by W. C. Tuttle
Author of “Local Color in Loco Land,” “Sun Dog Trails,” etc.
A good lie is a thing of beauty,
But she busteth like a bubble
And raiseth —— with the innocent
And causeth plenty trouble.
—Muley Bowles.
And them is true words.
—Scenery Sims.
We rise to applaud them sentiments.
—Magpie, Ike, Jay Bird and Mighty.
It has been said that I, “Chuck” Warner, am the worst liar in Yaller
Rock County. That’s a lie—I’m the best. I could tell the truth, but
what’s the use? Nobody’d believe me.
It has been said that I’ve got the eyes of a angel, the face of a horse
and the ears of a jassack. Maybe I have. I reckon I’ve got complete
control of my ear muscles, but the face and eyes of me are none of my
doing.
Pa could wiggle his ear—he only had one, having lost the other one on an
election bet in Oklahoma—but I know I never got my lying ability from
him. Pa couldn’t lie at all—and get away with it. He swore he didn’t
steal calves, but nobody believed him. In fact, I don’t think they took
time even to consider his statement.
I never try to prove anything. I just tell ’em to take it or leave it.
It sure is hard sledding for a liar in this cold, cold world; but I’ve
knowed preachers who had a hard time getting along, as far as that’s
concerned.
This introduction don’t figure much in this tale, neither is it an
apology; it’s just to show you that I’m not trying to crawfish out of
any responsibility. I don’t shoot from ambush and I’m too honest to try
and walk straight when I’m blundering drunk.
“Jay Bird” Whittaker is a God-fearing man, and pays me a monthly insult
for punching his cows. Jay Bird is a human failure in lots of ways, but
you’ve got to give him credit for using judgment in picking a good crew
of cow-punchers.
There ain’t nothing common about me, and Henry Peck and Muley Bowles and
Telescope Tolliver are above the average. We’re ornamental, musical, and
sometimes poetical. We don’t go blindly into things. When Jay Bird gives
us an order we holds a session over it, and don’t accept the order
unless in our judgment it’s best for the Cross J outfit.
A word or two against the other punchers won’t hurt nothing. “Muley” is
too fat to be anything but a nuisance, but he can write poems.
“Telescope” hails from the land of “cawn-juice,” and he fights most of
his feuds in his sleep. His folks raised him to be honest, but he growed
so fast it never took. His head is so far from his feet that he has to
look down to see if he’s walking, and he’s so thin that you can tell how
many olives he’s had for dinner.
Jay Bird comes to me and says:
“Chuck, I’m going to be gone a couple of days. There ain’t much to be
done around here, so don’t exert yourselves. You fellers might build
that new corral, but I don’t know where I could hire anybody to dig the
post-holes and set the posts.”
“I hope you have a good time,” says I. “Set on your pocketbook, or
somebody will sell you something.”
“I might hire some civil cowboys,” says he.
“You won’t,” says I, “’cause they wouldn’t work for you.”
I went as far as Paradise with Jay Bird, and there I runs into “Mighty”
Jones. Poor Mighty lives out in the hills and raises goats. He never
gets any fun out of life except when he scalds his insides with
wabble-water, and then he gets too sad to enjoy it. I feels awful sorry
for him—honest.
I finds Mighty crying into his glass. I spends several pieces of silver
trying to brace his feelings and dam his tears, but it’s no use.
Something is bearing down upon his nervous system. The more he drinks
the more he weeps. I leads him outside and plants him in a shady spot.
“Now,” says I, “open your soul, Mighty. Ain’t I your friend?”
“Tha’s right,” says he. “I—I hate a liar.”
“Somebody lied to you?”
He wipes away some tears and shakes his head.
“Nope. I’m the thing I hate, Chuck.”
“Leave out something?”
“Leave ——! I put in too much.”
Right then Mighty Jones opens his heart and tells me why he’s mixing his
tears with alkali dust.
* * * * *
It appears that Mighty left home early in life. He’s got a sister, who
ain’t seen him since he was ten years old. About a year ago she finds
out where he lives, and she writes him a letter. Seems that she married
a doctor, who has oodles of money.
Mighty answers her letter, and then she writes some more. Seems that
Amandy is some hand to brag about things, and it makes Mighty peeved.
Then he sets down and raises the ante.
According to what Mighty tells her he’s the _hombre_ that the U. S.
Treasury depends upon for supplies. Mighty don’t stop at written words.
Somebody sends Mike Pelly some pictures of a millionaire’s rancho in
California, and Mighty, like a danged fool, steals them photographs and
sends ’em to Amandy. That rung the bell.
“Now, they’re comin’ here,” weeps Mighty. “Right here!”
“Well,” says I, “you’ll have to face the music.”
“I can’t! I ain’t got the nerve. Oh ——”
“Too bad,” says I. “You lied too much, that’s all.”
“Can’t you help me?” he begs. “Can’t you meet ’em and tell ’em I’ve got
smallpox or somethin’? I ain’t got no wife nor family.”
“Did you tell her you had a family?”
“Two boys,” he sobs. “Fine children. Help me out, Chuck. They’re on
their way and will be here Monday.”
“Monday? This is Saturday, ain’t it?”
