Initial commit of ebook 78672 filesHEADmain

1 files changed, 1157 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/78672-0.txt b/78672-0.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..35b759d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/78672-0.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,1157 @@
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78672 ***
+
+                           HONEST TO DOUGHGOD
+
+                              W. C. Tuttle
+
+              Author of “A Bull Movement in Yellow Horse,”
+                  “The Henpunchers of Piperock,” etc.
+
+
+I was christened Henry Clay Peck, but as soon as I gits big enough to
+answer to the yell uh “grub pile” I has my cognomen depleted to the
+extent that I answers to “Hen.” Maw insisted that I be called Gilliland
+Van Dyke, but paw said it was too much like brandin’ uh calf with the
+map uh Texas.
+
+The next one to my left on the top pole of the corral is uh misfit
+uh nature, or whatever is to blame fer creatin’ fat cowpunchers. His
+carcass requires the biggest tree ever put into uh stock saddle. His
+parents saddled him with the signature uh Lemuel Allender Bowles and
+uh forgivin’ nature. He responds when yuh yells “Muley.”
+
+On my right, danglin’ over the top pole is “Telescope” Tolliver.
+Telescope was originally, so he sez, John Quincy Tolliver, by gad
+suh! He allus adds the “By gad suh!” to give folks the impression
+that he’s from the South, but I’ve got inside information that the
+nearest he ever came to bein’ from the South was the time uh Montana
+sheriff chases him over the line into Wyoming and uh Wyoming sheriff
+chases him back.
+
+We admires each other uh heap. Muley writes poetry; Telescope sings,
+and I plays the banjo. We’re jist three cowpunchers--but talented. Uh
+puncher can have talents the same as bartenders, harness drummers and
+insurance agents.
+
+Telescope sez that as far as morals goes we’re loaded--never havin’ used
+up what Nature originally gave us. Muley sez--
+
+“There’s two things they can’t never lay at our door: we never stole
+another man’s wife nor threw rocks at his kids.”
+
+But that about lets us out, I reckon. Muley’s too danged covetous of
+other people’s property. If he didn’t combine pleasure with business
+we’d be uh lot better off. He can’t seem to keep from poetin’. One
+night he rustled fifteen head uh Five-Dot cows out of uh corral, and
+leaves uh piece uh poetry stickin’ on the gate, the same uh which
+reads:
+
+    I thanks yuh fer this chance to take,
+    Some Five-Dot cows, which I will sell,
+    And git myself uh poker stake.
+    And as fer you--go plumb to ----!
+
+Muley, bein’ the Poet Lariet uh the county, fer the reason that he’s
+the only one what can write uh rhyme, is immediately and soon
+apprehended down at Paradise, and called to answer fer his sins. He
+tells me and Telescope with tears in his eyes that we got to figger
+out uh scheme to git him loose or he’ll git sent to the pen, thereby
+breakin’ the set. Telescope chides him gently.
+
+“Yuh ain’t got the sense that God give geese in Chiny!” sez Telescope.
+“What did yuh have to write poetry fer, yuh cross between uh loco weed
+and uh pail uh lard?”
+
+Muley don’t hang his head with shame like he should have done under
+the circumstances, cause his neck is too danged short. He jist winks
+real hard and makes funny noises with his throat.
+
+“Well,” sez I, “we can’t let uh guilty man suffer, Telescope. Let’s go
+home. I’ll play somethin’ sad-like, and you sing Muley’s ol’ favorite,
+‘Jist Break the News to Mother,’ and mebby we can figger out uh scheme.”
+
+We did. That night we rides over to the Lazy-Y corral and appropriates
+all uh ol’ man Wiscomb’s ridin’ hosses, and hazes ’em plumb over into
+the Frog Pond basin. We shore has uh chore writin’ what we pins to the
+corral gate. It reads like this:
+
+    Though sad but true we must relate
+    Poets is thick in this here State.
+    We writes this rhyme so honest men
+    Won’t have to languish in the pen.
+
+Poetry not bein’ evidence no more, they has to turn Muley loose. Muley
+promises that he’ll do better next time, but it sort uh peeves him to
+find out that me and Telescope can write poetry, so he starts tryin’
+to pick the banjo, and drives us off the ranch tryin’ to sing, “Love
+Me and the World Is Mine.”
+
+Uh course me and Telescope steals them broncs to prove uh alibi fer
+Muley, but all we does with ’em is to haze ’em over to the basin and
+let ’em drift. We tells Muley about the stunt, and after they turns
+him loose he disappears fer uh few days. When he shows up ag’in he
+hands us each uh hundred and fifty dollars.
+
+“Took them broncs down to Silver Springs and sold ’em,” sez he, sort uh
+offhand like. “Them Lazy-Y fellers has beefed and beefed about losin’
+’em, and I jist couldn’t stand it to see ’em disappointed. Another day
+and them fool broncs would have been home. They was trailin’ this way
+when I finds ’em, and prompt action saves us reg’lar money.”
+
+Uh course we chides Muley uh heap, while we saddles up to go down to
+Paradise, but we chides him without malice in our hearts. One-fifty
+covers uh multitude uh morals. Also, we can all three set into uh
+poker game to oncet, which makes it bad fer any one else at the table.
+We drifts across the hills with joy in our hearts. We jist can’t seem
+to hate nobody. Even Telescope speaks kindly uh ol’ Bill Metzger, the
+sheriff what chased him over the line that time. Uh coyote drifts out
+of uh draw ahead of us, the same uh which usually calls fer at least
+eighteen chunks uh hot lead, but this time he ain’t molested.
+
+“Look at the ol’ loafer,” sez Telescope, standin’ up in his stirrups to
+ease his new saddle. “Slant-eyed ol’ pelican! He’ll probably go home and
+tell his ol’ woman that the Three Disgraces is paralyzed in the hands.”
+
+We fogs along until we’re about five miles from Paradise, when we sees
+uh hoss wanderin’ along the skyline of uh hill. Seems to be saddled so
+we goes over and investigates.
+
+“Side-saddle!” snorts Muley. “Who in ---- rides uh saddle like that on
+this range?”
+
+“I would if I had uh chance,” states uh voice, and then we sees her.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+She’s standin’ there beside uh mesquite, and I reckon she’s the maddest
+pretty fe-male I ever laid eyes upon. I ain’t goin’ to tell yuh what she
+looked like. It’s too danged much like tryin’ to tell somebody about the
+stamped design on uh new saddle. They knows what yore talkin’ about but
+they don’t know what yuh mean.
+
+“I begs your pardon, ma’am,” sez Muley. “Yuh see I didn’t look fer----”
+
+“Don’t apologize,” sez she, with uh grin. “What you jist said ain’t
+one, two, three with what I been thinkin’ fer the last hour. I got off
+to pick uh flower and that pony broke loose. I’ve trailed him fer three
+miles, but he wouldn’t stop. Are you goin’ to Paradise?”
