diff options
Diffstat (limited to '78734-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 78734-0.txt | 1167 |
1 files changed, 1167 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/78734-0.txt b/78734-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ceecf4d --- /dev/null +++ b/78734-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1167 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78734 *** + + SPARING THE FAMILY TREE + + W. C. Tuttle + + Author of “Shepherds for Science,” “Evidently Not,” etc. + + +“Taos” Thompson says he didn’t come from no place, and ain’t got no +definite place to go. There ain’t no doubt in my mind but what he’s +got ancestors, but whether the name of Thompson covers the family or +not is problematical, but that don’t matter. + +Probably my family would wonder how I can spell my name B-r-o-w-n, but +as I said before, that don’t matter. + +Down here in the cactus we don’t care what a man calls himself. It’s +what he calls others that makes his visit pleasant or unpleasant, and +anyway, why drag the family tree around with you when you ain’t doing +nothing to make it flourish? + +One day me and Amarilly--Amarilly is a melodious beast of burden, which +is anti everything except sleep--was plodding across a particularly +torrid stretch of desert when I happens to see a human being trying to +gather itself into the shade of a two-foot snag of mesquite. + +We pilgrims over and finds this here shade-hunter just about to cash in +from drouth. I offers him my canteen, and says-- + +“Have a little water, old trailer?” + +He looks up at me and sort of grins out of his cracked face, and reaches +slowly for the canteen, as he mumbles out of split lips-- + +“If that’s--that’s the best you’ve got.” + +That’s how I met Taos Thompson, the only prospector I ever knowed who +didn’t care whether he found gold or not. He didn’t dream of finding a +fortune, but he did love to prospect. I met him early in the Springtime, +and for three months we pesticated around the devil’s griddle trying to +find gold where it ain’t. + +Taos is about five feet six inches from his heels to his red top-knot, +and he’s got all the points and angles that human bones are heir to. +He could be thirty years old or three hundred, but I’d make a bet that +Taos hits plumb close to the fifty-mile post. + +His hair and whiskers are his crowning beauty. Each and every hair +seems to want to grow in a different direction, and the only way he +can comb it is to soak it in axle-grease. He’s got long, skinny +wrists, and a pair of freckled hands that ain’t got a match no place +in the world. Man, them hands defy comparison, and the way they can +hop a gun out of a holster is a caution. They just seems to envelop +the butt of a big Colt, and it looks plumb like the smoke was coming +out of the end on his index-finger. Taos sure pays his way and don’t +ask favors of no man. + +I ain’t saying much about me, except that Taos’ head just comes to the +top button of my vest, and I weighs a hundred and thirty-five. I’m kind +of a bleached blond and ordinarily I packs two guns. One gun makes me +one-sided, so I has to ballast with the other. + +Seems like every place we go they finds new names for us, but when we +leave they usually sticks their heads out of the cellar and calls us Mr. +Brown and Mr. Thompson. Taos can lick anybody that I’ve got the nerve to +tackle, so we fits together well. + +We’re poking along through the sand, giving oral support to Amarilly, +and finally stops at some vile-smelling pot-hole, which has got a name +’cause it’s wet. If you ain’t never poked into the desert country and +had your dry tongue scrape all the enamel off your teeth, you don’t +know why men take off their hats to a moist spot and give it a name. +This was known as Poison Springs. + +Taos is educated. I never knowed a fellow what hankered for reading +like he does. One day he found an old newspaper, and he tied up the +outfit right there for over an hour. You’d ’a’ thought he had enough +reading to satisfy himself for a while, but it ain’t more than two +weeks before he’s wishing for something to read. + +We pokes into Poison Springs and stops. I see Taos cock his neck like a +sage-hen, and then he starts sneaking ahead, slow-like. I yanks loose +one of my guns and sneaks right behind him. We sneaks along through the +greasewood, me with my gun held high and handsome for anything that +hops, and all to once Taos drops on his knees, and grunts-- + +“Glory!” + +Then he stands up with a piece of newspaper in his hand. + +“Saw it sticking on that little bush,” says he, happy-like. + +“----!” says I. “I thought you saw something.” And then I went back and +took the plunder off Amarilly. + +I know that Taos ain’t going to mean nothing to me for a long time so I +builds a fire and starts a feed. A newspaper to Taos is like alcohol to +a Injun. A feller like him ought to own a book. + +I tried to pry him loose when supper is ready, but he just grunts and +goes on reading. It’s like trying to wake up a hop-head, so I eats in +silence and watches that humped-up figure spell out news. Pretty soon +he gets up and walks over to the fire, still reading, and stumbles over +the coffeepot. Then he sets down in a frying-pan, puts a slice of bacon +in his cup, and sweetens it with a dash of beans. Then he says-- + +“‘Yallerstone’, have you ever felt the call of love?” + +I looks at him and shakes my head. + +After a while he fills his pipe, lights it, flips the pipe out on the +sand, and puts the match in his mouth. I wipes out the dishes with sand +and rolls