by Owen Wister
Produced by Bill Brewer
THE JIMMYJOHN BOSS AND OTHER STORIES
By Owen Wister
To Messrs. Harper & Bothers and Henry Mills Alden whose friendliness andfair dealing I am glad of this chance to record
Owen Wister
Preface
It's very plain that if a thing's the fashion-- Too much the fashion--if the people leap To do it, or to be it, in a passion Of haste and crowding, like a herd of sheep,
Why then that thing becomes through imitation Vulgar, excessive, obvious, and cheap.
No gentleman desires to be pursuing
What every Tom and Dick and Harry's doing.
Stranger, do you write books? I ask the question, Because I'm told that everybody writes That what with scribbling, eating, and digestion, And proper slumber, all our days and nights
Are wholly filled. It seems an odd suggestion-- But if you do write, stop it, leave the masses, Read me, and join the small selected classes.
The Jimmyjohn Boss
I
One day at Nampa, which is in Idaho, a ruddy old massive jovial manstood by the Silver City stage, patting his beard with his left hand,and with his right the shoulder of a boy who stood beside him. He hadcome with the boy on the branch train from Boise, because he was acareful German and liked to say everything twice--twice at least when itwas a matter of business. This was a matter of very particular business,and the German had repeated himself for nineteen miles. Presently theeast-bound on the main line would arrive from Portland; then the SilverCity stage would take the boy south on his new mission, and the manwould journey by the branch train back to Boise. From Boise no one couldsay where he might not go, west or east. He was a great and pervasivecattle man in Oregon, California, and other places. Vogel and Lex--evento-day you may hear the two ranch partners spoken of. So the veteranVogel was now once more going over his notions and commands to hisyouthful deputy during the last precious minutes until the east-boundshould arrive.
"Und if only you haf someding like dis," said the old man, as he tappedhis beard and patted the boy, "it would be five hoondert more dollarssalary in your liddle pants."
The boy winked up at his employer. He had a gray, humorous eye; he wasslim and alert, like a sparrow-hawk--the sort of boy his father openlyrejoices in and his mother is secretly in prayer over. Only, this boyhad neither father nor mother. Since the age of twelve he had looked outfor himself, never quite without bread, sometimes attaining champagne,getting along in his American way variously, on horse or afoot, acrossregions of wide plains and mountains, through towns where not a soulknew his name. He closed one of his gray eyes at his employer, andbeyond this made no remark.
"Vat you mean by dat vink, anyhow?" demanded the elder.
"Say," said the boy, confidentially--"honest now. How about you and me?Five hundred dollars if I had your beard. You've got a record and I'vegot a future. And my bloom's on me rich, without a scratch. How manydollars you gif me for dat bloom?" The sparrow-hawk sailed into afreakish imitation of his master.
"You are a liddle rascal!" cried the master, shaking with entertainment."Und if der peoples vas to hear you sass old Max Vogel in dis style theywould say, 'Poor old Max, he lose his gr-rip.' But I don't lose it." Hisgreat hand closed suddenly on the boy's shoulder, his voice cut cleanand heavy as an axe, and then no more joking about him. "Haf youunderstand that?" he said.
"Yes, sir."
"How old are you, son?"
"Nineteen, sir."
"Oh my, that is offle young for the job I gif you. Some of dose man yougo to boss might be your father. Und how much do you weigh?"
"About a hundred and thirty."
"Too light, too light. Und I haf keep my eye on you in Boise. You arenot so goot a boy as you might be."
"Well, sir, I guess not."
"But you was not so bad a boy as you might be, neider. You don't lieabout it. Now it must be farewell to all that foolishness. Haf youunderstand? You go to set an example where one is needed very bad. Ifthose men see you drink a liddle, they drink a big lot. You forbid them,they laugh at you. You must not allow one drop of whiskey at the wholeplace. Haf you well understand?"
"Yes, sir. Me and whiskey are not necessary to each other's happiness."
"It is not you, it is them. How are you mit your gun?"
Vogel took the boy's pistol from its holster and aimed at an emptybottle which was sticking in the thin Deceiver snow. "Can you do this?"he said, carelessly, and fired. The snow struck the bottle, but theunharming bullet was buried half an inch to the left.
The boy took his pistol with solemnity. "No," he said. "Guess I can't dothat." He fired, and the glass splintered into shapelessness. "Told youI couldn't miss as close as you did," said he.
"You are a darling," said Mr. Vogel. "Gif me dat lofely weapon."
A fortunate store of bottles lay, leaned, or stood about in the whitesnow of Nampa, and Mr. Vogel began at them.
"May I ask if anything is the matter?" inquired a mild voice from thestage.
"Stick that lily head in-doors," shouted Vogel; and the face andeye-glasses withdrew again into the stage. "The school-teacher he willbe beautifool virtuous company for you at Malheur Agency," continuedVogel, shooting again; and presently the large old German destroyed abottle with a crashing smack. "Ah!" said he, in unison with the smack."Ah-ha! No von shall say der old Max lose his gr-rip. I shoot it efrytime now, but the train she whistle. I hear her."
The boy affected to listen earnestly.
"Bah! I tell you I hear de whistle coming."
"Did you say there was a whistle?" ventured the occupant of the stage.The snow shone white on his glasses as he peered out.
"Nobody whistle for you," returned the robust Vogel. "You listen to me,"he continued to the boy. "You are offle yoong. But I watch you plentythis long time. I see you work mit my stock on the Owyhee and theMalheur; I see you mit my oder men. My men they say always more andmore, 'Yoong Drake he is a goot one,' und I think you are a goot onemine own self. I am the biggest cattle man on the Pacific slope, und Iam also an old devil. I have think a lot, und I like you."
"I'm obliged to you, sir."
"Shut oop. I like you, und therefore I make you my new sooperintendentat my Malheur Agency r-ranch, mit a bigger salary as you don't getbefore. If you are a sookcess, I r-raise you some more."
"I am satisfied now, sir."
"Bah! Never do you tell any goot business man you are satisfied mit vathe gif you, for eider he don't believe you or else he think you are afool. Und eider ways you go down in his estimation. You make those menat Malheur Agency behave themselves und I r-raise you. Only I do vish, Ido certainly vish you had some beard on that yoong chin."
The boy glanced at his pistol.
"No, no, no, my son," said the sharp old German. "I don't want gunpowderin dis affair. You must act kviet und decisif und keep your liddle shirton. What you accomplish shootin'? You kill somebody, und then, pop!somebody kills you. What goot is all that nonsense to me?"
"It would annoy me some, too," retorted the boy, eyeing the capitalist."Don't leave me out of the proposition."
"Broposition! Broposition! Now you get hot mit old Max for nothing."
"If you didn't contemplate trouble," pursued the boy, "what was yourpoint just now in sampling my marksmanship?" He kicked some snow in thedirection of the shattered bottle. "It's understood no whiskey comes onthat ranch. But if no gunpowder goes along with me, either, let's callthe deal off. Buy some other fool."
"You haf not understand, my boy. Und you get very hot because I happento make that liddle joke about someb
ody killing you. Was you thinkingmaybe old Max not care what happen to you?"
A moment of silence passed before the answer came: "Suppose we talkbusiness?"
"Very well, very well. Only notice this thing. When oder peoples talkoop to me like you haf done many times, it is not they who does thegetting hot. It is me--old Max. Und when old Max gets hot he slings themout of his road anywheres. Some haf been very sorry they get so slung.You invite me to buy some oder fool? Oh, my boy, I will buy no oder foolexcept you, for that was just like me when I was yoong Max!" Again theruddy and grizzled magnate put his hand on the shoulder of the boy, whostood looking away at the bottles, at the railroad track, at anythingsave his employer.
The employer proceeded: "I was afraid of nobody und noding in thosedays. You are afraid of nobody and noding. But those days was different.No Pullman sleepers, no railroad at all. We come oop the Columbia inthe steamboat, we travel hoonderts of miles by team, we sleep, we eatnowheres in particular mit many unexpected interooptions. There wasIndians, there was offle bad white men, und if you was not offleyourself you vanished quickly. Therefore in those days was Max Vogelhell und repeat."
