pleasantly engaged, an' to get even goes to simperin' an' talkin'
giggle-talk to Mart Jenkins, who's rid in from Rapid Run. Jenks is a
offensive numbskull who's wormed his way into soci'ty by lickin' all
the boys 'round his side of Gingham Mountain. At that, he's merely
tol'rated.
"'Seein' Sarah Ann philanderin' with Jenks, I lets go of Ten-spot
Mollie, who goes raspin' an' rollin' into a corner some abrupt, an'
sa'nters across to whar they're at. Leanin' over Sarah Ann's
off-shoulder, bein' the one furthest from that onmitigated Jenks, I
says, "Sweetheart, how can you waste time talkin' to this yere hooman
Sahara, whose intellects is that sterile they wouldn't raise
cow-pease?"
"'This makes Jenks oneasy, an' getting up, he reemarks, "Dick
Stallins, I'll be the all-firedest obleeged to you if you'll attend on
me to the foot of the hollow, an' bring your instrooments."
"'At this I explains that I ain't got my instrooments with me, havin'
left both rifle an' bowie in the dugout when I paddles over to the
dance.
"'Jenks makes a insultin' gesture, an' reetorts, "Don't crawl, Dick
Stallins. Borry old Bender's nine-inch bootcher, an' come with me."
"'To appease him I says I will, an' that I'll j'ine him at the before
named slaughter-ground in the flicker of a lamb's tail. Jenks stalks
off plumb satisfied, while I searches out Ben Hazlett, an' whispers
that Jenks is askin' for him some urgent, an' has gone down the trace
towards the foot of the hollow to look him up. Nacherally, my
diplom'cy in this yere behalf sends Ben cavortin' after Jenks; an'
this relieves me a heap, knowin' that all Jenks wants is a fight, an'
Ben'll do him jest as well as me.
"'Which them was shorely happy days!' he continyoos, settin' down the
bottle wharwith he's been encouragin' his faculties. 'Troo, every gent
has to sleep with his head in a iron kettle for fear of Injuns, an' a
hundred dollars is bigger'n a cord of wood, but life is plenty
blissful jest the same.'
"'Was you afraid of this yere Jenks?' asks Boggs.
"'No more'n if he's a streak of lightnin'. Only, I've got on a new
huntin' shirt, made of green blanket cloth, an' I ain't none strenuous
about havin' that gyarment all slashed up.
"'To proceed: After I dispatches Ben on the heels of Jenks that a-way
it occurs to me that mebby I'm sort o' tired with the labors of the
evenin', an' I'll find my dugout, ferry myse'f over to my own proper
wickyup, an' hit the hay for a snooze. I'm some hurried to the
concloosion by the way in which eevents begins to accumyoolate in my
immedyit vicin'ty. Bill Wheeler announces without a word of warnin'
that he's a flyin' alligator, besides advancin' the theery that Gene
Hemphill is about as deeserv'dly pop'lar as a abolitionist in South
Caroliny. I suspects that this attitoode of mind on Bill's part is
likely to provoke discussion, which suspicion is confirmed when Gene
knocks Bill down, an' boots him into the dooryard. Once in the open,
after a clout or two, Gene an' Bill goes to a clinch an' the fightin'
begins.
"'It ain't no time when the circumf'rence of trouble spreads. Bud
Ingalls makes a pass at me pers'nal, an' by way of reeprisal I smashes
a stewpan on him. Bud's head goes through the bottom, like the clown
through them paper hoops in a cirkus, the stewpan fittin' down 'round
his neck same as one of them Elizbethan ruffs. The stewpan ockyoopies
so much of Bud's attention that I gets impatient, an' so, tellin' him
I ain't got no time to wait, I leaves him strugglin' with that
yootensil, an' strolls off down to the Hawgthief whistlin' "Sandy
Land."
