bobcat, him on the verge of the treemors, an' thar'll a thrill go
through his rum-soaked frame like the grace of heaven through a camp
meetin'. For one, I antic'pate most excellent effects. Whatever do you
think, Doc?'
"'Whatever do I think?' Peets repeats. 'Which I thinks that, as the
orig'nators of this yere cure for the licker habit, it'll be up to you
an' Dave to convey the patient to his room at the O. K. House, as soon
as ever you can control his struggles.'
"Monte at last heaves in sight, an' comes shiverin' up to the bar,
every nerve as tight as a fiddle string. Black Jack shoves him the
bottle.
"'What stuffed anamile sharp,' says Tutt, craftily directin' himself
at Black Jack, 'mounts that bobcat up thar?'
"Monte nacherally raises his eyes. Thar's that Bar-8 feline,
half-crouched, glarin' down on him with green eyes, big as moons.
"That settles it.
"Monte gives a yell which they hears in Red Dog. Wharupon the bobcat,
takin' it for a threatenin' deemonstration, onfolds in an answerin'
yell, an' makes a scramblin' jump at Monte's head. Shore, he don't
land none, bein' brought up short, like a roped pony. Thar he swings,
cussin' an' spittin' an' clawin', as mad as a drunken squaw, an'
begins all over to hang himse'f afresh.
"Monte?
"That victim of appetite falls to the floor as dead an' flat as a wet
December leaf.
"Actin' on them instructions, Tutt an' Texas picks Monte up an' packs
him across to Peets, who, after fussin' over him for mebby an hour,
brings him round s'fficient so he goes from one convulsion into
another, in what you-all might deescribe as an endless chain of fits.
Thar's nothin' to it; Peets is indoobitable the best equipped drug
sharp that ever breaks loose in Arizona. At that, while Monte lives,
he don't but jest. He's shore close enough at one time to kingdom come
to hear the singin'.
"For two weeks Monte's boilin' an' boundin' round in his blankets,
Texas an' Tutt, feelin' a heap reemorseful, standin' watch and watch.
It's decided that no more attempts to reform him will be made, him
bein'--accordin' to Peets--too far gone that a-way.
"'He's plumb onreform'ble,' explains Peets; 'whiskey's got to be so
much a second nacher with him, that the only way you-all could cure
him now is kill him.'
"By way of partial rep'ration for what he suffers, as soon as Monte
can ag'in move about, Enright calls a meetin' of the camp, an'
dooly commissions him 'Offishul Drunkard,' with a absoloote an'
non-reevok'ble license to go as far as he likes.
"'This yere post of offishul drunkard,' Enright explains to the
meetin', 'carries with it no money, no power, an' means only that he's
free to drink from dark to daylight an' to dark ag'in, oncriticized,
onreproved, an' onsaved. Colonel Sterett imparts to us in the last
_Daily Coyote_ how them Hindoos has their sacred cobras. Cobras not
bein' feas'ble none in Arizona, Wolfville in loo of sech accepts old
Monte. Yereafter, w'arin' the title of offishul drunkard, he takes his
place in the public regyard as Wolfville's sacred cobra.'
"When Monte learns of his elevation, his eyes fills up with gratified
pride, an' as soon as ever he's able to stand the w'ar an' t'ar, he
goes on a protracted public drunk, by way of cel'bration, while we
looks tol'rantly on.
"'Gents,' he says, 'I thanks you. Yereafter the gnawin' tooth of
conscience will be dulled, havin' your distinguished endorsement so to
do. Virchoo is all right in its place. But so is vice. The world
can't all be good an' safe at one an' the same time. Which if we all
done right, an' went to the right, we'd tip the world over. Half has
got to do wrong an' go to the left, to hold things steady. That's me;
I was foaled to do wrong an' go to the left. It's the only way in
which a jealous but inscroot'ble Providence permits me to serve my
hour. Offishul drunkard! Ag'in I thanks you. Which this yere's the way
I long have sought, an' mourned because I found it not, long meter.'
"Boggs is the only gent who takes a gloomy view.
