The B. M. Bower Megapack

by B. M. Bower

  Next morning, when Cal appeared at breakfast with a slight limp and several inches of cuticle missing from his features, the Happy Family learned that his horse had fallen down with him as he was turning a stray back into the herd.

  Chip looked up quizzically and then hid a smile behind his coffee-cup.

  It was Weary that afternoon on dayherd who indulged his mendacity for the benefit of Pink; and his remarks were but paving-stones for a scheme hatched overnight by the Happy Family.

  Weary began by looking doleful and emptying his lungs in sighs deep and sorrowful. When Pink, rising obligingly to the bait, asked him if he felt bad. Weary only sighed the more. Then, growing confidential, he told how he had dreamed a dream the night before. With picturesque language, he detailed the horror of it. He was guilty of murder, he confessed, and the crime weighed heavily on his conscience.

  “Not only that,” he went on, “but I know that death is camping on my trail. That dream haunts me. I feel that my days are numbered in words uh one syllable. That dream’ll come true; you see if it don’t!”

  “I—I wouldn’t worry over just a bad dream, Mr. Weary,” comforted Pink.

  “But that ain’t all. I woke up in a cold sweat, and went outside. And there in the clouds, perfect as life, I seen a posse uh men galloping up from the South. Down South,” he explained sadly, “sleeps my victim—a white-headed, innocent old man. That posse is sure headed for me, Mr. Perkins.”

  “Still, it was only clouds.”

  “Wait till I tell yuh,” persisted Weary, stubbornly refusing comfort. “When I got up this morning I put my boots on the wrong feet; that’s a sure sign that your dream’ll come true. At breakfast I upset the can uh salt; which is bad luck. Mr. Perkins, I’m a lost man.”

  Pink’s eyes widened; he looked like a child listening to a story of goblins. “If I can help you, Mr. Weary, I will,” he promised generously.

  “Will yuh be my friend? Will yuh let me lean on yuh in my dark hours?” Weary’s voice shook with emotion.

  Pink said that he would, and he seemed very sympathetic and anxious for Weary’s safety. Several times during their shift Weary rode around to where Pink was sitting uneasily his horse, and spoke feelingly of his crime and the black trouble that loomed so closer and told Pink how much comfort it was to be able to talk confidentially with a friend.

  When Pink went out that night to stand his shift, he found Weary at his side instead of Cal. Weary explained that Cal was feeling pretty bum on account of that fall he had got, and, as Weary couldn’t sleep, anyway, he had offered to stand in Cal’s place. Pink scented mischief.

  This night the moon shone brightly at intervals, with patches of silvery clouds racing before the wind and chasing black splotches of shadows over the sleeping land. For all that, the cattle lay quiet, and the monotony of circling the herd was often broken by Weary and Pink with little talks, as they turned and rode together.

  “Mr. Perkins, fate’s a-crowding me close,” said Weary gloomily, when an hour had gone by. “I feel as if—what’s that?”

  Voices raised in excited talk came faintly and fitfully on the wind. Weary turned his horse, with a glance toward the cattle, and, beckoning Pink to follow, rode out to the right.

  “It’s the posse!” he hissed. “They’ll go to the herd so look for me. Mr. Perkins, the time has come to fly. If only I had a horse that could drift!”

  Pink thought he caught the meaning. “Is—is mine any good, Mr. Weary?” he quavered. “If he is, you—you can have him. I—I’ll stay and—and fool them as—long as I can.”

  “Perkins,” said Weary solemnly, “you’re sure all right! Let that posse think you’re the man they want for half an hour, and I’m safe. I’ll never forget yuh!”

  He had not thought of changing horses, but the temptation mastered him. He was riding a little sorrel, Glory by name, that could beat even the Happy Family itself for unexpected deviltry. Yielding to Pink’s persuasions, he changed mounts, clasped Pink’s hand affectionately, and sped away just as the posse appeared over a rise, riding furiously.

  Pink, playing his part, started toward them, then wheeled and sped away in the direction that would lead them off Weary’s trail. That is, he sped for ten rods or so. After that he seemed to revolve on an axis, and there was an astonishing number of revolutions to the minute.

  The stirrups were down in the dark somewhere below the farthest reach of Pink’s toes—he never once located them. But Pink was not known all over Northern Montana as a “bronco-peeler” for nothing. He surprised Glory even more than that deceitful bit of horseflesh had surprised Pink. While his quirt swung methodically, he looked often over his shoulder for the posse, and wondered that it did not appear.

