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

by Robert E. Howard

  They warn’t no winders in the back, which is why they hadn’t shot at me from that direction. I snuck back and looked through a crack in the door and I seen a feller in the dry gully which run along behind the store, and he had a can of kerosine and some matches and was setting the store on fire.

  I jest started to shoot when I recognized Judith Granger’s Uncle Jabez. I laid down my Winchester and opened the door soft and easy and pounced out on him, but he let out a squawk and dodged and run down the gully. The shooting acrost the street broke out again, but I give no heed, because I warn’t going to let him git away from me again. I run him down the gully about a hundred yards and catched him, and taken his pistol away from him, but he got hold of a rock which he hammered me on the head with till I nigh lost patience with him.

  But I didn’t want to injure him account of Judith, so I merely kicked him in the belly and then throwed him before he could git his breath back, and sot on him, and says, “Blast yore hide, I apolergizes for lammin’ you with that there cuspidor. Does you accept my apology, you pot-bellied hoss-thief?”

  “Never!” says he rampacious. “A Granger never forgits!”

  So I taken him by the ears and beat his head agen a rock till he gasps, “Let up! I accepts yore apology, you #$%&*!”

  “All right.” I says, arising and dusting my hands, “and if you ever goes back on yore word, I’ll hang yore mangy hide to the—”

  It was at that moment that Emerson’s General Store blew up with a ear- splitting bang.

  “What the hell?” shrieked Uncle Jabez, staggering, as the air was filled with fragments of groceries and pieces of flying timbers.

  “Aw,” I said disgustedly, “I reckon a stray bullet hit a barrel of gunpowder. I aimed to move them barrels out of the line of fire, but kind of forgot about it—”

  But Uncle Jabez had bit the dust. I hear tell he claims I hit him onexpected with a wagon pole. I didn’t do no sech thing. It was a section of the porch roof which fell on him, and if he’d been watching, and ducked like I did, it wouldn’t of hit him.

  I clumb out of the gully and found myself opposite from the Diamond Bar. Bull Croghan and the hunters was pouring out of the dance hall whooping and yelling, and Joe Emerson was tearing his hair and howling like a timber wolf with the belly ache because his store was blowed up and his saloon was shot all to pieces.

  But nobody paid no attention to him. They went surging acrost the street and nobody seen me when I crossed it from the other side and went into the alley that run behind the saloon. I run on down it till I got to the dance hall, and sure enough, the cannon was stuck in the back door. It warn’t wide enough for the wheels to git through.

  I heard Croghan roaring acrost the street, “Poke into the debray, boys! Elkins’ remains must be here somewheres, unless he was plumb dissolved! That — !”

  Crash!

  They was a splintering of planks, and somebody yelled, “Hey! Croghan’s fell into a well or somethin’!”

  I heard Joe Emerson shriek, “Dammitt, stay away from there! Don’t—”

  I tore away a section of the wall and got the cannon loose and run it up to the front door of the dance hall and looked out. Them hunters was all ganged up with their backs to the dance hall, all bent over whilst they was apparently trying to pull Croghan out of some hole he’d fell into headfirst. His cussing sounded kinda muffled. Joe Emerson was having a fit at the aidge of the crowd.

  Well, they’d loaded that there cannon with nails and spikes and lead slugs and carpet tacks and sech like, but I put in a double handful of beer bottle caps jest for good measure, and touched her off. It made a noise like a thunder clap and the recoil knocked me about seventeen foot, but you should of heard the yell them hunters let out when that hurricane of scrap iron hit ’em in the seat of the britches. It was amazing!

  To my disgust, though, it didn’t kill none of ‘em. Seems like the charge was too heavy for the powder, so all it done was knock ’em off their feet and tear the britches off of ‘em. However, it swept the ground clean of ’em like a broom, and left ’em all standing on their necks in the gully behind where the store had been, except Croghan whose feet I still perceived sticking up out of the ruins.

  Before they could recover their wits, if they ever had any, I run acrost the street and started beating ’em over the head with a pillar I tore off of the saloon porch. Some sech as was able ariz and fled howling into the desert. I hear tell some of ’em didn’t stop till they got to Dodge City, having run right through a Kiowa war-party and scairt them pore Injuns till they turnt white.

