Just then we sees an Injun coming down the road. It’s old Two-Sleeps, riding his pinto to a frazzle. He skids up in a cloud of dust, throws up one skinny arm and yells:
“Hyah! Tenas tsolo! Wah!” And away he goes, off down the road.
Chuck wiggles his ears at me and brushes some dust off his nose.
“What in the world did he say?” asks auntie.
“He said,” says Chuck, “he said that the Aparejo Indians were on the war-path again.”
“Is he one of them?” asks uncle anxious-like.
“Him? Naw; he’s a Tapidero. Reckon we better get to the ranch.”
“Does it—it hurt to get scalped?” asks uncle as we bounce along.
“Not after you get used to it,” says I. “Very few people ever complain about the pain.”
I didn’t quite sabe what the Injun said, but it was something like “small lost,” whatever that might be. We drove up to the front of the ranch-house and begins unloading the plunder.
“You’ve a comfortable-looking home, James,” admits auntie.
“Uh-huh; I sure have. I spent a lot of—my——!”
I looks at the door and blinks my eyes three times, but it won’t go away. There is Muley Bowles with a yaller wig on his fat head and one of them polky-dot Mother Hubbard dresses on. In one fat hand he’s got a peacock-feather fan.
Chuck’s knees wabble and he kneels right down at the foot of the steps and looks up at her—him—like one of them pictures of a Buddha-worshiper.
I leaned on a wheel and slid flat on the ground, while the relation sure got both eyes full. I’d tell a man that Muley is some female.
“Well!” gasps auntie, who beats us all out on vocal vitality. “Is—is—this——”
“Uh-huh,” says Muley in a high voice. “It is.”
“By gad!” I hears uncle gasp. “If she’s frail——”
“So this is James’s wife,” says auntie awed-like, fanning herself with her hand. “I—I—It must be the heat.”
“Well, anyway, we are glad to meet you,” says Cousin Molly, shaking Muley’s hand. “James said that you——”
“Don’t mind him,” says Muley. “He’s the dangdest——”
“You folks better go inside,” says I. “It’s too hot here in the sun.”
Ricky slips in beside me and whispers in my ear—
“That dress was about seven feet too wide for me, Hen, and Muley had to be her.”
“Were you joking about your wife?” asks Molly, shaking her finger at Chuck.
“Well,” says Chuck weak-like, “let your judgment be your guide.”
“Now,” says auntie, “I want to see that wonderful child.”
“Child,” parrots Chuck. “Oh, ye-e-e-e-s, the child. Uh—uh——”
“Coming up,” says Ricky soft-like, pointing at the door to the kitchen.
Chuck wets his lips and rubs his hand across his face. I don’t blame him.
Standing there in the door, sucking at the top of a battered molasses can, is a dirty little Injun kid about three years old. Right then I remembers old Two-Sleeps’s words, “Tenas tsolo.” He meant “Lost kid.” Them snake-hunters have kidnapped his papoose.
“How—how old is—uh—it?” asks uncle foolish-like.
“Th-three mum-months,” breaths Chuck.
“By gad, they mature young!”
“Uh-huh,” grunts Chuck, wiggling his ears real fast. “Don’t you think he looks like her mother?”
“Haw! Haw! Haw!” roars Ricky. “Don’t he look——”
But I kicks him on the ankle and rushes him outside.
“Ain’t you got a lick of sense?” I inquires. “Muley looks about as much like a female as a humming-bird looks like an elephant. That was one fine idea, swiping that Injun kid.”
“Aw, that’s nothing, Hen. Old Two-Sleeps has so many kids that he won’t miss this one for a week. Seen anything of Telescope?”
“Soused in Paradise.”
“Muley got three bird-shot in his knee when we swiped that dress. Of course we had to stop and sing a song, and some fool at the Seven A dusted us with a shotgun. It was a cinch to swipe that kid.”
I don’t say a word, but just the same I wonders how Ricky’s patent leather hair is going to look hanging up in a teepee.
Then uncle comes out and pilgrims down to us.
“By gad, I like this place of James’s,” says he. “Like to own one like it.”
“Maybe you could buy it,” says I.
