MESHACKATEE
The man-trap of the Scarboroughs had caught a wampus when it snared
this second rider of the trails. He was huge, and bearded like Olympian
Zeus--a black, curling beard which stood out in bunches beneath strands
of long, towsled hair. His nose was small and snubbed, his mouth a
cavern of noise, and the rolling blue eyes revealed a depth of ferocity
which argued him near to the brutes; yet as he gazed at his fellow
prisoner the savagery fell away from him and his smile was almost human.
"Hello there, pardner," he greeted with a nod, "so they've got you in
here, too. Well by grab, I never thought, after all I been through, to
git caught with a bait like that; but when I sees that rock I piles off
my horse and drops down to git me a drink, and I'll be shot if Isham
Scarborough wasn't right behind that boulder with his Winchester ready
to shoot. I surrendered--I had to or the dirty, Texas cowards would
have killed me like beefing a steer--but you wait till I git out of
here and if I don't lift their hair my name ain't Meshackatee, that's
all! I'll throw in with 'em if I have to--because the Bassetts are no
better and I don't aim to die by hanging--but it's gitting pretty rank
when a man can't ride this canyon without being roped and tied. How'd
they work it to pick you up?"
"The same way they caught you," confessed the other. "I got down to
take a drink and when I looked up I was covered. If there hadn't been
two of them----"
"Yes," nodded Meshackatee, "I know how you feel--I reckon you're a man
of some nerve. But them boys would've killed you without batting an
eye--by the way, what'd you say your name was?"
"My name is Hall," replied the stranger after a silence, and the giant
bowed to him gravely.
"Glad to meet you, Mr. Hall," he responded cordially. "You might've
heard of Meshackatee? No? Well, that's the name I go by, the same as
yours is Hall--I got it among the A-paches. Wahoo Meshackatee, but some
ignorant old wallopers still insist on calling me Jinglebob. Name I
had in New Mexico--got mixed up in a range war--but out here they all
call me Meshackatee. Kind of an Injun name--or maybe it's Irish--the
circumstances was something like this.
"I got run out of New Mexico--or maybe I moved--anyhow, I come away,
dragging my tracks out behind me, and I butted right into some cavalry.
They was out trailing Injuns--a bunch of A-paches that had left the
Reservation on a raid--and the lieutenant in command, seeing that my
hair was kinder long, inquires if I could talk A-pache. Well, to tell
you the truth now I couldn't speak a word of it, but in order to git my
teeth into some of that Army grub I told him I could _habla_ it fine.
He took me on as scout and Injun interpreter at five dollars a day and
found; but at the end of two days we ran spang into them Injuns, and
the lieut, he sent me out.
"Well, I rode up on a hill where they could see me good and held up my
hand for a talk, and when the old chief and a couple of bucks rode out
I hollers:
"Wahoo meshackatee!"
"The old chief then, he r'ars back on his hanches and cuts loose with a
bunch of A-pache; and finally the lieutenant, who was fresh from West
Point, rides up and asks what he says. Well, it was up to me then to
make good or bust; so, knowing the dirty dastards, I made a bold guess
and by grab it turned out I was right.
"'He says, sir,' I reports, 'that his men want to fight; but if you'll
give him some grub, and some coffee and tobacco-smokum, they'll think
about coming in.'
"Well, we brought up the grub and the tobacco-smokum and when them
bucks saw it they laid down their guns and come into camp on the lope.
I was a hero, by crackey, until we got back to San Carlos and rustled
up a real interpreter; but the colonel was so tickled that he kept me
on the payroll, under the name of Wahoo Meshackatee. Never could speak
the lingo but them A-paches all know me and we git along somehow, by
signs; but say, where you going--on your way to join the Bassetts--or
was you jest passing through?"
"No, I was just passing through," answered Hall uneasily, "and by the
way, who are these men, anyway? I'm a stranger in this country and I
can't make out yet why they take so much interest in my business."
