Got your letter yesterday, and it is useless for me to tell you that it
is the first one I ever got from you. A Mexican, by the name of Colorado
Claro Maduro Sanchez brought the mail out to me, and I polished him on
the head with a rock for opening it. If there was any money in it for
me, Hank, you can kiss it good-by. I searched that greaser but he didn’t
have nothing on him but a onion, and he kept saying—
“_Kin sabe, kin sabe!_”
Maybe he can’t now, Hank, but I’ll bet he kin next time. Maybe that
ain’t up to my standard as a joke, but when you herd sheep for a few
days your humor gets full of ticks.
I took this job to please Emmeline, my wife, and I hope she’s pleased.
If she tried to kiss me now, she’d have to operate on my face with a
mower and then antiseptic me with sheep dip. You know me, Hank, and you
know I’m naturally a clean person phisikally, taking baths sometimes
when same is superfluous, but, Hank, I’m off it for a while.
We got a little spring, where we get our drinking water, et cettry,
after straining wool and so forth from same. Well, I dug this here
spring a little deeper and better, and decides to take a bath. There
ain’t nobody around that country but me, so I goes to my bath entirely
nood.
Not to change the subject, Hank, but a feller ought to know more about
the habits of sheep before he herds them, just like he ought to know
more about his wife’s relations before he marries her. Hank, a ram sheep
is a he animal with curved horns like a corkscrew, and a blood lust. Me
and you have always thought that shepherds goes crazy from hearing sheep
blatting, but it ain’t true. They go crazy from shock. I know what I’m
telling you, Hank. I got a scientifik mind, and I don’t have to get hit
with a brick house to find out if I’m right or wrong.
Well, I dived around in that pool until I gets a lot cleaner than I was
previous, and then I crawls out. The sun is hot, so I stoops over to
grab up my shirt, and something hits me so hard that I gets my ears full
of sand in the bottom of the spring. When I comes back to the top again,
Hank, I’m looking in the face of a he-ram sheep. A ram sheep ain’t so
much to look into the face of, but it’s the evil intentions you can read
thereon.
“Mister Sheep,” says I, “I’m going to come right out there to you and
ride you to a frazzle.”
You know I’m a good rider, Hank, and you know I can ride anything what
wears hair and runs on four legs, and no horse can throw me. I grabs
that ram sheep by one curly horn, yanks him half-way into the spring,
and then hops on his back.
He was a big sheep, Hank, and I guess I was suffering from shock, ’cause
I got on him backward. I don’t mind telling you that no matter how good
a rider a man is he’s handicapped when he gets all them natural bucks
reversed. It ain’t hard to stick on a horse when he rears up, but when
anything rears up in front of you, Hank, and sunfishes behind you at the
same time, and when you ain’t got nothing on but your birthday suit, and
that animol’s wool is wet, nobody can blame you if you don’t linger
around long.
I got dumped on my head and shoulders, Hank, and I feels like I had fell
a mile. It sure knocked all the wind out of me. Hank, I know how a bad
horse feels after he’s been throwed and knocked silly, and then comes to
and sees a lot of punchers standing around, all ready to throw him
again.
I lays there and looks up at that congregation of ram sheep standing in
a circle around me, and says to myself—
“When Emmeline finds my mangled corpse she’ll be sorry she hounded me
into herding sheep.”
But at that, Hank, a ram ain’t no sheep. It’s a cross between a vishous
pile-driver and a grizzly in sheep’s clothing. Being used to greasers,
what don’t never take a bath, they don’t know what to make of a fine
specimen of American manhood in the rough.
I wish I knowed some way to get up on my feet without bending myself no
place, Hank, but it can’t be done, so I just yells: “Woof!” just like
that, to scare them away, and then hops to my feet. Well, there must
have been a sheep behind me, which was hard of hearing, ’cause I got
shocked again, and when I quit going I sprawls out across a big ram
sheep. I grabs him by the horn, and away we go off up a washout, with my
two feet dragging and picking up every cactus in reach.
The feller what said that sheep will foller a leader said something,
’cause this herd is running a close second to us. Hank, you’ve heard the
story about Lady Something-or-other, who rode a horse down the main
street of a town, without enough clothes on to flag a handcar? She never
had nothing on Mr. Dalton’s son Dobie.
About four hundred yards above my camp is a big grove of cottonwood
trees, and here we go up there: me in the lead, forking that
scared-to-death ram, while strung out behind me in the dust comes the
rest of the procession, blatting their fool heads off. I can’t stop that
fool sheep, and I can’t afford to get off, so we parades right into that
clump of trees, and I gets another shock.