“Yes, I might. James has offered to sell me half interest.”
“Half?” I gasps, and then me and Ricky gawps at each other.
“Yes, sir, and at a bargain, too. By the way, you mentioned something about the Indians being on the war-path.”
“War-path?” says Ricky. “Injuns?”
“Uh-huh,” says I. “Two-Sleeps went past us like a bat out of —— and yells, ‘Tenas tsolo!’”
Ricky sabes Chinook. He revolves the statement over in his mind and blinks his eyes fast.
“By the way,” says uncle, “is it—er—true that James’s wife is—er—a bit touched in the head?”
“Bit!” snorts Ricky. “She’s crazy as a shepherd. Her heart is all right, but she sure is rickety on top.”
“Don’t you think she’s sweet?” I asks.
“Well,” says uncle slow-like, “I am not a corner sewer so I’d hate to answer. Anyway I believe in letting every one have their own opinions.”
“Neither do I,” says Ricky, and just then Chuck and the two women come out of the house.
“We are going to look around the farm,” says Cousin Molly.
“Ex-cuse me,” says I. “I’ve got work to do.”
“I do not think we need the services of the hired help,” says auntie haughty-like.
Ricky thinks he’s smart. He makes a motion like he was throwing a rope, stoops over, makes a few more motions and then throws up one hand. Chuck grabs out his watch, snaps it back into his pocket and wiggles his ears.
“A world’s record!” he gasps. “One second flat.”
He meant I had been roped and hog-tied in one second.
“Gracious!” exclaims auntie. “What does that mean, James?”
“That?” gulps Chuck. “Why that’s the—uh—sympathy sign of the Sacred order of Slingers. Henry is the High Priest of the Hemp-Handlers.”
I takes off my hat to Chuck with four fingers outspread and the thumb to the rear, and then I wanders back toward the house, where Hop Louey the Chink cook is watching the sight-seeing bunch.
“Where them folks come flum?” he asks.
“I don’t know, Hop.”
“How long stay?”
“Maybe all Summer.”
“Goo’-by!”
Hop wipes his face on his sleeve.
“No good. Too much flemale, you sabe? I no cook fo’ flemale—too much kick. Maybe I go San Flancisco—goo’-by.”
“I guess you won’t!” snaps a voice behind us, and we turns to see Muley.
For once in his life that Oriental shows emotion. He stares at Muley for a moment and then starts backing away. His lower jaw seems to joggle every time his heels hit the ground, and as soon as he figures he’s got a chance he whirls and runs, with Muley right behind him.
Muley is handicapped by that skirt, but I figures that Hop is too blamed shocked to make it a long race. They went right through the inspection party at the corner of the corral and off into the mesquite like a Great Dane chasing a cotton-tail.
It sure was some shock to the sightseers. They seems to talk it over a bit, and then uncle strides up to me.
“Has she had a turn for the worse?” he asks.
I starts to say something when here comes Muley. He’s got his hand wrapped in the slack of Hop’s panties and is packing him like he was a valise. He stands Hop on the porch and gives him a shove.
“Inside!” he roars. “You —— fool, we’ve got company!”
Hop didn’t argue. His pigtail don’t no more than disappear when we hears him whanging tinware to beat four of a kind. I can see Chuck talking with both hands, while Ricky leans against the corral fence and seems to nurse cramps in his stummick.
I’ve had about enough. When they comes my way I circles the herd and climbs to safety on the top pole of the corral. I sure feels sorry for the little feller with the lantern.
I’ve been there long enough to smoke two cigarets when here comes uncle. He’s got a black eye, and the rest of his face registers revolution.
“Did you see where he went?” he asks, peering up at me.
“Did he have a lantern?” I asks.
“Lantern?”
Uncle rubs his eye.
“He—he did not.”
“To me you are speaking of which?” I asks.
“That Henderson person. I—I apprehended him in the act of hugging James’s wife!”
“My——!” says I. “He must be crazy.”
“Crazy? By gad, I think the whole country is crazy. I told James about it and he actually grew hysterical. I pointed out the enormity of it all, and he cried—actually cried, by gad!”
“And then he busted you in the eye?”
