Wolfville Days
by Alfred Henry Lewis · English · Gutenberg #3667 · 474,533 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Wolfville Days
Author: Alfred Henry Lewis
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Title: Wolfville Days
Author: Alfred Henry Lewis
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Wolfville Days
by Alfred Henry Lewis
CHAPTER I.
The Great Wolfville Strike.
"No, sir, even onder spur an' quirt, my mem'ry can only canter back
to one uprisin' of labor in Wolfville; that was printers."
At this the Old Cattleman looked unduly sagacious, refreshed himself
with a puff or two at his pipe, and all with the air of one who
might, did he see fit, consider the grave questions of capital and
labor with an ability equal to their solution. His remark was growth
of the strike story of some mill workmen, told glaringly in the
newspaper he held in his hands.
"Wolfville is not at that time," he continued, "what you-all East
would call a swirlin' vortex of trade; still she has her marts.
Thar's the copper mines, the Bird Cafe Op'ry House, the Red Light,
the O. K. Restauraw, the Dance Hall, the New York Store an' sim'lar
hives of commerce. Which ondoubted the barkeeps is the hardest
worked folks in camp, an' yet none of 'em ever goes on the warpath
for shorter hours or longer pay, so far as I has notice. Barkeeps
that a-way is a light-hearted band an' cheerful onder their burdens.
Once when Old Monte brings the stage in late because of some boggin'
down he does over at a quicksand ford in the foothills, a shorthorn
who arrives with him as a passenger comes edgin' into the Red Light.
Bein' it's four o'clock in the mornin', the tenderfoot seems amazed
at sech activities as faro-bank, an' high-ball, said devices bein'
in full career; to say nothin' of the Dance Hall, which 'Temple of
Mirth,' as Hamilton who is proprietor tharof names it, is whoopin'
it up across the street.
"'Ain't you open rather late?' says the shorthorn. His tones is
apol'getic an' no offence is took.
"That's one of them gratefyin' things about the Southwest. That
temperate region don't go pirootin' 'round strivin' to run its brand
onto things as insults where none ain't meant. The Southwest ropes
only at the intention. You may even go so far as to shoot the wrong
gent in a darkened way, an' as long as you pulls off the play in a
sperit of honesty, an' the party plugged don't happen to be a
pop'lar idol, about the worst you'd get would be a caution from the
Stranglers to be more acc'rate in your feuds, sech is the
fairmindedness an' toleration of Southwest sentiment.
"As I su'gests, the barkeep, realizin' that the stranger's bluff
arises from cur'osity rather than any notion of what booksports
calls 'captious criticism,' feels no ombrage.
"'What was you-all pleased to remark?' retorts the barkeep as he
slams his nose-paint where the shorthorn can get action.
"'Nothin',' replies the shorthorn, imbibin' of his forty drops,
"only it sort o' looks to my onaccustomed eye like this deadfall is
open rather late."
"'Which she is some late,' admits the barkeep, as he softly swabs
the counter; 'which it is some late for night before last, but it's
jest the shank of the evenin' for to-night.'
"But, as I observes a bit back on the trail, I never do hear of any
murmur of resentment on the part of the toilin' masses of the town,
save in the one instance when that bunch of locoed printers capers
out an' defies the editor an' publisher of the Wolfville COYOTE, the
same bein' the daily paper of the outfit.
"This yere imprint, the COYOTE, is done owned an' run by Colonel
William Greene Sterett. An' I'll pause right yere for the double
purpose of takin' a drink an' sympathisin' with you a whole lot in
not knowin' the Colonel. You nacherally ain't as acootely aware of
the fact as I be, but you can gamble a bloo stack that not knowin'
Colonel Sterett borders on a deeprivation. He is shore wise, the
Colonel is, an' when it comes to bein' fully informed on every
p'int, from the valyoo of queensup before the draw to the political
effect of the Declaration of Independence, he's an even break with
Doc Peets. An' as I've asserted frequent--an' I don't pinch down a
chip--Doc Peet's is the finest eddicated sharp in Arizona.
"We-all will pass up the tale at this crisis, but I'll tell you
later about how Colonel Sterett comes a-weavin' into Wolfville that
time an' founds the Coyote. It's enough now to know that when these
yere printers takes to ghost-dancin' that time, the Colonel has been
in our midst crowdin' hard on the hocks of a year, an' is held in
high regyard by Old Alan Enright, Doc Peets, Jack Moore, Boggs,
Tutt, Cherokee Hall, Faro Nell, and other molders of local opinion,
an' sort o' trails in next after Enright an' Peets in public esteem.
The Colonel is shore listened to an' heeded at sech epocks as
Wolfville sets down serious to think.
"Them printers of the Colonel's stampedes themse'fs jest followin'
the latter's misonderstandin' with Huggins, who conducts the Bird
Cage Op'ry House, an' who as I've allers maintained, incites them
mechanics, private, to rebellion, as a scheme of revenge on the
Colonel. The trouble which bears its final froote in this labor
uprisin' is like this. Huggins, as noted, holds down the Bird Cage
Op'ry House as manager, an' when lie's drunk--which, seein' that
Huggins is a bigger sot than Old Monte, is right along he allows
he's a 'Impressario.' Mebby you saveys 'Impressario,' an'
experiences no difficulty with the same as a term, but Boggs an'
Tutt goes to the fringe of a gun play dispootin' about its meanin'
the time Huggins plays it on the camp first as deescriptif of his
game.
"'A Impressario is a fiddler,' says Boggs; `I cuts the trail of one
in the States once, ropes him up, an' we has a shore enough time.'
"'Sech observations,' observes Tutt, to whom Boggs vouchsafes this
information, 'sech observations make me tired. They displays the
onlimited ability for ignorance of the hooman mind. Boggs, I don't
want to be deemed insultin', but you-all oughter go to night-school
some'ers ontil you learns the roodiments of the American language."
"When this yore colloquy ensooes, I'm away on the spring round-up,
an' tharfor not present tharat; but as good a jedge as Jack Moore,
insists that the remainder of the conversation would have come off
in the smoke if he hadn't, in his capacity of marshal, pulled his
six-shooter an' invoked Boggs an' Tutt to a ca'mer mood.
"But speakin' of this Huggins party, I never likes him. Aside from
his bein' mostly drunk, which, no matter what some may say or think,
I holds impairs a gent's valyoo as a social factor, Huggins is
avaricious an' dotes on money to the p'int of bein' sordid. He'd
gloat over a dollar like it was a charlotte roose, Huggins would.
So, as I says, I ain't fond of Huggins, an' takes no more pleasure
of his company than if he's a wet dog. Still, thar's sech a thing as
dooty; so, when Huggins comes wanderin' wild-eyed into the Red Light
about first drink time one evenin', an' confides to me in a whisper
that thar's a jack rabbit outside which has sworn to take his life,
an' is right then bushwhackin' about the door waitin' to execoote
the threat, I calls Doc Peets, an' aids in tyin' Huggins down so
that his visions can be met an' coped with medical.
"Peets rides herd on Huggins for about a week, an' at last effects
his rescoo from that hostile jack rabbit an' them crimson
rattlesnakes an' blue-winged bats that has j'ined dogs with it in
its attempts ag'in Huggins. Later, when Peets sends his charges,
this yere ingrate Huggins--lovin' money as I states--wants to squar'
it with a quart or two of whiskey checks on the Bird Cage bar.
Nacherally, Peets waves aside sech ignoble proffers as insults to
his professional standin'.
"'An' you all don't owe me a splinter, Huggins,' says Peets, as he
turns down the prop'sition to take whiskey checks as his reward.
'We'll jest call them services of mine in subdooin' your delirium
treemors a contreebution. It should shorely be remooneration enough
to know that I've preserved you to the Wolfville public, an' that
the camp can still boast the possession of the meanest sport an'
profoundest drunkard outside of the Texas Panhandle.'
"Bar none, Doc Peets is the bitterest gent, verbal, that ever makes
a moccasin track in the South-west. An' while Huggins ain't pleased
none, them strictures has to go. To take to pawin' 'round for
turmoil with Peets would be encroachin' onto the ediotic. Even if he
emerges alive from sech controversies--an' it's four to one he
wouldn't; for Peets, who's allers framed up with a brace of
derringers, is about as vivid an enterprise as Wolfville affords--
the Stranglers would convene with Old Man Enright in the cha'r, an'
Huggins wouldn't last as long as a drink of whiskey. As it is,
Huggins gulps his feelin's an' offers nothin' in return to Peets's
remarks.
"No; of course Doc Peets ain't that diffusive in his confidences as
to go surgin' about tellin' this story to every gent he meets. It's
ag'in roole for physicians that a-way to go draggin' their lariats
'round permiscus an' impartin' all they knows. You-all can see
yourse'f that if physicians is that ingenuous, it would prodooce all
sorts of troubles in the most onlooked-for places an' most
onexpected forms. No; Peets wouldn't give way to conduct so
onbecomin' a medicine man an' a sport. But rooles has their
exceptions; an so Feets, in one of them moments of sympathy an'
confidence, which two highly eddicated gents after the eighth drink
is bound to feel for each other, relates to Colonel Sterett
concernin' Huggins an' his perfidy with them Bird Cage checks.
"This yere onbosomin' of himse'f to the Colonel ain't none discreet
of Peets. The Colonel has many excellencies, but keepin' secrets
ain't among 'em; none whatever. The Colonel is deevoid of talents
for secrets, an' so the next day he prints this yere outrage onder a
derisive headline touchin' Huggins' froogality.
"Huggins don't grade over-high for nerve an' is a long way from
bein' clean strain game; but he figgers, so I allers reckons, that
the Colonel ain't no thunderbolt of war himse'f, so when he reads as
to him an' Peets an' them treemors an' the whiskey checks, he starts
in to drink an' discuss about his honor, an' gives it out he'll have
revenge.
"It's the barkeep at the Red Light posts Colonel Sterett as to them
perils. A Mexican comes trackin' along into the Colonel's room in
the second story--what he calls his 'sanctum'--with a note. It's
from the barkeep an' reads like this:
RED LIGHT SALOON.
DEAR COLONEL:--
Huggins is in here tankin' up an' makin' war medicine. He's packin'
two guns. He says he's going to plug you for that piece. I can keep
him here an hour. Meanwhile, heel yourse'f. I'll have him so drunk
by the time he leaves that he ought to be easy.
Yours sincerely,
BLACK JACK.
P. S. Better send over to the Express Company for one of them shot-
guns. Buckshot, that a-way, is a cinch; an' if you're a leetle
nervous it don't make no difference. B. J.
"About the time the 10-gauge comes over to the Colonel, with the
compliments of the Wells-Fargo Express, an' twenty shells holdin'
twenty-one buck-shot to the shell, Doc Peets himse'f comes
sa'nterin' into the sanctum.
"'You-all ought never to have printed it, Colonel,' says Peets; 'I'm
plumb chagrined over that exposure of Huggins.'
"'Don't you reckon, Doc,' says the Colonel, sort o' coaxin' the
play, 'if you was to go down to the Red Light an' say to this
inebriated miscreant that you makes good, it would steady him down a
whole lot?'
"'If I was to take sech steps as you urges, Colonel,' says Peets,
'it would come out how I gives away the secrets of my patients; it
would hurt my p'sition. On the level! Colonel, I'd a mighty sight
sooner you'd beef Huggins.'
"'But see yere, Doc,' remonstrates the Colonel, wipin' off the water
on his fore'ead, 'murder is new to me, an' I shrinks from it.
Another thing--I don't thirst to do no five or ten years at
Leavenworth for downin' Huggins, an' all on account of you declinin'
whiskey chips as a honorarium for them services.'
"'It ain't no question of Leavenworth,' argues Peets; 'sech thoughts
is figments. Yere's how it'll be. Huggins comes chargin' up,
hungerin' for blood. You-all is r'ared back yere with that 10-gauge,
all organized, an' you coldly downs him. Thar ain't no jury, an'
thar ain't no Vigilance Committee, in Arizona, who's goin' to carp
at that a little bit. Besides, he's that ornery, the game law is out
on Huggins an' has been for some time. As for any resk to yourse'f,
personal, from Huggins; why! Colonel, you snaps your fingers tharat.
You hears Huggins on the stairs; an' you gives him both barrels the
second he shows in the door. It's as plain as monte. Before Huggins
can declar' himse'f, Colonel, he's yours, too dead to skin. It's
sech a shore thing,' concloodes Peets, 'that, after all, since
you're merely out for safety, I'd get him in the wing, an' let it go
at that. Once his arm is gone, it won't be no trouble to reason with
Huggins.'
"'Don't talk to me about no arms,' retorts the Colonel, still
moppin' his feachers plenty desperate. 'I ain't goin' to do no fancy
shootin'. If Huggins shows up yere, you can put down a yellow stack
on it, I'll bust him where he looks biggest. Huggins is goin' to
take all the chances of this embroglio.'
"But Huggins never arrives. It's Dan Boggs who abates him an'
assoomes the pressure for the Colonel. Boggs is grateful over some
compliments the Colonel pays him in the Coyote the week previous.
It's right in the midst of Huggins' prep'rations for blood that
Boggs happens up on him in the Red Light.
"'See yere, Huggins,' says Boggs, as soon as ever he gets the
Impressario's grievance straight in his mind, 'you-all is followin'
off the wrong wagon track. The Colonel ain't your proper prey at
all; it's me. I contreebutes that piece in the Coyote about you
playin' it low on Peets myse'f.'
"Huggins gazes at Boggs an' never utters a word; Boggs is too many
for him.
"'Which I'm the last sport,' observes Boggs after a pause, `to put a
limit on the reccreations or meddle with the picnics of any gent,
but this yere voylence of yours, Huggins, has gone too far. I'm
obleeged to say, tharfore, that onless you aims to furnish the
painful spectacle of me bendin' a gun over your head, you had better
sink into silence an' pull your freight. I'm a slow, hard team to
start, Huggins,' says Boggs, 'but once I goes into the collar, I'm
irresist'ble.'
"Huggins don't know much, but he knows Boggs; an' so, followin'
Boggs' remarks, Huggins ups an' ceases to clamor for the Colonel
right thar. Lambs is bellig'rent compared with Huggins. The barkeep,
in the interests of peace, cuts in on the play with the news that
the drinks is on the house, an' with that the eepisode comes to a
close.
"Now you-all has most likely begun to marvel where them labor
struggles comes buttin' in. We're within ropin' distance now. It's
not made cl'ar, but, as I remarks prior, I allers felt like Huggins
is the bug onder the chip when them printers gets hostile that time
an' leaves the agency. Huggins ain't feeble enough mental to believe
for a moment Boggs writes that piece. The fact that Boggs can't even
write his own name--bein' onfortunately wantin' utterly in
eddication--is of itse'f enough to breed doubts. Still, I don't
ondervalue Huggins none in layin' down to Boggs, that time Boggs
allows he's the author. With nothin' at stake more than a fact, an'
no money up nor nothin', he shorely wouldn't be jestified in
contendin' with a gent of Boggs' extravagant impulses, an' who is
born with the theery that six-shooters is argyments.
"But, as I was observin', Huggins is no more misled by them bluffs
of Boggs than he is likely to give up his thoughts of revenge on the
Colonel. Bein' headed off from layin' for the Colonel direct--for
Boggs reminds him at closin' that, havin' asserted his personal
respons'bility for that piece, he'll take it as affronts if Huggins
persists in goin' projectin' 'round for Colonel Sterett--thar's no
doubt in my mind that Huggins goes to slyin' about, an' jumpin'
sideways at them printers on the quiet, an fillin' 'em up with nose-
paint an' notions that they're wronged in equal quantities. An'
Huggins gets results.
"Which the Colonel pays off his five printers every week. It's mebby
the second Saturday after the Huggins trouble, an' the Colonel is
jest finished measurin' up the 'strings,' as he calls 'em, an'
disbursin' the dinero. At the finish, the head-printer stiffens up,
an' the four others falls back a pace an' looks plenty hard.
"'Colonel,' says the head-printer, 'we-all sends on to the national
council, wins out a charter, an' organizes ourse'fs into a union.
You're yereby notified we claims union wages, the same bein' forty-
five centouse a thousand ems from now ontil further orders.'
"'Jim,' retorts the Colonel, 'what you an' your noble assistants
demands at my hands, goes. From now I pays the union schedoole, the
same bein' five cents a thousand ems more than former. The Coyote as
yet is not self-supportin', but that shall not affect this play. I
have so far made up deeficiencies by draw-poker, which I finds to be
fairly soft an' certain in this camp, an' your su'gestions of a
raise merely means that I've got to set up a leetle later in a game,
an' be a trifle more remorseless on a shore hand. Wharfore I yields
to your requests with pleasure, as I says prior.'
"It's mighty likely Colonel Sterett acquiesces in them demands too
quick; the printers is led to the thought that he's as simple to
work as a Winchester. It's hooman nature to brand as many calves as
you can, an' so no one's surprised when, two weeks later, them
voracious printers comes frontin' up for more. The head-printer
stiffens up, an' the four others assoomes eyes of iron, same as
before, an' the pow wow re-opens as follows:
"'Colonel,' says the range boss for the printers, while the others
stands lookin' an' listenin' like cattle with their y'ears all
for'ard, 'Colonel, the chapel's had a meetin', an' we-all has
decided that you've got to make back payments at union rates for the
last six months, which is when we sends back to the States for that
charter. The whole throw is twelve hundred dollars, or two hundred
and forty a gent. No one wants to crowd your hand, Colonel, an' if
you don't jest happen to have said twelve hundred in your war-bags,
we allows you one week to jump 'round an' rustle it.'
"But the Colonel turns out bad, an' shows he can protect himse'f at
printin' same as he can at poker. He whirls on them sharps like a
mountain lion.
"'Gents,' says the Colonel, 'you-all is up ag'inst it. I don't care
none if the cathedral's had a meetin', I declines to bow to your
claims. As I states before, I obtains the money to conduct this yere
journal by playin' poker. Now I can't play no ex post facto poker,
nor get in on any rectroactive hands, which of itse'f displays your
attitoode on this o'casion as onjust. What you-all asks is
refoosed.'
"'See yere, Colonel,' says the head-printer, beginnin' to arch his
back like he's goin' to buck some, 'don't put on no spurs to
converse with us; an' don't think to stampede us none with them
Latin bluffs you makes. You either pays union rates since February,
or we goes p'intin' out for a strike.'
"'Strike!' says the Colonel, an' his tones is decisive, 'strike,
says you! Which if you-all will wait till I gets my coat, I'll
strike with you.'
"Tharupon the entire passel, the Colonel an' them five printers,
comes over to the Red Light, takes a drink on the Colonel, an'
disperses themse'fs on the strike. Of course Wolfville looks on some
amazed at this yere labor movement, but declar's itse'f nootral.
"'Let every gent skin his own eel,' says Enright; 'the same bein' a
fav'rite proverb back in Tennessee when I'm a yooth. This collision
between Colonel Sterett an' them free an' independent printers he
has in his herd is shorely what may be called a private game. Thar's
no reason an' no call for the camp to be heard. What's your idea,
Doc?'
"'I yoonites with you in them statements,' says Peets. 'While my
personal symp'thies is with Colonel Sterett in this involvement, as
yet the sityooation offers no reason for the public to saddle up an'
go to ridin' 'round tharin.'
"'Don't you-all think,' says Boggs, appealin' to Enright, 'don't you
reckon now if me an' Tutt an' Jack Moore, all casooal like, was to
take our guns an' go cuttin' up the dust about the moccasins of them
malcontent printers--merely in our private capacity, I means--it
would he'p solve this yere deadlock a whole lot?' Boggs is a heap
headlong that a-way, an' likin' the Colonel, nacherally he's eager
to take his end.
"'Boggs,' replies Enright, an' his tones is stern to the verge of
being ferocious; 'Boggs, onless you wants the law-abidin' element to
hang you in hobbles, you had better hold yourse'f in more
subjection. Moreover, what you proposes is childish. If you was to
appear in the midst of this industr'al excitement, an' take to
romancin' 'round as you su'gests, you'd chase every one of these
yere printers plumb off the range. Which they'd hit a few high
places in the landscape an' be gone for good. Then the Colonel never
could get out that Coyote paper no more. Let the Colonel fill his
hand an' play it his own way. I'll bet, an' go as far as you like,
that if we-all turns our backs on this, an' don't take to pesterin'
either side, the Colonel has them parties all back in the corral
ag'in inside of a week.'
"Old Man Enright is right, same as he ever is. It's about fourth
drink time in the evenin' of the second day. Colonel Sterett, who's
been consoomin' his licker at intervals not too long apart, is
seated in the Red Light in a reelaxed mood. He's sayin' to Boggs,
who has been faithful at his elbow from the first, so as to keep up
his sperits, that he looks on this strike as affordin' him a much-
needed rest.
"'An' from the standp'int of rest, Dan,' observes the Colonel to
Boggs as the barkeep brings them fresh glasses, 'I really welcomes
this difference with them blacksmiths of mine. I shorely needs this
lay-off; literatoor that a-way, Dan, an' partic'lar daily paper
literatoor of the elevated character I've been sawin' off on this
camp in the Coyote, is fa-tiguin' to the limit. When them misguided
parties surrenders their absurd demands--an' between us, Dan, I
smells Huggins in this an' expects to lay for him later tharfor--I
say, when these obtoose printers gives up, an' returns to their
'llegiance, I'll assoome the tripod like a giant refreshed.'
"'That's whatever!' says Boggs, coincidin' with the Colonel, though
he ain't none shore as to his drift.
"'I'll be recooperated,' continues the Colonel, sloppin' out another
drink; 'I'll be a new man when I takes hold ag'in, an' will make the
Coyote, ever the leadin' medium of the Southwest, as strong an'
invincible as four kings an' a ace.'
"It's at this p'int the five who's on the warpath comes into the Red
Light. The head-printer, lookin' apol'getic an' dejected, j'ins
Boggs an' the Colonel where they sits.
