The Long Dim Trail
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Unusual excitement was evident in the Willcox Hotel, as the cowpunchersof the Diamond H rushed in with mysterious packages which afterwardsdeveloped into conventional attire. They had ridden to town early in theafternoon, Saturday, the day the wedding of the Boss was to take place.
Confusion reigned in their small room. Roarer danced around, strugglingto fasten a collar, his face becoming apoplectic; while Holy, with hisentire vocabulary and muscular strength, was coaxing his feet intopatent leather shoes a size too small. When his frantic effortsculminated in a broken loop-strap, it left him, for once in his life,speechless.
Before a bilious mirror, Limber plastered his hair down rigidly with astick of barber's cosmetique, recommended by the bar-tender; and Broncostood ruefully contemplating four enormous pairs of white kid glovesreposing in a long row on the bed.
"I don't balk at toggin' up swell for the Boss's weddin'," came in agasp from Roarer as he clutched at his throat, "but derned if I see whythe feller what invented collar-buttons and biled shirts wasn't lynchedfor his fust offense. Doggone the beastly little contraption, anyhow!"
The others regarded him sympathetically, for they, too, had struggled,as the numerous twisted, soiled collars about the room testified; eventhose now decorating their brown throats showed marks of desperate fray.
"I've spiled seven collars and busted five collar buttons already,"groaned Roarer, pausing in his struggle. "Oh, Lord! Where did thatthing go. Any one see it? It's wusser'n a flea the way it lit out."
They grasped his meaning. Each had recently been on a voyage ofdiscovery for other collar buttons.
"Mebbe it's under the bed," suggested Holy, trying to balance himselfand walk in the tight shoes. He paused, standing like a gigantic storkon one foot. "Mine rolled under the bed."
Roarer fell to his knees and groped without avail, then crawled out onall fours, gazing up disconsolately into the faces of the other men."Not a hair nor a hide of it," he puffed, still on his knees. "That'sthe last one we had, and what's wust, thar ain't no more collar-buttonsin the whole blamed town. Everyone's been buyin' 'em this afternoon."
"Well, it couldn't get outen the room;" consoled Limber, whose toiletwas finished before the others, because he had had the foresight toenlist the services of a clerk in Soto's store, and after buying ashirt, collar and tie, the two had retired to a small back room. Hence,Limber had emerged victorious and unruffled, but his sympathies werewith the other punchers.
"They say collar-buttons take to a bureau if the bed don't suit 'em," hesuggested. "Suppose you start a round-up on that range, Roarer. I'd liketo help you out, but this collar checks me up too high."
Inspired by the idea, Roarer assumed his devotional attitude and clawedwildly. Something gave way, and he emerged precipitately.
"I got her," he triumphed, "but something busted--What was it?" hesupplemented with an anxious glance over his shoulder.
The others surrounded him.
"Suspender," reported Limber. "Button's busted off'n your trousers."
"Much damage?" he inquired of the investigating committee, whichcontinued looking him over.
"Nothin' but what can be fixed up with a pin," was Bronco's decision."Any one got a pin?"
They shook their heads. It was a pinless crowd, but a brilliant ideastruck Holy, who delved into the pockets of his discarded leather chapsand produced a horse-shoe nail. Drawing a piece of the trouser cloththrough the button-hole of the suspended flap, he thrust the nail indexterously.
"Thar you are," he pronounced cheerfully.
"Say, Holy, you're a wonder!" flattered Roarer obsequiously.
Holy grinned at him and demanded, "What do you want me to do for _you_?"
Roarer's childish accents pleaded, "Can't you help me get into thiscollar? It's the only one we got left that's fitten to put on, and itain't big enough for this shirt, nor me, neither, but I've got to getinto it somehow."
Holy inspected the dilemma. "I'll go see if I kin find something," hesaid vaguely as he left the room. In a few minutes he returned.
"I got a button-hook off'n the chambermaid. We can fix it up now!"
Surrounded by an admiring group, he grasped the collar band of Roarer'sshirt, thrust the button-hook through the button-hole of the collar andgave a vigorous twist.
An agonized squeal, like a dying pig, assaulted the air and Roarerretreated rapidly with the button-hook hanging to the collar, while herubbed the prominent bone in his throat that had interfered with theadjustment.
"What in thunder do you think you're doin'?" he piped, glaring at Holy."Looks like you was figgerin' to make cider outen my Adam's apple, theway you squoze."
