CHAPTER VIII
THE "BOYS" OF THE VILLAGE
The saloon was well filled, and it was evident from the atmospherepervading the place that something unusually welcome was afoot.
As a rule evenings spent in the saloon at Barnriff were not gatheringsone would readily describe as being "gay." At least it would require astrong imagination to do so. A slight modification would be best. TheBarnriff men were rarely lightsome, and when they disported themselvesit was generally with a sombre sort of joy. That was their attitudejust now. There was a peculiar earnestness about them, even in thefact of living. They seemed to be actuated by a deadly thoroughnesswhich had a tendency to kill, not so much levity as lightness, andleave them mourning.
To-night such an atmosphere of sombre joy was prevailing. It was asimilar attitude to that which they adopted on election day,Independence Day, at a funeral, or a wedding. It was the way anythingout of the ordinary always affected them.
The fact of the matter was Doc Crombie, who was doctor, veterinarysurgeon, horse dealer, and a sort of self-elected mayor of the place,was going to hold a meeting in the saloon. He was going to make aformal speech, and the speech was the point.
Now, if there was one thing Barnriff bowed the knee to it was the manwho could, and would, make a speech. It had all the masses' love fororatory, and was as easily swayed by it as a crowd of ignorantpolitical voters. Besides, Doc Crombie was a tried orator in Barnriff.He had addressed a meeting once before, and, speaking on behalf of achurch mission, and asking for support of the cause, he had created agreat impression by his stern denunciation of the ungodly life inBarnriff, and his flowery laudation of those who allowed themselves torespond to the call of "religion."
On that occasion he said with all the dignity and consequence of hisposition at the moment--
"It ain't your dogone dollars we want. It's your souls. D'you gitthat? An' when we've sure got 'em wot'll we do with 'em, you ast? Wal,I don't guess we're doin' a cannibal line o' business. Nor ain't wegoin' to stuff 'em an' set 'em up as objec's o' ridicool to the ungodlyhogs wot wallers in the swill o' no adulteratin' son-of-a-moose of adealer in liver pizen. No, gents, that ain't us. We're goin' to save'em. An' I personal guarantees that savin' racket goes. Did I hear anymangy son-of-a-coyote guess he didn't believe no such guarantee? No,an' I guess he best not. I'm a man of peace, as all knows in this yercity, but I'd hate to try an' shut out a blizzard in winter bystuffin' that gopher's perforated carkis under the doorjamb when I wasthro' with it. I say right here we're out to save carkises--I meansouls. An', say, fellers, jest think. Gettin' your souls saved for afew measly cents. Ain't that elegant? No argyment, no kickin'. Themsouls is jest goin' to be dipped, an' they'll come up white an' shinin'out of the waters of righteousness a sight cleaner than you ever gotyour faces at Christmas, washin' in Silas Rocket's hoss trough, evenwhen his hoss soap was plenty. Think of it, fellers, and I speakspeshul to you whiskey souses wot ain't breathed pure air sence youwas let loose on the same gent's bowel picklin' sperrit. You'll getright to Meetin' on Sundays with your boots greased elegant, an' yourpants darned reg'lar by your wimmin-folk wot's proud of yer, an' don'tkick when you blow into a natty game o' 'draw.' You'll have your kidslookin' up at your fancy iled locks, an' your bow-tie, an' in theirlittle minds they'll wonder an' wonder how it come your mouths ain'tdrippin' t'baccer juice, an' how they ain't got cow-hided 'fore thebreakfast they mostly have to guess at, an' how it come you're leadin'them, 'stead o' them leadin' you, an' how their little bellies isblown out with grub like a litter o' prize hogs. Think of it, fellers,an' pass up your measly cents. It ain't the coin, it's the sperrit wewant, an' when I think of all these yer blessin's I'm _personal_guaranteein' to the flower o' Barnriff's manhood I almost feel asthough I wus goin' to turn on the hose pipe like a spanked kid."
He talked till he had half of Barnriff's "flower" blubbering, and hehad emptied the last cent out of their pockets, and the mission wasset on a sound financial basis. But as to his guarantee--well, thedoctor was well understood by his fellow citizens, and no one was everheard to question its fulfilment.