"Who, these fellers? Why, them's Isham and Red John Scarborough, two of
the dangest cow-thieves unhung; and, as I told 'em just now, they're
jealous. There's three brothers of 'em, altogether, and three of the
Bassetts; and they used to be hand in glove. They throwed in together
to steal old Jensen blind, but now it's dog eat dog. The Bassetts
are part Injun and don't want no trouble, but these biggoty Texicans
are crowding 'em so hard that I look for the fireworks any time. The
Scarboroughs are hiring gunmen--you might git a job yourself--and
fixing to run the Bassetts out of the country; and the Bassetts, for
revenge, are going to bring in some sheep, and that sure will start a
war. They're just watching each other now, and guarding the trails, but
there ain't no use of your trying to git in there unless you join one
of the gangs. If these boys'd let you pass, the Bassetts would sure git
you; and so on, plumb through the Basin. We're all split up, and I've
favored the Bassetts; but under the circumstances, and considering how
we're fixed, I think we'd better join the Scarboroughs."
He glanced up at the loop of the hangman's knot and winked with a
knowing leer, but the back of the other prisoner suddenly straightened
against the post and fire flashed up in his eyes.
"What, join these men after they've held me up and accused me of being
a horse-thief? I'd die first--I'd let them hang me, before I'd even
consider it. They're nothing but a pair of criminals!"
"Well, suit yourself," observed Meshackatee, glancing uneasily towards
the door, "but you don't need to holler quite so loud."
"I'll say it to their faces!" cried Hall in a passion. "They're a
disgrace to the name of Southerners. I'm from the South myself, and
back in Kentucky a man holds his honor above his life. Do you think
I'll submit to being branded a horse-thief and not call them out, if I
live?"
"From Kentucky, eh?" grinned Meshackatee, "well this is Arizona, a
whole lot further west; and over in the Basin, where they're all from
Uvalde, the term 'hawse-thief' is jest a pet name."
"'Uvalde'?" repeated Hall. "I don't quite understand you."
"Uvalde University! Didn't you ever hear of Uvalde? That's a school
for Texas cow-thieves. The teacher in this college is an old,
busted-down cow-puncher that's spent half his life in the Pen., and his
school-house is a corralful of dust. He starts them boys off at drawing
brands in the dirt, and then he puts 'em to work altering 'em; and when
a boy can burn every cow-brand in Texas he sends him out west with his
diplomy. The diplomy? Oh, that's jest one of these here running-irons,
to use on his neighbor's cows."
"Yes, I see," responded Hall, smiling absently, and fell into a
ruminative silence. "Is it a fact," he asked at last, "that over in
Maverick Basin the people are as desperate as you say? I can understand
this feud but I can't conceive of a community where a man will let you
call him a thief."
"Well, they're Texicans, you know," explained Meshackatee glibly,
"ain't supposed to have no morals, nohow. They're a cowardly bunch,
too--jest look how they roped me--I never did see but one brave one.
He's dead now, the rascal, but they called him One-eyed Tex--I was
there when he got his name. It was over in New Mexico and he got
into a shooting-scrape and the other feller plugged him through the
eye. Bullet went plumb through his head and blew out part of his
brains--made him feel kinder dizzy for a spell. Then he come to himself
and drilled his man dead center, after which they took him to the
doctor. The doctor wouldn't touch him till they told him it was Tex,
and then he sewed him right up. Said a feller from Texas never would
miss his brains nohow and he'd heal up and grow hair in a week.
"Well, Tex he got well, and I will say for him that there was one
sure-enough brave Texan. He'd take on anybody and give 'em the first
two shots and git off for self-defense. He come on over to Bowie, or I
believe it was Lordsburg, but anyway his reputation had preceded him.
He was known to be bad, and he shore run it over them Mexicans. You
couldn't kill the scoundrel and there warn't no way to stop him, until
some of them Rawhides chopped his head plumb off one night and hid it
out in the brush. He starved to death in about a week--but there was
one brave Texican."
"But he's dead, eh?" grinned Hall, and then they both laughed while
Meshackatee leered at the door.
"Ever spent much time exploring these cliff-dwellings?" he inquired,
suddenly changing the subject, "well they sure are an interesting
study. Supposed to have been built about a thousand years ago by the
ancestors of the Aztecs or the Hopis; but let me tell you, pardner,
they ain't all vanished yet--I found some, up here in a cave. I was
riding along one time when I seen an old man, with his beard plumb down
to his knees; and he was sitting down outside of a cliff-dwelling and
crying like his heart would break.
