Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: "You!" she exclaimed. "You!"]
SUNDOWN SLIM
BY
HENRY HERBERT KNIBBS
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
ANTON FISCHER
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY HENRY HERBERT KNIBBS
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Published May 1915
DEDICATED TO
EVERETT E. HARASZTHY
Contents
Chapter
ARIZONA I. SUNDOWN IN ANTELOPE II. THE JOKE III. THIRTY MILES TO THE CONCHO IV. PIE; AND SEPTEMBER MORN V. ON THE CANON TRAIL VI. THE BROTHERS VII. FADEAWAY'S HAND VIII. AT "THE LAST CHANCE" IX. SUNDOWN'S FRIEND X. THE STORM XI. CHANCE--CONQUEROR XII. A GIFT XIII. SUNDOWN, VAQUERO XIV. ON THE TRAIL TO THE BLUE XV. THEY KILLED THE BOSS! XVI. SUNDOWN ADVENTURES XVII. THE STRANGER XVIII. THE SHERIFF--AND OTHERS XIX. THE ESCAPE XX. THE WALKING MAN XXI. ON THE MESA XXII. WAIT! XXIII. THE PEACEMAKER XXIV. AN UNEXPECTED VISIT XXV. VAMOSE, EH? XXVI. THE INVADERS XXVII. "JUST ME AND HER" XXVIII. IMPROVEMENTS XXIX. A MAN'S COUNTRY
List of Illustrations
"You!" she exclaimed. "You!" . . . " . . . _Frontispiece_
"God A'mighty, sech things is wrong."
Arizona
Across the wide, sun-swept mesas the steel trail of the railroad runseast and west, diminishing at either end to a shimmering blur ofsilver. South of the railroad these level immensities, rich in theirseason with ripe bunch-grass and grama-grass roll up to the barrier ofthe far blue hills of spruce and pine. The red, ragged shoulders ofbuttes blot the sky-line here and there; wind-worn and grotesquesilhouettes of gigantic fortifications, castles and villages wrought bysome volcanic Cyclops who grew tired of his labors, abandoning hisunfinished task to the weird ravages of wind and weather.
In the southern hills the swart Apache hunts along historic trails o'erwhich red cavalcades once swept to the plundering of Sonora's herds.His sires and their flashing pintos have vanished to otherhunting-grounds, and he rides the boundaries of his scant heritage,wrapped in sullen imaginings.
The canons and the hills of this broad land are of heroic mould as areits men. Sons of the open, deep-chested, tall and straight, they ridelike conquerors and walk--like bears. Slow to anger and quick to act,they carry their strength and health easily and with a dignity which noworn trappings, faded shirt, or flop-brimmed hat may obscure. Speak toone of them and his level gaze will travel to your feet and back againto your eyes. He may not know what you are, but he assuredly knowswhat you are not. He will answer you quietly and to the point. If youhave been fortunate enough to have ridden range, hunted or camped withhim or his kind, ask him, as he stands with thumb in belt and wideStetson tilted back, the trail to heaven. He will smile and pointtoward the mesas and the mountains of his home. Ask him the trail tothat other place with which he so frequently garnishes hisconversation, and he will gravely point to the mesas and the hillsagain. And there you have Arizona.
SUNDOWN SLIM
CHAPTER I
SUNDOWN IN ANTELOPE
Sundown Slim, who had enjoyed the un-upholstered privacy of a box-caron his journey west from Albuquerque, awakened to realize that hisconveyance was no longer an integral part of the local freight whichhad stopped at the town of Antelope, and which was now rumbling andgrumbling across the Arizona mesas. He was mildly irritated by amanagement that gave its passengers such negligent service. Hecomplained to himself as he rolled and corded his blankets. However,he would disembark and leave the car to those base uses for whichcorporate greed, and a shipper of baled hay, intended it. He wasfurther annoyed to find that the door of the car had been locked sincehe had taken possession. Hearing voices, he hammered on the door.After an exchange of compliments with an unseen rescuer, the door waspushed back and he leaped to the ground. He was a bit surprised tofind, not the usual bucolic agent of a water-plug station, but a beltedand booted rider of the mesas; a cowboy in all the glory of wideStetson, wing chaps, and Mexican spurs.
