path: root/78632-0.txt

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78632 ***

                    A BULL MOVEMENT IN YELLOW HORSE

                            By W. C. Tuttle

     Author of “Magpie’s Nightbear,” “Psychology and Copper,” etc.


“Cobalt” Williams and “Slim” Hawkins crawled around on their hands and
knees in the road and gazed frowningly at the dust.

“What is she, Slim?” asked Cobalt. “’Pears to me that she’s tracks uh
some kind.”

“Unha,” agreed Slim, standing up and brushing the dust off his trousers.
“She shore is all yuh said, Cobalt, but I never saw anything like ’em.
Looks to me like uh stump had crow-hopped down th’ road. Golly, ain’t
them some feet?”

“As they say in th’ army, we will now proceed with caution in skirmish
formation,” announced Cobalt. “And also keep yore six-gun handy, Slim.”

“Can yuh figger out which way she’s goin’?” asked Slim.

“These marks don’t show no re-markable difference on either end.”

“Jist enough for me,” replied Cobalt. “They’re headin’ fer Yaller Hoss,
and bein’ as that is our ultimate destination we’ll jist sorta foller up
as it were.”

Cobalt hitched up his belt and started off briskly down the road, but
Slim didn’t seem to be in a hurry. He took out his .45 Colt and twirled
the cylinder reflectively.

“Say, Cobalt!” he yelled. “Did yuh ever stop to think that mebby th’
critter which made them tracks is so all-fired e-normous that uh six-gun
ain’t no adequate life insurance a-tall?”

Cobalt stopped and took a fresh chew.

“Mebby she is and mebby she ain’t, Slim. I knowed uh Polock who had uh
number six foot and he used to buy number twelve boots so he could wear
all th’ socks he owned to oncet.”

“Huh!” snorted Slim. “Yo’re oratin’ about human bein’s. No Polock ever
made them tracks. Them was made by uh regular he-animal, and right here
I goes on record as havin’ said that no animile which makes tracks like
them can ever be taken to th’ bosom of Slim Hawkins.”

“Aw, come on, Slim, let’s find out what she is anyway. All this time
she’s gittin’ further and further away. Mebby she’s uh harmless beast
and we can haze her into Yaller Hoss and have some fun. I’d shore
like to show that alleged bad man’s town something new. Let’s hit th’
old highwater trail, Slim. She cuts off about two miles, and mebby we
can ambush her, eh?”

Slim agreed and they swung off the road and over a higher trail which
was only used in early Spring when the waters of Roaring Lion were on
a rampage. They plugged along the trail for about an hour and then
dropped down to the road again.

“She ain’t come along yet,” announced Cobalt, examining the road.
“We’ll lay down here in th’ brush and plug her as she comes out of th’
crossin’.”

They made themselves comfortable behind some down timber and peered up
the road. Pretty soon there was a splash on the further side of the ford
and they drew their guns.

“Hup!” yelled a voice. “Hup, you doggoned bull!”

“Bull!” exclaimed Slim. “Cobalt, that may be uh bull-- Holy smoke!”

Cobalt jumped to his feet and started to run, but a treacherous vine
threw him over a log and Slim sprawled across him. They extricated
themselves and sat up. The animal was standing in the middle of the
road and the frowsy-looking person on its back was looking them over
with astonished eyes. Slim rubbed his eyes and snorted--

“What in ---- is that thing?”

“Gentlemen,” began the frowsy one, “this is Frederick the First. I may
state that he was the star performer of Buckley Brothers Gigantic
One-Ring Circus. Him and me are the last of the circus-- I’m Buckley.”

“Pleased to meet yuh,” remarked Cobalt. “And jist about what are yuh
doin’ here with a elephant?”

“Gentlemen, I am a creature of misfortune. I heard that these mountain
towns of the West were starving for a circus, so I routed my
aggregation accordingly. The report was erroneous. I finished my tour
at Silver Bend. Granite got my lion and trained monkey and Silver Bend
took the camel. My clown went to work in the mines at Silver Bend, one
of my shell men is in jail at Silver Bend and the other, I have heard,
just beat the sheriff to the Canadian border. They gave me and
Frederick sixty minutes to get out of Silver Bend and here we are. No
money and no friends. Lost all I had, too.”

He wiped away a self-sympathizing tear and patted Frederick on the ear
with his iron-pointed club.

“Huh,” grunted Slim. “What do yuh intend to do now?”

“I hope to sell this noble beast for enough to take me home and make a
fresh start.”

Cobalt walked around the elephant, keeping a safe distance from its
swinging trunk. Frederick was a small elephant, but to Cobalt and Slim
it was of massive proportions.

“Sell him, eh?” mused Slim aloud.

“Who in ---- would want to buy uh thing like that?” inquired Cobalt.
“Nobody in these parts wants to start uh circus, I reckon. Ain’t he
good fer nothin’ but circusin’?”

“Gentlemen,” stated the circus man in his best spieling tones, “this
animal is good for a thousand things. He can lift and place timbers
it would take a dozen men to move. He can move or shift a loaded
wagon that six horses could not start. As a means of conveyance he
is supreme. Why, he could carry a ton of ore out of these hills as
easily as you could carry a lunch-pail. Slow and sure-footed,
gentlemen, and a great pet. Pet? Why, gentlemen, I may well say that
he’s affectionate to a startling degree. I hate to sell him, but I
need the money.”

Slim sat down on a log and rolled a smoke. He grinned at Cobalt and blew
a cloud of smoke towards the elephant.

