But a man spoke up and said, “Hell, the big feller didn’t do it on purpose. I was right here and I seen it all.”
And another’n said, “I seen it as good as you did, and the big feller did try to drownd him, too!”
“Air you callin’ me a liar?” said the first feller, reaching for his gun.
But jest then another man chipped in and said, “I dunno what the argyment’s about, but I bet a dollar you’re both wrong!”
And then some more fellers butted in and everybody started cussing and hollering till it nigh deefened me. Someone else reaches for a gun and I seen that as soon as one feller shoots another there is bound to be trouble so I started to gentle the first feller by hitting him over the head. The next thing I know someone hollers at me, “You big hyener!”, and tries to ruint me with a knife. Purty soon there is hitting and shooting all over the town. High Horse is sure on a rampage.
I jest had finished blunting my Colts on a varmit’s haid when I thinks disgustedly, “Heck, Elkins, you came to this town on a mission of good will! You got business to do. You got yore poor family to think about.”
I started to go on to the depot but I heard a familiar voice screech above the racket. “There he is, Sheriff! Arrest the dern’ claim-jumper!”
I whirled around quick and there was Drooping Whiskers, a saddle blanket wropped around him like a Injun and walking purty spraddle-legged. He was p’inting at me and hollering like I’d did something to him.
Everybody else quieted down for a minute, and he hollered, “Arrest him, dern him. He throwed me out of my own cabin and ruint my best pants with my own shotgun. I been to Knife River and come back several days quicker’n I aimed to, and there this big hyener was in charge of my shack. He was too dern big for me to handle, so I come to High Horse after the sheriff — soon as I got three or four hundred bird-shot picked out my hide.”
“What you got to say about this?” ast the sheriff, kinda uncertain, like he warn’t enjoying his job for some reason or other.
“Why, hell,” I says disgustedly. “I throwed this varmint out of a cabin, sure, and later peppered his anatomy with bird-shot. But I was in my rights. I was in a cabin which had been loaned me by a man named Lem Campbell—”
“Lem Campbell!” shrieked Drooping Whiskers, jumping up and down so hard he nigh lost the blanket he was wearing instead of britches. “That wuthless critter ain’t got no cabin. He was workin’ for me till I fired him jest before I started for Knife River, for bein’ so triflin’.”
“Hell’s fire!” I says, shocked. “Ain’t there no honesty any more? Shucks, stranger, it looks like the joke’s on me.”
At this Drooping Whiskers collapsed into the arms of his friends with a low moan, and the sheriff says to me uncomfortably, “Don’t take this personal, but I’m afeared I’ll have to arrest you, if you don’t mind—”
Jest then a train whistled away off to the east, and somebody said, “What the hell, they ain’t no train from the east this time of day!”
Then the depot agent run out of the depot waving his arms and yelling, “Git them cows off’n the track! I jest got a flash from Knife River, the train’s comin’ back. A maniac named Buckner busted loose and made the crew turn her around at the switch. Order’s gone down the line to open the track all the way. She’s comin’ under full head of steam. Nobody knows where Buckner’s takin’ her. He’s lookin’ for some relative of his’n!”
There was a lot of noise comin’ down that track and all of it waren’t the noise that a steam-ingine makes by itself. No, that noise was a different noise all right. That noise was right familiar to me. It struck a chord in my mind and made me wonder kinda what happened to them trainmen.
“Can that be Bearfield Buckner?” wondered a woman. “It sounds like him. Well, if it is, he’s too late to git Ann Wilkins.”
“What?” I yelled. “Is they a gal in this town named Ann Wilkins?”
“They was,” she snickered. “She was to marry this Buckner man yesterday, but he never showed up, and when her old beau, Lem Campbell, come along with fifty dollars he’d got some place, she up and married him and they lit out for San Francisco on their honeymoon — Why, what’s the matter, young man? You look right green in the face. Maybe it’s somethin’ you et—”
It weren’t nothin’ I et. It was the thoughts I was thinkin’. Here I had gone an’ ruint Cousin Bearfield’s whole future. And outa kindness. Thet’s what busted me wide open. I had ruint Cousin Bearfield’s future out of kindness. My motives had been of the loftiest, I had tried to kyore an hombre what was loco from goin’ locoer yet, and what was my reward? What was my reward? Jest thet moment I looks up and I seen a cloud of smoke a puffin’ down the track and they is a roarin’ like the roarin’ of a herd of catamounts.
