"Peets once mentions a long-ago poet party, named Johnson, who, speakin' of a fellow poet after he's dead an' down onder the grass-roots, lets on that he teches nothin' he don't adorn. You can go your ultimate simoleon that ain't Monte's style. The only things he don't upset is bottles; the only flooid he never spills is licker. This yere last would be ag'inst his religion. Wharever he goes, he's otherwise draggin' his rope, an' half the time he's steppin' on it.
"It's him that coaxes that onhappy Polish picture painter our way. This yere is long after he's drivin' stage, an' as Wolfville's offishul drunkard becomes a tol'rated feachure of the camp. This Polish artist person is as much out o' place in Arizona as a faro lay-out at a Sunday school picnic. Monte crosses up with him over at Tucson in the Oriental S'loon, an' while thar's no ties between 'em, more'n what nacherally forms between two gents who sets drinkin' together all night long, before ever they're through with each other that inspired inebriate lands the locoed artist party on our hands. Enright shore does go the limit in rebookin' Monte.
"'Why, Sam,' says Monte, an' he's that depreecatory he whines, 'I allows you'll look on him as a acquisition.'
"'All the same,' returns Enright, an' I never knows him more forbiddin', 'yereafter please confine your annoyin' assidooities to drivin' stage, an' don't go tryin' to improve the outlook of this camp.'
"Monte, with this, gets that dismal he sheds tears. 'Which it shore looks like I can't do nothin' right,' he sobs.
"'Then don't,' says Enright.
"From the start, Monte graves himse'f upon the mem'ry of folk as the first sport, to onroll his blankets in Cochise County, who consoomes normal over twenty drinks a day. Upon festal occasions like Noo Year's, an' Christmas, an' Fo'th of Jooly, an' Thanksgivin', no gent who calls himse'f a gent thinks of keepin' tabs on a fellow gent, no matter how freequent he signs up to Black Jack. On gala o'casions, sech as them noted, the bridle is plumb off the hoss, an' even though you drinks to your capac'ty an' some beyond, no one's that vulgar as to go makin' remarks. But that ain't Monte; he's different a heap. It looks like every day is Fo'th of Jooly with him, he's that inveterate in his reemorseless hankerin' for nosepaint.
"Also, regyarded as to his social side, Monte, as I states former, is a nooisance. Knowin' folks, too, is his fad. Only so you give him licker enough, he'll go surgin' round accostin' every gent he sees. No matter how austere a stranger is, Monte'll tackle him. An' at that he never says nothin' worth hearin', an' in its total absence of direction his conversation resembles nothin' so much as a dog chasin' its tail.
"An' then thar's them footile bluffs he's allers tryin' to run. He's been pesterin' in an' out of the Red Light one evenin' ontil he's got Black Jack incensed. As he comes squanderin' along, for say the twentieth time, Black Jack groans, an' murmurs,
"'Yere's that booze-soaked old hoss-thief ag'in!'
"Monte gets the echo of it, same as folks allers does when it ain't wanted, but he's onable to say who. So he stands thar by the bar, glarin' 'round an' snortin'. Final, he roars:
"'Who cuts loose that personal'ty?'
"Thar ain't no answer, an' Monte ag'in takes to pitchin' on his rope.
"'Show me the galoot who insults me,' he roars; 'let him no longer dog it, but p'int himse'f out as the gent.'
"'All right,' says Black Jack, whose indignation gets the best of his reespons'bilities as barkeep, 'which I'm the party who alloodes to you as a booze-soaked old hoss-thief.'
"'An' so you're the gent,' says Monte, castin' a witherin' glance at Black Jack; 'so you're the would-be sooicide who calls me a booze-soaked old hoss-thief?'
"'Which I'm the identical stingin' lizard. Now what is it you're so plumb eager to say?'
"'What am I eager to say? I merely wants to remark that you ain't done nothin' to swell up over. You-all needn't go thinkin' you're the first barkeep who calls me a booze-soaked old hoss-thief.'
"Havin' la'nched this yere, Monte turns off as stiffly pompous as though he ain't left a grease-spot of Black Jack.
"When folks won't listen to him no longer, Monte goes bulgin' forth into the highways an' the byways, an' holds long an' important discussions with signs, an' dry-goods boxes, an' sim'lar inan'mate elements of the landscape. Also, to mules an' burros. I remarks him myse'f, whisperin' in the onregyardful y'ear of a burro, an' said anamile as sound asleep as a tree. When that drunkard's through his confidences, he backs off, an' wavin' his paw plumb myster'ous at the burro says:
"'Remember, now; I'm givin' you this yere p'inter as a friend.'
