The second shipment of the Diamond H cattle had reached Willcox a little
after noon, and Holy lingered at the Cowboys' Rest with Buckboard Bill,
while Bronco and Roarer proceeded up the street. They were not visible
when Holy, hastening through the corral gate, encountered Montgomery
Walton. The latter's manner was so cordial that Holy halted in surprise.
Montgomery Walton, the most unpopular man in Southern Arizona, was
almost seventy years old, though as alert as a man of forty. His white,
flowing hair and patriarchal beard were contradicted emphatically by
ferret-like face and shifty eyes, while his oily smile exposed yellowed
tusks. He owned a fairly good-sized herd of cattle that were
preternaturally prolific, as his cows were very often seen with twin
calves following them. Walton discouraged calls from other cattle men,
and lived alone except for a half-witted Mexican--Loco.
To the disgust as well as amazement of Holy, Walton ambled along at his
side, and finally, tugging at the cowboy's blue flannel sleeve, drew him
to a bench on the edge of the sidewalk. Then he produced a letter,
extracted a small photograph and handed it to Holy.
"What do you think about her?" asked Walton with a smirk, as he pressed
more confidentially towards the cowpuncher.
Holy studied the picture of a sweet-faced girl.
"Why!" he ejaculated enthusiastically, "She's a regular peacherina. Who
is she?"
Walton replaced the picture as he said, "She's coming on the west-bound
train today and we're going to be married at once."
"Gee! You sly old dog!" commented Holy jocularly, while he wondered if
the picture really looked like the girl, and if so, why she was going to
marry a man like old Walton. Then an inspiration dawned upon him, and he
turned to Walton, clapping him heartily on the shoulder.
"Well! Why shouldn't you get married, I'd like to know?" he demanded as
though that privileged had been questioned by some invisible individual.
"A man's age ain't to be reckoned by his years. No, sirree! I've seed
some men who was ready to die of old age when they was twenty-five, and
I've seed others that was young when they'd past eighty. Now, no one
would ever think you was a day over forty, Walton, if it wasn't for that
air white hair and beard of yourn."
Walton preened foolishly and tried to look incredulous, as he replied,
"Do you really think so, Holy?"
"Sure thing!" asserted the other.
He looked contemplatively at Walton, then leaned closer and whispered,
"Say, Walton, why don't you get Dunning to dye your hair and beard
before the girl gets here. It'll make a difference of thirty years in
your looks."
Walton hesitated. "Maybe I will," he temporized. "You see, I sent her a
picture of myself, but it was taken when I was about twenty-five. So I
was a bit worried how she would act when she found I was not so young as
she expected. I hadn't thought of getting my hair dyed, though. It's a
good suggestion, I think."
"You bet it is!" Holy waxed enthusiastic. "Women is queer critters, an'
a young and pretty woman likes the man she marries to be somewhar near
her own age. She don't want to risk other women thinkin' that she had to
go to an Ol' Man's Home and kidnap a husband. You jest take my advice,
Walton, an' have a heart to heart talk with Dunning right away."
"I'll think about it," evaded Walton, as Holy with congratulations,
parted from him, knowing Bronco and Roarer could be located behind the
swinging doors that led to the bar-room of the Willcox Hotel.
Holy's smile expanded to a broad grin as he recognized his friends at
the end of the room and made his way to them.
"Thar's somethin' interestin' goin' to be cut loose if you fellows will
chip in," he announced confidentially. "Now, don't waste time talkin' or
askin' fool questions. You jest come along with me down to Dunning's and
fix it up with him. We ain't got no time to lose."
Before he had finished speaking, he was half-way to the door--the other
two close at his heels. Holy vouchsafed no explanations for his
mysterious actions. Hurrying down the street they entered a small
barber-shop which was unoccupied save for the owner. Dunning was the
only barber in Willcox. He was an autocrat.
A chair, facing the wall on which was a fly-specked mirror, a row of
wooden seats, and a conspicuous placard bearing the pleasant, but
misleading fiction, "Fresh towel for each customer," constituted the
furnishings of the place. Dunning's hair shone glossy brown; his
moustache curled tightly as a pug dog's tail, a gorgeous red four-in
hand, tight, grey trousers with broad black stripes made him brilliantly
conspicuous among the citizens of Willcox. Between shaves and haircuts
the barber delved into sentimental fiction.
With reluctance he put aside a yellow-backed novel and rose leisurely to
his feet. His speculative survey was interrupted by Holy.
"Say, Dunning, you know ol' man Walton," he began.
"Lived round here fifteen years, never had his hair nor beard cut onct;"
catalogued Dunning. "So derned stingy that he'd skin a flea to get its
hide and tallow!"
"Mebbe you'll git a chanct at him today;" encouraged Holy. "He's goin'
to git married!"
The others snorted in surprise, and Bronco announced contemptuously,
"There ain't a bunch of calico in Arizona that would let him near enough
to rope her, let alone carry his brand."
"Oh, you make me tired," Holy retorted. "Who said he was workin' any
Arizona range? The girl's comin' from the East on today's train. He
showed me her picture. I give him a fill about his white hair makin' him
look old, and said he'd oughter get Dunning to fix him up. Say!--he
swallered it like a rattlesnake swallers a gopher."
"She must be locoed," growled Bronco, suspiciously.
"I own I ain't been dazzled by the charm that draws her," acknowledged
Holy, "but what interests me is that the Diamond H owes ol' Walton for a
heap of things he ain't done. Say, Dunning, there's twenty-five pesoes
for you, if you fix him good and proper. I got an idee--but you may have
to go out of town for a few days."
"That's all right. Business ain't pressing. I figured on goin' out
prospecting for a couple of weeks, anyhow. If any of the boys wants a
hair-cut they can wait till I get back."
"Say Dunning, stay away three weeks," begged Bronco. "I'll make it
thirty dollars if you do."
It was not solicitude for Dunning's safety that prompted this request,
but Bronco, remembering that Dunning was the only barber, had a vision
of the entire male population of Willcox sporting Rip Van Winklish hair,
unless their flowing locks were mutilated by connubial scissors during
Dunning's absence.
"Thirty goes," agreed Dunning. "Now, what is it you boys want done?"
Holy explained, interrupted by bursts of laughter from Bronco and
Roarer, and finally, Dunning, with a grin, ended the consultation by
saying, "You fellers get him in here and I'll earn that thirty."