Where the Horse is Fate
One thing's certain, you can't run a sheep ranch, nor no other kind ofranch, without hired men. They're the most important thing, next tothe sheep. I may have stated, absent-mindedly, that the Big Bend wasorganised on scientific principles: none of yourgol-darned-heads-or-tails--who's-it--what-makes-the-ante-shy, about it.Napoleon Buonaparte in person, in his most complex minute, couldn'thave got at this end of it better than I did. It looked a littleroundabout, but that's the way with your Morgan strain of idees.Here's how I secured the first man--he didn't look like good materialto the careless eye.
Burton and me had just turned the top of that queer hill, thatoverlooks the Southwest road into the Bad Lands, when I see a parcel ofriders coming out. Somehow, they jarred me.
"Easy," says I, and grabs Burton's bridle.
"What the devil now?" he groans. "Injuns? Road-agents?"
"Nope," says I, getting out my field glass. I had guessed it: therewas the bunch, riding close and looking ugly, with the white-faced manin the middle. If you should ask me how I knew that for a lynching,when all I could make out with my eyes was that they weren't cattle, Igive it up. Seems like something passed from them to me that wasn'tsight. And also if you ask why, when through the glass I got a betterview of the poor devil about to be strung, I felt kind towards him, youhave me speechless again. I couldn't make out his face, but there wassomething----
Through the glass I got a better view of the poor devilabout to be strung]
"See here, Burton," says I. "There's your peaceful prairie hanging, inits early stage."
"What!" says he, sick and hot at the same time. "How can you speak ofthe death of a human being so heartlessly? Let me go!"
"Hold!" says I. "You haven't heard me through. Perhaps you can bemore use than to run away and hide your eyes. I ain't got a' word tosay against quick law. I've seen her work, and she works to a point.She beats having the lawyers sieving all the justice out of it. Allthe same, they've been too careless around here--that, and a small badboy's desire to get their names up. I know one case where they hung aperfectly innocent man, for fun, and to brag about it."
He looked at me steady. I had suspected him of being no coward, whenit comes to cases.
"Now," I says, "I don't know what that is down there. Perhaps it's allright; then you and me has got to stand by. If not--well, by thesacred photograph of Mary Ann, here's one roping that won't be anundiluted pleasure. Now listen. I'm something of a high private, whenit comes to war, but no man is much more than one man, if the otherside's blood is bad. Give 'em to me cold, and I can throw a crimp into'em, for I don't care a hoot at any stage of the game, and they do.But when they're warm--why, a hole between the eyes will stop me justas quick as though I wasn't Chantay Seeche Red. Are you with me? Younever took longer chances in your life."
He wet his lips, and didn't speak very loud nor steady, but he says:"You lead."
"Well, hooray, Boston!" says I. "Beans is good food. Now don't takeit too serious till you have to. Perhaps there ain't more'n a laugh init. But--it's like smooth ice. How deep she is, you know when shecracks, or don't. Be as easy as you can when we get up to 'em.Nothing gained by bulling the ring. We must be prepared to lookpleasant and act very different. Turn your back and see that your toypistol is working."
Well, poor Burton! Wisht you seen him fumble his gun.
"I can't _see_ the thing," says he, kind of sniffling. "I'd givesomething to be a man."
"You'll do for an imitation," I says. "Remember, I was born with redhair; comes trouble, this hair of mine sheds a red light over thelandscape; I get happy-crazy; it's summer, and I can smell the flowers;there's music a long ways off--why, I could sing this minute, butthere's no use in making matters worse. Honest, trouble makes me justdrunk enough to be limber and--talk too much. Come on."
We single-footed it down the hillside. The party stopped and drawedtogether, four men quietly making a rank in front. That crowd hadwalked barefoot.
We come to twenty yards of 'em in silence; then a tall lad swung outtowards us.
"How, Kola!" says I, wavin' my hand pleasant.
"How do you do!" says he, as if it wouldn't break his heart, no matterwhat the answer was.
"Why, nicely, thank you to hell," says I. "What's doin'? Horse race?"
"Probably," says he; then kind of yawning: "We're not expectin' companythis morning."
"Well," I answered, "it's the unexpected always happens, except theexceptions. You talk like a man that's got something on his mind."
Don't think I'd lost my wits and was pickin' a row to no advantage.I'll admit the gent riled me some, but the point I had in view was whatold Judge Hinky used to call "shifting the issue." I wanted to makeone stab at just one man--not the whole party--on grounds that the restof the crowd, who was plainly all good two-handed punchers, would seewas perfectly fair. And I intended to land that stab so's they'd see Iwas no trifler. It was my bad luck that not a soul in the crowd knewme--even by reputation, or my hair would have made it easy for me. SoI put a little ginger in the tone of my voice.
