takes refooge in a trottin' hoss, which form of equine is as strange
to us as camelopards. Shore, we has our runnin' races, pony ag'inst
pony, a quarter of a mile dash; but that's as far as we goes.
"The Turner person says that for himse'f he prefers trottin' races,
an' after seein' him ride once I shore quits marvellin' at that
pref'rence. You could no more keep him on a pony than you could keep
him on a red-hot stove. We ties a roll of blankets across the horn of
the saddle, an' organizes him with buckin' straps besides, an' in the
face of all them safegyards he rolls off that hoss same as you'd
expect some chambermaid to do.
"Accordin' to the Turner person, trottin' races is the sport of kings,
an' actin' on this feelin' he sends back East for a hoss. He drives it
in one evenin' behind the stage, an' we-all goes over to the corral to
size it up. It's consid'rable of a hoss, too, standin' three hands
higher than the tallest of our ponies. Also, it has a ewe neck an'
lib'ral legs. It's name is 'Henry of Navarre,' but we sees at once
that sech'll never do, an' re-christens him 'Boomerang Bob.'
"When this hoss arrives Boggs gets excited, an' him an' the Turner
person lays out a track all around town like a belt. Boggs allows it's
a mile long, or near enough, an' after a passel of Greasers cl'ars
away the cactus an' mesquite an' Spanish bayonet, the Turner person
hooks up Boomerang to a mountain wagon, an' sends him 'round an'
'round an' 'round at a pace that'd make your eyes stick out so far you
could see your sins. Old Boomerang is shore some eevanescent! When
that Turner person shakes the reins an' yells 'Skoot!' you could hear
him whizz. On sech occasions he's nothin' short of a four-laigged
meteor, an' looks forty feet long passin' a given p'int.
"The big drawback is that thar ain't no quadrooped anywhar about to
race Boomerang ag'inst. Leastwise, we don't hear of none for goin' on
some months, an' when we do it's as far away as Albuquerque. Some
consumptive tenderfoot, it looks like, has got a trottin' hoss over
some'ers between Albuquerque an' Socorro, sech at least is the word
which comes to us.
"When this pulmonary sport hears of Boomerang, which he does by
virchoo of the overblown boastin's of the Turner person, he announces
that his hoss, Toobercloses, can beat him for money, marbles or chalk.
Then comes a season of bluff an' counter-bluff, the pulmonary party
insistin' that the Turner person bring Boomerang up to Albuquerque,
an' the Turner person darin' the pulmonary sport to fetch his 'dog,'
as he scornfully terms Toobercloses, down to Wolfville.
"It's to be said for the Turner person that he'd have shore took
Boomerang, an' gone romancin' off to Albuquerque, lookin' for that
weak-lunged reprobate an' his hoss, only sent'ment is plumb ag'inst
it. We-all don't propose to lose the camp the advantages of that
contest, an' so to put an eend to discussion, we urges upon the Turner
person that we-all'll shore kill him if he tries. This yere firmness
gives us the pref'rence over Albuquerque, an' the pulmonary sport
allows final that he'll come to Wolfville, but don't say when.
"While eevents is thus a-whirl, an' the camp's all keyed up to concert
pitch over the comin' race between Boomerang an' Toobercloses, the
long-hoped for comes to pass an' the Turner person, as fooneral
director, receives his 'nitial call. Over in Red Dog is a party named
Holt. He ain't standin' none too high, him havin' married a Mexican
woman, an' even them Red Dogs has the se'f-respect to draw the social
line at Mexicans. One sun-up, however, she goes trapesin' across the
line to visit her people down near Casa Grande, an' she never does
come back. It looks like she's got enough of old Holt, which to gents
who knows him don't go trenchin' on the strange.
"The long suit of this yere Mexican wife of old Holt's is thinkin'
she's sick, she holdin' that she's got as many things the matter with
her as is preyin' on Armstrong's uncle. When she breaks out of the
corral an' goes stampedin' off to her tribe, she leaves behind mebby
it's a hundred bottles or more of patent med'cine, rangin' all the way
from arnica to ha'r dye.
