Horace started to enlarge on how much he didn’t know about ridin’; but
Tank breaks in with a plea for his nerves. “Look here,” he said,
scowlin’ at Horace with his good eye, while the free one rove around
wild in his face, “your nerves are a little out o’ fix, an’ mine is
plumb tied into knots. This here outin’ will be the best thing we can
do for ourselves, an’ you got to come along. No matter which way you
go, you got to ride; so the’ ain’t no sense in makin’ a fuss about it.
We’ll mount you up on as gentle a cayuse as the’ is in the West; an’
we won’t tell no one if you hang on to the saddle horn goin’ down
hill.”
“That’s right, Mr. Bradford,” sez I respectful. “You’d have to ride
back anyway, so you might as well come on with us an’ have a pleasant
outing.”
“Besides,” sez Tank, “up there in the Wind River country we stand a
chance o’ gettin’ somethin’ for our nerves, if the Injuns happen to be
in a good humor. Those Injun doctors know all about hurbs an’ which
diseases they grow for, an’ when they’re in a good humor, they’ll sell
ya some.”
“What’ll they do if they’re not in a good humor?” asked Horace.
“Well, that’s the beatin’est question I’ve yet heard!” sez Tank. “How
does any one know what an Injun’ll do when he’s not in a good humor? I
don’t reckon any one ever tried to learn the answer to that question.
When an Injun’s not in a good humor, either you’ve got to kill him or
he’ll kill you. If we hear tell ’at they’re out o’ humor, we’ll simply
scurry back at the first hint, an’ don’t you forget it.”
Horace wasn’t resigned yet; so he kept sawin’ away with his questions
all the time we were tyin’ on the beds an’ grub. The grass had been
purty brown down below, but it was fat an’ green up above, an’ the
ponies felt fine. We had picked out good ones, an’ it took some time
to get ’em wore down to where they was willin’ to pack; but by seven
o’clock we were ready to start, an’ then Tank lifted Horace into the
saddle, while I held the pony’s head. We had chose a steady old feller
for Horace, because we didn’t want any serious accidents. Ol’ Cast
Steel was dead again’ sheepin’ the Easteners, an’ I knew they’d be
doin’s about what we’d done already, let alone havin’ any sort of a
mishap.
We told Horace just what to do to save himself, an’ we fixed his
stirrups to just fit him; but he took it purty hard. It takes a
ridin’-man a couple o’ weeks to harden up after he’s laid off a spell;
but when a man begins to do his first ridin’ at forty, it comes
ex-tremely awkward. Horace was the first feller I ever saw get
sea-sick on hossback; but he certainly did have a bad attack. I
suppose it was the best thing ’at could have happened to him, an’
after he was emptied out, he rode some easier. We only covered about
thirty miles that day altogether, an’ Tank had plenty o’ time to get
all the sleep he could use; but when he came to lift Horace down from
the saddle, Horace couldn’t make his legs stiff enough to stand on.
We let him stretch out while we were makin’ camp; but he fell asleep,
so we had to wake him up to help get supper. I was beginnin’ to feel
sorry for him, but he had pestered us regardless about his nerves, an’
I knew ’at pity for him now would be the worse for him in the long
run.
After supper, Horace spent consid’able time in bewailin’ his fate
because he had got disgusted an’ thrown his whole box o’ cigars into
the fire. “I’ve got an extra pipe, if you’d like to try that,” sez
Tank. “It’s lots better for the nerves than cigars—though from what I
can tell o’ you, you ain’t bothered much with nerves. I wish to glory
I was in your skin.”
“Oh, man,” sez Horace, “you can’t imagine how I suffer. I ache like a
sore tooth all over, an’ it gives me a cute pain just to sit here on
the grass.”
“Sit on the saddle-blankets,” sez Tank, sympathetic. As soon as Horace
had piled up the blankets an’ sat down on ’em, groanin’ most bitter,
Tank sez with feelin’: “Gee, how I envy you. You have nothin’ but a
few muscle-aches and chafed skin an’ such, while my nerves is
beginnin’ to threaten me again. I’m not goin’ to bother either o’ you
fellers, though. I’m goin’ to have you tie me to a tree to-night if I
can’t sleep.”
Horace filled the pipe, which was an ancient one, bitter as gall; but
when he began to smoke, his face became almost satisfied. The pipe was
purty well choked up, so that he had some bother in keepin’ it goin’,
but after we’d run a grass stem through it, it worked purty well, an’
we was right sociable until along about nine o’clock, when I got
sleepy, myself. Then Tank began to worry about his nerves. Horace had
about forgot his own nerves, he was sufferin’ so from Tank’s.
