“I will, Breckinridge,” she replied heartily, and I thanked her and went away with my big manly heart pounding in my gigantic bosom.
Me and J. Pembroke headed into the heavy timber, and we hadn’t went far till I was convinced that somebody was follering us. I kept hearing twigs snapping, and onst I thought I seen a shadowy figger duck behind a bush. But when I run back there, it was gone, and no track to show in the pine needles. That sort of thing would of made me nervous, anywheres else, because they is a goodly number of people which would like to get a clean shot at my back from the bresh, but I knowed none of them dast come after me in my own territory. If anybody was trailing us it was bound to be one of my relatives and to save my neck I couldn’t think of no reason why anyone of ’em would be gunning for me.
But I got tired of it, and left J. Pembroke in a small glade whilst I snuck back to do some shaddering of my own. I aimed to cast a big circle around the clearing and see could I find out who it was, but I’d hardly got out of sight of J. Pembroke when I heard a gun bang.
I turned to run back and here come J. Pembroke yelling: “I got him! I got him! I winged the bally aborigine!”
He had his head down as he busted through the bresh and he run into me in his excitement and hit me in the belly with his head so hard he bounced back like a rubber ball and landed in a bush with his riding boots brandishing wildly in the air.
“Assist me, Breckinridge!” he shrieked. “Extricate me! They will be hot on our trail!”
“Who?” I demanded, hauling him out by the hind laig and setting him on his feet.
“The Indians!” he hollered, jumping up and down and waving his smoking shotgun frantically. “The bally redskins! I shot one of them! I saw him sneaking through the bushes! I saw his legs! I knew it was an Indian instantly because he had on moccasins instead of boots! Listen! That’s him now!”
“A Injun couldn’t cuss like that,” I said. “You’ve shot Uncle Jeppard Grimes!”
Telling him to stay there, I run through the bresh, guided by the maddened howls which riz horribly on the air, and busting through some bushes I seen Uncle Jeppard rolling on the ground with both hands clasped to the rear bosom of his buckskin britches which was smoking freely. His langwidge was awful to hear.
“Air you in misery Uncle Jeppard?” I inquired solicitously. This evoked another ear-splitting squall.
“I’m writhin’ in my death-throes,” he says in horrible accents, “and you stands there and mocks my mortal agony! My own blood-kin!” he says “ — !” says Uncle Jeppard with passion.
“Aw,” I said, “that there bird-shot wouldn’t hurt a flea. It cain’t be very deep under yore thick old hide. Lie on yore belly, Uncle Jeppard,” I says, stropping my bowie on my boot, “and I’ll dig out them shot for you.”
“Don’t tech me!” he said fiercely, painfully climbing onto his feet. “Where’s my rifle-gun? Gimme it! Now then, I demands that you bring that British murderer here where I can git a clean lam at him! The Grimes honor is besmirched and my new britches is rooint. Nothin’ but blood can wipe out the stain on the family honor!”
“Well,” I said, “you didn’t have no business sneakin’ around after us thataway—”
Here Uncle Jeppard give tongue to loud and painful shrieks.
“Why shouldn’t I?” he howled. “Ain’t a man got no right to perteck his own property? I war follerin’ him to see that he didn’t shoot no more tails offa my hawgs. And now he shoots me in the same place! He’s a fiend in human form — a monster which stalks ravelin’ through these hills bustin’ for the blood of the innercent!”
“Aw, J. Pembroke thought you was a Injun,” I said.
“He thought Dan’l Webster was a wild wart-hawg,” gibbered Uncle Jeppard. “He thought I was Geronimo. I reckon he’ll massacre the entire population of Bear Creek under a misapprehension, and you’ll uphold and defend him! When the cabins of yore kinfolks is smoulderin’ ashes, smothered in the blood of yore own relations, I hope you’ll be satisfied — bringin’ a foreign assassin into a peaceful community!”
Here Uncle Jeppard’s emotions choked him, and he chawed his whiskers and then yanked out the five-dollar gold piece I give him for Daniel Webster’s tail, and throwed it at me.
“Take back yore filthy lucre,” he said bitterly. “The day of retribution is nigh onto hand, Breckinridge Elkins, and the Lord of battles shall jedge betwixt them which turns agen their kinsfolks in their extremerties!”
