THE SAVING OF CURLY
Miss Blossom was at the front door having great arguments with a man.
"If you got baby carriages to sell," says she, "I claim to be a
spinster, and if it's lightning-rods, I don't hold with obstructing
Providence. If it's insurance, or books, or pianolas, or dress patterns,
or mowing machines, you'd better just go home. I'm proof against agents
of all sorts, I'm not at home to visitors, and I don't feed tramps. Thar
now, you just clear out."
"'Scuse me, ma'am, I----"
"No, you mayn't."
"Allow me to introduce----"
"No you don't. You come to the wrong house for that."
"Wall, I'm blessed if----"
"Yo're much more apt to get bit by my dawg, 'cause yo' breath smells of
liquor, and I'm engaged."
"Glad to hear it, ma'am. I congratulate the happy gentleman you've
chosen."
"Well, of all the impudence!"
"That's what my wife says--impudence. Will the dawg bite if I inquire
for Misteh Curly McCalmont?"
My blood went to ice, and I reckon Miss Blossom collapsed a whole lot to
judge by the bang where she lit.
"Wall, since yo're so kind, ma'am, I'll just step in."
I heard him step in.
"This way!" the lady was gasping for breath.
"The dining-room? Wall, now, this is shorely the purtiest room, and I do
just admire to see sech flowers!"
Miss Blossom came cat-foot to shut the parlour door, and I heard no
more.
Curly was changing the cartridges in her revolver, as she always did
every evening.
"Scared?" she inquired, sort of sarcastic about the nose.
"Shut yo' haid. D'you want to be captured?"
"It would be a sort of relief from being so lady-like."
Then a big gust of laughter shook the house, and I knew that Miss
Blossom's guest was the whitest man on the stock-range, Sheriff Bryant.
Naturally I had to go and see old Dick, so I told Curly to keep good,
quit the parlour, crossed the passage, and walked right into the
dining-room, one hand on my gun and the other thrown up for peace.
Dick played up in the Indian sign talk: "Long time between drinks."
"Thirsty land," says my hand.
"Now may I inquire?" says Miss Blossom.
"Wall, ma'am"--old Dick cocked his grey eye sideways--"this Chalkeye
person remarked that he languished for some whisky, upon which I rebuked
him for projecting his drunken ambitions into a lady's presence."
The way he subdued Miss Blossom was plenty wondrous, for she lit out to
find him the bottle.
"Sheriff," says I, as we shook hands, "yo' servant, seh."
"I left the sheriff part of me in my own pastures." Dick wrung my hand
limp. "I don't aim to ride herd on the local criminals heah, so the
hatchet is buried, and the chiefs get nose-paint. Miss Blossom, ma'am,
we only aspire to drink to the toast of beauty." He filled up generous.
"I look towards you, ma'am."
"I du despise a flatterer," says Miss Blossom, but I saw her blush.
"Wall, to resume," said Dick, "this lady's guest, Miss Hilda Jameson, of
Norfolk, in old Virginie, is entitled to her own habits. She is wounded
most unfortunate all day, but all night she's entitled to bulge around
in a free country studying moonlight effects."
"She's due to be whipped," says Miss Blossom, mighty wrathful.
"On scenes of domestic bliss it is not my purpose, ma'am, to intrude. I
only allude to the fact that this young lady was pervading Main Street
late last night, happy and innocent, in a gale of wind, which it blew
off her hat."
"Good gracious!"
"Yes, ma'am; and naturally the hat being pinned, her hair was blown off
too."
"It blew off!"
"Perhaps, ma'am, this ha'r doesn't fit, and the best thing would be to
shoot the party who made--the ornament. The young lady, of co'se, was in
no way to blame if it flew down the street and she after it. I rise to
observe that Deputy-Marshal Pedersen, being a modest man, was shocked
most dreadful, and----"
"Oh! Oh!" Miss Blossom went white as the tablecloth.
"Go on," said I, "let's know the worst at once."
"And he couldn't stay to help the young lady, 'cause he was running to
catch the midnight train."
"Thank goodness!"
