CHAPTER NINE
ADRIFT AGAIN
Well, I rode purty tol'able slow. Some way I didn't want to go back to the Lion Head Ranch. I knew 'at Jim would be glad to see me, but I knew I'd be lonesomer there than among total strangers; so I just floated, punchin' cows most o' the time, but not runnin' very long over the same range.
It was just about this period that I begun to lose my serious view o' life and get more man-like. The usual idea is that a boy is a careless, happy, easy-goin' sort of a creature, and a man is a steady, serious minded, thoughtful kind of an outfit; but just the reverse. A boy starts out believin' most o' what's told him an' thinkin' that it's his duty to reform the world; an' about the only thing he is careless of is human life—his own or any one else's. Fact o' the matter is that if you watch him close enough you'll find out that even in his games a boy is about the solemnest thing on earth, an' you have to know the game purty thorough to tell when it drifts into a real fight. That's why all wars have been fought by boys. They believe in any cause 'at looks big enough to lay down their lives for, an' that's their chief ambition. A man, though; gets to see after a time that the' 's most generally somebody up behind who's working the wires, an' he gets so 'at he don't want to lay down ANYBODY's life, except as a last resort. He looks favorable upon amusement, an' after a while he kind o' sort o' gets hardened to the fact that the whole thing's a joke and he'd rather laugh than shoot. Why, I'd be more afraid of a boy with a popgun than I 'd be of a man with a standin' army.
So as I said, it was just about this time in my life that I begun to hunt up pleasant places to eat and sleep; an' if I heard of trouble in the next county I turned out an' went around. I did a little of everything; even lugged a chain in a surveyor outfit, but the' wasn't enough chance in that. I got to have a trace of gamblin' in anything I do; so the first thing I knew I was down in Nevada lookin' for the treasure 'at Bill Brophy had buried there. The last of his gang had tried to describe the place, but his description would have done for 'most any place in Nevada—she not bein' what you might call free-handed in the way of variety.
Well, I ragged around in the mountains between Nevada and California, lookin' for a flat-shaped rock with a mountain-peak on each side of it, an' a cold wind sweepin' up the canon—I don't know just how the cold wind got included, but the dyin' outlaw dwelt upon that cold wind something particular. I stayed out puny late in the season, an' if cold winds was identifyin', Brophy had his treasure buried purty unpartially all over the West.
I reckon I'd have died if I had it fallen in with Slocum. Slocum was a queer lookin' speciment when you first came upon him. His skin didn't fit him very well, bein' a trifle too big, an' wrankled an' baggy in consequence; his eyes was kind of a washy blue, an' they stuck out from his face, givin' him the most sorrowful expression I ever see. You just couldn't be suspicious of a man with such eyes as that; he seemed to have throwed himself wide open an' invited the whole world to come an' look inside. Why, a perfect stranger would have trusted Slocum with his last plug of tobacoo, and like as not he'd have gotten part of it back. Well, as I said, I was headin' for warmer weather, but I got overtook an' had about given up all hope when I noticed the smell of smoke in the air. I was walkin' on foot an' pullin' a burro with a pack behind me, an' after a time I located that smoke comin' right up through the snow.
I yelled and shouted around for a while without gettin' any response. Night and the snow was both fallin' fast, an' that smoke was exceeding temptin'. Finally I took a piece of burlap off the pack, put it over the hole where the smoke was comin' up through, an' piled snow on top of it. I was curious to see what would happen. I waited—perhaps it was only five minutes, but it seemed that many hours—an' then a low, calm voice, down somewhere beneath me, sez, "Get off that chimney!"
"I will," sez I, "when you tell me how to get to the fire."
I waited again, an' then a man with a lantern emerged into the cut about forty feet below me, an' told me how I could wind around and come down to him. Well, me an' the burro finally worked it out, an' there was a man with long whiskers standin' in his shirt-sleeves in front of a hole in the snow.
"You like to 'a' smothered me," he grumbled. "Don't you know better'n to stop up a chimney that's workin'?"
"I wanted the chimney to work double," sez I, "an' that was the only way I could think up to attract your attention."
"Do you live around here?" sez he. "Not very much," sez I, "but I 'm minded to try it a while, if there 's room in your burrow for two."
"Got any tobacco?" sez he.
"Plenty," sez I.
"You're welcome," sez he.
We took the burro over to a clump of pine woods an' turned him loose, an' then I crawled in through the tunnel to Slocum's fire. It was in a cave which had a natural chimney runnin' up the hill, an' it looked considerable much like Paradise to me. We ate an' smoked together for a week, an' then one day our fire went out an' a flood of water poured down through the chimney. We worked like beavers for a while, gettin' our stuff outdoors, an' it was as hot as summer outside.
"That's the only drawback to this cave," said Slocum. "It will be all to the good when the winter settles in earnest, but it will be some bother while it's still snowin' an' thawin'."
I told him that I agreed with him to such an extent that if I could locate the burro I'd rather risk gettin' back to humanity than to dyin' there of rheumatiz. I was wringin' wet through.
"Nobody can't die of rheumatiz around me," sez Slocum, an' he went to one of his packs an' got out a piece of root.
"Chew this," sez he, "an' it will drive the rheumatiz out of your system."
Anybody would have trusted those eyes, so I chewed the root for about a minute, an' then I chewed snow an' mud an' tobacco an' red pepper for an hour, tryin' to get rid of the taste. Drive the rheumatiz out of your system? Why, the blame stuff would drive out your system too if you chewed it long enough. It was the tarnationest stuff 'at ever a human man met up with.
"It's most too strong to take pure," sez Slocum, "but if you grind it an' put a shall pinch in a quart of alcohol it makes a fine remedy. Don't throw the rest o' that root away. There is enough there to do you a lifetime."
"Yes," sez I, "there is, an' more."
A feller once told me that man was a slave to his envirament—envirament is anything around you, scenery, books, evil companions, an' sech; well, a burro ain't no slave to his envirament 'cause he generally eats it. My burro was fat, an' the clump of pine trees had mostly disappeared. I loaded up my stuff, shook hands with Slocum, and started down the mountain. Just as I got fully started Slocum sez to me, "I 'm sure sorry to see you go. I don't generally get much friendly with folks any more, but I took to you from the first, an' any time I can do you a favor, all you got to do is to wink."
"What's your general plan of occupation, Slocum?" sez I.
"All that I ever expect to do for the remainder of my days," sez he, "is to search for my Rheumatiz Remedy."
"Well," sez I, "any time you get to do me a favor in that line, it'll be when I'm too weak to wink." So we parted the best o' friends, an' I went on to a lumber camp where I put in the winter bossin' a gang. I didn't know much about lumber, but the men there was just the same as anywhere else, an' we got along fine.
I was bossin' a little ranch up in Idaho next June when I heard tell of a big strike in the Esmeralda range—not such a great distance from where I had spent the week with Slocum. The report had it that a feller named Slocum had located the big ace of gold mines, an' I was some et up with curiosity to see if it was the same Slocum; but I was needed at the ranch that winter, an' as I took a likin' for the young feller who was tryin' to make it go, I stuck to him, an' it wasn't until the followin' July that I pulled out an' floated down that way.
Well, it was the same old Slocum sure enough. He was the most onlucky cuss 'at ever breathed, I reckon. Every time he had made up his mind to do something, Fate had stepped up an' voted again it. He had wasted the best part of his life locatin' gold mines 'at wouldn't hang out, until at last even he got disgusted an' went to huntin' for his Injun root to cure rheumatiz with. First thing he knew, he had stumbled on a bonanza lode in the Esmeralda range. This here lode was a peach. Ten-foot face on top, just soggy with gold an' silver, an' copper an' tin enough to pay expenses. It just looked as if they's said, "Now then, there's Slocum; he been hammered so long he's got callous to it. Let's jus' see how he'd act if we switched his luck on him." An' they sure done it.
