Faro Nell and Her Friends

by Lewis, Alfred Henry

"As sustainin' his claim of sooicide, Peets p'ints out that thar's no gent, not a howlin' eediot complete, but knows s'fficient of giant powder to be dead on to how it's cap'ble of bein' fired by friction.

  "'Why,' he says, eloocidatin' his p'sition, 'even darkened savages is posted as to that. I once sees a South Sea Islander, in a moose-yum East, who sets a bunch of shavin's in a blaze by rubbin' together two sticks. An' this yere Mike is a eddycated sharp, eddicated at a Dutch outfit called Heidelberg. Do you-all reckon a gradyooate of sech a sem'nary ever walks out on a cold collar, him not wise, an' performs in the numbskull fashions as this yere Mike?'

  "'That's whatever!' chimes in Boggs.

  "As I tells you, any emphatic idee laid down by Peets instantly sets Boggs to strikin' same as one of them cuckoo clocks.

  "Enright?

  "The old silver tip stands nootral, not sidin' with either Peets an' Boggs or Tutt an' Texas.

  "'Which this yere Mike bein' shore dead,' says Enright, 'strikes me as s'fficient. I plants my moccasins on that, an' don't go pirootin' an' projectin' about for no s'lootions which may or may not leave me out on a limb.'

  "You recalls how it's Monte who, while gettin' drunk with him over to the Oriental S'loon in Tucson, deloodes Mike into p'intin' our way. Also, what Enright says to that deboshed stage driver for so doin'. Enright's shore fervent on that occasion, an' the language he uses would have killed two acres of grass. But that don't he'p none. After the dust Enright paws up has settled, thar's Mike still, all quiled up in the Wolfville lap.

  "Thar's a worse feachure, the same bein' Mike's wife. She's as young, an' mighty nigh as lovely, too, as Nell; only she's blind, this yere Mike's girl wife is, blind as any midnight mole. Besides her, an' a armful of paint breshes an' pictures, about all Mike's got in the way of plunder is a ten-dollar bill. If it's only Mike, we-all might have thickened our hides a heap, an' let him go jumpin' sideways for his daily grub, same as other folks. But girls must be fed, speshully blind ones.

  "Which this egreegious Mike, who calls her his 'little Joolie,' allows her bein' blind that a-way is why he marries her.

  "'It inshores her innocence,' he says; 'because it inshores her ignorance of the world.'

  "'Likewise,' remarks Peets, as we stands discussin' this yere reasonin' of Mike's in the Red Light, 'it inshores her ignorance of them onmitigated pictures he paints. Which if ever she was just to get one good look at 'em, he couldn't hold her with a Spanish bit. But you-all knows how it is, Sam?'––Yere Peets clinks his glass, an' all mighty sagacious, ag'inst Enright's––'The wind is tempered to the shorn lamb. On the whole, I ain't none convinced that her bein' blind, that a-way, ain't for the best.'

  "To look at this little Joolie, you-all'd never know she can't see none. Her eyes is big an' soft an' deep, an nothin' queer about 'em except they has a half-blurred, baby look. Peets allows it's the nerve bein' dead which does it. But blind or not, little Joolie shore dotes on that Red Mike husband of hers, as though he's made of love an' gold. Which he's her heaven!

  "While it's evident, after a ca'm an' onbiased consideration of his works, that from standp'ints of art this yere Mike's about sign-painter size, little Joolie regyards him as the top-sawyer genius of this or any other age.

  "'He'll revolutionize the world of art,' she declar's to Nell, who's mighty constant about goin' to see her; 'Ivan'––she pronounces it 'Vahn'––'is ondoubted destined to become the founder of a noo school.'

  "'An' her face,' goes on Nellie, as she tells us about it over to the O. K. Restauraw one evenin', after Mike an' his little Joolie wife's done pulled their freight for the night––'an' her face glows with the faith of a angel! So if any of you-all boys finds occasion to speak of this yere Mike in her presence, you be shore an' sw'ar that, as an artist, he's got nacher backed plumb off the lay-out.'

  "'The wretch who fails,' adds Missis Rucker, plenty fierce, 'don't wrastle his hash with me no more! You can gamble that marplot has tackled his final plateful of slapjacks at the O. K. House, an' this yere's notice to that effect.'

  "It's a cinch, of course, that none of us is that obtoose as to go sayin' anything to pain this yere blind little Joolie; at the same time no one regyards it as feas'ble to resent them threats of Missis Rucker! She's a mighty sperited matron, Missis Rucker is, sperited to the verge of bein' vindictive, an' rubbin' her fur the wrong way is the same as rubbin' a bobcat's fur the wrong way. As a exercise thar's nothin' in it. Besides, we're plumb used to it, owin' to her threatenin' us about one thing or another constant. Menaces, that a-way, is Missis Rucker's style.

