I'll allow some fly-by-night charl'tan to go reeflectin' on me? Stand
back, Cherokee, get out o' the way, Dave, till I plaster the wall with
his reemains!'
"'Ca'm yourse'f, Monte,' says Enright, who's come in in time to
onderstand the trouble. 'Which if this hypnotizer was reely meanin' to
outrage your feelin's, it'd be different a whole lot, an' this
sod-pawin' an' horn-tossin' might plead some jestification. But what
he says is in the way of scientific exposition, an' nothin' said
scientific's to be took insultin'. Ain't that your view, Doc?'
"'Shore,' replies Peets. The Doc's been havin' no part in the
discussion, him holdin' that the Professor, with his rannikaboo bluff
about healin', is a empirik, an' beneath his professional contempt.
'Shore. Also, I'm free to inform Monte that if he thinks he's goin' to
lap up red licker to the degree he does, an' obleege folks in gen'ral
to treat sech consumption as a secret, he's got his stack down
wrong.'
"'Enough said,' ejacyoolates Monte, but still warm; 'whether or no,
Doc, I'm the sot this outfit's so fond of picturin', I at least ain't
so lost to reason as to go buckin' ag'inst you an' Enright. Jest the
same, though, I'm yere to give the news to any magnetizing horned-toad
who sows the seeds of dispoote in this camp that, if he goes about
malignin' me, he'll shore find I'm preecisely the orange-hued
chimpanzee to wrop my prehensile tail around him an' yank him from his
limb.'
"'Aside from aidin' the deef an' the blind,' says the Professor,
ignorin' Monte utter an' addressin' himse'f to Boggs an' the public
gen'ral, 'my ministrations has been found eff'cacious wharever the
course of troo love has not run smooth. I binds up wounds of
sent'ment, an' cures every sickness of the soul. Which, if thar's any
heart lyin' 'round loose yereabouts an' failin' to beat as one, or a
sperit that's been disyoonited from its mate an' can't remake the
hook-up, trust me to get thar with bells on in remedyin' sech evils.'
"The Professor beams as he gets this off, mighty benignant. Texas,
feelin' like the common eye is on him, commences to grow restless.
"'Be you-all alloodin' to me?' he asks the Professor, his manner
approaching the petyoolant. 'Let me give you warnin', an' all on the
principle that a wink is as good as a nod to a blind mule. So shore as
you go to makin' any plays to reyoonite me an' that divorced Laredo
wife of mine I'll c'llect enough of your hypnotizin' hide to make a
saddle-cover.'
"'Permit me,' says the Professor, turnin' to Texas some aghast, 'to
give you my word I nourishes no sech deesigns. Which I'm driven to
say, however, that your attitoode is as hard to fathom as a fifth ace
in a poker deck. I in no wise onderstands your drift.'
"'You onderstands at least,' returns Texas, still morbid an'
f'rocious, 'that you or any other fortune teller might better have
been born a Digger Injun to live on lizards, sage bresh an'
grasshoppers than come messin' 'round in my mar'tal affairs with a
view to reebuildin' 'em up. My hopes in that behalf is rooined; an'
whoever ondertakes their rehabil'tation'll do it in the smoke. What
I'm out after now is the ca'm onbroken misery of a single life, an'
I'll shore have it or have war.'
"'My heated friend, I harbors no notion,' the Professor protests, 'of
tryin' to make it otherwise. Your romancin' 'round single, that a-way,
ain't no skin off my nose. An' while I never before hears of your
former bride, I'm onable to dodge the feelin' that she herse'f most
likely might reesent to the utmost any attempt on my part to ag'in
bring you an' her together.'
"Texas formyoolates no express reply, but growls. The Professor, still
with that propitiatin' front, appeals to the rest of us.
"'Gents,' he says, 'this yere's the most reesentful outfit I'm ever
inveigled into tryin' to give a show to. I certainly has no thought of
rubbin' wrong-ways the pop'lar bristles. All I aims at is to give a
exhibition of anamile magnetism, cure what halt an' blind--if any--is
cripplin' an' moonin' about, c'llect my _dinero_ an' peacefully hit
the trail. An' yet it looks like a prejewdice exists ag'inst me
yere.'
