CHAPTER EIGHT
ANOTHER SCHEME, AND HOW IT PANNED OUT
WAL, pore ole Sewell! _I_ wasn't feelin' dandy them days, you'd betterbelieve. But, Sewell, he took Macie's goin' _turrible_ bad. Wheneverhe come in town, he was allus just as _qui-i-et_. Not a cheep aboutthe little gal; wouldn't 'a' laughed fer a nickel; and never'd goanywheres nigh the lunch-counter. Then, he begun t' git peakeder'n thedickens, and his eyes looked as big as saucers, and bloodshot. Pore oleboss!
I kept outen his way. He'd heerd all about that Shackleton business,y' savvy, and was awful down on me; helt me _re_sponsible fer the hullthing, and tole the boys he never wanted t' set eyes on me again.Hairoil went to him and said I'd been jobbed, and was innocenter'nMary's little lamb. But Sewell wouldn't listen even, and said I'd donehim dirt.
A-course, I couldn't go back t' my Bar Y job, then,--and me plumb crazyt' git to work and make enough t' go to Noo York on! But I didn't dono mournin'; I kept a stiff upper lip. "Cupid," I says to myself,"allus remember that the gal that's hard t' ketch is the best kindwhen oncet you've got her." And I sit down and writ the foreman ofthe Mulhall outfit. (By now, my arm was all healed up fine.)
Wal, when I went over to the post-office a little bit later on, thepost-master tole me that Sewell'd just got a letter from Macie!--but ithadn't seemed t' chirp the ole man up any. And they was one fer Mrs.Trowbridge, too, he says; did I want to look at it?
"I don't mind," I answers.
It was from her--I'd know her little dinky l's _anywheres_. I helt itfer a minute--'twixt my two hands. It was like I had her fingers, kinda.Then, "S'pose they ain't nothin' fer me t'day," I says.
"No, Cupid,--sorry. Next time, I reckon."
"Wal," I goes on "would you mind lettin' me take this over t' Rose?"
"Why, no,--go ahaid."
I went, quick as ever my laigs could carry me, the letter tucked insidemy shirt.
Rose read it out loud t' me, whilst I helt the kid. It wasn't a longletter, but, somehow, I never could recollect afterwards just theexac' words that was in it. I drawed, though, that Mace was havin'a _way_-up time. She was seein' all the shows, she said, meetin'slathers of folks, and had a room with a nice, sorta middle-aged lady,in a place where a lot of young fellers and gals hung out t' study allkinds of fool business. Some of 'em she liked, and some she didn't.Some took her fer a greeney, and some was fresh. But she was learnin' apile--and 'd heerd Susy's Band!
"Is that all?" I ast when Rose was done.
"Yas, Cupid."
"Nothin' about me?"
"No."
"Does she give her _ad_dress?"
"Just Gen'ral Deliv'ry."
"Thank y', Rose."
"Stay t' dinner, Cupid. I'm goin' t' have chicken fricassee."
But I didn't feel like eatin'. I put the kid down and come away.
I made towards Dutchy's--pretty blue, I was, a-course. "Cupid," Isays, "bad luck runs in you' fambly like the wooden laig."
But, mind y', I wasn't goin' with the idear of boozin' up, _no,_ma'am. _I_ figger that if a gal's worth stewin' over any, she's ahull lot _too_ good fer a man that gits _drunk_. I went 'cause I knowedthe boys was there; and them days the boys was _mighty_ nice to me.
Wal, this day, I'm powerful glad I went. If I hadn't, it's likely I'dnever 'a' got that bully _po_-sition, 'r played Cupid again (withoutknowin' it)--and so got the one chanst I was a-prayin' fer.
Now, this is what happened:
I'd just got inside Dutchy's, and was a-standin' behind BuckshotMilliken, watchin' him bluff the station-agent with two little pair,when I heerd Hairoil a-talkin' to hisself, kinda. "Dear me suz!" hesays (he was peerin' acrosst the street towards the deepot), "whatblamed funny things I see when I ain't got no gun!"
A-course, we all stampeded over and took a squint. "Wal, when did _that_blow in?" says Bill Rawson. And, "Say! ketch me whilst I faint!"goes on one of the Lazy X boys, making believe as if he was weak inthe laigs. The rest of just haw-hawed.
A young feller we'd never seen afore was comin' cater-corners from thestation. He was a slim-Jim, sorta salla complected, jaw clean scraped,and he had on a pair of them tony pinchbug spectacles. He was riggedout fit t' kill--grey store clothes, dicer same colour as the suit,sky-blue shirt, socks tatooed green, and gloves. He passed clost, notlookin' our _di_rection, and made fer the Arnaz rest'rant.
Just as he got right in front of it, he come short and begun readin'the sign that's over the door--
Meals 25c Start in and It's a Habit You cain't Quit.
Then we seen him grin like he was _turrible_ tickled, and take out apiece of paper t' set somethin' down. Next, in he slides.
We all dropped back and lined up again.
"Not a sewin'-machine agent, 'r he'd 'a' wore a duster," saysHairoil.
