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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78627 ***
+
+                        FIFTY-FIFTY WITH BONNIE
+
+                            By W. C. Tuttle
+
+  Author of “A Bull Movement in Yellow Horse,” “Fate and a Fool,” etc.
+
+
+“My Bonnie-e-e lies over th’ ocean. My Bonnie-e-e lies over th’ sea.
+My Bonnie-e-e lies o-ver th’----” wailed Chuck Warner in a minor
+key, turning his long nose toward the blue sky, and keeping a silent
+accompaniment to his vocal gyrations by wiggling his ears.
+
+“Here,” interrupted the postmaster of Curlew, handing Chuck a letter.
+“When yuh gits over feelin’ so bad yuh might put this in yore pocket
+and hand it to Johnny Myers as yuh rides past th’ Triangle ranch.”
+
+Chuck reached for the letter, stuffed it into his vest pocket and
+resumed his lamentations to some one to “Bring ba-a-ack, bring ba-a-ack,
+o-o-oh, bring back my Bonnie-e-e to me-e-e-e.”
+
+Chuck had the longest face and the shortest legs west of Bismarck.
+His claims to notoriety consisted of complete control of his ear
+muscles, an ability to ride anything that ever wore hair, the memory
+of a snowshoe rabbit and the conscience of a Flathead half-breed.
+Chuck drew an intermittent salary from Hank Padden, owner of the
+Seven-A cattle outfit. When he wasn’t engaged in drawing a salary
+from Hank, he was spending what he had already drawn, on wine and
+song. Women were a minus quantity with Chuck; that is, women who
+figure with wine and song. His favorite song--sober or not--has been
+mentioned at the beginning of this tale.
+
+Hank Padden was the owner of the Seven-A and a grouch against women. It
+was rumored that at one time Hank had been jilted by a Piegan squaw, and
+if that isn’t the height of humiliation there ain’t no such animile.
+
+Also Hank harbored the worst misfit bunch of cow-punchers that ever
+jingled a spur. Outside of Chuck, he had Weinie Lopp, Zeb Crandall,
+Hen Peck--christened Gilliland--Mort Blackwell and Swede Johnson.
+
+Leaving Chuck out of the group your eye naturally gravitates toward
+Swede Johnson. Swede is six feet five in his boots, with a head the
+shape and size of a croquet ball, and his boots admit twelve sizes.
+His hat is a 6½ and he draws it up a little with a snakeskin band.
+Swede was not a hero and did not look like a viking.
+
+This narrative starts with Chuck and Weinie Lopp sitting on the depot
+steps at Curlew, cussing the train ’cause it wasn’t on time.
+
+“If I hadn’t promised th’ ol’ man before he left that I’d see that this
+freight got hauled up to th’ ranch right away, I’d go some place where
+it’s cool and--dog-gone, I shore don’t admire to ride in uh lumber wagon
+a-tall. That ranch is goin’ to th’ dogs.”
+
+“Uh-huh,” agreed Weinie. “I’m gittin’ tired of th’ Seven-A myself.”
+
+“Aw, th’ ranch is all right,” defended Chuck. “It’s th’ danged
+lonesomeness that gits under my hide. It shore needs wakin’ or it
+will pass out from dry rot. Here th’ ol’ man goes gallivantin’ over
+to Helena and leaves Swede in charge of th’ ranch. Swede! Every time
+he takes off his hat I wants to play uh combination shot. He shore
+does carry th’ first cousin to uh pool ball on top of his neck. Here
+comes th’ train.”
+
+The train pulled in and off hopped two women. As a team they didn’t
+match up at all. One of them was short and fat and the other favored
+a lodge-pole. Not tall and willowy but tall and stiff. They were both
+wearing tan outing suits, straw hats and glasses, with enough black
+cord fastened thereto to hang a horse thief.
+
+They scanned the horizon and then engaged the agent in conversation for
+a minute. He listened and then pointed over at Chuck and Weinie. The two
+women walked over and made a minute inspection of the two punchers.
+
+“Have you a conveyance?” asked the tall one.
+
+Chuck looked at Weinie and then back at the women.
+
+“We’re both uh li’l hard uh hearin’ ma’am. What yuh say?”
+
+“I awsked you if you had a conveyance.”
+
+“She awsk--” began Weinie. “Oh, shore. You means uh way to git there
+without wearin’ out yore shoes.”
+
+“Certainly!” she snapped. “The manager must have told you.”
+
+“The manager?” wonders Chuck, aloud.
+
+“Oh, yes--shore--huh--yes’m.”
+
+“How far is it?” asked the fat one.
+
+“Nobody knows,” replied Chuck confidentially. “Th’ ol’ timers says that
+it ain’t----”
+
+“Your conveyance is near at hand?” interrupts the tall one.
+
+“I’d tell uh man,” replied Weinie, “it’s right behind th’ station. You
+show ’em, Chuck, while I asks about that freight.”
+
+The freight had not arrived, and as Weinie comes out of the depot doors
+he meets Chuck coming in.
+
+“Did yuh show ’em th’ con-vey-ance?” laughed Weinie.
+
+Chuck grinned back and yelled at the agent--“Does all these trunks
+belong to them females?”
+
+“What do you care?” asked Weinie.
+
+“They wants to take ’em along. Dog-gone, I reckon we’ll have uh load
+after all.”
+
+“Jist about what’s th’ idea, Chuck. Who’s goin’ to take ’em along and
+where?”
+
+“Search me, Weinie. I shows ’em th’ conveyance and they eases themselves
+into it and yells for th’ trunks.”
+
+“Didn’t they say where they’re a-goin’?”
+
+“Not a say. They awsked me if there were any cowboys on th’ farm, and
+also if th’ Injuns ever got hostile. I tells ’em that I never seen uh
+cowboy and that all Injuns is hostile. What do yuh reckon we’ve
+corraled, Weinie?”
+
+Weinie rolled a smoke and leaned thoughtfully against the depot wall.
+He snapped the half-smoked cigarette out over the tracks and shook his
+head.
+
+“I don’t know, Chuck. When uh female attaches herself to yuh thataway
+it ain’t good manners to question her motives. Jist lay fer uh chance
+and pass her on. Let’s take ’em out and sic ’em on Swede. Th’ Seven-A
+needs uh woman’s ministerin’ hand, Chuck. Six trunks! By cripes, this
+ain’t no fleetin’ visit they’re makin’. It’s uh good thing we didn’t
+come hossback.”
