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diff --git a/78651-0.txt b/78651-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1d05abc --- /dev/null +++ b/78651-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,976 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78651 *** + + THE HEN-PUNCHERS OF PIPEROCK + + W. C. Tuttle + + Author of “A Bull Movement in Yellow Horse,” “Bearly Reasonable,” etc. + + +Did yuh ever git so dog-goned good and hungry that yore mind gits to +hangin’ onto one single item uh grub, and yuh feels that yuh won’t +never be satisfied until yuh gits it? + +Shore yuh have. Cowpunchers have that failin’ uh heap, and the one +item is usually ham and aigs. Shore, ham and aigs is one item uh grub +same as liver and bacon or hawg and hominy. The full moon of uh aig +yolk, shinin’ on uh background uh juicy ham--Cripes! That’s how me +and Magpie Simpkins felt when we ties our broncs in front uh Jimmy +Peyton’s chop-house in Piperock, and wipes the alkali dust out uh our +ears. + +Two souls with but uh single thought--ham and aigs. When we gits inside +we finds Slim Hawkins and Cobalt Williams, of the Seven A outfit, and +they’re settin’ at uh table lookin’ sad-like at Jimmy. + +Jimmy stands there, with that long lock uh hair slidin’ down off his +head and interferin’ with the sight of his right eye, and the other +eye is squinted from the smoke of uh limp cigaret which hangs out uh +the corner uh his big mouth. + +“Not one, Jimmy?” asks Cobalt. “Not uh danged single one?” + +Jimmy shakes his head, and wipes off uh table fer me and Magpie. + +“Not one, Cobalt. The aig crop in Piperock is minus. The last one I +has I boils fer Buck Masterson this mawnin’. There’s the last sad +re-mains over ag’in the door where Buck tries to assassinate me with +it. Buck swears that it chirped when it busted. It wa’n’t what you’d +call uh brand-new aig.” + +“What do yuh know about that, Magpie?” asks Cobalt. “Me and Slim rides +plumb over from Hell Gate Springs to git uh big feed, and finds that the +ingredients is invisible. Shucks! Uh feed house without aigs ceases to +deserve the title.” + +“Come to ponder on the subject,” sez Magpie, drummin’ on the table with +his fork, “a aig shore does appeal to my stummick. Nothin’ like uh nice +aig yolk on uh piece uh juicy ham, but when yuh takes away the aig that +ham ain’t nothin’ but jist plain hog.” + +“My opinion edzactly,” agrees Slim. “I jist seems to pine fer uh aig +like uh calf fer its maw. I ain’t got no ham hunger unless it’s +chaperoned by a aig.” + +“I’d hate to say what I’d give fer one,” sighs Cobalt. “I reckon I’d +give uh four-bit piece fer one right now--middlin’ fresh one at that.” + +“Why don’t some uh these nesters around here rustle uh herd uh +she-chickens and raise aigs?” complains Slim. “They harbors uh lot +uh dogy cows which don’t produce milk, and they raises onions. Who +the ---- wants onions! Shucks! Give me uh can uh peaches and some +coffee.” + +When Magpie Simpkins was born he inherited uh li’l kink, which has allus +stood in his way when it comes to bein’ uh normal human bein’. Sometimes +he’s normal but when anythin’ happens to enervate that kink th’ stuff is +all off. When it gits to kinkin’ yuh can tell it by jist one sign--song. +I knowed when we walked out uh that restaurant that day that my peace +and comfort was drawin’ to uh sundown, ’cause when we forks our broncs +and ambles off toward our shack, Magpie lifts his voice in song: + + When the Springti-i-i-ime cometh, gentle Annie-e-e-e-e. + +Jist that one line. I’ve often wondered what happened to gentle Annie +when the Springtime cometh, but Magpie said he hadn’t never heard. He +jist wailed the one line, and he could hold uh high note on Annie +until I often feels sorry fer the pore gal. I opines to myself that I +ought to go to uh photygrafter and git my tin-type taken so I could +show folks how I looked before. I don’t ask no questions. When that +kink is workin’ he’s about as sociable as uh pole-cat. + +“Ike,” sez he, th’ next day, when we’re settin’ in front of our cabin, +“I’ve got it all figgered out.” + +“I’ve got uh lot uh friends in Piperock,” I states, “and all I asks, +Magpie, is uh chance to pack my war-sack, and tell ’em all good-by. +Yore experiments don’t appeal to me a-tall, but I don’t want to leave +without uh word.” + +“Experiment? Who said this was uh experiment?” he snorts. “This here is +uh dead immortal cinch, Ike. Go ahead and punch cows fer forty uh month +if yuh wants to.” + +“They’ve all been cinches, Magpie,” sez I. “I’m gittin’ tired uh +cinches, so I reckon I’ll jist move along while the way is open. Mebby +when I’m in the sere and yaller leaf I’ll appreciate uh cinch and then +I’ll come back to you.” + +When it comes to tearful voices, that Magpie person can give ’em all +uh quart handicap. I’m old enough to know better, and I’ve heard them +woful accents often enough to git wise, but dog-gone, what could I do +when he opines thusly: + +“Ol’-timer, I’m full uh grief and sorrow. + +You and me been pardners fer years, sharin’ our blankets and beans, +and now yuh elects to leave me forever. You know what’s best, Ike. Go +if yuh must, but not in anger, ’cause I loves yuh like uh brother and +I know that life is goin’ to be empty when yo’re gone. Won’t yuh stay +another week, Ike? Pardner uh mine, I needs yuh like uh porkypine +needs quills.” + +“Well,” sez I, wipin’ the sweat off my cheek-bones, “lookin’ at it