"Followin' her flight that a-way old Holt goes to takin' an account of
stock by way of seein' what she cabbages an' what she leaves, an' the
first flash he blunders upon this yere bushel or so of drugs. He's too
froogal to throw 'em away, old Holt is, bein' plumb pars'monious that
a-way, an' after revolvin' the play in his mind for a spell, he ups
an' swallows 'em to save 'em.
"No one ever does figger out jest what individyooal med'cine bumps
old Holt off that time, an' thar's no sayin' whether it's the arnica
or the ha'r dye or some other deecoction, or simply the whole
clan-jamfrey in comb'nation. Not that any gent goes to reely delvin'
for the trooth, the gen'ral interest pitchin' camp contentedly on
the simple fact that old Holt's been shore put over the jump. Doc
Peets? Old Holt's packed in before the Doc's half way to Red Dog.
Shore; some of them bottled med'cines is as ack'rate an' as full
of action as a six-shooter.
"Of course we-all is pleased to think the Turner person, as fooneral
director, ain't been born to bloom onseen, but the rift in the floote
is that the corpse belongs to Red Dog. Old Holt ain't ours none, an'
from whatever angle we looks at it it appears like Wolfville ain't
goin' to get a look in.
"It's at pinches sech as this that Enright shows his genius for
leadership. While all of us is lookin' bloo, to see how Red Dog beats
us to it for our own hearse, our fertile old war chief is ribbin' up a
game for pop'lar relief.
"The Red Dog del'gation, headed by the Red Dog chief, comes over to
round up the Turner person an' his hearse to entomb old Holt. At their
showin' up Enright begins to onkiver his diplomacy.
"'Which we symp'thizes with you-all in your bereevement, gents,' says
he to the Red Dog bunch, 'but it's ag'inst our rooles for this yere
hearse to go outside of camp.'
"'Ain't you actin' some niggardly about that hearse?' asks the Red Dog
chief coldly.
"'Not niggardly, only proodent. Death cometh as a thief in the night,
speshully in Arizona, an' we-all'd be a fine band of prairie dogs to
go lendin' our only hearse all over the territory, an' mebby have it
skallyhootin' 'round som'ers up about the Utah line jest when we needs
it at home. However, as refootin' your onjest charge of bein'
niggards, if you-all Red Dogs wants to bring deceased over yere, our
entire lay-out is at your disposal. Allowin' you can find your own
sky-pilot, we stands ready to not only let you have our hearse, but
furnish you likewise with moosic from the Bird Cage Op'ry House,
cha'rs from the dance hall, the Noo York store to hold serv'ces in, to
say nothin' to considerin' you-all as our guests from soda to hock,
with every Red Light thing said term implies.'
"'Also,' observes Peets, who, from his place at Enright's elbow, is
ridin' circumspect herd on the play--'also, we presents you-all,
without money an' without price, a sepulcher in our buryin' ground on
Boot Hill.'
"This yere last provokes a storm of protest, the Red Dog del'gation
takin' turns exposchoolatin'. But Enright an' the Doc stands ca'mly
pat.
"'Which now,' says the Red Dog chief, an' his tones is bitter--'which
now I begins to ketch onto your plot. You savvys as well as I do that
old Holt don't ought to go into your pile at all. He belongs in our
pile--to Red Dog's pile. An' let me reemind you intriguers that Red
Dog owns its own cem'tery over in Headboard Hollow, an' ain't askin'
graveyard odds of any outfit west of the Spanish Peaks. This is a fine
idee,' he concloods, turnin' sneerin'ly to his cohorts; 'not content
with tryin' to grab off these yere obs'quies, they're brazenly
manooverin' to purloin the corpse.'
"At these contoomelius reemarks Boggs, Tutt, Moore an' Cherokee takes
to edgin' to the fore, but Enright reepresses 'em with a admon'tory
wave of his hand.
"'Gents,' he says, to the Red Dog hold-ups, 'as vis'tors, even though
se'f-invited, you're entitled to courtesy. But thar's a limit goes
with courtesy even, an' you-all mustn't press it.'
