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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78970 ***
+
+
+                        LOCAL COLOR IN LOCO-LAND
+
+                            by W. C. Tuttle
+         Author of “No Wonder,” “Sparing the Family Tree,” etc.
+
+
+They got on the stage at Paradise. “Dirty Shirt” Jones looks at me with
+his one good eye, looking like he kinda blamed me, which he had no right
+to do. The Lord knows I wasn’t responsible for them taking the stage.
+
+One of ’em is kinda pink-faced and has got the weakest mustache I ever
+seen. Looked like somebody had hit him a glancing blow and knocked his
+eyebrow under his nose. Maybe I’d better say that he looked like some
+kinda delicate fruit which grew on the shady side of the tree and never
+got no chance to ripen.
+
+The other one kinda bulges over the eyes, wears glasses and couldn’t see
+Sentinel Butte at fifty feet with a ten-power field-glass. As far as
+their clothes are concerned—eleet. The pink one got hold of my hand and
+said—
+
+“I am Orville Wellington Chatterton.”
+
+“I’m Ike Harper,” says I. “Middle name failed me in infancy.”
+
+“This gentleman is William Burton Suggs,” says he, pointing at his
+pardner.
+
+“The pleasure is all mine,” says Suggs, prospecting for my hand. “All
+mine, I assure you.”
+
+“I ain’t trying to beat yuh out of anything,” says I. “Both of yuh get
+used to Dirty Shirt Jones.”
+
+“What a peculiar middle name,” says Orvie.
+
+“Were you christened Dirty?” asks Suggs.
+
+“Likely was,” says I, and Dirty’s one bum eye made three revolutions
+before it pointed back at the end of his nose.
+
+“Gorgeous sunset,” says Orvie. “Do you have them often?”
+
+“Sunsets,” says Dirty, “occur every day hereabouts.”
+
+“Wonderful country,” applauds Suggs. “Makes one want to gambol like a
+sheep, doesn’t it?”
+
+“Sheep do not gamble,” says Dirty.
+
+“Cavort?” asks Orvie.
+
+“Never heard of it, pardner.”
+
+“I have seen pictures——”
+
+“I don’t give a dang if you have,” snorts Dirty. “Sheep do not gamble.
+Them artists don’t _sabe_ sheep.”
+
+“Are you fellers gamblers?” I asks.
+
+“Oh, not at all,” says Orvie. “Not in the least. Willie Suggs and I are
+of the literati.”
+
+“My ——!” gasps Dirty, pious-like. “Religious fanatics.”
+
+“We write books,” says Suggs.
+
+“Books? I had one once. It was called ‘The Revelations of a Countess.’ I
+loaned it to the Cross J bunch and they wore it out.”
+
+“We do not write trash,” explains Orvie.
+
+“Not at all,” agrees Suggs. “Not at all, I assure you. We are planning
+to collaborate on an adventurous theme. Primitive men and
+women—red-blooded creatures, don’t you know?”
+
+“Sons of guns,” nods Dirty. “Regular hellers, eh?”
+
+“People who know not the veneer of civilization,” says Orvie.
+
+“So,” adds Suggs, “we have decided to penetrate the dim places and live
+amid our characters, gathering a wealth of local color before starting
+our story.”
+
+“They came here to penetrate,” explains Dirty to me. “Huntin’ for a dim
+place what ain’t been veneered. My ——!”
+
+“Yes,” says Orvie, delighted-like; “to live amid the primeval hills. I
+have a pistol which will shoot five times.”
+
+He produces a .32 bulldog and gives us a peek at it.
+
+“Wait a moment until I take the cartridges out and then you may handle
+it.”
+
+He broke it open, and Dirty let out a squeak—
+
+“Aw, yuh broke its back!”
+
+“Not at all. Merely the mechanics, I assure you. Would you like to see
+it?”
+
+“Not me,” says I. “I’m afraid I might get pinched in the hinges.”
+
+“I could have purchased one that would shoot six times.”
+
+“No use addin’ insult to injury,” says Dirty.
+
+Suggs motioned Orvie to put the pistol back in his pocket and adjusts
+his specs.
+
+“Ah—er—perhaps you gentlemen could be of material assistance to us. It
+is our desire to become acquainted with a—er—outlaw.”
+
+“With a price on his head,” explains Orvie. “We wish to study him, don’t
+you see? We would get his viewpoint and an insight of his feelings—know
+how it feels to have a price on one’s head. Do I make my meaning clear?”
+
+“Uh-huh,” says Dirty. “Did you ever wear a derby hat?”
+
+“I have indeed.”
+
+“There yuh are. More uncomfortable than a price.”
+
+“But not at all descriptive,” objects Suggs. “Does not the banishment
+from society prey on his mind?”
+
+“He won’t mind if they don’t.”
+
+“I see. Perhaps not; but I would love to experience the mental emotions
+of one who has committed a crime against society. I want to feel the
+exhilaration of the chase across the hills; eluding the posse, listening
+to their exclamations of baffled rage as they find I have escaped their
+net. Ah, that would be wonderful, would it not?”
