“That dress was about seven feet too wide for me, Hen, and Muley had to
be her.”
“Were you joking about your wife?” asks Molly, shaking her finger at
Chuck.
“Well,” says Chuck weak-like, “let your judgment be your guide.”
“Now,” says auntie, “I want to see that wonderful child.”
“Child,” parrots Chuck. “Oh, ye-e-e-e-s, the child. Uh—uh——”
“Coming up,” says Ricky soft-like, pointing at the door to the kitchen.
Chuck wets his lips and rubs his hand across his face. I don’t blame
him.
Standing there in the door, sucking at the top of a battered molasses
can, is a dirty little Injun kid about three years old. Right then I
remembers old Two-Sleeps’s words, “_Tenas tsolo._” He meant “Lost kid.”
Them snake-hunters have kidnapped his papoose.
“How—how old is—uh—it?” asks uncle foolish-like.
“Th-three mum-months,” breaths Chuck.
“By gad, they mature young!”
“Uh-huh,” grunts Chuck, wiggling his ears real fast. “Don’t you think he
looks like her mother?”
“Haw! Haw! Haw!” roars Ricky. “Don’t he look——”
But I kicks him on the ankle and rushes him outside.
“Ain’t you got a lick of sense?” I inquires. “Muley looks about as much
like a female as a humming-bird looks like an elephant. That was one
fine idea, swiping that Injun kid.”
“Aw, that’s nothing, Hen. Old Two-Sleeps has so many kids that he won’t
miss this one for a week. Seen anything of Telescope?”
“Soused in Paradise.”
“Muley got three bird-shot in his knee when we swiped that dress. Of
course we had to stop and sing a song, and some fool at the Seven A
dusted us with a shotgun. It was a cinch to swipe that kid.”
I don’t say a word, but just the same I wonders how Ricky’s patent
leather hair is going to look hanging up in a teepee.
Then uncle comes out and pilgrims down to us.
“By gad, I like this place of James’s,” says he. “Like to own one like
it.”
“Maybe you could buy it,” says I.
“Yes, I might. James has offered to sell me half interest.”
“Half?” I gasps, and then me and Ricky gawps at each other.
“Yes, sir, and at a bargain, too. By the way, you mentioned something
about the Indians being on the war-path.”
“War-path?” says Ricky. “Injuns?”
“Uh-huh,” says I. “Two-Sleeps went past us like a bat out of —— and
yells, ‘_Tenas tsolo!_’”
Ricky _sabes_ Chinook. He revolves the statement over in his mind and
blinks his eyes fast.
“By the way,” says uncle, “is it—er—true that James’s wife is—er—a bit
touched in the head?”
“Bit!” snorts Ricky. “She’s crazy as a shepherd. Her heart is all right,
but she sure is rickety on top.”
“Don’t you think she’s sweet?” I asks.
“Well,” says uncle slow-like, “I am not a corner sewer so I’d hate to
answer. Anyway I believe in letting every one have their own opinions.”
“Neither do I,” says Ricky, and just then Chuck and the two women come
out of the house.
“We are going to look around the farm,” says Cousin Molly.
“Ex-cuse me,” says I. “I’ve got work to do.”
“I do not think we need the services of the hired help,” says auntie
haughty-like.
Ricky thinks he’s smart. He makes a motion like he was throwing a rope,
stoops over, makes a few more motions and then throws up one hand. Chuck
grabs out his watch, snaps it back into his pocket and wiggles his ears.
“A world’s record!” he gasps. “One second flat.”
He meant I had been roped and hog-tied in one second.
“Gracious!” exclaims auntie. “What does that mean, James?”
“That?” gulps Chuck. “Why that’s the—uh—sympathy sign of the Sacred
order of Slingers. Henry is the High Priest of the Hemp-Handlers.”
I takes off my hat to Chuck with four fingers outspread and the thumb to
the rear, and then I wanders back toward the house, where Hop Louey the
Chink cook is watching the sight-seeing bunch.