"'Colonel,' observes the head-printer, 'the chapel's had another
meetin'; an' the short an' the long is, the boys kind o' figger
they're onjust in them demands for back pay--sort o' overplays their
hands, They've decided, Colonel, that you're dead right; an' I'm
yere now to say we're sorry, an' we'll all go back an' open up an'
get the Coyote out ag'in in old-time form.'
"'Have a drink, Jim,' says the Colonel, an' his face has a cloud of
regrets onto it; 'take four fingers of this red-eye an' cheer up.
You-all assoomes too sombre a view of this contention.'
"'I'm obleeged to you, Colonel,' replies the head-printer; 'but I
don't much care to drink none before the boys. They ain't got no
bank-roll an' no credit like you has, Colonel--that's what makes
them see their errors--an' the plain trooth is they ain't had
nothin' to drink for twenty-four hours. That's why I don't take
nothin'. It would shore seem invidious for me to be settin' yere
h'istin' in my nose-paint, an' my pore comrades lookin' he'plessly
on; that's whatever! I'm too much a friend of labor to do it,
Colonel.'
"'What!' says Boggs, quite wrought up; 'do you-all mean to tell me
them onhappy sports ain't had a drink since yesterday? It's a stain
on the camp! Whoopee, barkeep! see what them gents will have; an'
keep seein' what they'll have endoorin' this conference.'
"'Jim,' says the Colonel, mighty reluctant, 'ain't you-all
abandonin' your p'sition prematoor? Thar's somethin' doo to a
principle, Jim. I'd rather looked for a continyooation of this
estrangement for a while at least. I'd shore take time to consider
it before ever I'd let this strike c'llapse.'
"'That's all right, Colonel,' says the head-printer, 'about
c'llapsin'; an' I onderstands your feelin's an' symp'thises
tharwith. But I've explained to you the financial condition of this
movement. Thar stands the boys, pourin' in the first fire-water that
has passed their lips for a day. An' you knows, Colonel, no gent,
nor set of gents, can conduct strikes to a successful issue without
whiskey.'
"'But, Jim,' pleads the Colonel, who hates to come off his vacation,
'if I fixes the Red Light say for fifteen drinks all 'round each
day, don't you reckon you can prevail on them recalcitrant printers
to put this reeconciliation off a week?'
"However, Enright, who at this p'int comes trailin' in, takes up the
head-printer's side, an' shows the Colonel it's his dooty.
"'You owes it to the Wolfville public, Colonel,' says Enright. 'The
Coyote has now been suppressed two days. We-all has been deprived of
our daily enlightenment an' our intellects is boggin' down. For two
entire days Wolfville has been in darkness as to worldly events, an'
is right now knockin' 'round in the problem of existence like a
blind dog in a meat shop. Your attitoode of delay, Colonel, is
impossible; the public requests your return. If you ain't back at
the Coyote office to-morry mornin' by second drink time, dealin'
your wonted game, I wouldn't ondertake to state what shape a jest
pop'lar resentment will assoome.'
"'An', of course,' observes the Colonel with a sigh, 'when you-all
puts it in that loocid an' convincin' way, Enright, thar's no more
to be said. The strike is now over an' the last kyard dealt. Jim,
you an' me an' them printers will return to the vineyard of our
efforts. This over-work may be onderminin' me, but Wolfville shall
not call to me in vain.'"
CHAPTER II
The Grinding of Dave Tutt.
"Yes," said the Old Cattleman, as he took off his sombrero and
contemplated the rattlesnake band which environed the crown, "cow-
punchers is queer people. They needs a heap of watchin' an' herdin'.
I knowed one by the name of Stevenson down on the Turkey Track, as
merits plenty of lookin' after. This yere Stevenson ain't exactly
ornery; but bein' restless, an' with a disp'sition to be emphatic
whenever he's fillin' himse'f up, keepin' your eye on him is good,
safe jedgment. He is public-sperited, too, an' sometimes takes lots
of pains to please folks an' be pop'lar.
"I recalls once when we're bringin' up a beef herd from the
Panhandle country. We're ag'in the south bank of the Arkansaw,
tryin' to throw the herd across. Thar's a bridge, but the natifs
allows it's plenty weak, so we're makin' the herd swim. Steve is
posted at the mouth of the bridge, to turn back any loose cattle
that takes a notion to try an' cross that a-way. Thar's nothin' much
to engage Steve's faculties, an' he's a-settin' on his bronco, an'
both is mighty near asleep. Some women people--from the far East, I
reckons--as is camped in town, comes over on the bridge to see us
cross the herd. They've lined out clost up to Steve, a-leanin' of
their young Eastern chins on the top rail.
"'Which I don't regyard this much,' says one young woman; 'thar's no
thrill into it. Whyever don't they do somethin' excitin'?'
"Steve observes with chagrin that this yere lady is displeased; an',
as he can't figger nothin' else out quick to entertain her, he gives
a whoop, slams his six-shooter off into the scenery, socks his spurs
into the pony, an' hops himse'f over the side of the bridge a whole
lot into the shallow water below. The jump is some twenty feet an'
busts the pony's laigs like toothpicks; also it breaks Steve's
collarbone an' disperses his feachers 'round some free an' frightful
on account of his sort o' lightin' on his face.
"Well, we shoots the pony; an' Steve rides in the grub wagon four or
five days recooperatin'. It's jest the mercy of hell he don't break
his neck.
"'Whatever do you jump off for?' I asks Steve when he's comin'
'round.
"'Which I performs said equestrianisms to amoose that she-shorthorn
who is cussin' us out.' says Steve 'I ain't permittin' for her to go
back to the States, malignin' of us cow-men.'
"Steve gets himse'f downed a year after, an' strikes out for new
ranges in the skies. He's over on the upper Red River when he gets
creased. He's settin' into a poker game.
"Steve never oughter gambled none. He is a good cow-boy--splendid
round-up hand--an' can do his day's work with rope or iron in a
brandin' pen with anybody; but comin' right to cases, he don't know
no more about playin' poker than he does about preachin'. Actooally,
he'd back two pa'r like thar's no record of their bein' beat. This
yere, of course, leads to frequent poverty, but it don't confer no
wisdom on Steve.
"On this o'casion, when they ships Steve for the realms of light,
one of the boys gets a trey-full; Steve being possessed of a heart
flush, nine at the head. In two minutes he don't have even his
blankets left.
"After he's broke, Steve h'ists in a drink or two an' sours 'round a
whole lot; an' jest as the trey-full boy gets into his saddle, Steve
comes roamin' along up an' hails him.
"'Pard,' says Steve, a heap gloomy, 'I've been tryin' to school
myse'f to b'ar it, but it don't go. Tharfore, I'm yere to say you
steals that pa'r of kings as completed my rooin. Comin' to them
decisions, I'm goin' to call on you for that bric-a-brac I lose, an'
I looks to gain some fav'rable replies.'
"'Oh, you do, do you!' says the trey-full boy. 'Which you-all is a
heap too sanguine. Do you reckon I gives up the frootes of a trey-
full--as hard a hand to hold as that is? You can go ten to one I
won't: not this round-up! Sech requests is preepost'rous!'
"'Don't wax flippant about this yere robbery, says Steve. 'It's
enough to be plundered without bein' insulted by gayeties. Now, what
I says is this: Either I gets my stuff, or I severs our relations
with a gun.' An' tharupon Steve pulls his pistol an' takes hold of
the trey-full boy's bridle. "'If thar's one thing makes me more
weary than another,' says the trey-full boy, 'it's a gun play; an'
to avoid sech exhibitions I freely returns your plunder. But you an'
me don't play kyards no more.'
"Whereupon, the trey-full boy gets off his hoss, an' Steve, allowin'
the debate is closed, puts up his gun. Steve is preematoor. The next
second, 'bang!' goes the trey-full boy's six-shooter, the bullet
gets Steve in the neck, with them heavenly results I yeretofore
onfolds, an' at first drink time that evenin' we has a hasty but
successful fooneral.
"'I don't reckon,' says Wat Peacock, who is range boss, 'thar's need
of havin' any law-suits about this yere killin'. I knows Steve for
long an' likes him. But I'm yere to announce that them idees he
fosters concerinin' the valyoo of poker hands, onreasonable an'
plumb extrav'gant as they shorely is, absolootely preeclooded
Steve's reachin' to old age. An' Steve has warnin's. Once when he
tries to get his life insured down in Austin, he's refoosed.
"'"In a five-hand game, table stakes, what is a pair of aces worth
before the draw?" is one of them questions that company asks.
"'"Table stakes?" says Steve. "Every chip you've got."
"'"That settles it, says the company; "we don't want no sech resk.
Thar never is sech recklessness! You won't live a year; you're lucky
to be alive right now." An' they declines to insure Steve.'
"However," continued my friend musingly, "I've been puttin' it up to
myself, that mighty likely I does wrong to tell you these yere
tales. Which you're ignorant of cow folks, an' for me to go
onloadin' of sech revelations mebby gives you impressions that's a
lot erroneous. Now I reckons from that one eepisode you half figgers
cow people is morose an' ferocious as a bunch?"
As the old gentleman gave his tones the inflection of inquiry, I
hastened to interpose divers flattering denials. His recitals had
inspired an admiration for cow men rather than the reverse.
This setting forth of my approval pleased him. He gave me his word
that I in no sort assumed too much in the matter. Cow men, he
asserted, were a light-hearted brood; over-cheerful, perhaps, at
times, and seeking amusement in ways beyond the understanding of the
East; but safe, upright, and of splendid generosity. Eager to
correct within me any mal-effects of the tragedy just told, he
recalled the story of a Tucson day of merry relaxation with Dave
Tutt. He opined that it furnished a picture of the people of cows in
lighter, brighter colors, and so gave me details with a sketchy
gladness.
"Which you're acc'rate in them thoughts," he said, referring to my
word that I held cow folk to be engaging characters. After elevating
his spirit with a clove, He went forward. "Thar ain't much paw an'
bellow to a cowboy. Speakin' gen'ral, an' not allowin' for them
inflooences which disturbs none--I adverts to mescal an' monte, an'
sech abnormalities--he's passive an' easy; no more harm into him
than a jack rabbit.
"Of course he has his moods to be merry, an' mebby thar's hours when
he's gay to the p'int of over-play. But his heart's as straight as a
rifle bar'l every time.
"It's a day I puts in with Dave Tutt which makes what these yere
law-sharps calls 'a case in p'int,' an' which I relates without
reserve. It gives you some notion of how a cowboy, havin' a leesure
hour, onbuckles an' is happy nacheral.
"This yere is prior to Dave weddin' Tucson Jennie. I'm pirootin'
'round Tucson with Dave at the time, Dave's workin' a small bunch of
cattle, 'way over near the Cow Springs, an' is in Tucson for a rest.
We've been sloshin' 'round the Oriental all day, findin' new
virchoos in the whiskey, an' amoosin' ourse'fs at our own expense,
when about fifth drink time in the evenin' Dave allows he's some
sick of sech revels, an' concloods he'll p'int out among the 'dobys,
sort o' explorin' things up a lot. Which we tharupon goes in
concert.
"I ain't frothin' at the mouth none to go myse'f, not seein'
reelaxation in pokin' about permiscus among a passel of Mexicans,
an' me loathin' of 'em from birth; but I goes, aimin' to ride herd
on Dave. Which his disp'sition is some free an' various; an' bein'
among Mexicans, that a-way, he's liable to mix himse'f into trouble.
Not that Dave is bad, none whatever; but bein' seven or eight drinks
winner, an' of that Oriental whiskey, too, it broadens him an' makes
him feel friendly, an' deloodes him into claimin' acquaintance with
people he never does know, an' refoosin' to onderstand how they
shows symptoms of doubt. So we capers along; Dave warblin' 'The
Death of Sam Bass' in the coyote key.
"The senoras an' senoritas, hearin' the row, would look out an'
smile, an' Dave would wave his big hat an' whoop from glee. If he
starts toward 'em, aimin' for a powwow--which he does frequent,
bein' a mighty amiable gent that a-way--they carols forth a squawk
immediate an' shets the door. Dave goes on. Mebby he gives the door
a kick or two, a-proclaimin' of his discontent.
"All at once, while we're prowlin' up one of them spacious alleys a
Mexican thinks is a street, we comes up on a Eytalian with a music
outfit which he's grindin'. This yere music ain't so bad, an' I
hears a heap worse strains. As soon as Dave sees him he tries to
figger on a dance, but the 'local talent' declines to dance with
him.
"'In which event,' says Dave, 'I plays a lone hand."
"So Dave puts up a small dance, like a Navajo, accompanyin' of
himse'f with outcries same as a Injun. But the Eytalian don't play
Dave's kind of music, an' the bailee comes to a halt.
"'Whatever is the matter with this yere tune-box, anyhow?' says
Dave. 'Gimme the music for a green-corn dance, an' don't make no
delay.' "'This yere gent can't play no green-corn dance,' I says.
"'He can't, can't he?' says Dave; 'wait till he ropes at it once. I
knows this gent of yore. I meets him two years ago in El Paso; which
me an' him shorely shakes up that village.'
"'Whatever is his name, then?' I asks.
"'Antonio Marino,' says the Eytalian.
"'Merino?' says Dave; 'that's right. I recalls it, 'cause it makes
me think at the jump he's a sheep man, an' I gets plumb hostile.'
"'I never sees you,' says the Eytalian.
"'Yes you do,' says Dave; 'you jest think you didn't see me. We
drinks together, an' goes out an' shoots up the camp, arm an' arm.'
"But the Eytalian insists he never meets Dave. This makes Dave ugly
a lot, an' before I gets to butt in an' stop it, he outs with his
six-shooter, an' puts a hole into the music-box.'
"'These yere tunes I hears so far,' says Dave, 'is too frivolous; I
figgers that oughter sober 'em down a whole lot.'
"When Dave shoots, the Eytalian party heaves the strap of his hewgag
over his head, an' flies. Dave grabs the music-box, keepin' it from
fallin', an' then begins turnin' the crank to try it. It plays all
right, only every now an' then thar's a hole into the melody like
it's lost a tooth.
"'This yere's good enough for a dog!' says Dave, a-twistin' away on
the handle. 'Where's this yere Merino? Whatever is the matter with
that shorthorn? Why don't he stand his hand?'
"But Merino ain't noomerous no more; so Dave allows it's a shame to
let it go that a-way, an' Mexicans sufferin' for melody. With that
he straps on the tune-box, an' roams 'round from one 'doby to
another, turnin' it loose.
"'How long does Merino deal his tunes,' says Dave, 'before he
c'llects? However, I makes new rooles for the game, right yere. I
plays these cadences five minutes; an' then I gets action on 'em for
five. I splits even with these Mexicans, which is shorely fair.'
"So Dave twists away for five minutes, an' me a-timin' of him, an'
then leans the hewgag up ag'in a 'doby, an' starts in to make a
round-up. He'll tackle a household, sort o' terrorisin' at 'em with
his gun; an' tharupon the members gets that generous they even
negotiates loans an' thrusts them proceeds on Dave. That's right;
they're that ambitious to donate.
"One time he runs up on a band of tenderfeet, who's skallyhootin'
'round; an' they comes up an' bends their y'ears a-while. They're
turnin' to go jest before c'llectin' time.
"'Hold on,' says Dave, pickin' up his Colt's offen the top of the
hewgag; 'don't get cold feet. Which I've seen people turn that kyard
in church, but you bet you don't jump no game of mine that a-way.
You-all line up ag'in the wall thar ontil I tucks the blankets in on
this yere outbreak in F flat, an' I'll be with you.'
"When Dave winds up, he goes along the line of them tremblin'
towerists, an' they contreebutes 'leven dollars.
"'They aims to go stampedin' off with them nocturnes, an' 'peggios,
an' arias, an' never say nothin',' says Dave; 'but they can't work
no twist like that, an' me a-ridin' herd; none whatever.'
"Dave carries on sim'lar for three hours; an' what on splits, an'
what on bets he wins, he's over a hundred dollars ahead. But at last
he's plumb fatigued, an' allows he'll quit an' call it a day. So he
packs the tom-tom down to Franklin's office. Franklin is marshal of
Tucson, an' Dave turns over the layout an' the money, an' tells
Franklin to round up Merino an' enrich him tharwith.
"'Where is this yere Dago?' says Franklin.
"'However do I know?' says Dave. 'Last I notes of him, he's
canterin' off among the scenery like antelopes.'
"It's at this p'int Merino comes to view. He starts in to be a heap
dejected about that bullet; but when he gets Dave's donation that a-
way, his hopes revives. He begins to regyard it as a heap good
scheme.
"'But you'll have to cirkle up to the alcalde, Tutt,' says Franklin.
'I ain't shore none you ain't been breakin' some law.'
"Dave grumbles, an' allows Tucson is gettin' a heap too staid for
him.
"'It's gettin' so,' says Dave, 'a free American citizen don't obtain
no encouragements. Yere I puts in half a day, amassin' wealth for a
foreign gent who is settin' in bad luck; an' elevatin' Mexicans, who
shorely needs it, an' for a finish I'm laid for by the marshal like
a felon.'
"Well, we-all goes surgin' over to the alcalde's. Franklin, Dave an'
the alcalde does a heap of pokin' about to see whatever crimes, if
any, Dave's done. Which they gets by the capture of the hewgag, an'
shootin' that bullet into its bowels don't bother 'em a bit. Even
Dave's standin' up them towerists, an' the rapine that ensoos don't
worry 'em none; but the question of the music itse'f sets the
alcalde to buckin'.
"'I'm shorely depressed to say it, Dave,' says the alcalde, who is a
sport named Steele, 'but you've been a-bustin' of ord'nances about
playin' music on the street without no license.'
"'Can't we-all beat the game no way?' says Dave.
"'Which I shorely don't see how,' says the alcalde.
"'Nor me neither,' says Franklin.
"'Whatever is the matter with counter-brandin' them tunes over to
Merino's license?' says Dave.
"'Can't do it nohow,' says the alcalde.
"'Well, is this yere ord'nance accordin' to Hoyle an' the
Declaration of Independence?' says Dave. 'I don't stand it none
onless.'
"'Shore!' says the alcalde.
"'Ante an' pass the buck, then,' says Dave. 'I'm a law-abidin'
citizen, an' all I wants is a squar' deal from the warm deck.'
"So they fines Dave fifty dollars for playin' them harmonies without
no license. Dave asks me later not to mention this yere outcome in
Wolfville, an' I never does. But yere it's different."
CHAPTER III.
The Feud of Pickles.
"Thar's a big crowd in Wolfville that June day." The Old Cattleman
tilted his chair back and challenged my interest with his eye. "The
corrals is full of pack mules an' bull teams an' wagon-trains; an'
white men, Mexicans, half-breeds an' Injuns is a-mixin' an'
meanderin' 'round, a-lyin' an' a-laughin' an' a-drinkin' of Red
Light whiskey mighty profuse. Four or five mule skinners has their
long limber sixteen-foot whips, which is loaded with dust-shot from
butt to tip, an' is crackin' of 'em at a mark. I've seen one of
these yere mule experts with the most easy, delicate, delib'rate
twist of the wrist make his whip squirm in the air like a hurt
snake; an' then he'll straighten it out with the crack of twenty
rifles, an' the buckskin popper cuts a hole in a loose buffalo robe
he's hung up; an' all without investin' two ounces of actooal
strength. Several of us Wolfville gents is on the sidewalk in front
of the O. K. Restauraw, applaudin' of the good shots, when Dave Tutt
speaks up to Jack Moore, next to me, an' says:
"'Jack, you minds that old Navajo you downs over on the San Simon
last Fall?'"
"'I minds him mighty cl'ar,' says Jack. 'He's stealin' my Alizan
hoss at the time, an' I can prove it by his skelp on my bridle now.'
"'Well,' says Dave, p'intin' to a ornery, saddle-colored half-breed
who's makin' himse'f some frequent, 'that Injun they calls "Pickles"
is his nephy, an' you wants to look out a whole lot. I hears him
allow that the killin' of his relatif is mighty rank, an' that he
don't like it nohow.'
"'That's all right,' says Jack; 'Pickles an' me has been keepin'
cases on each other an hour; an' I'll post you-all private, if he
goes to play hoss a little bit, him an' his oncle will be able to
talk things over before night.'
"Which it's mighty soon when Pickles comes along where we be.
"'Hello, Jack,' he says, an' his manner is insultin'; 'been makin'
it smoky down on the old San Simon lately?'
"'No; not since last fall,' says Jack, plenty light an' free; 'an'
now I thinks of it, I b'lieves I sees that Navajo hoss-thief of an
oncle of yours when I'm down thar last. I ain't run up on him none
lately, though. Where do you-all reckon he's done 'loped to?'
"'Can't say, myse'f,' says Pickles, with a kind o' wicked
cheerfulness; 'our fam'ly has a round-up of itse'f over on B'ar
Creek last spring, an' I don't count his nose among 'em none. Mebby
he has an engagement, an' can't get thar. Mebby he's out squanderin'
'round in the high grass some'ers. Great man to go 'round permiscus,
that Injun is.'
"'You see,' says Jack, 'I don't know but he might be dead. Which the
time I speaks of, I'm settin' in camp one day. Something attracts
me, an' I happens to look up, an' thar's my hoss, Alizan, with a
perfect stranger on him, pitchin' an' buckin', an' it looks like
he's goin' to cripple that stranger shore. Pickles, you knows me!
I'd lose two hosses rather than have a gent I don't know none get
hurt. So I grabs my Winchester an' allows to kill Alizan. But it's a
new gun; an' you know what new sights is--coarse as sandburrs; you
could drag a dog through 'em--an' I holds too high. I fetches the
stranger, "bang!" right back of his left y'ear, an' the bullet comes
outen his right y'ear. You can bet the limit, I never am so
displeased with my shootin'. The idee of me holdin' four foot too
high in a hundred yards! I never is that embarrassed! I'm so plumb
disgusted an' ashamed, I don't go near that equestrian stranger till
after I finishes my grub. Alizan, he comes up all shiverin' an'
sweatin' an' stands thar; an' mebby in a hour or so I strolls out to
the deceased. It shorely wearies me a whole lot when I sees him;
he's nothin' but a common Digger buck. You can drink on it if I
ain't relieved. Bein' a no-account Injun, of course, I don't paw him
over much for brands; but do you know, Pickles, from the casooal
glance I gives, it strikes me at the time it's mighty likely to be
your oncle. This old bronco fancier's skelp is over on my bridle, if
you thinks you'd know it.'
