by Frank Norris
XIV
SAMMY HUNTS A JOB
Sammy Porter, detailed by Hopalong, the trail-boss, rode into Truxtonthree days before the herd was due, to notify the agent that cars werewanted. Three thousand three-year-olds were on their way to the packinghouses and must be sent through speedily. Sammy saw the agent and,leaving him much less sweeter in temper than when he had found him, rodedown the dismal street kicking up a prodigious amount of dust. Oneother duty demanded attention and its fulfillment was promised by thesign over the faded pine front of the first building.
"Restaurant," he read aloud. "That's mine. Beans, bacon an' biscuitsfor 'most a month! But now I 'm goin' to forget that Blinky Thompkinsever bossed a trail wagon an' tried to cook."
Dismounting, he glanced in the window and pulled at the downy fuzztrying to make a showing on his upper lip. "Purty, all right. Brownhair an' I reckon brown eyes. Nice li'l girl. Well, they don't make nodents on me no more," he congratulated himself, and entered. His twentyyears fairly sagged with animosity toward the fair sex, the intermittentsmoke from the ruins of his last love affair still painfully in evidenceat times. But careless as he tried to be he could not banish theswaggering mannerisms of Youth in the presence of Maid, or change hishabit of speech under such conditions.
"Well, well," he smiled. "Here I 'are' again. Li'l Sammy in search ofhis grub. An' if it's as nice as you he 'll shore have to flag hisoutfit an' keep this town all to hisself. Got any chicken?"
The maid's nose went up and Sammy noticed that it tilted a trifle, andhe cocked his head on one side to see it better. And the eyes werebrown, very big and very deep--they possessed a melting quality he hadnever observed before. The maid shrugged her shoulders and swung around,the tip-tilt nose going a bit higher.
Sammy leaned back against the door and nodded approval of the slenderfigure in spic-and-span white. "Li'l Sammy is a fer-o-cious cow-punchfrom a chickenless land," he observed, sorrowfully. "There ain't _no_kinds of chickens. Nothin' but men an' cattle an' misguided cooks; an'beans, bacon an' biscuits. Li'l Miss, have you a chicken for me?"
"No!" The head went around again, Sammy bending to one side to see itas long as he could. The pink, shell-like ear that flirted with himthrough the loosely-gathered, rebellious hair caught his attention andhe leveled an accusing finger at it. "Naughty li'l ear, peekin' atSammy that-a-way! Oh, you stingy girl!" he chided as the back of herhead confronted him. "Well, Sammy don't like girls, no matter how pinktheir ears are, or turned up their noses, or wonderful their eyes. Hejust wants chicken, an' all th' fixin's. He 'll be very humble an'grateful to Li'l Miss if she 'll tell him what he can have. An' he 'llbehave just like a Sunday-school boy.
"Aw, you don't want to get mad at only me," he continued after sherefused to answer. "Got any chicken? Got any--eggs? Lucky Sammy! An'some nice ham? Two lucky Sammies. An' some mashed potatoes? Fried?Good. An' will Li'l Miss please make a brand new cup of strong coffee?Then he 'll go over an' sit in that nice chair an' watch an' listen. Butyou ought n't get mad at him. Are you really-an'-truly mad?"
She swept down the room, into the kitchen partitioned off at the fartherend and slammed the door. Sammy grinned, tugged at his upper lip andfancy-stepped to the table. He smoothed his tumbled hair, retied hisneck-kerchief and dusted himself off with his red bandanna handkerchief."Nice li'l town," he soliloquized. "_Fine_ li'l town. Dunno as I oughtto go back to th' herd--Hoppy did n't tell me to. Reckon I 'll stick intown an' argue with th' agent. If I argue with th' agent I 'll be busy;an' I can't leave while I 'm busy." He leaned back and chuckled."Lucky me! If Hoppy had gone an' picked Johnny to argue with th' agentfor three whole days where would _I_ be? But I gotta keep Johnny outahere, th' son-of-a-gun. He ain't like me--he _likes_ girls; an' he ain'tbashful."
He picked up a paper lying on a chair near him and looked it over untilthe kitchen door squeaked. She carried a tray covered with a snow-whitenapkin which looked like a topographical map with its mountains andvalleys and plains. His chuckle was infectious to the extent of a smileand her eyes danced as she placed his dinner before him.
"Betcha it's fine," he grinned, shoveling sugar into the inky coffee."Blinky oughta have a good look at _this_ layout."
"Don't be too sure," she retorted. "Mrs. Olmstead is sick and I 'mtaking charge of things for her. I 'm not a good cook."
