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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9361974 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #68832 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/68832) diff --git a/old/68832-0.txt b/old/68832-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index fce04f7..0000000 --- a/old/68832-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1147 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of In self-defense, by W. C. Tuttle - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: In self-defense - -Author: W. C. Tuttle - -Release Date: August 24, 2022 [eBook #68832] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Roger Frank and Sue Clark - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN SELF-DEFENSE *** - - - - - -In Self Defense - -by W. C. Tuttle - -Author of “For the Love of Annibel,” “All Wool,” etc. - - -“Prohibition,” remarked Ike Harper, loosening up a notch in his belt -and rolling a fresh smoke, “is goin’ to make two roses bloom in this -country where only one bloomed before. ’Cause why? One drink uh -bootleg hooch will bring blossoms to th’ face of uh wooden Injun, -and also it’s goin’ to work uh hardship on real old maids and homely -females of all descriptions. Lissen, and I’ll orate how I knows.” - - * * * * * - -Ren Merton was uh trouble-huntin’ fool of uh puncher, and Sig Watson -was his first assistant. I might say that Sig was his aid-de-camp, -secretary and treasurer. Them two hombres punched cows fer uh livin’ -and hunted trouble fer pastime. - -If th’ combined brains of th’ two was turned to powder and put into -uh .22 ca’tridge shell it wouldn’t blow th’ bullet out of uh -six-inch pistol barrel, and if it was black powder it wouldn’t foul -th’ shell. - -They punched fer th’ Triangle outfit all one summer, and then -decides to go into th’ cattle business fer themselves. Not havin’ -saved enough between ’em to buy uh green hide, they decides to go -into th’ business anyway. - -Magpie Simpkins was th’ sheriff at th’ time and, havin’ uh real -friendly feelin’ fer th’ boys, he don’t arrest ’em a-tall. He jist -shoots th’ hot cinch ring out of Ren’s hand, cuts th’ heifer loose -and fergets th’ whole affair. - -They rides back to town, where Ren gits prodigal with his six-gun -ammunition, with th’ result that th’ atmosphere gits too warm fer -comfort, and they grabs their hosses and fogs off to th’ Seven A -ranch and go to work again. - -Well, fer th’ next month they behaves fine--said month bein’ spent -on th’ roundup out in th’ Sweetgrass hills, so far from town that it -takes two days hard ridin’ to find anything except personal -animosities, which ain’t sufficient. - -Th’ nearest town is Piperock. Piperock ain’t what you’d call uh -thrivin’ city--not havin’ uh Chamber of Commerce or an Ad Club, but -she manages to angle along anyway. It contains about uh hundred -human beings and a Greaser settlement. - -Well, as I said before, Ren and Sig works steady fer uh while and -then collects their stipend, rolls their war-sacks and moseys to -town to revel amid th’ bright lights and enjoy th’ fruits of their -labor. - -They says “Klahowya” to Buck Masterson, th’ saloon keeper, and -proceeds to pay rent on th’ saloon fixtures. - -“Boys,” says Buck, “curb yore feelin’s fer this time. There’s uh -heap uh sentiment agin’ yuh both here, and if yuh behave it’s bound -to die out in uh little while. That Chink is still in th’ hospital -at Helena.” - -“Pshaw!” exclaims Ren. “That’s too danged bad. But I asks yuh, Buck, -how was I to know that th’ Chink was behind that box, too? That -Greaser ducks behind it and I never once thinks that there’s room -fer two people. It surprises me so I lets th’ Greaser git away.” - -“I allus told yuh,” stated Sig, “that you depends too much on th’ -jump of that ol’ .41. Now, uh .45 is heavy enough that she don’t -jump. To illustrate my point clearly----” - -Right then Buck cuts in and talks ’em out of it. Uh six-gun -demonstration ain’t no pink tea, especially when th’ demonstrator -has about six scoops uh hooch under his belt. - -They has a few more drinks and then decides to eat, so they ambles -across th’ street to Jimmy Peyton’s Boston Chop House, th’ only -eatin’ place in th’ town. There ain’t nobody in sight, so Ren -yells-- - -“Jimmy, yuh lop-eared son-of-uh-sea-cook, bring us uh meenoo!” - -Right then they gits uh surprise. Instead of Jimmy, with his dirty -apron and a half-smoked cigaret hangin’ out uh one side of his -mouth, out waltzes th’ swellest lookin’ female person they ever saw, -and she single-foots right up to ’em with uh smile, and then out -comes another she person, but this last one ain’t noways in th’ same -class as Number One. - -They’re both wearin’ li’l dinky white aprons and uh head full uh -hair, but here th’ similarity ceases some abrupt. Th’ first one is -packin’ class by th’ ton. She’s--well, she looks uh lot like th’ -lady on th’ Empire Packin’ Company’s calendar, which ol’ man Padden -has hangin’ over his bunk. - -Th’ other is older by twenty years and seems sort-a sprung in th’ -knees. She’s got uh forearm like Jefferies and needs uh shave. Th’ -first one leans over th’ table and hands uh printed bill uh fare, -but Ren don’t read it a-tall. He says, “Thanks, ma’am,” and puts it -in his pocket. - -Th’ older one grins at Sig and says, “Nice day.” - -“Uh-huh,” agrees Sig. “It shore is. Don’t hardly look like it might -rain.” - -Ren just sits there lookin’ at th’ pretty one, like uh chickadee -lookin’ at uh rattler. He ain’t able to even wink. - -“Soup?” asks th’ lady. - -“Are we?” asks Ren, turnin’ to Sig, who is also industriously sizin’ -up th’ beauty show. - -“Intensely,” agrees Sig, and th’ two females beat it fer th’ -kitchen. - -“Do you gentlemen live here?” asks th’ pretty one, when she deposits -th’ soup on th’ table. - -“We--huh--yes’m I reckon yuh might say we do,” stammers Ren, tryin’ -to eat soup with his fork and keep both hands out of sight. - -“We don’t usually live here,” amended Sig. “But we can. You livin’ -here?” - -Th’ other female has jist come out of th’ kitchen and she answers: - -“My cousin and I bought this place a week ago from Mr. Peyton. I am -Miss Matilda Beebee, and my cousin here is Miss Rosalind Madeline -McGuire.” - -Ren spilt his soup gittin’ up and reaches out his hand. - -“Pleased to meet yuh,” says he, sayin’ th’ same thing to both of -them. “I’m Sigismund Alexander Watson, and my friend here is Ren -Merton.” - -“Christened,” says Ren, “Renley St. Clair Merton. I welcomes yuh to -Piperock.” - -“Ren,” says Sig, when they had managed to tear themselves away from -th’ eatin’ house, “where did you git that l-e-y on Ren, and also -that St. Clair?” - -“Slick-eared ’em,” grinned Ren, “jist like you did i-s-m-u-n-d and -Alexander. Do you think fer uh minute that I eats dust from any -bow-legged cow trailer when it comes to names? Not a-tall. Sabe?” - -“Some filly!” states Sig. “Mama mine! Some filly!” - -“We’re goin’ to have preachin’ tonight in Piperock,” states Buck, as -he slides th’ poison vial down th’ bar to th’ boys. - -“What for is this preachin’?” asks Ren. “Somebody dead?” - -“Nope. Jist common Gospel. I figgers to take one of th’ girls across -th’ street.” - -“Asked her yet?” asks Sig, with uh grin. - -Buck polished off the bar and replaced the bottles before he -replied-- - -“Nope--not yet.” - -They imbibes their drinks and wanders out on th’ porch. - -“Dog-gone!” exclaims Sig. “I reckon I leaves my quirt over to th’ -restaurant. Better go and git it.” - -“Th’ walk will do us good,” grins Ren. “Come on.” - -“Quirt?” asks th’ pretty one. “Oh yes, you mean that thing hangin’ -on your wrist don’t you?” - -“I--I reckon I plumb overlooked it,” stammers Sig. “Much obliged.” - -“I jist come over, ma’am,” says Ren, “to see if you’d go to th’ -Gospel meetin’ with me tonight.” He looks up and he’s gazin’ into -th’ eyes of Matilda Beebee. - -“Charmed,” says Matilda. “Yore pardner, Mr. Watson, might care to