+
+“Ma’am,” orates Telescope, “I’m there now. Ma used to tell me about the
+land what is fairer than this, but I doubted her.”
+
+With his eyes rolled up like uh sick sheep, Muley recites:
+
+    Her eyes outshine the desert stars
+    Her mouth is sweet as cake,
+    And the freckles on her features
+    Shone like lilies on uh lake.
+
+The fe-male starts to grin, but when she sees that we’re serious she
+irons out her face.
+
+“Ma’am,” sez I, “I’m sorry I ain’t got my banjo. I plays well.”
+
+“That’s nice,” sez she. “I love good music. I am Miss Adamson, the new
+teacher at Paradise, and I’m lost.”
+
+“Miss Adamson,” states Telescope, “you can calm yore fears, cause you
+shore ain’t lost no more. My name’s Tolliver--John Quincy Tolliver,
+by gad--huh. The party on the pinto is Hen Peck, and that emaciated
+lookin’ party on the Roman-nosed bay is Muley Bowles. We’re all from
+the Cross-J; free, white and twenty-one and we’re glad to meet yuh.”
+
+“Lemuel is my first name, ma’am,” sez Muley. “Lemuel Allender Bowles.”
+
+“My folks was particular thataway, too,” sez I. “When I enters this
+here vale uh tears I gits Henry Clay added to the name uh Peck, which
+I natcherally inherits. My dad’s name was Henry, and bein’ as he had
+uh ranch in Clay county, Missouri, I----”
+
+“Unique,” sez the lady.
+
+“No, ma’am--corn,” sez I.
+
+Telescope tightens up her cinch and helps her on the bronc, and we all
+fogs on toward Paradise. She don’t sabe much about ridin’ but who ever
+cared how uh angel handled uh hoss. She’s livin’ up at ol’ man Irvin’s
+place, so we rides plumb to the gate with her. She thanks us uh heap
+and makes uh fuss about how much she owes us.
+
+“Won’t yuh all come down to see me once in uh while?” she asks. “It
+really does git lonesome evenin’s. Come down, all of you. I’d love to
+hear Mister Tolliver sing, and Mister Peck accompany him on the banjo.
+Come down any time, please.”
+
+The way she sez “please” would make uh feller go out and kiss uh
+sidewinder if she asked him to. We replies that nothin’ would please us
+more, and then we wanders back to the bright lights uh Dug Chaffin’s
+saloon.
+
+“Like to hear Mister Tolliver sing, and hear Mister Peck accompany
+him on the banjo, eh?” orates Muley, sarcastic like. “Them’s hy-iu
+accomplishments but too boisterous. Now, if I had uh chance to pour
+uh li’l poetry into her ear--mama, mine!”
+
+“Poetry,” pronounces Telescope, “is all right so long as yuh don’t abuse
+yore ability. It’s good stuff in its place, like hooch or uh cold deck,
+but when uh feller uses it to notify the sheriff or uses it to designate
+that uh lady has freckles on her nose--I’m ag’in it. Sabe?”
+
+“Freckles is but uh beauty spot to call attention to the spot on which
+they lingers,” states Muley. “Don’t think fer uh minute, Telescope,
+that I aims to slander the lady. I shore admires her uh heap, and
+nothin’ would please me more than to introduce her to you as Misses
+Lemuel Allender Bowles. That’s uh fair soundin’ name, eh? Uh heap more
+noticeable than Misses Peck or Telescope’s wife.”
+
+“Henry Clay Peck ain’t no name to sneeze at,” I states. “It’s honest, by
+grab! My ol’ dad----”
+
+I’m jist goin’ to tell how the first grain measure was named after one
+uh my ancestors, but Telescope interrupts.
+
+“When yuh argues the value uh names, Muley, yuh shore got to let mine
+set on the first pew. John Quincy Tolliver, by gad suh! The Kentucky
+Tollivers is one uh the bluegrassedest famblys in America. Any woman
+would be honored to bear that name.”
+
+“Don’t let’s quarrel,” I advises. “Names is nothin’ but inheritance,
+like hook-noses, cross-eyes and uh taste fer hooch. We never made
+’em. Uh fortune-teller tol’ me once that some uh my ancestors was
+bushwhackers in the time uh Henry th’ Awful, and that some was
+beheaded and the rest lynched. She said I was born to romance.”
+
+“Swashbucklers,” corrects Telescope. “Nowadays we designates ’em as
+‘blow hards.’ Also, she was wrong about the period. Henry the Awful
+was----”
+
+“Let sleepin’ dogs gather no moss,” interrupts Muley, squeezin’ the last
+drop of his sixth glass uh third-rail. “Pore ol’ Henry’s dead years ago,
+and li’l Lemuel Allender Bowles don’t feel so awful good today, either.
+Here’s to the fairest flower that in uh garden grew. Her face is like
+uh--uh--uh--shay, Telescope, wha’s her face like, anyway. Huh?”
+
+But Telescope is already pourin’ out his soul in song, and Muley weeps
+on the pool-table ’cause he can’t seem to remember what her face looked
+like.
+
+Now I’m commencin’ to git back to where I starts from, with me and
+Muley and Telescope draped over the top pole of the corral. It’s the
+next mawnin’ after we meets the school-ma’am.
+
+Not havin’ much appetite fer breakfast we adjourns early. We’re settin’
+there mournin’ over our past lives and wishin’ we didn’t have such
+pintoed characters, when Telescope opines----
+
+“Uh gal with uh face like that must grade about twenty per ounce. I hope
+she don’t throw her young life away on some ordinary cowpuncher, that’s
+all I hope.” Telescope sighs deep-like, and me and Muley follers suit.
+
+“Noble sentiments,” sez I. “It would be like feedin’ vanilly ice cream
+to uh coyote.”
+
+We sighs in chorus ag’in.
+
+Muley sighs uh couple uh extra times and chews the stub of uh
+lead-pencil, which he has been usin’ on uh piece uh wrappin’-paper.
+
+“Read her out loud, Muley,” urges Telescope, but Muley sighs and shakes
+his head:
+
+“I jist can’t seem to find uh word that’s right. What in ---- rhymes
+with pain? She reads like this:
+
+    “My love is livin’ in the town,
+    It fills my heart with pain,
+    To know that I ain’t with her now,”
+
+“She’s uh dinger as far as she goes, Muley,” sez Telescope. “Can’t yuh
+think uh nothin’ that rhymes with pain?”
+
+“I got it,” sez I. “Yuh might say, ‘Tomorrow it may rain.’ How’s that,
+eh?”
+
+Muley puts his foot into my equator, and I sprawls into the corral,
+right under the feet of uh outlaw bronc called Pirate. I jist about
+gits kicked into the middle uh next week before I escapes.
+
+“That’s the last time I ever helps uh poet in distress,” I states, as
+soon as I gits back on the rail. “They’re uh thankless tribe. In love
+or in jail it’s all the same. I’m goin’ over and tune up my ol’ banjo.