+
+“My man,” interrupted a harsh voice, and the tall woman stood at the
+corner of the building, with hands on her hips and an outlaw gleam in
+her eye. “Load those trunks!”
+
+“Yes’m,” replied Chuck, removing his hat. “We’ll jist----”
+
+“Don’t wiggle your ears that way!” she snaps. “One would think that you
+belonged to the lower order of animals.”
+
+“Not only one, ma’am,” agreed Weinie. “You and me both. I allus figure
+that uh human bein’ what can wiggle his ears thataway is----”
+
+“Aw ----!” snaps Chuck. “Git hold of that trunk!”
+
+“Your language,” remarked the woman, “is also ----”
+
+But Chuck had a trunk on his back and was waddling around the corner,
+and she shut her lips and followed.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+“That’s her,” stated Weinie, pointing with his whip at the ranch
+buildings of the Seven-A. The main building had originally been a
+one-story, square structure, but additional rooms had been added until
+it resembled a Maltese cross. Unpainted and weather-worn but with a
+wide veranda running around the front, it was at least habitable.
+Further down the slope stood the bunk-house and off to the east was
+the long rambling stable and corrals.
+
+“Rawther primitive,” remarked the fleshy member. “I suppose that
+preparations have been made for our arrival.”
+
+“Yes, indeed,” added the tall one. “That was all understood in case I
+wrote accepting terms. My letter must have reached here a week ago.”
+
+Chuck and Weinie exchanged glances and drove the team up to the front of
+the house.
+
+Swede Johnson heard the wagon roll up and he came out on the porch in
+his stocking feet and without his shirt on. He saw the women and stood
+there like an owl blinking in the sun.
+
+“That’s the boss,” whispered Chuck to the women. “He’s very fond uh
+women and mighty good-hearted, but he’s hard uh hearin’. Yuh got to
+speak loud to him, ma’am.”
+
+“Good afternoon!” yells th’ tall one in uh voice that would carry plumb
+to th’ forks of Roarin’ Creek.
+
+Chuck walked over to Swede and whispers out of the side of his mouth:
+
+“Ladies to see yuh, Swede. They’re hard uh hearin’.”
+
+“Ladies ----!” grunts Swede, and then at th’ top of his voice he yells:
+“Howdy! Git down and rest your feet!”
+
+The women climbed down and walked up to the porch.
+
+“You received my letter?” yelps the tall one in Swede’s ear, and he
+looks as blank as an alkali flat.
+
+“Louder,” whispers Weinie.
+
+“I asked,” she whoops again, “if you got my letter!”
+
+“What letter?” whoops Swede, leaning closer and getting red in the face.
+
+“My letter!” screams the lady so hard that her glasses fall off.
+
+“O-o-o-o-oh!” shrills Swede in a crescendo. “You git uh letter? Who
+from?”
+
+“Fool!” she snaps, puffing like she’d run a mile.
+
+“Yes’m,” agreed Swede at the top of his voice. “He must ’a’ been.” And
+then he went in the house and shut the door.
+
+“Well,” remarked the fat one, “this isn’t exactly the kind of a
+reception I was expecting, but we’ll look the place over and if it is
+suitable I suppose we can put up with a few inconveniences, Clarissa.”
+
+“Few inconveniences? Why, bless my soul, Genevieve, I hardly know what
+to expect now. I can scarcely believe that this person ever wrote those
+letters. He’s uncouth and----”
+
+“Don’t try to express it, ma’am,” grinned Chuck. “Better men than you
+have exhausted their supply of profanity in tryin’ to describe our
+boss. It can’t be did. Me and Weinie will take yore trunks into th’
+house and you can make yoreself right to home. If yuh wants anything
+jist call th’ cook. His name is Beans. Full title is Lee Fung Yok.
+He’s imported stock.”
+
+All this time Zeb Crandall, Hen Peck and Mort Blackwell are sitting on
+the corral fence, gawping like a bunch of hungry magpies.
+
+“Jist about what’s th’ main idea, Chuck?” yelps Mort, and Chuck and
+Weinie come down from the house, chuckling to themselves.
+
+“That,” replied Chuck seriously, “is ol’ man Padden’s intended and his
+imported chaperon. Th’ human lodge-pole is th’ bride to be. Did yuh hear
+’em yellin’? They’re hard uh hearin’.”
+
+“Chuck,” remarked Hen in a reproving voice, “yo’re handlin’ th’ truth
+like uh shepherd.”
+
+“When Chuck gits to lyin’ he’s uh world-beater,” agreed Zeb. “Jist about
+what is th’ real truth of the matter, Weinie?”
+
+“Chuck said it all, boys,” laughed Weinie.
+
+“Yuh see it’s this way,” explained Chuck. “Th’ ol’ man, so far as I can
+find out, has been correspondin’ with this female, and when he finds out
+that she’s comin’ out here he loses his nerve and ducks.”
+
+“Th’ ol’ pack-rat!” exclaimed Hen Peck. “Makin’ us believe all th’ time
+that he’s uh woman hater, and gittin’ engaged by mail. Dog-gone!”
+
+“Haw! Haw! Haw!” roared Mort. “Ain’t he th’ li’l ol’ devil though?
+Let’s all go up and look her over. I’d shore admire to see what he’s
+selected.”
+
+“You fellers can,” remarked Chuck. “I shore got a eyeful. We’ll put th’
+team up. Say, Hen--oh, Hennery, don’t flirt with th’ ladies!”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The delegation of three ambles up to the house and clatters up the
+steps. The ladies are there arguing with Swede, and everybody is talking
+at the top of their voices.
+
+“You must have some one clean out those front rooms!” yelps the tall
+one. “Miss Elberfield and I must have those rooms.”
+
+“Haw-w-w!” roars Swede. “I can’t do it. Them’s th’ ol’ man’s rooms.
+_Sabe_?”
+
+“He told us we could have the best in the house,” howls the tall one
+right back at him, shaking her finger in his face.
+
+Swede gets as red as a beet in the face and hitches up his belt.
+
+“Well,” he yells, “I don’t give uh ----! Take ’em! I’ll have Beans swamp
+’em up a li’l.”
+
+“Do you employ all of these men?” asked the fleshy one, pointing to the
+delegation on the steps.
+
+“Yah!” yelled Swede. “Them’s Zeb and Hen and Mort. Jist plain punchers.”