  Well, I laid holt of Croghan’s laigs and hauled him out of the place he had fell into, which seemed to be a kind of cellar which had been under the floor of the store. Croghan’s conversation didn’t noways make sense, and every time I let go of him he fell on his neck.

  So I abandoned him in disgust and looked down into the cellar to see what was in it that Emerson should of took so much to keep it hid. Well, it was plumb full of buffalo hides, all corded into neat bundles! At that Emerson started to run, but I grabbed him, and reached down with the other hand and hauled a bundle out. It was marked with a red Circle A brand.

  “So!” I says to Emerson, impulsively busting him in the snout. “You stole old man Hopkins’ hides yoreself! Perjuice that mortgage! Where’s the old man’s wagon and team?”

  “I got ’em hid in my livery stable,” he moaned.

  “Go hitch ’em up and bring ’em here,” I says. “And if you tries to run off, I’ll track you down and sculp you alive!”

  I went and got Cap’n Kidd and watered him. When I got back, Emerson come up with the wagon and team, so I told him to load on them hides.

  “I’m a ruined man!” sniveled he. “I ain’t able to load no hides.”

  “The exercize’ll do you good,” I assured him, kicking the seat loose from his pants, so he give a harassed howl and went to work. About this time Croghan sot up and gaped at me weirdly.

  “It all comes back to me!” he gurgled. “We was going to run Breckinridge Elkins out of town!”

  He then fell back and went into shrieks of hysterical laughter which was most hair raising to hear.

  “The wagon’s loaded,” panted Joe Emerson. “Take it and git out and be quick!”

  “Well, let this be a lesson to you,” I says, ignoring his hostile attitude. “Honesty’s always the best policy!”

  I then hit him over the head with a wagon spoke and clucked to the hosses and we headed for Panther Springs.

  Old man Hopkins’ mules had give out half way to Panther Springs. Him and the old lady was camped there when I drove up. I never seen folks so happy in my life as they was when I handed the team, wagon, hides and mortgage over to ‘em. They both cried and the old lady kissed me, and the old man hugged me, and I thought I’d plumb die of embarrassment before I could git away. But I did finally, and headed for Panther Springs again, because I still had to raise the dough to git Glaze out of jail.

  I got there about sun-up and headed straight for Judith’s cabin to tell her I’d made friends with Uncle Jabez. Aunt Henrietta was cleaning a carpet on the front porch and looking mad. When I come up she stared at me and said, “Good land, Breckinridge, what happened to you?”

  “Aw, nothin’,” I says. “Jest a argyment with them fool buffalo hunters over to Cordova. They’d cleaned a old gent and his old lady of their buffalo hides, to say nothin’ of their hosses and wagon. So I rid on to see what I could do about it. Them hairy-necked hunters didn’t believe me when I said I wanted them hides, so I had to persuade ’em a leetle. On’y thing is they is sayin’ now that I was to blame fer the hull affair. I apologized to Judith’s uncle, too. Had to chase him from here to Cordova. Where’s Judith?”

  “Gone!” she says, stabbing her broom at the floor so vicious she broke the handle off. “When she taken them pies and cakes to yore fool friend down to the jail house, she taken a shine to him at first sight. So she borrored the money from me to pa
y his fine — said she wanted a new dress to look nice in for you, the deceitful hussy! If I’d knowed what she wanted it for she wouldn’t of got it — she’d of got somethin’ acrost my knee! But she paid him out of the jug, and—”

  “And what happened then?” I says wildly.

  “She left me a note,” snarled Aunt Henrietta, giving the carpet a whack that tore it into six pieces. “She said anyway she was afeared if she didn’t marry him I’d make her marry you. She must of sent you off on that wild goose chase a purpose. Then she met him, and — well, they snuck out and got married and air now on their way to Denver for their honeymoon — Hey, what’s the matter? Air you sick?”

  “I be,” I gurgled. “The ingratitude of mankind cuts me to the gizzard! After all I’d did for Glaze Bannack! Well, by golly, this is lesson to me! I bet I don’t never work my fingers to the quick gittin’ another ranny out of jail!”