"And a patent medicine man would 'a' had on a stove-pipe," addsBergin.
"Maype he iss a preacher," puts in Dutchy, lookin' scairt as thedickens.
"Nixey," I says. "But if he was a drummer, he'd 'a' steeredstraight fer a thirst-parlour."
Missed it a mile--the hull of us. Minute, and in run Sam Barnes, faceredder'n a danger-signal.
"Boys," he says, all up in the air, "did y' see It? Wal, what d'you think? It's from Boston, and It writes. I was at the Arnaz feedshop, gassin' Carlota, when It shassayed in. Said It was down here ferthe first time in a-a-all Its life, and figgers t' work this town ferbook mawterial. Gents, It's a liter'toor sharp!"
"Of all the _gall!_" growls Chub Flannagan, gittin' hot. "Goin' t'take a shy outen us!" And I seen that some of the other boys felt like_he_ did.
Buckshot Milliken spit in his hands. "I'll go over," he says, "andjust natu'lly settle that dude's hash. I'd _admire_ t' do it."
I haided him off quick. Then I faced the bunch. "Gents," I begun,"ain't you just a little bit hasty? Now, don't git in a sweat._Con_-sider this subject a little 'fore you act. Sam, I thought you_liked_ t' read liter'toor books."
Sam hauled out "Stealthy Steve"--a fav'-rite of hisn. "Shore I do,"he answers. "But, as I tole this Boston feller, no liter'toor's beenhappenin' in Briggs lately--no killin's, 'r train hole-ups."
"_That's_ right, Sam," I says, sarcastic; "go and switch him overt' Goldstone,--when they won't be another book writer stray down thisway fer a coon's age. Say! You got a haid like a tack!"
Sam dried up. I come back at the boys. "Gents," I _con_tinues, "don'tyou see this is Briggs City's one big chanst?--the chanst t' gitput in red letters on the railroad maps! T' git five square mile ofthis mesquite staked out into town lots! You all know how we've had t'take the slack of them jay-hawk farmers over Cestos way; and they ain'tsuch a _much,_ and cain't raise nothin' but shin-oak and peanuts andchiggers. But they tell how _we_ git all the cyclones and rattlesnakes.
"Now, we'll curl they hair. Listen, gents,--Oklahomaw City's gotelement streets, Guthrie's got a Carniggie lib'rary, and Bliss'sgot the Hunderd-One Ranch. _And we're a-goin' t' cabbage this book!_"
"Wal, that's a hoss of another colour," admits Chub.
"Yas," says Buckshot, "Cupid's right. We certainly got to attend tothis visitor that's come to our enterprisin' city, and give him a fairshake."
"_But,_" puts in Sam, "we're up a tree. Where's his mawterial?"
"Mawterial," I says, "--I don't just savvy what he means by that.But, boys, whatever it is, we got t' see that he _gits_ it. Now,s'posin' I go find him, and sorta feel 'round a little, and drawhim out."
They was agreed, and I split fer the rest'rant. Boston was there, allright, talkin' to ole lady Arnaz (but keepin' a' eye peeled towardsCarlota), and pickin' the shucks offen a tamale. I sit down and ast ferflapjacks. And whilst I was waitin' I sized him up.
Clost to, I liked his looks. And from the jump, I seen one thing--theywasn't _no_ showin' off to him, and no extra dawg ('r he wouldn't'a' come to a joint where meals is only two-bits). He was abook-writer, but when he talked he didn't use no ten-dollar
-a-dozenwords. And, in place of seegars, he smoked cigareets--and rolled 'emhisself with _one_ hand, by jingo!
Wal, we had a nice, long parley-voo, me gittin' the hull sittywaytionas _re_gards his book, and tellin' him we'd shore lay ourselves outt' help him--if we didn't, it wouldn't be white; him, settin' downthings ev'ry oncet in a while, 'r whittlin' a stick with one of themself-cockin' jackknives.
We chinned fer the best part of a' hour. Then, he made me a proposition.This was it: "Mister Lloyd," he says, "I'd like t' have you withme all the time I'm down here,--that'll be three weeks, anyhow. Youcould _ex_plain things, and--and be a kinda bodyguard."
"Why, my friend," I says, "_you_ don't need no bodyguard inOklahomaw. But I'll be glad t' _ex_plain anythin' I can."
"Course, I want t' pay you," he goes on; "'cause I'd be takin'you' time----"
"I couldn't take no pay," I breaks in. "And if I was t' have to go,why any one of the bunch could help you just as good."
"Let's talk business," he says. "I like you, and I don't _want_ yout' go. Now, what's you' time worth?"
"I git forty a month."
"Wal, that suits me. And you' job won't be a hard one."
"Just as you say."
So, then, we shook hands. But, a-course, I didn't swaller that bodyguardstory,--I figgered that what he wanted was t' git in with the boysthrough me.
Wal, when I got back t' the thirst-parlour, I acted like I was loco."Boys! boys! _boys!_" I hollered, "I got a job!" And I give 'em alla whack on the back, and I done a jig.
