I plugged along through the cold, gettin' hotter an' hotter all the
time, 'cause I didn't want to go away at all. Barbie'd be home in a few
months and I wanted to be there when she came--but I couldn't get over
those silkworms. She was goin' to write somethin' about 'em for some
kind of a paper, an' it meant a good deal to her, an' I had kept a
record of all the projec's she'd written me to do with 'em--only to
have Cast Steel an' flint fool Bill Andrews flounder in with that herd
o' cows.
I piked on over to Danders thinkin' I'd get on a train an' go
somewhere; but on my way there I met the foreman o' the E. Z. outfit
ridin' into town to see if he couldn't pick up a fence-rider. Then I
see old Mrs. Fate nudgin' me in the ribs with her finger again. We was
all down on fences at the Diamond Dot. Jabez said that as far as he was
concerned, he preferred to have his fences mounted on hoss-back, 'cause
they was easiest moved, an' we didn't have a foot o' wire on the place.
I knew that no one would ever think o' me ridin' fence, so I just up
an' spoke for the job. The foreman, Hank Midders was his name, didn't
know me an' he was suspicious of me bein' on foot. "Can you ride?" sez
he.
"I used to could," sez I. "How many days' ridin' does it take to go
around?"
"We don't ride that way," sez he, "we put two men in a camp an' they
ride out fifteen miles an' then double back."
"They waste the return trip," sez I.
"We think different," sez he. "We keep a big run o' cows, an' we want
the whole fence rode twice a day. We allus have plenty o' good ridin'
ponies."
"Well, they ain't ridin' on my time," sez I, "so it ain't nothing to
me. Do I get the job?"
"Where you been ridin' at?" sez he.
"At the Lion Head, for Jim Jimison," sez I.
"I've seen some o' their stuff," sez he. "It's a good outfit; but it's
a rather lengthy walk from here."
"Yes, I stopped off a while in Californie an' Idaho to rest," sez I.
"Do I get the job?"
"We don't find a man's saddle an' bridle for him," sez he.
"I got mine cached over at Danders," sez I, recallin' the ones I had
left there before I went into business.
"What's your name?" sez he.
"I ain't nowise choicy," sez I, "call me anything you want."
"I guess you won't do," sez he, ridin' on into Danders.
I reached it myself about two hours later, an' went to the hotel. Hank
was settin' by the stove when I came into the bar-room. The' was eight
or ten other fellers still restin' from last summer's work, but I
didn't see the old landlord. "Where's Peabody?" sez I.
"He's dead," sez a tall, snarley lookin' feller; "what do ya want with
him?"
"I don't want nothin' with him--if he's dead," sez I. "Who's runnin'
this place now?"
"I am," sez the snarley one. I didn't take to him at all.
"Would you be so kind enough as to tell me where my saddle an' bridle
is?" sez I in my softest voice. "What the 'ell do I know about your
saddle an' bridle?" sez he.
"I left 'em here with Peabody," sez I.
"How would I know it was yours?" sez he, sneerin'.
"I'd recognize it," sez I. "It had H. H. burned into it."
"What does H. H. stand for?" sez he.
"It stands for Henry Higinson--sometimes," sez I. Then I turned to the
bar mop an' said, "Where's that saddle an' bridle?"
"Why, it's back in--" he began; but Snarley snaps in "You shut up, will
ya? Even if this puncher did leave an old saddle here years ago, I
bought everything on the place from Peabody, an' the storage on the
rubbish would amount to more than it's worth."
"That 's kind o' new doctrine out this way," sez I; "an' I'm 'bliged to
request you to produce the articles so I can claim 'em up."
"You go ahead an' make me do it," sez he, grinnin'.
"Wouldn't you sooner do it of your own free will?" sez I, like a
missionary tryin' to get up enthusiasm over a donation.
"I'm good an' sick o' your fool nonsense," sez he, comin' down toward
me. I was wearin' a gun on each leg, an' I pulled 'em out an'
punctuated both his ears at one time; but I never stopped smilin'. He
grabbed an ear in each hand an' begun to swear in a foreign langwidge,
dancin' around most comical. "Won't you please get my leather for me,"
sez I, "or would you sooner have me guess off the center o' those two
shots?"
"Yes," he roared, usin' a lot o' high-power words 'at ain't needful in
repetin', "take your blame junk an' get out o' here." I nodded to the
bar mop. "Shall I get 'em, Frenchy?" sez he.