  The posse, however, was at that moment having troubles of its own. Happy Jack, not having a night horse saddled, had borrowed one not remarkable for its sure-footedness. No sooner had they sighted their quarry than Jack’s horse stepped in a hole and went head-long—which was bad enough. When he got up he planted a foot hastily on Jack’s diaphragm and then bolted straight for the peacefully slumbering herd—which was worse.

  With stirrup-straps snapping like pistol-shots, he tore down through the dreaming cattle, with none to stop him or say him nay. The herd did not wait for explanations; as the posse afterward said, it quit the earth, while they gathered around the fallen Jack and tried to discover if it was a doctor or coroner that was needed.

  When Jack came up sputtering sand and profane words, there was no herd, no horse and no Pink anywhere in that portion of Chouteau County. Weary came back, laughing at the joke and fully expecting to see Pink a prisoner. When he saw how things stood, he said “Mamma mine!” and headed for camp on a run. The others deployed to search the range for a beef-herd, strayed, and with no tag for its prompt delivery.

  Weary crept into the bed-tent and got Chip by the shoulder. Chip sat up, instantly wide-awake. “What’s the matter?” he demanded sharply.

  “Chip, we—we’ve lost Cadwolloper!” Weary’s voice was tragic.

  “Hell!” snapped Chip, lying down again. “Don’t let that worry yuh.”

  “And we’ve lost the herd, too,” added Weary mildly.

  Chip got up and stayed up, and some of his remarks, Weary afterward reported, were scandalous.

  There was another scene at sunrise that the Happy Family voted scandalous—and that was when they rode into a little coulee and came upon the herd, quietly grazing, and Pink holding them, with each blue eye a volcano shooting wrath.

  “Yuh knock-kneed bunch uh locoed sheep-herders!” he greeted spitefully, “if yuh think yuh can saw off on your foolery and hold this herd, I’ll go and get something to eat. When I come to this outfit t’ work, I naturally s’posed yuh was cow-punchers. Yuh ain’t. Yuh couldn’t hold a bunch uh sick lambs inside a high board corral with the gate shut and locked on the outside. When it comes t’ cow-science, you’re the limit. Yuh couldn’t earn your board on a ten-acre farm in Maine, driving one milk-cow and a yearling calf t’ pasture and back. You’re a hot bunch uh rannies—I don’t think! Up on Milk River they’d put bells on every dam’ one uh yuh t’ keep yuh from getting lost going from the mess-house t’ the corral and back. And, Mr. Weary, next time yuh give a man a horse t’ fall off from, for the Lord’s sake don’t put him on a gentle old skate that would be pickings for a two-year-old kid. I thought this here Glory’d give a man something to do, from all the yawping I’ve heard done about him. I heard uh him when I was on the Cross L; and I will say right now that he’s the biggest disappointment I’ve met up with in many a long day. He’s punk. Come and get him and let me have something alive. I’m weary uh trying to delude myself into thinking that this red image is a horse.”

  The Happy Family, huddled ten paces before him, stared. Pink slid out of the saddle and came forward, smiling, and dimpling. He held out a gloved hand to the first man he came to, which was Weary himself. “Are yuh happy to meet Milk River Pink?” he wanted to know.

/>   The Happy Family, grinning sheepishly, crowded close to shake him by the hand.

  THE REVELER

  Happy Jack, coming from Dry Lake where he had been sent for the mail, rode up to the Flying U camp just at dinner time and dismounted gloomily and in silence. His horse looked fagged—which was unusual in Happy’s mounts unless there was urgent need of haste or he was out with the rest of the Family and constrained to adopt their pace, which was rapid. Happy, when riding alone, loved best to hump forward over the horn and jog along slowly, half asleep.

  “Something’s hurting Happy,” was Cal Emmett’s verdict when he saw the condition of the horse.

  “He’s got a burden on his mind as big as a haystack,” grinned Jack Bates. “Watch the way his jaw hangs down, will yuh? Bet yuh somebody’s dead.”

  “Most likely it’s something he thinks is going to happen,” said Pink. “Happy always makes me think of a play I seen when I was back home; it starts out with a melancholy cuss coming out and giving a sigh that near lifts him off his feet, and he says: ‘In soo-ooth I know not why I am so sa-ad.’ That’s Happy all over.”