“Where them folks come flum?” he asks.
“I don’t know, Hop.”
“How long stay?”
“Maybe all Summer.”
“Goo’-by!”
Hop wipes his face on his sleeve.
“No good. Too much flemale, you _sabe_? I no cook fo’ flemale—too much
kick. Maybe I go San Flancisco—goo’-by.”
“I guess you won’t!” snaps a voice behind us, and we turns to see Muley.
For once in his life that Oriental shows emotion. He stares at Muley for
a moment and then starts backing away. His lower jaw seems to joggle
every time his heels hit the ground, and as soon as he figures he’s got
a chance he whirls and runs, with Muley right behind him.
Muley is handicapped by that skirt, but I figures that Hop is too blamed
shocked to make it a long race. They went right through the inspection
party at the corner of the corral and off into the mesquite like a Great
Dane chasing a cotton-tail.
It sure was some shock to the sightseers. They seems to talk it over a
bit, and then uncle strides up to me.
“Has she had a turn for the worse?” he asks.
I starts to say something when here comes Muley. He’s got his hand
wrapped in the slack of Hop’s panties and is packing him like he was a
valise. He stands Hop on the porch and gives him a shove.
“Inside!” he roars. “You —— fool, we’ve got company!”
Hop didn’t argue. His pigtail don’t no more than disappear when we hears
him whanging tinware to beat four of a kind. I can see Chuck talking
with both hands, while Ricky leans against the corral fence and seems to
nurse cramps in his stummick.
* * * * *
I’ve had about enough. When they comes my way I circles the herd and
climbs to safety on the top pole of the corral. I sure feels sorry for
the little feller with the lantern.
I’ve been there long enough to smoke two cigarets when here comes uncle.
He’s got a black eye, and the rest of his face registers revolution.
“Did you see where he went?” he asks, peering up at me.
“Did he have a lantern?” I asks.
“Lantern?”
Uncle rubs his eye.
“He—he did not.”
“To me you are speaking of which?” I asks.
“That Henderson person. I—I apprehended him in the act of hugging
James’s wife!”
“My——!” says I. “He must be crazy.”
“Crazy? By gad, I think the whole country is crazy. I told James about
it and he actually grew hysterical. I pointed out the enormity of it
all, and he cried—actually cried, by gad!”
“And then he busted you in the eye?”
“James? No, the—I could see that James’s nerves were in no condition to
uphold the honor of the family; so I took it upon myself. I went to this
Henderson person and I said to him—
“‘Sir, in the name of my family I demand satisfaction.’”
“He said—
“‘Sorry, but we haven’t any today.’
“I said—
“‘You have offered an insult to my brother, and I resent it.’”
“Then you had a fight?”
“I said to him, ‘Only blows can wipe out the stain,’ and he said,
‘Uncle, I’m sorry, but if you insist——’
“And then he embraced me and bumped me twice in the eye. I had no chance
to retaliate, but by gad I am not yet _hors de combat_.”
“Stick with that razor-rassler and you will be, old-timer,” says I as I
watches him toddle back to the house.
There’s something familiar about that old coot, but I can’t figure out
where it is.
Then I sees Chuck sneaking around the corner of the fence. He wiggles
his ears at me, peers at the house and then climbs up to have a quiet
smoke.
“James,” says I, “you’ve rised—and put a chunk under it.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Ricky hit the old gent in the eye.”
“Yeah, with his head. The old coot wanted to fight a deathly doodle. He
caught Ricky and Muley hugging each other. Haw! Haw! Haw!
“Aw, Henry, it’s one awful mess. There’s only two beds in the house. See
what I mean? Uncle and auntie in one; Cousin Molly in the other, and no
place for Chuck and his wifie.
“Can’t sleep in the bunk-house with the riffraff. Molly says that I can
sleep with the boys.”
“Well,” says I, “it ain’t night yet. Lots of things can happen.”
“They likely will, Henry.”
“Just about what do they think of your wife and child?”