"'No,' says Pickles, mighty onconcerned, 'it can't be my oncle
nohow. If he's one of my fam'ly, it would be your ha'r on his
bridle. It must be some old shorthorn of a Mohave you downs. Let's
all take a drink on it.'
"So we-all goes weavin' over to the Red Light, Jack an' Pickles
surveyin' each other close an' interested, that a-way, an' the rest
of us on the quee vee, to go swarmin' out of range if they takes to
shootin'.
"'It's shore sad to part with friends,' says Pickles, as he secretes
his nose-paint, 'but jest the same I must saddle an' stampede out of
yere. I wants to see that old villyun, Tom Cooke, an' I don't reckon
none I'll find him any this side of Prescott, neither. Be you
thinkin' of leavin' camp yourse'f, Jack?'
"'I don't put it up I'll leave for a long time,' says Jack. 'Mebby
not for a month--mebby it's even years before I go wanderin' off--so
don't go to makin' no friendly, quiet waits for me nowhere along the
route, Pickles, 'cause you'd most likely run out of water or chuck
or something before ever I trails up.'
"It ain't long when Pickles saddles up an' comes chargin' 'round on
his little buckskin hoss. Pickles takes to cuttin' all manner of
tricks, reachin' for things on the ground, snatchin' off Mexicans'
hats, an' jumpin' his pony over wagon tongues an' camp fixin's. All
the time he's whoopin' an' yellin' an' carryin' on, an havin' a high
time all by himse'f. Which you can see he's gettin' up his blood an'
nerve, reg'lar Injun fashion.
"Next he takes down his rope an' goes to whirlin' that. Two or three
times he comes flashin' by where we be, an' I looks to see him make
a try at Jack. But he's too far back, or thar's too many 'round
Jack, or Pickles can't get the distance, or something; for he don't
throw it none, but jest keeps yellin' an' ridin' louder an' faster.
Pickles shorely puts up a heap of riot that a-way! It's now that
Enright calls to Pickles.
"'Look yere, Pickles,' he says, 'I've passed the word to the five
best guns in camp to curl you up if you pitch that rope once. Bein'
as the news concerns you, personal, I allows it's nothin' more'n
friendly to tell you. Then ag'in, I don't like to lose the Red Light
sech a customer like you till it's a plumb case of crowd.'
"When Enright vouchsafes this warnin', Pickles swings down an'
leaves his pony standin', an' comes over.
"'Do you know, Jack,' he says, 'I don't like the onrespectful tones
wherein you talks of Injuns. I'm Injun, part, myse'f, an' I don't
like it.'
"'No?' says Jack; 'I s'pose that's a fact, too. An' yet, Pickles,
not intendin' nothin' personal, for I wouldn't be personal with a
prairie dog, I'm not only onrespectful of Injuns, an' thinks the
gov'ment ought to pay a bounty for their skelps, but I states
beliefs that a hoss-stealin', skulkin' mongrel of a half-breed is
lower yet; I holdin' he ain't even people--ain't nothin', in fact.
But to change the subjeck, as well as open an avenoo for another
round of drinks, I'll gamble, Pickles, that you-all stole that hoss
down thar, an' that the "7K" brand on his shoulder ain't no brand at
all, but picked on with the p'int of a knife.'
"When Jack puts it all over Pickles that a-way, we looks for
shootin' shore. But Pickles can't steady himse'f on the call. He's
like ponies I've met. He'll ride right at a thing as though he's
goin' plumb through or over, an' at the last second he quits an'
flinches an' weakens. Son, it ain't Pickles' fault. Thar ain't no
breed of gent but the pure white who can play a desp'rate deal down
through, an' call the turn for life or death at the close; an'
Pickles, that a-way, is only half white. So he laughs sort o' ugly
at Jack's bluff, an' allows he orders drinks without no wagers.
"'An' then, Jack,' he says, 'I wants you to come feed with me. I'll
have Missis Rucker burn us up something right.'
"'I'll go you,' says Jack, 'if it ain't nothin' but salt hoss.'
"'I'll fix you-all folks up a feed,' says Missis Rucker, a heap
grim, 'but you don't do no banquetin' in no dinin' room of mine.
I'll spread your grub in the camp-house, t'other side the corral,
an' you-all can then be as sociable an' smoky as you please. Which
you'll be alone over thar, an' can conduct the reepast in any
fashion to suit yourse'fs. But you don't get into the dinin' room
reg'lar, an' go to weedin' out my boarders accidental, with them
feuds of yours.'
"After a little, their grub's got ready in the camp house. It's a
jo-darter of a feed, with cake, pie, airtights, an' the full game,
an' Jack an' Pickles walks over side an' side. They goes in alone
an' shets the door. In about five minutes, thar's some emphatic
remarks by two six-shooters, an' we-all goes chargin' to find out.
We discovers Jack eatin' away all right; Pickles is the other side,
with his head in his tin plate, his intellects runnin' out over his
eye. Jack's shore subdooed that savage for all time.
"'It don't look like Pickles is hungry none,' says Jack.
"They both pulls their weepons as they sets down, an' puts 'em in
their laps; but bein' bred across, that a-way, Pickles can't stand
the strain. He gets nervous an' grabs for his gun; the muzzle
catches onder the table-top, an' thar's his bullet all safe in the
wood. Jack, bein' clean strain American, has better luck, an'
Pickles is got. Shore, it's right an' on the squar'!
"'You sees,' says Dan Boggs, 'this killin's bound to be right from
the jump. It comes off by Pickles' earnest desire; Jack couldn't
refoose. He would have lost both skelp an' standin' if he had.
Which, however, if this yere 'limination of Pickles has got to have
a name, my idee is to call her a case of self-deestruction on
Pickles' part, an' let it go at that.'"
CHAPTER IV.
Johnny Florer's Axle Grease.
It was the afternoon--cool and
beautiful. I had been nursing my indolence with a cigar and one of
the large arm-chairs which the veranda of the great hotel afforded.
Now and then I considered within myself as to the whereabouts of my
Old Cattleman, and was in a half humor to hunt him up. Just as my
thoughts were hardening into decision in that behalf, a high,
wavering note, evidently meant for song, came floating around the
corner of the house, from the veranda on the end. The singer was out
of range of eye, but I knew him for my aged friend. Thus he gave
forth:
"Dogville, Dogville!
A tavern an' a still,
That's all thar is in all Dog-ville."
"How do you feel to-day?" I asked as I took a chair near the
venerable musician. "Happy and healthy, I trust?"
"Never feels better in my life," responded the Old Cattleman. "If I
was to feel any better, I'd shorely go an' see a doctor."
"You are a singer, I observe."
"I'm melodious nacheral, but I'm gettin' so I sort o' stumbles in my
notes. Shoutin' an' singin' 'round a passel of cattle to keep 'em
from stampedin' on bad nights has sp'iled my voice, that a-way.
Thar's nothin' so weakenin', vocal, as them efforts in the open air
an' in the midst of the storms an' the elements. What for a song is
that I'm renderin'? Son, I learns that ballad long ago, back when
I'm a boy in old Tennessee. It's writ, word and music, by little
Mollie Hines, who lives with her pap, old Homer Hines, over on the
'Possum Trot. Mollie Hines is shore a poet, an' has a mighty sight
of fame, local. She's what you-all might call a jo-darter of a poet,
Mollie is; an' let anythin' touchin' or romantic happen anywhere
along the 'Possum Trot, so as to give her a subjeck, an' Mollie
would be down on it, instanter, like a fallin' star. She shorely is
a verse maker, an' is known in the Cumberland country as 'The
Nightingale of Big Bone Lick.' I remembers when a Shylock over to
the Dudleytown bank forecloses a mortgage on old Homer Hines, an'
offers his settlements at public vandue that a-way, how Mollie
prances out an' pours a poem into the miscreant. Thar's a hundred
an' 'levcn verses into it, an' each one like a bullet outen a
Winchester. It goes like this: "Thar's a word to be uttered to the
rich man in his pride.
(Which a gent is frequent richest when it's jest before he died!)
Thar's a word to be uttered to the hawg a-eatin' truck.
(Which a hawg is frequent fattest when it's jest before he's
stuck!)
"Mighty sperited epick, that! You recalls that English preacher
sharp that comes squanderin' 'round the tavern yere for his health
about a month ago? Shore! I knows you couldn't have overlooked no
bet like that divine. Well, that night in them parlors, when he
reads some rhymes in a book,--whatever is that piece he reads?
Locksley Hall; right you be, son! As I was sayin', when he's through
renderin' said Locksley Hall, he comes buttin' into a talk with me
where I'm camped in a corner all cosy as a toad onder a cabbage
leaf, reecoverin' myse'f with licker from them recitals of his, an'
he says to me, this parson party does:
"'Which it's shorely a set-back America has no poets,' says he.
"'It's evident,' I says, 'that you never hears of Mollie Hines.'
"'No, never once,' he replies; 'is this yere Miss Hines a poet?'
"Is Mollie Hines a poet!' I repeats, for my scorn at the mere idee
kind o' stiffens its knees an' takes to buckin' some. 'Mollie Hines
could make that Locksley Hall gent you was readin' from, or even the
party who writes Watt's Hymns, go to the diskyard.' An' then I
repeats some forty of them stanzas, whereof that one I jest now
recites is a speciment.
"What does this pulpit gent say? He see I has him cinched, an' he's
plumb mute. He confines himse'f to turnin' up his nose in disgust
like Bill Storey does when his father-in-law horsewhips him."
Following this, the Old Cattleman and I wrapped ourselves in
thoughtful smoke, for the space of five minutes, as ones who
pondered the genius of "The Nightingale of Big Bone Lick"--Mollie
Hines on the banks of the Possom Trot. At last my friend broke forth
with a question.
"Whoever is them far-off folks you-all was tellin' me is related to
Injuns?"
"The Japanese." I replied. "Undoubtedly the Indians and the Japanese
are of the same stock."
"Which I'm foaled like a mule," said the old gentleman, "a complete
prey to inborn notions ag'in Injuns. I wouldn't have one pesterin'
'round me more'n I'd eat off en the same plate with a snake. I shore
has aversions to 'em a whole lot. Of course, I never sees them Japs,
but I saveys Injuns from feathers to moccasins, an' comparin' Japs
to Injuns, I feels about 'em like old Bill Rawlins says about his
brother Jim's wife."
"And how was that?" I asked.
The afternoon was lazy and good, and I in a mood to listen to my
rambling grey comrade talk of anybody or anything.
"It's this a-way," he began. "This yere Bill an' Jim Rawlins is
brothers an' abides in Roanoke, Virginny. They splits up in their
yooth, an' Jim goes p'intin' out for the West. Which he shore gets
thar, an' nothin' is heard of him for forty years.
"Bill Rawlins, back in Roanoke, waxes a heap rich, an' at last
clears up his game an' resolves lie takes a rest. Also he concloods
to travel; an' as long as he's goin' to travel, he allows he'll sort
o' go projectin' 'round an' see if he can't locate Jim.
"He gets a old an' musty tip about Jim, this Bill Rawlins does, an'
it works out all right. Bill cuts Jim's trail 'way out yonder on the
Slope at a meetropolis called Los Angeles. But this yere Jim ain't
thar none. The folks tells Bill they reckons Jim is over to Virginny
City.
"It's a month later, an' Bill is romancin' along on one of them
Nevada mountain-meadow trails, when he happens upon a low, squatty
dugout, the same bein' a camp rather than a house, an' belongs with
a hay ranche. In the door is standin' a most ornery seemin' gent,
with long, tangled ha'r an' beard, an' his clothes looks like he's
shorely witnessed times. The hands of this ha'ry gent is in his
pockets, an' he exhibits a mighty soopercilious air. Bill pulls up
his cayouse for a powwow.
"How far is it to a place where I can camp down for the night?' asks
Bill.
"'It's about twenty miles to the next wickeyup,' says the
soopercilious gent.
"'Which I can't make it none to-night, then,' says Bill.
"'Not on that hoss,' says the soopercilious gent, for Bill's pony
that a-way is plenty played.
"'Mebby, then,' says Bill, ` I'd better bunk in yere.'
"'You can gamble you-all don't sleep yere,' says the soopercilious
gent; 'none whatever!'
'An' why not?' asks Bill.
"'Because I won't let you,' says the soopercilious gent, a-bitin'
off a piece of tobacco. 'This is my camp, an' force'ble invasions by
casooal hold-ups like you, don't preevail with me a little bit. I
resents the introosion on my privacy.'
"'But I'll have to sleep on these yere plains,' says Bill a heap
plaintif.
"'Thar's better sports than you-all slept on them plains,' says the
soopercilious gent.
"Meanwhile, thar's a move or two, speshully the way he bats his
eyes, about this soopercilious gent that sets Bill to rummagin'
'round in his mem'ry. At last he asks:
"'Is your name Rawlins?'
"'Yes, sir, my name's Rawlins,' says the soopercilious gent.
"'Jim Rawlins of Roanoke?'
"'Jim Rawlins of Roanoke;' an' the soopercilious gent reaches inside
the door of the dugout, searches forth a rifle an' pumps a cartridge
into the bar'l.
"'Stan' your hand, Jim!' says Bill, at the same time slidin' to the
ground with the hoss between him an' his relatif; 'don't get
impetyoous. I'm your brother Bill.'
"'What!' says the soopercilious gent, abandonin' them hostile
measures, an' joy settlin' over his face. 'What!' he says; 'you my
brother Bill? Well, don't that beat grizzly b'ars amazin'! Come in,
Bill, an' rest your hat. Which it's simply the tenderness of hell I
don't miss you.'
"Whereupon Bill an' Jim tracks along inside an' goes to canvassin'
up an' down as to what ensooes doorin' them forty years they've been
parted. Jim wants to know all about Roanoke an' how things stacks up
in old Virginny, an' he's chuckin' in his questions plenty rapid.
"While Bill's replyin', his eye is caught by a frightful-lookin'
female who goes slyin' in an' out, a-organizin' of some grub. She's
the color of a saddle, an' Bill can't make out whether she's a
white, a Mexican, a Digger Injun or a nigger. An' she's that
hideous, this female is, she comes mighty near givin' Bill heart
failure. Son, you-all can't have no idee how turribie this person
looks. She's so ugly the flies won't light on her. Yes, sir! ugly
enough to bring sickness into a fam'ly. Bill can feel all sorts o'
horrors stampedin' about in his frame as he gazes on her. Her eyes
looks like two bullet holes in a board, an' the rest of her feachers
is tetotaciously indeescrib'ble. Bill's intellects at the awful
sight of this yere person almost loses their formation, as army
gents would say. At last Bill gets in a question on his rapid-fire
relatif, who's shootin' him up with queries touchin' Roanoke to beat
a royal flush.
"'Jim,' says Bill, sort o' scared like, 'whoever is this yere lady
who's roamin' the scene?'
"'Well, thar now!' says Jim, like he's plumb disgusted, 'I hope my
gun may hang fire, if I don't forget to introdooce you! Bill, that's
my wife.'
"Then Jim goes surgin' off all spraddled out about the noomerous an'
manifest excellencies of this female, an' holds forth alarmin' of
an' concernin' her virchoos an' loveliness of face an' form, an' all
to sech a scand'lous degree, Bill has to step outdoors to blush.
"'An', Bill,' goes on Jim, an' he's plumb rapturous, that a-way,
'may I never hold three of a kind ag'in, if she ain't got a sister
who's as much like her as two poker chips. I'm co'tin' both of 'em
mighty near four years before ever I can make up my mind whichever
of 'em I needs. They're both so absolootely sim'lar for beauty, an'
both that aloorin' to the heart, I simply can't tell how to set my
stack down. At last, after four years, I ups an' cuts the kyards for
it, an' wins out this one.'
"'Well, Jim,' says Bill, who's been settin' thar shudderin' through
them rhapsodies, an' now an' then gettin' a glimpse of this yere
female with the tail of his eye: 'Well, Jim, far be it from me, an'
me your brother, to go avouchin' views to make you feel doobious of
your choice. But candor's got the drop on me an' compels me to speak
my thoughts. I never sees this sister of your wife, Jim, but jest
the same, I'd a heap sight rather have her.'
"An' as I observes previous," concluded the old gentleman, "I feels
about Japs an' Injuns like Bill does about Jim's wife that time. I
never sees no Japs, but I'd a mighty sight rather have 'em."
There was another pause after this, and cigars were produced. For a
time the smoke curled in silence. Then my friend again took up
discussion.
"Thar comes few Injuns investigatin' into Wolfville. Doorin' them
emutes of Cochise, an' Geronimo, an' Nana, the Apaches goes No'th
an' South clost in by that camp of ours, but you bet! they're never
that locoed as to rope once at Wolfville. We-all would shorely have
admired to entertain them hostiles; but as I su'gests, they're a
heap too enlightened to give us a chance.
"Savages never finds much encouragement to come ha'ntin' about
Wolfville. About the first visitin' Injun meets with a contreetemps;
though this is inadvertent a heap an' not designed. This buck, a
Navajo, I takes it, from his feathers, has been pirootin' about for
a day or two. At last I reckons he allows he'll eelope off into the
foothills ag'in. As carryin' out them roode plans which he forms, he
starts to scramble onto the Tucson stage jest as Old Monte's
c'llectin' up his reins. But it don't go; Injuns is barred. The
gyard, who's perched up in front next to Old Monte, pokes this yere
aborigine in the middle of his face with the muzzle of his rifle;
an' as the Injun goes tumblin', the stage starts, an' both wheels
passes over him the longest way. That Injun gives a groan like
twenty sinners, an his lamp is out.
"Old Monte sets the brake an' climbs down an' sizes up the
remainder. Then he gets back on the box, picks up his six hosses an'
is gettin' out.
"'Yere, you!' says French, who's the Wells-Fargo agent, a-callin'
after Old Monte, 'come back an' either plant your game or pack it
with you. I'm too busy a gent to let you or any other blinded
drunkard go leavin' a fooneral at my door. Thar's enough to do here
as it is, an' I don't want no dead Injuns on my hands.'
"'Don't put him up thar an' go sp'ilin' them mail-bags,' howls Old
Monte, as French an' a hoss-hustler from inside the corral lays hold
of the Navajo to throw him on with the baggage.
"'Then come down yere an' ride herd on the play yourse'f, you
murderin' sot!' says French.
"An' with that, he shore cuts loose an' cusses Old Monte frightful;
cusses till a cottonwood tree in front of the station sheds all its
leaves, an' he deadens the grass for a hundred yards about.
"'Promotin' a sepulcher in this rock-ribbed landscape,' says French,
as Jack Moore comes up, kind o' apol'gisin' for his profane voylence
at Old Monte; 'framin' up a tomb, I say, in this yere rock-ribbed
landscape ain't no child's play, an' I'm not allowin' none for that
homicide Monte to put no sech tasks on me. He knows the Wolfville
roole. Every gent skins his own polecats an' plants his own prey.'
"'That's whatever!' says Jack Moore, 'an' onless Old Monte is
thirstin' for trouble in elab'rate forms, he acquiesces tharin.'
"With that Old Monte hitches the Navajo to the hind axle with a
lariat which French brings out, an' then the stage, with the savage
coastin' along behind, goes rackin' off to the No'th. Later, Monte
an' the passengers hangs this yere remainder up in a pine tree, at
an Injun crossin' in the hills, as a warnin'. Whether it's a warnin'
or no, we never learns; all that's shore is that the remainder an'
the lariat is gone next day; but whatever idees the other Injuns
entertains of the play is, as I once hears a lecture sharp
promulgate, 'concealed with the customary stoicism of the American
savage.'
"Most likely them antipathies of mine ag'in Injuns is a heap
enhanced by what I experiences back on the old Jones an' Plummer
trail, when they was wont to stampede our herds as we goes drivin'
through the Injun Territory. Any little old dark night one of them
savages is liable to come skulkin' up on the wind'ard side of the
herd, flap a blanket, cut loose a yell, an' the next second thar's a
hundred an' twenty thousand dollars' worth of property skally-
hootin' off into space on frenzied hoofs. Next day, them same
ontootered children of the woods an' fields would demand four bits
for every head they he'ps round up an' return to the bunch. It's a
source of savage revenoo, troo; but plumb irritatin'. Them Injuns
corrals sometimes as much as a hundred dollars by sech treacheries.
An' then we-all has to rest over one day to win it back at poker.
"Will Injuns gamble? Shore! an' to the limit at that! Of course,
bein', as you saveys, a benighted people that a-way, they're some
easy, havin' no more jedgment as to the valyoo of a hand than Steve
Stevenson, an' Steve would take a pa'r of nines an' bet 'em higher
than a cat's back. We allers recovers our dinero, but thar's time
an' sleep we lose an' don't get back.
"Yes, indeed, son, Injuns common is as ornery as soapweed. The only
good you-all can say of 'em is, they're nacheral-born longhorns, is
oncomplainin', an' saveys the West like my black boy saveys licker.
One time--this yere is 'way back in my Texas days--one time I'm
camped for long over on the Upper Hawgthief. It's rained a heap, an'
bein' as I'm on low ground anyhow, it gets that soft an' swampy
where I be it would bog a butterfly. For once I'm took sick; has a
fever, that a-way. An' lose flesh! shorely you should have seen me!
I falls off like persimmons after a frost, an' gets as ga'nt an'
thin as a cow in April. So I allows I'll take a lay-off for a couple
of months an' reecooperate some.
"Cossettin' an' pettin' of my health, as I states, I saddles up an'
goes cavortin' over into the Osage nation to visit an old compadre
of mine who's a trader thar by the name of Johnny Florer. This yere
Florer is an old-timer with the Osages; been with 'em it's mighty
likely twenty year at that time, an' is with 'em yet for all the
notice I ever receives.