Pretty soon, I was calmer. Then, I says, "I ain't a-goin' t' ride ferMulhall,--not _this_ month, anyhow. This liter'toor gent's hired meas his book foreman. As I understand it, they's some things he wants,and I'm to help corral 'em. He says that just now most folks seemt' be takin' a lot of interest in the West. He don't reckon thefashion'll keep up, but, a-course a book-writer has t' git on to theband-wagon. So, it's up t' me, boys, to give him what's got to behad 'fore the _ex_citement dies down."
Hairoil come over t' me. "Cupid," he says, "the hull kit and boodleof us'll come in on this. We want t' help, that's the reason. We _owe_it to y', Cupid."
"Boys," I answers, "I appreciate what you mean, and I _ac_cept you'offer. Thank y'."
"What does this feller want?" ast Sam.
"Wal," I says, "he spoke a good bit about colour----"
"They's shore colour at the Arnaz feed shop," puts in Monkey Mike;"--them strings of red peppers that the ole lady keeps hung on thewalls. And we can git blue shirts over to Silverstein's."
"No, Mike," I says, "that ain't the idear. Colour is _Briggs,_ and_us._"
"Aw, punk!" says Sam. "What kind of a book is it goin' t' be,anyhow, with us punchers in it!"
"Wait till you hear what I got t' _do,_" I answers. "To _con_tinue:He mentioned char_ac_ters. Course, I had to _ad_mit we're kinda shy on_them._"
"Wisht we had a few Injuns," says Hairoil. "A scalpin' makes _mighty_fine readin'. Now, mebbe, 'Pache Sam'd pass,--if he was lickered upproper."
"Funny," I says, "but he didn't bring up Injuns. Reckon they ain'tstylish no more. But he put it plain that he'd got to have a bad man.Said in a Western book you _allus_ got t' have a bad man."
"Since we strung up them two Foster boys." says Bergin, "Briggsain't had what you'd call a bad man. In view of this writin' fellercomin', I don't know, gents, but what we was a little _hasty_ inthe Foster matter."
"Wal," I says, "we got t' do our best with what's left. Thisfindin' mawterial fer a book ain't no dead open-and-shut proposition.'Cause Briggs ain't big, and it ain't what you'd call bad. That'llhole us back. But let's dig in and make up fer what's lackin'."
Wal, we rustled 'round. First off, we togged ourselves out the waypunchers allus look in magazines. (I knowed that was how he wantedus.) We rounded up all the shaps in town, with orders to wear 'emconstant--and made Dutchy keep 'em on, too! Then, guns: Each of uscarried six, kinda like a front fringe, y' savvy. Next, one of the boysloped out t' the Lazy X and brung in a young college feller that'dcome t' Oklahomaw a while back fer his health. It 'pears that he'dbeen readin' a Western book that was writ by a' Eastern gent somewheresin Noo Jersey. And, say! he was the wildest lookin' cow-punch that'sever been saw in these parts!
We'd no more'n got all fixed up nice when, "Ssh!" says Buckshot,"here he comes!"
"Quick, boys!" I says, "we got t' sing. It's expected."
The sheriff, he struck up----
"Paddy went to the Chinaman with only one shirt. How's that?"
"_That's tough!_" we hollers, loud enough to lift the shakes.
"He lost of his ticket, says, 'Divvil the worse', How's that?"
"_That's tough!_"
Mister Boston stopped byside the door. The sheriff goes on----
"Aw, Pat fer his shirt, he begged hard and plead, But, 'No tickee, no washee', the Chinaman said. Now Paddy's in jail, and the Chinaman's dead! How's that?"
"_That's tough!_"
It brung him. He looked in, kinda edged through the door, took a bench,and _sur_veyed them shaps, and them guns till his eyes plumb _pro_truded."Rippin'!" I heerd him say.
"'That's tough,'" repeats Monkey Mike, winkin' to the boys. "Wal,I should _re_mark it was!--to go t' jail just fer pluggin' a Chink.Irish must 'a' felt like two-bits."
Boston lent over towards me. "What's two bits?" he ast.
"What's two bits," says Rawson. "Don't you know? Wal, _one_ bit iswhat you can take outen the other feller's hide at one mouthful. _Two_bits, a-course, is two of 'em."
"And," says that college feller from the Lazy X, "go fer the cheekallus--the best eatin'." (He was smart, all right.)
"Not a Chinaman's cheek--too tough," says the sheriff.
Boston begun to kinda talk to hisself. "Horrible!" he says. "ShyLocks, by Heaven!" Then to me again, speakin' low and pointin' at thesheriff, "Mister Lloyd, what kind of a fambly did that man come from?"
"Don't know a hull lot about him," I answers, "but his mother wasa squaw, and his father was found on a doorstep."
"A _squaw,_" he says. "That accounts fer it." And he begun to watchthe sheriff clost.
"Gents, what you want fer you' supper?" ast the Arnaz boy, comin'our _di_rection.