"This last sets the Red Dog outfit back on its apol'getic ha'nches,
an' after a few more footile but less insultin' bluffs, they retires
to consult. The wind-up is that they yields to Enright's terms,
incloosive of Boot Hill, an' after libatin' at the Red Light they
canters off to freight over old Holt, so's to be ready to hold the
fooneral next day.
"As I looks back to them prep'rations thar's no denyin' that as a
fooneral director the Turner person proves himse'f plumb cap'ble of
gettin' thar with the goods. Once he reeceives the word, everything
goes off as measured an' steady as the breathin' of a sleepin' child.
Even the Red Dog chief is moved to softer views, as gents frequent be
followin' the eighth drink, an' whispers to Enright, confidenshul,
that when all's in the only thing he deplores is that old Holt is
bein' planted on Boot Hill instead of in Headboard Hollow. At this
Enright, meetin' the Red Dog chief half-way, whispers back that later,
if Red Dog desires the same, we'll jump in an' move old Holt a whole
lot to Headboard Hollow. At this lib'ral'ty the Red Dog chief squeezes
Enright's hand a heap fraternal, an' chokes with emotion. He sobs out
that this is the one thing wanted to reestore them former friendly
reelations between the camps.
"The procession is one of the most exhil'ratin' pageants ever seen in
the Southwest. At the head is the ploomed hearse, old Holt inside,
the Turner person on the box. Next comes the stage coach, Monte
drivin', an' Nell, Missis Rucker, Tucson Jennie, little Enright Peets,
the Turner person's Peggy bride an' other ladies inside. The balance
of us attends on our ponies, ridin' two an' two.
"As we're waitin' for the preacher sharp, who's goin' in the stage, to
get tucked in among the ladies, a hollow-chested, chalk-cheeked,
sardonic-lookin', cynical-seemin' bandit, drivin' a lean-laigged hoss
to one of them spid'ry things they calls a quill-wheel, comes
pirootin' along over to one side of the fooneral cortege at a walk.
He's p'intin' in from over Red Dog way, but I savvys from the
wonderin' faces of them Red Dog sports that he's as new to them as us.
The cynical bandit skirts along our procession ontil he's abreast of
the hearse. Then he pulls up, we-all not havin' had the word to start
as yet.
"The Turner person has hooked up old Boomerang to the hearse, so as to
confer on this his first fooneral all the style he can. Havin' halted
his quill-wheel, the hectic bandit, coughin' a little, p'ints his whip
at Boomerang an' says to the Turner person:
"'Is this the skate you're tryin' to match ag'inst my Toobercloses?'
"'Grizzly b'ars an' golden eagles!' exclaims Boggs, who's ridin' next
to me, 'if he ain't that lunger from Albuquerque!' An' Boggs pulls out
to the left, an' crowds up towards the hearse for a closer look.
"'As fooneral director,' the Turner person replies to the hectic,
quill-wheel bandit, whom he fathoms instantly--'as fooneral director,
I must preeserve the decorums. But only you wait, you onblushin'
outlaw, ontil I've patted down the sods on old Holt yere, an' I'll
race you for every splinter you own.'
"'That's all right,' retorts the hectic bandit, givin' another little
cat-cough. 'Which you needn't get your ondertakin' back up none.
Meanwhile, I'll nacherally string along with these obs'quies, so's to
be ready to talk turkey to you when you're through.'
"Enright gives the signal an', with Boomerang an' the hearse at the
head, the procession lines out at a seedate walk for the grave.
"Boot Hill's been located about a mile an' a half off, so as to give
our foonerals doo effect. As we pushes for'ard, everything mighty
solemn, the hectic bandit, keepin' a few feet off to one side, walks
his hoss parallel with the hearse. Every now an' then his hoss, makin'
a half bolt as if he's been flicked by the lash, would streak ahead a
rod or two like a four-laigged shadow. Then he'd pull him down to a
walk, an' sort o' linger along ontil the hearse comes up ag'in. He
does this a half dozen times; an' all in a hectorin' sperit that'd
anger the pulseless soul of a clam.
