Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher

by Eleanor Gates

  CHAPTER TWO

  A THIRST-PARLOUR MIX-UP GIVES ME A NEW DEAL

  AIN'T it funny what little bits of things can sorta change a feller'slife all 'round ev'ry which _di_rection--shuffle it up, you mightsay, and throw him out a brand new deal? Now, take my case: If a sassygreaser from the Lazy X ranch hadn't 'a' plugged Bud Hickok, BriggsCity 'd never 'a' got the parson; if the parson hadn't 'a' came,I'd never 'a' gone to church; and mebbe if I hadn't never 'a' goneto church, it wouldn't 'a' made two cents diff'rence whether ole manSewell was down on me 'r not--fer the reason that, likely, I'd never'a' met up with Her.

  Now, I ain't a-sayin' I'm a' almanac, ner one of them crazies thatcan study the trails in the middle of you' hand and tell you thatyou're a-goin' to have ham and aigs fer breakfast. No, ma'am, Iain't neither one. But, just the same, the very first time I clappedmy lookers on the new parson, I knowed they was shore goin' to besev'ral things a-happenin' 'fore long in that par_tic_ular section ofOklahomaw.

  As I said, Bud was _re_sponsible fer the parson comin'. Bud tieddown his holster just oncet too many. The greaser called his bluff, andpumped lead into his system some. That called fer a funeral. Now,Mrs. Bud, she's Kansas City when it comes to bein' high-toned. Andnothin' would do but she must have a preacher. So the railroad agentgot Williams, Arizonaw, on his click-machine, and we got the parson.

  He was a new breed, that parson, a genuwine no-two-alike,come-one-in-a-box kind. He was big and young, with no hair on his face,and brownish eyes that 'peared to look plumb through y' and out on theother side. Good-natured, y' know, but actin' as if he meant ev'ryword he said; foolin' a little with y', too, and friendly as thedevil. And he didn't wear parson duds--just a grey suit; not like us,y' savvy--more like what the hotel clerk down to Albuquerque wears, 'rone of them city fellers that comes here to run a game.

  Wal, the way he talked over pore Bud was a caution. Say! they was no"Yas, my brother," 'r "No, my brother," and no "Heaven's will bedone" outen _him_--nothin' like it! And you'd never 'a' smeltgun-play. Mrs. Bud ner the greaser that done the shootin'-up (he was atthe buryin') didn't hear no word _they_ could kick at, _no,_ ma'am.The parson read somethin' about the day you die bein' a darned sightbetter 'n the day you was born. And his hull razoo was so plumb sensiblethat, 'fore he got done, the passel of us was all a-feelin', somehow'r other, that Bud Hickok had the drinks on us!

  We planted Bud in city style. But the parson didn't shassay back toWilliams afterwards. We'd no more'n got our shaps on again, whenHairoil blowed in from the post-office up the street and let it outat the "Life Savin' Station," as Dutchy calls his thirst-parlour, thatthe parson was goin' to squat in Briggs City fer a spell.

  "Wal, of all the dog-goned propositions!" says Bill Rawson,mule-skinner over to the Little Rattlesnake Mine. "What's he goin'to do that fer, Hairoil?"

  "Heerd we was goin' to have a polo team," answers Hairoil. "Reckonhe's kinda loco on polo. Anyhow, he's took my shack."

  "Boys," I tole the crowd that was wettin' they whistles, "thispreachin' gent ain't none of you' ev'ry day, tenderfoot,hell-tooters. Polo, hey? He's got _savvy_. Look a leedle oudt, asDutchy, here, 'd put it. Strikes me this feller'll hang on longer'n any other parson that was ever in these parts ropin' souls."

  Ole Dutch lay back his ears. "Better he do'n make no trubbles mit me,"he says.

  Say! that was like tellin' you' fortune. The next day but one, rightin front of the "Station," trouble popped. This is how:

  The parson 'd had all his truck sent over from Williams. In the pilethey was one of them big, spotted dawgs--keerige dawgs, I think theycall 'em. This par_tic_ular dawg was so spotted you could 'a' comeblamed nigh playin' checkers on him. Wal, Dutchy had a dawg, too. Itwasn't much of anythin' fer fambly, I reckon,--just plain purp--but itshore had a fine set of nippers, and could jerk off the stearin' gear ofa cow quicker 'n greazed lightnin'. Wal, the parson come down to thepost-office, drivin' a two-wheel thing-um-a-jig, all yalla and black.'Twixt the wheels was trottin' his spotted dawg. A-course, the parson'd no more'n stopped, when out comes that ornery purp of Dutchy's.And such a set-to you never seen!

