“NUTTIN’ BUT DE TRUT’”
WITH California Bill Fox leading--Shanty Madge beside him on the
seat--the two wagons slowly made the grilling grade up the mountain
toward Ragtown. Beside Cole of Spyglass Mountain rode one who would
have fitted in nicely as “the horrible example” at a temperance
lecture--The Whimperer.
His grotesque face was twisted with remorse and suffering this morning,
and he looked as if he had been on the rack of torture. His artificial
scar was livid, as always, and about it, as always, grew the scrub
jungle of unsightly beard.
For a long time as Joshua’s four mules strained upward no word passed
between him and his one-time jocker. The tramp’s bottle was not quite
empty, but, a wise and experienced general in his constant war with
booze, The Whimperer took the remaining contents in widely separated
doses, for Ragtown was still many tiresome miles away. But finally,
after a nerve-renewing dose, the John Yegg began to croak.
“Jack,” he said, “youse ’n’ me’ve had our little dif’rences, maybe, in
de past, but we better let de dead bury dere dead--wot?”
“Go ahead,” invited Joshua. “Get it off your chest, Whimp.”
The tramp sighed wearily, took another dose, held the bottle before his
crooked eyes and surveyed the lowered contents with a look of agony,
and took the proverbial bull by its proverbial horns.
“Jack, it’s like dis here: I always liked youse, an’--”
“Lay off that stuff,” growled Joshua. “Shoot the piece!”
“Well den, it’s like dis here, as I said w’en youse interrupted me:
Youse savvy Slim Wolfgang?”
“Yes, I know him.”
“Course youse do. Well, Jack, dis here big Slim Wolfgang he’s a no-good
son-of-a-gun--no foolin’. W’en I foist met up wid dat plug I t’o’t he
was all to de _bueno_, but nuttin’ doin’. Jack, dat boid is nuttin’ but
a dirty crook.”
“Yes?”
“Well, dat’s dat, den. Now, Jack, I never stole yer look-see--”
“Who accused you?”
“Well--now--I t’o’t maybe, seein’ youse didn’t savvy who did glom ’er,
dat maybe youse t’o’t I did.”
“Look here, Whimperer,” said Joshua sternly, “you get down to business
or get off and walk. I know you stole my telescope, so that ends it.
Now tell your story and quit beating about the bush. I’m in no humor
to monkey with you this morning. If I make you get off and walk you’ll
suffer all the tortures of the damned before you reach Ragtown. Now
come through--and tell the truth--or hit the gravel.”
“Jack, youse wouldn’t do dat to an old pal like--”
“Old pal be damned! Come across, or off you go!”
The Whimperer, pondered, reached for his bottle, thought better of it,
and relaxed with a sigh of misery.
“Well, here she is, den,” he began. “An’ I’m givin’ it to youse
straight, de whole trut’ an’ nuttin’ but de trut’--swelpmeGawd!
“Jack, I did swipe de look-see, an’ I peddled ’er for a hunnerd bucks.”
Cole of Spyglass Mountain groaned aloud.
“An’ dat’s how come it dis big Slim Wolfgang lost youse--see? I beat it
an’ lost de bot’ o’ youse togedder-- See?”
“What d’ye mean by that?”
“Well, dis Slim Wolfgang, I know um ever since he come from de kid-pen,
back East somew’eres--w’ere de bot’ o’ youse was in stir togedder--see?
Dat is, I meets um a little after dey sprung um, an’ he was on de road,
a tramp like me. An’ I snared um f’r me road-kid, an’ him an’ me beat
it a lot togedder.”
Then The Whimperer went on to tell, in his rambling, haphazard way, how
Slim Wolfgang had trailed Joshua out of Hathaway, had chanced to meet
him--The Whimperer--on the road, and had hired him to help in keeping
watch on the amateur hobo. It had been quite easy thus to keep Joshua
always under surveillance; and at last Joshua realized why it had been
so difficult to evade The Whimperer.
“But he wouldn’t spring it wot it was all about,” the tramp complained.
“An’ dough he had a roll dat woulda choked a horse, he wouldn’t pungle
up enough. He jes’ kep’ promisin’ an’ promisin’ dat I’d get mine
someday in a lump, an’ he wouldn’t spring de dope. So as t’ings didn’t
look good to me, I swipes de look-see w’en youse tol’ me wot she was
wort’--an’ I trun up de job. To dis day, Jack, I don’t savvy w’y Slim
Wolfgang keeps on yer trail.”
“Well,” said Joshua, after long reflection, “how does it come that you
and Slim are together again at Ragtown? Are you still working for him
at watching me?”
