second-drink time at night. The infant don't raise the +war-yell once; jest takes it out in goat's milk; an' in laughin', +an' playin' with Jack's gun. + +"'Excuse me, gents,' finally says Jack, mighty dignified, 'but I've +been figgerin' this thing, an' I allows it's time to bed this yere +young-one down for the night. If you-alls will withdraw some, I'll +see how near I comes to makin' runnin' of it. Stay within whoopin' +distance, though; so if he tries to stampede or takes to millin' I +can get he'p.' + +"We-alls lines out an' leaves Jack an' the infant, an' turns in on +faro an' poker an' sim'lar devices which is bein' waged in the Red +Light. Mebby it's an hour when Jack comes in. + +"'Boggs,' he says; 's'pose you-all sets in an' plays my hand a +minute with that infant child, while I goes over an' adjourns them +frivolities in the dance-hall. It looks like this yere camp is +speshul toomultuous to-night.' + +"Boggs goes in with the infant, an' Jack proceeds to the baile house +an' states the case. + +"'I don't want to onsettle the reg'lar programme,' says Jack, 'but +this yere young-one I'm responsible for, gets that engaged in the +sounds of these yere revels, it don't look like he's goin' to sleep +none. So if you-alls will call the last waltz, an' wind her up for +to-night, it'll shorely be a he'p. The kid's mother'll be yere by +sun-up; which her advent that a-way alters the play all 'round, an' +matters then goes back to old lines.' + +"'Enough said,' says Jim Hamilton, who runs the dance-hall. 'You can +gamble this temple of mirth ain't layin' down on what's right, an' +tonight's shindig closes right yere. All promenade to the bar. We +takes a drink on the house, quits, an' calls it a day.' + +"Then Jack comes back, a heap grave with his cares, an' relieves +Boggs; who's on watch, straddled of a chair, a-eyein' of the infant, +who, a-settin' up ag'in a goose-ha'r piller, is likewise a-eyein' of +Boggs. + +"'He's a 'way up good infant, Jack,' says Boggs, givin' up his seat. + +"'You can bet your life he's a good infant,' says Jack; 'but it +shore looks like he don't aim to turn in an' slumber none. Mebby the +goat's milk is too invigeratin' for 'him, an' keeps him awake that +a-way.' + +"About another hour goes by, an' out comes Jack into the Red Light +ag'in. + +"'I ain't aimin' to disturb you-alls none,' he says, 'but, gents, if +you-alls could close these games yere, an' shet up the store, I'll +take it as a personal favor. He can hear the click of the chips, an' +it's too many for him. Don't go away; jest close up an' sorter camp +'round quiet.' + +"Which we-alls does as Jack says; closes the games, an' then sets +'round in our chairs an' keeps quiet, a-waitin' for the infant to +turn in. A half-hour later Jack appears ag'in. + +"'It ain't no use, gents,' he says, goin' back of the bar an' +gettin' a big drink; 'that child is onto us. He won't have it. You +can gamble, he's fixed it up with himse'f that he ain't goin' to +sleep none to-night. I allows it's 'cause he's among rank strangers, +an' he figgers it's a good safe play to lookout his game for +himse'f.' + +"'I wonder couldn't we sing him to sleep,' says Cherokee Hall. + +"'Nothin' ag'in a try,' says Jack, some desp'rate, wipin' his lips +after the drink. + +"'S'pose we-alls gives him "The Dyin' Ranger" an' "Sandy Land" for +an hour or so, an' see,' says Boggs. + +"In we trails. Cherokee lines up on one side of the infant, an' Jack +on t'other; an' the rest of us takes chairs an' camps 'round, We +starts in an' shore sings him all we knows; an' we keeps it up for +hours. All the time, that child is a-settin' thar, a-battin' his +eyes an' a-starin', sleepless as owls. The last I remembers is +Boggs's voice on 'Sandy Land' + +"'Great big taters on sandy land, + Get thar, Eli, if you can.' + +"The next thing I'm aware of, thar's a whoop an' a yell outside. We- +alls wakes up--all except the infant, who's wide awake all along-- +an' yere it is; four o'clock in the mornin', an' the mother has +come. Comes over on a speshul buckboard from the station where that +old inebriate, Monte, drove off an' left her. Well, son, everybody's +plumb willin' an' glad to see her. An' for that matter, splittin' +even, so's the infant." + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +THE MAN FROM YELLOWHOUSE. + + +"That's straight, son; you shorely should have seen Jack Moore," +continued the Old Cattleman, after a brief pause, as he hitched his +chair into a comfortable position; "not seein' Jack is what any gent +might call deeprivation. + +"Back in the old days," he went on, "Jack Moore, as I relates, is +kettle-tender an' does the rope work of the Stranglers. Whatever is +the Stranglers? Which you asks Borne late. I mentions this assembly +a heap frequent yeretofore. Well, some folks calls 'ern the +'vig'lance committee'; but that's long for a name, so in Wolfville +we allers allooded to 'em as `Stranglers.' This yere is brief, an' +likewise sheds some light. + +"This Jack Moore--which I'm proud to say he's my friend--I reckons +is the most pro bono publico gent in the Southwest. He's out to do +anythin' from fight to fiddle at a dance, so's it's a public play. + +"An' then his idees about his dooties is wide. He jest scouts far +an' near, an' don't pay no more heed to distance an' fatigue than a +steer does to cobwebs. + +"'A offishul," says Jack, 'who don't diffuse himse'f 'round none, +an' confines his endeavors to his own bailiwick, is reestricted an' +oneffectooal, an' couldn't keep down crime in a village of prairie- +dogs.' An' then he'd cinch on his saddle, an' mebby go curvin' off +as far north as the Flint Hills, or east to the Turkey-track. + +"That's right; when it comes to bein' active, Jack is what you might +call an all-round seelection. An' clean strain? Game as hornets. +Never knowed him to quit anythin' in his life--not even whiskey. I +says to him myse'f one time: 'Jack; whyever don't you renig on +whiskey? Looks like it's sorter gettin' behind you some, ain't it? +Some day mebby it outholds you when you can't stand to lose.' + +"'Sometimes I thinks I'll pass it up, myse'f,' says Jack, 'but don't +you know, I can't do it. I'm too sperited, that a-way, an' +chivalrous. That's whatever! I'm too chivalrous.' An' I shore +reckons he was. + +"But as for doin' his dooty! Which the same is simply relaxation to +Jack Moore. I recalls one instance speshul. One day thar comes +trailin' along into Wolfville a party from down 'round Yallerhouse +some'ers. This yere Yallerhouse gent looks disperited an' off color +as to health. But of course we-alls don't refer none to it; for +whether this stranger's sick or well is his business, not ours; +leastwise in its first stages. This yere's before Doc Peets inhabits +Wolfville or he'd informed us touchin' this party's that a-way. + +"Which the Yallerhouse gent tracks along into the Red Light, an' +tells the barkeep to set out the nose-paint. He drinks alone, not +invitin' of the pop'lace, whereby we knows for shore he's offen his +feed. + +"Well, after he corrals his forty drops, this invalid camps down in +one corner of the stage station, an' next mornin' he wakes up outen +his head an' plumb locoed. + +"'This yere Yallerhouse man,' says Dan Boggs, comin' along into the +Red Light about first-drink time the same mornin', an' speakin' +general, 'is what conserv'tive opinion might call "some sick." I +stops a minute ago an' asks him how he's stackin' up like, but it +ain't no use. He's plumb off his mental reservation, an' crazy as a +woman's watch.' + +"'Whatever do you allow is the matter of him, Boggs?' asks Old Man +Enright. + +"'Smallpox,' says Boggs, mighty confident. + +"'Smallpox!' repeats Enright; 'be you shore?' + +"'That's what I says,' answers Boggs; 'an' you can gamble my long +suit is pickin' out smallpox every time. I knows the signal smoke +like my own campfire.' + +"'Well, see yere,' says Dave Tutt, who's come in, 'I jest now rounds +up them symptoms of this Yallerhouse gent; an' talkin' of smallpox, +I offers a hundred dollars even he ain't got no smallpox. Bein' out +solely for legit'mate sport,' continues Tutt, 'an' not aimin' to +offend Boggs none, I willin'ly calls it fifty to one hundred he +ain't got nothin'.' + +"'Which I takes both bets,' says Boggs, 'an' deems 'em easy. Which +both is like robbin' a bird's-nest. Yere's the circ'latin' medium. +Thar; cover it an' file it away with the barkeep to wait results.' +So Tutt an' Boggs makes their bets mighty eager, an' the barkeep +holds the stakes. + +"As soon as it gets blown through Wolfville this Yallerhouse party +has smallpox, everybody comes canterin' over to the Red Light, gets +a drink, an' wants to hold a mass meetin' over it. By partic'lar +request Enright takes the chair an' calls 'em to order. + +"'This yere meetin',' says Enright, meanwhile beatin' with the butt +of his six-shooter on the poker-table, 'is some sudden an' +permiscus; but the objects is easy an' plain. We-alls convenes +ourse'fs to consider the physical condition of this party from +Yallerhouse, which report says is locoed an' can't talk none for +himself. To make this inquiry a success, we-alls oughter see this +Yallerhouse gent; an' as thar is fewer of him than of us, I app'ints +Jack Moore, Dan Boggs, an' Short Creek Dave, a committee, of three, +to bring him before us in a body. Pendin' the return of the +committee the meetin' will take a drink with the chair.' + +"In about no time back comes the outfit, packin' the Yallerhouse man +all easy enough in a blanket, an' spreads him out on the floor. He +looks sorter red 'round in spots, like somethin's been stingin' of +him, but it's evident, as Boggs says, he's locoed. He lays thar, +rollin' his eyes an' carryin' on to himse'f, but he don't address +the chair or offer to take no part in the meetin'. Enright quaffs +his drink all slow an' dignified, an' gazes at the Yallerhouse man +on the floor. + +"'Well, gents,' says Enright at last, settin' down his glass, an' +givin' the poker-table a little tap with his gun, 'yere's the party, +an' the question is now: "What's he got?" Do I hear any remarks?' + +"'Bein' in the lines, Mister Pres'dent,' says Boggs, 'of previous +assertion, an' for the purpose of bringin' the question squar' +before this house, I now moves you this yere Yallerhouse party has +the smallpox. I ain't aimin' herein at playin' it low on Tutt, an' +su'gests that the chair, in puttin' the question, also informs the +meetin' as to them wagers; which the money tharof is now in the war- +bags of the barkeep. I believes in givin' every gent all necessary +light wherein to make up his mind; an', as I says, to open the game +all logical, I ag'in moves this Yallerhouse man has the smallpox.' + +"'Yo tambien,' yells a Mexican over near the door. + +"'Put that Greaser out!' shouts Enright, at the same time bangin' +the table. 'This ain't no international incident at all, an' nothin' +but the clean-strain American wolf is eligible to howl.' + +"The Greaser goes out on his saddle-colored head, an' Enright puts +Boggs's motion. + +"'Every gent,' says Enright, 'in favor of this Yallerhouse man +havin' the smallpox, say "Aye"; contrary "No."' + +"Everybody shouts 'Aye!' + +"'Which the "Ayes" has it unanimous,' says Enright. 'The Yallerhouse +party has the smallpox, an' the next chicken on the parliamentary +roost is the question: "Whatever is to be done to make this yere +malady a success?" Is thar any su'gestions?' + +"'Mister Pres'dent,' says Texas Thompson, risin' in his place, 'I've +done took no hand in these proceedin's so far, through ignorance of +the purposes of this yere convocation. Said purposes bein' now for +the first time lined out all right in my mind, an' the question +bein', "What's to be done with our captive?" I asks your indulgence. +My first idee is that our dooty an' our path is plain; the same +bein' simply to take a lariat an' hang this Yallerhouse person to +the dance-hall windmill; but this course, on second thought, seems +prematoor an' the offsprings of nacheral impulse. Still, somethin' +must be done; an' while my mind is by no means cl'ar, I su'gests we +turn the gent over to Jack Moore, which is the marshal hereof, to +ride herd on him till further orders; an' I makes a motion to that +effect.' + +"'Seconds the motion!' says Short Creek Dave. + +"'You don't have to put that motion, Mister Pres'dent,' says Jack; +'I've been cirelin' the idee some myse'f, an' I reckons it's my +dooty to take charge of this Yallerhouse gent. You can bet anythin' +which gets sawed onto me as my dooty goes, an' don't make no doubt +about it. Yere's how I trails out on this: If it ain't my dooty to +take care of this person, whose dooty is it? 'Tain't nobody's. +Tharfore I plays the hand.' + +"'Which the same bein' eminent satisfactory,' says Dave Tutt, +risin', as if he thinks of somethin' speshul, 'I now inquires +whether this yere is held decisive of them bets I makes with Boggs. +I holdin', meanwhile, contrary views emphatic.' + +"'This bein' a question of priv'lege,' says Enright, 'the chair will +answer it. These proceedin's decides your bets with Boggs, an' the +barkeep pays Boggs the dinero. This is a gov'ment of the people, for +the people, by the people, an' founded on a vox populi bluff. The +voice of the majority goes. You tharfore lose your bets to Boggs; +drinks on Boggs, of course. Thar is another matter,' continues +Enright, 'a bet we overlooks. Takin' care of this Yallerhouse gent +will cost a stack or two, an' means must be provided. I tharfore +makes as an order that yereafter thar's to be a rake on tens-up or +better, showed, to make a fund to back this play; said rake to go +ontil Mister Moore reports said Yallerhouse gent as safe or ceased +to be.' + +"Jack takes this Yallerhouse party over to the calaboose an' lays +him away on some blankets. The calaboose is dry, an' what you-alls +might call, commodious. It's a slam-up camp; yes indeed! Never has +but Steve Stevenson in it. Puts Steve in one night when he's dead- +drunk. The calaboose is new then, an' we-alls is that proud an' +anxious to try it an' put it to some use, we couldn't resist, so in +Steve goes. + +"About four hours later Steve comes back up to the Red Light, +hotter'n a burnt boot. Seems like he comes to, an' is that outraged +an' indignant about bein' corralled that a-way, he busts the corner +outen the calaboose an' issues forth a whole lot to find who does +it. + +"When he comes into the Red Light he revives himse'f with a drink, +an' then inquires whether it's humorous, or do we mean it? Seein' +how speshul low Steve takes it, we-alls allows it's a joke; an' +Steve, while he evident feels some fretted, concloods to let it go +at that. + +"But on account of the hole through which Steve emerges, an' which +he makes liberal an' big, the calaboose is a mighty commodious +place. So Jack beds down the Yallerhouse man all right an' starts in +to bringin' him through. The rest of us don't crowd 'round none to +watch the play, don't hover over it that a-way, 'cause we ain't +aimin' to acquire nothin' ourse'fs. + +"Jack has a heap of trouble an' worry. Never sees no smallpox do +you? Folks locoed most usual,--clean off up in the air an' pitchin' +on their ropes. Of course the Yallerhouse gent has all he needs. +That rake on tens-up them days would have took care of a fam'ly. But +he keeps Jack herdin' him all the time. Otherwise, not bein' +watched, an' crazy that a-way, he's liable to come stampedin' over +to the Red Light, or some'ers else, any time, an' skeer us up some. + +"'He's a world-beater,' says Jack one day, when he comes over for a +drink. 'He's shorely four kings an' an ace. You can't ride him with +buckin'-straps an' a Spanish bit. It's got so now--his disease bein' +at a crisis like--that I simply has to be with this Yallerhouse +party day an' night. He'd shorely lay waste this camp if I didn't.' + +"At last the Yallerhouse party an' Jack somehow beats the smallpox, +but Yallerhouse comes out shy an eye. The smallpox gouges it out one +of them times when Jack ain't lookin' out his game sharp. It's his +pistol eye, too; which makes him feel the loss more keen, an' +creates general sympathy. The Yallerhouse man gets some morose over +it, which ain't, after all, onnacheral. A gent ain't got so many +eyes he can afford to go short one on every little game he plays. So +he finds fault with Jack a lot, an' allows if he has him back in the +States he'd sue him for neglect of dooty. + +"'Which, I shorely likes that!' says Jack to the Yallerhouse party, +gettin' peevish over his fault-findin'. 'Don't you know it's merely +owin' to the mercy of hell an' my watchful care, you-all ain't +bustin' your harp-strings an' raisin' all round discord among the +heavenly hosts on high right now, instead of bein' safe an' well +yere in Wolfville? You don't act like a gent who saveys when he +makes a winnin'. S'pose you be an eye out; you're still lookin' at +things terrestrial with the other. You talks of gross neglect of +dooty! Now let me inform you of somethin': You come pesterin' 'round +me some more an' I'll bend a gun over your head.' + +"'Which if it ain't my six-shooter eye which's out,' says the +Yallerhouse party, mighty ugly, 'do you know what I'd do? Well, this +yere would be the basis of a first-class gun-play. You can gamble +thar wouldn't be no jim-crow marshal go pirootin' 'round, losin' no +eye of mine an' gettin' away with it, an' then talk of bendin' guns +on me; none whatever.' + +"But it all preys on Jack. An' a-seein' of this Yallerhouse gent +'round camp a-lookin' at him in a fault-findin' way outen his one +eye sorter aggravates Jack like it's a nightmare. + +"'I wouldn't mind it so much,' says Jack to me, confidential, 'if +this Yallerhouse gent quits a laig or an arm behind, 'cause in which +event we pieces him out with wood, easy. But about eyes, it's +different. An eye out is an eye out; an' that settles it.' + +"One day Jack can't b'ar it no longer, an', resolvin' to end it, he +walks up to the Yallerhouse party in the Red Light, all brisk an' +brief. + +"'It's a rough deal on a one-eyed gent,' says Jack, 'an' I shore +asks pardon an' states regrets in advance. But things has got to a +show-down. I'm slowly becomin' onfit for public dooty. Now yere's an +offer, an' you can have either end. You-all can get a hoss an' a +hundred dollars of me, an' pull your freight; or you can fix +yourse'f with a gun an' have a mighty stirrin' an' eventful time +with me right yere. As an outcome of the last, the public will have +one of us to plant, an' mebby a vacancy to fill in the post of +kettle-tender. Which is it, an' what do you say?' + +"'What for a hoss is she?' asked the Yallerhouse party. + +"'Which she's a pinto,' says Jack; 'as excellent a paint pony as +ever is roped.' + +"'Does this yere threat you-all makes incloode a saddle an' spurs?' +asks the Yallerhouse party. + +"'It shorely does,' replies Jack. 'Is it a go?' + +"'Well,' says the Yallerhouse man, after ponderin' it up one way an' +down the other, 'this idee of settlin' for eyes for a hoss an' a +hundred dollars is far from bein' usual with me. If I has my eye +ag'in, I'd shorely stay an' shoot it out, an' admire to be present. +But now sech thoughts is vanity. So round up your money an' your +pony at the Red Light in fifteen minutes by the watch, an' as soon +as I gets a bottle filled I'm ready to go. I shorely should not +regret leavin' an' outfit which puts folks in jail for bein' sick, +an' connives by reckless an' criminal neglect of dooty at their +bein' blinded for life.'" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +JACKS UP ON EIGHTS. + + +"No; you can hazard your wealth a lot, thar's no sooperstition +lurkin' 'round in me or my environs; none whatever. I attaches no +importance to what you-all calls omens." + +Somebody had undertaken a disquisition on dreams, and attempted to +cite instances where the future had been indicated in these hazy +visions of our sleep. This had served to turn the Old Cattleman's +train of thought upon the weird. + +"Thar's signs, of course, to which I'd shorely bow, not to say pay +absorbin' heed. If some gent with whom I chooses to differ touchin' +some matter that's a heap relevant at the time, ups an' reaches for +his gun abrupt, it fills me full of preemonitions that the near +future is mighty liable to become loaded with lead an' interest for +me. Now thar's an omen I don't discount. But after all I ain't +consentin' to call them apprehensions of mine the froot of no +sooperstition, neither. I'm merely chary; that's all. + +"It's Cherokee Hall who is what I onhesitatin'ly describes as +sooperstitious. Cherokee is afflicted by more signs an' omens in +carryin' on his business than an almanac. It's a way kyardsharps +gets into, I reckons; sorter grows outen their trade. Leastwise I +never creeps up on one yet who ain't bein' guided by all sorts of +miracles an' warnin's that a-way. An' sometimes it does look like +they acquires a p'inter that comes to 'em on straight lines. As +'llustratin' this yere last, it returns to me some vivid how +Cherokee an' Boggs gets to prophesyin' one day, an' how they calls +off the play between 'em so plumb c'rrect that a-way, it's more than +amazin'; it's sinister. + +"It's a hot August day, this occasion I has in mind, an' while not +possessin' one of them heat-gauges to say ackerate, I'm allowin' +it's ridin' hard on sech weather as this. A band of us is at the +post-office a-wrastlin' our letters, when in trails Cherokee Hall +lookin' some moody, an' sets himse'f down on a box. + +"'Which you-all no doubt allows you'll take some missives yourse'f +this mornin',' says Doc Peets, a-noticin' of his gloom, an' aimin' +to p'int his idees up some other trail. Doc, himse'f, is feelin' +some gala. 'Pass over them documents for Cherokee Hall, an' don't +hold out nothin' onto us. We-alls is 'way too peevish to stand any +offishul gaieties to-day.' + +"'Thar's no one weak-minded 'nough to write to me none,' says +Cherokee. `Which I remarks this yere phenomenon with pleasure. Mail- +bags packs more grief than joy, an' I ain't honin' for no hand in +the game whatever. It's fifteen years since I buys a stamp or gets a +letter, an' all thirst tharfor is assuaged complete.' + +"'Fifteen years is shore a long time,' says Enright, sorter to +himse'f, an' then we-alls hops into our letters ag'in. Finally +Cherokee breaks in once more. + +"` I ain't aimin' to invest Wolfville in no sooperstitious fears,' +says Cherokee, 'an' I merely chronicles as a current event how I was +settin' into a little poker last night, an' three times straight I +picks up "the hand the dead man held," jacks up on eights, an' it +wins every time.' + +"`Who lose to it?' asks Dan Boggs. + +"'Why,' says Cherokee, 'it's every time that old longhorn as comes +in from Tucson back some two weeks ago.' + +"'That settles it,' says Boggs, mighty decided. 'You can bet your +saddle an' throw the pony in, Death is fixin' his sights for him +right now. It's shorely a warnin', an' I'm plumb glad it ain't none +of the boys; that's all.' + +"You see this yere stranger who Cherokee alloods at comes over from +Tucson a little while before. He has long white ha'r an' beard, an', +jedgin' from the rings on his horns, he's mebby a-comin' sixty. He +seems like he's plenty of money, an' we takes it he's all right. His +leavin' Tucson shows he has sense, so we cashes him in at his +figger. Of course we-alls never asks his name none, as askin' names +an' lookin' at the brands on a pony is speshul roode in the West, +an' shows your bringin' up; but he allows he's called 'Old Bill +Gentry ' to the boys, an' he an' Faro Nell's partic'lar friendly. + +"'Talkin' to him,' says Nell, ' is like layin' in the shade. He +knows everythin', too; all about books an' things all over the +world. He was a-tellin' me, too, as how he had a daughter like me +that died 'way back some'ers about when I was a yearlin'. He feels a +heap bad about it yet, an' I gets so sorry for him; so old an' +white-ha'red.' + +"'An' you can gamble,' says Dave Tutt, 'if Nell likes him, he's all +right.' + +"'If Nell likes him, that makes him all right,' says Cherokee. + +"We-alls is still talkin' an' readin over our mail in the post- +office, when all at once we hears Jack Moore outside. + +"'What's this yere literatoor as affronts my eyes, pasted onto the +outside of Uncle Sam's wickeyup?' says Jack, mighty truculent. We. +alls goes out, an' thar, shore-'nough, is a notice offerin' fifteen +hundred dollars reward for some sharp who's been a-standin' up the +stage over towards Prescott. + +"'Whoever tacks this up? I wonder,' says Enright. `It never is yere +ten minutes ago.' + +"'Well, jest you-all hover 'round an' watch the glory of its comin' +down,' says Jack, a-cuttin' of it loose with his bowie, an' tearin' +it up. 'I yerewith furnishes the information cold, this camp of +Wolfville knows its business an' don't have to be notified of +nothin'. This yere outfit has a vig'lance committee all reg'lar, +which I'm kettle-tender tharfor, an' when it comes nacheral to +announce some notice to the public, you-alls will perceive me a- +pervadin' of the scenery on a hoss an' promulgatin' of said notice +viver voce. Am I right, Enright?' + +"'Right as preachin', Jack,' says Enright. 'You speaks trooth like a +runnin' brook.' + +"'But whoever sticks that notice?--that's the information I pants +for,' says Boggs, pickin' up an' readin' of the piece. "'I reckons I +posts that notice some myse'f,' says a big, squar'-built gent we- +alls don't know, an' who comes in the other mornin' with Old Monte +on the stage. As he says this he's sa'nterin' about the suburbs of +the crowd, listenin' to the talk. + +"'Well, don't do it no more, partner,' says Jack, mighty grave. 'As +a commoonity Wolfville's no doubt 'way wrong, but we-alls has our +prides an' our own pecooliar little notions, that a-way, about what +looks good; so, after now, don't alter the landscape none 'round +yere till you c'lects our views.' + +"'I'm offerin' even money, postin' notices don't hurt this yere camp +a little bit,' says the stranger. + +"'Comin' right to cases,' says Enright, 'it don't hurt none, but it +grates a whole lot. The idee of a mere stranger a-strollin' in an' +a-pastin' up of notices, like he's standin' a pat hand on what he +knows an' we not in it, is a heap onpleasant. So don't do it no +more.' + +"'Which I don't aim to do it no more,' says the squar'-built gent, +'but I still clings to my idee that notices ain't no set-back to +this camp.' + +"'The same bein' a mere theery,' says Doc Peets, 'personal to +yourse'f, I holds it would be onp'lite to discuss it; so let's all +wheel onder cover for a drink.' + +"At this we-alls lines up on the Red Light bar an' nacherally drinks +ends the talk, as they allers ought. + +"Along towards sundown we-alls gets some cooler, an' by second-drink +time in the evenin' every one is movin' about, an', as it happens, +quite a band is in the Red Light; some drinkin' an' exchangin' of +views, an' some buckin' the various games which is goin' wide open +all 'round. Cherokee's settin' behind his box, an' Faro Nell is up +at his shoulder on the lookout stool. The game's goin' plenty lively +when along comes Old Gentry. Cherokee takes a glance at him an' +seems worried a little, reflectin', no doubt, of them 'hands the +dead man held,' but he goes on dealin' without a word. + +"'Where's you-all done been all day?' says Nell to the old man. 'I +ain't seen you none whatever since yesterday.' + +"'Why, I gets tired an' done up a lot, settin ag'inst Cherokee last +night,' says the old man, 'an' so I prowls down in my blankets an' +sleeps some till about an hour ago.' + +"The old man buys a stack of blues an' sets 'em on the ten. It's +jest then in comes the squar'-built gent, who's been postin' of the +notice former, an' p'ints a six-shooter at Gentry an' says + +"'Put your hands up! put 'em up quick or I'll drill you! Old as you +be, I don't take no chances.' + +"'At the first word Nell comes off her stool like a small landslide, +while Cherokee brings a gun into play on the instant. The old man's +up even with the proceedin's, too; an' stands thar, his gun in his +hand, his eyes a-glitterin' an' his white beard a-curlin' like a +cat's. He's clean strain. + +"'Let me get a word in, gents,' says Cherokee, plenty ca'm, 'an' +don't no one set in his stack on. less he's got a hand. I does +business yere my way, an' I'm due to down the first hold-up who +shoots across any layout of mine. Don't make no mistake, or the next +census'll be shy, shore.' + +"'What be you-alls aimin' to cel'brate anyhow?' says Jack Moore, +gettin' the squar'-built gent's gun while Boggs corrals Gentry's. ' +Who's Wolfville entertainin' yere, I'd like for to know?' + +"'I'm a Wells-Fargo detective,' says the squar'-built gent, 'an' +this yere,' p'intin' to Old Gentry, 'is Jim Yates, the biggest hold- +up an' stage-robber between hell an' 'Frisco. That old tarrapin'll +stop a stage like a young-one would a clock, merely to see what's +into it. He's the party I'm pastin' up the notice for this mornin." + +"'He's a liar!' says the old man, a-gettin' uglier every minute. +`Give us our six-shooters an throw us loose, an' if I don't lance +the roof of his lyin' mouth with the front sight of my gun, I'll +cash in for a hold-up or whatever else you-alls says.' + +"'What do you say, Enright?' says Jack. 'Let's give 'em their +jewelry an' let 'em lope. I've got money as says the Wells-Fargo +bill-paster can't take this old' Cimmaron a little bit.' + +"'Which I trails in,' says Boggs, 'with a few chips on the same +kyard.' + +"'No,' says Enright, 'if this yere party's rustlin' the mails, we- +alls can't call his hand too quick. Wolfville's a straight camp an' +don't back no crim'nal plays; none whatever.' + +"Enright tharupon calls a meetin' of the Stranglers, an' we-alls +lines out for the New York Store to talk it over. Before we done +pow-wows two minutes up comes Old Monte, with the stage, all dust +an' cuss-words, an' allows he's been stood up out by the cow springs +six hours before, an' is behind the mail-bag an' the Adams Company's +box on the deal. We-alls looks at Old Man Gentry, an' he shorely +seems to cripple down. "'Gentry,' says Peets, after Old Monte tells +his adventures, 'I hears you tell Nell you was sleepin' all day. +S'pose you takes this yere committee to your budwer an' exhibits to +us how it looks some.' + +"'The turn's ag'in me,' says the old man, 'an' I lose. I'll cut it +short for you-alls. I holds up that stage this afternoon myse'f.' + +"'This yere's straight goods, I takes it,' says Enright, 'an' our +dooty is plain. Go over to the corral an' get a lariat, Jack.' + +"'Don't let Enright hang the old man, Cherokee,' says Nell, +beginnin' to weep a whole lot. 'Please don't let 'em hang him.' + +"'This holdin' a gun on your friends ain't no picnic,' whispers +Cherokee to Nell, an' flushin' up an' then turnin' pale, 'but your +word goes with me, Nell.' Then Cherokee thinks a minute. 'Now, this +yere is the way we does,' he says at last. 'I'll make 'em a long +talk. You-all run over to the corral an' bring the best hoss you +sees saddled. I'll be talkin' when you comes back, an' you creep up +an' whisper to the old man to make a jump for the pony while I +covers the deal with my six-shooter. It's playin' it low on Enright +an' Doc Peets an' the rest, but I'll do it for you, Nell. It all +comes from them jacks up on eights.' + +"With this, Cherokee tells Nell 'good-by,' an' squar's himse'f. He +begins to talk, an' Nell makes a quiet little break for the corral. + +"But no hoss is ever needed. Cherokee don't talk a minute when Old +Gentry comes buckin' offen his chair in a 'pleptic fit. A 'pleptic +fit is permiscus an' tryin', an' when Old Gentry gets through an' +comes to himse'f, he's camped jest this side of the dead line. He +can only whisper. + +"'Come yere,' says he, motionin' to Cherokee. 'Thar's a stack of +blues where I sets 'em on the ten open, which you ain't turned for +none yet: Take all I has besides an' put with it. If it lose, it's +yours; if it win, give it to the little girl.' + +"This is all Old Gentry says, an' he cashes in the very next second +on the list. + +"Enright goes through'em, an' thar's over two thousand dollars in +his war-bags; an', obeyin' them last behests, we-alls goes over to +the Red Light an' puts it on the ten along of the stack of blues. +It's over the limit, but Cherokee proceeds with the deal, an' when +it comes I'm blessed if the ten ain't loser an' Cherokee gets it +all. + +"'But I won't win none ag'in a dead man; says Cherokee. An' he gives +it to Nell, who ain't sooperstitious. + +"'Do you-alls b'ar in mind,' says Boggs, as we takes a drink later, +'how I foresees this yere racket the minute I hears Cherokee a- +tellin' about his "Jacks up on eights"--the "hand the dead man +holds?"'" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +THE RIVAL DANCE-HALLS. + + +It was sweet and cool after the rain, and the Old Cattleman and I, +moved by an admiration for the open air which was mutual, found +ourselves together on the porch. + +As in part recompense for his reminiscences of the several days +before, I regaled my old friend with the history of a bank-failure, +the details as well as the causes of which were just then forcing +themselves upon me in the guise of business. + +"The fact is," I said, as I came to the end of my story, "the fact +is, the true cause of this bank's downfall was a rivalry--what one +might call a business feud--which grew into being between it and a +similar institution which had opened as its neighbor. In the +competition which fell out they fairly cut each other's throat. They +both failed." + +"An' I takes it," remarked the Old Cattleman in comment, "one of +these yere trade dooels that a-way goes on vindictive an' +remorseless, same as if it's a personal fight between cow-folks over +cattle." + +"Quite right," I said. "Money is often more cruel than men; and a +business vendetta is frequently mere murder without the incident of +blood. I don't suppose the life of your Arizona town would show +these trade wars. It would take Eastern--that is, older--conditions, +to provoke and carry one on." + +"No," replied the old gentleman, with an air of retrospection, "I +don't recall nothin' of the sort in Wolfville. We're too much in a +huddle, anyway; thar ain't room for no sech fracas, no how. Now the +nearest we-alls comes to anythin' of the kind is when the new dance- +hall starts that time. + +"Which I reckons," continued the Old Cattle. man, as he began +arranging a smoke, "which I now reckons this yere is the only +catyclism in trade Wolfville suffers; the only time it comes to what +you-all Eastern sports would call a showdown in commerce. Of course +thar's the laundry war, but that's between females an' don't count. +Females--while it's no sorter doubt they's the noblest an' most +exhilaratin' work of their Redeemer--is nervous that a-way, an' due +any time to let their ha'r down their backs, emit a screech, an' +claw an' lay for each other for luck. An', as I says, if you +confines the festivities to them females engaged, an' prevents the +men standin' in on the play, it's shore to wind up in sobs an' +forgiveness, an' tharfore it don't go. + +"As I says, what I now relates is the only industrial trouble I +recalls in Wolfville. I allers remembers it, 'cause, bein' as how I +knows the party who's the aggravatin' cause tharof, it mortifies me +the way he jumps into camp an' carries on. + +"When I sees him first is ages before, when I freights with eight +mules over the Old Fort Bascome trail from Vegas to the Panhandle. +This sharp--which he's a tenderfoot at the time, but plumb wolf by +nacher-trails up to me in the Early Rose Saloon in Vegas one day, +an' allows he'd like to make a deal an' go projectin' over into the +Panhandle country with me for a trip. "Freightin' that a-way three +weeks alone on the trail is some harrowin' to the sperits of a gent +who loves company like me, so I agrees, an' no delay to it. + +"Which I'm yere to mention I regrets later I'm that easy I takes +this person along. Not that he turns hostile, but he's allers havin' +adventures, an' things keeps happenin' to him; an' final, I thinks +he's shorely dead an' gone complete--the same, as I afterward +learns, bein' error; an', takin' it up one trail an' down another, +that trip breaks me offen foolin' with shorthorns complete, an' I +don't go near 'em for years, more'n if they's stingin' lizards. + +"Whatever does this yere maverick do to me? Well, nothin' much to me +personal; but he keeps a-breedin' of events which pesters me. + +"We're out about four days when them mishaps begins. I camps over +one sun on the Concha to rest my mules. I'm loaded some heavy with +six thousand pounds in the lead, an' mebby four thousand pounds in +the trail wagon; an' I stops a day to give my stock a chance to roll +an' breathe an' brace up. My off-wheel mule--a reg'lar shave-tail-- +is bad med'cine. Which he's not only eager to kick towerists an' +others he takes a notion ag'inst; but he's likewise what you-alls +calls a kleptomaniac, an' is out to steal an' sim'lar low-down +plays. + +"I warns this yere tenderfoot--his name's Smith, but I pulls on him +when conversin' as 'Colonel'--I warns this shorthorn not to fuss +'round my Jerry mule, bein', as I states, a mule whose mood is +ornery. + +"'Don't go near him, Colonel,' says I; 'an' partic'lar don't go +crowdin' 'round to get no r'ar views of him. You-all has no idee of +the radius of that mule; what you might call his sweep. You never +will till he's kicked you once or twice, an' the information ain't +worth no sech price. So I don't reckon I'd fool with him, none +whatever. + +"'An' speshul, Colonel,' I goes on, for I shore aims to do my dooty +by him, 'don't lay nothin' 'round loose where this yere Jerry mule +can grab it off. I'm the last freighter on the Plains to go +slanderin' an' detractin' of a pore he'pless mule onless it's +straight; but if you-all takes to leavin' keepsakes an' mementoes +layin' about casooal an' careless that a-way, Jerry'll eat 'em; an' +the first you saveys your keepsakes is within Jerry's interior, an' +thar you be. + +"'The fact is, stranger, this Jerry mule's a thief,' I says. 'If +he's a human, Jerry would be lynched. But otherwise he's a sincere, +earnest mule; an up hill or at a quicksand crossin' Jerry goes into +his collar like a lion; so I forgives him bein' a thief an' allows +it's a peccadillo." + +"'Well, you bet!' says this tenderfoot Colonel, 'this yere Jerry +better not come no peccadillos on me.' + +"'If you-all maintains about twenty feet,' I replies, 'between +Jerry's hind-Hocks an' you; an' if you keeps your bric-a-brac in +your war-bags, you an' Jerry'll get along like lambs. Now, I warns +you, an' that's got to do. If Jerry an' you gets tangled up +yereafter you-all ain't goin' to harbor no revenges ag'in him, nor +make no ranikaboo plays to get even.' + +"As I states, I'm camped on the Concha, an` the Colonel, who's +allers out to try experiments an' new deals, puts it up he'll go +down to the river an' take a swim. Tharupon he lines out for the +water. + +"Jerry's hangin' about camp--for he's sorter a pet mule--allowin' +mebby I submits a ham-rind or some sech delicacy to him to chew on; +an' he hears the Colonel su'gest he'll swim some. So when the +Colonel p'ints for the Concha, Jerry sa'nters along after, +figgerin', mighty likely, as how he'll pass the hour a-watchin' the +Colonel swim. + +"I'm busy on flapjacks at the time--which flapjacks is shore good +food--an' I don't observe nothln' of Jerry nor the Colonel neither. +They's away half an hour when I overhears ejac'lations, though I +can't make out no words. I don't have to get caught in no landslide +to tumble to a game, an' I'm aware at once that Jerry an' the +Colonel has got their destinies mixed. + +"Nacherally, I goes over to the held of strife, aimin' to save +Jerry, or save the Colonel, whichever has the other down. When I +bursts on the scene, the Colonel starts for me, splutterin' an' +makin' noises an' p'intin' at Jerry, who stands thar with an air of +innocence. The Colonel's upper lip hangs down queer, like an ant- +eater's, an' he can't talk. It's all mighty amazin'. + +"'What's all this toomult about?' I says. + +"The short of the riot is this: The Colonel goes in for a swim, an' +he lays out his false teeth that a-way on a stone. When he comes for +his teeth they's shorely gone, an' thar stands Jerry puttin' it on +he's asleep. Them teeth is filed away in Jerry. + +"Which the Colonel raves 'round frightful, an' wants to kill Jerry +an' amputate him, an' scout for the teeth. But I won't have it. I'm +goin' to need Jerry down further on the quicksand fords of the +Canadian; an', as I explains, them teeth is a wreck by now, an' no +good if he get's 'em ag'in; Jerry munchin' of his food powerful. + +"After a while I rounds up the Colonel an' herds him back to camp. +Jerry has shore sawed off a sore affliction on that tenderfoot when +he takes in them teeth; I can see that. His lip hangs like a +blacksmith's apron, an' he can't talk a little bit; jest makes signs +or motions, like he's Injun or deef. + +"It's mebby two weeks later when Jerry gets another shot at the +Colonel. It's the evenin' after the night Jerry sneaks into camp, +soft-foot as a coyote, noses open the grub-box, an' eats five +bottles of whiskey; all we has. We've pitched camp, an' I've hobbled +this Jerry mule an' his mate--the other wheeler--an' throwed 'em +loose, an' is busy hobblin' my nigh-swing mule, when trouble begins +fomentin' between my tenderfoot an' Jerry. + +"The fact is it's done fomented. This Colonel, bein' some heated +about that whiskey, an' plumb sore on Jerry on account of them +teeth, allows to himse'f he'll take a trace-chain an' warp Jerry +once for luck. + +"If this yere tenderfoot had been free with me, an' invited me into +his confidence touchin' his designs, I'd took a lariat an' roped an' +throwed Jerry for him, an' tied the felon down, an' let the Colonel +wallop him an hour or so: but the Colonel's full of variety that a- +way, or mebby he thinks I'll side with Jerry. Anyhow, he selects a +trace-chain, an', without sayin' a word, dances all cautious towards +his prey. Which this is relaxation for Jerry. + +[drawing of Jerry kicking the Colonel with caption: "That he'pless +shorthorn stops both heels.] + +"While that Colonel tenderfoot is a rod away, Jerry turns his tail +some sudden in his direction, an' the next instant that he'pless +shorthorn stops both heels some'ers about the second button of his +shirt. That settles it; the Colonel's an invalid immediate. I +shorely has a time with him that night. + +"The next day he can't walk, an' he can't ride in the wagon 'cause +of the jolts. It all touches my heart, an' at last I ups an' make a +hammock outen a Navajo blanket, which is good an' strong, an' swings +the Colonel to the reach of the trail wagon. + +"It's mostly a good scheme. Where the ground's level the Colonel +comes on all right; but now an' then, when a wheel slumps into a +rut, the Colonel can't he'p none but smite the ground where he's the +lowest, an' it all draws groans an' laments from him a heap. + +"One time, when the Colonel's agony makes him groan speshul strong, +I sees Jerry bat his eyes like he enjoys it; an' then Jerry mentions +somethin' to his mate over the chain. We're trottin' along the trail +at the time, an', bein' he's the nigh-wheeler--which is the saddle- +mule of a team--I'm ridin' Jerry's compadre, an' when I notes how +Jerry is that joyous about it I reaches across an' belts him some +abrupt between the y'ears with the butt of a shot-filled black- +snake. It rather lets the whey outen Jerry's glee, an' he don't get +so much bliss from that tenderfoot's misfortunes as he did. + +"It goes along all right ontil I swings down to the crossin' of the +Canadian. It's about fourth-drink time in the afternoon, an' I'm +allowin' to ford the Canadian that evenin' an' camp on t'other side. +The river is high an' rapid from rain some'ers back on its head +waters, an' it's wide an' ugly. It ain't more'n four foot deep, but +the bottom is quicksand, an' that false, if I lets my wagons stop +ten seconds anywhere between bank an' bank, I'm goin' to be shy +wagons at the close. I'll be lucky if I win out the mules. It's +shore a hard, swift crossin'. + +"I swings down, as I says, to the river's aige with my mind filled +up about the rush I've got to make. It's go through on the run or +bog down. First I settles in my saddle, gives the outfit the word, +an' then, pourin' the whip into the two leaders, I sends the whole +eight into the water on the jump. The river is runnin' like a scared +wolf, an' the little lead mules hardly touches bottom. + +"As the trail wagon takes the water, an' the two leaders is plumb in +to the y'ears, a howl develops to the r'ar. It's my pore tenderfoot +in his hammock onder the trail wagon. He shrieks as the water gets +to him; an' it all hits me like a bullet, for I plumb overlooks him, +thinkin' of that quicksand crossin'. + +"It's shore too late now; I'm in, an' I can't stop. To make things +more complex, as the water cuts off the tenderfoot's yell like +puffin' out a candle, a little old black mule, which is my off- +p'inter, loses his feet an' goes down. I pours the leather into the +team the harder, an' the others soars into their collars an' drug my +black p'inter with 'em; only he's onder water. Of course I allows +both the black p'inter an' the Colonel's shorely due to drown a +whole lot. + +"We gets across, the seven other mules an' me; an' the second he's +skated out on the sand on his side, the drowned mule gets up an' +sings as triumphant as I ever hears. Swimmin' onder the river don't +wear on him a bit. + +"Then I goes scoutin' for the Colonel, but he's vanished complete. +Nacherally, I takes him for a dead-an'-gone gent; an' figgers if +some eddy or counter-current don't get him, or he don't go aground +on no sand-bar, his fellow-men will fish him out some'ers between me +an' New Orleans, an' plant him an' hold services over him. + +"Bein' as I can't be of no use where it's a clean-sweep play like +this, I dismisses the Colonel from my mind. After hobblin' an' +throwin' loose my team, I lugs out the grub-box all sorrowful an' +goes into camp. + +"Which I should allers have played the Colonel for dead, if it ain't +that years later he one day comes wanderin' into Wolfville. He ain't +tender now; he's as hard as moss-agates, an' as worthless. + +"I renews my acquaintance with him, an' he tells how he gets outen +the Canadian that day; but beyond that we consoomes a drink or two +together, I rather passes him up. Thar's a heap about him I don't +take to. + +"The Colonel lays 'round Wolfville mebby it's a week, peerin' an' +spyin' about. He says he's lookin' for an openin'. An' I reckons he +is, for at the end of a week he slaps up a joint outen tent-cloth +an' fence-boards, an' opens a dance-hall squar' ag'inst Jim +Hamilton's which is already thar. + +"This yere alone is likely to brood an' hatch trouble; but, as if +takin' a straight header into Hamilton's game ain't enough, this +Colonel of mine don't get no pianer; don't round-up no music of his +own; but stands pat an' pulls off reels, an' quadrilles, an' green- +corn dances to Hamilton's music goin' on next door. + +"I'm through the Lincoln County war, an' has been romancin' about +the frontier for years; but I never tracks up on no sech outrage in +my life as this disgraceful Colonel openin' a hurdy-gurdy ag'in +Hamilton's, an' maverickin' his music that a-way, an' dancin' +tharunto. + +"It's the second night, an' Hamilton concloods he'll see about it +some. He comes into the Colonel's joint, ca'm an' considerate, an' +gives it out thar's goin' to be trouble if the Colonel don't close +his game or play in his own fiddlers. + +"'Which if you-all don't close your game or hunt out your own +music,' says Hamilton, 'I'm mighty likely to get my six-shooter an' +close it for you.' + +"'See yere,' says my Colonel--which he's shore been learnin' since I +parts with him on the Canadian--'the first hold-up who comes foolin' +'round to break up a baile of mine, I'll shorely make him hard to +find. What business you got fillin' up my place with your melodies? +You rolls your tunes in yere like you owns the ranch; an' then you +comes curvin' over an' talks of a gun-play 'cause, instead of layin' +for you for that you disturbs my peace with them harmonies, I'm that +good-nachered I yields the p'int an' dances to 'em. You-all pull +your freight,' says the Colonel, 'or I'll fill you full of lead.' + +"This argument of the Colonel's dazzles Hamilton to that degree he +don't know whether he's got the high hand or not. He thinks a +minute, an' then p'ints over to the Red Light for Enright an' Doc +Peets. As he leaves the rival dance-hall, the Colonel, who's callin' +off his dances, turns to the quadrille, which is pausin pendin' the +dispoote, an' shouts: + +"'You bet I knows my business! Right hand to your partner; grand +right an' left!' + +"When Hamilton turns away they's shore makin' things rock an' +tremble; an' all to the strains of 'The Arkansaw Traveller,' which +is bein' evolved next door at Hamilton's expense. + +"Which somethin's goin' to pop; says Hamilton, mighty ugly to +Enright an' the rest of us, as he pours a drink into his neck. 'I +allows in the interests of peace that I canters over an' sees you- +alls first. I ain't out to shake up Wolfville, nor give Red Dog a +chance to criticise us none as a disorderly camp; but I asks you +gents, as citizens an' members of the vig'lance committee, whether +I'm to stand an' let this yere sharp round-up my music to hold his +revels by, an' put it all over me nightly?' + +"'I don't see no difference,' says Dan Boggs, 'between this convict +a-stealin' of Hamilton's music, than if he goes an' stands up Old +Monte an' the stage.' + +"'The same bein' my idee exact,' says Texas Thompson. 'Yere's +Hamilton caterin' to this camp with a dance-hall. It's a public good +thing. If a gent's morose, an' his whiskey's slow placin' itse'f, he +goes over to Hamilton's hurdy-gurdy an' finds relaxation an' relief. +Now yere comes this stranger--an' I makes it fifty dollars even he's +from Massachusetts--an' what does he do? Never antes nor sticks in a +white chip, but purloins Hamilton's strains, an' pulls off his +dances tharby. It's plumb wrong, an' what this party needs is +hangin'.' + +"'Oh, I don't know,' says Cherokee Hall, who's in on the talk. +'Hamilton's all right, an' a squar' man. All he wants is jestice. +Now, while I deems the conduct of this stranger low an' ornery; +still, comin' down to the turn, he's on his trail all right. As this +sharp says: Who gives Hamilton any license to go fillin' his hurdy- +gurdy full of dance-music? S'pose this gent would come caperin' over +an' set in a stack ag'in Hamilton for overloadin' his joint with +pianer an' fiddle noises without his consent; an' puttin' it up he's +out to drag the camp if Hamilton don't cease? The only way Hamilton +gets 'round that kind of complaint is, he don't own them walses an' +quadrilles after they fetches loose from his fiddle; that they ain't +his quadrilles no more, an' he's not responsible after they +stampedes off into space.' + +"'That's straight,' says Dave Tutt, 'you-alls can't run no brand on +melodies. A gent can't own no music after he cuts it loose that a- +way. The minute it leaves the bosoms of his fiddles, that's where he +lets go. After that it belongs to any gent to dance by, cry by, set +by, or fight by, as he deems meet an' pleasant at the time.' + +"'What do you-alls say?' says Hamilton to Enright an' Peets. 'Does +this yere piece of oppression on a leadin' citizen, perpetrated by a +rank outsider, go? I shore waits for your reply with impatience, for +I eetches to go back an' shoot up this new hurdy-gurdy from now till +sun-up.' + +"Enright takes Doc Peets down by the end of the bar--an' thar's no +doubt about it, that Peets is the wisest longhorn west of the +Missoury--an' they has a deep consultation. We-alls is waitin'. some +interested, to see what they says. It's shore a fine p'int this +Colonel's makin' to jestify an' back his game. + +"'Get a move on you, Enright!' at last says Dan Boggs, who is a +hasty, eager man, who likes action; 'get a move on you, you an' +Peets, an' settle this. You're queerin' the kyards an' delayin' the +play.' + +"'Well, gents,' says Enright at last, comin' back where we-alls is +by the door, 'Peets an' me sees no need decidin' on them questions +about who owns a tune after said tune has been played. But thar is a +subject, that a-way, which requires consideration; an' which most +likely solves this dance-hall deadlock. In all trade matters in a +growin' camp like Wolfville, it's better to preserve a equilibrium. +It's ag'in public interest to have two or three dance-halls, or two +or three saloons, all in a bunch that a-way. It's better they be +spraddled 'round wide apart, which is more convenient. So Peets an' +me proposes as a roole for this yere camp that two hurdy-gurdies be +forbid to be carried on within five hundred feet of each other. As +it looks like nobody objects, we concloods it's adopted. Nacherally, +the last hurdy-gurdy up has to move, which disposes of this yere +trouble.' + +"'Before I ends what I has to say,' goes on Enright, 'I wants to +thank our townsman, Mister Hamilton, for consultin' of the +Stranglers prior to a killin'. It shows he's a law-abidin' gent an' +a credit to the camp. An' mighty likely he prolongs his stay on +earth. If he'd pranced in an' skelped this maraudin' stranger, I +don't reckon we could avoid swingin' him at the end of a lariat +without makin' a dangerous preceedent. As it is, his rival will be +routed an' his life made sereen as yeretofore.' + +"'As to the execution of this new roole,' concloods Enright, 'we +leaves that to Jack Moore. He will wait on this party an' explain +the play. He must up stakes an' move his camp; an' if he calls on +another shindig after he's warned, we-alls takes our ponies an' our +ropes an' yanks his outfit up by the roots. A gent of his +enterprise, however, will come to a dead halt; an' his persecutions +of Hamilton will cease.' + +"'An' you-all calls this yere a free American outfit!' says my +Colonel, mighty scornful, when Jack Moore notifies him. 'If I don't +line out for t'other end of camp you-alls is allowin' to rope my +joint an' pull it down! Well, that lets me out; I quits you. I'd be +shorely degraded to put in my time with any sech low-flung passel of +sports. You-all may go back an' tell your folks that as you leaves +you hears me give the call to my guests, "All promenade to the bar"; +an' the dancin' is done. To-morrow I departs for Red Dog to begin +life anew. Wolfville is too slow a camp for any gent with any +swiftness to him.'" + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +SLIM JIM'S SISTER. + + +"Which thar's folks in this caravansary I don't like none," remarked +the Old Cattleman, as I joined him one afternoon on the lawn. His +tone was as of one half sullen, half hurt, and as he jerked his +thumb toward the hotel behind us, it was a gesture full of scorn. +"Thar's folks thar, takin' 'em up an' down, horns, hide, tallow, an' +beef, who ain't worth heatin' a runnin'-iron to brand." + +"What's the trouble?" I inquired, as I organized for comfort with my +back against the elm-tree which shadowed us. + +"No trouble at all," replied my old friend sourly, "leastwise +nothin' poignant. It's that yoothful party in the black surtoot who +comes pesterin' me a moment ago about the West bein', as he says, a +roode an' irreligious outfit." + +"He's a young preacher," I explained. "Possibly he was moved by an +anxiety touching your soul's welfare." + +"Well, if he's out to save souls," retorted the old gentleman, "he +oughter whirl a bigger loop. No, no, he won't do,"he continued, +shaking his head with an air of mournful yet resentful decision, +"this yere gent's too narrow; which his head is built too much the +shape of a quail-trap. He may do to chase jack-rabbits an' sech, but +he's a size too small for game like me. Save souls, says you! Why, +if that onp'lite young person was to meet a soul like mine comin' up +the trail, he'd shorely omit what to do entire; he'd be that +stampeded. He'd be some hard to locate, I takes it, after he meets +up with a soul like mine a whole lot." + +The Old Cattleman made this proclamation rather to himself than me, +but I could detect an air of pride. Then he went on: + +"'This yere West you emanates from,' says this young preacher-sharp +to me that a-way, 'this yere West you hails from is roode, an' don't +yield none to religious inflooences.' + +"'Well,' I says back to him, fillin' my pipe at the same time, 'I +reckons you shorely can c'llect more with a gun than a contreebution +box in the West, if that's what you-all is aimin' at. But if you +figgers we don't make our own little religious breaks out in +Arizona, stranger, you figgers a heap wrong. You oughter have heard +Short Creek Dave that time when he turns 'vangelist an' prances into +the warehouse back of the New York Store, an' shows Wolfville she's +shore h'ar-hung an' breeze-shaken over hell that a-way. Short Creek +has the camp all spraddled out before he turns his deal-box up an' +closes his game.' + +"'But this yere Short Creek Dave,' he remonstrates to me, 'ain't no +reg'lar licensed divine. He ain't workin' in conjunctions with no +shore 'nough' sociation, I takes it. This Short Creek person is most +likely one of them irrelevant exhortin' folks, an' that makes a +difference. He don't belong to no reg'lar denom'nation.' + +"'That's troo, too,' I says. 'Short Creek ain't workin' with no +reg'lar religious round-up; he's sorter runnin' a floatin' outfit, +criss-crossin' the range, prowlin' for mavericks an' strays on his +own game. But what of that? He's shorely tyin' 'em down an' brandin' +'em right along.' + +"'Oh, I don't dispoote none the efficacy of your friend's work that +a-way,' replies the young preacher-sharp, 'but it's irreg'lar; it's +plumb out of line. Now what you-alls needs in the West is real +churches, same as we-alls has in the East.' + +"`I ain't none shore of that.' I says, 'an' I'm gettin' a little +warm onder the collar some with them frills he puts on; 'I ain't +none shore. The East needn't deem itse'f the only king in the deck; +none whatever. The West can afford the usual rooles an' let all bets +go as they lays, an' still get up winner on the deal. I takes it +you-alls never notes the West sendin' East for he'p?' + +"'But that ain't the idee,' he urges. 'Churches that a-way is the +right thing. They molds a commoonity, churches does. You b'ars +witness yourse'f that where churches exists the commoonity is the +most orderly an' fuller of quietood an' peace.' + +"'Not necessarily I don't,' I replies back, for I'm goin' to play my +hand out if it gets my last chip, 'not necessarily. What I b'ars +witness to is that where the commoonity is the most orderly that a- +way an' fuller of quietood an' peace, the churches exists.' + +"'Which I'm shorely some afraid,' he says,--an' his looks shows he's +gettin' a horror of me,--'you belongs to a perverse generation. You- +all is vain of your own evil-doin'. Look at them murders that +reddens the West, an' then sit yere an' tell me it don't need no +inflooences.' + +"'Them ain't murders,' I answers; them's killin's. An' as for +inflooenccs, if you-all don't reckon the presence of a vig'lance +committee in a camp don't cause a gent to pause an' ponder none +before he pulls his gun, you dwells in ignorance. However, I'm yere +to admit, I don't discern no sech sin-encrusted play in a killin' +when the parties breaks even at the start, an' both gents is workin' +to the same end unanimous. It does some folks a heap of good to kill +'em a lot.' + +"It's at this p'int the young preacher-sharp pulls his freight, an' +I observes, by the way he stacks me up with his eyes that a-way, he +allows mebby I'm locoed." + +The Old Cattleman said no more for a moment, but puffed at his cob +pipe in thought and silence. I had no notion of involving myself in +any combat of morals or theology, so I did not invade his mood. At +last I suggested in a half-tone of inoffensive sympathy that the +West was no doubt much misunderstood. + +"Life there," I remarked, "amid new and rough conditions must be +full of hardship and tragedy." + +This vague arrow in the air had the effect of sending the old fellow +off at a tangent. His bent was evidently discursive, and all +thoughts of his late religious controversy seemed to pass from his +mind. + +"Full of hardship an' tragedy is your remark," he retorted, "an' I +joins you tharin. Take them disasters that pounces on Slim Jim. What +happens in the case of this yere Slim Jim tenderfoot," the old +fellow continued as a damp gleam of sympathy shone in his eye,"is +both hardship an' tragedy. Which of course thar's a mighty sight of +difference. A hardship a gent lives through; but it's a tragedy when +his light's put out. An' as Slim Jim don't live through this none, +it's nacherally a tragedy that a-way. + +"I frequent sees bad luck to other folks, as well as comin' to me +personal, in the years I inhabits the grass country, but this was +shorely the toughest. It even overplays anythin' Rainbow Sam ever is +ag'inst; an' the hard luck of Rainbow Sam is a proverb of Arizona. + +"'Which I reckons I was foaled with a copper on me,' says this +Rainbow Sam to Enright one day. 'In all my born days I never makes a +killin'--never gets up winner once. I was foaled a loser, an' I'll +keep a-losin' ontil this yere malady--which it's consumption-which +has me in charge delivers me to the angels an' gets its receipt.' + +"It's a mockery what transpires touchin' this Rainbow Sam. Jest as +he states, the consumption's got him treed an' out on a limb. Doc +Peets says, himse'f, nothin' can he'p him; an' when Peets quits a +little thing like consumption an' shoves his chair back, you-alls +can gamble a gent's health, that a-way, is on a dead kyard. + +"I recalls how Rainbow Sam dies; which he rides out into eternity +easy an' painless. We-alls is into a poker-game nne night-that is, +five of us--when Doc Peets is called away. + +"'See yere, Rainbow,' says Peets to Rainbow Sam, who's penniless an' +tharfore lookin' on; 'you never has a morsel of luck in your life. +Now, yere: You play my hand an' chips awhile. I'm on velvet for +three hundred an' fifty, an' I'd as soon you'd lose it into the game +as any sport I knows. An' to rouse your moral nacher I wants to tell +you, whatever you rakes in you keeps. Now thar's luck at the jump; +you can't lose an' you may win, so set in yere. Napoleon never has +half the show.' + +"Peets goes away for an hour about somethin', an' Rainbow Sam takes +his seat; an', merely to show how one gent outlucks another, while +Peets has had the luck of dogs it's that profuse an' good, it looks +like the best Rainbow can get is an even break. For half an hour he +wins an' he loses about equal; an' he's shore tryin' hard to win, +too. + +"'If I takes in a couple of hundred or so,' says this Rainbow to me, +'I allows I'll visit my folks in the States once for luck.' + +"But he never visits them folks he adverts to. It's on Boggs's deal, +an' he's throwin' the kyards 'round when Rainbow's took bad. His +consumption sorter mutinies onto him all at once. He's got the seat +on the left of Boggs, too,--got the age. + +"'Play my hand,' he says to Hamilton, who's stepped in from the +dance-hall; 'play my hand, Jim, till I feels a little better. I'll +be all right in a moment. Barkeep, deal me some whiskey.' + +"So Rainbow walks over to the bar, an' Hamilton picks up his kyards. +I notes that Rainbow steps off that time some tottersome; but he's +so plumb weak that a-way, cats is robust to him; an' so I deems +nothin' tharof. I'm skinnin' my kyards a bit interested anyhow, +bein' in the hole myse'f. + +"Everybody comes in this deal, an' when the chips is in the center-- +this yere's before the draw--Hamilton, speakin' up for Rainbow, +says: + +"'These yere's Doc Peets's chips anyhow?' + +"'Which they shorely be,' says Boggs, 'so play 'em merciless, 'cause +Peets is rich.' + +"'That's what I asks for,' says Hamilton, 'for I don't aim to make +no mistakes with pore Rainbow's money.' + +"'That's all right,' says Boggs, 'dump 'em in. If you-all lose, it's +Peets's; if you win, it's Rainbow's.' + +"'Play 'em game an' liberal, Old Man,' says Rainbow over by the +bar,--an' it strikes me at the time his tones is weak an' queer; but +bein' as I jest then notes a third queen in my hand, I don't have no +chance to dwell on the fact. 'Play 'em game an' free,' says Rainbow +ag'in. 'Free as the waters of life. Win or lose, she's all the same +a hundred year from now.' + +"Hamilton takes another look an' then raises the ante a hundred +dollars. This yere is table stakes; this game was; an' the stakes is +five hundred. + +"'Which I plays this,' says Hamilton, as he comes up with the +hundred raise, 'the same as I would for myse'f, which the same means +plenteous an' free as a king.' + +"Thar's three of us who stays, one of the same bein' me. I allers +recalls it easy, 'cause it frost-bites my three queens for over +three hundred dollars before the excitement dies away. Boggs, who's +so vociferous recent about Hamilton playin' wide open, stays out; +not havin' as good as nine-high. + +"On the draw Hamilton allows Rainbow's hand needs one kyard, an' he +gets it. I takes one also; the same bein' futile, so far as he'pin' +my hand goes; an' the others takes kyards various. + +"Thar's only one raise, an' that's when it gets to Hamilton. He sets +in a little over two hundred dollars, bein' the balance of the +stake; an' two of us is feeble-minded enough to call. What does he +have? Well, it's ample for our ondoin' that a-way. It's a straight +flush of diamonds; jack at the head of the class. It shorely carries +off the pot like it's a whirlwind. As near as I can measure, +Hamilton claws off with about six hundred dollars for Rainbow on +that one hand. + +"'Yere you be, Rainbow!' shouts Boggs. 'Come a-runnin'! It's now you +visits them relations; you makes a killin' at last.' + +"It turns out some late for Rainbow though. Thar's no reply to +Boggs's talk, an' when we-alls goes over to him where he's set down +by the end of the bar thar, with his arm on a monte-table, an' his +chin on his shirt, Rainbow Sam is dead. + +"'Which I regrets,' says Doc Peets when he returns, 'that Rainbow +don't stay long enough to onderstand how luck sets his way at last. +It most likely comforts him an' makes his goin' out more cheerful.' + +"'It's a good sign, though,' says Cherokee Hall, 'that straight +flush is. Which it shows Rainbow strikes a streak of luck; an' mebby +it lasts long enough to get him by the gates above all right. That's +all I asks when my time comes; that I dies when I'm commencin' a run +of luck.' + +"Oh! about this Slim Jim tenderfoot an' his tragedy! Do you know I +plumb overlooks him. I gets trailed off that a-way after pore old +Rainbow Sam, an' Slim Jim escapes my mem'ry complete. + +"Which the story of this gent, even the little we-alls knows, is a +heap onusual. No one, onless he's the postmaster, ever does hear his +name. He sorter ha'nts about Red Dog an' Wolfville indiscriminate +for mighty nigh a year; an' they calls him 'Slim Jim' with us, an' +'The Tenderfoot' in Red Dog; but, as I says, what's his real name +never does poke up its head. + +"Whatever brings this yere Slim Jim into the cow country is too +boggy a crossin' for me. Thar ain't a thing he can do or learn to. +We-alls has him on one round-up, an' it's cl'ar from the jump he +ain't meant by Providence for the cattle business. The meekest +bronco in the bunch bucks him off; an' actooally he's that timid +he's plumb afraid of ponies an' cattle both. + +"We-alls fixes Slim Jim's saddle with buckin'-straps; an' even +fastens a roll of blankets across the saddle-horn; but it ain't +enough. Nothin' bar tyin' Slim Jim into the saddle, like the hoss- +back Injuns does to papooses, could save him. + +"An' aside from nacheral awk'ardness an' a light an' fitful seat in +a saddle, it looks like this Slim Jim has baleful effects on a +bronco. To show you: One mornin' we ropes up for him a pony which +has renown for its low sperits. It acts, this yere pony does, like +it's suffered some disapp'intment which blights it an' breaks its +heart; an' no amount of tightenin' of the back cinch; not even +spurrin' of it in the shoulder an' neck like playful people who's +out for a circus does, is ever known to evolve a buck-jump outen +him, he's that sad. Which this is so well known, the pony's name is +'Remorse.' + +"As I says, merely to show the malignant spell this yere Slim Jim +casts over a bronco, we-alls throws him onto this Remorse pony one +mornin'. + +"'Which if you can't get along with that cayouse,' remarks Jack +Moore at the time, 'I reckons it's foreordained you-all has to go +afoot.' + +"An' that's how it turns out. No sooner is Slim Jim in the saddle +than that Remorse pony arches his back like a hoop, sticks his nose +between his knees, an' gives way to sech a fit of real old worm- +fence buckin' as lands Slim Jim on his sombrero, an' makes expert +ponies simply stand an' admire. + +"That's the last round-up Slim Jim attempts; workin' cattle he says +himse'f is too deep a game for him, an' he never does try no more. +So he hangs about Wolfville an' Red Dog alternate, turnin' little +jim-crow tricks for the express company, or he'pin' over to the +stage company's corrals, an' sorter manages to live. + +"Now an' then some party who's busy drinkin', an' tharfore hasn't +time for faro, an' yet is desirous the same be played, stakes Slim +Jim ag'inst the game; an' it happens at times he makes a small pick- +up that a-way. But his means of livelihood is shorely what you-alls +would call precar'ous. + +"An' yet, as I sends my mind back over the trail, I never knows of +nothin' bad this yere Slim Jim does. You needn't go inferrin' none, +from his havin' a terror of steers an' broncos that a-way, that he's +timid plumb through. Thar's reason to deem him game when he's up +ag'inst mere man. + +"Once, so they tells the story, Curly Bill rounds up this Slim Jim +in a Red Dog hurdy-gurdy an' concloods to have some entertainment +with him. + +"'Dance, you shorthorn!' says this yere Curly Bill, yankin' out his +six-shooter an' p'intin' it mighty sudden at Slim Jim's foot; +'shuffle somethin' right peart now, or you-all emerges shy a toe.' + +"Does this Slim Jim dance? Never cavorts a step. At the first move +he swarms all over this Curly Bill like a wild-cat, makes him drop +his gun, an' sends him out of the hurdy-gurdy on a canter. That's +straight; that's the painful fact in the case of Curly Bill, who +makes overgay with the wrong gent. + +"Later, mebby an hour, so the party says who relates it to me, Curly +Bill sends back word into the hurdy-gurdy, tellin' the barkeep, if +his credit's good after sech vicissitoodes, to treat the house. He +allows the drinks is on him, an' that a committee can find him +settin' on the post office steps sorter goin' over himse'f for +fractures, if it's held necessary for him to be present when the +drinks is took. + +"Which of course any gent's credit is good at the bar that a-way; +an' so a small delegation of three ropes up this yere Curly Bill an' +brings him back to the hurdy-gurdy, where he gets his gun ag'in, an' +Slim Jim an' him makes up. + +"'Which I renounces all idee of ever seein' you dance some,' says +Curly Bill, when he an' Jim shakes; 'an' I yereby marks your +moccasins plumb off my list of targets.' + +"Everybody's pleased at this; an' the barkeep is delighted speshul, +as one of them reeconciliations that a-way is mighty condoosive to +the sale of nose-paint. I'm yere to remark, if thar ain't no more +reeconciliations on earth, an' everybody stands pat on them hatreds +an' enmities of his, whiskey-drinkin' falls off half. + +"I only su'gest this turn-up with Curly Bill to 'lustrate that it's +about as I says, an' that while Slim Jim's reluctant an' hesitatin' +in the presence of wild steers, an' can't adhere to a pony much, +this yere girlishness don't extend to men none; which last he faces +prompt an' willin' as a lion. + +"Thar's times when I shorely ponders the case of this Slim Jim a +mighty sight, 'cause he keeps strikin' me as a good gent gone bad, +an' as bein' the right gent in the wrong place. + +"'This pore maverick is plumb Eastern, that's all,' says Enright one +day, while he's discussin' of this Slim Jim. 'He ain't to blame, but +he ain't never goin' to do, none whatever, out yere. He can't no +more get used to Arizona than one of the Disciples, an' he might +camp 'round for years.' + +"It's mebby hard onto a year when along comes the beginnin' of the +end as far as this Slim Jim's concerned, only we-alls don't know it. +The postmaster says afterward he gets a letter; an' by what's found +on the remainder it looks like the postmaster's right, an' this +letter sets him goin' wrong. I allers allows, after he gets this +missive, that he sees the need of money that a-way an' plenty of it; +an' that it's got to come quick. + +"Most likely he's been bluffin' some parties in the East about how +rich he is an' how lucrative he's doin',--sech bluffs bein' common +in the West,--an' now along comes events an' folks he's fooled, an' +his bluff is called. + +"When it arrives, none of us knows of this yere letter the +postmaster mentions, an' which is later read by all; but it's about +that time Slim Jim acts queer an' locoed. He's flustered an' +stampeded about somethin', we-alls notes that; an' Dave Tutt even +forgets himse'f as a gent so far as to ask Slim Jim what's up. + +"`Which you looks oneasy these autumn days,' says Tutt to Slim Jim. +'What's wrong?' + +"'Nothin',' says Slim Jim, lookin' a bit woozy, 'nothin' wrong. A +friend of mine is likely to show up yere; that's all.' + +"'Which he has the air of a fugitive from jestice when he says it,' +observes Tutt, when he speaks of it after all's over; 'though +jedgin' by the party who's on his trail that time I don't reckon +he's done nothin' neither.' + +"It's shorely the need of money drives this Slim Jim to turnin' +route-agent an' go holdin' up the stage, for the evenin' he quits +camp he says to Cherokee Hall: 'S'pose I asks you-all to lend me +money, quite a bundle, say, would you do it?' + +"'I turns faro for my money,' says Cherokee; 'which I merely +mentions it to show I comes honestly by my roll. As to borrowin' of +me, you-all or any gent in hard lines can get my money by showin' he +needs it worse than I do; an' to encourage you I might say I don't +need money much. So, go on an' tell me the news about yourse'f, an' +if it's as bad as the way you looks, I reckons I'll have to stake +you, even if it takes half my pile.' Tharupon Cherokee urges Slim +Jim to onfold his story. + +"But Slim Jim gets shy an' won't talk or tell Cherokee what's +pesterin' him, or how much money he needs. + +"'No,' he says, after thinkin' a little, 'I never begs a stake yet, +an' I never will. Anyhow I sees another way which is better.' + +"Countin' noses afterwards, it's probably this talk with Cherokee is +the last Slim Jim has before he breaks over into the hills on the +hunt for money. He goes afoot, too; for he don't own no pony, an' he +couldn't, as I explains previous, stay on him if he does. + +"But he fixes himse'f with a Winchester which he gets from the +stage-company people themse'fs on a talk he makes about takin' some +reecreation with the coyotes, an' p'ints straight over into Rawhide +Canyon,--mebby it's six miles from camp. When the stage gets along +an hour later, this Slim Jim's made himse'f a mask with a +handkerchief, an' is a full-fledged hold-up which any express +company could be proud to down. Old Monte relates what happens in +the canyon, 'cause from where he's stuck up on the box he gets a +better view. + +"'Yere's how this happens,' says Old Monte, while renooin' his yooth +with Red Light licker after he's got in. 'It's a little hazy in the +canyon, comin' evenin' that a-way, an' my eyes is watery with the +shootin' goin' on, an' I tharfore don't say I notes things none +minoote; but as near as I can, you gets the story. + +"`Thar's only one passenger, an' she's a woman. Which for that +matter she's a beautiful girl, with eyes like a buck antelope's; but +bein' she's layin' over to the stage station defunct right now, +along with this yere Slim Jim, I don't dwell none on how she looks.' + +"'When I pulls out from Tucson I has this yere young female inside; +an' the company puts two Wells-Fargo gyards on top of the coach, the +same bein' the first time in months. These Wells-Fargo parties ain't +along for hold-ups, but jest 'cause they has business over yere, an' +so comes by stage same as other gents. + +"`It all goes smooth ontil I'm rattlin' along in Rawhide Canyon not +half-a-dozen miles from where we-alls is now drinkin' all free an' +amiable, like life's nothin' but sunshine. + +"'The first p'inter I has that I'm up ag'inst it, bang! goes a +Winchester, an' throws my off leader dead ag'inst the trail. Thar's +no goin' 'round the dead hoss, an' bar the nacheral rarin' an' +pitchin' of the other five on beholdin' of the ontimely end of their +companion that a-way, the whole business comes to a dead stop. + +"'"Hold up your hands!" says a voice up the rocks on one side. + +"'My hands is already up, for I'm an old stage-driver, gents, an' +you-alls can gamble I knows my trade. I'm hired to drive. It ain't +no part of my game to fight hold-ups an' stand off route-agents that +a-way, an' get shot dead for it by their pards the next trip; so, as +I says, the moment that Winchester goes off, I clamps my fingers +back of my head an' sets thar. Of course I talks back at this hold- +up a heap profane, for I don't aim to have the name of allowin' any +gent to rustle my stage an' me not cuss him out. "'But these yere +Wells-Fargo sharps, they never holds up their hands. That's nacheral +enough, for them gents is hired to fight, an' this partic'lar trip +thar's full six thousand dollars to go to war over. + +"With the first shot the Wells-Fargo gents--they was game as goats +both of 'em--slides offen the coach an' takes to shootin'. The guns +is makin' a high old rattle of it, an' I'm hopin' the hold-up won't +get to over-shootin' an' drill me, when the first casooalty occurs. +One of the Wells-Fargo sports gets a bullet plumb through his frame, +an' is dead an' out in the crack of a whip. + +"'It looks like the hold-up sees him tumble, for it's then he cuts +loose a whoop, jumps down onto the trail an' charges. He comes a- +shootin', too, an' the way the lead an' fire fetches forth from that +Winchester he's managin' shore reminds me of them Roman candles last +July. + +"'All this yere don't take ten seconds. An' it don't last ten +seconds more. As my hold-up comes chargin' an' shootin' towards the +stage, I overhears a scream inside, an' the next moment that young +female passenger opens the door an' comes scamperin' out. + +"'If she tries she couldn't have selected no worse epock. She hits +the ground, an' the second she does--for I'm lookin' over at her at +the time--she stops one of that hold-up's bullets an' goes down with +a great cry. + +"'It's on me, gents, at this p'int to take all resks an' go down an' +look-out the play for the girl. But I never gets a chance, an' it's +as well I don't; for towards the last the shootin' of the remainin' +Wells-Fargo person is reckless an' inordinate. It's plumb +reedundant; that shootin' is. But as I remarks, I never has no +occasion to go to the girl; for as I feels the impulse I hears the +hold-up shout: + +"'"God! it's Mary! It's my sister!" + +"'Thar's a letter on him we finds later, which shows this statement +about my passenger bein' his sister is troo; an' that she's p'intin' +out when downed, now they's orphans--which the letter states their +father's jest cashed in--to come an' keep house for him. As the +hold-up makes this yere exclamation about the girl bein' his +relative that a-way, his Winchester goes a-rattlin' onto the trail +an' he gathers her in his arms. However, he don't last longer than a +drink of whiskey now. He don't no more'n lift her up, before even he +kisses her, the remainin' Wells-Fargo gent downs him, an' the riot's +over complete. + +"'Three killed an' none wounded is how results stacks up; an' after +me an' the live Wells-Fargo gent cl'ars the dead leader outen the +trail, we-alls lays out the remainders inside all peaceful, an' +comes a-curvin' on to Wolfville. It's then, as we puts 'em in the +coach, I sees that my hold-up's that onfortunate felon, Slim Jim. +Which I was shorely astonished. I says to the Wells-Fargo gent, as +we looks at Slim Jim: + +"'"Pard, the drinks is due from me on this. If I has a week to guess +in, I'd never said 'Slim Jim.'" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +JAYBIRD BOB'S JOKE. + + +"Whatever makes this yere jaybird Bob believe he's a humorist," said +the Old Cattleman one afternoon as we slowly returned from a walk, +"whatever it is misleads him to so deem himself is shorely too many +for me. Doc Peets tells him himse'f one day he's plumb wrong. + +"'You-all's nacherally a somber, morose party,' says Doc Peets this +time, 'an' nothin' jocose or jocund about you. Your disp'sition, +Jaybird, don't no more run to jokes than a prairie-dog's." + +"'Which I would admire to know why not?' says Jaybird Bob. + +"'Well,' goes on Doc Peets, 'you thinks too slow--too much like a +cow in a swamp. Your mind moves sluggish that a-way, an' sorter +sinks to the hocks each step. If you was born to be funny your +intellects would be limber an' frivolous.' + +"'Bein' all this is personal to me,' says Jaybird Bob, 'I takes +leave to regard you as wrong. My jokes is good, high-grade jokes; +an' when you-all talks of me bein' morose, it's a mere case of +bluff.' An' so Jaybird goes on a-holdin of himse'f funny ontil we- +alls has him to bury. + +"No; Jaybird ain't his shore-'nough name; it's jest a handle to his +'dentity, so we-alls picks it up handy and easy. Jaybird's real name +is Graingerford,--Poindexter Graingerford. But the same is cumbersom +an' onwieldy a whole lot; so when he first trails into Wolfville we- +alls considers among ourse'fs an' settles it's a short cut to call +him 'Jaybird Bob,' that a-way. An' we does. + +"It's on the spring round-up this yere Jaybird first develops that +he regards himse'f witty. It's in the morning as we-alls has saddled +up an' lines out to comb the range roundabout for cattle. Thar's a +tenderfoot along whose name is Todd, an', as he's canterin' off, +Jaybird comes a-curvin' up on his bronco an' reaches over an' tails +this shorthorn's pony. + +"What's tailin' a pony? It's ridin' up from the r'ar an' takin' a +half-hitch on your saddle. horn with the tail of another gent's +pony, an' then spurrin' by an' swappin' ends with the whole outfit,- +-gent, hoss, an' all. + +"It's really too toomultuous for a joke, an' mebby breaks the pony's +neck, mebby the rider's. But whether he saves his neck or no, the +party whose pony is thus tailed allers emergers tharfrom deshevelled +an' wrought-up, an' hotter than a wolf. So no one plays this yere +joke much; not till he's ready to get shot at. + +"As I says, this Jaybird watches Todd as he rides off. Bein' new on +the range that a-way, Todd don't ride easy. A cow saddle ain't built +like these yere Eastern hulls, nohow. The stirrup is set two inches +further back for one thing, an' it's compiled a heap different other +ways. Bein' onused to cow saddles, an' for that matter cow ponies, +this Todd lops over for'ard an' beats with his elbows like he's a +curlew or somethin' flyin', an' I reckons it's sech proceedin's +makes Jaybird allow he's goin' to be funny an' tail Todd's pony. + +"As I explains, he capers along after Todd an' reaches over an' gets +a handful of the pony's tail; an' then, wroppin' it 'round his +saddle-horn, he goes by on the jump an' spreads Todd an' his bronco +permiscus about the scene. This yere Todd goes along the grass on +all fours like a jack-rabbit. + +"Which Todd, I reckons, is the hostilest gent in south-east Arizona. +Before ever he offers to get up, he lugs out his six-shooter an' +makes some mighty sincere gestures that a-way to shoot up Jaybird. +But he's slow with his weepon, bein' spraddled out on the grass, an' +it gives Dave Tutt an' Enright a chance to jump in between an' stop +the deal. + +"We-alls picks Todd up, an' rounds up his pony,--which scrambles to +its feet an' is now cavortin' about like its mind is overturned,-- +an' explains to him this yere is a joke. But he's surly an' +relentless about it; an' it don't take no hawk to see he don't +forgive Jaybird a little bit. + +"'Tailin' a gent's pony,' says Todd, 'is no doubt thrillin' +amoosement for folks lookin' on, but thar's nothin' of a redeemin' +nature in it from the standp'int of the party whose pony's upheaved +that a-way. Not to be misonderstood at this yere crisis,' goes on +this Todd, 'I wants to announce that from now for'ard life will have +but one purpose with me, which'll be to down the next gent whoever +tails a pony of mine. The present incident goes as a witticism; but +you can gamble the next won't be so regarded.' + +"That sorter ends the talk, an' all of us but the cook an' the hoss- +hustlers bein' in the saddle by now, we disperses ourse'fs through +the scenery to work the cattle an' proceed with the round-up we-alls +is on. We notes, though, that tailin' Todd's pony don't go ag'in +with safety. + +"It's when we-alls rides away that Doc Peets--who's out with the +round-up, though he ain't got no cattle-brand himse'f--tells Jaybird +he's not a humorist, like I already repeats. + +"But, as I su'gests, this Jaybird Bob can't believe it none. He's +mighty shore about his jokes bein' excellent good jokes; an' while +it's plain Todd ain't got no confidence in him an' distrusts him +complete since he tips over his bronco that mornin', it looks like +Jaybird can't let him alone. An' them misdeeds of Jaybird's keeps +goin' on, ontil by the merest mistake--for it's shore an accident if +ever one happens in the cow country--this yere tenderfoot shoots up +Jaybird an' kills him for good. + +"It looks to us like it's a speshul Providence to warn folks not to +go projectin' about, engaged in what you might call physical jests +none. Still, this yere removal of Jaybird don't take place till +mighty near the close of the round-up; an' intervenin', he's +pirootin' 'round, stockin' the kyards an' settin' up hands on the +pore shorthorn continuous. + +"One of Jaybird's jokes--'one of his best,' Jaybird calls it-- +results in stampedin' the herd of cattle we-alls is bringin' along +at the time--bein' all cows an' their calves--to a brandin'-pen. +Which thar's two thousand, big an' little, in the bunch; an' +Jaybird's humor puts 'em to flight like so many blackbirds; an' it +takes two days hard ridin' for the whole outfit to bring 'em +together ag'in. + +"Among other weaknesses this Todd imports from the States is, he's +afraid of snakes. Rattlesnakes is his abhorrence, an' if each is a +disembodied sperit he can't want 'em further off. He's allers +alarmed that mebby, somehow, a rattlesnake will come pokin' in onder +his blankets nights, an' camp with him while he's asleep. An' this +yere wretched Jaybird fosters them delusions. + +"'About them serpents,' I overhears Jaybird say to him one evenin' +while we-alls is settin' 'round;--all but Moore an' Tutt, who's +ridin' herd; ''bout them serpents; a gent can't be too partic'lar. +It looks like they has but one hope, which it's to crawl into a +gent's blankets an' sleep some with him. Which, if he moves or turns +over, they simply emits a buzz an' grabs him I knows of forty folks +who's bit that a-way by snakes, an' nary a one lives to explain the +game.' + +"'Be rattlesnakes thick in Arizona?' I hears Todd say to this +Jaybird. + +"'Be they thick?' answers Jaybird. 'Well, I shore wishes I had +whiskey for all the rattlesnakes thar is yereabouts. I don't want to +go overstatin' the census to a gent who is out playin' for +information, an' who's learnin' fast, but I s'pose now thar ain't +none less than a billion snakes in southeast Arizona alone. If I +could saw off the little passel of cattle I has on this range, you +can gamble I'd pull my freight to-morrow. It's all right for sech +old Cimmarons as Enright, an' sech parties as that sawbones Peets, +to go bluffin' about thar' bein' no rattlesnakes to speak of, an' +that they couldn't p'ison you to death no how; but you bet I ain't +seen forty of my nearest friends cash in of snake-bites, an' not +learn nothin'. An' almost every time it's a rattlesnake as comes +slidin' into bed with 'em while they's locked in dreams, an' who +gets hot an' goes to chewin' of 'em, because they wants to turn out +before the snake does. Rattlesnakes that a-way wants to sleep till +it's fourth-drink time an' the sun's 'way up yonder. An' when a gent +goes to rollin' out of his blankets say at sun-up, it makes 'em +monstrous angry to be disturbed; an' the first he knows of where +they be an' how they looks on early risin', their teeth's in him up +to the gyard, an' before night thar's one less gent to cook for, an' +an extra saddle rides along in the grub-wagon with the blankets when +they next moves camp.' + +"Of course all this is a heap impressive to Todd; an' while Enright +an' Peets both tells him Jaybird's havin' fun with him, you can see +he's mortal afraid every night when he spreads his blankets, an' he +makes a cirele about where he sleeps at with a horse-ha'r lariat +he's got from a Mexican, an' who tells him it'll tickle the snakes' +necks when they goes to crawl across it, an' make 'em keep away. + +"The way this yere Jaybird manages to stampede the bunch that time +is this a-way. Jaybird comes ridin' in from the cattle about three +hours before sun-up, to turn out Tutt, who is due to take his place +on herd. Jaybird's got a rawhide rope that he's drugged about in the +grass, which makes it damp an' cold. As Jaybird rides up to camp he +sees this Todd rolled in his blankets, snorin' to beat four of a +kind. + +"Nacherally Jaybird's out to be joyous in a second. He rides up +close to this he'pless shorthorn as he lays asleep, an' tosses a +loop of his wet rawhide across his countenance where it's turned up +in the moonlight. As it settles down cold an' startlin' on Todd's +skin, Jaybird yells: + +"Snake, Todd! Thar's a rattlesnake on you bigger'n a dog.' + +"Jaybird says later as how this Todd behaves tremendous. He b'iles +up into the atmosphere with a howl like a wolf; an', grabbin' a +blanket in each hand, he starts out over the plains in a state of +frenzy. Which the worst is he charges headlong toward the herd; an' +what with them shrieks he volunteers, an' the blankets flappin' an' +wavin', thar ain't a cow in the bunch who stays in her right mind a +moment. Which she springs to her feet, an takin' her offspring +along, goes surgin' off into the hills for good. You couldn't head +or stop 'em then. It's the completest case of stampede I ever turns +out to behold. + +"No; this yere Todd never gathers the rights of the eepisode. He's +that peevish an' voylent by nacher no one tells him it's Jaybird; +an' onless, in the light of knowin' more, he has since figgered out +the trooth, he allows to this day a rattlesnake as big as a roll of +blankets tries to recline on his face that time. + +"To keep peace in camp an' not let him go to pawin' 'round for real +trouble with the festive Jaybird, Enright stands in to cap the game +himse'f; an' puts it up in confab with this Todd the next day as how +he sees the rattlesnake, an' that it's mighty near bein' a whopper. + +"'It's shore,' says Enright, when he an' Todd is conversin' tharon, +'the most giant serpent I ever sees without the aid of licker. An' +when he goes streakin' off into the gloom, bein' amazed an' rattled +by your cries, he leaves, so far as I'm concerned, a trail of relief +behind. You-all can gamble, I wasn't interruptin' of no sech snake, +nor makin' of no pretexts for his detainment. + +"'What for was his rattles like?' says Todd; an' he gets pale at the +mere sound of Enright's talk. + +"'As to them rattles,' says Enright, like he's mighty thoughtful +tryin' to recall 'em to mind, 'as to this reptile's rattles, it's +that dark that while I sees 'em I couldn't but jest. So far as I +notes anythin' they looks like a belt full of car-tridges, sorter +corrugated an' noomerous. + +"Now this yere which I relates, while no doubt burnin' experiences +to Todd, is after all harmless enough. An' to people not careful +about the basis of their glee it might do some to laugh at. But it +all closes up on a play with nothin' gay nor merry in it; leastwise +not for Jaybird Bob. + +"This yere finish joke of jaybird's transpires one evenin' as the +cook's startin' in to rustle some chuck. The grub-wagon's been +stopped in the mouth of Peeled Pine Canyon. Every gent's in camp but +this yere tenderfoot Todd. Enright, who's actin' as round-up boss +for the outfit--for everybody's cattle's bein' worked together that +a-way, like we allers does--has sent Todd peerin' 'round for cattle, +'way off up the valley into which the Peeled Pine Canyon opens. This +yere shorthorn's due to be back any time now, 'cause it's only a +question of how far up the valley does he go. He don't run no show +to be lost, for nothin' less aerial than goats could climb out of +the canyon he's in, an' tharfore he's bound to find camp. + +"Of course, knowin' every gent's station in the day's ridin', we- +alls is plenty aware that this tenderfoot Todd is some'ers above us +in the valley. None of the rest of us is turnin' our minds to him +probably, except Jaybird Bob. It all of a bump like a buckin' pony +strikes Jaybird that he's missin' a onusual chance to be buoyant. + +"'What for a play would it be,' says Jaybird, rousin' up from where +he lays watchin' of the cook slice salt hoss for the fryin'-pan, +'what for a game would it be, I says, for a passel of us to lay out +up the draw, an' bush-whack this yere ontaught person Todd as he +comes ridin' down to camp? We-alls could hop out at him, a-whoopin' +an' shoutin', an' bein' wropped up in blankets, he allows it's shore +Injuns an' goes plumb locoed.' + +"`You-all will keep harrowin' away at this Todd party, Jaybird,' +says Enright, 'ontil you arises from the game loser. Now I don't +reckon none I'd play Apache if I'm you. Thar's too much effort in +bein' an Apache that a-way. I'd lay yere an' think up some joke +which don't demand so much industry, an' ain't calc'lated to scare +an innocent gent to death.' + +"But Jaybird won't listen. He falls into admiration of his scheme; +an' at last Tutt an' Jack Moore allows they'll go along an' play +they's aborigines with Jaybird an' note how the tenderfoot stands +the racket. + +"'As long as this yere Jaybird's bound to make the play,' says Jack +Moore to Enright, talkin' one side, 'it's a heap better to have the +conserv'tive element represented in the deal. So I puts it up, it's +a good sage move for me an' Tutts to stand in. We-alls will come +handy to pull Jaybird an' this shorthorn apart if they gets their +horns locked in the course of them gaities.' + +"Enright takes the same view; so Jaybird an' Moore an' Tutt wanders +off up the canyon a mile, an' lays in wait surreptitious to head off +Todd. Jack tells me the story when him an' Tutt comes ridin' back +with the corpse. + +"'This is how we does,' says Jack. 'Me an' Tutt an' deceased--which +last is Jaybird all right enough--is ensconced behind a p'int of +rocks. Jaybird's got his blanket wropped, 'round him so he looks +like a savage. It ain't long when we-alls hears the tenderfoot +comin' down the canyon; it's likely he's half-mile away. He's +runnin' onto us at a road-gait; an' when he's about two hundred +yards off Jaybird turns out a yell to make you shiver, shakes a load +or two outen his gun, goes surgin' out from 'round the p'int of +rocks, an' charges straight at this onthinkin' tenderfoot. It is due +to trooth to say, me an' Tutt follows this Jaybird's suit, only not +so voylent as to whoops. + +"'Does it scare up the tenderfoot? Well, it shorely alarms him a +heap. He takes Jaybird for an Injun an' makes no question; which the +same is nowise strange; I'd took him for a savage myse'f, only, +bein' in the deal that a-way I knows it's Jaybird. So, as I remarks, +it horrifies the tenderfoot on end, an' at the first sight of +Jaybird he whirls his pony an' lights out up that valley like +antelope. + +"'Nacherally we-alls follows; Jaybird leadin', a-whoopin', an' a- +shootin', an' throwin' no end of sperit into it. It's a success, +this piece of wit is, up to this juncture, an' Jaybird puts a heap +of zest into it. + +"'The weak spot in all this yere humor grows out of the idees this +tenderfoot's been gainin', an' the improvements he's been makin', +while stragglin' about in our s'ciety. I onhesitatin'ly states that +if this yere joke is pulled off by Jaybird when Todd first enters +our midst, it might have been the vict'ry of his life. But Jaybird +defers it too long. This tenderfoot has acquired a few Western ways; +enough to spoil the fun an' send pore Jaybird a-curvin' to his home +on high. + +"'This is what that shorthorn does which teaches me he's learnin'. +While he's humpin' off up the canyon, an' me an' Jaybird an' Tutt is +stampedin' along in pursoot, the fugitive throws loose his six- +shooter, an' without even turnin' his head or lookin' back at us, he +onhooks the entire bundle of lead our way. + +"Which the worst feature of it is, this backhanded, blind shootin' +is a winner. The very first shot smites Jaybird plumb through the +hat, an' he goes off his pony without even mentionin' about it to +either Tutt or me. + +"`That's all thar is to the report. Dave an' me pulls up our +broncos, abandons the joke, lays Jaybird across his saddle like a +sack of corn, an' returns to state the case.' + +"'Whatever did you-alls do with this frightened stranger?' asks +Enright. + +"'Which we never does nothin',' says Jack. 'The last I beholds, he's +flyin' up the valley, hittin' nothin' but the high places. An' +assoomin' his project is to get away, he's succeedin' admirable. As +he vanishes, I should jedge from his motions he's reloadin' his gun; +an' from the luck he has with Jaybird, Tutt an' me is led to believe +thar's no real object in followin' him no further. I don't press my +s'ciety on no gent; shorely not on some locoed tenderfoot that a-way +who's pulled his gun an' is done blazin' away erratic, without +purpose or aim.' + +"'Don't you an' Tutt know where he is at?' demands Enright. + +"'Which we shorely don't,' says Jack. 'If his hoss holds, an' he +don't swerve none from the direction he's p'inting out in when he +fades from view, he's goin' to be over in the San Simon country by +to-morrow mornin' when we eats our grub; an' that's half way to the +Borax desert. If you yearns for my impressions,' concloods Jack, +'drawn from a-seein' of him depart, I'm free to say I don't reckon +you-alls is goin' to meet this yere tenderfoot none soon.' + +"An' that's about the size of it. Jack calls the turn. Jaybird's +last joke alarms this tenderfoot Todd plumb outen Arizona, an' thar +ain't none of us ever sees ha'r, horn, nor hoof mark of him no more. +An' he takes with him, this Todd does, the boss pony in our bunch." + + + + +CHAPTER XVX. + +BOGGS'S EXPERIENCE. + + +"No; thar's nothin' prolix about Boggs. Which on the contrary, his +nacher is shorely arduous that a-way. If it's a meetin' of the +committee, for instance, with intent then an' thar to dwell a whole +lot on the doin's of some malefactor, Boggs allers gets to a mental +show-down ahead of the other gents involved. Either he's out to +throw this party loose, or stretch his neck, or run him outen camp, +or whatever's deemed exact jestice, long before sech slow-an'-shore +people as Old Man Enright even looks at their hands. The trooth is, +Boggs ain't so strong on jedgement; his long suit is instinct. An' +moreover I knows from his drawin' four kyards so much in poker, +Boggs is plumb emotional." + +At this point in his discourse the Old Cattle man paused and put in +several profound minutes in apparent contemplation of Boggs. Then he +went on. + +"That's it; Boggs is emotional; an' I shorely reckons which he'd +even been a heap religious, only thar's no churches much on Boggs's +range. Boggs tells me himse'f he comes mighty near bein' caught in +some speritual round-up one time, an' I allers allows, after hearin' +Boggs relate the tale, that if he'd only been submerged in what you- +alls calls benigner inflooences that a-way, he'd most likely made +the fold all right an' got garnered in with the sheep. + +"It's just after Short Creek Dave gets to be one of them +'vangelists. Dave has been exhortin' of Wolfville to leave off its +ways, over in the warehouse of the New York Store, an' that same +evenin' Boggs, bein' some moved, confides in me how once he mebby +half-way makes up his mind he'll be saved. + +"'Leastwise,' says Boggs, when he takes me into his past that a-way, +'I allows I'll be religious in the spring after the round-up is +over. But I don't; so you can't, after all, call it a religious +exper'ence none; nothin' more'n a eepisode. + +"'It's winter when I makes them grace-of-heaven determinations,' +goes on this Boggs, 'an' the spring round-up is months away. But I +allers puts it up I'd shorely filled my hand an' got plumb into the +play, only it's a bad winter; an' in the spring the cattle, weak an' +starved, is gettin' down an' chillin' to death about the water- +holes; an' as results tharof I'm ridin' the hills, a-cussin' an' a- +swearin'; an' all 'round it's that rough, an' I'm that profane an' +voylent, I reckons towards April probably my soul's buried onder ten +foot of cuss-words, an' that j'inin' the church in my case is mighty +likely to be a bluff. An' so I passes it up. + +"'You sees,' says Boggs, 'thar's no good tryin' to hold out kyards +on your Redeemer. If your heart ain't right it's no use to set into +the game. No cold deck goes. He sees plumb through every kyard you +holds, an' nothin' but a straight deal does with Him. Nacherally, +then, I thinks--bein' as how you can't bluff your way into heaven, +an' recallin' the bad language I uses workin' them cattle--I won't +even try. An' that's why, when resolvin' one winter to get religion +mebby next June, I persists in my sinful life. + +"'It's over to Taos I acquires this religious idee. I'm come new to +the camp from some'ers down 'round Seven Rivers in the Pecos +country, an' I don't know a gent. Which I'm by nacher gregar'ous; so +not knowin' folks that a-way weighs on me; an' the first night I'm +thar, I hastens to remedy this yere evil. I'm the possessor of +wealth to a limit,--for I shore despises bein' broke complete, an' +generally keeps as good as a blue stack in my war-bags,--an' I goes +projectin' 'round from dance-hall to baile, an' deciminates my +dinero an' draws to me nose-paint an' friends. As thar ain't but +three gin-mills, incloosive of the hurdy-gurdy, I'm goin' curvin' in +them grand rounds which I institoots, on a sort of triangle. + +"'Which it can't be said I don't make runnin' of it, however; I +don't reckon now it's mor'n an hour before I knows all Taos, bar +Mexicans an' what some folks calls "the better elements." It also +follows, like its lariat does a loose pony, that I'm some organized +by whiskey, not to say confused. + +"'It's because I'm confused I'm misled into this yere pra'r-meetin.' +Not that them exercises is due to dim my eternal game none, now nor +yereafter; but as I ain't liable to adorn the play nor take proper +part tharin, I'd shorely passed out an' kept on to the hurdy-gurdy +if I'd knowed. As it stands, I blunders into them orisons +inadvertent; but, havin' picked up the hand, I nacherally continues +an' plays it. + +"'It's this a-way about them religious exercises: I'm emerged from +the Tub of Blood, an' am p'intin' out for the dance-hall, when I +strikes a wickeyup all lighted, an' singin' on the inside. I takes +it for a joint I ain't seen none as yet, an' tharupon heads up an' +enters. From the noise, I allows mebby it's Mexican; which Greasers +usual puts up a heap of singin' an' scufflin' an' talkin' in +everythin' from monte to a bull-fight. + +"'Once I'm in, I notes it ain't Mexicans an' it ain't monte. Good +folks though, I sees that; an' as a passel of 'em near the door +looks shocked at the sight of me, I'm too bashful to break out +ag'in, but sorter aiges into the nearest seat an' stands pat. + +"'I can tell the outfit figgers on me raisin' the long yell an' +stampedin' round to make trouble; so I thinks to myse'f I'll fool +'em up a lot. I jest won't say a word. So I sets silent as a coyote +at noon; an' after awhile the sharp who's dealin' for 'em goes on +with them petitions I interrupts as I comes bulgin' in. + +"'Their range-boss says one thing I remembers. It's about castin' +your bread upon the waters. He allows you'll get it ag'in an' a band +of mavericks with it. It's playin' white chips to win blues; that's +what this sharp says. + +"'It shorely strikes me as easy. Every time you does good, says this +party, Fate is out to play a return game with you; an' it's written +you quits winner on all the good you promulgates that a-way. + +"'I sets the deal out an' gets some sleepy at it, too. But I won't +leave an' scand'lize the congregation; an' as I gives up strong when +the plate goes by, I ain't regarded as no setback. + +"'When the contreebution-box--which she's a tin plate--comes +chargin' by, I'm sorter noddin,' I'm that weary. I notes the jingle +of money, an' rouses up, allowin' mebby it's a jack-pot, I reckons. + +"'"How hard be you-all in?" I says to the gent next to me, who's +gone to the center for a peso. + +"'"Dollar," says the gent. + +"'"Well," I says, "I ain't seen my hand since the draw, but I'll +raise you nine blind." An' I boards a ten-dollar bill. + +"'When the rest goes, I sorter sidles forth an' lines out for the +dance-hall. The fact is I'm needin' what you-alls calls stimulants. +But all the same it sticks in my head about castin' good deeds on +the water that a-way. It sticks thar yet, for that matter. + +"Bein' released from them devotions, I starts to drinkin' ag'in with +zeal an' earnestness. An' thar comes a time when all my money's in +my boots. Yere's how: I only takes two stacks of reds when I embarks +on this yere debauch. Bein' deep an' crafty, an' a new Injun at that +agency that a-way, an' not knowin' what game I may go ag'inst, I +puts the rest of my bank-roll over in Howard's store. It turns out, +too, that every time I acquires silver in change, I commits it to my +left boot, which is high an' ample to hold said specie. Why I puts +this yere silver money in my boot-laig is shore too many for me. But +I feels mighty cunnin' over it at the time, an' regards it as a +'way-up play. + +"'As I tells you, thar arrives an hour while I'm in the Tub of Blood +when my money's all in my boot, an' thar's still licker to drink. +Fact is, I jest meets a gent named Frosty, as good a citizen as ever +riffles a deck or pulls a trigger, an' p'liteness demands we-alls +puts the nose-paint in play. That's why I has to have money. + +"'I don't care to go pullin' off my moccasins in the Tub of Blood, +an' makin' a vulgar display of my wealth by pourin' the silver onto +the floor. Thar's a peck of it, if thar's dos reals; an' sech an +exhibition as spillin' it out in the Tub of Blood is bound to +mortify me, an' the barkeep, an' Frosty, an' most likely lead to +makin' remarks. So I concloods I'll round up my silver outside an' +then return. + +"'Excuse me," I says to Frosty. "You stay right yere with the +bottle, an' I'll be among you ag'in in a minute all spraddled out." + +"'I goes wanderin' out back of the Tub of Blood, where it's +lonesome, an' camps down by a Spanish-bayonet, an' tugs away to get +my boot off an' my dinero into circ'lation. + +"'An' while I'm at it, sleep an' nose-paint seizes me, an' my light +goes plumb out. I rolls over behind the bayonet-bush an' raises a +snore. As for that Frosty, he waits a while; then he pulls his +freight, allowin' I'm too deliberate about comin' back, for him. + +"'It must have made them coyotes stop an' consider a whole lot about +what I be. To show you how good them coyotes is, I wants to tell +you: I don't notice it ontil the next day. While I'm curled up to +the r'ar of that bush they comes mighty near gnawin' the scabbard +offen my gun. Fact; the leather looks like some pup has been chewin' +it. But right then I ain't mindin' nothin' so oninterestin' as a +coyote bitin' on the leather of my gun. + +"'Now this is where that bluff about bread on the waters comes in; +an' it falls so pat on the heels of them devotions of mine, it he'ps +brand it on my mem'ry. While I'm layin' thar, an' mighty likely +while them coyotes is lunchin' offen my scabbard that a-way, along +comes a rank stranger they calls Spanish Bill. + +"'I learns afterward how this Spanish Bill is hard, plumb through. +He's rustled everythin' from a bunch of ponies to the mail-bags, an' +is nothin' but a hold-up who needs hangin' every hour. Whatever +takes him to where I lays by my bayonet-bush I never knows. He don't +disclose nothin' on that p'int afterward, an' mebby he tracks up on +me accidental. + +"'But what informs me plain that he explores my war-bags for stuff, +before ever he concloods to look after my health, is this: Later, +when we gets acquainted an' I onfurls my finances onto him, he seems +disapp'inted an' hurt. + +"'The statistics of the barkeep of the Tub of Blood next day, goes +to the effect that I'm shorely out thar four hours; an' when Spanish +Bill discovers me I'm mighty near froze. Taos nights in November has +a heap of things in common with them Artic regions we hears of, +where them fur-lined sports goes in pursoot of that North Pole. +Bein' froze, an' mebby from an over-dab of nose-paint, I never +saveys about this yere Spanish Bill meetin' up with me that a-way +ontil later. But by what the barkeep says, he drug me into the Tub +of Blood an' allows he's got a maverick. + +"'"Fix this yere froze gent up somethin' with teeth," says Spanish +Bill to the barkeep. "I don't know his name none, but he's sufferin' +an' has got to be recovered if it takes the entire check-rack." + +"'Which the barkeep stands in an' brings me to. I comes 'round an' +can walk some if Spanish Bill goes along steadyin' of me by the +collar. Tharupon said Bill rides herd on me down to the Jackson +House an' spreads me on some blankets. + +"'It's daylight when I begins to be aware my name's Boggs, an' that +I'm a native of Kentucky, an' little personalities like that; an' +what wakes me up is this Spanish Bill. + +"'"See yere," says this hold-up, "I'm goin' to turn in now, an' it's +time you-all is up. Yere's what you do: Thar's five whiskey-checks +on the Tub of Blood, which will he'p you to an appetite. Followin' +of a s'fficient quantity of fire-water, you will return to the +Jackson House an' eat. I pays for it. I won't be outen my blankets +by then; but they knows that Spanish Bill makes good, 'cause I +impresses it on 'em speshul when I comes in. + +"'"You-all don't know me," goes on this Spanish Bill, as I sets up +an' blinks at him some foggy an' blurred, "an' I don't know you"-- +which we-alls allows, outen p'liteness, is a dead loss to both. "But +my name's Spanish Bill, an' I'm turnin' monte in the Bank Exchange. +I'll be thar at my table by first-drink time this evenin'; an' if +you sa'nters that a-way at that epock, we'll have a drink; an' bein' +as you're busted, of course I stakes you moderate on your way." + +"'It's this bluff about me not havin' money puts me in mind later +that this Bill must have rustled my raiments when he finds me that +time when I'm presided over by coyotes while I sleeps. When he says +it, however, I merely remarks that while I'm grateful to him as +mockin'-birds, money after all ain't no object with me; an', pullin' +off my nigh moccasin, I pours some two pounds of specie onto the +blankets. + +"'"Which I packs this in my boot," I observes, "to put mysc'f in +mind I've got a roll big enough to fill a nose-bag over to Howard's +store." + +"'"An' I'm feelin' the galiest to hear it," says this Spanish Bill; +though as I su'gests he acts pained an' amazed, like a gent who's +over-looked a bet. + +"'Well, that's all thar is to that part. That's where Spanish Bill +launches that bread of his'n; an' the way it later turns out it +sorter b'ars down on me, an' keeps me rememberin' what that skyscout +says at the pra'r-meetin' about the action a gent gets by playin' a +good deed to win. + +"'It's the middle of January, mebby two months later, when I'm over +on the Upper Caliente about fifty miles back of the Spanish Peaks. +I'm workin' a bunch of cattle; Cross-K is the brand; y'ear-marks a +swallow-fork in the left, with the right y'ear onderhacked.' + +"What's the good of a y'ear-mark when thar's a brand?" repeated the +Old Cattleman after me, for I had interrupted with the question. +"Whatever's the good of y'ear-marks? Why, when mixed cattle is in a +bunch, standin' so close you can't see no brands on their sides, an' +you-all is ridin' through the outfit cuttin' out, y'ear-marks is +what you goes by. Cattle turns to look as you comes ridin' an' +pesterin' among 'em, an' their two y'ears p'ints for'ard like fans. +You gets their y'ear-marks like printin' on the page of a book. If +you was to go over a herd by the brands, you wouldn't cut out a +steer an hour. But to trail back after Boggs. + +"`It's two months later, an' I'm ridin' down a draw one day,' says +this Dan Boggs, 'cussin' the range an' the weather, when my pony +goes to havin' symptoms. This yere pony is that sagacious that while +it makes not the slightest mention of cattle when they's near, it +never comes up on deer, or people in the hills, but it takes to +givin' of manifestations. This is so I can squar myse'f for whatever +game they opens on us. + +"`As I says, me an' this yere wise pony is pushin' out into the +Caliente when the pony begins to make signs. I brings him down all +cautious where we can look across the valley, an' + +[Illustration with caption: "Nacherally I stops an' surveys him +careful] + +you-all can gamble I'm some astonished to see a gent walkin' along +afoot, off mebby a couple hundred yards. He sorter limps an' leans +over on one side like he's hurt. Nacherally I stops an' surveys him +careful. It's plenty strange he's thar at all; an' stranger still +he's afoot. I looks him over for weepons; I wants to note what he's +like an' how he's heeled. + +"'You saveys as well as me it don't do to go canterin' out to +strangers that a-way in the hills; speshully a stranger who's afoot. +He might hunger for your pony for one thing, an' open a play on you +with his gun, as would leave you afoot an' likewise too dead to know +it. + +"'I'm allers cautious that a-way, around a party who's lost his +hoss. It locoes him an' makes him f'rocious; I s'pose bein' afoot he +feels he'pless, an' let out an' crazy. A gent afoot is a heap easier +to aggravate, too; an' a mighty sight more likely to lay for you +than when he's in a Texas saddle with a pony between his knees. + +"'Which is why I remarks, that I stacks up this pedestrian careful +an' accurate before I goes after him. + +"'As I says, he carries on like he's hurt; an' he's packin' a six- +shooter. He seems familiar, too; an' while I looks him over I'm +wonderin' where I cuts his trail before. + +"'As I has the advantage of a Winchester, I at last rides into the +open an' gives a whoopee. The party turns, comes limpin' toward me, +an' whoever do you allow it is? Which it's shorely Spanish Bill; an' +it's right yere he gets action on that bread on the waters he plays +in when he recovers me that time in Taos. + +"'To make it brief, Spanish Bill tells me that after I leaves Taos +he goes over an' deals monte a bit at Wagon Mound. One night a +Mexican comes caperin' in, an' Bill gives him a layout or two. At +last he makes an alcy bet of fifty dollars on the queen; what the +Greasers calls the "hoss." The Mexican loses; an' instead of takin' +it easy like a sport should, he grabs the money. + +"'As was his dooty, Spanish Bill bends his six-shooter over the +Mexican. Tharupon he searches out a knife; an' this yere so +complicates the business, Bill, to simplify things, plugs the +Mexican full of holes. + +"'This shootin' is on the squar', an' no one takes hostile notice of +it. Spanish Bill goes on layin' out his monte same as usual. Two +days later, though, he gets a p'inter the Mexicans is fixin' for +him. So that night he moves camp--mebby to where it's a hundred an' +sixty miles from Wagon Mound, over on the Vermejo. + +"'But it looks like the Greasers hangs to the trail; for the day +before I tracks up on him a band of 'em hops outen a dry arroya, +where they's bush-wackin' for him, an' goes to shootin'. As might be +expected, Spanish Bill turns loose, free an' frequent, an' they all +shorely has a high, excessive time. + +"'The Mexicans downs Spanish Bill's pony, an' a bullet creases +Bill's side; which last is what curves him over an' indooces him to +limp when I trails up with him. + +"'As Spanish Bill goes down, the Mexicans scatter. The game is too +high for 'em. They was shy two people, with another plugged deep an' +strong; by which you notes that Bill is aimin' low an' good. + +"'After the shootin' Spanish Bill crawls over to a ranch, an', +gettin' a pony an' saddle, which he easy does, he breaks back into +the hills where I encounters him. It's that morning his pony gets +tired of the deal, an' bucks him off, an' goes stampedin' back. +That's why he's afoot. + +"'While he's talkin' all this, I recalls how Spanish Bill rounds me +up that night in Taos, so I don't hesitate. I takes him over to my +camp. The next mornin' he turns his nose for Texas on my best pony; +which is the last I sees or hears of Spanish Bill, onless he's the +Bill who's lynched over near Eagle Pass a year later, of which I +surmises it's some likely. + +"'But whether Bill's lynched or not, it all brings up ag'in what +that Gospel-gent says about doin' benev'lences; an' how after many +days you dies an' makes a winnin', an' lives on velvet all eternity. +An' don't you know this Spanish Bill pickin' me up that night, an' +then in less than two months, when he's afoot an' hurt in the hills, +gettin' ag'inst me an' drawin' out of the game ahead a saddle, a +pony an' safety, makes it seem like that Bible-sharp is right a +whole lot? + +"'That's how it strikes me,' concloods Boggs. 'An' as I tells you; +if so many cattle don't die that spring; an' if I don't give way so +frightful in my talk, I'd shorely hunted down a congregation the +next June, an' stood in."' + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +DAWSON & RUDD, PARTNERS. + + +"Whatever's the difference between the East an' the West?" said the +Old Cattleman, repeating my question rather for the purpose of +consideration than from any failure to understand: "What's the +difference between the East an' the West? Which, so far as I notes, +to relapse into metaphor, as you-alls says, the big difference is +that the East allers shoots from a rest; while the West shoots off +hand. + +"The West shore learns easy an' is quick to change a system or alter +a play. It's plumb swift, the West is; an' what some regards as +rough is mere rapidity. The West might go broke at faro-bank in the +mornin', an' be rich at roulette in the afternoon; you can't tell. I +knows partners in Arizona who rolls out in the gray light of +breakin' day an' begins work by dissolvin' an' windin' up the firm's +affairs. By dark them same gents is pards ag'in in a new enterprise +complete. Folks'll fight at sun-up an' cook their chile con carne +together at night, an' then sleep onder the same blankets. For which +causes thar's no prophets in the West; a Western future that a-way +bein' so mighty oncertain no prophet can fasten his lariat. + +"Speakin' of pards an' the fog which surrounds what the same is +likely to do, makes me think of the onlicensed an' onlooked-for +carryin's-on of 'Doby Dawson an' Copper Queen Billy Rudd. Them two +gents fosters a feud among themse'fs that splits 'em wide open an' +keeps 'em pesterin' each other for years; which the doin's of them +locoed people is the scandal of Wolfville while it lasts. + +"It's mebby the spring after we erects the Bird Cage Op'ry House, +an' Wolfville is gettin' to be considerable of a camp. We-alls is +organized for a shore-'nough town, an Jack Moore is a shore-'nough +marshal, with Enright for alcalde that a-way, an' thar's a heap of +improvements. + +"When I first tracks into Wolfville, cows is what you might call the +leadin' industry, with whiskey an' faro-bank on the side. But in the +days of 'Doby Dawson an' Copper Queen Billy Rudd, ore has been +onearthed, the mines is opened, an' Wolfville's swelled tremendous. +We-alls even wins a county-seat fight with Red Dog, wherein we puts +it all over that ornery hamlet; an' we shorely deals the game for +the entire region. + +"As I states, it's the spring after we promotes the Bird Cage Op'ry +House--which temple of amoosements is complete the fall before--that +'Doby an' Billy turns up in Wolfville. I knows she's spring, for I'm +away workin' the round-up at the time, an' them gents is both thar +drunk when I comes in. + +"'Doby an' Billy's been pards for ten years. They's miner folks, an' +'Doby tells me himse'f one day that him an' Billy has stood in on +every mine excitement from Alaska to Lower Californy. An' never once +does they get their trails crossed or have a row. + +"The two gents strikes at Wolfville when the mines is first opened, +an' stakes out three claims; one for 'Doby, one for Billy. an' one +for both of 'em. They's camped off up a draw about half a mile from +town, where their claims is, an' has a little cabin an' seems to be +gettin' along peaceful as a church; an' I reckons thar's' no doubt +but they be. + +"When 'Doby an' Billy first comes caperin' into Wolfville they's +that thick an' friendly with each other, it's a shame to thieves. I +recalls how their relations that a-way excites general admiration, +an' Doc Peets even goes so far he calls 'em 'Jonathan an' David.' +Which Peets would have kept on callin' 'em 'Jonathan an' David' +plumb through, but Billy gets hostile. + +"'It ain't me I cares for,' says Billy,--which he waits on Doc Peets +with his gun,--'but no gent's goin' to malign 'Doby Dawson none an' +alloode to him as 'Jonathan' without rebooke.' + +"Seein' it pains Billy, an' as thar ain't even a white chip in mere +nomenclature that a-way, of course Doc Peets don't call 'em +'Jonathan an' David' no more. + +"'Doby an' Billy's been around mighty likely six months. The camp +gets used to 'em an' likes 'em. They digs an' blasts away in them +badger-holes they calls shafts all day, an' then comes chargin' down +to the Red Light at night. After the two is drunk successful, they +mutually takes each other home. An' as they lines out for their camp +upholdin' an' he'pin' of each other, an' both that dead soaked in +nose-paint they long before abandons tryin' to he'p themse'fs, I +tells you, son, their love is a picture an' a lesson. + +"'Which the way them pore, locoed sots,' says Old Man Enright one +night, as 'Doby an' Billy falls outen the Red Light together, an' +then turns in an' assists each other to rise,--'which the way them +pore darkened drunkards rides herd on each other, an' is onse'fish +an' generous that a-way, an' backs each other's play, is as good as +sermons. You-all young men,' says Enright, turnin' on Jack Moore an' +Boggs an' Tutt, 'you-all imatoor bucks whose character ain't really +formed none yet, oughter profit plenty by their example.' + +"As I remarks, 'Doby an' Billy's been inhabitin' Wolfville for +mighty hard on six months when the trouble between 'em first shows +its teeth. As Billy walks out one mornin' to sniff the climate some, +he remarks a Mexican--which his name is Jose Salazar, but don't cut +no figger nohow--sorter 'propriatin' of a mule. + +"'The same,' as Billy says, in relatin' the casooalty later, 'bein' +our star mule.' + +"Nacherally, on notin' the misdeeds of this yere Greaser, Billy +reaches inside the cabin, an' sorts out a Winchester an' plugs said +culprit in among his thoughts, an tharby brings his mule-rustlin' +an' his reflections to a pause some. + +"It's two hours later, mebby, when the defunct's daughter--the +outfit abides over in Chihuahua, which is the Mexican part of +Wolfville--goes to a show-down with 'Doby an' Billy an wants to know +does she get the corpse? + +"'Shore,' says 'Doby, 'which we-alls has no further use for your +paw, an' his remainder is free an' welcome to you. You can bet me +an' Billy ain't holdin' out no paternal corpses none on their +weepin' offsprings.' + +"Followin' of his bluff, 'Doby goes over an' consoles with the +Mexican's daughter, which her name's Manuela, an' she don't look so +bad neither. Doc Peets, whose jedgement of females is a cinch, +allows she's as pretty as a diamond flush, an' you can gamble Doc +Peets ain't makin no blind leads when it's a question of squaws. + +"So 'Doby consoles this yere Manuela a whole lot, while Billy, who's +makin' coffee an' bakin'. powder biscuit inside, don't really notice +he's doin' it. Fact is, Billy's plumb busy. The New York Store +havin' changed bakin'-powder onto us the week before--the same +redoocin' biscuits to a conundrum for a month after--an' that +bakin'-powder change sorter engagin' Billy's faculties wholly, he +forgets about deceased an' his daughter complete; that is, complete +temporary. Later, when the biscuits is done an' offen his mind, +Billy recalls all about it ag'in. + +"'But 'Doby, who's a good talker an' a mighty tender gent that a- +way, jumps in an' comforts Manuela, an' shows her how this mule her +paw is stealin' is by way an' far the best mule in camp, an' at last +she dries her tears an' allows in her language that she's growin' +resigned. 'Doby winds up by he'pin' Manuela home with what's left of +her paw. + +"'Which it's jest like that 'Doby,' says Billy, when he hears of his +partner packin' home his prey that a-way, an' his tones shows he +admires 'Doby no limit, `which it's shorely like him. Take folks in +distress, an' you-alls can bet your last chip 'Doby can't do too +much for 'em.' "Billy's disgust sets in like the rainy season, +however, when about two months later 'Doby ups an' weds this Mexican +girl Manuela. When Billy learns of said ceremony, he declines a seat +in the game, an' won't go near them nuptials nohow. + +"'An' I declar's myse'f right yere,' says Billy. 'From now for'ard +it's a case of lone hand with me. I don't want no more partners. +When a gent with whom for ten years I've camped, trailed, an' +prospected with, all the way from the Dalls to the Gila, quits me +cold an' clammy for a squaw he don't know ten weeks, you can gamble +that lets me plumb out. I've done got my med'cine. an' I'm ready to +quit.' + +"But 'Doby an' Billy don't actooally make no assignment, nor go into +what you-all Eastern sharps calls liquidation. The two goes on an' +works their claims together, an' the firm name still waves as 'Doby +Dawson an' Copper Queen Billy Rudd,' only Billy won't go into +'Doby's new wickeyup where he's got Manuela,--not a foot. + +"'Which I might have conquered my native reluctance,' says Billy, +'so to do, an' I even makes up my mind one night--it's after I've +got my grub, an' you-alls knows how plumb soft an' forgivin' that a- +way a gent is when his stomach's full of grub--to go up an' visit +'em a lot. But as I gets to the door I hears a noise I don't savey; +an' when I Injuns up to a crack an' surveys the scene, I'm a coyote +if thar ain't 'Doby, with his wife in his lap, singin' to her. +That's squar'; actooally singin'; which sech efforts reminds me of +ballards by cinnamon b'ars. + +"'I ain't none shore,' goes on Billy, as he relates about it to me, +'but I'd stood sech egreegious plays, chargin' it general to 'Doby's +gettin' locoed an' mushy; but when this yere ingrate ends his war- +song, what do you-all reckon now he does? Turns in an' begins +'pologizin' for me downin' her dad. Which the old hold-up is on the +mule an' goin' hell-bent when I curls him up. Well, that ends things +with me. I turns on my heels an' goes down to the Red Light an' gets +drunk plumb through. You recalls it; the time I'm drunk a month, an' +Cherokee Hall bars me at faro-bank, allowin' I'm onconscious of my +surroundin's.' + +"Billy goes on livin' at their old camp, an' 'Doby an' Manuela at +the new one 'Doby built. This last is mebby four hundred yards more +up the draw. Durin' the day 'Doby an' Billy turns in an' works an' +digs an' drills an' blasts together as of yore. The main change is +that at evenin' Billy gets drunk alone; an' as 'Doby ain't along to +he'p Billy home an' need Billy's he'p to get home, lots of times +Billy falls by the trail an' puts in the night among the mesquite- +bushes an' the coyotes impartial. + +"This yere goes on for plumb a year, an' while things is cooler an' +more distant between 'em, same as it's bound to be when two gents +sleeps in different camps, still 'Doby an' Billy is trackin' along +all right. One mornin', however, Billy goes down to the holes they's +projectin' over, but no 'Doby shows up. It goes on ontil mighty +likely fifth-drink time that forenoon, an' as Billy don't see no +trace, sign, nor signal-smoke of his pard, he gets oneasy. + +"'It's a fact,' says Billy afterward, 'thar's hours when I more'n +half allows this yere squaw of 'Doby's has done took a knife, or +some sech weepon, an' gets even with 'Doby, while he sleeps, for me +pluggin' her paw about the mule. It's this yere idee which takes me +outen the shaft I'm sinkin', an' sends me cavortin' up to 'Doby's +camp. I passes a resolution on my way that if she's cashed 'Doby's +chips for him that a-way, I'll shorely sa'nter over an' lay waste +all Chihuahua to play even for the blow.' + +"But as all turns out, them surmises of Billy's is idle. He gets +mebby easy six-shooter distance from the door, when he discerns a +small cry like a fox-cub's whine. Billy listens, an' the yelp comes +as cl'ar on his years as the whistle of a curlew. Billy tumbles. + +"'I'm a Chinaman,' says Billy, 'if it ain't a kid!' + +"So he backs off quiet an' noiseless ontil he's dead safe, an' then +he lifts the long yell for 'Doby. When 'Doby emerges he confirms +them beliefs of Billy's; it's a kid shore-'nough. + +"'Boy or girl?' says Billy. + +"'Boy,' says 'Doby.' + +"'Which I shorely quits you cold if it's a girl; says Billy. 'As it +is, I stands by you in your troubles. I ain't none s'prised at your +luck, 'Doby,' goes on Billy. ` I half foresees some sech racket as +this the minute you gets married. However, if it's a boy she goes. I +ain't the gent to lay down on an old-time runnin'-mate while luck's +ag'in him; an' I'll still be your partner an' play out my hand.' + +"Of course, 'Doby has to go back to lookout his game. An' as Billy's +that rent an' shaken by them news he can't work none, he takes two +or three drinks of nose-paint, an' then promulgates as how it's a +holiday. Billy feels, too, that while this yere's a blow, still it's +a great occasion; an' as he takes to feelin' his whiskey an' +roominatin' on the tangled state of affairs, it suddenly strikes him +he'll jest nacherally close up the trail by the house. + +"'Women is frail people an' can't abide noises that a-way,' says +Billy, ` an' 'Doby's shore lookin' some faded himse'f. I reckons, +tharfore, I'll sorter stop commerce along this yere thoroughfar' +ontil further orders. What 'Doby an' his squaw needs now is quietood +an' peace, an' you can wager all you-alls is worth they ain't goin' +to suffer no disturbances.' + +"It ain't half an hour after this before Billy's got two signs, both +down an' up the trail, warnin' of people to hunt another wagon- +track. The signs is made outen pine boards, an' Billy has marked +this yere motto onto 'em with a burnt stick + +"'DOBY'S GOT A PAPOOSE, + SO + PULL YOUR FREIGHT." + +"It ain't no time after Billy posts his warnin's, an' he's still +musin' over 'em mighty reflective, when along projects a Mexican +with a pair of burros he's packin' freight on. The Mexican's goin' +by the notices witbout payin' the least heed tharto. But this don't +do Billy, an' he stands him up. + +"'Can you read?' says Billy to the Mexican, at the same time +p'intin' to the signs. + +"The Mexican allows in Spanish--which the same Billy saveys an' +palavers liberal--that he can't read. Then he p'ints out to go by +ag'in. + +"'No you don't none, onless in the smoke; says Billy, an' throws a +gun on him. 'Pause where you be, my proud Castilian, an' I'll flood +your darkened ignorance with light by nacherally readin' this yere +inscription to you a whole lot.' + +"Tharupon Billy reads off the notice a heap impressive, an' winds up +by commandin' of the Mexican to line out on the trail back. + +"'Vamos!' says Billy. 'Which if you insists on pushin' along through +yere I'll turn in an' crawl your hump some.' + +"But the Mexican gets ugly as a t'ran'tler at this, an' with one +motion he lugs out a six-shooter an' onbosoms the same. + +"Billy is a trifle previous with a gun himse'f, an' while the +Mexican is mighty abrupt, he gets none the best of Billy. Which the +outcome is the Mexican's shot plumb dead in his moccasins, while +Billy takes a small crease on his cheek, the same not bein' deadly. +Billy then confiscates the burros. + +"'Which I plays 'em in for funeral expenses,' says Billy, an' is +turnin' of 'em into the corral by his camp jest as 'Doby comes +prancin' out with a six-shooter to take part in whatever game is +bein' rolled. + +"When 'Doby sees Billy's signs that a-way, he's 'fected so he weeps +tears. He puts his hands on Billy's shoulder, an' lookin' at him, +while his eyes is swimmin', he says: + +"'Billy, you-all is the thoughtfullest pard that ever lived.' + +"'Doby throws so much soul into it, an' him givin' 'way to emotions, +it comes mighty near onhingin' Billy. + +"'I knows I be,' he says, shakin' 'Doby by the hand for a minute, +'but, Old Man, you deserves it. It's comin' to you, an' you bet your +life you're goin' to get it. With some folks this yere would be +castin' pearls before swine, but not with you, 'Doby. You can +'preciate a play, an' I'm proud to be your partner.' + +"The next few months goes on, an' 'Doby an' Billy keeps peggin' away +at their claims, an' gettin' drunk an' rich about equal. Billy is +still that reedic'lous he won't go up to 'Doby's camp; but 'Doby +comes over an' sees him frequent. The first throw out of the box +Billy takes a notion ag'in the kid an' allows he don't want no +traffic with him,--none whatever. + +"But 'Doby won't have it that a-way, an' when it's about six months +old he packs said infant over one mornin' while Billy's at +breakfast. + +"'Ain't he hell!' says 'Doby, a heap gleeful, at the same time +sawin' the infant onto Billy direct. + +"Of course Billy has to hold him then. Which he acts like he's a hot +tamale, an' shifts him about in his arms. But it's plain he ain't so +displeased neither. At last the kid reaches out swift an' cinches +onto Billy's beard that a-way. This delights Billy, while 'Doby +keeps trackin' 'round the room too tickled to set down. All he can +remark--an' he does it frequent, like it tells the entire story--is: + +"'Billy, ain't he hell?' + +"An' Billy ain't none back'ard admittin' he is, an' allows on +hesitatin' it's the hunkiest baby in Arizona. + +"'An' I've got dust into the thousands,' remarks Billy, 'which says +he's the prize papoose of the reservation, an' says it ten to one. +This yere offspring is a credit to you, 'Doby, an' I marvels you-all +is that modest over it.' + +"'You can bet it ain't no Siwash,' says 'Doby. 'It's clean strain, +that infant is, if I does say it.' + +"'That's whatever.' says Billy. looking the infant over an' +beginnin' to feel as proud of it as 'Doby himse'f, 'that's whatever. +An' I'm yere to remark, any gent who can up an' without no talk or +boastin' have such a papoose as that, is licensed to plume himse'f +tharon, an' put on dog over it, the same without restraint. If ever +you calls the turn for the limit, pard, it's when you has this yere +child.' + +"At this 'Doby an' Billy shakes hands like it's a ceremony, an' both +is grave an' dignified about it. 'Doby puts it up that usual he's +beyond flattery, but when a gent of jedgement like Billy looks over +a play that a-way, an' indorses it, you can bet he's not insensible. +Then they shakes hands ag'in, an' 'Doby says: + +"'Moreover, not meanin' no compliments, nor tossin' of no boquets, +old pard, me an' Manuela names this young person "Willyum"; same as +you-all.' + +"Billy comes mighty near droppin' the infant on the floor at this, +an' the small victim of his onthoughtfulness that a-way yells like a +coyote. + +"'That settles it,' says Billy. 'A gent who could come down to +blastin' an' drillin'--mere menial tasks, as they shorely be--on the +heels of honor like this, is a mighty sight more sordid than Copper +Queen Billy Rudd. 'Doby, this yere is a remarkable occasion, an' we +cel'brates.' + +"By this time the infant is grown plumb hostile, an' is howlin' to +beat the band; so 'Doby puts it up he'll take him to his mother an' +afterwards he's ready to join Billy in an orgy. + +"'I jest nacherally stampedes back to the agency with this yere +Willyum child,' says 'Doby, an' then we-alls repairs to the Red +Light an' relaxes.' + +"They shorely does-I don't recall no sech debauch--that is, none so +extreme an' broadcast--since Wolfville and Red Dog engages in them +Thanksgiviin' exercises. + +"Doby an' Billy, as time goes by, allers alloods to the infant as +'Willyum,' so's not to get him an' Billy mixed; an' durin' the next +two years, while Billy still goes shy so far as trackin' over to +'Doby's ranch is concerned, as soon as he walks, Willyum comes down +the canyon to see Billy every day. + +"Oh, no, Billy ain't none onforgivin' to Manuela for ropin' up 'Doby +an' weddin' him that a-way; but you see downin' her paw for stealin' +the mule that time gets so it makes him bashful an' reluctant. + +"'It ain't that I'm timorous neither, nor yet assoomin' airs,' this +yere Billy says to me when he brings it up himse'f how he don't go +over to 'Doby's, 'but I'm never no hand to set 'round an' visit free +an' easy that a-way with the posterity of a gent which I has had +cause to plant. This yere ain't roodness; it's scrooples,' says +Billy, 'an' so it's plumb useless for me to go gettin' sociable with +'Doby's wife.' + +"It's crowdin' close on two years after the infant's born when 'Doby +an' Billy gets up their feud which I speaks of at the beginnin'. +Yere's how it gets fulminated. Billy's loafin' over by the post- +office door one evenin', talkin' to Tutt an' Boggs an' a passel of +us, when who comes projectin' along, p'intin' for the New York +Store, but 'Doby's wife an' Willyum. As they trails by, Willyum sees +Billy--Willyum can make a small bluff at talkin' by now--an', +p'intin' his finger at Billy, he sags back on his mother's dress +like he aims to halt her, an' says: + +"'Pop-pa! Pop-pa!' meanin' Billy that a-way; although the same is +erroneous entire, as every gent in Wolfville knows. + +"'Which if Willyum's forefinger he p'ints with + +is a Colt's forty-four, an' instead of sayin' `Poppa!' he onhooks +the same at Billy direct, now I don't reckon Billy could have been +more put out. 'Doby's wife drags Willyum along at the time like he's +a calf goin' to be branded, an' she never halts or pauses. But Billy +turns all kinds of hues, an' is that prostrated he surges across to +the Red Light an' gets two drinks alone, never invitin' nobody, +before he realizes. When he does invite us he admits frank he's +plumb locoed for a moment by the shock. + +"'You bet!' says Billy, as he gets his third drink, the same bein' +took in common with the pop'lace present, 'you bet! thar ain't a +gent in camp I'd insult by no neglect; but when Willyum makes them +charges an' does it publicly, it onhinges my reason, an' them two +times I don't invite you-alls, I'm not responsible.' + +"We-alls sees Billy's wounded, an' tharfore it's a ha'r-line deal to +say anythin'; but as well as we can we tells him that what Willyum +says, that a-way, bein' less'n two year old, is the mere prattle of +a child, an' he's not to be depressed by it. + +"'Sech breaks,' says Dan Boggs, 'is took jocose back in the States.' + +"'Shore!' says Texas Thompson, backin' Boggs's play; 'them little +bluffs of infancy, gettin' tangled that a-way about their +progenitors, is regarded joyous in Laredo. Which thar's not the +slightest need of Billy bein' cast down tharat.' + +"'I ain't sayin' a word, gents,' remarks Billy, an' his tones is +sad. You-alls means proper an friendly. But I warns the world at +this time that I now embarks on the spree of my life. I'm goin to +get drunk an' never hedge a bet; an my last requests, the same bein' +addressed to the barkeep, personal, is to set every bottle of bug- +juice in the shebang on the bar, thar to repose within the reach of +all ontil further orders.' + +"It's about an hour later, an' Billy, who's filed away a quart of +fire-water in his interior by now, is vibratin' between the Red +Light an' the dance-hall, growin' drunk an' dejected even up. It's +then he sees 'Doby headin' up the street. 