"Nothin 's th' matter with this," he assured her between bites. "Lotsbetter 'n most purty girls can do. If Hopalong goes up against this he'll offer you a hundred a month an' throw Blinky in to wash th' dishes.But he 'd have to 'point me guard, or you would n't have no time to dono cookin'."
"You 'd make a fine guard," she retorted.
"Don't believe it, huh? Jus' wait till you know me better."
"How do you know I 'm going to?"
"I 'm a good guesser. Jus' put a li'l pepper right there on that yallaspot. Say, any chance to get a job in this town?"
"Why, I don't know."
"Goin' to stay long?"
"I can't say. I won't go till Mrs. Olmstead is well."
"Not meanin' no harm to Mrs. Olmstead, of course--but you don't _have_to go, do you?"
"I do as I please."
"So I was thinkin'. Now, 'bout that job: any chance? Any ranches nearhere?"
"Several. But they want _men_. Are you a real cowboy?"
Sammy folded his hands and shook his head sorrowfully. "Huh! Want_men_! Now if I only had whiskers like Blinky. Why, 'course I 'm acowboy. Regular one--but I can outgrow it easy. I 'm a sorta maverickan' I 'm willin' to wear a nice brand. My name's Sammy Porter," hesuggested.
"That's nice. Mine is n't nice."
"Easy to change it. Really like mine?"
"Coffee strong enough?"
"Sumptious. How long's Mrs. Olmstead going to be sick?"
Her face clouded. "I don't know. I hope it will not be for long. She's had _so_ much trouble the past year. Oh, wait! I forgot the toast!"and she sped lightly away to rescue the burning bread.
The front door opened and slammed shut, the newcomer dropping into thenearest chair. He pounded on the table. "Hello, there! I wantsomethin' to eat, quick!"
Sammy turned and saw a portly, flashily dressed drummer whose importancewas written large all over him. "Hey!" barked the drummer, "gimmesomething to eat. I can't wait all day!"
A vicious clang in the kitchen told that his presence was known andresented.
As Sammy turned from the stranger he caught sight of a pretty flushedface disappearing behind the door jamb, the brown eyes snapping and thered lips straight and compressed. His glance, again traveling to thedrummer, began with the dusty patent leathers and went slowly upward,resting boldly on the heavy face. Sammy's expression told nothing andthe newcomer, glaring at him for an instant, looked over the menu cardand then stared at the partition, fidgeting in his chair, thumpingmeanwhile on the table with his fingers.
At a sound from the kitchen Sammy turned back to his table and smiledreassuringly as the toast was placed before him. "I burned it and hadto make new," she said, the pink spots in her cheeks a little deeper incolor.
"Why, th' other was good enough for me," he replied. "Know Mrs.Olmstead a long time?" he asked.
"Ever since I was a little girl. She lived near us in Clev--"
"Cleveland," he finished. "State of Ohio," he added, laughingly. "I'll get it all before I go."
"Indeed you won't!"
"Miss," interrupted the drummer, "if you ain't too busy, would you mindgettin' me a steak an' some coffee?" The tones were weighted withsarcasm and Sammy writhed in his chair. The girl flushed, turnedabruptly and went slowly into the kitchen, from where considerable noisenow emanated. In a short time she emerged with the drummer's order,placed it in front of him and started back again. But he stopped her."I said I wanted it rare an' it's well done. An' also that I wantedfried potatoes. Take it back."
The gi
rl's eyes blazed: "You gave no instructions," she retorted.
"Don't tell me that! I know what I said!" snapped the drummer. "Iwon't eat it an' I won't pay for it. If you was n't so _busy_ you 'dheard what I said."
Sammy was arising before he saw the tears of vexation in her eyes, butthey settled it for him. He placed his hand lightly on her shoulder."You get me some pie an' take a li'l walk. Me an' this here gent isgoin' to hold a palaver. Ain't we, stranger?"
The drummer glared at him. "We ain't!" he retorted.
Sammy grinned ingratiatingly. "Oh, my; but we are." He slung a legover a chair back and leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee."Yes, indeed we are--least-a-wise, _I_ am." His tones became very softand confiding. "An' I 'm shore goin' to watch you eat that steak."
"What's that you 're going to do?" the drummer demanded, half rising.
