Faro Nell and Her Friends: Wolfville Stories
by Alfred Henry Lewis · English · Gutenberg #29485 · 395,062 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Faro Nell and Her Friends: Wolfville Stories
Author: Alfred Henry Lewis
Illustrator: W. Herbert Dunton
J. N. Marchand
Release date: July 22, 2009 [eBook #29485]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/29485
Credits: Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FARO NELL AND HER FRIENDS: WOLFVILLE STORIES ***
Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: WE MAKES FOUR TRIPS BACK AND FORTH BETWEEN WOLFVILLE AND
RED DOG, CRACKIN' OFF OUR GOOD OLD '45'S AT IRREG'LAR INTERVALS, FARO
NELL ON HER CALICO PONY AS THE GODDESS OF LIBERTY, BUSTIN' AWAY WITH THE
REST. Frontispiece. p. 170.]
FARO NELL AND HER FRIENDS
WOLFVILLE STORIES
BY
ALFRED HENRY LEWIS
AUTHOR OF "WOLFVILLE," "WOLFVILLE DAYS," "WOLFVILLE NIGHTS," "WOLFVILLE
FOLKS," "THE BOSS," "THE SUNSET TRAIL," "THE APACHES OF
NEW YORK," "THE STORY OF PAUL JONES," ETC.
ILLUSTRATIONS BY
W. HERBERT DUNTON AND J. N. MARCHAND
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
Copyright, 1913, By
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY
Faro Nell and Her Friends
THIS BOOK
IS DEDICATED TO
WILLIAM EUGENE LEWIS
AS MARKING
MY APPRECIATION OF
WHAT QUALITIES PLACE HIM HIGH
AMONG THE BEST EDITORS
BEST BROTHERS AND BEST MEN
I'VE EVER MET
A. H. L.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I DEAD SHOT BAKER 7
II OLD MAN ENRIGHT'S UNCLE 39
III CYNTHIANA, PET-NAMED ORIGINAL SIN 61
IV OLD MONTE, OFFICIAL DRUNKARD 99
V HOW THE MOCKING BIRD WAS WON 126
VI THAT WOLFVILLE-RED DOG FOURTH 148
VII PROPRIETY PRATT, HYPNOTIST 176
VIII THAT TURNER PERSON 198
IX RED MIKE 225
X HOW TUTT SHOT TEXAS THOMPSON 260
XI THE FUNERAL OF OLD HOLT 295
XII SPELLING BOOK BEN 320
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
We makes four trips back and forth between Wolfville and Red
Dog, crackin' off our good old '45's at irreg'lar
intervals, Faro Nell on her calico pony as the Goddess of
Liberty, bustin' away with the rest. . . . Frontispiece 170
We're all discussin' the doin's of this yere road-agent when
Dan gets back from Red-Dog, an' the result is he unloads
his findin's on a dead kyard. 18
Dead Shot stops short at this hitch in the discussion, by
reason of a bullet from the Lightin' Bug's pistol which
lodges in his lung. 28
The second evening Old Stallins is with us, Dan Boggs an'
Texas Thompson uplifts his aged sperits with the "Love
Dance of the Catamounts." 42
"It's you, Oscar, that I want," observes Miss Bark. "I
concloodes, upon sober second thought, to accept your
offer of marriage." 90
A couple of Enright's riders comes a packin' a live bobcat
into town. 118
Turkey Track, seein' he's afoot an' thirty miles from his home
ranch pulls his gun an' sticks up the mockin' bird's
buckboard. 138
We sees the Turner person aboard an' wishes him all kinds of
luck. 222
"What's the subject?" Peets asks. "That, my friend, is the
'Linden in October,'" returns Mike, as though he's a
showin' us a picture of Heaven's front gate. 238
"Him an' Annalinda shore do constitoote a picture. 'Thar's a
pa'r to draw to,' says Nell to Texas, her eyes like brown
diamonds." 280
Thar's a bombardment which sounds like a battery of gatlings,
the whole punctchooated by a whirlwind of "whoops!" 316
"Onless girls is barred," declares Faro Nell, from her perch
on the chair "I've a notion to take a hand." 336
FARO NELL AND HER FRIENDS
I
DEAD SHOT BAKER
"Which you never knows Dead Shot Baker?"
This, from the old cattleman, with a questioning glance my way.
"No? Well, you shore misses knowin' a man! Still, it ain't none so
strange neither; even Wolfville's acquaintance with Dead Shot's only
what you-all might call casyooal, him not personally lastin' more'n
three months.
"This yere Dead Shot has a wife. Thar's women you don't want to see
ontil you're tired, an' women you don't want to see ontil you're
rested, an' women you don't want to see no how--don't want to see at
all. This wife of Dead Shot's belongs with the latter bunch.
"Last evenin' I'm readin' whar one of them philosophic sports asserts
that women, that a-way, is shore the sublimation of the oncertain.
That's how he lays it down; an' he never hedges the bluff for so much
as a single chip. He insists that you can't put a bet on women; that
you can bet on hosses or kyards or 'lections, but not on women--women
bein' too plumb oncertain. As I reads along, I can't he'p feelin' that
somehow this philosophic party must have knowed Dead Shot's wife.
"The first time we-all ever sees Dead Shot, he comes trackin' into the
Red Light one evenin' jest after the stage rolls up. Bein' it's
encroachin' on second drink time, he sidles up to the bar; an' then,
his manner some diffident an' apol'getic, he says:
"'Gents, do you-all feel like a little licker, that a-way?'
"It bein' imp'lite to reefuse, we assembles within strikin' distance
of the bottles Black Jack is slammin' the len'th of the counter, an'
begins spillin' out our forty drops. At this he turns even more
apol'getic.
"'Which I trusts,' he says, 'that no one'll mind much if I takes
water?'
"Of course no one minds. Wolfville don't make no speshulty of forcin'
whiskey onto no gent who's disinclined. If they prefers water, we
encourages 'em.
"'An' for this yere reason,' expounds Boggs, once when he ondertakes
to explain the public attitoode towards water to some inquirin'
tenderfoot--'an' for this partic'lar reason: Arizona is a dry an' arid
clime; an' water drinkers bein' a cur'ous rarity, we admires to keep a
spec'men or two buck-jumpin' about, so's to study their habits.'
"As we picks up our glasses, Dead Shot sets to introdoocin' himse'f.
"'My name, gents,' he says, 'is Baker, Abner Baker. The Wells-Fargo
folks sends me down yere from Santa Fe to ride shotgun for 'em.'
"The name's plenty s'fficient. It's him who goes to a showdown with
them three road agents who lays for the stage over in a spur of the
Black Range back of San Marcial, an' hives the three. That battle
saves the company $200,000; an', they're that pleased with Dead Shot's
industry, they skins the company's bankroll for a bundle of money the
size of a roll of blankets, an' gives it to him by way of reward.
It's the talk of the two territories.
"While we-all knows Dead Shot when he speaks his name, none of us lets
on. It's ag'inst ettiquette in the southwest to know more of a gent
than what he tells himse'f.
"'So water's all you samples?' puts in Texas Thompson, as we stands
an' drinks.
"'It's like this,' explains Dead Shot, appealin' round with his eye.
'You see I can't drink nosepaint none, an' drink successful.'
"'Shore,' observes Faro Nell, who's takin' her diminyootive toddy
right at Dead Shot's elbow; 'thar's gents so organized that to go
givin' 'em licker is like tryin' to play a harp with a hammer.'
"That's me,' exclaims Dead Shot; 'that's me, Miss, every time. Give me
a spoonful, an' I deemands a bar'l. After which, thar ain't no se'f
respectin' camp that'll stand for my game.'
"'I savvys what you means,' says Tutt; 'I reecalls in my own case how,
on the hocks of mebby it's the ninth drink--which this is years an'
years ago, though--I mistakes a dem'crat primary for a Methodist
praise meetin', an' comes ramblin' in an' offers to lead in pra'r.
Which I carries the scars to this day.'
"'Which is why, Dave,' interjecks Cherokee Hall, in hopes of settin'
Tutt to pitchin' on his p'litical rope, him bein' by nacher a
oncompromisin' reepublican that a-way--'which is why you always holds
dem'crats so low.'
"'But I don't hold 'em low,' protests Tutt. 'Thar's heaps to be said
for dem'crats, leastwise for the sort that's pesterin' 'round in the
country I hails from.'
"'What be your dem'crats like, Dave?' Texas urges. 'Which I wants to
see if they're same as the kind I cuts the trail of down about
Laredo.'
"'Well,' returns Tutt, 'simply hittin' the high places, them dem'crats
by which I'm born surrounded chews tobacco, sw'ars profoosely, drinks
mighty exhaustive, hates niggers, an' some of 'em can read.'
"'That deescription goes for Laredo, too,' Texas allows. 'This yere
jedge, who gives my wife her divorce that time, an' sets the sheriff
to sellin' up my steers for costs an' al'mony, is a dem'crat. What you
says, Dave, is the merest picture of that joorist.'
"'I expects my wife'll come rackin' along _poco tiempo,'_ Dead Shot
remarks, after a pause. 'I'm yere as advance gyard to sling things
into shape.'
"It's as good as a toone of music to see how softly his face lights
up. He's as big an' wide an' thick an' strong as Boggs, an' yet it's
plain as paint that this yere wife of his, whoever she is, can jest
nacherally make curl-papers of him.
"That mention of a wife as usual sets Texas to growlin'.
"'Thar you be, Dan!' I overhears him whisper, same as if he's been
ill-treated; 'the instant this Dead-Shot says "Water" I'm onto it that
he's a married man. Water an' matrimony goes hand in hand.'
"'Now I don't see why none?' retorts Boggs.
"'Because water's weakenin'. Feed a sport on water, an' it's a cinch
he falls a prey to the first female who ropes at him.'
"'Thar's Dave,' Boggs argyoos, noddin' towards Tutt. 'Ain't he
drinkin' that time he weds Tucson Jennie?'
"'Dave's the exception. Also, you-all remembers them circumstances,
Dan. Dave don't marry Jennie; Jennie simply ups an' has him.'
"'All the same,' contends Boggs, 'I don't regyard Dead Shot's sobriety
as no drawback. Thar's lots of folks who's cap'ble of bein' sober an'
sociable at one an' the same time.'
"These yere low-voiced wranglin's between Texas an' Boggs is off to
one side. Meanwhile, the gen'ral confab proceeds.
"'You ain't been long hooked up?' says Doc Peets, addressin' Dead
Shot.
"'About a year. She's in the stage that time I has the trouble with
them hold-ups in the Black Range, an' she allows she likes my style.'
"'We-all hears about that Black Range battle,' remarks Enright.
"'It's a mighty lucky play for me,' says Dead Shot; 'I don't ree'lize
it while I'm workin' my winchester, but I'm winnin' a angel all the
time. That's on the level, gents! I never puts my arm 'round her yet,
but what I go feelin' for wings.'
"'Don't this make you sick?' Texas growls to Boggs.
"'No, it don't,' Boggs replies. 'On the contrary, I'm teched.'
"'Gents,' goes on Dead Shot, an' I sees his mustache tremble that
a-way; 'I don't mind confessin' she's that angelic I'm half afraid to
marry her. I ain't fine enough! It's like weddin' gunny-sack to
silk--me makin' her my wife. Which I shore has to think an' argyoo
with myse'f a whole lot, before I gets the courage. Ain't you-all ever
noticed'--yere he appeals 'round to Peets--'that every time you meets
up with a angel, thar's always some smoke-begrimed an' sin-encrusted
son of Satan workin' double-turn to support her?'
"Peets nods.
"'Shore! Well, it's sech reflections which final gives me the
reequired sand. An' so, one evenin' up in Albuquerque, we prances over
before a padre an' we're married. You bet, it's like a vision.'
"'Any papooses?' asks Tutt, plumb pompous.
"'None as yet,' confesses Dead Shot, lookin' abashed.
"'Which I've nacherally got one,' an' yere Tutt swells. 'You can put
your case _peso_ on it he's the real thing, too.'
"'Little Enright Peets is certainly a fine child,' remarks Nell.
'Dave, you're shore licensed to be proud of him.'
"'That's whatever,' adds Boggs. 'Little Enright Peets is nothin' short
of bein' the No'th Star of all hoomanity!'
"Mebby a week passes, an' one mornin' Dead Shot goes squanderin' over
to Tucson to bring his wife. An' nacherally we're on what they calls
in St. Looey the 'quee vee' to see her. At that, we-all don't crowd
'round permiscus when the stage arrives, an' we avoids everything
which borders on mob voylence.
"Dead Shot hits the street, lookin' that happy it's like he's in a
dream, an' then goes feelin' about, soft an' solic'tous, inside. At
last he lifts her out, an' stands thar holdin' her in his arms. She's
shore beautiful; only she ain't no bigger 'n a ten year old youngone.
Yellow-ha'red an' bloo-eyed, she makes you think of these yere china
ornaments that's regyarded artistic by the Dutch.
"They're certainly a contrast--him big as a house, her as small an'
pretty as a doll! An' you should see that enamored Dead Shot look at
her!--long an' deep, like a man drinkin'! Son, sometimes I fears
women, that a-way, misses all knowledge of how much they're loved.
"'She ain't sick,' says Dead Shot, speakin' gen'ral; 'only she twists
her off ankle gettin' out at the last station.'
"Dead Shot heads for the little 'dobe he's fitted up, packin' his
bloo-eyed doll in his arms. What's our impressions? No gent who signs
the books as sech'll say anything ag'in a lady; but between us, thar's
a sooperior wrinklin' of the little tipped-up nose, an' a cold feel to
them bloo eyes, which don't leave us plumb enthoosiastic.
"'It's like this,' volunteers Enright, who stacks in to explain
things. 'Every gent's got his ideal; an' this yere wife of his is Dead
Shot's ideal.'
"'Whatever's an ideal, Doc?' asks Boggs, who's always romancin' about
for information.
"'Which an ideal, Dan,' Peets replies, 'is the partic'lar gold brick
you're tryin' to buy.'
"At the time Dead Shot's standin' thar with his fam'ly in his arms,
Nell comes out on the Red Light steps to take a peek. Also, Missis
Rucker an' Tucson Jennie is hoverin' about all sim'lar. After Dead
Shot an' his bride has faded into their 'dobe, them three experts
holds a energetic consultation in the street. Of course, none of us
has the hardihood to go j'inin' in their deelib'rations, but from
what's said later we gets a slant at their concloosions.
"'Dead Shot's a mighty sight too good for her,' is how Missis Rucker
gives jedgment. 'It's peltin' pigs with pearls for him to go lovin'
her like he does.'
"Shore; bein' ladies that-a-way, Missis Rucker, Tucson Jennie an' Faro
Nell all visits Dead Shot's wife. But the feelin' is that they finds
her some stuck up an' haughty. This yere notion is upheld by Nell
callin' her a 'minx,' while Tucson Jennie alloodes to her as a 'cat'
on two sep'rate occasions.
"Dead Shot an' his doll-bride, in the beginnin', seems to be gettin'
along all right. It's only when thar's money goin' over, that Dead
Shot has to buckle on his guns an' ride out with the stage. This gives
him lots of time to hang 'round, an' worship her. Which I'm yere to
reemark that if ever a white man sets up an idol, that a-way, an' says
his pra'rs to it, that gent's Dead Shot. Thar's nothin' to it; prick
her finger, an' you pierce his heart.
"'It'd be beautiful if it wasn't awful,' says Faro Nell.
"It ain't a month when events lifts up their p'isin heads, which goes
to jestify them comments of Nell's. Thar's been a White House shift
back in Washington, an' a new postmaster's sent out. He's a dapper
party, with what Peets calls a 'Van Dyke' beard, an' smells like a
ha'r-dresser's shop.
"Now if affairs stops thar, we could have stood it; but they don't. I
abhors to say so, but it ain't two weeks before Dead Shot's wife's
makin' onmistak'ble eyes at that postmaster. Them times when Dead
Shot's dooties has took him to the other end of the trail, she's over
to the post office constant. None of us says anything, not even to
ourselves; but when it gets to whar she shoves you away from the
letter place, an' begins talkin' milk and honey to him right under
your nose, onless you're as blind as steeple bats, an' as deaf as the
adder of scriptoore which stoppeth her y'ear, you're shore bound to do
some thinkin'.
[Illustration: WE'RE ALL DISCUSSIN' THE DOIN'S OF THIS YERE ROAD-AGENT
WHEN DAN GETS BACK FROM RED-DOG, AN' THE RESULT IS HE UNLOADS HIS
FINDIN'S ON A DEAD KYARD. p. 18.]
"'Which if ever a gov'ment offishul,' exclaims Texas, as he comes
t'arin' into the Red Light one evenin', deemandin' drinks--'which if
ever a gov'ment offishul goes organizin' his own fooneral that a-way,
it's this yere deeboshed postmaster next door!'
"Thar's nothin' said, but we-all knows what's on Texas's mind. That
wife of Dead Shot's, for the fo'th time that day, has gone askin' for
letters.
"'She writes 'em to herse'f,' is the way Missis Rucker lays it down.
'Also, it's doo to the crim'nal besottedness of that egreegious Dead
Shot. The man's shorely love-blind!'
"'You ain't goin' to t'ar into him for that, be you?' Nell asks, her
tones reproachful. 'Him lovin' her like he does shore makes a hit with
me. A limit goes in farobank; but my notion is to take the bridle off
when the game's love.'
"'But all the same he needn't get that lovin' it addles him,' says
Missis Rucker. 'In a way, it's Dead Shot's sole fault, her actin'
like she does. Instead of keepin' them Mexicans to do her work, Dead
Shot ought to make her go surgin' round, an' care for her house
herse'f. Thar ain't nobody needs steady employment more'n a woman.
You-all savvys where it says that Satan finds some mischief still for
idle hands to do? Which you bet that bluff means women--an'
postmasters--every time.'
"Missis Rucker continues along sim'lar lines, mighty inflexible, for
quite a spell. She concloodes by sayin':
"'You keep a woman walsin' round a cook-stove, or wrastlin' a washtub,
or jugglin' pots an' skillets, same as them sleight-of-hand folks at
the Bird Cage Op'ry House, an' she won't be so free to primp an' preen
an' look at herse'f in the glass, an' go gaddin' after letters which
she herse'f's done writ.'
"We-all can't he'p hearin' this yere, seen' we're settin' round the O.
K. dinin' table feedin' at the time; but we stubbornly refooses to be
drawed into any views, Enright settin' us the example. That sagacious
old warchief merely reaches for the salt-hoss, an' never yeeps;
wharupon we maintains ourselves stoodiously yeepless likewise.
"Things goes on swingin' an' rattlin', an' the open-air flirtations
which Dead Shot's wife keeps up with that outcast of a postmaster's
enough to give you a chill. We sets thar, powerless, expectin' a
killin' every minute. An' all the time, like his eyes has took a
layoff, Dead Shot wanders to an' fro, boastin' an' braggin' in the
mushiest way about his wife. Moreover--an' this trenches on
eediotcy--he goes out of his path to make a pard of the postmaster,
an' has that deebauchee over to his shack evenin's.
"Dead Shot even begins publicly singin' the praises of this office
holder.
"'Which it's this a-way,' he says; 'what with him bein' book-read an'
a sport who's seen foreign lands, he's company for my wife. She
herse'f's eddicated to a feather-edge; an', nacherally, that's what
gives 'em so much in common.'
"Thar's all the same a note in Dead Shot's voice that's like the echo
of a groan. It looks, too, as though it sets fire to Texas, who jumps
up as if he's stung by a trant'ler.
"'Come,' he says, grabbin' Boggs by the shoulder.
"Texas has Boggs drug half-way to the door, before Enright can head
'em off.
"'Whar to?' demands Enright; an' then adds, 'don't you-all boys go
nigh that post office.'
"'All right,' says Texas final, but gulpin' a little; 'since it's you
who says so, Sam, we won't. Me an' Dan yere'll merely take a little
_passear_ as far as the graveyard, by way of reecoverin' our sperits
an' to get the air. I'll shore blow up if obleeged to listen to that
Dead Shot any longer.'
"'I sees it in his eye,' Enright explains in a low tone to Peets, as
he resoomes his cha'r; 'Texas is simply goin' to bend his gun over
that letter man's head.'
"'How often has I told you, Dan,' asks Texas, after they gets headed
for Boot Hill, an' Texas has regained his aplomb, 'that women is a
brace game?'
"'Not all women,' Boggs objects; 'thar's Nell.'
"'Shore; Nell!' Texas consents. 'Sech as her has all of the honor an'
honesty of a Colt's-45. A gent can rely on the Nellie brand, same as
he can on his guns. But Nellie's one in one thousand. Them other nine
hundred an' ninety-nine'll deal you the odd-kyard, Dan, every time.'
"When Texas an' Boggs arrives at Boot Hill, Texas goes seelectin'
about, same as if he's searchin' out a site for a grave. At last he
finds a place whar thar's nothin' but mesquite, soapweed an' rocks,
it's that ornery:
"'Yere's whar we plants him,' says Texas; 'off yere, by himse'f, like
as if he's so much carrion.'
"'Who you talkin' about?' asks Boggs, some amazed.
"'Who?' repeats Texas; 'whoever but that postmaster? Dead Shot's got
to get him soon or late. An' followin' the obsequies, thar ain't goin'
to be no night gyards neither. Which if them coyotes wants to dig him
up, they're welcome. It's their lookout, not mine; an' I ain't got no
love for coyotes no how.'
"'Thar ain't no coyote in Cochise County who's sunk that low he'll eat
him,' says Boggs.
"Like every other outfit, Wolfville sees its hours of sunshine an' its
hours of gloom, its lights an' its shadders. But I'm yere to state
that it never suffers through no more nerve-rackin' eepock than that
which it puts in about Dead Shot an' his wife. She don't bother us so
much as him. It's Dead Shot himse'f, praisin' up the postmaster an'
paintin' the sun-kissed virchoose of his wife, which keeps the sweat
a-pourin' down the commoonal face. An' all that's left us is to stand
pat, an' wait for the finish!
"One day the Wells-Fargo people sends Dead Shot to Santa Fe to take a
money box over to Taos. Two days later, Dead Shot's wife finds she's
got to go visit Tucson. Likewise, the postmaster allows he's been
ordered to Wilcox, to straighten out some deepartmental kinks. Which
we certainly sets thar an' looks at each other!--the play's that
rank.
"The postmaster an' Dead Shot's wife goes rumblin' out on the same
stage. Monte starts to tell us what happens when he returns, but the
old profligate don't get far.
"'Gents,' he says, 'that last trip, when Dead Shot's----'
"'Shet up,' roars Enright, an' Monte shore shets up.
"It comes plenty close to killin' the mis'rable old dipsomaniac at
that. He swells an' he swells, with that pent-up information inside
of him, ontil he looks like a dissipated toad. But sech is his awe of
Enright, he never dar's opens his clamshell.
"It's a week before Dead Shot's wife gets back, an' the postmaster
don't show up till four days more. Then Dead Shot himse'f comes
trackin' in.
"Faro Nell, who's eyes is plumb keen that a-way, lets on to Cherokee
private that Dead Shot looks sorrow-ridden. But I don't know! Dead
Shot's nacherally grave, havin' no humor. A gent who constant goes
messin' round with road agents, shootin' an' bein' shot at, ain't apt
to effervesce. Nell sticks to it, jest the same, that he's onder a
cloud.
"Dead Shot continyoos to play his old system, an' cavorts 'round plumb
friendly with the postmaster, an' goes teeterin' yere an' thar tellin'
what a boon from heaven on high his wife is, same as former.
"Faro Nell shakes her head when Cherokee mentions this last:
"'That's his throw-off,' she says.
"One evenin' Dead Shot comes trailin' into the Red Light, an' strolls
over to whar Cherokee's dealin' bank.
"'What's the limit?' he asks.
"At this, we-all looks up a whole lot. It's the first time ever Dead
Shot talks of puttin' down a bet.
"Cherokee's face is like a mask, the face of the thorough-paced kyard
sharp. He shows no more astonishment than if Dead Shot's been settin'
in ag'inst his game every evenin' for a month.
"'One hundred an' two hundred,' says Cherokee.
"_'Bueno!'_ an' Dead Shot lays down two one-hundred dollar bills
between the king and queen.
