I taken off my coonskin cap, and said: “Good mornin’, Glory, how’re you- all this mornin’?”
“Joe got kicked right severe by pap’s sorrel mare yesterday,” she says. “Just knocked some hide off, though. Outside of that we’re all doin’ fine. Air you glued to that mule?”
“No’m,” I says, and clumb down, and says: “Lemme tote yore pail, Glory.”
She started to hand it to me, and then she frowned and p’inted at my shirt, and says: “You been fightin’ agen.”
“Nobody but Joel Braxton,” I said. “‘Twarn’t nothin’. He said moskeeters in the Injun Territory was bigger’n what they be in Texas.”
“What you know about it?” says she. “You ain’t never been to Texas.”
“Well, he ain’t never been to the Injun Territory neither,” I said. “‘Taint the moskeeters. It’s the principle of the thing. My folks all come from Texas, and no Braxton can slander the State around me.”
“You fight too much,” she said. “Who licked?”
“Why, me, of course,” I said. “I always do, don’t I?”
This harmless statement seemed to irritate her.
“I reckon you think nobody on Bear Creek can lick you,” she sneered.
“Well,” I says truthfully, “nobody ain’t, up to now — outside of pap.”
“You ain’t never fit none of my brothers,” she snapped.
“That’s why,” I said. “I’ve took quite a lot of sass offa them ganglin’ mavericks jest because they was yore brothers and I didn’t want to hurt ‘em.”
Gals is funny about some things. She got mad and jerked the pail out of my hand, and says: “Oh, is that so? Well, lemme tell you right now, Breckinridge Elkins, the littlest one of my brothers can lick you like a balky hoss, and if you ever lay a finger on one of ‘em, I’ll fix you! And furthermore and besides, they’s a gent up to the cabin right now which could pull his shootin’ iron and decorate yore whole carcass with lead polka-dots whilst you was fumblin’ for yore old cap-and-ball pistol!”
“I don’t claim to be no gunfighter,” I says mildly. “But I bet he cain’t sling iron fast as my cousin Jack Gordon.”
“You and yore cousins!” says she plenty scornful. “This feller is sech a gent as you never drempt existed! He’s a cowpuncher from the Wild River Country, and he’s ridin’ through to Chawed Ear and he stopped at our cabin for dinner. If you could see him, you wouldn’t never brag no more. You with that old mule and them moccasins and buckskin clothes!”
“Well, gosh, Glory!” I says plumb bewildered. “What’s the matter with buckskin? I like it better’n homespun.”
“Hah!” sneered she. “You oughta see Mr. Snake River Wilkinson! He ain’t wearin’ neither buckskins nor homespun. Store-bought clothes! I never seen such elegance. Star top boots, and gold-mounted spurs! And a red neckcloth — he said silk. I dunno. I never seen nothin’ like it before. And a shirt all red and green and yaller and beautiful! And a white Stetson hat! And a pearl- handled six-shooter! And the finest hoss and riggin’s you ever seen, you big dummox!”
“Aw, well, gosh!” I said, getting irritated. “If this here Mister Wilkinson is so blame gorgeous, whyn’t you marry him?”
I ought not to said it. Her eyes flashed blue sparks.
“I will!” she gritted. “You think a fine gentleman like him wouldn’t marry me, hey? I’ll show you! I’ll marry him right now!”
And impulsively shattering her water bucket over my head she turned and run up the trail.
“Glory, wait!” I hollered, but by the time I got the water out of my eyes and the oak splinters out of my hair she was gone.
Alexander was gone too. He taken off down the creek when Glory started yelling at me, because he was a smart mule in his dumb way, and could tell when thunder-showers was brewing. I run him for a mile before I caught him, and then I got onto him and headed for the McGraw cabin agen. Glory was mad enough to do anything she thought would worry me, and they warn’t nothing would worry me more’n for her to marry some dern cowpuncher from the river country. She was plumb wrong when she thought I thought he wouldn’t have her. Any man which would pass up a chance to get hitched with Glory McGraw would be a dern fool, I don’t care what color his shirt was.