The magnate smiled a broad fond smile over the past which he had kicked,driven, shot, bled, and battled through to present power; and the boywinked up at him again now.
"I don't propose to vanish, myself," said he.
"Ah-ha! you was no longer mad mit der old Max! Of coorse I care whathappens to you. I was alone in the world myself in those lofely wickeddays."
Reserve again made flinty the boy's face.
"Neider did I talk about my feelings," continued Max Vogel, "but I nefershow them too quick. If I was injured I wait, and I strike to kill. Weall paddles our own dugout, eh? We ask no favors from nobody; we mustwin our spurs! Not so? Now I talk business with you where you interrooptme. If cow-boys was not so offle scarce in the country, I would long agohaf bounce the lot of those drunken fellows. But they cannot be spared;we must get along so. I cannot send Brock, he is needed at Harper's. Thedumb fellow at Alvord Lake is too dumb; he is not quickly courageous.They would play high jinks mit him. Therefore I send you. Brock he sayto me you haf joodgement. I watch, and I say to myself also, this boyhaf goot joodgement. And when you look at your pistol so quick, I tellyou quick I don't send you to kill men when they are so scarce already!My boy, it is ever the moral, the say-noding strength what getsthere--mit always the liddle pistol behind, in case--joost in case. Hafyou understand? I ask you to shoot. I see you know how, as Brock toldme. I recommend you to let them see that aggomplishment in a friendlyway. Maybe a shooting-match mit prizes--I pay for them--pretty soonafter you come. Und joodgement--und joodgement. Here comes that train.Haf you well understand?"
Upon this the two shook hands, looking square friendship in each other'seyes. The east-bound, long quiet and dark beneath its flowing clots ofsmoke, slowed to a halt. A few valises and legs descended, ascended,herding and hurrying; a few trunks were thrown resoundingly in and outof the train; a woolly, crooked old man came with a box and a bandannabundle from the second-class car; the travellers of a thousand mileslooked torpidly at him through the dim, dusty windows of their Pullman,and settled again for a thousand miles more. Then the east-bound,shooting heavier clots of smoke laboriously into the air, drew its slowlength out of Nampa, and away.
"Where's that stage?" shrilled the woolly old man. "That's what I'mafter."
"Why, hello!" shouted Vogel. "Hello, Uncle Pasco! I heard you was dead."
Uncle Pasco blinked his small eyes to see who hailed him. "Oh!" said he,in his light, crusty voice. "Dutchy Vogel. No, I ain't dead. You guessedwrong. Not dead. Help me up, Dutchy."
A tolerant smile broadened Vogel's face. "It was ten years since I seeyou," said he, carrying the old man's box.
"Shouldn't wonder. Maybe it'll be another ten till you see me next." Hestopped by the stage step, and wheeling nimbly, surveyed his old-timeacquaintance, noting the good hat, the prosperous watch-chain, the big,well-blacked boots. "Not seen me for ten years. Hee-hee! No. Usen't tohave a cent more than me. Twins in poverty. That's how Dutchy and mestarted. If we was buried to-morrow they'd mark him 'Pecunious' and me'Impecunious.' That's what. Twins in poverty."
"I stick to von business at a time, Uncle," said good-natured,successful Max.
A flicker of aberration lighted in the old man's eye. "H'm, yes," saidhe, pondering. "Stuck to one business. So you did. H'm." Then, suddenlysly, he chirped: "But I've struck it rich now." He tapped his box."Jewelry," he half-whispered. "Miners and cow-boys."
"Yes," said Vogel. "Those poor, deluded fellows, they buy such stuff."And he laughed at the seedy visionary who had begun frontier lifewith him on the bottom rung and would end it there. "Do you play thatconcertina yet, Uncle?" he inquired.
"Yes, yes. I always play. It's in here with my tooth-brush and socks."Uncle Pasco held up the bandanna. "Well, he's getting ready to start. Iguess I'll be climbing inside. Holy Gertrude!"
This shrill comment was at sight of the school-master, patient withinthe stage. "What business are you in?" demanded Uncle Pasco.
"I am in the spelling business," replied the teacher, and smiled,faintly.
"Hell!" piped Uncle Pasco. "Take this."
He handed in his bandanna to the traveller, who received it politely.Max Vogel lifted the box of cheap jewelry; and both he and the boy camebehind to boost the old man up on the stage step. But with a nettledlook he leaped up to evade them, tottered half-way, and then, light as ahusk of grain, got himself to his seat and scowled at the schoolmaster.
After a brief inspection of that pale, spectacled face, "Dutchy," hecalled out of the door, "this country is not what it was."
But old Max Vogel was inattentive. He was speaking to the boy, DeanDrake, and held a flask in his hand. He reached the flask to his newsuperintendent. "Drink hearty," said he. "There, son! Don't be shy. Hafyou forgot it is forbidden fruit after now?"
"Kid sworn off?" inquired Uncle Pasco of the school-master.
"I understand," replied this person, "that Mr. Vogel will not allowhis cow-boys at the Malheur Agency to have any whiskey brought there.Personally, I feel gratified." And Mr. Bolles, the new school-master,gave his faint smile.
"Oh," muttered Uncle Pasco. "Forbidden to bring whiskey on the ranch?H'm." His eyes wandered to the jewelry-box. "H'm," said he again; andbecoming thoughtful, he laid back his moth-eaten sly head, and spoke nofurther with Mr. Bolles.
Dean Drake climbed into the stage and the vehicle started.
"Goot luck, goot luck, my son!" shouted the hearty Max, and opened andwaved both his big arms at the departing boy: He stood looking after thestage. "I hope he come back," said he. "I think he come back. If he comeI r-raise him fifty dollars without any beard."
II
The stage had not trundled so far on its Silver City road but that awhistle from Nampa station reached its three occupants. This was thebranch train starting back to Boise with Max Vogel aboard; and the boylooked out at the locomotive with a sigh.
"Only five days of town," he murmured. "Six months more wilderness now."
"My life has been too much town," said the new school-master. "I amlooking forward to a little wilderness for a change."
Old Uncle Pasco, leaning back, said nothing; he kept his eyes shut andhis ears open.
"Change is what I don't get," sighed Dean Drake. In a few miles,however, before they had come to the ferry over Snake River, the recentleave-taking and his employer's kind but dominating repression liftedfrom the boy's spirit. His gray eye wakened keen again, and he beganto whistle light opera tunes, looking about him alertly, like thesparrow-hawk that he was. "Ever see Jeannie Winston in 'Fatinitza'?" heinquired of Mr. Bolles.
The school-master, with a startled, thankful countenance, stated that hehad never.
"Ought to," said Drake.
"You a man? that can't be true! Men have never eyes like you."
"That's what the girls in the harem sing in the second act.
Golly whiz!"The boy gleamed over the memory of that evening.
"You have a hard job before you," said the school-master, changing thesubject.
"Yep. Hard." The wary Drake shook his head warningly at Mr. Bolles tokeep off that subject, and he glanced in the direction of slumberingUncle Pasco. Uncle Pasco was quite aware of all this. "I wouldn't takeanother lonesome job so soon," pursued Drake, "but I want the money.I've been working eleven months along the Owyhee as a sort of juniorboss, and I'd earned my vacation. Just got it started hot in Portland,when biff! old Vogel telegraphs me. Well, I'll be saving instead ofsquandering. But it feels so good to squander!"
"I have never had anything to squander," said Bolles, rather sadly.
"You don't say! Well, old man, I hope you will. It gives a man a lothe'll never get out of spelling-books. Are you cold? Here." And despitethe school-master's protest, Dean Drake tucked his buffalo coat roundand over him. "Some day, when I'm old," he went on, "I mean to liverespectable under my own cabin and vine. Wife and everything. But not,anyway, till I'm thirty-five."
