Author of “Inside Information,” “Playing Safe in Piperock,” etc.
“I ain’t figured none on making it a personal holiday,” says old Judge
Steele, shifting his position on the sidewalk. “I’ve been thinking about
taking myself plumb out of range of earthly things on said date. A man
of my age has got to look out for his health.”
“The Lord giveth and, also and moreover, He taketh away in His own
time,” states “Old Testament” Tilton pious-like.
“Gospel fact, Testament,” nods the judge. “But there ain’t no use of a
fellow trying to force the issue. I know Piperock.”
“Needs tempering,” orates Mike Pelly. “Piperock is all right for a
little town and she plumb exhibits energy beyond her capacity, and that
is one of the reasons I’m trying to get you pelicans to see things my
way. Paradise will act as an anchor. _Sabe?_ You Piperockers would be
lost in a place like Paradise.”
“Too true,” nods Magpie Simpkins, sheriff of Yaller Rock County,
caressing his long mustache. “Great place to lose things, Mike. I had
two horse-thieves stolen from me in that city.”
“Curlew is a comer,” proclaims “Hassayampa” Harris, who owns what there
is of the town. “Why not come to Curlew? She stands to welcome you with
open arms.”
“Any time she does I’ll hide my money in my boot,” squeaks “Scenery”
Sims.
“Open ----! The only thing what is open in Curlew is the jail.”
“I fear me that this meeting will soon need legal or medical
assistance,” announces Judge Steele, blowing his long nose
apologetic-like. “There ain’t no use skating so near to air-holes,
folks. There ain’t a danged one of you what ain’t moved your guns
around to the front. What for kind of a way is this to arbitrate?”
“You unbuttoned your vest, judge,” reminds Magpie. “Don’t you wear a
shoulder holster?”
“Patriotism, Magpie. It ain’t because I’m belligerent. Any old time
these snake-hunters from foreign parts belittles our shining city I can
only remain cool and collected up to a certain point. I hadn’t ought to
wear a vest.”
Me and “Dirty Shirt” Jones listens to this elevating conversation in
disgust. Me and Dirty are not with the meeting nor a part of it,
except being as it’s pulled off out in the open we can’t help hearing
it. Magpie represents Piperock, Mike orates Paradise’s opinions and
Hassayampa is there to lay Curlew at our feet.
Old Judge Steele has to horn in to add dignity to the affair and little
Scenery Sims adds his squeaky voice, which detracts from any dignity the
judge might add.
“Now about the religious attractions--” begins Old Testament, but Magpie
gives him a look and he sets down.
“This is a Fourth of July meeting, Testament,” states Magpie. “We may
need you later on to proclaim ashes to ashes, but right now you better
pass the hand. _Sabe?_ You’re all the sky-pilot we’ve got around here,
and for the good of our soul I asks you to keep out. You’re all right
for what you’re intended.”
“Come on, Ike,” says Dirty. “These _hombres_ will frame up something
awful, you can gamble on that, and the less we has to do with it the
more chance we has to get shot by accident and mourned by few.”
Then we went over to Buck’s place and leaned against the mahogany.
“Committee come to a understanding?” asks Buck.
“As usual,” replies Dirty. “They’ll mistreat each other for a while,
stop by mutual consent and celebrate as they see fit. There ain’t no
sense in having a community celebration, Buck. Ain’t it bad enough for
each community to kill off of their own without joining up to make it
a wholesale slaughter?”
“If Lincoln knowed what he started when he made the Fourth a holiday
he’d wish he’d kept right on splitting corral poles, believe me,”
grinned Buck.
“Robert E. Lee,” corrects old Sam Holt, looking up from his solitaire
layout. “Lincoln didn’t have no hand in it, Buck.”
“Yeah?” grunts Pete Gonyer. “Is that so? Let me tell you both something:
If General Grant hadn’t hankered to march to the sea, where would your
old Fourth of July be, I’d rise to inquire?”
“I said Lincoln,” reproves Buck, dropping his hands below the level of
the bar. “I can prove it.”
Pete hitches forward in his chair and rubs the palms of his hands on his
hips.
“I said Grant--U. S. Grant! _Sabe?_”
Old Sam Holt yawns and slips his hand unconcerned-like under the
shoulder of his coat. Then he spits out into the middle of the room.
“Robert E. Lee!” he snaps mean-like.
“Hurrah for history!” yelps Dirty and we both went out and sat on the
hitchrack.
“Dirty,” says I, “which one was right?”
“Ike, I’m ---- if I know. As soon as the convention is over I’ll ask the
judge. He ought to know.”
Maybe he did. He comes walking along stiff-legged like a bear and Dirty
accosts him thusly--
“Judge, who is responsible for the Fourth of July?”
The old pelican stops, peers at Dirty over his glasses and clears his
throat.
“I’m surprized to find anybody so danged ignorant,” says he,
pained-like.
“Yeah? I didn’t ask you to display oratory over my ignorance, judge. You
might at least express an opinion. We won’t dispute you.”
“The Fourth of July was started--was started back in--let’s see.”
The judge scratches his chin and peers at the ground.
“Back in 1492--seems like that’s the date. Anyway, it was along about
that time----”
“I asked you who, judge, not when,” reminds Dirty and just then Magpie
strolls up.
“What’s the argument?” he asks.
“Who started the Fourth of July, Magpie?”
“Which one, Dirty? This one, the last one or the one before? Be
definite.”
“There you are,” grins the judge, “Magpie’s a scholar. Your question was
too general, Mister Jones.”
Him and Magpie locks arms and goes into Buck’s place, while me and Dirty
sets there on the rack and registers disgust. Know what Dirty looks like
when he shows disgust?
* * * * *
Dirty is so cock-eyed in one eye that he has to shut it in order to see
straight. His eyebrows grows so high up on his forehead that he looks
plumb astonished at everything, and he walks like somebody was prodding
him in the back of the knees. When Dirty registers disgust on his face,
he’d make a bee-stung grizzly stop scratching to laugh.
Pretty soon there comes a yelp from the saloon, a shot is fired, and
Pete Gonyer comes out like a comet. He’s looking back as he exits and
he slams right into one of the porch posts, takes it along with him
and acts mean-like over it, like it was alive. Then he sets up and
looks around.
“Who started the Fourth of July, Pete?” asks Dirty.
“U. S.----” begins Pete and then glances up at the bunch crowding the
door.