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diff --git a/78764-0.txt b/78764-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e2c43aa --- /dev/null +++ b/78764-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1388 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78764 *** + + + NINE POINTS IN THE LAW + By W. C. Tuttle + + Noah and Barnum had nothing on Piperock when the animals came + two by two and the cowpunchers put on their own circuis. + + Sketches by the Author + + +“Life,” says Testament Tilton, “is fleetin’.” + +“Yo’re right,” agrees Magpie Simpkins. “As long as a man minds his +own dang business around here his life just fleets. But any old time +he horns in on somethin’ that don’t concern him his life assumes a +muzzle-velocity of somethin’ like five thousand feet per second, duly +describes the usual arc and hits the dirt with a dull thud.” + +That’s Piperock. Old Testament started in at one time to write the +history of Piperock but gave it up. He said it was a job for the +recordin’ angels--not for a human. Sun-bleached, sand-scourged, +heat-hardened old Piperock, a cow-town of Montana where only men are +vile. + +Me, I’m Ike Harper, a long-time resident of Yaller Rock County, through +the grace of God and the ability to dodge misdirected bullets. And when +I start tellin’ yuh somethin’ about Yaller Rock County yore information +comes from a man who knows whereof he speaks. And Piperock is my home. + +The main street is so crooked that a rattlesnake got lost there one +day and starved to death. And still it’s the county seat of Yaller +Rock County, a flesh-pot for the cowpuncher, where ignorance walks +hand in hand with wisdom until somebody shoots one or the other--and +the records show that Wisdom has been hit five times to Ignorance’s +once. + +And then there’s Paradise and Yaller Horse, which makes up the Unholy +Trinity of Yaller Rock County. The three villages of vice sort of set +in a triangle. Paradise is three miles south of Piperock while Yaller +Horse sets in all her glory about three miles southeast, which makes +her about three miles northeast of Paradise. + +And these three towns constitute a three-handed municipal feud, as yuh +might say. Yuh can’t be neutral. Either you are for or against. There +never was but one neutral person in the country, and the three towns +swore a truce, pulled off a big picnic and hung the danged fool. + +I don’t want yuh to get the idea that we’re bad. Nothin’ of the kind. +In Piperock we’ve got the finest lot of folks that ever was whelped. +Of course I can’t say much for Paradise or Yaller Horse. Even Old +Testament don’t hold no brief for their souls. He said that it was +places like that which made it easy for Saint Peter. He don’t even +have to look through the Big Book. Just ask where they’re from--and +kick the trap-door loose. + +Me and Dirty Shirt Jones has been back on Plenty Stone Creek for about +thirty days tryin’ to wrest some placer gold from the bosom of Old +Mother Nature. We’ve been doin’ this once a year for ages but each time +the old lady is too tough for us; but we go back year after year hopin’ +to find the Old Lady asleep--or somethin’ like that. Anyway, as I said, +me and Dirty Shirt comes back to Piperock. + +Dirty ain’t so very big. He’s got a nose which fits kinda antegodlin’ on +his face and he’s got one eye which ain’t noways stationary. It weaves, +circles and jerks somethin’ awful until yuh get used to it. When it +weaves he’s plumb interested; when it circles he’s amazed; but when it +jerks he’s drunk. + +Just about now he stops real sudden and his eye does about seven laps +before it centers. I bumped into my burro, which is usually equivalent +to callin’ the coroner, but the burro is probably too much amazed itself +to object. + +In front of Buck Masterson’s saloon is more than half of the Piperock +population and across the front of the saloon is a big sign which says: + + A SALOON IN DARKEST AFRICA + +“My God!” snorts Dirty Shirt. “We’ve shore come a long ways.” + +We circled the crowd and sets down on the sidewalk in front of Wick +Smith’s store and in a minute or two Mighty Jones, who ain’t noways +connected with Dirty Shirt Jones, comes over and sets with us. Mighty +is a little jigger but he’s as tough as a basket of sidewinders. + +“Jist what in hell is goin’ on over there?” asks Dirty. + +“Oh, yea-a-ah!” Mighty looks us over. “You fellers ain’t been here +lately. Gosh, I plumb forgot that! Well, the fact of the matter +is--Scenery Sims came back to Piperock.” + +“Scenery did?” + +“Yeah, he did and is. Yuh see, Scenery’s uncle in San Francisco died, +which left Scenery heir apparent, as yuh might say, to a livery stable. +Scenery goes down there to look over the thing and as near as I can find +out Scenery sold out the livery-stable, got drunk as a blind owl and +spent all the rest of his money for a cameree.” + +“A cameree bein’ which?” asks Dirty. + +“Somethin’ wherewith to make pitchers. Didja ever see any of them +pitchers what moves, Dirty?” + +“Heard they did.” + +“They do. Well, this is one of them movin’ kind. Scenery owns it. Yuh +work it with a crank like a music-box. I ain’t exactly cognizent of +everythin’, ’cause I’m recently from out in the Horse Thief hills, as +yuh might say, but as near as I can find out they’re makin’ a pitcher. + +“The Chamber of Commerce has combined with Scenery and they aims to put +Piperock on the map. I’ve done heard of them goin’ to sell the pitcher +for millions and all that, but I dunno. Yuh see that sign? Well, this is +a furrin pitcher and what yuh see ’em doin’ right now is startin’ the +thing goin’. This here pitcher shows Magpie Simpkins, Buck Masterson, +Wick Smith and Testament Tilton, which is the main folks in the pitcher, +packin’ up their burro train to go out and rescue the queen of the +jungles of Africky.” + +“My God!” grunts Dirty Shirt. “How long has this here movement been on +foot, Mighty?” + +“About ten days, they tell me,” says Mighty. + +“Who didja say they was goin’ to rescue?” + +“The queen. I dunno a damn thing about her and I don’t even know where +she is nor why they’ve got to rescue her, but that’s their intentions. +I’ve heard Scenery tellin’ ’em what to do while he turns the crank.” + +It’s kinda late in the afternoon and pretty soon we sees Scenery headin’ +down the street with a three-legged contraption over his shoulder while +Bill Mudgett heads for the livery-stable, leadin’ three packed burros. +The crowd kinda busts up just about this time and we see Magpie, Wick, +Buck and Testament go up-stairs to Holt’s hall. + +“This here Chamber of Commerce you were talking about is what?” asks +Dirty. + +“Magpie is president, Wick Smith first vice-president, Buck Masterson +second vice-president, Testament Tilton secretary and treasurer,” +grins Mighty. “They has banded together for the common good, they say, +but I’m bettin’ they’re schemin’ to put somethin’ over on Paradise and +Yaller Horse.” + +“Them two villages ain’t feudin’ again with Piperock, are they?” I asks. + +Mighty nods solemn-like. + +“Yuh might say they are. Piperock has been blowin’ a heap about this +pitcher and both them places is sore. They ain’t come right out and +killed anybody--yet. But