"On the o'casion of this ambassy of mine, I has a chance to study
them savages, an' get a line on their char'cters a whole lot. This
tune I'm with Johnny, what you-all might call Osage upper circles is
a heap torn by the ontoward rivalries of a brace of eminent bucks
who's each strugglin' to lead the fashion for the tribe an' raise
the other out.
"Them Osages, while blanket Injuns, is plumb opulent. Thar's sixteen
hundred of 'em, an' they has to themse'fs 1,500,000 acres of as good
land as ever comes slippin' from the palm of the Infinite. Also, the
gov'ment is weak-minded enough to confer on every one of 'em, each
buck drawin' the dinero for his fam'ly, a hundred an' forty big iron
dollars anyooally. Wherefore, as I observes, them Osages is plenty
strong, financial.
"These yere two high-rollin' bucks I speaks of, who's strugglin' for
the social soopremacy, is in the midst of them strifes while I'm
visitin' Florer. It's some two moons prior when one of 'em, which
we'll call him the 'Astor Injun,' takes a heavy fall out of the
opp'sition by goin' over to Cherryvale an' buyin' a sooperannuated
two-seat Rockaway buggy. To this he hooks up a span of ponies, loads
in his squaws, an' p'rades 'round from Pawhusky to Greyhoss--the
same bein' a couple of Osage camps--an' tharby redooces the enemy--
what we'll name the 'Vanderbilt Injuns'--to desp'ration. The Astor
savage shorely has the call with that Rockaway.
"But the Vanderbilt Osage is a heap hard to down. He takes one look
at the Astor Injun's Rockaway with all its blindin' splendors, an'
then goes streakin' it for Cherryvale, like a drunkard to a
barbecue. An' he sees the Rockaway an' goes it several better. What
do you-all reckon now that savage equips himse'f with? He wins out a
hearse, a good big black roomy hearse, with ploomes onto it an'
glass winders in the sides.
"As soon as ever this Vanderbilt Injun stiffens his hand with the
hearse, he comes troopin' back to camp with it, himse'f on the box
drivin', an' puttin' on enough of lordly dog to make a pack of
hounds. Which he shorely squelches the Astors; they jest simply lay
down an' wept at sech grandeur. Their Rockaway ain't one, two,
three,--ain't in the money.
"An' every day the Vanderbilt Injun would load his squaws an'
papooses inside the hearse, an' thar, wropped in their blankets an'
squattin' on the floor of the hearse for seats, they would be
lookin' out o' the winders at common savages who ain't in it an'
don't have no hearse. Meanwhiles, the buck Vanderbilt is drivin' the
outfit all over an' 'round the cantonments, the entire bunch as
sassy an' as flippant as a coop o' catbirds. It's all the Astors can
do to keep from goin' plumb locoed. The Vanderbilts win.
"One mornin', when Florer an' me has jest run our brands onto the
fourth drink, an old buck comes trailin' into the store. His blanket
is pulled over his head, an' he's pantin' an' givin' it out he's
powerful ill.
"'How is my father?' says Johnny in Osage.
"'Oh, my son,' says the Injun, placin' one hand on his stomach, an'
all mighty tender, 'your father is plenty sick. Your father gets up
this mornin', an' his heart is very bad. You must give him medicine
or your father will die.'
"Johnny passes the invalid a cinnamon stick an' exhorts him to chew
on that, which he does prompt an' satisfactory, like cattle on their
cud. This cinnamon keeps him steady for 'most five minutes.
"'Whatever is the matter with this savage?' I asks of Johnny.
"'Nothin' partic'lar,' says Johnny. 'Last night he comes pushin' in
yere an' buys a bottle of Worcestershire sauce; an' then he gets
gaudy an' quaffs it all up on a theery she's a new-fangled fire
water. He gets away with the entire bottle. It's now he realizes
them errors, an' takes to groanin' an' allowin' it gives him a bad
heart. Which I should shorely admit as much!'
"'Your father is worse,' says the Osage, as he comes cuttin' in on
Johnny ag'in. 'Must have stronger medicine. That medicine,' holdin'
up some of the cinnamon, 'that not bad enough.'
"At this, Johnny passes his 'father' over a double handful of black
pepper before it's ground.
"'Let my father get away with that,' says Johnny, 'an' he'll feel
like a bird. It will make him gay an' full of p'isen, like a
rattlesnake in August.'
"Out to the r'ar of Johnny's store is piled up onder a shed more'n
two thousand boxes of axle grease. It was sent into the nation
consigned to Johnny by some ill-advised sports in New York, who
figgers that because the Osages as a tribe abounds in wagons, thar
must shorely be a market for axle grease. That's where them New York
persons misses the ford a lot. Them savages has wagons, troo; but
they no more thinks of greasin' them axles than paintin' the runnin'
gear. They never goes ag'inst that axle grease game for so much as a
single box; said ointment is a drug. When he don't dispose of it
none, Johnny stores it out onder a shed some twenty rods away, an'
regyards it as a total loss.
"'Axle grease,' says Johnny, 'makes a p'int in civilization to which
the savage has not yet clambered, an' them optimists, East, who
sends it on yere, should have never made no sech break.'
"Mebby it's because this axle grease grows sullen an' feels
neglected that a-way; mebby it's the heats of two summers an' the
frosts of two winters which sp'iles its disp'sition; shore it is at
any rate that at the time I'm thar, that onguent seems fretted to
the core, an' is givin' forth a protestin' fragrance that has stood
off a coyote an' made him quit at a distance of two hundred yards.
You might even say it has caused Nacher herse'f to pause an' catch
her breath.
"It's when the ailin' Osage, whose malady is too deep-seated to be
reached by cinnamon or pimento, comes frontin' up for a third
preescription, that the axle grease idee seizes Johnny.
"'Father,' says Johnny, 'come with me. Your son will now saw off
some big medicine on you; a medicine meant for full-blown gents like
you an' me. Come, father, come with your son, an' you shall be cured
in half the time it takes to run a loop on a lariat.'
"Johnny breaks open one of the axle grease boxes, arms the savage
with a chip for a spoon, an' exhorts him to cut in on it a whole
lot.
"Son, the odors of them wares is awful; Kansas butter is violets to
it; but it never flutters that Osage. Ile takes Johnny's chip an'
goes to work, spadin' that axle grease into his mouth, like he ain't
got a minute to live. When he's got away with half the box, he tucks
the balance onder his blanket an' retires to his teepee with a look
of gratitoode on his face. His heart has ceased to be bad, an' them
illnesses, which aforetime has him on the go, surrenders to the
powers of this yere new medicine like willows to the wind. With
this, he goes caperin' out for his camp, idly hummin' a war song,
sech is his relief.
"An' here's where Johnny gets action on that axle grease. It shorely
teaches, also, the excellence of them maxims, 'Cast your bread upon
the waters an' you'll be on velvec before many days.' Within two
hours a couple of this sick buck's squaws comes sidlin' tip to
Johnny an' desires axle grease. It's quoted at four bits a box, an'
the squaws changes in five pesos an' beats a retreat, carryin' away
ten boxes. Then the fame of this big, new medicine spreads; that
axle grease becomes plenty pop'lar. Other bucks an' other squaws
shows up, changes in their money, an' is made happy with axle
grease. They never has sech a time, them Osages don't, since the
battle of the Hoss-shoe. Son, they packs it off in blankets,
freights it away in wagons. They turns loose on a reg'lar axle
grease spree. In a week every box is sold, an' thar's orders stacked
up on Florer's desk for two kyar-loads more, which is bein' hurried
on from the East. Even the Injuns' agent gets wrought up about it,
an' begins to bellow an' paw 'round by way of compliments to Johnny.
He makes Johnny a speech.
"'Which I've made your excellent discovery, Mr. Florer,' says this
agent, 'the basis of a report to the gov'ment at Washin'ton. I sets
forth the mad passion of these yere Osages for axle grease as a
condiment, a beverage, an' a cure. I explains the tribal leanin'
that exists for that speshul axle grease which is crowned with
years, an' owns a strength which comes only as the cor'lary of hard
experience. Axle grease is like music an' sooths the savage breast.
It is oil on the troubled waters of aboriginal existence. Its feet
is the feet of peace. At the touch of axle grease the hostile
abandons the war path an' surrenders himse'f. He washes off his
paint an' becometh with axle grease as the lamb that bleateth. The
greatest possible uprisin' could be quelled with a consignment of
axle grease. Mr. Florer, I congratulate you. From a humble store-
keep, sellin' soap, herrin' an' salt hoss, you takes your stand from
now with the ph'lanthropists an' leaders among men. You have
conjoined Injuns an' axle grease. For centuries the savage has been
a problem which has defied gov'ment. He will do so no more. Mr.
Florer, you have solved the savage with axle grease.'"
CHAPTER V.
Toothpick Johnson's Ostracism.
"You sees," observed the Old Cattleman, as he moved into the deeper
shade; "you sees this yere Toothpick disgraces Wolfville; that's how
it is. Downs a party, Toothpick Johnson does, an' no gun on the
gent, the same bein' out of roole entire. Nacherally, while no one
blames Toothpick, who makes the play what you-all calls 'bony
fidis,' the public sort o' longs for his eelopement. An' that
settles it; Toothpick has to hunt out for different stampin'
grounds.
"It all comes from Toothpick bein' by nacher one of these yere over-
zealous people, an' prematoorely prone that a-way. He's born eager,
Toothpick is, an' can't he'p it none.
"You-all has tracked up on that breed of cimmaron plenty frequent
now. They're the kind who picks up a poker hand, kyard by kyard, as
they comes. They're that for'ard,--that headlong to get outer the
present an' into the footure, they jest can't wait for things to
have a chance to happen.
"'Whyever do you pull in your kyards that a-way?' I says to
Toothpick, reprovin' of him. 'Why can't you let 'em lay till the
hand's dealt?'
"'Which I'm shorely that locoed to look if I ain't got three aces or
some sech,' says Toothpick, 'I must turn 'em up to see.'
"'Well,' says I, an' the same is wisdom every time, 'you-all would
appear more like a dead cold sport to let 'em be, an' pick up your
whole hand together. Likewise, you'd display a mighty sight more
savey if you keeps your eyes on the dealer till he lays down the
deck. You'd be less afflicted by disagreeable surprises if you'd
freeze to the last idee; an' you'd lay up money besides.'
"But that's the notion I'm aimin' to convey; Toothpick is too quick.
His intellects, it looks like, is on eternal tip-toe to get in a
stack.
"'He's too simooltaneous, is Toothpick,' says Jack Moore once, when
him an' Boggs is discoursin' together, sizin' up Toothpick. 'He's
that simooltaneous he comes mighty near bein' a whole lot too
adjacent.'
"What does Toothpick do that time we-all disapproves an' stampedes
him? It's a accidental killin'.
"It's second drink time in the evenin', an' the Tucson stage is in.
Thar's a passel of us who has roped up our mail, an' now we're
standin' 'round in front of the Red Light, breakin' into letters an'
papers, an' a-makin' of comments, when along wanders a party who's
been picnicin' with the camp. As the deal turns, he never does stay
long nohow; never long enough to become a 'genial 'quaintance an' a
fav'rite of all.'
"This party who comes sidlin' up is, as we hears, late from Red Dog;
an' doorin' them four hours wherein he confers his society onto us,
he stays drunk habityooal an' never does lapse into bein' sober for
a second. It's shore remark'ble, now, how all them Red Dog people
stays intox'cated while they sojourns in Wolfville. Never knows it
to fail; an' I allows, as a s'lootion that a-way, it's owin' to the
sooperior merits of our nose-paint. It's a compliment they pays us.
"However, this Red Dog gent's drinkin' is his own affairs. An' his
earnestness about licker may have been his system; then ag'in it may
not; I don't go pryin' none to determine. But bein' he's plumb
drunk, as you readily discerns, it keeps up a barrier ag'in growin'
intimate with this party; an' ontil Toothpick opens on him, his
intercourse with Wolfville is nacherally only formal.
"This visitor from Red Dog--which Red Dog itse'f is about as low-
flung a bunch of crim'nals as ever gets rounded up an' called a
camp--but, as I'm sayin', this totterin' wreck I mentions comes
stragglin' up, more or less permiscus an' vague, an', without sayin'
a word or makin' a sign, or even shakin' a bush, stands about lariat
distance away an' star's at Toothpick, blinkin' his eyes mighty
malevolent.
"It ain't no time when this yere bluff on the part of the drinkin'
Red Dog gent attracts Toothpick, who's been skirmishin' 'round among
us where we're standin', an' is at that time mentionin' Freighter's
Stew, as a good thing to eat, to Dave Tutt.
"'Who be you-all admirin' now?' asks Toothpick of the Red Dog party,
who's glarin' towards him. It's then I notes the lights begin to
dance in Toothpick's eyes; with that impulsive sperit of his, he's
doo to become abrupt with our visitor at the drop of the hat.
"That Red Dog gent don't make no retort, but stands thar with his
eyes picketed on Toothpick like he's found a victim. Toothpick is
fidgetin' on his feet, with his thumbs stuck in his belt; which this
last is a bad symptom, as it leaves a gent's artillery easy to
reach.
"It strikes me at the time that it's even money thar's goin' to be
some shootin'. I don't then nor now know why none. But that
ignorance is common about shootin's; two times in three nobody ever
does know why.
"I reckons now it's Toothpick's fidgetin' makes me suspicious he's
on the brink of rousin' the o'casion with his six-shooter. Which if
he's cool an' ca'm, it would never come to me that a-way; a cool
gent never pulls the first gun, leastways never when the pretext is
friv'lous an' don't come onder the head of 'Must'.
"'Well.' savs Toothpick ag'in, 'whatever be you-all gloatin' over, I
asks? Or, mebby you're thinkin' of 'doptin' me as a son or
somethin'?' says Toothpick.
"Still the party from Red Dog don't say nothin'. As Toothpick
ceases, however, this Red Dog person makes a move, which is
reasonable quick, for his hip. He's got on a long coat, an' while no
gent can see, thar's none of us has doubts but he is fully dressed,
an' that he's searchin' out his Colt's.
"That's what Toothpick allows; an' the Red Dog party's hand ain't
traveled two inches onder his surtoot, when Toothpick cuts free his
'44, an' the Red Dog party hits the ground, face down, like a kyard
jest dealt.
"Yes, he's dead enough; never does kick or flutter once. It's
shorely a shot in the cross.
"`Do you-all note how he tries to fill his hand on me?' asks
Toothpick, mighty cheerful.
"Toothpick stoops down for the Red Dog man's gun, an' what do you-
all think? He don't have no weapon, none whatever; nothin' more
vig'rous than a peaceful flask of whiskey, which the same is still
all safe in his r'ar pocket.
"'He warn't heeled!' says Toothpick, straightenin' up an' lookin' at
us apol'getic an' disgusted.
"It's jestice to Toothpick to say, I never yet overtakes that gent
who's more abashed an' discouraged than he is when he finds this
person ain't packin' no gun. He surveys the remainder a second, an'
says:
"'Gents, if ever the licker for the camp is on Toothpick Johnson,
it's now. But thar's one last dooty to perform touchin' deceased.
It's evident, departed is about to ask me to drink. It's this yere
motion he makes for his whiskey which I mistakes for a gun play.
Thar I errs, an' stacks up this Red Dog person wrong. Now that I
onderstands, while acknowledgin' my fal'cies, the least I can do is
to respect deceased's last wishes. I tharfore," says Toothpick,
raisin' the Red Dog party's flask, "complies with what, if I hadn't
interrupted him, would have been his last requests. An' regrettin' I
don't savey sooner, I drinks to him."
"No," concluded the Old Cattleman, "as I intimates at the go-off,
Toothpick don't stay long after that. No one talks of stringin' him
for what's a plain case of bad jedgment, an' nothin' more. But
still, Wolfville takes a notion ag'in him, an' don't want him 'round
none. So he has to freight out.
"'You are all right, Toothpick, speakin' gen'ral,' says Old Man
Enright, when him an' Doc Peets an' Jack Moore comes up on Toothpick
to notify him it's the Stranglers' idee he'd better pack his wagons
an' hit the trail, "but you don't hold your six-shooter enough in
what Doc Peets yere calls 'abeyance.' Without puttin' no stain on
your character, it's right to say you ain't sedentary enough, an'
that you-all is a heap too soon besides. In view, tharfore, of what
I states, an' of you droppin' this yere Red Dog gent--not an ounce
of iron on him at the time!--while we exonerates, we decides without
a dissentin' vote to sort o' look 'round the camp for you to-morry,
say at sundown, an' hang you some, should you then be present yere.
That's how the herd is grazin', Toothpick: an' if you're out to
commit sooicide, you'll be partic'lar to be with us at the hour I
names.'"
CHAPTER VI.
The Wolfville Daily Coyote.
You-all remembers back," said the Old Cattleman, "that yeretofore I
su'gests how at some appropriate epock, I relates about the comin'
of Colonel William Greene Sterett an' that advent of Wolfville's
great daily paper, the Coyote."
It was evening and sharply in the wake of dinner. We were gathered
unto ourselves in my friend's apartments. In excellent mood to hear
of Colonel Sterett and his celebrated journal, I eagerly assured him
that his promise in said behalf was fresh and fragrant in my memory,
and that I trusted he would find present opportunity for its
redemption. Thus encouraged, the old gentleman shoved the box of
cigars towards me, poured a generous glass, and disposed himself to
begin.
"Red Dog in a sperit of vain competition," observed my friend,
"starts a paper about the same time Colonel Sterett founds the
Coyote; an', son, for a while, them imprints has a lurid life! The
Red Dog paper don't last long though; it lacks them elements of
longevity which the Coyote possesses, an' it ain't runnin' many
weeks before it sort o' rots down all at once, an' the editor jumps
the game.
"It's ever been a subject of dissensions between Colonel Sterett an'
myse'f as to where impartial jestice should lay the blame of that
Red Dog paper's failure. Colonel Sterett charges it onto the editor;
but it's my beliefs, an' I'm j'ined tharin by Boggs an' Texas
Thompson, that no editor could flourish an' no paper survive in
surroundin's so plumb venomous an' p'isen as Red Dog. Moreover, I
holds that Colonel Sterett, onintentional no doubt, takes a
ja'ndiced view of that brother publisher. But I rides ahead of my
tale.
"Thar comes a day when Old Man Enright heads into the Red Light,
where we-all is discussin' of eepisodes, an' he packs a letter in
his hand.
"'Yere's a matter,' he says, 'of public concern, an' I asks for a
full expression of the camp for answer. Yere's a sharp by the name
of Colonel William Greene Sterett, who writes me as how he's
sufferin' to let go all holts in the States an' start a paper in
Wolfville. It shall be, he says, a progressif an' enlightened
journal, devoted to the moral, mental an' material upheaval of this
yere commoonity, an' he aims to learn our views. Do I hear any
remarks on this litteratoor's prop'sition?' "Tell him to come a-
runnin', Enright," says Jack Moore; "an' draw it strong. If thar's
one want which is slowly but shorely crowdin' Wolfville to the wall,
it's a dearth of literatoor; yere's our chance, an' we plays it
quick an high."
"I ain't so gala confident of all this," says Dan Boggs. "I'm sort
o' allowin' this hamlet's too feeble yet for a paper. Startin' a
paper in a small camp this a-way is like givin' a six-shooter to a
boy; most likely he shoots himse'f, or mebby busts the neighbor,
tharwith."
"Oh, I don't know,' says Doc Peets, who, I wants to say, is as
sudden a white man, mental, as I ever sees; "my notion is to bring
him along. The mere idee of a paper'll do a heap for the town."
"I'm entertainin' sentiments sim'lar,' says Enright; "an' I guess
I'll write this Colonel Sterett that we'll go him once if we lose.
I'm assisted to this concloosion by hearin', the last time I'm in
Tucson, that Red Dog, which is our rival, is out to start a paper,
in which event it behooves Wolfville to split even with 'em at the
least."
"That's whatever!" says Moore. "If we allows Red Dog to put it onto
us that a-way we might jest as well dissolve Wolfville as a camp,
an' reepair to the woods in a body."
"Enright sends Colonel Sterett word, an' in four weeks he comes
packin in his layout an' opens up his game. Colonel Sterett,
personal, is a broad, thick, fine-seemin' gent, with a smooth, high
for'ead, grey eyes, an' a long, honest face like a hoss. The Colonel
has a far-off look in his eyes, like he's dreamin' of things
sublime, which Doc Peets says is the common look of lit'rary gents
that a-way. Texas Thompson, however, allows he witnesses the same
distant expression in the eyes of a foogitive from jestice.
"Colonel Sterett makes a good impression. He evolves his journal an'
names it the Coyote, a name applauded by us all. I'll read you a few
of them earliest items; which I'm able to give these yere notices
exact, as I preserves a file of the Coyote complete. I shorely
wouldn't be without it; none whatever!
"Miss Faro Nell, Wolfville's beautiful and accomplished society
belle, condescended to grace the post of lookout last night for the
game presided over by our eminent townsman, Mr. Cherokee Hall.
"Ain't it sweet?" says Faro Nell, when she reads it. "I thinks it's
jest lovely. The drinks is on me, barkeep." Then we goes on:
"Mr. Samuel Johnson Enright, a namesake of the great lexicographer,
and the Lycurgus of Wolfville, paid a visit to Tucson last week.
"Any person possessing leisure and a stack of chips can adventure
the latter under conditions absolutely equitable with that
distinguished courtier of fortune, Mr. Cherokee Hall.
"If Mr. John Moore, our efficient Marshal, will refrain from pinning
his targets for pistol practice to the exterior of our building, we
will bow our gratitude when next we meet. The bullets go right
through.
"We were distressed last week to note that Mr. James Hamilton, the
gentlemanly and urbane proprietor of Wolfville's temple of
terpsichoir (see ad, in another column) had changed whiskeys on us,
and was dispensing what seemed to our throat a tincture of the
common carpet tack of commerce. It is our hope that Mr. H., on
seeing this, will at once restore the statu quo at his justly
popular resort.