“Think? They think that my wife is loco, and they’re humoring her to
beat ——, while that blamed Piegan kid talks infant Injun to all of them.
If I had Telescope here I’d bust his wish-bone.”
“Zasso? Zasso?”
We turns and looks down at Telescope.
“Would, eh? Try it, feller. I’m a uncurried wolf and I’ve come to howl.”
I can see that he’s suffering from a doubleloaded jag. He must ’a’ got
good and full and then sobered half-way, after which he built up another
one. It’s like putting both loads in one barrel of a muzzle-loading gun.
It sort of leaves an air-space between, and when she goes off—something
busts, sure as ——.
“Aw, have a little sense,” grunts Chuck. “Get meek, feller; get meek.”
“Zasso? Zasso? You don’t shay. Well, well!”
“Aw, go soak your head!” snaps Chuck, “Crawl into a hay-stack and get
sober.”
“Zasso? Who’re you to order me round? M’ conscience hurts me. Goin’ up
to th’ house. _Sabe?_ Go ’head and stop me, feller. Got conscience,
y’betcha.”
“He’s got a conscience, Chuck,” says I. “Let him go. Somebody’s got to
spill the beans pretty soon anyway.”
Telescope nods foolish-like and weaves toward the house.
“Good night,” sighs Chuck. “Muley may as well put on his pants.”
Telescope is almost to the house when he stops.
“Look!” gasps Chuck. “My ——, he’s got the shotgun!”
Uncle steps through the door and yells at Telescope:
“Stop, Hell-Fire Jones! Stop, or I’ll fire.”
Telescope stops and rocks on his heels.
“Fire, will yuh?” he wails. “Zasso? Well, well!”
“Indeed I will, sir.”
“Good,” grunts Telescope. “Fire when ready, ’cause I may do little
shootin’ myshelf.”
Telescope was too drunk to hit anything. He saw three men and forgot to
shoot at the one in the middle. The first barrel of that shotgun tore a
hunk out of the eaves of the porch, and the next one pattered shot on
the bunk-house window.
Telescope’s first shot went through the kitchen stove-pipe and the next
one busted a window in the kitchen. I seen Hop Louey go out of the back
door with the slack of his pants in one hand and a fry-pan in the other,
while Telescope took his gun in both hands and shot four holes in the
ground between him and the porch.
“Zasso?” he yelps when his gun is empty. “Goin’ to fire, eh? How do you
like it as far as you’ve gone, eh?”
Just then Muley walks out to the door, leading that dirty-faced Injun
kid by the hand. They walks up in front of Telescope and stops.
“Look out, Clarice!” howls uncle. “That’s Hell-Fire!”
Telescope seems to swaller hard, and then shakes his head.
“Tha’s all right,” says he. “Tha’s all right. Gawd knows I’ll welcome
pro’bishun with open arms. Oh, I cer’ly will, believe me.”
“I am Mrs. James Valiant Tolliver, and this is little Alicia,” states
Muley.
“Oh, tha’s all right,” says Telescope. “Per-fec-lee all right. I’m goin’
to try and get out before anybody sees me, ma’am. Had nice time at your
party, and I wish thee a fond fare-thee-well. _Adios, klahowya_ and
so-long.”
Telescope turns and walks like a man asleep. He goes right down to the
horsetrough, where he tries to get a drink. It’s perfectly all right for
a man to lean over and drink out of a trough—if he’s a contortionist,
but Telescope wasn’t.
We fished him out and put him on his bronc.
“You ought to quit drinking,” says Chuck sad-like.
“Zasso?” splutters Telescope. “Your advice came too late, feller. I quit
jus’ before the boat went down.”
* * * * *
Then cometh auntie. It’s a cinch she’s got something on her mind. “I
won’t stand for it another minute!” she wails. “Such goings-on I’ve
never seen before, James. That friend of yours hit your uncle in the eye
when he accused him of kissing Clarice, and now this unmentionable Jones
person fires upon us. It is awful!”