the feud is growin’. + +“Yuh see this is a African pitcher and yuh got to have animiles. Yuh +got to have lions and elephants and all them kinda utensils to make +it look right. Well, everythin’ was fine. Barker’s circus went busted +in Mica. They were pilgrims to Paradise, tryin’ to put on a show, but +it didn’t go good. + +“They didn’t even have money enough to git out of town, and this Barker +person has been tryin’ to sell his collection. He’s done offered it for +a thousand dollars. That was when Scenery decides to make a furrin’ +pitcher. He has a talk with this Barker person and gets his price. Then +old Scenery takes it up with this here town, which immediate and soon +sees the need of a zoological garden. That is how and why for this +Chamber of Commerce.” + +“Well, did the Chamber of Commerce buy them animals?” + +“What with? There ain’t a thousand dollars in Piperock. All they’ve done +is hold meetin’s and talk. The worst of the whole deal is the fact that +Paradise and Yaller Horse has both decided that they need a zoological +garden. They ain’t got no more use for a zoological garden than I have +for the law, but it’s just to bust up that pitcher. They’re scared that +Piperock will _be_ somethin’.” + +“Probably be a lot of damn sorry fools,” says I. + + * * * * * + +Bein’ as the crowd had busted, me and Dirty ties our burros to the +hitch-rack and went over to the saloon where we finds Chuck Warner +tendin’ bar. Chuck is normally the biggest liar in Yaller Rock County. +He wiggles his ears at us and asks us to name our poison. + +After we imbibes what would make about two inches of liquid in the +bottom of a wash-tub, Dirty leans across the bar and yells +confidentially in Chuck’s ear: + +“What is all this picture and commerce idea--and don’t lie to me, +Chuck.” + +“That,” said Chuck, “is the first real mark of advancement Piperock has +ever experienced. From this day onward Piperock ceases to be what she +has been. Now she is just shinin’ up to take her place in the sun. No +more shall the war cry sever nor the windin’ rivers be red.” + +“Yuh got the first part of that from Magpie, but the last half is all +Testament Tilton,” says I. + +“C’rect,” grins Chuck. “But ain’t it good?” + +“Which is all noise and no rain,” grunts Dirty Shirt. “I ask yuh what it +is and you make a damn speech.” + +“Primarily a movin’ picture--eventually a zoological garden. A place of +exceptional interest, education, bringin’ the flora and fauna of other +lands for alien eyes to gaze upon. No more shall the war cry....” + +“Whoa, Blaze!” snaps Dirty, his bum eye jigglin’ just a little. “Don’t +use that last part again. Let’s have a shot of red liquor and forget the +red rivers.” + +“I was just tellin’ yuh,” sighed Chuck. “Yo’re one of the worst +listeners in Yaller Rock County. Keep yore hand off yore gun, will yuh? +Just keep this in mind, Dirty Shirt; no matter whether she’s right or +wrong, she’s still yore home town. Piperock is goin’ ahead by leaps and +bounds. No more shall the war cry....” + +“Listen, feller!” says Dirty. “You start that agin and I’ll kill yuh if +it’s the last decent thing I do.” + +“Well, get it from the Chamber of Commerce,” sighed Chuck. “Here they +come!” + +They came in single-file with Magpie in the lead and Old Testament +Tilton bringin’ up the rear. Bein’ a minister don’t stop Testament from +enterin’ a saloon. He ain’t very broad of forehead but he’s broadminded, +just the same. + +“Greetings from Piperock!” says Magpie when he sees us. + +“Many happy returns of the day!” says Dirty Shirt. + +Magpie is six feet, six inches tall and so skinny he could take a +bath in a shotgun barrel. He’s got a long lean face, sad eyes like a +bloodhound and a mustache that would be an asset to an undertaker. +His mind is one vast conglomeration of good ideas with the vital +parts missin’. + +Wick is broad of beam, bow-legged and owns a mustache that would make a +walrus green with envy. Buck is square-headed, pug-nosed, with plenty of +girth and skinny legs. His voice is asthmatic from helpin’ himself to +too much gin. + +Testament is even taller and more skinny than Magpie. He owns a long +nose, pointed chin and a wonderful faith in the hot end of the +hereafter. He wears glasses which are so lopsided that ordinarily +he’s lookin’ under one lens and over the top of the other. + +“It is well with my soul to see you boys again,” says Old Testament. “We +need you. Piperock needs every loyal son in these days of travail. You +come at the opportune moment to see Piperock arise from the ashes of her +past. No more shall the war cry....” + +“Duck, Testament!” yelped Chuck. “Put up that gun, Dirty!” snaps Magpie. +“What in hell are you aimin’ to do?” + +Dirty’s eye jiggles violent-like for quite a while but finally comes +back to its normal position, which is several degrees off center. He +turns to Chuck. + +“Gimme a quart. No, I’m goin’ to keep my gun in my hand and I’ll kill +the first man who repeats that agin.” + +He got his bottle and went out of there, walkin’ on his heels. He stops +on the edge of the sidewalk, swings up his old six-gun and cuts loose at +the little bell on top of Holt’s hall. + +_Bam! Bam! Bam!_ + +Three times the old gun roars and three times comes the musical clatter +of the old bell. He shoves the gun in his holster, knocks the neck off +the bottle, takes a long drink and then heads for the hitch-rack. In +case he had missed one of them shots he’d have throwed away the bottle +and headed for home, drunk enough. + +“Things like that should be stopped,” said Testament. “It is a relic of +uncivilization. It should be the function of the Chamber to obliterate +the old order.” + +“My God, yes!” explodes Wick. “Them damn bullets might glance off and +kill somebody. There’s a lot of folks in this town that we might kinda +work over.” + +He looked right at me when he said that. + +“You start workin’ on me and they’ll have to take up a subscription for +yore tombstone,” says I. “And if yuh ever hop on old Dirty Shirt for his +sins he’ll make ouija-board controls out of yore whole damn bunch.” + +I went out, untied my burro and headed for the cabin which me and Magpie +have always called home. I know Piperock from its belt both ways and I +know trouble is brewin’. I’ve been butchered several times to make a +Piperock holiday--and I sabe the symptoms. + + * * * * * + +After a little while Magpie comes home. He sets down and looks at me +more in sadness than in anger. Me and him have been together for years. + +“I never came back to this town yet that I didn’t find it broke out +with somethin’,” says I. “Now settle yore stummick and tell me where +yuh ache the worst, Magpie. What’s all this here movin’ pitcher +business, anyway?” + +“Scenery Sims,” says he. “He sold a livery-stable and bought a camera +and films. He’s got an idea of makin’ one of them African pitchers, +kinda advertisin’ to the world that Piperock is an art center.” + +“And you gave him the idea, Magpie?” + +“Well?” + +“Why an African pitcher?” + +“That’s what the story calls for, Ike.” + +“Did you write the story?” + +“Yea-a-ah, I wrote it, Ike. It’s called ‘The Queen of the Jungle of +Africa.’” + +“Who’s goin’ to be the queen?” + +“That’s the hell of it. We ain’t