“James? No, the—I could see that James’s nerves were in no condition to uphold the honor of the family; so I took it upon myself. I went to this Henderson person and I said to him—
“‘Sir, in the name of my family I demand satisfaction.’”
“He said—
“‘Sorry, but we haven’t any today.’
“I said—
“‘You have offered an insult to my brother, and I resent it.’”
“Then you had a fight?”
“I said to him, ‘Only blows can wipe out the stain,’ and he said, ‘Uncle, I’m sorry, but if you insist——’
“And then he embraced me and bumped me twice in the eye. I had no chance to retaliate, but by gad I am not yet hors de combat.”
“Stick with that razor-rassler and you will be, old-timer,” says I as I watches him toddle back to the house.
There’s something familiar about that old coot, but I can’t figure out where it is.
Then I sees Chuck sneaking around the corner of the fence. He wiggles his ears at me, peers at the house and then climbs up to have a quiet smoke.
“James,” says I, “you’ve rised—and put a chunk under it.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Ricky hit the old gent in the eye.”
“Yeah, with his head. The old coot wanted to fight a deathly doodle. He caught Ricky and Muley hugging each other. Haw! Haw! Haw!
“Aw, Henry, it’s one awful mess. There’s only two beds in the house. See what I mean? Uncle and auntie in one; Cousin Molly in the other, and no place for Chuck and his wifie.
“Can’t sleep in the bunk-house with the riffraff. Molly says that I can sleep with the boys.”
“Well,” says I, “it ain’t night yet. Lots of things can happen.”
“They likely will, Henry.”
“Just about what do they think of your wife and child?”
“Think? They think that my wife is loco, and they’re humoring her to beat ——, while that blamed Piegan kid talks infant Injun to all of them. If I had Telescope here I’d bust his wish-bone.”
“Zasso? Zasso?”
We turns and looks down at Telescope.
“Would, eh? Try it, feller. I’m a uncurried wolf and I’ve come to howl.”
I can see that he’s suffering from a doubleloaded jag. He must ’a’ got good and full and then sobered half-way, after which he built up another one. It’s like putting both loads in one barrel of a muzzle-loading gun. It sort of leaves an air-space between, and when she goes off—something busts, sure as ——.
“Aw, have a little sense,” grunts Chuck. “Get meek, feller; get meek.”
“Zasso? Zasso? You don’t shay. Well, well!”
“Aw, go soak your head!” snaps Chuck, “Crawl into a hay-stack and get sober.”
“Zasso? Who’re you to order me round? M’ conscience hurts me. Goin’ up to th’ house. Sabe? Go ’head and stop me, feller. Got conscience, y’betcha.”
“He’s got a conscience, Chuck,” says I. “Let him go. Somebody’s got to spill the beans pretty soon anyway.”
Telescope nods foolish-like and weaves toward the house.
“Good night,” sighs Chuck. “Muley may as well put on his pants.”
Telescope is almost to the house when he stops.
“Look!” gasps Chuck. “My ——, he’s got the shotgun!”
Uncle steps through the door and yells at Telescope:
“Stop, Hell-Fire Jones! Stop, or I’ll fire.”
Telescope stops and rocks on his heels.
“Fire, will yuh?” he wails. “Zasso? Well, well!”
“Indeed I will, sir.”
“Good,” grunts Telescope. “Fire when ready, ’cause I may do little shootin’ myshelf.”
Telescope was too drunk to hit anything. He saw three men and forgot to shoot at the one in the middle. The first barrel of that shotgun tore a hunk out of the eaves of the porch, and the next one pattered shot on the bunk-house window.
Telescope’s first shot went through the kitchen stove-pipe and the next one busted a window in the kitchen. I seen Hop Louey go out of the back door with the slack of his pants in one hand and a fry-pan in the other, while Telescope took his gun in both hands and shot four holes in the ground between him and the porch.
“Zasso?” he yelps when his gun is empty. “Goin’ to fire, eh? How do you like it as far as you’ve gone, eh?”
Just then Muley walks out to the door, leading that dirty-faced Injun kid by the hand. They walks up in front of Telescope and stops.