“Here she comes around the bend,” yelled somebody. “She’s burnin’ up the track. Listen at that whistle. Jest bustin’ it wide open.”
But I was already astraddle of Cap’n Kidd and traveling. The man which says I’m scairt of Bearfield is a liar. A Elkins fears neither man, beast nor Buckner. But I seen that Lem Campbell had worked me into getting Bearfield out of his way, and if I waited till Bearfield got there, I’d have to kill him or get killed, and I didn’t crave to do neither.
I headed south jest to save Cousin Bearfield’s life, and I didn’t stop till I was in Durango. Let me tell you the revolution I got mixed up in there was a plumb restful relief after my association with Cousin Bearfield.
* * *
NO COWHERDERS WANTED; OR, GENTS IN BUCKSKIN
First published in Action Stories, September 1936. Also published as “Gents In Buckskin”
I HEAR a gang of buffalo hunters got together recently in a saloon in Dodge City to discuss ways and means of keeping their sculps onto their heads whilst collecting pelts, and purty soon one of ’em riz and said, “You mavericks make me sick. For the last hour you been chawin’ wind about the soldiers tryin’ to keep us north of the Cimarron, and belly-achin’ about the Comanches, Kiowas and Apaches which yearns for our hair. You’ve took up all that time jawin’ about sech triflin’ hazards, and plannin’ steps to take agen ‘em, but you ain’t makin’ no efforts whatsoever to pertect yoreselves agen the biggest menace they is to the entire buffalo-huntin’ clan — which is Breckinridge Elkins!”
That jest show’s how easy prejudiced folks is. You’d think I had a grudge agen buffalo hunters, the way they takes to the bresh whenever they sees me coming. And the way they misrepresents what happened at Cordova is plumb disgustful. To hear ’em talk you’d think I was the only man there which committed any vi’lence.
If that’s so I’d like to know how all them bullet holes got in the Diamond Bar saloon which I was using for a fort. Who throwed the mayor through that board fence? Who sot fire to Joe Emerson’s store, jest to smoke me out? Who started the row in the first place by sticking up insulting signs in public places? They ain’t no use in them fellers trying to ack innercent. Any unbiased man which was there, and survived to tell the tale, knows I acted all the way through with as much dignity as a man can ack which is being shot at by forty or fifty wild-eyed buffalo skinners.
I had never even saw a buffalo hunter before, because it was the first time I’d ever been that far East. I was taking a pasear into New Mexico with a cowpoke by the name of Glaze Bannack which I’d met in Arizona. I stopped in Albuquerque and he went on, heading for Dodge City. Well, I warn’t in Albuquerque as long as I’d aimed to be, account of going broke quicker’n I expected. I had jest one dollar left after payin’ for having three fellers sewed up which had somehow got afoul of my bowie knife after criticizing the Democratic party. I ain’t the man to leave my opponents on the public charge.
Well, I pulled out of town and headed for the cow camps on the Pecos, aiming to git me a job. But I hadn’t went far till I met a waddy riding in, and he taken a good look at me and Cap’n Kidd, and says: “You must be him. Wouldn’t no other man fit the description he gimme.”
“Who?” I says.
“Glaze Bannack,” says he. “He gimme a letter to give to Breckinridge Elkins.”
So I says, “Well, all right, gimme it.” So he did, and it read as follers:
Dere Breckinridge:
I am in jail in Panther Springs for nothin all I done was kind of push the deperty sheriff with a little piece of scrap iron could I help it if he fell down and fracktured his skull Breckinridge. But they say I got to pay $Ten dolars fine and I have not got no sech money Breckinridge. But old man Garnett over on Buck Creek owes me ten bucks so you colleck from him and come and pay me out of this hencoop. The food is terrible Breckinridge. Hustle.
Yore misjedged frend.
Glaze Bannack, Eskwire.