go -with Rosalind.” - -“Ma’am,” chuckles Sig, “I takes off my hat to you as uh mind reader. -That lost quirt was jist an excuse to git over here, Sabe? I agreed -to let Ren have first choice, ma’am, and yuh shore can depend on Ren -to make no mistakes on th’ draw. Why I’ve seen that _hombre_ discard -one small pair to git uh chance to----” - -“Sig,” says Ren sort-a hard like, “if we’re goin’ to church we’d -better stable them broncs.” - -And when he gits Sig outside he continues: - -“You dog-goned, ossified, bow-legged, paralytic son of-- Sig, what -did I ever do to you, eh?” - -“Haw! Haw! Haw!” roared Sig, leanin against his horse and laughin’ -so hard he almost pushes th’ bronc off its feet. “Mama mine, Renley, -when it comes to pickin’ ’em yo’re there! ‘Charmed,’ says she and -yore face looked like you’d been caught stealin’ uh sheep.” - -Well, they takes th’ gentle sex to th’ meetin’, which is held in th’ -old Mint dance hall, and, while Sig sits there and smiles into -Rosalind’s face like uh dyin’ calf in uh mud-hole, and gittin’ hated -fluently by th’ male portion of Piperock, pore old Ren is fidgitin’ -alongside uh Matilda. Yuh could light uh match on his ears every -time he hears anybody clear their throat, and it shore did seem as -though every one in church had uh frog in their throats. - -After th’ preacher gives th’ crowd th’ exit sign, Ren sort-a stalls -around with Matilda and lets th’ crowd drift out ahead. Th’ -preacher, bein’ uh stranger, shakes hands with Ren and asks his -name. - -“Ah,” says he. “And this is Mrs. Merton. Well, well, I shore am -pleased. May I call?” - -“Shore,” grunts Ren, “What yuh got?” - -“Ha, ha!” laughs th’ preacher. “Men will have their little jokes, -Mrs. Merton. You see I understand a few poker terms. Ha, ha!” - -He slaps Ren on th’ shoulder, and hurries to round up another -prospect. - -“Ha, ha!” snorts Ren, “---- of uh--I beg yore pardon, ma’am. You see -I didn’t----” - -“How quaint,” sighs Matilda, like uh turtle-dove with uh full crop. -“Didn’t it seem comfy to be mistaken fer married folks, Renley? -Isn’t th’ moon lovely tonight. Let’s take a little walk, Renley, -it’s too lovely to go inside.” - -“That moon,” says Ren, “shore is lovely. It’s full. I wish I--shore -I’d enjoy uh walk.” - - * * * * * - -An hour later Ren climbed th’ rickety stairs of Holt’s hotel and -busted th’ lock off their door gittin’ in. Sig is lyin’ on th’ bed, -with his leg draped over th’ foot and he’s playin’ “Good Night, -Beloved, Good Night,” sort-a soft like on his mouth harp. He rolls -his eyes at Ren and lets th’ organ slip out of his hands and slide -under th’ bed. He turns over and points at his six-shooter hangin’ -on th’ wall. - -“Don’t, Ren!” says he sort-a sad like, “I’m unarmed.” - -“Yo’re safe,” groans Ren, sinkin’ into uh chair. “I ain’t in no -killin’ mood, Sig. I’m borderin’ on uh fit of despondency and I -needs sympathy and advice like uh calf needs milk. Honest, I feel -like uh Digger Injun would if somebody washed his neck and ears. My -liver ain’t noways fresh an’ I feels that my lights is burnin’ low.” - -“When I used to be uh lawless character,” stated Sig, as he fumbled -under the bed for th’ mouth harp, “‘preachin’ allus affected me -thataway. Gospel truths seem to--don’t strike me, Renley!” - -Ren slumped down in the chair and held his head in his hands. - -“I knowed it, I knowed it! Dang it all, them last two drinks--” - -“Did she accept yuh?” grinned Sig. - -“Accept me!” wailed Ren. “Dog-gone it, Sig, she didn’t wait fer -that. She took me fer granted! She said--oh Lord! She said she -didn’t care if I did used to act wild and shoot Chinamen and -Greasers. Can yuh beat it, Sig? She gits me by th’ arm and leads me -’way off down th’ road--it was awful hot in that church and th’ -hooch gits to bubblin’, and I ain’t noways to blame--leads me to -that old cottonwood tree, which th’ lightnin’ hit last summer, and -sits me down on uh log. Cripes! Why can’t lightnin’ hit twice in th’ -same place? Then she--aw, I dunno--I do know that in th’ argument I -didn’t have no more chance than uh snowball in Yuma!” - -“Goin’ to marry her, Ren?” - -“Not by a danged sight!” wailed Ren. “Mebby she’ll marry me though.” - -Sig took a deep breath and the strains uh “Moonlight” permeated the -room. Ren slipped his boot off sort-a unconcerned like and, -“_Bing!