He dropped into his opera tunes for a while; but evidently it wasnot "Fatinitza" and his vanished holiday over which he was chieflymeditating, for presently he exclaimed: "I'll give them a shooting-matchin the morning. You shoot?"
Bolles hoped he was going to learn in this country, and exhibited aSmith & Wesson revolver.
Drake grieved over it. "Wrap it up warm," said he. "I'll lend you areal one when we get to the Malheur Agency. But you can eat, anyhow.Christmas being next week, you see, my programme is, shoot all A.M. andeat all P.M. I wish you could light on a notion what prizes to give mybuccaroos."
"Buccaroos?" said Bolles.
"Yep. Cow-punchers. Vaqueros. Buccaroos in Oregon. Bastard Spanish word,you see, drifted up from Mexico. Vogel would not care to have me give'em money as prizes."
At this Uncle Pasco opened an eye.
"How many buccaroos will there be?" Bolles inquired.
"At the Malheur Agency? It's the headquarters of five of our ranches.There ought to be quite a crowd. A dozen, probably, at this time ofyear."
Uncle Pasco opened his other eye. "Here, you!" he said, dragging at hisbox under the seat. "Pull it, can't you? There. Just what you're after.There's your prizes." Querulous and watchful, like some aged, ricketyape, the old man drew out his trinkets in shallow shelves.
"Sooner give 'em nothing," said Dean Drake.
"What's that? What's the matter with them?"
"Guess the boys have had all the brass rings and glass diamonds theywant."
"That's all you know, then. I sold that box clean empty through thePalouse country last week, 'cept the bottom drawer, and an outfit onMeacham's hill took that. Shows all you know. I'm going clean throughyour country after I've quit Silver City. I'll start in by Baker Cityagain, and I'll strike Harney, and maybe I'll go to Linkville. I knowwhat buccaroos want. I'll go to Fort Rinehart, and I'll go to the IslandRanch, and first thing you'll be seeing your boys wearing my stuff allover their fingers and Sunday shirts, and giving their girls my stuffright in Harney City. That's what."
"All right, Uncle. It's a free country."
"Shaw! Guess it is. I was in it before you was, too. You were wet behindthe ears when I was jammin' all around here. How many are they up atyour place, did you say?"
"I said about twelve. If you're coming our way, stop and eat with us."
"Maybe I will and maybe I won't." Uncle Pasco crossly shoved his boxback.
"All right, Uncle. It's a free country," repeated Drake.
Not much was said after this. Uncle Pasco unwrapped his concertina fromthe red handkerchief and played nimbly for his own benefit. At SilverCity he disappeared, and, finding he had stolen nothing from them, theydid not regret him. Dean Drake had some affairs to see to here beforestarting for Harper's ranch, and it was pleasant to Bolles to find howDrake was esteemed through this country. The school-master was to boardat the Malheur Agency, and had come this way round because the newsuperintendent must so travel. They were scarcely birds of a feather,Drake and Bolles, yet since one remote roof was to cover them, thein-door man was glad this boy-host had won so much good-will fromhigh and low. That the shrewd old Vogel should trust so much in anineteen-year-old was proof enough at least of his character; but whenBrock, the foreman from Harper's, came for them at Silver City, Bolleswitnessed the affection that the rougher man held for Drake. Brock shookthe boy's hand with that serious quietness and absence of words whichshows the Western heart is speaking. After a look at Bolles and a silentbestowing of the baggage aboard the team, he cracked his long whip andthe three rattled happily away through the dips of an open country whereclear streams ran blue beneath the winter air. They followed the Jordan(that Idaho Jordan) west towards Oregon and the Owyhee, Brock oftenturning in his driver's seat so as to speak with Drake. He had a long,gradual chapter of confidences and events; through miles he unburdenedthese to his favorite:
The California mare was coring well in harness. The eagle over atWhitehorse ranch had fought the cat most terrible. Gilbert had got amule-kick in the stomach, but was eating his three meals. They had a newboy who played the guitar. He used maple-syrup an his meat, and claimedhe was from Alabama. Brock guessed things were about as usual in mostways. The new well had caved in again. Then, in the midst of his gossip,the thing he had wanted to say all along came out: "We're pleased aboutyour promotion," said he; and, blushing, shook Drake's hand again.
Warmth kindled the boy's face, and next, with a sudden severity, hesaid: "You're keeping back something."
The honest Brock looked blank, then labored in his memory.
"Has the sorrel girl in Harney married you yet?" said Drake. Brockslapped his leg, and the horses jumped at his mirth. He was mostlygrave-mannered, but when his boy superintendent joked, he rejoiced withthe same pride that he took in all of Drake's excellences.
"The boys in this country will back you up," said he, next day; andDrake inquired: "What news from the Malheur Agency?"
"Since the new Chinaman has been cooking for them," said Brock, "theyhave been peaceful as a man could wish."
"They'll approve of me, then," Drake answered. "I'm feeding 'em hyasChristmas muck-a-muck."
"And what may that be?" asked the schoolmaster.
"You no kumtux Chinook?" inquired Drake. "Travel with me and you'lllearn all sorts of languages. It means just a big feed. All whiskey isbarred," he added to Brock.
"It's the only way," said the foreman. "They've got those Pennsylvaniamen up there."
Drake had not encountered these.
"The three brothers Drinker," said Brock. "Full, Half-past Full, andDrunk are what they call them. Them's the names; they've brought themfrom Klamath and Rogue River."
"I should not think a Chinaman would enjoy such comrades," ventured Mr.Bolles.
"Chinamen don't have comrades in this country," said Brock, briefly."They like his cooking. It's a lonesome section up there, and a Chinamancould hardly quit it, not if he was expected to stay. Suppose they kickabout the whiskey rule?" he suggested to Drake.
"Can't help what they do. Oh, I'll give each boy his turn in Harney Citywhen he gets anxious. It's the whole united lot I don't propose to havecut up on me."
A look of concern for the boy came over the face of foreman Brock.Several times again before their parting did he thus look at hisfavorite. They paused at Harper's for a day to attend to some matters,and when Drake was leaving this place one of the men said to him: "We'llstand by you." But from his blithe appearance and talk as the slim boyjourneyed to the Malheur River and Headquarter ranch, nothing seemedto be on his mind. Oregon twinkled with sun and fine white snow. Theycrossed through a world of pines and creviced streams and exhilaratingsilence. The little waters fell tinkling through icicles in theloneliness of the woods, and snowshoe rabbits dived into the brush. EastOregon, the Owyhee and the Malheur country, the old trails of GeneralCrook, the willows by the streams, the open swales, the high woodswhere once Buffalo
Horn and Chief E-egante and O-its the medicine-manprospered, through this domain of war and memories went Bolles theschool-master with Dean Drake and Brock. The third noon from Harper'sthey came leisurely down to the old Malheur Agency, where once thehostile Indians had drawn pictures on the door, and where Castle Rockfrowned down unchanged.
"I wish I was going to stay here with you," said Brock to Drake. "ByIndian Creek you can send word to me quicker than we've come."
"Why, you're an old bat!" said the boy to his foreman, and clapped himfarewell on the shoulder.
Brock drove away, thoughtful. He was not a large man. His face wasclean-cut, almost delicate. He had a well-trimmed, yellow mustache, andit was chiefly in his blue eye and lean cheek-bone that the frontiersmanshowed. He loved Dean Drake more than he would ever tell, even tohimself.
The young superintendent set at work to ranch-work this afternoon ofBrock's leaving, and the buccaroos made his acquaintance one by one andstared at him. Villany did not sit outwardly upon their faces; they werenot villains; but they stared at the boy sent to control them, and theyspoke together, laughing. Drake took the head of the table at supper,with Bolles on his right. Down the table some silence, some staring,much laughing went on--the rich brute laugh of the belly untroubled bythe brain. Sam, the Chinaman, rapid and noiseless, served the dishes.
"What is it?" said a buccaroo.
"Can it bite?" said another.