When we see that Horace couldn’t keep awake any longer without bein’
tortured, Tank began to carry on fiercer. He rumpled up his hair, gave
starts an’ jerks, but the thing ’at worked best, was just to sit an’
look at his fingers, an’ pick at ’em. He’d form a circle with his left
thumb and forefinger, then poke his right finger through this circle
and try to grab it with his right hand before it could back out. It
was the craziest thing I’d ever seen; but before long Horace got to
tryin’ it himself. While Tank was lookin’ at his fingers with his good
eye, the free one rambled around, an’ half the time it rested on
Horace, an’ fair gave him the creeps; but when I couldn’t stay awake
myself, I gave Tank the sign, an’ he got delirious.
“I can’t sleep,” he wailed, “I can’t sleep! My nerves, oh, my nerves!
One minute they’re like hot wires, an’ the next they’re like streaks
of ice. You’ll have to tie me up, boys, you certainly will have to tie
me up.”
I argued again’ it as bein’ inhuman; but Tank begged so that finally I
gave in, an’ we tied him to a down pine tree. Horace helped to tie
him, an’ he sure did his best to make a good job of it. I was a little
doubtful, myself, about Tank gettin’ loose; but he had blowed up his
muscles, an’ he coughed me the all-right signal, so me an’ Horace
turned in.
Horace groaned consid’able while stretchin’ out; but he began to snore
before I had got through findin’ the soft place. When I first go to
bed, I like to roll about a bit, an’ stretch, an’ loosen up my
muscles—I like to stay awake long enough to feel the tired spots sink
down again’ the earth, an’ sort o’ ooze into it; and before I had
drifted off, Horace was buzzin’ away at a log in great shape.
I must ’a’ slept an hour when I was wakened by a bright light, an’
lookin’ out, I saw Tank Williams standin’ with his back to the fire
an’ glowerin’ down at Horace. “As soon as this log burns off, I’m
goin’ to get you,” sez Tank between set teeth.
“What are you goin’ to get me for?” asked Horace. “You asked me to tie
you to it. I didn’t want to tie you to it, but you insisted. I’ll
untie you if you want me to, and rub your brow again.”
“It’s too late,” muttered Tank. “It’s too infernal late. Nothin’ could
put me to sleep now. As soon as this log burns off, I’m goin’ to get
you. You was the one which brought back my nerve trouble, an’ you are
the one what has to suffer.”
Tank hadn’t been able to free himself from the pine tree; so he had
dragged it in an’ across the fire. It wasn’t such a big one as trees
go; but it was a mighty big one for a man, tied to it as he was, to
tote along. Horace reasoned with him a while longer, an’ then when he
saw that the trunk was about burned through, he got purty well off to
one side, an’ threw a chunk at me. I popped out of bed on the instant,
an’ began to shoot about promiscuous; so as to live up to my
reputation.
When I’d emptied my gun, I looked at Tank, as though seein’ him for
the first time, an’ sez: “What in thunder da you mean, by raisin’ all
this havoc?”
“My nerves,” sez Tank, “my pore nerves. I can’t sleep, an’ I can’t
keep my senses if I’m left tied to this tree any longer. It’s all his
fault, an’ as soon as this log burns up, I’m goin’ ta hunt him down.”
Tank an’ I argued fierce as long as we could think of anything to say;
an’ just as the dead pine was gettin’ too hot for Tank to stand it any
longer, Horace calls in from the darkness, “Don’t you want me to rub
your brow a while an’ see if that won’t put you to sleep?”
“Come in here,” I sez, cross. “This man is liable to kill himself, an’
you know more about nerves ’n I do.”
Horace crawled out from behind a big rock, came in, shiverin’ with the
cold; an’ we untied Tank from the log. He had managed to get his feet
loose; but his hands had been tied behind him an’ when they got cold,
he couldn’t make a go of it. “Well,” sez I, as soon as Tank was free,
“what are you goin’ to do now?”
“I move we get up the hosses, an’ start at once,” sez Tank. “I don’t
trust myself any longer, an’ we can ride faster at night. My one hope,
is to get to an Injun doctor, or else get so tired out that I can fall
into a dreamless sleep.”
“Why don’t you ride alone?” demanded Horace with a sudden burst of
intelligence. “Why don’t you ride alone; an’ then you could ride as
fast as you wanted to, an’ if you found the Injuns out o’ humor, you
could come back an’ let us know.”
This set us back for a minute: we had been playin’ Horace for bein’
utterly thought-loose; but he had figured out the best plan the’ was,
an’ his eyes were bright an’ eager.
“Take the hoss that’s fastened on the rope here,” Horace went on; “an’
we can take the manacled hosses in the mornin’ and foller ya. Yes,
that’s the best plan.”
