by B. M. Bower
CHAPTER XIII
A Plan Gone Wrong
It was Mose crashing headlong into the old messbox where he kept rattlybasins, empty lard pails, and such, that roused Ford. He got up and wentinto the kitchen, and when he saw what was, the matter, extricated Moseby the simple method of grabbing his shoulders and pulling hard; then heset the cook upon his feet, and got full in his face the unmistakablefumes of whisky.
"What? You got another jug?" he asked, with some disgust, steadying Moseagainst the wall.
"Ah--I ain't got any jug uh nothin'," Mose protested, rather thickly."And I never took them bottles outa the stack; that musta been Dick donethat. Get after him about it; he's the one told me where yuh hid'em--but I never touched 'em, honest I never. If they're gone, you getafter Dick. Don't yuh go 'n' lay it on me, now!" He was whimpering withmaudlin pathos before he finished. Ford scowled at him thoughtfully.
"Dick told you about the bottles in the haystack, did he?" he asked."Which stack was it? And how many bottles?"
Mose gave him a bleary stare. "Aw, you know. You hid 'em there yourself!Dick said so. I ain't goin' to say which stack, or how manybottles--or--any other--darn thing about it." He punctuated his phrasesby prodding a finger against Ford's chest, and he wagged his head withall the self-consciousness of spurious virtue. "Promised Dick Iwouldn't, and I won't. Not a--darn--word about it. Wanted some--for m'mince-meat, but I never took any outa the haystack." Whereupon he beganto show a pronounced limpness in his good leg, and a tendency to slidedown upon the floor.
Ford piloted him to a chair, eased him into it, and stood over him infrowning meditation. Mose was drunk; absolutely, undeniably drunk. Itcould not have been the jug, for the jug was full. Till then the oddityof a full jug of whisky in Mose's kitchen after at least twenty-fourhours must have elapsed since its arrival, had not occurred to him. Hehad been too preoccupied with his own fight to think much about Mose.
"Shay, I never took them bottles outa the stack," Mose looked up toprotest solemnly. "Dick never told me about 'em, neither. Dick tol'me--" tapping Ford's arm with his finger for every word, "--'at therewas aigs down there, for m' mince-meat." He stopped suddenly and goggledup at Ford. "Shay, yuh don't put aigs in--mince-meat," he informed himearnestly. "Not a darn aig! That's what Dick tol' me--aigs for m'mince-meat. Oh, I knowed right off what he meant, all right," heexplained proudly. "He didn't wanta come right out 'n' shay what itwas--an' I--got--the--aigs!"
"Yes--how many--eggs?" Ford held himself rigidly quiet.
"Two quart--aigs!" Mose laughed at the joke. "I wisht," he addedpensively, "the hens'd all lay them kinda aigs. I'd buy up all theshickens in--the whole worl'." He gazed raptly upon the vision the wordsconjured. "Gee! Quart aigs--'n' all the shickens in the worl' layin'reg'lar!"
"Have you got any left?"
"No--honest. Used 'em all up--for m' mince-meat!"
Ford knew he was lying. His eyes searched the untidy tables and thecorners filled with bags and boxes. Mose was a good cook, but his ideasof order were vague, and his system of housekeeping was the simple oneof leaving everything where he had last been using it, so that it mightbe handy when he wanted it again. A dozen bottles might be concealedthere, like the faces in a picture-puzzle, and it would take ahousecleaning to disclose them all. But Ford, when he knew that nobottle had been left in sight, began turning over the bags and lookingbehind the boxes.
He must have been "growing warm" when he stood wondering whether it wasworth while to look into the flour-bin, for Mose gave an inarticulatesnarl and pounced on him from behind. The weight of him sent Ford downon all fours and kept him there for a space, and even after he was up hefound himself quite busy. Mose was a husky individual, with no infirmityof the arms and fists, even if he did have a stiff leg, and drunkennessfrequently flares and fades in a man like a candle guttering in thewind. Besides, Mose was fighting to save his whisky.
Still, Ford had not sent all of Sunset into its cellars, figurativelyspeaking, for nothing; and while a man may feel more enthusiasm forfighting when under the influence of the stuff that cheers sometimes andnever fails to inebriate, the added incentive does not necessarily meanalso added muscular development or more weight behind the punch. Ford,fighting as he had always fought, be he drunk or sober, came speedily tothe point where he could inspect a skinned knuckle and afterwards gazein peace upon his antagonist.
He was occupied with both diversions when the door was pushed open as bya man in great haste. He looked up from the knuckle into the expectanteyes of Jim Felton, and over the shoulder of Jim he saw a gloatingcertainty writ large upon the face of Dick Thomas. They had beenrunning; he could tell that by their uneven breathing, and it occurredto him that they must have heard the clamor when he pitched Mose headfirst into the dish cupboard. There had been considerable noise aboutthat time, he remembered; they must also have heard the howl Mose gaveat the instant of contact. Ford glanced involuntarily at that side ofthe room where stood the cupboard, and mentally admitted that it lookedlike there had been a slight disagreement, or else a severe seismicdisturbance; and Montana is not what one calls an earthquake country.His eyes left the generous sprinkle of broken dishes on the floor, withMose sprawled inertly in their midst, looking not unlike a brokenplatter himself--or one badly nicked--and rested again upon the grinningface behind the shoulder of Jim Felton.
Ford was ever a man of not many words, even when he had a grievance. Hemade straight for Dick, and when he had pushed Jim out of the way, hereached him violently. Dick tottered upon the step and went offbackward, and Ford landed upon him fairly and with full knowledge andintent.
Dick tottered upon the step and went off backward.]
Jim Felton was a wise young man. He stood back and let them fight itout, and when it was over he said never a word until Dick had pickedhimself up and walked off, holding to his nose a handkerchief thatreddened rapidly.