"I feel awful caved in," answers Buckshot. "I'll take a dozen aigs."
"How'll you have 'em?"
"Boil 'em hard, so's I can hole 'em in my fingers. And say, cool 'emoff 'fore you dish 'em up. I got blistered _bad_ the last time I etaigs."
"Rawson, what'll _you_ have?"
Rawson, he kinda cocked one ear. "Wal," he says, easy like, "give merattlesnake on toast."
Nobody cheeped fer a minute, 'cause the boys was stumped fer somethin'to go on with. But just as I was gittin' nervous that the conversationwas peterin' out, Boston speaks up.
"Rattlesnake?" he says; "did he say _rattlesnake?_"
Like a shot, Rawson turned towards him, wrinklin' his forrid andwigglin' his moustache awful fierce. "_That's_ what I said," heanswers, voice plumb down to his number 'levens.
It give me my show. I drug Boston away. "Gee!" I says, "on _this_ sideof the Mississippi, you got to be _keerful_ how you go shoot off you'mouth! And when you _re_mark on folks's eatin', you don't want t'look tickled."
Wal, that was all the colour he got till night, when I had somethin'more _pre_pared. We took up a collection fer winda-glass, and ChubFlannagan, who can roll a gun the _prettiest_ you ever seen, walked upand down nigh Boston's stoppin'-place, invitin' the fellers t' comeout and "git et up," makin' one 'r two of us dance the heel-and-toewhen we showed ourselves, and shootin' up the town gen'ally.
Then, fer a week, nothin' happened.
It was just about then that Rose got another letter from Macie. And itseemed t' me that the little gal 'd changed her tune some. She saidNoo York took a _turrible_ lot of money--clothes, and grub, and so forthand so on. Said they was so blamed little oxygen in the town that a lampwouldn't burn, and they'd got to use 'lectricity. And--that w
as allfer _this_ time, 'cause she had t' write her paw.
"I s'pose," I says to Rose, "that it'd be wastin' my breath t'ast----"
"Yas, Cupid," she answers, "but it'll be O. K. when she sees you."
"_I_ reckon," I says hopeful. And I hunted up my new boss.
He didn't give me such a lot t' do them days--except t' show up at thefeed-shop three times reg'lar. That struck me as kinda funny--'causehe was as flush as a' Osage chief.
"Why don't you grub over to the eatin'-house oncet in a while?" Iast him. "They got all _kinds_ of tony things--tomatoes and cucumbersand as-paragrass, and them little toadstool things."
"And out here in the desert!" says Boston. "I s'pose they bring 'emfrom other places."
"Not on you' life!" I answers. "They grow 'em right here--in flowerpots."
Out come a pencil. "How pictureskew!" Boston says,--and put it down.
End of that first week, when I stopped in at the Arnaz place fer supper,I says to him, "Wal," I says, "book about done?"
He was layin' back lazy in a chair,--_as_ usual--watchin' Carlota trotthe crock'ry in. He batted his eyes. "Done!" he repeats. "_No_.Why, I ain't got only a few notes."
"Notes?" I says; "notes?" I was _turrible_ disappointed. (I reckon Iwas worryin' over the book worse'n _he_ was.) "Why, say, couldn'tyou make nothin' outen that bad man who was a-paintin' the town theother night?"
"Just a bad man don't make a book," says Boston; "leastways, onlya yalla-back. But take a bad man, and a _gal,_ and you git a story of_ad_-venture."
A gal. Yas, you need a gal fer a book. And you need _the_ gal if you wantt' be right happy. I knowed that. Pretty soon, I ast, "Have you pickedon a gal?"
"Here's Carlota," he says. "_She'd_ make a figger fer a book."
Carlota!--the little skeezicks! Y' see, she's _aw-ful_ pretty. Hairblacker'n a stack of black cats. Black eyes, too,--big and friendlylookin'. (That's where you git fooled--Carlota's a blend of tiger-catand bronc; she can purr 'r pitch--take you' choice.) Her face is justsnow white, with a little bit of pink--now y' see it, now y' don'tsee it--on her cheeks, and a little spot of blazin' red fer a mouth.
"But what I'm after most now," he goes on, "is a plot."
A plot, y' savvy, is a story, and I got him the best I could find. Thiswas Buckshot's:
"Boston, this is a _blamed_ enterprisin' country,--almost _any_ olething can happen out here. Did you ever hear tell how Nick Ericksongot his stone fence? No? You could put _that_ in a book. Wal, youknow, Erickson lives east of here. Nice hunderd and sixty acres he'sgot--level, no stones. Wanted t' fence it. Couldn't buy lumber 'rwire. Figgered on haulin' stone, only stone was so blamed far t'haul. Then,--Nature was accommodatin'. Come a' earthquake that shookand shook the ranch. Shook all the stones to the top. Erickson picked'em up--and built the fence."
But Boston was hard t' satisfy. So I tried to tell him about Rose andBilly.
"No," he says; "if they's _one_ thing them printin' fellers won'tstand fer it's a hero_ine_ that's hitched."