You see the fact was, we were only twenty or twenty-five miles from
the ranch house. We had been circlin’ an’ zig-zaggin’ through the
hills, an’ at night we hung up Horace’s pony on a picket an’ put
hobbles on the balance. Bein’ fooled on direction wasn’t any sign of
Horace bein’ a complete lunkhead; I’ve known a heap o’ wise ones get
balled up in the mountains.
Tank stood puzzlin’ over it with his free eye trottin’ about in a
circle; but he couldn’t think any way out of it. “All right,” sez he,
“if you two can get along without me, why, I’ll risk my life by bein’
a scout.”
“Nonsense,” sez Horace; “the Injuns haven’t riz for years, an’ they’re
not likely to again.”
Tank only winked his lookin’ eye, an’ proceeded to fling the saddle on
the picketed hoss. Horace was smilin’ purty contented with himself,
until I sez: “Which hoss are you goin’ to ride to-morrow, Mr.
Bradford?”
Then his face went blank as he recalled the blow-up we’d had that
mornin’ gettin’ the pack ponies contented with their loads. “By Jove,
I can’t ride any of them!” he exclaims. “It would kill me to have a
hoss buck with me. I’m so sore now I can hardly move.”
“You don’t look as nervous as you did, though,” I sez to him for
comfort.
He didn’t pay me no heed. “Here, Williams,” he calls, “you can’t take
that hoss. He’s the only one I can ride, and you’ll have to catch
another.”
“You ort have thought o’ that before,” sez Tank, goin’ on with his
arrangements, but movin’ slow.
“Well, you two straighten it out among yourselves,” sez I. “I’m goin’
back to bed. No wonder you’re nervous. It would make a saw-horse
nervous to jibe around the way you two do.”
I went off grumblin’, an’ I went to sleep before they settled it; but
Tank stretched it out as much as he could, an’ Horace didn’t oversleep
any that night. Next mornin’ when I looked out, I saw him tied up with
his back again’ a tree, an’ Tank’s head in his lap. He was swathed in
his slicker an’ saddle-blanket to keep warm, an’ was sound asleep. He
looked purty well hammered out, but hanged if he didn’t look a lot
more worth while ’n he did when he started to take my treatment.
It seemed a shame to do it, as it was just gettin’ into the gray; but
I woke him up, an’ asked him in a whisper what he was doin’. He sat
an’ blinked at me for a full minute before he remembered what or where
he was, an’ then he told me that he finally induced Tank to try havin’
his head rubbed again, by lettin’ Tank truss him up so he couldn’t
keel over on him. “Gee, but I’m cold an’ stiff,” he sez in a husky,
raspin’ voice. “I don’t see how it can be so hot daytimes, an’ so cold
nights.”
“This’ll do you a world of good, Mr. Bradford,” sez I. “You see, you
swell up with the heat daytimes, an’ crimp down with the cold nights;
an’ this will goad on your circulation, fry the lard out o’ ya, an’
give your nerves a chance to get toned up.” I quoted from the patent
medicine almanac occasional, just so he wouldn’t forget he was takin’
treatment.
“I can’t possibly ride, to-day,” he sez, shakin’ his head. “Honest,
I’m in agony.”
“That’s just ’cause you’re stiff,” sez I, kindly. “That’ll all wear
off when the sun softens up your joint-oil. Why, man, you’ll look back
on this trip as one o’ the brightest spots in your whole life.”
“I got hit in the back o’ the head with a golf ball once,” he flares
back real angry; “an’ that showed me a lot o’ brightness, too. I don’t
want no more brightness, an’ I don’t intend to ride to-day.”
I was especial pleased at the human traits he was displayin’. He
hadn’t acted so healthy an’ natural since he’d been with us, an’ I was
encouraged to keep on with the treatment. “You will have to ride with
us, even if we have to tie you on,” I sez. “We are now close to the
Injun country, an’ we’re responsible for you. O’ course the’ ain’t any
danger from regular war parties; but Injun boys is just as full o’
devilment as white boys, an’ they haven’t as many safety valves.
They’re all the time sneakin’ off an’ playin’ at war, an’ they play a
purty stiff game, too, believe me. If a dozen o’ these voting bucks,
eighteen or twenty years old, was to stalk us, they’d try most earnest
to lift our hair.”
“I’d as soon be killed one way as another,” he sez. “I can’t stand it
to ride, an’ that’s all the’ is to it.”
Here was a queer thing: the little cuss actually wasn’t afeared of
Injuns, which I had counted on as my big card. Nerves or no nerves,
Horace Walpole Bradford wasn’t no coward; ’cause we are all afeared o’
crazy folks, an’ he thought Tank was crazy. If Tank had had two good
eyes, chances are he wouldn’t ’a’ feared him; so I kicked Tank in the
side an’ woke him up.