Well, I didn't go down to the Pan Handle after all. I just fatten on a
new variety of entertainment an' the sample that Bill was puttin' out
amused me to the limit. Me an' Bill drove down to Danders on the first
o' May to get some grub. Most o' this breed has a purty tol'able active
thirst, but Bill was unusual harmless when it came to storin' away
liquor. About the only excitement Danders held out to a temperance
crank was goin' down to the depot to watch the train come in. This time
the west-bound had to take a sidin' and wait twenty minutes for the
cast bound; an' a feller got his dog out o' the baggage car an' started
to climb the mountains.
You fellers all know how this air is, but a stranger thinks he can spit
on a mountain that's ten miles off. When the whistle blew, he made a
good run an' got on all right; but the pup was havin' the time of his
life an' missed his chance of gettin' on the same car that the feller
did. He was game all right an' give a purty jump onto the front
platform of the last car, where a big buck nigger was standin' with a
white coat on. He give the pup a kick under the chin an' sent him
rollin' over backward.
"Why, the vile wretch!" yells Bill, at the same time snatchin' my gun
out of the holster. I had barely time to bump up his arm, an' even as
it was he knocked the paint off right above the coon's head. Bill
turned on me with his eyes snappin' sparks, an' in a voice as cold as
the click of a Winchester, he sez, "Next time, John Hawkins, I'll thank
you to mind your own business." An' he held the gun kind o' friendly
like, with the muzzle pointin' at my watch pocket.
I own up I was jarred; he'd been as gentle as a butterfly up to that
minute, an' here he was lookin' into me with the chilly eyes of a
killin' man; but I put a little edge on my own voice an' sez,
"Heretofore, I allus counted it my business to look after what my own
gun was engaged in doin'. When you're sure that you're all through with
it, I'll thank you to return it to where you found it."
Then I turned on my heel an' strode up toward town; but he grabbed me
by the shoulder an' whirled me around. "Here's your gun, Happy." sez
he. "You know I didn't aim to offend you. It was that confounded Zulu
'at riled me up."
The pup had give up his chase after the train an' was comin' back the
track to town, lookin' mighty down in the mouth--he had a purty
prominent mouth, too, the pup had. He was a brindle bull; not one o'
these that look like an Injun idol, but a nice, clean-built, upstandin'
feller with a quiet, business-like air.
"Purty tough on the pup to be turned out to starve this way," sez I.
"Who's goin' to let him starve?" sez Bill. "Come here, old feller."
"Better look out," sez I, "bulldogs is fierce."
"So is men," sez Bill; "an' besides, this ain't no bulldog, this is a
London brindle bull-terrier, an' a crackerjack. Look at the brass
collar he's wearin'. This is ain't no stray. I'll telegraph ahead an'
see if they want him expressed."
Bill caught the feller at the next station, an' he telegraphed back
that he'd been havin' trouble with the pup all along the line; an' if
we'd keep him a month, he'd stop an' get him on his way back. He sent
us ten dollars to pay expenses. I never believed that they could send
money by telegraph before; but I saw the agent give it to Bill, with my
own eyes.
We all went to the hotel for dinner, the pup lookin' miserable
sorrowful. Frenchy was goin' to kick the pup out--he was a low-grade
heathen, but he was big an' he didn't mind a little trouble now and
again.
"If this dog can't eat here, neither can I," sez Bill, "but as for your
kickin' him out, you 'd better pray for guidance before you tackle that
job."
"Do you think I'm afraid o' that cur?" sneers Frenchy.
"Cur!" yells Bill. "Cur? Why you maul-headed, misshapen blotch on the
face o' nature, what do you mean by callin' this dog a cur! I never saw
this dog before to-day; but I'll bet ten to one that I can find out who
his great-great-grandfather's great-great-grandfather was; an' I doubt
if you know who your own father happened to be."