It was wonderful what a power of persuasion he had in Barnriff. Butthen he was an awe-inspiring figure, with his large luminous eyes andeagle cast of feature. And, too, words flowed from his lips like wordsfrom the pen of a yellow journal reporter, and his phraseology wasalmost as picturesque.
The boys were gathered waiting for him. There was anticipatorypleasure in their hang-dog faces. One of them almost laughed at alight sally from the cheery Gay, but luckily it was nipped in time bythe interposition of the mean-minded Smallbones.
"I sez it right here, boys," the latter observed, leaning with hisback against the bar, and speaking with the air of having just arrivedat a grave decision. "Old Sally Morby hadn't no right to burry her manin oak. Now I ast you, Gay, as man to man, if you'd know'd we wasgoin' to be ast to ante up fer her grub stake, wot could you ha' donehim handsome an' moderate fer?"
Gay squared his fat shoulders. For the moment he was important.Moments of importance are always precious, even in places likeBarnriff.
"Wal, I can't rightly give it you down to cents without considerin'Restless some," he replied unctuously. "But we did Toby Randallslap-up in ash fer fifty odd dollars. Then ther' was Sadie O'Brien. Wedid her elegant in soft pine for twenty-eight odd. It 'ud sure havebeen twenty-five on'y fer her weight. Y'see the planks under her hadto be two inch or she'd ha' fell through."
He produced his note-book and rapidly glanced over the greasy pages.
"Y'see," he observed, pausing at the entry he had been looking for,"Sally paid us a hundred an' forty-seven dollars an' seventy-fivecents. I 'lows that's handsome fer buryin' a hop-headed skite likeCharlie Morby was. But that wus her order, an' bein' a business man,an' takin' pride in my work, I sez to Restless, I sez, 'It's oak, boy,oak with silver plate trimmin's, an' a real elegant inscription toCharlie on it, tellin' folks o' virtues he didn't never handle whenhe was livin'.' He sure didn't deserve nothin' better than an applebar'l, leavin' the head open so he had a chance to dodge the devilwhen he come along. An' I guess, knowin' Charlie, he'd 'a' given himan elegant run fer it."
"That's it," exclaimed Smallbones, peevishly. "That's it. She goes an'blows in her wad on a buzzock what ought to bin drownded in yallermud, an' we've got to ante her grub stake. Psha! I ain't givin' acent."
Lean Wilkes, the baker, was watching the trust schemer with balefuleye, and now his slow tongue evolved a pretty retort.
"No one sed you was--nor thought it likely."
"The duff puncher wakin' up," sneered Smallbones, angrily.
"Guess it's your voice hurtin' my ear drums," replied Jake,ponderously.
At that moment Abe Horsley joined the group. He called for drinksbefore adding his bit to the talk. He had an axe to grind and wanted asympathetic audience. While Rocket, observing his customers withshrewd unfriendly eyes, set out the glasses and the accompanyingbottles--he never needed to inquire what these men would take; he knewthe tipple of every soul in Barnriff by heart--Abe opened out. He wasunctuous and careful of his diction. He was Barnriff's lay-preacher,and felt that this attitude was "up to him."
"I do sure agree with the generality of opinion in this yer city," hesaid largely. "I consider that the largeness of heart for which ourbrothers in this important town--it has a great future, gentlemen,believe me; I mention this in parenthesis--are held in excellentesteem----" He broke off to nod to Jim Thorpe who entered the saloonat that moment--"should be--er fostered. I think, brethren--pardon me,'gentlemen'--that we should give, and give liberally to Sally Morby,but--but I do not see why Doc Crombie should make the occasion theopportunity for a speech. Any of us could do it quite as well.Perhaps, who knows, some of us even better----"
"Smallbones," murmured the dissatisfied Wilkes, drinking his gin at agulp.
"Yes, even Smallbones," shrugged Abe, sipping his whiskey.
Angel Gay bolted his whiskey and laid a gentle hand firmly onHorsley's sh
oulder.
"No," he said, "not Smallbones; not even Doc Crombie, both deadgutfellers sure. But you are the man, Abe. For elegance o' langwidge, an'flow--mark you--you--you are a born speaker, sure. Say, I believe thatrye of Rocket's was in a gin bottle. It tasted like--like----"
"Have another?" suggested Abe, cordially.
"I won't say 'no,'" Gay promptly acquiesced.