"That time Black Jack offends Monte, after the latter hits the sidewalk followin' what he clar'ly considers is his crushin' come-back on Black Jack, he gets the feelin' that Jack's ha'ntin' along on his trail. Before he's gone fifty foot, he w'irls about, an' shouts:
"'Don't you-all follow me! Which, if you crowds me, them places that has knowed you won't know you no more forever.'
"When Monte gets off this menace, it seems like the Black Jack specter becomes intim'dated, an' tries to squar' itse'f.
"'What's that?' Monte asks, after listenin' mighty dignified to the spook's excuses; 'you begs my pardon? Not another word. If you-all keeps on talkin' now you'll sp'ile it. Thar's my hand,' givin' the fingers of the phantom a mighty earnest squeeze. 'I'm your friend, an' that goes.'
"Havin' established a peace, Monte insists that the Black Jack phantom b'ar him company to the O. K. Restauraw. In spite of all Missis Rucker can say or do, he plants the spook at the table, feeds it on the best that's in the kitchen, an' all as confident as if it's shorely troo. Also, he insists on payin' for two.
"When Missis Rucker tries to show him he's down wrong, he refooses to have it that way.
"'Do you-all reckon, Ma'am, that I can't trust my eyes none?' he demands. 'Which you'll tell me next that them airtights I tops of with is figments.'
"'But thar's only one of you-all,' Missis Rucker persists.
"'Ma'am,' returns Monte, his manner plumb s'picious, 'I don't jest quite sense your little game. Whatever it is, however, you-all can't play it on old Monte. You write back to my fam'ly an' the neighbors, an' the least flatterin' among 'em'll tell you that I'm as cunnin' as a squinch owl. Thar's two of us who feeds, an' for two of us I settles. Bein' a woman, you're too feeble-witted for reason, too mendacious for trooth.'
"'Don't you go callin' me no woman,' says Missis Rucker, her eyes snappin', 'onless you're ready to cash in.'
"'Women!' repeats Monte, sort o' addressin' the scenery, but still plenty cynical, 'what be they except a fleetin' show to man's deloosion given. Also, thar's nothin' to 'em. You opens their front door, an' you're in their back yard.'
"Texas has been givin' y'ear to the talk. It's before his Laredo wife starts ropin' for that divorce; but she's already makin' war medicine, an' the signs an' signal smokes which p'int to an uprisin' is vis'ble on every hill. Texas is careful not to let Missis Rucker hear him none, but as he walks away, he mutters:
"'That ghost-seein' sport's got the treemors, but all the same I strings with him on them estimates of ladies.'
"Texas is that fav'rably affected about Monte, he talks things over with Tutt, who himse'f ain't married to Tucson Jennie none as yet. Them nuptials, an' that onbiased blessin', little Enright Peets Tutt, who results tharfrom, comes along later.
"'Which thar's good in that Monte maverick,' says Texas; 'only so we could get the nosepaint out of him.'
"'Now, I wouldn't wonder none, neither,' says Tutt.
"'He drinkt up two quarts an' a half yesterday,' says Texas.
"'Ain't thar no steps which can be took?' Tutt asks. 'Two quarts an' a half, though, shore sounds like he's somethin' of a prop'sition.'
"These yere remarks is made in the Red Light, an' Tutt an' Texas appeals to Cherokee, whar that courtier of fortune is settin' in behind his lay-out. Cherokee waves 'em off, p'lite but firm.
"'Don't ask me none,' he says. 'You-all knows my doctrines. Let every gent kill his own snakes.'
"'That's my theology,' remarks Boggs, who has just come ramblin' in from the Noo York store, whar he's been changin' in a bundle of money for shirts; 'I recalls how, when I'm a prattlin' yearlin', hearin' Parson Ed'ards of the Cambellite Church quotin' whar Cain gives it out cold that he's not his brother's keeper; an' even at that onthinkin' age I fully endorses Cain's p'sition.'
"The talk takes in Black Jack, who, by virchoo of him bein' a barkeep, nacherally savvys a heap about the licker question. Jack reelates how a sot he knows back in Arkansaw is shocked into never takin' a drink, by simply blowin' his hand off accidental while tanked up.
"'Whang! goes the old Betsy,' says Jack, 'an' that slave to licker's shy his left hand. "Which it lets me out!" he exclaims; an' datin' from said catastrophy he'd no more tech nosepaint, that a-way, than he'd join the church.'
"'But it's doubtful,' observes Tutt, 'if Enright stands to let us shoot this yere Monte drunkard's hand off.'
"'It's ten to one he won't,' says Texas; 'still thar ought to be other schemes for shockin' a party into moral'ty, which stops short o' cripplin' him for life.'
