CHAPTER XVI
BLISTER AS DEUS EX MACHINA
Blister Haines found an old pair of chaps for Bob Dillon and lent him abuckskin bronco. Also, he wrote a note addressed to Harshaw, of the SlashLazy D, and gave it to the boy.
"He'll put you to ridin', Ed will. The rest's up to you. D-don't youforget you're made in the l-likeness of God. When you feel like crawlin'into a hole s-snap that red haid up an' keep it up."
Bob grew very busy extricating a cockle burr from the mane of thebuckskin. "I'll never forget what you've done for me, Mr. Haines," hemurmured, beet red.
"Sho! Nothin' a-tall. I'm always lookin' for to get a chance to onloadadvice on some one. Prob'ly I was meant to be a grandma an' got mixed inthe shuffle. Well, boy, don't weaken. When in doubt, hop to it."
"Yes, sir. I'll try."
"Don't w-worry about things beforehand. Nothin's ever as bad as youfigure it's goin' to be. A lickin' don't last but a few minutes, an' ifyou get b-busy enough it's the other fellow that's liable to absorb it.Watch that r-rampageous scalawag Dud Hollister an' do like he does."
"Yes, sir."
"An' don't forget that every m-mornin' begins a new day. Tha's all,son."
Bob jogged down the road on this hazard of new fortune.
It chanced that Dud was still in town. Blister found him and half a dozenother punchers in front of the hotel.
"Betcha! Drinks for the crowd," the justice heard him say.
"Go you," Reeves answered, eyes dancing. "But no monkey business. It's tobe a straight-away race from the front of the hotel clear to theblacksmith shop."
"To-day. Inside of ten minutes, you said," Shorty of the Keystonereminded Hollister. "An' this Sunday, you recollect."
Dud's gaze rested on a figure of a horseman moving slowly up the roadtoward them. The approaching rider was the Reverend Melanchthon T.Browning, late of Providence, Rhode Island. He had come to the frontierto teach it the error of its ways and bring a message of sweetness andlight to the unwashed barbarians of the Rockies. He was not popular. Thiswas due, perhaps, to an unfortunate manner. The pompous little manstrutted and oozed condescension.
"W-what's up?" asked Blister.
"Dud's bettin' he'll get the sky pilot to race him from here to Monty'splace," explained Reeves. "Stick around. He'll want to borrow a coupladollars from you to buy the drinks."
It was Sunday afternoon. The missionary was returning from South Park,where he had been conducting a morning service. He was riding TexLindsay's Blue Streak, borrowed for the occasion.
"What deviltry you up to now, Dud?" Blister inquired.
"Me?" The young puncher looked at him with a bland face of innocence."Why, Blister, you sure do me wrong."
Dud sauntered to the hitching-rack, easy, careless, graceful. He selecteda horse and threw the rein over its head. The preacher was just abreastof the hotel.
The puncher swung to the saddle and brought the pony round. A wild whoopcame from his throat. The roan, touched by a spur, leaped to a canter.For an instant it was side by side with Blue Streak. Then it shot downthe road.
Blue Streak was off in an eyeflash. It jumped to a gallop and poundedafter the roan. The Reverend Melancthon T. Browning was no rider. Hisfeet lost the stirrups. A hymn-book went off at a wild tangent.Coat-tails flew into the air. The exponent of sweetness and light leanedforward and clung desperately to the mane, crying, "Whoa! Stop! Desist!"
But Blue Streak had no intention of desisting as long as the roan was infront. Tex Lindsay's horse was a racer. No other animal was going to passit. The legs of the dark horse stretched for the road. It flew past thecowpony as though the latter had been trotting. The Reverend Melancthonstuck to the saddle for dear life.
At the blacksmith shop Dud pulled up. He rode back at a road gait to thehotel. His companions greeted him with shouts of gayety.
"Where's the parson?" some one asked.
"Between here an' 'Frisco somewheres. He was travelin' like he was in ahurry when I saw him last. Who pays for the drinks?"
"I do, you darned ol' Piute," shouted Reeves joyously. "I never willforget how the sky pilot's coat-tails spread. You could 'a' playedcheckers on 'em. D'you reckon we'd ought to send a wreckin' crew afterMelancthon T. Browning?"
"Why, no. The way he was clamped to that Blue Streak's back you couldn'tpry him loose with a crowbar."
"Here he c-comes now," Blister announced.
When the home missionary reached the hotel he found a grave and decorousgroup of sympathizers.
"I was surely right careless, sir, to start thataway so onexpected," Dudapologized. "I hope you didn't get jounced up much."
