Delphi Works of Robert E. Howard (Illustrated) (Series Four)

by Robert E. Howard

  “Git outa the way!” I bellered, swinging my pistols on the crowd, and they give back in a hurry. “Git goin’,” I says, firing some shots under the mules’ feet to encourage ‘em, and the chuck wagon went out of Gallego jumping and bouncing with Meshak holding onto the seat and hollering blue ruin, and the Perfessor come right behind it in his buggy. I follered the Perfessor looking back to see nobody didn’t shoot me in the back, because several men had drawed their pistols. But nobody fired till I was out of good pistol range. Then somebody let loose with a buffalo rifle, but he missed me by at least a foot, so I paid no attention to it, and we was soon out of sight of the town.

  I was a feared Bearfield might come to and scare the mules with his bellering, but that brass rail must of been harder’n I thought. He was still unconscious when we pulled up to the cabin which stood in a little wooded cove amongst the hills a few miles south of Gallego. I told Meshak to onhitch the mules and turn ’em into the corral whilst I carried Bearfield into the cabin and laid him on a bunk. I told Lattimer to bring in all the elixir he had, and he brung ten gallons in one-gallon jugs. I give him all the money I had to pay for it.

  Purty soon Bearfield come to and he raised his head and looked at Perfessor Lattimer setting on the bunk opposite him in his long tailed coat and plug hat, the cross-eyed nigger and the monkey setting beside him. Bearfield batted his eyes and says, “My God, I must be crazy. That can’t be real!”

  “Sure, yo’re crazy, Cousin Bearfield,” I soothed him. “But don’t worry. We’re goin’ to kyore you—”

  Bearfield here interrupted me with a yell that turned Meshak the color of a fish’s belly.

  “Untie me, you son of Perdition!” he roared, heaving and flopping on the bunk like a python with the belly-ache, straining agen his ropes till the veins knotted blue on his temples. “I oughta be in High Horse right now gittin’ married—”

  “See there?” I sighed to Lattimer. “It’s a sad case. We better start dosin’ him right away. Git a drenchin’ horn. What size dose do you give?”

  “A quart at a shot for a hoss,” he says doubtfully. “But—”

  “We’ll start out with that,” I says. “We can increase the size of the dose if we need to.”

  Ignoring Bearfield’s terrible remarks I was jest twisting the cork out of a jug when I heard somebody say, “What the hell air you doin’ in my shack?”

  I turned around and seen a bow-legged critter with drooping whiskers glaring at me kinda pop-eyed from the door.

  “What you mean, yore shack?” I demanded, irritated at the interruption. “This shack belongs to a friend of mine which has lent it to us.”

  “Yo’re drunk or crazy,” says he, clutching at his whiskers convulsively. “Will you git out peaceable or does I have to git vi’lent?”

  “Oh, a cussed claim-jumper, hey?” I snorted, taken his gun away from him when he drawed it. But he pulled a bowie so I throwed him out of the shack and shot into the dust around him a few times jest for warning.

  “I’ll git even with you, you big lummox!” he howled, as he ran for a scrawny looking sorrel he had tied to the fence. “I’ll fix you yet,” he promised blood-thirstily as he galloped off, shaking his fist at me.

  “Who do you suppose he was?” wondered Lattimer, kinda shaky, and I says, “What the hell does it matter? Forgit the incident and help me give Cousin Bearfield his medicine.”

  That was easier said than did. Tied up as he was, it was all we could do to get that there elixir down him. I thought I never would get his jaws pried open, using the poker for a lever, but when he opened his mouth to cuss me, we jammed the horn in before he could close it. He left the marks of his teeth so deep on that horn it looked like it’d been in a b’ar-trap.

  He kept on heaving and kicking till we’d poured a full dose down him and then he kinda stiffened out and his eyes went glassy. When we taken the horn out his jaws worked but didn’t make no sound. But the Perfessor said hosses always acted like that when they’d had a good healthy shot of the remedy, so we left Meshak to watch him, and me and Lattimer went out and sot down on the stoop to rest and cool off.

  “Why ain’t Meshak onhitched yore buggy?” I ast.

  “You mean you expect us to stay here overnight?” says he, aghast.

  “Over night, hell!” says I. “You stays till he’s kyored, if it takes a year. You may have to make up some more medicine if this ain’t enough.”

