by B. M. Bower
“How much money did this friend uh yours have?” queried Jack Bates innocently.
“Well, when I seen him in Benton, he had somewhere between six and seven hundred dollars. He got it all changed into fifty-dollar bills—”
“Oh, golly!” Jack Bates rolled over in disgust. “Andy’s losing his grip. Why, darn yuh, if you was in a normal, lying condition, you’d make it ten thousand, at the lowest—and I’ve seen the time when you’d uh said fifty thousand; and you’d uh made us swallow the load, too! Buck up and do a good stunt, Andy, or else keep still. Why, Happy Jack could tell that big a lie!”
“Aw, gwan!” Happy Jack rose up to avenge the insult. “Yuh needn’t compare me to Andy Green. I ain’t a liar, and I can lick the darned son-of-a-gun that calls me one. I ain’t, and yuh can’t say I am, unless yuh lie worse’n Andy.”
“Calm down,” urged Weary pacifically. “Jack said yuh could lie; he didn’t say—”
“By gracious, you’d think I was necked up with a whole bunch uh George Washingtons!” growled Andy, half-indignantly. “And what gets me is, that I tell the truth as often as anybody in the outfit; oftener than some I could mention. But that ain’t the point. I’m telling the truth now, when I say somebody ought to hike down to their camp and see what this old skunk has done with Dan. I’d bet money you’d find him sunk in the river, or cached under a cut-bank, or something like that. If he’d kept his face closed I wouldn’t uh give it a second thought, but the more I think uh the story he put up, the more I believe there’s something wrong. He’s made way with Dan somehow, and—”
“Yes. Sure thing,” drawled Pink wickedly. “Let’s organize a searching party and go down there and investigate. It’s only about a three or four days’ trip, through the roughest country the Lord ever stood on end to cool and then forgot till it crumpled down in spots and got set that way, so He just left it go and mixed fresh mud for the job He was working on. Andy’d lead us down there, and we’d find—”
“His friend Dan buried in a tomato can, maybe,” supplied Jack Bates.
“By golly, I’ll bet yuh could put friend Dan into one,” Slim burst out. “By golly, I never met up with no Dan that packed fifty-dollar bills around in his gun-pocket—”
“Andy’s telling the truth. He says so,” reproved Weary. “And when Andy says a thing is the truth, yuh always know—”
“It ain’t.” Cal Emmett finished the sentence, but Weary paid no attention.
“—what to expect. Cadwolloper’s right, and we ought to go down there and make a hunt for friend Dan and his fifty-dollar bills. How many were there, did yuh say?”
“You go to the devil,” snapped Andy, getting up determinedly. “Yuh bite quick enough when anybody throws a load at yuh that would choke a rhinoscerous, but plain truth seems to be too much for the weak heads of yuh. I guess I’ll have to turn loose and lie, so yuh’ll listen to me. There is something crooked about this deal—”
“We all thought it sounded that way,” Weary remarked mildly.
“And if yuh did go down to where them two wintered, you’d find out I’m right. But yuh won’t, and that old cutthroat will get off with the murder—and the money.”
“Don’t he lie natural?” queried Jack Bates solemnly.
That was too much. Andy glared angrily at the group, picked up the wolfer’s rope, turned on his heel and walked off to where his horse was tied; got on him and rode away without once looking back, though he knew quite well that they were watching every move he made. It did not help to smooth his temper that the sound of much laughing followed him as he swung into the trail taken by the man who had left not long before.
Where he went, that afternoon when for some reason sufficient for the foreman—who was Chip Bennett—the Flying U roundup crew lay luxuriously snoring in the shade instead of riding hurriedly and hotly the high divides, no one but Andy himself knew. They talked about him after he left, and told one another how great a liar he was, and how he couldn’t help it because he was born that way, and how you could hardly help believing him. They recalled joyously certain of his fabrications that had passed into the history of the Flying U, and wondered what josh he was trying to spring this time.
“What we ought to do,” advised Cal, “is to lead him on and let him lie his darndest, and make out we believe him. And then we can give him the laugh good and plenty—and maybe cure him.”