"Thought you was the agent. I couldn't see out," apologized the tramp.
The cowboy laughed. "He was scared to open her up, so I took a chanct,seein' as I'm agent for the purvention of crulty to Hoboes."
"Well, you got a fine chance to make a record this evening" saidSundown, estimating with experienced eye the possibilities of Antelopeand its environs. "I et at Albuquerque."
"Ain't a bad town to eat in," commented the puncher, gazing at the sky.
"I never seen one that was," the tramp offered, experimentally.
The cowboy grinned. "Well, take a look at this pueblo, then. You cansee her all from here. If the station door was open you could seeclean through to New Mexico. They got about as much use for a Bo inthese parts as they have for raisin' posies. And this ain't no garden."
"Well, I'm raised. I got me full growth," said Sundown, straighteninghis elongated frame,--he stood six-feet-four in whatever he could getto stand in,--"and I raised meself."
"Good thing you stopped when you did," commented the puncher. "What'syour line?"
"Me line? Well, the Santa Fe, jest now. Next comes cookin'. I beencook in everything from a hotel to a gradin'-camp. I cooked forhigh-collars and swalley-tails, and low-brows and jeans--till it cometime to go. Incondescent to that I been poet select to the T.W.U."
"Temperance?"
"Not exactly. T.W.U. is Tie Walkers' Union. I lost me job account ofa long-hair buttin' in and ramblin' round the country spielin'high-toned stuff about 'Art for her own sake'--and such. Me palsselected him animus for poet, seein' as how I just writ thingsnacheral; no high-fluted stuff like him. Why, say, pardner, I believein writin' from the ground up, so folks can understand. Why, thiscountry is sufferin' full of guys tryin' to pull all the G strings outof a harp to onct--when they ought to be practicin' scales on amouth-organ. And it's printed ag'in' 'em in the magazines, rightalong. I read lots of it. But speakin' of eats and _thinkin_' ofeats, did you ever listen to 'Them Saddest Words,'--er--one of me owncompetitions?"
"Not while I was awake. But come on over to 'The Last Chance' andlubricate your works. I don't mind a little po'try on a full stummick."
"Well, I'm willin', pardner."
The process of lubrication was brief; and "Have another?" queried thetramp. "I ain't all broke--only I ain't payin' dividen's, bein' hardtimes."
"Keep your two-bits," said the puncher. "This is on me. You're goin'to furnish the chaser, Go to it and cinch up them there 'saddest.'"
"Bein' just two-bits this side of bein' a socialist, I guess I'll keepme change. I ain't a drinkin' man--regular, but I never was scared ofeatin'."
Sundown gazed about the dingy room. Like most poets, he was not averseto an audience, and like most poets he was quite willing that suchaudience should help defray his incidental expenses--indirectly, ofcourse. Prospects were pretty thin just then. Two Mexican herdersloafed at the other end of the bar. They appeared anything butsusceptible to the blandishments of Euterpe. Sundown gazed at theceiling, which was fly-specked and uninspiring,
"Turn her loose!" said the puncher, winking at the bartender.
Sundown folded his long arms and tilted one lean shoulder as thoughdefying the elements to blast him where he stood:--
"Lives there a gent who has not heard, Before he died, the saddest word?
"'What word is that?' the maiden cried; 'I'd like to hear it before I died.'
"'Then come with me,' her father said, As to the stockyards her he led;
"Where layin' on the ground so low She seen a tired and weary
Bo.
"But when he seen her standin' 'round, He riz up from the cold, cold ground.
"'Is this a hold-up game?' sez he. And then her pa laughed wickedly.
"'This ain't no hold-up!' loud he cried, As he stood beside the fair maiden's side.
"'But this here gal of mine ain't heard What you Boes call the saddest word.'
"'The Bo, who onct had been a gent, Took off his lid and low he bent.
"He saw the maiden was fed up good, So her father's wink he understood.
