“You here again? My ——!”
I lifts that sack uh coin up on the window-ledge and shoves it toward
him.
“Here’s your old three hundred silver dollars,” says I. “Take ’em and
get glad.”
The old pelican grabs them and loves them like they was human. I reckon
that dollars must say sweet things to uh feller like him.
“All here?” he asks. “All here?”
“You didn’t think I’d spend any of it, do you?” I asks, peeved-like.
“Hello, Comanche.”
I turns and hands that roll uh bills back to Blue Nose Blucher, and the
shock almost petrifies him.
“Well!” he explodes with joy. “Well, what do yuh know about that?”
Old Swigert looks at Blue Nose, and Blue Nose looks at Swigert, and that
danged old pack-rat smiled for the first time since he knew uh dime from
uh dollar. Also, he shakes hands with me.
“Comanche,” says he, “I’d admire to know how yuh got this money, and
also how yuh happens to bring it back. That strike was uh frost.”
“I never made no strike, and I ain’t saying who got that money. I
brought it back ’cause I’m honest. Sabe?”
“That’s what Hair-Trigger says,” grins Blue Nose. “We thought he was the
one, so we locks him up, but he don’t do nothing but yawn and grin when
we asks him who done it.”
“Hair-Trigger in jail?” I asks, and they nods.
“We locked him up on general principles,” says Swigert.
“Well,” says I, “there’s your money. Now, I reckon I’ll move on.”
“Set down,” orders old Swigert. “You’re uh novelty around here. Honest
men ain’t no drug on this market. Can yuh shoot?”
“Yes, I reckon,” says I, and Swigert grins and says:
“Comanche, we need yuh. Ever since Sassafras Simpson, our sheriff,
nailed that sheriff from Horse Heaven, he’s been packing uh chip on his
shoulder. Uh little hombre comes here day before yesterday, gets full uh
hooch, and mistakes that chip for uh target. He aims uh little low, and
we plants Sassafras on the hill. Now, we ain’t got no sheriff. How’d yuh
like the job, eh? We can get yuh appointed for the rest of Simpson’s
term and it’s uh cinch to elect yuh next Fall. What do yuh say?”
“Thanks,” says I. “Give me the keys of the jail.”
I pilgrims over for uh drink and then goes down to the little jail.
Hair-Trigger is asleep and I has uh hard time to wake him up. After
dumping him off the bunk he sets up and stretches his arms.
“Ho, hum-m-m-m! Must be the inside air. Well, dog—my—cats! What’d they
put you in for, Comanche?”
“Me?” says I. “I’m the sheriff, Hair-Trigger.”
He peers at my breast and yawns some more.
“Well, dog—my—ho, hum-m-m-m-m! Sheriff, eh? I thought—well. Huh! I came
back to see what I could get and I got grabbed.”
“You can go now,” says I. “She’s uh open road, old-timer.”
“You—ho, hum-m-m-m-m! You mean that I can go?”
“Free as air,” says I. “I told yuh I was white.”
“I can’t find that blasted star no place,” complains Blue Nose, from the
doorway. “We’ve looked every place. I reckon we must uh buried it with
Sassafras. What’ll we do?”