  “You mean to say we got to rassle with that maniac three times a day like we just did?” squawked Lattimer.

  “Maybe he won’t be so vi’lent when the remedy takes holt,” I encouraged him. Lattimer looked like he was going to choke, but jest then inside the cabin sounds a yell that even made my hair stand up. Cousin Bearfield had found his voice again.

  We jumped up and Meshak come out of the cabin so fast he knocked Lattimer out into the yard and fell over him. The monkey was right behind him streaking it like his tail was on fire.

  “Oh, lawdy!” yelled Meshak, heading for the tall timber. “Dat crazy man am bustin’ dem ropes like dey was twine. He gwine kill us all, sho’!”

  I run into the shack and seen Cousin Bearfield rolling around on the floor and cussing amazing, even for him. And to my horror I seen he’d busted some of the ropes so his left arm was free. I pounced on it, but for a few minutes all I was able to do was jest to hold onto it whilst he throwed me hither and thither around the room with freedom and abandon. At last I kind of wore him down and got his arm tied again jest as Lattimer run in and done a snake dance all over the floor.

  “Meshak’s gone,” he howled. “He was so scared he run off with the monkey and my buggy and team. It’s all your fault.”

  Being too winded to argy I jest heaved Bearfield up on the bunk and staggered over and sot down on the other’n, whilst the Perfessor pranced and whooped and swore I owed him for his buggy and team.

  “Listen,” I said when I’d got my wind back. “I spent all my money for that elixir, but when Bearfield recovers his reason he’ll be so grateful he’ll be glad to pay you hisself. Now forgit sech sordid trash as money and devote yore scientific knowledge to gittin’ Bearfield sane.”

  “Sane!” howls Bearfield. “Is that what yo’re doin’ — tyin’ me up and pizenin’ me? I’ve tasted some awful muck in my life, but I never drempt nothin’ could taste as bad as that stuff you poured down me. It plumb paralyzes a man. Lemme loose, dammit.”

  “Will you be ca’m if I onties you?” I ast.

  “I will,” he promised heartily, “jest as soon as I’ve festooned the surroundin’ forest with yore entrails!”

  “Still vi’lent,” I said sadly. “We better keep him tied, Perfessor.”

  “But I’m due to git married in High Horse right now!” Bearfield yelled, giving sech a convulsive heave that he throwed hisself clean offa the bunk. It was his own fault, and they warn’t no use in him later blaming me because he hit his head on the floor and knocked hisself stiff.

  “Well,” I said, “at least we’ll have a few minutes of peace and quiet around here. Help me lift him back on his bunk.”

  “What’s that?” yelped the Perfessor, jumping convulsively as a rifle cracked out in the bresh and a bullet whined through the cabin.

  “That’s probably Droopin’ Whiskers,” I says, lifting Cousin Bearfield. “I thought I seen a Winchester on his saddle. Say, it’s gittin’ late. See if you cain’t find some grub in the kitchen. I’m hungry.”

  Well, the Perfessor had an awful case of the willies, but we found some bacon and beans in the shack and cooked ’em and et ‘em, and fed Bearfield, which had come to when he smelt the grub cooking. I don’t think Lattimer enjoyed his meal much because every time a bullet hit the shack he jumped and choked on his grub. Drooping Whiskers was purty persistent, but he was so far back in the bresh he wasn’t doing no damage. He was a rotten shot anyhow. All of his bullets was away too high, as I p’inted out to Lattimer, but the Perfessor warn’t happy.

  I d
idn’t dare untie Bearfield to let him eat, so I made Lattimer set by him and feed him with a knife, and he was scairt and shook so he kept spilling hot beans down Bearfield’s collar, and Bearfield’s langwidge was awful to hear.

  Time we got through it was long past dark, and Drooping Whiskers had quit shooting at us. As it later appeared, he’d run out of ammunition and gone to borrow some ca’tridges from a ranch house some miles away. Bearfield had quit cussing us, he jest laid there and glared at us with the most horrible expression I ever seen on a human being. It made Lattimer’s hair stand up.

  But Bearfield kept working at his ropes and I had to examine ’em every little while and now and then put some new ones on him. So I told Lattimer we better give him another dose, and when we finally got it down him, Lattimer staggered into the kitchen and collapsed under the table and I was as near wore out myself as a Elkins can get.

