CHAPTER THIRTY
TY JONES GETS A WOMAN
Bosco was a regular town with twenty or thirty houses, a post office,two general stores, three saloons, an' all such things; and right on agood stage road runnin' north an' south. We stopped with themeat-market undertaker, 'cause they didn't think it quite respectablefor the Friar to live off the profits of the liquor traffic; thoughthe Friar allus said 'at he had a heap more respect for a squaresaloon-keeper 'n for a sneaky drygoods merchant.
Shindy Smith was the saloon-keeper, an' Bill Duff was the undertaker.Duff was the absent-mindedest man I ever got intimate with, an' aboutdrove his wife to distraction, she bein' one o' these hustlers whonever make a false move. He had the idee that bein' an undertaker tookaway his license to laugh, so he allus walked on his toes an'disported as solemn a face as nature would allow; but nature hadintended him for a butcher, an' had made his face round and jowly.Whenever he didn't have anything else to do, he used to sit down an'practice lookin' solemn. He'd fix his eyes on the ceilin', clasp hishands across his stomach, pull up his eyebrows, droop his mouth, an'look for all the world like a man dyin' o' the colic.
He was so absent-minded that he'd raise his cup to take a drink ofcoffee, forget what he had started to do, an' like as not pour it overhis flapjacks for syrup. He started to engineer a funeral once withhis butcher's apron on, and they told all sorts of stories about himwhich was shockin' to an extent; though his wife kept such a sharp eyeon him, that I don't believe more 'n half of 'em. Still it wasn't anysort o' business for an absent-minded man to be in.
It was an uncertain business. Of course all lines o' trade in a thinlysettled country go by fits an' starts; but his was worst of all.Sometimes he'd have as many as three funerals a month, and at othersit would take him six weeks to sell out a beef carcass. A feller whohad a spite again' him started the story 'at he soaked his meat inembalmin' fluid, an' then if they came an extra special rush in bothlines of his business at the same time, he'd--but then his wife keptsuch a skeptical eye on him, 'at I don't believe a word of thesestories, an' I'm not goin' to repeat 'em. The worst I had again' himwas that he was so everlastin' careless. I lay awake frettin' abouthis carelessness till I couldn't stand it a second longer; and then Irolled up half the beddin' an' started to sleep on the side porch.
"Where you goin'?" sez the Friar.
"This here Bill Duff is too absent-minded an' forgetful for me," sezI.
"What do ya mean?" sez the Friar.
"Well," sez I, "I don't want to make light o' sacred things, nornothin' like that; but Bill Duff's got somethin' stored up in thisroom which should 'a' been a funeral three weeks ago, and I intend tosleep outside."
The Friar chuckled to himself until he shook the whole house; but itwasn't no joke to me; so I shunted the beddin' out on the roof o' theporch, which was flat, and prepared to take my rest where the air wasthin enough to flow into my nostrils without scrapin' the lid off o'what Horace called his ol' factory nerve.
As soon as the Friar could recover his breath, he staggered to thewindow, an' sez: "That's nothin' but cheese, you blame tenderfoot.Limburger cheese is the food Bill Duff is fondest of, and he has fourboxes of it stored in this room."
"Then," sez I, comin' in with the beddin', "I'll sleep in the bed, an'the cheese can sleep on the porch; but hanged if I'll occupy the sameapartment with it." I set the cheese out on the porch--it was theripest cheese in the world, I reckon--and it drew all the dogs in townbefore mornin'. After they found it was above their reach, I'mconvinced they put up the best fight I ever listened to.
It took a long time for the memory o' that cheese to find its way outthe window; and I lay thinkin' o' the Friar's work, long after he haddrifted off himself. He wasn't squeamish about small things, the Friarwasn't, and this was one of his main holts. When we had got ready toeat that night, Mrs. Duff had tipped Bill a wink to ask the Friar tosay blessin'. Bill was in one of his vacant spells, as usual, so helooked solemn at the Friar, and sez: "It's your deal, Parson." Now, alot o' preachers would 'a' gone blue an' sour at that; but the Friarnever blinked a winker.
Then after supper, all the young folks o' that locality had swooped into play with him. This winnin' o' young folks was a gift with theFriar, and it used to warm me up to watch him in the midst of a flockof 'em. He showed 'em all kinds o' tricks with matches an' arithmeticnumbers, an' taught 'em some new games, and then he put up a joke on'em. He allus put up one joke on 'em each visit.