"'That's fine for this yere egreegious Monte,' says Boggs, talkin' to
Enright; 'as Wolfville's pet drunkard an' offishul cobra, he's mighty
pleasantly provided for. But how about the camp? Whar does Wolfville
come in? We're a strong people; but does any gent pretend that we
possesses the fortitoode reequired to b'ar up through all the comin'
rum-soaked years?--an' all onder the weight of this yere onmatched
inebriate, whom by our own act an' as offishul drunkard, we onmuzzles
in our shrinkin' midst? Gents, this thing can't last.'
"'Not necessar'ly, Dan,' retorts Enright, his manner trenchin' on the
cold; 'not necessar'ly. Let me expound the sityooation. I need not
remind you-all that Sand Creek Riley, who drives the Tucson stage,
gets bumped off the other evenin', while preeposterously insistin'
that aces-up beats three-of-a-kind. Realizin' the trooth of half what
you has said, Dan, I this evenin' enters into strategic reelations
with the stage company's agent; an' as a reesult, an' datin' from now
on, old Monte will be hired to fill the place of Sand Creek Riley,
whom we all regrets. It's hardly reequired that I p'int out the
benefits of this yere arrangement. As stage driver, old Monte for
every other night will get sawed off on Tucson. An' I misjedges the
vitality of this camp if, with the pressure on it thus relieved, an'
Tucson carryin' half the load, it's onable to live through. In my
opinion, Dan, by the light of this explanation, you at least oughter
hope for the best.'
"'That's whatever!' says Boggs, who's plumb convinced; 'if I'd waited
ontil you was heard, Sam, I'd never voiced them apprehensions. But the
fact is, this yere Monte cobra of ours, with his bibbin's an' his
guzzlin's, has redooced me to a condition of nervous prostration. It's
all right now. Which I will say, however, that I can't reeflect none
without a shudder on what them Tucson folks'll say an' think, so soon
as ever they wakes up to what's been played on 'em.'"
V
HOW THE MOCKING BIRD WAS WON
"Myst'ries?
"We lives surrounded by 'em. Look whar you will, nacher has a ace
buried. Take dogs, now: Why is it when one of 'em, daylight or dark,
cuts the trail of a anamile, he never makes the fool mistake of
back-trackin' it, but is shore to run his game the way it's movin'?
There must be some kind of head-an'-tail to the scent, that a-way, to
give the dog the hunch. Myst'ry!--all myst'ry! The more a gent goes
messin' 'round for s'lootions, the more he's taught hoomility an' that
he ain't knee-high to toads.
"An' yet when it comes to things myster'ous everything else is bound
to go to the diskyard compared to a lady's heart. Of course, I speaks
only in a sperit of philos'phy, an' not as one who's suffered. I never
myse'f am able pers'nal to approach closter to a lady's heart than
across the street. Peets once reemarks that all trails leads to Rome.
In that business of trails a lady's heart has got Rome left standin'
sideways. Not only does every trail lead tharunto, but thar's sech a
thing as goin' cross-lots. Take gettin' in love; thar's as many ways
as cookin' eggs. While you'll see gents who goes skallyhootin' into
that dulcet condition as straight as a arrer, thar's others who sidles
in, an' still others who backs in. I even knows a boy who shoots his
way in.
"Which the lady in this case is the Mockin' Bird. That Mockin' Bird
maiden has wooers by onbounded scores, but holds herse'f as shy an' as
much aloof as if she's a mountain sheep. Not one can get near enough
to her to give her a ripe peach. Along comes the eboolient Turkey
Track, bulges headlong into her dest'nies, takes to menacin' at her
with a gun an', final, to bombardin' her outright, an'--love an' heart
an' hand--she comes a-runnin'.
"Wolfville's without that last evidence of advancement, a callaboose.
It bein' inconvenient to shoot up or lynch everybody who infringes our
rooles, Jack Moore invents a convincin' but innocuous punishment for
minor offenders. Endorsed by Enright, he established a water
trough--it's big enough to swim a dog--over by the windmill; an' when
some perfervid cow-puncher, sufferin' from a overdose of nosepaint,
takes to aggravatin' 'round Moore swashes him about in the trough some
profoose, ontil he gives his word to live a happier an' a better
life.