Slocum, he scratched around until he see that it wasn't no joke, an' then he set bait for a couple o' capitalists. He trapped two beauties, an' they put up the assets an' went in, equal partners. They sunk shafts an' built stamp mills an' smelters an' retorts; oh, they sure made plans to get the metal wholesale. As soon as it began to flow in they built stores an' shacks an' a big hotel—they wasn't timorous about puttin' their coin into circulation, you bet your life, an' it looked as if they was going to flood the market.
Well, Slocum, he owned a third of everything, mind, an' his expression flopped square over like a dry moon, an' stayed points up. He forgot all those years 'at he'd been havin' the muddy end of it, an' after a time he got 'em to call the mine "Slocum's Luck." The' wasn't no call to hurl such an insult as that into the mouth of an honest, hard-workin' mine, an' naturally, as soon as it was done, the mine laid down in its tracts an' refused to give up another ounce.
They came to a break in the lode an' couldn't find the beginnin' again. The same twist that had hove one edge out of the ground had unjointed the other. But they had got out a tidy sum already, an' they knew the' must be a loose end somewhere, so they was anxious to keep their outfit in good order.
Slocum hadn't swelled clear out of shape with his new fortune, an' when I made myself known to him he had give me a purty tol'able decent sort of a job, where there was more bossin' an' responsibility than brute labor; an' I felt kindly toward him. Winter lasted full four months out there. It was a good ninety miles to the railroad, an' so when the mornin's begun to get frosty every one else scooted for humanity, an' I, bein' more or less weak-minded, took the job o' watchman, at forty a month an' my needin's. I always was a hog for litachure, so I got a bushel o' libraries an' started in to play it alone.
The' wasn't a blessed thing to do, so I read 'em through by New Years, an' got out of tobacco by the first of February. From that on I begun to think in a circle, an' my intellect creaked like a dry axle before the bluebirds began to sing. Quiet? I could hear the shadows crawlin' along the side of the house. The snow was seventy-five feet deep in the canyons, so you might say I was duty bound to stay there. As a general rule, I don't shirk breakin' a path, but when the snow is more than fifty feet higher than my head, I'd rather walk fourth or fifth.
When the outfit came back in the spring I was the entire reception committee; but I bet the' never was one more able to do its part.
CHAPTER TEN
A WINTER AT SLOCUM'S LUCK
They only brought out about half a gang that summer, an' they kept them probin' around all over the neighborhood; but though they found enough stuff to about pay expenses, they couldn't get back on the main track. Both the Eastern capitalists showed up along toward fall to see what was doin', an' when it came time to knock off work, they tried to get me to repeat my little performance as watchman.
I thanked 'em for their trustfulness, but I politely declined the honor. I told 'em 'at I was purty tol'able quick-witted, an' it didn't take me four months to study out what I was goin' to say next. But I compromised by sayin' that if they would give me two other fellers for company I'd stay; otherwise they'd have to rustle up some poor devil 'at needed the money. They knew 'at I was reliable, so they agreed; an' I selected out my two companions in affliction. What I mostly wanted was a heap of variety, an' when the number is limited to two, a feller has to be some choicy; but I reckon I got the best the' was.
There'd been a little light-haired feller there all season, kind o' gettin' familiar with labor, like. He was no account to work, he couldn't even learn to tie a knot; but he talked kin' o' blotchy, an' it was divertin' to listen to him. One day we was kiddin' him about bein' so thumby, an' he sez, "That's right, boys, laugh while you can; but I'll have you all between the covers of a book some day, an' then it will be my grin. I ain't swore no everlastin' felicity to the holy cause o' labor; I'm just gettin' local color now."
Next day he fell into a barrel of red paint he was swobbin' on the hotel to keep her from warpin', an' every blessed man in camp passed out about six jokes apiece relatin' to local color. He never saddened up none, though, just smiled sorrowful, as though he pitied us, an' went on tanglin' up everything he touched.
An' then there was another curious speciment there; a tall thin feller, with one o' them lean, chinny faces. He claimed 'at he had been a show actor, but his lungs had given out—claimed he was a tragudian, but Great Scott! he couldn't even turn a handspring.
He said he was recuperatin', an' he sure did hit his liquor purty hard; but I never could make out what he expected to get out of a minin' camp, 'cause he was full as useless as Local Color. About half the fellers you meet strayin' around out here are a bit one-sided, but we don't care so long as they're peaceable. When you'd guy this one a little stout, he'd fold his arms, throw back his head, an' say, "Laugh, varlets, laugh! Like the cracklin' o' thorns under a pot, is the laughter of fools." This was the brand of langwidge 'at flowed from this one, an' he wasn't no ways stingy with it.
Well, they had kept these two at boys' jobs an' boys' wages, an' when I offered 'em the position of deputy watchmen, they fair jumped at it. Said Local Color, "It will be a golden opportunity to perpetuate the seething thoughts which crowd upon my brain." Said Hamlet, "I thank thee, sir, for this, thy proposition fair. In sooth I'll try the cold-air cure, and in the majesty of prime-evil silence, I shall make the snow-capped mountains echo to the wonderful rhapsodies of Shakespeare." Well, the' was a super-abundance of cold air an' prime-evil silence an' snow-capped mountains, an' I didn't care a hang what he did to 'em, so long as it kept me from gettin' everlastin' sick o' my own company.
I never see any company yet 'at wasn't a shade better'n just my own. I knew I could stand these two innocents for four months, an' if they got violent I could rope an' tie 'em. When everybody begun to get ready to pull out, I took the twenty-mule team down to town to get our needin's. I took the children along with me, an' I sez to 'em, "Now, boys, no drinkin' goes up above through the winter. We simply have to go out an' get disgusted with it before we start back."
Well, we sure had a work-out. On the sixth day Hamlet, he throws his arm around my neck an' busts out cryin' an' sez, "Happy, it is the inflexible destiny o' the human race to weary of all things mortal, an' I'm dog-tired o' bein' drunk—an' 'sides, I'm busted."
It turned out that he didn't have any advantage over me an' Locals in this respect, so we went to the company store an' got three bushels o' nickle libraries, enough grub to do six men six months, enough tobacco to do twelve men a car, an' a little yeller pup 'at we give six bits for. I didn't 'low to run any risks this deal.
When we got back 'most everybody had pulled out, an' the roads was beginnin' to choke up. Slocum an' the two capitalists was there waitin' for us, but when all their stuff was loaded on the wagon the' wasn't room for the men; so Miller, the youngest capitalist, who was a bit of a highroller, an' had been shakin' up the coast off an' on, he took off four trunks, an' sez to me, "Happy, if you run out of clothes, here's four trunks-full." Then they hopped on the wagon an' left us alone in our glory.
I reckon, take it all in all, that was about the most florid winter I ever put in, an' it purt' nigh spoilt me for hard work. I did the cookin', the innocents did the chores, an' we got along as bully as a fat bear for a while, livin' in the hotel. The' was a hundred rooms, but we didn't use 'em all. Locals, he wrote most of the time, when he wasn't lookin' at the ceiling an' tryin' to think. Hammy, he walked barefoot in the snow, on' hollered at the snow-capped mountains. I read nickle libraries, an' we didn't care a dang for the Czar of Russia, until along toward Christmas a spark lit in my pile of litachure, an' doggone near burned the hotel down. Then we began to feel snowed-in. Locals had writ himself dry, Hammy was tired of listenin' to himself, besides havin' chilblains up to his knees, an' I was half crazy, 'count of havin' nothing to read. We didn't have a nickle between us, so we couldn't gamble, an' I resigned my mind that when spring climbed up the trail the 'd be two corpses an' one maniac in that cussed hotel.