_” Sig saw it comin’ and ducked off the other side and the -boot hit the other side and started the nails. - -“Hey!” yelled the voice of the harness drummer who was in the next -room. “Cut out th’ orchestra practise, you drunken sheep-herders!” - -“That,” states Ren, “makes me forget personal animosities, Sig. -Here’s yore gun. Pull jist below that bunch uh cauliflower pitchers -on th’ wall paper and it’ll jist about rake his bunk. Ready?” - -Th’ door of th’ opposite room closed quickly and th’ drummer padded -off down stairs and slept in uh chair. - -“Sig,” says Ren, as he rolls into bed, “I’ll allus blame my downfall -on uh quirt.” - -“Misspelled,” mumbled Sig. “Should ’a’ been ‘quart.’” - - * * * * * - -The next mornin’ Sig saddled his horse and sat down in the stable -door to roll a smoke. - -“Ren, yo’re uh lucky devil,” he stated. - -Ren dropped his latigo strap and stared at Sig. - -“What do yuh mean?” - -“Have another aig, Renley?” mimicked Sig. “Them cakes is all cold. -Let me git yuh some hot ones, Renley. Take all th’ cream yuh can -use, there’s a-plenty. Have some more nice maple sirup, Renley.” - -“Sig!” Ren snapped his cinch hook and walked over to th’ door. - -“When it comes to bowels of compassion, you don’t show uh gut. If -you was uh real friend you’d be figgerin’ some way to save me, -instead of passin’ out low comedy.” - -“She ain’t much to look at,” agreed Sig, as he swung into th’ -saddle, “but many uh kind word is often hidden by sparse whiskers.” - -“----!” snorts Ren. “There’s Matilda, of th’ angel face, wavin’ at -me to come back. I wonder what she wants?” - -“She probably wants to know whether you prefers uh Methodist or uh -Baptist preacher. Tell her yore folks raised yuh in th’ Mormon -faith, Ren, and you can’t consider no other. That’ll delay -proceedin’s until she can send to Utah and----” - -But Ren was on his way out of town, and Sig followed suit. - -Well, they goes back to th’ Seven A and goes to work again. Th’ -boss, Old Man Padden, sends Sig with uh couple of other punchers to -ride th’ breaks of th’ Shell River after strays, and he keeps Ren at -home where there ain’t nothin’ to do but water some stock and go to -town after th’ mail. Sig is away fer ten days, and when he returns -he’s plumb lonesome fer company--Rosalind’s especially. - -Ren is sittin’ on th’ corral fence braidin’ uh quirt when Sig rides -in. - -“How’s Old Man Merton’s boy Renley?” greets Sig, yankin’ his saddle -off and hazin’ his bronc into th’ pasture. “How’s everything?” - -“She’s fine,” grins Ren. “I seen her and Ricky Henderson ridin’ -along th’ Dancin’ Prairie trail twice this week, and I hears that -she’s furnishin’ Buck Masterson with uh clean napkin at each meal. -Buck’s uh changed man, Sigismund. He’s usin’ ba’r ile on his boots -and bay rum on his head.” - -“That ol’ pelican?” yells Sig. “If that’s all that’s tryin’ to beat -my time I’m as good as married right now.” - -“I hates to tell yuh,” states Ren sadly, “but them Piperock fellers, -takin’ em as uh tribe, are shore beatin’ yore time with Rosalind. I -reckon you made uh hit th’ first time she ever saw yuh, but she’s -heard too much agin’ yuh since. I done talked with her and I finds -out that she’s partial to heroes. _Sabe?_ Nothin’ but uh heero need -apply, and, Sig, there ain’t no use you tryin’ to be one uh them. - -“Anyway, yuh can’t see her before Monday. She went down to Curlew uh -few days ago, and said she would be back Monday afternoon on th’ -stage.” - -“Likes heroes, eh?” mused Sig. “Jist about what causes uh man to be -uh hero?” - -“Uh heero,” states Ren, “is uh feller who does jist what any one -else would have done in his place, but he beat ’em to it. _Sabe?