"'It's dark as the inside of a cow, an' somehow I misses the dugout;
but bein' stubborn, an' plumb sot about gettin' home, I wades in an'
begins to swim. The old Hawgthief is bank full, but I'd have made
t'other side all right if it ain't that, as I swims out from onder the
overhangin' branch of a tree, somethin' drops into the water behind
me, an' comes snarlin' an' splashin' an' spittin' along in pursoote. I
don't pay much heed at the jump, but when it claws off my nigh
moccasin, leavin' a inch-deep gash in my heel, I glances back an'
perceives by the two green eyes that I've become an object of
comsoomin' int'rest to a pa'nter, or what you-all out yere calls a
mountain lion, an' we-uns back in Tennessee a catamount.'
"'But a panther won't swim,' reemonstrates Tutt.
"'Arizona catamounts won't,' returns old Stallins, 'thar bein' no
rivers to speak of. But in Tennessee, whar thar's rivers to waste,
them cats takes to the water like so many muskrats.
"'When I finds that thar's nothin' doggin' me but a catamount, I heads
all casyooal for whar a tree's done been lodged midstream, merely
flingin' the reemark over my shoulder to the catamount that, if he
keeps on annoyin' me, he'll about pick up the makin's of a maulin'.
As I crawls out on the bole of the lodged tree, I can hear the
catamount sniggerin', same as if he's laughin' me to scorn, an' this
yere insultin' contoomely half-way makes me mad. Which I ain't in the
habit of bein' took lightly by no catamount.
"'Drawin' myse'f out o' the water, I straddles the bole of my tree,
an' organizes for the catamount, who's already crawlin' after me.
T'arin' off a convenient bough the thickness of your laig, I arranges
myse'f as a reeception committee for visitin' catamounts, an' by way
of beginnin' confers on my partic'lar anamile sech a bat over the
snout that he falls back into the drink, an' starts to swimmin' fancy
an' goin' 'round in circles, same as if his funny-bone's been teched.
"'Every time he gets in reach I jabs him in the eye with the splinter
end of the bough, an' at last he grows that disgusted at these
formal'ties he swims off to the bank. Thar he camps down on his
ha'nches, an' glares green-eyed at me across the ragin' flood.
"'Shore, I could have raised the long yell for he'p, but am withheld
by foolish pride. Besides, I can hear Ben an' Jenks tusslin' an'
gruntin' an' carryin' on over in the mouth of the hollow, as they
kyarves into each other with their knives, an' don't want to distract
their attention.
"'As I sets camped thar on my lodged tree, an' the catamount is
planted on the bank, I hears the lippin' splash of a paddle, an' then
a voice which sounds like a chime of bells floats across to ask, "Dick
Stallins, you ornery runnigate, wharever be you?"
"'It's my Sarah Ann, whose love, gettin' the upper hand of maidenly
reeserve, has sent her projectin' 'round in search of me. She's in my
dugout.
"'The catamount identifies her as soon as me; an' thinkin' she ought
to be easy, he slides into the water ag'in an' starts for the
boat. It's that dark I ain't shore of his deesigns ontil I sees
him reach up, tip the dugout over, an' set Sarah Ann to wallowin' in
the rushin' torrent. The dugout upsets on the catamount, an' this so
confooses him that, by the time he's got his bearin's, Sarah Ann's
been swept down to my tree, an' I've lifted her to a seat by my
side. The catamount don't try to lay siege to our p'sition,
recognizing it as impregnable, but paddles back to the shore an'
goes into watchful camp as prior.
"'For myse'f, I'm so elevated with love an' affection at havin' Sarah
Ann with me, I dismisses the catamount as a dead issue, an' as sech
beneath contempt, an' by way of mollifyin' Sarah Ann's feelin's, cuts
loose an' kisses her a gross or two of times, an' each like the crack
of a bull-whacker's whip.
"'Old Bender hears them caresses plumb up to his house--as well he
may, they're that onreeserved an' earnest--an' thinks it's some one
shootin' a rifle. It has the effect of bringin' out the old Spartan
with his Hawkins; an' the first word of it that reaches me an' Sarah
Ann is him, Marm Bender an' the whole b'ilin' of folks is down thar on
the bank, tryin' to make out in the gen'ral dimness whatever be we-all
lovers doin' out thar in the middle of the Hawgthief on a snag.
"'They don't deetect my catamount none, which sagacious feline slinks
off into the shadows covered with confoosion; all they sees is us. An'
the spectacle certainly excites old Bender. "Gen'ral Jackson fit the
Injuns!" he exclaims, as all of a sudden a thought strikes him; "that
measly excoose for a Union Democrat out thar is seekin' to eelope with
our Sarah Ann."