"Thar's two turns. The third the kyards falls 'ten-king,' an' Nell,
from her place on the lookout's stool, shoves over two hundred dollars
in bloo checks. Thar they are, with the two one-hundred dollar bills,
between the king an' queen.
"'Does it go as it lays?' asks Dead Shot, it bein' double the limit.
"'It goes,' says Cherokee, never movin' a muscle.
"One turn, an' the kyards falls 'trey-queen.' Nell shoves four hundred
across to match up with Dead Shot's four hundred.
"'An' now?' Dead Shot asks.
"'I'll turn for it,' Cherokee responds.
"It's yere that Dead Shot's luck goes back on him. The turn comes
'queen-jack,' an' Nell rakes down the eight hundred.
"Dead Shot's hand goes to the butt of his gun.
"'I've been robbed,' he growls; 'thar's fifty-three kyards in that
deck.'
"Cherokee's on his feet, his eyes like two steel p'ints, gun half
drawed. But Nell's as quick. Her hand's on Cherokee's, an' she keeps
his gun whar it belongs.
"'Steady!' she says; 'can't you see he's only coaxin' you to bump him
off?' Then, with her face full on Dead Shot, she continyoos: 'It won't
do, Dead Shot; it won't do none! You-all can't get it handed to you
yere! You're in the wrong shop; you-all ought to try next door!' An'
Nell p'ints with her little thumb through the wall to the post
office.
"Dead Shot stands thar the color of seegyar ashes, while Cherokee
settles ca'mly back in his cha'r. Cherokee's face is as bar' of
expression as a blank piece of paper, as he runs his eye along the
lay-out, makin' ready for the next turn. Thar's mebby a dozen of us
playin', but not a word is spoke. Everyone is onto Dead Shot's little
game, the moment Nell begins to talk.
"Matters seems to hang on centers, ontil Nell stretches across an'
lays her baby hand on Dead Shot's:
"'Thar ain't a soul in sight,' she says, mighty soft an' good, 'but
what's your friend, Dead Shot.'
"Dead Shot, pale as a candle, wheels toward the door.
"'Pore Dead Shot!' murmurs Nell, the tears in her eyes, to that extent
she has to ask Boggs to take her place as lookout.
"Four hours goes by, an' thar's the poundin' of a pony's hoofs, an'
the creak of saddle-leathers, out in front. It's the Red Dog chief,
who's come lookin' for Enright.
"They confabs a minute or two at a table to the r'ar, an' then Enright
calls Peets over.
"'Dead Shot's gone an' got himse'f downed,' he says.
[Illustration: DEAD SHOT STOPS SHORT AT THIS HITCH IN THE DISCUSSION, BY
REASON OF A BULLET FROM THE LIGHTIN' BUG'S PISTOL WHICH LODGES IN HIS
LUNG. p. 29.]
"'It's on the squar' gents,' explains the Red Dog chief; 'Dead Shot'll
say so himself. He jest nacherally comes huntin' it.'
"It looks like Dead Shot, after that failure with Cherokee in the Red
Light, p'ints across for Red Dog. He searches out a party who's called
the Lightnin' Bug, on account of the spontaneous character of his
six-shooter. Dead Shot finds the Lightnin' Bug talkin' with two fellow
gents. He listens awhile, an' then takes charge of the conversation.
"'Bug,' he says, raisin' his voice like it's a challenge--'Bug, only
I'm afraid folks'll string you up a whole lot, I'd say it's you who
stood up the stage last week in Apache Canyon. Also'--an' yere Dead
Shot takes to gropin' about in his jeans, same as if he's feelin' for
a knife--'it's mighty customary with me, on occasions sech as this, to
cut off the y'ears of----'
"Dead Shot stops short, by reason of a bullet from the Bug's pistol
which lodges in his lungs.
"When Peets an' Enright finds him, he's spread out on the Red Dog
chief's blankets, coughin' blood, with the sorrow-stricken Bug
proppin' him up one moment to drink water, an' sheddin' tears over him
the next, alternate.
"The Red Dog chief leads out the weepin' Bug, who's lamentin' mighty
grievous, an' leaves Enright an' Peets with Dead Shot.
"'It's all right, gents,' whispers Dead Shot; 'I comes lookin' for it,
an' I gets it. Likewise, she ain't to blame; it's me. I oughtn't to
have married her that time--she only a girl, an' me a full-growed man
who should 'av had sense for both.'
"'That's no lie,' says Peets, an' Dead Shot gives him a grateful
look.
"'No,' he goes on, 'she's too fine, too high--I wasn't her breed. An'
I ought to have seen it.' Yere he has a tussle to hang on.
"Peets pours him out some whiskey.
"'It's licker, ain't it?' Dead Shot gasps, sniffin' the glass. 'I'm
for water, Doc, licker makin' me that ornery.'
"'Down with it,' urges Peets. 'Which, if I'm a jedge, you'll pack in
long before you're due to start anything extra serious, even if you
drinkt a gallon.'
"'Shore!' agrees Dead Shot, as though the idee brings him relief. 'For
a moment it slips my mind about me bein' plugged. But as I'm sayin',
gents, don't blame her. An' don't blame him. I has my chance, an' has
it all framed up, too, when I crosses up with 'em recent over in
Tucson, to kill 'em both. But I can't do it, gents. The six-shooter at
sech a time's played out. That's straight; it don't fill the bill; it
ain't adequate, that a-way. So all I can do is feel sorry for 'em, an'
never let 'em know I knows. For, after all, it ain't their fault, it's
mine. You sports see that, don't you? She's never meant for me, bein'
too fine; an', me a man, I ought to have knowed.'
"Dead Shot ceases talkin', an' Enright glances at Peets. Peets shakes
his head plenty sorrowful.
"'Go on,' he says to Dead Shot; 'you-all wants us to do--what?'
"'Thar you be!' an' at the sound of Peets' voice Dead Shot's mind
comes creepin' back to camp. 'She'll be happy with him--they havin' so
much in common--an' him an' her bein' eddicated that a-way--an' him
havin' traveled a whole lot! An' this yere's what I wants, gents. I
wants you-all, as a kindness to me an' in a friendly way--seein' I
can't stay none to look-out the play myse'f--to promise to sort o'
supervise round an' put them nuptials over right. I takes time by the
forelock an' sends to Tucson for a sky-pilot back two days ago. Bar
accidents, he'll be in camp by to-morry. He can work in at the
funeral, too, an' make it a whipsaw.'
"Dead Shot turns his eyes on Enright. It's always so about our old
chief; every party who's in trouble heads for him like a coyote for a
camp fire.
"'You'll shore see that he marries her?--Promise!'
"Thar's a quaver in Dead Shot's voice, Peets tells me, that's like a
pra'r.
"'Thar's my hand, Dead Shot,' says Enright, who's chokin' a little.
'So far as the letter man's concerned, it'll be the altar or the
windmill, Jack Moore an' a lariat or that preacher party you refers
to.'
"Dead Shot's gettin' mighty weak. After Enright promises he leans back
like he's takin' a rest. He's so still they're beginnin' to figger
he's done cashed in; but all at once he starts up like he's
overlooked some bet, an' has turned back from eternity to tend to it.
"'About Cherokee an' his box,' he whispers; 'that's a lyin' bluff I
makes. Tell him I don't mean nothin'; I'm only out to draw his fire.'
"After this Dead Shot only rouses once. His voice ain't more'n a
sigh.
"'I forgets to tell you,' he says, 'to give her my love. An' you say,
too, that I'm bumped off like snuffin' out a candle--too plumb quick
for her to get yere. An' don't blame her, gents; it's not her fault,
it's mine.'
"It's the week after the fooneral. The postmaster's still in town,
partly by nacheral preference, partly because Enright notifies Jack
Moore to ride herd on him, an' fill him as full of lead as a bag of
bullets in event he ondertakes to go stampedin' off.
"In the Red Light the seventh evenin' Enright rounds up Peets.
"'Doc,' he says, 'a month would be more respect'ble, but this yere's
beginnin' to tell on me.'
"'Besides,' Peets chips in, by way of he'pin' Enright out, 'that
preacher sharp corraled over to Missis Rucker's is gettin' restless.
Onless we side-lines or puts hobbles on that divine we-all can't
expect to go holdin' him much longer.'
"Enright leads the way to the r'ar wareroom of the Noo York store,
which bein' whar the stranglers holds their meetin's is Wolfville's
hall of jestice. After licker is brought Enright sends Jack Moore for
the postmaster, who comes in lookin' plenty white. Missis Rucker
brings over the divine; an' next Dead Shot's widow--she's plumb lovely
in black--appears on the arm of Peets, who goes in person.
"Thar's a question in the widow's eye, like she don't onderstand.
"'Roll your game,' says Enright to the preacher sharp.
"It's yere an' now Dead Shot's widow fully b'ars out that philos'pher
who announces so plumb cold, that a-way, that women's the sublimation
of the onexpected. Jack Moore's jest beginnin' to manoover that
recreant public servant into p'sition on the widow's left hand, so's
he can be married to the best advantage, an' the preacher sharp's
gettin' out an' openin' his book of rooles, when the widow draws
back.
"P'intin' at the bridegroom postmaster, same as if he's a stingin'
lizard, she addresses Enright.
"'Whatever's the meanin' of this?'
"'Merely the croode preelim'naries, Ma'am,' Enright explains, 'to what
we-all trusts will prove a fa'rly deesir'ble weddin'.'
"'Me marry him?' an' the onmitigated scorn that relict exhibits, to
say nothin' of her tone of voice, shore makes the postmaster
bridegroom feel chagrined.
"'You'll pardon us, Ma'am,' returns Enright, soft an' depreecatory,
tryin' to get her feelin's bedded down, 'which you'll shore pardon us
if in our dullness we misreads your sentiments. You see, the notion
gets somehow proned into us that you wants this party. Which if we
makes a mistake, by way of repa'rin' that error, let me say that if
thar's any one else in sight whom you preefers, an' who's s'fficiently
single an' yoothful to render him el'gible for wedlock,'--yere Enright
takes in Boggs an' Texas with his gaze, wharat Texas grows as
green-eyed as a cornered bobcat--'he's yours, Ma'am, on your p'intin'
him out.'
"'Which I don't want to marry no one,' cries the widow, commencin' to
sob. 'An' as for marryin' him speshul'--yere she glances at the
bridegroom postmaster in sech a hot an' drastic way he's left
shrivellin' in his own shame--'I'd sooner live an' die the widow of
Dead Shot Abner Baker than be the wife of a cornfield full of sech.'
"Everybody stares, an' Enright takes a modicum of Old Jordan.
"'You don't deeserve this none,' he says at last, turnin' to the
postmaster bridegroom. 'Onder the circumstances, however, thar's
nothin' left for me to do as cha'rman but deeclar' this yere weddin' a
misdeal.'
"Texas is plumb disgusted.
"'Don't some folks have nigger luck, Dan?' he says.
"Later, after thinkin' things up an' down in his mind, Texas takes
ombrage at Enright's invitin' Dead Shot's widow to look him an' Boggs
over that a-way, an' take her pick.
"'Which sech plays don't stand ace-high with me, Sam,' Texas
says--'you tryin' to auction me off like you does. Even a stranger,
with a half-way hooman heart, after hearin' my story would say that I
already suffers enough. An' yet you, who calls yourse'f my friend,
does all that lays in your callous power to thrust me back into
torment.'
"'Texas,' replies Enright, like he's bore about all he can, 'you
shorely worries me with your conceit. If you-all won't take my word,
then go take a good hard look at yourse'f in the glass. Thar's never
the slightest risk, as everybody but you yourse'f sees plainly, of
that lady or any other lady takin' you.'
"'You thinks not?' asks Texas, plenty incensed.
"'Which I _knows_ not. No lady's lot ain't quite that desp'rate.'
"'Well,' returns Texas, after a pause, his face expressin' his
soreness, 'I'm yere to say, Sam, I don't agree with you, none
whatever. You forgets that I've already been took in wedlock bonds by
one lady. An' while that Laredo wife of mine is hard an' crooel, all
Texas knows she's plumb partic'lar. Also, no one ever yet comes
pirootin' up the trail who doubts her taste.'
"It's the evenin' before the preacher sharp goes back to Tucson, when
Enright edges him off into a corner of the O. K. dinin' room.
"'Parson,' says Enright, lookin' like he's a heap bothered about
somethin'--'parson, in addition to your little game as a preacher that
a-way, you don't happen to be up none on table-tippin' or sperit
rappin', same as them mediums, do you?'
"'Which I shore don't,' replies the preacher sharp, archin' his neck,
indignant. 'Likewise, I regyards them cer'monials you alloodes to as
satantic in their or'gin.'
"'Doubtless, parson,' returns Enright, some disapp'inted, 'doubtless.
Still, if you-all but counts the rings on my horns, as givin' some
impression of the years I've lived an' what troubles I've probably
gone through, you'll onderstand that I ain't takin' Satan no more
serious than a empty six-shooter. But the mere trooth is, parson, I'm
pestered by them promises I makes deeceased. Which I'd give a yellow
stack to get put next to Dead Shot's sperit long enough to explain
concernin' them nuptials, an' make cl'ar jest how me an' the Doc falls
down.'"
II
OLD MAN ENRIGHT'S UNCLE
"Which you'll excoose me," and the old cattleman replaced his glass
upon the table with a decisive click, "if I fails to j'ine you in them
sent'ments. For myse'f, I approves onreserved of both lies an' liars.
Also, that reemark goes double when it comes to public liars tellin'
public lies. Which, however se'fish it may sound, I prefers this
gov'ment to last my time; an' it's my idee that if them statesmen back
at Washington ever takes a hour off from their tax-eatin' an' tells
the people the trooth, the whole trooth an' nothin' but the trooth of
their affairs, said people'll be down on the sityooation instanter,
like a weasel on a nest of field mice, an' wipe the face of nacher
free an' cl'ar of these United States."
The above was drawn forth by my condemnatory comments on the published
speech of a Senator, wherein the truth was as a grain of wheat in a
bushel of mendacious chaff.
"Shore," continued the old gentleman, with the manner of one who
delivers final judgment, "lies is not only to be applauded, but
fostered. They're the angle-irons an' corner-braces that keeps plumb
the social fabric, wantin' which the whole frame-work of soci'ty would
go leanin' sideways, same as that Eyetalian tower you shows me the
picture of the other day. Why, if everybody in the world was to go
tellin' the trooth for the next hour ninety-nine folks in every
hundred would be obleeged to put in the rest of their lives hidin'
out.
"Do I myse'f ever lie?
"Frequent an' plumb cheerful. I bases life on the rooles laid down by
that sharp who advises folks to do unto others as others does unto
them, an' beat 'em to it. Believin', tharfore, in handin' a gent his
own system, I makes it my onbreakable practice to allers lie to liars.
Then, ag'in, whenever some impert'nent prairie dog takes to rummagin'
'round with queries to find out my deesigns, I onflaggingly fills him
to the brim with all forms of misleadin' mendac'ty, an' casts every
fictional obstruction in his path that's calc'lated to get between
his heels an' trip him up. I shore do admire to stand all sech
inquirin' mavericks on their heads, an' partic'ler if they're plottin'
ag'in me.
"An' why not? A party that a-way, as I some time ago instructs you,
ain't got no more right to search my head than to search my warbags,
an' a gent who may lock a door may lie. Which, if you'll go off by
yourse'f an' think this yere over, you'll see that it's so, an' so
with a double cinch.
"Thar's statements, too, which, speakin' technical, might be regyarded
as lyin' which don't in jestice class onder no sech head. For
spec'men, when Dick Wooten, upon me askin' him how long he's been
inhabitin' the Raton Pass, p'ints to the Spanish Peaks an' says, 'You
see them em'nences? Well, when I pitches camp in this yere gully them
mountings was two holes in the ground,' I don't feel like he's lyin'.
I merely remembers that he steals the bluff from old Jim Bridger,
grins an' lets it go at that.
"Likewise, I'm sim'larly onaffected towards that amiable multitoode
who simply lies to entertain. These yere latter sports in their
preevar'cations is public ben'factors. You-all can spread yourse'f
out in the ca'm shadow of their yarns, same as if it's the shade of a
tree, an' find tharin reefreshment an' reepose.
"While the most onimag'native of us, from Peets to Cherokee, ain't
none puny as conversationists, the biggest liar, ondoubted, who ever
comes romancin' into Wolfville is Enright's uncle, who visits him that
time. Back in Tennessee a passel of scientists makes what this yere
relative of Enright's deescribes as a 'Theological Survey' of some
waste land he has on Gingham Mountain, an' finds coal. An' after that
he's rich. Thus, in his old age, but chipper as a coopful of catbirds,
he comes rackin' into town, allowin' he'll take a last look at his
nephy, Sam, before he cashes in.
"His name is Stallins, bein' he's kin to Enright on his mother's side,
an' since thar's nine ahead of him--Enright's mother bein' among the
first--an' he don't come along as a infant ontil the heel of the
domestic hunt that a-way, he's only got it on Enright by ten years in
the matter of age.
[Illustration: THE SECOND EVENING OLD STALLINS IS WITH US, DAN BOGGS AN'
TEXAS THOMPSON UPLIFTS HIS AGED SPERITS WITH THE "LOVE DANCE OF THE
CATAMOUNTS." p. 43.]
"No, I shore shouldn't hes'tate none to mention him as a top-sawyer
among liars, the same bein' his constant boast an' brag. He accepts
the term as embodyin' a compliment, an' the quick way to get his
bristles up is to su'gest that his genius for mendac'ty is beginnin'
to bog down.
"For all that, Enright imparts to me, private, that the old gent as a
liar ain't a marker to his former se'f.
"'You've heard tell,' Enright says, 'of neighborhood liars, an'
township liars, an' county liars; an' mebby even of liars whose fame
as sech might fill the frontiers of a state. Take my uncle, say forty
years ago, an' give him the right allowance of baldface whiskey, an'
the coast-to-coast expansiveness of them fictions he tosses off shore
entitles him to the name of champion of the nation. Compar'd to him,
Ananias is but a ambitious amatoor.'
"It's the second evenin' old Stallins is with us, an' Enright takes
him over to Hamilton's Dance Hall, whar Boggs an' Texas--by partic'lar
reequest--uplifts his aged sperits with that y'ear-splittin' an'
toomultuous minyooet, the 'Love Dance of the Catamounts.' Which the
exh'bition sets his mem'ry to millin', an' when we gets back to the
Red Light he breaks out remin'scent.
"'Sammy,' he says to Enright, 'you was old enough to rec'llect when I
has that location over on the upper Hawgthief? Gents,' he goes on,
turnin' to us, 'it's a six-forty, an'--side hill, swamp an' bottom--as
good a section as any to be crossed up with between the Painted Post
an' the 'Possum Trot. It's that "Love Dance of the Catamounts" which
brings it to my mind, since it's then an' thar, by virchoo of a
catamount, I wins my Sarah Ann.
"'She's shore the star-eyed Venus of the Cumberland, is my Sarah Ann.
Her ha'r, black as paint, is as thick as a pony's mane; her lips is
the color of pokeberry juice; her cheeks--round an' soft--is as cl'ar
an' bright an' glowin' as a sunset in Jooly; her teeth is as
milk-white as the inside of a persimmon seed. She's five-foot-eleven
without her mocassins, stands as up an' down as a pine tree, got a arm
on her like the tiller of a scow, an' can heft a full-sized side of
beef an' hang it on the hook. That's fifty years ago. She's back home
on the Hawgthief waitin' for me now, my Sarah Ann is. You'd say she's
as gray as a 'possum, an' as wrinkled as a burnt boot. Mebby so; but
not to me, you bet. She's allers an' ever to me the same endoorin'
hooman sunburst I co'tes an' marries that long time ago.'
"Old Stallins pauses to reefresh himse'f, an' Texas, who's been
fidgetin' an' frettin' since the first mention of Sarah Ann, goes
whisperin' to Boggs.
"'Can't some of you-all,' he says, plenty peevish, 'head this yere
mushy old tarrapin off? This outfit knows what I suffers with that
Laredo wife of mine. An' yet it looks like I'm to be tortured constant
with tales of married folks, an' not one hand stretched out to save me
from them reecitals.'
"'Brace up,' returns Boggs, tryin' to comfort him. 'Thicken your hide
ag'in sech childish feelin's, an' don't be so easy pierced. Besides, I
reckons the worst's over. He's comin' now to them catamounts.'
"Texas grinds his teeth, an' old Stallins resoomes his adventures.
"'My Sarah Ann's old pap has his location jest across the Hawgthief
from me. Besides him an' Sarah Ann, thar ain't nobody but the old
woman in the fam'ly, the balance of 'em havin' been swept away in a
freshet. Shore, old man Bender--that's Sarah Ann's pap's name--has
fourteen children once, Sarah Ann, who's oldest, bein' the first
chicken on the domestic roost. But the other thirteen is carried off
one evenin' when, what with the rains an' what with the snow meltin'
back on Gingham Mountain, the Hawgthief gets its back up. Swish comes
a big wave of water, an' you hear me them children goes coughin' an'
kickin' an' splutterin' into the misty beyond.
"'Which I says thirteen only because that's whar old Bender allers
puts his loss. Zeb Stiles, who lives on the Painted Post, insists that
it's fifteen who gets swept away that time. He allows he counts them
infant Benders two evenin's before, perched along on old Bender's
palin's like pigeons on a limb. Thirteen or fifteen, however, it don't
make no difference much, once they're submerged, that a-way.
"'Mebby I've been co'tin' my Sarah Ann for goin' on six months, givin'
her b'ar robes an' mink pelts, with now an' then a pa'r of bald eagle
wings to bresh the hearth. Nothin' heart-movin', however, comes off
between us, Sarah Ann keepin' me at arm's len'th an' comportin'
herse'f plumb uppish, as a maiden should. She's right; a likely girl
can't be too conserv'tive techin' what young an' boundin' bucks comes
co'tin' at her house.
"'Old Bender sort o' likes me in streaks. After he gets bereft of them
thirteen or fifteen offspring he turns morose a whole lot, an' I used
to go 'cross in my dugout an' cheer him up with my lies.
"'Could I lie?
"'My nephy, Sammy, thar'll nar'ate how I once lies a full-grown b'ar
to death. The cunnin' varmint takes advantage of me bein' without my
weepons, an' chases me up a tree. I ensconces myse'f in the crotch,
an' when the b'ar starts to climb I hurls down ontrooth after ontrooth
on top of him ontill, beneath a avalanche of falsehood, he's crushed
dead at the base of the tree. Could I lie, you asks? Even folks who
don't like me concedes that I'm the most irresist'ble liar south of
the Ohio river.
"'While I'm upliftin' the feelin's of old Bender mendacious that
a-way, he likes me; it's only when we gets to kyard-playin' he waxes
sour. He's a master-hand to gamble, old Bender is, an' as shore as I
shows up, followin' a lie or two, he's bound he'll play me seven-up
for a crock of baldface whiskey. Now thar ain't a sport from the Knobs
of old Knox to the Mississippi who could make seed corn off me at
seven-up, an' nacherally I beats old Bender out of the baldface.
"'With that he'd rave an' t'ar, an' make like he's goin' to jump for
his 8-squar' Hawkins rifle, whar she's hangin' on a pa'r of antlers
over the door; but he'd content himse'f final by orderin' me out of
the shack, sayin' that no sech kyard-sharpin' galoot as me need come
pesterin' 'round allowin' to marry no child of his'n. At sech eepocks,
too, it looks like Sarah Ann sees things through the eyes of her old
man, an' she's more'n common icy.
"'One day old Bender goes weavin' over to Pineknot, an' starts to
tradin' hosses with Zeb Stiles. They seesaws away for hours, an' old
Bender absorbs about two dollars' worth of licker, still-house rates.
In the finish Zeb does him brown an' does him black on the swap, so it
don't astonish nobody to death when next day he quiles up in his
blankets sick. Marm Bender tries rekiverin' him with yarbs, an'
kumfrey tea, an' sweet gum sa'v. When them rem'dies proves footile she
decides that perhaps a frolic'll fetch him.
"'It's about second drink time in the afternoon when Marm Bender
starts out Fiddler Abe, givin' notice of the treat. I hears the old
nigger as, mule-back, he goes meanderin' along, singin':
Thar's a smoke house full of bacon,
An' a barrel full of rum.
For to eat an' drink an' shake a laig
You've only got to come.