Glaze never could stay out of trouble, not being tactful like me, but he was a purty good sort of hombre. So I headed for Buck Creek and collected the money off of Old Man Garnett, which was somewhat reluctant to give up the dough. In fact he bit me severely in the hind laig whilst I was setting on him prying his fingers loose from that there ten spot, and when I rode off down the road with the dinero, he run into his shack and got his buffalo gun and shot at me till I was clean out of sight.
But I ignored his lack of hospitality. I knowed he was too dizzy to shoot straight account of him having accidentally banged his head on a fence post which I happened to have in my hand whilst we was rassling.
I left him waving his gun and howling damnation and destruction, and I was well on the road for Panther Springs before I discovered to my disgust that my shirt was a complete rooin. I considered going back and demanding that Old Man Garnett buy me a new one, account of him being the one which tore it. But he was sech a onreasonable old cuss I decided agen it and rode on to Panther Springs, arriving there shortly after noon.
The first critter I seen was the purtiest I gal I’d saw in a coon’s age. She come out of a store and stopped to talk to a young cowpuncher she called Curly. I reined Cap’n Kidd around behind a corn crib so she wouldn’t see me in my scare-crow condition. After a while she went on down the street and went into a cabin with a fence around it and a front porch, which showed her folks was wealthy, and I come out from behind the crib and says to the young buck which was smirking after her and combing his hair with the other hand, I says: “Who is that there gal? The one you was jest talkin’ to.”
“Judith Granger,” says he. “Her folks lives over to Sheba, but her old man brung her over here account of all the fellers over there was about to cut each other’s throats over her. He’s makin’ her stay a spell with her Aunt Henrietta, which is a war-hoss if I ever seen one. The boys is so scairt of her they don’t dast try to spark Judith. Except me. I persuaded the old mudhen to let me call on Judith and I’m goin’ over there for supper.”
“That’s what you think,” I says gently. “Fact is, though, Miss Granger has got a date with me.”
“She didn’t tell me—” he begun scowling.
“She don’t know it herself, yet,” I says. “But I’ll tell her you was sorry you couldn’t show up.”
“Why, you—” he says bloodthirsty, and started for his gun, when a feller who’d been watching us from the store door, he hollered: “By golly, if it ain’t Breckinridge Elkins!”
“Breckinridge Elkins?” gasped Curly, and he dropped his gun and keeled over with a low gurgle.
“Has he got a weak heart?” I ast the feller which had recognized me, and he said, “Aw, he jest fainted when he realized how clost he come to throwin’ a gun on the terror of the Humbolts. Drag him over to the hoss trough, boys, and throw some water on him. Breckinridge, I owns that grocery store there, and yore paw knows me right well. As a special favor to me will you refrain from killin’ anybody in my store?”
So I said all right, and then I remembered my shirt was tore too bad to call on a young lady in. I generally has ’em made to order, but they warn’t time for that if I was going to eat supper with Miss Judith, so I went into the general store and bought me one. I dunno why they don’t make shirts big enough to fit reasonable sized men like me. You’d think nobody but midgets wore shirts. The biggest one in the store warn’t only eighteen in the collar, but I didn’t figger on buttoning the collar anyway. If I’d tried to button it it would of strangled me.
So I give the feller five dollars and put it on. It fit purty clost, but I believed I could wear it if I didn’t have to expand my chest or something. Of course, I had to use some of Glaze’s dough to pay for it with but I didn’t reckon he’d mind, considering all the trouble I was going to gitting him out of jail.
I rode down the alley behind the jail and come to a barred winder, and said, “Hey!”
Glaze looked out, kinda peaked, like his grub warn’t setting well with him, but he brightened up and says, “Hurray! I been on aidge expectin’ you. Go on around to the front door, Breck, and pay them coyotes the ten spot and let’s go. The grub I been gitten’ here would turn a lobo’s stummick!”
“Well,” I says, “I ain’t exactly got the ten bucks, Glaze. I had to have a shirt, because mine got tore, so—”
He give a yelp like a stricken elk and grabbed the bars convulsively.
“Air you crazy?” he hollered. “You squanders my money on linens and fine raiment whilst I languishes in a prison dungeon?”
“Be ca’m,” I advised. “I still got five bucks of yore’n, and one of mine. All I got to do is step down to a gamblin’ hall and build it up.”