_ He -allus saves th’ girl.” - -“Saves th’ girl, eh?” Sig runs his fingers down th’ creases in his -chaps and thinks deeply. - -“Ren, I got a idea.” - -“Shoot.” - -“I’ll save Rosalind.” - -“Huh!” Ren spat his cigaret out and stared at Sig. “Save her from -what?” - -“You,” stated Sig, eagerlike. - -“Haw! Haw! Haw! Save her from me! That’s uh hy-iu idea, Ren. What am -I supposed to be?” - -“Uh desperado. Lissen. Art Miller carries money sometimes on th’ -stage and almost every trip he has uh passenger or two what would -assay six bits or uh dollar, and they’re liable to be held up any -trip. Here’s th’ big idea: - -“Remember them big rocks on this side of th’ Hell Gate crossin’? -Peach of uh place fer uh holdup, Ren. Now, on Monday afternoon, you -be up in them rocks, with uh mask on, and when Art drives out of th’ -ford you throw down on him with yore rifle and yell, ‘Hands up!’ -Mebby yuh better shoot once or twice so as to make th’ play good. -We’ll pull th’ bullets out of some ca’tridges so nobody won’t git -hurt. When you yells and shoots uh few times, here I comes across -th’ ford ridin’ like th’ devil and starts throwin’ lead and you -ducks, sabe? I’ll save th’ stage from bein’ held up and, bein’ as -Rosalind is on th’ stage, I’ll be uh hero. Ren, are yuh game to help -uh needin’ friend?” - -“And mebby go to Deer Lodge and wear uh number like uh box-car,” -objected Ren sarcastically. - -“Nobody’ll know yuh,” pleads Sig. “Don’t throw me down, Ren. How -many times you been to Piperock since I left?” - -“Every day,” grinned Ren. - -“Gosh! When is it comin’ off?” - -Ren shook his head and looked thoughtful. - -“There’s th’ cook yellin’ ‘supper’ now. Let’s eat.” - -Ren slid off the fence and looked at Sig. - -“Are yuh goin’ to help me out?” he asked pleadingly. - -“I’ve decided to give it uh whirl,” stated Ren. “To make th’ play -good I’ll go to Curlew on Sunday mornin’ and circle th’ stage from -there in the mornin’, after givin’ it out that I’m on my way to -Mica. _Sabe_ th’ play, Sig? I’ll also hint that when I comes down -th’ trail I sees uh person who looks like Pete Melcher to me. Pete -is holed up somewhere in th’ west part of th’ state, but he’s liable -to start operatin’ over here any old time.” - -“Good stuff!” yells Sig “It’s shore white of you, Ren. Dog-gone, -there ain’t no chance of uh slip-up and me, I’ll be th’ li’l hero -and save th’ girl, eh?” - -“Don’t worry about th’ slips in th’ game,” states Ren. “If Art -Miller does rim me with his ol’ riot gun, or if I gits uh free ride -to Deer Lodge, I won’t have to marry--huh! Every cloud has uh silver -linin’, Sigismund Alexander.” - - * * * * * - -Th’ next mornin’, bein’ Sunday, Ren throws his saddle on his brown -mare and points off across th’ hills towards Curlew, and on Monday -mornin’ Sig puts his ridin’ gear on Old Man Padden’s best lookin’ -bronc, polishes up his boots and slips off across th’ hills towards -Hell Gate Cañon. - -Sig breezes across th’ hills with joy in his heart, so much joy that -he thumbs that bronc, with th’ result that he almost gits set on -foot. He has time to burn, so he decides to go out of his way to say -“hello” to Pete Gonyer. Pete lives in uh li’l cabin up in Roarin’ -Gulch, and Sig ain’t been up that way fer some time. It will give -him an excuse fer bein’ seen in th’ Hell Gate hills. - -He finds that Pete ain’t home, so he ambles down th’ gulch, ties up -his bronc and takes uh nap under uh bush. He sleeps about an hour -and then moves on. He ain’t got no watch, but th’ sun looks about -one o’clock, so he drops off th’ hills to th’ road and turns back -towards Piperock. - -He jogs along slow ’till he gits to th’ spring near th’ Rock of -Ages, and he swings off to git uh drink. Right there he spies uh -letter layin’ near th’ spring under uh bush, and nacherally he picks -it up and looks it over. - -“Huh!” says he. “Addressed to Jack Elberton, Helena. I reckon Art -must ’a’ lost it goin’ out.” - -And then like anybody else