  * * *

  THE CONQUERIN’ HERO OF THE HUMBOLTS; OR, POLITICS AT BLUE LIZARD; POLITICS AT LONESOME LIZARD

  First published in Action Stories, October 1936. Also published as “Politics At Blue Lizard” and “Politics At Lonesome Lizard”

  I WAS in Sundance enjoying myself a little after a long trail-drive up from the Cimarron, when I got a letter from Abednego Raxton which said as follers:

  Dear Breckinridge:

  That time I paid yore fine down in Tucson for breaking the county clerk’s laig you said you’d gimme a hand anytime I ever need help. Well Breckinridge I need yore assistance right now the rustlers is stealing me ragged it has got so I nail my bed-kivers to the bunk every night or they’d steal the blankets right offa me Breckinridge. Moreover a stumbling block on the path of progress by the name of Ted Bissett is running sheep on the range next to me this is more’n a man can endure Breckinridge. So I want you to come up here right away and help me find out who is stealing my stock and bust Ted Bissett’s hed for him the low- minded scunk. Hoping you air the same I begs to remane as usual.

  Yore abused frend.

  Raxton, Esq.

  P. S. That sap-headed misfit Johnny Willoughby which used to work for me down on Green River is sheriff here and he couldn’t ketch flies if they was bogged down in merlasses.

  Well, I didn’t feel it was none of my business to mix into any row Abednego might be having with the sheepmen, so long as both sides fit fair, but rustlers was a different matter. A Elkins detests a thief. So I mounted Cap’n Kidd, after the usual battle, and headed for Lonesome Lizard, which was the nighest town to his ranch.

  I found myself approaching this town a while before noon one blazing hot day, and as I crossed a right thick timbered creek, shrieks for aid and assistance suddenly bust the stillness. A hoss also neighed wildly, and Cap’n Kidd begun to snort and champ like he always does when they is a b’ar or a cougar in the vicinity. I got off and tied him, because if I was going to have to fight some critter like that, I didn’t want him mixing into the scrap; he was jest as likely to kick me as the varmint. I then went on foot in the direction of the screams, which was growing more desperate every minute, and I presently come to a thicket with a big tree in the middle of it, and there they was. One of the purtiest gals I ever seen was roosting in the tree and screeching blue murder, and they was a cougar climbing up after her.

  “Help!” says she wildly. “Shoot him!”

  “I jest wish some of them tender-foots which calls theirselves naturalists could see this,” I says, taking off my Stetson. A Elkins never forgits his manners. “Some of ’em has tried to tell me cougars never attacks human beings nor climbs trees, nor prowls in the daytime. I betcha this would make ’em realize they don’t know it all. Jest like I said to that’n which I seen in War Paint, Nevada, last summer—”

  “Will you stop talkin’ and do somethin’?” she says fiercely. “Ow!”

  Because he had reched up and made a pass at her foot with his left paw. I seen this had went far enough, so I told him sternly to come down, but all he done was look down at me and spit in a very insulting manner. So I reched up and got him by the tail and yanked him down, and whapped him agen the ground three or four times, and when I let go of him he run off a few yards, and looked back at me in a most pecooliar manner. Then he shaken his head like he couldn’t believe it hisself, and lit a shuck as hard as he could peel it in the general direction of the North Pole.

  “Whyn’t you shoot him?” demanded the gal, leaning as far out as she could to watch him.

  “Aw, he won’t come back,” I assured her. “Hey, look out! That limb’s goin’ to break—”

  Which it did jest as I spoke and she come tumbling down with a shriek of despair. She still held onto the limb with a desperate grip, however, which is why it rapped me so severe on the head when I catched her.

  “Oh!” says she, letting go of the limb and grabbing me. “Am I hurt?”

  “I dunno,” I says, “You better let me carry you to wherever you want to go.”

  “No,” says she, gitting her breath back. “I’m all right. Lemme down.”

  So I done so, and she says: “I got a hoss tied over there behind that fir. I was ridin’ home from Lonesome Lizard and stopped to poke a squirrel out of a holler tree. It warn’t a squirrel, though. It was that dang lion. If you’ll git my hoss for me, I’ll be ridin’ home. Pap’s ranch is jest over that ridge to the west. I’m Margaret Brewster.”