got a girl in Piperock that could be +the queen. Mrs. Wick Smith offered to do it.” + +“Two hundred and twenty on the hoof.” + +“Two hundred and forty, Ike; we weighed her today.” + +“And this here Chamber of Commerce, Magpie?” + +“I organized it, Ike, to elevate Piperock.” + +“I sabe that part of it. Magpie, if all yore elevations of Piperock +were piled on top of each other Piperock would be somethin’ to look +at through a strong telescope. And why elevate Piperock?” + +“For posterity.” + +“What in hell has posterity to do with it?” + +“Well, I dunno, Ike, except that we want to leave somethin’ for our +children’s children and--” + +“Yore children? Since when?” + +“Washington saved this country, didn’t he? He didn’t have no children, +did he? I ask you now, did he?” + +“Is that any reason why you should wreck it? Mebby yo’re jealous of +George. Kinda want to tear down what he built up. Just because he +was known as the father of his country you want to be known as the +mother-in-law, eh?” + +“You’ve got mental astigmatism, Ike.” + +“Well, I love Piperock too well to see her manhandled by you and yore +three destroyers.” + +“You don’t understand, Ike. This movin’ picture will bring Piperock to +her proper place. All the world will know about us. It’s our greatest +opportunity, I tell yuh. Them animals are incidental. There’s the +remains of that defunct circus, made to order for our use and costin’ +us only a nominal sum. We can make this picture with ’em and then we’ll +build Piperock a zoological garden. It’ll be a place where yuh can see +all kinds of queer animals and snakes, et cettery.” + +“Why not put in a Keeley Institute?” + +“Everybody don’t drink as heavy as you do, Ike. Now we can get them +animals, includin’ a Nubian lion, a Royal Bengal tiger, an elephant, +a camel, several monkeys, all for one thousand dollars. Why, it’s a +chance of a lifetime.” + +“Why don’tcha jump at it?” + +“What would we use for money? And the worst of it all is, Paradise and +Yaller Horse are jealous over this here motion picture we’re makin’ +and they’re goin’ to try and block us from them animals. That’s one +reason we inaugurated this Chamber of Commerce; a concerted group of +public-minded men banded together to devise ways and means for raisin’ +the money. Of course the Chamber is somethin’ that will endure.” + +“It’ll have to--if yuh have to wait for that thousand.” + +“I mean it will continue to function long after that motion picture +has told the world of Piperock. Long after that little menagerie has +grown to be the biggest conglomeration of beasts in the world the +Piperock Chamber of Commerce will function steadily. It is a thing +that will do good. Its mission in life is to make for a bigger and a +better Piperock. No more shall the war cry....” + +_Wham!_ Magpie’s sombrero jumped twenty inches off his head and Magpie +went backward over a chair. + +I jumped about a foot myself and there is Dirty Shirt Jones leanin’ in +through an open window, holdin’ his six-gun in his hand and with his bad +eye jigglin’ plenty. + +“Ike,” says he polite-like, “did you find my other boots in the pack +when you undressed yore burro?” + +“They’re hangin’ on the corral fence, Dirty,” says I. + +“Thank yuh kindly, Ike.” + +He turned around and went staggerin’ down to the corral, while Magpie +got cautiously to his feet and picked up his sombrero. + +“That’s just downright damn ignorance,” says Magpie. + +“It shore was,” says I. “You should have had more sense.” + + * * * * * + +The next day me and Dirty Shirt went to Paradise, bein’ kinda wishful +to hear another corner of the story, and we finds a representative +gatherin’ of horse thieves in Bill McFee’s saloon. There’s Sig Watson, +Eph Whittaker, Tellurium Woods, Banty Weyman and Swede Johnson. The +greetin’ they gave us would frostbite an Eskimo. + +“You acts as though we had robbed yore bank,” observes Dirty. + +“You Piperockers has got a lot of nerve,” says Tellurium. “Whatcha +tryin’ to do with yore measly hamlet? This movin’-pitcher idea makes us +laugh. Advancement of Piperock! Are yuh tryin’ to make heel-yuh-tripe +out of a polecat?” + +“I’ll make tripe out of one in about a minute,” says Dirty. “If Piperock +is wishful to lift herself out of the mud and leave you and Yaller Horse +to flounder, what’s it to yuh, anyway? We came down here to greet yuh in +a peaceful manner, but if yo’re lookin’ for trouble me and Ike will take +on a contract to run the whole damn gang of yuh ragged.” + +“You better be gettin’ a head-start,” says Bill, shovin’ a two-barrel +riot-gun across the bar. “I’m beginnin’ to count and nobody but me knows +where I stop countin’ and squeeze the trigger.” + +Bill’s fairly reliable, so we went outside and walked down to the +livery-stable, where we finds Art Miller, the stableman, and Barker, +the animal man, settin’ in the shade. + +“Mister Barker,” says Art, kinda sneerin’-like, “here’s a couple more +Piperock misfits. Mebby they want to buy.” + +“We don’t want nothin’ from Paradise,” says Dirty. “All we want to know +is how many lies have been told about this here galaxy of animiles which +Piperock is to acquire.” + +“The price,” says Barker, “is one thousand.” + +“Plus the feed bill,” says Art. “Don’t forget that.” + +“I need no reminder,” says Barker. He’s a skinny little jigger with a +heavy black mustache. + +“Would yuh like to see ’em?” he asks. + +“If it ain’t too much trouble.” + +Art got up and walked to the big slidin’ doors. + +“I’ll show ’em to yuh,” says he, “but I’ll make yuh a nice bet that +Piperock don’t never git ’em.” + +Art slid the doors open and goes in while me and Dirty are kinda waitin’ +for the other to go in first, and then comes the sound of two objects +meetin’ real sudden. It was kinda like: + +_So-o-ock!_ + +And a second later Art Miller sails past us, turns over twice and comes +to a stop on the seat of his pants in the street with a horse-collar +around his neck. + +[Illustration: A second later Art Miller sails past us, turns over +twice....] + +Both of his eyes are cross-firin’ his nose for a minute and then he +wails: + +“Who in hell hung that work-harness in reach of that damn packydurham?” + +“That was Jewel of India,” says Barker. “He throws things.” + +“I sh’d judge he does,” says Dirty, softly closin’ the doors. +“Inspection is over for t’day.” + +“Oh, he’s probably all right now!” says Barker. + +“So are we,” nods Dirty. “Thanks for the demonstration.” + +We bowed pleasantly to him and went back up the street, while Art Miller +limps back to the shade with the horse-collar still around his neck. + + * * * * * + +At the hitch-rack we are met by the gang from McFee’s saloon and they’re +shore a stiff-necked outfit. + +“We’re a committee,” says Tellurium. “It is our duty to notify yuh that +Piperock ain’t goin’ to git nothin’ from Paradise. She keeps what she’s +got. You pack that word back to yore village of vice-presidents, will +yuh? And the less we see of you Piperockers the better we’ll like it.” + +Bill is standin’ in the door of the saloon with the shotgun and by the +expression of his lips he’s still countin’. + +“That’s carryin’ intimidation too far,” says Dirty, as we slow up out of +range. “That flea-ridden hamlet ain’t got no more