by Max Brand
I remembered old Crofter. That old tough devil never had a sick day in his life, unless you was to count the heartaches that his daughter give him.
“And I found a man who wanted to marry me … who promised to give my poor father everything that …”
“No, no!” yelled the kid.
Maybelle bowed her head.
“You didn’t!” the kid said.
“I married him,” she responded.
The kid, he locks his hands above his head and went through the room in one or two strides, very grand, and he turned around and come back through it again.
It struck me sort of queer. Here were two fakers. Only, one of them was unconscious and didn’t know that he was faking. But the girl, she was just on a stage, and having a wonderful good time out of it.
“And then … I discovered that he … that he didn’t keep all his promises, Mr. Burns.”
“The lying, cowardly, traitorous sneak!” the kid hissed.
Yes, he meant it well enough, and while he paced up and down the room, Maybelle turned her head toward the window and shakes it at me, pretty thoughtful, as much as to say: “This kid is nitroglycerine, and I don’t want him to explode!”
“And then … after he was gone …”
“Dead?” whispered the kid gloomily.
“Divorced,” Maybelle answered, very resigned.
“Ah,” the kid said. “He is still living … and then …?”
You could see what he meant. It was written all over his face in letters a mile high. When he got the first chance, he would turn that divorced man into a divorced corpse.
“And then,” went on Maybelle, “I was left alone. My father was dead. My husband was gone …”
“And no alimony for you?” the kid barked.
I was surprised that he knew as much as that even, and Maybelle seemed a little taken aback, too.
She said: “Oh, Mr. Burns, do you think that I could take money … or even a crust of bread … from a man that I didn’t love?”
Confound her, how did she dare to say such lies as that, when all the kid had to ask her was—where did she get the house and the clothes that she was living in right at that minute? But of course, no question as low and common and full of sense as that would ever come into the kid’s brain. You could depend upon him being solid bone from the ears up.
He was smashed all to bits, you might say, for having seemed to suspect that she could do anything as low and terrible indecent as take alimony from a divorced husband.
I happened to remember that divorce case. There was a lot of sympathy for that poor devil that got Maybelle first!
“Well,” Maybelle said, “if that had been the only time. But then … but then … there was another, Mr. Burns.”
“Yes,” said the kid.
And he sat down and set his bulldog jaw and got ready to endure more torture. He got it, too. She didn’t leave none of his expectations unfulfilled, I can tell you!
She began to tell that story: “He seemed a poor, haggard, dying man. He had no money. When I met Jeffrey Young, I thought that he would die within a month. And the doctors and his friends thought so, too. Chiefly, they said, because he had nothing that could interest him. There was nothing to hold his mind and his hopes. He was a sad case, Mr. Burns, I thought.”
I could remember Jeffrey Young. And I don’t suppose that he had many interests more than most men, outside of running a string of racehorses on the southern tracks, and running a salmon fishery on the mouth of the Columbia for half the year. Outside of those things, and running a set of three houses in three different parts of the country, Jeffrey didn’t have very much to fill his mind. He did look like a sick man, but he was just a mite tougher than leather.
Before he got through with running through my mind and my memory, I could hear Maybelle sashaying through to the finish of how that lying Jeffrey Young—she marrying him out of the kindness of her heart—had turned out to be no invalid at all, but just a mean, low …
“I can’t stand any more,” the kid said. “Don’t tell me any more. I’m … I’m going mad! Mrs. Wayne …”
“Please! Please!” Maybelle cried, covering up her face again. “Not that name.”
The kid was knocked fairly woozy.
“And then the third man,” Maybelle murmured, “married me, and gave me the name which I loathe and dread … and after he married me, he learned to hate me …”
“Hate you?” gasped the kid.
“Yes.”
“It’s not possible,” Jigger Bunts said.
“Ah, yes, Mr. Burns,” Maybelle insisted. “Because some men think that a wife should take part even in the wretched swindling games which their money …”
“Lady,” the kid interrupted, just white with sickness and disgust and sympathy, “please tell me in one word what it is that you are afraid of? Is it this husband of yours?”
“Yes,” Maybelle said, adding, “of him and of his men.”
It was a terrible shock to me. I thought that I had warned her that, no matter what she said, she had to keep away from bringing any living men into the danger of the kid. It looked to me as though she had already gone too far in talking about two of her husbands. But now she was getting right down to cases, and I had a pretty uncomfortable feeling for a minute, wondering if she really intended to bamboozle the boy into going out on the warpath?
It didn’t seem like Maybelle, but here was the kid turned into a wild man, begging her to tell him where he could find that husband of hers.
“Ah, dear friend,” Maybelle, said. “I see what you mean. You would rush out and find him, and strike him down like a true knight! But no, I could never again be happy if I felt that any man had been caused to die for my sake. No matter what harms have been done to me.” Maybelle paused, looking up to the ceiling. “And no matter how much he pours his scorn and rage and slander around me, I had much rather die myself than have harm come for my sake upon any other living creatures.”
It was pretty strong stuff, but the kid swallowed it without getting a raw throat. He was a regular boa constrictor when it came to taking down a lie whole and digesting it quick.
