diff options
Diffstat (limited to '78627-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 78627-0.txt | 1112 |
1 files changed, 1112 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/78627-0.txt b/78627-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..88128d8 --- /dev/null +++ b/78627-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1112 @@ +*** 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 *** |