by Various
"Nacherally, what could any se'f-respectin' bull do but wheel an' chase Steve back? It's no use, though; Steve won't have it. No sooner does the bull get him hived that a-way, an' make ready to reetire to private life ag'in, than, bing! yere Steve comes bulgin' like a cork out of a bottle. An' so it continyoos, a reg'lar see-saw between Steve an' the bull. Steve'll go into his cave of refooge, prairie-dog fashion, a foot ahead of the bull's horns, only to be a foot behind the bull's tail as that painstakin' anamile is arrangin' to deepart.
"Which sech wretched strategy arouses my contempt.
"'You dad-binged Siwash,' I yells down at Steve, 'whyever don't you-all stay in that hole, ontil the bull forgets whar you're at?'
"'Go on!' Steve shouts back, as in he dives, head-first, for mebby it's the twentieth time; 'it's as simple as suckin' aiggs, ain't it, for you up in your tree? You-all don't know nothin' about this hole; thar's a b'ar in this hole!'
"Which I allers remembers about that dilemmy of Steve's. An' now, when I beholds a gent makin' some rannikaboo break, an' everybody's scoffin' at him an' deenouncin' him for a loonatic or worse, I reeflects that mighty likely if we-all was to go examine the hole he's in, we'd find it plumb full of b'ar.
"Returnin' to the orig'nal proposition, the same bein' that Polack, let me begin by sayin' that whenever it comes to any utterances of his'n, I'm nacherally onable to quote him exact. What with him rollin' his 'Rs' ontil they sounds like one of them snare drums, an' the jiggerty-jerkety fashion wharin he chops up his English, a gent might as soon try to quote a planin' mill exact.
"That I'm able to give you-all his troo name is doo wholly to him passin' round his kyard a heap profoose, when he first comes ramblin' in, said cognomen as printed bein' 'Orloff Ivan Mitzkowanski, Artist and Painter of Portraits.' We perooses this yere fulm'nation two or three times, an' Peets even reads it out loud; but since the tongue of no ordinary gent is capable of ropin' an' throwin' it, to say nothin' of tyin' it down, we cuts the gordian knot in the usual way by re-christenin' him pro bono publico as Red Mike, which places him within the verbal reach of all.
"'Yes,' he says, as he ladles out them kyards, an' all with the manner of a prince conferrin' favors--'yes, I'm a artist come to you, seekin' subjects an' color. As you probably observes by my name, I'm a gallant Pole, one whose noble ancestors shrieks when Kosciusko fell.'
"Him bein' a stranger that a-way, an' no one, onless it's Peets, ever havin' heard about Poland, or Kosciusko, or whoever does that shriekin' the time when Kosciusko finds himse'f bumped off, we lets Mike get by with this yere bluff. Besides, his name of itse'f sort o' holds us. That anyone, an' specially any furriner, could come as far as he has, flauntin' a name like that in the sensitive face of mankind, an' yet live to tell the tale, is shore plenty preepar'tory to believin' anything.
"When we lets it go that owin' to local conditions we'll be obleeged to call him 'Red Mike,' he's agree'ble.
"'As you will, my friends,' he cries, bulgin' out his breast an' thumpin' it. 'What care I, who am destined for immortality, that barbarians should hail me as Red Mike? It is enough that I am not destroyed, enough that I still move an' have my bein'!'
"'Mike,' interjecks Tutt, bristlin' a little, 'don't cut loose in no offensive flights. It's a heap onadvisable when addressin' us to overwork that word "barbarian." As you says yourself, you're lucky to be alive; which, bein' conceded, it'd be plenty proodent on your part not to go doin' nothin' to change your luck.'
"'Steady thar, Dave,' says Enright, 'don't go exhibitin' your teeth to a pore benighted furriner, an' him not onto our curves.'
"'Him bein' a furriner,' retorts Tutt, 'is but a added argyooment in favor of him takin' heed. Speakin' for myse'f, I in partic'lar don't want no furriner to step on my tail an' stand thar, same as if my feelin's ain't goin' to count.'
"'Be composed, my friend,' says Mike, tryin' to follow Enright out an' squar' himse'f with Tutt--'be composed. I reetract the "barbarians" an' suggest a drink.'
"'That's all right, Mike,' returns Tutt, who's easy mollified; 'still I onreservedly says ag'in that in Arizona thar's nothin' in becomin' too difoose. All that this time lets you out, Mike, is that havin' jest had our feed we're happ'ly lethargic. Which if you'd let fly that crack about barbarians, an' us not fed none, some gent not otherwise employed 'd have seized upon you as a mop-rag wharwith to wipe up the floor.'
"Thar's allers a dispoote as to whether or no Mike reely commits sooicide that time. Tutt an' Texas holds to the last that his light gettin' blowed out like it does is accidental. Peets, however, insists it's a shore-enough sooicide. Of course, Boggs goes with Peets. Whatever's the question at bay, Boggs never fails to string his play with the Doc's; it's Boggs's system. All you has to do to get a rise out o' Boggs is get some opinion out o' Peets. Once the Doc declar's himse'f, Boggs is right thar to back said declaration for his last dollar every time.
"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 considera
tion 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.
[Illustration: "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 bringin' 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!'