Down the Mother Lode Part 18

"Yes, of course, but the court thinks you oughtn't to keep it too long!"

"The 'court' is in his cups. He's sittin' over there in the plaza with his back against the flag pole, an' he won't budge. You listen--.

"Judge, can I see you to your room for a few hours' sleep?"

"What for?" asked the judge, eyeing the questioner solemnly. "Is there anything in the statutes of the State of California which forbids my pre-empting this small s.p.a.ce on the highway? Is there any reason, if I am so inclined, that I should not teach my fellow-citizens the great moral lesson of the overthrow and debas.e.m.e.nt of genius by the demon rum? Am I not better employed than if in a stifling, tobacco-perfumed courtroom, beating law into the thick skull of a lawyer, who doesn't know Blackstone from white quartz? But, if you have four bits on you, and should ask me to join you--Ah, you have?"

"Well," said the sheriff to Anthony, after they had vanished into a near bar, "I'll have to put you in the jug till court convenes."

Buckeye Pete was celebrating. He seemed to be suddenly flush with "dust"

and was dispensing drinks with a liberality which soon brought him a numerous following. By midnight it was a well-mellowed a.s.semblage.

"Mignon, how long have you been dealin'?"

"About tree, four mont', Monsieur."

"I don't mean here. I mean altogether."

"About six ye-ar, Monsieur."

"You must be well off by this time. An' they say that you've earned it all workin', and that you're straight. Say, I'll marry you, if you say the word--"

"You say, they say, too much, Monsieur."

"Here! Don't you go givin' me no orders, you French crinoline fluff!"

"I ordair no man, an' no man is ordair me!" She stared him down with her glittering, black eyes, and returned to her dealing. Pete strolled out, followed by his satellites. When the noises in the street grew louder it caused no particular comment. It was the usual thing. But when a crowd burst into the Royal Flush, Mignon sprang to her feet with a cry of anguish.

"Dealt me a raw deal, didn't yeh, you smart Frenchie?" gloated Buckeye Pete. "Well, look at your man. Take a good look, an' don't miss the necktie he's wearin'. Pretty li'l rope choker we got for Dandy Anthony.

Ain't no man can go killin' an' get away with it, while I'm here,"

looking around for applause.

"Name of a pig!" hissed Mignon. "You--you would."

"Sure' we would! Right out on the lynchin' tree." She turned and dashed for the rear. "Ze sheriff! He must come toute suite!"

"Min," whispered Soft-soap Joe, the bartender, "he left two hours ago on a new case, otherwise they wouldn't a-dared do this."

"Mon Dieu! An' ze justice, he is intoxicate! Mother Marie, pray for him," she cried, in her own language, and she ran after the lynching party.

Once she stopped, shaking with terror at what she took to be a grizzly in the path. It was only the fighting donkey still following the master whom he had adopted. He made his way to the very center of the mob. The French girl followed and, climbing onto a barrel, faced the crowd with flashing eyes.

"Consider what you do! The judgment of le bon Dieu will be upon you!"

"Aw! Choke her off! Pull her down, somebody."

But the three or four who tried to reach Mignon on her barrel next to the bound man on the horse beneath the hanging tree, fell victim to the "greatest battling jack in the state."

"My friend," orated the old judge afterwards, in describing these events, "what mere man, however filled with tanglefoot, could face the wicked teeth, and hoofs, and kicks which had conquered wild Texas bulls, caused the mountain lion to cringe in his lair, and the invincible grizzly to flee across the Sierras?"

At any rate, the little donkey was everywhere at once, biting, striking, kicking, squealing, with the venom and speed and precision of a rattlesnake, while Mignon railed, unmindful of Anthony's protests.

"Ze blood on hees clothes! Bah! You 'ave all see 'ow he is carry home la pet.i.te so-hurt dog. Oui! ze dog of Monsieur Pete. Who is know where Monsieur Collins is go for new dog fight? Monsieur Pete! Who has anger at Monsieur Ant'ony for because I, Mignon, 'ave look once again at Monsieur, who is so kind to all who I ave pain? Monsieur Pete! Who is insult good girl? That's me. Monsieur Pete! Who is spend much money tonight, who yesterday was br-r-oke? Monsieur Pete! Who, zen, should you swing on ze rope?"

She waited. There was absolute silence save for the crackle of the flaming pine-pitch torches.

"Ver' well," in a low voice. "I, me, Mignon, shall answer." Again she paused. A long way down the canyon she heard horses galloping on the hard road. "Monsieur Pete!" she screamed, at the top of her voice.

The mob struggled forward, yelling.

"Ver' well!" she cried, s.n.a.t.c.hing a silver-mounted pistol out of her bosom. "Come on! Ze jacka.s.s, he is ke-e-ll five! I, Mignon, I ke-e-ll five! Ten shall go to le diable before mon brave shall hang!"

They hesitated, those in front pressing back from the certain death which awaited them. Mignon set her arms akimbo, the gun gleaming at her hip, and taunted them in contemptuous French.

The hors.e.m.e.n had reached the camp and soon thundered into view. "What's this going on, anyway?" demanded the sheriff, angrily. "Anthony Barstow is innocent. These men can prove that they spent the night at Barstow's cabin. When I learned the truth, I came straight back. Buckeye Pete, you throw up your hands! You're wanted for the murder of Spotty Collins."

Mignon tore the noose from Anthony's neck, laughing and crying in true French abandon.

"Anthony, you're snared in another kind of noose," laughed the sheriff.

"I know you're need in' your arms, but that rip-snortin' little jack won't let me get near enough to cut your bonds."

"By Salsifer!" he said, later on, "I'll have to swear that fighting jack in as a deputy sheriff, and set him to watchin' road agents confined in the jail. Well, goodnight, all. Pete's locked up safe and sound."

An hour later a sober band of grim spectres returned to the jail, overpowered the guard, and, for the second time that night, took out grisly fruit to hang on the lynching tree. There were no pine knots and no attempts at conversation till the leader asked: "Buckeye Pete, have you anything to say before you join your Maker?"

"Ain't no use prayin' for yourself," spoke up another voice. "Better pray for the soul of the man you sent to Purgatory, and for the well-bein' of the other innocent man you tried to destroy."

"What's that?"

"It's that fightin' jack, prowlin' 'round."

"Let 'im prowl! Now, then, boys, are you ready? Then pull!" and, as the old judge always told in conclusion, "they say, as the men gave a mighty heave on the rope the donkey ran forward and kicked the barrel from under the doomed man's feet!"