NEVER AGAIN
The District Court of Geronimo County broke up like a stampede of
cattle when Ike Crittenden was placed under arrest, and in the general
scramble Angevine Thorne was seized by a band of determined men and
rushed to the Big Adobe bar. The committee on public entertainment had
set their hearts on a speech, and they would not be denied. Meanwhile
Pecos Dalhart was borne off as inexorably in the other direction by
Boone Morgan and Shepherd Kilkenny, and not until he had sworn to the
complaint and testified against Old Crit before the J. P. would they
let him go his way. First on the programme which he had mapped out for
himself was a big feed at Hung Wo's restaurant, and Charley Hung Wo
was so happy over his release that he refused to accept a cent. That
was right friendly of Charley and shows what a good fellow a Chink can
be—give him a chance. It cheered Pecos up, and after he had got a new
outfit of clothes all around and scoured the jail smell out of his skin
he began to feel like a white man again. The hot sunshine felt good
on his cheek, the wind smelled sweet, and he liked the clump of board
sidewalks beneath his feet; but at the same time he was lonely. Somehow
he did not seem to fit into this great outer world any more—there was
no place to go and nothing to do; that is, nothing but throw in with
Babe Thorne and get drunk, and even that had its disadvantages.
Lighting a cigar and wandering down the street Pecos pondered upon the
matter and finally decided to hunt up Angy and see if anything could be
done. Taking advantage of the general preoccupation he managed to fight
his way through the crowded portals of the Big Adobe Saloon unobserved
and there, surrounded by the heaving multitude, he stopped to listen. A
committee of citizens had just presented Colonel Thorne with the keys
of the town, appended to which as a further token of regard was a drink
check on the Big Adobe—good for life. Mr. Thorne had evidently taken a
few of the drinks already and mellowed to the mood of his admirers; for
when Pecos arrived he was midway in a flamboyant speech of declination.
"No, gentlemen," he was saying, "much as I appreciate the honor
conferred upon me by your kind invitation, I can never accept the
nomination for such an office. What, shall men say in times to come
that Angevine Thorne, after freeing his friend from the clutches of
the law, turned traitor to the common people and became the district
attorney? Never! Nay, if I were prosecuting attorney I would prosecute
the judge and the jury, the rich corporations and cattle kings, and
all who make the law a scourge for the poor and lowly. Never, never,
never, shall the word go forth—"
That was enough for Pecos—he saw that he was not needed. True, he had
promised Angy a drink from which Geronimo should date time, but the
citizens' committee had taken all that off his hands. Pulling his
hat down over his eyes he struggled out into the deserted street and
looked around like a lost dog—then with a sigh he turned and made his
way back to the jail. It was the only home he had now. On one shoulder
he bore a box of apples—a last gift for the boys inside—and as he
stepped in through the sliding doors and saw them come swarming out
from their cells to greet him he regarded them almost with affection.
For six months he had been alcalde in that jail, laying down the law
with fist and strap, and now he must resign. As his sheriff attended
to the distribution of the fruit Pecos stepped into his little cell,
shoved the worn Bible into his pocket and got his strap; then, after
a hurried word with Boone Morgan through the bars, he mounted on the
alcalde's chair and addressed them.
"Boys," he said, "luck come my way and I'm goin' to leave you. You'll
have to have a new alcalde now and I only ask one thing before I go.
They're goin' to throw a big, tall, hump-backed dastard in here pretty
soon. He's only got one eye, but he's got lots of money and I want
you to kangaroo him to the limit, and give him _this_ for contempt of
court!" He raised the broad strap in the air. "Will you do it?" he
yelled, and when they answered with a roar he hurled it into their
midst.
"All right then; fight for it, you tarriers!" he shouted, "_and the one
that gits it is alcalde_!"
They fought, and when it was over Pecos Dalhart stepped out of jail, a
free man. It is a fine thing to be free, but freedom carries with it
certain obligations, one of which is to keep out of jail. Pecos glanced
into the jag-cell in passing and decided not to get drunk, at any
rate. Then he went down to the office with Boone Morgan.
"Well, Pecos," said that genial official, shaking out a bunch of keys,
"you might as well take your property envelope and what money you got
left—unless you expect to be back soon," he hinted. "By the way, what
you goin' to do after you sober up?"