from +uh sentimental standpoint I’ll go yuh oncet. What’s the idea, Magpie?” + +He points down across the hills and sez: + +“Ike, do yuh see that li’l bunch uh cactus-covered hills down there? +Them’s mine now.” + +“Well,” sez I, “they say that man wants li’l here below, but I reckon +you undershoots that about six feet, Magpie. Cactus, mesquite and +grasshoppers! Without wishin’ to be considered inquisitive and nosey, +I’d shore admire to know why you accumulates such undesirable real +estate? Uh man couldn’t raise whiskers on that plot.” + +“All I asks is perfect faith,” sez he. “I aims to show yuh how to git +rich without workin’, Ike.” + + * * * * * + +Me and Magpie goes on with our li’l social duties, and things is +normal fer uh week, except that Magpie wails uh heap about gentle +Annie. One evenin’ the stage comes in and she’s piled up high with +boxes. Andy Johnson is drivin’ and he’s some peevish. He climbs down +and starts jerkin’ the ropes off that load. + +“Gol dang. This shore is some load!” snorts Andy. “Between them hawgs +and he-hens I shore have had one hy-iu trip, if yuh asks me. First uh +hawg would squeal and then uh he-hen--the same uh which ain’t familiar +to my broncs--would yell, and then I has uh man-sized runaway on my +hands.” + +“I reckon that freight is fer me,” states Magpie. + +“Ke-rect!” snaps Andy. “Help me git this danged hawg crate off. Them’s +the funniest lookin’ hawgs I ever seen. Cripes! They ain’t wider’n +nothin’ and about five feet long.” + +“Razor-backs, Andy,” sez Magpie, grinnin’. “Them hawgs is reported to +contain the sweetest meat on--hol’ onto that crate! Dog-gone!” + +Andy misjudges the weight of the crate as it slides off, and down she +comes onto the ground with uh smash! The crate busts wide open and there +stands them hawgs, tryin’ to git their bearin’s. Magpie takes one less +look than the hawgs did, and dives fer the pair. + +Magpie is shore some sudden mover, but he didn’t figger on the speed uh +them slender animiles, and all he gits is his hands full uh dirt, while +the hawgs shoots right under the stage and under the feet uh them four +broncs. Blooey! + +Uh bronc is some tickled when he can find somethin’ to git good and +scared at, and all four uh them buzzard-heads seems to be delighted +with the situation. They yanks the stage plumb off the ground, and +heads right up the main street, with them crates ridin’ high, wide, +and handsome. + +At the upper end of the street, in front uh Holt’s hotel, is uh tree. +It’s the only one in five miles, and uh course them broncs has to +head straight fer it. One uh the leaders stands on his rump on Holt’s +porch and then rolls into the doorway, to the consternation uh the +Holt fambly. The other goes buckin’ off across the flat with nothin’ +on except his blinders and uh throat-latch. The pole uh the wagon +hits the tree dead center, and the wheelers splits and burns the sand +away from Piperock and razor-backs. The wagon jack-knifes, and all +three uh them crates rises sudden like, hits the tree and proceeds to +open up all to oncet. + +Chickens? Say, when them crates busted it looks like an explosion in uh +feather-bed factory. We runs up there as fast as we can, and it looks +like the whole town was comin’ to the scene. When we gits there them +chickens ain’t noways in evidence--jist busted wagon, busted crates and +feathers. + +Andy walks around the stage and looks her over and then gazes up in the +tree. We natcherally all looks up, and there on uh limb stands uh he-hen +with uh scared look in his eyes. Jist one left out uh them three crates +full. + +We don’t git more’n one good look before uh gun explodes in our midst +and that chicken ain’t nothin’ but uh bunch uh soiled feathers. + +“There!” sez Andy, shovin’ his gun back in his belt. “That’s how much I +appreciates chickens.” + +“Folks,” states Magpie, “I calls yuh all to witness my ultimatum. I +hereby states that I won’t pay Andy one cent fer haulin’ that bunch +uh livestock up here. With malice aforethought and uh .45 he’s done +assassinated freight which was assigned to his care. He’s responsible +fer safe delivery.” + +“Mebby I was uh bit hasty,” sez Andy. “But so long as Magpie feels +the way he does about it I’m sorry that hawgs can’t climb trees. Uh +hen ain’t what I’d call adequate recompense fer uh busted stage, four +busted harnesses and four locoed broncs.” + +“Mister Simpkins!” One uh Sam Holt’s kids worms his way through the +crowd and grabs Magpie by the leg. “The blacksmith’s done killed one +uh yore hawgs.” + +“Cripes!” howls Magpie, “I done paid fifteen apiece fer them animiles.” +And we all gallops off down to the blacksmith shop. + +We finds Pete Gonyer settin’ on the sill of the doorway, holdin’ his +head in his hands. + +“Did you kill one uh my hawgs?” yells Magpie. + +Pete looks up in uh dazed sort of uh way and rubs his stummick. + +“I did not,” sez he. “My gosh! I shore hit him hard enough, Magpie, to +kill all the hawgs on earth. He went down, and when I starts to drag him +out he tore loose, went between my legs and I busts my wish-bone on the +anvil.” + +“What did yuh hit him fer in the first place?” asks Magpie. + +“I was shoein’ Art Miller’s pinto hoss, and jist as I was fittin’ uh +shoe on uh hind foot that narrer contracted piece uh animated bacon +comes in and says, ‘Woosh!’ at that hoss. + +“He wooshed all right, and I had hold uh that hind leg. Jist after he +wooshed I hits my head on the other side uh that shop and the pinto +emigrates toward Canada. When I opens my eyes that danged hawg is +blowin’ bubbles in my slack-tub. That’s when I soaks him, Magpie.” + +Magpie turns to the crowd and spies them three kids uh Sam Holt’s and +sez: + +“Say, you kids, want to earn some money? If you’ll ketch all them hens +uh mine and bring ’em up to my cabin I’ll give yuh ten cents fer each +one. There’s forty-eight--no, forty-seven. One was sacrificed to pay +th’ freight.” + +“Yore hawgs are over back uh my restaurant,” states Jimmy Peyton. “I +tries to take my garbage can away from ’em but I shore changed my +mind. What in ---- kind uh hawgs is them, Magpie? Look to me like uh +cross between uh bed-slat and uh grizzly. I don’t like ’em a-tall.” + +“Th’ man what sold ’em to me told me that they was razor-backs and that +they could hold their own anywhere,” sez Magpie. + +“Well,” opines Jimmy, “I don’t mind that so much, but I don’t care to +have ’em hold my own. I’d admire to git my can back.” + +I don’t know yet jist how we manages to git them hawgs up to our cabin. +They’re the worst critters I ever tried to lead or drive, but we manages +to git ’em home before dark and puts ’em into uh li’l corral which +Magpie builds uh few days before. One uh Holt’s kids comes up later and +tells us that our hens will be brought up the next mawnin’ ’cause +they’ve all hived up in his father’s barn. + +“So this was yore cinch scheme, was it?” I sez, as I starts supper. + +“Uh-huh,” sez Magpie. “It wa’n’t what you’d call a suspicious beginnin’, +Ike, but we shore advertised our new business. Whenever uh person gits +to thinkin’ of us they’ll jist natcherally think about ham and aigs. +Sabe? Now, forty-seven hens means forty-seven aigs per day. At four bits +each that totals up to the sum of twenty-three dollars and four bits per +day. Add that to uh few head uh hawgs per year and she looms up, Ike, +she looms up.” + +“Shore,” I agrees, “but she’d loom up uh heap bigger if yuh didn’t have +so many he-hens in that herd, and also if them two hawgs wa’n’t of the +gentlemen variety. She-hens are the ones what lays the aigs.” + +“It’s reasonable to suppose that the man what sells ’em to me knows +my needs, Ike. I can’t say that he treated me edzactly right in the +hawg proposition though. He shore did send me uh mixed lot uh stock. +When that wagon hit the tree I sees blacks, browns, bays, sorrels, +roans and pintos in great profusion. She shore is a assorted herd.” + +“What do yuh aim to feed ’em on?” I asks. + +“That’s where them cactus hills comes in, Ike. Fer some reason the +grasshoppers seems to congregate on them hills. Uh course you’ll find +’em other places, too, but right there is where the bulk of the Hopper +fambly lives. In the mawnin’ I’m goin’ to haze ’em down there and play +hen-puncher while they grazes. What’s botherin’ me now is how to brand +’em. I was plannin’ to run uh S on the hip but it can’t be done. Also +yuh can’t ear-brand or dewlap. Mebby I could paint ’em like they do on +sheep.” + +“Why brand ’em a-tall?” I asks. “There ain’t no other herd in the +country.” + +Magpie ponders deep fer uh while and sez: + +“Mebby that’s right, Ike, but I shore hates to run uh herd without uh +brand. I’ll take that ol’ Bar S iron and run it on them hawgs in the +mawnin’.” + +But Magpie didn’t run that iron on them hawgs, fer the simple reason +that them hawgs wa’n’t there in the mawnin’. That corral was built to +hold uh hawg, not uh cross-cut saw on legs. Magpie immediate and soon +goes out hawg huntin’, and when he’s gone Tellurium Woods shows up. + +While me and Tellurium is plenty friendly, him and Magpie don’t hitch +a-tall. Tellurium is built like uh hooch barrel, and he ain’t got no +hair on his head, which makes him plumb laughable whenever he removes +his hat. + +I tells him about Magpie’s scheme and he laughs so hard he busts the +top button off his pants. He does that every time he laughs hearty, +so he packs uh li’l box uh them patent buttons along with him. When +somethin’ funny is liable to happen he carries the box in his hand. + +He don’t laugh so much when I explains that Magpie’s goin’ to corral the +aig market and shove that article up to four bits each. + +“Two bits is enough,” he argues. “After yuh gits over thirty-five cents +fer a aig yo’re infringin’ on uh citizen’s rights. It ain’t noways +accordin’ to humanity to charge uh feller four bits fer one li’l aig, +Ike.” + +“But these will be fresh aigs,” I states. + +“Shucks! That ain’t nothin’. The inhabitants uh Piperock wouldn’t +appreciate fresh aigs, ’cause why they ain’t got no taste like one +what has sort o’ lingered. I shore likes to taste what I’m eatin’.” + + * * * * * + +Me and Tellurium sa’nters down to Buck Masterson’s saloon after a while, +and jist gits inside in time to hear Magpie state: + +“I don’t care if yuh didn’t know what it was, Cobalt. Jist ’cause yuh +don’t know what uh thing is ain’t no reason fer takin’ uh shot at it.” + +“Well,” sez Cobalt, leanin’ ag’in’ the bar, and rollin’ uh smoke. “As I +stated before, Magpie, I ain’t noways to blame. I’ve imbibed the full of +uh mule’s ear uh Buck’s hooch to see if she won’t help my appetite. +While I’m engagin’ uh full meal in deadly combat down in Jimmy’s place I +happens to turn around and here comes that thing. I sez to myself: +‘Cobalt, that hooch gave yuh somethin’ beside uh appetite.’ And I starts +shootin’.” + +“Aw ----!” sez Buck, slidin’ the bottle down the bar. “Let’s all have uh +li’l snifter. What’s the use uh arguin’? That hawg never got hit.” + +“It ain’t the fact of the hawg gittin’ away with uh whole hide,” +orates Magpie, “but it’s the principle of the thing. Jist because it +looks uh heap like uh delirium tremens apparition don’t lessen the +fact that it’s uh hawg, and stands me fifteen dollars each. I’m now +goin’ to try and put them things back into the corral before some +hooch-soaked hombre makes the mistake, uh shootin’ my thirty dollars +into ribbons. Come and help me, Ike.” + +“Can’t be done,” sez I. “I got uh li’l deal to talk over with +Tellurium.” + +“Then you let him do the talkin’, Ike. Keep yore mouth shut or he’ll +steal the fillin’ out uh yore gold tooth.” + +That shows how much affection Magpie’s got for Tellurium Woods. When I +goes home Magpie has the hens all safe and sound but the hawgs is still +at large. + +We shore has uh hy-iu time fer the next week. Me and Magpie punches +hens--the same uh which can’t be done. Them danged things is shore +finicky and weak-minded in the head. They’re plenty willin’ to go +out to feed but jist as soon as they gits their stummicks full uh +hoppers--blooey! They admires to see what’s over in the next county. + +Them hawgs never gits corral broke and spends most uh their spare +time rootin’ up the creek bottom and huntin’ fer trouble. We ain’t +worried when they don’t come home at night ’cause nothin’ less than +uh full-grown grizzly’d tackle that pair. In uh week we gits two +aigs, which is deposited in the hen shack. One uh them ain’t noways +firm and Magpie wipes the re-mains off his vest. The other is up to +plans and specifications and Magpie markets it for four bits to +Jimmy, and spends the proceeds fer stickin’-plaster fer our heel +blisters. + +We’re settin’ in our cabin one evenin’ about ten days after our herd +arrives, when Art Miller comes in. + +“I reckon this range is goin’ to be given over to the aig industry right +soon,” states Art. + +“Meanin’ which?” I asks. + +“Well, Andy Johnson hauls another load uh aig-producers tonight. Four +boxes of ’em fer Tellurium Woods. Bein’ as Pete Gonyer helps him take +’em away, I’d opine that they’re in pardnership.” + +“We ain’t heard no funereal marches played in Piperock fer quite +some spell, but I kin hear, ‘Ashes to ashes’ right now,” sez Magpie. +“Dog-gone, uh feller can’t start nothin’ without uh lot uh imitators +startin’ up. Them fellers ain’t pioneers in the aig business like me +and Ike and they shore are breedin’ trouble, Art.” + +We argues the question fer uh while, and Art leaves. As soon as he’s +gone, Magpie puts on his coat and tells me to come on. We pilgrims +down to Jimmy’s place and he’s alone. + +“Jimmy,” sez Magpie, “I wants to contract to furnish yuh with aigs. +About how many can yuh use per day?” + +Jimmy scratches his head and grins: + +“Magpie, I needs at least uh dozen uh day but I’ve done contracted with +Tellurium Woods. He’s agreed to let me have uh dozen uh day at two bits +each.” + +“It can’t be done!” howls Magpie. “Dad bust it, Jimmy, it can’t be +done! Two bits! Why, uh feller couldn’t make nothin’ at that price. +Uh hen ain’t like uh cow, Jimmy. Yuh got to spend all yore time on +the job.” + +“I ain’t got nothin’ to say,” replies Jimmy. “Bein’ the consumer, I +ain’t mixin’ a-tall. All I asks is aigs.” + +Magpie is so mad he don’t talk to me that night. In the mawnin’ he +lets the chickens out and hazes ’em down to the hills. I ambles down +after awhile, and I sees Magpie settin’ on uh rock, and he’s countin’ +out loud: + +“Thirty-nine, forty, forty-one, forty-two--gol dung yuh, hold still uh +minute can’t yuh--forty-three--Ike, where in ---- does th’ increase come +from? I’ve counted ’em up to sixty and there don’t seem to be no ----” + +“Hey! What yuh doin’ with my hens?” yells uh voice behind us, and here +comes Tellurium Woods down the hill, with uh shotgun under his arm. +“What do yuh mean by mixin’ herds with me, eh? Yo’re uh nice ----” + +Magpie jumps to his feet and starts toward Tellurium. + +“Git off my hen range!” he whoops. “Git yore bunch uh animated dusters +off these hills!” + +Tellurium spits in the dust and waves his shotgun. + +“What yuh talkin’ about, yuh long, disjointed hawg-herder?” + +“E-nough!” snaps Magpie. “This is my range and I don’t allow no +trespassin’. Sabe? Take yore herd and vamoose.” + +“Ain’t this uh free range?” asks Tellurium, sarcastic like. + +“Not any she ain’t. I’ve done located this prickly pear plot as uh +homestead. All this mesquite, sage-brush, rocks, scorpions, tarantalers +and rattlers belongs to me. Also if yuh don’t git yore hen herd off +right now I’m goin’ to sue yuh fer about one acre uh grasshoppers. Yore +herd are shore some ravenous.” + +Tellurium, bein’ plumb respectful uh personal rights, starts in to cut +out his hens. It’s some job, bein’ as his herd is also mixed on color. + +Cuttin’ out uh hen is some chore. Jist about the time yuh thinks yuh +got her cut out she sneaks under uh mesquite. Yuh gits down on yore +prayer bones to chase her out, and yuh finds that she’s gone out the +other side uh long time ago and is now helpin’ some more hens hold +uh convention under another bush. + +Tellurium is some busy, and Magpie is right on his trail to see that he +don’t make no mistakes. + +Tellurium cuts out uh pair uh hens and hazes ’em up the hill uh ways. + +“Hold on there!” yells Magpie. “Don’t yuh cut out them two roans. I know +them two shore is members uh my herd. No, you don’t take that li’l bay +one, either. I reckon I knows my own stock.” + +Tellurium glares at Magpie and starts after another hen. I reckon that +hen was plumb kerflumixed, ’cause she dodges the wrong way and Tellurium +steps square on her. That hen’s usefulness is over. + +“Yuh, will, will yuh!” yells Magpie, grabbin’ Tellurium by the back +uh the neck. “You done killed that hen uh purpose, knowin’ she was uh +favorite uh mine. You danged ol’ buffalo-whiskered hippopotamus, you +and me’s goin’ to mix!” + +They shore did! Tellurium drops his gun when Magpie grabs him, and I +appropriates said hardware and appoints myself referee. Hoyle didn’t +have uh word to say about that fight. Tellurium ain’t built fer speed, +but he shore has uh swing that’s wide and graceful. Magpie is so tall +that when he bends over his waist line is five feet back from the point +of his jaw. + +They wrecks two uh Magpie’s perfectly healthy mesquites, and up-roots +uh half-acre uh thrivin’ cactus, the same uh which is decoratin’ +Tellurium’s carcass, makin’ him look uh heap like uh porkypine. + +After the usual small parlor talk, Magpie sets his toes and dives fer +Tellurium’s belt line. I rolls ’em apart. There ain’t no use countin’ +’cause they’re both out. I reckon Magpie’s done twisted his neck, and +Tellurium looks jerky around the waist line, like uh balloon with uh +leak. + +Pretty soon Magpie is with us ag’in, and he looks over at Tellurium, who +is laborin’ some hard. Magpie twists his neck some careful and grins. + +“I knowed I’d knock him out, Ike,” sez he. “But I don’t jist remember +what it was all about.” + +“Hens,” sez I, and jist about that time Tellurium heaves uh big sigh and +sets up. + +“Hens is right,” sez he. “Jist as soon as I gits my wind ----” + +“Yo’re goin’ to git off my property,” finishes Magpie. + + * * * * * + +Tellurium pulls most uh the prominent cactus out of his hide, and goes +hen huntin’ ag’in. + +“Look here!” snaps Magpie. “Do you know yore own herd, Tellurium?” + +“Beyond contradiction,” sez Tellurium. “Why?” + +“I’m jist wonderin’. If you do I don’t see why yo’re herdin’ that li’l +bay hen. That particular one I’m callin’ Louise, and me and her is +tillicums. Sabe? I’m ashamed to know uh hen-puncher what don’t know his +own herd.” + +Tellurium wipes the sweat off his bald head and glares at Magpie. + +“----!” sez he. “How do yuh reckon I’m ever goin’ to git my hens cut out +if each time yuh claims the critter? It ain’t reasonable, Magpie. What I +suggests is this: I’ll take my required number regardless. They’re all +hens anyway.” + +“You git any aigs yet?” asks Magpie. + +“Not a aig.” + +“Then yore idea don’t appeal to me a-tall. I got two already and I +ain’t goin’ to take uh chance on you gittin’ my prize layers. Somewhere +in that herd is uh hen what don’t put good covers on her produce, but I +reckon she’s young yet and will do better with practise. One other is +uh humdinger of uh layer, but I don’t recognize her, and I can’t take +no chances. Sabe?” + +“Mebby my herd will come home at night,” states Tellurium, hopeful like. +“It’s reasonable to suppose that they knows their own home corral.” + +“Uh-huh,” agrees Magpie. “But in the meantime they’re eatin’ up my +range. By night my total loss in grasshoppers will amount to jist about +twenty dollars, and I’m here to orate that unless I’m reimbursed to that +amount I mavericks enough hens to square the bill.” + +“Twenty dollars----!” howls Tellurium. “Why, Magpie, it----” + +“Dollars or hens,” states Magpie. “I ain’t in the feed business fer my +health, and pasture means money. Sabe?” + +Tellurium is gittin’ pretty sore about this time and he’s also tired. + +“Dollars or hens, eh? How many hens do yuh reckon it will take to square +the bill, Magpie?” + +Magpie figgers on his fingers and looks the herd over. + +“I reckon it will take about forty----” + +“Forty,” explodes Tellurium. “Why, gol dang it, Magpie I only got +forty-eight!” + +“Eight,” finishes Magpie. “Don’t ask uh question, Tellurium, and then +git all heated up and butt in before it’s answered.” Tellurium digs +down in his pocket and hauls out uh ol’ tobacco sack. + +“Here’s yore danged twenty!” he snaps, handin’ the bill to Magpie. “I’m +goin’ home, Magpie, and I hopes fer yore sake that my four dozen hen +animiles comes home to bed down. Otherwise I appeals to the law.” + +Tellurium pilgrims off toward town, wipin’ the sweat off his bald dome, +and slappin’ his leg with his hat. I reckon he’s some exasperated. + +“That’s finance, Ike,” grins Magpie. “This ham and aig business shore is +uh winner, jist like I said. I’ll keep that twenty fer uh rainy day.” + +We has uh audience at our cabin when we arrives with the herds that +evenin’. Tellurium Woods, Pete Gonyer, Andy Johnson, Judge Steele and +Sam Holt is settin’ in front of our cabin, and they seems uh heap +interested in our hens. They watches us haze ’em into the hen shack, +and then Judge Steele removes his hat and opines: + +“It has been brought to my notice that things ain’t edzactly right up +here. Mister Woods comes to me with the complaint that he’s been +unfairly gouged in uh legitimate enterprise, and wishes uh satisfactory +settlement. I understands that there has been uh minglin’ uh livestock +which has caused Mister Woods deep grief and sorrow, not to mention +financial losses.” + +“Is Pete Gonyer full uh sorrow, too?” asks Magpie. + +“He shares