+
+“It would be,” grins Dirty; “but I reckon you’d have to fix it up with
+the posse.”
+
+“If they used bloodhounds I could strew pepper in my tracks.”
+
+“And if there was snow on the ground one could walk backward, don’t you
+know?” adds Orvie. “You see, we are familiar with a number of
+subterfuges; but we desire to get into the spirit of the thing, don’t
+you know?”
+
+“Ike,” says Dirty, “these fellers don’t want to just peek at——; they
+want to help stir the pitch. What had they better do?”
+
+“Talk to ‘Magpie’ Simpkins.”
+
+“Has he a price on his head?” asks Suggs.
+
+“If he has, nobody’d pay it; that’s a cinch,” replied Dirty.
+
+“Has he ever killed any one?”
+
+“He’s the sheriff,” says I. “He has to kill a lot of folks now and
+then.”
+
+“Very interesting,” admits Orvie. “Rather a quaint character, I would
+say. I wonder if he could introduce us to some outlaws.”
+
+“Sure he could,” says Dirty. “They’re all friends of Magpie’s.”
+
+If you don’t mind I’ll let Orvie and Suggs tell the rest of this tale. I
+reckon Orvie will do most of the telling, ’cause Suggs, being short of
+sight, might ’a’ missed some details. Mr. Orville Wellington Chatterton
+talking:—
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+There is no doubt in my mind that Willie Suggs and I were right in
+seeking local color for our stories of the Old West. College professors,
+both in this country and abroad, have commented on my ability to
+describe locale, characters, etc., but I felt at a loss when I decided
+to write of the Old West.
+
+Willie Suggs, a writer of witty dialogue—refined humor, I might
+say—agreed to collaborate with me in this effort. Reference books did
+not give us just the touch needed, so we decided to go to the source of
+information.
+
+I do not know why we chose Montana. Paradise seemed a pleasant name, so
+we purchased our transportation to this point, where we boarded a stage,
+which would take us still farther into the primeval hills.
+
+On this stage we made the acquaintance of two quaint, harmless
+characters, Mr. Jones and Mr. Harper. Mr. Jones has one eye, which is
+not all reliable, very large wrist-joints and toes inward as he walks.
+
+Mr. Harper’s eyebrows appear to have been set in a quizzical angle, and
+his pedal extremities are far from being perpendicular to his torso. I
+find that neither of them has the slightest conception of true humor,
+caused no doubt from living-conditions, as these people have no means of
+relaxation from their humdrum existence.
+
+I asked Mr. Jones where we might find a dashing cowboy, of whom we might
+write, using him as a model for our hero. Mr. Jones took up the matter
+with Mr. Harper, who told me that very few of the cowboys were doing any
+dashing this year.
+
+He also said that it was dangerous to do much dashing. He did not say
+why, but I conclude that, from the way he spoke, it is illegal.
+
+They took us down to the sheriff’s office and introduced us to Magpie
+Simpkins, who is a very tall person, with long, stringy mustaches. He
+tugged at one of these mustaches several times before shaking hands with
+us. I noted that his boots were badly run over at the heel, and the
+wrinkles of his rough shirt seemed a depositary for loose crumbs of
+tobacco. I said to him—
+
+“It is indeed a pleasure.”
+
+He rolled and lighted a cigaret before he said—
+
+“Feller is entitled to all the fun he can get out of life.”
+
+I am going to endeavor to reproduce their language as near as possible.
+Mr. Suggs said to him—
+
+“You have a wonderful country, Mr. Simpkins.”
+
+It appears that none of the trio seemed pleased over this statement. Mr.
+Simpkins said—
+
+“What for?”
+
+I confess that I did not know, and I’m sure Willie did not, but Mr.
+Harper came to our assistance by saying—
+
+“They write books.”
+
+Mr. Simpkins’ face seemed to lengthen, and his lips formed the letter
+“O,” but no sound came forth. Then his face gradually became normal
+again. Mr. Jones volunteered this ungrammatical information—
+
+“It has a gun.”
+
+I took it from my pocket, intending to let Mr. Simpkins examine it, but
+he stopped me.
+
+“Sh-h-h-h!” he said. “Don’t let any one know you’ve got it.”
+
+“Will I have to use it?” I asked.
+
+“If you get a chance.”
+
+“I should hate to kill a man with it,” said I.
+
+“I’d hate to try and kill one with it.”
+
+“What is the difference?” I asked.
+
+He shook his head and said slowly—
+
+“I don’t know; I have never been killed yet.”
+
+“How many men have you killed?” asked Willie abruptly.
+
+Mr. Simpkins’ face seemed to lengthen again and he shut his eyes as
+though in deep thought. Then he opened his eyes and looked at Mr.
+Harper.
+
+“Ike, did you check up last week?”
+
+Mr. Harper shook his head and started to explain, but Mr. Simpkins
+fairly thundered:
+
+“You’re a fine deputy! Make up that count at once.”
+
+Mr. Harper asked if he should include Indians, but Mr. Simpkins said:
+
+“Nothing less than half-breeds. Indians don’t count.”