"Yes, ma'am, he was due in Lordsburgh this mawning to collect a
hoss-thief."
"And nobody else saw the wig?"
"No, ma'am, only Pedersen. He came whirling down on me this mawning at
Lordsburgh with dreams and visions about a robber chasing a wig, and a
lady holed up in yo' home, and the same being disguised as a woman, but
really a man, and wanting two thousand dollars daid or alive for the wig
which its name was Curly. He seemed a heap confused and unreliable."
"This Pedersen man," says Miss Blossom, "is coming here to arrest
_her_--I mean _him_! Oh, what's the use of talking! Speak, man! Speak!"
"Deputy-Marshal Pedersen, ma'am, is now in prison."
"Arrested!"
"Why, sheriff," says I, "what has he done to get arrested?"
"I dunno." Dick shook his grey head mournful. "I forget. I had to exceed
my authority a whole lot, so the first thing I thought of was 'bigamy
and confusion of mind.' I reckon I'll have to apologise, and he's a
low-flung crawler to beg pardon to."
"You'll have to let him out?"
"I shorely will; meanwhile he's thinking of all his sins, and he
certainly looks like a Mormon. He never combs his ha'r. But then, you
see, I had to keep his paws off these honourable ladies until I could
bring some sort of warning heah. Besides if this pusson with a wig is
really pore Curly McCalmont, I feel that I done right."
"What makes you think that, Bryant?"
"Wall, I happen to know that them witnesses in the Ryan inquest here
was bribed to swear away the life of old Balshannon's son. The hull
blamed business stinks of perjury. I may be wrong, you one-eyed fraud,
but when Curly punched cows with you at Holy Crawss I sort of hungered
for him. You see, my missus and me couldn't compass a son of our own,
and we just wanted Curly. When he quit out from you-all, we tried to
catch him, but he broke away. Then came the big shooting-match, six
weeks ago, and it broke my ole woman's heart. Thar was the lady gawn
daid, and Balshannon quits out in the gun smoke, and you and the two
youngsters outlawed for trying to save him. That's how I reads the signs
on this big war-trail, and being only a crazy old plainsman, I takes the
weaker side."
He reached out his paw.
"Put her thar, you one-eyed hoss-thief, and you'll know that there's one
official in this hull corrupt and filthy outfit who cares for justice
more'n he cares for law."
With warrants out against me on various charges, and the Grave City
Stranglers yearning to make me a corpse, I had come on this visit
feeling plenty bashful, so it was good to have a genuine county sheriff
acting chaperon. The ladies gave us a great sufficiency of supper, and
then we made Curly swear faithfully not to go hunting wigs in the
moonlit streets. Afterwards the ladies went to roost, and we two men,
having tracked out to tend the horses, made down our beds in the barn
loft.
Next morning my natural modesty, and certain remarks from the sheriff,
made me hide up out of sight, but Bryant went to town and did my
shopping. He bought me an iron-grey gelding, which I'd always longed to
steal, because he was much too good for the tenderfoot doctor who owned
him. It shocked my frugal mind to pay a hundred dollars cash, but Bryant
was liberal with my money, and the horse was worth a hundred and fifty,
anyhow. He got me a second-handed saddle, snaffle, rope, blanket, a
dandy pair of shaps (leather armour for the legs), spurs, belt, shirt,
overalls, boots, sombrero, and all cowboy fixings. If I was to take
young Curly back to Robbers' Roost, she needed a proper trousseau,
specially being due to meet Jim.
I hate to put up dull particulars, but I ought to mention that Mutiny
Robertson had located a good showing of silver, the second east
extension of the Contention Mine, on my land at Las Salinas. That is why
for he put up six thousand dollars cash for my water-spring, fencing,
and adobe house, getting clear title to the land which held his mineral
rights. It grieves me to think of Mutiny grabbing all his present wealth
because I couldn't hold down that place without being lynched. Such is
the fruits of getting unpopular, and I might preach a plenty improving
sermon on the uncertainties of business, the immorality of being found
out, the depravity of things in general, the cussedness of fate. Mutiny
waited sly, while I plunged around conspicuous, so now he's rich,
setting a good example, while I'm as poor as a fox.