"'As soon as Fiddler Abe starts singin' the girls an' boys begin
comin' out of the woods like red ants out of a burnin' log, headin'
hotfoot for old Bender's.
"'Do I go?
"'It ain't a hour after candle lightin' when, with mebby it's a pint
of baldface onder the buckle of my belt, I'm jumpin' higher, shoutin'
louder, an' doin' more to loosen the puncheons in the floor than any
four males of my species who's present at that merry-makin'. It he'ps
old Bender, too, an' inspired by the company an' onder the inflooence
of four or five stiff toddies, he resolves not to let that hoss trade
carry him to a ontimely grave, an' is sittin' up in his blankets,
yellin', "Wake snakes; an' Gin'ral Jackson fit the Injuns!" in happy
accord with the sperit of his times.
"'Fiddler Abe strikes into the exyooberant strains of "Little Black
Bull Come Down the Mountains," an' I hauls Ten-spot Mollie out of the
gin'ral ruck of calico for a reel. We calls her Ten-spot Mollie
because she's got five freckles on each cheek. All the same, when it
comes to dancin', she's shore a she-steamboat. Every time we swings
she hefts me plumb free of the floor, an' bats my heels ag'in the
rafters ontil both ankles is sprained.
"'Sarah Ann falls jealous, seem' me an' Ten-spot Mollie thus
pleasantly engaged, an' to get even goes to simperin' an' talkin'
giggle-talk to Mart Jenkins, who's rid in from Rapid Run. Jenks is a
offensive numbskull who's wormed his way into soci'ty by lickin' all
the boys 'round his side of Gingham Mountain. At that, he's merely
tol'rated.
"'Seein' Sarah Ann philanderin' with Jenks, I lets go of Ten-spot
Mollie, who goes raspin' an' rollin' into a corner some abrupt, an'
sa'nters across to whar they're at. Leanin' over Sarah Ann's
off-shoulder, bein' the one furthest from that onmitigated Jenks, I
says, "Sweetheart, how can you waste time talkin' to this yere hooman
Sahara, whose intellects is that sterile they wouldn't raise
cow-pease?"
"'This makes Jenks oneasy, an' getting up, he reemarks, "Dick
Stallins, I'll be the all-firedest obleeged to you if you'll attend on
me to the foot of the hollow, an' bring your instrooments."
"'At this I explains that I ain't got my instrooments with me, havin'
left both rifle an' bowie in the dugout when I paddles over to the
dance.
"'Jenks makes a insultin' gesture, an' reetorts, "Don't crawl, Dick
Stallins. Borry old Bender's nine-inch bootcher, an' come with me."
"'To appease him I says I will, an' that I'll j'ine him at the before
named slaughter-ground in the flicker of a lamb's tail. Jenks stalks
off plumb satisfied, while I searches out Ben Hazlett, an' whispers
that Jenks is askin' for him some urgent, an' has gone down the trace
towards the foot of the hollow to look him up. Nacherally, my
diplom'cy in this yere behalf sends Ben cavortin' after Jenks; an'
this relieves me a heap, knowin' that all Jenks wants is a fight, an'
Ben'll do him jest as well as me.
"'Which them was shorely happy days!' he continyoos, settin' down the
bottle wharwith he's been encouragin' his faculties. 'Troo, every gent
has to sleep with his head in a iron kettle for fear of Injuns, an' a
hundred dollars is bigger'n a cord of wood, but life is plenty
blissful jest the same.'
"'Was you afraid of this yere Jenks?' asks Boggs.
"'No more'n if he's a streak of lightnin'. Only, I've got on a new
huntin' shirt, made of green blanket cloth, an' I ain't none strenuous
about havin' that gyarment all slashed up.
"'To proceed: After I dispatches Ben on the heels of Jenks that a-way
it occurs to me that mebby I'm sort o' tired with the labors of the
evenin', an' I'll find my dugout, ferry myse'f over to my own proper
wickyup, an' hit the hay for a snooze. I'm some hurried to the
concloosion by the way in which eevents begins to accumyoolate in my
immedyit vicin'ty. Bill Wheeler announces without a word of warnin'
that he's a flyin' alligator, besides advancin' the theery that Gene
Hemphill is about as deeserv'dly pop'lar as a abolitionist in South
Caroliny. I suspects that this attitoode of mind on Bill's part is
likely to provoke discussion, which suspicion is confirmed when Gene
knocks Bill down, an' boots him into the dooryard. Once in the open,
after a clout or two, Gene an' Bill goes to a clinch an' the fightin'
begins.
"'It ain't no time when the circumf'rence of trouble spreads. Bud
Ingalls makes a pass at me pers'nal, an' by way of reeprisal I smashes
a stewpan on him. Bud's head goes through the bottom, like the clown
through them paper hoops in a cirkus, the stewpan fittin' down 'round
his neck same as one of them Elizbethan ruffs. The stewpan ockyoopies
so much of Bud's attention that I gets impatient, an' so, tellin' him
I ain't got no time to wait, I leaves him strugglin' with that
yootensil, an' strolls off down to the Hawgthief whistlin' "Sandy
Land."
"'It's dark as the inside of a cow, an' somehow I misses the dugout;
but bein' stubborn, an' plumb sot about gettin' home, I wades in an'
begins to swim. The old Hawgthief is bank full, but I'd have made
t'other side all right if it ain't that, as I swims out from onder the
overhangin' branch of a tree, somethin' drops into the water behind
me, an' comes snarlin' an' splashin' an' spittin' along in pursoote. I
don't pay much heed at the jump, but when it claws off my nigh
moccasin, leavin' a inch-deep gash in my heel, I glances back an'
perceives by the two green eyes that I've become an object of
comsoomin' int'rest to a pa'nter, or what you-all out yere calls a
mountain lion, an' we-uns back in Tennessee a catamount.'
"'But a panther won't swim,' reemonstrates Tutt.
"'Arizona catamounts won't,' returns old Stallins, 'thar bein' no
rivers to speak of. But in Tennessee, whar thar's rivers to waste,
them cats takes to the water like so many muskrats.
"'When I finds that thar's nothin' doggin' me but a catamount, I heads
all casyooal for whar a tree's done been lodged midstream, merely
flingin' the reemark over my shoulder to the catamount that, if he
keeps on annoyin' me, he'll about pick up the makin's of a maulin'.
As I crawls out on the bole of the lodged tree, I can hear the
catamount sniggerin', same as if he's laughin' me to scorn, an' this
yere insultin' contoomely half-way makes me mad. Which I ain't in the
habit of bein' took lightly by no catamount.
"'Drawin' myse'f out o' the water, I straddles the bole of my tree,
an' organizes for the catamount, who's already crawlin' after me.
T'arin' off a convenient bough the thickness of your laig, I arranges
myse'f as a reeception committee for visitin' catamounts, an' by way
of beginnin' confers on my partic'lar anamile sech a bat over the
snout that he falls back into the drink, an' starts to swimmin' fancy
an' goin' 'round in circles, same as if his funny-bone's been teched.
"'Every time he gets in reach I jabs him in the eye with the splinter
end of the bough, an' at last he grows that disgusted at these
formal'ties he swims off to the bank. Thar he camps down on his
ha'nches, an' glares green-eyed at me across the ragin' flood.
"'Shore, I could have raised the long yell for he'p, but am withheld
by foolish pride. Besides, I can hear Ben an' Jenks tusslin' an'
gruntin' an' carryin' on over in the mouth of the hollow, as they
kyarves into each other with their knives, an' don't want to distract
their attention.
"'As I sets camped thar on my lodged tree, an' the catamount is
planted on the bank, I hears the lippin' splash of a paddle, an' then
a voice which sounds like a chime of bells floats across to ask, "Dick
Stallins, you ornery runnigate, wharever be you?"
"'It's my Sarah Ann, whose love, gettin' the upper hand of maidenly
reeserve, has sent her projectin' 'round in search of me. She's in my
dugout.
"'The catamount identifies her as soon as me; an' thinkin' she ought
to be easy, he slides into the water ag'in an' starts for the
boat. It's that dark I ain't shore of his deesigns ontil I sees
him reach up, tip the dugout over, an' set Sarah Ann to wallowin' in
the rushin' torrent. The dugout upsets on the catamount, an' this so
confooses him that, by the time he's got his bearin's, Sarah Ann's
been swept down to my tree, an' I've lifted her to a seat by my
side. The catamount don't try to lay siege to our p'sition,
recognizing it as impregnable, but paddles back to the shore an'
goes into watchful camp as prior.
"'For myse'f, I'm so elevated with love an' affection at havin' Sarah
Ann with me, I dismisses the catamount as a dead issue, an' as sech
beneath contempt, an' by way of mollifyin' Sarah Ann's feelin's, cuts
loose an' kisses her a gross or two of times, an' each like the crack
of a bull-whacker's whip.
"'Old Bender hears them caresses plumb up to his house--as well he
may, they're that onreeserved an' earnest--an' thinks it's some one
shootin' a rifle. It has the effect of bringin' out the old Spartan
with his Hawkins; an' the first word of it that reaches me an' Sarah
Ann is him, Marm Bender an' the whole b'ilin' of folks is down thar on
the bank, tryin' to make out in the gen'ral dimness whatever be we-all
lovers doin' out thar in the middle of the Hawgthief on a snag.
"'They don't deetect my catamount none, which sagacious feline slinks
off into the shadows covered with confoosion; all they sees is us. An'
the spectacle certainly excites old Bender. "Gen'ral Jackson fit the
Injuns!" he exclaims, as all of a sudden a thought strikes him; "that
measly excoose for a Union Democrat out thar is seekin' to eelope with
our Sarah Ann."
"'The old murderer starts to get a bead on me with the Hawkins.
"Father," yells Marm Bender, pullin' at his sleeve, "you shore must be
mistook."
"'Old Bender won't have it. "Maw," he returns, strivin' to disengage
himse'f, "I was never mistook about nothin' in my life but once, an'
that's when I shifts from baldface whiskey to hard cider on a
temp'rance argyooment. Let me go, woman, till I drill the miscreant
an' wash the stain from our fam'ly honor."
"'Before the old hom'cide can get to launderin' the fam'ly honor in my
blood, however, Sarah Ann has interposed. "Don't go to blazing away at
my Dickey, pop," she sings out, "or I'll shore burn every improvement
you got, an' leave you an' maw an' me roofless in the midst of the
wilderness."
"'This goes a long way towards soberin' down old Bender, because he
knows my Sarah Ann's the Cumberland hollyhock to put them menaces into
execootion. He lowers the muzzle of his old 8-squar', an' allows if I
promises to marry the girl I can swim ashore an' be forgiven.
"'Thus the matter ends mighty amic'ble. We'all goes trackin' up to the
house, a preacher is rushed to the scene from Pineknot, an' them
nuptials between Sarah Ann an' me is sol'mnized. Shore, Jenks an' Ben
is thar. They're found by a committee of their friends scattered about
at the foot of the hollow, an' is collected an' brought up to the
weddin' in blankets. Dave Daniels, who surveys the scene next day,
says you could plant corn whar they fit, it's that plowed up.
"'Followin' the cer'mony Marm Bender an' the old gent takes me into
their hearts an' cabin like I'm their own an' only son. He's a great
old daddy-in-law, old Bender is, an' is ven'rated for forty miles
about Gingham Mountain, as deevoted heart an' soul to baldface,
seven-up an' sin in any shape.
"'That match-makin' catamount?
"'We hives him. Me an' my new daddy-in-law tracks him to his reetreat,
an' when we're through he's plumb used up. I confers the pelt on my
Sarah Ann; an' she spreads it on the floor over by her side of the
bed, so as to put her little number sevens on it when she boils out of
a winter's mornin' to light the fire, an' rustle me my matoot'nal
buckwheat cakes an' sa'sage.'"
III
CYNTHIANA, PET-NAMED ORIGINAL SIN
"This yere speecific heroine is a heap onconventional, so much so as
to be plumb puzzlin' to the common mind. Jest the same, she finishes
winner, an' makes herse'f a gen'ral source of pride. She don't notify
us, none whatever, that she intends a Wolfville deboo; jest nacherally
descends upon us, that a-way, as onannounced as a mink on a settin'
hen. All the same, we knows she's comin' while yet she's five mile out
on the trail. Not that we savvys who she is or what she aims at; we
merely gets moved up next to the fact that she's a lady, an' likewise
no slouch for looks.
"We reads these yere trooths in the dust old Monte kicks up, as he
comes swingin' in with the stage. Which it's the weakness of this
inebriate, as I tells you former, that once let him get a lady aboard,
it looks like it's a signal for him to go pourin' the leather into his
team like he ain't got a minute to live. It's a p'lite attention he
assoomes, in his besotted way, is doo the sex.
"It's the more strange, too, since it's the only attention Monte ever
pays 'em. He never looks at 'em, never speaks to 'em; simply plants
himse'f on the box, as up an' down as a cow's tail, an' t'ars into
them harassed hosses. If the lady he's complimentin' that a-way was to
get jolted overboard--which the same wouldn't be no mir'cal,
considerin' how that dipsomaniac drives--it's even money he leaves her
hunched up like a jack-rabbit alongside the trail, an' never thinks of
stoppin' or turnin' back. He's merely a drunkard with that one fool
idee of showin' off, an' nothin' the stage people's ever able to say
can teach him different. From first to last you-all could measure
Monte's notion of the pulcritoode of a petticoat passenger by the
extent to which he lams loose with his whip. Given what he deems is a
she-sunburst, he shorely does maltreat the company's live stock
shameful.
"'If,' observes Peets, as a bunch of us stands gossipin' round in
front of the Red Light that time, watchin' the dust cloud draw nearer
an' nearer--'if it's poss'ble to imagine the old sot as havin' a
Cleopatra to freight over from Tucson, it's a cow pony to a Mexican
sheep he'd kill one of the wheelers.'
"Thar ain't none of us knows who this yere Cleopatra the Doc refers to
is, onless it's Colonel Sterett, who edits the _Daily Coyote_. Still,
the compar'son is plenty convincin'. Accordin' to the Doc himself,
this Cleopatra's a meteoric female party, as lively as she is lovely,
who sets a passel of ancient sports to walkin' in a cirkle back
some'ers in the mists of time. Also, it's bloo chips to white, an' bet
'em higher than a cat's back, the Doc knows. The Doc is ondoubted the
best eddicated gent that ever makes a moccasin track between Yuma an'
the Raton Pass, an' when he onbuckles techin' any historic feachures,
you can call for a gooseha'r pillow, an' go to sleep on it he ain't
barkin' at no knot.
"Thar's a feeble form of young tenderfoot pesterin' about the suburbs
of the crowd. He's one of them hooman deficits, so plumb ornery as to
be useless East, which their fam'lies, in gettin' rid of 'em, saws
happ'ly off onto a onprotected West. This partic'lar racial disaster's
been on our hands now mebbe it's six months, an' we-all is hopin'
that in some p'intless sort o' way he'll brace up and do overt acts
which entitles us to stampede him out of camp. But so far he don't.
"This yere exile comes wanderin' into the talk by askin'--his voice as
thin as a curlew's:
"'Who is this old Monte you're alloodin' at?'
"'Whoever he is?' says Boggs. 'Which if you-all'd struck camp by way
of Tucson, instead of skulkin' upon us in the low-down fashion you
does along of the Lordsburg-Red Dog buckboard, you wouldn't have to
ask none. He's the offishul drunkard of Arizona, Monte is. Which the
same should be notice, too, that it's futile for you to go ropin' at
that p'sition. I says this, since from the quantity of Old Jordan
you've been mowin' away, I more'n half infers that you nourishes
designs upon the place.'
"The feeble young shorthorn smiles a puny smile, and don't lunge forth
into no more queries.
"Texas, who's been listenin' to what Boggs says, squar's 'round an'
half-way erects his crest for an argyooment. Texas has had marital
troubles, an' him ponderin' the same constant renders him some morbid
an' morose.
"'From your tone of voice, Dan,' remarks Texas, 'I takes it you holds
Monte's appetite for nose paint to be a deefect. That's whar I
differs. That old marauder is a drunkard through sheer excess of
guile. He finds in alcohol his ark of refooge. I only wish I'd took to
whiskey in my 'teens.'
"Boggs is amazed.
"'Texas,' he says, plenty sorrowful, 'it wouldn't astonish me none if
you finds your finish in a wickeyup deevoted to loonatics, playin'
with a string of spools.'
"'That's your onthinkin' way. Do you reckon now, if I'd been a slave
to drink when that Laredo wife of mine first sees me, she'd have
w'irled me to the altar an' made me the blighted longhorn you sees
now? She wouldn't have let me get near enough to her to give her a
bunch of grapes. It's my sobri'ty that's my ondoin', that an' bein'
plumb moral. Which I onerringly traces them divorce troubles, an' her
sellin' up my stock at public vandoo for cost an' al'mony like she
does, to me weakly holdin' aloof from whisky when I'm young.'
"'Which I shore,'--an' Boggs shows he's mighty peevish an' put
out--'never meets up with a more exasp'ratin' conversationist! It's
because you're sech an' egreegious egotist! You-all can't talk ten
minutes, Texas, but what you're allers bringin' in them domestic
affairs of yours. If you desires to discuss whiskey abstract, an' from
what the Doc thar calls a academic standp'int, I'm your gent. But I
declines to be drug into personal'ties, in considerin' which I might
be carried by the heat of deebate to whar I gets myse'f shot up.'
"'I sees your attitood, Dan; I sees your attitood, an' respects it.
Jest the same, thar's an anti-nuptial side to the liquor question, an'
bein' a drunkard that a-way is not without its compensations.'
"'But he's bound to be so blurred,' reemonstrates Boggs, who by nacher
is dispootatious, an' once started prone to swing an' rattle with a
topic like a pup to a pig's y'ear: 'That drunkard is so plumb
blurred.'
"'Blurred but free, Dan,' retorts Texas, mighty firm. 'Don't overlook
no sech bet as that drunkard bein' free. Also, it's better to be free
than sober.'
"'Goin' back to Monte,' says Boggs, returning to the orig'nal text;
'half the time, over to the O.K. Restauraw when Missis Rucker slams
him down his chuck, he ain't none shore he's eatin' flapjacks or
rattlesnakes. The other day, when Rucker drops a plate, he jumps three
feet in the air, throws up his hands an' yells, "Take the express box,
gents, but spar' my life!" It's whiskey does it. The old cimmaron
thinks it's road agents stickin' him up.'
"Dispoote is only ended by the stage thunderin' in--leathers creakin',
chains jinglin', bosses a lather of sweat an' alkali dust, Monte
cocked up on the box as austere as a treeful of owls. He's for openin'
the door, but Peets is thar before him. Let it get dealt down to
showin' attentions to a lady, an' the briskest sport'll have to move
some sudden, or the Doc'll beat him to it. Which he certainly is the
p'litest drug sharp of which hist'ry makes mention!
"The Doc offers his hand to he'p her out, but she hits the ground
onaided as light as any leaf. Nacherally we looks her over. Take her
from foretop to fetlocks, she's as lovely as a diamond flush. She's
got corn-colored ha'r, an' eyes as soft as the sky in Joone. Peets
calls 'em azure--bein' romantic. As for the rest of us, we don't call
'em nothin'. Thar's a sprightly look about 'em, which would shore
jestify any semi-proodent gent in jumpin' sideways. Likewise, she's
packin' a Colt's .45, an' clutchin' a winchester in her little claw,
the same contreebutin' a whole lot toward makin' her impressive as a
pageant.
"'How are you, sports?' she says, tossin' her disengaged hand a
heap arch. 'I gets word about you-all up in Vegas, an' allows I'll
come trundlin' down yere an' size you up. My idee is you needs
regen'ratin'.'
"'Is thar anything we-all can he'p you to, Miss?' asks Enright, who
takes the play away from Peets. 'If aught is wanted, an' thar's a
lariat in the outfit long enough to reach, you-all can trust Wolfville
to rope, throw an' hawg-tie the same accordin' to your wishes.'
"'Yes,' adds Peets, 'as Sam says, if thar's any little way we-all can
serve you, Miss, jest say the word. Likewise, if you don't feel like
speakin', make signs; an' if you objects to makin' signs, shake a
bush. All we reequires is the slightest hint.'
"'Be ca'm,' says the young lady, her manner as se'f-confident as if
she's a queen. 'Thar's nothin' demanded of you outlaws except to
tamely listen. I'm a se'f-respectin', se'f-supportin' young female,
who believes in Woman Suffrage, an' the equality of the sexes in
pol'tics an' property rights. Which my name is Bark, baptized
Cynthiana, the same redooced by my old pap, while yet alive, into the
pet name of Original Sin. It's my present purpose to become a citizen
of this yere camp, an' take my ontrammeled place in its commercial
life by openin' a grogshop. Pendin' which, do you-all see this?'--an'
she dallies gently with a fringe of b'ar-claws she's wearin' as a
necklace, the same bein' in loo of beads. 'That grizzly's as big an'
ugly as him.' Yere she tosses a rose-leaf hand at Boggs, who breaks
into a profoose sweat. 'I downs him. Also, I'll send the first
horned-toad among you, who pays me any flagrant attentions, pirootin'
after that b'ar. Don't forget, gents: my name's Bark, Cynthiana Bark,
pet-named Original Sin, an' thar's a bite goes with the Bark.'
"Havin' conclooded this yere salootatory, Miss Bark, givin' a
coquettish flourish to her winchester, goes trapsein' over to the O.
K. Restauraw, leavin' us--as the story-writer puts it--glooed to the
spot. You see it ain't been yoosual for us to cross up with ladies
who, never waitin' for us to so much as bat an admirin' eye or wag an
adorin' y'ear, opens neegotations by threatenin' to shoot us in two.
"'Thar's a young lady,' says Peets, who's first to ketch his breath,
'that's got what I calls _verve_.'
"'Admittin' which,' observes Enright, some doubtful, havin' been
thrown back on his hocks a whole lot; 'some of you-all young bucks
must none the less have looked at her in a improper way to start her
ghost-dancin' like she does.'
"Enright's eye roves inquirin'ly from Boggs to Texas, an' even takes
in Tutt.
"'Not me!' declar's Texas, plenty fervent; 'not me!--more'n if she's a
she rattlesnake!'
"'As the husband of Tucson Jennie,' observes Tutt, his air some
haughty--which he allers puts on no end of dog whenever he mentions
his fam'ly--'as the husband of Tucson Jennie, an' the ondoubted father
of that public ornament an' blessin', little Enright Peets Tutt, I do
not regyard it as up to me to cl'ar myse'f of no sech charges.'
"'Sam,' says Boggs, his voice reproachful, 'you notes how she makes
invidious compar'sons between me an' that b'ar, an' how she beefs the
b'ar? After which gratooitous slur it's preeposterous to s'ppose I'd
go admirin' her or to takin' any chances.'
"'Then it's you,' says Enright, comin' round on the puny tenderfoot.
'Jack,' he continyoos, appealin' to Jack Moore, who's kettle-tender to
the Stranglers, of which arm of jestice Enright is chief--'Jack, do
you reemark any ontoward looks or leers on the part of this yere
partic'lar prairie dog, calc'lated to alarm a maiden of fastidious
feelin's?'
"'Sir,' breaks in the feeble young tenderfoot, an' all mighty
tremyoolous, 'as shore as my name is Oscar Freelinghuysen I never even
glances at that girl. I ain't so much as present while she's issuin'
her deefiances. I lapses into the Red Light the moment I observes how
she's equipped, an' Black Jack, the barkeep, will ver'fy my words.'
"'All right,' warns Enright, plumb severe, 'you be careful an' conduct
yourself deecorous. Wolfville is a moral camp. Thar's things done
every day an' approved of in Noo York which'd get a gent downed in
Wolfville.'
"'That Miss Bark mentions she's Woman Suffrage, Sam?' observes Boggs,
in a questionin' way, as we stands sloppin' out a recooperative forty
drops in the Red Light.
"'Shore!' replies Enright. 'The Doc yere can tell you all about 'em.
As I onderstands, they're a warlike bevy of women who voylently
resents not bein' born men. Thar's one thing, however; I sincerely
trusts that none of you young sports'll prove that forward an' onwary
as to go callin' her by her pet name of Original Sin. Which she might
take advantage of it. Them exponents of women's rights is plumb full
of the onexpected, that a-way, an' it's my belief that all who ain't
honin' to commit sooicide'll be careful an' address her as Miss
Bark.'