“Cure nothing!” exclaimed Jack Bates, getting up because the sun had discovered him, and going over to the mess-wagon where a bit of shade had been left unoccupied. “About the only way to cure Andy of lying, is to kill him. He was working his way up to some big josh, and if yuh let him alone you’ll find out what it is, all right. I wouldn’t worry none about it, if I was you.” To prove that he did not worry, Jack immediately went to sleep.
Such being the attitude of the Happy Family, when Andy rode hurriedly into camp at sundown, his horse wet to the tips of his ears with sweat, they sat up, expectancy writ large upon their faces. No one said anything, however, while Andy unsaddled and came over to beg a belated supper from the cook; nor yet while he squatted on his heels beside the cook-tent and ate hungrily. He seemed somewhat absorbed in his thoughts, and they decided mentally that Andy was a sure-enough good actor, and that if they were not dead next to him and his particular weakness, they would swallow his yarn whole—whatever it was. A blood-red glow was in the sky to the west, and it lighted Andy’s face queerly, like a vivid blush on the face of a girl.
Andy scraped his plate thoughtfully with his knife, looked into his coffee-cup, stirred the dregs absently and dipped out half a spoonful of undissolved sugar, which he swallowed meditatively. He tossed plate, cup and spoon toward the dishpan, sent knife and fork after them and got out his smoking material. And the Happy Family, grouped rather closely together and watching unobtrusively, stirred to the listening point. The liar was about to lie.
“Talk about a guilty conscience giving a man dead away,” Andy began, quite unconscious of the mental attitude of his fellows, and forgetting also his anger of the afternoon, “it sure does work out like that, sometimes. I followed that old devil, just out uh curiosity, to see if he headed for Dry Lake like he said he was going. We didn’t have any reason for keeping cases on him, or suspicioning anything—but he acted like we was all out on his trail, the fool!
“I kinda had a hunch that if he had been up to any deviltry, it would show on him when he left here, and I was plumb right about it. He went all straight enough till he got down into Black Coulee; and right there it looked like he got kinda panicky and suspicious, for he turned square off the trail and headed up the coulee.”
“He must uh had ’em,” Weary commented, quite as if he believed.
“Yuh wait till I’m through,” Andy advised, still wholly unconscious of their disbelief. “Yuh was all kinda skeptical when I told yuh he had a guilty conscience, but I was right about it, and come mighty near laying out on the range tonight with my toes pointing straight up, just because you fellows wouldn’t—”
“Sun-stroke?” asked Pink, coming closer, his eyes showing purple in the softened light.
“No—yuh wait, now, till I tell yuh.” Whereupon Andy smoked relishfully and in silence, and from the tail of his eye watched his audience squirm with impatience. “A man gets along a whole lot better without any conscience,” he began at last, irrelevantly, “’specially if he wants to be mean. I trailed this jasper up the coulee and out on the bench, across that level strip between Black Coulee and Dry Spring Gulch, and down the gulch a mile or so. He was fogging right along, and seemed as if he looked back every ten rods—I know he spotted me just as I struck the level at the head uh Black Coulee, because he acted different then.
“I could see he was making across country for the trail to Chinook, but I wanted to overhaul him and have a little casual talk about Dan. I don’t suppose yuh noticed I took his rope along; I wanted some excuse for hazing after him like that, yuh see.”
“Uh
course, such accommodating cusses as you wouldn’t be none strange to him,” fleered Cal.
“Well, he never found out what I was after,” sighed Andy. “It wasn’t my fault I didn’t come up with him, and my intentions were peaceful and innocent. But do yuh know what happened? He got out uh sight down Dry Spring Gulch—yuh know where that elephant-head rock sticks out, and the trail makes a short turn around it—that’s where I lost sight of him. But he wasn’t very far in the lead, and I was dead anxious to give him his rope, so I loped on down—”
“You were taking long chances, old-timer; that’s mighty rough going, along there,” hinted Chip, gravely.
“Sure, I was,” Andy agreed easily. “But yuh recollect, I was in a hurry. So I’d just rounded the elephant’s head, when bing! something spats the rock, just over my right shoulder, and my horse squatted down on his rump and said he’d gone far enough. I kinda felt the same way about it, so when he wheeled and humped himself back up the trail, I didn’t argue none with him.”
