Good for you. We appreciate yore civic pride.
He didn’t sign his name, but he didn’t need to. I _sabe_ that _hombre_
like a book. Dirty gets kinda gloomy over it all and swears that he’s
all through with Piperock. Right there and then I adds my voice to his.
“If that’s patriotism,” says Dirty, “gimme death. Our own town has
turned us down, Ike Harper. I didn’t think they’d do it. And they
wouldn’t, if they wasn’t gettin’ civilized.”
A little later on cometh Chuck Warner, Liniment Lucas and Testament
Tilton.
“You can take the preacher back,” says Dirty. “We ain’t in for murder,
you know.”
“I’m not in my clerical capacity,” says Testament. “Be ye both of good
cheer.”
“---- of a fine chance, the way Hank runs his place here,” snorts Dirty.
“I’ve been up to Piperock,” says Chuck, wigglin’ his ears. Chuck’s got
flexible ears and he can wiggle ’em like a mule.
“And nobody shot yuh?” gasps Dirty. “My gosh, they’re sure gittin’
forgivin’, Chuck.”
“They ain’t no friends to you two,” says Chuck seriouslike. “They’re
glad yo’re in jail down here.”
Chuck Warner is the biggest liar west of the Atlantic Ocean--but this
time I believed him.
“Magpie and Wick Smith hope yuh stay in jail,” says he.
“It kinda looks like they’d git their hopes,” Dirty acts kinda mournful.
“It kinda does,” agrees Liniment.
He’s got one of them long, wet-lookin’ noses and sad eyes. I reckon his
folks intended him to be a undertaker, but Old Lady Fate had
“horse-thief” marked after his name in the Big Book.
“Is this here a party of condolence, or did yuh come to gloat?” I asks.
I hate like ---- to have folks lookin’ at me through the bars.
“Condolence and good cheer,” says Testament, hitchin’ up his pants. “You
might call it a parley. I will go now, as it would not be meet for me to
be party to it. Not that I ain’t in accord with it entirely, you
understand.”
“It sure must be a tough proposition to drive you away,” observed Dirty.
Old Testament pulled out, Hank unlocks the cell door, and they all comes
in.
And what follered kinda touched upon my heart-strings. It was Chuck’s
idea. I listened to Chuck, Hank and Liniment Lucas, as they unfolds
what’s on their minds. It has been said that every man has his price.
Ours was one elephant, one camel and a tiger.
They wants us to steal them three animals for Paradise. All we’ve got to
do is to hand ’em over to Paradise and all is forgiven. But they’re
square about it, at that; they will pay Wick Smith what he paid for ’em;
and give us a hundred apiece.
“And Piperock ain’t treated you two square,” says Chuck.
“Thassall right,” says I, “but yuh can’t get away with anything like
that, Chuck. It wouldn’t be hard for Piperock to prove that they owned
’em, ’cause they’re all there is of the species in Yaller Rock County.”
“We’ve fixed that all up,” says Chuck. “Don’tcha worry about that end of
it. You fellers go back home, feelin’ sore at Paradise, and nobody will
expect yuh to raid the zoo; _sabe_?”
* * * * *
When we went home, after swearin’ to do our little best, and we finds
Magpie in the shack, composin’ some more stuff. We don’t say nothin’
about his kind note to us, and he don’t mention it to us.
“Still tryin’ to uplift Piperock on paper?” I asks.
“Combatin’ a evil influence, Ike. We are the pioneers--others foller.
Some one is tryin’ to steal our thunder.”
“You got plenty of it,” declares Dirty. “They could swipe a lot of it
from you and still leave enough for a dozen men.”
“Sarcasm is the weapon of the ignorant,” says Magpie. “What heard ye in
Paradise?”
“Nothin’ much.”
“No? Huh. Did yuh know that Paradise is emulatin’ us--or is goin’ to?”
“All fools ain’t dead yet,” opines Dirty Shirt.
“They’ve ordered a elephant, camel and a tiger,” says Magpie. “They’re
payin’ a big price for ’em, just to keep Piperock from leadin’ the
procession. Telescope Tolliver and Muley Bowles told us about it today.
Telescope said he thought we ought to know about it.”
“Yeah, we heard about it,” says Dirty Shirt, kinda off-handed like. “It
didn’t mean nothin’ to us.”
“Well, we’re holdin’ a indignation meetin’ tomorrow night,” says Magpie.
“We aims to protest openly against such practise. It ain’t ethical. You
and Ike be there, will yuh? Up in the Mint Hall. The ladies auxiliary
will be there, et cettery. We don’t wish for blood to be spilled. It’s
ag’in our principles and regulations; but, by grab, they’ll go too far
pretty soon--and have to get helped back.”
