Red Saunders' Pets and Other Critters

by Henry Wallace Phillips

  Agamemnon and the Fall of Troy

  Me and Aggy were snuggled up against the sandpaper edge as cute asanything, said Hy Smith. Even our consciences had gone back onus--they didn't have nothing to work on. The town looked like it hadbeen deserted and then found by a party of citizens worse off than thefirst.

  The only respectable thing in the hull darn shack-heap was Aggy's blacklong-tailed coat and black-brimmed hat. And they made the rest of theplace look so miserable that Ag wouldn't have wore 'em if he'd hadanother hat and a shirt. We was a pair of twin twisters that hadbusted our proud and graceful forms on a scrap-iron heap.

  I s'pose it was the turible depression of bein' stuck in such a hole,or some sudden weakenin' of the brain; but anyhow, in that same town ofLost Dog, Agamemnon G. Jones and Hy Smith ran hollerin' into a faintaway game.

  We paid ten dollars for a map showin' the location of the Lost Injunmine, from a paralytic partially roomin' at the Inter-CosmopolitanHotel. The Inter-Cosmopolitan had got pretty near finished, when theboom exploded with a loud sigh.

  One-half the roof was missin', and the clapboardin' didn't come quiteto the top, but that paralytic took it good-natured, sayin' that as hewasn't more'n half a man, half a hotel was plenty good enough for him.But ah! he allus wound up, if he could get the proper motion in hishind legs, he'd be up and find his Lost Injun mine, and after that nodull care for him.

  I ain't goin' to describe that gentleman any more. When I say heunloaded a map of that Lost Injun mine, with the very spot marked witha red cross, anybody'll understand that the paralysis hadn't affectedhis head none.

  You see, he was so quiet and patient under his afflictions, and hetalked it off so smooth, that the flyest gent that ever lived could beexcused for slippin' up and gettin' stuck in the discourse before heknew that gravitation was workin' at the same old stand.

  Now, for a straight-away dream-builder give me Aggy. He could talk thehorns off a steer, and that steer would beller with happiness to thinkhe was rid of a nuisance.

  Ag stood six-foot-two by two-foot-six, and when he had the long-tailedcoat, the plug hat, and his general-in-the-army whiskers working right,he only had to stick one hand in his vest and begin, "Fellow-Citizensand Gentlemen," and he could start anything from a general war to abarber-shop expedition to gather North Poles.

  Give him a good, honest, upright gang of men that would weigh twohundred a head, and Aggy could romp with their money or them, so theworst used monkey in the cage would go home pleased.

  Ag was built to play with huskies, not paralytics; so one day when hestooped and turned sideways to get into the paralytic's room, treadin'soft on the boards so's not to land the outfit in the cellar, the sightof the poor sick man lyin' there--everlastingly lyin'--his helplesshands turned palm up on the covers, why, old Ag's heart was touched.He was that kind of grass-hopper, Ag, to whipsaw you out of a hundredand then lend you five hundred, even if he had to rip the pelt offsomebody else to get it. I asked him about that trait onct.

  "Why, Hy, my boy," says he, with his thumb in his vest, and histwenty-five cent cigar in his teeth--we was livin' at the risk of ahigh-roller hotel at the time--"in the first place, I'm a gentleman indisguise, and carelessness allows me to drop the disguise now and then;besides that," says he, "I hate these here conventions. Because Itouch Mr. Jones for his wad, must I therefor scramble Mr. Ferguson?And if I stake Ferguson, must I open a free lunch for the country?Now, God forbid!" says Ag. "I started out being pleased by doing thethings that pleased me, regardless of the vulgar habits of the mob.The mob can select its destination at any or all times it pleases, butI'm going to be Agamemnon G. Jones," says he. "The unexpected alwayshappens, and I'm the unexpected," he says.

  You wouldn't ask for a man to keep his statements clearer than that. Iwas the only person had a line on him. I'd figger out everypossibility for him and then sleep peaceful, knowing that it had comeoff different.

  So while nobody'd figger on Ag's gettin' stuck by a paralytic, darnedif he didn't come away with a map in his hands. "Here is our fortune,Henry," says he.

  Well, now, I jumped sideways. "Look here, Aggy Jones, do you mean tosay that legless wonder has stuck you?"

  "Mr. Troy conveyed all rights in the property to me for $10, paid inhand, including this method of findin' out where it is," says he.

  "Where'd you get the $10, and me not know it?" says I.

  "Trivial, trivial," says Ag.

  "And do you expect to follow that dotted line until you stub your toeover a half-ton nuggets?"

  "Frivolous, frivolous," says Ag.

  "Yes," I says, "yes. Trivial--frivolous--all right--but what's thatred cross?"

  "Shows the location plainly," says he, shiftin' his cigar. "Where thearms of that cross intersect, we double it, or turn nurses in the army."

  Well, I stared at him. Too much thinkin' goes to a man's headsometimes.

  "You feel anything strange about you anywheres?" says I.

  "Yes," says he, tapping it. "This map-- Accordin' to the scale ofmiles these here arms on the cross are somethin' like fifty miles long.Ah, what a merry, merry time we shall have, Hy, chasin' up and downglass mountains, eatin' prickly pear, drinking rarely, and cullin' arattlesnake here and there to twine in our locks. It will seem likeold times, dropping a rock in your boots in the mornin' to quell thequivering centipede and the upstanding and high-jumping tarantula."

  "Say," says I, "do you think there's a mine here at all?"

  "Mine!" says he, like I'd asked a most unexpected question. "Mine?Have we lived out of eyeshot of the most remarkable mine in the UnitedStates and Canada at any time we smoked the trail?"

  "No," says I, "that's so; but, Ag, you ain't goin' to push for that redcross out in the middle of hell's ash-heap, are you?"

  "Only a little ways," says he; "it's time we left this anti-money trustbehind us, and I always like to leave dramatically, if it's only togive the sheriff a run."

  "More fast-footin' in this?"

  "'Nary, but we shall meet some of our fellow-townsmen on the riverto-morrow--all men who haven't done us a bit of good--and then we'llflap our gliders to a gladder land."

  "But that ten dollars----"

  "Look here. Let's _again_ settle this money question once for all. AmI the financial expert for this party?"

  "You be."

