"It worked at the Fair," Pete mused smugly, "so why not here?"
And it did work! For years the common people had enviously eyed the chariots which they could not afford to own. Now they paid gladly to ride briefly on a level with nobles. The nobles; however, didn't like it. They had a way of driving recklessly into Pete's cabs and overturning them.
Mr. Manx was equal to the occasion. Within a few days a new fleet of cabs made their appearance on the streets of Tiryns. They were purple, with golden spangles, and had bright orange awnings with tassels. Small fans, connected with the turning wheels, helped to keep the riders cool. The fare was double that of the plebian chariots, but these cabs modestly advertised the legend:
ULTRA LIMOUSINE SERVICE
For Those Who Can Afford the Best
Fans and Music Provided!
The limousine charioteers were specially picked and trained by Pete. In the absence of radios, he decided to depend on the human voice, and soon the limousine cabs were rolling along merrily, drawn by huskies who yodeled popular songs Pete taught them. "Wagon Wheels," "My Merry Oldsmobile," and "Heigh-Ho" were the favorites, until the charioteers got short of wind and threatened to strike for a ten-song-a-day minimum.
Pete installed a special seat at the back of the cabs, and placed on each one a neatly-uniformed blonde with a zither, who thereafter sang and played while the cabmen devoted their energies to pulling. The nobles, who heretofore had preferred their own private, horse-drawn chariots, now flocked to the Ultra Limousine Service. "Honey draws flies," Pete remarked sagely to Bigpig. "And honeys draw guys. Not bad, eh?"
CHAPTER III
Home on the Range
Pete found no difficulty in renewing the options on the chariots, and more were immediately added. Tiryns was a changed city. By the end of the second week Pete was able to present King Eurystheus with three bags filled with gold. He was, however, distressed to find Nessus closeted with the king, obviously up to no good.
"I don't like that shavetail," he told Biggie—and his fears were justified when the pair were summoned to the palace the next day. Eurystheus showered them with compliments and praised the cut of Hercules' lion skin, which Pete had redeemed out of hock. "A mighty hero," he said tauntingly, glancing at Nessus. "How long has it been since you killed Geryon? A year? You must grow stale here with nothing to do. Suppose you trot off to Elis and clean the Augean stables."
"Suppose he don't?" Pete made the mistake of inquiring.
"Hercules is under bond to me," said the king. "In expatiation of various crimes. If he fails to obey me and refuses the tasks I set him, he dies. But the mighty Hercules will obey, I am sure."
"Okay," said Pete, shrugging. "We're in. So we're stable-boys. But don't think I don't get the angle—"
He didn't finish. It wasn't necessary. But, later, he got Nessus aside and proceeded to insult the officer vigorously.
"You put the king up to this, shave-tail. My franchise is good as long as Hercules lives, but Eurystheus doesn't like the idea of splitting the take with us. If Hercules just happens to kick the bucket, I lose the franchise—"
"And will be flung to the man-eating horses," Nessus said nastily. "I'll make sure of that, slave."
Pete was feeling none too well when he and Bigpig arrived at the neighboring kingdom of Elis. King Augeias was a huge, fat man with a helpless air of incompetence whenever he ordered people executed, which he did far too often for Pete's peace of mind. Cleaning the Augean stables was no small task. They hadn't been cleaned for thirty years!
"Well, we'll be finished in thirty years, maybe," said Biggie, staring at the mess. Pete shook his head.
"Won't do. There's a time limit. There's gotta be an out—there always is, if you look hard enough. Though I dunno—"
"Can't you high-pressure the big shot into giving us some help?" Bigpig asked.
"No. We've got to do it ourselves—wait!" Pete's eyes widened. "High pressure—you said something that time, pal. I got an idea—and what an idea!"
He fled, dragging the bewildered Hercules with him. Pete had remembered that two great rivers—the Alpheios and the Peneios—flowed near the stables, and that higher up the slope was a natural lake. King Augeias was willing to provide Hercules with all the facilities he required, but not with any man-power. So Pete took advantage of the royal offer and laid a pipe-line from the lake down to the stables.