use for them animiles +than nothin’. I never had no use for ’em myself until I seen what that +elephant done to Art Miller. Now I’m strong for elephants. There’s an +animal with a sense of doin’ the right thing. Do yuh know anythin’ about +’em, Ike?” + +“I know they’re a two-ended riggin’ with a thick skin and a couple of +prongs on one end, and they ain’t considered vulnerable to anythin’ +less than a cannon loaded with door-knobs and barb-wire.” + +“They’d do well around here, Ike,” says he. “Yaller Rock County needs +things with them qualifications. I’ll tell yuh, I’m shore interested +in elephants since I seen that one make a ringer on Art Miller. It’s +too bad that it wasn’t an anvil instead of a horse-collar.” + + * * * * * + +I tells Magpie what Paradise had to say and that night he calls a +meetin’ of the Chamber of Commerce. I’m invited to attend but I declines +and joins forces with Mighty and Dirty. I’ve got two hundred dollars +cached in our cabin and Magpie knows where it is. I reckon I got kinda +hazy durin’ that evenin’, ’cause I used up considerable credit with Buck +Masterson, and when I looked in that cache the money is gone and in its +place is a bill-of-sale for one Nubian lion, delivery of which is +guaranteed by the Piperock Chamber of Commerce. + +I buckles on my gun and goes huntin’ for the president of that august +body but soon finds that he’s gone to Paradise with the rest of the +board. I finds Dirty Shirt settin’ on the sidewalk in front of Wick’s +store and his bad eye is loopin’ the loop considerable. + +“Did you drink the same kinda stuff I did last night?” he asks me. + +“I’m inclined to think I did, Dirty.” + +“Are yuh sane this mornin’?” + +“I reckon I am. I’m crazy in a way, of course.” + +“One way’s as bad as another, Ike. Look at this!” + +He hands me a bill-of-sale just like mine, only his is for one Indian +elephant. + +“Who knew where yuh cached yore money?” I asks. + +“Just and only me, Ike. I dug it up of my own free will.” + +“I didn’t. Magpie stole mine and left a bill-of-sale for one Nubian +lion.” + +“Oh, my God! Let’s get a drink.” + +We found Mighty Jones settin’ in there, holdin’ his head in his hands. +He squints at us, rubs his chin with the back of his right hand and +says: + +“Figurin’ any old way yuh want to, gents, what’s a R’yal Bingal tiger +worth on the open market?” + +Me and Dirty stare at him for a while but he don’t mind. + +“You ain’t aimin’ to go into the tiger business, are yuh, Mighty?” asks +Dirty Shirt. + +“Aimin’ to? Hell, I’m in it already!” + +He reaches in his pocket and brings out a bill-of-sale which shows that +Mighty Jones is sole owner of one Royal Bengal tiger and has paid two +hundred dollars in coin of the realm. + +“How didja happen to do this?” I asks. + +“Civic pride, Ike. I shore had plenty of it last night, but she’s done +oozed away. It was every cent I owned and I was savin’ up for my old +age.” + +“You won’t need it, Mighty,” soothes Dirty. “If half of what I’ve heard +about tigers is true, old age won’t never bother you none and you won’t +even have to spend a cent for burial. Where’s Buck?” + +“Him and the Chamber of Commerce has gone to Paradise to git an option +on them animals. Said they had six hundred in cash and all they need is +four hundred more. Won’t Paradise and Yaller Horse be sore?” + +“If they’re lookin’ for sore spots, they don’t need to go that far,” +says I. + +Well, this Barker person sells them an option for five hundred dollars +with the consideration that they’ll let him live under Piperock’s +protection until we raises the other five hundred. He don’t look so +awful bright but he don’t need to read any handwritin’ on the wall to +know that Paradise won’t appreciate that option. Magpie paid him five +hundred and they put that extra hundred in the treasury. It was +Testament’s idea because he’s treasurer. + + * * * * * + +Barker moved down with me and Magpie and that night he told us all about +how he went busted in the circus business and his actors all left him +when the treasurer ran away with the money. He admits that he don’t know +anythin’ about animals but he does say that we’re gettin’ ’em dirt cheap +at that price. Says that the Nubian lion has killed three men--which +makes him valuable. + +It didn’t make my bill-of-sale look any better to me. I asked Magpie +what he meant by swipin’ that money from me and he said I wouldn’t lose +because I had perfectly good collateral in the lion. Barker tells me +that the lion is worth a thousand dollars in any country. + +It seems that Scenery Sims ain’t took none of the picture yet because +they can’t exactly agree on who is goin’ to be the hero. He goes on +the theory that united we stand, divided we fall apart; so Magpie and +him are tryin’ to arrange it so that there won’t be no hero. + +In the first part of the story the hero fights a wild lion and kills +him with his bare hands. After he’s killed the lion he finds a collar +on the lion and tied to the collar is a message from the queen of the +jungle, which is a white girl, askin’ for somebody to rescue her. + +That’s about as far as they’ve got. But that’s plenty work for some +cowpuncher. I can’t see why there should be any jealousy over who kills +that lion but I do want to know what in hell is goin’ to become of the +zoological garden and my two hundred dollars. + +Magpie says he’s been doin’ plenty thinkin’ about it and mebby they’ll +just choke the lion unconscious, instead of killin’ it. + + * * * * * + +The next day Tombstone Todd, Hair-Oil Heppner and Half-Mile Smith all +came over from Yaller Horse. Them three jiggers would make Captain +Kidd look like a psalm-singin’ missionary. Tombstone claims that his +sportin’ instinct prevents him from shootin’ a man except on the run. +He’s a wing-shot with a six-gun and he’s so mean that he has a +perpetual ache. + +Hair-Oil ain’t got no scruples. Neither has Half-Mile, for that +matter. When he runs out of cartridges he throws rocks. Nobody asked +’em why they comes to Piperock. They ain’t the kinda folks that yuh +pokes questions at unless yuh want a real hot answer. + +But I knowed that they wasn’t just spendin’ the day in Piperock. +Tombstone is packin’ two guns and he takes his drinks with his back +to the bar. Scenery Sims brings his three-legged picture machine up +to the saloon, took one look at this trio from Yaller Horse and took +it right back home. + +“Haw! Haw! Haw!” roars Tombstone. “I thought I was goin’ t’ have m’ +pitcher took but I reckon I scared that little chicken-necked wimpus +out of a year’s growth. So that’s the contraption that’s goin’ to +elevate Piperock above the rest of us, eh?” + +“’F I was you I wouldn’t talk too loud,” says Dirty Shirt. “Yo’re in +Piperock, yuh must remember.” + +“Remember?” snorts Tombstone. “We came here to start a argument, you +jangle-eyed juniper bug. Start talkin’. Us three from Yaller Horse is +more ’n a match for yore hull damn town. We ain’t noways strong on +uplift but we’re shore hell on the knock-down. Cut yore wolf loose, +Piperock!” + +“Are you-all backin’ Paradise’s play?” asked Dirty. + +“T’ hell with Paradise!” roars Half-Mile. “We’re agin both of yuh. We’re +wise to all yore skulduggery and yuh can’t git away with