by Rex Beach
A man was only a man as his skin contained the qualities necessary; andthe illiterate who could ride and shoot and live to himself was far moreesteemed than the educated who could not do those things. The more a mandepends upon himself and the closer is his contact to a quick judgmentthe more laconic and even-poised he becomes. And the knowledge that heis himself a judge tends to create caution and judgment. He has no courtto uphold his honor and to offer him protection, so he must be quick toprotect himself and to maintain his own standing. His nature saved him,or it executed; and the range absolved him of all unpaid penalties of acareless past.
He became a man born again and he took up his burden, the exactions ofa new environment, and he lived as long as those exactions gave him theright to live. He must tolerate no restrictions of his natural rights,and he must not restrict; for the one would proclaim him a coward,the other a bully; and both received short shrifts in that land of theself-protected. The basic law of nature is the survival of the fittest.
So, when the wanderers found their level in Buckskin they were not evenasked by what name men knew them. Not caring to hear a name which mightnot harmonize with their idea of the fitness of things, the cowboys ofthe Bar-20 had, with a freedom born of excellent livers and fearlesstemperaments, bestowed names befitting their sense of humor andadaptability. The official title of the Sioux was By-and-by; the dog wasknown as Fleas. Never had names more clearly described the objects to berepresented, for they were excellent examples of cowboy discernment andaptitude.
In their eyes By-and-by was a man. He could feel and he could resentinsults. They did not class him as one of themselves, because he did nothave energy enough to demand and justify such classification. With themhe had a right to enjoy his life as he saw fit so long as he did nottrespass on or restrict the rights of others. They were not analyticin temperament, neither were they moralists. He was not a menace tosociety, because society had superb defenses. So they vaguely recognizedhis many poor qualities and clearly saw his few good ones. He couldshoot, when permitted, with the best; no horse, however refractory, hadever been known to throw him; he was an adept at following the trailsleft by rustlers, and that was an asset; he became of value to thecommunity; he was an economic factor.
His ability to consume liquor with indifferent effects raised himanother notch in their estimation. He was not always talking when someone else wished to--another count. There remained about him that stoicalindifference to the petty; that observant nonchalance of the Indian;and there was a suggestion, faint, it was true, of a dignity common tochieftains. He was a log of grave deference which tossed on their sea ofmischievous hilarity.
He wore a pair of corduroy trousers, known to the care-free as "pants,"which were held together by numerous patches of what had once beenbrilliantly colored calico. A pair of suspenders, torn into two separatestraps, made a belt for himself and a collar for his dog. The trousershad probably been secured during a fit of absent-mindedness on his partwhen their former owner had not been looking. Tucked at intervals inthe top of the corduroys (the exceptions making convenient shelves foralkali dust) was what at one time had been a stiff-bosomed shirt. Thiswas open down the front and back, the weight of the trousers on the beltholding it firmly on the square shoulders of the wearer, thus precludingthe necessity of collar buttons. A pair of moccasins, beautifully workedwith wampum, protected his feet from the onslaughts of cacti and theinquisitive and pugnacious sand flies; and lying across his lap wasa repeating Winchester rifle, not dangerous because it was empty, acondition due to the wisdom of the citizens in forbidding any one tosell, trade or give to him those tubes of concentrated trouble, becausehe could get drunk.
The two were contented and happy. They had no cares nor duties, andtheir pleasures were simple and easily secured, as they consisted ofsleep and a proneness to avoid moving. Like the untrammeled coyote,their bed was where sleep overtook them; their food, what the nightwrapped in a sense of security, or the generosity of the cowboys of theBar-20. No tub-ridden Diogenes ever knew so little of responsibility oras much unadulterated content. There is a penalty even to civilizationand ambition.
When the sun had cast its shadows beyond By-and-by's feet the air becamecharged with noise; shouts, shots and the rolling thunder of madlypounding hoofs echoed flatly throughout the town. By-and-by yawned,stretched and leaned back, reveling in the semi-conscious ecstasy of theknowledge that he did not have to immediately get up. Fleas opened oneeye and cocked an ear in inquiry, and then rolled over on his back,squirmed and sighed contentedly and long. The outfit of the Bar-20 hadcome to town.
The noise came rapidly nearer and increased in volume as the ridersturned the corner and drew rein suddenly, causing their mounts to slideon their haunches in ankle-deep dust.
"Hullo, old Buck-with-th'-pants, how's yore liver?"
"Come up an irrigate, old tank!"
"Chase th' flea ranch an' trail along!"
These were a few of the salutations discernible among the medley ofplayful yells, the safety valves of supercharged good-nature.