+There’s uh lady what loves good music, and she’s plumb crazy to hear
+me play.”
+
+“She shore is if she wants to the second time,” states Muley.
+
+I goes over to the bunk-house, and pretty soon Telescope and Muley comes
+in and sets down. They rolls cigarets and Telescope clears his throat.
+
+“Well,” sez I, “spit her out, Telescope.”
+
+“Hen, we’ve done come to the conclusion that we can’t all come to see
+her to oncet. What do yuh think about it?”
+
+“Two ag’in one is uh majority. What’s the verdict?”
+
+“It’s thisaway, Hen,” explains Telescope. “All things bein’ free and
+equal, we’re goin’ to leave the decision to the lady. We’ll write the
+names of the days uh the week on pieces uh paper, put ’em in uh hat
+and draw. The feller gits to call on her the night he draws. Sabe?
+That won’t give nobody the advantage.”
+
+“And,” sez I, “the other two stays right here on the ranch. Don’t go
+cuttin’ into the other feller’s night a-tall, eh? We shore got to play
+this here love game on the square.”
+
+They both agrees, and we draws from the hat. I gits Monday, Telescope
+draws Friday, and Muley’s affections shows on Wednesday. Bein’ as to-day
+is Monday, I shaves some careful-like and oils my saddle.
+
+“Don’t git mushy and tell yore past life, Hen,” warns Telescope. “Uh
+feller’s apt to fergit himself in uh case like this. Yore past won’t
+interest her none to speak of, and me and Muley figgers too danged
+prominent like. She might turn us all down fer uh sheriff or uh
+United States marshal and tell all she knows. Sabe?”
+
+“One thing I never does,” sez I, “and that is to commit social suicide.”
+
+I reads that in uh female’s magazine, what comes to the Cross-J by
+mistake oncet.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+I gits on my calico bronc, hangs the banjo on the saddle horn and
+proceeds to show the Cross-J that Hen Peck can ride ’em straight up. I
+knows that there’s uh stick under that pinto’s tail, but I don’t wish
+to spoil Muley’s idea of uh good joke. When I gits that pinto lined out
+toward Paradise I finds that three strings is busted on that banjo, the
+same uh which fills me with sad thoughts.
+
+“This shore is one ---- of uh situation,” sez I. “Not another banjo
+string this side uh Helena, and uh li’l gal simply pinin’ away fer to
+hear me play.”
+
+The nearer I gits to town the worse I’m feelin’. I feels so bad that
+I enters Dug Chaffin’s rum palace and renews my vitality, and also
+gits vivacious. That’s another word I reads in that magazine. I meets
+“Doughgod” Smith and he also gits vivacious.
+
+Doughgod’s got lots uh money and the disposition of uh bulldog.
+
+“I’d admire to hear yuh play uh tune, Hen,” sez he, noticin’ that I’m
+packin’ uh banjo. “After listenin’ to Tony, the Hunk, play the squeeze
+organ over at the Cross-in-uh-Box, I’m game to listen to anythin’.”
+
+“She’s uh good ol’ rig but she’s done busted down, Doughgod,” sez I.
+“Yuh can’t expect to fan uh machine like that over uh bronc’s head
+fer any length uh time and expect it to run smooth right away. If yuh
+hunger fer music I’ll sing fer yuh.”
+
+“Hen,” sez he, pattin’ me on the back, “don’t put yourself out to try
+and entertain me. The way I feels right now I don’t miss singin’ uh
+bit. Much obliged jist the same.”
+
+Doughgod horns into uh poker game, and I absorbs uh few more scoops.
+When I’m organized sufficient-like I opines to go over and serenade
+the school-ma’am.
+
+I has uh hard time gettin’ my bearin’s, but pretty soon I gits to goin’
+good. Sudden-like I remembers that I’m shy on strings.
+
+“Now,” sez I, “you cross between uh distillery and uh bale uh loco weed,
+where do yuh think yore goin’, eh? Goin’ to serenade uh lady fair, eh?
+Goin’ down there with uh souse on. Hen Peck, you ain’t fit to carry hawg
+meat to uh bear. No-good, common ol’ puncher, with loads uh sin on yore
+conscience.
+
+“You ain’t fit to see her or listen to her voice. Yore jist uh drunk ol’
+cow rustler, and if yuh got what was comin’ to yuh you’d be over in Deer
+Lodge, wearin’ uh number like uh box-car. Yore hyas cultus.”
+
+That kind uh talk from me makes me feel uh heap bad, but I has to agree
+that it’s Gospel truth even if it does yank on my heart-strings.
+
+“Nothin’ like knowin’ yoreself,” I informs uh fence post. “Hen Peck is
+uh wise ol’ coot--yessir. I ain’t no good, but by cripes, I got two of
+the best friends on earth. Telescope and Muley. Good enough fer any gal
+on earth. All I got is two friends and uh lovin’ disposition. No use in
+three tryin’ to win--nossir. Two’s company--three’s uh crowd. I’m goin’
+back to Dug’s place, where there’s life and cheer. Love is but uh
+fleetin’ flower, and mine has fleeted.”
+
+I cries uh heap, and my heart lies in my bosom like half-done flapjacks
+on yore stummick, and the scaldin’ tears obstructs my vision to the
+extent that when somebody throws uh clump uh mesquite bushes at me I
+can’t dodge.
+
+The moon is wanin’ when I manages to git out from under the brush, so
+I forks my pinto and comes home. I ain’t what you’d designate as uh
+gay lookin’ Lothario to look at, but I feels that I’m to be commended
+uh heap. I don’t aim to tell the boys what I done cause they’d say I
+got col’ feet on the job. Also, they’d use up all the nights between
+’em, and Hen Peck would have to play to the bunk-house walls.
+Telescope and Muley is settin’ on the fence when I rides in, and they
+looks me over some careful. I turns my bronc into the corral, and
+starts fer the cook-house.
+
+“Is her paw in Paradise, Hen?” asks Telescope.
+
+“No,” sez I. “Why do yuh ask that?”
+
+“What happened to yuh, Hen? Did the lady smear yuh with uh rollin’-pin
+or has the Crees gone on the war path? Yore uh sight, Hennery.”
+
+“Jist general wear and tear,” sez I. “I’m hungry.”
+
+Muley grins all over his fat face, and recites:
+
+    He went to see his lady fair.
+    He loved her passin’ well.
+    He played some banjo music,
+    And came home all shot to ----.
+
+“Ain’t that uh humdinger, Hen?” laughs Telescope. “Muley’s shore wastin’
+his talents in uh place like this. Did yuh tell her that me and Muley’d
+be down this week?”
+
+“I did not,” sez I. “Why take the joy out of her life thataway? I
+believes in lettin’ somebody else be the bearer uh sad news. I’m not
+advertisin’ you fellers, believe me. Why should I mention you, eh?”