up in my blanket, while he still digs into them pages. + +I’m just dropping off to sleep, when he says-- + +“Yallerstone, what do you know about me?” + +“Enough to keep my opinions to myself,” says I. “There ain’t no use of +me and you quarreling, so we’ll pass the reply.” + +He nods, solemn-like, and then says-- + +“Yallerstone, if the right girl came along would you consider +matrimony?” + +“Why speak of tender emotions, Taos?” I inquires. “Kick off your boots +and go to sleep. You need a shot of calomel, if you asks me.” + +“Love is a great thing, Yallerstone. I’m slipping into the sere and +yaller leaf, old-timer, but you ain’t so ancient. You ought to settle +down before it’s too late. I might ’a’ stood a chance once, Yallerstone. +She sure was a dingbuster. I gave her back her watch and locket.” + +I sets up in my blanket and gawps at Taos. The idea of a old desert-rat +like him receiving presents from a lady seemed wicked thoughts. + +“Taos,” says I, “what was you doing with her jewelry?” + +“Two year ago it happens;” says he, reflective-like. “I’m a knight of +the road, as the poeting fellers call it, and I’ve halted the +Cinnibar stage. I’ve got ’em all chinning themselves on a cloud, with +the driver assaying their pockets for _dinero_, when I gazes upon her +face. She was a passenger, Yallerstone--a passenger.” Taos sighs deep +into his whiskers. “A passenger.” + +“And you gave her back her ante?” I asks. + +“Uh-huh,” he sighs. “And down deep in the valves of my heart lies a +spark of love that only needs to be blowed upon a little to break into +conflagration. Yallerstone Brown, after I gazed into her eyes I hears +a different song coming from the birds, and even the buzzards has took +upon themselves a sort of beauty. I ain’t seen her since, so I’ve sort +of vegetated since she left me.” + +“Did you quit knighting on the highways then?” I asks, and he nods. + +“What did you pe-ruse that seems to bring back memories of yore?” I +asks. + + * * * * * + +“This here paper, Yallerstone. It appears to be full of matrimonial +chances. There’s a lot of females which seems to have trouble in getting +mated up, and they ask for what they want. In one certain location there +appears a item that sounds attractive. Here she is: + + Lady about twenty-seven years of age, blonde, affectionate, + educated and refined, would like to meet a real Western man. + Must be sober and industrious, and of good appearance. + Object matrimony. Address Box 1234, Hillsdale, Ill. + +“Now,” continues Taos, “you qualify, Yallerstone.” + +“Westerner,” says I. “Sober right now, and if following a burro is +industry I’m there like a he-buzzard.” + +Taos nods, solemn-like. + +“I reckon we’re both tired of living alone. Maybe a woman could make +something out of both of us if they had a chance.” + +“Maybe,” says I, “but I doubt it. Was this a blonde lady what you held +up?” + +“Uh-huh. Yaller as a canary.” + +“Go to bed, Taos,” I advises, but he sets there perusing the paper and +nodding to himself. All to once he casts the paper aside and says: + +“Yallerstone, will you go to Hillsdale with me? Will you?” + +“Too far. Amarilly is getting sore-footed, and I’ve got a corn.” + +“Only to Rawhide, Yallerstone,” he pleads. “I’ve got some money in +the bank there, and I’ll split a thousand with you, and we’ll pasture +Amarilly. Will you, Yallerstone?” + +“No!” says I, flat-footed. “Nix, not and no time, Taos. Me and you +have been partners since the Springtime sprung, and I like you--dang +your frowsy old face--and I’d help you rob a train or a bank, but +when you asks me to be an accessory to matrimonial plans I rears on +to my hind legs and balks exceedingly. + +“In the first place, Taos, the town is too far away. Maybe said female +is already married. If me and you got out of sight of the Funeral +Hills we’d get lost. No, Taos, we’re better off here. Far be it from +me to chide you if love has penetrated your internal organs, but to a +pilgrimage into the East as part and parcel to your connubial scheme, +Taos--never! I will not, and that is finality in all its phases. +_Sabe?_” + + * * * * * + +Well, we kissed Amarilly good-by at the pasture gate. Before the +ticket-agent would sell us a ticket he finds out from the sheriff if +we’re leaving of our own free will, and his, and then he hands us +forty feet of green paper and wishes us _adios_. + +We mounts that train at midnight, and I hope to die if I ever seen +such a bunk-house. I paid for a bed, and that porter feller made me +climb a ladder and get into a bird’s nest. I reckon I got some of my +clothes off, but I didn’t have room enough to find out what it was. I +hooked one arm over a baby’s hammock, and prayed all night for a pair +of spurs. The next morning is awful. I’m so kinked up that I can’t +get my pants on. The sheet is so slippery that I can’t even inch into +them, and when I peeks out the place is full of folks. + +“Taos, are you still there?” I yelps. + +“I am!” he yells back. “Are you dressed?” + +“I don’t think so,” says I. “I ain’t got room to see higher than my +knees, but I think I’m still outside of my pants. Are you dressed?” + +“No!” he yelps, and I hears him bump his head. “Gol blast the gol +blasted--” and then he whoops, “Ex-cuse me, folks, but the ladies +better retire, ’cause Taos Thompson is coming out into the open to +dress!” + +Man, I’d say that they retired. I fell out on my hands and knees, and we +both dressed in the privacy of the middle of the car. That trip was one +succession of kinky nights. I tried to sleep on the back porch, but the +conductor got peeved, and