Wild Western Tales 2: 101 Classic Western Stories Vol. 2 (Civitas Library Classics)

by Various

  "'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:

  "'The ice! Ain't you people got no ice?'

  "The Tub barkeep takes a sour squinch-owl look at Mike. Then he goes softly swabbin' off the counter.

  "After a while he looks up an' says:

  "'Which you don't notice no swirlin' drifts of snow outside, do you? You ain't been swallowed up in no blizzard, be you, comin' into town? No, my stilted, stiff-laigged sheep of the mountain, we ain't got no ice.'

  "Mike, feelin' some buffaloed by the barkeep's manner, don't say no more. In silence he drinks his licker, an' then sets down at a table.

  "The barkeep, with the tail of his eye, continyoos to look him over.

  "'Whatever do you make of that crazy maverick,' he asks of a freighter, who's jest rolled in from Lordsburg. 'The idee of him askin' for ice in August!'

  "'Mebby he's the ha'r-brained party they sends word about from Wolfville,' the freighter replies--'him who's out to crawl the Bug's hump a whole lot?'

  "'That's the identical persimmon!' exclaims the barkeep, slammin' his hand on the counter. 'Which I ought to have knowed it without bein' told. I wonder if Peets, or some of them other Wolfville sports, puts him up to come bully-raggin' round yere about ice to insult us?'

  "The freighter allows he'll edge into a pow-wow with Mike, an' feel him out.

  "Planted at the same table, the freighter an' Mike is soon as thick as thieves. They're gettin' along like two pups in a basket, when in comes a disturbin' element in the shape of one of them half-hoss half-alligator felons, whose distinguishin' characteristic is that they're allers grouchy an' hostile. That's the drawback to Red Dog. It certainly is the home camp of some of the most ornery reptiles, that a-way!

  "The grouchy sorehead party, from the jump, gets dissatisfied about Mike's ha'r, which he w'ars a foot long same as all artists. Which a gent can't be no painter onless he's got ha'r like a cow pony. The sorehead party marches up an' down by the table whar Mike an' the freighter is swappin' lies, schemin' as to how he's goin' to make a warlike hook-up with Mike. After a spell he thinks he sees his way through, an' rounds to an' growls.

  "'What's that? Does one of your onparalleled tarrapins say something deerog'tory about George Washin'ton?'

  "Both the freighter an' Mike looks up some amazed, but pleads not guilty. They ain't, they says, even thinkin' of Washin'ton.

  "'Which I begs your parding,' returns Sorehead, snortin' mighty haughty an' elab'rate; 'I fancies I hears some one make some onbecomin' remark about Washin'ton. Mighty likely it's that licker I drinkt last night.'

  "Two minutes later he halts ag'in.

  "'It ain't possible I'm mistook this time. An' at that I don't precisely ketch what you offensive ground-owls is observin' about Thomas Jefferson?'

  "Mike an' the Lordsburg freighter insists vehement that thar's been no alloosion to Jefferson, none whatever.

  "'Parding!' Sorehead snorts; 'ag'in I asks parding! As former, I finds I'm barkin' at a bunch of leaves. My y'ear deeceives me into thinkin' that you two fool ground-owls is indulgin' in reecrim'nations ag'inst Thomas Jefferson.'

  "It's the third time, an' Sorehead's back, neck bowed an' fingers workin'.

  "'Now thar's no error! Which one of you cheap prairie dogs makes that low-flung
statement about old Andy Jackson? Let him speak up, an' I'll give him a hundred dollars before devourin' his heart.'

  "'No one mentions Jackson,' says Mike, who's becomin' frightened an' fretted; 'whatever's the idee of any one talkin' about Jackson, anyhow?'

  "'Oh, ho! Perhaps, my bold galoot, you think old Andy ain't worth talkin' about!'

  "Sayin' which, that sorehead malcontent reaches for Mike, an' the two go sailin' 'round the room permiscus. Sorehead picks Mike up, an' sweeps a cord or two of glasswar' off the bar with him. Then he employs him in bringin' down a picture from the wall. After which he nacherally tosses him hither an' yon in the most irrel'vant way.

  "Sorehead has jest reached up with Mike, an' smashed a chandelier carryin' fourteen coal-oil lamps, when in t'ars the Lightnin' Bug, white an' frothin'. The Bug don't waste no time lookin' for holds, but casyooally, yet no less s'fficiently, snags onto Sorehead. Fixin' his ten claws in him, the Bug fo'thwith embarks upon sech feats in the way of ground an' lofty tumblin' with that gladiator, as to make what happens to Mike seem pooerile.