Force of gravity did the rest. When a valve was turned, a jet of water, hard as a bar of iron, thrust itself resistlessly out of the nozzle. It took all of Bigpig's Herculean strength to manipulate the hose, but the gadget worked! A deluge flooded the stables, and, even before Pete expected, the job was finished.
"Quicker than the WPA could have done it," Pete remarked cryptically. "Thanks," said King Augeias. "Come back in thirty years and do it again, eh?"
King Eurystheus nibbled his beard and Nessus cursed in vicious monotone when Pete and Hercules returned to Tiryns. The taxicab business was booming. Gold poured into the coffers. Half of it went to the king, but the latter wanted it all. Pete suspected that he was thinking up some even more difficult task for Hercules to perform.
Unexpectedly, trouble came from Bigpig himself. Ill at ease in this alien time-sector, he kept wandering about, picking fights and getting in jams until Pete was really worried. It was vital that Hercules keep the good will of the people, for that protected him from the king's malice.
"No," Mr. Manx said coldly. "You can't open a beer joint. Ain't the taxicab racket good enough for you?"
"I wisht I was back in Montana," Bigpig mourned. "If I had a cayuse between my legs—"
"Uh! That's an idea. It'll keep you out of trouble, anyway. Listen, Biggie; suppose I help you start a Dude Ranch?"
"Huh?"
"It'll clean up." Pete was rapidly becoming enthusiastic about his own project. "The people'll eat it up. . ."
Also it would keep Bigpig out of the king's icy eye, but that was not entirely dependable, with Nessus around. Nevertheless the plan went forward. Soon the streets of Tiryns were placarded with large, flaming signs. The chariot-cabs carried them, too.
HERCULES' DUDE RANCH
Mgr., Petros Mankos
Open to the Public on Next Saturn's Day
Big Free Show
Cow-punchers—bulldogging- bronco-busting
RODEO! Why go to the beach on your vacation?
Spend a week or two at
HERCULES' DUDE RANCH!
The grand opening was a huge success. Vast mobs attended. Celebrities were brought free to the premiere in the Petros Mankos cabs for the occasion.
They all applauded loudly, and were conquered. Bigpig begged to be allowed to wear a pair of chaps like the other hands, whom he had trained, but Pete was adamant.
"That lion-skin's your trademark," he insisted. "Everybody knows it."
"Heck," said Mr. Callahan. "It smells."
Though this was undeniable, Bigpig knew Pete too well to argue further. As for the other Greek lads, they threw themselves into their duties with excited glee. Already good horsemen, they soon learned the western lore Pete and Bigpig taught them. There were, of course, no guitars, but the boys were provided with zithers, and managed to master some ballads. Around the campfire that night the crowds listened intently while, "Git along, little dogie," resounded dulcetly over the broad Hellenic plains.
There was a barbecue. The rodeo was overwhelmingly successful, especially when Hercules bulldogged a giant steer. He had taught the hands how to handle lariats, and there was an exhibition of lassoing that was a highlight of the day. By the time most of the crowd had left, success was assured. Already there were more reservations than Pete could handle.
"We'll build new bunk-houses," Manx told Bigpig. "These mugs are used to sleeping on anything. We'll cram 'em in like sardines and tell 'em they're roughing it. What a take! And we don't have to split a penny with old Sticky-whiskers."
Just then a messenger arrived from old Sticky-whisker
s. "A new labor for you, Hercules !" was the announcement. "The marshes of Arkadian Stymphalos are overrun with man-eating birds. King Eurystheus orders you to slay these demons."
A cheer went up from the remaining guests.
"Hercules! Son of Zeus! A new labor for Hercules!"
Pete cheered faintly with the rest, but his heart was descending rapidly. It thumped almost audibly into his sandals. Man-eating birds? Vultures? Eagles? Whatever they were, Hercules would have to obey the king—or else suffer unpleasant consequences. And, in the latter contingency, Pete himself would provide fodder for the man-eating horses.
"I always knew horses would ruin me," Mr. Manx moaned. "But not like this!"
However, two days later, Pete and Hercules marshaled the group of cowhands and rode toward the land of Arcady. A skeleton crew was left to take care of the ranch and the dudes; the taxicab business could take care of itself. But most of the punchers were with Pete and Bigpig, cantering on with lariats looped at their odd-looking saddles, armed with spears and short swords instead of six-guns.