'Doby hears of his son +Willyum's wild play from his wife, an' it makes him hot that a-way. +But he ain't no notion of blamin' Billy; none whatever. + +"However, 'Doby don't have entire charge of the round-up, an' he has +to figger with Billy right along. + +"'Doby,' shouts Billy, as he notes his pard approachin', while he +balances himse'f in his moccasins a heap difficult, ''Doby, your +infant Willyum is a eediot. Which if I was the parent of a fool +papoose like Willyum, I'd shorely drop him down a shaft a whole lot +an' fill up the shaft. He won't assay two ounces of sense to the +ton, Willyum won't; an' he ain't worth powder an' fuse to work him. +Actooally, that pore imbecile baby Willyum, don't know his own +father.' + +"Which the rage of 'Doby is beyond bounds complete. For about half a +minute him an' Billy froths an' cusses each other out scand'lous, +an' then comes the guns. The artillery is a case of s'prise, the +most experienced gent in Wolfville not loekin' for no gun-play +between folks who's been pards an' blanket-mates for years. + +"However, it don't last long; it looks like both gets sorter +conscience-stricken that a-way, an' lets up. Still, while it's +short, it's long enough for Billy to get his laig ousted with one of +'Doby's bullets, an' it all lays Billy up for Doc Peets to fuss with +for over three months. + +"While Billy's stretched out, an' Doe Peets is ridin' herd on his +laig, 'Doby keeps as savage as an Apache an' don't come near Billy. +The same, however, ain't full proof of coldness, neither; for +Billy's done give it out he'll down 'Doby if he pokes his head in +the door, an' arranges his guns where he can work 'em in on the +enterprise easy. + +"But Willyum don't take no stand-off. The last thing Willyum's +afraid of is Billy; so he comes waltzin' over each day, clumsy as a +cub cinnamon on his short laigs, an' makes himse'f plumb abundant. +He plays with Billy, an' he sleeps with Billy, Willyum does; an' he +eats every time the nigger, who's come over from the corral to +lookout Billy's domestic game while he's down, rustles some grub. + +"'Doby's disgusted with Willyum's herdin' 'round with Billy that a- +way, bein' sociable an' visitin' of him, an' he lays for Willyum an' +wallops him. When Billy learns of it--which he does from Willyum +himse'f when that infant p'ints in for a visit the day after--he's +as wild as a mountain lion. Billy can't get out none, for his laig +is a heap fragmentary as yet,--'Doby's bullet gettin' all the +results which is comin' that time,--but he sends 'Doby word by +Peets, if he hears of any more punishments bein' meted to Willyum, +he regards it as a speshul affront to him, an' holds 'Doby +responsible personal as soon as he can hobble. + +"'Tell him,' says Billy, 'that if he commits any further atrocities +ag'in this innocent Willyum child, I'll shore leave him too dead to +skin.' + +"'This yere Billy's gettin' locoed entire,' says Enright, when he's +told of Billy's bluff. 'The right to maul your immediate descendants +that a-way is guaranteed by the constitootion, an' is one of them +things we-alls fights for at Bunker Hill. However, I reckons Billy's +merely blowin' his horn; bein' sick an' cantankerous with his game +knee.' + +"Billy gets well after a while, an' him an' 'Doby sorter plans to +avoid each other. Whatever work they puts in on the claim they holds +in partnership, they hires other gents to do. Personal, each works +the claim he holds himse'f, which keeps 'em asunder a whole lot, an' +is frootful of peace.' "Deep inside their shirts I allers allows +these yere persons deems high an' 'fectionate of one another right +at the time they's hangin' up their hardest bluffs an' carryin' on +most hostile. Which trivial incidents discloses this. + +"Once in the Red Light, when a party who's new from Tucson, turns in +to tell some light story of Billy,--him not bein' present none,-- +'Doby goes all over this yere racontoor like a landslide, an' +retires him from s'ciety for a week. An' 'Doby don't explain his +game neither; jest reprimands this offensive Tucson gent, an' lets +it go as it lays. Of course, we-alls onderstands it's 'cause 'Doby +ain't puttin' up with no carpin' criticism of his old pard; which +the same is nacheral enough. + +"Don't you-all ever notice, son, how once you takes to fightin' for +a party an' indorsin' of his plays, it gets to be a habit,--same, +mebby, as fire-water? Which you lays for his detractors an' pulls on +war for him that a-way long after you ceases to have the slightest +use for him yourse'f. It's that a-way with 'Doby about Billy. + +"An' this yere Billy's feelin's about 'Doby is heated an' sedulous +all sim'lar. 'Doby gets laid out for a week by rheumatics, which he +acquires years before--he shore don't rope onto them rheumatics none +'round Wolfville, you can gamble! said camp bein' salooberous that +a-way--over on the Nevada plateaus, an' while he's treed an' can't +come down to his claim, a passel of sharps ups an' mavericks it; +what miners calls 'jumps it.' Whatever does Billy do? Paints for war +prompt an' enthoosiastic, takes his gun, an' the way he stampedes +an' scatters them marauders don't bother him a bit. + +"But while, as I states, this yere trick of makin' war-med'cine +which 'Doby an' Billy has, an' schedoolin' trouble for folks who +comes projectin' 'round invadin' of the other's rights, mebby is a +heap habit, I gleans from it the idee likewise that onder the +surface they holds each other in esteem to a p'int which is +romantic. + +"Doby an' Billy lives on for a year after 'Doby plugs Billy in the +laig, keepin' wide apart an' not speakin'. Willyum is got so he puts +in most of his nights an' all of his days with Billy; which the +spectacle of Billy packin' Willyum about camp nights is frequent. +'Doby never 'pears to file no protest; I reckons he looks on it as a +fore-ordained an' hopeless play. However, Billy's a heap careful of +Willyum's morals, an' is shorely linin' him up right. + +"Once a new barkeep in the dance-hall allows he'll promote Willyum's +feelin's some with a spoonful of nose-paint. + +"'No, you don't,' says Billy, plenty savage; 'an' since the matter +comes up I announces cold that, now or yereafter, the first gent who +saws off nose-paint on Willyum, or lays for the morals of this +innocent infant to corrupt 'em, I'll kill an' skelp him so shore as +I packs gun or knife.' + +"'Which shows,' said Dan Boggs later, when he hears of Billy's +blazer, 'that this yere Billy Rudd is a mighty high-minded gent, an' +you-alls can play it to win he has my regards. He can count me in on +this deal to keep Willyum from strong drinks.' + +"'I thinks myse'f he's right,' says Cherokee Hall. 'Willyum is now +but three years old, which is shore not aged. My idee would be to +raise Willyum, an' not let him drink a drop of nose-paint ever, +merely to show the camp what comes of sech experiments.' + +"But Billy's that pos'tive an' self-reliant he don't need no +encouragement about how he conducts Willyum's habits; an', followin' +his remarks, Willyum allers gets ignored complete on invitations to +licker. Packin' the kid 'round that a-way shortens up Billy's booze +a lot, too. He don't feel so free to get tanked expansive with +Willyum on his mind an' hands that a-way. + +"It's shorely a picture, the tenderness Billy lavishes on Willyum. +Many a night when Billy's stayin' late, tryin' to win himse'f outen +the hole, I beholds him playin' poker, or mebby it's farebank, with +Willyum curled up on his lap an' shirt-front, snorin' away all sound +an' genial, an' Billy makin' his raises an' callin' his draw to the +dealer in whispers, for fear he wakes Willyum. + +"But thar comes a time when the feud is over, an' 'Doby an' Billy +turns in better friends than before. For a month mebby thar's a +Mexican girl--which she's a cousin that a-way or some kin to 'Doby's +wife--who's been stayin' at 'Doby's house, sorter backin' their +play. + +"It falls out frequent this Mexican girl, Marie, trails over to +Billy's, roundin' up an' collectin' of Willyum to put another shirt +onto him, or some sech benefit. Billy never acts like he's impressed +by this yere girl, an', while he relinquishes Willyum every time, he +growls an' puts it up he's malev'lent over it. + +"But the seniorita is game, an' don't put no store by Billy's +growls. She ropes up Willyum an' drags him away mighty decisive. +Willyum howls an' calls on Billy for aid, which most likely is pain +to Billy's heart; but he don't get it none. The senorita harnesses +Willyum into a clean shirt, an' then she throws Willyum loose on the +range ag'in, an' he drifts back to Billy. + +"It's the general view that Billy never once thinks of wedlock with +the senorita if he's let alone. But one day Doc Peets waxes +facetious. + +"'In a month,' says Peets to Billy, while we-alls is renooin' our +spcrits in the Red Light, 'this yere Marie'll quit comin' over for +Willyum.' + +"'Why?' says Billy, glarin' at Peets s'picious. + +"'Cause,' replies Peets, all careless, ''cause you ups an' weds her +by then. I sees it in your eye. Then, when she's thar for good, I +reckons she nacherally quits comin' over.' + +"'Oh, I don't know,' says Texas Thompson, who's takin' in Doc Peets' +remark; ' I don't allow Billy's got the nerve to marry this yere +Marie. Not but what she's as pretty as an antelope. But think of +'Doby. He jest never would quit chewin' Billy's mane if he goes +pullin' off any nuptial ceremonies with his wife's relative that a- +way.' + +"Billy looks hard as granite at this. He ain't sayin' nothin', but +he gets outside of another drink in a way which shows his mind's +made up, an' then he goes p'intin' off towards his camp, same as a +gent who entertains designs. + +"'I offers three to one,' says Cherokee Hall, lookin' after Billy +sorter thoughtful that a-way, 'that Billy weds this yere Mexican +girl in a week; an' I'll go five hundred dollars even money he gets +her before night.' + +"'An' no takers,' says Doc Peets, 'for I about thinks you calls the +turn.' + +"An' that's what happens. In two hours after this impulsive Billy +prances out of the Red Light on the heels of Texas Thompson's +remarks about how hostile 'Doby would be if he ever gets Marie, he's +done lured her before the padre over in Chihuahua, an' the padre +marries 'em as quick as you could take a runnin'-iron an' burn a +brand on a calf. + +"'Which this is not all. Like they was out to add to the excitement +a whole lot, I'm a Mohave if 'Doby an' his wife don't turn loose an' +have another infant that same day. + +"'I never sees a gent get so excited over another gent's game as +Billy does over 'Doby's number two. He sends his new wife up to +'Doby's on the run, while he takes Willyum an' comes pirootin' back +to the Red Light to brace up. Billy's shore nervous an' needs it. + +"'My pore child,' says Billy to Willyum about the third drink-- +Willyum is settin' on a monte-table an' payin' heed to Billy a heap +decorous an' respectful for a three-year-old--'my pore child,' says +Billy that a-way, 'you-all is ag'in a hard game up at your paw's. +This yere is playin' it plumb low on you, Willyum. It looks like +they fills a hand ag'in you, son, an' you ain't in it no more at +'Doby's; who, whatever is your fool claims on that p'int a year ago, +is still your dad ondoubted. But you-all knows me, Willyum. You +knows that talk in Holy Writ. If your father an' mother shakes you, +your Uncle Billy takes you up. I'm powerful 'fraid, Willyum, you'll +have to have action on them promises." + +"Willyum listens to Billy plenty grave an' owly, but he don't make +no observations on his luck or communicate no views to Billy except +that he's hungry. This yere ain't relevant none, but Billy at once +pastures him out on a can of sardines an' some crackers, while he +keeps on bein' liberal to himse'f about whiskey. + +"'I don't feel like denyin' myse'f nothin',' he says. 'Yere I gets +married, an' in less'n an hour my wife is ravaged away at the whoop +of dooty to ride herd on another gent's fam'ly,; leavin' me, her +husband, with that other gent's abandoned progeny on my hands. This +yere's gettin' to be a boggy ford for Billy Rudd, you bet.' + +"But while Billy takes on a heap, he don't impress me like he's hurt +none after all. When Doc Peets trails in from 'Doby's, where he's +been in the interests of science that a-way, Billy at once drug him +aside for a pow-wow. They talks over in one corner of the Red Light +awhile, then Billy looks up like one load's offen his mind, an' +yells: + +" 'Barkeep, it's another boy. Use my name freely in urgin' drinks on +the camp.' + +"Then Billy goes on whisperin' to Doc Peets an' layin' down +somethin', like his heart's sot on it. At last Doc says: + +"'The best way, Billy, is for me to bring 'Doby over.' With this Doc +Peets gets onto his pony at the door an' goes curvin' back to +'Doby's. + +"'It's a boy,' says Billy to the rest of us after Doc Peets lines +out, `an' child an' mother both on velvet an' winnin' right along.' + +"These yere events crowdin' each other that a-way--first a weddin' +an' then an infant boy--has a brightenin' effect on public sperit. +It makes us feel like the camp's shorely gettin' a start. While we- +alls is givin' way to Billy's desire to buy whiskey, Peets comes +back, bringin' 'Doby. + +"Thar's nothin' what you-alls calls dramatic about 'Doby an' Billy +comin' together. They meets an' shakes, that's all. They takes a +drink together, which shows they's out to be friends for good, an' +then Billy says: + +"'But what I wants partic'lar, 'Doby, is that you makes over to me +your son Willyum. He's shore the finest young-one in Arizona, an' +Marie an' me needs him to sorter organize on.' + +"'Billy,' says 'Doby, 'you-all an' me is partners for years, an' +we're partners yet. We has our storm cloud, an' we has also our eras +of peace. Standin' as we do on the brink of one of said eras, an' as +showin' sincerity, I yereby commits to you my son Willyum. +Yereafter, when he calls you "Pop," it goes, an' the same will not +be took invidious.' + +"''Doby,' replies Billy, takin' him by the hand, 'this yere day +'lustrates the prophet when he says: "In the midst of life we're in +luck." If you-all notes tears in my eyes I'm responsible for 'em. +Willyum's mine. As I r'ars him it will be with you as a model. Now +you go back where dooty calls you. When you ceases to need my wife, +Marie, send her back to camp, an' notify me tharof. Pendin' of which +said notice, however,' concloods Billy, turnin' to us after 'Doby +starts back, 'Willyum an' me entertains.'" + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +MACE BOWMAN, SHERIFF. + + +"And so you think the trouble lies with the man and not with the +whiskey?" I said. + +The Old Cattleman and I were discussing "temperance." + +"Right you be. This yere whiskey-drinkin'," continued the old +gentleman as he toyed with his empty glass, "is a mighty cur'ous +play. I knows gents as can tamper with their little old forty drops +frequent an' reg'lar. As far as hurtin' of 'em is concerned, it +don't come to throwin' water on a drowned rat. Then, ag'in, I've cut +gents's trails as drinkin' whiskey is like playin' a harp with a +hammer. Which we-alls ain't all upholstered alike; that's whatever. +We don't all show the same brands an' y'earmarks nohow: What's +med'cine for one is p'isen for t'other; an' thar you be. + +"Bein' a reg'lar, reliable drunkard that a-way comes mighty near +bein' a disease. It ain't no question of nerve, neither. Some dead- +game gents I knows--an' who's that obstinate they wouldn't move camp +for a prairie-fire--couldn't pester a little bit with whiskey. + +"Thar's my friend, Mace Bowman. Mace is clean strain cl'ar through, +an' yet I don't reckon he ever gets to a show-down with whiskey once +which he ain't outheld. But for grim nerve as'll never shiver, this +yere Bowman is at par every time. + +"Bowman dies a prey to his ambition. He starts in once to drink all +the whiskey in Wolfville. By his partic'lar request most of the +white male people of the camp stands in on the deal, a-backin' his +play for to make Wolfville a dry camp. At the close of them two +lurid weeks Mace lasts, good jedges, like Enright an' Doc Peets, +allows he's shorely made it scarce some. + +"But Wolfville's too big for him. Any other gent but Mace would have +roped at a smaller outfit, but that wouldn't be Mace nohow. If +thar's a bigger camp than Wolfville anywhere about, that's where +he'd been. He's mighty high-hearted an' ambitious that a-way, an' +it's kill a bull or nothin' when he lines out for buffalo. + +"But the thirteenth day, he strikes in on the big trail, where you +never meets no outfits comin' back, an' that settles it. The boys, +not havin' no leader, with Mace petered, gives up the game, an' the +big raid on nose-paint in Wolfville is only hist'ry now. + +"When I knows Bowman first he's sheriff over in northeast New +Mexico. A good sheriff Mace is, too. Thar ain't nothin' gets run off +while he's sheriff, you bet. When he allows anythin's his dooty, he +lays for it permiscus. He's a plumb sincere offishul that a-way. + +"One time I recalls as how a wagon-train with households of folks +into it camps two or three days where Mace is sheriff. These yere +people's headin' for some'ers down on the Rio Grande, aimin' to +settle a whole lot. Mebby it's the third mornin' along of sun-up +when they strings out on the trail, an' we-alls thinks no more of +'em. It's gettin' about third-drink time when back rides a gent, +sorter fretful like, an' allows he's done shy a boy. + +"'When do you-all see this yere infant last?' says Mace. + +"'Why,' says the gent, 'I shorely has him yesterday, 'cause my old +woman done rounds 'em up an' counts.' + +"'What time is that yesterday?' + +"'Bout first-drink time,' says the bereaved party. + +"'How many of these yere offsprings, corral count, do you-all lay +claim to anyway?' asks Mace. + +"'Which I've got my brand onto 'leven of 'em,' says the pore parent, +beginnin' to sob a whole lot. 'Of course this yere young-one gettin' +strayed this a-way leaves me short one. It makes it a mighty rough +crossin', stranger, after bringin' that boy so far. The old woman, +she bogs right down when she knows, an' I don't reckon she'll be the +same he'pmeet to me onless I finds him ag'in.' + +"'Oh, well,' says Mace, tryin' to cheer this bereft person up, 'we +lose kyards in the shuffle which the same turns up all right in the +deal; an' I reckons we-alls walks down this yearlin' of yours ag'in, +too. What for brands or y'earmarks, does he show, so I'll know him.' + +"'As to brands an' y'earmarks,' says the party, a-wipin' of his eye, +'he's shy a couple of teeth, bein' milk-teeth as he's shed; an' +thar's a mark on his for'ard where his mother swipes him with a +dipper, that a-way, bringin' him up proper. That's all I remembers +quick.' + +"Mace tells the party to take a cinch on his feelin's, an' stampedes +over to the Mexican part of camp, which is called Chilili, on a +scout for the boy. Whatever do you-all reckon's become of him, son? +I'm a wolf if a Mexican ain't somehow cut him out of the herd an' +stole him. Takes him in, same as you mavericks a calf. Why in the +name of hoss-stealin' he ever yearns for that young-one is allers +too many for me. + +"When the abductor hears how Mace is on his trail, which he does +from other Mexicans, he swings onto his bronco an' begins p'intin' +out, takin' boy an' all. But Mace has got too far up on him, an' +stops him mighty handy with a rifle. Mace could work a Winchester +like you'd whirl a rope, an' the way he gets a bullet onder that +black-an'-tan's left wing don't worry him a little bit. The bullet +tears a hole through his lungs, an' the same bein' no further use +for him to breathe with, he comes tumblin' like a shot pigeon, +bringin' the party's offspring with him. + +"Which this yere is almighty flatterin' to Mace as a shot, an' it +plumb tickles the boy's sire. He allows he's lived in Arkansaw, an' +shorely knows good shootin', an' this yere's speshul good. An' then +he corrals the Greaser's skelp to take back with him. + +"'It'll come handy to humor up the old woman with, when I gets back +to camp,' he says; so he tucks the skelp into his war-bags an' +thanks Mace for the interest he takes in his household. + +"'That's all right,' says Mace; 'no trouble to curry a little short +hoss like that.' + +"He shakes hands with the Arkansaw gent, an' we-alls rounds up to +Bob Step's an' gets a drink. + +"But the cat has quite a tail jest the same. A Mexican that a-way is +plenty oncertain. For instance: You're settin' in on a little game +of monte all free an' sociable, an' one of 'em comes crowdin' 'round +for trouble, an' you downs him. All good enough, says you. No other +Mexican seems like he wants to assoome no pressure personal; no one +goes browsin' 'round to no sheriff; an' thar you be deluded into +theeries that said killin's quit bein' a question. That's where you- +all is the victim of error. + +"Which in this case the Mexican Mace stretches has uncles or +somethin' down off Chaperita. Them relatives is rich. In a week--no +one never saveys how--everybody knows that thar's five thousand +dollars up for the first party who kills Mace. I speaks to him about +it myse'f, allowin' he'd oughter be careful how he goes spraddlin' +about permiscus. Mebby, when he's lookin' north some time, somebody +gets him from the south. + +"'I ain't worryin' none,' says Mace; 'I ain't got no friends as +would down me, nohow; an' my enemies ain't likely none to think it's +enough dinero. Killin' me is liable to come mighty high.' + +"After which announcements he goes romancin' along in his cheerful, +light-hearted way, drinkin' his whiskey an' bein' sheriff, mingled, +an' in a week or so we-alls begins to forget about them rewards. One +day a little Mexican girl who Mace calls Bonita--she'd shorely give +a hoss for a smile from him any time--scouts over an' whispers to +Mace as how three Greasers from down around Anton Chico is in camp +on a hunt for his ha'r. Them murderers is out for the five thousand; +they's over in Chilili right then. + +"'Whereabouts in Chilili be them Mexicans?' asks Mace, kinder +interested. + +"'Over camped in old Santa Anna's dance. hall, a-drinkin' of mescal +an' waitin' for dark,' says the girl. + +"'All right,' says Mace; 'I'll prance over poco tiempo, an' it's +mighty likely them aliens from Anton Chico is goin' to have a fitful +time.' + +"Mace kisses the little Bonita girl, an' tells her not to chirp +nothin' to no Mexican; an' with the caress that a-way her black eyes +gets blacker an' brighter, an' the red comes in her cheek, an' bats +could see she'd swap the whole Mexican outfit for a word from Mace, +an' throw herse'f in for laniyap. + +"Mace p'ints out to get another gun; which is proper enough, for +he's only one in his belt, an' in a case like this yere he's mighty +likely to need two a lot. + +"'Some of us oughter go over with Mace, I reckons,' says a party +named Benson, sorter general to the crowd. 'What do you-alls think +yourse'fs?' + +"'Go nothin'!' retorts a gent who's called Driscoll, an' who's up to +the hocks into a game of poker, an' don't like to see it break up +an' him behind. 'The hand Mace holds don't need no he'p. If Mace is +out after two or three of the boys now, it would be plenty +different; but whoever hears of a white man's wantin' he'p that a- +way to down three Greasers, an' him to open the game? Mace could +bring back all the skelps in Chilili if he's that f'rocious an' +wants to, an' not half try.' + +"This seems to be the general idee, an', aside of some bets which is +made, no one takes no interest. Bob Short puts it up he'd bet a +hundred dollars even Mace gets one of 'em; a hundred to two hundred +he gets two, an' a hundred to five hundred he gets 'em all; an' some +short-kyard sharp who's up from Socorro, after figgerin' it all +silent to himse'f, takes 'em all. + +"'Now I don't reckon, stranger,' says Benson, sorter reproachful, to +the short-kyard party, 'you knows Mace Bowman mighty well? If you- +all did you wouldn't go up ag'in a shore thing like that.' + +"We never gets anythin' but Mace's story for it. He tells later how +he sa'nters into Santa Anna's an' finds his three Anton Chico felons +all settin' alone at a table. They knows him, he says, an' he camps +down over opp'site an' calls for a drink. They's watchin' Mace, an' +him doin' sim'lar by them. Final, he says, one of 'em makes a play +for his gun, an', seein' thar's nothin' to be made waitin', Mace +jumps up with a six-shooter in each hand, an' thar's some noise an' +a heap of smoke, an' them three Mexicans is eliminated in a bunch. + +"When he plays his hand out Mace comes back over to us--no other +Mexicans allowin' for to call him--an' relates how it is, an' +nacheral we says it's all right, which it shorely is. I asks old +Santa Anna for the details of the shake-up later, but he spreads his +hands, an' shrugs his shoulders, an' whines + +"'No quien sabe.' + +"An', of course, as I can't tell, an' as Santa Anna don't, I gives' +up askin'." + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +A WOLFVILLE THANKSGIVING. + + +It was in the earlier days of autumn. Summer had gone, and there was +already a crisp sentiment of coming cold in the air. The Old +Cattleman and I had given way to a taste for pedestrianism that had +lain dormant through the hot months. It was at the close of our +walk, and we were slowly making our way homeward. + +"An' now the year's got into what hoss-folks calls the last +quarter," remarked the old gentleman musingly. "You can feel the +frost in the atmosphere; you can see where it's bit the leaves a +lot, an' some of 'em's pale with the pain, an' others is blood-red +from the wound. "Which I don't regard winter much, say twenty years +ago. Thar's many a night when I spreads my blankets in the Colorado +hills, flakes of snow a-fallin' as soft an' big an' white as a +woman's hand, an' never heeds 'em a little bit. But them days is +gone. Thar's no roof needed in my destinies then. An' as for bed, a +slicker an' a pair of hobbles is sumptuous. + +"When a gent rounds up seventy years he's mighty likely to get a +heap interested in weather. It's the heel of the hunt with him then, +an' he's worn an' tired, and turns nacherally to rest an' fire." + +We plodded forward as he talked. To his sage comments on the +seasons, and as well the old age of men, I offered nothing. My +silence, however, seemed always to meet with his tacit approval; nor +did he allow it to impede his conversational flow. + +"Well," observed the old fellow, after a pause, "I reckons I'll see +the winter through all right; likewise the fall. I'm a mighty sight +like that old longhorn who allows he's allers noticed if he lives +through the month of March he lives through the rest of the year; so +I figgers I'll hold together that a-way ontil shorely March comin'. +Anyhow I regards it as an even break I does. + +"Thar's one thing about fall an' winter which removes the dreariness +some. I alloods to them festivals sech as Thanksgivin' an' Christmas +an' New Year. Do we-alls cel'brate these yere events in Wolfville? +Which we shorely does. Take Christmas: You-all couldn't find a sober +gent in Wolfville on that holy occasion with a search-warrant; the +feelin' to cel'brate is that wide-spread an' fervid. + +"Thanksgivin' ain't so much lotted on; which for one thing we +frequent forgets it arrives that a-way. Thar's once, though, when we +takes note of its approach, an' nacherally, bein' organized, we +ketches it squar' in the door. Them Thanksgivin' doin's is shorely +great festivities that time. It's certainly a whirl. + +"Old Man Enright makes the first break; he sorter arranges the game. +But before all is over, the food we eats, the whiskey we drinks, an' +the lies we tells an' listens to, is a shock an' a shame to Arizona. + +"Thar's a passel of us prowlin' 'round in the Red Light one day, +when along comes Enright. He's got a paper in his hand, an' from the +air he assooms it's shore plain he's on the brink of somethin'. + +"'What I'm thinkin' of, gents, is this,' says Enright, final. 'I +observes to-morrow to be Thanksgivin' by this yere paper Old Monte +packs in from Tucson. The Great Father sets to-morrow for a national +blow-out, a-puttin' of it in his message on the broad ground that +everybody's lucky who escapes death. Now, the question is, be we in +this? an' if so, what form the saturnalia takes?' + +What's the matter of us hoppin' over an' shootin' up Red Dog?" says +Dan Boggs. 'That bunch of tarrapins ain't been shook up none for +three months.' + +"'Technical speakin',' says Doc Peets--which Peets, he shorely is +the longest-headed sharp I ever sees, an' the galiest--'shootin' up +Red Dog, while it's all right as a prop'sition an' highly creditable +to Boggs, is not a Thanksgivin' play. The game, turned strict, +confines itse'f to eatin', drinkin', an' lyin'.' + +"'Thar's plenty of whiskey in camp,' says Jack Moore, meditative- +like, 'whereby that drinkin' part comes easy.' + +"'I assooms it's the will of all to pull off a proper Thanksgivin' +caper,' says Enright, 'an' tharfore I su'gests that Doc Peets and +Boggs waits on Missis Rucker at the O. K. restauraw an' learns what +for a banquet she can rustle an' go the limit. Pendin' the return of +Peets an' Boggs I allows the balance of this devoted band better +imbibe some. Barkeep, sort out some bottles.' + +"The committee comes back after a little, an' allows Missis Rucker +reports herse'f shy on viands on account of the freighters bein' +back'ard comin' in. + +"'But,' says Peets, 'she's upholstered to make a strong play on salt +hoss an' baked beans, with coffee an' biscuits for games on the +side.' + +"'That's good enough for a dog,' says Jack Moore, 'to say nothin' of +mere people. Any gent who thinks he wants more is the effect victim +of whims.' + +"While we-alls is discussin' the ground plans for this yere feast, +thar's a clatter of pony-hoofs an' a wild yell outside, an' next +thar's a big, shaggy-lookin' vagrant, a-settin' on his hoss in front +of the Red Light's door. + +"'Get an axe, somebody,' he shouts, 'an' widen this yere portal +some. I aims to come in on my hoss.' + +"`Hands up, thar!' says Jack Moore, reachin' for his six-shooter. +'Hands up! I'll jest fool you up about comin' in on your hoss. You +work in one wink too many now, an' I puts a hole in your face right +over the eye.' + +"'Go slow, Jack,' says Enright. 'Who may you-all be?' he goes on to +the locoed man on the hoss. + +"'Me?' says the locoed man. 'I'm Red Dog Bill. Tell that sot,' he +continues, p'intin' at Jack, ' to put down his gun an' not offer it +at me no more. He's a heap too vivid with that weepon. Only I'm a +white-winged harbinger of peace, I shore ups an' makes him eat the +muzzle offen it.' + +"'Well, whatever be you thirstin' for, anyhow?' says Enright. 'You +comes ridin' in yere like you ain't got no regards for nothin'. Is +this a friendly call, or be you present on a theery that you runs +the town?' + +"'I'm the Red Dog committee on invitations,' he says. 'Red Dog sends +its comps, an' asks Wolfville to bury the hatchet for one day in +honor of to-morrow bein' Thanksgivin', an' come feed with us.' + +"'Let's go him,' says Dan Boggs. + +"'Now stand your hand a second,' says Enright, 'don't let's overlook +no bets. Whatever has you Red Dog hold-ups got to eat, anyhow?' + +"'Ain't got nothin' to eat much--maybe some can stuff--what you-alls +calls air-tights,' says the Red Dog man. 'But we has liquid, no +limit.' + +"'Got any can tomatters?' says Boggs. + +"'Can tomatters we-alls is 'speshul strong on,' says the Red Dog +man. 'It's where we-alls lives at; can tomatters is.' + +"'I tells you what you-all do,' says Enright, 'an' when I speaks, I +represents for this yere camp.' + +"'Which he shore does,' says Jack. 'He's the Big Gray Wolf yere, you +can gamble. If he don't say "go slow" when you comes a-yellin' up, +your remains would a-been coverin' half an acre right now. It would +look like it's beef-day at this yere agency, shore.' + +"'You-all go back to Red Dog,' says Enright, payin' no notice to +Jack's interruptions, 'an' tell 'em we plants the war-axe for one +day, an' to come over an' smoke ponies with us, instead of we-alls +come thar. We're goin' to have baked beans an' salt hoss, an' we +looks for Red Dog in a body. Next Thanksgivin' we eats in Red Dog. +Does this yere go?' + +"`It goes,' says the Red Dog gent; 'but be you-alls shore thar's +s'fficient whiskey in your camp? Red Dog folks is a dry an' burnin' +outfit an' is due to need a heap.' + +"'The liquid's all right,' says Boggs. 'If you alls wants to do +yourse'f proud, freight in a hundred-weight of them can tomatters. +Which we runs out entire.' + +The next day Missis Rucker sets tables all over her dinin'-room an' +brings on her beans. Eighteen Red Dog gents is thar, each totin' of +a can of tomatters. An' let me impart right yere, son, we never has +a more free an' peacefuller day than said Thanksgivin'. + +"'Them beans is a little hard, ain't they?' says Doc Peets, while +we-alls is eatin', bein' p'lite an' elegant like. 'Mebby they don't +get b'iled s'fficient?' + +"'Them beans is all right,' says the War Chief of the Red Dogs. +'They be some hard, but you can't he'p it none. It's the altitood; +the higher up you gets, the lower heat it takes to b'ile water. So +it don't mush up beans like it should.' + +"'That's c'rrect every time,' says Enright; 'I mind bein' over back +of Prescott once, an' up near timber-line, an' I can't b'ile no +beans at all. I'm up that high the water is so cold when it b'iles +that ice forms on it some. I b'iles an' b'iles on some beans four +days, an' it don't have no more effect than throwin' water on a +drowned rat. After persistent b'ilin', I skims out a hand. ful an' +drops 'em onto a tin plate to test 'em, an' it sounds like buckshot. +As you says, it's the altitood.' + +"'Gents,' says the boss of Red Dog, all of a sudden, an' standin' up +by Enright, 'I offers the toast: "Wolfville an' Red Dog, now an' +yereafter."' + +"Of course we-alls drinks, an' Doc Peets makes a talk. He speaks +mighty high of every gent present; which compliments gets big action +in sech a game. The Red Dog chief--an' he's a mighty civilized- +lookin' gent--he talks back, an' calls Wolfville an' Red Dog great +commercial centers, which they sore be. He says, 'We-alls is +friendly to-day, an' fights the rest of the year,' which we-alls +agrees to cordial. He says fightin'. or, as he calls it, 'a generous +rivalry,' does camps good, an' I reckons he's right, too, 'cause it +shore results in the cashin' in of some mighty bad an' disturbin' +elements. When he sets down, thar's thunders of applause. + +"It's by this time that the drinkin' becomes frequent an' common. +The talk gets general, an' the lies them people evolves an' saws off +on each other would stampede stock. + +"Any day but Thanksgivin' sech tales would shore lead to +reecriminations an' blood; but as it is, every gent seems relaxed +an' onbuckled that a-way in honor of the hour, an' it looks like +lyin' is expected. + +"How mendacious be them people? If I recalls them scenes c'rrectly, +it's Texas Thompson begins the campaign ag'in trooth. + +"This yere Texas Thompson tells, all careless-like, how 'way back in +the forties, when he's a boy, he puts in a Thanksgivin' in the Great +Salt Lake valley with Old Jim Bridger. This is before the Mormons +opens their little game thar. + +"'An' the snow falls to that extent, mebby it's six foot deep,' says +Texas. 'Bridger an' me makes snow-shoes an' goes slidin' an' +pesterin' 'round all fine enough. But the pore animals in the valley +gets a rough time. + +"'It's a fact; Bridger an' me finds a drove of buffalos bogged down +in the snow,--I reckons now thar's twenty thousand of 'em,--and +never a buffalo can move a wheel or turn a kyard. Thar they be +planted in the snow, an' only can jest wag their y'ears an' bat +their eyes. + +"'Well, to cut it brief, Bridger an' me goes projectin' 'round an' +cuts the throats of them twenty-thousand buffalo; which we-alls is +out for them robes a whole lot. Of course we don't skin 'em none +while they's stuck in the snow; but when the snow melts in the +spring, we capers forth an' peels off the hides like shuckin' peas. +They's froze stiff at the time, for the sun ain't got 'round to thaw +the beef none yet; an' so the meat's as good as the day we downs +'em. + +"'An' that brings us to the cur'ous part. As fast as we-alls peels a +buffalo, we rolls his carcass down hill into Salt Lake, an' what do +you-alls reckons takes place? The water's that briny, it pickles +said buffalo-meat plumb through, an' every year after, when Bridger +an' me is back thar--we're trappin' an' huntin' them times,--all we +has to do is haul one of them twenty thousand pickled buffalos +ashore an' eat him. + +"'When the Mormons comes wanderin' along, bein' short on grub that +a-way, they nacherally jumps in an' consooms up the whole outfit in +one season, which is why you-alls don't find pickled buffalo in Salt +Lake no more. + +"'Bridger an' me starts in, when we learns about it, to fuss with +them polygamists that a-way for gettin' away with our salt buffalos. +But they's too noomerous for us, an' we done quits 'em at last an' +lets it go.' + +"Nobody says much when Texas Thompson is through. We merely sets +'round an' drinks. But I sees the Red Dog folks feels mortified. +After a minute they calls on their leadin' prevaricator for a yarn. +His name's Lyin' Jim Riley, which the people who baptizes him +shorely tumbles to his talents. + +"This yere Lyin' Jim fills a tin cup with nose-paint, an' leans back +listless-like an' looks at Enright. + +"'I never tells you-alls,' he says, 'about how the Ratons gets afire +mighty pecooliar, an' comes near a-roastin' of me up some, do I? +It's this a-way: I'm pervadin' 'round one afternoon tryin' to +compass a wild turkey, which thar's bands of 'em that Fall in the +Ratons a-eatin' of the pinyon-nuts. I've got a Sharp's with me, +which the same, as you-alls knows, is a single-shot, but I don't see +no turks, none whatever. Now an' then I hears some little old +gobbler, 'cross a canyon, a-makin' of sland'rous remarks about other +gobblers to some hen he's deloodin', but I never manages a shot. As +I'm comin' back to camp--I'm strollin' down a draw at the time where +thar's no trees nor nothin'--thar emanates a black-tail buck from +over among the bushes on the hill, an' starts to headin' my way a +whole lot. His horns is jest gettin' over bein' velvet, an' he's +feelin' plenty good an' sassy. I sees that buck--his horns eetches +is what makes him--jump eighteen feet into the air an' comb them +antlers of his'n through the hangin' pine limbs. Does it to stop the +eetchin' an' rub the velvet off. Of course I cuts down on him with +the Sharp's. It's a new gun that a-way, an' the sights is too +coarse--you drags a dog through the hind sights easy--an' I holds +high. The bullet goes plumb through the base of his horn, close into +the ha'r, an' all nacheral fetches him sprawlin'. I ain't waitin' to +load my gun none, which not waitin' to load, I'm yere to mention, is +erroneous. I'm yere to say thar oughter be an act of Congress ag'in +not loadin' your gun. They oughter teach it to the yearlin's in the +schools, an' likewise in the class on the Sabbath. Allers load your +gun. Who is that sharp, Mister Peets, who says, "Be shore you're +right, then go ahead"? He once ranches some'ers down on the +Glorieta. But what he oughter say is: "Be shore your gun's loaded, +then go ahead."' + +"'That's whatever!' says Dan Boggs, he'pin' himse'f an' startin' the +bottle; 'an' if he has a lick of sense, that's what he would say.' + +"'Which I lays down my empty gun,' goes on this Lyin' Jim, ' an' +starts for my buck to bootcher his neck a lot. When I gets within +ten feet he springs to his hoofs an' stands glarin'. You can gamble, +I ain't tamperin' 'round no wounded buck. I'd sooner go pesterin' +'round a widow woman.' + +"'I gets mingled up with a wounded buck once,' says Dave Tutt, +takin' a dab of paint, 'an' I nacherally wrastles him down an' lops +one of his front laigs over his antlers, an' thar I has him; no more +harm left in him than a chamber-maid. Mine's a white-tailed deer +over on the Careese.' + +"'This yere's a black-tail, which is different; says Lyin' Jim; +'it's exactly them front laigs you talks of so lightly I'm 'fraid +of. + +"`The buck he stands thar sorter dazed an' battin' of his eyes. I +ain't no time to go back for my Sharp's, an' my six-shooter is left +in camp. Right near is a high rock with a steep face about fifteen +feet straight up an' down. I scrambles on to this an' breathes +ag'in, 'cause I knows no deer is ever compiled yet who makes the +trip. The buck's come to complete by now, an' when he observes me on +the rock, his rage is as boundless as the glory of Texas.' + +"'Gents, we-alls takes another cow-swaller, right yere,' shouts +Texas Thompson. 'It's a rool with me to drink every time I hears the +sacred name of Texas.' + +"When we-alls conceals our forty drops in the usual place, Lyin' Jim +proceeds: + +"'When this buck notes me, he's that frenzied he backs off an' jumps +ag'in the face of the rock stiff-laiged, an' strikes it with them +hoofs of him. Which he does this noomerous times, an' every hoof +cuts like a cold-chisel. It makes the sparks go spittin' an' flyin' +like it's a blacksmith-shop. + +"'I'm takin' it ca'm enough, only I'm wonderin' how I'm goin' to +fetch loose, when I notices them sparks from his hoofs sets the pine +twigs an' needles a-blazin' down by the base of the rock. + +"'That's what comes to my relief. In two minutes this yere spreads +to a general conflagration, and the last I sees of my deer he's +flyin' over the Divide into the next canyon with his tail a-blazin' +an' him utterin' shrieks. I has only time to make camp, saddle up, +an' line out of thar, to keep from bein' burned before my time. + +"'This yere fire rages for two months, an' burns up a billion +dollars worth of mountains, I'm a coyote if some folks don't talk of +lawin' me about it.' + +"'That's a yarn which has the year-marks of trooth, but all the same +it's deer as saves my life once,' says Doc Peets, sorter trailin' in +innocent-like when this Lyin' Jim gets through; 'leastwise their +meat saves it. I'm out huntin' same as you is, this time to which I +alloods. + +"'I'm camped on upper Red River; up where the river is only about +twelve feet wide. It ain't deep none, only a few inches, but it's +dug its banks down about four feet. The river runs along the center +of a mile-wide valley, which they ain't no trees in it, but all +cl'ar an' open. It's snowin' powerful hard one, evenin' about 3 +o'clock when I comes back along the ridge towards my camp onder the +pines. While I'm ridin' along I crosses the trail of nineteen deer. +I takes it too quick, 'cause I needs deer in my business, an' I +knows these is close or their tracks would be covered, the way it +snows. + +"'I runs the trail out into the open, headin' for the other ridge. +The snow is plenty deep out from onder the pines, but I keeps on. +Final, jest in the mouth of a canyon, over the other side where the +pines begins ag'in, up jumps a black. tail from behind a yaller-pine +log, and I drops him. + +"'My pony's plumb broke down by now, so I makes up my mind to camp. +It's a 'way good site. Thar's water comin' down the canyon; thar's a +big, flat floor of rocks--big as the dance-hall floor--an' all +protected by a high rock-faced bluff, so no snow don't get thar +none; an' out in front, some twelve feet, is a big pitch-pine log. +Which I couldn't a-fixed things better if I works a year. + +"'I sets fire to the log, cuts up my deer, an' sorter camps over +between the log an' bluff, an' takes things as ba'my as summer. I +has my saddle-blanket an' a slicker, an' that's all I needs. + +"'Thar ain't no grass none for the little hoss, but I peels him +about a bushel of quakin'-ash bark, an' he's doin' well 'nough. +Lord! how it snows outside! When I peers out in the mornin' it +scares me. I saddles up, 'cause my proper camp is in the pines +t'other side of this yere open stretch, an' I've got to make it. + +"'My pony is weak, an' can only push through the snow, which is five +feet deep. I'm walkin' along all comfortable, a-holdin' of his tail, +when "swish" he goes plumb outen sight. I peers into the orifice +which ketches him, an' finds he's done slumped off that four-foot +bank into Red River, kerslop! Which he's at once swept from view; +the river runnin' in ondcr the snow like a tunnel. + +"That settles it; I goes pirootin' back. I lives in that canyon two +months. It snows a heap after I gets back, an' makes things deeper'n +ever. I has my deer to eat, not loadin' my pony with it when I +starts, an' I peels some sugar-pines, like I sees Injuns, an' +scrapes off the white skin next the trees, an' makes a pasty kind of +bread of it, an' I'm all right. + +"'One mornin', jest before I gets out of meat, I sees trouble out in +the snow. Them eighteen deer--thar's nineteen, but I c'llects one, +as I says--comes sa'nterin' down my canyon while I'm asleep, an' +goes out an' gets stuck in the snow. I allows mebby they dresses +about sixty pounds each, an' wallers after 'em with my knife an' +kills six. + +"'This yere gives me meat for seventy-two days--five pounds a day, +which with the pine bark is shore enough, The other twelve I turns +'round an' he'ps out into the canyon ag'in, an' do you know, them +deer's that grateful they won't leave none? It's a fact, they simply +hangs 'round all the time I'm snowed in. + +"'In two months the snow melts down, an' I says adios to my twelve +deer an' starts for camp. Which you-alls mebby imagines my s'prise +when I beholds my pony a-grazin' out in the open, saddle on an' +right. Yere's how it is: He's been paradin' up an' down the bed of +Red River onder that snow tunnel for two months. Oh! he feeds easy +enough. Jest bites the yerbage along the banks. This snow tunnel is +four feet high, an' he's got plenty of room. + +"'I'm some glad to meet up with my pony that a-way, you bet! an' +ketches him up an' rides over to my camp. An' I'm followed by my +twelve deer, which comes cavortin' along all genial an' cordial an' +never leaves me. No, my hoss is sound, only his feet is a little +water-soaked an' tender; an' his eyes, bein' so long in that half. +dark place onder the snow, is some weak an' sore.' + +"As no one seems desirous to lie no more after Doc Peets gets +through, we-alls eats an' drinks all we can, an' then goes over to +the dance-hall an' whoops her up in honor of Red Dog. Nothin' could +go smoother. + +"When it comes time to quit, we has a little trouble gettin' +sep'rate from 'em, but not much. We-alls starts out to 'scort 'em to +Red Dog as a guard of honor, an' then they, bustin' with p'liteness, +'scorts us back to Wolfville. Then we-alls, not to be raised out, +sees 'em to Red Dog ag'in, an' not to have the odd hoss onto 'em in +the matter, back they comes with us. + +"I don't know how often we makes this yere round trip from one camp +to t'other, cause my mem'ry is some dark on the later events of that +Thanksgivin'. My pony gets tired of it about the third time back, +an' humps himse'f an' bucks me off a whole lot, whereupon I don't go +with them Red Dog folks no further, but nacherally camps down back +of the mesquite I lights into, an, sleeps till mornin'. You bet! +it's a great Thanksgivin'.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXL. + +BILL HOSKINS'S COON. + + +"Now I thoroughly saveys," remarked the Old Cattleman reflectively, +at a crisis in our conversation when the talk turned on men of small +and cowardly measure, "I thoroughly saveys that taste for battle +that lurks in the deefiles of folk's nacher like a wolf in the hills +Which I reckons now that I, myse'f, is one of the peacefullest +people as ever belts on a weepon; but in my instincts--while I never +jestifies or follows his example--I cl'arly apprehends the emotions +of a gent who convenes with another gent all sim'lar, an' expresses +his views with his gun. Sech is human nacher onrestrained, an' the +same, while deplorable, is not s'prisin'. + +"But this yere Olson I has in my mem'ry don't have no sech manly +feelin's as goes with a gun play. Olson is that cowardly he's even +furtive; an' for a low-flung measly game let me tell you-all what +Olson does. It's shorely ornery. + +"It all arises years ago, back in Tennessee, an' gets its first +start out of a hawg which is owned by Olson an' is downed by a gent +named Hoskins--Bill Hoskins. It's this a-way. + +"Back in Tennessee in my dream-wreathed yooth, when livestock goes +projectin' about permiscus, a party has to build his fences 'bull +strong, hawg tight, an' hoss high,' or he takes results. Which +Hoskins don't make his fences to conform to this yere rool none; +leastwise they ain't hawg tight as is shown by one of Olson's hawgs. + +"The hawg comes pirootin' about Hoskins's fence, an' he goes through +easy; an' the way that invadin' animal turns Bill's potatoes bottom +up don't hinder him a bit. He shorely loots Bill's lot; that's +whatever. + +"But Bill, perceivin' of Olson's hawg layin' waste his crop, reaches +down a 8-squar' rifle, 30 to the pound, an' stretches the hawg. +Which this is where Bill falls into error. Layin' aside them +deeficiencies in Bill's fence, it's cl'ar at a glance a hawg can't +be held responsible. Hawgs is ignorant an' tharfore innocent; an' +while hawgs can be what Doc Peets calls a' CASUS BELLI,' they can't +be regarded as a foe legitimate. + +"Now what Bill oughter done, if he feels like this yore hawg's done +put it all over him, is to go an' lay for Olson. Sech action by Bill +would have been some excessive,--some high so to speak; but it would +have been a line shot. Whereas killin' the hawg is 'way to one side +of the mark; an' onder. + +"However, as I states, Bill bein' hasty that a-way, an' oncapable of +perhaps refined reasonin', downs the pig, an' stands pat, waitin' +for Olson to fill his hand, if he feels so moved. + +"It's at this pinch where the cowardly nacher of this yere Olson +begins to shine. He's ugly as a wolf about Bill copperin' his hawg +that a-way, but he don't pack the nerve to go after Bill an' make a +round-up of them grievances. An' he ain't allowin' to pass it up +none onrevenged neither. Now yere's what Olson does; he 'sassinates +Bill's pet raccoon. + +"That's right, son, jest massacres a pore, confidin' raccoon, who +don't no more stand in on that hawg-killin' of Bill's, than me an' +you,--don't even advise it. + +"Which I shorely allows you saveys all thar is to know about a +raccoon. No? Well, a raccoon's like this: In the first place he's +plumb easy, an' ain't lookin' for no gent to hold out kyards or ring +a cold deck on him. That's straight; a raccoon is simple-minded that +a-way; an' his impressive trait is, he's meditative. Besides bein' +nacherally thoughtful, a raccoon is a heap melancholy,--he jest sets +thar an' absorbs melancholy from merely bein' alive. + +"But if a raccoon is melancholy or gets wropped in thought that a- +way, it's after all his own play. It's to his credit that once when +he's tamed, he's got mountainous confidence in men, an' will curl up +to sleep where you be an' shet both eyes. He's plumb trustful; an' +moreover, no matter how mournful a raccoon feels, or how plumb +melancholy he gets, he don't pester you with no yarns. + +"I reckons I converses with this yere identical raccoon of Bill's +plenty frequent; when he feels blue, an' ag'in when he's at his +gailiest, an' he never remarks nothin' to me except p'lite +general'ties. + +"If this yere Olson was a dead game party who regards himse'f +wronged, he'd searched out a gun, or a knife, or mebby a club, an' +pranced over an' rectified Bill a whole lot. But he's too timid an' +too cowardly, an' afraid of Bill. So to play even, he lines out to +bushwhack this he'pless, oninstructed raccoon. Olson figgers to take +advantage of what's cl'arly a loop-hole in a raccoon's +constitootion. + +"Mebby you never notices it about a raccoon, but once he gets +interested in a pursoot, he's rigged so he can't quit none ontil the +project's a success. Thar's herds an' bands of folks an' animals +who's fixed sim'lar. They can start, an' they can't let up. Thar's +bull-dogs: They begins a war too easy; but the c'pacity to quit is +left out of bull-dogs entire. Same about nose-paint with gents I +knows. They capers up to whiskey at the beginnin' like a kitten to +warm milk; an' they never does cease no more. An' that's how the +kyards falls to raccoons. + +"Knowin these yere deefects in raccoons, this Olson plots to take +advantage tharof; an' by playin' it low on Bill's raccoon, get even +with Bill about that dead hawg. Which Bill wouldn't have took a +drove of hawgs; no indeed! not the whole Fall round-up of hawgs in +all of West Tennessee, an' lose that raccoon. + +"It's when Bill's over to Pine Knot layin' in tobacker, an' nose- +paint an' corn meal, an' sech necessaries, when Olson stands in to +down Bill's pet. He goes injunnin' over to Bill's an' finds the camp +all deserted, except the raccoon's thar, settin', battin' his eyes +mournful an' lonesome on the doorstep. This Olson camps down by the +door an' fondles the raccoon, an' strokes his coat, an' lets him +search his pockets with his black hands ontil he gets that friendly +an' confident about Olson he'd told him anythin'. It's then this +yere miscreant, Olson, springs his game. "H's got a couple of +crawfish which he's fresh caught at the Branch. Now raccoons regards +crawfish as onusual good eatin'. For myse'f, I can't say I deems +none high of crawfish as viands, but raccoons is different; an' the +way they looks at it, crawfish is pie. + +"This Olson brings out his two crawfish an' fetchin' ajar of water +from the spring, he drops in a crawfish an' incites an' aggravates +Zekiel--that's the name of Bill's raccoon--to feel in an' get him a +whole lot. + +"Zekiel ain't none shy on the play. He knows crawfish like a gambler +does a red chip; so turnin' his eyes up to the sky, like a raccoon +does who's wropped in pleasant anticipations that a-way, he plunges +in his paw an' gets it. + +"Once Zekiel acquires him, the pore crawfish don't last as long as +two-bits at faro-bank. When Zekiel has him plumb devoured he turns +his eyes on Olson, sorter thankful, an' 'waits developments. + +"Olson puts in the second crawfish, an' Zekiel takes him into camp +same as t'other. It's now that Olson onfurls his plot on Zekiel. +Olson drops a dozen buckshot into the jar of water. Nacherally, +Zekiel, who's got his mind all framed up touchin' crawfish, goes +after the buckshot with his fore foot. But it's different with buck- +shot; Zekiel can't pick 'em up. He tries an' tries with his honest, +simple face turned up to heaven, but he can't make it. All Zekiel +can do is feel 'em with his foot, an' roll 'em about on the bottom +of the jar. + +"Now as I remarks prior, when a raccoon gets embarked that a-way, he +can't quit. He ain't arranged so he can cease. Olson, who's plumb +aware tharof, no sooner gets Zekiel started on them buckshot, than +knowin' that nacher can be relied on to play her hand out, he +sa'nters off to his wickeyup, leavin' Zekiel to his fate. Bill won't +be home till Monday, an' Olson knows that before then, onless Zekiel +is interrupted, he'll be even for that hawg Bill drops. As Olson +cones to a place in the trail where he's goin' to lose sight of +Bill's camp, he turns an' looks back. The picture is all his revenge +can ask. Thar sets Zekiel on the doorstep, with his happy +countenance turned up to the dome above, an' his right paw elbow +deep in the jar, still rollin' an' feelin' them buckshot 'round, an' +allowin' he's due to ketch a crawfish every moment. + +"Which it works out exactly as the wretched Olson figgers. The sun +goes down, an' the Sunday sun comes up an' sets again; an' still +pore Zekiel is planted by the jar, with his hopeful eyes on high, +still feelin' of them buckshot. He can't quit no more'n if he's +loser in a poker game; Zekiel can't. When Bill rides up to his door +about second-drink time Monday afternoon, Olson is shorely even on +that hawg. Thar lays Zekiel, dead. He's jest set thar with them +buck-shot an' felt himse'f to death. + +"But speakin' of the sapiency of Bill Hoskins's Zekiel," continued +the old gentleman as we lighted pipes and lapsed into desultory +puffing, "while Zekiel for a raccoon is some deep, after all you-all +is jest amazed at Zekiel 'cause I calls your attention to him a +whole lot. If you was to go into camp with 'em, an' set down an' +watch 'em, you'd shorely be s'prised to note how level-headed all +animals be. + +"Now if thar's anythin' in Arizona for whose jedgement I don't have +respect nacheral, it's birds. Arizona for sech folks as you an' me, +an' coyotes an' jack-rabbits, is a good range. Sech as we-alls +sorter fits into the general play an' gets action for our stacks. +But whatever a bird can find entrancin' in some of them Southwestern +deserts is allers too many for me. + +"As I su'gests, I former holds fowls, who of free choice continues a +residence in Arizona, as imbeciles. Yet now an' then I observes +things that makes me oncertain if I'm onto a bird's system; an' if +after all Arizona is sech a dead kyard for birds. It's possible a +gent might be way off on birds an' the views they holds of life. He +might watch the play an' esteem 'em loser, when from a bird's p'int +of view they's makin' a killin', an' even callin' the turn every +deal. + +"What he'ps to open my eyes a lot on birds is two Road Runners Doc +Peets an' me meets up with one afternoon comin' down from Lordsburg. +These yere Road Runners is a lanky kind of prop'sition, jest a shade +off from spring chickens for size. Which their arrangements as to +neck an' laigs is onrestricted an' liberal, an' their long suit is +runnin' up an' down the sun-baked trails of Arizona with no object. +Where he's partic'lar strong, this yere Road Runner, is in waitin' +ontil some gent comes along, same as Doc Peets an' me that time, an' +then attachin' of himse'f said cavalcade an' racin' along ahead. A +Road Runner keeps up this exercise for miles, an' be about the +length of a lariat ahead of your pony's nose all the time. When you- +all lets out a link or two an' stiffens your pony with the spur, the +Road Runner onbuckles sim'lar an' exults tharat. You ain't goin' to +run up on him while he can wave a laig, you can gamble your last +chip, an' you confers favors on him by sendin' your pony at him. +Thar he stays, rackin' along ahead of you ontil satiated. Usual +thar's two Road Run. ners, an' they clips it along side by side as +if thar's somethin' in it for 'em; an' I reckons, rightly saveyed, +thar is. However, the profits to Road Runners of them excursions +ain't obvious, none whatever; so I won't try to set 'em forth. Them +journeys they makes up an' down the trail shorely seems aimless to +me. + +"But about Doc Peets an' me pullin' out from Lordsburg for Wolfville +that evenin': Our ponies is puttin' the landscape behind 'em at a +good road-gait when we notes a brace of them Road Runners with wings +half lifted, pacin' to match our speed along the trail in front. As +Road Runners is frequent with us, our minds don't bother with 'em +none. Now an' then Doc an' me can see they converses as they goes +speedin' along a level or down a slope. It's as if one says to +t'other, somethin' like this yere + +"'How's your wind, Bill? Is it comin' easy?' + +"'Shore,' it would seem like Bill answers. 'Valves never is in sech +shape. I'm on velvet; how's your laigs standin' the pace, Jim?' + +"'Laigs is workin' like they's new oiled,' Jim replies back; 'it's a +plumb easy game. I reckons, Bill, me an' you could keep ahead of +them mavericks a year if we-alls feels like it.' + +"'Bet a blue stack on it,' Bill answers. ' I deems these yere gents +soft. Before I'd ride sech ponies as them, I'd go projectin' 'round +some night an' steal one.' + +"'Them ponies is shorely a heap slothful,' Jim answers. + +"'At this mebby them Road Runners ruffles their feathers an' runs on +swifter, jest to show what a slow racket keepin' ahead of me an' +Peets is. An' these yere locoed birds keeps up sech conversations +for hours. + +"Mind I ain't sayin' that what I tells you is what them Road Runners +really remarks; but I turns it over to you-all the way it strikes me +an' Doc at the time. What I aims to relate, how-ever, is an incident +as sheds light on how wise an' foxy Road Runners be. + +"Doc Peets an' me, as I states, ain't lavishin' no onreasonable +notice on these yere birds, an' they've been scatterin' along the +trail for mebby it's an hour, when one of 'em comes to a plumb halt, +sharp. The other stops likewise an' rounds up ag'inst his mate; an' +bein' cur'ous to note what's pesterin 'em, Peets an' me curbs to a +stand-still. The Road Runner who stops first--the same bein' Bill-- +is lookin' sharp an' interested-like over across the plains. + +"'Rattlesnake,' he imparts to his side partner. + +"'Where's he at?' says the side partner, which is Jim, 'where's this +yere snake at, Bill? I don't note no rattlesnake.' + +"'Come round yere by me,' Bill says. 'Now on a line with the top of +yonder mesa an' a leetle to the left of that soap-weed; don't you- +all see him quiled up thar asleep?' + +"'Which I shorely does,' says Jim, locatin' the rattlesnake with his +beady eye, 'an' he's some sunk in slumber. Bill, that serpent is our +meat.' + +"'Move your moccasins easy,' says Bill, 'so's not to turn him out. +Let's rustle up some flat cactuses an' corral him.' + +"Tharupon these yere Road Runners turns in mighty diligent; an' not +makin' no more noise than shadows, they goes pokin' out on the +plains ontil they finds a flat cactus which is dead; so they can +tear off the leaves with their bills. Doc Peets an' me sets in our +saddles surveyin' their play; an' the way them Road Runners goes +about the labors of their snake killin' impresses us it ain't the +first bootchery of the kind they appears in. They shorely don't need +no soopervisin'. + +"One after the other, Jim an' Bill teeters up, all silent, with a +flat cactus leaf in their beaks, an' starts to fence in the +rattlesnake with 'em. They builds a corral of cactus all about him, +which the same is mebby six-foot across. Them engineerin' feats +takes Jim an' Bill twenty minutes. But they completes 'em; an' +thar's the rattlesnake, plumb surrounded. + +"These yere cactuses, as you most likely saveys, is thorny no limit; +an' the spikes is that sharp, needles is futile to 'em. Jim an' Bill +knows the rattlesnake can't cross this thorny corral. + +"He don't look it none, but from the way he plays his hand, I takes +it a rattlesnake is sensitive an' easy hurt onder the chin. + +"An' it's plain to me an' Peets them Road Runners is aware of said +weaknesses of rattlesnakes, an' is bankin' their play tharon. We- +alls figgers, lookin' on, that Jim an' Bill aims to put the +rattlesnake in prison; leave him captive that a-way in a cactus +calaboose. But we don't size up Jim an' Bill accurate at all. Them +two fowls is shorely profound. + +"No sooner is the corral made, than Jim an' Bill, without a word of +warnin', opens up a warjig 'round the outside; flappin' their +pinions an' screechin' like squaws. Nacherally the rattlesnake wakes +up. The sight of them two Road Runners, Jim an' Bill, cussin' an' +swearin' at him, an' carryin' on that a-way scares him. + +"It's trooth to say Bill an' Jim certainly conducts themse'fs +scand'lous. The epithets they heaps on that pore ignorant +rattlesnake, the taunts they flings at him, would have done Apaches +proud. + +The rattlesnake buzzes an' quils up, an' onsheaths his fangs, an' +makes bluffs to strike Bill an' Jim, but they only hops an' dances +about, thinkin' up more ornery things to say. Every time the +rattlesnake goes to crawl away--which he does frequent--he strikes +the cactus thorns an' pulls back. By an' by he sees he's elected, +an' he gets that enraged he swells up till he's big as two snakes; +Bill an' Jim maintainin' their sass. Them Road Runners is abreast of +the play every minute, you can see that. + +"At last comes the finish, an' matters gets dealt down to the turn. +The rattlesnake suddenly crooks his neck, he's so plumb locoed with +rage an' fear, an' socks his fangs into himse'f. That's the fact; +bites himse'f, an' never lets up till he's dead. + +"It don't seem to astound Jim an' Bill none when the rattlesnake +'sassinates himse'f that a-way, an' I reckons they has this yere +sooicide in view. They keeps pesterin' an' projectin' about ontil +the rattlesnake is plumb defunct, an' then they emits a whirlwind of +new whoops, an' goes over to one side an' pulls off a skelp dance. +Jim an' Bill is shorely cel'bratin' a vic'try. + +"After the skelp dance is over, Bill an' Jim tiptoes over mighty +quiet an' sedate, an' Jim takes their prey by the tail an' yanks it. +After the rattlesnake's drug out straight, him an' Bill runs their +eyes along him like they's sizin' him up. With this yere last, +however, it's cl'ar the Road Runners regards the deal as closed. +They sa'nters off down the trail, arm in arm like, conversin' in low +tones so Peets an' me never does hear what they says. When they's in +what they takes to be the c'rrect p'sition, they stops an' looks +back at me an' Peets. Bill turns to Jim like he's sayin': + +"'Thar's them two short-horns ag'in. I wonders if they ever aims to +pull their freight, or do they reckon they'll pitch camp right +yere?"' + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +OLD SAM ENRIGHT'S "ROMANCE." + + +"It mebby is, that romances comes to pass on the range when I'm +thar," remarked the Old Cattleman, meditatively, "but if so be, I +never notes 'em. They shorely gets plumb by me in the night." + +The old gentleman had just thrown down a daily paper, and even as he +spoke I read on the upturned page the glaring headline: "Romance in +Real Life." His recent literature was the evident cause of his +reflections. + +"Of course," continued the Old Cattleman, turning for comfort to his +inevitable tobacco pipe, "of course, at sech epocks as some degraded +sharp takes to dealin' double in a poker game, or the kyards begins +to come two at a clatter at faro-bank, the proceedin's frequent +takes on what you-all might call a hue of romance; an' I admits they +was likely to get some hectic, myse'f. But as I states, for what +you-all would brand as clean. strain romance, I ain't recallin' +none." + +"How about those love affairs of your youth?" I ventured. + +"Which I don't deny," replied the old gentleman, between puffs, +"that back in Tennessee, as I onfolds before, I has my flower- +scented days. But I don't wed nothin', as you-all knows, an' even +while I'm ridin' an' ropin' at them young female persons, thar's +never no romance to it, onless it's in the fact that they all +escapes. + +"But speakin' of love-tangles, Old Man Enright once recounts a +story; which the same shows how female fancy is rootless an' +onstable that a-way. + +"'Allers copper a female.' says Cherokee Hall, one day, when Texas +Thompson is relatin' how his wife maltreats him, an' rounds up a +divorce from him down at Laredo. 'Allers play 'em to lose. Nell, +yere,' goes on Cherokee, as he runs his hand over the curls of Faro +Nell, who's lookout for Cherokee, 'Nelly, yere, is the only one I +ever meets who can be depended on to come winner every trip.' + +"'Which females,' says Old Man Enright, who's settin' thar at the +time, ' an' partic'lar, young females, is a heap frivolous, +nacheral. A rainbow will stampede most of 'em. For myse'f, I'd +shorely prefer to try an' hold a bunch of five hundred ponies on a +bad night, than ride herd on the heart of one lady. Between gent an' +gent that a-way, I more'n half figger the 'ffections of a female is +migratory, same as buffaloes was before they was killed, an' sorter +goes north like in the spring, an' south ag'in in the winter.' + +"'As for me; says Texas Thompson, who's moody touchin' them divorce +plays his wife is makin', 'you-alls can gamble I passes all females +up. No matter how strong I holds, it looks like on the showdowns +they outlucks me every time. Wherefore I quits 'em cold, an' any +gent who wants my chance with females can shorely have the same.' + +"'Oh, I don't know!' remarks Doc Peets, gettin' in on what's a +general play, 'I've been all through the herd, an' I must say I +deems women good people every time; a heap finer folks than men, an' +faithfuller.' + +"'Which I don't deny females is fine folks,' says Texas, 'but what +I'm allowin' is, they's fitful. They don't stay none. You-alls can +hobble an'sideline'em both at night; an' when you rolls out in the +mornin', they's gone.' + +"'What do you-all think, Nell?' says Doc Peets to Faro Nell, who's +perched up on her stool by Cherokee's shoulder. 'What do you-all +reckon now of Texas yere, a-malignin' of your sex? Why don't you +p'int him to Dave Tutt an' Tucson Jennie? Which they gets married, +an' thar they be, gettin' along as peaceful as two six-shooters on +the same belt.' + +"'I don't mind what Texas says, none,' replies Faro Nell. 'Texas is +all right, an' on the square". I shouldn't wonder none if this yere +Missis Thompson does saw it off on him some shabby, gettin' that +sep'ration, an' I don't marvel at his remarks. But as long as +Cherokee yere thinks I'm right, I don't let nobody's views pester me +a little bit, so thar.' + +"'It's what I says awhile back,' interrupts Enright. 'Texas +Thompson's wife's motives mighty likely ain't invidious none. It's a +heap probable if the trooth is known, that she ain't aimin' nothin' +speshul at Texas; she only changes her mind. About the earliest +event I remembers,' goes on Enright, 'is concernin' a woman who +changes her mind. It's years ago when I'm a yearlin'. Our company is +makin' a round-up at a camp called Warwhoop Crossin', in Tennessee, +organizin' to embark in the Mexican war a whole lot, an' thin out +the Greasers. No one ever does know why I, personal, declar's myse'f +in on this yere imbroglio. I ain't bigger 'n a charge of powder, an' +that limited as to laigs I has to clamber onto a log to mount my +pony. + +"'But as I'm tellin', we-alls comes together at Warwhoop to make the +start. I reckons now thar's five hundred people thar. `'Which the +occasion, an' the interest the public takes in the business, jest +combs the region of folks for miles about. + +"'Thar's a heap of hand-shakin' an' well-wishin' goin' on; mothers +an' sisters, an' sweethearts is kissin' us good-bye; an' while +thar's some hilarity thar's more sobs. It's not, as I looks +back'ard, what you-alls would call a gay affair. + +"'While all this yere love an' tears is flowin', thar's a gent--he's +our Captain--who's settin' off alone in his saddle, an' ain't takin' +no hand. Thar's no sweetheart, no mother, no sister for him. + +"'No one about Warwhoop knows this yere party much; more'n his name +is Bent. He's captain with the Gov'nor's commission, an' comes from +'way-off yonder some'ers. An' so he sets thar, grim an' solid in his +saddle, lookin' vague-like off at where the trees meets the sky, +while the rest of us is goin' about permiscus, finishin' up our +kissin'. + +"'"Ain't he got no sweetheart to wish goodbye to him?" asks a girl +of me. "Ain't thar no one to kiss him for good luck as he rides +away?" + +"'This yere maiden's name is Sanders, an' it's a shore fact she's +the prettiest young female to ever make a moccasin track in West +Tennessee. I'd a-killed my pony an' gone afoot to bring sech a look +into her eyes, as shines thar when she gazes at the Captain where +he's silent an' sol'tary on his hoss. + +"'No," I replies, "he's a orphan, I reckons. He's plumb abandoned +that a-way, an' so thar's nobody yere to kiss him, or shake his +hand." + +"'This yere pretty Sanders girl--an' I'm pausin' ag'in to state +she's a human sunflower, that a-way--this Sanders beauty, I'm +sayin', looks at this party by himse'f for a moment, an' then the +big tears begins to well in her blue eyes. She blushes like a +sunset, an' walks over to this yere lone gent. + +"'Mister Captain," she says, raisin' her face to him like a rose, +"I'm shore sorry you ain't got no sweetheart to say 'good-bye;' an' +bein' you're lonesome, that a-way, I'll kiss you an' say adios +myse'f." + +"'Will you, my little lady?" says the lonesome Captain, as he swings +from his saddle to the ground by her side; an' thar's sunshine in +his eyes. + +"'I'll think of you every day for that,"he says, when he kisses her, +"an' if I gets back when the war's done, I'll shorely look for you +yere." + +"'The little Sanders girl--she is shorely as handsome as a ace full +on kings--blushes a heap vivid at what she's done, an' looks warm +an' tender. Which, while the play is some onusual an' out of line, +everybody agrees it's all right; bein' that we-alls is goin' to a +war, that a-way. + +"'Now yere,' goes on Enright, at the same time callin' for red-eye +all 'round, ' is what youalls agrees is a mighty romantic deal. +Yere's a love affair gets launched.' + +"'Does this yere lone-hand gent who gets kissed by the Sanders lady +outlive the war?' asks Texas Thompson, who has braced up an' gets +mighty vivacious listenin' to the story. + +"'Which he shorely outlives that conflict,' replies Enright. 'An' +you can gamble he's in the thick of the stampede, too, every time. I +will say for this yere Captain, that while I ain't with him plumb +through, he's as game a sport as ever fought up hill. He's the sort +which fights an goes for'ard to his man at the same time. Thar's no +white feathers on that kind; they's game as badgers. An' bad.' + +"'Which if he don't get downed none,' says Texas Thompson, 'an' hits +Tennessee alive, I offers ten to one he leads this yere Sanders +female to the altar.' + +"'Which you'd lose, a whole lot,' says Enright, at the same time +raisin' his whiskey glass. + +"'That's what I states when I trails out on this yere romance. +Females is frivolous an' plumb light of fancy. This Captain party +comes back to Warwhoop, say, it's two years an' a half later, an' +what do you-alls reckon? That Sanders girl's been married mighty +nigh two yzars, an' has an infant child as big as a b'ar cub, which +is beginnin' to make a bluff at walkin.' + +"'Now, on the squar', an' I'm as s'prised about it as you be--I'm +more'n s'prised, I'm pained--I don't allow, lookin' over results an' +recallin' the fact of that b'ar-cub infant child, that for all her +blushin', an' all her tears, an' kissin' that Captain party good-by +that a-way, that the Sanders girl cares a hoss-h'ar rope for him in +a week. An' it all proves what I remarks, that while females ain't +malev'lent malicious, an' don't do these yere things to pierce a +gent with grief, their 'ffections is always honin' for the trail, +an' is shorely prone to move camp. But, bless 'em! they can't he'p +it none if their hearts be quicksands, an' I libates to 'em ag'in.' + +"Whereat we-alls drinks with Enright; feelin' a heap sim'lar. + +"'Whatever becomes of this yerc pore Captain party?' asks Faro Nell. + +"'Well, the fact about that Captain,' replies Enright, settin' down +his glass, 'while the same is mere incident, an' don't have no +direct bearin' on what I relates; the fact in his case is he's +wedded already. Nacherally after sayin' "howdy!" to the little +Sanders girl, an' applaudin' of her progeny--which it looks like he +fully endorses that a-way--this yere Captain gent hits the trail for +Nashville, where his wife's been keepin' camp an' waitin' for him +all the time."' + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +PINON BILL'S BLUFF. + + +"This narrative is what you-all might call some widespread," said +the Old Cattleman, as he beamed upon me, evidently in the best of +humors. "It tells how Pinon Bill gets a hoss on Jack Moore; leaves +the camp bogged up to the saddle-girths in doubt about who downs +Burke; an' stakes the Deef Woman so she pulls her freight for the +States. + +"Pinon Bill is reckoned a hard game. He's only in Wolfville now an' +then, an' ain't cuttin' no figger in public calc'lations more'n it's +regarded as sagacious to pack your gun while Pinon Bill's about. + +"No; he don't down no white men no one ever hears of, but thar's +stories about how he smuggles freight an' plunder various from +Mexico, an' drives off Mexican cattle, an' once in awhile stretches +a Mexican himse'f who objects to them enterprises of Pinon Bill's; +but thar's nothin' in sech tales to interest Americans, more'n to +hear 'em an' comment on 'em as plays. + +"But while Pinon Bill never turns his talents to American, them +liberties he takes with Greasers gives him a heap of bad repoote, as +a mighty ornery an' oneasy person; an' most of us sorter keeps tab +on him whenever he favors Wolfville with his presence. + +"'This time he collides with Jack Moore, an' so to speak, leaves the +drinks on Jack, he's been trackin' 'round camp mebby it's six weeks. + +"'Likewise thar's an old longhorn they calls the 'Major'; he's been +hangin' about for even longer yet. Don't go to figgerin' on no +hostilities between this Pinon Bill an' the Major, for their trails +never does cross once. Another thing' Pinon Bill ain't nacheraliy +hostile neither; ain't what you-all calls trailin' trouble; whereas +the Major's also a heap too drunk to give way to war, bein' tanked +that a-way continuous. + +"Which I don't reckon thar's the slightest doubt but the Major's a +bigger sot than Old Monte, though the same is in dispoote; Cherokee +Hall an' Boggs a-holdin' he is; an' Doc Peets an' Tutt playin' the +other end; Enright an' Jack Moore, ondecided. + +"Peets confides in me of an' concernin' the Major that thar's a +time--an' no further up the trail than five years--when the Major is +shore-'nough a Major; bein' quartermaster or some sech bluff in the +army. + +"But one day Uncle Sam comes along an' wants to cash in; an' thar +this yere crazy-hoss Major is with ten times as many chips out as +he's got bank-roll to meet, an' it all fatigues the gov'ment to that +extent the Major's cashiered, an' told to vamos the army for good. + +"I allers allows it's whiskey an' kyards gets the Major's roll that +time. Peets says he sees him 'way back once over some'ers near the +Mohave Desert--Wingate, mebby--an' whiskey an' poker has the Major +roped; one by the horns, the other by the hoofs; an' they jest +throws him an' drug him, an' drug him an' throws him, alternate. The +Major never shakes loose from the loops of them vices; none +whatever. + +"An' that's mighty likely, jest as I says, how the Major finds +himse'f cashiered an' afoot; an' nothin' but disgrace to get rid of +an' whiskey to get, to fill the future with. + +"So it comes when I trails up on the Major he's a drunkard complete, +hangin' 'round with a tin-horn an' a handful of dice, tryin' to get +Mexicans or Chinamen to go ag'in 'em for any small thing they names. + +"It's on account of this yere drunkard the Major that the Deef Woman +comes stagin' it in with Old Monte one day. Got a papoose with her, +the Deef Woman has, a boy comin' three, an' it's my firm belief, +which this view is common an' frequent with all Wolfville, as how +the Deef Woman's the Major's wife. + +"It ain't no cinch play that this female's deef, neither; which it's +allers plain she hears the most feeblesome yelp of that infant, all +the way from the dance-hall to the O. K. House, an' that means +across the camp complete. + +"Boggs puts it up she merely gives it out she's deef that a-way to +cut off debate with the camp, an' decline all confidences goin' an' +comin'. + +"Thar's no reason to say the Deef Woman's the Major's wife, more'n +she tumbles into camp as onlooked for as Old Monte sober, an' it's +easy to note she s'prises an' dismays the Major a lot, even drunk +an' soaked with nose paint as he shorely is. + +"The Deef Woman has a brief pow-wow with him alone over at the O. K. +House, followin' of which the Major appears the whitiest an' the +shakiest I ever beholds him--the last bein' some strong as a +statement--an' after beggin' a drink at the Red Light, p'ints out +afoot for Red Dog, an' is seen no more. + +"What the Deef Woman says to the Major, or him to her; or what makes +him hit the trail for Red Dog that a-way no one learns. The Deef +Woman ain't seemin' to regard the Major's jumpin' the outfit as no +loss, however. Wherein she's plenty accurate, for that Major shorely +ain't worth ropin' to brand. + +"After he's gone--an' the Major's moccasin track ain't never seen in +Wolfville no more, he's gone that good--the next we-alls hears of +the deal, this yere Deef Woman's playin' the piano at the dance- +hall. + +"Doc Peets an' Enright, likewise the rest, don't like this none +whatever, for she don't show dance-hall y'ear marks, an' ain't the +dance-hall brand; but it looks like they's powerless to interfere. + +"Peets tries to talk to her, but she blushes an' can't hear him; +while Enright an' Missis Rucker--which the last bein' a female +herse'f is rung in on the play--don't win out nothin' more. Looks +like all the Deef Woman wants is to be let alone, while she makes a +play the best she can for a home-stake. + +"I pauses to mention, however, that durin' the week the Deef Woman +turns her game at the piano--for she don't stay only a week as the +play runs out--she comes mighty near killin' the dance-hall +business. The fact is this were Deef Woman plays that remarkable +sweet no one dances at all; jest nacherally sets'round hungerin' for +them melodies, an' cadences to that extent they actooally overlooks +drinks. + +"That's right; an' you can gamble your deepest chip when folks +begins to overlook drinks, an' a glass of whiskey lasts energetic +people half an hour, they's shorely some rapt. + +"Even the coyotes cashes in an' quits their howls whenever the Deef +Woman drug her chair up to that piano an' throws loose. An' them +coyotes afterward, when she turns up her box an' stops dealin', gets +that bashful an' taciturn they ain't sayin' a word; but jest +withholds all yells entire the rest of the night. + +"But thar's no use talkin' hours about the Deef Woman's music. It +only lasts a week; even if Wolfville does brag of it yet. + +"It's this a-way: It's while Pinon Bill is romancin' round the time +I mentions, that we-alls rolls outen our blankets one mornin' an' +picks up a party whose name's Burke. This yere Burke is shot in the +back; plumb dead, an' is camped when we finds him all cold an' stiff +out back of the New York store. + +"The day before, Burke, who's a miner, diggin' an' projectin' 'round +over in the Floridas, is in camp layin' in powder an' fuse a whole +lot, with which he means to keep on shootin' up the he'pless bosoms +of the hills like them locoed miner people does. + +"At night he's drunk; an' while thar's gents as sees Burke as late, +mebby it's two hours after the last walse at the dance-hall, thar's +nobody who ups an' imparts how Burke gets plugged. All Wolfville +knows is that at first-drink time in the mornin', thar this Burke is +plumb petered that a-way. + +"An' the worst feature shorely is that the bullet goes in his back, +which makes it murder plain. Thar ain't a moccasin track to he'p +tell who drops this yere Burke. Nacrerally, everybody's deeply taken +to know who does it; for if thar's a party in camp who's out to +shoot when your back's turned, findin' of him an' hangin' him can't +be too pop'lar an' needful as a play. But, as I remarks, we're +baffled, an' up ag'inst it absoloote. No one has the least notion +who gets this yere Burke. It's money as is the object of the murder, +for Burke's war-bags don't disclose not a single centouse when the +committee goes through 'em prior to the obsequies. + +"It's two days the camp is talkin' over who does this crime, when +Texas Thompson begins to shed a beam of light. This last was +onlooked for, an' tharfore all the more interestin'. + +"Texas Thompson is a jedge of whiskey sech as any gent might tie to. +He's a middlin' shot with a Colt's .44 an' can protect himse'f at +poker. But nobody ever reckons before that Texas can think. Which I +even yet deems this partic'lar time a inspiration, in which event +Texas Thompson don't have to think. + +"It's over in the Red Light the second after. noon when Texas turns +loose a whole lot. + +"'Enright,' he says, 'I shore has a preemonition this yere Burke +gets plugged by Pinon Bill.' + +"'How does the kyards run so as to deal s'picions on Pinon Bill?' +says Enright. + +"'This a-way,' says Texas, some confident an' cl'ar; 'somebody downs +Burke; that's dead certain. Burke don't put that hole in the middle +of his back himse'f; no matter how much he reckons it improves him. +Then, when it's someone else who is it? Now,' goes on Texas, as glib +as wolves, 'yere's how I argues: You-all don't do it; Peets don't do +it; Boggs don't do it; thar's not one of us who does it. An' thar +you be plumb down to Pinon Bill. In the very nacher of the deal, +when no one else does it an' it's done, Pinon Bill's got to do it. I +tells you as shore as my former wife at Laredo's writin' insultin' +letters to me right now, this yere Pinon Bill's the party who shoots +up that miner gent Burke.' + +"What Texas Thompson says makes an impression; which it's about the +first thoughtful remark he ever makes, an' tharfore we're prone to +give it more'n usual attention. + +"We imbibes on it an' talks it up an' down, mebby it's half an hour; +an' the more we drinks an' the harder we thinks, the cl'arer it +keeps gettin' that mighty likely this yere Texas has struck the +trail. At last Jack Moore, who's, as I often says, prompt an' +vig'lant that a-way, lines out to hunt this yere Pinon Bill. + +"Whyever do they call him Pinon Bill? Nothin' much; only once he +comes into camp drunk an' locoed; an' bein' in the dark an' him +hawg-hungry, he b'iles a kettle of pinon-nuts, a-holdin' of 'em +erroneous to be beans, an' as sech aimin' to get some food outen 'em +a whole lot. He goes to sleep while he's pesterin' with 'em, an' +when the others tumbles to his game in the mornin', he's branded as +'Pinon Bill' ever more. + +"When Jack hops out to round-up Pinon Bill, all he does is go into +the street. The first thing he notes is this yere Pinon Bill's pony +standin' saddled over by the O. K. House, like he plans to pull his +freight. + +"'Which that bronco standin' thar,' says Jack to Enright, 'makes it +look like Texas calls the turn with them surmises.' An' it shorely +does. + +"This pony makes Jack's play plenty simple; all he does now is to +sa'nter 'round the pony casooal like an' lay for Pinon Bill. + +"Jack's too well brought up to go surgin' into rooms lookin' for +Pinon Bill, where Jack's eyes comin' in outen the sun that a-way, +can't see for a minute nohow, an' where Pinon Bill has advantages. +It's better to wait for him outside. + +"You-all saveys how it's done in the West. When a gent's needed you +allers opens the game with a gun-play. + +"'Hold up your hands!' says you, sorter indicatin' a whole lot at +your prey with a gun. + +"Which, by the way, if he don't enter into the sperit of the thing +prompt an' p'int his paws heavenward an' no delay, you-all mustn't +fall into no abstractions an' forget to shoot some. When you +observes to a fellow-bein' that a-way + +'Hold up your hands!' you must be partic'lar an' see he does it. +Which if you grows lax on this p'int he's mighty likely to put your +light out right thar. + +"An' jest as Jack Moore tells me once when we're puttin' in some +leesure hours an' whiskey mingled, you don't want to go too close to +standup your gent. Over in the Gunnison country, Jack says, a +marshal he knows gets inadvertent that a-way, an' thoughtless, an' +goes up close. + +"'Throw up your hands' says this yere marshal. + +"His tone shows he's ennuied; he has so many of these yere blazers +to run; that's why he's careless, mebby. When the party throws up +his hands, he is careful an knocks the marshal's gun one side with +his left hand, bein' he's too close as I says, at the same time +pullin' his own wherewith he then sends that marshal to the happy +huntin' grounds in one motion. Before ever that Gunnison offishul +gets it outen his head that that sport's holdin' up his hands, he's +receivin' notice on high to hustle 'round an' find his harp an' +stand in on the eternal chorus for all he's worth. + +"'Which the public,' says Jack Moore, the time he relates about this +yere Gunnison marshal bein over-played that time, 'takes an' hangs +the killer in a minute. An' he's shorely a bad man. + +"'Does you-all want to pray?" says one of the gents who's stringin' +of him. + +"'No, Ed," he says that a-way, "prayin's a blind trail to my eyes +an' I can't run it a inch." + +"'"What for a racket," says this yere Ed, "would it be to pick out a +sport to pray for you a whole lot; sorter play your hand?" + +"'"That's all right," says this culprit. "Nominate your sharp an' +tell him to wade in an' roll his game. I reckons it's a good hedge, +an' a little prayin' mebby does me good." + +"'Tharupon the committee puts for'ard a gent who's a good talker; +but not takin' an interest much, he makes a mighty weak orison, that +a-way. Thar's nohody likes it, from the culprit, who's standin' thar +with the lariat 'round his neck, to the last gent who's come up. +This party blunders along, mebby it's a minute, when the culprit, +who's plumb disgusted, breaks in. + +"'"That's a hell of a pra'r," he says, "an' I don't want no more of +it in mine. Gimme a drink of whiskey, gents, an' swing me off." + +"'The committee, whose sympathies is all with this yere party who's +to hang, calls down the gent a heap who's prayin', gives the other +his forty drops, an' cinches him up some free of the ground; which +the same bein' ample for strang'lation. + +"'But,' concloods Jack, 'while they hangs him all right an' proper, +that don't put off the funeral of the marshal none, who gets +careless an' goes too close.' An' you bet Jack's right. + +"But goin' back: As I remarks, Jack stands round loose an' +indifferent with his eye on the pony of Pinon Bill's, which it looks +now like this yere Bill is aware of Jack's little game. He comes out +shore-'nough, but he's organized. He's got his gun in his hand; an' +also he's packin' the Deef Woman's yearlin' in front of his breast +an' face. + +"Jack gives him the word, but Pinon Bill only laughs. Then Jack +makes a bluff with his gun like he's goin' to shoot Pinon Bill, the +infant, an' all involved tharin. This yere last move rattles Pinon +Bill, an' he ups an' slams loose at Jack. But the baby's in his way +as much mebby as it is in Jack's, an' he only grazes Jack's frame a +whole lot, which amounts to some blood an' no deep harm. + +"'Down his pony, Jack!' shouts Dave Tutt, jumpin' outen the Red +Light like he aims to get in on the deal. + +"But this yere Pinon Bill shifts the cut on 'em. + +"'If one of you-alls so much as cracks a cap,' he says, 'I blows the +head offen this yere blessed child.' + +"An' tharupon he shoves his gun up agin that baby's left y'ear that +a-way, so it shore curdles your blood. He does it as readily as if +it's grown-up folks. It shore sends a chill through me; an' Dan +Boggs is that 'fected he turns plumb sick. Boggs ain't eatin' a +thing, leastwise nothin' but whiskey, for two days after he sees +Pinon Bill do it. + +"'That's on the level,' says this Pinon Bill ag'in.--The first +vestich of a gun-play I witnesses, or if any gent starts to follow +me ontil I'm a mile away, I'll send this yearlin' scoutin' after +Burke. An' you-alls hears me say it.' + +"Thar it is; a squar' case of stand-off. Thar ain't a gent who's +game to make a move. Seein' we ain't got a kyard left to play, this +yere Pinon Bill grins wide an' satisfactory, an' swings into the +saddle. + +"All this time--which, after all, it ain't so long--the baby ain't +sayin' nothin', and takes the deal in plumb silence. But jest as +Pinon Bill lands in the saddle it onfurls a yell like a wronged +panther. That's what brings the Deef Woman stampedin' to the scene. +She don't hear a morsel of all this riot Jack an' Tutt an' Pinon +Bill kicks up; never even gets a hint of Pinon Bill's six-shooter. +But with the earliest squeak of that infant that a-way, you bet! she +comes a-runnin'. + +"The second she sees where her baby's at, up in the saddle along +with Pinon Bill, she makes a spring for the whole outfit. We-alls +stands lookin' on. Thar ain't one of us dares crook a finger, for +this Pinon Bill is cool an' ca'm plumb through. He's still got the +drop on the kid, while he's holdin' baby an' bridle both with the +other arm an' hand. His sharp eyes is on the Deef Woman, too. + +"She springs, but she never makes it. Pinon Bill jumps his pony +sideways out of her reach, an' at that the Deef Woman c'lapses on +her face an' shoulder in a dead swoon. + +"'Adios!' says Pinon Bill, to the rest of us, backin' an' sidlin' +his pony up the street so he don't lose sight of the play. 'Ten +minutes from now you-alls finds this yere infant a mile from camp as +safe an' solid as a sod house.' + +"'Bill,' says Enright, all at once, 'I makes you a prop'sition. +Restore the baby to me, an' thar ain't a gent in camp who follows +you a foot. I gives you the word of Wolfville.' + +"'Does that go?' demands Pinon Bill, turnin to Jack, who's shakin' +the blood offen his fingers where it runs down his arm. + +"'It goes,' says Jack; 'goes wherever Enright sets it. I makes good +his bluffs at all times on foot or in the stirrups.' + +"'An' I takes your promise,' says Pinon Bill with a laugh, 'an' +yere's the baby. Which now I'm goin', I don't mind confidin' in you- +alls,' goes on this Pinon Bill, 'that I never intends to hurt that +infant nohow.' + +"Enright gets the child, an' in no time later that Pinon Bill is +fled from sight. You can believe it; it takes a load offen the +public mind about that infant when the kyards comes that a-way. + +"Which the story's soon told now. It's three days later, an', seein' +it's refreshed in our thoughts, Enright an' the rest of us is +resoomed op'rations touchin' this Deef Woman, about gettin' her +outen camp, an' she's beginnin' to recover her obduracy about not +sayin' or hearin' nothin', when in comes a package by Old Monte an' +the stage. It's for Enright from that hoss. thief, Pinon Bill. +Thar's a letter an' +Soo for the baby. + +"'Tell that Decf Woman,' says this yere Pinon Bill, 'that I has an +even thousand dollars in my war-bags, when I stacks in her offspring +ag'inst the camp to win; an' I deems it only squar' to divide the +pot with the baby. The kid an' me's partners in the play that a-way, +an' the enclosed is the kid's share. Saw this yere dinero off on her +somehow; an' make her pull her freight. Wolfville's no good place to +raise that baby.' + +"'Which this Pinon Bill ain't so bad neither,' says Dan Boggs, when +he hears it. 'Gents, I proposes the health of this outlaw. Barkeep, +see what they takes in behalf of Pinon Bill.' + +"The letter an' the money's dead straight, an' the Deef Woman can't +dodge or go 'round. All of which Missis Rucker takes a day off an' +beats it into her by makin' signs. It's like two Injuns talkin'. It +all winds up by the Deef Woman p'intin' out on her way some'ers +East, an' thar ain't one of us ever sees the Major, the Deef Woman, +the kid, nor yet this Pinon Bill, no more. Which this last, however, +is not regarded as food for deep regrets," + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +CRAWFISH JIM. + + +"Don't I never tell you the story of the death of Crawfish Jim?" + +The Old Cattleman bent upon me an eye of benevolent inquiry. I +assured him that the details of the taking off of Crawfish Jim were +as a sealed book to me. But I would blithely listen. + +"What was the fate of Crawfish Jim?"I asked. The name seemed a +promise in itself. + +"Nothin' much for a fate, Crawfish's ain't," rejoined the Old +Cattleman. "Nothin' whatever compared to some fates I keeps tabs +onto. It was this a-way: Crawfish Jim was a sheep-man, an' has a +camp out in the foothills of the Tres Hermanas, mebby it's thirty +miles back from Wolfville. This yere Crawfish Jim was a pecooliar +person; plumb locoed, like all sheep-men. They has to be crazy or +they wouldn't pester 'round in no sech disrepootable pursoots as +sheep. + +You-all has seen these yere gents as makes pets of snakes. Mebby +it's once in a thousand times you cuts the trail of sech a party. +Snakes is kittens to him, an' he's likely to be packin' specimens +'round in his clothes any time. + +"That's the way with this Crawfish Jim. I minds talkin' to him at +his camp one day when I'm huntin' a bunch of cattle. The first I +notes, snake sticks his head outen Crawfish's shirt, an' looks at me +malev'lent and distrustful. Another protroods its nose out up by +Crawfish's collar. + +"'Which you shore seems ha'nted of snakes?' I says, steppin' back +an' p'intin' at the reptiles. + +"'Them's my dumb companions,' says Crawfish Jim. 'They shares my +solitood.' + +"'You-all do seem some pop'lar with 'em,' I observes, for I saveys +at once he's plumb off his mental reservation; an' when a party's +locoed that a-way it makes him hostile if you derides his little +game or bucks his notions. + +"I takes grub with Crawfish that same day; good chuck, too; mainly +sheep-meat, salt-hoss, an' bakin'-powder biscuit. I watches him some +narrow about them snakes he's infested with; I loathin' of 'em, an' +not wantin' 'em to transfer no love to me, nor take to enlivenin' my +secloosion none. + +"Well, son, this yere Crwafish Jim is as a den of serpents. I +reckons now he has a plumb dozen mowed away in his raiment. Thar's +no harm in 'em; bein' all bull-snakes, which is innocuous an' +without p'ison, fangs, or convictions. + +"When Crawfish goes to cook, he dumps these folks oaten his clothes, +an' lets 'em hustle an'play'round while grub's gettin'. + +"'These yere little animals,' he says, 'likes their reecreations +same as humans, so I allers gives 'em a play-spell while I'm busy +round camp.' + +'"Don't they ever stampede off none?' I asks. + +"'Shorely not,' says Crawfish. 'Bull-snakes is the most domestical +snake thar is. If I'd leave one of these yere tender creatures ere +over night he'd die of homesickness.' + +"When Crawfish gets ready to bile the coffee, he tumbles the biggest +bullsnake I'd seen yet outen the coffee-pot onto the grass. Then he +fills the kettle with water, dumps in the coffee, an' sets her on +the coals to stew. + +"'This yere partic'lar snake,' says Crawfish, 'which I calls him +Julius Caesar, is too big to tote 'round in my shirt, an' so he +lives in the coffee-pot while I'm away, an' keeps camp for me.' + +"'Don't you yearn for no rattlesnakes to fondle?' I inquires, jest +to see what kyard he'd play. + +"'No,' he says, 'rattlesnakes is all right--good, sociable, moral +snakes enough; but in a sperit of humor they may bite you or some +play like that, an' thar you'd be. No; bull-snakes is as 'fectionate +as rattles, an' don't run to p'ison. You don't have no +inadvertencies with 'em.' + +"'Can't you bust the fangs outen rattlesnakes?' I asks. + +"'They grows right in ag'in,' says Crawfish, same as your finger- +nails. I ain't got no time to go scoutin' a rattlesnake's mouth +every day, lookin' up teeth, so I don't worry with 'em, but plays +bull-snakes straight. This bein' dentist for rattlesnakes has resks, +which the same would be foolish to assoom.' + +"While grub's cookin' an' Crawfish an' me's pow-wowin', a little old +dog Crawfish has--one of them no-account nce-dogs--comes up an' +makes a small uprisin' off to one side with Julius Caesar. The dog +yelps an' snaps, an' Julius Caesar blows an' strikes at him, same as +a rattle. snake. However, they ain't doin' no harm, an' Crawfish +don't pay no heed. + +"'They's runnin' blazers on each other,' says Crawfish, 'an' don't +mean nothin'. Bimeby Caribou Pete--which the same is the dog--will +go lie down an' sleep; an' Julius Caesar will quile up ag'in him to +be warm. Caribou, bein' a dog that a-way, is a warm-blood animal, +while pore Julius has got cold blood like a fish. So he goes over +an' camps on Caribou, an' all the same puts his feet on him for to +be comfortable.' + +"Of course, I'm a heap interested in this yere snake knowledge, an' +tells Crawfish so. But it sorter coppers my appetite, an' Crawfish +saves on sheep-meat an' sow-belly by his discourse powerful. +Thinkin' an' a-lookin' at them blessed snakes, speshul at Julius +Cmsar, I shore ain't hungry much. But as you says: how about +Crawfish Jim gettin' killed? + +"One day Crawfish allows all alone by himse'f he'll hop into +Wolfville an' buy some stuff for his camp,--flour, whiskey, +tobacker, air-tights, an' sech. + +"What's air-tights? Which you Eastern shorthorns is shore ignorant. +Air-tights is can peaches, can tomatters, an' sim'lar bluffs. + +"As I was sayin', along comes pore old Crawfish over to Wolfville; +rides in on a burro. That's right, son; comes loafin' along on a +burro like a Mexican. These yere sheep-men is that abandoned an' +vulgar they ain't got pride to ride a hoss. + +"Along comes Crawfish on a burro, an' it's his first visit to +Wolfville. Yeretofore the old Cimmaron goes over to Red Dog for his +plunder, the same bein' a busted low-down camp on the Lordsburg +trail, which once holds it's a rival to Wolfville. It ain't, +however; the same not bein' of the same importance, commercial, as a +prairie-dog town. + +"This time, however, Crawfish pints up for Wolfville. An' to make +himse'f loved, I reckons, whatever does he do but bring along Julius +Caesar. + +"I don't reckon now he ever plays Julius Caesar none on Red Dog. +Mighty likely this yere was the bull-snake's first engagement. I +clings to this notion that Red Dog never sees Julius Caesar; for if +she had, them drunkards which inhabits said camp wouldn't have quit +yellin' yet. Which Julius Caesar, with that Red Dog whiskey they was +soaked in, would have shore given 'em some mighty heenous visions. +Fact is, Crawfish told Jack Moore later he never takes Julius Caesar +nowhere before. + +"But all the same Crawfish prances into camp on this yere occasion +with Julius bushwacked 'way 'round back in his shirt, an' sech +vacant spaces about his person as ain't otherwise occupied a- +nourishin' of minor bull-snakes plenty profuse. + +"Of course them snakes is all holdin' back, bein', after all, timid +cattle; an' so none of us s'spects Crawfish is packin' any sech +s'prises. None of the boys about town knows of Crawfish havin' this +bull-snake habit but me, nohow. So the old man stampedes'round an' +buys what he's after, an' all goes well. Nobody ain't even dreamin' +of reptiles. + +"At last Crawfish, havin' turned his little game for flour, air- +tights, an' jig-juice, as I says, gets into the Red Light, an' +braces up ag'in the bar an' calls for nose-paint all 'round. This +yere is proper an' p'lite, an' everybody within hearin' of the yell +lines up. + +"It's at this crisis Crawfish Jim starts in to make himse'f a +general fav'ritc. Everybody's slopped out his perfoomcry, an' Dan +Boggs is jest sayin': 'Yere's lookin' at you, Crawfish,' when that +crazy-boss shepherd sorter swarms 'round inside his shirt with his +hand, an' lugs out Julius Cesar be the scruff of his neck, a- +squirmin' an' a-blowin', an' madder'n a drunken squaw. Once he gets +Julius out, he spreads him 'round profuse on the Red Light bar an' +sorter herds him with his hand to keep him from chargin' off among +the bottles. + +"'Gents,' says this locoed Crawfish, 'I ain't no boaster, but I +offers a hundred to fifty, an' stands to make it up to a thousand +dollars in wool or sheep, Julius Caesar is the fattest an' finest +serpent in Arizona; also the best behaved.' + +"Thar ain't no one takin' Crawfish's bet. The moment he slams Julius +on the bar, more'n ten of our leadin' citizens falls to the floor in +fits, an' emerges outen one par'xysm only to slump into another. +Which we shorely has a general round-up of all sorts of spells. + +"'Whatever's the matter of you-all people?' says Crawfish, lookin' +mighty aghast. 'Thar's no more harm in Julius Caesar than if he's a +fullblown rose.' + +"Jack Moore, bein' marshal, of course stands his hand. It's his +offishul dooty to play a pat hand on bull-snakes an' danger in all +an' any forms. An' Jack does it. + +"While Crawfish is busy recountin' the attainments of Julius Caesar, +a-holdin' of his pet with one hand, Jack Moore takes a snap shot at +him along the bar with his six-shooter, an' away goes Julius +Caesar's head like a puff of smoke. Then Moore rounds up Crawfish, +an', perceivin' of the other bull-snakes, he searches 'em out one by +one an' massacres 'em. + +"'Call over Doc Peets,' says Jack Moore final, 'an' bring Boggs an' +Tutt an' the rest of these yere invalids to.' + +"Doc Peets an' Enright both trails in on the lope from the New York +Store. They hears Moore's gun-play an' is cur'ous, nacheral 'nough, +to know who calls it. Well, they turns in an' brings the other +inhabitants outen their fits; pendin' which Moore kills off the last +remainin' bull-snake in Crawfish's herd. + +"Son, I've seen people mad, an' I've seen 'em gay, an' I've seen 'em +bit by grief. But I'm yere to remark I never runs up on a gent who +goes plumb mad with sadness ontil I sees Crawfish that day Jack +Moore immolates his bull-snake pets. He stands thar, white, an' +ain't sayin' a word. Looks for a minute like he can't move. Crawfish +don't pack no gun, or I allers allowed we'd had notice of him some, +while them bullsnakes is cashin' in. + +"But at last he sorter comes to, an' walks out without sayin' +nothin'. They ain't none of us regardin' of him much at the time; +bein' busy drinkin' an' recoverin' from the shock. + +"Now, what do you s'pose this old Navajo does? Lopes straight over +to the New York Store--is ca'm as a June day about it, too--an' gets +a six-shooter. + +"The next information we gets of Crawfish, 'bang!' goes his new gun, +an' the bullet cuts along over Jack Moore's head too high for +results. New gun that a-way, an' Crawfish not up on his practice; of +course he overshoots. + +"Well, the pore old murderer never does get a second crack. I +reckons eight people he has interested shoots all at once, an' +Crawfish Jim quits this earthly deal unanimous. He stops every +bullet; eight of 'em, like I says. + +"'Thar ain't a man of us who don't feel regrets; but what's the use? +Thar we be, up ag'inst the deal, with Crawfish clean locoed. It's +the only wagon-track out. + +"'I shore hopes he's on the hot trail of them bull-snakes of his'n,' +says Dan Boggs, as we lays Crawfish out on a monte-table. 'Seems +like he thought monstrous well of 'em, an' it would mighty likely +please him to run up on 'em where he's gone.' + +"Whatever did we do? Why, we digs a grave out back of the dance-hall +an' plants Crawfish an' his pets tharin. + +"'I reckons we better bury them reptiles, too,' says Doc Peets, as +we gets Crawfish stretched out all comfortable in the bottom. 'If +he's lookin' down on these yere ceremonies it'll make him feel +easier.' + +"Doc Peets is mighty sentimental an' romantic that a-way, an' allers +thinks of the touchin' things to do, which I more'n once notices +likewise, that a gent bein' dead that a-way allers brings out the +soft side of Peets's nacher. You bet! he's plumb sympathetic. + +"We counts in the snakes. Thar's 'leven of 'em besides Julius +Caesar; which we lays him on Crawfish's breast. You can find the +grave to-day. + +"Shore! we sticks up a headboard. It says on it, the same bein' +furnished by Doc Peets--an' I wants to say Doc Peets is the best +eddicated gent in Arizona-as follows + + SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF + CRAWFISH JIM, JULIUS CAESAR + AND + ELEVEN OTHER BULL SNAKES, + THEY MEANT WELL, + BUT THEY MISUNDERSTOOD EXISTENCE + AND DIED. + + THIS BOARD WAS REARED BY AN + ADMIRING CIRELE OF FRIENDS + WHO WAS WITH DECEASED + TO THE LAST. + +"An' don't you-all know, son, this yere onfortunate weedin' out of +pore Crawfish that a-way, sorter settles down on the camp an' preys +on us for mighty likely it's a week. It shorely is a source of +gloom. Moreover, it done gives Dan Boggs the fan-tods. As I relates +prior, Boggs is emotional a whole lot, an' once let him get what +you-all calls a shock--same, for instance, as them bull-snakes--its +shore due to set Boggs's intellects to millin'. An' that's what +happens now. We-alls don't get Boggs; bedded down none for ten days, +his visions is that acoote. + +"'Which of course,' says Boggs, while we-all s settin' up +administerin' things to him, 'which of course I'm plumb aware these +yere is mere illoosions; but all the same, as cl'ar as ever I notes +an ace, no matter where I looks at, I discerns that Julius Caesar +serpent a-regardin' me reproachful outen the atmospher. An' gents, +sech spectacles lets me out a heap every time. You-alls can gamble, +I ain't slumberin' none with no snake-spook that a-way a-gyardin' of +my dreams.' + +"That's all thar is to the death of Crawfish Jim. Thar ain't no harm +in him, nor yet, I reckons, in Julius Caesar an' the rest of +Crawfish's fam'ly. But the way they gets tangled up with Wolfville, +an' takes to runnin' counter to public sentiment an' them eight six- +shooters, Crawfish an' his live-stock has to go." + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 3732 *** diff --git a/3732-h/3732-h.htm b/3732-h/3732-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b17a6c9 --- /dev/null +++ b/3732-h/3732-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9942 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>Wolfville | Project Gutenberg</title> + +<style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 3732 ***</div> + + <h1> + WOLFVILLE + </h1> + <h2> + By Alfred Henry Lewis (AKA Dan Quin) + </h2> + + <hr /> + + <h2> + TO + </h2> + <h3> + WILLIAM RANDOLPH HEARST + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. WOLFVILLE'S FIRST FUNERAL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. THE STINGING LIZARD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. THE STORY OF WILKINS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. THE WASHWOMAN'S WAR. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. ENRIGHT'S PARD, JIM WILLIS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. TUCSON JENNIES HEART. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. TUCSON JENNIE'S JEALOUSY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. THE MAN FROM RED DOG. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. CHEROKEE HALL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. TEXAS THOMPSON'S "ELECTION." </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XL. A WOLFVILLE FOUNDLING.</a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. THE MAN FROM YELLOWHOUSE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. JACKS UP ON EIGHTS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. THE RIVAL DANCE-HALLS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. SLIM JIM'S SISTER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. JAYBIRD BOB'S JOKE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. BOGGS'S EXPERIENCE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. DAWSON & RUDD, PARTNERS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. MACE BOWMAN, SHERIFF. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. A WOLFVILLE THANKSGIVING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXL. BILL HOSKINS'S COON. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. OLD SAM ENRIGHT'S "ROMANCE." </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. PINON BILL'S BLUFF. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. CRAWFISH JIM. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + PREFACE. + </h2> + <p> + <br /> These tales by the Old Cattleman have been submitted to perhaps a + <br /> dozen people. They have read, criticised, and advised. The advice + <br /> was good; the criticism just. Some suggested a sketch which might in + <br /> detail set forth Toffville; there were those who wanted something + <br /> like a picture of the Old Cattleman; while others urged an <br /> + elaboration of the personal characteristics of Old Man Enright, Doc <br /> + Peets, Cherokee Hall, Moore, Tutt, Boggs, Faro Nell, Old Monte, and <br /> + Texas Thompson. I have, how-ever, concluded to leave all these <br /> + matters to the illustrations of Mr. Remington and the imaginations <br /> + of those who read. I think it the better way-certainly it is the <br /> + easier one for me. I shall therefore permit the Old Cattleman to <br /> + tell his stories in his own fashion. The style will be crude, <br /> + abrupt, and meagre, but I trust it will prove as satisfactory to the <br /> + reader as it has to me. <br /> A. H. L. <br /> New York, May 15,1897. <br /> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. WOLFVILLE'S FIRST FUNERAL. + </h2> + <p> + "These yere obsequies which I'm about mentionin'," observed the Old + Cattleman, "is the first real funeral Wolfville has." + </p> + <p> + The old fellow had lighted a cob pipe and tilted his chair back in a + fashion which proclaimed a plan to be comfortable. He had begun to + tolerate—even encourage—my society, although it was clear that + as a tenderfoot he regarded me with a species of gentle disdain. + </p> + <p> + I had provoked the subject of funeral ceremonies by a recurrence to the + affair of the Yellowhouse Man, and a query as to what would have been the + programme of the public-spirited hamlet of Wolfville if that invalid had + died instead of yielding to the nursing of Jack Moore and that tariff on + draw-poker which the genius of Old Man Enright decreed. + </p> + <p> + It came in easy illustration, as answer to my question, for the Old + Cattleman to recall the funeral of a former leading spirit of Southwestern + society. The name of this worthy was Jack King; and with a brief + exposition of his more salient traits, my grizzled raconteur led down to + his burial with the remark before quoted. + </p> + <p> + "Of course," continued the Old Cattleman, "of course while thar's some + like this Yallerhouse gent who survives; thar's others of the boys who is + downed one time an' another, an' goes shoutin' home to heaven by various + trails. But ontil the event I now recalls, the remainders has been + freighted east or west every time, an' the camp gets left. It's hard luck, + but at last it comes toward us; an' thar we be one day with a corpse all + our'n, an' no partnership with nobody nor nothin'. + </p> + <p> + "'It's the chance of our life,' says Doc Peets, 'an' we plays it. Thar's + nothin' too rich for our blood, an' these obsequies is goin' to be + spread-eagle, you bet! We'll show Red Dog an' sim'lar villages they ain't + sign-camps compared with Wolfville.' + </p> + <p> + "So we begins to draw in our belts an' get a big ready. Jack King, as I + says before, is corpse, eemergin' outen a game of poker as sech. Which + prior tharto, Jack's been peevish, an' pesterin' an' pervadin' 'round for + several days. The camp stands a heap o' trouble with him an' tries to + smooth it along by givin' him his whiskey an' his way about as he wants + 'em, hopin' for a change. But man is only human, an' when Jack starts in + one night to make a flush beat a tray full for seven hundred dollars, he + asks too much. + </p> + <p> + "Thar ain't no ondertakers, so we rounds up the outfit, an' knowin' he'd + take a pride in it, an' do the slam-up thing, we puts in Doc Peets to deal + the game unanimous. + </p> + <p> + "'Gents,' he says, as we-alls turns into the Red Light to be refreshed, + 'in assoomin' the present pressure I feels the compliments paid me in the + seelection. I shall act for the credit of the camp, an' I needs your help. + I desires that these rites be a howlin' vict'ry. I don't want people + comin' 'round next week allowin' thar ain't been no funeral, an' I don't + reckon much that they will. We've got the corpse, an' if we gets bucked + off now it's our fault.' + </p> + <p> + "So he app'ints Old Monte an' Dan Boggs to go for a box for Jack, an' + details a couple of niggers from the corral to dig a tomb. + </p> + <p> + "'An' mind you-alls,' says Peets, `I wants that hole at least a mile from + camp. In order to make a funeral a success, you needs distance. That's + where deceased gets action. It gives the procession a chance to spread an' + show up. You can't make no funeral imposin' except you're plumb liberal on + distances.' + </p> + <p> + "It all goes smooth right off the reel. We gets a box an' grave ready, an' + Peets sticks up a notice on the stage-station door, settin' the excitement + for third-drink time next day. Prompt at the drop of the hat the camp lets + go all holds an' turns loose in a body to put Jack through right. He's + laid out in splendid shape in the New York Store, with nothin' to complain + of if he's asked to make the kick himse'f. He has a new silk necktie, blue + shirt an' pearl buttons, trousers, an' boots. Some one—Benson Annie, + I reckons—has pasted some co't plaster over the hole on his + cheek-bone where the bullet gets in, an' all 'round Jack looks better than + I ever sees him. + </p> + <p> + "'Let the congregation remove its hats,' says Peets, a-settin' down on a + box up at Jack's head, 'an' as many as can will please get somethin' to + camp on. Now, my friends," he continues, "thar ain't no need of my puttin' + on any frills or gettin' in any scroll work. The objects of this + convention is plain an' straight. Mister King, here present, is dead. + Deceased is a very headstrong person, an' persists yesterday in + entertainin' views touchin' a club flush, queen at the head, which results + in life everlastin'. Now, gents, this is a racket full of solemnity. We + wants nothin' but good words. Don't mind about the trooth; which the same + ain't in play at a funeral, nohow. We all knows Jack; we knows his record. + Our information is ample that a-way; how he steals a hoss at Tucson; how + be robs a gent last fall at Tombstone; how he downs a party at Cruces; how + that scar on his neck he gets from Wells-Fargo's people when he stands up + the stage over on the Lordsburg trail. But we lays it all aside to- day. + We don't copper nary bet. Yesterday mornin', accompanied by the report of + a Colt's forty-five, Mister King, who lies yere so cool an' easy, leaves + us to enter in behind the great white shinin' gates of pearl an' gold, + which swings inward to glory eternal. It's a great set back at this time + thar ain't no sky-pilot in the camp. This deeficiency in sky-pilots is a + hoss onto us, but we does our best. At a time like this I hears that + singin' is a good, safe break, an' I tharfore calls on that little girl + from Flagstaff to give us "The Dyin' Ranger." + </p> + <p> + "So the little Flagstaff girl cl'ars her valves with a drink, an' gives us + the song; an' when the entire congregation draws kyards on the last verse + it does everybody good. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "'Far away from his dear old Texas, + We laid him down to rest; + With his saddle for a pillow, + And his gun across his breast.' +</pre> + <p> + "Then Peets gets out the Scriptures. 'I'm goin' to read a chapter outen + these yere Testaments,' he says. 'I ain't makin' no claim for it, except + it's part of the game an' accordin' to Hoyle. If thar's a preacher yere + he'd do it, but bein' thar's no sech brand on this range I makes it as a + forced play myse'f.' + </p> + <p> + "So he reads us, a chapter about the sepulcher, an' Mary Magdalene, an' + the resurrection; an' everybody takes it in profound as prairie- dogs, for + that's the lead to make, an' we knows it. + </p> + <p> + "Then Peets allows he'd like to hear from any gent onder the head of 'good + of the order.' + </p> + <p> + "'Mister Ondertaker an' Chairman,' says Jim Hamilton, 'I yields to an + inward impulse to say that this yere play weighs on me plumb heavy. As + keeper of the dance-hall I sees a heap of the corpse an' knows him well. + Mister King is my friend, an' while his moods is variable an' oncertain; + an' it's cl'arly worth while to wear your gun while he's hoverin' near, I + loves him. He has his weaknesses, as do we all. A disp'sition to make new + rooles as he plays along for sech games of chance as enjoys his notice is + perhaps his greatest failin'. His givin' way to this habit is primar'ly + the cause of his bein' garnered in. I hopes he'll get along thar, an' + offers a side bet, even money, up to five hundred dollars, he will. He may + alter his system an' stand way up with the angels an' seraphs, an' if + words from me could fix it, I'd shorely stack 'em in. I would say further + that after consultin' with Billy Burns, who keeps the Red Light, we has, + in honor of the dead an' to mark the occasion of his cashin' in, agreed + upon a business departure of interest to all. This departure Mister Burns + will state. I mournfully gives way to him for said purpose.' + </p> + <p> + "'Mister Peets, an' ladies an' gents,' says Burns, 'like Mister Hamilton, + who I'm proud to meet yere as gent, citizen, an' friend, I knows deceased. + He's a good man, an' a dead-game sport from 'way back. A protracted + wrastle with the remorseless drinks of the frontier had begun to tell on + him, an' for a year or so he's been liable to have spells. Referrin' to + the remarks of Mister Hamilton, I states that by agreement between us an' + in honor to departed, the quotations on whiskey in this yere camp, from + now on, will be two drinks for two bits, instead of one as previous. We + don't want to onsettle trade, an' we don't believe this will. We makes it + as a ray of light in the darkness an' gloom of the hour. + </p> + <p> + "After this yere utterance, which is well received, we forms the + procession. Doc Peets, with two buglers from the Fort, takes the lead, + with Jack an' his box in one of the stage coaches comin' next. Enright, + Tutt, Boggs, Short Creek Dave, Texas Thompson, an' me, bein' the six + pallbearers, is on hosses next in line; an' Jack Moore commandin' of the + rest of the outfit, lines out permiscus. + </p> + <p> + "'This is a great day for Wolfville," says Peets, as he rides up an' down + the line. 'Thar ain't no camp this side of St. Looey could turn this + trick. Which I only wishes Jack could see it himse'f. It's more calculated + to bring this outfit into fav'rable notice than a lynchin'.' + </p> + <p> + "At the grave we turns in an' gives three cheers for King, an' three for + Doc Peets; an' last we gives three more an' a tiger for the camp. The + buglers cuts loose everythin' they knows, from the 'water- call' to the + 'retreat,' an' while the niggers is a-shovelin' in the sand we bangs away + with our six-shooters for general results delightful. You can gamble thar + ain't been no funeral like it before or since. + </p> + <p> + "At the last Peets hauls outen the stage we uses for Jack, a headboard. + When it's set up it looks like if Jack ain't satisfied, he's shorely hard + to suit. On it in big letters is: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + JaCK KinG + LIfE AiN'T + IN + HOLDiNG A GOOD HAND + BUT + In PLAYiNG A PORE HANd + WeLL. +</pre> + <p> + "'You sees, we has to work in a little sentiment,' says Doc Peets. + </p> + <p> + "Then we details the niggers to stand watch-an'-watch every night till + further orders. No; we ain't afraid Jack'll get out none, but the coyotes + is shore due to come an' dig for him, so the niggers has to stand gyard. + We don't allow to find spec'mens of Jack spread 'round loose after all the + trouble we takes." + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. THE STINGING LIZARD. + </h2> + <p> + "Thar's no sorter doubt to it," said the Old Cattleman after a long pause + devoted to meditation, and finally to the refilling of his cob pipe, "thar + ain't the slightest room for cavil but them ceremonies over Jack King, + deceased, is the most satisfactory pageant Wolfville ever promotes." + </p> + <p> + It was at this point I proved my cunning by saying nothing. I was pleased + to hear the old man talk, and rightly theorized that the better method of + invoking his reminiscences just at this time was to say never a word. + </p> + <p> + "However," he continued, "I don't reckon it's many weeks after we follows + Jack to the tomb, when we comes a heap near schedoolin' another funeral, + with the general public a-contributin' of the corpse. To be speecific, I + refers to a occasion when we-alls comes powerful close to lynchin' + Cherokee Hall. + </p> + <p> + "I don't mind on bosomin' myself about it. It's all a misonderstandin'; + the same bein' Cherokee's fault complete. We don't know him more'n to + merely drink with at that eepock, an' he's that sly an' furtive in his + plays, an' covers his trails so speshul, he nacherally breeds sech + suspicions that when the stage begins to be stood up reg'lar once a week, + an' all onaccountable, Cherokee comes mighty close to culminatin' in a + rope. Which goes to show that you can't be too open an' free in your game, + an' Cherokee would tell you so himse'f. + </p> + <p> + "This yere tangle I'm thinkin' of ain't more'n a month after Cherokee + takes to residin' in Wolfville. He comes trailin' in one evenin' from + Tucson, an' onfolds a layout an' goes to turnin' faro- bank in the Red + Light. No one remarks this partic'lar, which said spectacles is frequent. + The general idee is that Cherokee's on the squar' an' his game is + straight, an' of course public interest don't delve no further into his + affairs. + </p> + <p> + "Cherokee, himse'f, is one of these yere slim, silent people who ain't + talkin' much, an' his eye for color is one of them raw grays, like a new + bowie. + </p> + <p> + "It's perhaps the third day when Cherokee begins to struggle into public + notice. Thar's a felon whose name is Boone, but who calls himse'f the + 'Stingin' Lizard,' an' who's been pesterin' 'round Wolfville, mebby, it's + a month. This yere Stingin' Lizard is thar when Cherokee comes into camp; + an' it looks like the Stingin' Lizard takes a notion ag'in Cherokee from + the jump. + </p> + <p> + "Not that this yere Lizard is likely to control public feelin' in the + matter; none whatever. He's some onpop'lar himself. He's too toomultuous + for one thing, an' he has a habit of molestin' towerists an' folks he + don't know at all, which palls on disinterested people who has dooties to + perform. About once a week this Lizard man goes an' gets the treemers, an' + then the camp has to set up with him till his visions subsides. Fact is, + he's what you-alls East calls 'a disturbin' element,' an' we makes ready + to hang him once or twice, but somethin' comes up an' puts it off, an' we + sorter neglects it. + </p> + <p> + "But as I says, he takes a notion ag'in Cherokee. It's the third night + after Cherokee gets in, an' he's ca'mly behind his box at the Red Light, + when in peramb'lates this Lizard. Seems like Cherokee, bein' one of them + quiet wolves, fools up the Lizard a lot. This Lizard's been hostile an' + blood-hungry all day, an' I reckons he all at once recalls Cherokee; an', + deemin' of him easy, he allows he'll go an' chew his mane some for + relaxation. + </p> + <p> + "If I was low an' ornery like this Lizard, I ain't none shore but I'd be + fooled them days on Cherokee myse'f. He's been fretful about his whiskey, + Cherokee has,—puttin' it up she don't taste right, which not + onlikely it don't; but beyond pickin' flaws in his nose- paint thar ain't + much to take hold on about him. He's so slim an' noiseless besides, thar + ain't none of us but figgers this yere Stingin' Lizard's due to stampede + him if he tries; which makes what follows all the more impressive. + </p> + <p> + "So the Lizard projects along into the Red Light, whoopin' an' carryin' on + by himse'f. Straightway he goes up ag'inst Cherokee's layout. + </p> + <p> + "I don't buy no chips," says the Lizard to Cherokee, as he gets in + opposite. "I puts money in play; an' when I wins I wants money sim'lar. + Thar's fifty dollars on the king coppered; an' fifty dollars on the eight + open. Turn your kyards, an' turn 'em squar'. If you don't, I'll peel the + ha'r an' hide plumb off the top of your head." + </p> + <p> + "Cherokee looks at the Lizard sorter soopercillus an' indifferent; but he + don't say nothin'. He goes on with the deal, an', the kyards comin' that + a-way, he takes in the Lizard's two bets. + </p> + <p> + "Durin' the next deal the Lizard ain't sayin' much direct, but keeps + cussin' an' wranglin' to himse'f. But he's gettin' his money up all the + time; an' with the fifty dollars he lose on the turn, he's shy mebby four + hundred an' fifty at the close. + </p> + <p> + "'Bein' in the hole about five hundred dollars,' says the Lizard, in a + manner which is a heap onrespectful, ' an' so that a wayfarin' gent may + not be misled to rooin utter, I now rises to ask what for a limit do you + put on this deadfall anyhow?' + </p> + <p> + "'The bridle's plumb off to you, amigo,' says Cherokee, an' his tones is + some hard. I notices it all right enough, 'cause I'm doin' business at the + table myse'f at the time, an' keepin' likewise case on the game. `The + bridle's plumb off for you,' says Cherokee, 'so any notion you entertains + in favor of bankruptin' of yourse'f quick may riot right along.' + </p> + <p> + "'You're dead shore of that?' says the Lizard with a sneer. `Now I reckons + a thousand-dollar bet would scare this puerile game you deals a-screechin' + up a tree or into a hole, too easy.' + </p> + <p> + "`I never likes to see no gent strugglin' in the coils of error,' says + Cherokee, with a sneer a size larger than the Lizard's; `I don't know what + wads of wealth them pore old clothes of yours conceals, but jest the same + I tells you what I'll do. Climb right onto the layout, body, soul, an' + roll, an' put a figger on your worthless se'f, an' I'll turn you for the + whole shootin'-match. You're in yere to make things interestin', I sees + that, an' I'll voylate my business principles an' take a night off to + entertain you.' An' yere Cherokee lugs out a roll of bills big enough to + choke a cow. + </p> + <p> + "'I goes you if I lose,' says the Stingin' Lizard. Then assoomin' a + sooperior air, he remarks: 'Mebby it's a drink back on the trail when I + has misgivin's as to the rectitood of this yere brace you're dealin'. + Bein' public-sperited that a-way, in my first frenzy I allows I'll take my + gun an' abate it a whole lot. But a ca'mer mood comes on, an' I decides, + as not bein' so likely to disturb a peace- lovin' camp, I removes this + trap for the onwary by merely bustin' the bank. Thar,' goes on the + Stingin' Lizard, at the same time dumpin' a large wad on the layout, + 'thar's even four thousand dollars. Roll your game for that jest as it + lays.' + </p> + <p> + "'Straighten up your dust,' says Cherokee, his eyes gettin' a kind of + gleam into 'em, 'straighten up your stuff an' get it some'ers. Don't leave + it all spraddled over the scene. I turns for it ready enough, but we ain't + goin' to argue none as to where it lays after the kyard falls.' + </p> + <p> + "The rest of us who's been buckin' the game moderate an' right cashes in + at this, an' leaves an onobstructed cloth to the Stingin' Lizard. This + yere's more caution than good nacher. As long as folks is bettin' along in + limits, say onder fifty dollars, thar ain't no shootin' likely to ensoo. + But whenever a game gets immoderate that a-way, an' the limit's off, an' + things is goin' that locoed they begins to play a thousand an' over on a + kyard an' scream for action, gents of experience stands ready to go to + duckin' lead an' dodgin' bullets instanter. + </p> + <p> + "But to resoome: The Stingin' Lizard lines up his stuff, an' the deal + begins. It ain't thirty seconds till the bank wins, an' the Stingin' + Lizard is the wrong side of the layout from his money. He takes it onusual + ugly, only he ain't sayin' much. He sa'nters over to the bar, an' gets a + big drink. Cherokee is rifflin' the deck, but I notes he's got his gray + eye on the Stingin' Lizard, an' my respect for him increases rapid. I sees + he ain't goin' to get the worst of no deal, an' is organized to protect + his game plumb through if this Lizard makes a break. "'Do you—all + know where I hails from?' asks the Stingin' Lizard, comin' back to + Cherokee after he's done hid his drink. + </p> + <p> + "'Which I shorely don't;' says Cherokee. 'I has from time to time much + worthless information thrust upon me, but so far I escapes all news of you + complete.' + </p> + <p> + "'Where I comes from, which is Texas,' says the Lizard, ignorin' of + Cherokee's manner, the same bein' some insultin', `they teaches the babies + two things,-never eat your own beef, an' never let no kyard- thief down + you: + </p> + <p> + "'Which is highly thrillin',' says Cherokee, 'as reminiscences of your + yooth, but where does you-all get action on 'em in Arizona?' + </p> + <p> + "'Where I gets action won't be no question long,' says the Lizard, mighty + truculent. 'I now announces that this yere game is a skin an' a brace. + Tharfore I returns for my money; an', to be frank, I returns a-shootin': + </p> + <p> + "It's at this p'int we-alls who represents the public kicks back our + chairs an' stampedes outen range. As the Lizard makes his bluff his hand + goes to his artillery like a flash. + </p> + <p> + "The Lizard's some quick, but Cherokee's too soon for him. With the first + move of the Lizard's hand, he searches out a bowie from som'ers back of + his neck. I'm some employed placin' myse'f at the time, an' don't decern + it none till Cherokee brings it over his shoulder like a stream of white + light. + </p> + <p> + "It's shore great knife-work. Cherokee gives the Lizard aige an p'int, an' + all in one motion. Before the Lizard more'n lifts his weepon, Cherokee + half slashes his gun-hand off at the wrist; an' then, jest as the Lizard + begins to wonder at it, he gets the nine- inch blade plumb through his + neck. He's let out right thar. + </p> + <p> + "'It looks like I has more of this thing to do,' says Cherokee, an' his + tone shows he's half-way mournin' over it, ` than any sport in the + Territory. I tries to keep outen this, but that Lizard gent would have + it.' + </p> + <p> + "After the killin', Enright an' Doc Peets, with Boggs, Tutt, an' Jack + Moore, sorter talks it over quiet, an' allows it's all right. + </p> + <p> + "'This Stingin' Lizard gent,' says Enright, has been projectin' 'round + lustin' for trouble now, mebby it's six weeks. It's amazin' to me he lasts + as long as he does, an' it speaks volumes for the forbearin', law-abiding + temper of the Wolfville public. This Lizard's a mighty oppressive person, + an' a heap obnoxious; an' while I don't like a knife none myse'f as a + trail out, an' inclines to distrust a gent who does, I s'pose it's after + all a heap a matter of taste an' the way your folks brings you up. I leans + to the view, gents, that this yere corpse is constructed on the squar'. + What do you-all think, Peets?' + </p> + <p> + "'I entertains ideas sim'lar,' says Doc Peets. 'Of course I takes it this + kyard-sharp, Cherokee, aims to bury his dead. He nacherally ain't look. + in' for the camp to go 'round cleanin' up after him none.' "That's about + how it stands. Nobody finds fault with Cherokee, an' as he ups an' plants + the Stingin' Lizard's remainder the next day, makin' the deal with a + stained box, crape, an' the full regalia, it all leaves the camp with a + mighty decent impression. By first-drink time in the evenin' of the second + day, we ain't thinkin' no more about it. + </p> + <p> + "Now you-all begins to marvel where do we get to the hangin' of Cherokee + Hall? We're workin' in towards it now. + </p> + <p> + "You sees, followin' the Stingin' Lizard's jump into the misty beyond—which + it's that sudden I offers two to one them angels notes a look of s'prise + on the Stingin' Lizard's face as to how he comes to make the trip-Cherokee + goes on dealin' faro same as usual. As I says before, he ain't no talker, + nohow; now he says less than ever. + </p> + <p> + "But what strikes us as onusual is, he saddles up a pinto pony he's got + over to the corral, an' jumps off every now an' then for two an' three + days at a clatter. No one knows where he p'ints to, more'n he says he's + due over in Tucson. These yere vacations of Cherokee's is all in the month + after the Stingin' Lizard gets downed. "It's about this time, too, the + stage gets held up sech a scand'lous number of times it gives people a + tired feelin'. All by one party, too. He merely prances out in onexpected + places with a Winchester; stands up the stage in an onconcerned way, an' + then goes through everythin' an' everybody, from mail-bags to passengers, + like the grace of heaven through a camp-meetin'. Nacheral, it all creates + a heap of disgust. "'If this yere industrious hold-up keeps up his lick,' + says Texas Thompson about the third time the stage gets rustled, `an' + heads off a few more letters of mine, all I has to say is my wife back in + Laredo ain't goin' to onderstand it none. She ain't lottin' much on me + nohow, an' if the correspondence between us gets much more fitful, she's + goin' p'intin' out for a divorce. This deal's liable to turn a split for + me in my domestic affairs.' An' that's the way we-alls feels. This stage + agent is shorely in disrepoot some in Wolfville. If he'd been shakin' up + Red Dog's letter-bags, we wouldn't have minded so much. + </p> + <p> + "I never does know who's the first to think of Cherokee Hall, but all at + once it's all over camp Talkin' it over, it's noticed mighty soon that, + come right to cases, no one knows his record, where he's been or why he's + yere. Then his stampedin' out of camp like he's been doin' for a month is + too many for us. + </p> + <p> + "'I puts no trust in them Tucson lies he tells, neither,' says Doc Peets. + 'Whatever would he be shakin' up over in Tucson? His game's yere, an' this + theery that he's got to go scatterin' over thar once a week is some + gauzy.' + </p> + <p> + "'That's whatever,' says Dan Boggs, who allers trails in after Doc Peets, + an' plays the same system emphatic. An' I says myse'f, not findin' no + fault with Boggs tharfor, that this yere Peets is the finest-eddicated an' + levelest-headed sharp in Arizona. + </p> + <p> + "'Well,' says Jack Moore, who as I says before does the rope work for the + Stranglers, 'if you-alls gets it settled that this faro gent's turnin' + them tricks with the stage an' mail-bags, the sooner he's swingin' to the + windmill, the sooner we hears from our loved ones at home. What do you + say, Enright?' + </p> + <p> + "'Why,' says Enright, all thoughtful, 'I reckons it's a case. S'pose you + caper over where he feeds at the O.K. House an' bring him to us. The signs + an' signal-smokes shorely p'ints to this yere Cherokee as our meat; but + these things has to be done in order. Bring him in, Jack, an', to save + another trip, s'pose you bring a lariat from the corral at the same time.' + </p> + <p> + "It don't take Moore no time to throw a gun on Cherokee where he's + consoomin' flapjacks at the O. K. House, an' tell him the committee needs + him at the New York Store. Cherokee don't buck none, but comes along, + passive as a tabby cat. + </p> + <p> + "'Whatever's the hock kyard to all this?' he says to Jack Moore. 'Is it + this Stingin' Lizard play a month ago?' + </p> + <p> + "'No,' says Moore, "t'ain't quite sech ancient hist'ry. It's stage + coaches. Thar's a passel of people down yere as allows you've been + rustlin' the mails.' + </p> + <p> + "Old Man Rucker, who keeps the O. K. House, is away when Moore rounds up + his party. But Missis Rucker's thar, an' the way that old lady talks to + Enright an' the committee is a shame. She comes over to the store, too, + along of Moore an' Cherokee, an' prances in an' comes mighty near + stampedin' the whole outfit. + </p> + <p> + "'See yere, Sam Enright,' she shouts, wipin' her hands on her bib, 'what + be you-alls aimin' for to do? Linin' up, I s'pose to hang the only decent + man in town?' + </p> + <p> + "'Ma'am,' says Enright, 'this yere sharp is 'cused of standin' up the + stage them times recent over by Tucson. Do you know anythin' about it?' + </p> + <p> + "'No; I don't,' says Missis Rucker. 'You don't reckon, now, I did it none, + do you? I says this, though; it's a heap sight more likely some drunkard + a-settin' right yere on this committee stops them stages than Cherokee + Hall.' + </p> + <p> + "'Woman's nacher's that emotional,' says Enright to the rest of us, 'she's + oncapable of doin' right. While she's the loveliest of created things, + still sech is the infirmities of her intellects, that gov'ment would bog + down in its most important functions, if left to woman.' + </p> + <p> + "'Bog down or not,' says Missis Rucker, gettin' red an' heated, 'you fools + settin' up thar like a band of prairie-dogs don't hang this yere Cherokee + Hall. 