CHAPTER XIII
MR. TOWNSEND, MARSHAL
Mr. Cassidy went to the ranch and lived like a lord until shame drovehim away. He had no business to live on cake and pie and wonderfuldishes that Mrs. Ferris and her sister literally forced on him, and letBuck's mission wait on his convenience. So he tore himself away and madeup for lost time as he continued his journey on his own horse, forwhich Tom Murphy and three men had faced down the scowling population ofHoyt's Corners. The rest of his journey was without incident until,on his return home along another route, he rode into Rawhide and heardabout the marshal, Mr. Townsend.
This individual was unanimously regarded as an affliction upon societyand there had been objections to his continued existence, which hadbeen overruled by the object himself. Then word had gone forth that asubstantial reward and the undying gratitude of a considerable numberof people awaited the man who would rid the community of the pest whoseemed to be ubiquitous. Several had come in response to the call, onehad returned in a wagon, and the others were now looked upon as martyrs,and as examples of asinine foolhardiness. Then it had been decided toelect a marshal, or perhaps two or three, to preserve the peace of thetown; but this was a flat failure. In the first place, Mr. Townsend haddispersed the meeting with no date set for a new one; in the second,no man wanted the office; and as a finish to the comedy, Mr. Townsendcheerfully announced that hereafter and henceforth he was the marshal,self-appointed and self-sustained. Those who did not like it couldeasily move to other localities.
With this touch of office-holding came ambition, and of stern stuff.The marshal asked himself why he could not be more officers than oneand found no reason. Thereupon he announced that he was marshal, towncouncil, mayor, justice, and pound-keeper. He did not go to the troubleof incorporating himself as the Town of Rawhide, because he knew nothingof such immaterial things; but he was the town, and that sufficed.
He had been grievously troubled about finances in the past, and hefirmly believed that genius such as his should be above such pettyannoyances as being "broke." That was why he constituted himself thekeeper of the public pound, which contented him for a short time, butlater, feeling that he needed more money than the pound was giving him,he decided that the spirit of the times demanded public improvements,and therefore, as the executive head of the town, he levied taxesand improved the town by improving his wardrobe and the manner of hisliving. Each saloon must pay into the town treasury the sum of onehundred dollars per year, which entitled it to police protection andassured it that no new competitors would be allowed to do business inRawhide.
Needless to say he was not furiously popular, and the crowds congregatedwhere he was not. His tyranny was based upon his uncanny faculty ofanticipating the other man's draw. The citizens were not unaccustomed toseeing swift death result to the slower man from misplaced confidence inhis speed of hand--that was in the game--an even break; but to oppose anindividual who _always_ knew what you were going to do before you knewit yourself--this was very discouraging. Therefore, he flourished andwaxed fat.
Of late, however, he had been very low in finances and could expectno taxes to be paid for three months. Even the pound had yielded himnothing for over a week, the old patrons of Rawhide's stores and saloonspreferring to ride twenty miles farther in another direction thanto redeem impounded horses. Perhaps his prices had been too high, hethought; so he assembled the town council, the mayor, the marshal, andthe keeper of the public pound to consult upon the matter. He decidedthat the prices were too high and at once posted a new notice announcingthe cut. It was hard to fall from a dollar to "two bits," but thetreasury was low--the times were panicky.
As soon as he had changed the notice he strolled up to the Paradiseto inform the bartender that impounding fines had been cut to bargainprices and to ask him to make the fact generally known through hispatrons. As he came within sight of the building he jumped withpleasure, for a horse was standing dejectedly before the door. Joy ofjoys, trade was picking up--a stranger had come to town! Hastening backto the corral, he added a cipher to the posted figure, added a decimalpoint, and changed the cents sign to that of a dollar. Two dollars andfifty cents was now the price prescribed by law. Returning hastily tothe Paradise, he led the animal away, impounded it, and then sat downin front of the corral gate with his Winchester across his knees. Twodollars and fifty cents! Prosperity had indeed returned!
"Where the CG ranch is I dunno, but I do know where one of their cayusesis," he mused, glancing between two of the corral posts at the sleepyanimal. "If I has to auction it off to pay for its keep and the fine,the saddle will bring a good, round sum. I allus knowed that a dollarwasn't enough, nohow."
Nat Fisher, punching cows for the CG and tired of his job, leanedcomfortably back in his chair in the Paradise and swapped lies with theall-wise bartender. After a while he realized that he was hopelesslyoutclassed at this diversion and he dug down into his pocket and broughtto light some loose silver and regarded it thoughtfully. It was all themoney he had and was beginning to grow interesting.
"Say, was you ever broke?" he asked suddenly, a trace of sadness in hisvoice.
The bartender glanced at him quickly, but remained judiciously silent,smelling the preamble of an attempt to "touch."
"Well, I have been, am now, an' allus will be, more or less," continuedFisher, in soliloquy, not waiting for an answer to his question. "Moneyan' me don't ride the same range, not any. Here I am fifty miles awayfrom my ranch, with four dollars and ninety-five cents between me an'starvation an' thirst, an' me not going home for three days yet. I wasgoing to quit the CG this month, but now I gotta go on working for ittill another pay-day. I don't even own a cayuse. Now, just to show youwhat kind of a prickly pear I am, I'll cut the cards with you to see whoowns this," he suggested, smiling brightly at his companion.
