Red Saunders' Pets and Other Critters Part 16

"He's making a strong push, so the head-waiter-lady tells me, and she thinks it's a shame, because he has a shifty eye, for all his religious talk, and Lorna's such a nice girl. 'Twas the kind friend who has the cellar on the corner, where anti-prohibition folks may indulge their religion unmolested, that told me of the work. He spotted him for a crook first peep. Also he seemed to grasp the fact that these almost orthodox whiskers of mine had been cut in other ways. So we talked confidential. The barkeep liked Cactus and prohibition, and said he didn't want the people done dirt by a putty-faced ex-potato-bug.

'These boys,' says he, 'put away more good stuff than the drinkers.

They want the cussed rum disposed of forever. I make as high as thirty a day in this little joint, and the other part of the town is strictly on the level. Couldn't you give our friend, Mr. Paris, a gentle push?'"

"My G.o.d!" says I, "that bucko will be Helen the Fair and the rest of Homer if he ain't roped! He's making too free with old-time literature. He used to be Troy," I says to the barkeep, and then I come here.

"Well, durn his tintype!" says we, "how did you get a look at him?"

"Introduced," says Ag, "he more'n half remembered me, but the strange place, the new cut in the whiskers, the hearty handshake, and the fact that I'd just come from N' York did the trick."

"Well, ain't you kind of got it in for him yet?" says the cow-punch.

Ag looked at him. "No," says he, "I revere him. But when he comes to ringin' in ancient history, he'll find that I'm a wooden horse that can gallop--that I'm only called Agamemnon for fun. That, really, I used to spank our former friend, Achilles, to develop his nervous system.

Oh, no!" says Ag, "Troy to me is only a system of measurements, a myth, or the d.a.m.nedest hole in the U. S. However, we shall be at the Christmas tree. And Mr. Troy--Paris will be there, also, as little as he dreams it."

We spent the next few days in a state of restlessness, because Aggy said he'd explain when the news would do us good. One thing made the cow-punch ready for gun practice right off, Mr. Troy was a slippery cuss, and he had rather ki-boshed Jack Hunter's girl. He hung around her, fetched and carried, nailed up greens for her and all that, till you could see he was leaving himself two trails--either skip with the funds or marry the girl. He had one day left to choose. Having locoed the townsfolk into giving him the management of the festivities, he stood well, and he wasn't a bad looker neither. He had an easy, slippery tongue for a young girl: not like Ag's methods--in any gatherin' Ag could make George Washington or General Grant look like visitors--but smooth and languishin'.

I had to calm the cow-punch by telling him we was in a law and order community, and that shootin' was rude, also that Aggy could be counted on to do everything necessary. That morning Ag gave me strict orders, according to which I loped out to a little canyon where a spring bubbled, and there, sure enough, was Troy, talkin' honey to Jack's girl. I slid close enough to hear him. He made out a good case, but when it come to the last card the girl wasn't so interested in the story. She had sense after all; girls can't be blamed for being a little foolish. Well, Troy, he argued and urged, till at last up gits little Lorna and says it's impossible, and that there's another man in the question, and so Troy stands there mournful till she's out of sight, and then hikes for the railroad, with a two-hundred dollar cash present for the minister in his pocket, and probably another seventy-five or a hundred in odds and ends.

And after him went Hy Smith, also. He flagged a train about a mile out of town and hopped aboard. I come out of the bush and took the last car, telling the brakie a much-needed man had got on forward. Also, I took the Con. into my confidence. So just when we pulled into the next town I steps behind Mr. Troy, puts a gun against the back of his neck, and read the paper Ag had prepared for me.

"Now, Mr. Troy, alias Paris, alias Goat, etc., come with me, or go forward in the icebox. Don't make a fuss or we'll alarm the ladies--I've read you the warrant!"

He walked ahead as meek as Moses. By a cross-cut across the hills it weren't more than four mile to Cactus, and Troy stepped it like a four-year-old.

We come in behind the church. "That you, Hy?" says Ag. "Bring our friend, Mr. Troy, through the rear. If you don't know the way, he'll sell you a map for ten dollars."

