Friar Tuck Part 2

confidential about their natural devilment. He didn't talk like a saint speakin' out through a crack in the gates o' Paradise, like most preachers do. He called the turn on the actual way they cut up when they went to town, and just how it hurt 'em body an' soul; and his face grew set and earnest, and his eyes blazed; and then he said a few words about mothers an' children and such, and wound up with a short prayer.

Well two o' those fellers owned up right out in public and said that from that on they was goin' to lead a decent sort of life; and one other said 'at he didn't have any faith in himself any longer; but he insisted on signin' the pledge, and said if that worked, why, he'd go on an' try the rest of it.

The preacher shook hands with 'em all around-he had a grip 'at wouldn't be no disgrace for a silver-tip-an' then he sez that if any of 'em has the notion that bein' a Christian makes a weakling of a man, why, he's willin' to wrastle or box or run a race or shoot at a mark or do any other sort of a stunt to show 'at he's in good order; but they size him up and take his word for it.

"Now, boys," sez he, "I hope we'll meet often. I'm your friend, and I want you to use me any time you get a chance. Any time or any place that I can serve one of you, just get me word and I'll do the best I can. It don't matter what sort o' trouble you get into, get me word and I'll help-if I can find a way. And I wish 'at you'd speak it around that I'm hard on hosses, so that the other fellows will understand when I pick one up, and not cause any delay. I'll have to hurry along now. Good-bye; I'm sorry I've been a bother to ya."

He swung up on the big roan, waved his hand and trotted out o' the park; and just as he went down the pa.s.s on the other side, it seemed that he couldn't hold it in any longer; so he opened up his voice in his marchin' song again, an' we all stayed silent as long as we could hear the sound of it.

"Well we are a lot of soft marks!" sez Badger-face at last.

"That there is a true man," replied old Grizzly, shakin' his head, "an' I'll bet my boots on it."

This seemed to be the general verdict, an' the Cross brand fellers went off discussin' the parson, an' me an' Spider Kelley collected our ponies an' went along to the ranch, also discussin' him.

That was the first time I ever saw Friar Tuck; I made up my mind about him just from hearin' his voice, an' before I ever saw him; but I never had to make it up any different. New lead an' new steel look consid'able alike; but the more ya wear on lead, the sooner it wears out, while the more you wear on steel, the brighter it gets. The Friar was steel, an' mighty well tempered.

CHAPTER TWO

THE BETTIN' BARBER O' BOGGS

Yes, this was about the time I got interested in the bettin' barber over at Boggs. He hasn't anything to do with this story I'm about to tell ya, except that it was him 'at give the Friar his name; so I'll just skim through this part as hasty as possible. When a feller is tellin' me a story, I want him to stick to the trail of it; but it seems like when I try to tell one, myself, some feller is allus askin'

me a question 'at takes me clear out o' range.

All barbers are more or less different, except in what might be called the gift o' gab. This one came out to Boggs station, an' started a shop. His name was Eugene, an' he was a little man with two rollin'

curls to his front hair, which he wore short behind. A curious thing about little men is, that they don't never find it out. A little man produces more opinions 'n airy other kind, an' being small, they haven't no place to store 'em up until they get time to ripen. A little man gives out his opinion an' then looks savage-just as if he'd get a switch an' make ya believe it, whether you wanted to or not.

Eugene had come from every city the' is in the world, an' he used to tell scandalous tales about the prominent people who lived in 'em whose hair he had cut. He was also familiar with the other things which had happened since they've begun to write history, an' if any one would doubt one of his statements, he'd whirl about holding up his razor, an' say: "I'll bet ya a dollar I can prove it."

All of us fellers used to go in as often as we got a chance to get our chins shaved an' our hair shampooed-just to hear Eugene get indignant about things which wasn't none of our business. We used to bet with him a lot, just for the fun o' makin' him prove up things; which he did by writin' letters to somebody an' gettin' back the answers he wanted. We didn't have any way to prove our side; so Eugene got the money an' we had the fun.

Ol' man Dort ran the general store and kept a pet squirrel in a whirlabout cage, which was the biggest squirrel I ever see, an' had its tail gnawed off by a rat, or something, before Eugene came. Ol'

man Dort had a reputation for arguin', which spread all over our part of the earth. We had made a habit o' goin' to him to get our discussions settled an' when we began to pa.s.s him up for Eugene, he foamed about it free an' frank.

He wore a prodigious tangle o' hair and a bunch o' grizzled whiskers, about as fine an' smooth as a clump o' grease-wood. He used to brag that razor nor scissors hadn't touched his hide for twenty years, an'

one of us boys would allus add, "Nor soap nor water, neither," an' ol'

man Dort would grin proud, 'cause it was a point of honor with him.

Eugene used to send out for his wearin' an' sech, so ol' man Dort didn't get a whack at him in his store; ol' man Dort batched, an'

Eugene boarded, so they didn't clash up at their meals; an' finally ol' man Dort swore a big oath that he was goin' to be barbered. The news got out an' the boys came in for forty miles to see the fun-an'

it was worth it.

We went early to the shop an' planted ourselves, lookin' solemn an'

not sayin' anything to put Eugene on his guard. When at last ol' man Dort hove in sight with his brows scowled down an' his jaws set under his shrubbery, we all bit our lips; an' Eugene stopped tellin' us about the hair-roots o' the Prince of Wales, an' stood lookin' at ol'

man Dort with his mouth gapped wide open.