What with my bank deposit and the sale of my home, Dick brought me back
nine thousand dollars in cash. Likewise I had in my warbags the money
which McCalmont had trusted to my care for Curly's dowry. I gave Dick
charge of all this wealth, taking only a thousand dollars for present
expenses, and stuffed the same in the treasure-belt which I carry next
my skin. These proceedings were a comfort to me, for I'm here to remark,
and ready to back my statements with money, arguments, or guns, that the
handling of wealth is more encouraging to the heart than such lonesome
games as the pursuit of virtue.
Besides the plunder and Curly's trousseau, Dick brought me chocolate
creams, a new breed of rim-fire cigars just strong enough to buck, a
quart of pickles, and some medicine for our thirst. The old drunkard
knows what is good, and before supper we sat in the barn with these
comforts talking business.
It needs such surroundings of luxury to get my thoughts down to any
manner of business, for I hold that office work is adapted to town
sharps only, and not to men. Bryant and I had the misfortune to be
named in Lord Balshannon's will as his executors, to ride herd on his
Jim until such time as the colt could run alone. In this business my
co-robber had taken action already, annexing the trainload of breeding
cattle which had been stolen by Jabez Y. Stone. These cattle were sold
by auction, and Dick held the money, swearing that nobody else but Jim
should get so much as a smell.
With regard to Holy Cross, Dick, as sheriff, had seized the old
hacienda, and the same must be sold to pay Balshannon's debts to the
Ryan estate. It seems that Michael Ryan claimed this plunder, and that
Jim, the natural heir, had stolen Michael. "Thar it stands," says Dick,
who has a legal mind, "until Jim skins his meat."
That set me thinking of Michael. He was not likely to be special fat
after his ride with the robbers.
"I doubt," says Bryant, "that so shorely as Jim does the skinning, that
Ryan duck ain't got a tail feather left."
With these remarks he slanted away back to town, having agreed to sup
with the City Marshal. As for me, I lay in the corn-shucks full of dim
wonderings about that Pedersen person cramped in the cooler at Lordsburg
on Bryant's charge of "bigamy and confusion of mind." The question was,
would he stay put? The arrangement made with Pedersen was only
temporary, not permanent like a proper funeral. Moreover, in his place I
should have felt mournful and ill used. I should have put up objections
and struggles to find my way out. Suppose this person escaped, or got
loosed by his lawyer, or sent Curly's address to the Grave City police?
I was afflicted with doubts about said Pedersen, and my mind began to
gloat on the joys of absence. So I saddled the horses, got ready for the
warpath, and watching until it was dark enough, made a break for the
back door of the house, carrying Curly's outfit.
To judge by the clatter in the house, something had happened, and when I
broke in on the ladies, I found them having hysterics over their copy of
the _Weekly Obituary_. I slung the cowboy gear to Curly, and bade her
change herself quick because we must hit the trail. On that the clatter
got to a crisis, as it does in a hen-roost in the case of fox. Miss
Blossom called me all the names she could think of; Miss Pansy sobbed at
having to part with her little private robber; Miss Curly whirled in
telling the news in the paper. All of them wanted to talk, so I surely
played fox to that hen-roost, chasing Miss Pansy out to pack us a lunch
for the trail, grabbing the paper from Curly, and scaring Miss Blossom
with bad words until she got tame enough to attend to business. She took
Curly into the bedroom, and there was a sort of lull, while I got my
ears to work at the back door.
It's a true fact that I have a sort of sense which warns me if danger is
coming. It makes my hands tingle as if they were full of prickles, and
my heart beats loud, so I can scarcely hear. That minute I stood at the
back door felt like whole hours of waiting, so that I wanted to howl.
Close by me in the kitchen Miss Pansy was sobbing about the bad words
she had heard, and through the mosquito netting I could hear Miss
Blossom oppressing Curly while she changed her clothes. I folded the
newspaper and jammed it into my pocket, studied the lay of the stable
door to see how quick I could get the horses out, and pulled my gun
loose for war.