The next day is kinda quiet in Piperock; but when Piperock is quiet
she’s dangerous. Wick Smith ain’t at the store, and Mrs. Smith ain’t got
much use for me and Dirty; so we keep away. After samplin’ some wobble
water we pilgrims down to the livery-stable to see how Hassayampa is
comin’.
But we don’t find Hassayampa in charge. Wick Smith meets us at the door,
and he looks as wise as a owl.
“Whatcha want?” he asks.
“Whatcha got?” asks Dirty.
Wick clears his throat kinda hoarse-like.
“I’ve got civic pride, by ----!”
“You’ve showed it, Wick,” says I.
“Uh-huh. If I had more sense and less pride I’d be better off.
Hassayampa Harris hands me a bill for thirty-six dollars’ worth of
feed--and I got so ---- full of pride that I kicked him out and took
charge.
“My ----, that elephant is jist like a hay-baler. Yuh can’t fill it up,
I tell yuh. And he was feedin’ Cleo-patree meat! Can yuh beat that?
Cleo-patree is the tiger. That son of a gun has cost me one hundred
dollars per stripe.”
“Wick,” says I, “wouldst be rid of ’em?”
Wick looks at me for quite a while, spits painful-like and nods slowly.
“Wouldst.”
“I can get yuh a thousand dollars for the layout.”
“Ike, I hope yuh ain’t lyin’ to me.”
“C. O. D.,” says I.
“That’s the joker,” says he kinda wailin’. “C. O. D., eh? How in ----
can yuh deliver a thing like these, I’d ask you? Half of Piperock is
guardin’ this here stable. Over across the street is Pete Gonyer.
Farther down the street is Mighty Jones, and up the other way is Olaf
Hansen. One of them three has his eye on this place. They’re watchin’ to
see that Paradise don’t come and take them things away.
“And at night they’re guardin’ this place with sawed-off shotguns. They
heard that Paradise was goin’ to take away the menagerie; that’s what
they heard.”
“It’s kinda easy to see why Paradise wants to shift the job to me and
Dirty Shirt Jones,” says I. “Can’t yuh do as yuh want to with yore own
animals?”
“I can’t,” wails Wick. “Magpie got me drunk, Judge Steele wrote out a
option--and I signed it. I can’t sell until thirty days after Labor Day.
By that time I’ll be in the poor house.”
“What do these here animals look like?” asks Dirty.
Wick leads up back in the stable and makes us used to the dangdest
lookin’ trio of animals I ever seen. Cleopatra is in a cage on wheels,
and if there ever was a meaner-lookin’ tiger I’ve never seen it. She’s
jist skin and bones and a big mouth full of teeth.
The camel opens his mouth and grins at us, kinda asthmatic-like. His
name is Sahara, and he looks like ----. If it wasn’t for his humps he’d
look like a moth-eaten burro.
“Here’s the _e pluribus peritonitis_,” says Wick, pointin’ at the next
stall. “There stands Gunga Din. I tied the son of a gun up a while ago.”
We steps over and takes a close look. It’s kinda dark in that stall.
_Whap!_
Somethin’ hit me in the face and I done a foot-race backward plumb to
the rear door, where I hits my shoulders first, followed by the rest of
my anatomy, makin’ a sound like the couplin’-up of an engine on a train
of cars. Kinda _clunkety, clinkety, clank_!
Through the haze I sees Dirty Shirt fade out through the front doorway,
and I seen Wick Smith climb up a post, where he hangs harness. He got
hold of the harness peg and tries to lift himself up; but the peg busted
and he landed back on the floor under two sets of heavy harness.
I got up and went weavin’ down the stable, feelin’ kinda light and airy.
I seen Wick come up from under that harness and go gallopin’ out of the
place with a horse collar around his neck and a set of tugs sailin’ out
behind, holdin’ a hame in each hand, like a man carryin’ two flags.
I fell down twice before I got outside, where I found Dirty and Wick.
Wick got a tug caught in the sidewalk and ain’t got sense enough to let
loose of the hame. There he is, yankin’ and haulin’, while Dirty is
standin’ in front of him, legs wide apart, wavin’ his hat in Wick’s face
and yellin’.
“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa, you ---- fool!”
I fell over the tug and sat down on the edge of the sidewalk. Dirty
manages to get Wick calmed down, and we looks each other over. Dirty has
got a pair of sleeves on, but no shirt. His jiggly eye does a lot of
cavortin’, as he looks at me.
“I never expected to see any of us alive,” says he.
“You don’t need to start cheerin’,” says I. “What in ---- was the
matter, Wick?”
“Ignorance!” snorts Dirty. “If I didn’t know any more natural history
than that I’d hang my head in shame, Wick. You tied him up, did yuh?
Well, by golly you ort to find out which is the head end of a elephant.
You tied him by the tail.”