"Well, I dunno," said Pecos, scratching his head. "I could go back up
on the Verde, now Old Crit's in jail, and burn them Spectacle cows he
stole off of me back into a Hock-sign—two bars and another circle would
make a three-ball sign, all right—but I've quit that line of business.
Look at Crit!"
"Oh!" grunted the sheriff, "think you'll quit rustlin', eh? But say,
how come you ain't drunk already? I had a little business I wanted to
talk over with you, but I thought I'd better wait till you blew off."
"Nope, no more booze for me!" declared Pecos virtuously. "You fellers
never git me in _here_ no more. You come so dam' near sendin' me to
Yuma for somethin' I never done that I'm goin' to be mighty careful
what I _do_!" He paused and gazed sombrely out of the window and a new
courage—the courage of clean clothes and freedom—drew him on to speak.
"This is a hell of a thing you call the law," he observed, "now ain't
it? How much of a show does a poor man git in your courts with Shepherd
Kilkenny ravin' for his life? I'm goin' to git on a good horse and
ride, and ride, and ride, until I git away from that dastard; that's
what I'm goin' to do!"
The sheriff had laid out the familiar property envelope and was
twirling the combination of his safe, but at this last outburst he
stopped short.
"You'll do nothing of the kind," he said shortly. "I been tryin' for
two years to get Ike Crittenden for stealing cows, and I want you to
stay in Geronimo County until we get him _cinched_! Are you goin' to do
it?"
For an instant Pecos met his eye defiantly; then the memory of other
cows that he _had_ stolen rose up in his mind and he nodded his head.
"Sure!" he said, "I'll be your star witness."
"All right then," grumbled the sheriff, turning morosely away from his
safe, "but bein' as you seem to be making medicine against the law
again I jest want to ask you a few questions. You say the law is a hell
of a thing—and it is; I admit it. And the poor man don't have no show
against it—that's a fact, too. But here's what I want to know—what you
goin' to do about it? How long do you think it will take to change
the law so a poor man will have an even break with a rich one, the
way things are goin'? 'Bout a thousand years, hey? Well, I call that
conservative. But say, do you expect to live that long? No? Think you
can hurry it up any by buckin' against the law? Well, what you goin' to
do about it—spend your time in jail?"
"Well, it ain't right," muttered Pecos, "that's all I got to say. Jest
look at your dam' law!" he cried, the memory of his wrongs getting the
better of him; "look at _me_! Kep' six months in jail before I could
git a trial—d' you call that right?"
"Nope," said Boone Morgan calmly, "but what you goin' to do about it?
I mean _you_, now! D' you think you can mend matters any by gettin'
thrown into jail? I got my eye on you, and that's just where you'll
land. Sure, the law is rotten, but what you goin' to _do_ about it?"
The coldblooded insistence of the man jangled on Pecos's nerves and
made him pass it back.
"Well, what _can_ a feller do?" he demanded savagely.
"Keep out of trouble—don't break the law—that's all!" rumbled the
sheriff, fixing him with his masterful eyes. He turned slowly back to
the combination of his safe, twirling the tumblers while the wisdom of
his words went home; then he threw open the door, drew out a large
official envelope, and balanced it in his hand. "Well," he challenged,
looking Pecos in the eye, "ain't that right?"
Pecos pondered upon it a minute longer, much as he had studied on
Crit's proposition that it is no crime to rob a thief, and right there
the cause of the revolution lost another fervent disciple.
"By God, Boone," he said, "I believe you're right!"
"W'y, of course I'm right!" cried Morgan, slapping him jovially on the
back; "and there's a thousand dollars to prove it!"
He tore open the official envelope and thrust a sheaf of bills into the
astonished cowboy's hands.
"Money talks," he observed sententiously, "only there're some people
have such a roarin' in the ears they can't hear it. This roll of
velvet is what's left from the tax sale of those Monkey-wrench cows I
seized, and it says that you are a capitalist, with all the errors and
prejudices of your class. Just put that into cows now, and look after
'em, and you'll forget all about the revolution."
"Hell's fire!" ejaculated Pecos, shutting down on the money. "You don't
mean to say this is all mine?"