“How much?” he asked.

“Well, my friends, Frederick the First is valued at five thou----”

“Unha,” interrupted Slim, “I know; but what I asked yuh is how much yuh
want fer it?”

“Give it uh name,” agreed Cobalt.

“Make me a price,” replied the wary Buckley. “I can’t give him away, you
know.”

Slim sized the animal up with an appraising eye.

“Well, it ’pears to me thisaway. Uh burro is worth about twenty dollars
and this brute is about as big as ten burros. Say, two hundred dollars,
eh?”

“But this is an elephant!” exclaimed Buckley.

“Don’t blame us,” replied Cobalt. “We never ordered elephants.”

“Two hundred will take me to New York,” mused Buckley. “Well, I’ll let
him go for two hundred,” he declared, sliding to the ground.

“How do yuh operate this wrinkled bronk?” asked Slim, after the money
had disappeared in Buckley’s pocket.

Buckley explained as well as he could.

Slim grinned and felt of the iron brad in the club.

“As I gets it, this ‘Hup’ means anything from ‘Good mornin’, Freddy,’ to
‘Whoa, yuh Injy-rubber pile driver,’ eh?”

“Just about,” replied Buckley. “Where can I find the nearest railroad
station?”

“Well,” replied Cobalt, “yuh take that trail down th’ crick until yuh
comes to uh big flat about six miles from here and then turn due east
fer uh bout uh mile and you’ll come to uh water-tank. They’ll stop fer
uh flag.”

“Say, what did yuh send him ’way off that way fer?” asked Slim, after
Buckley had gone. “Yaller Hoss is about six mile closer.”

“Huh!” snorted Cobalt. “Me and you and Freddy are goin’ to Yaller Hoss.
Between here and there we can fix up uh story that will make ’em all
sit up. Punch that animule over to that pile uh down timber and we’ll
ride him double. Doggone, his clothes do need pressin’ plumb bad. Two
hundred, Slim! Why, he’s worth that jist to look at. Ain’t nothin’ like
him ever been in these hills before, and when we rides him into Buck
Masterson’s saloon, won’t there be something doing, Slim? I asks yuh,
won’t there?”

“Somethin’ doin’ is right,” agreed Slim. “They’ll shore date time from
today. Hup, yuh doggone bull!”

                   *       *       *       *       *

Buck Masterson grinned at the five cards in his hand and shoved in a
stack of blues.

Pete Gonyer toyed with his chips and frowned at the jack-pot.

“Yuh out on uh limb again, Buck?” he queried.

“He’ll let yuh know fer about twenty-five dollars, Pete,” laughed Art
Miller, who had the next “say” in the pot. “Go on, Pete. Play ’em high
and sleep in th’ street.”

Andy Johnson yawned and threw his cards on the table.

“Doggone it, I ain’t held uh hand all day. I’m tired uh poker anyway.
Wish something would happen in this man’s town fer uh change.”

His wish was partly gratified, for at that moment the front door flew
open and an Indian galloped through the room, with his blanket streaming
out behind him like a striped comet, and as he tore through the back
door he yelled:

“_Hy-ak! Diaub chahko!_”

Rickey Henderson, the bartender, dropped a glass of spirits and climbed
on top of the bar. “What did he say, Buck?” he gasped.

Buck threw back his head and laughed.

“I reckon Texas Charley has been hittin’ th’ lemon extract again. He
yelled fer us to run ’cause th’ devil is comin’. Charley’s gittin’ too
danged thick with that Chink cook at Dutch Fred’s. Them lemon jags are
apt to make an Injun----”

Came a loud crash of splintering boards out in front of the saloon and
the false front wabbled dangerously. The doors were built wide enough to
drive a team through, but happened to be closed and latched. Suddenly
they bent inward as from a great weight and the lock spinned off across
the room.

“Hup!” yelled a voice from the outside. “Hup, yuh doggoned bull!”

Masterson tried to slide his chair back to get up, but the rest of the
players, frantic to get out of the way of those bulging walls, climbed
over the table and fell on Buck in a heap.

“Hup!”

_Splinter! Smash!_ The doors gave way and in surged Frederick the First,
with Cobalt and Slim lying flat on his back to keep from being swept
off.

“Hey!” yelled Masterson, trying to pull the overturned table on top of
himself for protection. “Why don’t somebody shoot it?”

The rest of the crowd seemingly got started at once like a flying wedge
of football formation and all hit the back door at the same time.
Unluckily for them the door opened inside and no one seemed inclined to
back away and give the door a chance.

Frederick leaned against the bar and over it went. Just in time, too,
because Rickey Henderson was lying behind it trying to put a couple of
cartridges into the muzzle end of a shotgun.

“Help!” yelled Rickey as the avalanche hit him, but subsided after a few
weak groans.

Frederick the First hated whisky. He hated men who drank it, and even
the scent of alcohol threw him into a panic. A stream of it flowed from
under the overturned bar and eddied around his front feet. He swung his
trunk over it a few times and trumpeted loud enough to shake the
building.

“Whoa, you son-of-a-gun!” yelled Cobalt, as the elephant lurched forward
and reached for Masterson’s booted leg. “Look out, Buck!”

Masterson twisted like an eel and slid off down the room and under
the antiquated pool table, while Frederick whirled the boot back and
forth over his head. Suddenly he let it fly in the direction of the
tongue-tied mob at the back door. It glanced off Art Miller’s head
and banged against the wall.