"'What's the matter, old man?' I says, and he bursts out worse than
ever.
"'My daddy whipped me!' he says, and I seen right there he was touched.
He was a hundred years old if he was a day and his back-bone was
sticking through like a fish's, and of course he didn't have no daddy;
but I was kind of sorry, the way he took on, and I gits down and pats
him on the head.
"'Well, don't cry,' I says, 'what did he whip you for?'
"'Fer throwing stones at grand-pap!' he says, and cries like his heart
would break.
"'Aw hell,' I says, 'you ain't got no grand-pap!'
"'Yes I have!' he sobs, 'he's right up in that house!' And he points to
one of these dwellings.
"'Well, don't cry,' I says, 'mebbe I can fix it up for you. Is your
daddy up there, too?'
"'Yes,' he says, 'he's in that first room, gitting ready to trim his
corns.'
"Well, of course I knowed he didn't have no dad--or at least it didn't
seem possible--but jest to snoop into things and git to look around I
went up the trail to the house. It was one jest like this, with the
doors and windows sealed, but when I looked in there was an old, old
man, sharpening a butcher-knife across his shin. He was so old and
dried up there warn't no skin on his shin bone and his back was bent
plumb to his knees. By grab, I was skeered--it didn't look natural--but
of course I never let on.
"'Hello!' I says, 'what are you whipping your kid for? He's down there
crying his heart out.'
"'Well, I don't keer,' he says, 'he's got to quit pestering his
grand-pap. The old man is gitting feeble and don't like to be
disturbed, and that boy is always pelting him with stones.'
"'Where is the old man?' I asks at last, and he points to a room in
behind.
"It was one jest like this--you couldn't hardly see and it smelled
kind of dead-like and close--and when I looked around I couldn't find
nothing but an old, dried-up bundle of bones. Well, I tiptoed my way
out of there and I says to the old timer--the one that was trimming his
corns:
"'Your father ain't alive--he's _dead_!'
"'No he ain't!' he says, 'he only seems that way. But you take him down
and throw him into the crick and let him soak for a while and he'll
tell you about things that happened _a thousand years ago_!'"
Meshackatee threw back his head and joined in the laugh which followed
his _chef-d'œuvre_ and then he leaned over and nodded at Hall while he
took him into confidence with a wink.
"On the level, now," he said, "ain't you an officer of the law? You've
sure got that man-hunter look. No? Nothing like that? Well, all right
then, I'll quit guessing--you was going in to join the Bassetts."
He nodded again, wisely, but the stranger shook his head and tugged at
his bonds impatiently.
"No," he said, "I never heard of the Bassetts till I asked about
the Basin in Tonto. And I never heard of the Scarboroughs until the
livery-stable keeper recommended them highly as Southern gentlemen.
It appears he was mistaken, for I never met men yet who were their
match for out-and-out insolence; but did it ever occur to you that
a man might be going through here on business that concerned no one
but himself? You have been connected with the Bassetts, and the
Scarboroughs have trapped you--very well, join whichever side you
will. But I for one will never join either, for I know what these
family feuds lead to. I have seen whole counties plunged into a war
that has lasted for twenty years; I have seen brave men--yes, and
women and children, too--shot down and their murderers unpunished. I
left my own home to escape just such conditions as these Scarboroughs
are trying to bring on, and, without professing any knowledge of the
rights of the matter, I maintain that both sides are wrong. Whatever
their differences they should endeavor to reconcile them before things
have gone too far; for after the first shot, after the first man has
been killed, his blood will cry out for more. Then brother must avenge
brother and fathers their sons; and so on forever, as far as I know, or
until God performs some miracle. And you, my friend, if you will take
my advice, will withdraw from this quarrel now; because after the first
bloodshed it will be too late--you cannot desert your friends. I know
whereof I speak, for I come from Kentucky where there is never an end
to these wars; and so I entreat you, for you seem a good man, to flee
from this feud while you can."
"For cripes' sake," muttered Meshackatee, "we must have caught a
preacher." And then he raised his voice.
"It's all right, boys!" he bellowed. "Come on in and turn us loose.
He's nothing but a Christian gentleman."
The stone against the doorway was thrown back with a thud and the
Scarboroughs stepped in again, grinning.