by B. M. Bower
*CHAPTER XII*
*CLOSER FRIENDSHIPS*
In the selection of the marshal's office Williams was overruled andrather than make a contest of it, since he could not deny the economy inusing a building already erected, and knowing that his store was nearlyas well protected, he gave his slow assent to Carney's offer; and soonthe lean-to was cleared out, a table, some chairs, and a rough bunk putin it, the latter at the marshal's insistence. Over the door were twowords, newly painted: CITY MARSHAL. The question of a jail came next,and was quickly solved by the addition to the lean-to of a roomconstructed of two-inch planks, walls, floor, and roof. Two pairs ofnew, shining handcuffs and a new badge, appropriately labeled, completedthe civic improvements in the way of law and order. All prisonersguilty of major offenses were to be taken down to Willow and theretried; while minor offenders could sit in the jail until a suitable timehad elapsed.
From his chair in the door of his office, Tex could keep watch of nearlyall of the main street, and the trail leading in from the C Bar for halfa mile. The end of his first week as peace officer found him in hisfavorite place, contentedly puffing on his pipe, despite the heat of theday. A few miners straggled past, grinning and exchanging shafts ofheavy wit with the smiling officer. Blascom drifted into town a littlelater, learned of the appointment, and hurried down from the hotel tocongratulate his new friend.
Tex reached behind him and pulled a chair outside the door. "Sit down,Blascom," he invited. "How's th' sump comin' along?"
Blascom glanced around before replying. "I'm sorry you ain't sheriff,as well," he replied. "I reckon I'm out of bounds, out there onBuffalo, an' I'm shore to be rushed if I'm figgerin' right on thatcrick. Anybody in th' new jail?"
"Not yet," smiled Tex. "Talk low an' nobody'll hear you. Strikesomethin'?"
"I'll gamble on it. I'm so shore of it, I'm filin' a new claim: th' oldone didn't quite cover it. You know where th' sump's located, ofcourse; an' you remember how rapid it filled up with water every time Itried to bail it out?"
Tex nodded and waved carelessly at the C Bar trail as though discussingsomething far from placering. "Send th' location papers off throughJerry Saunders--tell him they're from me. Ever follow a trail herd dayafter day?" he asked.
"No; why?"
"Ever do anythin', out here, except minin'?"
"Shore; why?"
"What was it?"
"Freightin' from Atchison to Denver an' back: why?"
"Then yo're tellin' me about it now," prompted Tex, handing him acleaning rod. "Trace th' old trail in th' sand an' keep referrin' to itwhile you talk. You don't know me good enough to talk long an' steadyan' earnest. Here, gimme that rod--" and the marshal took it and drew aline. "This end is Atchison--from there you went up th' Little Blue,like this. Then, crossin' that divide south of th' Platte, you rolleddown to that river near Hook's Station, an' follered it past Ft.Kearney, Plumb Crick, an' O'Fallon's Bluffs, an' so on. Here's Hook'sStation, th' Fort, Plumb Crick, an' O'Fallon's--now you go on with it."
Blascom took the rod and finished the great curve. "As I was sayin',th' water in that sump kept me guessin'. I couldn't figger where it allcome from. I had tried for sumps nearer to th' shack, of course, butgot nothin'. Then I found water a-plenty when I dug _this_ one." Hejabbed at Ft. Kearney and waved his other arm. "I kept gettin'curiouser all th' time, an' yesterday, when th' idea hit me all of asudden, I went back down th' crick bed twenty paces an' started diggin'.No water; an' yet, sixty feet up stream was more'n I could handle. Ijust sat down an' wrastled it out."
Tex leaned over and drew another line, one starting on the great curve."Th' Salt Lake branch run up here, didn't it, Blascom? Th' ones th'troops used, near Old Julesburg, goin' out to lick th' Mormons?"
"How'd you come to know so much about that old trail?" demanded theminer. "It shore did--an' it was a bad section for stages. Well, I cutme a pinted stick an' after it got dark I went out an' jabbed it interth' crick bed between th' wet sump an' th' last one I put down. Aboutfive feet below th' wet one I hit rock, not more'n six inches under th'sand, an' it sloped sharp, both ways, I'm tellin' you. Sort of a sharphog-back, it is. Humans are blasted fools, Marshal: we can set right ontop of a thing that's fair yellin' to be seen, an' not know it's theretill somethin' knocks it inter our fool heads. Do you know what I gotup there at that sump?"