“Somebody shoot it,” quavered Masterson from under the table. “Go back,
yuh son of uh sea cook, or I’ll shoot!” his voice finished in a shrill
crescendo, and he waved a six-shooter over the farther end of the table.

“Bang!” His first shot hit the swinging oil lamp over Slim’s head and
deluged him with kerosene. The next one thudded into the armor plating
of Frederick’s shoulder. The elephant never flinched, but his little
eyes grew redder.

“M-m-m-m-make him behave, Slim,” quavered Cobalt. “He’ll wreck this hull
blamed town. Lemme down.”

The elephant moved ponderously down the room and the rough pine flooring
snapped and groaned under his tread. He turned to the pool table and
swept all the balls into a heap with his trunk.

“Woosh!” he announced, as he gathered one of the balls in the loop of
his trunk.

_Bing!_ He threw his trunk forward and drove one of those pool balls
through the door over Pete Gonyer’s head, and then reached for another.

“Duck!” yelled Pete, and the whole mob piled up on the floor.

Another and another smashed against the wall until five had been thrown.
The elephant paused and shook his head.

“Look out, he’s comin’!” yelled some one, and the bunch scrambled for
points of safety.

The elephant ignored the scrambling crowd and backed off a few steps.

“Hrr-r-rump!” he announced, and bowing his neck he started straight for
the back door.

Buck Masterson had not builded well. That no cyclones or earthquakes
had been anticipated by the builders was attested by the fact that
when Frederick the First hit that door he not only took the door but
the greater part of the rear of the saloon as well.

“Woosh!” he grunted, and moved forward.

Cobalt and Slim were swept off in the demolition and lit running.

“Where yuh goin’?” panted Cobalt, running and looking back at the
elephant trying to get rid of the door-casing.

“Goin’ away while th’ goin’ is good,” replied Slim, ducking around
the corner of a corral. “Git behind that shed, Cobalt! Hell’s goin’
to break loose pretty soon. Mama mine, didn’t he make uh mess! Look
out, here they come!”

Pete Gonyer and Andy Johnson came galloping around the corner with a gun
in each hand.

“Which way did they go?” yelled Pete. “See anything of them, Buck?”

Masterson ran across the street to where the horses were hitched at a
rack, and Art Miller was at his heels.

“Come on!” yelled Masterson. “They can’t git far, and doggone ’em, I
want to git my rope on that pair. Bust up my house, will they!”

“Look out!” roared Rickey Henderson, weaving across the street and
leaving a trail of bad whisky, torn clothes and profanity.

But he yelled too late. Frederick the First was on the job again. Unable
to part company with that door-casing he ambled around the corner and
came bumping over towards the hitch-rack.

                   *       *       *       *       *

Masterson’s mount, a Roman-nosed roan outlaw, took one look at the
elephant, and sun-fished on the space of a saddle blanket. Caught
unawares, Masterson described a parabola over Wick Smith’s wire fence
and lit sitting down.

Art Miller’s latigo busted and left him on his right ear in the middle
of the road. Gonyer’s and Johnson’s horses saw the elephant at the
same instant and collided in midair. Pete’s horse turned a somersault,
spilling Pete under the board sidewalk. Andy dropped his reins and
pulled leather as his buckskin pitched off down the street and around
the corner. Rickey Henderson forgot the elephant in the excitement.

“Haw! Haw!” He doubled up with mirth. “Masterson shore went high wide
and handsome. Wonder if-- Wow!”

Frederick had sneaked up and playfully tried to wrap his trunk around
Rickey’s neck. Rickey dropped his two guns and galloped wildly up the
street out of sight.

“We got to catch that danged chunk uh animated rubber,” announced Slim,
peeking around the corner. “He’s got that door off his neck now. Come
on, Cobalt.”

“Not fer mine,” replied Cobalt with conviction. “Not any a-tall. I
hereby renounces all claim to li’l Freddy.”

“Aw, come on, Cobalt. Doggone, there he goes towards th’ post-office!
Come on, we got to head him off. We can’t let him assault th’
Gover’ment.”

Frederick was sizing up the little post-office as Slim ranged alongside.

“Hup!” yelled Slim, but Frederick had different views.

Miss Harris, the post-mistress, faded, slim and forty, and much admired
by Buck Masterson, opened the door of the post-office and glanced out.
It was only a glance and it encountered the waving trunk of Frederick.
She yelped once and a second later there was a flash of petticoats out
the back door and Miss Harris faded out of the picture.

The front of the office was built with a porch, a post on each corner
and one in the middle. To Frederick they were something to play with.

“Look out!” yelled Cobalt.

“Hup!” shouted Slim, and raced away just in time to miss being pinned
under the falling timber.

The elephant backed away and looked satisfied.

“If I could only git on his back I could handle him,” wailed Slim. “He’s
so danged big he can’t see us on th’ ground.”

“I’ll give yuh uh boost,” volunteered Cobalt.

Slim reached up on the elephant’s back as far as he could. Cobalt took
hold of Slim’s left foot and boosted--but not far. Frederick reached
around, grabbed Cobalt by the slack of his trousers and threw him twenty
feet away and Slim fell flat in the dust.

“Doggone yer hides, I’ll show yuh!” yelled a voice, and Slim looked up
into the scratched face of Buck Masterson.

Buck glared at Slim for a moment and then glanced at the post-office.

“My Gawd!” he yelped. “Tore down th’ post-office and--oh, Mis’ Harris!
Mis’ Harris!”

