“Aw-w-w, is that a fact, Magpie?”
Magpie nods and jerks his head toward Holt’s place. Scenery nods, and
they starts for the hotel, with me and Telescope, Art, Muley, Hen,
“Half-Mile” Smith, “Doughgod” Smith, “Tellurium” Woods, “Mighty” Jones
and Pete Gonyer.
Magpie leads Scenery to a window of the dining-room, and they both peers
in. Scenery looks at Magpie, kinda queer-like and nods his head. Then he
tries to go in the door, but it’s locked. Mrs. Holt comes to the door
and scowls at Scenery.
“You can’t come in,” says she, and starts to shut the door; but Scenery
shoves a foot inside and blocks it.
“Mrs. Holt,” squeaks Scenery, “yo’re defyin’ the law. Actin’ thataway
puts yuh liable for contempt of court.”
“Well,” says she, kinda dubious-like, “mebbe that’s so, Scenery. I’ll
let you in, but the rest of you snake-hunters’ll have to stay outside.”
“We bows to superior intelligence, ma’am,” says Magpie.
In about a minute here comes Chuck Warner with his hands in the air, and
behind him marches Scenery with a gun poked into Chuck’s back. Chuck
looks at us and says--
“What’s the matter with this ---- fool?”
“Head for the jail!” squeaks Scenery. “Head for the jail!”
“You’re crazy!” wails Chuck.
“All right, all right,” squeaks Scenery. “We’ve both headed th’ same
way.”
Henrietta Harrison comes to the door, but Mrs. Holt shoves her back
inside and shuts the door.
“Poor Chuck,” says Magpie. “Poor Chuck.”
“Poor, ----!” howls Chuck. “I’m goin’ to kill somebody for this.”
“Gettin’ violent, Scenery,” says Magpie. “Don’t take a chance.”
“I’ll handle him, Magpie. Point for the jail, you scalp-dancin’ idjit.”
Chuck took one look at us, and then headed for the jail, with Scenery
trottin’ along after him.
We all went back to the saloon. Pretty soon Scenery comes from the jail,
and he’s got a beautiful black eye where Chuck walloped him. Scenery is
peeved. Old Judge Steele shows up, kinda ponderous-like, and Scenery
explains the whole thing as far as he knows.
“_Loco parenthesis_,” says the judge. “Reverted to sex. I always knowed
there was aboriginal corpuscles in his arterial system. He is _non
compos mentis_.”
“_Lignum vitæ_,” nods Magpie.
“Exactly,” says the judge. “You stated the case, Magpie. Who is the lady
in the case?”
“Name’s Incognito,” says Telescope. “Incognity, _alias_ Harrison.”
“Hah!” says the judge, serious-like. “This will need _finesse_. I shall
go over to the hotel and have speech with the maid.”
* * * * *
I reckon he got in in the name of the law, too, but anyway he got in. Me
and Muley went out and sat on the sidewalk, when here comes Mrs. Steele
and Mrs. Wick Smith.
“Have you seen anything of the judge?” asks Mrs. Steele.
“Yeah,” nods Muley. “He went over to Holt’s to see a lady.”
“Oh!” says Mrs. Steele, looking at Mrs. Smith.
“Men,” says Mrs. Smith, “men are considerable alike, and a judge ain’t
no different than the rest.”
“That old cormorant?” explodes Mrs. Steele. “The only difference
is--he’s worse.”
“We’ve got to unite,” says Mrs. Smith. “A united front must be showed.
Let’s go and talk to Mrs. Tilton before Testament falls from grace.”
They toddles up the street, headed for Tilton’s place. But Old Testament
wasn’t home. I reckon he was kinda snooping around, ’cause he comes out
from behind Pete Gonyer’s blacksmith shop and walks up to us.
“What was them womin talkin’ about, Brother Ike?” he asks.
“They’ve gone up to hold a war-talk with your wife, Testament. Appears
that there’s a united conspiracy against the lady what come yesterday.
They’ve gone to warn your wife, I reckon.”
“Love’s labor’s lost,” says Testament, sad-like. “She don’t need
warnin’. Where is said lady?”
“Her and Judge Steele are holdin’ a conference over in Holt’s place. Yuh
might go over and add your spiritual presence, Testament,” says Muley.
“I might,” nods Testament. “I’m sure ready and willin’ to pass spiritual
advice. A man of spiritual knowledge is always needed.”
Testament’s last words were kinda faint, as he was hittin’ the trail to
Holt’s front door.