Auntie stands there and pants with indignation.
“James, I fear you did not tell us all in your letters.”
“Well,” says Chuck, wiggling his ears, “you’re entitled to your own
opinions, but I’d say that you’ve been told too —— much.”
“James,” says she severely, “how old is little Alicia?”
“Old? Th-three or four months, I reckon.
“You reckon, do you? She has all of her teeth.”
“Yes’m,” weakly. “She’s a careful child.”
“James, you are lying to me. That child is at least three years old.”
“Yes’m.”
“How long have you been married?”
“Three or fuf-four months.”
“Great Heavens! James!”
“Honestly,” says Chuck, wiggling his ears.
“Honestly! Oh, this is awful!” and auntie fades back toward the house.
“Chuck,” says I, “you’ll have to admit that you got your dates mixed
that time.”
“Temporarily,” admits Chuck. “I’m going to need your help, Henry.”
“You won’t get it. I’m going to town. _Sabe?_ Telescope is my beloved
friend and all the trimmings, but I still got too much respect for my
immortal soul to put it in hock forever.”
“Aw-w-w-w! Ricky quit me, and now you renegs. He said he was willing to
do anything for Telescope’s sake, but said he can’t forget the
emery-dust and the kerosene.
“Well, go on. I’ve still got a wife and a child, and duty makes me
stay.”
He flops his arms resigned-like, and watches me fade toward town.
I finds Telescope draped over a bar, trying to tell something to Jay
Bird Whittaker, who ain’t supposed to be there at all.
“Henry,” says Jay Bird soft-like, “what is Telescope talking about?”
“I don’t read minds in the daytime,” says I. “I was educated in a night
school.”
“He’s begged my pardon ten times,” wonders Jay Bird, “and his wau-wau is
so mixed that I can’t find out why. Where’s Muley?”
“I don’t know. He ain’t been himself since you left.”
“Ain’t, eh? Where’s Chuck?”
“Oh, he’s lying around some place.”
“That’s a cinch. What have you done since I left?”
“Me? Huh, I—I been watching that branding-iron.”
Jay Bird takes a deep breath and gets tears in his eyes. He sure does
appreciate things.
“Thanks, Henry,” says he. “You sure look after my interests.”
“Ain’t you back sooner than you expected?”
“How long do yuh think I want to stay in the wicked city? Believe me,
Henry, I get back as soon as possible; back to the open country, where
men’s souls are clean and their hearts are pure. Yeah? Back to honest
men—men you can trust. I hope you ain’t forgot where you hid that
branding-iron.”
“Going out to the ranch?”
“Just as soon as I can hitch up.”
I grabbed my bronc and got away ahead of him. I figures to tell Chuck
and Muley and let them use their own judgment, but my bronc hits a
gopher-hole when I’m cutting corners and I has to lead it the last mile.
I went into the back door just as Jay Bird drives up in front. The whole
gang is in there, and I hears Chuck gasp:
“Holy henhawks! Here comes Jay Bird. Get ready to sing.”
“Sing?” says auntie. “Sing what?”
“Anything, anything!” groans Chuck. “Music hath charms to soothe the
savage beast.”
“Is—is he savage?” asks uncle, leaning over toward that shotgun.
“Worst yuh ever seen,” whispers Chuck. “Don’t even think of a gun.”
Jay Bird stamps up on to the porch and pokes inside the door, where he
stares at the assemblage. Jay Bird ain’t much older than the rest of the
Cross J outfit, but he’s fiercer-looking by several fierces.
From uncle’s throat comes, soft and low— “The-e-e-e sun shines bright on
my o-o-o-old Ken-tuck-e-e-e-e-e ho-o-o-o-o-me.”
“I’m co-o-o-o-o-o-ming, I’m co-o-o-o-o-m-ming, and my head is bending
lo-o-o-o-o-w,” wails auntie with her nose in the air.
