"Which the lady in this case is the Mockin' Bird. That Mockin' Bird maiden has wooers by onbounded scores, but holds herse'f as shy an' as much aloof as if she's a mountain sheep. Not one can get near enough to her to give her a ripe peach. Along comes the eboolient Turkey Track, bulges headlong into her dest'nies, takes to menacin' at her with a gun an', final, to bombardin' her outright, an'––love an' heart an' hand––she comes a-runnin'.
"Wolfville's without that last evidence of advancement, a callaboose. It bein' inconvenient to shoot up or lynch everybody who infringes our rooles, Jack Moore invents a convincin' but innocuous punishment for minor offenders. Endorsed by Enright, he established a water trough––it's big enough to swim a dog––over by the windmill; an' when some perfervid cow-puncher, sufferin' from a overdose of nosepaint, takes to aggravatin' 'round Moore swashes him about in the trough some profoose, ontil he gives his word to live a happier an' a better life.
"It's like magic the way that water trough works. No matter how gala some pronghorn of a cowboy may feel, it shore lets the whey out of him. Given the most voylent, it's only a matter of minutes before he's soaked into quietood. Enright himse'f says Moore's entitled to a monyooment for the idee.
"Turkey Track's name is Ford, Tom Ford, but workin' that a-way for the Turkey Track outfit he nacherally gets renamed for the brand. Turkey Track an' two boon companions has been goin' to an' fro from the Red Light to the Dance Hall, ontil by virchoo of a over-accumyoolation of licker they're beginnin' to step some high. Also, they takes to upliftin' their tired souls with yells, an' blazin' away at froote cans with their six-shooters.
"It gets so that Enright tells Moore to give 'em a call-down.
"'What them boys does,' says Enright, 'is done harmless an' light-hearted to be shore, an' nothin' radic'lly wrong is either aimed at or meant; but all the same, Jack, it's no more'n proodence to go knock their horns off. It ain't what them yooths is doin', but what they may be led to do, which makes the danger. It's like old Deacon Sopris at the Cumberland Methodist class meetin' says of kyard-playin'. "It ain't," explains the deacon, "that thar's any harm in the children playin' seven-up around the kitchen table of a winter's evenin' for grains of corn, but seven-up persisted in is shore to lead to dancin'." An' so with these young merry-makers. They'll keep on slamin' away at empty bottles an' former tomatter cans that a-way, ontil the more seedate element objects, an' somebody gets downed. Don't you agree with me, Doc?'
"'Nothin' shorer!' says Peets.
"Moore corrals Turkey Track an' his fellow revellers, an' tosses off a few fiats.
"'Quit that whoopin' an' shootin', boys,' says Moore. 'Likewise, keep your hardware in your belts, as more deecorous. So shore as I finds a gun in any of your hands ag'in, I'll shoot it out.'
"Turkey Track an' his compadres don't say nothin' back. They savvys about the water trough, an' ain't hungerin' none to have their ardor dampened in no sech fashion. So they blinks an' winks like a passel of squinch owls, but never onbuckles in no argyooment. All the same, it irks 'em a whole lot, an' after Moore reetires they begins mod'rate to arch their necks an' expand 'round a little.
"They allows––talkin' among themselves in a quer'lous way––that they ain't hurtin' no one, an' for Moore to come shovin' 'round an' lecturin' on etiquette is a conceited exhibition of authority as offensive as it is onjest. Thar's doubts, too, about it's bein' constitootional.
"'Whatever does that jim-crow sp'ile-sport of a marshal mean?' says Turkey Track. 'It looks like he's not only deefyin' the organic law of this country, but puttin' on a heap of dog. Does he reckon this yere camp's a church?'
"'I moves we treats them mandates,' says one of the boys, who's a rider for the G-bar ranch, 'with merited contempt.'
"'As how?' asks the third, who belongs with the Four-J brand. 'You ain't so locoed as to s'ggest we-all t'ars person'ly into this Jack Moore marshal none I hopes?'
"'Which you fills me with disgust!' says the other, nettled at the idee of pawin' the onprofit'ble grass 'round Moore; 'but whatever's the matter with goin' up to the far end of the street, an' w'irl an' come squanderin' back jest a shootin'?'
"'Great!' says Turkey Track, applaudin' the scheme. 'Which we-all nacherally shoots up their old prairie dog town, same as if it's a Mexican plaza, an' then jogs on to our ranches, all triumphant an' comfortable.'
"The three rides up to the head of the street, an' then turns an'––givin' their ponies the steel––comes whizzin' down through the center of eevents, yelpin' like Apaches an' lookin' like fireworks. They've got a gun in each hand, an' they shakes the flame an' smoke out of 'em same as three volcanoes on hossback.