"It's like magic the way that water trough works. No matter how gala
some pronghorn of a cowboy may feel, it shore lets the whey out of
him. Given the most voylent, it's only a matter of minutes before he's
soaked into quietood. Enright himse'f says Moore's entitled to a
monyooment for the idee.
"Turkey Track's name is Ford, Tom Ford, but workin' that a-way for the
Turkey Track outfit he nacherally gets renamed for the brand. Turkey
Track an' two boon companions has been goin' to an' fro from the Red
Light to the Dance Hall, ontil by virchoo of a over-accumyoolation of
licker they're beginnin' to step some high. Also, they takes to
upliftin' their tired souls with yells, an' blazin' away at froote
cans with their six-shooters.
"It gets so that Enright tells Moore to give 'em a call-down.
"'What them boys does,' says Enright, 'is done harmless an'
light-hearted to be shore, an' nothin' radic'lly wrong is either
aimed at or meant; but all the same, Jack, it's no more'n proodence
to go knock their horns off. It ain't what them yooths is doin', but
what they may be led to do, which makes the danger. It's like old
Deacon Sopris at the Cumberland Methodist class meetin' says of
kyard-playin'. "It ain't," explains the deacon, "that thar's any harm
in the children playin' seven-up around the kitchen table of a
winter's evenin' for grains of corn, but seven-up persisted in is
shore to lead to dancin'." An' so with these young merry-makers.
They'll keep on slamin' away at empty bottles an' former tomatter cans
that a-way, ontil the more seedate element objects, an' somebody gets
downed. Don't you agree with me, Doc?'
"'Nothin' shorer!' says Peets.
"Moore corrals Turkey Track an' his fellow revellers, an' tosses off a
few fiats.
"'Quit that whoopin' an' shootin', boys,' says Moore. 'Likewise, keep
your hardware in your belts, as more deecorous. So shore as I finds a
gun in any of your hands ag'in, I'll shoot it out.'
"Turkey Track an' his _compadres_ don't say nothin' back. They savvys
about the water trough, an' ain't hungerin' none to have their ardor
dampened in no sech fashion. So they blinks an' winks like a passel of
squinch owls, but never onbuckles in no argyooment. All the same, it
irks 'em a whole lot, an' after Moore reetires they begins mod'rate to
arch their necks an' expand 'round a little.
"They allows--talkin' among themselves in a quer'lous way--that they
ain't hurtin' no one, an' for Moore to come shovin' 'round an'
lecturin' on etiquette is a conceited exhibition of authority as
offensive as it is onjest. Thar's doubts, too, about it's bein'
constitootional.
"'Whatever does that jim-crow sp'ile-sport of a marshal mean?' says
Turkey Track. 'It looks like he's not only deefyin' the organic law of
this country, but puttin' on a heap of dog. Does he reckon this yere
camp's a church?'
"'I moves we treats them mandates,' says one of the boys, who's a
rider for the G-bar ranch, 'with merited contempt.'
"'As how?' asks the third, who belongs with the Four-J brand. 'You
ain't so locoed as to s'ggest we-all t'ars person'ly into this Jack
Moore marshal none I hopes?'
"'Which you fills me with disgust!' says the other, nettled at the
idee of pawin' the onprofit'ble grass 'round Moore; 'but whatever's
the matter with goin' up to the far end of the street, an' w'irl an'
come squanderin' back jest a shootin'?'
"'Great!' says Turkey Track, applaudin' the scheme. 'Which we-all
nacherally shoots up their old prairie dog town, same as if it's a
Mexican plaza, an' then jogs on to our ranches, all triumphant an'
comfortable.'
"The three rides up to the head of the street, an' then turns
an'--givin' their ponies the steel--comes whizzin' down through the
center of eevents, yelpin' like Apaches an' lookin' like fireworks.
They've got a gun in each hand, an' they shakes the flame an' smoke
out of 'em same as three volcanoes on hossback.