+
+I tried to explain that I only wanted an approximate number, but he said
+that accuracy was his motto, and that he would not lie to me over such a
+small matter.
+
+I find that honesty is cultivated to an astonishing degree with these
+people. Perhaps it is on account of their childlike faith. Mr. Suggs
+asked them if they had ever heard of George Washington and the
+cherry-tree. He told them the tale, and they seemed interested. Mr.
+Jones said:
+
+“Nothing to whoop about. You ought to know ‘Chuck’ Warner.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+I was about to evince a desire to meet Mr. Warner, when a cowboy came
+in. This newcomer was of peculiar physique. His legs were altogether too
+short for the length of his body. His face reminded me of the
+aborigine—being rather long, with prominent cheekbones.
+
+His ears were very prominent. In fact, they stood out from his head as
+an animal’s ears do when seeking sounds. He looked at Mr. Suggs and
+myself, and I will give you my word, those ears moved backward and
+forward.
+
+“Chuck,” said Mr. Harper, “this is Chatterton and Suggs. Gents, this
+here apparition is Chuck Warner.”
+
+“They write books,” stated Mr. Jones.
+
+Mr. Warner’s ears waved a few times and then he said:
+
+“Shucks. I hope they’re writin’ some more ‘Countess’ stuff.”
+
+I repeated myself by saying that I did not write trash.
+
+“She was a good book,” said Mr. Warner, “but she had one bad fault.”
+
+I was glad to have a chance to test their ability to criticize
+literature; so I asked them what that fault was.
+
+“It was too —— short,” said Mr. Warner, and the rest nodded.
+
+Which I think is an unfair criticism of any book, but I suspect they
+have little to read, and length is a consideration. I said to Mr.
+Warner:
+
+“These gentlemen have recommended you very highly as a model of
+veracity. In fact they have compared you with the immortal Washington.
+Mr. Suggs and I would like to associate with you, with the idea in mind
+of incorporating your character in our great story of the West.”
+
+He stared at me for a long time, wiggling his ears all the while, and
+then he looked at Messrs. Jones, Simpkins and Harper. I am going to
+write this as near as possible to his actual words, although I can not
+depict the voice:
+
+“My ——! Here’s the best chance I ever had, and I’m scared of myself.”
+
+Then he turned and walked out of the door. It was a psychological moment
+for him. He realized that this was his opportunity to be immortalized in
+prose, but he shrank from the ordeal. Human nature is like that, I
+think.
+
+I told them my opinion, and I think Mr. Simpkins shed tears. It is
+distressing to see a man cry—a strong man, who kills men without a
+qualm. Mr. Jones did not cry, but his affected optic seemed to shuttle
+back and forth before becoming fixed at a certain point.
+
+Mr. Harper turned away and appeared to be interested in a piece of
+printed matter, but just to illustrate his emotions—the printed matter
+was upside down. Mr. Suggs said it was one of the most touching things
+he had ever experienced.
+
+I told Mr. Simpkins that I wanted to meet a noted outlaw—one with a
+large price on his head.
+
+“You and me both,” said Mr. Simpkins.
+
+Mr. Jones had walked over by the door, and now he turned and said to me—
+
+“There’s the man you’re looking for.”
+
+I walked to the door. Across the street a man was dismounting from a
+horse.
+
+“Greatest sheep-thief in the world,” said Mr. Jones. “I’ll bet he can
+tell you things you won’t find in books.”
+
+“Who is it, Dirty Shirt?” asked Mr. Simpkins.
+
+“‘Jay-Bird,’” was Mr. Jones’ reply.
+
+Mr. Simpkins repeated the name chokingly.
+
+“Will you introduce us?” I asked.
+
+It seems that my question surprized Mr. Jones, for he said:
+
+“I will not. He has sworn to shoot me on sight.”
+
+This information thrilled me. It was life in the rough. I asked him if
+it would be safe to approach this outlaw, and he said the safest way
+would be to carry my gun in my hand to show that I was prepared, as a
+sheep-thief never shoots any one except unarmed men, so he said.
+
+Willie Suggs was eager to meet this Jay-Bird person, so we excused
+ourselves and hurried over across the street and went inside the place.
+
+We found this Jay-Bird standing at a long counter, talking with a number
+of rough men. Mr. Warner was sitting on a table, smoking, and when he
+saw us he turned away. He seemed to be sitting on his right hand.
+
+I carried my new gun in my right hand. This Jay-Bird person is really
+fierce of aspect. I touched him on the shoulder, and he turned just as
+he was about to imbibe some liquid from a small glass. He stared at us
+and then down at the gun in my hand. I said—
+
+“I want you to understand that we are not policemen.”
+
+He looked at the glass of liquor and then at himself in the big mirror.
+Then he placed the glass on the counter and said—
+
+“I think my sins have found me out.”
+
+I said—very kindly, I think—
+
+“I want you to understand that personally we do not care how many sheep
+you have stolen.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+I am at a loss to describe what happened, for the reason that I do not
+know. When I awoke I found that I was sitting on the ground with my back
+against sort of a trough affair, and Mr. Warner was laving my face with
+water, which he was pouring from a boot. Mr. Suggs was sitting in the
+same position, with his hands folded on his lap. I said to Mr. Warner—
+
+“Was any one else saved?”
