I was lonesome once. I don't mean simply willin' to sit in a game, or
to join a friendly little booze competition, or feelin' a sort of
inward desire to mingle about with some o' the old boys an' see who
could remember the biggest tales--I mean LONESOME,--the real
rib-strainin' article when a man sits in a limpy little heap with his
tongue hangin' out, a-wishin' that a flea-bit coyote would saunter
along, slap him on the back, an' call him friens.
I was out in No-man's land with just a small bunch o' mangy cows, an'
the grass so scarce I purt' nigh had to get 'em shod--they had to
travel so far in makin' a meal. It was hot an' it was dusty an' it was
dry--the whole earth seemed to reek. My victuals got moldy an' soft an'
sticky, my appetite laid down an' refused to go another peg; 'I was
just simply dyin' o' thirst, an' every single drop o' water we came
across had a breath like the dyin' gasp of a coal-oil stove, expirin'
for a couple o' fingers o' the stuff they float universities in.
Now I'd allus supposed that the' wasn't anything left to tell me about
bein' lonesome; but when it was finally settled that Barbie was to
waste herself on that imported imitation of a hand-made mechanical toy,
I found out that heretofore I'd been only dealin' in childish
delusions. The whole Diamond Dot seemed to rest right on top o' my
soul: the air didn't smell sweet, I got so I'd lie awake at night, food
grew so fearless it could look me right in the face without flinchin';
but one night I saw Merry England with his arm around Barbie's waist,
an' that settled it. By the time I had regained my self-control, I was
twenty miles from the ranch, an' I knew that if I went back it would be
to make arrangements for the last sad obsequaries of Clarence the
Comforter.
I had about three hundred bucks in my belt, so I wended my way to
Danders an' sneaked aboard the East-bound without attractin' the notice
of ol' Mrs. Fate or any o' the rest o' the Danders bunch. I got out at
Laramie, an' they all knew Dick an' was proud of him an' eager to learn
what had become of him. One thing else I found out, an' that was that
he had been keepin' a woman all right, an' that she was livin' there
yet; but never went out without a heavy veil, an' the' wasn't any way
short o' physical force to get to speak to her.
I figured out that Dick wouldn't care to go back to Texas, so the
chances were that he was either in San Francisco or England. I didn't
know anything about England, so I went to Frisco. I prowled around for
a couple o' days exactly like a story-detective; an' by jinks, I turned
up a clew. That feller, Piker, was the clew, an' when I spied him in a
low gamblin' room I made some little stir until I got him alone so I
could talk to him. I hadn't hurt him none; but I had been tol'able
firm, an' he was minded to speak the truth. He told me that Dick was in
the Texas Penitentiary for life--that he had surrendered himself up,
an' that this was what had give him life instead of the rope.
I knew the gang what had put him there, an' I knew that his chances for
gettin' out were about as good as if he was in his grave. I was stumped
an' I knew it; so I sez to Piker: "Piker, you may think that I'm allus
as gentle as I've been with you; but if this ain't the truth you've
told me I'll get your life if I have to track you bare-footed through
hell."
He swore by everything he could remember that it was the solemn truth,
an' then I turned him loose an' I turned myself loose too. The boys
down at Frisco was certainly glad to see me, an' we sure had a royal
good time as long as my money lasted; but when it began to dry up they
seemed to lose interest in me an' had a heap o' private business to
attend to.
One mornin' I noticed that I was dead broke; so I drilled down to the
dock an' sat on a post. Pretty soon along comes a little fat man, an'
he looks me over from nose to toe. I don't know why it is, but as a
rule a city man takes as open-hearted an' disembarrassed an interest in
me as though I was a prize punkin' or the father of a new breed o' beef
cattle. After he had made up his opinion he smiles into my eyes an'
sez, "I like your face."
"You soothe me," sez I. "I was just thinkin' o' havin' it remodelled;
but now I'll leave it just as it is."
Well, he laughs an' slaps me on the back an' sez, "I like your style.
Want to take a ride?"
"What on?" sez I, for he seemed purty blocky an' fat-legged for a
ridin' man.