"If you guess what it is, you can have it," said a third.
"It's meat," remarked Drake, incisively, helping himself; "and tougherthan it looks."
The brute laugh rose from the crowd and fell into surprised silence; butno rejoinder came, and they ate their supper somewhat thoughtfully. TheChinaman's quick, soft eye had glanced at Dean Drake when they laughed.He served his dinner solicitously. In his kitchen that evening he andBolles unpacked the good things--the olives, the dried fruits, thecigars--brought by the new superintendent for Christmas; and findingBolles harmless, like his gentle Asiatic self, Sam looked cautiouslyabout and spoke:
"You not know why they laugh," said he. "They not talk about my meatthen. They mean new boss, Misser Dlake. He velly young boss."
"I think," said Bolles, "Mr. Drake understood their meaning, Sam. I havenoticed that at times he expresses himself peculiarly. I also think theyunderstood his meaning."
The Oriental pondered. "Me like Misser Dlake," said he. And drawingquite close, he observed, "They not nice man velly much."
Next day and every day "Misser Dlake" went gayly about his business, athis desk or on his horse, vigilant, near and far, with no sign save asteadier keenness in his eye. For the Christmas dinner he providedstill further sending to the Grande Ronde country for turkeys and otherthings. He won the heart of Bolles by lending him a good horse; but thebuccaroos, though they were boisterous over the coming Christmas joy,did not seem especially grateful. Drake, however, kept his worries tohimself.
"This thing happens anywhere," he said one night in the office toBolles, puffing a cigar. "I've seen a troop of cavalry demoralize itselfby a sort of contagion from two or three men."
"I think it was wicked to send you here by yourself," blurted Bolles.
"Poppycock! It's the chance of my life, and I'll jam her through orbust."
"I think they have decided you are getting turkeys because you areafraid of them," said Bolles.
"Why, of course! But d' you figure I'm the man to abandon my Christmasturkey because my motives for eating it are misconstrued?"
Dean Drake smoked for a while; then a knock came at the door. Fivebuccaroos entered and stood close, as is the way with the guilty whofeel uncertain.
"We were thinking as maybe you'd let us go over to town," said Half-pastFull, the spokesman.
"When?"
"Oh, any day along this week."
"Can't spare you till after Christmas."
"Maybe you'll not object to one of us goin'?"
"You'll each have your turn after this week."
A slight pause followed. Then Half-past Full said: "What would you do ifI went, anyway?"
"Can't imagine," Drake answered, easily. "Go, and I'll be in a positionto inform you."
The buccaroo dropped his stolid bull eyes, but raised them again andgrinned. "Well, I'm not particular about goin' this week, boss."
"That's not my name," said Drake, "but it's what I am."
They stood a moment. Then they shuffled out. It was an orderlyretreat--almost.
Drake winked over to Bolles. "That was a graze," said he, and smoked fora while. "They'll not go this time. Question is, will they go next?"
III
Drake took a fresh cigar, and threw his legs over the chair arm.
"I think you smoke too much," said Bolles, whom three days had madefamiliar and friendly.
"Yep. Have to just now. That's what! as Uncle Pasco would say. They area half-breed lot, though," the boy continued, returning to the buccaroosand their recent visit. "Weaken in the face of a straight bluff, yousee, unless they get whiskey-courageous. And I've called 'em down onthat."
"Oh!" said Bolles, comprehending.
"Didn't you see that was their game? But he will not go after it."
"The flesh is all they seem to understand," murmured Bolles.
Half-past Full did not go to Harney City for the tabooed whiskey, nordid any one. Drake read his buccaroos like the children that they were.After the late encounter of grit, the atmosphere was relieved of storm.The children, the primitive, pagan, dangerous children, forgot all aboutwhiskey, and lusted joyously for Christmas. Christmas was coming! Nowork! A shooting-match! A big feed! Cheerfulness bubbled at the MalheurAgency. The weather itself was in tune. Castle Rock seemed no longerto frown, but rose into the shining air, a mass of friendly strength.Except when a rare sledge or horseman passed, Mr. Bolles's journeys tothe school were all to show it was not some pioneer colony in a new,white, silent world that heard only the playful shouts and songs of thebuccaroos. The sun overhead and the hard-crushing snow underfoot filledevery one with a crisp, tingling hilarity.
Before the sun first touched Castle Rock on the morning of the feastthey were up and in high feather over at the bunk-house. They racedacross to see what Sam was cooking; they begged and joyfully swallowedlumps of his raw plum-pudding. "Merry Christmas!" they wished him, and"Melly Clismas!" said he to them. They played leap-frog over by thestable, they put snow down each other's backs. Their shouts rang roundcorners; it was like boys let out of school. When Drake gathered themfor the shooting-match, they cheered him; when he told them there wereno prizes, what did they care for prizes? When he beat them all thefirst round, they cheered him again. Pity he hadn't offered prizes! Hewasn't a good business man, after all!
The rounds at the target proceeded through the forenoon, Drake theacclaimed leader; and the Christmas sun drew to mid-sky. But as itssplendor in the heavens increased, the happy shoutings on earth beganto wane. The body was all that the buccaroos knew; well, the flesh comespretty natural to all of us--and who had ever taught these men aboutthe spirit? The further they were from breakfast the nearer they wereto dinner; yet the happy shootings waned! The spirit is a strange thing.Often it dwells dumb in human clay, then unexpectedly speaks out of theclay's darkness.
It was no longer a crowd Drake had at the target. He became aware thatquietness had been gradually coming over the buccaroos. He looked, andsaw a man wandering by himself in the lane. Another leaned by the stablecorner, with a vacant face. Through the windows of the bunk-househe could see two or three on their beds. The children were tired ofshouting. Drake went in-doors and threw a great log on the fire. Itblazed up high with sparks, and he watched it, although the sun shownbright on the window-sill. Presently he noticed that a man had come inand taken a chair. It was Half-past Full, and with his boots stretchedto the warmth, he sat gazing into the fire. The door opened and anotherbuckaroo entered and sat off in a corner. He had a bundle of oldletters, smeared sheets tied trite a twisted old ribbon. While hislarg
e, top-toughened fingers softly loosened the ribbon, he sat with hisback to the room and presently began to read the letters over, oneby one. Most of the men came in before long, and silently joined thewatchers round the treat fireplace. Drake threw another log on, and ina short time this, too, broke into ample flame. The silence was long;a slice of shadow had fallen across the window-sill, when a young manspoke, addressing the logs:
"I skinned a coon in San Saba, Texas, this day a year."
At the sound of a voice, some of their eyes turned on the speaker, butturned back to the fire again. The spirit had spoken from the clay,aloud; and the clay was uncomfortable at hearing it.
After some more minutes a neighbor whispered to a neighbor, "Play you agame of crib."
The man nodded, stole over to where the board was, and brought it acrossthe floor on creaking tip-toe. They set it between them, and now andthen the cards made a light sound in the room.
"I treed that coon on Honey," said the young man, after a while--"HoneyCreek, San Saba. Kind o' dry creek. Used to flow into Big Brady when itrained."
The flames crackled on, the neighbors still played their cribbage. Stillwas the day bright, but the shrinking wedge of sun had gone entirelyfrom the window-sill. Half-past Full had drawn from his pocket amouthorgan, breathing half-tunes upon it; in the middle of "SuwaneeRiver" the man who sat in the corner laid the letter he was beginningupon the heap on his knees and read no more. The great genial logs layglowing, burning; from the fresher one the flames flowed and forked;along the embered surface of the others ran red and blue shivers ofiridescence. With legs and arms crooked and sprawled, the buccaroosbrooded, staring into the glow with seldom-winking eyes, while deepinside the clay the spirit spoke quietly. Christmas Day was passing,but the sun shone still two good hours high. Outside, over the snowand pines, it was only in the deeper folds of the hills that the blueshadows had come; the rest of the world was gold and silver; and fromfar across that silence into this silence by the fire came a tinklingstir of sound. Sleighbells it was, steadily coming, too early for Bollesto be back from his school festival.