'Nother thing, you ain't goin' to hang nobody to the windmill ag'in + nohow. I has my work to do, an' thar's enough on my hands, feedin' sech + swine as you-alls three times a day, without havin' to cut down dead folks + outen my way every time I goes for a bucket of water. You-alls takes + notice now; you don't hang nothin' to the windmill no more. As for this + yere Cherokee, he ain't stopped no more stages than I be.' + </p> + <p> + "'But you sees yourse'f, ma'am, you hasn't the slightest evidence tharof,' + says Enright, tryin' to soothe her down. + </p> + <p> + "'I has, however, what's a mighty sight better than evidence,' says Missis + Rucker, 'an' that's my firm convictions.' + </p> + <p> + "'Well, see yere,' says Cherokee, who's been listenin' all peaceful, 'let + me in on this. What be you-alls doin' this on? I reckons I'm entitled to a + look at your hand for my money.' + </p> + <p> + "Enright goes on an' lays it off for Cherokee; how he's outen camp every + time the stage is robbed, an' the idee is abroad he does it. + </p> + <p> + "'As the kyards lay in the box,' says Cherokee, 'I don't reckon thar's + much doubt but you-alls will wind up the deal by hangin' me?' + </p> + <p> + "'It's shorely five to one that a-way,' says Enright. 'Although I'm bound + to say it ain't none decisive as yet.' + </p> + <p> + "'The trooth is,' says Cherokee, sorter thoughtful, 'I wasn't aimin' to be + hung none this autumn. I ain't got time, gents, for one thing, an' has + arranged a heap diff'rent. In the next place, I never stands up no stage.' + </p> + <p> + "'That's what they all says,' puts in Boggs, who's a mighty impatient man. + 'I shorely notes no reason why we-alls can't proceed with this yere + lynchin' at once. S'pose this Cherokee ain't stood up no stage; he's done + plenty of other things as merits death. It strikes me thar's a sight of + onnecessary talk yere." + </p> + <p> + "'If you ain't out working the road,' says Doc Peets to Cherokee, not + heedin' of Bogg's petulance, 'them stage-robbin' times, s'pose you onfolds + where you was at?" + </p> + <p> + "Well, son, not to string this yere story out longer'n three drinks, yere + is how it is: This Cherokee it looks like is soft-hearted that a-way,—what + you calls romantic. An' it seems likewise that shovin' the Stingin' Lizard + from shore that time sorter takes advantage an' feeds on him. So he goes + browsin' 'round the postmaster all casooal, an' puts questions. Cherokee + gets a p'inter about some yearlin' or other in Tucson this Stingin' Lizard + sends money to an' makes good for, which he finds the same to be fact on + caperin' over. It's a nephy or some sech play. An' the Stingin' Lizard has + the young one staked out over thar, an' is puttin' up for his raiment an' + grub all reg'lar enough. + </p> + <p> + "'Which I yereafter backs this infant's play myse'f,' says Cherokee to the + barkeep of the Oriental Saloon over in Tucson, which is the party the + Stingin' Lizard pastures the young one on. 'You're all right, Bill,' goes + on this Cherokee to the barkeep,' but now I goes back of the box for this + infant boy, I reckons I'll saw him off onto a preacher, or some sharp + sim'lar, where he gets a Christian example. Whatever do you think?' + </p> + <p> + "The barkeep says himse'f he allows it's the play to make. So he an' + Cherokee goes surgin' 'round, an' at last they camps the boy—who's + seven years comin' grass—on the only pulpit-sharp in Tucson. This + gospel-spreader says he'll feed an' bed down the boy for some sum; which + was shore a giant one, but the figgers I now forgets. + </p> + <p> + "Cherokee gives him a stack of blues to start his game, an' is now + pesterin' 'round in a co't tryin' to get the young one counter- branded + from the Stingin' Lizard's outfit into his, an' given the name of Cherokee + Hall. That's what takes him over to Tucson them times, an' not + stage-robbin'. + </p> + <p> + "Two days later, in fact, to make shore all doubts is over, Cherokee even + rings in said divine on us; which the divine tells the same story. I don't + reckon now he's much of a preacher neither; for he gives Wolfville one + whirl for luck over in the warehouse back of the New York Store, an' I + shore hears 'em as makes a mighty sight more noise, an' bangs the Bible + twice as hard, back in the States. I says so to Cherokee; but he puts it + up he don't bank none on his preachin'. + </p> + <p> + "'What I aims at,' says Cherokee, 'is someone who rides herd on the boy + all right, an' don't let him stampede off none into vicious ways.' + </p> + <p> + "'Why don't you keep the camp informed of this yere orphan an' the play + you makes?' says Enright, at the time it's explained to the committee,—the + time they trees Cherokee about them stages. + </p> + <p> + "'It's that benev'lent an' mushy,' says Cherokee, 'I'm plumb ashamed of + the deal, an' don't allow to go postin' no notices tharof. But along comes + this yere hold-up business, an', all inadvertent, tips my hand; which the + same I stands, however, jest the same.' + </p> + <p> + "'It's all right,' says Enright, some disgusted though; 'but the next time + you makes them foundlin' asylum trips, don't walk in the water so much. + Leave your trail so Wolfville sees it, an' then folks ain't so likely to + jump your camp in the dark an' take to shootin' you up for Injuns an' + sim'lar hostiles.' + </p> + <p> + "'But one thing more,' continues Enright, an' then we orders the drinks. + Jack Moore is yereby instructed to present the compliments of the + committee to Rucker, when he trails in from Tucson; which he also notifies + him to hobble his wife yereafter durin' sessions of this body. She's not + to go draggin' her lariat 'round loose no more, settin' law an' order at + defiance durin' sech hours as is given to business by the Stranglers." + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. THE STORY OF WILKINS + </h2> + <p> + "No; I don't reckon I ever cuts the trail of this yere Wilson you + mentions, once. If I does, the fact's done pulled its picket-pin an' + strayed from my recollections." + </p> + <p> + I had recalled the name of a former friend, one Wilson, who, sore given to + liquor, had drifted to Arizona many years before and disappeared. + Suggesting "Wilson" to the Old Cattleman, I asked if he had met with such + a name and character in his Wolfville rambles. + </p> + <p> + As often chanced, however, the question bore fruit in a story. It + frequently needed but a slight blow from the rod of casual inquiry, and + the fountains of my old friend's reminiscences gushed forth. + </p> + <p> + "No, I never crosses up with him," observed the old Cattleman; "but + speakin' of Wilson puts in my mind a gent by the name of Wilkins, who it's + some likely is as disrepootable as your old pard Wilson." + </p> + <p> + "What about Wilkins?" I asked. + </p> + <p> + "Nothin' thrillin', "answered the old gentleman; "nothin' you'd stay up + nights to hear, I don't reckon. It's Wilkins's daughter who is the only + redeemin' thing about the old Cimmaron; an' it's a heap likely right now + it's her I remembers about instead of him. + </p> + <p> + "Not at all," he continued, "I don't mind onfoldin' as to Wilkins, nor yet + of an' concernin' his daughter. You see this Wilkins is herdin' 'round + Wolfville when I first trails in. I never does know where he hails from. I + don't reckon' though, he ever grades no ways high, an' at the crisis I'm + mentionin' his speshul play is gettin' drunk mostly; an' not allowin' to + hurt himse'f none with work. + </p> + <p> + "'Workin' with your fins,' says this Wilkins, 'is low an' onendoorin' to a + gent with pride to wound. It ain't no use neither. I knows folks as works, + an' folks as don't, an' you can't tell one from which. They gets along + entirely sim'lar. + </p> + <p> + "'But how you goin' to live?' says Dave Tutt, when he makes this remark, + an' who is fussin' with Wilkins for bein' so reedic'lous an' shiftless. + </p> + <p> + "'That's all right about my livin',' says Wilkins; 'don't you-all pass no + restless nights on my account. Go read your Scriptures; read that bluff + about feedin' the young ravens an' sparrers. Well, that's me this trip. + I'm goin' to rap for a show-down on them promises an' see what's in 'em.' + </p> + <p> + "'This camp ain't strong on Holy Writ, nohow,' says Dave Tutt, 'an' I'm + partic'lar puny that a-way. It's your game though, an' your American + jedgement goes soopreme as to how you plays it.' + </p> + <p> + "This Wilkins lives in a wickeyup out on the aige of the town, an' a girl, + which she's his daughter, about 19 years old, keeps camp for him. No one + knows her well. She stays on her reservation mighty close, an' never seems + visible much. I notices her in the New York Store once, buyin' some salt + hoss, an'she ain't no dream of loveliness neither as to looks. + </p> + <p> + "Her face makes you feel she's good people though, with her big soft eyes. + They has a tired, broke-down look, like somehow she's been packed more'n + she can carry, an' has two or three notions about layin' down with the + load. + </p> + <p> + "It's mebby two weeks after Dave Tutt's talk with Wilkins, when we're all + in the Red Light takin' our forty drops, an' Sam Enright brings up this + yere Wilkins. + </p> + <p> + "'It has been a question with me,' he says, 'how this old shorthorn and + his girl manages for to make out; an' while I care none whatever for + Wilkins, it ain't no credit to a live camp like this to permit a young + female to suffer, an' I pauses yere to add, it ain't goin' to occur no + more. Yesterday, allowin' to bushwhack some trooth about 'em, I waits till + old Wilkins drifts over to the corral, an' then I goes projectin' 'round + for facts. I works it plenty cunnin', an' sorter happens up to the old + man's tepee. I calls the girl out an' puts it up I wants to see her paw a + heap on some business. + </p> + <p> + "'"I wants to see him speshul,"' I says. + </p> + <p> + "'"Well, he ain't here now,"' says the girl, "so whatever'll you do?"' + </p> + <p> + "'"I don't reckon you could prance 'round some an' find him for me, could + you, Miss?"' I says. + </p> + <p> + "'So the girl,' continues Enright, 'which her name is Susan, puts on her + shaker an' goes stampedin' off; an' while she's gone I injuns an' spies + 'round a whole lot; an', comin' down to the turn, Wilkins an' that girl + ain't got nothin' to eat. The question now is, what action does Wolfville + 'naugerate at a juncture sech as this?' "'What's the matter with takin' up + a donation like they does for a preacher, an' saw it onto the girl?' says + Dan Boggs. + </p> + <p> + "'You couldn't open your game that a-way, nohow,' says Doc Peets. 'That's + accordin' to Hoyle for sky-pilots an' missionary people; but a young + female a-hoidin' of herse'f high spurns your money. Thar's nothin' ketches + me like a female of my species in distress, an' I recalls offerin' to + stake a lady, who's lost her money somehow, back in St. Looey once. This + yere female was strange to me entire, but if she'd knowed me from 'way + back she couldn't a-blazed up more frightful. The minute I pulls my + bankroll on her, she goes cavortin' off too hostile to talk. It takes ten + minutes to get her back to the agency to hear me 'pologize, an' even then + she glares an' snorts like she's liable to stampede ag'in. No; you don't + want to try an' give this girl no money. What we-alls needs is to hunt up + somethin' for her to work at an' pay her.' + </p> + <p> + "'The Doc's right,' says Enright, 'an' the thing is to find somethin' for + this yere lady to do. Any gent with a notion on the subject can't speak + too quick.' + </p> + <p> + "'No party need take my remarks as personal,' says Burns, who runs the Red + Light, 'as nothin' invidjous is intended; but I rises to say that a heap + of my business is on credit. A gent comes in free an' sociable, names his + sozodont, an' gets it. If he pays cash, all right; if he wants credit, all + right. "You names your day to drink, an' you names your day to pay," is my + motto, as you-alls knows. This bein' troo, onder present exigences what + for a scheme would it be for me to get an outfit of books,—day-books, + week-books, ledgers, an' the rest of the layout,—an' let this yere + maiden keep 'em a whole lot? I throws this out as a su'gestion.' + </p> + <p> + "'I ain't meanin' nothin' ag'inst Burns's su'gestion,' says Texas + Thompson, 'but in my opinion this camp ain't ripe for keepin' books as + yet. Things like that has to be come to by degrees. I've knowed a heap of + trouble arise from keepin' books, an' as long as this yere's a peaceful + camp let's keep it that a-way.' + </p> + <p> + "'That settles it,' says Burns, 'thar's enough said, an' I don't keep no + books.' + </p> + <p> + "'You-alls present knows me,' says Cherokee Hall, who, as I says previous, + is turnin' faro in the Red Light, 'an' most of you has met me frequent in + a business way. Thar's my game goin' every night reg'lar. Thar's nothin' + tin-horn about it. It ain't no skin game neither. Any gent with doubts can + step over an' test my box, which he'll find all comfortable on the layout + awaitin' his convenience. It ain't been usual for me to blow my own bazoo + to any extent, an' I only does it now as bein' preliminary to the + statement that my game ain't no deadfall, an' is one as a respectable an' + virchus female person could set in on with perfect safetytood to her + reputation. This yere lady in question needs light, reg'lar employment, + an' I lets it fly that if she wants in on any sech deal I'll go her a blue + stack a week to hold down the chair as look-out for my game.' + </p> + <p> + "'Cherokee's offer is all right,' says Enright; 'it's good talk from a + squar' man. Women, however, is partic'lar, an' like hosses they shies at + things thar ain't no danger in. You sees how that is; a woman don't reason + nothin', she feels an' mighty likely this young person is loaded to the + gyards with sech notions ag'in gamblin' as would send her flyin' at the + bare mention. The fact is, I thinks of somethin' sim'lar, but has to give + it up. I figgers, first dash out o' the box, that a safe, easy trail to + high ground is to give her a table an' let her deal a little stud for the + boys. This yere wouldn't be no resk, an' the rake is a shore thing for + nine or ten dollars a night. Bein' a benev'lence, I knows the boys would + set in mighty free, an' the trouble would be corraled right thar. With + this yere in my mind I taps her gently about our various games when I + calls for her paw; an' to put it straight, she takes it reluctant an' + disgusted at the mere hint. Of course we-alls has to stand these things + from woman, an' we might as well p'int up some other way an' no time + lost.' + </p> + <p> + "'Don't you-alls reckon for to make a speshul rake on all poker goin', + same as about that Yallerhouse gent, might be an ondefeasible way to get + at the neck of this business?' says Dave Tutt. 'I merely asks it as a + question.' + </p> + <p> + "'That wouldn't do,' says Doc Peets, 'but anyhow yere comes Wilkins how, + an' if, as Enright says, the're out of chuck up his way, I reckons I'll + lose a small bet to the old shorthorn ontil sech times as we devises some + scheme all reg'lar.' + </p> + <p> + "'Howdy, Wilkins?' says Doc, mighty gay an' genial, 'how's things stackin' + up?' + </p> + <p> + "'Mighty ornery,' says Wilkins. + </p> + <p> + "'Feel like makin' a little wager this A. M.?' says Doc. + </p> + <p> + "'What do you-all want to gamble at?' says Wilkins. + </p> + <p> + "'Oh,' says Doc, 'I'm feelin' a heap careless about what I do gamble at. + S'pose I goes you ten dollars's worth of grub the Lordsburg buckboard + don't show up none to-day?' + </p> + <p> + "'If I had ten dollars I'd about call you a lot on that,' says Wilkins, + 'but I'm a pore cuss an' ain't got no ten dollars, an' what's the use? + None of you-alls ain't got no Red Light whiskey- chips you ain't usin', be + you? S'pose you-alls gropes about in your war-bags an' sees. I'm needin' + of a drink mighty bad.' + </p> + <p> + "Old Wilkins looks some queer about the eyes, an' more'n usual shaky, so + we gives him a big drink an' he sorter braces up. + </p> + <p> + "'I'll back Wilkins's end of that bet you offers, Doc,' says Tutt, 'so + consider it made, will you?' + </p> + <p> + "'You was offerin' to bet grub,' says the old man, powerful peevish an' + fretful. 'What for do you want to bet grub? Why don't you bet money, so I + gets what I wants with it? It's my money when I wins. Mebby I don't want + no grub. Mebby I wants clothes or whiskey. You ain't no sport, Doc, to tie + up a play with a string like that. Gimme another drink some one, I'm most + dyin' for some.' + </p> + <p> + "The old man 'pears like he's mighty sick that a-way, so thar's nothin' + for it but to give him another hooker, which we does accordin'. + </p> + <p> + "'I'm feelin' like I was shot hard by somethin',' he says, 'an' I don't + like for to go home till I'm better, an' scare Sue. I reckon I'll camp + down on this yere monte table for an hour till I comes 'round.' + </p> + <p> + "So Wilkins curls up on the table, an' no one notices him for about twenty + minutes, when along comes rattlin' up the Lordsburg mail. + </p> + <p> + "'You win, Wilkins,' says Peets; 'come over to the New York Store an' cut + out your stuff.' "The old man acts like he don't hear, so Doc shakes him + up some. No use, thar ain't no get up in him. + </p> + <p> + "'Looks like he's gone to sleep for good,' says Doc. + </p> + <p> + "Then he walks 'round him, shakes him, an' takes a look at his eye, + a-openin' of it with his finger. Finally he stands back, sticks his thumb + in his belt, an' whistles. + </p> + <p> + "'What's up?' says Cherokee Hall. 'He ain't tryin' to work us for another + drink I hopes.' + </p> + <p> + "Well, this is a deal,' says Doc, 'an' no humbug neither. Gents, I'm + blessed if this yere old prairie-dog ain't shorely up an' died.' + </p> + <p> + "We-alls comes up an' takes a look at him, an' Doc has called the turn. + Shore enough the old man has cashed in. + </p> + <p> + "`This is a hoss on us, an' no doubt about it,' says Enright. 'I ain't + worryin' for Wilkins, as he most likely is ahead on the deal; but what + gets me is how to break the news to this yere maiden. It's goin' to be a + hair-line play. I reckons, Doc, it's you an' me.' + </p> + <p> + "So they goes over to Wilkins's wickeyup an' calls the young Sue girl out, + an' Enright begins tellin' her mighty soft as how her paw is took bad down + to the Red Light. But the girl seems to get it as right as if she's + scouted for it a month. + </p> + <p> + "'He's dead!' she says; an' then cripples down alongside of the door an' + begins to sob. + </p> + <p> + "'Thar ain't no use denyin' it, Miss,' says Enright, 'your paw struck in + on the big trail where the hoof-prints all p'ints one way. But don't take + it hard, Miss, thar ain't a gent don't give you sympathy. What you do now + is stay right yere, an' the camp'll tend to the funeral, an' put it up + right an' jest as you says, you bein' mourner-in-chief. You can trust us + for the proper play; since we buries Jack King, obsequies is our long + suit.' + </p> + <p> + "The little Sue girl struggles through somehow, an' has her nerve with + her. The funeral, you bet, is right. This time we ropes in a preacher + belongin' to some deep-water outfit over in Tucson. He somehow is strayed, + an' happens along our way, an' we gets him squar' in the door. He jumps in + an' gives them ceremonies a scientific whirl as ain't possible nohow to + amatures. All 'round we wouldn't have put on more dog if we'd been + plantin' Enright; all of course on the little Sue girl's account. Next day + the outfit goes over to find out whatever she allows to do. + </p> + <p> + "'You sees, Miss; says Enright, 'anythin' you says, goes. Not waitin' to + learn its name, even, I'm directed to state as how the camp backs your + play an' makes good.' + </p> + <p> + "'I'm allowin' to go to the States,' says the girl, 'an' I'm obleeged to + you.' + </p> + <p> + "'We was hopin',' says Enright, 'as you'd stay yere. We-alls sorter + figgers you'd teach us a school. Of course thar ain't no papooses yet, but + as a forced play we arranges to borrow a small herd from Tombstone, an' + can do it too easy. Then, ag'in, a night-school would hit our needs right; + say one night a week. Thar's a heap of ignorance in this yere camp, an' we + needs a night-school bad. It would win for fifty dollars a week, Miss; an' + you thinks of it.' + </p> + <p> + "No, the pore girl couldn't think of it nohow. + </p> + <p> + "'Of course, Miss, says Enright, 'we alls ain't expectin' you to open this + yere academy the first kyards off the deck. You needs time to line up your + affairs, an' am likewise wrung with grief. You takes your leesure as to + that; meanwhile of course your stipend goes on from now.' + </p> + <p> + "But the little Sue girl couldn't listen. Her paw is dead, an' now she's + due in the States. She says things is all right thar. She has friends as + her paw never likes; but who's friends of hers, an' she'll go to them. + </p> + <p> + "'Well, Miss,' says Enright, mighty regretful, 'if that's how it lays, I + reckons you'll go, so thar's nothin' for us to do but settle up an' fork + over some dust we owes your paw. He bein' now deceased, of course you + represents.' + </p> + <p> + "The girl couldn't see how any one owes her paw, ''cause he's been too + sick to work,' she says. + </p> + <p> + "'We owes him all the same,' says Enright, mighty ferocious. 'We + onderstands well enough how we comes to owe him, don't we, Doc?' + </p> + <p> + "'You can stack in your life we do,' says Doc, plenty prompt an' cheerful. + 'We-alls owes for his nailin' them hoss-thiefs when they tries to clean + out the corral.' + </p> + <p> + "'That's it,' says Enright, 'for ketchin' of some rustlers who lays for + our stock. It's all right, Miss; you needn't look so doubtful. You + wouldn't if you knowed this camp. It's the last outfit on earth as would + go an' give money to people. It's a good straight camp, Wolfville is; but + business is business, an' we ain't pirootin' 'round none, givin' nothin' + away, be we, Doc?' + </p> + <p> + "'Not much,' says Doc. 'It's enough for a gent to pay debts, without + stampedin' 'round makin' presents of things.' + </p> + <p> + "'That's whatever,' says Enright; 'so Miss, me an Doc'll vamos over to the + Red Light an' get the dust, an' I reckons we'll be back in an hour. I + s'pose we owes Mister Wilkins about 'five hundred dollars, don't we, Doc?' + </p> + <p> + "'Tain't so much,' says Doc, who's guileful that a-way. As he sees the + little Sue girl archin' for another buck, he pulls out a paper an' makes a + bluff. 'Yere it is,—four hundred an' ninety-three dollars an' + seventy-four cents. I puts it down all accurate, 'cause I don't allow no + sharp to come 'round an' beat me none.' + </p> + <p> + "We-alls throws 'round an' makes up the pot to come to Doc's figger- + -which I wants to say right yere, Doc Peets is the ablest gent I ever sees—an' + the little Sue girl has to take it. + </p> + <p> + "Which this money lets her out right, an' she cries an' thanks us, an' the + next day she takes the stage for Tucson. We're thar to say 'good-by' an' + wish the little Sue girl luck. + </p> + <p> + "'Adios,' says Peets, takin' off his hat to her; 'it ain't down on the + bills none, but if you-all could manage to kiss this yere outfit once + apiece, Miss, it would be regarded. You needn't be afraid. Some of 'em + looks a little off, but they're all right, an' b'ar huggin' is barred.' + </p> + <p> + "So the little Sue girl begins with Enright an' kisses us all, a- sobbin' + meantime some free. As the affection proceeds, Cherokee sorter shoves back + an' allows he'll pass. + </p> + <p> + "'Not any pass!' says Enright. 'Any gent who throws off on that thar + little Sue girl, she willin', needn't look for any luck but lynchin'.' + </p> + <p> + "'That settles it,' says Cherokee, 'I saloots this yere lady.' + </p> + <p> + "So he ups an' kisses the little Sue girl like she's a hot flat- iron, an' + backs into the crowd. + </p> + <p> + "'Cherokee makes me tired,' says Peets, who's ridin' herd on the play. + When it comes his turn he kisses her slow an' rapturous, an' is + contemptuous of Cherokee. + </p> + <p> + "When she's in the stage a-startin', Cherokee walks up, all respectful. + </p> + <p> + "'You've been away from the States some time, Miss,' he says, 'an' it's an + even break you won't find things the way you expects. Now, you remember, + shore; whatever game's bein' turned back thar, if it goes ag'in you, raise + the long yell for a sharp called Cherokee Hall; an' his bank's yours to go + behind your play.'" + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. THE WASHWOMAN'S WAR. + </h2> + <p> + It was evening. The first dark foreshadowing of the coming night clothed + all in half obscurity. But I knew the way; I could have travelled the + little path at midnight. There he was, the Old Cattleman, under a favorite + tree, the better to avoid the heavy dew. He sat motionless and seemed to + be soaking himself, as one might say, in the balmy weather of that hour. + </p> + <p> + My wisdom had ordered Jim, my black man, to attend my steps. The laconic, + half-sad salutation of my old friend at once gave Black Jim a mission. He + was dispatched in quest of stimulants. After certain exact and almost + elaborate commands to Black Jim, and that useful African's departure, I + gently probed my companion with a question. + </p> + <p> + "No, thar's nothin' the matter of me; sorter pensive, that's all," was my + return. + </p> + <p> + The Old Cattleman appeared silent and out of sorts. Following the coming + of Black Jim, however, who brought a lusty toddy, he yielded to a better + mood. + </p> + <p> + "It simply means I'm gettin' old; my settin' 'round balky this a- way. + Thar's some seventy wrinkles on my horns; nothin' young or recent about + that. Which now it often happens to me, like it does to old folks general, + that jest when it begins to grow night, I gets moody an' bad. Looks like + my thoughts has been out on some mental feed-ground all day, an' they + comes stringin' in like cattle to get bedded down for the night. Nacheral, + I s'pose they sorter mills an' stands 'round oneasy like for a while + before they lies down all comfortable. Old people partic'lar gets + dissatisfied. If they's single-footers like me an' ain't wedded none; + campin' 'round at taverns an' findin' of 'em mockeries; they wishes they + has a wife a whole lot. If they be, they wish she'd go visit her folks. + Gettin' old that a-way an' lonely makes folks frequent mighty contrary. + </p> + <p> + "No, as I imparts to you yeretofore,—mebby it's a month,—I + never marries nothin'. I reckons too, I'm in love one round-up an' another + mighty near a dozen times. But somehow I allers lose the trail an' never + does run up with none of 'em once. + </p> + <p> + "Down in the Brazos country thar was a little blue-eyed girl,—back + forty years it is,—an' the way I adores her plumb tires people. I + reckons I ropes at her more'n fifty times, but I never could fasten. Thar + comes a time when it looks powerful like I'm goin' to run my brand onto + her; but she learns that Bill Jenks marks 150 calves the last spring + round-up, an' me only forty, an' that settles it; she takes Jenks. + </p> + <p> + "It's astonishin' how little I deems of this yere maiden after Bill gets + her. Two months before, I'd rode my pony to death to look once in her + eyes. She's like sunshine in the woods to me, an' I dotes on every word + she utters like it's a roast apple. But after she gets to be Bill's wife I + cools complete. + </p> + <p> + "Not that lovin' Bill's wife, with his genius for shootin' a pistol, is + goin' to prove a picnic,—an' him sorter peevish an' hostile + nacheral. But lettin' that go in the discard, I shore don't care nothin' + about her nohow when she's Bill's. + </p> + <p> + "I recalls that prior to them nuptials with Bill I gets that locoed lovin' + this girl I goes bulgin' out to make some poetry over her. I compiles one + stanza; an' I'm yere to remark it's harder work than a June day in a + brandin' pen. Ropin' an' flankin' calves an' standin' off an old cow with + one hand while you irons up her offspring with t'other, from sun-up till + dark, is sedentary compared to makin' stanzas. What was the on I makes? + Well, you can bet a hoss I ain't forgot it none. + </p> + <p> + "'A beautiful woman is shorely a moon, The nights of your life to + illoomine; She's all that is graceful, guileful an' soon, Is woman, lovely + woman.' + </p> + <p> + "I'm plumb tangled up in my rope when I gets this far, an' I takes a + lay-off. Before I gathers strength to tackle it ag'in, Jenks gets her; so + bein' thar's no longer nothin' tharin I never makes a finish. I allers + allowed it would have been a powerful good poem if I'd stampeded along + cl'ar through. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, son; women that a-way is shorely rangy cattle an' allers on the + move. Thar's a time once when two of 'em comes mighty near splittin' + Wolfville wide open an' leavin' it on both sides of the trail. All that + ever saves the day is the ca'm jedgement an' promptitood of Old Man + Enright. + </p> + <p> + "This is how Wolfville walks into this petticoat ambush. The camp is + gettin' along all peaceful an' serene an' man-fashion. Thar's the + post-office for our letters; thar's the Red Light for our bug-juice; + thar's the O. K. Restauraw for our grub; an' thar's the stage an' our + ponies to pull our freight with when Wolfville life begins to pull on us + as too pastoral, an' we thirsts for the meetropolitan gayety of Tucson. + </p> + <p> + "As I says we alls has all that heart can hunger for; that is hunger on + the squar'. + </p> + <p> + "Among other things, thar's a Chink runnin' a laundry an' a-doin' of our + washin'. This yere tub-trundler's name is Lung, which, however. brands no + cattle yere. + </p> + <p> + "It's one afternoon when Doc Peets gets a letter from a barkeep over + </p> + <p> + in Tucson sayin': Dear Doc: + </p> + <p> + Thar's an esteemable lady due in Wolfville on to-morrer's stage. She's + p'intin' out to run a laundry. Please back her play. If thar's a Chinaman + in town, run him out. + </p> + <p> + And obleege, yours, + </p> + <p> + Dick. + </p> + <p> + "'Whatever do you think, Enright?' says Doc Peets after readin' us the + letter. + </p> + <p> + "'That's all right,' says Enright, 'the Chink goes. It's onbecomin' as a + spectacle for a Caucasian woman of full blood to be contendin' for foul + shirts with a slothful Mongol. Wolfville permits no sech debasin' + exhibitions, an' Lung must vamos. Jack,' he says, turnin' to Jack Moore, + 'take your gun an' sa'nter over an' stampede this yere opium-slave. Tell + him if he's visible to the naked eye in the scenery yere-abouts to-morrow + when this lady jumps into camp, he's shore asked the price of soap the + last time he ever will in this vale of tears.' + </p> + <p> + "'What's the matter of lynchin' this yere Chink?' says Dan Boggs. 'The + camp's deadly dull, an' it would cheer up things a whole lot, besides + bein' compliments to this young female Old Monte's bringin' in on the + stage.' + </p> + <p> + "'Oh no,' says Enright, 'no need of stringin him none. On second thought, + Jack, I don't reckon I'd run him out neither. It dignifies him too much. + S'pose you canter up to his tub-camp an' bring him over, an' we'll reveal + this upheaval in his shirt-burnin' destinies by word of mouth. If he grows + reluctant jest rope him 'round the neck with his queue, an' yank him. It + impresses 'em an' shows 'em they're up ag'in the law. I s'pose, Peets, I + voices your sentiments in this?' + </p> + <p> + "'Shore,'" says Doc Peets—which this Peets is the finest-eddicated + man I ever meets. 'This Chinaman must pull his freight. We-alls owes it + not only to this Tucson lady, but to the lovely sex she represents. Woman, + woman, what has she not done for man! As Johanna of Arc she frees the + sensuous vine-clad hills of far-off Switzerland. As Grace Darling she + smooths the fever-heated pillow of the Crimea. In reecompense she asks one + little, puny boon—to fire from our midst a heathen from the Orient. + Gents, thar's but one answer: We plays the return game with woman. This + Chinaman must go.' + </p> + <p> + "When Jack comes back with Lung, which he does prompt, Enright starts in + to deal the game. + </p> + <p> + "'It ain't no use, Lung,' says Enright, 'tryin' to explain to you- all + what's up. Your weak Asiatic intellect couldn't get the drop onto it + no-how. You've been brought to a show-down ag'in a woman, an' you're + out-held. You've got to quit; savey? Don't let us find you yere to-morrow. + By third-drink time we'll be a-scoutin' for you with somethin' besides an + op'ry glass, an' if you're noticed as part of the landscape you're goin' + to have a heap of bad luck. I'd advise you to p'int for Red Dog, but as to + that you plays your hand yourse'f." + </p> + <p> + "Next day that old drunkard Monte comes swingin' in with the stage; the + six hosses on the jump, same as he allers does with a woman along. Over at + the post-office, where he stops, a lady gets out, an' of course we-alls + bows p'lite an' hopes she's well an' frisky. She allows she is, an' heads + for the O. K. House. + </p> + <p> + "It floats over pretty soon that her name's Annie, an' as none of us wants + to call her jest 'Annie'—the same bein' too free a play—an' + hearin' she lives a year or two at Benson, we concloods to call her Benson + Annie, an' let it go at that. + </p> + <p> + "'The same bein' musical an' expressive,' says Doc Peets, as we all lines + up ag'in the Red Light bar, 'I su'gests we baptize this lady "Benson + Annie," an' yere's to her success.' + </p> + <p> + "So we-alls turns up our glasses, an' Benson Annie it is. + </p> + <p> + "The next day the fetid Lung is a thing of the past, an' Benson Annie has + the game to herse'f. Two days later she raises the tariff to fifty cents + on shirts, instead of twenty-five, as previous with the Chink. But no one + renigs. + </p> + <p> + "'A gent,' says Doc Peets, 'as holds that a Caucasian woman is goin' to + wash a shirt for the miserable stipend of a slave of the Orient must be + plumb locoed. Wolfville pays fifty cents for shirts an' is proud tharof.' + </p> + <p> + "Things goes along for mighty like a month, an' then this yere Benson + Annie allows she'll have a visitor. + </p> + <p> + "'I'm plumb, clean sick,' she says, 'of seein' nothin' but a lot of + drunken, good-for-nothin' sots a-pesterin' 'round, an' I done reckons I'll + have my friend Sal come over from Tombstone an' see me a whole lot. It'll + be some relaxation.' + </p> + <p> + "Mebby it's four days after when this yere Sal hops outen the stage, an' + for the next week thar ain't no washin' done whatever, while Benson Annie + an' Sal works the wire aige offen their visit. + </p> + <p> + "`A gent as would begretch two pore, hard-workin' girls a lay-off of a + week,' says Enright, 'ain't clean strain, an' I don't want to know sech a + hoss-thief nohow'; an' we-alls feels likewise. + </p> + <p> + "But slap on the heels of all this yere gregar'ousness on the part of + Benson Annie an' Sal, the deal begins to come queer. At the end of the + week the two girls has a row, an' in the turn Sal goes to t'other end of + camp an' opens a laundry. That does settle it. Benson Annie gives Sal + fits, an' Sal shorely sends 'em back. Then they quits speakin', an when + they meets on the street they concocts snoots at each other. This scares + Enright, but he does his level best an' tries to keep the boys from takin' + sides. + </p> + <p> + "'In a play like this yere,' he says, 'this camp don't take no kyards. For + the first time Wolfville passes out, an' offers to make it a jack' + </p> + <p> + "But as one day an' the next trails by, the boys sorter gets lined up one + way an' t'other; some for Benson Annie an' some for Sal, an' things is + shorely gettin' hot. Hamilton, over at the dance-hall, ups an' names his + place the 'Sal Saloon,' an' Burns takes down the sign on the Red Light an' + calls it the 'Benson Annie House.' Finally things sorter culminates. + </p> + <p> + "Dan Boggs, who's a open, voylent Annie man, comes a-prancin' into the Red + Light one night, an' after stampin' an' rappin' his horns 'round a whole + lot, allows his shirt is cleaner than Dave Tutt's. + </p> + <p> + "Tutt says he don't care nothin' for himse'f, an' none whatever for the + shirt; an' while he an' Dan's allers been friends an' crossed the plains + together, still he don't allow he'll stand 'round much an' see a pore + ondefended female, like Sal, maligned. So Tutt outs with his gun an' gets + Boggs in the laig. + </p> + <p> + "This yere brings things down to cases. Enright is worried sick at it. But + he's been thinkin' mighty arduous for quite a spell, an' when Boggs gets + creased, he sees somethin' must be done, an' begins to line himse'f for a + play for out. + </p> + <p> + "It's the next day after Boggs gets ag'in Tutt, an' Doc Peets has plugged + up the hole, when Enright rounds up the whole passel of us in the Red + Light. He looks that dignified an' what you-alls calls impressive, that + the barkeep, yieldin' to the gravity of the situation, allows the drinks + is on the house. We-alls gets our forty drops, an' sorter stands pat + tharon in silence, waitin' for Enright to onfold his game. We shore knows + if thar's a trail he'll find it. + </p> + <p> + "'I Gents,' he says at last,—an' it seems like he's sorry an' hurt + that a-way,—'I'll not drift into them harrowin' differences which + has rent asunder what was aforetimes the peacefullest camp in Arizona. I + wants you-alls, however, to take note of my remarks, for what I says is + shorely goin' to go.' + </p> + <p> + "Yere Enright pauses to take a small drink by himse'f, while we-alls + tarries about, some oneasy an' anxious as to what kyards falls next. At + last Enright p'ints out on the trail of his remarks ag'in. + </p> + <p> + "'It is with pain an' mortification,' he says—an' yere he fixes his + eye some hard an' delib'rate on a young tenderfoot named French, who's + been lost from the States somethin' like six months—'it is with pain + an' mortification, I says, that I notes for a week past our young friend + an' townsman, Willyum French, payin' marked an' ondiscreet attentions to + Benson Annie, a female person whom we all respects. At all times, day an' + night, when he could escape his dooties as book-keep for the stage + company, he has pitched camp in her s'ciety. Wolfville has been shocked, + an' a pure lady compromised. Standin' as we-alls does in the light of a + parent to this pore young female, we have determined the wrong must be + made right, an' Mister French must marry the girl. I have submitted these + yere views to Benson Annie, an' she concurs. I've took the trouble to + bring a gospel-sharp over from Tucson to do the marryin', an' I've set the + happy event for to-night, to conclood with a blow-out in the dance-hall at + my expense. We will, of course, yereby lose Benson Annie in them + industrial walks she now adorns, for I pauses to give Mister French a + p'inter; the sentiments of this camp is ag'in a married female takin' in + washin'. Not to play it too low down on Mister French, who, while + performin' a private dooty, is also workin' for a public good, I heads a + subscription with fifty dollars for a present for the bride. I'd say in + closin' that if I was Mister French I wouldn't care to object to this + union. The lady is good-lookin', the subscription is cash, an' in the + present heated condition of the public mind, an' with the heart of the + camp set on this weddin', I wouldn't be responsible if he does. Now, + gents, who'll follow my fifty dollars with fifty more? Barkeep, do your + dooty while the subscription-paper goes 'round.' + </p> + <p> + "The biddin' is mighty lively, an' in ten minutes seven hundred dollars is + raised for a dowry. Then French, who has been settin' in a sort of daze, + gets up: + </p> + <p> + "'Mister Enright an' gents,' he says, `this yere is a s'prise-party to me, + but it goes. It's a hoss on me, but I stands it. I sees how it is, an' as + a forced play I marries Benson Annie in the interests of peace. Which the + same bein' settled, if Benson Annie is yere, whirl her up an' I'll come + flutterin' from my perch like a pan of milk from a top shelf, an' put an + end to this onhealthful excitement. + </p> + <p> + "We-alls applauds French an' is proud to note he's game. + </p> + <p> + "`An' to be free an' open with you, French,' says Texas Thompson, so as to + make him feel he's ahead on the deal; which he shore is, for this yere + Benson Annie is corn-fed, 'if it ain't for a high-sperited lady back in + Laredo who relies on me, I'd be playin' your hand myse'f.' + </p> + <p> + "Well, no one delays the game. Enright brings over Benson Annie, who's + blushin' some, but ain't holdin' back; an' she an' French fronts up for + business. This yere preacher-sharp Enright's roped up is jest shufflin' + for the deal, when, whatever do you reckon takes place? I'm a Mexican if + this yere Sal don't come wanderin' in, a- cryin' an' a-mournin' powerful. + She allows with sobs if her dear friend Annie's goin' to get married she + wants in on the game as bridesmaid. + </p> + <p> + "'Which you-all shorely gets a hand as sech,' says Doc Peets, who's actin' + lookout for the deal; an' so he stakes out Sal over by the nigh side of + Benson Annie, who kisses her quite frantic, an' unites her wails to Sal's. + Both of 'em weepin' that a-way shorely makes the occasion mighty + sympathetic an' damp. But Peets says it's the reg'lar caper, an' you can + gamble Peets knows. "'Thar,' says Enright, when the last kyard's out an' + the French fam'ly is receivin' congratulations, 'I reckons that now, with + only one laundry, Wolfville sees a season of peace. It's all right, but + I'm yere to remark that the next lady as dazzles this camp with her + deebut, an' onfurls a purpose to plunge into work, ain't goin' to keep a + laundry none. Gents, the bridle's plumb off the hoss. We'll now repair to + the dance-hall, if so be meets your tastes, an' take the first steps in a + debauch from which, when it's over, this yere camp of Wolfville dates + time.'" + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. ENRIGHT'S PARD, JIM WILLIS. + </h2> + <p> + "If my mem'ry's dealin' a squar' game," remarked the Old Cattleman, as he + moved his chair a bit more into the shade, "it's some'ers over in the + foot-hills of, the Floridas when Enright vouchsafes why he hates + Mexicans." + </p> + <p> + The morning was drowsy. Conversation between us had in a sleepy way ranged + a wide field. As had grown to be our habit we at last settled on Wolfville + and its volatile inhabitants. I asked to be enlightened as to the sage + Enright, and was informed that, aside from his courage and love of strict + justice, the prominent characteristic of our Wolfville Lycurgus was his + wrath against Mexicans. + </p> + <p> + "Not that Enright loathes so much as he deplores 'em, "continued the old + gentleman. "However, I don't aim to be held as sayin' he indorses their + existence a little bit; none whatever. + </p> + <p> + "Enright's tellin' of this tale arises outen a trivial incident which a + Mexican is the marrow of. We're out on the spring round-up, an' combin' + the draws an' dry ARROYAS over between the cow springs an' the Floridas, + when one night a Mexican runs off a passel of our ponies. The hoss-hustler + is asleep, I reckons, at the time this Mexican stacks in. He says himse'f + he's lyin' along the back of his bronco gazin' at the stars when this + robber jumps at the ponies an' flaps a blanket or somethin', an' away + patters every hoof in the band. + </p> + <p> + "This yere Mexican don't run off with only about a handful; I takes it he + can't round up no more in the dark. When you-all stampedes a bunch of + ponies that a-way they don't hold together like cattle, but plunges off + diffusive. It's every bronco for himse'f, disdainful of all else, an' when + it's sun-up you finds 'em spattered all over the scene an' not regardin' + of each other much. + </p> + <p> + "But this yere Mexican, after he stampedes 'em, huddles what he can + together—as I says mebby it's a dozen—an' p'ints off into the + hills. + </p> + <p> + "Of course it ain't no time after the sun shows the tracks when Enright, + Jack Moore, an' myse'f is on the trail. Tutt an' Dan Boggs wants in on the + play, but we can't spar' so many from the round-up. + </p> + <p> + "It's one of the stolen ponies tips this Greaser's hand. It's the second + day, an' we-alls loses the trail for mebby it's fifteen minutes. We're + smellin' along a canyon to find it ag'in, when from over a p'int of rocks + we hears a bronco nicker. He gets the scent of an acquaintance which + Moore's ridin' on, an' says 'How!' pony- fashion. + </p> + <p> + "Thar's no need goin' into wearyin' details. Followin' the nicker we comes + surgin' in on our prey, an' it's over in a minute. Thar's two Mexicans,—our + criminal trackin' up with a pard that mornin'. But of course we-alls knows + he's thar long hours back by the tracks, so it ain't no s'prise. + </p> + <p> + "This yere second Mexican is downed on the run-in. He shows a heap of + interest in our comin', an' takes to shootin' us up mighty vivid with a + Winchester at the time; an' so Enright, who's close in, jumps some lead + into him an' stretches him. He don't manage to do no harm, nohow, more'n + he creases my hoss a little. However, as this yere hoss is amazin' + low-sperited, an' as bein' burnt that a-way with a bullet sorter livens + him up a heap, I don't complain none. Still Enright's all-wise enough to + copper the Greaser, for thar ain't no sayin' what luck the felon has with + that little old gun of his if he keeps on shootin'. Which, as I observes, + Enright downs him, an' his powder-burnin' an' hoss-rustlin' stops + immediate. + </p> + <p> + "As for the other Mexican, which he's the party who jumps our ponies in + the first place, he throws up his hands an' allows he cashes in his chips + for whatever the bank says. + </p> + <p> + "We-alls ropes out our captive; sorter hog-ties him hand an' foot, wrist + an' fetlock, an' then goes into camp all comfortable, where we runs up on + our game. + </p> + <p> + "Jack Moore drops the loop of his lariat over the off moccasin of the + deceased Mexican, an' canters his pony down the draw with him, so's we + ain't offended none by the vision of him spraddled out that a-way dead. + This yere's thoughtful of Jack, an' shows he's nacherally refined an' + objects to remainders lyin' 'round loose. + </p> + <p> + "'No, it ain't so much I'm refined,' says Jack, when I compliments him + that he exhibits his bringin' up, an' him bein' too modest that a-way to + accept; 'it ain't that I'm refined none—which my nacher is shore + coarse—I jest sorter protests in my bosom ag'in havin' a corpse + idlin' 'round that a-way where I'm camped. Tharfore I takes my rope an' + snatches deceased off where he ain't noticeable on the scenery.' + </p> + <p> + "Jack does it that gentle an' considerate, too, that when we passes the + Mexican next day on our way in, except he's some raveled an' frayed + coastin' along where it's rocky, an' which can't be he'ped none, he's as + excellent a corpse as when he comes off the shelf, warm as the rifle + Enright throws him with. + </p> + <p> + "'Whatever be we goin' to do with this yere hoss-thief pris'ner of ours?' + says Jack Moore to Enright the next day, when we're saddlin' up an' + organizin' to pull our freight. 'He's shore due to bother us a lot. We're + plumb sixty miles from Tutt an' the boys, an' ridin' herd on this yere + saddle-colored gent, a-keepin' of him from lopin' off, is mighty likely to + be a heap exhaustin'. I knows men,' Jack remarks at the close, lookin' + wistful at Enright, 'as would beef him right yere an' leave him as a + companion piece to that compadre of his you downs.' + </p> + <p> + "'Nachers as would execute a pris'ner in cold blood,' says Enright, 'is + roode an' oncivilized. Which I don't mean they is low neither; but it's + onconsiderate that a-way to go an' ca'mly kill a pris'ner, an' no co't nor + committee authorizin' the same. I never knows of it bein' done but once. + It's Mexicans who does it then; which is why they ain't none pop'lar with + me since.' + </p> + <p> + "'It's shore what you calls a mighty indurated play,' says Jack, shakin' + his head, 'to go shootin' some he'pless gent you've took; but, as I + states, it's a cinch it'll be a heap fatiguin' keepin' cases on this yere + Mexican till we meets up with a quorum of the committee. Still it's our + dooty, an' of course we don't double-deal, nor put back kyards on what's + our plain dooty.' + </p> + <p> + "'What you-all states,' says Enright,'`is to your credit, but I'll tell + you. Thar ain't no harm mountin' this marauder on a slow pony that a-way; + an' bein' humane s'fficient to leave his hands an' feet ontied. Of course + if he takes advantage of our leniency an' goes stampedin' off to make his + escape some'ers along the trail, I reckons you'll shorely have to shoot. + Thar's no pass-out then but down him, an' we sadly treads tharin. An',' + goes on Enright, some thoughtful, if this yere Mexican, after we-alls is + that patient an' liberal with him, abuses our confidences an' escapes, we + leaves it a lone-hand play to you. My eyes is gettin' some old an' off, + any way; an' besides, if we three takes to bangin' away simooltaneous, in + the ardor of competition some of us might shoot the pony. So if this yere + captive runs—which he looks tame, an' I don't expect none he will—we + leaves the detainin' of him, Jack, to you entire." + </p> + <p> + "In spite of Enright's faith it shore turns out this Mexican is ornery + enough, where the trail skirts the river, to wheel sudden an' go plungin' + across. But Jack gets him in midstream. As he goes over the bronco's + shoulder, hat first, he swings on the bridle long enough with his dyin' + hand to turn the pony so it comes out ag'in on our side. + </p> + <p> + "Which I'm glad he lives s'fficient to head that hoss our way,' says jack. + "It saves splashin' across after him an' wettin' your leggins a lot." + </p> + <p> + "It's that night in camp when jack brings up what Enright says about the + time the Mexicans downs a pris'ner, an' tharby fixes his views of 'em. + </p> + <p> + "'It's a long trail back,' says Enright,' an' I don't like this yarn + enough to find myse'f relatin' it to any excessive degrees. It draws the + cinch some tight an' painful, an' I don't teach my mind to dwell on it no + more'n is necessary. + </p> + <p> + "'This is all when I'm a boy; mebby I ain't twenty years yet. It's durin' + the Mexican war. I gets a stack of white chips an' stands in on the deal + in a boyish way. All I saveys of the war is it's ag'in the Mexicans, + which, while I ain't got no feud with 'em personal at the time, makes it + plenty satisfactory to me. + </p> + <p> + "'It's down off two days to the west of Chihuahua, an' seven of us is + projectin' 'round seein' whatever can we tie down an' brand, when some + Mexicans gets us out on a limb. It ain't a squar' deal; still I reckons + it's squar' enough, too; only bein' what you-alls calls strategic, it's + offensive an' sneakin' as a play. + </p> + <p> + "'This yere lieutenant who's leadin' us 'round permiscus, looks like he's + some romantic about a young Mexican female, who's called the Princess of + Casa Grande. Which the repoote of this yere Princess woman is bad, an' I + strikes a story several times of how she's that incensed ag'in Americans + she once saws off a thimbleful of loco on a captain in some whiskey he's + allowin' to drink, an' he goes plumb crazy an' dies. + </p> + <p> + "'But loco or no loco, this yere Princess person is shore that good + lookin' a pinto pony don't compare tharwith; an' when she gets her black + eyes on our lieutenant, + </p> + <p> + that settles it; we rounds up at her hacienda an' goes into camp. + "'Besides + </p> + <p> + the lieutenant thar's six of us. One of 'em's a shorthorn who matches me + for age; which his name's Willis—Jim Willis. "'Now I ain't out + </p> + <p> + to make no descriptions of the friendship which goes on between this yere + Willis an' me. I sees a show one time when I'm pesterin' 'round back in + St. Looey—an' I'm yere to remark I don't go that far east + </p> + <p> + no more—which takes on about a couple of sports who's named Damon + an' Pythias. Them two people's all right, an' game. An' they shore deems + high of one another. But at the time I sees this yere Damon an' + </p> + <p> + Pythias, I says to myse'f, an' ever since I makes onhesitatin' assertion + </p> + <p> + tharof, that the brotherly views them two gents entertains ain't a + </p> + <p> + marker to Jim Willis an' me. "'This yere Jim I knows since we're + yearlin's. We-alls jumps outen the corral together back in Tennessee, an' + goes off into this Mexican war like twins. An' bein' two boys that a-way + </p> + <p> + among a band of men, I allows thar ain't nothin' before, nor then, nor + after. which I loves like Jim. "'As I observes, Jim an' me's in + </p> + <p> + the outfit when this yere lieutenant comes trackin' 'round that Princess + of Casa Grande; which her love for him is a bluff an' a deadfall; an' the + same gets all of us before we're through. An' it gets my Jim Willis + speshul. "Mebby it's the third mornin' after we- alls meanders into this + nest of Mexicans, an' the lieutenant gets lined out for that Princess of + Casa Grande. We ain't been turnin' out early nohow, thar bein' nothin' + </p> + <p> + to turn out about; but this third mornin' somebody arouses us a heap + vigorous, like they aims to transact some business with us. Which they + shorely does; it's an outfit of Greaser guerillas, an' we-alls ain't + nothin' more or less than captives. "'The ornery an' ongrateful part is + that the Princess sends one of her own peonies scoutin' 'round in the + hills to bring in this band of cattle-eaters onto us. "'When the + lieutenant hears of the perfidy of the Princess female, he's that + mortified he gets a pistol the first jump he makes an' blows off the top + of his head; which if he only blows off the top of hers it would have gone + a heap further with the rest of us. If he'd consulted any of us, it would + have shorely been advised. But he makes an impulsive play that + </p> + <p> + a-way; an' is that sore an' chagrined he jest grabs a gun in a frenzied + way an' cashes his chips abrupt. "'No, as I states,' says Enright, musin' + to himse'f, 'if the lieutenant had only downed that Princess who plays us + in as pris'ners so smooth an' easy, it would have been + </p> + <p> + regarded. He could have gone caperin' over the brink after her with the + bridle off the next second, an' we-alls would still talk well of him. "'As + it is, however, this riotous female don't last two months. Which it's also + a fact that takin' us that time must have been a heap + </p> + <p> + on. lucky for them Greasers. Thar's nine of 'em, an' every last man dies + in the next five months; an' never a one, nor yet the Princess, knows what + they're ag'inst when they quits; or what breeze blows their light out. I + knows, because me an' a party whose name is Tate- -Bill Tate—never + leaves them hills till the last of that outfit's got his heap of rocks + piled up, with its little pine cross stickin' outen the peak tharof, + showin' he's done jumped this earthly game for good. "'This Bill Tate an' + me breaks camp on them Greasers together while they're tankin' up on + mescal, mebby it's two days later; an' they never gets their lariats on us + no more. "'"You ain't got no dates, nor speshul engagements with nobody in + the States, have you?" says Tate to me when + </p> + <p> + we're safe outen them Mexican's hands. "'"No,"says I,"whatever makes you + ask? "'"Oh, nothin',"says Tate lookin' at the sky sorter black an' ugly, + "only since you-all has the leesure, what for a play would it be to make a + long camp back in these hills by some water-hole some'ers, + </p> + <p> + an' stand pat ontil we downs these yere Greasers—squaws an' all— + who's had us treed? It oughter be did; an' if we-ails don't do it none, + it's a heap likely it's goin' to be neglected complete. It's easy as a + play; every hoss-thief of 'em lives right in these yere valleys, for I + hears 'em talk. All we has to do is sa'nter back in the hills, make a + camp; an' by bein' slow an' shore, an' takin' time an' pains, we + bushwhacks an' kills the last one." "'The way I feels about Willis makes + the prospect + </p> + <p> + mighty allurin,' an' tharupon Tate an' me opens a game with them Mexicans + it takes five months to deal. "'But it's plumb dealt out, an' we win. When + Tate crosses the Rio Grande with the army goin' back, he shorely has the + skelp of every Mexican incloosive of said Princess. "'But I wanders from + Willis. Where was I at when I bogs down? As I says, this + </p> + <p> + lieutenant nabs a pistol an' goes flutterin' from his limb. But this don't + do them Greasers. They puts up a claim that some Americans tracks up on + one of their outfit an' kills him off, they says, five days before. + </p> + <p> + They allows that, breakin' even on the deal, one of us is due to die. Tate + offers to let 'em count the lieutenant, but they shakes their heads till + the little bells on their sombreros tinkles, an' declines the lieutenant + emphatic. "'They p'ints out this yere lieutenant dies in his own game, on + his own deal. It's no racket of theirs, an' it don't go to match the man + they're shy. "`One of us six who's left has to die to count even for this + Greaser who's been called in them five days ago. Tate can't move 'em; all + he says is no use; so he quits, + </p> + <p> + an' as he's been talkin' Spanish—which the same is too muddy a + language for the rest of us—Tate turns in an' tells us how the thing + sizes up. "`"One of us is shorely elected to trail out after the + lieutenant,"says Tate. "The rest they holds as pris'ners. Either way it's + a hard, deep crossin', an' one's about as rough a toss as the other." + "'This last + </p> + <p> + Tate stacks in to mebby win out a little comfort for the one the Mexicans + cuts outen our bunch to kill. "`After a brief pow-wow the Greaser who's + actin' range-boss for the outfit puts six beans in a buckskin bag. Five is + white an' one's black. Them Greasers is on the gamble bigger'n wolves, an' + they crowds up plenty gleeful to see us take a gambler's chance for our + lives. The one of us who draws a black bean is to p'int out after the + lieutenant. "`Sayin' somethin' in Spanish which most + </p> + <p> + likely means" Age before beauty,"the Mexicans makes Willis an' me stand + back while the four others searches one after the other into the bag for + his bean. "`Tate goes first an' wins a white bean. "`Then a shiftless, + no-account party whom we-alls calls "Chicken Bill" reaches in. I shorely + hopes, seein' it's bound to be somebody, that this Chicken Bill acquires + the black bean. But luck's ag'in us; Chicken Bill backs off with a white + bean. "`When the third gent turns out a white bean the shadow begins to + fall across Jim Willis an' me. I looks at Jim; an' I gives it to you + straight when I says that I ain't at that time thinkin' of myse'f so much + as about Jim. To see this yere deal, black as midnight, closin' in on Jim, + is what's hurtin'; it don't somehow occur to me I'm likewise up ag'in the + iron my se'f. "`"Looks like this yere amiable deevice is out to run its + brand onto one of us,"says Jim to me; an' I looks at him. "`An' then, as + the fourth finds a white bean in the bag, an' draws a deep sigh an' stands + back, Jim says: "Well, Sam, it's up to us." Then Jim looks at me keen an' + steady a whole lot, an' the Mexicans, bein' rather pleased with the + situation, ain't goadin' of us to hurry up none. + </p> + <p> + "`When it's to Jim an' me they selects me out as the one to pull for the + next bean. Jim's still lookin' at me hard, an' I sees the water in his + eye.' + </p> + <p> + "`"Let me have your draw, Sam," he says. + </p> + <p> + "`"Shore,"I replies, standin' a step off from the bag." It's yours too + quick." + </p> + <p> + "` But the Mexicans don't see it that a-way. It's my turn an' my draw, an' + Jim has to take what's left. So the Mexicans tells Tate to send me after + my bean ag'in. + </p> + <p> + "`"Hold on a second, Sam," says Jim, an' by this time he's steady as a + church. "Sam," he goes on, "thar's no use you—all gettin' the short + end of this. Thar's reasons for you livin', which my case is void tharof. + Now let me ask you: be you up on beans? Can you tell a black from a white + bean by the feel? " + </p> + <p> + "`"No," I says, "beans is all a heap the same to me." + </p> + <p> + "'"That's what I allows," goes on this Jim. "Now yere's where my sooperior + knowledge gets in. If these Mexicans had let me draw for you I'd fixed it, + but it looks like they has scrooples. But listen, an' you beats the deal + as it is. Thar's a difference in beans same as in ponies. Black beans is + rough like a cactus compared to white beans, which said last vegetable is + shorely as smooth as glass. Now yere's what you—all does; jest grp[e + an' scout 'round in that bag until you picks out the smooth bean. That's + your bean; that's the white bean. Cinch the smooth bean an' the black one + comes to me." + </p> + <p> + "When Jim says all this it seems like I'm in a daze an' sorter woozy. I + never doubts him for a moment. Of course I don't take no advantage of what + he says. I recalls the advice my old mother gives me; it's long enough ago + now. The old lady says: "Samyool, never let me hear of you weakenin'. Be a + man, or a mouse, or a long-tail rat." So when Jim lays it off about them + two beans bein' smooth an' rough that a-way, an' the white bein' the + smooth bean, I nacherally searches out the rough bean, allowin' she'll + shore be black; which shows my intellects can't cope with Jim's none. + </p> + <p> + "`The bean I brings to the surface is white. I'm pale as a ghost. My heart + wilts like water inside of me, an' I feels white as the bean where it lays + in my hand. Of course I'm some young them days, an' it don't need so much + to stagger me. "`I recollects like it was in a vision hearin' Jim laugh. + "Sam," he says, "I reads you like so much sunshine. An' I shorely fools + you up a lot. Don't you reckon I allows you'll double on the trail, + p'intin' south if I says 'north' at a show like this? The white bean is + allers a rough, sandy bean; allers was an' allers will be; an' never let + no one fool you that a- way ag'in. An' now, Sam, ADIOS." + </p> + <p> + "'I'm standin' lookin' at the white bean. I feels Jim grip my other hand + as lie says "ADIOS," an' the next is the" bang! "of the Mexicans's guns. + Jim's dead then; he's out in a second; never bats an eye nor wags a y'ear. + </p> + <p> + "'Which now,' says Enright at the end, as he yanks his saddle 'round so he + makes a place for his head, 'which now that you-alls is fully informed why + I appears averse to Greasers, I reckons I'll slumber some. I never does + see one, I don't think of that boy, Jim Willis; an' I never thinks of Jim + but I wants to murder a Mexican.' + </p> + <p> + "Enright don't say no more; sorter rolls up in his blankets, drops his + head on his saddle, an' lays a long time quiet, like he's asleep. Jack + Moore an' me ain't sayin' nothin'; merely settin' thar peerin' into the + fire an' listenin' to the coyotes. At last Enright lifts his head off the + saddle. + </p> + <p> + "'Mebby it's twenty years ago when a party over on the Rio Grande allows + as how Jim's aimin' to cold-deck me when he onfolds about the habits of + them beans. It takes seven months, a iron constitootion, an' three + medicine-sharps—an' each as good as Doc Peets,—before that Rio + Grande party is regarded as outen danger.'" + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. TUCSON JENNIES HEART. + </h2> + <p> + "'Whyever ain't I married?' says you." The Old Cattleman repeated the + question after me as he settled himself for one of our many "pow-wows," as + he described them. "Looks like you've dealt me that conundrum before. Why + ain't I wedded? The answer to that, son, is a long shot an' a limb in the + way. + </p> + <p> + "Now I reckons the reason why I'm allers wifeless a whole lot is mainly + due to the wide pop'larity of them females I takes after. Some other gent + sorter gets her first each time, an' nacherally that bars me. Bill Jenks's + wife on that occasion is a spec'men case. That's one of the + disapp'intments I onfolds to you. Now thar's a maiden I not only wants, + but needs; jest the same, Bill gets her. An' it's allers sim'lar; I never + yet holds better than ace-high when the stake's a lady. + </p> + <p> + "It's troo," he continued, reflectively puffing his pipe. "I was + disp'sitioned for a wife that a-way when I'm a colt. But that's a long + time ago; I ain't in line for no sech gymnastics no more; my years is 'way + ag'in it. + </p> + <p> + "You've got to ketch folks young to marry 'em. After they gets to be + thirty years they goes slowly to the altar. If you aims to marry a gent + after he's thirty you has to blindfold him an' back him in. Females, of + course, ain't so obdurate. No; I s'pose this yere bein' married is a heap + habit, same as tobacco an' jig-juice. If a gent takes a hand early, it's a + good game, I makes no sort of doubt. But let him get to millin' 'round in + the thirties or later, an' him not begun none as yet; you bet he don't + marry nothin'. + </p> + <p> + "Bar an onexplainable difference with the girl's old man," he went on with + an air of thought, "I s'pose I'd be all married right now. I was twenty, + them times. It's 'way back in Tennessee. Her folks lives about 'leven + miles from me out on the Pine Knot Pike, an' once in two weeks I saddles + up an' sorter sidles over. Thar's jest her old pap an' her mother an' her + in the fam'ly, an' it's that far I allers made to stay all night. Thar's + only two beds, an' so I'm put to camp along of the old man the times I + stays. + </p> + <p> + "Them days I'm 'way bashful an' behind on all social plays, an' am plenty + awe-struck about the old foiks. I never feels happy a minute where they + be. The old lady does her best to make me easy an' free, too. Comes out + when I rides up, an' lets down the bars for my hoss, an' asks me to rest + my hat the second I'm in the door. + </p> + <p> + "Which matters goes on good enough ontil mebby it's the eighth time I'm + thar. I remembers the night all perfect. Me an' the girl sets up awhile, + an' then I quits her an' turns in. I gets to sleep a-layin' along the aige + of the bed, aimin' to keep 'way from the old man, who's snorln' an' + thrashin' 'round an' takin' on over in the middle. + </p> + <p> + "I don't recall much of nothin' ontil I comes to, a-holdin' to the old + man's y'ear with one hand an' a-hammerin' of his features with t'other. I + don't know yet, why. I s'pose I'm locoed an' dreamin', an allows he's a + b'ar or somethin' in my sleep that a-way, an' tries to kill him. "Son, + it's 'way back a long time, but I shudders yet when I reflects on that old + man's language. I jumps up when I realizes things, grabs my raiment, an', + gettin' my hoss outen the corral, goes p'intin' down the pike more'n a + mile 'fore I even stops to dress. The last I sees of the old man lie's + buckin' an' pitchin' an' tossin', an' the females a-holdin' of him, an' he + reachin' to get a Hawkins's rifle as hangs over the door. I never goes + back no more, 'cause he's mighty tindictive about it. He tries to make it + a grandjury matter next co't-time. + </p> + <p> + "Speakin' of nuptials, however, you can't tell much about women. Thar's a + girl who shorely s'prises us once in a way out in Wolfville. Missis + Rucker, who runs the O. K. Restauraw, gets this female from Tucson to fry + flap-jacks an' salt hoss, an' he'p her deal her little gastronomic game. + This yere girl's name is Jennie- Tucson Jennie. She looks like she's a + nice, good girl, too; one of them which it's easy to love, an' in less'n + two weeks thar's half the camp gets smitten. "It affects business, it's + that bad. Cherokee Hall tells me thar ain't half the money gets changed in + at faro as usual, an' the New York Store reports gents goin' broke ag'in + biled shirts, an' sim'lar deadfalls daily. Of course this yere first + frenzy subsides a whole lot after a month. "All this time Jennie ain't + sayin' a word. She jest shoves them foolish yooths their enchiladas an' + ckile con carne, an' ignores all winks an' looks complete. + </p> + <p> + "Thar's a party named Jim Baxter in camp, an' he sets in to win Jennie + hard. Jim tries to crowd the game an' get action. It looks like he's due + to make the trip too. Missis Rucker is backin' his play, an' Jennie + herse'f sorter lets him set 'round in the kitchen an' watch her work; + which this yore is license an' riot itse'f compared with how she treats + others. Occasionally some of us sorter tries to stack up for Jim an' + figger out where he stands with the the game. + </p> + <p> + "'How's it goin', Baxter?' Enright asks one day. + </p> + <p> + "'It's too many for me,' says Jim. 'Some-times I thinks I corrals her, an' + then ag'in it looks like I ain't in it. Jest now I'm feelin' some + dejected.' + </p> + <p> + "'Somethin' oughter be schemed to settle this yere,' says Enright. 'It + keeps the camp in a fever, an' mebby gets serious an' spreads.' + </p> + <p> + "'If somebody would only prance in,' says Doc Peets, 'an' shoot Jim up + some, you'd have her easy. Females is like a rabbit in a bush- pile; you + has to shake things up a lot to make 'em come out. Now, if Jim is dyin' + an' she cares for him, she's shorely goin' to show her hand.' + </p> + <p> + "I wants to pause right yere to observe that Doc Peets is the best- + eddicated sharp I ever encounters in my life. An' what he don't know about + squaws is valueless as information. But to go on with the deal. + </p> + <p> + "'That's right,' says Cherokee Hall, 'but of course it ain't goin' to do + to shoot Jim up none.' + </p> + <p> + "'I don't know,' says Jim; 'I stands quite a racket if I'm shore it + fetches her.' + </p> + <p> + "'What for a game,' says Cherokee, 'would it be to play like Jim's shot? + Wouldn't that make her come a-runnin' same as if it's shore 'nough?' + </p> + <p> + "'I don't see why not,' says Enright. + </p> + <p> + "Well, the idee gains ground like an antelope, an' at last gets to be + quite a conspir'cy. It's settled we plays it, with Dave Tutt to do the + shootin'. + </p> + <p> + "'An' we makes the game complete,' says Jack Moore, 'by grabbin' Dave + immediate an' bringin' of him before the committee, which convenes all + reg'lar an' deecorous in the Red Light for said purpose. We-alls must line + out like we're goin' to hang Dave for the killin'; otherwise it don't look + nacheral nohow, an' the lady detects it's a bluff.' + </p> + <p> + "We gets things all ready, an' in the middle of the afternoon, when Jennie + is draggin' her lariat 'round loose an' nothin' much to do— 'cause + we ain't aimin' to disturb her none in her dooties touchin' them flapjacks + an' salt hoss—we-alls assembles over in the New York Store. As a + preliminary step we lays Jim on some boxes, with a wagon-cover over him, + like he's deceased. + </p> + <p> + "'Cl'ar things out of the way along by Jim's head,' says Jack Moore, who + is takin' a big interest. 'We wants to fix things so Jen can swarm in at + him easy. You hear me! she's goin' to come stampedin' in yere like wild + cattle when she gets the news.' + </p> + <p> + "When everythin's ready, Tutt an' Jack, who concloods it's well to have a + good deal of shootin', bangs away with their guns about four times apiece. + </p> + <p> + "'Jest shootin' once or twice,' says Jack, 'might arouse her s'picions. It + would be a heap too brief for the real thing.' + </p> + <p> + "The minute the shootin' is ceased we-alls takes Tutt an' surges over to + the Red Light to try him; a-pendin' of which Dan Boggs sa'nters across to + the O. K. Restauraw an' remarks, all casooal an' careless like: + </p> + <p> + "'Dave Tutt downs Jim Baxter a minute back; good clean gun-play as ever I + sees, too. Mighty big credit to both boys this yere is. No shootin' up the + scenery an' the bystanders; no sech slobberin' work; but everythin' + carries straight to centers.' + </p> + <p> + "'Where is he?' says Jennie, lookin' breathless an' sick. + </p> + <p> + "'Jim's remainder is in the New York Store,' says Dan. + </p> + <p> + "'Is he hurt?' she gasps. + </p> + <p> + "'I don't reckon he hurts none now,' says Dan, ''cause he's done cashed in + his stack. Why! girl, he's dead; eighteen bullets, caliber forty-five, + plumb through him.' + </p> + <p> + "'No, but Dave! Is Dave shot?' Tucson Jennie says, a-wringin' of her small + paws. + </p> + <p> + "'Now don't you go to feelin' discouraged none,' says Dan, beginnin' to + feel sorry for her. 'We fixes the wretch so his murderin' sperit won't be + an hour behind Jim's gettin' in. The Stranglers has him in the Red Light, + makin' plans to stretch him right now.' + </p> + <p> + "We-alls has consoomed drinks all 'round, an' Enright is in the chair, an' + we're busy settin' up a big front about hearin' the case, when Tucson + Jennie, with a scream as scares up surroundin' things to sech a limit that + five ponies hops out of the corral an' flies, comes chargin' into the Red + Light, an' the next instant she drifts 'round Tutt's neck like so much + snow. + </p> + <p> + "'What for a game do you call this, anyhow?' says Jack Moore, who's a heap + scand'lized. 'Is this yere maiden playin' anythin' on this camp?' + </p> + <p> + "'She's plumb locoed with grief,' says Dan Boggs, who follers her in, 'an' + she's done got 'em mixed in her mind. She thinks Dave is Baxter.' + </p> + <p> + "'That's it,' says Cherokee. 'Her mind's stampeded with the shock. Me an' + Jack takes her over to Jim's corpse, an' that's shore to revive her.' An' + with that Cherokee an' Jack goes up to lead her away. + </p> + <p> + "'Save him, Mister Enright; save him!' she pleads, still clingin' to + Tutt's neck like the loop of a lariat. 'Don't let 'em hang him! Save him + for my sake!' + </p> + <p> + "'Hold on, Jack,' says Enright, who by now is lookin' some thoughtful. + 'Jest everybody stand their hands yere till I counts the pot an' notes + who's shy. It looks like we're cinchin' the hull onto the wrong bronco. + Let me ask this female a question. Young woman,' he says to Tucson Jennie, + 'be you fully informed as to whose neck you're hangin' to?' + </p> + <p> + "'It's Dave's, ain't it?' she says, lookin' all tearful in his face to + make shore. + </p> + <p> + "Enright an' the rest of us don't say nothin', but gazes at each other. + Tutt flushes up an' shows pleased both at once. But all the same he puts + his arms 'round her like the dead-game gent he is. + </p> + <p> + "'What'll you-alls have, gents?" Enright says at last, quiet an' + thoughtful. 'The drinks is on me, barkeep.' + </p> + <p> + "'Excuse me,' says Doc Peets, 'but as the author of this yere plot, I + takes it the p'ison is on me. Barkeep, set out all your bottles.' + </p> + <p> + "'Gents,' says Jack Moore, 'I'm as peaceful a person as ever jingled a + spur or pulled a gun in Wolfville; but as I reflects on the active part I + takes in these yere ceremonies, I won't be responsible for results if any + citizen comes between me an' payin' for the drinks. Barkeep, I'm doin' + this myse'f.' + </p> + <p> + "Well, it's hard enoomeratin' how many drinks we do have. Jim Baxter + throws away the wagon cover an' comes over from the New York Store an' + stands in with us. It gets to be a orgy. + </p> + <p> + "'Of course it's all right,' says Enright, 'the camp wins with Tutt + instead of Baxter; that's all. It 'lustrates one of them beautiful + characteristics of the gentler sex, too. Yere's Baxter, to say nothin' of + twenty others, as besieges an' beleaguers this yere female for six weeks, + an' she scorns 'em. Yere's Tutt, who ain't makin' a move, an' she grabs + him. It is sech oncertainties, gents, as makes + </p> + <p> + the love of woman valuable.' "'You-alls should have asked me,' says Faro + Nell, who comes in right then an' rounds up close to Cherokee. 'I could + tell you two weeks ago Jennie's in love with Tutt. Anybody could see it. + Why! she's been feedin' of him twice as good grub as she does anybody + else.'" + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. TUCSON JENNIE'S JEALOUSY. + </h2> + <p> + "No; Dave an' his wife prospers along all right. That is, they prospers + all but once; that's when Jennie gets jealous." + </p> + <p> + The Old Cattleman was responding to my question. I was full of an idle + interest and disposed to go further into the affairs of Tutt and Tucson + Jennie. + </p> + <p> + "Doc Peets," continued the old gentleman, "allers tells me on the side + thar's nothin' in Dave's conduct onbecomin' a fam'ly man that a-way, an' + that Jen's simply barkin' at a knot. But, however that is, Dave don't seem + to gain no comfort of it at the time. I can see myse'f she gets Dave plumb + treed an' out on a limb by them accusations when she makes 'em. He shorely + looks guilty; an' yet, while I stands over the play from the first, I + can't see where Dave does wrong. + </p> + <p> + "However, I don't put myse'f for'ard as no good jedge in domestic affairs. + Bein' single myse'f that a-way, females is ondoubted what Doc Peets calls + a 'theery' with me. But nevertheless, in an onpresoomin', lowly way, I + gives it as my meager jedgement, an' I gives it cold, as how a jealous + woman is worse than t'rant'lers. She's plumb locoed for one thing; an' + thar's no sech thing as organizin' to meet her game. For myse'f, I don't + want no transactions with 'em; none whatever. + </p> + <p> + "This yere domestic uprisin' of Dave's wife breaks on Wolfville as + onexpected as a fifth ace in a poker deck; it leaves the camp all + spraddled out. Tucson Jennie an' Dave's been wedded goin' on six months. + The camp, as I relates, attends the nuptials in a body, an', followin' of + the festivities, Tucson Jennie an' Dave tumbles into housekeepin' peaceful + as two pups in a basket. + </p> + <p> + "Wolfville's proud of 'em, an'every time some ign'rant bein' asks about + Wolfville an' the social features of the camp, we allers mentions Tutt an' + his wife, an' tells how they keeps house, sorter upholsterin' our bluff. + </p> + <p> + "That's how the deal stands, when one day up jumps this Tucson Jennie, + puts on her sunbunnit, an' goes stampedin' down to the U. K. House, an' + allows to Missis Rucker that she's done lived with Dave all she aims to, + an' has shore pulled her picket pin for good. She puts it up Dave is a + base, deceitful sharp that a-way, an' informs Missis Rucker, all mixed up + with tears, as how she now desires to go back in the kitchen an' cook, + same as when Dave rounds her up for his wife. + </p> + <p> + "Yere's the whole story, an' while I nurses certain views tharon, I leaves + it to you entire to say how much Tucson Jennie is jestified. I knows all + about it, for I'm obleeged to be in on the deal from soda to hock. + </p> + <p> + "It's mighty likely a month before the time Tucson Jennie breaks through + Dave's lines this a-way. Dave an' me's due to go over towards the Tres + Hermanas about some cattle. Likewise thar's an English outfit allowin' + they'll go along some, to see where they've been stackin' in heavy on some + ranch lands. They was eager for Dave an' me to trail along with 'em, an' + sorter ride herd on' em, an' keep 'em from gettin' mixed up with the + scenery—which the same is shorely complicated in the foot-hills of + the Tres Hermanas—an' losin' themse'fs a heap. + </p> + <p> + "'Which you'd better do it, boys,' says Enright. 'S'pose them folks be + some trouble. It's a mighty sight better than havin' 'em go p'intin' off + alone that a-way. They would shore miss the way if they does; an' the + first we-alls knows, these yere Britons would be runnin' cimmaron in the + hills, scarin' up things a lot, an' a- stampedin' the cattle plumb off the + range. It's easier to go along careful with 'em an' bring'em back.' + </p> + <p> + "It comes, then, that one mornin' Dave an' me an' these yere aliens lines + out for the hills. They've got ponies, an' wagons, an' camp- outfit to + that extent a casooal onlooker might think they aims to be away for years. + </p> + <p> + "As we p'ints out from the O.K. House, where them Britons has been + wrastlin' their chuck pendin' the start, Tucson Jennie is thar sayin' + 'goodby' to Dave. I notes then she ain't tickled to death none about + somethin', but don't deem nothin' speshul of it. + </p> + <p> + "The Britons is made up of two gents, mebby as old as Enright— + brothers is what they be—an' a female who's the daughter of one of + 'em. Which thar's nothin' recent about this yere lady, though; an' I + reckons she's mighty likely forty years old. I learns later, however, it's + this female which Tucson Jennie resents when she says "adios" to Dave. + </p> + <p> + "It shore strikes me now, when years is passed, as some marv'lous how a + han'some, corn-fed female like Tucson Jennie manages to found a fight with + Dave over this yere towerist woman. I'm nacherally slow to go decidin' + bets ag'in a lady's looks, but whatever Tucson Jennie sees in the + appearance of this person which is likely to inviggle Dave is too many for + me. I softens the statement a heap when I says she's uglier than a Mexican + sheep. + </p> + <p> + "However, that don't seem to occur to Tucson Jennie; an' Doc Peets— + who's the wisest sharp in Arizona—allows to me afterwards as how + Tucson Jennie is cuttin' the kyards with herse'f desp'rate to see whether + she declar's war at the very time we makes our start. If she does, she + turns the low kyard, for she don't say nothin', an' we gets away, an' all + is profound peace. + </p> + <p> + "Four days later we're in camp by a water-hole in the frill of the + foot-hills. The Britons has got up a wall tent an' is shorely havin' a + high an' lavish time. Dave an' me ain't payin' no attention to 'em + speshul, as we don't see how none is needed. Besides, we has some hard + ridin' to do lookin' up places for a line of sign camps. + </p> + <p> + "It's the second day when we notices an outfit of Injuns camped down the + valley from us. They's all serene an' peaceful enough; with squaws, + papooses, an' dogs; an' ain't thinkin' no more of bein' hostile than we + be. + </p> + <p> + "Of course, no sooner does these yere Britons of ours behold this band of + savages than they has to go projectin' round 'em. That's the worst thing + about a towerist; he's that loaded with cur'osity, an' that gregar'ous an' + amiable, he has to go foolin' 'round every stranger lie tracks up with. In + their ign'rance they even gets that roode an' insultin' at times, that I + knows 'em who's that regardless an' imp'lite as to up an' ask a rank + stranger that a-way to pass'em his gun to look at. + </p> + <p> + "An' so, as I says, no sooner does them Injuns get near us, than them + three blessed foreigners is over after 'em; ropin' at em' with questions + an' invadin' of 'em, an' examinin' of 'em like the whole tribe's for sale + an' they aims to acquire 'em if figgers is reasonable. + </p> + <p> + "I never does know what the female towerist says or does to that + partic'lar aborigine-nothin' most likely; but it ain't a day when one of + them Injuns settles it with himse'f he wants to wed her. The towerists is + in ign'rance of the views of this savage, who goes about dealin' his game + Injun fashion. + </p> + <p> + "It's this a-way: Dave an' me trails in one evenin' some weary an' played; + it's been a hard ride that day. Which the first thing we lays eyes on at + the camp shorely livens us up a lot. Thar, tied to the wagon-wheels, is + nine ponies, which the same belongs to the Injuns. + </p> + <p> + "'Whatever be these y ere broncos doin' yere?' says Dave, for we allows, + the first dash outen the box, mebby the Britons makes a purchase. + </p> + <p> + "One of the towerists tells a long an' delighted story about the + gen'rosity of the Injuns. + </p> + <p> + "'Actooally,' says this towerist,"them gen'rous savages leads up these + yere nine ponies an' donates 'em.' + </p> + <p> + "Dave an' me asks questions; and all thar is to the deal—which it's + shore enough to bust Dave's fam'ly before it's over—them Injuns + brings up the nine ponies all respectful, an' leaves 'em hobbled out, + mebby it's a hundred yards from the Britons, an' rides away. The Britons, + deemin' this bluff as in the line of gifts, capers over an' possesses + themse'fs of the ponies an' leads 'em in. That's the outside of the store. + </p> + <p> + "'Well, stranger,' says Dave in reply, takin' of the towerist one side, 'I + ain't aimin' to discourage you none, but you-alls has gone an' got all + tangled up in your lariat.' + </p> + <p> + "'What for an ontanglement is it?' asks the towerist. + </p> + <p> + "'Nothin',' says Dave, sorter breakin' it to him easy, 'nothin', only + you've done married your daughter to one of them Injuns.' + </p> + <p> + "When Dave announces this yere trooth it shore looks like the Briton's + goin' to need whiskey to uphold himse'f. But he reorganizes, an' Dave + explains that the Injuns, when they trails in with the ponies, is simply + shufflin' for a weddin'; they's offerin' what they-alls calls a 'price' + for the woman. + </p> + <p> + "'An' when you-alls leads in the ponies,' says Dave,'that settles it. You + agrees to deal right thar. To-morrow, now, this yere buck, whoever he is, + will come surgin' in with his relations plumb down to third cousins; an' + he expects you'll be dead ready to feed 'em, an' wind up the orgy by + passin' over the bride.' + </p> + <p> + "You can bet them reecitals of Dave's is plenty horrible to the towerist. + He allows we must keep it from his daughter; an' then he puts hip whole + outfit in Dave's hands, to get 'em safe onto high grounds. + </p> + <p> + "'Can't we pull our freight in the night?'says the towerist, an' he's + shorely anxious. + </p> + <p> + "'Too much moon,' says Dave; 'an' then, ag'in, the whole Injun outfit's + below us in the draw, an' we never gets by once in a thousand times. No,' + goes on Dave, 'one shore thing we can't back out nor crawl off. We-alls + has to play the hand plumb through: + </p> + <p> + "Then Dave tells the towerist him an' me talks over this yere weddin' + which he done goes into so inadvertent; an' if thar's a chance to save him + from becomin' a father-in-law abrupt, we'll play it to win. + </p> + <p> + "'This yere is the only wagon-track out; says Dave to me, after we + pow-wows an hour. 'You go down to them Injuns, an' find the right buck + that a-way, an' tell him the squaw's got a buck now. Tell him he's barred. + Which at this p'int in your revelations he's due to offer a fight, an' of + course you takes him. Tell him at first-drink time to-morrow mornin' he + finds me ready to fight for the squaw.' + </p> + <p> + "'This whole business makes metired, though,' says Dave, a heap disgustad. + ' If these eediots had let them Injuns alone-, or even if they disdains + the ponies when they was brought up, this yere could be fixed easy. But + now it's fight or give up the woman, so you go down, as I says, an' + arrange for the dance.' + </p> + <p> + "Of course thar's no explainin' nothin' to Injuns. You might as well waste + time expoundin' to coyotes an' jack-rabbits. All that's left for me to do + is trail out after my savage, as Dave says, an' notify him that this + weddin' he pro. poses is postponed an' all bets is off. + </p> + <p> + "I finds him easy enough, an' saws it off on him in Spanish how the game + stacks up. But he ain't cheerful about it, an' displays a mighty baleful + sperit. Jest as Tutt allows he's out to shoot for the squaw in a minute, + an' as thar's no gettin' away from it, I tells him to paint himse'f for + war an' come a-runnin'. + </p> + <p> + "I has to carry a hard face; for we're shorely in for it. Yere we be four + days from Wolfville, an' the Injuns—an' I reckons thar's twenty + bucks in the outfit-is camped in between us an' he'p. + </p> + <p> + "This Injun who's after the woman is named Black Dog. The next mornin' + Tutt saddles up an' rides off to one side of our camp, mebby it's a + quarter of a mile, an' then gets offen his pony an' stands thar. We-alls + don't onfold to the towerists the details of the deal, not even to the + Injun's father-in-law. The towerist female is that ign'rant of what's + going' on, she's pesterin' 'round all onconscious, makin' bakin'-powder + biscuit at the time. I looks at her close, an' I wonders even yet what + that Black Dog's thinkin' of. But I don't get much time to be disgusted + over this Black Dog's taste before he comes p'intin' out from among his + people. + </p> + <p> + "The sun's jest gettin' over the hills to the east, an', as it strikes + him, he's shore a fash'nable lookin' Injun. He ain't got nothin' on but a + war-bunnit an' a coat of paint. The rest of his trousseau he confines to + his Winchester an' belt. He's on his war- pony, an' the bronco's stripped + as bare as this Black Dog is; not a strap from muzzle to tail. This + bridegroom Injun's tied its mane full of ribbons, an' throws a red blanket + across his pony's withers for general effects. Take it all over, he's a + nifty-lookin' savage. + </p> + <p> + "So far as the dooel goes, Dave ain't runnin' no resk. He stands thar on + the ground an' keeps his hoss between him an' this yere Black Dog. It's a + play which forces the bridegroom's hand, too. He's due, bein' Injun, to go + cirelin' Dave an' do his shootin' on the canter. + </p> + <p> + "An' that's what this weak-minded savage does. He breaks into a lope an' + goes sailin' 'round Dave like a hawk. Durin' them exercises he lays over + on the shoulder of his hoss an' bangs away from onder its neck with one + hand, permiscus. + </p> + <p> + "This is mere frivolity. Thar ain't no white gent who could shoot none + onder sech conditions; an' Injuns can't shoot nohow. They don't savey a + hind sight. An', as I remarks, if Dave's hit any, it's goin' to shorely be + an accident, an' accidents don't happen none in Arizona; leastwise not + with guns. + </p> + <p> + 'Mebby this Black Dog's banged away three times, when Dave, who's been + followin' of him, through the sights for thirty seconds, onhooks his + rifle, an' the deal comes to a full stop. Dave's shootin' a Sharp's, with + a hundred an' twenty grains of powder, an' the way he sends a bullet plumb + through that war-pony an' this yere Black Dog, who's hangin' on its off + side, don't bother him a bit. The pony an' the Black Dog goes over on + their heads. + </p> + <p> + "Dave rides in, an' brings the blanket an' war-bunnit. Even then, the + female towerist, which is the object of the meetin', don't seem informed + none of the course of events. The fact is, she never does acquire the + rights of it till we-alls is two days back on the return trail. + </p> + <p> + "Thar's no more bother. Injuns is partic'lar people, that a-way, about + etiquette as they saveys it, an' followin' Dave's downin' this Black Dog + they ain't makin' a moan or a move. They takes it plenty solemn an' mute, + an' goes to layin' out the Black Dog's obsequies without no more notice of + us. It's a squar deal; they sees that; an' they ain't filin' no + objections. As for our end of the game, we moves out for Wolfville, makin' + no idle delays whatever. + </p> + <p> + "Goin' in, Dave, after thinkin' some, su'gests to me that it's likely to + be a heap good story not to tell Tucson Jennie. + </p> + <p> + "'Females is illogical, that a-way,' says Dave, 'an' I ain't goin' to have + time to eddicate Jennie to a proper view of this yere. So I reckons it's + goin' to be a crafty play not to tell her.' + </p> + <p> + "The Britons has been gone two weeks when Tucson Jennie learns the story. + Them towerists is plumb weary of Arizona when we trails into Wolfville, + an' don't seem to tarry a second before they lines out for Tucson. + </p> + <p> + "'They jest hits a high place or two,' says Jack Moore, after he hears of + them designs of the Black Dog, 'an' they'll be 'way yonder out of the + country. I don't reckon none of 'em'll ever come back soon, neither.' + </p> + <p> + "But it's the towerist woman makes the trouble from start to finish. It's + a letter from her which she writes back to Dave, allowin' she'll thank him + some more as her preserver, that brings the news to Jennie. Tucson Jennie + gets this missive, an' ups an' rifles an' reads it to herse'f a whole lot. + It's then Tucson Jennie gives it out cold, Dave is breakin' her heart, an' + tharupon prances 'round for her shaker an' goes over to Missis Rucker's. + </p> + <p> + "The whole camp knows the story in an hour, an' while we-ails sympathizes + with Dave of course, no one's blamin' Tucson Jennie. She's a female, an' + onresponsible, for one thing; an' then, ag'in Dave's a heap onlikely to + stand any condemnations of his wife. + </p> + <p> + "'She's as good a woman as ever wears a moccasin,' says Dave, while he's + recoverin' of his sperits at the Red Light bar. + </p> + <p> + "An' we-alls allows she shorely is; an' then everybody looks pensive an' + sincere that a-way, so's not to harrow Dave none an' make his burdens + more. + </p> + <p> + "'But whatever can I do to fetch her back to camp?' asks Dave, appealin' + to Enright mighty wretched. 'I goes plumb locoed if this yere keeps on.' + </p> + <p> + "'My notion is, we-alls better put Missis Rucker in to play the hand,' + says Enright. 'Missis Rucker's a female, an' is shorely due to know what + kyards to draw. But this oughter be a lesson to you, Dave, not to go + romancin' 'round with strange women no more.' + </p> + <p> + "'It's a forced play, I tells you,' says Dave. 'Them Injuns has us treed. + It's a case of fight or give up that she-towerist, so what was I to do?' + </p> + <p> + "`Well,' says Enright, some severe,' you might at least have consulted + with this yere towerist woman some. But you don't. You simply gets a gun + an' goes trackin' 'round in her destinies, an' shootin' up her prospects + like you has a personal interest. You don't know but she deplores the deal + complete. Peets, an' me, an' Boggs, an' all the rest of us is your + friends, an' nacherally partial on your side. We-alls figgers you means + well. But what I says is this: It ain't no s'prisin' thing when Tucson + Jennie, a- hearin' of them pronounced attentions which you pays this + towerist lady, is filled with grief. This shootin' up an Injun, cause he's + plannin' to wed this female some, is what I shorely calls pronounced + attentions. What do you think yourse'f, Peets?' + </p> + <p> + "'Why! I readily concedes what Dave says,' remarks Peets. 'Ondoubtedly he + acts for the best as he sees it. But jest as you puts it: s'pose Dave + ain't hungerin' none for this towerist woman himse'f, the headlong way he + goes after this yere Black Dog, settin' of the war-jig the next sun-up, + an' all without even sayin' "Let me look at your hand," to this female, + jestifies them inferences of yours. Of course I don't say—an' I + don't reckon none—Dave thinks of this old-maid maverick once; but, + he sees himse'f, ht shore goes to war a heap precipitate an' + onconsiderate, an' Tucson Jennie has ondoubted grounds to buck. + </p> + <p> + "'Which, when you-alls puts it so cl'ar, I thinks so too,' says Dave, + who's listenin' to Enright an' Peets a mighty sight dejected. I But I + ain't been wedded long—ain't more'n what you might call an amature + husband. What you-alls oughter do now is he'p me to round her up. If + Tucson Jennie's a bunch of cattle, or a band of ponies as has stampeded, + you'd be in the saddle too quick.' + </p> + <p> + "Missis Rucker shore does all she knows to soften Tucson Jennie. She + reminds her how in the old times, when Dave gets his chile con carne at + the O. K. House, and the party from the States takes to reprovin' of + Missis Rucker about thar bein' nothin' but coffee an' beans to eat, Dave + onlimbers his six-shooter an' goes to the front. + </p> + <p> + "'The grub's dealt down,' says Dave, explainin' to this obnoxious + tenderfoot, 'till thar's nothin' left in the box but beans, coffee, an' + beans. It's a cat-hop, but it can't be he'ped none.' + </p> + <p> + "'Cat-hop or no cat-hop,' says this tenderfoot, 'I'm dead ag'in beans; an' + you can gamble I ain't out to devour no sech low veg'tables; none + whatever.' + </p> + <p> + "'You jest thinks you don't like beans,' says Dave, an' with that he + sorter dictates at the tenderfoot with his gun, an' the tenderfoot + thar-upon lays for his frijoles like he's actooally honin' tharfor. + </p> + <p> + "'Which it all shows Dave's got a good heart,' says Missis Rucker to + Tucson Jennie. + </p> + <p> + "'That's nothin' to do with his makin' love to the British woman,' says + Tucson Jennie, grittin' her teeth like she could eat the sights offen a + six-shooter. + </p> + <p> + "'He never makes no love to this yere woman,' says Missis Rucker. + </p> + <p> + "'When he ketches her flirtin' with that Injun,' demands Tucson Jennie, + 'don't Dave shoot him up a lot? What do you-all call makin' love? He never + downs no Injuns for me, an' I'm his lawful wife.' An' yere Missis Rucker + allows, when she reports to Enright an' Dave an' the rest of the outfit in + the Red Light, Tucson Jennie weeps like her heart is shorely broke. + </p> + <p> + "'Which the pore girl's to be pitied,' says Enright. 'Dave,' he goes on, + turnin' to Tutt some fierce, 'you don't deserve no sech devotion as this.' + </p> + <p> + "'That's whatever,' says Dan Boggs, lookin' red an' truculent, 'this yere + Tucson Jennie's a angel.' + </p> + <p> + "But thar we be, up ag'inst it, an' not a man knows a thing to do to + squar' the deal with Dave's wife. We-alls, calls for drinks all 'round, + an' sets about an' delib'rates. At last Dave speaks up in a low-sperited + way. + </p> + <p> + "'I reckons she done jumps the game for good,' he says. 'But if she's + goin', I wants her to have a layout. If you-alls cares to go over to the + New York Store, I allows I'll play in a blue stack or two an' win her out + some duds. I wants her to quit the deal ahead.' + </p> + <p> + "So Dave sets out for the New York Store, an' the rest of us sorter + straggles along. Thar's nothin' gay about us. Dave gets a shawl an' a + dress; nothin' gaudy; it's a plain red an' yaller. Missis Rucker packs 'em + over to Tucson Jennie an' gets that wrapped up in the deal she forgets + utter to rustle us our grub. + </p> + <p> + "Which, it's the onexpeeted as happens in Wolfville same as everywhere + else. The minute Tucson Jennie sees the raiment, an' realizes how Dave + loves her, that settles it. Her heart melts right thar. She ain't sayin' + nothin'; jest ropes onto the dry-goods an' starts sobbin' out for the + 'doby where she an' Dave lives at. + </p> + <p> + "Dave, when he observes this yere from 'cross the street, shakes hands all + 'round, but don't trust himse'f with no remarks. He gives our paws a + squeeze like he knows he can rely on our friendship an' hunts his way + across to Tucson Jennie without a word. + </p> + <p> + "'It's all right about bein' yoothful an' light, that a-way,' says + Enright, after Dave pulls his freight, 'but Tutt oughter remember + yereafter, before he goes mixin' himse'f up with sech vain things as + towerists an' Injuns an' British, that he's a married man.'" + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. THE MAN FROM RED DOG. + </h2> + <p> + "Let me try one of them thar seegyars." + </p> + <p> + It was the pleasant after-dinner hour, and I was on the veranda for a + quiet smoke. The Old Cattleman had just thrown down his paper; the + half-light of the waning sun was a bit too dim for his eyes of seventy + years. + </p> + <p> + "Whenever I beholds a seegyar," said the old fellow, as he puffed + voluminously at the principe I passed over, "I thinks of what that witness + says in the murder trial at Socorro. + </p> + <p> + "'What was you-all doin' in camp yourse'f,' asks the jedge of this yere + witness, 'the day of the killin'?' + </p> + <p> + "'Which,' says the witness, oncrossin' his laigs an' lettin' on he ain't + made bashful an' oneasy by so much attentions bein' shown hire, 'which I + was a-eatin' of a few sardines, a-drinkin' of a few drinks of whiskey, + a-smokin' of a few seegyars, an' a-romancin' 'round.'" + </p> + <p> + After this abrupt, not to say ambiguous reminiscence, the Old Cattleman + puffed contentedly a moment. + </p> + <p> + "What murder trial was this you speak of?" I asked. "Who had been killed?" + </p> + <p> + "Now I don't reckon I ever does know who it is gets downed," he replied. + "This yere murder trial itse'f is news to me complete. They was waggin' + along with it when I trails into Socorro that time, an' I merely sa'nters + over to the co't that a-way to hear what's goin' on. The jedge is sorter + gettin' in on the play while I'm listenin'. + </p> + <p> + "'What was the last words of this yere gent who's killed?' asks the jedge + of this witness. + </p> + <p> + "'As nearly as I keeps tabs, jedge,' says the witness, `the dyin' + statement of this person is: "Four aces to beat."' + </p> + <p> + "'Which if deceased had knowed Socorro like I does,' says the jedge, like + he's commentin' to himse'f, 'he'd shorely realized that sech remarks is + simply sooicidal.'" + </p> + <p> + Again the Old Cattleman relapsed into silence and the smoke of the + principe. + </p> + <p> + "How did the trial come out?" I queried. "Was the accused found guilty?" + </p> + <p> + "Which the trial itse'f," he replied, "don't come out. Thar's a passel of + the boys who's come into town to see that jestice is done, an' bein' the + round-up is goin' for'ard at the time, they nacherally feels hurried an' + pressed for leesure. Theyalls oughter be back on the range with their + cattle. So the fifth day, when things is loiterin' along at the trial till + it looks like the law has hobbles on, an' the word goes round it's goin' + to be a week yet before the jury gets action on this miscreant who's bein' + tried, the boys becomes plumb aggravated an' wearied out that a-way; an', + kickin' in the door of the calaboose, they searches out the felon, swings + him to a cottonwood not otherwise engaged, an' the right prevails. + Nacherally the trial bogs down right thar." + </p> + <p> + After another season of silence and smoke, the Old Cattleman struck in + again. + </p> + <p> + "Speakn' of killin's, while I'm the last gent to go fosterin' idees of + bloodshed, I'm some discouraged jest now by what I've been readin' in that + paper about a dooel between some Eytalians, an' it shorely tries me the + way them aliens plays hoss. It's obvious as stars on a cl'ar night, they + never means fight a little bit. I abhors dooels, an' cowers from the mere + idee. But, after all, business is business, an' when folks fights 'em the + objects of the meetin' oughter be blood. But the way these yere European + shorthorns fixes it, a gent shorely runs a heap more resk of becomin' a + angel abrupt, attendin' of a Texas cake-walk in a purely social way. + </p> + <p> + "Do they ever fight dooels in the West? Why, yes—some. My mem'ry + comes a-canterin' up right now with the details of an encounter I once + beholds in Wolfville. Thar ain't no time much throwed away with a dooel in + the Southwest. The people's mighty extemporaneous, an' don't go browsin' + 'round none sendin' challenges in writin', an' that sort of flapdoodle. + When a gent notices the signs a-gettin' about right for him to go on the + war-path, he picks out his meat, surges up, an' declar's himse'f. The + victim, who is most likely a mighty serious an' experienced person, don't + copper the play by makin' vain remarks, but brings his gatlin' into play + surprisin'. Next it's bang! bang! bang! mixed up with flashes an' white + smoke, an' the dooel is over complete. The gent who still adorns our midst + takes a drink on the house, while St. Peter onbars things a lot an' + arranges gate an' seat checks with the other in the realms of light. + That's all thar is to it. The tide of life ag'in flows onward to the + eternal sea, an' nary ripple. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, this yere Wolfville dooel! `Well, it's this a-way. The day is blazin' + hot, an' business layin' prone an' dead—jest blistered to death. A + passel of us is sorter pervadin' 'round the dance-hall, it bein' the + biggest an' coolest store in camp. A monte game is strugglin' for breath + in a feeble, fitful way in the corner, an' some of us is a-watchin'; an' + some a-settin' 'round loose a- thinkin'; but all keepin' mum an' still, + 'cause it's so hot. + </p> + <p> + "Jest then some gent on a hoss goes whoopin' up the street a-yellin' an' + a-whirlin' the loop of his rope, an' allowin' generally he's havin' a + mighty good time. + </p> + <p> + "'Who's this yere toomultuous man on the hoss?' says Enright, a- regardin' + of him in a displeased way from the door. + </p> + <p> + "'I meets him up the street a minute back,' says Dan Boggs, 'an' he allows + he's called "The Man from Red Dog." He says he's took a day off to visit + us, an' aims to lay waste the camp some before he goes back.' + </p> + <p> + "About then the Red Dog man notes old Santa Rosa, who keeps the Mexican + baile hall, an' his old woman, Marie, a-fussin' with each other in front + of the New York Store. They's locked horns over a drink or somethin', an' + is pow-wowin' mighty onamiable. + </p> + <p> + "'Whatever does this yere Mexican fam'ly mean,' says the Red Dog man, + a-surveyin' of 'em plenty scornful, 'a-draggin' of their domestic brawls + out yere to offend a sufferin' public for? Whyever don't they stay in + their wickeyup an' fight, an' not take to puttin' it all over the American + race which ain't in the play none an' don't thirst tharfor? However, I + unites an' reeconciles this divided household easy.' + </p> + <p> + "With this the Red Dog man drops the loop of his lariat 'round the two + contestants an' jumps his bronco up the street like it's come outen a gun. + Of course Santa Rosa an' Marie goes along on their heads permiscus. + </p> + <p> + "They goes coastin' along ontil they gets pulled into a mesquite- bush, + an' the rope slips offen the saddle, an' thar they be. We-alls goes over + from the dance-hall, extricatin' of 'em, an' final they rounds up mighty + hapless an' weak, an' can only walk. They shorely lose enough hide to make + a pair of leggin's. + </p> + <p> + "'Which I brings 'em together like twins,' says the Red Dog man, ridin' + back for his rope. 'I offers two to one, no limit, they don't fight none + whatever for a month.' + </p> + <p> + "Which, as it shorely looks like he's right, no one takes him. So the Red + Dog man leaves his bluff a-hangin' an' goes into the dance- hall, a-givin' + of it out cold an' clammy he meditates libatin'. + </p> + <p> + "'All promenade to the bar,' yells the Red Dog man as he goes in. 'I'm a + wolf, an' it's my night to howl. Don't 'rouse me, barkeep, with the sight + of merely one bottle; set 'em all up. I'm some fastidious about my + fire-water an' likes a chance to select.' + </p> + <p> + "Well, we-alls takes our inspiration, an' the Red Dog man tucks his onder + his belt an' then turns round to Enright. + </p> + <p> + "'I takes it you're the old he-coon of this yere outfit?' says the Red Dog + man, soopercillious-like. + </p> + <p> + "'Which, if I ain't,' says Enright, 'it's plenty safe as a play to let + your wisdom flow this a-way till the he-coon gets yere.' + </p> + <p> + "'If thar's anythin',' says the Red Dog man, 'I turns from sick, it's + voylence an' deevastation. But I hears sech complaints constant of this + yere camp of Wolfville, I takes my first idle day to ride over an' line + things up. Now yere I be, an' while I regrets it, I finds you-alls is a + lawless, onregenerate set, a heap sight worse than roomer. I now takes the + notion—for I sees no other trail—that by next drink time I + climbs into the saddle, throws my rope 'round this den of sin, an' removes + it from the map.' + </p> + <p> + "'Nacherally,' says Enright, some sarcastic, 'in makin' them schemes you + ain't lookin' for no trouble whatever with a band of tarrapins like us.' + </p> + <p> + "'None whatever,' says the Red Dog man, mighty confident. 'In thirty + minutes I distributes this yere hamlet 'round in the landscape same as + them Greasers; which feat becomin' hist'ry, I then canters back to Red + Dog.' + </p> + <p> + "'Well,' says Enright, 'it's plenty p'lite to let us know what's comin' + this a-way.' + </p> + <p> + "'Oh! I ain't tellin' you none,' says the Red Dog man, 'I simply lets fly + this hint, so any of you-alls as has got bric-a-brac he values speshul, he + takes warnin' some an' packs it off all safe.' + </p> + <p> + "It's about then when Cherokee Hall, who's lookin' on, shoulders in + between Enright an' the Red Dog man, mighty positive. Cherokee is a heap + sot in his idees, an' I sees right off he's took a notion ag'in the Red + Dog man. + </p> + <p> + "'As you've got a lot of work cut out,' says Cherokee, eyein' the Red Dog + man malignant, 's'pose we tips the canteen ag'in.' + </p> + <p> + "'I shorely goes you,' says the Red Dog man. 'I drinks with friend, an' I + drinks with foe; with the pard of my bosom an' the shudderin' victim of my + wrath all sim'lar.' + </p> + <p> + "Cherokee turns out a big drink an' stands a-holdin' of it in his hand. I + wants to say right yere, this Cherokee's plenty guileful. + </p> + <p> + "'You was namin',' says Cherokee, 'some public improvements you aims to + make; sech as movin' this yere camp 'round some, I believes?' + </p> + <p> + "'That's whatever,' says the Red Dog man, 'an' the holycaust I 'nitiates + is due to start in fifteen minutes.' + </p> + <p> + "'I've been figgerin' on you,' says Cherokee, 'an' I gives you the result + in strict confidence without holdin' out a kyard. When you- all talks of + tearin' up Wolfville, you're a liar an' a hoss-thief, an' you ain't goin' + to tear up nothin'.' + </p> + <p> + "'What's this I hears!' yells the frenzied Red Dog man, reachin' for his + gun. + </p> + <p> + "But he never gets it, for the same second Cherokee spills the glass of + whiskey straight in his eyes, an' the next he's anguished an' blind as a + mole. + </p> + <p> + "'I'll fool this yere human simoon up a lot,' says Cherokee, a- hurlin' of + the Red Dog man to the floor, face down, while his nine- inch bowie shines + in his hand like the sting of a wasp. 'I shore fixes him so he can't get a + job clerkin' in a store,' an' grabbin' the Red Dog man's ha'r, which is + long as the mane of a pony, he slashes it off close in one motion. + </p> + <p> + "'Thar's a fringe for your leggin's, Nell,' remarks Cherokee, a- turnin' + of the crop over to Faro Nell. 'Now, Doc,' Cherokee goes on to Doc Peets, + 'take this yere Red Dog stranger over to the Red Light, fix his eyes all + right, an' then tell him, if he thinks he needs blood in this, to take his + Winchester an' go north in the middle of the street. In twenty minutes by + the watch I steps outen the dance-hall door a-lookin' for him. P'int him + to the door all fair an' squar'. I don't aim to play nothin' low on this + yere gent. He gets a chance for his ante.' + </p> + <p> + "Doc Peets sorter accoomilates the Red Dog man, who is cussin' an' + carryin' on scand'lous, an' leads him over to the Red Light. In a minute + word comes to Cherokee as his eyes is roundin' up all proper, an' that + he's makin' war-medicine an' is growin' more hostile constant, an' to heel + himse'f. At that Cherokee, mighty ca'm, sends out for Jack Moore's + Winchester, which is an 'eight-squar',' latest model. + </p> + <p> + "'Oh, Cherokee!' says Faro Nell, beginnin' to cry, an' curlin' her arms + 'round his neck. 'I'm 'fraid he's goin' to down you. Ain't thar no way to + fix it? Can't Dan yere settle with this Red Dog man?' + </p> + <p> + "'Cert,' says Dan Boggs, 'an' I makes the trip too gleeful. Jest to spar' + Nell's feelin's, Cherokee, an' not to interfere with no gent's little + game, I takes your hand an' plays it.' + </p> + <p> + "'Not none,' says Cherokee; 'this is my deal. Don't cry, Nellie,' he adds, + smoothin' down her yaller ha'r. 'Folks in my business has to hold + themse'fs ready to face any game on the word, an' they never weakens or + lays down. An' another thing, little girl; I gets this Red Dog sharp, + shore. I'm in the middle of a run of luck; I holds fours twice last night, + with a flush an' a full hand out ag'in 'em.' + </p> + <p> + "Nell at last lets go of Cherokee's neck, an', bein' a female an' timid + that a-way, allows she'll go, an' won't stop to see the shootin' none. We + applauds the idee, thinkin' she might shake Cherokee some if she stays; + an' of course a gent out shootin' for his life needs his nerve. + </p> + <p> + "Well, the twenty minutes is up; the Red Dog man gets his rifle offen his + saddle an' goes down the middle of the street. Turnin' up his big + sombrero, he squar's 'round, cocks his gun, an' waits. Then Enright goes + out with Cherokee an' stands him in the street about a hundred yards from + the Red Dog man. After Cherokee's placed he holds up his hand for + attention an' says: + </p> + <p> + "'When all is ready I stands to one side an' drops my hat. You-alls fires + at will.' + </p> + <p> + "Enright goes over to the side of the street, counts 'one,' 'two,' + 'three,' an' drops his hat. Bangety! Bang! Bang! goes the rifles like the + roll of a drum. Cherokee can work a Winchester like one of these yere + Yankee 'larm-clocks, an' that Red Dog hold-up don't seem none behind. + </p> + <p> + "About the fifth fire the Red Dog man sorter steps for'ard an' drops his + gun; an' after standin' onsteady for a second, he starts to cripplin' down + at his knees. At last he comes ahead on his face like a landslide. Thar's + two bullets plumb through his lungs, an' when we gets to him the red froth + is comin' outen his mouth some plenteous. + </p> + <p> + "We packs him back into the Red Light an' lays him onto a monte- table. + Bimeby he comes to a little an' Peets asks him whatever he thinks he + wants. + </p> + <p> + "'I wants you-alls to take off my moccasins an' pack me into the street,' + says the Red Dog man. 'I ain't allowin' for my old mother in Missoury to + be told as how I dies in no gin-mill, which she shorely 'bominates of 'em. + An' I don't die with no boots on, neither.' + </p> + <p> + "We-alls packs him back into the street ag'in, an' pulls away at his + boots. About the time we gets 'em off he sags back convulsive, an' thar he + is as dead as Santa Anna. + </p> + <p> + "'What sort of a game is this, anyhow?' says Dan Boggs, who, while we + stands thar, has been pawin' over the Red Dog man's rifle. 'Looks like + this vivacious party's plumb locoed. Yere's his hind-sights wedged up for + a thousand yards, an' he's been a-shootin' of cartridges with a hundred + an' twenty grains of powder into 'em. Between the sights an' the jump of + the powder, he's shootin' plumb over Cherokee an' aimin' straight at him.' + </p> + <p> + "'Nellie,' says Enright, lookin' remorseful at the girl, who colors up an' + begins to cry ag'in, 'did you cold-deck this yere Red Dog sport this + a-way?' + </p> + <p> + "'I'm 'fraid,' sobs Nell, 'he gets Cherokee; so I slides over when + you-alls is waitin' an' fixes his gun some.' + </p> + <p> + "'Which I should shorely concede you did,' says Enright. 'The way that Red + Dog gent manip'lates his weepon shows he knows his game; an' except for + you a-settin' things up on him, I'm powerful afraid he'd spoiled Cherokee + a whole lot.' + </p> + <p> + "'Well, gents,' goes on Enright, after thinkin' a while, 'I reckons + we-alls might as well drink on it. Hist'ry never shows a game yet, an' a + woman in it, which is on the squar', an' we meekly b'ars our burdens with + the rest.'" + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. CHEROKEE HALL. + </h2> + <p> + "An' you can't schedoole too much good about him," remarked the Old + Cattleman. Here he threw away the remnant of the principe, and, securing + his pipe, beat the ashes there-out and carefully reloaded with cut plug. + Inevitably the old gentleman must smoke. His tone and air as he made the + remark quoted were those of a man whose convictions touching the one + discussed were not to be shaken. "No, sir," he continued; "when I looks + back'ard down the trail of life, if thar's one gent who aforetime holds + forth in Wolfville on whom I reflects with satisfaction, it's this yere + Cherokee Hall." + </p> + <p> + "To judge from his conduct," I said, "in the hard case of the Wilkins + girl, as well as his remark as she left on the stage, I should hold him to + be a person of sensibilities as well as benevolent impulse." + </p> + <p> + It was my purpose to coax the old gentleman to further reminiscence. + </p> + <p> + "Benev'lent!" retorted the old man. "Which I should shore admit it! What + he does for this yere young Wilkins female ain't a marker. Thar's the Red + Dog man he lets out. Thar's the Stingin' Lizard's nephy; he stakes said + yooth from infancy. 'Benev'lent!' says you. This party Cherokee is that + benev'lent he'd give away a poker hand. I've done set an' see him give + away his hand in a jack-pot for two hundred dollars to some gent 'cross + the table who's organizin' to go ag'in him an' can't afford to lose. An' + you can onderscore it; a winnin' poker hand, an' him holdin' it, is the + last thing a thoroughbred kyard-sharp'll give away. But as I says, I sees + this Cherokee do it when the opp'sition is settin' in hard luck an' + couldn't stand to lose. + </p> + <p> + "How would he give his hand away? Throw it in the diskyard an' not play it + none; jest nacherally let the gent who's needy that a-way rake in the + chips on the low hand. Cherokee mebby does it this fashion so's he don't + wound the feelin's of this yere victim of his gen'rosity. Thar's folks who + turns sens'tive an' ain't out to take alms none, who's feelin's he spar's + that a-way by losin' to 'em at poker what they declines with scorn direct. + "'Benev'lent,' is the way you puts it! Son, 'benev'lent' ain't the word. + This sport Cherokee Hall ain't nothin' short of char'table. + </p> + <p> + "Speakin' wide flung an' onrestrained, Cherokee, as I mentions to you + before, is the modestest, decentest longhorn as ever shakes his antlers in + Arizona. He is slim an' light, an' a ondoubted kyard- sharp from his + moccasins up. An' I never knows him to have a peso he don't gamble for. + Nothin' common, though; I sees him one night when he sets ca'mly into some + four-handed poker, five thousand dollars table stake, an' he's sanguine + an' hopeful about landin' on his feet as a Cimmaron sheep. Of course times + is plenty flush in them days, an' five thousand don't seem no sech mammoth + sum. Trade is eager an' values high; aces-up frequent callin' for five + hundred dollars before the draw. Still we ain't none of us makin' + cigarettes of no sech roll as five thousand. The days ain't quite so + halcyon as all that neither. + </p> + <p> + "But what I likes speshul in Cherokee Hall is his jedgement. He's every + time right. He ain't talkin' much, an' he ain't needin' advice neither, + more'n a steer needs a saddle-blanket. But when he concloodes to do + things, you can gamble he's got it plenty right. + </p> + <p> + "One time this Cherokee an' Texas Thompson is comin' in from Tucson on the + stage. Besides Cherokee an' Texas, along comes a female, close-herdin' of + two young-ones; which them infants might have been t'rant'lers an' every + one a heap happier. Sorter as range-boss of the whole out. fit is a lean + gent in a black coat. Well, they hops in, an' Cherokee gives 'em the two + back seats on account of the female an' the yearlin's. + </p> + <p> + "'My name is Jones,' says the gent in the black coat, when he gets settled + back an' the stage is goin', I an' I'm an exhortin' evangelist. I plucks + brands from the burnin'.' + </p> + <p> + "'I'm powerful glad to know it,' says Texas, who likes talk. 'Them games + of chance which has vogue in this yere clime is some various, an' I did + think I shorely tests 'em all; but if ever the device you names is open in + Wolfville I overlooks the same complete.' + </p> + <p> + "'Pore, sinkin' soul!' says the black-coat gent to the female; 'he's + a-flounderin' in the mire of sin. Don't you know,' he goes on to Texas, + 'my perishin' friend, you are bein' swept downward in the river of your + own sinful life till your soul will be drowned in the abyss?" + </p> + <p> + "'Well, no,' says Texas, 'I don't. I allows I'm makin' a mighty dry ford + of it.' + </p> + <p> + "'Lost! lost! lost!' says the black-coat gent, a-leanin' back like he's + plumb dejected that a-way an' hopeless. 'It is a stiff-necked gen'ration + an' sorely perverse a lot.' + </p> + <p> + "The stage jolts along two or three miles, an' nothin' more bein' said. + The black-coat gent he groans occasionally, which worries Texas; an' the + two infants, gettin' restless, comes tumblin' over onto Cherokee an' is + searchin' of his pockets for mementoes. Which this is about as refreshin' + to Cherokee as bein' burned at the stake. But the mother she leans back + an' smiles, an' of course he's plumb he'pless. Finally the black. coat + gent p'ints in for another talk. + </p> + <p> + "'What is your name, my pore worm?' says the black-coat gent, addressin' + of Texas; 'an' whatever avocation has you an' your lost companion?' + </p> + <p> + "I Why,' says Texas, 'this yere's Hall—Cherokee Hall. He turns faro + in the Red Light; an',' continues Texas, a-lowerin' of his voice, 'he's as + squar' a gent as ever counted a deck. Actooally, pard, you might not think + it, but all that gent knows about settin' up kyards, or dealin' double, or + anv sech sinful scheme, is mere tradition.' "'Brother,' says the female, + bristlin' up an' tacklin' the black- coat gent, 'don't talk to them + persons no more. Them's gamblers, an' mighty awful men;' an' with that she + snatches away the yearlin's like they's contam'nated. + </p> + <p> + 'This is relief to Cherokee, but the young-ones howls like coyotes, an' + wants to come back an' finish pillagin' him. But the mother she spanks + 'em, an' when Texas is goin' to give 'em some cartridges outen his belt to + amoose 'em, she sasses him scand'lous, an' allows she ain't needin' no + attentions from him. Then she snorts at Texas an' Cherokee contemptuous. + The young-ones keeps on yellin' in a mighty onmelodious way, an' while + Cherokee is ca'm an' don't seem like he minds it much, Texas gets some + nervous. At last Texas lugs out a bottle, aimin' to compose his feelins', + which they's some harrowed by now. + </p> + <p> + "`Well, I never!' shouts the woman; 'I shorely sees inebriates ere now, + but at least they has the decency not to pull a bottle that a- way + </p> + <p> + before a lady.' "This stampedes Texas complete, an' he throws the whiskey + </p> + <p> + outen the stage an' don't get no drink. "It's along late in the mornin' + when the stage strikes the upper end of Apache Canyon. This yere canyon + </p> + <p> + is lately reckoned some bad. Nothin' ever happens on the line, but + </p> + <p> + them is the days when Cochise is cavortin' 'round plenty loose, an' it's + mighty possible to stir up Apaches any time a-layin' in the hills + </p> + <p> + along the trail to Tucson. If they ever gets a notion to stand up the + stage, they's shore due to be in this canyon; wherefore Cherokee an' Texas + an' Old Monte who's drivin' regards it s'picious. "'Send 'em through on + the jump, Monte,' says Cherokee, stickin' out his head. "The six hosses + lines out at a ten-mile gait, which rattles things, an' makes the + black-coat gent sigh, while the young-ones pours forth some appallin' + shrieks. The female gets speshul mad at this, allowin' + </p> + <p> + they's playin' it low down on her fam'ly. But she takes it out in cuffin' + the yearlin's now an' then, jest to keep 'em yellin', an' don't say + nothin'. "Which the stage is about half through the canyon, when up on + both sides a select assortment of Winchesters begins to bang an' jump + permiscus; the same goin' hand-in-hand with whoops of onusual merit. With + the first shot Old Monte pours the leather into the team, an' them hosses + surges into the collars like cyclones. "It's lucky aborigines ain't no + shots. They never yet gets the phelosophy of a + </p> + <p> + hind sight none, an' generally you can't reach their bullets with a + ten-foot pole, they's that high above your head. The only thing as + </p> + <p> + gets hit this time is Texas. About the beginnin', a little cloud of dust + flies outen the shoulder of his coat, his face turns pale, an' Cherokee + knows he's creased. "'Did they get you, Old Man?' says Cherokee, some + anxious. "'No,' says Texas, tryin' to brace himse'f. 'I'll be + </p> + <p> + on velvet ag'in in a second. I now longs, however, for that whiskey I + hurls overboard so graceful.' "The Apaches comes tumblin' down onto the + trail an' gives chase, a-shootin' an' a-yellin' a heap zealous. As they's + on foot, an' as Old Monte is makin' fifteen miles an hour by now, they + merely manages to hold their own in the race, about forty yards to the + r'ar. + </p> + <p> + "This don't go on long when Cherokee, after thinkin', says to Texas, 'This + yere is the way I figgers it, If we-alls keeps on, them Injuns is that + fervent they runs in on us at the ford. With half luck they's due to down + either a hoss or Monte—mebby both; in which event the stage shorely + stops, an' it's a fight. This bein' troo, an' as I'm 'lected for war + anyhow, I'm goin' to caper out right yere, an' pull on the baile myse'f. + This'll stop the chase, an' between us, pard, it's about the last chance + in the box this pore female an' her offsprings has. An' I plays it for + 'em, win or lose.' + </p> + <p> + "'Them's my motives; says Texas, tryin' to pull himse'f together. 'Shall + we take this he-shorthorn along?' An' he p'ints where them four + tenderfoots is mixed up together in the back of the stage. + </p> + <p> + "'He wouldn't be worth a white chip,' says Cherokee, 'an' you-all is too + hard hit to go, Texas, yourse'f. So take my regards to Enright an' the + boys, an' smooth this all you know for Faro Nell. I makes the trip alone.' + </p> + <p> + "'Not much,' says Texas. 'My stack goes to the center, too.' + </p> + <p> + "But it don't, though, 'cause Texas has bled more'n he thinks. The first + move he makes he tips over in a faint. + </p> + <p> + "Cherokee picks up his Winchester, an', openin' the door of the stage, + jumps plumb free, an' they leaves him thar on the trail. + </p> + <p> + "'It's mebby an hour later when the stage comes into Wolfville on the + lope. Texas is still in a fog, speakin' mental, an' about bled to death; + while them exhortin' people is outen their minds entire. + </p> + <p> + "In no time thar's a dozen of us lined out for Cherokee. Do we locate him? + Which I should say we shorely discovers him. Thar's a bullet through his + laig, an' thar he is with his back ag'in a rock wall, his Winchester to + the front, his eyes glitterin', a-holdin' the canyon. Thar never is no + Injun gets by him. Of course they stampedes prompt when they hears us + a-comin', so we don't get no fight. + </p> + <p> + "'I hopes you nails one, Cherokee,' says Enright; 'playin' even on this + yere laig they shoots.' + </p> + <p> + "'I win once, I reckons', says Cherokee, 'over behind that big rock to the + left.' + </p> + <p> + "'Shore enough he's got one Injun spread out; an', comin' along a little, + Jack Moore turns up a second. + </p> + <p> + "'Yere's another,' says Jack, 'which breaks even on the bullet in Texas.' + </p> + <p> + "'That's right,' says Cherokee, 'I remembers now than is two. The kyards + is comin' some Tast, an' I overlooks a bet.' + </p> + <p> + "We-alls gets Cherokee in all right, an' next day 'round comes the female + tenderfoot to see him. + </p> + <p> + "'I wants to thank my defender,' she says. + </p> + <p> + "'You ain't onder no obligations, whatever, ma'am', says Cherokee, risin' + up a little, while Faro Nell puts another goose-h'ar piller onder him. 'I + simply prefers to do my fightin' in the canyon to doin' it at the ford; + that's all. It's only a matter of straight business; nothin' more'n a + preference I has. Another thing, ma'am; you-all forgives it, seein' I'm a + gent onused to childish ways: but when I makes the play you names, I + simply seizes on them savages that a-way as an excuse to get loose from + them blessed children of your'n a whole lot.'" + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. TEXAS THOMPSON'S "ELECTION." + </h2> + <p> + "An' between us," remarked the Old Cattle man, the observation being + relevant to the subject of our conversation on the occasion of one of our + many confabs, "between you an' me, I ain't none shore about the merits of + what you-all calls law an' order. Now a pains-takin' an' discreet + vig'lance committee is my notion of a bulwark. Let any outfit take a bale + of rope an' a week off, an' if their camp ain't weeded down to right + principles an' a quiet life at the end tharof, then I've passed my days as + vain as any coyote which ever yelps. + </p> + <p> + "Of course thar dawns a time when Wolfville has to come to it, same as + others. They takes to diggin' for copper; an' they builds the Bird Cage + Op'ry House, an' puts in improvements general. We even culminates in a + paper, which Doc Peets assures us is the flower of our progress. + Nacherally on the heels of all them outbursts we gives up our simple + schemes, organizes, an' pulls off an 'lection. But as Old Man Enright is + made alcalde tharby, with Jack Moore marshal, the jolt is not severe nor + the change so full of notice. + </p> + <p> + "It's not long prior to these yere stampedes into a higher moonicipal + life, however, when quite a b'ilin' of us is in the Red Light discussin' + some sech future. Our rival, Red Dog, is allowin' it's goin' to have a + mayor or somethin', an' we sorter feels like our hands is forced. + </p> + <p> + "'For myse'f,' says Old Man Enright, when the topic is circ'latin', with + the whiskey followin' suit, an' each gent is airin' his idees an' paintin' + his nose accordin' to his taste, 'for myse'f, I can see it comin'. Thar's + to be law yere an' 'lections; an' while at first it's mighty likely both + is goin' to turn out disturbin' elements, still I looks on their approach + without fear. Wolfville is too strong, an' Wolfville intelligence is too + well founded, to let any law loco it or set it to millin'.' + </p> + <p> + "'Still,' says Dan Boggs, 'I must remark I prefers a dooly authorized band + of Stranglers. A vig'lance committee gets my game right along. They's more + honest than any of these yere lawsharps who's 'lected to be a jedge; an' + they's a heap more zealous, which last is important.' + </p> + <p> + "'Boggs is right,' replies Enright. 'It may not become me, who is head of + the local body of that sort, to make boasts of the excellence of a + vig'lance committee; but I ain't bluffin' on a four- flush when I + challenges any gent to put his tongue to an event where a vig'lance + committee stretches a party who ain't in need tharof; or which goes + wastin' its lariats on the desert air. I puts it to you- alls without heat + or pride, gents; Jedge Lynch is right every time.' + </p> + <p> + "'Put me down,' says Doc Peets, at the same time makin' signs for the + barkeep to remember his mission on earth, 'put me down as coincidin' in + them sentiments. An' I says further, that any party who's lookin' for the + place where the bad man is scarce, an' a law- abidin' gent has the fullest + liberty, pegged out to the shorest safetytood, let him locate where he + finds the most lynchin's, an' where a vig'lance committee is steadily + engaged discriminatin' 'round through the community. + </p> + <p> + Which a camp thus provided is a model of heavenly peace.' + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"'You can + gamble, if anybody's plumb aware of these yore trooths, it's me,' +says Texas Thompson. +</pre> + <p> + 'When I'm down in the South Paloduro country, workin' a passel of Bar-K-7 + cattle, I aids in an effort to 'lect a jedge an' institoot reg'lar + shore-'nough law; an' the same comes mighty near leavin' the entire hamlet + a howlin' waste. It deciminates a heap of our best citizens. + </p> + <p> + "'This yere misguided bluff comes to pass peculiar; an' I allers allows if + it ain't for the onforeseen way wherein things stacks up, an' the muddle + we-alls gets into tryin' to find a trail, the Plaza Paloduro would have + been a scene of bleatin' peace that day, instead of a stric'ly + corpse-an'-cartridge occasion. The death rate rises to that degree in fact + that the next roundup is shy on men; an' thar ain't enough cartridges in + camp, when the smoke blows away, to be seed for a second crop. On the + squar', gents, that 'lection day on the South Paloduro was what you-alls + might term a massacre, an' get it right every time.' + </p> + <p> + "'Well, what of this yere toomultuous 'lection?' demands Dave Tutt, who + gets impatient while Texas refreshes himse'f in his glass. 'You- all + reminds me a mighty sight, Texas, of the Tucson preacher who pulls his + freight the other day. They puts it to him, the Tucson folks do, that he + talks an' he talks, but he don't p'int out; an' he argufies an' he + argufies, but he never shows wherein. A party who's goin' to make a + pulpit-play, or shine in Arizona as a racontoor, has done got to cult'vate + a direct, incisive style.' + </p> + <p> + "'That's all c'rect,' remarks Texas, some savage, as he recovers his nose + outen his glass; 'never you fret me none about my style not bein' + incisive. Thar be other plays where any gent who comes puttin' it all over + me with roode an' intemp'rate remarks will find me plenty incisive; not to + say some soon: + </p> + <p> + "'Yere!' interrupts Enright, quick an' sharp. 'This is plumb outside the + line. Texas ain't got no call to wake up so malignant over what's most + likely nothin' worse than humor on Tutt's part; an', Tutt, it ain't up to + you none neither, to go spurrin' Texas in the shoulder in the midst of + what I'm yere to maintain is a mighty thrillin' narration.' + </p> + <p> + "'Texas is good people,' says Dave, 'an' the last gent with which I + thirsts to dig up the war-axe. Which I'm proud to be his friend; an' I + means no offense when I su'gests that he whirl a smaller loop when he + onbosoms himse'f of a tale. I yere tenders Texas my hand, assurin' of him + that I means my language an' ain't holdin' out nothin'. Shake!' An' at + this Dave reaches his pistol-hand to Texas Thompson, an' the same is + seized prompt an' friendly. + </p> + <p> + "`This yere is my fault,' says Texas. 