So, then, I branched off on to pore Bud Hickok.
"No," says Boston, again; "_that_ won't do. It's got to end uphappy."
Wal, it looked as if that book was goin' fluey. To make things worse,the boys begun kickin' about havin' t' pack so many guns. And I hadto git up a notice, signed by the sheriff, which said that more'n twoshootin'-irons on any one man wouldn't be 'lowed no more, and thatcityzens was t' "shed forthwith."
I seen somethin' had got t' be done pronto. "Cupid," I says tomyself, "you _must con_sider that there book of Boston's some more.'Pears that Boston ain't gittin' all he come after. Nothin' ain'thappenin' that he can put into a book. Wal, it's _got_ t' happen.Just chaw on _that._"
Next, I hunted up the boys. "Gents," I says to 'em, "help me find abad man that'll fit into a story with a gal."
"Gal?" they repeats.
"Yas; every book has got t' have a gal."
"I s'pose," says Rawson. "Just like ev'ry herd had got t' have acase of staggers. But--who's the gal?"
The boys all lent towards me, fly-traps wide open.
"Carlota Arnaz," I answers.
Some looked plumb eased in they minds--and some didn't. Carlota, she'sace-high with quite a bunch--all ready t' snub her up and marry her.
"The Senorita'll do," says Rawson. "She gen'ally makes out t' keep_some_ man mis'rable."
And fer the bad man, we picked out Pedro Garcia, the cholo that was mixedup in that mete'rite business. Drunk 'r sober, fer a hard-looker Pedroshore fills the bill.
Next, we hunted ev'ry which way fer a plot. "I'll tell y'," saysCaliforny Jim, that ole prospector that hangs 'round here; "if thelit'rary lead has pinched out, why don't you _salt_--_and pretend tomake a strike?_"
Hairoil pricked up his ears. "Wouldn't that be somethin' like a--ascheme?" he ast; "somethin' like that we planned out fer Cupid here?"
"Yas."
The hull bunch got plumb pale. Then they made fer the door.,
"Wait, boys!" I hollered. "_Hole_ on! Remember this is a schemethat's been _ast_ fer."
They stopped.
"And," I says, "it looks pretty good t' _me._"
They turned back--shakin' they haids, though. "Just as you say,Cupid," says Rawson. And, "Long's it's fer _you,_" adds the sheriff."But schemes is some dangerous."
"I'll tell y'!" begins Sam Barnes. "We'll hole up the dust wagonfrom the Little Rattlesnake Mine, all of us got up like Jesse James!"
Bill Rawson jumped nigh four feet. "You go soak you' haid!" hebegun, mad's a hornet. "Hole up the dust wagon! And whichever of usmule-skinners happens t' be bringin' it in'll git the G. B. fromthat high-falutin' gent in the States that owns the shootin'-match.No, _ma'am!_ And if _that's_ the kind of plot you-all 're hankerin'after, you can just count me _outen_ this hawg-tyin'!"
"That's right--sic 'em, Towser; git t' fightin'," I says. "Now,Bill, _work_ you' hole-back straps. I cain't say as Sam's plan hitthe right spot with me, neither. 'Cause how could _Carlota_ figger inthat pow-wow? Won't do."
Wal, after some more pullin' and haulin', we fixed it up this way:Pedro'd grab Carlota and take her away on a hoss whilst Boston and thepassel of us was in the Arnaz place. He was t' hike north, and dropher at the Johnson shack on the edge of town--then go on, takin' a dummyin her place, and totin' a brace of guns filled with blanks. We'dfoller with plenty of blanks, too--and Boston. How's that fer high!
If you want to ast me, I think the hull idear was just _O. K.,_ andno mistake. Beautiful gal kidnapped--bra-a-ave posse of punchers--hardride--hot fight--rescue of a pilla stuffed with the best alfalfa onthe market. _Pro_cession files back, all sand and smiles.
"Why," I says to Bergin, "them Eastern printin' fellers'll set 'emup fer Boston so fast that he'll plumb float."
And the sheriff agreed.
But it couldn't happen straight off. Pedro had t' be tole about it, andgive his orders. Carlota, the same. I managed this part of the shindig,the boys gittin' the blanks, the hosses and the hay lady.
Wal, I rode down to the section-house and ast fer Pedro. He come out,about ten pounds of railroad ballast--more 'r less--spread on to themfeatures of hisn. (_That_'d 'a' been colour fer Boston, all right.) Itole him what we was goin' t' do, _why_ we was a-doin' it, and laidout _his_ share of the job. Then I tacked on that the gal he'd stealwas Carlota.
Now, as I think about it, I _re_call that he looked _mighty_ tickled.Grinned all over and said, "Me gusta mucho" more'n a dozen times.But _then_ I didn't pay no 'tention to how he acted. I was so gladhe'd fall in with me. (The Ole Nick take the greasers! A' out-and-out,low-down lot of sneakin' coyotes, anyhow! And I might 'a' _knowed_----)
"Pedro," I says, "they's no rush about this. We'll kinda work it upslow. T' make the hull thing seem dead real, you come to town ev'ryevenin' fer a while, and hang 'round the rest'rant. Spend a littlespondulix with the ole woman so's she won't kick you out, and shineup t' Carlota when Boston's on the premises. Ketch on?"
