Happy Hawkins Part 30

"Yes, for heaven's sake, get 'em," sez the snarley one, while some o'

the boys snickered, but not too noticeable.

Well, they was my saddle an' bridle all right, an' I thanked the bar mop an' flung 'em in a corner. Then I went over an' sat down by Hank Midders. "Did you get your fence-rider yet?" sez I.

"No, I ain't got him yet, but I got two days to look for him in," he sez.

Just then who should come in but the same old Diamond Dot hand who had beat me out of the pony. "Well, sign my name! If there ain't Happy Hawkins!" sez he, rushin' over an' shakin' my hand, "Still in business, Happy?" sez he.

"Nope, I've retired," sez I.

"You'd ought to have stuck around here until that tourist went home from his vacation," sez Bill,--I reckon his name was still Bill, though for the life o' me I can't remember it plain,--"he got the whole town hilarious on account o' the joke we'd played on him. He was game all right, an' he got me a job out to his uncle's, which I've held ever since--off an' on."

"Happy?" sez Hank Midders, "Happy what?"

"Happy Hawkins," sez Bill. "Haven't you never heard o' Happy Hawkins?"

"Happy Hawkins is down in the Texas-Pan Handle," sez I, in a matter-o'-fact voice. "Don't forget that, Bill."

"Surest thing there is," sez Bill, winkin'. "I seen him get on the train myself."

"When will supper be ready, Frenchy?" I sez to the snarley one, who had been puttin' some grease on his ears an' wishin' he'd had better manners.

"In about an hour," sez he, an' I knew the' wouldn't be any more trouble from him. He was one o' these fellers what can take a lickin'

without gettin' all broke up over it, an' he'd be just as gay about bluffin' the next stranger as ever, an' he'd be just as dominatin' over them what he had already bluffed.

"Well, I'm goin' out for a little stroll," sez I, "but I'll be back in time for supper, an' I'll likely be hungry."

I knew they'd all want to ask a few questions, so I went outside an'

walked down the street. I couldn't make up my mind what to do, an' I wanted that fence-ridin' job more than ever. When T turned around to come back, I see Hank Midders walkin' toward me. "So you're Happy Hawkins?" sez he.

"Well, that's what some folks call me," sez I.

"I thought 'at you had finally settled down at the Diamond Dot?" sez he.

"The' ain't nothin' that I know of that changes any oftener than the style in thoughts," sez I. "Do you think it's goin' to snow?"

He laughed. "You're Happy Hawkins all right," sez he. "Do you want that fence-ridin' job?"

"That's what I went to the trouble o' rootin' out that saddle an'

bridle for," sez I, "but I don't care to have it advertised that I'm ridin' fence at my time o' life, an' I don't promise to continue at it more'n a few months."

"I see," sez he, "an' it'll be all right. Kid Porter'll be down with the buckboard day after to-morrow, an' you can go out with him."

When I went back I see that Bill hadn't spared no details to make me interestin', an' all the boys was friendly to me--an' called me Higinson. Me an' Frenchy got along all right, an' when I threw my saddle an' bridle into the back o' the buckboard, an' sez, "Well, good-bye, fellers! I'm on my way to the Pan Handle," they all calls out, "Goodbye, Happy! If any o' your friends inquire for you we'll tell 'em we saw you start; but the next time you come this way, Higinson, don't forget to drop in for a little sport."

Things generally even up pretty well in this life, an' before we had driven very far I was able to see where I had got full value out o'

that seven-dollar pony 'at Bill had beat me out of. Kid Porter explained things to me an' I saw it was goin' to be a purty fair sort of a layout. Our shack was closer to Danders than it was to headquarters, so we got our needin's there. He said that Colonel Scott was an allright man to work for, but that he'd only seen him once since he'd been on the job.

Ridin' fence is about as excitin' as waitin' for sun-up, an' after a couple of months at it I was feelin' the need of a little change, so I drove down to Danders the first day of April, an' while I was standin'

on the platform watchin' the train pull in an' take water, a cute little feller dismounted an' after givin' me a complete look-over, he sez: "Me good man, are you a type of this community?"

I put my hand to my ear as though I had heard a noise close to the ground. After a bit I let my gaze rest on him sort o' surprised like, an' then I sez in a soft, oozy voice, like a cow conversin' to her first calf, "Be you speakin' to me, little one?" sez I.

It allus riles me some, to be called "me good man." It seems to give me a curious, itchy feelin' in the right hand, an' I have had to make several extra peculiar speciments dance a few steps for no other reason; but this little cuss never batted an eye. He looks me square in the face, an' sez, "It is perfectly obvious that I could be addressin'

n.o.body else. I am out in the West hunting for a place to study the most p.r.o.nounced types of American citizens, an' I am very favorable impressed with your appearance."