I went back to my perch. Taos finds something +to read, which makes him unfit as a companion, and I sure longs for +Amarilly and the desert. + +One morning I’m setting there in a seat, looking at the scenery, when a +lady gets on the train. She stops beside my seat and looks down at me. + +“I beg your pardon,” says she, “is this your seat?” + +“You’re welcome, ma’am,” says I. “I don’t think so. I reckon I just sort +of squatted here, being as it ain’t got no location notice nor nothing +to show ownership.” + +“Thanks,” says she, and sets right down beside me. + +I looks out the window for a spell, and when I turns my head she’s +looking right at me. + +“Pardon me,” says she, “but you’re from the West?” + +“Yes’m,” I admits. “I wish I wasn’t.” + +“Why?” she asks, elevating her eyebrows. + +“Well,” says I, “if I wasn’t, ma’am, I’d be there now. See how it is?” + +She don’t say nothing for a while, and then-- + +“Going very far?” + +“Ma’am,” says I, “I don’t know. I’ve come far, but you’ve got to ask +Taos how much farther we’re going. Taos is matrimonial bent, and I’m +sort of a bodyguard.” + +“Are you a cattleman?” she asks. + +“You might say I am, ma’am,” says I. “There is some cows back home.” + +“Do you know you remind me of William S. Hart?” she says. “You are just +the type.” + +“Is William a printer?” I asks, but she shakes her head, and I notices +for the first time that she’s a blonde. + +“No, he’s an actor. A Western actor. Are you married?” + +“No, ma’am. Nope, I’m still single-rigged. What’s your name?” + +She pauses for a minute, and then says-- + +“Aurora Metcalf.” + +“That’s a huh--peculiar name,” says I. “Mine’s Brown--Yallerstone +Brown.” + +“And you are single,” says she, low-like. “Haven’t you ever felt the +call of love? The primal call of your heart for some one to share your +life? Haven’t you ever felt the need of a mate?” + +“What does William Hart look like?” I asks. + +“Like you. He makes love so wonderful, he’s so daring. You really do +resemble him in lots of ways. You should see him make love.” + +“Uh-huh,” says I. “He likely gets paid a lot for it. You’ve got to take +that into consideration.” + +“Would you make love for a consideration?” + +“Well,” says I, “every man has his price, ma’am.” + +“Would you--would you marry me--for a consideration?” + +Of all the danged fool propositions I ever had handed to me she had the +worst. She says to me-- + +“In the first place I don’t want to get married.” + +So I says: + +“_Keno._ Neither do I.” + +I meant it, too. She ain’t the kind of a clinging vine that I wants +around my cabin door, ’cause I can just see that she’d make a man +miserable. Well, she sort of settles in her seat, and this is her +proposition-- + +“Do you know what an exclusive set is?” she asks. + +“I do,” says I, “‘Dice’ Davidson had one. Roll seven all night.” + +“My uncle, James Alexander Carter, thinks that Western men are the only +real male human beings on earth,” says she. “I have never seen my uncle. +He is my father’s brother, and when father died Uncle James inherited me +and Aunt Mary. We own a home, and uncle has paid all the expenses for +years. He owns some valuable mines out West--where I don’t know. The +money comes every month, through a lawyer, and Uncle James is almost a +myth. + +“Now he says that I must marry a Western man or lose my inheritance +when he dies, and it must be before the first of the year, as he is +going to make us a visit. In case I don’t marry a man from the West, +and one that he approves of, the money will all go to a home for +indigent prospectors. Do you understand?” + +“I begin to see a glimmer of light,” says I. “Suppose he didn’t like +me--where do I get off?” + +“No one could be more of a type than you are,” says she. “He will be +delighted.” + +“I don’t want no wife,” says I. + +But she says: + +“You won’t have one--except in name. I’ll send for him to come right +out to visit us, and as soon as he is gone I will pay you one thousand +dollars, let you go back West, and get a divorce as soon as possible. +Why, you won’t even have to marry me under your real name. Will you do +it? You see, Uncle says he won’t stand for a husband from my set. Will +you marry me?” + +Just then Taos drifts into the door, reading a prospectus of some +railroad, and I taps him on the shoulder. + +“Taos,” says I, “meet the future Mrs. Yallerstone Brown.” + +The cigaret falls out of his mouth, and he shakes hands with the lady’s +elbow. + +“Nice day, ma’am,” says he, and drags me into the next car. +“Yallerstone,” says he, “are you crazy?” + +“Maybe.” + +“You going to marry her?” + +“Uh-huh.” + +“----! You just met her!” + +“She just met me, too, Taos.” + +“Well,” says he, weak-like, “you’re the suddenest son-of-a-gun I ever +met. I’m sorry, old trailer.” + +“Maybe I will be too,” says I. “Remains to be seen, as the feller said +when he dug into the Injun’s grave. She’s likely as good as I am, and +she’s old enough to know better if she thinks she’s doing wrong.” + +Taos grunts and rolls a smoke. + +“How soon?” + +“Chicago,” says I, and he puffs away for a while before saying anything. +Then he sort of shrugs his shoulders and says: + +“Well, Yallerstone, I hate to hear about it, but I reckon it’s fate. +I’ll be back in Chicago in about a week, and I’ll meet you.” + +“Bring Box 1234 with you, Taos. My wife will be glad to meet her.” + +I can’t imagine Taos with a wife, but--well, look at me. + + * * * * * + +Taos changes trains at Chicago, and he shakes hands with me and Aurora. +He tells us where to meet him in a week, and then leaves. Aurora is some +sudden