"Sit down," begged Sammy, his gun swinging at his knee. He picked up atoothpick with his left hand and chewed it reflectively. "These hereColts make a' awful muss, sometimes," he remarked. "'Specially at closerange. Why," he confided, "I once knowed a man what was shot 'most intwo. He was a moss-head an' would n't do what he was told. Bettersorta lead off at that steak, _hombre_," he suggested, chewing evenly onthe toothpick. Noticing that the girl still lingered, hypnotized byfear and curiosity, he spoke to her over his shoulder. "Won't youplease get me that pie, or somethin'? Run out an' borrow a pan, orsomethin'," he pleaded. "I don't like to be handicapped when I 'mfeedin' cattle."
The drummer's red face paled a little and one hand stole cautiouslyunder his coat--and froze there. Sammy hardly had moved, but the Coltwas now horizontal and glowered at the gaudy waistcoat. He was betweenit and the girl and she did not see the movement. His smile was placidand fixed and he spoke so that she should get no inkling of what wasgoing on. "Never drink on an empty stomach," he advised. "After youeat that meal, then you can fuss with yore flask all you wants." Heglanced out of the corner of his eye at the girl and nodded. "Stillthere! Oh, I most forgot, stranger. You take off yore hat an''pologize, so she can go. Jus' say yo 're a dawg an never did have nomanners. _Say_ it!" he ordered, softly. The drummer gulped and mutteredsomething, but the Colt, still hidden from the girl by its owner's body,moved forward a little and Sammy's throaty growl put an end to themuttering. "Say it plain," he ordered, the color fading from his faceand leaving pink spots against the white. "That's better--now, Li'lMiss, you get me that pie--please!" he begged.
When they were alone Sammy let the gun swing at his knee again. "Idon't know how they treats wimmin where you came from, stranger; but outhere we 're plumb polite. 'Course you did n't know that, an' that's whyyou did n't get all mussed up. Yo 're jus' plain ignorant an' can'thelp yore bringin' up. Now, you eat that steak, _pronto_!"
"It's too cold, now," grumbled the drummer, fidgeting in the chair.
The puncher's left hand moved to the table again and when it returned tohis side there was a generous layer of red pepper on the meat. "Easy tofix things when you know how," he grinned. "If it gets any colder I 'llfix it some more." His tones became sharper and the words lost theirdrawled softness. "You goin' to start ag'in that by yoreself, or am Igoin' to help you?" he demanded, lifting his leg off the chair andstanding erect. All the humor had left his face and there was agrimness about the tight lips and a menace in the squinting eyes thatsent a chill rippling down the drummer's spine. He tasted a forkful ofthe meat and gulped hastily, tears welling into his eyes. The punchermoved a little nearer and watched the frantic gulps with criticalattention. "'Course, you can eat any way you wants--yo're payin' forit; but boltin' like a coyote ain't good for th' stummick. Howsomever,it's yore grub," he admitted.
A cup of cold coffee and a pitcher of water followed the meat in thesame gulping haste. Tears streamed down the drummer's red face as hearose and turned toward the door. "Hol' on, stranger!" snapped Sammy."That costs six bits," he prompted. The coins rang out on the nearesttable, the door slammed and the agonized stranger ran madly down thestreet, cursing at every jump. Sammy sauntered to the door and cranedhis neck. "Somebody 's jus' naturally goin' to bust him wide open oneof these days. He ain't got no sense," he muttered, turning back to gethis pie.
A cloud of dust rolled up from the south, causing Briggs a littleuneasiness, and he scowled through the door at the long empty siding andthe pens sprawled along it.
Steps clacked across the platform and a grinning cowpuncher stopped atthe open window. "They're here," he announced. "How 'bout th' cars?"
Briggs looked around wearily. For three days his life had been mademiserable by this pest, who carried a laugh in his eyes, a sting on histongue and a chip on his shoulder. "They 'll be here soon," he replied,with little interest. "But there 's th' pens."
"Yes, there's th' pens," smiled Sammy. "They'll hold 'bout one-tenth ofthat herd. Ain't I been pesterin' you to get them cars?"
The agent sighed expressively and listened to the instrument on histable. When it ceased he grabbed the key and asked a question. Then hesmiled for the first time that day. "They 're passing Franklin. Behere in two hours. Now get out of here or I 'll lick you."
"There 's a nice place in one of them pens," smiled Sammy.
"I see you 're eating at Olmstead's," parried the agent.
"Yea."
"Nice girl. Come up last summer when Mrs. Olmstead petered out. I atethere last winter."
Sammy grinned at him. "Why 'd you stop?"
Briggs grew red and glanced at the nearing cloud of dust. "Better helpyour outfit, had n't you?"
Sammy was thoughtful. "Say, that's a plumb favorite eatin' place, ain'tit?"