"One way an' another it stirs up the feelin's of old Boomerang, who's
beginnin' to bite at the bit an' throw his laigs some antic an'
permiscus. The Turner person himse'f acts like a party who's holdin'
onto his eemotions by the tail, so as to keep 'em from breakin' loose.
His face is set, his elbows squar'd, an' he's settin' up on his hearse
as stiff an' straight as a rifle bar'l, lookin' dead ahead between old
Boomerang's two y'ears. So it goes on for likely half a mile, the
hectic bandit seesawin' an' pesterin' an' badgerin' old Boomerang, now
dartin' ahead, now slowin' back to let the hearse ketch up.
"As I yeretofore explains, the Turner person ain't arranged mental to
entertain more'n one idee at a time. My own notion is that as the
hectic bandit, with Toobercloses, commences to encroach more an' more
upon his attention, he loses sight that a-way of old Holt an' the
fooneral. Whatever the valyoo of this as a theery, thar comes a
moment, about a mile from Boot Hill, when, as sudden as the crack of a
rifle, away goes Boomerang with the rush of a norther. Toobercloses
ain't a second behind. Thar they be, Toobercloses ag'inst Boomerang,
quill-wheel ag'inst hearse, old Holt inside, racin' away to beat a
royal flush.
"As hearse an' quill-wheel go t'arin' down the trail Monte gets the
fever, an' sets to pourin' the buckskin into his three span, an'
yellin' like forty Apaches. The six hosses goes into their collars
like lions, an' the stage takes to rockin' an' boundin' an' bumpin' in
clost pursoote of the hearse. Nor be we-all on ponies left any behind,
you bet. We cuts loose, quirt an' spur, an' brings up the r'ar in a
dust-liftin', gallopin' half-moon. It's ondoubted the quickest-movin'
fooneral that ever gets pulled off.
"Old Holt, an' put it lightest, is a one hundred an' eighty pounder,
an' the hearse itse'f is as heavy as a Studebaker wagon. From
standp'ints of weight pore old Boomerang ain't gettin' a squar' deal.
Which the old hero ain't got no notion of bein' beat, though. He's all
heart an' bottom; an', game?--bald hornets is quitters to him!
"The load begins to tell at last, though, an' inch by inch Toobercloses
starts to nose Boomerang out. It's then the flood-gates is lifted.
Nell, head out of one of the coach windows, starts screamin' to
Boomerang; Missis Rucker's got her sunbonnet out of another,
expressin' her opinion of the hectic bandit an' Toobercloses; Tucson
Jennie is shoutin' for Dave to come an' rescue her; the Turner
person's Peggy is shriekin' with hysterics; the preacher sharp--who's
tryin' to get at Monte--is talkin' scriptoorally but various, while
little Enright Peets is contreebutin' his small cub-coyote yelps of
exultation to the gen'ral racket.
"Back among us riders the bets is flyin' hither an' yon as thick as
swallow birds at eventide, we offerin' hundreds on Boomerang an' them
Red Dogs backin' Toobercloses. It's as the tech of death to the
Wolfville heart when we sees Toobercloses slowly surgin' to the fore.
[Illustration: THAR'S A BOMBARDMENT WHICH SOUNDS LIKE A BATTERY OF
GATLINGS, THE WHOLE PUNCTCHOOATED BY A WHIRLWIND OF "WHOOPS!" p. 317.]
"Half-way to Boot Hill Boggs spurs up on the nigh flank of Boomerang.
"'Yere's whar we puts a little verve into this thing!' he roars; an'
pullin' his guns he begins shakin' the loads out of 'em like roman
candles.
"Wolfville an' Red Dog, every gent follows Boggs' example. It sounds
like a battery of gattlings, the whole punctchooated by a whirlwind of
'Whoops!' that'd have backed a war party of Apaches over a bluff. They
almost hears us in Tucson.
"Old Boomerang reesponds noble to Boggs's six-shooters. They was the
preecise kind of encouragement he's been waitin' for, an' onder their
inspiration he t'ars by Toobercloses like a thrown lance. We sweeps on
to Boot Hill, makin' a deemoniac finish, old Boomerang leadin' by the
len'th of the hearse.