+
+He said something about quite a lot of them getting away alive.
+
+“It was a dreadful calamity,” said Willie Suggs, and his voice sounded
+far away. “Some powerful explosive, I presume.”
+
+“I am thankful to have gotten away with my life,” said I.
+
+“I am not sure about mine,” replied Willie. “At times I think I am not
+going to recover my equilibrium.”
+
+“I reckon you got Jay-Bird’s goat,” said Mr. Warner.
+
+Willie said he was sorry that a dumb animal should suffer. I asked Mr.
+Warner what really happened, and he said it was beyond his descriptive
+powers. I think he has little imagination.
+
+Mr. Jones and Mr. Harper came over to us, and Mr. Jones said that we had
+better quit and call it a day. It was getting dark.
+
+Mr. Jones took us over and introduced us to a Mr. Samuel Holt, who owns
+the hotel. Mr. Jones told us that Mr. Holt was a good old Injun, but he
+did not resemble one in the least. We procured a room. I have read
+considerable about the American Indian, and I never look down upon any
+race, regardless of color. I wished to be friendly with Mr. Holt, so I
+asked—
+
+“Have you any papooses?”
+
+He did not seem to understand.
+
+“Have you any papooses?” I cried very loudly. “Indian children?”
+
+There were several cowboys coming out of the dining-room when I asked
+the question. I know that Mr. Holt understood, or at least I think he
+did.
+
+He stooped down behind the counter and when he came up he had a
+two-barreled gun in his hands. Then he slowly laid the gun down. I
+noticed that Mr. Jones had a pistol in his hand and it was pointing at
+Mr. Holt. Mr. Jones said—
+
+“Have a little sense, Sam.”
+
+We went up-stairs, and as we went I saw the cowboys come up to the
+counter. Mr. Holt was watching us go up. One of the cowboys began a
+peculiar dance around the room, and at each step he would grunt—
+
+“Hy-yah, hy-yah, hy-yah!”
+
+It seemed to amuse the others—except Mr. Holt.
+
+Mr. Jones took us to a room. I asked him why Mr. Holt was angered at my
+question, and he said that Mr. Holt had so many papooses that it made
+him angry when anybody asked him how many he had. Mr. Jones went away
+after bidding us goodnight.
+
+Willie was very thoughtful for a while, and then he said that we really
+should go down and apologize to Mr. Holt. He said that it was the only
+decent thing to do. I agreed with him.
+
+We went back down the stairs and found Mr. Holt and three other
+gentlemen playing cards in the hotel office. I started to speak to Mr.
+Holt, and just then several more men came in. I waited until they come
+up to us, and then I said:
+
+“Mr. Holt, my friend Mr. William Burton Suggs and myself have decided to
+make a public apology to you. I asked you a very personal question a
+short time ago, and I wish to apologize for it.
+
+“I did not know at the time that you were the father of so many
+papooses, or I would have never spoken as I did. Although you are a
+proud Indian I hope you will accept this apology from a white man.”
+
+Mr. Holt got to his feet very slowly and faced me. I put out my hand to
+shake hands with him when something seemed to hit me right between the
+eyes, and when I quit rolling I was almost to the door. Then I heard a
+voice cry, “Run, you —— fool!” and the form of William Burton Suggs
+hurdled over me, evidently intending to go out of the door; but poor
+Willie is a trifle nearsighted and mistook the window for the door. I
+heard the crash of glass, and then came two thunderous reports. Missiles
+seemed to rain all around me, and I tumbled outside.
+
+I know I ran and ran until some one caught me. It was Mr. Warner.
+
+“Where is Willie?” I asked. “William Burton Suggs?”
+
+“I heard a splash,” said Mr. Warner. “I think Willie fell into Pete
+Gonyer’s horsetrough.”
+
+“He can not swim!” I panted.
+
+Just then we heard Willie crying:
+
+“Assistance! Assistance! Will no one assist me?”
+
+“He is drowning!” I gasped.
+
+“Well,” said Mr. Warner, “if he is he has a different way of drowning
+than most folks.”
+
+We found Willie sitting in about three inches of water. He had lost his
+glasses and his hat, and his coat was split from the bottom to a point
+very near his collar.
+
+Mr. Warner asked me what had happened, and I told him of the apology. I
+told him what Mr. Jones had said. I do not know what Mr. Warner meant
+when he said—
+
+“I reckon I better hump myself or Dirty Shirt will have me beat four
+ways from the jack.”
+
+“But I am still in ignorance!” wailed Willie.
+
+“Cinch,” replied Mr. Warner.
+
+Just then Mr. Simpkins came along. He asked Mr. Warner what the trouble
+was, and Mr. Warner told him of the apology to Mr. Holt. Mr. Simpkins
+did not say anything, so I said—
+
+“I know I shall never apologize to an Indian again.”
+
+“I am all wet,” declared Willie, “all except my head, and I fear that my
+head is fearfully injured.”