"Yes, for heaven's sake, get 'em," sez the snarley one, while some o'
the boys snickered, but not too noticeable.
Well, they was my saddle an' bridle all right, an' I thanked the bar
mop an' flung 'em in a corner. Then I went over an' sat down by Hank
Midders. "Did you get your fence-rider yet?" sez I.
"No, I ain't got him yet, but I got two days to look for him in," he
sez.
Just then who should come in but the same old Diamond Dot hand who had
beat me out of the pony. "Well, sign my name! If there ain't Happy
Hawkins!" sez he, rushin' over an' shakin' my hand, "Still in business,
Happy?" sez he.
"Nope, I've retired," sez I.
"You'd ought to have stuck around here until that tourist went home
from his vacation," sez Bill,--I reckon his name was still Bill, though
for the life o' me I can't remember it plain,--"he got the whole town
hilarious on account o' the joke we'd played on him. He was game all
right, an' he got me a job out to his uncle's, which I've held ever
since--off an' on."
"Happy?" sez Hank Midders, "Happy what?"
"Happy Hawkins," sez Bill. "Haven't you never heard o' Happy Hawkins?"
"Happy Hawkins is down in the Texas-Pan Handle," sez I, in a
matter-o'-fact voice. "Don't forget that, Bill."
"Surest thing there is," sez Bill, winkin'. "I seen him get on the
train myself."
"When will supper be ready, Frenchy?" I sez to the snarley one, who had
been puttin' some grease on his ears an' wishin' he'd had better
manners.
"In about an hour," sez he, an' I knew the' wouldn't be any more
trouble from him. He was one o' these fellers what can take a lickin'
without gettin' all broke up over it, an' he'd be just as gay about
bluffin' the next stranger as ever, an' he'd be just as dominatin' over
them what he had already bluffed.
"Well, I'm goin' out for a little stroll," sez I, "but I'll be back in
time for supper, an' I'll likely be hungry."
I knew they'd all want to ask a few questions, so I went outside an'
walked down the street. I couldn't make up my mind what to do, an' I
wanted that fence-ridin' job more than ever. When T turned around to
come back, I see Hank Midders walkin' toward me. "So you're Happy
Hawkins?" sez he.
"Well, that's what some folks call me," sez I.
"I thought 'at you had finally settled down at the Diamond Dot?" sez he.
"The' ain't nothin' that I know of that changes any oftener than the
style in thoughts," sez I. "Do you think it's goin' to snow?"
He laughed. "You're Happy Hawkins all right," sez he. "Do you want that
fence-ridin' job?"
"That's what I went to the trouble o' rootin' out that saddle an'
bridle for," sez I, "but I don't care to have it advertised that I'm
ridin' fence at my time o' life, an' I don't promise to continue at it
more'n a few months."
"I see," sez he, "an' it'll be all right. Kid Porter'll be down with
the buckboard day after to-morrow, an' you can go out with him."
When I went back I see that Bill hadn't spared no details to make me
interestin', an' all the boys was friendly to me--an' called me
Higinson. Me an' Frenchy got along all right, an' when I threw my
saddle an' bridle into the back o' the buckboard, an' sez, "Well,
good-bye, fellers! I'm on my way to the Pan Handle," they all calls
out, "Goodbye, Happy! If any o' your friends inquire for you we'll tell
'em we saw you start; but the next time you come this way, Higinson,
don't forget to drop in for a little sport."
Things generally even up pretty well in this life, an' before we had
driven very far I was able to see where I had got full value out o'
that seven-dollar pony 'at Bill had beat me out of. Kid Porter
explained things to me an' I saw it was goin' to be a purty fair sort
of a layout. Our shack was closer to Danders than it was to
headquarters, so we got our needin's there. He said that Colonel Scott
was an allright man to work for, but that he'd only seen him once since
he'd been on the job.
Ridin' fence is about as excitin' as waitin' for sun-up, an' after a
couple of months at it I was feelin' the need of a little change, so I
drove down to Danders the first day of April, an' while I was standin'
on the platform watchin' the train pull in an' take water, a cute
little feller dismounted an' after givin' me a complete look-over, he
sez: "Me good man, are you a type of this community?"