“Build it up!” says he fiercely. “Lissen, blast your hide! Does you know what I’ve had for breakfast, dinner and supper, ever since I was throwed in here? Beans! Beans! Beans!”
Here he was so overcome by emotion that he choked on the word.
“And they ain’t even first-class beans, neither,” he said bitterly, when he could talk again. “They’re full of grit and wormholes, and I think the Mex cook washes his feet in the pot he cooks ’em in.”
“Well,” I says, “sech cleanliness is to be encouraged, because I never heard of one before which washed his feet in anything. Don’t worry. I’ll git in a poker game and win enough to pay yore fine and plenty over.”
“Well, git at it,” he begged. “Git me out before supper time. I wants a steak with ernyuns so bad I can smell it.”
So I headed for the Golden Steer saloon.
They warn’t many men in there jest then, but they was a poker game going on, and when I told ’em I craved to set in they looked me over and made room for me. They was a black whiskered cuss which said he was from Cordova which was dealing, and the first thing I noticed, was he was dealing his own hand off of the bottom of the deck. The others didn’t seem to see it, but us Bear Creek folks has got eyes like hawks, otherwise we’d never live to git grown.
So I says, “I dunno what the rules is in these parts, but where I come from we almost always deals off of the top of the deck.”
“Air you accusin’ me of cheatin’?” he demands passionately, fumbling for his weppins and in his agitation dropping three or four extra aces out of his sleeves.
“I wouldn’t think of sech a thing,” I says. “Probably them marked kyards I see stickin’ out of yore boot-tops is merely soovernears.”
For some reason this seemed to infuriate him to the p’int of drawing a bowie knife, so I hit him over the head with a brass cuspidor and he fell under the table with a holler groan.
Some fellers run in and looked at his boots sticking out from under the table, and one of ’em said, “Hey! I’m the Justice of the Peace. You can’t do that. This is a orderly town.”
And another’n said, “I’m the sheriff. If you cain’t keep the peace I’ll have to arrest you!”
This was too much even for a mild-mannered man like me.
“Shet yore fool heads!” I roared, brandishing my fists. “I come here to pay Glaze Bannack’s fine, and git him outa jail, peaceable and orderly, and I’m tryin’ to raise the dough like a #$%&*! gentleman! But by golly, if you hyenas pushes me beyond enduran
ce, I’ll tear down the cussed jail and snake him out without payin’ no blasted fine.”
The J.P. turnt white. He says to the sheriff: “Let him alone! I’ve already bought these here new boots on credit on the strength of them ten bucks we gits from Bannack.”
“But—” says the sheriff dubiously, and the J.P. hissed fiercely, “Shet up, you blame fool. I jest now reckernized him. That’s Breckinridge Elkins!”
The sheriff turnt pale and swallered his adam’s apple and says feebly, “Excuse me — I — uh — I ain’t feelin’ so good. I guess it’s somethin’ I et. I think I better ride over to the next county and git me some pills.”
But I don’t think he was very sick from the way he run after he got outside the saloon. If they had been a jackrabbit ahead of him he would of trompled the gizzard out of it.
Well, they taken the black whiskered gent out from under the table and started pouring water on him, and I seen it was now about supper time so I went over to the cabin where Judith lived.
I was met at the door by a iron-jawed female about the size of a ordinary barn, which give me a suspicious look and says “Well, what’s you want?”
“I’m lookin’ for yore sister, Miss Judith,” I says, taking off my Stetson perlitely.
“What you mean, my sister?” says she with a scowl, but a much milder tone. “I’m her aunt.”
“You don’t mean to tell me!” I says looking plumb astonished. “Why, when I first seen you, I thought you was her herself, and couldn’t figger out how nobody but a twin sister could have sech a resemblance. Well, I can see right off that youth and beauty is a family characteristic.”
“Go ‘long with you, you young scoundrel,” says she, smirking, and giving me a nudge with her elbow which would have busted anybody’s ribs but mine. “You cain’t soft-soap me — come in! I’ll call Judith. What’s yore name?”
“Breckinridge Elkins, ma’am,” I says.
Delphi Works of Robert E. Howard (Illustrated) (Series Four) Page 234