Curly Part 19

"Man, we've got them here in chains! Two thousand pesos d'oro! _Por Dios!_ You have made me rich with your news!"

"In chains, corporal? Then they did not escape after all! They fought like caballeros, and now they'll be claimed for extradition, taken back, and hanged! _Hombre_, that's no death for caballeros! How did you ever take such fighters, corporal?"

"Oh, just arrested them."

"But they fought a hundred Americanos!"

"Yes, yes, but we are Frontier Guards--me and another man; we just arrested them, that's all. Two thousand pesos!"

"They fought?"

"Oh, yes, we had to disable one of them; in fact I myself shot him through the pistol arm. Then they surrendered, made their bow to force.

Two thousand golden dollars!"

"Miraculous! Well, senor corporal, may it be permitted to ask where forage is sold?"

"Certainly, step this way. I, Pablo Juarez, rich! Two thousand! Santa Catalina, thou shalt have candles, a box of candles!"

The voices faded out, and Jim lay back, wiping the sweat from his face.

"Wheugh"--then he burst out laughing--"the liars," he howled, "the gentle, earnest liars! Oh, pat me, Curly, for I'm weak--the lop-eared, spavined, sway-backed, c.o.c.k-eyed liars!"

But Curly was shy of Spanish, and wanted the news. "What liars?"

"Everybody--they're all liars--the whole world--liars! Liars! They couldn't leave it to facts, which are bad enough, but they've lied, and sworn to lies and perjured themselves with oaths, the thugs, the dirty bar-room toughs, selling their souls to that young Ryan--and made a remnant sale of themselves for witnesses that I murdered an old man!"

"What, Ryan? It wasn't you who spoiled old Ryan. It was your father in honest fighting!"

"Who cares for honesty when there's a millionaire to pay for souls in cash? They swear that I hired you and all your robbers to have old Ryan murdered, then did the killing myself, and turned loose your gang to ma.s.sacre Ryan's friends--the cowards, the lying cowards!"

"But them boys with masks was Chalkeye's riders, and he just covered their faces, Jim, to save them afterwards."

"And who'll believe that? Here's a millionaire to buy the witnesses, the lawyers, the judge, the law! The only man who was there and can't be bribed is that leary old cow-thief Chalkeye, but he's mixed up with us, and likely enough a prisoner by now. Do you think that a Grave City court of justice would believe an honest man? No, we're trapped, and we're sold, and we're going to be butchered now."

"Well," says Curly in that slow, soft way he had, "I allow it's done you good to turn yo' wolf loose, and you've sh.o.r.ely howled; it done me good to hear all the cussing said while I lay restin'. That's relieved me a lot and made me plumb forgetful of being in pain."

Jim began talking haughty, and wanted to know if Curly liked the notion of being hanged.

"That I sh.o.r.ely do," says Curly very soft. "You see, only a while back we was going to be taken out sudden and shot--which it was a caution to yaller snakes only to think of. That didn't make me happy a lil' bit, but now we got more prospects, a slow trial coming, time to turn around in, and think out how to escape."

That sobered Jim, but it made him hostile, too. "Youngster, will nothing scare you?" he asked; "can't get a whimper out of you even for company's sake--you're so beastly selfish."

Curly rolled over, resting his face on his hand. "I was raised that way," says he very quiet, "goin' to be shot up or hung most of the time.

It's a risky thing bein' alive when you come to think of it, eh? We-all is mighty or'nary folks in a trifling sort of world, Jim; but I reckon it's sure nice being heah. We got sweet range hay to lie on, and hopes of a feed in the mawning; the place is sure quiet, but we cayn't complain of being dull. As to our lil' worries, I don't fuss about crossing a river until I done reached the bank."

"I wish," Jim groaned, "that I'd got half your courage."

"I've suffered some," says Curly, "and I reckon that what you call courage is just training. Now you, Jim, you lie down, and think about something to eat, and presently yo're goin' to drop off asleep, dreaming of good camps where there's feed and water. If that ain't good I'll wake you up in the night, so's you'll get two sleeps, which is even better'n one."

