an' mighty nigh as lovely, too, as Nell; only she's blind, this yere
Mike's girl wife is, blind as any midnight mole. Besides her, an' a
armful of paint breshes an' pictures, about all Mike's got in the way
of plunder is a ten-dollar bill. If it's only Mike, we-all might have
thickened our hides a heap, an' let him go jumpin' sideways for his
daily grub, same as other folks. But girls must be fed, speshully
blind ones.
"Which this egreegious Mike, who calls her his 'little Joolie,' allows
her bein' blind that a-way is why he marries her.
"'It inshores her innocence,' he says; 'because it inshores her
ignorance of the world.'
"'Likewise,' remarks Peets, as we stands discussin' this yere
reasonin' of Mike's in the Red Light, 'it inshores her ignorance of
them onmitigated pictures he paints. Which if ever she was just to get
one good look at 'em, he couldn't hold her with a Spanish bit. But
you-all knows how it is, Sam?'--Yere Peets clinks his glass, an' all
mighty sagacious, ag'inst Enright's--'The wind is tempered to the
shorn lamb. On the whole, I ain't none convinced that her bein' blind,
that a-way, ain't for the best.'
"To look at this little Joolie, you-all'd never know she can't see
none. Her eyes is big an' soft an' deep, an nothin' queer about 'em
except they has a half-blurred, baby look. Peets allows it's the nerve
bein' dead which does it. But blind or not, little Joolie shore dotes
on that Red Mike husband of hers, as though he's made of love an'
gold. Which he's her heaven!
"While it's evident, after a ca'm an' onbiased consideration of
his works, that from standp'ints of art this yere Mike's about
sign-painter size, little Joolie regyards him as the top-sawyer
genius of this or any other age.
"'He'll revolutionize the world of art,' she declar's to Nell, who's
mighty constant about goin' to see her; 'Ivan'--she pronounces it
'Vahn'--'is ondoubted destined to become the founder of a noo
school.'
"'An' her face,' goes on Nellie, as she tells us about it over to the
O. K. Restauraw one evenin', after Mike an' his little Joolie wife's
done pulled their freight for the night--'an' her face glows with the
faith of a angel! So if any of you-all boys finds occasion to speak of
this yere Mike in her presence, you be shore an' sw'ar that, as an
artist, he's got nacher backed plumb off the lay-out.'
"'The wretch who fails,' adds Missis Rucker, plenty fierce, 'don't
wrastle his hash with me no more! You can gamble that marplot has
tackled his final plateful of slapjacks at the O. K. House, an' this
yere's notice to that effect.'
"It's a cinch, of course, that none of us is that obtoose as to go
sayin' anything to pain this yere blind little Joolie; at the same
time no one regyards it as feas'ble to resent them threats of Missis
Rucker! She's a mighty sperited matron, Missis Rucker is, sperited to
the verge of bein' vindictive, an' rubbin' her fur the wrong way is
the same as rubbin' a bobcat's fur the wrong way. As a exercise thar's
nothin' in it. Besides, we're plumb used to it, owin' to her
threatenin' us about one thing or another constant. Menaces, that
a-way, is Missis Rucker's style.
"Mike an' his Joolie wife don't live at the O. K. House, but only gets
their chuck thar. He allows that to do jestice to his art he's got to
have what he calls a 'no'th light,' an' so he goes meanderin' out on
the no'th side of town, an' jumps a empty shack.
"Driv by a lack of money, mighty likely, Mike ain't in camp a week
before he makes it plenty plain that, onless he's headed off or
killed, he's goin' to paint Enright a whole lot. As a preelim'nary he
loores a passel of us over to his wickeyup to show us samples.
"'That's my chef dever,' he says, bringin' for'ard a smudgy lookin'
canvas, plastered all over with reds an' browns.
"We-all takes a slant at it, maintainin' ourselves meanwhile as grave
as a passel of owls. An' at that the most hawk-eyed in the outfit
can't make it look like nothin'. We-all hangs back in the straps, an'
waits for Peets to take the lead. For thar is the pretty little blind
Joolie wife, all y'ears an' lovin' int'rest, an' after what Nell an'
Missis Rucker has done said the gent who lacerates her feelin's is
lost. In sech a pinch Peets is our guidin' light.