Briggs laughed. "Wait till Saturday when th' boys come in. There 's adozen shinin' up to that girl. Tom Clarke is real persistent."
Sammy forsook the building as a prop. "Who 's he? Puncher?"
"Yes; an' bad," replied the agent. "But I reckon she don't know it."
Sammy looked at the dust cloud and turned to ask one more question."What does this persistent gent look like, an' where's he hang out?" Henodded at the verbose reply and strode to his horse to ride toward theapproaching herd. He espied Red first, and hailed. "Cars here in twohours. Where 's Hoppy?"
"Back in th' dust. But what happened to _you_?" demanded Red, withvirile interest. Sammy ignored the challenge and loped along the edge ofthe cloud until he found the trail boss. "Them cars 'll be here in twohours," he reported.
"Take you three days to find it out?" snapped Hopalong.
"Took me three days to get 'em. I just about unraveled that agent. Heswears every time he hears a noise, thinkin' it's me."
"Broke?" demanded Hopalong.
Sammy flushed. "I ain't gambled a cent since I hit town. An' say, thempens won't hold a tenth of 'em," he replied, looking over the dark blurthat heaved under the dust cloud like a fog-covered, choppy sea.
"I 'm goin' to hold 'em on grass," replied the trail boss. "They ain'tgot enough cars on this toy road to move all them cows in less 'n aweek. I ain't goin' to let 'em lose no weight in pens. Wait a minute!You 're on night herd for stayin' away."
When Sammy rode into camp the following morning he scorned Blinky'sfood, much to the open-mouthed amazement of that worthy and JohnnyNelson. Blinky thought of doctors and death; but Johnny, noticing hisbunkmate's restlessness and the careful grooming of his person, hadgrave suspicions. "Good grub in this town?" he asked, saddling to go onhis shift.
Sammy wiped a fleck of dust off his boot and looked up casually."Shore. Best is at the Dutchman's at th' far end of th' street."
Johnny mounted, nodded and departed for the herd, where Red waspleasantly cursing his tardiness. Red would eat Blinky's grub andgladly. Johnny was cogitating. "There 's a girl in this town, an' he 'sgot three days' head start. No wonder them cars just got here!" Red'ssarcastic voice intruded. "Think I eat grass, or my stummick 's made ofrubber?" he snapped. "Think I feed onct a month like a snake?"
"N
o, Reddie," smiled Johnny, watching the eyebrows lift at the name."More like a hawg."
Friday morning, a day ahead of the agent's promise, the cars backed ontothe siding and by noon the last cow of the herd was taking itsfirst--and last--ride. Sammy slipped away from the outfit at the pensand approached the restaurant from the rear. He would sit behind thepartition this time and escape his friends.
The soft sand deadened his steps and when he looked in at the door, acheery greeting on the tip of his tongue, he stopped and staredunnoticed by the sobbing girl bent over the table. One hand, outflung indejected abandon, hung over the side and Sammy's eyes, glancing at it,narrowed as he looked. His involuntary, throaty exclamation sent thebowed head up with a jerk, but the look of hate and fear quickly diedout of her eyes as she recognized him.
"An' all th' world tumbled down in a heap," he smiled. "But it 'll beall right again, same as it allus was," he assured her. "Will Li'l Misstell Sammy all about it so he can put it together again?"
She looked at him through tear-dimmed eyes, the sobs slowly drying to aspasmodic catching in the rounded throat. She shook her head and thetears welled up again in answer to his sympathy. He walked softly tothe table and placed a hand on her bowed head. "Li'l Miss will tellSammy all about it when she dries her eyes an' gets comfy. Sammy willmake things all right again an' laugh with her. Don't you mind him amite--jus' cry hard, an' when all th' tears are used up, then you tellSammy what it's all about." She shook her head and would not look up.He bent down carefully and examined the bruised wrist--and his eyesglinted with rage; but he did not speak. The minutes passed in silence,the girl ashamed to show her reddened and tear-stained face; the boystubbornly determined to stay and learn the facts. He heard his friendstramp past, wondering where he was, but he did not move.
Finally she brushed back her hair and looked up at him and the misery inher eyes made him catch his breath. "Won't you go?" she pleaded.
He shook his head.
"Please!"
"Not till I finds out whose fingers made them marks," he replied. Thelook of fear flashed up again, but he checked it with a smile he farfrom felt. "Nobody 's goin' to make you cry, an' get away with it," hetold her. "Who was it?"
"I won't tell you. I can't tell you! I don't know!"