+
+“That’s fair enough,” admits Muley, and when we’re together he gits
+confidential like.
+
+“Hen, what in ---- does uh feller talk about to uh fe-male? I loses my
+nerve when it comes to that. Tell me somethin’ to say, won’t yuh, Hen?”
+
+“Aw, anythin’. Recite her that poem yuh wrote about Snow-shoe Mary. Jist
+keep yore face out uh personalities, Muley.”
+
+“What’s personalities, Hen?”
+
+“Aw, corsets and stockin’s and----”
+
+“----!” he snorts. “What do yuh think I am, Hen? Uh dressmaker? Also
+I don’t intend to recite Snow-shoe Mary. Why, dog-gone yore hide,
+that poem wasn’t wrote fer female ears. Yore kind advice leads me to
+believe that you wishes me to not only be put out of the runnin’ but
+yuh also desires that I fills uh early grave. Did she enjoy yore
+playin’? Yore banjo looks to me like yuh sort uh overdid yoreself,
+Hennery. Now, if you was uh poet----”
+
+“I’d admire to git lynched,” sez I, and then I goes up to the
+cook-house, and gits cussed by the cook, fer comin’ in so late.
+
+The next mornin’ Muley can’t seem to git his mind on his work a-tall. He
+can’t think about nothin’ but his chance to see the lady. He aims to put
+his rope on the li’l sorrel he’s been ridin’, but he don’t notice when
+he misses and the loop snags ol’ Pirate.
+
+So long as he don’t notice his mistake, me and Telescope is too
+gentlemanly to call his attention to it. He jist shortens his rope,
+turns his back on that outlaw and starts leadin’ it over where his
+saddle is layin’.
+
+I reckon that hoss never had been ignored thataway before, and it cuts
+him deep. He sticks back his ears on his rattlesnake head and grabs
+Muley between the shoulders. Comes uh squeal and uh cloud uh dust and
+Muley’s layin’ over in the corner with nothin’ left of his shirt except
+the collar, and the bronc breaks straight fer the Wyoming line.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+We moseys over and gazes at Muley’s recumbent form. He’s got uh
+beautiful expression on his face, and all he needs is uh bow and
+arrer and uh couple uh wings to pose fer uh statoo uh Cupid in the
+Corral. He’s starin’ at the sky, and all to oncet his lips opens and
+he recites:
+
+    Her eyes is like the evenin’ star,
+    She’s graceful like uh deer.
+    Her mouth is like uh rosebud.
+    I wish--I wish--I--huh----
+
+“I wish I had uh glass uh beer,” finishes Telescope. “Now, Hen, you
+can see what love does to uh feller. That Muley person is so danged
+deep in love that he don’t notice that he’s leadin’ Pirate. No sir,
+he don’t know nothin’ a-tall. When uh poet gits in love he’s liable
+to kiss uh mewl. Harmless and happy but lots uh bother.”
+
+Muley rolls over and sets up. He claws some corral dust out of his eyes,
+and looks around.
+
+“What in ---- is goin’ on around here?” he asks, foolish like. “I can’t
+seem to remember nothin’ except beautiful winged critters, with floatin’
+garments, and music playin’ and----”
+
+“Never mind the human insects, Muley,” sez I. “Go and git uh shirt on.
+Uh sylph-like figger is uh thing uh beauty and uh joy forever, but yore
+packin’ too much lard on yore carcass to qualify. Git inside uh piece uh
+flannel before some pork packer comes along and mavericks yuh.”
+
+“Aw, you ain’t got nothin’ to say, Hen,” he opines, fumblin’ with the
+collar of that departed shirt. “You ain’t no beautiful statoo in the
+nood. I ain’t goin’ to put on no danged shirt until----”
+
+“Good mornin’, gentlemen.”
+
+We turns some sudden, and there is the school-ma’am lookin’ over the top
+uh the corral from the back of her hoss.
+
+“Howdy,” sez I, and Telescope almost prostrates hisself in the dust,
+when his foot slips in uh soft spot. “Won’t yuh come in?”
+
+“Come in and make yourself to home,” invites Telescope, but she grins
+and shakes her head.
+
+“No, thank you,” sez she. “I’m not familiar enough with the interior of
+corrals to feel at home in one. Didn’t I hear Mister Bowles’s voice as I
+rode up?”
+
+I looks around quick and there is Muley, humped up in the corner of the
+fence, with uh saddle blanket over his head, and about twelve inches uh
+bare skin shinin’ in the sun.
+
+“No, ma’am,” sez I. “Muley’s been gone some time. He heard that his
+wife has run away with uh half-breed Piegan, and he’s gone down to the
+reservation to investigate.”
+
+“Isn’t that some one over in the corner?” she asks, cranin’ her neck
+over the rail.
+
+“Yes’m,” sez Telescope. “That’s uh sick Injun takin’ uh saddle-blanket
+treatment fer ticks. We handles most of the local cases up here. This
+one is particularly stubborn. He’s been under that blanket fer nearly
+an hour, and only one tick has left him.”
+
+“How strange,” she exclaims. “I’ve heard of all kinds of diseases and
+treatments, but this is decidedly novel. I studied nursing for some
+time, and I natcherally am interested. May I come in and watch the
+proceedin’s?”
+
+“Deelighted!” sez Telescope. “Git off yore hoss and come inside.”
+
+“No, I’ll jist set on top of the fence with you, and we can watch it
+much better.”
+
+I hears Muley groan as we climbs the fence, and I sort uh feels fer him.
+It’s about ninety-nine in the shade right now, and that blanket shore is
+odoriferous. We perches on the rail like three buzzards watchin’ fer uh
+sick calf to quit this vale uh tears, and makes remarks about the
+sufferin’ bunch uh humanity under the blanket.
+
+“How long will it be before he is cured?” she asks.
+
+“Well,” opines Telescope, “he’s been under there fer an hour now, and
+only one tick has drifted away. As uh usual thing they has six ticks,
+so, unless the other five decides to stampede in uh flock, we’re due
+to sit here fer several hours yet.”
+
+“I don’t mind,” sez she, sweet-like. “I haven’t uh thing else to do.
+Isn’t his skin awful light for an Indian? I’ll bet he’ll be badly
+sunburned where the sun is strikin’ that large bare spot, and if I
+was in yore place I’d----”
+
+“Snap! Smash!”
+
+That’s all that ever saved Muley. That top rail wa’n’t any too
+strong anyway, and with three of us in the center it couldn’t stand
+the pressure when Telescope begins to bounce up and down with glee.
+I lights inside the corral in the dust, and I sees uh whirl uh
+skirts and boots, where Telescope and the school-ma’am tangles up on
+the other side.