My heart sunk into my moccasins as I approached the alder clump where we’d had our row. I figgered she’d stretched things a little talking about Mr. Wilkinson’s elegance, because whoever heard of a shirt with three colors into it, or gold-mounted spurs? Still, he was bound to be rich and wonderful from what she said, and what chance did I have? All the clothes I had was what I had on, and I hadn’t never even seen a store-bought shirt, much less owned one. I didn’t know whether to fall down in the trail and have a good bawl, or go get my rifle-gun and lay for Mr. Wilkinson.
Then, jest as I got back to where I’d saw Glory last, here she come again, running like a scairt deer, with her eyes all wide and her mouth open.
“Breckinridge!” she panted. “Oh, Breckinridge! I’ve played hell now!”
“What you mean?” I said.
“Well,” says she, “that there cowpuncher Mister Wilkinson had been castin’ eyes at me ever since he arriv at our cabin, but I hadn’t give him no encouragement. But you made me so mad awhile ago, I went back to the cabin, and I marched right up to him, and I says: ‘Mister Wilkinson, did you ever think about gittin’ married?’ He grabbed me by the hand and he says, says he: ‘Gal, I been thinkin’ about it ever since I seen you choppin’ wood outside the cabin as I rode by. Fact is, that’s why I stopped here.’ I was so plumb flabbergasted I didn’t know what to say, and the first thing I knowed, him and pap was makin’ arrangements for the weddin’!”
“Aw, gosh!” I said.
She started wringing her hands.
“I don’t want to marry Mister Wilkinson!” she hollered. “I don’t love him! He turnt my head with his elegant manners and striped shirt! What’ll I do? Pap’s sot on me marryin’ the feller!”
“Well, I’ll put a stop to that,” I says. “No dem cowcountry dude can come into the Humbolts and steal my gal. Air they all up to the cabin now?”
“They’re arguin’ about the weddin’ gift,” says Glory. “Pap thinks Mister Wilkinson oughta give him a hundred dollars. Mister Wilkinson offered him his Winchester instead of the cash. Be keerful, Breckinridge! Pap don’t like you much, and Mister Wilkinson has got a awful mean eye, and his scabbard-end tied to his laig.”
“I’ll be plumb diplomatic,” I promised, and got onto my mule Alexander and reched down and lifted Glory on behind me, and we rode up the path till we come to within maybe a hundred foot of the cabin door. I seen a fine white hoss tied in front of the cabin, and the saddle and bridle was the most elegant I ever seen. The silverwork shone when the sun hit it. We got off and I tied Alexander, and Glory hid behind a white oak. She warn’t scairt of nobody but her old man, but he shore had her number.
“Be keerful, Breckinridge,” she begged. “Don’t make pap or Mister Wilkinson mad. Be tactful and meek.”
So I said I would, and went up to the door. I could hear Miz McGraw and the other gals cooking dinner in the back room, and I could hear Old Man McGraw talking loud in the front room.
“‘Taint enough!” says he. “I oughta have the Winchester and ten dollars. I tell you, Wilkinson, it’s cheap enough for a gal like Glory! It plumb busts my heart strings to let her go, and nothin’ but greenbacks is goin’ to soothe the sting!”
“The Winchester and five bucks,” says a hard voice which I reckoned was Mister Wilkinson. “It’s a prime gun, I tell you. Ain’t another’n like it in these mountains.”
“Well,” begun Old Man McGraw in a covetous voice, and jest then I come in through the door, ducking my head to keep from knocking it agen the lintel- log.
Old Man McGraw was setting there, tugging at his black beard, and them long gangling boys of his’n, Joe and Bill and John, was there gawking as usual, and there on a bench nigh the empty fireplace s
ot Mister Wilkinson in all his glory. I batted my eyes. I never seen such splendor in all my born days. Glory had told the truth about everything: the white Stetson with the fancy leather band, and the boots and gold-mounted spurs, and the shirt. The shirt nigh knocked my eyes out. I hadn’t never dreamed nothing could be so beautiful — all big broad stripes of red and yaller and green! I seen his gun, too, a pearl-handled Colt .45 in a black leather scabbard which was wore plumb smooth and the end tied down to his laig with a rawhide thong. I could tell he hadn’t never wore a glove on his right hand, neither, by the brownness of it. He had the hardest, blackest eyes I ever seen. They looked right through me.
I was very embarrassed, being quite young then, but I pulled myself together and says very polite: “Howdy, Mister McGraw.”
“Who’s this young grizzly?” demanded Mister Wilkinson suspiciously.
