“How much money you got, Spider?” I sez.
“I reckon I got sixty dollars,” sez Spider.
“I don’t mean just what you got with ya, I mean how much cash do you
possess in the world.”
“I suppose I could raise a hundred an’ fifteen,” sez Spider, after
thinkin’ a while. “What do you want to know for?”
“We got to give Eugene a start,” sez I.
Spider looked at me until he saw I was in earnest, an’ then he talked
out loud. “What’s the matter with you?” he yells. “We haven’t adopted
Eugene, have we? Why-for do we have to give him a start? Didn’t he
lose at his own game. Great Snakes! You make me tired!”
“That was a low-down trick we played,” sez I.
“It wasn’t no lower down ’n him ringin’ in a woodchuck on the old man;
and all we did it for was to square things up.”
“Yes,” sez I; “but it took us some several years to square it up, and
I don’t intend to have Eugene’s moanful voice surgin’ through my ears
until I’m able to think up a come-back for him. I’m goin’ to give him
a start, and if you don’t feel like riskin’ your money, I’ll do it
alone.”
“Do you mean ’at you’re just goin’ to pay over the price of his tools,
an’ let it go at that?” sez Spider.
“That wouldn’t be any fun,” sez I. “I’m goin’ to get the tools; but I
intend to get ’em for as little expense as possible, and if I can have
a little fun out of it, I don’t intend to pass it up.”
Spider studied it over a while. “Well, I’ll risk fifty,” he sez after
a bit; so we went back to Eugene’s.
“Would you be willin’ to do a stunt to get back your tools?” sez I.
He raised a pair o’ weepy eyes to me an’ sez: “Aw, the’ ain’t no show.
I’ve a good mind to kill myself.”
“Please don’t do that,” sez Spider, who never could stand a bad loser.
“When you lose your money, you allus stand a chance to win more money;
but when you lose your life, why, the’ ain’t nothin’ left except to go
up an’ find out what reward it earned for you.”
“Aw hell,” muttered Eugene.
“Ye-es,” agreed Spider, talkin’ through his nose, like a missionary
preacher, “I reckon that is about what you’d draw, if you was to cash
in now; but if you stick around an’ do your duty, you run the risk o’
havin’ better luck later on.”
After Spider had insulted Eugene until he began to sass back a little,
I broke in and sez that if Eugene will agree to do what I tell him,
I’ll agree to get him back his outfit; so then he wants to know what I
have in mind.
“Are you willin’ to disguise yourself as a genuwine mountain trapper?”
sez I.
When I sez this, Spider exploded a laugh which would ’a’ hurt the
feelin’s of a sheep, and Eugene tied into us as wordy as a fox
terrier; but I soothed him down an’ told him I was in earnest. “I’m
willin’ to do most anything to get my tools back,” sez Eugene; “but I
don’t see how I can make myself look like a genuwine trapper.”
“Have you got any false wigs and beards?” sez I.
“No, I haven’t,” sez he; “but I saved up the stuff I reaped off o’ ol’
man Dort, and I reckon I could make some.”
“The very thing!” sez I. “You fix up a rig that’ll make you look to be
a hundred years old; and we’ll hunt up clothes for ya. All you’ll have
to do will be to guide a green Eastener out to shoot a bear, and we’ll
have the bear and everything ready for ya.”
“No, ya don’t,” sez Eugene. “I don’t fool around no bears.”
“I thought you was tired o’ life,” sez Spider.
“Well, I’m not so tired of it that I’m willin’ to have it squeezed out
o’ me by a bear,” sez Eugene.
“This won’t be a real bear,” sez I; “and anyhow, they’ll be a ravine
between you and it. You claimed once to be a show actor, and all
you’ll have to do will be to pertend ’at you’re actin’.”
“I once was a genuwine amateur actor,” sez Eugene, “and if you’ll make
it clear to me that there ain’t no danger, I’ll take the job.”
Then I explained just what he had to do; and after this me an’ Spider,
who was now keen for the outcome, went around to dicker with ol’ man
Dort. He was bumpin’ around among the clouds, so we didn’t have any
trouble in buyin’ back Eugene’s stuff on time. When I asked him what
he’d charge for Columbus, the woodchuck, he gave a snort, and said
he’d throw him in for good measure; so I told him to just keep him out
o’ sight for a few days, and we started back to Eugene’s.