'I reckons now my wife recoverin' + that Laredo divorce I'm mentionin' to you-alls, sorter leaves me a heap + petulant, that a-way. But to go back to this war- jig I was relatin' about + down at Plaza Paloduro. + </p> + <p> + "'It's this a-way: No, Nellie; thar's no female in it. This yere grows + from a business transaction; an' the effort tharfrom to improve on present + conditions, institoot a reign of law, an' lect a jedge. + </p> + <p> + "'Which the comin' of a miscreant named Cimmaron Pete, from some'ers over + near the 'Doby Walls, is the beginnin' of the deal. This Cimmaron Pete + comes trailin' in one day; an' a shorthorn called Glidden, who runs a + store at the ford, comes ropin' at Cimmaron Pete to race ponies. "'"What + for stakes do you-all aim to race for?" demands this Cimmaron Pete. + </p> + <p> + "'"I'll run you for hoss an' saddle," says Glidden. + </p> + <p> + "'"Say hoss ag'in hoss," says Cimmaron Pete, "an' I'm liable to go you. + Saddles is hard to get, an' I won't resk mine. Ponies, however, is easy. I + can get 'em every moonlight night." + </p> + <p> + "'When them sports is racin',—which the run is to be a quarter of a + mile, only they never finishes,—jest as Cimmaron begins to pull + ahead, his pony bein' a shade suddener than Glidden's, whatever does the + latter do but rope this Cimmaron Pete's pony by the feet an' down him. + </p> + <p> + "'It's shore fine work with a lariat, but it comes high for Glidden. For, + as he stampedes by, this Cimmaron turns loose his six-shooter from where + he's tangled up with his bronco on the ground; an' as the first bullet + gets Glidden in the back of his head, his light goes out like a candle. + </p> + <p> + "'When the committee looks into the play they jestifies this Cimmaron. + "While on the surface," they says, "the deal seems a little florid; still, + when a gent armed with nothin' but a cold sense of jestice comes to + pirootin' plumb through the affair with a lantern, he's due to emerge a + lot with the conviction that Glidden's wrong." So Cimmaron is free in a + minute. + </p> + <p> + "'But thar's Glidden's store! Thar's nobody to claim it; thar bein' no + fam'ly to Glidden nohow; not even a hired man. + </p> + <p> + "'"Which, as it seems to be a case open to doubt," observes this yere + Cimmaron, "I nacherally takes this Glidden party's store an' deals his + game myse'f." + </p> + <p> + "'It ain't much of a store; an' bein' as the rest of us is havin' all + we-alls can ride herd on for ourse'fs, no gent makes objections, an' + Cimmaron turns himse'f loose in Glidden's store, an' begins to sell things + a whole lot. He's shorely doin' well, I reckons, when mebby it's a week + later he comes chargin' over to a passel of us an' allows he wants the + committee to settle some trouble which has cut his trail. + </p> + <p> + "'"It's about the debts of this yere Glidden, deceased," says Cimmaron. "I + succeeds to the business of course; which it's little enough for departed + ropin' my pony that time. But you-alls can gamble I ain't goin' 'way back + on this yere dead person's trail, an' settle all his gray an' hoary + indebtnesses. Would it be right, gents? I puts it to you-alls on the + squar'; do I immerse myse'f, I'd like for to be told, in deceased's + liabilities merely for resentin' of his wrongs ag'in me with my gun? If a + gent can go blindly shootin' himse'f into bankruptcy that a-way, the + American gov'ment is a rank loser, an' the State of Texas is plumb played + out." + </p> + <p> + When we-alls proceeds to ferret into this yere myst'ry, we finds thar's a + sharp come up from Dallas who claims that Cimmaron's got to pay him what + Glidden owes. This yere Dallas party puts said indebtednesses at five + stacks of blues. + </p> + <p> + "'An' this yere longhorn's got 'em to make good, "says the Dallas sharp, + p'intin' at Cimmaron, "'cause he inherits the store." + </p> + <p> + "'Now, whatever do you-alls think of that?" says Cimmaron, appealin' to + us. "Yere I've told this perverse sport that Glidden's done cashed in an' + quit; an' now he lays for me with them indebtednesses. It shorely wearies + me." + </p> + <p> + "'It don't take the vig'lance committee no time to agree it ain't got + nothin' to say in the case. + </p> + <p> + "'" It's only on killin's, an' hoss-rustlin's, an' sim'lar breaks." + explains Old Monroe, who's chief of the Paloduro Stranglers, "where + we-alls gets kyards. We ain't in on what's a mere open-an'-shet case of + debt." + </p> + <p> + "'But this Dallas sharp stays right with Cimmaron. He gives it out cold + he's goin' to c'lect. He puts it up he'll shore sue Cimmaron a lot. + </p> + <p> + "'You-alls don't mean to say thar ain't no jedge yere?" remarks the Dallas + sharp, when Old Monroe explains we ain't organized none for sech games as + law cases. "Well, this yere Plaza Paloduro is for certain the locodest + camp of which I ever cuts the trail! You-alls better get a hustle on right + now an' 'lect a jedge. If I goes back to Dallas an' tells this story of + how you-alls ain't got no jedge nor no law yere, they won't let this Plaza + Paloduro get close enough to 'em in business to hand 'em a ripe peach. If + thar's enough sense in this camp to make bakin'-powder biscuit, you-alls + will have a jedge 'lected ready for me to have law cases with by + second-drink time to-morrow mornin'." + </p> + <p> + "'After hangin' up this bluff the Dallas sharp, puttin' on a heap of + hawtoor an' dog, walks over to the tavern ag'in, an' leaves us to size up + the play at our lcesure. + </p> + <p> + "'What this obdurate party from Dallas says," finally remarks Old Monroe, + "is not with. out what the Comanches calls tum-tum. Thar's savey an' + jestice in them observations. It's my idee, that thar bein' no jedge yere, + that a-way, to make a money round-up for a gent when his debtor don't make + good, is mighty likely a palin' offen our fence. I shorely thinks we + better rectify them omissions an' 'lect a jedge at once." + </p> + <p> + "'Which I'm opposed to these proceedin's," interrupts Cimmaron. "I'm plumb + adverse to co'ts. Them law-wolves gets into 'em, an' when they can't find + no gate to come at you, they ups an' pushes down a panel of fence, an' + lays for you, cross-lots. I'm dead ag'in these proceedin's." + </p> + <p> + "'See yere," says Old Monroe, turnin' on this Cimmaron," you-all is + becomin' too apparent in this camp; what I might describe as a heap too + obvious. Now if you gets your stack in ag'in when it ain't your turn; or + picks up anybody's hand but your own, I'll find a short way of knockin' + your horns off. You don't seem gifted enough to realize that you're lucky + to be alive right now." + </p> + <p> + "'Bar Cimmaron, who lapses into silence after Old Monroe gives him notice, + the entire camp lines up fav'rable on the idee to 'lect a jedge. They + sends over to the corral an' gets a nose-bag for to deposit the votes; an' + it's decided that Old Monroe an' a Cross-Z party named Randall has got to + do the runnin'. Randall is plenty p'lite, an' allows he don't want to be + jedge none nohow, an' says, give it to Old Monroe; but the latter gent, + who is organizin' the play, insists that it wouldn't be legal. + </p> + <p> + "'"Thar's got to be two gents to do the runnin'," so Old Monroe says, "or + it don't go. The 'lection ain't legal that a-way onless thar's two + candidates." + </p> + <p> + "'They puts Bronco Charlie an' a sport named Ormsby in to be 'lection + supervisors. They was to hold the nose-bag; an' as votes is dropped in, + they's to count 'em out accordin' to Hoyle, so we-alls can tell where the + play's headin'. Bronco Charlie is jedge for Randall, an' Ormsby fronts up + all sim'lar for Old Monroe. The 'lection we-alls decides to hold in the + Lone Star Saloon, so's to be conducted with comfort. + </p> + <p> + "'"Make your game, now, gents," says Old Monroe, when everythin' is + shorely ready. "Get in your votes. These yere polls is open for one hour." + </p> + <p> + "'"One for Randall," says Bronco Charlie as Old Monroe votes. + </p> + <p> + "'"An' one for Old Monroe," remarks Ormsby when Randall votes next. + </p> + <p> + "'This gives the deal tone to have Randall an' Old Monroe p'int out by + votin' for each other that a-way, and thar ain't one of us who don't feel + more respectable by it. + </p> + <p> + "'It's the opinion of level-headed gents even yet, that the Plaza Paloduro + could have pulled off this 'lection an' got plumb away, an' never had no + friction, if it ain't for a Greaser from San Antonio who tries to ring in + on us. Thar's twenty-one of us has voted, an' it stands nine for Randall + an' twelve for Old Monroe; when up lopes this yere Mexican an' allows he's + locoed to vote. "'Who do you-all think you're goin' to vote for?" asks + Ormsby. + </p> + <p> + "'"Senior Monroe," says the Mexican, p'intin' at Old Monroe. + </p> + <p> + "'Stop this deal," yells Bronco Charlie, "'I challenges that vote. + Mexicans is barred." + </p> + <p> + "'Which Mexicans is not barred," replies Ormsby. "An' the vote of this + yere enlightened maverick from south of the Rio Grande goes. Thirteen for + Old Monroe." + </p> + <p> + "'Twelve for Old Monroe," remonstrates Bronco Charlie, feelin' for his + gun. + </p> + <p> + "'Thirteen for Old Monroe," retorts Ormsby, as his Colt's comes into + action an' he busts Bronco's arm at the elbow. + </p> + <p> + "'As his obstinacy has destroyed the further efficiency of my colleague," + goes on Ormsby, as he shakes down the ballots in the nose-bag, "I'll now + conduct these yere polls alone. Gents who haven't voted will please come + a-runnin'. As I states a moment ago, she stands thirteen for Old Monroe." + </p> + <p> + "'An' I says she's twelve for Old Monroe," shouts Red River Tom, crowdin' + for'ard. "'You-all can't ring in Mexicans an' snake no play on us. This + yere 'lection's goin' to be on the squar', or it's goin' to come off in + the smoke." + </p> + <p> + "'With this, Red River, who's been sorter domineerin' at Ormsby with his + six-shooter while he's freein' his mind, slams her loose. Red River + over-shoots, an' Ormsby downs him with a bullet in his laig. + </p> + <p> + "'Thirteen for Old Monroe," says Ormsby. + </p> + <p> + "'But that's where the 'lection ends. Followin' the subsidence of Red + River Tom, the air is as full of lead as a bag of bullets. Through the + smoke, an' the flashes, an' the noise, you can hear Ormsby whoopin' + </p> + <p> + "'Thirteen for Old Monroe." + </p> + <p> + "'You can gamble Ormsby's as squar' a 'lection jedge as any gent could + ask. You gets a play for your money with Ormsby; but he dies the next day, + so he never is 'lection jedge no more. Five gents gets downed, an' a whole + corralfull is hurt. I, myse'f, reaps some lead in the shoulder; an' even + at that I never goes nearer than the suburbs of the fight. + </p> + <p> + "'No; Cimmaron Pete claws off all sound, an' no new holes in him. But as + the Dallas party, who comes caperin' over with the first shot, is layin' + at the windup outside the Lone Star door, plumb defunct, thar's an end to + the root of the disorder. + </p> + <p> + "'The 'lection itse'f is looked on as a draw. Old Monroe allows that, all + things considered, he don't regard himse'f as 'lected none; and Randall, + who a doctor is feelin' 'round in for a bullet at the time, sends over + word that he indorses Old Monroe's p'sition; an' that as long as the + Dallas sharp hits the trail after Glidden, an' is tharby able to look + after his debts himse'f, he, Randall, holds it's no use disturbin' of a + returned sereenity, an' to let everythin' go as it lays. + </p> + <p> + "'An' that,' concloods Texas Thompson, as he reaches for his licker, 'is + what comes of an effort at law an' order in Plaza Paloduro. I ain't + over-statin' it, gents, when I says, that that 'lection leaves me plumb + gun-shy for over a year.'" + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XL. + </h2> + <h3> + A WOLFVILLE FOUNDLING. + </h3> + <p> + "Does Jack Moore have sand? Son, is this yere query meant for humor by + you? Which for mere sand the Mohave desert is a fool to Jack." + </p> + <p> + The Old Cattleman's face was full of an earnest, fine sincerity. It was + plain, too, that my question nettled the old fellow a bit; as might a + doubt cast at an idol. But the sharpness had passed from his tone when he + resumed + </p> + <p> + "Not only is Jack long on sand that a-way, but he's plumb loaded with what + you-alls calls 'nitiative. Leastwise that's what one of these yere + fernologists allows, who straggles into camp an' goes to thumbin' our + bumps one day. + </p> + <p> + "'Which this young person,' says the bumpsharp, while his fingers is + caperin' about on Jack's head, I is remarkable for his 'nitiative. He's + the sort of gent who builds his fire before he gets his wood; an' issues + more invites to drink than he receives. Which his weakness, speakin' + general, is he overplays.' + </p> + <p> + "Which this yere bump party might have gone wrong in his wagers a heap of + times; but he shorely calls the turn on Jack when he says he's some strong + on 'nitiative. + </p> + <p> + "An' it's this yere proneness for the prematoor, an' nacheral willin'ness + to open any pot that a-way, that makes Jack sech a slam- up offishul. + Bein' full of 'nitiative, like this fernologist states, Jack don't idle + along ontil somethin's happened. Not much; he abates it in the bud. + </p> + <p> + "Once when most of the outfit's over in Tucson, an' Jack is sorter holdin' + down the camp alone, a band of rustlers comes trackin' in, allowin' + they'll run Wolfville some. Which, that's where Jack's 'nitiative shows up + big. He goes after 'em readily, like they's antelope. Them hold-ups is a + long majority over Jack, an' heeled; but that Jack stands thar—right + up ag'in the iron—an' he tells 'em what he thinks an' why he thinks + it for; makes his minority report onto 'em all free, like he outnumbers + 'em two to one; an' winds up by backin' the game with his gun in a way + that commands confidence. + </p> + <p> + "'You-alls hears my remarks,' he says at the close, briefly flashin' his + six-shooters on the outfit; 'thar ain't no band of bad men in Arizona can + tree this town an' me informed. Now go slow, or I'll jest stretch a few of + you for luck. It's sech consoomin' toil, a- diggin' of sepulchers in this + yere rock-ribbed landscape, or I'd do it anyhow.' + </p> + <p> + "An' tharupon them rustlers, notin' Jack's got the drop on 'em, kicks up a + dense cloud of dust an is seen no more. + </p> + <p> + "But bein' replete with sand an' 'nitiative, that a-way, don't state all + thar is good of Jack. Let any pore, he'pless party cut Jack's trail, an' + he's plumb tender. On sech times Jack's a dove; leastwise he's a dove a + whole lot. + </p> + <p> + "One hot afternoon, Enright an' Doc Peets is away about some cattle I + reckons. Which the rest of us is noomerous enough; an' we're sorter + revolvin' 'round the post-office, a-waitin' for Old Monte an' the stage. + Yere she comes, final, a-rattlin' an' a-creakin'; that old drunkard Monte + a-poppin' of his whip, the six hosses on the canter, an' the whole + sheebang puttin' on more dog than a Mexican officer of revenoo. When the + stage draws up, Old Monte throws off the mailbags an' the Wells-Fargo box, + an' gets down an' opens the door. But nobody emerges out. + </p> + <p> + "'Well, I'm a coyote! ' says Monte, a heap disgusted, `wherever is the + female?' + </p> + <p> + "Then we-alls peers into the stage an' thar's only a baby, with mebby a + ten-months' start down this vale of tears, inside; an' no mother nor + nothin' along. Jack Moore, jest as I says when I begins, reaches in an' + gets him. The baby ain't sayin' nothin', an' sorter takes it out in + smilin' on Jack; which last pleases him excessive. + </p> + <p> + "'He knows me for a hundred dollars!' says Jack. 'I'm an Apache if he + ain't allowin' he knows me! Wherever did you get him, Monte?' + </p> + <p> + "'Give me a drink,' says Monte, p'intin' along into the Red Light. 'This + yere makes me sick.' + </p> + <p> + "After Old Monte gets about four fingers of carnation onder his belt, he + turns in an' explains as how the mother starts along in the stage all + right enough from Tucson. The last time he sees her, so he puts it up, is + at the last station back some twenty miles in the hills; an' he s'poses + all the time later, she's inside ridin' herd on her progeny, ontil now. + </p> + <p> + "'I don't reckon,' says Old Monte, lookin' gloomy-like at the infant, + 'that lady is aimin' to saw this yore young-one onto the stage company + none?' + </p> + <p> + "'Don't upset your whiskey frettin' about the company,' says Jack, + a-plantin' of the infant on the bar, while we-alls crowds in for a look at + him. `The camp'll play this hand; an' the company ain't goin' to be in it + a little bit.' + </p> + <p> + "'I wish Enright an' Peets was yere,' says Cherokee Hall, 'to be heard + hereon; which I shore deems this a grave occasion. Yere we- alls finds + ourse'fs possessed of an onexpected child of tender years; an' the + question nacheral enough is, whatever'll we do with it?' + </p> + <p> + "'Let's maverick it,' says Dan Boggs, who's a mighty good man, but + onthinkful that a-way. + </p> + <p> + "'No,' says Cherokee; 'its mother'll come hoppin' along to-morrow, + a-yellin'. This yere sot Monte has jest done drove off an' left her + some'ers up the trail; she'll come romancin' along in time.' + </p> + <p> + "'Meanwhile,' says Jack, 'the infant's got to be took care of, to which + dooty I volunteers. Thar's a tenderfoot a-sleepin' in the room back of the + dance-hall, an' he's that 'feminate an' effeet, he's got a shore-'nough + bed an' some goose-ha'r pillers; which the same I do yereby confiscate to + public use to take care of this yearlin'. Is the sentiment pleasin'?' + </p> + <p> + "'Jack's scheme is right,' says Boggs; 'an' I'm present to announce he's + allers right. Let the shorthorn go sleep onder a mesquite-bush; it'll do + him good a whole lot.' + </p> + <p> + "'I'm some doobersome of this play,' says Cherokee. 'Small infants is + mighty myster'ous people, an' no livin' gent is ever onto their game an' + able to foresee their needs. Do you-all reckon now you can take care of + this yere young-one, Jack? Be you equal to it?' + </p> + <p> + "'Take care of a small baby like this' says Jack, plenty scornful; 'which + the same ain't weighin' twenty pounds? Well, it'll be some funny if I + can't. I could break even with him if he's four times as big. All I asks + is for you-alls to stand by in crisises an' back the play; an', that + settled, you can go make side bets we-alls comes out winners on the deal.' + </p> + <p> + 'I ain't absolootly shore,' says Dave Tutt, 'bein' some shy of practice + with infants myse'f, but jedgin' by his lookin' smooth an' silky, I offers + fifty dollars even he ain't weaned none yet.' + </p> + <p> + "'I won't bet none on his bein' weaned complete; says Jack, 'but I'll hang + up fifty he drinks outen a bottle as easy as Old Monte! + </p> + <p> + "'I'll go you once,' says Tutt; 'it's fifty dollars even he grows + contemptuous at a bottle, an' disdains it.' + </p> + <p> + "Which we-alls talks it over an' decides that Jack's to nurse said infant; + after which a passel of us proceed's to make a procession for the + tenderfoot's bed, which he shorely resigns without a struggle. We packs it + back to Jack; an' Cherokee Hall an' Boggs then goes over to the corral an' + lays for a goat to milk her. This yere goat is mighty reluctant, an' + refuses to enter into the sperit of the thing; but they swings an' rastles + with her, makes their p'int right along, an' after a frightful time comes + back with'most a dipper-full. + </p> + <p> + "'That's all right,' says Jack, who's done camped in a room back of the + Red Light, 'now hop out an' tell the barkeep to give you a pint bottle. + We-alls has this yere game payin' div'dends in two minutes.' + </p> + <p> + "Jack gets his bottle an' fills her up with goat's milk; an' makes a + stopper outen cotton cloth an' molasses for the infant to draw it through. + Which it's about this time the infant puts up a yell, an' refuses peace + ag'in till Jack gives him his six-shooter to play with. + </p> + <p> + "'Which shows my confidence in him,' says Jack. 'Thar's only a few folks + left I'll pass my gun to.' + </p> + <p> + "Jack gets along with him first-rate, a-feedin' of him the goat's milk, + which he goes for with avidity; tharby nettin' Jack that fifty from Dave + Tutt. Boggs builds a fire so Jack keeps the milk warm. Jack turns loose + that earnest he don't even go for no grub; jest nacherally has 'em pack it + to him. + </p> + <p> + "'We-alls'll have to stand night gyards on this yere foundlin' to- night, + I reckons?" asks Boggs of Jack, when he's bringin' Jack things. + </p> + <p> + "'I s'pose most likely we'll have to make a play that a-way,' says Jack. + </p> + <p> + "'All right,' says Boggs, tappin' his shirt with his pistol-finger; + 'you-all knows me an' Cherokee. We're in on this yere any time you says.' + </p> + <p> + "So a band of us sorter camps along with Jack an' the infant ontil mebby + it's second-drink time at night. The infant don't raise the war-yell once; + jest takes it out in goat's milk; an' in laughin', an' playin' with Jack's + gun. + </p> + <p> + "'Excuse me, gents,' finally says Jack, mighty dignified, 'but I've been + figgerin' this thing, an' I allows it's time to bed this yere young-one + down for the night. If you-alls will withdraw some, I'll see how near I + comes to makin' runnin' of it. Stay within whoopin' distance, though; so + if he tries to stampede or takes to millin' I can get he'p.' + </p> + <p> + "We-alls lines out an' leaves Jack an' the infant, an' turns in on faro + an' poker an' sim'lar devices which is bein' waged in the Red Light. Mebby + it's an hour when Jack comes in. + </p> + <p> + "'Boggs,' he says; 's'pose you-all sets in an' plays my hand a minute with + that infant child, while I goes over an' adjourns them frivolities in the + dance-hall. It looks like this yere camp is speshul toomultuous to-night.' + </p> + <p> + "Boggs goes in with the infant, an' Jack proceeds to the baile house an' + states the case. + </p> + <p> + "'I don't want to onsettle the reg'lar programme,' says Jack, 'but this + yere young-one I'm responsible for, gets that engaged in the sounds of + these yere revels, it don't look like he's goin' to sleep none. So if + you-alls will call the last waltz, an' wind her up for to-night, it'll + shorely be a he'p. The kid's mother'll be yere by sun-up; which her advent + that a-way alters the play all 'round, an' matters then goes back to old + lines.' + </p> + <p> + "'Enough said,' says Jim Hamilton, who runs the dance-hall. 'You can + gamble this temple of mirth ain't layin' down on what's right, an' + tonight's shindig closes right yere. All promenade to the bar. We takes a + drink on the house, quits, an' calls it a day.' + </p> + <p> + "Then Jack comes back, a heap grave with his cares, an' relieves Boggs; + who's on watch, straddled of a chair, a-eyein' of the infant, who, + a-settin' up ag'in a goose-ha'r piller, is likewise a-eyein' of Boggs. + </p> + <p> + "'He's a 'way up good infant, Jack,' says Boggs, givin' up his seat. + </p> + <p> + "'You can bet your life he's a good infant,' says Jack; 'but it shore + looks like he don't aim to turn in an' slumber none. Mebby the goat's milk + is too invigeratin' for 'him, an' keeps him awake that a-way.' + </p> + <p> + "About another hour goes by, an' out comes Jack into the Red Light ag'in. + </p> + <p> + "'I ain't aimin' to disturb you-alls none,' he says, 'but, gents, if + you-alls could close these games yere, an' shet up the store, I'll take it + as a personal favor. He can hear the click of the chips, an' it's too many + for him. Don't go away; jest close up an' sorter camp 'round quiet.' + </p> + <p> + "Which we-alls does as Jack says; closes the games, an' then sets 'round + in our chairs an' keeps quiet, a-waitin' for the infant to turn in. A + half-hour later Jack appears ag'in. + </p> + <p> + "'It ain't no use, gents,' he says, goin' back of the bar an' gettin' a + big drink; 'that child is onto us. He won't have it. You can gamble, he's + fixed it up with himse'f that he ain't goin' to sleep none to-night. I + allows it's 'cause he's among rank strangers, an' he figgers it's a good + safe play to lookout his game for himse'f.' + </p> + <p> + "'I wonder couldn't we sing him to sleep,' says Cherokee Hall. + </p> + <p> + "'Nothin' ag'in a try,' says Jack, some desp'rate, wipin' his lips after + the drink. + </p> + <p> + "'S'pose we-alls gives him "The Dyin' Ranger" an' "Sandy Land" for an hour + or so, an' see,' says Boggs. + </p> + <p> + "In we trails. Cherokee lines up on one side of the infant, an' Jack on + t'other; an' the rest of us takes chairs an' camps 'round, We starts in + an' shore sings him all we knows; an' we keeps it up for hours. All the + time, that child is a-settin' thar, a-battin' his eyes an' a-starin', + sleepless as owls. The last I remembers is Boggs's voice on 'Sandy Land' + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"'Great big taters on sandy land, + Get thar, Eli, if you can.' +</pre> + <p> + "The next thing I'm aware of, thar's a whoop an' a yell outside. We- alls + wakes up—all except the infant, who's wide awake all along— + an' yere it is; four o'clock in the mornin', an' the mother has come. + Comes over on a speshul buckboard from the station where that old + inebriate, Monte, drove off an' left her. Well, son, everybody's plumb + willin' an' glad to see her. An' for that matter, splittin' even, so's the + infant." + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. THE MAN FROM YELLOWHOUSE. + </h2> + <p> + "That's straight, son; you shorely should have seen Jack Moore," continued + the Old Cattleman, after a brief pause, as he hitched his chair into a + comfortable position; "not seein' Jack is what any gent might call + deeprivation. + </p> + <p> + "Back in the old days," he went on, "Jack Moore, as I relates, is + kettle-tender an' does the rope work of the Stranglers. Whatever is the + Stranglers? Which you asks Borne late. I mentions this assembly a heap + frequent yeretofore. Well, some folks calls 'ern the 'vig'lance + committee'; but that's long for a name, so in Wolfville we allers allooded + to 'em as `Stranglers.' This yere is brief, an' likewise sheds some light. + </p> + <p> + "This Jack Moore—which I'm proud to say he's my friend—I + reckons is the most pro bono publico gent in the Southwest. He's out to do + anythin' from fight to fiddle at a dance, so's it's a public play. + </p> + <p> + "An' then his idees about his dooties is wide. He jest scouts far an' + near, an' don't pay no more heed to distance an' fatigue than a steer does + to cobwebs. + </p> + <p> + "'A offishul," says Jack, 'who don't diffuse himse'f 'round none, an' + confines his endeavors to his own bailiwick, is reestricted an' + oneffectooal, an' couldn't keep down crime in a village of prairie- dogs.' + An' then he'd cinch on his saddle, an' mebby go curvin' off as far north + as the Flint Hills, or east to the Turkey-track. + </p> + <p> + "That's right; when it comes to bein' active, Jack is what you might call + an all-round seelection. An' clean strain? Game as hornets. Never knowed + him to quit anythin' in his life—not even whiskey. I says to him + myse'f one time: 'Jack; whyever don't you renig on whiskey? Looks like + it's sorter gettin' behind you some, ain't it? Some day mebby it outholds + you when you can't stand to lose.' + </p> + <p> + "'Sometimes I thinks I'll pass it up, myse'f,' says Jack, 'but don't you + know, I can't do it. I'm too sperited, that a-way, an' chivalrous. That's + whatever! I'm too chivalrous.' An' I shore reckons he was. + </p> + <p> + "But as for doin' his dooty! Which the same is simply relaxation to Jack + Moore. I recalls one instance speshul. One day thar comes trailin' along + into Wolfville a party from down 'round Yallerhouse some'ers. This yere + Yallerhouse gent looks disperited an' off color as to health. But of + course we-alls don't refer none to it; for whether this stranger's sick or + well is his business, not ours; leastwise in its first stages. This yere's + before Doc Peets inhabits Wolfville or he'd informed us touchin' this + party's that a-way. + </p> + <p> + "Which the Yallerhouse gent tracks along into the Red Light, an' tells the + barkeep to set out the nose-paint. He drinks alone, not invitin' of the + pop'lace, whereby we knows for shore he's offen his feed. + </p> + <p> + "Well, after he corrals his forty drops, this invalid camps down in one + corner of the stage station, an' next mornin' he wakes up outen his head + an' plumb locoed. + </p> + <p> + "'This yere Yallerhouse man,' says Dan Boggs, comin' along into the Red + Light about first-drink time the same mornin', an' speakin' general, 'is + what conserv'tive opinion might call "some sick." I stops a minute ago an' + asks him how he's stackin' up like, but it ain't no use. He's plumb off + his mental reservation, an' crazy as a woman's watch.' + </p> + <p> + "'Whatever do you allow is the matter of him, Boggs?' asks Old Man + Enright. + </p> + <p> + "'Smallpox,' says Boggs, mighty confident. + </p> + <p> + "'Smallpox!' repeats Enright; 'be you shore?' + </p> + <p> + "'That's what I says,' answers Boggs; 'an' you can gamble my long suit is + pickin' out smallpox every time. I knows the signal smoke like my own + campfire.' + </p> + <p> + "'Well, see yere,' says Dave Tutt, who's come in, 'I jest now rounds up + them symptoms of this Yallerhouse gent; an' talkin' of smallpox, I offers + a hundred dollars even he ain't got no smallpox. Bein' out solely for + legit'mate sport,' continues Tutt, 'an' not aimin' to offend Boggs none, I + willin'ly calls it fifty to one hundred he ain't got nothin'.' + </p> + <p> + "'Which I takes both bets,' says Boggs, 'an' deems 'em easy. Which both is + like robbin' a bird's-nest. Yere's the circ'latin' medium. Thar; cover it + an' file it away with the barkeep to wait results.' So Tutt an' Boggs + makes their bets mighty eager, an' the barkeep holds the stakes. + </p> + <p> + "As soon as it gets blown through Wolfville this Yallerhouse party has + smallpox, everybody comes canterin' over to the Red Light, gets a drink, + an' wants to hold a mass meetin' over it. By partic'lar request Enright + takes the chair an' calls 'em to order. + </p> + <p> + "'This yere meetin',' says Enright, meanwhile beatin' with the butt of his + six-shooter on the poker-table, 'is some sudden an' permiscus; but the + objects is easy an' plain. We-alls convenes ourse'fs to consider the + physical condition of this party from Yallerhouse, which report says is + locoed an' can't talk none for himself. To make this inquiry a success, + we-alls oughter see this Yallerhouse gent; an' as thar is fewer of him + than of us, I app'ints Jack Moore, Dan Boggs, an' Short Creek Dave, a + committee, of three, to bring him before us in a body. Pendin' the return + of the committee the meetin' will take a drink with the chair.' + </p> + <p> + "In about no time back comes the outfit, packin' the Yallerhouse man all + easy enough in a blanket, an' spreads him out on the floor. He looks + sorter red 'round in spots, like somethin's been stingin' of him, but it's + evident, as Boggs says, he's locoed. He lays thar, rollin' his eyes an' + carryin' on to himse'f, but he don't address the chair or offer to take no + part in the meetin'. Enright quaffs his drink all slow an' dignified, an' + gazes at the Yallerhouse man on the floor. + </p> + <p> + "'Well, gents,' says Enright at last, settin' down his glass, an' givin' + the poker-table a little tap with his gun, 'yere's the party, an' the + question is now: "What's he got?" Do I hear any remarks?' + </p> + <p> + "'Bein' in the lines, Mister Pres'dent,' says Boggs, 'of previous + assertion, an' for the purpose of bringin' the question squar' before this + house, I now moves you this yere Yallerhouse party has the smallpox. I + ain't aimin' herein at playin' it low on Tutt, an' su'gests that the + chair, in puttin' the question, also informs the meetin' as to them + wagers; which the money tharof is now in the war- bags of the barkeep. I + believes in givin' every gent all necessary light wherein to make up his + mind; an', as I says, to open the game all logical, I ag'in moves this + Yallerhouse man has the smallpox.' + </p> + <p> + "'Yo tambien,' yells a Mexican over near the door. + </p> + <p> + "'Put that Greaser out!' shouts Enright, at the same time bangin' the + table. 'This ain't no international incident at all, an' nothin' but the + clean-strain American wolf is eligible to howl.' + </p> + <p> + "The Greaser goes out on his saddle-colored head, an' Enright puts Boggs's + motion. + </p> + <p> + "'Every gent,' says Enright, 'in favor of this Yallerhouse man havin' the + smallpox, say "Aye"; contrary "No."' + </p> + <p> + "Everybody shouts 'Aye!' + </p> + <p> + "'Which the "Ayes" has it unanimous,' says Enright. 'The Yallerhouse party + has the smallpox, an' the next chicken on the parliamentary roost is the + question: "Whatever is to be done to make this yere malady a success?" Is + thar any su'gestions?' + </p> + <p> + "'Mister Pres'dent,' says Texas Thompson, risin' in his place, 'I've done + took no hand in these proceedin's so far, through ignorance of the + purposes of this yere convocation. Said purposes bein' now for the first + time lined out all right in my mind, an' the question bein', "What's to be + done with our captive?" I asks your indulgence. My first idee is that our + dooty an' our path is plain; the same bein' simply to take a lariat an' + hang this Yallerhouse person to the dance-hall windmill; but this course, + on second thought, seems prematoor an' the offsprings of nacheral impulse. + Still, somethin' must be done; an' while my mind is by no means cl'ar, I + su'gests we turn the gent over to Jack Moore, which is the marshal hereof, + to ride herd on him till further orders; an' I makes a motion to that + effect.' + </p> + <p> + "'Seconds the motion!' says Short Creek Dave. + </p> + <p> + "'You don't have to put that motion, Mister Pres'dent,' says Jack; 'I've + been cirelin' the idee some myse'f, an' I reckons it's my dooty to take + charge of this Yallerhouse gent. You can bet anythin' which gets sawed + onto me as my dooty goes, an' don't make no doubt about it. Yere's how I + trails out on this: If it ain't my dooty to take care of this person, + whose dooty is it? 'Tain't nobody's. Tharfore I plays the hand.' + </p> + <p> + "'Which the same bein' eminent satisfactory,' says Dave Tutt, risin', as + if he thinks of somethin' speshul, 'I now inquires whether this yere is + held decisive of them bets I makes with Boggs. I holdin', meanwhile, + contrary views emphatic.' + </p> + <p> + "'This bein' a question of priv'lege,' says Enright, 'the chair will + answer it. These proceedin's decides your bets with Boggs, an' the barkeep + pays Boggs the dinero. This is a gov'ment of the people, for the people, + by the people, an' founded on a vox populi bluff. The voice of the + majority goes. You tharfore lose your bets to Boggs; drinks on Boggs, of + course. Thar is another matter,' continues Enright, 'a bet we overlooks. + Takin' care of this Yallerhouse gent will cost a stack or two, an' means + must be provided. I tharfore makes as an order that yereafter thar's to be + a rake on tens-up or better, showed, to make a fund to back this play; + said rake to go ontil Mister Moore reports said Yallerhouse gent as safe + or ceased to be.' + </p> + <p> + "Jack takes this Yallerhouse party over to the calaboose an' lays him away + on some blankets. The calaboose is dry, an' what you-alls might call, + commodious. It's a slam-up camp; yes indeed! Never has but Steve Stevenson + in it. Puts Steve in one night when he's dead- drunk. The calaboose is new + then, an' we-alls is that proud an' anxious to try it an' put it to some + use, we couldn't resist, so in Steve goes. + </p> + <p> + "About four hours later Steve comes back up to the Red Light, hotter'n a + burnt boot. Seems like he comes to, an' is that outraged an' indignant + about bein' corralled that a-way, he busts the corner outen the calaboose + an' issues forth a whole lot to find who does it. + </p> + <p> + "When he comes into the Red Light he revives himse'f with a drink, an' + then inquires whether it's humorous, or do we mean it? Seein' how speshul + low Steve takes it, we-alls allows it's a joke; an' Steve, while he + evident feels some fretted, concloods to let it go at that. + </p> + <p> + "But on account of the hole through which Steve emerges, an' which he + makes liberal an' big, the calaboose is a mighty commodious place. So Jack + beds down the Yallerhouse man all right an' starts in to bringin' him + through. The rest of us don't crowd 'round none to watch the play, don't hover + over it that a-way, 'cause we ain't aimin' to acquire nothin' ourse'fs. + </p> + <p> + "Jack has a heap of trouble an' worry. Never sees no smallpox do you? + Folks locoed most usual,—clean off up in the air an' pitchin' on + their ropes. Of course the Yallerhouse gent has all he needs. That rake on + tens-up them days would have took care of a fam'ly. But he keeps Jack + herdin' him all the time. Otherwise, not bein' watched, an' crazy that + a-way, he's liable to come stampedin' over to the Red Light, or some'ers + else, any time, an' skeer us up some. + </p> + <p> + "'He's a world-beater,' says Jack one day, when he comes over for a drink. + 'He's shorely four kings an' an ace. You can't ride him with + buckin'-straps an' a Spanish bit. It's got so now—his disease bein' + at a crisis like—that I simply has to be with this Yallerhouse party + day an' night. He'd shorely lay waste this camp if I didn't.' + </p> + <p> + "At last the Yallerhouse party an' Jack somehow beats the smallpox, but + Yallerhouse comes out shy an eye. The smallpox gouges it out one of them + times when Jack ain't lookin' out his game sharp. It's his pistol eye, + too; which makes him feel the loss more keen, an' creates general + sympathy. The Yallerhouse man gets some morose over it, which ain't, after + all, onnacheral. A gent ain't got so many eyes he can afford to go short + one on every little game he plays. So he finds fault with Jack a lot, an' + allows if he has him back in the States he'd sue him for neglect of dooty. + </p> + <p> + "'Which, I shorely likes that!' says Jack to the Yallerhouse party, + gettin' peevish over his fault-findin'. 'Don't you know it's merely owin' + to the mercy of hell an' my watchful care, you-all ain't bustin' your + harp-strings an' raisin' all round discord among the heavenly hosts on + high right now, instead of bein' safe an' well yere in Wolfville? You + don't act like a gent who saveys when he makes a winnin'. S'pose you be an + eye out; you're still lookin' at things terrestrial with the other. You + talks of gross neglect of dooty! Now let me inform you of somethin': You + come pesterin' 'round me some more an' I'll bend a gun over your head.' + </p> + <p> + "'Which if it ain't my six-shooter eye which's out,' says the Yallerhouse + party, mighty ugly, 'do you know what I'd do? Well, this yere would be the + basis of a first-class gun-play. You can gamble thar wouldn't be no + jim-crow marshal go pirootin' 'round, losin' no eye of mine an' gettin' + away with it, an' then talk of bendin' guns on me; none whatever.' + </p> + <p> + "But it all preys on Jack. An' a-seein' of this Yallerhouse gent 'round + camp a-lookin' at him in a fault-findin' way outen his one eye sorter + aggravates Jack like it's a nightmare. + </p> + <p> + "'I wouldn't mind it so much,' says Jack to me, confidential, 'if this + Yallerhouse gent quits a laig or an arm behind, 'cause in which event we + pieces him out with wood, easy. But about eyes, it's different. An eye out + is an eye out; an' that settles it.' + </p> + <p> + "One day Jack can't b'ar it no longer, an', resolvin' to end it, he walks + up to the Yallerhouse party in the Red Light, all brisk an' brief. + </p> + <p> + "'It's a rough deal on a one-eyed gent,' says Jack, 'an' I shore asks + pardon an' states regrets in advance. But things has got to a show-down. + I'm slowly becomin' onfit for public dooty. Now yere's an offer, an' you + can have either end. You-all can get a hoss an' a hundred dollars of me, + an' pull your freight; or you can fix yourse'f with a gun an' have a + mighty stirrin' an' eventful time with me right yere. As an outcome of the + last, the public will have one of us to plant, an' mebby a vacancy to fill + in the post of kettle-tender. Which is it, an' what do you say?' + </p> + <p> + "'What for a hoss is she?' asked the Yallerhouse party. + </p> + <p> + "'Which she's a pinto,' says Jack; 'as excellent a paint pony as ever is + roped.' + </p> + <p> + "'Does this yere threat you-all makes incloode a saddle an' spurs?' asks + the Yallerhouse party. + </p> + <p> + "'It shorely does,' replies Jack. 'Is it a go?' + </p> + <p> + "'Well,' says the Yallerhouse man, after ponderin' it up one way an' down + the other, 'this idee of settlin' for eyes for a hoss an' a hundred + dollars is far from bein' usual with me. If I has my eye ag'in, I'd + shorely stay an' shoot it out, an' admire to be present. But now sech + thoughts is vanity. So round up your money an' your pony at the Red Light + in fifteen minutes by the watch, an' as soon as I gets a bottle filled I'm + ready to go. I shorely should not regret leavin' an' outfit which puts + folks in jail for bein' sick, an' connives by reckless an' criminal + neglect of dooty at their bein' blinded for life.'" + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. JACKS UP ON EIGHTS. + </h2> + <p> + "No; you can hazard your wealth a lot, thar's no sooperstition lurkin' + 'round in me or my environs; none whatever. I attaches no importance to + what you-all calls omens." + </p> + <p> + Somebody had undertaken a disquisition on dreams, and attempted to cite + instances where the future had been indicated in these hazy visions of our + sleep. This had served to turn the Old Cattleman's train of thought upon + the weird. + </p> + <p> + "Thar's signs, of course, to which I'd shorely bow, not to say pay + absorbin' heed. If some gent with whom I chooses to differ touchin' some + matter that's a heap relevant at the time, ups an' reaches for his gun + abrupt, it fills me full of preemonitions that the near future is mighty + liable to become loaded with lead an' interest for me. Now thar's an omen + I don't discount. But after all I ain't consentin' to call them + apprehensions of mine the froot of no sooperstition, neither. I'm merely + chary; that's all. + </p> + <p> + "It's Cherokee Hall who is what I onhesitatin'ly describes as + sooperstitious. Cherokee is afflicted by more signs an' omens in carryin' + on his business than an almanac. It's a way kyardsharps gets into, I + reckons; sorter grows outen their trade. Leastwise I never creeps up on + one yet who ain't bein' guided by all sorts of miracles an' warnin's that + a-way. An' sometimes it does look like they acquires a p'inter that comes + to 'em on straight lines. As 'llustratin' this yere last, it returns to me + some vivid how Cherokee an' Boggs gets to prophesyin' one day, an' how + they calls off the play between 'em so plumb c'rrect that a-way, it's more + than amazin'; it's sinister. + </p> + <p> + "It's a hot August day, this occasion I has in mind, an' while not + possessin' one of them heat-gauges to say ackerate, I'm allowin' it's + ridin' hard on sech weather as this. A band of us is at the post-office + a-wrastlin' our letters, when in trails Cherokee Hall lookin' some moody, + an' sets himse'f down on a box. + </p> + <p> + "'Which you-all no doubt allows you'll take some missives yourse'f this + mornin',' says Doc Peets, a-noticin' of his gloom, an' aimin' to p'int his + idees up some other trail. Doc, himse'f, is feelin' some gala. 'Pass over + them documents for Cherokee Hall, an' don't hold out nothin' onto us. + We-alls is 'way too peevish to stand any offishul gaieties to-day.' + </p> + <p> + "'Thar's no one weak-minded 'nough to write to me none,' says Cherokee. + `Which I remarks this yere phenomenon with pleasure. Mail- bags packs more + grief than joy, an' I ain't honin' for no hand in the game whatever. It's + fifteen years since I buys a stamp or gets a letter, an' all thirst + tharfor is assuaged complete.' + </p> + <p> + "'Fifteen years is shore a long time,' says Enright, sorter to himse'f, + an' then we-alls hops into our letters ag'in. Finally Cherokee breaks in + once more. + </p> + <p> + "` I ain't aimin' to invest Wolfville in no sooperstitious fears,' says + Cherokee, 'an' I merely chronicles as a current event how I was settin' + into a little poker last night, an' three times straight I picks up "the + hand the dead man held," jacks up on eights, an' it wins every time.' + </p> + <p> + "`Who lose to it?' asks Dan Boggs. + </p> + <p> + "'Why,' says Cherokee, 'it's every time that old longhorn as comes in from + Tucson back some two weeks ago.' + </p> + <p> + "'That settles it,' says Boggs, mighty decided. 'You can bet your saddle + an' throw the pony in, Death is fixin' his sights for him right now. It's + shorely a warnin', an' I'm plumb glad it ain't none of the boys; that's + all.' + </p> + <p> + "You see this yere stranger who Cherokee alloods at comes over from Tucson + a little while before. He has long white ha'r an' beard, an', jedgin' from + the rings on his horns, he's mebby a-comin' sixty. He seems like he's + plenty of money, an' we takes it he's all right. His leavin' Tucson shows + he has sense, so we cashes him in at his figger. Of course we-alls never + asks his name none, as askin' names an' lookin' at the brands on a pony is + speshul roode in the West, an' shows your bringin' up; but he allows he's + called 'Old Bill Gentry ' to the boys, an' he an' Faro Nell's partic'lar + friendly. + </p> + <p> + "'Talkin' to him,' says Nell, ' is like layin' in the shade. He knows + everythin', too; all about books an' things all over the world. He was + a-tellin' me, too, as how he had a daughter like me that died 'way back + some'ers about when I was a yearlin'. He feels a heap bad about it yet, + an' I gets so sorry for him; so old an' white-ha'red.' + </p> + <p> + "'An' you can gamble,' says Dave Tutt, 'if Nell likes him, he's all + right.' + </p> + <p> + "'If Nell likes him, that makes him all right,' says Cherokee. + </p> + <p> + "We-alls is still talkin' an' readin over our mail in the post- office, + when all at once we hears Jack Moore outside. + </p> + <p> + "'What's this yere literatoor as affronts my eyes, pasted onto the outside + of Uncle Sam's wickeyup?' says Jack, mighty truculent. We. alls goes out, + an' thar, shore-'nough, is a notice offerin' fifteen hundred dollars + reward for some sharp who's been a-standin' up the stage over towards + Prescott. + </p> + <p> + "'Whoever tacks this up? I wonder,' says Enright. `It never is yere ten + minutes ago.' + </p> + <p> + "'Well, jest you-all hover 'round an' watch the glory of its comin' down,' + says Jack, a-cuttin' of it loose with his bowie, an' tearin' it up. 'I + yerewith furnishes the information cold, this camp of Wolfville knows its + business an' don't have to be notified of nothin'. This yere outfit has a + vig'lance committee all reg'lar, which I'm kettle-tender tharfor, an' when + it comes nacheral to announce some notice to the public, you-alls will + perceive me a- pervadin' of the scenery on a hoss an' promulgatin' of said + notice viver voce. Am I right, Enright?' + </p> + <p> + "'Right as preachin', Jack,' says Enright. 'You speaks trooth like a + runnin' brook.' + </p> + <p> + "'But whoever sticks that notice?—that's the information I pants + for,' says Boggs, pickin' up an' readin' of the piece. "'I reckons I posts + that notice some myse'f,' says a big, squar'-built gent we- alls don't + know, an' who comes in the other mornin' with Old Monte on the stage. As + he says this he's sa'nterin' about the suburbs of the crowd, listenin' to + the talk. + </p> + <p> + "'Well, don't do it no more, partner,' says Jack, mighty grave. 'As a + commoonity Wolfville's no doubt 'way wrong, but we-alls has our prides an' + our own pecooliar little notions, that a-way, about what looks good; so, + after now, don't alter the landscape none 'round yere till you c'lects our + views.' + </p> + <p> + "'I'm offerin' even money, postin' notices don't hurt this yere camp a + little bit,' says the stranger. + </p> + <p> + "'Comin' right to cases,' says Enright, 'it don't hurt none, but it grates + a whole lot. The idee of a mere stranger a-strollin' in an' a-pastin' up + of notices, like he's standin' a pat hand on what he knows an' we not in + it, is a heap onpleasant. So don't do it no more.' + </p> + <p> + "'Which I don't aim to do it no more,' says the squar'-built gent, 'but I + still clings to my idee that notices ain't no set-back to this camp.' + </p> + <p> + "'The same bein' a mere theery,' says Doc Peets, 'personal to yourse'f, I + holds it would be onp'lite to discuss it; so let's all wheel onder cover + for a drink.' + </p> + <p> + "At this we-alls lines up on the Red Light bar an' nacherally drinks ends + the talk, as they allers ought. + </p> + <p> + "Along towards sundown we-alls gets some cooler, an' by second-drink time + in the evenin' every one is movin' about, an', as it happens, quite a band + is in the Red Light; some drinkin' an' exchangin' of views, an' some + buckin' the various games which is goin' wide open all 'round. Cherokee's + settin' behind his box, an' Faro Nell is up at his shoulder on the lookout + stool. The game's goin' plenty lively when along comes Old Gentry. + Cherokee takes a glance at him an' seems worried a little, reflectin', no + doubt, of them 'hands the dead man held,' but he goes on dealin' without a + word. + </p> + <p> + "'Where's you-all done been all day?' says Nell to the old man. 'I ain't + seen you none whatever since yesterday.' + </p> + <p> + "'Why, I gets tired an' done up a lot, settin ag'inst Cherokee last + night,' says the old man, 'an' so I prowls down in my blankets an' sleeps + some till about an hour ago.' + </p> + <p> + "The old man buys a stack of blues an' sets 'em on the ten. It's jest then + in comes the squar'-built gent, who's been postin' of the notice former, + an' p'ints a six-shooter at Gentry an' says + </p> + <p> + "'Put your hands up! put 'em up quick or I'll drill you! Old as you be, I + don't take no chances.' + </p> + <p> + "'At the first word Nell comes off her stool like a small landslide, while + Cherokee brings a gun into play on the instant. The old man's up even with + the proceedin's, too; an' stands thar, his gun in his hand, his eyes + a-glitterin' an' his white beard a-curlin' like a cat's. He's clean + strain. + </p> + <p> + "'Let me get a word in, gents,' says Cherokee, plenty ca'm, 'an' don't no + one set in his stack on. less he's got a hand. I does business yere my + way, an' I'm due to down the first hold-up who shoots across any layout of + mine. Don't make no mistake, or the next census'll be shy, shore.' + </p> + <p> + "'What be you-alls aimin' to cel'brate anyhow?' says Jack Moore, gettin' + the squar'-built gent's gun while Boggs corrals Gentry's. ' Who's + Wolfville entertainin' yere, I'd like for to know?' + </p> + <p> + "'I'm a Wells-Fargo detective,' says the squar'-built gent, 'an' this + yere,' p'intin' to Old Gentry, 'is Jim Yates, the biggest hold- up an' + stage-robber between hell an' 'Frisco. That old tarrapin'll stop a stage + like a young-one would a clock, merely to see what's into it. He's the + party I'm pastin' up the notice for this mornin." + </p> + <p> + "'He's a liar!' says the old man, a-gettin' uglier every minute. `Give us + our six-shooters an throw us loose, an' if I don't lance the roof of his + lyin' mouth with the front sight of my gun, I'll cash in for a hold-up or + whatever else you-alls says.' + </p> + <p> + "'What do you say, Enright?' says Jack. 'Let's give 'em their jewelry an' + let 'em lope. I've got money as says the Wells-Fargo bill-paster can't + take this old' Cimmaron a little bit.' + </p> + <p> + "'Which I trails in,' says Boggs, 'with a few chips on the same kyard.' + </p> + <p> + "'No,' says Enright, 'if this yere party's rustlin' the mails, we- alls + can't call his hand too quick. Wolfville's a straight camp an' don't back + no crim'nal plays; none whatever.' + </p> + <p> + "Enright tharupon calls a meetin' of the Stranglers, an' we-alls lines out + for the New York Store to talk it over. Before we done pow-wows two + minutes up comes Old Monte, with the stage, all dust an' cuss-words, an' + allows he's been stood up out by the cow springs six hours before, an' is + behind the mail-bag an' the Adams Company's box on the deal. We-alls looks + at Old Man Gentry, an' he shorely seems to cripple down. "'Gentry,' says + Peets, after Old Monte tells his adventures, 'I hears you tell Nell you + was sleepin' all day. S'pose you takes this yere committee to your budwer + an' exhibits to us how it looks some.' + </p> + <p> + "'The turn's ag'in me,' says the old man, 'an' I lose. I'll cut it short + for you-alls. I holds up that stage this afternoon myse'f.' + </p> + <p> + "'This yere's straight goods, I takes it,' says Enright, 'an' our dooty is + plain. Go over to the corral an' get a lariat, Jack.' + </p> + <p> + "'Don't let Enright hang the old man, Cherokee,' says Nell, beginnin' to + weep a whole lot. 'Please don't let 'em hang him.' + </p> + <p> + "'This holdin' a gun on your friends ain't no picnic,' whispers Cherokee + to Nell, an' flushin' up an' then turnin' pale, 'but your word goes with + me, Nell.' Then Cherokee thinks a minute. 'Now, this yere is the way we + does,' he says at last. 'I'll make 'em a long talk. You-all run over to + the corral an' bring the best hoss you sees saddled. I'll be talkin' when + you comes back, an' you creep up an' whisper to the old man to make a jump + for the pony while I covers the deal with my six-shooter. It's playin' it + low on Enright an' Doc Peets an' the rest, but I'll do it for you, Nell. + It all comes from them jacks up on eights.' + </p> + <p> + "With this, Cherokee tells Nell 'good-by,' an' squar's himse'f. He begins + to talk, an' Nell makes a quiet little break for the corral. + </p> + <p> + "But no hoss is ever needed. Cherokee don't talk a minute when Old Gentry + comes buckin' offen his chair in a 'pleptic fit. A 'pleptic fit is + permiscus an' tryin', an' when Old Gentry gets through an' comes to + himse'f, he's camped jest this side of the dead line. He can only whisper. + </p> + <p> + "'Come yere,' says he, motionin' to Cherokee. 'Thar's a stack of blues + where I sets 'em on the ten open, which you ain't turned for none yet: + Take all I has besides an' put with it. If it lose, it's yours; if it win, + give it to the little girl.' + </p> + <p> + "This is all Old Gentry says, an' he cashes in the very next second on the + list. + </p> + <p> + "Enright goes through'em, an' thar's over two thousand dollars in his + war-bags; an', obeyin' them last behests, we-alls goes over to the Red + Light an' puts it on the ten along of the stack of blues. It's over the + limit, but Cherokee proceeds with the deal, an' when it comes I'm blessed + if the ten ain't loser an' Cherokee gets it all. + </p> + <p> + "'But I won't win none ag'in a dead man; says Cherokee. An' he gives it to + Nell, who ain't sooperstitious. + </p> + <p> + "'Do you-alls b'ar in mind,' says Boggs, as we takes a drink later, 'how I + foresees this yere racket the minute I hears Cherokee a- tellin' about his + "Jacks up on eights"—the "hand the dead man holds?"'" + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. THE RIVAL DANCE-HALLS. + </h2> + <p> + It was sweet and cool after the rain, and the Old Cattleman and I, moved + by an admiration for the open air which was mutual, found ourselves + together on the porch. + </p> + <p> + As in part recompense for his reminiscences of the several days before, I + regaled my old friend with the history of a bank-failure, the details as + well as the causes of which were just then forcing themselves upon me in + the guise of business. + </p> + <p> + "The fact is," I said, as I came to the end of my story, "the fact is, the + true cause of this bank's downfall was a rivalry—what one might call + a business feud—which grew into being between it and a similar + institution which had opened as its neighbor. In the competition which + fell out they fairly cut each other's throat. They both failed." + </p> + <p> + "An' I takes it," remarked the Old Cattleman in comment, "one of these + yere trade dooels that a-way goes on vindictive an' remorseless, same as + if it's a personal fight between cow-folks over cattle." + </p> + <p> + "Quite right," I said. "Money is often more cruel than men; and a business + vendetta is frequently mere murder without the incident of blood. I don't + suppose the life of your Arizona town would show these trade wars. It + would take Eastern—that is, older—conditions, to provoke and + carry one on." + </p> + <p> + "No," replied the old gentleman, with an air of retrospection, "I don't + recall nothin' of the sort in Wolfville. We're too much in a huddle, + anyway; thar ain't room for no sech fracas, no how. Now the nearest + we-alls comes to anythin' of the kind is when the new dance- hall starts + that time. + </p> + <p> + "Which I reckons," continued the Old Cattle. man, as he began arranging a + smoke, "which I now reckons this yere is the only catyclism in trade + Wolfville suffers; the only time it comes to what you-all Eastern sports + would call a showdown in commerce. Of course thar's the laundry war, but + that's between females an' don't count. Females—while it's no sorter + doubt they's the noblest an' most exhilaratin' work of their Redeemer—is + nervous that a-way, an' due any time to let their ha'r down their backs, + emit a screech, an' claw an' lay for each other for luck. An', as I says, + if you confines the festivities to them females engaged, an' prevents the + men standin' in on the play, it's shore to wind up in sobs an' + forgiveness, an' tharfore it don't go. + </p> + <p> + "As I says, what I now relates is the only industrial trouble I recalls in + Wolfville. I allers remembers it, 'cause, bein' as how I knows the party + who's the aggravatin' cause tharof, it mortifies me the way he jumps into + camp an' carries on. + </p> + <p> + "When I sees him first is ages before, when I freights with eight mules + over the Old Fort Bascome trail from Vegas to the Panhandle. This sharp—which + he's a tenderfoot at the time, but plumb wolf by nacher-trails up to me in + the Early Rose Saloon in Vegas one day, an' allows he'd like to make a + deal an' go projectin' over into the Panhandle country with me for a trip. + "Freightin' that a-way three weeks alone on the trail is some harrowin' to + the sperits of a gent who loves company like me, so I agrees, an' no delay + to it. + </p> + <p> + "Which I'm yere to mention I regrets later I'm that easy I takes this + person along. Not that he turns hostile, but he's allers havin' + adventures, an' things keeps happenin' to him; an' final, I thinks he's + shorely dead an' gone complete—the same, as I afterward learns, + bein' error; an', takin' it up one trail an' down another, that trip + breaks me offen foolin' with shorthorns complete, an' I don't go near 'em + for years, more'n if they's stingin' lizards. + </p> + <p> + "Whatever does this yere maverick do to me? Well, nothin' much to me + personal; but he keeps a-breedin' of events which pesters me. + </p> + <p> + "We're out about four days when them mishaps begins. I camps over one sun + on the Concha to rest my mules. I'm loaded some heavy with six thousand + pounds in the lead, an' mebby four thousand pounds in the trail wagon; an' + I stops a day to give my stock a chance to roll an' breathe an' brace up. + My off-wheel mule—a reg'lar shave-tail— is bad med'cine. Which + he's not only eager to kick towerists an' others he takes a notion + ag'inst; but he's likewise what you-alls calls a kleptomaniac, an' is out + to steal an' sim'lar low-down plays. + </p> + <p> + "I warns this yere tenderfoot—his name's Smith, but I pulls on him + when conversin' as 'Colonel'—I warns this shorthorn not to fuss + 'round my Jerry mule, bein', as I states, a mule whose mood is ornery. + </p> + <p> + "'Don't go near him, Colonel,' says I; 'an' partic'lar don't go crowdin' + 'round to get no r'ar views of him. You-all has no idee of the radius of + that mule; what you might call his sweep. You never will till he's kicked + you once or twice, an' the information ain't worth no sech price. So I + don't reckon I'd fool with him, none whatever. + </p> + <p> + "'An' speshul, Colonel,' I goes on, for I shore aims to do my dooty by + him, 'don't lay nothin' 'round loose where this yere Jerry mule can grab + it off. I'm the last freighter on the Plains to go slanderin' an' + detractin' of a pore he'pless mule onless it's straight; but if you-all + takes to leavin' keepsakes an' mementoes layin' about casooal an' careless + that a-way, Jerry'll eat 'em; an' the first you saveys your keepsakes is + within Jerry's interior, an' thar you be. + </p> + <p> + "'The fact is, stranger, this Jerry mule's a thief,' I says. 'If he's a + human, Jerry would be lynched. But otherwise he's a sincere, earnest mule; + an up hill or at a quicksand crossin' Jerry goes into his collar like a + lion; so I forgives him bein' a thief an' allows it's a peccadillo." + </p> + <p> + "'Well, you bet!' says this tenderfoot Colonel, 'this yere Jerry better + not come no peccadillos on me.' + </p> + <p> + "'If you-all maintains about twenty feet,' I replies, 'between Jerry's + hind-Hocks an' you; an' if you keeps your bric-a-brac in your war-bags, + you an' Jerry'll get along like lambs. Now, I warns you, an' that's got to + do. If Jerry an' you gets tangled up yereafter you-all ain't goin' to + harbor no revenges ag'in him, nor make no ranikaboo plays to get even.' + </p> + <p> + "As I states, I'm camped on the Concha, an` the Colonel, who's allers out + to try experiments an' new deals, puts it up he'll go down to the river + an' take a swim. Tharupon he lines out for the water. + </p> + <p> + "Jerry's hangin' about camp—for he's sorter a pet mule—allowin' + mebby I submits a ham-rind or some sech delicacy to him to chew on; an' he + hears the Colonel su'gest he'll swim some. So when the Colonel p'ints for + the Concha, Jerry sa'nters along after, figgerin', mighty likely, as how + he'll pass the hour a-watchin' the Colonel swim. + </p> + <p> + "I'm busy on flapjacks at the time—which flapjacks is shore good + food—an' I don't observe nothln' of Jerry nor the Colonel neither. + They's away half an hour when I overhears ejac'lations, though I can't + make out no words. I don't have to get caught in no landslide to tumble to + a game, an' I'm aware at once that Jerry an' the Colonel has got their + destinies mixed. + </p> + <p> + "Nacherally, I goes over to the held of strife, aimin' to save Jerry, or + save the Colonel, whichever has the other down. When I bursts on the + scene, the Colonel starts for me, splutterin' an' makin' noises an' + p'intin' at Jerry, who stands thar with an air of innocence. The Colonel's + upper lip hangs down queer, like an ant- eater's, an' he can't talk. It's + all mighty amazin'. + </p> + <p> + "'What's all this toomult about?' I says. + </p> + <p> + "The short of the riot is this: The Colonel goes in for a swim, an' he + lays out his false teeth that a-way on a stone. When he comes for his + teeth they's shorely gone, an' thar stands Jerry puttin' it on he's + asleep. Them teeth is filed away in Jerry. + </p> + <p> + "Which the Colonel raves 'round frightful, an' wants to kill Jerry an' + amputate him, an' scout for the teeth. But I won't have it. I'm goin' to + need Jerry down further on the quicksand fords of the Canadian; an', as I + explains, them teeth is a wreck by now, an' no good if he get's 'em ag'in; + Jerry munchin' of his food powerful. + </p> + <p> + "After a while I rounds up the Colonel an' herds him back to camp. Jerry + has shore sawed off a sore affliction on that tenderfoot when he takes in + them teeth; I can see that. His lip hangs like a blacksmith's apron, an' + he can't talk a little bit; jest makes signs or motions, like he's Injun + or deef. + </p> + <p> + "It's mebby two weeks later when Jerry gets another shot at the Colonel. + It's the evenin' after the night Jerry sneaks into camp, soft-foot as a + coyote, noses open the grub-box, an' eats five bottles of whiskey; all we + has. We've pitched camp, an' I've hobbled this Jerry mule an' his mate—the + other wheeler—an' throwed 'em loose, an' is busy hobblin' my + nigh-swing mule, when trouble begins fomentin' between my tenderfoot an' + Jerry. + </p> + <p> + "The fact is it's done fomented. This Colonel, bein' some heated about + that whiskey, an' plumb sore on Jerry on account of them teeth, allows to + himse'f he'll take a trace-chain an' warp Jerry once for luck. + </p> + <p> + "If this yere tenderfoot had been free with me, an' invited me into his + confidence touchin' his designs, I'd took a lariat an' roped an' throwed + Jerry for him, an' tied the felon down, an' let the Colonel wallop him an + hour or so: but the Colonel's full of variety that a- way, or mebby he + thinks I'll side with Jerry. Anyhow, he selects a trace-chain, an', + without sayin' a word, dances all cautious towards his prey. Which this is + relaxation for Jerry. + </p> + <p> + [drawing of Jerry kicking the Colonel with caption: "That he'pless + shorthorn stops both heels.] + </p> + <p> + "While that Colonel tenderfoot is a rod away, Jerry turns his tail some + sudden in his direction, an' the next instant that he'pless shorthorn + stops both heels some'ers about the second button of his shirt. That + settles it; the Colonel's an invalid immediate. I shorely has a time with + him that night. + </p> + <p> + "The next day he can't walk, an' he can't ride in the wagon 'cause of the + jolts. It all touches my heart, an' at last I ups an' make a hammock outen + a Navajo blanket, which is good an' strong, an' swings the Colonel to the + reach of the trail wagon. + </p> + <p> + "It's mostly a good scheme. Where the ground's level the Colonel comes on + all right; but now an' then, when a wheel slumps into a rut, the Colonel + can't he'p none but smite the ground where he's the lowest, an' it all + draws groans an' laments from him a heap. + </p> + <p> + "One time, when the Colonel's agony makes him groan speshul strong, I sees + Jerry bat his eyes like he enjoys it; an' then Jerry mentions somethin' to + his mate over the chain. We're trottin' along the trail at the time, an', + bein' he's the nigh-wheeler—which is the saddle- mule of a team—I'm + ridin' Jerry's compadre, an' when I notes how Jerry is that joyous about + it I reaches across an' belts him some abrupt between the y'ears with the + butt of a shot-filled black- snake. It rather lets the whey outen Jerry's + glee, an' he don't get so much bliss from that tenderfoot's misfortunes as + he did. + </p> + <p> + "It goes along all right ontil I swings down to the crossin' of the + Canadian. It's about fourth-drink time in the afternoon, an' I'm allowin' + to ford the Canadian that evenin' an' camp on t'other side. The river is + high an' rapid from rain some'ers back on its head waters, an' it's wide + an' ugly. It ain't more'n four foot deep, but the bottom is quicksand, an' + that false, if I lets my wagons stop ten seconds anywhere between bank an' + bank, I'm goin' to be shy wagons at the close. I'll be lucky if I win out + the mules. It's shore a hard, swift crossin'. + </p> + <p> + "I swings down, as I says, to the river's aige with my mind filled up + about the rush I've got to make. It's go through on the run or bog down. + First I settles in my saddle, gives the outfit the word, an' then, pourin' + the whip into the two leaders, I sends the whole eight into the water on + the jump. The river is runnin' like a scared wolf, an' the little lead + mules hardly touches bottom. + </p> + <p> + "As the trail wagon takes the water, an' the two leaders is plumb in to + the y'ears, a howl develops to the r'ar. It's my pore tenderfoot in his + hammock onder the trail wagon. He shrieks as the water gets to him; an' it + all hits me like a bullet, for I plumb overlooks him, thinkin' of that + quicksand crossin'. + </p> + <p> + "It's shore too late now; I'm in, an' I can't stop. To make things more + complex, as the water cuts off the tenderfoot's yell like puffin' out a + candle, a little old black mule, which is my off- p'inter, loses his feet + an' goes down. I pours the leather into the team the harder, an' the + others soars into their collars an' drug my black p'inter with 'em; only + he's onder water. Of course I allows both the black p'inter an' the + Colonel's shorely due to drown a whole lot. + </p> + <p> + "We gets across, the seven other mules an' me; an' the second he's skated + out on the sand on his side, the drowned mule gets up an' sings as + triumphant as I ever hears. Swimmin' onder the river don't wear on him a + bit. + </p> + <p> + "Then I goes scoutin' for the Colonel, but he's vanished complete. + Nacherally, I takes him for a dead-an'-gone gent; an' figgers if some eddy + or counter-current don't get him, or he don't go aground on no sand-bar, + his fellow-men will fish him out some'ers between me an' New Orleans, an' + plant him an' hold services over him. + </p> + <p> + "Bein' as I can't be of no use where it's a clean-sweep play like this, I + dismisses the Colonel from my mind. After hobblin' an' throwin' loose my + team, I lugs out the grub-box all sorrowful an' goes into camp. + </p> + <p> + "Which I should allers have played the Colonel for dead, if it ain't that + years later he one day comes wanderin' into Wolfville. He ain't tender + now; he's as hard as moss-agates, an' as worthless. + </p> + <p> + "I renews my acquaintance with him, an' he tells how he gets outen the + Canadian that day; but beyond that we consoomes a drink or two together, I + rather passes him up. Thar's a heap about him I don't take to. + </p> + <p> + "The Colonel lays 'round Wolfville mebby it's a week, peerin' an' spyin' + about. He says he's lookin' for an openin'. An' I reckons he is, for at + the end of a week he slaps up a joint outen tent-cloth an' fence-boards, + an' opens a dance-hall squar' ag'inst Jim Hamilton's which is already + thar. + </p> + <p> + "This yere alone is likely to brood an' hatch trouble; but, as if takin' a + straight header into Hamilton's game ain't enough, this Colonel of mine + don't get no pianer; don't round-up no music of his own; but stands pat + an' pulls off reels, an' quadrilles, an' green- corn dances to Hamilton's + music goin' on next door. + </p> + <p> + "I'm through the Lincoln County war, an' has been romancin' about the + frontier for years; but I never tracks up on no sech outrage in my life as + this disgraceful Colonel openin' a hurdy-gurdy ag'in Hamilton's, an' + maverickin' his music that a-way, an' dancin' tharunto. + </p> + <p> + "It's the second night, an' Hamilton concloods he'll see about it some. He + comes into the Colonel's joint, ca'm an' considerate, an' gives it out + thar's goin' to be trouble if the Colonel don't close his game or play in + his own fiddlers. + </p> + <p> + "'Which if you-all don't close your game or hunt out your own music,' says + Hamilton, 'I'm mighty likely to get my six-shooter an' close it for you.' + </p> + <p> + "'See yere,' says my Colonel—which he's shore been learnin' since I + parts with him on the Canadian—'the first hold-up who comes foolin' + 'round to break up a baile of mine, I'll shorely make him hard to find. + What business you got fillin' up my place with your melodies? You rolls + your tunes in yere like you owns the ranch; an' then you comes curvin' + over an' talks of a gun-play 'cause, instead of layin' for you for that + you disturbs my peace with them harmonies, I'm that good-nachered I yields + the p'int an' dances to 'em. You-all pull your freight,' says the Colonel, + 'or I'll fill you full of lead.' + </p> + <p> + "This argument of the Colonel's dazzles Hamilton to that degree he don't + know whether he's got the high hand or not. He thinks a minute, an' then + p'ints over to the Red Light for Enright an' Doc Peets. As he leaves the + rival dance-hall, the Colonel, who's callin' off his dances, turns to the + quadrille, which is pausin pendin' the dispoote, an' shouts: + </p> + <p> + "'You bet I knows my business! Right hand to your partner; grand right an' + left!' + </p> + <p> + "When Hamilton turns away they's shore makin' things rock an' tremble; an' + all to the strains of 'The Arkansaw Traveller,' which is bein' evolved + next door at Hamilton's expense. + </p> + <p> + "Which somethin's goin' to pop; says Hamilton, mighty ugly to Enright an' + the rest of us, as he pours a drink into his neck. 'I allows in the + interests of peace that I canters over an' sees you- alls first. I ain't + out to shake up Wolfville, nor give Red Dog a chance to criticise us none + as a disorderly camp; but I asks you gents, as citizens an' members of the + vig'lance committee, whether I'm to stand an' let this yere sharp round-up + my music to hold his revels by, an' put it all over me nightly?' + </p> + <p> + "'I don't see no difference,' says Dan Boggs, 'between this convict + a-stealin' of Hamilton's music, than if he goes an' stands up Old Monte + an' the stage.' + </p> + <p> + "'The same bein' my idee exact,' says Texas Thompson. 'Yere's Hamilton + caterin' to this camp with a dance-hall. It's a public good thing. If a + gent's morose, an' his whiskey's slow placin' itse'f, he goes over to + Hamilton's hurdy-gurdy an' finds relaxation an' relief. Now yere comes + this stranger—an' I makes it fifty dollars even he's from + Massachusetts—an' what does he do? Never antes nor sticks in a white + chip, but purloins Hamilton's strains, an' pulls off his dances tharby. + It's plumb wrong, an' what this party needs is hangin'.' + </p> + <p> + "'Oh, I don't know,' says Cherokee Hall, who's in on the talk. 'Hamilton's + all right, an' a squar' man. All he wants is jestice. Now, while I deems + the conduct of this stranger low an' ornery; still, comin' down to the + turn, he's on his trail all right. As this sharp says: Who gives Hamilton + any license to go fillin' his hurdy- gurdy full of dance-music? S'pose + this gent would come caperin' over an' set in a stack ag'in Hamilton for + overloadin' his joint with pianer an' fiddle noises without his consent; + an' puttin' it up he's out to drag the camp if Hamilton don't cease? The + only way Hamilton gets 'round that kind of complaint is, he don't own them + walses an' quadrilles after they fetches loose from his fiddle; that they + ain't his quadrilles no more, an' he's not responsible after they + stampedes off into space.' + </p> + <p> + "'That's straight,' says Dave Tutt, 'you-alls can't run no brand on + melodies. A gent can't own no music after he cuts it loose that a- way. + The minute it leaves the bosoms of his fiddles, that's where he lets go. + After that it belongs to any gent to dance by, cry by, set by, or fight + by, as he deems meet an' pleasant at the time.' + </p> + <p> + "'What do you-alls say?' says Hamilton to Enright an' Peets. 'Does this + yere piece of oppression on a leadin' citizen, perpetrated by a rank + outsider, go? I shore waits for your reply with impatience, for I eetches + to go back an' shoot up this new hurdy-gurdy from now till sun-up.' + </p> + <p> + "Enright takes Doc Peets down by the end of the bar—an' thar's no + doubt about it, that Peets is the wisest longhorn west of the Missoury—an' + they has a deep consultation. We-alls is waitin'. some interested, to see + what they says. It's shore a fine p'int this Colonel's makin' to jestify + an' back his game. + </p> + <p> + "'Get a move on you, Enright!' at last says Dan Boggs, who is a hasty, + eager man, who likes action; 'get a move on you, you an' Peets, an' settle + this. You're queerin' the kyards an' delayin' the play.' + </p> + <p> + "'Well, gents,' says Enright at last, comin' back where we-alls is by the + door, 'Peets an' me sees no need decidin' on them questions about who owns + a tune after said tune has been played. But thar is a subject, that a-way, + which requires consideration; an' which most likely solves this dance-hall + deadlock. In all trade matters in a growin' camp like Wolfville, it's + better to preserve a equilibrium. It's ag'in public interest to have two + or three dance-halls, or two or three saloons, all in a bunch that a-way. + It's better they be spraddled 'round wide apart, which is more convenient. + So Peets an' me proposes as a roole for this yere camp that two + hurdy-gurdies be forbid to be carried on within five hundred feet of each + other. As it looks like nobody objects, we concloods it's adopted. + Nacherally, the last hurdy-gurdy up has to move, which disposes of this + yere trouble.' + </p> + <p> + "'Before I ends what I has to say,' goes on Enright, 'I wants to thank our + townsman, Mister Hamilton, for consultin' of the Stranglers prior to a + killin'. It shows he's a law-abidin' gent an' a credit to the camp. An' + mighty likely he prolongs his stay on earth. If he'd pranced in an' + skelped this maraudin' stranger, I don't reckon we could avoid swingin' + him at the end of a lariat without makin' a dangerous preceedent. As it + is, his rival will be routed an' his life made sereen as yeretofore.' + </p> + <p> + "'As to the execution of this new roole,' concloods Enright, 'we leaves + that to Jack Moore. He will wait on this party an' explain the play. He + must up stakes an' move his camp; an' if he calls on another shindig after + he's warned, we-alls takes our ponies an' our ropes an' yanks his outfit + up by the roots. A gent of his enterprise, however, will come to a dead + halt; an' his persecutions of Hamilton will cease.' + </p> + <p> + "'An' you-all calls this yere a free American outfit!' says my Colonel, + mighty scornful, when Jack Moore notifies him. 'If I don't line out for + t'other end of camp you-alls is allowin' to rope my joint an' pull it + down! Well, that lets me out; I quits you. I'd be shorely degraded to put + in my time with any sech low-flung passel of sports. You-all may go back + an' tell your folks that as you leaves you hears me give the call to my + guests, "All promenade to the bar"; an' the dancin' is done. To-morrow I + departs for Red Dog to begin life anew. Wolfville is too slow a camp for + any gent with any swiftness to him.'" + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. SLIM JIM'S SISTER. + </h2> + <p> + "Which thar's folks in this caravansary I don't like none," remarked the + Old Cattleman, as I joined him one afternoon on the lawn. His tone was as + of one half sullen, half hurt, and as he jerked his thumb toward the hotel + behind us, it was a gesture full of scorn. "Thar's folks thar, takin' 'em + up an' down, horns, hide, tallow, an' beef, who ain't worth heatin' a + runnin'-iron to brand." + </p> + <p> + "What's the trouble?" I inquired, as I organized for comfort with my back + against the elm-tree which shadowed us. + </p> + <p> + "No trouble at all," replied my old friend sourly, "leastwise nothin' + poignant. It's that yoothful party in the black surtoot who comes + pesterin' me a moment ago about the West bein', as he says, a roode an' + irreligious outfit." + </p> + <p> + "He's a young preacher," I explained. "Possibly he was moved by an anxiety + touching your soul's welfare." + </p> + <p> + "Well, if he's out to save souls," retorted the old gentleman, "he oughter + whirl a bigger loop. No, no, he won't do,"he continued, shaking his head + with an air of mournful yet resentful decision, "this yere gent's too + narrow; which his head is built too much the shape of a quail-trap. He may + do to chase jack-rabbits an' sech, but he's a size too small for game like + me. Save souls, says you! Why, if that onp'lite young person was to meet a + soul like mine comin' up the trail, he'd shorely omit what to do entire; + he'd be that stampeded. He'd be some hard to locate, I takes it, after he + meets up with a soul like mine a whole lot." + </p> + <p> + The Old Cattleman made this proclamation rather to himself than me, but I + could detect an air of pride. Then he went on: + </p> + <p> + "'This yere West you emanates from,' says this young preacher-sharp to me + that a-way, 'this yere West you hails from is roode, an' don't yield none + to religious inflooences.' + </p> + <p> + "'Well,' I says back to him, fillin' my pipe at the same time, 'I reckons + you shorely can c'llect more with a gun than a contreebution box in the + West, if that's what you-all is aimin' at. But if you figgers we don't + make our own little religious breaks out in Arizona, stranger, you figgers + a heap wrong. You oughter have heard Short Creek Dave that time when he + turns 'vangelist an' prances into the warehouse back of the New York + Store, an' shows Wolfville she's shore h'ar-hung an' breeze-shaken over + hell that a-way. Short Creek has the camp all spraddled out before he + turns his deal-box up an' closes his game.' + </p> + <p> + "'But this yere Short Creek Dave,' he remonstrates to me, 'ain't no + reg'lar licensed divine. He ain't workin' in conjunctions with no shore + 'nough' sociation, I takes it. This Short Creek person is most likely one + of them irrelevant exhortin' folks, an' that makes a difference. He don't + belong to no reg'lar denom'nation.' + </p> + <p> + "'That's troo, too,' I says. 'Short Creek ain't workin' with no reg'lar + religious round-up; he's sorter runnin' a floatin' outfit, criss-crossin' + the range, prowlin' for mavericks an' strays on his own game. But what of + that? He's shorely tyin' 'em down an' brandin' 'em right along.' + </p> + <p> + "'Oh, I don't dispoote none the efficacy of your friend's work that + a-way,' replies the young preacher-sharp, 'but it's irreg'lar; it's plumb + out of line. Now what you-alls needs in the West is real churches, same as + we-alls has in the East.' + </p> + <p> + "`I ain't none shore of that.' I says, 'an' I'm gettin' a little warm + onder the collar some with them frills he puts on; 'I ain't none shore. + The East needn't deem itse'f the only king in the deck; none whatever. The + West can afford the usual rooles an' let all bets go as they lays, an' + still get up winner on the deal. I takes it you-alls never notes the West + sendin' East for he'p?' + </p> + <p> + "'But that ain't the idee,' he urges. 'Churches that a-way is the right + thing. They molds a commoonity, churches does. You b'ars witness yourse'f + that where churches exists the commoonity is the most orderly an' fuller + of quietood an' peace.' + </p> + <p> + "'Not necessarily I don't,' I replies back, for I'm goin' to play my hand + out if it gets my last chip, 'not necessarily. What I b'ars witness to is + that where the commoonity is the most orderly that a- way an' fuller of + quietood an' peace, the churches exists.' + </p> + <p> + "'Which I'm shorely some afraid,' he says,—an' his looks shows he's + gettin' a horror of me,—'you belongs to a perverse generation. You- + all is vain of your own evil-doin'. Look at them murders that reddens the + West, an' then sit yere an' tell me it don't need no inflooences.' + </p> + <p> + "'Them ain't murders,' I answers; them's killin's. An' as for inflooenccs, + if you-all don't reckon the presence of a vig'lance committee in a camp + don't cause a gent to pause an' ponder none before he pulls his gun, you + dwells in ignorance. However, I'm yere to admit, I don't discern no sech + sin-encrusted play in a killin' when the parties breaks even at the start, + an' both gents is workin' to the same end unanimous. It does some folks a + heap of good to kill 'em a lot.' + </p> + <p> + "It's at this p'int the young preacher-sharp pulls his freight, an' I + observes, by the way he stacks me up with his eyes that a-way, he allows + mebby I'm locoed." + </p> + <p> + The Old Cattleman said no more for a moment, but puffed at his cob pipe in + thought and silence. I had no notion of involving myself in any combat of + morals or theology, so I did not invade his mood. At last I suggested in a + half-tone of inoffensive sympathy that the West was no doubt much + misunderstood. + </p> + <p> + "Life there," I remarked, "amid new and rough conditions must be full of + hardship and tragedy." + </p> + <p> + This vague arrow in the air had the effect of sending the old fellow off + at a tangent. His bent was evidently discursive, and all thoughts of his + late religious controversy seemed to pass from his mind. + </p> + <p> + "Full of hardship an' tragedy is your remark," he retorted, "an' I joins + you tharin. Take them disasters that pounces on Slim Jim. What happens in + the case of this yere Slim Jim tenderfoot," the old fellow continued as a + damp gleam of sympathy shone in his eye,"is both hardship an' tragedy. + Which of course thar's a mighty sight of difference. A hardship a gent + lives through; but it's a tragedy when his light's put out. An' as Slim + Jim don't live through this none, it's nacherally a tragedy that a-way. + </p> + <p> + "I frequent sees bad luck to other folks, as well as comin' to me + personal, in the years I inhabits the grass country, but this was shorely + the toughest. It even overplays anythin' Rainbow Sam ever is ag'inst; an' + the hard luck of Rainbow Sam is a proverb of Arizona. + </p> + <p> + "'Which I reckons I was foaled with a copper on me,' says this Rainbow Sam + to Enright one day. 'In all my born days I never makes a killin'—never + gets up winner once. I was foaled a loser, an' I'll keep a-losin' ontil + this yere malady—which it's consumption-which has me in charge + delivers me to the angels an' gets its receipt.' + </p> + <p> + "It's a mockery what transpires touchin' this Rainbow Sam. Jest as he + states, the consumption's got him treed an' out on a limb. Doc Peets says, + himse'f, nothin' can he'p him; an' when Peets quits a little thing like + consumption an' shoves his chair back, you-alls can gamble a gent's + health, that a-way, is on a dead kyard. + </p> + <p> + "I recalls how Rainbow Sam dies; which he rides out into eternity easy an' + painless. We-alls is into a poker-game nne night-that is, five of us—when + Doc Peets is called away. + </p> + <p> + "'See yere, Rainbow,' says Peets to Rainbow Sam, who's penniless an' + tharfore lookin' on; 'you never has a morsel of luck in your life. Now, + yere: You play my hand an' chips awhile. I'm on velvet for three hundred + an' fifty, an' I'd as soon you'd lose it into the game as any sport I + knows. An' to rouse your moral nacher I wants to tell you, whatever you + rakes in you keeps. Now thar's luck at the jump; you can't lose an' you + may win, so set in yere. Napoleon never has half the show.' + </p> + <p> + "Peets goes away for an hour about somethin', an' Rainbow Sam takes his + seat; an', merely to show how one gent outlucks another, while Peets has + had the luck of dogs it's that profuse an' good, it looks like the best + Rainbow can get is an even break. For half an hour he wins an' he loses + about equal; an' he's shore tryin' hard to win, too. + </p> + <p> + "'If I takes in a couple of hundred or so,' says this Rainbow to me, 'I + allows I'll visit my folks in the States once for luck.' + </p> + <p> + "But he never visits them folks he adverts to. It's on Boggs's deal, an' + he's throwin' the kyards 'round when Rainbow's took bad. His consumption + sorter mutinies onto him all at once. He's got the seat on the left of + Boggs, too,—got the age. + </p> + <p> + "'Play my hand,' he says to Hamilton, who's stepped in from the + dance-hall; 'play my hand, Jim, till I feels a little better. I'll be all + right in a moment. Barkeep, deal me some whiskey.' + </p> + <p> + "So Rainbow walks over to the bar, an' Hamilton picks up his kyards. I + notes that Rainbow steps off that time some tottersome; but he's so plumb + weak that a-way, cats is robust to him; an' so I deems nothin' tharof. I'm + skinnin' my kyards a bit interested anyhow, bein' in the hole myse'f. + </p> + <p> + "Everybody comes in this deal, an' when the chips is in the center— + this yere's before the draw—Hamilton, speakin' up for Rainbow, says: + </p> + <p> + "'These yere's Doc Peets's chips anyhow?' + </p> + <p> + "'Which they shorely be,' says Boggs, 'so play 'em merciless, 'cause Peets + is rich.' + </p> + <p> + "'That's what I asks for,' says Hamilton, 'for I don't aim to make no + mistakes with pore Rainbow's money.' + </p> + <p> + "'That's all right,' says Boggs, 'dump 'em in. If you-all lose, it's + Peets's; if you win, it's Rainbow's.' + </p> + <p> + "'Play 'em game an' liberal, Old Man,' says Rainbow over by the bar,—an' + it strikes me at the time his tones is weak an' queer; but bein' as I jest + then notes a third queen in my hand, I don't have no chance to dwell on + the fact. 'Play 'em game an' free,' says Rainbow ag'in. 'Free as the + waters of life. Win or lose, she's all the same a hundred year from now.' + </p> + <p> + "Hamilton takes another look an' then raises the ante a hundred dollars. + This yere is table stakes; this game was; an' the stakes is five hundred. + </p> + <p> + "'Which I plays this,' says Hamilton, as he comes up with the hundred + raise, 'the same as I would for myse'f, which the same means plenteous an' + free as a king.' + </p> + <p> + "Thar's three of us who stays, one of the same bein' me. I allers recalls + it easy, 'cause it frost-bites my three queens for over three hundred + dollars before the excitement dies away. Boggs, who's so vociferous recent + about Hamilton playin' wide open, stays out; not havin' as good as + nine-high. + </p> + <p> + "On the draw Hamilton allows Rainbow's hand needs one kyard, an' he gets + it. I takes one also; the same bein' futile, so far as he'pin' my hand + goes; an' the others takes kyards various. + </p> + <p> + "Thar's only one raise, an' that's when it gets to Hamilton. He sets in a + little over two hundred dollars, bein' the balance of the stake; an' two + of us is feeble-minded enough to call. What does he have? Well, it's ample + for our ondoin' that a-way. It's a straight flush of diamonds; jack at the + head of the class. It shorely carries off the pot like it's a whirlwind. + As near as I can measure, Hamilton claws off with about six hundred + dollars for Rainbow on that one hand. + </p> + <p> + "'Yere you be, Rainbow!' shouts Boggs. 'Come a-runnin'! It's now you + visits them relations; you makes a killin' at last.' + </p> + <p> + "It turns out some late for Rainbow though. Thar's no reply to Boggs's + talk, an' when we-alls goes over to him where he's set down by the end of + the bar thar, with his arm on a monte-table, an' his chin on his shirt, + Rainbow Sam is dead. + </p> + <p> + "'Which I regrets,' says Doc Peets when he returns, 'that Rainbow don't + stay long enough to onderstand how luck sets his way at last. It most + likely comforts him an' makes his goin' out more cheerful.' + </p> + <p> + "'It's a good sign, though,' says Cherokee Hall, 'that straight flush is. + Which it shows Rainbow strikes a streak of luck; an' mebby it lasts long + enough to get him by the gates above all right. That's all I asks when my + time comes; that I dies when I'm commencin' a run of luck.' + </p> + <p> + "Oh! about this Slim Jim tenderfoot an' his tragedy! Do you know I plumb + overlooks him. I gets trailed off that a-way after pore old Rainbow Sam, + an' Slim Jim escapes my mem'ry complete. + </p> + <p> + "Which the story of this gent, even the little we-alls knows, is a heap + onusual. No one, onless he's the postmaster, ever does hear his name. He + sorter ha'nts about Red Dog an' Wolfville indiscriminate for mighty nigh a + year; an' they calls him 'Slim Jim' with us, an' 'The Tenderfoot' in Red + Dog; but, as I says, what's his real name never does poke up its head. + </p> + <p> + "Whatever brings this yere Slim Jim into the cow country is too boggy a + crossin' for me. Thar ain't a thing he can do or learn to. We-alls has him + on one round-up, an' it's cl'ar from the jump he ain't meant by Providence + for the cattle business. The meekest bronco in the bunch bucks him off; + an' actooally he's that timid he's plumb afraid of ponies an' cattle both. + </p> + <p> + "We-alls fixes Slim Jim's saddle with buckin'-straps; an' even fastens a + roll of blankets across the saddle-horn; but it ain't enough. Nothin' bar + tyin' Slim Jim into the saddle, like the hoss- back Injuns does to + papooses, could save him. + </p> + <p> + "An' aside from nacheral awk'ardness an' a light an' fitful seat in a + saddle, it looks like this Slim Jim has baleful effects on a bronco. To + show you: One mornin' we ropes up for him a pony which has renown for its + low sperits. It acts, this yere pony does, like it's suffered some + disapp'intment which blights it an' breaks its heart; an' no amount of + tightenin' of the back cinch; not even spurrin' of it in the shoulder an' + neck like playful people who's out for a circus does, is ever known to + evolve a buck-jump outen him, he's that sad. Which this is so well known, + the pony's name is 'Remorse.' + </p> + <p> + "As I says, merely to show the malignant spell this yere Slim Jim casts + over a bronco, we-alls throws him onto this Remorse pony one mornin'. + </p> + <p> + "'Which if you can't get along with that cayouse,' remarks Jack Moore at + the time, 'I reckons it's foreordained you-all has to go afoot.' + </p> + <p> + "An' that's how it turns out. No sooner is Slim Jim in the saddle than + that Remorse pony arches his back like a hoop, sticks his nose between his + knees, an' gives way to sech a fit of real old worm- fence buckin' as + lands Slim Jim on his sombrero, an' makes expert ponies simply stand an' + admire. + </p> + <p> + "That's the last round-up Slim Jim attempts; workin' cattle he says + himse'f is too deep a game for him, an' he never does try no more. So he + hangs about Wolfville an' Red Dog alternate, turnin' little jim-crow + tricks for the express company, or he'pin' over to the stage company's + corrals, an' sorter manages to live. + </p> + <p> + "Now an' then some party who's busy drinkin', an' tharfore hasn't time for + faro, an' yet is desirous the same be played, stakes Slim Jim ag'inst the + game; an' it happens at times he makes a small pick- up that a-way. But + his means of livelihood is shorely what you-alls would call precar'ous. + </p> + <p> + "An' yet, as I sends my mind back over the trail, I never knows of nothin' + bad this yere Slim Jim does. You needn't go inferrin' none, from his + havin' a terror of steers an' broncos that a-way, that he's timid plumb + through. Thar's reason to deem him game when he's up ag'inst mere man. + </p> + <p> + "Once, so they tells the story, Curly Bill rounds up this Slim Jim in a + Red Dog hurdy-gurdy an' concloods to have some entertainment with him. + </p> + <p> + "'Dance, you shorthorn!' says this yere Curly Bill, yankin' out his + six-shooter an' p'intin' it mighty sudden at Slim Jim's foot; 'shuffle + somethin' right peart now, or you-all emerges shy a toe.' + </p> + <p> + "Does this Slim Jim dance? Never cavorts a step. At the first move he + swarms all over this Curly Bill like a wild-cat, makes him drop his gun, + an' sends him out of the hurdy-gurdy on a canter. That's straight; that's + the painful fact in the case of Curly Bill, who makes overgay with the + wrong gent. + </p> + <p> + "Later, mebby an hour, so the party says who relates it to me, Curly Bill + sends back word into the hurdy-gurdy, tellin' the barkeep, if his credit's + good after sech vicissitoodes, to treat the house. He allows the drinks is + on him, an' that a committee can find him settin' on the post office steps + sorter goin' over himse'f for fractures, if it's held necessary for him to + be present when the drinks is took. + </p> + <p> + "Which of course any gent's credit is good at the bar that a-way; an' so a + small delegation of three ropes up this yere Curly Bill an' brings him + back to the hurdy-gurdy, where he gets his gun ag'in, an' Slim Jim an' him + makes up. + </p> + <p> + "'Which I renounces all idee of ever seein' you dance some,' says Curly + Bill, when he an' Jim shakes; 'an' I yereby marks your moccasins plumb off + my list of targets.' + </p> + <p> + "Everybody's pleased at this; an' the barkeep is delighted speshul, as one + of them reeconciliations that a-way is mighty condoosive to the sale of + nose-paint. I'm yere to remark, if thar ain't no more reeconciliations on + earth, an' everybody stands pat on them hatreds an' enmities of his, + whiskey-drinkin' falls off half. + </p> + <p> + "I only su'gest this turn-up with Curly Bill to 'lustrate that it's about + as I says, an' that while Slim Jim's reluctant an' hesitatin' in the + presence of wild steers, an' can't adhere to a pony much, this yere + girlishness don't extend to men none; which last he faces prompt an' + willin' as a lion. + </p> + <p> + "Thar's times when I shorely ponders the case of this Slim Jim a mighty + sight, 'cause he keeps strikin' me as a good gent gone bad, an' as bein' + the right gent in the wrong place. + </p> + <p> + "'This pore maverick is plumb Eastern, that's all,' says Enright one day, + while he's discussin' of this Slim Jim. 'He ain't to blame, but he ain't + never goin' to do, none whatever, out yere. He can't no more get used to + Arizona than one of the Disciples, an' he might camp 'round for years.' + </p> + <p> + "It's mebby hard onto a year when along comes the beginnin' of the end as + far as this Slim Jim's concerned, only we-alls don't know it. The + postmaster says afterward he gets a letter; an' by what's found on the + remainder it looks like the postmaster's right, an' this letter sets him + goin' wrong. I allers allows, after he gets this missive, that he sees the + need of money that a-way an' plenty of it; an' that it's got to come + quick. + </p> + <p> + "Most likely he's been bluffin' some parties in the East about how rich he + is an' how lucrative he's doin',—sech bluffs bein' common in the + West,—an' now along comes events an' folks he's fooled, an' his + bluff is called. + </p> + <p> + "When it arrives, none of us knows of this yere letter the postmaster + mentions, an' which is later read by all; but it's about that time Slim + Jim acts queer an' locoed. He's flustered an' stampeded about somethin', + we-alls notes that; an' Dave Tutt even forgets himse'f as a gent so far as + to ask Slim Jim what's up. + </p> + <p> + "`Which you looks oneasy these autumn days,' says Tutt to Slim Jim. + 'What's wrong?' + </p> + <p> + "'Nothin',' says Slim Jim, lookin' a bit woozy, 'nothin' wrong. A friend + of mine is likely to show up yere; that's all.' + </p> + <p> + "'Which he has the air of a fugitive from jestice when he says it,' + observes Tutt, when he speaks of it after all's over; 'though jedgin' by + the party who's on his trail that time I don't reckon he's done nothin' + neither.' + </p> + <p> + "It's shorely the need of money drives this Slim Jim to turnin' + route-agent an' go holdin' up the stage, for the evenin' he quits camp he + says to Cherokee Hall: 'S'pose I asks you-all to lend me money, quite a + bundle, say, would you do it?' + </p> + <p> + "'I turns faro for my money,' says Cherokee; 'which I merely mentions it + to show I comes honestly by my roll. As to borrowin' of me, you-all or any + gent in hard lines can get my money by showin' he needs it worse than I + do; an' to encourage you I might say I don't need money much. So, go on + an' tell me the news about yourse'f, an' if it's as bad as the way you + looks, I reckons I'll have to stake you, even if it takes half my pile.' + Tharupon Cherokee urges Slim Jim to onfold his story. + </p> + <p> + "But Slim Jim gets shy an' won't talk or tell Cherokee what's pesterin' + him, or how much money he needs. + </p> + <p> + "'No,' he says, after thinkin' a little, 'I never begs a stake yet, an' I + never will. Anyhow I sees another way which is better.' + </p> + <p> + "Countin' noses afterwards, it's probably this talk with Cherokee is the + last Slim Jim has before he breaks over into the hills on the hunt for + money. He goes afoot, too; for he don't own no pony, an' he couldn't, as I + explains previous, stay on him if he does. + </p> + <p> + "But he fixes himse'f with a Winchester which he gets from the + stage-company people themse'fs on a talk he makes about takin' some + reecreation with the coyotes, an' p'ints straight over into Rawhide + Canyon,—mebby it's six miles from camp. When the stage gets along an + hour later, this Slim Jim's made himse'f a mask with a handkerchief, an' + is a full-fledged hold-up which any express company could be proud to + down. Old Monte relates what happens in the canyon, 'cause from where he's + stuck up on the box he gets a better view. + </p> + <p> + "'Yere's how this happens,' says Old Monte, while renooin' his yooth with + Red Light licker after he's got in. 'It's a little hazy in the canyon, + comin' evenin' that a-way, an' my eyes is watery with the shootin' goin' + on, an' I tharfore don't say I notes things none minoote; but as near as I + can, you gets the story. + </p> + <p> + "`Thar's only one passenger, an' she's a woman. Which for that matter + she's a beautiful girl, with eyes like a buck antelope's; but bein' she's + layin' over to the stage station defunct right now, along with this yere + Slim Jim, I don't dwell none on how she looks.' + </p> + <p> + "'When I pulls out from Tucson I has this yere young female inside; an' + the company puts two Wells-Fargo gyards on top of the coach, the same + bein' the first time in months. These Wells-Fargo parties ain't along for + hold-ups, but jest 'cause they has business over yere, an' so comes by + stage same as other gents. + </p> + <p> + "`It all goes smooth ontil I'm rattlin' along in Rawhide Canyon not + half-a-dozen miles from where we-alls is now drinkin' all free an' + amiable, like life's nothin' but sunshine. + </p> + <p> + "'The first p'inter I has that I'm up ag'inst it, bang! goes a Winchester, + an' throws my off leader dead ag'inst the trail. Thar's no goin' 'round + the dead hoss, an' bar the nacheral rarin' an' pitchin' of the other five + on beholdin' of the ontimely end of their companion that a-way, the whole + business comes to a dead stop. + </p> + <p> + "'"Hold up your hands!" says a voice up the rocks on one side. + </p> + <p> + "'My hands is already up, for I'm an old stage-driver, gents, an' you-alls + can gamble I knows my trade. I'm hired to drive. It ain't no part of my + game to fight hold-ups an' stand off route-agents that a-way, an' get shot + dead for it by their pards the next trip; so, as I says, the moment that + Winchester goes off, I clamps my fingers back of my head an' sets thar. Of + course I talks back at this hold- up a heap profane, for I don't aim to + have the name of allowin' any gent to rustle my stage an' me not cuss him + out. "'But these yere Wells-Fargo sharps, they never holds up their hands. + That's nacheral enough, for them gents is hired to fight, an' this + partic'lar trip thar's full six thousand dollars to go to war over. + </p> + <p> + "With the first shot the Wells-Fargo gents—they was game as goats + both of 'em—slides offen the coach an' takes to shootin'. The guns + is makin' a high old rattle of it, an' I'm hopin' the hold-up won't get to + over-shootin' an' drill me, when the first casooalty occurs. One of the + Wells-Fargo sports gets a bullet plumb through his frame, an' is dead an' + out in the crack of a whip. + </p> + <p> + "'It looks like the hold-up sees him tumble, for it's then he cuts loose a + whoop, jumps down onto the trail an' charges. He comes a- shootin', too, + an' the way the lead an' fire fetches forth from that Winchester he's + managin' shore reminds me of them Roman candles last July. + </p> + <p> + "'All this yere don't take ten seconds. An' it don't last ten seconds + more. As my hold-up comes chargin' an' shootin' towards the stage, I + overhears a scream inside, an' the next moment that young female passenger + opens the door an' comes scamperin' out. + </p> + <p> + "'If she tries she couldn't have selected no worse epock. She hits the + ground, an' the second she does—for I'm lookin' over at her at the + time—she stops one of that hold-up's bullets an' goes down with a + great cry. + </p> + <p> + "'It's on me, gents, at this p'int to take all resks an' go down an' + look-out the play for the girl. But I never gets a chance, an' it's as + well I don't; for towards the last the shootin' of the remainin' + Wells-Fargo person is reckless an' inordinate. It's plumb reedundant; that + shootin' is. But as I remarks, I never has no occasion to go to the girl; + for as I feels the impulse I hears the hold-up shout: + </p> + <p> + "'"God! it's Mary! It's my sister!" + </p> + <p> + "'Thar's a letter on him we finds later, which shows this statement about + my passenger bein' his sister is troo; an' that she's p'intin' out when + downed, now they's orphans—which the letter states their father's + jest cashed in—to come an' keep house for him. As the hold-up makes + this yere exclamation about the girl bein' his relative that a-way, his + Winchester goes a-rattlin' onto the trail an' he gathers her in his arms. + However, he don't last longer than a drink of whiskey now. He don't no + more'n lift her up, before even he kisses her, the remainin' Wells-Fargo + gent downs him, an' the riot's over complete. + </p> + <p> + "'Three killed an' none wounded is how results stacks up; an' after me an' + the live Wells-Fargo gent cl'ars the dead leader outen the trail, we-alls + lays out the remainders inside all peaceful, an' comes a-curvin' on to + Wolfville. It's then, as we puts 'em in the coach, I sees that my + hold-up's that onfortunate felon, Slim Jim. Which I was shorely + astonished. I says to the Wells-Fargo gent, as we looks at Slim Jim: + </p> + <p> + "'"Pard, the drinks is due from me on this. If I has a week to guess in, + I'd never said 'Slim Jim.'" + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. JAYBIRD BOB'S JOKE. + </h2> + <p> + "Whatever makes this yere jaybird Bob believe he's a humorist," said the + Old Cattleman one afternoon as we slowly returned from a walk, "whatever + it is misleads him to so deem himself is shorely too many for me. Doc + Peets tells him himse'f one day he's plumb wrong. + </p> + <p> + "'You-all's nacherally a somber, morose party,' says Doc Peets this time, + 'an' nothin' jocose or jocund about you. Your disp'sition, Jaybird, don't + no more run to jokes than a prairie-dog's." + </p> + <p> + "'Which I would admire to know why not?' says Jaybird Bob. + </p> + <p> + "'Well,' goes on Doc Peets, 'you thinks too slow—too much like a cow + in a swamp. Your mind moves sluggish that a-way, an' sorter sinks to the + hocks each step. If you was born to be funny your intellects would be + limber an' frivolous.' + </p> + <p> + "'Bein' all this is personal to me,' says Jaybird Bob, 'I takes leave to + regard you as wrong. My jokes is good, high-grade jokes; an' when you-all + talks of me bein' morose, it's a mere case of bluff.' An' so Jaybird goes + on a-holdin of himse'f funny ontil we- alls has him to bury. + </p> + <p> + "No; Jaybird ain't his shore-'nough name; it's jest a handle to his + 'dentity, so we-alls picks it up handy and easy. Jaybird's real name is + Graingerford,—Poindexter Graingerford. But the same is cumbersom an' + onwieldy a whole lot; so when he first trails into Wolfville we- alls + considers among ourse'fs an' settles it's a short cut to call him 'Jaybird + Bob,' that a-way. An' we does. + </p> + <p> + "It's on the spring round-up this yere Jaybird first develops that he + regards himse'f witty. It's in the morning as we-alls has saddled up an' + lines out to comb the range roundabout for cattle. Thar's a tenderfoot + along whose name is Todd, an', as he's canterin' off, Jaybird comes + a-curvin' up on his bronco an' reaches over an' tails this shorthorn's + pony. + </p> + <p> + "What's tailin' a pony? It's ridin' up from the r'ar an' takin' a + half-hitch on your saddle. horn with the tail of another gent's pony, an' + then spurrin' by an' swappin' ends with the whole outfit,- -gent, hoss, + an' all. + </p> + <p> + "It's really too toomultuous for a joke, an' mebby breaks the pony's neck, + mebby the rider's. But whether he saves his neck or no, the party whose + pony is thus tailed allers emergers tharfrom deshevelled an' wrought-up, + an' hotter than a wolf. So no one plays this yere joke much; not till he's + ready to get shot at. + </p> + <p> + "As I says, this Jaybird watches Todd as he rides off. Bein' new on the + range that a-way, Todd don't ride easy. A cow saddle ain't built like + these yere Eastern hulls, nohow. The stirrup is set two inches further + back for one thing, an' it's compiled a heap different other ways. Bein' + onused to cow saddles, an' for that matter cow ponies, this Todd lops over + for'ard an' beats with his elbows like he's a curlew or somethin' flyin', + an' I reckons it's sech proceedin's makes Jaybird allow he's goin' to be + funny an' tail Todd's pony. + </p> + <p> + "As I explains, he capers along after Todd an' reaches over an' gets a + handful of the pony's tail; an' then, wroppin' it 'round his saddle-horn, + he goes by on the jump an' spreads Todd an' his bronco permiscus about the + scene. This yere Todd goes along the grass on all fours like a + jack-rabbit. + </p> + <p> + "Which Todd, I reckons, is the hostilest gent in south-east Arizona. + Before ever he offers to get up, he lugs out his six-shooter an' makes + some mighty sincere gestures that a-way to shoot up Jaybird. But he's slow + with his weepon, bein' spraddled out on the grass, an' it gives Dave Tutt + an' Enright a chance to jump in between an' stop the deal. + </p> + <p> + "We-alls picks Todd up, an' rounds up his pony,—which scrambles to + its feet an' is now cavortin' about like its mind is overturned,— + an' explains to him this yere is a joke. But he's surly an' relentless + about it; an' it don't take no hawk to see he don't forgive Jaybird a + little bit. + </p> + <p> + "'Tailin' a gent's pony,' says Todd, 'is no doubt thrillin' amoosement for + folks lookin' on, but thar's nothin' of a redeemin' nature in it from the + standp'int of the party whose pony's upheaved that a-way. Not to be + misonderstood at this yere crisis,' goes on this Todd, 'I wants to + announce that from now for'ard life will have but one purpose with me, + which'll be to down the next gent whoever tails a pony of mine. The + present incident goes as a witticism; but you can gamble the next won't be + so regarded.' + </p> + <p> + "That sorter ends the talk, an' all of us but the cook an' the hoss- + hustlers bein' in the saddle by now, we disperses ourse'fs through the + scenery to work the cattle an' proceed with the round-up we-alls is on. We + notes, though, that tailin' Todd's pony don't go ag'in with safety. + </p> + <p> + "It's when we-alls rides away that Doc Peets—who's out with the + round-up, though he ain't got no cattle-brand himse'f—tells Jaybird + he's not a humorist, like I already repeats. + </p> + <p> + "But, as I su'gests, this Jaybird Bob can't believe it none. He's mighty + shore about his jokes bein' excellent good jokes; an' while it's plain + Todd ain't got no confidence in him an' distrusts him complete since he + tips over his bronco that mornin', it looks like Jaybird can't let him + alone. An' them misdeeds of Jaybird's keeps goin' on, ontil by the merest + mistake—for it's shore an accident if ever one happens in the cow + country—this yere tenderfoot shoots up Jaybird an' kills him for + good. + </p> + <p> + "It looks to us like it's a speshul Providence to warn folks not to go + projectin' about, engaged in what you might call physical jests none. + Still, this yere removal of Jaybird don't take place till mighty near the + close of the round-up; an' intervenin', he's pirootin' 'round, stockin' + the kyards an' settin' up hands on the pore shorthorn continuous. + </p> + <p> + "One of Jaybird's jokes—'one of his best,' Jaybird calls it— + results in stampedin' the herd of cattle we-alls is bringin' along at the + time—bein' all cows an' their calves—to a brandin'-pen. Which + thar's two thousand, big an' little, in the bunch; an' Jaybird's humor + puts 'em to flight like so many blackbirds; an' it takes two days hard + ridin' for the whole outfit to bring 'em together ag'in. + </p> + <p> + "Among other weaknesses this Todd imports from the States is, he's afraid + of snakes. Rattlesnakes is his abhorrence, an' if each is a disembodied + sperit he can't want 'em further off. He's allers alarmed that mebby, + somehow, a rattlesnake will come pokin' in onder his blankets nights, an' + camp with him while he's asleep. An' this yere wretched Jaybird fosters + them delusions. + </p> + <p> + "'About them serpents,' I overhears Jaybird say to him one evenin' while + we-alls is settin' 'round;—all but Moore an' Tutt, who's ridin' + herd; ''bout them serpents; a gent can't be too partic'lar. It looks like + they has but one hope, which it's to crawl into a gent's blankets an' + sleep some with him. Which, if he moves or turns over, they simply emits a + buzz an' grabs him I knows of forty folks who's bit that a-way by snakes, + an' nary a one lives to explain the game.' + </p> + <p> + "'Be rattlesnakes thick in Arizona?' I hears Todd say to this Jaybird. + </p> + <p> + "'Be they thick?' answers Jaybird. 'Well, I shore wishes I had whiskey for + all the rattlesnakes thar is yereabouts. I don't want to go overstatin' + the census to a gent who is out playin' for information, an' who's + learnin' fast, but I s'pose now thar ain't none less than a billion snakes + in southeast Arizona alone. If I could saw off the little passel of cattle + I has on this range, you can gamble I'd pull my freight to-morrow. It's + all right for sech old Cimmarons as Enright, an' sech parties as that + sawbones Peets, to go bluffin' about thar' bein' no rattlesnakes to speak + of, an' that they couldn't p'ison you to death no how; but you bet I ain't + seen forty of my nearest friends cash in of snake-bites, an' not learn + nothin'. An' almost every time it's a rattlesnake as comes slidin' into + bed with 'em while they's locked in dreams, an' who gets hot an' goes to + chewin' of 'em, because they wants to turn out before the snake does. + Rattlesnakes that a-way wants to sleep till it's fourth-drink time an' the + sun's 'way up yonder. An' when a gent goes to rollin' out of his blankets + say at sun-up, it makes 'em monstrous angry to be disturbed; an' the first + he knows of where they be an' how they looks on early risin', their + teeth's in him up to the gyard, an' before night thar's one less gent to + cook for, an' an extra saddle rides along in the grub-wagon with the + blankets when they next moves camp.' + </p> + <p> + "Of course all this is a heap impressive to Todd; an' while Enright an' + Peets both tells him Jaybird's havin' fun with him, you can see he's + mortal afraid every night when he spreads his blankets, an' he makes a + cirele about where he sleeps at with a horse-ha'r lariat he's got from a + Mexican, an' who tells him it'll tickle the snakes' necks when they goes + to crawl across it, an' make 'em keep away. + </p> + <p> + "The way this yere Jaybird manages to stampede the bunch that time is this + a-way. Jaybird comes ridin' in from the cattle about three hours before + sun-up, to turn out Tutt, who is due to take his place on herd. Jaybird's + got a rawhide rope that he's drugged about in the grass, which makes it + damp an' cold. As Jaybird rides up to camp he sees this Todd rolled in his + blankets, snorin' to beat four of a kind. + </p> + <p> + "Nacherally Jaybird's out to be joyous in a second. He rides up close to + this he'pless shorthorn as he lays asleep, an' tosses a loop of his wet + rawhide across his countenance where it's turned up in the moonlight. As + it settles down cold an' startlin' on Todd's skin, Jaybird yells: + </p> + <p> + "Snake, Todd! Thar's a rattlesnake on you bigger'n a dog.' + </p> + <p> + "Jaybird says later as how this Todd behaves tremendous. He b'iles up into + the atmosphere with a howl like a wolf; an', grabbin' a blanket in each + hand, he starts out over the plains in a state of frenzy. Which the worst + is he charges headlong toward the herd; an' what with them shrieks he + volunteers, an' the blankets flappin' an' wavin', thar ain't a cow in the + bunch who stays in her right mind a moment. Which she springs to her feet, + an takin' her offspring along, goes surgin' off into the hills for good. + You couldn't head or stop 'em then. It's the completest case of stampede I + ever turns out to behold. + </p> + <p> + "No; this yere Todd never gathers the rights of the eepisode. He's that + peevish an' voylent by nacher no one tells him it's Jaybird; an' onless, + in the light of knowin' more, he has since figgered out the trooth, he + allows to this day a rattlesnake as big as a roll of blankets tries to + recline on his face that time. + </p> + <p> + "To keep peace in camp an' not let him go to pawin' 'round for real + trouble with the festive Jaybird, Enright stands in to cap the game + himse'f; an' puts it up in confab with this Todd the next day as how he + sees the rattlesnake, an' that it's mighty near bein' a whopper. + </p> + <p> + "'It's shore,' says Enright, when he an' Todd is conversin' tharon, 'the + most giant serpent I ever sees without the aid of licker. An' when he goes + streakin' off into the gloom, bein' amazed an' rattled by your cries, he + leaves, so far as I'm concerned, a trail of relief behind. You-all can + gamble, I wasn't interruptin' of no sech snake, nor makin' of no pretexts + for his detainment. + </p> + <p> + "'What for was his rattles like?' says Todd; an' he gets pale at the mere + sound of Enright's talk. + </p> + <p> + "'As to them rattles,' says Enright, like he's mighty thoughtful tryin' to + recall 'em to mind, 'as to this reptile's rattles, it's that dark that + while I sees 'em I couldn't but jest. So far as I notes anythin' they + looks like a belt full of car-tridges, sorter corrugated an' noomerous. + </p> + <p> + "Now this yere which I relates, while no doubt burnin' experiences to + Todd, is after all harmless enough. An' to people not careful about the + basis of their glee it might do some to laugh at. But it all closes up on + a play with nothin' gay nor merry in it; leastwise not for Jaybird Bob. + </p> + <p> + "This yere finish joke of jaybird's transpires one evenin' as the cook's + startin' in to rustle some chuck. The grub-wagon's been stopped in the + mouth of Peeled Pine Canyon. Every gent's in camp but this yere tenderfoot + Todd. Enright, who's actin' as round-up boss for the outfit—for + everybody's cattle's bein' worked together that a-way, like we allers does—has + sent Todd peerin' 'round for cattle, 'way off up the valley into which the + Peeled Pine Canyon opens. This yere shorthorn's due to be back any time + now, 'cause it's only a question of how far up the valley does he go. He + don't run no show to be lost, for nothin' less aerial than goats could + climb out of the canyon he's in, an' tharfore he's bound to find camp. + </p> + <p> + "Of course, knowin' every gent's station in the day's ridin', we- alls is + plenty aware that this tenderfoot Todd is some'ers above us in the valley. + None of the rest of us is turnin' our minds to him probably, except + Jaybird Bob. It all of a bump like a buckin' pony strikes Jaybird that + he's missin' a onusual chance to be buoyant. + </p> + <p> + "'What for a play would it be,' says Jaybird, rousin' up from where he + lays watchin' of the cook slice salt hoss for the fryin'-pan, 'what for a + game would it be, I says, for a passel of us to lay out up the draw, an' + bush-whack this yere ontaught person Todd as he comes ridin' down to camp? + We-alls could hop out at him, a-whoopin' an' shoutin', an' bein' wropped + up in blankets, he allows it's shore Injuns an' goes plumb locoed.' + </p> + <p> + "`You-all will keep harrowin' away at this Todd party, Jaybird,' says + Enright, 'ontil you arises from the game loser. Now I don't reckon none + I'd play Apache if I'm you. Thar's too much effort in bein' an Apache that + a-way. I'd lay yere an' think up some joke which don't demand so much + industry, an' ain't calc'lated to scare an innocent gent to death.' + </p> + <p> + "But Jaybird won't listen. He falls into admiration of his scheme; an' at + last Tutt an' Jack Moore allows they'll go along an' play they's + aborigines with Jaybird an' note how the tenderfoot stands the racket. + </p> + <p> + "'As long as this yere Jaybird's bound to make the play,' says Jack Moore + to Enright, talkin' one side, 'it's a heap better to have the conserv'tive + element represented in the deal. So I puts it up, it's a good sage move + for me an' Tutts to stand in. We-alls will come handy to pull Jaybird an' + this shorthorn apart if they gets their horns locked in the course of them + gaities.' + </p> + <p> + "Enright takes the same view; so Jaybird an' Moore an' Tutt wanders off up + the canyon a mile, an' lays in wait surreptitious to head off Todd. Jack + tells me the story when him an' Tutt comes ridin' back with the corpse. + </p> + <p> + "'This is how we does,' says Jack. 'Me an' Tutt an' deceased—which + last is Jaybird all right enough—is ensconced behind a p'int of + rocks. Jaybird's got his blanket wropped, 'round him so he looks like a + savage. It ain't long when we-alls hears the tenderfoot comin' down the + canyon; it's likely he's half-mile away. He's runnin' onto us at a + road-gait; an' when he's about two hundred yards off Jaybird turns out a + yell to make you shiver, shakes a load or two outen his gun, goes surgin' + out from 'round the p'int of rocks, an' charges straight at this + onthinkin' tenderfoot. It is due to trooth to say, me an' Tutt follows + this Jaybird's suit, only not so voylent as to whoops. + </p> + <p> + "'Does it scare up the tenderfoot? Well, it shorely alarms him a heap. He + takes Jaybird for an Injun an' makes no question; which the same is nowise + strange; I'd took him for a savage myse'f, only, bein' in the deal that + a-way I knows it's Jaybird. So, as I remarks, it horrifies the tenderfoot + on end, an' at the first sight of Jaybird he whirls his pony an' lights + out up that valley like antelope. + </p> + <p> + "'Nacherally we-alls follows; Jaybird leadin', a-whoopin', an' a- + shootin', an' throwin' no end of sperit into it. It's a success, this + piece of wit is, up to this juncture, an' Jaybird puts a heap of zest into + it. + </p> + <p> + "'The weak spot in all this yere humor grows out of the idees this + tenderfoot's been gainin', an' the improvements he's been makin', while + stragglin' about in our s'ciety. I onhesitatin'ly states that if this yere + joke is pulled off by Jaybird when Todd first enters our midst, it might + have been the vict'ry of his life. But Jaybird defers it too long. This + tenderfoot has acquired a few Western ways; enough to spoil the fun an' + send pore Jaybird a-curvin' to his home on high. + </p> + <p> + "'This is what that shorthorn does which teaches me he's learnin'. While + he's humpin' off up the canyon, an' me an' Jaybird an' Tutt is stampedin' + along in pursoot, the fugitive throws loose his six- shooter, an' without + even turnin' his head or lookin' back at us, he onhooks the entire bundle + of lead our way. + </p> + <p> + "Which the worst feature of it is, this backhanded, blind shootin' is a + winner. The very first shot smites Jaybird plumb through the hat, an' he + goes off his pony without even mentionin' about it to either Tutt or me. + </p> + <p> + "`That's all thar is to the report. Dave an' me pulls up our broncos, + abandons the joke, lays Jaybird across his saddle like a sack of corn, an' + returns to state the case.' + </p> + <p> + "'Whatever did you-alls do with this frightened stranger?' asks Enright. + </p> + <p> + "'Which we never does nothin',' says Jack. 'The last I beholds, he's + flyin' up the valley, hittin' nothin' but the high places. An' assoomin' + his project is to get away, he's succeedin' admirable. As he vanishes, I + should jedge from his motions he's reloadin' his gun; an' from the luck he + has with Jaybird, Tutt an' me is led to believe thar's no real object in + followin' him no further. I don't press my s'ciety on no gent; shorely not + on some locoed tenderfoot that a-way who's pulled his gun an' is done + blazin' away erratic, without purpose or aim.' + </p> + <p> + "'Don't you an' Tutt know where he is at?' demands Enright. + </p> + <p> + "'Which we shorely don't,' says Jack. 'If his hoss holds, an' he don't + swerve none from the direction he's p'inting out in when he fades from + view, he's goin' to be over in the San Simon country by to-morrow mornin' + when we eats our grub; an' that's half way to the Borax desert. If you + yearns for my impressions,' concloods Jack, 'drawn from a-seein' of him + depart, I'm free to say I don't reckon you-alls is goin' to meet this yere + tenderfoot none soon.' + </p> + <p> + "An' that's about the size of it. Jack calls the turn. Jaybird's last joke + alarms this tenderfoot Todd plumb outen Arizona, an' thar ain't none of us + ever sees ha'r, horn, nor hoof mark of him no more. An' he takes with him, + this Todd does, the boss pony in our bunch." + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. BOGGS'S EXPERIENCE. + </h2> + <p> + "No; thar's nothin' prolix about Boggs. Which on the contrary, his nacher + is shorely arduous that a-way. If it's a meetin' of the committee, for + instance, with intent then an' thar to dwell a whole lot on the doin's of + some malefactor, Boggs allers gets to a mental show-down ahead of the + other gents involved. Either he's out to throw this party loose, or + stretch his neck, or run him outen camp, or whatever's deemed exact + jestice, long before sech slow-an'-shore people as Old Man Enright even + looks at their hands. The trooth is, Boggs ain't so strong on jedgement; + his long suit is instinct. An' moreover I knows from his drawin' four + kyards so much in poker, Boggs is plumb emotional." + </p> + <p> + At this point in his discourse the Old Cattle man paused and put in + several profound minutes in apparent contemplation of Boggs. Then he went + on. + </p> + <p> + "That's it; Boggs is emotional; an' I shorely reckons which he'd even been + a heap religious, only thar's no churches much on Boggs's range. Boggs + tells me himse'f he comes mighty near bein' caught in some speritual + round-up one time, an' I allers allows, after hearin' Boggs relate the + tale, that if he'd only been submerged in what you- alls calls benigner + inflooences that a-way, he'd most likely made the fold all right an' got + garnered in with the sheep. + </p> + <p> + "It's just after Short Creek Dave gets to be one of them 'vangelists. Dave + has been exhortin' of Wolfville to leave off its ways, over in the + warehouse of the New York Store, an' that same evenin' Boggs, bein' some + moved, confides in me how once he mebby half-way makes up his mind he'll + be saved. + </p> + <p> + "'Leastwise,' says Boggs, when he takes me into his past that a-way, 'I + allows I'll be religious in the spring after the round-up is over. But I + don't; so you can't, after all, call it a religious exper'ence none; + nothin' more'n a eepisode. + </p> + <p> + "'It's winter when I makes them grace-of-heaven determinations,' goes on + this Boggs, 'an' the spring round-up is months away. But I allers puts it + up I'd shorely filled my hand an' got plumb into the play, only it's a bad + winter; an' in the spring the cattle, weak an' starved, is gettin' down + an' chillin' to death about the water- holes; an' as results tharof I'm + ridin' the hills, a-cussin' an' a- swearin'; an' all 'round it's that + rough, an' I'm that profane an' voylent, I reckons towards April probably + my soul's buried onder ten foot of cuss-words, an' that j'inin' the church + in my case is mighty likely to be a bluff. An' so I passes it up. + </p> + <p> + "'You sees,' says Boggs, 'thar's no good tryin' to hold out kyards on your + Redeemer. If your heart ain't right it's no use to set into the game. No + cold deck goes. He sees plumb through every kyard you holds, an' nothin' + but a straight deal does with Him. Nacherally, then, I thinks—bein' + as how you can't bluff your way into heaven, an' recallin' the bad + language I uses workin' them cattle—I won't even try. An' that's + why, when resolvin' one winter to get religion mebby next June, I persists + in my sinful life. + </p> + <p> + "'It's over to Taos I acquires this religious idee. I'm come new to the + camp from some'ers down 'round Seven Rivers in the Pecos country, an' I + don't know a gent. Which I'm by nacher gregar'ous; so not knowin' folks + that a-way weighs on me; an' the first night I'm thar, I hastens to remedy + this yere evil. I'm the possessor of wealth to a limit,—for I shore + despises bein' broke complete, an' generally keeps as good as a blue stack + in my war-bags,—an' I goes projectin' 'round from dance-hall to + baile, an' deciminates my dinero an' draws to me nose-paint an' friends. + As thar ain't but three gin-mills, incloosive of the hurdy-gurdy, I'm + goin' curvin' in them grand rounds which I institoots, on a sort of + triangle. + </p> + <p> + "'Which it can't be said I don't make runnin' of it, however; I don't + reckon now it's mor'n an hour before I knows all Taos, bar Mexicans an' + what some folks calls "the better elements." It also follows, like its + lariat does a loose pony, that I'm some organized by whiskey, not to say + confused. + </p> + <p> + "'It's because I'm confused I'm misled into this yere pra'r-meetin.' Not + that them exercises is due to dim my eternal game none, now nor yereafter; + but as I ain't liable to adorn the play nor take proper part tharin, I'd + shorely passed out an' kept on to the hurdy-gurdy if I'd knowed. As it + stands, I blunders into them orisons inadvertent; but, havin' picked up + the hand, I nacherally continues an' plays it. + </p> + <p> + "'It's this a-way about them religious exercises: I'm emerged from the Tub + of Blood, an' am p'intin' out for the dance-hall, when I strikes a + wickeyup all lighted, an' singin' on the inside. I takes it for a joint I + ain't seen none as yet, an' tharupon heads up an' enters. From the noise, + I allows mebby it's Mexican; which Greasers usual puts up a heap of + singin' an' scufflin' an' talkin' in everythin' from monte to a + bull-fight. + </p> + <p> + "'Once I'm in, I notes it ain't Mexicans an' it ain't monte. Good folks + though, I sees that; an' as a passel of 'em near the door looks shocked at + the sight of me, I'm too bashful to break out ag'in, but sorter aiges into + the nearest seat an' stands pat. + </p> + <p> + "'I can tell the outfit figgers on me raisin' the long yell an' stampedin' + round to make trouble; so I thinks to myse'f I'll fool 'em up a lot. I + jest won't say a word. So I sets silent as a coyote at noon; an' after + awhile the sharp who's dealin' for 'em goes on with them petitions I + interrupts as I comes bulgin' in. + </p> + <p> + "'Their range-boss says one thing I remembers. It's about castin' your + bread upon the waters. He allows you'll get it ag'in an' a band of + mavericks with it. It's playin' white chips to win blues; that's what this + sharp says. + </p> + <p> + "'It shorely strikes me as easy. Every time you does good, says this + party, Fate is out to play a return game with you; an' it's written you + quits winner on all the good you promulgates that a-way. + </p> + <p> + "'I sets the deal out an' gets some sleepy at it, too. But I won't leave + an' scand'lize the congregation; an' as I gives up strong when the plate + goes by, I ain't regarded as no setback. + </p> + <p> + "'When the contreebution-box—which she's a tin plate—comes + chargin' by, I'm sorter noddin,' I'm that weary. I notes the jingle of + money, an' rouses up, allowin' mebby it's a jack-pot, I reckons. + </p> + <p> + "'"How hard be you-all in?" I says to the gent next to me, who's gone to + the center for a peso. + </p> + <p> + "'"Dollar," says the gent. + </p> + <p> + "'"Well," I says, "I ain't seen my hand since the draw, but I'll raise you + nine blind." An' I boards a ten-dollar bill. + </p> + <p> + "'When the rest goes, I sorter sidles forth an' lines out for the + dance-hall. The fact is I'm needin' what you-alls calls stimulants. But + all the same it sticks in my head about castin' good deeds on the water + that a-way. It sticks thar yet, for that matter. + </p> + <p> + "Bein' released from them devotions, I starts to drinkin' ag'in with zeal + an' earnestness. An' thar comes a time when all my money's in my boots. + Yere's how: I only takes two stacks of reds when I embarks on this yere + debauch. Bein' deep an' crafty, an' a new Injun at that agency that a-way, + an' not knowin' what game I may go ag'inst, I puts the rest of my + bank-roll over in Howard's store. It turns out, too, that every time I + acquires silver in change, I commits it to my left boot, which is high an' + ample to hold said specie. Why I puts this yere silver money in my + boot-laig is shore too many for me. But I feels mighty cunnin' over it at + the time, an' regards it as a 'way-up play. + </p> + <p> + "'As I tells you, thar arrives an hour while I'm in the Tub of Blood when + my money's all in my boot, an' thar's still licker to drink. Fact is, I + jest meets a gent named Frosty, as good a citizen as ever riffles a deck + or pulls a trigger, an' p'liteness demands we-alls puts the nose-paint in + play. That's why I has to have money. + </p> + <p> + "'I don't care to go pullin' off my moccasins in the Tub of Blood, an' + makin' a vulgar display of my wealth by pourin' the silver onto the floor. + Thar's a peck of it, if thar's dos reals; an' sech an exhibition as + spillin' it out in the Tub of Blood is bound to mortify me, an' the + barkeep, an' Frosty, an' most likely lead to makin' remarks. So I + concloods I'll round up my silver outside an' then return. + </p> + <p> + "'Excuse me," I says to Frosty. "You stay right yere with the bottle, an' + I'll be among you ag'in in a minute all spraddled out." + </p> + <p> + "'I goes wanderin' out back of the Tub of Blood, where it's lonesome, an' + camps down by a Spanish-bayonet, an' tugs away to get my boot off an' my + dinero into circ'lation. + </p> + <p> + "'An' while I'm at it, sleep an' nose-paint seizes me, an' my light goes + plumb out. I rolls over behind the bayonet-bush an' raises a snore. As for + that Frosty, he waits a while; then he pulls his freight, allowin' I'm too + deliberate about comin' back, for him. + </p> + <p> + "'It must have made them coyotes stop an' consider a whole lot about what + I be. To show you how good them coyotes is, I wants to tell you: I don't + notice it ontil the next day. While I'm curled up to the r'ar of that bush + they comes mighty near gnawin' the scabbard offen my gun. Fact; the + leather looks like some pup has been chewin' it. But right then I ain't + mindin' nothin' so oninterestin' as a coyote bitin' on the leather of my + gun. + </p> + <p> + "'Now this is where that bluff about bread on the waters comes in; an' it + falls so pat on the heels of them devotions of mine, it he'ps brand it on + my mem'ry. While I'm layin' thar, an' mighty likely while them coyotes is + lunchin' offen my scabbard that a-way, along comes a rank stranger they + calls Spanish Bill. + </p> + <p> + "'I learns afterward how this Spanish Bill is hard, plumb through. He's + rustled everythin' from a bunch of ponies to the mail-bags, an' is nothin' + but a hold-up who needs hangin' every hour. Whatever takes him to where I + lays by my bayonet-bush I never knows. He don't disclose nothin' on that + p'int afterward, an' mebby he tracks up on me accidental. + </p> + <p> + "'But what informs me plain that he explores my war-bags for stuff, before + ever he concloods to look after my health, is this: Later, when we gets + acquainted an' I onfurls my finances onto him, he seems disapp'inted an' + hurt. + </p> + <p> + "'The statistics of the barkeep of the Tub of Blood next day, goes to the + effect that I'm shorely out thar four hours; an' when Spanish Bill + discovers me I'm mighty near froze. Taos nights in November has a heap of + things in common with them Artic regions we hears of, where them fur-lined + sports goes in pursoot of that North Pole. Bein' froze, an' mebby from an + over-dab of nose-paint, I never saveys about this yere Spanish Bill + meetin' up with me that a-way ontil later. But by what the barkeep says, + he drug me into the Tub of Blood an' allows he's got a maverick. + </p> + <p> + "'"Fix this yere froze gent up somethin' with teeth," says Spanish Bill to + the barkeep. "I don't know his name none, but he's sufferin' an' has got + to be recovered if it takes the entire check-rack." + </p> + <p> + "'Which the barkeep stands in an' brings me to. I comes 'round an' can + walk some if Spanish Bill goes along steadyin' of me by the collar. + Tharupon said Bill rides herd on me down to the Jackson House an' spreads + me on some blankets. + </p> + <p> + "'It's daylight when I begins to be aware my name's Boggs, an' that I'm a + native of Kentucky, an' little personalities like that; an' what wakes me + up is this Spanish Bill. + </p> + <p> + "'"See yere," says this hold-up, "I'm goin' to turn in now, an' it's time + you-all is up. Yere's what you do: Thar's five whiskey-checks on the Tub + of Blood, which will he'p you to an appetite. Followin' of a s'fficient + quantity of fire-water, you will return to the Jackson House an' eat. I + pays for it. I won't be outen my blankets by then; but they knows that + Spanish Bill makes good, 'cause I impresses it on 'em speshul when I comes + in. + </p> + <p> + "'"You-all don't know me," goes on this Spanish Bill, as I sets up an' + blinks at him some foggy an' blurred, "an' I don't know you"— which + we-alls allows, outen p'liteness, is a dead loss to both. "But my name's + Spanish Bill, an' I'm turnin' monte in the Bank Exchange. I'll be thar at + my table by first-drink time this evenin'; an' if you sa'nters that a-way + at that epock, we'll have a drink; an' bein' as you're busted, of course I + stakes you moderate on your way." + </p> + <p> + "'It's this bluff about me not havin' money puts me in mind later that + this Bill must have rustled my raiments when he finds me that time when + I'm presided over by coyotes while I sleeps. When he says it, however, I + merely remarks that while I'm grateful to him as mockin'-birds, money + after all ain't no object with me; an', pullin' off my nigh moccasin, I + pours some two pounds of specie onto the blankets. + </p> + <p> + "'"Which I packs this in my boot," I observes, "to put mysc'f in mind I've + got a roll big enough to fill a nose-bag over to Howard's store." + </p> + <p> + "'"An' I'm feelin' the galiest to hear it," says this Spanish Bill; though + as I su'gests he acts pained an' amazed, like a gent who's over-looked a + bet. + </p> + <p> + "'Well, that's all thar is to that part. That's where Spanish Bill + launches that bread of his'n; an' the way it later turns out it sorter + b'ars down on me, an' keeps me rememberin' what that skyscout says at the + pra'r-meetin' about the action a gent gets by playin' a good deed to win. + </p> + <p> + "'It's the middle of January, mebby two months later, when I'm over on the + Upper Caliente about fifty miles back of the Spanish Peaks. I'm workin' a + bunch of cattle; Cross-K is the brand; y'ear-marks a swallow-fork in the + left, with the right y'ear onderhacked.' + </p> + <p> + "What's the good of a y'ear-mark when thar's a brand?" repeated the Old + Cattleman after me, for I had interrupted with the question. "Whatever's + the good of y'ear-marks? Why, when mixed cattle is in a bunch, standin' so + close you can't see no brands on their sides, an' you-all is ridin' + through the outfit cuttin' out, y'ear-marks is what you goes by. Cattle + turns to look as you comes ridin' an' pesterin' among 'em, an' their two + y'ears p'ints for'ard like fans. You gets their y'ear-marks like printin' + on the page of a book. If you was to go over a herd by the brands, you + wouldn't cut out a steer an hour. But to trail back after Boggs. + </p> + <p> + "`It's two months later, an' I'm ridin' down a draw one day,' says this + Dan Boggs, 'cussin' the range an' the weather, when my pony goes to havin' + symptoms. This yere pony is that sagacious that while it makes not the + slightest mention of cattle when they's near, it never comes up on deer, + or people in the hills, but it takes to givin' of manifestations. This is + so I can squar myse'f for whatever game they opens on us. + </p> + <p> + "`As I says, me an' this yere wise pony is pushin' out into the Caliente + when the pony begins to make signs. I brings him down all cautious where + we can look across the valley, an' + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + + <p> + you-all can gamble I'm some astonished to see a gent walkin' along afoot, + off mebby a couple hundred yards. He sorter limps an' leans over on one + side like he's hurt. Nacherally I stops an' surveys him careful. It's + plenty strange he's thar at all; an' stranger still he's afoot. I looks + him over for weepons; I wants to note what he's like an' how he's heeled. + </p> + <p> + "'You saveys as well as me it don't do to go canterin' out to strangers + that a-way in the hills; speshully a stranger who's afoot. He might hunger + for your pony for one thing, an' open a play on you with his gun, as would + leave you afoot an' likewise too dead to know it. + </p> + <p> + "'I'm allers cautious that a-way, around a party who's lost his hoss. It + locoes him an' makes him f'rocious; I s'pose bein' afoot he feels + he'pless, an' let out an' crazy. A gent afoot is a heap easier to + aggravate, too; an' a mighty sight more likely to lay for you than when + he's in a Texas saddle with a pony between his knees. + </p> + <p> + "'Which is why I remarks, that I stacks up this pedestrian careful an' + accurate before I goes after him. + </p> + <p> + "'As I says, he carries on like he's hurt; an' he's packin' a six- + shooter. He seems familiar, too; an' while I looks him over I'm wonderin' + where I cuts his trail before. + </p> + <p> + "'As I has the advantage of a Winchester, I at last rides into the open + an' gives a whoopee. The party turns, comes limpin' toward me, an' whoever + do you allow it is? Which it's shorely Spanish Bill; an' it's right yere + he gets action on that bread on the waters he plays in when he recovers me + that time in Taos. + </p> + <p> + "'To make it brief, Spanish Bill tells me that after I leaves Taos he goes + over an' deals monte a bit at Wagon Mound. One night a Mexican comes + caperin' in, an' Bill gives him a layout or two. At last he makes an alcy + bet of fifty dollars on the queen; what the Greasers calls the "hoss." The + Mexican loses; an' instead of takin' it easy like a sport should, he grabs + the money. + </p> + <p> + "'As was his dooty, Spanish Bill bends his six-shooter over the Mexican. + Tharupon he searches out a knife; an' this yere so complicates the + business, Bill, to simplify things, plugs the Mexican full of holes. + </p> + <p> + "'This shootin' is on the squar', an' no one takes hostile notice of it. + Spanish Bill goes on layin' out his monte same as usual. Two days later, + though, he gets a p'inter the Mexicans is fixin' for him. So that night he + moves camp—mebby to where it's a hundred an' sixty miles from Wagon + Mound, over on the Vermejo. + </p> + <p> + "'But it looks like the Greasers hangs to the trail; for the day before I + tracks up on him a band of 'em hops outen a dry arroya, where they's + bush-wackin' for him, an' goes to shootin'. As might be expected, Spanish + Bill turns loose, free an' frequent, an' they all shorely has a high, + excessive time. + </p> + <p> + "'The Mexicans downs Spanish Bill's pony, an' a bullet creases Bill's + side; which last is what curves him over an' indooces him to limp when I + trails up with him. + </p> + <p> + "'As Spanish Bill goes down, the Mexicans scatter. The game is too high + for 'em. They was shy two people, with another plugged deep an' strong; by + which you notes that Bill is aimin' low an' good. + </p> + <p> + "'After the shootin' Spanish Bill crawls over to a ranch, an', gettin' a + pony an' saddle, which he easy does, he breaks back into the hills where I + encounters him. It's that morning his pony gets tired of the deal, an' + bucks him off, an' goes stampedin' back. That's why he's afoot. + </p> + <p> + "'While he's talkin' all this, I recalls how Spanish Bill rounds me up + that night in Taos, so I don't hesitate. I takes him over to my camp. The + next mornin' he turns his nose for Texas on my best pony; which is the + last I sees or hears of Spanish Bill, onless he's the Bill who's lynched + over near Eagle Pass a year later, of which I surmises it's some likely. + </p> + <p> + "'But whether Bill's lynched or not, it all brings up ag'in what that + Gospel-gent says about doin' benev'lences; an' how after many days you + dies an' makes a winnin', an' lives on velvet all eternity. An' don't you + know this Spanish Bill pickin' me up that night, an' then in less than two + months, when he's afoot an' hurt in the hills, gettin' ag'inst me an' + drawin' out of the game ahead a saddle, a pony an' safety, makes it seem + like that Bible-sharp is right a whole lot? + </p> + <p> + "'That's how it strikes me,' concloods Boggs. 