  "Mike an' his Joolie wife don't live at the O. K. House, but only gets their chuck thar. He allows that to do jestice to his art he's got to have what he calls a 'no'th light,' an' so he goes meanderin' out on the no'th side of town, an' jumps a empty shack.

  "Driv by a lack of money, mighty likely, Mike ain't in camp a week before he makes it plenty plain that, onless he's headed off or killed, he's goin' to paint Enright a whole lot. As a preelim'nary he loores a passel of us over to his wickeyup to show us samples.

  "'That's my chef dever,' he says, bringin' for'ard a smudgy lookin' canvas, plastered all over with reds an' browns.

  "We-all takes a slant at it, maintainin' ourselves meanwhile as grave as a passel of owls. An' at that the most hawk-eyed in the outfit can't make it look like nothin'. We-all hangs back in the straps, an' waits for Peets to take the lead. For thar is the pretty little blind Joolie wife, all y'ears an' lovin' int'rest, an' after what Nell an' Missis Rucker has done said the gent who lacerates her feelin's is lost. In sech a pinch Peets is our guidin' light.

  "'Massive!' says Peets, after a pause.

  "'Which she's shore a heap massive!' we murmurs, followin' Peets' smoke.

  "'An' sech atmosphere!' Peets goes on.

  "'Atmosphere to give away!' we echoes.

  "At these yere encomiyums the pore pleased face of little Joolie is beamin' like the sun. As for Mike, he assoomes a easy attitoode, same as though compliments means nothin' to him.

  "'What's the subject?' Peets asks.

  "'That, my friend, is the Linden in October,' returns Mike, as though he's showin' us a picture of heaven's front gate. 'Yes, the Linden in October.'

  "'Which if this yere Pole,' whispers Texas to Cherokee, 'is able to make anything out of that smear, he can shore see more things without the aid of licker than any sport that ever spreads his blankets in Cochise County.'

  "Texas is a heap careful not to let either Mike or the little Joolie girl ketch on to what he says.

  "Also, it's worth recallin' that Mike an' the little Joolie is the only wedded pa'r, of which the Southwest preeserved a record, that don't bring bilious recollections to Texas of his former Laredo wife.

  "WHAT'S THE SUBJECT?" PEETS ASKS. "THAT, MY FRIEND, IS THE 'LINDEN IN OCTOBER,'" RETURNS MIKE, AS THOUGH HE'S A SHOWIN' US A PICTURE OF HEAVEN'S FRONT GATE. p. 238.

  "'Not but what thar's a wrong thar, Doc,' he insists, the time Peets mentions it; 'not but what this yere Red Mike-Joolie sityooation harbors a wrong. Only it's onavailable to 'llustrate the illyoosage I suffers at the hands of my Laredo wife.'

  "After the Linden Mike totes out mebby it's a dozen other smeary squar's of canvas. We goes over 'em one by one, cockin' our eyes an' turnin' our heads first one way an' then another, like a bloo jay peerin' into a knothole. When Peets lets drive something about 'sky effects,' an' 'fore-grounds,' an' 'middle-distance,' we stacks in all sim'lar. Thar's nothin' to it; Mike an' the little Joolie girl puts in a mighty pleasant hour.

  "Mike, feelin' hospit'ble, an' replyin' to a thirsty look which Jack Moore sort o' sheds about the room, reegrets he ain't got no whiskey.

  "'My little Joolie objectin',' he explains.

  "'Oh, well,' speaks up Peets, who's plumb eager to bring them art studies to a wind-up, 'when thar's famine in Canaan thar's corn in Egypt. S'ppose we-all goes romancin' over to the Red Light an' licker up. Thar's nothin' like nosepaint, took internal, for brin
gin' out a picture's convincin' p'ints.'

  "'Right you be, Doc,' says Moore. 'It's only last week, when I myse'f cuts the trail of Monte, who, as the froote of merely the seventh drink, is sheddin' scaldin' tears over a three-sheet poster stuck onto the corral gate. This yere stampede in color deepicts the death of "Little Eva," as preesented in the Uncle Tom show ragin' over to the Bird Cage Op'ry House. Monte allows it's one of the most movin' things he's ever met up with, an' protests between sobs ag'inst takin' out the stage that day for its reg'lar trip. "Which it's a hour for mournin'," he groans; an' he's shore shocked when the company insists. As he throws free the brake he shakes the tears from his eyes, an' says, "These yere corp'rations ain't got no heart!"'