The toy-thrill of the jingling grew clear and sweet, a spirit ofenchantment that did not wake the stillness, but cast it into a deeperdream. The bells came near the door and stopped, and then Drake openedit.
"Hello, Uncle Pasco!" said he. "Thought you were Santa Claus."
"Santa Claus! H'm. Yes. That's what. Told you maybe I'd come."
"So you did. Turkey is due in--let's see--ninety minutes. Here, boys!some of you take Uncle Pasco's horse."
"No, no, I won't. You leave me alone. I ain't stoppin' here. I ain'thungry. I just grubbed at the school. Sleepin' at Missouri Pete'sto-night. Got to make the railroad tomorrow." The old man stopped hisprecipitate statements. He sat in his sledge deeply muffled, blinkingat Drake and the buccaroos, who had strolled out to look at him, "Done abig business this trip," said he. "Told you I would. Now if you was onlygivin' your children a Christmas-tree like that I seen that feller yerschoolmarm doin' just now--hee-hee!" From his blankets he revealed thewell-known case. "Them things would shine on a tree," concluded UnclePasco.
"Hang 'em in the woods, then," said Drake.
"Jewelry, is it?" inquired the young Texas man.
Uncle Pasco whipped open his case. "There you are," said he. "All what'sleft. That ring'll cost you a dollar."
"I've a dollar somewheres," said the young man, fumbling.
Half-past Full, on the other side of the sleigh, stood visiblyfascinated by the wares he was given a skilful glimpse of down among theblankets. He peered and he pondered while Uncle Pasco glibly spoke tohim.
"Scatter your truck out plain!" the buccaroo exclaimed, suddenly. "I'mnot buying in the dark. Come over to the bunk-house and scatter."
"Brass will look just the same anywhere," said Drake.
"Brass!" screamed Uncle. "Brass your eye!"
But the buccaroos, plainly glad for distraction, took the woolly oldscolding man with them. Drake shouted that if getting cheated cheeredthem, by all means to invest heavily, and he returned alone to his fire,where Bolles soon joined him. They waited, accordingly, and by-and-bythe sleigh-bells jingled again. As they had come out of the silence,so did they go into it, their little silvery tinkle dancing away in thedistance, faint and fainter, then, like a breath, gone.
Uncle Pasco's trinkets had audibly raised the men's spirits. Theyremained in the bunkhouse, their laughter reaching Drake and Bolles moreand more. Sometimes they would scuffle and laugh loudly.
"Do you imagine it's more leap-frog?" inquired the school-master.
"Gambling," said Drake. "They'll keep at it now till one of them winseverything the rest have bought."
"Have they been lively ever since morning?"
"Had a reaction about noon," said Drake. "Regular home-sick spell. Ifelt sorry for 'em."
"They seem full of reaction," said Bolles. "Listen to that!"
It was now near four o'clock, and Sam came in, announcing dinner.
"All ready," said the smiling Chinaman.
"Pass the good word to the bunk-house," said Drake, "if they can hearyou."
Sam went across, and the shouting stopped. Then arose a thick volley ofscreams and cheers.
"That don't sound right," said Drake, leaping to his feet. In the nextinstant the Chinaman, terrified, returned through the open door. Behindhim lurched Half-past Full, and stumbled into the room. His boot caught,and he pitched, but saved himself and stood swaying, heavily looking atDrake. The hair curled dense over his bull head, his mustache was spreadwith his grin, the light of cloddish humor and destruction burned in hisbig eye. The clay had buried the spirit like a caving pit.
"Twas false jewelry all right!" he roared, at the top of his voice. "Agood old jimmyjohn full, boss. Say, boss, goin' to run our jimmyjohn offthe ranch? Try it on, kid. Come over and try it on!" The bull beat onthe table.
Dean Drake had sat quickly down in his chair, his gray eye upon thehulking buccaroo. Small and dauntless he sat, a sparrow-hawk caught in atrap, and game to the end--whatever end.
"It's a trifle tardy to outline any policy about your demijohn," saidhe, seriously. "You folks had better come in and eat before you'rebeyond appreciating."
"Ho, we'll eat your grub, boss. Sam's cooking goes." The buccaroolurched out and away to the bunk-house, where new bellowing was set up.
"I've got to carve this turkey, friend," said the boy to Bolles.
"I'll do my best to help eat it," returned the school-master, smiling.
"Misser Dlake," said poor Sam, "I solly you. I velly solly you."
IV
"Reserve your sorrow, Sam," said Dean Drake. "Give us your soup for astarter. Come," he said to Bolles. "Quick."
He went into the dining-room, prompt in his seat at the head of thetable, with the school-master next to him.
"Nice man, Uncle Pasco," he continued. "But his time is not now. We havenothing to do for the present but sit like every day and act perfectlynatural."
"I have known simpler tasks," said Mr. Bolles, "but I'll begin byspreading this excellently clean napkin."
"You're no schoolmarm!" exclaimed Drake; "you please me."
"The worst of a bad thing," said the mild Bolles, "is having time tothink about it, and we have been spared that."
"Here they come," said Drake.
They did come. But Drake's alert strategy served the end he had triedfor. The drunken buccaroos swarmed disorderly to the door and halted.Once more the new superintendent's ways took them aback. Here was thedecent table with lights serenely burning, with unwonted good thingsarranged upon it--the olives, the oranges, the preserves. Neat as paradedrill were the men's places, all the cups and forks symmetrical alongthe white cloth. There, waiting his guests at the far end, sat the slimyoung boss talking with his boarder, Mr. Bolles, the parts in theirsmooth hair going with all the rest of this propriety. Even the dailytin dishes were banished in favor of crockery.
"Bashful of Sam's napkins, boys?
" said the boss. "Or is it thebald-headed china?"
At this bidding they came in uncertainly. Their whiskey was ashamedinside. They took their seats, glancing across at each other in atransient silence, drawing their chairs gingerly beneath them. Thusceremony fell unexpected upon the gathering, and for a while theyswallowed in awkwardness what the swift, noiseless Sam brought them.He in a long white apron passed and re-passed with his things from hiskitchen, doubly efficient and civil under stress of anxiety forhis young master. In the pauses of his serving he watched from thebackground, with a face that presently caught the notice of one of them.
"Smile, you almond-eyed highbinder," said the buccaroo. And the Chinamansmiled his best.
"I've forgot something," said Half-past Full, rising. "Don't let 'emskip a course on me." Half-past left the room.
"That's what I have been hoping for," said Drake to Bolles.
Half-past returned presently and caught Drake's look of expectancy. "Ohno, boss," said the buccaroo, instantly, from the door. "You're on tome, but I'm on to you." He slammed the door with ostentation and droppedwith a loud laugh into his seat.
"First smart thing I've known him do," said Drake to Bolles. "I amdisappointed."
Two buccaroos next left the room together.
"They may get lost in the snow," said the humorous Half-past. "I'll justshow 'em the trail." Once more he rose from the dinner and went out.
"Yes, he knew too much to bring it in here," said Drake to Bolles. "Heknew none but two or three would dare drink, with me looking on."
"Don't you think he is afraid to bring it in the same room with you atall?" Bolles suggested.
"And me temperance this season? Now, Bolles, that's unkind."
"Oh, dear, that is not at all what--"
"I know what you meant, Bolles. I was only just making a little merryover this casualty. No, he don't mind me to that extent, except whenhe's sober. Look at him!"
Half-past was returning with his friends. Quite evidently they had allfound the trail.
"Uncle Pasco is a nice old man!" pursued Drake. "I haven't got my gunon. Have you?"
"Yes," said Bolles, but with a sheepish swerve of the eye.
Drake guessed at once. "Not Baby Bunting? Oh, Lord! and I promisedto give you an adult weapon!--the kind they're wearing now by way offull-dress."
"Talkin' secrets, boss?" said Half-past Full.
