I went to the ledge and clumb up on it, and there was a small cave behind it, and a big mountain lion in there. He give a grunt of surprise when he seen I was a human, and made a swipe at me, but I give him a bat on the head with my fist, and whilst he was still dizzy I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hauled him out of the cave and lugged him down to where I left my hoss.
Cap’n Kidd snorted when he seen the cougar and wanted to kick his brains out, but I give him a good kick in the stummick hisself, which is the only kind of reasoning Cap’n Kidd understands, and got on him and headed for the Barlow hangout.
I can think of a lot more pleasant jobs than totin’ a full-growed mountain lion down a thick-timbered mountainside on the back of a iron-jawed outlaw at midnight. I had the cat by the back of the neck with one hand, so hard he couldn’t squall, and I held him out at arm’s length as far from me and the hoss as I could, but every now and then he’d twist around so he could claw Cap’n Kidd with his hind laigs, and when this would happen Cap’n Kidd would squall with rage and start bucking all over the place. Sometimes he would buck the derned cougar onto me, and pulling him loose from my hide was wuss’ll pulling cockle-burrs out of a cow’s tail.
But presently I arriv close behind the cabin. I whistled like a whippoorwill for Bill, but he didn’t answer and warn’t nowheres to be seen, so I decided he’d got scairt and pulled out for home. But that was all right with me. I’d come to fight the Barlows, and I aimed to fight ‘em, with or without assistance. Bill would jest of been in the way.
I got off in the trees back of the cabin and throwed the reins over Cap’n Kidd’s head, and went up to the back of the cabin on foot, walking soft and easy. The moon was well up, by now, and what wind they was, was blowing towards me, which pleased me, because I didn’t want the hosses tied out in front to scent the cat and start cutting up before I was ready.
The fellers inside was still cussing and talking loud as I approached one of the winders on the side, and one hollered out: “Come on! Le’s git started! I craves Warren gore!” And about that time I give the cougar a heave and throwed him through the winder.
He let out a awful squall as he hit, and the fellers in the cabin hollered louder’n he did. Instantly a most awful bustle broke loose in there and of all the whooping and bellering and shooting I ever heard, and the lion squalling amongst it all, and clothes and hides tearing so you could hear it all over the clearing, and the hosses busting loose and tearing out through the bresh.
As soon as I hove the cat I run around to the door and a man was standing there with his mouth open, too surprised at the racket to do anything. So I taken his rifle away from him and broke the stock off on his head, and stood there at the door with the barrel intending to brain them Barlows as they run out. I was plumb certain they wouldrun out, because I have noticed that the average man is funny that way, and hates to be shet up in a cabin with a mad cougar as bad as the cougar would hate to be shet up in a cabin with a infuriated settler of Bear Creek.
But them scoundrels fooled me. ‘Pears like they had a secret door in the back wall, and whilst I was waiting for them to storm out through the front door and get their skulls cracked, they knocked the secret door open and went piling out that way.
By the time I realized what was happening and run around to the other end of the cabin, they was all out and streaking for the trees, yelling blue murder, with their clothes all tore to shreds and them bleeding like stuck hawgs.
That there catamount sure improved the shining hours whilst he was corralled with them Barlows. He come out after ’em with his mouth full of the seats of their britches, and when he seen me he give a kind of despairing yelp and taken out up the mountain with his tail betwixt his laigs like the devil was after him with a red-hot branding iron.
I taken after the Barlows, sot on scuttling at least a few of ‘em, and I was on the p’int of letting bam at ’em with my six-shooters as they run, when, jest as they reched the trees, all the Warren men riz out of the bresh and fell on ’em with piercing howls.
That fray was kind of pecooliar. I don’t remember a single shot being fired. The Barlows had all dropped their guns in their flight, and the Warrens seemed bent on wiping out their wrongs with their bare fists and gun butts. For a few seconds they was a hell of a scramble — men cussing and howling and bellering, and rifle-stocks cracking over heads, and the bresh crashing underfoot, and then before I could get into it, the Barlows broke every which- way and took out through the woods like jack-rabbits squalling Jedgment Day.
Old Man Warren come prancing out of the bresh waving his Winchester and his beard flying in the moonlight and he hollered: “The sins of the wicked shall return onto ‘em! Elkins, we have hit a powerful lick for righteousness this here night!”