“Look out, Clarice!” howls uncle. “That’s Hell-Fire!”
Telescope seems to swaller hard, and then shakes his head.
“Tha’s all right,” says he. “Tha’s all right. Gawd knows I’ll welcome pro’bishun with open arms. Oh, I cer’ly will, believe me.”
“I am Mrs. James Valiant Tolliver, and this is little Alicia,” states Muley.
“Oh, tha’s all right,” says Telescope. “Per-fec-lee all right. I’m goin’ to try and get out before anybody sees me, ma’am. Had nice time at your party, and I wish thee a fond fare-thee-well. Adios, klahowya and so-long.”
Telescope turns and walks like a man asleep. He goes right down to the horsetrough, where he tries to get a drink. It’s perfectly all right for a man to lean over and drink out of a trough—if he’s a contortionist, but Telescope wasn’t.
We fished him out and put him on his bronc.
“You ought to quit drinking,” says Chuck sad-like.
“Zasso?” splutters Telescope. “Your advice came too late, feller. I quit jus’ before the boat went down.”
Then cometh auntie. It’s a cinch she’s got something on her mind. “I won’t stand for it another minute!” she wails. “Such goings-on I’ve never seen before, James. That friend of yours hit your uncle in the eye when he accused him of kissing Clarice, and now this unmentionable Jones person fires upon us. It is awful!”
Auntie stands there and pants with indignation.
“James, I fear you did not tell us all in your letters.”
“Well,” says Chuck, wiggling his ears, “you’re entitled to your own opinions, but I’d say that you’ve been told too —— much.”
“James,” says she severely, “how old is little Alicia?”
“Old? Th-three or four months, I reckon.
“You reckon, do you? She has all of her teeth.”
“Yes’m,” weakly. “She’s a careful child.”
“James, you are lying to me. That child is at least three years old.”
“Yes’m.”
“How long have you been married?”
“Three or fuf-four months.”
“Great Heavens! James!”
“Honestly,” says Chuck, wiggling his ears.
“Honestly! Oh, this is awful!” and auntie fades back toward the house.
“Chuck,” says I, “you’ll have to admit that you got your dates mixed that time.”
“Temporarily,” admits Chuck. “I’m going to need your help, Henry.”
“You won’t get it. I’m going to town. Sabe? Telescope is my beloved friend and all the trimmings, but I still got too much respect for my immortal soul to put it in hock forever.”
“Aw-w-w-w! Ricky quit me, and now you renegs. He said he was willing to do anything for Telescope’s sake, but said he can’t forget the emery-dust and the kerosene.
“Well, go on. I’ve still got a wife and a child, and duty makes me stay.”
He flops his arms resigned-like, and watches me fade toward town.
I finds Telescope draped over a bar, trying to tell something to Jay Bird Whittaker, who ain’t supposed to be there at all.
“Henry,” says Jay Bird soft-like, “what is Telescope talking about?”
“I don’t read minds in the daytime,” says I. “I was educated in a night school.”
“He’s begged my pardon ten times,” wonders Jay Bird, “and his wau-wau is so mixed that I can’t find out why. Where’s Muley?”
“I don’t know. He ain’t been himself since you left.”
“Ain’t, eh? Where’s Chuck?”
“Oh, he’s lying around some place.”
“That’s a cinch. What have you done since I left?”
“Me? Huh, I—I been watching that branding-iron.”
Jay Bird takes a deep breath and gets tears in his eyes. He sure does appreciate things.
“Thanks, Henry,” says he. “You sure look after my interests.”
“Ain’t you back sooner than you expected?”
“How long do yuh think I want to stay in the wicked city? Believe me, Henry, I get back as soon as possible; back to the open country, where men’s souls are clean and their hearts are pure. Yeah? Back to honest men—men you can trust. I hope you ain’t forgot where you hid that branding-iron.”
“Going out to the ranch?”
“Just as soon as I can hitch up.”
I grabbed my bronc and got away ahead of him. I figures to tell Chuck and Muley and let them use their own judgment, but my bronc hits a gopher-hole when I’m cutting corners and I has to lead it the last mile.
