“’Pears to me that th’ coyotes are gittin’ thicker every day in
Piperock,” I orates aloud.
“Yore kind applause is appreciated, Mister Harper,” sez he. “Nothin’
tickles th’ cockles of uh man’s heart like hearty appreciation of his
talents. I’m plumb grateful to yuh.”
“Oh, hello, Magpie!” sez I, sorta surprised. “I reckon yuh done scared
th’ howler away.”
Magpie bows. He rises to his six feet six, or thereabouts, and I’m
surprised at his next move. He musses up his ha’r, spits on his hands
and ambles up and down in front of th’ cabin, draggin’ first one foot
and then th’ other. He walks like uh man with th’ rheumatics and all
th’ time he’s sayin’ somethin’ like this:
“Curse yuh! Cur-r-rse yuh, Alexander Wiffletree, I’ll have me revenge.
It’s th’ papers or yore life!”
“I don’t know Alex,” sez I, “and I don’t want to know any man with uh
name like uh cross between uh de-ceased monarch and uh wagon decoration.
Where does Alex tend bar, Magpie?”
“Avaunt!” roars Magpie, and glares at me like I had jist pushed him into
uh cactus pile.
“Never saw th’ place in my life,” I states. “If you’ve jist come from
there I’d shore admire to smell what he sold yuh.”
Magpie stops millin’ and puts on his hat. He grins at me and rolls uh
smoke.
“What do yuh think of it, Ike?”
“I don’t like it,” I replies. “There’s somethin’ noble about drinkin’
hooch which produces purple snakes and li’l green devils with red hats
on but-- Magpie, if I was you I’d shore let Alex’s stuff plumb a-lone.”
“Huh!” sez Magpie. “Ike, that’s actin’.”
“Unha,” I agrees heartily. “She shore is. I’ve never seen anythin’
act like that before. I’ve beheld uh half-breed Cree full uh lemon
extract and turpentine, and I’ve seen uh half-witted Greaser lit up
with tequila and sulphuric acid cocktails; but them sights were tame
compared with what I’ve jist witnessed. I’m sorry, Magpie. Yore pore
ol’ stepfather would----”
“Ike Harper,” sez he, “yo’re locoed! I ain’t had uh drink today. I was
jist tryin’ out my e-motions. I’m goin’ to be uh actor.”
“Actors don’t have pardners, so that lets me out,” sez I, sorta
thankful like. I was afraid he was goin’ to rope me into one uh his
schemes. “I’ll hate to see yuh go, Magpie, but I feels shore you’ll
drop me uh line once in uh while. When do yuh reckon to leave?”
“I ain’t goin’ to leave.”
“Oh, I see,” sez I. “Yo’re goin’ to be uh actor but yo’re still goin’
to prospect or punch cows for uh livin’. Johnny Myers, of th’ Five Pot
outfit, was sayin’ yesterday that all he could git nowdays was bad
actors and mail-order punchers. Yuh might see him and----”
“Lissen!” sez he. “We’re goin’ to have uh show right here in Piperock.”
I starts to orate that in my opinion nobody has uh show in Piperock,
but Magpie is lookin’ me in th’ eye and I saws off on th’ humor stuff.
Magpie likes our fair city.
“It’s this way, Ike,” sez Magpie, makin’ himself comfortable against uh
lodgepole post. Magpie’s shoulder-blades jist fits uh six-inch post and
sorta lock around it. “There’s uh lady jist comes to our town yesterday,
th’ name of which is Madame Della Selva, and she proclaims that she’s
goin’ to produce uh reg’lar theater play called, ‘For th’ Love of
Annibel.’ She’s goin’ to rustle her outfit right here, and unless I’m uh
heap mistaken I’m goin’ to be th’ foreman of that Annibel outfit. She
calls it ‘home talent,’ Ike. She’s aimin’ to have it in th’ old Mint
dance hall. She reckons to build uh platform to play on, _sabe_? Tonight
she’s goin’ to have us all come down there and talk it over. She’s uh
promisin’ lookin’ filly.”
“Sounds like th’ cover of uh cigar box,” I replies. “Who is this Annibel
person?”
“She’s th’ heeroine of th’ show, Ike. Bein’ familiar with this Annibel
person, Miss Selva takes that part. Roll is what she calls it. You’ll
go with me tonight, Ike.”
He didn’t put no question mark after that last sentence and it makes me
uh heap sore. But that’s Magpie. He’s always throwin’ bricks in th’ air
and I’m th’ li’l jasper what always gits it on th’ head when she comes
down.
I ain’t no actor and I ain’t got no ambition thataway. I know such
things live and have their bein’ ’cause I’ve seen ’em in honkatonks
from Nome to th’ Mexican border and across to Butte.
Once I saw uh show in Helena. It was, unless I’m uh heap mistaken,
called “Love.” I stayed long enough to see three men get killed and
then I went out to git uh drink and took my hat and overcoat along. I
reads one time that plays have uh powerful influence on mankind. That
one shore did with me. I’ve hardly spoken to uh female person since.
I re-fused Magpie jist like I always do. Ab-solutely refused to go down
there with him. There was no reason why I should go. It didn’t interest
me none, so I said I wouldn’t go.
* * * * *
Well, when we got there, I reckon half th’ population was there. Old
Tellurium Woods was occupyin’ one of th’ front chairs and beside him
was old Judge Steele. In my opinion them two ought to be killed while
they’re happy.
Th’ old judge was wearin’ his long-tailed coat and Tellurium was
clean shaved from his upper lip to th’ back of his collar. Th’ point
of interest seemed to be uh fe-male over in th’ corner. She was bein’
close herded by Ricky Henderson, Slim Hawkins and Art Miller.
“That’s Della Selva,” states Magpie. “Come over and I’ll give yuh a
knockdown to her, Ike.”
We starts over that way but th’ fe-male beats us to it. She pushes Slim
to one side and lopes right up to me. She’s what you’d call uh light
sorrel and frisky fer her age. She shows uh right good gold prospect
when she grins, and she hooks right on to my coat.
“I’ve never met you, have I?” she asks.