“Paw,” says Muley, sad-like, “Paw wanted me to study for the ministry.
Seems like a minister can git into places where a cowpuncher can’t.”
Mrs. Holt met him at the door and let him in. Pretty soon we sees Mrs.
Steele, Mrs. Smith, Mrs. Gonyer, Mrs. Wheeler and Mrs. Tilton. They
comes down the sidewalk toward us. Me and Muley starts to go into the
saloon, but Mrs. Tilton yelps at us--
“Henry Peck, do you know where my husband is?”
“He--he’s givin’ spiritual advice to a lady,” says Muley.
“I suppose Pete Gonyer is measurin’ her for a pair of horseshoes,” says
Mrs. Gonyer, mean-like.
“And maybe Wick is tryin’ to sell her a bill of groceries,” says Mrs.
Smith.
“I seen Art curryin’ his horses,” states Mrs. Wheeler. “He ain’t curried
one of ’em since he owned them four horses--and he greased his boots
this mornin’.”
“Here comes Mrs. Holt,” says Mrs. Steele. “Mebbe she brings news.”
Mrs. Holt was all out of breath, and them women didn’t seem inclined to
let her get any of it back. Magpie and Telescope comes out of the saloon
and moves in close.
“I hopes to die!” gasps Mrs. Holt. “I hopes to die!”
“You’re got a cinch,” says Telescope. “We all have to.”
Them females gives Telescope one gosh-awful look, and then surrounds
Mrs. Holt, who gasps out her story.
“She--she’s dancin’ for Testament and the judge--barefooted!”
“No!” declares five female voices at once.
“Yes! Her and the judge has a long talk and I heard ’em. She tells him
that Piperock don’t appreciate art.”
“My Art?” asks Mrs. Wheeler.
“I don’t know. Lemme talk, will you? The judge said he longed for the
day when Piperock would become the greatest place on earth, and he said
she had a good start right now. This here female opines that we’re fifty
years behind the times. She asks him why folks don’t wake up around
here. The judge says they’re just waitin’ for the right person to come
along and set the alarm. She says she’s the greatest dancer in the
world.
“She wants to show off, but the judge says that all Piperock ain’t as
intelligent as he is and mebbe they’d not see things in the right light.
“Then Testament Tilton comes in. The judge introduces them two, and
explains about her bein’ the greatest dancer on earth. Testament Tilton
says he’s originally from Missouri. Then he laughed like a danged
hy-e-ner. I don’t like to say that about a preacher, but----”
“Speak your mind, sister,” says Mrs. Tilton. “I like your description.”
“Well,” continues Mrs. Holt, “I had to go away for a few minutes, but
when I got my eye to the crack of that door again I hears the judge
sayin’--
“‘Testament, I reckon the rest of the country will kinda set up when we
lets ’em know that Piperock is going to exhibit the greatest dancer in
the whole danged world, eh?’
“Then Testament says:
“‘Brother Steele, you’ve said a lot in them few lines. Your idea of
givin’ this under the auspices of my church is goin’ to make a hit with
the womin folks. That takes the curse off.’
“Just then this here female shows up--barefooted.”
Mrs. Holt stops for breath.
“Can she dance? asks Mrs. Smith, wheezin’ quite a lot.
“Well--” Mrs. Holt looks around at us, and swallers real
hard--“well--Mrs. Smith, I reckon we better go over to your house to
tell the rest of it.”
They went across the street like they was afraid they’d get wet.
“I’ll never eat another meal in Sam Holt’s place again,” declares Muley.
“I’ll get even with her by boycottin’ her husband.”
“I’m goin’ home,” says I. “The peace and quiet of Piperock is about null
and void, and I need solitary communion with my pet hunch. Somethin’
tells me that all is not well. In fact somethin’ tells me that all is
not only not well, but in danged delicate health.”
Nobody can read Piperock’s mind, but I’ve seen disaster come and go, and
my personal prognostications are about on a par with a weather man
prophesyin’ fair and warm in Death Valley.
* * * * *
I’m cookin’ supper when Magpie shows up, and the blasted idiot is
grinning from ear to ear. He pours coffee over his potatoes and puts
sugar on his bacon and then begins to talk.
“The rhythm,” says he, “the rhythm of nature is a wonderful thing, Ike.”
“Yes,” says I. “It must be.”
“The breeze of Spring; the waving of the branches of a tree. True
poetry, Ike. The human form divine is the only thing capable of
expressin’ these here e-motions.”