One day Hammy came stalkin' in to where me an' Locals was playin' guess. Guess ain't never apt to be a popular pastime 'cause it has to be played without any kind o' cheatin' whatever. The one who is it, guesses what the other one is thinkin' of, an' if he guesses before he falls asleep, he wins. Well, Hammy, he breaks in on our game just the same as if we hadn't been doin' anything at all, an' I knew by his action that the' was somethin' afoot. Whenever Hammy was ready to speak something, he always walked like a hoss 'at was string-haltered in all four legs. Well, he paraded up to us that day, hip action, knee action, and instep action all workin', stopped in front of us, folded his arms, an' sez, "Good sirs, I have conceived a fitting fete."
"The only fate I expect is to go mad an' cut my own throat," sez Locals; but Hammy frowned an' went on in a scoldy, indignant voice. "When Wisdom speaks, Folly replies with jest; yet, having little choice of company, I needs must make the best of what I have."
Well, those two had what they called a war of wits until finally Locals hit Hammy with a chair, which was the way most o' their discussions ended; but it turned out that what Hammy was tryin' to say was that we should open the trunks, dress ourselves in the clothes, an' give a show. He said he knew parts to fit any make-ups we'd find; an' after Locals found out what it was 'at Hammy had schemed out, he joined in enthusiastic, an' said that if the' had never been a part writ to fit 'em yet, he could do it on the spot, an' he wasn't swamped with business right then anyway. "Yes," I sez, "it's a great idee, an' we'll sure draw a mammoth crowd. We'll charge 'em a library apiece an' get enough litachure to last us a hundred years."
"At best, sarcasm is out of season; at worst, the season 's out of it," sez Hammy to me: "and furthermore, good friend, in life, as on the stage, your part must be a role of actions, not of words." I used to say over the things 'at this pair made up, until I had 'em by heart, an' since then I've had a lot o' fun springin' 'em on strangers. They used to speak to me as though I was a horse, and of me as though I was part of the furniture. Hammy sez to me one day, "Me good man, you do very well with your hands, but kindly Nature designed your head merely for a hatrack."
They could say these little things right off the roll, an' it allus made me feel like a fish out o' water, somehow, but I stored 'em up in my memory, an' I've got my worth out of 'em all right.
We did open the trunks a week or so after this—and clothes! Well, say, Miller sure was the dresser. The' was fifteen hats in a little trunk built a-purpose for 'em, an' the' was all kinds of vests an' pants an' neckties 'at a feller could imagine. But best of all was a book 'at we found at the bottom of one o' the trunks. It was a hard-shelled book, an' I never took much stock in that kind. When it's my turn to read a book, a little old paper-back fits me out all right. I've been fooled on them hard-shells too often; but this here one was a hummer.
I ain't no tenderfoot when it comes to a book, but this one was sure the corkin'est I ever met up with. I had allus thought 'at "Seventeen Buckets o' Blood; or the Mormon Widder's Revenge" was about the extreme limit in books, but this here one lays over even that. It was called "Monte Cristo," an' had the darndest set o' Dago names in it ever a mortal human bein' laid eyes on. I tried to mine it out by myself at first, but pshaw, every cuss in the book had a name like an Injun town, an' the' was about as many characters in the book as the' is on the earth; so I delegated Hammy to read her out loud. This suited Hammy to the limit, an' he didn't only read her—he acted her. He'd roar an' screech an' whisper an' glare into your eyes so blame natural that a feller never used the back of his chair from start to finish, an' twice I was on the point of shootin' him, thinkin' it was real.
If you ain't never read the book it'll pay you to fling up your job an' wrastle through it. It starts out with a nice, decent young feller sailin' home to marry his steady, but all his friends turn in an' stack the cards on him, an' get him chucked into the rottenest dungeon in France. He knowed how they soak it to a feller citizen in that country, an' at first he was all for killin' himself; but after he'd studied it over ten or twelve years, he suddenly heard a queer scratchin' noise.
In that same prison was another prisoner, an Abbey. An Abbey is a kind of foreman priest. Well, this Abbey wasn't one to throw out a prayer an' then set down to wait for results, not him. He was one o' these nervous, fretty fellers what like to do their own drivin', an' he makes him a set o' minin' tools out of a tin saucepan an' a bed-castor, an' runs a level from his own cell into Eddie's—an' that was the queer, scratchin' sound that made Eddie decide not to kill himself.
By George, if I could find a prison what had an Abbey shut up in it, the' wouldn't be any way in the world to keep me out. This Abbey, he cottoned to Eddie right from the start, an' durin' the next few years they mine around in the prison till she's as holey as a Switzer cheeze; an' durin' their leisure he edicates Eddie till he knows more'n a college professor.
Then the Abbey begins to have fits, an' when all the medicine 'at he could make out of old soot an' sulphur matches an' such stuff is gone, he gives up an' tells Eddie where he has a little holler island, chuck full o' diamonds an' money an' such like plunder. Then he dies, an' Eddie gets in the sack. They chain a round shot to Eddie's feet an' hurl him off a cliff into the angry sea, an' when it comes to that part you can't hardly breathe; but Eddie kicks off the chain, rips open the sack, an' when he strikes the water he's a free man.
He swims along for a couple of days until he overtakes a smuggler, an' he climbs on board an' shows 'ern how to run their business accordin' to Hoyle. He only stays with 'em long enough to learn all their secrets, an' then he gives 'em the slip an' goes to his little holler island. He pulls off the top, an' it's all so, what the Abbey told him. Then he lifts up his hand an' he sez, sez he, "I'll be avenged!" And he sure done it.
He didn't believe in none o' your cheap little killin's. He gives 'em all the range they wanted while he was fixin' up the cards; but when he was ready to call their hands, the' was somethin' doin' every minute, an' don't you never forget it. Oh, he was a deep one. It is creepy to think of any one like him bein' turned loose on the earth, 'cause a feller might do somethin' 'at didn't suit him, an' the' wasn't no place you could hide in afterward. He kept watchin' all the while, an' nobody couldn't commit a crime nowheres on earth but what he knew of it, an' he'd go an' call the feller over to one side an' say, "Young man, you are doomed to die; but if you'll promise to do anything I want you to, I'll give the Pope, or the Emp'rer of Chinee, or whoever the main stem happened to be, a scuttle o' diamonds an' get you free—what's the word?"
Well, in a few years the' wasn't half a dozen criminals in the whole world who wasn't bound to carry out his orders, an' you can see what an outfit he had to back him up. Some of 'em he'd make his body-servants; but that wasn't no snap, you can bet, 'cause he was notionable to a degree. He'd make plans for a little party, an' he'd send one man to Siberia for a fish, an' another to Asia for a fowl, an' another to Chinee for a bird's nest—to make soup of—an' so on. He never give his guests nothin' to eat 'at growed in the same country the feast was to be give in. Then he'd say to his steward, who had the hardest job of all, "Bill"—Bill wasn't his name, but it'll do—"Bill, where did I see that six-foot vase, made out of a single ruby?"
An' Bill would turn pale an' say, "It was in the secret vault of the Em'prer of Chince, your Excellency." Then Monte Cristo, he'd say, "Ah, yes, so it was. 'Tell, go an' get it an' have it here by the twenty-fifth day of next month."
Well, Bill, he'd just about flicker out, an' begin to tell how it couldn't be did; but Xlonte, he'd only look at him cold, an' say, "Never mind the details, Bill—get the vase. If you think you need the British Navy, why, buy it, but don't bother me. It seems to me, Bill, 'at you ought to begin gittin' on to my curves purty soon. Good-bye."