I went into the back door just as Jay Bird drives up in front. The whole gang is in there, and I hears Chuck gasp:
“Holy henhawks! Here comes Jay Bird. Get ready to sing.”
“Sing?” says auntie. “Sing what?”
“Anything, anything!” groans Chuck. “Music hath charms to soothe the savage beast.”
“Is—is he savage?” asks uncle, leaning over toward that shotgun.
“Worst yuh ever seen,” whispers Chuck. “Don’t even think of a gun.”
Jay Bird stamps up on to the porch and pokes inside the door, where he stares at the assemblage. Jay Bird ain’t much older than the rest of the Cross J outfit, but he’s fiercer-looking by several fierces.
From uncle’s throat comes, soft and low— “The-e-e-e sun shines bright on my o-o-o-old Ken-tuck-e-e-e-e-e ho-o-o-o-o-me.”
“I’m co-o-o-o-o-o-ming, I’m co-o-o-o-o-m-ming, and my head is bending lo-o-o-o-o-w,” wails auntie with her nose in the air.
“I am no-o-o-o-o-o bod-e-e-e-e-e’s dar-r-r-r-r-r-ling, nobody cahares for me-e-e-e-e-e,” adds Chuck sad and low, hanging on to the notes like a hungry pup to a dish-rag.
Jay Bird stares at everybody and then scratches his head.
“We-e-e-e-e-p no more my lady,” wails uncle, hooking his immortal soul on to them words.
“I hear the angel voices ca-a-a-a-a-lling, O-o-o-o-old Black Joe,” weeps auntie, plumb off the tune by this time.
“Gol A’mighty!” gasps Jay Bird, wide-eyed. “Gol A’mighty, it must be me. It’s more reasonable to reckon that I’m crazy than to think all that bunch is.”
He looks us over again and then gets mad.
“Shut up that howling! For ——’s sake, shut up! If I’m crazy I’m crazy, but I ain’t dead yet! Gol dingle dang——”
Then he gets a good look at Muley with the papoose on his lap.
“Go ahead and sing,” he croaks. “What the —— do I care?”
“Ay am O-o-o-olaf,” states a voice behind him, and there stands a big hombre with a taffy-colored mustache, little blue eyes and a pair of hands that look like prize hams.
“Ay am O-o-o-olaf,” says he again.
“All right,” says Jay Bird hoarse-like. “If I’ve got to listen to a Swede song I reckon I can. Man in my condition can stand anything.”
“Ay don’t sing—Ay fight,” announces Olaf.
“Oh,” says Jay Bird. “Bull, booze or prize?”
“Ay am fighter, you bet your life. Ay coom har to knock —— out for somebody. My seester Hoolda say somebody say to her—
“‘Hoolda, I like for marry you.’
“Hoolda say—
“‘Sure.’
“Den Hoolda coom to marry das reiler, and he say to her:
“‘You mistake about das. Ay vish to have you, but no’ting doing mit preachers. Ay am har to knock —— from dat man—me.’”
“Jay Bird,” says Jay Bird, “you’re crazy or asleep. Pretty soon you’ll wake up and——”
“The redskin!” yelps uncle.
Right at the bottom of the steps stands Two-Sleeps with his war-bonnet down over one eye and a mean look on his face. He’s been taking patent medicine or vanilla extract until he’s flavored from stem to gudgeon, and in his hands is an old Sharps buffalo gun. He stands there teetering in his old moccasins with his lower jaw hanging loose.
“Ay vish to see de man Ay coom to fight,” states Olaf.
“Very peculiar,” says Jay Bird foolish-like, looking from the Injun to the Swede and then at us. “Singers, fighters and war-whoops.”
“Pollatch nika tenas!” whoops Two-Sleeps, which means, “Give me my kid.”
He shoves his war-bonnet back on his head and scowls at us.
“Yatso tl’klope wau-wau!”
“My ——!” breathes Chuck. “The Hair Cut told him. Dang Ricky!”
Two-Sleeps jams his bonnet down over the other eye and takes a good grip on that gun.
“Nika mamook memaloot!” he whoops, which gently informs us that he’s going to kill somebody.
“What he say?” asks Olaf. “Da Inchun.”
