He hove a sigh and shook his head, and put his hat back on. “Rassle a cat in pieces,” he said.
“What the hell air you talkin’ about?” I demanded.
“That’s Latin,” he said. “It means rest in peace.”
And with that he dusted it down the trail and left me alone with the tenderfoot which all the time was setting his cayuse and looking at me like I was a curiosity or something.
I called for my sister Ouachita to come read that there note for me, because she’d learnt how from Miss Margaret, so she did, and it run as follers:
“Dere Breckinridge: This will interjuice Mr. J. Pembroke Pemberton a English sportsman which I met in Frisco recent. He was disapinted because he hadnt found no adventures in America and was fixin to go to Aferker to shoot liuns and elerfants but I perswaded him to come with me because I knowed he would find more hell on Bear Creek in a week than he would find in a yere in Aferker or any other place. But the very day we hit War Paint I run into a old ackwaintance from Texas I will not speak no harm of the ded but I wish the son of a buzzard had shot me somewheres besides in my left laig which already had three slugs in it which I never could get cut out. Anyway I am lade up and not able to come on to Bear Creek with J. Pembroke Pemberton. I am dependin’ on you to show him some good bear huntin’ and other excitement and pertect him from yore relatives I know what a awful responsibility I am puttin on you but I am askin this as yore friend, William Harrison Glanton, Esqy .”
I looked J. Pembroke over. He was a medium-sized young feller and looked kinda soft in spots. He had yaller hair and very pink cheeks like a gal; and he had on whip-cord britches and tan riding boots which was the first I ever seen. And he had on a funny kinda coat with pockets and a belt which he called a shooting jacket, and a big hat like a mushroom made outa cork with a red ribbon around it. And he had a pack-hoss loaded with all kinds of plunder, and five or six different kinds of shotguns and rifles.
“So yo’re J. Pembroke,” I says, and he says: “Oh, rahther! And you, no doubt, are the person Mr. Glanton described to me as Breckinridge Elkins?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Light and come in. We got b’ar meat and honey for supper.”
“I say,” he says, climbing down. “Pardon me for being a bit personal, old chap, but may I ask if your — ah — magnitude of bodily stature is not a bit unique?”
“I dunno,” I says, not having the slightest idee what he was talking about. “I always votes a straight Democratic ticket, myself.”
He started to say something else, but jest then pap and my brothers John and Bill and Jim and Buckner and Garfield come to the door to see what the noise was about, and he turned pale and said faintly: “I beg your pardon; giants seem to be the rule in these parts.”
“Pap says men ain’t what they was when he was in his prime,” I said, “but we manage to git by.”
Well, J. Pembroke laid into them b’ar steaks with a hearty will, and when I told him we’d go after b’ar next day, he ast me how many days travel it’d take till we got to the b’ar country.
“Heck!” I says. “You don’t have to travel to git b’ar in these parts. If you forgit to bolt yore door at night yo’re liable to find a grizzly sharin’ yore bunk before mornin’. This here’n we’re eatin’ was catched by my sister Elinor there whilst tryin’ to rob the pig-pen out behind the cabin last night.”
“My word!” he says, looking at her pecooliarly. “And may I ask, Miss Elkins, what calibre of firearm you used?”
“I knocked him in the head with a wagon spoke,” she said, and he shook his head to hisself and muttered: “Extraordinary!”
J. Pembroke slept in my bunk and I taken the floor that night; and we was up at daylight and ready to start after the b’ar. Whilst J. Pembroke was fussing over his guns, pap come out and pulled his whiskers and shook his head and said: “That there is a perlite young man, but I’m afeared he ain’t as hale as he ought a be. I jest give him a pull at my jug, and he didn’t gulp but one good snort and like to choked to death.”
“Well,” I said, buckling the cinches on Cap’n Kidd, “I’ve done learnt not to jedge outsiders by the way they takes their licker on Bear Creek. It takes a Bear Creek man to swig Bear Creek corn juice.”
“I hopes for the best,” sighed pap. “But it’s a dismal sight to see a young man which cain’t stand up to his licker. Whar you takin’ him?”
“Over towards Apache Mountain,” I said. “Erath seen a exter big grizzly over there day before yesterday.”
“Hmmmmm!” says pap. “By a pecooliar coincidence the schoolhouse is over on the side of Apache Mountain, ain’t it, Breckinridge?”