He ran over and started to lift up the broken boards. He never noticed
that it was only the porch. Slim got up, ignoring Masterson’s wails and
hobbled off down the street in the wake of Frederick. Cobalt limpingly
brought up the rear.

“Sufferin’ Moses!” groaned Cobalt. “He took up th’ slack uh my pants so
danged sudden that he busted my wishbone. Let him go, Slim.”

“We ain’t stoppin’ him none, are we?” replied Slim peevishly. “Go round
and head him off, Cobalt.”

“Not me. If I attacks at all it will be from th’ rear. That trunk uh
his’n is too previous. Look, Slim, he’s headin’ fer th’ crick. Mebby
he acted thataway ’cause he was dry.”

The elephant waded knee-deep in the little creek and began to drink.

“Now’s yer chance to git on his back and control him,” whispered Cobalt.

Slim sneaked along the bank above the elephant and slid on to his back.
Frederick never moved.

“Come on, Cobalt, he’s plumb docile now.”

Cobalt sidled up the bank and slid on.

“It’s all over but th’ shoutin’,” gleefully announced Slim.

“By golly, we shore----”

Slim’s words were cut off by a stream of dirty water which hit him full
in the mouth with terrific force, and the next instant he and Cobalt
were reposing in the creek, while Frederick splashed out the other side
and headed for town.

They sat there and pawed the mud out of their faces and looked foolishly
at each other. Suddenly they heard the thump of horses’ hoofs and then
the voice of Andy Johnson remarked:

“They ain’t here, Pete. They must be back up-town some place. I reckon
we’ll find ’em where we find that blasted beast. Better leave th’ bronks
here and go on foot, eh?”

“Reckon that’s right, Andy. Them bronks shore don’t kumtuks that
animule. By golly, them fellers shore have got uh bunch uh trouble
comin’ to them, eh, Andy?”

They dropped their reins and their voices died off in the distance as
they hobbled off toward town and Frederick the First.

Slim looked at Cobalt for a minute and then broke into a wide smile.

“Th’ Good Book says that th’ ravens fed Elijah, Cobalt, and I takes it
that them hosses are uh heap opportune, eh?”

They crawled out of the creek bed and peered over the bank. There was
considerable shouting going on up-town, but their view of the action
was obstructed.

Slim walked over and caught both horses.

“Take yore pick, Cobalt,” he announced. “An elephant is uh hy-iu
animile; but bein’ brought up with ordinary critters and not bein’
finicky a-tall I nacherally prefers uh common or garden variety of
outlaw bronks.”

Cobalt chose the roan, and they swung around and raced off across the
sage-covered flat away from Yellow Horse.

Behind them they heard a muffled crash and the faint report of a gun as
they raced out of hearing distance.

At midnight they swam their horses across Little Wind river and entered
another state. As they halted on the opposite bank to roll a smoke and
give the horses a breathing-spell Slim turned in his saddle and gazed
back toward Yellow Horse.

“Hoss thieves and outlaws, Cobalt. That’s me and you. Outlawed by uh
danged Injy-rubber ox that don’t know Whoa from Hup! But, Cobalt, he
was all that he was represented. He shore could move things.”

Cobalt shifted uneasily in his saddle.

“Unha. He shore was, and did, Slim. Also he was affectionate to uh
startling degree. I’m goin’ to walk uh ways.”

                   *       *       *       *       *

Slim Hawkins yawned heavily and tried to pull the covers closer around
his chin and, after an effort or two, sat up with a look of wonderment
on his face. He rubbed a long, freckled hand across his prominent nose
and grinned foolishly.

He contemplated the snoring individual at his side for a few seconds
and then flipped a small rock in the general direction of the recumbent
form.

“Wake up, Cobalt!” he yelled.

Cobalt drew a dusty hand across his mouth and woke up with a sneeze.

“Doggone it, yuh don’t need to paralyze uh feller with uh rock to wake
him up,” he protested. “I wasn’t--say, Slim, what th’--huh!”

Slim grinned weakly and made a sweeping gesture with his hand.

“Here we are, Cobalt. Right here in th’ corral with th’ rest of th’
jackasses. Them two mules and me and you jist makes uh quartette. We
will now proceed to sing, ‘Lips which touch liquor----’”

“Aw, let me think!” wailed Cobalt.

“Think? Say, if you had any thinks comin’, why didn’t yuh cut some uh
them loose last night? Golly, they shore have got some whisky in this
man’s town. I never in my whole life--say, we must ’a’ been like uh
pair uh timber Willies last night. Ugh! Do yuh remember about bein’
put to bed in this corral, Cobalt?”

Cobalt shook his head wearily and picked absently at the wool on his
chaps.

“I’ve heerd tell,” murmured Slim, “that when uh patient gits to th’
point where he picks at th’ covers they goes right out and buys him
uh nice li’l shiny, wooden box.”

“Funny, ain’t yuh!” groaned Cobalt. “Mama mine, this is th’ worst room
I ever had. My mouth tastes like uh Flathead Injun had jist moved out.
I can’t remember nothin’, Slim--that is, I can’t remember nothin’ that
happened last night. I know I dreamed about that danged elephant again.
That makes three nights hard runnin’ that I’ve chased Li’l Freddy in my
sleep, and I don’t reckon it’s lucky to do uh thing like that.”

“I’ll bet she was some dream,” yawned Slim. “That tanglefoot liniment
which they sells fer whisky in this man’s town would make uh feller
dream of-- Oh, Jerusalem my happy home! Look!”