“Git out of here, Elkins,” requested Old Man McGraw angrily. “We’re talkin’ over private business. You git!”
“I know what kind of business you-all are talkin’ over,” I retorted, getting irritated. But I remembered Glory said be diplomatic, so I said: “I come here to tell you the weddin’s off! Glory ain’t goin’ to marry Mister Wilkinson. She’s goin’ to marry me, and anybody which comes between us had better be able to rassle cougars and whup grizzlies bare-handed!”
“Why, you—” begun Mister Wilkinson in a blood-thirsty voice, as he riz onto his feet like a painter fixing to go into action.
“Git outa here!” bellered Old Man McGraw jumping up and grabbing the iron poker. “What I does with my datter ain’t none of yore business! Mister Wilkinson here is makin’ me a present of his prime Winchester and five dollars in hard money! What could you offer me, you mountain of beef and ignorance?”
“A bust in the snoot, you old tightwad,” I replied heatedly, but still remembering to be diplomatic. They warn’t no use in offending him, and I was determined to talk quiet and tranquil, in spite of his insults. So I said: “A man which would sell his datter for five dollars and a gun ought to be et alive by the buzzards! You try to marry Glory to Mister Wilkinson and see what happens to you, sudden and onpleasant!”
“Why, you — !” says Old Man McGraw, swinging up his poker. “I’ll bust yore fool skull like a egg!”
“Lemme handle him,” snarled Mister Wilkinson. “Git outa the way and gimme a clean shot at him. Lissen here, you jack-eared mountain-mule, air you goin’ out of here perpendicular, or does you prefer to go horizontal?”
“Open the ball whenever you feels lucky, you stripe-bellied polecat!” I retorted courteously, and he give a snarl and went for his gun, but I got mine out first and shot it out of his hand along with one of his fingers before he could pull his trigger.
He give a howl and staggered back agen the wall, glaring wildly at me, and at the blood dripping off his hand, and I stuck my old cap-and-ball .44 back in the scabbard and said: “You may be accounted a fast gunslinger down in the low country, but yo’re tolerable slow on the draw to be foolin’ around Bear Creek. You better go on home now, and—”
It was at this moment that Old Man McGraw hit me over the head with his poker. He swung it with both hands as hard as he could, and if I hadn’t had on my coonskin cap I bet it would have skint my head some. As it was it knocked me to my knees, me being off-guard that way, and his three boys run in and started beating me with chairs and benches and a table laig. Well, I didn’t want to hurt none of Glory’s kin, but I had bit my tongue when the old man hit me with his poker, and that always did irritate me. Anyway, I seen they warn’t no use arguing with them fool boys. They was out for blood — mine, to be exact.
So I riz up and taken Joe by the neck and crotch and throwed him through a winder as gentle as I could, but I forgot about the hickory-wood bars which was nailed acrost it to keep the bears out. He took ’em along with him, and that was how he got skint up like he did. I heard Glory let out a scream outside, and would have hollered out to let her know I was all right and for her not to worry about me, but just as I opened my mouth to do it, John jammed the butt-end of a table laig into it.
Sech treatment would try the patience of a saint, still and all I didn’t really intend to hit John as hard as I did. How was I to know a tap like I give him would knock him through the door and dislocate his jawbone?
Old Man McGraw was dancing around trying to get another whack at me with his bent poker without hitting Bill which was hammering me over the head with a chair, but Mister Wilkinson warn’t taking no part in the fray. He was backed up agen a wall with a wild look on his face. I reckon he warn’t used to Bear Creek squabbles.
I taken the chair away from Bill and busted it over his head jest to kinda cool him off a little, and jest then Old Man McGraw made another swipe at me with his poker, but I ducked and grabbed him, and Bill stooped over to pick up a bowie knife which had fell out of somebody’s boot. His back was towards me so I planted my moccasin in the seat of his britches with considerable force and he shot head-first through the door with a despairing howl. Somebody else screamed too, that sounded like Glory. I didn’t know at the time I that she was running up to the door and was knocked down by Bill as he catapulted into the yard.
I couldn’t see what was going on outside, and Old Man McGraw was chawing my thumb and feeling for my eye, so I throwed him after John and Bill, and he’s a liar when he said I aimed him at that rain-barrel a-purpose. I didn’t even know they was one there till I heard the crash as his head went through the staves.