+
+I glances the other way and I sees somethin’ that Nature claims to be
+impossible. Muley weighs about two hundred and forty, and the fence is
+eight feet high, but by the horns on the moon, he never scratched it
+goin’ over. He jist sailed like uh bird, and the saddle-blanket which
+had draped his shoulders was still in the air over the spot where he
+had sat when he hit the ground on the other side. There was jist uh
+rippin’ sound in the atmosphere, two grunts, uh slam, and Muley’s
+inside the bunk-house with the door locked.
+
+That fe-male shore is game. She wipes the dust out of her eyes, and
+laughs hearty-like, and me and Telescope joins her with great cheer.
+She climbs the fence ag’in and gazes at the spot where Muley had
+been.
+
+“Well!” sez she, sort uh surprised-like. “Our patient has gone!”
+
+“Yes’m,” I agree. “They don’t stay long after the ticks leave ’em, and
+ticks can’t stand excitement. When that rail broke I saw them five ticks
+lope off across the corral, and I reckon by this time they’re half-way
+to the reservation lookin’ fer another healthy buck to inhabit.”
+
+“I’m sorry it happened,” she states, as she crawls on to her bronc
+ag’in. “I would like to have seen that Indian. Was he an Albino?”
+
+“No, ma’am,” sez Telescope. “He was uh Piegan. The Albinos all live in
+Arizona.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+After she’s gone, me and Telescope sets there fer quite uh spell and
+don’t have much to say. Pretty soon Telescope sighs deep and rolls uh
+cigaret. I sighs some, too, and borrows the makin’s.
+
+“Where do we sleep tonight, Hen?” he asks. “Bein’ as our guns is both in
+the bunk-house we’re helpless-like.”
+
+“Sleep in the barn, I reckon. I ain’t goin’ into that bunk-house until
+Muley leaves, that’s uh cinch. I’ll bet that hombre would admire to
+waller in our gore.
+
+“Wife run away with uh Piegan! Haw! Haw! Haw! I’ll bet that Muley won’t
+git that saddle-blanket smell out of his hair fer uh week. He may still
+make rhymes, Hennery, but he shore won’t smell like uh reg’lar poet.
+Here comes Doughgod Smith. Wonder what the ol’ pelican wants up here.”
+
+Doughgod rides up, and we exchanges salutations.
+
+“Where’s Muley?” asks Doughgod.
+
+“Over in th’ bunk-house,” sez Telescope.
+
+“Reckon I’ll go over and see him,” he opines, slidin’ off his bronc.
+“I got somethin’ fer him, and I rides all the way up here to give it
+to him.”
+
+“Go right on over, Doughgod,” sez Telescope, pleasant-like. “I feels
+that Muley is in uh receptive mood right now.”
+
+Doughgod grins, and ambles right over to the bunk-house door. He don’t
+rap. He opens the door, gits half-way in and then comes right out on
+his neck. The door slams behind him, and he sets there on the ground
+and paws away at his face like uh cub-bear at uh bee-tree. Pretty soon
+he gits up, walks into the corner of the cabin and falls down ag’in.
+We hears him cussin’ some fluently as he gits up, and this time he
+heads our way. He has his hands over his eyes but he hits the corral
+gate dead center, butts right into the snubbin’ post, and falls down
+ag’in.
+
+“That’s good so far as she goes, Doughgod,” applauds Telescope. “But it
+ain’t nothin’ out of the ordinary. Now, if yuh had blindfolded yoreself,
+hit the gate dead center and then jumped the post, that would have been
+some stunt.”
+
+“My Gawd!” wails Doughgod. “What fer kind of uh way is this to treat uh
+guest? Bust uh hoss-liniment bottle on his head! My Gawd!”
+
+He sets up and wipes the tears out of his eyes with both hands.
+
+“What did yuh say to him?” asks Telescope. “Muley don’t do things like
+that as uh general thing.”
+
+“I didn’t say nothin’ to make him act thataway,” wails Doughgod. “He was
+lookin’ at his watch, and I said, ‘Don’t she tick!’ That’s all I said to
+him, honest.”
+
+“If uh man done that to me I’d shore smoke him up,” orates Telescope.
+
+“I ain’t got no gun, though,” complains Doughgod. “Never have uh gun
+when I needs one. Loan me yores, will yuh, Telescope, and I’ll
+immediately and soon find out why I’m assaulted.”
+
+“You can have mine,” sez I. “I never throws uh friend down when he’s in
+need. Yore welcome to it, Doughgod. She’s hangin’ over my bunk, beside
+Telescope’s.”
+
+Doughgod gits the tears dried up long enough to git on his bronc. He
+shore looked funny, puffin’ away at his pipe, with the tears runnin’
+down his cheeks, and the purple place over his right eye, where the
+bottle had lingered.
+
+“Gentlemen,” sez he, solemn-like, “there is times when the American
+language ain’t noways sufficient nor competent to elucidate the extent
+of uh feller’s feelin’s. Jist to attempt to say what I think of the
+Cross-J and its hired help would be like offerin’ salt to uh thirsty
+man. I thought I knowed uh lot uh flossy cuss words, but they pales
+into insignificance when I consults my immortal soul. Adios.”
+
+He swings his bronc around, and the last we sees uh him he’s still
+reachin’ up reg’lar like to wipe away the tears.
+
+We don’t invade the bunk-house, so we don’t see Muley until supper-time.
+He looks us over some close but don’t say uh word. In fact there is uh
+great lack uh conversation at the table, the same uh which is noticed by
+ol’ man Miller, our boss. We’re used to uh bright flow uh personalities
+durin’ our mastication time, and this here stillness gits on th’ ol’
+man’s nerves.
+
+“Well,” sez he, shovin’ his chair back, and reachin’ fer his hat, “I
+don’t know jist what’s the matter with you Jaspers, but as uh general
+treatment I’d suggest sheep dip.”
+
+Th’ ol’ man leaves the shack, and Muley sets there and stares at the
+floor. He’s uh heap like Doughgod was--too mad to express it in words.
+
+“I resents that implication!” orates Telescope. “No danged man--not even
+the boss--can imply that I’ve got ticks. How about you, Hen?”
+
+“Not uh tick!” sez I, emphatic like.
+
+Muley rolls uh cigaret, sort uh absent-minded like, takes out uh match,
+lights his smoke and throws it away. He puts the match in his mouth, and
+because it won’t puff he tries to scratch his tobacco sack on his pants.
+
+“Never try to scratch tobacco, Muley,” sez Telescope. “Allus use uh
+cigaret paper to light yore match with.”
+
+Muley spits the match out and beats it fer the bunk-house. Me and
+Telescope joins him in uh few minutes.
+
+“My gosh!” sniffs Telescope. “Who spilled the liniment?”
+
+Muley looks us over fer uh minute and then busts out laughin’.
+
+“Which one uh you Jaspers did I hit?” he asks.
+
+“You did not,” sez I. “You hit Doughgod Smith.”
+
+“I--I hit who?” gasps Muley.
+
+“Doughgod Smith,” I repeats. “Hit him right square in the face, and he
+wept tears all the way to Paradise.”