This time he puts a glass of water under his hat, looks solemn, andsez 'at he can drink the water without raisin' the hat. They all bethe can't, and finally he goes into a corner, makes motions with histhroat, and sez he is now ready to prove it. Half a dozen rush forwardand lift the hat, and he drinks the water, and thanks 'em for liftin'the hat for him so he could drink the water an' make his word good.
Some folks used to kick again' him and say he was worldly; but hismethods worked, an' that's a good enough test for me. He took out theshyness an' the meanness an' the stupidity, and gave the good parts achance to grow; which I take it is no more again' religion than thepublic school is. Why, he even taught 'em card tricks.
He could take a deck of cards and turn it into a complete calendar,leap year and all; and then he could turn it into a bible, showin'easy ways to learn things, until a feller really could believe 'atcards was invented by the early Christians who had to live in caves,as some claim. All the time he was playin' with 'em, he was smugglin'in wise sayin's with his fun, pointin' out what made the differencebetween deceivin' for profit, and deceivin' for a little joke, tellin''em how to enjoy life without abusin' it--Why, he even went so far asto say that if a feller couldn't be religious in a brandin' pen hecouldn't be religious in a cathedral--which is a two-gun church withfancy trimmin's.
By the time he had expanded the young folks and made 'em easy and athome, the older ones had arrived; and then he held a preachin'. Thewhole outfit joined in with the singin', and when he began to talk to'em every eye in the room was glistenin'. You see, he knew them andtheir life; and they knew him and his. He had nursed 'em throughsickness, he had tended their babies, he had helped to build theircabins an' turn 'em into homes; so the words flowed out of his heartand into theirs without any break between. This was the Friar and thiswas his work--but I can't put it into a story.
The' was a no-account cuss by the name o' Jim Stubbs who lived--if yacould call it livin'--at Boggs; and the Friar induced him to go alongon one of his trips. When Jim came back he was a made-over man, andevery one asked him if he had religion. "Hell, no," sez Jim, tryin' tobe independent, "I ain't got religion; but a feller catches somethin'from the Friar the same as if he had the measles; and I don't covet tobe a bum no more."
This gives ya the best idy of the Friar that I can think of; and Ifinally fell asleep there at Bill Duff's, with my mind made up to burymy own heartache, keep the grave of it green, but live out my life ashard as the Friar was livin' his.
We had intended to projec about in the Basin next day to rustle upsome new trade in the Friar's line; but my pony turned up lame, so weheld over to get him shod. When the stage pulled in that evenin', mean' the Friar went down to see it. A little feller sat on the seatwith the driver. His hat was covered with dust an' pulled down overhis eyes, an' what ya could see of him was the color o' coffee; butthe moment I lay eyes on his side-burns, I grabbed the Friar's arm an'whispered, "Horace!" and by dad, that's who it was. Promotheus was inthe back seat, an' he looked for all the world like an enlarged copy,except that his side-burns were red an' gray, while Horace's weremostly brown. But they were cut exactly the same, startin' from hisears, runnin' across his cheeks an' lips, an' then curvin' down to thecrook of his jaw, close cropped an' bristly.
Horace an' Promotheus hit the ground as soon as the stage stopped, an'me an' the Friar dropped back out o' sight inside the hotel. Horacegave orders about his two boxes an' started into the hotel. Just as hecame through the door, I stepped out an' gave him a shove. "You can'tcome
in here," I growled.
He stepped back as fierce as a rattler. "I can't, huh?" he piped."Well, we'll see if I can't."
Then he recognized me, an' we began to pump hands. He said 'at he andPromotheus had only reached home three weeks before; but they couldn'tstand it, an' so had made a streak for the West. He said they had beenin Africa an' India, until they had become plumb disgusted withtropical heat, an' so had come out the northern route, expectin' tooutfit at Bosco an' ride down to the Diamond Dot.
We suppered with 'em an' next day they bought a string o' hosses,packed their stuff on 'em, an' said they were ready for someamusement. Horace had got a little snappier in his talk an' hismovements; but that was about the only change. As soon as we told 'emabout Ty Jones havin' a woman, that settled it. Horace insisted uponseein' the woman, an' Promotheus echoed anything 'at Horace said,though his face clouded a bit at the idee of foolin' around the Crossbrand ranch. The Friar didn't feel any call to go along with us; butit was more to my mind just then 'n his line was, so I jumped at thechance.