There’s a camp there, Hank, and that fool sheep takes me right between
two ladies setting there on a log and two more setting on a grub-box.
Like a fool I grabs that ram by the horns and tries to turn him like you
would a bicycle, but instead of turning the blame thing stopped.
I suppose if I knowed more about sheep I’d a knowed how to start it
going again, but I don’t, so there ain’t no argument. Hank, when them
women gets a good look they all screeches like a flock of cougars with
green-apple cramps, the same of which causes that he-sheep to jump right
out from under me, and I lands on my head, with my feet across the
tongue of a wagon.
When I gets up, Hank, I got a horse collar around my neck, but I don’t
stop to take it off. I ain’t no thief, Hank, and it don’t run in our
fambly to take things what don’t concern them, but what can a feller do
in a case like that?
Say, Hank, did you hear about Windy and Hondo? They escaped from the
jail. The sheriff didn’t tell me how they got away. He just said that
they busted some bars off a window.
Well, as I said before, I don’t lose no time. I ducks down on my hands
and knees and tries to hide behind a tree what ain’t bigger than a
fish-pole. I feels fairly safe, ’cause a hysterical woman don’t never
see nothing noway. She’s like a runaway horse.
“My ——, Annie!” I hears one yelp. “Did you see that?”
Annie answers by running the scale with her voice, and then somebody
squeaks—
“It must be a wild man!”
* * * * *
Just then I shifts a little, Hank, and gets one knee in a cactus, and
that woman ain’t so far wrong at that. They do guess right at times. I
rolls over to get a little further away, and just then I hears one of
them screeching females yelp:
“Thank heaven! Help is at hand!”
“One letter too much in the word ‘help,’” says I to myself, when I peeks
out and sees Blazer and Sleepy ride into the clearing.
“The police are here!” exclaims a woman, and Hank, I has to grin to
myself until I gets a look at the stars on the bosom of them hombres.
“Ma’am,” says Sleepy, “what seems to be the matter? We comes to offer
succor.”
That was some conversation, Hank. Every one of them scared females tells
him her life history from the cradle to the grave, and all at the same
time. Taking out a few words that showed up plain between the volleys,
I’m informed that the menfolks are all away hunting for sage hens, and
that a wild something that was part sheep and part man had come into
camp and attacked them. They finally beats it off.
“We’re deputy sheriffs, ma’am,” states Blazer. “We’re part of a posse,
and we’re sure a pair of grand little protectors. Which way did it go?”
None of them seemed to know, Hank, which shows that they runs true to
the species. Them fellers dismounts, and sort of mills around, looking
for signs, while I hugs the ground, and wishes that I hadn’t ate nothing
for a week so I could lay flatter.
Blazer remarks something about sanitation around camps, and then he
picks up a bucket of dirty water, and throws same all over me. Of
course, he don’t know I’m there, but that don’t help none. Them cactus
spines begins to itch, and I suffers a lot.
Pretty soon Blazer picks up a empty tomato can, and hits me right on the
head with it, and then him and Sleepy states that while they ain’t got
much to do they’ll clean up camp. Hank, them fellers sure did bombard me
with all the refuse around that camp. With all the other directions to
throw at, Hank, of course they has to pitch it all right at me, just
because I happens to be laying behind a fringe of brush. It’s human
nature to throw rubbish out of sight.
“We’re looking for a pair of escaped criminals, ma’am,” states Sleepy,
“they was bosom friends of a crazy shepherd out here, and we thought
maybe they came out here to hive up with him.”
“Desper-ah-does?” asks a female, and Hank, I has to laugh when Blazer
says: “Of the most malignant type, ma’am. The shepherd is likely the
worst one of the three, but there ain’t no use arresting him ’cause the
lunatic asylum is too crowded now.”
The idea of calling Windy and Hondo desperate men, Hank. Well, just then
I hears voices, and into camp comes them four sage hen hunters. It sort
of attracts everybody’s attention, and the way I had of getting out from
them tin cans, et cettry, and leaving there wasn’t no trouble at all.
Hank, you know how fast I can run, and that I can just about beat
anybody on earth, but you can cut my time half in two and get some idea
of the speed I can show, when I ain’t got nothing on to impede my
progress, and when I got some place to go to quick.
I sails down a washout, which runs past my camp, and when I gets in
behind my tent I takes a look but there ain’t nobody coming, so I climbs
out. I yawns and then walks, bold-like, around to the front of my tent,
and Hank, I got another shock. Right there at the door of my tent,
setting on a box, is Aunt Phoebe.