“What do you want with that dog-gone woodchuck?” asked Spider.
“I want him to take the part of a grizzly bear,” sez I.
Spider stopped an’ looked at me. “This is goin’ too far,” sez he.
“It’s bad enough to try to fool some one into believin’ ’at Eugene’s a
genuwine trapper; but you couldn’t make a rag doll believe ’at
Columbus was a grizzly bear.”
“You go borrow that squaw dress from Ike Spargle, an’ then we’ll see
how much like a trapper Eugene’ll look,” sez I.
I went on an’ found ’at Eugene had done a master job o’ wig makin’,
even fixin’ false eyebrows, an’ when he put on ol’ man Dort’s
hair-crop he locked older ’n the human race. As soon as Spider came in
with the squaw dress, we put it on Eugene; and while he didn’t look
like anything I’d ever seen before, he looked more like the first man
’at ever started trappin’ than like anything else, an’ Spider Kelley
nearly had a convulsion.
We bunked with Eugene that night; but he kept us awake bemoanin’ his
cruel fate until Spider threatened to drown him head first in a bucket
o’ water and after that we had a little go at slumberin’. I routed ’em
out about two an’ drilled ’em up to the high ground above Spear Crick,
where we waited until sun-up. Eugene was wearin’ his trapper riggin’,
and in the starlight, he sure was a ghastly sight.
Just across from us on the other side o’ the crick was Sholte’s Knoll,
and when the sun rose, I lined us up to be just in a direct line with
it across the knoll. Both Eugene, and Spider bothered me with
questions and discouragin’ kicks; but I felt purty sure my scheme
would work, and only told ’em what was really for their good.
The crick ran south in a gorge, and just below us it ran into Rock
River, which came from the east and made a sharp turn to the south
just where Spear Crick ran into it. After the sun was up, we climbed
down a circlin’ trail until we came to Rock River. Eugene refused to
try to ford it; but Spider and I went across and up to Ivan’s Knoll.
Rock River was bigger than Spear Crick, and Ivan’s Knoll was bigger
than Sholte’s Knoll; but not one tenderfoot in a million could have
told ’em apart, and Spider got gleeful at the plan—except that he
kept at me to know who I was tryin’ to land. Back of Ivan’s Knoll was
a round hole about ten feet across, called the Bottomless Pit, because
the’ was no bottom to it. After examinin’ this place, we went on and
crossed Rock River again until we came out at Sholte’s Knoll across
from where the shootin’ was to be done.
“What you are to do, Spider,” sez I, “is to be at this place before
dawn with Columbus tied by a stout cord. Tie him to the rock at the
south end of the knoll by a weak cord, then pass your stout cord up
over that jag o’ rock at the top, and just as soon as the sun hits the
knoll, pull hard enough to break the weak cord, lead him gently up the
slope until he has been shot at several times, then—”
“Is Eugene, that genuwine, ancient trapper goin’ to do the shootin’?”
interrupted Spider.
“He is not,” sez I. “If Columbus gets shot, all you’ll have to do will
be to wind around to Boggs and meet me there. If he don’t get shot,
you can either turn him adrift, kill him yourself, or pack him back to
ol’ man Dort’s, accordin’ to the dictates o’ your own conscience. I’ll
bring the party ’at does the shootin’ up to Ivan’s Knoll, an’ make him
think the bear has fallen down the Bottomless Pit after he was shot.”
“Happy,” sez Spider, “hanged if I believe it’ll go through; and I
won’t be a sucker unless you tell me who is to do the shootin’.”
“Horace,” sez I, “Horace Walpole Bradford.”
Spider’s face changed expression a half dozen times in two moments;
but he didn’t have any more kicks; so we went back to Eugene, and took
him up to a deserted cabin, where he was to stay until needed. I left
him and Spider to fix up the cabin, while I went back to the Dot to
fix up Horace. Horace had a lot o’ money; but it did go again’ me to
make him pay for Eugene’s outfit by puttin’ up a practical joke on
him. Still, I felt called upon to square it up with Eugene, and this
seemed the fairest way.