'An' as I tells you; if so + many cattle don't die that spring; an' if I don't give way so frightful in + my talk, I'd shorely hunted down a congregation the next June, an' stood + in."' + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. DAWSON & RUDD, PARTNERS. + </h2> + <p> + "Whatever's the difference between the East an' the West?" said the Old + Cattleman, repeating my question rather for the purpose of consideration + than from any failure to understand: "What's the difference between the + East an' the West? Which, so far as I notes, to relapse into metaphor, as + you-alls says, the big difference is that the East allers shoots from a + rest; while the West shoots off hand. + </p> + <p> + "The West shore learns easy an' is quick to change a system or alter a + play. It's plumb swift, the West is; an' what some regards as rough is + mere rapidity. The West might go broke at faro-bank in the mornin', an' be + rich at roulette in the afternoon; you can't tell. I knows partners in + Arizona who rolls out in the gray light of breakin' day an' begins work by + dissolvin' an' windin' up the firm's affairs. By dark them same gents is + pards ag'in in a new enterprise complete. Folks'll fight at sun-up an' + cook their chile con carne together at night, an' then sleep onder the + same blankets. For which causes thar's no prophets in the West; a Western + future that a-way bein' so mighty oncertain no prophet can fasten his + lariat. + </p> + <p> + "Speakin' of pards an' the fog which surrounds what the same is likely to + do, makes me think of the onlicensed an' onlooked-for carryin's-on of + 'Doby Dawson an' Copper Queen Billy Rudd. Them two gents fosters a feud + among themse'fs that splits 'em wide open an' keeps 'em pesterin' each + other for years; which the doin's of them locoed people is the scandal of + Wolfville while it lasts. + </p> + <p> + "It's mebby the spring after we erects the Bird Cage Op'ry House, an' + Wolfville is gettin' to be considerable of a camp. We-alls is organized + for a shore-'nough town, an Jack Moore is a shore-'nough marshal, with + Enright for alcalde that a-way, an' thar's a heap of improvements. + </p> + <p> + "When I first tracks into Wolfville, cows is what you might call the + leadin' industry, with whiskey an' faro-bank on the side. But in the days + of 'Doby Dawson an' Copper Queen Billy Rudd, ore has been onearthed, the + mines is opened, an' Wolfville's swelled tremendous. We-alls even wins a + county-seat fight with Red Dog, wherein we puts it all over that ornery + hamlet; an' we shorely deals the game for the entire region. + </p> + <p> + "As I states, it's the spring after we promotes the Bird Cage Op'ry House—which + temple of amoosements is complete the fall before—that 'Doby an' + Billy turns up in Wolfville. I knows she's spring, for I'm away workin' + the round-up at the time, an' them gents is both thar drunk when I comes + in. + </p> + <p> + "'Doby an' Billy's been pards for ten years. They's miner folks, an' 'Doby + tells me himse'f one day that him an' Billy has stood in on every mine + excitement from Alaska to Lower Californy. An' never once does they get + their trails crossed or have a row. + </p> + <p> + "The two gents strikes at Wolfville when the mines is first opened, an' + stakes out three claims; one for 'Doby, one for Billy. an' one for both of + 'em. They's camped off up a draw about half a mile from town, where their + claims is, an' has a little cabin an' seems to be gettin' along peaceful + as a church; an' I reckons thar's' no doubt but they be. + </p> + <p> + "When 'Doby an' Billy first comes caperin' into Wolfville they's that + thick an' friendly with each other, it's a shame to thieves. I recalls how + their relations that a-way excites general admiration, an' Doc Peets even + goes so far he calls 'em 'Jonathan an' David.' Which Peets would have kept + on callin' 'em 'Jonathan an' David' plumb through, but Billy gets hostile. + </p> + <p> + "'It ain't me I cares for,' says Billy,—which he waits on Doc Peets + with his gun,—'but no gent's goin' to malign 'Doby Dawson none an' + alloode to him as 'Jonathan' without rebooke.' + </p> + <p> + "Seein' it pains Billy, an' as thar ain't even a white chip in mere + nomenclature that a-way, of course Doc Peets don't call 'em 'Jonathan an' + David' no more. + </p> + <p> + "'Doby an' Billy's been around mighty likely six months. The camp gets + used to 'em an' likes 'em. They digs an' blasts away in them badger-holes + they calls shafts all day, an' then comes chargin' down to the Red Light + at night. After the two is drunk successful, they mutually takes each + other home. An' as they lines out for their camp upholdin' an' he'pin' of + each other, an' both that dead soaked in nose-paint they long before + abandons tryin' to he'p themse'fs, I tells you, son, their love is a + picture an' a lesson. + </p> + <p> + "'Which the way them pore, locoed sots,' says Old Man Enright one night, + as 'Doby an' Billy falls outen the Red Light together, an' then turns in + an' assists each other to rise,—'which the way them pore darkened + drunkards rides herd on each other, an' is onse'fish an' generous that + a-way, an' backs each other's play, is as good as sermons. You-all young + men,' says Enright, turnin' on Jack Moore an' Boggs an' Tutt, 'you-all + imatoor bucks whose character ain't really formed none yet, oughter profit + plenty by their example.' + </p> + <p> + "As I remarks, 'Doby an' Billy's been inhabitin' Wolfville for mighty hard + on six months when the trouble between 'em first shows its teeth. As Billy + walks out one mornin' to sniff the climate some, he remarks a Mexican—which + his name is Jose Salazar, but don't cut no figger nohow—sorter + 'propriatin' of a mule. + </p> + <p> + "'The same,' as Billy says, in relatin' the casooalty later, 'bein' our + star mule.' + </p> + <p> + "Nacherally, on notin' the misdeeds of this yere Greaser, Billy reaches + inside the cabin, an' sorts out a Winchester an' plugs said culprit in + among his thoughts, an tharby brings his mule-rustlin' an' his reflections + to a pause some. + </p> + <p> + "It's two hours later, mebby, when the defunct's daughter—the outfit + abides over in Chihuahua, which is the Mexican part of Wolfville—goes + to a show-down with 'Doby an' Billy an wants to know does she get the + corpse? + </p> + <p> + "'Shore,' says 'Doby, 'which we-alls has no further use for your paw, an' + his remainder is free an' welcome to you. You can bet me an' Billy ain't + holdin' out no paternal corpses none on their weepin' offsprings.' + </p> + <p> + "Followin' of his bluff, 'Doby goes over an' consoles with the Mexican's + daughter, which her name's Manuela, an' she don't look so bad neither. Doc + Peets, whose jedgement of females is a cinch, allows she's as pretty as a + diamond flush, an' you can gamble Doc Peets ain't makin no blind leads + when it's a question of squaws. + </p> + <p> + "So 'Doby consoles this yere Manuela a whole lot, while Billy, who's + makin' coffee an' bakin'. powder biscuit inside, don't really notice he's + doin' it. Fact is, Billy's plumb busy. The New York Store havin' changed + bakin'-powder onto us the week before—the same redoocin' biscuits to + a conundrum for a month after—an' that bakin'-powder change sorter + engagin' Billy's faculties wholly, he forgets about deceased an' his + daughter complete; that is, complete temporary. Later, when the biscuits + is done an' offen his mind, Billy recalls all about it ag'in. + </p> + <p> + "'But 'Doby, who's a good talker an' a mighty tender gent that a- way, + jumps in an' comforts Manuela, an' shows her how this mule her paw is + stealin' is by way an' far the best mule in camp, an' at last she dries + her tears an' allows in her language that she's growin' resigned. 'Doby + winds up by he'pin' Manuela home with what's left of her paw. + </p> + <p> + "'Which it's jest like that 'Doby,' says Billy, when he hears of his + partner packin' home his prey that a-way, an' his tones shows he admires + 'Doby no limit, `which it's shorely like him. Take folks in distress, an' + you-alls can bet your last chip 'Doby can't do too much for 'em.' "Billy's + disgust sets in like the rainy season, however, when about two months + later 'Doby ups an' weds this Mexican girl Manuela. When Billy learns of + said ceremony, he declines a seat in the game, an' won't go near them + nuptials nohow. + </p> + <p> + "'An' I declar's myse'f right yere,' says Billy. 'From now for'ard it's a + case of lone hand with me. I don't want no more partners. When a gent with + whom for ten years I've camped, trailed, an' prospected with, all the way + from the Dalls to the Gila, quits me cold an' clammy for a squaw he don't + know ten weeks, you can gamble that lets me plumb out. I've done got my + med'cine. an' I'm ready to quit.' + </p> + <p> + "But 'Doby an' Billy don't actooally make no assignment, nor go into what + you-all Eastern sharps calls liquidation. The two goes on an' works their + claims together, an' the firm name still waves as 'Doby Dawson an' Copper + Queen Billy Rudd,' only Billy won't go into 'Doby's new wickeyup where + he's got Manuela,—not a foot. + </p> + <p> + "'Which I might have conquered my native reluctance,' says Billy, 'so to + do, an' I even makes up my mind one night—it's after I've got my + grub, an' you-alls knows how plumb soft an' forgivin' that a- way a gent + is when his stomach's full of grub—to go up an' visit 'em a lot. But + as I gets to the door I hears a noise I don't savey; an' when I Injuns up + to a crack an' surveys the scene, I'm a coyote if thar ain't 'Doby, with + his wife in his lap, singin' to her. That's squar'; actooally singin'; + which sech efforts reminds me of ballards by cinnamon b'ars. + </p> + <p> + "'I ain't none shore,' goes on Billy, as he relates about it to me, 'but + I'd stood sech egreegious plays, chargin' it general to 'Doby's gettin' + locoed an' mushy; but when this yere ingrate ends his war- song, what do + you-all reckon now he does? Turns in an' begins 'pologizin' for me downin' + her dad. Which the old hold-up is on the mule an' goin' hell-bent when I + curls him up. Well, that ends things with me. I turns on my heels an' goes + down to the Red Light an' gets drunk plumb through. You recalls it; the + time I'm drunk a month, an' Cherokee Hall bars me at faro-bank, allowin' + I'm onconscious of my surroundin's.' + </p> + <p> + "Billy goes on livin' at their old camp, an' 'Doby an' Manuela at the new + one 'Doby built. This last is mebby four hundred yards more up the draw. + Durin' the day 'Doby an' Billy turns in an' works an' digs an' drills an' + blasts together as of yore. The main change is that at evenin' Billy gets + drunk alone; an' as 'Doby ain't along to he'p Billy home an' need Billy's + he'p to get home, lots of times Billy falls by the trail an' puts in the + night among the mesquite- bushes an' the coyotes impartial. + </p> + <p> + "This yere goes on for plumb a year, an' while things is cooler an' more + distant between 'em, same as it's bound to be when two gents sleeps in + different camps, still 'Doby an' Billy is trackin' along all right. One + mornin', however, Billy goes down to the holes they's projectin' over, but + no 'Doby shows up. It goes on ontil mighty likely fifth-drink time that + forenoon, an' as Billy don't see no trace, sign, nor signal-smoke of his + pard, he gets oneasy. + </p> + <p> + "'It's a fact,' says Billy afterward, 'thar's hours when I more'n half + allows this yere squaw of 'Doby's has done took a knife, or some sech + weepon, an' gets even with 'Doby, while he sleeps, for me pluggin' her paw + about the mule. It's this yere idee which takes me outen the shaft I'm + sinkin', an' sends me cavortin' up to 'Doby's camp. I passes a resolution + on my way that if she's cashed 'Doby's chips for him that a-way, I'll + shorely sa'nter over an' lay waste all Chihuahua to play even for the + blow.' + </p> + <p> + "But as all turns out, them surmises of Billy's is idle. He gets mebby + easy six-shooter distance from the door, when he discerns a small cry like + a fox-cub's whine. Billy listens, an' the yelp comes as cl'ar on his years + as the whistle of a curlew. Billy tumbles. + </p> + <p> + "'I'm a Chinaman,' says Billy, 'if it ain't a kid!' + </p> + <p> + "So he backs off quiet an' noiseless ontil he's dead safe, an' then he + lifts the long yell for 'Doby. When 'Doby emerges he confirms them beliefs + of Billy's; it's a kid shore-'nough. + </p> + <p> + "'Boy or girl?' says Billy. + </p> + <p> + "'Boy,' says 'Doby.' + </p> + <p> + "'Which I shorely quits you cold if it's a girl; says Billy. 'As it is, I + stands by you in your troubles. I ain't none s'prised at your luck, + 'Doby,' goes on Billy. ` I half foresees some sech racket as this the + minute you gets married. However, if it's a boy she goes. I ain't the gent + to lay down on an old-time runnin'-mate while luck's ag'in him; an' I'll + still be your partner an' play out my hand.' + </p> + <p> + "Of course, 'Doby has to go back to lookout his game. An' as Billy's that + rent an' shaken by them news he can't work none, he takes two or three + drinks of nose-paint, an' then promulgates as how it's a holiday. Billy + feels, too, that while this yere's a blow, still it's a great occasion; + an' as he takes to feelin' his whiskey an' roominatin' on the tangled + state of affairs, it suddenly strikes him he'll jest nacherally close up + the trail by the house. + </p> + <p> + "'Women is frail people an' can't abide noises that a-way,' says Billy, ` + an' 'Doby's shore lookin' some faded himse'f. I reckons, tharfore, I'll + sorter stop commerce along this yere thoroughfar' ontil further orders. + What 'Doby an' his squaw needs now is quietood an' peace, an' you can + wager all you-alls is worth they ain't goin' to suffer no disturbances.' + </p> + <p> + "It ain't half an hour after this before Billy's got two signs, both down + an' up the trail, warnin' of people to hunt another wagon- track. The + signs is made outen pine boards, an' Billy has marked this yere motto onto + 'em with a burnt stick + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"'DOBY'S GOT A PAPOOSE, + SO + PULL YOUR FREIGHT." +</pre> + <p> + "It ain't no time after Billy posts his warnin's, an' he's still musin' + over 'em mighty reflective, when along projects a Mexican with a pair of + burros he's packin' freight on. The Mexican's goin' by the notices witbout + payin' the least heed tharto. But this don't do Billy, an' he stands him + up. + </p> + <p> + "'Can you read?' says Billy to the Mexican, at the same time p'intin' to + the signs. + </p> + <p> + "The Mexican allows in Spanish—which the same Billy saveys an' + palavers liberal—that he can't read. Then he p'ints out to go by + ag'in. + </p> + <p> + "'No you don't none, onless in the smoke; says Billy, an' throws a gun on + him. 'Pause where you be, my proud Castilian, an' I'll flood your darkened + ignorance with light by nacherally readin' this yere inscription to you a + whole lot.' + </p> + <p> + "Tharupon Billy reads off the notice a heap impressive, an' winds up by + commandin' of the Mexican to line out on the trail back. + </p> + <p> + "'Vamos!' says Billy. 'Which if you insists on pushin' along through yere + I'll turn in an' crawl your hump some.' + </p> + <p> + "But the Mexican gets ugly as a t'ran'tler at this, an' with one motion he + lugs out a six-shooter an' onbosoms the same. + </p> + <p> + "Billy is a trifle previous with a gun himse'f, an' while the Mexican is + mighty abrupt, he gets none the best of Billy. Which the outcome is the + Mexican's shot plumb dead in his moccasins, while Billy takes a small + crease on his cheek, the same not bein' deadly. Billy then confiscates the + burros. + </p> + <p> + "'Which I plays 'em in for funeral expenses,' says Billy, an' is turnin' + of 'em into the corral by his camp jest as 'Doby comes prancin' out with a + six-shooter to take part in whatever game is bein' rolled. + </p> + <p> + "When 'Doby sees Billy's signs that a-way, he's 'fected so he weeps tears. + He puts his hands on Billy's shoulder, an' lookin' at him, while his eyes + is swimmin', he says: + </p> + <p> + "'Billy, you-all is the thoughtfullest pard that ever lived.' + </p> + <p> + "'Doby throws so much soul into it, an' him givin' 'way to emotions, it + comes mighty near onhingin' Billy. + </p> + <p> + "'I knows I be,' he says, shakin' 'Doby by the hand for a minute, 'but, + Old Man, you deserves it. It's comin' to you, an' you bet your life you're + goin' to get it. With some folks this yere would be castin' pearls before + swine, but not with you, 'Doby. You can 'preciate a play, an' I'm proud to + be your partner.' + </p> + <p> + "The next few months goes on, an' 'Doby an' Billy keeps peggin' away at + their claims, an' gettin' drunk an' rich about equal. Billy is still that + reedic'lous he won't go up to 'Doby's camp; but 'Doby comes over an' sees + him frequent. The first throw out of the box Billy takes a notion ag'in + the kid an' allows he don't want no traffic with him,—none whatever. + </p> + <p> + "But 'Doby won't have it that a-way, an' when it's about six months old he + packs said infant over one mornin' while Billy's at breakfast. + </p> + <p> + "'Ain't he hell!' says 'Doby, a heap gleeful, at the same time sawin' the + infant onto Billy direct. + </p> + <p> + "Of course Billy has to hold him then. Which he acts like he's a hot + tamale, an' shifts him about in his arms. But it's plain he ain't so + displeased neither. At last the kid reaches out swift an' cinches onto + Billy's beard that a-way. This delights Billy, while 'Doby keeps trackin' + 'round the room too tickled to set down. All he can remark—an' he + does it frequent, like it tells the entire story—is: + </p> + <p> + "'Billy, ain't he hell?' + </p> + <p> + "An' Billy ain't none back'ard admittin' he is, an' allows on hesitatin' + it's the hunkiest baby in Arizona. + </p> + <p> + "'An' I've got dust into the thousands,' remarks Billy, 'which says he's + the prize papoose of the reservation, an' says it ten to one. This yere + offspring is a credit to you, 'Doby, an' I marvels you-all is that modest + over it.' + </p> + <p> + "'You can bet it ain't no Siwash,' says 'Doby. 'It's clean strain, that + infant is, if I does say it.' + </p> + <p> + "'That's whatever.' says Billy. looking the infant over an' beginnin' to + feel as proud of it as 'Doby himse'f, 'that's whatever. An' I'm yere to + remark, any gent who can up an' without no talk or boastin' have such a + papoose as that, is licensed to plume himse'f tharon, an' put on dog over + it, the same without restraint. If ever you calls the turn for the limit, + pard, it's when you has this yere child.' + </p> + <p> + "At this 'Doby an' Billy shakes hands like it's a ceremony, an' both is + grave an' dignified about it. 'Doby puts it up that usual he's beyond + flattery, but when a gent of jedgement like Billy looks over a play that + a-way, an' indorses it, you can bet he's not insensible. Then they shakes + hands ag'in, an' 'Doby says: + </p> + <p> + "'Moreover, not meanin' no compliments, nor tossin' of no boquets, old + pard, me an' Manuela names this young person "Willyum"; same as you-all.' + </p> + <p> + "Billy comes mighty near droppin' the infant on the floor at this, an' the + small victim of his onthoughtfulness that a-way yells like a coyote. + </p> + <p> + "'That settles it,' says Billy. 'A gent who could come down to blastin' + an' drillin'—mere menial tasks, as they shorely be—on the + heels of honor like this, is a mighty sight more sordid than Copper Queen + Billy Rudd. 'Doby, this yere is a remarkable occasion, an' we cel'brates.' + </p> + <p> + "By this time the infant is grown plumb hostile, an' is howlin' to beat + the band; so 'Doby puts it up he'll take him to his mother an' afterwards + he's ready to join Billy in an orgy. + </p> + <p> + "'I jest nacherally stampedes back to the agency with this yere Willyum + child,' says 'Doby, an' then we-alls repairs to the Red Light an' + relaxes.' + </p> + <p> + "They shorely does-I don't recall no sech debauch—that is, none so + extreme an' broadcast—since Wolfville and Red Dog engages in them + Thanksgiviin' exercises. + </p> + <p> + "Doby an' Billy, as time goes by, allers alloods to the infant as + 'Willyum,' so's not to get him an' Billy mixed; an' durin' the next two + years, while Billy still goes shy so far as trackin' over to 'Doby's ranch + is concerned, as soon as he walks, Willyum comes down the canyon to see + Billy every day. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, no, Billy ain't none onforgivin' to Manuela for ropin' up 'Doby an' + weddin' him that a-way; but you see downin' her paw for stealin' the mule + that time gets so it makes him bashful an' reluctant. + </p> + <p> + "'It ain't that I'm timorous neither, nor yet assoomin' airs,' this yere + Billy says to me when he brings it up himse'f how he don't go over to + 'Doby's, 'but I'm never no hand to set 'round an' visit free an' easy that + a-way with the posterity of a gent which I has had cause to plant. This + yere ain't roodness; it's scrooples,' says Billy, 'an' so it's plumb + useless for me to go gettin' sociable with 'Doby's wife.' + </p> + <p> + "It's crowdin' close on two years after the infant's born when 'Doby an' + Billy gets up their feud which I speaks of at the beginnin'. Yere's how it + gets fulminated. Billy's loafin' over by the post- office door one + evenin', talkin' to Tutt an' Boggs an' a passel of us, when who comes + projectin' along, p'intin' for the New York Store, but 'Doby's wife an' + Willyum. As they trails by, Willyum sees Billy—Willyum can make a + small bluff at talkin' by now—an', p'intin' his finger at Billy, he + sags back on his mother's dress like he aims to halt her, an' says: + </p> + <p> + "'Pop-pa! Pop-pa!' meanin' Billy that a-way; although the same is + erroneous entire, as every gent in Wolfville knows. + </p> + <p> + "'Which if Willyum's forefinger he p'ints with + </p> + <p> + is a Colt's forty-four, an' instead of sayin' `Poppa!' he onhooks the same + at Billy direct, now I don't reckon Billy could have been more put out. + 'Doby's wife drags Willyum along at the time like he's a calf goin' to be + branded, an' she never halts or pauses. But Billy turns all kinds of hues, + an' is that prostrated he surges across to the Red Light an' gets two + drinks alone, never invitin' nobody, before he realizes. When he does + invite us he admits frank he's plumb locoed for a moment by the shock. + </p> + <p> + "'You bet!' says Billy, as he gets his third drink, the same bein' took in + common with the pop'lace present, 'you bet! thar ain't a gent in camp I'd + insult by no neglect; but when Willyum makes them charges an' does it + publicly, it onhinges my reason, an' them two times I don't invite + you-alls, I'm not responsible.' + </p> + <p> + "We-alls sees Billy's wounded, an' tharfore it's a ha'r-line deal to say + anythin'; but as well as we can we tells him that what Willyum says, that + a-way, bein' less'n two year old, is the mere prattle of a child, an' he's + not to be depressed by it. + </p> + <p> + "'Sech breaks,' says Dan Boggs, 'is took jocose back in the States.' + </p> + <p> + "'Shore!' says Texas Thompson, backin' Boggs's play; 'them little bluffs + of infancy, gettin' tangled that a-way about their progenitors, is + regarded joyous in Laredo. Which thar's not the slightest need of Billy + bein' cast down tharat.' + </p> + <p> + "'I ain't sayin' a word, gents,' remarks Billy, an' his tones is sad. + You-alls means proper an friendly. But I warns the world at this time that + I now embarks on the spree of my life. I'm goin to get drunk an' never + hedge a bet; an my last requests, the same bein' addressed to the barkeep, + personal, is to set every bottle of bug- juice in the shebang on the bar, + thar to repose within the reach of all ontil further orders.' + </p> + <p> + "It's about an hour later, an' Billy, who's filed away a quart of + fire-water in his interior by now, is vibratin' between the Red Light an' + the dance-hall, growin' drunk an' dejected even up. It's then he sees + 'Doby headin' up the street. 'Doby hears of his son Willyum's wild play + from his wife, an' it makes him hot that a-way. But he ain't no notion of + blamin' Billy; none whatever. + </p> + <p> + "However, 'Doby don't have entire charge of the round-up, an' he has to + figger with Billy right along. + </p> + <p> + "'Doby,' shouts Billy, as he notes his pard approachin', while he balances + himse'f in his moccasins a heap difficult, ''Doby, your infant Willyum is + a eediot. Which if I was the parent of a fool papoose like Willyum, I'd + shorely drop him down a shaft a whole lot an' fill up the shaft. He won't + assay two ounces of sense to the ton, Willyum won't; an' he ain't worth + powder an' fuse to work him. Actooally, that pore imbecile baby Willyum, + don't know his own father.' + </p> + <p> + "Which the rage of 'Doby is beyond bounds complete. For about half a + minute him an' Billy froths an' cusses each other out scand'lous, an' then + comes the guns. The artillery is a case of s'prise, the most experienced + gent in Wolfville not loekin' for no gun-play between folks who's been + pards an' blanket-mates for years. + </p> + <p> + "However, it don't last long; it looks like both gets sorter + conscience-stricken that a-way, an' lets up. Still, while it's short, it's + long enough for Billy to get his laig ousted with one of 'Doby's bullets, + an' it all lays Billy up for Doc Peets to fuss with for over three months. + </p> + <p> + "While Billy's stretched out, an' Doe Peets is ridin' herd on his laig, + 'Doby keeps as savage as an Apache an' don't come near Billy. The same, + however, ain't full proof of coldness, neither; for Billy's done give it + out he'll down 'Doby if he pokes his head in the door, an' arranges his + guns where he can work 'em in on the enterprise easy. + </p> + <p> + "But Willyum don't take no stand-off. The last thing Willyum's afraid of + is Billy; so he comes waltzin' over each day, clumsy as a cub cinnamon on + his short laigs, an' makes himse'f plumb abundant. He plays with Billy, + an' he sleeps with Billy, Willyum does; an' he eats every time the nigger, + who's come over from the corral to lookout Billy's domestic game while + he's down, rustles some grub. + </p> + <p> + "'Doby's disgusted with Willyum's herdin' 'round with Billy that a- way, + bein' sociable an' visitin' of him, an' he lays for Willyum an' wallops + him. When Billy learns of it—which he does from Willyum himse'f when + that infant p'ints in for a visit the day after—he's as wild as a + mountain lion. Billy can't get out none, for his laig is a heap + fragmentary as yet,—'Doby's bullet gettin' all the results which is + comin' that time,—but he sends 'Doby word by Peets, if he hears of + any more punishments bein' meted to Willyum, he regards it as a speshul + affront to him, an' holds 'Doby responsible personal as soon as he can + hobble. + </p> + <p> + "'Tell him,' says Billy, 'that if he commits any further atrocities ag'in + this innocent Willyum child, I'll shore leave him too dead to skin.' + </p> + <p> + "'This yere Billy's gettin' locoed entire,' says Enright, when he's told + of Billy's bluff. 'The right to maul your immediate descendants that a-way + is guaranteed by the constitootion, an' is one of them things we-alls + fights for at Bunker Hill. However, I reckons Billy's merely blowin' his + horn; bein' sick an' cantankerous with his game knee.' + </p> + <p> + "Billy gets well after a while, an' him an' 'Doby sorter plans to avoid + each other. Whatever work they puts in on the claim they holds in + partnership, they hires other gents to do. Personal, each works the claim + he holds himse'f, which keeps 'em asunder a whole lot, an' is frootful of + peace.' "Deep inside their shirts I allers allows these yere persons deems + high an' 'fectionate of one another right at the time they's hangin' up + their hardest bluffs an' carryin' on most hostile. Which trivial incidents + discloses this. + </p> + <p> + "Once in the Red Light, when a party who's new from Tucson, turns in to + tell some light story of Billy,—him not bein' present none,— + 'Doby goes all over this yere racontoor like a landslide, an' retires him + from s'ciety for a week. An' 'Doby don't explain his game neither; jest + reprimands this offensive Tucson gent, an' lets it go as it lays. Of + course, we-alls onderstands it's 'cause 'Doby ain't puttin' up with no + carpin' criticism of his old pard; which the same is nacheral enough. + </p> + <p> + "Don't you-all ever notice, son, how once you takes to fightin' for a + party an' indorsin' of his plays, it gets to be a habit,—same, + mebby, as fire-water? Which you lays for his detractors an' pulls on war + for him that a-way long after you ceases to have the slightest use for him + yourse'f. It's that a-way with 'Doby about Billy. + </p> + <p> + "An' this yere Billy's feelin's about 'Doby is heated an' sedulous all + sim'lar. 'Doby gets laid out for a week by rheumatics, which he acquires + years before—he shore don't rope onto them rheumatics none 'round + Wolfville, you can gamble! said camp bein' salooberous that a-way—over + on the Nevada plateaus, an' while he's treed an' can't come down to his + claim, a passel of sharps ups an' mavericks it; what miners calls 'jumps + it.' Whatever does Billy do? Paints for war prompt an' enthoosiastic, + takes his gun, an' the way he stampedes an' scatters them marauders don't + bother him a bit. + </p> + <p> + "But while, as I states, this yere trick of makin' war-med'cine which + 'Doby an' Billy has, an' schedoolin' trouble for folks who comes + projectin' 'round invadin' of the other's rights, mebby is a heap habit, I + gleans from it the idee likewise that onder the surface they holds each + other in esteem to a p'int which is romantic. + </p> + <p> + "Doby an' Billy lives on for a year after 'Doby plugs Billy in the laig, + keepin' wide apart an' not speakin'. Willyum is got so he puts in most of + his nights an' all of his days with Billy; which the spectacle of Billy + packin' Willyum about camp nights is frequent. 'Doby never 'pears to file + no protest; I reckons he looks on it as a fore-ordained an' hopeless play. + However, Billy's a heap careful of Willyum's morals, an' is shorely linin' + him up right. + </p> + <p> + "Once a new barkeep in the dance-hall allows he'll promote Willyum's + feelin's some with a spoonful of nose-paint. + </p> + <p> + "'No, you don't,' says Billy, plenty savage; 'an' since the matter comes + up I announces cold that, now or yereafter, the first gent who saws off + nose-paint on Willyum, or lays for the morals of this innocent infant to + corrupt 'em, I'll kill an' skelp him so shore as I packs gun or knife.' + </p> + <p> + "'Which shows,' said Dan Boggs later, when he hears of Billy's blazer, + 'that this yere Billy Rudd is a mighty high-minded gent, an' you-alls can + play it to win he has my regards. He can count me in on this deal to keep + Willyum from strong drinks.' + </p> + <p> + "'I thinks myse'f he's right,' says Cherokee Hall. 'Willyum is now but + three years old, which is shore not aged. My idee would be to raise + Willyum, an' not let him drink a drop of nose-paint ever, merely to show + the camp what comes of sech experiments.' + </p> + <p> + "But Billy's that pos'tive an' self-reliant he don't need no encouragement + about how he conducts Willyum's habits; an', followin' his remarks, + Willyum allers gets ignored complete on invitations to licker. Packin' the + kid 'round that a-way shortens up Billy's booze a lot, too. He don't feel + so free to get tanked expansive with Willyum on his mind an' hands that + a-way. + </p> + <p> + "It's shorely a picture, the tenderness Billy lavishes on Willyum. Many a + night when Billy's stayin' late, tryin' to win himse'f outen the hole, I + beholds him playin' poker, or mebby it's farebank, with Willyum curled up + on his lap an' shirt-front, snorin' away all sound an' genial, an' Billy + makin' his raises an' callin' his draw to the dealer in whispers, for fear + he wakes Willyum. + </p> + <p> + "But thar comes a time when the feud is over, an' 'Doby an' Billy turns in + better friends than before. For a month mebby thar's a Mexican girl—which + she's a cousin that a-way or some kin to 'Doby's wife—who's been + stayin' at 'Doby's house, sorter backin' their play. + </p> + <p> + "It falls out frequent this Mexican girl, Marie, trails over to Billy's, + roundin' up an' collectin' of Willyum to put another shirt onto him, or + some sech benefit. Billy never acts like he's impressed by this yere girl, + an', while he relinquishes Willyum every time, he growls an' puts it up + he's malev'lent over it. + </p> + <p> + "But the seniorita is game, an' don't put no store by Billy's growls. She + ropes up Willyum an' drags him away mighty decisive. Willyum howls an' + calls on Billy for aid, which most likely is pain to Billy's heart; but he + don't get it none. The senorita harnesses Willyum into a clean shirt, an' + then she throws Willyum loose on the range ag'in, an' he drifts back to + Billy. + </p> + <p> + "It's the general view that Billy never once thinks of wedlock with the + senorita if he's let alone. But one day Doc Peets waxes facetious. + </p> + <p> + "'In a month,' says Peets to Billy, while we-alls is renooin' our spcrits + in the Red Light, 'this yere Marie'll quit comin' over for Willyum.' + </p> + <p> + "'Why?' says Billy, glarin' at Peets s'picious. + </p> + <p> + "'Cause,' replies Peets, all careless, ''cause you ups an' weds her by + then. I sees it in your eye. Then, when she's thar for good, I reckons she + nacherally quits comin' over.' + </p> + <p> + "'Oh, I don't know,' says Texas Thompson, who's takin' in Doc Peets' + remark; ' I don't allow Billy's got the nerve to marry this yere Marie. + Not but what she's as pretty as an antelope. But think of 'Doby. He jest + never would quit chewin' Billy's mane if he goes pullin' off any nuptial + ceremonies with his wife's relative that a- way.' + </p> + <p> + "Billy looks hard as granite at this. He ain't sayin' nothin', but he gets + outside of another drink in a way which shows his mind's made up, an' then + he goes p'intin' off towards his camp, same as a gent who entertains + designs. + </p> + <p> + "'I offers three to one,' says Cherokee Hall, lookin' after Billy sorter + thoughtful that a-way, 'that Billy weds this yere Mexican girl in a week; + an' I'll go five hundred dollars even money he gets her before night.' + </p> + <p> + "'An' no takers,' says Doc Peets, 'for I about thinks you calls the turn.' + </p> + <p> + "An' that's what happens. In two hours after this impulsive Billy prances + out of the Red Light on the heels of Texas Thompson's remarks about how + hostile 'Doby would be if he ever gets Marie, he's done lured her before + the padre over in Chihuahua, an' the padre marries 'em as quick as you + could take a runnin'-iron an' burn a brand on a calf. + </p> + <p> + "'Which this is not all. Like they was out to add to the excitement a + whole lot, I'm a Mohave if 'Doby an' his wife don't turn loose an' have + another infant that same day. + </p> + <p> + "'I never sees a gent get so excited over another gent's game as Billy + does over 'Doby's number two. He sends his new wife up to 'Doby's on the + run, while he takes Willyum an' comes pirootin' back to the Red Light to + brace up. Billy's shore nervous an' needs it. + </p> + <p> + "'My pore child,' says Billy to Willyum about the third drink— + Willyum is settin' on a monte-table an' payin' heed to Billy a heap + decorous an' respectful for a three-year-old—'my pore child,' says + Billy that a-way, 'you-all is ag'in a hard game up at your paw's. This + yere is playin' it plumb low on you, Willyum. It looks like they fills a + hand ag'in you, son, an' you ain't in it no more at 'Doby's; who, whatever + is your fool claims on that p'int a year ago, is still your dad ondoubted. + But you-all knows me, Willyum. You knows that talk in Holy Writ. If your + father an' mother shakes you, your Uncle Billy takes you up. I'm powerful + 'fraid, Willyum, you'll have to have action on them promises." + </p> + <p> + "Willyum listens to Billy plenty grave an' owly, but he don't make no + observations on his luck or communicate no views to Billy except that he's + hungry. This yere ain't relevant none, but Billy at once pastures him out + on a can of sardines an' some crackers, while he keeps on bein' liberal to + himse'f about whiskey. + </p> + <p> + "'I don't feel like denyin' myse'f nothin',' he says. 'Yere I gets + married, an' in less'n an hour my wife is ravaged away at the whoop of + dooty to ride herd on another gent's fam'ly,; leavin' me, her husband, + with that other gent's abandoned progeny on my hands. This yere's gettin' + to be a boggy ford for Billy Rudd, you bet.' + </p> + <p> + "But while Billy takes on a heap, he don't impress me like he's hurt none + after all. When Doc Peets trails in from 'Doby's, where he's been in the + interests of science that a-way, Billy at once drug him aside for a + pow-wow. They talks over in one corner of the Red Light awhile, then Billy + looks up like one load's offen his mind, an' yells: + </p> + <p> + " 'Barkeep, it's another boy. Use my name freely in urgin' drinks on the + camp.' + </p> + <p> + "Then Billy goes on whisperin' to Doc Peets an' layin' down somethin', + like his heart's sot on it. At last Doc says: + </p> + <p> + "'The best way, Billy, is for me to bring 'Doby over.' With this Doc Peets + gets onto his pony at the door an' goes curvin' back to 'Doby's. + </p> + <p> + "'It's a boy,' says Billy to the rest of us after Doc Peets lines out, + `an' child an' mother both on velvet an' winnin' right along.' + </p> + <p> + "These yere events crowdin' each other that a-way—first a weddin' + an' then an infant boy—has a brightenin' effect on public sperit. It + makes us feel like the camp's shorely gettin' a start. While we- alls is + givin' way to Billy's desire to buy whiskey, Peets comes back, bringin' + 'Doby. + </p> + <p> + "Thar's nothin' what you-alls calls dramatic about 'Doby an' Billy comin' + together. They meets an' shakes, that's all. They takes a drink together, + which shows they's out to be friends for good, an' then Billy says: + </p> + <p> + "'But what I wants partic'lar, 'Doby, is that you makes over to me your + son Willyum. He's shore the finest young-one in Arizona, an' Marie an' me + needs him to sorter organize on.' + </p> + <p> + "'Billy,' says 'Doby, 'you-all an' me is partners for years, an' we're + partners yet. We has our storm cloud, an' we has also our eras of peace. + Standin' as we do on the brink of one of said eras, an' as showin' + sincerity, I yereby commits to you my son Willyum. Yereafter, when he + calls you "Pop," it goes, an' the same will not be took invidious.' + </p> + <p> + "''Doby,' replies Billy, takin' him by the hand, 'this yere day 'lustrates + the prophet when he says: "In the midst of life we're in luck." If you-all + notes tears in my eyes I'm responsible for 'em. Willyum's mine. As I r'ars + him it will be with you as a model. Now you go back where dooty calls you. + When you ceases to need my wife, Marie, send her back to camp, an' notify + me tharof. Pendin' of which said notice, however,' concloods Billy, + turnin' to us after 'Doby starts back, 'Willyum an' me entertains.'" + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. MACE BOWMAN, SHERIFF. + </h2> + <p> + "And so you think the trouble lies with the man and not with the whiskey?" + I said. + </p> + <p> + The Old Cattleman and I were discussing "temperance." + </p> + <p> + "Right you be. This yere whiskey-drinkin'," continued the old gentleman as + he toyed with his empty glass, "is a mighty cur'ous play. I knows gents as + can tamper with their little old forty drops frequent an' reg'lar. As far + as hurtin' of 'em is concerned, it don't come to throwin' water on a + drowned rat. Then, ag'in, I've cut gents's trails as drinkin' whiskey is + like playin' a harp with a hammer. Which we-alls ain't all upholstered + alike; that's whatever. We don't all show the same brands an' y'earmarks + nohow: What's med'cine for one is p'isen for t'other; an' thar you be. + </p> + <p> + "Bein' a reg'lar, reliable drunkard that a-way comes mighty near bein' a + disease. It ain't no question of nerve, neither. Some dead- game gents I + knows—an' who's that obstinate they wouldn't move camp for a + prairie-fire—couldn't pester a little bit with whiskey. + </p> + <p> + "Thar's my friend, Mace Bowman. Mace is clean strain cl'ar through, an' + yet I don't reckon he ever gets to a show-down with whiskey once which he + ain't outheld. But for grim nerve as'll never shiver, this yere Bowman is + at par every time. + </p> + <p> + "Bowman dies a prey to his ambition. He starts in once to drink all the + whiskey in Wolfville. By his partic'lar request most of the white male + people of the camp stands in on the deal, a-backin' his play for to make + Wolfville a dry camp. At the close of them two lurid weeks Mace lasts, + good jedges, like Enright an' Doc Peets, allows he's shorely made it + scarce some. + </p> + <p> + "But Wolfville's too big for him. Any other gent but Mace would have roped + at a smaller outfit, but that wouldn't be Mace nohow. If thar's a bigger + camp than Wolfville anywhere about, that's where he'd been. He's mighty + high-hearted an' ambitious that a-way, an' it's kill a bull or nothin' + when he lines out for buffalo. + </p> + <p> + "But the thirteenth day, he strikes in on the big trail, where you never + meets no outfits comin' back, an' that settles it. The boys, not havin' no + leader, with Mace petered, gives up the game, an' the big raid on + nose-paint in Wolfville is only hist'ry now. + </p> + <p> + "When I knows Bowman first he's sheriff over in northeast New Mexico. A + good sheriff Mace is, too. Thar ain't nothin' gets run off while he's + sheriff, you bet. When he allows anythin's his dooty, he lays for it + permiscus. He's a plumb sincere offishul that a-way. + </p> + <p> + "One time I recalls as how a wagon-train with households of folks into it + camps two or three days where Mace is sheriff. These yere people's headin' + for some'ers down on the Rio Grande, aimin' to settle a whole lot. Mebby + it's the third mornin' along of sun-up when they strings out on the trail, + an' we-alls thinks no more of 'em. It's gettin' about third-drink time + when back rides a gent, sorter fretful like, an' allows he's done shy a + boy. + </p> + <p> + "'When do you-all see this yere infant last?' says Mace. + </p> + <p> + "'Why,' says the gent, 'I shorely has him yesterday, 'cause my old woman + done rounds 'em up an' counts.' + </p> + <p> + "'What time is that yesterday?' + </p> + <p> + "'Bout first-drink time,' says the bereaved party. + </p> + <p> + "'How many of these yere offsprings, corral count, do you-all lay claim to + anyway?' asks Mace. + </p> + <p> + "'Which I've got my brand onto 'leven of 'em,' says the pore parent, + beginnin' to sob a whole lot. 'Of course this yere young-one gettin' + strayed this a-way leaves me short one. It makes it a mighty rough + crossin', stranger, after bringin' that boy so far. The old woman, she + bogs right down when she knows, an' I don't reckon she'll be the same + he'pmeet to me onless I finds him ag'in.' + </p> + <p> + "'Oh, well,' says Mace, tryin' to cheer this bereft person up, 'we lose + kyards in the shuffle which the same turns up all right in the deal; an' I + reckons we-alls walks down this yearlin' of yours ag'in, too. What for + brands or y'earmarks, does he show, so I'll know him.' + </p> + <p> + "'As to brands an' y'earmarks,' says the party, a-wipin' of his eye, 'he's + shy a couple of teeth, bein' milk-teeth as he's shed; an' thar's a mark on + his for'ard where his mother swipes him with a dipper, that a-way, + bringin' him up proper. That's all I remembers quick.' + </p> + <p> + "Mace tells the party to take a cinch on his feelin's, an' stampedes over + to the Mexican part of camp, which is called Chilili, on a scout for the + boy. Whatever do you-all reckon's become of him, son? I'm a wolf if a + Mexican ain't somehow cut him out of the herd an' stole him. Takes him in, + same as you mavericks a calf. Why in the name of hoss-stealin' he ever + yearns for that young-one is allers too many for me. + </p> + <p> + "When the abductor hears how Mace is on his trail, which he does from + other Mexicans, he swings onto his bronco an' begins p'intin' out, takin' + boy an' all. But Mace has got too far up on him, an' stops him mighty + handy with a rifle. Mace could work a Winchester like you'd whirl a rope, + an' the way he gets a bullet onder that black-an'-tan's left wing don't + worry him a little bit. The bullet tears a hole through his lungs, an' the + same bein' no further use for him to breathe with, he comes tumblin' like + a shot pigeon, bringin' the party's offspring with him. + </p> + <p> + "Which this yere is almighty flatterin' to Mace as a shot, an' it plumb + tickles the boy's sire. He allows he's lived in Arkansaw, an' shorely + knows good shootin', an' this yere's speshul good. An' then he corrals the + Greaser's skelp to take back with him. + </p> + <p> + "'It'll come handy to humor up the old woman with, when I gets back to + camp,' he says; so he tucks the skelp into his war-bags an' thanks Mace + for the interest he takes in his household. + </p> + <p> + "'That's all right,' says Mace; 'no trouble to curry a little short hoss + like that.' + </p> + <p> + "He shakes hands with the Arkansaw gent, an' we-alls rounds up to Bob + Step's an' gets a drink. + </p> + <p> + "But the cat has quite a tail jest the same. A Mexican that a-way is + plenty oncertain. For instance: You're settin' in on a little game of + monte all free an' sociable, an' one of 'em comes crowdin' 'round for + trouble, an' you downs him. All good enough, says you. No other Mexican + seems like he wants to assoome no pressure personal; no one goes browsin' + 'round to no sheriff; an' thar you be deluded into theeries that said + killin's quit bein' a question. That's where you- all is the victim of + error. + </p> + <p> + "Which in this case the Mexican Mace stretches has uncles or somethin' + down off Chaperita. Them relatives is rich. In a week—no one never + saveys how—everybody knows that thar's five thousand dollars up for + the first party who kills Mace. I speaks to him about it myse'f, allowin' + he'd oughter be careful how he goes spraddlin' about permiscus. Mebby, + when he's lookin' north some time, somebody gets him from the south. + </p> + <p> + "'I ain't worryin' none,' says Mace; 'I ain't got no friends as would down + me, nohow; an' my enemies ain't likely none to think it's enough dinero. + Killin' me is liable to come mighty high.' + </p> + <p> + "After which announcements he goes romancin' along in his cheerful, + light-hearted way, drinkin' his whiskey an' bein' sheriff, mingled, an' in + a week or so we-alls begins to forget about them rewards. One day a little + Mexican girl who Mace calls Bonita—she'd shorely give a hoss for a + smile from him any time—scouts over an' whispers to Mace as how + three Greasers from down around Anton Chico is in camp on a hunt for his + ha'r. Them murderers is out for the five thousand; they's over in Chilili + right then. + </p> + <p> + "'Whereabouts in Chilili be them Mexicans?' asks Mace, kinder interested. + </p> + <p> + "'Over camped in old Santa Anna's dance. hall, a-drinkin' of mescal an' + waitin' for dark,' says the girl. + </p> + <p> + "'All right,' says Mace; 'I'll prance over poco tiempo, an' it's mighty + likely them aliens from Anton Chico is goin' to have a fitful time.' + </p> + <p> + "Mace kisses the little Bonita girl, an' tells her not to chirp nothin' to + no Mexican; an' with the caress that a-way her black eyes gets blacker an' + brighter, an' the red comes in her cheek, an' bats could see she'd swap + the whole Mexican outfit for a word from Mace, an' throw herse'f in for + laniyap. + </p> + <p> + "Mace p'ints out to get another gun; which is proper enough, for he's only + one in his belt, an' in a case like this yere he's mighty likely to need + two a lot. + </p> + <p> + "'Some of us oughter go over with Mace, I reckons,' says a party named + Benson, sorter general to the crowd. 'What do you-alls think yourse'fs?' + </p> + <p> + "'Go nothin'!' retorts a gent who's called Driscoll, an' who's up to the + hocks into a game of poker, an' don't like to see it break up an' him + behind. 'The hand Mace holds don't need no he'p. If Mace is out after two + or three of the boys now, it would be plenty different; but whoever hears + of a white man's wantin' he'p that a- way to down three Greasers, an' him + to open the game? Mace could bring back all the skelps in Chilili if he's + that f'rocious an' wants to, an' not half try.' + </p> + <p> + "This seems to be the general idee, an', aside of some bets which is made, + no one takes no interest. Bob Short puts it up he'd bet a hundred dollars + even Mace gets one of 'em; a hundred to two hundred he gets two, an' a + hundred to five hundred he gets 'em all; an' some short-kyard sharp who's + up from Socorro, after figgerin' it all silent to himse'f, takes 'em all. + </p> + <p> + "'Now I don't reckon, stranger,' says Benson, sorter reproachful, to the + short-kyard party, 'you knows Mace Bowman mighty well? If you- all did you + wouldn't go up ag'in a shore thing like that.' + </p> + <p> + "We never gets anythin' but Mace's story for it. He tells later how he + sa'nters into Santa Anna's an' finds his three Anton Chico felons all + settin' alone at a table. They knows him, he says, an' he camps down over + opp'site an' calls for a drink. They's watchin' Mace, an' him doin' + sim'lar by them. Final, he says, one of 'em makes a play for his gun, an', + seein' thar's nothin' to be made waitin', Mace jumps up with a six-shooter + in each hand, an' thar's some noise an' a heap of smoke, an' them three + Mexicans is eliminated in a bunch. + </p> + <p> + "When he plays his hand out Mace comes back over to us—no other + Mexicans allowin' for to call him—an' relates how it is, an' + nacheral we says it's all right, which it shorely is. I asks old Santa + Anna for the details of the shake-up later, but he spreads his hands, an' + shrugs his shoulders, an' whines + </p> + <p> + "'No quien sabe.' + </p> + <p> + "An', of course, as I can't tell, an' as Santa Anna don't, I gives' up + askin'." + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX. A WOLFVILLE THANKSGIVING. + </h2> + <p> + It was in the earlier days of autumn. Summer had gone, and there was + already a crisp sentiment of coming cold in the air. The Old Cattleman and + I had given way to a taste for pedestrianism that had lain dormant through + the hot months. It was at the close of our walk, and we were slowly making + our way homeward. + </p> + <p> + "An' now the year's got into what hoss-folks calls the last quarter," + remarked the old gentleman musingly. "You can feel the frost in the + atmosphere; you can see where it's bit the leaves a lot, an' some of 'em's + pale with the pain, an' others is blood-red from the wound. "Which I don't + regard winter much, say twenty years ago. Thar's many a night when I + spreads my blankets in the Colorado hills, flakes of snow a-fallin' as + soft an' big an' white as a woman's hand, an' never heeds 'em a little + bit. But them days is gone. Thar's no roof needed in my destinies then. + An' as for bed, a slicker an' a pair of hobbles is sumptuous. + </p> + <p> + "When a gent rounds up seventy years he's mighty likely to get a heap + interested in weather. It's the heel of the hunt with him then, an' he's + worn an' tired, and turns nacherally to rest an' fire." + </p> + <p> + We plodded forward as he talked. To his sage comments on the seasons, and + as well the old age of men, I offered nothing. My silence, however, seemed + always to meet with his tacit approval; nor did he allow it to impede his + conversational flow. + </p> + <p> + "Well," observed the old fellow, after a pause, "I reckons I'll see the + winter through all right; likewise the fall. I'm a mighty sight like that + old longhorn who allows he's allers noticed if he lives through the month + of March he lives through the rest of the year; so I figgers I'll hold + together that a-way ontil shorely March comin'. Anyhow I regards it as an + even break I does. + </p> + <p> + "Thar's one thing about fall an' winter which removes the dreariness some. + I alloods to them festivals sech as Thanksgivin' an' Christmas an' New + Year. Do we-alls cel'brate these yere events in Wolfville? Which we + shorely does. Take Christmas: You-all couldn't find a sober gent in + Wolfville on that holy occasion with a search-warrant; the feelin' to + cel'brate is that wide-spread an' fervid. + </p> + <p> + "Thanksgivin' ain't so much lotted on; which for one thing we frequent + forgets it arrives that a-way. Thar's once, though, when we takes note of + its approach, an' nacherally, bein' organized, we ketches it squar' in the + door. Them Thanksgivin' doin's is shorely great festivities that time. + It's certainly a whirl. + </p> + <p> + "Old Man Enright makes the first break; he sorter arranges the game. But + before all is over, the food we eats, the whiskey we drinks, an' the lies + we tells an' listens to, is a shock an' a shame to Arizona. + </p> + <p> + "Thar's a passel of us prowlin' 'round in the Red Light one day, when + along comes Enright. He's got a paper in his hand, an' from the air he + assooms it's shore plain he's on the brink of somethin'. + </p> + <p> + "'What I'm thinkin' of, gents, is this,' says Enright, final. 'I observes + to-morrow to be Thanksgivin' by this yere paper Old Monte packs in from + Tucson. The Great Father sets to-morrow for a national blow-out, a-puttin' + of it in his message on the broad ground that everybody's lucky who + escapes death. Now, the question is, be we in this? an' if so, what form + the saturnalia takes?' + </p> + <p> + What's the matter of us hoppin' over an' shootin' up Red Dog?" says Dan + Boggs. 'That bunch of tarrapins ain't been shook up none for three + months.' + </p> + <p> + "'Technical speakin',' says Doc Peets—which Peets, he shorely is the + longest-headed sharp I ever sees, an' the galiest—'shootin' up Red + Dog, while it's all right as a prop'sition an' highly creditable to Boggs, + is not a Thanksgivin' play. The game, turned strict, confines itse'f to + eatin', drinkin', an' lyin'.' + </p> + <p> + "'Thar's plenty of whiskey in camp,' says Jack Moore, meditative- like, + 'whereby that drinkin' part comes easy.' + </p> + <p> + "'I assooms it's the will of all to pull off a proper Thanksgivin' caper,' + says Enright, 'an' tharfore I su'gests that Doc Peets and Boggs waits on + Missis Rucker at the O. K. restauraw an' learns what for a banquet she can + rustle an' go the limit. Pendin' the return of Peets an' Boggs I allows + the balance of this devoted band better imbibe some. Barkeep, sort out + some bottles.' + </p> + <p> + "The committee comes back after a little, an' allows Missis Rucker reports + herse'f shy on viands on account of the freighters bein' back'ard comin' + in. + </p> + <p> + "'But,' says Peets, 'she's upholstered to make a strong play on salt hoss + an' baked beans, with coffee an' biscuits for games on the side.' + </p> + <p> + "'That's good enough for a dog,' says Jack Moore, 'to say nothin' of mere + people. Any gent who thinks he wants more is the effect victim of whims.' + </p> + <p> + "While we-alls is discussin' the ground plans for this yere feast, thar's + a clatter of pony-hoofs an' a wild yell outside, an' next thar's a big, + shaggy-lookin' vagrant, a-settin' on his hoss in front of the Red Light's + door. + </p> + <p> + "'Get an axe, somebody,' he shouts, 'an' widen this yere portal some. I + aims to come in on my hoss.' + </p> + <p> + "`Hands up, thar!' says Jack Moore, reachin' for his six-shooter. 'Hands + up! I'll jest fool you up about comin' in on your hoss. You work in one + wink too many now, an' I puts a hole in your face right over the eye.' + </p> + <p> + "'Go slow, Jack,' says Enright. 'Who may you-all be?' he goes on to the + locoed man on the hoss. + </p> + <p> + "'Me?' says the locoed man. 'I'm Red Dog Bill. Tell that sot,' he + continues, p'intin' at Jack, ' to put down his gun an' not offer it at me + no more. He's a heap too vivid with that weepon. Only I'm a white-winged + harbinger of peace, I shore ups an' makes him eat the muzzle offen it.' + </p> + <p> + "'Well, whatever be you thirstin' for, anyhow?' says Enright. 'You comes + ridin' in yere like you ain't got no regards for nothin'. Is this a + friendly call, or be you present on a theery that you runs the town?' + </p> + <p> + "'I'm the Red Dog committee on invitations,' he says. 'Red Dog sends its + comps, an' asks Wolfville to bury the hatchet for one day in honor of + to-morrow bein' Thanksgivin', an' come feed with us.' + </p> + <p> + "'Let's go him,' says Dan Boggs. + </p> + <p> + "'Now stand your hand a second,' says Enright, 'don't let's overlook no + bets. Whatever has you Red Dog hold-ups got to eat, anyhow?' + </p> + <p> + "'Ain't got nothin' to eat much—maybe some can stuff—what + you-alls calls air-tights,' says the Red Dog man. 'But we has liquid, no + limit.' + </p> + <p> + "'Got any can tomatters?' says Boggs. + </p> + <p> + "'Can tomatters we-alls is 'speshul strong on,' says the Red Dog man. + 'It's where we-alls lives at; can tomatters is.' + </p> + <p> + "'I tells you what you-all do,' says Enright, 'an' when I speaks, I + represents for this yere camp.' + </p> + <p> + "'Which he shore does,' says Jack. 'He's the Big Gray Wolf yere, you can + gamble. If he don't say "go slow" when you comes a-yellin' up, your + remains would a-been coverin' half an acre right now. It would look like + it's beef-day at this yere agency, shore.' + </p> + <p> + "'You-all go back to Red Dog,' says Enright, payin' no notice to Jack's + interruptions, 'an' tell 'em we plants the war-axe for one day, an' to + come over an' smoke ponies with us, instead of we-alls come thar. We're + goin' to have baked beans an' salt hoss, an' we looks for Red Dog in a + body. Next Thanksgivin' we eats in Red Dog. Does this yere go?' + </p> + <p> + "`It goes,' says the Red Dog gent; 'but be you-alls shore thar's + s'fficient whiskey in your camp? Red Dog folks is a dry an' burnin' outfit + an' is due to need a heap.' + </p> + <p> + "'The liquid's all right,' says Boggs. 'If you alls wants to do yourse'f + proud, freight in a hundred-weight of them can tomatters. Which we runs + out entire.' + </p> + <p> + The next day Missis Rucker sets tables all over her dinin'-room an' brings + on her beans. Eighteen Red Dog gents is thar, each totin' of a can of + tomatters. An' let me impart right yere, son, we never has a more free an' + peacefuller day than said Thanksgivin'. + </p> + <p> + "'Them beans is a little hard, ain't they?' says Doc Peets, while we-alls + is eatin', bein' p'lite an' elegant like. 'Mebby they don't get b'iled + s'fficient?' + </p> + <p> + "'Them beans is all right,' says the War Chief of the Red Dogs. 'They be + some hard, but you can't he'p it none. It's the altitood; the higher up + you gets, the lower heat it takes to b'ile water. So it don't mush up + beans like it should.' + </p> + <p> + "'That's c'rrect every time,' says Enright; 'I mind bein' over back of + Prescott once, an' up near timber-line, an' I can't b'ile no beans at all. + I'm up that high the water is so cold when it b'iles that ice forms on it + some. I b'iles an' b'iles on some beans four days, an' it don't have no + more effect than throwin' water on a drowned rat. After persistent + b'ilin', I skims out a hand. ful an' drops 'em onto a tin plate to test + 'em, an' it sounds like buckshot. As you says, it's the altitood.' + </p> + <p> + "'Gents,' says the boss of Red Dog, all of a sudden, an' standin' up by + Enright, 'I offers the toast: "Wolfville an' Red Dog, now an' yereafter."' + </p> + <p> + "Of course we-alls drinks, an' Doc Peets makes a talk. He speaks mighty + high of every gent present; which compliments gets big action in sech a + game. The Red Dog chief—an' he's a mighty civilized- lookin' gent—he + talks back, an' calls Wolfville an' Red Dog great commercial centers, + which they sore be. He says, 'We-alls is friendly to-day, an' fights the + rest of the year,' which we-alls agrees to cordial. He says fightin'. or, + as he calls it, 'a generous rivalry,' does camps good, an' I reckons he's + right, too, 'cause it shore results in the cashin' in of some mighty bad + an' disturbin' elements. When he sets down, thar's thunders of applause. + </p> + <p> + "It's by this time that the drinkin' becomes frequent an' common. The talk + gets general, an' the lies them people evolves an' saws off on each other + would stampede stock. + </p> + <p> + "Any day but Thanksgivin' sech tales would shore lead to reecriminations + an' blood; but as it is, every gent seems relaxed an' onbuckled that a-way + in honor of the hour, an' it looks like lyin' is expected. + </p> + <p> + "How mendacious be them people? If I recalls them scenes c'rrectly, it's + Texas Thompson begins the campaign ag'in trooth. + </p> + <p> + "This yere Texas Thompson tells, all careless-like, how 'way back in the + forties, when he's a boy, he puts in a Thanksgivin' in the Great Salt Lake + valley with Old Jim Bridger. This is before the Mormons opens their little + game thar. + </p> + <p> + "'An' the snow falls to that extent, mebby it's six foot deep,' says + Texas. 'Bridger an' me makes snow-shoes an' goes slidin' an' pesterin' + 'round all fine enough. But the pore animals in the valley gets a rough + time. + </p> + <p> + "'It's a fact; Bridger an' me finds a drove of buffalos bogged down in the + snow,—I reckons now thar's twenty thousand of 'em,—and never a + buffalo can move a wheel or turn a kyard. Thar they be planted in the + snow, an' only can jest wag their y'ears an' bat their eyes. + </p> + <p> + "'Well, to cut it brief, Bridger an' me goes projectin' 'round an' cuts + the throats of them twenty-thousand buffalo; which we-alls is out for them + robes a whole lot. Of course we don't skin 'em none while they's stuck in + the snow; but when the snow melts in the spring, we capers forth an' peels + off the hides like shuckin' peas. They's froze stiff at the time, for the + sun ain't got 'round to thaw the beef none yet; an' so the meat's as good + as the day we downs 'em. + </p> + <p> + "'An' that brings us to the cur'ous part. As fast as we-alls peels a + buffalo, we rolls his carcass down hill into Salt Lake, an' what do + you-alls reckons takes place? The water's that briny, it pickles said + buffalo-meat plumb through, an' every year after, when Bridger an' me is + back thar—we're trappin' an' huntin' them times,—all we has to + do is haul one of them twenty thousand pickled buffalos ashore an' eat + him. + </p> + <p> + "'When the Mormons comes wanderin' along, bein' short on grub that a-way, + they nacherally jumps in an' consooms up the whole outfit in one season, + which is why you-alls don't find pickled buffalo in Salt Lake no more. + </p> + <p> + "'Bridger an' me starts in, when we learns about it, to fuss with them + polygamists that a-way for gettin' away with our salt buffalos. But they's + too noomerous for us, an' we done quits 'em at last an' lets it go.' + </p> + <p> + "Nobody says much when Texas Thompson is through. We merely sets 'round + an' drinks. But I sees the Red Dog folks feels mortified. After a minute + they calls on their leadin' prevaricator for a yarn. His name's Lyin' Jim + Riley, which the people who baptizes him shorely tumbles to his talents. + </p> + <p> + "This yere Lyin' Jim fills a tin cup with nose-paint, an' leans back + listless-like an' looks at Enright. + </p> + <p> + "'I never tells you-alls,' he says, 'about how the Ratons gets afire + mighty pecooliar, an' comes near a-roastin' of me up some, do I? It's this + a-way: I'm pervadin' 'round one afternoon tryin' to compass a wild turkey, + which thar's bands of 'em that Fall in the Ratons a-eatin' of the + pinyon-nuts. I've got a Sharp's with me, which the same, as you-alls + knows, is a single-shot, but I don't see no turks, none whatever. Now an' + then I hears some little old gobbler, 'cross a canyon, a-makin' of + sland'rous remarks about other gobblers to some hen he's deloodin', but I + never manages a shot. As I'm comin' back to camp—I'm strollin' down + a draw at the time where thar's no trees nor nothin'—thar emanates a + black-tail buck from over among the bushes on the hill, an' starts to + headin' my way a whole lot. His horns is jest gettin' over bein' velvet, + an' he's feelin' plenty good an' sassy. I sees that buck—his horns + eetches is what makes him—jump eighteen feet into the air an' comb + them antlers of his'n through the hangin' pine limbs. Does it to stop the + eetchin' an' rub the velvet off. Of course I cuts down on him with the + Sharp's. It's a new gun that a-way, an' the sights is too coarse—you + drags a dog through the hind sights easy—an' I holds high. The + bullet goes plumb through the base of his horn, close into the ha'r, an' + all nacheral fetches him sprawlin'. I ain't waitin' to load my gun none, + which not waitin' to load, I'm yere to mention, is erroneous. I'm yere to + say thar oughter be an act of Congress ag'in not loadin' your gun. They + oughter teach it to the yearlin's in the schools, an' likewise in the + class on the Sabbath. Allers load your gun. Who is that sharp, Mister + Peets, who says, "Be shore you're right, then go ahead"? He once ranches + some'ers down on the Glorieta. But what he oughter say is: "Be shore your + gun's loaded, then go ahead."' + </p> + <p> + "'That's whatever!' says Dan Boggs, he'pin' himse'f an' startin' the + bottle; 'an' if he has a lick of sense, that's what he would say.' + </p> + <p> + "'Which I lays down my empty gun,' goes on this Lyin' Jim, ' an' starts + for my buck to bootcher his neck a lot. When I gets within ten feet he + springs to his hoofs an' stands glarin'. You can gamble, I ain't tamperin' + 'round no wounded buck. I'd sooner go pesterin' 'round a widow woman.' + </p> + <p> + "'I gets mingled up with a wounded buck once,' says Dave Tutt, takin' a + dab of paint, 'an' I nacherally wrastles him down an' lops one of his + front laigs over his antlers, an' thar I has him; no more harm left in him + than a chamber-maid. Mine's a white-tailed deer over on the Careese.' + </p> + <p> + "'This yere's a black-tail, which is different; says Lyin' Jim; 'it's + exactly them front laigs you talks of so lightly I'm 'fraid of. + </p> + <p> + "`The buck he stands thar sorter dazed an' battin' of his eyes. I ain't no + time to go back for my Sharp's, an' my six-shooter is left in camp. Right + near is a high rock with a steep face about fifteen feet straight up an' + down. I scrambles on to this an' breathes ag'in, 'cause I knows no deer is + ever compiled yet who makes the trip. The buck's come to complete by now, + an' when he observes me on the rock, his rage is as boundless as the glory + of Texas.' + </p> + <p> + "'Gents, we-alls takes another cow-swaller, right yere,' shouts Texas + Thompson. 'It's a rool with me to drink every time I hears the sacred name + of Texas.' + </p> + <p> + "When we-alls conceals our forty drops in the usual place, Lyin' Jim + proceeds: + </p> + <p> + "'When this buck notes me, he's that frenzied he backs off an' jumps ag'in + the face of the rock stiff-laiged, an' strikes it with them hoofs of him. + Which he does this noomerous times, an' every hoof cuts like a + cold-chisel. It makes the sparks go spittin' an' flyin' like it's a + blacksmith-shop. + </p> + <p> + "'I'm takin' it ca'm enough, only I'm wonderin' how I'm goin' to fetch + loose, when I notices them sparks from his hoofs sets the pine twigs an' + needles a-blazin' down by the base of the rock. + </p> + <p> + "'That's what comes to my relief. In two minutes this yere spreads to a + general conflagration, and the last I sees of my deer he's flyin' over the + Divide into the next canyon with his tail a-blazin' an' him utterin' + shrieks. I has only time to make camp, saddle up, an' line out of thar, to + keep from bein' burned before my time. + </p> + <p> + "'This yere fire rages for two months, an' burns up a billion dollars + worth of mountains, I'm a coyote if some folks don't talk of lawin' me + about it.' + </p> + <p> + "'That's a yarn which has the year-marks of trooth, but all the same it's + deer as saves my life once,' says Doc Peets, sorter trailin' in + innocent-like when this Lyin' Jim gets through; 'leastwise their meat + saves it. I'm out huntin' same as you is, this time to which I alloods. + </p> + <p> + "'I'm camped on upper Red River; up where the river is only about twelve + feet wide. It ain't deep none, only a few inches, but it's dug its banks + down about four feet. The river runs along the center of a mile-wide + valley, which they ain't no trees in it, but all cl'ar an' open. It's + snowin' powerful hard one, evenin' about 3 o'clock when I comes back along + the ridge towards my camp onder the pines. While I'm ridin' along I + crosses the trail of nineteen deer. I takes it too quick, 'cause I needs + deer in my business, an' I knows these is close or their tracks would be + covered, the way it snows. + </p> + <p> + "'I runs the trail out into the open, headin' for the other ridge. The + snow is plenty deep out from onder the pines, but I keeps on. Final, jest + in the mouth of a canyon, over the other side where the pines begins + ag'in, up jumps a black. tail from behind a yaller-pine log, and I drops + him. + </p> + <p> + "'My pony's plumb broke down by now, so I makes up my mind to camp. It's a + 'way good site. Thar's water comin' down the canyon; thar's a big, flat + floor of rocks—big as the dance-hall floor—an' all protected + by a high rock-faced bluff, so no snow don't get thar none; an' out in + front, some twelve feet, is a big pitch-pine log. Which I couldn't a-fixed + things better if I works a year. + </p> + <p> + "'I sets fire to the log, cuts up my deer, an' sorter camps over between + the log an' bluff, an' takes things as ba'my as summer. I has my + saddle-blanket an' a slicker, an' that's all I needs. + </p> + <p> + "'Thar ain't no grass none for the little hoss, but I peels him about a + bushel of quakin'-ash bark, an' he's doin' well 'nough. Lord! how it snows + outside! When I peers out in the mornin' it scares me. I saddles up, + 'cause my proper camp is in the pines t'other side of this yere open + stretch, an' I've got to make it. + </p> + <p> + "'My pony is weak, an' can only push through the snow, which is five feet + deep. I'm walkin' along all comfortable, a-holdin' of his tail, when + "swish" he goes plumb outen sight. I peers into the orifice which ketches + him, an' finds he's done slumped off that four-foot bank into Red River, + kerslop! Which he's at once swept from view; the river runnin' in ondcr + the snow like a tunnel. + </p> + <p> + "That settles it; I goes pirootin' back. I lives in that canyon two + months. It snows a heap after I gets back, an' makes things deeper'n ever. + I has my deer to eat, not loadin' my pony with it when I starts, an' I + peels some sugar-pines, like I sees Injuns, an' scrapes off the white skin + next the trees, an' makes a pasty kind of bread of it, an' I'm all right. + </p> + <p> + "'One mornin', jest before I gets out of meat, I sees trouble out in the + snow. Them eighteen deer—thar's nineteen, but I c'llects one, as I + says—comes sa'nterin' down my canyon while I'm asleep, an' goes out + an' gets stuck in the snow. I allows mebby they dresses about sixty pounds + each, an' wallers after 'em with my knife an' kills six. + </p> + <p> + "'This yere gives me meat for seventy-two days—five pounds a day, + which with the pine bark is shore enough, The other twelve I turns 'round + an' he'ps out into the canyon ag'in, an' do you know, them deer's that + grateful they won't leave none? It's a fact, they simply hangs 'round all + the time I'm snowed in. + </p> + <p> + "'In two months the snow melts down, an' I says adios to my twelve deer + an' starts for camp. Which you-alls mebby imagines my s'prise when I + beholds my pony a-grazin' out in the open, saddle on an' right. Yere's how + it is: He's been paradin' up an' down the bed of Red River onder that snow + tunnel for two months. Oh! he feeds easy enough. Jest bites the yerbage + along the banks. This snow tunnel is four feet high, an' he's got plenty + of room. + </p> + <p> + "'I'm some glad to meet up with my pony that a-way, you bet! an' ketches + him up an' rides over to my camp. An' I'm followed by my twelve deer, + which comes cavortin' along all genial an' cordial an' never leaves me. + No, my hoss is sound, only his feet is a little water-soaked an' tender; + an' his eyes, bein' so long in that half. dark place onder the snow, is + some weak an' sore.' + </p> + <p> + "As no one seems desirous to lie no more after Doc Peets gets through, + we-alls eats an' drinks all we can, an' then goes over to the dance-hall + an' whoops her up in honor of Red Dog. Nothin' could go smoother. + </p> + <p> + "When it comes time to quit, we has a little trouble gettin' sep'rate from + 'em, but not much. We-alls starts out to 'scort 'em to Red Dog as a guard + of honor, an' then they, bustin' with p'liteness, 'scorts us back to + Wolfville. Then we-alls, not to be raised out, sees 'em to Red Dog ag'in, + an' not to have the odd hoss onto 'em in the matter, back they comes with + us. + </p> + <p> + "I don't know how often we makes this yere round trip from one camp to + t'other, cause my mem'ry is some dark on the later events of that + Thanksgivin'. My pony gets tired of it about the third time back, an' + humps himse'f an' bucks me off a whole lot, whereupon I don't go with them + Red Dog folks no further, but nacherally camps down back of the mesquite I + lights into, an, sleeps till mornin'. You bet! it's a great Thanksgivin'.' + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXL. + </h2> + <h3> + BILL HOSKINS'S COON. + </h3> + <p> + "Now I thoroughly saveys," remarked the Old Cattleman reflectively, at a + crisis in our conversation when the talk turned on men of small and + cowardly measure, "I thoroughly saveys that taste for battle that lurks in + the deefiles of folk's nacher like a wolf in the hills Which I reckons now + that I, myse'f, is one of the peacefullest people as ever belts on a + weepon; but in my instincts—while I never jestifies or follows his + example—I cl'arly apprehends the emotions of a gent who convenes + with another gent all sim'lar, an' expresses his views with his gun. Sech + is human nacher onrestrained, an' the same, while deplorable, is not + s'prisin'. + </p> + <p> + "But this yere Olson I has in my mem'ry don't have no sech manly feelin's + as goes with a gun play. Olson is that cowardly he's even furtive; an' for + a low-flung measly game let me tell you-all what Olson does. It's shorely + ornery. + </p> + <p> + "It all arises years ago, back in Tennessee, an' gets its first start out + of a hawg which is owned by Olson an' is downed by a gent named Hoskins—Bill + Hoskins. It's this a-way. + </p> + <p> + "Back in Tennessee in my dream-wreathed yooth, when livestock goes + projectin' about permiscus, a party has to build his fences 'bull strong, + hawg tight, an' hoss high,' or he takes results. Which Hoskins don't make + his fences to conform to this yere rool none; leastwise they ain't hawg + tight as is shown by one of Olson's hawgs. + </p> + <p> + "The hawg comes pirootin' about Hoskins's fence, an' he goes through easy; + an' the way that invadin' animal turns Bill's potatoes bottom up don't + hinder him a bit. He shorely loots Bill's lot; that's whatever. + </p> + <p> + "But Bill, perceivin' of Olson's hawg layin' waste his crop, reaches down + a 8-squar' rifle, 30 to the pound, an' stretches the hawg. Which this is + where Bill falls into error. Layin' aside them deeficiencies in Bill's + fence, it's cl'ar at a glance a hawg can't be held responsible. Hawgs is + ignorant an' tharfore innocent; an' while hawgs can be what Doc Peets + calls a' CASUS BELLI,' they can't be regarded as a foe legitimate. + </p> + <p> + "Now what Bill oughter done, if he feels like this yore hawg's done put it + all over him, is to go an' lay for Olson. Sech action by Bill would have + been some excessive,—some high so to speak; but it would have been a + line shot. Whereas killin' the hawg is 'way to one side of the mark; an' + onder. + </p> + <p> + "However, as I states, Bill bein' hasty that a-way, an' oncapable of + perhaps refined reasonin', downs the pig, an' stands pat, waitin' for + Olson to fill his hand, if he feels so moved. + </p> + <p> + "It's at this pinch where the cowardly nacher of this yere Olson begins to + shine. He's ugly as a wolf about Bill copperin' his hawg that a-way, but + he don't pack the nerve to go after Bill an' make a round-up of them + grievances. An' he ain't allowin' to pass it up none onrevenged neither. + Now yere's what Olson does; he 'sassinates Bill's pet raccoon. + </p> + <p> + "That's right, son, jest massacres a pore, confidin' raccoon, who don't no + more stand in on that hawg-killin' of Bill's, than me an' you,—don't + even advise it. + </p> + <p> + "Which I shorely allows you saveys all thar is to know about a raccoon. + No? Well, a raccoon's like this: In the first place he's plumb easy, an' + ain't lookin' for no gent to hold out kyards or ring a cold deck on him. + That's straight; a raccoon is simple-minded that a-way; an' his impressive + trait is, he's meditative. Besides bein' nacherally thoughtful, a raccoon + is a heap melancholy,—he jest sets thar an' absorbs melancholy from + merely bein' alive. + </p> + <p> + "But if a raccoon is melancholy or gets wropped in thought that a- way, + it's after all his own play. It's to his credit that once when he's tamed, + he's got mountainous confidence in men, an' will curl up to sleep where + you be an' shet both eyes. He's plumb trustful; an' moreover, no matter + how mournful a raccoon feels, or how plumb melancholy he gets, he don't + pester you with no yarns. + </p> + <p> + "I reckons I converses with this yere identical raccoon of Bill's plenty + frequent; when he feels blue, an' ag'in when he's at his gailiest, an' he + never remarks nothin' to me except p'lite general'ties. + </p> + <p> + "If this yere Olson was a dead game party who regards himse'f wronged, + he'd searched out a gun, or a knife, or mebby a club, an' pranced over an' + rectified Bill a whole lot. But he's too timid an' too cowardly, an' + afraid of Bill. So to play even, he lines out to bushwhack this he'pless, + oninstructed raccoon. Olson figgers to take advantage of what's cl'arly a + loop-hole in a raccoon's constitootion. + </p> + <p> + "Mebby you never notices it about a raccoon, but once he gets interested + in a pursoot, he's rigged so he can't quit none ontil the project's a + success. Thar's herds an' bands of folks an' animals who's fixed sim'lar. + They can start, an' they can't let up. Thar's bull-dogs: They begins a war + too easy; but the c'pacity to quit is left out of bull-dogs entire. Same + about nose-paint with gents I knows. They capers up to whiskey at the + beginnin' like a kitten to warm milk; an' they never does cease no more. + An' that's how the kyards falls to raccoons. + </p> + <p> + "Knowin these yere deefects in raccoons, this Olson plots to take + advantage tharof; an' by playin' it low on Bill's raccoon, get even with + Bill about that dead hawg. Which Bill wouldn't have took a drove of hawgs; + no indeed! not the whole Fall round-up of hawgs in all of West Tennessee, + an' lose that raccoon. + </p> + <p> + "It's when Bill's over to Pine Knot layin' in tobacker, an' nose- paint + an' corn meal, an' sech necessaries, when Olson stands in to down Bill's + pet. He goes injunnin' over to Bill's an' finds the camp all deserted, + except the raccoon's thar, settin', battin' his eyes mournful an' lonesome + on the doorstep. This Olson camps down by the door an' fondles the + raccoon, an' strokes his coat, an' lets him search his pockets with his + black hands ontil he gets that friendly an' confident about Olson he'd + told him anythin'. It's then this yere miscreant, Olson, springs his game. + "H's got a couple of crawfish which he's fresh caught at the Branch. Now + raccoons regards crawfish as onusual good eatin'. For myse'f, I can't say + I deems none high of crawfish as viands, but raccoons is different; an' + the way they looks at it, crawfish is pie. + </p> + <p> + "This Olson brings out his two crawfish an' fetchin' ajar of water from + the spring, he drops in a crawfish an' incites an' aggravates Zekiel—that's + the name of Bill's raccoon—to feel in an' get him a whole lot. + </p> + <p> + "Zekiel ain't none shy on the play. He knows crawfish like a gambler does + a red chip; so turnin' his eyes up to the sky, like a raccoon does who's + wropped in pleasant anticipations that a-way, he plunges in his paw an' + gets it. + </p> + <p> + "Once Zekiel acquires him, the pore crawfish don't last as long as + two-bits at faro-bank. When Zekiel has him plumb devoured he turns his + eyes on Olson, sorter thankful, an' 'waits developments. + </p> + <p> + "Olson puts in the second crawfish, an' Zekiel takes him into camp same as + t'other. It's now that Olson onfurls his plot on Zekiel. Olson drops a + dozen buckshot into the jar of water. Nacherally, Zekiel, who's got his + mind all framed up touchin' crawfish, goes after the buckshot with his + fore foot. But it's different with buck- shot; Zekiel can't pick 'em up. + He tries an' tries with his honest, simple face turned up to heaven, but + he can't make it. All Zekiel can do is feel 'em with his foot, an' roll + 'em about on the bottom of the jar. + </p> + <p> + "Now as I remarks prior, when a raccoon gets embarked that a-way, he can't + quit. He ain't arranged so he can cease. Olson, who's plumb aware tharof, + no sooner gets Zekiel started on them buckshot, than knowin' that nacher + can be relied on to play her hand out, he sa'nters off to his wickeyup, + leavin' Zekiel to his fate. Bill won't be home till Monday, an' Olson + knows that before then, onless Zekiel is interrupted, he'll be even for + that hawg Bill drops. As Olson cones to a place in the trail where he's + goin' to lose sight of Bill's camp, he turns an' looks back. The picture + is all his revenge can ask. Thar sets Zekiel on the doorstep, with his + happy countenance turned up to the dome above, an' his right paw elbow + deep in the jar, still rollin' an' feelin' them buckshot 'round, an' + allowin' he's due to ketch a crawfish every moment. + </p> + <p> + "Which it works out exactly as the wretched Olson figgers. The sun goes + down, an' the Sunday sun comes up an' sets again; an' still pore Zekiel is + planted by the jar, with his hopeful eyes on high, still feelin' of them + buckshot. He can't quit no more'n if he's loser in a poker game; Zekiel + can't. When Bill rides up to his door about second-drink time Monday + afternoon, Olson is shorely even on that hawg. Thar lays Zekiel, dead. + He's jest set thar with them buck-shot an' felt himse'f to death. + </p> + <p> + "But speakin' of the sapiency of Bill Hoskins's Zekiel," continued the old + gentleman as we lighted pipes and lapsed into desultory puffing, "while + Zekiel for a raccoon is some deep, after all you-all is jest amazed at + Zekiel 'cause I calls your attention to him a whole lot. If you was to go + into camp with 'em, an' set down an' watch 'em, you'd shorely be s'prised + to note how level-headed all animals be. + </p> + <p> + "Now if thar's anythin' in Arizona for whose jedgement I don't have + respect nacheral, it's birds. Arizona for sech folks as you an' me, an' + coyotes an' jack-rabbits, is a good range. Sech as we-alls sorter fits + into the general play an' gets action for our stacks. But whatever a bird + can find entrancin' in some of them Southwestern deserts is allers too + many for me. + </p> + <p> + "As I su'gests, I former holds fowls, who of free choice continues a + residence in Arizona, as imbeciles. Yet now an' then I observes things + that makes me oncertain if I'm onto a bird's system; an' if after all + Arizona is sech a dead kyard for birds. It's possible a gent might be way + off on birds an' the views they holds of life. He might watch the play an' + esteem 'em loser, when from a bird's p'int of view they's makin' a + killin', an' even callin' the turn every deal. + </p> + <p> + "What he'ps to open my eyes a lot on birds is two Road Runners Doc Peets + an' me meets up with one afternoon comin' down from Lordsburg. These yere + Road Runners is a lanky kind of prop'sition, jest a shade off from spring + chickens for size. Which their arrangements as to neck an' laigs is + onrestricted an' liberal, an' their long suit is runnin' up an' down the + sun-baked trails of Arizona with no object. Where he's partic'lar strong, + this yere Road Runner, is in waitin' ontil some gent comes along, same as + Doc Peets an' me that time, an' then attachin' of himse'f said cavalcade + an' racin' along ahead. A Road Runner keeps up this exercise for miles, + an' be about the length of a lariat ahead of your pony's nose all the + time. When you- all lets out a link or two an' stiffens your pony with the + spur, the Road Runner onbuckles sim'lar an' exults tharat. You ain't goin' + to run up on him while he can wave a laig, you can gamble your last chip, + an' you confers favors on him by sendin' your pony at him. Thar he stays, + rackin' along ahead of you ontil satiated. Usual thar's two Road Run. + ners, an' they clips it along side by side as if thar's somethin' in it + for 'em; an' I reckons, rightly saveyed, thar is. However, the profits to + Road Runners of them excursions ain't obvious, none whatever; so I won't + try to set 'em forth. Them journeys they makes up an' down the trail + shorely seems aimless to me. + </p> + <p> + "But about Doc Peets an' me pullin' out from Lordsburg for Wolfville that + evenin': Our ponies is puttin' the landscape behind 'em at a good + road-gait when we notes a brace of them Road Runners with wings half + lifted, pacin' to match our speed along the trail in front. As Road + Runners is frequent with us, our minds don't bother with 'em none. Now an' + then Doc an' me can see they converses as they goes speedin' along a level + or down a slope. It's as if one says to t'other, somethin' like this yere + </p> + <p> + "'How's your wind, Bill? Is it comin' easy?' + </p> + <p> + "'Shore,' it would seem like Bill answers. 'Valves never is in sech shape. + I'm on velvet; how's your laigs standin' the pace, Jim?' + </p> + <p> + "'Laigs is workin' like they's new oiled,' Jim replies back; 'it's a plumb + easy game. I reckons, Bill, me an' you could keep ahead of them mavericks + a year if we-alls feels like it.' + </p> + <p> + "'Bet a blue stack on it,' Bill answers. ' I deems these yere gents soft. + Before I'd ride sech ponies as them, I'd go projectin' 'round some night + an' steal one.' + </p> + <p> + "'Them ponies is shorely a heap slothful,' Jim answers. + </p> + <p> + "'At this mebby them Road Runners ruffles their feathers an' runs on + swifter, jest to show what a slow racket keepin' ahead of me an' Peets is. + An' these yere locoed birds keeps up sech conversations for hours. + </p> + <p> + "Mind I ain't sayin' that what I tells you is what them Road Runners + really remarks; but I turns it over to you-all the way it strikes me an' + Doc at the time. What I aims to relate, how-ever, is an incident as sheds + light on how wise an' foxy Road Runners be. + </p> + <p> + "Doc Peets an' me, as I states, ain't lavishin' no onreasonable notice on + these yere birds, an' they've been scatterin' along the trail for mebby + it's an hour, when one of 'em comes to a plumb halt, sharp. The other + stops likewise an' rounds up ag'inst his mate; an' bein' cur'ous to note + what's pesterin 'em, Peets an' me curbs to a stand-still. The Road Runner + who stops first—the same bein' Bill— is lookin' sharp an' + interested-like over across the plains. + </p> + <p> + "'Rattlesnake,' he imparts to his side partner. + </p> + <p> + "'Where's he at?' says the side partner, which is Jim, 'where's this yere + snake at, Bill? I don't note no rattlesnake.' + </p> + <p> + "'Come round yere by me,' Bill says. 'Now on a line with the top of yonder + mesa an' a leetle to the left of that soap-weed; don't you- all see him + quiled up thar asleep?' + </p> + <p> + "'Which I shorely does,' says Jim, locatin' the rattlesnake with his beady + eye, 'an' he's some sunk in slumber. Bill, that serpent is our meat.' + </p> + <p> + "'Move your moccasins easy,' says Bill, 'so's not to turn him out. Let's + rustle up some flat cactuses an' corral him.' + </p> + <p> + "Tharupon these yere Road Runners turns in mighty diligent; an' not makin' + no more noise than shadows, they goes pokin' out on the plains ontil they + finds a flat cactus which is dead; so they can tear off the leaves with + their bills. Doc Peets an' me sets in our saddles surveyin' their play; + an' the way them Road Runners goes about the labors of their snake killin' + impresses us it ain't the first bootchery of the kind they appears in. + They shorely don't need no soopervisin'. + </p> + <p> + "One after the other, Jim an' Bill teeters up, all silent, with a flat + cactus leaf in their beaks, an' starts to fence in the rattlesnake with + 'em. They builds a corral of cactus all about him, which the same is mebby + six-foot across. Them engineerin' feats takes Jim an' Bill twenty minutes. + But they completes 'em; an' thar's the rattlesnake, plumb surrounded. + </p> + <p> + "These yere cactuses, as you most likely saveys, is thorny no limit; an' + the spikes is that sharp, needles is futile to 'em. Jim an' Bill knows the + rattlesnake can't cross this thorny corral. + </p> + <p> + "He don't look it none, but from the way he plays his hand, I takes it a + rattlesnake is sensitive an' easy hurt onder the chin. + </p> + <p> + "An' it's plain to me an' Peets them Road Runners is aware of said + weaknesses of rattlesnakes, an' is bankin' their play tharon. We- alls + figgers, lookin' on, that Jim an' Bill aims to put the rattlesnake in + prison; leave him captive that a-way in a cactus calaboose. But we don't + size up Jim an' Bill accurate at all. Them two fowls is shorely profound. + </p> + <p> + "No sooner is the corral made, than Jim an' Bill, without a word of + warnin', opens up a warjig 'round the outside; flappin' their pinions an' + screechin' like squaws. Nacherally the rattlesnake wakes up. The sight of + them two Road Runners, Jim an' Bill, cussin' an' swearin' at him, an' + carryin' on that a-way scares him. + </p> + <p> + "It's trooth to say Bill an' Jim certainly conducts themse'fs scand'lous. + The epithets they heaps on that pore ignorant rattlesnake, the taunts they + flings at him, would have done Apaches proud. + </p> + <p> + The rattlesnake buzzes an' quils up, an' onsheaths his fangs, an' makes + bluffs to strike Bill an' Jim, but they only hops an' dances about, + thinkin' up more ornery things to say. Every time the rattlesnake goes to + crawl away—which he does frequent—he strikes the cactus thorns + an' pulls back. By an' by he sees he's elected, an' he gets that enraged + he swells up till he's big as two snakes; Bill an' Jim maintainin' their + sass. Them Road Runners is abreast of the play every minute, you can see + that. + </p> + <p> + "At last comes the finish, an' matters gets dealt down to the turn. The + rattlesnake suddenly crooks his neck, he's so plumb locoed with rage an' + fear, an' socks his fangs into himse'f. That's the fact; bites himse'f, + an' never lets up till he's dead. + </p> + <p> + "It don't seem to astound Jim an' Bill none when the rattlesnake + 'sassinates himse'f that a-way, an' I reckons they has this yere sooicide + in view. They keeps pesterin' an' projectin' about ontil the rattlesnake + is plumb defunct, an' then they emits a whirlwind of new whoops, an' goes + over to one side an' pulls off a skelp dance. Jim an' Bill is shorely + cel'bratin' a vic'try. + </p> + <p> + "After the skelp dance is over, Bill an' Jim tiptoes over mighty quiet an' + sedate, an' Jim takes their prey by the tail an' yanks it. After the + rattlesnake's drug out straight, him an' Bill runs their eyes along him + like they's sizin' him up. With this yere last, however, it's cl'ar the + Road Runners regards the deal as closed. They sa'nters off down the trail, + arm in arm like, conversin' in low tones so Peets an' me never does hear + what they says. When they's in what they takes to be the c'rrect p'sition, + they stops an' looks back at me an' Peets. Bill turns to Jim like he's + sayin': + </p> + <p> + "'Thar's them two short-horns ag'in. I wonders if they ever aims to pull + their freight, or do they reckon they'll pitch camp right yere?"' + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII. OLD SAM ENRIGHT'S "ROMANCE." + </h2> + <p> + "It mebby is, that romances comes to pass on the range when I'm thar," + remarked the Old Cattleman, meditatively, "but if so be, I never notes + 'em. They shorely gets plumb by me in the night." + </p> + <p> + The old gentleman had just thrown down a daily paper, and even as he spoke + I read on the upturned page the glaring headline: "Romance in Real Life." + His recent literature was the evident cause of his reflections. + </p> + <p> + "Of course," continued the Old Cattleman, turning for comfort to his + inevitable tobacco pipe, "of course, at sech epocks as some degraded sharp + takes to dealin' double in a poker game, or the kyards begins to come two + at a clatter at faro-bank, the proceedin's frequent takes on what you-all + might call a hue of romance; an' I admits they was likely to get some + hectic, myse'f. But as I states, for what you-all would brand as clean. + strain romance, I ain't recallin' none." + </p> + <p> + "How about those love affairs of your youth?" I ventured. + </p> + <p> + "Which I don't deny," replied the old gentleman, between puffs, "that back + in Tennessee, as I onfolds before, I has my flower- scented days. But I + don't wed nothin', as you-all knows, an' even while I'm ridin' an' ropin' + at them young female persons, thar's never no romance to it, onless it's + in the fact that they all escapes. + </p> + <p> + "But speakin' of love-tangles, Old Man Enright once recounts a story; + which the same shows how female fancy is rootless an' onstable that a-way. + </p> + <p> + "'Allers copper a female.' says Cherokee Hall, one day, when Texas + Thompson is relatin' how his wife maltreats him, an' rounds up a divorce + from him down at Laredo. 'Allers play 'em to lose. Nell, yere,' goes on + Cherokee, as he runs his hand over the curls of Faro Nell, who's lookout + for Cherokee, 'Nelly, yere, is the only one I ever meets who can be + depended on to come winner every trip.' + </p> + <p> + "'Which females,' says Old Man Enright, who's settin' thar at the time, ' + an' partic'lar, young females, is a heap frivolous, nacheral. A rainbow + will stampede most of 'em. For myse'f, I'd shorely prefer to try an' hold + a bunch of five hundred ponies on a bad night, than ride herd on the heart + of one lady. Between gent an' gent that a-way, I more'n half figger the + 'ffections of a female is migratory, same as buffaloes was before they was + killed, an' sorter goes north like in the spring, an' south ag'in in the + winter.' + </p> + <p> + "'As for me; says Texas Thompson, who's moody touchin' them divorce plays + his wife is makin', 'you-alls can gamble I passes all females up. No + matter how strong I holds, it looks like on the showdowns they outlucks me + every time. Wherefore I quits 'em cold, an' any gent who wants my chance + with females can shorely have the same.' + </p> + <p> + "'Oh, I don't know!' remarks Doc Peets, gettin' in on what's a general + play, 'I've been all through the herd, an' I must say I deems women good + people every time; a heap finer folks than men, an' faithfuller.' + </p> + <p> + "'Which I don't deny females is fine folks,' says Texas, 'but what I'm + allowin' is, they's fitful. They don't stay none. You-alls can hobble + an'sideline'em both at night; an' when you rolls out in the mornin', + they's gone.' + </p> + <p> + "'What do you-all think, Nell?' says Doc Peets to Faro Nell, who's perched + up on her stool by Cherokee's shoulder. 'What do you-all reckon now of + Texas yere, a-malignin' of your sex? Why don't you p'int him to Dave Tutt + an' Tucson Jennie? Which they gets married, an' thar they be, gettin' + along as peaceful as two six-shooters on the same belt.' + </p> + <p> + "'I don't mind what Texas says, none,' replies Faro Nell. 'Texas is all + right, an' on the square". I shouldn't wonder none if this yere Missis + Thompson does saw it off on him some shabby, gettin' that sep'ration, an' + I don't marvel at his remarks. But as long as Cherokee yere thinks I'm + right, I don't let nobody's views pester me a little bit, so thar.' + </p> + <p> + "'It's what I says awhile back,' interrupts Enright. 'Texas Thompson's + wife's motives mighty likely ain't invidious none. It's a heap probable if + the trooth is known, that she ain't aimin' nothin' speshul at Texas; she + only changes her mind. About the earliest event I remembers,' goes on + Enright, 'is concernin' a woman who changes her mind. It's years ago when + I'm a yearlin'. Our company is makin' a round-up at a camp called Warwhoop + Crossin', in Tennessee, organizin' to embark in the Mexican war a whole + lot, an' thin out the Greasers. No one ever does know why I, personal, + declar's myse'f in on this yere imbroglio. I ain't bigger 'n a charge of + powder, an' that limited as to laigs I has to clamber onto a log to mount + my pony. + </p> + <p> + "'But as I'm tellin', we-alls comes together at Warwhoop to make the + start. I reckons now thar's five hundred people thar. `'Which the + occasion, an' the interest the public takes in the business, jest combs + the region of folks for miles about. + </p> + <p> + "'Thar's a heap of hand-shakin' an' well-wishin' goin' on; mothers an' + sisters, an' sweethearts is kissin' us good-bye; an' while thar's some + hilarity thar's more sobs. It's not, as I looks back'ard, what you-alls + would call a gay affair. + </p> + <p> + "'While all this yere love an' tears is flowin', thar's a gent—he's + our Captain—who's settin' off alone in his saddle, an' ain't takin' + no hand. Thar's no sweetheart, no mother, no sister for him. + </p> + <p> + "'No one about Warwhoop knows this yere party much; more'n his name is + Bent. He's captain with the Gov'nor's commission, an' comes from 'way-off + yonder some'ers. An' so he sets thar, grim an' solid in his saddle, + lookin' vague-like off at where the trees meets the sky, while the rest of + us is goin' about permiscus, finishin' up our kissin'. + </p> + <p> + "'"Ain't he got no sweetheart to wish goodbye to him?" asks a girl of me. + "Ain't thar no one to kiss him for good luck as he rides away?" + </p> + <p> + "'This yere maiden's name is Sanders, an' it's a shore fact she's the + prettiest young female to ever make a moccasin track in West Tennessee. + I'd a-killed my pony an' gone afoot to bring sech a look into her eyes, as + shines thar when she gazes at the Captain where he's silent an' sol'tary + on his hoss. + </p> + <p> + "'No," I replies, "he's a orphan, I reckons. He's plumb abandoned that + a-way, an' so thar's nobody yere to kiss him, or shake his hand." + </p> + <p> + "'This yere pretty Sanders girl—an' I'm pausin' ag'in to state she's + a human sunflower, that a-way—this Sanders beauty, I'm sayin', looks + at this party by himse'f for a moment, an' then the big tears begins to + well in her blue eyes. She blushes like a sunset, an' walks over to this + yere lone gent. + </p> + <p> + "'Mister Captain," she says, raisin' her face to him like a rose, "I'm + shore sorry you ain't got no sweetheart to say 'good-bye;' an' bein' + you're lonesome, that a-way, I'll kiss you an' say adios myse'f." + </p> + <p> + "'Will you, my little lady?" says the lonesome Captain, as he swings from + his saddle to the ground by her side; an' thar's sunshine in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + "'I'll think of you every day for that,"he says, when he kisses her, "an' + if I gets back when the war's done, I'll shorely look for you yere." + </p> + <p> + "'The little Sanders girl—she is shorely as handsome as a ace full + on kings—blushes a heap vivid at what she's done, an' looks warm an' + tender. Which, while the play is some onusual an' out of line, everybody + agrees it's all right; bein' that we-alls is goin' to a war, that a-way. + </p> + <p> + "'Now yere,' goes on Enright, at the same time callin' for red-eye all + 'round, ' is what youalls agrees is a mighty romantic deal. Yere's a love + affair gets launched.' + </p> + <p> + "'Does this yere lone-hand gent who gets kissed by the Sanders lady + outlive the war?' asks Texas Thompson, who has braced up an' gets mighty + vivacious listenin' to the story. + </p> + <p> + "'Which he shorely outlives that conflict,' replies Enright. 'An' you can + gamble he's in the thick of the stampede, too, every time. I will say for + this yere Captain, that while I ain't with him plumb through, he's as game + a sport as ever fought up hill. He's the sort which fights an goes for'ard + to his man at the same time. Thar's no white feathers on that kind; they's + game as badgers. An' bad.' + </p> + <p> + "'Which if he don't get downed none,' says Texas Thompson, 'an' hits + Tennessee alive, I offers ten to one he leads this yere Sanders female to + the altar.' + </p> + <p> + "'Which you'd lose, a whole lot,' says Enright, at the same time raisin' + his whiskey glass. + </p> + <p> + "'That's what I states when I trails out on this yere romance. Females is + frivolous an' plumb light of fancy. This Captain party comes back to + Warwhoop, say, it's two years an' a half later, an' what do you-alls + reckon? That Sanders girl's been married mighty nigh two yzars, an' has an + infant child as big as a b'ar cub, which is beginnin' to make a bluff at + walkin.' + </p> + <p> + "'Now, on the squar', an' I'm as s'prised about it as you be—I'm + more'n s'prised, I'm pained—I don't allow, lookin' over results an' + recallin' the fact of that b'ar-cub infant child, that for all her + blushin', an' all her tears, an' kissin' that Captain party good-by that + a-way, that the Sanders girl cares a hoss-h'ar rope for him in a week. An' + it all proves what I remarks, that while females ain't malev'lent + malicious, an' don't do these yere things to pierce a gent with grief, + their 'ffections is always honin' for the trail, an' is shorely prone to + move camp. But, bless 'em! they can't he'p it none if their hearts be + quicksands, an' I libates to 'em ag'in.' + </p> + <p> + "Whereat we-alls drinks with Enright; feelin' a heap sim'lar. + </p> + <p> + "'Whatever becomes of this yerc pore Captain party?' asks Faro Nell. + </p> + <p> + "'Well, the fact about that Captain,' replies Enright, settin' down his + glass, 'while the same is mere incident, an' don't have no direct bearin' + on what I relates; the fact in his case is he's wedded already. Nacherally + after sayin' "howdy!" to the little Sanders girl, an' applaudin' of her + progeny—which it looks like he fully endorses that a-way—this + yere Captain gent hits the trail for Nashville, where his wife's been + keepin' camp an' waitin' for him all the time."' + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII. PINON BILL'S BLUFF. + </h2> + <p> + "This narrative is what you-all might call some widespread," said the Old + Cattleman, as he beamed upon me, evidently in the best of humors. "It + tells how Pinon Bill gets a hoss on Jack Moore; leaves the camp bogged up + to the saddle-girths in doubt about who downs Burke; an' stakes the Deef + Woman so she pulls her freight for the States. + </p> + <p> + "Pinon Bill is reckoned a hard game. He's only in Wolfville now an' then, + an' ain't cuttin' no figger in public calc'lations more'n it's regarded as + sagacious to pack your gun while Pinon Bill's about. + </p> + <p> + "No; he don't down no white men no one ever hears of, but thar's stories + about how he smuggles freight an' plunder various from Mexico, an' drives + off Mexican cattle, an' once in awhile stretches a Mexican himse'f who + objects to them enterprises of Pinon Bill's; but thar's nothin' in sech + tales to interest Americans, more'n to hear 'em an' comment on 'em as + plays. + </p> + <p> + "But while Pinon Bill never turns his talents to American, them liberties + he takes with Greasers gives him a heap of bad repoote, as a mighty ornery + an' oneasy person; an' most of us sorter keeps tab on him whenever he + favors Wolfville with his presence. + </p> + <p> + "'This time he collides with Jack Moore, an' so to speak, leaves the + drinks on Jack, he's been trackin' 'round camp mebby it's six weeks. + </p> + <p> + "'Likewise thar's an old longhorn they calls the 'Major'; he's been + hangin' about for even longer yet. Don't go to figgerin' on no hostilities + between this Pinon Bill an' the Major, for their trails never does cross + once. Another thing' Pinon Bill ain't nacheraliy hostile neither; ain't + what you-all calls trailin' trouble; whereas the Major's also a heap too + drunk to give way to war, bein' tanked that a-way continuous. + </p> + <p> + "Which I don't reckon thar's the slightest doubt but the Major's a bigger + sot than Old Monte, though the same is in dispoote; Cherokee Hall an' + Boggs a-holdin' he is; an' Doc Peets an' Tutt playin' the other end; + Enright an' Jack Moore, ondecided. + </p> + <p> + "Peets confides in me of an' concernin' the Major that thar's a time—an' + no further up the trail than five years—when the Major is + shore-'nough a Major; bein' quartermaster or some sech bluff in the army. + </p> + <p> + "But one day Uncle Sam comes along an' wants to cash in; an' thar this + yere crazy-hoss Major is with ten times as many chips out as he's got + bank-roll to meet, an' it all fatigues the gov'ment to that extent the + Major's cashiered, an' told to vamos the army for good. + </p> + <p> + "I allers allows it's whiskey an' kyards gets the Major's roll that time. + Peets says he sees him 'way back once over some'ers near the Mohave Desert—Wingate, + mebby—an' whiskey an' poker has the Major roped; one by the horns, + the other by the hoofs; an' they jest throws him an' drug him, an' drug + him an' throws him, alternate. The Major never shakes loose from the loops + of them vices; none whatever. + </p> + <p> + "An' that's mighty likely, jest as I says, how the Major finds himse'f + cashiered an' afoot; an' nothin' but disgrace to get rid of an' whiskey to + get, to fill the future with. + </p> + <p> + "So it comes when I trails up on the Major he's a drunkard complete, + hangin' 'round with a tin-horn an' a handful of dice, tryin' to get + Mexicans or Chinamen to go ag'in 'em for any small thing they names. + </p> + <p> + "It's on account of this yere drunkard the Major that the Deef Woman comes + stagin' it in with Old Monte one day. Got a papoose with her, the Deef + Woman has, a boy comin' three, an' it's my firm belief, which this view is + common an' frequent with all Wolfville, as how the Deef Woman's the + Major's wife. + </p> + <p> + "It ain't no cinch play that this female's deef, neither; which it's + allers plain she hears the most feeblesome yelp of that infant, all the + way from the dance-hall to the O. K. House, an' that means across the camp + complete. + </p> + <p> + "Boggs puts it up she merely gives it out she's deef that a-way to cut off + debate with the camp, an' decline all confidences goin' an' comin'. + </p> + <p> + "Thar's no reason to say the Deef Woman's the Major's wife, more'n she + tumbles into camp as onlooked for as Old Monte sober, an' it's easy to + note she s'prises an' dismays the Major a lot, even drunk an' soaked with + nose paint as he shorely is. + </p> + <p> + "The Deef Woman has a brief pow-wow with him alone over at the O. K. + House, followin' of which the Major appears the whitiest an' the shakiest + I ever beholds him—the last bein' some strong as a statement—an' + after beggin' a drink at the Red Light, p'ints out afoot for Red Dog, an' + is seen no more. + </p> + <p> + "What the Deef Woman says to the Major, or him to her; or what makes him + hit the trail for Red Dog that a-way no one learns. The Deef Woman ain't + seemin' to regard the Major's jumpin' the outfit as no loss, however. + Wherein she's plenty accurate, for that Major shorely ain't worth ropin' + to brand. + </p> + <p> + "After he's gone—an' the Major's moccasin track ain't never seen in + Wolfville no more, he's gone that good—the next we-alls hears of the + deal, this yere Deef Woman's playin' the piano at the dance- hall. + </p> + <p> + "Doc Peets an' Enright, likewise the rest, don't like this none whatever, + for she don't show dance-hall y'ear marks, an' ain't the dance-hall brand; + but it looks like they's powerless to interfere. + </p> + <p> + "Peets tries to talk to her, but she blushes an' can't hear him; while + Enright an' Missis Rucker—which the last bein' a female herse'f is + rung in on the play—don't win out nothin' more. Looks like all the + Deef Woman wants is to be let alone, while she makes a play the best she + can for a home-stake. + </p> + <p> + "I pauses to mention, however, that durin' the week the Deef Woman turns + her game at the piano—for she don't stay only a week as the play + runs out—she comes mighty near killin' the dance-hall business. The + fact is this were Deef Woman plays that remarkable sweet no one dances at + all; jest nacherally sets'round hungerin' for them melodies, an' cadences + to that extent they actooally overlooks drinks. + </p> + <p> + "That's right; an' you can gamble your deepest chip when folks begins to + overlook drinks, an' a glass of whiskey lasts energetic people half an + hour, they's shorely some rapt. + </p> + <p> + "Even the coyotes cashes in an' quits their howls whenever the Deef Woman + drug her chair up to that piano an' throws loose. An' them coyotes + afterward, when she turns up her box an' stops dealin', gets that bashful + an' taciturn they ain't sayin' a word; but jest withholds all yells entire + the rest of the night. + </p> + <p> + "But thar's no use talkin' hours about the Deef Woman's music. It only + lasts a week; even if Wolfville does brag of it yet. + </p> + <p> + "It's this a-way: It's while Pinon Bill is romancin' round the time I + mentions, that we-alls rolls outen our blankets one mornin' an' picks up a + party whose name's Burke. This yere Burke is shot in the back; plumb dead, + an' is camped when we finds him all cold an' stiff out back of the New + York store. + </p> + <p> + "The day before, Burke, who's a miner, diggin' an' projectin' 'round over + in the Floridas, is in camp layin' in powder an' fuse a whole lot, with + which he means to keep on shootin' up the he'pless bosoms of the hills + like them locoed miner people does. + </p> + <p> + "At night he's drunk; an' while thar's gents as sees Burke as late, mebby + it's two hours after the last walse at the dance-hall, thar's nobody who + ups an' imparts how Burke gets plugged. All Wolfville knows is that at + first-drink time in the mornin', thar this Burke is plumb petered that + a-way. + </p> + <p> + "An' the worst feature shorely is that the bullet goes in his back, which + makes it murder plain. Thar ain't a moccasin track to he'p tell who drops + this yere Burke. Nacrerally, everybody's deeply taken to know who does it; + for if thar's a party in camp who's out to shoot when your back's turned, + findin' of him an' hangin' him can't be too pop'lar an' needful as a play. + But, as I remarks, we're baffled, an' up ag'inst it absoloote. No one has + the least notion who gets this yere Burke. It's money as is the object of + the murder, for Burke's war-bags don't disclose not a single centouse when + the committee goes through 'em prior to the obsequies. + </p> + <p> + "It's two days the camp is talkin' over who does this crime, when Texas + Thompson begins to shed a beam of light. This last was onlooked for, an' + tharfore all the more interestin'. + </p> + <p> + "Texas Thompson is a jedge of whiskey sech as any gent might tie to. He's + a middlin' shot with a Colt's .44 an' can protect himse'f at poker. But + nobody ever reckons before that Texas can think. Which I even yet deems + this partic'lar time a inspiration, in which event Texas Thompson don't + have to think. + </p> + <p> + "It's over in the Red Light the second after. noon when Texas turns loose + a whole lot. + </p> + <p> + "'Enright,' he says, 'I shore has a preemonition this yere Burke gets + plugged by Pinon Bill.' + </p> + <p> + "'How does the kyards run so as to deal s'picions on Pinon Bill?' says + Enright. + </p> + <p> + "'This a-way,' says Texas, some confident an' cl'ar; 'somebody downs + Burke; that's dead certain. Burke don't put that hole in the middle of his + back himse'f; no matter how much he reckons it improves him. Then, when + it's someone else who is it? Now,' goes on Texas, as glib as wolves, + 'yere's how I argues: You-all don't do it; Peets don't do it; Boggs don't + do it; thar's not one of us who does it. An' thar you be plumb down to + Pinon Bill. In the very nacher of the deal, when no one else does it an' + it's done, Pinon Bill's got to do it. I tells you as shore as my former + wife at Laredo's writin' insultin' letters to me right now, this yere + Pinon Bill's the party who shoots up that miner gent Burke.' + </p> + <p> + "What Texas Thompson says makes an impression; which it's about the first + thoughtful remark he ever makes, an' tharfore we're prone to give it + more'n usual attention. + </p> + <p> + "We imbibes on it an' talks it up an' down, mebby it's half an hour; an' + the more we drinks an' the harder we thinks, the cl'arer it keeps gettin' + that mighty likely this yere Texas has struck the trail. At last Jack + Moore, who's, as I often says, prompt an' vig'lant that a-way, lines out + to hunt this yere Pinon Bill. + </p> + <p> + "Whyever do they call him Pinon Bill? Nothin' much; only once he comes + into camp drunk an' locoed; an' bein' in the dark an' him hawg-hungry, he + b'iles a kettle of pinon-nuts, a-holdin' of 'em erroneous to be beans, an' + as sech aimin' to get some food outen 'em a whole lot. He goes to sleep + while he's pesterin' with 'em, an' when the others tumbles to his game in + the mornin', he's branded as 'Pinon Bill' ever more. + </p> + <p> + "When Jack hops out to round-up Pinon Bill, all he does is go into the + street. The first thing he notes is this yere Pinon Bill's pony standin' + saddled over by the O. K. House, like he plans to pull his freight. + </p> + <p> + "'Which that bronco standin' thar,' says Jack to Enright, 'makes it look + like Texas calls the turn with them surmises.' An' it shorely does. + </p> + <p> + "This pony makes Jack's play plenty simple; all he does now is to sa'nter + 'round the pony casooal like an' lay for Pinon Bill. + </p> + <p> + "Jack's too well brought up to go surgin' into rooms lookin' for Pinon + Bill, where Jack's eyes comin' in outen the sun that a-way, can't see for + a minute nohow, an' where Pinon Bill has advantages. It's better to wait + for him outside. + </p> + <p> + "You-all saveys how it's done in the West. When a gent's needed you allers + opens the game with a gun-play. + </p> + <p> + "'Hold up your hands!' says you, sorter indicatin' a whole lot at your + prey with a gun. + </p> + <p> + "Which, by the way, if he don't enter into the sperit of the thing prompt + an' p'int his paws heavenward an' no delay, you-all mustn't fall into no + abstractions an' forget to shoot some. When you observes to a fellow-bein' + that a-way + </p> + <p> + 'Hold up your hands!' you must be partic'lar an' see he does it. Which if + you grows lax on this p'int he's mighty likely to put your light out right + thar. + </p> + <p> + "An' jest as Jack Moore tells me once when we're puttin' in some leesure + hours an' whiskey mingled, you don't want to go too close to standup your + gent. Over in the Gunnison country, Jack says, a marshal he knows gets + inadvertent that a-way, an' thoughtless, an' goes up close. + </p> + <p> + "'Throw up your hands' says this yere marshal. + </p> + <p> + "His tone shows he's ennuied; he has so many of these yere blazers to run; + that's why he's careless, mebby. When the party throws up his hands, he is + careful an knocks the marshal's gun one side with his left hand, bein' + he's too close as I says, at the same time pullin' his own wherewith he + then sends that marshal to the happy huntin' grounds in one motion. Before + ever that Gunnison offishul gets it outen his head that that sport's + holdin' up his hands, he's receivin' notice on high to hustle 'round an' + find his harp an' stand in on the eternal chorus for all he's worth. + </p> + <p> + "'Which the public,' says Jack Moore, the time he relates about this yere + Gunnison marshal bein over-played that time, 'takes an' hangs the killer + in a minute. An' he's shorely a bad man. + </p> + <p> + "'Does you-all want to pray?" says one of the gents who's stringin' of + him. + </p> + <p> + "'No, Ed," he says that a-way, "prayin's a blind trail to my eyes an' I + can't run it a inch." + </p> + <p> + "'"What for a racket," says this yere Ed, "would it be to pick out a sport + to pray for you a whole lot; sorter play your hand?" + </p> + <p> + "'"That's all right," says this culprit. "Nominate your sharp an' tell him + to wade in an' roll his game. I reckons it's a good hedge, an' a little + prayin' mebby does me good." + </p> + <p> + "'Tharupon the committee puts for'ard a gent who's a good talker; but not + takin' an interest much, he makes a mighty weak orison, that a-way. Thar's + nohody likes it, from the culprit, who's standin' thar with the lariat + 'round his neck, to the last gent who's come up. This party blunders + along, mebby it's a minute, when the culprit, who's plumb disgusted, + breaks in. + </p> + <p> + "'"That's a hell of a pra'r," he says, "an' I don't want no more of it in + mine. Gimme a drink of whiskey, gents, an' swing me off." + </p> + <p> + "'The committee, whose sympathies is all with this yere party who's to + hang, calls down the gent a heap who's prayin', gives the other his forty + drops, an' cinches him up some free of the ground; which the same bein' + ample for strang'lation. + </p> + <p> + "'But,' concloods Jack, 'while they hangs him all right an' proper, that + don't put off the funeral of the marshal none, who gets careless an' goes + too close.' An' you bet Jack's right. + </p> + <p> + "But goin' back: As I remarks, Jack stands round loose an' indifferent + with his eye on the pony of Pinon Bill's, which it looks now like this + yere Bill is aware of Jack's little game. He comes out shore-'nough, but + he's organized. He's got his gun in his hand; an' also he's packin' the + Deef Woman's yearlin' in front of his breast an' face. + </p> + <p> + "Jack gives him the word, but Pinon Bill only laughs. Then Jack makes a + bluff with his gun like he's goin' to shoot Pinon Bill, the infant, an' + all involved tharin. This yere last move rattles Pinon Bill, an' he ups + an' slams loose at Jack. But the baby's in his way as much mebby as it is + in Jack's, an' he only grazes Jack's frame a whole lot, which amounts to + some blood an' no deep harm. + </p> + <p> + "'Down his pony, Jack!' shouts Dave Tutt, jumpin' outen the Red Light like + he aims to get in on the deal. + </p> + <p> + "But this yere Pinon Bill shifts the cut on 'em. + </p> + <p> + "'If one of you-alls so much as cracks a cap,' he says, 'I blows the head + offen this yere blessed child.' + </p> + <p> + "An' tharupon he shoves his gun up agin that baby's left y'ear that a-way, + so it shore curdles your blood. He does it as readily as if it's grown-up + folks. It shore sends a chill through me; an' Dan Boggs is that 'fected he + turns plumb sick. Boggs ain't eatin' a thing, leastwise nothin' but + whiskey, for two days after he sees Pinon Bill do it. + </p> + <p> + "'That's on the level,' says this Pinon Bill ag'in.—The first + vestich of a gun-play I witnesses, or if any gent starts to follow me + ontil I'm a mile away, I'll send this yearlin' scoutin' after Burke. An' + you-alls hears me say it.' + </p> + <p> + "Thar it is; a squar' case of stand-off. Thar ain't a gent who's game to + make a move. Seein' we ain't got a kyard left to play, this yere Pinon + Bill grins wide an' satisfactory, an' swings into the saddle. + </p> + <p> + "All this time—which, after all, it ain't so long—the baby + ain't sayin' nothin', and takes the deal in plumb silence. But jest as + Pinon Bill lands in the saddle it onfurls a yell like a wronged panther. + That's what brings the Deef Woman stampedin' to the scene. She don't hear + a morsel of all this riot Jack an' Tutt an' Pinon Bill kicks up; never + even gets a hint of Pinon Bill's six-shooter. But with the earliest squeak + of that infant that a-way, you bet! she comes a-runnin'. + </p> + <p> + "The second she sees where her baby's at, up in the saddle along with + Pinon Bill, she makes a spring for the whole outfit. We-alls stands + lookin' on. Thar ain't one of us dares crook a finger, for this Pinon Bill + is cool an' ca'm plumb through. He's still got the drop on the kid, while + he's holdin' baby an' bridle both with the other arm an' hand. His sharp + eyes is on the Deef Woman, too. + </p> + <p> + "She springs, but she never makes it. Pinon Bill jumps his pony sideways + out of her reach, an' at that the Deef Woman c'lapses on her face an' + shoulder in a dead swoon. + </p> + <p> + "'Adios!' says Pinon Bill, to the rest of us, backin' an' sidlin' his pony + up the street so he don't lose sight of the play. 'Ten minutes from now + you-alls finds this yere infant a mile from camp as safe an' solid as a + sod house.' + </p> + <p> + "'Bill,' says Enright, all at once, 'I makes you a prop'sition. Restore + the baby to me, an' thar ain't a gent in camp who follows you a foot. I + gives you the word of Wolfville.' + </p> + <p> + "'Does that go?' demands Pinon Bill, turnin to Jack, who's shakin' the + blood offen his fingers where it runs down his arm. + </p> + <p> + "'It goes,' says Jack; 'goes wherever Enright sets it. I makes good his + bluffs at all times on foot or in the stirrups.' + </p> + <p> + "'An' I takes your promise,' says Pinon Bill with a laugh, 'an' yere's the + baby. Which now I'm goin', I don't mind confidin' in you- alls,' goes on + this Pinon Bill, 'that I never intends to hurt that infant nohow.' + </p> + <p> + "Enright gets the child, an' in no time later that Pinon Bill is fled from + sight. You can believe it; it takes a load offen the public mind about + that infant when the kyards comes that a-way. + </p> + <p> + "Which the story's soon told now. It's three days later, an', seein' it's + refreshed in our thoughts, Enright an' the rest of us is resoomed + op'rations touchin' this Deef Woman, about gettin' her outen camp, an' + she's beginnin' to recover her obduracy about not sayin' or hearin' + nothin', when in comes a package by Old Monte an' the stage. It's for + Enright from that hoss. thief, Pinon Bill. Thar's a letter an' Soo for the + baby. + </p> + <p> + "'Tell that Decf Woman,' says this yere Pinon Bill, 'that I has an even + thousand dollars in my war-bags, when I stacks in her offspring ag'inst + the camp to win; an' I deems it only squar' to divide the pot with the + baby. The kid an' me's partners in the play that a-way, an' the enclosed + is the kid's share. Saw this yere dinero off on her somehow; an' make her + pull her freight. Wolfville's no good place to raise that baby.' + </p> + <p> + "'Which this Pinon Bill ain't so bad neither,' says Dan Boggs, when he + hears it. 'Gents, I proposes the health of this outlaw. Barkeep, see what + they takes in behalf of Pinon Bill.' + </p> + <p> + "The letter an' the money's dead straight, an' the Deef Woman can't dodge + or go 'round. All of which Missis Rucker takes a day off an' beats it into + her by makin' signs. It's like two Injuns talkin'. It all winds up by the + Deef Woman p'intin' out on her way some'ers East, an' thar ain't one of us + ever sees the Major, the Deef Woman, the kid, nor yet this Pinon Bill, no + more. Which this last, however, is not regarded as food for deep regrets," + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV. CRAWFISH JIM. + </h2> + <p> + "Don't I never tell you the story of the death of Crawfish Jim?" + </p> + <p> + The Old Cattleman bent upon me an eye of benevolent inquiry. I assured him + that the details of the taking off of Crawfish Jim were as a sealed book + to me. But I would blithely listen. + </p> + <p> + "What was the fate of Crawfish Jim?"I asked. The name seemed a promise in + itself. + </p> + <p> + "Nothin' much for a fate, Crawfish's ain't," rejoined the Old Cattleman. + "Nothin' whatever compared to some fates I keeps tabs onto. It was this + a-way: Crawfish Jim was a sheep-man, an' has a camp out in the foothills + of the Tres Hermanas, mebby it's thirty miles back from Wolfville. This + yere Crawfish Jim was a pecooliar person; plumb locoed, like all + sheep-men. They has to be crazy or they wouldn't pester 'round in no sech + disrepootable pursoots as sheep. + </p> + <p> + You-all has seen these yere gents as makes pets of snakes. Mebby it's once + in a thousand times you cuts the trail of sech a party. Snakes is kittens + to him, an' he's likely to be packin' specimens 'round in his clothes any + time. + </p> + <p> + "That's the way with this Crawfish Jim. I minds talkin' to him at his camp + one day when I'm huntin' a bunch of cattle. The first I notes, snake + sticks his head outen Crawfish's shirt, an' looks at me malev'lent and + distrustful. Another protroods its nose out up by Crawfish's collar. + </p> + <p> + "'Which you shore seems ha'nted of snakes?' I says, steppin' back an' + p'intin' at the reptiles. + </p> + <p> + "'Them's my dumb companions,' says Crawfish Jim. 'They shares my + solitood.' + </p> + <p> + "'You-all do seem some pop'lar with 'em,' I observes, for I saveys at once + he's plumb off his mental reservation; an' when a party's locoed that + a-way it makes him hostile if you derides his little game or bucks his + notions. + </p> + <p> + "I takes grub with Crawfish that same day; good chuck, too; mainly + sheep-meat, salt-hoss, an' bakin'-powder biscuit. I watches him some + narrow about them snakes he's infested with; I loathin' of 'em, an' not + wantin' 'em to transfer no love to me, nor take to enlivenin' my + secloosion none. + </p> + <p> + "Well, son, this yere Crwafish Jim is as a den of serpents. I reckons now + he has a plumb dozen mowed away in his raiment. Thar's no harm in 'em; + bein' all bull-snakes, which is innocuous an' without p'ison, fangs, or + convictions. + </p> + <p> + "When Crawfish goes to cook, he dumps these folks oaten his clothes, an' + lets 'em hustle an'play'round while grub's gettin'. + </p> + <p> + "'These yere little animals,' he says, 'likes their reecreations same as + humans, so I allers gives 'em a play-spell while I'm busy round camp.' + </p> + <p> + '"Don't they ever stampede off none?' I asks. + </p> + <p> + "'Shorely not,' says Crawfish. 'Bull-snakes is the most domestical snake + thar is. If I'd leave one of these yere tender creatures ere over night + he'd die of homesickness.' + </p> + <p> + "When Crawfish gets ready to bile the coffee, he tumbles the biggest + bullsnake I'd seen yet outen the coffee-pot onto the grass. Then he fills + the kettle with water, dumps in the coffee, an' sets her on the coals to + stew. + </p> + <p> + "'This yere partic'lar snake,' says Crawfish, 'which I calls him Julius + Caesar, is too big to tote 'round in my shirt, an' so he lives in the + coffee-pot while I'm away, an' keeps camp for me.' + </p> + <p> + "'Don't you yearn for no rattlesnakes to fondle?' I inquires, jest to see + what kyard he'd play. + </p> + <p> + "'No,' he says, 'rattlesnakes is all right—good, sociable, moral + snakes enough; but in a sperit of humor they may bite you or some play + like that, an' thar you'd be. No; bull-snakes is as 'fectionate as + rattles, an' don't run to p'ison. You don't have no inadvertencies with + 'em.' + </p> + <p> + "'Can't you bust the fangs outen rattlesnakes?' I asks. + </p> + <p> + "'They grows right in ag'in,' says Crawfish, same as your finger- nails. I + ain't got no time to go scoutin' a rattlesnake's mouth every day, lookin' + up teeth, so I don't worry with 'em, but plays bull-snakes straight. This + bein' dentist for rattlesnakes has resks, which the same would be foolish + to assoom.' + </p> + <p> + "While grub's cookin' an' Crawfish an' me's pow-wowin', a little old dog + Crawfish has—one of them no-account nce-dogs—comes up an' + makes a small uprisin' off to one side with Julius Caesar. The dog yelps + an' snaps, an' Julius Caesar blows an' strikes at him, same as a rattle. + snake. However, they ain't doin' no harm, an' Crawfish don't pay no heed. + </p> + <p> + "'They's runnin' blazers on each other,' says Crawfish, 'an' don't mean + nothin'. Bimeby Caribou Pete—which the same is the dog—will go + lie down an' sleep; an' Julius Caesar will quile up ag'in him to be warm. + Caribou, bein' a dog that a-way, is a warm-blood animal, while pore Julius + has got cold blood like a fish. So he goes over an' camps on Caribou, an' + all the same puts his feet on him for to be comfortable.' + </p> + <p> + "Of course, I'm a heap interested in this yere snake knowledge, an' tells + Crawfish so. But it sorter coppers my appetite, an' Crawfish saves on + sheep-meat an' sow-belly by his discourse powerful. Thinkin' an' a-lookin' + at them blessed snakes, speshul at Julius Cmsar, I shore ain't hungry + much. But as you says: how about Crawfish Jim gettin' killed? + </p> + <p> + "One day Crawfish allows all alone by himse'f he'll hop into Wolfville an' + buy some stuff for his camp,—flour, whiskey, tobacker, air-tights, + an' sech. + </p> + <p> + "What's air-tights? Which you Eastern shorthorns is shore ignorant. + Air-tights is can peaches, can tomatters, an' sim'lar bluffs. + </p> + <p> + "As I was sayin', along comes pore old Crawfish over to Wolfville; rides + in on a burro. That's right, son; comes loafin' along on a burro like a + Mexican. These yere sheep-men is that abandoned an' vulgar they ain't got + pride to ride a hoss. + </p> + <p> + "Along comes Crawfish on a burro, an' it's his first visit to Wolfville. + Yeretofore the old Cimmaron goes over to Red Dog for his plunder, the same + bein' a busted low-down camp on the Lordsburg trail, which once holds it's + a rival to Wolfville. It ain't, however; the same not bein' of the same + importance, commercial, as a prairie-dog town. + </p> + <p> + "This time, however, Crawfish pints up for Wolfville. An' to make himse'f + loved, I reckons, whatever does he do but bring along Julius Caesar. + </p> + <p> + "I don't reckon now he ever plays Julius Caesar none on Red Dog. Mighty + likely this yere was the bull-snake's first engagement. I clings to this + notion that Red Dog never sees Julius Caesar; for if she had, them + drunkards which inhabits said camp wouldn't have quit yellin' yet. Which + Julius Caesar, with that Red Dog whiskey they was soaked in, would have + shore given 'em some mighty heenous visions. Fact is, Crawfish told Jack + Moore later he never takes Julius Caesar nowhere before. + </p> + <p> + "But all the same Crawfish prances into camp on this yere occasion with + Julius bushwacked 'way 'round back in his shirt, an' sech vacant spaces + about his person as ain't otherwise occupied a- nourishin' of minor + bull-snakes plenty profuse. + </p> + <p> + "Of course them snakes is all holdin' back, bein', after all, timid + cattle; an' so none of us s'spects Crawfish is packin' any sech s'prises. + None of the boys about town knows of Crawfish havin' this bull-snake habit + but me, nohow. So the old man stampedes'round an' buys what he's after, + an' all goes well. Nobody ain't even dreamin' of reptiles. + </p> + <p> + "At last Crawfish, havin' turned his little game for flour, air- tights, + an' jig-juice, as I says, gets into the Red Light, an' braces up ag'in the + bar an' calls for nose-paint all 'round. This yere is proper an' p'lite, + an' everybody within hearin' of the yell lines up. + </p> + <p> + "It's at this crisis Crawfish Jim starts in to make himse'f a general + fav'ritc. Everybody's slopped out his perfoomcry, an' Dan Boggs is jest + sayin': 'Yere's lookin' at you, Crawfish,' when that crazy-boss shepherd + sorter swarms 'round inside his shirt with his hand, an' lugs out Julius + Cesar be the scruff of his neck, a- squirmin' an' a-blowin', an' madder'n + a drunken squaw. Once he gets Julius out, he spreads him 'round profuse on + the Red Light bar an' sorter herds him with his hand to keep him from + chargin' off among the bottles. + </p> + <p> + "'Gents,' says this locoed Crawfish, 'I ain't no boaster, but I offers a + hundred to fifty, an' stands to make it up to a thousand dollars in wool + or sheep, Julius Caesar is the fattest an' finest serpent in Arizona; also + the best behaved.' + </p> + <p> + "Thar ain't no one takin' Crawfish's bet. The moment he slams Julius on + the bar, more'n ten of our leadin' citizens falls to the floor in fits, + an' emerges outen one par'xysm only to slump into another. Which we + shorely has a general round-up of all sorts of spells. + </p> + <p> + "'Whatever's the matter of you-all people?' says Crawfish, lookin' mighty + aghast. 'Thar's no more harm in Julius Caesar than if he's a fullblown + rose.' + </p> + <p> + "Jack Moore, bein' marshal, of course stands his hand. It's his offishul + dooty to play a pat hand on bull-snakes an' danger in all an' any forms. + An' Jack does it. + </p> + <p> + "While Crawfish is busy recountin' the attainments of Julius Caesar, + a-holdin' of his pet with one hand, Jack Moore takes a snap shot at him + along the bar with his six-shooter, an' away goes Julius Caesar's head + like a puff of smoke. Then Moore rounds up Crawfish, an', perceivin' of + the other bull-snakes, he searches 'em out one by one an' massacres 'em. + </p> + <p> + "'Call over Doc Peets,' says Jack Moore final, 'an' bring Boggs an' Tutt + an' the rest of these yere invalids to.' + </p> + <p> + "Doc Peets an' Enright both trails in on the lope from the New York Store. + They hears Moore's gun-play an' is cur'ous, nacheral 'nough, to know who + calls it. Well, they turns in an' brings the other inhabitants outen their + fits; pendin' which Moore kills off the last remainin' bull-snake in + Crawfish's herd. + </p> + <p> + "Son, I've seen people mad, an' I've seen 'em gay, an' I've seen 'em bit + by grief. But I'm yere to remark I never runs up on a gent who goes plumb + mad with sadness ontil I sees Crawfish that day Jack Moore immolates his + bull-snake pets. He stands thar, white, an' ain't sayin' a word. Looks for + a minute like he can't move. Crawfish don't pack no gun, or I allers + allowed we'd had notice of him some, while them bullsnakes is cashin' in. + </p> + <p> + "But at last he sorter comes to, an' walks out without sayin' nothin'. + They ain't none of us regardin' of him much at the time; bein' busy + drinkin' an' recoverin' from the shock. + </p> + <p> + "Now, what do you s'pose this old Navajo does? Lopes straight over to the + New York Store—is ca'm as a June day about it, too—an' gets a + six-shooter. + </p> + <p> + "The next information we gets of Crawfish, 'bang!' goes his new gun, an' + the bullet cuts along over Jack Moore's head too high for results. New gun + that a-way, an' Crawfish not up on his practice; of course he overshoots. + </p> + <p> + "Well, the pore old murderer never does get a second crack. I reckons + eight people he has interested shoots all at once, an' Crawfish Jim quits + this earthly deal unanimous. He stops every bullet; eight of 'em, like I + says. + </p> + <p> + "'Thar ain't a man of us who don't feel regrets; but what's the use? Thar + we be, up ag'inst the deal, with Crawfish clean locoed. It's the only + wagon-track out. + </p> + <p> + "'I shore hopes he's on the hot trail of them bull-snakes of his'n,' says + Dan Boggs, as we lays Crawfish out on a monte-table. 'Seems like he + thought monstrous well of 'em, an' it would mighty likely please him to + run up on 'em where he's gone.' + </p> + <p> + "Whatever did we do? Why, we digs a grave out back of the dance-hall an' + plants Crawfish an' his pets tharin. + </p> + <p> + "'I reckons we better bury them reptiles, too,' says Doc Peets, as we gets + Crawfish stretched out all comfortable in the bottom. 'If he's lookin' + down on these yere ceremonies it'll make him feel easier.' + </p> + <p> + "Doc Peets is mighty sentimental an' romantic that a-way, an' allers + thinks of the touchin' things to do, which I more'n once notices likewise, + that a gent bein' dead that a-way allers brings out the soft side of + Peets's nacher. You bet! he's plumb sympathetic. + </p> + <p> + "We counts in the snakes. Thar's 'leven of 'em besides Julius Caesar; + which we lays him on Crawfish's breast. You can find the grave to-day. + </p> + <p> + "Shore! we sticks up a headboard. It says on it, the same bein' furnished + by Doc Peets—an' I wants to say Doc Peets is the best eddicated gent + in Arizona-as follows + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF + CRAWFISH JIM, JULIUS CAESAR + AND + ELEVEN OTHER BULL SNAKES, + THEY MEANT WELL, + BUT THEY MISUNDERSTOOD EXISTENCE + AND DIED. + + THIS BOARD WAS REARED BY AN + ADMIRING CIRELE OF FRIENDS + WHO WAS WITH DECEASED + TO THE LAST. +</pre> + <p> + "An' don't you-all know, son, this yere onfortunate weedin' out of pore + Crawfish that a-way, sorter settles down on the camp an' preys on us for + mighty likely it's a week. It shorely is a source of gloom. Moreover, it + done gives Dan Boggs the fan-tods. As I relates prior, Boggs is emotional + a whole lot, an' once let him get what you-all calls a shock—same, + for instance, as them bull-snakes—its shore due to set Boggs's + intellects to millin'. An' that's what happens now. We-alls don't get + Boggs; bedded down none for ten days, his visions is that acoote. + </p> + <p> + "'Which of course,' says Boggs, while we-all s settin' up administerin' + things to him, 'which of course I'm plumb aware these yere is mere + illoosions; but all the same, as cl'ar as ever I notes an ace, no matter + where I looks at, I discerns that Julius Caesar serpent a-regardin' me + reproachful outen the atmospher. An' gents, sech spectacles lets me out a + heap every time. You-alls can gamble, I ain't slumberin' none with no + snake-spook that a-way a-gyardin' of my dreams.' + </p> + <p> + "That's all thar is to the death of Crawfish Jim. Thar ain't no harm in + him, nor yet, I reckons, in Julius Caesar an' the rest of Crawfish's + fam'ly. But the way they gets tangled up with Wolfville, an' takes to + runnin' counter to public sentiment an' them eight six- shooters, Crawfish + an' his live-stock has to go." + </p> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 3732 ***</div> + </body> +</html> + diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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Hart +and may be reprinted only when these Etexts are free of all fees.] +[Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be used in any sales +of Project Gutenberg Etexts or other materials be they hardware or +software or any other related product without express permission.] + +*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.07/27/01*END* + + + + + +This etext was produced by Charles Franks and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + +WOLFVILLE + +BY + +ALFRED HENRY LEWIS +(Dan Quin) + + + + +TO +WILLIAM RANDOLPH HEARST + + + + +CONTENTS + + CHAPTER I. WOLFVILLE'S FIRST FUNERAL + CHAPTER II. THE STINGING LIZARD + CHAPTER III. THE STORY OF WILKINS + CHAPTER IV. THE WASHWOMAN'S WAR + CHAPTER V. ENRIGHT'S PARD, JIM WILLIS + CHAPTER VI. TUCSON JENNIE'S HEART + CHAPTER VII. TUCSON JENNIE'S JEALOUSY + CHAPTER VIII. THE MAN FROM RED DOG + CHAPTER IX. CHEROKEE HALL + CHAPTER X. TEXAS THOMPSON'S "ELECTION" + CHAPTER XI. A WOLFVILLE FOUNDLING + CHAPTER XII. THE MAN FROM YELLOWHOUSE + CHAPTER XIII. JACKS UP ON EIGHTS + CHAPTER XIV. THE RIVAL DANCE-HALLS + CHAPTER XV. SLIM JIM'S SISTER + CHAPTER XVI. JAYBIRD BOB'S JOKE + CHAPTER XVII. BOGGS'S EXPERIENCE +CHAPTER XVIII. DAWSON & RUDD, PARTNERS + CHAPTER XIX. MACE BOWMAN, SHERIFF + CHAPTER XX. A WOLFVILLE THANKSGIVING + CHAPTER XXI. BILL HOSKINS'S COON + CHAPTER XXII. OLD SAM ENRIGHT'S "ROMANCE," +CHAPTER XXIII. PINON BILL'S BLUFF + CHAPTER XXIV. CRAWFISH JIM + + + + +PREFACE. + +These tales by the Old Cattleman have been submitted to perhaps a +dozen people. They have read, criticised, and advised. The advice +was good; the criticism just. Some suggested a sketch which might in +detail set forth Toffville; there were those who wanted something +like a picture of the Old Cattleman; while others urged an +elaboration of the personal characteristics of Old Man Enright, Doc +Peets, Cherokee Hall, Moore, Tutt, Boggs, Faro Nell, Old Monte, and +Texas Thompson. I have, how-ever, concluded to leave all these +matters to the illustrations of Mr. Remington and the imaginations +of those who read. I think it the better way-certainly it is the +easier one for me. I shall therefore permit the Old Cattleman to +tell his stories in his own fashion. The style will be crude, +abrupt, and meagre, but I trust it will prove as satisfactory to the +reader as it has to me. + + A. H. L. + New York, May 15,1897. + + + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +WOLFVILLE'S FIRST FUNERAL. + + +"These yere obsequies which I'm about mentionin'," observed the Old +Cattleman, "is the first real funeral Wolfville has." + +The old fellow had lighted a cob pipe and tilted his chair back in a +fashion which proclaimed a plan to be comfortable. He had begun to +tolerate--even encourage--my society, although it was clear that as +a tenderfoot he regarded me with a species of gentle disdain. + +I had provoked the subject of funeral ceremonies by a recurrence to +the affair of the Yellowhouse Man, and a query as to what would have +been the programme of the public-spirited hamlet of Wolfville if +that invalid had died instead of yielding to the nursing of Jack +Moore and that tariff on draw-poker which the genius of Old Man +Enright decreed. + +It came in easy illustration, as answer to my question, for the Old +Cattleman to recall the funeral of a former leading spirit of +Southwestern society. The name of this worthy was Jack King; and +with a brief exposition of his more salient traits, my grizzled +raconteur led down to his burial with the remark before quoted. + +"Of course," continued the Old Cattleman, "of course while thar's +some like this Yallerhouse gent who survives; thar's others of the +boys who is downed one time an' another, an' goes shoutin' home to +heaven by various trails. But ontil the event I now recalls, the +remainders has been freighted east or west every time, an' the camp +gets left. It's hard luck, but at last it comes toward us; an' thar +we be one day with a corpse all our'n, an' no partnership with +nobody nor nothin'. + +"'It's the chance of our life,' says Doc Peets, 'an' we plays it. +Thar's nothin' too rich for our blood, an' these obsequies is goin' +to be spread-eagle, you bet! We'll show Red Dog an' sim'lar villages +they ain't sign-camps compared with Wolfville.' + +"So we begins to draw in our belts an' get a big ready. Jack King, +as I says before, is corpse, eemergin' outen a game of poker as +sech. Which prior tharto, Jack's been peevish, an' pesterin' an' +pervadin' 'round for several days. The camp stands a heap o' trouble +with him an' tries to smooth it along by givin' him his whiskey an' +his way about as he wants 'em, hopin' for a change. But man is only +human, an' when Jack starts in one night to make a flush beat a tray +full for seven hundred dollars, he asks too much. + +"Thar ain't no ondertakers, so we rounds up the outfit, an' knowin' +he'd take a pride in it, an' do the slam-up thing, we puts in Doc +Peets to deal the game unanimous. + +"'Gents,' he says, as we-alls turns into the Red Light to be +refreshed, 'in assoomin' the present pressure I feels the +compliments paid me in the seelection. I shall act for the credit of +the camp, an' I needs your help. I desires that these rites be a +howlin' vict'ry. I don't want people comin' 'round next week +allowin' thar ain't been no funeral, an' I don't reckon much that +they will. We've got the corpse, an' if we gets bucked off now it's +our fault.' + +"So he app'ints Old Monte an' Dan Boggs to go for a box for Jack, +an' details a couple of niggers from the corral to dig a tomb. + +"'An' mind you-alls,' says Peets, `I wants that hole at least a mile +from camp. In order to make a funeral a success, you needs distance. +That's where deceased gets action. It gives the procession a chance +to spread an' show up. You can't make no funeral imposin' except +you're plumb liberal on distances.' + +"It all goes smooth right off the reel. We gets a box an' grave +ready, an' Peets sticks up a notice on the stage-station door, +settin' the excitement for third-drink time next day. Prompt at the +drop of the hat the camp lets go all holds an' turns loose in a body +to put Jack through right. He's laid out in splendid shape in the +New York Store, with nothin' to complain of if he's asked to make +the kick himse'f. He has a new silk necktie, blue shirt an' pearl +buttons, trousers, an' boots. Some one--Benson Annie, I reckons--has +pasted some co't plaster over the hole on his cheek-bone where the +bullet gets in, an' all 'round Jack looks better than I ever sees +him. + +"'Let the congregation remove its hats,' says Peets, a-settin' down +on a box up at Jack's head, 'an' as many as can will please get +somethin' to camp on. Now, my friends," he continues, "thar ain't no +need of my puttin' on any frills or gettin' in any scroll work. The +objects of this convention is plain an' straight. Mister King, here +present, is dead. Deceased is a very headstrong person, an' persists +yesterday in entertainin' views touchin' a club flush, queen at the +head, which results in life everlastin'. Now, gents, this is a +racket full of solemnity. We wants nothin' but good words. Don't +mind about the trooth; which the same ain't in play at a funeral, +nohow. We all knows Jack; we knows his record. Our information is +ample that a-way; how he steals a hoss at Tucson; how be robs a gent +last fall at Tombstone; how he downs a party at Cruces; how that +scar on his neck he gets from Wells-Fargo's people when he stands up +the stage over on the Lordsburg trail. But we lays it all aside to- +day. We don't copper nary bet. Yesterday mornin', accompanied by the +report of a Colt's forty-five, Mister King, who lies yere so cool +an' easy, leaves us to enter in behind the great white shinin' gates +of pearl an' gold, which swings inward to glory eternal. It's a +great set back at this time thar ain't no sky-pilot in the camp. +This deeficiency in sky-pilots is a hoss onto us, but we does our +best. At a time like this I hears that singin' is a good, safe +break, an' I tharfore calls on that little girl from Flagstaff to +give us "The Dyin' Ranger." + +"So the little Flagstaff girl cl'ars her valves with a drink, an' +gives us the song; an' when the entire congregation draws kyards on +the last verse it does everybody good. + + "'Far away from his dear old Texas, + We laid him down to rest; + With his saddle for a pillow, + And his gun across his breast.' + +"Then Peets gets out the Scriptures. 