  The Happy Family giggled and went on with their dinner, for Happy Jack was too close for further comments not intended for his ears. They waited demurely, but in secret mirth, for him to unburden his mind. They knew that they would not have long to wait; Happy, bird of ill omen that he was, enjoyed much the telling of bad news.

  “Weary’s in town,” he announced heavily, coming over and getting himself a plate and cup.

  The Happy Family were secretly a bit disappointed; this promised, after all, to be tame.

  “Did he bring the horses?” asked Chip, glancing up over the brim of his cup.

  “I dunno,” Happy responded from the stove, where he was trying how much of everything he could possibly pile upon his plate without spilling anything. “I didn’t see no horses—but the one he was ridin’.”

  Weary had been sent, two weeks ago, to the upper Marias country after three saddle horses that had strayed from the home range, and which had been seen near Shelby. It was quite time for him to return, if he expected to catch the Flying U wagon before it pulled out on the beef roundup. That he should be in town and not ride out with Happy Jack was a bit strange.

  “Why don’t yuh throw it out uh yuh, yuh big, long-jawed croaker?” demanded Pink in a voice queerly soft and girlish. It had been a real grievance to him that he had not been permitted to go with Weary, who was his particular chum. “What’s the matter? Is Weary sick?”

  “No,” said Happy Jack deliberately, “I guess he ain’t what yuh could call sick.”

  “Why didn’t he come out with you, then?” asked Chip, sharply. Happy did get on one’s nerves so.

  “Well, I ast him t’ come—and he took a shot at me for it.”

  There was an instant’s dead silence. Then Jack Bates laughed uneasily.

  “Happy, how many horses did yuh ride out to camp?”

  Happy Jack had, upon one occasion, looked too long upon the wine—or whisky, to be more explicit. Afterward, he had insisted that he was riding two horses home, instead of one. He was not permitted to forget that defection. The Happy Family had an unpleasant habit of recalling the incident whenever Happy Jack made a statement which they felt disinclined to credit—as this last statement was.

  Happy Jack whirled on the speaker. “Aw, shut up! I never kidnaped no girl off’n no train, and—”

  Jack Bates colored and got belligerently to his feet. That hit him in an exceedingly tender place.

  “Happy, look here,” Chip cut in authoritatively. “What’s wrong with Weary? If he took a shot at you, it’s a cinch he had some reason for it.”

  Weary was even dearer to the heart of Chip than to Pink.

  “Ah—he never! He’s takin’ shots permisc’us, lemme tell yuh. And he ain’t troublin’ about no reason fer what he’s doin’. He’s plumb oary-eyed—that’s what. He’s on a limb that beats any I ever seen. He’s drunk—drunk as a boiled owl, and he don’t give a damn. He’s lost his hat, and he’s swapped cayuses with somebody—a measly old bench—and he’s shootin’ up the town t’ beat hell!”

  The Happy Family looked at one another dazedly. Weary drunk? Weary? It was unbelieveable. Such a thing had never been heard of before in the history of the Happy Family. Even Chip, who had known Weary before either had known the Flying U, could not remember anything of the sort. The Happy Family were often hilarious; they had even, on certain occasions, shot up the town; but they had done it as a family and they had done it sober. It was an unwritten law among the Flying U boys, that all riotous conduct should occur when they were together and when the Family could, as a unit, assume the consequences—if consequences there were to be.

  “I guess Happy must a rode the whole blame saddle-bunch home, this time,” Cal remarked, with stinging sarcasm.

  “Ah, yuh can go and see fer yourselves; yuh don’t need t’ take my word fer nothing” cried Happy Jack, much grieved that they should doubt him. “I hain’t had but one drink t’day—and that wasn’t nothin’ but beer. It’s straight goods: Weary’s as full as he can git and top a horse. He’s sure enjoyin’ himself, too. Dry Lake is all hisn—and the way he’s misusin’ the rights uh ownership is plumb scand’l’us. He makes me think of a cow on the fight in a forty-foot corral; nobody dast show their noses outside; Dry Lake’s holed up in their sullers, till he quits camp.

  “I seen him cut down on the hotel China-cook jest for tryin’ t’ make a sneak out t’ the ice-house after some meat fer dinner. He like t’ got him, too. Chink dodged behind the board-pile in the back yard, an’ laid down. He was still there when I left town, and the chances is somebody else’ll have t’ cook dinner t’day. Weary was so busy close-herdin’ the Chinaman that I got a chanst t’ sneak out the back door uh Rusty’s place, climb on m’ horse and take a shoot up around by the stockyards and pull fer camp. I couldn’t git t’ the store, so I didn’t bring out no mail.”