  But it was all on one side, like a jug handle, and the keerige dawg gotthe heavy end. He yelped bloody murder and tried to skedaddle. The otherjust hung on, and bit sev'ral of them stylish spots clean offen him.

  "Sir," says the parson to Dutchy, when he seen the damage, "call offyou' beast."

  Dutchy, he just grinned. "Ock," he says, "it mocks nix oudt if deydo sometinks. Here de street iss not brivate broperty."

  At that, the parson clumb down and drug his dawg loose. Then he looked upat the thirst-parlour. "What a name fer a _saloon,_" he says, "in acivilised country!"

  A-course, us fellers enjoyed the fun, all right. And we fixed it upt'gether to kinda sic the Dutchman on. We seen that "Life Savin'Station" stuck in the parson's craw, and we made out to Dutch thatlike as not he 'd have to change his sign.

  Dutch done a jig he was so mad. "Fer _dat?_" he ast, meanin' theparson. "Nein! He iss not cross mit my sign. He vut like it, maype,if I gif him some viskey on tick. I bet you he trinks, I bet. Maype hetrinks ret ink gocktails, like de Injuns; maype he trinks Florita Vater,oder golone. Ya! Ya! Vunce I seen a feller--I hat some snakes here inalgohol--unt dat feller he trunk de algohol. _Ya_. Unt de minister issjust so bat as dat."

  Then, to show how he liked _us_, Dutchy set up the red-eye. And the_next_ time the parson come along in his cart, they was a dawg fight infront of that saloon that was worth two-bits fer admission.

  Don't think the rest of us was agin the parson, though. We wasn't.Fact it, we kinda liked him from the jump. We liked his riggin', weliked the way he grabbed you' paw, and he was no quitter when it cometo a hoss. _Say!_ but he could ride! One day when he racked into thepost-office, his spur-chains a-rattlin' like a puncher's, and a quirtin his fist, one of the Bar Y boys rounded him up agin the _meanest,low_-down buckin' proposition that ever wore the hide of a bronc. Butthe parson was game from his hay to his hoofs. He clumb into the saddleand stayed there, and went a-hikin' off acrosst the prairie, independentas a pig on ice, just like he was a-straddlin' some ole crow-bait!

  So, when Sunday night come, and he preached in the school-house, he hadquite a bunch of punchers corralled there to hear him. And I was oneof 'em. (But, a-course, that first time, I didn't have no idear itwas a-goin' to mean a turrible lot to me, that goin' to church.) Wal,I'm blamed if the parson wasn't wearin' the same outfit as he didweek days. We liked that. And he didn't open up by tellin' us thatwe was all branded and ear-marked a' ready by the Ole Long-horn Gent.No, ma'am. He didn't _mention_ everlastin' fire. And he didn't rampand pitch and claw his hair. Fact is, he didn't hell-toot!

  A-course, that spoiled the fun fer us. But he talked so straight, andkinda easy and honest, that he got us a-listenin' to what he _said_.

  Cain't say we was stuck on his text, though. It run like this, that asmart man sees when a row's a-comin' and makes fer the tall cat-tailstill the wind dies down. And he went on to say that a man oughta behumble, and that if a feller gives you a lick on the jaw, why, you oughtalet him give you another to grow on. Think o' that! It may be O. K.fer preachers, and fer women that ain't strong enough t' lam back.But fer me, _nixey_.

  But that hand-out didn't give the parson no black eye with _us_. _We_knowed it was his duty t' talk that-a-way. And two 'r three of theboys got t' proposin' him fer the polo team real serious--pervided,a-course, that he'd stand fer a little cussin' when the 'casion_re_quired. It was a cinch that he'd draw like wet rawhide.

  Wal, the long and short of it is, he did. And Sunday nights, the Dutchmanlost money. He begun t' josh the boys about gittin' churchy. Itdidn't do no good,--the boys didn't give a whoop fer his gass, andthey liked the parson. All Dutchy could do was to sic his purp on tochawin' spots offen that keerige dawg.