'I'm goin' to read a chapter +outen these yere Testaments,' he says. 'I ain't makin' no claim for +it, except it's part of the game an' accordin' to Hoyle. If thar's a +preacher yere he'd do it, but bein' thar's no sech brand on this +range I makes it as a forced play myse'f.' + +"So he reads us, a chapter about the sepulcher, an' Mary Magdalene, +an' the resurrection; an' everybody takes it in profound as prairie- +dogs, for that's the lead to make, an' we knows it. + +"Then Peets allows he'd like to hear from any gent onder the head of +'good of the order.' + +"'Mister Ondertaker an' Chairman,' says Jim Hamilton, 'I yields to +an inward impulse to say that this yere play weighs on me plumb +heavy. As keeper of the dance-hall I sees a heap of the corpse an' +knows him well. Mister King is my friend, an' while his moods is +variable an' oncertain; an' it's cl'arly worth while to wear your +gun while he's hoverin' near, I loves him. He has his weaknesses, as +do we all. A disp'sition to make new rooles as he plays along for +sech games of chance as enjoys his notice is perhaps his greatest +failin'. His givin' way to this habit is primar'ly the cause of his +bein' garnered in. I hopes he'll get along thar, an' offers a side +bet, even money, up to five hundred dollars, he will. He may alter +his system an' stand way up with the angels an' seraphs, an' if +words from me could fix it, I'd shorely stack 'em in. I would say +further that after consultin' with Billy Burns, who keeps the Red +Light, we has, in honor of the dead an' to mark the occasion of his +cashin' in, agreed upon a business departure of interest to all. +This departure Mister Burns will state. I mournfully gives way to +him for said purpose.' + +"'Mister Peets, an' ladies an' gents,' says Burns, 'like Mister +Hamilton, who I'm proud to meet yere as gent, citizen, an' friend, I +knows deceased. He's a good man, an' a dead-game sport from 'way +back. A protracted wrastle with the remorseless drinks of the +frontier had begun to tell on him, an' for a year or so he's been +liable to have spells. Referrin' to the remarks of Mister Hamilton, +I states that by agreement between us an' in honor to departed, the +quotations on whiskey in this yere camp, from now on, will be two +drinks for two bits, instead of one as previous. We don't want to +onsettle trade, an' we don't believe this will. We makes it as a ray +of light in the darkness an' gloom of the hour. + +"After this yere utterance, which is well received, we forms the +procession. Doc Peets, with two buglers from the Fort, takes the +lead, with Jack an' his box in one of the stage coaches comin' next. +Enright, Tutt, Boggs, Short Creek Dave, Texas Thompson, an' me, +bein' the six pallbearers, is on hosses next in line; an' Jack Moore +commandin' of the rest of the outfit, lines out permiscus. + +"'This is a great day for Wolfville," says Peets, as he rides up an' +down the line. 'Thar ain't no camp this side of St. Looey could turn +this trick. Which I only wishes Jack could see it himse'f. It's more +calculated to bring this outfit into fav'rable notice than a +lynchin'.' + +"At the grave we turns in an' gives three cheers for King, an' three +for Doc Peets; an' last we gives three more an' a tiger for the +camp. The buglers cuts loose everythin' they knows, from the 'water- +call' to the 'retreat,' an' while the niggers is a-shovelin' in the +sand we bangs away with our six-shooters for general results +delightful. You can gamble thar ain't been no funeral like it before +or since. + +"At the last Peets hauls outen the stage we uses for Jack, a +headboard. When it's set up it looks like if Jack ain't satisfied, +he's shorely hard to suit. On it in big letters is: + + JaCK KinG + LIfE AiN'T + IN + HOLDiNG A GOOD HAND + BUT + In PLAYiNG A PORE HANd + WeLL. + +"'You sees, we has to work in a little sentiment,' says Doc Peets. + +"Then we details the niggers to stand watch-an'-watch every night +till further orders. No; we ain't afraid Jack'll get out none, but +the coyotes is shore due to come an' dig for him, so the niggers has +to stand gyard. We don't allow to find spec'mens of Jack spread +'round loose after all the trouble we takes." + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE STINGING LIZARD. + + +"Thar's no sorter doubt to it," said the Old Cattleman after a long +pause devoted to meditation, and finally to the refilling of his cob +pipe, "thar ain't the slightest room for cavil but them ceremonies +over Jack King, deceased, is the most satisfactory pageant Wolfville +ever promotes." + +It was at this point I proved my cunning by saying nothing. I was +pleased to hear the old man talk, and rightly theorized that the +better method of invoking his reminiscences just at this time was to +say never a word. + +"However," he continued, "I don't reckon it's many weeks after we +follows Jack to the tomb, when we comes a heap near schedoolin' +another funeral, with the general public a-contributin' of the +corpse. To be speecific, I refers to a occasion when we-alls comes +powerful close to lynchin' Cherokee Hall. + +"I don't mind on bosomin' myself about it. It's all a +misonderstandin'; the same bein' Cherokee's fault complete. We don't +know him more'n to merely drink with at that eepock, an' he's that +sly an' furtive in his plays, an' covers his trails so speshul, he +nacherally breeds sech suspicions that when the stage begins to be +stood up reg'lar once a week, an' all onaccountable, Cherokee comes +mighty close to culminatin' in a rope. Which goes to show that you +can't be too open an' free in your game, an' Cherokee would tell you +so himse'f. + +"This yere tangle I'm thinkin' of ain't more'n a month after +Cherokee takes to residin' in Wolfville. He comes trailin' in one +evenin' from Tucson, an' onfolds a layout an' goes to turnin' faro- +bank in the Red Light. No one remarks this partic'lar, which said +spectacles is frequent. The general idee is that Cherokee's on the +squar' an' his game is straight, an' of course public interest don't +delve no further into his affairs. + +"Cherokee, himse'f, is one of these yere slim, silent people who +ain't talkin' much, an' his eye for color is one of them raw grays, +like a new bowie. + +"It's perhaps the third day when Cherokee begins to struggle into +public notice. Thar's a felon whose name is Boone, but who calls +himse'f the 'Stingin' Lizard,' an' who's been pesterin' 'round +Wolfville, mebby, it's a month. This yere Stingin' Lizard is thar +when Cherokee comes into camp; an' it looks like the Stingin' Lizard +takes a notion ag'in Cherokee from the jump. + +"Not that this yere Lizard is likely to control public feelin' in +the matter; none whatever. He's some onpop'lar himself. He's too +toomultuous for one thing, an' he has a habit of molestin' towerists +an' folks he don't know at all, which palls on disinterested people +who has dooties to perform. About once a week this Lizard man goes +an' gets the treemers, an' then the camp has to set up with him till +his visions subsides. Fact is, he's what you-alls East calls 'a +disturbin' element,' an' we makes ready to hang him once or twice, +but somethin' comes up an' puts it off, an' we sorter neglects it. + +"But as I says, he takes a notion ag'in Cherokee. It's the third +night after Cherokee gets in, an' he's ca'mly behind his box at the +Red Light, when in peramb'lates this Lizard. Seems like Cherokee, +bein' one of them quiet wolves, fools up the Lizard a lot. This +Lizard's been hostile an' blood-hungry all day, an' I reckons he all +at once recalls Cherokee; an', deemin' of him easy, he allows he'll +go an' chew his mane some for relaxation. + +"If I was low an' ornery like this Lizard, I ain't none shore but +I'd be fooled them days on Cherokee myse'f. He's been fretful about +his whiskey, Cherokee has,--puttin' it up she don't taste right, +which not onlikely it don't; but beyond pickin' flaws in his nose- +paint thar ain't much to take hold on about him. He's so slim an' +noiseless besides, thar ain't none of us but figgers this yere +Stingin' Lizard's due to stampede him if he tries; which makes what +follows all the more impressive. + +"So the Lizard projects along into the Red Light, whoopin' an' +carryin' on by himse'f. Straightway he goes up ag'inst Cherokee's +layout. + +"I don't buy no chips," says the Lizard to Cherokee, as he gets in +opposite. "I puts money in play; an' when I wins I wants money +sim'lar. Thar's fifty dollars on the king coppered; an' fifty +dollars on the eight open. Turn your kyards, an' turn 'em squar'. If +you don't, I'll peel the ha'r an' hide plumb off the top of your +head." + +"Cherokee looks at the Lizard sorter soopercillus an' indifferent; +but he don't say nothin'. He goes on with the deal, an', the kyards +comin' that a-way, he takes in the Lizard's two bets. + +"Durin' the next deal the Lizard ain't sayin' much direct, but keeps +cussin' an' wranglin' to himse'f. But he's gettin' his money up all +the time; an' with the fifty dollars he lose on the turn, he's shy +mebby four hundred an' fifty at the close. + +"'Bein' in the hole about five hundred dollars,' says the Lizard, in +a manner which is a heap onrespectful, ' an' so that a wayfarin' +gent may not be misled to rooin utter, I now rises to ask what for a +limit do you put on this deadfall anyhow?' + +"'The bridle's plumb off to you, amigo,' says Cherokee, an' his +tones is some hard. I notices it all right enough, 'cause I'm doin' +business at the table myse'f at the time, an' keepin' likewise case +on the game. `The bridle's plumb off for you,' says Cherokee, 'so +any notion you entertains in favor of bankruptin' of yourse'f quick +may riot right along.' + +"'You're dead shore of that?' says the Lizard with a sneer. `Now I +reckons a thousand-dollar bet would scare this puerile game you +deals a-screechin' up a tree or into a hole, too easy.' + +"`I never likes to see no gent strugglin' in the coils of error,' +says Cherokee, with a sneer a size larger than the Lizard's; `I +don't know what wads of wealth them pore old clothes of yours +conceals, but jest the same I tells you what I'll do. Climb right +onto the layout, body, soul, an' roll, an' put a figger on your +worthless se'f, an' I'll turn you for the whole shootin'-match. +You're in yere to make things interestin', I sees that, an' I'll +voylate my business principles an' take a night off to entertain +you.' An' yere Cherokee lugs out a roll of bills big enough to choke +a cow. + +"'I goes you if I lose,' says the Stingin' Lizard. Then assoomin' a +sooperior air, he remarks: 'Mebby it's a drink back on the trail +when I has misgivin's as to the rectitood of this yere brace you're +dealin'. Bein' public-sperited that a-way, in my first frenzy I +allows I'll take my gun an' abate it a whole lot. But a ca'mer mood +comes on, an' I decides, as not bein' so likely to disturb a peace- +lovin' camp, I removes this trap for the onwary by merely bustin' +the bank. Thar,' goes on the Stingin' Lizard, at the same time +dumpin' a large wad on the layout, 'thar's even four thousand +dollars. Roll your game for that jest as it lays.' + +"'Straighten up your dust,' says Cherokee, his eyes gettin' a kind +of gleam into 'em, 'straighten up your stuff an' get it some'ers. +Don't leave it all spraddled over the scene. I turns for it ready +enough, but we ain't goin' to argue none as to where it lays after +the kyard falls.' + +"The rest of us who's been buckin' the game moderate an' right +cashes in at this, an' leaves an onobstructed cloth to the Stingin' +Lizard. This yere's more caution than good nacher. As long as folks +is bettin' along in limits, say onder fifty dollars, thar ain't no +shootin' likely to ensoo. But whenever a game gets immoderate that +a-way, an' the limit's off, an' things is goin' that locoed they +begins to play a thousand an' over on a kyard an' scream for action, +gents of experience stands ready to go to duckin' lead an' dodgin' +bullets instanter. + +"But to resoome: The Stingin' Lizard lines up his stuff, an' the +deal begins. It ain't thirty seconds till the bank wins, an' the +Stingin' Lizard is the wrong side of the layout from his money. He +takes it onusual ugly, only he ain't sayin' much. He sa'nters over +to the bar, an' gets a big drink. Cherokee is rifflin' the deck, but +I notes he's got his gray eye on the Stingin' Lizard, an' my respect +for him increases rapid. I sees he ain't goin' to get the worst of +no deal, an' is organized to protect his game plumb through if this +Lizard makes a break. "'Do you--all know where I hails from?' asks +the Stingin' Lizard, comin' back to Cherokee after he's done hid his +drink. + +"'Which I shorely don't;' says Cherokee. 'I has from time to time +much worthless information thrust upon me, but so far I escapes all +news of you complete.' + +"'Where I comes from, which is Texas,' says the Lizard, ignorin' of +Cherokee's manner, the same bein' some insultin', `they teaches the +babies two things,-never eat your own beef, an' never let no kyard- +thief down you: + +"'Which is highly thrillin',' says Cherokee, 'as reminiscences of +your yooth, but where does you-all get action on 'em in Arizona?' + +"'Where I gets action won't be no question long,' says the Lizard, +mighty truculent. 'I now announces that this yere game is a skin an' +a brace. Tharfore I returns for my money; an', to be frank, I +returns a-shootin': + +"It's at this p'int we-alls who represents the public kicks back our +chairs an' stampedes outen range. As the Lizard makes his bluff his +hand goes to his artillery like a flash. + +"The Lizard's some quick, but Cherokee's too soon for him. With the +first move of the Lizard's hand, he searches out a bowie from +som'ers back of his neck. I'm some employed placin' myse'f at the +time, an' don't decern it none till Cherokee brings it over his +shoulder like a stream of white light. + +"It's shore great knife-work. Cherokee gives the Lizard aige an +p'int, an' all in one motion. Before the Lizard more'n lifts his +weepon, Cherokee half slashes his gun-hand off at the wrist; an' +then, jest as the Lizard begins to wonder at it, he gets the nine- +inch blade plumb through his neck. He's let out right thar. + +"'It looks like I has more of this thing to do,' says Cherokee, an' +his tone shows he's half-way mournin' over it, ` than any sport in +the Territory. I tries to keep outen this, but that Lizard gent +would have it.' + +"After the killin', Enright an' Doc Peets, with Boggs, Tutt, an' +Jack Moore, sorter talks it over quiet, an' allows it's all right. + +"'This Stingin' Lizard gent,' says Enright, has been projectin' +'round lustin' for trouble now, mebby it's six weeks. It's amazin' +to me he lasts as long as he does, an' it speaks volumes for the +forbearin', law-abiding temper of the Wolfville public. This +Lizard's a mighty oppressive person, an' a heap obnoxious; an' while +I don't like a knife none myse'f as a trail out, an' inclines to +distrust a gent who does, I s'pose it's after all a heap a matter of +taste an' the way your folks brings you up. I leans to the view, +gents, that this yere corpse is constructed on the squar'. What do +you-all think, Peets?' + +"'I entertains ideas sim'lar,' says Doc Peets. 'Of course I takes it +this kyard-sharp, Cherokee, aims to bury his dead. He nacherally +ain't look. in' for the camp to go 'round cleanin' up after him +none.' "That's about how it stands. Nobody finds fault with +Cherokee, an' as he ups an' plants the Stingin' Lizard's remainder +the next day, makin' the deal with a stained box, crape, an' the +full regalia, it all leaves the camp with a mighty decent +impression. By first-drink time in the evenin' of the second day, we +ain't thinkin' no more about it. + +"Now you-all begins to marvel where do we get to the hangin' of +Cherokee Hall? We're workin' in towards it now. + +"You sees, followin' the Stingin' Lizard's jump into the misty +beyond--which it's that sudden I offers two to one them angels notes +a look of s'prise on the Stingin' Lizard's face as to how he comes +to make the trip-Cherokee goes on dealin' faro same as usual. As I +says before, he ain't no talker, nohow; now he says less than ever. + +"But what strikes us as onusual is, he saddles up a pinto pony he's +got over to the corral, an' jumps off every now an' then for two an' +three days at a clatter. No one knows where he p'ints to, more'n he +says he's due over in Tucson. These yere vacations of Cherokee's is +all in the month after the Stingin' Lizard gets downed. "It's about +this time, too, the stage gets held up sech a scand'lous number of +times it gives people a tired feelin'. All by one party, too. He +merely prances out in onexpected places with a Winchester; stands up +the stage in an onconcerned way, an' then goes through everythin' +an' everybody, from mail-bags to passengers, like the grace of +heaven through a camp-meetin'. Nacheral, it all creates a heap of +disgust. "'If this yere industrious hold-up keeps up his lick,' says +Texas Thompson about the third time the stage gets rustled, `an' +heads off a few more letters of mine, all I has to say is my wife +back in Laredo ain't goin' to onderstand it none. She ain't lottin' +much on me nohow, an' if the correspondence between us gets much +more fitful, she's goin' p'intin' out for a divorce. This deal's +liable to turn a split for me in my domestic affairs.' An' that's +the way we-alls feels. This stage agent is shorely in disrepoot some +in Wolfville. If he'd been shakin' up Red Dog's letter-bags, we +wouldn't have minded so much. + +"I never does know who's the first to think of Cherokee Hall, but +all at once it's all over camp Talkin' it over, it's noticed mighty +soon that, come right to cases, no one knows his record, where he's +been or why he's yere. Then his stampedin' out of camp like he's +been doin' for a month is too many for us. + +"'I puts no trust in them Tucson lies he tells, neither,' says Doc +Peets. 'Whatever would he be shakin' up over in Tucson? His game's +yere, an' this theery that he's got to go scatterin' over thar once +a week is some gauzy.' + +"'That's whatever,' says Dan Boggs, who allers trails in after Doc +Peets, an' plays the same system emphatic. An' I says myse'f, not +findin' no fault with Boggs tharfor, that this yere Peets is the +finest-eddicated an' levelest-headed sharp in Arizona. + +"'Well,' says Jack Moore, who as I says before does the rope work +for the Stranglers, 'if you-alls gets it settled that this faro +gent's turnin' them tricks with the stage an' mail-bags, the sooner +he's swingin' to the windmill, the sooner we hears from our loved +ones at home. What do you say, Enright?' + +"'Why,' says Enright, all thoughtful, 'I reckons it's a case. S'pose +you caper over where he feeds at the O.K. House an' bring him to us. +The signs an' signal-smokes shorely p'ints to this yere Cherokee as +our meat; but these things has to be done in order. Bring him in, +Jack, an', to save another trip, s'pose you bring a lariat from the +corral at the same time.' + +"It don't take Moore no time to throw a gun on Cherokee where he's +consoomin' flapjacks at the O. K. House, an' tell him the committee +needs him at the New York Store. Cherokee don't buck none, but comes +along, passive as a tabby cat. + +"'Whatever's the hock kyard to all this?' he says to Jack Moore. 'Is +it this Stingin' Lizard play a month ago?' + +"'No,' says Moore, "t'ain't quite sech ancient hist'ry. It's stage +coaches. Thar's a passel of people down yere as allows you've been +rustlin' the mails.' + +"Old Man Rucker, who keeps the O. K. House, is away when Moore +rounds up his party. But Missis Rucker's thar, an' the way that old +lady talks to Enright an' the committee is a shame. She comes over +to the store, too, along of Moore an' Cherokee, an' prances in an' +comes mighty near stampedin' the whole outfit. + +"'See yere, Sam Enright,' she shouts, wipin' her hands on her bib, +'what be you-alls aimin' for to do? Linin' up, I s'pose to hang the +only decent man in town?' + +"'Ma'am,' says Enright, 'this yere sharp is 'cused of standin' up +the stage them times recent over by Tucson. Do you know anythin' +about it?' + +"'No; I don't,' says Missis Rucker. 'You don't reckon, now, I did it +none, do you? I says this, though; it's a heap sight more likely +some drunkard a-settin' right yere on this committee stops them +stages than Cherokee Hall.' + +"'Woman's nacher's that emotional,' says Enright to the rest of us, +'she's oncapable of doin' right. While she's the loveliest of +created things, still sech is the infirmities of her intellects, +that gov'ment would bog down in its most important functions, if +left to woman.' + +"'Bog down or not,' says Missis Rucker, gettin' red an' heated, 'you +fools settin' up thar like a band of prairie-dogs don't hang this +yere Cherokee Hall. 'Nother thing, you ain't goin' to hang nobody to +the windmill ag'in nohow. I has my work to do, an' thar's enough on +my hands, feedin' sech swine as you-alls three times a day, without +havin' to cut down dead folks outen my way every time I goes for a +bucket of water. You-alls takes notice now; you don't hang nothin' +to the windmill no more. As for this yere Cherokee, he ain't stopped +no more stages than I be.' + +"'But you sees yourse'f, ma'am, you hasn't the slightest evidence +tharof,' says Enright, tryin' to soothe her down. + +"'I has, however, what's a mighty sight better than evidence,' says +Missis Rucker, 'an' that's my firm convictions.' + +"'Well, see yere,' says Cherokee, who's been listenin' all peaceful, +'let me in on this. What be you-alls doin' this on? I reckons I'm +entitled to a look at your hand for my money.' + +"Enright goes on an' lays it off for Cherokee; how he's outen camp +every time the stage is robbed, an' the idee is abroad he does it. + +"'As the kyards lay in the box,' says Cherokee, 'I don't reckon +thar's much doubt but you-alls will wind up the deal by hangin' me?' + +"'It's shorely five to one that a-way,' says Enright. 'Although I'm +bound to say it ain't none decisive as yet.' + +"'The trooth is,' says Cherokee, sorter thoughtful, 'I wasn't aimin' +to be hung none this autumn. I ain't got time, gents, for one thing, +an' has arranged a heap diff'rent. In the next place, I never stands +up no stage.' + +"'That's what they all says,' puts in Boggs, who's a mighty +impatient man. 'I shorely notes no reason why we-alls can't proceed +with this yere lynchin' at once. S'pose this Cherokee ain't stood up +no stage; he's done plenty of other things as merits death. It +strikes me thar's a sight of onnecessary talk yere." + +"'If you ain't out working the road,' says Doc Peets to Cherokee, +not heedin' of Bogg's petulance, 'them stage-robbin' times, s'pose +you onfolds where you was at?" + +"Well, son, not to string this yere story out longer'n three drinks, +yere is how it is: This Cherokee it looks like is soft-hearted that +a-way,--what you calls romantic. An' it seems likewise that shovin' +the Stingin' Lizard from shore that time sorter takes advantage an' +feeds on him. So he goes browsin' 'round the postmaster all casooal, +an' puts questions. Cherokee gets a p'inter about some yearlin' or +other in Tucson this Stingin' Lizard sends money to an' makes good +for, which he finds the same to be fact on caperin' over. It's a +nephy or some sech play. An' the Stingin' Lizard has the young one +staked out over thar, an' is puttin' up for his raiment an' grub all +reg'lar enough. + +"'Which I yereafter backs this infant's play myse'f,' says Cherokee +to the barkeep of the Oriental Saloon over in Tucson, which is the +party the Stingin' Lizard pastures the young one on. 'You're all +right, Bill,' goes on this Cherokee to the barkeep,' but now I goes +back of the box for this infant boy, I reckons I'll saw him off onto +a preacher, or some sharp sim'lar, where he gets a Christian +example. Whatever do you think?' + +"The barkeep says himse'f he allows it's the play to make. So he an' +Cherokee goes surgin' 'round, an' at last they camps the boy--who's +seven years comin' grass--on the only pulpit-sharp in Tucson. This +gospel-spreader says he'll feed an' bed down the boy for some sum; +which was shore a giant one, but the figgers I now forgets. + +"Cherokee gives him a stack of blues to start his game, an' is now +pesterin' 'round in a co't tryin' to get the young one counter- +branded from the Stingin' Lizard's outfit into his, an' given the +name of Cherokee Hall. That's what takes him over to Tucson them +times, an' not stage-robbin'. + +"Two days later, in fact, to make shore all doubts is over, Cherokee +even rings in said divine on us; which the divine tells the same +story. I don't reckon now he's much of a preacher neither; for he +gives Wolfville one whirl for luck over in the warehouse back of the +New York Store, an' I shore hears 'em as makes a mighty sight more +noise, an' bangs the Bible twice as hard, back in the States. I says +so to Cherokee; but he puts it up he don't bank none on his +preachin'. + +"'What I aims at,' says Cherokee, 'is someone who rides herd on the +boy all right, an' don't let him stampede off none into vicious +ways.' + +"'Why don't you keep the camp informed of this yere orphan an' the +play you makes?' says Enright, at the time it's explained to the +committee,--the time they trees Cherokee about them stages. + +"'It's that benev'lent an' mushy,' says Cherokee, 'I'm plumb ashamed +of the deal, an' don't allow to go postin' no notices tharof. But +along comes this yere hold-up business, an', all inadvertent, tips +my hand; which the same I stands, however, jest the same.' + +"'It's all right,' says Enright, some disgusted though; 'but the +next time you makes them foundlin' asylum trips, don't walk in the +water so much. Leave your trail so Wolfville sees it, an' then folks +ain't so likely to jump your camp in the dark an' take to shootin' +you up for Injuns an' sim'lar hostiles.' + +"'But one thing more,' continues Enright, an' then we orders the +drinks. Jack Moore is yereby instructed to present the compliments +of the committee to Rucker, when he trails in from Tucson; which he +also notifies him to hobble his wife yereafter durin' sessions of +this body. She's not to go draggin' her lariat 'round loose no more, +settin' law an' order at defiance durin' sech hours as is given to +business by the Stranglers." + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE STORY OF WILKINS + + +"No; I don't reckon I ever cuts the trail of this yere Wilson you +mentions, once. If I does, the fact's done pulled its picket-pin an' +strayed from my recollections." + +I had recalled the name of a former friend, one Wilson, who, sore +given to liquor, had drifted to Arizona many years before and +disappeared. Suggesting "Wilson" to the Old Cattleman, I asked if he +had met with such a name and character in his Wolfville rambles. + +As often chanced, however, the question bore fruit in a story. It +frequently needed but a slight blow from the rod of casual inquiry, +and the fountains of my old friend's reminiscences gushed forth. + +"No, I never crosses up with him," observed the old Cattleman; "but +speakin' of Wilson puts in my mind a gent by the name of Wilkins, +who it's some likely is as disrepootable as your old pard Wilson." + +"What about Wilkins?" I asked. + +"Nothin' thrillin', "answered the old gentleman; "nothin' you'd stay +up nights to hear, I don't reckon. It's Wilkins's daughter who is +the only redeemin' thing about the old Cimmaron; an' it's a heap +likely right now it's her I remembers about instead of him. + +"Not at all," he continued, "I don't mind onfoldin' as to Wilkins, +nor yet of an' concernin' his daughter. You see this Wilkins is +herdin' 'round Wolfville when I first trails in. I never does know +where he hails from. I don't reckon' though, he ever grades no ways +high, an' at the crisis I'm mentionin' his speshul play is gettin' +drunk mostly; an' not allowin' to hurt himse'f none with work. + +"'Workin' with your fins,' says this Wilkins, 'is low an' +onendoorin' to a gent with pride to wound. It ain't no use neither. +I knows folks as works, an' folks as don't, an' you can't tell one +from which. They gets along entirely sim'lar. + +"'But how you goin' to live?' says Dave Tutt, when he makes this +remark, an' who is fussin' with Wilkins for bein' so reedic'lous an' +shiftless. + +"'That's all right about my livin',' says Wilkins; 'don't you-all +pass no restless nights on my account. Go read your Scriptures; read +that bluff about feedin' the young ravens an' sparrers. Well, that's +me this trip. I'm goin' to rap for a show-down on them promises an' +see what's in 'em.' + +"'This camp ain't strong on Holy Writ, nohow,' says Dave Tutt, 'an' +I'm partic'lar puny that a-way. It's your game though, an' your +American jedgement goes soopreme as to how you plays it.' + +"This Wilkins lives in a wickeyup out on the aige of the town, an' a +girl, which she's his daughter, about 19 years old, keeps camp for +him. No one knows her well. She stays on her reservation mighty +close, an' never seems visible much. I notices her in the New York +Store once, buyin' some salt hoss, an'she ain't no dream of +loveliness neither as to looks. + +"Her face makes you feel she's good people though, with her big soft +eyes. They has a tired, broke-down look, like somehow she's been +packed more'n she can carry, an' has two or three notions about +layin' down with the load. + +"It's mebby two weeks after Dave Tutt's talk with Wilkins, when +we're all in the Red Light takin' our forty drops, an' Sam Enright +brings up this yere Wilkins. + +"'It has been a question with me,' he says, 'how this old shorthorn +and his girl manages for to make out; an' while I care none whatever +for Wilkins, it ain't no credit to a live camp like this to permit a +young female to suffer, an' I pauses yere to add, it ain't goin' to +occur no more. Yesterday, allowin' to bushwhack some trooth about +'em, I waits till old Wilkins drifts over to the corral, an' then I +goes projectin' 'round for facts. I works it plenty cunnin', an' +sorter happens up to the old man's tepee. I calls the girl out an' +puts it up I wants to see her paw a heap on some business. + +"'"I wants to see him speshul,"' I says. + +"'"Well, he ain't here now,"' says the girl, "so whatever'll you +do?"' + +"'"I don't reckon you could prance 'round some an' find him for me, +could you, Miss?"' I says. + +"'So the girl,' continues Enright, 'which her name is Susan, puts on +her shaker an' goes stampedin' off; an' while she's gone I injuns +an' spies 'round a whole lot; an', comin' down to the turn, Wilkins +an' that girl ain't got nothin' to eat. The question now is, what +action does Wolfville 'naugerate at a juncture sech as this?' +"'What's the matter with takin' up a donation like they does for a +preacher, an' saw it onto the girl?' says Dan Boggs. + +"'You couldn't open your game that a-way, nohow,' says Doc Peets. +'That's accordin' to Hoyle for sky-pilots an' missionary people; but +a young female a-hoidin' of herse'f high spurns your money. Thar's +nothin' ketches me like a female of my species in distress, an' I +recalls offerin' to stake a lady, who's lost her money somehow, back +in St. Looey once. This yere female was strange to me entire, but if +she'd knowed me from 'way back she couldn't a-blazed up more +frightful. The minute I pulls my bankroll on her, she goes cavortin' +off too hostile to talk. It takes ten minutes to get her back to the +agency to hear me 'pologize, an' even then she glares an' snorts +like she's liable to stampede ag'in. No; you don't want to try an' +give this girl no money. What we-alls needs is to hunt up somethin' +for her to work at an' pay her.' + +"'The Doc's right,' says Enright, 'an' the thing is to find +somethin' for this yere lady to do. Any gent with a notion on the +subject can't speak too quick.' + +"'No party need take my remarks as personal,' says Burns, who runs +the Red Light, 'as nothin' invidjous is intended; but I rises to say +that a heap of my business is on credit. A gent comes in free an' +sociable, names his sozodont, an' gets it. If he pays cash, all +right; if he wants credit, all right. "You names your day to drink, +an' you names your day to pay," is my motto, as you-alls knows. This +bein' troo, onder present exigences what for a scheme would it be +for me to get an outfit of books,--day-books, week-books, ledgers, +an' the rest of the layout,--an' let this yere maiden keep 'em a +whole lot? I throws this out as a su'gestion.' + +"'I ain't meanin' nothin' ag'inst Burns's su'gestion,' says Texas +Thompson, 'but in my opinion this camp ain't ripe for keepin' books +as yet. Things like that has to be come to by degrees. I've knowed a +heap of trouble arise from keepin' books, an' as long as this yere's +a peaceful camp let's keep it that a-way.' + +"'That settles it,' says Burns, 'thar's enough said, an' I don't +keep no books.' + +"'You-alls present knows me,' says Cherokee Hall, who, as I says +previous, is turnin' faro in the Red Light, 'an' most of you has met +me frequent in a business way. Thar's my game goin' every night +reg'lar. Thar's nothin' tin-horn about it. It ain't no skin game +neither. Any gent with doubts can step over an' test my box, which +he'll find all comfortable on the layout awaitin' his convenience. +It ain't been usual for me to blow my own bazoo to any extent, an' I +only does it now as bein' preliminary to the statement that my game +ain't no deadfall, an' is one as a respectable an' virchus female +person could set in on with perfect safetytood to her reputation. +This yere lady in question needs light, reg'lar employment, an' I +lets it fly that if she wants in on any sech deal I'll go her a blue +stack a week to hold down the chair as look-out for my game.' + +"'Cherokee's offer is all right,' says Enright; 'it's good talk from +a squar' man. Women, however, is partic'lar, an' like hosses they +shies at things thar ain't no danger in. You sees how that is; a +woman don't reason nothin', she feels an' mighty likely this young +person is loaded to the gyards with sech notions ag'in gamblin' as +would send her flyin' at the bare mention. The fact is, I thinks of +somethin' sim'lar, but has to give it up. I figgers, first dash out +o' the box, that a safe, easy trail to high ground is to give her a +table an' let her deal a little stud for the boys. This yere +wouldn't be no resk, an' the rake is a shore thing for nine or ten +dollars a night. Bein' a benev'lence, I knows the boys would set in +mighty free, an' the trouble would be corraled right thar. With this +yere in my mind I taps her gently about our various games when I +calls for her paw; an' to put it straight, she takes it reluctant +an' disgusted at the mere hint. Of course we-alls has to stand these +things from woman, an' we might as well p'int up some other way an' +no time lost.' + +"'Don't you-alls reckon for to make a speshul rake on all poker +goin', same as about that Yallerhouse gent, might be an ondefeasible +way to get at the neck of this business?' says Dave Tutt. 'I merely +asks it as a question.' + +"'That wouldn't do,' says Doc Peets, 'but anyhow yere comes Wilkins +how, an' if, as Enright says, the're out of chuck up his way, I +reckons I'll lose a small bet to the old shorthorn ontil sech times +as we devises some scheme all reg'lar.' + +"'Howdy, Wilkins?' says Doc, mighty gay an' genial, 'how's things +stackin' up?' + +"'Mighty ornery,' says Wilkins. + +"'Feel like makin' a little wager this A. M.?' says Doc. + +"'What do you-all want to gamble at?' says Wilkins. + +"'Oh,' says Doc, 'I'm feelin' a heap careless about what I do gamble +at. S'pose I goes you ten dollars's worth of grub the Lordsburg +buckboard don't show up none to-day?' + +"'If I had ten dollars I'd about call you a lot on that,' says +Wilkins, 'but I'm a pore cuss an' ain't got no ten dollars, an' +what's the use? None of you-alls ain't got no Red Light whiskey- +chips you ain't usin', be you? S'pose you-alls gropes about in your +war-bags an' sees. I'm needin' of a drink mighty bad.' + +"Old Wilkins looks some queer about the eyes, an' more'n usual +shaky, so we gives him a big drink an' he sorter braces up. + +"'I'll back Wilkins's end of that bet you offers, Doc,' says Tutt, +'so consider it made, will you?' + +"'You was offerin' to bet grub,' says the old man, powerful peevish +an' fretful. 'What for do you want to bet grub? Why don't you bet +money, so I gets what I wants with it? It's my money when I wins. +Mebby I don't want no grub. Mebby I wants clothes or whiskey. You +ain't no sport, Doc, to tie up a play with a string like that. Gimme +another drink some one, I'm most dyin' for some.' + +"The old man 'pears like he's mighty sick that a-way, so thar's +nothin' for it but to give him another hooker, which we does +accordin'. + +"'I'm feelin' like I was shot hard by somethin',' he says, 'an' I +don't like for to go home till I'm better, an' scare Sue. I reckon +I'll camp down on this yere monte table for an hour till I comes +'round.' + +"So Wilkins curls up on the table, an' no one notices him for about +twenty minutes, when along comes rattlin' up the Lordsburg mail. + +"'You win, Wilkins,' says Peets; 'come over to the New York Store +an' cut out your stuff.' "The old man acts like he don't hear, so +Doc shakes him up some. No use, thar ain't no get up in him. + +"'Looks like he's gone to sleep for good,' says Doc. + +"Then he walks 'round him, shakes him, an' takes a look at his eye, +a-openin' of it with his finger. Finally he stands back, sticks his +thumb in his belt, an' whistles. + +"'What's up?' says Cherokee Hall. 'He ain't tryin' to work us for +another drink I hopes.' + +"Well, this is a deal,' says Doc, 'an' no humbug neither. Gents, I'm +blessed if this yere old prairie-dog ain't shorely up an' died.' + +"We-alls comes up an' takes a look at him, an' Doc has called the +turn. Shore enough the old man has cashed in. + +"`This is a hoss on us, an' no doubt about it,' says Enright. 'I +ain't worryin' for Wilkins, as he most likely is ahead on the deal; +but what gets me is how to break the news to this yere maiden. It's +goin' to be a hair-line play. I reckons, Doc, it's you an' me.' + +"So they goes over to Wilkins's wickeyup an' calls the young Sue +girl out, an' Enright begins tellin' her mighty soft as how her paw +is took bad down to the Red Light. But the girl seems to get it as +right as if she's scouted for it a month. + +"'He's dead!' she says; an' then cripples down alongside of the door +an' begins to sob. + +"'Thar ain't no use denyin' it, Miss,' says Enright, 'your paw +struck in on the big trail where the hoof-prints all p'ints one way. +But don't take it hard, Miss, thar ain't a gent don't give you +sympathy. What you do now is stay right yere, an' the camp'll tend +to the funeral, an' put it up right an' jest as you says, you bein' +mourner-in-chief. You can trust us for the proper play; since we +buries Jack King, obsequies is our long suit.' + +"The little Sue girl struggles through somehow, an' has her nerve +with her. The funeral, you bet, is right. This time we ropes in a +preacher belongin' to some deep-water outfit over in Tucson. He +somehow is strayed, an' happens along our way, an' we gets him +squar' in the door. He jumps in an' gives them ceremonies a +scientific whirl as ain't possible nohow to amatures. All 'round we +wouldn't have put on more dog if we'd been plantin' Enright; all of +course on the little Sue girl's account. Next day the outfit goes +over to find out whatever she allows to do. + +"'You sees, Miss; says Enright, 'anythin' you says, goes. Not +waitin' to learn its name, even, I'm directed to state as how the +camp backs your play an' makes good.' + +"'I'm allowin' to go to the States,' says the girl, 'an' I'm +obleeged to you.' + +"'We was hopin',' says Enright, 'as you'd stay yere. We-alls sorter +figgers you'd teach us a school. Of course thar ain't no papooses +yet, but as a forced play we arranges to borrow a small herd from +Tombstone, an' can do it too easy. Then, ag'in, a night-school would +hit our needs right; say one night a week. Thar's a heap of +ignorance in this yere camp, an' we needs a night-school bad. It +would win for fifty dollars a week, Miss; an' you thinks of it.' + +"No, the pore girl couldn't think of it nohow. + +"'Of course, Miss, says Enright, 'we alls ain't expectin' you to +open this yere academy the first kyards off the deck. You needs time +to line up your affairs, an' am likewise wrung with grief. You takes +your leesure as to that; meanwhile of course your stipend goes on +from now.' + +"But the little Sue girl couldn't listen. Her paw is dead, an' now +she's due in the States. She says things is all right thar. She has +friends as her paw never likes; but who's friends of hers, an' +she'll go to them. + +"'Well, Miss,' says Enright, mighty regretful, 'if that's how it +lays, I reckons you'll go, so thar's nothin' for us to do but settle +up an' fork over some dust we owes your paw. He bein' now deceased, +of course you represents.' + +"The girl couldn't see how any one owes her paw, ''cause he's been +too sick to work,' she says. + +"'We owes him all the same,' says Enright, mighty ferocious. 'We +onderstands well enough how we comes to owe him, don't we, Doc?' + +"'You can stack in your life we do,' says Doc, plenty prompt an' +cheerful. 'We-alls owes for his nailin' them hoss-thiefs when they +tries to clean out the corral.' + +"'That's it,' says Enright, 'for ketchin' of some rustlers who lays +for our stock. It's all right, Miss; you needn't look so doubtful. +You wouldn't if you knowed this camp. It's the last outfit on earth +as would go an' give money to people. It's a good straight camp, +Wolfville is; but business is business, an' we ain't pirootin' +'round none, givin' nothin' away, be we, Doc?' + +"'Not much,' says Doc. 'It's enough for a gent to pay debts, without +stampedin' 'round makin' presents of things.' + +"'That's whatever,' says Enright; 'so Miss, me an Doc'll vamos over +to the Red Light an' get the dust, an' I reckons we'll be back in an +hour. I s'pose we owes Mister Wilkins about 'five hundred dollars, +don't we, Doc?' + +"'Tain't so much,' says Doc, who's guileful that a-way. As he sees +the little Sue girl archin' for another buck, he pulls out a paper +an' makes a bluff. 'Yere it is,--four hundred an' ninety-three +dollars an' seventy-four cents. I puts it down all accurate, 'cause +I don't allow no sharp to come 'round an' beat me none.' + +"We-alls throws 'round an' makes up the pot to come to Doc's figger- +-which I wants to say right yere, Doc Peets is the ablest gent I +ever sees--an' the little Sue girl has to take it. + +"Which this money lets her out right, an' she cries an' thanks us, +an' the next day she takes the stage for Tucson. We're thar to say +'good-by' an' wish the little Sue girl luck. + +"'Adios,' says Peets, takin' off his hat to her; 'it ain't down on +the bills none, but if you-all could manage to kiss this yere outfit +once apiece, Miss, it would be regarded. You needn't be afraid. Some +of 'em looks a little off, but they're all right, an' b'ar huggin' +is barred.' + +"So the little Sue girl begins with Enright an' kisses us all, a- +sobbin' meantime some free. As the affection proceeds, Cherokee +sorter shoves back an' allows he'll pass. + +"'Not any pass!' says Enright. 'Any gent who throws off on that thar +little Sue girl, she willin', needn't look for any luck but +lynchin'.' + +"'That settles it,' says Cherokee, 'I saloots this yere lady.' + +"So he ups an' kisses the little Sue girl like she's a hot flat- +iron, an' backs into the crowd. + +"'Cherokee makes me tired,' says Peets, who's ridin' herd on the +play. When it comes his turn he kisses her slow an' rapturous, an' +is contemptuous of Cherokee. + +"When she's in the stage a-startin', Cherokee walks up, all +respectful. + +"'You've been away from the States some time, Miss,' he says, 'an' +it's an even break you won't find things the way you expects. Now, +you remember, shore; whatever game's bein' turned back thar, if it +goes ag'in you, raise the long yell for a sharp called Cherokee +Hall; an' his bank's yours to go behind your play.'" + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE WASHWOMAN'S WAR. + + +It was evening. The first dark foreshadowing of the coming night +clothed all in half obscurity. But I knew the way; I could have +travelled the little path at midnight. There he was, the Old +Cattleman, under a favorite tree, the better to avoid the heavy dew. +He sat motionless and seemed to be soaking himself, as one might +say, in the balmy weather of that hour. + +My wisdom had ordered Jim, my black man, to attend my steps. The +laconic, half-sad salutation of my old friend at once gave Black Jim +a mission. He was dispatched in quest of stimulants. After certain +exact and almost elaborate commands to Black Jim, and that useful +African's departure, I gently probed my companion with a question. + +"No, thar's nothin' the matter of me; sorter pensive, that's all," +was my return. + +The Old Cattleman appeared silent and out of sorts. Following the +coming of Black Jim, however, who brought a lusty toddy, he yielded +to a better mood. + +"It simply means I'm gettin' old; my settin' 'round balky this a- +way. Thar's some seventy wrinkles on my horns; nothin' young or +recent about that. Which now it often happens to me, like it does to +old folks general, that jest when it begins to grow night, I gets +moody an' bad. Looks like my thoughts has been out on some mental +feed-ground all day, an' they comes stringin' in like cattle to get +bedded down for the night. Nacheral, I s'pose they sorter mills an' +stands 'round oneasy like for a while before they lies down all +comfortable. Old people partic'lar gets dissatisfied. If they's +single-footers like me an' ain't wedded none; campin' 'round at +taverns an' findin' of 'em mockeries; they wishes they has a wife a +whole lot. If they be, they wish she'd go visit her folks. Gettin' +old that a-way an' lonely makes folks frequent mighty contrary. + +"No, as I imparts to you yeretofore,--mebby it's a month,--I never +marries nothin'. I reckons too, I'm in love one round-up an' another +mighty near a dozen times. But somehow I allers lose the trail an' +never does run up with none of 'em once. + +"Down in the Brazos country thar was a little blue-eyed girl,--back +forty years it is,--an' the way I adores her plumb tires people. I +reckons I ropes at her more'n fifty times, but I never could fasten. +Thar comes a time when it looks powerful like I'm goin' to run my +brand onto her; but she learns that Bill Jenks marks 150 calves the +last spring round-up, an' me only forty, an' that settles it; she +takes Jenks. + +"It's astonishin' how little I deems of this yere maiden after Bill +gets her. Two months before, I'd rode my pony to death to look once +in her eyes. She's like sunshine in the woods to me, an' I dotes on +every word she utters like it's a roast apple. But after she gets to +be Bill's wife I cools complete. + +"Not that lovin' Bill's wife, with his genius for shootin' a pistol, +is goin' to prove a picnic,--an' him sorter peevish an' hostile +nacheral. But lettin' that go in the discard, I shore don't care +nothin' about her nohow when she's Bill's. + +"I recalls that prior to them nuptials with Bill I gets that locoed +lovin' this girl I goes bulgin' out to make some poetry over her. I +compiles one stanza; an' I'm yere to remark it's harder work than a +June day in a brandin' pen. Ropin' an' flankin' calves an' standin' +off an old cow with one hand while you irons up her offspring with +t'other, from sun-up till dark, is sedentary compared to makin' +stanzas. What was the on I makes? Well, you can bet a hoss I ain't +forgot it none. + +"'A beautiful woman is shorely a moon, The nights of your life to +illoomine; She's all that is graceful, guileful an' soon, Is woman, +lovely woman.' + +"I'm plumb tangled up in my rope when I gets this far, an' I takes a +lay-off. Before I gathers strength to tackle it ag'in, Jenks gets +her; so bein' thar's no longer nothin' tharin I never makes a +finish. I allers allowed it would have been a powerful good poem if +I'd stampeded along cl'ar through. + +"Yes, son; women that a-way is shorely rangy cattle an' allers on +the move. Thar's a time once when two of 'em comes mighty near +splittin' Wolfville wide open an' leavin' it on both sides of the +trail. All that ever saves the day is the ca'm jedgement an' +promptitood of Old Man Enright. + +"This is how Wolfville walks into this petticoat ambush. The camp is +gettin' along all peaceful an' serene an' man-fashion. Thar's the +post-office for our letters; thar's the Red Light for our bug-juice; +thar's the O. K. Restauraw for our grub; an' thar's the stage an' +our ponies to pull our freight with when Wolfville life begins to +pull on us as too pastoral, an' we thirsts for the meetropolitan +gayety of Tucson. + +"As I says we alls has all that heart can hunger for; that is hunger +on the squar'. + +"Among other things, thar's a Chink runnin' a laundry an' a-doin' of +our washin'. This yere tub-trundler's name is Lung, which, however. +brands no cattle yere. + +"It's one afternoon when Doc Peets gets a letter from a barkeep over + +in Tucson sayin': Dear Doc: + +Thar's an esteemable lady due in Wolfville on to-morrer's stage. +She's p'intin' out to run a laundry. Please back her play. If thar's +a Chinaman in town, run him out. + +And obleege, yours, + +Dick. + +"'Whatever do you think, Enright?' says Doc Peets after readin' us +the letter. + +"'That's all right,' says Enright, 'the Chink goes. It's onbecomin' +as a spectacle for a Caucasian woman of full blood to be contendin' +for foul shirts with a slothful Mongol. Wolfville permits no sech +debasin' exhibitions, an' Lung must vamos. Jack,' he says, turnin' +to Jack Moore, 'take your gun an' sa'nter over an' stampede this +yere opium-slave. Tell him if he's visible to the naked eye in the +scenery yere-abouts to-morrow when this lady jumps into camp, he's +shore asked the price of soap the last time he ever will in this +vale of tears.' + +"'What's the matter of lynchin' this yere Chink?' says Dan Boggs. +'The camp's deadly dull, an' it would cheer up things a whole lot, +besides bein' compliments to this young female Old Monte's bringin' +in on the stage.' + +"'Oh no,' says Enright, 'no need of stringin him none. On second +thought, Jack, I don't reckon I'd run him out neither. It dignifies +him too much. S'pose you canter up to his tub-camp an' bring him +over, an' we'll reveal this upheaval in his shirt-burnin' destinies +by word of mouth. If he grows reluctant jest rope him 'round the +neck with his queue, an' yank him. It impresses 'em an' shows 'em +they're up ag'in the law. I s'pose, Peets, I voices your sentiments +in this?' + +"'Shore,'" says Doc Peets--which this Peets is the finest-eddicated +man I ever meets. 'This Chinaman must pull his freight. We-alls owes +it not only to this Tucson lady, but to the lovely sex she +represents. Woman, woman, what has she not done for man! As Johanna +of Arc she frees the sensuous vine-clad hills of far-off +Switzerland. As Grace Darling she smooths the fever-heated pillow of +the Crimea. In reecompense she asks one little, puny boon--to fire +from our midst a heathen from the Orient. Gents, thar's but one +answer: We plays the return game with woman. This Chinaman must go.' + +"When Jack comes back with Lung, which he does prompt, Enright +starts in to deal the game. + +"'It ain't no use, Lung,' says Enright, 'tryin' to explain to you- +all what's up. Your weak Asiatic intellect couldn't get the drop +onto it no-how. You've been brought to a show-down ag'in a woman, +an' you're out-held. You've got to quit; savey? Don't let us find +you yere to-morrow. By third-drink time we'll be a-scoutin' for you +with somethin' besides an op'ry glass, an' if you're noticed as part +of the landscape you're goin' to have a heap of bad luck. I'd advise +you to p'int for Red Dog, but as to that you plays your hand +yourse'f." + +"Next day that old drunkard Monte comes swingin' in with the stage; +the six hosses on the jump, same as he allers does with a woman +along. Over at the post-office, where he stops, a lady gets out, an' +of course we-alls bows p'lite an' hopes she's well an' frisky. She +allows she is, an' heads for the O. K. House. + +"It floats over pretty soon that her name's Annie, an' as none of us +wants to call her jest 'Annie'--the same bein' too free a play--an' +hearin' she lives a year or two at Benson, we concloods to call her +Benson Annie, an' let it go at that. + +"'The same bein' musical an' expressive,' says Doc Peets, as we all +lines up ag'in the Red Light bar, 'I su'gests we baptize this lady +"Benson Annie," an' yere's to her success.' + +"So we-alls turns up our glasses, an' Benson Annie it is. + +"The next day the fetid Lung is a thing of the past, an' Benson +Annie has the game to herse'f. Two days later she raises the tariff +to fifty cents on shirts, instead of twenty-five, as previous with +the Chink. But no one renigs. + +"'A gent,' says Doc Peets, 'as holds that a Caucasian woman is goin' +to wash a shirt for the miserable stipend of a slave of the Orient +must be plumb locoed. Wolfville pays fifty cents for shirts an' is +proud tharof.' + +"Things goes along for mighty like a month, an' then this yere +Benson Annie allows she'll have a visitor. + +"'I'm plumb, clean sick,' she says, 'of seein' nothin' but a lot of +drunken, good-for-nothin' sots a-pesterin' 'round, an' I done +reckons I'll have my friend Sal come over from Tombstone an' see me +a whole lot. It'll be some relaxation.' + +"Mebby it's four days after when this yere Sal hops outen the stage, +an' for the next week thar ain't no washin' done whatever, while +Benson Annie an' Sal works the wire aige offen their visit. + +"`A gent as would begretch two pore, hard-workin' girls a lay-off of +a week,' says Enright, 'ain't clean strain, an' I don't want to know +sech a hoss-thief nohow'; an' we-alls feels likewise. + +"But slap on the heels of all this yere gregar'ousness on the part +of Benson Annie an' Sal, the deal begins to come queer. At the end +of the week the two girls has a row, an' in the turn Sal goes to +t'other end of camp an' opens a laundry. That does settle it. Benson +Annie gives Sal fits, an' Sal shorely sends 'em back. Then they +quits speakin', an when they meets on the street they concocts +snoots at each other. This scares Enright, but he does his level +best an' tries to keep the boys from takin' sides. + +"'In a play like this yere,' he says, 'this camp don't take no +kyards. For the first time Wolfville passes out, an' offers to make +it a jack' + +"But as one day an' the next trails by, the boys sorter gets lined +up one way an' t'other; some for Benson Annie an' some for Sal, an' +things is shorely gettin' hot. Hamilton, over at the dance-hall, ups +an' names his place the 'Sal Saloon,' an' Burns takes down the sign +on the Red Light an' calls it the 'Benson Annie House.' Finally +things sorter culminates. + +"Dan Boggs, who's a open, voylent Annie man, comes a-prancin' into +the Red Light one night, an' after stampin' an' rappin' his horns +'round a whole lot, allows his shirt is cleaner than Dave Tutt's. + +"Tutt says he don't care nothin' for himse'f, an' none whatever for +the shirt; an' while he an' Dan's allers been friends an' crossed +the plains together, still he don't allow he'll stand 'round much +an' see a pore ondefended female, like Sal, maligned. So Tutt outs +with his gun an' gets Boggs in the laig. + +"This yere brings things down to cases. Enright is worried sick at +it. But he's been thinkin' mighty arduous for quite a spell, an' +when Boggs gets creased, he sees somethin' must be done, an' begins +to line himse'f for a play for out. + +"It's the next day after Boggs gets ag'in Tutt, an' Doc Peets has +plugged up the hole, when Enright rounds up the whole passel of us +in the Red Light. He looks that dignified an' what you-alls calls +impressive, that the barkeep, yieldin' to the gravity of the +situation, allows the drinks is on the house. We-alls gets our forty +drops, an' sorter stands pat tharon in silence, waitin' for Enright +to onfold his game. We shore knows if thar's a trail he'll find it. + +"'I Gents,' he says at last,--an' it seems like he's sorry an' hurt +that a-way,--'I'll not drift into them harrowin' differences which +has rent asunder what was aforetimes the peacefullest camp in +Arizona. I wants you-alls, however, to take note of my remarks, for +what I says is shorely goin' to go.' + +"Yere Enright pauses to take a small drink by himse'f, while we-alls +tarries about, some oneasy an' anxious as to what kyards falls next. +At last Enright p'ints out on the trail of his remarks ag'in. + +"'It is with pain an' mortification,' he says--an' yere he fixes his +eye some hard an' delib'rate on a young tenderfoot named French, +who's been lost from the States somethin' like six months--'it is +with pain an' mortification, I says, that I notes for a week past +our young friend an' townsman, Willyum French, payin' marked an' +ondiscreet attentions to Benson Annie, a female person whom we all +respects. At all times, day an' night, when he could escape his +dooties as book-keep for the stage company, he has pitched camp in +her s'ciety. Wolfville has been shocked, an' a pure lady +compromised. Standin' as we-alls does in the light of a parent to +this pore young female, we have determined the wrong must be made +right, an' Mister French must marry the girl. I have submitted these +yere views to Benson Annie, an' she concurs. I've took the trouble +to bring a gospel-sharp over from Tucson to do the marryin', an' +I've set the happy event for to-night, to conclood with a blow-out +in the dance-hall at my expense. We will, of course, yereby lose +Benson Annie in them industrial walks she now adorns, for I pauses +to give Mister French a p'inter; the sentiments of this camp is +ag'in a married female takin' in washin'. Not to play it too low +down on Mister French, who, while performin' a private dooty, is +also workin' for a public good, I heads a subscription with fifty +dollars for a present for the bride. I'd say in closin' that if I +was Mister French I wouldn't care to object to this union. The lady +is good-lookin', the subscription is cash, an' in the present heated +condition of the public mind, an' with the heart of the camp set on +this weddin', I wouldn't be responsible if he does. Now, gents, +who'll follow my fifty dollars with fifty more? Barkeep, do your +dooty while the subscription-paper goes 'round.' + +"The biddin' is mighty lively, an' in ten minutes seven hundred +dollars is raised for a dowry. Then French, who has been settin' in +a sort of daze, gets up: + +"'Mister Enright an' gents,' he says, `this yere is a s'prise-party +to me, but it goes. It's a hoss on me, but I stands it. I sees how +it is, an' as a forced play I marries Benson Annie in the interests +of peace. Which the same bein' settled, if Benson Annie is yere, +whirl her up an' I'll come flutterin' from my perch like a pan of +milk from a top shelf, an' put an end to this onhealthful +excitement. + +"We-alls applauds French an' is proud to note he's game. + +"`An' to be free an' open with you, French,' says Texas Thompson, so +as to make him feel he's ahead on the deal; which he shore is, for +this yere Benson Annie is corn-fed, 'if it ain't for a high-sperited +lady back in Laredo who relies on me, I'd be playin' your hand +myse'f.' + +"Well, no one delays the game. Enright brings over Benson Annie, +who's blushin' some, but ain't holdin' back; an' she an' French +fronts up for business. This yere preacher-sharp Enright's roped up +is jest shufflin' for the deal, when, whatever do you reckon takes +place? I'm a Mexican if this yere Sal don't come wanderin' in, a- +cryin' an' a-mournin' powerful. She allows with sobs if her dear +friend Annie's goin' to get married she wants in on the game as +bridesmaid. + +"'Which you-all shorely gets a hand as sech,' says Doc Peets, who's +actin' lookout for the deal; an' so he stakes out Sal over by the +nigh side of Benson Annie, who kisses her quite frantic, an' unites +her wails to Sal's. Both of 'em weepin' that a-way shorely makes the +occasion mighty sympathetic an' damp. But Peets says it's the +reg'lar caper, an' you can gamble Peets knows. "'Thar,' says +Enright, when the last kyard's out an' the French fam'ly is +receivin' congratulations, 'I reckons that now, with only one +laundry, Wolfville sees a season of peace. It's all right, but I'm +yere to remark that the next lady as dazzles this camp with her +deebut, an' onfurls a purpose to plunge into work, ain't goin' to +keep a laundry none. Gents, the bridle's plumb off the hoss. We'll +now repair to the dance-hall, if so be meets your tastes, an' take +the first steps in a debauch from which, when it's over, this yere +camp of Wolfville dates time.'" + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +ENRIGHT'S PARD, JIM WILLIS. + + +"If my mem'ry's dealin' a squar' game," remarked the Old Cattleman, +as he moved his chair a bit more into the shade, "it's some'ers over +in the foot-hills of, the Floridas when Enright vouchsafes why he +hates Mexicans." + +The morning was drowsy. Conversation between us had in a sleepy way +ranged a wide field. As had grown to be our habit we at last settled +on Wolfville and its volatile inhabitants. I asked to be enlightened +as to the sage Enright, and was informed that, aside from his +courage and love of strict justice, the prominent characteristic of +our Wolfville Lycurgus was his wrath against Mexicans. + +"Not that Enright loathes so much as he deplores 'em, "continued the +old gentleman. "However, I don't aim to be held as sayin' he +indorses their existence a little bit; none whatever. + +"Enright's tellin' of this tale arises outen a trivial incident +which a Mexican is the marrow of. We're out on the spring round-up, +an' combin' the draws an' dry ARROYAS over between the cow springs +an' the Floridas, when one night a Mexican runs off a passel of our +ponies. The hoss-hustler is asleep, I reckons, at the time this +Mexican stacks in. He says himse'f he's lyin' along the back of his +bronco gazin' at the stars when this robber jumps at the ponies an' +flaps a blanket or somethin', an' away patters every hoof in the +band. + +"This yere Mexican don't run off with only about a handful; I takes +it he can't round up no more in the dark. When you-all stampedes a +bunch of ponies that a-way they don't hold together like cattle, but +plunges off diffusive. It's every bronco for himse'f, disdainful of +all else, an' when it's sun-up you finds 'em spattered all over the +scene an' not regardin' of each other much. + +"But this yere Mexican, after he stampedes 'em, huddles what he can +together--as I says mebby it's a dozen--an' p'ints off into the +hills. + +"Of course it ain't no time after the sun shows the tracks when +Enright, Jack Moore, an' myse'f is on the trail. Tutt an' Dan Boggs +wants in on the play, but we can't spar' so many from the round-up. + +"It's one of the stolen ponies tips this Greaser's hand. It's the +second day, an' we-alls loses the trail for mebby it's fifteen +minutes. We're smellin' along a canyon to find it ag'in, when from +over a p'int of rocks we hears a bronco nicker. He gets the scent of +an acquaintance which Moore's ridin' on, an' says 'How!' pony- +fashion. + +"Thar's no need goin' into wearyin' details. Followin' the nicker we +comes surgin' in on our prey, an' it's over in a minute. Thar's two +Mexicans,--our criminal trackin' up with a pard that mornin'. But of +course we-alls knows he's thar long hours back by the tracks, so it +ain't no s'prise. + +"This yere second Mexican is downed on the run-in. He shows a heap +of interest in our comin', an' takes to shootin' us up mighty vivid +with a Winchester at the time; an' so Enright, who's close in, jumps +some lead into him an' stretches him. He don't manage to do no harm, +nohow, more'n he creases my hoss a little. However, as this yere +hoss is amazin' low-sperited, an' as bein' burnt that a-way with a +bullet sorter livens him up a heap, I don't complain none. Still +Enright's all-wise enough to copper the Greaser, for thar ain't no +sayin' what luck the felon has with that little old gun of his if he +keeps on shootin'. Which, as I observes, Enright downs him, an' his +powder-burnin' an' hoss-rustlin' stops immediate. + +"As for the other Mexican, which he's the party who jumps our ponies +in the first place, he throws up his hands an' allows he cashes in +his chips for whatever the bank says. + +"We-alls ropes out our captive; sorter hog-ties him hand an' foot, +wrist an' fetlock, an' then goes into camp all comfortable, where we +runs up on our game. + +"Jack Moore drops the loop of his lariat over the off moccasin of +the deceased Mexican, an' canters his pony down the draw with him, +so's we ain't offended none by the vision of him spraddled out that +a-way dead. This yere's thoughtful of Jack, an' shows he's +nacherally refined an' objects to remainders lyin' 'round loose. + +"'No, it ain't so much I'm refined,' says Jack, when I compliments +him that he exhibits his bringin' up, an' him bein' too modest that +a-way to accept; 'it ain't that I'm refined none--which my nacher is +shore coarse--I jest sorter protests in my bosom ag'in havin' a +corpse idlin' 'round that a-way where I'm camped. Tharfore I takes +my rope an' snatches deceased off where he ain't noticeable on the +scenery.' + +"Jack does it that gentle an' considerate, too, that when we passes +the Mexican next day on our way in, except he's some raveled an' +frayed coastin' along where it's rocky, an' which can't be he'ped +none, he's as excellent a corpse as when he comes off the shelf, +warm as the rifle Enright throws him with. + +"'Whatever be we goin' to do with this yere hoss-thief pris'ner of +ours?' says Jack Moore to Enright the next day, when we're saddlin' +up an' organizin' to pull our freight. 'He's shore due to bother us +a lot. We're plumb sixty miles from Tutt an' the boys, an' ridin' +herd on this yere saddle-colored gent, a-keepin' of him from lopin' +off, is mighty likely to be a heap exhaustin'. I knows men,' Jack +remarks at the close, lookin' wistful at Enright, 'as would beef him +right yere an' leave him as a companion piece to that compadre of +his you downs.' + +"'Nachers as would execute a pris'ner in cold blood,' says Enright, +'is roode an' oncivilized. Which I don't mean they is low neither; +but it's onconsiderate that a-way to go an' ca'mly kill a pris'ner, +an' no co't nor committee authorizin' the same. I never knows of it +bein' done but once. It's Mexicans who does it then; which is why +they ain't none pop'lar with me since.' + +"'It's shore what you calls a mighty indurated play,' says Jack, +shakin' his head, 'to go shootin' some he'pless gent you've took; +but, as I states, it's a cinch it'll be a heap fatiguin' keepin' +cases on this yere Mexican till we meets up with a quorum of the +committee. Still it's our dooty, an' of course we don't double-deal, +nor put back kyards on what's our plain dooty.' + +"'What you-all states,' says Enright,'`is to your credit, but I'll +tell you. Thar ain't no harm mountin' this marauder on a slow pony +that a-way; an' bein' humane s'fficient to leave his hands an' feet +ontied. Of course if he takes advantage of our leniency an' goes +stampedin' off to make his escape some'ers along the trail, I +reckons you'll shorely have to shoot. Thar's no pass-out then but +down him, an' we sadly treads tharin. An',' goes on Enright, some +thoughtful, if this yere Mexican, after we-alls is that patient an' +liberal with him, abuses our confidences an' escapes, we leaves it a +lone-hand play to you. My eyes is gettin' some old an' off, any way; +an' besides, if we three takes to bangin' away simooltaneous, in the +ardor of competition some of us might shoot the pony. So if this +yere captive runs--which he looks tame, an' I don't expect none he +will--we leaves the detainin' of him, Jack, to you entire." + +"In spite of Enright's faith it shore turns out this Mexican is +ornery enough, where the trail skirts the river, to wheel sudden an' +go plungin' across. But Jack gets him in midstream. As he goes over +the bronco's shoulder, hat first, he swings on the bridle long +enough with his dyin' hand to turn the pony so it comes out ag'in on +our side. + +"Which I'm glad he lives s'fficient to head that hoss our way,' says +jack. "It saves splashin' across after him an' wettin' your leggins +a lot." + +"It's that night in camp when jack brings up what Enright says about +the time the Mexicans downs a pris'ner, an' tharby fixes his views +of 'em. + +"'It's a long trail back,' says Enright,' an' I don't like this yarn +enough to find myse'f relatin' it to any excessive degrees. It draws +the cinch some tight an' painful, an' I don't teach my mind to dwell +on it no more'n is necessary. + +"'This is all when I'm a boy; mebby I ain't twenty years yet. It's +durin' the Mexican war. I gets a stack of white chips an' stands in +on the deal in a boyish way. All I saveys of the war is it's ag'in +the Mexicans, which, while I ain't got no feud with 'em personal at +the time, makes it plenty satisfactory to me. + +"'It's down off two days to the west of Chihuahua, an' seven of us +is projectin' 'round seein' whatever can we tie down an' brand, when +some Mexicans gets us out on a limb. It ain't a squar' deal; still I +reckons it's squar' enough, too; only bein' what you-alls calls +strategic, it's offensive an' sneakin' as a play. + +"'This yere lieutenant who's leadin' us 'round permiscus, looks like +he's some romantic about a young Mexican female, who's called the +Princess of Casa Grande. Which the repoote of this yere Princess +woman is bad, an' I strikes a story several times of how she's that +incensed ag'in Americans she once saws off a thimbleful of loco on a +captain in some whiskey he's allowin' to drink, an' he goes plumb +crazy an' dies. + +"'But loco or no loco, this yere Princess person is shore that good +lookin' a pinto pony don't compare tharwith; an' when she gets her +black eyes on our lieutenant, + +that settles it; we rounds up at her hacienda an' goes into camp. +"'Besides + +the lieutenant thar's six of us. One of 'em's a shorthorn who +matches me for age; which his name's Willis--Jim Willis. "'Now I +ain't out + +to make no descriptions of the friendship which goes on between this +yere Willis an' me. I sees a show one time when I'm pesterin' 'round +back in St. Looey--an' I'm yere to remark I don't go that far east + +no more--which takes on about a couple of sports who's named Damon +an' Pythias. Them two people's all right, an' game. An' they shore +deems high of one another. But at the time I sees this yere Damon +an' + +Pythias, I says to myse'f, an' ever since I makes onhesitatin' +assertion + +tharof, that the brotherly views them two gents entertains ain't a + +marker to Jim Willis an' me. "'This yere Jim I knows since we're +yearlin's. We-alls jumps outen the corral together back in +Tennessee, an' goes off into this Mexican war like twins. An' bein' +two boys that a-way + +among a band of men, I allows thar ain't nothin' before, nor then, +nor after. which I loves like Jim. "'As I observes, Jim an' me's in + +the outfit when this yere lieutenant comes trackin' 'round that +Princess of Casa Grande; which her love for him is a bluff an' a +deadfall; an' the same gets all of us before we're through. An' it +gets my Jim Willis speshul. "Mebby it's the third mornin' after we- +alls meanders into this nest of Mexicans, an' the lieutenant gets +lined out for that Princess of Casa Grande. We ain't been turnin' +out early nohow, thar bein' nothin' + +to turn out about; but this third mornin' somebody arouses us a heap +vigorous, like they aims to transact some business with us. Which +they shorely does; it's an outfit of Greaser guerillas, an' we-alls +ain't nothin' more or less than captives. "'The ornery an' +ongrateful part is that the Princess sends one of her own peonies +scoutin' 'round in the hills to bring in this band of cattle-eaters +onto us. "'When the lieutenant hears of the perfidy of the Princess +female, he's that mortified he gets a pistol the first jump he makes +an' blows off the top of his head; which if he only blows off the +top of hers it would have gone a heap further with the rest of us. +If he'd consulted any of us, it would have shorely been advised. But +he makes an impulsive play that + +a-way; an' is that sore an' chagrined he jest grabs a gun in a +frenzied way an' cashes his chips abrupt. "'No, as I states,' says +Enright, musin' to himse'f, 'if the lieutenant had only downed that +Princess who plays us in as pris'ners so smooth an' easy, it would +have been + +regarded. He could have gone caperin' over the brink after her with +the bridle off the next second, an' we-alls would still talk well of +him. "'As it is, however, this riotous female don't last two months. +Which it's also a fact that takin' us that time must have been a +heap + +on. lucky for them Greasers. Thar's nine of 'em, an' every last man +dies in the next five months; an' never a one, nor yet the Princess, +knows what they're ag'inst when they quits; or what breeze blows +their light out. I knows, because me an' a party whose name is Tate- +-Bill Tate--never leaves them hills till the last of that outfit's +got his heap of rocks piled up, with its little pine cross stickin' +outen the peak tharof, showin' he's done jumped this earthly game +for good. "'This Bill Tate an' me breaks camp on them Greasers +together while they're tankin' up on mescal, mebby it's two days +later; an' they never gets their lariats on us no more. "'"You ain't +got no dates, nor speshul engagements with nobody in the States, +have you?" says Tate to me when + +we're safe outen them Mexican's hands. "'"No,"says I,"whatever makes +you ask? "'"Oh, nothin',"says Tate lookin' at the sky sorter black +an' ugly, "only since you-all has the leesure, what for a play would +it be to make a long camp back in these hills by some water-hole +some'ers, + +an' stand pat ontil we downs these yere Greasers--squaws an' all-- +who's had us treed? It oughter be did; an' if we-ails don't do it +none, it's a heap likely it's goin' to be neglected complete. It's +easy as a play; every hoss-thief of 'em lives right in these yere +valleys, for I hears 'em talk. All we has to do is sa'nter back in +the hills, make a camp; an' by bein' slow an' shore, an' takin' time +an' pains, we bushwhacks an' kills the last one." "'The way I feels +about Willis makes the prospect + +mighty allurin,' an' tharupon Tate an' me opens a game with them +Mexicans it takes five months to deal. "'But it's plumb dealt out, +an' we win. When Tate crosses the Rio Grande with the army goin' +back, he shorely has the skelp of every Mexican incloosive of said +Princess. "'But I wanders from Willis. Where was I at when I bogs +down? As I says, this + +lieutenant nabs a pistol an' goes flutterin' from his limb. But this +don't do them Greasers. They puts up a claim that some Americans +tracks up on one of their outfit an' kills him off, they says, five +days before. + +They allows that, breakin' even on the deal, one of us is due to +die. Tate offers to let 'em count the lieutenant, but they shakes +their heads till the little bells on their sombreros tinkles, an' +declines the lieutenant emphatic. "'They p'ints out this yere +lieutenant dies in his own game, on his own deal. It's no racket of +theirs, an' it don't go to match the man they're shy. "`One of us +six who's left has to die to count even for this Greaser who's been +called in them five days ago. Tate can't move 'em; all he says is no +use; so he quits, + +an' as he's been talkin' Spanish--which the same is too muddy a +language for the rest of us--Tate turns in an' tells us how the +thing sizes up. "`"One of us is shorely elected to trail out after +the lieutenant,"says Tate. "The rest they holds as pris'ners. Either +way it's a hard, deep crossin', an' one's about as rough a toss as +the other." "'This last + +Tate stacks in to mebby win out a little comfort for the one the +Mexicans cuts outen our bunch to kill. "`After a brief pow-wow the +Greaser who's actin' range-boss for the outfit puts six beans in a +buckskin bag. Five is white an' one's black. Them Greasers is on the +gamble bigger'n wolves, an' they crowds up plenty gleeful to see us +take a gambler's chance for our lives. The one of us who draws a +black bean is to p'int out after the lieutenant. "`Sayin' somethin' +in Spanish which most + +likely means" Age before beauty,"the Mexicans makes Willis an' me +stand back while the four others searches one after the other into +the bag for his bean. "`Tate goes first an' wins a white bean. +"`Then a shiftless, no-account party whom we-alls calls "Chicken +Bill" reaches in. I shorely hopes, seein' it's bound to be somebody, +that this Chicken Bill acquires the black bean. But luck's ag'in us; +Chicken Bill backs off with a white bean. "`When the third gent +turns out a white bean the shadow begins to fall across Jim Willis +an' me. I looks at Jim; an' I gives it to you straight when I says +that I ain't at that time thinkin' of myse'f so much as about Jim. +To see this yere deal, black as midnight, closin' in on Jim, is +what's hurtin'; it don't somehow occur to me I'm likewise up ag'in +the iron my se'f. "`"Looks like this yere amiable deevice is out to +run its brand onto one of us,"says Jim to me; an' I looks at him. +"`An' then, as the fourth finds a white bean in the bag, an' draws a +deep sigh an' stands back, Jim says: "Well, Sam, it's up to us." +Then Jim looks at me keen an' steady a whole lot, an' the Mexicans, +bein' rather pleased with the situation, ain't goadin' of us to +hurry up none. + +"`When it's to Jim an' me they selects me out as the one to pull for +the next bean. Jim's still lookin' at me hard, an' I sees the water +in his eye.' + +"`"Let me have your draw, Sam," he says. + +"`"Shore,"I replies, standin' a step off from the bag." It's yours +too quick." + +"` But the Mexicans don't see it that a-way. It's my turn an' my +draw, an' Jim has to take what's left. So the Mexicans tells Tate to +send me after my bean ag'in. + +"`"Hold on a second, Sam," says Jim, an' by this time he's steady as +a church. "Sam," he goes on, "thar's no use you--all gettin' the +short end of this. Thar's reasons for you livin', which my case is +void tharof. Now let me ask you: be you up on beans? Can you tell a +black from a white bean by the feel? " + +"`"No," I says, "beans is all a heap the same to me." + +"'"That's what I allows," goes on this Jim. "Now yere's where my +sooperior knowledge gets in. If these Mexicans had let me draw for +you I'd fixed it, but it looks like they has scrooples. But listen, +an' you beats the deal as it is. Thar's a difference in beans same +as in ponies. Black beans is rough like a cactus compared to white +beans, which said last vegetable is shorely as smooth as glass. Now +yere's what you--all does; jest grp[e an' scout 'round in that bag +until you picks out the smooth bean. That's your bean; that's the +white bean. Cinch the smooth bean an' the black one comes to me." + +"When Jim says all this it seems like I'm in a daze an' sorter +woozy. I never doubts him for a moment. Of course I don't take no +advantage of what he says. I recalls the advice my old mother gives +me; it's long enough ago now. The old lady says: "Samyool, never let +me hear of you weakenin'. Be a man, or a mouse, or a long-tail rat." +So when Jim lays it off about them two beans bein' smooth an' rough +that a-way, an' the white bein' the smooth bean, I nacherally +searches out the rough bean, allowin' she'll shore be black; which +shows my intellects can't cope with Jim's none. + +"`The bean I brings to the surface is white. I'm pale as a ghost. My +heart wilts like water inside of me, an' I feels white as the bean +where it lays in my hand. Of course I'm some young them days, an' it +don't need so much to stagger me. "`I recollects like it was in a +vision hearin' Jim laugh. "Sam," he says, "I reads you like so much +sunshine. An' I shorely fools you up a lot. Don't you reckon I +allows you'll double on the trail, p'intin' south if I says 'north' +at a show like this? The white bean is allers a rough, sandy bean; +allers was an' allers will be; an' never let no one fool you that a- +way ag'in. An' now, Sam, ADIOS." + +"'I'm standin' lookin' at the white bean. I feels Jim grip my other +hand as lie says "ADIOS," an' the next is the" bang! "of the +Mexicans's guns. Jim's dead then; he's out in a second; never bats +an eye nor wags a y'ear. + +"'Which now,' says Enright at the end, as he yanks his saddle 'round +so he makes a place for his head, 'which now that you-alls is fully +informed why I appears averse to Greasers, I reckons I'll slumber +some. I never does see one, I don't think of that boy, Jim Willis; +an' I never thinks of Jim but I wants to murder a Mexican.' + +"Enright don't say no more; sorter rolls up in his blankets, drops +his head on his saddle, an' lays a long time quiet, like he's +asleep. Jack Moore an' me ain't sayin' nothin'; merely settin' thar +peerin' into the fire an' listenin' to the coyotes. At last Enright +lifts his head off the saddle. + +"'Mebby it's twenty years ago when a party over on the Rio Grande +allows as how Jim's aimin' to cold-deck me when he onfolds about the +habits of them beans. It takes seven months, a iron constitootion, +an' three medicine-sharps--an' each as good as Doc Peets,--before +that Rio Grande party is regarded as outen danger.'" + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +TUCSON JENNIES HEART. + + +"'Whyever ain't I married?' says you." The Old Cattleman repeated +the question after me as he settled himself for one of our many +"pow-wows," as he described them. "Looks like you've dealt me that +conundrum before. Why ain't I wedded? The answer to that, son, is a +long shot an' a limb in the way. + +"Now I reckons the reason why I'm allers wifeless a whole lot is +mainly due to the wide pop'larity of them females I takes after. +Some other gent sorter gets her first each time, an' nacherally that +bars me. Bill Jenks's wife on that occasion is a spec'men case. +That's one of the disapp'intments I onfolds to you. Now thar's a +maiden I not only wants, but needs; jest the same, Bill gets her. +An' it's allers sim'lar; I never yet holds better than ace-high when +the stake's a lady. + +"It's troo," he continued, reflectively puffing his pipe. "I was +disp'sitioned for a wife that a-way when I'm a colt. But that's a +long time ago; I ain't in line for no sech gymnastics no more; my +years is 'way ag'in it. + +"You've got to ketch folks young to marry 'em. After they gets to be +thirty years they goes slowly to the altar. If you aims to marry a +gent after he's thirty you has to blindfold him an' back him in. +Females, of course, ain't so obdurate. No; I s'pose this yere bein' +married is a heap habit, same as tobacco an' jig-juice. If a gent +takes a hand early, it's a good game, I makes no sort of doubt. But +let him get to millin' 'round in the thirties or later, an' him not +begun none as yet; you bet he don't marry nothin'. + +"Bar an onexplainable difference with the girl's old man," he went +on with an air of thought, "I s'pose I'd be all married right now. I +was twenty, them times. It's 'way back in Tennessee. Her folks lives +about 'leven miles from me out on the Pine Knot Pike, an' once in +two weeks I saddles up an' sorter sidles over. Thar's jest her old +pap an' her mother an' her in the fam'ly, an' it's that far I allers +made to stay all night. Thar's only two beds, an' so I'm put to camp +along of the old man the times I stays. + +"Them days I'm 'way bashful an' behind on all social plays, an' am +plenty awe-struck about the old foiks. I never feels happy a minute +where they be. The old lady does her best to make me easy an' free, +too. Comes out when I rides up, an' lets down the bars for my hoss, +an' asks me to rest my hat the second I'm in the door. + +"Which matters goes on good enough ontil mebby it's the eighth time +I'm thar. I remembers the night all perfect. Me an' the girl sets up +awhile, an' then I quits her an' turns in. I gets to sleep a-layin' +along the aige of the bed, aimin' to keep 'way from the old man, +who's snorln' an' thrashin' 'round an' takin' on over in the middle. + +"I don't recall much of nothin' ontil I comes to, a-holdin' to the +old man's y'ear with one hand an' a-hammerin' of his features with +t'other. I don't know yet, why. I s'pose I'm locoed an' dreamin', an +allows he's a b'ar or somethin' in my sleep that a-way, an' tries to +kill him. "Son, it's 'way back a long time, but I shudders yet when +I reflects on that old man's language. I jumps up when I realizes +things, grabs my raiment, an', gettin' my hoss outen the corral, +goes p'intin' down the pike more'n a mile 'fore I even stops to +dress. The last I sees of the old man lie's buckin' an' pitchin' an' +tossin', an' the females a-holdin' of him, an' he reachin' to get a +Hawkins's rifle as hangs over the door. I never goes back no more, +'cause he's mighty tindictive about it. He tries to make it a +grandjury matter next co't-time. + +"Speakin' of nuptials, however, you can't tell much about women. +Thar's a girl who shorely s'prises us once in a way out in +Wolfville. Missis Rucker, who runs the O. K. Restauraw, gets this +female from Tucson to fry flap-jacks an' salt hoss, an' he'p her +deal her little gastronomic game. This yere girl's name is Jennie- +Tucson Jennie. She looks like she's a nice, good girl, too; one of +them which it's easy to love, an' in less'n two weeks thar's half +the camp gets smitten. "It affects business, it's that bad. Cherokee +Hall tells me thar ain't half the money gets changed in at faro as +usual, an' the New York Store reports gents goin' broke ag'in biled +shirts, an' sim'lar deadfalls daily. Of course this yere first +frenzy subsides a whole lot after a month. "All this time Jennie +ain't sayin' a word. She jest shoves them foolish yooths their +enchiladas an' ckile con carne, an' ignores all winks an' looks +complete. + +"Thar's a party named Jim Baxter in camp, an' he sets in to win +Jennie hard. Jim tries to crowd the game an' get action. It looks +like he's due to make the trip too. Missis Rucker is backin' his +play, an' Jennie herse'f sorter lets him set 'round in the kitchen +an' watch her work; which this yore is license an' riot itse'f +compared with how she treats others. Occasionally some of us sorter +tries to stack up for Jim an' figger out where he stands with the +the game. + +"'How's it goin', Baxter?' Enright asks one day. + +"'It's too many for me,' says Jim. 'Some-times I thinks I corrals +her, an' then ag'in it looks like I ain't in it. Jest now I'm +feelin' some dejected.' + +"'Somethin' oughter be schemed to settle this yere,' says Enright. +'It keeps the camp in a fever, an' mebby gets serious an' spreads.' + +"'If somebody would only prance in,' says Doc Peets, 'an' shoot Jim +up some, you'd have her easy. Females is like a rabbit in a bush- +pile; you has to shake things up a lot to make 'em come out. Now, if +Jim is dyin' an' she cares for him, she's shorely goin' to show her +hand.' + +"I wants to pause right yere to observe that Doc Peets is the best- +eddicated sharp I ever encounters in my life. An' what he don't know +about squaws is valueless as information. But to go on with the +deal. + +"'That's right,' says Cherokee Hall, 'but of course it ain't goin' +to do to shoot Jim up none.' + +"'I don't know,' says Jim; 'I stands quite a racket if I'm shore it +fetches her.' + +"'What for a game,' says Cherokee, 'would it be to play like Jim's +shot? Wouldn't that make her come a-runnin' same as if it's shore +'nough?' + +"'I don't see why not,' says Enright. + +"Well, the idee gains ground like an antelope, an' at last gets to +be quite a conspir'cy. It's settled we plays it, with Dave Tutt to +do the shootin'. + +"'An' we makes the game complete,' says Jack Moore, 'by grabbin' +Dave immediate an' bringin' of him before the committee, which +convenes all reg'lar an' deecorous in the Red Light for said +purpose. We-alls must line out like we're goin' to hang Dave for the +killin'; otherwise it don't look nacheral nohow, an' the lady +detects it's a bluff.' + +"We gets things all ready, an' in the middle of the afternoon, when +Jennie is draggin' her lariat 'round loose an' nothin' much to do-- +'cause we ain't aimin' to disturb her none in her dooties touchin' +them flapjacks an' salt hoss--we-alls assembles over in the New York +Store. As a preliminary step we lays Jim on some boxes, with a +wagon-cover over him, like he's deceased. + +"'Cl'ar things out of the way along by Jim's head,' says Jack Moore, +who is takin' a big interest. 'We wants to fix things so Jen can +swarm in at him easy. You hear me! she's goin' to come stampedin' in +yere like wild cattle when she gets the news.' + +"When everythin's ready, Tutt an' Jack, who concloods it's well to +have a good deal of shootin', bangs away with their guns about four +times apiece. + +"'Jest shootin' once or twice,' says Jack, 'might arouse her +s'picions. It would be a heap too brief for the real thing.' + +"The minute the shootin' is ceased we-alls takes Tutt an' surges +over to the Red Light to try him; a-pendin' of which Dan Boggs +sa'nters across to the O. K. Restauraw an' remarks, all casooal an' +careless like: + +"'Dave Tutt downs Jim Baxter a minute back; good clean gun-play as +ever I sees, too. Mighty big credit to both boys this yere is. No +shootin' up the scenery an' the bystanders; no sech slobberin' work; +but everythin' carries straight to centers.' + +"'Where is he?' says Jennie, lookin' breathless an' sick. + +"'Jim's remainder is in the New York Store,' says Dan. + +"'Is he hurt?' she gasps. + +"'I don't reckon he hurts none now,' says Dan, ''cause he's done +cashed in his stack. Why! girl, he's dead; eighteen bullets, caliber +forty-five, plumb through him.' + +"'No, but Dave! Is Dave shot?' Tucson Jennie says, a-wringin' of her +small paws. + +"'Now don't you go to feelin' discouraged none,' says Dan, beginnin' +to feel sorry for her. 'We fixes the wretch so his murderin' sperit +won't be an hour behind Jim's gettin' in. The Stranglers has him in +the Red Light, makin' plans to stretch him right now.' + +"We-alls has consoomed drinks all 'round, an' Enright is in the +chair, an' we're busy settin' up a big front about hearin' the case, +when Tucson Jennie, with a scream as scares up surroundin' things to +sech a limit that five ponies hops out of the corral an' flies, +comes chargin' into the Red Light, an' the next instant she drifts +'round Tutt's neck like so much snow. + +"'What for a game do you call this, anyhow?' says Jack Moore, who's +a heap scand'lized. 'Is this yere maiden playin' anythin' on this +camp?' + +"'She's plumb locoed with grief,' says Dan Boggs, who follers her +in, 'an' she's done got 'em mixed in her mind. She thinks Dave is +Baxter.' + +"'That's it,' says Cherokee. 'Her mind's stampeded with the shock. +Me an' Jack takes her over to Jim's corpse, an' that's shore to +revive her.' An' with that Cherokee an' Jack goes up to lead her +away. + +"'Save him, Mister Enright; save him!' she pleads, still clingin' to +Tutt's neck like the loop of a lariat. 'Don't let 'em hang him! Save +him for my sake!' + +"'Hold on, Jack,' says Enright, who by now is lookin' some +thoughtful. 'Jest everybody stand their hands yere till I counts the +pot an' notes who's shy. It looks like we're cinchin' the hull onto +the wrong bronco. Let me ask this female a question. Young woman,' +he says to Tucson Jennie, 'be you fully informed as to whose neck +you're hangin' to?' + +"'It's Dave's, ain't it?' she says, lookin' all tearful in his face +to make shore. + +"Enright an' the rest of us don't say nothin', but gazes at each +other. Tutt flushes up an' shows pleased both at once. But all the +same he puts his arms 'round her like the dead-game gent he is. + +"'What'll you-alls have, gents?" Enright says at last, quiet an' +thoughtful. 'The drinks is on me, barkeep.' + +"'Excuse me,' says Doc Peets, 'but as the author of this yere plot, +I takes it the p'ison is on me. Barkeep, set out all your bottles.' + +"'Gents,' says Jack Moore, 'I'm as peaceful a person as ever jingled +a spur or pulled a gun in Wolfville; but as I reflects on the active +part I takes in these yere ceremonies, I won't be responsible for +results if any citizen comes between me an' payin' for the drinks. +Barkeep, I'm doin' this myse'f.' + +"Well, it's hard enoomeratin' how many drinks we do have. Jim Baxter +throws away the wagon cover an' comes over from the New York Store +an' stands in with us. It gets to be a orgy. + +"'Of course it's all right,' says Enright, 'the camp wins with Tutt +instead of Baxter; that's all. It 'lustrates one of them beautiful +characteristics of the gentler sex, too. Yere's Baxter, to say +nothin' of twenty others, as besieges an' beleaguers this yere +female for six weeks, an' she scorns 'em. Yere's Tutt, who ain't +makin' a move, an' she grabs him. It is sech oncertainties, gents, +as makes + +the love of woman valuable.' "'You-alls should have asked me,' says +Faro Nell, who comes in right then an' rounds up close to Cherokee. +'I could tell you two weeks ago Jennie's in love with Tutt. Anybody +could see it. Why! she's been feedin' of him twice as good grub as +she does anybody else.'" + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +TUCSON JENNIE'S JEALOUSY. + + +"No; Dave an' his wife prospers along all right. That is, they +prospers all but once; that's when Jennie gets jealous." + +The Old Cattleman was responding to my question. I was full of an +idle interest and disposed to go further into the affairs of Tutt +and Tucson Jennie. + +"Doc Peets," continued the old gentleman, "allers tells me on the +side thar's nothin' in Dave's conduct onbecomin' a fam'ly man that +a-way, an' that Jen's simply barkin' at a knot. But, however that +is, Dave don't seem to gain no comfort of it at the time. I can see +myse'f she gets Dave plumb treed an' out on a limb by them +accusations when she makes 'em. He shorely looks guilty; an' yet, +while I stands over the play from the first, I can't see where Dave +does wrong. + +"However, I don't put myse'f for'ard as no good jedge in domestic +affairs. Bein' single myse'f that a-way, females is ondoubted what +Doc Peets calls a 'theery' with me. But nevertheless, in an +onpresoomin', lowly way, I gives it as my meager jedgement, an' I +gives it cold, as how a jealous woman is worse than t'rant'lers. +She's plumb locoed for one thing; an' thar's no sech thing as +organizin' to meet her game. For myse'f, I don't want no +transactions with 'em; none whatever. + +"This yere domestic uprisin' of Dave's wife breaks on Wolfville as +onexpected as a fifth ace in a poker deck; it leaves the camp all +spraddled out. Tucson Jennie an' Dave's been wedded goin' on six +months. The camp, as I relates, attends the nuptials in a body, an', +followin' of the festivities, Tucson Jennie an' Dave tumbles into +housekeepin' peaceful as two pups in a basket. + +"Wolfville's proud of 'em, an'every time some ign'rant bein' asks +about Wolfville an' the social features of the camp, we allers +mentions Tutt an' his wife, an' tells how they keeps house, sorter +upholsterin' our bluff. + +"That's how the deal stands, when one day up jumps this Tucson +Jennie, puts on her sunbunnit, an' goes stampedin' down to the U. K. +House, an' allows to Missis Rucker that she's done lived with Dave +all she aims to, an' has shore pulled her picket pin for good. She +puts it up Dave is a base, deceitful sharp that a-way, an' informs +Missis Rucker, all mixed up with tears, as how she now desires to go +back in the kitchen an' cook, same as when Dave rounds her up for +his wife. + +"Yere's the whole story, an' while I nurses certain views tharon, I +leaves it to you entire to say how much Tucson Jennie is jestified. +I knows all about it, for I'm obleeged to be in on the deal from +soda to hock. + +"It's mighty likely a month before the time Tucson Jennie breaks +through Dave's lines this a-way. Dave an' me's due to go over +towards the Tres Hermanas about some cattle. Likewise thar's an +English outfit allowin' they'll go along some, to see where they've +been stackin' in heavy on some ranch lands. They was eager for Dave +an' me to trail along with 'em, an' sorter ride herd on' em, an' +keep 'em from gettin' mixed up with the scenery--which the same is +shorely complicated in the foot-hills of the Tres Hermanas--an' +losin' themse'fs a heap. + +"'Which you'd better do it, boys,' says Enright. 'S'pose them folks +be some trouble. It's a mighty sight better than havin' 'em go +p'intin' off alone that a-way. They would shore miss the way if they +does; an' the first we-alls knows, these yere Britons would be +runnin' cimmaron in the hills, scarin' up things a lot, an' a- +stampedin' the cattle plumb off the range. It's easier to go along +careful with 'em an' bring'em back.' + +"It comes, then, that one mornin' Dave an' me an' these yere aliens +lines out for the hills. They've got ponies, an' wagons, an' camp- +outfit to that extent a casooal onlooker might think they aims to be +away for years. + +"As we p'ints out from the O.K. House, where them Britons has been +wrastlin' their chuck pendin' the start, Tucson Jennie is thar +sayin' 'goodby' to Dave. I notes then she ain't tickled to death +none about somethin', but don't deem nothin' speshul of it. + +"The Britons is made up of two gents, mebby as old as Enright-- +brothers is what they be--an' a female who's the daughter of one of +'em. Which thar's nothin' recent about this yere lady, though; an' I +reckons she's mighty likely forty years old. I learns later, +however, it's this female which Tucson Jennie resents when she says +"adios" to Dave. + +"It shore strikes me now, when years is passed, as some marv'lous +how a han'some, corn-fed female like Tucson Jennie manages to found +a fight with Dave over this yere towerist woman. I'm nacherally slow +to go decidin' bets ag'in a lady's looks, but whatever Tucson Jennie +sees in the appearance of this person which is likely to inviggle +Dave is too many for me. I softens the statement a heap when I says +she's uglier than a Mexican sheep. + +"However, that don't seem to occur to Tucson Jennie; an' Doc Peets-- +who's the wisest sharp in Arizona--allows to me afterwards as how +Tucson Jennie is cuttin' the kyards with herse'f desp'rate to see +whether she declar's war at the very time we makes our start. If she +does, she turns the low kyard, for she don't say nothin', an' we +gets away, an' all is profound peace. + +"Four days later we're in camp by a water-hole in the frill of the +foot-hills. The Britons has got up a wall tent an' is shorely havin' +a high an' lavish time. Dave an' me ain't payin' no attention to 'em +speshul, as we don't see how none is needed. Besides, we has some +hard ridin' to do lookin' up places for a line of sign camps. + +"It's the second day when we notices an outfit of Injuns camped down +the valley from us. They's all serene an' peaceful enough; with +squaws, papooses, an' dogs; an' ain't thinkin' no more of bein' +hostile than we be. + +"Of course, no sooner does these yere Britons of ours behold this +band of savages than they has to go projectin' round 'em. That's the +worst thing about a towerist; he's that loaded with cur'osity, an' +that gregar'ous an' amiable, he has to go foolin' 'round every +stranger lie tracks up with. In their ign'rance they even gets that +roode an' insultin' at times, that I knows 'em who's that regardless +an' imp'lite as to up an' ask a rank stranger that a-way to pass'em +his gun to look at. + +"An' so, as I says, no sooner does them Injuns get near us, than +them three blessed foreigners is over after 'em; ropin' at em' with +questions an' invadin' of 'em, an' examinin' of 'em like the whole +tribe's for sale an' they aims to acquire 'em if figgers is +reasonable. + +"I never does know what the female towerist says or does to that +partic'lar aborigine-nothin' most likely; but it ain't a day when +one of them Injuns settles it with himse'f he wants to wed her. The +towerists is in ign'rance of the views of this savage, who goes +about dealin' his game Injun fashion. + +"It's this a-way: Dave an' me trails in one evenin' some weary an' +played; it's been a hard ride that day. Which the first thing we +lays eyes on at the camp shorely livens us up a lot. Thar, tied to +the wagon-wheels, is nine ponies, which the same belongs to the +Injuns. + +"'Whatever be these y ere broncos doin' yere?' says Dave, for we +allows, the first dash outen the box, mebby the Britons makes a +purchase. + +"One of the towerists tells a long an' delighted story about the +gen'rosity of the Injuns. + +"'Actooally,' says this towerist,"them gen'rous savages leads up +these yere nine ponies an' donates 'em.' + +"Dave an' me asks questions; and all thar is to the deal--which it's +shore enough to bust Dave's fam'ly before it's over--them Injuns +brings up the nine ponies all respectful, an' leaves 'em hobbled +out, mebby it's a hundred yards from the Britons, an' rides away. +The Britons, deemin' this bluff as in the line of gifts, capers over +an' possesses themse'fs of the ponies an' leads 'em in. That's the +outside of the store. + +"'Well, stranger,' says Dave in reply, takin' of the towerist one +side, 'I ain't aimin' to discourage you none, but you-alls has gone +an' got all tangled up in your lariat.' + +"'What for an ontanglement is it?' asks the towerist. + +"'Nothin',' says Dave, sorter breakin' it to him easy, 'nothin', +only you've done married your daughter to one of them Injuns.' + +"When Dave announces this yere trooth it shore looks like the +Briton's goin' to need whiskey to uphold himse'f. But he +reorganizes, an' Dave explains that the Injuns, when they trails in +with the ponies, is simply shufflin' for a weddin'; they's offerin' +what they-alls calls a 'price' for the woman. + +"'An' when you-alls leads in the ponies,' says Dave,'that settles +it. You agrees to deal right thar. To-morrow, now, this yere buck, +whoever he is, will come surgin' in with his relations plumb down to +third cousins; an' he expects you'll be dead ready to feed 'em, an' +wind up the orgy by passin' over the bride.' + +"You can bet them reecitals of Dave's is plenty horrible to the +towerist. He allows we must keep it from his daughter; an' then he +puts hip whole outfit in Dave's hands, to get 'em safe onto high +grounds. + +"'Can't we pull our freight in the night?'says the towerist, an' +he's shorely anxious. + +"'Too much moon,' says Dave; 'an' then, ag'in, the whole Injun +outfit's below us in the draw, an' we never gets by once in a +thousand times. No,' goes on Dave, 'one shore thing we can't back +out nor crawl off. We-alls has to play the hand plumb through: + +"Then Dave tells the towerist him an' me talks over this yere +weddin' which he done goes into so inadvertent; an' if thar's a +chance to save him from becomin' a father-in-law abrupt, we'll play +it to win. + +"'This yere is the only wagon-track out; says Dave to me, after we +pow-wows an hour. 'You go down to them Injuns, an' find the right +buck that a-way, an' tell him the squaw's got a buck now. Tell him +he's barred. Which at this p'int in your revelations he's due to +offer a fight, an' of course you takes him. Tell him at first-drink +time to-morrow mornin' he finds me ready to fight for the squaw.' + +"'This whole business makes metired, though,' says Dave, a heap +disgustad. ' If these eediots had let them Injuns alone-, or even if +they disdains the ponies when they was brought up, this yere could +be fixed easy. But now it's fight or give up the woman, so you go +down, as I says, an' arrange for the dance.' + +"Of course thar's no explainin' nothin' to Injuns. You might as well +waste time expoundin' to coyotes an' jack-rabbits. All that's left +for me to do is trail out after my savage, as Dave says, an' notify +him that this weddin' he pro. poses is postponed an' all bets is +off. + +"I finds him easy enough, an' saws it off on him in Spanish how the +game stacks up. But he ain't cheerful about it, an' displays a +mighty baleful sperit. Jest as Tutt allows he's out to shoot for the +squaw in a minute, an' as thar's no gettin' away from it, I tells +him to paint himse'f for war an' come a-runnin'. + +"I has to carry a hard face; for we're shorely in for it. Yere we be +four days from Wolfville, an' the Injuns--an' I reckons thar's +twenty bucks in the outfit-is camped in between us an' he'p. + +"This Injun who's after the woman is named Black Dog. The next +mornin' Tutt saddles up an' rides off to one side of our camp, mebby +it's a quarter of a mile, an' then gets offen his pony an' stands +thar. We-alls don't onfold to the towerists the details of the deal, +not even to the Injun's father-in-law. The towerist female is that +ign'rant of what's going' on, she's pesterin' 'round all +onconscious, makin' bakin'-powder biscuit at the time. I looks at +her close, an' I wonders even yet what that Black Dog's thinkin' of. +But I don't get much time to be disgusted over this Black Dog's +taste before he comes p'intin' out from among his people. + +"The sun's jest gettin' over the hills to the east, an', as it +strikes him, he's shore a fash'nable lookin' Injun. He ain't got +nothin' on but a war-bunnit an' a coat of paint. The rest of his +trousseau he confines to his Winchester an' belt. He's on his war- +pony, an' the bronco's stripped as bare as this Black Dog is; not a +strap from muzzle to tail. This bridegroom Injun's tied its mane +full of ribbons, an' throws a red blanket across his pony's withers +for general effects. Take it all over, he's a nifty-lookin' savage. + +"So far as the dooel goes, Dave ain't runnin' no resk. He stands +thar on the ground an' keeps his hoss between him an' this yere +Black Dog. It's a play which forces the bridegroom's hand, too. He's +due, bein' Injun, to go cirelin' Dave an' do his shootin' on the +canter. + +"An' that's what this weak-minded savage does. He breaks into a lope +an' goes sailin' 'round Dave like a hawk. Durin' them exercises he +lays over on the shoulder of his hoss an' bangs away from onder its +neck with one hand, permiscus. + +"This is mere frivolity. Thar ain't no white gent who could shoot +none onder sech conditions; an' Injuns can't shoot nohow. They don't +savey a hind sight. An', as I remarks, if Dave's hit any, it's goin' +to shorely be an accident, an' accidents don't happen none in +Arizona; leastwise not with guns. + +'Mebby this Black Dog's banged away three times, when Dave, who's +been followin' of him, through the sights for thirty seconds, +onhooks his rifle, an' the deal comes to a full stop. Dave's +shootin' a Sharp's, with a hundred an' twenty grains of powder, an' +the way he sends a bullet plumb through that war-pony an' this yere +Black Dog, who's hangin' on its off side, don't bother him a bit. +The pony an' the Black Dog goes over on their heads. + +"Dave rides in, an' brings the blanket an' war-bunnit. Even then, +the female towerist, which is the object of the meetin', don't seem +informed none of the course of events. The fact is, she never does +acquire the rights of it till we-alls is two days back on the return +trail. + +"Thar's no more bother. Injuns is partic'lar people, that a-way, +about etiquette as they saveys it, an' followin' Dave's downin' this +Black Dog they ain't makin' a moan or a move. They takes it plenty +solemn an' mute, an' goes to layin' out the Black Dog's obsequies +without no more notice of us. It's a squar deal; they sees that; an' +they ain't filin' no objections. As for our end of the game, we +moves out for Wolfville, makin' no idle delays whatever. + +"Goin' in, Dave, after thinkin' some, su'gests to me that it's +likely to be a heap good story not to tell Tucson Jennie. + +"'Females is illogical, that a-way,' says Dave, 'an' I ain't goin' +to have time to eddicate Jennie to a proper view of this yere. So I +reckons it's goin' to be a crafty play not to tell her.' + +"The Britons has been gone two weeks when Tucson Jennie learns the +story. Them towerists is plumb weary of Arizona when we trails into +Wolfville, an' don't seem to tarry a second before they lines out +for Tucson. + +"'They jest hits a high place or two,' says Jack Moore, after he +hears of them designs of the Black Dog, 'an' they'll be 'way yonder +out of the country. I don't reckon none of 'em'll ever come back +soon, neither.' + +"But it's the towerist woman makes the trouble from start to finish. +It's a letter from her which she writes back to Dave, allowin' +she'll thank him some more as her preserver, that brings the news to +Jennie. Tucson Jennie gets this missive, an' ups an' rifles an' +reads it to herse'f a whole lot. It's then Tucson Jennie gives it +out cold, Dave is breakin' her heart, an' tharupon prances 'round +for her shaker an' goes over to Missis Rucker's. + +"The whole camp knows the story in an hour, an' while we-ails +sympathizes with Dave of course, no one's blamin' Tucson Jennie. +She's a female, an' onresponsible, for one thing; an' then, ag'in +Dave's a heap onlikely to stand any condemnations of his wife. + +"'She's as good a woman as ever wears a moccasin,' says Dave, while +he's recoverin' of his sperits at the Red Light bar. + +"An' we-alls allows she shorely is; an' then everybody looks pensive +an' sincere that a-way, so's not to harrow Dave none an' make his +burdens more. + +"'But whatever can I do to fetch her back to camp?' asks Dave, +appealin' to Enright mighty wretched. 'I goes plumb locoed if this +yere keeps on.' + +"'My notion is, we-alls better put Missis Rucker in to play the +hand,' says Enright. 'Missis Rucker's a female, an' is shorely due +to know what kyards to draw. But this oughter be a lesson to you, +Dave, not to go romancin' 'round with strange women no more.' + +"'It's a forced play, I tells you,' says Dave. 'Them Injuns has us +treed. It's a case of fight or give up that she-towerist, so what +was I to do?' + +"`Well,' says Enright, some severe,' you might at least have +consulted with this yere towerist woman some. But you don't. You +simply gets a gun an' goes trackin' 'round in her destinies, an' +shootin' up her prospects like you has a personal interest. You +don't know but she deplores the deal complete. Peets, an' me, an' +Boggs, an' all the rest of us is your friends, an' nacherally +partial on your side. We-alls figgers you means well. But what I +says is this: It ain't no s'prisin' thing when Tucson Jennie, a- +hearin' of them pronounced attentions which you pays this towerist +lady, is filled with grief. This shootin' up an Injun, cause he's +plannin' to wed this female some, is what I shorely calls pronounced +attentions. What do you think yourse'f, Peets?' + +"'Why! I readily concedes what Dave says,' remarks Peets. +'Ondoubtedly he acts for the best as he sees it. But jest as you +puts it: s'pose Dave ain't hungerin' none for this towerist woman +himse'f, the headlong way he goes after this yere Black Dog, settin' +of the war-jig the next sun-up, an' all without even sayin' "Let me +look at your hand," to this female, jestifies them inferences of +yours. Of course I don't say--an' I don't reckon none--Dave thinks +of this old-maid maverick once; but, he sees himse'f, ht shore goes +to war a heap precipitate an' onconsiderate, an' Tucson Jennie has +ondoubted grounds to buck. + +"'Which, when you-alls puts it so cl'ar, I thinks so too,' says +Dave, who's listenin' to Enright an' Peets a mighty sight dejected. +I But I ain't been wedded long--ain't more'n what you might call an +amature husband. What you-alls oughter do now is he'p me to round +her up. If Tucson Jennie's a bunch of cattle, or a band of ponies as +has stampeded, you'd be in the saddle too quick.' + +"Missis Rucker shore does all she knows to soften Tucson Jennie. She +reminds her how in the old times, when Dave gets his chile con carne +at the O. K. House, and the party from the States takes to reprovin' +of Missis Rucker about thar bein' nothin' but coffee an' beans to +eat, Dave onlimbers his six-shooter an' goes to the front. + +"'The grub's dealt down,' says Dave, explainin' to this obnoxious +tenderfoot, 'till thar's nothin' left in the box but beans, coffee, +an' beans. It's a cat-hop, but it can't be he'ped none.' + +"'Cat-hop or no cat-hop,' says this tenderfoot, 'I'm dead ag'in +beans; an' you can gamble I ain't out to devour no sech low +veg'tables; none whatever.' + +"'You jest thinks you don't like beans,' says Dave, an' with that he +sorter dictates at the tenderfoot with his gun, an' the tenderfoot +thar-upon lays for his frijoles like he's actooally honin' tharfor. + +"'Which it all shows Dave's got a good heart,' says Missis Rucker to +Tucson Jennie. + +"'That's nothin' to do with his makin' love to the British woman,' +says Tucson Jennie, grittin' her teeth like she could eat the sights +offen a six-shooter. + +"'He never makes no love to this yere woman,' says Missis Rucker. + +"'When he ketches her flirtin' with that Injun,' demands Tucson +Jennie, 'don't Dave shoot him up a lot? What do you-all call makin' +love? He never downs no Injuns for me, an' I'm his lawful wife.' An' +yere Missis Rucker allows, when she reports to Enright an' Dave an' +the rest of the outfit in the Red Light, Tucson Jennie weeps like +her heart is shorely broke. + +"'Which the pore girl's to be pitied,' says Enright. 'Dave,' he goes +on, turnin' to Tutt some fierce, 'you don't deserve no sech devotion +as this.' + +"'That's whatever,' says Dan Boggs, lookin' red an' truculent, 'this +yere Tucson Jennie's a angel.' + +"But thar we be, up ag'inst it, an' not a man knows a thing to do to +squar' the deal with Dave's wife. We-alls, calls for drinks all +'round, an' sets about an' delib'rates. At last Dave speaks up in a +low-sperited way. + +"'I reckons she done jumps the game for good,' he says. 'But if +she's goin', I wants her to have a layout. If you-alls cares to go +over to the New York Store, I allows I'll play in a blue stack or +two an' win her out some duds. I wants her to quit the deal ahead.' + +"So Dave sets out for the New York Store, an' the rest of us sorter +straggles along. Thar's nothin' gay about us. Dave gets a shawl an' +a dress; nothin' gaudy; it's a plain red an' yaller. Missis Rucker +packs 'em over to Tucson Jennie an' gets that wrapped up in the deal +she forgets utter to rustle us our grub. + +"Which, it's the onexpeeted as happens in Wolfville same as +everywhere else. The minute Tucson Jennie sees the raiment, an' +realizes how Dave loves her, that settles it. Her heart melts right +thar. She ain't sayin' nothin'; jest ropes onto the dry-goods an' +starts sobbin' out for the 'doby where she an' Dave lives at. + +"Dave, when he observes this yere from 'cross the street, shakes +hands all 'round, but don't trust himse'f with no remarks. He gives +our paws a squeeze like he knows he can rely on our friendship an' +hunts his way across to Tucson Jennie without a word. + +"'It's all right about bein' yoothful an' light, that a-way,' says +Enright, after Dave pulls his freight, 'but Tutt oughter remember +yereafter, before he goes mixin' himse'f up with sech vain things as +towerists an' Injuns an' British, that he's a married man.'" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +THE MAN FROM RED DOG. + + +"Let me try one of them thar seegyars." + +It was the pleasant after-dinner hour, and I was on the veranda for +a quiet smoke. The Old Cattleman had just thrown down his paper; the +half-light of the waning sun was a bit too dim for his eyes of +seventy years. + +"Whenever I beholds a seegyar," said the old fellow, as he puffed +voluminously at the principe I passed over, "I thinks of what that +witness says in the murder trial at Socorro. + +"'What was you-all doin' in camp yourse'f,' asks the jedge of this +yere witness, 'the day of the killin'?' + +"'Which,' says the witness, oncrossin' his laigs an' lettin' on he +ain't made bashful an' oneasy by so much attentions bein' shown +hire, 'which I was a-eatin' of a few sardines, a-drinkin' of a few +drinks of whiskey, a-smokin' of a few seegyars, an' a-romancin' +'round.'" + +After this abrupt, not to say ambiguous reminiscence, the Old +Cattleman puffed contentedly a moment. + +"What murder trial was this you speak of?" I asked. "Who had been +killed?" + +"Now I don't reckon I ever does know who it is gets downed," he +replied. "This yere murder trial itse'f is news to me complete. They +was waggin' along with it when I trails into Socorro that time, an' +I merely sa'nters over to the co't that a-way to hear what's goin' +on. The jedge is sorter gettin' in on the play while I'm listenin'. + +"'What was the last words of this yere gent who's killed?' asks the +jedge of this witness. + +"'As nearly as I keeps tabs, jedge,' says the witness, `the dyin' +statement of this person is: "Four aces to beat."' + +"'Which if deceased had knowed Socorro like I does,' says the jedge, +like he's commentin' to himse'f, 'he'd shorely realized that sech +remarks is simply sooicidal.'" + +Again the Old Cattleman relapsed into silence and the smoke of the +principe. + +"How did the trial come out?" I queried. "Was the accused found +guilty?" + +"Which the trial itse'f," he replied, "don't come out. Thar's a +passel of the boys who's come into town to see that jestice is done, +an' bein' the round-up is goin' for'ard at the time, they nacherally +feels hurried an' pressed for leesure. Theyalls oughter be back on +the range with their cattle. So the fifth day, when things is +loiterin' along at the trial till it looks like the law has hobbles +on, an' the word goes round it's goin' to be a week yet before the +jury gets action on this miscreant who's bein' tried, the boys +becomes plumb aggravated an' wearied out that a-way; an', kickin' in +the door of the calaboose, they searches out the felon, swings him +to a cottonwood not otherwise engaged, an' the right prevails. +Nacherally the trial bogs down right thar." + +After another season of silence and smoke, the Old Cattleman struck +in again. + +"Speakn' of killin's, while I'm the last gent to go fosterin' idees +of bloodshed, I'm some discouraged jest now by what I've been +readin' in that paper about a dooel between some Eytalians, an' it +shorely tries me the way them aliens plays hoss. It's obvious as +stars on a cl'ar night, they never means fight a little bit. I +abhors dooels, an' cowers from the mere idee. But, after all, +business is business, an' when folks fights 'em the objects of the +meetin' oughter be blood. But the way these yere European shorthorns +fixes it, a gent shorely runs a heap more resk of becomin' a angel +abrupt, attendin' of a Texas cake-walk in a purely social way. + +"Do they ever fight dooels in the West? Why, yes--some. My mem'ry +comes a-canterin' up right now with the details of an encounter I +once beholds in Wolfville. Thar ain't no time much throwed away with +a dooel in the Southwest. The people's mighty extemporaneous, an' +don't go browsin' 'round none sendin' challenges in writin', an' +that sort of flapdoodle. When a gent notices the signs a-gettin' +about right for him to go on the war-path, he picks out his meat, +surges up, an' declar's himse'f. The victim, who is most likely a +mighty serious an' experienced person, don't copper the play by +makin' vain remarks, but brings his gatlin' into play surprisin'. +Next it's bang! bang! bang! mixed up with flashes an' white smoke, +an' the dooel is over complete. The gent who still adorns our midst +takes a drink on the house, while St. Peter onbars things a lot an' +arranges gate an' seat checks with the other in the realms of light. +That's all thar is to it. The tide of life ag'in flows onward to the +eternal sea, an' nary ripple. + +"Oh, this yere Wolfville dooel! `Well, it's this a-way. The day is +blazin' hot, an' business layin' prone an' dead--jest blistered to +death. A passel of us is sorter pervadin' 'round the dance-hall, it +bein' the biggest an' coolest store in camp. A monte game is +strugglin' for breath in a feeble, fitful way in the corner, an' +some of us is a-watchin'; an' some a-settin' 'round loose a- +thinkin'; but all keepin' mum an' still, 'cause it's so hot. + +"Jest then some gent on a hoss goes whoopin' up the street a-yellin' +an' a-whirlin' the loop of his rope, an' allowin' generally he's +havin' a mighty good time. + +"'Who's this yere toomultuous man on the hoss?' says Enright, a- +regardin' of him in a displeased way from the door. + +"'I meets him up the street a minute back,' says Dan Boggs, 'an' he +allows he's called "The Man from Red Dog." He says he's took a day +off to visit us, an' aims to lay waste the camp some before he goes +back.' + +"About then the Red Dog man notes old Santa Rosa, who keeps the +Mexican baile hall, an' his old woman, Marie, a-fussin' with each +other in front of the New York Store. They's locked horns over a +drink or somethin', an' is pow-wowin' mighty onamiable. + +"'Whatever does this yere Mexican fam'ly mean,' says the Red Dog +man, a-surveyin' of 'em plenty scornful, 'a-draggin' of their +domestic brawls out yere to offend a sufferin' public for? Whyever +don't they stay in their wickeyup an' fight, an' not take to puttin' +it all over the American race which ain't in the play none an' don't +thirst tharfor? However, I unites an' reeconciles this divided +household easy.' + +"With this the Red Dog man drops the loop of his lariat 'round the +two contestants an' jumps his bronco up the street like it's come +outen a gun. Of course Santa Rosa an' Marie goes along on their +heads permiscus. + +"They goes coastin' along ontil they gets pulled into a mesquite- +bush, an' the rope slips offen the saddle, an' thar they be. We-alls +goes over from the dance-hall, extricatin' of 'em, an' final they +rounds up mighty hapless an' weak, an' can only walk. They shorely +lose enough hide to make a pair of leggin's. + +"'Which I brings 'em together like twins,' says the Red Dog man, +ridin' back for his rope. 'I offers two to one, no limit, they don't +fight none whatever for a month.' + +"Which, as it shorely looks like he's right, no one takes him. So +the Red Dog man leaves his bluff a-hangin' an' goes into the dance- +hall, a-givin' of it out cold an' clammy he meditates libatin'. + +"'All promenade to the bar,' yells the Red Dog man as he goes in. +'I'm a wolf, an' it's my night to howl. Don't 'rouse me, barkeep, +with the sight of merely one bottle; set 'em all up. I'm some +fastidious about my fire-water an' likes a chance to select.' + +"Well, we-alls takes our inspiration, an' the Red Dog man tucks his +onder his belt an' then turns round to Enright. + +"'I takes it you're the old he-coon of this yere outfit?' says the +Red Dog man, soopercillious-like. + +"'Which, if I ain't,' says Enright, 'it's plenty safe as a play to +let your wisdom flow this a-way till the he-coon gets yere.' + +"'If thar's anythin',' says the Red Dog man, 'I turns from sick, +it's voylence an' deevastation. But I hears sech complaints constant +of this yere camp of Wolfville, I takes my first idle day to ride +over an' line things up. Now yere I be, an' while I regrets it, I +finds you-alls is a lawless, onregenerate set, a heap sight worse +than roomer. I now takes the notion--for I sees no other trail--that +by next drink time I climbs into the saddle, throws my rope 'round +this den of sin, an' removes it from the map.' + +"'Nacherally,' says Enright, some sarcastic, 'in makin' them schemes +you ain't lookin' for no trouble whatever with a band of tarrapins +like us.' + +"'None whatever,' says the Red Dog man, mighty confident. 'In thirty +minutes I distributes this yere hamlet 'round in the landscape same +as them Greasers; which feat becomin' hist'ry, I then canters back +to Red Dog.' + +"'Well,' says Enright, 'it's plenty p'lite to let us know what's +comin' this a-way.' + +"'Oh! I ain't tellin' you none,' says the Red Dog man, 'I simply +lets fly this hint, so any of you-alls as has got bric-a-brac he +values speshul, he takes warnin' some an' packs it off all safe.' + +"It's about then when Cherokee Hall, who's lookin' on, shoulders in +between Enright an' the Red Dog man, mighty positive. Cherokee is a +heap sot in his idees, an' I sees right off he's took a notion ag'in +the Red Dog man. + +"'As you've got a lot of work cut out,' says Cherokee, eyein' the +Red Dog man malignant, 's'pose we tips the canteen ag'in.' + +"'I shorely goes you,' says the Red Dog man. 'I drinks with friend, +an' I drinks with foe; with the pard of my bosom an' the shudderin' +victim of my wrath all sim'lar.' + +"Cherokee turns out a big drink an' stands a-holdin' of it in his +hand. I wants to say right yere, this Cherokee's plenty guileful. + +"'You was namin',' says Cherokee, 'some public improvements you aims +to make; sech as movin' this yere camp 'round some, I believes?' + +"'That's whatever,' says the Red Dog man, 'an' the holycaust I +'nitiates is due to start in fifteen minutes.' + +"'I've been figgerin' on you,' says Cherokee, 'an' I gives you the +result in strict confidence without holdin' out a kyard. When you- +all talks of tearin' up Wolfville, you're a liar an' a hoss-thief, +an' you ain't goin' to tear up nothin'.' + +"'What's this I hears!' yells the frenzied Red Dog man, reachin' for +his gun. + +"But he never gets it, for the same second Cherokee spills the glass +of whiskey straight in his eyes, an' the next he's anguished an' +blind as a mole. + +"'I'll fool this yere human simoon up a lot,' says Cherokee, a- +hurlin' of the Red Dog man to the floor, face down, while his nine- +inch bowie shines in his hand like the sting of a wasp. 'I shore +fixes him so he can't get a job clerkin' in a store,' an' grabbin' +the Red Dog man's ha'r, which is long as the mane of a pony, he +slashes it off close in one motion. + +"'Thar's a fringe for your leggin's, Nell,' remarks Cherokee, a- +turnin' of the crop over to Faro Nell. 'Now, Doc,' Cherokee goes on +to Doc Peets, 'take this yere Red Dog stranger over to the Red +Light, fix his eyes all right, an' then tell him, if he thinks he +needs blood in this, to take his Winchester an' go north in the +middle of the street. In twenty minutes by the watch I steps outen +the dance-hall door a-lookin' for him. P'int him to the door all +fair an' squar'. I don't aim to play nothin' low on this yere gent. +He gets a chance for his ante.' + +"Doc Peets sorter accoomilates the Red Dog man, who is cussin' an' +carryin' on scand'lous, an' leads him over to the Red Light. In a +minute word comes to Cherokee as his eyes is roundin' up all proper, +an' that he's makin' war-medicine an' is growin' more hostile +constant, an' to heel himse'f. At that Cherokee, mighty ca'm, sends +out for Jack Moore's Winchester, which is an 'eight-squar',' latest +model. + +"'Oh, Cherokee!' says Faro Nell, beginnin' to cry, an' curlin' her +arms 'round his neck. 'I'm 'fraid he's goin' to down you. Ain't thar +no way to fix it? Can't Dan yere settle with this Red Dog man?' + +"'Cert,' says Dan Boggs, 'an' I makes the trip too gleeful. Jest to +spar' Nell's feelin's, Cherokee, an' not to interfere with no gent's +little game, I takes your hand an' plays it.' + +"'Not none,' says Cherokee; 'this is my deal. Don't cry, Nellie,' he +adds, smoothin' down her yaller ha'r. 'Folks in my business has to +hold themse'fs ready to face any game on the word, an' they never +weakens or lays down. An' another thing, little girl; I gets this +Red Dog sharp, shore. I'm in the middle of a run of luck; I holds +fours twice last night, with a flush an' a full hand out ag'in 'em.' + +"Nell at last lets go of Cherokee's neck, an', bein' a female an' +timid that a-way, allows she'll go, an' won't stop to see the +shootin' none. We applauds the idee, thinkin' she might shake +Cherokee some if she stays; an' of course a gent out shootin' for +his life needs his nerve. + +"Well, the twenty minutes is up; the Red Dog man gets his rifle +offen his saddle an' goes down the middle of the street. Turnin' up +his big sombrero, he squar's 'round, cocks his gun, an' waits. Then +Enright goes out with Cherokee an' stands him in the street about a +hundred yards from the Red Dog man. After Cherokee's placed he holds +up his hand for attention an' says: + +"'When all is ready I stands to one side an' drops my hat. You-alls +fires at will.' + +"Enright goes over to the side of the street, counts 'one,' 'two,' +'three,' an' drops his hat. Bangety! Bang! Bang! goes the rifles +like the roll of a drum. Cherokee can work a Winchester like one of +these yere Yankee 'larm-clocks, an' that Red Dog hold-up don't seem +none behind. + +"About the fifth fire the Red Dog man sorter steps for'ard an' drops +his gun; an' after standin' onsteady for a second, he starts to +cripplin' down at his knees. At last he comes ahead on his face like +a landslide. Thar's two bullets plumb through his lungs, an' when we +gets to him the red froth is comin' outen his mouth some plenteous. + +"We packs him back into the Red Light an' lays him onto a monte- +table. Bimeby he comes to a little an' Peets asks him whatever he +thinks he wants. + +"'I wants you-alls to take off my moccasins an' pack me into the +street,' says the Red Dog man. 'I ain't allowin' for my old mother +in Missoury to be told as how I dies in no gin-mill, which she +shorely 'bominates of 'em. An' I don't die with no boots on, +neither.' + +"We-alls packs him back into the street ag'in, an' pulls away at his +boots. About the time we gets 'em off he sags back convulsive, an' +thar he is as dead as Santa Anna. + +"'What sort of a game is this, anyhow?' says Dan Boggs, who, while +we stands thar, has been pawin' over the Red Dog man's rifle. 'Looks +like this vivacious party's plumb locoed. Yere's his hind-sights +wedged up for a thousand yards, an' he's been a-shootin' of +cartridges with a hundred an' twenty grains of powder into 'em. +Between the sights an' the jump of the powder, he's shootin' plumb +over Cherokee an' aimin' straight at him.' + +"'Nellie,' says Enright, lookin' remorseful at the girl, who colors +up an' begins to cry ag'in, 'did you cold-deck this yere Red Dog +sport this a-way?' + +"'I'm 'fraid,' sobs Nell, 'he gets Cherokee; so I slides over when +you-alls is waitin' an' fixes his gun some.' + +"'Which I should shorely concede you did,' says Enright. 'The way +that Red Dog gent manip'lates his weepon shows he knows his game; +an' except for you a-settin' things up on him, I'm powerful afraid +he'd spoiled Cherokee a whole lot.' + +"'Well, gents,' goes on Enright, after thinkin' a while, 'I reckons +we-alls might as well drink on it. Hist'ry never shows a game yet, +an' a woman in it, which is on the squar', an' we meekly b'ars our +burdens with the rest.'" + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +CHEROKEE HALL. + + +"An' you can't schedoole too much good about him," remarked the Old +Cattleman. Here he threw away the remnant of the principe, and, +securing his pipe, beat the ashes there-out and carefully reloaded +with cut plug. Inevitably the old gentleman must smoke. His tone and +air as he made the remark quoted were those of a man whose +convictions touching the one discussed were not to be shaken. "No, +sir," he continued; "when I looks back'ard down the trail of life, +if thar's one gent who aforetime holds forth in Wolfville on whom I +reflects with satisfaction, it's this yere Cherokee Hall." + +"To judge from his conduct," I said, "in the hard case of the +Wilkins girl, as well as his remark as she left on the stage, I +should hold him to be a person of sensibilities as well as +benevolent impulse." + +It was my purpose to coax the old gentleman to further reminiscence. + +"Benev'lent!" retorted the old man. "Which I should shore admit it! +What he does for this yere young Wilkins female ain't a marker. +Thar's the Red Dog man he lets out. Thar's the Stingin' Lizard's +nephy; he stakes said yooth from infancy. 'Benev'lent!' says you. +This party Cherokee is that benev'lent he'd give away a poker hand. +I've done set an' see him give away his hand in a jack-pot for two +hundred dollars to some gent 'cross the table who's organizin' to go +ag'in him an' can't afford to lose. An' you can onderscore it; a +winnin' poker hand, an' him holdin' it, is the last thing a +thoroughbred kyard-sharp'll give away. But as I says, I sees this +Cherokee do it when the opp'sition is settin' in hard luck an' +couldn't stand to lose. + +"How would he give his hand away? Throw it in the diskyard an' not +play it none; jest nacherally let the gent who's needy that a-way +rake in the chips on the low hand. Cherokee mebby does it this +fashion so's he don't wound the feelin's of this yere victim of his +gen'rosity. Thar's folks who turns sens'tive an' ain't out to take +alms none, who's feelin's he spar's that a-way by losin' to 'em at +poker what they declines with scorn direct. "'Benev'lent,' is the +way you puts it! Son, 'benev'lent' ain't the word. This sport +Cherokee Hall ain't nothin' short of char'table. + +"Speakin' wide flung an' onrestrained, Cherokee, as I mentions to +you before, is the modestest, decentest longhorn as ever shakes his +antlers in Arizona. He is slim an' light, an' a ondoubted kyard- +sharp from his moccasins up. An' I never knows him to have a peso he +don't gamble for. Nothin' common, though; I sees him one night when +he sets ca'mly into some four-handed poker, five thousand dollars +table stake, an' he's sanguine an' hopeful about landin' on his feet +as a Cimmaron sheep. Of course times is plenty flush in them days, +an' five thousand don't seem no sech mammoth sum. Trade is eager an' +values high; aces-up frequent callin' for five hundred dollars +before the draw. Still we ain't none of us makin' cigarettes of no +sech roll as five thousand. The days ain't quite so halcyon as all +that neither. + +"But what I likes speshul in Cherokee Hall is his jedgement. He's +every time right. He ain't talkin' much, an' he ain't needin' advice +neither, more'n a steer needs a saddle-blanket. But when he +concloodes to do things, you can gamble he's got it plenty right. + +"One time this Cherokee an' Texas Thompson is comin' in from Tucson +on the stage. Besides Cherokee an' Texas, along comes a female, +close-herdin' of two young-ones; which them infants might have been +t'rant'lers an' every one a heap happier. Sorter as range-boss of +the whole out. fit is a lean gent in a black coat. Well, they hops +in, an' Cherokee gives 'em the two back seats on account of the +female an' the yearlin's. + +"'My name is Jones,' says the gent in the black coat, when he gets +settled back an' the stage is goin', I an' I'm an exhortin' +evangelist. I plucks brands from the burnin'.' + +"'I'm powerful glad to know it,' says Texas, who likes talk. 'Them +games of chance which has vogue in this yere clime is some various, +an' I did think I shorely tests 'em all; but if ever the device you +names is open in Wolfville I overlooks the same complete.' + +"'Pore, sinkin' soul!' says the black-coat gent to the female; 'he's +a-flounderin' in the mire of sin. Don't you know,' he goes on to +Texas, 'my perishin' friend, you are bein' swept downward in the +river of your own sinful life till your soul will be drowned in the +abyss?" + +"'Well, no,' says Texas, 'I don't. I allows I'm makin' a mighty dry +ford of it.' + +"'Lost! lost! lost!' says the black-coat gent, a-leanin' back like +he's plumb dejected that a-way an' hopeless. 