Signed M. J. HALEY.
“Holy henhawks!” explodes Windy. “He’s comin’! Hang on until I get
there! That sounds like old Mike’s voice. Betcha forty dollars he’s a
go-getter.”
“That’s tomorrow,” says Hashknife. “What’s the nearest station down the
line, Windy?”
“Kelly’s Fork. It’s about six miles, but a train don’t stop there unless
she’s flagged.”
“We’ll flag her,” says Hashknife. “We’re going to surprise some of these
wise jaspers. _Sabe?_ If we waits for him to come here, everybody will
see him, don’t yuh see? That’ll make four of us, Windy, and if this here
Haley is hard-boiled we can stand off the Bar 20 or any other
cow-stealin’ outfit.”
“Yeah, that’s a hy-iu scheme, Hashknife. We’ll just do that little
thing. Train is due along there about noon.”
There’s a lot of Bar 20 broncs at the tie-rack, and Hashknife wants to
go over and see what the owners look like, but me and Windy points out
the error of his ways and tells him that we’ve got to be intact to meet
the new owner of the Circle Dot.
“I reckon it’s right,” admits Hashknife, “but I feels that I’m bein’
hoodled out of town. I’d swap lead with all that bunch, Windy--if they
can’t shoot any straighter than they did at you.”
“That _hombre_ that bushwhacked you shot straight enough,” says I.
“Nope. He would have hit me both times.”
“Maybe he didn’t want to hit yuh.”
“Never thought of that, Sleepy. Huh! He’s a wonder at missin’, if he
didn’t.”
The next day we rides to Kelly’s Fork, and takes a saddled horse for our
new boss to ride back. We flagged the train and I’m betting that half of
the passengers thought it was a hold-up. The conductor howls like blazes
when he finds why we stopped him, but Hashknife says:
“Shucks, you ought to be glad we only want a passenger. We’ll go with
yuh.”
The conductor cusses a little more, but swings on to the coach with us
and we all pilgrims down the aisle, the conductor calling:
“M. J. Haley! M. J. Haley! M. J. Haley! Is M. J. Haley on board?”
We went through two cars before we gets a response. A tired-looking girl
takes the conductor by the sleeve and stops him. He says to her:
“Excuse me, ma’am, but I haven’t time to talk to you now. M. J. Haley!
M. J. Haley! Is M. J. Haley on board?”
“I am M. J. Haley,” says the lady. “Is--is somebody looking for me?”
“M. J. Haley?” grunts Windy. “Nun-not M. J. Huh--Haley of the Circle
Dot?”
“Yes,” says she, “from San Francisco.”
“Well, get off!” snaps the conductor. “I can’t hold this train all day.”
I grabs her valise, and we staggers down the aisle and swings to the
ground.
“Must be a mistake,” opines Windy, scratching his head. “We was lookin’
for a man named M. J. Haley.”
“A lawyer, a Mr. Winters, sent me,” says she. “I am Mary Jane Haley.”
“Well, I hope to die,” gasps Windy. “I hope to die.”
“If yuh don’t shut your mouth you’ll get your tonsils sunburnt,” says
Hashknife.
“Well, I’ll be everlastin’ly teetotally jiggered!” grunts Windy.
“Whatcha know about that? Was Mike Haley a kin of yours, miss?”
“He was my father’s brother, I believe,” says she, and I can see her
eyes laughing at Windy’s funny expression.
“Uh,” says Windy, kinda vacant-like. “Yes’m.”
“Will you take me out to the farm?” she asks.
“Farm?” says Windy, and then looks at Hashknife, whose face is serious.
Then Windy looks at her and half-nods his head.
“Yeah--oh sure. Uh-huh, but we don’t call ’em farms, ma’am. We can take
yuh out there--in fact, we came after yuh, but----”
Windy glances at her clothes and then looks at Hashknife, who shakes his
head and says:
“Yuh see ma’am, we looked for a man person, who natcherally don’t wear
skirts, and we ain’t got nothin’ but a saddle-horse and no extra pants
and--Sleepy, fer ----’s sake get in on this explanation, will yuh?
Standin’ there like a grinnin’ hyener.”
“I think I understand,” says she.
“Bless yuh for that, ma’am,” says Hashknife, wiping his brow. “That ----
Sleepy makes me sore sometimes. Oh, he talks a plenty when he ought to
keep still.”