The well-meaning Sam filled his cup, and this proceeding shifted thebuccaroo's truculent attention.
"What's that mud?" he demanded.
"Coffee," said Sam, politely.
The buccaroo swept his cup to the ground, and the next man howleddismay.
"Burn your poor legs?" said Half-past. He poured his glass over thevictim. They wrestled, the company pounded the table, betting hoarsely,until Half-past went to the floor, and his plate with him.
"Go easy," said Drake. "You're smashing the company's property."
"Bald-headed china for sure, boss!" said a second of the brothersDrinker, and dropped a dish.
"I'll merely tell you," said Drake, "that the company don't pay for thischina twice."
"Not twice?" said Half-past Full, smashing some more. "How aboutthrice?"
"Want your money now?" another inquired.
A riot of banter seized upon all of them, and they began to laugh anddestroy.
"How much did this cost?" said one, prying askew his three-tined fork.
"How much did you cost yourself?" said another to Drake.
"What, our kid boss? Two bits, I guess."
"Hyas markook. Too dear!"
They bawled at their own jokes, loud and ominous; threat sounded beneaththeir lightest word, the new crashes of china that they threw on thefloor struck sharply through the foreboding din of their mirth. Thespirit that Drake since his arrival had kept under in them day by day,but not quelled, rose visibly each few succeeding minutes, swellingupward as the tide does. Buoyed up on the whiskey, it glittered in theireyes and yelled mutinously in their voices.
"I'm waiting all orders," said Bolles to Drake.
"I haven't any," said Drake. "New ones, that is. We've sat down to seethis meal out. Got to keep sitting."
He leaned back, eating deliberately, saying no more to the buccaroos;thus they saw he would never leave the room till they did. As he hadtaken his chair the first, so was the boy bound to quit it the last. Thegame of prying fork-tines staled on them one by one, and they took tosongs, mostly of love and parting. With the red whiskey in their eyesthey shouted plaintively of sweethearts, and vows, and lips, and meetingin the wild wood. From these they went to ballads of the cattle-trailand the Yuba River, and so inevitably worked to the old coast song, madeof three languages, with its verses rhymed on each year since the firstbeginning. Tradition laid it heavy upon each singer in his turn to keepthe pot a-boiling by memory or by new invention, and the chant wentforward with hypnotic cadence to a tune of larkish, ripping gayety. Hewho had read over his old stained letters in the homesick afternoon hadwaked from such dreaming and now sang:
"Once jes' onced in the year o' 49, I met a fancy thing by the name o' Keroline; I never could persuade her for to leave me be; She went and she took and she married me."
His neighbor was ready with an original contribution:
"Once, once again in the year o' '64, By the city of Whatcom down along the shore-- I never could persuade them for to leave me be-- A Siwash squaw went and took and married me."
"What was you doin' between all them years?" called Half-past Full.
"Shut yer mouth," said the next singer:
"Once, once again in the year o' 71 ('Twas the suddenest deed that I ever done)-- I never could persuade them for to leave me be-- A rich banker's daughter she took and married me."
"This is looking better," said Bolles to Drake.
"Don't you believe it," said the boy.
Ten or a dozen years were thus sung.
"I never could persuade them for to leave me be" tempestuously broughtdown the chorus and the fists, until the drunkards could sit no more,but stood up to sing, tramping the tune heavily together. Then, just asthe turn came round to Drake himself, they dashed their chairs down andherded out of the room behind Half-past Full, slamming the door.
Drake sat a moment at the head of his Christmas dinner, the fallenchairs, the lumpy wreck. Blood charged his face from his hair to hiscollar. "Let's smoke," said he. They went from the dinner through theroom of the great fireplace to his office beyond.
"Have a mild one?" he said to the schoolmaster.
"No, a strong one to-night, if you please." And Bolles gave his mildsmile.
"You do me good now and then," said Drake.
"Dear me," said the teacher, "I have found it the other way."
All the rooms fronted on the road with doors--the old-time agency doors,where the hostiles had drawn their pictures in the days before peace hadcome to reign over this country. Drake looked out, because the singinghad stopped and they were very quiet in the bunk-house. He saw theChinaman steal from his kitchen.
"Sam is tired of us," he said to Bolles.
"Tired?"
"Running away, I guess. I'd prefer a new situation myself. That's whereyou're deficient, Bolles. Only got sense enough to stay where you happento be. Hello. What is he up to?"
Sam had gone beside a window of the bunkhouse and was listening there,flat like a shadow. Suddenly he crouched, and was gone among the sheds.Out of the bunk-house immediately came a procession, the buccaroos stillquiet, a careful, gradual body.
Drake closed his door and sat in the chair again. "They're escortingthat jug over here," said he. "A new move, and a big one."
He and Bolles heard them enter the next room, always without much noiseor talk--the loudest sound was the jug when they set it on the floor.Then they seemed to sit, talking little.
"Bolles," said Drake, "the sun has set. If you want to take after Sam--"
But the do
or of the sitting-room opened and the Chinaman himself camein. He left the door a-swing and spoke clearly. "Misser Dlake," said he,"slove bloke" (stove broke).
The superintendent came out of his office, following Sam to the kitchen.He gave no look or word to the buccaroos with their demijohn; he merelyheld his cigar sidewise in his teeth and walked with no hurry throughthe sitting-room. Sam took him through to the kitchen and round to ahind corner of the stove, pointing.
"Misser Dlake," said he, "slove no bloke. I hear them inside. They goingkill you."
"That's about the way I was figuring it," mused Dean Drake.
"Misser Dlake," said the Chinaman, with appealing eyes, "I velly sollyyou. They no hurtee me. Me cook."
"Sam, there is much meat in your words. Condensed beef don't class withyou. But reserve your sorrows yet a while. Now what's my policy?" hedebated, tapping the stove here and there for appearances; somebodymight look in. "Shall I go back to my office and get my guns?"
"You not goin' run now?" said the Chinaman, anxiously.
"Oh yes, Sam. But I like my gun travelling. Keeps me kind of warm. Nowif they should get a sight of me arming--no, she's got to stay here tillI come back for her. So long, Sam! See you later. And I'll have time tothank you then."
Drake went to the corral in a strolling manner. There he roped thestrongest of the horses, and also the school-master's. In the midst ofhis saddling, Bolles came down.
"Can I help you in any way?" said Bolles.
"You've done it. Saved me a bothering touch-and-go play to get you outhere and seem innocent. I'm going to drift."
"Drift?"
"There are times to stay and times to leave, Bolles; and this is a caseof the latter. Have you a real gun on now?"
Poor Bolles brought out guiltily his.22 Smith & Wesson. "I don't seem tothink of things," said he.
"Cheer up," said Drake. "How could you thought-read me? Hide BabyBunting, though. Now we're off. Quietly, at the start. As if we weremerely jogging to pasture."
Sam stood at his kitchen door, mutely wishing them well. The horses werewalking without noise, but Half-past Full looked out of the window.
"We're by, anyhow," said Drake. "Quick now. Burn the earth." Thehorse sprang at his spurs. "Dust, you son of a gun! Rattle your hocks!Brindle! Vamoose!" Each shouted word was a lash with his quirt. "Duck!"he called to Bolles.
Bolles ducked, and bullets grooved the spraying snow. They rounded acorner and saw the crowd jumping into the corral, and Sam's door emptyof that prudent Celestial.
"He's a very wise Chinaman!" shouted Drake, as they rushed.
"What?" screamed Bolles.
"Very wise Chinaman. He'll break that stove now to prove his innocence."
"Who did you say was innocent?" screamed Bolles.
"Oh, I said you were," yelled Drake, disgusted; and he gave over thiseffort at conversation as their horses rushed along.
V
It was a dim, wide stretch of winter into which Drake and Bollesgalloped from the howling pursuit. Twilight already veiled the base ofCastle Rock, and as they forged heavily up a ridge through the cakingsnow, and the yells came after them, Bolles looked seriously at DeanDrake; but that youth wore an expression of rising merriment. Bolleslooked back at the dusk from which the yells were sounding, then forwardto the spreading skein of night where the trail was taking him and theboy, and in neither direction could he discern cause for gayety.
