passing a human being or habitation, and when he saw this ranchhouse
it was indeed a welcome sight. He was tired, lonesome, hungry, and
discouraged, and he knew that he must go back to the little town by the
railroad, the last settlement he had met with, if he did not soon find
a house and some living thing, man or beast, he could not endure the
dreary solitude another day.
He preferred the town to this, even if the boys did tie tin cans to his
tail, the women chase him with broomsticks or throw hot water on him
when he tried to steal a meal from their kitchens, and the cow-boys aim
at him to see how near they could come without actually shooting him.
Once, when he stopped to get a drink of water from a trough standing
outside of a saloon, the cow-boys caught him and forced him to drink
some beer, which made him feel dizzy and as if the sidewalk were flying
up and going to hit him in the face. And, oh my! what a splitting
headache he had all the next day! It made him wonder and wonder how
people could drink such nasty, bitter stuff when they could have pure,
clear water instead, and he thought if they had to pay five dollars a
bottle for water, perhaps they would crave it.
After these experiences, do you wonder that Billy was glad to find a
friend in the Chinaman?
When the potatoes were peeled for breakfast the next morning, the skins
were given to Billy, and they tasted as good to him, after his long
fast, as fresh turnips did when he was living in plenty.
Just as the sun lighted the tops of the mountains, the Chinaman rang
a large bell that hung on a high pole near the well, to call the
cow-boys to breakfast, and as its peals rang out on the morning air it
was answered by the barking of what seemed to be dozens of coyotes,
although, in reality, there was perhaps not half that number; a
peculiarity of their bark being that it seems to double itself and to
sound as if coming from twice as many throats as it really does. Billy
did not like to hear the coyotes, for their dismal cries made him feel
both lonesome and homesick.
Immediately after breakfast the cow-boys rode off to look after the
cattle and as soon as Billy saw them depart he gave a sigh of relief,
for when they were around they were always plaguing him and throwing
lassos or cracking their whips at him.
“Now, while the Chinaman is busy with his dishes and the cow-boys
are away, is my time to explore the premises and find out what things
look like around here,” thought Billy and, seeing an open door, he
walked through and found himself in a long, low room barren of carpet
or furniture, unless two tiers of bunks, a wooden chair or two, a
washstand with a tin basin on it, and a cracked looking-glass, could be
called furniture.
This room was in great disorder. Boots were lying around everywhere;
some in the bunks, others sticking out from under them, and still
others strewn about in general confusion all over the floor; and where
there were no boots there were clay and corn-cob pipes with half-empty
tobacco bags beneath them. None of these things surprised Billy, but
what did puzzle him was that between the windows there were a lot of
holes in the walls which were filled with old rags loosely poked in,
while guns of all sizes and descriptions hung on the walls or were
stacked in the corners of the room.
“This looks like a fort,” thought Billy, “but I fail to see who there
is to fight around here.” But, even as he thought this, he remembered
that Indians lived in this territory, and cold chills ran down his
spine, for although he was only a goat, he had often heard of the
unparalleled cruelty of the Apache Indian dwelling in this part of
the country and he at once realized why this house had been built
with holes in its walls and why all the guns were there. In case of
a siege, the cow-boys barricaded the windows and doors and stuck the
barrels of their guns into these holes, and then they were prepared to
resist an attack and to defend themselves.
Besides the room in which Billy stood, the house contained a
sitting-room, dining-room, kitchen, and a small room that was kept shut
up except when occupied by the owner during his yearly visits to the
ranch.
When Billy had reached this point in his explorations, he heard the
Chinaman calling, “Bee-lee, Bee-lee, Bee-lee.”
“I suppose that means me, so since he makes my name sound so much like
Bee, I will carry out the notion and make a bee-line for him,” said
Billy.
“Where-ee you been, Bee-lee?” said the Chinaman when he saw Billy
running toward him. “Come-ee long-ee in a here-ee; I have-ee something
good-ee for-ee you-ee,” and he gave Billy a piece of Johnnie-cake that
had been scorched in the baking-and which he did not want the ranchman
to see because of the wasted meal.