“You will help me?” he sobs. “You will? What do you want me to do?”
“Learn to tell the truth, Mighty. A lie is an abomination in the sight
of the Lord.”
“In mine too,” he sobs. “Let’s go have a drink.”
This is all I’m going to tell of this here tale. I ain’t no hand to talk
about things, anyway, so I’ll let Hen Peck give you the information. Hen
has more education than the rest of us, and anyway, he’d want to cut in
and correct me every little while. He’ll likely lie to you about what
happened, and I hope for your sakes you ain’t prejudiced against liars
like Jay Bird Whittaker.
Meet Henry Clay Peck.
* * * * *
I hereby swear that the above introduction to this tale is as true as
anything Chuck Warner ever told. I’m down in Paradise trying to beat
Mike Pelly’s roulette-wheel when Chuck comes in.
“Magpie” Simpkins is in the same game. Magpie is one of them
long-complected, do-or-die looking _hombres_ with tired-looking
whiskers. Chuck sets down on the table and considers Magpie.
After while me and Magpie quits playing, and then we meets Chuck
outside.
“Did Jay Bird see you, Magpie?” asks Chuck.
“I dunno,” says Magpie, caressing his mustache. “If he did he ducked,
’cause I ain’t seen him today. What did he want?”
“Well,” says Chuck sad-like, wiggling his ears, “I’d be the last person
on earth to mention it—if he hadn’t told me. I don’t mind lettin’ Hen in
on it, but I sure don’t want Muley or Telescope to suspicion it for a
minute.
“He told me to see if Magpie would do him a favor, but I reckon he
didn’t like to come out and tell it himself. Of course he ain’t dead
sure, but he thinks he’s crazy.”
Me and Magpie looks at each other and then back at Chuck.
“Not ravin’ crazy, but somewhat loco,” says Chuck, “the same of which is
a —— of a condition to get into.”
“What does he want—a keeper?” asks Magpie.
“Kinda,” nods Chuck. “A keeper for the Cross J ranch.”
“Hm-m-m-m,” says Magpie, dubious-like.
“Tell us about it, Chuck.”
“I don’t know how true it is,” says Chuck serious-like, “but this is how
she appears to me. Jay Bird’s mind dwelleth upon matrimony. Somehow he
gets to correspondin’ with a female person who has a grown daughter.
“Of course that ain’t no test of a man’s sanity. Any man has a right to
get heart-hungry and go calling for a mate like a bull moose.
“I reckon Jay Bird opened his heart too wide, and it appears that he
told the widder woman more than was right. Jay Bird says it was lapses
of memory or somethin’, but anyway he finds himself writin’ the
dangedest bunch of stuff you ever seen.
“As soon as he assays himself mentally he finds that he don’t assay
much, and he gets a heap fussed. He don’t want that woman. Why, Hen, you
know how Jay Bird hates females.”
“Yes,” says I; “he ain’t got much time for the calico-clad.”
“Everybody knows that,” says Magpie. “Then what did he do?”
“Well, he writes to her and tells her that he’s mentally deficient and
that he didn’t mean all the things he wrote to her. I reckon he’d made a
lot of promises, ’cause she writes right back and says something like
this:
“‘I am a poor widder woman who is just tryin’ to get along, and it ain’t
noways fair for you to trifle with my feelings. Maybe you has found some
one else and are just trying to renege out of your promises. I have all
your tender letters, which I can show in court, unless you have told me
the truth about bein’ crazy.
“‘I don’t like to have everybody know I’ve loved a loco, so I am coming
to Paradise to find out, and am going to bring a doctor to look you
over. If he says you’re loco it’s all right, but if he says you’re
not—you’ve got to marry me.’”
“She’s got a good case,” says Magpie, “’cause I don’t think he’s loco.”
“Never can tell,” says Chuck sad-like. “I’d hate like —— to see poor old
Jay Bird get sent to the loco-lodge.”
“What did he want to see me for?” asks Magpie.
“Well, he said that this was a chance to test friendship, Magpie. Jay
Bird is too easy to hang something on to. He can’t act a-tall. He
figures out that you’re the only person in Yaller Rock County who could
impersonate him and get away with it.
“You ain’t got nothin’ to lose, Magpie. You’d have a lot of fun with
that doctor. Right now Jay Bird is as sane as anybody, and he can’t act
crazy. He’s afraid the doctor would find him sane and then he’d either
have to marry the widder or get sued.”
“Hm-m-m-m,” says Magpie. “I hope Jay Bird appreciates what I’m going to
do for him, Chuck.”
“Well, if he don’t he’s crazy as ——, that’s all I can say for him.
Better go out to the ranch today, Magpie, and get used to Jay Bird
Whittaker.”
Then I manages to get Chuck cornered, takes his gun away from him and
demands the truth. I got it—because he needed me in his business. I asks
him how it’s going to end and he shakes his head.
“I don’t know, Henry. They say that truth is stranger than fiction, and
maybe we’ll get a chance to prove it.”
“Danged sight better chance to get killed,” says I, “Magpie will kill
you as sure as thunder,” and just then Ike Harper, Magpie’s pardner,
shows up.