“Where’d you all come from?” I ast. “I thought you was still back in yore cabin chawin’ the rag.”
“Well,” he says, “after you pulled out we decided to trail along and see how you come out with whatever you planned. As we come through the woods expectin’ to git ambushed every second, we met Bill here who told us he believed you had a idee of circumventin’ them devils, though he didn’t know what it war. So we come on and hid ourselves at the aidge of the trees to see what’d happen. I see we been too timid in our dealin’s with these heathens. We been lettin’ ’em force the fightin’ too long. You was right. A good offence is the best defence.”
“We didn’t kill any of the varmints, wuss luck, but we give ’em a prime lickin’. Hey, look there!” he hollered. “The boys has caught one of the critters! Lug him into the cabin, boys!”
They done so, and by the time me and the old man got there, they had the candles lit, and a rope around the Barlow’s neck and one end throwed on a rafter.
That cabin was a sight, all littered with broke guns and splintered chairs and tables, and pieces of clothes and strips of hide. It looked jest about like a cabin ought to look where they has jest been a fight between seventeen polecats and a mountain lion. It was a dirt floor, and some of the poles which helped hold up the roof was splintered, so most of the weight was resting on a big post in the centre of the hut.
All the Warrens was crowding around their prisoner, and when I looked over their heads and seen the feller’s pale face in the light of the candle I give a yell: “Dick Blanton!”
“So it is!” said Old Man Warren, rubbing his hands with glee. “So it is! Well, young feller, you got any last words to orate?”
“Naw,” said Blanton sullenly. “But if it hadn’t been for that derned lion spilin’ our plans we’d of had you derned Warrens like so much pork. I never heard of a cougar jumpin’ through a winder before.”
“That there cougar didn’t jump,” I said, shouldering through the mob. “He was hev. I done the heavin’.”
His mouth fell open and he looked at me like he’d saw the ghost of Sitting Bull. “Breckinridge Elkins!” says he. “I’m cooked now, for sure!”
“I’ll say you air!” gritted the feller who’d yearned to shoot Blanton earlier in the night. “What we waitin’ for? Le’s string him up.”
“Hold on,” I said. “You all cain’t hang him. I’m goin’ to take him back to Bear Creek.”
“You ain’t neither,” says Old Man Warren. “We’re much obleeged to you for the help you’ve give us tonight, but this here is the first chance we’ve had to hang a Barlow in fifteen year, and we aims to make the most of it. String him, boys!”
“Stop!” I roared, stepping for’ard.
In a second I was covered by seven rifles, whilst three men laid hold of the rope and started to heave Blanton’s feet off the floor. Them seven Winchesters didn’t stop me. I’d of taken them guns away and wiped up the floor with them ongrateful mavericks, but I was afeared Blanton might get hit in the wild shooting that was certain to accompany it.
What I wanted to do was something which would put ’em all horse-de- combat, as the French say, without getting Blanton killed. So I laid hold on the
center post and before they knowed what I was doing, I tore it loose and broke it off, and the roof caved in and the walls fell inwards on the roof.
In a second they warn’t no cabin at all — jest a pile of timber with the Warrens all underneath and screaming blue murder. Of course I jest braced my laigs and when the roof fell my head busted a hole through it, and the logs of the falling walls hit my shoulders and glanced off, so when the dust settled I was standing waist-deep amongst the rooins and nothing but a few scratches to show for it.
The howls that riz from beneath the rooins was blood-curdling, but I knowed nobody was hurt permanent because if they was they wouldn’t be able to howl like that. But I expect some of ’em would of been hurt if my head and shoulders hadn’t kind of broke the fall of the roof and wall-logs.
I located Blanton by his voice, and pulled pieces of roof board and logs off him until I came onto his laig, and I pulled him out by it and laid him on the ground to get his wind back, because a beam had fell acrost his stummick and when he tried to holler he made the funniest noise I ever heard.
I then kind of rooted around amongst the debris and hauled Old Man Warren out, and he seemed kind of dazed and kept talking about earthquakes.