"A reckless Mexican was parading the street the other night carrying
in his hand a monkey wrench. It was dark, and Mr. Daniel Boggs, a
leading citizen of Wolfville, who met him, mistaking the wrench for
a pistol which the Mexican was carrying for some vile purpose, very
properly shot him. Mexicans are far too careless this way.
"The O. K. Restauraw is one of the few superior hostelries of the
Territory. Mrs. Rucker, its charming proprietress, is a cook who
might outrival even that celebrated chef, now dead, M. Soyer. Her
pies are poems, her bread an epic, and her beans a dream, Mrs.
Rucker has cooked her way to every heart, and her famed
establishment is justly regarded as the bright particular gem in
Wolfville's municipal crown.
"It is not needed for us to remind our readers that Wolfville
possesses in the person of that celebrated practitioner of medicine,
Mr. Cadwallader Peets, M. D., a scientist whose fame is world-wide
and whose renown has reached to furthest lands. Doctor Ports has
beautifully mounted the skull of that horse-stealing ignobility,
Bear Creel. Stanton, who recently suffered the punishment due his
many crimes at the hands of our local vigilance committee, a
tribunal which under the discerning leadership of President Enright,
never fails in the administration of justice. Doctor Peets will be
glad to exhibit this memento mori to all who care to call. Doctor
Peets, who is eminent as a phrenologist, avers that said skull is
remarkable for its thickness, and that its conformation points to
the possession by Bear Creek, while he wore it, of the most powerful
natural inclinations to crime. From these discoveries of Doctor
Peets, the committee which suspended this felon to the windmill is
to be congratulated on acting just in time. It seems plain from the
contour of this skull that it would not have been long, had not the
committee intervened, before Bear Creek would have added murder to
horse larceny, and to-day the town might be mourning the death of a
valued citizen instead of felicitating itself over the taking-off of
a villain whose very bumps indict and convict him with every fair
and enlightened intelligence that is brought to their contemplation.
"Our respected friend and subscriber, Mr. David Tutt, and his
beautiful and accomplished lady, Mrs. David Tutt, nee Tucson Jennie,
have returned from their stay in Silver City. Last night in honor of
their coming, and to see their friends, this amiable and popular
pair gave an At Home. There was every form of refreshment, and joy
and merriment was unconfined. Miss Faro Dell was admittedly the
belle of this festive occasion, and Diana would have envied her as,
radiant and happy, she led the grand march leaning on the arm of Mr.
Cherokee Hall. By request of Mr. Daniel Boggs, the 'Lariat Polka'
was added to the programme of dances, as was also the 'Pocatello
Reel' at the instance of Mr. Texas Thompson. As the ball progressed,
and at the particular desire of those present, Mr. Boggs and Mr.
Thompson entertained the company with that difficult and intricate
dance known as the 'Mountain Lion Mazourka,' accompanying their
efforts with spirited vocalisms meant to imitate the defiant screams
of a panther on its native hills. These cries, as well as the dance
itself, were highly realistic, and Messrs. B. and T. were made the
recipients of many compliments. Mr. and Mrs. Tutt are to be
congratulated on the success of the function; to fully describe its
many excellent features would exhaust encomium.
"Which we reads the foregoin' with onmixed pleasure, an' thar ain't
a gent but who's plumb convinced that a newspaper, that a-way, is
the bulwark of civilizations an' corner-stone of American
institootions, which it's allowed to be by the voices of them ages.
"'This yere imprint, the Coyote,' says Jack Moore, 'is a howlin'
triumph, an' any gent disposed can go an' make a swell bet on it
with every certainty of a-killin'. Also, I remembers yereafter about
them bullets.'
"Meanwhile, like I states prior, Red Dog has its editor, who whirls
loose a paper which he calls the Stingin' Lizard. The Red Dog sheet
ain't a marker to Colonel Sterett's Coyote, an' it's the yooniversal
idee in Wolfville, after ca'mly comparin' the two papers, that
Colonel Sterett as a editor can simply back that Red Dog person
plumb off the ground.
"It ain't no time before Colonel Sterett an' the Red Dog editor
takes to cirklin' for trouble, an' the frightful names they applies
to each other in their respectif journals, an' the accoosations an'
them epithets they hurls, would shore curdle the blood of a grizzly
b'ar.
"An' as if to complicate the sityooation for that onhappy sport
who's gettin' out the Red Dog Stingin' Lizard, he begins to have
trouble local. Thar's a chuck-shop at Red Dog--it's a plumb low
j'int; I never knows it to have any grub better than beans, salt pig
an' airtights,--which is called the Abe Lincoln House, an' is kept
by a party named Pete Bland. Which this yere Bland also owns a goat,
the same bein' a gift of a Mexican who's got in the hole to Bland
an' squar's accounts that a-way.
"This goat is jest a simple-minded, every-day, common kind of a
goat; but he's mighty thorough in his way, allers on the hustle, an'
if he ever overlooks a play, no one don't know it. One day, when the
Red Dog editor is printin' off his papers, up comes the goat, an'
diskyardin' of the tin-can which he's chewin', he begins debauchin'
of himse'f with this yere edition of the Stingin' Lizard. It's
mighty soon when the editor discovers it an' lays for the goat
permiscus; he goes to chunkin' of him up a whole lot. The goat's
game an' declar's himse'f, an' thar starts a altercation with the
editor an' the goat, of which thar's no tellin' the wind-up, an'
which ends only when this yere Bland cuts in, an' the goat's drug
Borne. The paper is stopped an' the editor puts in this:
"Our presses are stopped to-day to say that if the weak-minded
person who maintains the large, black goat which infests our
streets, does not kill the beast, we will. To-day, while engaged in
working off our mammoth edition out back of our building, the
thievish creature approached unnoticed and consumed seventeen copies
of the Stingin' Lizard.
"Which this yere Bland gets incensed at this, an' puts it up the
editor can't eat with him no more. But better counsel smooths it
over, an' at last this Bland forgives the editor, an' all is forgot.
The goat, however, never does; an' he stamps his foot an' prowls
'round for a fracas every tine him an' that editor meets.
"All this yere time Colonel Sterett an' this same Red Dog editor
maintains them hostilities. The way they lams loose at each other in
their papers is a terror. I allers reckons Colonel Sterett gets a
heap the best of this yere mane-chewin'; we-all so regards it, an'
so does he, an' he keeps his end up with great sperit an' voylence.
"These yore ink-riots don't go on more'n two months, however, when
Colonel Sterett decides that the o'casion calls for somethin' more
explicit. As he says, 'Patience ceases to be trumps,' an' so he
saddles up a whole lot an' rides over to Red Dog, personal. Colonel
Sterett don't impart them plans of his to no one; he simply descends
on his foe, sole an' alone, like that game an' chivalrous gent of
bell letters which he shorely is; an', son, Colonel Sterett makes a
example of that slander-mongerin' Red Dog editor.
"It's about the last drink time in the mornin', an' a passel of them
Red Dog sports is convened in front of the Tub of Blood s'loon, when
they-all hears a crash an' looks up, an' thar's their editor a-
soarin' out of his second-story window. Of course, in a second or
so, he hits the ground, an' them Red Dog folks goes over to get the
rights of this yere phenomenon. He ain't hurt so but what he gets up
an' limps 'round, an' he tells 'em it's the Wolfville editor does
it. Next time the Stingin' Lizard comes out, we reads about it:
"The gasconading reptile who is responsible for the slimy life of
that prurient sheet, the Coyote, paid us a sneaking visit Saturday.
If he had given us notice of his intentions, we would have prepared
ourselves and torn his leprous hide from his dehauched and whiskey-
poisoned frame, and polluted our fence with it, but he did not. True
to his low, currish nature, he crept upon us unawares. Our back was
toward him as he entered, perceiving which the cowardly poltroon
seized us and threw us through our own window. Having accomplished
his fiendish work, the miscreant left, justly fearing our wrath. The
Stinging Lizard's exposure of this scoundrel as a drunkard,
embezzler, wife-beater, jail-bird, thief, and general all-round
blackleg prompted this outrage. Never mind, the creature will hear
from us.
"'Which this newspaper business is shorely gettin' some bilious, not
to say hectic, a whole lot,' says Dan Boggs, as we reads this. 'I
wonder if these yere folks means fight?'
"'Why,' says Enright, 'I don't know as they'd fight none if we-all
lets 'em alone, but I don't see how we can. This sort of racket goes
on for years in the East, but Wolfville can't stand it. Sech talk as
this means blood in Arizona, an' we insists on them traditions that
a-way bein' respected. Besides, we owes somethin' to Colonel
Sterett.'
"So Enright an' Cherokee hunts up our editor an' asks him whatever
he aims to do, an' tells him he's aroused public sentiments to sech
heights thar'll be a pop'lar disapp'intment if he don't challenge
the Red Dog editor an' beef him. Colonel Sterett allows he's crazy
to do it, an' that the Wolfville public can gamble he'll go the
distance. So Cherokee an' Jack Moore puts on their guns an' goes
over to Red Dog to fix time an' place. The Red Dog editor says he's
with 'em, an' they shakes dice for place, an' Cherokee an' Moore
wins.
"'Which as evidence of good faith,' says Cherokee, 'we picks Red
Dog. We pulls this thing off on the very scene of the vict'ry of
Colonel Sterett when he hurls your editor through his window that
time. I holds the same to be a mighty proper scheme.'
"'You-all needn't be timid none to come,' says the Red Dog sports.
'You gets a squar' deal from a straight deck; you can gamble on
that.'
"'Oh, we ain't apprehensif none,' says Cherokee an' Jack; 'you can
shorely look for us.'
"Well, the day's come, an' all Wolfville an' Red Dog turns out to
see the trouble. Jack Moore an' Cherokee Hall represents for our
editor, an' a brace of Red Dog people shows down for the Stingin'
Lizard man. To prevent accidents, Enright an' the Red Dog chief
makes every gent but them I names, leave their weepons some'ers
else, wherefore thar ain't a gun in what you-all might call the
hands of the pop'laces.
"But thar comes a interruption. Jest as them dooelists gets placed,
thar's a stoopendous commotion, an' char gin' through the crowd
comes that abandoned goat. The presence of so many folks seems like
it makes him onusual hostile. Without waitin' to catch his breath
even, he lays for the Red Dog editor, who, seein' him comin', bangs
away with his '45 an' misses. The goat hits that author in the tail
of his coat, an' over he goes; but he keeps on slammin' away with
the '45 jest the same.
"Which nacherally everybody scatters fur cover at the first shot,
'cause the editor ain't carin' where he p'ints, an' in a second
nobody's in sight but them two journalists an' that goat. I'll say
right yere, son, Colonel Sterett an' his fellow editor an' the goat
wages the awfullest battle which I ever beholds. Which you shorely
oughter heard their expressions. Each of 'em lets go every load he's
got, but the goat don't get hit onct.
"When we-all counts twelve shots--six apiece--we goes out an'
subdoos the goat by the power of numbers. Of course, the dooel's
ended. The Red Dog folks borries a wagon an' takes away their man,
who's suffered a heap; an' Peets, he stays over thar an' fusses
'round all night savin' of him. The goat's all right an' goes back
to the Abe Lincoln House, where this yere Pete Bland is onreasonable
enough to back that shockin conduct of his'n.
"Which it's the last of the Red Dog Stingin' Lizard. That editor
allows he won't stay, an' Bland, still adherin' to his goat, allows
he won't feed him none if he does. The next issue of the Stingin'
Lizard contains this:
"We bid adieu to Red Dog. We will hereafter publish a paper in
Tucson; and if we have been weak and mendacious enough to speak in
favor of a party of the name of Bland, who misconducts a low beanery
which insults an honourable man by stealing his name--we refer to
that feed-trough called the Abe Lincoln House--we will correct
ourselves in its columns. This person harbours a vile goat, for
whose death we will pay
5, and give besides a life-long subscription to our new paper. Last
week this mad animal made an unprovoked assault upon us and a
professional brother, and beat, butted, wounded, bruised and ill-
treated us until we suffer in our whole person. We give notice as we
depart, that under no circumstances will we return until this goat
is extinct.
"Followin' the onexpected an' thrillin' finish of Colonel Sterett's
dooel with the Red Dog editor, an' from which Colonel Sterett
emerges onscathed, an' leavin' Peets with his new patient, we all
returns in a body to Wolfville. After refreshments in the Red Light,
Enright gives his views.
"'Ondoubted,' observes Enright, 'our gent, Colonel Sterett, conducts
himse'f in them painful scenes between him an' the goat an' that Red
Dog editor in a manner to command respects, an' he returns with
honors from them perils. Ther's no more to be done. The affair
closes without a stain on the 'scutcheon of Wolfville, or the fair
fame of Colonel Sterett; which last may continyoo to promulgate his
valyooable paper, shore of our confidence an' upheld by our esteem.
It is not incumbent on him to further pursoo this affair.
His name an' honor is satisfied; besides, no gent can afford the
recognitions and privileges of the dooello to a party who's sunk so
low as to have hostile differences with a goat, an' who persists
publicly in followin'em to bitter an voylent concloosions. This Red
Dog editor's done put himself outside the pale of any high-sperited
gent's consideration by them actions, an' can claim no further
notice. Gents, in the name of Wolfville, I tenders congrat'lations
to Colonel Sterett on the way in which he meets the dangers of his
p'sition, an' the sooperb fashion!!! which he places before us one
of the greatest journals of our times. Gents, we drinks to Colonel
William Greene Sterett an' the Coyote.'"
CHAPTER VII.
Cherokee Hall Plays Poker.
"Nacherally I'm not much of a sport," remarked the Old Cattleman,
as he laid down a paper which told a Monte Carlo story of a fortune
lost and won. "Which I'm not remorseless enough to be a cleanstrain
gambler. Of course, a kyard sharp can make benevolences an' lavish
dust on the needy on the side, but when it gets to a game for money,
he can't afford no ruthfulness that a-way, tryin' not to hurt the
sore people. He must play his system through, an' with no more
conscience than cows, no matter who's run down in the stampede. "For
which causes, bein' plumb tender an' sympathetic, I'm shore no good
with kyards; an' whenever I dallies tharwith, it is onder the head
of amoosements. "Do I regyard gamblin' as immoral? No; I don't
reckon none now I do. This bein' what you--all church sharps calls
moral is somewhat a matter of health, an' likewise the way you
feels. Sick folks usual is a heap more moral than when their
health's that excellent it's tantalizin'. "Speakin' of morals, I
recalls people who would scorn kyards, but who'd admire to buy a
widow's steers for four dollars an' saw 'em off ag'in for forty.
They'd take four hundred dollars if some party, locoed to a degree
which permits said outrage, would turn up. The right or wrong, what
you calls the morality of gatherin' steers for four dollars an'
plunderin' people with 'em at forty dollars, wouldn't bother 'em a
bit. Which the question with these yere wolves is simply: 'How
little can I pay an' how much can I get?' An' yet, as I says, sech
parties mighty likely holds themse'fs moral to a degree which is
mountainous, an' wouldn't take a twist at faro-bank, or pick up a
poker hand, more'n they'd mingle with t'rant'lers an' stingin'
lizards. An' some of their moral sports is so onlib'ral! I tells
you, son, I've met up with 'em who's that stingy that if they owned
a lake, they wouldn't give a duck a drink.
"'Gamblin' is immoral that a-way,' says these yere sports.
"An' yet I don't see no sech heinous difference between searchin' a
gent for his roll with steers at forty dollars--the same standin'
you in four--an' layin for him by raisin' the ante for the limit
before the draw. Mighty likely thar's a reason why one's moral an'
the other's black an' bad, but I admits onblushin'ly that the
onearthin' tharof is shore too many for dim-eyed folks like me. They
strikes me a heap sim'lar; only the kyard sharp goes out ag'inst
chances which the steer sharp escapes complete.
"I reckons Cherokee Hall an' me discusses how wrong gamblin' is
hundreds of times on leesure days; we frequent talks of it
immoderate. Cherokee's views an' mine is side an' side, mostly,
although, makin' his livin' turnin' kyards, of course he's more
qualified to speak than me.
"'Which I shore finds nothin' wrong in farobank,' says Cherokee.
'Thar's times, however, when some sport who's locoed by bad luck, or
thinks he's wronged gets diffusive with his gun. At sech epocks this
device has its burdens, I concedes. But I don't perceive no
immorality; none whatever.'
"Yes, now you asks the question, I does inform you a while back of
this Cherokee Hall bein' prone to charity. He never is much of a
talker, but in his way he's a mighty gregar'ous gent. About some
things he's game as hornets, Cherokee is; but his nerve fails him
when it comes to seein' other people suffer. He can stand bad luck
himse'f, an' never turn a ha'r; but no one else's bad luck.
"It ain't once a week, but it's every day, when this yere gray-eyed
sport is robbin' his roll for somebody who's settin' in ag'inst
disaster. Fact; Cherokee's a heap weak that a-way.
"Of course, turnin' faro, Cherokee knows who has money an' who needs
it; keeps tab, so to speak, on the fluctooations of the camp's
finances closer'n anybody. The riches an' the poverty of Wolfville
is sort o' exposin' itse'f 'round onder his nose; it's a open book
to him; an' the knowledge of who's flat, or who's flush, is thrust
onto him continyoous. As I says, bein' some sentimental about them
hard ships of others, the information costs Cherokee hard onto a
diurnal stack or two.
"'Which you're too impulsive a whole lot,' I argues onct when a
profligate he's staked, an' who reports himse'f as jumpin' sideways
for grub previous, goes careerin' over to the dance hall with them
alms he's wrung, an' proceeds on a debauch. 'You oughter not allow
them ornery folks to do you. If you'd cultivate the habit of lettin'
every gent go a-foot till he can buy a hoss, you'd clean up for a
heap more at the end of the week. Now this ingrate whose hand you
stiffens ain't buyin' nothin' but nose-paint tharwith.'
"'Which the same plants no regrets with me,' says Cherokee, all
careless an' indifferent. 'If this person is sufferin' for whiskey
worse'n he's sufferin' for bread, let him loose with the whiskey.
The money's his. When I gives a gent a stake, thar's nothin' held
back. I don't go playin' the despot as to how he blows it. If this
yere party I relieves wants whiskey an' is buyin' whiskey, I
approves his play. If I've a weakness at all, it's for seein' folks
fetterless an' free.'
"While holdin' Cherokee's views erroneous, so far as he seeks to
apply 'em to paupers tankin' up on donations, still I allows it's
dealin' faro which has sp'iled him; an' as you can't make no gent
over new, I quits an' don't buck his notions about dispensin'
charity no more. "Thar's times when this yere Cherokee Hall caroms
on a gent who's high-strung that a-way, an' won't take no donations;
which this yere sport may be plenty needy to the p'int of perishin',
too. That's straight; thar's nachers which is that reluctant about
aid, they simply dies standin' before they'll ever ask.
"Once or twice when Cherokee crosses up with one of these yere
sensitif souls, an' who's in distress, he never says a word about
givin' him anythin'; he turns foxy an' caps him into a little poker.
An' in the course of an hour--for he has to go slow an' cunnin', so
he don't arouse the victim to suspicions that he's bein' played--
Cherokee'll disarrange things so he loses a small stake to him. When
he's got this distressed gent's finances reehabilitated some, he
shoves out an' quits.
"'An' you can put it flat down,' remarks Cherokee, who's
sooperstitious, 'I never loses nothin' nor quits behind on these
yere benevolences. Which I oft observes that Providence comes back
of my box before ever the week's out, an' makes good.'
"'I once knows a sport in Laredo,' says Texas Thompson, to whom
Cherokee is talkin', 'an' is sort o' intimate with him. He's holdin'
to somethin' like your system, too, an' plays it right along.
Whenever luck's ag'in him to a p'int where he's lost half his roll,
he breaks the last half in two an' gives one part to some charity
racket. he tells me himse'f he's been addicted to this scheme so
long it's got to be a appetite, an' that he never fails to win
himse'f outen the hole with what's left. You bet! I believes it; I
sees this hold-up do it.'
"I ain't none shore thar ain't some bottom to them bluffs which
Cherokee an' Texas puts up about Providence stockin' a deck your
way, an' makin' good them gifts. At least, thar's times when it
looks like it a heap. An' what I'll now relate shows it.
"One time Cherokee has it sunk deep in his bosom to he'p a gent
named Ellis to somethin' like a yellow stack, so he can pull his
freight for home. He's come spraddlin' into the West full of hope,
an' allowin' he's goin' to get rich in a day. An' now when he finds
how the West is swift an' hard to beat, he's homesick to death.
"But Ellis ain't got the dinero. Now Cherokee likes him--for Ellis
is a mighty decent form of shorthorn--an' concloodes, all by
himse'f, he'll stand in on Ellis' destinies an' fix 'em up a lot.
Bein' as Ellis is a easy maverick to wound, Cherokee decides it's
better to let him think he wins the stuff, an' not lacerate him by
no gifts direct. Another thing, this yere Ellis tenderfoot is plumb
contrary; he's shore contrary to the notch of bein' cap'ble of
declinin' alms absoloote.
"To make certain Ellis is got rid of, an' headed homeward happy,
Cherokee pulls on a little poker with Ellis; an' he takes in Dan
Boggs on the play, makin' her three-handed, that a-way for a blind.
Dan is informed of the objects of the meetin', an' ain't allowin' to
more'n play a dummy hand tharin.
"This yere Ellis makes a tangle at first, wantin to play faro-bank;
but Cherokee, who can't control no faro game like he can poker, says
'No;' he's dead weary of faro, turnin' it day an' dark; right then
he is out for a little stretch at poker as mere relief. Also Dan
objects strenyoous.