Tex shook his head and grabbed the stick, a trace of vexation on hisface. "You got it all wrong, Blascom," he declared loudly, drawinganother line. "Th' old, original Oregon Trail never went up th' RockyRidge a-tall. It followed th' North Fork of th' Platte, all th' way toFt. Laramie. It crossed th' river at Forty Islands, about twelve milessouth of th' Fort. I crossed it there with a herd, myself. If youdon't believe me, ask Hawkins--he was apprenticed to th' harness-makerat Old Julesburg, on th' South Fork."
"I got you there," laughed Blascom. "Th' Oregon Trail didn't cross atForty Islands; but a lot of trail herds did. There was a waggin ferryat th' Fort that th' chuck waggins often used."
"It crossed either at Forty Islands or between 'em an' th' Fort,"asserted Tex.
"Well, mebby yo're right, Marshal," admitted Blascom. He took the rodagain. "That sump of mine is located in a rocky basin that's full ofsand. Th' downstream side is that hog-back. That means that there's athunderin' big, natural riffle in th' bed of th' crick, an' it's stoppedand held th' sand till th' basin was full. Every freshet that comesalong riles that sand up, lots of it bein' washed over th' riffle, an'carried along. More sand settles there as th' water quits rushin'; buthere's th' pint." He jabbed at Denver and drew a line into the GilpinCounty country, stopping at Central City. "Gold is heavy, an' it don'twash over riffles if it can settle down in front of 'em. While th' sandis soft from bein' disturbed by a strong current, it can settle. Eversince that crick has been a crick, gold has been settlin' in front ofthat riffle, droppin' down through th' sand till it hit th' rock bottom.Great Jehovah, Marshal--can you figger what I got?"
Tex roughly took the cleaning rod, traced a line in sudden vexation,slammed the rod on the floor behind him, and fanned his face with hishat.
"An' how long you been settin' on that?" he asked in weary hopelessness.
Blascom waved his arms and slumped back against the chair. "Threeyears," he confessed, and went off into a profane description of hisintelligence that left nothing to imagination.
Tex laughed heartily. "If you was as bad as you just said I'd shorehave to take you in. Cheer up, man: it's there, ain't it? You onlyhave to git it out."
Blascom looked at him reproachfully. "Shore: that's all," he retortedwith sarcasm. "Git it out before th' rain starts again, an' do itwithout Jake catchin' me at it! If he learns what I got, I'm in for nosweet dreams; an' if this starvin' bunch of gold hunters learn about it,I'll be swamped in th' rush! Good Lord, man! It'll take me a week togit th' water out, an' then there's th' sand!"
Tex stretched, caught sight of a rider bobbing along the C Bar trail andlooked reflectively at Williams' Mecca. "You got to get some dynamiteor blastin' powder. Dynamite's better. Put some sticks on th'down-stream side of that rock riffle an' wait till Jake comes into town.You crack that riffle open an' th' water will move out for you. Thenyou can dig down th' other face of it an' get to th' pocket a lotquicker." He laughed suddenly. "Do that blastin'. Then when Jake getsback to his shack, saunter over with a jug of whiskey an' forget to takeit home with you. That'll give you a solid week for yore diggin'without him botherin' you."
"Good idea," said Blascom, arising. "I'll go over an' see if Williamshas got any sticks. That's th' way to handle it, Marshal. You ever doany prospectin'?"