This was the way he carried on. He'd go to a prison an' he'd say, "Young man, you was buried to death when you was a baby, but I figgered I could use you later on, so I had you transplanted. You come out o' this prison, get an edication, an' on the ninth o' next June you show up at number forty-nine, Rue de Champaign, Paris, at two fifteen P. M.—sharp. Here's a million francs to pay expenses. Don't be a tight-wad—the's plenty more." A franc is worth five dollars, but he didn't give a durn for 'em. That was HIS style.
He'd come to town an' buy a tenement house 'at wouldn't rent, because it was haunted; an' he'd tear it all down except the rooms 'at had been most popular to commit murder in. Then next day he'd run up a swell mansion around these rooms—big an' gorgeous, like the Capitol at Cheyenne, with full-grown trees from all over the world, standin' in the front yard. Then he 'd give a party to all the substantial citizens who had once used those rooms to commit murders in, an' he'd bring 'em face to face with the ones they thought they had murdered—an' it was comical to see 'em fallin' around in faints; but Monte, he'd pretend 'at he hadn't noticed anything unusual, an' he'd get 'em a glass of wine an' make 'em face the torture, till it gives a feller a cold sweat, just to read about it.
You might think that a man runnin' for congress in this country has a hard time sinkin' his reputation; but the way 'at Monte Cristo mined around in a feller's past was enough to scare a cat out of a cellar. They don't run things over in France like they do here; they make Counts an' Markusses an' Bankers out of the bad men, an' slap the innocent ones into dungeons to keep 'em from gettin' spoilt. But this didn't suit Monte for a minute; so when he gets the gang all settin' up in front of him like a herd o' tenpins he sez, "Let her go!" an' you ought to have seen 'em drop.
He don't do none o' the dirty work himself—no more prisons for him. He just goes around like a Sunday-school director at Christmas time, while his enemies turn to an' poison an' stab an' mutilate each other in a way to turn a butcher pale; but his favorite plan is to make 'em go insane an' have their hair turn white in a single night. That got to be his private brand.
Well, Hammy read the book to us so natural that we all slept in one bed for company; but it cheered us a heap, an' we begun to feel rich, ourselves, an' talked about millions as easy an' natural as though we each had little holler islands of our own. Miller was about my size, so 'at all his clothes fit me like the skin on a potato. Hammy was a leetle too tall an' thin, and Locals, a foot or so short; but they fished out a couple of swell outfits too.
We found a lot of empty check-books, an' used to play draw, settlin' at night by check. It was purty good fun for a while—until we woke up. Hammy owed me ten million francs an' Locals was into me for fifteen. I offered to give 'em a receipt in full if they'd give me their interest in the yeller pup. As long as the pup had three bosses he wouldn't mind no one, an' I wanted to teach him somethin' besides eatin' an' sleepin; but them two cusses wouldn't sell out at the price. When I saw that a hundred an' twenty-five million dollars wouldn't buy two-thirds of a seventy-five cent pup, I understood what the spell-binders mean by a debased currency, an' I felt hurt an' lonesome again.
One day Hammy stacked himself in front of a window an' began to talk about the gloomy ghastliness of solitude, until me an' Locals couldn't stand it no longer, an' we heaved him out into a drift. Under ordinary circumstances he would have rolled his eyes, pulled his hair, an' ranted around about the base ungratitude of man; but this time he looked up to the sky an' hollered, "Come out here quick! Hurry up! COME ON!"
We went out, an' the' was somethin' a-floatin' away up yonder, lookin' like a flyspeck on a new tablecloth. "What is it?" asked Hammy. "Is it a bird?" asked Locals. Under such conditions I never say nothin' until I have somethin' to say, so we stood an' gazed. In about ten minutes we all shouted together, "It's a balloon!"
An' by jinks, that's what it was. We hollered an' fired off guns, an' after a while it settled down an' lodged in a tree. The' was only one man in it, but he was dyked out in Sunday clothes, an' purt' nigh froze to death. We fed an' warmed him, an' he was about as much surprised at us as we was at him. I was wearin' a Prince Albert coat an' a high plug hat, Locals had on a white flannel yachtin' rig, an' Hammy was sportin' a velvet suit with yeller leggin's an' a belt around the waist. After we had fitted him out with a pipe he sez, "Gentlemen, I may possibly be able to repay you at some future time. I am Lord Arthur Cleighton, second son of the Earl o' Clarenden."
When he registered himself thus, I see Locals an' Hammy open their eyes, an' I knew 'at we had landed somethin' purty stately.
"I am pleased to meet you, me lord," sez Hammy, in his most gorgeous manner. "I am Gene De Arcy. You may have heard of my father, the multimillionaire."
Locals, he looked at Lord Arthur, an' see that Hammy's bluff had stuck, so he girded up his loins an' sez, "Sir, it gives me great pleasure to make your acquaintance. My uncle, Silas Martin, the late copper king, has just died, leavin' me as his sole heir; an' I have been seein' a bit of my own country, preparatory to a prolonged trip around the world."
Lord Arthur, he jumps to his feet an' shakes hands with 'em, tellin' 'em to just cut out his title, as he was a simple Democrat while in the United States.
I hardly knew what to do. I didn't hold openers, an' yet if I didn't draw some cards an' see it out I stood to lose entirely. I had been corralin' a heap o' city langwidge since I had been cooped up with Locals an' Hammy, but my heart failed me. I knew I was still some shy on society manners; but I also knew 'at the' was a heap o' bluffin' goin' on, so I stuck up my bet an' called.
"Artie," I sez, holdin' out my hand, "you 're the first lord my eyes has ever feasted on; but I like you—you're game. It ain't many 'at will own up to bein' a Democrat these days, not even in the secrecy of the ballot box, but here in Nevada you're safe. Pa has just retired from business, leavin' me this little mine; but it only pays about ten million a year now, so I've made up my mind not to bother with it, but to shut it down an' go on a tour of the world with my two friends here. I never cared much for school, so this will be a good way to finish my edication. We was up here last fall seein' that things was closed in proper order, an' waited for the watchman to come up from below, when we expected to drive down to our special train an' start for Paris. But the snow came unexpected, and the expected watchman failed to come; and here we are, with no food fit for a human, an' all our servants in the special train, ninety miles away."
When I begun my oration Locals and Hammy leaned forward, holdin' their breath; but when they see 'at I wasn't turnin' out no schoolboy article of a lie, they settled back with a long sigh, an' I could tell by their faces 'at they were takin' pride in my work. They was about the best qualified judges o' that kind o' work I ever met up with, an' I'll own 'at I never felt prouder in my life 'an I did when Hammy slapped me on the back as soon as I finished an' sez to Artie, "Me Lord, this is a typical American. He plans his life on larger things than rules; but you can depend on him—yea, though the heavens fall, you can depend on Jack here."
I was glad we didn't have any liquor there, or like as not we'd 'a' burned the hotel down just for a lark. We was so full of that doggone Monte Cristo book that we believed our own lies as easy as Artie did, an' begun to talk to each other like we was society folks at a banquet.
But Artie was a good, decent sort of a chap, as common as we were, when we got to know him. He never kicked none on the grub, an' his appetite was a thing to make preparations for; but, as Locals said, his high descent came out the minute he was brought face to face with work—he didn't recognize it. Now he didn't try to dodge it, nor he didn't apologize for not doing it; he just didn't seem to know the' was such a thing. It never occurred to him that the only way to have clean dishes was to wash dirty ones. Hammy and Locals, those freeborn sons of Independence, was glad an' proud to have the chance to wait on him; but I must confess that the day he sat by the fire with a pile of wood within reachin' distance, an' let the fire go out, I grew a trifle loquacious about it.
Hammy overheard me mutterin' to myself in a voice 'at could be heard anywhere in the hotel, an' he drew me to one side an' sez, "Hush, presumptuous peasant; for all you know the blood of Alfred flows within his veins."
"That ain't my fault," sez I; "but some of it will flow down this mountain side if he don't begin stayin' awake daytimes."