There was silence so deep one could hear the saddle-bunch cropping the thick grasses along the creek. If this were true—this tale that Andy was telling—The Happy Family, half tempted to believe, glanced furtively at one another.
“Aw, gwan!” It was the familiar, protesting croak of Happy Jack. “What did yuh turn tail for? Why didn’t yuh have it out with him?” The Happy Family drew a long breath, and the temptation to believe was pushed aside.
“Because my gun was rolled up in my bed,” Andy replied simply. “I ain’t as brave as you are, Happy. I ain’t got the nerve to ride right up on a man that’s scared plumb silly and pumping lead my way fast as he can work the lever on his rifle, and lick him with my fists till he howls, and then throw him and walk up and down his person and flap my wings and crow. It’s awful to have to confess it, but I’m willing to run from any man that’s shooting at me when I can’t shoot back. I’d give a lot to be as brave as you are, Happy.”
Happy Jack growled and subsided.
“Well, by golly, there’s times when we’d be justified in shooting yuh, but I don’t see what he’d want to do it for,” objected Slim.
“Guilty conscience, I told yuh,” retorted Andy. “He seen I was chasing him up, and I guess he thought it was somebody that had got next to what happened—Lord, I wish I knew what did happen, down there in the breaks! Boys,” Andy got up and stood looking earnestly down at them in the twilight, “you can’t make me believe that there hasn’t been a murder done! That fellow has been up to something, or he wouldn’t be acting so damn’ queer. And if it was just plain stealing, Dan would sure be hot on his trail—because Dan thought more of his money than most men do of their wives. It was about all he lived for, and he wasn’t any coward. That old man never would get it off him without a big ruction, and if he did, Dan would be right after him bigger’n a wolf. There’s something wrong, you take my word.”
“What do yuh want us to do about it?” It was Chip who asked the question, and his tone was quite calm and impersonal.
Andy looked at him reproachfully. “Do? What is there to do, except go down there and see? If we can find that out, we can put the sheriff wise and let him do the rest. It sure does seem kinda tough, if a man can do a murder and robbery and get off with it, just because nobody cares enough about it to head him off.”
The Happy Family stirred uneasily. Of course, it was all just a josh of Andy’s—but he was such a convincing liar! Almost they felt guilty of criminal negligence that they did not at once saddle up and give chase to the murderer, who had tried to kill Andy for following him, and who was headed for Chinook after unnecessarily proclaiming himself bound for Dry Lake.
“Do you want the whole outfit to turn out?” asked Chip calmly at last.
“No-o—”
“Say, is it anywheres near that prehistoric castle you found once?” Ping asked maliciously, unbelief getting strong hold of him again.
Andy turned toward him, scowling. “No, Angel-child, it ain’t,” he snapped. “And you fellows can back up and snort all yuh darn please, and make idiots of yourselves. But yuh can’t do any business making me out a hot-air peddler on this deal. I stand pat, just where I stood at first, and it’ll take a lot uh cackling to make me back down. That old devil did lie about Dan, and he did take a shot at me—”
“He took yuh for a horse-thief, most likely,” explained Jack Bates.
“He didn’t need no field glass to see you was a suspicious character, by golly,” chortled Slim.
“He thought yuh was after what little your friend Dan had overlooked, chances is,” added Cal Emmett.
“Did the fog roll down and hide the horrible sight?” asked Jack Bates.
That, and much more, brought about a distinct coldness between the Happy Family and one Andy Green, so that the sun went down upon Andy’s wrath, and rose to find it still bubbling hotly in the outraged heart of him.
It was Jack Bates who precipitated an open war by singing an adapted version of “Massa’s In the Cold, Cold Ground,” just when they were eating breakfast. As an alleged musical effort it was bad enough, but as a personal insult it was worse. One hesitates to repeat the doggerel, even in an effort to be exact. However, the chorus, bellowed shamelessly by Jack, was this:
“Down in the Bad-lands, hear that awful sound.
Andy Green is there a-weeping—”
Jack Bates got no further than that, for Andy first threw his plate at Jack and then landed upon him with much force and venom, so that Jack went backwards and waved long legs convulsively in the air, and the Happy Family stood around and howled their appreciation of the spectacle.