  "Selah," says Ag. "And unlike the corporations in the effete East,where a high collar marks the gentleman, we mix amusement with ourlives?"

  "Sure," says I.

  "Well, then," says Aggy, speaking with the frankness and affection ofone or more friends to another, "I ask you to swallow your tongue andwatch events."

  "Keno," says I. "Produce your events."

  So the next day we hooted it out toward the southeast, packin' grubonly, and I never says a word.

  Bimeby we see a lot of people comin' a horseback, on board waggons, andrunnin' afoot.

  "Each man with a map," says Ag. "Look at 'em dodge, Hy. They go outof sight for seconds at the time--'Shall we gather by the river, thebeautiful, the beautiful Squaw River?'--I reckon."

  We did. Everybody seemed surprised at seein' everybody else.

  "Just come out for a picnic, friends?" says Ag.

  "Oh, yes," says everybody. "Great old day and nice spot here--tired oftown--thought we'd make a holiday."

  "Good, good," says Aggy, his honest face gleamin' with joy. "Let's alleat now and swop maps afterward."

  Things kind of stopped for a minute. If a man was unhitchin' a mule,he waited till you could count 1, 2, 3, and then continnered.

  "What d'ye mean by 'map'?" says one lad, bent under a horse to hide hisface.

  "What do I mean?" says Ag, offended. "Why, I mean just what NoahWebster meant when the dove came back bringin' the definition to hisark. I mean map--m-a-p, map--a drawin' that shows you the way to getto a red cross that doesn't exist on the face of nature. I like greencrosses as a matter of taste, but all our paralysed friend had lef
t wasa red one, so I took that, not to be unsociable."

  I've been at pleasanter lookin' picnics.

  Finally the feller under the horse did some deep thinkin' and come out."Have you honest got a map?" says he.

  "To the Lost Injun mine? 'Heigh-o, the Lost Injun!'" sings Aggy."Here she is, my friend, with all dips, angles, and variations; onemillion feet on the main lode; his heirs, assigns, orphans. _Epluribus unum_, forever and forever!"

  "Yours ain't just the same as mine," says the feller, grimly spittin'.

  "No," says Ag, "I reckon he spread it around. He didn't know this wasthe nearest ford on Squaw Creek, and we might likely come together."

  And then arose a cussin', not loud, but with a full head of steam--itwould make ordinary loud seem like the insides of a whisper--and a rushfor horses.

  "Peace, friends, peace!" says Aggy, standin' up his hull height andwith his noble chest fillin' his black coat; his black whiskersexpandin' in pride--a hootin', tootin' son-of-a-gun to look at. Andwhen he said "peace," the earth shook.

  The crowd stopped. "Think!" says Aggy. "Attempt the impossible!Think! Remember that paralytic is on a parlour car, flying swiftlytoward the setting sun. I see the picture of that lonely railroadtrain whooping ties across the prairie. What is the use of throwingyourselves into a violent perspiration in a mad chase of a thing thatno longer exists? The paralytic is no more; thy Faith Hath Made HimWhole." Aggy sank his voice to a beautiful whisper.

  "Well, you got stuck yourself," pipes up old Grandpa Hope. "He, he,he, he shelled you too!"

  "I admit it," says Ag, "and yet it is not quite what it seems. Iborrowed Slit-Eyed Jenkins's two gilded nickels to get in this game. Ifurther admit that the Government never should have left the word'cents' off these nickels, to tempt poor but not bigoted men; further,I'll say that if Jenkins had brightened them up he might have passedthem for $3.89. But Jenkins puts a thief within his stomach thatsteals away his business ability, so that when I asked for them nickelshe merely replied: 'Take the damned Yankee skin-tricks away, with mythanks.'

  "I have noted in my travels that the person to pass immoral money on usis the agent whose mind is absorbed in selling you a diamond ring, thatnothing but his desire to get rid of would drive him to sell; so inthis case I dropped them nickels into the grateful and quiverin' handof that paralytic, drew my man and--here we are," says Ag.

  It was the first time I ever saw a gang of full-grown men blush at thesame time.

  Nobody had nothin' to say except Ag, who threw the lapel of his coatback and addressed the meeting.

  "Gentlemen," says he, "as I have mentioned before, our paralysed friendhas fled, departed, skinned out, screwed his nut far, far from here.Don't blaspheme in the very face of the Almighty by trying to be moreridiculous than you already are. If you arrive warm and distracted,the few remaining inhabitants of Lost Dog will hold the dead moral onyou the rest of your days. Cool off and wipe the word 'map' from yourminds; turn from the villainies of man to the stark forces of nature;see where Squaw Creek has forced her remorseless and semi-fluid waythrough the mighty rampart of these Gumbo hills."

  "I wish you would hush," said a puncher. "Leggo, Ag!"

  "Here's where you get the worth of your money," says Ag. "You wouldn'tplay poker with _me_, would you? Of course not. I might get yourmoney. In fact, I think I should, myself. But you would turn over tenfine large bones to a paralytic who made pencil sketches of a scene inthe Alps and put the sign of the price on 'em--one sawbuck, or tenplunks? There is the sawbuck," says Aggy, tappin' his map. "But whereare the plunks? Go to! There are no plunks. We kick the dust ofDog-town from our hind legs. Flee cheerily, one-time neighbours, towhere a red cross fifty miles in length lies exposed to the sunlight,and then dig; dig for wealth beyond the dreams of avarice; dream ofscow-loads of gold floating on a canal of champagne. Don't forget todig, because that will give you a muscle like a Government mule. Andhere's where we dig--out. Ta-ta, fellow-citizens, I never expected toget you so foul!"

  "I think you was working with that feller," says one man, excited.

  "Dream on--dream on," says Ag, "but don't make any motions in yoursleep. I've heard that wakin' up somnambulists with a .44 Colt's isbad for their nervous systems." The lad was quiet. "Gentlemen," saysAggy, "if you have kicks, prepare to shed them now."

  "No tickee--no kickee," says the cow-puncher. "But kindly don't bunchme with these Foundered Dogs," pointing to the rest.

  "Certainly not," says Ag. "Come with us, friend?"

  "I sure ought not to," says the puncher, scratchin' his head. "The oleman expects me to go down to Sweet Water and bring home a bunch ofcalves; but, thunder! calves just loves to play, and the ole man's gotso quiet that Peace troubles his mind. Where you goin'?"