would, he opens it to see who to send it -back to. He reads it through twice, takes off his hat and reads it -again. It says: - - In reply to your letter I can say that you’ve got more - nerve than a mule. Just because I let you kiss me don’t - prove conclusively that I love you. Also your statement - (or hint) that I’ve got a perfectly good husband in the - land of the living doesn’t feaze me either. - - Your threat to come to Piperock to see me is amusing. I’ve - made a hit with a big cowboy up here, who would take you - apart like a picture puzzle if I said the word. Take my - advice, Jackie and forget that you ever knew Rosalind - -Sig looks at th’ letter for uh while and then stares at th’ road. He -gits up suddenly and looks at th’ hoss tracks in the road and then -hops for his bronc. - -“Gosh!” says he. “Th’ stage is past!” - -And he spurs up th’ hill and throws th’ quirt into that bronc and -fogs th’ hills. He’s plumb miscalculated th’ time, and by racin’ fer -three miles across th’ hills he’s got uh chance to cut in ahead of -th’ stage. - -“Lord A’mighty!” he whoops, when he hits th’ road agin and sees uh -cloud uh dust still hangin’ around th’ first turn of th’ road. -“Mebby I’ll catch ’em yet. I shore got to do somethin’ to crab this -hold-up play! I can’t let Ren take uh chance like this now. Cripes! -Mebby Art is lookin’ fer uh play of this kind and he’ll fill Ren -full uh buck-shot. Git a-goin’ yuh buzzard-headed, bunch uh coyote -bait! If I can git close enough to attract Art’s attention before he -drives out of th’ ford, Ren will sabe that somethin’ has gone wrong -and keep out-a sight.” - -The four hosses of th’ stage had jist finished drinkin’ as Sig races -in sight, and as they starts out th’ other side Sig waves his rifle -and starts shootin’. - -That bronc wasn’t noways gun broke, so it starts sun-fishin’ at th’ -first shot and bores straight fer th’ stage. Sig sees Art Miller -stand up in his seat and throw th’ whip to his leaders with one hand -and fire both barrels of his riot gun with th’ other. - -Sig ducks jist in time to save his life. Art shoots uh li’l high and -when Sig ducks all he gits is th’ rakins of about six shot across -his shoulder. One shot punctures th’ brone’s ear and it shore moves -up and down a-plenty. - -Th’ stage is rockin’ and swayin’ up th’ road as fast as four scared -and whipped cayuses can yank it and Art Miller is bracin’ hisself -and throwin’ leather promiscuous. Sig lost his rifle and is now -ridin’ with both hands. - -Art drops his whip, wraps his lines around his arm and, in tryin’ to -put more shells in his gun, swings his team off th’ road. They go -good for about ten jumps and then they’re into th’ timber. - -Natcherally th’ leaders goes on opposite sides of uh tree, with th’ -result that th’ wheelers skid to one side and th’ stage turns uh -handspring. I reckon that Sig’s bronc thinks it’s uh real party fer -its benefit, ’cause it pitches right into th’ tangle and Sig lights -sittin’ down through th’ glass door of th’ stage, which is reposin’ -serenely on its side when he arrives. - -Sig sits there fer uh few minutes collectin’ his thoughts, when he -discovers that he’s sittin’ on somebody’s head. - -“Rosalind!” is th’ first thought that comes into his head, so he -slides part way out and takes said head between his hands. - -“Rosalind!” he wails. “My Gawd!” - -He can’t see very plain until he climbs out and leans over th’ -casing. “Speak to me, Rosalind!” he sobs. “Hu-honey, I wants yuh -to--the devil!” - -A figger rises up from th’ coach, looks him in th’ eye and spits out -three perfectly good teeth. - -“I begs yore pardon,” says Sig, in a dazed sort of uh way. - -“Yo’re welcome,” says th’ other party, puttin’ his finger into th’ -place where his teeth used to be, and lookin’ foolish. - -“Uh--hu--huh!” says a voice behind them, and there stands Art -Miller. - -Most of his clothes are missin’ and he’s nursin’ uh skinned elbow -and leanin’ agin’ uh wheel fer support. - -“What happened, driver?” asks