"Skr-e-e!" yelled Hopalong Cassidy, letting off a fusillade of shots inthe vicinity of Fleas, who rapidly retreated around the corner, where hewagged his tail in eager expectation. He was not disappointed, for a cowpony tore around in pursuit and Hopalong leaned over and scratched theyellow back, thumping it heartily, and, tossing a chunk of beef into theopen jaws of the delighted dog, departed as he had come. The advent ofthe outfit meant a square meal, and the dog knew it.
In Cowan's, lined up against the bar, the others were earnestly andassiduously endeavoring, with a promise of success, to get By-and-bydrunk, which endeavors coincided perfectly with By-and-by's idea of thefitness of things. The fellowship and the liquor combined to thawout his reserve and to loosen his tongue. After gazing with an air ofinjured surprise at the genial loosening of his knees he gravely handedhis rifle with an exaggerated sweep of his arm, to the cowboy nearesthim, and wrapped his arms around the recipient to insure his balance.The rifle was passed from hand to hand until it came to Buck Peters, whogravely presented it to its owner as a new gun.
By-and-by threw out his stomach in an endeavor to keep his head in linewith his heels, and grasping the weapon with both hands turned to Cowan,to whom he gave it.
"Yu hab this un. Me got two. Me keep new un, mebby so." Then he loosenedhis belt and drank long and deep.
A shadow darkened the doorway and Hopalong limped in. Spying By-and-bypushing the bottle into his mouth, while Red Connors propped him,he grinned and took out five silver dollars, which he jingled underBy-and-by's eyes, causing that worthy to lay aside the liquor anderratically grab for the tantalizing fortune.
"Not yet, sabe?" said Hopalong, changing the position of the money. "Ifyu wants to corral this here herd of simoleons yu has to ride a cayusewhat Red bet me yu can't ride. Yu has got to grow on that there saddleand stayed growed for five whole minutes by Buck's ticker. I ain'ta-goin' to tell yu he's any saw-horse, for yu'd know better, as yureckons Red wouldn't bet on no losin' proposition if he knowed better,which same he don't. Yu straddles that four-laigged cloudburst an' yugets these, sabe? I ain't seen th' cayuse yet that yu couldn't freezeto, an' I'm backin' my opinions with my moral support an' one month'spay."
By-and-by's eyes began to glitter as the meaning of the wordssifted through his befuddled mind. Ride a horse--five dollars--ride afive-dollars horse--horses ride dollars--then he straightened up andbegan to speak in an incoherent jumble of Sioux and bad English. He,the mighty rider of the Sioux; he, the bravest warrior and the greatesthunter; could he ride a horse for five dollars? Well, he rather thoughthe could. Grasping Red by the shoulder, he tacked for the door andnarrowly missed hitting the bottom step first, landing, as it happened,in the soft dust with Red's leg around his neck. Somewhat sobered by thejar, he stood up and apologized to the crowd for Red getting in the way,declaring that Red was a "Heap good un," and that he didn't mean to doit.
The outfit of the Bar-20 was, perhaps, the m
ost famous of all fromCanada to the Rio Grande. The foreman, Buck Peters, controlled a crowdof men (who had all the instincts of boys) that had shown no quarterto many rustlers, and who, while always carefree and easy-going (evenfighting with great good humor and carelessness), had established thereputation of being the most reckless gang of daredevil gun-fightersthat ever pounded leather. Crooked gaming houses, from El Pasoto Cheyenne and from Phoenix to Leavenworth, unanimously andenthusiastically damned them from their boots to their sombreros, andthe sheriffs and marshals of many localities had received from theirhands most timely assistance--and some trouble. Wiry, indomitable,boyish and generous, they were splendid examples of virile manhood; and,surrounded as they were with great dangers and a unique civilization,they should not, in justice, be judged by opinions born of thecommonplace.
They were real cowboys, which means, public opinion to the contrarynotwithstanding, that they were not lawless, nor drunken, shootingbullies who held life cheaply, as their kin has been unjustly pictured;but while these men were naturally peaceable they had to continuallyrub elbows with men who were not. Gamblers, criminals, bullies and theriffraff that fled from the protected East had drifted among them ingreat numbers, and it was this class that caused the trouble.
The hardworking "cow-punchers" lived according to the law of the land,and they obeyed that greatest of all laws, that of self-preservation.Their fun was boisterous, but they paid for all the damage theyinflicted; their work was one continual hardship, and the reaction ofone extreme swings far toward the limit of its antithesis. Go back tothe Apple if you would trace the beginning of self-preservation and theneed.
Buck Peters was a man of mild appearance, somewhat slow of speech andcorrespondingly quick of action, who never became flurried. His was themaster hand that controlled, and his Colts enjoyed the reputation ofnever missing when a hit could have been expected with reason. Manyfloods, stampedes and blizzards had assailed his nerves, but he yetcould pour a glass of liquor, held at arm's length, through a knotholein the floor without wetting the wood.
