I slowed down when I got to the schoolhouse, and both them fellers piled
in.
"I guess I better turn north fur about a mile and then turn west, Doctor
Kirby," I says, "so as to make a kind of a circle around that town."
"Why, so, Rube?" he asts me.
"Well," I says, "we left it going east, and they'll foller us east; so
don't we want to be going west while they're follering east?"
Looey, he agreed with me. But he said it wouldn't be much use, fur we
would likely be ketched up with and took back and hung or something,
anyhow. Looey could get the lowest in his sperrits sometimes of any man
I ever seen.
"Don't be afraid of that," says the doctor. "They are not going to
follow us. THEY know they didn't get this property by due process of
law. THEY aren't going to take the case into a county court where it
will all come out about the way they robbed a couple of travelling men
with a fake trial."
"I guess you know more about the law'n I do," I says. "I kind o' thought
mebby we stole them hosses."
"Well," he says, "we got 'em, anyhow. And if they try to arrest us
without a warrant there'll be the deuce to pay. But they aren't going
to make any more trouble. I know these country crooks. They've got no
stomach for trouble outside their own township."
Which made me feel considerable better, fur I never been of the opinion
that going agin the law done any one no good.
They looks around in that wagon, and all their stuff was there--Jake
Smith and the squire having kep' it all together careful to make things
seem more legal, I suppose--and the doctor was plumb tickled, and Looey
felt as cheerful as he ever felt about anything. So the doctor says they
has everything they needs but some ready money, and he'll get that sure,
fur he never seen the time he couldn't.
"But, Looey," he says, "I'm done with country hotels from now on.
They've got the last cent they ever will from me--at least in the summer
time."
"How you going to work it?" Looey asts him, like he hasn't no hopes it
will work right.
"Camp out," says the doctor. "I've been thinking it all over." Then he
turns to me. "Rube," he says, "where are you going?"
"Well," I says, "I ain't pinted nowhere in pertic'ler except away from
that town we just left. Which my name ain't Rube, Doctor Kirby, but
Danny."
"Danny what?" asts he.
"Nothing," says I, "jest Danny."
"Well, then, Danny," says he, "how would you like to be an Indian?"
"Medical?" asts I, "or real?"
"Like Looey," says he.
I tells him being a medical Injun and mixed up with a show like his'n
would suit me down to the ground, and asts him what is the main duties
of one besides the blankets and the feathers.
"Well," he says, "this camping-out scheme of mine will take a couple of
Indians. Instead of paying hotel and feed bills we'll pitch our tent,"
he says, "at the edge of town in each sweet Auburn of the plains. We'll
save money and we'll be near the throbbing heart of nature. And an
Indian camp in each place will be a good advertisement for the Sagraw.
You can look after the horses and learn to do the cooking and that kind
o' thing. And maybe after while," he says, kind o' working himself up to
where he thought it was going to be real nice, "maybe after while I will
give you some insight into the hidden mysteries of selling Siwash Indian
Sagraw."
"Well," says I, "I'd like to learn that."
"Would you?" says he, kind o' laughing at himself and me too, and yet
kind o' enthusiastic, "well, then, the first thing you have to do is
learn how to sell corn salve. Any one that can sell corn salve can sell
anything. There's a farmhouse right over there, and I'll give you your
first lesson right now. Rummage around in that satchel there under the
seat and get me a tin box and some corn salve labels."
I found a lot of labels, and some boxes too. The labels was all
different sizes, but barring that they all looked about the same to me.
Whilst I was sizing them up he asts me agin was they any corn salve ones
in there.
"What colour label is it, Doctor Kirby?" I asts him. Fur they was blue
labels and white labels and pink labels.
He looks at me right queer. "Can't you read the labels?" he says, right
sharp.
"Well," I says, "I never been much of a reader when it comes to
different kind of medicines."
"Corn salve is spelled only one way," says he.
"That's right," I says, "and you'd think I orter be able to pick out a
common, ordinary thing like corn salve right off, wouldn't you?"