"Moore's standin' in front of the Noo York store, talkin' to Tutt. As
you-all might imagine, it frets him to the quick to see how little
them effervescent sperits cares for his injunctions. By way of
rebooke--not wantin' to down 'em outright for what, take it the worst
way, ain't nothin' more heen'ous than a impropriety--Moore gets his
artillery to b'ar, an' as they flashes by like comets, opens on the
ponies. It's hard on the ponies; but it won't do to let them young
roysterers get away with their play. The example'll spread; an',
onless checked at the jump, inside of a month thar'd be nothin' but a
whoopin' procession of cow-punchers chargin' up an' down the
causeways. Tenderfeet might acquire misgivin's techin' us bein' a
peaceful camp, an' the thing op'rate as a blow to trade. It's become a
case of either get the boys or get the ponies, an' onder the
circumstances the ponies has the call.
"Thar's no more artistic gun-player than Moore in town, onless it's
Cherokee, an' mebby Doc Peets, who's a heap soon with a derringer. As
the ponies flash by, Moore's six-shooter barks three times. Two ponies
goes rollin'; the third--it's Turkey Track's--continyoos cavortin'
down the street an' out of town. Turkey Track never pulls up nor looks
back. The last we sees of him is when he's two miles away, an' a
swell rises up behind him an' hides him from view.
"The G-bar boy, an' him from the Four-J outfit, hits the grass twenty
feet ahead of their ponies, like a roll of blankets chucked out of a
wagon, an' after bumpin' an' tumblin' along for a rod or so, an' all
mighty condoosive to fractures an' dislocations, they flattens out
reespective same as a couple of cancelled postage stamps. Shore, the
fall jolts the savvy plumb out of 'em.
"Bein' they're stretched out an' passive, Moore collects 'em an' sops
'em up an' down in the water trough for mebby it's fifteen minutes.
Which they're reesus'tated an' reeproved at one an' the same time.
When them yooths comes to, they're a model to angels. To be shore,
their intellects don't shine out at first none like the sun at noon,
but continyoos blurred for hours. Even as late as the weddin' of
Turkey Track with the Mockin' Bird--an' that ain't for all of eight
weeks--the G-bar boy informs Boggs confidenshul, as they're takin' a
little licker all sociable, that speakin' mental he's as yet a heap in
eeclipse.
"The maiden name of the Mockin' Bird is Loocinda Gildersleeve, but
pop'lar pref'rence allers sticks to her stage title. She's a fav'rite
at the Bird Cage Op'ry House, at which nursery of the drammy she's
been singin' off an' on for somethin' like three years. She's a
shore-enough singer, too, the Mockin' Bird is. None of your yeepin's
an' peepin's, none of your mice squeaks an' tea-kettle tones an' cub
coyote yelps. Which she's got a round, meelod'yous bellow like a hound
in full cry, an' while she's singin' thar ain't a wolf'll open his
mouth within a mile of town. Which them anamiles is plumb abashed, the
Mockin' Bird outholdin' 'em to that degree.
"You-all don't hear no sech singin' in the East. Thar ain't room; an'
moreover the East's too timid. For myse'f, an' I ain't got no y'ear
for music, them top notes of the Mockin' Bird, like the death yell of
a mountain lion, is cap'ble of givin' me the fantods; while the way
she hands out 'Home, Sweet Home' an' 'Suwannee River,' an' her voice
sort o' diggin' down into the soul, sets eemotional sports like Boggs
an' Black Jack to sobbin' as though their hearts is broke. She's
certainly a jo-darter of a vocalist--the Mockin' Bird is, an' once
when she renders 'Loosiana Loo' an' Boggs's more'n common affected, he
offers to bet yellow chips as high as the ceilin' she can sing the
sights off a Colt's .45.
"'Which I enjoys one of the most mis'rable evenin's of my c'reer,'
says Boggs to Faro Nell, when she expresses sympathy at him feelin' so
cast down. 'I wouldn't have missed it for a small clay farm.'