Pedro said he did, and I loped
back to town t' meet up with Carlota andhave it out with her--and that was a job fer a caution!
Carlota was all bronc that day--stubborn, pawin', and takin' the bit.And if I kept up with her, and come out in the lead, it was 'causeI'd had some _ex_perience with Macie, and I'd learned when t' leave arambunctious young lady have her haid.
"Carlota," I says, "us fellers has fixed up a mighty nice scheme t'help out Boston with that book he's goin' to write."
"So?" She was all awake--quicker'n scat.
"Yas," I goes on. "Y' know, he's been wantin' somethin'_ex_citin' t' put in it. We figger t' give it to him."
"Como?" she ast.
"With a case of kidnappin'. Man steals gal--we foller with Boston--lotsof shootin'--save the gal----"
"What gal?"
"It's a big honour--and we choosed you."
"So-o-o!"
Say! that hit her right, _I_ tell y'! But I had to go put my foot in it,a-course. "Yas, _you,_" I goes on. "Mebbe you noticed Boston's herepretty frequent?"
"Si! si! si! senor!"
"That's 'cause he's been studyin' you--so's he could use you fera book char_ac_ter."
"So!" she said. "_That_ is it! _that_ is why!" Mad? Golly! Them blackeyes of hern just snapped, and she grabbed a hunk of bread and begunknifin' it.
"Wal," I says, "you don't seem t' ketch on to the fact that youbeen handed out a blamed big compliment. A person in a _book_ is _somepotatoes._"
"No! _no!_ senor!"
Pride hurt, I says to myself. "Now, Carlota," I begun, "don't cutoff you' nose t' spite you' face. Pedro Garcia is turrible tickledthat we ast _him._"
"Pedro--puf!"
"In the book," I goes on, "he's the bad man that loves you so muchhe cain't help stealin' you."
"I _hate_ Pedro," she says. "He is like that--bad."
"But we ain't astin' you t' _like_ him, and he don't _git_ you. Hedrops you off at Johnson's and takes a dummy the rest of the way. Wewant t' make Boston _think_ they's danger."
"So?" All of a suddent, she didn't seem nigh as mad--and she lookedlike she'd just thought of somethin'.
I seen my chanst. "That was the way we fixed it up," I goes on."A-course, now you don't want t' be the hero_ine,_ I'll ast oneof the eatin'-house gals. I reckon _they_ won't turn me down." And Imoseyed towards the door.
"Cupid," she calls, "come back. You say, he will think another manloves me so much that he carries me away?"
"You got it," I answers.
She showed them little nippers of hern. "Good!" she says. "I do it!"
"But, Carlota, listen. Boston ain't to be next that this is a put-upjob. He's to think it's genuwine. Savvy? And he'll git all thefeelin's of a real kidnap. Now, to fool him right, you got to do onething: Be nice t' Pedro when Boston's 'round."
Little nippers again. "I do it," she says.
I started t' go, but she called me back. "He will think another manloves me so much that he carries me away?" she repeats.
"_Shore,_" I says. And she let me go.
Y' know, _flirtin'_ was Carlota's strong suit. And that veryevenin' I seen her talkin' acrosst the counter to Pedro sweeter'npanocha,--with a takin' smile on the south end of that cute littleface of hern. But her _eyes_ wasn't smilin'--and a Spanish gal'seyes don't lie.
But supper was late, and Boston and me was at a table clost by,--himlookin' ugly tempered. So ole lady Arnaz tole Carlota t' jar loose. Andpretty soon we was wrastlin' our corn-beef, and Pedro was gone.
Rawson sit down nigh us. "Cupid," he says solemn, "reckon we won'tgit to play that game of draw t'-night." And he give my foot a kick.
"Why?" I ast.
"Account of Pedro bein' in town. I figger t' stay clost to thebunk-house."
"So 'll _I_," I says, and begun examinin' my shootin'-iron mightyanxious.
"Who's this Pedro?" ast Boston.
"Didn't y' see him?" I says. "He's a greaser, and a' awful badcuss t' monkey with. If you happen t' go past him and so much as wigglea finger, it's like takin' you' life in you' hands. Look at this."And I showed him a piece that me and Hairoil 'd fixed up fer the last_EyeOpener_.
"_Pedro Garcia,_" it read, "_was found not guilty by Judge Freeman ferperforatin' Nick Trotmann's sombrero in a street row last Saturdaynight week. Proved that Nick got into Pedro's way and sassed him. Pedro'd come to town consider'ble the worse fer booze and, as is allusthe case_--" Then they was a inch 'r two without no writin'. Underthat was this: "_As a matter of extreme precaution, we have lifted thelast half of the above article, havin' got word that Garcia is duein town again. Subscribers will please excuse the gap. I didn't git notime t' fill it in. Editor._"
"And what's he doin' in _here?_" says Boston, "--talkin' to a younggal!"