"May I ask where we are going?" said he.
"Away," Drake answered. "Just away, Bolles. It's a healthy resort."
Ten miles were travelled before either spoke again. The drunkenbuccaroos yelled hot on their heels at first, holding more obstinatelyto this chase than sober ruffians would have attempted. Ten cold, darkmiles across the hills it took to cure them; but when their shootings,that had followed over heights where the pines grew and down throughthe open swales between, dropped off, and died finally away among thewillows along the south fork of the Malheur, Drake reined in his horsewith a jerk.
"Now isn't that too bad!" he exclaimed.
"It is all very bad," said Bolles, sorry to hear the boy's tone ofdisappointment.
"I didn't think they'd fool me again," continued Drake, jumping down.
"Again?" inquired the interested Bolles.
"Why, they've gone home!" said the boy, in disgust.
"I was hoping so," said the school-master.
"Hoping? Why, it's sad, Bolles. Four miles farther and I'd have had themlost."
"Oh!" said Bolles.
"I wanted them to keep after us," complained Drake. "Soon as we had agood lead I coaxed them. Coaxed them along on purpose by a trail theyknew, and four miles from here I'd have swung south into the mountainsthey don't know. There they'd have been good and far from home in thesnow without supper, like you and me, Bolles. But after all my troublethey've gone back snug to that fireside. Well, let us be as cosey as wecan."
He built a bright fire, and he whistled as he kicked the snow from hisboots, busying over the horses and the blankets. "Take a rest," he saidto Bolles. "One man's enough to do the work. Be with you soon to shareour little cottage." Presently Bolles heard him reciting confidentiallyto his horse, "Twas the night after Christmas, and all in thehouse--only we are not all in the house!" He slapped the belly of hishorse Tyee, who gambolled away to the limit of his picket-rope.
"Appreciating the moon, Bolles?" said he, returning at length to thefire. "What are you so gazeful about, father?"
"This is all my own doing," lamented the school-master.
"What, the moon is?"
"It has just come over me," Bolles continued. "It was before you got inthe stage at Nampa. I was talking. I told Uncle Pasco that I was glad nowhiskey was to be allowed on the ranch. It all comes from my folly!"
"Why, you hungry old New England conscience!" cried the boy, clappinghim on the shoulder. "How in the world could you foresee the crookednessof that hoary Beelzebub?"
"That's all very well," said Bolles, miserably. "You would never havementioned it yourself to him."
"You and I, Bolles, are different. I was raised on miscellaneouswickedness. A look at my insides would be liable to make you say yourprayers."
The school-master smiled. "If I said any prayers," he replied, "youwould be in them."
Drake looked moodily at the fire. "The Lord helps those who helpthemselves," said he. "I've prospered. For a nineteen-year-old I'vehooked my claw fairly deep here and there. As for to-day--why, that'sin the game too. It was their deal. Could they have won it on their ownplay? A joker dropped into their hand. It's my deal now, and I have somejokers myself. Go to sleep, Bolles. We've a ride ahead of us."
The boy rolled himself in his blanket skillfully. Bolles heard him sayonce or twice in a sort of judicial conversation with the blanket--"andall in the house--but we were not all in the house. Not all. Not a fullhouse--" His tones drowsed comfortably into murmur, and then to quietbreathing. Bolles fed the fire, thatched the unneeded wind-break (forthe calm, dry night was breathless), and for a long while watched themoon and a tuft of the sleeping boy's hair.
"If he is blamed," said the school-master, "I'll never forgive myself.I'll never forgive myself anyhow."
A paternal, or rather maternal, expression came over Bolles's face, andhe removed his large, serious glasses. He did not sleep very well.
The boy did. "I'm feeling like a bird," said he, as they crossed throughthe mountains next morning on a short cut to the Owybee. "Breakfast willbrace you up, Bolles. There'll be a cabin pretty soon after we strikethe other road. Keep thinking hard about coffee."
"I wish I could," said poor Bolles. He was forgiving himself less andless.
Their start had been very early; as Drake bid the school-master observe,to have nothing to detain you, nothing to eat and nothing to pack, is agreat help in journeys of haste. The warming day, and Indian Creek wellbehind them, brought Drake to whistling again, but depression sat uponthe self-accusing Bolles. Even when they sighted the Owy
hee road belowthem, no cheerfulness waked in him; not at the nearing coffee, noryet at the companionable tinkle of sleigh-bells dancing faintly upwardthrough the bright, silent air.
"Why, if it ain't Uncle Pasco!" said Drake, peering down through a gapin the foot-hill. "We'll get breakfast sooner than I expected. Quick!Give me Baby Bunting!"
"Are you going to kill him?" whispered the school-master, with a beamingcountenance. And he scuffled with his pocket to hand over his hithertobelittled weapon.
Drake considered him. "Bolles, Bolles," said he, "you have got theNew England conscience rank. Plymouth Rock is a pudding to your heart.Remind me to pray for you first spare minute I get. Now follow me close.He'll be much more useful to us alive."
They slipped from their horses, stole swiftly down a shoulder of thehill, and waited among some brush. The bells jingled unsuspectinglyonward to this ambush.
"Only hear 'em!" said Drake. "All full of silver and Merry Christmas.Don't gaze at me like that, Bolles, or I'll laugh and give the wholesnap away. See him come! The old man's breath streams out so calm. He'snot worried with New England conscience. One, two, three" Just beforethe sleigh came opposite, Dean Drake stepped out. "Morning, Uncle!" saidhe. "Throw up your hands!"
Uncle Pasco stopped dead, his eyes blinking. Then he stood up in thesleigh among his blankets. "H'm," said he, "the kid."
"Throw up your hands! Quit fooling with that blanket!" Drake spokedangerously now. "Bolles," he continued, "pitch everything out of thesleigh while I cover him. He's got a shot-gun under that blanket. Slingit out."
It was slung. The wraps followed. Uncle Pasco stepped obediently down,and soon the chattels of the emptied sleigh littered the snow. The oldgentleman was invited to undress until they reached the six-shooter thatDrake suspected. Then they ate his lunch, drank some whiskey that he hadnot sold to the buccaroos, told him to repack the sleigh, allowed himto wrap up again, bade him take the reins, and they would use hissix-shooter and shot-gun to point out the road to him.
He had said very little, had Uncle Pasco, but stood blinking, obedientand malignant. "H'm," said he now, "goin' to ride with me, are you?"
He was told yes, that for the present he was their coachman. Theirhorses were tired and would follow, tied behind. "We're weary, too,"said Drake, getting in. "Take your legs out of my way or I'll kick offyour shins. Bolles, are you fixed warm and comfortable? Now start her upfor Harper ranch, Uncle."
"What are you proposing to do with me?" inquired Uncle Pasco.
"Not going to wring your neck, and that's enough for the present.Faster, Uncle. Get a gait on. Bolles, here's Baby Bunting. Much obligedto you for the loan of it, old man."
Uncle Pasco's eye fell on the 22-caliber pistol. "Did you hold me upwith that lemonade straw?" he asked, huskily.
"Yep," said Drake. "That's what."
"Oh, hell!" murmured Uncle Pasco. And for the first time he seemeddispirited.
"Uncle, you're not making time," said Drake after a few miles. "I'llthank you for the reins. Open your bandanna and get your concertina.Jerk the bellows for us."
"That I'll not!" screamed Uncle Pasco.
"It's music or walk home," said the boy. "Take your choice."
Uncle Pasco took his choice, opening with the melody of "The Last Roseof Summer." The sleigh whirled up the Owyhee by the winter willows, andthe levels, and the meadow pools, bright frozen under the blue sky.Late in this day the amazed Brock by his corrals at Harper's beheldarrive his favorite, his boy superintendent, driving in with theschoolmaster staring through his glasses, and Uncle Pasco throwingout active strains upon his concertina. The old man had been bidden tobellows away for his neck.