"My friend," says the tall lad, "I wouldn't advise you to get gay withus. I would advise you to move right on--or I'll move you."
He played to me, you see. If he'd said, "_We_'ll move you," I'd had tochaw with him some more. Now I had him. Right under the harmlessbundle of old clothes dangling from the saddle horn was the gun I'dborrowed from Ike--Mary Ann's twin sister, full of cartridges loaded byIke himself--no miss-fire government issue. The next second that gunhad its cold, hard eye upon Long Jim in front of me.
Whilst my hands seemed carelessly crossed on the horn, my right wasreally closed on the gun.
"I like to see a man back his advice," says I. "It's your move. Don'tany other gentleman get restless with his hands, or I'll make ourChristian brother into a collection of holes. Now, you ill-manneredbrute," I says, "I don't care what your business is: it's my businessto see that you give me civil answers to civil questions."
He shrunk some. He was too durned important, anyhow, that feller.
"Quick!" says I. "Lord of the Mormon hosts! Do you think I'm going toyappee with you all day? Nice morning, ain't it? Say 'yes.'"
"Yes," says he.
"I thought so," says I. "It's a raw deal when a man that's sat a horseas long as me can't say howdy on the open, without havin' a pup likeyou bark at him."
"Why," says he, feelin' distressed, "I didn't mean to make no bad playat you." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the prisoner,who sat like a white stone. "That's it. Misplaced horse. Got himwith the goods."
"Oh!" says I. "Well, 'twouldn't have done no harm to mention thatfirst place. I wasn't noticing you particular, till you got too muchalive for any man of my size to stand." I dropped my gun. "Excusehaste and a bad pen," says I; "but why don't I draw cards? Bothparents were light complected and I've voted several times. How is it,boys?"
"Sure!" says they. "Take a stack, brick-top."
"Gentlemen," I says; "one word more and I am done. The question as towhether my hair is any particular colour or not, is discussed inprivate, by familiar friends only--savvy the burro, how he kickee withhees hin' leg?"
They laughed.
"All right, Colonel!" says they. "Come with us!"
I had that crowd. You see, they was all under twenty-five, and ifthere's anything a young man likes--a good, hearty boy--it's to see abrisk play pushed home. I'd called 'em down so their spinal columnsshortened, and gagging about my hair, and the style I put on ingeneral, caught their eye. And their own laughing and easiness wasn'tso durned abandoned, as Charley Halleck used to say. There was astreak of not liking the job, and everything a little "put on," evidentto the practised vision.
I'd gained two points. Made myself pretty solid with the boys, forone, and give 'em something besides hanging their fellow-man to thinkof for another: distracted their attention, which you got to do
withchildren.
"I speak for my friend," says I, pointing to Burton.
"We hear you talk, Colonel," says the joker. "He's with us." So wetrotted on towards the cotton-woods.
The line of work was marked out for me. I put on a grim look and sizedthe prisoner up from time to time as though he was nothing but anobstruction to my sight, although the face of the poor devil bit myheart. He glanced neither way, mouth set, face green-white, the slowsweat glassy all over him. Not a bad man, by a mile, I knew. It don'ttake me a week to size a man up, and I've seen 'em in so manyconditions, red and pale, sick, dead, and well, that outside symptomsdon't count for much.
I noticed another thing, that I expected. Out of the corner of my eyeI see them boys nudgin' each other and talkin' about me. And the moreI rode along so quiet, the more scart of me they got.
I tell you how I'd test a brave man. I'd line the competitors up, andthen spring a fright behind them. Last man to cross the mark is thebravest man--still, he might only be the poorest runner. With fellerslike me, it ain't courage at all. It's lunacy. I ain't in my rightmind when a sharp turn comes. Why, I've gone cold a year after,thinking of things I laughed my way through when they happened. ButI'm not quarrelling with fate--I thank the good Lord I'm built as I am,and don't feel scornful of a man that keeps his sense and acts scartand reasonable.
In one way, poor old Burton, lugging himself into the game by thescruff of his pants, showed more real man than I did. Yet, he couldn'taccomplish anything; so there you are, if you know where that is.
I said nothing until we slid off beneath the first tree. Then I walkedup to the three leaders and says, whilst the rest gathered around andlistened:
"Has this critter been tried?"
"Why, no!" says one man. "We caught him on the horse."
"Yes, yes, yes," says I, raising my voice. "That's all right. Butlend me your ears till I bray a thought or two. I'm that kind of a manthat wouldn't string the meanest mistake the devil ever made withoutgivin' him a trial."
"You give me a lot of trial this morning," says Long Jim.
I wasn't bringing up any argument; I was pulling them along with amother's kind but firm hand, so I says to him: "Ah! I wasn't talkingabout _gentlemen_; I'd shoot a gentleman if he did or didn't lookcross-eyed at me, just as I happened to feel. I'm talking about a manthat's suspected of dirty work."