"Some one had ought to work you over for bein' so plumb wooden-haided,Dud," the puncher from the Keystone reproved him. "Here was Mr. Browningridin' along quiet an' peaceable, figurin' out how he could improve usRio Blanco savages, an' you come rip-rarin' along an' jar up all hisgeography by startin' that fool horse of his'n."
Dud hung his head. "Tha's right. It was sure enough thoughtless of me,"he murmured.
The preacher looked at the offender severely. He did not yet feel quiteequal to a fitting reprimand. "You see the evil effects of letting thatvile stuff pass your lips. I hope this will be a lesson to you, youngman. If I had not kept my presence of mind I might have been thrown andseverely injured."
"Yes, sir," agreed Dud in a small, contrite voice.
"Makin' the preacher race on Sunday, too," chided Reeves. "Why, Ishouldn't wonder but what it might get out an' spread scandalous. We'llall have to tell folks about it so's they'll get the right of it."
Melancthon squirmed. He could guess how the story would be told. "We'llsay no more about it, if you please. The young man is sorry. I forgivehim. His offense was inadvertent even though vexatious. If he will profitby this experience I will gladly suffer the incommodious ride."
After the missionary had gone and the bet been liquidated, Blister drewHollister to one side. "I'm guessin' that when you get back to the ranchyou'll find a new rider in the bunkhouse, Dud."
The puncher waited. He knew this was preliminary matter.
"That young fellow Bob Dillon," explained the fat man.
"If you're expectin' me to throw up my hat an' shout, Blister, I got todisappoint you," Dud replied. "I like 'em man-size."
"I'm p-puttin' him in yore charge."
"You ain't either," the range-rider repudiated indignantly.
"To m-make a man of him."
"Hell's bells! I'm no dry nurse to fellows shy of sand. He can travel alone trail for all of me."
"Keep him kinda encouraged."
"Why pick on me, Blister? I don't want the job. He ain't there, I tellyou. Any fellow that would let another guy take his wife away from himan' not hang his hide up to dry--No, sir, I got no manner o' use for him.You can't onload him on me."
"I've been thinkin' that when you are alone with him some t-time you'dbetter devil him into a fight, then let him whale the stuffin' outa you.That'll do him a l-lot of good--give him confidence."
Hollister stared. His face broke slowly to a grin. "I got to give it toyou, Blister. I'll bet there ain't any more like you at home. Let himlick me, eh? So's to give him confidence. Wallop me good an' plenty, yousaid, didn't you? By gum, you sure enough take the cake."
"Won't hurt you any. You've give an' took plenty of 'em. Think of him."
"Think of me, come to that."
"L-listen, Dud. That boy's what they call c-c-constitutionally timid.There's folks that way, born so a shadow scares 'em. But he'ss-s-sensitive as a g-girl. Don't you make any mistake, son. He's beeneatin' his h-heart out ever since he crawled before Houck. I like thatboy. There's good s-stuff in him. At least I'm makin' a bet there is.Question is, will it ever get a chance to show? Inside of three monthshe'll either win out or he'll be headed for hell, an' he won't betravelin' at no drift-herd gait neither."
"Every man's got to stand on his own hind laigs, ain't he?" Hollistergrunted. He was weakening, and he knew it.
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br /> "He needs a friend, worst way," Blister wheezed. "'Course, if you'drather not--"
"Doggone yore hide, you're always stickin' me somehow," stormed thecowboy. "Trouble with me is I'm so soft I'm always gettin' imposed on. Idone told you I didn't like this guy a-tall. That don't make no moreimpression on you than a cold runnin'-iron would on a cow."
"M-much obliged, Dud. I knew you'd do it."
"I ain't said I'd do it."
"S-some of the boys are liable to get on the prod with him. He'll have toplay his own hand. Tha's reasonable. But kinda back him up when you get achance. That notion of lettin' him lick you is a humdinger. Glad youthought of it."
"I didn't think of it, an' I ain't thinkin' of it now," Dud retorted."You blamed old fat skeezicks, you lay around figurin' out ways to makeme trouble. You're worse than Mrs. Gillespie for gettin' yore own way.Hmp! Devil him into a fight an' then let him hand me a lacin'. I reckonnot."
"He'll figure that since he can lick you, he can make out to look afterhimself with the other boys."
"He ain't licked me yet, an' that's only half of it. He ain't a-goin'to."
Fuming at this outrageous proposition put up to him, the puncher jingledaway and left his triple-chinned friend.
Blister grinned. The seed he had scattered might have fallen among therocks and the thorns, but he was willing to make a small bet with himselfthat some of it had lit on good ground and would bear fruit.
The Fighting Edge Page 16