"'The old murderer starts to get a bead on me with the Hawkins.
"Father," yells Marm Bender, pullin' at his sleeve, "you shore must be
mistook."
"'Old Bender won't have it. "Maw," he returns, strivin' to disengage
himse'f, "I was never mistook about nothin' in my life but once, an'
that's when I shifts from baldface whiskey to hard cider on a
temp'rance argyooment. Let me go, woman, till I drill the miscreant
an' wash the stain from our fam'ly honor."
"'Before the old hom'cide can get to launderin' the fam'ly honor in my
blood, however, Sarah Ann has interposed. "Don't go to blazing away at
my Dickey, pop," she sings out, "or I'll shore burn every improvement
you got, an' leave you an' maw an' me roofless in the midst of the
wilderness."
"'This goes a long way towards soberin' down old Bender, because he
knows my Sarah Ann's the Cumberland hollyhock to put them menaces into
execootion. He lowers the muzzle of his old 8-squar', an' allows if I
promises to marry the girl I can swim ashore an' be forgiven.
"'Thus the matter ends mighty amic'ble. We'all goes trackin' up to the
house, a preacher is rushed to the scene from Pineknot, an' them
nuptials between Sarah Ann an' me is sol'mnized. Shore, Jenks an' Ben
is thar. They're found by a committee of their friends scattered about
at the foot of the hollow, an' is collected an' brought up to the
weddin' in blankets. Dave Daniels, who surveys the scene next day,
says you could plant corn whar they fit, it's that plowed up.
"'Followin' the cer'mony Marm Bender an' the old gent takes me into
their hearts an' cabin like I'm their own an' only son. He's a great
old daddy-in-law, old Bender is, an' is ven'rated for forty miles
about Gingham Mountain, as deevoted heart an' soul to baldface,
seven-up an' sin in any shape.
"'That match-makin' catamount?
"'We hives him. Me an' my new daddy-in-law tracks him to his reetreat,
an' when we're through he's plumb used up. I confers the pelt on my
Sarah Ann; an' she spreads it on the floor over by her side of the
bed, so as to put her little number sevens on it when she boils out of
a winter's mornin' to light the fire, an' rustle me my matoot'nal
buckwheat cakes an' sa'sage.'"
III
CYNTHIANA, PET-NAMED ORIGINAL SIN
"This yere speecific heroine is a heap onconventional, so much so as
to be plumb puzzlin' to the common mind. Jest the same, she finishes
winner, an' makes herse'f a gen'ral source of pride. She don't notify
us, none whatever, that she intends a Wolfville deboo; jest nacherally
descends upon us, that a-way, as onannounced as a mink on a settin'
hen. All the same, we knows she's comin' while yet she's five mile out
on the trail. Not that we savvys who she is or what she aims at; we
merely gets moved up next to the fact that she's a lady, an' likewise
no slouch for looks.
"We reads these yere trooths in the dust old Monte kicks up, as he
comes swingin' in with the stage. Which it's the weakness of this
inebriate, as I tells you former, that once let him get a lady aboard,
it looks like it's a signal for him to go pourin' the leather into his
team like he ain't got a minute to live. It's a p'lite attention he
assoomes, in his besotted way, is doo the sex.
"It's the more strange, too, since it's the only attention Monte ever
pays 'em. He never looks at 'em, never speaks to 'em; simply plants
himse'f on the box, as up an' down as a cow's tail, an' t'ars into
them harassed hosses. If the lady he's complimentin' that a-way was to
get jolted overboard--which the same wouldn't be no mir'cal,
considerin' how that dipsomaniac drives--it's even money he leaves her
hunched up like a jack-rabbit alongside the trail, an' never thinks of
stoppin' or turnin' back. He's merely a drunkard with that one fool
idee of showin' off, an' nothin' the stage people's ever able to say
can teach him different. From first to last you-all could measure
Monte's notion of the pulcritoode of a petticoat passenger by the
extent to which he lams loose with his whip. Given what he deems is a
she-sunburst, he shorely does maltreat the company's live stock
shameful.