“In their which?” I ast, but he merely snarled and went limping off through the trees, calling back over his shoulder: “They is still men on Bear Creek which will see jestice did for the aged and helpless. I’ll git that English murderer if it’s the last thing I do, and you’ll be sorry you stood up for him, you big lunkhead!”
I went back to where J. Pembroke was waiting bewilderedly, and evidently still expecting a tribe of Injuns to bust out of the bresh and sculp him, and I said in disgust: “Let’s go home. Tomorrer I’ll take you so far away from Bear Creek you can shoot in any direction without hittin’ a prize razorback or a antiquated gunman with a ingrown disposition. When Uncle Jeppard Grimes gits mad enough to throw away money, it’s time to ile the Winchesters and strap yore scabbard-ends to yore laigs.”
“Legs?” he said mistily. “But what about the Indians?”
“They warn’t no Injun, gol-dern it!” I howled. “They ain’t been none on Bear Creek for four or five year. They — aw, hell! What the hell! Come on. It’s gittin’ late. Next time you see somethin’ you don’t understand, ast me before you shoot it. And remember, the more ferocious and woolly it looks, the more likely it is to be a leadin’ citizen of Bear Creek.”
It was dark when we approached Uncle Saul’s cabin, and J. Pembroke glanced back up the road, towards the settlement, and said: “My word, is it a political rally? Look! A torchlight parade!”
I looked, and said: “Quick! Git into the cabin and stay there!”
He turned pale, but said: “If there is danger, I insist on—”
“Insist all you dern please,” I said, “but git in that house and stay there. I’ll handle this. Uncle Saul, see he gits in there.”
Uncle Saul is a man of few words. He taken a firm grip onto his pipe stem and he grabbed J. Pembroke by the neck and the seat of the britches and throwed him bodily into the cabin, and shet the door and sot down on the stoop.
“They ain’t no use in you gittin’ mixed up in this, Uncle Saul,” I said.
“You got yore faults, Breckinridge,” he grunted. “You ain’t got much sense, but yo’re my favorite sister’s son — and I ain’t forgot that lame mule Jeppard traded me for a sound animal back in ‘69. Let ’em come!”
They come all right, and surged up in front of the cabin — Jeppard’s boys Jack and Buck and Esau and Joash and Polk County. And Erath Elkins, and a mob of Gordons and Buckners and Polks, all more or less kin to me, except Joel Braxton who wasn’t kin to none of us, but didn’t like me because he was sweet on Miss Margaret. But Uncle jeppard warn’t with ‘em. Some had torches and Polk County Grimes had a rope with a noose in it.
“Where at air you-all goin’ with that there lariat?” I ast them sternly, planting my enormous bulk in their path.
“Perjuice the scoundrel!” commanded Polk County, waving his rope around his head. “Bring out the foreign invader which shoots hawgs and defenceless old men from the bresh!”
“What you aim to do?” I inquired.
“We aim to hang him!” they replied with hearty enthusiasm.
Uncle Saul knocked the ashes out of his pipe and stood up and stretched his arms which looked like knotted oak limbs, and he grinned in his black beard like a old timber wolf, and he says: “Whar is dear cousin Jeppard to speak for hisself?”
“Uncle Jeppard was havin’ the shot picked outa his hide when we left,” says Jim Gordon. “He’ll be along directly. Breckinridge, we don’t want no trouble with you, but we aims to have that Englishman.”
�
��Well,” I snorted, “you-all cain’t. Bill Glanton is trustin’ me to return him whole of body and limb, and—”
“What you want to waste time in argyment for, Breckinridge?” Uncle Saul reproved mildly. “Don’t you know it’s a plumb waste of time to try to reason with the off-spring of a lame-mule trader?”
“What would you sejest, old man?” sneeringly remarked Polk County.
Uncle Saul beamed on him benevolently, and said gently: “I’d try moral suasion — like this!” And he hit Polk County under the jaw and knocked him clean acrost the yard into a rain barrel amongst the rooins of which he reposed till he was rescued and revived some hours later.
But they was no stopping Uncle Saul onst he took the war-path. No sooner had he disposed of Polk County than he jumped seven foot in the air, cracked his heels together three times, give the rebel yell and come down with his arms around the necks of Esau Grimes and Joel Braxton, and started mopping up the cabin yard with ‘em.