+
+“Pleased to meet yuh, ladies,” sez Mort, taking off his hat and speaking
+in an ordinary tone.
+
+“Yell it!” exclaimed Swede in a whisper to Mort. “They’re deef.”
+
+“Glad to meet yuh!” Mort tore a six-foot hole in the atmosphere with his
+voice.
+
+“Delighted!” howls the fat one. “I am Miss Genevieve Elberfield and this
+is Miss Clarissa Vanderberg.”
+
+“Nice day!” whoops Hen, shaking hands with both of them. “How’s yore
+folks?”
+
+Miss Elberfield leaned against the side of the porch and watched the
+three walk back to the bunk-house.
+
+“Clarissa, there are some real red-blooded men--real ones.”
+
+“Yes, my dear, but it’s too bad they are so hard of hearing.”
+
+“What I don’t see,” remarked Hen, as they stopped at the bunk-house, “is
+what th’ ol’ man can see about Clarissa.”
+
+“Well,” drawled Zeb, “after considerin’ everything about th’ Seven-A
+from th’ mongrel dog to th’ hired hands, I’d say that Hank Padden is
+jist about runnin’ true to form.”
+
+The next morning Chuck meets Swede on the porch.
+
+“Chuck, I ain’t noways clear on this subject,” announced Swede,
+jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the main
+part of the house. “Where in ---- did these females come from, and
+what are they doin’ here? I’ve worked my danged fingers off fer them
+already, and Beans swears that he’ll quit tonight if they don’t keep
+out of th’ kitchen. They makes me dump all th’ ol’ man’s stuff into
+th’ back room. By cripes, when he comes back there’ll be ---- raised
+around this ranch, Chuck. He can’t blame----”
+
+“Good morning!” the tall one had slipped out of the door and yelled
+right in Swede’s ear, and he ducked like some one was shooting at his
+right ear. “Have you mounts enough for twelve?”
+
+“Hey!” yells Swede. “What you say?”
+
+“Have you horses enough for twelve?” she yells again.
+
+“What yuh goin’ to do--git up uh posse?” howled Swede.
+
+“Don’t be sarcastic,” she snaps like the crack of a .45-70. “I’ll have
+to be sure of these small details, as I’m sending for the girls today.”
+
+“Sending fer th’-- Say, what girls yuh talkin’ about?”
+
+“Goodness gracious, didn’t you read my letter?” she yelled.
+
+“Ma’am--” Swede strained his voice until his neck looked like a piece
+of rawhide rope, and his little blue eyes snapped-- “I never reads
+anybody’s mail except my own!”
+
+Miss Clarissa stares at Swede and then at Chuck, who is choking to death
+from unnatural causes, grunts wonderingly and goes back into the house.
+
+“I finds, Chuck, that th’ only way to handle uh woman is to show her
+that she can’t run over yuh,” observed Swede.
+
+“Uh-huh,” agreed Chuck, wiping the tears off his cheeks. “When it comes
+to yellin’, Swede, you shore got anything beat I ever hears. If I didn’t
+know for shore that yore name was Johnson, I’d bet six to one that yore
+ancestors were war-whoops.”
+
+“And still I don’t know why they’re hivin’ up here,” wailed Swede.
+
+“Pshaw! I thought you knowed, Swede. Lissen--them fe-males are rich.
+They been writin’ to th’ ol’ man about buyin’ th’ ranch, _sabe_? They
+wants to acquire th’ Seven-A, lock, stock and barrel. Ain’t they said
+nothin’ to you about it? No? Huh, that’s shore queer. They hints to
+me that they likes your style and will probably want to keep yuh as
+sort of uh general manager in case they takes th’ place. They asks me
+how much yo’re worth per month and I said you was worth uh hundred at
+least. They says, ‘That’s very reasonable.’”
+
+“Cripes! Is that uh fact, Chuck? I reckon I’ll have to treat ’em as nice
+as possible. Who do yuh reckon them twelve girls are?”
+
+“Didn’t they tell yuh about them? Why them two females have been
+runnin’ uh matrimonial bureau fer years--in fact that’s where they
+makes all their money. Accordin’ to their contracts they has to find
+husbands fer all th’ girls on their books. They had twelve left over
+when they decides to quit th’ business and settle down, so they’re
+goin’ to do th’ square thing by bringin’ ’em out here and gittin’
+husbands fer ’em right here in li’l ol’ Montana. _Sabe_?”
+
+“Cripes!” yelled Swede at the top of his voice. “Mebby we’ll all git uh
+gal from that herd, eh, Chuck?”
+
+“Yuh don’t have to yell at me thataway. Also you’ll git uh girl--not.
+Th’ fat one intimates to me that she likes you uh heap, and, believe
+me, if uh she-person with her capabilities makes up her mind to do uh
+thing like that she’ll shore annex th’ cognomen of Johnson mighty
+sudden.”
+
+“Me? Not me, Chuck! You intimate to her that I’m uh widower with six
+kids. Cripes! I won’t marry her--not a-tall!”
+
+“Well, yuh don’t have to announce it to th’ next county, Swede. Weinie
+and me had uh hard time tryin’ to keep her from kidnapin’ them two
+papooses of Potlatch Annie’s as we came up here. She likes kids.”
+
+Swede hooked his thumbs over the waistband of his trousers and scowled
+at the horizon.
+
+“What’ll I do, Chuck?”
+
+Chuck leaned against a post and contemplated the situation for a while
+and then slapped Swede on the shoulder.
+
+“Tell her yo’re married already.”
+
+“Huh! Where’ll I tell her my wife is?”
+
+Chuck snapped his cigaret over the railing and yawned as he replied:
+
+“Dog-gone it, Swede, do you expect me to lie about it? I ain’t afraid
+to tell uh li’l untruth once in uh while, but you shore got to fix yore
+wife’s place of residence. Here comes th’ females.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Swede ducked around the corner and ambled for the bunk-house, but Chuck,
+after one look, leaned against the porch and studied the hand-stamping
+on his leather cuffs.
+
+“Where is the manager?” asked Miss Clarissa.
+
+“Oh, I reckon he’s gone down to see his wife,” replied Chuck. “Said he
+was goin’ down that way this mornin’.”
+
+“His wife!” exclaimed Miss Genevieve. “Why don’t he keep her here at the
+farm? I can see where a woman’s hand could work wonders here.”
+
+“Not hers, ma’am,” gravely stated Chuck. “You see, she’s uh squaw. He
+married Potlatch Annie uh few years ago, and they’ve got some kids.