Cobalt was reaching for the fence as an assistance to getting to his
feet, when Slim’s exclamations hit his ear-drums. He turned his head,
got one good look and slid weakly back into the dust.

“Buck Masterson!” exploded Slim.

Cobalt merely groaned and rubbed at the six-days’ growth of black
stubble on his pudgy face and shuddered as he gazed at the rangy,
dust-covered individual at the corral gate. Masterson held a
six-shooter in his right hand, while with his left he slapped his
worn sombrero against his leather chaps to remove the dust.

His grizzled hair was unkempt and his mustache hung like a pair of
discouraged buck tails on each side of his crooked mouth. A half-smile
chased across his face and broke into a thousand tiny wrinkles at each
side of his eyes as he sized up the pair lounging in the corral dust.

“You shore got to come and git it,” he announced slowly.

“Unha,” agreed Slim wonderingly. “I reckon we shore do.”

“Come and git it,” he repeated.

“You go git it,” implored Cobalt. “I ain’t a-feelin’ spry, and it only
takes one to----”

“Shut up!” roared Masterson, waving the gun. “None uh that funny stuff!
Are yuh comin’ to git it?”

Slim grinned weakly.

“Jist throw it over this way, Buck. Let down th’ hammer so she won’t go
off.”

“Say, yuh danged menagerie mutt, I ain’t talkin’ about no gun. I’m
oratin’ about elephants--e-l-e-f-a-n-t-s, _sabe_?”

“Slimmie,” wailed Cobalt, “he means Frederick th’ First. He wants us to
come and git it! Mama mine, he invades th’ sanctity of our bood-wah jist
to ask us to come and git that--thing!”

“‘Quoth th’ raven, Nevermore,’” quoted Slim. “Buck, I asks yuh as mason
to mason----”

“Not any a-tall,” stated Buck, with an air of finality. “You and
yore pardner in crime are in bad over my way and even with th’ hull
community, includin’ greasers and Chinks, to back up my play I shore
hates to shoot yuh down in cold blood, but--again I asks yuh in uh
ladylike manner and without rancor in my heart, are yuh comin’ to
git it?”

Cobalt spilled the tobacco out of his cigarette for the fifth time and
turned to Slim. “Do we go?”

Slim climbed to his feet and hitched up his belt.

“Oh, well, of course, if that’s th’ way yuh feels about it, Buck, we’ll
go--shore. But I jist wants to call yore attention to one thing, Buck.
There is times in every man’s life when circumstances git th’ best uh
him. Sometimes it’s booze, sometimes it’s women and sometimes it’s th’
pasteboards. Now if yuh asks me I’ll re-mark that I’m willin’ to be
quoted to th’ extent that I believes elephants is circumstances too.”

“Uh course I don’t advertise myself as th’ ‘Greatest and Only Elephant
Remover in th’ Universe,’ but as uh pair uh ‘Go Getters’ I reckon me and
Cobalt are some distinguished.”

“Say, Buck,” drawled Cobalt, “how about them hosses? I shore ain’t goin’
back to face no judge and jury.”

Buck grinned widely and showed the need of a dentist in Yellow Horse.

“Not any, Cobalt. I reckon you fellers saved Andy Johnson and Pete
Gonyer uh heap of explanations, ’cause th’ next day th’ real owners
uh them bronks showed up with uh deputy sheriff.”

“Frederick been behavin’ right well?” asked Slim.

“As uh perfect gentleman I don’t reply a-tall. I only talks two
languages--English and profane--and English won’t no ways describe what
I’d have to tell yuh. All we ask is fer you fellers to come up there and
take it away. We won’t even ask yuh where yo’re goin’. I’m representin’
Yaller Hoss in this matter, and while you fellers are to blame fer th’
advent of that animule, I’m here to state that uh memorial shaft will be
raised right in th’ middle uh Main Street with yore names carved thereto
th’ minute yuh can persuade that--huh--animule to pilgrim away to parts
unknown.”

“Buck,” laughed Slim, “right in th’ center uh th’ street looks good, but
I’m figgerin’ that ain’t no place a-tall fer uh double funeral.”

Cobalt cleared his throat.

“My opinions edzactly. I ain’t in favor uh no memorial. We’re jist
uh plain pair uh ‘Go Getters’ and all we ask is yore kind regards
and-- Buck, there ain’t no cause fer that six-gun. Me and Slim gave
ours to th’ bellboy fer turnin’ out th’ lights last night.”

“Well, you know how Yaller Hoss stands and all we ask is peace. I’ll
borrow uh pair uh bronks from old man Doolittle and we’ll leave here
pronto. We can’t git there none too soon, ’cause my fair city ain’t
noways what you’d call satisfied in th’ society of that hunk uh
armor-plated deviltry.”

                   *       *       *       *       *

It was noon the next day when the trio rode into Yellow Horse and turned
their tired horses over to a scared-looking stable-man. Slim glanced up
and down the street and then turned to Buck.

“She don’t look natural a-tall, some way. What’s th’ matter? There
ain’t uh hoss on th’ street and nobody in sight. Is somebody bein’
buried today, Buck?”

“Not yit!” snorted Buck. “Do yuh notice that my saloon’s got uh
barb-wire fence across th’ front? Notice that there ain’t no
ve-randa on th’ post-office nor on Wick Smith’s store, and that th’
town pump has been tore up by th’ roots? Did yuh happen to notice
that th’ hitchin’-rack’s done vanished and that th’ hay-scales has
done weighed its last load? Remember that nice white picket-fence
which Mis’ Wayland had around her candy-store? Gone! Tore up by that
zoological monstrosity!”