Now, when a man that's held you stiff at the end of a gun calls you agentleman, you don't get very mad--just please remember my audience,when I tell you what I talked. Boys is boys, at any age; otherwisethere wouldn't be no Knights Templars with tin swords nor a good manyother things. I spoke grand, but they had it chalked down in theirlittle books I was ready and willing to act grander. Had I struck anyone or all of 'em, on the range, thinking of nothing special, andFourth-o'-July'd to 'em like that, they would have give me the hee-hee.Howsomever, they was at present engaged in tryin' to hang a man; a jobone-half of which they didn't like, and would dispose of the balancecheap, for cash. And I'd run over their little attempt to be pompouslike a 'Gul engine. Position is everything, you bet your neck.
So up speaks Mr. Long Jim, that I've called a gentleman, loud and clear.
"You're _right_," says he, and bangs his fist into his other hand."You're dead right, old horse," says he; "and we'll try thisson-of-a-gun now and here."
"Sure!" says everybody, which didn't surprise me so much. I told you Iwas used to handling sheep.
After a little talk with his friend, Long Jim comes up and says: "Willyou preside, Colonel?"
"I have a friend here who is a lawyer," I suggested, waving my handtoward Burton.
The speaker rubbed his chin.
"I guess this isn't a case for a lawyer," he says. "The gentlemanmight give us a point or two, but we'd prefer you took charge. Yousee," he says to Burton and me earnestly; "there's been a heap ofskul-duggery around here lately--horse-stealin', maimin' cattle, andthe like--till we're dead sick of it. This bucco made the mostbare-faced try you ever heard of--'twas like stealin' the whiskersright off your face--and us fellers in my neighbourhood, old man andall, have saw fit to copper the deal from the soda-card. We ain't fordoin' this man; we're for breaking up the play--'tain't a case of law;it's a case of livin'--so if you'll oblige, Colonel?"
"All right, sir; I'll do the best I can. Who accuses this man?"
"I," says a straightforward-looking young man of about twenty odd.
"Step up, please, and tell us."
"Why, it's like this," he says. "I'm ranchin' lone-hand down onBadger. There's the wife and two kiddies, and a job for a circus-manto make both ends meet--piecin' out a few cattle and a dozen hogs witha garden patch. All I got between me and a show-down is my team.Well, this feller comes along, played out, and asks for a drink ofwater. My wife's laid up--too darn much hard work for any woman--andI've got Jerry saddled by the fence, to ride for the doctor. Otherhorse is snake bit and weavin' in the stable with a leg like a barrel.I goes in to get the water, and when I comes out there's this suckerdustin' off with the horse. Then I run over to C-bar-nine and routsthe boys out. We took out after him, corrallin' him in a draw near theGrindstones. That's about all."
"Make any fight?" I asked.
"Naw!" says the man, disgusted. "I was wanting to put my hands on him,but he comes in like a sick cow--seemed foolish."
"How foolish?"
"Oh, just stared at us. We called to him to halt, and he stopped, kindof grinned at us and says: 'Hello!' I'd a 'hello'd' him if the boyshadn't stopped me."
We called to him to halt, and he stopped, kind ofgrinned at us and says: "Hello!"]
"Prisoner," I says, "this looks bad. I don't know where you come from,but you must have intelligence enough to see that this man's wife'slife might have depended on that horse. You know we're straggled soout here that a horse means something more than so much a head. Whydid you do this? Your actions don't seem to hang together."
The poor cuss changed face for the first time. He swallered hard andturned to his accuser. "Hope your lady didn't come to no harm?" sayshe.
"Why, no thankee; she didn't," says the other lad. "'Bliged to you forinquirin'."
There was a stir in the rest of the crowd. The prisoner had done goodwork for himself without knowing it. That question of his proved whatI thought--he was no bad man. Something peculiar in the case.Swinging an eye on the crowd, I saw I could act. I went forward andlaid my hand on his shoulder, speaking kind and easy.
"Here," says I, "you've done a fool trick, and riled the boysconsiderable. You'd been mad, too, if somebody'd made you ride allday. But now you tell us just what happened. If it was intended to becomical, we'll kick your pants into one long ache, and let it go atthat; if it was anything else, spit it out."
He stood there, fumblin' with his hands, runnin' the back of one overhis forehead once in a while, tryin' to talk, but unable. You couldsee it stick in his throat.
"Take time," says I; "there's lots of it both sides of us."
Then he braced.