  "If thar's ever any chance of Enright bein' that weak the sight of them smudges an' smears settles it, an' while we stands shovin' the Old Jordan along the Red Light bar, he allows to Mike that on the whole he don't reckon he'll have himse'f painted none. Rememberin', however, that it's a ground-hawg case with Mike, who needs the money, Enright gives him a commission to paint Monte.

  "'Him bein' a histor'cal character, that a-way,' says Enright.

  "Monte is over in Tucson, but you should have heard that drunkard's language when he's told.

  "'Whatever be you-all tryin' to do to me, Sam?' he wails. 'Ain't a workin' man got no rights? Yere be I, the only gent in camp who has actchooal dooties to perform, an' a plot is set afoot behind my back to make me infamous!'

  "'It's to go over the Red Light bar,' explains Enright, 'to be a horr'ble example for folks with a tendency to over-drink. As for you yellin' like a pig onder a gate, who is it, I asks, that beguiles this indigent artist party into camp, an' leaves him on our hands? Bein' he's yere, I takes it that even your whiskey-drowned intell'gence ree'lizes that this yere Mike, an' speshully the little blind Joolie, has got to be fed.'

  "'Well, gents,' returns Monte, gulpin' down his grief with his nosepaint, 'I reckons if it's your little game to use me as a healthful moral inflooence, I'd lose out to go puttin' up a roar. All the same, as sufferer in chief, I'm entitled to be more consulted by you uplifters before ever you arranges to perpetchooate me to poster'ty as a common jeer.'

  "Shore; these yere protests of Monte's ain't more'n half on the level. After a fashion, he's plenty pleased.

  "'For,' he says, confidin' in Black Jack over his licker, 'it ain't every longhorn of a stage driver whose picture is took by one of these yere gifted Yooropeans.'

  "Black Jack agrees to this in full, for he's a good-hearted barkeep, that a-way.

  "In doo time the picture's hung up back of the Red Light bar. Regyarded as a portrait it's shore some desp'rate, an' even Enright sort o' half reepents. Monte, after studyin' it a while, begins to get sore in earnest. Them scales, like the scriptoors say, certainly do fall from his eyes.

  "'Jack,' he says, appealin' to Moore, who happens to be present, 'does that thing look like me?'

  "'Why, yes,' Jack replies, squintin' his left eye a heap critical; 'to be shore it flatters you some, but then them artists gen'rally does.'

  "'Jack, if I'm that feeble as to go believin' what you says, I'd borry a shotgun from the express company and blow off the top of my head. That ain't the portrait of no hooman bein"––an' Monte raises a dispa'rin' hand at the picture; 'it's a croode preesentation of some onnacheral cross between a coyote and a cowskin trunk.'

  "Cherokee gets up from behind his lay-out, an' strolls over so's to get a line on the picture. He takes a long an' disparagin' survey.

  "'It ain't that I'm incitin' you to voylence, Monte,' he remarks final, 'but if you owes a dooty to s'ciety, don't forget that you owes also a dooty to yourse'f. You'll be lackin' in se'f-respect if you don't give Sam Enright two weeks to take that outrage down, an' if it ain't removed by then you'll bust it.'

  "Black Jack is ag'in the picture, too.

  "'Not,' he says, 'that I wants to put the smother on it entire; only I figger it'd look better in the post office, folks not makin' it so much of a hangout. Regyarded commercial, it's a setback to the Red Light. Some gent comes trackin' up intent on drinks, an' feelin' gala. After one glance at Monte up thar it's all off. That reveller's changed his mind, an' staggers out into the open ag'in without a word. The joint is daily knocked for about the price of a stack of bloos, as the direct result of that work of art. Which I'd as soon have a gila monster in the winder.'

  "Mike ain't present none when all this yere flattery is flyin'. If he was thar in person nothin' would have been said. Whoever'd be that hardened as to go harrowin' up the sens'tive soul of a artist, even if his work don't grade as corn-fed?

  "Some later tribyoote to his talents, however, reaches the y'ears of Mike. On the back of Black Jack's protests the Lightnin' Bug, who's come over from Red Dog for a little visit, drifts in. When he sees Monte's portrait his eyes lights up like a honka-tonk on Saturday night.

  "'Rattlesnakes an' stingin' lizards!' he cries; 'which I'm a Mexican if you-all ain't gone an' got him painted! However do you-all manage? I remembers when we captures him it's the last spring round-up but one. Two weeks goes by before ever we gets him so he'll w'ar clothes! An' even then we-all has to blindfold him an' back him in!'

  "'Whoever do you reckon that is, Bug?' asks Black Jack.

  "'It's that locoed Digger Injun, ain't it?' says the Bug; 'him we corrals, that time, livin' on ants an' crickets, an' roots an' yarbs, over in Potato canyon?'

  "'It's Monte.'