  "Well," says Ag, sincerely, "you can search me."

  "Fits me to half a pound," says the puncher; "ain't nothin' suits mebetter than to fall against somethin' I don't know the name of. Darncalves; if there's anything I don't like some more than other things,calves is the party of the first part---- Yekhoo!" says he, "c'm roundhere, Mary Jane." With that he waved his leg over the saddle and wewas off.

  "You fellers got any money?" says the puncher. We told him we wasentirely innocent in that respect.

  "Well, I got fifty of my own, and two hundred the ole man give me tobuy any likely stock I might see. He'll stand on one leg and talknaughty to me when he finds I've spent it, but, Lord! there's no useremembering things that ain't happened yet, and besides, _he_ was ahopper grass that flew, when _he_ was a youngster. So that's allright. Gosh! don't it feel good to be out in the real fresh air oncetmore!"

  It sure was good. We made it, ride and tie, northeast by the compass.There's one good thing about these United States--so long's you keepmovin' you're sure to run into a town somewheres.

  We spent three nights out. Every camp, before rollin' in, Ag and meand the cow-puncher made up a quartette and sang, "How dear to my heartis the scenes of my chi-i-i-i-i-i-ldhood," "Old Black Joe," and soforth, then laid down in faith no critter would trouble us that night.And say! it was simply dead great when we was lyin' on top of old BaldyJones's Meza, the moonlight ketchin' the canyon lengthwise, and oldAggy comin' down, down, down, "Rocked--in ther--cradle--of--the--deep."Holy Smoke! he sounded fifty fathom. Honest, he made that slit in theearth holler like an organ. We was that enthusiastic we oncored him,leavin' our own pipes out. You talk about your theatres and truck!Give me Agamemnon G., a white night, and several thousand square mileof ghost-walk country--that's the music for me. He never waggled themblack whiskers--just naturally opened his mouth, and the hills on theskyline pricked up their ears to listen. You could hear that big,handsome roar go bouncin' along the crags and wakin' up the wildcats inthe cracks. Lord! what a stillness when the last echo stopped! Well,that cow-puncher, he had a tear runnin' down the side of his nose, andI never felt so happy miserable in my life.

  The only words spoke was by Ag. "Mary and Martha!" says he, "I'vescart myself!" so we all rolled up.

  Two days after we met a line of ore-wagons drug by mules. When we wastwenty foot away the cow-puncher and the first driver give a holler,and in ten seconds they was shakin' hands and poundin' each other onthe back, sayin', "Why, you damned old this and that!" When a lullcome, the cow-puncher says, "Jack, let me present my friends!" so thedriver he shook hands with us and says, "Any friend of Billy's on yourmeal ticket! Where you crowd of sand skinners headed for?" So, aftersome talk, he understood. "You want a town," says he. "Well,"p'inting with the butt of his whip, "eighteen miles over yonder you'llfind your place, if you're looking to make the sidewalks standperpendicular; and twenty mile over there, if you want to find some ofthe nicest people outdoors. Pretty girls there, bet cher life. ChipJackson filled me full of lead two months ago to get his nameup--reg'lar kid trick; wanted to get a rep as the man that put out JackHunter; he didn't put me out no more'n you see at present, but the folkover at Cactus used
me white. Nussed me. Gee! A dream, gents, adream! Real girls, with clothes that whispers like wind in the grass,'Here I come! Here I come!'

  "I got the prettiest, slimmest, black-eyed one marked down for me. Iwanted her right off, but she said she couldn't consider it, and crieda little; so I cuddled her up and ca'med her down and said I'd do theconsiderin'. That's a great place--you fellers have seen enough roughhouse, why don't you shuck down that way?"

  "I play her wide open," says Aggy, "from pretty little kittens in whiteto chawin' the ear off my fellow-man; but, to speak honest andstraightforward, we ain't got the sinews of war to start a campaign insuch a town, as I'd like to."

  "Broke!" hoots Hunter. "Well, that don't go a minute! Here!" says he,"glue your optics to that." He chucked out a specimen peppered withyaller. "That's my mine. I'm just thinkin' of taking a half interestin the mint. You can pick her to go twenty thousand to the ton--helpyourselves, gents." He began sortin' rock. "Oh, here!" says he,"wait!"

  Then he called his men--Greasers--and spoke to 'em firm in Spanish,that they was to bring their turkeys and empty their pockets. Theyrolled their eyes and talked about saints. "G'wan," says Jack, "if youfellers didn't know that I knew you were pinchin' me for at least twohundred a trip you wouldn't respect me. Come, shake your jeans, orI'll strip you clean when it comes you're between me and my friends."

  So, mournin' and groanin', they unloaded about fifty pounds of theloveliest rock you ever see. There was a piece shaped like a crossthat Ag picked out for himself, but the Greaser that owned it holleredloud, and Ag give it back to him. "With that in his clothes," saysAggy, "he can steal religiously--I wouldn't take that comfort from thepoor soul for anything."

  "These here Greasers get the best chunks," says Jackson, "because theygot more time to hunt. Now, don't look cross-eyed," says he to 'em; "Ipay you five a day, and you fish two hundred for yourselves." At whichthe Greasers smiled a little again, feelin' that things weren't withouttheir cheerful side.

  "Boys, I got to leave you," says Hunter. "The next time you comethrough here, you'll see a log cabin built to hold two or more withcomfort, because I ain't such a blatting fool to build a house that'sgoing to take my wife's attention from me--log cabin's good enough.Don't mention that to Miss Lorna Goodwin when you see her, because Iain't took her in my confidence that far yet, but say a good word foryour uncle, and by-by! Get up, there, Mary! Straighten them traces,Victoria! Oop! Oop! here we go clattering fresh! So-long, tilllater!" and away he went, the dust a-flyin'.

  We landed in Cactus, ready and anxious to be respectable. We firsttook in the barber shop, had a bath and a trimmin' up.

  "Fix these whiskers of mine," says Ag to the barber, "as though theywas inclined to be religious, and a few strokes from a nice, plump,clean little widder's hand would make 'em fall. You can say what youplease about widders," says Aggy, "but a woman who's had one man andwants another has holt of the proper sand. It's a compliment when awidder shines up to a man. She's no amateur."