That started the fight, and they is no scrap in the world where mayhem is committed as free and fervent as in one of these here family rukuses.
Polk County had hardly crashed into the rain-barrel when Jack Grimes stuck a pistol in my face. I slapped it aside jest as he fired and the bullet missed me and taken a ear offa Jim Gordon. I was scairt Jack would hurt somebody if he kept on shooting reckless that way, so I kinda rapped him with my left fist and how was I to know it would dislocate his jaw? But Jim Gordon seemed to think I was to blame about his ear, because he give a maddened howl and jerked up his shotgun and let bam with both barrels. I ducked jest in time to keep from getting my head blowed off, and catched most of the double charge in my shoulder, whilst the rest hived in the seat of Steve Kirby’s britches. Being shot that way by a relative was irritating, but I controlled my temper and merely taken the gun away from Jim and splintered the stock over his head.
In the meantime Joel Gordon and Buck Grimes had grabbed one of my laigs apiece and was trying to rassle me to the earth, and Joash Grimes was trying to hold down my right arm, and cousin Pecos Buckner was beating me over the head from behind with a axe-handle, and Erath Elkins was coming at me from the front with a bowie knife. I reched down and got Buck Grimes by the neck with my left hand, and I swung my right and hit Erath with it, but I had to lift Joash clean off his feet and swing him around with the lick, because he wouldn’t let go, so I only knocked Erath through the rail fence which was around Uncle Saul’s garden.
About this time I found my left laig was free and discovered that Buck Grimes was unconscious, so I let go of his neck and begun to kick around with my left laig, and it ain’t my fault if the spur got tangled up in Uncle Jonathan Polk’s whiskers and jerked most of ’em out by the roots. I shaken Joash off and taken the axe-handle away from Pecos because I seen he was going to hurt somebody if he kept on swinging it around so reckless, and I dunno why he blames me because his skull got fractured when he hit that tree. He ought a look where he falls when he gets throwed acrost a cabin yard. And if Joel Gordon hadn’t been so stubborn trying to gouge me he wouldn’t of got his laig broke neither.
I was handicapped by not wanting to kill any of my kinfolks, but they was so mad they all wanted to kill me, so in spite of my carefulness the casualties was increasing at a rate which would of discouraged anybody but Bear Creek folks. But they are the stubbornest people in the world. Three or four had got me around the laigs again, refusing to be convinced that I couldn’t be throwed that way, and Erath Elkins, having pulled hisself out of the rooins of the fence, come charging back with his bowie.
By this time I seen I’d have to use vi’lence in spite of myself, so I grabbed Erath Elkins and squoze him with a grizzly-hug and that was when he got them five ribs caved in, and he ain’t spoke to me since. I never seen sech a cuss for taking offence over trifles.
For a matter of fact, if he hadn’t been wrought up, he’d of realized how kindly and kindredly I felt towards him, even in the heat of battle. If I had dropped him underfoot he might of got fatally tromped on, for I was kicking folks right and left. So I carefully throwed Erath out of range of the melee, and he’s a liar when he says I aimed him at Ozark Grimes’ pitchfork; I didn’t even see the cussed implement.
It was at this moment that somebody swung at me with a axe and ripped a ear offa my head, and I begun to lose my temper. Four or five other relatives was kicking and hitting and biting me all at onst, and they is a limit even to my timid manners and mild nature. I voiced my displeasure with a beller of wrath that shook the leaves offa the trees, and lashed out with both fists, and my misguided relatives fell all over the yard like persimmons after a frost. I grabbed Joash Grimes by the ankles and begun to knock them ill-advised idjits in the head with him, and the way he hollered you’d of thought somebody was man- handling him. The yard was beginning to look like a battlefield when the cabin door opened and a deluge of b’iling water descended on us.
I got about a gallon down my neck, but paid very little attention to it, however the others ceased hostilities and started rolling on the ground and hollering and cussing, and Uncle Saul riz up from amongst the rooins of Esau Grimes and Joel Braxton, and bellered: “Woman! Whar air you at?”
Aunt Zavalla Garfield was standing in the doorway with a kettle in her hand, and she said: “Will you idjits stop fightin’? The Englishman’s gone. He run out the back door when the fightin’ started, and saddled his nag and pulled out. Now will you born fools stop, or will I give you another surge? Land save us! What’s that light?”