it. We’ve been +to Paradise t’day and they shore heard from us. Fact of the matter is, +they’ve throwed an armed guard around Miller’s livery-stable.” + +“Why don’tcha throw in with us?” says I. “Mebby we might make it +together. We’d throw our zoological garden open to you Yaller Horse +folks any time yuh might come over.” + +“You go to hell!” explodes Hair-Oil. “We don’t split with anybody. We +rise or fall on our own merits. Where’s this here Barker person who +purports to own them animiles? We aims to tan his hide and sell it to +the highest bidder for a chair cover. Either you or Paradise has got +him hid.” + +“Piperock ain’t hidin’ nothin’ from you snake-hunters,” says Dirty +Shirt. “If we had him we’d keep him, Hair-Oil. You three rabbit-faced +geewhinkuses couldn’t take a stick of candy away from a Piperock +baby.” + +Tombstone kinda jerks like he had nervous trouble; but he ain’t; he’s +just scared to start anythin’. They all know Dirty Shirt well enough +to go easy. + +“We’ll git what we want,” says Hair-Oil. + +“You’ll prob’ly git what yuh need,” says Dirty. + +After while they halts drinkin’ and Tombstone says to me: + +“Ike, I hear that Piperock has a option on them animals.” + +“She has, Tombstone. Nobody can touch ’em.” + +“That’s what I heard in Paradise. They’re lookin’ for Barker too. At +least they say they are, but they’re almost as big liars as Piperock, +so we don’t know what to think.” + +“Well, if yuh can’t think any straighter than yuh can talk it wouldn’t +do yuh any good, anyway,” says Dirty. + + * * * * * + +We left ’em and went down to our shack, where we finds Magpie, Scenery +and Barker. Scenery has told ’em about the three representatives from +Yaller Horse and Barker shore is uneasy. + +“I better get away from here,” says he. “They probably know I’m here. +Somebody in Paradise told them.” + +“Where’d yuh go?” asks Magpie. + +“I don’t know.” + +“Suppose yuh slip out to my place,” says Dirty. “Magpie, you saddle a +horse for him while I slide back to Buck’s place and see what’s goin’ +on. He can circle the town and meet me. It’s a cinch them fellers won’t +foller me.” + +“That would suit me better,” says Barker. “I ain’t much of a rider but +if you’ve got a gentle horse--” + +“Which I ain’t,” says Magpie. “But this one will take yuh there and +that’s the main thing right now.” + +Magpie ducks out to the stable while Barker puts on his blue coat and +brown derby. I plumb forgot to tell yuh about that brown derby. And he +wears a suit that’s as blue as the sky. + +Dirty walks out the front door, turns around and comes right in again, +his bad eye cuttin’ circles. + +“My God!” he snorts. “Here comes Yaller Horse!” + +I runs to a window and looks out and I sees them three cheerful +murderers within two hundred yards of our shack, comin’ along kinda +slow. About this time Magpie falls in through the back door wavin’ +his arms. + +“They’re comin’!” he snorts. “Somebody must ’a’ told ’em. Ike, you’ve +got to be a hero. Take Barker’s coat and hat. Quick, you damn fool! +Put ’em on and grab that horse. While they’re chasin’ you we’ll hide +Barker.” + +There wasn’t no chance to argue. I know danged well that Yaller Horse +never owned a bronc that could catch that long-legged, rat-tailed +mare of Magpie’s, so I shucked the coat off Barker, slipped it on and +grabbed his hat. + + * * * * * + +By this time I ain’t got fifty yards start and them three riders have +split out to surround us. The danged coat don’t fit me by inches and +the brown derby balances on top of my head, but I yank it down the +best I can and lope out through the back doorway. + +Well, that rat-tailed mare takes one good look at me, yanks back, busts +the halter-rope and heads for Paradise with me hangin’ to one stirrup +with one hand and to that derby hat with the other. + +Man, we went! I was takin’ twenty-foot steps while that rat-tailed mare +sticks her nose out straight and acts as though she thought I was tryin’ +to outrun her. I can hear plenty yelpin’ behind us. I knowed it was only +a question of so many jumps before I’m all out of condition. You just +try taking twenty-foot steps and comin’ down on high heels every time +yuh hit earth. I can feel my backbone gettin’ shorter and shorter when +all to once a rope encircles my lungin’ form and I feel myself doin’ a +pin-wheel in the air. The jerk wasn’t bad and the pin-wheels were kinda +exhilaratin’ but the stop was awful. + +I don’t know what happened after that, as I’m kinda comatose, as it +were. But I woke up with a terrible pain in my chest and looks around. +My feet and hands are free but I seem to be hangin’ in space. After a +while my vision gets normal and I finds that I’m hangin’ from a limb +on an old cottonwood tree about a mile from Piperock, along the road +to Paradise. + +There’s a lariat rope around under my arms and the end of it is tied +off to a lower limb. And on the top of the old tree sets a buzzard, +lookin’ at me kinda anxious-like. I reaches in my pocket, got out my +pocket-knife and cut the rope just above the brim of that derby, +which is all that’s left of the hat. + +Well, I lit so hard that one knee hit me in the chin and I was knocked +out again. But this time I came back pretty quick. There’s a board +nailed to the tree on which is painted in black letters: + + DONATED TO THE PIPEROCK + ZOO BY THE CITY OF YALLER + HORSE + +That made me mad. I’m in bad shape but that don’t mean anythin’ to me. +One leg wants to go east and my neck has been twisted so that I want to +look west and the collar is all that’s holdin’ the coat on my back, but +I’m shore all set to kill somebody. + +I’m kinda tackin’ with the wind, usin’ one arm behind me as sort of a +rudder when I meets Dirty Shirt and Mighty. They has to kinda go out of +their way to meet me face to face, but we finally made it and I dug in +both heels in order to come to a complete stop. + +“My God!” says Dirty. “Yo’re a mess, Ike Harper!” + +“Am I?” says I. I wasn’t sure because I can’t look down at myself. “What +happened to Barker?” + +“He didn’t wait for no horse, Ike. And if he kept goin’ as fast as he +started he’s across the Canadian border by this time. Magpie took after +him on yore bronc ’cause he don’t want to lose that option money, but +yore bronc won’t never be able to overtake him. We wondered what they’d +do to you.” + +“Well, yuh can see, can’t yuh?” + +“Uh-huh! Say, Ike, you shore can run. There was times when it looked as +though yuh was goin’ to outrun that rat-tail mare. Here! Have a little +shot of hooch. We’ve got plenty and it might kinda take the kinks out of +yuh. You shore saved Barker’s life and the Chamber of Commerce ort to do +somethin’ for yuh.” + +“Oh, yeah!” says I, lowerin’ that quart by about a pint. “They’ll +probably give me a bill-of-sale for a row-boat or some other damn thing +that yuh can’t use out here.” + + * * * * * + +We went back to my shack but we don’t find Magpie there. I’ve got a +couple of bottles and between them and a bottle of horse liniment I +got to feelin’ pretty good again. + +“I’ll tell yuh about me,” says Dirty, his eye jigglin’. “P’session is +nine points in the law.” + +“Meanin’ which?” asks Mighty. + +“Meanin’ that I don’t aim to lose my elephant. If Paradise thinks