  Then we bought clothes and played seven-up in the hotel till they wasfixed to fit us. We wanted to stroll through Cactus right. After thiswas done we mashed our rocks, panned the result, and got $375 from thebank--all told, we had pretty nigh six hundred between the three of us.

  The sight of us, trimmed, wouldn't cramp you none. That cow-punch hewent an inch to the good over six foot. I came along about an eighthbelow him, and Aggy loomed far in the night. We all had features onour faces, and--well, Cactus sure was a pretty little town, with itsparks and irrigated gardens, and when we strolled, we noticed the girlskind of let their sentences drag--probably because they didn't see us.

  "Say, this is great!" said the cow-puncher. "That bug up there,"p'inting to the electric light, "kinder exudes retail moonlight when hesings. But my! Here's where you get your fine-looking girls! Iwonder how the old man 'ud take it if I said to him, 'Paw, dear, I'mmarried.' I can lick him, though, even if I let him say sourcastic howfar from that point I be. Oh, my Christian Spirit!" he whispers, "doyou catch sight of that easy-mover in the white clothes! Holy Smokes!Let's introduce ourselves!"

  Ag got up and marched forward. "Is this Miss Lorna Goodwin?" says he.

  "No, sir," says the girl, kinder awed by the sight of him.

  "I'm very sorry," says Ag. "We are strangers here, and we only knew afriend of Miss Goodwin's."

  "Why," says the girl, "Lorna's right back of us. Shall I take you toher?"

  Aggy bowed. "With such a guide, I'll follow anywhere," says he, "and Icertainly would like to see Miss Goodwin."

  "Excuse me a moment, Jim," says the girl, and off they went. I don'tthink I ever noticed what a handsome big cuss Ag was till seein' himwalk beside that girl. Jim, the feller, wasn't so pleased.Howsomever, there was old Aggy, all in a minute, shakin' hands withmany people and representing everything there was in sight, as usual.Then he marched the crowd up and introduced us all. Say, I've lived asort of hasty life, full of high jumps, but I'll admit that strollingaround with all them nice girls and young fellers left a sore spot. Ienjoyed it, but-- Well, I had hold of something with hair as light asthe sun in a haze, and with big blue eyes that looked up at me, whenthe head was bent down--and I can be as big a fool as any monkey inthese United States--and the first thing you know, there won't beanything but girl in my conversation.

  Anyhow, we stood well with the community and learned to our surprisethat Christmas was only four days off. I hadn't knowed what day it waswithin a month.

  The next day we found out somethin' still more surprisin'--at least Agdid.

  "Do you know that we have a miracle in our midst, friends?" says he tome and the cow-punch. "Answer by mail. We have, and I'll tell youright now. The maimed and the halt are walking. The seller of maps isnow beginning to get church funds in his hands; the one-time paralyticis the gaiest birdie that flies, and worse'n that, he's making a boldplay for Jack Hunter's girl, as her Pah-pah wears gold in his clothesto keep out the moths.

  "He's making a strong push, so the head-waiter-lady tells me, and shethinks it's a shame, because he has a shifty eye, for all his religioustalk, and Lorna's such a nice girl. 'Twas the kind friend who has thecellar on the corner, where anti-prohibition folks may indulge theirreligion unmolested, that told me of the work. He spotted him for acrook first peep. Also he seemed to grasp the fact that these almostorthodox whiskers of mine had been cut in other ways. So we talkedconfidential. The barkeep liked Cactus and prohibition, and said hedidn't want the people done dirt by a putty-faced ex-potato-bug.'These boys,' says he, 'put away more good stuff than the drinkers.They want the cussed rum disposed of forever. I make as high as thirtya day in this little joint, and the other part of the town is strictlyon the level. Couldn't you give our friend, Mr. Paris, a gentle push?'"

  "My God!" says I, "that bucko will be Helen the Fair and the rest ofHomer if he ain't roped! He's making too free with old-timeliterature. He used to be Troy," I says to the barkeep, and then Icome here.

  "Well, durn his tintype!" says we, "how did you get a look at him?"

  "Introduced," says Ag, "he more'n half remembered me, but the strangeplace, the new cut in the whiskers, the hearty handshake, and the factthat I'd just come from N' York did the trick."

  "Well, ain't you kind of got it in for him yet?" says the cow-punch.

  Ag looked at him. "No," says he, "I revere him. But when he comes toringin' in ancient history, he'll find that I'm a wooden horse that cangallop--that I'm only called Agamemnon for fun. That, really, I usedto spank our former friend, Achilles, to develop his nervous system.Oh, no!" says Ag, "Troy to me is only a system of measurements, a myth,or the damnedest hole in the U. S. However, we shall be at theChristmas tree. And Mr. Troy--Paris will be there, also, as little ashe dreams it."

  We spent the next few days in a state of restlessness, because Aggysaid he'd explain when the news would do us good. One thing made thecow-punch ready for gun practice right off, Mr
. Troy was a slipperycuss, and he had rather ki-boshed Jack Hunter's girl. He hung aroundher, fetched and carried, nailed up greens for her and all that, tillyou could see he was leaving himself two trails--either skip with thefunds or marry the girl. He had one day left to choose. Having locoedthe townsfolk into giving him the management of the festivities, hestood well, and he wasn't a bad looker neither. He had an easy,slippery tongue for a young girl: not like Ag's methods--in anygatherin' Ag could make George Washington or General Grant look likevisitors--but smooth and languishin'.

  I had to calm the cow-punch by telling him we was in a law and ordercommunity, and that shootin' was rude, also that Aggy could be countedon to do everything necessary. That morning Ag gave me strict orders,according to which I loped out to a little canyon where a springbubbled, and there, sure enough, was Troy, talkin' honey to Jack'sgirl. I slid close enough to hear him. He made out a good case, butwhen it come to the last card the girl wasn't so interested in thestory. She had sense after all; girls can't be blamed for being alittle foolish. Well, Troy, he argued and urged, till at last up gitslittle Lorna and says it's impossible, and that there's another man inthe question, and so Troy stands there mournful till she's out ofsight, and then hikes for the railroad, with a two-hundred dollar cashpresent for the minister in his pocket, and probably anotherseventy-five or a hundred in odds and ends.