Horace was also mighty glad to add me to his outfit. He had been usedto havin' a lot o' Zulus an' Hindus waitin' on him, and hadn'tadjusted himself to a small outfit yet. He said he had sent a lot o'hides an' heads an' horns and other plunder from London, England, tothe Diamond Dot; but had been too busy to write durin' the past fewyears. He and the Friar had quite a talk together before we left; butI could tell from their faces 'at Horace didn't have any news for him.
We had high jinks when we reached Olaf's; but Horace didn't make anyhit with the kid. The kid had a jack-in-the-box toy 'at lookedconsid'able like Horace, an' the kid couldn't square things in his ownmind, to see a big size one, out an' walkin' about like a regularhuman; but when he also got to studyin' Promotheus, he was all undone.Olaf tried to have him make up to Horace, but he wouldn't stand forit. He'd sit on Olaf's knee and look first at his jack-in-the-box,then at Horace, and wind up with a long look at Promotheus. Promotheuswould try to smile kind an' invitin', and then the kid would twistaround and bury his face in Olaf's vest. Horace nor Promotheus didn'tmind it any; but as far as that goes, the kid was only actin' honestan' natural, accordin' to his lights, an' the jack-in-the-box had asmuch of a kick comin' as anybody.
Ty had been down there just the day after we had left, an' had wantedto buy Olaf's place; but only offered half what it was worth. He haddone this half a dozen times, an' allus insulted Olaf as much as hecould about it. Olaf had wanted to sell out at first; but Kit had beenable to see 'at they had a homestead fit for any thing, and she hadallus insisted that they get full price or hang on. Now, it wasimproved way beyond common, an' they were both fond of it; so they haddecided to stick it out.
"This is goin' to be a dry summer," sez I.
Olaf's face clouded up but he only shut his lips tighter. We told 'emwe were on our way up to try an' have a look at Ty Jones's woman, andOlaf said he'd go along if he didn't have to trail his cattle up tothe Raw Hide, this bein' part o' the deal he had made. He said itwould take him about ten days probably, an' wanted us to camp in theSpread, an' keep an eye on his stuff. Olaf clipped the first joint offo' Promotheus's name, an' I was glad of it.
We chucked our stuff into the barn next mornin' an' started to stalkthe Cross brand neighborhood. Horace had a small field glass which wasa wonder, and we worked as careful as we could. It was only fifteenmiles across from Olaf's; but all we were able to do the first day wasto find a little sheltered spot up back o' the ranch buildin's wherewe could get a good view of 'em through the field glass.
Next day Olaf an' Oscar started with the bunch o' cattle, an' we rodealong part way with 'em to give 'em a good start; but Olaf had handledhis stuff so gentle that it was no trouble, an' we turned back an'took up our watch again. We watched for a week without seein' a thing,ridin' in each night to sleep back of Olaf's shack. Me an' Theus--Ihad seen Olaf's ante an' had raised him one--were gettin' purty wearyo' this sort o' work; but Horace was as patient as a spider. Finallythough, we got a little more risky, and leavin' our hosses up in oursheltered spot, we follered down a ravine to get nearer to the newcabin.
We had caught several glimpses of a woman to prove to us 'at the' wasone there; but that was about all, an' so we went down this ravine,tryin' to figure out what excuse we'd give if we came across any of TyJones's men. Neither me nor The--Promotheus had said 'at we couldn'tbe no politer 'n he could, so he had lopped off the last joint, andnow had as neat a workin' name as any one, although Horace stillinsisted on usin' the whole outfit when he had occasion to addresshim. Well, neither me nor The felt just easy in our minds at snoopin'about Ty's when we hadn't any business to, especially The; but Horacewas as selfcomposed as though he was herdin' lions out o' tall grass,which it seems had been his favorite pastime durin' the last fewyears.
The knew the ravine well; he said it ran full o' water in the spring,but after that was dry all the year. We got about half-way down it,an' then we came to a path 'at was plain enough to see. The stoppedan' wagged his head. "No one ever used to use this," sez he.
"Well, some one uses it purty constant, now," sez I.