“Mama mine!” declared Cobalt. “Freddy shore leaves his trade-mark.
What’s that buckboard doin’ on top of Jimmy Peyton’s shack?”

“Doin’!” yelped Buck. “It’s bein’ saved! That beast tried three times to
drag that wagon through Smith’s front door, but it was too wide. Me and
Jimmy sneaked it away from th’ brute while said beast was eatin’ up old
man Anderson’s load uh baled hay. We h’ists her up there fer safety.”

Slim removed his sombrero and ran his forefinger thoughtfully over the
snake-skin band.

“People have queer tastes sometimes. I observes that Sam Holt’s done
moved his cow-shed into his front yard.”

“Gosh, that’s right!” exclaimed Buck. “I’ll bet----”

“Hey!” yelled an excited, high-pitched voice, and a tousled-headed
youngster, who appeared across the street, beckoned to the trio. “Come
on over here! They’ve got it locked up in your stable, Mr. Masterson,
and they’re afraid it ain’t goin’ to stay put.”

“Comin’ right over, sonny!” yelled Masterson, and then to Slim: “I’m
glad they got it locked up. We chased it into th’ corral before I
left and th’ danged stump-puller went all th’ way around and removed
all th’ posts. Come on and git it now.”

They crossed the street and found all of the male inhabitants of Yellow
Horse perched on a high board fence, cussing and discussing ways and
means of hampering the proclivities of Frederick.

“I’m bettin’ two to one that he don’t stay put fer five minutes more,”
stated Pete Gonyer. “Anybody want to take uh chance? Also I wagers even
money that in case he does emerge, th’ north side of th’ shack will hit
th’ ground before th’ south side does.”

The crowd was too interested in the trembling cow-shed to notice the
entrance of Slim and Cobalt, until the tousled-headed kid shinned up
the fence and yelled, “There they are!” and pointed them out.

There was a tense moment as the crowd recognized them, and several
hands strayed unconsciously toward pistol-butts. Masterson recognized
the symptoms and, stepping forward, threw up both hands.

“No gun-play, folks! I knows how yuh feels, but this ain’t no time fer
such petty revenge as shootin’. These fellers has my assurance that all
we wants uh them is th’ immediate removal of this animated housewrecker.

“Bein’ acquainted with th’ habits and customs uh elephants they has
assured me that they will remove it with wisdom and despatch. Jist sit
tight and let them proceed with their chore.”

Slim tightened up his belt and cleared his throat.

“Who put this elephant in that shed?” he asked in a
“Who-gives-this-bride-away?” tone.

“Andy Johnson and Pete Gonyer did!” yelled the kid gleefully. “Pete hit
it with a rock and then run into the stable and climbed out of the hay
window, and Andy shut th’ door behind it.”

“Ain’t you fellers got any sense?” asked Cobalt in an aggrieved tone.
“Hit it with uh rock, eh? Anybody with sense would--say, Slim, did yuh
ever hear th’ like?”

“Awful,” agreed Slim. “But, Cobalt, yuh got to make allowances fer
downright ignorance. Yuh see they never studied elephantology like we
have and yuh can’t expect them to----”

“Look out!” yelled Rickey Henderson.

“That wall is due to bust in uh minute.”

Slim ran over to the wall with the least bulge, put his mouth to a crack
and yelled--

“Hup!”

The boards creaked and groaned as they settled back to their former
position.

“Uh little knowledge is all that’s needed,” stated Cobalt, swelling out
his chest and leering at the crowd on the fence.

“Well, go on and git him out,” growled Wick Smith. “Jist makin’ him quit
tryin’ to come out through uh knot-hole don’t prove nothin’ to me.”

Slim beckoned to Cobalt and whispered in his ear--

“Stand ready to slide when I opens th’ door.”

“Haw! Haw!” exploded Art Miller from the highest part of the fence.
“I done shot that brute six times this mawnin’ with uh .44 and I
don’t believe he even heard th’ noise. I’m in favor uh usin’ dynamite
on him while he’s in that shack. All in favor uh dynamite signify by
yellin’-- Wow! Here he comes!”

All of which was very true. At that moment there came a crash of
splintering wood, a cloud of dust and splinters, and Frederick the First
was free. Not only free but coming straight for the extemporized grand
stand.

“Whoop!” yelled Slim as he whirled on his boot-heel. He took two long
strides and cleared that six-foot fence by the simple method of placing
both hands on top and turning a complete hand-spring. The leap was a
world-beater but the landing was disastrous.

Pete Gonyer and Art Miller had tangled in midair as they jumped and as
they landed Slim’s pin-wheel turn was finished and he lit squarely on
top of them with a jolt that deprived all three of them of their quota
of atmosphere.

Slim was the first to recover. He saw the situation at a glance. Pete’s
face was twitching and grimacing as he tried to pump air into his
depleted lungs, while Art, on the bottom of the heap, was pounding his
spurred heels in the dust and making queer little chuckling noises with
his mouth.

Slim got up and raced around the corner. He was badly shaken up and
desired to limp more than anything on earth, but he knew that there
were healthier locations for him than that special spot when Pete and
Art recovered.

“Mister, he’s got your pardner,” informed the kid, from around the
corner of the blacksmith shop. The kid’s face was so white that his
freckles didn’t show and his eyes were as large as saucers as he
pointed up the alley. “He’s got him I tell you! Mebby he’s stood on
him by this time.”