"On that there sailboat," sez he, pointin' to a thing about the size of
a flat-iron with a knittin'-needle stickin' out of it. I give a little
think, an' I sez: "To tell you the gospel truth, Bud, I ain't never
been on a sailboat in my life; but I'm game to play her one whirl if
you'll just wait until I get my breakfast."
"How long will it take?" sez he. "Deuced if I know," sez I. "I've been
waitin' hereabout two hours already an' the' ain't none showed up yet."
"Why don't you go to a restaurant?" sez he.
"I thank you kindly for the suggestion," sez I; "but the same brilliant
idee occurred to me a little over two hours ago, an' all my
finger-nails is wore to the quick tryin' to scratch up enough change."
He studied my face a moment, then he chuckled up a laugh, an' scooted
over to an eatin'-house, comin' back with a lot o' stuff an' some
coffee. Then we got into the boat an' begun to sail. Oh, it certainly
was grand! By the time I had made it up with my stomach we were out on
the Pacific Ocean, an' I felt like Christopher Columbus.
Enjoy myself? Well. I guess I did! I felt like a boy with copper-toed
boots an' a toy balloon. Then things began to churn up wild an'
furious. Fatty said that Pacific meant mild an' peaceful--the darned,
sarcastic, little liar! The storm that was presently kazooin' along was
fierce an' horrible, an' that dinky little soap-bubble cut up
scand'lous.
We went jumpin' an' slidin' ahead, tilted away over on one side, but
Fatty never turned a hair; he said it was nothin' but a capful o' wind,
an' he sat in the back end o' the boat with a little stick in his hand,
hummin' tunes an' havin' the time of his life; but give me a bunch of
blizzard-scared long-horns for mine.
I never knowed a boat was so human. This one bucked an' kicked an'
reared up an' tried to fall over on its back, the same as a mustang;
while I held on with my teeth an' wondered if it was a put-up job. Then
I began to feel as though I had partakin' of a balloon. I gritted my
teeth an' swallered hot water constant; but it wasn't no use; purty
soon that beautiful breakfast began to fight its way to liberty. Layer
after layer, up it came; an' all the while mebbe I wasn't feelin' like
a tender-foot, with that fat little cuss puffin' his pipe in the back
seat, as happy as a toad.
After a bit he looks at me purty sympathetic like, an' sez, "You seem
to have a weak stomach."
"Weak?" I yells. "Weak! why you doggone son of a pirate, it kicks like
a shotgun every time it goes off. Weak!"
We stayed out on our pleasure trip the best part of the day, me layin'
with what used to be my head jammed under the front seat, while my
liver chased my stomach up an' down my backbone, tryin' to squeeze out
a few more crumbs o' that breakfast. You can believe me or not; but
when noon came that double dyed villain got out the grub an' began to
eat--even goin' so far as to ask me to join him. A hog wouldn't 'a'
done it. We came back; about five o'clock, an' by the time we reached
the landin' place I was feelin' fine. An' hungry-- Say!
When we got upon the platform an' started to walk up-town Fatty sez to
me, "What are you goin' to do to kill time now?"
"Time?" sez I. "Well, now, I dunno as I feel any inborn hankerin' to
slaughter time; but if the game laws ain't in force I wouldn't mind
flushin' up a covey of fat young ham sandwidges."
"You're a funny cuss," sez he.
"I am," sez I; "an' I hope I won't come sudden in front of a
lookin'-glass. A good hearty laugh just now would be purty apt to
puncture my stomach--it's jammed up so tight again my backbone."
"You don't seem to like this community," sez he.
"I don't know," sez I. "It's been a mighty long time since I tasted it;
but I have an idy that I'd enjoy some served hot with a couple o'
porterhouse steaks smothered in cornbeef hash an' about three pints o'
coffee."
He chuckled up another laugh, an sez, "If you had a good job here would
you be apt to settle?"
"Settle?" sez I. "You needn't worry much about that; I'm no tight-wad.
When it comes my turn to settle I generally fish up a handful an' say,
'Here, take it out o' that an' keep the change.'"
He looked at me a minute without speakin', an' then he said, as though
he was thinkin' aloud, "You seem to be mighty well set up."
