The Sheriff of Badger: A Tale of the Southwest Borderland
CHAPTER XXXIII
JOHNSON ONCE MORE IN ROLE OF SHERIFF
Horne of the Anvil approached his sixtieth year full of vigor. Hisbirthday would also mark the thirtieth anniversary of his marriage. Ithad been a fat season. His steers were rollicking, the calves rompedhigh-tailed, the valley pastures held clear-eyed cows and his horseswere a comfort between one's knees. Therefore Horne saw that all wasgood and waxed content of heart, and he bade his boss, Lafe Johnson, tomake all ready for a dance, for it was in his mind to do honor to hisneighbors, humble and high.
"Tell everybody to come a-running," said he, "and kill the fattestyearlings we've got. Better pick brindles, though, Lafe. Those red onesbring too much money."
Thus happily did Horne temper his generous impulses with shrewdness.These directions provoked a grin from Johnson, and he despatched hisriders east and west and north and south to summon the guests. From eastand west and north and south they came--a good seventy miles, some ofthem. In couples, singly, in boisterous parties, they came riding up tothe Anvil headquarters. And the dance began.
It had lasted two days and two nights and was running comfortably intothe third day when a killing occurred which made the function memorablein cowland annals. Everything was going smoothly. There were more than ahundred guests, and the orchestra was still vigorous and resourceful ininvention. He occupied a seat on a stool atop a table at one end of thedining-room, and as he sawed with the bow he kept time to the cadenceswith his left foot. Occasionally a volunteer would come to hisassistance and beat on the strings at the neck of the violin with smallsticks. This produced the effect of a guitar and was very popular withthose ladies who were a bit hazy as to the time of a measure.
Oh-oo-oo, ladies to the left and gents to the right. All hands round; now hold 'em tight.
Lafe had been designated master of ceremonies and he stood near theorchestra to call off the square dances. Never more than twenty coupleswere on the floor at one time, but the rhythmical beat of their feet andthe welling dust were sufficient to make an onlooker dizzy. Whenever agentleman swung a lady, he really swung her--no mincing or faint-heartedgyration. With their hands behind each other's shoulders, they spunmadly about, and the lady's skirt billowed to the movement. Both wouldsway dizzily when they stopped. The other guests were sleeping, orcrowded into the kitchen, where were put out for refreshment hugeplatters of barbecued beef, calves' heads roasted whole under live coalsin the ground for a whole night, and bread and pickles and cheese. Potsof coffee steamed on the stove, and one had only to give the nod toJerry Sellers to be honorably escorted to the saddle-shed wherein on astool rested a full-bellied keg. Jerry had constituted himself Lafe'sright-hand man and never relaxed in his vigilant attention to duty. Hadit not been for this first aid to the weary, the orchestra would longsince have knocked under, but Harry vowed that he would hold out as longas the keg did, and everybody had confidence in him.
"The next piece," he announced, "is a li'l piece I done composed myself.It is called 'The Bull in the Corn Brakes.' Get your partners. Polka itis. Step to it."
Aside from a slight grayness about the eyes, Lafe gave no evidence offatigue. His wife and young son were asleep in Mrs. Horne's bed. On thefloor in the same bedchamber were seven other women, resting from theirexertions. No special hours for repose had been set aside. All day andall night the dance went on, never ceasing, and there were alwayscouples ready. Each guest lay down for a nap when he felt his systemrequired it, and he lay where his notion of comfort dictated. It was notsurprising then that one tripped over men stretched out under blanketson the veranda; the yard was cumbered with them, too.
The lady guests were provided for in the five bedrooms of the house. Asfor the children, of whom there were a dozen or more, now grown fretfulfrom overexcitement, they played in the yard, or down in the corralswith some Shetland ponies Horne had imported. Only at meal times didthey give their mothers any concern. And the orchestra still held out,having been thrice relieved that he might take naps.
Mrs. Paint Davis fed beer out of a bottle to her yearling son. Thechild's eyes grew heavy from it. A prudish person ventured to protest tothe father.
"Pshaw, no," said Paint. "You can't make that boy drunk. It'll learn himto leave it alone when he's growed."
Jerry Sellers took Mordecai Bass to the saddle-shed to give him a drink.Mordecai said something that Sellers did not like. A reluctant rebukewas followed up by a sharp word. Ensued a furious outburst from Jerry, apacific remonstrance from Bass, then blows. Lafe Johnson happened toemerge from the house to clear the dust from his lungs, and heard thealtercation. He arrived in time to separate the two, and so successfulwere his labors as a peacemaker that they shook hands before parting.
"It's all along of Florence Steel," Jerry explained to his chief."Mordecai, he thinks I'm trying to set to her. Just because I had fourdances--yes, and a li'l something I done remarked, pleasant like."
On Lafe's return to the ballroom, he saw Florence waltzing with thehalf-breed Baptismo. Baptismo was showing his white teeth, and hewhispered when he perceived Johnson. He was a strikingly handsome manand possessed a peculiar fascination for women. Men disliked him andLafe's pride of blood was such that he usually ignored Baptismo. Had itbeen his dance, the half-breed would not have been there, but Horne hadbidden him from policy.
An hour afterwards Lafe chanced to descry Jerry going to the spring fora bucket of fresh water to hang beside the keg. Sellers sang as hewalked, swinging the bucket.
Oh, bury me not on the lone prairee, Where the wild ki-yotes will howl o'er me--
Lafe could hear him clearly where he leaned against the jamb of thedoor. He smiled over the doleful song of the night guard, which neveroccurred to Jerry unless he were feeling cheerful.
Where the rattlesnakes hiss and the wind blows free--
There was an abrupt breaking-off after "free." Then a dreadful cry.
"Lafe!" came Jerry's shout.
Johnson ran towards the spring. Close to it Sellers was hunched on theground, doubled up over the bucket which stood between his legs. He wasquite dead. There was a deep wound in his back, just below the shoulderblade.
They carried him to the barn in order not to stampede the guests, androused Horne, who was sleeping. When they led him to view the body, thecowman was not wholly awake.
"Who did it?" he asked stupidly.
That was what everybody asked his neighbor by silent questioning ofeyes.
"I think I know," said Lafe.
He left them and went in search of Bass. He could not find him at thehouse. Upon that he sped to the corrals, but Mordecai's horse was gone.The half-breed Baptismo informed him that Bass had ridden off only a fewminutes before. Johnson did not hesitate. He was no longer a sheriff,but he was boss of the Anvil range, and Anvil hospitality had beenoutraged and dishonored. He would track down the slayer. Arriving atthis decision while Horne plied question on question without obtaining areply, he went to inform Hetty.
"All right," said that young woman sleepily. "Take care of yourself."
It is probable that in her drowsy state she did not appreciate hismission, else she would not have let him go so readily.