When it dawned upon them that Andy was very much in earnest, and that his fist was landing with unpleasant frequency just where it was most painful to receive it, they separated the two by main strength and argued loudly for peace. But Andy was thoroughly roused and would have none of it, and hurled at them profanity and insulting epithets, so that more than Jack Bates looked upon him with unfriendly eyes and said things which were not calculated to smooth roughened tempers.
“That’s a-plenty, now,” quelled Chip, laying detaining hand upon the nearest, who happened to be Andy himself. “You sound like a bunch of old women. What do you want to do the worst and quickest, Andy?—and I don’t mean killing off any of these alleged joshers, either.”
Andy clicked his teeth together, swallowed hard and slowly unclenched his hands and grinned; but the grin was not altogether a pleasant one, and the light of battle still shone in the big, gray eyes of him.
“You’re the boss,” he said, “but if yuh don’t like my plans you’ll just have one less to pay wages to. What I’m going to do is throw my saddle on my private horse and ride down into the Bad-lands and see for myself how the cards lay. Maybe it’s awful funny to the rest of yuh, but I’m takin’ it kinda serious, myself, and I’m going to find out how about it before I’m through. I can’t seem to think it’s a josh when some old mark makes a play like that fellow did, and tries to put a bullet into my carcass for riding the same trail he took. It’s me for the Bad-lands—and you can think what yuh damn’ please about it.”
Chip stood quite still till he was through, and eyed him sharply. “You better take old Buck to pack your blankets and grub,” he told him, in a matter-of-fact tone. “We’ll be swinging down that way in two or three days; by next Saturday you’ll find us camped at the mouth of Jump-off Coulee, if nothing happens. That’ll give you four days to prowl around. Come on, boys—we’ve got a big circle ahead of us this morning, and it’s going to be hot enough to singe the tails off our cayuses by noon.”
That, of course, settled the disturbance and set the official seal of approval upon Andy’s going; for Chip was too wise to permit the affair to grow serious, and perhaps lose a man as good as Andy; family quarrels had not been entirely unknown among the boys of the Flying U, and with tact they never had been more than a passing unpleasantness. So that, although Jack Bates swore vengeance and nu
rsed sundry bruised spots on his face, and though Andy saddled, packed old Buck with his blankets and meager camp outfit and rode off sullenly with no word to anyone and only a scowling glance or two for farewell, Chip mounted and rode cheerfully away at the head of his Happy Family, worrying not at all over the outcome.
“I’ve got half a notion that Andy was telling the truth, after all,” he remarked to Weary when they were well away from camp. “It’s worth taking a chance on, anyhow—and when he comes back things will be smooth again.”
When Saturday came and brought no Andy to camp, the Happy Family began to speculate upon his absence. When Sunday’s circle took them within twelve or fifteen miles of the camp in the Bad-lands, Pink suddenly proposed that they ride down there and see what was going on. “He won’t be looking for us,” he explained, to hide a secret uneasiness. “And if he’s there we can find out what the josh is. If he ain’t, we’ll have it on him good and strong.”
“I betche Andy just wanted a lay-off, and took that way uh getting it,” declared Happy Jack pessimistically. “I betche he’s in town right now, tearing things wide open and tickled to think he don’t have to ride in this hot sun. Yuh can’t never tell what Andy’s got cached up his sleeve.”
“Chip thinks he was talking on the level,” Weary mused. “Maybe he was; as Happy says, yuh can’t tell.”
As always before, this brought the Happy Family to argument which lasted till they neared the deep, lonely coulee where, according to Andy, “friend Dan” had wintered with the shifty-eyed old man.
“Now, how the mischief do we get down?” questioned Jack Bates complainingly. “This is bound to be the right place—there’s the cabin over there against the cottonwoods.”
“Aw, come on back,” urged Happy Jack, viewing the steep bluff with disfavor. “Chances is, Andy’s in town right now. He ain’t down—”
“There’s old Buck, over there by the creek,” Pink announced. “I’d know him far as I could see him. Let’s ride around that way. There’s sure to be a trail down.” He started off, and they followed him dispiritedly, for the heat was something to remember afterwards with a shudder.