I was hurt at this. "Your ticket entitles you to one more guess," sez
I. "Any time anybody got set up in my company since I struck town the
bartender allus managed to sneak me the checks without gettin' caught
at it. The' must 'a' been a cold snap here, an' all the easy spenders
got froze up."
"No, I mean you're wonderful well built," sez he. "Kin you ride a hoss?"
"I can," sez I, "if he's kind an' gentle, an' I manage to get a good
grip on the saddle horn, an' he don't start to lopin' or somethin' like
that."
"Do you know what a knight is?" sez he.
"Yes," sez I, "I do when I'm home; but since I've been here I ain't
wasted none of 'em in sleep, so I ain't right certain."
"No, I don't mean that kind," sez he. "I mean the soldiers of long ago
who used to wear steel armor an' fight with spears an' rescue maidens
an' so forth. I believe I can get you a job at it for a month or so, at
three dollars a day."
"Now look here, Bud," sez I, "them three dollars look mighty enticin'
to me, an' I ain't no objection to rescuin' the maidens; but I move we
cut out the steel armor an' the spears. If the' 's any great amount o'
maidens in need o' rescuin', I could do the job a heap quicker with my
six-shooters."
"Oh, I don't mean to be a real knight," sez he. "I want you to
advertise tobacco."
"Say," sez I, "perhaps you never noticed it; but after you've been
livin' on air for some time you get so you can't tell whether it's
yourself or the other feller what's crazy. I came down to this town
because my appetite was clogged up an' wouldn't work; but I'm cured.
I'm the most infernally cured individual you ever set eyes on, an' I'm
goin' back where food ain't too blame proud to be seen in company with
a poor man."
Well, I broke through his crust that time, an' we sidled into a
feed-joint, where I pried my ribs apart while he un folded his plot. It
seemed the' was a brand of chewin' tobacco what had one o' these here
knights on the tag, an' I was to dress up like the picture an'
advertise it. The man who was to do it had sprained his ankle, an'
Fatty's brother was huntin' up a new man. Fatty said he'd get me the
job.
Well, he did, an' next mornin' I started out in a tin suit with a sort
of kettle turned upside down an' covered with feathers for a sky-piece.
I certainly made an imposin' sight, an' all I had to do was to ride
around an' fling little plugs o' tobacco out o' my saddle-bags. But
the' was draw-backs. The' generally is.
Take the real native-son brand of Friscoite, an' he'll tell you 'at
Frisco an' Paradise are sunonomous. I used to like to argue 'em out
about it. One day I had a thirty-third degree one pointin' his finger
in my eye an' beatin' his palm with his fist, an' spreadin' himself
somethin' gorgeous. He never curbed his jubilization nor altered the
heavy seriousness of his expression; but in the most matter-of-fact way
in the world he backs over to the door-jamb an' begins to polish it up
with his spinal column. If ya'll notice you'll find most o' the coats
in that locality has curious little streaks up the back--but it ain't
polite to ask questions about 'em.
"Look here, Bud," sez I, interruptin', "I know all about your golden
gates an' sea lions an' cosmopopilic civilization; but how about your
fleas?"
"Fleas!" sez he. "Hang the fleas! I'll tell you about them. The devil
He tried an experiment; he wanted a place so fine to live in that man
wouldn't have no inducement to try to get to heaven; so he studied all
the cities an' the towns--an' then he made Frisco. The experiment
worked to perfection; everybody what lived there was perfectly
satisfied, an' the preachers couldn't make 'em believe 'at any place
could be any better. But the good Lord, he was powerful fond o' the
Friscoites, so he finally figgered out the little red flea--an' then
even Frisco had a drawback; not enough to give the town anything of a
black eye; just enough to leave one little talkin'-point in favor of
everlastin' bliss."
Well, these here fleas was consid'able of a talkin'-point with me all
right when I was takin' the part of a canned knight. They used to
congregate together in the valley between my shoulder-blades, an' I'd
get off an' back up again a lamp-post, but it wa'n't no use. I couldn't
reach 'em, an' the' ain't no way on earth to scare 'em. Finally I hit
upon a plan of wearin' a couple o' feet o' chain down the back o' my
neck an' givin' it a jerk now an' again. It was only just moderately
comfortable; but I had the satisfaction of knowin' that it was more of
a bother to them than it was to me. A suit of armor ain't no tenement
house, it's only meant for one. But when they got on my face they had
me beat. I'd forget all about bein' sealed up, an' I'd take a smash at
one an' bat the kettle over again my forehead until I had both eyebrows
knocked out o' line.