Still, all in all, he was a likeable young feller an' the' ain't no doubt but what he saved us from bein' lonesome any more. He said 'at this balloon had been exhibited in Los Angeles, an' he had got into it just for fun; but the rope had parted an' he had been fifteen hours on the way. It was only by luck 'at he had happened to have his overcoat along.
He had four or five newspapers, which he had tied around his feet to keep 'em warm, but nare a library; so after we had lied our imaginations sore for a week or so, we fell back on draw, settlin' by checks at night. By a dazzling piece of luck Artie had his money in the same New York bank 'at Miller had, so he could use our checks, an' things began to brighten. Three of us were playin' for real money, an' the other feller thought he was—it was genuine poker, an' the stiffest game I ever sat in.
Time didn't drag none now. Artie knew the game, an' it kept me in a sweat to beat him. White chips was a hundred dollars apiece; but we bet colored ones mostly, to keep from litterin' up the table. Spring began to loosen up about the first of March, an' by that time Artie owed me two million real dollars. Locals an' Hammy was into me for close to a billion, but I didn't treasure their humble offerings much, 'ceptin' as pipe-lighters. We was keyed up to a high pitch by this time, an' was beginnin' to get thin and ringey about the eyes. Artie from losin', me from longin' for the time to come when I should start out to be a little Monte Cristo on my own hook, an' Locals an' Hammy, from pityin' Artie an' envyin' me.
On the twenty-fifth of March a wagon-load of grub an' four men came out to get things started. I see 'em comin' up the grade, an' I piked down an' told'em 'at I had landed a good thing, an' to just treat me as the boss for a few days an' I'd make it all right with 'em.
When Artie saw the new men he turned pale about the gills. He owed me close to three millions, an' blame if I didn't feel a little sorry for him. Still, I'd played fair all the while, an' I 'lowed 'at the Earl o' Clarenden could stand it, and I needed the money a heap more'n some who might 'a' won it.
When old Bill Sykes came in to report to me I was wearin' a plug hat on the back o' my head an' sportin' a white vest an' a red necktie, so I looked enough like the real thing to make it easy for him to act his part. He came in an' blurted out, right while we was boostin' up a jack-pot. "That'll do, me good man," sez I, "wait until this hand is played." Bill, he took off his hat an' stood humble until Artie had scooped in a hundred thousand dollars, an' then I told Bill he might talk.
"The watchman was found froze to death, Mr. Hawkins," sez Bill to me mighty respectful, "an' your train waited until two relief parties had been drove back by storms, an' then it pulled out for 'Frisco. We are all ready to take charge here, an' as soon as you wish you can drive down in the wagon an' telegraph for the train."
Bill backed out bowin', an' we made plans to emigrate a little. I promised Locals an' Hammy a generous rake-off, an' we fixed to have a tol'able fair time as soon as I cashed in.
Next mornin' I found a letter addressed to Mr. John Hawkins, Esq. Artie wasn't around, but Locals an' Hammy was, so I opened the letter an' read it. This here is the letter. It's one o' my greatest treasures.
"GENTLEMEN,—You have all treated me fine an' I hate to skin out
without saying good-bye but I have not the nerve. I have lied to you
all the time. I am not a real lord at all. My father was gardener at
Clarenden Castle an' I was under groom at St. James Court. When the
younger son came to this country, I came with him but left him an'
became a waiter in New York City. I went to an excursion to Long Branch
an' got to flirting with a widow just for pastime. She dogged my life
after that and my wife is something terrible so I took her and came to
Los Angeles. We was as happy as any one could be with a wife like mine
until the widow showed up. Then I stood between two fires and either
one of them was hell so I got into the balloon and cut the rope
expecting to drift over into Mexico. You are all rich and will not need
the money but I always play fair and I hate to skin out this way;
"yours truly
"L. A. C.
"P.S. It was all I could do to keep from helping with the work 'cause some of your cooking was rotten and you did not wash the dishes clean but I knew if I worked you would not think me a real lord. I hope some day I may be able to repay you for all your kindness."
I didn't say a word after I finished readin' the letter. I had fallen too far to have any breath left for talkin'; but Hammy an' Locals unbosomed their hearts something terrible.
"A murrian on the filthy swine!" sez Hammy, after he began to quiet down a little. "I would I had his treacherous throat within my grasp, that I might squeeze his inky soul back to the lower depths from whence he sprung."
"Hush, you punkin headed peasant," sez I. "The' 's just as much of Alfred's blood flowin' through his veins now as the' ever was."
"'T is not the money I have lost that makes me mad," sez Locals. "It's finding out that a man can become so degenerate that he will impose upon the very ones who save his life—deceive them, lie to them!"
"Oh, he ain't the only liar 'at was ever in this hotel," sez I; "an' when it comes to the money YOU'VE lost, that'd be a small matter to get mad over. He risked just as much money as we did, an' if he'd 'a' won, he wouldn't 'a' won a cent more."
After a while they grew more resigned in their langwidge; but after we had driven down to town without finding him, Hammy sez, "In sooth 't is bitter truth that all the world's a stage; yet Fate, however cruel, never decreed that I should play the second season, as servile server to a worn out mine—my health is all right again, an' I'm goin' back where a feller gets paid decent wages for makin' a fool of himself."
Suddenly Locals gave a yell of joy and shouted, "My fortune's made! I can take this thing and have a runaway boy and a lost orphan and a rich uncle and a villanous cousin, and write the novel of the age about it."
"No, no!" sez Hammy, catchin' the excitement, "tragedy—make it a tragedy. It is for the stage! Think of them lost without food and the balloon coming into sight! Think of the scenic effects, the low music as the orphan kneels in the middle of the stage and prays that the balloon may bring them food; and then have the villanous cousin in the balloon—"
Well, they purt' nigh fought about it, and they were still at it when I left them. The tingle of spring in the air made me wild to get back to the range again. I thought of little Barbie and what a great girl she must be by this time. I thought of the big-eyed winter calves huggin' up to their mothers and wonderin' what it all meant. I thought of old Mount Savage, and all of a sudden somethin' seemed pullin' at my breast like a rope, an' I drew down my winter wages, an' set out for the no'th, eager as a hound pup on his first hunt.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DRESS REFORM AT THE DIAMOND DOT
I've heard it called Christian fortitude, an' I've heard it called Injun stoickcism, an' I've heard it called bulldog grit; but it's a handy thing to have, no matter what it is. I mean the thing that keeps a feller good company when the' 's a hurtin' in his heart that he never quite forgets. A little child away from home an' just sick to go back, a man who has to grit his teeth an'—but no, the first expresses the feelin' better—a child, homesick, but keepin' a stiff upper lip; and it don't make much difference what the age, that's a condition 'at nobody ever outgrows.
Well, all the years I'd been away the' was a little empty sore spot in my heart that I couldn't quite forget; but I never aired it none, an' I don't believe I knew myself how big it was, until I left Slocum's Luck behind me an' headed for the Diamond Dot. Then I spread a grin on my face that nothin' wouldn't wipe off, an' I stepped so high an' light that I was like a nervous man goin' barefoot through a thistle patch. I was headed for home; an' even a mule that gets dressed down regular with the neck-yoke gives a little simmer of joy when he's headed toward home, while a dog,—well, a dog will just naturally joyful himself all over when the trail doubles back on itself, an' a dog ain't no parlor loafer, neither, if I'm any judge.
Why, for two years I hadn't polished a saddle, an' I whistled like a boy when I pictured to myself the feel of a hoss under me. The' 's somethin' about feelin' a hoss's strength slide into your legs an' up through your body that must be a good deal like the sensation a saint enjoys the first fly he takes with his new wings. A little pop-eyed drug merchant was out here on a tour oncet, an' he asked me the usual list of blame-fool questions, about what we et an' where we washed an' if it didn't make us ache to sleep on the hard ground, an so on. When I had made answers to his queries accordin' to the amount of information I thought it wise to load him with, he shakes his head solemn like an' sez, "I do not see where you get any compensation for such a life as this."