herself. She rushed me to a place where you send telegrams, and +from there to--I reckon it was the court-house or the city hall, and +then shoved me into a taxi cab and we went to the preacher’s house. + +It took that sad-faced jasper about a minute to put hobbles on my +freedom, and we didn’t no more than get out of that place before she +starts educating Yallerstone Brown. I never knowed that I was so +ignorant. She starts in on eating with a knife, and ends the first +lesson with a sermon on putting my feet on the table. + +She orates that I’m to be sober, shaved and sanitary all the time. She +chases me into a store and slides me into a suit of clothes that looks +like I was dressed for a funeral, and then I has to trade my perfectly +good boots for a pair of shiny shoes with buttons on. Then she bought +me a cane. + +“I ain’t crippled--yet,” says I. + +“You carry that cane!” says she. “One doesn’t have to be crippled to +carry a cane.” + +“One end or the other,” says I. “Can I keep my gun?” + +“Gun? Certainly not! You’ll put it in the bag.” + +“Bag?” I asks. “If I’ve got to pack a cane I ain’t going to have no bag. +Folks might think I was a chicken thief.” + +Right there I found out what a bag is. We got into a cab, and when we +got out we’re at the depot. + +“Two tickets to Hillsdale,” says she to the ticket-man. + +“Hillsdale?” I croaks. + +“Where we will live,” says she. + +“Amarilly would enjoy this,” says I, after she got through telling me +how to act when I got off the train. + +“Amarilly?” she asks. “Who is she?” + +“Friend of mine. Been with me over a year.” + +“Relative?” she asks. + +“Nope, no relative.” + +“You--you haven’t been really with her, have you?” she wails. “Not all +that time?” + +“Yes’m. Me and her has taken some goshawful trips together.” + +She sort of shudders deep into her seat, and then-- + +“We’ll speak of her later, and I will demand an explanation of your +associations with her, Mr. Wardner.” + +“Wardner?” says I. “My name’s Brown!” + +“The name on the license is Jack Wardner. I don’t like the name of +Brown, and I told you I’d marry you under an assumed name.” + +“Oh!” says I. “Nice name; where did you find it?” + +“I read it in a Sunday paper once. It was an article about a Jack +Wardner, who was a famous rustler in Montana. It must have been a +typographical error, or the word rustler is a derivation of our word +hustler. Don’t you think so, Jack?” + +“Yes, I don’t. You might as well have said Harry Tracy or Jesse James. +Suppose I get slammed into jail, and languish in durance vile.” + +“Jail?” says she, and then she climbed my morals and language, rode me +wild and free and slapped me with her hat. + +She raked me from headstall to flank, and when she quit I’m gentled +aplenty. Also we’re pulling into Hillsdale. + +That platform is one mass of colored clothes, and I can feel that +Yallerstone Brown is getting sex-shy. The train jars to a stop, and a +committee of females sure invades that car. They don’t see nobody but +my wife. I hears the word “telegram” and I know they’ve been notified. +While the turmoil is in progress I opines to myself that I know I’m +going to get embarrassed, so I shoves one leg out of the open window +and hit the gravel on the other side. + +I figure to go around that train and meet my wife on the other side, +but there don’t seem to be no other side. I walked about a mile with +that bag and cane but there ain’t no end to the cars. Then I takes my +gun out of my bag, shoves it inside the band of my pants, and ditches +both bag and cane. + +Then all to once I finds an opening in the trains and I pilgrims right +down a street. I sees a familiar sign over a door, so in I goes. + +There at the bar stands a figure, dressed in a checkerboard suit, with +his back turned toward me, talking to the bartender. On top of his +head sets a green hard hat, with red hair sticking up around the edge +like grass around a fence post. One freckled bunch of fingers holds a +half-unwrapped cigar with which he gestures widely, as he says: + +“Yessir, he was a hy-iu pard but he fell for a female charmer. I’m all +to blame, ’cause I was the one what got him to travel, and I shall have +it on my conscience for many a day and night. Well, Bartender, fill ’em +up and we’ll drink to the best old ----” + +“Old what?” I asks, and Taos turns so quick that his hat falls off, and +he sets down hard on the rail. + +I looks him over, picks up that miscolored hat and blows the dust off +the top. + +“You married yet, Taos?” I asks. + +He looks up at the bartender and motions toward me: + +“Bartender, do you see the same thing that I do? Tell me your +impression.” + +“Seven feet high, horse face and----” + +“That’s aplenty,” says Taos, getting up. “Yallerstone Brown, have a +drink. Are you married?” + +I takes about what would fill one of Amarilly’s ears, and nods: + +“I am. Are you?” + +“I begs pardon, gentlemen, but I’m looking for a Mr. Wardner,” says a +voice at the door, and we turns around to see a little feller in knee +panties, and wearing the most dignified face we ever seen. We looks at +him and then at each other. + +“I repeats,” says he, “I am looking for Mr. Wardner.” + +“Does you know this frozen-faced tip-up, Bartender?” asks Taos, but the +hooch-handler shakes his head. + +“I was sent to direct ’im ’ome,” says the little one, dignified-like. + +Dog-gone him, he ain’t changed expression since he came in. + +“He’s a director,” grins Taos. “Have a drink?” + +“Beg pardon, sir, but Mrs. Wardner wishes----” + +“Sounds like a fairy tale,” says Taos. “They used to have three