"'Massive!' says Peets, after a pause.
"'Which she's shore a heap massive!' we murmurs, followin' Peets'
smoke.
"'An' sech atmosphere!' Peets goes on.
"'Atmosphere to give away!' we echoes.
"At these yere encomiyums the pore pleased face of little Joolie is
beamin' like the sun. As for Mike, he assoomes a easy attitoode, same
as though compliments means nothin' to him.
"'What's the subject?' Peets asks.
"'That, my friend, is the _Linden in October_,' returns Mike, as
though he's showin' us a picture of heaven's front gate. 'Yes, the
_Linden in October_.'
"'Which if this yere Pole,' whispers Texas to Cherokee, 'is able to
make anything out of that smear, he can shore see more things without
the aid of licker than any sport that ever spreads his blankets in
Cochise County.'
"Texas is a heap careful not to let either Mike or the little Joolie
girl ketch on to what he says.
"Also, it's worth recallin' that Mike an' the little Joolie is the
only wedded pa'r, of which the Southwest preeserved a record, that
don't bring bilious recollections to Texas of his former Laredo wife.
[Illustration: "WHAT'S THE SUBJECT?" PEETS ASKS. "THAT, MY FRIEND, IS THE
'LINDEN IN OCTOBER,'" RETURNS MIKE, AS THOUGH HE'S A SHOWIN' US A PICTURE
OF HEAVEN'S FRONT GATE. p. 238.]
"'Not but what thar's a wrong thar, Doc,' he insists, the time Peets
mentions it; 'not but what this yere Red Mike-Joolie sityooation
harbors a wrong. Only it's onavailable to 'llustrate the illyoosage I
suffers at the hands of my Laredo wife.'
"After the _Linden_ Mike totes out mebby it's a dozen other smeary
squar's of canvas. We goes over 'em one by one, cockin' our eyes an'
turnin' our heads first one way an' then another, like a bloo jay
peerin' into a knothole. When Peets lets drive something about 'sky
effects,' an' 'fore-grounds,' an' 'middle-distance,' we stacks in all
sim'lar. Thar's nothin' to it; Mike an' the little Joolie girl puts in
a mighty pleasant hour.
"Mike, feelin' hospit'ble, an' replyin' to a thirsty look which Jack
Moore sort o' sheds about the room, reegrets he ain't got no whiskey.
"'My little Joolie objectin',' he explains.
"'Oh, well,' speaks up Peets, who's plumb eager to bring them art
studies to a wind-up, 'when thar's famine in Canaan thar's corn in
Egypt. S'ppose we-all goes romancin' over to the Red Light an' licker
up. Thar's nothin' like nosepaint, took internal, for bringin' out a
picture's convincin' p'ints.'
"'Right you be, Doc,' says Moore. 'It's only last week, when I myse'f
cuts the trail of Monte, who, as the froote of merely the seventh
drink, is sheddin' scaldin' tears over a three-sheet poster stuck onto
the corral gate. This yere stampede in color deepicts the death of
"Little Eva," as preesented in the _Uncle Tom_ show ragin' over to the
Bird Cage Op'ry House. Monte allows it's one of the most movin' things
he's ever met up with, an' protests between sobs ag'inst takin' out
the stage that day for its reg'lar trip. "Which it's a hour for
mournin'," he groans; an' he's shore shocked when the company insists.
As he throws free the brake he shakes the tears from his eyes, an'
says, "These yere corp'rations ain't got no heart!"'
"If thar's ever any chance of Enright bein' that weak the sight of
them smudges an' smears settles it, an' while we stands shovin' the
Old Jordan along the Red Light bar, he allows to Mike that on the
whole he don't reckon he'll have himse'f painted none. Rememberin',
however, that it's a ground-hawg case with Mike, who needs the money,
Enright gives him a commission to paint Monte.
"'Him bein' a histor'cal character, that a-way,' says Enright.
"Monte is over in Tucson, but you should have heard that drunkard's
language when he's told.
"'Whatever be you-all tryin' to do to me, Sam?' he wails. 'Ain't a
workin' man got no rights? Yere be I, the only gent in camp who has
actchooal dooties to perform, an' a plot is set afoot behind my back
to make me infamous!'