  But I didn’t dare sleep for fear Cousin Bearfield would get loose and kill me before I could wake up. I sot down on the other bunk and watched him and after while he went to sleep and I could hear the Perfessor snoring out in the kitchen.

  About midnight I lit a candle and Bearfield woke up and said, “Blast yore soul, you done woke me up out of the sweetest dream I ever had. I drempt I was fishin’ for sharks off Mustang Island.”

  “What’s sweet about that?” I ast.

  “I was usin’ you for bait,” he said. “Hey, what you doin’?”

  “It’s time for yore dose,” I said, and then the battle started. This time he got my thumb in his mouth and would ondoubtedly have chawed it off if I hadn’t kind of stunned him with the iron skillet. Before he could recover hisself I had the elixir down him with the aid of Lattimer which had been woke up by the racket.

  “How long is this going on?” Lattimer ast despairingly. “Ow!”

  It was Drooping Whiskers again. This time he’d crawled up purty clost to the house and his first slug combed the Perfessor’s hair.

  “I’m a patient man but I’ve reached my limit,” I snarled, blowing out the candle and grabbing a shotgun off the wall. “Stay here and watch Bearfield whilst I go out and hang Droopin’ Whiskers’ hide to the nearest tree.”

  I snuck out of the cabin on the opposite side from where the shot come from, and begun to sneak around in a circle through the bresh. The moon was coming up, and I knowed I could out-Injun Drooping Whiskers. Any Bear Creek man could. Sure enough, purty soon I slid around a clump of bushes and seen him bending over behind a thicket whilst he took aim at the cabin with a Winchester. So I emptied both barrels into the seat of his britches and he give a most amazing howl and jumped higher’n I ever seen a bow-legged feller jump, and dropped his Winchester and taken out up the trail toward the north.

  I was determined to run him clean off the range this time, so I pursued him and shot at him every now and then, but the dern gun was loaded with bird- shot and all the shells I’d grabbed along with it was the same. I never seen a white man run like he did. I never got clost enough to do no real damage to him, and after I’d chased him a mile or so he turned off into the bresh, and I soon lost him.

  Well, I made my way back to the road again, and was jest fixing to step out of the bresh and start down the road toward the cabin, when I heard hosses coming from the north. So I stayed behind a bush, and purty soon a gang of men come around the bend, walking their hosses, with the moonlight glinting on Winchesters in their hands.

  “Easy now,” says one. “The cabin ain’t far down the road. We’ll ease up and surround it before they know what’s happenin’.”

  “I wonder what that shootin’ was we heered a while back?” says another’n kind of nervous.

  “Maybe they was fightin’ amongst theirselves,” says yet another’n. “No matter. We’ll rush in and settle the big feller’s hash before he knows what’s happenin’. Then we’ll string Buckner up.”

  “What you reckon they kidnaped Buckner for?” some feller begun, but I waited for no more. I riz up from behind the bushes and the hosses snorted and reared.

  “Hang a helpless man because he licked you in a fair fight, hey?” I bellowed, and let go both barrels amongst ‘em.

  They was riding so clost-grouped don’t think I missed any of ‘em. The way they hollered was disgusting to hear. The hosses was scairt at the flash and roar right in their faces and they wheeled and bolted, and the whole gang went thundering up the road a dern sight faster than they’d come. I sent a few shots after ’em with my pistols, but they didn’t shoot back, and purty soon the weeping and wailing died away in the distance. A fine mob they turned out to be!

  But I thought they might come back, so I sot down behind a bush where I could watch the road from Gallego. And the first thing I knowed I went to sleep in spite of myself.

  When I woke up it was jest coming daylight. I jumped up and grabbed my guns, but nobody was in sight. I guess them Gallego gents had got a bellyful. So I headed back for the cabin and when I got there the corral was empty and the chuck wagon was gone!

  I started on a run for the shack and then I seen a note stuck on the corral fence. I grabbed it. It said —

  Dear Elkins:

  This strain is too much for me. I’m getting white-haired sitting and watching this devil laying there glaring at me, and wondering all the time how soon he’ll bust loose. I’m pulling out. I’m taking the chuck wagon and team in payment for my rig that Meshak ran off with. I’m leaving the elixir but I doubt if it’ll do Buckner any good. It’s for locoed critters, not homicidal maniacs.