Bill was firin' at random o' course, but it looked as if he had hit
somethin'. Frenchy was fair crazy. He pulled out his gun an' came
chargin' down on us. Bill tried to get mine again, but I thought I'd
better run it myself just then. I covered Frenchy, Frenchy covered
Bill, an' the bull pup turned his back on us and looked down toward the
depot, to see if his train was comin' back.
"Better put up your gun, Frenchy," I sez, soft as a wood dove, "or
you'll get this office all mussed up."
Well, he knew me; so we arbitrated a little an' then we all went in an'
the pup et his dinner like any other Christian, payin' for it himself
out of his own money. First thing after dinner, Bill went out an'
bought a gun of his own, an' I scented trouble. He wasn't old enough to
shoot only from principle, not merely for practice.
The' was another young feller at Frenchy's with a lot o' hot money in
his clothes. He seemed to have a deep-felt prejudice against fire, too,
the way he was blowin' it in. When Bill came back, the young feller
tried to buy the dog from him. Bill was polite an' refused to sell,
givin' as the main reason that the dog didn't fully belong to him yet,
but the feller pestered around until finally he offered Bill two
hundred dollars for the dog.
"You ain't no fool when it comes to a dog," sez Bill, "but I'm givin'
you the honest truth. This here pup don't belong to me--though if I can
buy him I sure intend to do it."
"How far would you go when it came to payin' for him?" sez the man.
"Well, I'd give two fifty for him just on speculation," sez Bill. "He's
put together, this pup is; but I didn't suppose 'at you people out here
in the cattle country would know enough about the points of a dog, to
offer two hundred for just a fancy one."
"I don't know nothin' about the points o' that dog," sez the feller. "I
never even saw a dog like that one before; but when I see a man willin'
to go the pace you went for this dog, I'd kind o' sort o' like to own
the dog."
Bill got interested in the feller an' began pumpin' him for what he
called copy. The young feller had punched cattle most of his life,
blowin' in his wages at variegated intervals. About a month before he
had slipped over to Laramie an' had gone against Silver Dick's game,
winnin' over eleven hundred dollars. He said that Silver Dick was plumb
on the square an' that he never intended to work again, just spend down
to his last hundred an' then go an' play at Silver Dick's. Bill got a
paper an' figured out what he called percents, showin' how an outsider
was bound to lose to the game in the end; but most o' the fellers there
had been up against Dick's game an' they took sides against Bill,
tryin' to prove that they stood a show to win, until finally Bill give
it up an' we started back home.
When we started home, Bill was still discoursin' about us Westerners.
He said that we wasn't nothin' but a lot o' children playin' games an'
believin' in fairy tales, that we never provided for the future, that
we was allus willin' to risk anything we had on some fool thing that
wouldn't benefit us none, an' so on until I got weary of it, an' after
I'd took a shuffle I dealt him out this hand.
"An' the''s another breed," sez I, "that ain't nothin' but children an'
that's the writers. An idea comes along an' stings 'em like a bee, an'
they immejetly begin to swell. They swell an' swell until the whole
earth ain't nothin' but the background for that bee-sting. They howl
about it as if it was the most important thing in creation; but if you
call around next week, you find that swellin' gone down an' they're
howlin' just as fierce over a new swellin' where a different idea has
stung 'em; ain't it so?"
"Not exactly," sez Bill; "for we set down our thoughts an' emotions
while we're smartin' from the sting an' the other fellers can get the
sense of 'em an' pass judgment on 'em in cold blood without gettin'
stung at all."
"Well, you landed there," sez I, "but the' wasn't one o' those fellers
there to-day, who was a quarter whit more childish'n what you was. Talk
about providin' For their future! Why, the way you went on over this
stray pup, purt' nigh put you in the position of a man who didn't have
no future to provide for, an' what in thunder good can this here pup
ever do you, no matter what happens?"
The pup was sittin' with his head between Bill's knees, an' Bill pulled
his ear a time or two, an' then sez, "I reckon you're right; the whole
earth ain't nothin' but a kindergarten. We all play different games an'
when you stop an' look at it they all cost about the same in the end
an' they all bring in about the same profit; but I'm glad I'm livin'
anyhow; an' I'm glad I've got this dog. I'm special fond o' dogs."