"'If,' observes Peets, as a bunch of us stands gossipin' round in
front of the Red Light that time, watchin' the dust cloud draw nearer
an' nearer--'if it's poss'ble to imagine the old sot as havin' a
Cleopatra to freight over from Tucson, it's a cow pony to a Mexican
sheep he'd kill one of the wheelers.'
"Thar ain't none of us knows who this yere Cleopatra the Doc refers to
is, onless it's Colonel Sterett, who edits the _Daily Coyote_. Still,
the compar'son is plenty convincin'. Accordin' to the Doc himself,
this Cleopatra's a meteoric female party, as lively as she is lovely,
who sets a passel of ancient sports to walkin' in a cirkle back
some'ers in the mists of time. Also, it's bloo chips to white, an' bet
'em higher than a cat's back, the Doc knows. The Doc is ondoubted the
best eddicated gent that ever makes a moccasin track between Yuma an'
the Raton Pass, an' when he onbuckles techin' any historic feachures,
you can call for a gooseha'r pillow, an' go to sleep on it he ain't
barkin' at no knot.
"Thar's a feeble form of young tenderfoot pesterin' about the suburbs
of the crowd. He's one of them hooman deficits, so plumb ornery as to
be useless East, which their fam'lies, in gettin' rid of 'em, saws
happ'ly off onto a onprotected West. This partic'lar racial disaster's
been on our hands now mebbe it's six months, an' we-all is hopin'
that in some p'intless sort o' way he'll brace up and do overt acts
which entitles us to stampede him out of camp. But so far he don't.
"This yere exile comes wanderin' into the talk by askin'--his voice as
thin as a curlew's:
"'Who is this old Monte you're alloodin' at?'
"'Whoever he is?' says Boggs. 'Which if you-all'd struck camp by way
of Tucson, instead of skulkin' upon us in the low-down fashion you
does along of the Lordsburg-Red Dog buckboard, you wouldn't have to
ask none. He's the offishul drunkard of Arizona, Monte is. Which the
same should be notice, too, that it's futile for you to go ropin' at
that p'sition. I says this, since from the quantity of Old Jordan
you've been mowin' away, I more'n half infers that you nourishes
designs upon the place.'
"The feeble young shorthorn smiles a puny smile, and don't lunge forth
into no more queries.
"Texas, who's been listenin' to what Boggs says, squar's 'round an'
half-way erects his crest for an argyooment. Texas has had marital
troubles, an' him ponderin' the same constant renders him some morbid
an' morose.
"'From your tone of voice, Dan,' remarks Texas, 'I takes it you holds
Monte's appetite for nose paint to be a deefect. That's whar I
differs. That old marauder is a drunkard through sheer excess of
guile. He finds in alcohol his ark of refooge. I only wish I'd took to
whiskey in my 'teens.'
"Boggs is amazed.
"'Texas,' he says, plenty sorrowful, 'it wouldn't astonish me none if
you finds your finish in a wickeyup deevoted to loonatics, playin'
with a string of spools.'
"'That's your onthinkin' way. Do you reckon now, if I'd been a slave
to drink when that Laredo wife of mine first sees me, she'd have
w'irled me to the altar an' made me the blighted longhorn you sees
now? She wouldn't have let me get near enough to her to give her a
bunch of grapes. It's my sobri'ty that's my ondoin', that an' bein'
plumb moral. Which I onerringly traces them divorce troubles, an' her
sellin' up my stock at public vandoo for cost an' al'mony like she
does, to me weakly holdin' aloof from whisky when I'm young.'
"'Which I shore,'--an' Boggs shows he's mighty peevish an' put
out--'never meets up with a more exasp'ratin' conversationist! It's
because you're sech an' egreegious egotist! You-all can't talk ten
minutes, Texas, but what you're allers bringin' in them domestic
affairs of yours. If you desires to discuss whiskey abstract, an' from
what the Doc thar calls a academic standp'int, I'm your gent. But I
declines to be drug into personal'ties, in considerin' which I might
be carried by the heat of deebate to whar I gets myse'f shot up.'