  And after him went Hy Smith, also. He flagged a train about a mile outof town and hopped aboard. I come out of the bush and took the lastcar, telling the brakie a much-needed man had got on forward. Also, Itook the Con. into my confidence. So just when we pulled into the nexttown I steps behind Mr. Troy, puts a gun against the back of his neck,and read the paper Ag had prepared for me.

  "Now, Mr. Troy, alias Paris, alias Goat, etc., come with me, or goforward in the icebox. Don't make a fuss or we'll alarm theladies--I've read you the warrant!"

  He walked ahead as meek as Moses. By a cross-cut across the hills itweren't more than four mile to Cactus, and Troy stepped it like afour-year-old.

  We come in behind the church. "That you, Hy?" says Ag. "Bring ourfriend, Mr. Troy, through the rear. If you don't know the way, he'llsell you a map for ten dollars."

  "Whenever you want to die, just holler," says I to Troy. It was aquiet journey. When we got inside, there was Ag and the cow-punch,smiling kindly. Ag was mixing paint in a pot.

  "They used few colours in this edifice," says Ag, "otherwise I couldhave produced something surprising. Blue for the hair," says he, "asign of purity." So he painted Troy's hair blue. And he painted a redstripe down the nose and small queer rings all over his face, and witha pair of lamp scissors he roached Troy's name like a mule--and, well,he did make something uncommon out of Troy.

  "Lovely _thing_!" says Ag, coquettish, and pokes him with his finger.

  Troy, he didn't say nothing. In fact, when you come to think of it,there wasn't many sparkling thoughts for him to put out.

  "I got a few other traps we need," says Ag, pulling out a long coiledwire spring (off a printing press, I reckon). "Come on," he says, "andwe'll fix something to entertain all the children." We put a belt onTroy, run a line through it and hitched on the spring. The cow-punch,he crawled up to the peak of the roof with a pulley, made it fast andpassed Mr. Troy's line through it. Then Ag took a brace and bit,boring a one-inch hole in the floor, and give instructions to a pair ofInjuns in the cellar.

  Then we yee-heed brother Troy to the top of the tree, running therope's end down the hole to the Injuns. Troy had a lighted candle tiedfast to each hand.

  "Now, you Greek mythology," says Ag, "mind my words; you are to flapyour arms and squeak 'Mah-mah' as you merrily go up and down;otherwise, my kyind assistants in the cellar are instructed to pulldown so hard that when they let go, you and that able-bodied springwill fly right through the roof. Light the candles, boys." We lit thecandles, slipped the curtain, and the crowd filed in--face to face withBrother Troy, blue-haired Troy; ringed, striped, and be-speckled;flyin' through the air ten foot a trip, flappin' his arms and yelling"Mah-mah."

  I reckon no such thing had ever been behelded by anybody in that churchbefore, no matter how many Christmas trees they'd seen. They juststood like they was charmed, and their heads and hands was keepingmotion with Troy.

  Ag give two small knocks with his heel, and Troy went right up into thedarkness; the cow-punch grabbed him, cut his lines, and said: "Skin,you sucker! Hike along the edge and jump out the belfry."

  The folks thought it was a grand piece arranged for their benefit, andthey hollered and laughed and clapped their hands. But there was onedeacon who hadn't been nursed by the Dove of Peace all his life. Infact, he reminded me of a man who used to deal stud-poker up Idaho way;and he came around and cast a steady eye on Aggy.

  "You people might have lost there," says Aggy, passing out theminister's purse and the other truck. "Paris is gay and not orthodox."

  The deacon, he nodded his head. "I had a pipe line run on that geeserfrom the minute he blew in," says he. "Where's he now?"

  "Runnin' fast," says Aggy; "just where I don't know."

  "You gentlemen goin' to tarry with us?" says the deacon. "It's a finelittle town and I'm glad to be good, but crimp my hair if I don't feellonesome at times. I should like to exchange reminiscencesoccasionally. I hope you'll stay."

  "It's a pleasant man who keeps the corner cellar," says Ag, "but hiswhiskey has the flavour of old rags. Now my throat----"

  "Don't say a word," says the deacon, drawin' a small half-gallon flaskout of his clothes. "Do the snake-swallowin' act to your hearts'content, gentlemen, and remember there's just simply barrels more wherethat comes from. And now," says he, when the gurgling stopped, "let'sgo in and see the fun. Them's awful innocent, good-hearted folk, boys.I tell you straight, it works in through my leather to see 'em play."

  We stepped where we could look at them; happy-faced mothers, gigglingand happy little kids, and pretty girls--lots of 'em. And it litthrough my hide, too.

  "I s'pose you kin explain, Mr. Jones?" says the deacon, punchin' Ag inthe ribs.

  "Explain?" says Ag, proud. "Appoint me custodian of the bottle, and Ihereby agree to explain anything: why brother Paris left us socompletely, what became of Charley Ross, who struck Billy Patterson,where are the ships of Tyre, or any other problem the mind of man canconjure, from twice two to the handwriting on the wall."

  "Forrud, march," says the deacon simply, and we j'ined them kind andgentle people under the Christmas tree.

  A Touch of Nature

  "These are odd United States," said Red. They certainly are. I'mthinking of a person I knew down in the Bill Williams Mountains, inArizona. He was Scotch and his name was Colin Hiccup Grunt, as near asI could hear it. I never saw anything in Arizona nor any other placethat resembled him in any particular.

  We met by chance, the usual way, and the play come up like this: I'mgoing cross country, per short-cut a friend tells me about--this waswhen I was young; I could have got to where I was going in about fourhours' riding, say I moved quick, by the regular route, but now I'm tenhours out of town, and all I know about where I am is that the heavensare above me and any quantity of earth beneath me. For the last twohours I've been losing bits of my disposition along the road, and nowI'm looking for a dog to kick. Here we come to a green gulch with achain of pools at the bottom of it.

  I got off to take a drink. Soon's I lay down there's a snort and aclatter, and my little horse Pepe is moving for distance, head up andtail up, and I'm foot loose forty miles from nowhere. This was afterthe time of Victorio, still there was a Tonto or two left in thecountry, for all the government said that the Apaches were corralled inCamp Grant, so I made a single-hearted scamper for a rock.