“I am, Jack--dat’s de point. I was down in Louisiany in a jungle camp
long after I’d ditched youse, and all of a sudden in comes dis here big
Slim Wolfgang an’ grabs me by de t’roat. He pretty near choked de life
outa me, and I’m gonta get um f’r dat one o’ dese here days. But dat’s
neider here der dere. De big point is dat he says he’s got track o’
youse ag’in, an’ knows w’ere youse’re at An’ he says he’ll still gi’me
a chanct to make dat big piece o’ money if I’ll go wid um to Ragtown,
out in Cal, an’ keep me eyes on youse. He don’t wanta stick aroun’
Ragtown--see? Back in Hat’away he’s got a swell dame--see?--and nuttin’
doin’ f’r her in de Golden West. So Slim he wants de kale dat he’ll get
f’r keepin’ his lamps on youse, but he don’t wanta do de woik. Get me?
So he hires me ag’in, an’ slips me a piece o’ jack.
“Well, we beats it West togedder on de cushions--see? An’ we go to
Ragtown. An’ youse’re woikin’ f’r Demarest, Spruce an’ Tillou. So Slim
he’s gonta leave me dere to lamp youse an’ write um ever’ now an’ den
w’edder youse’re stickin’ er not. An’ he was gonta beat it back to his
jane until he saw wot good pickin’s dere was at Ragtown. Slim’s a good
stud-dealer, an’ de railroad stiffs had a lotta jack. He didn’t know
it was gonta be like dat w’en we started from Louisiany. So he wires
his jane wot a good field dere is at Ragtown f’r him an’ a pretty, wise
dame like she is, an’ she gets hep to herself an’ beats it out. She’s
one o’ de dancehall goils at De Golden Eagle, w’ere Slim deals stud
an’ c’n keep his eye on her. Dey’re grabbin’ off de jack, de bot’ of
’em--believe me! So he’s dere pipin’ youse off, an’-- Well, he tied
de can to me, de no-good son-of-a-gun! I’ll get um someday, Jack--no
foolin’! An’ dere I was broke, an’ him refusin’ to pungle up any more
jack. An’ w’en I tried de skeleton dance at Ragtown to get me a little
piece o’ coin f’r meself, an’ youse lamped me an’ chased me t’rough
Slim’s tent, de no-good son-of-a-gun beat me up somet’in’ fierce f’r
woikin’ me graft on de street an’ gettin’ caught. So I’m off um f’r
life. He t’inks he’s got me buffaloed, but I ain’t scared of um--so I’m
springin’ wot I know on youse. An’ dat’s all, except dat I’m broke an’
need a piece o’ change. If youse’ll slip me a hundred bucks, Joshua,
I’ll beat it outa de country. I was on me way w’en I was at Spur. But
dere was a big cowpunch in dere blowin’ to de gang, an’ I gets cuckoo
an’ t’inks I’ll make it back an’ slip youse wot I know--an’ maybe
youse’ll treat me right f’r ole-times’ sake. Dere she is, Jack.”
“Now let me get all this straight,” mused Joshua. “In the first place,
how did Slim Wolfgang get track of me again?”
“Dat I can’t say--he wouldn’t spring it.”
“Well, then, how did he get track of you in Louisiana?”
“Dat would be easy, Tony--”
“Don’t call me that!”
“Well, seein’s I’m wot youse might call a prominent character on de
road, any ole-time yegg could tell Slim about w’ere to fin’ me. An’
he’d ast dis one an’ dat one as he rambled along, an’ pretty soon he’d
meet up wid a yegg who could steer um right to me.”
“Yes, that’s true,” Joshua agreed. “But why does Slim Wolfgang want to
keep in touch with me?”
“Didn’t I tell youse he wouldn’t tell me dat? But I’m tellin’ youse
he’s gettin’ paid f’r it, Jack; an’ one o’ dese days, he tol’ me, he’s
gonta get a big fat roll f’r wot he’s done. Dat’s wot I was supposed to
wait for. He’d a beat me outa mine, I’m bettin’!”
“When?”
“I can’t tell youse dat.”
Joshua sat looking at the tails of his wheelers for a long time, then
suddenly he burst out laughing. The thought that anybody on earth would
pay anybody else to trail _him_ over the country struck him as about
the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. But The Whimperer’s story
had the ring of truth.
“Did Slim Wolfgang shoot me?” Joshua fired at the yegg so suddenly that
he jumped with surprise.
“Well--now--er--”
“Tell me!”
“Jack, I--”
“Spit it out, damn you, or I’ll--”
The fingers that threatened The Whimperer’s prickly throat had clasped
a striking hammer for several months, and the bare brown arm back of
them looked to the old tramp like a copper cylinder, bulged in two
places by internal explosions.
“He--he done it, Jack. He tried to croak youse!”
“Were you along?”
“No. But I know he done it. He had a thoity-thoity rifle in his tent
f’r a week before it happened, an’ den afterwards she wasn’t dere no
more. He’d borried it to hunt deer wid, he said.”
“Why does he want to kill me?”
“So’s his job’ll be over an’ he c’n get de jack dat’s comin’ to um.
