That night Charley Prentice got as drunk as the proverbial boiled owl.
For several years Prentice had totally abstained from all liquor, but
this night he drank himself blind drunk at the Oasis and took two quarts
of whisky home with him.
It was nothing unusual for a man to get drunk in Lobo Wells, but for a
man in Charley Prentice’s position it was not quite the right thing.
Harry Cole had tried to dissuade him, but he refused to accept advice.
“You don’t want that stuff, Charley,” said Cole. “You can’t afford to
fill yore skin with hard liquor.”
“Lemme alone,” said Charley owlishly. “My business.”
And Amos Baggs, not at all a teetotaller, looked with disfavour upon
Charley. He had a few drinks with Charley, arguing against it all the
time, but Charley was too drunk to care what Amos thought.
After Charley staggered away with his two bottles, Amos conferred with
Harry.
“That’s all wrong,” said Amos. “He’s been sober and clear-minded for a
long time. And you know Charley. What’s wrong with him, Harry?”
“Scared,” said Cole softly. “He’s scared of Len Ayres. I’ve always told
yuh that Prentice is a damn yellow pup, Amos. Drinkin’ to hide the
yellow. He kept talkin’ to me, just when he starts to drink this
evenin’, and he kept wonderin’ why Len came back. I told him to forget
it. Damn him, he snivels when he gets drunk. Scared of his shadder.”
“You don’t think he’d do anythin’ foolish, do yuh, Harry?”
“Nothin’ more than get drunk. To-morrow is Sunday, so he can sober
up--if he wants to. But he took two quarts with him; so it don’t look so
good.”
“I had a run-in with Len,” said Amos. He had imbibed enough to expand a
little. “He started in to talk smart to me, but he didn’t get far with
it. He’s got it in for both of us, Harry. Let’s have a drink.”
They turned to the bar.
“I was talkin’ to Ben Dillon to-day,” said Cole. “He said that the Wells
Fargo people evidently think Len came back here to dig up the money he
stole from them.”
“He told me about it,” nodded Amos, filling his glass to the brim. It
was not often that he bought a drink. “Said he told them to put their
own detective on the job. Harry, I’m of the candid opinion that Ben is
about as much of a sheriff as you were.”
“I wasn’t so bad,” laughed Cole.
“No, you were all right, Harry. I’d like to see you in office again.”
“Not me. Oh, I had enough of it. Well, here’s regards.”
But Charley Prentice did not sober up the next day. Amos went out to see
him, intending to read him a temperance lesson, but Charley was
stretched out on a couch, soggy drunk. Minnie, the Indian woman, who did
the cooking and housework, was on the porch with the little boy, who was
a miniature edition of Len Ayres.
“Charley Prentice drunk,” said the squaw, explaining the whole thing in
three words.
“How are you, Larry?” asked the lawyer.
“Aw right,” replied the boy. “I’ve been talking to Minnie about my other
dad, but she don’t do much, except grunt. What do you know about him,
Mr. Baggs?”
“Why, I don’t know, Larry,” said Baggs thoughtfully.
“Yes, you do know. All the kids know about him.”
“What did they tell you?”
“They said he’d been in prison for stealing money.”
“Mm-m-m-m--well, that’s about the size of it, Larry.”
“But he’s my dad, ain’t he?”
“Yes, I guess he is. But Charley Prentice is your dad now.”
“How do you figure that out? How many dads can a feller have, anyway?”
Baggs took great pains to explain to Larry just how it happened that his
name was Prentice. The boy listened.
“Aw right,” he said defiantly. “Then my name ain’t Prentice, it’s Ayres.
Len Ayres is my father.”
“Yes, that’s true, Larry. After he was sent to prison, your mother
married Charley Prentice. You were two years old at that time. But
wouldn’t you rather have a father who is cashier of a bank than to have
one just out of prison?”
“Can I take my pick?”
Baggs laughed softly. “I suppose you can, Larry. Mr. Prentice has been
mighty good to you, young fellow, and you will be very wise to stay with
him. If you want my advice----”
“You said I could take my pick,” reminded the boy quickly.
“You listen to me, young man.” Baggs’s voice assumed authority. “You are
just at the age when you need some one capable of looking after your
welfare. You are not old enough to judge for yourself. Charley Prentice
can do this; Ayres can’t. For all you know, he may be back in prison
within a month, and then you would be a county charge. Know what that
means? No, of course not. Well, you stick to Charley Prentice.”
Baggs adjusted his hat and walked away, leaving the boy looking after
him with troubled eyes.
“What’s a county charge, Minnie?” he asked
“Dunno,” grunted the squaw.
“You don’t know much, do you, Minnie?”
“Know I don’t like Baggs.”
“Gee, I feel the same way about it. I wish I could talk with Len Ayres,
Minnie. He wears blue shirts and red handkerchiefs. I seen him the other
day, but he didn’t see me. What do you suppose Mr. Baggs meant about him
maybe goin’ back to prison in a month?”
“Maybe,” grunted Minnie. “He don’t say sure.”