wishes.” + +“Beg pardon, sir, but she’s frantic, sir.” + +“Taos,” says I, “shall we kill it outright or put it in pickle?” + +“I begs pardon, sir--” begins the little one, when Taos grabs him by the +shoulder. + +“What’s your name, feller?” + +“Hicks, sir.” + +“Have a drink, Hicks?” + +“No, sir. Not any, if you please----” + +“Whisky or something stronger?” asks Taos. + +I’ve seen teetotalers who were as big as a house cave right in and drink +themselves under the table when Taos asked them that question in just +his own way. + +“Mostly anything, sir,” says Hicks, after one look at Taos’ eyes. + +I can say right here that all Hicks needed was a start. + +“Never ’ad so much fun in all me bloomin’ life,” says Hicks, +tearful-like, after about the seventh. “I never ’ad any fun in me +blawsted life before. I got the limersine outside if you wants to go +some place.” + +“Where can we see the most, Hicks?” asks Taos. + +“Whitehalls, sir. Like to go? I ain’t never ’ad no fun in me----” + +“Maybe I better find my wife,” says I. “You fellers don’t know Aurora +like I do.” + +“Gol dang, I plumb forgot her,” says Taos. “Where is she, Yallerstone? +Leave her in Chicago?” + +“Aurora ain’t the kind you can leave places, Taos,” says I. “When I +married Aurora Metcalf I got a cross between a range-boss and a first +mate, if you asks me.” + + * * * * * + +Hicks is leaning against the bar, with tears of sympathy for himself +running down his face. Now he stops sobbing and says-- + +“Wha’ did you shay your wife’s name wash?” + +“Aurora Metcalf.” + +“The one you lately married?” he asks. + +“I never married but one lately, and she’s it, Hicks.” + +“Blyme!” says Hicks, staggering toward the door. “Blyme, I’ve +woozled the whole bloomin’ mess! Picked the wrong pershon. Now I’ll +get ---- from the missus.” And Hicks weaved out of the door. + +“Wardner!” exclaims Taos. “Wonder who he is?” + +Just then I remembers, and I starts to laugh. + +“I’m him,” says I. “My wife married me under an alias, Taos. She don’t +like the name of Brown so she changed it to Jack Wardner.” + +“Jack Wardner? Does she know anything about Jack Wardner?” + +“Read about him in a paper, Taos. Didn’t she pick some name?” + +“Beyond the shadder of a doubt. Jack Wardner lifted half the cows in +Mescal County, and had the sheriffs in that country setting on cactus +for a year or two. I’d ’a’ sure picked some other name.” + +“Me too,” says I. “But when Aurora starts picking--well, I got it.” + +“Do you know where you live?” he asks. + +“I do not. I’ve got to find her or get thunder.” + +We had a few more drinks, and then we starts down the street. Taos +suggests that we ask a policeman, which we do. + +“No,” says he. “Never heard of the name around here.” + +The next one has the same answer. + +“Reckon we’ll have to make a house to house canvass, Yallerstone,” says +Taos, and just then a feller comes up to us and says-- + +“Are either of you gents Jack Wardner, the Montana cowman?” + +“One of us must be,” admits Taos. “We’re looking for the wickiup of one +named Aurora Metcalf. Ever heard of her?” + +“Aurora?” he asks. + +“Same as Northern Lights,” says I. “Last name is Metcalf.” + +“Never heard of her,” says he. “Live around here?” + +“This is Hillsdale, ain’t it?” I asks, and he nods. + +“You ain’t a officer of the law, are you?” asks Taos, and the feller +laughs. + +“No, I am a society reporter. We have the story of the wedding in the +paper this afternoon, but I want to get an interview with Mr. Wardner +on the vast herds he controls and all that.” + +“Vast herds!” snorts Taos. “Did you ever have vast herds, Yal--Jack?” + +“One unit,” says I. “Bought and paid for, and killed to make a Dawson +County barbecue.” + +“Your wife said that you were the greatest hustler that the State of +Montana ever knew, and that you were strong enough to lift any cow in +the State.” + +Me and Taos looks foolish-like at each other, and then Taos takes me by +the arm. + +“Somebody’s crazy, Yallerstone,” says he. “Let’s me and you get away +from here.” + +We left him gawping at us and went around a corner, where we sat down on +the sidewalk and rolled a smoke. + +“Strangers in a stranger land,” sighs Taos. + +“Did you write to Box 1234?” I asks, and he nods. + +“Yep, but I ain’t heard from it yet.” + +“Keep away from the post-office,” says I. “Shun anything that might lead +your feetsteps toward the altar, Taos. Look at the mess I’m in.” + +Just then a shiny automobile rolls up to where we’re setting and we +looks up at the driver. It’s Hicks. + +“I’m still ’untin’,” says he, sad-like. “I don’t believe Miss Carter +ever ’ad a ’usband. Blyme, if I does.” + +“----!” says Taos. “This must be a matrimonial mill. Has she got a +husband?” + +“She thinks she ’as,” says Hicks, confidential-like. “I ain’t been ’ome +since I left you. I’ve ’unted and ’unted.” + +“Maybe he’s out at Whitehalls, Hicks,” I suggests. + +“Want to ride out and see, sir?” + +“Of course not,” says Taos. “We’re busy, Hicks. We’ve got a lot of work +to do today. How do you get into this gas greenhouse?” + +Whitehalls was some place for to see. The king of spades let us in +the door, and the jack of the same suit led us to a table. He didn’t +want to serve drinks to Hicks, but Taos spoke softly to the waiter, +and Hicks got served ahead of us. + +We’ve been there about two quarts when a fat feller comes to the side +of our table, and stares at Hicks. I figured he must be the boss of the +place, so I asked him to have a drink. + +“Hello, shour face,” whoops Hicks. + +“Hicks, you are discharged,” says he, and then he looks at us. “If +either