"Whenever you want to die, just holler," says I to Troy. It was a quiet journey. When we got inside, there was Ag and the cow-punch, smiling kindly. Ag was mixing paint in a pot.

"They used few colours in this edifice," says Ag, "otherwise I could have produced something surprising. Blue for the hair," says he, "a sign of purity." So he painted Troy's hair blue. And he painted a red stripe down the nose and small queer rings all over his face, and with a pair of lamp scissors he roached Troy's name like a mule--and, well, he did make something uncommon out of Troy.

"Lovely _thing_!" says Ag, coquettish, and pokes him with his finger.

Troy, he didn't say nothing. In fact, when you come to think of it, there wasn't many sparkling thoughts for him to put out.

"I got a few other traps we need," says Ag, pulling out a long coiled wire spring (off a printing press, I reckon). "Come on," he says, "and we'll fix something to entertain all the children." We put a belt on Troy, run a line through it and hitched on the spring. The cow-punch, he crawled up to the peak of the roof with a pulley, made it fast and pa.s.sed Mr. Troy's line through it. Then Ag took a brace and bit, boring a one-inch hole in the floor, and give instructions to a pair of Injuns in the cellar.

Then we yee-heed brother Troy to the top of the tree, running the rope's end down the hole to the Injuns. Troy had a lighted candle tied fast to each hand.

"Now, you Greek mythology," says Ag, "mind my words; you are to flap your arms and squeak 'Mah-mah' as you merrily go up and down; otherwise, my kyind a.s.sistants in the cellar are instructed to pull down so hard that when they let go, you and that able-bodied spring will fly right through the roof. Light the candles, boys." We lit the candles, slipped the curtain, and the crowd filed in--face to face with Brother Troy, blue-haired Troy; ringed, striped, and be-speckled; flyin' through the air ten foot a trip, flappin' his arms and yelling "Mah-mah."

I reckon no such thing had ever been behelded by anybody in that church before, no matter how many Christmas trees they'd seen. They just stood like they was charmed, and their heads and hands was keeping motion with Troy.

Ag give two small knocks with his heel, and Troy went right up into the darkness; the cow-punch grabbed him, cut his lines, and said: "Skin, you sucker! Hike along the edge and jump out the belfry."

The folks thought it was a grand piece arranged for their benefit, and they hollered and laughed and clapped their hands. But there was one deacon who hadn't been nursed by the Dove of Peace all his life. In fact, he reminded me of a man who used to deal stud-poker up Idaho way; and he came around and cast a steady eye on Aggy.

"You people might have lost there," says Aggy, pa.s.sing out the minister's purse and the other truck. "Paris is gay and not orthodox."

The deacon, he nodded his head. "I had a pipe line run on that geeser from the minute he blew in," says he. "Where's he now?"

"Runnin' fast," says Aggy; "just where I don't know."

"You gentlemen goin' to tarry with us?" says the deacon. "It's a fine little town and I'm glad to be good, but crimp my hair if I don't feel lonesome at times. I should like to exchange reminiscences occasionally. I hope you'll stay."

"It's a pleasant man who keeps the corner cellar," says Ag, "but his whiskey has the flavour of old rags. Now my throat----"

"Don't say a word," says the deacon, drawin' a small half-gallon flask out of his clothes. "Do the snake-swallowin' act to your hearts'

content, gentlemen, and remember there's just simply barrels more where that comes from. And now," says he, when the gurgling stopped, "let's go in and see the fun. Them's awful innocent, good-hearted folk, boys.

I tell you straight, it works in through my leather to see 'em play."

We stepped where we could look at them; happy-faced mothers, giggling and happy little kids, and pretty girls--lots of 'em. And it lit through my hide, too.

"I s'pose you kin explain, Mr. Jones?" says the deacon, punchin' Ag in the ribs.

"Explain?" says Ag, proud. "Appoint me custodian of the bottle, and I hereby agree to explain anything: why brother Paris left us so completely, what became of Charley Ross, who struck Billy Patterson, where are the ships of Tyre, or any other problem the mind of man can conjure, from twice two to the handwriting on the wall."

"Forrud, march," says the deacon simply, and we j'ined them kind and gentle people under the Christmas tree.