Away towards the town I could hear the rumble of wheels half a mile,
coming on rapid.
"Miss Pansy!" I called.
She quit crying.
"This Curly's in danger," says I. "Brace up; act brave, and when this
waggon stops at the door, meet the men who try to break in. Tell them
you're not to home, and give 'em some Christian Science."
She went quite cool to wait by the front door, and now I could see the
dust of a waggon come up against the afterglow in the sky.
"Miss Blossom," I called, "roll Curly out through that window just as
she is. Quick!"
"Oh, but----"
"Curly," I shouted, "come out!"
"Coming!"
"Fix that bed, Miss Blossom; lay in it with Curly's wig, and prepare to
play daid!"
Curly came tumbling through the mosquito bar in the window, dropped on
her feet like a cat. "Horses!" I whispered, and she ran, her spurs
clattering outrageous along the gravel-path.
The waggon had pulled up to the front gate, somebody shouted, I heard
Miss Pansy screeching like a cougar, and a man came surging past the
side of the house, lifting his gun to draw a bead on Curly as she ran. I
jumped behind, felled him with my gun-butt, and bolted.
What with Miss Pansy's shrieks, and the shouting of men, the clatter had
got to be a whole disturbance, rousing a quiet neighborhood. As I ran I
could hear Miss Blossom calling, "Go 'way, you rude men! Scat!"
It seemed to me that time was worth a million dollars a second while I
held the back gate by the stable, and Curly rode through with the horses
straight on to the open range. As I swung to the saddle, I heard the
house door battered in with a crash of breaking glass.
"Hold on," said Curly, reining in her horse, "I was forgettin'."
The searchers were swarming through the house, and for my part I was
full content to depart without telling them any good-bye.
"You're scart," says Curly. "You coward! You stay heah!"
Then feeling for blood with her spurs, she sailed at full gallop along
the outer side of the garden fence. At the first shot from the yard she
ducked, throwing herself until she hung Indian fashion along the off
side of her horse. A bullet trimmed my back hair as I followed, gun
flames blazed from the back porch and the windows, as we shot past the
house. The bullets were singing all round us, our horses were crazy with
fright, but then we swung round the end of the garden fence, running
full tilt against the standing team of horses which the police had left
in the road. The shock stampeded them, but Curly swerved clear of their
rush, rolled back into the saddle, raced abreast, and shot both horses
down. A minute more, and the firing died away behind us, for we were
racing neck-and-neck across the desert. Curly had left the police to
follow afoot, but now she began to weaken, for, because she had played
the man, she broke down and sobbed--a woman.
We had been running maybe two hours when we pulled up on the top of a
hill to rest our horses. Far down to southward the electric lights in
the city made a silver haze of small specks glistening as though a scrap
of sky had fallen there. High in the south Orion rode guard upon the
star herds, and the night was so still that we were scared to speak. I
wanted to smoke, but on a night like that the striking of a match may be
seen for miles around, so I took a bite at my plug and ate tobacco
instead. Then as Curly and I sat on a rock together listening, I heard a
bear cough because his nose got dusty, grubbing for ants; a coyote was
singing the hunger-song, and miles away to the east a ranche dog
answered him. Then Curly's horse scrunched up a tuft of grass, and my
beast pawing, startled a rattlesnake. The little woman beside me
whispered then--
"Shorely the Lawd makes His big medicine for us, for snakes and robbers,
wolves and b'ars. Only the folk down tha cayn't see Him, 'cause they got
electric lights instead of stars."
"Which them two pore ladies," says I, "gets gun-flame by way of lamps to
cheer them up to-night."
"I hate to think how we-all stirred theyr peace. Still, Bryant has
stroked theyr fur by now," she sighed. "Them visitors rumpled me too,
and all my brussles is pointing the wrong way still."
"D'you reckon, Curly," I asked, "that the City Marshal is hoping to
trail us by starlight?"
"Not to hurt," she yawned, "'cept maybe he's got smell-dogs guidin' his
posse. Yes, I remember a while back the Marshal bought a team of
blood-hounds."
She didn't seem to take much interest, so I proposed that we roll our
tails.