"Say, you are a son-of-a-gun to fight," he observed admiringly then toFord. "Don't you know Dick's supposed to be abso-lute-ly unlickable?"
"May be so--but he sure shows all the symptoms of being licked right atpresent." Ford moved a thumb joint gently to see whether it was reallydislocated or merely felt that way.
"He's going up to the house now, to tell the missus," remarked Jim,craning his neck from the doorway.
"If he does that," Ford replied calmly, "I'll half kill him next time.What I gave him just now is only a sample package left on the doorstepto try." He sat down upon a corner of the table and began to makehimself a smoke. "Is he going up to the house--honest?" He would notyield to the impulse to look and see for himself.
"We-el, the trail he's taking has no other logical destination," drawledJim. "He's across the bridge." When Ford showed no disposition to sayanything to that, Jim came in and closed the door. "Say, what laid oldMose out so nice?" he asked, with an indolent sort of curiosity. "Booze?Or just bumps?"
"A little of both," said Ford indifferently, between puffs. He wasthinking of the tale Dick would tell at the house, and he was thinkingof the probable effect upon one listener; the other didn't worry him,though he liked Mrs. Kate very much.
Jim went over and investigated; discovering that Mose was close tosnoring, he sat upon a corner of the other table, swung a spurred boot,and regarded Ford interestedly over his own cigarette building. "Say,for a man that's supposed to be soused," he began, after a silence, "youact and talk remarkably lucid. I wish I could carry booze like that," headded regretfully. "But I can't; my tongue and my legs always betraythe guilty secret. Have you got any particular system, or is it just agift?"
"No"--Ford shook his head--"nothing like that. I just don't happen to bedrunk." He eyed Jim sharply while he considered within himself. "Itlooks to me," he began, after a moment, "as if our friend Dick hadframed up a nice little plant. One way and another I got wise to thewhole thing; but for the life of me, I can't see what made him do it.Lordy me! I never kicked him on any bunion!" He grinned, as memoryflashed a brief, mental picture of Sunse
t and certain incidents whichoccurred there. But memory never lets well enough alone, and one islucky to escape without seeing a picture that leaves a sting; Ford'ssmile ended in a scowl.
"Jealousy, old man," Jim pronounced without hesitation. "Of course, Idon't know the details, but--details be darned. If he has tried to handyou a package, take it from me, jealousy's the string he tied it with. Idon't mind saying that Dick told me when I first rode up to the corralthat you and Mose were both boozing up to beat the band; and right afterthat we heard a deuce of a racket up here, and it did look--" He wavedan apologetic hand at Mose and the fragments of pottery which framedlike a "still life" picture on the floor, and let it go at that. "I'mstrong for you, Ford," he added, and his smile was frank and friendly."Double Cross is the name of this outfit, but I'm all in favor ofrunning that brand on the cow-critters and keeping it out of thebunk-house. If you should happen to feel like elucidating--" he hinteddelicately.
Ford had always liked Jim Felton; now he warmed to him as a real friend,and certain things he told him. As much about the jug with the brownneck and handle as concerned Dick, and all he knew of the bottles in thehaystack, while Jim smoked, and swung the foot which did not rest uponthe floor, and listened.
"Sounds like Dick, all right," he passed judgment, when Ford hadfinished. "He counted on your falling for the jug--and oh, my! It was abeautiful plant. I'd sure hate to have anybody sing 'Yield not totemptation' at me, if a gallon jug of the real stuff fell into my armsand nobody was looking." He eyed Ford queerly. "You've got quite areputation--" he ventured.
"Well, I earned it," Ford observed laconically.
"Dick banked on it--I'd stake my whole stack of blues on that. And afteryou'd torn up the ranch, and pitched the fragments into the gulch, he'dhold the last trump, with all high cards to keep the lead. Whee!" Hemeditated admiringly upon the strategy. "But what I can't seem tounderstand," he said frankly, "is why the deuce it didn't work! Is yourswallower out of kilter? If you don't mind my asking!"
"I never noticed that it was paralyzed," Ford answered grimly. He gotup, lifted a lid of the stove, and threw in the cigarette stubmechanically. Then he bethought him of his interrupted search, andprodded a long-handled spoon into the flour bin, struck something smoothand hard, and drew out a befloured, quart bottle half full of whisky.He wiped the bottle carefully, inspected it briefly, and pitched it intothe gully, where it smashed odorously upon a rock. Jim, watching him,knew that he was thinking all the while of something else. When Fordspoke, he proved it.
"Are you any good at all in the kitchen, Jim?" he asked, turning to himas if he had decided just how he would meet the situation.
"Well, I hate to brag, but I've known of men eating my grub and goingright on living as if nothing had happened," Jim admitted modestly.
"Well, you turn yourself loose in here, will you? The boys will be goodand empty when they come--it's dinner time right now. I'll help youcarry Mose out of the way before I go."
Jim looked as if he would like to ask what Ford meant to do, but herefrained. There was something besides preoccupation in Ford's face, andit did not make for easy questioning. Jim did yield to his curiosity tothe extent of watching through a window, when Ford went out, to seewhere he was going; and when he saw Ford had the jug, and that he tookthe path which led across the little bridge and so to the house, he drewback and said "Whee-e-e!" under his breath. Then he remarked to therecumbent Mose, who was not in a condition either to hear or understand:"I'll bet you Dick's got all he wants, right now, without anypostscript." After which Jim hunted up a clean apron and proceeded, withhis spurs on his heels, his hat on the back of his head, and a smileupon his lips, to sweep out the broken dishes so that he might walkwithout hearing them crunch unpleasantly under his boots. "I'll takewildcats in mine, please," he remarked once irrelevantly aloud, andsmiled again.
