KANGAROO COURT
Bottle in hand, the bartender eyed the cowboy quizzically. "What's the
big idee--pinchin' back the _dinero_?" he questioned.
The Texan smiled: "Just happened to think, that this is the identical
spot, a year ago, where I imbibed the last shot of red licker that's
entered my system till I intruded this peaceful scene today."
"What's all that got to do with you grabbin' that there money which I
want two dollars an' a half out of it fer them two rounds of drinks
that's on you?"
"Don't go worryin' about that. You'll get all that's comin' to you. But
a little reference to back history might fresh up your memory that I've
got four dollars change comin' from a year ago----"
"Wha'd ye mean--a year ago? I wasn't here a year ago! My brother run
this joint then. I only be'n here a couple of months."
The Texan regarded the man with puckered brow: "Well now, since you
mentioned it, there _is_ somethin' disparagin' about that face of yours
that kind of interfered with me recognizin' it off hand. The Red Front,
changin' hands that way, complicates the case to an extent that we'll
have to try it out all legal an' regular _pro bono publico_, kangaroo
court. I studied law once way back in Texas with a view to abusin' an'
evadin' the same, an' enough of it's stuck to me so we can conduct this
case _ex post facto_.
"Barkeep, you're the defendant, an' for the purposes of the forthcomin'
action your name's John Doe. You four other characters are the jury, an'
that don't leave nothin' for me to be except plaintiff, prosecutin'
attorney, judge, an' court bailiff." Jerking his gun from its holster
the cowboy grasped it by the barrel and rapped loudly upon the bar: "O
yes! O yes! You bet! Court is now open! The first case on the docket is
Horatio Benton, alias Tex, _vs._ John Doe, John Doe's brother, an' the
Red Front saloon _et al._"
"Hey, what's all this here damn nonsense about?" asked the bartender.
For answer the Texan rapped the bar with the butt of his gun: "Silence
in the court!" he roared. "An' what's more, you're fined one round of
drinks for contempt of court." Taking a match from his pocket he laid it
carefully upon the bar, and continued: "The plaintiff will take the
stand in his own behalf. Gentlemen of the jury, the facts are these: One
year ago today, along about 3:30 P.M., I walked up to this bar an' had
five drinks, one of which was on the house an' four on me at two bits a
throw. I was packin' a couple of black eyes, the particulars of which is
extramundane to this case, an' the barkeep, defendant here's alleged
brother, asked certain pertinent an' unmitigated questions concernin'
the aforesaid black eyes. In explainin' to him how they were come by, I
had occasion to take a shot at a mouse--the bullet hole, an' doubtless
his dried-up remains can be seen yonder against the base-board an'
constitutes Exhibit A----"
"Well, I'll be damned!" exclaimed Shorty, his china blue eyes round with
excitement, "I know'd I'd saw you before!"
"Me, too, we was settin' there playin'----"
Again the six-gun rapped on the bar: "You, Green Vest, you're fined a
round of drinks for contempt of court. An' Shorty, you're fined two
rounds. Not that there's any doubt about your first statement, but this
here _profanus vulgus_ business has got to be cut out." Depositing three
more matches beside the first upon the bar, the Texan proceeded:
"Shortly thereafter, an' right in the middle of my remarks the said
barkeep disembarked in tumultuous haste, like he'd be'n sent for an' had
to go. I waited around a spell an' not favorin' this spot for a
permanent abode, I laid a five dollar gold piece on the bar, an' rode
off. Therefore, gentlemen of the jury, it's plain to see that I've got
four dollars comin', as an offset to which the present specimen, here,
has got a just an' valid claim fer two rounds of drinks to the total
value of two dollars an' four bits, leavin' a dollar an' four bits still
owin' to me. The case is now closed, owin' to any testimony the
defendant, here, might introduce, would be mere hearsay an' therefore
irrelevant an' immaterial, he havin' admitted he wasn't here at the
time. Now, gentlemen of the jury, what's your verdict?"
Thus appealed to the four gathered at the end of the bar and held
whispered conversation, Shorty glancing furtively the while at the gun
in the Texan's hand.
Presently, mouthing a corner of his moustache, Ike Stork spoke: "It's
the ondivided opinion of the jury, except Shorty disagreein' fer fear
he'll git shot, that this here party behind the bar's name ain't John
Doe, which it's Pete Barras same as before, an' likewise he's got two
dollars an' four bits comin' from you fer the drinks. Them four dollars
of yourn is comin' from Sam Barras, which he's runnin' a saloon over to
Zortman."