"That's right. I tried to give it to you last Fall, up there at Verde
Crossing, but you heard the wind in your ears, clean to New Mexico.
Guess your conscience was kind of troublin' you, hey?"
"Umm," answered Pecos absently. He was studying on how to spend his
money. For several minutes he sat thumbing over the new bills and
gazing out into the twilight; then he jammed them deep into his pocket
and started for the door.
"Hey! Where you goin'?" shouted Boone Morgan, as he clattered down the
steps. "Come back here and get this property envelope! You must've had
an idee," he ventured, as Pecos reappeared.
"Yep," said Pecos, "an' a good one." He dumped the contents of his
envelope on top of the desk and regarded the articles fixedly. There,
sparkling brightly as when he first bought it, was the eighteen-carat,
solitaire-diamond engagement-ring.
"That ought to come in pretty handy now," suggested the sheriff,
pointing to it with the butt of his cigar.
"Nope," replied Pecos noncommittally, "too late now."
"That's bad," commented Boone Morgan sociably. "Mighty pretty girl,
too. All off, hey?"
Pecos looked him over carefully, grunted, and started for the door.
It would be difficult to tell just how it happened so, but as Pecos
Dalhart, with a firm resolve in his heart, dashed down the steps once
more, his eye caught a darker shadow in the dusky corner of the jail
and he stopped dead in his tracks. Then as his vision became adjusted
to the twilight he walked slowly over toward the corner, where a
woman's figure was crouched against the wall. It was Marcelina, worn,
draggled, and tear-stained, and as she gazed up at him from beneath her
tangled hair his heart stopped in its beat.
"Ah, Paycos," she murmured brokenly, "where can I go? The seesters
lock me up in hi-igh room, for run away to see you. Two day I cry
_todo-tiempo_ because you no have ears—then I jump out of window to
breeng them. Now I can not go home. An', Paycos," she rose up suddenly
and moved toward him, "I am 'fraid! I am 'fraid Ol' Creet will catch
me!"
"Crit nothin'!" said Pecos scornfully. "Come on over here—what's the
matter with you?" He gathered her into his arms and held her close a
minute.
"You ain't scairt now, are you?" he inquired tenderly.
"A-ah, no!" sighed Marcelina, nestling against his breast.
"Well, gimme that kiss, then," said Pecos.
There were no wedding bells at Pecos Dalhart's marriage—that takes too
much time—but the county clerk gave him a license right away, Boone
Morgan went along for a witness, and the J. P. did the rest. It was
the same J. P. who had held Pecos for cattle-rustling, but what of
that? Upon such an occasion the past is forgotten and we care little
what hand it is that confers our greatest happiness. Pecos pressed a
ten-dollar bill into the guilt-stained palm of the magistrate and then,
while his roll was out, he peeled off another bill and handed it to
Boone Morgan.
"Give that to Angy when he comes to," he said, "and tell 'im to hunt
me up. Don't know where we'll live yet, but it wouldn't be like home
without old Babe—would it, Marcelina?"
"Ah, Paycos," breathed Marcelina, gazing up at him with adoring eyes,
"you are such a _goo-ood_ man!"
The rustler glanced doubtfully over his shoulder at Boone Morgan,
grinned, and passed out into the starlit night.
"All right, Chiquita," he said. "You got a monopoly on that idee—but
whatever you say, goes!"
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| Transcriber's note: |
| |
| Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. |
| |
| Word combinations that appeared with and without hyphens were |
| changed to the predominant form if it could be determined, or to |
| the hyphenated form if it could not. |
| |
| Mid-paragraph illustrations have been moved between paragraphs |
| and some illustrations have been moved closer to the text that |
| references them. The paginations in the list of Illustrations |
| were adjusted accordingly. |
| |
| Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant |
| form was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed. |
| |
| Corrections in the spelling of names were made when those could |
| be verified. Otherwise the variations were left as they were. |
| |
| Other corrections: |
| Page 51: slahsh changed to slash. |
| Page 71: ailes changed to bailes (open house day and night, |
| _fistas_ and _bailes_). |
| Page 284: plead changed to pled (the petty criminals pled guilty).|
| |
| Variation unchanged: |
| Joe Garcia and José Garcia. |
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