"'It's to go over the Red Light bar,' explains Enright, 'to be a
horr'ble example for folks with a tendency to over-drink. As for you
yellin' like a pig onder a gate, who is it, I asks, that beguiles this
indigent artist party into camp, an' leaves him on our hands? Bein'
he's yere, I takes it that even your whiskey-drowned intell'gence
ree'lizes that this yere Mike, an' speshully the little blind Joolie,
has got to be fed.'
"'Well, gents,' returns Monte, gulpin' down his grief with his
nosepaint, 'I reckons if it's your little game to use me as a
healthful moral inflooence, I'd lose out to go puttin' up a roar. All
the same, as sufferer in chief, I'm entitled to be more consulted by
you uplifters before ever you arranges to perpetchooate me to
poster'ty as a common jeer.'
"Shore; these yere protests of Monte's ain't more'n half on the level.
After a fashion, he's plenty pleased.
"'For,' he says, confidin' in Black Jack over his licker, 'it ain't
every longhorn of a stage driver whose picture is took by one of these
yere gifted Yooropeans.'
"Black Jack agrees to this in full, for he's a good-hearted barkeep,
that a-way.
"In doo time the picture's hung up back of the Red Light bar.
Regyarded as a portrait it's shore some desp'rate, an' even Enright
sort o' half reepents. Monte, after studyin' it a while, begins to get
sore in earnest. Them scales, like the scriptoors say, certainly do
fall from his eyes.
"'Jack,' he says, appealin' to Moore, who happens to be present, 'does
that thing look like me?'
"'Why, yes,' Jack replies, squintin' his left eye a heap critical; 'to
be shore it flatters you some, but then them artists gen'rally does.'
"'Jack, if I'm that feeble as to go believin' what you says, I'd borry
a shotgun from the express company and blow off the top of my head.
That ain't the portrait of no hooman bein"--an' Monte raises a
dispa'rin' hand at the picture; 'it's a croode preesentation of some
onnacheral cross between a coyote and a cowskin trunk.'
"Cherokee gets up from behind his lay-out, an' strolls over so's to
get a line on the picture. He takes a long an' disparagin' survey.
"'It ain't that I'm incitin' you to voylence, Monte,' he remarks
final, 'but if you owes a dooty to s'ciety, don't forget that you owes
also a dooty to yourse'f. You'll be lackin' in se'f-respect if you
don't give Sam Enright two weeks to take that outrage down, an' if it
ain't removed by then you'll bust it.'
"Black Jack is ag'in the picture, too.
"'Not,' he says, 'that I wants to put the smother on it entire; only I
figger it'd look better in the post office, folks not makin' it so
much of a hangout. Regyarded commercial, it's a setback to the Red
Light. Some gent comes trackin' up intent on drinks, an' feelin' gala.
After one glance at Monte up thar it's all off. That reveller's
changed his mind, an' staggers out into the open ag'in without a word.
The joint is daily knocked for about the price of a stack of bloos, as
the direct result of that work of art. Which I'd as soon have a gila
monster in the winder.'
"Mike ain't present none when all this yere flattery is flyin'. If he
was thar in person nothin' would have been said. Whoever'd be that
hardened as to go harrowin' up the sens'tive soul of a artist, even if
his work don't grade as corn-fed?
"Some later tribyoote to his talents, however, reaches the y'ears of
Mike. On the back of Black Jack's protests the Lightnin' Bug, who's
come over from Red Dog for a little visit, drifts in. When he sees
Monte's portrait his eyes lights up like a honka-tonk on Saturday
night.
"'Rattlesnakes an' stingin' lizards!' he cries; 'which I'm a Mexican
if you-all ain't gone an' got him painted! However do you-all manage?
I remembers when we captures him it's the last spring round-up but
one. Two weeks goes by before ever we gets him so he'll w'ar clothes!
An' even then we-all has to blindfold him an' back him in!'
"'Whoever do you reckon that is, Bug?' asks Black Jack.
"'It's that locoed Digger Injun, ain't it?' says the Bug; 'him we
corrals, that time, livin' on ants an' crickets, an' roots an' yarbs,
over in Potato canyon?'