"'Be they many of that Woman Suffrage brand?' persists Boggs.
"'Herds of 'em,' chips in Peets. 'The Eastern ranges is alive with
'em. But they don't last. As a roole they gets married, an' that's
gen'rally speakin' the end of their pernicious activ'ties. Wedlock is
a heap apt to knock their horns off.'
"Faro Nell, Tucson Jennie an' Missis Rucker don't take to this Miss
Bark's Woman Suffrage views.
"'She's welcome,' says the latter esteemable cook an' matron, 'to her
feelin's; but she mustn't come preachin' no doctrine to me, wharof the
effects is to lower me to Rucker's level. I've had trouble enough
redoocin' that ground-hawg to where he belongs, an' I ain't goin' to
sacrifice the work of years for no mere sentiments.'
"'Which I shore agrees with you, Missis Rucker,' says Nell, lookin' up
from some plum preeserves she's backin' off the noonday board to
consider Cherokee, who's settin' next; 'a woman has enough to do to
boss one gent, without tryin' to roole broadcast over whole
commoonities.'
"At this exchange of views Cherokee softly grins like a sharp who can
see his way through. As for Rucker, who's waitin' on the table an'
packin' in viands from the kitchen, he takes it as sullen as a
sorehead dog. Personal, I ain't got no use for Rucker; but between
us, Missis Rucker, one way an' another, does certainly oppress him
grievous.
"Before the week is out we knows a lot more about Miss Bark than we
does when she first comes prancin' out upon us from Monte's stage. Not
that thar's aught ag'inst the lady. It's doo to Enright, who begins
recollectin' things.
"'Which I knows her pop,' explains Enright, 'now my mem'ry's assertin'
itse'f, I knows him when he first comes bulgin' into the Pecos Valley,
eighteen years ago. This Original Sin daughter an' her maw don't show
up none till later. Thar's no more innocent form of tenderfoot than
Bark ever comes weavin' into the Southwest. He's that ignorantly
innocent, wild geese is as wise as serpents to him. But he's full of a
painstakin' energy, all the same, an' mighty assidyoous to learn.'
"'Whatever does he turn to?' asks Texas.
"'He hires out to a peach ranch. An' this'll show you how industrious,
that a-way, this Bark tarrapin is. The peach ranch party has a measly
bunch of sheep. He keeps 'em nights in a box-tight board corral, so's
the coyotes can't get to mingle with 'em none. Days he throws 'em
loose to feed. The first evenin' the peach ranch gent tells this yere
Bark to corral the sheep, an' then come in for supper. "An' be shore,"
says the peach ranch party, "you gets 'em all in."
"'An hour goes by, an' the peach ranch party is about through his
feed, when this yere Bark drifts up to the table. His face is flushed,
but he's w'arin' a look of triumph. "I hives 'em," says he, some
exultant; "only one lamb does shore force me to extend myse'f a lot.
I'll gamble I runs a hundred miles before I rounds him up."
"'Next mornin' the peach ranch party goes out to throw loose them
sheep. As he cranes his neck over the corral fence to count the bunch
he's amazed to see a jack-rabbit galumpin' about among 'em. "Gin'ral
Jackson fit the English!" he exclaims; "however does that jack-rabbit
get himse'f mixed in with them sheep?" An' he p'ints it out to Bark.
"'That ontootered person is all astonishment. "Jack-rabbit!" says he.
"Why, I hopes next fall to vote the reepublican ticket an' die
disgraced if I don't put it down for a lamb! That's the anamile which
makes me run my laigs off roundin' of him up!"'
"'Which, as you says, Sam,' reemarks Tutt, signin' up to Black Jack to
set out the bottles, 'in the face of sech a showin' that Bark party
must have been plenty ardent.'
"'I should shore yell!' coincides Boggs.
"'But he learns in time, of course?' questions Nell.
"'Learns, Nellie?' repeats Enright; 'it ain't three years before he
identifies himse'f with the life about him to that degree he bumps off
two kyard sharps who tries to cold-deck him in a poker game, an' finds
besides his steady employment stealin' old John Chisholm's calves,
tharby assistin' in plantin' the toomultous seed of what comes
subsequent to be called the Lincoln County War.'
"'What's the finish of this interestin' crim'nal?' asks Cherokee.
"'Lynched,' returns Enright. 'They puts him over the jump at Seven
Rivers. You see this Rattlesnake--they calls him Rattlesnake Bark in
them later years--is bunked down in one of these yere jim-crow,
barn-board hotels. Thar's a resoundin' form of guest in the adjoinin'
room, snorin' to beat four kings an' a ace. Rattlesnake tries poundin'
on the partition, an' sw'arin' at him, an' callin' him a hoss thief.
It's no avail. The snores of that boarder sounds like sawin' planks,
an' fa'rly rocks the shack--they're that stormy. Final, when
Rattlesnake's burdens gets to be more'n flesh an' blood can b'ar, he
reaches for his .45, an' bombards that sleeper good an' plenty through
the wall. It turns out it's the new jedge. In the mornin', when this
joorist is discovered too dead to skin, the public is that mortified
it takes Rattlesnake out as soon as breakfast's over, an' strings him
to a limb.'
"'Don't this pore Rattlesnake get no hearin'?' asks Nell.
"'You see, Nellie,' Enright explains, 'what with maverickin' the
Chisholm calves, an' a stage or two hold-up which p'ints to him, the
close season's been out as to this Rattlesnake person for mighty like
a year. Not but what he might have made preperations. Thar's a
reeligious party present who asks Rattlesnake if he wants to pray
some. "Which you'll cross the dark river all the easier," expounds the
reeligious gent. But Rattlesnake reefuses his ministrations. "I'm
what I be," he says; "an' as for that dark river you refers to, I
ain't lookin' for no shallow ford."
"'This Rattlesnake,' continyoos Enright, 'is willin' to learn to the
last. It's his way. Spring a new game on him an' he's out instanter
lookin' for information an' advice. That's why he comes on so fast.
Thar bein' nothin' to stand him on for the purpose of bein' lynched,
the Stranglers posed Rattlesnake a-top of a stack of hay, which is
heaped up onder the tree they're yootilizin'. When the lariat is round
his neck, an' he's disposed of the reeligious party who attempts to
turn the business into a pra'r meetin', Rattlesnake looks at the chief
of the committee an' says, "This yere bein' hanged from hay-cocks is
plumb new to me entire, an' tharfore I'm obleeged to ask whether
you-all expects me to jump off or slide?"'
"'Well,' comments Jack Moore, drawin' a deep breath, 'the old
murderer's game--misguided, mebby, but game.'
"'That may be as it may,' observes Boggs, plenty thoughtful, 'but
after all I regyards these yere details which Sam onfurls as chiefly
valyooable as sheddin' a ray on this Miss Bark. On the chance that she
takes after her old man, from now on I'm goin' to walk 'round her like
she's a swamp.'
"It's ten days after Miss Bark hits camp that things begins to focus.
An old Mexican, the color of a blacksmith's apron, an' his wife, who's
the same prosaic tint, comes creakin' along with a six-mule team--two
wagons, lead an' trail--loaded to the gyards with stock an' fixtures.
Said par'fernalia havin' arrived, Miss Bark busts in the door of the
old deserted Lady Gay, an' takes possession. Armstrong, who runs the
Noo York store, is the owner of the Lady Gay, but onder the
circumstances he allows it'd be the act of a barbarian to interfere.
"Besides, the attitoode of the young lady herse'f is plumb discouragin'.
"'I'd shore admire,' she remarks, as, with the aid of her Mexicans,
she goes tossin' things into p'sition, 'to see some male felon try to
run a bluff about him havin' title to this Lady Gay structure, an'
becomin' my landlord. Men have tyrannized a heap too long as it is
over onprotected women, an' thar's one at least who's took in patient
silence all she will.'
"When Miss Bark's organized, she tacks up over the door a sign which
the painter at the stage station preepar's. It reads:
VOTES FOR WOMEN SALOON
"'Only get it straight,' says Miss Bark when she has us close-herded
at chuck time in the dinin' room of the O. K. Restauraw; 'I ain't
openin' this saloon none with a view to sordid gain. I got money
enough right now to buy an' burn this yere deboshed town of Wolfville,
an' then prance over an' purchase an' apply the torch to that equally
abandoned outfit, Red Dog. What I'm reachin' for is the p'litical
uplift of this camp. Recognizin' whiskey as a permanency an' that
saloons has come to stay, I aims to show folks how them reesorts
should be run. I hopes to see the day when every s'loon'll be in the
hands of ladies. For I holds that once woman controls the nosepaint of
the nation the ballot is bound to follow.'
"Once it's started we-all manages to patronize the Votes For Women
S'loon for a average of three drinks a day. Enright advises it as
safer.
"'Otherwise she might resent it,' explains Enright, 'an' armed to the
teeth like she is, an' possessin' them perfervid idees, thar's no
tellin' whar she'd end.'
"None of us feels like hangin' out thar. The atmosphere is too plumb
formal. Besides, this yere Miss Bark has rooles. No kyards is
permitted; an', moreover, you've got to go outdoors to sw'ar. As to
drinks, the soberest among us can't get licker oftener than every
other time, while Monte can't get none at all. That Votes For Women
S'loon, considered as a house of call, is, an' put it mildest,
certainly depressin'.
"When I speaks of us patronizin' Miss Bark for three daily drinks,
that a-way, thar's exceptions. Monte, as I states, is barred by the
lady personal on the grounds of him bein' a slave to drink; while Tutt
is forbid by Tucson Jennie. Tutt chafes some at them mandates of
Jennie's; but bein' keenly alive as to what's comin' to her, as well
as what she's cap'ble of, in her triple rôle of woman, wife an'
mother, he yields.
"As for Texas, while he subscribes to them three diurnal drinks, he
allers insists that he has company.
"'It's all right,' Texas'd say; 'I ain't intimatin' that this Miss
Bark goes cherishin' designs. But it's my onbreakable roole, since
them divoice experiences, to never enter the presence of onmarried
ladies onless attended by witnesses.'
"Owin' to which, some of us allers trails in along with Texas when he
visits the Votes For Women S'loon. Even when thus protected he
onflaggin'ly confines his observations to 'Licker, Miss, please!' an'
stops thar as dumb as graven images. Once the licker's before him he
heaves it into himse'f same as if it's drugs, an' instantly pulls his
freight a heap speedy, breathin' hard. An' all as scared as a
jack-rabbit that's heard the howl of a wolf.
"Does Miss Bark go proselytin' 'round concernin' them Rights of Women?
Which she shore does! You may say she omits no opportoonity. It's
before Wolfville gets that effete it mixes drinks, an' any one who
knows water from whiskey can 'tend bar. Wharfore, Miss Bark stands
watch an' watch with her old Mexican, Pancho. The times she herse'f is
min'sterin' to our needs she's preachin' Woman Suffrage incessant.
Also, not bein' plumb locoed, we bows in concord tharunto. Enright an'
Peets both concurs that it's the thing to do, an' we does it.
"'Whatever difference does it make?' says Enright; 'the price of
steers remains the same, three-of-a-kind continyoos to beat two pa'r,
thar's still fifty-two kyards in a faro deck, an' every other law of
nacher survives onteched. My notion is to agree with this Miss Bark,
verbal, an' trust to Wolfville's onbeatable luck to pull us through.'
"This counsel sounds good to us, an' we follows it. When Miss Bark
sets forth her woman's rights fulm'nations along with her nosepaint,
we murmurs a hearty assent, an' drinks down both impartial. Boggs,
who's 'motional an' easy worked on, even gets to whar he gives it out
he's actchooally a convert.
"Miss Bark has been on the map for mebby it's a week, then thar occurs
a eeposide which, while it makes no profound impression, deceased
bein' a Mexican, shows she ain't packin' her pap Rattlesnake's old
Colt's .45 in a sperit of facetiousness. It's about third drink time
one evenin' when thar's the dull roar of a gun from over in the Votes
For Women S'loon. When we arrives we finds a dead greaser carelessly
quiled up near the door, an' Miss Bark snappin' the empty shell out of
her six-shooter.
"'He was roode,' is the only explanation she vouchsafes; an' Enright,
after lookin' at Peets a spell, who's lookin' at the ceilin', says
it's s'fficient.
"'Only,' says Enright, when we're all back safe in the Red Light, 'I
sincerely trusts she won't get her hindsights notched up to whar she
takes to bumpin' off _Americanos_. I shore don't know whatever in sech
case we could do, vig'lance committees, in the very essence of their
construction, possessin' no joorisdiction over ladies.'
"'That's right, Sam,' says Peets, plenty grave; 'if it ever gets to
whar this Miss Bark turns her artillery loose on the camp permis'cus
the only hope left would be to adjourn Wolfville _sine die_.'
"Miss Bark, however, never does grow homicidal toward any of us, an'
the only effect of her puttin' that Mexican over is that it inclines
folks gen'ral to step high an' softly on what occasions they're found
plantigradin' about in her s'ciety.
"One week, two weeks, three weeks goes by, an' since a dead Mexican
more or less ain't calc'lated to leave no onefface'ble scars the
incident is all but forgot, when a second uprisin' takes place in the
Votes For Women S'loon. This time it's that sickly curlew-voiced Oscar
who's the shriekin' center of eevents. Most of us is jest filin' out
of the O. K. Restauraw, pickin' our teeth after our matootinal
reepast, when we beholds this yere Oscar boilin' fo'th from the Votes
For Women S'loon, all spraddled out. As he goes t'arin' down the
street Miss Bark seelects a graceful p'sition in the door, an' ca'mly
pumps three loads at him out of her winchester. When I says she pumps
them bullets at Oscar it's to be took conserv'tive; for none of 'em
hits him, but only tosses up the dust about his flyin' feet. At the
last shot Oscar cripples down in a shiverin' heap; an' with that Texas
an' Boggs, not knowin' the extent of his injuries, rolls him onto a
blanket an' packs him to his room over at the O. K. House, so's Peets
can prospect his frame all scientific locatin' the lead.
"Thar bein' no lead, as reelated, Peets reeports final to that
effect.
"'Only,' says Peets, 'he's scared up to sech extents that if our Joan
of Arc had dusted his gaiters with so much as two more bullets he'd
have been beyond medical skill.'
"Followin' the foosilade Miss Bark sends for Enright.
"'It's this way,' she goes on, when Enright arrives. 'That shorthorn
Oscar comes lurchin' in, an' asks for nosepaint. As he stands thar,
puttin' it onder his belt--me meanwhile swabbin' off the bar--he
mentions that his paw's rich, an' his step-maw's jest died, leavin'
him an' his paw alone. Then he calls attention to the presence in camp
of that strayed sky-pilot, who preaches an' passes the hat the other
evenin' over in the wareroom of the Noo York store. It's now, havin'
got the bar tittivated to my taste, I has time to look this Oscar
person's way, an' I finds him gloatin' over me in form an' manner not
to be mistook. "Whatever be you leerin' at?" I deemands, bein' I'm in
no mood for insults. Tharupon, he cuts loose a mouthful of platitoodes
concernin' wedlock, an' about me bein' the soul of his soul. Havin'
stood it a while, an' findin' my forbearance makes him worse, I grabs
my winchester whar it's reposin' ready for eemergincies on the
dripboard, an' you knows the rest.'
"'With your free consent, Miss,' says Enright, 'I'd like to put one
query. Was you aimin' to down, or to simply skeer this Oscar?'
"'I was only skeerin' him up some,' replies Miss Bark coyly. 'W'y, if
I was reely out for his skelp, I'd have shore got it a heap. You can
pin a patch the size of a dollar on that disparin' lover's coat, an'
I'll cut it nine times in ten, offhand, at a hundred yards.'
"'Tests is not reequired,' Enright interposes, plenty hasty; 'it's
part of the organic law of this yere camp that a lady's word, even
about her age, is to be took onchallenged.'
"'Which I'm flattered,' says Miss Bark. 'Now, is thar anything else?'
"'Only this,' returns Enright. 'As long as he gives you cause, an' you
can shoot like you says, why ever don't you down him?'
"'Which I confesses,' says Miss Bark, a blush mantlin' her brow,
'that sech is my orig'nal intentions when I reaches for my weepon. But
jest as I sees that Oscar through the sights it comes upon me that
thar's nothin' in bein' preecip'tate, an' mebby I'd better give myse'f
the needed time to think his offer over.'
"Enright shakes his wisdom-freighted head; when he relates his talk to
Peets, the Doc shakes his head sim'lar in sapient yoonison.
"'Which I'll bet a hatful of yellow chips,' says Boggs, who's stood
listenin', 'ag'inst a handful of whites, that this yere Miss Bark
makes herse'f an' that Oscar shorthorn man an' wife.'
"'Now I wouldn't wonder none,' observes Peets, replyin' to the look in
Enright's eye. 'That shootin' needn't count. A troo affection is
freequent boisterous, that a-way.'
"'An' in case,' says Enright, 'the kyards do fall in favor of
matrimony, it'll most likely be the end of that Votes For Women
S'loon. I begins to see how this yere ongrateful outfit may yet get
deep in debt to that egreegious Oscar.'
"None of us ever says so, but it's the common belief that Texas
connives at this yere threatened Oscar's escape. In any case, the
next mornin' Oscar goes catfoot out of the O. K. House before folks is
up, an' takes to hidin' out. The fact is he's layin' for Monte an' the
stage, about ten mile no'th of camp. Leastwise, he's thar a heap when
Monte comes along, an' deemands that he be took up an' carried to
Tucson.
"It ain't first drink time before this Oscar's missed, an' by second
drink time the news has drifted over to Miss Bark. It's Peets who
informs her, an' he tells us, when reelatin' the incident, that the
way that deeserted lady knits her brow is a caution to philos'phers.
"'So,' she says at last, 'that onmitigated seedoocer thinks to leave
me in this heartless way. He'll find before he's through that it's no
light matter to charm into fervent life a love like mine.'
"'It's the theery, Miss,' says Peets, 'of the best minds in camp that
this Oscar's hit the Tucson trail afoot, with a plan of headin' off
the stage.'
"Ten minutes an' Miss Bark is in the saddle, a lead pony gallopin' by
her side, in hot pursoote of the dir'lect.
"'That lead pony looks om'nous, Doc,' observes Enright, as the two
stands watchin' Miss Bark's departure.
"'It's prov'dential,' remarks Peets, as he heads the procession to the
Red Light, 'that that sky-pilot's aboard the stage. Which he ought to
work in plumb handy.'
"Six hours later Miss Bark comes surgin' in with her Oscar foogitive,
his heels tied onder the belly of the lead hoss. Any one can see by
his benumbed expression that he's a married man. The two heads
straight for the Votes For Women S'loon, an' after boltin' her new
he'pmeet into the back room, Miss Bark takes a peek in the glass, pats
down her ha'r, an' goes behind the bar as yoosual.
"'Yes,' she replies, an' all a heap modest an' artless, as Peets an'
Enright--actin' on behalf of the camp--gyardedly inquires if they're
to offer congratulations, 'I reckon you may. An' the best part is that
my dear Oscar's so plumb ready an' willin'. Which I never knows a
bridegroom, gents, who gets married with so little struggle.'
[Illustration: "IT'S YOU, OSCAR, THAT I WANT," OBSERVES MISS BARK. "I
CONCLOODES, UPON SOBER SECOND THOUGHT, TO ACCEPT YOUR OFFER OF MARRIAGE."
p. 93.]
"'How soon, Missis Freelinghuysen,' says Peets, 'do you-all reckon on
lettin' this Oscar husband out?'
"'Oh,' she returns, 'as soon as ever it's safe. Jest now he's some
onstrung; but in a day or two I figger he'll begin to get reeconciled
to his bliss. An' at that, my main idee in lockin' him up is one of
reeform rather than restraint. Oscar's been over-drinkin' himse'f of
late; an' I aims to get the whiskey out of him, so as I can form some
reas'nable estimate of how much of a husband that a-way I've done
roped up.'
"'Is thar any objections,' asks Enright, 'to our visitin' this modern
pris'ner of Chillon? We binds ourselves to say nothin' that'll fret
him, or set him to beatin' his life out ag'inst the bars.'
"'W'y, shore,' she replies, 'you-all is quite welcome. I only hopes
you'll teach him to look at things in their proper light.'
"'It ain't so much,' says this Oscar husband, when Enright an' Peets
calls upon him in his captivity, 'that I've been hurried, onregyardful
of my feelin's, into the married state. But, gents, my parent is doo,
accordin' to his last letter, to come curvin' in yere any minute; an'
whatever do you-all reckon now he's goin' to say?'
"Enright an' Peets is so moved they promises the imprisoned Oscar
their support, an' this leaves him, if not hopeful, at least some
cheered.
"Monte gives his version of them nuptials when he returns from
Tucson.
"'Which it's this a-way, pards,' says Monte. 'I'm twenty miles no'th
of yere, when somethin' flashes by with a lead hoss, like arrows.
Thinks I, "That's a hoss thief gettin' away with some stock"; an',
allowin' Jack Moore'll be hard on his neefarious hocks, I'm lookin'
back to see can I raise Jack's dust. The next I knows, an' all as
sudden as a pan of milk from a top shelf, I hears a silv'ry voice
remarkin': "Set your brake!" an' turnin' my head I finds a winchester
p'intin' as squar' between my eyes as you-all could lay your finger.
Gents, thar's something mighty cogent about a winchester that a-way,
an' I shore shoves on the brake with sech abandon I snaps the shank
short off.'
"'Wharever is this Oscar party?' asks Enright.
"'He's with me on the box; an' when this yere intrepid Miss Bark takes
to dom'neerin' at us with that rifle he collapses. "It's you, Oscar,"
observes this Miss Bark, shiftin' the muzzle to him. "Upon second
thought I concloods to accept your offer of marriage."
"'Which at that crisis,' remarks Peets, 'this Oscar of course breaks
into loud an' joyful cries.'
"'Not exactly. In fact, his tones if anything is some low-sperited. "I
takes it," he says, when he's able to command his feelin's, "that you
declines them proffers with your winchester at the time when made."
But the lady dismisses this as a quibble, an' merely sayin' that she
won't be paltered with no farther, orders Oscar an' the Bible sharp
who's ridin' inside to assemble by the edge of the trail. The Bible
sharp attempts to lay the foundations of fresh objections by askin'
Oscar does he do this of his own free will; but the muzzle of the
winchester--which the bride all along reetains in her hands--begins
movin' 'round in his direction, observin' which man'festation he
pronounces 'em husband an' wife. "What heaven has j'ined together,"
says he, "let no man put asunder." After which he blesses 'em, an'
reeports the last cinch fastened. "Pay him, Oscar," whispers the
bride. Wharupon Oscar, his fingers tremblin', squars the Bible sharp
with the price of a brace of steers, an' the deed is done. Now he's
hers for better or worse, she ropes his heels together onder the belly
of her lead hoss, an' the happy pa'r goes romancin' back for
Wolfville, while I kicks loose what's left of the brake an' p'ints out
ag'in for Tucson.'
"On the third day, by givin' his parole an' promising to fondly
reeport to his spouse once every hour, Oscar is permitted to go
reecreatin' about the camp.
"'Only,' says the lady, by way of warnin' to Black Jack, 'thar's to be
no drinks.'
"These yere strained conditions preevails for mebby it's five days,
when, as the stage swings in to the post office one evenin', a stout
florid old gent gets out. He comes puffin' up to Peets a heap
soopercilious.
"'Do you-all know a addle-pated an' semi-eediotic young party,' says
he, 'who's named Oscar Freelinghuysen?'
"'Why, yes,' returns Peets, 'I do. Onless my mem'ry's pulled its
picket pin an' gone plumb astray he's the eboolient sharp who
conclooded a somewhat toomultuous courtship last week by gettin'
married. He's in the shank of his honeymoon as we stands chattin'
yere.'
"The florid gent glares at Peets, his feachures the color of liver,
his eyes stickin' out like the eyes of a snail.
"'Married!' he gasps, an' falls in a apoplectic fit.
"It takes a week an' all the drugs Peets has got before that
apoplectic's able to sit up an' call for nosepaint. An' whatever do
you think? His daughter-in-law, but onbeknownsts to him as sech,
nurses him from soda to hock. Oscar Joonior? By advice of Enright that
prodigal's took to cover over in Red Dog ontil we've made shore about
the fatted calf.