"'Which I don't have no luck at faro-bank,' says Dan. 'I does
nothin' but lose for a month; I'm made sullen by it. The only bet I
stands to win at faro, for plumb four weeks, is a hundred dollars
which I puts on a case queen, coppered, over in Tucson the other
day. An' I lose that. I'm a hoss-thief if, exackly as the queen is
comin' my way, that locoed Tucson marshal don't take a slam at a
gent with his six-shooter an' miss; an' the bullet, which is dodgin'
an' meanderin' down the room, crosses the layout between the dealer
an' me, an' takes the top chip off my bet. An' with it goes the
copper. Before I can restore them conditions, the queen falls to
lose; an' not havin' no copper on my bet, of course, I'm
impoverished for that hundred as aforesaid. You knows the roole--
every bet goes as it lays. Said statoote is fully in force in
Tucson; an' declinin' to allow anythin' for wild shootin' by that
fool marshal, them outcasts corrals my chips. "However do I know
thar's an accident?" says the dealer, as he rakes in that queen bet,
while I'm expoundin' why it should be comin' to me. "Mebby she's an
accident, an' mebby ag'in that hom'cide who's bustin' 'round yere
with his gun, is in league with you-all, an' shoots that copper off
designful, thinkin' the queen's comin' the other way. If accidents
is allowed to control in faro-bank, the house would never win a
chip." So,' concloodes Dan, 'they gets away with my hundred,
invokin' strict rooles onto me. While I can't say they ain't right,
I makes up my mind my luck's too rank for faro, an' registers vows
not to put a peso on another layout for a year. As the time limit
ain't up, I can't buck faro-bank none; but if you an' Ellis,
Cherokee, can tol'rate a little draw, I'm your onmurmurin' dupe.'
"As I relates prior, the play is to let Ellis win a home-stake an'
quit. At last they begins, Ellis seein' thar's no chance for faro-
bank. Dan plays but little; usual, he merely picks up his kyards,
cusses a lot, an' passes out. Now an' then, when it's his ante, or
Cherokee stays out for the looks of the thing, Dan goes to the front
an' sweetens Ellis for a handful of chips.
"Little by little, by layin' down good hands, breakin' pa'rs before
a draw, an' gen'rally carryin' on tail-first an' scand'lous,
Cherokee an' Dan is gettin' a few layers of fat on Ellis' ribs. But
they has to lay low to do it. Oh! he'd kick over the table in a
second if he even smells the play.
"Now yere's where Providence makes its deboo. It happens while these
charities is proceedin', a avaricious gent--a stranger within our
gates, he is--after regyardin' the game awhile, takes to deemin' it
easy. The avaricious gent wants in; an' as Ellis, who's a heap
elated at his luck an' is already talkin' of the killin' he's
makin', says 'Yes,' an' as Dan an' Cherokee can't say 'No' without
bein' onp'lite, the avaricious gent butts in. It all disturbs
Cherokee, who's a nervous sharp; an' when he sees how greedy the
avaricious gent is for what he deems to be a shore thing, he
concloodes to drop him plenty hard. "It's four-hand poker now, an'
the game wags on for a dozen hands. Dan is in hard luck; Cherokee on
his part gets driven out each hand; an' Ellis an' the avaricious
gent is doin' what little winnin's bein' done, between 'em. It's
evident by this time, too, the avaricious gent's layin' for
Cherokee. This oninstructed person looks on Cherokee as both
imbecile an' onlucky to boot.
"The avaricious gent gets action suddener than he thinks. It's a
jack pot. She goes by Ellis an' Dan; then Cherokee breaks her for
the limit, two bloo chips, the par value whereof is ten dollars.
"'You breaks for ten?' says the avaricious gent, who's on Cherokee's
left an' has the last say; 'well, I sees the break an' lifts it the
limit.' An' the avaricious gent puts up four bloos. Ellis an' Dan,
holdin' nothin' an' gettin' crafty, ducks.
"When the avaricious gent puts up his four bloo beans, Cherokee does
somethin' no one ever sees him do before. He gets quer'lous an'
complainin', an' begins to fuss a lot over his bad luck.
"'What did you-all come in for?' he says to the avaricious gent, as
peevish as a sick infant. 'You sees me settin' yere in the muddiest
of luck; can't you a-bear to let me win a pot? You ain't got no hand
to come in on neither, an' I'll bet on it. You jest nacherally
stacks in, relyin' on bluffin' me, or out-luckin' me on the draw.
Well, you can't bluff; I'll see this yere through,' says Cherokee,
puttin' up two more sky-colored beans an' actin' like he's gettin'
heated, 'if it takes my last chip. As I do, however, jest to onmask
you an' show my friends, as I says, that you ain't got a thing, I'll
wager you two on the side, right now, that the pa'r of jacks I
breaks on, is bigger than the hand on which you comes in an' makes
that two-button tilt.' As he says this, Cherokee regyards the
avaricious gent like he's plumb disgusted.
"It turns out, when Cherokee makes this yere long an' fretful break,
the avaricious gent's holdin' a brace of kings. He's delighted with
Cherokee's uproar, an' thinks how soft, an' what a case of open-
work, he is.
"'You offers two bloos I can't beat a pa'r of jacks?' says the
avaricious gent. Which he's plumb wolf, an' out for every drop of
blood!
"'That's what I says,' replies Cherokee, some sullen.
"`I goes you,' says the avaricious gent, showin' a pa'r of kings.
"'Thar you be,' snarls Cherokee, with a howl like a sore-head dog,
a-chuckin' the avaricious gent a couple of chips; 'thar you go
ag'in! I can't beat nothin'; which I couldn't beat a drum! "The
avaricious gent c'llects them two azure bones; after which he
diskyards three, drawin' to his two kings, an' sets back to win the
main pot. He shore concloodes it's a red letter round-up for him.
"`I reckons now that I knows what you has,' says Cherokee,
displayin' a ace in a foolish way, 'I upholds this yere ace on the
side an' asks for two kyards.'
"The avaricious gent adds a third king to his list an' feels like
sunny weather. Cherokee picks up his hand after the draw, an' the
avaricious gent, who's viewin' him sharp, notes that he looks a heap
morbid.
"All at once Cherokee braces up mighty savage, like he's ugly an'
desp'rate about his bad luck.
"'If this yere limit was any size at all, a blooded gent might stand
some show. Which I'd bluff you outen your moccasins if I wasn't
reepressed by a limit whereof a child should be ashamed. I shore
don't know how I mislays my se'f-respect to sech a pitch as to go
settin' into these yere paltry plays.'
"'Which you see yere a lot!' says the avaricious gent, shakin' with
delight, an' lookin' at them three crowned heads he holds; 'don't
howl all night about a wrong what's so easy to rectify. We removes
the limits, an' you can spread your pinions an' soar to any
altitoode you please.'
"Cherokee looks at him hateful as a murderer; he seems like he's
bein' goaded. Then, like he's made up his mind to die right yere,
Cherokee turns in without no more words an' bets five hundred
dollars. It makes Ellis, who's new an' plumb poor that a-way, sort
o' draw a long breath.
"'Which you'll climb some for this pot if you gets it,' says
Cherokee, after his money's up; an' his tones is shore resentful.
"The avaricious gent thinks it's a bluff. He deems them three kings
good. Cherokee most likely don't better by the draw. If he does,
it's nothin' worse than aces up, or a triangle of jacks. That's the
way this sordid sport lines up Cherokee's hand. "'Merely to show you
the error of your ways,' he remarks, 'an' to teach you to lead a
'happier an' a better life, I sees your five hundred an' raises her
back the same.' An' the avaricious gent counts off a thousand
dollars. 'Thar,' he says when it's up, 'now go as far as you like.
Make it a ceilin' play if the sperit moves you.'
"'I sees it an' lifts her for five hundred more,' retorts Cherokee.
An' he shoves his dust to the center. "Cherokee's peevishness is
gone, an' his fault-findin' is over. He's turned as confident an'
easy as a old shoe.
"It strikes the avaricious gent as alarmin', this quick switch in
the way Cherokee feels. It's cl'ar, as one looks in his face, that
them trio of kings ain't no sech monstrosities as they was. He ain't
half so shore they wins. After lookin' a while he says, an' his
tones shows he's plumb doobious:
"'That last raise over-sizes me.'
"`That's it!' groans Cherokee, like his contempt for all mankind is
comin' back. 'By the time I gets a decent hand every sport at the
table's broke. What show do I have! However, I pinches down to meet
your poverty. Put up what stuff you has.'
"The avaricious gent slowly gets up his last peso; he's out on a
limb, an' he somehow begins to feel it. When the money's up,
Cherokee throws down three aces an' a pa'r of nines, an' rakes the
dust.
"'Next time,' says Cherokee, 'don't come fomentin' 'round poker
games which is strangers to you complete. Moreover, don't let a gent
talk you into fal'cies touchin' his hand. Which I'm the proud
proprietor of them three aces when I breaks the pot. You-all lose
this time; but if you'll only paste them dogmas I gives you in your
sombrero, an' read 'em over from time to time, you'll notice they
flows a profit. We three, 'concloodes Cherokee, turnin' ag'in to Dan
an' Ellis, 'will now resoome our wrong-doin' at the p'int where this
yere former plootocrat interrupts. A benign Providence has fixed me
plenty strong. Wherefore, if either of you sports should tap me for
a handful of hundreds, them veins of mine will stand the drain. Dan,
it's your deal.'"
CHAPTER VIII
The Treachery of Curly Ben
"ere! you black boy, Tom!" and the Old Cattleman's voice rose
loudly as he commanded the approach of that buoyant servitor, who
supervised his master's destinies, and performed in the triangular
role of valet, guardian and friend. "Yere, you; go to the barkeep of
this tavern an' tell him to frame me up a pitcher of that peach
brandy an' honey the way I shows him how. An' when he's got her
organized, bring it out to us with two glasses by the fire. You-all
ain't filin' no objections to a drink, be you?" This last was to me.
"As for me, personal," he continued, "you can put down a bet I'm as
dry as a covered bridge." I readily assented to peach and honey. I
would agree to raw whiskey if it were needed to appease him and
permit me to remain in his graces.
"Thar's one thing, one redeemin' thing I might say, about the East,"
he went on, when the peach and honey appeared, "an' the same claims
my respects entire; that's its nose-paint. Which we shorely suffers
in the Southwest from beverages of the most ornery kind."
"There's a word I've wanted to ask you about more than once," I
said. "What do you mean by 'ornery,' and where do you get it?"
"Where do I get it?" he responded, with a tinge of scorn. "Where do
I rope onto any word? I jest nacherally reaches out an' acquires it
a whole lot, like I do the rest of the language I employs. As for
what it means, I would have allowed that any gent who escapes bein'
as weak-minded as Thompson's colt--an' that cayouse is that imbecile
he used tos wim a river to get a drink--would hesitate with shame to
ask sech questions.
"'Ornery' is a word the meanin' whereof is goin' to depend a heap on
what you brands with it." This was said like an oracle. "Also, the
same means more or less accordin' to who all puts the word in play.
I remembers a mighty decent sort of sport, old Cape Willingham it
is; an' yet Dan Boggs is forever referrin' to old Cape as 'ornery.'
An' I reckon Dan thinks he is. Which the trouble with Cape, from
Dan's standpoint, is this: Cape is one of these yere precise
parties, acc'rate as to all he does, an' plenty partic'lar about his
looks. An Osage buck, paintin' for a dance, wouldn't worry more over
his feachers, an' the way the ocher should be streaked on.
"Now this yere Cape is shy an eye, where an Apache pokes it out with
a lance, back in Cochise's time; an', as he regyards his countenance
as seemin' over rocky, bein' redooced to one eye as I relates, he
sends East an' gets a glass eye. This ain't where Cape's
technical'ties about his looks trails in, however; an', if he had
paused thar in his rehabilitations, Boggs allers put it up he'd a-
found no fault. But Cape notices that about tenth drink time his
shore-enough eye begins for to show up bloodshot, an' is a bad mate
for the glass eye, the same bein' onaffected by drink. So what does
Cape do but have a bloodshot eye made, an' takes to packin' the same
on his person constant. As Cape drinks his forty drops all
commodious, he sort o' keeps tabs on himse'f in the lookin' glass
back of the bar; an' when the good eye commences to turn red with
them libations he's countin' into the corral, he ups an' shifts his
bresh; digs out the white eye an' plants the drunken eye in the
place.
"Shore! none of us cares except Dan Boggs; but Dan feels it to that
extent, it's all Colonel Sterett an' Doc Peets an' Old Man Enright
can do, added to Dan's bein' by nacher a born gent that a-way, to
keep Dan from mentionin' it to old Cape.
"'A gent who comes from a good fam'ly, like you-all,' says Old Man
Enright to Dan, sort o' soothin' of him, 'oughter be removed above
makin' comments on pore old Cape shiftin' his optics. Troo! it's a
weakness, but where is the sport who hasn't weaknesses likewise.
Which you-all is a mighty sight to one side of bein' perfect
yourse'f, Dan, an' yet we don't go 'round breakin' the information
off in you every tinic you makes a queer play. An' you must b'ar
with Cape, an' them caprices of his.' "'I ain't denyin' nothin','
declar's Dan. 'I'm the last longhorn in Wolfville to be revilin' old
Cape, an' refoosin' him his plain American right to go pirootin'
'round among his eyes as suits his taste. But I'm a mighty nervous
man that a-way, an' Cape knows, or oughter know, how, as I states,
I'm nacherally all onstrung, an' that his carryin's on with them
eyes gives me the fantods. Onder all the circumstances, I claims his
conduct is ornery, an' not what a invalid like me has a right to
expect.'
"No; Dan never says nothin' to Cape; or does anythin' 'cept talk to
Enright an' the rest of us about how he can't stand Cape shiftin'
them eyes. An' it ain't affectation on the part of Dan; he shorely
feels them shifts. Many a time, when it's go to be red eye time with
Cape, an' as the latter is scroop'lously makin' said transfers, have
I beheld Dan arise in silent agony, an' go to bite hunks outen a
pine shelf that is built on the Red Light wall.
"'Which that ornery Cape,' says Dan, as he picks the splinters from
his mouth after sech exercises, 'would drive me as locoed as a
coyote if I don't take refooge in some sech play like that.'
"But, as I su'gests about this term 'ornery;' it depends a lot on
who uses it, an' what for. Now Dan never refers to old Cape except
as 'ornery;' while Enright an' the rest of us sees nothin' from soda
to hock in Cape, doorin' them few months he mingles with us, which
merits sech obloquys.
"No; ornery is a word that means what it says an' is shore
deescriptif. Coyotes is ornery, sheep is ornery; an' them low-flung
hoomans who herds sheep is ornery, speshul. Of course, the term has
misapplications; as an extreme case, I've even heard ign'rant
tenderfeet who alloodes to the whole West as 'ornery.' But them
folks is too debased an' too darkened to demand comments."
"You are very loyal to the West," I remarked.
"Which I shorely oughter be," retorted the old gentleman. "The West
has been some loyal to me. Troo! it stands to reason that a party
fresh from the East, where the horns has been knocked offen
everythin' for two or three hundred years, an' conditions genial is
as soft as a goose-ha'r pillow, is goin' to notice some turgid
changes when he lands in Arizona. But a shorthorn, that a-way,
should reserve his jedgment till he gets acquainted, or gets
lynched, or otherwise experiences the West in its troo colors. While
Arizona, for speciment, don't go up an' put her arms about the neck
of every towerist that comes chargin' into camp, her failure to
perform said rites arises rather from dignity than hauteur. Arizona
don't put on dog; but she has her se'f-respectin' ways, an' stands a
pat hand on towerists.
"If I was called on to lay out a system to guide a tenderfoot who is
considerin' on makin' Arizona his home-camp, I'd advise him to make
his deboo in that territory in a sperit of ca'm an' silent se'f-
reliance. Sech a gent might reside in Wolfville, say three months.
He might meet her citizens, buck her faro-banks, drink her nose-
paint, shake a hilarious hoof in her hurdy gurdies, ask for his
letters, or change in whatever sums seems meet to him at the New
York Store for shirts. Also, he might come buttin' along into the O.
K. Restauraw three times a day with the balance of the band, an'
Missis Rucker would shorely turn her grub-game for him, for the
limit if he so pleased. But still, most likely every gent in camp
would maintain doorin' his novitiate a decent distance with this
yere stranger; they wouldn't onbuckle an' be drunk with him free an'
social like, an' with the bridle off, like pards who has crossed the
plains together an' seen extremes. All this, with a chill onto it, a
tenderfoot would find himse'f ag'inst for the first few months in
Wolfville.
"An' yet, my steer to him would be not to get discouraged. The
camp's sizin' him up; that's all. If he perseveres, ca'm an'
c'llected like I states, along the trail of his destiny, he'll shore
come winner on the deal. At the end of three months, or mebby in
onusual cases four months, jest as this yere maverick is goin' into
the dance hall, or mebby the Red Light, some gent will chunk him one
in the back with his shet fist an' say, 'How be you? You double-
dealin', cattle-stealin', foogitive son of a murdererin' hoss-thief,
how be you?'
"Now, right thar is whar this yere shorthorn wants to maintain his
presence of mind. He don't want to go makin' no vain plays for his
six-shooter, or indulge in no sour ranikaboo retorts. That gent
likes him. With Wolfville social conditions, this yere greetin' is
what you sports who comes from the far No'th calls 'the beginnin' of
the thaw. The ice is breakin' up; an' if our candidate sets in his
saddle steady an' with wisdom at this back-thumpin', name-callin'
epock, an' don't take to millin' 'round for trouble, in two minutes
him an' that gregar'ous gent who's accosted him is drinkin' an'
fraternizin' together like two stage hold-ups in a strange camp. The
West ain't ornery; she's simply reserved a whole lot.
"Mighty likely now," continued my friend, following a profound pause
which was comfortably filled with peach and honey; "it's mighty
likely now, comin' down to folks, that the most ornery party I ever
knows is Curly Ben. This yere Ben is killed, final; clowned by old
Captain Moon. Thar's a strange circumstance attendin', as the papers
say, the obliteration of this Curly Ben, an' it makes a heap of an
impression on me at the time. It shows how the instinct to do
things, that a bent is allers carryin' 'round in his mind, gets sort
o' located in his nerves mebby, an' he'll do 'em without his
intellects ridin' herd on the play--do 'em like Curly Ben does,
after his light is out complete.
"This yere is what I'm trailin' up to: When Captain Moon fetches
Curly Ben that time, Curly is playin' kyards. He's jest dealin',
when, onbeknown to him, Moon comes Injunin' up from the r'ar
surreptitious, an' drills Curly Ben through the head; an' the bullet
bein' a '45 Colt's--for Moon ain't toyin' with Curly an' means
business--goes plumb through an' emerges from onder Curly Ben's off
eye. For that matter, it breaks the arm of a party who's playin'
opp'site to Curly, an' who is skinnin' his pasteboards at the time,
thinkin' nothin' of war. Which the queer part is this: Curly, as I
states--an' he never knows what hits him, an' is as dead as Santa
Anna in a moment--is dealin' the kyards. He's got the deck in his
hands. An' yet, when the public picks Curly off the floor, he's
pulled his two guns, an' has got one cocked. Now what do you--all
deem of that for the workin' of a left-over impulse when a gent is
dead?
"But, as I remarks yeretofore, Curly Ben is the most ornery person I
ever overtakes, an' the feelin's of the camp is in nowise laid waste
when Moon adds him to the list that time in the Red Light bar. It's
this a-way:
"It's about a month before, when Captain Moon an' his nephy, with
two 8-mule teams and four big three-an'-a-half Bain wagons, two lead
an' two trail they be, comes freightin' out of Silver City with
their eyes on Wolfville. It's the fourth night out, an' they're
camped near a Injun agency. About midnight a half dozen of the bucks
comes scoutin' 'round their camp, allowin' to a moral certainty
they'll see what's loose an' little enough for 'em to pull. The
aborigines makes the error of goin' up the wind from Moon's mules,
which is grazin' about with hobbles on, an' them sagacious anamiles
actooally has fits. It's a fact, if you want to see a mule go plumb
into the air an' remain, jest let him get a good, ample,
onmistakable smell of a Injun! It simply onhinges his reason; he
ain't no more responsible than a cimmaron sheep. No, it ain't that
the savage is out to do anything oncommon to the mule; it's merely
one of the mule's illoosions, as I've told you once before. Jest the
same, if them Injuns is comin' to braid his tail an' braid it tight,
that mule couldn't feel more frantic.
"When these yere faithful mules takes to surgin' about the scene on
two feet, Moon's nephy grabs a Winchester an' pumps a load or so
into the darkness for gen'ral results. An' he has a heap of luck. He
shorely stops one of them Apaches in his lopin' up, an' down the
land for good an' all.
"In less than no time the whole tribe is down on Captain Moon an'
his nephy, demandin' blood. Thar's plenty of some sorts of wisdom
about a savage, an' these yere Apaches ain't runnin' right in on
Moon an' his relatif neither. They was perfeekly familiar with the
accoomulation of cartridges in a Winchester, an' tharfore goes about
the stirrin' up of Moon an' that nepby plumb wary.
"Moon an' the boy goes in between the wagons, blazin' an' bangin'
away at whatever moves or makes a noise; an' as they've been all
through sech festivals before, they regyards their final chances to
be as good as an even break, or better.
"While them Apaches is dodgin' about among the rocks, an' howlin'
contempt, an' passin' resolootions of revenge touchin' the two
Moons, the Injun agent comes troopin' along. He seeks to round-up
his savages an' herd 'em back to the agency. The Apaches, on their
side, is demandin' the capture of the nephy Moon for sp'ilin' one of
their young men.
"The agent is a prairie dog jest out from the East, an' don't know
half as much about what's goin' on inside of a Apache as a horned
toad. He comes down to the aige of hostil'ties, as you-all might
call it, an' makes Moon an' his Winchester workin' nephy a speech.
He addresses 'em a whole lot on the enormity of downin' Apaches who
goes prowlin' about an' scarin' up your mules at midnight, in what
this yere witless agent calls a 'motif of childish cur'osity,' an'
he winds up the powwow with demandin' the surrender of the
'hom'cide.'
"'Surrender nothin'!' says Captain Moon. 'You tell your Injuns to
line out for their camp; an' don't you yourse'f get too zealous
neither an' come too clost, or as shore as I casts my first vote for
Matty Van Buren, I'll plug you plumb center.'