“You better git to work extricatin’ yore misguided kin from under them logs,” I told him sternly. “After that there display of ingratitude I got no sympathy for you. In fact, if I was a short-tempered man I’d feel inclined to vi’lence. But bein’ the soul of kindness and generosity, I controls my emotions and merely remarks that if I wasn’t mild-mannered as a lamb, I’d hand you a boot in the pants — like this!”
I showed him how I meant.
“Owww!” wails he, sailing through the air and sticking his nose to the hilt in the dirt.
“I’ll have the law on you, you derned murderer!” he wept, shaking his fists at me, and as I departed with my captive I could hear him chanting a hymn of hate as he pulled logs off of his bellering relatives.
Blanton was trying to say something, but I told him I warn’t in no mood for perlite conversation and the less he said the less likely I was to lose my temper and tie his neck into a knot around a blackjack. I was thinking how the last time I seen Glory McGraw I told her I was faring forth to find me a town- gal, and now instead of bringing a wife back to Bear Creek, I was bringing back a brother-in-law. My relatives, I reflected bitterly, was sure playing hell with my matrimonial plans. Looked like I warn’t never going to get started on my own affairs.
Cap’n Kidd made the hundred miles from the Mezquital Mountains to Bear Creek by noon the next day, carrying double, and never stopping to eat, sleep, nor drink. Them that don’t believe that kindly keep their mouths shet. I have already licked nineteen men for acting like they didn’t believe it.
I stalked into the cabin and throwed Dick Blanton down onto the floor before Elinor which looked at him and me like she thought I was crazy.
“What you finds attractive about this coyote,” I said bitterly, “is beyond the grasp of my dust-coated brain. But here he is, and you can marry him right away.”
She said: “Air you drunk or sunstruck? Marry that good-for-nothin’, whisky-swiggin’, kyard-shootin’ loafer? Why, it ain’t been a week since I run him out of the house with a broom-handle.”
“Then he didn’t jilt you?” I gasped.
“Him jilt me?” she said. “I jilted him!”
I turned to Dick Blanton more in sorrer than in anger.
“Why,” said I, “did you boast all over Grizzly Run about jiltin’ Elinor Elkins?”
“I didn’t want folks to know she turned me down,” he said sullenly. “Us Blantons is proud. The only reason I ever thought about marryin’ her was I was ready to settle down on the farm pap gave me, and I wanted to marry me a Elkins gal, so I wouldn’t have to go to the expense of hirin’ a couple of hands and buyin’ a span of mules, and—”
They ain’t no use in Dick Blanton threatening to have the law onto me. He got off light to what he’d have got if pap and my brothers hadn’t all been off hunting. They’ve got terrible tempers. But I was always too soft-hearted for my own good. In spite of Dick Blanton’s insults I held my temper. I didn’t do nothing to him at all, except escort him with dignity for five or six miles down the Chawed Ear trail, kicking him in the seat of his britches.
* * *
7. THE ROAD TO BEAR CREEK
AS I come back up the trail after escorting Dick Blanton down it, I got nervous as I approached the p’int where the path that run from the McGraw cabin came out into it. If they was anybody I in the world right then I didn’t want to meet, it was Glory McGraw. I got past and hove a sigh of relief, and jest as I done so, I heard a hoss, and looked back and she was riding out of the path.
I taken to the bresh and to my rage she spurred her hoss and come after me. She was on a fast cayuse, but I thought if I keep my lead I’d be all right, because soon I’d be in the dense thickets where she couldn’t come a-hossback. I speeded up, because I’d had about all of her rawhiding I could endure. And then, as I was looking back over my shoulder, I run right smack into a low- hanging oak limb and nearly knocked my brains out. When things stopped spinning around me, I was setting on the ground, and Glory McGraw was setting on her hoss looking down at me.
“Why, Breckinridge,” she says mockingly. “Air in you scairt of me? What you want to run from me for?”
“I warn’t runnin’ from you,” I growled, glaring up at her. “I didn’t even know you was anywheres around. I seen one of pap’s steers sneakin’ off in the bresh, and I was tryin’ to head him. Now you done scairt him I away!”
I riz and breshed the dust offa my clothes with my I hat, and she says: “I been hearin’ a lot about you, Breckinridge. Seems like yo’re gittin’ to be quite a famous man.”
“Hmmmm!” I says, suspicious.