Tex pushed him back again. "No, I ain't; but I've been doin' a lot ofthinkin' these days. Sit still. What does a miner want explosives for?To get gold, of course. Bein' a placer worker don't make no difference:th' connection is there, just th' same. It'll only make 'em that muchmore curi
ous. You go buyin' any dynamite an' th' parade will start foryore place before night. I'd get it for you, only me not havin' noreason to buy th' stuff, it would be near as big a mistake as you buyin'it. _I_ ain't got no call to want any dynamite. Sit still: you ain'tin no hurry!" He leaned over and put his finger on the map in the sand."They hit Ft. Hall about here," he explained. "We got to get somebodythat ain't connected with you, gold diggin', or Buffalo Crick, thatwon't make no troublesome connections. They usually left their wagginsat Ft. Hall an' went up this way. If this feller comin' down th' trailis young Watkins, an' I'm sayin' he is, we got th' way. I reckon he canbuy dynamite for th' ranch. That'll be all right, but suppose somebodyelse from that outfit comes ridin' in an' gets pumped dry? Lean back,stick yore feet on th' Overland, an' don't look so cussed tense. Here:I got it! Th' railroad uses dynamite! I shore got it, Blascom. TimMurphy can buy it as innocent as you can buy chewin' tobacco!"
"But I don't know him well enough!" expostulated Blascom. "Anyhow, whatexcuse can I give him?"
"None at all," said Tex. "Wait till yore feet are in th' stirrupsbefore you spur a hoss! You don't have to know him. _I_ know him, an'that's a-plenty. Here, you listen close to every word I say, an' actcareless-like while yo're doin' it." The explicit directions were richin details, but Blascom soaked them into his memory like water in asponge. "Th' whole thing is gettin' to him nat'ral, an' then gettin'th' stuff from him afterward," Tex wound up. Thoughtful for a moment,he nodded in sudden decision. "Got it ag'in! It's near train time.You, bein' restless an' lonesome, hanker to watch it come in. Th' Lordknows nobody in towns like this ever needs any excuse to see a traincome in. That's one of th' idle man's inalienable rights--an' it seldomweakens. An' now I know how yo're goin' to git it from him afterwards:you listen ag'in," and further directions came in rapid-fire order.
The rider was near enough now to dispel all doubts as to his identity.Blascom arose, gripped the marshal's hand and faced the Mecca.
"I'm goin' over to git a jug: much obliged, Marshal." He crossed thestreet diagonally and disappeared in the store.
The rider came nearer and nearer, a great dust cloud rolling behind himnot much unlike the smoke of a moving locomotive. When even withCarney's he drew rein suddenly and in another moment had dismounted infront of the lazy Tex.
"I'll be cussed!" he exclaimed, staring from Tex to the sign over thedoor and then back at the new peace officer, cocking his head as he readthe badge.
"Good for you!" he cried. "It's about time this dog's town had a whiteman to run it; an' they couldn't 'a' picked a better, neither!" Hisenthusiasm ebbed a little and he looked curiously and thoughtfully intothe marshal's eyes. "How'd you come to get th' job?" he demanded.
Tex stuck his thumbs in the armholes of his vest and grinned. He knewthe thought that had sobered his companion's face. "Pop'lar clamor,Thomas; 'an' all that sort of a thing,' as Whitby used to say. My greatpopularity an' my pleasin' nature an' disposition, not to mention mygood looks an' winnin' ways, seem to have turned th' balance in myfavor. But, outside of that I don't know why I got it. Carney thoughtI'd mebby bring him more trade; Williams mourned th' lack of anybody togive him adequate police protection, an' th' harness-maker mentions JackSlade. He admires Jack Slade, an' says I remind him of that person byth' way I let him fix up my left-hand holster. That suits me becauseSlade was lynched."
"Then Williams really made th' play stick?" Tommy asked with poorlyconcealed suspicion.
"Williams pinned on my nickel-plated authority," said Tex. "Nobody elsehad one. He reckons I'm wearin' his colors; but, my Christian friend,th' only colors th' new marshal wears are his own. I'm to keep order in'this dog's town,' as you put it, an' I'm goin' to do it. Miners,railroaders, storekeepers, cattlemen, an' ornery punchers please listenan' be enlightened. Th' badge is only a nickel-plate affair; but thereain't no nickel, nor rust, neither, on my Cyclopean twins. They're myreal authority. Now, then, don't walk all over Blascom's OverlandTrail, but set down in th' chair he just vacated. Tell me all aboutyoreself."