"'I sees your attitood, Dan; I sees your attitood, an' respects it.
Jest the same, thar's an anti-nuptial side to the liquor question, an'
bein' a drunkard that a-way is not without its compensations.'
"'But he's bound to be so blurred,' reemonstrates Boggs, who by nacher
is dispootatious, an' once started prone to swing an' rattle with a
topic like a pup to a pig's y'ear: 'That drunkard is so plumb
blurred.'
"'Blurred but free, Dan,' retorts Texas, mighty firm. 'Don't overlook
no sech bet as that drunkard bein' free. Also, it's better to be free
than sober.'
"'Goin' back to Monte,' says Boggs, returning to the orig'nal text;
'half the time, over to the O.K. Restauraw when Missis Rucker slams
him down his chuck, he ain't none shore he's eatin' flapjacks or
rattlesnakes. The other day, when Rucker drops a plate, he jumps three
feet in the air, throws up his hands an' yells, "Take the express box,
gents, but spar' my life!" It's whiskey does it. The old cimmaron
thinks it's road agents stickin' him up.'
"Dispoote is only ended by the stage thunderin' in--leathers creakin',
chains jinglin', bosses a lather of sweat an' alkali dust, Monte
cocked up on the box as austere as a treeful of owls. He's for openin'
the door, but Peets is thar before him. Let it get dealt down to
showin' attentions to a lady, an' the briskest sport'll have to move
some sudden, or the Doc'll beat him to it. Which he certainly is the
p'litest drug sharp of which hist'ry makes mention!
"The Doc offers his hand to he'p her out, but she hits the ground
onaided as light as any leaf. Nacherally we looks her over. Take her
from foretop to fetlocks, she's as lovely as a diamond flush. She's
got corn-colored ha'r, an' eyes as soft as the sky in Joone. Peets
calls 'em azure--bein' romantic. As for the rest of us, we don't call
'em nothin'. Thar's a sprightly look about 'em, which would shore
jestify any semi-proodent gent in jumpin' sideways. Likewise, she's
packin' a Colt's .45, an' clutchin' a winchester in her little claw,
the same contreebutin' a whole lot toward makin' her impressive as a
pageant.
"'How are you, sports?' she says, tossin' her disengaged hand a
heap arch. 'I gets word about you-all up in Vegas, an' allows I'll
come trundlin' down yere an' size you up. My idee is you needs
regen'ratin'.'
"'Is thar anything we-all can he'p you to, Miss?' asks Enright, who
takes the play away from Peets. 'If aught is wanted, an' thar's a
lariat in the outfit long enough to reach, you-all can trust Wolfville
to rope, throw an' hawg-tie the same accordin' to your wishes.'
"'Yes,' adds Peets, 'as Sam says, if thar's any little way we-all can
serve you, Miss, jest say the word. Likewise, if you don't feel like
speakin', make signs; an' if you objects to makin' signs, shake a
bush. All we reequires is the slightest hint.'
"'Be ca'm,' says the young lady, her manner as se'f-confident as if
she's a queen. 'Thar's nothin' demanded of you outlaws except to
tamely listen. I'm a se'f-respectin', se'f-supportin' young female,
who believes in Woman Suffrage, an' the equality of the sexes in
pol'tics an' property rights. Which my name is Bark, baptized
Cynthiana, the same redooced by my old pap, while yet alive, into the
pet name of Original Sin. It's my present purpose to become a citizen
of this yere camp, an' take my ontrammeled place in its commercial
life by openin' a grogshop. Pendin' which, do you-all see this?'--an'
she dallies gently with a fringe of b'ar-claws she's wearin' as a
necklace, the same bein' in loo of beads. 'That grizzly's as big an'
ugly as him.' Yere she tosses a rose-leaf hand at Boggs, who breaks
into a profoose sweat. 'I downs him. Also, I'll send the first
horned-toad among you, who pays me any flagrant attentions, pirootin'
after that b'ar. Don't forget, gents: my name's Bark, Cynthiana Bark,
pet-named Original Sin, an' thar's a bite goes with the Bark.'
"Havin' conclooded this yere salootatory, Miss Bark, givin' a
coquettish flourish to her winchester, goes trapsein' over to the O.