"Nobody's hurt, onless you wants to count that hectic bandit from
Albuquerque. After he's beat cold, Toobercloses gets tangled up
accidental in a mesquite bush, the quill-wheel swaps eends with
itse'f, an' the hectic Albuquerque bandit lands head on in a bunch of
cactus. He's shore a spectacle; an' Peets says private that for a
while thar's hopes he'll die. As for the parson, who's the sorest
divine in Arizona, he allows that the only bet he ever knows
prov'dence to overlook is not breakin' the hectic bandit's neck.
"Nacherally, the Red Dogs feels some grouchy at the way things has
gone, an' while they gives up their orig'nal thought of lynchin' the
hectic bandit, they're plenty indignant at him for turnin' old Holt's
fooneral into a hoss race. It ain't old Holt that's frettin' 'em so
much as that they feels like it's a disgrace on their camp.
"This yere Red Dog feelin' prodooces a onlooked for effect. They goes
gloomin' an' glowerin' 'round, an' talkin' to themselves to sech a
hostile extent it ups an' scares the Turner person. Plumb timid by
nacher, he gets afraid the Red Dogs' indignation'll incloode him
final, an' eend by drawin' their horns his way. It's no use tryin' to
ca'm him. Argyooment, reemonstrance, even a promise to protect him
with our lives, has no effect. The Turner person, in a last stampede
of his nerve, is for dustin' back to Missouri--him an' his Peggy
bride. He says it's more peaceful, more civ'lized thar, which shore
strikes us as a heap jocose. In the end, however, we has to let him
go.
"The hearse?
"We keeps the hearse, that an' Boomerang; Armstrong's uncle buys 'em.
He says he don't aim to be sep'rated none from the only hearse within
a hundred miles, an' him on the verge of the grave.
"'Which my only reason for livin' now,' says he, 'is to lac'rate
Boggs, an' even that as a pastime is beginnin' to pall.'
"What time does Boomerang make?
"No one preetends to hold a watch. Thar's one thing, though, which
looks like he was shore goin' some. Tutt on the way back picks up a
dead jack-rabbit, that's been run over by the hearse."
XII
SPELLING BOOK BEN
"Which it's as you states." The old cattleman assumed the easy
attitude of one sure of his position. "Reefinement, that a-way, will
every now an' then hit the center of the table in manner an' form most
onexpected. Thar's Red Dog. Now whoever do you reckon would look for
sech a oncooth outfit to go onbeltin' in any reefined racket? An' yet
thar's once at least when Red Dog shows it's got its silken side.
"An', after all, mebby I'm too narrow about Red Dog. Thar's times
when I fears that drawn aside by prejewdyce I misjedges Red Dog
utter, an' takes for ignorant vulgar'ty what comin' down to cases is
merely noise. It's the whiskey they drinks, most likely. They're
addicted to a kind of cat-bird whiskey over thar, which sets 'em to
whistlin' an' chirpin' an' twitterin' an' teeterin' up an' down on
the conversational bough, to sech a seemin'ly empty-headed extent it's
calc'lated to mislead the ca'mest intellects into a belief that the
c'rrect way to deal with Red Dog is to build one of these yere
stone corrals 'round it, call it a loonatic asylum, an' let it go at
that.
"Wolfville's whiskey?
"We-all confines ourselves to Valley Tan an' Willow Run an' Old
Jordan, all lickers which has a distinct tendency to make a gent
seedate, an' render him plumb cer'monious. I in no wise exaggerates
when I avers that I freequent cuts the trail of parties who, after the
tenth or mebby it's the 'leventh drink across the Red Light bar, waxes
that punctillious they even addresses a measly Mexican as 'Sir.'
"Recurrin' to Red Dog, that silken occasion which I has in mind occurs
when, proceedin' without invitation an' wholly as volunteers, they
strings up the book-keep sharp who bumps off Spellin' Book Ben. Thar's
a brief moment when said action runs a profound risk of bein'
misconstrooed into becomin' the teemin' source of complications. You
see we ain't lookin' for nothin' in the way of a play from Red Dog
more del'cate than the butt of a six-shooter, an' it ain't ontil the
Red Dog chief himse'f onlimbers in planations, an' all plenty loocid,
that we ketches fully on.