  The Happy Family drew a long breath. This was getting beyond a joke.

  “Looks t’ me like you fellows’d come alive and do something about it,” hinted Happy, with his mouth full. “Weary’ll shoot somebody, er git shot, if he ain’t took care of mighty quick.”

  “Happy,” said Chip bluntly, “I don’t grab that yarn. Weary may be in town, and he may be having a little fun with Dry Lake, but he isn’t drunk. When you try to run a whizzer like that, you can put me down as being from Missouri.”

  “Same here,” put in Pink, ominously soft as to voice. “Anybody that tries to make me believe Weary’s performing that way has sure got his work cut out for him. If it was Happy, now—”

  “Gee!” cried Jack Bates, laughing as a possible solution came to him. “I’m willing to bet money he was just stringing Happy. I’ll bet he done it deliberate and with malice aforethought, just to make Happy sneak out uh town and burn the earth getting here so he could tell it scarey to the rest of us.”

  “Yeah, that’s about the size of it,” assented Cal.

  The Family felt that they had a new one on Happy Jack, and showed it in the smiles they sent toward him.

  “By golly, yes!” broke out Slim. “Weary’s been layin’ for Happy for a long while to pay off making the tent leak on him, that night; he’s sure played a good one, this time!”

  Happy carefully balanced his plate on the wagon-tongue near the doubletrees, and stood glaring down upon his tormentors.

  “Aw, look here!” he began, with his voice very near to tears. Then he gulped and took a more warlike tone. “I don’t set m’self up t’ be a know-it-all—but I guess I can tell when a man’s full uh booze. And I ain’t claimin’ t’ be no Jiujitsu sharp” (with a meaning glance at Pink) “and I know the chances I’m takin’ when I stand up agin the bunch—but I’m ready, here and now, t’ fight any damn man that says I’m a liar, er that Weary was jest throwin’ a load into me. Two or three uh yuh have licked me mor’n once—but that’s all right. I’m willing t�
� back up anything I’ve said, and yuh can wade right in a soon as you’re a mind to.

  “I don’t back down a darn inch. Weary’s in Dry Lake. He is drunk. And he is shootin’ up the town. If yuh don’t want t’ believe it, I guess they’s no law t’ make yuh—but if yuh got any sense, and are any friends uh Weary’s, yuh’ll mosey in and fetch him out here if yuh have t’ bring him the way he brung ole Dock that time Patsy took cramps. Go on in and see fer yourselves, darn yuh! But don’t go shootin’ off your faces to me till yuh got a license to.”

  This, if unassuring, was convincing. The Happy Family stopped smiling, and looked at one another uncertainly.

  “I guess two or three of you better ride in and see what there is to it,” announced Chip, dryly. “If Happy is romancing—” His look was eloquent.

  But Happy Jack, though he stood a good deal in awe of Chip and his sarcasm, never flinched. He looked him straight in the eye and maintained the calm of conscious innocence.

  “I’ll go,” said Pink, getting up and throwing his plate and cup into the dishpan. “Mind yuh, I don’t believe a word of it; Happy, if this is just a sell, so help me Josephine, you’ll learn some brand new Jiujitsu right away quick.”

  “I’ll go along too,” Happy boldly retorted, “so if yuh want anything uh me, after you’ve saw Weary, yuh won’t need t’ wait till yuh strike camp t’ git it. Weary loadin’ me, was he? Yuh’ll find out, all uh yuh, that it’s him that’s loaded.”

  They caught fresh horses and started—Cal, Pink, Jack Bates and Happy Jack. And Happy stood their jeers throughout the ten-mile ride with an equanimity that was new to them. For the most part he rode in silence, and grinned knowingly when they laughed too loudly at the joke Weary was playing.

  “All right—maybe he is,” he flung back, once. “But he sure looks the part well enough t’ keep all Dry Lake indoors—and I never knowed Weary t’ terrorize a hull town before. And where’d he git that horse? and where’s Glory at? and why ain’t he comin’ on t’ camp t’ help you chumps giggle? Ain’t he had plenty uh time t’ foller me out and enjoy his little joke? And another thing, he was hard at it when I struck town. Now, where’d yuh get off at?”