"'_Yo tambien_' says Black Jack, who's keepin' Boggs melancholly
company while he weeps. 'Only I reckons the odd kyard in my own case
is that, before I'm a man an' in some other existence, I used to be
one of these yere ornery little fice dogs, which howls every time it
hears a pianny. It's some left-over vestiges of that life when I'm a
dog which sets me to bawlin', that a-way, whenever the Mockin' Bird
girl sings. I experiences pensive sensations, sim'lar to what comes
troopin' over a gent, who's libatin' alone, on the heels of the third
drink.'
"The Mockin' Bird looks as sweet as she sings. I mentions long ago
about the phil'sophic old stoodent who says, 'They do say love is
blind, but I'll be ding-danged if some gents can't see more in their
girls than I can.' This yere wisdom don't apply none to the Mockin'
Bird. Them wooers of hers, to say nothin' of Turkey Track, possesses
jestification for becomin' so plumb maudlin'. Lovely? She's as pretty
as a cactus flower, or a sunrise on the staked plains.
"Folks likes her, too. Take that evenin' when a barbarian from over
to'ards the Cow Springs cuts loose to disturb the exercises at the
Bird Cage Op'ry House with a measly fling or two. The public well nigh
beefs him. They'd have shore put him over the jump, only Enright
interferes.
"It's doorin' the openin' scene, when the actors is camped 'round in a
half-circle, facin' the fiddlers. Huggins, who manages the Bird Cage,
an' who's the only hooman who ever consoomes licker, drink for drink,
with Monte, an' lives to tell the tale, is in the middle. Bowin' to
the Mockin' Bird, an' as notice that she's goin' to carol some, he
announces:
"'The world-reenowned cantatrice, Mam'selle Loocinda Gildersleeve,
cel'brated in two hemispheres as the Mockin' Bird of Arizona, will now
sing the ballad wharwith she ravished the y'ears of every crowned
head of Europe, the same bein' that pop'lar air from the op'ry of
_Loocretia Borgia_, "Down in the Valley."'
"At this that oncooth crim'nal from the Cow Springs gets up:
"'The Mockin' Bird of Arizona which you-all is bluffin' about,' he
shouts, 'can't sing more'n a burro, an' used to sling hash in a
section house over by Colton.'
"'Never the less, notwithstandin',' replies Huggins, who's too drunk
to feel ruffled, 'Mam'selle Loocinda Gildersleeve, known to all the
world as the Mockin' Bird of Arizona, will now sing "Down in the
Valley."'
"Huggins would have let things go at that, but not so the Wolfville
pop'lace. In the cockin' of a winchester they swoops down on that Cow
Springs outcast like forty hen-hawks on a single quail, an' as I
yeretofore observes, if it ain't for Enright they'd have made him
shortly hard to find. You can gamble, the Cow Springs savage never
does go out on that limb ag'in.
"While Turkey Track escapes the water trough, an' makes his getaway
that time all right, the pore pony ain't got by Moore onscathed. The
bullet hits him jest to the r'ar of the saddle-flap, an' out about a
brace of miles he stumbles over dead.
"It's yere eevents begins to fall together like a shock of oats. The
Mockin' Bird's been over entrancin' Tucson, an' the reg'lar stage with
Monte not preecisely dove-tailin' with her needs, she charters a
speshul buckboard to get back. Thar's a feeble form of hooman ground
owl drivin' her, one of these yere parties who's all alkali an' hard
luck, an' as deevoid of manly sperit as jack-rabbits onweaned.
"This yere ground owl party, drivin' for the Mockin' Bird, comes
clatterin' along with the buckboard jest as Turkey Track strips the
saddle an' bridle from his deefunct pony. Turkey Track is not without
execyootive ability, an' seein' he's afoot an' thirty miles from his
home ranch, he pulls his gun an' sticks up the buckboard plenty
prompt. At the mere sight of a weepon the hands of that young
owl-person goes searchin' for stars, an' he's beggin' Turkey Track not
to rub him out--him thinkin' it's a reg'lar hold-up. That's all the
opp'sition thar is, onless you counts the reemarks of the Mockin'
Bird, who becomes both bitter an' bitin' in equal parts, but has no
more effect on Turkey Track--an' him afoot that a-way--than pourin'
water on a drowned rat. Shore, a cow-puncher'd fight all day, an' even
face a enraged female, before he'd walk a hour.
