Itchy Mitch and the Taming of Broken Jaw Junction

by Duane L. Ostler

  Chapter 5 - How Mitch Got Rid of the Lazy, Good-for-nothing Loafers

 

  Now that Itchy Mitch had outgunned Bad Bart, outfought Big Tom, out knifed the knife man, and out maneuvered the Ladies Aid, it looked like he was unbeatable. The mayor and town council members grumpily accepted the fact that part of their profits would have to be used to buy soup to feed starving miners from now on. And the poor saloon keeper sadly accepted the fact that he would probably never be able to laugh in Mitch’s face again. Everyone settled down to peaceful life in Broken Jaw Junction, certain at last that no troublemaker could get the best of Sheriff Mitch.

  But then something unexpected started to happen. Now that Broken Jaw Junction had a reputation for being calm and peaceful, it started to attract not only women and children, but also lazy, good-for-nothing bums as well. These were men who avoided the dangerous towns at all costs, but loved to loaf and take it easy where things were safe and quiet. A swarm of them started to come into town, lounging on the boardwalk in front of the shops (to the annoyance of the Ladies Aid, who thought they were uncouth), sleeping in back alleys, guzzling liquor all day at the saloon, and generally making a nuisance of themselves. Some of the bolder ones even started coming into the restored schoolhouse to sleep off their drunkenness where it was quiet (after school let out, of course). When the Ladies Aid heard about it, they went straight to Sheriff Mitch to complain. They found him weeding around his squash plant in the garden in front of his office.

  “Sheriff,” said Elvira Snooty, spokeswoman for the group, “there’s a bunch of low-down, lazy, good-for-nothing galoots all over town that need to be taken care of. They’re setting a bad example for the children, staggering through town in drunken stupers, and leering at people when they enter stores. And now they’ve even started sleeping in the schoolhouse after school lets out! You’ve got to do something about them!”

  Mitch straightened up from his weeding to look at the angry group of women facing him. Calm as ever, he said simply, “have they broken any laws?”

  “What does that matter?” the ladies bellowed back in rage. “They’re tramps and no-goods! They’re indecent and ugly and they smell like pigs! You’ve got to get rid of them!”

  “But I can’t do anything against someone if he hasn’t broken the law,” said Mitch simply.

  The glares of the women were colder than an ice glacier in a blizzard. In a piercing voice barely above a whisper, Elvira Snooty said, “either you clean out those low-down, good-for-nothing galoots, or we’ll have your badge!” Then they stormed off in a huff before Mitch could say another word.

  When some cowboys and miners told the saloon keeper about what had happened they were surprised he wasn’t happy, since it looked like soon he would finally be rid of Mitch for good and all. But he just shook his head sadly, and said, “He’ll find a way out. He always does. He got around the Ladies Aid last time, and he’ll do it again.”

  “I’m not so sure,” said a cowboy. “Those women looked pretty mad! Why don’t you kind of help things along by giving out free drinks or somethin’? That should increase the number of drunken bums in town to a new high!”

  But the saloon keeper just sadly shook his head. “Every time I do something like that it costs me money—and that blasted Sheriff still finds a way to worm out of it!” But after a good deal of coaxing from his buddies (and from a lot of nearby bums who had heard all this and wanted free drinks), the saloon keeper finally agreed to give free drinks to bums for a week to see what would happen. (Since non-bums were not eligible for this offer, some of the miners give up their claims and took up the new profession of bumship, spending all their time at the saloon).

  When the Ladies Aid found out about the free drinks, they were furious. They went straight to the saloon keeper and complained about it, but he just responded by saying, “It’s a free country. I can give out free drinks to bums if I want to, so there!” Then he quickly ducked back into his saloon (so they couldn’t hit him with their purses) and went back to passing out drinks.

  The ladies then went to the mayor and town council members to complain. But after the mayor and the others listened patiently to the ladies, they just told them it was a matter for Sheriff Mitch, and they couldn’t do anything about it. Then after the women left, they all went over to the saloon to try to convince the saloon keeper that they were bums too (which no one would disagree with), and should get free drinks.

  With nowhere else to go, a storm of women again approached Mitch’s office. They found him tenderly putting a splint on the stalk of one of his broccoli plants that had been knocked over by a passing dog.

  “Sheriff Mitch!” one of the women cried, “we just found out the saloon keeper is going to give free drinks to bums, so that more of them will come to town and cause trouble! What are you going to do about it?!”

  Now, this was the first Mitch had heard about this whole affair. He stood up and scratched his chin. “Well,” he said at last, “I suppose that’s not a very nice thing to do, but I don’t know of any law against giving away free drinks. I’m not sure there’s anything I can do.”

  There were cries of outrage from the group of women. “How dare you take the side of that low-down skunk of a saloon keeper!” said one.