While Billy Jr. was eating, the Chinaman threw himself down upon a
wooden bench in the corner of the room, took two or three whiffs from
his opium pipe and was soon fast asleep, dreaming doubtless of his
almond-eyed sweetheart in the Orient. When Billy saw the pipe fall
from his hand, he took first a smell and then a taste of the powder
that had spilled out of it upon the floor; and soon he felt the most
delightful, drowsy sensation stealing over him, and he, too, curled
himself up by the bench near the Chinaman and was soon dreaming that he
was back in the old home meadow with his father, mother, and Day; but
the meadow he dreamed of was covered with sweeter clover blossoms than
any goat ever ate and the breeze that fanned his face was laden with
sweeter perfume than mortals ever breathed.
[Illustration]
Billy was rudely awakened from this beautiful vision by a vigorous kick
and on recovering his bewildered senses, he found the room filled with
excited cow-boys all talking at once. From their conversation he soon
learned that the Indians were out on the warpath and were even now
within sight of the house.
With wondering eyes Billy watched the boys board up the windows,
barricade the doors, and stick the gun-barrels into the holes in
the wall. Presently, he was driven into the sitting-room and to his
surprise he found that five of the cow-boys’ ponies had also been
driven in here for safety, as the boys well knew that the Indians would
steal them if left outside. He had no sooner entered this room than he
heard a loud bang, and a bullet flattened itself against the doorjamb
just as the Chinaman ran in carrying a bucket of water from the well;
for during a siege, water is a necessity for both man and beast, and
while the boys had been boarding up the windows from the inside, the
Chinaman had been busy filling an old barrel with water from the well.
“The red devils are upon us,” he heard a cow-boy say, and then the door
was slammed shut and he was alone with the ponies. While the bullets
sped thick and fast, and showers of arrows fell, all of which were
answered by the cow-boys’ bullets as they tried to pick off the Indians
skulking around the house, the ponies told Billy when and how the raid
began.
An old roan pony that had been on the ranch for years said, “When we
went out this morning to round up and count the cattle, Jim Dowsen, the
man who rides me, said, ‘Something has happened during the night, for
the cattle are frightened and restless,’ and when we got near them we
saw at a glance what was the matter.” And he proceeded to tell Billy
about the last raid of the redskins.
The Indians had ridden into the herd during the night, had stolen fifty
head of the company’s best cattle, and had ham-strung about fifteen
more out of wanton cruelty, because the savage nature delights in
torture. When Jim saw what had been done he was furious and he rode
off like the wind to find the herder who had been with the cattle.
After riding around the whole herd twice without discovering any trace
of him, he at last found him lying face downward on the ground, his
body without arms, his head minus its scalp. After mutilating him,
the savages had left him for the wolves and vultures to devour, and
then satisfied with their fiendish work had stolen his pony and ridden
away. Billy discovered that the Apache Indians were the most cruel and
fiendish of all the tribes living in the territories.
During all this time the fury of the savages had increased.
Before leaving the ranch, the redskins intended finishing their work
of destruction. They wanted pale faces. They wanted scalps. But most
of all, they wanted fire-water (the Indian name for whisky). And so
the attack lasted for three days or more. Provisions were getting low
within the cabin, the fuel to cook the meals with was gone, and the
horses were neighing for fodder, as they had been fed only potatoes
and cabbage once a day, and then as a last resort, straw out of the
mattresses; and still the Indians skulked outside and waited for the
little band of men in the house either to surrender or to starve.
The third night of the siege the boys began to lose courage. Constant
watching, loss of sleep, little to drink and less to eat had nearly
worn them out, while their enemies seemed to be in perfect condition
and acted as though satisfied to camp outside their door for the rest
of their natural lives.
At last, one of the cow-boys named Henry Staples said, “I have it,
boys! I know just how we can get out of here; save our scalps and, what
is better still, kill every one of those fiends sitting outside grimly
waiting to see our finish.”
“Don’t buoy us up with a fairy tale like that, Henry,” they all said,
“for it is too good to be true.”
“Listen and hear my plan,” he replied. “You remember that can of
rat-poison we bought to kill rats with when in town the last time?”