"Li'l Miss, look me in th' eyes an' say it again. I thought so. Youmustn't say things that ain't true. Who did that?"
"What do you want to know for?"
"Oh, jus' because."
"What will you do?"
"Oh, I 'll sorta talk to him. All I want to know is his name."
"I won't tell you; you 'll fight with him."
He turned his sombrero over and looked gravely into its crown. "Well,"he admitted, "he _might_ not like me talkin' 'bout it. Of course, youcan't never tell."
"But he did n't mean to hurt me. He 's only rough and boisterous; andhe wasn't himself," she pleaded, looking down.
"Uh-huh," grunted Sammy, cogitating. "So 'm I. _I 'm_ awful rough an'boisterous, _I_ am; only I don't hurt wimmin. What's his name?"
"I'll not tell you!"
"Well, all right; but if he ever comes in here again an' gets rough an'boisterous he 'll lose a hull lot of future. I 'll naturally blow mostof his head off, which is frequent fatal. What's that? Oh, he's a badman, is he? Uh-huh; so 'm I. Well, I 'm goin' to run along now an' seeth' boss. If you won't tell, you won't. I 'll be back soon," and hesauntered to the street and headed for Pete's saloon, where the agenthad said Mr. Clarke was wont to pass his fretful hours.
As he turned the corner he bumped into Hopalong and Johnny, who grabbedat him, and missed. He backed off and rested on his toes, gingery andalert. "Keep yore dusty han's off'n me," he said, quietly. "I 'm goin'down to palaver with a gent what I don't like."
Hopalong's shrewd glance looked him over. "What did this gent do?" heasked, and he would not be evaded.
"Oh, he insulted a nice li'l girl, an' I 'm in a hurry."
"G'way!" exclaimed Johnny. "That straight?"
"Too d--n straight," snapped Sammy. "He went an' bruised her wrists an'made her cry."
"Lead th' way, Kid," rejoined Johnny, readjusting his belt. "Mebby he's got some friends," he suggested, hopefully.
"Yes," smiled Hopalong, "mebby he has. An' anyhow, Sammy; you _know_yo're plumb careless with that gun. You might miss him. Lead th' way."
As they started toward Pete's Johnny nudged his bunkmate in the ribs:"Say; she ain't got no sisters, has she?" he whispered.
One hour later Sammy, his face slightly scratched, lounged into thekitchen and tossed his sombrero on a chair, grinning cheerfully at theflushed, saucy face that looked out from under a mass of rebellious,brown hair. "Well, I saw th' boss, an' I come back to make everythin'well again," he asserted, laughing softly. "That rough an' boisterousMr. Clarke has sloped. He won't come back no more."
"Why, _Sammy_!" she cried, aghast. "What _have_ you done?"
"Well, for one thing, I 've got you callin' me Sammy," he chuckled,trying to sneak a hand over hers. "I told th' boss I 'm goin' to get ajob up here, so I 'll know Mr. Clarke won't come back. But you know, heonly thought he was bad. I shore had to take his ol' gun away from himso he would n't go an' shoot hisself, an' when las' seen he was feelin'for his cayuse, intendin' to leave these parts. That's what I _done_,"he nodded, brightly. "Now comes what I 'm goin' to do. Oh, Li'l Miss,"he whispered, eagerly. "I 'm jus' all mixed up an' millin'. My own feetplumb get in my way. So I jus' gotta stick aroun' an' change yore name,what you don't like. Uh-huh; that's jus' what I gotta do," he smiled.
She tossed her head and the tip-tilt nose went up indignantly. "Indeedyou 'll do nothing of the kind, Sammy Porter!" she retorted. "I'llchoose my own name when the time comes, and it will not be Porter!"
He arose slowly and looked around. Picking up the pencil that lay onthe shelf he lounged over to the partition and printed his name threetimes in large letters. "All right, Li'l Miss," he agreed. "I 'll jus'leave a list where you can see it while you 're selectin'. I 'm nowgoin' out to get that job we spoke about. You have th' name all pickedout when I get back," he suggested, waving his hand at the wall. "An'did anybody ever tell you it was plumb risky to stick yore li'l nose upthataway?"
"Sammy Porter!" she stormed, stamping in vexation near the crying point."You get right out of here! I 'll _never_ speak to you again!"
"You won't get a chance to talk much if you don't sorta bring thatsnubby nose down a li'l lower. I 'm plumb weak at times." He laughedjoyously and edged to the door. "Don't forget that list. I 'm goin'after that job. So-long, Li'l Miss."
"Sammy!"
"Oh, all right; I'll go after it later on," he laughed, returning.