"Well, I done the best I knowed how," defended Holy. "That's the waythings goes. I pulled an ol' Bar Z cow outen the mud, and the fust thingthe durned cow done was to make a bee-line for me whilst I had my backto her a cinchin' my saddle. She spiled the only pair of trousers Iowned, and then went back into the mudhole and died. Thar's a heap ofhuman nature in cows, and heaps of cow nature in humans! Here's thebutton-hook." Holy rescued it from the floor where it had dropped asRoarer massaged his throat. "You dig yourself outen your own mud-hold.I'm done!"
He limped painfully across the room and dropped into a chair, thepicture of disgust, and watched with fishy eye as Roarer plied thebutton-hook until the collar succumbed.
The agony was almost over, but the four pairs of gloves promised furthertrouble.
"Say, Bronc," insinuated Roarer as he contemplated the bed, "Couldn't afeller go without wearin' these derned things? Suppose we just put 'emin the outside pockets of our coats and let the fingers hang out, toshow we got 'em?"
"No, sirree!" vetoed Bronco emphatically, in the self-assumed role ofsocial adviser. "There ain't nothin' too good for the Boss; and the boysdown to the store told me that white kid gloves has got to be wore atweddin's. So them gloves has got to go on, if it busts us flat!"
With looks of grim determination and the spirit that inspired the 'nobleSix Hundred,' they swooped down on the gloves. Appropriating a pair,each man settled himself on a chair. The room was silent. Moments passedunheeded. Four struggling cowpunchers sat in four creaking chairs andlaboured until four pairs of huge hands were encased in bedraggled whitekid gloves, which the owners surveyed with triumph.
"They squinch," announced Holy, closing his hand convulsively, "butthey'll stretch if you work 'em a bit."
There was an ominous sound, and a look of consternation on Holy's faceas he gazed at the split glove on his left hand.
"Now, you'll have to get another pair," commanded Bronco.
"Hanged if I will," retorted Holy, rebelling at the prospect ofrepeating his experience.
"Then you got to remember to keep your hand shet up," compromisedBronco. "Lucky it's the left hand, because we all got to shake handswith the bride and the minister you know."
"Say, Bronc, are you sure about the minister?" asked Limber dubiously.
"You bet! You see it's this way," elucidated Bronco. "The groom is inluck to get the girl, ain't he? So you shake hands with him. The girl'slucky to get married, ain't she, stead of dyin' an old maid? So youshake hands with her; and the minister is the luckiest one of the bunch,because he gets paid for marryin' them and he don't take no chances onhavin' trouble afterwards. That's why you have to shake hands with theminister."
No one disputed the logic.
"People makes me think of flies in cold weather when it comes to gettin'married," reflected Limber audibly. "The flies that's outside the windowkeep tryin' to get in, and them that's inside keep workin' for allthey're wuth to get out. Looks like they're just bound to be miserableeither way."
"I knowed a feller down in Texas had two dogs named David and Jonathan,"said Bronco. "Wherever you seen one dog the other was right along sideof him, like his shadder. You jest couldn't keep 'em apart. One day somesmart geezer seen 'em sleepin' peaceful an' ca'm, side by each, and tiedone of David's hind legs to one of Jonathan's, an
d when them dogs wokeup they blamed each other, and from cussin' something awful in doglingo, they lit in and chawed hair and hide till they was pried apart.Ever since then the minute they see each other, it's just a signal forthem to start a free-for-all to a finish. The way them two dogs hassoured on each other is a caution."
"What's that got to do with gettin' married?" demanded Holy with asnort.
Bronco gazed at him a few seconds before he answered, "Well there's lotsof folks that would be good friends all their lives if they didn't huntup a minister to marry 'em and give 'em the right to scrap till theydie. When David and Jonathan got too serious, somebody got a club. Butif you find a man and his wife scrappin' and you try to ca'm them, theyboth turn and pitch into you for meddlin' with their family pleasures."
Limber took out his watch and announced it was time to start, andBronco, after a final survey of his charges, led the procession from thechamber of torture. They crossed the street, holding their hands stifflyat their sides, while each gloved finger stood out separately, like anindividual Declaration of Independence.
As they ascended the stairs leading to Mrs. Green's rooms, Broncowhispered his last instructions, "Don't forget to shake hands with thewhole outfit; and you be careful Holy, to keep your left hand shet."
Holy, leading the procession, halted suddenly and called back to Bronco,"I thought you said we was only to shake hands with the Boss and theLittle Lady and the gospel-shark," but as the door opened in front ofthem, Bronco made no reply.