“Maybe it is and maybe it ain’t,” I replied with dignerty, and rode off with J. Pembroke ignoring pap’s sourcastic comment which he hollered after me: “Maybe they is a connection betwixt book-larnin’ and b’ar-huntin’, but who am I to say?”
J. Pembroke was a purty good rider, but he used a funny-looking saddle without no horn nor cantle, and he had the derndest gun I ever seen. It was a double-barrel rifle, and he said it was a elerfant-gun. It was big enough to knock a hill down. He was surprised I didn’t tote no rifle and ast me what would I do if we met a b’ar. I told him I was depending on him to shoot it, but I said if it was necessary for me to go into action, my six-shooters was plenty.
“My word!” says he. “You mean to say you can bring down a grizzly with a shot from a pistol?”
“Not always,” I said. “Sometimes I have to bust him over the head with the barrel to finish him.”
He didn’t say nothing for a long time after that.
Well, we rode over on the lower slopes of Apache Mountain, and tied the hosses in a holler and went through the bresh on foot. That was a good place for b’ars, because they come there very frequently looking for Uncle Jeppard Grimes’ pigs which runs loose all over the lower slopes of the mountain.
But jest like it always is when yo’re looking for something special, we didn’t see a cussed b’ar.
The middle of the evening found us around on the side of the mountain where they is a settlement of Kirbys and Grimeses and Gordons. Half a dozen families has their cabins within a mile or so of each other, and I dunno what in hell they want to crowd up together that way for, it would plumb smother me, but pap says they was always pecooliar that way.
We warn’t in sight of the settlement, but the schoolhouse warn’t far off, and I said to J. Pembroke: “You wait here a spell, and maybe a b’ar will come by. Miss Margaret Devon is teachin’ me how to read and write, and it’s time for my lesson.”
I left J. Pembroke setting on a log hugging his elerfant-gun, and I strode through the bresh and come out at the upper end of the run which the settlement was at the other’n, and school had jest turned out and the chillern was going home, and Miss Margaret was waiting for me in the log schoolhouse.
She was setting at her hand-made desk as I come in, ducking my head so as not to bump it agen the top of the door and perlitely taking off my Stetson. She looked kinda tired and discouraged, and I said: “Has the young’uns been raisin’ any hell today, Miss Margaret?”
“Oh, no,” she said. “They’re very polite — in fact I’ve noticed that Bear Creek people are always polite when they’re not killing each other. I’ve finally gotten used to the boys wearing their pistols and bowie knives to school. But somehow it seems so futile. This is all so terribly different from everything to which I’ve always been accustomed. I get discouraged and feel like giving it up.”
“You’ll git used to it,” I consoled her. “It’ll be a lot different onst yo’re married to some honest reliable young man.”
She give me a startled look and said: “Married to someone here on Bear Creek?”
“Shore,” I said, involuntarily expanding my chest. “Everybody is jest wonderin’ when you’ll set the day. But le’s git at my readin’ lesson. I done learnt the words you writ out for me yesterday.”
But she warn’t listenin’, and she said: “Do you h
ave any idea of why Mr. Joel Grimes and Mr. Esau Gordon quit calling on me? Until a few days ago one or the other was at Mr. Kirby’s cabin where I board almost every night.”
“Now don’t you worry none about them,” I soothed her. “Joel’ll be about on crutches before the week’s out, and Esau can already walk without bein’ helped. I always handles my relatives as easy as possible.”
“You fought with them?” she exclaimed.
“I jest convinced ’em you didn’t want to be bothered with ‘em,” I reassured her. “I’m easy-goin’, but I don’t like competition.”
“Competition!” Her eyes flared wide open and she looked at me like she hadn’t never seen me before. “Do you mean that you — that I — that—”
“Well,” I said modestly, “everybody on Bear Creek is jest wonderin’ when yo’re goin’ to set the day for us to git hitched. You see gals don’t generally stay single very long in these parts — hey, what’s the matter?”
Because she was getting paler and paler like she’d et something which didn’t agree with her.
“Nothing,” she said faintly. “You — you mean people are expecting me to marry you?”
“Sure,” I said.
She muttered something that sounded like “My God!” and licked her lips with her tongue and looked at me like she was about ready to faint. Well, it ain’t every gal which has a chance to get hitched to Breckinridge Elkins, so I didn’t blame her for being excited.