"Moore's standin' in front of the Noo York store, talkin' to Tutt. As you-all might imagine, it frets him to the quick to see how little them effervescent sperits cares for his injunctions. By way of rebooke––not wantin' to down 'em outright for what, take it the worst way, ain't nothin' more heen'ous than a impropriety––Moore gets his artillery to b'ar, an' as they flashes by like comets, opens on the ponies. It's hard on the ponies; but it won't do to let them young roysterers get away with their play. The example'll spread; an', onless checked at the jump, inside of a month thar'd be nothin' but a whoopin' procession of cow-punchers chargin' up an' down the causeways. Tenderfeet might acquire misgivin's techin' us bein' a peaceful camp, an' the thing op'rate as a blow to trade. It's become a case of either get the boys or get the ponies, an' onder the circumstances the ponies has the call.
"Thar's no more artistic gun-player than Moore in town, onless it's Cherokee, an' mebby Doc Peets, who's a heap soon with a derringer. As the ponies flash by, Moore's six-shooter barks three times. Two ponies goes rollin'; the third––it's Turkey Track's––continyoos cavortin' down the street an' out of town. Turkey Track never pulls up nor looks back. The last we sees of him is when he's two miles away, an' a swell rises up behind him an' hides him from view.
"The G-bar boy, an' him from the Four-J outfit, hits the grass twenty feet ahead of their ponies, like a roll of blankets chucked out of a wagon, an' after bumpin' an' tumblin' along for a rod or so, an' all mighty condoosive to fractures an' dislocations, they flattens out reespective same as a couple of cancelled postage stamps. Shore, the fall jolts the savvy plumb out of 'em.
"Bein' they're stretched out an' passive, Moore collects 'em an' sops 'em up an' down in the water trough for mebby it's fifteen minutes. Which they're reesus'tated an' reeproved at one an' the same time. When them yooths comes to, they're a model to angels. To be shore, their intellects don't shine out at first none like the sun at noon, but continyoos blurred for hours. Even as late as the weddin' of Turkey Track with the Mockin' Bird––an' that ain't for all of eight weeks––the G-bar boy informs Boggs confidenshul, as they're takin' a little licker all sociable, that speakin' mental he's as yet a heap in eeclipse.
"The maiden name of the Mockin' Bird is Loocinda Gildersleeve, but pop'lar pref'rence allers sticks to her stage title. She's a fav'rite at the Bird Cage Op'ry House, at which nursery of the drammy she's been singin' off an' on for somethin' like three years. She's a shore-enough singer, too, the Mockin' Bird is. None of your yeepin's an' peepin's, none of your mice squeaks an' tea-kettle tones an' cub coyote yelps. Which she's got a round, meelod'yous bellow like a hound in full cry, an' while she's singin' thar ain't a wolf'll open his mouth within a mile of town. Which them anamiles is plumb abashed, the Mockin' Bird outholdin' 'em to that degree.
"You-all don't hear no sech singin' in the East. Thar ain't room; an' moreover the East's too timid. For myse'f, an' I ain't got no y'ear for music, them top notes of the Mockin' Bird, like the death yell of a mountain lion, is cap'ble of givin' me the fantods; while the way she hands out 'Home, Sweet Home' an' 'Suwannee River,' an' her voice sort o' diggin' down into the soul, sets eemotional sports like Boggs an' Black Jack to sobbin' as though their hearts is broke. She's certainly a jo-darter of a vocalist––the Mockin' Bird is, an' once when she renders 'Loosiana Loo' an
' Boggs's more'n common affected, he offers to bet yellow chips as high as the ceilin' she can sing the sights off a Colt's .45.
"'Which I enjoys one of the most mis'rable evenin's of my c'reer,' says Boggs to Faro Nell, when she expresses sympathy at him feelin' so cast down. 'I wouldn't have missed it for a small clay farm.'
"'Yo tambien' says Black Jack, who's keepin' Boggs melancholly company while he weeps. 'Only I reckons the odd kyard in my own case is that, before I'm a man an' in some other existence, I used to be one of these yere ornery little fice dogs, which howls every time it hears a pianny. It's some left-over vestiges of that life when I'm a dog which sets me to bawlin', that a-way, whenever the Mockin' Bird girl sings. I experiences pensive sensations, sim'lar to what comes troopin' over a gent, who's libatin' alone, on the heels of the third drink.'
