“Mister, would you mind telling me who thought you’d be safer in jail?”
“Dynamite Carson,” says he. “He’s in Deer Lodge Prison now. Didn’t you
know about it, Dobie?”
“Who are you?” I asks. “I’d like to know that much.”
“Me?” he sighs and rubs his head. “I’m Pete McCoy, a U. P. detective.”
Well, Hank, there ain’t no news. You can see what chance a married man
has when his relatives by marriage cross him that way, can’t you? Just
then my wife comes to the door. She looks at me and then says—
“Dobie, what are you doing here?”
“Darling,” says I, “I’m just through wiping out a mistake. That stage
was never stolen, which will please you to know.”
“I knew it all the time, Dobie,” says she. “Uncle thought it would be a
good lesson to you; so we just let you worry about it. Is that all
you’ve found out?”
Hank, it’s a long worm that won’t turn. The thought surges through my
brain that I’ve been double-crossed by all my relatives by marriage, and
it makes me sore.
“No, that ain’t all I’ve found out,” says I. I points at the detective
and says, “Emmeline, you gets your hope—I’ve found a man I can whip.”
Well, Hank, there ain’t no news, as I said before. That bronc of Jim
Scott’s pulled off his bridle and came home that night, and the posse
wasn’t after me at all, Hank. It was just a bunch of punchers who
happened to be coming to town and seen that stage anchored on a
sand-bar; so they brought it in with them. Harmony is going to have a
visit from me as soon as I get able to see, and I’ll ask him to explain
why he mentioned a posse to me.
I’m going to take the job as barn-boss for Uncle Gabe. He said that a
tired business-man ought to have a chance to recuperate and this
employment will give my brain a rest. He also said that I was one man in
the country that could be trusted with horses so long as I’ve got an
interest in them.
Right now I ain’t in shape to do much tending to horses, as I can’t see
no distance. Regards to all the boys. Emmeline sends love.
Very sincerely and truly yours,
Dobie Dalton, Barn-boss.
P. S. Hank, I forgot to tell you that I met that detective later on.
Just the same I licked him the first time, Hank, and was man enough to
carry him all the way to the jail. I was mad that time, Hank, and I can
only fight when I’m mad, and maybe I wasn’t mad enough at him the last
time. Aunt Phœbe says we’ll all get our rewards in heaven, but I’ll say
this much to you, Hank: if there’s any railroad detectives, up there,
I’m sure going to pass up any spirit that looks like a outlaw—or a
relative by marriage.
[Transcriber’s Note: New original cover art included with this eBook
is granted to the public domain.
This story appeared in Adventure Magazine, June 18, 1919. It is believed
to be in the public domain in the United States; copyright status may
differ in other countries.]