Jim Cummings; Or, The Great Adams Express Robbery Part 16

"Ah! yes, you hired it--they all say that--you hired it some time ago and have forgotten to pay the bill--"

"Well, I didn't either, I hired it for a week, and--"

"Really, Mr. Cook, you were going to make quite a visit--"

"My name ain't Cook."

"No? Let us call you Mr. Cook just for the sake of the argument. It's a good name, is Cook. I used to know a fellow named Cook once. He had a cooper-shop on the east bottoms, Kansas City. I went over to see him a week or so ago, and we had a high old time I can a.s.sure you. Cook was a very amusing gentleman. He could sing like Brignoli. What was that song he could sing so nicely? Oh! yes, I have it."

"For we'll pa.s.s the bottle 'round When we've--"

"The tramp!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Cook looking at Chip with amazement.

"The same, at your service, Mr. Cook, for that is your name, isn't it?"

"I'm caught," confessed the puzzled Cook. "What are you making game of me for? What do you want me for?"

"Nothing, nothing. We were afraid you might prolong your antic.i.p.ated visit to such a length that we grew homesick for you, so I got some of the boys together, a sort of a picnic, you know, to ask you not to stay too long," bantered Chip. "We really can't take 'no' for an answer, Mr.

Cook, really you must consider our feelings and return with us."

"I guess I can't help myself," said Cook grimly.

"It does look a little that way, don't it?"

Cook shook his head as he arose to his feet, and stooping over his dead horse unloosed the girth and drew off the saddle, nor did he make any objection when Chip secured his revolver and ammunition belt. Escape was entirely cut off from him and he accepted his capture in a resigned spirit, because he could not help himself.

"Brodey, how far is the railroad from here?"

"About fifteen miles over thar," pointing toward the east, "Blue Jacket lies thar, and is on the Missouri, Kansas and Texas."

"We'll make for it. You take the prisoner behind you and I will mount with Sam."

The cavalcade were soon in motion, leaving the dead horses to be devoured by the buzzards and coyotes which were already beginning to gather around.

Arriving at Blue Jacket, the party left Chip and his prisoner, and turning to the north cantered off for Kansas City.

CHAPTER XIII. SWANSON'S RANCHE--THE DETECTIVES IN ROBBER'S RETREAT--THE SUCCESS OF THE DOCTOR--ANOTHER ROBBERY PLANNED.

In the center of a beautiful valley, with high, rugged bluffs rising on all sides, and intersected by a clear stream of spring water, which fell in tiny cascades and little waterfalls, turning and twisting like a silver snake, stood Swanson's Ranche. The low frame building, surrounded on four sides by a wide porch, and standing on a gentle elevation which fell away to the creek, was the home of the redoubtable Swanson, who was monarch of all he surveyed for miles around. The evening was rapidly advancing into night, and the large open fireplace, huge and yawning, was roaring with the cheerful fire which Swanson's obedient squaw had built, that her liege lord might not be chilled by the cold wind which whistled over the plains.

The floor of the large room, covered with fur rugs and huge buffalo-skins, was made of pounded clay, and the feet of many years had hardened it to almost stone-like solidity.

Saddles, lariats, rifles, high boots, and all the trappings and harness belonging to a cowboy's outfit littered the place, and stretched out on the robes and furs, in easy, careless att.i.tudes, lay some half-dozen men.

Jim c.u.mmings and Dan Moriarity were of the number. Thick clouds of tobacco smoke curled and eddied to the low ceiling, and seated near the fire to get the benefit of the light were a couple of card-playing ranchmen, indulging in a game of California Jack.

Standing with his back to the blaze, his feet spread apart, and his hands deep in his pockets, stood the owner of the ranche--Swanson. Cast in a Herculean mold, he stood over six feet tall, his broad shoulders surmounted by a neck like a bull, and his red, cunning face, almost hid from sight by the thick, bushy whiskers which covered it.

He had been relating, with great gusto, some adventure in which he had played a prominent part, and raising his broad hand in the air he brought it down on a table near him, as he exclaimed:

"And if any detective comes skulking around this shanty, I swear I'll cut out his sneaking heart, and make him eat it raw"--when the sound of horses broke the thread of his discourse, and a voice was heard shouting:

"h.e.l.lo-o-o, the house!"

"Yes, an be right smart about it, dis chile most froze."

A young fellow near the door sprang to open it, and thrusting his head out, said:

"Come in, there's no dogs around."

"Dats all right, honey, we ain't got no fear of de hounds, me an' the Doctor ain't."

"Keep quiet, you black imp," said the voice which had first been heard, "Hobble the nags and bring in my saddle, boys."

"All right, sah; I's hearin' you, sah."

To this conversation, which had taken place outside, the men in the room had listened with great interest. Anything was welcome that served to break the monotony of ranche life, and a stir of expectation went through the room as the two strangers were heard dismounting.

The door opened and the new-comers entered.

"By the great horn spoon if this ain't the old hoss doctor hisself!"

exclaimed Swanson, as he reached out his huge paw. "I thought the Apaches had lifted your scalp years ago."

"You can't kill a good hoss doctor, Swanson," replied the Doctor, grasping the offered hand and giving it a hearty shake. "Good hoss doctors don't grow on every bush."

"Boys," said Swanson, turning the Doctor around. "This hyar gentleman is Doctor Skinner--"

"Late graduate of the Philadelphia Veterinary Surgical Inst.i.tute. Has practised in seventeen States and four Territories. Can cure anything on hoofs, from the devil to the five-legged broncho of Arizona, which has four legs, one on each corner, and one attached to his left flank.

With it, he can travel faster than the swiftest race horse, and when hunted by the native red men, he throws it over his neck, and smiles urbanely upon his baffled pursuers."

Swanson roared with delight as the Doctor rolled this off his tongue, and slapping him on the back, cried:

"You're the same old codger. Haven't changed an inch in seven years.

You've got to stay here a week, two weeks, a month. I've plenty of sick stock, and some of the boys have horses that need polishing."

"Yes, sah!" broke in the Doctor's companion, a full-blooded negro.

"We's gwine to camp down hyar shuah a monf--"

"Hold your tongue, Scip," said the Doctor. "I'm the talking man here.

Yes! gentlemen," addressing the attentive cowboys, "I can cure anything that touches the ground--biped, quadruped, or centipede--glanders, botts, greased hoofs, heaves, blind staggers, it makes no odds. My universal, self-acting, double compound elixir of equestrian ointment will perform a cure in each and every case. It is cheap! It is sure! It is patented! It is the best, and it is here. You may roll up, you may tumble up, you may walk up, any way to get up, or send your money up, and you will receive a two-quart bottle of this precious liquid, of which I am the sole owner, proprietor and manufacturer."

Again Swanson expressed his unbounded delight, and the audience signified their entire approbation by shouting:

"Go it, old hoss; keep it up!"