Curly Part 34

Now, in course of these details, while we sat smoking cigarettes around the door of the cabin, we saw a sort of dust-cloud come rolling along out of the city.

"Which reminds me," says Ute, "that the Grave City stranglers was proposing yesterday to come and hold a social gathering here. Mr.

Davies, they's aiming to hang you some."

We rolled the rain-barrels into the house, we toted bales of hay for barricades, and led our saddle-horses into cover; then put in the rest of our time filling the water-b.u.t.ts. In all we had forty minutes to prepare for our guests, but wanted a whole lot more.

"You, Chalkeye," says young Monte in his thoughtful way, "you can talk the hind leg off a mule. Spose you make big war medicine to these here strangers until we're ready."

Custer had got joyful, as he always did when there was trouble coming, making little yelps of bliss.

"Don't talk them off the range," says he, "or we'll get no fight."

Ute, he lay low, saying nothing, but he sure grinned volumes while he whirled in with his axe, cutting twelve loopholes through the 'dobe walls. I told Custer to break a hole in the roof and get up there quick, because the parapet had rain-spouts most convenient for shooting. Monte was laying out the ammunition, I was spreading wet blankets over the hay barricade in the front doorway, and then the Vigilance Committee came slanting down for battle.

Seeing that Grave City was shy of horseflesh that morning, these people had done their best with thirty head, using them to haul waggons and buckboards full of men. Only the chairman was in the saddle, he being old Mutiny Robertson, who wanted to buy my ranche and not to burn it. I ought to mention that this gentleman was a Cherokee Indian by birth, a white man by nature, and some time a robber himself. He knew what sort of lightning had struck Grave City during the night, but his feelings did him credit and kept his mouth shut. As chief of the Vigilantes he had to go against all his natural instincts, but still he acted hostile and looked dangerous, leading his men until he came up against my door.

"You, Chalkeye!" he shouted.

I put up my head behind the barricade in the doorway.

"Wall," says I, "this compliment, gentlemen, throws my tail high with pride. Put yo' hawsses in the barn while I fix the breakfast."

"These barricades," says Mutiny, "is intended hawspitable--eh, Chalkeye?"

"Which," says I, "they're raised in celebration of my thirty-third birthday as a token of innocent joy."

"Seems to me," he responds, "that this yere day is apt to be remembered hereaways as the anniversary of yo' quitting out of from this mortal life."

"These predictions of yours," says I "is rude."

"You're due to die some, right now"--he poked his gun. "Come out!"

"I remarks," says I, "on general principles that you all has come to mourn at the wrong funeral. My obsequies is postponed indefinite."

"Now, Chalkeye," says he, "it's no use arguing, so you want to come out like a man. We're full prepared to give you a decent turn-off, and a handsome funeral."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, gentlemen, but I has other engagements, and this is my busy day."

I listened to my boys getting ready. "Keep them amused," says Monte; "we need three more loopholes."

"If you don't come out," says Mutiny, "there's going to be trouble, 'cause we're gettin' tired."

"Wall, Mutiny, I'd sh.o.r.ely admire to know some trifling details first, 'cause you've aroused my interest in this yere celebration. Why for is my neck so much in need of stretching?"

"This yere is frivolous argument," says he; "we-all is here to hang you, not to waste time in debates."

"You has my sympathy," says I, "and I shares yo' poignant feelings about not wasting time. What's the use of a necktie social without an appropriate victim? Now thar's young Mose Bowles beside you--which I don't like the look of his neck, the same being much too short for a stand-off collar. What's the matter with hanging Moses Bowles?"

"Come out," says Mose, "or we'll burn your den, you horse-thief!"

"Bein' possessed of genius, Moses, you'll now proceed to set my 'dobe home in flames. The glare of yo' fierce eye is enough to burn brick walls."

A bullet whizzed past my ear, and I got mad.

"Ready!" yelled Monte. "Give the word, and we fire."

"And now," says I, "you innocent pilgrims, you've given me heaps of time to get my twelve men ready. You've got three men in yo' posse who could hit a house from inside, the rest being as gun-shy as a school of girls.

I've got a bullet-proof fort with the twelve best shots in Arizona, and if you don't get absent quick I'll splash yo' blood as high as the clouds. I give you two minutes to get out of range."

The weaker men began to rabbit, the best of them saw a whole row of loopholes with projecting guns, the leaders were holding a council of war.