“He says he didn’t intend to marry Hulda,” replies Chuck.
I read once about the Vikings roaring into battle—and I believe they did. Olaf lets it percolate into this thick head, lets out a lung-busting yell and gallops straight for the poor Indian.
Two-Sleeps belies his name. I’ve never seen a sober Injun that had anything on him when it comes to speed. That aborigine sure hit the back trail, whooping his discomfort every time he hit the earth, and right behind him comes the avenger.
They gallop straight for the bunk-house corner. I seen Olaf stoop in his stride and pick up a wagon-spoke, and just as the Injun is about to cut the corner Olaf sticks his heels into the dirt, raises the spoke and lets it go.
It was a mighty heave. Opinions differ as to how far a human being could throw a wagon-spoke, but I think that Olaf’s would stretch into first place if nothing had interfered; but just then Telescope rides around the corner humped up in the saddle, and when the Injun ducked under the bronc the spoke hit Telescope between the bridge of his nose and the brim of his hat.
Telescope is hit so hard that he don’t even shiver. The bronc goes into the air, whales away at the Injun with both hind feet and then bucks straight for Olaf.
Olaf beat them to the fence, where the bronc whirls and bucks back toward the house, but Olaf didn’t know that. In his mind was stamped a picture of that outfit coming at him, high and handsome, and he forgot his sister’s honor; forgot everything except self-preservation, and keeps right on galloping.
It took that animal about two hops and a snort to get back to us. I threw my hat at it and hit Telescope in the face with it as he comes over the porch-rail. The bronc took one post with him and bucks out of sight behind the corral.
Telescope came among us on the wing, knocks uncle’s feet out from under him and left him hanging over the railing like a blanket. Telescope came to a full stop with his back against the wall and his mind far, far away.
Uncle hangs there and stares at Telescope wondering-like.
“Hell-Fire!” he gasps.
“And damnation,” adds Jay Bird foolish-like.
Then he turns to us.
“Muley, you danged fool, take off that wrapper and put on your pants!
“Who in —— brought that dirty Injun kid up here?”
“Muley? Injun kid?” says auntie awed-like. “Why—why——”
“Just—wait—a—minute—please,” says uncle, taking lots of time between words. “Who is that man?”
“Your nephew,” says I. “Telescope Tolliver. It—it was a joke.”
“Joke? I see. I have no nephew named Tolliver.”
“You—you wired him,” argues Chuck. “You said——”
“I—I sent a telegram to James B. Whittaker,” says uncle. “I——”
“Whoa!” yelps Jay Bird. “Who are you?”
“I am Robert Todd. I——”
“My uncle Bob?” squeaks Jay Bird. “Why, dog-gone——”
An hour later four cow-punchers, out of work, and a barber walked into Abe Mason’s blacksmith shop at Paradise. Abe was putting toe-calks on a pair of shoes, and the fire was hot.
“Abe,” says Chuck, “can we perform a little sacrifice in your fire?”
“Sacrifice?” asks Abe. “Mebby. What’s the joke?”
“No joke,” says Chuck. “Jokes are ancient history.”
“No more emery-dust or kerosene?” asks Ricky.
“Never,” says Chuck. “Now, how did it happen, Telescope?”
“Aw, I found an old letter to Jay Bird from Todd, and he said he was figuring on coming up here, and then Paddy told me about that telegram, and—and—you danged snake-hunters was too smart. Sabe? I got Ricky to write that letter and we framed up on the telegram. I left it mostly to Ricky, ’cause I—I don’t know nothing about lying.”
“No,” admits Muley. “No, that’s a fact, Telescope; but may the Lord have mercy on the rest of us if you ever learns how.”
“Give me that little bronze critter, Telescope,” says Chuck.
“It’s mine, ain’t it?” wails Telescope. “Won it fair, didn’t I?”
“Gimme that animal!” snaps Chuck. “Hand it to me, feller!”
Telescope digs it out of his pocket and hands it to Chuck, who drops it into that forge and pumps the bellows.
“Hats off,” commands Muley. “Attention, prevaricators, and listen:
And the little feller with the long nose and the lantern must ’a’ grinned to himself.