“Yes,” they answered.
“Well, let us take that rat-poison and put it in a keg of fire-water;
next, run up a flag of truce, then set the keg with seven or eight
cups outside. Thinking we are offering it in the place of a peace
pipe, the Indians will not hesitate to come and drink. They are used
to poor fire-water and so will be less likely to detect the poison and
will drink cup after cup until they are stupified, and in the end
the poison will kill them as surely as it would kill the rats. These
Indians are not any better than rats and should be treated as such.
Have they not tortured and killed hundreds of people?”
“You are right, Henry; we can at least try your plan. It seems the only
feasible way out of our plight, and it can but fail.” So they blew a
horn to attract the attention of the Indians and then hoisted a flag of
truce on the flag-pole at the side of the house where the United States
flag usually floated; and while the Indians were watching it, the
cow-boys set the fire-water outside with the cups on top of the keg;
then, through the peep-holes where the guns had been, they watched the
Indians confer together about coming forward to get a taste of the much
coveted fire-water.
Presently a big buck, evidently the chief of the tribe, walked boldly
forward and took a drink. He smacked his lips and then drew another
cupful, which he swallowed at one gulp. Upon seeing this, the other
braves ran up to get their share, for they did not know how much or how
little the keg might contain. When they found that it was full, they
commenced to dance around in high glee and they drank again and again
as if they could not get enough.
“I should like to shoot every one of them as they now stand,” said
Henry.
“No, don’t,” said the others. “Save your ammunition for live Indians.
These will soon be dead.”
The chief, who had taken the first drink, was now feeling the effect
of the potion and was becoming quarrelsome. He soon began to fight
with another big Indian and this led to the rest taking sides with one
or the other, and soon all were engaged in a grand melee, flourishing
their weapons in a most reckless and dangerous manner, regardless
of consequences, because the fire-water had gone to their heads.
Presently a young buck, half-crazed under the combined influence of
the fire-water and the poison, started for the door of the house and
tried to batter it down, forgetting all about the flag of truce, and
calling upon the other Indians to follow him and scalp the pale faces,
but, even as their arms were upraised to strike the door, they were
seized with cramps and violent pains. The poison had conquered at last
and soon all were lying around in every possible shape, twisting and
writhing in their death struggles.
[Illustration: THE MAN MADE A GRAB FOR THE GREASED POLE AND DOWN HE
WENT.]
In less than an hour every Indian lay motionless and the cow-boys went
out to take possession of their arms and ponies. Suddenly Billy saw an
Indian, supposed to be dead, stealthily rise and creep after one of the
boys who was bending over a dead brave unstrapping his cartridge belt.
For a second he saw a knife glisten in the sunlight and he knew that in
another instant it would be buried in the unsuspecting boy’s back.
With Billy, to see was to act, so without hesitation he rushed upon the
treacherous Indian and tossed him aside as if he had been a paper ball.
The knife dropped from his hand, for he had been killed instantly. One
of Billy’s sharp horns had pierced his heart. All the cow-boy said,
when he realized what Billy had done, was, “Billy, you have saved my
life and for this you shall have a collar of gold, with your name and
a record of your brave act engraved upon it.” The cow-boy kept his
promise, so ever after Billy wore his collar of gold.
A few days after the siege, Billy felt that he had seen enough of ranch
life and life on the plains, so he decided to return to town and from
there go to some large city as fast as his legs would carry him. “For,
if I stay here,” he mused, “other Indians may come to avenge those who
have been poisoned. They may take a fancy to my horns to decorate one
of their wigwams and may cut my head off, and then where would I be?
Who knows but what they may come this very night? Anyhow I have seen
enough of wild western life and I shall leave this country right now.
There is no time like the present,” and with this soliloquy he started
on a dead run for town by the same way he had come and he never stopped
to say good-bye even to the Chinaman.