  But pretty soon he got plumb tired of just dawg-fightin'. He _pre_paredto turn hisself loose. And he advertised a free supper fer the very nextSunday night. When Sunda
y night come, they say he had a reg'lar Harveylayout. You buy a drink, and you git a stuffed pickle, 'r a patty degrass, 'r a wedge of pie druv into you' face.

  No go. The boys was on to Dutchy. They knowed he was the stingiest gezabain these parts, and wouldn't give away a nickel if he didn't reckon ongittin' six-bits back. So, more fer devilment 'n anythin' else, themost of 'em fooled him some--just loped to the school-house.

  The parson was plumb tickled.

  But it didn't last. The next Sunday, the "Life Savin' Station" hadPete Gans up from Apache to deal a little faro. And as it rained hardenough t' keep the women folks away, why, the parson preached to oleman Baker (he's deef), the globe and the chart and the map of SouthAmuricaw. And almost ev'ry day of the next week, seems like, thatpurp of Dutchy's everlastin'ly chawed the parson's. The spotteddawg couldn't go past the thirst-parlour, 'r anywheres else. Theparson took to fastenin' him up. Then Dutchy'd mosey over towardsHairoil's shack. Out'd come Mister Spots. And one, two, three, thesaloon dawg 'd sail into him.

  Then a piece of news got 'round that must 'a' made the parson madder'n a wet hen. Dutchy cleaned the barrels outen his hind room and put upa notice that the next Sunday night he'd give a dance. To finish things,the dawgs had a worse fight'n ever Friday mornin', and the parson'slost two spots and a' ear.

  I seen a change in the parson that evenin'. When he come down to thepost-office, them brown eyes of his'n was plumb black, and his facewas redder'n Sam Barnes's. "Things is goin' to happen," I says tomyself, "'r _I_ ain't no judge of beef."

  Sunday night, you know, a-course, where the _boys_ went. But I drawedlots with myself and moseyed over to the school-house to keep a benchwarm. And here is when that new deal was laid out on the table fer you'little friend Cupid!

  I slid in and sit down clost to the door. Church wasn't begun yet, andthe dozen 'r so of women was a-waitin' quieter'n mice, some of 'emreadin' a little, some of 'em leanin' they haids on the desks, andsome of 'em kinda peekin' through they fingers t' git the lay of theland. Wal, _I_ stretched my neck,--and made out t' count more'n fiftyspit-balls on a life-size chalk drawin' of the school-ma'am.

  Next thing, the parson was in and a-pumpin' away--all fours--at theorgan, and the bunch of us was on our feet a-singin'----

  "Yield not to tempta-a-ation, 'Cause yieldin' is sin. Each vic'try----"

  We'd got about that far when I shut off, all of a suddent, and cockedmy haid t' listen. Whose voice was that?--as clear, by thunder! as thebugle up at the Reservation. Wal, sir, I just stood there, mouth wideopen.

  "Some other to win. Strive manfully onwards----"

  Then, I begun t' look 'round. _Couldn't_ be the Kelly kid's maw (I'dheerd her call the hawgs), ner the teacher, ner that tall lady next her,ner----

  Spotted the right one! Up clost to the organ was a gal I'd never sawafore. So many was in the way that I wasn't able t' git more'n asquint at her back hair. But, say! it was _mighty_ pretty hair--brown,and all sorta curly over the ears.

  When the song was over, ole lady Baker sit down just in front of me; andas she's some chunky, she cut off nearly the hull of my view. "But,Cupid," I says to myself, "I'll bet that wavy hair goes with a sweetface."

  Minute after, the parson begun t' speak. Wal, soon as ever he got hisfirst words out, I seen that the air was kinda blue and liftin', likeit is 'fore a thunder-shower. And his text? It was, "Lo, I am full offury, I am weary with holdin' it in."

  Say! _that's_ the kind of preachin' a _puncher_ likes!

  After he was done, and we was all ready t' go, I tried to get a betterlook at that gal. But the women folks was movin' my _di_rection,shakin' hands and gabblin' fast to make up fer lost time. Half a dozenof 'em got 'round me. And when I got shet of the bunch, she was justa-passin' out at the far door. My! such a slim, little figger andsuch a pert, little haid!

  I made fer the parson. "_Ex_cuse me," I says to him, "but wasn'tyou talkin' to a young lady just now? and if it ain't too gally, can I_in_-quire who she is?"