Next in age came Lanky Smith, a small, undersized man of retiringdisposition. Then came Skinny Thompson, six feet four on his baredsoles, and true to his name; Hopalong described him as "th' shadow of achalk mark." Pete Wilson, the slow-witted and very taciturn, andBilly Williams, the wavering pessimist, were of ordinary height andappearance. Red Connors, with hair that shamed the name, was thepossessor of a temper which was as dry as tinder; his greatest weaknesswas his regard for the rifle as a means of preserving peace. JohnnyNelson was the protege, and he could do no wrong.
The last, Hopalong Cassidy, was a combination of irresponsibility,humor, good nature, love of fighting, and nonchalance when face to facewith danger. His most prominent attribute was that of always gettinginto trouble without any intention of so doing; in fact, he was muchaggrieved and surprised when it came. It seemed as though when any "badman" desired to add to his reputation he invariably selected Hopalong asthe means (a fact due, perhaps, to the perversity of things in general).Bad men became scarce soon after Hopalong became a fixture in anylocality. He had been crippled some years before in a successfulattempt to prevent the assassination of a friend, Sheriff Harris, ofAlbuquerque, and he still possessed a limp.
When Red had relieved his feelings and had dug the alkali out of hisears and eyes, he led the Sioux to the rear of the saloon, where a"pinto" was busily engaged in endeavoring to pitch a saddle from hisback, employing the intervals in trying to see how much of the picketrope he could wrap around his legs.
When By-and-by saw what he was expected to ride he felt somewhatrelieved, for the pony did not appear to have more than the ordinaryamount of cussedness. He waved his hand, and Johnny and Red bandaged theanimal's eyes, which quieted him at once, and then they untangledthe rope from around his legs and saw that the cinches were secure.Motioning to By-and-by that all was ready, they jerked the bandage offas the Indian settled himself in the saddle.
Had By-and-by been really sober he would have taken the conceit out ofthat pony in chunks, and as it was he experienced no great difficulty inholding his seat; but in his addled state of mind he grasped the end ofthe cinch strap in such a way that when the pony jumped forward inits last desperate effort the buckle slipped and the cinch becameunfastened; and By-and-by, still seated in the saddle, flew headforemost into the horse trough, where he spilled much water.
As this happened Cowan turned the corner, and when he saw the wastedwater (which he had to carry, bucketful at a time, from the wells a goodquarter of a mile away) his anger blazed forth, and yelling, he ranfor the drenched Sioux, who was just crawling out of his bath. When theunfortunate saw the irate man bearing down on him he sputtered in rageand fear, and, turning, he ran down the street, with Cowan thunderingflatfootedly behind on a fat man's gallop, to the hysterical cheers ofthe delighted outfit, who saw in it nothing but a good joke.
When Cowan returned from his hopeless task, blowing and wheezing, heheard sundry remarks, sotto voce, which were not calculated to increasehis opinion of his physical condition.
"Seems to me," remarked the irrepressible Hopalong, "that one of thosecayuses has got th' heaves."
"It shore sounds like it," acquiesced Johnny, red in the face fromholding in his laughter, "an' say, somebody interferes."
"All knock-kneed animals do, yu heathen," supplied Red.
"Hey, yu, let up on that and have a drink on th' house," invitedCowan. "If I gits that durn war whoop I'll make yu think there's beena cyclone. I'll see how long that bum hangs around this here burg, Iwill."
Red's eyes narrowed and his temper got the upper hand. "He ain't no bumwhen yu gives him rotgut at a quarter of a dollar a glass, is he? Anytime that 'bum' gits razzled out for nothin' more'n this, why, I goestoo; an' I ain't sayin' nothin' about goin' peaceable--like, neither."
"I knowed somethin' like this 'ud happen," dolefully sang out BillyWilliams, strong on the side of his pessimism.
"For th' Lord's sake, have you broke out?" asked Red, disgustedly. "I'mgoin' to hit the trail--but just keep this afore yore mind: if By-and-bygits in any accidents or ain't in sight when I comes to town again, thishere climate'll be a heep sight hotter'n it is now. No hard feelings,sabe? It's just a casual bit of advice. Come on, fellows, let'samble--I'm hungry."
As they raced across the plain toward the ranch a pair of beady eyes,snapping with a drunken rage, watched them from an arroyo; and whenCowan entered the saloon the next morning he could not find By-and-by'srifle, which he had placed behind the bar. He also missed a handful ofcartridges from the box near the cash drawer; and had he looked closelyat his bottled whisky he would have noticed a loss there. A horse wasmissing from a Mexican's corral and there were rumors that severalIndians had been seen far out on the plain.