"Boys," says he, "I got a wife an' two little roosters too. I feelsorry for the trouble I made that gentleman. I got split like this.Come to this town with seven hundred dollars, to make a start. Fivehundred of that's my money, and two hundred m' wife saved up--and shewas that proud and trustin' in me!" He stopped for a full minute,workin' his teeth together. "Well, I ain't much. I took to boozin'and tryin' to put the faro games out of business. Well, I wentshy--quick. The five hundred was all right," he says, kind of defiant."Man's got a right to do what he pleases with his own money; but . . .but . . . well, the girl worked hard for that little old two hundred.God Almighty! I was drunk! You don't s'pose I'd do such a thingsober?" turning to us, savage. "That ain't no excuse, howsomever," hegoes on, droppin' his crop. "Comes to the point when there's nothin'left, and then I get a letter." He begun taking things out of hispockets, dropping 'em from his big tremblin' hands. "It's somewhereshere--ain't that it
? My eyes is no good."
He hands me a letter, addressed to Martin Hazel, in a woman's writing."Well, that druv me crazy. So help me God, sir, I ain't pleadin' forno mercy--I'll take my medicine--but I didn't know no more what I wasdoin' when I jumped your horse than nothin'. I only wanted to get awayfrom everybody. I was crazy. You read 'em that letter," says he,taking hold of me. "See if it wouldn't drive any man crazy."
Now, there's no good repeatin' the letter. It wasn't written for anaudience, and the spellin' was accordin' to the lady's own views, butit was all about how happy they was going to be when Martin had thingsfixed up, and how funny the little boy was, and just like his pa, and,oh, couldn't he fix it so's they'd be with him soon, for her heart wasnear broke with waiting.
There was sand in my eyes before I'd read long, and that crowd offierce lynchers was lookin' industriously upon the ground. One manchawed away on his baccy, like there'd be an earthquake if he stopped,and another lad, with a match in his mouth, scratched a cigarette onhis leg, shieldin' it careful with his hands, and your Uncle Willytried to fill a straight face on a four-card draw, and to talk in atone of voice I wasn't ashamed of hearing.
During the last part of the letter the prisoner stood thoughtful, withthe back of his hand to his mouth; you'd never known he was settin' histeeth into it, if it wasn't for the blood dropping from his thumb.
"The prisoner will retire," says I, with the remnants of myself-respect, "while the court passes sentence. Go sit down under thetree yonder." He shambled off. Soon's he was out of hearin' thefeller that lost the horse jumps up into the air with an oath like astreak of lightning. "Here's a fine play we come near makin' by bein'so sudden," says he. "I wouldn't have that man's death on my soul forthe whole territory--think of that poor woman! And he's paid thefreight. Colonel, I want to thank you for drawin' things down."
So he come up and shook me by the hand, and up files the rest and doesthe same thing.
"Now, friends," says I, "hold on. Court hasn't passed sentence yet. Ipass that this crowd put up to the tune of what it can spare tobuy"--consulting the letter--"to buy Peggy a ticket West, kidsincluded, exceptin' only the gentleman that lost the horse."
"Why, we ain't broke altogether on Badger!" says he. "You ain't goin'to bar me, boys?"
"Not on your life, if that's the way you feel," says I. I don't knowwhat amount that crowd could spare, but I'll bet high on one thing. Ifyou'd strong-armed the gang, you wouldn't start a bank with theproceeds after the collection was taken. There wasn't a nickel in theoutfit. "I'm glad I didn't bring any more with me," says Burton,strapping himself.
Of course, I was appointed to break the news to the prisoner. Hebusted then; put his head on his arm and cried like a baby. But hebraced quick and stepped up to the lads. "There ain't nothing I cansay except thank you," says he. "I want to get each man's name so's Ican pay him back. Now, if anybody here knows of a job of work I canget--well, you know what it would mean to me. Sporty life is done forme, friends; I'll work hard for any man that'll take me."
"I got you," I says. "Come along with me and I'll explain."
Then we said by-by to the boys. I played the grand with 'em still, andI'll just tell you why, me and you bein' such old friends. Although itmay sound queer, coming from my mouth, yet it was because I thought Imight give them boys the proper steer, sometime. You can't talkSunday-school to young fellers like that! They don't pay no attentionto what a gent in black clothes and a choker tells 'em; but supposeChantay Seeche Red--rippin', roarin' Red Saunders, that fears the faceof no man, nor the hoof of no jackass--lays his hand on a boy'sshoulder, and says, "Son, I wouldn't twist it just like that." Is hegoin' to get listened to? I reckon yes. So I played straight fortheir young imaginations, and I had 'em cinched to the last hole. Andafter the last one had pulled my flipper, and hoped he'd meet me soonagain, me and Burton and the new hired man took out after sheep."But," says Burton, still sort of dazed, "God only knows what we'llmeet before we find them. Even sheep aren't so peaceful in thiscountry."
He was right, too. However, when I start for sheep, I get 'em. Youcan see by the deep-laid plan I set to catch help for the ranch, howthere's nothing for fortune to do but lay down and holler when I makeup my mind.