[Illustration: TURKEY TRACK, SEEIN' HE'S AFOOT AN' THIRTY MILES FROM HIS
HOME RANCH PULLS HIS GUN AN' STICKS UP THE MOCKIN' BIRD'S BUCKBOARD.
p. 138.]
"Turkey Track piles his saddle an' bridle onto the r'ar of the
buckboard, an' settin' in behind on his plunder, commands the ground
owl driver to head west till further orders. Likewise, he so far
onbends as to say that them orders won't be deecem'nated, none
whatever, ontil he's landed at the Turkey Track home ranch. Since he
backs this yere programme with his artillery, the ground owl ain't got
nothin' to say, an' it's no time when the outfit's weavin' along a
side trail in the sole int'rests of Turkey Track.
"What's worse, to dispell the ennui of sech a trip, an' drive away
dull care, Turkey Track takes to despotizin' over the Mockin' Bird
with his six-shooter, an' compels her to sing constant throughout them
thirty miles. He makes her carrol everythin' from 'Old Hundred' to
'Turkey in the Straw,' an' then brings her back to 'Old Hundred' an'
starts her over. The pore harassed Mockin' Bird, what with the dust,
an' what with Turkey Track tyrannizin' at her with his gun, sounds
final like an ongreased wheelbarrow which has seen better days. She
don't get her voice ag'in for mighty clost to a month, an' even then,
as she says herse'f, thar's places where the rivets reequires
tightenin'.
"It's pressin' onto eight weeks before ever Turkey Track is heard of
'round town ag'in. Also, it's in the Bird Cage Op'ry House he hits the
surface of his times. The Mockin' Bird has jest done drove the vocal
picket-pin of 'Old Kentucky Home,' when, bang! some loonatic shoots at
her. Which the bullet bores a hole in the scenery not a foot above her
head.
"Every one sees by the smoke whar that p'lite attention em'nates from,
an' before you could count two, Moore, Boggs, an' Texas Thompson has
convened themselves on top of that ident'cal spot. Thar sets Turkey
Track, cryin' like a child.
"'It's no use, gents,' he sobs, the tears coursin' down his cheeks,
'she's so plumb bewitchin', an' I adores her so, I simply has to blaze
away or bust.'
"While he don't harm the Mockin' Bird none, the sent'ment of the
Stranglers, when Enright raps 'em to order inform'ly at the Red Light
an' Black Jack has organized the inspiration, favors hangin' Turkey
Track. Even Texas, who loathes ladies by reason of what's been sawed
off onto him in the way of divorce an' alimony, that a-way, by his
Laredo wife, is yoonan'mous for swingin' him off.
"'That I don't believe in marryin' 'em,' says Texas, expoundin' his
p'sition concernin' ladies in answer to Boggs who claims he's
inconsistent, 'don't mean I wants 'em killed. But you never was no
logician, Dan.'
"Cherokee's the only gent who's inclined to softer attitoodes, an'
that leeniency is born primar'ly of the inflooence of Nell. Nell is
plumb romantic, an' when she hears how the Turkey Track's been
enfiladin' at the Mockin' Bird only because he loves her, while she
don't reely know what she does want done with that impossible
cow-puncher, she shore don't want him hanged.
"'It's sech a interestin' story!' says Nell, an' then capers across to
Missis Rucker an' Tucson Jennie to c'llect their feelin's.
"Moore brings in Turkey Track.
"'Be you-all tryin' to blink out this yere young lady?' asks Enright,
'or is that gun play in the way of applause?'
"'It's love,' protests Turkey Track, his voice chokin'; 'it's simply a
cry from the soul. I learns to love her that day on the buckboard
while I'm lookin' at her red ha'r, red bein' my winnin' color. Gents,
you-all won't credit it none, but jest the same them auburn tresses
gets wropped about my heart.'
"'Whatever do you make of it, Doc?' whispers Enright.
"'This boy,' returns Peets, 'has got himse'f too much on his own mind.
He's sufferin' from what the books calls exaggerated ego.'
"'That's one way of bein' locoed, ain't it?'