Slim limped up the alley and behind the saloon.

“‘Got him’ is right,” he groaned.

Cobalt was on his belly in the dust, and over him stood the elephant.
Its trunk was playfully tapping Cobalt’s bare head and at every tap
Cobalt dug his nose in the dust and squeaked--

“Don’t!”

“Are yuh alive, pardner?” panted Slim.

“Jist barely,” whispered Cobalt, and ducked into the dust again and
groaned.

The crowd which had scattered far and wide began to drift back and peer
around the corners. Some of the bolder ones sauntered out in sight but
were ready for another stampede in case the elephant made another foray.

The elephant was getting nervous. He would lift one foot at a time and,
after waving it around slowly, would place it back in the exact spot it
had previously occupied.

“If he ever sits down I’m uh goner,” stated Cobalt in a whisper.

“He does jist that very thing,” remarked Rickey Henderson, cheerfully
from the cover of a pile of beer-kegs. “Yesterday I seed him stand on
his hind laigs jist like uh dog and then sit down plumb hard.”

Suddenly Slim had a bright idea.

“Listen: I saw an elephant do that once and he was plumb slow in settin’
down. Now, when I walks up and yells ‘Hup!’ you jist rolls over fast and
gits clear, _sabe_?”

“Not any!” declared Cobalt. “Let ’im alone, Slim. I’m alive now and this
elephant can’t stand here all day. He’s got to move some time, and if I
has anything to say about it, he moves of his own free will.”

“This thing has got to stop right now!” yelled Buck Masterson, coming
down the alley with a sawed-off shotgun in his hands. “Step back while
I perforate that flat-footed rubber devil! Git back, Slim! That was my
stable and doggone it----”

Slim stepped between Buck and the elephant and threw up his hands.

“Don’t do it, Buck! Shoot th’ beast if yuh must, but not while my
bunkie is sleepin’ in its bosom. I’m uh heap wise to them scatter-bore
riot-guns, and besides it wouldn’t even tickle that animule. Put that
gun down and we’ll try uh little moral----”

Slim’s voice broke suddenly. Frederick the First had slowly wandered
away from Cobalt, while every one was watching Masterson’s actions,
and dropped his trunk over Slim’s shoulder.

Slim’s face turned a pasty white and he froze in his tracks. The trunk
traveled slowly, caressed the back of his neck, tickled his ears and
then came to a stop on his right shoulder. Slim reached up automatically
and stroked it. The elephant moved up closer and began to explore Slim’s
pockets. The crowd watched open-mouthed for Slim’s annihilation.

“Plumb docile,” announced Cobalt in awestricken tones.

Slim came back to earth and grinned foolishly.

“All yuh got to do is to use uh little brains. You snake-hunters don’t
know nothin’ about elephants. Yuh can’t handle uh beast like this with
six-shooters and riot-guns.”

He stroked Frederick’s trunk and reached for his cigarette-papers.

“Pore li’l ol’ Freddy. Did they abuse yuh? Yuh got to excuse ignorance
in some folks and----”

Frederick suddenly whipped his trunk away from Slim’s shoulder and
began backing up. His little eyes were searching the ground and his
ears flopped like a pair of loose sails.

Faster and faster he backed until he hit the fence with a crash. The
force of the impact turned him around and he surged the whole length
of that fence, taking it all with him.

Heretofore he had always stopped to consider his handiwork, but this
time he merely tossed his trunk and trumpeted wildly as he crashed
over the fence and weaved down the street.

The crowd, with the exception of Slim and Cobalt, had broken for the
street as the elephant began backing.

“Pack rat!” croaked Cobalt. “Pack rat jist came out of that old stable
and scared seven kinds uh delirious delight out uh that big hunk uh
rubber! What do yuh know about that?”

                   *       *       *       *       *

Came a sound of galloping horses and bouncing wagon from the street and
a chorus of “Whoa! Whoa!” and then a murmuring of excited voices.

Slim listened for a moment and then grabbed Cobalt by the sleeve.

“Let’s git a-goin’! Gol darn this town anyway!”

They slipped around behind the demolished stable and started to sneak
behind Wick Smith’s store, but Fate in the person of Masterson met them
at the corner, and fate held a leveled riot-gun.

“No yuh don’t! I was layin’ fer jist some sich move. That--huh--elephant
hit th’ street jist in time to meet judge Simpkins with uh load uh hay.
Th’ judge is plumb busted up and his wagon is in keepin’ with th’ rest
of this town. I reckon th’ hosses are in Canada by this time. Jist turn
around and mosey up th’ street.”

Slim and Cobalt made no protest. Men seldom protest at the muzzle of a
riot-gun. At the center of the street Slim stopped and removed his hat.

“I reckon you’ll erect that shaft right here, eh, Buck? Nice location.”

Buck started to reply but at this juncture the crowd surged out of
Smith’s store and over to where Buck stood with his captives.

“Shall we hang ’em?” asked Art Miller, and this was a signal for each
individual to express his opinion as to the ultimate fate of the pair.

“If yuh asks me, I favors hangin’ uh heap,” stated Pete Gonyer, rubbing
his still aching side.

“Git yore dirty hands off me, Pete!” roared Slim. “I don’t let no
hoss-thief pass sentence on me.”

“How’s th’ judge?” interrupted Buck.

“Still unconscious,” some one replied.

“We sent to Sagebrush fer Doc Ames,” announced Andy Johnson.