"The woman is the one who uses it," sez Horace. "She's lonely, that'splain enough. The path climbs the opposite bank--let's cross an' goup."
Me an' The bucked at this for some time; but Horace hung out; so wewent along with him. We finally came to a little glen with a spring init, an' grass, and in a little clump o' small trees, we came across abook lyin' face down on a Navajo blanket.
"That's gettin' close," sez Horace.
"Yes!" sez we, in low tones.
We scouted all around; but no one was there, an' then we took a lineon the hill back of us, picked out a likely spot, and returned the waywe had come, this bein' the only direct way. We didn't meet a soul--atleast none wearin' bodies, though from the creepy feelin' I had partof the time, I won't ever be certain we didn't meet any souls.
Next day, we circled the peak and got up to the spot we had pickedout. We could see the clump o' trees plain enough; and along aboutthree in the afternoon, we saw the woman come up the path, walkin'slow an' actin' weary. She had two big dogs with her, and whenevershe'd stop to rest a bit, she'd pet 'em. "Well," sez The, "things haschanged a heap when ol' Ty Jones stands for havin' his dogs patted."
We couldn't get a good view of her face from where we were, but wecould get a fine view o' the ranch buildin's. The' didn't seem to bemuch work on hand, and we saw eight or ten men foolin' around an'pretendin' to do chores. The recognized the two Greasers he had beenridin' with the day he had pulled on Horace, and one or two others;but most of 'em was strangers to him. He said the Greasers were aboutthe most devilish speciments he had ever herded with--an' Ty's wholeoutfit was made up o' fellers who had qualified to wear hemp.
Horace was keen to go on down to her an' get a good look; but me an'The took the bits in our teeth at this. We knew what those dogs werelike, an' refused pointblank to go a peg unless he could think up agood enough excuse for us to give to Ty Jones--and we wouldn't letHorace go down alone.
"The best plan I can see," sez I, pointin' to a cluster o' big rocksdown the slope to the left, "is to circle back to those rocks. We cansee her face plain from there when she comes back the path."
After examinin' this plan we decided it was the best; but when we wentafter our hosses, Horace's had broke his reins an' gone back throughthe hills. By the time me an' The had rounded him up, it was too late,so we had to wait till next day.
Next day I left the other two at our first look-out and rode on to thenew one. As soon as she came in sight, I waved my hat to 'em and theysneaked down to the bunch o' rocks. I rode back an' left my hoss withtheirs, an' then joined 'em.
She didn't come into view till after five o'clock. When she reachedthe edge of the ravine an' started down, she paused an' looked offinto the valley with her face in plain view. Horace looked at itthrough his glasses, gave a start, and then handed the glasses to The."Have you ever seen any one who looked like her?" sez he. br />
The looked and broke out into a regular expression. "That's theoriginal of the photograph I had," sez he.
"That's the Friar's girl, sure as the sky's above us," sez Horace.
I grabbed the glass and took a look. She did look like the picture,but older and more careworn. Some way I had allus thought o' theFriar's girl as bein' young and full of high spirits, with her headthrown back an' her eyes dancin'; but just as I looked through theglasses, she pressed her hands to her head, and her face was wrinkledwith pain. She was better lookin' than common, but most unhappy.
"That devil, Ty Jones, is mean to her!" I growled between my teeth.
"Dogs or no dogs, I'm goin' down to have a talk with her," sez Horace.
He started to get up, but I pulled him back to the ground. I had keptmy eyes on her, and had seen the two dogs turn their heads down theravine, and her own head turn with a jerk, as though some one hadcalled to her. Horace looked through the glasses again, and said hecould see her lips move as though talkin' to some one, and then shewent down into the ravine. We couldn't see the bottom of the ravinefrom where we were, nor we couldn't see the ranch buildin's; so wehustled back through some washes to our look-out, and reached it justas she and Ty came out at the bottom.
They were walkin' side by side, but Horace, who was lookin' throughthe glasses, said they seemed to be quarrelin'. "It's moonlightto-night," sez Horace, "and I'm goin' to sneak down and try to seeher."
We argued again' it all we could, but he stood firm; so all we coulddo was to sit there and wait for the lights to go out in thebunk-house. As she was a reader, we figured 'at she'd be the last oneto turn in; normal habits an' appetites not havin' much effect onbook-readers.