Did you ever have a stranger brace you like that? I suppose the fat lady an' the livin' skeleton gets used to it, but I allus feel a trifle too big for my background. I stand six foot two an' dress easy an'

comfortable, an' some o' the guys on the trains allus seem to think 'at I'm part of the show, out for an airin'.

"Well, to tell you the truth, honey," I sez to the little feller, "I ain't fully maychured yet. We get hair on our faces pretty young out here, but we don't get our growth till we're twenty-five. I'm water-boy to the E. Z. outfit. If you want to see somethin' worth lookin' at, you ought to come out where the men are. You'll find American citizens out there, a darn sight harder type to p.r.o.nounce than what I am. They sent me to town on an errant."

He examined me, but I never blinked a winker, an' then his face lit up, like as if he'd found a whole plug of tobacco, when he thought his last chew was gone. Finally he gave a wink an' a chuckle, an' sez, "Here, smoke a cigar on me, an' tell me if I can get board out your way. I think you'll make copy."

He was just what I needed as a time-killer, so I spun him a yarn about the lovely life me an' Kid Porter was livin'. We jerked out his trunk just before the train left, bought a month's grub, an' came along out to our shack. His name was William Sinclair Hammersly, an' the' never was a squarer boy on the face o' the earth, after he'd shed off those spectator ways. He won my affections, as the storybooks say, before we was out o' sight o' Danders.

He said he had relations scattered all over the British Empire, an'

owned up that he had just come back from a long visit to England, where he had picked up the "good man" habit. I told him that it might suit that climate all right, but that out our way I couldn't recommend it to a peace-lovin' man for every-day use. He thanked me an' said he was ashamed to know so little about his own country, this bein' the first time he had ever been west of Philadelphia. He said that he was minded to become an author, an' had come out to study the aboriginal types an'

get the true local color. Whenever I hear this little bunch o' sounds, I know I got a nibble. Any time a man goes nosin' around after local color, you can bet your saddle he's got several zigzags in his think-organ.

These fellers is a breed to themselves. I wouldn't exactly call 'em wise--wordy'd come a sight nearer fittin' these local-color fellers without wrinklin'. The''s a ringin' in my ears yet from the time that I was penned up with Hammy an' Locals, an' this one had a good many o'

the same outward an' visible signs, but more o' the inward an'

spiritual grace, as Friar Tuck sez.

Bill slid right into our mode of livin' like a younger brother, but it took us some consid'able time to savvy his little private oddities.

The' was one wide bunk in the shack an' one narrow one. Me an' Bill took the wide one, but it wasn't so eternal wide that a feller could flop around altogether accordin' to the dictates of his own conscience.

When she was carryin' double we had to hold a little consultation of war, to see whether we'd turn over or not.

We used to start out early in the mornin', an' if the' wasn't much fixin' to be done we got back long before dark. About seven-thirty was our perchin' time before Bill took a hand, but after that we got so convivual that sometimes we'd sit up till purt' nigh half-past nine, playin' cut-throat an' swappin' tales. Sleep allus was a kind of a nuisance to Bill. Purt' nigh every night when me an' the Kid would stretch ourselves out, Bill would speak a piece about "G.o.d bless the man what first invented sleep"; but he was only joshin', an' all the time he was sayin' it he'd be buildin' up the fire an' changin' his clothes. He had one suit which he never wore for nothin' except just to sleep in. Pajamers, he called 'em, an' they sure was purty.

Well, he'd put on this suit an' a pair o' red-pointed slippers, light his pipe, pick his guitar, an' saw his fiddle till along toward mornin', all the while singin' little batches o' song an' speakin'

pieces. Then he'd heave a sigh an' lay down alongside o' me; but in about fifteen minutes he'd jump out o' bed, sayin', "That's good!

That's great! I mustn't lose that!" an' he'd get out a book an' write something into it. Sometimes he'd laugh over it an' sometimes he'd cry.

The Kid'd never had no experiences with geniuses before, an' at first he feared that he might get violent durin' the night, so he took his gun to bed with him, but I knowed the' wasn't a mite o' danger in him.

When breakfast was ready we purt' nigh had to get a hoss to pull him out o' bed.

I was interested in his tales of foreign countries, an' he used to tell me all about the castles he had been to. One day I happened to think of the letter what the drug clerk at Sloc.u.m's Luck had wrote us, an' I asked Bill what kind of a lookin' place Clarenden Castle was.

"Clarenden Castle?" sez Bill. "Where the deuce did you ever hear of Clarenden Castle?"

"Well, I might have heard of it from the younger son," sez I. "He came over to this country, you know."

"Where is he now?" sez Bill, mighty interested.

"Minin' law is, that the first feller what stakes out a claim gets it,"

sez I. "Now my question staked out the first claim. You answer my questions an' then we'll be ready for yours."

"Humph," sez Bill.

"Where is St. James Court, Bill?" sez I.