"The Mockin' Bird looks as sweet as she sings. I mentions long ago about the phil'sophic old stoodent who says, 'They do say love is blind, but I'll be ding-danged if some gents can't see more in their girls than I can.' This yere wisdom don't apply none to the Mockin' Bird. Them wooers of hers, to say nothin' of Turkey Track, possesses jestification for becomin' so plumb maudlin'. Lovely? She's as pretty as a cactus flower, or a sunrise on the staked plains.
"Folks likes her, too. Take that evenin' when a barbarian from over to'ards the Cow Springs cuts loose to disturb the exercises at the Bird Cage Op'ry House with a measly fling or two. The public well nigh beefs him. They'd have shore put him over the jump, only Enright interferes.
"It's doorin' the openin' scene, when the actors is camped 'round in a half-circle, facin' the fiddlers. Huggins, who manages the Bird Cage, an' who's the only hooman who ever consoomes licker, drink for drink, with Monte, an' lives to tell the tale, is in the middle. Bowin' to the Mockin' Bird, an' as notice that she's goin' to carol some, he announces:
"'The world-reenowned cantatrice, Mam'selle Loocinda Gildersleeve, cel'brated in two hemispheres as the Mockin' Bird of Arizona, will now sing the ballad wharwith she ravished the y'ears of every crowned head of Europe, the same bein' that pop'lar air from the op'ry of Loocretia Borgia, "Down in the Valley."'
"At this that oncooth crim'nal from the Cow Springs gets up:
"'The Mockin' Bird of Arizona which you-all is bluffin' about,' he shouts, 'can't sing more'n a burro, an' used to sling hash in a section house over by Colton.'
"'Never the less, notwithstandin',' replies Huggins, who's too drunk to feel ruffled, 'Mam'selle Loocinda Gildersleeve, known to all the world as the Mockin' Bird of Arizona, will now sing "Down in the Valley."'
"Huggins would have let things go at that, but not so the Wolfville pop'lace. In the cockin' of a winchester they swoops down on that Cow Springs outcast like forty hen-hawks on a single quail, an' as I yeretofore observes, if it ain't for Enright they'd have made him shortly hard to find. You can gamble, the Cow Springs savage never does go out on that limb ag'in.
"While Turkey Track escapes the water trough, an' makes his getaway that time all right, the pore pony ain't got by Moore onscathed. The bullet hits him jest to the r'ar of the saddle-flap, an' out about a brace of miles he stumbles over dead.
"It's yere eevents begins to fall together like a shock of oats. The Mockin' Bird's been over entrancin' Tucson, an' the reg'lar stage with Monte not preecisely dove-tailin' with her needs, she charters a speshul buckboard to get back. Thar's a feeble form of hooman ground owl drivin' her, one of these yere parties who's all alkali an' hard luck, an' as deevoid of manly sperit as jack-rabbits onweaned.
"This yere ground owl party, drivin' for the Mockin' Bird, comes clatterin' along with the buckboard jest as Turkey Track strips the saddle an' bridle from his deefunct pony. Turkey Track is not without execyootive ability, an' seein' he's afoot an' thirty miles from his home ranch, he pulls his gun an' sticks up the buckboard plenty prompt. At the mere sight of a weepon the hands of that young owl-person goes searchin' for stars, an' he's beggin' Turkey Track not to rub him out––him thinkin' it's a reg'lar hold-up. That's all the opp'sition thar is, onless you counts the reemarks of the Mockin' Bird, who becomes both bitter an' bitin' in equal parts, but has no more effect on Turkey Track––an' him afoot that a-way––than pourin' water on a drowned rat. Shore, a cow-puncher'd fight all day, an' even face a enraged female, before he'd walk a hour.
TURKEY TRACK, SEEIN' HE'S AFOOT AN' THIRTY MILES FROM HIS HOME RANCH PULLS HIS GUN AN' STICKS UP THE MOCKIN' BIRD'S BUCKBOARD. p. 138.
"Turkey Track piles his saddle an' bridle onto the r'ar of the buckboard, an' settin' in behind on his plunder, commands the ground owl driver to head west till further orders. Likewise, he so far onbends as to say that them orders won't be deecem'nated, none whatever, ontil he's landed at the Turkey Track home ranch. Since he backs this yere programme with his artillery, the ground owl ain't got nothin' to say, an' it's no time when the outfit's weavin' along a side trail in the sole int'rests of Turkey Track.