"'But is this yere inebriate worth the worry?' asks Boggs. 'Also, it shore strikes me as mighty gratooitous for us to go reorganizin' the morals of a plumb stranger, an' him not even asked.'
"'Which he's worth the worry all right,' Texas replies. 'Thar's no efforts too great, when thar's a chance to save a party who has the same thorough onderstandin' of ladies which this gent has.'
"Up over the Red Light bar is a stuffed bobcat, the same bein' held as decorative. Only the day before Texas and Tutt stands talkin', a couple of Enright's riders comes packin' a live bobcat into town, which between 'em they ropes up over in the foothills of the Tres Hermanas, an' jams labor'ously into a pa'r of laiggin's. The same idee seizes on Texas an' Tutt yoonanimous. They sees that it only calls for the intelligent use of that Bar-8 bobcat, which them cow-punchers of Enright's ties down, to reegen'rate Monte, an' make him white as snow.
A COUPLE OF ENRIGHT'S RIDERS COMES A PACKIN' A LIVE BOBCAT INTO TOWN. p. 118.
"Monte's ain't present none, bein' over to the O. K. House. By bein' plumb painstakin', Tutt an' Texas gets a collar onto the captive Bar-8 bobcat, an' chains him up over the Red Light bar, in place of the stuffed bobcat, deeposed. The Bar-8 bobcat jumps off once or twict before he learns, an' comes mighty clost to lynchin' himse'f. But Black Jack is patient, an' each time pokes him back with a cha'r. After mebby the third jump, it gets proned into the bobcat that thar's nothin' in it for him to go hurlin' himse'f into space that a-way, an' bein' saved from death by hangin' only through the cha'r-laig meditations of Black Jack. Acceptin' this yere view, he stands pat on his shelf. Likewise, he shore looks mighty vivid up thar, an' has got that former stuffed predecessor of his beat four ways from the jack.
"We're hankerin' around, now the Bar-8 bobcat's organized, waitin' for Monte to come amblin' up, an' be reformed.
"'An' you can gamble,' Tutt says, 'that the shock it'll throw into him'll have a ben'ficial effect. Shootin' off a hand or so ain't in it with the way that drunkard's goin' to feel.'
"'That's the way I figgers,' Texas remarks. 'One glance at that bobcat, him on the verge of the treemors, an' thar'll a thrill go through his rum-soaked frame like the grace of heaven through a camp meetin'. For one, I antic'pate most excellent effects. Whatever do you think, Doc?'
"'Whatever do I think?' Peets repeats. 'Which I thinks that, as the orig'nators of this yere cure for the licker habit, it'll be up to you an' Dave to convey the patient to his room at the O. K. House, as soon as ever you can control his struggles.'
"Monte at last heaves in sight, an' comes shiverin' up to the bar, every nerve as tight as a fiddle string. Black Jack shoves him the bottle.
"'What stuffed anamile sharp,' says Tutt, craftily directin' himself at Black Jack, 'mounts that bobcat up thar?'
"Monte nacherally raises his eyes. Thar's that Bar-8 feline, half-crouched, glarin' down on him with green eyes, big as moons.
"That settles it.
"Monte gives a yell which they hears in Red Dog. Wharupon the bobcat, takin' it for a threatenin' deemonstration, onfolds in an answerin' yell, an' makes a scramblin' jump at Monte's head. Shore, he don't land none, bein' brought up short, like a roped pony. Thar he swings, cussin' an' spittin' an' clawin', as mad as a drunken squaw, an' begins all over to hang himse'f afresh.
"Monte?
"That victim of appetite falls to the floor as dead an' flat as a wet December leaf.
"Actin' on them instructions, Tutt an' Texas picks Monte up an' packs him across to Peets, who, after fussin' over him for mebby an hour, brings him round s'fficient so he goes from one convulsion into another, in what you-all might deescribe as an endless chain of fits. Thar's nothin' to it; Peets is indoobitable the best equipped drug sharp that ever breaks loose in Arizona. At that, while Monte lives, he don't but jest. He's shore close enough at one time to kingdom come to hear the singin'.
"For two weeks Monte's boilin' an' boundin' round in his blankets, Texas an' Tutt, feelin' a heap reemorseful, standin' watch and watch. It's decided that no more attempts to reform him will be made, him bein'––accordin' to Peets––too far gone that a-way.
"'He's plumb onreform'ble,' explains Peets; 'whiskey's got to be so much a second nacher with him, that the only way you-all could cure him now is kill him.'
"By way of partial rep'ration for what he suffers, as soon as Monte can ag'in move about, Enright calls a meetin' of the camp, an' dooly commissions him 'Offishul Drunkard,' with a absoloote an' non-reevok'ble license to go as far as he likes.