"Danny," he says, "you don't mean to tell me you can't read anything at
all?"
"I never told you nothing of the kind."
He picks out a label.
"If you can read so fast, what's that?" he asts.
She is a pink one. I thinks to myself; she either is corn salve or else
she ain't corn salve. And it ain't natcheral he will pick corn salve,
fur he would think I would say that first off. So I'm betting it ain't.
I takes a chancet on it.
"That," says I, "is mighty easy reading. That is Siwash Injun Sagraw." I
lost.
"It's corn salve," he says. "And Great Scott! They call this the
twentieth century!"
"I never called it that," says I, sort o' mad-like. Fur I was feeling
bad Doctor Kirby had found out I was such a ignoramus.
"Where ignorance is bliss," says he, "it is folly to be wise. But all
the same, I'm going to take your education in hand and make you drink of
life's Peruvian springs." Or some spring like that it was.
And the doctor, he done it. Looey said it wouldn't be no use learning to
read. He'd done a lot of reading, he said, and it never helped him none.
All he ever read showed him this feller Hamlet was right, he said, when
he wrote Shakespeare's works, and they wasn't much use in anything,
without you had a lot o' money. And they wasn't no chancet to get that
with all these here trusts around gobbling up everything and stomping
the poor man into the dirt, and they was lots of times he wisht he was
a Injun sure enough, and not jest a medical one, fur then he'd be a
free man and the bosses and the trusts and the railroads and the robber
tariff couldn't touch him. And then he shut up, and didn't say nothing
fur a hull hour, except oncet he laughed.
Fur Doctor Kirby, he says, winking at me: "Looey, here, is a nihilist."
"Is he," says I, "what's that?" And the doctor tells me about how they
blow up dukes and czars and them foreign high-mucky-mucks with dynamite.
Which is when Looey laughed.
Well, we jogged along at a pretty good gait fur several hours, and we
stayed that night at a Swede's place, which the doctor paid him fur
everything in medicine, only it took a long time to make the bargain,
fur them Swedes is always careful not to get cheated, and hasn't many
diseases. And the next night we showed in a little town, and done right
well, and took in considerable money. We stayed there three days and
bought a tent and a sheet-iron stove and some skillets and things and
some provisions, and a suit of duds for me.
Well, we went on, and we kept going on, and they was bully times. We'd
ease up careful toward a town, and pick us out a place on the edge,
where the hosses could graze along the side of the road; and most
ginerally by a piece of woods not fur from that town, and nigh a crick,
if we could. Then we'd set up our tent. After we had everything fixed,
I'd put on my Injun clothes and Looey his'n, and we'd drive through the
main store street of the town at a purty good lick, me a-holt of the
reins, and the doctor all togged out in his best clothes, and Looey
doing a Injun dance in the midst of the wagon. I'd pull up the hosses
sudden in front of the post-office or the depot platform or the hotel,
and the people would come crowding around, and the doctor he'd make a
little talk from the wagon, and tell everybody they would be a free show
that night on that corner, and fur everybody to come to it. And then
we'd drive back to camp, lickitysplit.
Purty soon every boy in town would be out there, kind o' hanging around,
to see what a Injun camp was like. And the farmers that went into and
out of town always stopped and passed the time of day, and the Injun
camp got the hull town all worked up as a usual thing; and the doctor,
he done well, fur when night come every one would be on hand. Looey
and me, every time we went into town, had on our Injun suits, and the
doctor, he wondered why he hadn't never thought up that scheme before.
Sometimes, when they was lots of people ailing in a town, and they
hadn't been no show fur quite a while, we'd stay five or six days, and
make a good clean-up. The doctor, he sent to Chicago several times fur
alcohol in barrels, 'cause he was selling it so fast he had to make new
Sagraw. And he had to get more and more bottles, and a hull satchel full
of new Sagraw labels printed.