I carried a spear with a little flag on it, an' rode a hoss built like
a barrel. He had been in the brewery business all his life an' looked
the part. About the only item in the whole parade that put me in mind
of myself was my lariat. I smuggled that along for company, an' so I'd
have somethin' to work with, provided anything turned up.
Fatty had give me a book called "Ivanhoe" the night before I started
out, an' it was full o' pictures about knights knockin' each other
about with spears; an' I bet a hat it was fun to be a real one an' not
have no tobacco to advertise, but just nothin' to do except jab each
other with spears. I reckon a corkin' good one like Ivanhoe himself or
the Black Knight got more 'an three a day for it too; but the one best
bet is, that the vigilance committee those days didn't take on much
superfluous fat.
I enjoyed myself first rate, an' upset a couple o' delivery wagons
because they wouldn't make way for me, roped a runaway steer 'at had
the whole town scared, an' chased a flat-head clear into the Palace
Hotel for throwin' a pear at me. Fatty's brother confided to him that I
was the best advertisement they'd ever had.
Still I allus get weary o' doin' the same sort o' thing day after day.
That's what gets me about livin' in town; it's so blame monotonous. Out
on the range now a feller can allus be expectin' a little excitement
even if he ain't enjoyin' it right at the time; but in town it's just
the same thing over an' over again. It's bad enough at any time; but if
you want to soak yourself plumb full o' the horrors of a great city you
want to wear a tin suit with an iron kettle strapped on your head that
you can't take off without help. I got so blame disgusted drinkin'
steam beer through a straw that if any one would 'a' dared me I'd 'a'
signed the pledge.
If it hadn't been for the children I'd probably got hysterical an' been
voted into the uncurable ward; but they thought I was the finest thing
out, an' I used to give 'em little plugs o' tobacco for souvynears. I
used to read "Ivanhoe" at night an' tell stories to the kids the next
day. Some o' them thought I was a fairy godmother; an' I generally had
such a gang troopin' after me that we looked like an orphan asylum out
for an airin'. I allus did like children.
Well, one day I was out at the foot o' the hill neighbor-hood on Sutter
Street. A lot o' cars was blockaded, an' a herd o' kids stood lookin'
on. I stopped an' talked to 'em, an' the' was one little girl, just for
all the world like another little girl I used to know, away back yonder
in Indiana. She had the same confidin' smile an' the same big, wide
open eyes; an' I felt a sort o' lump in my throat when she looked at
me. She had that same queer little look that Barbie'd had when she was
a child too. Her mother was named Maggie, which also happened to be the
name o' the little girl I had known clear away back when I'd been a
school-boy. All of a sudden I felt lonesome again; so I give the kids
the slip an' skirted the car.
I started to ride up the Hyde Street hill on the other side, an' say,
it was a hill! Steep? Well, it was about all Mr. Hoss could do to climb
it. While I was wonderin' if I hadn't better let that part o' town go
unadvertised I heard a rumble, looked up, an' saw comin' over the
square o' the next street a big wagon loaded with lumber an' runnin'
towards me down the hill. The' wasn't no hosses hitched to it, an' the
tongue stuck straight out in front. It was comin' like a steam-engine,
an' like a flash I remembered Maggie on the other side o' the car. That
wagon would 'a' weighed six tons, an' any fool could see what would
happen when it struck that street car.
For a second--for just one second, which seemed to last a thousand
years--I was turned to stone. I could hear the crash; I could hear the
screams; I could feel the horrid scrunch as car, wagon, an' all ground
over poor little Maggie; and then everything cleared up, an' I could
think ninety times a minute.