"The former Miss Bark puts up that nursin' game with Peets, an' day
an' night she hangs over her apoplectic father-in-law like a painter
over a picture. She's certainly as cunnin' as a pet fox! She dresses
as quiet as a quail an' makes her voice as softly sober as a suckin'
dove's. In the end she's got that patient hypnotized.
"After Peets declar's him out of danger, an' all propped up in his
blankets he's subscribed to mighty likely it's the fifth drink, the
apoplectic begins to shed tears a heap profoose, an' relate to his
nurse--the former Miss Bark--how his two wives has died, leavin' him a
lonely man. She, the former Miss Bark, is his only friend--he
says--an' he winds up his lamentations by recommendin' that she become
his third.
"'You're the only hooman heart who ever onderstands me,' he wails,
gropin' for her hand, 'an' now my ongrateful boy has contracted a
messalliance I shore wants you for my wife.'
"She hangs her head like a flower at night, an' lets on she's a heap
confoosed.
"'Speak,' he pleads; 'tell me that you'll be mine.'
"'Which I'd shore admire to, but I can't,' she murmurs; 'I'm wedded to
your son.'
"The old apoplectic asks for more licker in a dazed way, an' sends for
Peets. The Doc an' him goes into execyootive session for most an
hour; meanwhile the camp's on edge.
"At the close the Doc eemerges plumb radiant.
"'Everything's on velvet,' he says; 'thar's never a more joodicious
convalescent. He freely admits, considerin' the sort of daughter-in-law
he's acquired, that Oscar has more sense than folks suspects.'
"Now that the skies is cl'ared, the bridegroom is fetched back from
Red Dog, an' thar's a grand reeconciliation.
"'We'll all go back East together,' sobs father-in-law Freelinghuysen,
holdin' both their hands.
"Two days later they starts, Missis Freelinghuysen Joonier lookin'
after father-in-law Freelinghuysen same as if he's a charlotte
roosse.
"The Votes For Women S'loon?
"It's kept a secret, at Peet's su'gestion, him bein' apoplectic that
a-way. The stock is bought by public subscription of the camp, an'
when the Freelinghuysen household is out of sight an' hearin' we
invites Red Dog over in a body an' onbelts in a mod'rate orgy. The
sign, 'Votes For Women S'loon,' is now preeserved in the custody of
the Wolfville Historical Society, which body is called into active
bein' upon motion of Peets, while Red Dog an' us is drinkin' up the
stock."
IV
OLD MONTE, OFFICIAL DRUNKARD
"Shore; Monte's the offishul drunkard of Arizona." The old cattleman
was answering my question. "Or, seein' that mebby Wolfville's
joorisdiction won't be held none to reach beyond, let's say the
offishul drunkard of Cochise County. That's Monte's civic designation;
offishul drunkard, an' meant to fix his social place.
"Does he resent it?
"Which he proudly w'ars that title like it's a kingly crown! It's as
good as even money that to ondertake to sep'rate him from it, or deny
the same, is the one single thing he bristles up at an' give you a
battle over.
"Which this yere last should mean a heap, since Monte's plumb pacific
by nacher, an' abhors war to the mean confines of bein' timid. To be
shore, he'll steam at the nose, an' paw the sod, an' act like he's out
to spread rooin far an' wide--that he's doo to leave everything in
front of him on both sides of the road. But in them perfervid
man'festations he don't reely intend nothin' either high or heenious,
or more'n jest to give his se'f-respect an outing that a-way. Let the
opp'sition call him down, an' the crafty old cimmaron'll go to the
diskyard instanter.
"Which at that, Monte ain't without his interestin' side. When onder
the inflooence of nosepaint, which last is constant, he has three
distinct moods. About the fo'th drink, let a stranger show up,
an'--all aff'ble an' garyoolous--Monte's right thar to do the honors.
When the stranger, gettin' weary, kicks Monte off him, the same bein'
shore to happen final since no one formed in the image of his Maker
can put up with them verbal imbecil'ties of his beyond a given len'th
of time, he'll arch his back an'--apparently--wax that f'rocious a
wronged grizzly to him is as meek as milk. An' yet, as I tells you,
it's simply a blazer; an' the moment the exasperated stranger begins
betrayin' symptoms of goin' to a showdown, Monte lapses into his third
mood of haughty silence, an' struts off like it's beneath him to bandy
words.
"That's the savin' clause in Monte's constitootion; he may get drunk,
but he never gets injoodicious. Thar's a sport from some'ers over
'round Shakespear in the dance hall one evenin', whose patience has
been plenty treespassed on by Monte. By way of bringin' matters to a
deecisive head, this yere Shakespear party tells Monte he's a liar. Do
you reckon Monte hooks up with him? Not a chance! He simply casts on
that maligner from Shakespear a look of disparagement, an' with nose
held high, as markin' his contempt, moves away with the remark.
"'That's something I refooses to discuss with you.'
"Which thar's no more real p'isin in Monte than in a hired girl.
"We has the chance once to try some experiments on Monte, an' it's the
mistake of our lives we don't. Peets, whose regrets is scientific,
feels speshully acoote. Thar's a partic'lar bar'l of nosepaint gets
trundled into camp, which is nothin' short of bein' the condensed
essence of hostility. Black Jack, after years as barkeep, says himse'f
he never sees nothin' like it. On the hocks of two drinks, folks gets
that ornery Enright has it freighted back to Tucson in alarm, fearin'
for the peace of the camp. At the time, none of us thinks of it; but
later it's a subject of gen'ral regret that some of it ain't saved to
try on Monte. Mebby that speshul brand of licker turns out to be the
missin' ingreedient, an' keys him up to deeds of heroism.
"Jest to show you some of the milder workin's of that licker. Boggs
files away four inches of it onder his belt, an' next, when he's
walkin' by the corral an' meets a Mexican, he reaches out in a
casyooal an' abstracted way, collars that Greaser an' hefts him over a
six-foot 'dobe fence, same as if he's a bag of bran; an' all apropos
of nothin'. Boggs says himse'f he don't know why none. He's thinkin'
of something else at the time, he declar's, an' the eepisode don't
leave no partic'lar traces on his mem'ry. The trooth is, it's that
veehement an' onmuzzled nosepaint, incitin' him to voylence.
"Is the Mexican hurt?
"Which, if I remembers rightly, Peets does mention about a busted
collarbone. But it don't create no interest--him bein' a Mexican. You
see, thar's a feelin', amountin' fa'rly to a onwritten law, that
Mexicans ain't got no rightful call to be seen in public no how; an'
when one does go pirootin' round permiscus, in voylation of this yere
tenet, nacherally he takes his chances. You-all can gamble, though,
that Boggs shore never would have reached for him, only he's
actchooated by that whiskey.
"As modest an' retirin' a sperit as Cherokee, to whom any form of
boastful bluff is plumb reepellant, subscribes to a mod'rate snifter
of that licker; an' in less time than it takes to rope a pony, he's
out in front of the Red Light, onbucklin' in a display of pistol
shootin'. Thar's a brace of towerists in camp, an' Cherokee let's on
he'll show 'em. Which he shore shows 'em! He tosses two tomatter cans
on high, an' with a gun in each hand keeps 'em dancin' an' jumpin'
about in the atmosphere ontil thar's six bullets through each. It's a
heap satisfyin' as a performance, as far as them pop-eyed towerists is
concerned, an' both leaves town that evenin' by speshul buckboard.
"Onaffected by that licker, Cherokee wouldn't have no more gone an'
made sech a spectacle of himse'f, though urged tharunto by the
yoonanimous voice of the outfit. When he so far recovers as to
'ppreeciate what Faro Nell has to say of them exploits--an', while
tender, she's plenty explicit--he comes mighty clost to blushin'
himse'f to death.
"It's after we notes what it does to Cherokee, an' hears of them
exhibitions of broote force by Boggs, that we gets timid about this
yere whisky, an' Enright orders the bar'l sent back. An' right he is!
S'ppose them Red Dogs was to have come prancin' over for a social
call, an' s'ppose in entertainin' 'em we all inadvertent has recourse
to that partic'lar licker, whatever do you-all reckon 'd have been the
finish? Son, thar'd have been one of them things they calls a
catyclism, an' nothin' short.
"It's shore a fightin' form of licker. Tutt reeserves out a tin cup of
it, an' sets it down by a prairie dog's hole. Accordin' to Tutt, the
dog comes out, laps it once, an' starts back same as if he's been shot
with a '45. Thar he squats, battin' his eyes, wrinklin' up his nose,
an' cogitatin'. After thinkin' the thing over, the dog approaches,
mighty gingerly, an' takes three or four more laps. Then he r'ars
back, an' considers for quite a spell. It looks final like he gets his
mind made up, an' with that he capers over, an' he'ps himse'f to what
for a prairie dog is shore a big drink.
"Two minutes later, ha'r bristlin', whiskers standin' out like wire,
eyes full of determination, that dog crosses over to another dog who's
livin' neighbor to him, an' says--accordin' to Tutt:
"'Wharever can I locate that coyote who's been domineerin' round yere
for mebby it's a month, harassin' folks into their holes? Whar's that
coyote at?'
"Peets allers allows Tutt exaggerates, but havin' sampled that licker
some myse'f, I'm a long ride from bein' so shore.
"That lack of war instinct in Monte ain't no speecific drawback. Him
drivin' stage that a-way, he ain't expected none to fight. The
hold-ups onderstands it, the company onderstands it, everybody
onderstands it. It's the law of the trail. That's why, when the stage
is stopped, the driver's never downed. Which if thar's money aboard,
an' the express outfit wants it defended, they slams on some sport to
ride shotgun that trip. It's for this shotgun speshulist to give the
route agents an argyooment. Which they're licensed to go bombardin'
each other ontil the goin' down of the sun. As for the driver,
however, the etikette simply calls for him to set his brake, an' all
peaceful hold his hands above his head. It's inside his rights, too,
accordin' to the rooles, for him to cuss out the hold-ups, an' call
'em all the hard names of which he's cap'ble; an' stage drivers, who
loves their art, spends their time between drinks practisin' new cuss
words, an' inventin' onheard of epithets, so as to be ready when dooty
an' o'casion calls. Havin' downed or driven off the shotgun sport, an'
seen the bottom of the express box, the hold-ups tells the stage
driver to pull his freight. Wharupon he picks up the reins, kicks free
the brake, lets fly a loorid an' final broadside of vitooperation--he
havin' carefully reeserved the same, by way of peroration--an' goes
his windin' way.
"Wolfville's been on the map for most a year, when Monte first shows
up. In the beginnin', an' ontil we-all gets adjusted to him, he's
something of a bore. Leastwise, he ain't what you'd go so far as to
call a boon companion. When it dawns on us that he's plottin' to make
himse'f a permanency, it certainly does look for a spell that, what
with his consumption of nosepaint an' what with his turrific genius
for snorin', he's goin' to be a trifle more'n we can stand.
"Does Monte snore?
"Not to create ondoo excitement, the bar'foot onclothed trooth is that
his snorin' falls nothin' short of bein' sinful. Boggs has plenty of
countenance when he brings them snores to the attention of Enright.
"'Thar's shore a limit somewhar, Sam,' Boggs says, 'to this yere
drunkard's right to snore. Which he's simply keepin' everybody over to
the O. K. House settin' up. Onless something's done to check him,
thar'll be a epidemic of St. Vitus dance. You ask Doc Peets; he'll
tell you that this yere Monte with his snorin' is a scourge.'
"It's not alone their volume, but their quality, which makes them
snores of Monte so ondesir'ble. Some folks snores a heap deprecatory,
an' like they're apol'gizin' for it as they goes along. Others snores
in a manner ca'mly confident, an' all as though the idee that any gent
objects would astonish 'em to death. Still others snores plumb
deefiant, an' like they ain't snorin' so much for comfort, that
a-way, as to show their contempt for mankind. It's to this yere latter
hostile school that drunkard, Monte, belongs.
"After Boggs lodges complaint, Enright takes a corrective peek into
the sityooation. Thar's two rooms over the O. K. kitchen, sort o' off
by themselves. Upon Enright's hint, Missis Rucker beds down Monte in
one, an' Deef Andy, who mends harness for the stage company an' can't
hear nothin', in the other.
"'It's for the safety of your excellent car'vansary, Ma'am,' Enright
explains. 'Which Dan's mighty easy moved; an' some mornin', onless you
adopts them improvements, that somnolent sot you're harborin' 'll go
too far with Dan. I takes it you-all don't want the shack all smoked
up with Dan's six-shooter? In which event you'll put that reverberant
drunkard in the far-corner room, with Andy next.'
"Peets once mentions a long-ago poet party, named Johnson, who,
speakin' of a fellow poet after he's dead an' down onder the
grass-roots, lets on that he teches nothin' he don't adorn. You can
go your ultimate simoleon that ain't Monte's style. The only things he
don't upset is bottles; the only flooid he never spills is licker.
This yere last would be ag'inst his religion. Wharever he goes, he's
otherwise draggin' his rope, an' half the time he's steppin' on it.
"It's him that coaxes that onhappy Polish picture painter our way.
This yere is long after he's drivin' stage, an' as Wolfville's
offishul drunkard becomes a tol'rated feachure of the camp. This
Polish artist person is as much out o' place in Arizona as a faro
lay-out at a Sunday school picnic. Monte crosses up with him over at
Tucson in the Oriental S'loon, an' while thar's no ties between 'em,
more'n what nacherally forms between two gents who sets drinkin'
together all night long, before ever they're through with each other
that inspired inebriate lands the locoed artist party on our hands.
Enright shore does go the limit in rebookin' Monte.
"'Why, Sam,' says Monte, an' he's that depreecatory he whines, 'I
allows you'll look on him as a acquisition.'
"'All the same,' returns Enright, an' I never knows him more
forbiddin', 'yereafter please confine your annoyin' assidooities to
drivin' stage, an' don't go tryin' to improve the outlook of this
camp.'
"Monte, with this, gets that dismal he sheds tears. 'Which it shore
looks like I can't do nothin' right,' he sobs.
"'Then don't,' says Enright.
"From the start, Monte graves himse'f upon the mem'ry of folk as the
first sport, to onroll his blankets in Cochise County, who consoomes
normal over twenty drinks a day. Upon festal occasions like Noo
Year's, an' Christmas, an' Fo'th of Jooly, an' Thanksgivin', no gent
who calls himse'f a gent thinks of keepin' tabs on a fellow gent, no
matter how freequent he signs up to Black Jack. On gala o'casions,
sech as them noted, the bridle is plumb off the hoss, an' even though
you drinks to your capac'ty an' some beyond, no one's that vulgar as
to go makin' remarks. But that ain't Monte; he's different a heap. It
looks like every day is Fo'th of Jooly with him, he's that inveterate
in his reemorseless hankerin' for nosepaint.
"Also, regyarded as to his social side, Monte, as I states former, is
a nooisance. Knowin' folks, too, is his fad. Only so you give him
licker enough, he'll go surgin' round accostin' every gent he sees. No
matter how austere a stranger is, Monte'll tackle him. An' at that he
never says nothin' worth hearin', an' in its total absence of
direction his conversation resembles nothin' so much as a dog chasin'
its tail.
"An' then thar's them footile bluffs he's allers tryin' to run. He's
been pesterin' in an' out of the Red Light one evenin' ontil he's got
Black Jack incensed. As he comes squanderin' along, for say the
twentieth time, Black Jack groans, an' murmurs,
"'Yere's that booze-soaked old hoss-thief ag'in!'
"Monte gets the echo of it, same as folks allers does when it ain't
wanted, but he's onable to say who. So he stands thar by the bar,
glarin' 'round an' snortin'. Final, he roars:
"'Who cuts loose that personal'ty?'
"Thar ain't no answer, an' Monte ag'in takes to pitchin' on his rope.
"'Show me the galoot who insults me,' he roars; 'let him no longer
dog it, but p'int himse'f out as the gent.'
"'All right,' says Black Jack, whose indignation gets the best of his
reespons'bilities as barkeep, 'which I'm the party who alloodes to you
as a booze-soaked old hoss-thief.'
"'An' so you're the gent,' says Monte, castin' a witherin' glance at
Black Jack; 'so you're the would-be sooicide who calls me a
booze-soaked old hoss-thief?'
"'Which I'm the identical stingin' lizard. Now what is it you're so
plumb eager to say?'
"'What am I eager to say? I merely wants to remark that you ain't done
nothin' to swell up over. You-all needn't go thinkin' you're the first
barkeep who calls me a booze-soaked old hoss-thief.'
"Havin' la'nched this yere, Monte turns off as stiffly pompous as
though he ain't left a grease-spot of Black Jack.
"When folks won't listen to him no longer, Monte goes bulgin' forth
into the highways an' the byways, an' holds long an' important
discussions with signs, an' dry-goods boxes, an' sim'lar inan'mate
elements of the landscape. Also, to mules an' burros. I remarks him
myse'f, whisperin' in the onregyardful y'ear of a burro, an' said
anamile as sound asleep as a tree. When that drunkard's through his
confidences, he backs off, an' wavin' his paw plumb myster'ous at the
burro says:
"'Remember, now; I'm givin' you this yere p'inter as a friend.'
"That time Black Jack offends Monte, after the latter hits the
sidewalk followin' what he clar'ly considers is his crushin' come-back
on Black Jack, he gets the feelin' that Jack's ha'ntin' along on his
trail. Before he's gone fifty foot, he w'irls about, an' shouts:
"'Don't you-all follow me! Which, if you crowds me, them places that
has knowed you won't know you no more forever.'
"When Monte gets off this menace, it seems like the Black Jack specter
becomes intim'dated, an' tries to squar' itse'f.
"'What's that?' Monte asks, after listenin' mighty dignified to the
spook's excuses; 'you begs my pardon? Not another word. If you-all
keeps on talkin' now you'll sp'ile it. Thar's my hand,' givin' the
fingers of the phantom a mighty earnest squeeze. 'I'm your friend, an'
that goes.'
"Havin' established a peace, Monte insists that the Black Jack phantom
b'ar him company to the O. K. Restauraw. In spite of all Missis Rucker
can say or do, he plants the spook at the table, feeds it on the best
that's in the kitchen, an' all as confident as if it's shorely troo.
Also, he insists on payin' for two.
"When Missis Rucker tries to show him he's down wrong, he refooses to
have it that way.
"'Do you-all reckon, Ma'am, that I can't trust my eyes none?' he
demands. 'Which you'll tell me next that them airtights I tops of with
is figments.'
"'But thar's only one of you-all,' Missis Rucker persists.
"'Ma'am,' returns Monte, his manner plumb s'picious, 'I don't jest
quite sense your little game. Whatever it is, however, you-all can't
play it on old Monte. You write back to my fam'ly an' the neighbors,
an' the least flatterin' among 'em'll tell you that I'm as cunnin' as
a squinch owl. Thar's two of us who feeds, an' for two of us I
settles. Bein' a woman, you're too feeble-witted for reason, too
mendacious for trooth.'
"'Don't you go callin' me no woman,' says Missis Rucker, her eyes
snappin', 'onless you're ready to cash in.'
"'Women!' repeats Monte, sort o' addressin' the scenery, but still
plenty cynical, 'what be they except a fleetin' show to man's
deloosion given. Also, thar's nothin' to 'em. You opens their front
door, an' you're in their back yard.'
"Texas has been givin' y'ear to the talk. It's before his Laredo wife
starts ropin' for that divorce; but she's already makin' war medicine,
an' the signs an' signal smokes which p'int to an uprisin' is vis'ble
on every hill. Texas is careful not to let Missis Rucker hear him
none, but as he walks away, he mutters:
"'That ghost-seein' sport's got the treemors, but all the same I
strings with him on them estimates of ladies.'
"Texas is that fav'rably affected about Monte, he talks things over
with Tutt, who himse'f ain't married to Tucson Jennie none as yet.
Them nuptials, an' that onbiased blessin', little Enright Peets Tutt,
who results tharfrom, comes along later.
"'Which thar's good in that Monte maverick,' says Texas; 'only so we
could get the nosepaint out of him.'
"'Now, I wouldn't wonder none, neither,' says Tutt.
"'He drinkt up two quarts an' a half yesterday,' says Texas.
"'Ain't thar no steps which can be took?' Tutt asks. 'Two quarts an' a
half, though, shore sounds like he's somethin' of a prop'sition.'
"These yere remarks is made in the Red Light, an' Tutt an' Texas
appeals to Cherokee, whar that courtier of fortune is settin' in
behind his lay-out. Cherokee waves 'em off, p'lite but firm.
"'Don't ask me none,' he says. 'You-all knows my doctrines. Let every
gent kill his own snakes.'
"'That's my theology,' remarks Boggs, who has just come ramblin' in
from the Noo York store, whar he's been changin' in a bundle of money
for shirts; 'I recalls how, when I'm a prattlin' yearlin', hearin'
Parson Ed'ards of the Cambellite Church quotin' whar Cain gives it out
cold that he's not his brother's keeper; an' even at that onthinkin'
age I fully endorses Cain's p'sition.'
"The talk takes in Black Jack, who, by virchoo of him bein' a barkeep,
nacherally savvys a heap about the licker question. Jack reelates how
a sot he knows back in Arkansaw is shocked into never takin' a drink,
by simply blowin' his hand off accidental while tanked up.
"'Whang! goes the old Betsy,' says Jack, 'an' that slave to licker's
shy his left hand. "Which it lets me out!" he exclaims; an' datin'
from said catastrophy he'd no more tech nosepaint, that a-way, than
he'd join the church.'
"'But it's doubtful,' observes Tutt, 'if Enright stands to let us
shoot this yere Monte drunkard's hand off.'
"'It's ten to one he won't,' says Texas; 'still thar ought to be other
schemes for shockin' a party into moral'ty, which stops short o'
cripplin' him for life.'
"'But is this yere inebriate worth the worry?' asks Boggs. 'Also, it
shore strikes me as mighty gratooitous for us to go reorganizin' the
morals of a plumb stranger, an' him not even asked.'
"'Which he's worth the worry all right,' Texas replies. 'Thar's no
efforts too great, when thar's a chance to save a party who has the
same thorough onderstandin' of ladies which this gent has.'
"Up over the Red Light bar is a stuffed bobcat, the same bein' held as
decorative. Only the day before Texas and Tutt stands talkin', a
couple of Enright's riders comes packin' a live bobcat into town,
which between 'em they ropes up over in the foothills of the Tres
Hermanas, an' jams labor'ously into a pa'r of laiggin's. The same idee
seizes on Texas an' Tutt yoonanimous. They sees that it only calls for
the intelligent use of that Bar-8 bobcat, which them cow-punchers of
Enright's ties down, to reegen'rate Monte, an' make him white as
snow.
[Illustration: A COUPLE OF ENRIGHT'S RIDERS COMES A PACKIN' A LIVE BOBCAT
INTO TOWN. p. 118.]
"Monte's ain't present none, bein' over to the O. K. House. By bein'
plumb painstakin', Tutt an' Texas gets a collar onto the captive Bar-8
bobcat, an' chains him up over the Red Light bar, in place of the
stuffed bobcat, deeposed. The Bar-8 bobcat jumps off once or twict
before he learns, an' comes mighty clost to lynchin' himse'f. But
Black Jack is patient, an' each time pokes him back with a cha'r.
After mebby the third jump, it gets proned into the bobcat that thar's
nothin' in it for him to go hurlin' himse'f into space that a-way, an'
bein' saved from death by hangin' only through the cha'r-laig
meditations of Black Jack. Acceptin' this yere view, he stands pat on
his shelf. Likewise, he shore looks mighty vivid up thar, an' has got
that former stuffed predecessor of his beat four ways from the jack.
"We're hankerin' around, now the Bar-8 bobcat's organized, waitin' for
Monte to come amblin' up, an' be reformed.
"'An' you can gamble,' Tutt says, 'that the shock it'll throw into
him'll have a ben'ficial effect. Shootin' off a hand or so ain't in it
with the way that drunkard's goin' to feel.'
"'That's the way I figgers,' Texas remarks. 'One glance at that
bobcat, him on the verge of the treemors, an' thar'll a thrill go
through his rum-soaked frame like the grace of heaven through a camp
meetin'. For one, I antic'pate most excellent effects. Whatever do you
think, Doc?'
"'Whatever do I think?' Peets repeats. 'Which I thinks that, as the
orig'nators of this yere cure for the licker habit, it'll be up to you
an' Dave to convey the patient to his room at the O. K. House, as soon
as ever you can control his struggles.'