for a +minute that they can keep me away from what I own they’re plumb crazy.” + +“That’s me all over,” declares Mighty, takin’ another big drink. “Me and +you thinks the same things. But how?” + +“I been makin’ queries,” says Dirty. “That there elephant will either +ride or herd. The lion and tiger are both in one of them big animal +wagons with the closed sides. The cages are built inside the box and +if we could hitch a team to that wagon--” + +“Yuh mean--we’d steal ’em, Dirty?” + +“Steal, hell! Ain’t we the legal owners? Gimme that bottle. What do yuh +think of the idea, Ike?” + +“Well,” says I, “I’m all bent to hell, anyway, so I might as well get +what belongs to me. Mebby I can teach that lion to lead me around. If my +sense of direction gets any worse, I’ll shore as hell need guidance.” + +As soon as we run out of liquor we went up to Buck’s place and Chuck +told us that the Chamber of Commerce had headed for Paradise, taking +Judge Steele along to argue their case for them. + +“Since when did a Piperocker have to appeal to the law?” demands Dirty. + +“Since this here Chamber of Commerce started to run the affairs of the +nation,” replies Chuck. + +“Then the best thing we can do is to kill all four of them damn fools. +Give us four quarts of liquor, Chuck; we’re also goin’ to Paradise but +the only law we pack along is the right of might and old Man Colt.” + +“All right, gents! What in hell is the matter with you, Ike?” + +“I’m the burnt offerin’ that the Bible speaks about.” + +[Illustration: “I’m the burnt offerin’ that the Bible speaks about”] + +We went down to Mighty Jones’ place, where we gets his team of horses +and puts the harness on ’em. They ain’t what you’d call broke horses, +bein’ as they’ve only had the harness on twice, so we snubbed ’em to +our saddle-horns and headed for Paradise. I’m ridin’ a hammer-headed +sorrel which belongs to Mighty, and between that animal and the one +I’m leadin’ I’m almost bent back to normal inside of five minutes. + + * * * * * + +It was dark when we hit Paradise, so we tied the horses to a hitch-rack +on a side street and works our way around to Bill McFee’s saloon. +There’s kind of a strained feelin’ around Paradise. In the saloon we +finds a lot of folks, includin’ our Chamber of Commerce, plus Judge +Steele, who don’t know any more about law than I do about Nubian lions. +And also there, as big as life, are them three murderers from Yaller +Horse. + +Old Judge Steele has just finished an address, but there ain’t no +applause except from the Chamber of Commerce. + +“Speakin’ for Paradise,” says Bill McFee, “I’ll tell both Piperock and +Yaller Horse to go to hell. Possession is nine points in the law--and +Paradise possesses.” + +“But our option was sold ahead of yours,” argues Tombstone. “It’s +dated two days ahead of the one Paradise got. By all rights we own +them animiles.” + +“You better keep yore beak out of this, Tombstone,” warns Hank Padden. +“You fellers is in the minority. You only paid two hundred for yore +option.” + +“We stick to the bitter end,” says Half-Mile. “As fur as numbers is +concerned we’re plumb weak, we admit, but when the roll is called old +Yaller Horse will have three responses. Yuh can’t run no blazer on us, +Hank.” + +“No more shall the war cry sever,” mutters Mighty Jones as the three of +us back out of there. But Dirty Shirt didn’t mind what Mighty said about +the war cry severin’; he was too sore at Paradise. + +But that Yaller Horse gang saw us going out. I tried to thumb my nose +at Tombstone but I’m so crippled that I hit myself in the eye with my +elbow. We had another drink and then went down to the livery-stable. + + * * * * * + +Art Miller is settin’ out in front, with a shotgun across his knees; so +the three of us holds a council of war. + +“Yo’re already _hors de compact_, Ike,” says Dirty. “You go and talk +with Art while me and Mighty looks over the lay of the land. We mebby +can roll that wagon out the back door.” + +I’m plumb willin’, so they gave me a spare bottle and I tacks up to +the front door while Dirty and Mighty circle the stable to get in at +the rear. + +“Who goes there?” asks Art when I comes in range. + +“I ain’t goin’--I’m comin’, Art,” says I. + +“Howdy, Ike. My hell, you shore walk antegodlin!” + +“I’m the lamb they led to the slaughter. How’s everythin’?” + +“I’m askin’ you. What’s goin’ on at Bill’s place? They’ve been in +conference for over an hour.” + +“Just arguin’ over them options. I reckon Barker took one from every +town, didn’t he?” + +“Yeah, he did. And he owes me a couple hundred for feed. I’ve got them +animals in my care and here they stay until I get my money. I ain’t +playin’ no fav’rites, Ike. I’m not....” + +_Hr-r-r-rumph! Rr-r-r-r-rowff!_ + +In spite of my condition, I jumps about a foot. + +“That’s the Nubian lion,” says Art. “He’s hungry.” + +“Do yuh reckon he really killed three men, Art?” + +“Oh, shore!” + +“Can’t get loose, can he?” + +“Hell, no! There’s a pin through the staple on the cages.” + +“How about the elephant?” + +“He’s in a box-stall. All he wants is a bale of hay once in a while. +He’s shore scared of that tiger. Barker tells me that they’re natcheral +enemies. I wish t’ God I could git rid of ’em. Yuh see--” + +Art was so interested in his own conversation that he didn’t see Magpie, +Buck, Wick, Scenery and Testament until they were too close for him to +raise that shotgun. + +“Jist be reasonable,” says Magpie. “We don’t aim to hurt anybody, Art. +You just unlock the stable door and we’ll take what belongs to us.” + +“You’ve got to pay me two hundred dollars,” wails Art. “That’s the +amount of the feed bill.” + +“You’ll git yore reward in Heaven,” says Scenery in his squeaky voice. +“We want them animals.” + +“Has Paradise throwed me down?” wailed Art. + +“Temp’rarily,” laughs Buck. “They’re shakin’ dice with Yaller Horse +to see who owns the animals. Damn ’em, they’ve cut us out ’cause both +of their options are ahead of ours, but p’session is nine points in +the law--and we aims to p’sess. Unlock the door, Art. Or do we have +to bust--” + +Crash! Bam! Yee-e-e-o-o-owee! + +“He-e-e-ey! What in hell are yuh doin’?” + +“Ho-o-o-o-old fast! Look out!” + +But the rest of it is a medley of tiger, lion and elephant talk, mixed +up with six-shooter bangs and cowboy yelps. + +“What the hell is goin’ on in there?” yells Magpie. + +Then came the deluge. That big stable door, which is wide and high +enough to accommodate a load of hay, just lifts loose on one end and +picks us up like a lot of flies on the leaf of a book. + +I landed plumb out in the middle of the street on my neck and ears and +above me I sees the tawny form of that Nubian lion comin’ right down +on top of me. I didn’t have no time to gird up my loins for battle, so +I reaches up with both hands and takes Mister Lion to my bosom. + +I didn’t need to reach ’cause that lion wasn’t going to pass me up, and +we came together so hard that I drove both of my elbows into that hard +street like a couple of tent stakes. Not bein’ a experienced lion +killer, I jist had to fight him the best way I could. It’s dark and the +dust is deep, but a Harper never quits. Me and that lion went around +the street like a couple of measurin’ worms, first