"'It's Monte.'
"'Monte! Does anybody get killed about it?'
"Black Jack mentions Mike as the artist.
"'What, that Dutch galoot with the long ha'r?' says the Bug.
"'Which he's a Pole.'
"'Pole or Dutchman, what's the odds? I sees a party back in Looeyville
whose ha'r's most as long as his. We entices him to a barber shop on a
bet to have it cut, an' I'm ag'in the union if four flyin' squirrels
don't come scootin' out. They've been nestin' in it.'
"The Bug swings lightly into the saddle after a while, an' goes
clatterin' back to Red Dog. No notice would have been took of what he
says, only Monte, who hears it from Black Jack, is that malev'lent he
goes an' tells Mike.
"'You-all will make trouble between 'em, Monte,' Nell reemonstrates,
when Monte's braggin' in his besotted way about what he's done.
"'That's all right, Nellie. Both of 'em's been insultin' me; Mike by
paintin' me so I'm a holy show, an' the Bug by lettin' on to take me
for a Digger buck. S'ppose the Bug downs Mike, or Mike does up the
Bug? Either way it's oats in your uncle Monte's feed box. That's me,
Nellie; that's your old uncle Monte every time! Which, when it comes
to cold intrigue, that a-way, I'm the swiftest sport in our set.'
"On hearin' about the Bug from Monte Mike gets plenty intemp'rate. He
goes plumb in the air, an' stays thar. He gives it out that he's goin'
to prance over to Red Dog an' lay for the Bug. Nothin' but blood is
goin' to do him.
"Thar's nothin' we can say or do to stop Mike, so after talkin' it
over a spell we deecides to throw him loose, Enright first sendin'
word that he's harmless, an' not to be bumped off.
"Upon receivin' Enright's word the Red Dog chief passes on a warnin'
to the Bug. Mike mustn't, onder no circumstances, be killed. Bein'
he's a artist he's not reespons'ble.
"'Me kill him!' cries the Bug, who's scandalized at the idee; 'me take
a gun to sech a insect! Gents, I've too much reespect for them good
old faithful .45's of mine to play it as low down on 'em as all
that.'
"Which there leeniencies I allers feels is on account of the little
Joolie, an' the blind love she entertains for Mike. When the worst
does come we carefully conceals from her the troo details, an' insists
that the powder house goes off by itse'f.
"Then Nell, with Tucson Jennie and Missis Rucker to back her, carries
the little Joolie girl the news. It's shore tough papers; an' Missis
Rucker an' Tucson Jennie is kept racin' an' runnin' an' riotin'
between the O. K. House an' Mike's wickeyup, freightin' over camphor
an' sim'lar reestor'tives to the little Joolie all night long, while
Nellie holds her head.
"Does Mike's kickin' the bucket leave the little Joolie broke? It's
this a-way: You see we-all chips in, an' makes up a fa'rly moderate
pile to buy the _Linden in October_.
"'It's to remember your gifted husband by,' explains Enright, as him
an' Peets an' Boggs goes over to clink down the gold, an' get the
_Linden_. 'This yere transcendent spec'men shall never leave our
hands.'
"'Not while we live!' declar's Peets.
"'It's a marv'lous picture!' returns the little Joolie girl, proud and
tearful both at once.
"'Marv'lous!' repeats Peets; 'it's got the _Angelus_ beat four ways
from the Jack.'
"'Which I should remark!' puts in Boggs. 'Why, Doc, this yere _Linden_
of ours shore makes that _Angelus_ thing look like an old beer
stamp.'
"These yere outpourin's of onreestricted admiration shore does set the
little Joolie to smilin' through her tears. Also, the bankroll they
brings her sends her back to her folks in style.
"So you don't regyard it as the proper caper to go deceivin' the
little Joolie girl? That's preecisely the p'sition a Bible sharp over
in Tucson takes, when some party's mentionin' the business.
"'You go tell that doubtin' Thomas of a sky-pilot,' says Peets, on
hearin' about it, 'that he can bet a ton of Watts' hymn books on it.
You-all say, too, for his pulpit guidance, that what looks like
deceit, that a-way, is often simple del'cacy, while Christian charity
freequent w'ars the face of fraud.'