"But the nephy, he thinks different. In spite of Captain Moon's
protests, he gives himse'f up to the agent on the promise of
protection.
"'You're gone, lad,' says Moon, when the nephy insists on yieldin';
'you won't last as long as a pint of whiskey in a five-hand poker
game.'
"But this yere young Moon is obdurate an' goes over an' gives
himse'f to the agent, who puts it up he'll send him to Prescott to
be tried in co't for beefin' the mule-thief Apache that a-way.
"Shore! it turns out jest as Captain Moon says. Before they'd gone a
half mile, them wards of the gov'ment, as I once hears a big chief
from Washin'ton call 'em, takes the nephy from this yere fallacious
agent an' by fourth drink time that mornin', or when it's been sun-
up three hours, that nephy is nothin' but a mem'ry.
"How do they kill him? In a fashion which, from the coigne your
Apache views things, does 'em proud. That nephy is immolated as
follows: They ropes him out, wrist an' ankle, with four lariats;
pegs him out like he's a hide they're goin' to dry. Thar's a big ant
hill close at hand; it's with reference to this yere ant colony that
the nephy is staked out. In three hours from the tune them ants gets
the word from the Apaches, they've done eat the nephy up, an' the
last vestitch of him plumb disappears with the last ant, as the
latter resoomes his labors onder the earth.
"Why, shore! these yere ants'll eat folks. They re-yards sech
reepasts as festivals, an' seasons of reelaxation from the sterner
dooties of a ant. I recalls once how we loses Locoed Charlie, which
demented party I b'lieve I mentions to you prior. This yere Charlie
takes a day off from where he's workin'--at least he calls it labor-
-at the stage corrals, an' goes curvin' over to Red Dog. Charlie
tanks up on the whiskey of that hamlet, compared to which the worst
nose-paint ever sold in Wolfville is nectar. They palms off mebby
it's a quart of this jooce on Charlie, an' then he p'ints out for
Wolfville.
"That's the last of the pore drunkard. His pony is nickcrin' about
the corral gates, pleadin' with the mules inside to open 'em, in the
mornin', but no sign or smoke of Locoed Charlie. An' he never does
show up no more.
"If it's Enright or Cherokee Hall, or any valyooed citizen, thar
would have issooed forth a war party, an' Red Dog would have been
sacked an' burned but what the missin' gent would have been turned
out. But it's different about Locoed Charlie. He hadn't that hold on
the pop'lar heart; didn't fill sech a place in the gen'ral eye; an'
so, barrin' a word or two of wonder, over their drink at the Red
Light, I don't reckon now the Wolfville folks disturbs themse'fs
partic'lar about the camp bein' shy Charlie.
"It's the second day when a teamster, trackin' over from Red Dog,
developes what's left of Locoed Charlie. He falls off his hoss, with
that load of Red Dog whiskey, an' every notion or idee or sensation
absolootely effaced. An' where Charlie loses is, he falls by a ant
hill. Yes; they shorely takes Charlie in. Thar's nothin' left of him
when the teamster locates the remainder, but his clothes, his spurs
an' his 'natomy. The r'ar gyard of them ants has long since retired
with the final fragments of Locoed Charlie. "You-all might o' seen
the story. Colonel Sterett writes it up in the Coyote, an' heads it,
'Hunger is a Terrible Thing.' This sot Charlie comin' to his death
that a-way puts a awful scare over Huggins an' Old Monte. It reforms
'em for more'n two hours. Huggins, who is allers frontin' up as one
who possesses public sperit, tries to look plumb dignified about it,
an' remarks to Dave Tutt in the New York Store as how he thinks we
oughter throw in around an' build a monument to Locoed Charlie. Dave
allows that, while he's with Huggins in them projecks, he wants to
add a monument to the ants. The founders of the scheme sort o'
splittin' at the go-in that a-way, it don't get no further, an' the
monument to Locoed Charlie, as a enterprise, bogs down. But to
continyoo on the trail of Captain Moon.
"Moon comes rumblin' into Wolfville, over-doo mebby it's two weeks,
bringin' both teams. Thar-upon he relates them outrages. Thar's but
one thought, that agent has lived too long.
"'If he was the usual common form of felon,' says Enright,
'ondoubted--for it would be their dooty--the vig'lance committee
local to them parts would string him up. But that ain't possible;
this yere miscreant is a gov'ment official an' wears the gov'ment
brand, an' even the Stranglers, of whatever commoonity, ain't strong
enough, an' wouldn't be jestified in stackin' in ag'in the gov'ment.
Captain Moon's only show is a feud. He oughter caper over an', as
private as possible, arrogate to himse'f the skelp of this yere
agent who abandons his relatif to them hostiles.'
"Wolfville listens to Captain Moon's hist'ry of his wrongs; but
aside from them eloocidations of Enright, no gent says much. Thar's
some games where troo p'liteness consists in sayin' nothin' an'
knowin' less. But the most careless hand in camp can see that Moon's
aimin' at reprisals.
"This Curly Ben is trackin' about Wolfville at the time. Curly ain't
what you-all would call a elevated character. He's a rustler of
cattle, an' a smuggler of Mexican goods, an' Curly an' the Yoonited
States marshals has had more turn-ups than one. But Curly is dead
game; an' so far, he manages to either out-luck or out-shoot them
magistrates; an', as I says, when Moon comes wanderin' in that time
mournin' for his nephy, Curly has been projectin' about camp for
like it's a week.
"Moon sort o' roominates on the play, up an' down, for a day or so,
makin' out a plan. He don't want to go back himse'f; the agent knows
him, an' them Injuns knows him, an' it's even money, if he comes
pokin' into their bailiwick, they'll tumble to his errant. In sech
events, they're shore doo to corral him an' give them ants another
holiday. It's the ant part that gives pore Captain Moon a chill.
"'I'll take a chance on a bowie knife,' says Moon to Dan Boggs,--
Dan, bein' a sympathetic gent an' takin' nacherally to folks in
trouble, has Moon's confidence from the jump; 'I'll take a chance on
a bowie knife; an' as for a gun, I simply courts the resk. But then
ants dazzles me--I lay down to ants, an' I looks on it as no
disgrace to a gent to say so.' "'Ants shorely do sound poignant,'
admits Dan, 'speshully them big black an' red ants that has stingers
like hornets an' pinchers like bugs. Sech insecks, armed to the
teeth as they be, an' laid out to fight both ways from the middle,
is likewise too many for me. I would refoose battle with 'em
myse'f.'
"It ain't long before Captain Moon an' Curly Ben is seen confidin'
an' conferrin' with one another, an' drinkin' by themse'fs, an' no
one has to be told that Moon's makin' negotiations with Curly to
ride over an' down the agent. The idee is pecooliarly grateful to
Wolfville. It stands to win no matter how the kyards lay in the box.
If Curly fetches the agent flutterin' from his limb, thar's one
miscreant less in Arizona, if the agent gets the drop an' puts out
Curly Ben, it comes forth jest the same. It's the camp's theery
that, in all that entitles 'em to death, the case stands hoss an'
hoss between the agent an' Curly Ben.
"'An' if they both gets downed, it's a whip-saw, we win both ways;'
says Cherokee Hall, an' the rest of us files away our nose-paint in
silent assent tharwith. "It comes out later that Moon agrees to give
Curly Ben fifteen hundred dollars an' a pony, if he'll go over an'
kill off the agent. Curly Ben says the prop'sition is the
pleasantest thing he hears since he leaves the Panhandle ten years
before, an' so he accepts five hundred dollars an' the pony--the
same bein' the nacher of payments in advance--an' goes clatterin'
off up the canyon one evenin' on his mission of jestice. An' then we
hears no more of Curly Ben for about a month. No one marvels none at
this, however, as downin' any given gent is a prop'sition which in
workin' out is likely to involve delays.
"One day, with unruffled brow an' an air all careless an' free,
Curly Ben rides into Wolfville an' begins orderin' whiskey at the
Red Light before he's hardly cl'ar of the saddle. Thar ain't nobody
in camp, from Doc Peets to Missis Rucker, but what's eager to know
the finish of Curly's expedition, but of course everybody hobbles
his feelin's in them behalfs. It's Captain Moon's fooneral, an' he
oughter have a first, oninterrupted say. Moon comes up to Curly Ben
where Curly is cuttin' the alkali dust outen his throat at the Red
Light bar.
"'Did you get him?' Moon asks after a few p'lite preeliminaries.
'Did you bring back his ha'r an' y'ears like we agrees?'
"'Have you-all got the other thousand ready,' says Curly Ben. 'in
the event I do?'
"'Right yere in my war-bags,' says Moon, 'awaitin' to make good for
your tine an' talent an' trouble in revengin' my pore nephy's
deemise by way of them insecks.' An' Moon slaps his pocket as
locatin' the dinero.
"'Well, I don't get him,' says Curly Ben ca'mly, settin' his glass
on the bar.
"Thar's a pause of mebby two minutes, doorin' which Moon looks
cloudy, as though he don't like the way the kyards is comin'; Curly
Ben, on his part, is smilin' like what Huggins calls 'one of his
songstresses' over in the Bird Cage Op'ry House. After a bit, Moon
resoomes them investigations.
"'Don't I give you four stacks of reds an' a pony,' he says, 'to
reepair to that murderer an' floor-manage his obsequies? An' don't I
promise you eight stacks more when you reports with that outcast's
y'ears an' ha'r, as showin' good faith?'
"'C'rrect; every word,' says Curly Ben, lightin' a seegyar an then
leanin' his elbows on the bar, a heap onmoved.
"'Which I would admire to know, then,' says Moon, an' his eyes is
gettin' little an' hard, 'why you-all don't made good them
compacts.'
"'Well, I'll onfold the reasons an' make it as plain an' cl'ar an'
convincin' as a spade flush,' says Curly Ben. 'When I gets to this
yere victim of ours, I finds him to be a mighty profoose an' lavish
form of sport. The moment I'm finished explainin' to him my mission,
an' jest as I onlimbers my six-shooter to get him where he lives, he
offers me five thousand dollars to come back yere an' kill you.
Nacherally, after that, me an' this yere subject of our plot takes a
few drinks, talks it over, an' yere I be.'
"'But what be you aimin' to do?' asks Moon.
"'What be you aimin' to do?' responds Curly Ben. As I states, he's
shore the most ornery coyote!
"'I don't onderstand,' says Moon.
"'Why it's as obv'ous,' retorts Curly Ben, 'as the Fence Rail brand,
an' that takes up the whole side of a cow. The question now is, do
you raise this yere gent? He raises you as I explains; now do you
quit, or tilt him, say, a thousand better?'
"'An' suppose I don't?' says Moon, sort o' figgerin' for a moment or
so. 'What do you reckon now would be your next move?'
"'Thar would be but one thing to do,' says Curly Ben mighty placid;
'I'd shorely take him. I would proceed with your destruction at
once, an' return to this agent gent an' accept that five thousand
dollar honorarium he offers.'
"Curly Ben is 'bad' plumb through, an' the sights, as they says in
the picturesque language of the Southwest, has been filed from his
guns for many years. Which this last is runnin' in Moon's head while
he talks with his disgustin' emmissary. Moon ain't out to take
chances on gettin' the worst of it. An' tharfore, Moon at once waxes
cunnin' a whole lot.
"'I'm a pore man,' he says, `but if it takes them teams of mine, to
the last tire an' the last hoof, I've got to have this agent's ha'r
an' y'ears. You camp around the Red Light awhile, Curly, till I go
over to the New York Store an' see about more money. I'll be back
while you're layin' out another drink.'
"Now it's not to the credit of Curly, as a crim'nal who puts thought
into his labors, that he lets Captain Moon turn his flank the easy
way he does. It displays Curly as lackin' a heap in mil'tary genius.
I don't presoome to explain it; an' it's all so dead onnacheral at
this juncture that the only s'lootion I'm cap'ble of givin' it is
that it's preedestinated that a-way. Curly not only lets Moon walk
off, which after he hangs up that bluff about takin' them terms of
the agent's is mighty irreg'lar, but he's that obtoose he sits down
to play kyards, while he's waitin', with his back to the door. Why!
it's like sooicide!
"Moon goes out to his wagons an' gets, an' buckles on, his guns.
Quick, crafty, brisk as a cat an' with no more noise, Moon comes
walkin' into the Red Light door. He sees Curly where he sits at
seven-up, with his back turned towards him.
"'One for jack!' says Curly, turnin' that fav'rite kyard. Moon sort
o' drifts to his r'ar.
"'Bang!' says Moon's pistol, an' Curly falls for'ards onto the
table, an' then onto the floor, the bullet plumb through his head,
as I informs you.
"Curly Ben never has the shadow of a tip, he's out of the Red Light
an' into the regions beyond, like snappin' your thumb an' finger.
It's as sharp as the buck of a pony, he's Moon's meat in a minute.
"No, thar's nothin' for Wolfville to do. Moon's jestified. Which his
play is the one trail out, for up to that p'int where Moon onhooks
his guns, Curly ain't done nothin' to put him in reach of the
Stranglers. Committees of vig'lance, that a-way, like shore-enough
co'ts, can't prevent crime, they only punish it, an' up to where
Moon gets decisive action, thar's no openin' by which the Stranglers
could cut in on the deal. Yes, Enright convenes his committee an'
goes through the motions of tryin' Moon. They does this to preserve
appearances, but of course they throws Moon loose. An' as thar's
reasons, as any gent can see, why no one cares to have the story as
it is, be made a subject of invidious gossip in Red Dog, an' other
outfits envious of Wolfville, at Enright's suggestion, the
Stranglers bases the acquittal of Moon on the fact that Curly Ben
deloodes Moon's sister, back in the States, an' then deserts her.
Moon cuts the trail of the base sedoocer in Wolfville, an' gathers
him in accordin', an' as a brother preyed on by his sister's wrongs
is shorely expected to do."
"But Curly Ben never did mislead Moon's sister, did he?" I asked,
for the confident fashion where-with my old friend reeled off the
finding of Wolfville's vigilance committee, and the reasons, almost
imposed on me.
"Which you can bet the limit," he observed fiercely, as he prepared
to go into the hotel, "which you can go the limit open, son, Curly
ain't none too good."
CHAPTER IX
Colonel Sterett's Reminiscences
"An' who is Colonel William Greene Sterett, you asks?" repeated the
Old Cattleman, with some indignant elevation of voice. "He's the
founder of the Coyote, Wolfville's first newspaper; is as cultivated
a gent that a-way as acquires his nose-paint at the Red Light's bar;
an' comes of as good a Kaintucky fam'ly as ever distils its own
whiskey or loses its money on a hoss. Son, I tells you this prior."
This last reproachfully.
"No, Colonel Sterett ain't old none--not what you-all would call
aged. When he comes weavin' into Wolfville that time, I reckons now
Colonel Sterett is mighty likely about twenty-odd years younger than
me, an' at that time I shows about fifty rings on my horns. As for
eddication, he's shore a even break with Doc Peets, an' as I remarks
frequent, I never calls the hand of that gent in Arizona who for a
lib'ral enlightenment is bullsnakes to rattlesnakes with Peets.
"Speakin' about who Colonel Sterett is, he onfolds his pedigree in
full one evenin' when we're all sort o' self-herded in the New York
Store. Which his story is a proud one, an' I'm a jedge because comin
as I do from Tennessee myse'f, nacherally I saveys all about
Kaintucky. Thar's three grades of folks in Kaintucky, the same bein'
contingent entire on whereabouts them folks is camped. Thar's the
Bloo Grass deestrict, the Pennyr'yal deestrict, an' the Purchase.
The Bloo Grass folks is the 'ristocrats, while them low-flung trash
from the Purchase is a heap plebeian. The Pennyr'yal outfit is kind
o' hesitatin' 'round between a balk an' a break-down in between the
other two, an' is part 'ristocratic that a-way an' part mud. As for
Colonel Sterett, he's pure strain Bloo Grass, an' he shows it. I'll
say this for the Colonel, an' it shorely knits me to him from the
first, he could take a bigger drink of whiskey without sugar or
water than ever I sees a gent take in my life.
"That time I alloods to, when Colonel Sterett vouchsafes them
recollections, we-all is in the r'ar wareroom of the New York Store
where the whiskey bar'ls be, samplin' some Valley Tan that's jest
been freighted in. As she's new goods, that Valley Tan, an' as our
troo views touchin' its merits is important to the camp, we're
testin' the beverage plenty free an' copious. No expert gent can
give opinions worth a white chip concernin' nosepaint short o' six
drinks, an' we wasn't out to make no errors in our findin's about
that Valley Tan. So, as I relates, we're all mebby some five drinks
to the good, an' at last the talk, which has strayed over into the
high grass an' is gettin' a whole lot too learned an' profound for
most of the herd to cut in on, settles down between Doc Peets an
Colonel Sterett as bein' the only two sports able to protect their
play tharin.
"An' you can go as far as you like on it,' says the Colonel to
Peets, 'I'm plumb wise an' full concernin' the transmigration of
souls. I gives it my hearty beliefs. I can count a gent up the
moment I looks at him; also I knows exactly what he is before he's a
hooman bein'.'
"'That "transmigration" that a-way,' whispers Dan Boggs to Cherokee
Hall, 'ain't no fool of a word. I'll prance over an' pull it on Red
Dog to-morry. Which it's shore doo to strike'em dumb.'
"'Now yere's Hoppin' Harry,' goes on the Colonel p'intin' to a thin,
black little felon with long ha'r like a pony, who's strayed over
from Tucson; 'I gives it out cold, meanin' tharby no offence to our
Tucson friend--I gives it out cold that Hoppin' Harry used to be a
t'rant'ler. First,' continyoos the Colonel, stackin' Harry up mighty
scientific with his optic jest showin' over his glass, 'first I
allows he's a toad. Not a horned toad, which is a valyooed beast an'
has a mission; but one of these yere ornery forms of toads which
infests the East. This last reptile is vulgar-sluggish, a anamile of
few if any virchoos; while the horned toad, so called, come right
down to cases, ain't no toad nohow. It's a false brand, an' he don't
belong with the toad herd at all. The horned toad is a lizard--a
broad kind o' lizard; an' as for bein' sluggish, you let him have
something on his mind speshul, an' he'll shore go careerin' about
plumb swift. Moreover, he don't hop, your horned toad don't, like
them Eastern toads; he stands up on his toes an' paces--he's what
we-all calls on the Ohio River back in my childhood's sunny hours,
"a side-wheeler." Also, he's got a tail. An' as for sperit, let me
tell you this:--I has a horned toad where I'm camped over by the
Tres Hermanas, where I'm deer-huntin'. I wins that toad's love from
the jump with hunks of bread an' salt hoss an' kindred del'cacies.
He dotes on me. When time hangs heavy, I entertains myse'f with a
dooel between Augustus--Augustus bein' the horned toad's name--, an'
a empty sardine box for which he entertains resentments.
"'"Lay for him, Augustus!" I'd say, at the same instant battin' him
in the nose with the box.
"'Of course, Augustus ain't got savey enough to realize I does it.
He allows it's the box that a-way makin' malev'lent bluffs at him.
An' say, pards, it would have made you proud of your country an' its
starry flag to see Augustus arch himse'f for war on them o'casions.
"'Not that Augustus is malignant or evil disposed, nacheral. No,
sir; I've yet to meet up with the toad who has his simple, even,
gen'rous temper or lovin' heart; as trustful too, Augustus is, as
the babe jest born. But like all noble nachers, Augustus is
sensitive, an' he regyards them bats in the nose as insults. As I
says, you-all should have seen him! He'd poise himse'f on his toes,
erect the horn on his nose, same as one of these yere rhinoceroses
of holy writ, an' then the way Augustus hooks an' harasses that
offensive sardine box about the camp is a lesson to folks.'
"'Where's this yere Augustus now?' asks Dan Boggs, who's got all
wropped up in the Colonel's narratifs.
"'Petered,' says the Colonel, an' thar's feelin's in his tones;
'pore Augustus cashes in. He's followin' me about one mornin'
watchin' me hook up--we was gettin' ready to move camp--an' all
inadvertent I backs the wagon onto Augustus. The hind wheel goes
squar' over him an' flattens Augustus out complete. He dies with his
eyes fixed on me, an' his looks says as plain as language, "Cheer
up, Colonel! This yere contreetemps don't change my affections, for
I knows it's a misdeal." You-all can gamble I don't do nothin' more
that day but mourn.'
"'Which I should shorely say so!' says Dan Boggs, an' his voice is
shakin'; 'a-losin' of a gifted horned toad like Augustus! I'd a-
howled like a wolf.'
"'But as I'm sayin',' resoomes the Colonel, after comfortin' himse'f
with about four fingers; 'speakin' of the transmigration of souls, I
goes off wrong about Hoppin' Harry that time. I takes it, he used to
be one of these yere Eastern toads on account of his gait. But I'm
erroneous. Harry, who is little an' spry an' full of p'isen that a-
way, used to be a t'rant'ler. Any gent who'll take the trouble to
recall one of these hairy, hoppin' t'rant'ler spiders who jumps
sideways at you, full of rage an' venom, is bound to be reminded
partic'lar of Hoppin' Harry.'
"'What did you-all use to be yourse'f, Colonel?' asks Enright, who
notices that Hoppin' Harry is beginnin' to bristle some, like he
ain't pleased none with these yere revelations. 'What for a anamile
was you before you're a hooman?'
"'I was a good-nachered hoss,' says the Colonel mighty confident an'
prompt; 'I'm a good-nachered hoss in a country neighborhood, an'
everybody rides me that wants to. However, I allows we better shift
the subject some. If we-all talks about these yere insects an'
reptiles a little longer, Huggins over thar--whose one weakness is
he's too frank with an' puts too much confidence in his licker--will
have another one of them attacks of second sight, which Peets cures
him of that time, an' commence seein' a multitood of heinous
visions.'
"'Of course,' says Enright, plumb p'lite, 'of course, Colonel, I can
tell a whole lot about your fam'ly by jest lookin' at you;
partic'lar where as at present you're about ten drinks ahead; still
thar's nothin' gives me more pleasure than hearin' about the sire
from the colt; an' if you won't receive it resentful, I'd ask you as
to your folks back in Kaintuck.'