But Rocket was serving drink to Jim Thorpe at one of the little pokertables on the far side of the room, and the butcher had to wait.
"How much are you givin'?" Smallbones inquired cautiously of Gay.
He was still worrying over the forthcoming demand on his charity. GayPromptly puffed himself up.
"Wal," he said, with some dignity. "Y'see she's got six kiddies, eachsmaller nor the other. They mustn't starve for sure. Guess I'm givin'twenty-fi' dollars."
"Wot?" almost shrieked the disgusted Smallbones.
"Yes," said the butcher-undertaker coldly. "An' _I_ ain't no trustmagnate."
"That's right up to you, Smallbones," remarked Abe, passing his friendGay his drink. "You'll natcherly give fifty."
But Abe's ponderous levity was too much for Smallbones.
"An' if I did it wouldn't be in answer to the hogwash preachin' youladle out. Anyways I'll give as it pleases me."
"Then I guess them kiddies'll starve, sure," remarked Wilkes heavily.
How much further the ruffled tempers of these men might have beentried it is impossible to say, but at that moment a diversion wascreated by the advent of the redoubtable doctor. And it was easy tosee at a glance how it was this man was able to sway the Barnriffcrowd. He was an aggressive specimen of unyielding force, lean, butpowerful of frame, with the light of overwhelming determination in apair of swift, bright eyes.
He glanced round the vast dingy bar-room. There were two tables ofpoker going in opposite corners of the room, and a joyous collectionof variegated uncleanness "bucking" a bank in another corner. Thenthere was the flower of Barnriff propping up the bar like a row ofdaisies in a window box--only they lacked the purity of that simpleflower. He stepped at once to the centre of the room.
"Boys," he said in a hoarse, rasping voice, "I'm in a hurry. Guessnatur' don't wait fer nuthin' when she gits busy on matters wotinterest her; an' seein' Barnriff needs all the population that'scomin' to it with so energetic a funeral maker as our friend, AngelGay, around, I'll git goin'. I'm right here fer dollars fer pore SallyMorby. She's broke, dead broke, an' she's got six kiddies, all withtheir pore little bellies flappin' in the wind for want of a squar'feed. Say, I ain't hyar to git gassin', I ain't hyar to make flowerytalk fer the sake o' them pore kiddies. I'm here to git dollars, an'I'm goin' to git 'em. Cents won't do. Come on. Ther's six porekiddles, six pore lone little kiddies with their faces gapin' fer foodlike a nest o' unfledged chicks in the early frosts o' spring. Nowevery mother's son o' you 'ante' right here. Natur' busy or no natur'busy, I don't quit till you've dipped into your wads. Now you,Smallbones," he cried, fixing the little man with his desperate eyes."How much?"
Every eye was on the trust manipulator. He hated it. He hated themall, but Doc Crombie most of all. But the tall, lean man wasimpatient. He knew it was a race between him and a baby in a distantquarter of the village.
"How much?" he threatened the hesitating man.
"A dollar," Smallbones muttered in the midst of profound silence. Eventhe chips of the poker players had ceased to rattle.
A faint light of amusement crept into every eye, every eye except thedoctor's.
Suddenly his lean figure pounced forward and stood before thebeflustered speaker.
"I said 'how much?'" he rasped, "'cause Barnriff knows its manners.Wal, the social etiquette o' Barnriff is satisfied, so I ken talkstraight. Say, you an' me have piled a tidy heap in this yer city, soI guess you're goin' to match my hundred dollars right here. An' I telyou squar', an' I'm a man o' my word, if you don't you'll get a bathin Rocket's hoss-trough which'll do you till the next PresidentialElection--if it pizens every hoss for miles around Barnriff. GuessI'll take that hundred dollars."
And he did. The furious Smallbones "weighed out" amid a circle ofsmiles, which suddenly seemed to light up the entire bar-room. Nor hadhe a single spoken word of protest. But he yielded himself up to thedemands of the masterful doctor only to save himself the ducking hewas certain awaited his refusal.
The rest was play to Doc Crombie. As he had pointed out, Barnriff'ssocial demands had been satisfied by his giving Smallbones theoption of stating the amount of his contribution, and, as theresult had not come up to requirements, he dispensed with furtherdelicacy, and assessed each man present with the cool arbitrarinessof a Socialist Chancellor. But in this case the process was notwithout justification. He knew just how much each man could afford,and he took not one cent more--or less.