  “I’m Breckinridge Elkins, of Bear Creek, Nevada,” I says. “I’m headin’ for Lonesome Lizard, but I’ll be ridin’ back this way before long. Can I call on you?”

  “Well,” she says, “I’m engaged to marry a feller, but it’s conditional. I got a suspicion he’s a spineless failure, and I told him flat if he didn’t succeed at the job’s he’s workin’ on now, not to come back. I detests a failure. That’s why I likes yore looks,” says she, giving me a admiring glance. “A man which can rassle a mountain lion with his b’ar hands is worth any gal’s time. I’ll send you word at Lonesome Lizard; if my fiansay flops like it looks he’s goin’ to do, I’d admire to have you call.”

  “I’ll be awaitin’ yore message with eager heart and honest devotion,” I says, and she blushed daintily and clumb on her hoss and pulled her freight. I watched her till she was clean out of sight, and then hove a sigh that shook the acorns out of the surrounding oaks, and wended my way back to Cap’n Kidd in a sort of rose-colored haze. I was so entranced I started to git onto Cap’n Kidd on the wrong end and never noticed till he kicked me vi’lently in the belly.

  “Love, Cap’n Kidd,” I says to him dreamily, batting him between the eyes with my pistol butt, “is youth’s sweet dream.”

  But he made no response, outside of stomping on my corns; Cap’n Kidd has got very little sentiment.

  So i mounted and pulled for Lonesome Lizard, which I arriv at maybe a hour later. I put Cap’n Kidd in the strongest livery stable I could find and seen he was fed and watered, and warned the stable-hands not to antagonize him, and then I headed for the Red Warrior saloon. I needed a little refreshments before I started for Abednego’s ranch.

  I taken me a few drams and talked to the men which was foregathered there, being mainly cowmen. The sheepmen patronized the Bucking Ram, acrost the street. That was the first time I’d ever been in Montana, and them fellers warn’t familiar with my repertation, as was showed by their manner.

  Howthesomever, they was perlite enough, and after we’d downed a few fingers of corn scrapings, one of ’em ast me where I was from, proving they considered me a honest man with nothing to conceal. When I told ‘em, one of ’em said: “By golly, they must grow big men in Nevada, if yo’re a sample. Yo’re the biggest critter I ever seen in the shape of a human.”

  “I bet he’s as stout as Big Jon,” says one, and another’n says: “That cain’t be. This gent is human, after all. Big Jon ain’t.”

  I was jest fixing to ast ’em who this Jon varmint was, when one of ’em cranes his neck toward the winder and says: “Speak of the devil and you gits a
whiff of brimstone! Here comes Jon acrost the street now. He must of seen this gent comin’ in, and is on his way to make his usual challenge. The sight of a man as big as him is like wavin’ a red flag at a bull.”

  I looked out the winder and seen a critter about the size of a granary coming acrost the street from the Bucking Ram, follered by a gang of men which looked like him, but not nigh as big.

  “What kind of folks air they?” I ast with interest. “They ain’t neither Mexicans nor Injuns, but they sure ain’t white men, neither.”

  “Aw, they’re Hunkies,” says a little sawed-off cowman. “Ted Bissett brung ’em in here to herd sheep for him. That big ‘un’s Jon. He ain’t got no sense, but you never seen sech a hunk of muscle in yore life.”

  “Where they from?” I ast. “Canader?”

  “Naw,” says he. “They come originally from a place called Yurrop. I dunno where I it is, but I jedge it’s somewhere’s east of Chicago.”

  But I knowed them fellers never originated nowheres on this continent. They was rough-dressed and wild-looking, with knives in their belts, and they didn’t look like no folks I’d ever saw before. They come into the barroom and the one called Jon bristled up to me very hostile with his little beady black eyes. He stuck out his chest about a foot and hit it with his fist which was about the size of a sledge hammer. It sounded like a man beating a bass drum.

  “You strong man,” says he. “I strong too. We rassle, eh?”

  “Naw,” I says, “I don’t care nothin’ about rasslin’.”

  He give a snort which blowed the foam off of every beer glass on the bar, and looked around till he seen a iron rod laying on the floor. It looked like the handle of a branding iron, and was purty thick. He grabbed this and bent it into a V, and throwed it down on the bar in front of me, and all the other Hunkies jabbered admiringly.