  Then I looked around--nothin' in sight; I raised my eyes and my jawdropped. Right above me on the side-hill sits a man, six foot and ahalf high and two foot and a half wide, dressed in a wool hat, shortskirts, and bare legs. His nose and
ears looked like they'd beenborrowed from some large statue. His hair was red; so's mine, but minewas the most lady-like kind of red compared to his--a gentle,rock-me-to-sleep-mother tint, whilst his got up and cussed every othercolour in the rainbow. Yes, sir; there he sat, and he was knittin' apair of socks! For ten seconds I forgot how good an excuse I had to bevexed, and just braced myself on my arms and looked at him and blinked."Well, no wonder, Pepe busted," thinks I, and with that my troublescome back to me. "I don't know what in the name of Uncle Noah's petelephant you are," says I to myself. "Male and female he made 'emafter their kind, and your mate may do me up, but if I don't take ahustle out of you there'll be no good reason for it." And feeling thisway, I moved to him.

  Yes, sir; there he sat, and he was knittin' a pair ofsocks!]

  "Now," says I, "explain yourself."

  "Heugh!" says he, just flittin' his little gray eyes on me and going onwith his knittin' as if he hadn't seen anything worth wasting eyesighton.

  I swallered hard. "Another break like that," I thinks, "and his familyhave no complaint."

  "One more question and you are done," says I. "Do you think it's fairto sit on a hill and look like this? How would you feel if you come onme unexpected, and I looked like you?"

  By way of reply, he reached behind him--so did I. But it wasn't a gunhe brought forth; it was a sort of big toy balloon with three sticks toit. Without so much as a glance in my direction, he proceeded to blowon one stick and wiggle his fingers on the others. Instantly our goodArizona air was tied in a knot. It was great in its way. You couldhear every stroke of the man filing the saw; the cow with the wolf inher horn bawled as natural as could be, and as for the stuck pig, itsounded so life-like I expected to see him round the corner. But atthe same time it was no kind of an answer to my question, and I kickedthe musical implement high in the air, sitting down on my shoulderblades to watch it go, and also to acknowledge receipt of one bunch offives in the right eye, kindness of Grandma in the short skirts.Beware of appearances! Nothin' takes so much from the fierceappearance of a man as short skirts and sock-knitting, but up to thisdate the hand of man hasn't pasted me such a welt as I got that day.

  Then, sir, Grandma and I had a real good old-fashioned time. I grabbedhim and heaved him over the top of my head. "Heugh!" says he as heflew. He'd no more than touched ground before he had me nailed by thelegs, and I threw a handspring over his head. From that on it was justlike a circus all the way down the hill to where we fell off the ledgeinto the pool--twenty-five foot of a drop, clear, to ice-water--wow!'J'ever see a dog try to walk on the water when he's been chucked inunexpected? Well, that was me. I was nice and warm from rastlin' withGrandma before I hit, and I went down, down, down into the deeps, untilmy stummick retired from business altogether. I come up tryin' toswaller air, but it was no use. I got to dry land. Behind me was theold Harry of a foamin' in the drink--Grandma couldn't swim. Well, Igot him out, though I was in two minds to let him pass--the touch ofthat water was something to remember.

  Twenty-five foot of a drop, clear, to ice-water--wow!]

  "Now, you old fool!" says I, when I slapped him ashore. "Look at you!Just see what trouble you make! Scarin' people's horses to death andfallin' in the creek and havin' to be hauled out! Why don't you wearpants and act like a Christian? Ain't you ashamed to go around inlittle girl's clothes at your age? What in the devil are you doing outhere, anyhow?"

  With this he bust out cryin', wavin' his hands and roarin' and yellin',with tears and ice-water runnin' down his face.

  "Well!" says I; "I don't catch you, spot nor colour, any stage of thedeal. You'd have me countin' my fingers in no time. I'm goin' to sitstill and see what's next."

  By-and-by he got the best of his emotions, come over to me and blew alot of words across my ears. From a familiar sound here and there, Igathered he was trying to hold up the American language; but it musthave been the brand Columbus found on his first vacation, for Icouldn't squeeze any information out of it. I shook my head, and hespread his teeth and jumped loose again.

  "No use," says I. "I dare say you understand, but the only clue I haveto those sounds is that you've eat something that ain't agreed withyou. Habla V. Espanol?"

  "Si, senor!" says he. So then we got at it, although it wasn't smoothskidding, either; for my Spanish was the good old Castilian I'd learnedin Panama, whilst his was a mixture of Greaser, sheepblat, and Apache,flavoured with a Scotch brogue that would smoke the taste of whiskey ata thousand yards.

  He explained that while he wasn't fully acquainted with my reasons forassault-and-batterin' him in the first place, he was deeply gratefulfor my savin' his life in the second place.

  "Yes," says I. "But why do you cry?"

  Well, that was because his feelin's was moved. I'll admit that if Isat on a rock in the Bill Williams Mountains, thinking myself the onlytwo-legged critter around, and somebody come and kicked my bagpipes inthe air and dog-rassled me down forty rod of hillside, afterwardsfishing me out of the drink, my feelin's would be moved too, but not inthat way. And at the time I'm telling you about, I was young--so youngit makes me tremble to think of it--and I knew a heap of things I don'tknow now. For this I thought slightin' of Grandma, notwithstanding thetall opposition he put up. Somehow I couldn't seem to cut loose fromthe effect of his short skirts and fancy work. But I let on to besatisfied. He amused me, did Grandma.

  Next he invites me to come up to his shanty and have a drop of what hefrivolously called "fusky"--"_Uno poquito defuskey--aquardiente--senor_." Wisht you could have heard hisSpanish--all mixed up--like this: He says he's "greetin'"--meanin'yellin', while it's "grito" in Spanish, and his pronunciation hadwhiskers on it till you could hardly tell the features. But we gotalong. When we struck the cabin the old lad done the honours noble.I've met some stylish Spaniards and Frenchmen and Yanks and JohnnyBulls in my time, yet I can't remember aryone who threw himselfbetter'n Colin Hiccup. There's no place where good manners shows tobetter advantage than on a homely man; the constant surprise betweenthe way he looks and the way he acts keeps you interested.

  "To you, senor," says Colin. "Let this dampen the fires of animosity."