both mentally and financially,” states the judge. + +“Also I harbors ill-feelin’ toward them hawgs,” sez Pete. + +“Art Miller deciphers that I’m to blame fer the loss uh that pinto hoss. +Now, that hawg----” + +“I’m ag’in all local productions uh ham and aigs,” cuts in Andy Johnson. +“The last I hears uh my four-hoss team they’re standin’ on uh bluff in +the Medicine Hills, afraid to eat.” + +“Well,” sez Magpie, complainin’ like, “that’s always the way with folks +when uh feller tries uh new scheme. Nobody helps but they all tries to +hinder. Me and Ike figgers that we’re uh boon to humanity when we +introduces domestic ham and aigs, but I finds that our efforts in +behalf uh the betterment uh local conditions ain’t appreciated. Genius +ain’t appreciated noway. Christopher Columbus was in the same fix when +he said----” + +“Christopher Columbus never got his hens mixed!” howls Tellurium. “Why +talk about the Civil War, Magpie--git up to date.” + +“That’s jist what I tries to do, Tellurium, and look what I gits fer it. +You and Pete covets my business, and jist because yo’re uh failure at it +yuh has to invite the law to help yuh out. What do yuh aim to do about +it?” + +“We’ll hold them hens in abeyance,” sez the judge, “until official +adjudication.” + +“Never heard uh the place, Judge,” states Magpie. “Bein’ uh heap +interested in the ultimate disposition uh them hens I’d argue that we +leaves ’em in that shack.” + +“The law has been invoked and must be obeyed,” pronounces the judge. +“Them hens is disturbin’ the peace and tranquillity uh this here +law-abidin’ community, and so far they ain’t been no benefit a-tall. +While they ain’t edzactly what you’d call uh public nuisance----” + +“I’d say that them hawgs comes under that description, Judge,” +interrupts Andy. + +“There wa’n’t no hawgs mentioned in this complaint,” sez the judge. +“Until them hawgs do become obnoxious, Andy----” + +“Zowie.” + +Around the corner uh the cabin comes them two hawgs, runnin’ about neck +and neck and runnin’ wild. They got plenty room to pass, but they acts +uh heap like uh pair uh runaway cars--they can’t seem to leave the +track. + +Tellurium is uh heap bowed in the legs, and them hawgs is taperin’ as +to form, but there ain’t room fer both of ’em to go through the wicket +to oncet. They makes uh good try, though. Tellurium’s right toe ketches +the judge under the chin, and they’re both still in the air when them +hawgs vanishes over the hill. Tellurium sets up and rubs his bald head. +It’s all right. I don’t know why he rubs his head, ’cause he didn’t +’light thataway. He glares at Magpie fer uh minute and then pulls uh +six-shooter out uh the band uh his pants. + +“Now, dog-gone yuh, Magpie,” sez he, “I’m shore goin’ to make yore +string-bean carcass look like uh worm-eaten lodgepole! Sic yore hawgs +on me, will yuh!” + +“Aw ----!” snorts the judge, reachin’ over and smotherin’ Tellurium’s +weapon, with one hand, while he rubs his own jaw with the other. “Lost +me uh tooth--eye-tooth!” he announces. “Put down that gun, you clumsy +hippopotamus! I’m the one to feel insulted. I reckon them hawgs ain’t +been misrepresented a-tall. Such goin’s-on makes me sore in spirit and +meek feelin’.” + +“Sore spirits must be all the rage this season, Judge,” states Magpie. +“I’m wearin’ uh wreath of ’em myself. Tellurium, if you don’t put down +that gun I’m shore goin’ to make yuh wish it was uh edible article. As +far as them hawgs is concerned----” + +“Where’d they go, eh? Where’s them crosses between uh grizzly bear, +cross-cut saw and uh hawg?” + +There stands Jimmy Peyton, bareheaded and packin’ uh 45-70. That long +lock uh hair is still botherin’ his sight, and the cigaret is no more +than uh scrap uh brown paper hangin’ to the corner of his mouth. He’s +pantin’ like uh overheated pup. + +“Where’d they go to?” he yells, when nobody seems inclined to answer. + +“Them hawgs, Jimmy, is under the jurisdiction of the court,” states the +judge. + +“----!” snorts Jimmy. “Them animiles shore are there when it comes to +gittin’ under things. Them things admires to move my supply shack. +They’re as strong as mules, danged if they ain’t!” + +“That ain’t no legitimate reason fer assaultin’ ’em with uh 45-70,” sez +Magpie, peevish like. “Dumb animiles ain’t to blame ’cause yore domicile +ain’t anchored solid.” + +“No, that’s right,” agrees Jimmy. “But gol blast it, Magpie, they gits +on my nerves. I been oilin’ my saddle in the kitchen, and I goes over +to Buck’s to git uh bracer. When I comes back them hawgs uh ---- has et +up most uh that saddle except the stirrups and the tree. When they sees +me they wallers under that li’l shack, and by the time I borrows Buck’s +rifle and gits me another drink, that li’l shack is goin’ down the +street without visible means uh support. Dirty Shirt Jones comes ridin’ +straight fer Buck’s place, but when he sees that shack he don’t stop. +He jist rides on up the street and don’t even look at me. I reckon that +was uh temperance lecture fer Dirty.” + +“This conversation is driftin’ away from the main stem,” states +Tellurium. “We starts on uh hen mixture and leads up to uh booze +cure. The fact that Dirty Shirt is laborin’ under uh delusion don’t +adjudicate them hens. + +“Me and Pete, bein’ in the aig business, don’t wish to tie up our +capital while disinterested parties argues the wrongdoin’s uh hawgs. +Jist suppose that them hens lays uh lot uh aigs in that shack, +Judge. Who owns the