"Half cracked about her," puts in Bill. "And if she won't have him,'r her maw interferes, I'm feared they'll be a tragedy."
"Low ruffian!" says Boston.
Later on, about ten o'clock, say, I was passin' the rest'rant, andI heerd a man singin'----
"Luz de mi alma! Luz de mi vida!"
and that somethin' was "despedosin'" his heart. (I savvy the lingopretty good.)
Wal, it was that dog-goned cholo,--under Carlota's winda, and he had aguitar. Thunderation! that wasn't in our pro_gram!_
"Say, you!" I hollered.
He shut up and come over, lookin' kinda as if he'd been ketchedstealin' sheep, but grinnin' so hard his eyes was plumb closed--themean, little, wall-eyed, bow-laigged swine!
"Pedro," I says, "you' boss likely wants you. Hit the ties."'Cause, mebbe Carlota 'd git mad at his yelpin,' and knock the hullscheme galley-west.
Talk about you' cheek! Next night, that greaser and his guitar wasdoin' business at the ole stand. I let him alone. Carlota seemed t'like it. Anyhow, she didn't hand him out no hot soap suds through thewinda, 'r no chairs and tables.
I was glad things was goin' so nice. 'Cause lately I'd had t' worryabout Mace a good deal. Her letters had eased up a hull lot. Seems she'dbeen under the weather fer a few days.
When she writ again though, she said she was O. K., but a-course Noo York_was_ lonesome when a person was sick. Op'ra prospects? Aw, they was_fine!_
Next thing, I was nervouser'n a cow with the heel-fly. _No_ letterscome from the little gal!--leastways, none to Rose. And ev'ry day oleman Sewell snooped 'round the post-office, lookin' more and more downin the mouth.
"How's Mace?" Rawson ast him oncet.
"Tol'rable," he answers, glum as all git out.
That kidnappin' was fixed on fer Saturday. We didn't tell Carlotathat was the day. Her maw might git wind of the job; 'r the gal 'd godress up, which 'd spoil the real look of the hull thing. Then, ona Saturday, after five, Pedro was free to come in town--and most allusshowed up with some more of the cholos, pumpin' a hand-car.
This Saturday he come, all right, and went over to Sparks's corral fer acouple of hosses. (Us punchers 'd tied our broncs over in the corraltoo, so's we'd have to run fer 'em when Pedro lit out with the gal.And I'd picked that strawberry roan of Sparks's fer Boston. It wasthe fastest critter on four laigs in the hull country. Y' see, I wantedBoston t' lead the posse.)
Six o'clock was the time named. It 'd give us more 'n two hours of dayfer the chase, and then they'd be a nice long stretch of dusk--just thekind of light fer circlin' a' outlaw and capturin' him, dead 'r alive!
Wal, just afore the battle, mother, all us cow-punchers happened into theArnaz place. And a-course, Boston was there. Me and him was settin''way back towards the kitchen-end of the room. Pretty soon, we seenPedro pass the front winda, ridin' a hoss and leadin' another. Hisloaded quirt was a-hangin' to his one wrist, and on his right laigwas the gun filled with blanks that we'd left at Sparks's fer him.He stopped at the far corner of the house, droppin' the bridle overthe broncs' haids so they'd stand. Then he came to the side door,opened it about a' inch, peeked in at Carlota,--she was behind thecounter--and whistled.
She walked straight over to him, smilin'--the little cut-up!--and outenthe
door! Fer a minute, no sound. Then, the signal--a screech.
That screech was so blamed genuwine I almost fergot to stick out my laigand trip Boston as he come by me. Down he sprawled, them spectacles ofhisn flyin' off and bustin' to smithereens. The boys bunched at thedoors t' cut off the Arnaz boy and the ole lady. Past 'em, I could seethem two broncs, with Pedro and Carlota aboard, makin' quick tracksup the street.
"Alas! yon villain has stole her!" says Sam Barnes, throwin' up hisarms like they do in one of them the_ay_ter plays.
"Come," yells Rawson. "We will foller and sa-a-ave her." Then hesplit fer the corral,--us after him.
When we got to it, we found somethin' funny: Our hosses was saddled andbridled all right--_but ev'ry cinch was cut!_
Wal, you could 'a' knocked me down with a feather!
That same minute, up come Hank Shackleton on a dead run. "Boys!" hesays, "that greaser was half shot when he hit town. Got six more joltsat Dutchy's."
Fast as we could, we got some other saddles and clumb on--Bill andSam and me and Shackleton, Monkey Mike, Buckshot Milliken and thesheriff--and made fer Hairoil's shack.
_No Carlota_--but that blamed straw feemale, keeled over woeful, and acow eatin' her hair.
Shiverin' snakes! but we was a sick-lookin' bunch!
But we didn't lose no time. A good way ahaid, some dust was travellin'.We spurred towards it, cussin' ourselves, wonderin' why Carlotadidn't turn her hoss, 'r stop, 'r jump, 'r put up one of hertiger-cat fights.