  "To you right back again," says I. "And let's pipe the aforesaid firesclean down into the tailin's." So there we sat, thinking better ofeach other and all creation. The fires of animosity went out with asputter and we talked large and fine. I don't care; I like to once ina while. I don't travel on stilts much, yet it does a man good to playpretty now and then; besides, you can say things in the Spanish thatare all right, but would sound simple-minded in English. English isthe tongue to yank a beef critter out of an alkali hole with, but giveme Spanish when I want to feel dressed up.

  We passed compliments to each other and waved our hands, bowing andsmiling. In the evening we had music by the pipes. I can't say I'dconfine myself to that style of sweet sounds if I had a free choice;still, Colin H. Grunt got something kind of wild and blood-stirrin' outof that windbag that was perfectly astonishin', when you took thoughtof how it really did sound. And--I sung. Well, there was only the twoof us, and if I stood for the bagpipes it was a cinch he could stand mycayodlin'.

  Three days I passed there in peace and quiet. I hadn't anything onhand to do; the more I saw of my new pardner the better I liked hisstyle, and here was my gorgeous opportunity to make connections withthe art of knitting that might be useful any amount, once I come tosettle down.

  It was a handsome little place. The cabin was built of rocks. Sheperched on the hillside, with three gnarly trees shadin' it and a bigshute of red rock jumping up behind it. Colin had a flower gardenabout a foot square in front, that he tended very careful, luggingwater from the creek to keep it growing. Climbing roses covered onewall, and, honest, it cuddled there so cunnin' and comfortable, itreminded me of home. Think of that bare-legged, pock-marked,sock-knittin' disparagement of the human race havin' the good feelin'to make him a house like this! It knocked me then,
because, as I haveexplained, I was young. I have since learned that the length of ajack-rabbit's ears is no sure indication of how far he can jump.

  We spent three days in this pleasant life, knocking around the countryin the daytime, chinnin' and smokin' under some rock and discussin'things in general, and at night we made music, played checkers, andtalked some more.

  During this time his history come out. Naturally, I was anxious toknow how such a proposition landed in the Bill Williams Mountains. Ithappened like this:

  Colin came from an island in Scotland where, I judged, the folks neverheard of George Washington.

  His chief had the travel habit, and Colin went along to bagpipe.

  He'd followed his chief to France and then to Mexico, where the band ofScotties tried to help Maximilian help himself to Uncle Porfirio Diaz'sempire. There was a row, and the son and heir of the house of Gruntswas killed, old Colin Hiccup fightin' over his body like a red-headedlion in short skirts.

  It was at night he told me about it, and at this point he got excited.He pulled his old sword down from the wall and showed me how everythingoccurred. It was as close a call as I can recollect. I'd rather meetan ordinary man bilious with trouble than have a friend like Colin tellme exciting stories with a sword. There were times when you couldn'thave got a cigarette paper between me and that four-foot weapon. I wasplaying the villains, you understand.

  Well, the Maximilian game was up, and when Colin got well (some ladwith no sporting blood had shot him in the head) he slid over to theUnited States and resumed sheep herding, knitting, and bagpiping alleesamee old country. I suspect the boss of the ranch hired Mr. Gruntmore because he liked the old boy than for any other reason, inasmuchas he didn't have more'n a hundred sheep in the bunch; besides, whatwith getting shot in the head and grieving for his chief and one thingand another, Colin was a _little_ damaged in the cupola--not but whathe was as sensible as I could understand most of the time--but--well,kind of sideways about things; like not learning English and keeping ondressing in knee skirts and such.

  What troubled him the most was that no such thing as a clan could befound. I explained to him as best I could that as us Americansrepresented Europe, Asia, and Africa in varyin' proportions, it was alittle difficult to get up a stout clan feeling--local issues wouldcome in.

  Yes, he said he understood that, but it was a great pity, and on thefourth night I was there he got so horrible melancholy over it that itwas dreadful to see. I didn't know how to cheer him up exactly, untilwe'd had two--perhaps three--drops together. Then an inspiration hitme in the top of the head.

  "Come along outside with the nightcracker," says I. "I'll take thesword and we'll have one of those dances you've told me about."

  He brightened up at that, and after a few more drops consented. I feltright merry by this time, and it wasn't long before old Colin limberedconsiderable. There it was, nice bright moonlight, nobody around topass remarks; nothing to trouble. So bime-by we pasted her hide, wideand fantastic, with the bagpipes screechin' like a tom-cat fight in acellar. I was tickled to death lookin' at our shadows flyin'around--one of the times I was easily pleased; I must say I enjoyed thecan-can.

  And then, alas! All my joy departed and went away, for when my eyehappened to slide behind me, it fell on a Tonto brave--a full-sizedTonto-Yuma brave, that ought to be seen at Camp Grant, dressed in apocket handkerchief, a pair of moccasins, and a large rifle.

  "By-by, my honey, I'm gone!" I sings to myself--never missin' a step,however, for to let that Injun know I was on to him would be a sign ofbad luck. I wiggled around kind of careless to see if there was anymore of him. There was. Nine more. Here was Saunders Colorado andColin Hiccup Grunt, fortified by--say six, drops of Scotch whiskey, aScotch sword and a Scotch bagpipe, up against ten Tontos armed withrifles. I would have traded my life interest in this world for animitation dead yaller dog. "Oh, they won't do a thing to us, thing tous, thing to us!" sings I to myself, hoppin' around so gleefully,keepin' time to the bagpipes. "Whoop her up, Colin!" I hollers. "Onwith the dance, let joy be unconfined!" That was in my school reader,so it ought to be true. My joy was unconfined all right enough--she'dflew the coop long since.

  "Whoop her up, Colin!" I hollers]

  At that Colin really turned himself loose. He'd warmed to the occasionand climbed into the spirit of the thing. His eyes was shut and he wasleaping five foot in the air at a pass, wagglin' his head from side toside. And as for them bagpipes, he simply blew the mangled remains ofall the sounds since the flood out of the big end--he took silence byher hind leg and flapped her into rags.

  I pranced like a colt, wonderin' why we didn't get shot or something.At last I couldn't stand feeling all them hard-coal eyes behind me, soI whirls around as if I'd simply waited my time, and capered down thatline of Injuns, wavin' the sword over their heads, looking far away,and smilin' the easy grin of the gentleman who pets the tiger in thecircus parade.