And all the time the doctor was learning me education. And shucks! they
wasn't nothing so hard about it oncet you'd got started in to reading
things. I jest natcherally took to print like a duck to water, and
inside of a month I was reading nigh everything that has ever been
wrote. He had lots of books with him and every time a new sockdologer of
a word come along and I learnt how to spell her and where she orter fit
in to make sense it kind o' tickled me all over. And many's the time
afterward, when me and the doctor had lost track of each other, and they
was quite a spell people got to thinking I was a tramp, I've went into
these here Andrew Carnegie libraries in different towns jest as much to
see if they had anything fitten to read as fur to keep warm.
Well, we went easing over toward the Indiany line, and we was having a
purty good time. They wasn't no work to do you could call really hard,
and they was plenty of vittles. Afternoons we'd lazy around the camp and
swap stories and make medicine if we needed a batch, and josh back and
forth with the people that hung around, and loaf and doze and smoke; or
mebby do a little fishing if we was nigh a crick.
And nights after the show was over it was fun, too. We always had a
fire, even if it was a hot night, fur to cook by in the first place, and
fur to keep mosquitoes off, and to make things seem more cheerful.
They ain't nothing so good as hanging round a campfire. And they ain't
nothing any better than sleeping outdoors, neither. You roll up in your
blanket with your feet to the fire and you get to wondering things about
things afore you go to sleep. The silentness jest natcherally swamps
everything after a while, and then all them queer little noises
you never hear in the daytime comes popping and poking through the
silentness, or kind o' scratching their way through it sometimes, and
makes it kind o' feel more silent than ever. And if you are nigh a
crick, purty soon it will sort of get to talking to you, only you can't
make out what it's trying to say, and you get to wondering about that,
too. And if you are in a tent and it rains and the tent don't leak, that
rain is a kind of a nice thing to listen to itself. But if you can see
the stars you get to wondering more'n ever. They come out and they is
so many of them and they are so fur away, and yet they are so kind o'
friendly-like, too, if you happen to be feeling purty good. But if you
ain't feeling purty good, jest lay there and look at them stars long
enough; and then mebby you'll see it don't make no difference whether
you're feeling good or not, fur they got a way o' making your private
troubles look mighty small. And you get to wondering why that is, too,
fur they ain't human; and it don't stand to reason you orter pay no
attention to them, one way nor the other. They is jest there, like trees
and cricks and hills. But I have often noticed that the things that is
jest there has got a way of seeming more friendly than the things that
has been built and put there. You can look at a big iron bridge or a
grain elevator or a canal all day long, and if you're feeling blue it
don't help you none. It was jest put there. Or a hay stack is the same
way. But you go and lazy around in the grass when you're down on your
luck and kind o' make remarks to a crick or a big, old walnut tree, and
before long it gets you to feeling like it didn't make no difference
how you felt, anyhow; fur you don't amount to nothing by the side of
something that was always there. You get to thinking how the hull world
itself was always here, and you sort o' see they ain't nothing important
enough about yourself to worry about, and presently you will go to
sleep and forget it. The doctor says to me one time them stars ain't
any different from this world, and this is one of them. Which is a fool
idea, as any one can see. He had a lot of queer ideas like that, Doctor
Kirby had. But they ain't nothing like sleeping out of doors nights to
make you wonder the kind of wonderings you never will get any answer to.
Well, I never cared so much fur houses after them days. They was bully
times, them was. And I was kind of proud of being with a show, too.
Many's the time I have went down the street in that there Injun suit,
and seen how the young fellers would of give all they owned to be me.
And every now and then you would hear one say when you went past:
"Huh, I know him! That's one of them show fellers!"
One afternoon we pitches our tent right on the edge of a little town
called Athens. We was nigh the bank of a crick, and they was a grove
there. We was camped jest outside of a wood-lot fence, and back in
through the trees from us they was a house with a hedge fence all around
it. They was apple trees and all kind of flower bushes and things inside
of the hedge. The second day we was there I takes a walk back through
the wood-lot, and along past the house, and they was one of these here
early harvest apple trees spilling apples through a gap in the fence.
Them is a mighty sweet and juicy kind of apple, and I picks one up and
bites into it.
"I think you might have asked for it," says some one.