This fact was exampled when he came to Jim's table. Jim looked up fromhis cards. He understood Crombie.
"Well, Doc," he said, "how much?"
Crombie eyed him with shrewd amusement.
"Wal, Jim, I'll take on'y ten dollars from you, seein's your contrac'sout for buildin', an' you need ev'rything that's comin' your way."
Jim laughed. It was a boisterous laugh that had little mirth in it.
"Guess I'll treble that," he said. "I've cut the contract."
But the laugh had irritated the doctor.
"I'll take ten from you;" he said, with an incisive clipping of histeeth. "Not a cent more, nor a cent less."
And Jim yielded to him promptly. The doctor passed on. Neither he northose around him had understood the bitter humor underlying Jim'slaugh. Only, perhaps, Peter Blunt, who had entered the room with WillHenderson a moment or two before, and whose sympathetic ears hadcaught the sound, could possibly have interpreted it aright.
The "whip round" was completed, and the doctor read out the total.Five hundred and forty dollars was to be handed over to the widow, toease the burden Fate had inflicted upon her. And it said something forthe big hearts of this prairie folk, that, in the large majority atleast, the memory of their charity left them with the departure of thedoctor to complete his race with Nature at the far extremity of thevillage.
The saloon settled down to its evening's entertainment as thoughnothing unusual had happened. The majority gathered into various gamesof "draw," for which the great room was half filled with small tables.The few that resisted the seductive charms of the national card gamecontinued to support the bar. Of these, Smallbones only remained longenough to air his spleen at the doctor's expense. But even he found itincumbent upon him to modify his tone. For one thing he received anunmerciful baiting from his companions, and besides, he knew, if heallowed his tongue to riot too far, how easy it would be for hisdenunciation to reach the strenuous doctor's ears. Gay and Wilkesleft shortly after the trust magnate, and soon Abe Horsley was forcedto seek a fresh gossip. He found one in Will Henderson, as soon asPeter Blunt had moved away to watch the games at the tables. Will'smood at the moment suited the lay-preacher. He wanted to drink, andAbe was possessed of a chronic thirst.
So, with the exception of these two, Silas Rocket, ever rapacious forcustom, was left free to see that the games did not detract from themen's drinking powers. He had an eye like a hawk for possible custom.Wherever there was a big pot just won his rasping voice was always atthe elbow of the winner, with his monotonous "Any drinks, gents?" If atable was slow to require his services he never left it alone. Hedrove the men at it to drink in self-defense. It was a skilfuldisplay--though not as uncommon as one might think, even in the bestrestaurants in a big metropolis.
So the night wore on. Every man drank. They drank when they won. Theydrank when they lost. In the former case it was out of the buoyancy oftheir spirits, in the latter because they wished to elevate them.Whatever excuse they required they found, and when difficulty in thatdirection arose, there was always Silas Rocket on hand to coax them.
Jim, huddled away in a corner behind the great stove used for heatingt
he place in winter, was busy with his game. He had shown norecognition of Will Henderson's coming. He had probably seen him,because, though hidden from it himself, he had a full view of the bar,and any time he looked up, his eyes must have encountered the twofigures now left alone beside it.
He was drinking, and drinking hard. He was also losing. The cards wererunning consistently against him. But then, he was always an unluckyplayer. He rarely protested against it, for in reality he had littleinterest in the play, and to-night less than usual. He played becauseit saved him thinking or talking, and he wanted to sit there and drinkuntil Silas turned them out. Then he intended returning to the ranch.He meant to have one night's forgetfulness, at least, even if he hadto stupefy his senses in bad whiskey.
Abe and Will had reached the confidential stage. They were full offriendliness for each other, and ready to fall on each other's necks.For some time Will had desired an opportunity to open his heart tothis man. He would have opened it to anybody. His Celtic temperamentwas a fire of enthusiasm. He felt that all the world was his, and hewanted to open his arms and embrace it. But so far Abe had given himlittle opportunity. His own voice pleased the lay-preacher, and he hadorated on every subject from politics to street-paving, giving hiscompanion little chance for anything but monosyllabic comments. Butfinally Will's chance came. Abe had abruptly questioned the proprietyof permitting marriage in their village, where the burden of keepingthe offspring of the union was likely to fall upon the publicshoulders. Will plunged into the midst of the man's oratory, and wouldnot be denied.