You couldn't help likin' Bill; he allus played in the open an' when he
kept score, he give you all the points you made without fussin' over
'em; but I didn't like the look o' that new outfit on his hip. He was
too impulsive to carry a gun, an' he was too young. Take it when a man
has had some experience in gun-fightin', he gets purty sober over the
effect of it; but a young feller--well, who on earth knows what way a
young feller is goin' to jump when he gets touched up a little?
"That's a purty likely lookin' gun you got there, Bill," sez I. "Do you
savvy how to run one?"
He took it out of his pocket an' looked around, but the' wasn't nothin'
in sight that needed killin', so he began to pop at an old single-tree
lyin' about thirty yards away. The ponies were trottin' along purty
jerky, but hanged if he didn't hit it four times out of six.
"It don't just hang to suit me," sez Bill, "but I'll learn it after a
bit."
I looked at him a moment, but he was merely speakin' his mind, an' I
sez: "Bill, where in Goshen did you get to be a killin' man?"
"Me?" sez Bill. "I never shot a man in my life, but I used to knock
down glass balls purty accurate, an' I've hunted big game in Africa an'
India. I don't want no trouble, but I'm set in my ways about dogs. It's
a heap o' responsibility to raise a pup; but I'm goin' to give this one
a fair show, an' I'm goin' to own him some way or another--I feel it in
my bones that this here dog was sent to me. I had a dog, the livin'
picture o' this feller once, an' he traded his life for mine, out there
in the Indian Jungle. Now don't ask me any questions about it."
That night after we'd got the supper things red up, Bill sez; "Now I
don't want no one to punish this dog but me, till he gets his
edication. I don't care a bean for a trick dog; all I expect him to
learn is jest English an' a part o' the sign langwidge, so as he'll be
pleasant company an' useful in an emergency. I'll pay for any property
he destroys, but please don't punish him."
The pup was about fifteen months old when he came, an' at first he
sorrowed a heap for his old boss; but purty soon he see that Bill knew
more about dogs'n he did himself, so he just transferred his affections
over to Bill. Bill never raised his voice, he never whipped him nor
even threatened him; he just reasoned with him an' explained why it was
necessary to learn the conventionalities o' polite society. It took him
a solid week to learn that pup how to shake hands, an' yet Bill told us
confidential that he was certain that the pup knew it all the while;
but at the end of the week the pup gave in, an' from that on he was as
eager for knowledge as a new-born baby.
Cupid was the name of the pup, engraved right on to his brass collar,
an' when he set his mind on acquirin' an edication, he made me an' the
Kid leery 'at he'd beat us at the finish in spite of our start. He
could walk on his hind legs an' speak an' open an' shut doors an' wipe
his feet on the door-mat an' roll over an' pray an'--oh, well he knew
'em all an' six more; but Bill said it wasn't learnin' the tricks that
counted, it was learnin' to think for himself. Bill used to put
obstacles in his way, so that the pup would have to cipher a while to
figger out how to work it, an' this was what Bill called stretchin' his
intellect to match his envirament. He was some the solemnest pup I ever
see, an' it was kind o' creepy to see him come to the shack, open the
door, slam it after him, wipe his feet on the burlap, look into Bill's
face, an' give a short bark. This was to ask if Bill had any new jobs
for him.
I had it all planned out that the pup was to sleep in the wagon shed;
but this didn't look good to the pup, nor to Bill, neither. When night
would come, Cupid would go through his lessons, eat his supper, an'
fling himself slaunchways on the wide bunk. He didn't weigh more'n
sixty pounds, but they was the solidest sixty ever wrapped up in a dog
hide. He wouldn't mind no one but Bill, an' it was all I could do to
get room enough on the perch to hang on. Then Bill would open up his
vau-dee-ville show, an' when he'd simmer down, the pup would begin to
chase jackrabbits, which was the most devilish-lookin' sight I ever
see. He'd lay there with his eyelids rolled up, an' his eyes turned
inside out, givin' short barks an' jerkin' his legs.