"'Put a leetle pressure on the curb, thar,' interrupts Peets. 'You're
up ag'inst no prejewdice. On that bill, wharwith you've done defaced
the Wolfville walls, you makes sundry claims. An' now you r'ars back
on your ha'nches, preetendin' to feel plumb illyoosed, because some
one seeks to put the acid on 'em.'
"'That's whatever!' adds Boggs; 'the Doc states my p'sition
equilaterally exact. I sees your Red Dog show. I'll be present a whole
lot at your show to-morry night. Also, I feels the need of gyardin'
ag'inst my own credoolity. What I sees you do in Red Dog, while not
convincin', throws me miles into the oncertain air; an' I don't figger
on lettin' you _vamoos_, leavin' me in no sech a onsettled frame.
Wharfore, I deemands tests.'
"'Yere,' breaks in Nell, who's been listenin', 'what's the matter of
this occult party hypnotizin' me.'
"'The odd kyard in that deck,' says Cherokee, his manner trenchin' on
the baleful--'the odd kyard in that deck is that onless this yere
occultist is cap'ble of mesmerizin' a bowie to whar it looses both
p'int an' edge, for him to go weavin' his wiles an' guiles 'round you,
Nellie, would mark the evenin' of his c'reer.'
"Nell beams an' brightens at these yere proofs of Cherokee's int'rest,
while the pore Professor looks as deeply disheveled mental as he does
when Texas goes soarin' aloft.
"Little Enright Peets waddles up to tell his paw that Tucson Jennie
wants him. As he comes teeterin' along on his short cub-b'ar laigs,
fat an' 'round as forty pigs, the Professor--thinkin' it'll mebby
relieve the sityooation--stoops down to be pleasant to little Enright
Peets.
"'Yere's my little friend!' he says, at the same time holdin' out his
hands.
"Later we-all feels some ashamed of the excitement we displays. But
the trooth is, the Professor offerin' to caress little Enright Peets
that a-way sends us plumb off our feet. I never before witnesses any
sech display of force. Every gent starts for'ard, an' some has pulled
their guns.
"'Paws off!' roars Enright to the pore dazed Professor, who
comes mighty clost to rottin' down right thar; 'in view of them
announcements'--yere Enright p'ints to the bill, whar Satan an'
the Professor is deepicted as teacher an' poopil--'do you-all reckon
we lets sech a devil's baby as you go manhandlin' that child?'
"The Professor throws up his hands like he's growing desp'rate.
"'Folks,' he says, 'I asks, in all hoomility, is thar anythin' I can
say or do in this yere camp without throwing away my life?'
"'Shore,' returns Boggs; 'all you got to do is give a deemonstration.'
"'However be I goin' to give a hypnotic deemonstration,' returns the
Professor, apparently on the verge of nervous breakdown, 'when every
possible subject is either too preeokyoopied, or too obstinate, or too
weak, or too yoothful, or too beautiful, or too drunk? If it's healin'
you're after, bring fo'th the sickest you've got. If he's blind an'
his eye ain't gouged plumb out, I'll make him see; if he's lame an'
his laig ain't cut plumb off, I'll make him walk. An' now, gents, I'm
through. If these yere proffers don't suit, proceed with my bootchery.
I care less, since one day with you-all exactin' tarrapins has
rendered life so distasteful to me that I wouldn't turn hand or head
to live.'
"Havin' got this off his mind, the harassed Professor sets down an'
buries his face in his hands.
"'Why not introdooce him,' breaks in Rucker, who's nosin' about, 'to
that aflickted shorthorn who comes groanin' in on the stage last
night? He's been quiled up in his blankets with the rhoomatism ever
since he hits camp. Which if this yere imposter can make him walk,
it'll shore be kings-up with Missis Rucker, 'cause she wants to make
the bed.'
"'Whar's this sufferer at?' demands Boggs, takin' the Professor by the
sleeve an' with the same motion pullin' his six-shooter. 'This yere
discussion's done reached the mark whar it's goin' to be a case of
kill or cure for some sport.'