“I am no-o-o-o-o-o bod-e-e-e-e-e’s dar-r-r-r-r-r-ling, nobody cahares
for me-e-e-e-e-e,” adds Chuck sad and low, hanging on to the notes like
a hungry pup to a dish-rag.
Jay Bird stares at everybody and then scratches his head.
“We-e-e-e-e-p no more my lady,” wails uncle, hooking his immortal soul
on to them words.
“I hear the angel voices ca-a-a-a-a-lling, O-o-o-o-old Black Joe,” weeps
auntie, plumb off the tune by this time.
“Gol A’mighty!” gasps Jay Bird, wide-eyed. “Gol A’mighty, it must be me.
It’s more reasonable to reckon that I’m crazy than to think all that
bunch is.”
He looks us over again and then gets mad.
“Shut up that howling! For ——’s sake, shut up! If I’m crazy I’m crazy,
but I ain’t dead yet! Gol dingle dang——”
Then he gets a good look at Muley with the papoose on his lap.
“Go ahead and sing,” he croaks. “What the —— do I care?”
“Ay am O-o-o-olaf,” states a voice behind him, and there stands a big
_hombre_ with a taffy-colored mustache, little blue eyes and a pair of
hands that look like prize hams.
“Ay am O-o-o-olaf,” says he again.
“All right,” says Jay Bird hoarse-like. “If I’ve got to listen to a
Swede song I reckon I can. Man in my condition can stand anything.”
“Ay don’t sing—Ay fight,” announces Olaf.
“Oh,” says Jay Bird. “Bull, booze or prize?”
“Ay am fighter, you bet your life. Ay coom har to knock —— out for
somebody. My seester Hoolda say somebody say to her—
“‘Hoolda, I like for marry you.’
“Hoolda say—
“‘Sure.’
“Den Hoolda coom to marry das reiler, and he say to her:
“‘You mistake about das. Ay vish to have you, but no’ting doing mit
preachers. Ay am har to knock —— from dat man—me.’”
“Jay Bird,” says Jay Bird, “you’re crazy or asleep. Pretty soon you’ll
wake up and——”
“The redskin!” yelps uncle.
Right at the bottom of the steps stands Two-Sleeps with his war-bonnet
down over one eye and a mean look on his face. He’s been taking patent
medicine or vanilla extract until he’s flavored from stem to gudgeon,
and in his hands is an old Sharps buffalo gun. He stands there teetering
in his old moccasins with his lower jaw hanging loose.
“Ay vish to see de man Ay coom to fight,” states Olaf.
“Very peculiar,” says Jay Bird foolish-like, looking from the Injun to
the Swede and then at us. “Singers, fighters and war-whoops.”
“_Pollatch nika tenas!_” whoops Two-Sleeps, which means, “Give me my
kid.”
He shoves his war-bonnet back on his head and scowls at us.
“_Yatso tl’klope wau-wau!_”
“My ——!” breathes Chuck. “The Hair Cut told him. Dang Ricky!”
Two-Sleeps jams his bonnet down over the other eye and takes a good grip
on that gun.
“_Nika mamook memaloot!_” he whoops, which gently informs us that he’s
going to kill somebody.
“What he say?” asks Olaf. “Da Inchun.”
“He says he didn’t intend to marry Hulda,” replies Chuck.
I read once about the Vikings roaring into battle—and I believe they
did. Olaf lets it percolate into this thick head, lets out a
lung-busting yell and gallops straight for the poor Indian.
Two-Sleeps belies his name. I’ve never seen a sober Injun that had
anything on him when it comes to speed. That aborigine sure hit the back
trail, whooping his discomfort every time he hit the earth, and right
behind him comes the avenger.
They gallop straight for the bunk-house corner. I seen Olaf stoop in his
stride and pick up a wagon-spoke, and just as the Injun is about to cut
the corner Olaf sticks his heels into the dirt, raises the spoke and
lets it go.