_Billy Jr. and the Firemen._
The next we hear of Billy Jr. he is in San Francisco living, as his
father did before him, with an engine company near the outskirts of
the city. When first we spy him, he and another goat are stealing
vegetables out of the firemen’s garden. This other goat is an old
fellow with a stubby tail and a single horn, and although he eats a
great deal every day, anything and everything, from tin cans to rotten
potatoes, and has a digestive apparatus like an ostrich, he still
looks thin and shows every rib in his anatomy. Whether this lean,
gaunt, hungry look is because of a guilty conscience or the result of
ill-usage, I know not, but I do know that he is the homeliest goat any
one ever looked at.
Bang! goes a gun and the next minute four pairs of legs are flying over
the garden fence. “There, I told you we could not steal safely in broad
daylight,” said Billy Jr.
“Oh! I hope you don’t mind a little scare like that,” answered the old
goat. “Why, my sides are full of bullet holes. They are always firing
at me, but I simply caper round and round until they pick the shot out,
for it only goes in skin deep.”
[Illustration]
“Well, I can tell you I don’t care to have _my_ sides peppered like
that,” said Billy; “and, too, a bullet might go astray and put out one
or both of my eyes. But here comes that fireman I so detest. Let us
run and hide. I shall get even with him some of these fine days when
he least expects it, for he is always cutting me with that fine-lashed
whip that hangs in the engine-house. I don’t care how much he tries to
club me, for I can fight, butt, and run, besides when he has a club in
his hand he is obliged to come close in order to hit me, so that gives
me a chance to butt him, but a long-lashed whip is a very different
matter. It winds itself about one before he knows what is coming.”
“I, too, have a grudge against that particular fireman,” said old
One-horn, as the boys had nicknamed the other goat, “and if you can get
even with him I shall be your friend for life, for it was through him
that I lost my horn and you know it is as bad for a goat to lose a horn
as it is for a man to lose a leg. Come and lie here in the shade while
I tell you how I lost my horn.”
“That fireman,” the old goat continued, “had been persistently mean to
me for weeks; had put red pepper in my food until my tongue was nearly
burned out, had shaken snuff under my nose and on my beard until I had
almost sneezed my head off, had turned the hose on me until I was half
frozen, and had annoyed me in a hundred other petty ways, until I felt
that I could kill him with a clear conscience if I ever got the chance.
He was the largest of the firemen and a champion boxer, but I was not
afraid of that and resolved to watch for an opportunity when I might
catch him alone and then pay him with compound interest for all the
mean tricks he had played on me. One day I was lying here in the shade
half-way between sleeping and waking when I saw him come out of the
engine-house and start to cross the vacant lot you see before you, for
his home is on the other side. He was half-way across when the thought
struck me--_now is my opportunity_. He was alone and carried nothing to
protect himself with, so I jumped up and ran quietly behind him, the
soft turf deadening all sounds of my approach, and he never suspected
that I was near him until I gave him a vigorous butt that was the
master-stroke of my life. It sent him flying six feet or more straight
in the air. When he struck the ground he lay perfectly motionless for
a moment with the breath knocked completely out of him. He was only
stunned, however, for he soon raised his head and, seeing me, shook his
fist and fairly roared, ‘You confounded old goat, I’ll break every bone
in your old carcass for this.’
“I intended to let him alone after that, for I thought he had been
punished enough, but when he shook his fist and threatened me, I was
mad all over and I lowered my head and would have butted him again had
he not caught me by the horns, at the same time giving my head a twist
with his great muscular arm, that nearly broke my neck. This made me
furious, and I stamped and kicked and tried to get my horns loose, but
he held me tight, well knowing that it was dangerous to let me go.
“Well, we rolled and tumbled about in the mud until we were both nearly
exhausted, and at last he loosened his hold of my horns, at the same
time giving me a parting blow on the head that made me see stars for
an instant. In the meantime he started for home on a dead run, and
as a matter of course I lost no time in following him, but I did not
catch up until just as he was entering the front door of his home.
Then I aimed straight for his coat tails, but he shut the door with a
bang, catching my horns between it and the jamb; then he pushed with
all his might and main from the inside, while I too pushed with all my
strength from the outside, hoping to splinter the panel of the door,
but instead, I broke my horn, and that is how I lost it and why I owe
him a grudge.”