“You’ve been very kind to me, Breckinridge,” she said feebly. “But I — this is so sudden — so unexpected — I never thought — I never dreamed—”
“I don’t want to rush you,” I said. “Take yore time. Next week will be soon enough. Anyway, I got to build us a cabin, and—”
Bang! went a gun, too loud for a Winchester.
“Elkins!” It was J. Pembroke yelling for me up the slope. “Elkins! Hurry!”
“Who’s that?” she exclaimed, jumping to her feet like she was working on a spring.
“Aw,” I said in disgust, “it’s a fool tenderfoot Bill Glanton wished on me. I reckon a b’ar is got him by the neck. I’ll go see.”
“I’ll go with you!” she said, but from the way J. Pembroke was yelling I figgered I better not waste no time getting to him, so I couldn’t wait for her, and she was some piece behind me when I mounted the lap of the slope and met him running out from amongst the trees. He was gibbering with excitement.
“I winged it!” he squawked. “I’m sure I winged the blighter! But it ran in among the underbrush and I dared not follow it, for the beast is most vicious when wounded. A friend of mine once wounded one in South Africa, and—”
“A b’ar?” I ast.
“No, no!” he said. “A wild boar! The most vicious brute I have ever seen! It ran into that brush there!”
“Aw, they ain’t no wild boars in the Humbolts,” I snorted. “You wait here, I’ll go see jest what you did shoot.”
I seen some splashes of blood on the grass, so I knowed he’d shot something. Well, I hadn’t gone more’n a few hundred feet and was jest out of sight of J. Pembroke when I run into Uncle Jeppard Grimes.
Uncle Jeppard was one of the first white men to come into the Humbolts, in case I ain’t mentioned that before, and he wears fringed buckskins and moccasins jest like he done fifty years ago. He had a bowie knife in one hand and he waved something in the other’n like a flag of revolt, and he was frothing at the mouth.
“The derned murderer!” he shrieked. “You see this? That’s the proper tail of Dan’l Webster, the finest derned razorback boar which ever trod the Humbolts! That danged tenderfoot of yore’n tried to ‘sassernate him! Shot his tail off, right spang up to the hilt! I’ll show him he cain’t muterlate my animals like this! I’ll have his heart’s blood!”
And he done a war-dance waving that pig-tail and his bowie and cussing in American and Spanish and Apache Injun all at onst.
“You ca’m down, Uncle Jeppard,” I said sternly. “He ain’t got no sense, and he thought Daniel Webster was a wild boar like they have in Aferker and England and them foreign places. He didn’t mean no harm.”
“No harm,” said Uncle jeppard fiercely. “And Dan’l Webster with no more tail onto him than a jackrabbit!”
“Well,” I said, “here’s a five dollar gold piece to pay for the dern hawg’s tail, and you let J. Pembroke alone!”
“Gold cain’t satisfy honor,” he said bitterly, but nevertheless grabbing the coin like a starving Kiowa grabbing a beefsteak. “I’ll let this here outrage pass for the time. But I’ll be watchin’ that maneyack to see that he don’t muterlate no more of my prize livestock.”
And so saying he went off muttering in his beard.
I went back to where I left J. Pembroke, and there he was talking to Miss Margaret which had jest come up. She had more color in her face than I’d saw recent.
“Fancy meeting a girl like you here!” J. Pembroke was saying.
“No more surprising than meeting a man like you!” says she with a kind of fluttery laugh.
“Oh, a sportsman wanders into all sorts of out-of-the-way places,” says he, and seeing they hadn’t noticed me coming up, I says: “Well, J. Pembroke, I didn’t find yore wild boar, but I met the owner.”
He looked at me kinda blank, and said vaguely: “Wild boar? Whatwild boar?”
“That ‘un you shot the tail off of with that there fool elerfant gun,” I said. “Lissen: next time you see a hawg-critter you remember there ain’t no wild boars in the Humbolts. They is critters called haverleeners in South Texas, but they ain’t even none of them in Nevada. So next time you see a hawg, jest reflect that it’s merely one of Uncle Jeppard Grimes’ razorbacks and refrain from shootin’ at it.”
“Oh, quite!” he agreed absently, and started talking to Miss Margaret again.