'It is a stiff-necked +gen'ration an' sorely perverse a lot.' + +"The stage jolts along two or three miles, an' nothin' more bein' +said. The black-coat gent he groans occasionally, which worries +Texas; an' the two infants, gettin' restless, comes tumblin' over +onto Cherokee an' is searchin' of his pockets for mementoes. Which +this is about as refreshin' to Cherokee as bein' burned at the +stake. But the mother she leans back an' smiles, an' of course he's +plumb he'pless. Finally the black. coat gent p'ints in for another +talk. + +"'What is your name, my pore worm?' says the black-coat gent, +addressin' of Texas; 'an' whatever avocation has you an' your lost +companion?' + +"I Why,' says Texas, 'this yere's Hall--Cherokee Hall. He turns faro +in the Red Light; an',' continues Texas, a-lowerin' of his voice, +'he's as squar' a gent as ever counted a deck. Actooally, pard, you +might not think it, but all that gent knows about settin' up kyards, +or dealin' double, or anv sech sinful scheme, is mere tradition.' +"'Brother,' says the female, bristlin' up an' tacklin' the black- +coat gent, 'don't talk to them persons no more. Them's gamblers, an' +mighty awful men;' an' with that she snatches away the yearlin's +like they's contam'nated. + +'This is relief to Cherokee, but the young-ones howls like coyotes, +an' wants to come back an' finish pillagin' him. But the mother she +spanks 'em, an' when Texas is goin' to give 'em some cartridges +outen his belt to amoose 'em, she sasses him scand'lous, an' allows +she ain't needin' no attentions from him. Then she snorts at Texas +an' Cherokee contemptuous. The young-ones keeps on yellin' in a +mighty onmelodious way, an' while Cherokee is ca'm an' don't seem +like he minds it much, Texas gets some nervous. At last Texas lugs +out a bottle, aimin' to compose his feelins', which they's some +harrowed by now. + +"`Well, I never!' shouts the woman; 'I shorely sees inebriates ere +now, but at least they has the decency not to pull a bottle that a- +way + +before a lady.' "This stampedes Texas complete, an' he throws the +whiskey + +outen the stage an' don't get no drink. "It's along late in the +mornin' when the stage strikes the upper end of Apache Canyon. This +yere canyon + +is lately reckoned some bad. Nothin' ever happens on the line, but + +them is the days when Cochise is cavortin' 'round plenty loose, an' +it's mighty possible to stir up Apaches any time a-layin' in the +hills + +along the trail to Tucson. If they ever gets a notion to stand up +the stage, they's shore due to be in this canyon; wherefore Cherokee +an' Texas an' Old Monte who's drivin' regards it s'picious. "'Send +'em through on the jump, Monte,' says Cherokee, stickin' out his +head. "The six hosses lines out at a ten-mile gait, which rattles +things, an' makes the black-coat gent sigh, while the young-ones +pours forth some appallin' shrieks. The female gets speshul mad at +this, allowin' + +they's playin' it low down on her fam'ly. But she takes it out in +cuffin' the yearlin's now an' then, jest to keep 'em yellin', an' +don't say nothin'. "Which the stage is about half through the +canyon, when up on both sides a select assortment of Winchesters +begins to bang an' jump permiscus; the same goin' hand-in-hand with +whoops of onusual merit. With the first shot Old Monte pours the +leather into the team, an' them hosses surges into the collars like +cyclones. "It's lucky aborigines ain't no shots. They never yet gets +the phelosophy of a + +hind sight none, an' generally you can't reach their bullets with a +ten-foot pole, they's that high above your head. The only thing as + +gets hit this time is Texas. About the beginnin', a little cloud of +dust flies outen the shoulder of his coat, his face turns pale, an' +Cherokee knows he's creased. "'Did they get you, Old Man?' says +Cherokee, some anxious. "'No,' says Texas, tryin' to brace himse'f. +'I'll be + +on velvet ag'in in a second. I now longs, however, for that whiskey +I hurls overboard so graceful.' "The Apaches comes tumblin' down +onto the trail an' gives chase, a-shootin' an' a-yellin' a heap +zealous. As they's on foot, an' as Old Monte is makin' fifteen miles +an hour by now, they merely manages to hold their own in the race, +about forty yards to the r'ar. + +"This don't go on long when Cherokee, after thinkin', says to Texas, +'This yere is the way I figgers it, If we-alls keeps on, them Injuns +is that fervent they runs in on us at the ford. With half luck +they's due to down either a hoss or Monte--mebby both; in which +event the stage shorely stops, an' it's a fight. This bein' troo, +an' as I'm 'lected for war anyhow, I'm goin' to caper out right +yere, an' pull on the baile myse'f. This'll stop the chase, an' +between us, pard, it's about the last chance in the box this pore +female an' her offsprings has. An' I plays it for 'em, win or lose.' + +"'Them's my motives; says Texas, tryin' to pull himse'f together. +'Shall we take this he-shorthorn along?' An' he p'ints where them +four tenderfoots is mixed up together in the back of the stage. + +"'He wouldn't be worth a white chip,' says Cherokee, 'an' you-all is +too hard hit to go, Texas, yourse'f. So take my regards to Enright +an' the boys, an' smooth this all you know for Faro Nell. I makes +the trip alone.' + +"'Not much,' says Texas. 'My stack goes to the center, too.' + +"But it don't, though, 'cause Texas has bled more'n he thinks. The +first move he makes he tips over in a faint. + +"Cherokee picks up his Winchester, an', openin' the door of the +stage, jumps plumb free, an' they leaves him thar on the trail. + +"'It's mebby an hour later when the stage comes into Wolfville on +the lope. Texas is still in a fog, speakin' mental, an' about bled +to death; while them exhortin' people is outen their minds entire. + +"In no time thar's a dozen of us lined out for Cherokee. Do we +locate him? Which I should say we shorely discovers him. Thar's a +bullet through his laig, an' thar he is with his back ag'in a rock +wall, his Winchester to the front, his eyes glitterin', a-holdin' +the canyon. Thar never is no Injun gets by him. Of course they +stampedes prompt when they hears us a-comin', so we don't get no +fight. + +"'I hopes you nails one, Cherokee,' says Enright; 'playin' even on +this yere laig they shoots.' + +"'I win once, I reckons', says Cherokee, 'over behind that big rock +to the left.' + +"'Shore enough he's got one Injun spread out; an', comin' along a +little, Jack Moore turns up a second. + +"'Yere's another,' says Jack, 'which breaks even on the bullet in +Texas.' + +"'That's right,' says Cherokee, 'I remembers now than is two. The +kyards is comin' some Tast, an' I overlooks a bet.' + +"We-alls gets Cherokee in all right, an' next day 'round comes the +female tenderfoot to see him. + +"'I wants to thank my defender,' she says. + +"'You ain't onder no obligations, whatever, ma'am', says Cherokee, +risin' up a little, while Faro Nell puts another goose-h'ar piller +onder him. 'I simply prefers to do my fightin' in the canyon to +doin' it at the ford; that's all. It's only a matter of straight +business; nothin' more'n a preference I has. Another thing, ma'am; +you-all forgives it, seein' I'm a gent onused to childish ways: but +when I makes the play you names, I simply seizes on them savages +that a-way as an excuse to get loose from them blessed children of +your'n a whole lot.'" + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +TEXAS THOMPSON'S "ELECTION." + + +"An' between us," remarked the Old Cattle man, the observation being +relevant to the subject of our conversation on the occasion of one +of our many confabs, "between you an' me, I ain't none shore about +the merits of what you-all calls law an' order. Now a pains-takin' +an' discreet vig'lance committee is my notion of a bulwark. Let any +outfit take a bale of rope an' a week off, an' if their camp ain't +weeded down to right principles an' a quiet life at the end tharof, +then I've passed my days as vain as any coyote which ever yelps. + +"Of course thar dawns a time when Wolfville has to come to it, same +as others. They takes to diggin' for copper; an' they builds the +Bird Cage Op'ry House, an' puts in improvements general. We even +culminates in a paper, which Doc Peets assures us is the flower of +our progress. Nacherally on the heels of all them outbursts we gives +up our simple schemes, organizes, an' pulls off an 'lection. But as +Old Man Enright is made alcalde tharby, with Jack Moore marshal, the +jolt is not severe nor the change so full of notice. + +"It's not long prior to these yere stampedes into a higher +moonicipal life, however, when quite a b'ilin' of us is in the Red +Light discussin' some sech future. Our rival, Red Dog, is allowin' +it's goin' to have a mayor or somethin', an' we sorter feels like +our hands is forced. + +"'For myse'f,' says Old Man Enright, when the topic is circ'latin', +with the whiskey followin' suit, an' each gent is airin' his idees +an' paintin' his nose accordin' to his taste, 'for myse'f, I can see +it comin'. Thar's to be law yere an' 'lections; an' while at first +it's mighty likely both is goin' to turn out disturbin' elements, +still I looks on their approach without fear. Wolfville is too +strong, an' Wolfville intelligence is too well founded, to let any +law loco it or set it to millin'.' + +"'Still,' says Dan Boggs, 'I must remark I prefers a dooly +authorized band of Stranglers. A vig'lance committee gets my game +right along. They's more honest than any of these yere lawsharps +who's 'lected to be a jedge; an' they's a heap more zealous, which +last is important.' + +"'Boggs is right,' replies Enright. 'It may not become me, who is +head of the local body of that sort, to make boasts of the +excellence of a vig'lance committee; but I ain't bluffin' on a four- +flush when I challenges any gent to put his tongue to an event where +a vig'lance committee stretches a party who ain't in need tharof; or +which goes wastin' its lariats on the desert air. I puts it to you- +alls without heat or pride, gents; Jedge Lynch is right every time.' + +"'Put me down,' says Doc Peets, at the same time makin' signs for +the barkeep to remember his mission on earth, 'put me down as +coincidin' in them sentiments. An' I says further, that any party +who's lookin' for the place where the bad man is scarce, an' a law- +abidin' gent has the fullest liberty, pegged out to the shorest +safetytood, let him locate where he finds the most lynchin's, an' +where a vig'lance committee is steadily engaged discriminatin' +'round through the community. + +Which a camp thus provided is a model of heavenly peace.' + +"'You can + gamble, if anybody's plumb aware of these yore trooths, it's me,' +says Texas Thompson. + +'When I'm down in the South Paloduro country, workin' a passel of +Bar-K-7 cattle, I aids in an effort to 'lect a jedge an' institoot +reg'lar shore-'nough law; an' the same comes mighty near leavin' the +entire hamlet a howlin' waste. It deciminates a heap of our best +citizens. + +"'This yere misguided bluff comes to pass peculiar; an' I allers +allows if it ain't for the onforeseen way wherein things stacks up, +an' the muddle we-alls gets into tryin' to find a trail, the Plaza +Paloduro would have been a scene of bleatin' peace that day, instead +of a stric'ly corpse-an'-cartridge occasion. The death rate rises to +that degree in fact that the next roundup is shy on men; an' thar +ain't enough cartridges in camp, when the smoke blows away, to be +seed for a second crop. On the squar', gents, that 'lection day on +the South Paloduro was what you-alls might term a massacre, an' get +it right every time.' + +"'Well, what of this yere toomultuous 'lection?' demands Dave Tutt, +who gets impatient while Texas refreshes himse'f in his glass. 'You- +all reminds me a mighty sight, Texas, of the Tucson preacher who +pulls his freight the other day. They puts it to him, the Tucson +folks do, that he talks an' he talks, but he don't p'int out; an' he +argufies an' he argufies, but he never shows wherein. A party who's +goin' to make a pulpit-play, or shine in Arizona as a racontoor, has +done got to cult'vate a direct, incisive style.' + +"'That's all c'rect,' remarks Texas, some savage, as he recovers his +nose outen his glass; 'never you fret me none about my style not +bein' incisive. Thar be other plays where any gent who comes puttin' +it all over me with roode an' intemp'rate remarks will find me +plenty incisive; not to say some soon: + +"'Yere!' interrupts Enright, quick an' sharp. 'This is plumb outside +the line. Texas ain't got no call to wake up so malignant over +what's most likely nothin' worse than humor on Tutt's part; an', +Tutt, it ain't up to you none neither, to go spurrin' Texas in the +shoulder in the midst of what I'm yere to maintain is a mighty +thrillin' narration.' + +"'Texas is good people,' says Dave, 'an' the last gent with which I +thirsts to dig up the war-axe. Which I'm proud to be his friend; an' +I means no offense when I su'gests that he whirl a smaller loop when +he onbosoms himse'f of a tale. I yere tenders Texas my hand, +assurin' of him that I means my language an' ain't holdin' out +nothin'. Shake!' An' at this Dave reaches his pistol-hand to Texas +Thompson, an' the same is seized prompt an' friendly. + +"`This yere is my fault,' says Texas. 'I reckons now my wife +recoverin' that Laredo divorce I'm mentionin' to you-alls, sorter +leaves me a heap petulant, that a-way. But to go back to this war- +jig I was relatin' about down at Plaza Paloduro. + +"'It's this a-way: No, Nellie; thar's no female in it. This yere +grows from a business transaction; an' the effort tharfrom to +improve on present conditions, institoot a reign of law, an' lect a +jedge. + +"'Which the comin' of a miscreant named Cimmaron Pete, from some'ers +over near the 'Doby Walls, is the beginnin' of the deal. This +Cimmaron Pete comes trailin' in one day; an' a shorthorn called +Glidden, who runs a store at the ford, comes ropin' at Cimmaron Pete +to race ponies. "'"What for stakes do you-all aim to race for?" +demands this Cimmaron Pete. + +"'"I'll run you for hoss an' saddle," says Glidden. + +"'"Say hoss ag'in hoss," says Cimmaron Pete, "an' I'm liable to go +you. Saddles is hard to get, an' I won't resk mine. Ponies, however, +is easy. I can get 'em every moonlight night." + +"'When them sports is racin',--which the run is to be a quarter of a +mile, only they never finishes,--jest as Cimmaron begins to pull +ahead, his pony bein' a shade suddener than Glidden's, whatever does +the latter do but rope this Cimmaron Pete's pony by the feet an' +down him. + +"'It's shore fine work with a lariat, but it comes high for Glidden. +For, as he stampedes by, this Cimmaron turns loose his six-shooter +from where he's tangled up with his bronco on the ground; an' as the +first bullet gets Glidden in the back of his head, his light goes +out like a candle. + +"'When the committee looks into the play they jestifies this +Cimmaron. "While on the surface," they says, "the deal seems a +little florid; still, when a gent armed with nothin' but a cold +sense of jestice comes to pirootin' plumb through the affair with a +lantern, he's due to emerge a lot with the conviction that Glidden's +wrong." So Cimmaron is free in a minute. + +"'But thar's Glidden's store! Thar's nobody to claim it; thar bein' +no fam'ly to Glidden nohow; not even a hired man. + +"'"Which, as it seems to be a case open to doubt," observes this +yere Cimmaron, "I nacherally takes this Glidden party's store an' +deals his game myse'f." + +"'It ain't much of a store; an' bein' as the rest of us is havin' +all we-alls can ride herd on for ourse'fs, no gent makes objections, +an' Cimmaron turns himse'f loose in Glidden's store, an' begins to +sell things a whole lot. He's shorely doin' well, I reckons, when +mebby it's a week later he comes chargin' over to a passel of us an' +allows he wants the committee to settle some trouble which has cut +his trail. + +"'"It's about the debts of this yere Glidden, deceased," says +Cimmaron. "I succeeds to the business of course; which it's little +enough for departed ropin' my pony that time. But you-alls can +gamble I ain't goin' 'way back on this yere dead person's trail, an' +settle all his gray an' hoary indebtnesses. Would it be right, +gents? I puts it to you-alls on the squar'; do I immerse myse'f, I'd +like for to be told, in deceased's liabilities merely for resentin' +of his wrongs ag'in me with my gun? If a gent can go blindly +shootin' himse'f into bankruptcy that a-way, the American gov'ment +is a rank loser, an' the State of Texas is plumb played out." + +When we-alls proceeds to ferret into this yere myst'ry, we finds +thar's a sharp come up from Dallas who claims that Cimmaron's got to +pay him what Glidden owes. This yere Dallas party puts said +indebtednesses at five stacks of blues. + +"'An' this yere longhorn's got 'em to make good, "says the Dallas +sharp, p'intin' at Cimmaron, "'cause he inherits the store." + +"'Now, whatever do you-alls think of that?" says Cimmaron, appealin' +to us. "Yere I've told this perverse sport that Glidden's done +cashed in an' quit; an' now he lays for me with them indebtednesses. +It shorely wearies me." + +"'It don't take the vig'lance committee no time to agree it ain't +got nothin' to say in the case. + +"'" It's only on killin's, an' hoss-rustlin's, an' sim'lar breaks." +explains Old Monroe, who's chief of the Paloduro Stranglers, "where +we-alls gets kyards. We ain't in on what's a mere open-an'-shet case +of debt." + +"'But this Dallas sharp stays right with Cimmaron. He gives it out +cold he's goin' to c'lect. He puts it up he'll shore sue Cimmaron a +lot. + +"'You-alls don't mean to say thar ain't no jedge yere?" remarks the +Dallas sharp, when Old Monroe explains we ain't organized none for +sech games as law cases. "Well, this yere Plaza Paloduro is for +certain the locodest camp of which I ever cuts the trail! You-alls +better get a hustle on right now an' 'lect a jedge. If I goes back +to Dallas an' tells this story of how you-alls ain't got no jedge +nor no law yere, they won't let this Plaza Paloduro get close enough +to 'em in business to hand 'em a ripe peach. If thar's enough sense +in this camp to make bakin'-powder biscuit, you-alls will have a +jedge 'lected ready for me to have law cases with by second-drink +time to-morrow mornin'." + +"'After hangin' up this bluff the Dallas sharp, puttin' on a heap of +hawtoor an' dog, walks over to the tavern ag'in, an' leaves us to +size up the play at our lcesure. + +"'What this obdurate party from Dallas says," finally remarks Old +Monroe, "is not with. out what the Comanches calls tum-tum. Thar's +savey an' jestice in them observations. It's my idee, that thar +bein' no jedge yere, that a-way, to make a money round-up for a gent +when his debtor don't make good, is mighty likely a palin' offen our +fence. I shorely thinks we better rectify them omissions an' 'lect a +jedge at once." + +"'Which I'm opposed to these proceedin's," interrupts Cimmaron. "I'm +plumb adverse to co'ts. Them law-wolves gets into 'em, an' when they +can't find no gate to come at you, they ups an' pushes down a panel +of fence, an' lays for you, cross-lots. I'm dead ag'in these +proceedin's." + +"'See yere," says Old Monroe, turnin' on this Cimmaron," you-all is +becomin' too apparent in this camp; what I might describe as a heap +too obvious. Now if you gets your stack in ag'in when it ain't your +turn; or picks up anybody's hand but your own, I'll find a short way +of knockin' your horns off. You don't seem gifted enough to realize +that you're lucky to be alive right now." + +"'Bar Cimmaron, who lapses into silence after Old Monroe gives him +notice, the entire camp lines up fav'rable on the idee to 'lect a +jedge. They sends over to the corral an' gets a nose-bag for to +deposit the votes; an' it's decided that Old Monroe an' a Cross-Z +party named Randall has got to do the runnin'. Randall is plenty +p'lite, an' allows he don't want to be jedge none nohow, an' says, +give it to Old Monroe; but the latter gent, who is organizin' the +play, insists that it wouldn't be legal. + +"'"Thar's got to be two gents to do the runnin'," so Old Monroe +says, "or it don't go. The 'lection ain't legal that a-way onless +thar's two candidates." + +"'They puts Bronco Charlie an' a sport named Ormsby in to be +'lection supervisors. They was to hold the nose-bag; an' as votes is +dropped in, they's to count 'em out accordin' to Hoyle, so we-alls +can tell where the play's headin'. Bronco Charlie is jedge for +Randall, an' Ormsby fronts up all sim'lar for Old Monroe. The +'lection we-alls decides to hold in the Lone Star Saloon, so's to be +conducted with comfort. + +"'"Make your game, now, gents," says Old Monroe, when everythin' is +shorely ready. "Get in your votes. These yere polls is open for one +hour." + +"'"One for Randall," says Bronco Charlie as Old Monroe votes. + +"'"An' one for Old Monroe," remarks Ormsby when Randall votes next. + +"'This gives the deal tone to have Randall an' Old Monroe p'int out +by votin' for each other that a-way, and thar ain't one of us who +don't feel more respectable by it. + +"'It's the opinion of level-headed gents even yet, that the Plaza +Paloduro could have pulled off this 'lection an' got plumb away, an' +never had no friction, if it ain't for a Greaser from San Antonio +who tries to ring in on us. Thar's twenty-one of us has voted, an' +it stands nine for Randall an' twelve for Old Monroe; when up lopes +this yere Mexican an' allows he's locoed to vote. "'Who do you-all +think you're goin' to vote for?" asks Ormsby. + +"'"Senior Monroe," says the Mexican, p'intin' at Old Monroe. + +"'Stop this deal," yells Bronco Charlie, "'I challenges that vote. +Mexicans is barred." + +"'Which Mexicans is not barred," replies Ormsby. "An' the vote of +this yere enlightened maverick from south of the Rio Grande goes. +Thirteen for Old Monroe." + +"'Twelve for Old Monroe," remonstrates Bronco Charlie, feelin' for +his gun. + +"'Thirteen for Old Monroe," retorts Ormsby, as his Colt's comes into +action an' he busts Bronco's arm at the elbow. + +"'As his obstinacy has destroyed the further efficiency of my +colleague," goes on Ormsby, as he shakes down the ballots in the +nose-bag, "I'll now conduct these yere polls alone. Gents who +haven't voted will please come a-runnin'. As I states a moment ago, +she stands thirteen for Old Monroe." + +"'An' I says she's twelve for Old Monroe," shouts Red River Tom, +crowdin' for'ard. "'You-all can't ring in Mexicans an' snake no play +on us. This yere 'lection's goin' to be on the squar', or it's goin' +to come off in the smoke." + +"'With this, Red River, who's been sorter domineerin' at Ormsby with +his six-shooter while he's freein' his mind, slams her loose. Red +River over-shoots, an' Ormsby downs him with a bullet in his laig. + +"'Thirteen for Old Monroe," says Ormsby. + +"'But that's where the 'lection ends. Followin' the subsidence of +Red River Tom, the air is as full of lead as a bag of bullets. +Through the smoke, an' the flashes, an' the noise, you can hear +Ormsby whoopin' + +"'Thirteen for Old Monroe." + +"'You can gamble Ormsby's as squar' a 'lection jedge as any gent +could ask. You gets a play for your money with Ormsby; but he dies +the next day, so he never is 'lection jedge no more. Five gents gets +downed, an' a whole corralfull is hurt. I, myse'f, reaps some lead +in the shoulder; an' even at that I never goes nearer than the +suburbs of the fight. + +"'No; Cimmaron Pete claws off all sound, an' no new holes in him. +But as the Dallas party, who comes caperin' over with the first +shot, is layin' at the windup outside the Lone Star door, plumb +defunct, thar's an end to the root of the disorder. + +"'The 'lection itse'f is looked on as a draw. Old Monroe allows +that, all things considered, he don't regard himse'f as 'lected +none; and Randall, who a doctor is feelin' 'round in for a bullet at +the time, sends over word that he indorses Old Monroe's p'sition; +an' that as long as the Dallas sharp hits the trail after Glidden, +an' is tharby able to look after his debts himse'f, he, Randall, +holds it's no use disturbin' of a returned sereenity, an' to let +everythin' go as it lays. + +"'An' that,' concloods Texas Thompson, as he reaches for his licker, +'is what comes of an effort at law an' order in Plaza Paloduro. I +ain't over-statin' it, gents, when I says, that that 'lection leaves +me plumb gun-shy for over a year.'" + + + + +CHAPTER XL. + +A WOLFVILLE FOUNDLING. + + +"Does Jack Moore have sand? Son, is this yere query meant for humor +by you? Which for mere sand the Mohave desert is a fool to Jack." + +The Old Cattleman's face was full of an earnest, fine sincerity. It +was plain, too, that my question nettled the old fellow a bit; as +might a doubt cast at an idol. But the sharpness had passed from his +tone when he resumed + +"Not only is Jack long on sand that a-way, but he's plumb loaded +with what you-alls calls 'nitiative. Leastwise that's what one of +these yere fernologists allows, who straggles into camp an' goes to +thumbin' our bumps one day. + +"'Which this young person,' says the bumpsharp, while his fingers is +caperin' about on Jack's head, I is remarkable for his 'nitiative. +He's the sort of gent who builds his fire before he gets his wood; +an' issues more invites to drink than he receives. Which his +weakness, speakin' general, is he overplays.' + +"Which this yere bump party might have gone wrong in his wagers a +heap of times; but he shorely calls the turn on Jack when he says +he's some strong on 'nitiative. + +"An' it's this yere proneness for the prematoor, an' nacheral +willin'ness to open any pot that a-way, that makes Jack sech a slam- +up offishul. Bein' full of 'nitiative, like this fernologist states, +Jack don't idle along ontil somethin's happened. Not much; he abates +it in the bud. + +"Once when most of the outfit's over in Tucson, an' Jack is sorter +holdin' down the camp alone, a band of rustlers comes trackin' in, +allowin' they'll run Wolfville some. Which, that's where Jack's +'nitiative shows up big. He goes after 'em readily, like they's +antelope. Them hold-ups is a long majority over Jack, an' heeled; +but that Jack stands thar--right up ag'in the iron--an' he tells 'em +what he thinks an' why he thinks it for; makes his minority report +onto 'em all free, like he outnumbers 'em two to one; an' winds up +by backin' the game with his gun in a way that commands confidence. + +"'You-alls hears my remarks,' he says at the close, briefly flashin' +his six-shooters on the outfit; 'thar ain't no band of bad men in +Arizona can tree this town an' me informed. Now go slow, or I'll +jest stretch a few of you for luck. It's sech consoomin' toil, a- +diggin' of sepulchers in this yere rock-ribbed landscape, or I'd do +it anyhow.' + +"An' tharupon them rustlers, notin' Jack's got the drop on 'em, +kicks up a dense cloud of dust an is seen no more. + +"But bein' replete with sand an' 'nitiative, that a-way, don't state +all thar is good of Jack. Let any pore, he'pless party cut Jack's +trail, an' he's plumb tender. On sech times Jack's a dove; leastwise +he's a dove a whole lot. + +"One hot afternoon, Enright an' Doc Peets is away about some cattle +I reckons. Which the rest of us is noomerous enough; an' we're +sorter revolvin' 'round the post-office, a-waitin' for Old Monte an' +the stage. Yere she comes, final, a-rattlin' an' a-creakin'; that +old drunkard Monte a-poppin' of his whip, the six hosses on the +canter, an' the whole sheebang puttin' on more dog than a Mexican +officer of revenoo. When the stage draws up, Old Monte throws off +the mailbags an' the Wells-Fargo box, an' gets down an' opens the +door. But nobody emerges out. + +"'Well, I'm a coyote! ' says Monte, a heap disgusted, `wherever is +the female?' + +"Then we-alls peers into the stage an' thar's only a baby, with +mebby a ten-months' start down this vale of tears, inside; an' no +mother nor nothin' along. Jack Moore, jest as I says when I begins, +reaches in an' gets him. The baby ain't sayin' nothin', an' sorter +takes it out in smilin' on Jack; which last pleases him excessive. + +"'He knows me for a hundred dollars!' says Jack. 'I'm an Apache if +he ain't allowin' he knows me! Wherever did you get him, Monte?' + +"'Give me a drink,' says Monte, p'intin' along into the Red Light. +'This yere makes me sick.' + +"After Old Monte gets about four fingers of carnation onder his +belt, he turns in an' explains as how the mother starts along in the +stage all right enough from Tucson. The last time he sees her, so he +puts it up, is at the last station back some twenty miles in the +hills; an' he s'poses all the time later, she's inside ridin' herd +on her progeny, ontil now. + +"'I don't reckon,' says Old Monte, lookin' gloomy-like at the +infant, 'that lady is aimin' to saw this yore young-one onto the +stage company none?' + +"'Don't upset your whiskey frettin' about the company,' says Jack, +a-plantin' of the infant on the bar, while we-alls crowds in for a +look at him. `The camp'll play this hand; an' the company ain't +goin' to be in it a little bit.' + +"'I wish Enright an' Peets was yere,' says Cherokee Hall, 'to be +heard hereon; which I shore deems this a grave occasion. Yere we- +alls finds ourse'fs possessed of an onexpected child of tender +years; an' the question nacheral enough is, whatever'll we do with +it?' + +"'Let's maverick it,' says Dan Boggs, who's a mighty good man, but +onthinkful that a-way. + +"'No,' says Cherokee; 'its mother'll come hoppin' along to-morrow, +a-yellin'. This yere sot Monte has jest done drove off an' left her +some'ers up the trail; she'll come romancin' along in time.' + +"'Meanwhile,' says Jack, 'the infant's got to be took care of, to +which dooty I volunteers. Thar's a tenderfoot a-sleepin' in the room +back of the dance-hall, an' he's that 'feminate an' effeet, he's got +a shore-'nough bed an' some goose-ha'r pillers; which the same I do +yereby confiscate to public use to take care of this yearlin'. Is +the sentiment pleasin'?' + +"'Jack's scheme is right,' says Boggs; 'an' I'm present to announce +he's allers right. Let the shorthorn go sleep onder a mesquite-bush; +it'll do him good a whole lot.' + +"'I'm some doobersome of this play,' says Cherokee. 'Small infants +is mighty myster'ous people, an' no livin' gent is ever onto their +game an' able to foresee their needs. Do you-all reckon now you can +take care of this yere young-one, Jack? Be you equal to it?' + +"'Take care of a small baby like this' says Jack, plenty scornful; +'which the same ain't weighin' twenty pounds? Well, it'll be some +funny if I can't. I could break even with him if he's four times as +big. All I asks is for you-alls to stand by in crisises an' back the +play; an', that settled, you can go make side bets we-alls comes out +winners on the deal.' + +'I ain't absolootly shore,' says Dave Tutt, 'bein' some shy of +practice with infants myse'f, but jedgin' by his lookin' smooth an' +silky, I offers fifty dollars even he ain't weaned none yet.' + +"'I won't bet none on his bein' weaned complete; says Jack, 'but +I'll hang up fifty he drinks outen a bottle as easy as Old Monte! + +"'I'll go you once,' says Tutt; 'it's fifty dollars even he grows +contemptuous at a bottle, an' disdains it.' + +"Which we-alls talks it over an' decides that Jack's to nurse said +infant; after which a passel of us proceed's to make a procession +for the tenderfoot's bed, which he shorely resigns without a +struggle. We packs it back to Jack; an' Cherokee Hall an' Boggs then +goes over to the corral an' lays for a goat to milk her. This yere +goat is mighty reluctant, an' refuses to enter into the sperit of +the thing; but they swings an' rastles with her, makes their p'int +right along, an' after a frightful time comes back with'most a +dipper-full. + +"'That's all right,' says Jack, who's done camped in a room back of +the Red Light, 'now hop out an' tell the barkeep to give you a pint +bottle. We-alls has this yere game payin' div'dends in two minutes.' + +"Jack gets his bottle an' fills her up with goat's milk; an' makes a +stopper outen cotton cloth an' molasses for the infant to draw it +through. Which it's about this time the infant puts up a yell, an' +refuses peace ag'in till Jack gives him his six-shooter to play +with. + +"'Which shows my confidence in him,' says Jack. 'Thar's only a few +folks left I'll pass my gun to.' + +"Jack gets along with him first-rate, a-feedin' of him the goat's +milk, which he goes for with avidity; tharby nettin' Jack that fifty +from Dave Tutt. Boggs builds a fire so Jack keeps the milk warm. +Jack turns loose that earnest he don't even go for no grub; jest +nacherally has 'em pack it to him. + +"'We-alls'll have to stand night gyards on this yere foundlin' to- +night, I reckons?" asks Boggs of Jack, when he's bringin' Jack +things. + +"'I s'pose most likely we'll have to make a play that a-way,' says +Jack. + +"'All right,' says Boggs, tappin' his shirt with his pistol-finger; +'you-all knows me an' Cherokee. We're in on this yere any time you +says.' + +"So a band of us sorter camps along with Jack an' the infant ontil +mebby it's second-drink time at night. The infant don't raise the +war-yell once; jest takes it out in goat's milk; an' in laughin', +an' playin' with Jack's gun. + +"'Excuse me, gents,' finally says Jack, mighty dignified, 'but I've +been figgerin' this thing, an' I allows it's time to bed this yere +young-one down for the night. If you-alls will withdraw some, I'll +see how near I comes to makin' runnin' of it. Stay within whoopin' +distance, though; so if he tries to stampede or takes to millin' I +can get he'p.' + +"We-alls lines out an' leaves Jack an' the infant, an' turns in on +faro an' poker an' sim'lar devices which is bein' waged in the Red +Light. Mebby it's an hour when Jack comes in. + +"'Boggs,' he says; 's'pose you-all sets in an' plays my hand a +minute with that infant child, while I goes over an' adjourns them +frivolities in the dance-hall. It looks like this yere camp is +speshul toomultuous to-night.' + +"Boggs goes in with the infant, an' Jack proceeds to the baile house +an' states the case. + +"'I don't want to onsettle the reg'lar programme,' says Jack, 'but +this yere young-one I'm responsible for, gets that engaged in the +sounds of these yere revels, it don't look like he's goin' to sleep +none. So if you-alls will call the last waltz, an' wind her up for +to-night, it'll shorely be a he'p. The kid's mother'll be yere by +sun-up; which her advent that a-way alters the play all 'round, an' +matters then goes back to old lines.' + +"'Enough said,' says Jim Hamilton, who runs the dance-hall. 'You can +gamble this temple of mirth ain't layin' down on what's right, an' +tonight's shindig closes right yere. All promenade to the bar. We +takes a drink on the house, quits, an' calls it a day.' + +"Then Jack comes back, a heap grave with his cares, an' relieves +Boggs; who's on watch, straddled of a chair, a-eyein' of the infant, +who, a-settin' up ag'in a goose-ha'r piller, is likewise a-eyein' of +Boggs. + +"'He's a 'way up good infant, Jack,' says Boggs, givin' up his seat. + +"'You can bet your life he's a good infant,' says Jack; 'but it +shore looks like he don't aim to turn in an' slumber none. Mebby the +goat's milk is too invigeratin' for 'him, an' keeps him awake that +a-way.' + +"About another hour goes by, an' out comes Jack into the Red Light +ag'in. + +"'I ain't aimin' to disturb you-alls none,' he says, 'but, gents, if +you-alls could close these games yere, an' shet up the store, I'll +take it as a personal favor. He can hear the click of the chips, an' +it's too many for him. Don't go away; jest close up an' sorter camp +'round quiet.' + +"Which we-alls does as Jack says; closes the games, an' then sets +'round in our chairs an' keeps quiet, a-waitin' for the infant to +turn in. A half-hour later Jack appears ag'in. + +"'It ain't no use, gents,' he says, goin' back of the bar an' +gettin' a big drink; 'that child is onto us. He won't have it. You +can gamble, he's fixed it up with himse'f that he ain't goin' to +sleep none to-night. I allows it's 'cause he's among rank strangers, +an' he figgers it's a good safe play to lookout his game for +himse'f.' + +"'I wonder couldn't we sing him to sleep,' says Cherokee Hall. + +"'Nothin' ag'in a try,' says Jack, some desp'rate, wipin' his lips +after the drink. + +"'S'pose we-alls gives him "The Dyin' Ranger" an' "Sandy Land" for +an hour or so, an' see,' says Boggs. + +"In we trails. Cherokee lines up on one side of the infant, an' Jack +on t'other; an' the rest of us takes chairs an' camps 'round, We +starts in an' shore sings him all we knows; an' we keeps it up for +hours. All the time, that child is a-settin' thar, a-battin' his +eyes an' a-starin', sleepless as owls. The last I remembers is +Boggs's voice on 'Sandy Land' + +"'Great big taters on sandy land, + Get thar, Eli, if you can.' + +"The next thing I'm aware of, thar's a whoop an' a yell outside. We- +alls wakes up--all except the infant, who's wide awake all along-- +an' yere it is; four o'clock in the mornin', an' the mother has +come. Comes over on a speshul buckboard from the station where that +old inebriate, Monte, drove off an' left her. Well, son, everybody's +plumb willin' an' glad to see her. An' for that matter, splittin' +even, so's the infant." + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +THE MAN FROM YELLOWHOUSE. + + +"That's straight, son; you shorely should have seen Jack Moore," +continued the Old Cattleman, after a brief pause, as he hitched his +chair into a comfortable position; "not seein' Jack is what any gent +might call deeprivation. + +"Back in the old days," he went on, "Jack Moore, as I relates, is +kettle-tender an' does the rope work of the Stranglers. Whatever is +the Stranglers? Which you asks Borne late. I mentions this assembly +a heap frequent yeretofore. Well, some folks calls 'ern the +'vig'lance committee'; but that's long for a name, so in Wolfville +we allers allooded to 'em as `Stranglers.' This yere is brief, an' +likewise sheds some light. + +"This Jack Moore--which I'm proud to say he's my friend--I reckons +is the most pro bono publico gent in the Southwest. He's out to do +anythin' from fight to fiddle at a dance, so's it's a public play. + +"An' then his idees about his dooties is wide. He jest scouts far +an' near, an' don't pay no more heed to distance an' fatigue than a +steer does to cobwebs. + +"'A offishul," says Jack, 'who don't diffuse himse'f 'round none, +an' confines his endeavors to his own bailiwick, is reestricted an' +oneffectooal, an' couldn't keep down crime in a village of prairie- +dogs.' An' then he'd cinch on his saddle, an' mebby go curvin' off +as far north as the Flint Hills, or east to the Turkey-track. + +"That's right; when it comes to bein' active, Jack is what you might +call an all-round seelection. An' clean strain? Game as hornets. +Never knowed him to quit anythin' in his life--not even whiskey. I +says to him myse'f one time: 'Jack; whyever don't you renig on +whiskey? Looks like it's sorter gettin' behind you some, ain't it? +Some day mebby it outholds you when you can't stand to lose.' + +"'Sometimes I thinks I'll pass it up, myse'f,' says Jack, 'but don't +you know, I can't do it. I'm too sperited, that a-way, an' +chivalrous. That's whatever! I'm too chivalrous.' An' I shore +reckons he was. + +"But as for doin' his dooty! Which the same is simply relaxation to +Jack Moore. I recalls one instance speshul. One day thar comes +trailin' along into Wolfville a party from down 'round Yallerhouse +some'ers. This yere Yallerhouse gent looks disperited an' off color +as to health. But of course we-alls don't refer none to it; for +whether this stranger's sick or well is his business, not ours; +leastwise in its first stages. This yere's before Doc Peets inhabits +Wolfville or he'd informed us touchin' this party's that a-way. + +"Which the Yallerhouse gent tracks along into the Red Light, an' +tells the barkeep to set out the nose-paint. He drinks alone, not +invitin' of the pop'lace, whereby we knows for shore he's offen his +feed. + +"Well, after he corrals his forty drops, this invalid camps down in +one corner of the stage station, an' next mornin' he wakes up outen +his head an' plumb locoed. + +"'This yere Yallerhouse man,' says Dan Boggs, comin' along into the +Red Light about first-drink time the same mornin', an' speakin' +general, 'is what conserv'tive opinion might call "some sick." I +stops a minute ago an' asks him how he's stackin' up like, but it +ain't no use. He's plumb off his mental reservation, an' crazy as a +woman's watch.' + +"'Whatever do you allow is the matter of him, Boggs?' asks Old Man +Enright. + +"'Smallpox,' says Boggs, mighty confident. + +"'Smallpox!' repeats Enright; 'be you shore?' + +"'That's what I says,' answers Boggs; 'an' you can gamble my long +suit is pickin' out smallpox every time. I knows the signal smoke +like my own campfire.' + +"'Well, see yere,' says Dave Tutt, who's come in, 'I jest now rounds +up them symptoms of this Yallerhouse gent; an' talkin' of smallpox, +I offers a hundred dollars even he ain't got no smallpox. Bein' out +solely for legit'mate sport,' continues Tutt, 'an' not aimin' to +offend Boggs none, I willin'ly calls it fifty to one hundred he +ain't got nothin'.' + +"'Which I takes both bets,' says Boggs, 'an' deems 'em easy. Which +both is like robbin' a bird's-nest. Yere's the circ'latin' medium. +Thar; cover it an' file it away with the barkeep to wait results.' +So Tutt an' Boggs makes their bets mighty eager, an' the barkeep +holds the stakes. + +"As soon as it gets blown through Wolfville this Yallerhouse party +has smallpox, everybody comes canterin' over to the Red Light, gets +a drink, an' wants to hold a mass meetin' over it. By partic'lar +request Enright takes the chair an' calls 'em to order. + +"'This yere meetin',' says Enright, meanwhile beatin' with the butt +of his six-shooter on the poker-table, 'is some sudden an' +permiscus; but the objects is easy an' plain. We-alls convenes +ourse'fs to consider the physical condition of this party from +Yallerhouse, which report says is locoed an' can't talk none for +himself. To make this inquiry a success, we-alls oughter see this +Yallerhouse gent; an' as thar is fewer of him than of us, I app'ints +Jack Moore, Dan Boggs, an' Short Creek Dave, a committee, of three, +to bring him before us in a body. Pendin' the return of the +committee the meetin' will take a drink with the chair.' + +"In about no time back comes the outfit, packin' the Yallerhouse man +all easy enough in a blanket, an' spreads him out on the floor. He +looks sorter red 'round in spots, like somethin's been stingin' of +him, but it's evident, as Boggs says, he's locoed. He lays thar, +rollin' his eyes an' carryin' on to himse'f, but he don't address +the chair or offer to take no part in the meetin'. Enright quaffs +his drink all slow an' dignified, an' gazes at the Yallerhouse man +on the floor. + +"'Well, gents,' says Enright at last, settin' down his glass, an' +givin' the poker-table a little tap with his gun, 'yere's the party, +an' the question is now: "What's he got?" Do I hear any remarks?' + +"'Bein' in the lines, Mister Pres'dent,' says Boggs, 'of previous +assertion, an' for the purpose of bringin' the question squar' +before this house, I now moves you this yere Yallerhouse party has +the smallpox. I ain't aimin' herein at playin' it low on Tutt, an' +su'gests that the chair, in puttin' the question, also informs the +meetin' as to them wagers; which the money tharof is now in the war- +bags of the barkeep. I believes in givin' every gent all necessary +light wherein to make up his mind; an', as I says, to open the game +all logical, I ag'in moves this Yallerhouse man has the smallpox.' + +"'Yo tambien,' yells a Mexican over near the door. + +"'Put that Greaser out!' shouts Enright, at the same time bangin' +the table. 'This ain't no international incident at all, an' nothin' +but the clean-strain American wolf is eligible to howl.' + +"The Greaser goes out on his saddle-colored head, an' Enright puts +Boggs's motion. + +"'Every gent,' says Enright, 'in favor of this Yallerhouse man +havin' the smallpox, say "Aye"; contrary "No."' + +"Everybody shouts 'Aye!' + +"'Which the "Ayes" has it unanimous,' says Enright. 'The Yallerhouse +party has the smallpox, an' the next chicken on the parliamentary +roost is the question: "Whatever is to be done to make this yere +malady a success?" Is thar any su'gestions?' + +"'Mister Pres'dent,' says Texas Thompson, risin' in his place, 'I've +done took no hand in these proceedin's so far, through ignorance of +the purposes of this yere convocation. Said purposes bein' now for +the first time lined out all right in my mind, an' the question +bein', "What's to be done with our captive?" I asks your indulgence. +My first idee is that our dooty an' our path is plain; the same +bein' simply to take a lariat an' hang this Yallerhouse person to +the dance-hall windmill; but this course, on second thought, seems +prematoor an' the offsprings of nacheral impulse. Still, somethin' +must be done; an' while my mind is by no means cl'ar, I su'gests we +turn the gent over to Jack Moore, which is the marshal hereof, to +ride herd on him till further orders; an' I makes a motion to that +effect.' + +"'Seconds the motion!' says Short Creek Dave. + +"'You don't have to put that motion, Mister Pres'dent,' says Jack; +'I've been cirelin' the idee some myse'f, an' I reckons it's my +dooty to take charge of this Yallerhouse gent. You can bet anythin' +which gets sawed onto me as my dooty goes, an' don't make no doubt +about it. Yere's how I trails out on this: If it ain't my dooty to +take care of this person, whose dooty is it? 'Tain't nobody's. +Tharfore I plays the hand.' + +"'Which the same bein' eminent satisfactory,' says Dave Tutt, +risin', as if he thinks of somethin' speshul, 'I now inquires +whether this yere is held decisive of them bets I makes with Boggs. +I holdin', meanwhile, contrary views emphatic.' + +"'This bein' a question of priv'lege,' says Enright, 'the chair will +answer it. These proceedin's decides your bets with Boggs, an' the +barkeep pays Boggs the dinero. This is a gov'ment of the people, for +the people, by the people, an' founded on a vox populi bluff. The +voice of the majority goes. You tharfore lose your bets to Boggs; +drinks on Boggs, of course. Thar is another matter,' continues +Enright, 'a bet we overlooks. Takin' care of this Yallerhouse gent +will cost a stack or two, an' means must be provided. I tharfore +makes as an order that yereafter thar's to be a rake on tens-up or +better, showed, to make a fund to back this play; said rake to go +ontil Mister Moore reports said Yallerhouse gent as safe or ceased +to be.' + +"Jack takes this Yallerhouse party over to the calaboose an' lays +him away on some blankets. The calaboose is dry, an' what you-alls +might call, commodious. It's a slam-up camp; yes indeed! Never has +but Steve Stevenson in it. Puts Steve in one night when he's dead- +drunk. The calaboose is new then, an' we-alls is that proud an' +anxious to try it an' put it to some use, we couldn't resist, so in +Steve goes. + +"About four hours later Steve comes back up to the Red Light, +hotter'n a burnt boot. Seems like he comes to, an' is that outraged +an' indignant about bein' corralled that a-way, he busts the corner +outen the calaboose an' issues forth a whole lot to find who does +it. + +"When he comes into the Red Light he revives himse'f with a drink, +an' then inquires whether it's humorous, or do we mean it? Seein' +how speshul low Steve takes it, we-alls allows it's a joke; an' +Steve, while he evident feels some fretted, concloods to let it go +at that. + +"But on account of the hole through which Steve emerges, an' which +he makes liberal an' big, the calaboose is a mighty commodious +place. So Jack beds down the Yallerhouse man all right an' starts in +to bringin' him through. The rest of us don't crowd 'round none to +watch the play, don't hover over it that a-way, 'cause we ain't +aimin' to acquire nothin' ourse'fs. + +"Jack has a heap of trouble an' worry. Never sees no smallpox do +you? Folks locoed most usual,--clean off up in the air an' pitchin' +on their ropes. Of course the Yallerhouse gent has all he needs. +That rake on tens-up them days would have took care of a fam'ly. But +he keeps Jack herdin' him all the time. Otherwise, not bein' +watched, an' crazy that a-way, he's liable to come stampedin' over +to the Red Light, or some'ers else, any time, an' skeer us up some. + +"'He's a world-beater,' says Jack one day, when he comes over for a +drink. 'He's shorely four kings an' an ace. You can't ride him with +buckin'-straps an' a Spanish bit. It's got so now--his disease bein' +at a crisis like--that I simply has to be with this Yallerhouse +party day an' night. He'd shorely lay waste this camp if I didn't.' + +"At last the Yallerhouse party an' Jack somehow beats the smallpox, +but Yallerhouse comes out shy an eye. The smallpox gouges it out one +of them times when Jack ain't lookin' out his game sharp. It's his +pistol eye, too; which makes him feel the loss more keen, an' +creates general sympathy. The Yallerhouse man gets some morose over +it, which ain't, after all, onnacheral. A gent ain't got so many +eyes he can afford to go short one on every little game he plays. So +he finds fault with Jack a lot, an' allows if he has him back in the +States he'd sue him for neglect of dooty. + +"'Which, I shorely likes that!' says Jack to the Yallerhouse party, +gettin' peevish over his fault-findin'. 'Don't you know it's merely +owin' to the mercy of hell an' my watchful care, you-all ain't +bustin' your harp-strings an' raisin' all round discord among the +heavenly hosts on high right now, instead of bein' safe an' well +yere in Wolfville? You don't act like a gent who saveys when he +makes a winnin'. S'pose you be an eye out; you're still lookin' at +things terrestrial with the other. You talks of gross neglect of +dooty! Now let me inform you of somethin': You come pesterin' 'round +me some more an' I'll bend a gun over your head.' + +"'Which if it ain't my six-shooter eye which's out,' says the +Yallerhouse party, mighty ugly, 'do you know what I'd do? Well, this +yere would be the basis of a first-class gun-play. You can gamble +thar wouldn't be no jim-crow marshal go pirootin' 'round, losin' no +eye of mine an' gettin' away with it, an' then talk of bendin' guns +on me; none whatever.' + +"But it all preys on Jack. An' a-seein' of this Yallerhouse gent +'round camp a-lookin' at him in a fault-findin' way outen his one +eye sorter aggravates Jack like it's a nightmare. + +"'I wouldn't mind it so much,' says Jack to me, confidential, 'if +this Yallerhouse gent quits a laig or an arm behind, 'cause in which +event we pieces him out with wood, easy. But about eyes, it's +different. An eye out is an eye out; an' that settles it.' + +"One day Jack can't b'ar it no longer, an', resolvin' to end it, he +walks up to the Yallerhouse party in the Red Light, all brisk an' +brief. + +"'It's a rough deal on a one-eyed gent,' says Jack, 'an' I shore +asks pardon an' states regrets in advance. But things has got to a +show-down. I'm slowly becomin' onfit for public dooty. Now yere's an +offer, an' you can have either end. You-all can get a hoss an' a +hundred dollars of me, an' pull your freight; or you can fix +yourse'f with a gun an' have a mighty stirrin' an' eventful time +with me right yere. As an outcome of the last, the public will have +one of us to plant, an' mebby a vacancy to fill in the post of +kettle-tender. Which is it, an' what do you say?' + +"'What for a hoss is she?' asked the Yallerhouse party. + +"'Which she's a pinto,' says Jack; 'as excellent a paint pony as +ever is roped.' + +"'Does this yere threat you-all makes incloode a saddle an' spurs?' +asks the Yallerhouse party. + +"'It shorely does,' replies Jack. 'Is it a go?' + +"'Well,' says the Yallerhouse man, after ponderin' it up one way an' +down the other, 'this idee of settlin' for eyes for a hoss an' a +hundred dollars is far from bein' usual with me. If I has my eye +ag'in, I'd shorely stay an' shoot it out, an' admire to be present. +But now sech thoughts is vanity. So round up your money an' your +pony at the Red Light in fifteen minutes by the watch, an' as soon +as I gets a bottle filled I'm ready to go. I shorely should not +regret leavin' an' outfit which puts folks in jail for bein' sick, +an' connives by reckless an' criminal neglect of dooty at their +bein' blinded for life.'" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +JACKS UP ON EIGHTS. + + +"No; you can hazard your wealth a lot, thar's no sooperstition +lurkin' 'round in me or my environs; none whatever. I attaches no +importance to what you-all calls omens." + +Somebody had undertaken a disquisition on dreams, and attempted to +cite instances where the future had been indicated in these hazy +visions of our sleep. This had served to turn the Old Cattleman's +train of thought upon the weird. + +"Thar's signs, of course, to which I'd shorely bow, not to say pay +absorbin' heed. If some gent with whom I chooses to differ touchin' +some matter that's a heap relevant at the time, ups an' reaches for +his gun abrupt, it fills me full of preemonitions that the near +future is mighty liable to become loaded with lead an' interest for +me. Now thar's an omen I don't discount. But after all I ain't +consentin' to call them apprehensions of mine the froot of no +sooperstition, neither. I'm merely chary; that's all. + +"It's Cherokee Hall who is what I onhesitatin'ly describes as +sooperstitious. Cherokee is afflicted by more signs an' omens in +carryin' on his business than an almanac. It's a way kyardsharps +gets into, I reckons; sorter grows outen their trade. Leastwise I +never creeps up on one yet who ain't bein' guided by all sorts of +miracles an' warnin's that a-way. An' sometimes it does look like +they acquires a p'inter that comes to 'em on straight lines. As +'llustratin' this yere last, it returns to me some vivid how +Cherokee an' Boggs gets to prophesyin' one day, an' how they calls +off the play between 'em so plumb c'rrect that a-way, it's more than +amazin'; it's sinister. + +"It's a hot August day, this occasion I has in mind, an' while not +possessin' one of them heat-gauges to say ackerate, I'm allowin' +it's ridin' hard on sech weather as this. A band of us is at the +post-office a-wrastlin' our letters, when in trails Cherokee Hall +lookin' some moody, an' sets himse'f down on a box. + +"'Which you-all no doubt allows you'll take some missives yourse'f +this mornin',' says Doc Peets, a-noticin' of his gloom, an' aimin' +to p'int his idees up some other trail. Doc, himse'f, is feelin' +some gala. 'Pass over them documents for Cherokee Hall, an' don't +hold out nothin' onto us. We-alls is 'way too peevish to stand any +offishul gaieties to-day.' + +"'Thar's no one weak-minded 'nough to write to me none,' says +Cherokee. `Which I remarks this yere phenomenon with pleasure. Mail- +bags packs more grief than joy, an' I ain't honin' for no hand in +the game whatever. It's fifteen years since I buys a stamp or gets a +letter, an' all thirst tharfor is assuaged complete.' + +"'Fifteen years is shore a long time,' says Enright, sorter to +himse'f, an' then we-alls hops into our letters ag'in. Finally +Cherokee breaks in once more. + +"` I ain't aimin' to invest Wolfville in no sooperstitious fears,' +says Cherokee, 'an' I merely chronicles as a current event how I was +settin' into a little poker last night, an' three times straight I +picks up "the hand the dead man held," jacks up on eights, an' it +wins every time.' + +"`Who lose to it?' asks Dan Boggs. + +"'Why,' says Cherokee, 'it's every time that old longhorn as comes +in from Tucson back some two weeks ago.' + +"'That settles it,' says Boggs, mighty decided. 'You can bet your +saddle an' throw the pony in, Death is fixin' his sights for him +right now. It's shorely a warnin', an' I'm plumb glad it ain't none +of the boys; that's all.' + +"You see this yere stranger who Cherokee alloods at comes over from +Tucson a little while before. He has long white ha'r an' beard, an', +jedgin' from the rings on his horns, he's mebby a-comin' sixty. He +seems like he's plenty of money, an' we takes it he's all right. His +leavin' Tucson shows he has sense, so we cashes him in at his +figger. Of course we-alls never asks his name none, as askin' names +an' lookin' at the brands on a pony is speshul roode in the West, +an' shows your bringin' up; but he allows he's called 'Old Bill +Gentry ' to the boys, an' he an' Faro Nell's partic'lar friendly. + +"'Talkin' to him,' says Nell, ' is like layin' in the shade. He +knows everythin', too; all about books an' things all over the +world. He was a-tellin' me, too, as how he had a daughter like me +that died 'way back some'ers about when I was a yearlin'. He feels a +heap bad about it yet, an' I gets so sorry for him; so old an' +white-ha'red.' + +"'An' you can gamble,' says Dave Tutt, 'if Nell likes him, he's all +right.' + +"'If Nell likes him, that makes him all right,' says Cherokee. + +"We-alls is still talkin' an' readin over our mail in the post- +office, when all at once we hears Jack Moore outside. + +"'What's this yere literatoor as affronts my eyes, pasted onto the +outside of Uncle Sam's wickeyup?' says Jack, mighty truculent. We. +alls goes out, an' thar, shore-'nough, is a notice offerin' fifteen +hundred dollars reward for some sharp who's been a-standin' up the +stage over towards Prescott. + +"'Whoever tacks this up? I wonder,' says Enright. `It never is yere +ten minutes ago.' + +"'Well, jest you-all hover 'round an' watch the glory of its comin' +down,' says Jack, a-cuttin' of it loose with his bowie, an' tearin' +it up. 'I yerewith furnishes the information cold, this camp of +Wolfville knows its business an' don't have to be notified of +nothin'. This yere outfit has a vig'lance committee all reg'lar, +which I'm kettle-tender tharfor, an' when it comes nacheral to +announce some notice to the public, you-alls will perceive me a- +pervadin' of the scenery on a hoss an' promulgatin' of said notice +viver voce. Am I right, Enright?' + +"'Right as preachin', Jack,' says Enright. 'You speaks trooth like a +runnin' brook.' + +"'But whoever sticks that notice?--that's the information I pants +for,' says Boggs, pickin' up an' readin' of the piece. "'I reckons I +posts that notice some myse'f,' says a big, squar'-built gent we- +alls don't know, an' who comes in the other mornin' with Old Monte +on the stage. As he says this he's sa'nterin' about the suburbs of +the crowd, listenin' to the talk. + +"'Well, don't do it no more, partner,' says Jack, mighty grave. 'As +a commoonity Wolfville's no doubt 'way wrong, but we-alls has our +prides an' our own pecooliar little notions, that a-way, about what +looks good; so, after now, don't alter the landscape none 'round +yere till you c'lects our views.' + +"'I'm offerin' even money, postin' notices don't hurt this yere camp +a little bit,' says the stranger. + +"'Comin' right to cases,' says Enright, 'it don't hurt none, but it +grates a whole lot. The idee of a mere stranger a-strollin' in an' +a-pastin' up of notices, like he's standin' a pat hand on what he +knows an' we not in it, is a heap onpleasant. So don't do it no +more.' + +"'Which I don't aim to do it no more,' says the squar'-built gent, +'but I still clings to my idee that notices ain't no set-back to +this camp.' + +"'The same bein' a mere theery,' says Doc Peets, 'personal to +yourse'f, I holds it would be onp'lite to discuss it; so let's all +wheel onder cover for a drink.' + +"At this we-alls lines up on the Red Light bar an' nacherally drinks +ends the talk, as they allers ought. + +"Along towards sundown we-alls gets some cooler, an' by second-drink +time in the evenin' every one is movin' about, an', as it happens, +quite a band is in the Red Light; some drinkin' an' exchangin' of +views, an' some buckin' the various games which is goin' wide open +all 'round. Cherokee's settin' behind his box, an' Faro Nell is up +at his shoulder on the lookout stool. The game's goin' plenty lively +when along comes Old Gentry. Cherokee takes a glance at him an' +seems worried a little, reflectin', no doubt, of them 'hands the +dead man held,' but he goes on dealin' without a word. + +"'Where's you-all done been all day?' says Nell to the old man. 'I +ain't seen you none whatever since yesterday.' + +"'Why, I gets tired an' done up a lot, settin ag'inst Cherokee last +night,' says the old man, 'an' so I prowls down in my blankets an' +sleeps some till about an hour ago.' + +"The old man buys a stack of blues an' sets 'em on the ten. It's +jest then in comes the squar'-built gent, who's been postin' of the +notice former, an' p'ints a six-shooter at Gentry an' says + +"'Put your hands up! put 'em up quick or I'll drill you! Old as you +be, I don't take no chances.' + +"'At the first word Nell comes off her stool like a small landslide, +while Cherokee brings a gun into play on the instant. The old man's +up even with the proceedin's, too; an' stands thar, his gun in his +hand, his eyes a-glitterin' an' his white beard a-curlin' like a +cat's. He's clean strain. + +"'Let me get a word in, gents,' says Cherokee, plenty ca'm, 'an' +don't no one set in his stack on. less he's got a hand. I does +business yere my way, an' I'm due to down the first hold-up who +shoots across any layout of mine. Don't make no mistake, or the next +census'll be shy, shore.' + +"'What be you-alls aimin' to cel'brate anyhow?' says Jack Moore, +gettin' the squar'-built gent's gun while Boggs corrals Gentry's. ' +Who's Wolfville entertainin' yere, I'd like for to know?' + +"'I'm a Wells-Fargo detective,' says the squar'-built gent, 'an' +this yere,' p'intin' to Old Gentry, 'is Jim Yates, the biggest hold- +up an' stage-robber between hell an' 'Frisco. That old tarrapin'll +stop a stage like a young-one would a clock, merely to see what's +into it. He's the party I'm pastin' up the notice for this mornin." + +"'He's a liar!' says the old man, a-gettin' uglier every minute. +`Give us our six-shooters an throw us loose, an' if I don't lance +the roof of his lyin' mouth with the front sight of my gun, I'll +cash in for a hold-up or whatever else you-alls says.' + +"'What do you say, Enright?' says Jack. 'Let's give 'em their +jewelry an' let 'em lope. I've got money as says the Wells-Fargo +bill-paster can't take this old' Cimmaron a little bit.' + +"'Which I trails in,' says Boggs, 'with a few chips on the same +kyard.' + +"'No,' says Enright, 'if this yere party's rustlin' the mails, we- +alls can't call his hand too quick. Wolfville's a straight camp an' +don't back no crim'nal plays; none whatever.' + +"Enright tharupon calls a meetin' of the Stranglers, an' we-alls +lines out for the New York Store to talk it over. Before we done +pow-wows two minutes up comes Old Monte, with the stage, all dust +an' cuss-words, an' allows he's been stood up out by the cow springs +six hours before, an' is behind the mail-bag an' the Adams Company's +box on the deal. We-alls looks at Old Man Gentry, an' he shorely +seems to cripple down. "'Gentry,' says Peets, after Old Monte tells +his adventures, 'I hears you tell Nell you was sleepin' all day. +S'pose you takes this yere committee to your budwer an' exhibits to +us how it looks some.' + +"'The turn's ag'in me,' says the old man, 'an' I lose. I'll cut it +short for you-alls. I holds up that stage this afternoon myse'f.' + +"'This yere's straight goods, I takes it,' says Enright, 'an' our +dooty is plain. Go over to the corral an' get a lariat, Jack.' + +"'Don't let Enright hang the old man, Cherokee,' says Nell, +beginnin' to weep a whole lot. 'Please don't let 'em hang him.' + +"'This holdin' a gun on your friends ain't no picnic,' whispers +Cherokee to Nell, an' flushin' up an' then turnin' pale, 'but your +word goes with me, Nell.' Then Cherokee thinks a minute. 'Now, this +yere is the way we does,' he says at last. 'I'll make 'em a long +talk. You-all run over to the corral an' bring the best hoss you +sees saddled. I'll be talkin' when you comes back, an' you creep up +an' whisper to the old man to make a jump for the pony while I +covers the deal with my six-shooter. It's playin' it low on Enright +an' Doc Peets an' the rest, but I'll do it for you, Nell. It all +comes from them jacks up on eights.' + +"With this, Cherokee tells Nell 'good-by,' an' squar's himse'f. He +begins to talk, an' Nell makes a quiet little break for the corral. + +"But no hoss is ever needed. Cherokee don't talk a minute when Old +Gentry comes buckin' offen his chair in a 'pleptic fit. A 'pleptic +fit is permiscus an' tryin', an' when Old Gentry gets through an' +comes to himse'f, he's camped jest this side of the dead line. He +can only whisper. + +"'Come yere,' says he, motionin' to Cherokee. 'Thar's a stack of +blues where I sets 'em on the ten open, which you ain't turned for +none yet: Take all I has besides an' put with it. If it lose, it's +yours; if it win, give it to the little girl.' + +"This is all Old Gentry says, an' he cashes in the very next second +on the list. + +"Enright goes through'em, an' thar's over two thousand dollars in +his war-bags; an', obeyin' them last behests, we-alls goes over to +the Red Light an' puts it on the ten along of the stack of blues. +It's over the limit, but Cherokee proceeds with the deal, an' when +it comes I'm blessed if the ten ain't loser an' Cherokee gets it +all. + +"'But I won't win none ag'in a dead man; says Cherokee. An' he gives +it to Nell, who ain't sooperstitious. + +"'Do you-alls b'ar in mind,' says Boggs, as we takes a drink later, +'how I foresees this yere racket the minute I hears Cherokee a- +tellin' about his "Jacks up on eights"--the "hand the dead man +holds?"'" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +THE RIVAL DANCE-HALLS. + + +It was sweet and cool after the rain, and the Old Cattleman and I, +moved by an admiration for the open air which was mutual, found +ourselves together on the porch. + +As in part recompense for his reminiscences of the several days +before, I regaled my old friend with the history of a bank-failure, +the details as well as the causes of which were just then forcing +themselves upon me in the guise of business. + +"The fact is," I said, as I came to the end of my story, "the fact +is, the true cause of this bank's downfall was a rivalry--what one +might call a business feud--which grew into being between it and a +similar institution which had opened as its neighbor. In the +competition which fell out they fairly cut each other's throat. They +both failed." + +"An' I takes it," remarked the Old Cattleman in comment, "one of +these yere trade dooels that a-way goes on vindictive an' +remorseless, same as if it's a personal fight between cow-folks over +cattle." + +"Quite right," I said. "Money is often more cruel than men; and a +business vendetta is frequently mere murder without the incident of +blood. I don't suppose the life of your Arizona town would show +these trade wars. It would take Eastern--that is, older--conditions, +to provoke and carry one on." + +"No," replied the old gentleman, with an air of retrospection, "I +don't recall nothin' of the sort in Wolfville. We're too much in a +huddle, anyway; thar ain't room for no sech fracas, no how. Now the +nearest we-alls comes to anythin' of the kind is when the new dance- +hall starts that time. + +"Which I reckons," continued the Old Cattle. man, as he began +arranging a smoke, "which I now reckons this yere is the only +catyclism in trade Wolfville suffers; the only time it comes to what +you-all Eastern sports would call a showdown in commerce. Of course +thar's the laundry war, but that's between females an' don't count. +Females--while it's no sorter doubt they's the noblest an' most +exhilaratin' work of their Redeemer--is nervous that a-way, an' due +any time to let their ha'r down their backs, emit a screech, an' +claw an' lay for each other for luck. An', as I says, if you +confines the festivities to them females engaged, an' prevents the +men standin' in on the play, it's shore to wind up in sobs an' +forgiveness, an' tharfore it don't go. + +"As I says, what I now relates is the only industrial trouble I +recalls in Wolfville. I allers remembers it, 'cause, bein' as how I +knows the party who's the aggravatin' cause tharof, it mortifies me +the way he jumps into camp an' carries on. + +"When I sees him first is ages before, when I freights with eight +mules over the Old Fort Bascome trail from Vegas to the Panhandle. +This sharp--which he's a tenderfoot at the time, but plumb wolf by +nacher-trails up to me in the Early Rose Saloon in Vegas one day, +an' allows he'd like to make a deal an' go projectin' over into the +Panhandle country with me for a trip. "Freightin' that a-way three +weeks alone on the trail is some harrowin' to the sperits of a gent +who loves company like me, so I agrees, an' no delay to it. + +"Which I'm yere to mention I regrets later I'm that easy I takes +this person along. Not that he turns hostile, but he's allers havin' +adventures, an' things keeps happenin' to him; an' final, I thinks +he's shorely dead an' gone complete--the same, as I afterward +learns, bein' error; an', takin' it up one trail an' down another, +that trip breaks me offen foolin' with shorthorns complete, an' I +don't go near 'em for years, more'n if they's stingin' lizards. + +"Whatever does this yere maverick do to me? Well, nothin' much to me +personal; but he keeps a-breedin' of events which pesters me. + +"We're out about four days when them mishaps begins. I camps over +one sun on the Concha to rest my mules. I'm loaded some heavy with +six thousand pounds in the lead, an' mebby four thousand pounds in +the trail wagon; an' I stops a day to give my stock a chance to roll +an' breathe an' brace up. My off-wheel mule--a reg'lar shave-tail-- +is bad med'cine. Which he's not only eager to kick towerists an' +others he takes a notion ag'inst; but he's likewise what you-alls +calls a kleptomaniac, an' is out to steal an' sim'lar low-down +plays. + +"I warns this yere tenderfoot--his name's Smith, but I pulls on him +when conversin' as 'Colonel'--I warns this shorthorn not to fuss +'round my Jerry mule, bein', as I states, a mule whose mood is +ornery. + +"'Don't go near him, Colonel,' says I; 'an' partic'lar don't go +crowdin' 'round to get no r'ar views of him. You-all has no idee of +the radius of that mule; what you might call his sweep. You never +will till he's kicked you once or twice, an' the information ain't +worth no sech price. So I don't reckon I'd fool with him, none +whatever. + +"'An' speshul, Colonel,' I goes on, for I shore aims to do my dooty +by him, 'don't lay nothin' 'round loose where this yere Jerry mule +can grab it off. I'm the last freighter on the Plains to go +slanderin' an' detractin' of a pore he'pless mule onless it's +straight; but if you-all takes to leavin' keepsakes an' mementoes +layin' about casooal an' careless that a-way, Jerry'll eat 'em; an' +the first you saveys your keepsakes is within Jerry's interior, an' +thar you be. + +"'The fact is, stranger, this Jerry mule's a thief,' I says. 'If +he's a human, Jerry would be lynched. But otherwise he's a sincere, +earnest mule; an up hill or at a quicksand crossin' Jerry goes into +his collar like a lion; so I forgives him bein' a thief an' allows +it's a peccadillo." + +"'Well, you bet!' says this tenderfoot Colonel, 'this yere Jerry +better not come no peccadillos on me.' + +"'If you-all maintains about twenty feet,' I replies, 'between +Jerry's hind-Hocks an' you; an' if you keeps your bric-a-brac in +your war-bags, you an' Jerry'll get along like lambs. Now, I warns +you, an' that's got to do. If Jerry an' you gets tangled up +yereafter you-all ain't goin' to harbor no revenges ag'in him, nor +make no ranikaboo plays to get even.' + +"As I states, I'm camped on the Concha, an` the Colonel, who's +allers out to try experiments an' new deals, puts it up he'll go +down to the river an' take a swim. Tharupon he lines out for the +water. + +"Jerry's hangin' about camp--for he's sorter a pet mule--allowin' +mebby I submits a ham-rind or some sech delicacy to him to chew on; +an' he hears the Colonel su'gest he'll swim some. So when the +Colonel p'ints for the Concha, Jerry sa'nters along after, +figgerin', mighty likely, as how he'll pass the hour a-watchin' the +Colonel swim. + +"I'm busy on flapjacks at the time--which flapjacks is shore good +food--an' I don't observe nothln' of Jerry nor the Colonel neither. +They's away half an hour when I overhears ejac'lations, though I +can't make out no words. I don't have to get caught in no landslide +to tumble to a game, an' I'm aware at once that Jerry an' the +Colonel has got their destinies mixed. + +"Nacherally, I goes over to the held of strife, aimin' to save +Jerry, or save the Colonel, whichever has the other down. When I +bursts on the scene, the Colonel starts for me, splutterin' an' +makin' noises an' p'intin' at Jerry, who stands thar with an air of +innocence. The Colonel's upper lip hangs down queer, like an ant- +eater's, an' he can't talk. It's all mighty amazin'. + +"'What's all this toomult about?' I says. + +"The short of the riot is this: The Colonel goes in for a swim, an' +he lays out his false teeth that a-way on a stone. When he comes for +his teeth they's shorely gone, an' thar stands Jerry puttin' it on +he's asleep. Them teeth is filed away in Jerry. + +"Which the Colonel raves 'round frightful, an' wants to kill Jerry +an' amputate him, an' scout for the teeth. But I won't have it. I'm +goin' to need Jerry down further on the quicksand fords of the +Canadian; an', as I explains, them teeth is a wreck by now, an' no +good if he get's 'em ag'in; Jerry munchin' of his food powerful. + +"After a while I rounds up the Colonel an' herds him back to camp. +Jerry has shore sawed off a sore affliction on that tenderfoot when +he takes in them teeth; I can see that. His lip hangs like a +blacksmith's apron, an' he can't talk a little bit; jest makes signs +or motions, like he's Injun or deef. + +"It's mebby two weeks later when Jerry gets another shot at the +Colonel. It's the evenin' after the night Jerry sneaks into camp, +soft-foot as a coyote, noses open the grub-box, an' eats five +bottles of whiskey; all we has. We've pitched camp, an' I've hobbled +this Jerry mule an' his mate--the other wheeler--an' throwed 'em +loose, an' is busy hobblin' my nigh-swing mule, when trouble begins +fomentin' between my tenderfoot an' Jerry. + +"The fact is it's done fomented. This Colonel, bein' some heated +about that whiskey, an' plumb sore on Jerry on account of them +teeth, allows to himse'f he'll take a trace-chain an' warp Jerry +once for luck. + +"If this yere tenderfoot had been free with me, an' invited me into +his confidence touchin' his designs, I'd took a lariat an' roped an' +throwed Jerry for him, an' tied the felon down, an' let the Colonel +wallop him an hour or so: but the Colonel's full of variety that a- +way, or mebby he thinks I'll side with Jerry. Anyhow, he selects a +trace-chain, an', without sayin' a word, dances all cautious towards +his prey. Which this is relaxation for Jerry. + +[drawing of Jerry kicking the Colonel with caption: "That he'pless +shorthorn stops both heels.] + +"While that Colonel tenderfoot is a rod away, Jerry turns his tail +some sudden in his direction, an' the next instant that he'pless +shorthorn stops both heels some'ers about the second button of his +shirt. That settles it; the Colonel's an invalid immediate. I +shorely has a time with him that night. + +"The next day he can't walk, an' he can't ride in the wagon 'cause +of the jolts. It all touches my heart, an' at last I ups an' make a +hammock outen a Navajo blanket, which is good an' strong, an' swings +the Colonel to the reach of the trail wagon. + +"It's mostly a good scheme. Where the ground's level the Colonel +comes on all right; but now an' then, when a wheel slumps into a +rut, the Colonel can't he'p none but smite the ground where he's the +lowest, an' it all draws groans an' laments from him a heap. + +"One time, when the Colonel's agony makes him groan speshul strong, +I sees Jerry bat his eyes like he enjoys it; an' then Jerry mentions +somethin' to his mate over the chain. We're trottin' along the trail +at the time, an', bein' he's the nigh-wheeler--which is the saddle- +mule of a team--I'm ridin' Jerry's compadre, an' when I notes how +Jerry is that joyous about it I reaches across an' belts him some +abrupt between the y'ears with the butt of a shot-filled black- +snake. It rather lets the whey outen Jerry's glee, an' he don't get +so much bliss from that tenderfoot's misfortunes as he did. + +"It goes along all right ontil I swings down to the crossin' of the +Canadian. It's about fourth-drink time in the afternoon, an' I'm +allowin' to ford the Canadian that evenin' an' camp on t'other side. +The river is high an' rapid from rain some'ers back on its head +waters, an' it's wide an' ugly. It ain't more'n four foot deep, but +the bottom is quicksand, an' that false, if I lets my wagons stop +ten seconds anywhere between bank an' bank, I'm goin' to be shy +wagons at the close. I'll be lucky if I win out the mules. It's +shore a hard, swift crossin'. + +"I swings down, as I says, to the river's aige with my mind filled +up about the rush I've got to make. It's go through on the run or +bog down. First I settles in my saddle, gives the outfit the word, +an' then, pourin' the whip into the two leaders, I sends the whole +eight into the water on the jump. The river is runnin' like a scared +wolf, an' the little lead mules hardly touches bottom. + +"As the trail wagon takes the water, an' the two leaders is plumb in +to the y'ears, a howl develops to the r'ar. It's my pore tenderfoot +in his hammock onder the trail wagon. He shrieks as the water gets +to him; an' it all hits me like a bullet, for I plumb overlooks him, +thinkin' of that quicksand crossin'. + +"It's shore too late now; I'm in, an' I can't stop. To make things +more complex, as the water cuts off the tenderfoot's yell like +puffin' out a candle, a little old black mule, which is my off- +p'inter, loses his feet an' goes down. I pours the leather into the +team the harder, an' the others soars into their collars an' drug my +black p'inter with 'em; only he's onder water. Of course I allows +both the black p'inter an' the Colonel's shorely due to drown a +whole lot. + +"We gets across, the seven other mules an' me; an' the second he's +skated out on the sand on his side, the drowned mule gets up an' +sings as triumphant as I ever hears. Swimmin' onder the river don't +wear on him a bit. + +"Then I goes scoutin' for the Colonel, but he's vanished complete. +Nacherally, I takes him for a dead-an'-gone gent; an' figgers if +some eddy or counter-current don't get him, or he don't go aground +on no sand-bar, his fellow-men will fish him out some'ers between me +an' New Orleans, an' plant him an' hold services over him. + +"Bein' as I can't be of no use where it's a clean-sweep play like +this, I dismisses the Colonel from my mind. After hobblin' an' +throwin' loose my team, I lugs out the grub-box all sorrowful an' +goes into camp. + +"Which I should allers have played the Colonel for dead, if it ain't +that years later he one day comes wanderin' into Wolfville. He ain't +tender now; he's as hard as moss-agates, an' as worthless. + +"I renews my acquaintance with him, an' he tells how he gets outen +the Canadian that day; but beyond that we consoomes a drink or two +together, I rather passes him up. Thar's a heap about him I don't +take to. + +"The Colonel lays 'round Wolfville mebby it's a week, peerin' an' +spyin' about. He says he's lookin' for an openin'. An' I reckons he +is, for at the end of a week he slaps up a joint outen tent-cloth +an' fence-boards, an' opens a dance-hall squar' ag'inst Jim +Hamilton's which is already thar. + +"This yere alone is likely to brood an' hatch trouble; but, as if +takin' a straight header into Hamilton's game ain't enough, this +Colonel of mine don't get no pianer; don't round-up no music of his +own; but stands pat an' pulls off reels, an' quadrilles, an' green- +corn dances to Hamilton's music goin' on next door. + +"I'm through the Lincoln County war, an' has been romancin' about +the frontier for years; but I never tracks up on no sech outrage in +my life as this disgraceful Colonel openin' a hurdy-gurdy ag'in +Hamilton's, an' maverickin' his music that a-way, an' dancin' +tharunto. + +"It's the second night, an' Hamilton concloods he'll see about it +some. He comes into the Colonel's joint, ca'm an' considerate, an' +gives it out thar's goin' to be trouble if the Colonel don't close +his game or play in his own fiddlers. + +"'Which if you-all don't close your game or hunt out your own +music,' says Hamilton, 'I'm mighty likely to get my six-shooter an' +close it for you.' + +"'See yere,' says my Colonel--which he's shore been learnin' since I +parts with him on the Canadian--'the first hold-up who comes foolin' +'round to break up a baile of mine, I'll shorely make him hard to +find. What business you got fillin' up my place with your melodies? +You rolls your tunes in yere like you owns the ranch; an' then you +comes curvin' over an' talks of a gun-play 'cause, instead of layin' +for you for that you disturbs my peace with them harmonies, I'm that +good-nachered I yields the p'int an' dances to 'em. You-all pull +your freight,' says the Colonel, 'or I'll fill you full of lead.' + +"This argument of the Colonel's dazzles Hamilton to that degree he +don't know whether he's got the high hand or not. He thinks a +minute, an' then p'ints over to the Red Light for Enright an' Doc +Peets. As he leaves the rival dance-hall, the Colonel, who's callin' +off his dances, turns to the quadrille, which is pausin pendin' the +dispoote, an' shouts: + +"'You bet I knows my business! Right hand to your partner; grand +right an' left!' + +"When Hamilton turns away they's shore makin' things rock an' +tremble; an' all to the strains of 'The Arkansaw Traveller,' which +is bein' evolved next door at Hamilton's expense. + +"Which somethin's goin' to pop; says Hamilton, mighty ugly to +Enright an' the rest of us, as he pours a drink into his neck. 'I +allows in the interests of peace that I canters over an' sees you- +alls first. I ain't out to shake up Wolfville, nor give Red Dog a +chance to criticise us none as a disorderly camp; but I asks you +gents, as citizens an' members of the vig'lance committee, whether +I'm to stand an' let this yere sharp round-up my music to hold his +revels by, an' put it all over me nightly?' + +"'I don't see no difference,' says Dan Boggs, 'between this convict +a-stealin' of Hamilton's music, than if he goes an' stands up Old +Monte an' the stage.' + +"'The same bein' my idee exact,' says Texas Thompson. 'Yere's +Hamilton caterin' to this camp with a dance-hall. It's a public good +thing. If a gent's morose, an' his whiskey's slow placin' itse'f, he +goes over to Hamilton's hurdy-gurdy an' finds relaxation an' relief. +Now yere comes this stranger--an' I makes it fifty dollars even he's +from Massachusetts--an' what does he do? Never antes nor sticks in a +white chip, but purloins Hamilton's strains, an' pulls off his +dances tharby. It's plumb wrong, an' what this party needs is +hangin'.' + +"'Oh, I don't know,' says Cherokee Hall, who's in on the talk. +'Hamilton's all right, an' a squar' man. All he wants is jestice. +Now, while I deems the conduct of this stranger low an' ornery; +still, comin' down to the turn, he's on his trail all right. As this +sharp says: Who gives Hamilton any license to go fillin' his hurdy- +gurdy full of dance-music? S'pose this gent would come caperin' over +an' set in a stack ag'in Hamilton for overloadin' his joint with +pianer an' fiddle noises without his consent; an' puttin' it up he's +out to drag the camp if Hamilton don't cease? The only way Hamilton +gets 'round that kind of complaint is, he don't own them walses an' +quadrilles after they fetches loose from his fiddle; that they ain't +his quadrilles no more, an' he's not responsible after they +stampedes off into space.' + +"'That's straight,' says Dave Tutt, 'you-alls can't run no brand on +melodies. A gent can't own no music after he cuts it loose that a- +way. The minute it leaves the bosoms of his fiddles, that's where he +lets go. After that it belongs to any gent to dance by, cry by, set +by, or fight by, as he deems meet an' pleasant at the time.' + +"'What do you-alls say?' says Hamilton to Enright an' Peets. 'Does +this yere piece of oppression on a leadin' citizen, perpetrated by a +rank outsider, go? I shore waits for your reply with impatience, for +I eetches to go back an' shoot up this new hurdy-gurdy from now till +sun-up.' + +"Enright takes Doc Peets down by the end of the bar--an' thar's no +doubt about it, that Peets is the wisest longhorn west of the +Missoury--an' they has a deep consultation. We-alls is waitin'. some +interested, to see what they says. It's shore a fine p'int this +Colonel's makin' to jestify an' back his game. + +"'Get a move on you, Enright!' at last says Dan Boggs, who is a +hasty, eager man, who likes action; 'get a move on you, you an' +Peets, an' settle this. You're queerin' the kyards an' delayin' the +play.' + +"'Well, gents,' says Enright at last, comin' back where we-alls is +by the door, 'Peets an' me sees no need decidin' on them questions +about who owns a tune after said tune has been played. But thar is a +subject, that a-way, which requires consideration; an' which most +likely solves this dance-hall deadlock. In all trade matters in a +growin' camp like Wolfville, it's better to preserve a equilibrium. +It's ag'in public interest to have two or three dance-halls, or two +or three saloons, all in a bunch that a-way. It's better they be +spraddled 'round wide apart, which is more convenient. So Peets an' +me proposes as a roole for this yere camp that two hurdy-gurdies be +forbid to be carried on within five hundred feet of each other. As +it looks like nobody objects, we concloods it's adopted. Nacherally, +the last hurdy-gurdy up has to move, which disposes of this yere +trouble.' + +"'Before I ends what I has to say,' goes on Enright, 'I wants to +thank our townsman, Mister Hamilton, for consultin' of the +Stranglers prior to a killin'. It shows he's a law-abidin' gent an' +a credit to the camp. An' mighty likely he prolongs his stay on +earth. If he'd pranced in an' skelped this maraudin' stranger, I +don't reckon we could avoid swingin' him at the end of a lariat +without makin' a dangerous preceedent. As it is, his rival will be +routed an' his life made sereen as yeretofore.' + +"'As to the execution of this new roole,' concloods Enright, 'we +leaves that to Jack Moore. He will wait on this party an' explain +the play. He must up stakes an' move his camp; an' if he calls on +another shindig after he's warned, we-alls takes our ponies an' our +ropes an' yanks his outfit up by the roots. A gent of his +enterprise, however, will come to a dead halt; an' his persecutions +of Hamilton will cease.' + +"'An' you-all calls this yere a free American outfit!' says my +Colonel, mighty scornful, when Jack Moore notifies him. 'If I don't +line out for t'other end of camp you-alls is allowin' to rope my +joint an' pull it down! Well, that lets me out; I quits you. I'd be +shorely degraded to put in my time with any sech low-flung passel of +sports. You-all may go back an' tell your folks that as you leaves +you hears me give the call to my guests, "All promenade to the bar"; +an' the dancin' is done. To-morrow I departs for Red Dog to begin +life anew. Wolfville is too slow a camp for any gent with any +swiftness to him.'" + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +SLIM JIM'S SISTER. + + +"Which thar's folks in this caravansary I don't like none," remarked +the Old Cattleman, as I joined him one afternoon on the lawn. His +tone was as of one half sullen, half hurt, and as he jerked his +thumb toward the hotel behind us, it was a gesture full of scorn. +"Thar's folks thar, takin' 'em up an' down, horns, hide, tallow, an' +beef, who ain't worth heatin' a runnin'-iron to brand." + +"What's the trouble?" I inquired, as I organized for comfort with my +back against the elm-tree which shadowed us. + +"No trouble at all," replied my old friend sourly, "leastwise +nothin' poignant. It's that yoothful party in the black surtoot who +comes pesterin' me a moment ago about the West bein', as he says, a +roode an' irreligious outfit." + +"He's a young preacher," I explained. "Possibly he was moved by an +anxiety touching your soul's welfare." + +"Well, if he's out to save souls," retorted the old gentleman, "he +oughter whirl a bigger loop. No, no, he won't do,"he continued, +shaking his head with an air of mournful yet resentful decision, +"this yere gent's too narrow; which his head is built too much the +shape of a quail-trap. He may do to chase jack-rabbits an' sech, but +he's a size too small for game like me. Save souls, says you! Why, +if that onp'lite young person was to meet a soul like mine comin' up +the trail, he'd shorely omit what to do entire; he'd be that +stampeded. He'd be some hard to locate, I takes it, after he meets +up with a soul like mine a whole lot." + +The Old Cattleman made this proclamation rather to himself than me, +but I could detect an air of pride. Then he went on: + +"'This yere West you emanates from,' says this young preacher-sharp +to me that a-way, 'this yere West you hails from is roode, an' don't +yield none to religious inflooences.' + +"'Well,' I says back to him, fillin' my pipe at the same time, 'I +reckons you shorely can c'llect more with a gun than a contreebution +box in the West, if that's what you-all is aimin' at. But if you +figgers we don't make our own little religious breaks out in +Arizona, stranger, you figgers a heap wrong. You oughter have heard +Short Creek Dave that time when he turns 'vangelist an' prances into +the warehouse back of the New York Store, an' shows Wolfville she's +shore h'ar-hung an' breeze-shaken over hell that a-way. Short Creek +has the camp all spraddled out before he turns his deal-box up an' +closes his game.' + +"'But this yere Short Creek Dave,' he remonstrates to me, 'ain't no +reg'lar licensed divine. He ain't workin' in conjunctions with no +shore 'nough' sociation, I takes it. This Short Creek person is most +likely one of them irrelevant exhortin' folks, an' that makes a +difference. He don't belong to no reg'lar denom'nation.' + +"'That's troo, too,' I says. 'Short Creek ain't workin' with no +reg'lar religious round-up; he's sorter runnin' a floatin' outfit, +criss-crossin' the range, prowlin' for mavericks an' strays on his +own game. But what of that? He's shorely tyin' 'em down an' brandin' +'em right along.' + +"'Oh, I don't dispoote none the efficacy of your friend's work that +a-way,' replies the young preacher-sharp, 'but it's irreg'lar; it's +plumb out of line. Now what you-alls needs in the West is real +churches, same as we-alls has in the East.' + +"`I ain't none shore of that.' I says, 'an' I'm gettin' a little +warm onder the collar some with them frills he puts on; 'I ain't +none shore. The East needn't deem itse'f the only king in the deck; +none whatever. The West can afford the usual rooles an' let all bets +go as they lays, an' still get up winner on the deal. I takes it +you-alls never notes the West sendin' East for he'p?' + +"'But that ain't the idee,' he urges. 'Churches that a-way is the +right thing. They molds a commoonity, churches does. You b'ars +witness yourse'f that where churches exists the commoonity is the +most orderly an' fuller of quietood an' peace.' + +"'Not necessarily I don't,' I replies back, for I'm goin' to play my +hand out if it gets my last chip, 'not necessarily. What I b'ars +witness to is that where the commoonity is the most orderly that a- +way an' fuller of quietood an' peace, the churches exists.' + +"'Which I'm shorely some afraid,' he says,--an' his looks shows he's +gettin' a horror of me,--'you belongs to a perverse generation. You- +all is vain of your own evil-doin'. Look at them murders that +reddens the West, an' then sit yere an' tell me it don't need no +inflooences.' + +"'Them ain't murders,' I answers; them's killin's. An' as for +inflooenccs, if you-all don't reckon the presence of a vig'lance +committee in a camp don't cause a gent to pause an' ponder none +before he pulls his gun, you dwells in ignorance. However, I'm yere +to admit, I don't discern no sech sin-encrusted play in a killin' +when the parties breaks even at the start, an' both gents is workin' +to the same end unanimous. It does some folks a heap of good to kill +'em a lot.' + +"It's at this p'int the young preacher-sharp pulls his freight, an' +I observes, by the way he stacks me up with his eyes that a-way, he +allows mebby I'm locoed." + +The Old Cattleman said no more for a moment, but puffed at his cob +pipe in thought and silence. I had no notion of involving myself in +any combat of morals or theology, so I did not invade his mood. At +last I suggested in a half-tone of inoffensive sympathy that the +West was no doubt much misunderstood. + +"Life there," I remarked, "amid new and rough conditions must be +full of hardship and tragedy." + +This vague arrow in the air had the effect of sending the old fellow +off at a tangent. His bent was evidently discursive, and all +thoughts of his late religious controversy seemed to pass from his +mind. + +"Full of hardship an' tragedy is your remark," he retorted, "an' I +joins you tharin. Take them disasters that pounces on Slim Jim. What +happens in the case of this yere Slim Jim tenderfoot," the old +fellow continued as a damp gleam of sympathy shone in his eye,"is +both hardship an' tragedy. Which of course thar's a mighty sight of +difference. A hardship a gent lives through; but it's a tragedy when +his light's put out. An' as Slim Jim don't live through this none, +it's nacherally a tragedy that a-way. + +"I frequent sees bad luck to other folks, as well as comin' to me +personal, in the years I inhabits the grass country, but this was +shorely the toughest. It even overplays anythin' Rainbow Sam ever is +ag'inst; an' the hard luck of Rainbow Sam is a proverb of Arizona. + +"'Which I reckons I was foaled with a copper on me,' says this +Rainbow Sam to Enright one day. 'In all my born days I never makes a +killin'--never gets up winner once. I was foaled a loser, an' I'll +keep a-losin' ontil this yere malady--which it's consumption-which +has me in charge delivers me to the angels an' gets its receipt.' + +"It's a mockery what transpires touchin' this Rainbow Sam. Jest as +he states, the consumption's got him treed an' out on a limb. Doc +Peets says, himse'f, nothin' can he'p him; an' when Peets quits a +little thing like consumption an' shoves his chair back, you-alls +can gamble a gent's health, that a-way, is on a dead kyard. + +"I recalls how Rainbow Sam dies; which he rides out into eternity +easy an' painless. We-alls is into a poker-game nne night-that is, +five of us--when Doc Peets is called away. + +"'See yere, Rainbow,' says Peets to Rainbow Sam, who's penniless an' +tharfore lookin' on; 'you never has a morsel of luck in your life. +Now, yere: You play my hand an' chips awhile. I'm on velvet for +three hundred an' fifty, an' I'd as soon you'd lose it into the game +as any sport I knows. An' to rouse your moral nacher I wants to tell +you, whatever you rakes in you keeps. Now thar's luck at the jump; +you can't lose an' you may win, so set in yere. Napoleon never has +half the show.' + +"Peets goes away for an hour about somethin', an' Rainbow Sam takes +his seat; an', merely to show how one gent outlucks another, while +Peets has had the luck of dogs it's that profuse an' good, it looks +like the best Rainbow can get is an even break. For half an hour he +wins an' he loses about equal; an' he's shore tryin' hard to win, +too. + +"'If I takes in a couple of hundred or so,' says this Rainbow to me, +'I allows I'll visit my folks in the States once for luck.' + +"But he never visits them folks he adverts to. It's on Boggs's deal, +an' he's throwin' the kyards 'round when Rainbow's took bad. His +consumption sorter mutinies onto him all at once. He's got the seat +on the left of Boggs, too,--got the age. + +"'Play my hand,' he says to Hamilton, who's stepped in from the +dance-hall; 'play my hand, Jim, till I feels a little better. I'll +be all right in a moment. Barkeep, deal me some whiskey.' + +"So Rainbow walks over to the bar, an' Hamilton picks up his kyards. +I notes that Rainbow steps off that time some tottersome; but he's +so plumb weak that a-way, cats is robust to him; an' so I deems +nothin' tharof. I'm skinnin' my kyards a bit interested anyhow, +bein' in the hole myse'f. + +"Everybody comes in this deal, an' when the chips is in the center-- +this yere's before the draw--Hamilton, speakin' up for Rainbow, +says: + +"'These yere's Doc Peets's chips anyhow?' + +"'Which they shorely be,' says Boggs, 'so play 'em merciless, 'cause +Peets is rich.' + +"'That's what I asks for,' says Hamilton, 'for I don't aim to make +no mistakes with pore Rainbow's money.' + +"'That's all right,' says Boggs, 'dump 'em in. If you-all lose, it's +Peets's; if you win, it's Rainbow's.' + +"'Play 'em game an' liberal, Old Man,' says Rainbow over by the +bar,--an' it strikes me at the time his tones is weak an' queer; but +bein' as I jest then notes a third queen in my hand, I don't have no +chance to dwell on the fact. 'Play 'em game an' free,' says Rainbow +ag'in. 'Free as the waters of life. Win or lose, she's all the same +a hundred year from now.' + +"Hamilton takes another look an' then raises the ante a hundred +dollars. This yere is table stakes; this game was; an' the stakes is +five hundred. + +"'Which I plays this,' says Hamilton, as he comes up with the +hundred raise, 'the same as I would for myse'f, which the same means +plenteous an' free as a king.' + +"Thar's three of us who stays, one of the same bein' me. I allers +recalls it easy, 'cause it frost-bites my three queens for over +three hundred dollars before the excitement dies away. Boggs, who's +so vociferous recent about Hamilton playin' wide open, stays out; +not havin' as good as nine-high. + +"On the draw Hamilton allows Rainbow's hand needs one kyard, an' he +gets it. I takes one also; the same bein' futile, so far as he'pin' +my hand goes; an' the others takes kyards various. + +"Thar's only one raise, an' that's when it gets to Hamilton. He sets +in a little over two hundred dollars, bein' the balance of the +stake; an' two of us is feeble-minded enough to call. What does he +have? Well, it's ample for our ondoin' that a-way. It's a straight +flush of diamonds; jack at the head of the class. It shorely carries +off the pot like it's a whirlwind. As near as I can measure, +Hamilton claws off with about six hundred dollars for Rainbow on +that one hand. + +"'Yere you be, Rainbow!' shouts Boggs. 'Come a-runnin'! It's now you +visits them relations; you makes a killin' at last.' + +"It turns out some late for Rainbow though. Thar's no reply to +Boggs's talk, an' when we-alls goes over to him where he's set down +by the end of the bar thar, with his arm on a monte-table, an' his +chin on his shirt, Rainbow Sam is dead. + +"'Which I regrets,' says Doc Peets when he returns, 'that Rainbow +don't stay long enough to onderstand how luck sets his way at last. +It most likely comforts him an' makes his goin' out more cheerful.' + +"'It's a good sign, though,' says Cherokee Hall, 'that straight +flush is. Which it shows Rainbow strikes a streak of luck; an' mebby +it lasts long enough to get him by the gates above all right. That's +all I asks when my time comes; that I dies when I'm commencin' a run +of luck.' + +"Oh! about this Slim Jim tenderfoot an' his tragedy! Do you know I +plumb overlooks him. I gets trailed off that a-way after pore old +Rainbow Sam, an' Slim Jim escapes my mem'ry complete. + +"Which the story of this gent, even the little we-alls knows, is a +heap onusual. No one, onless he's the postmaster, ever does hear his +name. He sorter ha'nts about Red Dog an' Wolfville indiscriminate +for mighty nigh a year; an' they calls him 'Slim Jim' with us, an' +'The Tenderfoot' in Red Dog; but, as I says, what's his real name +never does poke up its head. + +"Whatever brings this yere Slim Jim into the cow country is too +boggy a crossin' for me. Thar ain't a thing he can do or learn to. +We-alls has him on one round-up, an' it's cl'ar from the jump he +ain't meant by Providence for the cattle business. The meekest +bronco in the bunch bucks him off; an' actooally he's that timid +he's plumb afraid of ponies an' cattle both. + +"We-alls fixes Slim Jim's saddle with buckin'-straps; an' even +fastens a roll of blankets across the saddle-horn; but it ain't +enough. Nothin' bar tyin' Slim Jim into the saddle, like the hoss- +back Injuns does to papooses, could save him. + +"An' aside from nacheral awk'ardness an' a light an' fitful seat in +a saddle, it looks like this Slim Jim has baleful effects on a +bronco. To show you: One mornin' we ropes up for him a pony which +has renown for its low sperits. It acts, this yere pony does, like +it's suffered some disapp'intment which blights it an' breaks its +heart; an' no amount of tightenin' of the back cinch; not even +spurrin' of it in the shoulder an' neck like playful people who's +out for a circus does, is ever known to evolve a buck-jump outen +him, he's that sad. Which this is so well known, the pony's name is +'Remorse.' + +"As I says, merely to show the malignant spell this yere Slim Jim +casts over a bronco, we-alls throws him onto this Remorse pony one +mornin'. + +"'Which if you can't get along with that cayouse,' remarks Jack +Moore at the time, 'I reckons it's foreordained you-all has to go +afoot.' + +"An' that's how it turns out. No sooner is Slim Jim in the saddle +than that Remorse pony arches his back like a hoop, sticks his nose +between his knees, an' gives way to sech a fit of real old worm- +fence buckin' as lands Slim Jim on his sombrero, an' makes expert +ponies simply stand an' admire. + +"That's the last round-up Slim Jim attempts; workin' cattle he says +himse'f is too deep a game for him, an' he never does try no more. +So he hangs about Wolfville an' Red Dog alternate, turnin' little +jim-crow tricks for the express company, or he'pin' over to the +stage company's corrals, an' sorter manages to live. + +"Now an' then some party who's busy drinkin', an' tharfore hasn't +time for faro, an' yet is desirous the same be played, stakes Slim +Jim ag'inst the game; an' it happens at times he makes a small pick- +up that a-way. But his means of livelihood is shorely what you-alls +would call precar'ous. + +"An' yet, as I sends my mind back over the trail, I never knows of +nothin' bad this yere Slim Jim does. You needn't go inferrin' none, +from his havin' a terror of steers an' broncos that a-way, that he's +timid plumb through. Thar's reason to deem him game when he's up +ag'inst mere man. + +"Once, so they tells the story, Curly Bill rounds up this Slim Jim +in a Red Dog hurdy-gurdy an' concloods to have some entertainment +with him. + +"'Dance, you shorthorn!' says this yere Curly Bill, yankin' out his +six-shooter an' p'intin' it mighty sudden at Slim Jim's foot; +'shuffle somethin' right peart now, or you-all emerges shy a toe.' + +"Does this Slim Jim dance? Never cavorts a step. At the first move +he swarms all over this Curly Bill like a wild-cat, makes him drop +his gun, an' sends him out of the hurdy-gurdy on a canter. That's +straight; that's the painful fact in the case of Curly Bill, who +makes overgay with the wrong gent. + +"Later, mebby an hour, so the party says who relates it to me, Curly +Bill sends back word into the hurdy-gurdy, tellin' the barkeep, if +his credit's good after sech vicissitoodes, to treat the house. He +allows the drinks is on him, an' that a committee can find him +settin' on the post office steps sorter goin' over himse'f for +fractures, if it's held necessary for him to be present when the +drinks is took. + +"Which of course any gent's credit is good at the bar that a-way; +an' so a small delegation of three ropes up this yere Curly Bill an' +brings him back to the hurdy-gurdy, where he gets his gun ag'in, an' +Slim Jim an' him makes up. + +"'Which I renounces all idee of ever seein' you dance some,' says +Curly Bill, when he an' Jim shakes; 'an' I yereby marks your +moccasins plumb off my list of targets.' + +"Everybody's pleased at this; an' the barkeep is delighted speshul, +as one of them reeconciliations that a-way is mighty condoosive to +the sale of nose-paint. I'm yere to remark, if thar ain't no more +reeconciliations on earth, an' everybody stands pat on them hatreds +an' enmities of his, whiskey-drinkin' falls off half. + +"I only su'gest this turn-up with Curly Bill to 'lustrate that it's +about as I says, an' that while Slim Jim's reluctant an' hesitatin' +in the presence of wild steers, an' can't adhere to a pony much, +this yere girlishness don't extend to men none; which last he faces +prompt an' willin' as a lion. + +"Thar's times when I shorely ponders the case of this Slim Jim a +mighty sight, 'cause he keeps strikin' me as a good gent gone bad, +an' as bein' the right gent in the wrong place. + +"'This pore maverick is plumb Eastern, that's all,' says Enright one +day, while he's discussin' of this Slim Jim. 'He ain't to blame, but +he ain't never goin' to do, none whatever, out yere. He can't no +more get used to Arizona than one of the Disciples, an' he might +camp 'round for years.' + +"It's mebby hard onto a year when along comes the beginnin' of the +end as far as this Slim Jim's concerned, only we-alls don't know it. +The postmaster says afterward he gets a letter; an' by what's found +on the remainder it looks like the postmaster's right, an' this +letter sets him goin' wrong. I allers allows, after he gets this +missive, that he sees the need of money that a-way an' plenty of it; +an' that it's got to come quick. + +"Most likely he's been bluffin' some parties in the East about how +rich he is an' how lucrative he's doin',--sech bluffs bein' common +in the West,--an' now along comes events an' folks he's fooled, an' +his bluff is called. + +"When it arrives, none of us knows of this yere letter the +postmaster mentions, an' which is later read by all; but it's about +that time Slim Jim acts queer an' locoed. He's flustered an' +stampeded about somethin', we-alls notes that; an' Dave Tutt even +forgets himse'f as a gent so far as to ask Slim Jim what's up. + +"`Which you looks oneasy these autumn days,' says Tutt to Slim Jim. +'What's wrong?' + +"'Nothin',' says Slim Jim, lookin' a bit woozy, 'nothin' wrong. A +friend of mine is likely to show up yere; that's all.' + +"'Which he has the air of a fugitive from jestice when he says it,' +observes Tutt, when he speaks of it after all's over; 'though +jedgin' by the party who's on his trail that time I don't reckon +he's done nothin' neither.' + +"It's shorely the need of money drives this Slim Jim to turnin' +route-agent an' go holdin' up the stage, for the evenin' he quits +camp he says to Cherokee Hall: 'S'pose I asks you-all to lend me +money, quite a bundle, say, would you do it?' + +"'I turns faro for my money,' says Cherokee; 'which I merely +mentions it to show I comes honestly by my roll. As to borrowin' of +me, you-all or any gent in hard lines can get my money by showin' he +needs it worse than I do; an' to encourage you I might say I don't +need money much. So, go on an' tell me the news about yourse'f, an' +if it's as bad as the way you looks, I reckons I'll have to stake +you, even if it takes half my pile.' Tharupon Cherokee urges Slim +Jim to onfold his story. + +"But Slim Jim gets shy an' won't talk or tell Cherokee what's +pesterin' him, or how much money he needs. + +"'No,' he says, after thinkin' a little, 'I never begs a stake yet, +an' I never will. Anyhow I sees another way which is better.' + +"Countin' noses afterwards, it's probably this talk with Cherokee is +the last Slim Jim has before he breaks over into the hills on the +hunt for money. He goes afoot, too; for he don't own no pony, an' he +couldn't, as I explains previous, stay on him if he does. + +"But he fixes himse'f with a Winchester which he gets from the +stage-company people themse'fs on a talk he makes about takin' some +reecreation with the coyotes, an' p'ints straight over into Rawhide +Canyon,--mebby it's six miles from camp. When the stage gets along +an hour later, this Slim Jim's made himse'f a mask with a +handkerchief, an' is a full-fledged hold-up which any express +company could be proud to down. Old Monte relates what happens in +the canyon, 'cause from where he's stuck up on the box he gets a +better view. + +"'Yere's how this happens,' says Old Monte, while renooin' his yooth +with Red Light licker after he's got in. 'It's a little hazy in the +canyon, comin' evenin' that a-way, an' my eyes is watery with the +shootin' goin' on, an' I tharfore don't say I notes things none +minoote; but as near as I can, you gets the story. + +"`Thar's only one passenger, an' she's a woman. Which for that +matter she's a beautiful girl, with eyes like a buck antelope's; but +bein' she's layin' over to the stage station defunct right now, +along with this yere Slim Jim, I don't dwell none on how she looks.' + +"'When I pulls out from Tucson I has this yere young female inside; +an' the company puts two Wells-Fargo gyards on top of the coach, the +same bein' the first time in months. These Wells-Fargo parties ain't +along for hold-ups, but jest 'cause they has business over yere, an' +so comes by stage same as other gents. + +"`It all goes smooth ontil I'm rattlin' along in Rawhide Canyon not +half-a-dozen miles from where we-alls is now drinkin' all free an' +amiable, like life's nothin' but sunshine. + +"'The first p'inter I has that I'm up ag'inst it, bang! goes a +Winchester, an' throws my off leader dead ag'inst the trail. Thar's +no goin' 'round the dead hoss, an' bar the nacheral rarin' an' +pitchin' of the other five on beholdin' of the ontimely end of their +companion that a-way, the whole business comes to a dead stop. + +"'"Hold up your hands!" says a voice up the rocks on one side. + +"'My hands is already up, for I'm an old stage-driver, gents, an' +you-alls can gamble I knows my trade. I'm hired to drive. It ain't +no part of my game to fight hold-ups an' stand off route-agents that +a-way, an' get shot dead for it by their pards the next trip; so, as +I says, the moment that Winchester goes off, I clamps my fingers +back of my head an' sets thar. Of course I talks back at this hold- +up a heap profane, for I don't aim to have the name of allowin' any +gent to rustle my stage an' me not cuss him out. "'But these yere +Wells-Fargo sharps, they never holds up their hands. That's nacheral +enough, for them gents is hired to fight, an' this partic'lar trip +thar's full six thousand dollars to go to war over. + +"With the first shot the Wells-Fargo gents--they was game as goats +both of 'em--slides offen the coach an' takes to shootin'. The guns +is makin' a high old rattle of it, an' I'm hopin' the hold-up won't +get to over-shootin' an' drill me, when the first casooalty occurs. +One of the Wells-Fargo sports gets a bullet plumb through his frame, +an' is dead an' out in the crack of a whip. + +"'It looks like the hold-up sees him tumble, for it's then he cuts +loose a whoop, jumps down onto the trail an' charges. He comes a- +shootin', too, an' the way the lead an' fire fetches forth from that +Winchester he's managin' shore reminds me of them Roman candles last +July. + +"'All this yere don't take ten seconds. An' it don't last ten +seconds more. As my hold-up comes chargin' an' shootin' towards the +stage, I overhears a scream inside, an' the next moment that young +female passenger opens the door an' comes scamperin' out. + +"'If she tries she couldn't have selected no worse epock. She hits +the ground, an' the second she does--for I'm lookin' over at her at +the time--she stops one of that hold-up's bullets an' goes down with +a great cry. + +"'It's on me, gents, at this p'int to take all resks an' go down an' +look-out the play for the girl. But I never gets a chance, an' it's +as well I don't; for towards the last the shootin' of the remainin' +Wells-Fargo person is reckless an' inordinate. It's plumb +reedundant; that shootin' is. But as I remarks, I never has no +occasion to go to the girl; for as I feels the impulse I hears the +hold-up shout: + +"'"God! it's Mary! It's my sister!" + +"'Thar's a letter on him we finds later, which shows this statement +about my passenger bein' his sister is troo; an' that she's p'intin' +out when downed, now they's orphans--which the letter states their +father's jest cashed in--to come an' keep house for him. As the +hold-up makes this yere exclamation about the girl bein' his +relative that a-way, his Winchester goes a-rattlin' onto the trail +an' he gathers her in his arms. However, he don't last longer than a +drink of whiskey now. He don't no more'n lift her up, before even he +kisses her, the remainin' Wells-Fargo gent downs him, an' the riot's +over complete. + +"'Three killed an' none wounded is how results stacks up; an' after +me an' the live Wells-Fargo gent cl'ars the dead leader outen the +trail, we-alls lays out the remainders inside all peaceful, an' +comes a-curvin' on to Wolfville. It's then, as we puts 'em in the +coach, I sees that my hold-up's that onfortunate felon, Slim Jim. +Which I was shorely astonished. I says to the Wells-Fargo gent, as +we looks at Slim Jim: + +"'"Pard, the drinks is due from me on this. If I has a week to guess +in, I'd never said 'Slim Jim.'" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +JAYBIRD BOB'S JOKE. + + +"Whatever makes this yere jaybird Bob believe he's a humorist," said +the Old Cattleman one afternoon as we slowly returned from a walk, +"whatever it is misleads him to so deem himself is shorely too many +for me. Doc Peets tells him himse'f one day he's plumb wrong. + +"'You-all's nacherally a somber, morose party,' says Doc Peets this +time, 'an' nothin' jocose or jocund about you. Your disp'sition, +Jaybird, don't no more run to jokes than a prairie-dog's." + +"'Which I would admire to know why not?' says Jaybird Bob. + +"'Well,' goes on Doc Peets, 'you thinks too slow--too much like a +cow in a swamp. Your mind moves sluggish that a-way, an' sorter +sinks to the hocks each step. If you was born to be funny your +intellects would be limber an' frivolous.' + +"'Bein' all this is personal to me,' says Jaybird Bob, 'I takes +leave to regard you as wrong. My jokes is good, high-grade jokes; +an' when you-all talks of me bein' morose, it's a mere case of +bluff.' An' so Jaybird goes on a-holdin of himse'f funny ontil we- +alls has him to bury. + +"No; Jaybird ain't his shore-'nough name; it's jest a handle to his +'dentity, so we-alls picks it up handy and easy. Jaybird's real name +is Graingerford,--Poindexter Graingerford. But the same is cumbersom +an' onwieldy a whole lot; so when he first trails into Wolfville we- +alls considers among ourse'fs an' settles it's a short cut to call +him 'Jaybird Bob,' that a-way. An' we does. + +"It's on the spring round-up this yere Jaybird first develops that +he regards himse'f witty. It's in the morning as we-alls has saddled +up an' lines out to comb the range roundabout for cattle. Thar's a +tenderfoot along whose name is Todd, an', as he's canterin' off, +Jaybird comes a-curvin' up on his bronco an' reaches over an' tails +this shorthorn's pony. + +"What's tailin' a pony? It's ridin' up from the r'ar an' takin' a +half-hitch on your saddle. horn with the tail of another gent's +pony, an' then spurrin' by an' swappin' ends with the whole outfit,- +-gent, hoss, an' all. + +"It's really too toomultuous for a joke, an' mebby breaks the pony's +neck, mebby the rider's. But whether he saves his neck or no, the +party whose pony is thus tailed allers emergers tharfrom deshevelled +an' wrought-up, an' hotter than a wolf. So no one plays this yere +joke much; not till he's ready to get shot at. + +"As I says, this Jaybird watches Todd as he rides off. Bein' new on +the range that a-way, Todd don't ride easy. A cow saddle ain't built +like these yere Eastern hulls, nohow. The stirrup is set two inches +further back for one thing, an' it's compiled a heap different other +ways. Bein' onused to cow saddles, an' for that matter cow ponies, +this Todd lops over for'ard an' beats with his elbows like he's a +curlew or somethin' flyin', an' I reckons it's sech proceedin's +makes Jaybird allow he's goin' to be funny an' tail Todd's pony. + +"As I explains, he capers along after Todd an' reaches over an' gets +a handful of the pony's tail; an' then, wroppin' it 'round his +saddle-horn, he goes by on the jump an' spreads Todd an' his bronco +permiscus about the scene. This yere Todd goes along the grass on +all fours like a jack-rabbit. + +"Which Todd, I reckons, is the hostilest gent in south-east Arizona. +Before ever he offers to get up, he lugs out his six-shooter an' +makes some mighty sincere gestures that a-way to shoot up Jaybird. +But he's slow with his weepon, bein' spraddled out on the grass, an' +it gives Dave Tutt an' Enright a chance to jump in between an' stop +the deal. + +"We-alls picks Todd up, an' rounds up his pony,--which scrambles to +its feet an' is now cavortin' about like its mind is overturned,-- +an' explains to him this yere is a joke. But he's surly an' +relentless about it; an' it don't take no hawk to see he don't +forgive Jaybird a little bit. + +"'Tailin' a gent's pony,' says Todd, 'is no doubt thrillin' +amoosement for folks lookin' on, but thar's nothin' of a redeemin' +nature in it from the standp'int of the party whose pony's upheaved +that a-way. Not to be misonderstood at this yere crisis,' goes on +this Todd, 'I wants to announce that from now for'ard life will have +but one purpose with me, which'll be to down the next gent whoever +tails a pony of mine. The present incident goes as a witticism; but +you can gamble the next won't be so regarded.' + +"That sorter ends the talk, an' all of us but the cook an' the hoss- +hustlers bein' in the saddle by now, we disperses ourse'fs through +the scenery to work the cattle an' proceed with the round-up we-alls +is on. We notes, though, that tailin' Todd's pony don't go ag'in +with safety. + +"It's when we-alls rides away that Doc Peets--who's out with the +round-up, though he ain't got no cattle-brand himse'f--tells Jaybird +he's not a humorist, like I already repeats. + +"But, as I su'gests, this Jaybird Bob can't believe it none. He's +mighty shore about his jokes bein' excellent good jokes; an' while +it's plain Todd ain't got no confidence in him an' distrusts him +complete since he tips over his bronco that mornin', it looks like +Jaybird can't let him alone. An' them misdeeds of Jaybird's keeps +goin' on, ontil by the merest mistake--for it's shore an accident if +ever one happens in the cow country--this yere tenderfoot shoots up +Jaybird an' kills him for good. + +"It looks to us like it's a speshul Providence to warn folks not to +go projectin' about, engaged in what you might call physical jests +none. Still, this yere removal of Jaybird don't take place till +mighty near the close of the round-up; an' intervenin', he's +pirootin' 'round, stockin' the kyards an' settin' up hands on the +pore shorthorn continuous. + +"One of Jaybird's jokes--'one of his best,' Jaybird calls it-- +results in stampedin' the herd of cattle we-alls is bringin' along +at the time--bein' all cows an' their calves--to a brandin'-pen. +Which thar's two thousand, big an' little, in the bunch; an' +Jaybird's humor puts 'em to flight like so many blackbirds; an' it +takes two days hard ridin' for the whole outfit to bring 'em +together ag'in. + +"Among other weaknesses this Todd imports from the States is, he's +afraid of snakes. Rattlesnakes is his abhorrence, an' if each is a +disembodied sperit he can't want 'em further off. He's allers +alarmed that mebby, somehow, a rattlesnake will come pokin' in onder +his blankets nights, an' camp with him while he's asleep. An' this +yere wretched Jaybird fosters them delusions. + +"'About them serpents,' I overhears Jaybird say to him one evenin' +while we-alls is settin' 'round;--all but Moore an' Tutt, who's +ridin' herd; ''bout them serpents; a gent can't be too partic'lar. +It looks like they has but one hope, which it's to crawl into a +gent's blankets an' sleep some with him. Which, if he moves or turns +over, they simply emits a buzz an' grabs him I knows of forty folks +who's bit that a-way by snakes, an' nary a one lives to explain the +game.' + +"'Be rattlesnakes thick in Arizona?' I hears Todd say to this +Jaybird. + +"'Be they thick?' answers Jaybird. 'Well, I shore wishes I had +whiskey for all the rattlesnakes thar is yereabouts. I don't want to +go overstatin' the census to a gent who is out playin' for +information, an' who's learnin' fast, but I s'pose now thar ain't +none less than a billion snakes in southeast Arizona alone. If I +could saw off the little passel of cattle I has on this range, you +can gamble I'd pull my freight to-morrow. It's all right for sech +old Cimmarons as Enright, an' sech parties as that sawbones Peets, +to go bluffin' about thar' bein' no rattlesnakes to speak of, an' +that they couldn't p'ison you to death no how; but you bet I ain't +seen forty of my nearest friends cash in of snake-bites, an' not +learn nothin'. An' almost every time it's a rattlesnake as comes +slidin' into bed with 'em while they's locked in dreams, an' who +gets hot an' goes to chewin' of 'em, because they wants to turn out +before the snake does. Rattlesnakes that a-way wants to sleep till +it's fourth-drink time an' the sun's 'way up yonder. An' when a gent +goes to rollin' out of his blankets say at sun-up, it makes 'em +monstrous angry to be disturbed; an' the first he knows of where +they be an' how they looks on early risin', their teeth's in him up +to the gyard, an' before night thar's one less gent to cook for, an' +an extra saddle rides along in the grub-wagon with the blankets when +they next moves camp.' + +"Of course all this is a heap impressive to Todd; an' while Enright +an' Peets both tells him Jaybird's havin' fun with him, you can see +he's mortal afraid every night when he spreads his blankets, an' he +makes a cirele about where he sleeps at with a horse-ha'r lariat +he's got from a Mexican, an' who tells him it'll tickle the snakes' +necks when they goes to crawl across it, an' make 'em keep away. + +"The way this yere Jaybird manages to stampede the bunch that time +is this a-way. Jaybird comes ridin' in from the cattle about three +hours before sun-up, to turn out Tutt, who is due to take his place +on herd. Jaybird's got a rawhide rope that he's drugged about in the +grass, which makes it damp an' cold. As Jaybird rides up to camp he +sees this Todd rolled in his blankets, snorin' to beat four of a +kind. + +"Nacherally Jaybird's out to be joyous in a second. He rides up +close to this he'pless shorthorn as he lays asleep, an' tosses a +loop of his wet rawhide across his countenance where it's turned up +in the moonlight. As it settles down cold an' startlin' on Todd's +skin, Jaybird yells: + +"Snake, Todd! Thar's a rattlesnake on you bigger'n a dog.' + +"Jaybird says later as how this Todd behaves tremendous. He b'iles +up into the atmosphere with a howl like a wolf; an', grabbin' a +blanket in each hand, he starts out over the plains in a state of +frenzy. Which the worst is he charges headlong toward the herd; an' +what with them shrieks he volunteers, an' the blankets flappin' an' +wavin', thar ain't a cow in the bunch who stays in her right mind a +moment. Which she springs to her feet, an takin' her offspring +along, goes surgin' off into the hills for good. You couldn't head +or stop 'em then. It's the completest case of stampede I ever turns +out to behold. + +"No; this yere Todd never gathers the rights of the eepisode. He's +that peevish an' voylent by nacher no one tells him it's Jaybird; +an' onless, in the light of knowin' more, he has since figgered out +the trooth, he allows to this day a rattlesnake as big as a roll of +blankets tries to recline on his face that time. + +"To keep peace in camp an' not let him go to pawin' 'round for real +trouble with the festive Jaybird, Enright stands in to cap the game +himse'f; an' puts it up in confab with this Todd the next day as how +he sees the rattlesnake, an' that it's mighty near bein' a whopper. + +"'It's shore,' says Enright, when he an' Todd is conversin' tharon, +'the most giant serpent I ever sees without the aid of licker. An' +when he goes streakin' off into the gloom, bein' amazed an' rattled +by your cries, he leaves, so far as I'm concerned, a trail of relief +behind. You-all can gamble, I wasn't interruptin' of no sech snake, +nor makin' of no pretexts for his detainment. + +"'What for was his rattles like?' says Todd; an' he gets pale at the +mere sound of Enright's talk. + +"'As to them rattles,' says Enright, like he's mighty thoughtful +tryin' to recall 'em to mind, 'as to this reptile's rattles, it's +that dark that while I sees 'em I couldn't but jest. So far as I +notes anythin' they looks like a belt full of car-tridges, sorter +corrugated an' noomerous. + +"Now this yere which I relates, while no doubt burnin' experiences +to Todd, is after all harmless enough. An' to people not careful +about the basis of their glee it might do some to laugh at. But it +all closes up on a play with nothin' gay nor merry in it; leastwise +not for Jaybird Bob. + +"This yere finish joke of jaybird's transpires one evenin' as the +cook's startin' in to rustle some chuck. The grub-wagon's been +stopped in the mouth of Peeled Pine Canyon. Every gent's in camp but +this yere tenderfoot Todd. Enright, who's actin' as round-up boss +for the outfit--for everybody's cattle's bein' worked together that +a-way, like we allers does--has sent Todd peerin' 'round for cattle, +'way off up the valley into which the Peeled Pine Canyon opens. This +yere shorthorn's due to be back any time now, 'cause it's only a +question of how far up the valley does he go. He don't run no show +to be lost, for nothin' less aerial than goats could climb out of +the canyon he's in, an' tharfore he's bound to find camp. + +"Of course, knowin' every gent's station in the day's ridin', we- +alls is plenty aware that this tenderfoot Todd is some'ers above us +in the valley. None of the rest of us is turnin' our minds to him +probably, except Jaybird Bob. It all of a bump like a buckin' pony +strikes Jaybird that he's missin' a onusual chance to be buoyant. + +"'What for a play would it be,' says Jaybird, rousin' up from where +he lays watchin' of the cook slice salt hoss for the fryin'-pan, +'what for a game would it be, I says, for a passel of us to lay out +up the draw, an' bush-whack this yere ontaught person Todd as he +comes ridin' down to camp? We-alls could hop out at him, a-whoopin' +an' shoutin', an' bein' wropped up in blankets, he allows it's shore +Injuns an' goes plumb locoed.' + +"`You-all will keep harrowin' away at this Todd party, Jaybird,' +says Enright, 'ontil you arises from the game loser. Now I don't +reckon none I'd play Apache if I'm you. Thar's too much effort in +bein' an Apache that a-way. I'd lay yere an' think up some joke +which don't demand so much industry, an' ain't calc'lated to scare +an innocent gent to death.' + +"But Jaybird won't listen. He falls into admiration of his scheme; +an' at last Tutt an' Jack Moore allows they'll go along an' play +they's aborigines with Jaybird an' note how the tenderfoot stands +the racket. + +"'As long as this yere Jaybird's bound to make the play,' says Jack +Moore to Enright, talkin' one side, 'it's a heap better to have the +conserv'tive element represented in the deal. So I puts it up, it's +a good sage move for me an' Tutts to stand in. We-alls will come +handy to pull Jaybird an' this shorthorn apart if they gets their +horns locked in the course of them gaities.' + +"Enright takes the same view; so Jaybird an' Moore an' Tutt wanders +off up the canyon a mile, an' lays in wait surreptitious to head off +Todd. Jack tells me the story when him an' Tutt comes ridin' back +with the corpse. + +"'This is how we does,' says Jack. 'Me an' Tutt an' deceased--which +last is Jaybird all right enough--is ensconced behind a p'int of +rocks. Jaybird's got his blanket wropped, 'round him so he looks +like a savage. It ain't long when we-alls hears the tenderfoot +comin' down the canyon; it's likely he's half-mile away. He's +runnin' onto us at a road-gait; an' when he's about two hundred +yards off Jaybird turns out a yell to make you shiver, shakes a load +or two outen his gun, goes surgin' out from 'round the p'int of +rocks, an' charges straight at this onthinkin' tenderfoot. It is due +to trooth to say, me an' Tutt follows this Jaybird's suit, only not +so voylent as to whoops. + +"'Does it scare up the tenderfoot? Well, it shorely alarms him a +heap. He takes Jaybird for an Injun an' makes no question; which the +same is nowise strange; I'd took him for a savage myse'f, only, +bein' in the deal that a-way I knows it's Jaybird. So, as I remarks, +it horrifies the tenderfoot on end, an' at the first sight of +Jaybird he whirls his pony an' lights out up that valley like +antelope. + +"'Nacherally we-alls follows; Jaybird leadin', a-whoopin', an' a- +shootin', an' throwin' no end of sperit into it. It's a success, +this piece of wit is, up to this juncture, an' Jaybird puts a heap +of zest into it. + +"'The weak spot in all this yere humor grows out of the idees this +tenderfoot's been gainin', an' the improvements he's been makin', +while stragglin' about in our s'ciety. I onhesitatin'ly states that +if this yere joke is pulled off by Jaybird when Todd first enters +our midst, it might have been the vict'ry of his life. But Jaybird +defers it too long. This tenderfoot has acquired a few Western ways; +enough to spoil the fun an' send pore Jaybird a-curvin' to his home +on high. + +"'This is what that shorthorn does which teaches me he's learnin'. +While he's humpin' off up the canyon, an' me an' Jaybird an' Tutt is +stampedin' along in pursoot, the fugitive throws loose his six- +shooter, an' without even turnin' his head or lookin' back at us, he +onhooks the entire bundle of lead our way. + +"Which the worst feature of it is, this backhanded, blind shootin' +is a winner. The very first shot smites Jaybird plumb through the +hat, an' he goes off his pony without even mentionin' about it to +either Tutt or me. + +"`That's all thar is to the report. Dave an' me pulls up our +broncos, abandons the joke, lays Jaybird across his saddle like a +sack of corn, an' returns to state the case.' + +"'Whatever did you-alls do with this frightened stranger?' asks +Enright. + +"'Which we never does nothin',' says Jack. 'The last I beholds, he's +flyin' up the valley, hittin' nothin' but the high places. An' +assoomin' his project is to get away, he's succeedin' admirable. As +he vanishes, I should jedge from his motions he's reloadin' his gun; +an' from the luck he has with Jaybird, Tutt an' me is led to believe +thar's no real object in followin' him no further. I don't press my +s'ciety on no gent; shorely not on some locoed tenderfoot that a-way +who's pulled his gun an' is done blazin' away erratic, without +purpose or aim.' + +"'Don't you an' Tutt know where he is at?' demands Enright. + +"'Which we shorely don't,' says Jack. 'If his hoss holds, an' he +don't swerve none from the direction he's p'inting out in when he +fades from view, he's goin' to be over in the San Simon country by +to-morrow mornin' when we eats our grub; an' that's half way to the +Borax desert. If you yearns for my impressions,' concloods Jack, +'drawn from a-seein' of him depart, I'm free to say I don't reckon +you-alls is goin' to meet this yere tenderfoot none soon.' + +"An' that's about the size of it. Jack calls the turn. Jaybird's +last joke alarms this tenderfoot Todd plumb outen Arizona, an' thar +ain't none of us ever sees ha'r, horn, nor hoof mark of him no more. +An' he takes with him, this Todd does, the boss pony in our bunch." + + + + +CHAPTER XVX. + +BOGGS'S EXPERIENCE. + + +"No; thar's nothin' prolix about Boggs. Which on the contrary, his +nacher is shorely arduous that a-way. If it's a meetin' of the +committee, for instance, with intent then an' thar to dwell a whole +lot on the doin's of some malefactor, Boggs allers gets to a mental +show-down ahead of the other gents involved. Either he's out to +throw this party loose, or stretch his neck, or run him outen camp, +or whatever's deemed exact jestice, long before sech slow-an'-shore +people as Old Man Enright even looks at their hands. The trooth is, +Boggs ain't so strong on jedgement; his long suit is instinct. An' +moreover I knows from his drawin' four kyards so much in poker, +Boggs is plumb emotional." + +At this point in his discourse the Old Cattle man paused and put in +several profound minutes in apparent contemplation of Boggs. Then he +went on. + +"That's it; Boggs is emotional; an' I shorely reckons which he'd +even been a heap religious, only thar's no churches much on Boggs's +range. Boggs tells me himse'f he comes mighty near bein' caught in +some speritual round-up one time, an' I allers allows, after hearin' +Boggs relate the tale, that if he'd only been submerged in what you- +alls calls benigner inflooences that a-way, he'd most likely made +the fold all right an' got garnered in with the sheep. + +"It's just after Short Creek Dave gets to be one of them +'vangelists. Dave has been exhortin' of Wolfville to leave off its +ways, over in the warehouse of the New York Store, an' that same +evenin' Boggs, bein' some moved, confides in me how once he mebby +half-way makes up his mind he'll be saved. + +"'Leastwise,' says Boggs, when he takes me into his past that a-way, +'I allows I'll be religious in the spring after the round-up is +over. But I don't; so you can't, after all, call it a religious +exper'ence none; nothin' more'n a eepisode. + +"'It's winter when I makes them grace-of-heaven determinations,' +goes on this Boggs, 'an' the spring round-up is months away. But I +allers puts it up I'd shorely filled my hand an' got plumb into the +play, only it's a bad winter; an' in the spring the cattle, weak an' +starved, is gettin' down an' chillin' to death about the water- +holes; an' as results tharof I'm ridin' the hills, a-cussin' an' a- +swearin'; an' all 'round it's that rough, an' I'm that profane an' +voylent, I reckons towards April probably my soul's buried onder ten +foot of cuss-words, an' that j'inin' the church in my case is mighty +likely to be a bluff. An' so I passes it up. + +"'You sees,' says Boggs, 'thar's no good tryin' to hold out kyards +on your Redeemer. If your heart ain't right it's no use to set into +the game. No cold deck goes. He sees plumb through every kyard you +holds, an' nothin' but a straight deal does with Him. Nacherally, +then, I thinks--bein' as how you can't bluff your way into heaven, +an' recallin' the bad language I uses workin' them cattle--I won't +even try. An' that's why, when resolvin' one winter to get religion +mebby next June, I persists in my sinful life. + +"'It's over to Taos I acquires this religious idee. I'm come new to +the camp from some'ers down 'round Seven Rivers in the Pecos +country, an' I don't know a gent. Which I'm by nacher gregar'ous; so +not knowin' folks that a-way weighs on me; an' the first night I'm +thar, I hastens to remedy this yere evil. I'm the possessor of +wealth to a limit,--for I shore despises bein' broke complete, an' +generally keeps as good as a blue stack in my war-bags,--an' I goes +projectin' 'round from dance-hall to baile, an' deciminates my +dinero an' draws to me nose-paint an' friends. As thar ain't but +three gin-mills, incloosive of the hurdy-gurdy, I'm goin' curvin' in +them grand rounds which I institoots, on a sort of triangle. + +"'Which it can't be said I don't make runnin' of it, however; I +don't reckon now it's mor'n an hour before I knows all Taos, bar +Mexicans an' what some folks calls "the better elements." It also +follows, like its lariat does a loose pony, that I'm some organized +by whiskey, not to say confused. + +"'It's because I'm confused I'm misled into this yere pra'r-meetin.' +Not that them exercises is due to dim my eternal game none, now nor +yereafter; but as I ain't liable to adorn the play nor take proper +part tharin, I'd shorely passed out an' kept on to the hurdy-gurdy +if I'd knowed. As it stands, I blunders into them orisons +inadvertent; but, havin' picked up the hand, I nacherally continues +an' plays it. + +"'It's this a-way about them religious exercises: I'm emerged from +the Tub of Blood, an' am p'intin' out for the dance-hall, when I +strikes a wickeyup all lighted, an' singin' on the inside. I takes +it for a joint I ain't seen none as yet, an' tharupon heads up an' +enters. From the noise, I allows mebby it's Mexican; which Greasers +usual puts up a heap of singin' an' scufflin' an' talkin' in +everythin' from monte to a bull-fight. + +"'Once I'm in, I notes it ain't Mexicans an' it ain't monte. Good +folks though, I sees that; an' as a passel of 'em near the door +looks shocked at the sight of me, I'm too bashful to break out +ag'in, but sorter aiges into the nearest seat an' stands pat. + +"'I can tell the outfit figgers on me raisin' the long yell an' +stampedin' round to make trouble; so I thinks to myse'f I'll fool +'em up a lot. I jest won't say a word. So I sets silent as a coyote +at noon; an' after awhile the sharp who's dealin' for 'em goes on +with them petitions I interrupts as I comes bulgin' in. + +"'Their range-boss says one thing I remembers. It's about castin' +your bread upon the waters. He allows you'll get it ag'in an' a band +of mavericks with it. It's playin' white chips to win blues; that's +what this sharp says. + +"'It shorely strikes me as easy. Every time you does good, says this +party, Fate is out to play a return game with you; an' it's written +you quits winner on all the good you promulgates that a-way. + +"'I sets the deal out an' gets some sleepy at it, too. But I won't +leave an' scand'lize the congregation; an' as I gives up strong when +the plate goes by, I ain't regarded as no setback. + +"'When the contreebution-box--which she's a tin plate--comes +chargin' by, I'm sorter noddin,' I'm that weary. I notes the jingle +of money, an' rouses up, allowin' mebby it's a jack-pot, I reckons. + +"'"How hard be you-all in?" I says to the gent next to me, who's +gone to the center for a peso. + +"'"Dollar," says the gent. + +"'"Well," I says, "I ain't seen my hand since the draw, but I'll +raise you nine blind." An' I boards a ten-dollar bill. + +"'When the rest goes, I sorter sidles forth an' lines out for the +dance-hall. The fact is I'm needin' what you-alls calls stimulants. +But all the same it sticks in my head about castin' good deeds on +the water that a-way. It sticks thar yet, for that matter. + +"Bein' released from them devotions, I starts to drinkin' ag'in with +zeal an' earnestness. An' thar comes a time when all my money's in +my boots. Yere's how: I only takes two stacks of reds when I embarks +on this yere debauch. Bein' deep an' crafty, an' a new Injun at that +agency that a-way, an' not knowin' what game I may go ag'inst, I +puts the rest of my bank-roll over in Howard's store. It turns out, +too, that every time I acquires silver in change, I commits it to my +left boot, which is high an' ample to hold said specie. Why I puts +this yere silver money in my boot-laig is shore too many for me. But +I feels mighty cunnin' over it at the time, an' regards it as a +'way-up play. + +"'As I tells you, thar arrives an hour while I'm in the Tub of Blood +when my money's all in my boot, an' thar's still licker to drink. +Fact is, I jest meets a gent named Frosty, as good a citizen as ever +riffles a deck or pulls a trigger, an' p'liteness demands we-alls +puts the nose-paint in play. That's why I has to have money. + +"'I don't care to go pullin' off my moccasins in the Tub of Blood, +an' makin' a vulgar display of my wealth by pourin' the silver onto +the floor. Thar's a peck of it, if thar's dos reals; an' sech an +exhibition as spillin' it out in the Tub of Blood is bound to +mortify me, an' the barkeep, an' Frosty, an' most likely lead to +makin' remarks. So I concloods I'll round up my silver outside an' +then return. + +"'Excuse me," I says to Frosty. "You stay right yere with the +bottle, an' I'll be among you ag'in in a minute all spraddled out." + +"'I goes wanderin' out back of the Tub of Blood, where it's +lonesome, an' camps down by a Spanish-bayonet, an' tugs away to get +my boot off an' my dinero into circ'lation. + +"'An' while I'm at it, sleep an' nose-paint seizes me, an' my light +goes plumb out. I rolls over behind the bayonet-bush an' raises a +snore. As for that Frosty, he waits a while; then he pulls his +freight, allowin' I'm too deliberate about comin' back, for him. + +"'It must have made them coyotes stop an' consider a whole lot about +what I be. To show you how good them coyotes is, I wants to tell +you: I don't notice it ontil the next day. While I'm curled up to +the r'ar of that bush they comes mighty near gnawin' the scabbard +offen my gun. Fact; the leather looks like some pup has been chewin' +it. But right then I ain't mindin' nothin' so oninterestin' as a +coyote bitin' on the leather of my gun. + +"'Now this is where that bluff about bread on the waters comes in; +an' it falls so pat on the heels of them devotions of mine, it he'ps +brand it on my mem'ry. While I'm layin' thar, an' mighty likely +while them coyotes is lunchin' offen my scabbard that a-way, along +comes a rank stranger they calls Spanish Bill. + +"'I learns afterward how this Spanish Bill is hard, plumb through. +He's rustled everythin' from a bunch of ponies to the mail-bags, an' +is nothin' but a hold-up who needs hangin' every hour. Whatever +takes him to where I lays by my bayonet-bush I never knows. He don't +disclose nothin' on that p'int afterward, an' mebby he tracks up on +me accidental. + +"'But what informs me plain that he explores my war-bags for stuff, +before ever he concloods to look after my health, is this: Later, +when we gets acquainted an' I onfurls my finances onto him, he seems +disapp'inted an' hurt. + +"'The statistics of the barkeep of the Tub of Blood next day, goes +to the effect that I'm shorely out thar four hours; an' when Spanish +Bill discovers me I'm mighty near froze. Taos nights in November has +a heap of things in common with them Artic regions we hears of, +where them fur-lined sports goes in pursoot of that North Pole. +Bein' froze, an' mebby from an over-dab of nose-paint, I never +saveys about this yere Spanish Bill meetin' up with me that a-way +ontil later. But by what the barkeep says, he drug me into the Tub +of Blood an' allows he's got a maverick. + +"'"Fix this yere froze gent up somethin' with teeth," says Spanish +Bill to the barkeep. "I don't know his name none, but he's sufferin' +an' has got to be recovered if it takes the entire check-rack." + +"'Which the barkeep stands in an' brings me to. I comes 'round an' +can walk some if Spanish Bill goes along steadyin' of me by the +collar. Tharupon said Bill rides herd on me down to the Jackson +House an' spreads me on some blankets. + +"'It's daylight when I begins to be aware my name's Boggs, an' that +I'm a native of Kentucky, an' little personalities like that; an' +what wakes me up is this Spanish Bill. + +"'"See yere," says this hold-up, "I'm goin' to turn in now, an' it's +time you-all is up. Yere's what you do: Thar's five whiskey-checks +on the Tub of Blood, which will he'p you to an appetite. Followin' +of a s'fficient quantity of fire-water, you will return to the +Jackson House an' eat. I pays for it. I won't be outen my blankets +by then; but they knows that Spanish Bill makes good, 'cause I +impresses it on 'em speshul when I comes in. + +"'"You-all don't know me," goes on this Spanish Bill, as I sets up +an' blinks at him some foggy an' blurred, "an' I don't know you"-- +which we-alls allows, outen p'liteness, is a dead loss to both. "But +my name's Spanish Bill, an' I'm turnin' monte in the Bank Exchange. +I'll be thar at my table by first-drink time this evenin'; an' if +you sa'nters that a-way at that epock, we'll have a drink; an' bein' +as you're busted, of course I stakes you moderate on your way." + +"'It's this bluff about me not havin' money puts me in mind later +that this Bill must have rustled my raiments when he finds me that +time when I'm presided over by coyotes while I sleeps. When he says +it, however, I merely remarks that while I'm grateful to him as +mockin'-birds, money after all ain't no object with me; an', pullin' +off my nigh moccasin, I pours some two pounds of specie onto the +blankets. + +"'"Which I packs this in my boot," I observes, "to put mysc'f in +mind I've got a roll big enough to fill a nose-bag over to Howard's +store." + +"'"An' I'm feelin' the galiest to hear it," says this Spanish Bill; +though as I su'gests he acts pained an' amazed, like a gent who's +over-looked a bet. + +"'Well, that's all thar is to that part. That's where Spanish Bill +launches that bread of his'n; an' the way it later turns out it +sorter b'ars down on me, an' keeps me rememberin' what that skyscout +says at the pra'r-meetin' about the action a gent gets by playin' a +good deed to win. + +"'It's the middle of January, mebby two months later, when I'm over +on the Upper Caliente about fifty miles back of the Spanish Peaks. +I'm workin' a bunch of cattle; Cross-K is the brand; y'ear-marks a +swallow-fork in the left, with the right y'ear onderhacked.' + +"What's the good of a y'ear-mark when thar's a brand?" repeated the +Old Cattleman after me, for I had interrupted with the question. +"Whatever's the good of y'ear-marks? Why, when mixed cattle is in a +bunch, standin' so close you can't see no brands on their sides, an' +you-all is ridin' through the outfit cuttin' out, y'ear-marks is +what you goes by. Cattle turns to look as you comes ridin' an' +pesterin' among 'em, an' their two y'ears p'ints for'ard like fans. +You gets their y'ear-marks like printin' on the page of a book. If +you was to go over a herd by the brands, you wouldn't cut out a +steer an hour. But to trail back after Boggs. + +"`It's two months later, an' I'm ridin' down a draw one day,' says +this Dan Boggs, 'cussin' the range an' the weather, when my pony +goes to havin' symptoms. This yere pony is that sagacious that while +it makes not the slightest mention of cattle when they's near, it +never comes up on deer, or people in the hills, but it takes to +givin' of manifestations. This is so I can squar myse'f for whatever +game they opens on us. + +"`As I says, me an' this yere wise pony is pushin' out into the +Caliente when the pony begins to make signs. I brings him down all +cautious where we can look across the valley, an' + +[Illustration with caption: "Nacherally I stops an' surveys him +careful] + +you-all can gamble I'm some astonished to see a gent walkin' along +afoot, off mebby a couple hundred yards. He sorter limps an' leans +over on one side like he's hurt. Nacherally I stops an' surveys him +careful. It's plenty strange he's thar at all; an' stranger still +he's afoot. I looks him over for weepons; I wants to note what he's +like an' how he's heeled. + +"'You saveys as well as me it don't do to go canterin' out to +strangers that a-way in the hills; speshully a stranger who's afoot. +He might hunger for your pony for one thing, an' open a play on you +with his gun, as would leave you afoot an' likewise too dead to know +it. + +"'I'm allers cautious that a-way, around a party who's lost his +hoss. It locoes him an' makes him f'rocious; I s'pose bein' afoot he +feels he'pless, an' let out an' crazy. A gent afoot is a heap easier +to aggravate, too; an' a mighty sight more likely to lay for you +than when he's in a Texas saddle with a pony between his knees. + +"'Which is why I remarks, that I stacks up this pedestrian careful +an' accurate before I goes after him. + +"'As I says, he carries on like he's hurt; an' he's packin' a six- +shooter. He seems familiar, too; an' while I looks him over I'm +wonderin' where I cuts his trail before. + +"'As I has the advantage of a Winchester, I at last rides into the +open an' gives a whoopee. The party turns, comes limpin' toward me, +an' whoever do you allow it is? Which it's shorely Spanish Bill; an' +it's right yere he gets action on that bread on the waters he plays +in when he recovers me that time in Taos. + +"'To make it brief, Spanish Bill tells me that after I leaves Taos +he goes over an' deals monte a bit at Wagon Mound. One night a +Mexican comes caperin' in, an' Bill gives him a layout or two. At +last he makes an alcy bet of fifty dollars on the queen; what the +Greasers calls the "hoss." The Mexican loses; an' instead of takin' +it easy like a sport should, he grabs the money. + +"'As was his dooty, Spanish Bill bends his six-shooter over the +Mexican. Tharupon he searches out a knife; an' this yere so +complicates the business, Bill, to simplify things, plugs the +Mexican full of holes. + +"'This shootin' is on the squar', an' no one takes hostile notice of +it. Spanish Bill goes on layin' out his monte same as usual. Two +days later, though, he gets a p'inter the Mexicans is fixin' for +him. So that night he moves camp--mebby to where it's a hundred an' +sixty miles from Wagon Mound, over on the Vermejo. + +"'But it looks like the Greasers hangs to the trail; for the day +before I tracks up on him a band of 'em hops outen a dry arroya, +where they's bush-wackin' for him, an' goes to shootin'. As might be +expected, Spanish Bill turns loose, free an' frequent, an' they all +shorely has a high, excessive time. + +"'The Mexicans downs Spanish Bill's pony, an' a bullet creases +Bill's side; which last is what curves him over an' indooces him to +limp when I trails up with him. + +"'As Spanish Bill goes down, the Mexicans scatter. The game is too +high for 'em. They was shy two people, with another plugged deep an' +strong; by which you notes that Bill is aimin' low an' good. + +"'After the shootin' Spanish Bill crawls over to a ranch, an', +gettin' a pony an' saddle, which he easy does, he breaks back into +the hills where I encounters him. It's that morning his pony gets +tired of the deal, an' bucks him off, an' goes stampedin' back. +That's why he's afoot. + +"'While he's talkin' all this, I recalls how Spanish Bill rounds me +up that night in Taos, so I don't hesitate. I takes him over to my +camp. The next mornin' he turns his nose for Texas on my best pony; +which is the last I sees or hears of Spanish Bill, onless he's the +Bill who's lynched over near Eagle Pass a year later, of which I +surmises it's some likely. + +"'But whether Bill's lynched or not, it all brings up ag'in what +that Gospel-gent says about doin' benev'lences; an' how after many +days you dies an' makes a winnin', an' lives on velvet all eternity. +An' don't you know this Spanish Bill pickin' me up that night, an' +then in less than two months, when he's afoot an' hurt in the hills, +gettin' ag'inst me an' drawin' out of the game ahead a saddle, a +pony an' safety, makes it seem like that Bible-sharp is right a +whole lot? + +"'That's how it strikes me,' concloods Boggs. 