The manufacture of a pistol was beyond Pete's capabilities, though he was already making up a stock of fireworks for the next big rodeo.
"Nessus was behind this," Pete informed Hercules, who was writhing uncomfortably in the lion skin. "Stop scratching, will you?"
"Gosh—"
"Shut up. Nessus put the king up to setting you after these man-eating birds."
"Well, anyhow we know what they are," said Bigpig.
"Yeah. Somebody who'd seen 'em described 'em to me. Ostriches, that's what. How they got into this part of the country I dunno, but they did."
"How do you kill an ostrich, Pete?" For answer Mr. Manx grinned and patted the lariat at his saddle-horn. . . . It made a good story after they got back from Arkadian Stymphalos, after having fulfilled their errand. Centuries later the same story would be famous as one of Hercules' Twelve Labors; it would be written that the hero killed the birds one by one with his unerring arrows.
The actual incident was somewhat different. For one thing, Hercules played no part in it. He ran into a field of goldenrod and was incapacitated for several days. Pete and the punchers galloped after the ostriches, lassoed them, and killed the giant birds with their sharp blades. Thereafter, for a short time, Pete's taxi-drivers sold their customers ostrich-plumes at extremely exorbitant prices.
"Buy a feather for your girl friend's hair, buddy?" went the cry. And more money went into Pete's pockets, to the fury of Nessus and the king, whose plots once more had rebounded.
"What I can't figure out," Pete said bitterly as he sat on the corral and watched Hercules wash his lion skin," is why you should be allergic to goldenrod now. You're not Bigpig. At least you haven't got his body. Your body belongs to Hercules."
"Maybe he was alloigic to goldenrod, too, huh?"
Pete shrugged.
"Maybe. Wish we could get back to Nineteen-forty. The king's bound to get us sooner or later. He's after that franchise, and Nessus is after our hides."
Two days later Pete found himself locked out of his office. A king's soldier was on guard, and he grinned at Manx unpleasantly.
"You can't come in," he said. "His Majesty's taken over."
Pete's jaw dropped.
"Huh? Why, he can't do that! It's unconstitutional!"
"What's a constitution?" the soldier asked interestedly.
Pete didn't answer. He was hastening toward the palace. The bitterest pill of all was the fact that he had to pay to ride in one of his own taxicabs.
King Eurystheus and Nessus were, as usual, together. Pete burst into impassioned speech without preamble, but a spear jabbed into his midriff brought him to a halt.
"Be silent," the king said, stroking his beard. "Slaves are usually brought into the royal presence only for judgment."
"You can't swipe my business like this," Pete said stubbornly. "I got a franchise—" A horrible thought struck him. Two hours had passed since he had seen Bigpig. "Is Hercules okay?" he asked fearfully.
"As far as I know," was the response. "However, your franchise is worthless. We had forgotten, until today, that no slave can hold property in Tiryns. So, naturally, our agreement is invalid, and your company reverts to the crown."
Pete sputtered. Nessus grinned.
"I have given a new franchise to my faithful servant here," Eurystheus said, indicating the officer. "He now owns the—what is it—"
"The Nessus Cab Corporation," interjected the officer.
"I get it!" Manx's voice was bitter. "And you're giving the king a lot bigger rake-off than I did. Okay, shave-tail. You asked for it—and you're going to get it."
"We are merciful," said the king. "We allow you to live. Guards, throw this bum out." Eurystheus had picked up some of Pete's own picturesque language...
Mr. Manx wasted no time in giving his ready cash to Hercules who, being a freed man, could legally possess it. That done, he went into action. By this time he knew the ropes in Tiryns. He knew, for example, that the official who passed for chief of police was not above making a dishonest penny.
Thus it came about that Larsyas, this official, became extremely busy. Signs made their appearance in the streets. They said, "No Parking," "Parking Limit 100 Pulse-Beats," "Deliveries Only," and the like. Certain curbs were painted red. And, somehow, Nessus' taxi-drivers ran into trouble continually with the police force of Tiryns.