+
+“Lucky for you,” said Mr. Warner. “You might have stubbed your toe and
+hurt yourself.”
+
+“I will not go back to that hotel,” I declared. “I will sleep in a
+gutter before I will go back there.”
+
+“Let ’em sleep in the jail, Magpie,” suggested Mr. Warner. “It will be
+an experience for them. Got anybody in there?”
+
+“‘Scissorbill’ Seeley and ‘Cinch’ Cooley.”
+
+“I thought you sent them to the pen.”
+
+“Tomorrow. Sure you fellers can sleep in the jail if yuh want to. I’ve
+got a couple in there now, but they’re in a different room.”
+
+“Did they insult somebody?” asked Willie.
+
+“Nope—just a pair of honest horse-thieves.”
+
+“Can a horse-thief be honest?” asked Willie.
+
+“As long as he minds his own business,” says Mr. Warner.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was surely a novel experience to sleep in a jail. There were two
+narrow cots, but no other furniture. After Mr. Simpkins and Mr. Warner
+were gone I said to Willie—
+
+“Now is our chance to visualize the feelings of men who are incarcerated
+for crime.”
+
+From the next room came a voice saying:
+
+“My ——, Scissorbill, somebody opened the booktionary!”
+
+We did not say anything for a while, and then I said—
+
+“I beg your pardon, gentlemen; but are you the pair of honest
+horse-thieves Mr. Simpkins spoke about?”
+
+“The only two in captivity,” said a voice.
+
+“Orville, here is our chance,” whispered Willie. “These are _bona-fide_
+horse-thieves, and this is an opportunity we have wished for. Let us
+converse with them.”
+
+We went out into the main room and up to their door. The upper half of
+the door is a series of iron bars. The moment I saw them I was
+delighted. Types! I give you my word of honor, I have never seen such
+types.
+
+They were delighted to see us. I told them what we were doing. Mr.
+Cooley spoke feelingly of literature. Asked him if he knew any of the
+great authors. He said he was very familiar with Sears and Roebuck. I
+have never heard of them. In fact, up to the present time, I have cared
+little for collaborators.
+
+Mr. Seeley said it was a shame that we couldn’t all sit down together,
+but the door was locked. I offered to find Mr. Simpkins and have him
+open the door, but Mr. Cooley said it was too much bother. Then he told
+me where he thought I could find the key, and sure enough it was
+there—in a drawer of the sheriff’s desk.
+
+We went in and sat down. Mr. Seeley asked us if we wouldn’t like some
+refreshments, and I said that I surely would, as I had neglected to eat
+any dinner. They were very thoughtful. Mr. Cooley said that he and Mr.
+Seeley would go out and get us all something to eat and drink. I thanked
+them kindly.
+
+They shut the door and went out. Willie was near the door, and after
+they went out the office door he said to me—
+
+“Orville, this must be a very primitive place.”
+
+I asked him why, and he said:
+
+“Well, they each took a gun from the cabinet behind the sheriff’s desk.
+Queer, don’t you think, that a man should arm himself when going after
+refreshments?”
+
+I said, “They must know what they are doing, William.”
+
+We sat there waiting for at least an hour. There was only one lamp in
+the place. It was suspended from the center of the room. It began to get
+dim and finally flickered out, leaving us in darkness.
+
+“I do not think we did quite right in letting those men out of here,”
+observed Willie.
+
+“Somehow I seem to have an idea that Mr. Simpkins will be displeased.”
+
+I said: “Well, they will surely be back. Their honesty seems
+unquestioned.”
+
+But they did not return, so we decided to go back to our own room, but
+were unable to, as the door was locked from the outside. It must have
+been one of those spring locks which lock automatically. It was of no
+great concern, as the rooms seem to be very much alike; so we undressed
+and went to bed.
+
+I do not know what time of night it was when I awoke. I know it was
+very, very dark, but I could sense the presence of human beings. I heard
+a voice say, very softly—
+
+“If they make a yelp—bend a gun over their heads.”
+
+I mentally decided not to utter a sound. William Burton Suggs was
+snoring, unmindful of it all.
+
+I was tempted to rouse him and convey a warning for silence, but decided
+to let him remain as he was. Oftentimes one will cry out on being
+aroused, and I knew that Willie would shrink from having a gun bent over
+his head.
+
+I still had my gun; but I have no desire to shoot in the dark, so I did
+not take it from my pocket. It seemed that the room was full of men,
+although I could not see any of them. I heard one of them say:
+
+“Rattle your hocks a little. Don’t take all night to open one little
+door.”
+
+Just then came a splintering sound, and some one said—
+
+“It’s —— funny that they don’t wake up.”
+
+And then another said—
+
+“Betcha forty dollars they ain’t here.”
+
+Then the room seemed to fill up with men. One of them grasped me by the
+throat. I am not used to such treatment, don’t you know, so I struck him
+viciously. I know he swore.