"We don't get any compensation," sez I, "but look at all the hoss-back ridin' we get to make up for it."
An' there I was with the spring drippin' all about me, the plains standin' beckonin' to me on every side, just coaxin' to be rode over, an' me walkin' on foot with flat-heeled boots on!
I had rode out on Sam Cutler's freighter to within' twenty miles o' the ranch house, an' I built a little fire an' unrolled my blankets; but I couldn't sleep. I just lay lookin' up at the stars an' tryin' to imagine what Barbie looked like an' whether Starlight was still at the ranch, an' every now an' again I tried to decide as to whether I'd grin or he haughty when I first spied Jabez. I was some anxious to come upon Barbie first. I knew she'd be glad to see me, but I was rather leery about Jabez. He would 'a' welcomed a projical son of his own as often as occasion offered, but he wasn't just the sort of a man to be a public welcomer. I couldn't picture him puttin' up a sign sayin', "Projical sons turn to the left. If chicken is proferred to veal, shoot in the air twice when you get within a mile of the house."
But I was too much elated to worry much, an' along about one o'clock I rolled up my blankets, kicked out my fire, an' started to drill. When the sun rose I was in sight of the ranch house, an' the sun seemed to throw an arm around my shoulder an' go skippin' along by my side—an' I did skip now an' again.
When I got about a mile from the house I came upon Jabez, walkin' slow an' lookin' down-hearted. He hadn't changed a mite in the five years—in fact from what I could see he hadn't even changed his clothes; so for a moment I thought his sour look was the same ill humor I'd left him in; an' then I saw it was more serious, an' my heart stopped with a thump.
He looked up just then an' we stared at each other without speakin'. "Ain't you dead?" sez he.
"No I ain't," sez I.
"We heard you was," sez he; "killed in a muss over at Danders."
"I don't believe it," sez I, "an' besides, I ain't been in Danders for over seven years."
"Well, then, what made you stay away so long for?" sez he, sort o' snappy.
"I don't remember you sheddin' any tears when I left, an' I don't recall you beggin' me to hurry back," sez I. I was pleased at the way I was bein' received an' I meant to make him show his hand.
"You know as well as I do that things allus go better on this ranch when you're here."
"Yes," sez I.
"An' you know 'at I don't like to beg no man to do anything; but you ought to see that I know that you're the usefullest man I ever had, an' you oughtn't to be so fly-uppity," sez he.
"Now see here, Jabez," sez I, "you're one o' the kind o' men who never own up 'at a man was fit to live until after he's dead. You're like some o' these Easterners—they get so everlastin' entranced with the beautiful scenery that they forget to water their ridin' hosses. I don't ask no special favors, but I ain't so mortal thick-skinned myself, an' you ought to learn sometime that there is hosses 'at work better when they're not beat up an' yelled at."
"Are you goin' to stay this time?" sez he.
"As long as it's agreeable—all around," sez I. "Is everything goin' smooth?"
The down-hearted look came into his eyes again. "She won't speak to me," sez he.
"You don't mean to say 'at you've gone an' got married," sez I, "or that you are tryin' to?"
"I ain't such a fool," he snaps. "It's Barbie, I mean."
"How long has this been goin' on?" sez I.
"This is the fourth meal," sez he; an' he was so solemn about it that I was some inclined to snicker, but then it flashed upon me that when I left, the child was all het up over the letter she'd found in the attic, and I sobered an' sez, "Is it something 'at's goin' to be hard to smooth over?"
"I don't see how the deuce it's ever goin' to be smoothed over," sez Jabez, desperately.
"Would you feel like sort o' hintin' what it was about?" sez I.
"Well, it's about the way she acts," sez Jabez. "Confound it, Happy, she's the best gal child ever was on this earth, I reckon, but she don't want to be one, an' she won't act like it, an' she—she won't dress like it. Every time I argue with her she beats me to it, an' I'm plumb stumped. Yesterday I told her she had to take 'em off an' wear dresses, an' she did; but now she won't speak to me."
"You mean that you said that she was never to argue with you again?" sez I, indignant.
"No, I mean that I sez she must take those confounded buckskin pants off! She's big enough now to begin to train to become a woman—not a man."
I had to grin a little, but even though it didn't seem as skeptical to me as it did to him, I saw he might be right about it. Still, I wasn't goin' to take sides without hearin' all the evidence, so I sez, "Is she healthy, Jabez?"
"Healthy?" he sez. "Why, that child could winter through without shelter an' come out in the spring kickin' up her heels an' snortin'."
"Well, that much is in her favor," sez I. "Is she good at her studies?"
"Where you been that you haven't heard about it?" sez he. "Last winter she out-ciphered an' out-spelt the schoolmarm, an' she fuddled up one o' these missionary preachers till he didn't know where he was at. She has been studyin' about all kinds o' things, an' she cornered him up on the first chapter o' Genesis. She lined out the school-marm first, an' the schoolmarm came an' told me that she was an infidel—the' ain't no sense in havin' women teach school, Happy. You can't reason with 'em an' you can't fight with 'em an' they just about pester a body to death. I don't see how Barbie stands it."
"Well, what did you do about her bein' an infidel?" sez I.
"I couldn't do anything to the teacher except tell her what I thought of her; but next Sunday I had Barbie read to me the first chapter o' Genesis. Did you ever read it, Happy?"
"Yes," sez I, "I read all of that book an' most of the next one. Me an' another feller had a dispute about the Bible one time, an' he said it was the best readin' the' was, an' I said it was too dry. He read me about a feller in it named Samson, who was full o' jokes an' the strongest man ever was, I reckon, before he let that Philistine woman loco him, an' he read about another feller, just a mite of a boy, who killed a giant with a slingshot in front of an army which had made fun of him an' was all ready to give in to the giant, an' he read me some poems about mountains; an' I had to give in that the Bible was the greatest book ever was. That was up at a little ranch in Idaho, an' he was goin' to read it all to me an' explain what it meant,—he was full edicated, this feller was, an' had a voice as soft as a far-off bell, an' an eye that seemed to reach right out an' shake hands with ya,—but one day when I was away a posse surprised him, an' though he potted two of 'em they finally put him out. He left me his Bible with a note in it which said that he had killed the man all right an' that he would do it again under the circumstances; but he couldn't tell a word in his own defense 'count of mixin' in a woman. We never found out a word about it, not even where the posse came from. Well, afterward I tried to read it alone; but I couldn't make any headway. For one thing, the' 's too many pedigrees to keep track of, an' the names are simply awful. I don't want to be profane nor nothin', but hanged if I think the Children of Israel was square enough to deserve all the heavenly favors they got; so I finally gave up tryin' to read it. But what about you an' Barbie?"
"Well," sez he, "I'd read the Bible clean through from cover to cover an' I never saw anything unreasonable in it, so I thought I could set Barbie right without any trouble. She read the first chapter, an' by that time I was runnin' for cover an' yellin' for help. The' ought to be something done about that book, it ain't right to try an' raise a child to be honest, an' tell 'em that they must believe the Bible, an' then have 'em find out what the Bible really sez."
"Well, what about it?" sez I.