K. Restauraw, leavin' us--as the story-writer puts it--glooed to the
spot. You see it ain't been yoosual for us to cross up with ladies
who, never waitin' for us to so much as bat an admirin' eye or wag an
adorin' y'ear, opens neegotations by threatenin' to shoot us in two.
"'Thar's a young lady,' says Peets, who's first to ketch his breath,
'that's got what I calls _verve_.'
"'Admittin' which,' observes Enright, some doubtful, havin' been
thrown back on his hocks a whole lot; 'some of you-all young bucks
must none the less have looked at her in a improper way to start her
ghost-dancin' like she does.'
"Enright's eye roves inquirin'ly from Boggs to Texas, an' even takes
in Tutt.
"'Not me!' declar's Texas, plenty fervent; 'not me!--more'n if she's a
she rattlesnake!'
"'As the husband of Tucson Jennie,' observes Tutt, his air some
haughty--which he allers puts on no end of dog whenever he mentions
his fam'ly--'as the husband of Tucson Jennie, an' the ondoubted father
of that public ornament an' blessin', little Enright Peets Tutt, I do
not regyard it as up to me to cl'ar myse'f of no sech charges.'
"'Sam,' says Boggs, his voice reproachful, 'you notes how she makes
invidious compar'sons between me an' that b'ar, an' how she beefs the
b'ar? After which gratooitous slur it's preeposterous to s'ppose I'd
go admirin' her or to takin' any chances.'
"'Then it's you,' says Enright, comin' round on the puny tenderfoot.
'Jack,' he continyoos, appealin' to Jack Moore, who's kettle-tender to
the Stranglers, of which arm of jestice Enright is chief--'Jack, do
you reemark any ontoward looks or leers on the part of this yere
partic'lar prairie dog, calc'lated to alarm a maiden of fastidious
feelin's?'
"'Sir,' breaks in the feeble young tenderfoot, an' all mighty
tremyoolous, 'as shore as my name is Oscar Freelinghuysen I never even
glances at that girl. I ain't so much as present while she's issuin'
her deefiances. I lapses into the Red Light the moment I observes how
she's equipped, an' Black Jack, the barkeep, will ver'fy my words.'
"'All right,' warns Enright, plumb severe, 'you be careful an' conduct
yourself deecorous. Wolfville is a moral camp. Thar's things done
every day an' approved of in Noo York which'd get a gent downed in
Wolfville.'
"'That Miss Bark mentions she's Woman Suffrage, Sam?' observes Boggs,
in a questionin' way, as we stands sloppin' out a recooperative forty
drops in the Red Light.
"'Shore!' replies Enright. 'The Doc yere can tell you all about 'em.
As I onderstands, they're a warlike bevy of women who voylently
resents not bein' born men. Thar's one thing, however; I sincerely
trusts that none of you young sports'll prove that forward an' onwary
as to go callin' her by her pet name of Original Sin. Which she might
take advantage of it. Them exponents of women's rights is plumb full
of the onexpected, that a-way, an' it's my belief that all who ain't
honin' to commit sooicide'll be careful an' address her as Miss
Bark.'
"'Be they many of that Woman Suffrage brand?' persists Boggs.
"'Herds of 'em,' chips in Peets. 'The Eastern ranges is alive with
'em. But they don't last. As a roole they gets married, an' that's
gen'rally speakin' the end of their pernicious activ'ties. Wedlock is
a heap apt to knock their horns off.'
"Faro Nell, Tucson Jennie an' Missis Rucker don't take to this Miss
Bark's Woman Suffrage views.
"'She's welcome,' says the latter esteemable cook an' matron, 'to her
feelin's; but she mustn't come preachin' no doctrine to me, wharof the
effects is to lower me to Rucker's level. I've had trouble enough
redoocin' that ground-hawg to where he belongs, an' I ain't goin' to
sacrifice the work of years for no mere sentiments.'
"'Which I shore agrees with you, Missis Rucker,' says Nell, lookin' up
from some plum preeserves she's backin' off the noonday board to
consider Cherokee, who's settin' next; 'a woman has enough to do to
boss one gent, without tryin' to roole broadcast over whole
commoonities.'