I put my hand to my ear as though I had heard a noise close to the
ground. After a bit I let my gaze rest on him sort o' surprised like,
an' then I sez in a soft, oozy voice, like a cow conversin' to her
first calf, "Be you speakin' to me, little one?" sez I.
It allus riles me some, to be called "me good man." It seems to give me
a curious, itchy feelin' in the right hand, an' I have had to make
several extra peculiar speciments dance a few steps for no other
reason; but this little cuss never batted an eye. He looks me square in
the face, an' sez, "It is perfectly obvious that I could be addressin'
nobody else. I am out in the West hunting for a place to study the most
pronounced types of American citizens, an' I am very favorable
impressed with your appearance."
Did you ever have a stranger brace you like that? I suppose the fat
lady an' the livin' skeleton gets used to it, but I allus feel a trifle
too big for my background. I stand six foot two an' dress easy an'
comfortable, an' some o' the guys on the trains allus seem to think 'at
I'm part of the show, out for an airin'.
"Well, to tell you the truth, honey," I sez to the little feller, "I
ain't fully maychured yet. We get hair on our faces pretty young out
here, but we don't get our growth till we're twenty-five. I'm water-boy
to the E. Z. outfit. If you want to see somethin' worth lookin' at, you
ought to come out where the men are. You'll find American citizens out
there, a darn sight harder type to pronounce than what I am. They sent
me to town on an errant."
He examined me, but I never blinked a winker, an' then his face lit up,
like as if he'd found a whole plug of tobacco, when he thought his last
chew was gone. Finally he gave a wink an' a chuckle, an' sez, "Here,
smoke a cigar on me, an' tell me if I can get board out your way. I
think you'll make copy."
He was just what I needed as a time-killer, so I spun him a yarn about
the lovely life me an' Kid Porter was livin'. We jerked out his trunk
just before the train left, bought a month's grub, an' came along out
to our shack. His name was William Sinclair Hammersly, an' the' never
was a squarer boy on the face o' the earth, after he'd shed off those
spectator ways. He won my affections, as the storybooks say, before we
was out o' sight o' Danders.
He said he had relations scattered all over the British Empire, an'
owned up that he had just come back from a long visit to England, where
he had picked up the "good man" habit. I told him that it might suit
that climate all right, but that out our way I couldn't recommend it to
a peace-lovin' man for every-day use. He thanked me an' said he was
ashamed to know so little about his own country, this bein' the first
time he had ever been west of Philadelphia. He said that he was minded
to become an author, an' had come out to study the aboriginal types an'
get the true local color. Whenever I hear this little bunch o' sounds,
I know I got a nibble. Any time a man goes nosin' around after local
color, you can bet your saddle he's got several zigzags in his
think-organ.
These fellers is a breed to themselves. I wouldn't exactly call 'em
wise--wordy'd come a sight nearer fittin' these local-color fellers
without wrinklin'. The''s a ringin' in my ears yet from the time that I
was penned up with Hammy an' Locals, an' this one had a good many o'
the same outward an' visible signs, but more o' the inward an'
spiritual grace, as Friar Tuck sez.
Bill slid right into our mode of livin' like a younger brother, but it
took us some consid'able time to savvy his little private oddities.
The' was one wide bunk in the shack an' one narrow one. Me an' Bill
took the wide one, but it wasn't so eternal wide that a feller could
flop around altogether accordin' to the dictates of his own conscience.
When she was carryin' double we had to hold a little consultation of
war, to see whether we'd turn over or not.
We used to start out early in the mornin', an' if the' wasn't much
fixin' to be done we got back long before dark. About seven-thirty was
our perchin' time before Bill took a hand, but after that we got so
convivual that sometimes we'd sit up till purt' nigh half-past nine,
playin' cut-throat an' swappin' tales. Sleep allus was a kind of a
nuisance to Bill. Purt' nigh every night when me an' the Kid would
stretch ourselves out, Bill would speak a piece about "God bless the
man what first invented sleep"; but he was only joshin', an' all the
time he was sayin' it he'd be buildin' up the fire an' changin' his
clothes. He had one suit which he never wore for nothin' except just to
sleep in. Pajamers, he called 'em, an' they sure was purty.
Well, he'd put on this suit an' a pair o' red-pointed slippers, light
his pipe, pick his guitar, an' saw his fiddle till along toward
mornin', all the while singin' little batches o' song an' speakin'
pieces. Then he'd heave a sigh an' lay down alongside o' me; but in
about fifteen minutes he'd jump out o' bed, sayin', "That's good!