"Marriage," he said, "is not for regulation by law. No one has theright," he declared, with an emphatic thump on the bar, "to dictate tothe individual on the subject." He went on at high pressure in aheated crescendo for some moments, denouncing any interference bypublic bodies. Then of a sudden he laid a hand on Abe's shoulder andabruptly dropped his voice to a confidential whisper. His eyes weresmiling and shining with the feelings which stirred him. Everythingwas forgotten except the fact of his engagement to Eve. Jim wasobscured from his mental vision by the uplifting spirit vapors whichsupported his thoughts. Eve, and Eve alone, was in his mind, that--andthe fact that she was to be--his.
"Listen to me, Abe," he said, a little thickly. "All this talk ofyours don't hold water--no, nor spirit either," he laughed. "Say, I'mgoin' to get married, and so I know."
Quite how he knew didn't seem clear; but he paused for the impression.Abe whistled interestedly and edged nearer, turning his ear so as notto miss what the youngster had to say.
"Who?" he demanded.
"A-ah!" Will prolonged the exclamation knowingly, and waited for theman to guess.
"You wus allus sweet on Eve Marsham--you and Jim Thorpe."
Will suddenly ceased to smile. He drank his whiskey at a gulp andbanged his glass on the counter.
"By G----!" he exclaimed harshly, while Abe wondered at his changedtone. "Yes, it's Eve--Eve Marsham; and I'm going to marry her--notJim. D'you git that? By heaven!--yes. Here, Rocket----!" He lurchedround on the bar. "Here, you old Sky-Rocket, get drinks, quick! Foreverybody! I'll pay! See, here's the wad," and he slammed a thick rollof bills on the counter. "I've got money, sure, and I'm--hic--goin'to burn it. Boys," he cried, swinging about and facing the tables,supporting himself against the bar, "you'll drink with me. Si--Silashere'll take your orders, an' serve you. You, too, Abe, ole pal."
Jim looked up from his cards the moment Will addressed the room, andnow he watched him swaying against the bar. The light in his dark eyeswas peculiar. He seemed to be speculating, and his thoughts wereuneasy. Will yawned drunkenly. Peter Blunt, from across the room, waswatching Jim, and moved abruptly clear of the tables, but notostentatiously so.
Will's eyes watched Silas passing round the drinks. He was smiling inthe futile manner of a drunken man, and his fingers were clutchingnervously at the moulded edge of the bar. Rocket came back and handedhim and Abe their whiskey. The former promptly clutched his glass andraised it aloft, spilling the neat spirit as he did so. Then, withdrunken solemnity, he called for order.
"Boys," he cried, "you'll--you'll drink a to--toast. Sure you will.Every one of you'll drink it. My fu--sher wife, Eve--Eve Marsham. JimTh--Thorpe thought he'd best--me, but----"
A table was suddenly sent flying in the crowd. A man's figure leapedout from behind the stove and rushed up to the speaker. It was JimThorpe. His eyes were blazing, and a demon of fury glared out upon thedrunken man.
"Another word, and I'll shoot you like a dog! You liar! Youthieving----!"
But his sentence was never completed. Peter Blunt stood between them,one of his great hands gripping Jim's arm like a vice.
"Shut up!" he cried, in a hoarse whisper. "You'll have the whole storyall over the village."
But the mischief was done. Everybody present was on their feet agogwith excitement, and came gathering round to see the only possiblefinish to the scene, as they understood it. But, quick as lightning,Peter took in the situation. Flinging Jim aside as though he were ababy, he hugged the drunken Will Henderson in his two great arms, andcarried him bodily out of the saloon.
The men looked after him wondering. Then some one laughed. It was anodd, dissatisfied laugh, but it had the effect of relieving thetension. And one by one they turned back to Jim, who was standingmoodily leaning on the bar; his right hand was still resting on thegun on his hip.
There was a moment of suspense. Then Jim's hand left the gun, and hestraightened himself up. He tried to smile, but the attempt was afailure.
"I'm sorry for upsetting your game, boys," he said stupidly.
Then Rocket came effectively to the rescue.
"Gents," he cried, "you'll all honor me by drinkin' with the house."
The One-Way Trail: A story of the cattle country Page 10