of you gentlemen is Mr. Wardner I can say that your wife is +waiting for you.” + +“Which one of us is him?” asks Taos, and Hicks shakes his head. + +“Please,” says fatty. “She’s prostrated.” + +“Slipped?” asked Taos. “Gosh A’mighty, Yallerstone, she’s accidented!” + +“Hicks,” says I, “we’re going home.” + +“Never ’ad no fun in my bloomin’ life,” weeps Hicks. “Never ’ad----” + +“Please,” says fatty, “let the rest stay, and I’ll take you home.” + +“Who in ---- do you think is running this here party?” I asks. “Who are +you?” + +“Butler,” says he, dignified-like. + +“Good!” says Taos. “Butler, you drive the hack.” And he took fatty by +the arm and hustled him outside. + +“Get up on that seat and show us speed,” orders Taos. “You do some +driving, old-timer, or I’ll shoot the pockets out of your panties.” + +“Haw!” whoops Hicks, when the hack started with a jerk. “Goo’ joke! +Shour face never drove limershine----” + +Just then the front end of that million-dollar hack went up in the air, +and we rattled around like three dice in a box. Then comes the first +total eclipse I ever seen, and I ain’t got no smoked glass. I woke up +after a while and finds that I’ve got my feet up a tree. Taos’ feet are +sticking out of one of the hack windows. + +“Blyme,” wails a familiar voice on the other side of the fence, “the +missus will be sore as a bloomin’ boil! Limersheen all ’ammered to +----!” + +I pulled Taos out of the hack and spread him out on the ground. He +shudders after a while and looks up at us. + +“Yallerstone,” says he, soft and sweet, “she was only a passenger.” +And then he sort of shakes his head and says, “Yallerstone, did we +meet Aurora?” + +“Not so bad as that,” says I. “Butler must have been a hurdle-rider in +his youth. Are you hurt, Hicks?” + +“Hurt ----!” wails Hicks. “I’m heart-sick.” + +I hunted around in the busted hack until I finds a bottle of silver +lining, which I passes around to those assembled. When we got lined +a little, we all locks arms and started down the road. We don’t see +nothing of Butler, so we figures that he ain’t come down yet. + +“Hicks,” says Taos, “do you know any good songs?” + +“‘Bringing in the Sheaves,’ sir.” + +“This ain’t no farmers’ convention, Hicks,” says I. “Let’s all sing ‘Old +Man Lute was a gol darn brute and he couldn’t get his cattle up the gol +darned chute.’” + +“What was the matter with the cow--scared?” asks Hicks, and then he +says, “Right around the next corner is ’ome, so we better act +dignified.” + +“This ain’t home is it?” asks Taos, peeking over the fence. “This here +is a hotel, Hicks.” + +“The Wardner residence, sir,” says Hicks. “This is the ’ome of Miss +Agnes Carter, daughter of the minin’-man, Mr. James Alexander Carter.” + +Me and Taos looks foolish-like at each other, and then all takes the +last drink out of the bottle. + +“Wrong again, Hicks,” says I. “I never married her. I married Aurora +Metcalf, Hicks. Know any Metcalfs around here?” + +“No, sir. No Metcalfs in Miss Carter’s set, sir.” + +“My gosh!” grunts Taos. “They come in sets here, Yallerstone.” + + * * * * * + +Taos is gazing toward the house, and we all looks. Up the walk staggers +Butler, and right into the midst of a herd of females. They seem to hang +on to him while he pours out his soul. He still retains one coat sleeve +and one pant leg, but his nerve is all gone. + +Then a couple of males breaks from the herd, lopes away to where an +automobile is standing, and away they goes up the road. The rest help +Butler into the house. + +“S’whelp me, he told ’er about the limerseen!” wails Hicks. “Now I ain’t +got no more job than a bloomin’ canary bird.” + +“That’s hard lines,” says Taos. “Our fault too, Hicks. Let’s go up and +square things for Hicks, Yallerstone.” + +We went up and sat down on the porch. + +“You do the talking, Yallerstone, and me and Hicks will back you up; eh, +Hicks?” + +“Jack! You!” + +We turns around quick-like, and there stands Aurora, backed up by a +whole swarm of females. + +“Hicks,” says I, “you’ll never regret what you’ve done for me. You sure +are some guide, I’d tell a man.” + +“Brought ’im ’ome, ma’am,” says Hicks, foolish-like. + +“Jack, where have you been?” wails Aurora. + +“Ask Hicks,” says Taos. “Hicksie knows, eh, Hicks?” + +“You!” Aurora looks just like a panther that I cornered in a blind cañon +once over on the Tillicum River. She sure shows displeasure toward Taos. +“You--er--thing!” + +“Yes’m,” says Taos, “I don’t blame you, ma’am, but you ought to go out +West and learn to cuss.” + +“West!” she snorts. “I hate it! Jack, what will people think? I’ve even +had the police looking for you.” + +“That’s nothing,” says I. “You might introduce me to the ladies.” + +“This is Jack Wardner, of Montana,” says Taos, “owner of vast herds. +I am Taos Thompson. I was born in a cane-brake and rocked in a bark +cradle, and I’m the pizenest old pelican that ever made a track in +the sand. Whale-bone warp and bob-cat filling. Let me make you used +to Hicks who never had any fun in his blooming life. Me and Jack has +done the best we can toward him.” + +“Jack,” snaps Aurora, “take that person away, will you? Hicks, take them +up to Mr. Wardner’s rooms. Jack, I should think you’d be ashamed. Change +your clothes at once.” + +“Amarilly would love to see you now, old-timer,” grins Taos. “I can just +see her broken ear stand straight up.” + +“Broken ear?” asks a lady. “Broken ear?” + +“Yes’m,” nods Taos. “She loves Jack, and he loves her, but one day she +got too rambunctious and Jack hit her over the head with a pick-handle. +But she don’t show no grudge--Amarilly