* * * * *
It was a mighty heave. Opinions differ as to how far a human being could
throw a wagon-spoke, but I think that Olaf’s would stretch into first
place if nothing had interfered; but just then Telescope rides around
the corner humped up in the saddle, and when the Injun ducked under the
bronc the spoke hit Telescope between the bridge of his nose and the
brim of his hat.
Telescope is hit so hard that he don’t even shiver. The bronc goes into
the air, whales away at the Injun with both hind feet and then bucks
straight for Olaf.
Olaf beat them to the fence, where the bronc whirls and bucks back
toward the house, but Olaf didn’t know that. In his mind was stamped a
picture of that outfit coming at him, high and handsome, and he forgot
his sister’s honor; forgot everything except self-preservation, and
keeps right on galloping.
It took that animal about two hops and a snort to get back to us. I
threw my hat at it and hit Telescope in the face with it as he comes
over the porch-rail. The bronc took one post with him and bucks out of
sight behind the corral.
Telescope came among us on the wing, knocks uncle’s feet out from under
him and left him hanging over the railing like a blanket. Telescope came
to a full stop with his back against the wall and his mind far, far
away.
Uncle hangs there and stares at Telescope wondering-like.
“Hell-Fire!” he gasps.
“And damnation,” adds Jay Bird foolish-like.
Then he turns to us.
“Muley, you danged fool, take off that wrapper and put on your pants!
“Who in —— brought that dirty Injun kid up here?”
“Muley? Injun kid?” says auntie awed-like. “Why—why——”
“Just—wait—a—minute—please,” says uncle, taking lots of time between
words. “Who is that man?”
“Your nephew,” says I. “Telescope Tolliver. It—it was a joke.”
“Joke? I see. I have no nephew named Tolliver.”
“You—you wired him,” argues Chuck. “You said——”
“I—I sent a telegram to James B. Whittaker,” says uncle. “I——”
“Whoa!” yelps Jay Bird. “Who are you?”
“I am Robert Todd. I——”
“My uncle Bob?” squeaks Jay Bird. “Why, dog-gone——”
An hour later four cow-punchers, out of work, and a barber walked into
Abe Mason’s blacksmith shop at Paradise. Abe was putting toe-calks on a
pair of shoes, and the fire was hot.
“Abe,” says Chuck, “can we perform a little sacrifice in your fire?”
“Sacrifice?” asks Abe. “Mebby. What’s the joke?”
“No joke,” says Chuck. “Jokes are ancient history.”
“No more emery-dust or kerosene?” asks Ricky.
“Never,” says Chuck. “Now, how did it happen, Telescope?”
“Aw, I found an old letter to Jay Bird from Todd, and he said he was
figuring on coming up here, and then Paddy told me about that telegram,
and—and—you danged snake-hunters was too smart. _Sabe?_ I got Ricky to
write that letter and we framed up on the telegram. I left it mostly to
Ricky, ’cause I—I don’t know nothing about lying.”
“No,” admits Muley. “No, that’s a fact, Telescope; but may the Lord have
mercy on the rest of us if you ever learns how.”
“Give me that little bronze critter, Telescope,” says Chuck.
“It’s mine, ain’t it?” wails Telescope. “Won it fair, didn’t I?”
“Gimme that animal!” snaps Chuck. “Hand it to me, feller!”
Telescope digs it out of his pocket and hands it to Chuck, who drops it
into that forge and pumps the bellows.
“Hats off,” commands Muley. “Attention, prevaricators, and listen:
“Ashes to ashes and dust to dust,
Tell the truth always—lie if you must;
But remember this lesson, ye teller of lies,
Who strive to excel to win ye a prize;
A regular liar is nothing to fear,
’Cause every one knows he’s lying by ear;
But the _hombre_ who’s honest, upright and true,
Whose wau-wau is straight as Gospel to you,
When it comes to lying—he’s right there with bells,
Even liars will believe everything that he tells.”
And the little feller with the long nose and the lantern must ’a’
grinned to himself.
[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in Adventure Magazine,
June 3, 1920. It is believed to be in the public domain in the
United States; copyright status may differ in other countries.]