"Bill," I sez one night, "I ain't no chronic coward, but doggone me if
I want to be mistook for a jack-rabbit, an' have this bulldog sock his
ivories into me."
"He ain't no bulldog," snaps Bill. "It looks to me as if you might
learn purty soon that he's a brindle bull-terrier!"
"Oh, I know that all right, an' I'm willin' to swear to it," sez I,
"but just now it's his teeth, not his ancestors, that are botherin' me.
If I'm to be mistook for a jack-rabbit, I ain't nowise particular just
which kind of a bulldog is goin' to do the mistakin'."
Bill, he smiled sadly an' walked over an' stuck his naked finger right
into the pup's mouth. I looked to see it bit off, but the pup only
opened his eyes, looked foolish, an' tramped down another acre of
imaginary grass; finally goin' to sleep again an' usin' my feet for a
piller.
Talk about grit! That little cuss was willin' to fight any-thing that
walked. We took him out to the herd one day, an' after he'd been kicked
an' tossed an' trampled, he got on to throwin' a steer by the nose, an'
from that on it was his favorite pastime. He played the game so
enthusiastic, that I finally sez to Bill, "Bill, you mustn't forget
that Colonel Scott has other uses for these cattle besides usin' 'em
for dog exercisers." From that on, Bill made the pup be a little more
temperate in the use o' steers.
The muscles on that pup got to be like hard rubber, an' you couldn't
pinch him hard enough to make him squeak. He allus took a serious view
o' life except when the' was a chance for a little rough an' tumble;
then his face would light up like an angel's. Pullin' on a rope was his
idee o' draw poker, an' he could wear out the whole bunch of us at it.
Bill fair idolized him--fact is, we all thought a heap of him; but I'd
'a' liked him a mite better if the' 'd been more bunks in the shack.
If he got cold, he'd scratch your face till you let him under the
covers, an' then when he got too hot, he'd pull the covers off an' roll
'em into a nice soft heap, with himself on top. He never overlooked
himself much, the pup didn't. First I knew, I got to missin' a right
smart o' sleep that really belonged to me; 'cause, while I'm opposed to
speakin' ill o' the absent, I'd just about as soon try to sleep with a
colicky hoss as with Bill an' the pup. When the pup wasn't chasin'
imaginary jack-rabbits or live fleas, Bill was jumpin' up an' down to
write somethin' new into his book; until Kid Porter swore that if any
more came, he was goin' to leave.
I like a dog the full limit, but I never hankered to sleep with 'em,
not when they have fleas; an' when they don't, they allus put me in
mind of a man 'at uses perfumery. I tried to devise a plan for sleepin'
on the floor, but I couldn't engineer it through.
"No," sez Bill, in a hurt kind of a tone, "I wouldn't inconvenience you
for the world. Me an' Cupid will sleep on the floor." Well, there I
was. I'm as tender-hearted as a baby antelope, so I just turned it off
as a joke, an' got to sleepin' in the saddle on the return trip.
Nothin' on earth made Bill so mad as to call the pup a bulldog, though
if he wasn't one, he sure looked the part. I knowed it wouldn't do to
take too many chances, so me an' the Kid used to post the boys, an'
when one of 'em would drop in an' say as natural as though he was
chattin' about the weather: "That's a mighty fine London, brindle,
bull-terrier you-uns have got," Bill's face would light up as if he was
the mother of it, an' he would turn in an' preach us a sermon on dogs.
That was why you liked Bill; he was just the same all the way through
an' if he was friendly when it paid, you was certain sure he'd be just
as friendly when it cost.
Colonel Scott's niece came out to visit him some time in May, an' we
heard of her long before we saw her. 'Bout every one we met had
somethin' to tell about what a really, truly heart-buster she was. She
learned to ride, an' one afternoon she an' the Colonel struck our
outfit just in front of a howlin' storm.