  "Oh, Colin!" I chants, as if it was part of a war-song; "understandEnglish for once in your life and keep that squealer yelpin' or theseham-coloured sons of Satan will play a tune on us--give it to 'em,Colin, my b-o-o-y--let the good work go ah-ah-ah-ah-on!"

  I reckon he made me out, for, after one sharp blat (I suppose when heopened his eyes), the old bagpipes went on whining same as before.

  I made two trips up and down the line, then flung the sword up in theair and yelled: "Bastante!"

  Come silence, like a fainting fit--the thickest, muckiest silence Iever heard.

  "Your house, amigos," I says. "In what way may we serve you?" I hadan idea of what way they would serve _us_---fried, likely, with a dishof greens on the side--but I thought I'd get in my crack first.

  It was weary waiting to see what kind of play the bucks was going tomake. They had the immortal on us, and what they said went.

  At last the oldest man in the party stepped out. I guess the Yankeegot his love for Fourth of July gas-displays from the Injuns, forthere's nothin' that those simple-hearted children of nature lovebetter than chawing air.

  "Amigos," says the old buck. "Mira. We are not Gilas; we are notMescaleros; we are not Copper-miners; neither Jicarillas, Coyoteros,nor Llaneros." All this very slow and solemn. Very interesting, nodoubt; but a _little_ long to a man waiting to see whether he's aboutto jump the game or not. "No," thinks I; "nor you ain't town-pumps norsnow-ploughs nor real-estate agents--hook yourself up, for Heaven'ssake, and let go on your family history."

  "No," says he, shaking his head. "Nada, I am Yuma--they are Yuma."

  "I sincerely hope so," thinks I. "And I wish you'd let us in on thejoke. I'm dyin' for lack of a laugh this minute."

  "Si, senores," says he. "We are not Apaches; and we are not now forwar. Before, yes. Now we are peaceful. But the white man has put uson reservation at Camp Grant, and there bad white men bother us. Weare all braves; we do not wish to be bothered. So we shoot those whitemen for the sake of peace, and then we come away. We come here lastmoon. We see this man," pointing to Colin Hiccup. "At first my youngmen wish to shoot at him, to see him hop, but I say 'no'--we arepeaceful; besides, he is a strange white man. I think he is a greatchief and comes here to make medicine. Do you not see how small is therebano and how large the man? And how he dresses like a woman? Andthere we hear the music he makes. Then I know he is great medicine.It is beautiful music he makes to the Great Spirit. It makes ourhearts good. We wait; see you come. See two big medicine men fight,then be friend again. Know, by the hair, both same medicine. To-nightsounds the music more and more. We come and see dance. We havecouncil. All say, when dance is over, we ask white man to be chief.Just one chief--two chiefs, like calf with two heads, no good. Youchoose. We have no chief since Mangas Colorado. He make fight. Fighthard but no good. Now we are for peace. I say it."

  He threw down his rifle and waited. The other braves dropped theirguns, crash!

  "We will talk," says I, drawing myself up tall.
>
  "Buen," says he, and Colin and me withdrew.

  "Now, my Scotch friend," says I, when we got out of hearin', "we are upagainst it, bang! It's all right for them Injuns to talk of howpeaceful they are, but I'll bet you there ain't a bigot among 'em. Ifwe don't slide down their gutter, they'll do us harm. How're we todecide who puts his neck in the lion's mouth?"

  But old Colin wasn't listening to me. "They'll make me chief," sayshe. "I'm tired of herding sheep." His little grey eyes was shining.

  "Well, you knock me every time," says I. "Do you mean you want to trotwith them?"

  "They stick together--they have a clan."

  I got some excited. "Here, now," I says; "this lets me out of a gooddeal of trouble to have you take it this way, but all the same as I'vedrunk your whiskey and ate your bread, I'll stand at your back tillyour belt caves in. You pass this idea up--it's dangerous--and I'llmake you a foolish proposition; you take the bagpipes and I'll take thesword and we will pass away to lively music. Darn my skin if I'll seea friend turned over to those tarriers and sit still."

  "Heugh!" says he. "What's a man but a man? As safe with them asanywhere--and what do I care about safe? What's left me, anyhow? Willyou watch the sheep till they send from the ranch?"

  "Why, yes," says I. "But----"

  He waved his hand and walked towards the Injuns. "Voy," says he.

  "Hungh!" says they. "Bueno."

  I laid my hand on his shoulder for one more try. Every brave picked uphis gun and beaded me.

  "Drop the guns!" says Colin Hiccup Grunt. And down went the guns.You'd be surprised at his tone of voice; it meant, as plain as youcould put it in words, "We will now put down the guns." Oh, yes, itmeant it entirely. And he looked a foot taller. The change had donehim good.

  "Well," thinks I; "my boys, I reckon you've got your chief, and asthere ain't another peek of light out of this business, I shelve mykick."

  "Where is the senor's horse?" asks Colin.

  "In the hills," says the Injun, before he thought.

  "Bring it," says Colin.

  "Ha!" says all the Injuns, and they sent a man for my mustang. Thatquick guess surprised the whole lot of us.

  We went together to the cabin, to get his belongings and to cache thewhiskey. If it come into our friend's heads to rummage we might have apoor evening of it.

  "Leave me that sock as a momentum," says I.

  "'Tain't finished," says he.

  "Never mind. I want it to put under my pillow to dream on," and I haveit yet.

  One half-hour after that I sat in the doorway, scratching my head andthinkin'; whilst before my eyes marched off Colin Hiccup Grunt, GreatPeace Chief of the Yumas, bare-legged and red-headed, with his wool haton one side and his bagpipe squealin', at the head of his company. Youwon't see such a sight often, so I watched 'em out of eyeshot.

  It chanced I was asleep inside when the rider came from the ranch, sowhen I stuck my head out to answer his hail, "Why," says he, "howyou've changed!" He was surprised, that man.

  "You ain't done nothing to old Scotty?" says he, looking cross.

  "No," says I. "Hold your hand. He's gone off and joined the Injuns."

  Then I up and told him the story.

  "Hungh!" says he. "Well, that's just like him!"

  THE END