  "'Monte! Does anybody get killed about it?'

  "Black Jack mentions Mike as the artist.

  "'What, that Dutch galoot with the long ha'r?' says the Bug.

  "'Which he's a Pole.'

  "'Pole or Dutchman, what's the odds? I sees a party back in Looeyville whose ha'r's most as long as his. We entices him to a barber shop on a bet to have it cut, an' I'm ag'in the union if four flyin' squirrels don't come scootin' out. They've been nestin' in it.'

  "The Bug swings lightly into the saddle after a while, an' goes clatterin' back to Red Dog. No notice would have been took of what he says, only Monte, who hears it from Black Jack, is that malev'lent he goes an' tells Mike.

  "'You-all will make trouble between 'em, Monte,' Nell reemonstrates, when Monte's braggin' in his besotted way about what he's done.

  "'That's all right, Nellie. Both of 'em's been insultin' me; Mike by paintin' me so I'm a holy show, an' the Bug by lettin' on to take me for a Digger buck. S'ppose the Bug downs Mike, or Mike does up the Bug? Either way it's oats in your uncle Monte's feed box. That's me, Nellie; that's your old uncle Monte every time! Which, when it comes to cold intrigue, that a-way, I'm the swiftest sport in our set.'

  "On hearin' about the Bug from Monte Mike gets plenty intemp'rate. He goes plumb in the air, an' stays thar. He gives it out that he's goin' to prance over to Red Dog an' lay for the Bug. Nothin' but blood is goin' to do him.

  "Thar's nothin' we can say or do to stop Mike, so after talkin' it over a spell we deecides to throw him loose, Enright first sendin' word that he's harmless, an' not to be bumped off.

  "Upon receivin' Enright's word the Red Dog chief passes on a warnin' to the Bug. Mike mustn't, onder no circumstances, be killed. Bein' he's a artist he's not reespons'ble.

  "'Me kill him!' cries the Bug, who's scandalized at the idee; 'me take a gun to sech a insect! Gents, I've too much reespect for them good old faithful .45's of mine to play it as low down on 'em as all that.'

  "Which there leeniencies I allers feels is on account of the little Joolie, an' the blind love she entertains for Mike. When the worst does come we carefully conceals from her the troo details, an' insists that the powder house goes off by itse'f.

  "Then Nell, with Tucson Jennie and Missis Rucker to back her, carries the little Joolie girl the news. It's shore tough papers; an' Missis Rucker an' Tucson Jennie is kept racin' an' runnin' an' riotin' between the O. K. House an' Mike's wickeyup, freightin' over camphor an' sim'lar reestor'tives to the little Joolie all night long, while Nellie
holds her head.

  "Does Mike's kickin' the bucket leave the little Joolie broke? It's this a-way: You see we-all chips in, an' makes up a fa'rly moderate pile to buy the Linden in October.

  "'It's to remember your gifted husband by,' explains Enright, as him an' Peets an' Boggs goes over to clink down the gold, an' get the Linden. 'This yere transcendent spec'men shall never leave our hands.'

  "'Not while we live!' declar's Peets.

  "'It's a marv'lous picture!' returns the little Joolie girl, proud and tearful both at once.

  "'Marv'lous!' repeats Peets; 'it's got the Angelus beat four ways from the Jack.'

  "'Which I should remark!' puts in Boggs. 'Why, Doc, this yere Linden of ours shore makes that Angelus thing look like an old beer stamp.'

  "These yere outpourin's of onreestricted admiration shore does set the little Joolie to smilin' through her tears. Also, the bankroll they brings her sends her back to her folks in style.

  "So you don't regyard it as the proper caper to go deceivin' the little Joolie girl? That's preecisely the p'sition a Bible sharp over in Tucson takes, when some party's mentionin' the business.

  "'You go tell that doubtin' Thomas of a sky-pilot,' says Peets, on hearin' about it, 'that he can bet a ton of Watts' hymn books on it. You-all say, too, for his pulpit guidance, that what looks like deceit, that a-way, is often simple del'cacy, while Christian charity freequent w'ars the face of fraud.'

  "But I'm gettin' ahead of the wagons. Mike, who's a heap heated, goes lookin' for the Bug in the Tub of Blood S'loon. The Bug don't happen to be vis'ble no whar in the scen'ry when Mike comes clatterin' in. By way of a enterin' wedge Mike subscribes for a drink. As the Tub barkeep goes settin' out the glasses Mike, with his custom'ry gifts for gettin' himse'f in wrong, starts fomentin' trouble. An' at that it's simply his ignorance, an' a conceited deesire to show off among them Red Dogs.

  "As the Tub barkeep slams down the crockery Mike barks up sort o' sharp an' peevish: