Delphi Works of Robert E. Howard (Illustrated) (Series Four)

by Robert E. Howard

  He tried to scrape me off agen the walls, too, but all he done was scrape off some hide and most of my pants, though it was when he lurched agen that outjut of rock that I got them ribs cracked, I reckon.

  He looked like he was able to go on forever, and aimed to, but I hadn’t never met nothing which could outlast me, and I stayed with him, even after I started bleeding at the nose and mouth and ears, and got blind, and then all to onst he was standing stock still in the middle of the bowl, with his tongue hanging out about three foot, and his sweat-soaked sides heaving, and the sun was just setting over the mountains. He’d bucked nearly all afternoon!

  But he was licked. I knowed it and he knowed it. I shaken the stars and sweat and blood out of my eyes and dismounted by the simple process of pulling my feet out of the stirrups and falling off. I laid there for maybe a hour, and was most amazing sick, but so was Cap’n Kidd. When I was able to stand on my feet I taken the saddle and the hackamore off and he didn’t kick me nor nothing. He jest made a half-hearted attempt to bite me but all he done was to bite the buckle offa my gunbelt. They was a little spring back in the cleft where the bowl narrered in the cliff, and plenty of grass, so I figgered he’d be all right when he was able to stop blowing and panting long enough to eat and drink.

  I made a fire outside the bowl and cooked me what was left of the b’ar meat, and then I lay down on the ground and slept till sunup.

  When I riz up and seen how late it was, I jumped up and run and looked over the wall, and there was Cap’n Kidd mowing the grass down as ca’m as you please. He give me a mean look, but didn’t say nothing. I was so eager to see if he was going to let me ride him without no more foolishness that I didn’t stop for breakfast, nor to fix the buckle onto my gunbelt. I left it hanging on a spruce limb, and clumb into the bowl. Cap’n Kidd laid back his ears but didn’t do nothing as I approached outside of making a swipe at me with his left hoof. I dodged and give him a good hearty kick in the belly and he grunted and doubled up, and I clapped the saddle on him. He showed his teeth at that, but he let me cinch it up, and put on the hackamore, and when I got on him he didn’t pitch but about ten jumps and make but one snap at my laig.

  Well, I was plumb tickled as you can imagine. I clumb down and opened the gap in the wall and led him out, and when he found he was outside the bowl he bolted and dragged me for a hundred yards before I managed to get the rope around a tree. After I tied him up though, he didn’t try to bust loose.

  I started back towards the tree where I left my gunbelt when I heard hosses running, and the next thing I knowed Donovan and his five men busted into the open and pulled up with their mouths wide open. Cap’n Kidd snorted warlike when he seen ‘em, but didn’t cut up no other way.

  “Blast my soul!” says Donovan. “Can I believe my eyes? If there ain’t Cap’n Kidd hisself, saddled and tied to that tree! Did you do that?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  He looked me over and said: “I believes it. You looked like you been through a sausage-grinder. Air you still alive?”

  “My ribs is kind of sore,” I said.

  “ — !” says Donovan. “To think that a blame half-naked hillbilly should do what the best hossmen of the West has attempted in vain! I don’t aim to stand for it! I knows my rights! That there is my hoss by rights! I’ve trailed him nigh a thousand miles, and combed this cussed plateau in a circle. He’s my hoss!”

  “He ain’t, nuther,” I says. “He come from the Humbolts original, jest like me. You said so yoreself. Anyway, I caught him and broke him, and he’s mine.”

  “He’s right, Bill,” one of the men says to Donovan.

  “You shet up!” roared Donovan. “What Wild Bill Donovan wants, he gits!”

  I reched for my gun and then remembered in despair that it was hanging on a limb a hundred yards away. Donovan covered me with the sawed-off shotgun he jerked out of his saddle-holster as he swung down.

  “Stand where you be,” he advised me. “I ought to shoot you for not comin’ and tellin’ me when you seen the hoss, but after all you’ve saved me the trouble of breakin’ him in.”

  “So yo’re a hoss-thief!” I said wrathfully.

  “You be keerful what you calls me!” he roared. “I ain’t no hoss thief. We gambles for that hoss. Set down!”

  I sot and he sot on his heels in front of me, with his sawed-off still covering me. If it’d been a pistol I would of took it away from him and shoved the barrel down his throat. But I was quite young in them days and bashful about shotguns. The others squatted around us, and Donovan says: “Smoky, haul out yore deck — the special one. Smoky deals, hillbilly, and the high hand wins the hoss.”