don’t. She kissed us both +good-by. You go on up and sluice off a little, Jack. I’ll wait here.” + +“Come on,” says I. “There’s two basins, ain’t there?” + +“Bawth, sir?” asks Hicks, after he takes us to a room that has got the +New York hotel in Rawhide beat a mile for looks. + +“No,” says I. “Not before Saturday.” + +Taos is examining some clothes which are laid out on the bed, and then +he turns. + +“Hicks, who owns them duds?” + +“Mr. Wardner, sir. Mrs. Wardner ’ad me get them. I ’opes they fits, +sir.” + +“Got any more like ’em, Hicks?” + +“No, sir. No more, sir--unless I might be so bold as to offer you a suit +of mine, sir.” + +“Hicks, I’d love you as a brother,” grins Taos, and does a bear dance +around Hicks. + +Hicks comes back in a few minutes with his arms full of clothes. + +“May I dress you now, sir?” he says. + +“Hicks,” says I, “I was wearing suspenders and dressing myself when you +was keeping yours up with a safety-pin. Vamoose!” + +Then me and Taos sets down on that bed and whoops a few lines. + +“Yallerstone, I want a diagram of the whole situation,” says Taos. + +“Well,” says I, “you can blame yourself. You dragged me out of a +comfortable desert and away from a friendly jackass, and flung me into +this proposition. She’s got a uncle out West some place who proclaims +that she’s got to marry a Western man or lose her inheritance. _Sabe?_ +Otherwise his _dinero_ goes to a home for indignant prospectors. + +“You can see for yourself, Taos, that she ain’t no Adonis to look upon. +Aurora can’t pick and choose, so she slams her pick into me, ’cause I’m +a type. _Sabe?_ She orates that all I’ve got to do is to marry her, be +her hubby in appearance only, and hang around until James Alexander +Carter shows up and departs, and then I get one thousand dollars, a +safe passage back to the sage, while she sues me for dessert. She don’t +want a husband no more than I do, but she sure does covet her uncle’s +roll. According to her he must be a locoed old jigger.” + +“I wish we’d ’a’ stayed back on the desert, Yallerstone,” says he. “I +ain’t heard a word from Box 1234, and now I reckon I’ve got to go back +to Rawhide alone.” + +“Stick around, Taos. Her uncle has been sent for, and after he’s gone +I’ll slip you half that thousand. We’re making expenses.” + +“Do you love her, Yallerstone?” + +“No, I can’t say that I do, Taos.” + +“Could you learn to love her?” + +“Not at that price.” + +“I can’t blame you, Yallerstone. Love comes from the heart. Wish I +hadn’t held up that stage. That sure was one angel, old-timer. She +told me she hoped to see me hanged, and when I gave her back her +watch and locket she commuted it to life imprisonment. Wish I knowed +how to get into these clothes, Yallerstone.” + +I looks mine over and has the same feelings. A blue-print might help a +lot, but there ain’t even a recipe in sight. + +In the first place the person who made them pants didn’t have me in +mind. They’re all right, except that they don’t come all the way down +the leg, and the top button laps plumb around to my hip where I has +to pin it. Taos says I looks twisted, but they covers me plenty. I +manages to get that shirt fastened at the top. There’s button-holes +all the way down the front but no buttons, and every time I bend over +I open up like an envelope. I tries the coat and finds it guilty. She +don’t meet in front by twelve inches. There’s a medicine-show actor’s +hat there, and a cane, but I ain’t got no drugs to sell, and I ain’t +got no sprained ankle, so I passes both. + +I admires myself in a glass and then looks at Taos. He never considered +Hicks when he borrowed that suit. That suit fits Taos like a bandage on +a Christmas tree. The pants are too tight to go outside of his boots, +so he wears them inside. The sleeves are about six inches too short, +which gives a hy-iu view of Taos’ wrists and hands. I found a pocket in +the tail of that coat which will just hold a Colt .45. It hauls the +collar away from my neck quite a lot, but don’t interfere none to speak +of. + +“Yallerstone,” says he, “all I need is some cologne to make me a regular +honka-tonk actor. You look like ----, Yallerstone Brown.” + +“You don’t favor Venus none to speak about,” says I. “If anybody asks me +I’d say you was something to scare kids with.” + +We sneaked out in the hall, and I peeks over the railing of the stairs. +I seen a lot of folks standing around down there, so I back right into +Taos. Just then Hicks came along, and I says to him-- + +“Ain’t it awful, Hicks?” + +Hicks looks us over and says: + +“Yes, sir. You should ’ave let me dress you.” + +I peeks down again, and here comes my wife. She’s dressed like Summer at +the Equator. She hustles us around the corner and says-- + +“Jack Wardner, I want to tell--my Heavens, who dressed you?” + +“Who undressed you?” I asked. + +She looks me over for a moment, and then: “Oh, what tangled webs we +weave. Jack, my name is not Aurora Metcalf. I am Agnes Carter. I just +gave you the first name that came into my head, because I never thought +it would lead to this. It wasn’t much worse than marrying you under the +name of Jack Wardner. Thank the Lord, it won’t be for long.” + +“Amen,” says Taos. + +Aurora gives him a hard look and says to me: + +“Jack, you must get rid of your friend. I will have to stand for one +Westerner, but not for two. This is not a hotel.” + +“Yes’m,” says Taos, sad-like. “The more I see of the gentle sex around +here the more I love Amarilly.” + + * * * * * + +Then we went down-stairs. The bunch stands up to greet us, and I met +more folks right there than there