Drake was not long in explaining his need to the men. "This thing mustbe worked quick," said he. "Who'll stand by me?"
All of them would, and he took ten, with the faithful Brock. Brock wouldnot allow Gilbert to go, because he had received another mule-kick inthe stomach. Nor was Bolles permitted to be of the expedition. To allhis protests, Drake had but the single word: "This is not your fight,old man. You've done your share with Baby Bunting."
Thus was the school-master in sorrow compelled to see them start backto Indian Creek and the Malheur without him. With him Uncle Pasco wouldhave joyfully exchanged. He was taken along with the avengers. Theywould not wring his neck, but they would play cat and mouse with him andhis concertina; and they did. But the conscience of Bolles still toiled.When Drake and the men were safe away, he got on the wagon going for themail, thus making his way next morning to the railroad and Boise, whereMax Vogel listened to him; and together this couple hastily took trainand team for the Malheur Agency.
The avengers reached Indian Creek duly, and the fourth day after hisChristmas dinner Drake came once more in sight of Castle Rock.
"I am doing this thing myself, understand," he said to Brock. "I amresponsible."
"We're here to take your orders," returned the foreman. But as theagency buildings grew plain and the time for action was coming, Brock'sanxious heart spoke out of its fulness. "If they start in to--to--theymight--I wish you'd let me get in front," he begged, all at once.
"I thought you thought better of me," said Drake.
"Excuse me," said the man. Then presently: "I don't see how anybodycould 'a' told he'd smuggle whiskey that way. If the old man [Brockmeant Max Vogel] goes to blame you, I'll give him my opinion straight."
"The old man's got no use for opinions," said Drake. "He goes onresults. He trusted me with this job, and we're going to have resultsnow."
The drunkards were sitting round outside the ranch house. It wasevening. They cast a sullen inspection on the new-comers, who returnedthem no inspection whatever. Drake had his men together and took themto the stable first, a shed with mangers. Here he had them unsaddle."Because," he mentioned to Brock, "in case of trouble we'll be sure oftheir all staying. I'm taking no chances now."
Soon the drunkards strolled over, saying good-day, hazarding a fewcomments on the weather and like topics, and meeting sufficient answers.
"Goin' to stay?"
"Don't know."
"That's a good horse you've got."
"Fair."
But Sam was the blithest spirit at the Malheur Agency. "Hiyah!" heexclaimed. "Misser Dlake! How fashion you come quick so?" And theexcellent Chinaman took pride in the meal of welcome that he prepared.
"Supper's now," said Drake to his men. "Sit anywhere you feel like.Don't mind whose chair you're taking--and we'll keep our guns on."
Thus they followed him, and sat. The boy took his customary perch at thehead of the table, with Brock at his right. "I miss old Bolles," he toldhis foreman. "You don't appreciate Bolles."
"From what you tell of him," said Brock, "I'll examine him morecareful."
Seeing their boss, the sparrow-hawk, back in his place, flanked withsupporters, and his gray eye indifferently upon them, the buccaroos grewpolite to oppressiveness. While Sam handed his dishes to Drake andthe new-comers, and the new-comers eat what was good before the oldinhabitants got a taste, these latter grew more and more solicitous.They offered sugar to the strangers, they offered their beds; Half-pastFull urged them to sit companionably in the room where the fire wasburning. But when the meal was over, the visitors went to another roomwith their arms, and lighted their own fire. They brought blankets fromtheir saddles, and after a little concertina they permitted the nearlyperished Uncle Pasco to slumber. Soon they slumbered themselves, withthe door left open, and Drake watching. He would not even share vigilwith Brock, and all night he heard the voices of the buccaroos, holdinggrand, unending council.
When the relentless morning came, and breakfast with the visitors againin their seats unapproachable, the drunkards felt the crisis to be astrain upon their sobered nerves. They glanced up from their plates, anddown; along to Dean Drake eating his hearty porridge, and back at oneanother, and at the hungry, well-occupied strangers.
"Say, we don't want trouble," they began to the strangers.
"Course you don't. Breakfast's what you're after."
"Oh, well, you'd have got gay. A man gets gay."
"Sure."
"Mr. Drake," said Half-past Full, sweating with his effort, "we weresorry while we was a-fogging you up."
"Yes," said Drake. "You must have been just overcome by contrition."
A large laugh went up from the visitors, and the meal was finishedwithout further diplomacy.
"One matter, Mr. Drake," stammered Half-past Full, as the party rose."Our jobs. We're glad to pay for any things what got sort of broke."
"Sort of broke," repeated the boy, eyeing him. "So you want to hold yourjobs?"
"If--" began the buccaroo, and halted.
"Fact is, you're a set of cowards," said Drake, briefly. "I noticeyou've forgot to remove that whiskey jug." The demijohn still stoodby the great fireplace. Drake entered and laid hold of it, the crowdstanding back and watching. He took it out, with what remained in itscapacious bottom, set it on a stump, stepped back, levelled his gun, andshattered the vessel to pieces. The whiskey drained down, wetting thestump, creeping to the ground.
Much potency lies in the object-lesson, and a grin was on the faces ofall present, save Uncle Pasco's. It had been his demijohn, and when theshot struck it he blinked nervously.
"You ornery old mink!" said Drake, looking at him. "You keep to thejewelry business hereafter."
The buccaroos grinned again. It was reassuring to witness wrath turnupon another.
"You want to hold your jobs?" Drake resumed to them. "You can trustyourselves?"
"Yes, sir," said Half-past Full.
"But I don't trust you," stated Drake, genially; and the buccaroos'hopeful eyes dropped. "I'm going to divide you," pursued the newsuperintendent. "Split you far and wide among the company's ranches.Stir you in with decenter blood. You'll go to White-horse ranch, justacross the line of Nevada," he said to Half-past Full. "I'm tired of thebrothers Drinker. You'll go--let's see--"
Drake paused in his apportionment, and a sleigh came swiftly round theturn, the horse loping and lathery.
"What vas dat shooting I hear joost now?" shouted Max Vogel, before hecould arrive. He did not wait for any answer. "Thank the good God!" heexclaimed, at seeing the boy Dean Drake unharmed, standing with a gun.And to their amazement he sped past them, never slacking his horse'slope until he reached the corral. There he tossed the reins to theplacid Bolles, and springing out like a surefooted elephant, counted hissaddle-horses; for he was a general. Satisfied, he strode back to thecrowd by the demijohn. "When dem men get restless," he explained toDrake at once, "always look out. Somebody might steal a horse."
The boy closed one gray, confidential eye at his employer. "Just myidea," said he, "when I counted 'em before breakfast."
"You liddle r-rascal," said Max, fondly, "What you shoot at?"
Drake pointed at the demijohn. "It was bigger than those bottles atNampa," said he. "Guess you could have hit it yourself."
Max's great belly shook. He took in the situation. It had a flavor thathe liked. He paused to relish it a little more in silence.
"Und you have killed noding else?" said he, looking at Uncle Pasco, whoblinked copiously. "Mine old friend, you never get rich if you changeyour business so frequent. I tell you that thirty years now." Max's handfound Drake's shoulder, but he addressed Brock. "He is all what you tellme," said he to the foreman. "He have joodgement."
Thus the huge, jovial Teuton took command, but found Drake had leftlittle for him to do. The buccaroos were dispersed at Harper's, at FortRinehart, at Alvord Lake, towards Stein's peak, and at the Island Ranchby Harney Lake. And if you know east Oregon, or the land where ChiefE-egante helped out Specimen Jones, his white soldier friend, when thehostile Bannocks were planning his immediate death as a spy, you willknow what wide regions separated the buccaroos. Bolles was taken intoMax Vogel's esteem; also was Chinese Sam. But Max sat smoking in theoffice with his boy superintendent, in particular satisfaction.
"You are a liddle r-rascal," said he. "Und I r-raise you fifty dollars."