"Marshal," began Tommy in some embarrassment, "I didn't get th' hang ofthat little mix-up in th' hotel till I got quite some distance out oftown. My head was whirlin' a little, an' I'm nat'rally stupid, anyhow.I just want to say that yo're wrong about them Colts bein' some kind oftwins. Mebby they are durin' these peaceful days; but if things getcrowded they'll turn into triplets, th' missin' brother bein' right hereon my laig. Besides that, you got a craggy lot of deputies out on th' CBar any time you need 'em. Don't stop me while I'm runnin' free! I'msayin' I never saw a squarer, cleaner piece of shootin' than you showedus all in th' hotel th' other day. An'--you keep off th' trail whileI'm comin' strong!--an' I've been somethin' of a fool about us an' thatlittle lady. From now on I'm afoot where she's concerned, an' you knowwhat us punchers amount to, afoot."
"I'm glad you said you was stupid," replied Tex. "It saves me fromsayin' it, an' comin' from me it might sound sorta official." Heglanced up the street and back to his companion. "Yo're not afoot,cowboy; yo're ridin' strong. I'm th' one that's afoot, an' I'll agreewith you about a cowpunch amountin' to nothin' off his cayuse. Did youever have a door slammed plumb in yore face, Tommy?"
Tommy wiped out Denver, Central City, Old Julesburg, and Ft. Kearneywith one swing of his foot. "You--I--you _mean_ that?"
The marshal nodded. "Every word of it. Outlawed steers should keep toth' draws an' brakes, Tommy. Besides, I'm over forty-five years old, an'I never was any parson. Keep right on ridin', Adolescence; an' I'mhopin' it's a plain, fair trail. Tommy, did you ever shoot a man?"
"Not yet I ain't; but I've come cussed near it. Seein' what's goin' onin this town, I has hopes."
"Don't yield to no temptations, Tommy; an' let yore hopes die," warnedthe marshal. "If there's any of that to be done, I'll do it. I reckonyou'll shore have a easy trail."
"I--will--be--tee-totally--d--d!" said Tommy. He shook his head andleaned back against the front of the office. "Does she know all aboutit?"
"Everythin'; I owed myself that much," answered Tex, and then he helpedto maintain a reflective, introspective, and emotional silence.
Blascom emerged from the Mecca with a two-gallon jug, empty from the wayit jerked and swung. He looked at the silent pair leaning against themarshal's office, abruptly made up his mind, and strode over to them.
"You shore look sorrerful," he said.
"We've just been to a funeral," said Tex. "Th' corpse looked nat'ral,too."
"Sufferin' wildcats!" ejaculated Tommy in pretended dismay, his chairdropping to all fours. "Whiskey by th' jug! I'm plain shocked, butmighty glad to see you, Mr. Blascom." He turned to the marshal. "Here,Officer! Shake han's with Mr. Blascom, of Buffaler Crick. Give th'gentleman a cordial welcome."
Tex regarded the newcomer and his jug with languid interest. "Huh! Ireckoned th' drought would shore end some day, but I figgered on rain.However, facts are facts. Pleased to meet you, sir!" He waved atTommy. "Pass it to our friend first. It's dry work, settin' here,listenin' to me."
"It's like workin' in pay-dirt," retorted Blascom. He tapped the jugand it rang out hollowly. "I ain't give Baldy a chance at it, yet.Anyhow, a man's got to have some protection ag'in' snakes," he defended.
"A protection ag'in' snakes!" repeated Tex, thoughtfully. "Yes; he has."
"I'll pertect you ag'in' 'em as far as th' hotel," offered Tommy,arising and whistling to his horse, "seein' as yo're temporarydefenseless. Come on, Blascom. See you later, Marshal," and he grabbedat the jug, missed it, and led the way, Tex smiling after the grinningpair.
Tommy's stride was swift and long for a puncher, due to his agitatedframe of mind, and he suddenly slowed it to make an observation to hiscompanion.
"Blascom, th' new marshal is shore quick on th' gun--this town ought tobe right proud of him. I'm admittin' that he's a reg'lar he-man."
"He's a cussed sight quicker with his head," replied the miner, "an'that's s
hore sayin' a large an' bounteous plenty. If he don't play nofavorites he's shore as h--l goin' to need friends, one of these days.I'm admittin' myself to that cat-e-gory: but it'll be my hard luck to beout on th' Buffaler when it starts."