“But where, Breckinridge,” she cooed, leaning over the saddle horn towards me, “where is that there purty town-gal you was goin’ to bring back to Bear Creek as yore blushin’ bride?”
“We ain’t sot the day yet,” I muttered, looking off.
“Is she purty, Breckinridge?” she pursued.
“Purty as a pitcher,” I says. “They ain’t a gal on Bear Creek can hold a candle to her.”
“Where’s she live?” ast Glory.
“War Paint,” I said, that being the first town that come into my mind.
“What’s her name, Breckinridge?” ast Glory, and I couldn’t think of a gal’s name if I’d knowed I was going to be shot.
I stammered and floundered, and whilst I was trying my damndest to think of some name to give her, she bust into laughter.
“What a lover you be!” says she. “Cain’t even remember the name of the gal yo’re goin’ to marry — you air goin’ to marry her, ain’t you, Breckinridge?”
“Yes, I am!” I roared. “I have got a gal in War Paint! I’m goin’ to see her right now, soon as I can git back to my corral and saddle my hoss! What d’you think of that, Miss Smarty?”
“I think yo’re the biggest liar on Bear Creek!” says she, with a mocking laugh, and reined around and rode off whilst I stood in helpless rage. “Give my regards to yore War Paint sweetheart, Breckinridge!” she called back over her shoulder. “Soon as you remember what her name is!”
I didn’t say nothing. I was past talking. I was too full of wishing that Glory McGraw was a man for jest about five minutes. She was clean out of sight before I could even see straight, much less talk or think reasonable. I give a maddened roar and ripped a limb off a tree as big as a man’s laig and started thrashing down the bresh all around, whilst chawing the bark offa all the trees I could rech, and by the time I had cooled off a little that thicket looked like a cyclone had hit it. But I felt a little better and I headed for home on the run, cussing a blue streak and the bobcats and painters taken to the high ridges as I come.
I made for the corral, and as I come out into the clearing I heard a beller like a mad bull up at the cabin,
and seen my brothers Buckner and Garfield and John and Bill run out of the cabin and take to the woods, so I figgered pap must be having a touch of the rheumatiz. It makes him remarkable peevish. But I went on and saddled Cap’n Kidd. I was determined to make good on what I told Glory. I didn’t have no gal in War Paint, but by golly, I aimed to, and this time I warn’t to be turnt aside. I was heading for War Paint, and I was going to get me a gal if I had to lick the entire town.
Well, jest as I was leading Cap’n Kidd outa the corral, my sister Brazoria come to the door of the cabin and hollered: “Oh, Breckinridge! Come up to the shack! Pap wants you!”
“ — !” says I. “What the hell now?”
I went up to the cabin and tied Cap’n Kidd and went in. At first glance I seen pap had past the peevish stage and was having a remorseful spell. Rheumatism effects him that way. But the remorse is always for something that happened a long time ago. He didn’t seem a bit regretful for having busted a ox- yoke over brother Garfield’s head that morning.
He was laying on his b’ar-skin with a jug of corn licker at his elbow, and he says: “Breckinridge, the sins of my youth is ridin’ my conscience heavy. When I was a young man I was free and keerless in my habits, as numerous tombstones on the boundless prairies testifies. I sometimes wonders if I warn’t a trifle hasty in shootin’ some of the gents which disagreed with my principles. Maybe I should of controlled my passion and jest chawed their ears off.
“Take Uncle Esau Grimes, for instance.” And then pap hove a sigh like a bull, and said: “I ain’t seen Uncle Esau for many years. Me and him parted with harsh words and gun-smoke. I’ve often wondered if he still holds a grudge agen me for plantin’ that charge of buckshot in his hind laig.”
“What about Uncle Esau?” I said.
Pap perjuiced a letter and said: “He was brung to my mind by this here letter which Jim Braxton fotched me from War Paint. It’s from my sister Elizabeth, back in Devilville, Arizona, whar Uncle Esau lives. She says Uncle Esau is on his way to Californy, and is due to pass through War Paint about the tenth — that’s tomorrer. She don’t know whether he intends turnin’ off to see me or not, but suggests that I meet him at War Paint, and make peace with him.”
Delphi Works of Robert E. Howard (Illustrated) (Series Four) Page 53