"Rucker leads the way up sta'rs, Boggs an' the Professor next, the
rest trailin'. All hands crowds into the little dark bedroom. Thar on
the bed, clewed up into a knot, lies the rhoomatic party. As we-all
files in, he draws himse'f onder the blankets ontil nothin' but his
nose sticks out.
"'Professor,' says Boggs, an' his six-shooter goes 'kluck! kluck!'
mighty menacin', 'onfurl your game! I shore trusts that you ain't
started nothin' you can't stop.'
"The pore Professor don't nurse no doubts. He thinks he's in the
bubblin' midst of blood an' sudden death; wharfore, you bet, he throws
plenty of sperit into his racket. Makin' some hostile moves with his
hands--Boggs elevatin' his gun, not bein' quite content about them
motions--the Professor yells:
"'Get up!'
"Talk of mir'cals! Which you should have seen that rhoomatic! With one
turrific squawk he lands on his knees at the feet of Boggs, beggin'
for mercy.
"'Don't kill me,' he cries; 'I'll show you whar I plants the money.'
"Whoever is that rhoomatic? Which he's the stoodent who stands up the
stage over by Whetstone Springs. His rhoomatism's merely that
malefactor's way of goin' onder cover.
"The Professor later offers to divide with Boggs on the two
thousand-dollar reward the Wells-Fargo folks pays, but Boggs shakes
his head.
"'You take the entire wad, Professor,' says he, wavin' aside that
gen'rous necromancer. 'It's the trophy of your own hypnotic bow an'
spear. What share is borne by my .45 is incidental. Which I'll say,
too, that if I was playin' your hand I'd spread that cure on my
posters as the star mir'cle of my c'reer.'"
VIII
THAT TURNER PERSON
"Talk of your hooman storm-centers an' nacheral born hubs of grief,"
observed the old cattleman, reminiscently; "I'm yere to back that
Turner person ag'inst all competitors. Not but what once we're onto
his angles, he sort o' oozes into our regyards. His baptismal name is
'Lafe,' but he never does deerive no ben'fit tharfrom among us, him
behavin' that eegregious from the jump, he's allers referred to as
'that Turner person.'
"As evincin' how swift flows the turbid currents of his destinies, he
succeeds in focusin' the gen'ral gaze upon him before he's been in
camp a day. Likewise, it's jest as well Missis Rucker herse'f ain't
present none in person at the time, or mighty likely he'd have focused
all the crockery on the table upon him, which you can bet your last
_peso_ wouldn't have proved no desid'ratum. For while Missis Rucker
ain't what I calls onusual peevish, for a lady to set thar quiet an'
be p'inted to by some onlicensed boarder as a Borgia, that away, would
be more'n female flesh an' blood can b'ar.
"It's like this. The Turner person comes pushin' his way into the O.
K. Restauraw along with the balance of the common herd, an' pulls a
cha'r up ag'inst the viands with all the confidence of a oldest
inhab'tant. After grinnin' up an' down the table as affable as a wet
dog, he ropes onto a can of airtights, the same bein' peaches. He
he'ps himse'f plenty copious an' starts to mowin' 'em away.
"None of us is noticin' partic'lar, bein' engaged on our own hook
reachin' for things, when of a sudden he cuts loose a screech which
would have knocked a bobcat speechless.
"'I'm p'isened!' he yells; 'I'm as good as dead right now!'
"Followin' this yere fulm'nation, he takes to dancin' stiff-laiged,
meanwhile clutchin' hold of the buckle on his belt.
"Thar should be no dissentin' voice when I states that, at a crisis
when some locoed maverick stampedes a entire dinin' room by allowin'
he's been p'isened, prompt action should be took. Wharfore it excites
no s'rprise when Jack Moore, to whom as kettle-tender for the
Stranglers all cases of voylance is _ex officio_ put up, capchers the
ghost-dancin' Turner person by the collar.
"'Whatever's the meanin' of this midprandial excitement?' demands
Jack. 'Which if these is your manners in a dinin' room, I'd shore
admire to see you once in church.'
"'I'm p'isened!' howls the Turner person, p'intin' at the airtights.