In the back yard of the engine-house stood a pump with a tub of water
under its spout. Billy Jr. went to get a drink from it and, while
quenching his thirst, heard one of the firemen say to two others
standing in the yard, “I’ll bet you can’t do it, though every one knows
he needs it badly enough.”
“Oh, it’s easy enough to wash him,” they answered, “the difficulty will
be in untying him after it is done, for then he will butt the life out
of the first man he catches.”
“Let’s draw cuts to decide who is to do the untying,” said a third.
“All right,” they answered; and before Billy even suspected what they
were talking about, he found himself bound and tied to the pump so that
he could only move his head slightly.
“So, it was me they were talking about,” thought poor Billy. “Had I
only known, they would have had a fine time catching me, and more than
one man would have had bruises and torn clothes.”
“Gee whiz!” he thought a moment later, “but this water is cold that
they are pumping upon me, and won’t I get even with them all when I get
loose!”
“Ouch!” cried one of the men, for Billy suddenly tossed his head giving
him a bump on the nose. Then two of the men began to use brushes, one
on each side, while a third kept the pump going; so, squirm and wriggle
as he might, Billy got a generous supply of water and was drenched and
shivering in spite of his efforts to free himself.
At last the firemen thought he was clean enough and they stopped
scrubbing, while one of them said, “Well, Billy Jr., how do you find
yourself?” Billy glared at him and shook his head in answer, but there
was murder in his eye.
Next the men drew cuts to decide who should untie him and, strangely
enough, it fell to the lot of the fireman who was always cracking his
whip at Billy and tormenting old One-horn. When this man found that he
was to untie Billy, he said, “Very well, boys, you all get inside of
the engine-house and shut the big door, leaving the little one open for
me to run through, but be sure to shut it quickly behind me or Billy
will be inside as quickly as I am.”
“All right,” they answered, and away they went to do as bidden. Then
the fireman who was to do the untying, approached cautiously and first
untied Billy’s legs, leaving his head still tied to the pump; then with
a sharp knife he cut the last cord with one swift slash and ran for the
engine-house. Quick as he was, our Billy was not far behind, for with
one bound he covered half the distance that lay between them while with
another he went bang against the little door through which the fireman
had but just disappeared.
The door was slammed shut in double-quick time, and had Billy’s head
not been a hard one it must surely have split in two when it struck the
door. However, it was made to withstand hard knocks and so, undismayed,
he backed off to gather impetus for another rush; and then with a last
plunge he split the door from top to bottom and landed in a confused
heap right in the midst of the astonished firemen, who scrambled in
all directions with more haste than grace, thinking only of getting
out of reach of Billy’s avenging horns. One man climbed up on the high
seat of the fire-engine, another ran down cellar, while the third, the
particular one Billy was after, bounded up the stairs that led to the
firemen’s bedroom, in which was an open hole with a greased pole coming
up through the middle for the firemen to slide down when an alarm of
fire was sent in. Billy was up the stairs and into the room almost as
soon as the man himself, who in mad haste made a grab for the greased
pole and down he went, leaving Billy rather doubtful as to what course
to pursue; but quickly seeing the impossibility of a goat’s trying to
slide down either a greased or any other kind of a pole, he bounded
down the stairs again. The firemen had to all appearances disappeared,
but Billy sniffed the air suspiciously and, glancing keenly first in
one direction and then in another, he soon discovered his pet enemy
seated on the hook-and-ladder wagon. This elevated position he wisely
forebore attempting to reach and, instead, took up a position where no
one could enter or leave the engine-house without passing him, and then
he calmly laid himself down and waited.
But the fates were against Billy Jr. and he was obliged to give up his
position or get run over. Just as he got comfortably settled, the fire
alarm rang out and each well-trained horse rushed to his allotted place
on engine, hose-cart, or ladder-wagon. As Billy saw the engine speed
away with his enemy holding on behind and trying to get into his rubber
coat, he said, “I have been cheated of my revenge to-day, but look out
for to-morrow, you red-faced lubber,” and with this parting threat he
trotted off to find his friend, old One-horn.