+
+“Well!” sez Muley, “after thinkin’ it over. He’s uh honest man.”
+
+“Meanin’ which?” I asks.
+
+“He came up to pay me the forty dollars I loaned him in uh poker game
+the other night.”
+
+“No use weepin’ over spilled liniment,” sez I. “Mebby he’ll pay yuh the
+next time he sees yuh, Muley.”
+
+“Not if I see him first. I shore don’t want to look like uh porous
+plaster when I goes to see the lady. I don’t reckon she knowed it was
+me under that blanket; do yuh?”
+
+“No,” sez Telescope. “You jist keep yore shirt on, Muley, and she won’t
+never know it was you.”
+
+I don’t reckon he ever heard me tell her that Muley’s wife had run away
+with uh Piegan. Anyway, he saddles up and fogs off toward Paradise.
+
+The next mornin’ Muley comes back to us with uh sad look in his eye. He
+don’t eat much breakfast, and jist moons around.
+
+“Didn’t yuh enjoy the evenin’?” I asks.
+
+“Uh-huh,” sez Muley, queer-like. “Shore I did. Jist because I don’t
+throw my hat in the air and yell yuh don’t think I had uh good time.
+Uh natcheral poet ain’t boisterous-like, Hen. His abilities sort uh
+calm him down. Sabe?”
+
+Uh li’l later on I finds Muley alone on the shady side of the cabin.
+He’s settin’ there on uh box, gazin’ off into space.
+
+“Hen,” sez he, “I ain’t so danged awful bad, but I’m too bad at that.”
+
+“What yuh figgerin’ on doin’, Muley--gittin’ bit by uh snake?”
+
+He don’t answer fer uh while. I reckon my reply went right over his
+head, cause he jist sighs and opines thusly:
+
+“Hen, uh feller like me ain’t noways fit fer uh gal like that. I’ve
+examined all my past life and I finds that it don’t assay uh trace uh
+good. She’s too danged good fer me.”
+
+“Well,” sez I, consolin’-like, “you don’t need to worry about it. You
+ain’t got her, have yuh?”
+
+He shakes his head and digs holes in the dirt with his heels.
+
+“No, Hen, and I don’t expect to. She’s out uh my class. Now, take you
+and Telescope for instance. He’s from uh good ol’ fambly, and he’s got
+uh lot of ability. Outside of his face and feet he ain’t uh hard person
+to look at. And, Hen, that hombre shore can entertain uh person with his
+voice. Why, when he sings ‘Jist Break the News to Mother,’ I can feel
+myself layin’ out there on uh battle-field all shot to ----. That’s art,
+Hennery.
+
+“Now, take yoreself, Hen. You must be from uh good fambly, too. Yore
+ol’ mother must uh been uh mighty gentle woman to take the trouble to
+raise uh boy like you. You can play the banjo some plentiful, and uh
+woman likes uh musical man.
+
+“I leave it to you, Hen, if it ain’t the right thing fer me to do. I’m
+goin’ to step aside and let you and Telescope fight it out, and may the
+best man win. I’m sort of uh black sheep, and while I loves her like uh
+bear loves honey, I know I ain’t fit to play the rôle. I got uh quart
+uh hooch inside the bunk-house, Hen. Let’s go in and drink uh toast to
+you and Telescope.”
+
+We did just that li’l thing. We has enough toasts to make uh square
+meal, and pretty soon Muley gits tearful ag’in.
+
+“Don’t tell ol’ Telescope what I aims to do, Hen,” he pleads. “To have
+some one applaud my actions makes it hard to bear. We’ll jist let on
+that I’m still in the race.”
+
+“Muley,” sez I, “I’m uh heap proud to know uh man like you what knows
+all about himself and tells it without reservation. Outside of poetin’
+you shore don’t amount to much. No gal would be happy with you. I agrees
+that it’s the reasonable thing fer you to do.”
+
+“Hen,” sez he, “don’t git too danged personal in yore remarks. How do
+you know that no gal would be happy with me? Outside uh poetin’--why,
+you gol dinged, hoss-faced maverick, what did you ever do beside
+bein’ seventeen kinds of uh fool simultaneously, and playin’ uh banjo
+uh li’l?”
+
+“Nothin’, Muley,” I agrees. “Not uh danged thing. You and me is two
+misfits. We’ve both busted all the Commandments from the middle both
+ways. Neither of us is fit to cinch her saddle. Telescope is the only
+virtuous man in the set. There’s uh hy-iu man, Muley. Dog-gone, there
+shore is one he-man. Good fambly, wise as uh barn-owl, and he shore
+does save his money.”
+
+“That last is too true,” wails Muley. “He shore can save. He borrowed
+uh ten spot from me six months ago, and he thinks so much of it that
+he won’t give it back.”
+
+“I got uh good idea,” sez I, depletin’ that bottle about the full of
+uh mewl’s ear. “Me and you’ll job ol’ Telescope. We has hereby agreed
+that we ain’t fit, so we’ll smooth the trail for Telescope. We’ll take
+our reg’lar turns goin’ down to see her, but we won’t see her. Sabe?
+Natcherally, without no opposition he wins out. Our ol’ pal is happy,
+and the fe-male gits uh prize. We’ll go down and play poker all night
+instead of courtin’ her, and everybody’ll be happy.”
+
+“That’s uh good hunch, Henry, but it takes money to play poker. That
+bunch down there has simply got my goat. If Telescope’d pay me that
+ten, and I could git Doughgod to leave that forty where I could pick
+it up, I’d have uh stake.”
+
+“Aw, make Telescope uh present uh that ten,” I advises. “Yuh got to
+figger that courtin’ costs money, Muley. You know danged well that if
+he paid yuh back that money he’d have to borrow it ag’in. Why don’t
+yuh go right down and ask Doughgod fer that money?”
+
+“Not me, Hen! Not li’l Lemuel Allender Bowles. He was buyin’ some .45
+ca’tridges the other day, and he informed Nick Parsons that he was jist
+honin’ to meet me. Said he wanted to hand me somethin’.”
+
+On Friday night Telescope dolls up like uh plush hoss. He wears one
+uh my blue silk shirts and Muley’s new hat. The next day he’s uh heap
+vivacious. He gits me off to one side and informs me that he’s had uh
+hy-iu time.
+
+“It’s shore goin’ to be uh hard row fer me to hoe,” he states. “Miss
+Adamson shore does cotton to you and Muley uh heap. Muley’s poetry made
+uh hit with her, and she sez that banjo music hits her right where she
+lives, when it’s played by uh master hand. I’m afraid that you fellers
+have got the jump on li’l Telescope Tolliver, by gad suh!”
+
+“Be uh good cheer,” I advises. “Faint heart never won on two small
+pair.”
+
+“Takes money,” he complains. “Uh feller what is short on money like I am
+ain’t got no chance with uh fe-male’s heart. If I had twenty I’d feel uh
+heap safer.”