+Th’ bunch around here won’t stand fer no Injuns hangin’ around, so he
+has to keep her down on Roarin’ Creek in uh tepee.”
+
+“Heavens!” exclaimed Miss Clarissa. “How perfectly unfair! This man
+evidently loves this Indian maiden, and just because of race prejudice
+he is forced to live apart from her. We must investigate it, my dear
+Genevieve.”
+
+“Yes, indeed! Would it be feasible, Mr. Warner, for us to arrange to
+have her brought up here where she rightfully belongs?”
+
+“Well,” replied Chuck slowly, “I don’t reckon it would. You see, while
+I mixes my sympathy with yours fer th’ pore klooch, I can’t see where
+we has any chance to change things. Chief Runnin’ Wolf is uh close
+relative of hers, and he hates th’ whites a plenty. He’d jist about go
+on th’ grouch trail and lift some hair if we brought Annie up to live
+here with--No, I’d let well enough alone.”
+
+Well, things go along like this for a week. Poor old Swede is getting
+thinner, and Beans won’t talk to any one at all. The boys, with the
+exception of Mort Blackwell, hang around the house and yell so much
+that when they go to bed they are unable to talk above a whisper. One
+morning Hen drops into the kitchen and walks up behind Beans, who is
+peeling potatoes. He says to Beans:
+
+“Beans, can I have some---- Git away with that knife, you Celestial
+devil! What do yuh think yo’re doin’?”
+
+“Whasamalla you?” howled Beans, throwing the knife on the floor. “You
+sneak in easy allesame woman. Woman no good, Hen. Alle time say, ‘Beans,
+you washee face. Beans, you washee shirt’. Alle time wantum sclub flo’.
+Mebby so I’m chasum li’l fly! Ol’ man Padden come pretty soon, I quit.
+Alle time scare--no good.”
+
+“Th’ ol’ man’s comin’ home tomorrow,” stated Swede, in the bunk-house,
+after Weinie had been down after the mail. “He wants somebody to
+come--Chuck, yuh bantie-legged maverick, shut up!”
+
+“Come ba-a-ack, come ba-a-a-ack--” mimicked Swede. “When you gits to
+singin’, Chuck, you shore are uh specimen.”
+
+“Well, Swede, before yuh imitates uh singer you better learn th’ words
+to th’ song. It ain’t ‘come back’ it’s ‘bring back.’ That is shore one
+grand li’l song. I’ll bet thet I can sing----”
+
+“Chuck, th’ ol’ man wants one of us to meet him at th’ station with uh
+saddle-hoss. You want to go?”
+
+“Naw, let Zeb go. He ain’t done nothin’ but lay around all week.”
+
+“Zeb and Hen are out breakin’ that sorrel team,” informed Weinie.
+
+“I seen ’em drive off down th’ road uh while ago, and that team went
+away like they’d been broke all their lives. There’s th’ wagon comin’
+right now.”
+
+They stepped out of the door and the team was just pulling up to the
+house. There is a big black bundle in the back of the wagon, and Zeb
+is having a hard time trying to get the team up to the porch. Just
+then Miss Elberfield and Miss Vanderberg come out of the house and
+trot down the steps.
+
+“Did you succeed?” yells Miss Vanderberg.
+
+“Yes’m,” replied Zeb. “I’d sort-a remark that we did--mostly. One uh
+them kids hides out in th’ bunch grass and we leaves him. Th’ rest are
+here.”
+
+Zeb untied the rope, pulled the blanket off and up stands Potlatch
+Annie. She grabs the back of the seat and steadies herself long enough
+to reach down and pick up a papoose, which wails loud and free.
+
+“What th’ ---- yuh got there?” yells Swede.
+
+“Your wife!” shouts Miss Elberfield. “Won’t you make her welcome?”
+
+“My Gawd!” croaks Swede. “My wife? That’s ol’ Runnin’ Wolf’s klooch!
+Where--what yuh goin’ to do with her, Zeb?”
+
+“Them women,” replied Zeb, “pays me and Hen to go down and kidnap her
+and her flock and bring ’em up here. I didn’t know she was yore wife,
+Swede, or we wouldn’t have lost that papoose.”
+
+Swede can’t stand any more so he claps his hat on his head and gallops
+down toward the barn like a locoed cayuse in flytime.
+
+The women take Annie into the house, and all the bunch, with the
+exception of Chuck, go back to the bunk-house. Miss Elberfield turns
+to Chuck, sort of sarcastic like, and remarks--
+
+“Do all the men in this country act that way when some one tries to do
+their wife a good turn?”
+
+“Wife?” said Chuck wonderingly. “Oh, I--I--I think I begins to see. I
+reckon this is a mistake. You thought I meant she was th’ boss’ wife.
+You spoke of the owner. You see Mister Johnson isn’t th’ owner. Mister
+Padden--Henry L. Padden, is th’ owner.”
+
+“That don’t sound like the name,” mused Miss Vanderberg aloud. “It was
+more like Mayer or--”
+
+“Padden is th’ name, ma’am. You see it’s this way: Swede is supposed
+to be th’ owner, but he ain’t a-tall. Ol’ man Padden got in bad with
+th’ law--nothin’ bad, you understand. He shoots two cow-punchers to
+begin with, ma’am. That wasn’t nothin’ to speak of, but one day
+somebody sees him brandin’ uh cow what don’t exactly belong to him.
+That’s why he ain’t in evidence. Uh course he’s gittin’ bolder all
+th’ time, and I sort-a look fer him to show up here at th’ ranch
+to-morrow. I don’t know what he’ll think when he sees his squaw up
+here. But no matter what he does, you women don’t need to be scared.
+He ain’t never shot no women--yet.”
+
+“You say he will be here to-morrow!” exclaimed Miss Elberfield.
+
+“Won’t that be lovely, Clarissa. The girls will be on that noon train,
+and it will give them a chance to see a real live bad man. I hope he
+won’t disappoint us, Mr. Warner.”
+
+“No,” replied Chuck. “I--I--I don’t reckon he will. Who is goin’ after
+th’ girls?”
+
+“Messrs. Peck, Crandall and Lopp,” replied Miss Clarissa.
+
+“I shore ought to be included,” groaned Chuck to himself. “If I ain’t
+qualified to join th’ Messrs, I don’t know of anybody around this
+illahee what is.”
