THE SHERIFF SETTLES A CONJUGAL DISPUTE
About a year after the killing of Bud Walton, the sheriff was engaged
one day in a game of pitch in the Fashion. Order in Badger had been
excellent of late. This had not been accomplished by moral suasion,
although that had been a factor, but by stern and often fearless
performance of duty in quelling disorders. Johnson's reputation had
grown apace. He always knew the precise moment to strike, which
effectually nipped many threatening feuds.
On this day, Sellers Hardin stopped his stage in front of the Fashion
and inquired for the sheriff.
"Say, Lafe," he said, "there's a guy over to the Cowboys' Rest bawling
his wife out powerful strong. I'd sure have smeared the road with that
gen'l'man, only it weren't my business. Hey? Yes, I left 'em over there.
They come off that El Paso train, the two of 'em."
"I'll step across," said the sheriff.
He threw down his cards and walked over to the rival saloon. The
landlord, who had long forgiven the blow on the head and was now a
staunch Johnson man, nodded at him and paused in his work of polishing
glasses to point to the door of a rear room with the towel. Inside, a
loud voice was raised in maudlin harangue.
"You come along now. I'll show you. You bet we'll stay here. What? I'll
learn you who's boss right now. Didn't I send you your fare? Huh? And
you done come ahead on the jump. But you're too good for me now all of a
sudden, ain't you? I'll--"
Lafe found a man denouncing a young woman. She sat near the window, and
showed no fear as she watched him storm up and down the floor, pouring
out reproaches and abuse. She was pale, but perfectly collected, and she
rested her chin in her palm, regarding her companion with a species of
impersonal speculation. He was a florid, youthful person of very baggy
clothes and with his hair parted in the middle. The shoulders of his
coat projected beyond his real shoulders to an astonishing width, and he
wore peg-top trousers; also, his shoes had beautiful sloping heels and
flowing bows. An intense, nervous irritability kept his arms jerking
about. She listened placidly.
"If you don't quit your fooling and come along with me--" he was saying,
when she cautioned: "There's somebody behind you." He wheeled and beheld
the sheriff.
"What's the trouble here?" Lafe asked.
"None of your business. That's what. When we want any help in a fam'ly
dispute, we'll send for you."
The sheriff, by way of answer, selected a chair and placed his hat
carefully on the floor.
"You're drunk," he said, with the utmost good-nature. "Let's be
friendly, now, and get this thing settled."
Beyond a faint curiosity, the girl exhibited no interest in his arrival,
but her companion planted himself in front of Johnson, with his feet
wide apart, and made a strong effort to look threatening.
"Well, I'll be doggoned," he said. "Who're you, anyway? What do you
think you're doing, butting into my private affairs this way? Ain't a
man boss of his own wife? Ain't I got any rights? You get out now,
before I throw you out."
"This here party," Lafe said to her in a confidential aside, "is fixing
to throw me into the road. He sure will, too. You can see that sticking
out all over him. What do you want that I should do?"
"You don't look very scared."
"No, ma'am. I always try to hide my feelings. Do you reckon you can
handle him yourself, or will I take him along?"
"Say, you! You pay attention to--"
"Where'll you take him?" she asked.
"Look a-here, you two--"
"We've got a nice, peaceful lockup, where the rats is friendly,"
answered the sheriff. "He won't be lonely. There's a Mexican there
right now, drunker'n he is."
She shrugged her shoulders and looked out of the window. "Suit
yourself," she said.
"Say," cried the gentleman of the peg-tops, "ain't I got anything to say
in this? You're getting too gay, you two. Do you hear? Ain't a man got
any rights in this country? I can run my wife alone, can't I?"
"Does this here party belong to you, ma'am? Are you his wife?"
"No."
"What? You ain't? You sit there and say you ain't my wife? Why--"
"I married him, but I'm not his wife."
"Sure," said the sheriff, "I see. I don't blame you, ma'am." He put on
his hat. The other was watching him doubtfully.
"You come along with me," said Lafe.
"Come along, my foot. What do you think you are, anyway?"
"That's all right. I'm sheriff here. And if I wasn't, I'd take you
along. It's one of the rules of this here town that a man can't talk to
his wife like you done. Understand? Get a-going, now. I'm liable to get
peevish directly."
Still he hesitated. Lafe was growing angry. His rage always seemed
sudden, but this was by design. In reality it was the release of
long-pent and controlled passion.
Said the sheriff: "Hurry up, Harris."
"My name ain't Harris. It's Jackson."
"Jackson or Harris, it's all the same to me. You were Harris when me and
Buf'lo Jim done run you out of Cananea. I reckon you ain't forgot that,
have you?"
A quick glimmer of recognition showed that Mr. Harris had not. He
sobered with amazing celerity.
"Where're we going?" he asked.
"You get moving first," said the sheriff, "and then we'll figure on
that."
"I won't go," was the emphatic rejoinder. "No, sir; not me. Tell him to
leave us alone, Hetty. I'm within my rights. And you're framing up
something. I can tell."
"Say, Harris, you're fixing to get hurt awful bad." The sheriff's air
was regretful. He stepped to the door and held it open, nodding at
Jackson. That young man gave him a swift look and banged his hat down
over his curling bang. Without even a word to the girl, who was
regarding the tableau much as a spectator from a seat in the stalls, he
walked out. The sheriff followed. Within a minute he stuck his head
inside again to say: "I'll be back right away." She made no response.
The two walked out to the residence of Dutch Annie, Johnson a yard in
advance.
Dutch Annie said: "Don't you bring that rat in here, Mr. Johnson."
She was a forceful woman, of startling precision of speech. Annie would
not open the door, but surveyed the abject Harris through a crack about
two inches wide. The sheriff kept the toe of his boot inside, to prevent
Dutch Annie slamming it against them.
"I'm not here to make trouble for you, Annie," he hastened to say, "but
just take a look at this feller. Ain't you seen him before?"
"Huh! I reckon so. He done married Sarah last year and run off and left
her on my hands. Hush--best to get away quiet. If she hears he's here,
there'll be no holding of Sarah."
"That's all," said Lafe, and the door banged in their faces.
"Now," he said to Harris, "you hit for foreign shores. I start shooting
at forty. Quick."
This does not pretend to be an exact reproduction of the sheriff's
speech, because he had an honest man's loathing and contempt for this
kind of male. But it is the gist of his words. The procurer made the
first hundred yards in fifteen seconds flat, so the sheriff speeded his
count, lest he get out of range. The satisfaction was accorded him of
dusting Jackson's heels as he ran, and Lafe repaired to the Cowboys'
Rest in a better frame of mind.
"She ain't here," the landlord told him. "She's done gone."
The sheriff found her at the Fashion. "You reckon you're a married
woman, I take it, ma'am?'" he inquired cheerily.
"I married him in El Paso. Yes, I had to. He'd paid my fare. Yes, I do."
"Well, you ain't," said Lafe. "He's got one wife already that I know of,
that fine gen'l'man, and probably bunches more, besides."
She thought this over for a minute. There was no surprise; neither was
there any of the joy he had anticipated; and no sign of reaction or
tears.