one on top and then +the other. Every time I come down hard it kinda knocks the dust out of +my ears and I hears yells, shots, horses runnin’ and plenty of other +noises. + +We finally ended up against the waterin’ trough where I hammers the +lion’s head against the pump so damn hard that he decided to call it a +evenin’ and quit warrin’. I can’t see and I can’t hear and my travelin’ +apparatus is all jambed to hell, but I’ve got my two-hundred-dollar lion +tamed to the queen’s taste. So I takes him by a front paw and drags him +up the street. + +Anyway, I intended draggin’ him up the street, but both of my legs +has got sort of a eastern idea and I ends up at the back door of Bill +McFee’s saloon. I kicks the door open and backs in, draggin’ the King +of Beasts along with me. + +The place is deserted, it seems. I can barely see around the room when +in comes the Royal Bengal tiger. He kinda oozed in through the front +door, stops in the middle of the floor and goes flat on his belly. But +I ain’t scared. I’m settin’ on my Nubian lion but now I gets up and +says: + +“Sic ’m, Nubie! Claw hell out of that convict cat.” + +“Ca-whooff!” sneezes my lion and the tiger’s hair all turned the wrong +way. + +“G’l ding it!” wails my lion. “Whazza-metter ’round here?” + +I leaned down and looks real close for the first time and I finds that +I’m still short one Nubian lion. It’s Tombstone Todd, and I’ve shore +paid him back for what he done to me that afternoon. + +“Ain’t you a lion?” I asks. + +Tombstone shakes his head kinda dazed-like. + +“I’m tellin’ yuh the truth,” he said. + + * * * * * + +I’ve lost track of that tiger. Folks are yellin’ around outside the +place and somebody is shore gettin’ familiar with a six-gun because +three bullets didn’t miss me more than a foot. I ducked back of the +bar to get a drink, when all to once the saloon begins to shake like +an earthquake and I looked up in time to see that elephant tryin’ to +back out of the doorway with the whole front end of the saloon on +its shoulders. + +Half-Mile Smith and Bill McFee staggers in the back door, turns around +and starts to stagger out together, but the doorway is too narrow and +they got stuck. Part of the back-bar fell down and the bottles went +rollin’ across the floor when the elephant removed the front of the +saloon. + +I was shore duckin’ around tryin’ to get out of the way when I seen +Tombstone Todd gettin’ to his feet with a bottle in each hand. Tombstone +ain’t got many clothes left and I don’t suppose his eyesight is half as +good as mine, which ain’t sayin’ much for Tombstone. + +_Wham!_ He whirled around like a baseball pitcher and flung that bottle +toward the corner beyond the pool-table. + +“Damn you, Ike Harper!” he yelps. “Come out and fight like a man!” + +_Bam!_ The other bottle followed the first one but this time there was +just a dull thud, a chokin’ screech and that tiger came out from under +that table like a yaller-and-black streak. + +I dunno whether the tiger meant to attack Tombstone or whether it just +wanted room to run, but they came together long enough for Tombstone +to fold both arms around its flanks and they went out of there with +Tombstone’s feet in the air and the tiger diggin’ deep in his soul for +sounds to tell the world that he didn’t like the way things was +breakin’ for him in Paradise. + +“Wh-wh-where dud-dud-did he guggo?” asks a voice and there stands Dirty +Shirt in the open front of the building. All he’s got on is his hat and +half of his pants and his boots. + +“Which one does you allude to?” I asks. + +“Juj-Jewel of India. My Injy-rubber ox. I was on him but the house fell +on me. Damn it, yuh can’t guide him!” + +“I ain’t got him,” says I. + +“I see yuh ain’t, Ike.” + +He turns his head sideways and stares at somethin’. Then he reaches +out one foot kinda cautious-like, without lookin’ stubs his toe over +the busted door-sill and fell flat on his face. I just batted my eyes +once and there stands that damn Nubian lion, mumblin’ and mumblin’, +his lower jaw hangin’ down like a busted trap-door. He nosed at Dirty +Shirt for a moment and then walked right over him, lookin’ at me. + +“Now I lay me down to sleep,” says Dirty, hidin’ his head in his hands. +“I pray--I pray--I--I pray--” + +“Owr-r-rhoo-o-o-off!” squalls that lion. + +I look toward the back door and there is Half-Mile and Bill, still stuck +in that narrow doorway. Just try to remember that all this is happenin’ +real fast. + +The lion came toward me and I can’t do a damn thing, just kinda look +over him and blink my eyes. I’ve lost my gun and the power of movement +and speech. I feels him smell of my knee and I expects to lose that +joint real sudden, but he moved on past and looked at them two frozen +images stuck in the back door. + +His tail switches my leg, like somebody swishin’ a bull-whip, and before +I realizes what I’m doin’ I reach down with both hands and grab hold of +that tail. + +Never grab a lion’s tail, especially when that lion has room in front +to move real sudden. I realized it too late when I went upside down and +through the air like the tail of a comet. We hit Half-Mile and Bill all +in a heap and we shore cleared that doorway. I think I let loose when +the lion went over the top of Bill McFee’s little corral because I woke +up with one arm and one leg through the fence and lion-tail burns on +the palms of my hands. + + * * * * * + +I must have been hangin’ there asleep for quite a while, because when +I fell loose and twisted my way over to the back door of the saloon +there’s quite a crowd in there. My sight ain’t so good, but I can hear +pretty fair and I hears Tellurium Woods sayin’: + +“Well, by God, somebody is goin’ to pay for this! Look at the front of +this place.” + +“Somebody will pay,” wails Bill McFee. + +“My God, what a round-up!” yelps Eph Whittaker. “Look at me, will yuh? +That damn elephant throwed me plumb over the livery-stable fence. Picked +me up like--” + +“Well, they’re all in the cages, anyway,” interrupts Art Miller. “Now +what’s to be done?” + +I didn’t wait for anythin’ more. Makin’ my painful way around to the +street, I heads for the horses, where I finds Mighty and Scenery. +They’re in awful shape but a Piperocker never quits. + +“Where’s Dirty?” I asks and I’m surprised that my voice won’t run even. +It jumps from bass to soprano. + +“He’s some’ers,” groans Mighty. “Some’ers with that damn two-ended +critter of destruction.” + +I tells ’em what I heard at the saloon. + +“Now’s the time to act,” says I. “They think we’re all dead or crippled +too bad to do anythin’, so we’ll take the team and hitch onto that +wagon.” + + * * * * * + +Well, it was a job! Not one of the three of us can travel in a straight +line but we got there. The whole front of the livery-stable is missin’. +We hitched that half-broke team to that circus wagon, all got aboard and +yelled at the team. + +It was a heavy wagon but weight didn’t mean anythin’ to them broncs. +They yanked us out of there and we turned on two wheels in the middle +of the street. Straight up past Bill’s saloon we went with that team +on the dead run, the tall wagon with the pictures on the sides weavin’ +like a ship in a storm. + +They heard us comin’ and they came out