  Respectfully yours.

  Horace J. Lattimer, Esquire.

  “Hell’s fire,” I said wrathfully, starting for the shack.

  I dunno how long it had took Bearfield to wriggle out of his ropes. Anyway he was laying for me behind the door with the iron skillet and if the handle hadn’t broke off when he lammed me over the head with it he might of did me a injury.

  I dunno how I ever managed to throw him, because he fit like a frothing maniac, and every time he managed to break loose from me he grabbed a jug of Lattimer’s Loco Elixir and busted it over my head. By the time I managed to stun him with a table laig he’d busted every jug on the place, the floor was swimming in elixir, and my clothes was soaked in it. Where they wasn’t soaked with blood.

  I fell on him and tied him up again and then sot on a bunk and tried to get my breath back and wondered what in hell to do. Because here the elixir was all gone and I didn’t have no way of treating Bearfield and the Perfessor had run off with the chuck wagon so I hadn’t no way to get him back to civilization.

  Then all at onst I heard a train whistle, away off to the west, and remembered that the track passed through jest a few miles to the south. I’d did all I could for Bearfield, only thing I could do now was to get him back to his folks where they could take care of him.

  I run out and whistled for Cap’n Kidd and he busted out from around the corner of the house where he’d been laying for me, and tried to kick me in the belly before I could get ready for him, but I warn’t fooled. He’s tried that trick too many times. I dodged and give him a good bust in the nose, and then I throwed the bridle and saddle on him, and brung Cousin Bearfield out and throwed him acrost the saddle and headed south.

  That must of been the road both Meshak and Lattimer taken when they run off. It crossed the railroad track about three miles from the shack. The train had been whistling for High Horse when I first heard it. I got to the track before it come into sight. I flagged it and it pulled up and the train crew jumped down and wanted to know what the hell I was stopping them for.

  “I got a man here which needs medical attention,” I says. “It’s a case of temporary insanity. I’m sendin’ him back to Texas.”

  “Hell,” says they, “this train don’t go nowheres near Texas.”

  “Well,” I says, “you unload him at Dodge City. He’s got plenty of friends there which will see that he gits took care of. I’ll send word from High Horse to his folks in Texas te
llin’ ’em to go after him.”

  So they loaded Cousin Bearfield on, him being still unconscious, and I give the conductor his watch and chain and pistol to pay for his fare. Then I headed along the track for High Horse.

  When I got to High Horse I tied Cap’n Kidd nigh the track and started for the depot when who should I run smack into but Old Man Mulholland who immejitly give a howl like a hungry timber wolf.

  “Whar’s the grub, you hoss-thief?” he yelled before I could say nothing.

  “Why, didn’t Lem Campbell bring it out to you?” I ast.

  “I never seen a man by that name,” he bellered. “Whar’s my fifty bucks?”

  “Heck,” I says, “he looked honest.”

  “Who?” yowled Old Man Mulholland. “Who, you polecat?”

  “Lem Campbell, the man I give the dough to for him to buy the grub,” I says. “Oh, well, never mind. I’ll work out the fifty.”

  The Old Man looked like he was fixing to choke. He gurgled, “Where’s my chuck wagon?”

  “A feller stole it,” I said. “But I’ll work that out too.”

  “You won’t work for me,” foamed the Old Man, pulling a gun. “Yo’re fired. And as for the dough and the wagon, I takes them out of yore hide here and now.”

  Well, I taken the gun away from him, of course, and tried to reason with him, but he jest hollered that much louder, and got his knife out and made a pass at me. Now it always did irritate me for somebody to stick a knife in me, so I taken it away from him and throwed him into a nearby hoss trough. It was one of these here V-shaped troughs which narrers together at the bottom, and somehow his fool head got wedged and he was about to drown.

  Quite a crowd had gathered and they tried pulling him out by the hind laigs but his feet was waving around in the air so wild that every time anybody tried to grab him they got spurred in the face. So I went over to the trough and taken hold of the sides and tore it apart. He fell out and spit up maybe a gallon of water. And the first words he was able to say he accused me of trying to drownd him on purpose, which shows how much gratitude people has got.