The' wasn't no show to get back to headquarters that night, so we
smoothed out the wide bunk for the lady, an' us men planned to flop in
the shed. She sure had dandy manners! She pitched in an' helped us get
supper, an' we had about everything to eat that a man could think
of--side meat an' boiled beans an' ham an' corn-bread an' baked beans
an' flapjacks an' fried potatoes an' bean soup, an' coffee so stout
that you couldn't see the bottom in a teaspoonful of it. We just turned
ourselves loose an' gave her a banquet.
As soon as the dishes was off our hands, we started in to be jovial. Me
an' the Kid wasn't just altogether at home, but Bill was right in his
element. He played, an' him an' her sang, an' they talked, an' it was
the most festive function I ever see; until the pup came in an' jumped
up on the wide bunk where she was settin'. "Oh, take that horrid
bull-dog away!" she squealed.
I dreaded the result; but I sez to myself, "Now surely that doggone
ijit won't throw a call-down into the lady." but he did. "Miss
Johnston," sez he, "that ain't no bulldog. That's a high-bred London
bull-terrier. How would you like to be called a Chinaman? Come here,
Cupid."
It was like throwin' a bucket o' water on a bed o' coals. Bill was like
an oyster from that on, an' the girl looked as if she'd been slapped. I
was mad all the way through. It's all right for a man to be crazy, if
he'll only keep it private, but the' ain't no sense in tryin' to get
the whole balance o' creation over to his side.
The Colonel thought it a mighty prime joke to have his niece called
down over a bull pup, an' he chuckled about it consid'able. Next
mornin' he made Bill promise to come over an' visit him; but the girl
said HER good-byes to me an' the Kid. From that on, Bill was over to
headquarters half his time, but it didn't do him much good. The girl
wouldn't stand for the pup, an' Bill wouldn't go back on him; so it
looked purty much like a deadlock.
One Sunday about the first of August, we was all sittin' in the shade
of the shack, lookin' down into the valley. The shack backed up against
a massive crag on the edge of a high plateau. The road from
headquarters came in from the North, wound around a steep butte, then
along the top o' the cliff to where it slid down into the valley to
Danders.
We heard the thud o' hoofs an' turnin' around, we saw the Colonel's
niece tearin' down the road on a big hoss. It was a plain case of
runaway, an' I felt something break inside my chest. They were headin'
straight for the top o' the cliff, the hoss was goin' too fast to make
the turn, an' we was too far off to beat him to it.
We simply stood there like a flock o' sheep, without a single thought
among us. The' didn't seem to be a thing to do, but just watch 'em
plunge two hundred feet into the ravine. I glanced at Bill, but I
hardly knew him. His brows was drawn down like a wildcat's, his jaws
was clamped so tight you could hear 'em grit, an' his eyes seemed to
smoke.
I looked back to the road again, an' there was the pup, standin' down
by the road watchin' the hoss runnin' toward him. I touched Bill on the
shoulder, an sez, "Can the pup do anything, Bill?" Bill gave a sigh as
though he had just come back from the dead, an' in a voice that wavered
an' trembled, but still rang out like a trumpet, he yelled: "Throw him,
Cupid, throw him!" Lord, man! I wish you could have seen it. The mane
bristled up on that dog's back an' his muscles bulged out till he
looked like a stone image. We heard him give a low whine, like as if he
knowed it was too big a job for a little feller like him. But did he
try to flunk it? Not him. Then I knew 'at he wasn't neither a bulldog
nor a bull-terrier, but a little sixty-pound hero, willin' to pass out
his life any time 'at Bill would draw a check for it.
We fair helt our breath as he backed away from the road an' took a
little easy gallop until the hoss was near even with him. Another dog
would have blown his lungs loose, tellin' what he was a-goin' to do;
but Cupid never said a word. His lip curled up till you could catch the
glisten of those wicked white teeth of his, an' then when the hoss was
right alongside an' it looked as if he had lost his chance, he gave a
couple of short jumps an' threw himself for the critter's nose.