  “I’m puttin’ up my hoss, it looks like,” I says fiercely. “What you puttin’ up?”

  “My Stetson hat!” says he. “Haw! haw! haw!”

  “Haw! haw! haw!” chortles the other hoss-thieves.

  Smoky started dealing and I said: “Hey! Yo’re dealin’ Donovan’s hand offa the bottom of the deck!”

  “Shet up!” roared Donovan, poking me in the belly with his shotgun. “You be keerful how you slings them insults around! This here is a fair and square game, and I just happen to be lucky. Can you beat four aces?”

  “How you know you got four aces?” I says fiercely. “You ain’t looked at yore hand yet.”

  “Oh,” says he, and picked it up and spread it out on the grass, and they was four aces and a king. “By golly!” says he. “I shore called that shot right!”

  “Remarkable foresight!” I said bitterly, throwing down my hand which was a three, five and seven of hearts, a ten of clubs and a jack of diamonds.

  “Then I wins!” gloated Donovan, jumping up. I riz too, quick and sudden, but Donovan had me covered with that cussed shotgun.

  “Git on that hoss and ride him over to our camp, Red,” says Donovan, to a big red-headed hombre which was shorter than him but jest about as big. “See if he’s properly broke. I wants to keep my eye on this hillbilly myself.”

  So Red went over to Cap’n Kidd which stood there saying nothing, and my heart sunk right down to the tops of my spiked shoes. Red ontied him and clumb on him and Cap’n Kidd didn’t so much as snap at him. Red says: “Git goin’, cuss you!” Cap’n Kidd turnt his head and looked at Red and then he opened his mouth like a alligator and started laughing. I never seen a hoss laugh before, but now I know what they mean by a hoss-laugh. Cap’n Kidd didn’t neigh nor nicker. He jest laughed. He laughed till the acorns come rattling down outa the trees and the echoes rolled through the cliffs like thunder. And then he reched his head around and grabbed Red’s laig and dragged him out of the saddle, and held him upside down with guns and things spilling out of his scabbards and pockets, and Red yelling blue murder. Cap’n Kidd shaken him till he looked like a rag and swung him around his head three or four times, and then let go and throwed him clean through a alder thicket.

  Them fellers all stood gaping, and Donovan had forgot about me, so I grabbed the shotgun away from him and hit him under the ear with my left fist and he bit the dust. I then swung the gun on the others and roared: “Onbuckle them gunbelts, cuss ye!” They was bashfuller about buckshot at close range than I was. They didn’t argy. Them four gunbelts was on the grass before I stopped yelling.

  “All right,” I said. “Now go catch Cap’n Kidd.”

  Because he had gone over to where their hosses was tied and was chawing and kicking the tar out of them and they was hollering something fierce.

  “He’ll kill us!” squalled the men.

  “Well, what of it?” I snarled. “Gwan!”

  So they made a desperate foray onto Cap’n Kidd and the way he kicked ’em in the belly and bit the seat out of their britches was beautiful to behold. But whilst he was stomping them I come up and grabbed his hackamore and when he seen who it was he stopped fighting, so I tied him to a tree away from the other hosses. Then I throwed Donovan’s shotgun onto the men and made ’em get up and come over to where Donovan was layin
g, and they was a bruised and battered gang. The way they taken on you’d of thought somebody had mistreated ‘em.

  I made ’em take Donovan’s gunbelt offa him and about that time he come to and sot up, muttering something about a tree falling on him.

  “Don’t you remember me?” I says. “I’m Breckinridge Elkins.”

  “It all comes back,” he muttered. “We gambled for Cap’n Kidd.”

  “Yeah,” I says, “and you won, so now we gambles for him again. You sot the stakes before. This time I sets ‘em. I matches these here britches I got on agen Cap’n Kidd, and yore saddle, bridle, gunbelt, pistol, pants, shirt, boots, spurs and Stetson.”

  “Robbery!” he bellered. “Yo’re a cussed bandit!”

  “Shet up,” I says, poking him in the midriff with his shotgun. “Squat! The rest of you, too.”

  “Ain’t you goin’ to let us do somethin’ for Red?” they said. Red was laying on the other side of the thicket Cap’n Kidd had throwed him through, groaning loud and fervent.