"Well, it sez that the' was light an' darkness an' evenin' an' mornin' on the first day; on the third day the' was all kinds o' grass an' herbs yieldin' seeds, an' fruit trees yieldin' fruit; but the' wasn't no sun or stars until the fourth day. Now how could you have evenings an' mornings an' grass an' fruit trees without sunshine? You know that wouldn't work, an' when she put it up to me I simply threw up my hands, an' sent Spider Kelley with the buckboard to hunt up this missionary preacher. He was long-haired an' pius, an' when I saw him I felt purty sure he could straighten it out; but he wasn't game. Barbie argued fair an' square, an' he lost his temper an' called her an infidel an' a heretic an' a nagnostic; but she pulled a lot o' books on him, an' he couldn't understand 'em an' blasphemed 'em something terrible; but he see he was whipped, an' just simply ran away. I felt mighty bad about Barbie bein' an infidel until Friar Tuck came around. You remember Friar Tuck—the one they call an Episcolopian?" Course I remembered Friar Tuck. Everybody knew him an' he was about as easy to forget as a stiff neck—though for different reasons. Preachers are about as different as other humans to begin with, but the women seem more unanimously bent on spoilin' 'em; so as a general rule I wade in purty careful when I 'm startin' an acquaintance with a strange one, but I did know that this here one was all to the right, an' his time belonged to any one who demanded it. This made him purty wearin' on hosses, an' when one would give out on him he'd just turn it loose an' rope another 'thout makin' any preliminary about it; all the explanation a body got was just seein' a tired, stray pony eatin' grass. The first time he tried that game they gathered up a posse an' ran him down; but he pulled a Bible on 'em showin' where he got his commission from, threw a sermon into 'em 'at converted two an' made one other sign the pledge, an' that put an end to any unsolicited interference in his line o' work. He was a big man with two right hands, an' some one gave him the name of Friar Tuck out of a book, an' he was known by it the whole country over.
I nodded my head: "Did the Friar get fainty about Barbie bein' a heretic?" sez I.
"No, he didn't," sez Jabez, "he just laughed when I told him about it, an' he an' Barbie, they wrangled over it for a long time; but he played fair. When he didn't know the answer he owned up to it, an' then he told her that the Bible was written by a lot of different men, an' that the spirit of it was inspired; but that the' wasn't any words ever invented that could describe creation; because the origin of life was a thing 'at man wasn't wise enough to comprehend, an' that all the scientific books ever written couldn't come any nearer to it than that first chapter of Genesis, which had been written ages ago when the old Earth was still in its childhood."
"How did Barbie get around this?" sez I.
"Well, she didn't have much to say; he didn't climb up on a perch an' call her names, he just sat there by her side like they was both children together; an' then he took some of her books an' explained things she didn't understand an' pointed out things 'at other scientists didn't believe in, an' he actually said 'at he believed that after they had examined the earth all over, inside an' out with a magnifyin' glass, every last scientist the' was would be willin' to admit that it must have been created some way or another; and that we'd all be the better for the work these scientists was doin', but that she mustn't confuse the word with the spirit, for it was the spirit which giveth life. He's an A I man, Friar Tuck is; but when I offered him twice as much a year as he's gettin' to stay an' teach her, he just laughed again, an' said that I wasn't in no position to double the kind o' wages he was workin' for. I was a little put out at this, but Barbie said he was talkin' in parables."
"Was she wearin' the buckskin pants when he was here?" sez I.
"Yes, she was, an' I didn't much like the way he acted about that. At first he thought she was a boy, an' it made me hot; but he sez to me, 'Didn't God create man first?' I owned up that he did. 'Well, then,' said he, 'let this child develop the man side of her first, so that she may have strength an' courage for all her journey.' Everything that man sez has the ring o' truth in it, an' I didn't have much of a come-back, except to say that she was overdoing it. He called Barbie over to him an' looked into her eyes an' put his big hand on her head an' afterward he sez to me, 'You needn't worry; soon enough a soul which is all woman will stand before you and ask questions which will make you long for these days back again. Give her all the time she will take.'"
"What else did he say?" sez I.
"Well, he asked me if I had ever noticed a litter of pups. I said I had, and he wanted to know if the' was much difference in the way they played. I owned up that the' wasn't. Then he looked sort o' worried an' asked me if I had ever found any of 'em to get their sex mixed up bad enough to have the tangle last through life. I had to admit that I never had, an' he laughed at me good an' proper—but his laughs never hurt. I didn't mind about her wearin' the buckskins after that so much."
"Well, then, what made you rear up about 'em yesterday?" sez I.
"I hired a new man when she was out ridin',—day before yesterday it was,—an' when she came in he thought she was a boy an' kind o' got gay, an' she panned him out; an' he cussed her an' she drew a gun on him an' made him take it back, an' he might o' taken some spite out on her before he found out she was a girl. She is too sizey now, an' confound it, leggin's an' a short skirt ought to satisfy any female—but now she won't speak to me, an' I can't go back on my order, so I don't see how we're goin' to straighten it out."
I pertended to be mad. "Jabez," I sez, "I do wish I could come back to this ranch just once an' find it runnin' smooth. Here I come all the way from Nevada just to see it once again, an' I find the boss an' his daughter ain't on speakin' terms, an' I have to stand palaverin' for a solid hour without anything bein' asked about my appetite, an' me just finishin' a twenty-mile walk."
"By George, I'm sorry!" sez Jabez. "But hang it, Happy, you ought to savvy this place well enough by this time to know 'at no human ever has to set up an' beg for food. I'm glad to see you 'cause the little girl does set a heap by you, an' you seem to have a way o' straightenin' out the kinks. While you're eatin' breakfast see if you can't think up some way to get her to talkin' again." We started to walk to the house, an' I sez, "just what was your orders about these buckskins?"
"I told her to take 'em off at once an' throw 'em out the window, sez he.
"Did she do it?" sez I.
"She allus obeys orders when she drives me to issue 'em—but I allus get a sting out of it, some way or other. This time I issued the order at the supper table, an' she went upstairs to her room, stuffed the suit full o' pillows, stood in the window, an' screamed until me an' the boys ran out to see what was the matter. Then she threw the figger out an' we thought she had jumped, an' I made a fool o' myself. It's playin' with fire every time you cross her, but she allus obeys orders. Still, it's tarnation hard to be her father—not that I'd trade the job for any other in the country, at that."
I had to chuckle inward all the way to the house, an' just before we arrived to it I purt' nigh exploded. Here come a figger, heavily veiled an' wearin' a shapeless sort of a dress affair made out of a bedquilt an' draggin' behind on the ground. It walked along slow an' dignified, like some sort of a heathen ghost, an' when it came to a pebble in the path it would walk around it an' not step over, all the time holdin' a hand lookin' glass to see that her toe didn't show. I just took one side-eye at Jabez an' his face looked like a storm cloud at a picnic; but when Barbie see who I was she tore off the veil, gathered up her skirts, an' yelled, "Happy! Happy Hawkins, is it really you?"
"I'm ready to take my oath on it, madame," sez I, not crackin' a smile; "but if I might make so bold, who are you?"
"Oh, Happy, we thought you was dead," said she, with a little catch in her voice that made me wink a time or two. "Where have you been all these years, an' why didn't you come back to us?"
She stood lookin' into my eyes, half tender an' half cross, an' I couldn't help but try her out to see which would win. "I didn't know for sure that I'd be welcome," sez I.
"Oh. Happy!" she sez; an' she threw her arms around my neck an' kissed me, an' then we went in to breakfast. I answered her questions between bites, an' as soon as we'd finished I proposed we'd go for a ride. "I haven't crossed a saddle for two years," sez I. "Is Starlight here yet?"
"Well I should say he is, and fat an' bossy," sez she. "The' hasn't airy another body but me rode him neither. I divide my ridin' between him an' Hawkins, just ridin' a colt now an' again to keep from gettin' careless." Then she stopped an' looked down at the thing she was wearin' an' said, sadly, "But I reckon my ridin' days are over."
"Alas, yes," sez I, usin' Hammy's most solemn voice, "Old Age has set his seal upon your brow, an' I can see you sitting knitting by the fire for your few remainin' days."