"I see his lantern," said Curly; "thar it is agin. We got a ten-mile
start."
I saw the glimmer then. "Come on," said I.
"_Poco tiempo_," says Curly. "I'm fearful sorry for them pore ladies
yondeh."
I dragged her away, and we rode on, throwing the miles astern. Every two
hours or so Curly would give the horses a rest and a taste of grass--a
trick she had learned from Indians, which kept them fresh for a trail.
The night was cold, with a little "lazy wind," as Curly called it, too
tired to go round, so it went right through us. Just before dawn we
crossed a clay flat holding a slough of mud, and found it hard with
frost.
"When water goes to sleep with cold," says Curly, "a smell-dog's nose
ain't goin' to guide his laigs. This frost is due to send the posse
home."
"At dawn they'll see our tracks."
Dawn broke, and we were rising a slope of sand-drift, with acres of
naked rock ahead of us.
"Haw!" said Curly, leading me to the left until we entered the rock
field. "Gee," she called, and we crossed the rocks to the right. "Follow
the rocks--shy wide of any sand." I followed for a mile, until a little
hill shut off the route we had come by. "Dismount," she said, and I
stepped down by the edge of the sands. She made me take the saddle
blankets, the oilskin coats, and a serape (Mexican blanket), and make a
pathway of them across the sand, on which she rode, leading my horse,
while I renewed the track in front of her for a couple of hundred feet.
So we left horse sign on the sand which looked a whole fortnight old.
Then, gathering the clothes, I mounted, and we curved away among
sandhills for half an hour, sailing along at a lope until we came to a
patch of gramma grass. "Let the hawsses graze," said Curly, and sat
side-saddle, resting while she smoked a cigarette. I did the same, and
the tracks we left now were those of grazing horses, not those of
travellers. Then I resaddled, and all set, we rode off again to the
north. The frost had spoiled our scent; the blanket play and grazing
play had sure discouraged trackers.
"Curly," says I, "you heap big Injun!"
"I lil' small robber," she answered, "givin' away trade secrets."
A few miles northward we circled up beyond a ridge of hills, to a good
look-out point. From there we could see the Marshal's posse small as
ants in the distance, ranging around on the rock flat, from whence they
presently crawled off south, looking a lot subdued. Then I unsaddled,
while Curly killed out a few centipedes, scorpions, rattlers, and other
local vermin, to make our sleep comfy under the rocks.
At noon, when the heat awoke us, we rode on to Texas Bob's big spring,
reaching his camp by sundown. There we made up for lost meals by taking
in four at once. Mrs. Bob gave us jerked beef, spiced bread and coffee;
her wild range kids rubbed down our horses, watered them and fed; the
old gentleman himself poured in his best advice until Curly crept off to
sleep. As for me, I felt good, sitting there in the hut of cactus sticks
watching the gold grass slowly change to grey, and great big stars come
out above the hills.
The long hair lay like silver around the old man's shoulders; the white
beard, pointed short, wagged over his deerskin shirt; his kind eyes
wrinkled with fun, and all his words were wisdom absolute. I reckon he's
the wisest man in all the southern desert, and when I told him the
things I ought not to have done, he showed me better how to act in
future.
"Stealin' a womern," says he, "is different from stealin' hawsses. You
can make the hawsses forget theyr home range in a month, but a womern
will sure break fences to quit back to the man she wants. This Curly
will run to her mate, and whar they graze there ain't room for you in
the pasture. The good Book says: 'No man shall put them asunder,' and
the rules of Right and Wrong ain't got exceptions. Don't you try to
steal Curly."
In all my life I never needed a friend so much as I did that night, but
when Curly and I hit the trail the old scout reached me his hand.
"Put her right thar, Chalkeye," says he; "it's mighty hard at times to
stick to the rules of the game. It's so easy to go crooked that it takes
a man to play straight--and you'll play straight. _Adios!_"
All night my mind was at ease, and when day broke again we were into the
Superstitious Mountains. So I led Curly down towards Echo Spring, and
gave the long yell to my boys where they lay in camp.