When I reached the Dot, Horace came forth to meet me; and he was so
glad to see me ’at I purt’ nigh gave up the scheme; but I had gone too
far to back out now, so I acted cool, and cut him short with my
answers.
After supper I got Tank started on bear. He saw I had something up my
sleeve, so he talked bear until Horace’s mouth began to water. “I’d
give a hundred dollars, just to get a shot at a bear,” sez Horace.
“This ain’t the time o’ the year to hunt bear,” sez I. “Food’s so
common at this season that a bear spends most of his time loafin’; and
it’s hard to get sight o’ one. Course, if you was to go to a
professional hunter, he’d know where bears were spendin’ their
vacation; but it might take a month for one of us to root one out.”
“Do you know of any professional hunters?” sez he.
I didn’t say nothin’, and Tank told of some he knew several hundred
miles off. After Tank had talked himself out, I mentioned careless
like that old Pierre La Blanc was livin’ less ’n twenty miles away;
but that I doubted if he’d take a bear-huntin’ job. I went on to state
that he had money saved up, and it would take a sight o’ coin to tempt
him.
“I’d give five hundred dollars for a shot at a real grizzly,” sez
Horace.
“Did you ever use a rifle?” sez I.
“Ask Tank,” sez Horace.
Tank told about Horace havin’ borrowed ol’ Cast Steel’s
forty-five-seventy, and that he had learned to hit a mark with it in
able shape. Before we turned in that night, I had let Horace tease me
into takin’ him over to Pierre’s next day.
We reached the old cabin next afternoon, and found it lookin’ purty
comfortable. Eugene had soiled his hands and what part of his face
showed; and he certainly did look outlandish. He could act some, I’ll
say that for him; and he pertended so natural that it took Tank a half
hour to tell who he was. He didn’t talk much, but when he did he used
broken French, and he made a contract with Horace to get the five
hundred as soon as he had showed him the bear, Tank to hold the check.
Eugene couldn’t get food through his whiskers; so he said most of his
teeth were gone, and et his supper in private. After supper, I stole
down the gulch and found Spider waitin’. He promised to be on hand the
next mornin’ and we turned in early.
Next mornin’ we started at three, and took up our place at the mark I
had made across from Sholte’s Knoll. Horace thought it perfectly
wonderful that the old trapper would know exactly where a grizzly bear
would be at sun-up; and he chattered constant in a hushed voice. We
told him it was a full quarter across to the knoll, and he had a
regular ecstasy about how deceivin’ the atmosphere was—which was rank
libel, the atmosphere bein’ about the least deceivin’ member o’ that
party.
Presently, I caught the smell o’ dawn, and I told Horace to keep his
eyes glued on Chimney Peak, a little over twenty miles to the west. He
did so, and in about five minutes, a gob o’ rich crimson splashed on
it, rippled down the sides, and poured along the foothills at the
bottom. Horace gave a gasp. You don’t see such a dawn as that with
your eyes alone; you see it with somethin’ inside your bosom; and when
I saw the gleam in Horace’s eyes, it made me feel ashamed of what I
was up to; but I couldn’t stop just for this; so I nudged Eugene, and
that hoary old trapper growled out to Horace to watch the knoll, or
he’d miss his chance.
Horace was surprised to see the east still in a black shadow. He
started to speak words about it, but just then the sun, lookin’ like
an acre of red fire, jumped up from behind Sholte’s Knoll like a
sacred jack-rabbit.
The knoll was consid’able higher than us, and just as the sun was
half-circle behind it, a gigantic form started to walk across it from
south to north. I knew, positive, that this was Columbus the
woodchuck; but it was just all I could do to believe it, myself, and
Horace thought it was the biggest silver-tip in creation. I didn’t
think the woodchuck ran much risk of gettin’ shot; but Horace didn’t
lose his nerve a particle. He banged away, Columbus gave a lurch, took
a snap at his side, and rolled out o’ sight behind the knoll, as
natural as a fried egg.
Horace jumped up and down, hugged himself, slapped us on the back, and
almost knocked the aged trapper’s fur off; but if he had, I doubt if
he would have noticed it, he was so eager to get to his first bear.