"'As you-all knows,' observes Colonel Sterett, 'I was foaled in
Kaintucky; an' I must add, I never recalls that jestly cel'brated
commonwealth with-out a sigh. Its glories, sech as they was before
the war, is fast departin' away. In my yooth, thar is nothin' but a
nobility in Kaintucky; leastwise in the Bloo Grass country, whereof
I'm a emanation. We bred hosses an' cattle, an' made whiskey an'
played kyards, an' the black folks does the work. We descends into
nothin' so low as labor in them halcyon days. Our social existence
is made up of weddin's, infares an' visitin' 'round; an' life in the
Bloo Grass is a pleasant round of chicken fixin's an' flour doin's
from one Christmas to another.'
"'Sech deescriptions,' remarks Enright with emotion an' drawin' the
back of his hand across his eyes, 'brings back my yearlin' days in
good old Tennessee. We-all is a heap like you Kaintucks, down our
way. We was a roode, exyooberant outfit; but manly an' sincere. It's
trooly a region where men is men, as that sport common to our neck
of timber known as "the first eye out for a quart of whiskey"
testifies to ample. Thar's my old dad! I can see him yet,' an' yere
Enright closes his eyes some ecstatic. 'He was a shore man. He stood
a hundred-foot without a knot or limb; could wrastle or run or jump,
an' was good to cut a 4-bit piece at one hundred yards, offhand,
with his old 8-squar' rifle. He never shoots squirrels, my father
don't; he barks 'em. An' for to see the skin cracked, or so much as
a drop of blood on one of 'em, when he picks it up, would have
mortified the old gent to death.'
"'Kaintucky to a hair,' assented the Colonel, who listens to Enright
plenty rapt that a-way. 'An' things is so Arcadian! If a gent has a
hour off an 'feels friendly an' like minglin' with his kind, all he
does is sa'nter over an' ring the town bell. Nacherally, the
commoonity lets go its grip an' comes troopin' up all spraddled out.
It don't know if it's a fire, it don't know if it's a fight, it
don't know if it's a birth, it don't know if it's a hoss race, it
don't know if it's a drink; an' it don't care. The commoonity keeps
itse'f framed up perpetyooal to enjoy any one of the five, an'
tharfore at the said summons comes troopin', as I say. "'My
grandfather is the first Sterett who invades Kaintucky, an' my
notion is that he conies curvin' in with Harrod, Kenton, Boone an'
Simon Girty. No one knows wherever does he come from; an' no one's
got the sand to ask, he's that dead haughty an' reserved. For
myse'f, I'm not freighted to the gyards with details touchin' on my
grandfather; he passes in his chips when mebby I'm ten years old,
an' the only things about him I'm shore of as a child, is that he's
the greatest man on earth an' owns all the land south of the Ohio
river.
"'This yere grandfather I'm talkin' of,' continyoos the Colonel
after ag'in refreshin' himse'f with some twenty drops, 'lives in a
big house on a bluff over-lookin' the Ohio, an' calls his place "The
Hill." Up across one of the big stone chimleys is carved "John
Sterett," that a-way; which I mentions the same as goin' to show he
ain't afeard none of bein' followed, an' that wherever he does come
p'intin' out from, thar's no reward offered for his return.'
"'I ain't so shore neither,' interjects Texas Thompson. 'He might
have shifted the cut an' changed his name. Sech feats is frequent
down 'round Laredo where I hails from, an' no questions asked.'
"'Up on the roof of his ranch,' goes on the Colonel, for he's so
immersed in them mem'ries he don't hear Texas where he rings in his
theeries, 'up on the roof my grandfather has a big bell, an' the
rope is brought down an' fetched through a auger hole in the side of
the house, so he can lay in bed if he feels like it, an' ring this
yere tocsin of his while so minded. An' you can bet he shorely rings
her! Many a time an' oft as a child about my mother's knees, the
sound of that ringin' comes floatin' to us where my father has his
house four miles further down the river. On sech o'casions I'd up
an' ask:
"'" Whatever is this yere ringin'?"
"'"Hesh, my child!" my mother would say, smotherin' my mouth with
her hand, her voice sinkin' to a whisper, for as the head of the
House of Sterett, every one of the tribe is plumb scared of my
grandfather an' mentions him with awe. "Hesh, my child," says my
mother like I relates, "that's your grandfather ringin' his bell."
"'An' from calf-time to beef-time, from the first kyard out of the
box down to the turn, no one ever knows why my grandfather does ring
it, for he's too onbendin' to tell of his own accord, an' as I
states prior, no one on earth has got nerve an' force of character
enough to ask him.
"'My own father, whose name is the same as mine, bein' Willyum
Greene Sterett, is the oldest of my grandfather's chil'en. He's a
stern, quiet gent, an' all us young-ones is wont to step high an'
softly whenever he's pesterin' 'round. He respects nobody except my
grandfather, fears nothin' but gettin' out of licker.
"'Like my grandfather up at "The Hill," my father devotes all his
talents to raisin' runnin' hosses, an' the old faun would have been
a heap lonesome if thar's fewer than three hundred head a nickerin'
about the barns an' pastures. Shore! we has slaves too; we has
niggers to a stand-still.
"'As I look r'arward to them days of my infancy, I brings to mind a
staggerin' blow that neighborhood receives. A stern-wheeler sinks
about two hundred yards off our landin' with one thousand bar'ls of
whiskey on board. When the news of that whiskey comes flyin' inland,
it ain't a case of individyooals nor neighborhoods, but whole
counties comes stampedin' to the rescoo. It's no use; the boat bogs
right down in the sand; in less than an hour her smoke stack is
onder water. All we ever gets from the wrack is the bell, the same
now adornin' a Presbyter'an church an' summonin' folks to them
services. I tells you, gents, the thoughts of that Willow Run, an'
we not able to save so much as a quart of it, puts a crimp in that
commoonity they ain't yet outlived. It 'most drives 'em crazy; they
walks them banks for months a-wringin' their hands an' wishin' the
impossible.'
"'Is any one drowned?' asks Faro Nell, who comes in, a moment
before, an' as usual plants herse'f clost to Cherokee Hall. 'Is thar
any women or children aboard?'
"'Nell,' says the Colonel, 'I apol'gizes for my ignorance, but I'm
bound to confess I don't know. Thar's no one knows. The awful fact
of them one thousand bar'ls of Willow Run perishin' before our very
eyes, swallows up all else, an' minor details gets lost in the
shuffle an' stays lost for all time. It's a turrible jolt to the
general sensibilities, an' any gent who'll go back thar yet an' look
hard in the faces of them people, can see traces of that c'lamity.
"'As a child,' resoomes the Colonel, 'I'm romantic a whole lot. I'm
carried away by music. My fav'rite airs is "Smith's March," an'
"Cease Awhile Clarion; Clarion Wild an' Shrill." I either wants
something with a sob in it 'like "Cease Awhile," or I desires War
with all her horrors, same as a gent gets dished up to him in
"Smith's March."
"'Also, I reads Scott's "Ivanhoe," ain longs to be a croosader, an'
slay Paynims. I used to lie on the bank by the old Ohio, an' shet my
eyes ag'in the brightness of the sky, an' figger on them setbacks
we'd mete out to a Payaim if only we might tree one once in old
Kaintucky. Which that Saracen would have shorely become the basis of
some ceremonies!
"'Most like I was about thirteen years old when the Confederacy
declar's herse'f a nation, elects Jeff Davis President, an' fronts
up for trouble. For myse'f I concedes now, though I sort o' smothers
my feelin's on that p'int at the time, seein' we-all could look
right over into the state of Ohio, said state bein' heatedly
inimical to rebellion an' pawin' for trouble an' rappin' its horns
ag'in the trees at the mere idee; for myse'f, I say, I now concedes
that I was heart an' soul with the South in them onhappy ruptures. I
breathed an' lived with but one ambition, which is to tear this
devoted country in two in the middle an' leave the fragments that a-
way, in opposite fields. My father, stern, ca'm, c'llected, don't
share the voylence of my sentiments. He took the middle ag'in the
ends for his. The attitoode of our state is that of nootrality, an'
my father declar'd for nootrality likewise. My grandfather is dead
at the time, so his examples lost to us; but my father, sort o'
projectin' 'round for p'sition, decides it would be onfair in him to
throw the weight of his valor to either side, so he stands a pat
hand on that embroglio, declines kyards, an' as I states is nootral.
Which I know he's nootral by one thing:
"'"Willyum," he'd say that a-way when he'd notice me organizin' to
go down to the village; "Willyum," he'd say. "if anybody asks you
what you be, an' speshul if any of them Yankees asks you, you tell
'em that you're Union, but you remember you're secesh."
"'The Sterett fam'ly, ondoubted, is the smartest fam'ly in the
South. My brother Jeff, who is five years older than me, gives
proofs of this, partic'lar. It's Jeff who invents that enterprise in
fishin', which for idleness, profit an' pastime, ain't never been
equalled since the flood, called "Juggin' for Cats." It's Jeff, too,
once when he ups an' jines the church, an' is tharafter preyed on
with the fact that the church owes two hundred dollars, and that it
looks like nobody cares a two-bit piece about it except jest him,
who hires a merry-go-round--one of these yere contraptions with
wooden hosses, an' a hewgag playin' toones in the center--from
Cincinnati, sets her up on the Green in front of the church, makes
the ante ten cents, an' pays off the church debt in two months with
the revenoos tharof.
"'As I sits yere, a relatin' of them exploits,' an' Colonel Sterett
tips the canteen for another hooker, 'as I sits yere, gents, all
free an' sociable with what's, bar none, the finest body of gents
that ever yanks a cork or drains a bottle, I've seen the nobility of
Kaintucky--the Bloo Grass Vere-de-Veres--ride up on a blood hoss,
hitch the critter to the fence, an' throw away a fortune buckin'
Jeff's merry-go-round with them wooden steeds. It's as I says: that
sanctooary is plumb out of debt an' on velvet--has a bank roll big
enough to stopper a 2-gallon jug with--in eight weeks from the time
Jeff onfurls his lay-out an' opens up his game.'
"Thar's one thing," suddenly observed my aged companion, as he eyed
me narrowly, pausing in the interesting Colonel Sterett's relation
concerning his family, and becoming doubly impressive with an
uplifted fore-finger, "thar's one thing I desires you to fully
grasp. As I reels off this yere chronicle, you-all is not to
consider me as repeatin' the Colonel's words exact. I ain't gifted
like the Colonel, an' my English ain't a marker to his. The Colonel
carries the language quiled up an' hangin' at the saddle horn of his
intelligence, like a cow puncher does his lariat. An' when he's got
ready to rope an' throw a fact or two, you should oughter see him
take her down an' go to work. Horn or neck or any foot you says;
it's all one to the Colonel. Big or little loop, in the bresh or in
the open, it's a cinch the Colonel fastens every time he throws his
verbal rope. The fact he's after that a-way, is shore the Colonel's.
Doc Peets informs me private that Colonel Sterett is the greatest
artist, oral, of which his'try records the brand, an' you can go
broke on Peets's knowin'. An' thar's other test'mony.
"'I don't lay down my hand,' says Texas Thompson, one time when him
an' me is alone, 'to any gent between the Rio Grande an' the Oregon,
on sizin' up a conversation. An' I'll impart to you, holdin' nothin'
back, that the Colonel is shorely the limit. Merely to listen, is an
embarrassment of good things, like openin' a five-hand jack-pot on a
ace-full. He can even out-talk my former wife, the Colonel can, an'
that esteemable lady packs the record as a conversationist in Laredo
for five years before I leaves. She's admittedly the shorest shot
with her mouth on that range. Talkin' at a mark, or in action, all
you has to do is give the lady the distance an' let her fix her
sights once, an' she'll stand thar, without a rest, an' slam
observation after observation into the bull's eye till you'll be
abashed. An' yet, compared to the Colonel yere, that lady stutters!'
"But now to resoome," said my friend when he had sufficiently come
to the rescue of Colonel Sterett and given him his proper place in
my estimation; "we'll take up the thread of the Colonel's remarks
where I leaves off.
"'My grandfather,' says the Colonel, 'is a gent of iron-bound
habits. He has his rooles an' he never transgresses 'em. The first
five days of the week, he limits himse'f to fifteen drinks per diem;
Saturday he rides eight miles down to the village, casts aside
restraints, an' goes the distance; Sunday he devotes to meditations.
"'Thar's times when I inclines to the notion that my grandfather
possesses partic'lar aptitoodes for strong drink. This I'll say
without no thoughts of boastin', he's the one lone gent whereof I
has a knowledge, who can give a three-ring debauch onder one canvas
in one evenin'. As I states, my grandfather, reg'lar every Saturday
mornin', rides down to the Center, four miles below our house, an'
begins to crook his elbow, keepin' no accounts an' permittin' no
compunctions. This, if the old gent is feelin' fit an' likely, keeps
up about six hours' at which epock, my grandfather is beginnin' to
feel like his laigs is a burden an' walkin' a lost art. That's where
the pop'lace gets action. The onlookers, when they notes how my
ancestor's laigs that a-way is attemptin' to assoome the soopreme
direction of affairs, sort o' c'llects him an' puts him in the
saddle. Settin' thar on his hoss, my grandfather is all right. His
center of grav'ty is shifted an' located more to his advantage. I
esteems it one of them evidences of a sooperior design in the
yooniverse, an' a plain proof that things don't come by chance, that
long after a gent can't walk none, he's plumb able to ride.
"'Once my grandfather is safe in his saddle, as I relates, he's due-
-him an' his hoss, this last bein' an onusual sagacious beast whic
he calls his "Saturday hoss"--to linger about the streets, an'
collab'rate with the public for mebby five more drinks; followin'
which last libations, he goes rackin' off for "The Hill."
"'Up at our house on Saturdays, my father allers throws a skirmish
line of niggers across the road, with orders to capture my
grandfather as he comes romancin' along. An' them faithful servitors
never fails. They swarms down on my grandfather, searches him out of
the saddle an' packs him exultin'ly an' lovin'ly into camp.
"'Once my grandfather is planted in a cha'r, with a couple of
minions on each side to steady the deal, the others begins to line
out to fetch reestoratifs. I'm too little to take a trick myse'f,
an' I can remember how on them impressif occasions, I would stand
an' look at him. I'd think to myse'f--I was mebby eight at the
time,--"He's ondoubted the greatest man on earth, but my! how
blurred he is!"
"'Which as I states yeretofore, the Sterett system is the
patriarchal system, an' one an' all we yields deference to my
grandfather as the onchallenged chief of the tribe. To 'llustrate
this: One day my father, who's been tryin' out a two-year-old on our
little old quarter-mile track, starts for The Hill, takin' me an' a
nigger jockey, an' a-leadin' of the said two-year-old racer along.
Once we arrives at my grandfather's, my father leaves us all
standin' in the yard and reepairs into the house. The next minute
him an' my grandfather comes out. They don't say nothin', but my
grandfather goes all over the two-year-old with eyes an' hand for
mighty likely ten minutes. At last he straightens up an' turns on my
father with a face loaded to the muzzle with rage.
"'"Willyum Greene Sterett," he says, conferrin' on my parent his
full name, the same bein' a heap ominous; "Willyum Greene Sterett,
you've brought that thing to The Hill to beat my Golddust."
"'"Yes," says my father, mighty steady, "an' I'll go right out on
your track now, father, an' let that black boy ride him an' I'll
gamble you all a thousand dollars that that two-year-old beats
Golddust."
"'" Willyum Greene Sterett," says my grandfather, lookin' at my
father an' beginnin' to bile, "I've put up with a heap from you. You
was owdacious as a child, worthless as a yooth, an' a spend-thrift
as a young man grown; an' a score of times I've paid your debts as
was my dooty as the head of the House of Sterett. But you reserves
it for your forty-ninth year, an' when I'm in my seventy-ninth year,
to perform your crownin' outrage. You've brought that thing to The
Hill to beat my Golddust. Now let me tell you somethin', an' it'll
be water on your wheel a whole lot, to give heed to that I says. You
get onto your hoss, an' you get your child Willyum onto his hoss,
an' you get that nigger boy onto his hoss, an' you get off this
Hill. An' as you go, let me give you this warnin'. If you-all ever
makes a moccasin track in the mud of my premises ag'in, I'll fill
you full of buckshot."
"'An' as I says, to show the veneration in which my grandfather is
held, thar's not another yeep out o' any of us. With my father in
the lead, we files out for home; an' tharafter the eepisode is never
mentioned.
"'An' now,' says Colonel Sterctt, 'as we-all is about equipped to
report joodiciously as to the merits of the speshul cask of Valley
Tan we've been samplin', I'll bring my narratif to the closin'
chapters in the life of this grand old man. Thar's this to be
observed: The Sterett fam'ly is eminent for two things: it gets
everything it needs; an' it never gets it till it needs it. Does it
need a gun, or a hoss, or a drink, the Sterett fam'ly proceeds with
the round-up. It befalls that when my grandfather passes his
eightieth year, he decides that he needs religion.
"'" It's about time," he says, "for me to begin layin' up a treasure
above. I'm goin' on eighty-one an' my luck can't last forever."
"'So my grandfather he sets up in bed an' he perooses them
scriptures for four months. I tell you, gents, he shorely searches
that holy book a whole lot. An' then he puts it up he'll be
baptized. Also, that he'll enter down into the water an' rise up out
of the water like it's blazoned in them texts.
"'Seein' she's Janyooary at the time, with two foot of snow on the
ground, it looks like my grandfather will have to postpone them
rites. But he couldn't be bluffed. My grandfather reaches out of bed
an' he rings that bell I tells you-all of, an' proceeds to convene
his niggers. He commands 'em to cut down a big whitewood tree that
lives down in the bottoms, hollow out the butt log for a trough, an'
haul her up alongside the r'ar veranda.
"'For a week thar's a incessant "chip! chop!" of the axes; an' then
with six yoke of steers, the trough is brought into camp. It's long
enough an' wide enough an' deep enough to swim a colt.
"'The day for the baptizin' is set, an' the Sterett fam'ly comes
trackin' in. Thar's two hundred of 'em, corral count. The whole
outfit stands 'round while the water is heatin' for to clip the old
gent. My father, who is the dep'ty chief an' next in command, is
tyrannizin' about an' assoomin' to deal the game. "Thar's a big fire
at which they're heatin' the rocks wherewith to raise the
temperatoor of the water. The fire is onder the personal charge of a
faithful old nigger named Ben. When one of them stones is red hot,
Ben takes two sticks for tongs an' drops it into the trough. Thar's
a bile an' a buzz an' a geyser of steam, an' now an' then the rock
explodes a lot an' sends the water spoutin' to the eaves. It's all
plenty thrillin', you can bet! "My father, as I states, is pervadin'
about, so clothed with dignity, bein' after my grandfather the next
chicken on the roost, that you can't get near enough to him to borry
a plug of tobacco. Once in a while he'd shasee up an' stick his hand
in the water. It would be too hot, mebby. "'"Yere, you Ben!" he'd
roar. "What be you aimin' at? Do you-all want to kill the old man Do
you think you're scaldin' a hawg?" "Then this yere Ben; would get
conscience-stricken an' pour in a bar'l or two of cold water. In a
minute my father would test it ag'in an' say:
"'"Ben, you shorely are failin' in your intellects. Yere this is as
cold as ice; you'll give the old man a chill." "Final, however, the
water is declar'd right, an' then out comes a brace of niggers,
packin' my grandfather in a blanket, with the preacher preevail. in
over all as offishul floor-manager of the festiv'ties. That's how it
ends: my grandfather is baptized an' gets religion in his eighty-
first year, A. D.; an' two days later he sets in his chips, shoves
his cha'r back an' goes shoutin' home.
"'"Be I certain of heaven?" he says to the preacher, when he's down
to the turn. "Be I winner accordin' to your rooles an' tenets?"
"'"Your place is provided," says the preacher, that a-way. "'"If
it's as good a place as old Kaintucky, they shorely ain't goin' to
have no fuss nor trouble with me, an' that's whatever!"'"
CHAPTER X.
How the Dumb Man Rode.
"Now, I don't reckon none," remarked the Old Cattleman with a
confidential air, "this yere dumb man' incident ever arises to my
mind ag'in, if it ain't for a gent whose trail I cuts while I'm
projectin' 'round the post-office for letters.
"It's this mornin', an' I'm gettin' letters, as I states, when I
catches this old party sort o' beamin' on me frank an' free, like
he's shore a friendly Injun. At last he sa'nters over an' remarks,
'Whatever is your callin', pard?' or some sech bluff as that. "I
sees he's good people fast enough; still I allows a small, brief
jolt mebby does hire good.
"'Well,' I says, intendin' to let him know I'm alive an' wakeful
that a-way; 'well, whatever my callin' is, at least it ain't been no
part of my bringin' up to let mere strangers stroll into the corral
an' cinch a saddle onto me for a conversational canter, jest because
they're disp'sitioned that a-way. "'No offence meant,' says the old
party, an' I observes he grows red an' ashamed plumb up to his white
ha'r. "Excuse me, amigo," I says, handin' out my paw, which he
seizes all radiant an' soon, "I ain't intendin' nothin' blunt, nor
to slam no door on better acquaintance, but when you--all ropes at
me about what you refers to as my "callin"' that time, I ain't jest
lookin' for a stranger to take sech interest in me, an' I'm startled
into bein' onp'lite. I tharfore tenders regrets, an', startin' all
over, states without reserve that I'm a cow man. "An' now,' I
retorts, further, "merely to play my hand out, an' not that I looks
to take a trick at all, let me ask what pursoots do you p'int out on
as a pretext for livin'?"
"'Me?' says the old party, stabbin' at his shirt bosom with his
thumb; 'me? I'm a scientist.' "'Which the news is exhilaratin' an'
interestin',' I says; 'shake ag'in! If thar's one thin-I regyards
high, it's a scientist. Whatever partic'lar wagon-track do you-all
follow off, may I ask?' "I
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