A Touch of Nature

"These are odd United States," said Red. They certainly are. I'm thinking of a person I knew down in the Bill Williams Mountains, in Arizona. He was Scotch and his name was Colin Hiccup Grunt, as near as I could hear it. I never saw anything in Arizona nor any other place that resembled him in any particular.

We met by chance, the usual way, and the play come up like this: I'm going cross country, per short-cut a friend tells me about--this was when I was young; I could have got to where I was going in about four hours' riding, say I moved quick, by the regular route, but now I'm ten hours out of town, and all I know about where I am is that the heavens are above me and any quant.i.ty of earth beneath me. For the last two hours I've been losing bits of my disposition along the road, and now I'm looking for a dog to kick. Here we come to a green gulch with a chain of pools at the bottom of it.

I got off to take a drink. Soon's I lay down there's a snort and a clatter, and my little horse Pepe is moving for distance, head up and tail up, and I'm foot loose forty miles from nowhere. This was after the time of Victorio, still there was a Tonto or two left in the country, for all the government said that the Apaches were corralled in Camp Grant, so I made a single-hearted scamper for a rock.

Then I looked around--nothin' in sight; I raised my eyes and my jaw dropped. Right above me on the side-hill sits a man, six foot and a half high and two foot and a half wide, dressed in a wool hat, short skirts, and bare legs. His nose and ears looked like they'd been borrowed from some large statue. His hair was red; so's mine, but mine was the most lady-like kind of red compared to his--a gentle, rock-me-to-sleep-mother tint, whilst his got up and cussed every other colour in the rainbow. Yes, sir; there he sat, and he was knittin' a pair of socks! For ten seconds I forgot how good an excuse I had to be vexed, and just braced myself on my arms and looked at him and blinked.

"Well, no wonder, Pepe busted," thinks I, and with that my troubles come back to me. "I don't know what in the name of Uncle Noah's pet elephant you are," says I to myself. "Male and female he made 'em after their kind, and your mate may do me up, but if I don't take a hustle out of you there'll be no good reason for it." And feeling this way, I moved to him.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Yes, sir; there he sat, and he was knittin' a pair of socks!]

"Now," says I, "explain yourself."

"Heugh!" says he, just flittin' his little gray eyes on me and going on with his knittin' as if he hadn't seen anything worth wasting eyesight on.

I swallered hard. "Another break like that," I thinks, "and his family have no complaint."

"One more question and you are done," says I. "Do you think it's fair to sit on a hill and look like this? How would you feel if you come on me unexpected, and I looked like you?"

By way of reply, he reached behind him--so did I. But it wasn't a gun he brought forth; it was a sort of big toy balloon with three sticks to it. Without so much as a glance in my direction, he proceeded to blow on one stick and wiggle his fingers on the others. Instantly our good Arizona air was tied in a knot. It was great in its way. You could hear every stroke of the man filing the saw; the cow with the wolf in her horn bawled as natural as could be, and as for the stuck pig, it sounded so life-like I expected to see him round the corner. But at the same time it was no kind of an answer to my question, and I kicked the musical implement high in the air, sitting down on my shoulder blades to watch it go, and also to acknowledge receipt of one bunch of fives in the right eye, kindness of Grandma in the short skirts.

Beware of appearances! Nothin' takes so much from the fierce appearance of a man as short skirts and sock-knitting, but up to this date the hand of man hasn't pasted me such a welt as I got that day.

Then, sir, Grandma and I had a real good old-fashioned time. I grabbed him and heaved him over the top of my head. "Heugh!" says he as he flew. He'd no more than touched ground before he had me nailed by the legs, and I threw a handspring over his head. From that on it was just like a circus all the way down the hill to where we fell off the ledge into the pool--twenty-five foot of a drop, clear, to ice-water--wow!

'J'ever see a dog try to walk on the water when he's been chucked in unexpected? Well, that was me. I was nice and warm from rastlin' with Grandma before I hit, and I went down, down, down into the deeps, until my stummick retired from business altogether. I come up tryin' to swaller air, but it was no use. I got to dry land. Behind me was the old Harry of a foamin' in the drink--Grandma couldn't swim. Well, I got him out, though I was in two minds to let him pa.s.s--the touch of that water was something to remember.