  "Why, yas," answers the parson, smilin' and puttin' one hand onmy shoulder. (You know that cuss never oncet ast me if I was aChristian? Aw! I tell y', he was a _gent_.) "That young lady isBilly Trowbridge's sister-in-law."

  "Sister-in-law!" I repeats. (She was married, then. Gee! I hated t'hear that! 'Cause, just havin' helped Billy t' git his wife, y'savvy, why----) "But, parson, I didn't know the Doc _had_ a brother."(I felt kinda down on Billy all to oncet.)

  "He ain't," says the parson. "(_Good_-night, Mrs. Baker.) This younglady is Mrs. Trowbridge's sister."

  "Mrs. _Trowbridge's_ sister?"

  "Yas,--ole man Sewell's youngest gal. She's been up to St. Louisgoin' t' school." He turned out the bracket lamp.

  Ole man Sewell's youngest gal! Shore enough, they _was_ another galin that fambly. But she was just a kid when she was in Briggs the lasttime,--not more'n fourteen 'r fifteen, anyhow,--and I'd clean fergotabout her.

  "Her name's Macie," goes on the parson.

  "Macie--Macie Sewell--Macie." I said it over to myself two 'r threetimes. I'd never liked the name Sewell afore. But now, somehow, alongwith _Her_ name, it sounded awful fine. "Macie--Macie Sewell."

  "Cupid, I wisht you'd walk home with me," says the parson. "I wantt' ast you about somethin'."

  "Tickled t' death."

  Whilst he locked up, I waited outside. "M' son," I says to myself,"nothin' could be foolisher than fer you to git you' eye fixed on abelongin' of ole man Sewell's. Just paste _that_ in you' sunbonnet."

  Wal, I rid Shank's mare over t' Hairoil's. Whilst we was goin', theparson opened up on the subject of Dutchy and that nasty, mean purp ofhisn. And I ketched on, pretty soon, to just what he was a-drivin' at.I fell right in with him. I'd never liked Dutchy such a turrible lotanyhow,--and I did want t' be a friend to the parson. So fer a hourafter we hit the shack, you might 'a' heerd me a-talkin' (if you'dbeen outside) and him a-laughin' ev'ry minute 'r so like he'd splithis sides.

  Monday was quiet. I spent the day at Silverstein's Gen'ral MerchandiseStore, which is next the post-office. (Y' see, She might come infer the Bar Y mail.) The parson got off a long letter to a feller atWilliams. And Dutchy was awful busy--fixin' up a fine shootin'-galleryat the back of his "Life Savin' Station."

  Tuesday, somethin' happened at the parson's. Right off after thefive-eight train come in from the south, Hairoil druv down to the deepotand got a big, square box and rushed home with it. When he come intothe thirst-parlour about sun-set, the boys ast him what the parsonwas gittin'. He just wunk.

  "I bet _I_ knows," says Dutchy. "De preacher mans buys some viskey,alretty."

  Hairoil snickered. "Wal," he says, "what I carried over was nailedup good and tight, all right, all right."

  Wal, say! that made the boys suspicious, and made 'em wonder if theywasn't a darned good _reason_ fer the parson not wearin' duds likeother religious gents, and fer his knowin' how to ride so good. Andthey was _sore_--bein' that they'd stood up so strong fer him, y'savvy.

  "A cow-punch," says Monkey Mike, "'ll swaller almost _any_ olething, long 's it's right out on the table. But he shore cain't go a_hippy-crit._"

  "You blamed idjits!" chips in Buckshot Millikin, him that owns sucha turrible big bunch of white-faces, and was run outen Arizonaw ferrustlin' sheep, "what can y' expect of a preacher, that comes from_Williams?_"

  Dutchy seen how they all felt, and he was plumb happy. "Vot I toley'?" he ast. But pretty soon he begun to laugh on the other side ofhis face. "If dat preacher goes to run a bar agin me," he says, "pygolly, I makes no more moneys!"

  Fer a minute, he looked plumb scairt.

  But the boys was plumb _disgusted_. "The parson's been playin' usfer suckers," they says to each other; "he's been a-soft-soapin'us, a-flimflammin' us. He thinks we's as blind as day-ole kittens."And the way that Tom-fool of a Hairoil hung 'round, lookin' wise, gotunder they collar. After they'd booted him outen the shebang, they allsit down on the edge of the stoop, just sayin' nothin'--but sawin'wood.
<
br />   I sit down, too.