+
+“My Bonnie-e-e lies over th’ ocean. My Bonnie-e-e--” wailed Chuck,
+lying on his bunk, with his hands under his head. “Say, Weinie, this
+is th’ dog-gonedest funniest thing I ever heard of. Here these females
+been here all this time and nobody knows what for.”
+
+“Uh-huh,” agreed Weinie, with his face twisted out of shape, trying to
+shave in a splinter of glass on the wall. “Ain’t it too true. Uh course
+everybody knows but me and you, Chuck. You told ’em.”
+
+“Well,” drawled Chuck, “would you have ’em live in ignorance?”
+
+“Well, I do know that I’m one uh those selected to meet th’ girls,
+whoever they are,” states Weinie, as he tossed the razor into a box
+and sighed at his scratched face in the mirror. “They’re comin’ in on
+that noon train from th’ East.”
+
+“Some people shore are lucky,” complained Chuck. “Here I’ve got to go
+down there with uh hoss to meet th’ ol’ man at eleven. If there’s any
+disagreeable work to do I shore gits uh front seat. I wonder what th’
+ol’ man will do when he sees all these females, Weinie?”
+
+“And his foreman missin’,” supplemented Weinie. “Swede has hived up
+with Pete Gonyer, over on Roarin’ Creek, and Beans threatens to shoot
+th’ first woman what pokes her nose in th’ kitchen.”
+
+“Swede got tired of yellin’,” laughed Chuck. “Mama mine! This shore has
+been what you’d call an audible week. Has Potlatch Annie gone home yet?”
+
+“Nope. I seen her this mornin’. She’s livin’ in th’ ol’ man’s room and I
+see her wearin’ that fancy silk coat he bought that time he got stewed
+down at Great Falls. When he sees her there’ll jist about be uh vacancy
+in her tribe, Chuck.”
+
+Chuck saddled two horses, and just as he climbed into the saddle he
+heard a hail from the house and saw Miss Elberfield waving at him.
+
+“I just wanted to ask you one question,” she said, as Chuck rode up.
+
+“Do you really think your manager loves this Indian girl?”
+
+“Well,” drawled Chuck, “I’d shore hate to say he don’t. You see it’s
+this way: Annie, bein’ an Injun, is entitled to uh certain allotment
+uh ground in the reservation. If she’s got uh husband he gits in on
+it, and every half-breed papoose gits uh share too. _Sabe_? I don’t
+_sabe_ love much, but any man can admire good land.”
+
+“Mercenary brute!” she snapped. “Will he be here today?”
+
+“Yes’m, about noon. I’ll probably be with him. You see I’m about th’
+only person in th’ county he can fully trust. Everybody trusts me.”
+
+“Perfect faith is a great thing,” she sighed.
+
+“Yes’m. Sometimes I think that I’m to be classed with th’ inscription on
+uh dollar, ma’am. Everybody trusts me. So long, ma’am.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Old Hank Padden swung wearily off the east-bound train and shook hands
+with Chuck.
+
+“How’s everything, Chuck?” he asked.
+
+“Pretty fair, Hank. Have uh good trip?”
+
+“Very dry. Let’s go over and loosen up some of th’ dust.”
+
+They ambled over to Sam Belden’s saloon and finds Zeb, Mort, Weinie and
+Hen playing freeze-out. They shake hands with Padden and line up to the
+bar with many a wink at each other.
+
+“Well, here’s luck to him, boys!” laughed Zeb. “And may all his troubles
+be li’l ones.”
+
+“Huh!” exclaimed Padden. “They can’t be too small to suit me.”
+
+“Ten pounds is uh good average, I believe,” chuckled Mort.
+
+“Hm-m-m” grunted Padden, looking foolish at Mort. “Ten pounds uh what?
+I suppose you fellers ain’t done nothin’ but trail into town and lick
+up hooch since I left. Yo’re all talkin’ loco language. Zeb, did you
+and Mort go after them strays over on th’ Little Muddy?”
+
+“Nope,” replied Zeb. “We been too busy close-herdin’ th’ house. You know
+why.”
+
+“Only I don’t know!” snapped Padden. “Would some of you imitation
+cow-punchers tell me what th’ joke is?”
+
+“Haw! Haw! Haw!” roared Zeb. “Ain’t he there, boys. Dog-goned ol’ fox,
+eh? Oh, well, Hank, it happens to th’ best of ’em. Let’s all go over to
+th’ depot.”
+
+They left the saloon, slapping each other on the backs and laughing,
+while Padden stood and stared at Chuck, as if asking for an explanation.
+
+“Chuck, am I running an insane asylum or a cow ranch? Am I crazy or
+what’s th’ matter?”
+
+Chuck grinned at Padden and admired the color of the liquor in his glass
+before he replied:
+
+“You see, it’s this way. They wasn’t talkin’ about you a-tall. Swede
+Johnson is goin’ to marry Potlatch Annie, and he’s done stated that
+you are goin’ to be best man at th’ weddin’, and also to be godfather,
+whatever that is, to his first born. _Sabe_?”
+
+“Lord A’mighty, Chuck! Annie’s already got uh husband!”
+
+“Not now,” stated Chuck. “She did have, but somebody slips ol’ Runnin’
+Wolf uh quart uh wood alcohol.”
+
+“But Swede ain’t goin’ to marry that klooch is he?”
+
+“Shore is, boss. She’s livin’ in th’ ranch house right now--yore house.”
+
+Old Man Padden slammed his glass on the bar and snorted with fury.
+
+“By th’ horns on th’ moon! I’m goin’ right up there and bust this up! In
+my house, eh? Dog-gone it, Chuck, that Swede knows I don’t allow no
+woman, red, white or black in my house! Here I goes away fer uh week and
+th’ first thing he does is to bring uh flea-packin’ squaw up there. I’ll
+show that pool-ball-headed cow-trailer where to git off at, Chuck. Come
+on and I’ll show yuh some fun.”
+
+“I’d shore admire to,” replied Chuck. “But I can’t go with yuh. My
+bronc done picked up uh nail in his hoof and can’t hardly walk. I’ve
+got to rustle another hoss before I can git my saddle home.”
+
+“Well, I’ll go on then. Git uh hoss as soon as yuh can, cause when I
+gits through with Swede I’ll shore need another foreman. If yuh sees
+th’ rest of them crazy punchers, tell ’em to come home sober or git
+their time.”