  “I knew he was in league with the enemy!” cried another.

  “Probably goes there for free drinks himself!” said a third.

  Then one of them cried, “EITHER YOU GET RID OF THOSE DRUNKEN BUMS OR WE’LL GET RID OF YOU!!” After that they stormed off in a huff.

  Mitch looked after them for a long time while thoughtfully stroking the leafs of one of his tall sunflower plants. Slowly he went into his office and took the sheriff’s manual off the shelf. Just then Cousin Elias came in from the gold fields. “Whatcha readin’ about?” he asked casually.

  “The Ladies Aid has made it clear that I need to get rid of all the drunken bums all over town. I was looking to see if there are any laws they are breaking.”

  “Vagrancy,” replied Elias without hesitation. “That’s what it is. You can toss ‘em in jail for being vagrants.” Elias knew this from personal experience, since he had been jailed for being a vagrant in West Virginia.

  “Is that so?” said Mitch with renewed interest. He had never been a vagrant in his life, and didn’t know a thing about it. He flipped quickly through the pages of the sheriff’s manual, and then started to read. Suddenly he got excited (something that rarely happened, unless he saw one of his plants in bloom). “You’re right! It says right here that one of the sheriff’s duties is to keep vagrants off the streets! That’s the solution! I’ll throw all the bums in jail!”

  And that’s just what he did. Or rather, that’s just what he tried to do. But in no time the cells were all full of leering, staggering or snoring bums, and Mitch had to find extra space for them. He started putting two or three in each cell, then when the cells were full he put more in the hall, and then more on the floor of his office. He even had to put several in his own room and then sleep in his office chair, which was very uncomfortable.

  But that wasn’t all. Mitch soon found that he was spending most of his time—other than when he was out rounding up vagrants—in the kitchen, cooking for them all. The sheriff's manual said vagrancy required only one night in jail, so Mitch would feed them dinner after rounding them all up at night, then feed them breakfast the next morning before letting them out for the day. (During the day they would lounge around and leer at people and get free soup from the Ladies Aid). Mitch had to buy almost enough food for an army, getting the money to pay for it from the mayor and town council (which they were very grumpy about). Poor Mitch spent hours in the kitchen cooking meals, then washing up dishes after the vagrants had all eaten.

  When the Ladies Aid found out about all the cooking and dish washing Mitch had to do, they were not sympathetic at all, nor did they offer to help. “Tha
t’s just what we have to do every day of our lives, to feed our lazy husbands!” they cried. The mayor and town council weren’t sympathetic either and refused to help Mitch, since they hated cooking and washing dishes almost as much as they hated losing money.

  It wasn’t long before Mitch found that he just couldn’t keep up with it all. The number of loafers in town increased almost every day. Every time Mitch stepped out of his sheriff’s office, he would see a dozen more sleeping on the boardwalks or in the mud by the side of the street. This was especially true since some of the gold miners had decided to become vagrants after they saw how much easier life would be that way, with free meals and a place to sleep at night that was out of the cold and rain.

  The Ladies Aid saw the growing number of vagrants too. They were so mad, they made the mayor and council members promise to fire Mitch and get in a sheriff who would take care of the problem if he didn’t have it fixed in two days.

  Now the saloon keeper was ecstatic. “I’ve finally done it!” he cried, as he passed out more free drunks to a large group of bums who had just arrived in town. “I don’t know why on earth I didn’t think of it before! Why try to get rid of the sheriff with gunfighters or knife throwers when laziness and drunkenness will do the job!” And with that, he took a large swig of one of his own drinks, and decided he might try being a bum himself for a night, just to aggravate Mitch by being put in jail.

  The mayor and council members were starting to get excited too. Over the last few weeks they had been getting grumpier and grumpier because of all the money they had to pay to buy food for the growing number of bums in town. But now they knew that in two days, when they fired Mitch, Broken Jaw Junction would be restored to a blood bath, which would drive out both the lazy bums and the Ladies Aid—and they wouldn’t have to pay out any more money for food!

  The light in the sheriff’s office was on late into the night after the mayor gleefully told Mitch he had only two days to get rid of all the vagrants. Most people thought it was because he had to get up several times to feed and take care of the dozens of bums sleeping all over the floors, or maybe because their snoring was keeping him awake. (Their snoring was loud enough to be heard for nearly two blocks). But they were all wrong …

  The next day, the saloon keeper, mayor and council members seemed happier than they had been in a long time. In fact, the saloon keeper was so ecstatic he decided to give free drinks to everybody all day, to encourage everybody to be a bum. He tried to talk the mayor and town council into declaring it “Drunken Bum Day,” but they decided that wouldn’t be a good idea with the Ladies Aid still in town.