So I picked up the elerfant gun which he’d absent-mindedly laid down, and said: “Well, it’s gittin’ late. Let’s go. We won’t go back to pap’s cabin tonight, J. Pembroke. We’ll stay at Uncle Saul Garfield’s cabin on t’other side of the Apache Mountain settlement.”
Like I said, them cabins was awful clost together. Uncle Saul’s cabin was below the settlement, but it warnt much over three hundred yards from cousin Bill Kirby’s cabin where Miss Margaret boarded. The other cabins was on t’other side of Bill’s, mostly, strung out up the run and up and down the slopes.
I told J. Pembroke and Miss Margaret to walk on down to the settlement whilst I went back and got the hosses.
They’d got to the settlement time I catched up with ‘em, and Miss Margaret had gone into the Kirby cabin, and I seen a light spring up in her room. She had one, of them new-fangled ile lamps she brung with her, the only one on Bear Creek. Taller candles and pine chunks was good enough for us folks. And she’d hanged rag-things over the winders which she called curtains. You never seen nothing like it. I tell you she was that elegant you wouldn’t believe it.
We walked on towards Uncle Saul’s, me leading the hosses, and after awhile J. Pembroke says: “A wonderful creature!”
“You mean Dan’l Webster?” I ast.
“No!” he said. “No, no! I mean Miss Devon.”
“She sure is,” I said. “She’ll make me a fine wife.”
He hirled like I’d stabbed him and his face looked pale in the dusk.
“You?” he said. “You a fine wife?”
“Well,” I said bashfully, “she ain’t sot the day yet, but I’ve sure sot my heart on that gal.”
“Oh!” he says. “Oh!” says he, like he had the toothache. Then he said kinda hesitatingly: “Suppose — er, just suppose, you know! Suppose a rival for her affections should appear? What would you do?”
“You mean if some dirty, low-down son of a mangy skunk was to try to steal my gal?” I said, whirling so sudden he staggered backwards.
“Steal my gal?” I roared, seeing red at the mere thought. “Why, I’d — I’d—”
Words failing me I grabbe
d a big sapling and tore it up by the roots and broke it acrost my knee and throwed the pieces clean through a rail fence on the other side of the road.
“That there is a faint idee!” I said, panting with passion.
“That gives me a very vivid conception,” he said faintly, and he said nothing more till we reched the cabin and seen Uncle Saul Garfield standing in the light of the door combing his black beard with his fingers.
Next morning J. Pembroke seemed like he’d kinda lost interest in b’ars. He said all that walking he done over the slopes of Apache Mountain had made his laig muscles sore. I never heard of sech a thing, but nothing that gets the matter with these tenderfeet surprises me much, they is sech a effemernate race, so I ast him would he like to go fishing down the run and he said all right.
But we hadn’t been fishing more’n a hour when he said he believed he’d go back to Uncle Saul’s cabin and take him a nap, and he insisted on going alone, so I stayed where I was and catched me a nice string of trout.
I went back to the cabin about noon, and ast Uncle Saul if J. Pembroke had got his nap out.
“Why, heck,” said Uncle Saul, “I ain’t seen him since you and him started down the run this mornin’. Wait a minute — yonder he comes from the other direction.”
Well, J. Pembroke didn’t say where he’d been all morning, and I didn’t ast him, because a tenderfoot don’t generally have no reason for anything he does.
We et the trout I catched, and after dinner he perked up a right smart and got his shotgun and said he’d like to hunt some wild turkeys. I never heard of anybody hunting anything as big as a turkey with a shotgun, but I didn’t say nothing, because tenderfeet is like that.
So we headed up the slopes of Apache Mountain, and I stopped by the schoolhouse to tell Miss Margaret I probably wouldn’t get back in time to take my reading and writing lesson, and she said: “You know, until I met your friend, Mr. Pembroke, I didn’t realize what a difference there was between men like him, and — well, like the men on Bear Creek.”
“I know,” I said. “But don’t hold it agen him. He means well. He jest ain’t got no sense. Everybody cain’t be smart like me. As a special favor to me, Miss Margaret, I’d like for you to be exter nice to the poor sap, because he’s a friend of my friend Bill Glanton down to War Paint.”
Delphi Works of Robert E. Howard (Illustrated) (Series Four) Page 63