“Where’s the rest uh the Three Disgraces?” he asks.
“Gone to town.”
“Well, you might as well stay with me, Hen. No use uh both of us bein’
lonesome.”
The next mornin’ I slips Muley uh li’l breakfast, and he shore is one
peevish person.
“Yore uh ---- of uh friend!” sez he. “I been keepin’ awake all night
to hear what the sheriff has to say. Dog-gone yuh, Hen, did yuh ever
stop to think that I’m layin’ here on my back in the dust? Every time
I moves I chokes to death to keep from sneezin’.”
“Muley,” sez I, “If yore goin’ to be uh outlaw yuh shore got to put up
with uh li’l discomfort. I’m lookin’ fer the posse to show up any ol’
time. The sheriff was here all night and I shore had uh hard time to
keep him away from here.”
“This is the last day, Hen,” he pronounces. “I’d jist as soon hang as
to be buried alive thisaway. Also you got uh lot uh nerve to tell ol’
Telescope that he could sell that saddle. Some sweet day I’m----”
“Duck!” I yips in his fat face, as I hears voices outside.
Muley ducks into the dirt and I shoves the nails down with my heels,
sets uh chair careless-like over the board, and then occupies the bunk.
Some horses ambles up to the door and in comes two people. In the lead
is Sheriff McFee and behind him comes Doughgod Smith.
“Howdy, Hen,” sez McFee, settin’ down on the other bunk.
Doughgod nods and sets down on the chair.
“How’s every li’l thing at the Cross-J?” asks the sheriff, and I informs
him that everything is fine as frog-hair.
“I’m lookin’ fer Muley Bowles,” sez McFee.
I hears the bunk-house settle about six inches, and jist then Telescope
comes in.
“Hello, Sheriff,” greets Telescope, with uh wide grin. “What’s the good
word?”
“So, so, Telescope. Where’s Muley?”
“What do yuh want Muley fer?” I asks.
McFee looks at Doughgod, and busts out laughin’.
“Haw! Haw! Haw! By cripes! This is the dangdest affair I ever went
out on. I feel shore that this is the first time that uh man had to
take uh sheriff along when he went to pay his debts. Doughgod opines
that he’s as honest as the day is long, and that he’s goin’ to pay
his honest debts if he has to hire uh posse to back him. Am I right
in my statements, Doughgod?”
“To uh gnat’s eyelash, Sheriff,” agrees Doughgod. “Bein’ as I aims to
take unto myself uh mate in wedlock next Wednesday night I wants to
start even with all men. I owe Muley this forty bucks and I want to
pay it to him. Sabe? I shore wants uh receipt, too.”
“Who in ---- are you goin’ to marry?” I asks, surprised-like.
“The new school-ma’am,” sez Doughgod, “and yuh could fry aigs on his
ears. Now about that forty dollars----”
Right under Doughgod the floor seems to rise right up with uh
splinterin’ crash, and Doughgod sprawls on his face on the floor. Comes
uh rippin’, tearin’ noise, and from the splintered floor emerges Muley.
His shirt is tore off, and he’s got uh scratch down his face, the same
uh which is paintin’ him like uh buck Piegan at uh ceremonial wau-wau.
He wabbles there fer uh moment, lookin’ us over in uh dazed sort of uh
way. Then he reaches over, picks up the astonished Doughgod and kisses
him tenderly on the forehead.
“There’s yore receipt, Doughgod,” sez he. “Keep the forty fer uh weddin’
present. It’s worth it to see yuh win over Telescope Tolliver.”
“Win over--me!” whoops Telescope. “Over you, yuh mean--you or Hen.”
“Yore crazy!” yelps Muley. “Me and Hen never went near her! We played
poker every night jist to give you uh free field.”
“Did yuh win?” asks Telescope.
“We did not,” I replies, sadly.
“Neither did I,” sez Telescope.
We all sets there and looks foolish at each other fer uh spell, and then
Telescope snorts--
“Honest to----”
“Doughgod!” sez Muley.
[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the First October Issue,
1917 of Adventure magazine.]