of the busted saloon on the run, +but every horse in town except the ones we had on that side street has +pulled out for parts unknown and all the gang can do is to empty their +guns at us and yell to beat hell. + +Mighty is hangin’ to the top of that wagon, yellin’ at the top of his +voice: + +“P’session is nine points in the law--and we p’sess!” + +“By God, we’ll make that picture after all!” yells Scenery. “Piperock +forever!” + +“One and indigestible!” says I, tryin’ to take up more slack in them +lines. It was the first time since we left Paradise that I tried to +check the team and now them lines kept right on comin’ until I had +’em all in my hands. + +“My God, we forgot to snap the lines to the bits!” I yelled in Scenery’s +ear. “We’re runnin’ away!” + +“Who the hell wants to stop?” he squeaked. + +We was shore coverin’ ground ’cause the road was slightly down-hill and +them broncs runnin’ blind. It’s moonlight and all to once we sees +somethin’ that looks like a young house ahead of us in the road. It’s +the Jewel of India and right behind him is Dirty Shirt, more bow-legged +than ever, packin’ a fence-rail in both hands. He’s takin’ his elephant +to Piperock all alone. + +Yuh can’t help admirin’ him for his nerve and civic pride, but the +damn fool is blockin’ our road. There wasn’t time to explain things +even to a normal man and I’m of the opinion that Dirty was a long ways +from normal. No normal man would take a fence-rail and herd a strange +elephant down a crooked road in the moonlight. + +But we didn’t hit ’em. Them half-crazy broncs were runnin’ wild as +fools, but when they was about three jumps from that elephant they +just naturally jack-knifed that wagon and went hurdlin’ off down the +side of the slope, yankin’ the wagon off the road within six feet of +Dirty and the rear end of the elephant. Mighty and Scenery didn’t +stay with me. I reckon they was braced for the shock, which didn’t +come, and when we bent real sudden-like they kept on goin’ straight +ahead. + +I tried to jump but it was no use; my legs refused to answer my call. +But it didn’t matter. One place was as good as another, and about six +jumps later the front wheels of that wagon socked into a narrow +wash-out, the tugs busted and I got an upside down view of Yaller +Rock County. For a while I seemed to float above that tumblin’ team +and then I came to rest in a clump of greasewood, flat on my back. + + * * * * * + +I wasn’t there long, but I parted with most of my clothes, except what +was left of that blue coat, in the greasewood. I stumbled around in the +moonlight and finally managed to locate that wagon. It was upside down +and all the fancy dinguses had been knocked off the top. I reckon the +team was still goin’ because there wasn’t any sign of ’em. + +I’m settin’ there on a rock, meditatin’ on what a damn fool a man can +be when here comes Mighty and Scenery, helpin’ each other along down +the hill. + +“Use yore left foot, Scenery,” says Mighty. “I’m doin’ it all.” + +“What left foot?” wails Scenery. “God, I ain’t had a left foot since you +knocked the pin out of the tiger cage. What was yore idea, anyway?” + +“He belonged to me, didn’t he? Here’s yore left foot. Don’t drag it +thataway! Where’s Ike? Oh, Ike! Betcha he’s dead, Scenery. Oh, Ike, +are yuh dead?” + +“Here he comes, Mighty. Don’tcha see him? Hello, Ike!” + +“That ain’t Ike--that’s Adam! He ain’t got no clothes. Who in hell are +you, feller?” + +“I’m the damn fool that herded elephants,” says a weak voice. “M’ name +was Dirty Shirt Jones.” + +“Are you alive, Dirty Shirt?” asks Scenery. + +“A-a-aw, don’t be a damn fool all yore life--of course I’m not.” + +I got one look at Dirty Shirt and I give you my word, he’s as nude as +the day he was born. He’s standin’ on a little rise and the moon makes +a halo around his bow-legs. + +“I’m down here,” says I, and they all comes limpin’. + +“Wrecked, eh?” wails Scenery. + +“Yuh damn right. How are yuh, Dirty Shirt? How do yuh feel?” + +“Feel of me!” groans Dirty. “I can’t. That damn elephant turned on me, +gents! I busted the fence-rail across his nose and then he lassoed me +with his front end and flung me plumb out of my clothes. My God, they’re +stout things!” + +“My God!” exploded Scenery. “Them cage doors is busted open. Let’s +get away before them danged claw-footed things rise more hell with +us. Can’tcha see they’re open? When the wagon turned over them pins +fell out and--” + +“Shoot him!” choked Mighty. “They’re comin’ out! Won’t some of yuh +shoot? They’re sneakin’ on us!” + +“Now I lay me down to sleep,” prays Dirty. “I pup-pray--” + + * * * * * + +“If there’s goin’ to be any shootin’,” says the voice of Magpie +Simpkins, “I’m goin’ to be in on it.” + +And the voice came from the busted wagon. + +“My God and little fishes!” snorted Mighty Jones. “It’s the Piperock +Chamber of Commerce!” + +They crawled out in single-file, Magpie first, with Wick, Buck and Old +Testament crawlin’ behind him. They squatted along in a line while we +sets there in the moonlight and looks ’em over. + +“I--I guess we lost out,” quavers Testament. + +“How in hell didja get in them cages?” I asks. + +“That’s a hard question to answer,” says Magpie. “All I know is that in +the general riot I got knocked on the head and--” + +“Same here!” says Wick and Buck together. + +“Amen!” groans Testament. + +“They must ’a’ been goin’ to punish ’em for their sins,” says Mighty, +awed-like. + +“Jist try follerin’ an elephant and no damn human’s wrath will ever dent +yuh,” says Dirty Shirt. “I lose two hundred dollars in cash but I got a +million in experience.” + +“Everybody loses,” sighs Magpie. “Barker is gone and I reckon the +animals are gone too. It’s good-by African drammer, Scenery.” + +“Thank God! I never did hold with them furrin’ things.” + +I’m fumblin’ in my pockets for some cigaret papers, and in an inside +pocket of that blue coat I finds a leather book of some kind, which +I unfolds and looks it over. As far as I can see it’s plumb full of +money. I lights a match and counts it over while the rest of the +sufferin’ scarecrows crowd in and help me count it. + +“Twelve hundred dollars!” explodes Magpie. “There’s the five from +Piperock, the five from Paradise and the two from Yaller Horse.” + +We just sets there and thinks it over. + +“Life,” says Testament, “is fleetin’.” + +“Yo’re right!” agrees Magpie Simpkins. “As long as a man minds his +own dang business around here his life just fleets. But any old time +he horns in on somethin’ that don’t concern him his life assumes a +muzzle velocity of somethin’ like five thousand feet per second, duly +describes the usual arc and hits the earth with a dull thud.” + +All of which takes us back to where we started to tell this story, +and as that makes both ends meet and there’s nothin’ left but the +distribution of the money and applications of liniment, why say any +more? + + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + + Transcriber’s Note + +This story appeared in the June, 1928 issue of McClure’s Magazine. This +story is believed to be in the public domain in the United States. +Please note that copyright status may differ in other countries. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78764 *** |