"Monte at last heaves in sight, an' comes shiverin' up to the bar,
every nerve as tight as a fiddle string. Black Jack shoves him the
bottle.
"'What stuffed anamile sharp,' says Tutt, craftily directin' himself
at Black Jack, 'mounts that bobcat up thar?'
"Monte nacherally raises his eyes. Thar's that Bar-8 feline,
half-crouched, glarin' down on him with green eyes, big as moons.
"That settles it.
"Monte gives a yell which they hears in Red Dog. Wharupon the bobcat,
takin' it for a threatenin' deemonstration, onfolds in an answerin'
yell, an' makes a scramblin' jump at Monte's head. Shore, he don't
land none, bein' brought up short, like a roped pony. Thar he swings,
cussin' an' spittin' an' clawin', as mad as a drunken squaw, an'
begins all over to hang himse'f afresh.
"Monte?
"That victim of appetite falls to the floor as dead an' flat as a wet
December leaf.
"Actin' on them instructions, Tutt an' Texas picks Monte up an' packs
him across to Peets, who, after fussin' over him for mebby an hour,
brings him round s'fficient so he goes from one convulsion into
another, in what you-all might deescribe as an endless chain of fits.
Thar's nothin' to it; Peets is indoobitable the best equipped drug
sharp that ever breaks loose in Arizona. At that, while Monte lives,
he don't but jest. He's shore close enough at one time to kingdom come
to hear the singin'.
"For two weeks Monte's boilin' an' boundin' round in his blankets,
Texas an' Tutt, feelin' a heap reemorseful, standin' watch and watch.
It's decided that no more attempts to reform him will be made, him
bein'--accordin' to Peets--too far gone that a-way.
"'He's plumb onreform'ble,' explains Peets; 'whiskey's got to be so
much a second nacher with him, that the only way you-all could cure
him now is kill him.'
"By way of partial rep'ration for what he suffers, as soon as Monte
can ag'in move about, Enright calls a meetin' of the camp, an'
dooly commissions him 'Offishul Drunkard,' with a absoloote an'
non-reevok'ble license to go as far as he likes.
"'This yere post of offishul drunkard,' Enright explains to the
meetin', 'carries with it no money, no power, an' means only that he's
free to drink from dark to daylight an' to dark ag'in, oncriticized,
onreproved, an' onsaved. Colonel Sterett imparts to us in the last
_Daily Coyote_ how them Hindoos has their sacred cobras. Cobras not
bein' feas'ble none in Arizona, Wolfville in loo of sech accepts old
Monte. Yereafter, w'arin' the title of offishul drunkard, he takes his
place in the public regyard as Wolfville's sacred cobra.'
"When Monte learns of his elevation, his eyes fills up with gratified
pride, an' as soon as ever he's able to stand the w'ar an' t'ar, he
goes on a protracted public drunk, by way of cel'bration, while we
looks tol'rantly on.
"'Gents,' he says, 'I thanks you. Yereafter the gnawin' tooth of
conscience will be dulled, havin' your distinguished endorsement so to
do. Virchoo is all right in its place. But so is vice. The world
can't all be good an' safe at one an' the same time. Which if we all
done right, an' went to the right, we'd tip the world over. Half has
got to do wrong an' go to the left, to hold things steady. That's me;
I was foaled to do wrong an' go to the left. It's the only way in
which a jealous but inscroot'ble Providence permits me to serve my
hour. Offishul drunkard! Ag'in I thanks you. Which this yere's the way
I long have sought, an' mourned because I found it not, long meter.'
"Boggs is the only gent who takes a gloomy view.
"'That's fine for this yere egreegious Monte,' says Boggs, talkin' to
Enright; 'as Wolfville's pet drunkard an' offishul cobra, he's mighty
pleasantly provided for. But how about the camp? Whar does Wolfville
come in? We're a strong people; but does any gent pretend that we
possesses the fortitoode reequired to b'ar up through all the comin'
rum-soaked years?--an' all onder the weight of this yere onmatched
inebriate, whom by our own act an' as offishul drunkard, we onmuzzles
in our shrinkin' midst? Gents, this thing can't last.'
"'Not necessar'ly, Dan,' retorts Enright, his manner trenchin' on the
cold; 'not necessar'ly. Let me expound the sityooation. I need not
remind you-all that Sand Creek Riley, who drives the Tucson stage,
gets bumped off the other evenin', while preeposterously insistin'
that aces-up beats three-of-a-kind. Realizin' the trooth of half what
you has said, Dan, I this evenin' enters into strategic reelations
with the stage company's agent; an' as a reesult, an' datin' from now
on, old Monte will be hired to fill the place of Sand Creek Riley,
whom we all regrets. It's hardly reequired that I p'int out the
benefits of this yere arrangement. As stage driver, old Monte for
every other night will get sawed off on Tucson. An' I misjedges the
vitality of this camp if, with the pressure on it thus relieved, an'
Tucson carryin' half the load, it's onable to live through. In my
opinion, Dan, by the light of this explanation, you at least oughter
hope for the best.'
"'That's whatever!' says Boggs, who's plumb convinced; 'if I'd waited
ontil you was heard, Sam, I'd never voiced them apprehensions. But the
fact is, this yere Monte cobra of ours, with his bibbin's an' his
guzzlin's, has redooced me to a condition of nervous prostration. It's
all right now. Which I will say, however, that I can't reeflect none
without a shudder on what them Tucson folks'll say an' think, so soon
as ever they wakes up to what's been played on 'em.'"
V
HOW THE MOCKING BIRD WAS WON
"Myst'ries?
"We lives surrounded by 'em. Look whar you will, nacher has a ace
buried. Take dogs, now: Why is it when one of 'em, daylight or dark,
cuts the trail of a anamile, he never makes the fool mistake of
back-trackin' it, but is shore to run his game the way it's movin'?
There must be some kind of head-an'-tail to the scent, that a-way, to
give the dog the hunch. Myst'ry!--all myst'ry! The more a gent goes
messin' 'round for s'lootions, the more he's taught hoomility an' that
he ain't knee-high to toads.
"An' yet when it comes to things myster'ous everything else is bound
to go to the diskyard compared to a lady's heart. Of course, I speaks
only in a sperit of philos'phy, an' not as one who's suffered. I never
myse'f am able pers'nal to approach closter to a lady's heart than
across the street. Peets once reemarks that all trails leads to Rome.
In that business of trails a lady's heart has got Rome left standin'
sideways. Not only does every trail lead tharunto, but thar's sech a
thing as goin' cross-lots. Take gettin' in love; thar's as many ways
as cookin' eggs. While you'll see gents who goes skallyhootin' into
that dulcet condition as straight as a arrer, thar's others who sidles
in, an' still others who backs in. I even knows a boy who shoots his
way in.
"Which the lady in this case is the Mockin' Bird. That Mockin' Bird
maiden has wooers by onbounded scores, but holds herse'f as shy an' as
much aloof as if she's a mountain sheep. Not one can get near enough
to her to give her a ripe peach. Along comes the eboolient Turkey
Track, bulges headlong into her dest'nies, takes to menacin' at her
with a gun an', final, to bombardin' her outright, an'--love an' heart
an' hand--she comes a-runnin'.
"Wolfville's without that last evidence of advancement, a callaboose.
It bein' inconvenient to shoot up or lynch everybody who infringes our
rooles, Jack Moore invents a convincin' but innocuous punishment for
minor offenders. Endorsed by Enright, he established a water
trough--it's big enough to swim a dog--over by the windmill; an' when
some perfervid cow-puncher, sufferin' from a overdose of nosepaint,
takes to aggravatin' 'round Moore swashes him about in the trough some
profoose, ontil he gives his word to live a happier an' a better
life.
"It's like magic the way that water trough works. No matter how gala
some pronghorn of a cowboy may feel, it shore lets the whey out of
him. Given the most voylent, it's only a matter of minutes before he's
soaked into quietood. Enright himse'f says Moore's entitled to a
monyooment for the idee.
"Turkey Track's name is Ford, Tom Ford, but workin' that a-way for the
Turkey Track outfit he nacherally gets renamed for the brand. Turkey
Track an' two boon companions has been goin' to an' fro from the Red
Light to the Dance Hall, ontil by virchoo of a over-accumyoolation of
licker they're beginnin' to step some high. Also, they takes to
upliftin' their tired souls with yells, an' blazin' away at froote
cans with their six-shooters.
"It gets so that Enright tells Moore to give 'em a call-down.
"'What them boys does,' says Enright, 'is done harmless an'
light-hearted to be shore, an' nothin' radic'lly wrong is either
aimed at or meant; but all the same, Jack, it's no more'n proodence
to go knock their horns off. It ain't what them yooths is doin', but
what they may be led to do, which makes the danger. It's like old
Deacon Sopris at the Cumberland Methodist class meetin' says of
kyard-playin'. "It ain't," explains the deacon, "that thar's any harm
in the children playin' seven-up around the kitchen table of a
winter's evenin' for grains of corn, but seven-up persisted in is
shore to lead to dancin'." An' so with these young merry-makers.
They'll keep on slamin' away at empty bottles an' former tomatter cans
that a-way, ontil the more seedate element objects, an' somebody gets
downed. Don't you agree with me, Doc?'
"'Nothin' shorer!' says Peets.
"Moore corrals Turkey Track an' his fellow revellers, an' tosses off a
few fiats.
"'Quit that whoopin' an' shootin', boys,' says Moore. 'Likewise, keep
your hardware in your belts, as more deecorous. So shore as I finds a
gun in any of your hands ag'in, I'll shoot it out.'
"Turkey Track an' his _compadres_ don't say nothin' back. They savvys
about the water trough, an' ain't hungerin' none to have their ardor
dampened in no sech fashion. So they blinks an' winks like a passel of
squinch owls, but never onbuckles in no argyooment. All the same, it
irks 'em a whole lot, an' after Moore reetires they begins mod'rate to
arch their necks an' expand 'round a little.
"They allows--talkin' among themselves in a quer'lous way--that they
ain't hurtin' no one, an' for Moore to come shovin' 'round an'
lecturin' on etiquette is a conceited exhibition of authority as
offensive as it is onjest. Thar's doubts, too, about it's bein'
constitootional.
"'Whatever does that jim-crow sp'ile-sport of a marshal mean?' says
Turkey Track. 'It looks like he's not only deefyin' the organic law of
this country, but puttin' on a heap of dog. Does he reckon this yere
camp's a church?'
"'I moves we treats them mandates,' says one of the boys, who's a
rider for the G-bar ranch, 'with merited contempt.'
"'As how?' asks the third, who belongs with the Four-J brand. 'You
ain't so locoed as to s'ggest we-all t'ars person'ly into this Jack
Moore marshal none I hopes?'
"'Which you fills me with disgust!' says the other, nettled at the
idee of pawin' the onprofit'ble grass 'round Moore; 'but whatever's
the matter with goin' up to the far end of the street, an' w'irl an'
come squanderin' back jest a shootin'?'
"'Great!' says Turkey Track, applaudin' the scheme. 'Which we-all
nacherally shoots up their old prairie dog town, same as if it's a
Mexican plaza, an' then jogs on to our ranches, all triumphant an'
comfortable.'
"The three rides up to the head of the street, an' then turns
an'--givin' their ponies the steel--comes whizzin' down through the
center of eevents, yelpin' like Apaches an' lookin' like fireworks.
They've got a gun in each hand, an' they shakes the flame an' smoke
out of 'em same as three volcanoes on hossback.
"Moore's standin' in front of the Noo York store, talkin' to Tutt. As
you-all might imagine, it frets him to the quick to see how little
them effervescent sperits cares for his injunctions. By way of
rebooke--not wantin' to down 'em outright for what, take it the worst
way, ain't nothin' more heen'ous than a impropriety--Moore gets his
artillery to b'ar, an' as they flashes by like comets, opens on the
ponies. It's hard on the ponies; but it won't do to let them young
roysterers get away with their play. The example'll spread; an',
onless checked at the jump, inside of a month thar'd be nothin' but a
whoopin' procession of cow-punchers chargin' up an' down the
causeways. Tenderfeet might acquire misgivin's techin' us bein' a
peaceful camp, an' the thing op'rate as a blow to trade. It's become a
case of either get the boys or get the ponies, an' onder the
circumstances the ponies has the call.
"Thar's no more artistic gun-player than Moore in town, onless it's
Cherokee, an' mebby Doc Peets, who's a heap soon with a derringer. As
the ponies flash by, Moore's six-shooter barks three times. Two ponies
goes rollin'; the third--it's Turkey Track's--continyoos cavortin'
down the street an' out of town. Turkey Track never pulls up nor looks
back. The last we sees of him is when he's two miles away, an' a
swell rises up behind him an' hides him from view.
"The G-bar boy, an' him from the Four-J outfit, hits the grass twenty
feet ahead of their ponies, like a roll of blankets chucked out of a
wagon, an' after bumpin' an' tumblin' along for a rod or so, an' all
mighty condoosive to fractures an' dislocations, they flattens out
reespective same as a couple of cancelled postage stamps. Shore, the
fall jolts the savvy plumb out of 'em.
"Bein' they're stretched out an' passive, Moore collects 'em an' sops
'em up an' down in the water trough for mebby it's fifteen minutes.
Which they're reesus'tated an' reeproved at one an' the same time.
When them yooths comes to, they're a model to angels. To be shore,
their intellects don't shine out at first none like the sun at noon,
but continyoos blurred for hours. Even as late as the weddin' of
Turkey Track with the Mockin' Bird--an' that ain't for all of eight
weeks--the G-bar boy informs Boggs confidenshul, as they're takin' a
little licker all sociable, that speakin' mental he's as yet a heap in
eeclipse.
"The maiden name of the Mockin' Bird is Loocinda Gildersleeve, but
pop'lar pref'rence allers sticks to her stage title. She's a fav'rite
at the Bird Cage Op'ry House, at which nursery of the drammy she's
been singin' off an' on for somethin' like three years. She's a
shore-enough singer, too, the Mockin' Bird is. None of your yeepin's
an' peepin's, none of your mice squeaks an' tea-kettle tones an' cub
coyote yelps. Which she's got a round, meelod'yous bellow like a hound
in full cry, an' while she's singin' thar ain't a wolf'll open his
mouth within a mile of town. Which them anamiles is plumb abashed, the
Mockin' Bird outholdin' 'em to that degree.
"You-all don't hear no sech singin' in the East. Thar ain't room; an'
moreover the East's too timid. For myse'f, an' I ain't got no y'ear
for music, them top notes of the Mockin' Bird, like the death yell of
a mountain lion, is cap'ble of givin' me the fantods; while the way
she hands out 'Home, Sweet Home' an' 'Suwannee River,' an' her voice
sort o' diggin' down into the soul, sets eemotional sports like Boggs
an' Black Jack to sobbin' as though their hearts is broke. She's
certainly a jo-darter of a vocalist--the Mockin' Bird is, an' once
when she renders 'Loosiana Loo' an' Boggs's more'n common affected, he
offers to bet yellow chips as high as the ceilin' she can sing the
sights off a Colt's .45.
"'Which I enjoys one of the most mis'rable evenin's of my c'reer,'
says Boggs to Faro Nell, when she expresses sympathy at him feelin' so
cast down. 'I wouldn't have missed it for a small clay farm.'
"'_Yo tambien_' says Black Jack, who's keepin' Boggs melancholly
company while he weeps. 'Only I reckons the odd kyard in my own case
is that, before I'm a man an' in some other existence, I used to be
one of these yere ornery little fice dogs, which howls every time it
hears a pianny. It's some left-over vestiges of that life when I'm a
dog which sets me to bawlin', that a-way, whenever the Mockin' Bird
girl sings. I experiences pensive sensations, sim'lar to what comes
troopin' over a gent, who's libatin' alone, on the heels of the third
drink.'
"The Mockin' Bird looks as sweet as she sings. I mentions long ago
about the phil'sophic old stoodent who says, 'They do say love is
blind, but I'll be ding-danged if some gents can't see more in their
girls than I can.' This yere wisdom don't apply none to the Mockin'
Bird. Them wooers of hers, to say nothin' of Turkey Track, possesses
jestification for becomin' so plumb maudlin'. Lovely? She's as pretty
as a cactus flower, or a sunrise on the staked plains.
"Folks likes her, too. Take that evenin' when a barbarian from over
to'ards the Cow Springs cuts loose to disturb the exercises at the
Bird Cage Op'ry House with a measly fling or two. The public well nigh
beefs him. They'd have shore put him over the jump, only Enright
interferes.
"It's doorin' the openin' scene, when the actors is camped 'round in a
half-circle, facin' the fiddlers. Huggins, who manages the Bird Cage,
an' who's the only hooman who ever consoomes licker, drink for drink,
with Monte, an' lives to tell the tale, is in the middle. Bowin' to
the Mockin' Bird, an' as notice that she's goin' to carol some, he
announces:
"'The world-reenowned cantatrice, Mam'selle Loocinda Gildersleeve,
cel'brated in two hemispheres as the Mockin' Bird of Arizona, will now
sing the ballad wharwith she ravished the y'ears of every crowned
head of Europe, the same bein' that pop'lar air from the op'ry of
_Loocretia Borgia_, "Down in the Valley."'
"At this that oncooth crim'nal from the Cow Springs gets up:
"'The Mockin' Bird of Arizona which you-all is bluffin' about,' he
shouts, 'can't sing more'n a burro, an' used to sling hash in a
section house over by Colton.'
"'Never the less, notwithstandin',' replies Huggins, who's too drunk
to feel ruffled, 'Mam'selle Loocinda Gildersleeve, known to all the
world as the Mockin' Bird of Arizona, will now sing "Down in the
Valley."'
"Huggins would have let things go at that, but not so the Wolfville
pop'lace. In the cockin' of a winchester they swoops down on that Cow
Springs outcast like forty hen-hawks on a single quail, an' as I
yeretofore observes, if it ain't for Enright they'd have made him
shortly hard to find. You can gamble, the Cow Springs savage never
does go out on that limb ag'in.
"While Turkey Track escapes the water trough, an' makes his getaway
that time all right, the pore pony ain't got by Moore onscathed. The
bullet hits him jest to the r'ar of the saddle-flap, an' out about a
brace of miles he stumbles over dead.
"It's yere eevents begins to fall together like a shock of oats. The
Mockin' Bird's been over entrancin' Tucson, an' the reg'lar stage with
Monte not preecisely dove-tailin' with her needs, she charters a
speshul buckboard to get back. Thar's a feeble form of hooman ground
owl drivin' her, one of these yere parties who's all alkali an' hard
luck, an' as deevoid of manly sperit as jack-rabbits onweaned.
"This yere ground owl party, drivin' for the Mockin' Bird, comes
clatterin' along with the buckboard jest as Turkey Track strips the
saddle an' bridle from his deefunct pony. Turkey Track is not without
execyootive ability, an' seein' he's afoot an' thirty miles from his
home ranch, he pulls his gun an' sticks up the buckboard plenty
prompt. At the mere sight of a weepon the hands of that young
owl-person goes searchin' for stars, an' he's beggin' Turkey Track not
to rub him out--him thinkin' it's a reg'lar hold-up. That's all the
opp'sition thar is, onless you counts the reemarks of the Mockin'
Bird, who becomes both bitter an' bitin' in equal parts, but has no
more effect on Turkey Track--an' him afoot that a-way--than pourin'
water on a drowned rat. Shore, a cow-puncher'd fight all day, an' even
face a enraged female, before he'd walk a hour.
[Illustration: TURKEY TRACK, SEEIN' HE'S AFOOT AN' THIRTY MILES FROM HIS
HOME RANCH PULLS HIS GUN AN' STICKS UP THE MOCKIN' BIRD'S BUCKBOARD.
p. 138.]
"Turkey Track piles his saddle an' bridle onto the r'ar of the
buckboard, an' settin' in behind on his plunder, commands the ground
owl driver to head west till further orders. Likewise, he so far
onbends as to say that them orders won't be deecem'nated, none
whatever, ontil he's landed at the Turkey Track home ranch. Since he
backs this yere programme with his artillery, the ground owl ain't got
nothin' to say, an' it's no time when the outfit's weavin' along a
side trail in the sole int'rests of Turkey Track.
"What's worse, to dispell the ennui of sech a trip, an' drive away
dull care, Turkey Track takes to despotizin' over the Mockin' Bird
with his six-shooter, an' compels her to sing constant throughout them
thirty miles. He makes her carrol everythin' from 'Old Hundred' to
'Turkey in the Straw,' an' then brings her back to 'Old Hundred' an'
starts her over. The pore harassed Mockin' Bird, what with the dust,
an' what with Turkey Track tyrannizin' at her with his gun, sounds
final like an ongreased wheelbarrow which has seen better days. She
don't get her voice ag'in for mighty clost to a month, an' even then,
as she says herse'f, thar's places where the rivets reequires
tightenin'.
"It's pressin' onto eight weeks before ever Turkey Track is heard of
'round town ag'in. Also, it's in the Bird Cage Op'ry House he hits the
surface of his times. The Mockin' Bird has jest done drove the vocal
picket-pin of 'Old Kentucky Home,' when, bang! some loonatic shoots at
her. Which the bullet bores a hole in the scenery not a foot above her
head.
"Every one sees by the smoke whar that p'lite attention em'nates from,
an' before you could count two, Moore, Boggs, an' Texas Thompson has
convened themselves on top of that ident'cal spot. Thar sets Turkey
Track, cryin' like a child.
"'It's no use, gents,' he sobs, the tears coursin' down his cheeks,
'she's so plumb bewitchin', an' I adores her so, I simply has to blaze
away or bust.'
"While he don't harm the Mockin' Bird none, the sent'ment of the
Stranglers, when Enright raps 'em to order inform'ly at the Red Light
an' Black Jack has organized the inspiration, favors hangin' Turkey
Track. Even Texas, who loathes ladies by reason of what's been sawed
off onto him in the way of divorce an' alimony, that a-way, by his
Laredo wife, is yoonan'mous for swingin' him off.
"'That I don't believe in marryin' 'em,' says Texas, expoundin' his
p'sition concernin' ladies in answer to Boggs who claims he's
inconsistent, 'don't mean I wants 'em killed. But you never was no
logician, Dan.'
"Cherokee's the only gent who's inclined to softer attitoodes, an'
that leeniency is born primar'ly of the inflooence of Nell. Nell is
plumb romantic, an' when she hears how the Turkey Track's been
enfiladin' at the Mockin' Bird only because he loves her, while she
don't reely know what she does want done with that impossible
cow-puncher, she shore don't want him hanged.
"'It's sech a interestin' story!' says Nell, an' then capers across to
Missis Rucker an' Tucson Jennie to c'llect their feelin's.
"Moore brings in Turkey Track.
"'Be you-all tryin' to blink out this yere young lady?' asks Enright,
'or is that gun play in the way of applause?'
"'It's love,' protests Turkey Track, his voice chokin'; 'it's simply a
cry from the soul. I learns to love her that day on the buckboard
while I'm lookin' at her red ha'r, red bein' my winnin' color. Gents,
you-all won't credit it none, but jest the same them auburn tresses
gets wropped about my heart.'
"'Whatever do you make of it, Doc?' whispers Enright.
"'This boy,' returns Peets, 'has got himse'f too much on his own mind.
He's sufferin' from what the books calls exaggerated ego.'
"'That's one way of bein' locoed, ain't it?'
"'Shore. But him bein' twisted mental ain't no reason for not adornin'
the windmill with his remains. The only public good a hangin' does is
to scare folks up a lot, an' you can scare a loonatic quite as quick
an' quite as hard as a gent whose intellects is plumb.'
"'Thar she stands,' Turkey Track breaks in ag'in, not waitin' for no
questions, 'an' me as far below her as stingin' lizards is from stars!
Then, ag'in, when folks down in front is a'plaudin' her, she wavin'
at 'em meanwhile the gracious smile, it makes me jealous. Gents, I
don't plan nothin', but the first I knows I lugs out the old .45 an'
onhooks it.'
"The Mockin' Bird has come over from the O. K. House with Nell, Missis
Rucker an' Tucson Jennie. As she hears Turkey Track's confession two
drops shows in her eyes like diamonds. Clutchin' hold of Nell, an'
with Missis Rucker an' Tucson Jennie flockin' along in the r'ar, she
rushes out the front door.