+
+Then I heard Willie Suggs scream, and my blood turned cold. The blood of
+my ancestors boiled in my veins, and I fought—a little. I dimly heard a
+voice saying—
+
+“This is one pair of horse-thieves that won’t cost the tax-payers
+anything.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+It suddenly struck me that there had been a mistake made, but the rope
+around my neck prevented me from exposing their error. I had one free
+arm, and it suddenly struck me that I might attract their attention by
+using my gun.
+
+Gasping for breath, I drew my gun and pressed the trigger. I heard a
+voice swear in my ear; some one crashed into me and then I fired once
+more. I heard some one yell—
+
+“Where did that —— fool get a gun?”
+
+I tried to tell him, but just then I appeared to be yanked upside down
+and felt myself being dragged across the floor and out into the night.
+Men were running around, and I may also add that I have never heard so
+much profanity before. Dimly I heard a man say:
+
+“Put ’em both on that sorrel! Rattle your hocks! That —— gun has woke
+everybody up!”
+
+I felt myself lifted on to a horse, which was surging and snorting, and
+then some ropes seemed to grasp my ankles.
+
+The pressure on my throat was relieved. I reached out with my hands and
+grasped a man who seemed to be sitting in front of me. Just then I heard
+a yell:
+
+“Hit the grit! Here they come!”
+
+Some one struck the horse, a man yelled a curse, and a gun was fired.
+Several horses seemed to crash into us, and then began a strange voyage
+in the dark, accompanied by yells and the sound of pistol-shots.
+
+At the first sudden movement of our horse my nose came in sharp contact
+with the back of my companion’s head. I give you my word of honor that
+if I ever have occasion to strike a man it will not be on the nose.
+
+For a few moments I did not take much heed. I know that I lost my
+customary poise. In fact, the erratic movements of that horse
+disconcerted me greatly. From where I sat it was impossible to judge
+which way we were going, because the horse did not seem to have any
+definite objective point.
+
+I feel sure that if it were not for the confining ropes I would have
+escaped. As it was there was just enough slack to cause me discomfort.
+
+I caught a glimpse of the lighted street as we passed through. Men were
+running and shouting, trying no doubt to attract my attention, but
+whether they did or not I really can’t say, as the party in front of me
+seemed to delight in swaying back and bruising my sore nose.
+
+I started to call his attention to this matter, but he hit me again and
+drove the words from my lips.
+
+Then we left the city behind. I was holding both hands before my nose as
+a protection from the brute in front of me, when suddenly the horse gave
+an extra severe lunge, and I seemed to feel nothing under me except
+vacant atmosphere.
+
+Then came a terrific crash, which completely squelched me, if I may use
+that word. I do not know how long I lay there, but it seemed years. A
+great weight seemed to press down upon my chest, which interfered with
+my respiration.
+
+I tried to struggle to a sitting position, but was unable to move. Then
+I said aloud—
+
+“Orville Wellington Chatterton, I greatly fear that your usefulness to
+mankind is over.”
+
+“Ditto for William Burton Suggs,” said a voice weakly, and the weight
+seemed to slide from my chest.
+
+“Willie!” I gasped. “Are you here?”
+
+“Well,” he replied, and his voice fairly croaked, “it is a debatable
+point, Orville. I am here in spirit, but there is a serious doubt in my
+mind as to the flesh. Are you hurt?”
+
+“I am not,” I replied with difficulty. “Either I am uninjured or I am
+completely paralyzed.”
+
+I moved my legs and immediately discovered that it was not paralysis. My
+nose was swollen to twice its natural size, and one of my eyes appeared
+quite useless. I asked Willie where our horse had gone, and he said that
+he did not know, but that it may have gone straight up. I told him that
+horses were not capable of going straight up, and he said, very
+vehemently, that this was an entirely capable horse.
+
+“It did quite well in that respect with our weight on its back,” said
+Willie, “so I can see no reason why it could not accomplish its purpose
+after we were no longer astride its back.”
+
+I said—
+
+“Are you trying to be funny?”
+
+“If you think it is funny, Orville, you have weird ideas of humor. I was
+merely disputing your ideas of natural history.”
+
+“But,” said I, “it is an indisputable fact——”
+
+I am not going to quote Willie’s interruption, because it was very, very
+profane. I did not think it of him.
+
+We struggled to our feet and examined our surroundings as well as we
+could in the dark, but could see no lights.
+
+“I am sure I do not know where to go,” said Willie.
+
+“I have not asked you for a direction, have I?” said I. “I think I am
+entirely capable of finding a place.”
+
+“If I had a hat I’d take it off to you, Orville. Lead on.”
+
+Thus challenged, I started out, with Willie at my heels. In the daytime
+one may find a certain direction by consulting the sun. I have heard
+that woodmen can tell the compass points by the foliage of trees. We had
+no sun and no trees. We were fortunate, I think, to go in any direction.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+We went silently and slowly. In the dim light I could see darker mounds
+around us. It was very peculiar. I stopped and mentioned the fact to
+Willie, who said:
+
+“The topography of the country has little appeal to me. I am going to
+cry for help.”
+
+William Burton Suggs had a very penetrating voice, and his cry for help
+was loud and earnest. We listened for a reply.
+
+Suddenly Willie grasped me by the arm.