+
+I don’t offer it to him, but I talks with Muley later on.
+
+“My cripes!” sez Muley. “What do yuh think I’m goin’ to do--finance uh
+weddin’?”
+
+“Friendship is uh great asset,” I orates. “Telescope is our pal, and I
+reckon he’d do as much fer us. You must remember he’s the Jasper what
+wrote most uh that poetry what kept you out of the pen.”
+
+“I got ten what ain’t workin’,” sez he. “I ain’t no piker, Hen.”
+
+I hands Telescope twenty and he’s thankful.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+On Monday night I goes down, plays poker all night, and comes home and
+lies to Telescope. On Wednesday night Muley does the same thing. He
+tells Telescope that the fe-male spoke well uh him, and he’s pleased.
+On Saturday Telescope asks me fer enough to buy some tobacco. Th’ ol’
+man is goin’ down-town after supplies.
+
+“Where’s the twenty?” I asks him. “Spend it all last night?”
+
+“Gals shore come high, Hen,” he sighs.
+
+I loans him two-bits this time. The next day, bein’ Sunday, me and Muley
+takes the wagon and goes to town after uh stove the ol’ man bought, and
+natcherally we horns into uh game uh draw in Dug’s place. Muley has jist
+stood pat in uh good pot when Doughgod Smith comes in the door. Him and
+Muley sees each other at the same time.
+
+“I’ve shore had uh hard time gittin’ to see you, Muley,” sez Doughgod,
+and reaches fer his hip.
+
+Muley shore is some speedy on the draw, and jist as Doughgod’s hand
+moves forward, he fans two .45 slugs across the table at Doughgod, and
+busts the hinges off the back door gittin’ away.
+
+As soon as the smoke clears away I sees that Doughgod is still on his
+feet. He’s starin’ at his right hand some industrious-like. He opens
+his mouth several times before he sez uh word, and when he does it’s
+some profane.
+
+“----!” sez he. “Wouldn’t that break yore heart?”
+
+He holds up his right hand and lets some scraps uh paper drift to the
+floor.
+
+“I asks you all to take notice,” he orates. “I hereby states that I’m
+goin’ to pay him that forty dollars or die. First time I tries to pay
+him he assaults me with uh bottle uh hoss liniment, and this time he
+shoots three tens and two fives into ribbons. My Gawd! There ain’t no
+sense in destroyin’ good coin of the realm thataway when there’s lots
+uh better targets to practise on.”
+
+“Don’t be stingy, Doughgod,” sez I. “If I ever had as much money as you
+got I’d shore rather have folks shoot at my roll than at me.”
+
+Muley ain’t no place in sight when I goes over to the wagon, so I fans
+that team out of town and ambles back toward the Cross-J. About two
+miles out uh town Muley steps out from behind uh mesquite. He’s got uh
+gun in his hand and sorrow in his eyes.
+
+“Did he die?” he asks, sort uh careless-like, as though uh killin’ was
+uh daily occurrence with him.
+
+“Muley,” sez I, “you can’t expect nothin’ else when yuh shoots uh man
+at close range with uh .45. All pore Doughgod was tryin’ to do was to
+git that forty out of his hip pocket and pay his debts.”
+
+“My Gawd!” wails Muley, leanin’ ag’in the wheel, and moppin’ the
+perspiration from his brow. “The Jasper what said that honesty is the
+best policy was loco. Hereafter I don’t loan money to no blamed man
+unless he’s dishonest. It’s dangerous! Where’s the posse, Hen?”
+
+“Organizin’. I figgered that they’d overtake me before I got this far.
+You better hop right into the wagon here with me, Muley.”
+
+“That’ll do uh lot uh good!” he wails. “Do yuh think fer uh minute that
+you can outrun uh posse with uh dead-ex wagon?”
+
+“Muley,” sez I, pityin’ like, “no wonder yore uh fugitive from justice.
+You ain’t got no ideas a-tall. See them ol’ sacks in the bottom of the
+wagon? There’s yore getaway. I’ll pull one over yore head and one over
+yore feet and pile the rest on top. Then I’ll roll yuh under the seat.
+If they asks me I’ll say it’s some spuds I’m takin’ home.”
+
+Muley’s willin’ to take uh chance on anythin’, so I fixes him up. As I
+rolls him under the seat I hears uh muffled voice opine:
+
+“Hen, yore awful good to me. Do the same fer you some time.”
+
+“Don’t mention it, Muley,” sez I. “I know yuh would.”
+
+I drives along fer uh spell, and Muley rides comfortable. Then I gits uh
+happy thought.
+
+“Muley!” I yells. “The posse’s in sight, and I got to leave the road.
+Hang on!”
+
+“_Ooof glubb mmff!_” I hears emanatin’ from the roll, so I opines that
+he’s thankin’ me some more.
+
+I swings the team off the road and over some of the worst goin’ yuh
+ever saw. Part of the time I’m on the seat and part of the time in the
+air. You can imagine what it was like to the man on the bottom of the
+wagon--uh wagon without no springs. When I unrolls Muley down back of
+the barn he’s shore uh sight. Take uh man what tilts the scales at two
+hundred and forty, wrap him up in uh lot uh dirty gunnysacks, bounce
+him in the bottom of uh lumber wagon fer eight miles and then unroll
+him, and you’ve got uh pitcher uh Muley Bowles.
+
+“Did we--huh--dodge ’em?” he wheezes, tryin’ to rub the kinks out of his
+legs, and peek around the corner at the same time.
+
+“So far,” I replies. “You shore got to give me uh lot uh credit, Muley.
+I shore have done uh lot fer you on this day uh the month.”
+
+“I know it, Hen. I appreciates it uh heap. Where do I go now?”
+
+“Under the bunk-house fer you, Muley,” I replies.
+
+When the ranch-house was built fer the Cross-J, the ol’ man opines to
+build uh root-house. He gits it dug about three feet deep and he runs
+into solid rock. Not havin’ any blastin’ powder he abandons that place
+and digs in another. In order to cover up the hole with the least labor
+he builds the bunk-house over it.
+
+“Close quarters,” complains Muley. “Dog-gone, uh feller ain’t got room
+to breathe in there, Hen.”
+
+“Easier’n breathin’ with uh rope around yore neck,” I orates, and Muley
+agrees. “You got to crawl all the way on yore stummick, though,” sez I.
+“Yuh shore got to keep low, cause fer all we knows the posse may be up
+talkin’ to the ol’ man.”
+
+He did jist that li’l thing--crawl. I hauls him in the back window,
+pushes him under the floor and nails him down. I manages to smuggle
+some grub and uh canteen full uh water from the cook-shack, and eases
+it under to him.
+
+“The posse’s hot on yore trail, ol’-timer,” sez I, consolin’-like. “You
+better lay plumb still fer uh spell.”
+
+“Cripes!” sez he. “How soon do yuh reckon I can git away, Hen?”