We wound down the path, and he complained about it bein’ so much
farther ’n he had expected; but I spoke a few words about the
atmosphere, and he was soothed. When we struck Rock River, he was
surprised to see how much wider it was than it looked from where he’d
shot; but he didn’t falter none about goin’ in; while I purt’ nigh had
to twist off the seasoned trapper’s arm before he’d get his feet wet.
The water was purty high, and Tank and I had our hands full gettin’
’em across.
We climbed the trail on the other side to Ivan’s Knoll. This was about
a mile south o’ Sholte’s Knoll, and naturally I didn’t expect to find
any game on the other side of it; so you can judge my feelin’s when we
got around to the other side, and saw that woodchuck’s carcass, lyin’
flat on its back with its front feet folded across a piece o’ paper.
Horace saw it, too; but he wasn’t interested at first, and dove all
about, lookin’ for his bear. He was plumb wild; but finally he picked
up the piece o’ paper, and read what was wrote on it in scrawly
letters, which I knew to be the work o’ Spider Kelley: “Before I was
shot I was a grizzly bar but it made me feel so small to get shot by a
tender-foot that I have shrank to what you see befor you.”
That confounded Kelley hadn’t been able to resist workin’ the joke
back on me; so he had toted Columbus down from Sholte’s Knoll, and
then skipped. I knew I wouldn’t see him for some time—but I also knew
I wouldn’t forget what was comin’ to him when I did.
Horace read the note through in silence, then he looked at the remains
of the woodchuck, then he read the note again, and his face got like a
sunset. He read the note once more, and then he leaped through the air
for that veteran trapper, and grabbed him by the beard. The beard and
wig came off in his hands, and Eugene started to flee, with Horace a
close second, kickin’ the seat o’ that squaw dress at every jump.
Horace was in able shape, and Eugene was flimsy; so when he tripped
and rolled over, Horace got him by the ears, and proceeded to beat his
head on a stone, the way Tank had told about doin’ to the unobligin’
old miner.
I pulled Horace off to save Eugene’s life, and then Horace pulled out
a gun and tried to take my life. It took us two solid hours to cool
Horace down below the boilin’ point; and then he started off alone
with his lips set and his eyebrows pulled down to the bridge of his
nose. I liked him better ’n ever. He was as game as they made ’em, and
had even forgot the check ’at ol’ Tank Williams was still holdin’; but
I was honestly worried about Eugene.
Part of it may have been due to havin’ his head beat mellow on a
stone; but still he allus did lack sand when he was losin’, and now he
sat tuggin’ at his real hair an’ swearin’ he was ruined, and would
take his own life the first chance he had. It was partly my fault; so
I made Tank help me tote back Eugene’s needin’s from the deserted
cabin to his shop, Eugene goin’ along in a stupor and repeatin’ to us
constant that he intended to drink his own heart’s blood.
I sent Tank back to the Dot to see what he could do toward pacifyin’
Horace, and then I returned the squaw dress to Ike Spargle. He broke
into a side-split when I stepped into his place, and fairly deluged me
with liquor; but I wasn’t in no mood for it. Ike told me ’at Spider
had gone out to the Dot to notify that he had quit temporary; and then
he was goin’ out to hunt down Red Erickson for the bounty. Ike was
equally willin’ to talk about bears or Red Erickson; but I wasn’t
conversational, so I went back to Eugene’s.
He had his door locked, and at first refused me admittance; but
finally he let me in, and I told him I would let him have his outfit
on time. He wouldn’t scarcely listen to me; so the best I could do was
to get his promise that he wouldn’t slay himself inside the house, as
the boys were superstitious again’ it, and would burn it down. As it
was again’ my credit at ol’ man Dort’s, I felt more agreeable toward
payin’ for a standin’ house, than for just the ashes of one.
“When I’m gone, Happy,” sez Eugene, “I want you to send my watch back
to Sommersville, Connecticut. That’s all I ask of ya. You’ve been as
near a friend to me as any one in this ungodly community has, and I
don’t bear ya no ill will. If I could just have paid off that
mortgage—”
I shook hands with him and went outside, where I settled myself
comfortable and made ready to keep watch on him until he started to
drink. I felt sure that if he’d once get to elevatin’ a bottle, it
would take his mind off suicide; but he paced up and down inside his
room until I was purt’ nigh out o’ my own head.