  “Let him lay for a spell,” I says. “If he’s dyin’ they ain’t nothin’ we can do for him, and if he ain’t, he’ll keep till this game’s over. Deal, Smoky, and deal from the top of the deck this time.”

  So Smoky dealed in fear and trembling, and I says to Donovan: “What you got?”

  “A royal flush of diamonds, by God!” he says. “You cain’t beat that!”

  “A royal flush of hearts’ll beat it, won’t it, Smoky?” I says, and Smoky says: “Yuh — yuh — yeah! Yeah! Oh, yeah!”

  “Well,” I said, “I ain’t looked at my hand yet, but I bet that’s jest what I got. What you think?” I says, p’inting the shotgun at Donovan’s upper teeth. “Don’t you reckon I’ve got a royal flush in hearts?”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me a bit,” says Donovan, turning pale.

  “Then everybody’s satisfied and they ain’t no use in me showin’ my hand,” I says, throwing the cards back into the pack. “Shed them duds!”

  He shed ’em without a word, and I let ’em take up Red, which had seven busted ribs, a dislocated arm and a busted laig, and they kinda folded him acrost his I saddle and tied him in place. Then they pulled out without saying a word or looking back. They all looked purty wilted, and Donovan particularly looked very pecooliar in the blanket he had wrapped around his middle. If he’d had a feather in his hair he’d of made a lovely Piute, as I told him. But he didn’t seem to appreciate the remark. Some men just naturally ain’t got no sense of humor.

  They headed east, and as soon as they was out of sight, I put the saddle and bridle I’d won onto Cap’n Kidd and getting the bit in his mouth was about like rassling a mountain tornado. But I done it, and then I put on the riggins I’d won. The boots was too small and the shirt fit a mite too snug in the shoulders, but I sure felt elegant, nevertheless, and stalked up and down admiring myself and wishing Glory McGraw could see me then.

  I cached my old saddle, belt and pistol in a holler tree, aiming to send my younger brother Bill back after ‘em. He could have ‘em, along with Alexander. I was going back to Bear Creek in style, by golly!

  With a joyful whoop I swung onto Cap’n Kidd, headed him west and tickled his flanks with my spurs — them trappers in the mountains which later reported having seen a blue streak traveling westwardly so fast they didn’t have time to tell what it was, and was laughed at and accused of being drunk, was did a injustice. What they seen was me and Cap’n Kidd going to Bear Creek. He run fifty miles before he even pulled up for breath.

  I ain’t going to tell how long it took Cap’n Kidd to cover the distance to Bear Creek. Nobody wouldn’t believe me. But as I come up the trail a few miles from my home cabin, I heard a hoss galloping and Glory McGraw bust into view. She looked pale and scairt, and when she seen me she give a kind of a holler and pulled up her hoss so quick it went back onto its haunches.

  “Breckinridge!” she gasped. “I jest heard from yore folks that yore mule come home without you, and I was just startin’ out to look for — oh!” says she, noticing my hoss and elegant riggings for the first time. She kind of froze up, and said stiffly: “Well, MisterElkins, I see yo’re back home again.”

  “And you sees me rigged up in store-bought clothes and ridin’ the best hoss in the Humbolts, too, I reckon,” I said. “I hope you’ll excuse me, Miss McGraw. I’m callin’ on Ellen Reynolds as soon as I’ve let my folks know I’m home safe. Good day!”

  “Don’t let me detain you!” she flared, but after I’d rode on past she hollered: “Breckinridge Elkins, I hate you!”

  “I know that,” I said bitterly, “they warn’t no use in tellin’ me again—”

  But she was gone, riding lickety-split off through the woods towards her home-cabin and I rode on for mine, thinking to myself what curious critters gals was anyway.

  * * *

  4. GUNS OF THE MOUNTAINS

  THINGS run purty smooth for maybe a month after I got back to Bear Creek. Folks come from miles around to see Cap’n Kidd and hear me tell about licking Wild Bill Donovan, and them fancy clothes sure had a pleasing effeck on Ellen Reynolds. The only flies in the ‘intment was Joel Braxton’s brother Jim, Ellen’s old man, and my Uncle Garfield Elkins; but of him anon as the French says.