“We can’t do uh thing till he comes, and I don’t reckon he can git here
before ten o’clock tonight.”

“Tell yuh what we better do,” suggested Smith. “We’ll lock ’em in that
old ’dobie shack uh mine fer th’ night. There’s uh good padlock on th’
door and th’ window ain’t big enough fer uh monkey to crawl through.
We’ll keep ’em till we sees if th’ judge is goin’ to pull through,
eh?”

The crowd received the suggestion with acclaim, and formed a triumphal
procession to the aforementioned shack. It was a relic of the days
before lumber came to Yellow Horse, and consisted of one room about ten
by fifteen feet, low ceiling, and the one window was high up on the wall
and was evidently used more as a loophole or ventilator. On the floor
was nothing except some old straw and the dust of years.

Into this they were thrust and the door padlocked behind them. The
crowd then wandered back to slake their thirst and await the coming
of the doctor.

“Well, we’re safe from Freddy,” stated the optimistic Slim, after the
crowd had gone.

“Unha,” agreed Cobalt doubtfully. “I heard Andy tell Pete that Frederick
had jist kept on goin’. I reckon that animule must ’a’ had uh right
smart of uh yaller streak, Slim. I wonder what they can do to us in case
th’ judge don’t recover?”

“It ain’t what they can do to us, Cobalt, it’s what will they do to us?
I’m sorry for th’ judge.”

“Then yore sorrow’s plumb misplaced, Slim. If yuh got any sorrow to
waste jist smear uh little close to home. Remember in case he does
survive he sits on our case, _sabe_?”

“This is some hy-iu jail,” remarked Slim, after examining all the walls
and ceiling. “That window ain’t big enough to send yore regrets out of.
Golly, it’s gittin’ dark. Give me yore smokin’.”

They consumed several cigarettes before it got so dark that Cobalt had
to light a match to look at his watch.

“Eight-thirty,” he announced. “I reckon that doctor will be due in
about--say, what in thunder’s shuttin’ th’ little light out of our
window?”

Slim jumped to his feet and strode over to the wall.

“Holy mackerel, it’s that--look, Cobalt! It’s Frederick! Look out, he’s
tryin’ to come in th’ window!”

The elephant slid his trunk over the inside of the window and sniffed
at the dust-covered walls. Suddenly his trunk stiffened and he began
to pull back.

Came a muffled grunt and the side of that dobie shack for a space of
about six feet wide parted company with the roof, and a cloud of dust
almost suffocated the captives.

“Woosh!” grunted Frederick happily, and bunted his broad head against
the wall next to the door.

At last he had found a wall that wasn’t full of nails and splinters, and
the fact seemed to please him immensely.

_Sqush! Boof!_ The entire front wall caved in and the ceiling sagged.

Obeying the same impulse, Slim and Cobalt sprang to their feet and
dashed out of the gaping walls as far as possible from the elephant and
headed for the open country. They ran as far as their lungs allowed,
rested a few seconds and then repeated the performance, and stopped not
until far from Yellow Horse.

“Where--goin’?” panted Cobalt. “Let’s go--Curlew.”

“Not any,” wheezed Slim. “We ain’t got no horses and this--huh--flat
country ain’t safe a-tall. We’ll go--Mica.”

“Aw, we can’t,” protested Cobalt. “We can’t travel that trail in th’
dark. Golly, we’d fall off! Why, Slim, there’s places on that trail
where it’s uh million miles to th’ bottom!”

“We’ll take uh chance. It’s uh cinch they can’t foller us, and th’ moon
will be up pretty soon, Cobalt. Come on! Let’s git a-goin’ and leave
this flat country.”

Cobalt protested every step of the way but followed Slim to the foot of
the trail. This trail had never been popular with the cattlemen on
account of its narrowness, and was seldom used except by foot travelers.
In places a misstep would plunge the unlucky one for five hundred feet
straight into the bristling tops of spruce and fir--missing that, the
jagged rocks of Lost Creek were anything but inviting.

They toiled around the worst part of the trail and sat down to rest.
The moon flooded the valley below them and showed a silhouette of the
Pitchfork Range beyond, but they had little inclination to contemplate
the majesty of the night.

“Lookin’ back over my life I can’t say she’s been uh howling success,”
mused Cobalt aloud. “I ain’t never done anything that was exactly wrong,
but someway I jist can’t never seem to be--well, one who was also there,
Slim.”

“Me and you both,” agreed Slim dolefully. “Seems like I can’t seem to
make people appreciate my efforts. Now, you and me has always done our
dangedest, Cobalt, and what do we git fer it? We’ve always tried to do
our best and I can’t remember uh place yet where we ain’t had to leave
in such uh hurry that we ain’t had uh chance to say-- What th’----!”

They jumped to their feet.

“What is it, Slim?” quavered Cobalt. “Am I seein’ things or----”

“It was,” stated Slim with conviction. “Wait till he makes that last
turn--if he can.”

Below them on the narrow trail a huge shadow seemed to crawl along
slowly. At times it would halt as if undecided, and then move forward.
Suddenly there was a rattle of loose stones, a muffled squeal and the
shadow vanished.

Slim turned to Cobalt and removed his hat.

“_Requiescat in pace_,” he murmured.

“Me and you both,” agreed Cobalt. “What does that mean, Slim?”

“That,” replied Slim, “is uh favorite expression among th’ Piegan
Indians. It means ‘All’s well that ends well.’”


[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the September 1916 issue of
Adventure magazine.]

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78632 ***