"Where did you learn to talk that way?" sez she, quick as a wink. So I told her of my winter at Slocum's Luck, an' she asked me a million questions about Hammy an' Locals. When I was through she sat silent for a while an' then she sez, "Happy, I'm goin' to see more o' the world than just this ranch some day."
"Well, the' ain't much of it that's a whole lot better—an' I've seen it about all," sez I.
"You seen it about all?" sez she, scornful; "why, you haven't seen the inside of one real house."
I glanced around, but she snaps in, "This ain't a house, this is just shelter from the elements. I'm goin' to see mansions an' palaces, an' I'm goin' to see 'em from the inside too."
"Have you ever read Monte Cristo?" sez I.
"No," sez she.
"Then don't you do it," sez I. "Your head's about as far turned now as your neck'll stand, an' what you ought to do is to learn how to cook an' sew."
She looked at me with her eyes snappin', but in a second her face broke into a grin. "The' ain't a mite o' use in your tryin' that," sez she. "You like me just as I am, an' you don't need to feel it's your duty to work in any that teacher stuff. Gee, but I'm glad you came back It looks as if me an' Dad is in for a long siege of it this time, an' you'll keep me from gettin' lonesome."
"Not the right answer," sez I. "I'm goin' to leave tomorrow."
Her face grew long in a minute, when she see I meant it. "Happy—you don't really mean that, do you?"
"Barbie," I sez, "I had to leave before, or take sides. Well, you an' the boss are warrin' again; I can't fight you, an' I won't side again him. You don't leave me any choice—I just have to go away again."
"Oh, I don't want you to go away again," she sez. "You allus find more in things than the rest of 'em ever do, an' I want you to tell me all about those two queer men you spent the winter with, an' to teach me just the way the one you call Hammy used his voice. Happy, you just can't go away again."
"I don't want to go away again," sez I, an' I was down-right in earnest by this time, "but you make me. Barbie, you are hard-hearted. You know that your father thinks the world of you—"
"He don't think one speck more of me than I do of him," she snaps in.
"Yes, but he's different," I sez. "He's your father, an' he has to guide and correct you."
"Well, he don't have to throw in my teeth that I'm a girl every tine I want to do anything."
"I'm disappointed in you," I sez to her in a hard voice. "I thought that you would be game, but you're not."
"What ain't I game about?" sez she.
"You're ashamed of bein' a girl," sez I.
"I ain't," sez she. "I'm glad I'm a girl, an' I want to tell you that the' 's been just about as many heroines as heros too. I don't mean just these patient women who put up with things; I mean heroines in history. Look at Joan of Arc!"
"I never heard of her before," sez I, "but I reckon she must have been Noah's wife." She breaks in an' tells me the story of the French farm girl who got to be the leader of an army and whipped the king of England an' was finally burned; an' then, naturally, became a heroine an' a saint.
"She didn't wear boys clothes, did she?" I sez, thinkin' I had her.
"Yes, she did!" sez Barbie.
"Well, she ought to be ashamed of herself," I said; but I knew I was gettin' the worst of it, so I changes the subject. "But speakin' about the Ark," sez I, "there's another example of your obstinacy. When I went away from here you was fussin' with the school-teachers because they said this whole earth was once under water, an' now I find you cuttin' around an' linin' out missionary-preachers because you ain't suited with the way the Bible was wrote. It looks to me as if you ought to get old enough sometime to realize 'at you ain't nothin' but a child. Your father is willin' to give you a fair show; he don't ask you to act like a girl, all he wants is for you to look like one."
"If I have to wear a skirt, you know mighty well I can't ride," sez she.
"You don't have to wear a thing like what you have on now," I sez. "Why don't you get over your pout an' be sensible. He never asks you to humble yourself. All you need is to do what he wants, an' he'll drop it at once."
"Yes," sez she, "all I need to do is to give up my independence an' he'll think I'm a nice little girl."
"Why don't you figger out some kind of a dress that would look like a girl's and—and work like a boy's?" sez I.
She sat thinkin' for a minute an' then sez, "That wouldn't be a complete surrender, that would only be a compromise; an' I'd be mighty glad to do it if the' was only some way."
"Where's that picture of the girl who whipped the king?" sez I.
She ran an' got it, an' it was a dandy lookin' girl all right,—it looked a little mite like Barbie herself,—but she was wearin' clothes 'at most folks would think undesirable; they was made out of iron an' covered with cloth.
"You don't want to wear any such thing as that, Barbie," sez I, "it would be too blame hot, an' that bedquilt thing's bad enough."
"That's what they used to fight in," sez she.
"They must 'a' been blame poor shots," sez I. "Why, I could shoot 'em through those eye-holes as fast as they came up, an' she don't even wear any head part with hers." Then an idea struck me: "But why don't you make a suit like her outside one?" sez I. "It comes below her knees an' yet she can ride in it all right."
Well, we got old Melisse to help us, an' by four o'clock the thing was done. We had used up some dark-green flannel that Jabez had bought to have a dress made of, an' which she had kicked on. She took it up to her room an' I went out to find Jabez. I told him that she was always willin' to give in when any honorable way was pointed out, an' he was the tickledest man in the West. He went in to supper four times before it was ready, but when it finally was ready Barbie wouldn't come down.
Melisse went after her an' come back sayin' that Barbie didn't feel hungry an' was goin' to wait until after dark an' then wear it outdoors.
"What nonsense!" sez Jabez. "Here she's been wearin' regular buckskin pants, an' now she fusses up about what you say is a half dress. You go an' get her."
I went to the head of the stairs an' called her, an' she finally stuck her head out of her room an' sez, "Happy, I just can't wear this thing. It flaps!"
"Let it flap!" sez I. "You're just like a colt gettin' used to a single-tree; you won't mind it after the first hour. Let me see how it looks."
She opens the door an' stands with a queer new look on her face, an' her cheeks pink as wild roses. I hadn't never seen those cheeks pink up for anything but fun or anger before, an' it flashed upon me what Friar Tuck had told Jabez; an' I was willin' to bet that the time would come when he'd have full as much girl on his hands as any one man could wish.
The waist part of it was loose an' low in the neck an' came to a little below the knees where the leggin's began. The upper part of the leggin's which you couldn't see were loose an' easy. Her little legs looked cute an' shapely, an' her smooth, round throat came up from the open neck mighty winnin'—the whole thing was just right an' I sez to her, "Why, Barbie, this is the finest rig you ever had on, an' you're as purty as a picture."
Well, her face went the color of a sunset an' she slammed the door. "If I was your Dad," sez I to myself, "you'd go back to those buckskins to-morrow." I waited a moment an' then I began to make fun of her, and after a while she came out with her teeth set tight together an' we went down to the dinin' room; but it was the first time I had ever seen her take an awkward step.
"Now that's what I call a sensible garment," sez Jabez, heartily, an' then he begun talkin' to me. Jabez had a lot o' wisdom when he kept his head, an' by the time supper was over Barbie was purty well used to the feel, an' we all three went for a ride; me ridin' Starlight, Barbie, Hawkins, an' Jabez a strappin' bay, one of Pluto's colts, an' a beauty. Well, I'll never forget that ride: you know how tobacco tastes after a man owns up that he was only jokin' when he swore off; you know how liquor seems to ooz all through you after you've been out in the alkali for three months—well, that first ride, after bein' out o' commission for two years, makes these two sensations something like the affection a man has for sour-dough bread. Oh, it was glorious! we all felt like a flock o' birds—hosses an' all. In the first place it was spring, an' that was excuse enough if the' hadn't been any other; but two of us had gone into that day not on speakin' terms, an' now they were closer than ever, an' the third one had brought 'em together. The old sayin' is that three's a crowd, but it took a crowd to hold all the joyfulness that we was luggin' that night, an' it was ten o'clock before we turned around on the velvet carpet an' came swingin' back to the house.