"'The saddest word,' the Bo he spoke, 'Is the dinner-bell, when you are broke.'"
And Sundown paused, gazing ceilingward, that the moral might seepthrough.
"You're ridin' right to home!" laughed the cow-boy. "You just lightdown and we'll trail over to Chola Charley's and prospect a tub offrijoles. The dinner-bell when you are broke is plumb correct. Gotany more of that po'try broke to ride gentle?"
"Uhuh. Say, how far is it to the next town?"
"Comin' or goin'?"
"Goin'."
"'Bout seventy-three miles, but there's nothin' doin' there. Worse'nthis."
"Looks like me for a job, or the next rattler goin' west. Any chanctfor a cook here?"
"Nope. All Mexican cooks. But say, I reckon you _might_ tie up overto the Concho. Hearn tell that Jack Corliss wants a cook. Seems hisole stand-by Hi Wingle's gone to Phoenix on law business. Jack's agood boss to tie to. Worked for him myself."
"How far to his place?" queried Sundown.
"Sixty miles, straight south."
"Gee Gosh! Looks like the towns was scared of each other in this herecountry. Who'd you say raises them frijoles?"
The cowboy laughed and slapped Sundown on the back. "Come on, Bud!You eat with me this trip."
Western humor, accentuated by alcohol, is apt to broaden rapidly inproportion to the quantity of liquor consumed. After a given quantityhas been consumed--varying with the individual--Western humor broadenswithout regard to proportion of any kind.
The jovial puncher, having enjoyed Sundown's society to the extent ofsix-bits' worth of Mexican provender, suggested a return to "The LastChance," where the tramp was solemnly introduced to a newly arrivedcoterie of thirsty riders of the mesas. Gaunt and exceedingly tall, heloomed above the heads of the group in the barroom "like a crane in afrog-waller," as one cowboy put it. "Which ain't insinooatin' that ourhind legs is good to eat, either," remarked another. "He keeps righton smilin'," asserted the first speaker. "And takin' his smile," saidthe other. "Wonder what's his game? He sure is the lonesomest-lookin'cuss this side of that dead pine on Bald Butte, that I ever seen." Butconviviality was the order of the evening, and the punchers groupedtogether and told and listened to jokes, old and new, talked sagebrushpolitics, and threw dice for the privilege of paying rather thanwinning. "Says he's scoutin' for a job cookin'," remarked a youngcowboy to the main group of riders. "Heard him tell Johnny."
Meanwhile, Sundown, forgetful of everything save the congeniality ofthe moment, was recounting, to an amused audience of three, hisexperiences as assistant cook in an Eastern hotel. The rest of thehappy and irresponsible punchers gravitated to the far end of the barand proposed that they "have a little fun with the tall guy." One ofthem drew his gun and stepped quietly behind the tramp. About to fireinto the floor he hesitated, bolstered his gun and tiptoed clumsilyback to his companions. "Got a better scheme," he whispered.
Presently Sundown, in the midst of his recital, was startled by a roarof laughter. He turned quickly. The laughter ceased. The cowboy whohad released him from the box-car stated that he must be going, andamid protests and several challenges to have as many "one-mores," swungout into the night to ride thirty miles to his ranch. Then it was, ashas been said elsewhere and oft, "the plot thickened."
A rider, leaning against the bar and puffing thoughtfully at a cigar ofelephantine proportions, suddenly took his cigar from his lips, held itpoised, examined it with the eye of a connoisseur--of cattle--andremarked slowly: "Now, why didn't I think of it? Wonder you fellasdidn't think of it. They need a cook bad! Been without a cook for ayear--and everybody fussin' 'round cookin' for himself."
Sundown caught the word "cook" and turned to, face the speaker. "I waslookin' for a job, meself," he said, apologetically. "Did you know ofone?"
"You was!" exclaimed the cowboy. "Well, now, that's right queer. Iknow where a cook is needed bad. But say, can you honest-to-Gosh_cook_?"
"I cooked in everything from a hotel to a gradin'-camp. All I want isa chanct."