"But I'm gettin' ahead of the wagons. Mike, who's a heap heated, goes
lookin' for the Bug in the Tub of Blood S'loon. The Bug don't happen
to be vis'ble no whar in the scen'ry when Mike comes clatterin' in. By
way of a enterin' wedge Mike subscribes for a drink. As the Tub
barkeep goes settin' out the glasses Mike, with his custom'ry gifts
for gettin' himse'f in wrong, starts fomentin' trouble. An' at that
it's simply his ignorance, an' a conceited deesire to show off among
them Red Dogs.
"As the Tub barkeep slams down the crockery Mike barks up sort o'
sharp an' peevish:
"'The ice! Ain't you people got no ice?'
"The Tub barkeep takes a sour squinch-owl look at Mike. Then he goes
softly swabbin' off the counter.
"After a while he looks up an' says:
"'Which you don't notice no swirlin' drifts of snow outside, do you?
You ain't been swallowed up in no blizzard, be you, comin' into town?
No, my stilted, stiff-laigged sheep of the mountain, we ain't got no
ice.'
"Mike, feelin' some buffaloed by the barkeep's manner, don't say no
more. In silence he drinks his licker, an' then sets down at a table.
"The barkeep, with the tail of his eye, continyoos to look him over.
"'Whatever do you make of that crazy maverick,' he asks of a
freighter, who's jest rolled in from Lordsburg. 'The idee of him
askin' for ice in August!'
"'Mebby he's the ha'r-brained party they sends word about from
Wolfville,' the freighter replies--'him who's out to crawl the Bug's
hump a whole lot?'
"'That's the identical persimmon!' exclaims the barkeep, slammin' his
hand on the counter. 'Which I ought to have knowed it without bein'
told. I wonder if Peets, or some of them other Wolfville sports, puts
him up to come bully-raggin' round yere about ice to insult us?'
"The freighter allows he'll edge into a pow-wow with Mike, an' feel
him out.
"Planted at the same table, the freighter an' Mike is soon as thick as
thieves. They're gettin' along like two pups in a basket, when in
comes a disturbin' element in the shape of one of them half-hoss
half-alligator felons, whose distinguishin' characteristic is that
they're allers grouchy an' hostile. That's the drawback to Red Dog. It
certainly is the home camp of some of the most ornery reptiles, that
a-way!
"The grouchy sorehead party, from the jump, gets dissatisfied about
Mike's ha'r, which he w'ars a foot long same as all artists. Which a
gent can't be no painter onless he's got ha'r like a cow pony. The
sorehead party marches up an' down by the table whar Mike an' the
freighter is swappin' lies, schemin' as to how he's goin' to make a
warlike hook-up with Mike. After a spell he thinks he sees his way
through, an' rounds to an' growls.
"'What's that? Does one of your onparalleled tarrapins say something
deerog'tory about George Washin'ton?'
"Both the freighter an' Mike looks up some amazed, but pleads not
guilty. They ain't, they says, even thinkin' of Washin'ton.
"'Which I begs your parding,' returns Sorehead, snortin' mighty
haughty an' elab'rate; 'I fancies I hears some one make some
onbecomin' remark about Washin'ton. Mighty likely it's that licker I
drinkt last night.'
"Two minutes later he halts ag'in.
"'It ain't possible I'm mistook this time. An' at that I don't
precisely ketch what you offensive ground-owls is observin' about
Thomas Jefferson?'
"Mike an' the Lordsburg freighter insists vehement that thar's been no
alloosion to Jefferson, none whatever.
"'Parding!' Sorehead snorts; 'ag'in I asks parding! As former, I finds
I'm barkin' at a bunch of leaves. My y'ear deeceives me into thinkin'
that you two fool ground-owls is indulgin' in reecrim'nations ag'inst
Thomas Jefferson.'
"It's the third time, an' Sorehead's back, neck bowed an' fingers
workin'.
"'Now thar's no error! Which one of you cheap prairie dogs makes that
low-flung statement about old Andy Jackson? Let him speak up, an' I'll
give him a hundred dollars before devourin' his heart.'
"'No one mentions Jackson,' says Mike, who's becomin' frightened an'
fretted; 'whatever's the idee of any one talkin' about Jackson,
anyhow?'