Tommy nodded and spat emphatically. "I'll be a cat, an' gory, too," heaffirmed. "Wild as a wildcat, an' gory as all h--l. That's me!" Heglanced up quickly. "Talkin' ceases, for here we are." He tossed thereins over his pony's head and followed his companion into the hotel,where half a dozen men lounged dispiritedly.
Baldy grinned and lost no time in filling the jug, his efforts creatingpleasant, anticipatory smackings among the dry onlookers, who from theirprevious unobserving weariness suddenly snapped into Argus-eyedinterest. The alluring gurgle of the wicker-covered demijohn, the_slap-slap, plop-plop_ of the leaping, amber stream, ebbing and floodingspasmodically up and down and around the greenish copper funnel, trulywas liquid music to their ears, and the powerful odor of the ryediffused itself throughout the room, penetrated the stale tobacco smoke,and wrought positive reactions upon the olfactory nerves of the staringaudience. It was scarce enough by the glass, these days, yet here was areckless Croesus who was buying it by the gallon!
Blascom, smiling with quiet reserve, leaned against the bar to the rightof the jug; Tommy, grave and forbidding, leaned against the bar to theleft of the jug, both making short and humorous replies to thegift-compelling remarks of the erect crowd. The jug at last filled,Blascom pushed the cork in and slammed it home with a quick,disconcertingly forbidding gesture, which was as cruel as it was final.He paid for the liquor with one of the bills he had won from Tex, noddedbriskly, and went out, Tommy bringing up the rear.
Reproachful, accusing eyes followed their exit, hoping against hope. Alounger nearest the bar, thirsty as Tantalus, shook his head insorrowful condemnation.
"A man can be mean an' pe-nurious up to a certain, limit," he observed;"but past that it's plumb shameful."
An old man, his greasy, gray beard streaked with tobacco stains, noddedemphatically. "There _is_ limits; an' I say that stoppin' before yebegin is shore beyond 'em!"
"Yo're dead right," spoke up a one-eyed tramp who honored himself withthe title of prospector. "As for me, I never _did_ think much of anyman as guzzles it secret. Show me th' man that swizzles in public, an_I'll_ show you a man as can be trusted. Two whole gallons of it! Awhole, bloomin' jugful, at onct! Where'd he git all that money? I'maskin' you, _where'd_ he git it? On Buffaler Crick?" His voice rose andcracked with avarice and suspicion.
"Naw!" growled the man in the far corner, slumping back against hischair. "He won it from that Tex Jones feller--th' new marshal--twohundred or more-- playin' poker. Th' same Tex Jones as shot Bud Haines.There ain't more'n day wages on Buffaler Crick. I know, 'cause I beenlookin' around out there, quiet-like." He stiffened suddenly and satup, excitement transforming him. "Boys, this here marshal has gotmoney--I saw his wad when he an' Blascom was a-playin'."
"Yo're shore welcome to it," pessimistically rejoined the man nearestthe bar, his vivid imagination picturing the amazing death of BudHaines. "Yes, sir; yo're welcome to _all_ of it. I don't want none,a-tall!"
The discoverer of the marshal's roll regarded the objector with deepscorn.
"That's you!" he retorted. "Allus goin' off half-cocked, an' yowlin'calamity! This here marshal likes poker, don't he? An' he can't playit, can he? Didn't Blascom clean him? He's scared to bluff, or callone, no matter how brave he is with a gun. Who's got any dust? Dig downdeep, an' we'll pool it, lettin' Hank an' Sinful do th' playin' for us.Where's Hennery?" he demanded of the bartender.
Baldy mopped the bar and glanced at the ceiling. "Upstairs, sleepin'off a stem-winder. He got drinkin' to th' mem'ry of th' dead deceasedlast night--an' his mem'ry is long an' steady. He's too senti-mental,Hennery is, for a man as can't handle his likker good. If you fellersare goin' after th' marshal's pile, I'm recommendin' stud-hoss. He'snat'rally scared of poker, an' stud's so fast he won't have no time tostart worryin'. Draw will give him too much time to think. Better trystud-hoss," he reiterated, unwittingly naming the form of poker at whichthe marshal excelled.
"Stud-hoss she is, then," agreed Sinful, licking his lips. "I likestud-hoss. We'll bait him tonight; an' we'll all have jugs of our ownby mornin', since Buffaler Crick's settin' th' style."