+
+“I don’t know much about law, Muley, but I do know that some debts is
+outlawed in seven years. Mebby it takes longer to cover uh killin’.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+That evenin’ me and Telescope plays seven-up in the bunk-house.
+Telescope feels uh heap bad, out loud, about Muley.
+
+“Pore ol’ Muley,” he mourns in uh high key. “Play yore jack on that
+ace, Hen Peck. Do yuh reckon they’ll hang him? They say that Sheriff
+McFee allus gits his man, so there ain’t much use uh Muley tryin’ to
+git away. I got high, low and the game. That puts me out. Wonder
+where pore ol’ Muley is tonight, Hen. This will shore break the set.
+Did yuh ever see uh man hung?”
+
+“Uh-huh,” sez I. “They shore kicks hard. What are we goin’ to do about
+the courtin’ agreement? This kind uh busts it up, don’t it?”
+
+“Shore does,” agrees Telescope. “If I had some money I’d go down to see
+her tonight.”
+
+“I ain’t got none,” I states. “But I got uh good idea, Telescope. Muley
+thought uh heap uh you, and he allus said that you could have anything
+he had. I seen Muley put some money in his war-sack yesterday, and I
+know if he was here he’d let yuh have it in uh minute. Money ain’t goin’
+to do him no good no more, so yuh might as well take it. Here it is,
+Telescope--thirty-five simoleons.” I talks in uh loud tone all the time,
+and oncet I hears the floor squeak.
+
+“I hates to take it,” sez Telescope, puttin’ it in his pocket. “But
+it’s jist as you say, Hen--where Muley’s goin’ they don’t use gold,
+except to pave the streets. I wonder if I hadn’t better sell Muley’s
+saddle? I hears Pete Pickett offer Muley fifty dollars fer it uh few
+days ago. Pete can’t git uh tree big enough, and that one jist fits.”
+
+“Sell it,” I advises. “It would jist dry up and spoil hangin’ up here,
+cause it’s too blamed big fer uh ordinary man.”
+
+Telescope saddles up and pulls out, and Muley tries to bust through the
+floor.
+
+“Lay still, yuh animated lard can!” I yells. “Ain’t yuh got no sense
+a-tall, Muley? The sheriff’s up at the house.”
+
+“Don’t let Telescope sell that saddle!” comes in muffled tones through
+uh knothole. “I can’t never make my getaway in uh small saddle.”
+
+“You shut up, Muley!” I advises. “I’m goin’ up and see how much the
+sheriff knows.”
+
+I goes up and plays pitch with the ol’ man until midnight.
+
+“Where’s the rest uh the Three Disgraces?” he asks.
+
+“Gone to town.”
+
+“Well, you might as well stay with me, Hen. No use uh both of us bein’
+lonesome.”
+
+The next mornin’ I slips Muley uh li’l breakfast, and he shore is one
+peevish person.
+
+“Yore uh ---- of uh friend!” sez he. “I been keepin’ awake all night
+to hear what the sheriff has to say. Dog-gone yuh, Hen, did yuh ever
+stop to think that I’m layin’ here on my back in the dust? Every time
+I moves I chokes to death to keep from sneezin’.”
+
+“Muley,” sez I, “If yore goin’ to be uh outlaw yuh shore got to put up
+with uh li’l discomfort. I’m lookin’ fer the posse to show up any ol’
+time. The sheriff was here all night and I shore had uh hard time to
+keep him away from here.”
+
+“This is the last day, Hen,” he pronounces. “I’d jist as soon hang as
+to be buried alive thisaway. Also you got uh lot uh nerve to tell ol’
+Telescope that he could sell that saddle. Some sweet day I’m----”
+
+“Duck!” I yips in his fat face, as I hears voices outside.
+
+Muley ducks into the dirt and I shoves the nails down with my heels,
+sets uh chair careless-like over the board, and then occupies the bunk.
+
+Some horses ambles up to the door and in comes two people. In the lead
+is Sheriff McFee and behind him comes Doughgod Smith.
+
+“Howdy, Hen,” sez McFee, settin’ down on the other bunk.
+
+Doughgod nods and sets down on the chair.
+
+“How’s every li’l thing at the Cross-J?” asks the sheriff, and I informs
+him that everything is fine as frog-hair.
+
+“I’m lookin’ fer Muley Bowles,” sez McFee.
+
+I hears the bunk-house settle about six inches, and jist then Telescope
+comes in.
+
+“Hello, Sheriff,” greets Telescope, with uh wide grin. “What’s the good
+word?”
+
+“So, so, Telescope. Where’s Muley?”
+
+“What do yuh want Muley fer?” I asks.
+
+McFee looks at Doughgod, and busts out laughin’.
+
+“Haw! Haw! Haw! By cripes! This is the dangdest affair I ever went
+out on. I feel shore that this is the first time that uh man had to
+take uh sheriff along when he went to pay his debts. Doughgod opines
+that he’s as honest as the day is long, and that he’s goin’ to pay
+his honest debts if he has to hire uh posse to back him. Am I right
+in my statements, Doughgod?”
+
+“To uh gnat’s eyelash, Sheriff,” agrees Doughgod. “Bein’ as I aims to
+take unto myself uh mate in wedlock next Wednesday night I wants to
+start even with all men. I owe Muley this forty bucks and I want to
+pay it to him. Sabe? I shore wants uh receipt, too.”
+
+“Who in ---- are you goin’ to marry?” I asks, surprised-like.
+
+“The new school-ma’am,” sez Doughgod, “and yuh could fry aigs on his
+ears. Now about that forty dollars----”
+
+Right under Doughgod the floor seems to rise right up with uh
+splinterin’ crash, and Doughgod sprawls on his face on the floor. Comes
+uh rippin’, tearin’ noise, and from the splintered floor emerges Muley.
+His shirt is tore off, and he’s got uh scratch down his face, the same
+uh which is paintin’ him like uh buck Piegan at uh ceremonial wau-wau.
+
+He wabbles there fer uh moment, lookin’ us over in uh dazed sort of uh
+way. Then he reaches over, picks up the astonished Doughgod and kisses
+him tenderly on the forehead.
+
+“There’s yore receipt, Doughgod,” sez he. “Keep the forty fer uh weddin’
+present. It’s worth it to see yuh win over Telescope Tolliver.”
+
+“Win over--me!” whoops Telescope. “Over you, yuh mean--you or Hen.”
+
+“Yore crazy!” yelps Muley. “Me and Hen never went near her! We played
+poker every night jist to give you uh free field.”
+
+“Did yuh win?” asks Telescope.
+
+“We did not,” I replies, sadly.
+
+“Neither did I,” sez Telescope.
+
+We all sets there and looks foolish at each other fer uh spell, and then
+Telescope snorts--
+
+“Honest to----”
+
+“Doughgod!” sez Muley.
+
+
+[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the First October Issue,
+1917 of Adventure magazine.]
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78672 ***