'It's ptomaines! I'm a gone fawnskin! Ptomaines is a center shot!'
"None of us holds Rucker overhigh, an' yet we jestifies that husband's
action. Rucker's headin' in from the kitchen, bearin' aloft a platter
of ham an' cabbage. He arrives in time to gather in the Turner
person's bluff about 'ptomaines,' an' onderstands he's claimin' to be
p'isened. Shore, Rucker don't know what ptomaines is, but what then?
No more does the rest of us, onless it's Peets, an' he's over to
Tucson. As I freequently remarks, the Doc is the best eddicated sharp
in Arizona, an' even 'ptomaines' ain't got nothin' on him.
"Rucker plants the platter of ham an' cabbage on the table, an'
appeals 'round to us.
"'Gents,' he says, 'am I to stand mootely by an' see this tavern, the
best j'int ondoubted in Arizona, insulted?' An' with that he's down on
the Turner person like a fallin' tree, whar that crazy-hoss
individyooal stands jumpin' an' dancin' in the hands of Moore.
"'What's these yere slanders,' shouts Rucker, 'you-all is levelin' at
my wife's hotel? Yere we be, feedin' you on the fat of the land; an'
the form your gratitoode takes is to go givin' it out broadcast you're
p'isened! You pull your freight,' he concloodes, as he wrastles the
dancin' Turner person to the door, 'an' if you-all ever shows your
villifyin' nose inside this hostelry ag'in I'll fill you full of
buckshot.'
"To be shore, that crack about buckshot ain't nothin' more'n vain
hyperbole, Rucker not possessin' the spunk of bull-snakes. The Turner
person, however, lets him get away with it, an' submits tamely to be
buffaloed, which of itse'f shows he ain't got the heart of a horned
toad. The eepisode does Rucker a heap of good, though, an' he puffs up
immoderate. Given any party he can buffalo, an' the way that
weak-minded married man expands his chest, an' takes to struttin', is
a caution to cock partridges. An' all the time, a jack-rabbit, of
ordinary resolootion an' force of character, would make Rucker take to
a tree or go into a hole.
"Is the Turner person p'isened?
"No more'n I be. Which it's simple that alarmist's heated imagination,
aggravated by what deloosions is born of the nosepaint he gets in
Red Dog before ever he makes his Wolfville deboo at all. Two hookers
of Old Jordan from Black Jack renders him so plumb well he's
reedic'lous.
"Most likely you-all'd go thinkin' now that, havin' let sech a
hooman failure as Rucker put it all over him, this Turner person'd lie
dormant a spell, an' give his se'f-respect a chance to ketch its
breath. Not him. It's no longer away than second drink time the same
evenin' when he locks gratooitous horns with Black Jack. To this last
embroglio thar is--an' could be--no deefense, Jack bein' so amiable
that havin' trouble with him is like goin' to the floor with your
own image in the glass. Which he's shorely a long sufferin'
barkeep, Jack is. Mebby it's his genius for forbearance, that a-way,
which loores this Turner person into attemptin' them outrages on his
sens'bilities.
"The Turner person stands at the bar, sloppin' out the legit'mate
forty drops. With nothin' said or done to stir him up, he cocks his
eye at Jack--for all the world like a crow peerin into a bottle--an'
says,
"'Which your feachers is displeasin' to me, an' I don't like your
looks.'
"Jack keeps on swabbin' off the bar for a spell, an' all as mild as
the month of May.
"'Is that remark to be took sarkastic?' he asks at last, 'or shall we
call it nothin' more'n a brainless effort to be funny?'
"'None whatever!' retorts the Turner person; 'that observation's made
in a serious mood. Your countenance is ondoubted the facial failure of
the age, an' I requests that you turn it the other way while I
drinks.'
"Not bein' otherwise engaged at the moment, an' havin' time at his
command, Jack repairs from behind the bar, an' seizes the Turner
person by the y'ear.
"'An' this is the boasted hospital'ty of the West!' howls the Turner
person, strugglin' to free himself from Jack, who's slowly but
voloominously bootin' him towards the street.