Down in the bottom stands Uncle Gabe’s camp-supply wagon, and I can hear
voices talking some place. Aunt Phoebe is hard of eyesight, and the
first thing she does is to go after her specs.
Hank, you know me, and you know that I think quick, so when she tries to
draw her specs on me I uses my brains like lightning. There’s a hole
about two feet square in my tent, about half-way up to the top, and I
takes one long, handsome hop, and drops into that hole like a
prairie-dog going home. My one aim in life is to get hold of a blanket.
Hank, this life of ours is full of mistakes, and a lot of them are
things we can’t help, like getting married before you find out all about
her folks and so forth. I goes out of sight in that tent, about up to my
waist, and lights with my legs around something what sure wasn’t in that
tent when I left it, and then one of the most blood-curdling yelps you
ever heard comes forth.
I reaches outside and grabs the ridge-pole of that tent, and then I sees
Emmeline go galloping off across the hills like a scared deer. Every
time she hits the ground she lets out a whoop, and right behind her goes
Aunt Phoebe. Auntie ain’t built for speed, Hank, but she does well at
that. She runs heavy like a draft horse.
I’m glad I wasn’t riding for a prize, Hank, ’cause that thing what I’m
setting on rises right up and gives a sudden heave, and stands me on my
head outside. I’m getting so used to shocks that it don’t faze me. You
know I think awful quick, Hank, and my feet hadn’t hit the dirt yet when
I has my whole plan of operation layed out. Think I to myself—
“Whoever that was will come around to the hole side of the tent, so I’ll
go the other.”
Wasn’t that quick work, Hank? It sure takes brains to figure all that
out so quick. The only trouble with it was the fact that I was figuring
on what a normal man would do. It takes so many kinds of folks to make a
world, Hank, that no matter how much brains you got you can’t get your
shot inside the black spot all the time.
Well, I hops up and lopes around the tent, and meets Uncle Gabe. He’s
loping, too, and he’s got a ax in his hand, and all that ever saved my
life was a guy-rope that tripped me, and I rammed my head into his
stummick so hard that I has to take two steps back to get my hair out of
his ribs. He was loping with his head turned around, so he never knew
what hit him.
As I said before, Hank, a man ought to know more about his wife’s
relatives before he marries her. If I knowed how her uncle would behave
under the circumstances I might stay there, but as it is I don’t dare. I
could have got his gun and stood him off, Hank, but he’s just crazy
enough to cause a scene, and make me kill him, and that would cause a
fambly scandal and a row.
I ducks into that tent, grabs a red blanket and a rope, and away I goes
again. I ain’t got no place to go to, Hank, but this ain’t no time to
plan things out. I tell you again like I did before, it ain’t the
blatting what makes them go crazy—it’s the shocks. If I hadn’t been a
brainy, well-balanced person I’d have likely gone crazy like a coyote
and hunted for a moon to howl at. I went off up that gulch, with that
red blanket tied around me like a apron, and Hank, I’m almost to the
point where I talk to myself.
Hank, you say in your letter that you didn’t understand what I meant
about needing money. You must have skipped a lot of reading matter. I
hope to be back there some fine day, and if you’ve still got them
letters I’ll set down with you and explain the points what you need
cleared up for you. Maybe I used too big words for you, Hank.
Well, I went on up that gulch for miles, and after a while I sees a
little cabin in a clump of trees. I’ve been wearing that blanket so long
that I sort of takes up the habits of a Indian. There ain’t a sign of
anybody around there, so I pushes the door open and goes inside. There’s
a few things in there, Hank, and somebody has cooked a onion in there
lately, ’cause I can smell same. I picks out a few of my choice cactus
and then sets down to try on a pair of old boots, which are on the
floor. I gets them on, Hank, but my feet swells right away. I hobbles
around there hunting for something more to wear, when I hears voices
outside.
* * * * *
I don’t know who it is, so I ducks down and crawls under a low bunk.
Pretty soon the door opens, and in comes Windy and Hondo first and
behind them comes Blazer and Sleepy. I can see that Windy and Hondo
ain’t got no guns, and they seem sort of anxious to please. Sleepy comes
over and lays a couple of rifles on the bunk over my head, and they all
sets down.
“You fellers ain’t got no howl coming,” states Blazer. “If it was some
of them other officers they’d prod you all the way to jail, and then
you’d spend about fifteen years breaking up rocks.”
“You sure can paint a glowing future,” agrees Windy. “It sure don’t
appeal to me none, but I reckon it’s the best we can do, eh, Hondo?”
“You gets plumb away,” says Sleepy, “we splits the money four ways and
reports that you ain’t in this country. Leave that to me and Blazer, and
rejoice that we ain’t man-hunting for love or glory.”