is in the town of Rawhide, if you +count greasers and dogs. My wife smiles with her mouth, and we all +hits the trail for the feed-room. + +A big, tall female hooks on to Taos, and he acts like he enjoyed it. +Him and her sets down across from me and Aurora, and on my other side +is a fat little female with a lot of yaller hair on top of her head, +and not much clothes on above the table top. + +We got soup without ordering it, and I immediate and soon digs into the +stuff. I love soup, and I’m some hungry. That yaller-haired person sets +there like a statue, and I’m just about to tell her that if she don’t +want her soup I’ll take it, when I glances across at Taos. He’s staring +at the lady and pouring sugar into his soup. He puts every lump in sight +into that soup and then starts stirring it with his finger. + +I leans across the table and says, low-like: + +“Taos! You ain’t at ‘Enchilada’ Charley’s place now, remember.” + +He sort of gives me a queer look and fusses with the napkin in his lap. +He stares back at the lady and then shoves back his chair. + +“Ex-cuse me!” he sort of gasps. “I--I don’t feel well.” And then he +starts away from the table. + +Something rattled, somebody squeaks, and the dishes start crashing on +the floor. Taos has made a misdeal with the napkin and has tucked the +tablecloth into the waistband of his pants. + +Did he stop to unhitch? He did not. I heard a door slam, and we all set +there looking like a lot of Digger Indians. + +“Heavens above!” exclaims my wife. “What happened?” + +“That was he!” screeches the fat little blonde, throwing up both hands. + +“I knew it! I--I----” And she slid down under the table. + +I hauled her out and braces her into a chair, while everybody tries to +pour water on her. Several used soup. + +Just then Hicks comes in and whispers to my wife: + +“Pardon, ma’am, but there is somebody on the telephone who insists that +they must talk with you. They insists, ma’am.” + +Just then the yaller-haired lady comes out of it, and my wife beats it +out of the room. + +Everybody is fanning the lady and asking questions, and she just sets +there and gulps and makes fool motions with her hands. + +I just slides my old coat-tail around to where I can hook the butt of +that .45, and waits for what is to happen next. + +Then my wife comes over to me and says: + +“Very queer. The call was from somebody who wanted to know if you were +really the original Jack Wardner, of Montana. He said he wanted you--I +don’t know what for. I--I told him I was the maid, and he said, ‘Well, +you keep this under your hat.’ Isn’t it awful what a mess has been made +of this dinner?” + +“Did he say he was coming up here?” I asks. She says: + +“Yes, I guess he wants to surprize you, Jack. Who do you suppose it is?” + +“I know,” says I. “It’s a secret. I’ll go an’ meet him. Ex-cuse me.” + +I grabbed a hat off the hat-rack, and I traveled half-way to the depot +before I finds that I’ve got one of them high, shiny ones. + +There is a train just leaving, and I hooks the last coach as it pulls +out. I turns around, tips my hat to Hillsdale, and sails that hat as +far as I can. I walks inside and meets the conductor. + +“I ain’t got no ticket for my ride or sleep,” says I, “but I’ve got the +_dinero_. Do I get along?” + +“You do.” He hauls out a slip of paper, and says, “I’ve got one upper +left, but maybe tomorrow I can do better.” + +“I don’t mind being a bird for one more night,” says I and lets the +porter send me up the ladder. + +The next morning I shoves my face out of the curtains to see what the +chances are to come out and dress, when I happens to look down into a +familiar face. + +“Honeymoon?” he asks. + +“Honey ----! What did you stampede for? Was that Box 1234?” + +“Nope. That was the lady I held up, Yallerstone. She never forgot me, I +reckon, and I saw life imprisonment in her eyes. Things might have been +different. You married Box 1234.” + +I hauls myself half-way out of the bunk and stares at him-- + +“Box 1234!” I yelps. + +He nods. + +“I seen it in that paper, Yallerstone. I took you back there to try +and marry you off to her, ’cause I knowed you was honest, and--well, I +didn’t want her to marry a heart and hand Westerner. I wish I hadn’t +held up that stage.” + +“Why did you?” I asks. + +“Well, I told the owners of the line that my clean-ups wasn’t protected +enough, and they laughed at me, so I held her up to prove that I was +right.” + +“And your right name is?” + +“James Alexander Carter, Yallerstone, but I prefers Taos Thompson.” + +I looks down at him for a while and then relapses in my bunk. + +Pretty soon I hears him say: + +“I kind o’ wish you had stuck, Yallerstone. She didn’t play square with +me, but--well, you’d ’a’ made her a honest husband, and you wouldn’t ’a’ +had to work no more. Why didn’t you stick a while?” + +“Well,” says I, sticking my head down close to his curtain, “just after +you left, Taos, somebody--a officer, I reckon, called my wife on the +telephone and asked her if I was the original Jack Wardner from Montana. +She said I was, and he told her to keep it under her hat ’cause he was +coming up to surprize me.” + +“Shucks, Yallerstone! You could ’a’ stuck for all that. You could easy +prove you ain’t.” + +“Not if they took me back to Mescal County,” says I. + +“Mescal County!” he snorts, clawing at the curtains. “What do you mean, +Yallerstone?” + +“I’m Jack Wardner,” says I. + + +[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the August 18, 1920 issue of +Adventure magazine.] + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78734 *** |