“Uh-huh. I guess maybe I’ll have to see him.”
“I guess I go make pie. You go play with kids.”
“Don’t want to play with kids. I want to be a cowpuncher, Minnie.”
“Go ahead,” grunted Minnie. “Good job.”
Larry wandered away. He didn’t want to play with the other boys; so he
wended his way down to the sheriff’s office, where he found Breezy Hill,
the deputy. Breezy was long-faced, bony of face and body, with bushy
eyebrows and a shock of sandy hair, which stood up like the roach on a
grizzly bear. One side of his face bulged with a huge chew of tobacco
most of the time.
“Hyah, Larry!” he called, when the boy stopped in the doorway.
“Hyah,” grinned Larry. “Whatcha doin’?”
“Meditatin’ on my sins,” seriously.
“What’s a sin?”
“A sin?” Breezy spat thoughtfully, and Larry came in beside the desk.
“That’s kinda hard to answer, Larry. But it ’pears to me that a sin is
somethin’ we all want to commit, but we’re scared of what folks will
say.”
“Would folks say somethin’?”
“Would they?” explosively. “Good gosh. I’ll say they would! I’d almost
bet that ninety per cent. of the conversation of folks deal with the
sins of somebody else. You know what I mean? They talk about the wrong
things somebody else has done.”
“Like that talk about my dad?”
Breezy blinked thoughtfully for a few moments. “Yeah,” softly. “I
reckon. You don’t remember him, do yuh?”
“Does that make any difference, Breezy?”
“Yo’re a queer little cuss, Larry. What do yuh mean?”
“He remembers me, don’t he?”
“Well, if he don’t!”
“Mr. Baggs says I must stay with Mr. Prentice, or I’ll be a charge on
the county.”
“Amos Baggs said that, eh? You ain’t payin’ him for advice, are yuh,
Larry? Yuh know a lawyer charges to tell folks what to do.”
“I didn’t pay him nothin’.”
“That’s the stuff! Don’t pay him anythin’. If he makes a yelp, you send
him to me. I’ll bend a gun over his head.”
Larry stared at Breezy for a moment, wide-eyed.
“Wouldn’t that be a sin, Breezy?”
“Ord’narily it is, Larry; but when yuh pick the right person, it’s a
favour to the rest of the world How’s yore--how’s Mr. Prentice to-day?”
“Drunk.”
“Yea-a-ah? Gosh, that’s somethin’ new.”
“I never seen him drunk before.”
“Huh!” Breezy masticated rapidly. He knew that Prentice had not been
drunk for a long time, and he wondered why the cashier of the Lobo Wells
Bank had fallen off the water wagon.
A man stepped off a horse at the little hitchrack in front of the
office and came to the doorway. It was Len Ayres. Little Larry’s eyes
were as big as quarters.
“Hyah, Len,” said Breezy pleasantly. “Whatcha know?”
“Nothin’ much, Breezy.”
Len came in, his spur chains jingling, looked sharply at the boy, and
then at Breezy. It was the first time he had seen his son in over five
years.
“Don’tcha recognise this young feller, Len?” asked Breezy.
Father and son looked at each other steadily. The boy was backed against
the side of the desk, and it seemed as though he had stopped breathing.
“Yeah, I believe I do,” said Len slowly, and then held out his hand.
“Hello, little pardner.”
Shyly the boy shook hands with him, swallowing heavily.
“Mighty nice kid,” said Breezy huskily. “Me and him have become good
friends, Len. He’s smart.”
Len nodded slowly, his eyes on the boy.
“How are yuh, Larry?” he asked.
“I’m--I’m fine.”
“That’s great, Larry; you shore look good.”
“Looks jist like you, Len,” said Breezy.
For several moments none of them spoke.
Then the boy said: “My name ain’t Prentice; it’s Ayres.”
Len lifted his head and looked at Breezy.
“Mr. Baggs said I could have my choice,” continued the boy, “but he said
if I didn’t stay with Mr. Prentice I’d be a charge on the county.”
Len winced, but the muscles of his lean jaws tightened. “Mr. Baggs said
that, did he, Larry?”
“Just a while ago. He came out to see da--Mr. Prentice.”
“Oh, yeah. And what did Mr. Prentice say about it?”
“He didn’t say, because he was drunk and asleep.”
“Drunk?” Len looked questioningly at Breezy.
“Somethin’ new,” said Breezy quickly. “First time he’s been drunk in
years, Len. The kid never seen him drunk before.”
“No, I never did,” supplemented Larry. “First time. He’s got two bottles
with him.”
“And Mr. Baggs came out to see him, eh?”
“Oh, yes. He comes out there every little while. They’re good friends.”
Len nodded slowly.
“Do yuh go to school, Larry?” he asked.
“Yes; this was my second term. I’m in the second grade.”
“Gee, that’s fine. You don’t remember me, do yuh, Larry? No, of course
yuh couldn’t.”
“I don’t remember you. Nobody ever told me about you, until the kids
did.”
“What kids?”
“Oh, the kids I play with. They said they heard about you at home.”
