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diff --git a/78970-0.txt b/78970-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c0d41c0 --- /dev/null +++ b/78970-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1087 @@ +*** 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 *** |