"One minute!" says I, then turned to shout to my garrison. "Men on the roof, pick out the leaders to kill when I give the word! Men on the right, shoot all hawsses you can, or them reptiles is due to escape! Men on the left, attend to Mutiny! Ninety seconds! Ninety-five seconds!"

Half the Grave City crowd was stampeding for the waggons, the rest were scared of getting left afoot.

"One hundred seconds!" Mutiny's counsellors were breaking for cover.

"One hundred'n five! ten--ten more seconds----" Mutiny turned and bolted. "One--two--three--when I give the word--ready--Fire!"

We sprinkled the tails of the Stranglers until there was nothing to see but smoke and dust. n.o.body stayed to get hurt.

My cousins the two Misses Jameson admit right free and candid that my past life is plumb deplorable, that my present example would corrupt the morals of a penitentiary, and that my future state is due to be disagreeable in a place too hot to be mentioned. They remark that my face is homely enough to scare cats, that my manners and customs are horrid, that my remarks are a whole lot inaccurate, and that most of my property is stolen goods. At the same time, they say that I'm nice, and there I agree with them. My face may not amount to being pretty, my virtues haven't reached the level of bigotry, but I feel in my bones that I'm a sure nice man. Being nice, I aim to be liked, I hunger for popularity, and that is just where I blame the Grave City Stranglers.

I've been misunderstood, I've not been appreciated, but why should I be taken out and lynched? It's plumb ridiculous!

Now I don't claim that I had any mission to reform the morals of the Vigilance Committee--which they have none--or to correct their views, the same being a whole lot steeped in error; neither would it be right for me to encourage them in the evil work of stretching my neck on a rope, or to lead them into the temptation of shooting me any more. When one gets disliked and discouraged by the hostile acts of mean people, one needs to have presence of mind and plenty absence of body. Wherefore I did right in rounding up all my livestock, and quitting a locality where my peace of mind was disturbed with ropes, gunfire, and other evil communications. I took my riders and my herd away north, to where we could graze peaceful and virtuous amid the untroubled solitudes of the Superst.i.tious Mountains.

There was work to do, a drive of a hundred and seventy miles with slow-moving stock, then scouting for water and feed on the new pasture, a permanent camp to make, and much besides which filled up four good weeks. Afterwards I tracked a mountain sheep up to the bare heights, where all the rock was glazed with lightning, and the desert lay below me. I sat on my tail to think, feeling lonesome then, looking east toward Texas and wondering if my poor old mother was still alive.

Westward the sun was setting, and that way lay the great Pacific Ocean, bigger than all the plains, where the ships rode herd upon their drove of whales--I wanted to see that too. But then I looked south-east, the way I had come, through valleys of scrub and cactus; there, somewheres beyond the hills, was my little ranch, and all the good pasture away to Holy Cross. My heart was crying inside me, but I didn't know what I wanted until I thought of Curly. Sure enough I wanted her most of all.

Next morning I told all my boys good-bye, and streaked off to go see Curly. I rode till dusk and camped with Texas Bob, a friend of mine who told me I was sure enough idiot for getting outlawed. Next evening I came to the house where my cousins lived, and crept in the dusk to scratch at their back door.

I found Miss Blossom Jameson all in a bustle as usual, which looked mighty natural. She was in the backyard feeding supper to her horse, and that poor victim leaned up against the fence to groan. There were cornstalks in it, cabbage-leaves, lettuce-leaves, tea-leaves, and some relics of ham and eggs.

"Now jest you sail right in, Mr. Hawss, and don't act wasteful, or you'll go without!"

Mr. Horse took a snuff at the mess, then backed away disgusted.

"Well, if that don't beat all! Now, you Hawss, you don't want to eat the flower-beds, or you'll get murdered!"

Mr. Horse turned his back and sulked.

"There! That's what I call a mean spirit, and I'm goin' to lock you up, you and your supper, till one of the two gets eaten--I don't care which!" So the lady chased Mr. Horse into the barn, and threw the pig-feed in after him. "I'll larn you to know what's good," says she, and slammed the door on his tail.

"Well!"--she stood with her back to the door, and threw up her nose at the sight of me--"I du wonder," says she, "that you dare to show yo'

wicked face!"

I allowed that my good face was getting a bit mended since our last encounter. "How's my kid?" says I.

"Yo' savage, you mean. Now don't you say you've brought pet tigers this time, or tame dragons, 'cause I'll have no more strays at all."