"What's his idear?" says Monkey Mike. "Where's he takin' her?"
"Bee line fer the reservation," says Buckshot.
"Spanish church there. Makin' her _e_lope."
"Wo-o-ow!" It was Sheriff Bergin. We'd got beyond the Bar Yranch-house, and 'd gone down a slope into a kinda draw, like, andthen up the far side. This 'd brung us out on to pretty high ground,and we could see, about a mile off, two hosses gallopin' side byside. "The gal's bronc is lame!" says the sheriff. "And Pedro'slickin' it. We _got_ him! Pull you' guns."
_Guns_. I got weaker'n a cat. And, all at the same time, the otherfellers remembered--and _such_ a howl. We had guns, _a-course_--_butthey was filled with blanks!_
We slacked a little.
"Is that greaser loaded?" ast Bergin.
"Give him blanks myself," says Bill.
Ahaid again, faster 'n ever. Carlota's hoss was shore givin'out--goin' on three feet, in little jumps like a jackrabbit. Pedrowasn't able t' git her on to _his_ bronc, 'r else he was feard thecritter wouldn't carry double. Anyhow, he was behind her, everlastin'lyusin' his quirt--and losin' ground.
Pretty soon, we was so nigh we made out t' hear him. And when he lookedback, we seen his face was white, fer all he's a greaser. Then, of asuddent, he come short, half wheeled, waited till we was closter, andfired.
Somethin' whistled 'twixt me and the sheriff--_ping-ng-ng!_ It waslead, all right!
And just then, whilst he was pullin' t' right and left, scatterin'quick, but shootin' off blanks (we was so _ex_cited), that strawberryroan of Sparks's come past us like a streak of lightnin'. And on her,with his dicer gone, no glasses, a ca'tridge-belt 'round his neck, anda pistol in one hand, was Boston!
"Hi, you fool," yells the sheriff, "You'll git killed!"
(Tire Pedro out and then draw his fire was the best plan, y' savvy.)
Boston didn't answer--kept right on.
But the run was up. Pedro 'd reached that ole dobe house that ClayPeters lived in oncet, pulled the door open, and makin' Carlota layflat on her saddle (_she was tied on!_) druv in her hoss. Then, he begunt' lead in hisn--when Boston brung up his hand and let her go--bang.
Say! that greaser got a surprise. He give a yell, and drawed back,lettin' go his hoss. Then, he shut the door to, and we seen his weaselface at the winda.
Boston's gun come up again.
"Look out," I hollered. "You'll hurt the gal."
He didn't shoot then, but just kept goin'. Pedro fired and missed.Next minute, Boston was outen range on the side of the house where theywasn't no winda, and offen his hoss; and the cholo was poppin' at usas we come on, and yellin' like he was luny.
But Boston, it seems, could hear Carlota sobbin' and cryin' andprayin'. And it got in to his collar. So darned if he didn't runright 'round to that winda and smash it in!
Pedro shot at him, missed; shot again, still yellin' bloody murder.
Boston wasn't doin' no yellin'. He was actin' like a blamedjack-in-the-box. Stand up, fire through the winda, duck--stand up,duck----
He got it. Stayed up a second too long oncet--then tumbled back'ards,kinda half runnin' as he goes down, and laid quiet.
Pedro didn't lean out t' finish him; didn't even take a shot at usas we pulled up byside him and got off.
But the gal was callin' to us. I picked up Boston's gun and looked in.
Pedro was on the dirt floor, holdin' his right hand with his left. (Nomore shovelin' fer _him_.)
Wal, we opened the door, led Carlota's hoss out, set the little galloose, and lifted her down.
At first, she didn't say nothin'--just looked to where Boston was. Thenshe found her feet and went towards him, totterin' unsteady.
"Querido!" she calls; "querido!"
Boston heerd her, and begun crawlin' t' meet her. "All right,sweetheart," he says, "--all right. I ain't hurt much."
Then they kissed--and we got _another_ surprise party!
* * * * *
That night, as I was a-settin' on a truck at the deepot, thinkin' tomyself, and watchin' acrosst the tracks to the mesquite, here comeBoston 'round the corner, and he set down byside me.
"Wal, Cupid?" he says, takin' holt of my arm.
"Boston," I begun. "I--I reckon _you_ don't need me no more."
"No," says Boston, "I don't. And I want t' square with y'. Now,the boys say you're plannin' t' go to Noo York later on--t' take thetown t' pieces and see what's the matter with it, eh?" And he dug mein the ribs.
"Wal," I answers, "I've _talked_ about it--some."
"It's a good idear," he goes on. "But about my bill--I hope you'llthink a hunderd and fifty is fair, fer these three weeks."
"Boston!" I got kinda weak all to oncet. "I cain't take it. Itwasn't worth that."
"I got a plot," he says, "and colour, and a bad man, and"--smilin'awful happy--"a gal. So you get you' trip right away. And don't youcome back _alone._"
Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher Page 8