The bartender laughed, treated on the house, and shuffled out frombehind the bar with a pack of greasy playing cards. "All at once, or adollar a shot?" he asked, shuffling deftly.
"Any way it suits you," responded Fisher, nonchalantly. He knew how asport should talk; and once he had cut the cards to see who should ownhis full month's pay. He hoped he would be more successful this time.
"Don't make no difference to me," rejoined the bartender.
"All right; all at once, an' have it over with. It's a kid's game, atthat."
"High wins, of course?"
"High wins."
The bartender pushed the cards across the table for his companion tocut. Nat did so, and turned up a deuce. "Oh, don't bother," he said,sliding the four dollars and ninety-five cents across the table.
"Wait," grinned the bartender, who was a stickler for rules. He reachedover and turned up a card, and then laughed. "Matched, by George!"
"Try again," grinned Fisher, his face clearing with hope.
The bartender shuffled, and Fisher turned a five, which proved to bejust one point shy when his companion had shown his card.
"Now," remarked Fisher, watching his money disappear into thebartender's pocket, "I'll put up my gun agin ten of yore dollars ifyo're game. How about it?"
"Done--that's a good weapon."
"None better. Ah, a jack!"
"I say queen--nope, _king_!" exulted the dispenser of liquids. "Say,mebby you can get a job around here when you quit the CG," he suggested.
"That's a good idea," replied Fisher. "But let's finish this while we'reat it. I got a good saddle outside on my cayuse--go look it over an'tell me how much you'll put up agin it. If you win it an' can't use it,you can sell it. It's first class."
The bartender walked to the door, looked carefully around for a moment,his eyes fastening upon a trail in the sandy street. Then he laughed."There ain't no saddle out here," he reported, well knowing where itcould be found.
"What! Has that ornery piebald--well, what do you think of that!"exclaimed Fisher, looking up and down the street. "This is the firsttime that ever happened to me. Why, some coyote stole it! Look at thetracks!"
/> "No; it ain't stolen," the bartender responded. He considered a momentand then made a suggestion. "Mebby the marshal can tell you where itis--he knows everything like that. Nobody can take a cayuse out of thistown while the marshal is up an' well."
"Lucky town, all right," chirped Fisher. "An' where is the marshal?"
"You'll find him down the back way a couple of hundred yards; can't misshim. He allus hangs out there when there are cayuses in town."
"Good for him! I'll chase right down an' see him; an' when I get thatpiebald----!"
The bartender watched him go around the corner and shook his head sadly."Yes; hell of a lucky town," he snorted bitterly, listening for the riotto begin.
The marshal still sat against the corral gate and stroked the Winchesterin beatific contemplation. He had a fine job and he was happy. Suddenlyleaning forward to look up the road, he smiled derisively and shiftedthe gun. A cow-puncher was coming his way rapidly, and on foot.
"Are you the marshal of this flea of a town?" politely inquired thenewcomer.
"I am the same," replied the man with the rifle. "Anything I kin do foryou?"
"Yes; have you seen a piebald cayuse straying around loose-like, oranybody leading one--CG being the brand?"
"I did; it was straying."
"An' which way did it go?"
"Into the town pound."
"What! Pond! What'n blazes is it doing with a pond? Couldn't it drinkwithout getting in? Where's the pond?"
"Right here. It's eating its fool head off. I said pound, not pond.P-o-u-n-d; which means that it's pawned, in hock, for destroying thevegetation of Rawhide, an' disturbing the public peace."
"Good joke on the piebald, all right; it was never locked up before,"laughed Fisher, trying to read a sign that faced away from him at aslight angle. "Get it out for me an' I'll disturb _its_ peace. Sorry itput you to all that trouble," he sympathized.
"Two dollars an' four bits, an' a dollar initiation fee--it wasn't neverin the pound before. That makes three an' a half. Got the money withyou?"
"What!" yelled Fisher, emerging from his trance. "What!" he yelledagain.
"I ain't none deaf," placidly replied the marshal. "Got the money, thethree an' a half?"
"If you think yo're going to skin me outen three-fifty, one-fifty, orone measly cent, you need some medicine, an' I'll give it to you inpill form! You'd make a bum-looking angel, so get up an' hand over thatcayuse, _an' do it damned quick_!"
"Three-fifty, an' two bits extry for feed. It'll cost you 'bout a dollara day for feed. At the end of the week I'll sell that cayuse at auctionto pay its bills if you don't cough up. Got the money?"
"I've got a lead slug for you if I can borrow my gun for five minutes!"retorted Fisher, seething double from anger.
"Five dollars more for contempt of court," pleasantly responded Mr.Townsend. "As Justice of the Peace of this community I must allowno disrespect, no contempt of the sovereign law of this town to gounpunished. That makes it eight-seventy-five."
"An' to think I lost my gun!" shouted Fisher, dancing with rage. "I'llget that cayuse out an' I won't pay a cent, not a damned cent! An' I'llget you at the same time!"
"Now you dust around for fifteen dollars even an' stop yore contemptof court an' threats or I'll drill you just for luck!" rejoined Mr.Townsend, angrily. "If you keep on working yore mouth like that therewon't be nothing coming to you when I sell that cayuse of yourn. Turnaround an' strike out or I'll put you with yore ancestors!"