“Seen anything of Magpie around here?”
“Don’t try to josh me,” grins Chuck. “We’re wise, Ike. You can’t keep
things like that under cover. Murder will out.”
“Murder?” says Ike awed-like, “Magpie killed somebody?”
“Not yet,” says I.
Ike stands there and chews on the ends of his mustache for a while.
“What’s the joke?” he asks. “What am I keepin’ under cover?”
“Aw, ——!” grunts Chuck. “Of course we appreciate the fact that you tries
to protect your pardner, but this little old town will be there with all
the tin cans in sight. _Sabe?_”
“Tin—cans?” says Ike soft-like, “Tin cans, Chuck? Why, Magpie——”
“Yeah. Why didn’t he take some local female to be his wife?” asks Chuck.
“Of course a feller has a right to pick his life pardner where he
listeth, but it ain’t square on local folks. There’s just as good
girls——”
“Ho-o-o-ld fast,” grunts Ike. “Magpie ain’t married.”
“‘Ain’t’ don’t mean ‘not goin’ to,’” says Chuck kinda mad-like. “It
ain’t none of my business what he does, but I hate like —— to see a
feller sneak away like that. What does he want to spend a honeymoon on a
ranch for? Is he scared to face folks?”
“Ranch?” whispers Ike. “What ranch?”
“The Cross J. Old man Whittaker just moves out and says to Magpie:
“‘Here’s the ranch, Magpie. I’m goin’ to take a little trip, so yuh
might as well spend your honeymoon out here in my house.’
“Now I reckon we’ve got to associate with a couple of love-sick loafers
for a week.”
“My ——!” gasps Ike, “I—I think I’ll—uh—get a drink,” and he walks toward
the saloon like his feet are asleep.
“Where’s Muley and Telescope?” I asks.
“Went to Silver Bend to the circus. Won’t be back before tomorrow. I
gave Sing Wah a vacation, Henry. He’ll likely go to Silver Bend and
smoke hop with his cousin.”
“Who’s goin’ to do the cookin’?”
“‘Potlatch’ Fanny.”
“That fat Injun? Jay Bird won’t allow her on the ranch, Chuck.”
“Who’s runnin’ this ranch? Potlatch can cook—when she’s sober.”
“Yes,” says I, “when she’s sober, but she ain’t been sober since the
battle of the Big Horn.”
“Far be it from me to question the morals of a true American,” says
Chuck. “Fanny’s all right, Henry, even if she does weigh ten pounds for
every year of her life. She was willin’ to take the job.”
* * * * *
Me and Chuck rides home and Magpie comes down to the bunkhouse to see
us.
“Chuck, I had my doubts about Jay Bird bein’ crazy, but after seein’
what he hired to do the cookin’—all doubts is dispelled,” states Magpie.
“Fanny can cook,” says Chuck.
“——, yes!” grunts Magpie, “Sure she can, Chuck; but nobody could eat
it.”
“You’ve got to humor a crazy man,” argues Chuck.
“I ain’t crazy,” says Magpie, “so yuh don’t need to humor me, I reckon.
I’ll be —— if I’m goin’ crazy either. Fanny and her ptomaine pizen can
act plumb rampant, but little Magpie eats canned stuff, believe me.”
“It won’t be for long,” says I.
“Not if I can prove my state of mind,” grins Magpie. “I wish Jay Bird
could see it. He’ll never appreciate what I’m doing for him.”
“No,” says Chuck, “I don’t suppose he will. You’ll get your reward in
heaven.”
“Hm-m-m-m,” says Magpie, serious-like, “Feller like me is takin’ a long
chance on ever gettin’ close enough to collect.”
The next day me and Chuck went to the depot and met the folks.
Honest to grandma, they’re assorted. The doctor is one of them
cadaverous-lookin’ _hombres_ with a “as good as can be expected”
expression on his long face. He suffers in his feet from bunions.
The lady is built just the opposite. She’s almost as wide as she is
tall, and so fat in the face that her nose don’t show in a side view.
The daughter takes after the old man. She’s tall and gaunt and
innocent-lookin’.
They climbs off the train and looks around. Me and Chuck walks up to ’em
and Chuck says—
“Howdy, folks.”
“Ah,” says the doctor, “I am looking for——”
“I know,” says Chuck. “He sent us after you. We’re the hired help.”
“Chauffeur?” puffs the fat lady.
“Warner,” states Chuck. “Got any plunder?”
“Plunder?” asks the doctor.
“Baggage, handbag, war-sack, te-runk.”
“Oh—er—yes. Our trunks. Exactly. Yes indeed. We will likely sojourn here
for some time. Where is the car?”
“Car?” asks Chuck.
“Automobile.”
“Oh—yeah. Automobile. Gettin’ fixed. We brought the buckboard.”
Mama waddled all around that vehicle, looks at them half-broke roans and
then shook her head.
“It would be all my life is worth.”
“More,” admits Chuck solemn-like. “Lots more. But you can’t walk four
miles.”
The Lord only knows how we got ’em all into that buckboard, but we did.
We put one trunk in the back, and left six more at the depot. Chuck, the
doctor and the daughter sets in the seat, while me and mama sets on the
trunk. The load is so heavy that the springs of the equipage are null
and void.
Chuck’s a good driver when his mind is on his work, but a brake to him
is just a ornament or something put on there to rattle. We went through
Wind River Crossing so fast that the wheels hardly got damp. It’s a
steep pitch on each side, but Chuck was like—wasn’t it Napoleon who
said, “There ain’t no Alps?” Well, Chuck must ’a’ said to himself,
“There ain’t no Wind River Crossin’.”
Them broncs just skidded across, hit the steep pitch with slacked tugs
and then jerked out. Chuck should have known that me and mama didn’t
have nothin’ behind our backs except the river. I know I turned over
twice and went into that beautiful streamlet like a kingfisher.
I can’t remember of feeling remorse, but something seems to depress me.
In fact, it depressed me until I felt the boulders at the bottom of the
river digging into my spine. Then I turned over, hooked my toes behind a
boulder and lifted.
I managed to get my head out of water just in time to see a bulky object
turn over in the water, and up comes the head of mama. She explodes a
lot of water out of her nose and mouth, and then she starts right across
the river, twisting and staggering like a barrel in a flood.
“Hey!” I yelps. “You’re going the wrong way!”
She turned around to see who yelled, and she sets right down in the
middle of the river. She went plumb out of sight for a moment, and when
she shows up again she’s coming my way.
It took her a long time to get her breath. She stands there puffing and
panting, with the water dripping off her nose. She tries to talk, but
her vocal cords are too moist. The buckboard is out of sight.