"It's Nell who tries to save him.
"'Yere, you Jack!' she sings out, 'don't you-all go hurtin' that pore
tenderfoot none.'
"Nell's a shade too late, however; Jack's already booted him out.
"Shore, Jack apologizes.
"'Beg parding, Nellie,' he says; 'your least command beats four of a
kind with me; but as to that ejected shorthorn, I has him all thrown
out before ever you gets your stack down.'
"The Turner person picks himse'f out of the dust, an', while he feels
his frame for dislocations with one hand, feebly menaces at Black Jack
with t'other.
"'Some day, you rum-sellin' miscreent,' he says, 'you'll go too far
with me.'
"As showin' how little these vicisitoodes preys on this Turner person,
it ain't ten minutes till he's hit the middle of Wolfville's principal
causeway, roarin' at the top of his lungs,
"'Cl'ar the path! I'm the grey wolf of the mountings, an' gen'ral
desolation follows whar I leads!'
"Yere he gives a prolonged howl.
"The hardest citizen that ever belted on a gun couldn't kick up no
sech row as that in Wolfville, an' last as long as a drink of whiskey.
In half the swish of a coyote's tail, Jack Moore's got the Turner
person corralled.
"'This camp has put up with a heap from you,' says Moore, 'an' now we
tries what rest an' reeflection will do.'
"'I'm a wolf--!'
"'We savvys all about you bein' a wolf. Also, I'm goin' to tie you to
the windmill, as likely to exert a tamin' inflooence.'
"Moore conveys the Turner person to the windmill, an' ropes his two
hands to one of its laigs.
"'Thar, Wolf,' he says, makin' shore the Turner person is fastened
secoore, 'I shall leave you ontil, with every element of wildness
abated, you-all begins to feel more like a domestic anamile.'
"From whar we-all are standin' in front of the post office, we can
see the Turner person roped to the windmill laig.
"'What do you reckon's wrong with that party?' asks Enright, sort o'
gen'ral like; 'I don't take it he's actchooally locoed none.'
"Thar's half a dozen opinions on the p'int involved. Tutt su'gests
that the Turner person's wits, not bein' cinched on any too tight by
nacher in the beginnin', mebby slips their girths same as happens with
a saddle. Cherokee inclines to a notion that whatever mental
deeflections he betrays is born primar'ly of him stoppin' that week in
Red Dog. Cherokee insists that sech a space in Red Dog shore ought to
be s'fficient to give any sport, however firmly founded, a decisive
slant.
"As ag'inst both the others, Boggs holds to the view that the onusual
fitfulness observ'ble in the Turner person arises from a change of
licker, an' urges that the sudden shift from the beverages of Red Dog,
which last is indoobitably no more an' no less than liquid loonacy, to
the Red Lights Old Jordan, is bound to confer a twist upon the
straightest intellectyooals.
"'Which I knows a party,' says Boggs, 'who once immerses a ten-penny
nail in a quart of Red Dog licker, an' at the end of the week he takes
it out a corkscrew.'
"'Go an' get him, Jack,' says Enright, p'intin' to the Turner person;
'him bein' tied thar that a-way is an inhooman spectacle, an' if
little Enright Peets should come teeterin' along an' see him, it'd
have a tendency to harden the innocent child. Fetch him yere, an' let
me question him.'
"'Front up,' says Moore to the Turner person, when he's been conveyed
before Enright; 'front up now, frank an' cheerful, an' answer
questions. Also, omit all ref'rences to bein' a wolf. Which you've
worn that topic thread-bar'; an' besides it ain't calc'lated to do you
credit.'
"'Whatever's the matter with you?' asks Enright, speakin' to the
Turner person friendly like. 'Which I begins to think thar's somethin'
wrong with your system. The way you go knockin' about offendin' folks,
it won't be no time before every social circle in the Southwest'll be
closed ag'inst you. Whatever's wrong?'
"'Them's the first kind words,' ejacyoolates the Turner person,
beginnin' to weep, 'which has been spoke to me in months. Which if
you-all will ask me into yon s'loon, an' protect me from that murderer
of a barkeep while I buys the drinks, I'll show you that I've been
illyoosed to a degree whar I'm no longer reespons'ble for my deeds.