The room was filled with guests, and after the first wave of bashfulnesshad receded, the Diamond H boys bunched together like a herd of scaredcattle. Doctor Powell crossed the room and joined them, then Mrs. Greenentered with Jamie, the little brother of the bride. Powell smiled andthe child shyly edged closer, until he was lifted to the doctor's knee.There was a slight confusion. Traynor stepped to a space in front of theminister, and the doctor, rising, consigned the child to Limber, thenadvanced to his place beside Traynor.
The cowboys of the Diamond H fidgeted nervously, and wondered at theBoss's calm appearance, noting with proprietary pride how handsome helooked and how high he held his head. There was a tender smile on hislips and his eyes were fixed on the door leading to the hallway.
Bronco leaned closer to Holy, whispering, "I bet he don't even knowhe's got a collar on. Ain't some men lucky?"
"Shet up," boomed Holy's voice treacherously, and many heads turnedtoward them, while Holy tried to efface himself behind Roarer andBronco.
The door leading to the hall opened and Jack Green came in with Nell onhis arm. The women's eyes became moist as they looked at the girl, andthe men silently voted Allan Traynor a lucky chap. Mrs. Green haddressed the girl in a pretty white gown, and the real wedding veil thatfloated about the slender form was the one that had been worn ten yearsprevious by the agent's kind-hearted wife.
Outside, a mocking bird sang in the wonderful Arizona moonlight, asthough it understood and sent its benison of love while the solemn wordswere spoken. Traynor stooped and kissed the girl, whose eyes looked intohis with a dazzling light that shone through tears, like the sunbreaking through a mist.
"Till Death us do part," he repeated unsteadily.
Then Jamie was beside them, holding up his thin arms to his sister, whokissed him tenderly. The boy turned uncertainly to Traynor, looked up athim, and laughed gayly as he was caught by the man's strong hands andheld up a second, while Traynor said, "You've got a grown-up brother,now, old man."
Beaming, Jamie slipped his hand into Nell's and stood beside them as theguests showered congratulations on the couple.
Bronco marshalled the Diamond H boys in line and Traynor suppressed hisinclination to laugh at the unaccustomed regalia of store clothes,'biled shirts' and white kid gloves, when the men held out their handsto the bride and groom.
Holy, recalling Bronco's final instructions on the stairway, forgot thedamaged glove in his exuberance, and shook hands vigorously witheveryone he could reach. Then with the consciousness of duty nobly done,he sought a corner and mopped his moist forehead with a Lilliputiansheet that he considered a handkerchief. Bronco edged up to him, and asudden light gleamed in Holy's eyes.
"Say, Bronc, what the devil did you keep kickin' me an' trompin' on myfeet for?" he demanded indignantly. "You acted like a cayuse with thestringhalt."
"Stringhalt!" grunted Bronco, "If you'd had any hoss sense whatsoever,you'd knowed I was doin' my durndest to get you to shet that big fist ofyour'n."
Holy looked down at the tattered glove that dangled in dingy stringsfrom the offending hand, then he pulled it off in sections. "I hope someone will shoot the top of my head off if I ever wear them damned thingsagain. Not on your life--even if the Boss was to get married every dayin the year for the rest of his life!"
He jerked off the other glove, wadded them together in a compact ball,and deftly tossed it out the open window.
The wedding party adjourned to a feast spread in the dining room of theWillcox Hotel, where toasts were given and merriment continued unabatedtill the west-bound 'Flyer' stopped at the signal, and Traynor and hisbride left for a couple of weeks in California, leaving Jamie with Mrs.Green.
Powell boarded the train at the same time, as he had to go to Tucson onbusiness connected with his intention to bid for the Hot Springs Ranch.
Bonfires had been lighted near the track, and the boys fired a salute tothe Boss and his bride. The coloured porter darted back to the platformof the train, and looked at the men with wild eyes.
"You ain't got no call to be scairt," reassured Bronco, "We're jestseein' a bridal couple off, that's all."
Then the whites of the porter's eyes disappeared entirely, and in theblack face shone a row of gleaming teeth.
The tail-light of the train disappeared in the distance, the bonfiresdied away, and the boys of the Diamond H. feeling they had done thingsup 'good and proper,' sought their beds in the hotel.
"Gosh! I'm glad the Boss ain't a Mormon!" sighed Bronco, as he droppedto sleep. The only response to his remark was a chorus of snores inwhich he soon joined.
Out in the dusty road was a tiny ball that had once been a pair of whitekid gloves.