"This manoover leaves us some upset, ontil Nell returns to explain.
"'She's overcome by them disclosures,' says Nell, 'an' goes outside to
blush.'
"'The ontoward breaks of that songstress,' observes Enright oneasily,
'has a tendency to confoose the issue, an' put this committee in the
hole.'
"'Thar's nothin' confoosin' about it, Sam Enright.' It's Missis Rucker
who breaks out high an' threatenin', she havin' come back with Nell.
'This yere Mockin' Bird girl's in love with that gun-playin' cowboy,
an' it's only now she finds it out. Do you-all murderers still insist
on hangin' this yere boy, or be you willin' to see 'em wed an' live
happy ever after?'
"'Let's rope up a divine some'ers,' exclaims Boggs, 'an' have 'em
married. If that Mockin' Bird girl wants Turkey Track she shall shore
have him. I'd give her his empty head on a charger, if she asks it,
same as that party in holy writ, she singin' "Suwannee River" like she
does.'
"Cherokee, who's more or less rooled by Nell, thinks a weddin' the
proper step, an' Tutt, who sees somethin' in Tucson Jennie's eye,
declar's himse'f some hasty.
"Even Texas backs the play.
"'But make no mistake,' says Texas; 'I insists on wedlock over
lynchin' only because it's worse.'
"'Which it's as well, Sam Enright,' observes Missis Rucker, blowin'
through her nose mighty warlike, 'that you an' your marauders has
sense enough to see your way through to that deecision. Which if you'd
failed, I'd have took this Turkey Track boy away from you-all with my
own hands. This Vig'lance Committee needn't think it's goin' to do as
it pleases 'round yere--hangin' folks for bein' in love, an' closin'
its y'ears to the moans of a bleedin' heart.'
"'My dear ma'am,' says Enright, his manner mollifyin'; 'I sees nothin'
to discuss. The committee surrenders this culprit into the hands of
you-all ladies, an' what more is thar to say?'
"'Thar's this more to say,' an' Missis Rucker's that earnest her mouth
snaps like a trap. 'You an' your gang, settin' round like a passel of
badgers, don't want to get it into your heads that you're goin' to run
rough-shod over me. When I gets ready to have my way in this outfit,
the prairie dog that stands in my path'll shore wish he'd never been
born.'
"Enright don't say nothin' back, an' the balance of us maintainin' a
dignified silence, Missis Rucker, after a look all 'round, withdraws,
takin' with her Tucson Jennie an' Nell, Turkey Track in their midst.
"'Gents,' observes Enright, when they're shore departed, an' speakin'
up deecisive, 'ways must be deevised to 'liminate the feminine element
from these yere meetin's. I says this before, but the idee don't seem
to take no root. Thar's nothin' lovelier than woman, but by virchoo
of her symp'thies she's oncap'ble of exact jestice. Her feelin's lead
her, an' her heart's above her head. For which reasons, while I
wouldn't favor nothin' so ondignified as hidin' out, I s'ggests that
we be yereafter more circumspect, not to say surreptitious, in our
deelib'rations.'
"Shore, they're married. The cer'mony comes off in the O. K. House,
an' folks flocks in from as far away as Deming.
"'If you was a chemist, Sam,' says Peets, tryin' to eloocidate what
happens when the Mockin' Bird learns she's heart-hungry that a-way for
Turkey Track, 'you'd onderstand. It's as though her love's held in
s'lootion, an' the jar of Turkey Track's gun preecip'tates it.'
"'Mebby so,' returns Enright; 'but as a play, this thing's got me
facin' back'ards. Thar's many schemes to win a lady, but this yere's
the earliest instance when a gent shoots his way into her arms.'
"'Well,' returns Peets, 'you know the old adage--to which of course
thar's exceptions.' Yere he glances over at Missis Rucker. 'It runs:
"A woman, a spaniel an' a walnut tree,
The more you beat 'em the better they be."
"Boggs has been congratchoolatin' Turkey Track, an' kissin' the bride.
Texas, as somber as a spade flush, draws Boggs into a corner.
"'That Turkey Track,' says Texas, 'considers this a whipsaw. He misses
hangin', an' he gets the lady. He feels like he wins both ways. Wait!
Dan, it won't be two years when he'll discover that, compar'd to
marriage, hangin' that a-way ain't nothin' more'n a technical'ty.'"
VI
THAT WOLFVILLE-RED DOG FOURTH
"By nacher I'm a patriot, cradle born and cradle bred; my Americanism,
second to none except that of wolves an' rattlesnakes an' Injuns an'
sim'lar cattle, comes in the front door an' down the middle aisle; an'
yet, son, I'm free to reemark that thar's one day in the year, an'
sometimes two, when I shore reegrets our independence, an' wishes thar
had been no Yorktown an' never no Bunker Hill."
The old cattleman tasted his glass with an air weary to the borders of
dejection; after which he took a pathetic puff at his pipe. I knew
what had gone wrong. This was the Fifth of July. We had just survived
a Fourth of unusual explosiveness, and the row and racket thereof had
worn threadbare the old gentleman's nerves.
"Yes, sir," he continued, shoving a 'possum-colored lock back from his
brow, "as I suffers through one of them calamities miscalled
cel'brations, endoorin' the slang-whangin' of the orators an' bracin'
myse'f ag'inst the slam-bangin' of the guns, to say nothin' of the
firecrackers an' kindred Chinese contraptions, I a'preeciates the
feelin's of that Horace Walpole person Colonel Sterett quotes in his
_Daily Coyote_ as sayin', 'I could love my country, if it ain't for my
countrymen.'
"Still, comin' down to the turn, I reckon it merely means, when all is
in, that I'm gettin' too plumb old for comfort. It's five years now
since I dare look in the glass, for fear I'd be tempted to count the
annyooal wrinkles on my horns.
"It's mighty queer about folks. Speakin' of cel'brations, for
thousands of years the only way folks has of expressin' any feelin' of
commoonal joy, that a-way, is to cut loose in limitless an' onmeanin'
uproar. Also, their only notion of a public fest'val is for one half
of the outfit to prance down the middle of the street, while the other
half banks itse'f ag'inst the ediotic curb an' looks at 'em.
"People in the herd ain't got no intelligence. We speaks of the lower
anamiles as though we just has it on 'em completely in the matter of
intelligence, but for myse'f I ain't so shore. The biggest fool of a
mule-eared deer savvys enough to go feedin' up the wind, makin' so to
speak a skirmish line of its nose to feel out ambushes. Any old bull
elk possesses s'fficient wisdom to walk in a half-mile circle, as a
concloodin' act before reetirin' for the night, so that with him
asleep in the center, even if the wind does shift, his nose'll still
get ample notice of whatever man or wolf may take to followin' his
trail.
"That's what them 'lower anamiles' does. An' now I asks, what man,
goin' about his numbskull dest'nies, lookin' as plumb wise as a
too-whoo owl at noon, ever shows gumption equal to keepin' the
constant wind in his face, or has the sense to go walkin' round
himse'f as he rolls into his blankets, same as that proodent elk?
After all, I takes it that these yere Fo'th of Jooly upheavals is only
one among the ten thousand fashions in which hoomanity eternally
onbuckles in expressin' its imbecil'ty.
"Which I certainly do get a heap disgusted at times with the wild
beast called man. With all his bluffs about bein' so mighty sagacious,
I can sit yere an' see that, speakin' mental, he ain't better than an
even break with turkey gobblers. Even what he calls his science turns
finally out with him to be but the accepted ignorance of to-day; an'
he puts in every to-morrow of his existence provin' what a onbounded
jackass rabbit he's been the day before. It's otherwise with them
lower anamiles; what they knows they knows."
Plainly, something had to be done to fortify my old friend. I fell
back, quite as a matter of course, upon that first aid to the injured,
another drink, and motioned the black waiter to the rescue. It did my
old friend good, that drink, the first fruits of which easier if not
better condition being certain fresh accusations against himself.
"The trooth is, I'm a whole lot onused to these yere Fo'th of Jooly
outbursts; an' so I ondoubted suffers from 'em more keenly, that
a-way, than the av'rage gent. You see we never has none of 'em in
Wolfville; leastwise we never does but once. On that single festive
occasion we shore stubs our toe some plentiful, stubs it to that
degree, in fact, that we never feels moved to buck the game ag'in.
Once is enough for Wolfville.
"Which it's the single failure that stains the fame of the camp. At
that, the flat-out reely belongs to Red Dog; or at least to Pete
Bland, for which misguided party the Red Dogs freely acknowledges
reespons'bility as belongin' to their outfit.
"This yere Bland's dead now an' deep onder the doomsday sods. Also, he
died drinkin' like he'd lived.
"'What's the malady?' Enright asks Peets, when the Doc comes trackin'
back, after seein' the finish of Bland.
"'No malady at all, Sam,' says Peets, plumb cheerful an' frisky, same
as them case-hardened drug folks allers is when some other sport
passes in his checks--'no malady whatsoever. His jag simply stops on
centers, as a railroad gent'd say, an' I'm onable to start it ag'in.'
"Was Peets any good as a med'cine man? Son, I'm shocked! Peets is
packin' 'round in his professional warbags the dipplomies of twenty
colleges, an' is onchallenged besides as the best eddicated sharp
personal on the sunset side of the Mississippi. You bet, he
onderstands the difference at least between bread pills an' buckshot,
which is a heap sight further than some of these yere drug folks ever
studies.
"Colonel Sterett, who's fa'rly careful about what he says, reefers to
Peets in his _Daily Coyote_ as a 'intellectchooal giant,' an' thar
ain't no record of any scoffer comin' squanderin' along to contradict.
Mebby you'll say that the omission to do so is doo to the f'rocious
attitoode of the _Daily Coyote_ itse'f, techin' contradictions, an'
p'int to how that imprint keeps standin' at the head of its editorial
columns as a motto, the cynicism:
"'Contradict the _Coyote_ and avoid old age!'
"Thar'd be nothin' in it if you do. That motto's only one of Colonel
Sterett's bluffs, one of his witticisms that a-way. You don't reckon
that, in a sparsely settled country, whar the pop'lation is few an'
far between, the Colonel's goin' to go bumpin' off a subscriber over
mebby a mere difference of opinion? The Colonel ain't quite that
locoed."
"But about your Wolfville-Red Dog Fourth of July celebration?" I
urged.
"Which I'm in no temper to tell a story--me settin' yere with every
nerve as tight as a banjo catgut jest before it snaps. To reelate
yarns your mood ought to be the mood of the racontoor--a mood as rich
an' rank an' upstandin' as a field of wheat, ready to billow an' bend
before every gale of fancy. The way yesterday leaves me, whatever tale
I ondertakes to reecount would about come out of my mouth as stiff an'
short an' brittle as chopped hay. Also, as tasteless. Better let it go
till some other an' more mellow evenin'."
No; I was ready to accept the chances, and said as much. A chopped-hay
style, for a change, might be found acceptable. Supplementing the
declaration with renewed Old Jordan, I was so far victorious that my
aged man of cattle yielded.
"Well, then," he began reluctantly, "I'm onable to partic'larly say
which gent does make the orig'nal s'ggestion, but my belief is it's
Peets. I'm shore, however, that the Cornwallis idee comes from Bland;
an', since it's not only at that Cornwallis angle we-all falls
publicly down, but the same is primar'ly doo to the besotted obstinacy
of this yere Bland himse'f, Wolfville, while ever proudly willin' to
b'ar whatever blame's sawed off on to her shoulders proper, is always
convinced that Red Dog an' not us is to be held accountable. However,
Bland's gone an' paid what the sky scouts speaks of as the debt to
nacher, an' I'm willin' to confess for one that when he's sober he
ain't so bad. Not that them fits of sobriety is either so freequent or
so protracted they takes on any color of monotony.
"Bland's baptismal name is Pete, an' in his way he's a leadin'
inflooence in Red Dog. He's owner of the 7-bar-D outfit, y'earmark a
swallow-fork in both y'ears--which brands seventeen hundred calves
each spring round-up; an' is moreover proprietor of the Abe Lincoln
Hotel, the same bein' Red Dog's principal beanery. Bland don't have to
keep this yere tavern none, but it arranges so he sees his friends an'
gets their _dinero_ at one an' the same time, which as combinin'
business an' pleasure in equal degrees appeals to him a heap.
"Which it's the gen'ral voice that the best thing about Bland is his
wife. She's shore loyal to Bland, you bet! When they're livin' in
Prescott, an' a committee of three from one of them 'Purification Of
The Home' societies comes trapesin' in, to tell her about Bland bein'
ondooly interested in a exyooberant young soobrette who's singin' at
the theayter, an' spendin' his money on her mighty permiscus, Missis
Bland listens plenty ca'm ontil they're plumb through. Then she hands
them Purifiers this:
"'Well, ladies, I'd a heap sooner have a husband who can take keer of
two women than a husband who can't take keer of one.'
"After which she comes down on that Purification bunch like a fallin'
star, an' brooms 'em out of the house. Accordin' to eye witnesses, who
speaks without prejewdyce, she certainly does dust their bunnets
strenuous.
"When Bland hears he pats Missis Bland on the shoulder, an' exclaims,
'Thar's my troo-bloo old Betsy Jane! She knows I wouldn't trade a look
from them faded old gray eyes of hers for all the soobretts whoever
pulls a frock on over their heads!'
"Followin' which encomium Bland sends to San Francisco an' changes in
the money from five hundred steers for an outfit of diamonds, to go
'round her neck, an' preesents 'em to Missis Bland.
"'Thar,' he says, danglin' them gewgaws in the sun, 'you don't notice
no actresses flittin' about the scene arrayed like that, do you? If
so, p'int out them over-bedecked females, an' I'll see all they've got
on an' go 'em five thousand better, if it calls for every 7-bar-D
steer on the range.'
"'Pete,' says Missis Bland, clampin' on to the jooelry with one hand,
an' slidin' the other about his neck, 'you certainly are the kindest
soul who ever makes a moccasin track in Arizona, besides bein' a good
provider.'
"Shore, this yere Bland ain't so plumb bad.
"An' after a fashion, too, he's able to give excooses. Talkin' to
Peets, he lays his rather light an' frisky habits to him bein' a
preacher's son.
"'Which you never, Doc,' he says, 'meets up with the son an' heir of a
pulpiteer that a-way, who ain't pullin' on the moral bit, an' tryin'
for a runaway.'
"'At any rate, Pete,' the Doc replies, all cautious an' conservative,
'I will say that if you're lookin' for some party who'll every day be
steady an' law abidin', not to say seedate, you'll be a heap more
likely to find him by searchin' about among the progeny of some party
who's been lynched.'
"Recurrin' again to that miserabul Fo'th of Jooly play we cuts loose
in, it's that evenin' when we invites Red Dog over in a body to he'p
consoome the left-over stock of lickers in the former Votes For Women
S'loon, an' nacherally thar's some drinkin'. As is not infrequent whar
thar's drinkin', views is expressed an' prop'sitions made. It's then
we takes up the business of havin' that cel'bration.
"Peets makes a speech, I recalls, an' after dilatin' 'round to the
effect that Fo'th of Jooly ain't but two weeks ahead, allows that it'd
be in patriotic line for us to do somethin'.
"'Conj'intly,' says Peets, 'Red Dog an' Wolfville, movin' together
with one proud purpose of patriotism, ought to put over quite a show.
As commoonities we're no longer in the swaddlin' clothes of infancy.
It's time, too, that we goes on record as a whole public in some
manner an' form best calk'lated to make a somnolent East set up an'
notice us.'
"Peets continyoos in a sim'lar vein, an' speaks of the settlement of
the Southwest, wharin we b'ars our part, as a 'Exodus without a
prophet, a croosade without a cross,' which sent'ment he confesses he
takes from a lit'rary sport, but no less troo for that. He closes by
sayin' that if everybody feels like he does Wolfville an' Red Dog'll
j'ine in layin' out a program, that a-way, which'll shore spread the
glorious trooth from coast to coast that we-all is on the map to
stay.
"It's a credit to both outfits, how yoonanimously the s'ggestion is
took up. Which I never does see a public go all one way so plumb
quick, an' with so little struggle, since B'ar Creek Stanton is
lynched; which act of jestice even has the absoloote endorsement of
B'ar Creek himse'f.
"Peets is no sooner done talkin' than Tutt stacks in.
"'Thar's our six-shooters,' says he, 'for the foosilade; an', as for
moosic, sech as "Columbia the Gem" an' the "Star Spangled Banner," we
can round up them Dutchmen, who's the orchestra over at the Bird Cage
Op'ry House.'
"The talk rambles on, one word borryin' another, ontil we outlines
quite a game. Thar's to be a procession between Wolfville an' Red
Dog, an' back ag'in, Faro Nell leadin' the same on a _pinto_ pony as
the Goddess of Liberty.
"'An' that reeminds me,' submits Cherokee, when we reaches Nell;
'thar's Missis Rucker. It's goin' to hurt her feelin's to be left out.
As the preesidin' genius of the O. K. Restauraw she's in shape to give
us a racket we'll despise in eevent she gets her back up.'
"'How about lettin' her in on the play,' says Boggs, 'an' typ'fyin'
Jestice, that a-way?'
"'Thar's a idee, Dan,' says Texas Thompson, 'which plugs the center, a
reecommendation which does you proud! Down in that Laredo Co't House
whar my wife wins out her divorce that time, thar's a figger of
Jestice painted on the wall. Shore, it don't mean nothin'; but all the
same it's thar, dressed in white, that a-way, with eyes bandaged, an'
packin' a sword in one hand an' holdin' aloft some balances in
t'other. Come to think of it, too, that picture shore looks a lot like
Missis Rucker in the face, bein' plumb haughty an' commandin'.'
"'Missis Rucker not bein' yere none,' says Enright softly, an'
peerin' about some cautious, 'I submits that while no more esteemable
lady ever tosses a flapjack or fries salt-hoss in a pan, her figger is
mebby jest a trifle too abundant. As Jestice, she'll nacherally be
arrayed--as Texas says--in white, same as Nell as the Goddess. I don't
want to seem technicle, but white augments the size of folks an' will
make the lady in question look bigger'n a load of hay.'
"'Even so,' reemarks the Red Dog chief indulgently, 'would that of
itse'f, I asks, be reckoned any setback? The lady will person'fy
Jestice; an' as sech I submits she can't look none too big.'
"In compliment to the Red Dog chief Enright, with a p'lite flourish,
allows that he yields his objection with pleasure, an' Missis Rucker
is put down for Jestice. It's agreed likewise to borry a coach from
the stage company for her to ride on top.
"'Her bein' preeclooded,' explains Peets, 'from ridin' a hoss that
a-way, as entirely ondignified if not onsafe. We can rig her up a
throne with one of the big splint-bottom cha'rs from the Red Light,
an' wrop the same in the American flag so's to make it look
offishul.'
"Tucson Jennie, with little Enright Peets as the Hope of the Republic,
is to ride inside the coach.
"Havin' got this far, Pete Bland submits that a tellin' number would
be a sham battle, Red Dog ag'in Wolfville.
"Thar's opp'sition developed to this. Both Enright an' the Red Dog
chief, as leaders of pop'lar feelin', is afraid that some sport'll
forget that it ain't on the level, an' take to over-actin' his part.
"As the Red Dog chief expresses it:
"'Some gent might be so far carried away by enthoosiasm as to go to
shootin' low, an' some other gent get creased.'
"'The same bein' my notion exact,' Enright chips in. 'Of course, the
gent who thus shoots low would ondenyably do so onintentional; but
what good would that do the party who's been winged, an' who mightn't
live long enough to receive apol'gies?'
"'That's whatever!' says Jack Moore. 'A sham battle's too plumb apt to
prove a snare. The more, since everybody's so onused to 'em 'round
yere. A gent, by keepin' his mind firm fixed, might manage to miss
once or twice; but soon or late he'd become preoccupied, an' bust some
of the opp'sition before he could ketch himse'f.'
"Bland, seein' opinion's ag'inst a sham battle, withdraws the motion,
an' does it plenty graceful for a gent who's onable to stand.
"'Enough said,' he remarks, wavin' a acquiescent paw. 'Ante, an' pass
the buck.'
"The Lightnin' Bug, speakin' from the Red Dog side, insists that in
the reg'lar course of things thar's bound to be oratory. In that
connection he mentions a sharp who lives in Phoenix.
"'Which I'm shore,' says the Bug, 'he'd be gladly willin' to assist;
an' you hear me he's got a tongue of fire! Some of you-all sports must
have crossed up with him--Jedge Beebe of Phoenix?'
"'Jedge Beebe?' interjecks Monte, who's given a hostler his proxy to
take out the stage because of thar bein' onlimited licker; 'me an' the
Jedge stands drinkin' together for hours the last time he's in Tucson.
But you're plumb wrong, Bug, about him bein' eloquent.'
"'Wrong?' the Bug repeats, mighty indignant.
"'Of course,' says Monte, rememberin' how easy heated the Bug is, an'
that he looks on six-shooters as argyooments, 'I don't mean he can't
talk none; only he ain't what the Doc yere calls no Demosthenes.'
"'Did you ever hear the Jedge talk?' demands the Bug.
"'Which I shore does,' insists Monte; 'I listens to him for two hours
that time in Tucson. It's when they opens the Broadway Dance Hall.'
"'Whatever is his subject?' asks the Bug, layin' for to ketch Monte;
'what's the Jedge talkin' about?'
"'I don't know,' says Monte, wropped in his usual mantle of
whiskey-soaked innocence; 'he didn't say.'
"The Bug's eyes comes together in a angry focus; he thinks he's bein'
made game of.
"Tharupon Enright cuts in.
"'Bug,' he says, all sociable an' suave, 'you mustn't mind Monte. He's
so misconstructed that followin' the twenty-fifth drink he goes about
takin' his ignorance for information. No one doubts but you're a heap
better jedge than him of eloquence, an' everything else except
nosepaint. S'ppose you consider yourse'f a committee to act for the
con'jint camps, an' invite this yere joorist to be present as orator
of the day.'
"The Bug's brow cl'ars at this, an' he asshores Enright that he'll be
proud to act as sech.
"'An', gents,' he adds, 'if you says he ain't got Patrick Henry beat
to a standstill, may I never hold as good as aces-up ag'in.'
"The Red Dog chief announces that all hands must attend a free-for-all
banquet which, inflooenced by the tenth drink, he then an' thar
decides to give at Bland's Abe Lincoln House.
"'Said banquet,' he explains, 'bein' in the nacher of a lunch to be
held at high noon. If the dinin' room of the Abe Lincoln House ain't
spacious enough, an I'll say right yere it ain't, we'll teetotaciously
set them tables in the street. That's my style! I wants everybody, bar
Mexicans, to be present. When I gives a blow-out, I goes fo'th into
the highways an' byways, an' asks the halt an' the lame an' the
blind, like the good book says. Also, no gent need go prowlin' 'round
for no weddin' garments wharin to come. Which he's welcome to show up
in goat-skin laiggin's, or appear wropped in the drippin' an'
offensive pelt of a wet dog.'
"The Red Dog chief, lest some of us is sens'tive, goes on to add that
no gent is to regyard them cracks about the halt an' the lame an' the
blind as aimed at Wolfville. He allows he ain't that invidious, an' in
what he says is merely out to be both euphonious an' explicit, that
a-way, at one an' the same time.
"To which Enright reesponds that no offence is took, an' asshores the
Red Dog chief that Wolfville will attend the banquet all spraddled
out.
"More licker, followed by gen'ral congratulations.
"Bland ag'in comes surgin' to the fore. This time he thinks that as a
main feachure it would be a highly effective racket to reënact the
surrender of Cornwallis to Washington.
"Tutt goes weavin' across to shake his hand.
"'Some folks allows, Pete,' says Tutt, 'that you're as whiskey-soaked
an old fool as Monte. But not me, Pete, not your old pard, Dave Tutt!
An' you hear me, Pete, that idee about Cornwallis givin' up his sword
to Washington dem'nstrates it.'
"'You bet your life it does!' says Bland.
"'But is this yere surrender feasible?' asks Texas. 'Which, at first
blink, it seems some cumbrous to me.'
"'It's as easy as turnin' jack,' declar's Tutt, takin' the play away
from Bland. 'I've seen it done.'
"'As when an' whar?' puts in Cherokee.