That's great! I mustn't lose that!" an' he'd get out a book an' write
something into it. Sometimes he'd laugh over it an' sometimes he'd cry.
The Kid'd never had no experiences with geniuses before, an' at first
he feared that he might get violent durin' the night, so he took his
gun to bed with him, but I knowed the' wasn't a mite o' danger in him.
When breakfast was ready we purt' nigh had to get a hoss to pull him
out o' bed.
I was interested in his tales of foreign countries, an' he used to tell
me all about the castles he had been to. One day I happened to think of
the letter what the drug clerk at Slocum's Luck had wrote us, an' I
asked Bill what kind of a lookin' place Clarenden Castle was.
"Clarenden Castle?" sez Bill. "Where the deuce did you ever hear of
Clarenden Castle?"
"Well, I might have heard of it from the younger son," sez I. "He came
over to this country, you know."
"Where is he now?" sez Bill, mighty interested.
"Minin' law is, that the first feller what stakes out a claim gets it,"
sez I. "Now my question staked out the first claim. You answer my
questions an' then we'll be ready for yours."
"Humph," sez Bill.
"Where is St. James Court, Bill?" sez I.
"Well, I never expected you to know anything about such things!" sez
Bill.
"'Tis wonderful how intelligent some trained animals are, ain't it?"
sez I, sarcastic. "But you must remember, little one, that I've been
livin' right in the house with folks a good part of my life. Now if
you'll just answer my questions the same as if I was human, I'll sit up
an' beg, jump over a stick, an' do all my other tricks for you."
Bill would allus tumble if you hit him hard enough, so after a bit he
grinned an' said, "Well, Clarenden Castle is one o' the seats of the
Cleighton family--"
"Seat?" sez I. "I allus thought it was a house."
"You see, over in England they call--" Bill began to explain it to me
an' then he saw me grinnin' an' he broke off short. "I know what a seat
is, Bill," sez I. "They have country seats an' town seats; but some o'
you fellers pout when you're obliged to live up to the rules, an' I
wanted to see if you was square enough to own up after you'd been
shown--the's lots o' fellers, not as well edicated as you, who can't do
it without groanin'."
Bill studied out this last remark before he answered, an' I was glad to
notice it. Most fellers look for a marked passage, but I like to train
'em out to pan everything I say, an' then do their own testin'. Bill
was all right. "Now, dear teacher," sez he, "if we are through with
that lesson, we shall return to the original subject." We both laughed,
lookin' into each other's eyes, an' it did us good.
"Now this Cleighton family is a great family in England and Scotland,"
sez Bill, "The Earl of Clarenden is the head of one branch an' the Duke
of Avondale is the head of another. The sons are called lords, an' they
have lots of land, but are running shy on money, an' the main stem of
the family is getting purty well thinned out."
"About this younger son that came to America, now?" sez I.
"Well, the present Earl married beneath him--I visited close to
Clarenden Castle, an' I know all about it," sez Bill. "He married an
American girl with lots of money, Florence Jamison of Philadelphia."
"Jamison?" sez I.
"Yes, Jamison," sez Bill. "I suppose you are well acquainted with the
Philadelphia Jamisons?"
"Well, that name does awaken a purty tol'able fairsized echo," sez I,
"but still, to be perfectly frank with you, me an' the Jamisons ain't
on what you could call intimate terms any more."
"I'm glad to learn it," sez Bill. "I'd hate to think that I had
irritated you by implicatin' that it was a come-down for an English
Earl to marry into your circle." Bill most generally squoze all the
dampness out of his jokes. "This was his second marriage," Bill went
on, "an' he had one son by it, named James Arthur Fitzhugh Patrick--"
"That's plenty for me," sez I, breakin' in. "The first two names is
interestin' to me, but the' ain't no use loadin' down a feller with
names till he has to pay excess baggage on 'em. Now, how did this one
get to be a younger son?"
"Why, the first marriage of the Earl also resulted in a son," sez Bill.
"His first wife was a lady of quality, but she had a weak constitution
an' the son has epolepsy. The younger son was fitted for the army, but
he got into a scrape, was given a lump sum by his father, an' came to
this country, where he disappeared. He also had an inheritance from an
aunt, a maiden sister of his mother, who didn't like the first son for
a minute."