It’s up to um to keep youse put, it looks like, till a coitain time.
Den he’ll get de kale. Well, if youse’re croaked, youse’re put, ain’t
youse? No foolin’! An’ Slim an’ his jane have got a bunch o’ coin on
’em now dat dey made at Ragtown rollin’ de suckers. De moll wants to
beat it East an’ get herself some furs an’ di’mon’s an’ t’ings. An’
Slim an’ me’s on de outs--see?--so no one c’n watch youse but him. An’
he’s sick of his job. But now dat he’s tried to croak youse he’s scared
to let any one else in on de deal. It’s one t’ing to hire a guy to lamp
anudder one, an’ anudder t’ing to hire um to have anyt’ing to do wid
murder. An’ anudder t’ing: Since youse got dat big jack from Demarest,
Spruce an’ Tillou, he’s scared youse’ll be beatin’ it East yerself
any day. He don’t savvy wot youse’re gonta do wid dat coin, an’ he’s
worried.”
“The idea, then,” remarked Joshua, “seems to be to prevent me from
going East.”
“Dat’s de way I dope her out, Jack.”
“Then I’ll be perverse and go East and find out what it’s all about,”
Joshua declared.
“Take me wid youse, ol’-timer!” pleaded The Whimperer. “I c’n steer
youse to Slim’s hangouts back dere, an’ maybe de bot’ of us put
togedder c’n get de dope. I’m scared to hang aroun’ now dat I’ve sprung
meself. Dat Slim Wolfgang’s a killer. Youse won’t squeal on me, will
youse, Jack?”
“I’ll protect you,” Joshua promised. “And we’ll call it square between
you and me regarding the theft of the telescope. But there it must end.
I can’t afford to take you East.”
“Den slip me a little piece o’ jack, an’ I’ll hit de stage out o’
Ragtown to-morrow an’ take to de road again. Honest, Jack, I’m scared
o’ dat plug!”
“I thought you told me that you weren’t.”
“Well I am an’ I ain’t--see? I fight in de open, meself. He’s a dago
fighter, dat no-good son-of-a-gun! Dat’s w’y I’m scared of um--see? Get
me, Jack?”
“Yes, I get you, Whimp. I’ve had you for many moons. Now have you told
me all you know?”
“Dere’s jes’ one t’ing more,” replied the John Yegg. “But before I
spring her, won’t youse promise to slip me--”
“I’ll give you ten bucks,” said Joshua, “and not one cent more. That’ll
get you to Spur and give you two-fifty to go on the road with. You’ve
traveled a thousand miles on less.”
“But, Jack--”
“Shut up! I know you! Not another penny. Take it or leave it--and I’ll
make you tell me everything you know about this business whether you
accept or decline.”
“Jack, youse’re crool!” the panhandler reproached.
“I’m worse than that,” Joshua told him, and extended a ten-dollar bill.
With a sigh of resignation the tramp clutched it in his talons.
“This is stage day,” Joshua reminded him. “The stage will pass us about
ten o’clock, I imagine. Then you can swing off and get aboard.”
“But I’ll get de rats before I get to Spur,” wailed The Whimperer. “I
gotta go on to Ragtown an’--”
“I’ve a pint flask under the seat cushion,” Joshua told him. “It’s
yours when we sight the stage. Now get busy and tell me the whole of
it.”
“Jack, gi’me dat flask now an’--”
“Say, you talk and talk fast or--” Once more those long brown fingers
writhed in and out, and The Whimperer began speaking rapidly.
“Well, dere ain’t much more to tell. But keep yer eye on dat boid dey
call Lee Sweet, Jack--de cowpunch. Watch dat boid, I’m tellin’ youse. I
seen Slim let dat guy get away with a stack o’ De Golden Eagle’s money
apoipoise. I seen Slim’s whole card, an’ Slim knew as well as I did dat
he had dis Lee Sweet beat. But he lets Sweet take de pot, an’ after dat
dey’re t’ick as mud. Dat’s dat.
“An’ de only udder t’ing is dis here: Slim’s been tellin’ all over
Ragtown dat youse was Number Fifty-six Thoity-five in a kid-pen back
East, an’ tryin’ to make out youse’re a bad actor all aroun’--see? An’
ever’ time dis big Lee Sweet gets a snoot-full in De Silver Dollar he
tells de worl’ he’s gonta get youse. Den Slim Wolfgang he grins. Dat’s
all, Jack. Honest to Gawd! An’ f’r de sake of de good ole times de bot’
of us had togedder I hope youse win!”
“Thanks,” drawled Joshua in mock politeness.
Two hours later they sighted the stage from Ragtown to Spur winding
about the hairpin curves above them. And half an hour later The
Whimperer eagerly clutched the flask of snakebite remedy, and the weird
old John Yegg boarded the stage and became only a bitter memory in the
life of Cole of Spyglass Mountain.