Well, I can't rightly tell you just what did happen then. I saw him
make his spring an' swing around full sweep, hangin' on to the hoss's
nose; but from that on the whole earth seemed to be shook loose. The
boss keeled over like he was shot, the girl seemed to turn a somerset
in the air, an' light all in a heap, with one arm hangin' over the edge
of the cliff. We heard a shriek, a little smothered yelp, an' then we
ran down to them.
Bill looked first toward the girl an' then toward the pup, an' it was
tearing his heart apart to tell which one he would go to first. Finally
he ran to the girl an' carried her back from the cliff. He knelt an'
put his ear to her heart, then he took her wrist an' after what seemed
a mighty long time, he gave a little sigh, an' sez, "Kid, run for some
water. Run! What do you stand lookin' at me for?"
The Kid, he certainly did run, while Bill stepped over to where Cupid
was layin', still an' quiet, but with a piece o' the hoss's nose still
in his grip. The hoss's right shoulder was broke an' he couldn't get
up, but was thrashin' an' strugglin' around. "Get your gun an' put that
hoss out of his misery, Happy," sez Bill, an' the' was somethin' in his
tone that filled me plumb full o' the spirit of action.
When I came back, the Kid was pourin' a bucket o' water over the girl,
an' Bill, with the tears rollin' down his cheeks, was feelin' over the
body of the little bull-pup. I put the muzzle to within an inch o' the
soft spot in the hoss's forehead, an' fired. The hoss's head sank, an'
then I gulped a couple o' times like a flabby galoot, an' sez, "Bill,
do you reckon the brindle bull-terrier'll pull through?"
"Get me some o' that water," sez Bill. When I got it, he showed me a
place where the whole o' the pup's scalp had been kicked loose. I
couldn't see what good water was goin' to do, but Bill wouldn't give
up. "I can't find where the skull is broke," he sez, "an' maybe the
water'll fetch him around."
He poured some water over the little feller's face, but it didn't seem
to be no use. He just lay still with his head on Bill's knee, an' I
knew it was all up with little Cupid; but just to please Bill, I gave
him a flask, I happened to have, an' sez, "Give the little feller a
drink, Bill. He never was used to hittin' it none, an' it'll have a
powerful effect on him." Bill opened the pup's mouth an' poured in a
tol'able stiff swig, an' by cracky, the pup opened his eyes, an' when
he saw Bill bendin' down over him, he tried to wag his little tail.
Well, Bill took that pup up in his arms an' hugged him--an' if the' 's
any one in this crowd that feels like laughin', it'll be healthier for
'im to step outside.
Then Bill picked up the pup, an' motioned for me an' the Kid to tote
the lady up to the shack, an' we did it, though it wasn't fittin' work
for a couple o' ridin men. She had fully come to when we reached the
shack, an' we laid her on the wide bunk. Bill put the pup on the narrow
bunk, washed out the hole in his head, an' tied it up with a clean
handkerchief. Then he crossed over an' spoke to the girl. I could easy
tell by his voice that the last time they had parted it had been a
little stormy.
"Miss Johnston," he sez in a low tone, "are you sufferin' much?"
She owned up to a perfectly rippin' headache, an' said she was sore all
over; but it was her ankle 'at pained her most. Bill started to look at
it; but she reddened up an' tried to draw it under her. Bill never paid
any attention to her, but sez calmly, "I've had consid'able experience,
Miss Johnston. A great deal depends on promptness. Now just let the
limb lay natural till I remove the shoe."
Me an' the Kid started to break for the foothills, but he set me to
makin' bandages, an' sent the Kid after some more water. We was losin'
our age fast, an' Bill's voice sounded like grandpa's. He said it was a
corkin' bad sprain, but he tied it up an' wet down the bandages; an'
then he sent me to headquarters after the spring-wagon, an' the Kid to
Danders for the doctor.
We both got back before daylight, an' by that time Bill an' the girl
had come to a purty harmonious agreement concernin' the proper standin'
of a brindle bull-terrier. When I came in he was holdin' the lady's
hand--an' I was the only one what reddened up.