“Well, I-I-I-I tut-tied him,” wails Wick. “Ends don’t mean nothin’ to
me. They both hang down. The only danged way I can tell which is which
is to give it some hay and see which end turns toward it. He didn’t kill
either one of yuh, did he?”
“Don’t give Gunga Din any credit,” says I. “If that back door hadn’t
been shut I’d be in Canada right now. Go back and make pets of them
things, if you must, but spare me from havin’ anythin’ more to do with
’em.”
We helped Wick back into the stable, stole a bottle of horse liniment
and went home to recuperate. Dirty walks like his rudder was cramped
just a little, and I’m kinda reared back to take the strain off my
shoulders, hips and ankles.
* * * * *
It was kinda late that evenin’ when me and Dirty limped up to the Mint
Hall and found Piperock assembled. Magpie is on the platform, and the
argument seems to be gettin’ warm. On the platform with him is Mrs. Wick
Smith and Miss Jasmine Greenbaum. When she sees us, she hops off the
platform, comes and leads me and Dirty up to the front of the room and
asks us to sit down.
“These two gentlemen have offered to help me in this,” says she. “They
have the interests of Piperock at heart. I know they are brave and full
of courage, and for that reason I have selected them.”
“Brave and full of courage!” snorts Yuma Yates. “Full of rheumatism,
from the way they walk.”
“I’m goin’ to remember most everythin’ I hear said here,” says Dirty.
“That’s remark number one, Yuma.”
“My list shows number one for Yuma Yates,” says I.
Magpie hitches up his belt and moves to the edge of the platform, where
he glares at me and Dirty Shirt.
“Threats are out of order,” he tells us. “Piperock is passin’ from such
things. From now onward we are promoters of brotherly love--not battle.
Heed this and save yourself trouble. We welcome both to the fold, and
thank yuh for offerin’ yore assistance to Miss Greenbaum. Sincerely
yours, Piperock Chamber of Commerce.”
“In reply to yore letter of today,” says I, “I can say that yore fold
don’t appeal to us; so am sendin’ it back by return mail. Sincerely
yours, Ike Harper and Dirty Shirt Jones. P. S. And if you don’t know
what I mean--ask us.”
Magpie glares at us for several moments and then turns to Miss Jasmine.
“Miss Greenbaum,” says he, “I told you that I was sure them two jiggers
was drunk when they offered to help yuh. Probably they’ll deny ever
sayin’ it now.”
Dirty Shirt hops to his feet.
“Magpie Simpkins, yo’re a--a--exaggeratin’ things. By golly, we said
we’d help Miss Greenbaum, and we’ll do it. Anythin’ she asks us to do is
jist the same as done. Ain’t that right, Ike?”
“Well,” says I, “I hate to have anybody doubt that I don’t know what I’m
sayin’--drunk or sober. I’m with you, Dirty.”
“I knew it,” says Miss Greenbaum. “I knew they would do it for me. It
isn’t often that I make a mistake in human nature. When I first saw
these two gentlemen, something told me that they were to be depended
upon. Mr. Harper and Mr. Jones, I thank you.”
“Yo’re welcome,” says Dirty. “You sure are awful welcome.”
“Well, now that we’ve settled that part of it, I move that we adjourn.
Tomorrow will be spent in preparin’ things. We’ve got a lot of work to
do. ‘Scenery,’ you’ll bring yore autymobile in tomorrow?”
Scenery Sims admits that he will. Scenery is a little, thin son of a
gun, with a E-string voice, and owns the only horseless vehicle in
Yaller Rock County.
“The ladies will be busy on their costumes,” says Magpie, “and there
will be much decoratin’ to be did. The time is kinda short to complete
all the details; but it is goin’ to be the biggest thing ever pulled off
in the West. Our grandchildren will be proud of us.”
“Yours won’t be,” says Dirty Shirt.
It’s kind of a mean remark, bein’ as Magpie never was married. Nobody
laughed, but those directly behind us kinda eased themselves aside out
of the line of fire.
Magpie shook his head and polished the nail of his trigger finger on his
right ear.
“We’ve got to be meek,” says he. “‘The meek shall inherit the earth.’”
“That won’t be a ---- of a lot of fun, if there ain’t nothin’ but meek
ones left,” says I.
“There’ll be a ---- of a lot of earth to divide, too,” says Dirty Shirt.
And that’s all we knew about the meetin’. I’ve got a hunch that Dirty
spoke up too quick. I told him that they’ve been arguin’ about me and
him before we got there, but he don’t care. There ain’t a chance to
steal them animals for Paradise, even if we was so inclined--which we
ain’t--so we decided to let nature take its course.
Early the next mornin’ we finds Magpie paintin’ a big sign. He ain’t
noways artistic, but readable. At the top is one word, in letters two
feet high--