  We wasn't there more'n ten minutes when one of the fellers jumped up."There comes the parson now," he says.

  Shore enough. There come the parson in his fancy two-wheel Studebaker,lookin' as perky as thunder. "Gall?" says Buckshot. "Wal, I shouldsmile!" Under his cart, runnin' 'twixt them yalla wheels, was hisspotted dawg.

  I hollered in to Dutchy. "Where's you' purp, Dutch?" I ast. "Theparson's haided this way."

  Dutchy was as tickled as a kid with a lookin'-glass and a hammer. Hedropped his bar-towel and hawled out his purp.

  "Vatch me!" he says.

  The parson was a good bit closter by now, settin' up straight as atelegraph pole, and a-hummin' to hisself. He was wearin' one of themcaps with a cow-catcher 'hind and 'fore, knee britches, boots and asweater.

  "A svetter, mind y'!" says Dutchy.

  "Be a Mother Hubbard _next,_" says Bill Rawson.

  Somehow, though, as the parson come 'longside the post-office, mostanybody wouldn't 'a' liked the way thinks looked. You could sortasmell somethin' explodey. He was too all-fired songful to be natu'al.And his dawg! That speckled critter was as diff'rent from usual asthe parson. His good ear was curled up way in, and he was kinda layin'clost to the ground as he trotted along--layin' so clost he was plumb_bow-legged_.

  Wal, the parson pulled up. And he'd no more'n got offen his seat when,first rattle outen the box, them dawgs mixed.

  Gee whillikens! _such_ a mix! They wasn't much of the reg'lar ki-yin'.Dutchy's purp yelped some; but the parson's? Not fer _him!_ He justgot a good holt--a shore enough diamond hitch--on that thirst-parlourdawg, and chawed. _Say!_ And whilst he chawed, the dust riz up like theywas one of them big sand-twisters goin' through Briggs City. All of asuddent, _how that spotted dawg could fight!_

  Dutchy didn't know what 'd struck him. He runs out. "Come, hellup,"he yells to the parson.

  The parson shook his head. "This street is not my private property,"he says.

  Then Dutchy jumped in and begun t' kick the parson's dawg in the snoot.The parson walks up and stops Dutchy.

  That made the Dutchman turrible mad. He didn't have no gun on him, soout he jerks his pig-sticker.

  What happened next made our eyes plumb stick out. That parsonside-stepped, put out a hand and a foot, and with that highfalutin'Jewie Jitsie you read about, tumbled corn-beef-and-cabbage on to hisback. Then he straddled him and slapped his face.

  "Lieber!" screeched Dutchy.

  "Goin' t' have any more Sunday night dances?" ast the parson. (_Bing,bang_.)

  "Nein! Nein!"

  "Any more" (_bing, bang_) "free Sunday suppers?"

  "Nein! Nein! Hellup!"

  "Goin' to change this" (_biff, biff_) "saloon's name!"

  "Ya! Ya! _Gott!_"

  The parson got up. "_Amen!_" he says.

  Then he runs into Silverstein's, grabs a pail of water, comes out again,and throws it on to the dawgs.

  The Dutchman's purp was done fer a'ready. And the other one was tiredenough to quit. So when the water splashed, Dutchy got his dawg by thetail and drug him into the thirst-parlour.

  But that critter of the parson's. Soon as the water touched him, themspots of hisn _begun to run_. Y' see, he wasn't the stylish keerigedawg at all! _He was a jimber-jawed bull!_

  * * * * *

  Wal, the next Sunday night, the school-house was chuck full. Shewasn't there--no, Monkey Mike tole me she was visitin' down toGoldstone; but, a-course, all the _rest_ of the women folks was. Andabout forty-'leven cow-punchers was on hand, and Buckshot, and Rawsonand Dutchy,--yas, ma'am, _Dutchy,_ we rounded _him_ up. Do y' thinkafter such a come-off we was goin' to let that limburger run anycompytition place agin our parson?

  And that night the parson stands up on the platform, his face as shinyas a milk-pan, and all smiles, and he looked over that cattle-town bunchand says, "I take fer my text this evenin', 'And the calf, and theyoung lion and the fatlin' shall lie down in peace t'gether.'"