+
+“Hello, Mister Padden!” yells a voice that rasped on their ear-drums,
+and there stood Swede Johnson, with a grin all over his face.
+
+Padden stands there and stares at Swede for a full minute. He don’t seem
+able to speak, and Swede remarks in the same tremendous voice:
+
+“I hope they don’t buy you out, Mister Padden. If they does I won’t work
+for ’em.”
+
+“What th’--what’s th’--matter with you?” howled Padden. “Do you think
+I’m deef? Yuh--yuh Swede Johnson, yo’re uh--dog-gone, I jist don’t
+seem to be able to express my feelin’s a-tall. You squaw-marryin’,
+lop-sided, marble-headed full cousin to uh coyote, you. What do yuh
+mean by bringin’ uh broad-faced, flea-packin’, smoke-smellin’
+aborigine into my house, eh? Yo’re fired, Swede! I only wants you to
+come near my ranch once more, and that will be to git what’s left of
+that squaw after I pitches her out on her head! _Sabe_?”
+
+Padden pushed the amazed Swede to one side and gallops over to the
+hitch-rack, where his bronc is tied. He vaults into the saddle and
+without a backward glance, fogs for the Seven-A.
+
+“Huh!” grunted Swede, as Padden faded into the distance. “I’d almost say
+that I’d been fired, Chuck.”
+
+“Uh-huh,” agreed Chuck, sitting down on the saloon porch and rolling a
+smoke. “Takin’ it all in all, Swede, uh feller would de-duce that he
+ain’t goin’ to put himself out none whatever to induce you to labor on
+his property any more.”
+
+“He said I was uh lop-sided, squaw-marryin’--Say, Chuck, I ain’t married
+to no squaw! Dog-gone it all, I ain’t!”
+
+“Don’t yell, Swede. Either ease up or hire uh hall. I ain’t disputin’
+yuh am I?”
+
+“Somebody told that around, Chuck. By cripes, when I finds th’ hombre
+what circulated that story I’ll stake him out to uh sidewinder! Chuck,
+did--did you tell ’em I married uh squaw?”
+
+“Me? Say, Swede, there are times--infrequently--when I’ll depart from
+th’ naked truth to help uh friend, but far be it from me to marry a
+friend into th’ Piegan tribe.” And then to himself: “That’s no lie.
+Annie’s uh Flathead.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Hank Padden spared not his mount on his homeward journey. Usually an
+easy-going, hard-to-make-mad person, when he did get angry he shut
+his eyes to everything but his own personal feelings. He spurred his
+horse right up to the porch of the house and slid off. He dropped
+his reins and strode up on the porch, and just then the door opened
+and out walked Miss Clarissa.
+
+“Did you wish to see some one?” she asked, peering at Padden.
+
+Hank looked at her for a moment and then snorted:
+
+“Chuck was a danged liar! He said it was uh squaw!”
+
+Then he starts for the door. Miss Clarissa steps in front of him and
+holds up her hand.
+
+“Would you mind stating your business?” she asked.
+
+“Ma’am,” replied Padden, “since when has th’ owner of this place got in
+so bad with his household that he has to stand on his porch and explain
+why he wants to go in his own house?”
+
+“Oh! So you’re the owner, are you?” She looks Padden over from boots to
+sombrero. “Well, you look just like a man who would marry a poor squaw
+for gain. For a few measly acres of land, you marry her. Yes, you look
+like you would do it. I pity the poor girl.”
+
+“You do, eh!” snorted Padden. “I never posed as uh he-beauty, ma’am, but
+I shore resents marryin’ squaws. Jist about who are yuh and what are yuh
+doin’ here?”
+
+“I suppose you don’t know who I am.”
+
+“Ma’am, I’m no good at puzzles. I’m a-listenin’.”
+
+“I am,” she replied, “the woman who wrote those letters. I also received
+replies from you. Your memory must be very short.”
+
+Padden jabbed his spur into his ankle and scowled at Miss Clarissa.
+
+“I’m neither asleep or drunk, so I must be crazy,” he mumbled to
+himself.
+
+“I suppose you’ll say next that this Indian girl isn’t your wife.”
+
+“My--what? Wife?” roared Padden. “Did you say wife?”
+
+“Don’t you dare to deny it!” she snapped, shaking her finger in Padden’s
+face. “I can forgive you for killing those two cowboys, and for stealing
+cattle, but a man who deliberately marries a poor Indian girl for what
+property she can bring him, makes her live in a teepee, while he lives
+in ease and comfort, and then denies it--well, he’s outside the pale of
+forgiveness.”
+
+“Go on and strike me!” she continued, as Padden grunted and started
+toward her. “I wouldn’t put it one bit past you.”
+
+“Lord love yuh, woman!” wailed Padden. “I wouldn’t strike yuh--besides
+it’s agin’ th’ law in this state to hit uh person which had glasses on.
+Somebody’s shore gone loco, ma’am. I’d shore admire to----”
+
+“Here comes the girls!” exclaimed Miss Clarissa, pointing down the road.
+
+Padden turns and looks at the wagon-load of petticoats driving into the
+front yard, and then sits down weakly on the steps.
+
+“Sufferin’ coyotes!” he wailed. “They’re comin’ in bunches!”
+
+In the next few minutes there is a lot of female talk spilled around the
+place. Everyone tries to talk at once, and they swamps Miss Clarissa
+with kisses. As Zeb said afterward; “There was more kisses spilt right
+there in uh minute than ever was smacked in Yaller Rock County since the
+Custer fight.”
+
+“Now, girls,” said Miss Clarissa, after the kissing bee was over, or
+had rather died down to skirmish fire, “come right in the house. We
+will probably have to get the men to build us some more beds, but
+we’ll get along nicely.”
+
+The girls danced up the steps and into the house, right past Padden who
+is sitting there like a foundered calf, looking at the sky. Weinie, Hen
+and Zeb are still sitting in the wagon, and looking foolishly at Padden,
+who seems to come out of his daze after a while and notice things. He
+opens his mouth several times and then points at the stable.
+
+“Put up th’ team,” was all he seemed able to say.
+
+“Gosh, th’ ol’ man is still there on th’ steps!” chuckled Hen, as the
+trio went back to the bunk-house.
+
+“Uh-huh,” agreed Zeb. “He ain’t got no other place to go. We ain’t got
+no room in here for him--and th’ stable’s full.”