It's a love affair,' he adds, gulpin' down a sob, 'an' I've been
crooelly misonderstood.'
"'A love affair,' repeats Enright plenty soft, for the mention of love
never fails to hit our old warchief whar thar't a palin' off his
fence. 'I ain't been what you-all'd call in love none since the Purple
Blossom of Gingham Mountain marries Polly Hawkes over on the Painted
Post. Polly was a beauty, with a arm like a canthook, an' at sech
dulcet exercises as huggin' she's got b'ars left standin' sideways.
However, that's back in Tennessee, an' many years ago.'
"Enright, breshin' the drops from his eyes, herds the Turner person
into the Red Light an' signals to Black Jack.
"'Onfold,' he says; 'tell me as to that love affair wharin you gets
cold-decked.'
"Nell abandons her p'sition on the lookout stool, an' shows up
interested an' intent at Enright's shoulder.
"Ain't I in this?' she asks.
"'Be thar any feachures,' says Enright to the Turner person,
'calc'lated to offend the y'ears of innocence?'
"'None whatever,' says the Turner person. 'Which I'm oncapable of
shockin' the most fastid'yous.'
"'Is thar time,' asks Nell of Enright, 'for me to round up Missis
Rucker an' Tucson Jennie? Listenin' to love tales, that a-way, is duck
soup to both of 'em.'
"'You-all can tell 'em later, Nellie,' returns Enright. Then, to the
Turner person, 'Roll your game, _amigo_, an' if you needs refreshment,
yere it is.'
"'It ain't no mighty reecital,' says the Turner person loogubriously,
'an' yet it ought to go some distance, among fa'r-minded gents, in
explainin' them vain elements of the weird an' ranikaboo which more or
less enters into my recent conduct. I'm from Missouri; an' for a
livelihood, an' to give the wolf a stand-off, I follows the profession
of a fooneral director. My one weakness is my love for Peggy Parks,
who lives with her folks out in the Sni-a-bar hills.
"'The nuptual day is set, an' I goes hibernatin' off to Kansas City to
fetch the license.'
"'How old be you?' breaks in Enright.
"'Me? I'm twenty-six the last Joone rise of the old Missouri. As I
was sayin', I hitches my hoss in Market Squar', an' takes to
reeconoiterin' along Battle Row, wonderin' wharever them licenses is
for sale, anyway. Final, I discovers a se'f satisfied lookin' party,
who's pattin' a dog. I goes to talkin' about the dog, an' allowin'
I'm some on dogs myse'f, all by way of commencin' a conversation;
an' winds up by askin' whar I go for to get a license. "Over thar,"
says the dog party p'intin' across to a edifice he asshores me is a
City Hall. "First floor, first door, an' the damage is a dollar."
"'Thus steered, I goes streakin' it across, an' follows directions. I
boards my dollar, an' demands action. The outcast who's dealin' the
license game writes in my name, an' shoves the paper across. In a blur
of bliss I files it away in my jeans, mounts my hoss, an' goes
gambodin' back to Peggy, waitin' at ancestral Sni-a-bar.'
"'Is your Peggy sweetheart pretty?' asks Nell.
"'She's a lamp of loveliness! Sweet? Beetrees is gall an' wormwood to
her.
"'As to the weddin', it's settled Peggy an' me is to come flutterin'
from our respective perches the next day. Doubtless we'd have done so,
only them orange blossom rites strikes the onexpected an' goes
glancin' off.
"'It's the Campbellite preacher, who's been brought in to marry us,
that starts it. The play's to be made at Peggy's paw's house, after
which, for a weddin' trip, she an' me's to go wanderin' out torwards
the Shawnee Mission, whar I've got some kin. The parson, when he has
the entire outfit close-herded into the parlor, asks--bein' a car'ful
old practitioner--to see the license. I turns it over, an' he takes it
to the window to read. He gives that docyooment one look, an' then
glowers at me personal mighty baleful. "Miserable wretch," says he,
"do you-all want to get yourse'f tarred an' feathered?"