  Old Man Braxton didn’t like me much, but I had learnt my lesson in dealing with Old Man McGraw. I taken no foolishness offa him, and Ellen warn’t nigh as sensitive about it as Glory had been. But I warn’t sure about Jim Braxton. I discouraged him from calling on Ellen, and I done it purty vi’lent, but I warn’t sure he warn’t sneaking around and sparking her on the sly, and I couldn’t tell just what she thought about him. But I was making progress, when the third fly fell into the ‘intment.

  Pap’s Uncle Garfield Elkins come up from Texas to visit us.

  That was bad enough by itself, but between Grizzly Run and Chawed Ear the stage got held up by some masked bandits, and Uncle Garfield, never being able to forget that he was a gunfighting fool thirty or forty years ago, pulled his old cap-and-ball instead of reching for the clouds like he was advised to. For some reason, instead of blowing out his light, they merely busted him over the head with a .45 barrel, and when he come to he was rattling on his way towards Chawed Ear with the other passengers, minus his money and watch.

  It was his watch what caused the trouble. That there timepiece had been his grandpap’s, back in Kentucky, and Uncle Garfield sot more store by it than he did all his kin folks.

  When he arriv onto Bear Creek he imejitly let into howling his woes to the stars like a wolf with the belly-ache. And from then on we heered nothing but that watch. I’d saw it and thunk very little of it. It was big as my fist, and wound up with a key which Uncle Garfield was always losing and looking for. But it was solid gold, and he called it a hairloom, whatever them things is. And he nigh driv the family crazy.

  “A passle of big hulks like you-all settin’ around and lettin’ a old man git robbed of all his property,” he would say bitterly. “When I was a young buck, if’n my uncle had been abused that way, I’d of took the trail and never slept nor et till I brung back his watch and the sculp of the skunk which hived it. Men now days—” And so on and so on, till I felt like drownding the old jassack in a barrel of corn licker.

  Finally pap says to me, combing his beard with his fingers; “Breckinridge,” says he, “I’ve endured Uncle Garfield’s belly-achin’ all I aim to. I wants you to go look for his cussed watch, and don’t come back without it.”

  “How’m I goin’ to know where to look?” I protested. “The feller which got it may be in Californy or Mexico by now.”

  “I realizes the difficulties,” says pap. “But warn’t you eager for farin’s which would make you a name in the world?”

  “They is times for everything,” I said. “Right now I’m interested in sparkin’ a gal, which I ain’t willin’ to leave for no wild goose chase.”

  “Well,” says pap, “I’ve done made up our mind. If Uncle Garfield knows so
mebody is out lookin’ for his cussed timepiece, maybe he’ll give the rest of us some peace. You git goin’, and if you cain’t find that watch, don’t come back till after Uncle Garfield has went home.”

  “How long does he aim to stay?” I demanded.

  “Well,” says pap, “Uncle Garfield’s visits generally last a year, at least.”

  At this I bust into earnest profanity.

  I says: “I got to stay away from home a year? Dang it, Pap, Jim Braxton’ll steal Ellen Reynolds away from me whilst I’m gone. I been courtin’ that gal till I’m ready to fall dead. I done licked her old man three times, and now, jest when I got her goin’, you tells me I got to up and leave her for a year with that dern Jim Braxton to have no competition with.”

  “You got to choose between Ellen Reynolds and yore own flesh and blood,” says pap. “I’m derned if I’ll listen to Uncle Garfield’s squawks any longer. You make yore own choice — but if you don’t choose to do what I asks you to, I’ll fill yore hide with buckshot every time I see you from now on.”

  Well, the result was that I was presently riding morosely away from home and Ellen Reynolds, and in the general direction of where Uncle Garfield’s blasted watch might possibly be.

  I rode by the Braxton cabin with the intention of dropping Jim a warning about his actions whilst I was gone, but I didn’t see his saddle on the corral fence, so I knowed he warn’t there. So I issued a general defiance to the family by slinging a .45 slug through the winder which knocked a corn cob pipe outa old man Braxton’s mouth. That soothed me a little, but I knowed very well that Jim would make a bee-line for the Reynolds cabin the second I was out of sight. I could just see him gorging on Ellen’s b’ar meat and honey, and bragging on hisself. I hoped Ellen would notice the difference between a loud- mouthed boaster like him, and a quiet modest young man like me, which never bragged, though admittedly the biggest man and the best fighter in the Humbolts.