The cowboy shook his head. "I don' know. It'll take a pretty good manto hold down this job."
"Where is the job?" queried Sundown.
Several of the men grinned, and Sundown, eager to be friendly, grinnedin return.
"Mebby you _could_ hold it down," continued the cowboy. "But say, doyou eat your own cookin'?"
"Guess you're joshin' me." And the tramp's face expresseddisappointment. "I eat my own cookin' when I can't get any better," headded, cheerfully.
"Well, it ain't no joke--cookin' for that hotel," stated the puncher,gazing at the end of his cigar and shaking his head. "Is it, boys?"
"Sure ain't," they chorused.
"A man's got to shoot the good chuck to hold the trade," he continued.
"Hotel?" queried Sundown. "In this here town?"
"Naw!" exclaimed the puncher. "It's one o' them swell joints out inthe desert. Kind o' what folks East calls a waterin'-place. Eh, boys?"
"That's her!" volleyed the group.
"Kind o' select-like," continued the puncher.
"Sure is!" they chorused.
"Do you know what the job pays?" asked Sundown.
"U-m-m-m, let's see. Don't know as I ever heard. But there'll be notrouble about the pay. And you'll have things your own way, if you candeliver the goods."
"That's right!" concurred a listener.
Sundown looked upon work of any kind too seriously to suspect that itcould be a subject for jest. He gazed hopefully at their hard, keenfaces. They all seemed interested, even eager that he should findwork. "Well, if it's a job I can hold down," he said, slowly, "I'llstart for her right now. I ain't afraid to work when I got to."
"That's the talk, pardner! Well, I'll tell you. You take that road atthe end of the station and follow her south right plumb over the hill.Over the hill you'll see a ranch, 'way on. Keep right on fannin' itand you'll come to a sign that reads 'American Hotel.' That's her.Good water, fine scenery, quiet-like, and just the kind of a place themtourists is always lookin' for. I stopped there many a time. So hasthe rest of the boys."
"You was tellin' me it was select-like--" ventured Sundown.
The men roared. Even Sundown's informant relaxed and grinned. But hebecame grave again, flicked the ashes from his cigar and waved hishand. "It's this way, pardner. That there hotel is run on theAmerican style; if you got the price, you can have anything in thehouse. And tourists kind o' like to see a bunch of punchers settin''round smokin' and talkin' and tellin' yarns. Why, they was a ladyonct--"
"But she went back East," interrupted a listener.
"That's the way with them," said the cowboy. "They're always stickin'their irons on some other fella's stock. Don't you pay no 'tention tothem."
Sundown shook hands with his informant, crossed to the corner of theroom, and slung his blanket-roll across his back. "Much obliged to youfellas," he said, his lean, timorous face beaming with gratitude. "Itmakes a guy feel happy when a bunch of strangers does him a good turn.You see I ain't got the chanct to get a job, like you fellas, me bein'a Bo. I had a pal onct--but He crossed over. He was the only one thatever done me a good turn without my askin'. He was a college guy. Iwisht he was here so he could say thanks to you fellas classy-like.I'm feeling them kind of thanks, but I can't say 'em."
The grins faded from some of the faces. "You ain't goin' to fan itto-night?" asked one.
"G
uess I will. You see, I'm broke, now. I'm used to travelin' any oldtime, and nights ain't bad--believe me. It's mighty hot daytimes inthis here country. How far did you say?"
"Just over the hill--then a piece down the trail. You can't miss it,"said the cowboy who had spoken first.
"Well, so-long, gents. If I get that job and any of you boys come outto the hotel, I'll sure feed you good."
An eddy of smoke followed Sundown as he passed through the doorway. Acowboy snickered. The room became silent.
"Call the poor ramblin' lightnin'-rod back," suggested a kindly puncher.
"He'll come back fast enough," asserted the perpetrator of the "joke.""It's thirty dry and dusty miles to the water-hole ranch. When he getsa look at how far it is to-morrow mornin' he'll sure back into thefence and come flyin' for Antelope with reins draggin'. Set 'em upagain, Joe."
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