aigs, eh? Suppose we locks them hens up in that +shack--who gits the custody uh the keys?” + +“I’d argue that nobody does,” states Pete. “Leave the door open. Suppose +our hens wants to come home? What about that, eh? Them pore innocent +hens uh mine and Tellurium’s ain’t to blame fer this trouble, and ought +to be allowed to come home if they so wishes. Am I right?” + +“That’s uh reasonable thought, Pete,” nods the judge. “Mebby the thing +can be settled thataway. I don’t reckon that nobody wants the +responsibility uh actin’ jailer fer hens, and I’m danged shore the law +don’t. I don’t know nothin’ about hens. Tellurium, are you willin’ to +call off further law proceedin’s if this here scheme works out?” + +“It costs me twenty, Judge, but I’m willin’. There’s allus uh silver +linin’--he might have put the price uh hoppers at forty dollars per +acre. Leave the gates ajar, and may the best man win.” + + * * * * * + +We props the door open, and the satisfied aggregation ambles off down +town. They ain’t gone long until Dirty Shirt rides up to our door. He +slides off, sort uh painful like, and comes over and sets down. He +don’t say uh word. + +“Nice day,” sez Magpie. + +Dirty stares at the ground fer uh minute or two and then sez, in +mournful tones: + +“Magpie, there ain’t never going to be no more nice days fer me and +mine. I been uh ungodly ol’ pelican in my time, but now in the sere +and yaller leaf my past life rises up like uh spook and mocks me. I’ve +drunk enough hooch to fill Sullivan gulch, and she’s reactin’, Magpie, +she’s reactin’.” + +“Be uh good cheer, Dirty,” consoles Magpie. “There ain’t nothin’ ever +happened what was as bad as yuh looked fer. What seems to be bearin’ +down on yore immortal soul?” + +Dirty heaves uh long slender sigh and shakes his head. + +“I don’t know, Magpie. I had snakes oncet over in Oklahoma, which I +annexes from imbibin’ boot-leg hooch, and I figgered that I’ve seen +all there is to see, but by the muddy Missouri River, I don’t believe +I’ve begun to ----!” + +Dirty comes to his feet like uh flash and his face turns the color uh +wet alkali mud. He goes after his six-gun, and wails hopeless like: + +“It ain’t no use in shootin’ but I jist can’t seem to know it!” And he +starts shootin’. + +It’s them hawgs ag’in. They’re jist comin’ around the corner uh the hen +shack when Dirty unlimbers with his .44, and they jist natcherally turns +on the space of uh dime and splits the atmosphere around the other way. + +_“Flup! Bang! Zing-g-g! Bing!”_ + +I falls backward into the open door, Magpie ducks flat on the ground and +crawls on his belly around the corner, and Dirty splits the breeze +toward town behind his bronc, which seems to have contracted the getaway +fever, too. + +I hears two more shots fired, but the bullets don’t come our way like +the first two did. I pokes my head out and sees Magpie’s nose stickin’ +around the corner of the cabin. + +“Cripes!” sez he. “Must be uh Injun uprisin’. Better pass me my +rifle out uh the window, Ike. Look! Dirty’s caught his bronc and is +reinforcin’ our rear.” + +I cranes my neck, and sees Dirty. He’s got the cabin between himself and +where the bullets come from, and he’s riding our way with his gun in his +hand. He comes up behind the cabin and slides off. + +“Some son-of-uh-gun danged near spoiled me!” he wails. “That chunk uh +lead sung, ‘There’s uh land that is fairer than this,’ right past my +jug’lar vein, and I ain’t swallered since.” + +He fidgits with his gun fer uh spell, and when we don’t say nothin’ he +shoves the gun back into his holster and turns to Magpie: + +“Magpie, did somebody shoot at me?” he asks, sort uh foolish like. + +“I--I--I know I ain’t edzactly myself but--it--huh--shore did +seem--well, mebby I did imagine it but----” + +“Yeow! I shore put the deadwood on ’em that time!” yells uh voice, and +here comes Jimmy Peyton on uh bronc. He’s got uh rope on the horn of +his saddle, and is draggin’ somethin’ in the dust. His bronc don’t seem +pleased a-tall and is actin’ scandalous. Jimmy’s lost his hat but he’s +still hangin’ onto the stub uh that cigaret. + +“I got ’em!” he whoops ag’in, anglin’ his bronc up to us. He shore had! +On the end uh that rope is tied two hawgs--dead hawgs, too. Dirty Shirt +walks out, sort o’ unsteady like, and looks ’em over. He goes up and +puts his hand on Jimmy’s leg, and looks sad-like at him. + +“Jimmy,” sez he, “don’t joke with uh pore ol’ man. Is there anythin’ +draggin’ in the loop uh yore rope?” + +“Hawgs,” sez Jimmy. “Dead hawgs, Dirty.” + +“Cripes!” sez Dirty, startin’ fer his bronc and shakin’ his head, “I +thought all the time it was my mind, and now I finds that it’s only +my eyes. Gosh, I’m dry!” + +“Yore first two shots didn’t hit them hawgs,” I states to Jimmy, +reprovin’ like. + +“Impossible, Ike,” sez he, rollin’ uh fresh smoke. “My bronc tries to +turn over backwards when them hawgs comes toward him, and my first two +shots hits the sky. This bronc ain’t what you’d call ‘hawg broke.’” + +“Mebby the sky was yore limit but you aimed too low,” states Magpie. +“Them two shots danged near makes uh vacancy in our law-abidin’ +community, as the judge would say.” + +“Close don’t count in nothin’ but pitchin’ horse-shoes, so there ain’t +no use in holdin’ post-mortems on might-have-beens. Loosen yore hawgs, +and I’ll go back, Magpie.” + +“Yore target practise this evenin’, Mister Peyton, is goin’ to cost yuh +about thirty dollars,” states