Hank, them feet of mine are killing me by this time.
“Show us the cache, and we’ll settle this up now,” says Blazer.
“Sure,” says Windy. “She’s under that left-hand bunk. You won’t need a
ax, ’cause the floor is all loose, anyway.”
Hank, I’m under that left bunk. Know what I done? All to once I rolls
out from under there and right among them, and grabs a rifle before
anybody can say a word, and covers the bunch.
Hank, they acts like they’d seen a ghost. Blazer is leaning against the
table, and his hand slips off and he falls flat on his face. Windy sets
down on the floor from his chair, and jars the whole cabin. Hondo seems
to be the only one to control his feelings, and he says:
“My ——! Darwin was wrong—it’s the other way around!”
Hank, I sure had that bunch buffaloed. They just gasps at me and don’t
argue when I takes their guns. Windy is about my size, so I requests the
loan of his clothes, and there ain’t no argument. I lays five
six-shooters on the table beside me, and them rifles on the floor, and
them four pelicans sets there on a bunk while I dress. I can wear all of
Windy’s clothes except his boots, and maybe they’ll fit but I can’t get
mine off.
Then I makes them all lay down on the floor, while I ties their feet
together with a rope. Then I ties one end of the rope to the post of a
bunk, and the other end to a log on the corner of the cabin. I searches
them for knives, and then leaves them tied up tight. I digs up the
money, as I figures to take it to Antelope, and notify the sheriff where
he can get the outlaws. I don’t figure that Blazer and Sleepy are a bit
better than Windy and Hondo, and I sure wants that sheriff to see what
he hired.
I gets on one horse and tries to lead the other three, but two of them
gets away and I decides to just take the two. I’m all dressed up with
cartridge belts et cettery, and I got that money in the saddle-bags.
Also, Hank, I got misery in my feet. Them boots seems to shrink a inch
at a time, and each and every boot has nails that seem to stick me plumb
to the ankle bone.
I goes along across country, peaceful-like, and I feels uplifted in
spite of my misery. Dobie Dalton is going to be a hero and show up
Emmeline’s fambly to a fare-thee-well. I tops a ridge, and my hat flips
off. Sudden-like, she strikes me that there ain’t no wind, and then I
hears the spat of a rifle, and I sees some men cutting across in front
of me.
Another shot seems to sort of aggravate my lead horse, and causes him to
sort of ball things up. Another bullet sticks into the dirt in front of
me, and fills my horse’s eyes with sand.
You know I am awful strong in the arms, Hank, and no horse can get his
head when I’m riding same, but you can’t do nothing, when you got a punk
headstall, and she busts the first time you pull hard, and the bridle
all comes off.
Hank, that horse would win a prize most any place as a bucker, and the
other one seems to get the habit, too, and we sure done a double sunfish
off into the Mesquite, with me riding without no spurs to help out with
and numb feet to brace with. If I’d ’a’ had some spurs to take the buck
out of that son-of-a-gun’s head I might a done some good for myself, but
as it was, Hank, I reaches for the horn and got my hands full of grass,
and then I don’t know nothing.
When I comes to I’m setting with my back against a tree, and a rope
around my neck, and a lot of folks are discussing my past.
“Them is my two horses what was stole,” says somebody. “We got the
deadwood on this Jasper, and I argues that we better let human nature
take its course.”
“Might so well,” agrees somebody. “He’s plumb guilty, and also he’s
carrying that stolen money from Mesquite. He sure was heeled to resist
arrest.”
“Must be circumstantial,” states a voice, and I recognizes Uncle
Gabriel’s voice. “This feller is my nephew by marriage, and while I
ain’t defending him for that reason, I don’t think he’s clever enough to
do all this, and besides he’s herding sheep for me, when these horses
was stole. I moves that we wait until he wakes up so he can say
something, or until the sheriff——”
“What about the sheriff?” asks a voice, and there sets the sheriff on
his horse, and he’s got them four fellers with him, linked together with
a rope.
The crowd sort of loses interest in me, and goes over to the later
attraction. There sure is some talk going on. Pretty soon I hears the
sheriff say:
“Caught them making a sneak out of that old cabin up here a ways. Reckon
they was taking a snooze, ’cause one of them had his boots in his hand.”
I stands up and looks them over. Windy has got on some old clothes and
when he sees me he puts his thumb to his nose at me. I says to the
sheriff—
“You got two of your own posse, sheriff.”
He looks at me and grins:
“Them two? Posse ——! There’s a thousand dollars reward per each for them
hombres. They’re wanted down in Plains County. Stars ain’t hard to get.”