Somebody was yelling off towards the settlement, and I was aware of a pecooliar glow which didn’t come from sech torches as was still burning. And here come Medina Kirby, one of Bill’s gals, yelping like a Comanche.
“Our cabin’s burnin’!” she squalled. “A stray bullet went through the winder and busted Miss Margaret’s ile lamp!”
With a yell of dismay I abandoned the fray and headed for Bill’s cabin, follered by everybody which was able to toller me. They had been several wild shots fired during the melee and one of ’em must have hived in Miss Margaret’s winder. The Kirbys had dragged most of their belongings into the yard and some was toting water from the creek, but the whole cabin was in a blaze by now.
“Where’s Miss Margaret?” I roared.
“She must be still in there,” shrilled Miz Kirby. “A beam fell and wedged her door so we couldn’t open it, and—”
I grabbed a blanket one of the gals had rescued and plunged it into the rain barrel and run for Miss Margaret’s room. They wasn’t but one door in it, which led into the main part of the cabin, and was jammed like they said, and I knowed I couldn’t never get my shoulders through either winder, so I jest put down my head and rammed the wall full force and knocked four or five logs outa place and made a hole big enough to go through.
The room was so full of smoke I was nigh blinded but I made out a figger fumbling at the winder on the other side. A flaming beam fell outa the roof and broke acrost my head with a loud report and about a bucketful of coals rolled down the back of my neck, but I paid no heed.
I charged through the smoke, nearly fracturing my shin on a bedstead or something, and enveloped the figger in the wet blanket and swept it up in my arms. It kicked wildly and fought and though its voice was muffled in the blanket I catched some words I never would of thought Miss Margaret would use, but I figgered she was hysterical. She seemed to be wearing spurs, too, because I felt ’em every time she kicked.
By this time the room was a perfect blaze and the roof was falling in and we’d both been roasted if I’d tried to get back to the hole I’d knocked in the oppersite wall. So I lowered my head and butted my way through the near wall, getting all my eyebrows and hair burnt off in the process, and come staggering through the rooins with my precious burden and fell into the arms of my relatives which was thronged outside.
“I’ve saved her!” I panted. “Pull off the blanket! Yo’re safe, Miss Margaret!”
“ — !” said
Miss Margaret.
Uncle Saul groped under the blanket and said: “By golly, if this is the schoolteacher she’s growed a remarkable set of whiskers since I seen her last!”
He yanked off the blanket — to reveal the bewhiskered countenance of Uncle Jeppard Grimes!
“Hell’s fire!” I bellered. “What you doin’ here?”
“I was comin’ to jine the lynchin’, you blame fool!” he snarled. “I seen Bill’s cabin was afire so I clum in through the back winder to save Miss Margaret. She was gone, but they was a note she’d left. I was fixin’ to climb out the winder when you grabbed me, you cussed maneyack!”
“Gimme that note!” I bellered, grabbing it. “Medina! Come here and read it for me.”
That note run:
“Dear Breckinridge. I am sorry, but I can’t stay on Bear Creek any longer. It was tough enough anyway, but being expected to marry you was the last straw. You’ve been very kind to me, but it would be too much like marrying a grizzly bear. Please forgive me. I am eloping with J. Pembroke Pemberton. We’re going out the back window to avoid any trouble, and ride away on his horse. Give my love to the children. We are going to Europe on our honeymoon. With love, Margaret Devon.”
“Now what you got to say?” sneered Uncle Jeppard.
“Where’s my hoss?” I yelled, gomg temporarily insane. “I’ll foller ‘em! They cain’t do me this way! I’ll have his sculp if I have to foller ’em to Europe or to hell! Git outa my way!”
Uncle Saul grabbed me as I plunged through the crowd.
“Now, now, Breckinridge,” he expostulated, trying to brace his laigs as he hung on and was dragged down the road. “You cain’t do nothin’ to him. She done this of her own free will. She made her choice, and—”
“Release go of me!” I roared, jerking loose. “I’m ridin’ on their trail, and the man don’t live which can stop me! Life won’t be worth livin’ when Glory McGraw hears about this, and I aim to take it out on that Britisher’s hide! Hell hath no fury like a Elkins scorned! Git outa my way!”
Delphi Works of Robert E. Howard (Illustrated) (Series Four) Page 64