“Oh, I see--heard about me at home. I’m sorry, Larry.”
“Sorry I heard about you?”
“Sorry for _what_ you heard about me.”
“It’s all right now, ain’t it? It was just a sin. Breezy says that sin
is somethin’ we all want to do, but we’re scared what folks will say
about us. You wasn’t scared, I guess.”
Len’s mouth sagged a little. Perhaps he never expected to hear this from
the mouth of a little boy. He glanced sharply at Breezy, who seemed to
be choking over his tobacco.
“No,” said Len softly, “I reckon I wasn’t scared, Larry, and I’m glad
that you think it’s all right now. I don’t know of anybody I’d rather
have feel thataway.”
“That’s fine,” said Larry. “The kids say you’ve got pots and pots of
money buried somewhere, and you came back to dig it up.”
Len blinked rapidly, shook his head at Breezy, and walked back to the
doorway, where he looked out at the street.
Larry walked over to him and touched his hand.
“You ain’t mad, are you?” he asked.
Len turned impulsively and took the earnest little face between his two
big hands.
“No, I’m not mad, little pardner. I reckon I’ve got to stand for what
folks say. It’s all right. Just don’t believe everythin’ yuh hear,
’cause it ain’t all true. When the devil paints some of us, he kinda
leaves the colours to folks’ imagination, and some of ’em pick strong
colours.”
“Did the devil paint you?”
“Yeah, I reckon he did, Larry.”
“You don’t look it.”
“That’s fine. It shows that you are my friend, Larry.”
“Don’t friends see those colours?”
“They wouldn’t be friends if they did, Larry.”
“Uh-huh. Well,” Larry sighed, “I suppose I better go home. Minnie will
have dinner ready, and she’ll be callin’ me.”
“All right, pardner; I’ll see yuh later.”
They shook hands, and Larry went up the street, looking back at his
father.
“Can yuh beat that, Len?” said Breezy, coming to the door to watch the
boy out of sight.
“No, yuh can’t, Breezy. That kid is deep, I tell yuh. There’s a lot of
stuff in his little head. But it don’t seem like he’s my kid. He was
such a little geezer when I went away, and now he talks like a man.
Breezy”--Len lifted his chin, the lines of his face tightening
quickly--“I want that boy. I didn’t never think much about it since I
came back. Seems that he’d growed away from me, but right now I want
him. He’s a man’s boy, that little feller. But when yuh come right down
to cases, I ain’t got no right to him; not with my reputation.”
“The law can’t stop yuh, Len. Charley Prentice never adopted him. He’s
yore son.”
“Oh, I know that, Breezy. He’s only seven, and he don’t savvy what his
dad--don’t savvy my reputation. After a while he’ll realise what it all
means, and then mebbe he won’t have no respect for me.”
“That kid,” declared Breezy warmly, “won’t never go back on yuh, Len.”
“Shore nice of yuh to say that, Breezy. Mebbe yo’re right, but it’s a
chance. What do yuh think of Prentice gettin’ drunk?”
“I dunno. Ain’t no crime, unless yuh go too far. A feller in his
position hadn’t ort to drink much. But I reckon it’s his business. Lord
knows, Prentice is old enough to know what he wants. How’s things at the
Box S? What about that girl?”
Len shook his head, and a smile creased his lips.
“Who knows, Breezy? She don’t know a thing about the job. But she’s
willin’ to admit it. Whisperin’ and Sailor are already quarrellin’ over
her. But that’s nothin’ new; they quarrel over religion, politics, love
and war. Whisperin’ is nice to the girl, and Sailor swears Whisperin’s
in love with her. Neither of them realise that they are growing old.
Sailor won’t have nothin’ to do with her.”
“I suppose she laughs at both of ’em, eh?”
“No, I don’t think so, Breezy. She ain’t that kind.”
“City girl, eh?”
“Oh, shore. She’s made me foreman. Said Baggs advised it.”
“Holy gosh! Baggs advised--oh, no, Len!”
“Well, she says he did.”
“What do yuh suppose struck him?”
“His ears burned, I reckon.”
Breezy thought it over for a moment, and laughed. “Yuh mean that
somebody was talkin’ about him?”
“He knew somebody was thinkin’ about him, Breezy.”
“I don’t savvy it, Len, but that’s all right. Folks usually have to
write it out for me. It kinda surprised me to hear that Baggs advised
it. The whole country talked about the things he said at yore trial, and
lots o’ folks said that you’d come back some day and squeeze his Adam’s
apple until the juice choked him to death.”
Len laughed and shook his head.
“Baggs is worth more to me alive than dead, Breezy. Well, I reckon I’ll
be travellin’ along. Be good, old-timer.”
“Same to you, Len.”
He watched Len mount his bay horse and ride out of town.
“Worth more alive than dead,” repeated Breezy to himself. “Now, what did
he mean by that, do yuh suppose? Oh, well, he’s deep, Len is. If I was
in his place, I’d never stop to consider the worth of anybody. But I
shore pity Baggs if Len ever thinks his usefulness is over.”