"'This yere post of offishul drunkard,' Enright explains to the meetin', 'carries with it no money, no power, an' means only that he's free to drink from dark to daylight an' to dark ag'in, oncriticized, onreproved, an' onsaved. Colonel Sterett imparts to us in the last Daily Coyote how them Hindoos has their sacred cobras. Cobras not bein' feas'ble none in Arizona, Wolfville in loo of sech accepts old Monte. Yereafter, w'arin' the title of offishul drunkard, he takes his place in the public regyard as Wolfville's sacred cobra.'
"When Monte learns of his elevation, his eyes fills up with gratified pride, an' as soon as ever he's able to stand the w'ar an' t'ar, he goes on a protracted public drunk, by way of cel'bration, while we looks tol'rantly on.
"'Gents,' he says, 'I thanks you. Yereafter the gnawin' tooth of conscience will be dulled, havin' your distinguished endorsement so to do. Virchoo is all right in its place. But so is vice. The world can't all be good an' safe at one an' the same time. Which if we all done right, an' went to the right, we'd tip the world over. Half has got to do wrong an' go to the left, to hold things steady. That's me; I was foaled to do wrong an' go to the left. It's the only way in which a jealous but inscroot'ble Providence permits me to serve my hour. Offishul drunkard! Ag'in I thanks you. Which this yere's the way I long have sought, an' mourned because I found it not, long meter.'
"Boggs is the only gent who takes a gloomy view.
"'That's fine for this yere egreegious Monte,' says Boggs, talkin' to Enright; 'as Wolfville's pet drunkard an' offishul cobra, he's mighty pleasantly provided for. But how about the camp? Whar does Wolfville come in? We're a strong people; but does any gent pretend that we possesses the fortitoode reequired to b'ar up through all the comin' rum-soaked years?––an' all onder the weight of this yere onmatched inebriate, whom by our own act an' as offishul drunkard, we onmuzzles in our shrinkin' midst? Gents, this thing can't last.'
"'Not necessar'ly, Dan,' retorts Enright, his manner trenchin' on the cold; 'not necessar'ly. Let me expound the sityooation. I need not remind you-all that Sand Creek Riley, who drives the Tucson stage, gets bumped off the other evenin', while preeposterously insistin' that aces-up beats three-of-a-kind. Realizin' the trooth of half what you has said, Dan, I this evenin' enters into strategic reelations with the stage company's agent; an' as a reesult, an' datin' from now on, old Monte will be hired to fill the place of Sand Creek Riley
, whom we all regrets. It's hardly reequired that I p'int out the benefits of this yere arrangement. As stage driver, old Monte for every other night will get sawed off on Tucson. An' I misjedges the vitality of this camp if, with the pressure on it thus relieved, an' Tucson carryin' half the load, it's onable to live through. In my opinion, Dan, by the light of this explanation, you at least oughter hope for the best.'
"'That's whatever!' says Boggs, who's plumb convinced; 'if I'd waited ontil you was heard, Sam, I'd never voiced them apprehensions. But the fact is, this yere Monte cobra of ours, with his bibbin's an' his guzzlin's, has redooced me to a condition of nervous prostration. It's all right now. Which I will say, however, that I can't reeflect none without a shudder on what them Tucson folks'll say an' think, so soon as ever they wakes up to what's been played on 'em.'"
* * *
V
HOW THE MOCKING BIRD WAS WON
"Myst'ries?
"We lives surrounded by 'em. Look whar you will, nacher has a ace buried. Take dogs, now: Why is it when one of 'em, daylight or dark, cuts the trail of a anamile, he never makes the fool mistake of back-trackin' it, but is shore to run his game the way it's movin'? There must be some kind of head-an'-tail to the scent, that a-way, to give the dog the hunch. Myst'ry!––all myst'ry! The more a gent goes messin' 'round for s'lootions, the more he's taught hoomility an' that he ain't knee-high to toads.
"An' yet when it comes to things myster'ous everything else is bound to go to the diskyard compared to a lady's heart. Of course, I speaks only in a sperit of philos'phy, an' not as one who's suffered. I never myse'f am able pers'nal to approach closter to a lady's heart than across the street. Peets once reemarks that all trails leads to Rome. In that business of trails a lady's heart has got Rome left standin' sideways. Not only does every trail lead tharunto, but thar's sech a thing as goin' cross-lots. Take gettin' in love; thar's as many ways as cookin' eggs. While you'll see gents who goes skallyhootin' into that dulcet condition as straight as a arrer, thar's others who sidles in, an' still others who backs in. I even knows a boy who shoots his way in.
Faro Nell and Her Friends Page 7