+
+“I wonder where Chuck is?” mumbled Weinie through the lather on his
+face. “Drop that necktie Zeb! Dog-gone, uh feller can’t own nothin’
+around this place without some jasper actin’ free with it. I buys
+that tie uh purpose fer this occasion. Chuck’s got uh dandy green one
+in his war-sack--help yourself.”
+
+“Over th’ unconscious form of old man Warner’s son yuh might,” stated
+Chuck from the doorway.
+
+“Hello, Chawles!” laughed Zeb, sluicing his face from the wash-basin.
+
+“Did yuh see th’ girls? Chuck’s uh wise ol’ owl, Hen. He opined he’d
+have first pick from this female herd, but Swede gave th’ secret away.
+Did yuh notice th’ li’l blond, Hen. Th’ one what sat beside me all th’
+way up. Some han’some li’l filly, eh? Believe me, Hennie, ol’ boy, li’l
+Zebbie is shore goin’ to mark one uh them matrimonial holdovers off th’
+books.”
+
+Chuck sat down on the bunk and picked up an old magazine.
+
+“Ain’t yuh goin’ to harvest th’ hair off yore face, Chuck?” asked
+Weinie. “Aw, be uh sport. Jist because yuh didn’t git first pick
+ain’t no reason fer uh peeve. Hereafter don’t tell Swede anything,
+old-timer.”
+
+Chuck shook his head and sprawled on the bunk, as the rest of the bunch
+trailed off toward the house. He rolled a cigaret and pondered deeply.
+
+“Matrimonial bureau,” he grinned to himself. “Well, dog-gone it, mebby
+it wasn’t a fabrication after all.”
+
+He thought of the new green tie and pink shirt in the war-sack, and
+reached for the razor.
+
+“You never can tell which way uh dill pickle might squirt,” he
+soliloquized, as he reached for the sack. “I might as well put on that
+blue vest too.”
+
+He took his belongings out of the vest he was wearing and, as an
+afterthought, ran his hand into the inside pocket. He pulled out a
+crumpled envelope and turned it over in his hands. He studied it for
+a few minutes, with a frown of wonderment on his face, and suddenly
+broke into a smile. He slipped his finger under one corner of the
+flap and opened it.
+
+For fully five minutes he sat on the bunk and read and reread the
+contents of that envelope. Finally he slipped it back into the pocket
+and sat down on Zeb’s bunk, and incidentally on top of Zeb’s guitar.
+He picked up the instrument and picked softly on the strings.
+
+“Bring ba-a-ack, bring ba-a-ack, oh, bring----”
+
+“Hey, Chuck! Oh, Chuck!” yelled Zeb’s voice from the house. “Come up
+here, th’ ol’ man wants yuh, Chuck.”
+
+Chuck walked slowly up the slope toward the house, which seemed
+strangely silent for a house so full of the gentle sex, and opened the
+door. Everybody was in the front room, and the silence was pregnant with
+disaster. The women were all standing around Potlatch Annie on one side,
+and on the other stood Padden, all alone, and off to one side--sort of
+neutral--stood Zeb, Hen and Weinie.
+
+“Did you not tell me that this Indian girl was the wife of your
+manager?” asked Miss Clarissa.
+
+“He surely did,” stated Miss Genevieve, before Chuck had a chance to
+speak. “I heard him.”
+
+Chuck cleared his throat and fidgets with his hat.
+
+“I’ll tell yuh how it was if you’ll give me uh chance. Yuh see----”
+
+A little scream from one of the girls nearest the door causes every
+one to turn, and there stood the tallest, meanest looking Indian in
+the state of Montana--Chief Running Wolf. He’s painted up like a
+circus bill-board and carrying a heavy carbine. The top half of his
+face is stained a bright yellow, the lower half is vermilion, and
+two bands of green are painted across his forehead and one runs the
+full length of his hooked nose. He exuded an aroma of lemon extract
+and bay rum.
+
+“Hooh!” he grunted like a Mogul freight engine on a grade, as he shifted
+the rifle to a handy position and looked over the assemblage. He swung
+the rifle, with both hands, across his hip and scowled at Padden.
+
+“Yo’ stealum klooch?” he grunted.
+
+“Not me, chief,” denied Padden. “You see--yo’re supposed to be dead!”
+
+“Plenty lie no good! Johnson say yo’ stealum. Mebby so Tenas Charley
+(Chuck) help stealum. Lie no good! Hooh!”
+
+He stood as straight as a young lodge-pole and shook the feathers in his
+greasy hair.
+
+The women were all scared stiff, but they didn’t have anything on Hank
+Padden. Hank knew that Running Wolf was drunk, because he had got a
+whiff of the flavoring extract, and he knew what an Indian was capable
+of in that condition. All the time the chief is making his war talk,
+Padden is getting his fingers under the window and lifting it up. Just
+then the chief sees Potlatch Annie, and he breaks into a smile.
+
+“Huh!” he pats himself on the chest and nods his head.
+
+“All he needs is Watson and th’ needle to be uh Sherlock,” murmurs Chuck
+to himself.
+
+“_Mesika klatawa klaghanie!_” howls the chief at Annie, and points at
+the door.
+
+She lost no time in getting outside. He turns to Padden and takes one
+step forward.
+
+“_Kahpho kopo talapus!_” he hisses at Padden, the same in English
+meaning “Brother to a coyote!” and slaps that rifle barrel into the
+palm of his hand.
+
+“_Bang!_”
+
+Either he had been doing all his talking with a cocked rifle in his
+hands, or struck the hammer in some way as he swung the barrel down,
+because the rifle went off and blew a pane of glass out of the window
+behind Padden and filled the room full of smoke.
+
+Rats never left a sinking ship with such dispatch as the present company
+left the Seven-A ranch house. Padden took what was left of the window
+and carried it proudly around his neck as he galloped wildly down past
+the corral and off across the flat toward the Little Muddy. He knew that
+Running Wolf was a crack shot.
+
+A few of the women knew that the house had doors, but the majority
+took it for granted that the owner knew the best exit and followed him
+through the window. The trio of wife-hunters clawed their way out of
+the front door and lit running right away from there.
+
+Running Wolf, in the exuberance of his flavoring jag and war-paint,
+emptied his rifle at everything in sight and then reached for more
+ammunition. His reaching was in vain, for the reason that at the
+moment his rifle was empty, Chuck slid out from under the horsehair
+sofa and attacked him from the rear.
+
+“Wah!” yells the chief, as Chuck hustles him to the door, by the slack
+of his pants and the short hair in the back of his neck.