'An' as I tells you; +if so many cattle don't die that spring; an' if I don't give way so +frightful in my talk, I'd shorely hunted down a congregation the +next June, an' stood in."' + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +DAWSON & RUDD, PARTNERS. + + +"Whatever's the difference between the East an' the West?" said the +Old Cattleman, repeating my question rather for the purpose of +consideration than from any failure to understand: "What's the +difference between the East an' the West? Which, so far as I notes, +to relapse into metaphor, as you-alls says, the big difference is +that the East allers shoots from a rest; while the West shoots off +hand. + +"The West shore learns easy an' is quick to change a system or alter +a play. It's plumb swift, the West is; an' what some regards as +rough is mere rapidity. The West might go broke at faro-bank in the +mornin', an' be rich at roulette in the afternoon; you can't tell. I +knows partners in Arizona who rolls out in the gray light of +breakin' day an' begins work by dissolvin' an' windin' up the firm's +affairs. By dark them same gents is pards ag'in in a new enterprise +complete. Folks'll fight at sun-up an' cook their chile con carne +together at night, an' then sleep onder the same blankets. For which +causes thar's no prophets in the West; a Western future that a-way +bein' so mighty oncertain no prophet can fasten his lariat. + +"Speakin' of pards an' the fog which surrounds what the same is +likely to do, makes me think of the onlicensed an' onlooked-for +carryin's-on of 'Doby Dawson an' Copper Queen Billy Rudd. Them two +gents fosters a feud among themse'fs that splits 'em wide open an' +keeps 'em pesterin' each other for years; which the doin's of them +locoed people is the scandal of Wolfville while it lasts. + +"It's mebby the spring after we erects the Bird Cage Op'ry House, +an' Wolfville is gettin' to be considerable of a camp. We-alls is +organized for a shore-'nough town, an Jack Moore is a shore-'nough +marshal, with Enright for alcalde that a-way, an' thar's a heap of +improvements. + +"When I first tracks into Wolfville, cows is what you might call the +leadin' industry, with whiskey an' faro-bank on the side. But in the +days of 'Doby Dawson an' Copper Queen Billy Rudd, ore has been +onearthed, the mines is opened, an' Wolfville's swelled tremendous. +We-alls even wins a county-seat fight with Red Dog, wherein we puts +it all over that ornery hamlet; an' we shorely deals the game for +the entire region. + +"As I states, it's the spring after we promotes the Bird Cage Op'ry +House--which temple of amoosements is complete the fall before--that +'Doby an' Billy turns up in Wolfville. I knows she's spring, for I'm +away workin' the round-up at the time, an' them gents is both thar +drunk when I comes in. + +"'Doby an' Billy's been pards for ten years. They's miner folks, an' +'Doby tells me himse'f one day that him an' Billy has stood in on +every mine excitement from Alaska to Lower Californy. An' never once +does they get their trails crossed or have a row. + +"The two gents strikes at Wolfville when the mines is first opened, +an' stakes out three claims; one for 'Doby, one for Billy. an' one +for both of 'em. They's camped off up a draw about half a mile from +town, where their claims is, an' has a little cabin an' seems to be +gettin' along peaceful as a church; an' I reckons thar's' no doubt +but they be. + +"When 'Doby an' Billy first comes caperin' into Wolfville they's +that thick an' friendly with each other, it's a shame to thieves. I +recalls how their relations that a-way excites general admiration, +an' Doc Peets even goes so far he calls 'em 'Jonathan an' David.' +Which Peets would have kept on callin' 'em 'Jonathan an' David' +plumb through, but Billy gets hostile. + +"'It ain't me I cares for,' says Billy,--which he waits on Doc Peets +with his gun,--'but no gent's goin' to malign 'Doby Dawson none an' +alloode to him as 'Jonathan' without rebooke.' + +"Seein' it pains Billy, an' as thar ain't even a white chip in mere +nomenclature that a-way, of course Doc Peets don't call 'em +'Jonathan an' David' no more. + +"'Doby an' Billy's been around mighty likely six months. The camp +gets used to 'em an' likes 'em. They digs an' blasts away in them +badger-holes they calls shafts all day, an' then comes chargin' down +to the Red Light at night. After the two is drunk successful, they +mutually takes each other home. An' as they lines out for their camp +upholdin' an' he'pin' of each other, an' both that dead soaked in +nose-paint they long before abandons tryin' to he'p themse'fs, I +tells you, son, their love is a picture an' a lesson. + +"'Which the way them pore, locoed sots,' says Old Man Enright one +night, as 'Doby an' Billy falls outen the Red Light together, an' +then turns in an' assists each other to rise,--'which the way them +pore darkened drunkards rides herd on each other, an' is onse'fish +an' generous that a-way, an' backs each other's play, is as good as +sermons. You-all young men,' says Enright, turnin' on Jack Moore an' +Boggs an' Tutt, 'you-all imatoor bucks whose character ain't really +formed none yet, oughter profit plenty by their example.' + +"As I remarks, 'Doby an' Billy's been inhabitin' Wolfville for +mighty hard on six months when the trouble between 'em first shows +its teeth. As Billy walks out one mornin' to sniff the climate some, +he remarks a Mexican--which his name is Jose Salazar, but don't cut +no figger nohow--sorter 'propriatin' of a mule. + +"'The same,' as Billy says, in relatin' the casooalty later, 'bein' +our star mule.' + +"Nacherally, on notin' the misdeeds of this yere Greaser, Billy +reaches inside the cabin, an' sorts out a Winchester an' plugs said +culprit in among his thoughts, an tharby brings his mule-rustlin' +an' his reflections to a pause some. + +"It's two hours later, mebby, when the defunct's daughter--the +outfit abides over in Chihuahua, which is the Mexican part of +Wolfville--goes to a show-down with 'Doby an' Billy an wants to know +does she get the corpse? + +"'Shore,' says 'Doby, 'which we-alls has no further use for your +paw, an' his remainder is free an' welcome to you. You can bet me +an' Billy ain't holdin' out no paternal corpses none on their +weepin' offsprings.' + +"Followin' of his bluff, 'Doby goes over an' consoles with the +Mexican's daughter, which her name's Manuela, an' she don't look so +bad neither. Doc Peets, whose jedgement of females is a cinch, +allows she's as pretty as a diamond flush, an' you can gamble Doc +Peets ain't makin no blind leads when it's a question of squaws. + +"So 'Doby consoles this yere Manuela a whole lot, while Billy, who's +makin' coffee an' bakin'. powder biscuit inside, don't really notice +he's doin' it. Fact is, Billy's plumb busy. The New York Store +havin' changed bakin'-powder onto us the week before--the same +redoocin' biscuits to a conundrum for a month after--an' that +bakin'-powder change sorter engagin' Billy's faculties wholly, he +forgets about deceased an' his daughter complete; that is, complete +temporary. Later, when the biscuits is done an' offen his mind, +Billy recalls all about it ag'in. + +"'But 'Doby, who's a good talker an' a mighty tender gent that a- +way, jumps in an' comforts Manuela, an' shows her how this mule her +paw is stealin' is by way an' far the best mule in camp, an' at last +she dries her tears an' allows in her language that she's growin' +resigned. 'Doby winds up by he'pin' Manuela home with what's left of +her paw. + +"'Which it's jest like that 'Doby,' says Billy, when he hears of his +partner packin' home his prey that a-way, an' his tones shows he +admires 'Doby no limit, `which it's shorely like him. Take folks in +distress, an' you-alls can bet your last chip 'Doby can't do too +much for 'em.' "Billy's disgust sets in like the rainy season, +however, when about two months later 'Doby ups an' weds this Mexican +girl Manuela. When Billy learns of said ceremony, he declines a seat +in the game, an' won't go near them nuptials nohow. + +"'An' I declar's myse'f right yere,' says Billy. 'From now for'ard +it's a case of lone hand with me. I don't want no more partners. +When a gent with whom for ten years I've camped, trailed, an' +prospected with, all the way from the Dalls to the Gila, quits me +cold an' clammy for a squaw he don't know ten weeks, you can gamble +that lets me plumb out. I've done got my med'cine. an' I'm ready to +quit.' + +"But 'Doby an' Billy don't actooally make no assignment, nor go into +what you-all Eastern sharps calls liquidation. The two goes on an' +works their claims together, an' the firm name still waves as 'Doby +Dawson an' Copper Queen Billy Rudd,' only Billy won't go into +'Doby's new wickeyup where he's got Manuela,--not a foot. + +"'Which I might have conquered my native reluctance,' says Billy, +'so to do, an' I even makes up my mind one night--it's after I've +got my grub, an' you-alls knows how plumb soft an' forgivin' that a- +way a gent is when his stomach's full of grub--to go up an' visit +'em a lot. But as I gets to the door I hears a noise I don't savey; +an' when I Injuns up to a crack an' surveys the scene, I'm a coyote +if thar ain't 'Doby, with his wife in his lap, singin' to her. +That's squar'; actooally singin'; which sech efforts reminds me of +ballards by cinnamon b'ars. + +"'I ain't none shore,' goes on Billy, as he relates about it to me, +'but I'd stood sech egreegious plays, chargin' it general to 'Doby's +gettin' locoed an' mushy; but when this yere ingrate ends his war- +song, what do you-all reckon now he does? Turns in an' begins +'pologizin' for me downin' her dad. Which the old hold-up is on the +mule an' goin' hell-bent when I curls him up. Well, that ends things +with me. I turns on my heels an' goes down to the Red Light an' gets +drunk plumb through. You recalls it; the time I'm drunk a month, an' +Cherokee Hall bars me at faro-bank, allowin' I'm onconscious of my +surroundin's.' + +"Billy goes on livin' at their old camp, an' 'Doby an' Manuela at +the new one 'Doby built. This last is mebby four hundred yards more +up the draw. Durin' the day 'Doby an' Billy turns in an' works an' +digs an' drills an' blasts together as of yore. The main change is +that at evenin' Billy gets drunk alone; an' as 'Doby ain't along to +he'p Billy home an' need Billy's he'p to get home, lots of times +Billy falls by the trail an' puts in the night among the mesquite- +bushes an' the coyotes impartial. + +"This yere goes on for plumb a year, an' while things is cooler an' +more distant between 'em, same as it's bound to be when two gents +sleeps in different camps, still 'Doby an' Billy is trackin' along +all right. One mornin', however, Billy goes down to the holes they's +projectin' over, but no 'Doby shows up. It goes on ontil mighty +likely fifth-drink time that forenoon, an' as Billy don't see no +trace, sign, nor signal-smoke of his pard, he gets oneasy. + +"'It's a fact,' says Billy afterward, 'thar's hours when I more'n +half allows this yere squaw of 'Doby's has done took a knife, or +some sech weepon, an' gets even with 'Doby, while he sleeps, for me +pluggin' her paw about the mule. It's this yere idee which takes me +outen the shaft I'm sinkin', an' sends me cavortin' up to 'Doby's +camp. I passes a resolution on my way that if she's cashed 'Doby's +chips for him that a-way, I'll shorely sa'nter over an' lay waste +all Chihuahua to play even for the blow.' + +"But as all turns out, them surmises of Billy's is idle. He gets +mebby easy six-shooter distance from the door, when he discerns a +small cry like a fox-cub's whine. Billy listens, an' the yelp comes +as cl'ar on his years as the whistle of a curlew. Billy tumbles. + +"'I'm a Chinaman,' says Billy, 'if it ain't a kid!' + +"So he backs off quiet an' noiseless ontil he's dead safe, an' then +he lifts the long yell for 'Doby. When 'Doby emerges he confirms +them beliefs of Billy's; it's a kid shore-'nough. + +"'Boy or girl?' says Billy. + +"'Boy,' says 'Doby.' + +"'Which I shorely quits you cold if it's a girl; says Billy. 'As it +is, I stands by you in your troubles. I ain't none s'prised at your +luck, 'Doby,' goes on Billy. ` I half foresees some sech racket as +this the minute you gets married. However, if it's a boy she goes. I +ain't the gent to lay down on an old-time runnin'-mate while luck's +ag'in him; an' I'll still be your partner an' play out my hand.' + +"Of course, 'Doby has to go back to lookout his game. An' as Billy's +that rent an' shaken by them news he can't work none, he takes two +or three drinks of nose-paint, an' then promulgates as how it's a +holiday. Billy feels, too, that while this yere's a blow, still it's +a great occasion; an' as he takes to feelin' his whiskey an' +roominatin' on the tangled state of affairs, it suddenly strikes him +he'll jest nacherally close up the trail by the house. + +"'Women is frail people an' can't abide noises that a-way,' says +Billy, ` an' 'Doby's shore lookin' some faded himse'f. I reckons, +tharfore, I'll sorter stop commerce along this yere thoroughfar' +ontil further orders. What 'Doby an' his squaw needs now is quietood +an' peace, an' you can wager all you-alls is worth they ain't goin' +to suffer no disturbances.' + +"It ain't half an hour after this before Billy's got two signs, both +down an' up the trail, warnin' of people to hunt another wagon- +track. The signs is made outen pine boards, an' Billy has marked +this yere motto onto 'em with a burnt stick + +"'DOBY'S GOT A PAPOOSE, + SO + PULL YOUR FREIGHT." + +"It ain't no time after Billy posts his warnin's, an' he's still +musin' over 'em mighty reflective, when along projects a Mexican +with a pair of burros he's packin' freight on. The Mexican's goin' +by the notices witbout payin' the least heed tharto. But this don't +do Billy, an' he stands him up. + +"'Can you read?' says Billy to the Mexican, at the same time +p'intin' to the signs. + +"The Mexican allows in Spanish--which the same Billy saveys an' +palavers liberal--that he can't read. Then he p'ints out to go by +ag'in. + +"'No you don't none, onless in the smoke; says Billy, an' throws a +gun on him. 'Pause where you be, my proud Castilian, an' I'll flood +your darkened ignorance with light by nacherally readin' this yere +inscription to you a whole lot.' + +"Tharupon Billy reads off the notice a heap impressive, an' winds up +by commandin' of the Mexican to line out on the trail back. + +"'Vamos!' says Billy. 'Which if you insists on pushin' along through +yere I'll turn in an' crawl your hump some.' + +"But the Mexican gets ugly as a t'ran'tler at this, an' with one +motion he lugs out a six-shooter an' onbosoms the same. + +"Billy is a trifle previous with a gun himse'f, an' while the +Mexican is mighty abrupt, he gets none the best of Billy. Which the +outcome is the Mexican's shot plumb dead in his moccasins, while +Billy takes a small crease on his cheek, the same not bein' deadly. +Billy then confiscates the burros. + +"'Which I plays 'em in for funeral expenses,' says Billy, an' is +turnin' of 'em into the corral by his camp jest as 'Doby comes +prancin' out with a six-shooter to take part in whatever game is +bein' rolled. + +"When 'Doby sees Billy's signs that a-way, he's 'fected so he weeps +tears. He puts his hands on Billy's shoulder, an' lookin' at him, +while his eyes is swimmin', he says: + +"'Billy, you-all is the thoughtfullest pard that ever lived.' + +"'Doby throws so much soul into it, an' him givin' 'way to emotions, +it comes mighty near onhingin' Billy. + +"'I knows I be,' he says, shakin' 'Doby by the hand for a minute, +'but, Old Man, you deserves it. It's comin' to you, an' you bet your +life you're goin' to get it. With some folks this yere would be +castin' pearls before swine, but not with you, 'Doby. You can +'preciate a play, an' I'm proud to be your partner.' + +"The next few months goes on, an' 'Doby an' Billy keeps peggin' away +at their claims, an' gettin' drunk an' rich about equal. Billy is +still that reedic'lous he won't go up to 'Doby's camp; but 'Doby +comes over an' sees him frequent. The first throw out of the box +Billy takes a notion ag'in the kid an' allows he don't want no +traffic with him,--none whatever. + +"But 'Doby won't have it that a-way, an' when it's about six months +old he packs said infant over one mornin' while Billy's at +breakfast. + +"'Ain't he hell!' says 'Doby, a heap gleeful, at the same time +sawin' the infant onto Billy direct. + +"Of course Billy has to hold him then. Which he acts like he's a hot +tamale, an' shifts him about in his arms. But it's plain he ain't so +displeased neither. At last the kid reaches out swift an' cinches +onto Billy's beard that a-way. This delights Billy, while 'Doby +keeps trackin' 'round the room too tickled to set down. All he can +remark--an' he does it frequent, like it tells the entire story--is: + +"'Billy, ain't he hell?' + +"An' Billy ain't none back'ard admittin' he is, an' allows on +hesitatin' it's the hunkiest baby in Arizona. + +"'An' I've got dust into the thousands,' remarks Billy, 'which says +he's the prize papoose of the reservation, an' says it ten to one. +This yere offspring is a credit to you, 'Doby, an' I marvels you-all +is that modest over it.' + +"'You can bet it ain't no Siwash,' says 'Doby. 'It's clean strain, +that infant is, if I does say it.' + +"'That's whatever.' says Billy. looking the infant over an' +beginnin' to feel as proud of it as 'Doby himse'f, 'that's whatever. +An' I'm yere to remark, any gent who can up an' without no talk or +boastin' have such a papoose as that, is licensed to plume himse'f +tharon, an' put on dog over it, the same without restraint. If ever +you calls the turn for the limit, pard, it's when you has this yere +child.' + +"At this 'Doby an' Billy shakes hands like it's a ceremony, an' both +is grave an' dignified about it. 'Doby puts it up that usual he's +beyond flattery, but when a gent of jedgement like Billy looks over +a play that a-way, an' indorses it, you can bet he's not insensible. +Then they shakes hands ag'in, an' 'Doby says: + +"'Moreover, not meanin' no compliments, nor tossin' of no boquets, +old pard, me an' Manuela names this young person "Willyum"; same as +you-all.' + +"Billy comes mighty near droppin' the infant on the floor at this, +an' the small victim of his onthoughtfulness that a-way yells like a +coyote. + +"'That settles it,' says Billy. 'A gent who could come down to +blastin' an' drillin'--mere menial tasks, as they shorely be--on the +heels of honor like this, is a mighty sight more sordid than Copper +Queen Billy Rudd. 'Doby, this yere is a remarkable occasion, an' we +cel'brates.' + +"By this time the infant is grown plumb hostile, an' is howlin' to +beat the band; so 'Doby puts it up he'll take him to his mother an' +afterwards he's ready to join Billy in an orgy. + +"'I jest nacherally stampedes back to the agency with this yere +Willyum child,' says 'Doby, an' then we-alls repairs to the Red +Light an' relaxes.' + +"They shorely does-I don't recall no sech debauch--that is, none so +extreme an' broadcast--since Wolfville and Red Dog engages in them +Thanksgiviin' exercises. + +"Doby an' Billy, as time goes by, allers alloods to the infant as +'Willyum,' so's not to get him an' Billy mixed; an' durin' the next +two years, while Billy still goes shy so far as trackin' over to +'Doby's ranch is concerned, as soon as he walks, Willyum comes down +the canyon to see Billy every day. + +"Oh, no, Billy ain't none onforgivin' to Manuela for ropin' up 'Doby +an' weddin' him that a-way; but you see downin' her paw for stealin' +the mule that time gets so it makes him bashful an' reluctant. + +"'It ain't that I'm timorous neither, nor yet assoomin' airs,' this +yere Billy says to me when he brings it up himse'f how he don't go +over to 'Doby's, 'but I'm never no hand to set 'round an' visit free +an' easy that a-way with the posterity of a gent which I has had +cause to plant. This yere ain't roodness; it's scrooples,' says +Billy, 'an' so it's plumb useless for me to go gettin' sociable with +'Doby's wife.' + +"It's crowdin' close on two years after the infant's born when 'Doby +an' Billy gets up their feud which I speaks of at the beginnin'. +Yere's how it gets fulminated. Billy's loafin' over by the post- +office door one evenin', talkin' to Tutt an' Boggs an' a passel of +us, when who comes projectin' along, p'intin' for the New York +Store, but 'Doby's wife an' Willyum. As they trails by, Willyum sees +Billy--Willyum can make a small bluff at talkin' by now--an', +p'intin' his finger at Billy, he sags back on his mother's dress +like he aims to halt her, an' says: + +"'Pop-pa! Pop-pa!' meanin' Billy that a-way; although the same is +erroneous entire, as every gent in Wolfville knows. + +"'Which if Willyum's forefinger he p'ints with + +is a Colt's forty-four, an' instead of sayin' `Poppa!' he onhooks +the same at Billy direct, now I don't reckon Billy could have been +more put out. 'Doby's wife drags Willyum along at the time like he's +a calf goin' to be branded, an' she never halts or pauses. But Billy +turns all kinds of hues, an' is that prostrated he surges across to +the Red Light an' gets two drinks alone, never invitin' nobody, +before he realizes. When he does invite us he admits frank he's +plumb locoed for a moment by the shock. + +"'You bet!' says Billy, as he gets his third drink, the same bein' +took in common with the pop'lace present, 'you bet! thar ain't a +gent in camp I'd insult by no neglect; but when Willyum makes them +charges an' does it publicly, it onhinges my reason, an' them two +times I don't invite you-alls, I'm not responsible.' + +"We-alls sees Billy's wounded, an' tharfore it's a ha'r-line deal to +say anythin'; but as well as we can we tells him that what Willyum +says, that a-way, bein' less'n two year old, is the mere prattle of +a child, an' he's not to be depressed by it. + +"'Sech breaks,' says Dan Boggs, 'is took jocose back in the States.' + +"'Shore!' says Texas Thompson, backin' Boggs's play; 'them little +bluffs of infancy, gettin' tangled that a-way about their +progenitors, is regarded joyous in Laredo. Which thar's not the +slightest need of Billy bein' cast down tharat.' + +"'I ain't sayin' a word, gents,' remarks Billy, an' his tones is +sad. You-alls means proper an friendly. But I warns the world at +this time that I now embarks on the spree of my life. I'm goin to +get drunk an' never hedge a bet; an my last requests, the same bein' +addressed to the barkeep, personal, is to set every bottle of bug- +juice in the shebang on the bar, thar to repose within the reach of +all ontil further orders.' + +"It's about an hour later, an' Billy, who's filed away a quart of +fire-water in his interior by now, is vibratin' between the Red +Light an' the dance-hall, growin' drunk an' dejected even up. It's +then he sees 'Doby headin' up the street. 'Doby hears of his son +Willyum's wild play from his wife, an' it makes him hot that a-way. +But he ain't no notion of blamin' Billy; none whatever. + +"However, 'Doby don't have entire charge of the round-up, an' he has +to figger with Billy right along. + +"'Doby,' shouts Billy, as he notes his pard approachin', while he +balances himse'f in his moccasins a heap difficult, ''Doby, your +infant Willyum is a eediot. Which if I was the parent of a fool +papoose like Willyum, I'd shorely drop him down a shaft a whole lot +an' fill up the shaft. He won't assay two ounces of sense to the +ton, Willyum won't; an' he ain't worth powder an' fuse to work him. +Actooally, that pore imbecile baby Willyum, don't know his own +father.' + +"Which the rage of 'Doby is beyond bounds complete. For about half a +minute him an' Billy froths an' cusses each other out scand'lous, +an' then comes the guns. The artillery is a case of s'prise, the +most experienced gent in Wolfville not loekin' for no gun-play +between folks who's been pards an' blanket-mates for years. + +"However, it don't last long; it looks like both gets sorter +conscience-stricken that a-way, an' lets up. Still, while it's +short, it's long enough for Billy to get his laig ousted with one of +'Doby's bullets, an' it all lays Billy up for Doc Peets to fuss with +for over three months. + +"While Billy's stretched out, an' Doe Peets is ridin' herd on his +laig, 'Doby keeps as savage as an Apache an' don't come near Billy. +The same, however, ain't full proof of coldness, neither; for +Billy's done give it out he'll down 'Doby if he pokes his head in +the door, an' arranges his guns where he can work 'em in on the +enterprise easy. + +"But Willyum don't take no stand-off. The last thing Willyum's +afraid of is Billy; so he comes waltzin' over each day, clumsy as a +cub cinnamon on his short laigs, an' makes himse'f plumb abundant. +He plays with Billy, an' he sleeps with Billy, Willyum does; an' he +eats every time the nigger, who's come over from the corral to +lookout Billy's domestic game while he's down, rustles some grub. + +"'Doby's disgusted with Willyum's herdin' 'round with Billy that a- +way, bein' sociable an' visitin' of him, an' he lays for Willyum an' +wallops him. When Billy learns of it--which he does from Willyum +himse'f when that infant p'ints in for a visit the day after--he's +as wild as a mountain lion. Billy can't get out none, for his laig +is a heap fragmentary as yet,--'Doby's bullet gettin' all the +results which is comin' that time,--but he sends 'Doby word by +Peets, if he hears of any more punishments bein' meted to Willyum, +he regards it as a speshul affront to him, an' holds 'Doby +responsible personal as soon as he can hobble. + +"'Tell him,' says Billy, 'that if he commits any further atrocities +ag'in this innocent Willyum child, I'll shore leave him too dead to +skin.' + +"'This yere Billy's gettin' locoed entire,' says Enright, when he's +told of Billy's bluff. 'The right to maul your immediate descendants +that a-way is guaranteed by the constitootion, an' is one of them +things we-alls fights for at Bunker Hill. However, I reckons Billy's +merely blowin' his horn; bein' sick an' cantankerous with his game +knee.' + +"Billy gets well after a while, an' him an' 'Doby sorter plans to +avoid each other. Whatever work they puts in on the claim they holds +in partnership, they hires other gents to do. Personal, each works +the claim he holds himse'f, which keeps 'em asunder a whole lot, an' +is frootful of peace.' "Deep inside their shirts I allers allows +these yere persons deems high an' 'fectionate of one another right +at the time they's hangin' up their hardest bluffs an' carryin' on +most hostile. Which trivial incidents discloses this. + +"Once in the Red Light, when a party who's new from Tucson, turns in +to tell some light story of Billy,--him not bein' present none,-- +'Doby goes all over this yere racontoor like a landslide, an' +retires him from s'ciety for a week. An' 'Doby don't explain his +game neither; jest reprimands this offensive Tucson gent, an' lets +it go as it lays. Of course, we-alls onderstands it's 'cause 'Doby +ain't puttin' up with no carpin' criticism of his old pard; which +the same is nacheral enough. + +"Don't you-all ever notice, son, how once you takes to fightin' for +a party an' indorsin' of his plays, it gets to be a habit,--same, +mebby, as fire-water? Which you lays for his detractors an' pulls on +war for him that a-way long after you ceases to have the slightest +use for him yourse'f. It's that a-way with 'Doby about Billy. + +"An' this yere Billy's feelin's about 'Doby is heated an' sedulous +all sim'lar. 'Doby gets laid out for a week by rheumatics, which he +acquires years before--he shore don't rope onto them rheumatics none +'round Wolfville, you can gamble! said camp bein' salooberous that +a-way--over on the Nevada plateaus, an' while he's treed an' can't +come down to his claim, a passel of sharps ups an' mavericks it; +what miners calls 'jumps it.' Whatever does Billy do? Paints for war +prompt an' enthoosiastic, takes his gun, an' the way he stampedes +an' scatters them marauders don't bother him a bit. + +"But while, as I states, this yere trick of makin' war-med'cine +which 'Doby an' Billy has, an' schedoolin' trouble for folks who +comes projectin' 'round invadin' of the other's rights, mebby is a +heap habit, I gleans from it the idee likewise that onder the +surface they holds each other in esteem to a p'int which is +romantic. + +"Doby an' Billy lives on for a year after 'Doby plugs Billy in the +laig, keepin' wide apart an' not speakin'. Willyum is got so he puts +in most of his nights an' all of his days with Billy; which the +spectacle of Billy packin' Willyum about camp nights is frequent. +'Doby never 'pears to file no protest; I reckons he looks on it as a +fore-ordained an' hopeless play. However, Billy's a heap careful of +Willyum's morals, an' is shorely linin' him up right. + +"Once a new barkeep in the dance-hall allows he'll promote Willyum's +feelin's some with a spoonful of nose-paint. + +"'No, you don't,' says Billy, plenty savage; 'an' since the matter +comes up I announces cold that, now or yereafter, the first gent who +saws off nose-paint on Willyum, or lays for the morals of this +innocent infant to corrupt 'em, I'll kill an' skelp him so shore as +I packs gun or knife.' + +"'Which shows,' said Dan Boggs later, when he hears of Billy's +blazer, 'that this yere Billy Rudd is a mighty high-minded gent, an' +you-alls can play it to win he has my regards. He can count me in on +this deal to keep Willyum from strong drinks.' + +"'I thinks myse'f he's right,' says Cherokee Hall. 'Willyum is now +but three years old, which is shore not aged. My idee would be to +raise Willyum, an' not let him drink a drop of nose-paint ever, +merely to show the camp what comes of sech experiments.' + +"But Billy's that pos'tive an' self-reliant he don't need no +encouragement about how he conducts Willyum's habits; an', followin' +his remarks, Willyum allers gets ignored complete on invitations to +licker. Packin' the kid 'round that a-way shortens up Billy's booze +a lot, too. He don't feel so free to get tanked expansive with +Willyum on his mind an' hands that a-way. + +"It's shorely a picture, the tenderness Billy lavishes on Willyum. +Many a night when Billy's stayin' late, tryin' to win himse'f outen +the hole, I beholds him playin' poker, or mebby it's farebank, with +Willyum curled up on his lap an' shirt-front, snorin' away all sound +an' genial, an' Billy makin' his raises an' callin' his draw to the +dealer in whispers, for fear he wakes Willyum. + +"But thar comes a time when the feud is over, an' 'Doby an' Billy +turns in better friends than before. For a month mebby thar's a +Mexican girl--which she's a cousin that a-way or some kin to 'Doby's +wife--who's been stayin' at 'Doby's house, sorter backin' their +play. + +"It falls out frequent this Mexican girl, Marie, trails over to +Billy's, roundin' up an' collectin' of Willyum to put another shirt +onto him, or some sech benefit. Billy never acts like he's impressed +by this yere girl, an', while he relinquishes Willyum every time, he +growls an' puts it up he's malev'lent over it. + +"But the seniorita is game, an' don't put no store by Billy's +growls. She ropes up Willyum an' drags him away mighty decisive. +Willyum howls an' calls on Billy for aid, which most likely is pain +to Billy's heart; but he don't get it none. The senorita harnesses +Willyum into a clean shirt, an' then she throws Willyum loose on the +range ag'in, an' he drifts back to Billy. + +"It's the general view that Billy never once thinks of wedlock with +the senorita if he's let alone. But one day Doc Peets waxes +facetious. + +"'In a month,' says Peets to Billy, while we-alls is renooin' our +spcrits in the Red Light, 'this yere Marie'll quit comin' over for +Willyum.' + +"'Why?' says Billy, glarin' at Peets s'picious. + +"'Cause,' replies Peets, all careless, ''cause you ups an' weds her +by then. I sees it in your eye. Then, when she's thar for good, I +reckons she nacherally quits comin' over.' + +"'Oh, I don't know,' says Texas Thompson, who's takin' in Doc Peets' +remark; ' I don't allow Billy's got the nerve to marry this yere +Marie. Not but what she's as pretty as an antelope. But think of +'Doby. He jest never would quit chewin' Billy's mane if he goes +pullin' off any nuptial ceremonies with his wife's relative that a- +way.' + +"Billy looks hard as granite at this. He ain't sayin' nothin', but +he gets outside of another drink in a way which shows his mind's +made up, an' then he goes p'intin' off towards his camp, same as a +gent who entertains designs. + +"'I offers three to one,' says Cherokee Hall, lookin' after Billy +sorter thoughtful that a-way, 'that Billy weds this yere Mexican +girl in a week; an' I'll go five hundred dollars even money he gets +her before night.' + +"'An' no takers,' says Doc Peets, 'for I about thinks you calls the +turn.' + +"An' that's what happens. In two hours after this impulsive Billy +prances out of the Red Light on the heels of Texas Thompson's +remarks about how hostile 'Doby would be if he ever gets Marie, he's +done lured her before the padre over in Chihuahua, an' the padre +marries 'em as quick as you could take a runnin'-iron an' burn a +brand on a calf. + +"'Which this is not all. Like they was out to add to the excitement +a whole lot, I'm a Mohave if 'Doby an' his wife don't turn loose an' +have another infant that same day. + +"'I never sees a gent get so excited over another gent's game as +Billy does over 'Doby's number two. He sends his new wife up to +'Doby's on the run, while he takes Willyum an' comes pirootin' back +to the Red Light to brace up. Billy's shore nervous an' needs it. + +"'My pore child,' says Billy to Willyum about the third drink-- +Willyum is settin' on a monte-table an' payin' heed to Billy a heap +decorous an' respectful for a three-year-old--'my pore child,' says +Billy that a-way, 'you-all is ag'in a hard game up at your paw's. +This yere is playin' it plumb low on you, Willyum. It looks like +they fills a hand ag'in you, son, an' you ain't in it no more at +'Doby's; who, whatever is your fool claims on that p'int a year ago, +is still your dad ondoubted. But you-all knows me, Willyum. You +knows that talk in Holy Writ. If your father an' mother shakes you, +your Uncle Billy takes you up. I'm powerful 'fraid, Willyum, you'll +have to have action on them promises." + +"Willyum listens to Billy plenty grave an' owly, but he don't make +no observations on his luck or communicate no views to Billy except +that he's hungry. This yere ain't relevant none, but Billy at once +pastures him out on a can of sardines an' some crackers, while he +keeps on bein' liberal to himse'f about whiskey. + +"'I don't feel like denyin' myse'f nothin',' he says. 'Yere I gets +married, an' in less'n an hour my wife is ravaged away at the whoop +of dooty to ride herd on another gent's fam'ly,; leavin' me, her +husband, with that other gent's abandoned progeny on my hands. This +yere's gettin' to be a boggy ford for Billy Rudd, you bet.' + +"But while Billy takes on a heap, he don't impress me like he's hurt +none after all. When Doc Peets trails in from 'Doby's, where he's +been in the interests of science that a-way, Billy at once drug him +aside for a pow-wow. They talks over in one corner of the Red Light +awhile, then Billy looks up like one load's offen his mind, an' +yells: + +" 'Barkeep, it's another boy. Use my name freely in urgin' drinks on +the camp.' + +"Then Billy goes on whisperin' to Doc Peets an' layin' down +somethin', like his heart's sot on it. At last Doc says: + +"'The best way, Billy, is for me to bring 'Doby over.' With this Doc +Peets gets onto his pony at the door an' goes curvin' back to +'Doby's. + +"'It's a boy,' says Billy to the rest of us after Doc Peets lines +out, `an' child an' mother both on velvet an' winnin' right along.' + +"These yere events crowdin' each other that a-way--first a weddin' +an' then an infant boy--has a brightenin' effect on public sperit. +It makes us feel like the camp's shorely gettin' a start. While we- +alls is givin' way to Billy's desire to buy whiskey, Peets comes +back, bringin' 'Doby. + +"Thar's nothin' what you-alls calls dramatic about 'Doby an' Billy +comin' together. They meets an' shakes, that's all. They takes a +drink together, which shows they's out to be friends for good, an' +then Billy says: + +"'But what I wants partic'lar, 'Doby, is that you makes over to me +your son Willyum. He's shore the finest young-one in Arizona, an' +Marie an' me needs him to sorter organize on.' + +"'Billy,' says 'Doby, 'you-all an' me is partners for years, an' +we're partners yet. We has our storm cloud, an' we has also our eras +of peace. Standin' as we do on the brink of one of said eras, an' as +showin' sincerity, I yereby commits to you my son Willyum. +Yereafter, when he calls you "Pop," it goes, an' the same will not +be took invidious.' + +"''Doby,' replies Billy, takin' him by the hand, 'this yere day +'lustrates the prophet when he says: "In the midst of life we're in +luck." If you-all notes tears in my eyes I'm responsible for 'em. +Willyum's mine. As I r'ars him it will be with you as a model. Now +you go back where dooty calls you. When you ceases to need my wife, +Marie, send her back to camp, an' notify me tharof. Pendin' of which +said notice, however,' concloods Billy, turnin' to us after 'Doby +starts back, 'Willyum an' me entertains.'" + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +MACE BOWMAN, SHERIFF. + + +"And so you think the trouble lies with the man and not with the +whiskey?" I said. + +The Old Cattleman and I were discussing "temperance." + +"Right you be. This yere whiskey-drinkin'," continued the old +gentleman as he toyed with his empty glass, "is a mighty cur'ous +play. I knows gents as can tamper with their little old forty drops +frequent an' reg'lar. As far as hurtin' of 'em is concerned, it +don't come to throwin' water on a drowned rat. Then, ag'in, I've cut +gents's trails as drinkin' whiskey is like playin' a harp with a +hammer. Which we-alls ain't all upholstered alike; that's whatever. +We don't all show the same brands an' y'earmarks nohow: What's +med'cine for one is p'isen for t'other; an' thar you be. + +"Bein' a reg'lar, reliable drunkard that a-way comes mighty near +bein' a disease. It ain't no question of nerve, neither. Some dead- +game gents I knows--an' who's that obstinate they wouldn't move camp +for a prairie-fire--couldn't pester a little bit with whiskey. + +"Thar's my friend, Mace Bowman. Mace is clean strain cl'ar through, +an' yet I don't reckon he ever gets to a show-down with whiskey once +which he ain't outheld. But for grim nerve as'll never shiver, this +yere Bowman is at par every time. + +"Bowman dies a prey to his ambition. He starts in once to drink all +the whiskey in Wolfville. By his partic'lar request most of the +white male people of the camp stands in on the deal, a-backin' his +play for to make Wolfville a dry camp. At the close of them two +lurid weeks Mace lasts, good jedges, like Enright an' Doc Peets, +allows he's shorely made it scarce some. + +"But Wolfville's too big for him. Any other gent but Mace would have +roped at a smaller outfit, but that wouldn't be Mace nohow. If +thar's a bigger camp than Wolfville anywhere about, that's where +he'd been. He's mighty high-hearted an' ambitious that a-way, an' +it's kill a bull or nothin' when he lines out for buffalo. + +"But the thirteenth day, he strikes in on the big trail, where you +never meets no outfits comin' back, an' that settles it. The boys, +not havin' no leader, with Mace petered, gives up the game, an' the +big raid on nose-paint in Wolfville is only hist'ry now. + +"When I knows Bowman first he's sheriff over in northeast New +Mexico. A good sheriff Mace is, too. Thar ain't nothin' gets run off +while he's sheriff, you bet. When he allows anythin's his dooty, he +lays for it permiscus. He's a plumb sincere offishul that a-way. + +"One time I recalls as how a wagon-train with households of folks +into it camps two or three days where Mace is sheriff. These yere +people's headin' for some'ers down on the Rio Grande, aimin' to +settle a whole lot. Mebby it's the third mornin' along of sun-up +when they strings out on the trail, an' we-alls thinks no more of +'em. It's gettin' about third-drink time when back rides a gent, +sorter fretful like, an' allows he's done shy a boy. + +"'When do you-all see this yere infant last?' says Mace. + +"'Why,' says the gent, 'I shorely has him yesterday, 'cause my old +woman done rounds 'em up an' counts.' + +"'What time is that yesterday?' + +"'Bout first-drink time,' says the bereaved party. + +"'How many of these yere offsprings, corral count, do you-all lay +claim to anyway?' asks Mace. + +"'Which I've got my brand onto 'leven of 'em,' says the pore parent, +beginnin' to sob a whole lot. 'Of course this yere young-one gettin' +strayed this a-way leaves me short one. It makes it a mighty rough +crossin', stranger, after bringin' that boy so far. The old woman, +she bogs right down when she knows, an' I don't reckon she'll be the +same he'pmeet to me onless I finds him ag'in.' + +"'Oh, well,' says Mace, tryin' to cheer this bereft person up, 'we +lose kyards in the shuffle which the same turns up all right in the +deal; an' I reckons we-alls walks down this yearlin' of yours ag'in, +too. What for brands or y'earmarks, does he show, so I'll know him.' + +"'As to brands an' y'earmarks,' says the party, a-wipin' of his eye, +'he's shy a couple of teeth, bein' milk-teeth as he's shed; an' +thar's a mark on his for'ard where his mother swipes him with a +dipper, that a-way, bringin' him up proper. That's all I remembers +quick.' + +"Mace tells the party to take a cinch on his feelin's, an' stampedes +over to the Mexican part of camp, which is called Chilili, on a +scout for the boy. Whatever do you-all reckon's become of him, son? +I'm a wolf if a Mexican ain't somehow cut him out of the herd an' +stole him. Takes him in, same as you mavericks a calf. Why in the +name of hoss-stealin' he ever yearns for that young-one is allers +too many for me. + +"When the abductor hears how Mace is on his trail, which he does +from other Mexicans, he swings onto his bronco an' begins p'intin' +out, takin' boy an' all. But Mace has got too far up on him, an' +stops him mighty handy with a rifle. Mace could work a Winchester +like you'd whirl a rope, an' the way he gets a bullet onder that +black-an'-tan's left wing don't worry him a little bit. The bullet +tears a hole through his lungs, an' the same bein' no further use +for him to breathe with, he comes tumblin' like a shot pigeon, +bringin' the party's offspring with him. + +"Which this yere is almighty flatterin' to Mace as a shot, an' it +plumb tickles the boy's sire. He allows he's lived in Arkansaw, an' +shorely knows good shootin', an' this yere's speshul good. An' then +he corrals the Greaser's skelp to take back with him. + +"'It'll come handy to humor up the old woman with, when I gets back +to camp,' he says; so he tucks the skelp into his war-bags an' +thanks Mace for the interest he takes in his household. + +"'That's all right,' says Mace; 'no trouble to curry a little short +hoss like that.' + +"He shakes hands with the Arkansaw gent, an' we-alls rounds up to +Bob Step's an' gets a drink. + +"But the cat has quite a tail jest the same. A Mexican that a-way is +plenty oncertain. For instance: You're settin' in on a little game +of monte all free an' sociable, an' one of 'em comes crowdin' 'round +for trouble, an' you downs him. All good enough, says you. No other +Mexican seems like he wants to assoome no pressure personal; no one +goes browsin' 'round to no sheriff; an' thar you be deluded into +theeries that said killin's quit bein' a question. That's where you- +all is the victim of error. + +"Which in this case the Mexican Mace stretches has uncles or +somethin' down off Chaperita. Them relatives is rich. In a week--no +one never saveys how--everybody knows that thar's five thousand +dollars up for the first party who kills Mace. I speaks to him about +it myse'f, allowin' he'd oughter be careful how he goes spraddlin' +about permiscus. Mebby, when he's lookin' north some time, somebody +gets him from the south. + +"'I ain't worryin' none,' says Mace; 'I ain't got no friends as +would down me, nohow; an' my enemies ain't likely none to think it's +enough dinero. Killin' me is liable to come mighty high.' + +"After which announcements he goes romancin' along in his cheerful, +light-hearted way, drinkin' his whiskey an' bein' sheriff, mingled, +an' in a week or so we-alls begins to forget about them rewards. One +day a little Mexican girl who Mace calls Bonita--she'd shorely give +a hoss for a smile from him any time--scouts over an' whispers to +Mace as how three Greasers from down around Anton Chico is in camp +on a hunt for his ha'r. Them murderers is out for the five thousand; +they's over in Chilili right then. + +"'Whereabouts in Chilili be them Mexicans?' asks Mace, kinder +interested. + +"'Over camped in old Santa Anna's dance. hall, a-drinkin' of mescal +an' waitin' for dark,' says the girl. + +"'All right,' says Mace; 'I'll prance over poco tiempo, an' it's +mighty likely them aliens from Anton Chico is goin' to have a fitful +time.' + +"Mace kisses the little Bonita girl, an' tells her not to chirp +nothin' to no Mexican; an' with the caress that a-way her black eyes +gets blacker an' brighter, an' the red comes in her cheek, an' bats +could see she'd swap the whole Mexican outfit for a word from Mace, +an' throw herse'f in for laniyap. + +"Mace p'ints out to get another gun; which is proper enough, for +he's only one in his belt, an' in a case like this yere he's mighty +likely to need two a lot. + +"'Some of us oughter go over with Mace, I reckons,' says a party +named Benson, sorter general to the crowd. 'What do you-alls think +yourse'fs?' + +"'Go nothin'!' retorts a gent who's called Driscoll, an' who's up to +the hocks into a game of poker, an' don't like to see it break up +an' him behind. 'The hand Mace holds don't need no he'p. If Mace is +out after two or three of the boys now, it would be plenty +different; but whoever hears of a white man's wantin' he'p that a- +way to down three Greasers, an' him to open the game? Mace could +bring back all the skelps in Chilili if he's that f'rocious an' +wants to, an' not half try.' + +"This seems to be the general idee, an', aside of some bets which is +made, no one takes no interest. Bob Short puts it up he'd bet a +hundred dollars even Mace gets one of 'em; a hundred to two hundred +he gets two, an' a hundred to five hundred he gets 'em all; an' some +short-kyard sharp who's up from Socorro, after figgerin' it all +silent to himse'f, takes 'em all. + +"'Now I don't reckon, stranger,' says Benson, sorter reproachful, to +the short-kyard party, 'you knows Mace Bowman mighty well? If you- +all did you wouldn't go up ag'in a shore thing like that.' + +"We never gets anythin' but Mace's story for it. He tells later how +he sa'nters into Santa Anna's an' finds his three Anton Chico felons +all settin' alone at a table. They knows him, he says, an' he camps +down over opp'site an' calls for a drink. They's watchin' Mace, an' +him doin' sim'lar by them. Final, he says, one of 'em makes a play +for his gun, an', seein' thar's nothin' to be made waitin', Mace +jumps up with a six-shooter in each hand, an' thar's some noise an' +a heap of smoke, an' them three Mexicans is eliminated in a bunch. + +"When he plays his hand out Mace comes back over to us--no other +Mexicans allowin' for to call him--an' relates how it is, an' +nacheral we says it's all right, which it shorely is. I asks old +Santa Anna for the details of the shake-up later, but he spreads his +hands, an' shrugs his shoulders, an' whines + +"'No quien sabe.' + +"An', of course, as I can't tell, an' as Santa Anna don't, I gives' +up askin'." + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +A WOLFVILLE THANKSGIVING. + + +It was in the earlier days of autumn. Summer had gone, and there was +already a crisp sentiment of coming cold in the air. The Old +Cattleman and I had given way to a taste for pedestrianism that had +lain dormant through the hot months. It was at the close of our +walk, and we were slowly making our way homeward. + +"An' now the year's got into what hoss-folks calls the last +quarter," remarked the old gentleman musingly. "You can feel the +frost in the atmosphere; you can see where it's bit the leaves a +lot, an' some of 'em's pale with the pain, an' others is blood-red +from the wound. "Which I don't regard winter much, say twenty years +ago. Thar's many a night when I spreads my blankets in the Colorado +hills, flakes of snow a-fallin' as soft an' big an' white as a +woman's hand, an' never heeds 'em a little bit. But them days is +gone. Thar's no roof needed in my destinies then. An' as for bed, a +slicker an' a pair of hobbles is sumptuous. + +"When a gent rounds up seventy years he's mighty likely to get a +heap interested in weather. It's the heel of the hunt with him then, +an' he's worn an' tired, and turns nacherally to rest an' fire." + +We plodded forward as he talked. To his sage comments on the +seasons, and as well the old age of men, I offered nothing. My +silence, however, seemed always to meet with his tacit approval; nor +did he allow it to impede his conversational flow. + +"Well," observed the old fellow, after a pause, "I reckons I'll see +the winter through all right; likewise the fall. I'm a mighty sight +like that old longhorn who allows he's allers noticed if he lives +through the month of March he lives through the rest of the year; so +I figgers I'll hold together that a-way ontil shorely March comin'. +Anyhow I regards it as an even break I does. + +"Thar's one thing about fall an' winter which removes the dreariness +some. I alloods to them festivals sech as Thanksgivin' an' Christmas +an' New Year. Do we-alls cel'brate these yere events in Wolfville? +Which we shorely does. Take Christmas: You-all couldn't find a sober +gent in Wolfville on that holy occasion with a search-warrant; the +feelin' to cel'brate is that wide-spread an' fervid. + +"Thanksgivin' ain't so much lotted on; which for one thing we +frequent forgets it arrives that a-way. Thar's once, though, when we +takes note of its approach, an' nacherally, bein' organized, we +ketches it squar' in the door. Them Thanksgivin' doin's is shorely +great festivities that time. It's certainly a whirl. + +"Old Man Enright makes the first break; he sorter arranges the game. +But before all is over, the food we eats, the whiskey we drinks, an' +the lies we tells an' listens to, is a shock an' a shame to Arizona. + +"Thar's a passel of us prowlin' 'round in the Red Light one day, +when along comes Enright. He's got a paper in his hand, an' from the +air he assooms it's shore plain he's on the brink of somethin'. + +"'What I'm thinkin' of, gents, is this,' says Enright, final. 'I +observes to-morrow to be Thanksgivin' by this yere paper Old Monte +packs in from Tucson. The Great Father sets to-morrow for a national +blow-out, a-puttin' of it in his message on the broad ground that +everybody's lucky who escapes death. Now, the question is, be we in +this? an' if so, what form the saturnalia takes?' + +What's the matter of us hoppin' over an' shootin' up Red Dog?" says +Dan Boggs. 'That bunch of tarrapins ain't been shook up none for +three months.' + +"'Technical speakin',' says Doc Peets--which Peets, he shorely is +the longest-headed sharp I ever sees, an' the galiest--'shootin' up +Red Dog, while it's all right as a prop'sition an' highly creditable +to Boggs, is not a Thanksgivin' play. The game, turned strict, +confines itse'f to eatin', drinkin', an' lyin'.' + +"'Thar's plenty of whiskey in camp,' says Jack Moore, meditative- +like, 'whereby that drinkin' part comes easy.' + +"'I assooms it's the will of all to pull off a proper Thanksgivin' +caper,' says Enright, 'an' tharfore I su'gests that Doc Peets and +Boggs waits on Missis Rucker at the O. K. restauraw an' learns what +for a banquet she can rustle an' go the limit. Pendin' the return of +Peets an' Boggs I allows the balance of this devoted band better +imbibe some. Barkeep, sort out some bottles.' + +"The committee comes back after a little, an' allows Missis Rucker +reports herse'f shy on viands on account of the freighters bein' +back'ard comin' in. + +"'But,' says Peets, 'she's upholstered to make a strong play on salt +hoss an' baked beans, with coffee an' biscuits for games on the +side.' + +"'That's good enough for a dog,' says Jack Moore, 'to say nothin' of +mere people. Any gent who thinks he wants more is the effect victim +of whims.' + +"While we-alls is discussin' the ground plans for this yere feast, +thar's a clatter of pony-hoofs an' a wild yell outside, an' next +thar's a big, shaggy-lookin' vagrant, a-settin' on his hoss in front +of the Red Light's door. + +"'Get an axe, somebody,' he shouts, 'an' widen this yere portal +some. I aims to come in on my hoss.' + +"`Hands up, thar!' says Jack Moore, reachin' for his six-shooter. +'Hands up! I'll jest fool you up about comin' in on your hoss. You +work in one wink too many now, an' I puts a hole in your face right +over the eye.' + +"'Go slow, Jack,' says Enright. 'Who may you-all be?' he goes on to +the locoed man on the hoss. + +"'Me?' says the locoed man. 'I'm Red Dog Bill. Tell that sot,' he +continues, p'intin' at Jack, ' to put down his gun an' not offer it +at me no more. He's a heap too vivid with that weepon. Only I'm a +white-winged harbinger of peace, I shore ups an' makes him eat the +muzzle offen it.' + +"'Well, whatever be you thirstin' for, anyhow?' says Enright. 'You +comes ridin' in yere like you ain't got no regards for nothin'. Is +this a friendly call, or be you present on a theery that you runs +the town?' + +"'I'm the Red Dog committee on invitations,' he says. 'Red Dog sends +its comps, an' asks Wolfville to bury the hatchet for one day in +honor of to-morrow bein' Thanksgivin', an' come feed with us.' + +"'Let's go him,' says Dan Boggs. + +"'Now stand your hand a second,' says Enright, 'don't let's overlook +no bets. Whatever has you Red Dog hold-ups got to eat, anyhow?' + +"'Ain't got nothin' to eat much--maybe some can stuff--what you-alls +calls air-tights,' says the Red Dog man. 'But we has liquid, no +limit.' + +"'Got any can tomatters?' says Boggs. + +"'Can tomatters we-alls is 'speshul strong on,' says the Red Dog +man. 'It's where we-alls lives at; can tomatters is.' + +"'I tells you what you-all do,' says Enright, 'an' when I speaks, I +represents for this yere camp.' + +"'Which he shore does,' says Jack. 'He's the Big Gray Wolf yere, you +can gamble. If he don't say "go slow" when you comes a-yellin' up, +your remains would a-been coverin' half an acre right now. It would +look like it's beef-day at this yere agency, shore.' + +"'You-all go back to Red Dog,' says Enright, payin' no notice to +Jack's interruptions, 'an' tell 'em we plants the war-axe for one +day, an' to come over an' smoke ponies with us, instead of we-alls +come thar. We're goin' to have baked beans an' salt hoss, an' we +looks for Red Dog in a body. Next Thanksgivin' we eats in Red Dog. +Does this yere go?' + +"`It goes,' says the Red Dog gent; 'but be you-alls shore thar's +s'fficient whiskey in your camp? Red Dog folks is a dry an' burnin' +outfit an' is due to need a heap.' + +"'The liquid's all right,' says Boggs. 'If you alls wants to do +yourse'f proud, freight in a hundred-weight of them can tomatters. +Which we runs out entire.' + +The next day Missis Rucker sets tables all over her dinin'-room an' +brings on her beans. Eighteen Red Dog gents is thar, each totin' of +a can of tomatters. An' let me impart right yere, son, we never has +a more free an' peacefuller day than said Thanksgivin'. + +"'Them beans is a little hard, ain't they?' says Doc Peets, while +we-alls is eatin', bein' p'lite an' elegant like. 'Mebby they don't +get b'iled s'fficient?' + +"'Them beans is all right,' says the War Chief of the Red Dogs. +'They be some hard, but you can't he'p it none. It's the altitood; +the higher up you gets, the lower heat it takes to b'ile water. So +it don't mush up beans like it should.' + +"'That's c'rrect every time,' says Enright; 'I mind bein' over back +of Prescott once, an' up near timber-line, an' I can't b'ile no +beans at all. I'm up that high the water is so cold when it b'iles +that ice forms on it some. I b'iles an' b'iles on some beans four +days, an' it don't have no more effect than throwin' water on a +drowned rat. After persistent b'ilin', I skims out a hand. ful an' +drops 'em onto a tin plate to test 'em, an' it sounds like buckshot. +As you says, it's the altitood.' + +"'Gents,' says the boss of Red Dog, all of a sudden, an' standin' up +by Enright, 'I offers the toast: "Wolfville an' Red Dog, now an' +yereafter."' + +"Of course we-alls drinks, an' Doc Peets makes a talk. He speaks +mighty high of every gent present; which compliments gets big action +in sech a game. The Red Dog chief--an' he's a mighty civilized- +lookin' gent--he talks back, an' calls Wolfville an' Red Dog great +commercial centers, which they sore be. He says, 'We-alls is +friendly to-day, an' fights the rest of the year,' which we-alls +agrees to cordial. He says fightin'. or, as he calls it, 'a generous +rivalry,' does camps good, an' I reckons he's right, too, 'cause it +shore results in the cashin' in of some mighty bad an' disturbin' +elements. When he sets down, thar's thunders of applause. + +"It's by this time that the drinkin' becomes frequent an' common. +The talk gets general, an' the lies them people evolves an' saws off +on each other would stampede stock. + +"Any day but Thanksgivin' sech tales would shore lead to +reecriminations an' blood; but as it is, every gent seems relaxed +an' onbuckled that a-way in honor of the hour, an' it looks like +lyin' is expected. + +"How mendacious be them people? If I recalls them scenes c'rrectly, +it's Texas Thompson begins the campaign ag'in trooth. + +"This yere Texas Thompson tells, all careless-like, how 'way back in +the forties, when he's a boy, he puts in a Thanksgivin' in the Great +Salt Lake valley with Old Jim Bridger. This is before the Mormons +opens their little game thar. + +"'An' the snow falls to that extent, mebby it's six foot deep,' says +Texas. 'Bridger an' me makes snow-shoes an' goes slidin' an' +pesterin' 'round all fine enough. But the pore animals in the valley +gets a rough time. + +"'It's a fact; Bridger an' me finds a drove of buffalos bogged down +in the snow,--I reckons now thar's twenty thousand of 'em,--and +never a buffalo can move a wheel or turn a kyard. Thar they be +planted in the snow, an' only can jest wag their y'ears an' bat +their eyes. + +"'Well, to cut it brief, Bridger an' me goes projectin' 'round an' +cuts the throats of them twenty-thousand buffalo; which we-alls is +out for them robes a whole lot. Of course we don't skin 'em none +while they's stuck in the snow; but when the snow melts in the +spring, we capers forth an' peels off the hides like shuckin' peas. +They's froze stiff at the time, for the sun ain't got 'round to thaw +the beef none yet; an' so the meat's as good as the day we downs +'em. + +"'An' that brings us to the cur'ous part. As fast as we-alls peels a +buffalo, we rolls his carcass down hill into Salt Lake, an' what do +you-alls reckons takes place? The water's that briny, it pickles +said buffalo-meat plumb through, an' every year after, when Bridger +an' me is back thar--we're trappin' an' huntin' them times,--all we +has to do is haul one of them twenty thousand pickled buffalos +ashore an' eat him. + +"'When the Mormons comes wanderin' along, bein' short on grub that +a-way, they nacherally jumps in an' consooms up the whole outfit in +one season, which is why you-alls don't find pickled buffalo in Salt +Lake no more. + +"'Bridger an' me starts in, when we learns about it, to fuss with +them polygamists that a-way for gettin' away with our salt buffalos. +But they's too noomerous for us, an' we done quits 'em at last an' +lets it go.' + +"Nobody says much when Texas Thompson is through. We merely sets +'round an' drinks. But I sees the Red Dog folks feels mortified. +After a minute they calls on their leadin' prevaricator for a yarn. +His name's Lyin' Jim Riley, which the people who baptizes him +shorely tumbles to his talents. + +"This yere Lyin' Jim fills a tin cup with nose-paint, an' leans back +listless-like an' looks at Enright. + +"'I never tells you-alls,' he says, 'about how the Ratons gets afire +mighty pecooliar, an' comes near a-roastin' of me up some, do I? +It's this a-way: I'm pervadin' 'round one afternoon tryin' to +compass a wild turkey, which thar's bands of 'em that Fall in the +Ratons a-eatin' of the pinyon-nuts. I've got a Sharp's with me, +which the same, as you-alls knows, is a single-shot, but I don't see +no turks, none whatever. Now an' then I hears some little old +gobbler, 'cross a canyon, a-makin' of sland'rous remarks about other +gobblers to some hen he's deloodin', but I never manages a shot. As +I'm comin' back to camp--I'm strollin' down a draw at the time where +thar's no trees nor nothin'--thar emanates a black-tail buck from +over among the bushes on the hill, an' starts to headin' my way a +whole lot. His horns is jest gettin' over bein' velvet, an' he's +feelin' plenty good an' sassy. I sees that buck--his horns eetches +is what makes him--jump eighteen feet into the air an' comb them +antlers of his'n through the hangin' pine limbs. Does it to stop the +eetchin' an' rub the velvet off. Of course I cuts down on him with +the Sharp's. It's a new gun that a-way, an' the sights is too +coarse--you drags a dog through the hind sights easy--an' I holds +high. The bullet goes plumb through the base of his horn, close into +the ha'r, an' all nacheral fetches him sprawlin'. I ain't waitin' to +load my gun none, which not waitin' to load, I'm yere to mention, is +erroneous. I'm yere to say thar oughter be an act of Congress ag'in +not loadin' your gun. They oughter teach it to the yearlin's in the +schools, an' likewise in the class on the Sabbath. Allers load your +gun. Who is that sharp, Mister Peets, who says, "Be shore you're +right, then go ahead"? He once ranches some'ers down on the +Glorieta. But what he oughter say is: "Be shore your gun's loaded, +then go ahead."' + +"'That's whatever!' says Dan Boggs, he'pin' himse'f an' startin' the +bottle; 'an' if he has a lick of sense, that's what he would say.' + +"'Which I lays down my empty gun,' goes on this Lyin' Jim, ' an' +starts for my buck to bootcher his neck a lot. When I gets within +ten feet he springs to his hoofs an' stands glarin'. You can gamble, +I ain't tamperin' 'round no wounded buck. I'd sooner go pesterin' +'round a widow woman.' + +"'I gets mingled up with a wounded buck once,' says Dave Tutt, +takin' a dab of paint, 'an' I nacherally wrastles him down an' lops +one of his front laigs over his antlers, an' thar I has him; no more +harm left in him than a chamber-maid. Mine's a white-tailed deer +over on the Careese.' + +"'This yere's a black-tail, which is different; says Lyin' Jim; +'it's exactly them front laigs you talks of so lightly I'm 'fraid +of. + +"`The buck he stands thar sorter dazed an' battin' of his eyes. I +ain't no time to go back for my Sharp's, an' my six-shooter is left +in camp. Right near is a high rock with a steep face about fifteen +feet straight up an' down. I scrambles on to this an' breathes +ag'in, 'cause I knows no deer is ever compiled yet who makes the +trip. The buck's come to complete by now, an' when he observes me on +the rock, his rage is as boundless as the glory of Texas.' + +"'Gents, we-alls takes another cow-swaller, right yere,' shouts +Texas Thompson. 'It's a rool with me to drink every time I hears the +sacred name of Texas.' + +"When we-alls conceals our forty drops in the usual place, Lyin' Jim +proceeds: + +"'When this buck notes me, he's that frenzied he backs off an' jumps +ag'in the face of the rock stiff-laiged, an' strikes it with them +hoofs of him. Which he does this noomerous times, an' every hoof +cuts like a cold-chisel. It makes the sparks go spittin' an' flyin' +like it's a blacksmith-shop. + +"'I'm takin' it ca'm enough, only I'm wonderin' how I'm goin' to +fetch loose, when I notices them sparks from his hoofs sets the pine +twigs an' needles a-blazin' down by the base of the rock. + +"'That's what comes to my relief. In two minutes this yere spreads +to a general conflagration, and the last I sees of my deer he's +flyin' over the Divide into the next canyon with his tail a-blazin' +an' him utterin' shrieks. I has only time to make camp, saddle up, +an' line out of thar, to keep from bein' burned before my time. + +"'This yere fire rages for two months, an' burns up a billion +dollars worth of mountains, I'm a coyote if some folks don't talk of +lawin' me about it.' + +"'That's a yarn which has the year-marks of trooth, but all the same +it's deer as saves my life once,' says Doc Peets, sorter trailin' in +innocent-like when this Lyin' Jim gets through; 'leastwise their +meat saves it. I'm out huntin' same as you is, this time to which I +alloods. + +"'I'm camped on upper Red River; up where the river is only about +twelve feet wide. It ain't deep none, only a few inches, but it's +dug its banks down about four feet. The river runs along the center +of a mile-wide valley, which they ain't no trees in it, but all +cl'ar an' open. It's snowin' powerful hard one, evenin' about 3 +o'clock when I comes back along the ridge towards my camp onder the +pines. While I'm ridin' along I crosses the trail of nineteen deer. +I takes it too quick, 'cause I needs deer in my business, an' I +knows these is close or their tracks would be covered, the way it +snows. + +"'I runs the trail out into the open, headin' for the other ridge. +The snow is plenty deep out from onder the pines, but I keeps on. +Final, jest in the mouth of a canyon, over the other side where the +pines begins ag'in, up jumps a black. tail from behind a yaller-pine +log, and I drops him. + +"'My pony's plumb broke down by now, so I makes up my mind to camp. +It's a 'way good site. Thar's water comin' down the canyon; thar's a +big, flat floor of rocks--big as the dance-hall floor--an' all +protected by a high rock-faced bluff, so no snow don't get thar +none; an' out in front, some twelve feet, is a big pitch-pine log. +Which I couldn't a-fixed things better if I works a year. + +"'I sets fire to the log, cuts up my deer, an' sorter camps over +between the log an' bluff, an' takes things as ba'my as summer. I +has my saddle-blanket an' a slicker, an' that's all I needs. + +"'Thar ain't no grass none for the little hoss, but I peels him +about a bushel of quakin'-ash bark, an' he's doin' well 'nough. +Lord! how it snows outside! When I peers out in the mornin' it +scares me. I saddles up, 'cause my proper camp is in the pines +t'other side of this yere open stretch, an' I've got to make it. + +"'My pony is weak, an' can only push through the snow, which is five +feet deep. I'm walkin' along all comfortable, a-holdin' of his tail, +when "swish" he goes plumb outen sight. I peers into the orifice +which ketches him, an' finds he's done slumped off that four-foot +bank into Red River, kerslop! Which he's at once swept from view; +the river runnin' in ondcr the snow like a tunnel. + +"That settles it; I goes pirootin' back. I lives in that canyon two +months. It snows a heap after I gets back, an' makes things deeper'n +ever. I has my deer to eat, not loadin' my pony with it when I +starts, an' I peels some sugar-pines, like I sees Injuns, an' +scrapes off the white skin next the trees, an' makes a pasty kind of +bread of it, an' I'm all right. + +"'One mornin', jest before I gets out of meat, I sees trouble out in +the snow. Them eighteen deer--thar's nineteen, but I c'llects one, +as I says--comes sa'nterin' down my canyon while I'm asleep, an' +goes out an' gets stuck in the snow. I allows mebby they dresses +about sixty pounds each, an' wallers after 'em with my knife an' +kills six. + +"'This yere gives me meat for seventy-two days--five pounds a day, +which with the pine bark is shore enough, The other twelve I turns +'round an' he'ps out into the canyon ag'in, an' do you know, them +deer's that grateful they won't leave none? It's a fact, they simply +hangs 'round all the time I'm snowed in. + +"'In two months the snow melts down, an' I says adios to my twelve +deer an' starts for camp. Which you-alls mebby imagines my s'prise +when I beholds my pony a-grazin' out in the open, saddle on an' +right. Yere's how it is: He's been paradin' up an' down the bed of +Red River onder that snow tunnel for two months. Oh! he feeds easy +enough. Jest bites the yerbage along the banks. This snow tunnel is +four feet high, an' he's got plenty of room. + +"'I'm some glad to meet up with my pony that a-way, you bet! an' +ketches him up an' rides over to my camp. An' I'm followed by my +twelve deer, which comes cavortin' along all genial an' cordial an' +never leaves me. No, my hoss is sound, only his feet is a little +water-soaked an' tender; an' his eyes, bein' so long in that half. +dark place onder the snow, is some weak an' sore.' + +"As no one seems desirous to lie no more after Doc Peets gets +through, we-alls eats an' drinks all we can, an' then goes over to +the dance-hall an' whoops her up in honor of Red Dog. Nothin' could +go smoother. + +"When it comes time to quit, we has a little trouble gettin' +sep'rate from 'em, but not much. We-alls starts out to 'scort 'em to +Red Dog as a guard of honor, an' then they, bustin' with p'liteness, +'scorts us back to Wolfville. Then we-alls, not to be raised out, +sees 'em to Red Dog ag'in, an' not to have the odd hoss onto 'em in +the matter, back they comes with us. + +"I don't know how often we makes this yere round trip from one camp +to t'other, cause my mem'ry is some dark on the later events of that +Thanksgivin'. My pony gets tired of it about the third time back, +an' humps himse'f an' bucks me off a whole lot, whereupon I don't go +with them Red Dog folks no further, but nacherally camps down back +of the mesquite I lights into, an, sleeps till mornin'. You bet! +it's a great Thanksgivin'.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXL. + +BILL HOSKINS'S COON. + + +"Now I thoroughly saveys," remarked the Old Cattleman reflectively, +at a crisis in our conversation when the talk turned on men of small +and cowardly measure, "I thoroughly saveys that taste for battle +that lurks in the deefiles of folk's nacher like a wolf in the hills +Which I reckons now that I, myse'f, is one of the peacefullest +people as ever belts on a weepon; but in my instincts--while I never +jestifies or follows his example--I cl'arly apprehends the emotions +of a gent who convenes with another gent all sim'lar, an' expresses +his views with his gun. Sech is human nacher onrestrained, an' the +same, while deplorable, is not s'prisin'. + +"But this yere Olson I has in my mem'ry don't have no sech manly +feelin's as goes with a gun play. Olson is that cowardly he's even +furtive; an' for a low-flung measly game let me tell you-all what +Olson does. It's shorely ornery. + +"It all arises years ago, back in Tennessee, an' gets its first +start out of a hawg which is owned by Olson an' is downed by a gent +named Hoskins--Bill Hoskins. It's this a-way. + +"Back in Tennessee in my dream-wreathed yooth, when livestock goes +projectin' about permiscus, a party has to build his fences 'bull +strong, hawg tight, an' hoss high,' or he takes results. Which +Hoskins don't make his fences to conform to this yere rool none; +leastwise they ain't hawg tight as is shown by one of Olson's hawgs. + +"The hawg comes pirootin' about Hoskins's fence, an' he goes through +easy; an' the way that invadin' animal turns Bill's potatoes bottom +up don't hinder him a bit. He shorely loots Bill's lot; that's +whatever. + +"But Bill, perceivin' of Olson's hawg layin' waste his crop, reaches +down a 8-squar' rifle, 30 to the pound, an' stretches the hawg. +Which this is where Bill falls into error. Layin' aside them +deeficiencies in Bill's fence, it's cl'ar at a glance a hawg can't +be held responsible. Hawgs is ignorant an' tharfore innocent; an' +while hawgs can be what Doc Peets calls a' CASUS BELLI,' they can't +be regarded as a foe legitimate. + +"Now what Bill oughter done, if he feels like this yore hawg's done +put it all over him, is to go an' lay for Olson. Sech action by Bill +would have been some excessive,--some high so to speak; but it would +have been a line shot. Whereas killin' the hawg is 'way to one side +of the mark; an' onder. + +"However, as I states, Bill bein' hasty that a-way, an' oncapable of +perhaps refined reasonin', downs the pig, an' stands pat, waitin' +for Olson to fill his hand, if he feels so moved. + +"It's at this pinch where the cowardly nacher of this yere Olson +begins to shine. He's ugly as a wolf about Bill copperin' his hawg +that a-way, but he don't pack the nerve to go after Bill an' make a +round-up of them grievances. An' he ain't allowin' to pass it up +none onrevenged neither. Now yere's what Olson does; he 'sassinates +Bill's pet raccoon. + +"That's right, son, jest massacres a pore, confidin' raccoon, who +don't no more stand in on that hawg-killin' of Bill's, than me an' +you,--don't even advise it. + +"Which I shorely allows you saveys all thar is to know about a +raccoon. No? Well, a raccoon's like this: In the first place he's +plumb easy, an' ain't lookin' for no gent to hold out kyards or ring +a cold deck on him. That's straight; a raccoon is simple-minded that +a-way; an' his impressive trait is, he's meditative. Besides bein' +nacherally thoughtful, a raccoon is a heap melancholy,--he jest sets +thar an' absorbs melancholy from merely bein' alive. + +"But if a raccoon is melancholy or gets wropped in thought that a- +way, it's after all his own play. It's to his credit that once when +he's tamed, he's got mountainous confidence in men, an' will curl up +to sleep where you be an' shet both eyes. He's plumb trustful; an' +moreover, no matter how mournful a raccoon feels, or how plumb +melancholy he gets, he don't pester you with no yarns. + +"I reckons I converses with this yere identical raccoon of Bill's +plenty frequent; when he feels blue, an' ag'in when he's at his +gailiest, an' he never remarks nothin' to me except p'lite +general'ties. + +"If this yere Olson was a dead game party who regards himse'f +wronged, he'd searched out a gun, or a knife, or mebby a club, an' +pranced over an' rectified Bill a whole lot. But he's too timid an' +too cowardly, an' afraid of Bill. So to play even, he lines out to +bushwhack this he'pless, oninstructed raccoon. Olson figgers to take +advantage of what's cl'arly a loop-hole in a raccoon's +constitootion. + +"Mebby you never notices it about a raccoon, but once he gets +interested in a pursoot, he's rigged so he can't quit none ontil the +project's a success. Thar's herds an' bands of folks an' animals +who's fixed sim'lar. They can start, an' they can't let up. Thar's +bull-dogs: They begins a war too easy; but the c'pacity to quit is +left out of bull-dogs entire. Same about nose-paint with gents I +knows. They capers up to whiskey at the beginnin' like a kitten to +warm milk; an' they never does cease no more. An' that's how the +kyards falls to raccoons. + +"Knowin these yere deefects in raccoons, this Olson plots to take +advantage tharof; an' by playin' it low on Bill's raccoon, get even +with Bill about that dead hawg. Which Bill wouldn't have took a +drove of hawgs; no indeed! not the whole Fall round-up of hawgs in +all of West Tennessee, an' lose that raccoon. + +"It's when Bill's over to Pine Knot layin' in tobacker, an' nose- +paint an' corn meal, an' sech necessaries, when Olson stands in to +down Bill's pet. He goes injunnin' over to Bill's an' finds the camp +all deserted, except the raccoon's thar, settin', battin' his eyes +mournful an' lonesome on the doorstep. This Olson camps down by the +door an' fondles the raccoon, an' strokes his coat, an' lets him +search his pockets with his black hands ontil he gets that friendly +an' confident about Olson he'd told him anythin'. It's then this +yere miscreant, Olson, springs his game. "H's got a couple of +crawfish which he's fresh caught at the Branch. Now raccoons regards +crawfish as onusual good eatin'. For myse'f, I can't say I deems +none high of crawfish as viands, but raccoons is different; an' the +way they looks at it, crawfish is pie. + +"This Olson brings out his two crawfish an' fetchin' ajar of water +from the spring, he drops in a crawfish an' incites an' aggravates +Zekiel--that's the name of Bill's raccoon--to feel in an' get him a +whole lot. + +"Zekiel ain't none shy on the play. He knows crawfish like a gambler +does a red chip; so turnin' his eyes up to the sky, like a raccoon +does who's wropped in pleasant anticipations that a-way, he plunges +in his paw an' gets it. + +"Once Zekiel acquires him, the pore crawfish don't last as long as +two-bits at faro-bank. When Zekiel has him plumb devoured he turns +his eyes on Olson, sorter thankful, an' 'waits developments. + +"Olson puts in the second crawfish, an' Zekiel takes him into camp +same as t'other. It's now that Olson onfurls his plot on Zekiel. +Olson drops a dozen buckshot into the jar of water. Nacherally, +Zekiel, who's got his mind all framed up touchin' crawfish, goes +after the buckshot with his fore foot. But it's different with buck- +shot; Zekiel can't pick 'em up. He tries an' tries with his honest, +simple face turned up to heaven, but he can't make it. All Zekiel +can do is feel 'em with his foot, an' roll 'em about on the bottom +of the jar. + +"Now as I remarks prior, when a raccoon gets embarked that a-way, he +can't quit. He ain't arranged so he can cease. Olson, who's plumb +aware tharof, no sooner gets Zekiel started on them buckshot, than +knowin' that nacher can be relied on to play her hand out, he +sa'nters off to his wickeyup, leavin' Zekiel to his fate. Bill won't +be home till Monday, an' Olson knows that before then, onless Zekiel +is interrupted, he'll be even for that hawg Bill drops. As Olson +cones to a place in the trail where he's goin' to lose sight of +Bill's camp, he turns an' looks back. The picture is all his revenge +can ask. Thar sets Zekiel on the doorstep, with his happy +countenance turned up to the dome above, an' his right paw elbow +deep in the jar, still rollin' an' feelin' them buckshot 'round, an' +allowin' he's due to ketch a crawfish every moment. + +"Which it works out exactly as the wretched Olson figgers. The sun +goes down, an' the Sunday sun comes up an' sets again; an' still +pore Zekiel is planted by the jar, with his hopeful eyes on high, +still feelin' of them buckshot. He can't quit no more'n if he's +loser in a poker game; Zekiel can't. When Bill rides up to his door +about second-drink time Monday afternoon, Olson is shorely even on +that hawg. Thar lays Zekiel, dead. He's jest set thar with them +buck-shot an' felt himse'f to death. + +"But speakin' of the sapiency of Bill Hoskins's Zekiel," continued +the old gentleman as we lighted pipes and lapsed into desultory +puffing, "while Zekiel for a raccoon is some deep, after all you-all +is jest amazed at Zekiel 'cause I calls your attention to him a +whole lot. If you was to go into camp with 'em, an' set down an' +watch 'em, you'd shorely be s'prised to note how level-headed all +animals be. + +"Now if thar's anythin' in Arizona for whose jedgement I don't have +respect nacheral, it's birds. Arizona for sech folks as you an' me, +an' coyotes an' jack-rabbits, is a good range. Sech as we-alls +sorter fits into the general play an' gets action for our stacks. +But whatever a bird can find entrancin' in some of them Southwestern +deserts is allers too many for me. + +"As I su'gests, I former holds fowls, who of free choice continues a +residence in Arizona, as imbeciles. Yet now an' then I observes +things that makes me oncertain if I'm onto a bird's system; an' if +after all Arizona is sech a dead kyard for birds. It's possible a +gent might be way off on birds an' the views they holds of life. He +might watch the play an' esteem 'em loser, when from a bird's p'int +of view they's makin' a killin', an' even callin' the turn every +deal. + +"What he'ps to open my eyes a lot on birds is two Road Runners Doc +Peets an' me meets up with one afternoon comin' down from Lordsburg. +These yere Road Runners is a lanky kind of prop'sition, jest a shade +off from spring chickens for size. Which their arrangements as to +neck an' laigs is onrestricted an' liberal, an' their long suit is +runnin' up an' down the sun-baked trails of Arizona with no object. +Where he's partic'lar strong, this yere Road Runner, is in waitin' +ontil some gent comes along, same as Doc Peets an' me that time, an' +then attachin' of himse'f said cavalcade an' racin' along ahead. A +Road Runner keeps up this exercise for miles, an' be about the +length of a lariat ahead of your pony's nose all the time. When you- +all lets out a link or two an' stiffens your pony with the spur, the +Road Runner onbuckles sim'lar an' exults tharat. You ain't goin' to +run up on him while he can wave a laig, you can gamble your last +chip, an' you confers favors on him by sendin' your pony at him. +Thar he stays, rackin' along ahead of you ontil satiated. Usual +thar's two Road Run. ners, an' they clips it along side by side as +if thar's somethin' in it for 'em; an' I reckons, rightly saveyed, +thar is. However, the profits to Road Runners of them excursions +ain't obvious, none whatever; so I won't try to set 'em forth. Them +journeys they makes up an' down the trail shorely seems aimless to +me. + +"But about Doc Peets an' me pullin' out from Lordsburg for Wolfville +that evenin': Our ponies is puttin' the landscape behind 'em at a +good road-gait when we notes a brace of them Road Runners with wings +half lifted, pacin' to match our speed along the trail in front. As +Road Runners is frequent with us, our minds don't bother with 'em +none. Now an' then Doc an' me can see they converses as they goes +speedin' along a level or down a slope. It's as if one says to +t'other, somethin' like this yere + +"'How's your wind, Bill? Is it comin' easy?' + +"'Shore,' it would seem like Bill answers. 'Valves never is in sech +shape. I'm on velvet; how's your laigs standin' the pace, Jim?' + +"'Laigs is workin' like they's new oiled,' Jim replies back; 'it's a +plumb easy game. I reckons, Bill, me an' you could keep ahead of +them mavericks a year if we-alls feels like it.' + +"'Bet a blue stack on it,' Bill answers. ' I deems these yere gents +soft. Before I'd ride sech ponies as them, I'd go projectin' 'round +some night an' steal one.' + +"'Them ponies is shorely a heap slothful,' Jim answers. + +"'At this mebby them Road Runners ruffles their feathers an' runs on +swifter, jest to show what a slow racket keepin' ahead of me an' +Peets is. An' these yere locoed birds keeps up sech conversations +for hours. + +"Mind I ain't sayin' that what I tells you is what them Road Runners +really remarks; but I turns it over to you-all the way it strikes me +an' Doc at the time. What I aims to relate, how-ever, is an incident +as sheds light on how wise an' foxy Road Runners be. + +"Doc Peets an' me, as I states, ain't lavishin' no onreasonable +notice on these yere birds, an' they've been scatterin' along the +trail for mebby it's an hour, when one of 'em comes to a plumb halt, +sharp. The other stops likewise an' rounds up ag'inst his mate; an' +bein' cur'ous to note what's pesterin 'em, Peets an' me curbs to a +stand-still. The Road Runner who stops first--the same bein' Bill-- +is lookin' sharp an' interested-like over across the plains. + +"'Rattlesnake,' he imparts to his side partner. + +"'Where's he at?' says the side partner, which is Jim, 'where's this +yere snake at, Bill? I don't note no rattlesnake.' + +"'Come round yere by me,' Bill says. 'Now on a line with the top of +yonder mesa an' a leetle to the left of that soap-weed; don't you- +all see him quiled up thar asleep?' + +"'Which I shorely does,' says Jim, locatin' the rattlesnake with his +beady eye, 'an' he's some sunk in slumber. Bill, that serpent is our +meat.' + +"'Move your moccasins easy,' says Bill, 'so's not to turn him out. +Let's rustle up some flat cactuses an' corral him.' + +"Tharupon these yere Road Runners turns in mighty diligent; an' not +makin' no more noise than shadows, they goes pokin' out on the +plains ontil they finds a flat cactus which is dead; so they can +tear off the leaves with their bills. Doc Peets an' me sets in our +saddles surveyin' their play; an' the way them Road Runners goes +about the labors of their snake killin' impresses us it ain't the +first bootchery of the kind they appears in. They shorely don't need +no soopervisin'. + +"One after the other, Jim an' Bill teeters up, all silent, with a +flat cactus leaf in their beaks, an' starts to fence in the +rattlesnake with 'em. They builds a corral of cactus all about him, +which the same is mebby six-foot across. Them engineerin' feats +takes Jim an' Bill twenty minutes. But they completes 'em; an' +thar's the rattlesnake, plumb surrounded. + +"These yere cactuses, as you most likely saveys, is thorny no limit; +an' the spikes is that sharp, needles is futile to 'em. Jim an' Bill +knows the rattlesnake can't cross this thorny corral. + +"He don't look it none, but from the way he plays his hand, I takes +it a rattlesnake is sensitive an' easy hurt onder the chin. + +"An' it's plain to me an' Peets them Road Runners is aware of said +weaknesses of rattlesnakes, an' is bankin' their play tharon. We- +alls figgers, lookin' on, that Jim an' Bill aims to put the +rattlesnake in prison; leave him captive that a-way in a cactus +calaboose. But we don't size up Jim an' Bill accurate at all. Them +two fowls is shorely profound. + +"No sooner is the corral made, than Jim an' Bill, without a word of +warnin', opens up a warjig 'round the outside; flappin' their +pinions an' screechin' like squaws. Nacherally the rattlesnake wakes +up. The sight of them two Road Runners, Jim an' Bill, cussin' an' +swearin' at him, an' carryin' on that a-way scares him. + +"It's trooth to say Bill an' Jim certainly conducts themse'fs +scand'lous. The epithets they heaps on that pore ignorant +rattlesnake, the taunts they flings at him, would have done Apaches +proud. + +The rattlesnake buzzes an' quils up, an' onsheaths his fangs, an' +makes bluffs to strike Bill an' Jim, but they only hops an' dances +about, thinkin' up more ornery things to say. Every time the +rattlesnake goes to crawl away--which he does frequent--he strikes +the cactus thorns an' pulls back. By an' by he sees he's elected, +an' he gets that enraged he swells up till he's big as two snakes; +Bill an' Jim maintainin' their sass. Them Road Runners is abreast of +the play every minute, you can see that. + +"At last comes the finish, an' matters gets dealt down to the turn. +The rattlesnake suddenly crooks his neck, he's so plumb locoed with +rage an' fear, an' socks his fangs into himse'f. That's the fact; +bites himse'f, an' never lets up till he's dead. + +"It don't seem to astound Jim an' Bill none when the rattlesnake +'sassinates himse'f that a-way, an' I reckons they has this yere +sooicide in view. They keeps pesterin' an' projectin' about ontil +the rattlesnake is plumb defunct, an' then they emits a whirlwind of +new whoops, an' goes over to one side an' pulls off a skelp dance. +Jim an' Bill is shorely cel'bratin' a vic'try. + +"After the skelp dance is over, Bill an' Jim tiptoes over mighty +quiet an' sedate, an' Jim takes their prey by the tail an' yanks it. +After the rattlesnake's drug out straight, him an' Bill runs their +eyes along him like they's sizin' him up. With this yere last, +however, it's cl'ar the Road Runners regards the deal as closed. +They sa'nters off down the trail, arm in arm like, conversin' in low +tones so Peets an' me never does hear what they says. When they's in +what they takes to be the c'rrect p'sition, they stops an' looks +back at me an' Peets. Bill turns to Jim like he's sayin': + +"'Thar's them two short-horns ag'in. I wonders if they ever aims to +pull their freight, or do they reckon they'll pitch camp right +yere?"' + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +OLD SAM ENRIGHT'S "ROMANCE." + + +"It mebby is, that romances comes to pass on the range when I'm +thar," remarked the Old Cattleman, meditatively, "but if so be, I +never notes 'em. They shorely gets plumb by me in the night." + +The old gentleman had just thrown down a daily paper, and even as he +spoke I read on the upturned page the glaring headline: "Romance in +Real Life." His recent literature was the evident cause of his +reflections. + +"Of course," continued the Old Cattleman, turning for comfort to his +inevitable tobacco pipe, "of course, at sech epocks as some degraded +sharp takes to dealin' double in a poker game, or the kyards begins +to come two at a clatter at faro-bank, the proceedin's frequent +takes on what you-all might call a hue of romance; an' I admits they +was likely to get some hectic, myse'f. But as I states, for what +you-all would brand as clean. strain romance, I ain't recallin' +none." + +"How about those love affairs of your youth?" I ventured. + +"Which I don't deny," replied the old gentleman, between puffs, +"that back in Tennessee, as I onfolds before, I has my flower- +scented days. But I don't wed nothin', as you-all knows, an' even +while I'm ridin' an' ropin' at them young female persons, thar's +never no romance to it, onless it's in the fact that they all +escapes. + +"But speakin' of love-tangles, Old Man Enright once recounts a +story; which the same shows how female fancy is rootless an' +onstable that a-way. + +"'Allers copper a female.' says Cherokee Hall, one day, when Texas +Thompson is relatin' how his wife maltreats him, an' rounds up a +divorce from him down at Laredo. 'Allers play 'em to lose. Nell, +yere,' goes on Cherokee, as he runs his hand over the curls of Faro +Nell, who's lookout for Cherokee, 'Nelly, yere, is the only one I +ever meets who can be depended on to come winner every trip.' + +"'Which females,' says Old Man Enright, who's settin' thar at the +time, ' an' partic'lar, young females, is a heap frivolous, +nacheral. A rainbow will stampede most of 'em. For myse'f, I'd +shorely prefer to try an' hold a bunch of five hundred ponies on a +bad night, than ride herd on the heart of one lady. Between gent an' +gent that a-way, I more'n half figger the 'ffections of a female is +migratory, same as buffaloes was before they was killed, an' sorter +goes north like in the spring, an' south ag'in in the winter.' + +"'As for me; says Texas Thompson, who's moody touchin' them divorce +plays his wife is makin', 'you-alls can gamble I passes all females +up. No matter how strong I holds, it looks like on the showdowns +they outlucks me every time. Wherefore I quits 'em cold, an' any +gent who wants my chance with females can shorely have the same.' + +"'Oh, I don't know!' remarks Doc Peets, gettin' in on what's a +general play, 'I've been all through the herd, an' I must say I +deems women good people every time; a heap finer folks than men, an' +faithfuller.' + +"'Which I don't deny females is fine folks,' says Texas, 'but what +I'm allowin' is, they's fitful. They don't stay none. You-alls can +hobble an'sideline'em both at night; an' when you rolls out in the +mornin', they's gone.' + +"'What do you-all think, Nell?' says Doc Peets to Faro Nell, who's +perched up on her stool by Cherokee's shoulder. 'What do you-all +reckon now of Texas yere, a-malignin' of your sex? Why don't you +p'int him to Dave Tutt an' Tucson Jennie? Which they gets married, +an' thar they be, gettin' along as peaceful as two six-shooters on +the same belt.' + +"'I don't mind what Texas says, none,' replies Faro Nell. 'Texas is +all right, an' on the square". I shouldn't wonder none if this yere +Missis Thompson does saw it off on him some shabby, gettin' that +sep'ration, an' I don't marvel at his remarks. But as long as +Cherokee yere thinks I'm right, I don't let nobody's views pester me +a little bit, so thar.' + +"'It's what I says awhile back,' interrupts Enright. 'Texas +Thompson's wife's motives mighty likely ain't invidious none. It's a +heap probable if the trooth is known, that she ain't aimin' nothin' +speshul at Texas; she only changes her mind. About the earliest +event I remembers,' goes on Enright, 'is concernin' a woman who +changes her mind. It's years ago when I'm a yearlin'. Our company is +makin' a round-up at a camp called Warwhoop Crossin', in Tennessee, +organizin' to embark in the Mexican war a whole lot, an' thin out +the Greasers. No one ever does know why I, personal, declar's myse'f +in on this yere imbroglio. I ain't bigger 'n a charge of powder, an' +that limited as to laigs I has to clamber onto a log to mount my +pony. + +"'But as I'm tellin', we-alls comes together at Warwhoop to make the +start. I reckons now thar's five hundred people thar. `'Which the +occasion, an' the interest the public takes in the business, jest +combs the region of folks for miles about. + +"'Thar's a heap of hand-shakin' an' well-wishin' goin' on; mothers +an' sisters, an' sweethearts is kissin' us good-bye; an' while +thar's some hilarity thar's more sobs. It's not, as I looks +back'ard, what you-alls would call a gay affair. + +"'While all this yere love an' tears is flowin', thar's a gent--he's +our Captain--who's settin' off alone in his saddle, an' ain't takin' +no hand. Thar's no sweetheart, no mother, no sister for him. + +"'No one about Warwhoop knows this yere party much; more'n his name +is Bent. He's captain with the Gov'nor's commission, an' comes from +'way-off yonder some'ers. An' so he sets thar, grim an' solid in his +saddle, lookin' vague-like off at where the trees meets the sky, +while the rest of us is goin' about permiscus, finishin' up our +kissin'. + +"'"Ain't he got no sweetheart to wish goodbye to him?" asks a girl +of me. "Ain't thar no one to kiss him for good luck as he rides +away?" + +"'This yere maiden's name is Sanders, an' it's a shore fact she's +the prettiest young female to ever make a moccasin track in West +Tennessee. I'd a-killed my pony an' gone afoot to bring sech a look +into her eyes, as shines thar when she gazes at the Captain where +he's silent an' sol'tary on his hoss. + +"'No," I replies, "he's a orphan, I reckons. He's plumb abandoned +that a-way, an' so thar's nobody yere to kiss him, or shake his +hand." + +"'This yere pretty Sanders girl--an' I'm pausin' ag'in to state +she's a human sunflower, that a-way--this Sanders beauty, I'm +sayin', looks at this party by himse'f for a moment, an' then the +big tears begins to well in her blue eyes. She blushes like a +sunset, an' walks over to this yere lone gent. + +"'Mister Captain," she says, raisin' her face to him like a rose, +"I'm shore sorry you ain't got no sweetheart to say 'good-bye;' an' +bein' you're lonesome, that a-way, I'll kiss you an' say adios +myse'f." + +"'Will you, my little lady?" says the lonesome Captain, as he swings +from his saddle to the ground by her side; an' thar's sunshine in +his eyes. + +"'I'll think of you every day for that,"he says, when he kisses her, +"an' if I gets back when the war's done, I'll shorely look for you +yere." + +"'The little Sanders girl--she is shorely as handsome as a ace full +on kings--blushes a heap vivid at what she's done, an' looks warm +an' tender. Which, while the play is some onusual an' out of line, +everybody agrees it's all right; bein' that we-alls is goin' to a +war, that a-way. + +"'Now yere,' goes on Enright, at the same time callin' for red-eye +all 'round, ' is what youalls agrees is a mighty romantic deal. +Yere's a love affair gets launched.' + +"'Does this yere lone-hand gent who gets kissed by the Sanders lady +outlive the war?' asks Texas Thompson, who has braced up an' gets +mighty vivacious listenin' to the story. + +"'Which he shorely outlives that conflict,' replies Enright. 'An' +you can gamble he's in the thick of the stampede, too, every time. I +will say for this yere Captain, that while I ain't with him plumb +through, he's as game a sport as ever fought up hill. He's the sort +which fights an goes for'ard to his man at the same time. Thar's no +white feathers on that kind; they's game as badgers. An' bad.' + +"'Which if he don't get downed none,' says Texas Thompson, 'an' hits +Tennessee alive, I offers ten to one he leads this yere Sanders +female to the altar.' + +"'Which you'd lose, a whole lot,' says Enright, at the same time +raisin' his whiskey glass. + +"'That's what I states when I trails out on this yere romance. +Females is frivolous an' plumb light of fancy. This Captain party +comes back to Warwhoop, say, it's two years an' a half later, an' +what do you-alls reckon? That Sanders girl's been married mighty +nigh two yzars, an' has an infant child as big as a b'ar cub, which +is beginnin' to make a bluff at walkin.' + +"'Now, on the squar', an' I'm as s'prised about it as you be--I'm +more'n s'prised, I'm pained--I don't allow, lookin' over results an' +recallin' the fact of that b'ar-cub infant child, that for all her +blushin', an' all her tears, an' kissin' that Captain party good-by +that a-way, that the Sanders girl cares a hoss-h'ar rope for him in +a week. An' it all proves what I remarks, that while females ain't +malev'lent malicious, an' don't do these yere things to pierce a +gent with grief, their 'ffections is always honin' for the trail, +an' is shorely prone to move camp. But, bless 'em! they can't he'p +it none if their hearts be quicksands, an' I libates to 'em ag'in.' + +"Whereat we-alls drinks with Enright; feelin' a heap sim'lar. + +"'Whatever becomes of this yerc pore Captain party?' asks Faro Nell. + +"'Well, the fact about that Captain,' replies Enright, settin' down +his glass, 'while the same is mere incident, an' don't have no +direct bearin' on what I relates; the fact in his case is he's +wedded already. Nacherally after sayin' "howdy!" to the little +Sanders girl, an' applaudin' of her progeny--which it looks like he +fully endorses that a-way--this yere Captain gent hits the trail for +Nashville, where his wife's been keepin' camp an' waitin' for him +all the time."' + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +PINON BILL'S BLUFF. + + +"This narrative is what you-all might call some widespread," said +the Old Cattleman, as he beamed upon me, evidently in the best of +humors. "It tells how Pinon Bill gets a hoss on Jack Moore; leaves +the camp bogged up to the saddle-girths in doubt about who downs +Burke; an' stakes the Deef Woman so she pulls her freight for the +States. + +"Pinon Bill is reckoned a hard game. He's only in Wolfville now an' +then, an' ain't cuttin' no figger in public calc'lations more'n it's +regarded as sagacious to pack your gun while Pinon Bill's about. + +"No; he don't down no white men no one ever hears of, but thar's +stories about how he smuggles freight an' plunder various from +Mexico, an' drives off Mexican cattle, an' once in awhile stretches +a Mexican himse'f who objects to them enterprises of Pinon Bill's; +but thar's nothin' in sech tales to interest Americans, more'n to +hear 'em an' comment on 'em as plays. + +"But while Pinon Bill never turns his talents to American, them +liberties he takes with Greasers gives him a heap of bad repoote, as +a mighty ornery an' oneasy person; an' most of us sorter keeps tab +on him whenever he favors Wolfville with his presence. + +"'This time he collides with Jack Moore, an' so to speak, leaves the +drinks on Jack, he's been trackin' 'round camp mebby it's six weeks. + +"'Likewise thar's an old longhorn they calls the 'Major'; he's been +hangin' about for even longer yet. Don't go to figgerin' on no +hostilities between this Pinon Bill an' the Major, for their trails +never does cross once. Another thing' Pinon Bill ain't nacheraliy +hostile neither; ain't what you-all calls trailin' trouble; whereas +the Major's also a heap too drunk to give way to war, bein' tanked +that a-way continuous. + +"Which I don't reckon thar's the slightest doubt but the Major's a +bigger sot than Old Monte, though the same is in dispoote; Cherokee +Hall an' Boggs a-holdin' he is; an' Doc Peets an' Tutt playin' the +other end; Enright an' Jack Moore, ondecided. + +"Peets confides in me of an' concernin' the Major that thar's a +time--an' no further up the trail than five years--when the Major is +shore-'nough a Major; bein' quartermaster or some sech bluff in the +army. + +"But one day Uncle Sam comes along an' wants to cash in; an' thar +this yere crazy-hoss Major is with ten times as many chips out as +he's got bank-roll to meet, an' it all fatigues the gov'ment to that +extent the Major's cashiered, an' told to vamos the army for good. + +"I allers allows it's whiskey an' kyards gets the Major's roll that +time. Peets says he sees him 'way back once over some'ers near the +Mohave Desert--Wingate, mebby--an' whiskey an' poker has the Major +roped; one by the horns, the other by the hoofs; an' they jest +throws him an' drug him, an' drug him an' throws him, alternate. The +Major never shakes loose from the loops of them vices; none +whatever. + +"An' that's mighty likely, jest as I says, how the Major finds +himse'f cashiered an' afoot; an' nothin' but disgrace to get rid of +an' whiskey to get, to fill the future with. + +"So it comes when I trails up on the Major he's a drunkard complete, +hangin' 'round with a tin-horn an' a handful of dice, tryin' to get +Mexicans or Chinamen to go ag'in 'em for any small thing they names. + +"It's on account of this yere drunkard the Major that the Deef Woman +comes stagin' it in with Old Monte one day. Got a papoose with her, +the Deef Woman has, a boy comin' three, an' it's my firm belief, +which this view is common an' frequent with all Wolfville, as how +the Deef Woman's the Major's wife. + +"It ain't no cinch play that this female's deef, neither; which it's +allers plain she hears the most feeblesome yelp of that infant, all +the way from the dance-hall to the O. K. House, an' that means +across the camp complete. + +"Boggs puts it up she merely gives it out she's deef that a-way to +cut off debate with the camp, an' decline all confidences goin' an' +comin'. + +"Thar's no reason to say the Deef Woman's the Major's wife, more'n +she tumbles into camp as onlooked for as Old Monte sober, an' it's +easy to note she s'prises an' dismays the Major a lot, even drunk +an' soaked with nose paint as he shorely is. + +"The Deef Woman has a brief pow-wow with him alone over at the O. K. +House, followin' of which the Major appears the whitiest an' the +shakiest I ever beholds him--the last bein' some strong as a +statement--an' after beggin' a drink at the Red Light, p'ints out +afoot for Red Dog, an' is seen no more. + +"What the Deef Woman says to the Major, or him to her; or what makes +him hit the trail for Red Dog that a-way no one learns. The Deef +Woman ain't seemin' to regard the Major's jumpin' the outfit as no +loss, however. Wherein she's plenty accurate, for that Major shorely +ain't worth ropin' to brand. + +"After he's gone--an' the Major's moccasin track ain't never seen in +Wolfville no more, he's gone that good--the next we-alls hears of +the deal, this yere Deef Woman's playin' the piano at the dance- +hall. + +"Doc Peets an' Enright, likewise the rest, don't like this none +whatever, for she don't show dance-hall y'ear marks, an' ain't the +dance-hall brand; but it looks like they's powerless to interfere. + +"Peets tries to talk to her, but she blushes an' can't hear him; +while Enright an' Missis Rucker--which the last bein' a female +herse'f is rung in on the play--don't win out nothin' more. Looks +like all the Deef Woman wants is to be let alone, while she makes a +play the best she can for a home-stake. + +"I pauses to mention, however, that durin' the week the Deef Woman +turns her game at the piano--for she don't stay only a week as the +play runs out--she comes mighty near killin' the dance-hall +business. The fact is this were Deef Woman plays that remarkable +sweet no one dances at all; jest nacherally sets'round hungerin' for +them melodies, an' cadences to that extent they actooally overlooks +drinks. + +"That's right; an' you can gamble your deepest chip when folks +begins to overlook drinks, an' a glass of whiskey lasts energetic +people half an hour, they's shorely some rapt. + +"Even the coyotes cashes in an' quits their howls whenever the Deef +Woman drug her chair up to that piano an' throws loose. An' them +coyotes afterward, when she turns up her box an' stops dealin', gets +that bashful an' taciturn they ain't sayin' a word; but jest +withholds all yells entire the rest of the night. + +"But thar's no use talkin' hours about the Deef Woman's music. It +only lasts a week; even if Wolfville does brag of it yet. + +"It's this a-way: It's while Pinon Bill is romancin' round the time +I mentions, that we-alls rolls outen our blankets one mornin' an' +picks up a party whose name's Burke. This yere Burke is shot in the +back; plumb dead, an' is camped when we finds him all cold an' stiff +out back of the New York store. + +"The day before, Burke, who's a miner, diggin' an' projectin' 'round +over in the Floridas, is in camp layin' in powder an' fuse a whole +lot, with which he means to keep on shootin' up the he'pless bosoms +of the hills like them locoed miner people does. + +"At night he's drunk; an' while thar's gents as sees Burke as late, +mebby it's two hours after the last walse at the dance-hall, thar's +nobody who ups an' imparts how Burke gets plugged. All Wolfville +knows is that at first-drink time in the mornin', thar this Burke is +plumb petered that a-way. + +"An' the worst feature shorely is that the bullet goes in his back, +which makes it murder plain. Thar ain't a moccasin track to he'p +tell who drops this yere Burke. Nacrerally, everybody's deeply taken +to know who does it; for if thar's a party in camp who's out to +shoot when your back's turned, findin' of him an' hangin' him can't +be too pop'lar an' needful as a play. But, as I remarks, we're +baffled, an' up ag'inst it absoloote. No one has the least notion +who gets this yere Burke. It's money as is the object of the murder, +for Burke's war-bags don't disclose not a single centouse when the +committee goes through 'em prior to the obsequies. + +"It's two days the camp is talkin' over who does this crime, when +Texas Thompson begins to shed a beam of light. This last was +onlooked for, an' tharfore all the more interestin'. + +"Texas Thompson is a jedge of whiskey sech as any gent might tie to. +He's a middlin' shot with a Colt's .44 an' can protect himse'f at +poker. But nobody ever reckons before that Texas can think. Which I +even yet deems this partic'lar time a inspiration, in which event +Texas Thompson don't have to think. + +"It's over in the Red Light the second after. noon when Texas turns +loose a whole lot. + +"'Enright,' he says, 'I shore has a preemonition this yere Burke +gets plugged by Pinon Bill.' + +"'How does the kyards run so as to deal s'picions on Pinon Bill?' +says Enright. + +"'This a-way,' says Texas, some confident an' cl'ar; 'somebody downs +Burke; that's dead certain. Burke don't put that hole in the middle +of his back himse'f; no matter how much he reckons it improves him. +Then, when it's someone else who is it? Now,' goes on Texas, as glib +as wolves, 'yere's how I argues: You-all don't do it; Peets don't do +it; Boggs don't do it; thar's not one of us who does it. An' thar +you be plumb down to Pinon Bill. In the very nacher of the deal, +when no one else does it an' it's done, Pinon Bill's got to do it. I +tells you as shore as my former wife at Laredo's writin' insultin' +letters to me right now, this yere Pinon Bill's the party who shoots +up that miner gent Burke.' + +"What Texas Thompson says makes an impression; which it's about the +first thoughtful remark he ever makes, an' tharfore we're prone to +give it more'n usual attention. + +"We imbibes on it an' talks it up an' down, mebby it's half an hour; +an' the more we drinks an' the harder we thinks, the cl'arer it +keeps gettin' that mighty likely this yere Texas has struck the +trail. At last Jack Moore, who's, as I often says, prompt an' +vig'lant that a-way, lines out to hunt this yere Pinon Bill. + +"Whyever do they call him Pinon Bill? Nothin' much; only once he +comes into camp drunk an' locoed; an' bein' in the dark an' him +hawg-hungry, he b'iles a kettle of pinon-nuts, a-holdin' of 'em +erroneous to be beans, an' as sech aimin' to get some food outen 'em +a whole lot. He goes to sleep while he's pesterin' with 'em, an' +when the others tumbles to his game in the mornin', he's branded as +'Pinon Bill' ever more. + +"When Jack hops out to round-up Pinon Bill, all he does is go into +the street. The first thing he notes is this yere Pinon Bill's pony +standin' saddled over by the O. K. House, like he plans to pull his +freight. + +"'Which that bronco standin' thar,' says Jack to Enright, 'makes it +look like Texas calls the turn with them surmises.' An' it shorely +does. + +"This pony makes Jack's play plenty simple; all he does now is to +sa'nter 'round the pony casooal like an' lay for Pinon Bill. + +"Jack's too well brought up to go surgin' into rooms lookin' for +Pinon Bill, where Jack's eyes comin' in outen the sun that a-way, +can't see for a minute nohow, an' where Pinon Bill has advantages. +It's better to wait for him outside. + +"You-all saveys how it's done in the West. When a gent's needed you +allers opens the game with a gun-play. + +"'Hold up your hands!' says you, sorter indicatin' a whole lot at +your prey with a gun. + +"Which, by the way, if he don't enter into the sperit of the thing +prompt an' p'int his paws heavenward an' no delay, you-all mustn't +fall into no abstractions an' forget to shoot some. When you +observes to a fellow-bein' that a-way + +'Hold up your hands!' you must be partic'lar an' see he does it. +Which if you grows lax on this p'int he's mighty likely to put your +light out right thar. + +"An' jest as Jack Moore tells me once when we're puttin' in some +leesure hours an' whiskey mingled, you don't want to go too close to +standup your gent. Over in the Gunnison country, Jack says, a +marshal he knows gets inadvertent that a-way, an' thoughtless, an' +goes up close. + +"'Throw up your hands' says this yere marshal. + +"His tone shows he's ennuied; he has so many of these yere blazers +to run; that's why he's careless, mebby. When the party throws up +his hands, he is careful an knocks the marshal's gun one side with +his left hand, bein' he's too close as I says, at the same time +pullin' his own wherewith he then sends that marshal to the happy +huntin' grounds in one motion. Before ever that Gunnison offishul +gets it outen his head that that sport's holdin' up his hands, he's +receivin' notice on high to hustle 'round an' find his harp an' +stand in on the eternal chorus for all he's worth. + +"'Which the public,' says Jack Moore, the time he relates about this +yere Gunnison marshal bein over-played that time, 'takes an' hangs +the killer in a minute. An' he's shorely a bad man. + +"'Does you-all want to pray?" says one of the gents who's stringin' +of him. + +"'No, Ed," he says that a-way, "prayin's a blind trail to my eyes +an' I can't run it a inch." + +"'"What for a racket," says this yere Ed, "would it be to pick out a +sport to pray for you a whole lot; sorter play your hand?" + +"'"That's all right," says this culprit. "Nominate your sharp an' +tell him to wade in an' roll his game. I reckons it's a good hedge, +an' a little prayin' mebby does me good." + +"'Tharupon the committee puts for'ard a gent who's a good talker; +but not takin' an interest much, he makes a mighty weak orison, that +a-way. Thar's nohody likes it, from the culprit, who's standin' thar +with the lariat 'round his neck, to the last gent who's come up. +This party blunders along, mebby it's a minute, when the culprit, +who's plumb disgusted, breaks in. + +"'"That's a hell of a pra'r," he says, "an' I don't want no more of +it in mine. Gimme a drink of whiskey, gents, an' swing me off." + +"'The committee, whose sympathies is all with this yere party who's +to hang, calls down the gent a heap who's prayin', gives the other +his forty drops, an' cinches him up some free of the ground; which +the same bein' ample for strang'lation. + +"'But,' concloods Jack, 'while they hangs him all right an' proper, +that don't put off the funeral of the marshal none, who gets +careless an' goes too close.' An' you bet Jack's right. + +"But goin' back: As I remarks, Jack stands round loose an' +indifferent with his eye on the pony of Pinon Bill's, which it looks +now like this yere Bill is aware of Jack's little game. He comes out +shore-'nough, but he's organized. He's got his gun in his hand; an' +also he's packin' the Deef Woman's yearlin' in front of his breast +an' face. + +"Jack gives him the word, but Pinon Bill only laughs. Then Jack +makes a bluff with his gun like he's goin' to shoot Pinon Bill, the +infant, an' all involved tharin. This yere last move rattles Pinon +Bill, an' he ups an' slams loose at Jack. But the baby's in his way +as much mebby as it is in Jack's, an' he only grazes Jack's frame a +whole lot, which amounts to some blood an' no deep harm. + +"'Down his pony, Jack!' shouts Dave Tutt, jumpin' outen the Red +Light like he aims to get in on the deal. + +"But this yere Pinon Bill shifts the cut on 'em. + +"'If one of you-alls so much as cracks a cap,' he says, 'I blows the +head offen this yere blessed child.' + +"An' tharupon he shoves his gun up agin that baby's left y'ear that +a-way, so it shore curdles your blood. He does it as readily as if +it's grown-up folks. It shore sends a chill through me; an' Dan +Boggs is that 'fected he turns plumb sick. Boggs ain't eatin' a +thing, leastwise nothin' but whiskey, for two days after he sees +Pinon Bill do it. + +"'That's on the level,' says this Pinon Bill ag'in.--The first +vestich of a gun-play I witnesses, or if any gent starts to follow +me ontil I'm a mile away, I'll send this yearlin' scoutin' after +Burke. An' you-alls hears me say it.' + +"Thar it is; a squar' case of stand-off. Thar ain't a gent who's +game to make a move. Seein' we ain't got a kyard left to play, this +yere Pinon Bill grins wide an' satisfactory, an' swings into the +saddle. + +"All this time--which, after all, it ain't so long--the baby ain't +sayin' nothin', and takes the deal in plumb silence. But jest as +Pinon Bill lands in the saddle it onfurls a yell like a wronged +panther. That's what brings the Deef Woman stampedin' to the scene. +She don't hear a morsel of all this riot Jack an' Tutt an' Pinon +Bill kicks up; never even gets a hint of Pinon Bill's six-shooter. +But with the earliest squeak of that infant that a-way, you bet! she +comes a-runnin'. + +"The second she sees where her baby's at, up in the saddle along +with Pinon Bill, she makes a spring for the whole outfit. We-alls +stands lookin' on. Thar ain't one of us dares crook a finger, for +this Pinon Bill is cool an' ca'm plumb through. He's still got the +drop on the kid, while he's holdin' baby an' bridle both with the +other arm an' hand. His sharp eyes is on the Deef Woman, too. + +"She springs, but she never makes it. Pinon Bill jumps his pony +sideways out of her reach, an' at that the Deef Woman c'lapses on +her face an' shoulder in a dead swoon. + +"'Adios!' says Pinon Bill, to the rest of us, backin' an' sidlin' +his pony up the street so he don't lose sight of the play. 'Ten +minutes from now you-alls finds this yere infant a mile from camp as +safe an' solid as a sod house.' + +"'Bill,' says Enright, all at once, 'I makes you a prop'sition. +Restore the baby to me, an' thar ain't a gent in camp who follows +you a foot. I gives you the word of Wolfville.' + +"'Does that go?' demands Pinon Bill, turnin to Jack, who's shakin' +the blood offen his fingers where it runs down his arm. + +"'It goes,' says Jack; 'goes wherever Enright sets it. I makes good +his bluffs at all times on foot or in the stirrups.' + +"'An' I takes your promise,' says Pinon Bill with a laugh, 'an' +yere's the baby. Which now I'm goin', I don't mind confidin' in you- +alls,' goes on this Pinon Bill, 'that I never intends to hurt that +infant nohow.' + +"Enright gets the child, an' in no time later that Pinon Bill is +fled from sight. You can believe it; it takes a load offen the +public mind about that infant when the kyards comes that a-way. + +"Which the story's soon told now. It's three days later, an', seein' +it's refreshed in our thoughts, Enright an' the rest of us is +resoomed op'rations touchin' this Deef Woman, about gettin' her +outen camp, an' she's beginnin' to recover her obduracy about not +sayin' or hearin' nothin', when in comes a package by Old Monte an' +the stage. It's for Enright from that hoss. thief, Pinon Bill. +Thar's a letter an' +Soo for the baby. + +"'Tell that Decf Woman,' says this yere Pinon Bill, 'that I has an +even thousand dollars in my war-bags, when I stacks in her offspring +ag'inst the camp to win; an' I deems it only squar' to divide the +pot with the baby. The kid an' me's partners in the play that a-way, +an' the enclosed is the kid's share. Saw this yere dinero off on her +somehow; an' make her pull her freight. Wolfville's no good place to +raise that baby.' + +"'Which this Pinon Bill ain't so bad neither,' says Dan Boggs, when +he hears it. 'Gents, I proposes the health of this outlaw. Barkeep, +see what they takes in behalf of Pinon Bill.' + +"The letter an' the money's dead straight, an' the Deef Woman can't +dodge or go 'round. All of which Missis Rucker takes a day off an' +beats it into her by makin' signs. It's like two Injuns talkin'. It +all winds up by the Deef Woman p'intin' out on her way some'ers +East, an' thar ain't one of us ever sees the Major, the Deef Woman, +the kid, nor yet this Pinon Bill, no more. Which this last, however, +is not regarded as food for deep regrets," + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +CRAWFISH JIM. + + +"Don't I never tell you the story of the death of Crawfish Jim?" + +The Old Cattleman bent upon me an eye of benevolent inquiry. I +assured him that the details of the taking off of Crawfish Jim were +as a sealed book to me. But I would blithely listen. + +"What was the fate of Crawfish Jim?"I asked. The name seemed a +promise in itself. + +"Nothin' much for a fate, Crawfish's ain't," rejoined the Old +Cattleman. "Nothin' whatever compared to some fates I keeps tabs +onto. It was this a-way: Crawfish Jim was a sheep-man, an' has a +camp out in the foothills of the Tres Hermanas, mebby it's thirty +miles back from Wolfville. This yere Crawfish Jim was a pecooliar +person; plumb locoed, like all sheep-men. They has to be crazy or +they wouldn't pester 'round in no sech disrepootable pursoots as +sheep. + +You-all has seen these yere gents as makes pets of snakes. Mebby +it's once in a thousand times you cuts the trail of sech a party. +Snakes is kittens to him, an' he's likely to be packin' specimens +'round in his clothes any time. + +"That's the way with this Crawfish Jim. I minds talkin' to him at +his camp one day when I'm huntin' a bunch of cattle. The first I +notes, snake sticks his head outen Crawfish's shirt, an' looks at me +malev'lent and distrustful. Another protroods its nose out up by +Crawfish's collar. + +"'Which you shore seems ha'nted of snakes?' I says, steppin' back +an' p'intin' at the reptiles. + +"'Them's my dumb companions,' says Crawfish Jim. 'They shares my +solitood.' + +"'You-all do seem some pop'lar with 'em,' I observes, for I saveys +at once he's plumb off his mental reservation; an' when a party's +locoed that a-way it makes him hostile if you derides his little +game or bucks his notions. + +"I takes grub with Crawfish that same day; good chuck, too; mainly +sheep-meat, salt-hoss, an' bakin'-powder biscuit. I watches him some +narrow about them snakes he's infested with; I loathin' of 'em, an' +not wantin' 'em to transfer no love to me, nor take to enlivenin' my +secloosion none. + +"Well, son, this yere Crwafish Jim is as a den of serpents. I +reckons now he has a plumb dozen mowed away in his raiment. Thar's +no harm in 'em; bein' all bull-snakes, which is innocuous an' +without p'ison, fangs, or convictions. + +"When Crawfish goes to cook, he dumps these folks oaten his clothes, +an' lets 'em hustle an'play'round while grub's gettin'. + +"'These yere little animals,' he says, 'likes their reecreations +same as humans, so I allers gives 'em a play-spell while I'm busy +round camp.' + +'"Don't they ever stampede off none?' I asks. + +"'Shorely not,' says Crawfish. 'Bull-snakes is the most domestical +snake thar is. If I'd leave one of these yere tender creatures ere +over night he'd die of homesickness.' + +"When Crawfish gets ready to bile the coffee, he tumbles the biggest +bullsnake I'd seen yet outen the coffee-pot onto the grass. Then he +fills the kettle with water, dumps in the coffee, an' sets her on +the coals to stew. + +"'This yere partic'lar snake,' says Crawfish, 'which I calls him +Julius Caesar, is too big to tote 'round in my shirt, an' so he +lives in the coffee-pot while I'm away, an' keeps camp for me.' + +"'Don't you yearn for no rattlesnakes to fondle?' I inquires, jest +to see what kyard he'd play. + +"'No,' he says, 'rattlesnakes is all right--good, sociable, moral +snakes enough; but in a sperit of humor they may bite you or some +play like that, an' thar you'd be. No; bull-snakes is as 'fectionate +as rattles, an' don't run to p'ison. You don't have no +inadvertencies with 'em.' + +"'Can't you bust the fangs outen rattlesnakes?' I asks. + +"'They grows right in ag'in,' says Crawfish, same as your finger- +nails. I ain't got no time to go scoutin' a rattlesnake's mouth +every day, lookin' up teeth, so I don't worry with 'em, but plays +bull-snakes straight. This bein' dentist for rattlesnakes has resks, +which the same would be foolish to assoom.' + +"While grub's cookin' an' Crawfish an' me's pow-wowin', a little old +dog Crawfish has--one of them no-account nce-dogs--comes up an' +makes a small uprisin' off to one side with Julius Caesar. The dog +yelps an' snaps, an' Julius Caesar blows an' strikes at him, same as +a rattle. snake. However, they ain't doin' no harm, an' Crawfish +don't pay no heed. + +"'They's runnin' blazers on each other,' says Crawfish, 'an' don't +mean nothin'. Bimeby Caribou Pete--which the same is the dog--will +go lie down an' sleep; an' Julius Caesar will quile up ag'in him to +be warm. Caribou, bein' a dog that a-way, is a warm-blood animal, +while pore Julius has got cold blood like a fish. So he goes over +an' camps on Caribou, an' all the same puts his feet on him for to +be comfortable.' + +"Of course, I'm a heap interested in this yere snake knowledge, an' +tells Crawfish so. But it sorter coppers my appetite, an' Crawfish +saves on sheep-meat an' sow-belly by his discourse powerful. +Thinkin' an' a-lookin' at them blessed snakes, speshul at Julius +Cmsar, I shore ain't hungry much. But as you says: how about +Crawfish Jim gettin' killed? + +"One day Crawfish allows all alone by himse'f he'll hop into +Wolfville an' buy some stuff for his camp,--flour, whiskey, +tobacker, air-tights, an' sech. + +"What's air-tights? Which you Eastern shorthorns is shore ignorant. +Air-tights is can peaches, can tomatters, an' sim'lar bluffs. + +"As I was sayin', along comes pore old Crawfish over to Wolfville; +rides in on a burro. That's right, son; comes loafin' along on a +burro like a Mexican. These yere sheep-men is that abandoned an' +vulgar they ain't got pride to ride a hoss. + +"Along comes Crawfish on a burro, an' it's his first visit to +Wolfville. Yeretofore the old Cimmaron goes over to Red Dog for his +plunder, the same bein' a busted low-down camp on the Lordsburg +trail, which once holds it's a rival to Wolfville. It ain't, +however; the same not bein' of the same importance, commercial, as a +prairie-dog town. + +"This time, however, Crawfish pints up for Wolfville. An' to make +himse'f loved, I reckons, whatever does he do but bring along Julius +Caesar. + +"I don't reckon now he ever plays Julius Caesar none on Red Dog. +Mighty likely this yere was the bull-snake's first engagement. I +clings to this notion that Red Dog never sees Julius Caesar; for if +she had, them drunkards which inhabits said camp wouldn't have quit +yellin' yet. Which Julius Caesar, with that Red Dog whiskey they was +soaked in, would have shore given 'em some mighty heenous visions. +Fact is, Crawfish told Jack Moore later he never takes Julius Caesar +nowhere before. + +"But all the same Crawfish prances into camp on this yere occasion +with Julius bushwacked 'way 'round back in his shirt, an' sech +vacant spaces about his person as ain't otherwise occupied a- +nourishin' of minor bull-snakes plenty profuse. + +"Of course them snakes is all holdin' back, bein', after all, timid +cattle; an' so none of us s'spects Crawfish is packin' any sech +s'prises. None of the boys about town knows of Crawfish havin' this +bull-snake habit but me, nohow. So the old man stampedes'round an' +buys what he's after, an' all goes well. Nobody ain't even dreamin' +of reptiles. + +"At last Crawfish, havin' turned his little game for flour, air- +tights, an' jig-juice, as I says, gets into the Red Light, an' +braces up ag'in the bar an' calls for nose-paint all 'round. This +yere is proper an' p'lite, an' everybody within hearin' of the yell +lines up. + +"It's at this crisis Crawfish Jim starts in to make himse'f a +general fav'ritc. Everybody's slopped out his perfoomcry, an' Dan +Boggs is jest sayin': 'Yere's lookin' at you, Crawfish,' when that +crazy-boss shepherd sorter swarms 'round inside his shirt with his +hand, an' lugs out Julius Cesar be the scruff of his neck, a- +squirmin' an' a-blowin', an' madder'n a drunken squaw. Once he gets +Julius out, he spreads him 'round profuse on the Red Light bar an' +sorter herds him with his hand to keep him from chargin' off among +the bottles. + +"'Gents,' says this locoed Crawfish, 'I ain't no boaster, but I +offers a hundred to fifty, an' stands to make it up to a thousand +dollars in wool or sheep, Julius Caesar is the fattest an' finest +serpent in Arizona; also the best behaved.' + +"Thar ain't no one takin' Crawfish's bet. The moment he slams Julius +on the bar, more'n ten of our leadin' citizens falls to the floor in +fits, an' emerges outen one par'xysm only to slump into another. +Which we shorely has a general round-up of all sorts of spells. + +"'Whatever's the matter of you-all people?' says Crawfish, lookin' +mighty aghast. 'Thar's no more harm in Julius Caesar than if he's a +fullblown rose.' + +"Jack Moore, bein' marshal, of course stands his hand. It's his +offishul dooty to play a pat hand on bull-snakes an' danger in all +an' any forms. An' Jack does it. + +"While Crawfish is busy recountin' the attainments of Julius Caesar, +a-holdin' of his pet with one hand, Jack Moore takes a snap shot at +him along the bar with his six-shooter, an' away goes Julius +Caesar's head like a puff of smoke. Then Moore rounds up Crawfish, +an', perceivin' of the other bull-snakes, he searches 'em out one by +one an' massacres 'em. + +"'Call over Doc Peets,' says Jack Moore final, 'an' bring Boggs an' +Tutt an' the rest of these yere invalids to.' + +"Doc Peets an' Enright both trails in on the lope from the New York +Store. They hears Moore's gun-play an' is cur'ous, nacheral 'nough, +to know who calls it. Well, they turns in an' brings the other +inhabitants outen their fits; pendin' which Moore kills off the last +remainin' bull-snake in Crawfish's herd. + +"Son, I've seen people mad, an' I've seen 'em gay, an' I've seen 'em +bit by grief. But I'm yere to remark I never runs up on a gent who +goes plumb mad with sadness ontil I sees Crawfish that day Jack +Moore immolates his bull-snake pets. He stands thar, white, an' +ain't sayin' a word. Looks for a minute like he can't move. Crawfish +don't pack no gun, or I allers allowed we'd had notice of him some, +while them bullsnakes is cashin' in. + +"But at last he sorter comes to, an' walks out without sayin' +nothin'. They ain't none of us regardin' of him much at the time; +bein' busy drinkin' an' recoverin' from the shock. + +"Now, what do you s'pose this old Navajo does? Lopes straight over +to the New York Store--is ca'm as a June day about it, too--an' gets +a six-shooter. + +"The next information we gets of Crawfish, 'bang!' goes his new gun, +an' the bullet cuts along over Jack Moore's head too high for +results. New gun that a-way, an' Crawfish not up on his practice; of +course he overshoots. + +"Well, the pore old murderer never does get a second crack. I +reckons eight people he has interested shoots all at once, an' +Crawfish Jim quits this earthly deal unanimous. He stops every +bullet; eight of 'em, like I says. + +"'Thar ain't a man of us who don't feel regrets; but what's the use? +Thar we be, up ag'inst the deal, with Crawfish clean locoed. It's +the only wagon-track out. + +"'I shore hopes he's on the hot trail of them bull-snakes of his'n,' +says Dan Boggs, as we lays Crawfish out on a monte-table. 'Seems +like he thought monstrous well of 'em, an' it would mighty likely +please him to run up on 'em where he's gone.' + +"Whatever did we do? Why, we digs a grave out back of the dance-hall +an' plants Crawfish an' his pets tharin. + +"'I reckons we better bury them reptiles, too,' says Doc Peets, as +we gets Crawfish stretched out all comfortable in the bottom. 'If +he's lookin' down on these yere ceremonies it'll make him feel +easier.' + +"Doc Peets is mighty sentimental an' romantic that a-way, an' allers +thinks of the touchin' things to do, which I more'n once notices +likewise, that a gent bein' dead that a-way allers brings out the +soft side of Peets's nacher. You bet! he's plumb sympathetic. + +"We counts in the snakes. Thar's 'leven of 'em besides Julius +Caesar; which we lays him on Crawfish's breast. You can find the +grave to-day. + +"Shore! we sticks up a headboard. It says on it, the same bein' +furnished by Doc Peets--an' I wants to say Doc Peets is the best +eddicated gent in Arizona-as follows + + SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF + CRAWFISH JIM, JULIUS CAESAR + AND + ELEVEN OTHER BULL SNAKES, + THEY MEANT WELL, + BUT THEY MISUNDERSTOOD EXISTENCE + AND DIED. + + THIS BOARD WAS REARED BY AN + ADMIRING CIRELE OF FRIENDS + WHO WAS WITH DECEASED + TO THE LAST. + +"An' don't you-all know, son, this yere onfortunate weedin' out of +pore Crawfish that a-way, sorter settles down on the camp an' preys +on us for mighty likely it's a week. It shorely is a source of +gloom. Moreover, it done gives Dan Boggs the fan-tods. As I relates +prior, Boggs is emotional a whole lot, an' once let him get what +you-all calls a shock--same, for instance, as them bull-snakes--its +shore due to set Boggs's intellects to millin'. An' that's what +happens now. We-alls don't get Boggs; bedded down none for ten days, +his visions is that acoote. + +"'Which of course,' says Boggs, while we-all s settin' up +administerin' things to him, 'which of course I'm plumb aware these +yere is mere illoosions; but all the same, as cl'ar as ever I notes +an ace, no matter where I looks at, I discerns that Julius Caesar +serpent a-regardin' me reproachful outen the atmospher. An' gents, +sech spectacles lets me out a heap every time. You-alls can gamble, +I ain't slumberin' none with no snake-spook that a-way a-gyardin' of +my dreams.' + +"That's all thar is to the death of Crawfish Jim. Thar ain't no harm +in him, nor yet, I reckons, in Julius Caesar an' the rest of +Crawfish's fam'ly. But the way they gets tangled up with Wolfville, +an' takes to runnin' counter to public sentiment an' them eight six- +shooters, Crawfish an' his live-stock has to go." + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Wolfville, by Alfred Henry Lewis + |