"What's worse, to dispell the ennui of sech a trip, an' drive away dull care, Turkey Track takes to despotizin' over the Mockin' Bird with his six-shooter, an' compels her to sing constant throughout them thirty miles. He makes her carrol everythin' from 'Old Hundred' to 'Turkey in the Straw,' an' then brings her back to 'Old Hundred' an' starts her over. The pore harassed Mockin' Bird, what with the dust, an' what with Turkey Track tyrannizin' at her with his gun, sounds final like an ongreased wheelbarrow which has seen better days. She don't get her voice ag'in for mighty clost to a month, an' even then, as she says herse'f, thar's places where the rivets reequires tightenin'.
"It's pressin' onto eight weeks before ever Turkey Track is heard of 'round town ag'in. Also, it's in the Bird Cage Op'ry House he hits the surface of his times. The Mockin' Bird has jest done drove the vocal picket-pin of 'Old Kentucky Home,' when, bang! some loonatic shoots at her. Which the bullet bores a hole in the scenery not a foot above her head.
"Every one sees by the smoke whar that p'lite attention em'nates from, an' before you could count two, Moore, Boggs, an' Texas Thompson has convened themselves on top of that ident'cal spot. Thar sets Turkey Track, cryin' like a child.
"'It's no use, gents,' he sobs, the tears coursin' down his cheeks, 'she's so plumb bewitchin', an' I adores her so, I simply has to blaze away or bust.'
"While he don't harm the Mockin' Bird none, the sent'ment of the Stranglers, when Enright raps 'em to order inform'ly at the Red Light an' Black Jack has organized the inspiration, favors hangin' Turkey Track. Even Texas, who loathes ladies by reason of what's been sawed off onto him in the way of divorce an' alimony, that a-way, by his Laredo wife, is yoonan'mous for swingin' him off.
"'That I don't believe in marryin' 'em,' says Texas, expoundin' his p'sition concernin' ladies in answer to Boggs who claims he's inconsistent, 'don't mean I wants 'em killed. But you never was no logician, Dan.'
"Cherokee's the only gent who's inclined to softer attitoodes, an' that leeniency is born primar'ly of the inflooence of Nell. Nell is plumb romantic, an' when she hears how the Turkey Track's been enfiladin' at the Mockin' Bird only because he loves her, while she don't reely know what she does want done with that impossible cow-puncher, she shore don't want him hanged.
"'It's sech a interestin' story!' says Nell, an' then capers across to Missis Rucker an' Tucson Jennie to c'llect their feelin's.
"Moore brings in Turkey Track.
"'Be you-all tryin' to blink out this yere young lady?' asks Enright, 'or is that gun play in the way of applause?'
"'It's love,' protests Turkey Track, his voice chokin'; 'it's simply a cry from the soul. I learns to love her that day on the buckboard while I'm lookin' at her red ha'r, red bein' my winnin' color. Gents, you-all won't credit it none, but jest the same them auburn tresses gets wropped about my heart.'
"'Whatever do you make of it, Doc?' whispers Enright.
"'This boy,' returns Peets, 'has got himse'f too much on his own mind. He's sufferin' from what the books calls exaggerated ego.'
"'That's one way of bein' locoed, ain't it?'
"'Shore. But him bein' twisted mental ain't no reason for not adornin' the windmill with his remains. The only public good a hangin' does is to scare folks up a lot, an' you can scare a loonatic quite as quick an' quite as hard as a gent whose intellects is plumb.'
"'Thar she stands,' Turkey Track breaks in ag'in, not waitin' for no questions, 'an' me as far below her as stingin' lizards is from stars! Then, ag'in, when folks down in front is a'plaudin' her, she wavin' at 'em meanwhile the gracious smile, it makes me jealous. Gents, I don't plan nothin', but the first I knows I lugs out the old .45 an' onhooks it.'
"The Mockin' Bird has come over from the O. K. House with Nell, Missis Rucker an' Tucson Jennie. As she hears Turkey Track's confession two drops shows in her eyes like diamonds. Clutchin' hold of Nell, an' with Missis Rucker an' Tucson Jennie flockin' along in the r'ar, she rushes out the front door.
"This manoover leaves us some upset, ontil Nell returns to explain.
"'She's overcome by them disclosures,' says Nell, 'an' goes outside to blush.'
"'The ontoward breaks of that songstress,' observes Enright oneasily, 'has a tendency to confoose the issue, an' put this committee in the hole.'
"'Thar's nothin' confoosin' about it, Sam Enright.' It's Missis Rucker who breaks out high an' threatenin', she havin' come back with Nell. 'This yere Mockin' Bird girl's in love with that gun-playin' cowboy, an' it's only now she finds it out. Do you-all murderers still insist on hangin' this yere boy, or be you willin' to see 'em wed an' live happy ever after?'
Faro Nell and Her Friends Page 8