Magpie. “Any time I wishes to butcher my +hawgs I’ll hire uh meat cutter, not uh cook.” + +“Thirty----!” wails Jimmy, slidin’ off his bronc and illustratin’ his +peeve by wavin’ his arms like uh windmill. “Why, gol ding it, Magpie, +I’m uh public benefactor! You can’t make me pay thirty dollars fer +riddin’ the world uh them things which is hawgs in name only. It ain’t +reasonable.” + +“Hawgs is hawgs,” pronounces Magpie. “They sets me back jist what I +tells yuh the damage amounts to. You goes after ’em like they was wild +animiles. Them’s domestic things, Jimmy.” + +Jimmy rolls uh smoke, sort uh thoughtful like, and looks at them two +dead hawgs. He takes uh puff or two and throws the cigaret away. + +“Huh!” he snorts. “I never thought about it thataway, Magpie. Will you +and Ike take it out in trade?” + +Would we? Well, I reckon that thirty dollars’ worth uh feed looks good +to me and Magpie, and we sez so to Jimmy, who goes off down-town, towin’ +them hawgs through the dust. + + * * * * * + +After supper we goes down to Buck’s place, and finds Dirty Shirt lit up +like uh birthday cake fer the heap. + +“Ike,” sez he. “My ol’ friend, Ike, my eyesight’s glimmerin’ out, but it +ain’t no worse’n lots uh others. They all sez that them things is hawgs, +Ike. Gosh A’mighty, what imaginashuns some folks has. Le’s all have li’l +drink to shelebrate optical ill-illule’s all----” + +Dirty fergits the hawgs and goes to sleep under the pool table, and me +and Magpie horns into uh game uh draw. It shore is some game. I manages +to own what clothes I got on my back when I quits in the mornin’, but +that’s about all. + +Magpie yawns when I quits, and throws another twenty on the table. + +“I been savin’ this fer uh rainy day,” he states, as Buck slips him +another stack. “But I reckon I might as well use it, bein’ as I got +my feet plumb wet in this li’l pastime.” + +Tellurium seems uh heap interested in them chips. He recognizes the +twenty as the grasshopper payment. + +The next deal Magpie picks up two li’l pairs and fills on the draw. +Tellurium opines to need three, and he’s the only one to see Magpie’s +bet, and he puts uh li’l raise under it. Magpie shoves the rest of the +chips to the center, and spreads his hand. + +“No more good than axle-grease on uh six-gun,” grins Tellurium, +spreadin’ four queens. “Four hens, Magpie, takes the feed bill.” + +“That shore was hopper money, Ike,” sez Magpie, yawnin’. “She hops away +from me some sudden. Let’s go over and eat some uh the breakfasts we got +comin’ from Jimmy. It’s uh lucky thing it was him what kills them hawgs. +Suppose some uh these cow rustlers had uh done it.” + +Jimmy’s locked up yet, in spite uh the fact that it’s not very early, so +Magpie sez: + +“Let’s go home and kill uh hen fer breakfast, Ike. Dog-gone, them things +ought to be good fer somethin’. Might as well eat some now, Ike, ’cause +by the time we gits through lawin’ about ’em they’re goin’ to be so +danged ol’ and crippled up that they won’t be edible a-tall.” + +When we gits to the cabin we sees Pete Gonyer settin’ on uh stump near +the hen shack, with his hat pulled down low over his face. + +“Gosh A’mighty!” snorts Magpie. “I’ll bet that hombre’s been settin’ +here all night watchin’ them hens. He shore must be uh heap wrapped +up in the business.” + +“How’s the hens, Pete?” I asks. + +He’s whistlin’ “The Holy City” in uh low key, sort uh sad-like, and +don’t respond. He jist crooks his thumb over his shoulder toward the +open door uh the hen shack, and goes on whistlin’. Magpie walks +over, looks in, and then motions fer me. My gosh! It shore resembles +uh riot in uh hen-hair factory. We examines it some close, and then +Magpie shuts the door and turns to Pete. + +“Well, Pete,” sez he, “I’d opine that coyotes is uh unforeseen +contingency.” + +“Indubitably,” nods Pete. “That open-door policy shore settled the aig +controversy.” And then he switches his whistle to the “Cowboy’s Lament.” + +Me and Magpie ambles down-town in silence, and finds Jimmy’s place open. +We sets down and pounds on the table, and Jimmy comes out with that lock +uh hair ticklin’ his nose, and the cigaret in the corner uh his mouth. + +“Jimmy,” sez Magpie, “bring me and Ike about--uh--good breakfast uh ham +and aigs.” + +Jimmy grins and goes back to cook the order. He slips us two aigs and uh +piece uh ham each. Magpie sniffs the aigs and turns up his long nose. + +“Not any too recent, Jimmy,” sez he. + +“Nope,” agrees Jimmy, leanin’ ag’in’ uh table and rollin’ uh fresh +smoke. “But at the present high price uh ham and aigs, unless yo’re +uh millionaire yuh can’t expect fresh aigs.” + +“Meanin’ which?” asks Magpie. + +Jimmy lights his smoke and points over at the wall. There’s uh sign on +the wall which reads: + + HAM AND EGGS----$20 PER ORDER + + IF YOU FURNISH YOUR OWN HAM + ----$15 PER ORDER + +“Yo’re the first ones to furnish yore own ham,” grins Jimmy. “Uh course +yuh didn’t edzactly furnish ’em, but I’ll give yuh the benefit uh the +doubt.” + +Magpie gazes at his plate fer uh minute and then back at the sign on the +wall. + +“That sign don’t specify whether yuh furnishes coffee with yore meal or +not, Jimmy.” + +“Coffee is free as per usual, Magpie.” + +“At them prices,” sez Magpie, “any small favor is thankfully received.” + + +[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the First September, 1917 +issue of Adventure magazine.] + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78651 *** |