"'Oh, ho! Perhaps, my bold galoot, you think old Andy ain't worth
talkin' about!'
"Sayin' which, that sorehead malcontent reaches for Mike, an' the two
go sailin' 'round the room permiscus. Sorehead picks Mike up, an'
sweeps a cord or two of glasswar' off the bar with him. Then he
employs him in bringin' down a picture from the wall. After which he
nacherally tosses him hither an' yon in the most irrel'vant way.
"Sorehead has jest reached up with Mike, an' smashed a chandelier
carryin' fourteen coal-oil lamps, when in t'ars the Lightnin' Bug,
white an' frothin'. The Bug don't waste no time lookin' for holds, but
casyooally, yet no less s'fficiently, snags onto Sorehead. Fixin' his
ten claws in him, the Bug fo'thwith embarks upon sech feats in the
way of ground an' lofty tumblin' with that gladiator, as to make what
happens to Mike seem pooerile.
"'Don't you-all know,' shouts the Bug, as, havin' done broke a cha'r
with Sorehead, he proceeds to deevote what's left of him to smashin' a
table--'don't you-all know, you abandoned profligate, that this yere
artist you've been maltreatin' is a pers'nal friend of mine, yere
present in Red Dog to confab with me on important affairs? An' is it
for a houseless sot like you to take to minglin' with him malignant?
Yereafter don't you-all so much as presoome to breathe without first
gettin' my permission so to do in writin'!'
"As closin' the incident the Bug sends Sorehead hurtlin' through a
window, sash an' all. After which he dusts off his hands an' says:
"'Gents, let's licker.'
"The barkeep's that gratified he declar's the drinks is on the Tub.
"'Also, the glass an' sash, Bug,' he adds.
"Bein' refreshed, the Bug tenderly collects Mike, who's in a frayed
an' fragmentary condition, an' gently freights him over to us on a
buckboard. It's a week before Peets allows he's ag'in ready for the
show ring, an' he uses up enough co't plaster on him to kyarpet the
Red Light. Little Joolie? We let's on to her that Mike meets up with a
she grizzly an' her cubs, an' while he cleans up that fam'ly he
nacherally gets chewed.
"'Mike's shorely some abrated, ma'am,' explains Peets; 'but he's
mendin' fast. When I first lays eyes on him, after he encounters that
bevy of b'ars, it's a question if his skin'll hold his principles. But
don't take on, Ma'am; now I've got him headed right he'll be as good
as new in a week. Don't forget, too, that he shore does land that band
of grizzlies in the scrap-heap.'
"Mike emerges from the hands of Peets filled with a pecooliar furrin'
form of wrath, an' talkin' about his honor. It's Sorehead he's after
now. As a noble Pole, he says, he has been most contoomeliously used,
an' insists upon a dooel. Not with the Bug, who's withdrew them
orig'nal jedgments concernin' old Monte's portrait, an' substitooted
tharfor the view that said picture's bound to become the artistic
pride an' joy of Arizona. Mike wants to fight the onreegen'rate
Sorehead.
"In the flush of their new friendship Mike asks the Bug to heel an'
handle him. Also, it's warmin' to your better nacher to note the
enthoosiasm wharwith the Bug takes up his dooties.
"'It'll be six-shooters at ten paces,' he explains to Mike; 'an' if
you only shoots like you paints, we'll send that tramp whar the wicked
cease from troublin' an' the weary are at rest.'
"The Red Dog chief gives his word to Enright that Mike ain't in no
danger.
"'Comin' down to cases,' says the Red Dog chief; 'it's even money that
this yere Sorehead crawfishes. If he don't we've got it all set up to
hand him the Bug, instead of that Red Mike artist of yours. So you see
thar's lit'rally nothin' for you-all wolves to worry over at all.'
"'We-all wolves ain't in the habit of worryin' to any astoundin'
extent,' returns Enright, some rigid; 'none the less, I allows I'll
take a look through the sights myse'f, merely by way of makin' shore
which way the gun is p'inted. Thar's reasons, one of 'em a lovin'
little blind girl, why we're not so plumb partic'lar about havin' this
yere alleged artist party put over the jump.'