CHAPTER XV

MOSTLY CHALKEYE

The loss of my near eye has led to a lot of mistakes on my part, specially when I mistook the brands on cows and horses, thought they belonged to me, and adopted the poor lone critters--I've always been fond of animals, anyway. Again, I argue that a person with two eyes had ought to see much more truth than I can with only one eye; but I don't find that folks are liberal in making allowances. They call me hard names instead.

Now that was specially the case over the Ryan inquest. I testified that old man Ryan died a natural death, because it would have been completely unnatural for Balshannon to miss him at five paces. Moreover, as I saw things, Jim never fired at all until Ryan was dead, and only began to shoot when he saw young Michael turning loose for battle. Judge Sprynkes, Acting a.s.sistant Deputy-Coroner, allowed that I had been a whole lot present at the fight, and was ent.i.tled to my one-eyed point of view; but then, he remarked to the jury that the witness was well known to have such a defective vision with regard to cows that the evidence was tarnished on the point at issue.

"Judge," says I, "this is a court of justice, and I'd like to see everybody getting a fair show. Now, as judge, you're sure incorruptible and righteous."

"Come to the point," says Sprynkes.

"But," says I, "if Judge Sprynkes finds that the late Mr. Ryan met his death in a fair duel with Balshannon--then----"

"Well?"

"Then there's a citizen named Mr. Sprynkes who's apt to be reminded by the Ryan estate that he owes a heap of money!"

On that we had considerable rough house, until the judge called the meeting to order. Then he remarked, sort of casual, that he knew a citizen named Sprynkes who was apt to shoot at sight when he met up with a certain notorious horse-thief called Chalkeye Davies.

So my evidence for Jim was set aside, I was pitched out of the court, and for the next few days had to keep a wary eye on citizen Sprynkes. He was an awful poor sportsman, and mostly always missed; but once I got a bullet through my hat. Afterwards Mr. Sprynkes admitted to his friends that he preferred a restful landscape and a less bracing climate beyond the range of my guns--so he pulled out for Yuma, and I saw his kind face no more.

Now I don't want to say anything unkind about Judge Sprynkes, or his jury, or his witnesses, in that inquest on Mr. Ryan; but for Jim's sake it is needful to point out some facts which were remarkable. Of the people who stayed in the "Sepulchre" saloon to attend the gun-fight, eight were unable to testify, being dead, three because they had gone to hospital, two because they were engaged elsewhere at La Morita, and one, which is me, on account of defective vision. Of the rest, the most part lit out from Grave City, and totally disappeared. There remained Mr.

Michael, two bar-tenders, and four other citizens, the only people who gave evidence. These witnesses swore on oath that Jim came to the gun-fight attended by Curly McCalmont and ten masked robbers. They also swore on oath that Jim fired the first shot, killing Mr. Ryan.

The Court returned a verdict that George Ryan came to his death at the hands of James du Chesnay, and recommended his arrest upon the charge of deliberate wilful murder.

I am not complaining. The Court represented the majesty of the people, and that august flag, Old Glory, waving above us. It was a right enough Court, even if justice had strayed out and got itself lost for a while.

I make no complaint, because I reckon that a still mightier Court than ours is sitting up above the starry sky to watch over fatherless kids who don't get a fair show on earth, to save them as gets desolate and oppressed, to vindicate justice upon low-lived swabs, liars, and cowards.

I said nothing, but just stayed good and acted responsible, being in a minority of one against the entire city. The only time I ventured on any remarks was when I happened accidentally to meet up with Mr. Michael.

He, the Mayor, the City Marshal, and a few friends were taking a drink together at the hotel.

"Good morning, Ryan," says I, but I kept my voice all smooth for fear of rucking up my temper to no advantage.

"Good morning, sir," says Ryan.

"I come to congratulate you," says I, "on the hearty liberal way you've been acting."

"I thank you, Mr. Davies," says he, sort of ironic.

"Don't mention it," says I, "for I ain't done no kindness to you, and I don't aim for cash or thanks in what I say."

He reached for his gun, which was hazardous and apt to get fatal, only the City Marshal grabbed him before I had to fire.

"Let me be," says Ryan; "this man insults me!"