I turned around to have some more words with Mister Wilkinson, but he jumped through the winder I’d throwed Joe through, and when I tried to foller him, I couldn’t get my shoulders through. So I run out at the door and Glory met me just as I hit the yard and she give me a slap in the face that sounded like a beaver hitting a mud bank with his tail.
“Why, Glory!” I says, dumbfounded, because her blue eyes was blazing, and her yaller hair was nigh standing on end. She was so mad she was crying and that’s the first time I ever knowed she couldcry. “What’s the matter? What’ve I did?”
“What have you did?” she raged, doing a kind of a war-dance on her bare feet. “You outlaw! You murderer! You jack-eared son of a spotted tail skunk! Look what you done!” She p’inted at her old man dazedly pulling his head out of the rooins of the rain-barrel, and her brothers laying around the yard in various positions, bleeding freely and groaning loudly. “You tried to murder my family!” says she, shaking her fists under my nose. “You throwed Bill onto me on purpose!”
“I didn’t neither!” I exclaimed, shocked and scandalized. “You know I wouldn’t hurt a hair of yore head, Glory! Why, all I done, I done it for you—”
“You didn’t have to mutilate my pap and my brothers!” she wept furiously. Ain’t that just like a gal? What could I done but what I did? She hollered: “If you really loved me you wouldn’t of hurt ‘em! You jest done it for meanness! I told you to be ca’m and gentle! Whyn’t you do it? Shet up! Don’t talk to me! Well, whyn’t you say somethin’? Ain’t you got no tongue?”
“I handled ’em easy as I could!” I roared, badgered beyond endurance. “It warn’t my fault. If they’d had any sense, they wouldn’t—”
“Don’t you dare slander my folks!” she yelped. “What you done to Mister Wilkinson?”
The aforesaid gent jest then come limping around the corner of the cabin, and started for his hoss, and Glory run to him and grabbed his arm, and said: “If you still want to marry me, stranger, it’s a go! I’ll ride off with you right now!”
He looked at me and shuddered, and jerked his arm away.
“Do I look like a dern fool?” he inquired with some heat. “I advises you to marry that young grizzly there, for the sake of public safety, if nothin’ else! Marry you when he wants you? No, thank you! I’m leavin’ a valuable finger as a sooverneer of my sojourn, but I figger it’s a cheap price! After watchin’ that human tornado in action, I calculate a finger ain’t nothin’ to bother about!
Adios!If I ever come within a hundred miles of Bear Creek again it’ll be because I’ve gone plumb loco!”
And with that he forked his critter and took off up the trail like the devil was after him.
“Now look what you done!” wept Glory. “Now he won’t never marry me!”
“But I thought you didn’t want to marry him!” I says, plumb bewildered.
She turned on me like a catamount.
“I didn’t!” she shrieked. “I wouldn’t marry him if he was the last man on earth! But I demands the right to say yes or no for myself! I don’t aim to be bossed around by no hillbilly on a mangy mule!”
“Alexander ain’t mangy,” I said. “Besides, I warn’t, tryin’ to boss you around, Glory. I war just fixin’ it so yore pap wouldn’t make you marry Mister Wilkinson. Bein’ as we aims to marry ourselves—”
“Who said we aimed to?” she hollered. “Me marry you, after you beat up my pap and my brothers like you done? You think yo’re the best man on Bear Creek! Ha! You with yore buckskin britches and old cap-and-ball pistol and coonskin cap! Me marry you? Git on yore mangy mule and git before I takes a shotgun to you!”
“All right!” I roared, getting mad at last. “All right, if that’s the way you want to ack! You ain’t the only gal in these mountains! They’s plenty of gals which would be glad to have me callin’ on ‘em.”
“Who, for a instance?” she sneered.
“Ellen Reynolds, for instance!” I bellered. “That’s who!”
“All right!” says she, trembling with rage. “Go and spark that stuck-up hussy on yore mangy mule with yore old moccasins and cap-and-ball gun! See if I care!”
“I aim to!” I assured her bitterly. “And I won’t be on no mule, neither. I’ll be on the best hoss in the Humbolts, and I’ll have me some boots on to my feet, and a silver mounted saddle and bridle, and a pistol that shoots store- bought ca’tridges, too! You wait and see!”
Delphi Works of Robert E. Howard (Illustrated) (Series Four) Page 43