  "'Don't you-all know,' shouts the Bug, as, havin' done broke a cha'r with Sorehead, he proceeds to deevote what's left of him to smashin' a table--'don't you-all know, you abandoned profligate, that this yere artist you've been maltreatin' is a pers'nal friend of mine, yere present in Red Dog to confab with me on important affairs? An' is it for a houseless sot like you to take to minglin' with him malignant? Yereafter don't you-all so much as presoome to breathe without first gettin' my permission so to do in writin'!'

  "As closin' the incident the Bug sends Sorehead hurtlin' through a window, sash an' all. After which he dusts off his hands an' says:

  "'Gents, let's licker.'

  "The barkeep's that gratified he declar's the drinks is on the Tub.

  "'Also, the glass an' sash, Bug,' he adds.

  "Bein' refreshed, the Bug tenderly collects Mike, who's in a frayed an' fragmentary condition, an' gently freights him over to us on a buckboard. It's a week before Peets allows he's ag'in ready for the show ring, an' he uses up enough co't plaster on him to kyarpet the Red Light. Little Joolie? We let's on to her that Mike meets up with a she grizzly an' her cubs, an' while he cleans up that fam'ly he nacherally gets chewed.

  "'Mike's shorely some abrated, ma'am,' explains Peets; 'but he's mendin' fast. When I first lays eyes on him, after he encounters that bevy of b'ars, it's a question if his skin'll hold his principles. But don't take on, Ma'am; now I've got him headed right he'll be as good as new in a week. Don't forget, too, that he shore does land that band of grizzlies in the scrap-heap.'

  "Mike emerges from the hands of Peets filled with a pecooliar furrin' form of wrath, an' talkin' about his honor. It's Sorehead he's after now. As a noble Pole, he says, he has been most contoomeliously used, an' insists upon a dooel. Not with the Bug, who's withdrew them orig'nal jedgments concernin' old Monte's portrait, an' substitooted tharfor the view that said picture's bound to become the artistic pride an' joy of Arizona. Mike wants to fight the onreegen'rate Sorehead.

  "In the flush of their new friendship Mike asks the Bug to heel an' handle him. Also, it's warmin' to your better nacher to note the enthoosiasm wharwith the Bug takes up his dooties.

  "'It'll be six-shooters at ten paces,' he explains to Mike; 'an' if you only shoots like you paints, we'll send that tramp whar the wicked cease from troublin' an' the weary are at rest.'

  "The Red Dog chief gives his word to Enright that Mike ain't in no danger.

  "'Comin' down to cases,' says the Red Dog chief; 'it's even money that this yere Sorehead crawfishes. If he don't we've got it all set up to hand him the Bug, instead of that Red Mike artist of yours. So you see thar's lit'rally nothin' for you-all wolves to worry over at all.'

  "'We-all wolves ain't in the habit of worryin' to any astoundin' extent,' returns Enright, some rigid; 'none the less, I allows I'll take a look through the sights myse'f, merely by way of makin' shore which way the gun is p'inted. Thar's reasons, one of 'em a lovin' little blind girl, why we're not so plumb partic'lar about havin' this yere alleged artist party put over the jump.'

  "The fight's a week away, an' by advice of the Bug, Mike decides to put a polish on his shootin'. This yere's reckoned a bright idee, the more since as near as we-all can jedge Mike never does pull a trigger once since when his mother rocks his cradle an' warms his milk.

  "'Only,' warns Enright, as Mike goes makin' prep'rations, 'don't you-all go aimin' towards town none. We don't want no neeophytes bombardin' the village, which y'ar in an' y'ar out sees bullets enough in the nacheral onfoldment of eevents.'

  "Mike, not havin' no gun, borrys a .45 of Moore. Thus equipped, he secoores some cartridges at the Noo York store, an' la'nches forth. No one goes with him, since he allows he'll shoot better if he's by himse'f.

  "Thar's a powder house, belongin' to the Copper Queen Mine, about a mile outside of town. It stands off by itse'f an' nothin' near it, no one honin' much to live neighbor to a ton or two of powder. It's about fifth drink time the mornin' Mike seelects for his practice shootin' when, like a bolt from the bloo, that Copper Queen powder house goes up with a most emphatic whang! What Peets calls the 'concussion' breaks windows in the Wells-Fargo office, an' shakes up the Red Light to that extent it brings down Monte's picture an' busts it to forty flinders on the bottles.

  "'Which for a moment,' says Black Jack, commentin' on the gen'ral mess it makes, 'I thinks it's one of Colonel Sterett's Coyote editorials on the licker question.'