But oh, what a neat gag this was! To whip up the kid with one hand and to rein him with the other. I had to laugh, but I had to admire that girl for being the champion liar of the entire world, which I guess that you’ll agree with me when you hear how she worked out the rest of the case against poor old Harry Wayne.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I can’t go on telling you how she pulled the wool over the eyes of the poor young idiot, because it makes me blush for being a man to think how any woman could hoodwink one of the same species that I belong to.
I’ll just tell you in general what she said to him, which was that Harry Wayne, not being able to use her for his crooked ends, decided that he would get rid of her.
You would think that the kid would speak up and say: “What was the crooked ends that he intended to use you for? What sort of crookedness was it? Confidence game, or what?”
No sir, he didn’t ask any question as sensible as that. The mere idea of asking a question never entered his poor brain. All he done was to rage and groan when she revealed the “wickedness” of poor Wayne.
You see, this was what Wayne had done, according to the girl. He had slid away out to another state, and there he was trying to get a divorce from her. But that wasn’t all.
Trying to get that divorce, he had to have bad evidence against her.
“And where on earth could he get that?” cried Jigger Bunts, holding out his hands.
Where could he get it? When I thought of all the ways that a person could get up evidence against poor Maybelle Crofter, it made me fair dizzy, but she was as cool and calm as ever.
“I’ll tell you, Mr. Burns …”
He broke
in: “My real name is Bunts. Jigger Bunts, I’m called. I can’t hear you calling me by that made-up thing that Tom gave me.”
Maybelle done that real well, I have to admit. She let out a little squeal, and got the table and the couch between her and Jigger in a flash. There she stood, apparently scared to death.
“Are you the terrible bandit? Are you the outlaw?” Maybelle asked, seeming to want to squeeze her way through a crack in the wall.
It was a fine thing to see Jigger fold his arms and look grand and calm. He was pretty white, he was so hot.
“They’ve given me such a reputation, then?” he said. “Even the women are afraid of me?”
She done a quick step around the end of the couch again, and she said: “No, Mr. Bunts! No, no I don’t care what they say about you. I know how men can lie. And they lie about you, as they’ve lied about me … swearing my reputation away! Swearing yours away. And you’re good … and kind … and true … and worthy of being the friend of dear Tom Reynard.”
Bah! The smile on his face was like salvation come to a sinner.
“Thank God,” Jigger said, very deep and humble. “I thought that this was the end of everything, perhaps. You … you seemed to be a thousand miles away from me.”
“No,” Maybelle said. “This is what draws us close together. We have both been wronged by the world. But oh, Jigger Bunts, how I pity you … that a life like yours should be wasted … when you are so … so good … so true … so gentle … so kind …”
“Don’t talk about me!” gasped Jigger Bunts. “I don’t exist except to help you if God will let me. Only, tell me what that devilish fellow Wayne has dug up against you? And tell me where he has gone to get that divorce. You tell me this!”
She shook her head, very sad and sweet.
“You might go to find him,” Maybelle said. “And how could I ever close my eyes in sleep, if I knew that any man had come to harm through me? No, let him go his own way. Except … that I do humbly pray that I be shielded from some murderer’s hand …”
“Murder!” the kid moaned. “Murder! I knew that there would be something like that, before it was done. Do you tell me that what keeps you so frightened in this house … so frightened that you dare not kindle even a lamp … that you are so hounded with fear because your devilish husband is sending back villains to attempt your life?”
“Ah,” Maybelle said. “You are so wonderful! The very things that I would not have you guess for the whole world, you know at a glance. Oh, Mr. Bunts, I have never met a man so brilliant!”
Jigger was not too excited about her to be a little pleased by these remarks about himself. He allowed that if he had been able to see through this deal, it was because he could scent scoundrelism a long distance off.
Then he said: “From now on, you’re not to be without some protection. Day and night, I want you to know that there will be someone watching over you. Someone with a strong hand will be near you, God willing, to keep you safe, dear lady!”
Maybelle had dropped back on the couch and looked at him from a great distance, so to speak.
“Oh, Mr. Bunts,” she said, “I hardly dare to guess what you mean. I hardly dare. I have no right. But do you know what I shall feel tonight?”
“Tell me?” Jigger whispered.
“I shall feel,” Maybelle replied, “as though your strong arms were around me, warding me from danger, keeping me safe …”
Jigger Bunts pretty near swooned.
Then she told him that she was tired with happiness and that she would have to go to bed, and Jigger went out of that house and foamed away into the darkness like a running horse. He was just as enthusiastic as a small kid with a new game to play.
And that was what I said to myself. But there was this mighty important difference—the playing of Jigger Bunts was done with a .45 Colt and a real hunting knife and a pair of the hardest fists that ever cracked a jawbone!
I went in to have a chat with Maybelle, and I found her happy but pretty tired.
She sat down on the couch and kicked off her little silver slippers that she had been wearing.
“My feet are spreading as I get older,” Maybelle declared.
She stuck out a foot no bigger than a minute.
“I shall have enlarged joints and chilblains,” she continued, “if I have to keep up this game with the kid very much longer. Gimme a smoke, Tommy … I’m dead for a cigarette.”
She made one just a jump faster than a jackrabbit can run, and when it was made, I lighted it for her and watched her lean back in the pillow, drawing in deep breaths and then puffing the smoke out in circles and watching those circles flatten out and curl away against the ceiling. She was smiling while she smoked. And she was looking upward, because she didn’t want my face to break in on her happy thoughts.
“It was hard work,” Maybelle said. “And I’m fagged. Oh, how fagged I am. Tell me how good I was, Tommy, because I’m ready for a little applause.”
“Where did you get that lingo?” I asked. “Where did you learn to talk like a book?”
“Some of my husbands educated me,” said Maybelle. “They done a good job, too. No trouble to me to put on a high polish that you can see your face in. The kid is full of fancy stuff, too.”
“Well,” I said, “I’ll tell you one thing … you’re gonna lead a lonely life. You better put up a sign … ‘Beware of the Dog.’ Because when some of your friends come around here, they’ll step into trouble up to their necks!”
“What do you mean?” Maybelle asked.
“I mean that you’ve told the poor fish that you’re expecting to be murdered, and when a stray man comes this way, you can lay to it that Jigger will be watching for him!”
“I didn’t think of that,” Maybelle said.
“You didn’t think of a lot of things,” I told her. “And among the rest, you didn’t think what would happen if he finds out where Wayne has gone to get that divorce.”
“Well?” Maybelle considered, frowning at me. “What if he does?”
“There’ll be a dead Harry Wayne, that’s all … if he does find out,” I told her.
“A dead Harry Wayne?” Maybelle laughed. “Why, Tommy, Harry Wayne is a man, and a real man. If he met up with this kid, he would turn Jigger Bunts over his knee, give him a spanking, and send him away again with a good lesson.”
That explained everything, of course. She hadn’t appreciated the facts.
“Maybelle,” I said, to sort of break the ground, “will you please tell me how the kid got a reputation like this if he’s not a dangerous fighter?”
“Sure, I’ll tell you,” she answered. “Every gent that wants to steps out and wears a mask and a Colt to get a reputation. He sticks his miserable little gun in the face of a dozen men, and the dozen men just curl up and throw up their hands and beg him not to kill them. I’ve met up with some of these desperadoes before, and they’re all bunk.”
She was so sure that I was sort of paralyzed.
At last I said: “Have you heard what happened this evening?”
She hadn’t.
I said: “Do you know Hendon?”
“That brute?” she replied. “Yes, I know him.”
“Is he any mama’s darling, or is he a fighting fool?”
She gave a little shudder. “I saw him beat up two men with his bare hands one day. I shall never forget it. He’s not a man but a gorilla.”
“All right,” I said. “I agree about Hendon. Now lemme tell you what happened. The kid got tired of staying in my room this evening. He eased himself out of the window into a tree that it would break my neck to try to reach. And then he dropped on top of Hendon and five others that were talking underneath the tree about the best way to capture Jigger Bunts. He made a mess of Hendon. He turned the rest of them upside down. And when I came back to the hotel … well, you sa
w him for yourself. Not a mark on him!”
She thought that I was joking, at first, but when I stayed grave, it began to sink in on her.
“Heavens,” she said. “Is he as much of a man as all that?”
“That’s only an index finger pointing the correct way,” I told her. “That’s what he can do with his hands. But usually, he doesn’t feel at home with his bare hands. He has to have something in his fingers, you know, and when it happens to be a gun, he doesn’t miss, Maybelle, not him.”
She was more excited than before, now.
“Tommy, Tommy,” she cried, “you’re telling me that the kid is a real man?”
“I’m telling you that,” I confirmed. “And I’m telling you that I know Harry Wayne, but if this kid ever goes on his trail, he’ll kill poor Harry as sure as God ever made little apples. And killing ain’t what you want for Harry, I suppose. Killing ain’t the same as alimony, old-timer.”
She only stared at me. She was pretty hard hit.
“Heavens above,” Maybelle began. “I haven’t any malice toward Harry. He’s just too decent to have me for a wife. But why didn’t you tell me some of these things before?”
“Because I thought that the first time that you met the kid, you’d only take a trick or two, and not try to play out the whole game! Maybelle, the thing for you to do is to wrap the kid up in cotton batting and keep him from the air. Because news about Harry Wayne is going to bring about a little man-sized murder!”
Chapter Twenty-Five
When I got back to the hotel, there was no Jigger Bunts. There was only a note from him on my table.
Dear Tom,
I wanted to wait here for you and tell you what had happened. But I can’t wait. All I can say is that I have found the most wonderful woman in the world and that she has permitted me to try to defend her from some of her troubles. I thank God and you, Tom, for bringing me in her path, and I pray that I may be able to undo some of the terrible wrongs which she has suffered from the world. Oh, Tom, what I’ve learned has made me despise all men, including myself. She is a sacred angel—and she has been treated like a dog. Goodbye, Tom, for a little while. I intend to do or to die.