"Red Dog goes further an' insists on payin' over what money they
wagers, an' all as honorable as though that contest which they bets on
goes to a showdown. Enright won't have it, though, none whatever; an'
what with one side heatedly profferin' an' the other coldly refoosin',
it looks for a time like thar's goin' to be feelin'. Friction is
averted, however, when Peets--who's allers thar with the s'lootion to
any tangle--recommends that Red Dog an' Wolfville chip in half an'
half conj'intly, to buy a tombstone for Spellin' Book, with a
inscription kyarved tharon, the same to read:
TO
THE MEMORY OF
SPELLING BOOK BEN.
PREFERRING DEATH TO THE
APPEARANCE OF IGNORANCE,
HE DIED
A MARTYR TO LEARNING AND
BRAVELY
DEFENDING A RIGHTFUL ORTHOGRAPHY.
THE LANGUAGE MOURNS
HIS LOSS.
"'Which we simply aims by this yere hangin',' says the Red Dog chief
in makin' them explanations, the same bein' addressed to Enright, 'to
save you-all from a disagree'ble dooty.'
"'As how?' deemands Enright, who's a heap deefensive by instinct, an'
never puts down his stack while the kyards is in the hands of the
dealer.
"'As how to wit,' returns the Red Dog chief. 'Troo, this book-keep
malefactor ain't by rights no shore-enough Red Dogger, seein' he's a
importation of the express company's an' at best or worst no more'n a
sojourner within our gates. But, considerin' how he trails in yere
this evenin' in our company, we feels respons'ble. Wharfore, allowin'
that mebby--you-all standin' towards us visitors, that a-way, in the
light of hosts--your notion of hospital'ty gets its spurs tangled up
in your deelib'rations so it impedes the march of jestice, we
intervenes. Which I shorely trusts that no gent present regyards Red
Dog as that ontaught as to go cuttin' in on what's cl'arly a alien
game onasked. Red Dog ain't quite that exyooberantly bumptious, not to
say croodly gay. It's only to relieve the shoulders of you-all from a
burden that we strings said offender up.'
"'_Bueno!_' replies Enright, followin' a dignified pause, like he's
weighin' the Red Dog chief's eloocidations. 'A gent, onless his hand
is crowded by some p'int of honor, allers takes the word of a fellow
gent. In view of which, the execootion you pulls off is yereby
accepted as kindly meant, an' as sech is kindly took. I'm preepared on
behalf of Wolfville to regyard the same as performed in a sperit of
del'cate courtesy. Whatever, Doc, do you-all say?'
"'Like yourse'f, Sam,' says Peets, 'I grasps an' a'preeciates the Red
Dog attitoode. Also, I holds that the business thus constrooed is
calc'lated to cement relations between the two camps which, havin'
their roots in mutyooal esteem, is shore to b'ar froote in fraternal
affection.'
"The Doc then goes on an' onbends in flatterin' asshorances that
nothin' could be finer worded than the Red Dog chief's oration, onless
it's Enright's reply.
"'As a jedge of diction,' he concloods, 'an' a lover of proper
speakin', I'm onreserved in the view that the statements of both ought
to be preeserved as spec'mens of English ondeefiled.'
"Thar havin' been talk enough, an' Enright an' Peets contendin' that
it's Wolfville's treat, both sides goes weavin' over to the Red Light
an' onbends in quite a frolic.
"It'd shore been better if we had first cut down the corpse, an'
tharby dodged the wrath of Missis Rucker. It's certainly a oversight.
Bar that single incident, thar arises nothin' to mar the good feelin'
which everywhar preevails. Forchoonately, that don't occur none ontil
noon next day; an' by that time the Red Dog folks has all gone home,
leastwise all who can go without fallin' out of the saddle. Which if
them Red Dogs is present, an' able to form opinions, them intemp'rate
exhibitions of Missis Rucker, an' what she says an' threatens ag'inst
us, speshully Enright, would have mortified us to death.