The meeting forthwith went into executive session, depleted gold sacksslowly appearing.
Outside, Blascom offered the jug to his companion, who pushed it away,and shook his head in sudden panic.
"Don't want to smell like no saloon where I'm goin'," he hastilyexplained. "Now that yo're safe from snakes I'll be driftin' to mycayuse."
"All right, Watkins; I'll treat next time," and the miner, jug in hand,strode toward the station as Tommy mounted and wheeled to ride in thedirection of the Saunders' home.
Blascom had timed his arrival to a nicety, for Murphy was on his wayfrom the toolshed to the station to await the coming of the train, thesmoke from which could be seen on the eastern horizon.
Blascom held up the jug invitingly and grinned. The section-boss came toan abrupt stop, saluted, and stepped on again with the bearing of awell-trained English soldier. "Hah!" he called. "'Tis better from ajug; an' 'twould be better yet if it had a little breath av th' peatfire in it; but 'tis well to be content with what we have. Thank ye:I'll drink yer health!" Handing the jug back to its owner Murphy wipedhis lips with the back of his hand and seated himself on the bench atthe prospector's side. "Have ye seen th' new marshal?" he asked,glancing from the distant smudge of smoke to his watch. "I hear he'sfixed up in style."
"Yes; an' he gave me a message for you, if you'll lean over a littlecloser," replied Blascom, and, as Murphy obeyed his suggestion, he saidwhat he had come for.
"It sounds like Tex," grunted Murphy. "All thought out careful. Haveye ever used stick explosive? It's treacherous stuff at any time abovefreezin', an' more so after this spell av hot weather. Ye have? Thenthere's no use av me tellin' ye to handle it gintly. If I was knowin'th' job ye have, I might help ye in th' number av sticks. But if yo'reused to it, ye'll know. I'll get it after Number Three pulls out; an'after dark tonight ye'll find it where he said--but deal gintly with it,Mr. Blascom. I've seen it exploded by impact--it was a rifle ball firedinto it--this kind av weather. Ye might even do better to load th'shots, this kind av weather, after th' sun goes down. Carry it as yefind it, without unpackin' th' box."
Blascom nodded. "If I leave th' jug for you to put away when you godown for th' box, would you mind puttin' it out tonight with th'dynamite? No use of me makin' two trips to my cabin, an' I don't wantto tote it around till dark."
"I will that, an' be glad to. There she comes now, leavin' WhiterockCut. Casey's late ag'in; but that's regular, an' not his fault, as I'vetold them time an' time ag'in. Th' grades are ag'in' him comin' west,an' with his leaky packin's an' worn cylinders it's a wonder he does aswell as he has. 'Economy,' says th' super. 'No money for repairs thatare not needed on this jerk-water line.' I wonder does he ever figgerth' fuel wasted through them steam leaks? An' poor Casey gets th'blame--though divvil a bit he cares."
Number Three wheezed in, panted a moment, and coughed on again. Murphytook a package consigned to him, picked up the jug and went down thetrack toward the toolshed, Blascom wandering idly over to the RailroadSaloon to pass some of the time he had on his hands. In a little whilethe big Irishman, a small wooden box under his arm, sauntered carelesslydown the street, nodded politely from a distance to the sleepy marshaland went into the Mecca.
"Good day, Mr. Williams," he said with stiff formality. "I'll be havin'six dynamite sticks if ye have them, with th' same number avthree-minute fuses. Handle it gintly, if ye don't mind. Th' weather isaggravatin' to th' stuff, an' it's timpermental enough at best."
Williams glowered at him. "Don't you worry about me handlin' it gentle,because I ain't goin' to handle it at all. If you want any I'll giveyou t
h' key to th' powder-house an' wish you good luck. Th' sun beatin'down on that house, day after day, has got me plumb nervous. I wishyou'd come for it all!" He shook his head. "I wouldn't let you evenopen th' door if it wasn't for gettin' that much more of it out of th'way."
"Is it ventilated well?" demanded Murphy, smiling a little.
"As well as it can be," sighed Williams. "You'll never catch mecarryin' anythin' but powder over th' summer any more. I'm afraid athunderclap will set it off every storm. What you got in that to packit in?"