The ol' man came in, shut the door careful behind him, glared at Eugene, as though darin' him to do his worst, an' said: "I want my hair shamped, an' my whiskers shaved off."

"If you expected to get it all done in one day, you should ought to have come earlier," sez Eugene soberly, but tossin' us a side wink.

"Well, you do as much as you can to-day, an' we'll finish up to-morrow," sez ol' man Dort, not seein' the joke.

Ol' man Dort peeled off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, an' climbed into the chair as if he thought it was liable to buck him off. Then he settled back with a grunt, an' Eugene tucked the bib in around his neck, combed his fingers through ol' man Dort's hair a minute, an'

sez; "Your hair's startin' to come out. You should ought to use a tonic."

"Tonic, h.e.l.l!" snaps the ol' man. "My hair sheds out twice a year, same as the rest o' the animals."

"Then you should ought to comb it," sez Eugene. "I've got some hair here in my hand which was shed out two years ago. Leavin' dead hair an' such rubbish as that layin' around on your scalp is what kills the hair globules."

"It don't either; it acts like fertilizer, the same as dead gra.s.s does," sez ol' man Dort. He had made up his mind to take the contrary side of everything 'at Eugene said, an' it was more fun than a dog fight.

Eugene started in by mowin' away the whiskers, an' it was a long an'

painful job; 'cause it was almost impossible to tell where they left off an' ol' man Dort began, an' then they was so cluttered up with grit an' dead hair and kindry deb-ris that his scissors would choke up an' pull, an' then ol' man Dort would bob up his head an' yell out a bunch o' profanity, and Eugene would stand back an' say that he was a barber, not a clearer of new ground, an' that the job ought to be done with a scythe and hoe, not with scissors an' razor. Eugene wasn't covetous of ol' man Dort's trade an' didn't care whether he insulted him or not.

The most fun came, though, after Eugene had got down to where he could tell the outline of ol' man Dort's face. First he soaked it with lather, combin' it in with a comb, an' puttin' hot towels on it to draw out the alkalie grit an' give his razors some show.

One of ol' man Dort's manias was, that a man ought to pay his debts, whether it killed him or not; so as soon as Eugene had him steamin'

under the towels we begun to talk about a man's first duty bein'

toward his kin, an' that if he couldn't pay his debts without bother, he ought to let the debts go an' show his relatives a good time while they was still on earth an' able to enjoy themselves.

Ol' man Dort couldn't stand it, an' tried to answer back from under the towels; but got his mouth full o' suds, an' choked on the corner of a towel until Eugene said that if he couldn't sit still an' behave himself he could go out to some alfalfa farmer to get his tonsoral work completed.

It wasn't the ol' man's fault-he simply couldn't help it. Touch him up on a ticklish subject, an' he just had to come back at ya, same as a rattler. Finally, however, Eugene had the stubble wore down an'

softened until he decided that he stood a chance again' it, an' then he lathered an' rubbed, an' lathered an' rubbed, until nothin' stuck out below ol' man Dort's eyes except the peak of his nose; an' then us boys pulled out our trump card an' played it strong. We began to talk about red squirrels.

Now, we didn't know anything professional about squirrels, except what ol' man Dort had told us; but we slewed his talk around this way an'

that as if it was our own private opinions; an' the ol' man began to groan audible. He gritted his teeth, though, an' bore up under it like a hero, until Eugene begin to chip in with what he knew about squirrels.

Eugene was never content to just speak of a thing in a general way-his main method of convincin' us was to allus fall back on his own personal experience; so this time he began to tell of squirrels what he had been full acquainted with. He called 'em by name an' told how they would run to meet him an' climb up on his shoulders an'

chatter for nuts, an' so on; until the ol' man's ears turned red with the strain he was under. And then, we got to discussin' the size o'

squirrels.

We told about squirrels we had heard about, an' contested again' each other to see which had heard o' the biggest one; but we never even mentioned ol' man Dort's squirrel. Eugene had shaved his way down to below the lobe of ol' man Dort's right ear, slippin' in a side remark to our talk every minute or so; an' purty soon he sez 'at he knows a squirrel by the name o' Daniel Webster back in Montpelier, Vermont, which was a full half inch longer 'n airy red squirrel we had spoke of. The ol' man couldn't stand this. His head bobbed up, cuttin' a gash on the crook of his jaw, and as soon as he could blow the foam out of his mouth, he sez, "I'll stake my life, the' ain't another squirrel in this country as big as my own Ben Butler."

Eugene put his hand on ol' man Dort's forehead an' pushed him back into the headrest. "You lie there," sez he, "until I get done shavin'

ya. Then, I'll bet ya a dollar that I can produce a livin' squirrel which'll out-stand, outweigh, an' out-fight your squirrel-an' I ain't never seen your squirrel."

"A dollar!" snorts the ol' man, flickin' up his head. "I wouldn't bother wakin' Ben Butler up for a measly dollar. I'll bet ya ten dollars."

"Get back on that headrest," orders Eugene. "Ten dollars looks a heap sight better to me than one, an' I'll be mighty glad to accommodate ya."

Eugene took his fire-stick an' burned the ol' man's cut, an' the ol'

man had to scruge up his shoulders with the pain of it; but he did it without noticin', 'cause his mind was on squirrels. "What breed o'

squirrels is yours?" he asked.