I turned my rope loose an' backed ol' Mr. Barrel up on the sidewalk in
the wink of a hair trigger. I looked down at the hoss, an' he would
have weighed a full ton himself; but I knew that he wouldn't have sense
enough to brace himself when the jerk came. It was comical the way
thoughts kept flashin' through my head--everything I had done, an'
everything I might have done, an' a heap more beside; but the thing
that worried me most was the thought that a mighty good story was about
to happen, an' the chances were that I wouldn't be the one to do the
tellin' of it afterward. I can talk about it easy now, but I wasn't
BREATHIN' then.
On came the wagon, an' it looked as though nothin' under heaven could
stop it. A strange feelin' o' weakness swept over me for a minute,
and--and--darned if I didn't pray, right then. The pressure lifted like
a fog, an' I sat there as cool an' still as though I was Ivanhoe,
darin' the whole blame outfit to come at me in a bunch; an' I was some
pleased to notice that a little group had gathered to see the outcome.
My knees dug into the hoss's ribs as I circled the rope around my head,
an' then at just the right instant I gave the foreleg throw. Well, it
landed--everything landed. As soon as the noose caught the tip o' the
tongue I yanked back on the brewer until he must 'a' thought his lower
jaw had dissolved partnership.
The' never was any neater work--never. The noose tightened well out on
the tongue, an' when the strain came the wagon turned in toward the
sidewalk, runnin' in a big circle on the outside wheels. The jerk had
lifted ol' Uncle Brewer, who didn't have gumption enough to squat,
plumb out in the middle o' the street, an' just as the wagon climbed
the curb an' dove into the basement office of a Jew doctor the rope
tightened up with me an' the brewer square behind. It didn't last long;
the' was only one cinch to the saddle, an' the first jerk had purty
well discouraged that; the brewer had grew suspicious an' all four of
his feet was dug into the cobble stones; the wagon was lopin' along
about ninety miles a second, an' when the tug came me an' the saddle
an' the tinware an' about four thousand plugs o' tobacco made a
half-circle in the air an' plunged through the first story winder onto
the dinin'-table--an' the family was at dinner.
Nobody was hurt; but I wish you could have seen the eyes o' that
family--an' their hands--yes, an' their tonsils too. They didn't seem
fully prepared. After a time the doctor got his heart to pumpin' again,
an' he roars out, "Vat are you doin'--vat are you doin'?"
"I'm advertisin' tobacco," sez I, tryin' to cut the kettle off my head
with a fruit-knife.
Then he did the wind-mill act with his hands an' rolled up his eyes an'
sez, "Vell, mine Cott, man, dis iss no vay to atfertice dobaggo!"
"Mebbe not, ol' sport," sez I, thinkin' o' the way that wagon had dove
into his office, an' takin' a general survey o' the dinner table; "but
if you're game at all you got to own up it makes a strong impression."
He was a comical little cuss, an' it amused me a heap to see how
excited he was. He splutered an' fizzed away like a leaky sody
fountain, while the rest o' the tribe kept up a most infernal squawkin'.
By the time I had the tobacco an' the balance o' the trimmin's picked
up an' got back to the street again I found the rest o' the population
gathered together to see who was holdin' the celebration; an' from that
on my stay in the city was a nightmare. The passengers in the car gave
me gold watches an' champagne suppers, the Jew doctor wore himself to a
bone tryin' to find out whether it was me, the lumber company, or the
tobacco firm which had to pay the piper; while the newspaper reporters
pumped me as dry as the desert. The tobacco company kept me on double
pay, because when it came to what they call a publicity agent I had
played every winnin' number open an' coppered all the ones that lost.
That car had been loaded with a group o' the real, genuine
gold-sweaters, an' they entered into a fierce competition to see which
could load me down with the finest watch an' load me up with the finest
champagne. They got me to make 'em after-dinner speeches an' do fancy
stunts with my raw-hide--ropin' wine bottles off the waiters' trays an'
such--until we got as friendly as a herd of tramps. They even got me
into a long-tailed coat an' a bullfrog vest; but I didn't take kindly
to that, 'count o' there not bein' any handy place to tote a gun except
the tail pocket, which I never could have got at in case the trouble
was to slop over.