  At lunch time, Mitch approached the mayor and town council with a request for twice as much money to feed the drunken bums that would need dinner that night.

  “Twice as much money!” cried the mayor and council members. “Are you kidding?!” Poor Bert Fuddlethief was so shocked at the request that he passed out and fell off his chair. Several other council members tried to revive him.

  “Sorry, sheriff,” the mayor said. “The town doesn’t have that kind of money. In fact, we can’t give you any at all! We’re simply out of cash—you’ve used it all up over the past few weeks to buy food for all these bums.” (This wasn’t actually true, but the mayor and council members had decided that it would be a waste to give Mitch any more money for food, since he would be leaving in two days). Then the mayor said with a wicked smile, “Why don’t you go to the Ladies Aid? They’ll help you, I’m sure”

  “So,” Mitch said calmly, “the town has no more money for food for the people in jail, eh? None at all?”

  “No, but the ladies aid has plenty of soup!” said one of the council members with a smirk.

  “Yes, I suppose they do,” replied Mitch with a smile. “Are you authorizing me to get food from another source to feed people I put in jail?”

  “Absolutely!” said the mayor with a tremendous smile of relief. “That’s what you’ll have to do from now on!”

  “I see,” said Mitch quietly. Suddenly he turned to go. “Well, I’ll be seeing you,” he said cheerfully. “Thanks for your help.” He walked quickly away.

  “Why did he thank us for helping him?” asked one of the council members. “I thought we told him we couldn’t help.”

  “Beats me,” said the mayor with a shrug. Then he smiled cruelly. “Help or no help, we soon won’t have Sheriff Mitch to worry about any more!” And with this he kicked a stray cat that happened to be walking by, just to show how happy he was.

  After the Ladies Aid angrily told Mitch they wouldn’t give him any food for the vagrants, he spent the day happily working in his garden. He seemed unaccountably cheerful for a man who was about to lose his job and be run out of town. He whistled merrily while harvesting a large quantity of cabbages, radishes and onions from his immaculate rows of vegetables. Meanwhile, Cousin Elias hovered around the garden fence, grumbling and complaining to Mitch about how he would have to leave town and his gold claim when he left with Mitch, which just wasn’t fair. (He didn’t dare stay in town without Mitch there to protect him) But Mitch paid no attention to him.

  During the late afternoon, Mitch spent an unusually long time in the little kitchen area of the sheriff's office. He seemed to be banging a lot of pots and bowls and other kitchen utensils in some mysterious project. Finally, around 6:00 o'clock, he came out onto the boardwalk in front of the sheriff's office with a satisfied look on his face. It was time to gather up the vagrants for the last time.

  Rounding up the vagrants was a process that usually took an hour or two, since there were so many. A lot of them could usually be found sprawled on the boardwalk in front of the saloon, sleeping off their free drinks. A few more lounged in front of the Ladies Aid soup shack, while a handful of others planted themselves in front of the houses of the leaders of the Ladies Aid, just to annoy them. And then there was one fellow who liked to wander the streets and throw rocks at any stray dogs or cats he happened to see, just for fun.

  All of the vagrants would complain and grumble about being herded to jail like cattle, but secretly they were always glad to see Mitch coming since they knew they'd get a free dinner and soft bed for the night. By the time he had them all rounded up and in jail, they would be loudly demanding their dinner and wanting to know what they were going to have. Usually they were screaming for steak and potatoes, but a few of the more refined buns would ask for caviar or filet mignon.

  After getting them all to jail that night, Mitch had to whistle three times before the group quieted enough so he could be heard.

  “Gentlemen,” he began calmly, “I have something special for your dinner tonight. Something I’m sure you will be very excited about.” There were lots of cheers and yells and back slapping. Few things got the loafers more excited than food.

  “Did you finally get some filet mignon?” yelled Freddie Gip.

  “Or some chocolate mousse for desert?” cried Joe Fludge.

  “Nope,” replied Mitch calmly. “I've got something far better!” (There were more cat calls and cheers from the group).

  “And without further ado,” said Mitch turning to his desk where he usually laid out all the food, “here it is!”

  With a flourish, he pulled the lid off a large bowl to reveal--A HUGE SALAD!

  There was deathly silence as every vagrant stared in shock at the bowl. Meanwhile Mitch talked on as if there was nothing out of the ordinary.

  “This salad is as good as you’d find at any fancy hotel in a big city! It’s got finely chopped cabbage, radishes, thistle weed leafs, celery, plenty of baby onions and a touch of garlic.”

  “THISTLE WEED LEAFS?!” cried a dozen voices.

  “GARLIC?!” cried a dozen others.

  “Yep!” replied Mitch happily. “Plus baby onions! You won’t find a tastier salad anywhere!”