It must have been nine in the evenin’ when he stole out his side door
with a forty-five under his coat; and started up the ravine which
opens west o’ town, and I follered like a coyote.
He went up it about a mile, an’ then he stopped an’ I flattened out
an’ crept closer an’ closer. I knew he would make a few remarks first,
even though he was alone, an’ I judged I could wriggle up close enough
to grab him in the act.
He fished out his gun, an’ I see that he didn’t savvy the use of it,
which put a little uncertainty into my end o’ the game.
“Farewell, cruel world,” he muttered mournfully, usin’ his gun to
gesture with. “Farewell, sweet dreams of childhood; farewell ambition
an’ love an’ dear tyranic duty; farewell moon an’ stars an’ gentle
breezes, farewell—”
Eugene would probably have gone on sayin’ farewell to each particular
thing in the world until he talked himself to sleep, but just then a
pebble slipped from the side o’ the ravine and rolled to his feet, and
he stopped with a jerk an’ listened. Then he straightened himself an’
sez in a determined tone: “Nobody can’t prevent me. I shall end it
now.”
Before I could move, he placed the muzzle to his forehead an’ fired,
rollin’ over on his back. I heard a sort of cough, like when a man
hits his best with an ax, an’ somethin’ came plumpin’ down the ravine
like an avalanche.
I rushed up, lit a match, an’ there on his back was Eugene, a small
red welt on his forehead, but looking calm and satisfied, while almost
on top of him lay a man in a heap. I straightened him out, lit another
match, an’ looked at the stranger. His hair was flamin’ red an’ you
could have tied his red mustaches around the back of his neck. He was
shot through the forehead an’ plumb dead.
I saw how it was in a flash: Eugene had almost missed himself, but had
shot Red Erickson, who had been hidin’ up the side of the ravine
behind him. I slipped Red’s empty gun into his hand, emptied Eugene’s
gun; an’ then I tore for town, gathered up the boys an’ told ’em that
Eugene had gone up the ravine bent on mischief. We got a lantern and
hurried up the ravine where Eugene was just comin’ back to genuwine
consciousness again.
He sat there with his head in his hands tryin’ to cheer himself with
some o’ the mournfullest moanin’ ever I heard. I held the lantern to
Red’s face a moment an’ bawled out: “Boys, this is Red Erickson! Him
an’ Eugene has been duelin’, an’ they have killed each other.”
This gave Eugene his cue—an’ a cue was all Eugene ever needed. He
pulled himself together, took plenty o’ time to get the lay o’ the
land; an’ then he gave us a tale o’ that fight which laid over
anything I ever heard in that line.
We carried ’em back to town, an’ Eugene was a hero for true. He got
the reward all right, paid off his debts, an’ kept addin’ details to
that fight until it was enough to keep a feller awake nights. His
reputation picked up right along until even ol’ man Dort had to admit
the’ was more to Eugene than he had allowed.
Next day when I got back to the Diamond Dot, I found Horace all packed
up for leavin’; and it made me feel mournful to the bones o’ my soul.
I didn’t know how much I thought of him until he started to pull out;
and I felt so ashamed at what I had done, that I offered to let him
kick me all about the place if he’d just forget about it and stick
along.
But Horace had a stiff neck, all right, and he wouldn’t give in. Tank
had had all he could do to get Horace to take the check back; and now,
try as I would, I couldn’t get him to stay. I drove over to the
station with him, and we had a long talk together. He was in a good
humor when he left, and I could see he was wishful to stay; but havin’
made up his mind, he stuck to it. He said he had had more fun while
with us than durin’ all the procedure of his life; and that if we had
just kept the joke among us Dotters, he wouldn’t have felt so cut up
about it. I told him he had acted just right and that I had acted dead
wrong, although it was him takin’ Tank’s word above mine which had
first made me sore.
This was new light to him, and he softened up immediate. Fact was, we
got purt’ nigh girlish before the train pulled out with him wavin’ his
handkerchief from the back porch.
I still feel some shame about this episode; and if any o’ you fellers
ask any more questions to lead me into tellin’ of my own silly pranks,
why, I’ll drive you off the place, and then get my lips sewed shut.