I kept lookin' for little Maggie, an' one day I found her. I bought her
a couple o' pounds o' candy an' a lot o' new dresses; an' I took her
out to her home in a carriage. Well, this home o' hers was a thing to
wring the heart of an ossi-fied toad. It was up near the Barbery coast,
where they kill folks for exercise. She an' her mother was livin' in
two miserable rooms, her mother doin' washin' an' Maggie runnin'
errands; but they was as near respectable as half-fed people ever was
in the world, an' it made 'em hustle to even keep half fed, too, 'cause
they was in competition with the Chinks, who don't have to eat at
all--that is, not regular food.
An' would you believe it, her mother was the little Maggie I used to
know away back yonder in the kid days when all the world was just like
a big, bulgey Christmas-stocking. She had married a good man, an' had
come out to the coast with him on account of his health, an' he had
flickered out without leavin' her much but a stack o' doctor's bills
an' little Maggie. She had struggled along ever since, an' it made my
heart ache like a tooth to see the sweetness an' the beauty o' the
little girl I used to know come to the eyes o' this poor tired woman
an' smile--smile the same old smile like what she used to when I'd
given her an apple, or when she'd written me a little note an' sneaked
it across the aisle.
Well, I didn't stay long. I had a special swell function to attend that
night, but next mornin', when the Turkish-bath man was willin' to risk
the peace o' that locality by turnin' me loose, I gathered up a peck or
so o' watches an' cashed 'em in. I reckon I got beat some; but anyhow,
I drew down somethin' over sixteen hundred in yeller money; an' I took
them two Maggies down to the train an' shipped 'em back where the
little one would have a chance to grow up like a flower, with plenty o'
green grass an' sunshine about her, an' the mother could put on a clean
dress afternoons an' visit 'round a little with the friends o' long ago.
After they was gone everything seemed mighty gloomy an' damp an'
lonesome, an' I entered into the social festivities most enthusiastic.
The' was somethin' about both these two Maggies that kept bringin'
Barbie before me, an' what I felt most like doin' was to bolster up my
forgetfulness. It wasn't very long, however, before I noticed that my
quiet an' simple life hadn't in nowise fitted me for refined society,
an' I made my plans to bid it a fond farewell. I'm just as cordial a
friend as whiskey ever had; but my con science rebels at floodin' my
vital organs with seventeen different colored wines at one meal. I've
been infested with pink elephants an' green dragons an' I never com
plained none; but hang me if I can get any comfort out of a striped
yellow spider ten feet high on horrid hairy legs.
I was sittin' in the Palace lobby one mornin' wonderin' if I'd bump my
head should I happen to sneeze, when in come one o' my pals. His face
lit up when he see me an' he came over holdin' out his hand. I held out
my own hearty enough; but I sez in a warnin' voice, "Now, before you
ask me the customary question I want to inform you that I positively
don't want a drink, neither now nor this evenin', nor never again."
"Pshaw," sez he, "I'm goin' to pull out for home to day, an' I don't
want to go without a farewell libation to the good times we've been
havin'."
"I'm goin' to pull out, myself," sez I, "but I went on my farewell
libation last night. Where might your home be?"
"Texas," sez he. I straightened up.
"Know the governor?" sez I.
"Some," sez he, his eyes twinklin'; "he was my sister's youngest
brother."
"Your sister's youngest brother?" sez I, an' then I tumbled. "Say," I
yelled, jumpin' to my feet, "you don't mean that you're it yourself?"
"That's the history," sez he; "but if it's just the same to you, I'd
rather you didn't work up much of a story about the way I've handled
this town since you saved that car."
"Do you really think 'at I saved your life?" sez I.
"Why," sez he, "if that wagon had ever hit the car the' wouldn't 'a'
been anything left but my teeth to identify me by, an' I ain't never
had one filled yet."
Well, I took one drink with him an' I told him the straight o' that
cattle ring an' how Jim Jimison had surrendered on account o' the best
little girl that walked, an' that he was the all around squarest boy
the' was. I didn't cork up any natural eloquence I happened to have,
an' I was some sorry 'at ol' Hammy couldn't have heard that plea. It
was dramatic, an' I'll bet money on it. The outcome was, that he swore
he'd have Jim out o' the pen as soon as he could get back an' do the
signin'. He was a big man with steel gray eyes, an' by jing I felt good
over it; but I stuck to the one drink proposition.