  “Sheriff,” said Pilpug Slurk in a shaky voice, “This isn’t really dinner,
is it? I mean, this is just a light snack before the regular meal, right?”

  “Nope!” said Mitch with a smile. “This is it! I mixed in some local wild mushrooms and cactus rinds to give it more of a meaty texture. I guarantee you won’t feel like eating anything else after this salad!”

  “CACTUS RINDS!” moaned most of the loafers.

  “This is it?!” said Carl Gruzzle with a whimper. “That mess is our dinner?”

  “You betcha!” said Mitch enthusiastically. “Who wants the first bowl?” He grabbed a bowl and scooped some into it. But not one hand reached out to take it. All of the vagrants just stood staring at Mitch with pathetic, sad looks on their faces.

  “No takers?” said Mitch in surprise. “But you guys are always so hungry when you first get here!”

  “Not for that awful stuff!” said young Muddy Spalooza. “That's what I ran away from home to get away from!”

  “Oh, come now!” said Mitch, grabbing a fork and starting to dig in. “This isn’t awful—it’s delicious!”

  “I guess I’ll try some,” said Homer Gutch, reaching out a trembling hand for a bowl. In a flash Mitch scooped some out for him. Poor Homer just stared at it for a long time with a pitiful look on his face.

  “Go on, Homer,” said half a dozen voices. “Try it. Tell us what it tastes like.”

  Slowly Homer speared some of the salad onto his fork and then, with a great effort, raised it to his mouth. All of the vagrants watched him closely, breathless with excitement. As soon as he had it in his mouth he screwed up his face as if he were in pain, and chewed very slowly, finally swallowing with great effort.

  “That answers it for me!” said Burt Flork with a shudder. “I think I’d rather starve.”

  “Me too,” said Marv Nobgob.

  “And me,” said Jolly Baluka.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with you boys,” said Mitch casually as he chewed away at his salad. “This is delicious! You know, the town council has authorized me to serve salads every meal you’re in jail. I'd say you fellows are really lucky--you can loaf around all day and then have delicious salad like this every morning and night!”

  There was a chorus of groans and angry mumbling from the crowd of vagrants. Poor Tommy Grup said in a plaintive voice, “You mean, you’re never going to have anything besides salad for our meals here? Ever?!”

  “Nope,” said Mitch, flashing a smile. “You guys are so lucky! I'm almost tempted to arrest myself just so I can spend the night in jail and have free, fresh salad from my garden!”

  “Let me out! Let me out!” cried Jolly Baluka. “I can’t take it! I don't want to be in jail!”

  “Then you’ll have to stop being a vagrant in Broken Jaw Junction, or I’ll bring you in tomorrow," said Mitch casually. “It’s salad or nothing from now on, even for breakfast if you’re in jail.”

  “For breakfast too!” moaned a dozen voices at once. “No more toast and jam?”

  “Nope,” said Mitch happily, still chewing away at his salad.

  “Can't you let me out tonight so I can at least get some soup from the Ladies Aid?" pleaded Jolly.

  “Sorry,” said Mitch in a kindly tone. “You’re the one who broke the law, and you have to pay the price.”

  There was a good deal more grumbling and cursing, and vagrants crying, “Please let me out--I promise to be good!” and others begging for some “real food,” but Mitch stood firm. All through the night the group of vagrants (except for Homer Gutch, who seemed to be sick) sat uncomfortably and stared at the salad bowl and grumbled to each other and listened to each other's stomachs rumble from lack of food. As for Mitch, he had some more salad—three more bowls full in fact—and then after offering more to the vagrants, he went to bed and slept like a baby. When he let the vagrants out the next morning they ran in a stampede for the Ladies Aid to get some soup (which was all gone in five minutes).

  After that there was such a huge, mass departure of vagrants from town that you could see the dust cloud along the road to Soda Jerk Springs for miles. They quickly spread the word throughout the whole territory that Broken Jaw Junction was no place to be a vagrant (unless you liked salad with thistle weed leafs and cactus rinds).

  The Ladies Aid wrote an official proclamation to the mayor and town council, praising them for having hired such a capable sheriff, and officially withdrawing their demand that Mitch be fired. They had a hard time delivering it however, since the city leaders were all drowning their sorrows in the saloon, mumbling to themselves about how close they had come to getting rid of Mitch and restoring lawlessness to their town.

  As for the poor saloon keeper, he moaned and groaned and grumbled for weeks afterward. “I told you so!” he would say to anyone who would listen. “It doesn’t matter what I try, he always gets the best of me in the end.” Then he would sob and blubber like a baby. “And I gave away all those free drinks for nothing!!”

  And that is how Sheriff Itchy Mitch outsmarted the saloon keeper and got rid of the lazy, no-good loafers with some leafy salad that had a healthy dose of cactus rinds and garlic.