"'Thar's a time,' says Tutt--'it's way back--when I sets into a little
poker game over in El Paso, table stakes she is, an' cleans up for
about $10,000. For mebby a week I goes 'round thinkin' that $10,000 is
a million; an' after that I simply _knows_ it is. These yere
onnacheral riches onhinges me to a p'int whar I deecides I'll visit
Chicago an' Noo York, as calk'lated to broaden me.'
"'Noo York!--Chicago!' interrupts the Bug. 'I once deescends upon them
hamlets, an' I encounters this yere strikin' difference. In Chicago
they wouldn't let me spend a dollar, while in Noo York they wouldn't
let anybody else spend one.'
"'It's otherwise with me,' goes on Tutt, 'because for a wind-up I
don't see neither. I'm young then, d' you see, an' affected by yooth
an' wealth I takes to licker, with the result that I goes pervadin' up
an' down the train, insistin' on becomin' person'ly known to the
passengers.'
"'An' nacherally you gets put off,' says Boggs.
"'Not exactly, neither. Only the conductor, assisted by a bevy of
brakemen, lays the thing before me in sech a convincin' shape that I
gets off of my own accord. It seems that to be agree'ble, I proposes
wedlock to a middle-aged schoolmarm, who allows that she sees no
objection except I'm a perfect stranger. She says it ain't been
customary with her much to go weddin' strangers that a-way, but if
I'll get myse'f reg'larly introdooced, an' then give her a day or so
to become used to my looks, she'll go me. It's then the conductor
draws me aside, an' says, "I've a son about your age, my eboolient
young sport, which is why I takes your part. My theery is that if you
sticks aboard this train ontil we reaches Rock Island, you'll never
leave that village a single man."
"'This sobers me,' Tutt continyoos, 'an' I hides in the baggage kyar
ontil we reaches a camp called Sedalia, whar I quietly makes my
escape. I'm that reelieved I gives the cabman $20 to let me drive, an'
then starts in to wake things up. Which I shore wakes 'em! I comes
down the main street like the breath of destiny; an', say, you ought
to see them Missourians climb trees, an' gen'rally break for cover! It
costs me $50; an' the jedge gives me his word that, only it's the
Fo'th of Jooly, he'd have handed me two weeks in the calaboose. I
clinks down the fifty _pesos_ some grateful, an' goes bulgin' forth to
witness the cer'monies. She's a jo-darter, that Sedalia cel'bration
is! As Pete yere recommends, they pulls off the surrender of
Cornwallis on the Fair grounds. Also, it's plumb easy. All you needs
is mebby a couple of hundred folks on hosses, an' after that the
rest's like rollin' off a log.'
"More is said as the drink goes round, an' Cornwallis surrenderin'
to Washington takes hold of our imaginations. We throws dice,
an' settles it that Red Dog'll be the English, with Bland as
Cornwallis, while Wolfville acts as the Americans, Boggs to perform
as Washington--Boggs bein' six foot an' some inches, besides as
wide as a door. By the time we gets the stock of the Votes for
Women S'loon fully drinked up everything's arranged.
"Onless you sees no objections, son, I'll gallop through the balance
of this yere painful eepisode. The day comes round, bright an'
cl'ar, an' the Copper Queen people gen'rously starts the ball
a-rollin' by explodin' thirteen cans of powder, one for each of
the orig'nal states. Then the procession forms, Nell in front as the
Goddess. Thar's full two hundred of us, Wolfville an' Red Dog, on
ponies. As to Missis Rucker, she's on top of the coach as Jestice,
Tucson Jennie--with little Enright Peets lookin' like a young he
cherub--inside, an' Monte pullin' the reins over the six hosses.
We makes four trips between Wolfville an' Red Dog, crackin' off
our good old '45s at irreg'lar intervals, Nell on her calico pony as
the Goddess bustin' away with the rest.
"Little Enright Peets wants in on the pistol shootin', an' howls jes'
like a coyote--as children will--ontil Boggs, who foresees it an'
comes provided, gives him a baby pistol, a box of blank cartridges,
an' exhorts him to cut loose. Which little Enright Peets shore cuts
loose, all right; an', except that he sets fire to the coach a few
times, an' makes Missis Rucker oneasy up on top--her fearin' that
mebby some of them blanks has bullets in 'em by mistake--he has a
perfectly splendid time.
"The procession over, we eats up the Red Dog chief's banquet, wharat
every brand of airtights is introdooced. That done, we listens to
Jedge Beebe, who soars an' sails an' sails an' soars, rhetorical, for
mebby it's a hour, an' is that eloquent an' elevated he never hits
nothin' but the highest places.
"The Red Dog chief makes a speech, an' proposes 'Wolfville'; to which
Peets--by Enright's request--reesponds, an' offers 'Red Dog.' It's
bottoms up to both sentiments; for thar's no negligence about the
drinks, Black Jack havin' capered fraternally over to he'p out his
overworked barkeep brother of the Red Dog Tub of Blood.
"When no one wants to further drink or eat or talk, we reepa'rs to a
level place between the two camps to go through the Cornwallis'
surrender. The rival forces is arrayed opp'site, Cornwallis Bland in a
red coat, an' Washington Boggs in bloo an' buff, accordin' to the
teachin's of hist'ry. Both of 'em has sabers donated from the Fort.
"When all's ready Washington Boggs an' Cornwallis Bland rides out in
front ontil they're in easy speakin' distance. Cornwallis Bland's been
over-drinkin' some, an' is w'arin' a mighty deefiant look.
"After a spell, nothin' bein' spoke on either side, Washington Boggs
calls out:
"'Is this yere Gen'ral Cornwallis?'
"'Who you talkin' to?' demands Cornwallis Bland, a heap contemptuous
an' insolent.
"Peets has done writ out words for 'em to say, but neither uses 'em.
Observin' how Cornwallis Bland conducts himse'f, Washington Boggs
waves his sword plenty vehement, which makes his pony cavort an'
buckjump, an' roars:
"'Don't you try to play nothin' on me, Gen'ral Cornwallis. Do you or
do you not surrender your mis'rable blade?'
"'Surrender nothin'!' Cornwallis Bland sneers back, meanwhile reelin'
in his saddle. 'Thar's never the horned-toad clanks a spur in Cochise
County can make me surrender. Likewise, don't you-all go wavin' that
fool weepon at me none. I don't valyoo it more'n if it's a puddin'
stick. Which I've got one of 'em myse'f'--yere he'd have lopped off
one of his pony's y'ears, only it's so dull--'an' I wouldn't give it
to a yellow pup to play with.'
"'For the last time, Cornwallis,' says Washington Boggs, face aflame
with rage, 'I commands you to surrender.'
"'Don't let him bluff you, Pete,' yells a bumptious young cow-puncher
who belongs on the Red Dog-English side. 'Which we can wipe up the
plains with that Wolfville outfit.'
"The Red Dog chief bats the young trouble-makin' cow-puncher over the
head with his gun, an' quietly motions to the Lightnin' Bug an' a
fellow Red Dog to pack what reemains of him to the r'ar. This done, he
turns to reemonstrate with Cornwallis Bland for his obstinancy. He's
too late. Washington Boggs, who's stood all he will, drives the spurs
into his pony, an' next with a bound an' a rush, he hits Cornwallis
Bland an' his charger full chisle.
"The pony of Cornwallis Bland fa'rly swaps ends with itse'f, an'
Cornwallis would have swapped ends with it, too, only Washington Boggs
collars an' hefts him out of his saddle.
"'Now, you onwashed drunkard, will you surrender?' roars Washington
Boggs, shakin' Cornwallis Bland like a dog does a rat, ontil that
British leader drops all of his hardware, incloosive of his
pistol--'now will you surrender, or must I break your back across your
own pony, as showin' you the error of your ways?'
"It looks like thar's goin' to be a hostile comminglin' of all hands,
when--her ha'r streamin' behind her same as if she's a comet--Missis
Bland comes chargin' up.
"'Yere, you drunken villyun!' she screams to Boggs, 'give me my
husband this instant, onless you wants me to t'ar your eyes out!'
"'It's him who's to blame, ma'am,' says Enright mildly, comin' to
Boggs' rescoo; 'which he won't surrender.'
"'Oh, he won't, won't he?' says Missis Bland, as she hooks onto
Cornwallis Bland. 'You bet he'll surrender to me all right, or I'll
know why.'
"As the Red Dog chief is apol'gizin' to Enright, who's tellin' him not
to mind, Cornwallis Bland is bein' half shoved an' half drug, not to
mention wholly yanked, towards the Abe Lincoln House by Missis Bland.
"That's the end. This yere ontoward finale to our cel'bration gets
wide-flung notice in print, an' instead of bein' a boost, as we-all
hopes, Wolfville an' Red Dog becomes a jest an' jeer. Also, while it
don't sour the friendly relations of the two camps, the simple mention
of Fo'th of Jooly leaves a bitter taste in the Wolfville-Red Dog mouth
ever since."
VII
PROPRIETY PRATT, HYPNOTIST
"Do I ever see any folks get hypnotized? Which I witnesses a few sech
instances. But it's usually done with a gun. If you're yearnin' to
behold a party go into a trance plumb successful an' abrupt, get the
drop on him. Thar ain't one sport in a hundred who can look into the
muzzle of a Colt's .45, held by a competent hand, without lapsin' into
what Peets calls a 'cataleptic state.'
"Shore, son, I savvys what you means."
The last was because I had begun to exhibit signs of impatience at
what I regarded as a too flippant spirit on the part of my old
cattleman. In the polite kindliness of his nature he made haste to
smooth down my fur.
"To be shore I onderstands you. As to the real thing in hypnotism,
however, thar arises as I recalls eevents but few examples in Arizona.
The Southwest that a-way ain't the troo field for them hypnotists, the
weak-minded among the pop'lation bein' redooced to minimum. Now an'
then of course some hypnotic maverick, who's strayed from the eastern
range, takes to trackin' 'round among us sort o' blind an' permiscus.
But he never stays long, an' is generally tickled to death when some
vig'lance committee so far reelents as to let him escape back.
"Over in Bernilillo once, I'm present when a mob gets its rope onto
one of these yere wizards, an' it's nothin' but the mercy of hell an'
the mean pars'mony of what outcasts has him in charge, which saves him
from bein' swung up. Mind you, it ain't no vig'lance committee, but a
mob, that's got him.
"Whatever is the difference?
"Said difference, son, is as a spanless gulf. A vig'lance committee is
the coolest kind of comin' together of the integrity an' the brains of
a commoonity. A mob, on the other hand, is a chance-blown convention
of deestructionists, as savagely brainless as a pack of timber wolves.
A vig'lance committee seeks jestice; a mob is merely out for blood."
"About this Bernilillo business?"
The old gentleman, as though the recital might take some time,
signalled the black attendant to bring refreshments. The bottle
comfortably at his elbow, he proceeded.
"I was thar, as I says, but I takes no part for either 'yes' or 'no,'
bein' no more'n simply a 'looker on in Vienna,' as the actor party
observes over in the Bird Cage Op'ry House. Thar's one of them
hypnotizin' sharps who's come bulgin' into Bernilillo to give a show.
Nacherally the local folks raps for a showdown; they insists he
entrance some one they knows, an' refooses to be put off by him
hypnotizin' what herd of hirelin's he's brought with him, on the
argyooment that them humbugs is in all likelihood but cappers for his
game.
"Thus stood up, the professor, as he calls himself, begins rummagin'
'round for a subject. Thar's a little Frenchman who's been pervadin'
about Bernilillo, claimin' to be a artist. Which he's shore a painter
all right. I sees him myse'f take a bresh an' a batch of colors, an'
paint a runnin' iron so it looks so much like wood it floats. Shore;
Emil--which this yere genius' name is Emil--as a artist that a-way is
as good as jacks-up before the draw.
"The hypnotic professor runs his eye over the audjence. In a moment
he's onto Emil, an' begins to w'irl his hypnotic rope. It's Emil bein'
thin an' weakly an' bloodless, I reckon, that attracts him. This yere
Emil ain't got bodily stren'th to hold his own ag'in a high wind, an'
the professor is on at a glance that, considered from standp'ints of
hypnotism, he ought to be a pushover.
"Emil don't hone to be no subject, but them Bernilillo hold-ups
snatches onto him in spite of his protests, an' passes him up onto the
stage to the professor. They're plenty headlong, not to say boorish,
them Bernilillo ruffians be; speshully if they've sot their hearts on
anythin', an' pore Emil stands about the same show among 'em as a
cottontail rabbit among a passel of owls.
"For myse'f, I allers adheres to a theery that what follows is to be
laid primar'ly to the door of the Bernilillo pop'lace. Which it's
themselves, not the professor, they'd oughter've strung up. You see
this Emil artist person blinks out onder the spells of the professor,
an' never does come to no more. The professor hypnotizes Emil, but he
can't onhypnotize him. Thar he sets as dead as Davy Crockett.
"This yere Emil bein' shore dead, Bernilillo sent'ment begins to churn
an' wax active. Thar ain't a well-conditioned vig'lance committee
between the Pecos an' the Colorado which, onder the circumstances,
would have dreamed of stretchin' that professor. What he does, them
Bernilillo dolts forces him to do. As for deceased, his ontimely
evaporation that a-way is but the frootes of happenstance.
"What cares the Bernilillo pop'lace, wolf hungry for blood? In the
droppin' of a sombrero they've cinched onto the professor, an' the
only question left open is whether they'll string him up to the town
windmill or the sign in front of the First National Bank.
"While them Bernilillo wolves is howlin' an' mobbin' an' millin'
'round the professor--who himse'f is scared plumb speechless an' is as
white as a lump of chalk--relief pushes to the front in most
onexpected shape. It's a kyard sharp by the name of Singleton,
otherwise called the Planter, who puts himse'f in nom'nation to
extricate the professor.
"Climbin' onto the top step in front of the bank, the Planter lifts up
his voice for a hearin'.
"'Folks!' he shouts, 'I'm in favor of this yere lynchin' like a
landslide. But, all the same, thar's a bet we overlooks. It's up to us
not only to be jest, but to be gen'rous. This yere murderer, who's
done blotted out the only real artist I ever meets except myse'f, has
a wife down to the hotel. As incident to these festiv'ties she's goin'
to be a widow. Is it for the manhood an' civic virchoo of Bernilillo
to leave a widow of its own construction broke an' without a dollar? I
hears the incensed echoes from the Black Range roarin' back in
scornful accents "No!" Sech bein' the sityooation, as preelim'nary to
this yere hangin' I moves we takes up a collection for that widow.
Yere's a fifty to 'nitiate the play'--at this p'int the Planter throws
a fifty-dollar bill into his hat--'an' as I passes among you I wants
every sport to come across, lib'ral an' free, an' prove to the world
lookin' on that Bernilillo is the band of onbelted philanthropists
which mankind's allers believed.
"Hat in hand, same as if it's a contreebution box an' he's passin' the
platter in church, the Planter begins goin' in an' out through the
multitood like a meadowlark through standin' grass. That is, he
starts to go in an' out; but, at the first motion, that entire
lynchin' party exhales like mist on the mornin' mountains. It's the
same as flappin' a blanket at a bunch of cattle. Every profligate of
'em, at the su'gestion he contreebute to the widow, gets stampeded,
an' thar's nobody left but the Planter, the professor, an' me.
"'Which I shore knows how to tech them ground-hawgs on the raw,' says
the Planter, as he onlooses the professor. 'If I was to have p'inted a
gun at 'em now, they'd've give me a battle. But bein' to the last man
jack a bunch of onmitigated misers, a threat leveled at their
bankrolls sets 'em to hidin' out like quail!'
"The professor?
"The instant he's laig-free, an' without so much as pausin' to
congrachoolate his preeserver on the power of his eloquence, he
vanishes into the night. He's headin' towards Vegas as he's lost to
sight, an' I learns later from Russ Kishler he makes that meetropolis
more or less used up. No; he don't have no wife. That flight of fancy
is flung off by the Planter simply as furnishin' 'atmosphere.'
"Wolfville never gets honored but once by the notice of a hypnotist.
This yere party don't proclaim himse'f as sech, but bills his little
game as that of a 'magnetic healer,' an' allows in words a foot high
that he's out to 'make the deef hear, the blind see, the lame to walk
an' the halt to skip an' gambol as doth the hillside lamb.' Also, on
them notices, the same bein' the bigness of a hoss-blanket an' hung up
lib'ral in the Red Light, the post office, the Dance Hall, an' the Noo
York store, is a picture of old Satan himse'f, teachin' Professor
Propriety Pratt--that bein' the name this yere neecromancer gives
himse'f--his trade.
"These proclamations is tacked up a full week before Professor Pratt
is doo, an' prodooces a profound effect on Boggs, him bein' by nacher
sooperstitious to the brink of the egreegious. The evenin' before the
Professor is to onlimber on us, he shows in Red Dog, an' Boggs is that
roused by what's been promised in the line of mir'cles, he rides
across to be present.
"'It ain't that I'm convinced none,' Boggs reports, when quaffin' his
Old Jordan in the Red Light, an' settin' fo'th what he sees, 'but I
must confess to bein' more or less onhossed by what this yere Pratt
Professor does. He don't magnetize none of them Red Dog drunkards in
person, for which he's to be exon'rated, since no self-respectin'
magnetizer would let himse'f get tangled up with sech. He confines his
exploits to a brace of dreamy lookin' ground owls he totes 'round with
him, an' which he calls his "hosses." What he makes these vagrants do,
though, assoomin' it's on the squar', is a caution to bull-snakes.
After he's got 'em onder the "inflooence," they eats raw potatoes like
they're roast apples, sticks needles into themselves same as though
they're pincushions, an' at his slightest behest performs other feats
both blood-curdlin' an' myster'ous.'
"We-all listens to Boggs, of course, as he recounts what marvels he's
gone ag'inst in Red Dog, but we don't yield him as much attention as
we otherwise might, bein' preeockepied as a public with word of a
hold-up that's come off over near the Whetstone Springs. Some
bandit--all alone--sticks up the Lordsburg coach, an' quits winner
sixty thousand dollars. Nacherally our cur'osity is a heap stirred up,
for with sech encouragement thar's no tellin' when he'll make a play
at Monte an' the Wolfville stage, an' take to layin' waste the
fortunes of all us gents. What is done to Lordsburg we can stand, but
a blow at our own warbags, even in antic'pation, is calc'lated to
cause us to perk up. We're all discussin' the doin's of this yere
route agent an' wonderin' if it's Curly Bill, when Boggs gets back
from Red Dog, with the result, as I says, that he onloads his
findin's, that a-way, on a dead kyard. Not that this yere public
inattention preys on Boggs. He keeps on drinkin' an' talkin', same as
though, all y'ears like a field of wheat, we ain't doin' a thing but
listen.
"'Also,' he observes, as he tells Black Jack to rebusy himse'f,
meanwhile p'intin' up to the poster which shows how the devil is
holdin' Professor Pratt in his lap an' laborin' for that hypnotist's
instruction; 'I shall think out a few tests which oughter get the
measure of that mountebank. He won't find this outfit so easy as them
Red Dog boneheads.'
"Professor Pratt has a one-day wait in Wolfville, not bein' able that
evenin' to get the Bird Cage Op'ry House, the same bein' engaged by a
company of histrions called the Red Stocking Blonds. Havin' nothin'
else to do, the Professor wanders yere an' thar, now in the Red
Light, now at the Noo York store, but showin' up at the O. K.
Restauraw at chuck time both rav'nous an' reg'lar. Missis Rucker
allows she never does feed a gent who puts himse'f outside of so much
grub for the money, an' hazards the belief it's because of a loss of
nervous force through them hypnotizin's he pulls off. Not that she's
findin' fault, for the Professor, havin' staked her to a free ticket,
has her on his staff in the shakin' of a dice-box.
"The Professor don't come bulgin' among us, garroolous an' friendly,
but holds himse'f aloof a heap, clingin' to the feelin' mebby that to
preeserve a distance is likely to swell reesults at the Bird Cage
door. Boggs, however, ain't to be stood off by no coldness, carin' no
more for a gent's bein' haughty that a-way than a cow does for a
cobweb. Which you bet it'll take somethin' more'n mere airs to hold
Boggs in check.
"It's in the O. K. Restauraw, followin' our evenin' _frijoles_, that
Boggs breaks the ice an' declar's for some exper'ments.
"'Which you claims,' says he, appealin' to the Professor, 'to make the
deef hear and the blind see. Onforchoonately we're out of deef folks
at this writin', an' thar's nothin' approachin' blindness in this neck
of woods which don't arise from licker. But aside from cures thus
rendered impossible for want of el'gible invalids, thar's still this
yere hypnotic bluff you puts up. What Wolfville hankers for is tests,
tests about the legit'macy of which thar's no openin' for dispoote.
Wharfore I yereby makes offer of myse'f to become your onmurmurin'
dupe. I'll gamble you a stack of bloos you don't make me drink no
water, thinkin' it's nosepaint, same as you pretends to do with them
wretched confed'rates of yours.'
"The Professor is a big b'ar-built sport, an' looks equal to holdin'
his own onder common conditions. But Boggs don't come onder the latter
head. So the Professor, turnin' diplomatic an' compliment'ry, explains
that sech powerful nachers as Boggs' is out of reach of his
rope--Boggs bein' reepellent, besides havin' too strong a will.
"'As to you, Mister Boggs, with that will of yours,' says the
Professor, 'I might as well talk of hypnotizin' Cook's Peak.'
"One after another, Boggs makes parade of everybody in camp. It's no
go; the Professor waves 'em aside as plumb onfit. Missis Rucker's got
too much on her mind; in Rucker the tides of manhood is at so low a
ebb he might die onder the pressure; Monte's too full of nosepaint,
alcohol, that a-way, bein' a nonconductor.
"When the Professor dismisses Monte, the ground he puts it on excites
that inebriate to whar it reequires the united energies of Cherokee
an' Tutt to kick him off the Professor. It's only the direct commands
of Enright which in the end indooces him to keep the peace.
"'Let me at him!' he howls; 'let me get at him! Does any one figger
I'll allow some fly-by-night charl'tan to go reeflectin' on me? Stand
back, Cherokee, get out o' the way, Dave, till I plaster the wall with
his reemains!'
"'Ca'm yourse'f, Monte,' says Enright, who's come in in time to
onderstand the trouble. 'Which if this hypnotizer was reely meanin' to
outrage your feelin's, it'd be different a whole lot, an' this
sod-pawin' an' horn-tossin' might plead some jestification. But what
he says is in the way of scientific exposition, an' nothin' said
scientific's to be took insultin'. Ain't that your view, Doc?'
"'Shore,' replies Peets. The Doc's been havin' no part in the
discussion, him holdin' that the Professor, with his rannikaboo bluff
about healin', is a empirik, an' beneath his professional contempt.
'Shore. Also, I'm free to inform Monte that if he thinks he's goin' to
lap up red licker to the degree he does, an' obleege folks in gen'ral
to treat sech consumption as a secret, he's got his stack down
wrong.'
"'Enough said,' ejacyoolates Monte, but still warm; 'whether or no,
Doc, I'm the sot this outfit's so fond of picturin', I at least ain't
so lost to reason as to go buckin' ag'inst you an' Enright. Jest the
same, though, I'm yere to give the news to any magnetizing horned-toad
who sows the seeds of dispoote in this camp that, if he goes about
malignin' me, he'll shore find I'm preecisely the orange-hued
chimpanzee to wrop my prehensile tail around him an' yank him from his
limb.'
"'Aside from aidin' the deef an' the blind,' says the Professor,
ignorin' Monte utter an' addressin' himse'f to Boggs an' the public
gen'ral, 'my ministrations has been found eff'cacious wharever the
course of troo love has not run smooth. I binds up wounds of
sent'ment, an' cures every sickness of the soul. Which, if thar's any
heart lyin' 'round loose yereabouts an' failin' to beat as one, or a
sperit that's been disyoonited from its mate an' can't remake the
hook-up, trust me to get thar with bells on in remedyin' sech evils.'
"The Professor beams as he gets this off, mighty benignant. Texas,
feelin' like the common eye is on him, commences to grow restless.
"'Be you-all alloodin' to me?' he asks the Professor, his manner
approaching the petyoolant. 'Let me give you warnin', an' all on the
principle that a wink is as good as a nod to a blind mule. So shore as
you go to makin' any plays to reyoonite me an' that
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