+
+“Orville, the peculiar lumps are getting up!”
+
+They were, sure enough! They not only got up, but seemed to draw closer
+to us. One of them made a low grumbling noise.
+
+“I think,” said Willie nervously, clutching my sleeve, “I think it is
+cows—I—er—I believe those are cows.”
+
+Another of the bulky figures emitted a sneezing noise, and then another
+said—
+
+“Ba-a-a-a!”
+
+Then they moved in closer.
+
+“They have nothing against us,” said I, trying to reassure Willie.
+
+“I—I know that,” said Willie, “but it is so dark that they do not know
+who we are.”
+
+I looked around, but found that we were hemmed in completely. In fact,
+it was a veritable cow _cul de sac_.
+
+“Sh-should one pray?” asked Willie.
+
+I believe in prayer, but I think there is a right and a wrong time for
+it. Anyway my nerves were too unstrung for cool and collected thought,
+and before I knew what I was doing I had rushed right at the barrier of
+cows, shouting:
+
+“Boo! Boo! Boo!”
+
+I really did not know I was so close to them. Darkness is deceiving, I
+think, and I crashed into the front end of one of the animals as I
+uttered my final “Boo!”
+
+I am not sure, but I think the animal was unable to escape my rush. At
+any rate my coat became entangled in its horns, which prevented me from
+withdrawing. I heard William Burton Suggs cry for help, but I was in no
+position to give assistance to any one.
+
+My cow—I will call it my cow to differentiate it from the other cows,
+although I had no legal title to ownership—my cow, instead of going away
+from me, came forward, with such force and abruptness that I sprawled
+across its neck and horns. The skin of its neck was sufficiently loose
+to enable me to grasp its folds firmly, and then I appeared to be
+moving, although I had no idea of whether the cow was going backward or
+forward.
+
+I succeeded in lifting my head and I beheld a sea of dark forms moving
+with us. The earth seemed to tremble with their tread, and ever and anon
+one of them would moan loudly. Suddenly I heard a human voice crying—
+
+“Yee-e-e-e-ow!”
+
+And I glimpsed the flash of a pistol, but heard no report. Then I heard
+another voice crying—
+
+“Let ’em go to——; we can’t stop ’em!”
+
+I am not sure but what the cows went to the designated place, for
+suddenly the ground gave way under us. I remember feeling my hands slip
+and hearing the tearing sound from my coat, and then there came a bright
+light. I really remember nothing more for some time.
+
+When I awoke I appeared to be reclining in some very sticky substance,
+which emitted a sucking noise as I sat up. I believe it was mud. I did
+not have complete control of my limbs, and my nose and ears seemed to be
+entirely out of commission. Stumbling around in the ooze, I discovered
+what I took to be a stump; but when I sat down on it it collapsed with
+an audible grunt.
+
+“Who and what are you?” I managed to ask.
+
+“I am William Burton Suggs,” says he dazedly. “I think I am a —— fool.”
+
+“Why are you?” I asked.
+
+“Because I did not let loose of that cow’s tail before the cow jumped
+off the earth.”
+
+“Well,” said I, “I think we are in a depression in the earth, Willie.
+Let us get back to the town if possible, and procure dry clothing.”
+
+Willie grunted an assent and we made our first attempt. No less than
+seven times did I almost reach the top, only to slide down and half-bury
+myself in that sticky mud. The eighth time I was successful.
+
+I think that Willie made it on his first attempt. At any rate he called
+across to me and asked what I was doing on that side. I said, “Nothing.”
+Then he made this suggestion:
+
+“If you will run down your side the momentum will carry you up this
+side.”
+
+The theory was very good, and it would have worked if I had not slipped
+on the downward run. My head and shoulders plowed into the mud, but I
+got to my feet and marched right up to him. I fear that I was
+exasperated, but I said nothing.
+
+It was getting lighter now, but we had no idea of the right direction.
+Neither of us was in any condition to walk. I was barely able to see,
+and I ached in every muscle.
+
+Willie was nearly as badly mutilated as I was, especially in the limbs.
+He said it was caused from keeping up with the cow. He also said there
+was another cow close behind him, which prodded him to swifter action.
+He said it was what he would call a “cowpuncher.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Suddenly we entered a clump of small trees, and right before us stood
+two horses, saddled and bridled. There was no one in sight.
+
+“I think,” said Willie, “I think this is a pair of abandoned horses,
+Orville. We will ride.”
+
+“Perhaps you are right,” I replied. “But suppose they are not? We would
+be horse-thieves.”
+
+“Precisely. It is a chance to experience the mental emotions of a
+horse-thief. At any rate I can walk no further.”
+
+We untied the ropes. It was a difficult matter to get on the horses, as
+they were rather restive, but at last I succeeded in getting on behind
+the saddle. Just then we heard a voice exclaim——
+
+“What in ——!”
+
+And then another voice—
+
+“Let ’em go, Cinch!”
+
+Our horses needed no urging. I clung to the rear of that saddle with
+both hands and onward we went. I could see Willie humped up on his
+horse, and then I passed him. Suddenly I seemed to hear a peculiar sound
+past my ear. It was sort of a _pwee-e-e-e_, and I seemed to hear the
+report of a gun.