"Sawdust. While yo're cuttin' th' fuses I'll be gettin' th' stuff."
"You'll not come back for any fuses! Wait an' take em' with you! An'when you are through with th' powder-house, throw th' key close to th'back door: I don't want no man with six sticks of dynamite hangin'around this store today. Want a bill?"
Murphy nodded. "Two av them is th' rule av th' company. You can mark'em paid an' take it out av this."
The receipted bills in his pocket, he threw the fuses over his shoulder,their wickedly shining copper caps carefully wrapped in a handkerchief,took up the bunch of keys and the box, and grinned. "If ye hear anexplosion out back, ye needn't come out to gimme any help. I'm cleanin'up some bad cracked rocks hangin' from a cut west av town, over nearBuffalo Crick. I'm tellin' ye th' last so ye won't think it'sthunderclaps on their disturbin' way to town. But ye'll sleep throughit, no doubt, an' never hear th' shot."
"Blastin' at night?" exclaimed Williams in incredulous surprise.
"I don't like th' sun shinin' on th' darlin's while I'm pokin' 'em inth' hot rocks, so I may load her an' shoot her after dark," repliedMurphy. "I've a lot av respect for th' stuff, much as I've handled it.Good day, sir," and he left behind him a man who was nervous and jumpyuntil after the keys had tinkled on the ground near the rear door;indeed, such an impression had been made on him that he mentioned it,with profane criticisms and observations, at the table that night in thehotel.
The marshal moved his chair farther around in the shade and on histanned face there crept a warm, rare smile. "'Lo, I will stand at thyright hand, and keep the bridge with thee!' Well said, Herminius!Yonder you go in spirit: Tim Murphy, you'd make complete any 'dauntlessthree'!"
The shadows were growing long when Tommy came into sight again, buriedin thought as he rode slowly down the street. He stopped and swung tothe ground in front of the lazy marshal.
"They shore do beat th' devil," he growled, throwing himself into thevacant chair and lapsing into silence.
Tex nodded understandingly. "They do," he indolently agreed, a smileflickering across his face. "Black is white an' red is green--they'rethe worst I've ever seen," he extemporized. "They're intuitivecritters, son; an' don't you let anybody tell you that intuition hasn'tany warrant for existing. It has. It's got more warrant than reason.It was flowering long before reason poked its first shoot out of theground. Reason only runs back a few thousand generations, but intuitiongoes back to the first cell of nervous tissue--I might qualify that abit and say before nervous tissue was structurally apart from the rest.Reason starts anew in every life, usually upon a little betterfoundation--often a poorer one. It is nursed and trained and cultivatedan' when its possessor dies, it dies with him. Not so our venerablefriend, intuition. He, or rather she, is cumulative. She is th' sum ofall previous individuals in the life chain of th' last. She picks upan' stores away, growing a little each time--an' while she is vague, an'can be classified as a 'because,' or 'I don't know why,' she operatessteady. Don't ask me what I know about it, for it has been a long timesince I gave any study to things like this. I might guess an' say thatit's th' physical changes in th' thought channels due to experience, orin th' structure of th' brain cells or th' quality of their tissues.Anyway, so far as practicability is concerned, you've summed up th'whole thing: 'They shore do beat th' devil'."
Tommy was looking at him, puzzled and intent; but puzzled intelligently.There is a difference.
"With me an' you, two opposites in thought result in th' cancellation ofone of them. We don't say of th' same object: 'This is white, this isblack,' at th' same time an' believe 'em both. Th' words themselves areintelligible; but th' conception ain't. We can't do it. One is chosenan' th' other dies. But I won't bet you that a woman cancels. She maynot get a dirty white or a slate gray, but she gets a combination, allright. That's where intuition's family tree comes in. No matter howabsurd its contentions may be they have force because of th' impetuscoming from age. What did she get out th' colors for you?"
"Yo're th' easiest man to talk to that I ever met," said Tommy,wonderingly. "I don't know how you do it. Why, she got a bright redwith a dull green cast--said you was justified, 'but a life's a life':an' then she cried!"
Over Tex's face came a light which only can be compared to the risingsun seen from some lofty peak, for in the radiance there were shadows.