"What kind of a scrape did the youngster get into, Bill?" sez I.
"He was engaged to the daughter of the curat at Avondale Chapel," sez
Bill, "an' he bein' the heir presumptive to the title--"
"What is that, Bill?" sez I.
"The one what gets the title as soon as the one who is holding it,
dies, is the heir apparent, an' the one who gets the next chance is the
heir presumptive. It's a legal term an'--"
"Never mind explainin' it then," sez I, "If I was to live as long as
Methusleh, all I'd know about law would be that ignorance wasn't no
excuse for it; but what is a curat?"
"A curate is a sort of preacher," sez Bill.
"I thought it was some kind of a doctor. But what in thunder did you
mean when you said that gettin' engaged to the daughter of one was a
scrape?" sez I.
"Why, it wouldn't do for the heir presumptive to Clarenden, and a
possible claimant to Avondale, to get engaged to a person in that
station of life; he had to make up either to a heap of money or else a
big title; he simply had to marry a lady of quality," sez Bill.
"So he could contribute his share of epolepsy to the family collection,
I suppose," sez I.
"Well, James gets an awful callin' down," sez Bill, "an' he cuts loose
from the family an' goes to live in London, where he's a leftenant.
Richard Cleighton, his cousin, who is the heir presumptive, once
removed, sneaks down there an' comes back with the report that James is
married to Alice LeMoyne, a music-hall dancer."
"Jim swung purty wide in his taste for women, didn't he?" sez I.
"The upshot of it was," sez Bill, never heedin' me, "that they settled
with James, an' he lit out--his mother had died several years before.
About four years after, this Alice LeMoyne dies, an' on her deathbed
she confesses that she is the wife of Richard Cleighton an' helped to
put up the job on James to get him out of the way, as the heir apparent
didn't look like a long-liver, an' she thought she would like to be an
Erless, with a chance of being a Duchess even."
"An' you mean to tell me that this low-grade Dick Cleighton puts up
that job on Jim, just so he can beat him to the title?" sez I.
"Yes," sez Bill, "you see he was the heir presumptive, only once
removed."
"Well, if I'd had the job o' removin'," sez I, "once, would 'a' been
plenty."
"That put Richard out o' the runnin'," sez Bill, "Lord Wilfred, the
apparent, was livin' along all right, an' the old Earl had come to the
conclusion that when it came to a presumptive, he'd sooner have Jim; so
he turned the hose on Dick, an' started out to find Jim. Jim wrote 'em
from New York that he was goin' to South Africa, an' then he wrote 'em
from Australia that he was goin' to India, an' then he wrote 'em from--"
"Oh, those was only jokes," sez I. "Jim's all right; but what become of
Dick?"
"Nobody knows," sez Bill, "an' nobody cares. He's got lots better
health than Lord Wilfred, but he's got some epolepsy, too, an' he's a
mean sneak. His mother was insane, but she left him a little bunch of
money."
"She must have had more quality than the average of 'em;" sez I, "but
hanged if I wouldn't sooner do without the quality than to have all
that epolepsy thrown in with it. Jim's all right though, I'll say that
for the breed."
"Yes, Jim was a fine feller from all accounts," sez Bill, "but where
the Jink did you meet up with him?"
"It's a state secret," sez I, "or I'd let you in. Jim's doin' fine an'
I wouldn't for the world have him dragged down where he'd have to marry
up with a lot o' quality. Now while you're givin' your concert, I'm
goin' out an' check up the stars."
I was purty yell pleased with Bill. I had bothered him all I could in
the tellin' an' yet he had kept his temper an' handed out the facts;
an' I wanted to go over 'em forward an' hack till I could get the full
hang of 'em. It was wonderful queer how a ridin' man like me had
brushed shoulders, as you might say, with the Earl of Clarenden, an' I
was beginnin' to think that old Mrs. Fate was stirrin' things up a
shade extra. As a usual thing I don't go into scandal an' gossip so
prodigious; but I was hungry to have another look at Jim, now that I
knew he was the son of an Earl, an' I decided to pull out an' give the
Pan Handle a look-over as soon as it was handy. I spent about two hours
that night lookin' at the stars an' wishin' they could tell me all
they'd ever seen. They knew all that Barbie wanted to know, an' I
didn't seem able to git on the track, in spite of me readin' detective
stories every chance I had.