  "That powder blow-up marks the onforchoonate last of Mike. Since he never does show up no more, an' a Mexican tendin' goats in the vicin'ty informs us he sees him pinnin' a target on the r'ar elevation of the powder house jest prior to the explosion, it's the common feelin' that the blow-up's caused by one of Mike's bullets, an' that Mike an' the powder reepos'tory takes flight simooltaneous. Only, as already set fo'th, Peets claims that Mike knows what's comin'. Mebby Peets is right, an' mebby Mike that a-way commits sooicide. Whichever it is, sooicide or accident, it's a mighty complete success; for the only trace we're able to find of either Mike or the powder house is a most elab'rate hole in the ground.

  "'The same bein', as I holds, a most excellent feachure,' says Boggs, who loathes foonerals. 'This yere powder house way of cashin' in meets with my approval. It shore don't leave no reemains!'"

  Contents

  SPELLING BOOK BEN

  By Alfred Henry Lewis

  "Which it's as you states." The old cattleman assumed the easy attitude of one sure of his position. "Reefinement, that a-way, will every now an' then hit the center of the table in manner an' form most onexpected. Thar's Red Dog. Now whoever do you reckon would look for sech a oncooth outfit to go onbeltin' in any reefined racket? An' yet thar's once at least when Red Dog shows it's got its silken side.

  "An', after all, mebby I'm too narrow about Red Dog. Thar's times when I fears that drawn aside by prejewdyce I misjedges Red Dog utter, an' takes for ignorant vulgar'ty what comin' down to cases is merely noise. It's the whiskey they drinks, most likely. They're addicted to a kind of cat-bird whiskey over thar, which sets 'em to whistlin' an' chirpin' an' twitterin' an' teeterin' up an' down on the conversational bough, to sech a seemin'ly empty-headed extent it's calc'lated to mislead the ca'mest intellects into a belief that the c'rrect way to deal with Red Dog is to build one of these yere stone corrals 'round it, call it a loonatic asylum, an' let it go at that.

  "Wolfville's whiskey?

  "We-all confines ourselves to Valley Tan an' Willow Run an' Old Jordan, all lickers which has a distinct tendency to make a gent seedate, an' render him plumb cer'monious. I in no wise exaggerates when I avers that I freequent cuts the trail of parties who, after the tenth or mebby it's the 'leventh drink across the Red Light bar, waxes that punctillious they even addresses a measly Mexican as 'Sir.'

  "Recurrin' to Red Dog, that silken occasion which I has in mind occurs when, proceedin' without invitation an' wholly as volunteers, they str
ings up the book-keep sharp who bumps off Spellin' Book Ben. Thar's a brief moment when said action runs a profound risk of bein' misconstrooed into becomin' the teemin' source of complications. You see we ain't lookin' for nothin' in the way of a play from Red Dog more del'cate than the butt of a six-shooter, an' it ain't ontil the Red Dog chief himse'f onlimbers in planations, an' all plenty loocid, that we ketches fully on.

  "Red Dog goes further an' insists on payin' over what money they wagers, an' all as honorable as though that contest which they bets on goes to a showdown. Enright won't have it, though, none whatever; an' what with one side heatedly profferin' an' the other coldly refoosin', it looks for a time like thar's goin' to be feelin'. Friction is averted, however, when Peets--who's allers thar with the s'lootion to any tangle--recommends that Red Dog an' Wolfville chip in half an' half conj'intly, to buy a tombstone for Spellin' Book, with a inscription kyarved tharon, the same to read:

  TO THE MEMORY OF SPELLING BOOK BEN. PREFERRING DEATH TO THE APPEARANCE OF IGNORANCE, HE DIED A MARTYR TO LEARNING AND BRAVELY DEFENDING A RIGHTFUL ORTHOGRAPHY. THE LANGUAGE MOURNS HIS LOSS.

  "'Which we simply aims by this yere hangin',' says the Red Dog chief in makin' them explanations, the same bein' addressed to Enright, 'to save you-all from a disagree'ble dooty.'

  "'As how?' deemands Enright, who's a heap deefensive by instinct, an' never puts down his stack while the kyards is in the hands of the dealer.

  "'As how to wit,' returns the Red Dog chief. 'Troo, this book-keep malefactor ain't by rights no shore-enough Red Dogger, seein' he's a importation of the express company's an' at best or worst no more'n a sojourner within our gates. But, considerin' how he trails in yere this evenin' in our company, we feels respons'ble. Wharfore, allowin' that mebby--you-all standin' towards us visitors, that a-way, in the light of hosts--your notion of hospital'ty gets its spurs tangled up in your deelib'rations so it impedes the march of jestice, we intervenes. Which I shorely trusts that no gent present regyards Red Dog as that ontaught as to go cuttin' in on what's cl'arly a alien game onasked. Red Dog ain't quite that exyooberantly bumptious, not to say croodly gay. It's only to relieve the shoulders of you-all from a burden that we strings said offender up.'