"I don't want a cent out of it," Pete explained to Larsyas. "I'm just showing you how to make yourself some dough. Maybe sometime you can do me a favor. Here's how it works. Whenever somebody gets a ticket, you fine 'em—see?"
"But—"
"And you need a speed limit. Make it different for each block, and keep the signs out of sight if you can. That's the way we work it back in the U. S. A."
Nessus blew up. He interviewed the bland Larsyas, who was already counting his ill-gotten gains, but got nowhere.
"Law is law," said the chief of police. "Every good citizen should uphold it."
Nessus said something unprintable.
"You're fined fifty gold pieces for contempt of court," Larsyas smiled. "What's that? Oh, you do, eh? That'll be fifty more."
Somehow the officer managed to choke back his retort. He turned to stride out.
"One moment," the chief called. "Something that will interest you. I'm making the—uh—main stem of Tiryns a one-way street hereafter."
"What?" Nessus turned green. "Why, you'll cut my fares in half!"
But Larsyas was drinking contentedly from a gilded bottle, filled with home-made brandy that Pete had distilled for him.
"Petros Mankos is behind this," Nessus choked. "I'm going to the king!"
CHAPTER IV
The Last Roundup
The days passed, while Pete gloated over the wreckage of what had been a thriving taxicab industry. The officers were well-trained. They arrested drivers on every possible pretext, and, if they could, egged them on to fury, so that the additional charge of resisting an officer could be brought. Nessus refused to pay the fines himself, until he found nobody would work for him. It was too expensive.
"That'll show him," Pete grinned, idly rolling a pair of dice he had made. "We're cleaning up here at the dude ranch, and it's in your name. Nessus can go hang. We got the gravy."
"What if the big shot gets frisky again?" Bigpig asked.
"I found out something. You were bound out to Eurystheus for only twelve labors. The ostriches were the eleventh. One more, and you'll be free. The king won't be able to put the bee on you any more."
"Swell." Hercules was busy grinding charcoal. "Wait'll we pull off the next rodeo. It'll wow 'em, huh?"
It would, Pete thought. Everything was prepared for the second rodeo to advertise the ranch. This time there was an admission fee charged. Tiryns was placarded with announcements, cowboys in sandwich-boards rode about, and policemen energetically sold tickets to protesting taxi-drivers. The chef d'ouevre of the affair was to be a firewor
ks display at night. For some time Pete had been busy manufacturing sparklers, Roman candles, crackers, and torpedoes. Saltpeter, willow charcoal, and sulphur were all he needed.
And then Tiryns heard of the hydra, a man-eating monster that laired in a salt-marsh near the sea!
Nessus smiled darkly. King Eurystheus grinned in his beard and set the date. In three days Hercules must set out to slay the hydra. If he failed—he would die, for the monster was carnivorous. If Hercules refused to undertake the task, he would be stoned to death.
Pete was far more worried than Bigpig. The latter had almost come to believe in his heroic prowess. Moreover, he had been practicing with the Hellenic weapons, and mastered them fairly well. Bigpig could now handle a sword, spear, or bow almost as well as any Greek soldier. He told Pete not to worry, and that he'd chop the hydra into mincemeat.
"I'll moider da bum," he remarked. "In de foist round."
Against his better judgment, Pete almost allowed himself to be convinced. After all, the body of Hercules was gigantic. It would take a pretty big monster to overcome the son of Zeus. But—what was the hydra?
Stories conflicted, each one more incredible than the last. Pete finally decided it was a sea-snake, and felt better.
On the morning of the fatal day Big-pie rose and called for his lion skin. "Some rat swiped it," he declared. "I hoid somebody movin' around my room last night."
He went to the window.
"See? Footprints. Hey, Pete—"
"Here's the lion skin," Mr. Manx said wearily. "It was hanging out on the line. Dive into it and get going." Bigpig obeyed. He tied the paws together over his chest and beamed. "The boys are going to ride down to the swamp with me an' watch the kill-in'. You comin', Pete?"
"Sure. By the way, the king's got a lot of his soldiers camped on the plain a ways off. Wants to make sure you don't take a powder, I guess. Ready?"
There was no answer. Pete looked at Bigpig, caught his breath.
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