+
+I turned my head. Behind me thundered William Burton Suggs on his horse,
+while seemingly from all directions came riders. There were numerous
+puffs of smoke, and a number of bees seemed to pass my head.
+
+It seemed as if one of the bees stung my horse, for it nearly unseated
+me for a moment. I clung tightly to the saddle and let the horse pick
+its own way. Once I looked back and the riders seemed to be gaining a
+little.
+
+I do not know how far we rode before I lifted my head and saw the town
+of Piperock just ahead of me. Willie’s horse had increased its speed
+until we were almost side by side. Behind us came the riders.
+
+The town seemed aroused. Several men ran into the street, and one of
+them seemed to be waving something. This, later on, appeared to be a
+rope.
+
+My horse swerved as if to pass them, but evidently thought better of it,
+and the next thing I knew my horse was dashing right for the open door
+of a business place. This appeared ridiculous, did it not? Perhaps the
+horse thought it was a stable. At any rate we went inside, and Willie’s
+horse followed us in.
+
+I do not know just what happened, but I seemed to get a momentary
+glimpse of the place, which showed it to have been the same place where
+I had questioned Jay-Bird, and then my horse struck the stove, I think,
+and I struck the top of the rear door as I fairly flew outside.
+
+No, I was not injured—that is, I was not hurt. I felt no pain. I got to
+my feet, which did not feel at all like my feet, and started away on
+legs that I am sure did not belong to me, when something seemed to coil
+around my body and I was flung down. I dimly heard a voice say—
+
+“This ain’t neither of them, Magpie.”
+
+And then another voice said—
+
+“If yuh wash the alkali mud off this one I think you’ll find Orvie
+underneath.”
+
+Somebody swore very profanely, and then another voice said:
+
+“The other —— fool went plumb through Buck’s mirror. He’s got seven
+years of bad luck comin’ to him.”
+
+“If this hunk of mud ever gets its voice back I’ve got a few questions
+to ask it,” stated a voice, which I think belonged to Mr. Simpkins.
+
+“Do yuh reckon that bunch tried to lynch these two, thinkin’ they was
+Cinch and Scissorbill?” asked a voice.
+
+“If they did they ought to be sent up for not makin’ a good job of it.”
+
+Then everything seemed to fade away. I do not know what happened in the
+interim. It was very much like the moving picture, where a lapse of time
+is shown. One never knows what the characters have been doing during
+this time. At any rate, I awoke and stared around.
+
+I was sitting on a seat, and beside me was something which I knew must
+be William Burton Suggs, although he did not look so much like William.
+On the seat ahead of us sat the man who drove the stage when we came in.
+Standing on the sidewalk were a number of men; among them were Mr.
+Harper, Mr. Simpkins, Mr. Warner and Mr. Jones.
+
+“He’s awake now, so yuh can take the ropes off,” said Mr. Simpkins.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+I looked down and beheld my hands and feet tied with rope, which
+extended behind me and was tied to the rear of the seat. Mr. Jones began
+unfastening the knots.
+
+“Why was I tied?” I asked, and my voice did not sound at all familiar to
+me.
+
+“You was loco,” explained Mr. Jones. “You had a idea you wanted to rob a
+bank.”
+
+“You sure are a hog for action, feller,” said Mr. Simpkins. “You turned
+two of the worst horse-thieves in the county loose, almost got lynched
+by mistake, took them same horse-thieves’ horses away from right under
+their noses when we had ’em surrounded; ducked about fifty pounds of hot
+lead and wrecked a saloon.”
+
+“And then insisted on robbin’ a bank,” grinned Mr. Warner, wiggling his
+ears.
+
+“Where are we going now?” I asked.
+
+“Out!” said Mr. Simpkins, pointing down the road. “If yuh simply must
+write stories—stay at home, in the house.”
+
+“But,” I objected, “one must have experience——”
+
+“Don’t come here,” said Mr. Simpkins. “This ain’t no place for to get
+experience.”
+
+“The feller what wrote ‘The Revelations of a Countess’ didn’t have
+experience,” said Mr. Warner. “He used his imagination.”
+
+“I—I think,” said Willie, “I think that is sufficient.”
+
+“It sure as —— was for us,” nodded Mr. Jones.
+
+“Shake a hoof, broncs!” cried the driver, and we went out of the West—a
+very peculiar place, and utterly devoid, I think, of romance. I said to
+William Burton Suggs:
+
+“Willie, could you describe any of the emotions, feelings, etc., that
+you experienced?”
+
+“Yes,” said he, very thoughtful. “Yes, I can, Orville.”
+
+For a while he was silent as the stage rocked along over the dusty road.
+Then he grimaced with pain and said—
+
+“Slow recovery from complete paralysis.”
+
+I said—
+
+“Please do not explain it.”
+
+I wanted to find out the sensation for myself.
+
+
+[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in Adventure Magazine,
+August 3, 1921. It is believed to be in the public domain in the
+United States; copyright status may differ in other countries.]
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78970 ***