+
+“_Spat!_” Chuck’s heavy riding boot caught the chief in the most
+convenient part of his anatomy, and the chief lit on his painted face
+in the gravel.
+
+“Wah!” he snorted, sitting up and scowling at Chuck. “He-e-eap cultus!”
+
+“Shore was!” snapped Chuck, rubbing his ankle. “_Klatawa_, yuh ornery
+acid swillin’ aborigine!”
+
+The chief got up and waddled off down the trail. He needed a drink to
+drown the insult.
+
+“That shore was uh welcome interruption,” chuckled Chuck. “In about
+another second I’d have had to tell uh lie.”
+
+He walked back into the house, but there was no one in sight. Not even
+a ribbon was left to show that a woman had ever invaded the precincts
+of the house. As Chuck walked back to the front door, he ran right up
+against the muzzle of a rifle, and Hank Padden’s angry face was behind
+it.
+
+“Now, dog-gone yo’re hide, Chuck, yo’re a-goin’ to tell th’ truth!”
+
+“Drop that gun, Hank!” roared a voice behind them, and there stood
+Magpie Simpkins, the sheriff, covering Padden’s back with a long, blue
+Colt of large caliber.
+
+“That’s right, Hank, drop it! What yuh tryin’ to do around here--kill
+off all yo’re help? Slip these on him, Chuck.”
+
+He handed Chuck a pair of handcuffs which Chuck accepted mechanically
+and looked foolishly at the sheriff.
+
+“What--what in ---- yuh tryin’ to pull off, Magpie?” yelped Padden.
+“Stickin’ uh gun in my back and wantin’ me to wear hardware on my
+wrists! I ain’t done----”
+
+“Anything yuh say can be used agin’ yuh in court,” stated Magpie, as he
+snapped the cuffs on Padden’s wrists. “Jist better keep yore mouth shut
+and come peaceful like, Padden.”
+
+Padden flopped down in a convenient chair and stared first at his
+wrists and then at Magpie. The women had evidently overcome their fears
+and crowded into the house and stared at the sheriff and his prisoner.
+Padden scowled at Magpie for a few minutes, amid a deep silence and
+then--
+
+“You long, cadaverous kin to uh coyote, what do yuh mean? Used agin’ me
+in court? Me? Jist about what fer?”
+
+“Hank,” replied Magpie, looking at the women in open-mouthed wonderment,
+“I’ve got uh warrant for yore arrest on uh charge uh murder.”
+
+“Huh--I--uh--say, who did I murder?”
+
+“Th’ paper don’t say, Hank. It was swore out by uh woman who was in
+Curlew today. She got th’ warrant from Judge Wilson, and he hands it to
+me when I’m goin’ through there today. It don’t say who yuh murdered,
+but it does say that yuh done got two punchers.”
+
+“That woman, whoever she is, is uh danged liar!” roared Hank.
+
+“Don’t you call me a liar!” Miss Genevieve Elberfield strode out from
+the bunch of women and faced Hank with a flushed face. “I swore out
+that warrant. You can’t escape the consequence of your acts. If men
+won’t clean up the West, the women will have to. We didn’t care to
+have our girls come out here while a creature of your caliber was at
+large, but we didn’t find out about you until it was too late, so Miss
+Vanderberg and I decided that we would do the next best thing and put
+you behind the prison bars. Oh, you don’t need to look surprised,
+Mister Man. We were told all about you by a man whom everybody trusts.
+He wouldn’t lie.”
+
+“Hello, folks!” yelled a voice from the doorway, and Johnny Myers,
+foreman of the Triangle outfit, removed his hat with a flourish when
+he saw the ladies. “Who’s sick?”
+
+“Who’s sick?” echoed Hank. “By th’ horns on th’ moon, I am, Myers!
+Better git on yore bronc and hit fer th’ ridges, ’cause this wickiup
+is shore sufferin’ from aggravated hallucinations.”
+
+“Well,” remarked Myers, “it don’t look natural, that’s uh fact. I was
+cuttin’ across th’ hills down by Roarin’ Creek uh while ago when I
+meets Chuck Warner on uh roan hoss and he shore was goin’ toward town
+some fast. He pulls up long enough to tell me that he’s on his way to
+git uh doctor, and then he fades out of sight. That’s shore some
+travelin’ bronc he’s ridin’.”
+
+The sheriff took two long strides and looked out of the door.
+
+“Uh-huh,” he grunted. “That roan shore can run. Cost me uh hundred.”
+
+“I beg your pardon,” said Miss Clarissa, “but did you--did I understand
+that your name is Myers?”
+
+“Yes’m, that’s my name. Johnny Myers, of th’ Triangle.”
+
+“I’m Miss Clarissa Vanderberg, of the Gladstone School for Girls.”
+
+“Gosh!” exclaimed Johnny. “Why, I’ve been lookin’ fer uh letter from you
+fer two weeks. I figgered that yore cattle-ranch outing didn’t pan out
+th’ way yuh expected. Did--did Chuck tell yuh this was th’ place?”
+
+“No, no, I don’t believe he did.”
+
+“Well, ma’am,” grunted Padden, “that’s one thing in his favor. It’s
+probably th’ first time that he ever had uh chance to lie and didn’t.”
+
+“Ma’am,” whispered Padden, edging over close to Miss Clarissa, “did you
+ever run uh matrimonial bureau?”
+
+“Why, the very idea! Of course not! Why do you ask that?”
+
+“Oh--I--huh--jist asked, ma’am. No harm done.”
+
+“Well, I suppose we’d better move over to Mr. Myers’s farm at once, or
+go back East again,” stated Miss Vanderberg.
+
+“Amen,” sighed Padden. “There’s two things I can’t stand. One is uh
+woman around th’ ranch, and th’ other is--ridin’ th’ sheriff’s hoss
+after uh doctor.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+“My Bonnie-e-e-e lies over th’ ocean. My Bonnie-e-e-e lies----” sang
+Chuck Warner in a plaintive minor key, which was completely drowned
+out by the clatter of the cattle car under him, as it crossed the
+Curlew switch and headed west. “Mama mine! When yuh come to think of
+it, Bonnie ain’t got nothin’ on li’l Chuck. I reckon me and her goes
+fifty-fifty. But I does all my lyin’ on this side of th’ sea.”
+
+
+[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the April, 1917 issue of
+Adventure magazine.]
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78627 ***