The Texan produced another match and laid it beside the others upon the
bar: "You're fined a round of drinks for misnomer of the defendant," he
announced, gravely. "An' seein' the jury is hung--why it ain't be'n hung
long ago is surprisin' to me--you're discharged--bob-tailed discharge,
as they'd say in the army which carries with it a recommendation that
you're a bunch of inebriated idiots that's permitted to stand on your
hind legs an walk upright so's to make more room for regular folks to
move around in. The case is taken out of your hands an' adjoodicated
upon its merits which accordin' to the statutes in such cases made an'
provided, judgment is rendered for the plaintiff, on account of the
above transaction bein' with the saloon, as such, an' not a personal
matter with the bartender. Plaintiff is also ordered to take over an'
run said saloon to the best of his ability until such time as the said
dollar an' four bits is paid."
"Look a-here, pardner," began the bartender, edging along opposite the
Texan, "fun's fun, an' kangaroo courts is all right as fer as they go
an' as long as they don't mix up no regular money in their carryin's on.
Me an' my brother Sam ain't on what you might say, fambly terms, which
he'd of skun me to a frazzle on this here deal if the claim I traded him
fer the saloon had of be'n worth a damn. But in spite of me an' Sam
bein' what you might say, onfriendly relations, I've got to say fer him
that he never pays a debt, an' if you've got four dollars comin' from
him you might as well set around like a buzzard till he dies, which he's
that ornery it prob'ly won't be long, an' then file yer claim ag'in his
executioner."
The Texan grinned: "I hope fer your sake that advice is sound, for I'm
handin' it back in the original package----"
"You mean you ain't a-goin to pay fer them drinks?" The bartender's
voice held a truculent note, and his eyes narrowed. "'Cause, believe me,
stranger, if you think you ain't, you're plumb misguided. Things has
be'n quiet an' peaceable around here fer quite a spell, but you'll pay
fer two rounds of drinks or Timber City's a-goin' to see some
excitement."
The Texan noted that the man's hand was reaching along the under side of
the bar, and his own dropped unobserved to the butt of the six-gun that
he had returned to its holster. "Speakin' of excitement you're sure some
prophet," he observed, drily, "an' therefore, prob'ly without honour.
But as far as I'm concerned, your brother Sam's nothin' but a pleasant
memory while as we say in the law, this saloon here is a corporeal
hereditament----"
"You're a damn liar!" flared the aproned one, indignantly: "They ain't
no wimin' allowed in here--" With the words the man's hand leaped from
behind the bar, there was a crashing report, a heavy six-shooter thudded
upon the wooden floor, and with a cry of pain the bartender spun half
around clutching at his right arm.
"Backin' up hard words with gun play is dangerous business onless you're
a top hand at it," observed the Texan, drily, as he stepped around to
the man's side. A movement in front of the bar caused the six-gun once
more to leap from its holster and at the action four pairs of hands flew
ceilingward. "Just you hombres belly right close up to the rail an' all
yer hands open an' above board on top of the bar, an' you, Stork, you
come on around here an' tie up this arm or there'll be some more
casualties reported. If you're all as plumb languid on the draw as yer
fellow citizen here your ranks is sure due to thin out some." The Texan
stooped to recover the bartender's gun from the floor and as he did so
Ike Stork stepped around the corner of the bar, and taking instant
advantage of his position, administered a kick that sent the cowboy
sprawling at the feet of the bartender. Pandemonium broke loose in the
smashing of glass and the thud of blows. Forgetting his injured arm the
bartender joined Stork who had followed up his advantage by leaping upon
the struggling Texan. Reaching over the bar, Green Vest sent the heavy
whisky bottle crashing into the _mêlée_ while his two companions
contributed the array of empty glasses and then valiantly bolted for the
door. The narrowness of the alley behind the bar undoubtedly saved the
struggling Texan from serious mishap. As it was his two assailants
hindered and impeded each other and at the same time formed a buffer
against the shower of glassware that descended from above. Freeing one
hand the Texan began to shoot along the floor. With the first explosion
the bartender scrambled to his feet and leaped onto the bar at the
precise moment that Green Vest, pausing in his flight toward the door,
seized a heavy brass cuspidor and hurled it with both hands. The
whirling missile caught the bartender full in the face and without a
sound he crashed backward carrying Ike Stork with him to the floor. The
next instant the Texan was upon his feet and a gun in each hand,
grinned down into the face of the terrified man who lay helplessly
pinned by the inert form of the bartender. "Any friends or relations you
want notified, Isaac, or any special disposal of the remains?" he
questioned, as the guns waved back and forth above the prostrate man's
face.
"G'wan, shoot if yer goin' to. I ain't packin' no gun. I done my
damnedest when I booted you down, an' we'd of had you at that if them
damned eediots hadn't begun bouncin' bottles an' glasses an' spittoons
offen our head. Shoot--an' for Christ's sake, make a job of it!"
The Texan's grin broadened, and reaching down he rolled the bartender
over, "Get up Ike," he said. "You're a he-one, all right, an' it would
be a pity to waste you."
The other struggled to his feet and as he faced him the Texan saw an
answering grin widen the mouth beneath the heavy moustache. "Pour us a
couple of drinks out of that private stock, an' in the meantime I'll
just fog her up a bit as a warnin' to the curious not to intrude on our
solitude. An', say, watch this, so you can tell 'em out there I can
shoot." Four stacks of chips remained on the table where the players of
solo had abandoned their game, and shooting alternately with either
hand, and so rapidly that the explosions sounded like shots from an
automatic, the Texan cleaned the table and filled the air with a
blue-grey haze and a shower of broken chips. Suddenly he glanced at the
clock. Its hands pointed to half-past four, and with an oath he sent two
bullets crashing into its face. "Four-thirty!" he cried. "A year ago
this minute--" He stopped abruptly.
Ike nodded approval and raised his glass: "Now," he pronounced,
solemnly, "I've got to own that they ain't none of us in Timber City
that's as handy with guns as what you be--but, at that, most of us kin
hit a man reasonable often--an' some of us has."
"I'll give you a chance to do it again, then. But, first, you slip down
cellar there an' h'ist me up a bunch of beer kegs. I'm goin' to build me
a barricade so you birds can't rake the back bar through the window." As
Ike passed up the kegs, the Texan arranged them in such a manner that
from neither windows nor door could anyone upon the outside cover the
space behind the bar, and when Ike came up into the room he shook his
head, gloomily: "What's the big idee," he asked, "of startin' a war over
a dollar an' four bits? It ain't too late yet fer to leave yer guns in
here an' plead guilty to disturbin' the peace. That won't cost you
much--but this way, how in hell do you expect to play a lone hand agin a
whole town an' git away with it? You're either plumb crazy or drunk or
there's somethin' settin' heavy on yer mind----"
"I want my change," insisted the Texan stubbornly, "an' I'm goin' to
take it out in trade, an' also them fines--there's twenty or thirty
drinks comin', accordin' to the matches. Pour me out a couple of more
an' then you've got to take our little friend here an' beat it before
the fireworks start. I ain't drunk now, but I'm goin' to be! An' when I
am--there's a little song we used to sing way down on the Rio Grande, it
runs somethin' like this." Raising his voice the cowboy roared forth the
words of his song:
"I'm a howler from the prairie of the West.
If you want to die with terror, look at me.
I'm chain-lightning--if I ain't, may I be blessed.
I'm the snorter of the boundless prairie.
"He's a killer and a hater!
He's the great annihilator!
He's the terror of the boundless prairie!
"I'm the snoozer from the upper trail!
I'm the reveller in murder and in gore!
I can bust more Pullman coaches on the rail
Than anyone who's worked the job before.
"He's a snorter and a snoozer.
He's the great trunk line abuser.
He's the man who put the sleeper on the rail.
"I'm a double-jawed hyena from the East.
I'm the blazing, bloody blizzard from the States.
I'm the celebrated slugger; I'm the Beast.
I can snatch a man bald-headed while he waits.
"He's a double-jawed hyena!
He's the villain of the scena!
He can snatch a man bald-headed while he waits."
He finished with a whoop, and picking up the glass, drained it at a
gulp. "Beat it, now, Ike, ol' Stork!" he cried, "an' take a bottle of
bug-juice, an' our slumberin' friend, with you. So long, ol' timer! I'm
a wolf, an' it's my night to howl! Slip up to the hotel an' tell the
cook to shoot me down a half-dozen buzzard's eggs fried in grizzly
juice, a couple of rattlesnake sandwiches, a platter of live centipedes,
an' a prickly-pear salad. I'm hungry, an' I'm on my prowl!"