th’ party of th’ missin’ teeth. - -Art looks over th’ wreck and then back at th’ bald head stickin’ out -of th’ stage. - -“If it was yore eyes instead of yore teeth I might take th’ trouble -to explain,” he snaps. “Take uh look and form yore own conclusions.” - -“We--huh--seem to have wrecked.” - -“We--huh--have!” snapped Art, and then to Sig: “What do yuh mean by -stampedin’ my outfit thataway, eh? Comin’ along a-shootin’ like uh -crazy half-breed!” - -“Art,” says Sig, “I shore begs yore pardon if I done wrong, but I’d -almost swear that I hears somebody yell ‘Hands up!’ at you, when you -pulls out of th’ ford, and I comes to yore rescue. Dog-gone it all, -that’s allus th’ way. When yuh tries to do uh feller uh favor he -don’t appreciate it.” - -Sig looks sorry fer himself and rolls uh smoke. - -“Yore hearin’ is fine,” states Art, after thinkin’ fer uh minute. -“Jist as we pulls out of th’ ford, that rattle-headed, Roman-nosed, -off leader uh mine leans back and lets th’ pinto wheeler into th’ -stretchers. What I yells was--I begs yore pardon, preacher, did you -speak?” - -“Please,” mumbles th’ party of th’ missin’ teeth. “Things are bad -enough without repeatin’ your former exclamations.” - -“Preacher,” wonders Sig out loud. “Another preacher in th’ country? -We done got one in Piperock now, Art. One with all his teeth, too.” - -“Uh-huh,” agreed Art. “But he’s uh Baptist. This’n is uh -Presbyterian. Miss Beebee’s uh Presbyterian, and she insists on her -own tribe fer th’ marriage _wau-wau_. _Sabe?_” - -“When is this event due to happen?” grins Sig. - -“Tonight,” states Art. “And I’ll bet Buck Masterson is runnin’ rings -around himself right now. We’re due.” - -“Buck Masterson?” mumbles Sig. “I don’t see----” - -“Nobody does either,” chuckles Art. “Ain’t he gittin’ uh prize -package?” - -Sig grunts and wonders if some of th’ buck-shot didn’t go deeper -than just through th’ skin. He feels dazed like. Art Miller is -fumblin’ inside his shirt and finally produces a wrinkled envelope. - -“I jist happened to remember it, Sig. I sees Ren Merton yesterday in -Curlew and he sends you this. Wrote it too late to mail. Li’l -surprise.” - -He finished with a wink at th’ preacher person, who is huntin’ -around inside th’ wrecked stage fer his teeth. - -Sig opened th’ envelope and read th’ followin’ aloud: - - “Deer Sigismund: - - Me and Rosalind were married here today and send you our - best wishes. I hated to double-cross you but I told her - about our plans and she said that heroes were born and - not made and that I’d be one if I saved her from a - certain bow-legged person we both know. I asks your - pardon and wishes to state that I wouldn’t have done it - if I had of been sober. You can have that new quirt - which is hangin’ over my bunk. You know how a feller - loses his head when he’s spifflikated. - - Yours respy - Renley St. Clair Merton & wife. - - P.S. The preacher what tied the not is in the stage and - can tell you all about it. I hope you don’t kill him - during the rescue ’cause he never asked fer a cent.” - -“You--you performed a marriage in Curlew last night?” asked Sig, and -th’ preacher nods. - -“Yeth thir,” he states, with his tongue explorin’ where his teeth -used to bed down. “But I never wath paid a thent.” - -Sig fumbled around in his pocket for a moment and then hauled out a -small roll of bills. - -“Here’s uh ten spot with my compliments, old-timer.” - -“Wath he a friend of yours?” asks th’ preacher. - -“Well,” says Sig, feelin’ of th’ two envelopes in his chaps pocket, -“he don’t think so, but he don’t know it all. If uh man would ask me -I’d say, yes.” - -Sig recovers his horse and pulls out fer Piperock, after promisin’ -Art that he’ll send help out to them. Buck is standin’ in front of -th’ saloon and as Sig rides up he yells-- - -“Seen anythin’ of th’ stage, Sig?” - -Sig tells him about th’ smash-up and then goes in and drapes himself -over th’ bar. Ricky Henderson is there and they crooks elbows -numerous. - -“Where’s Ren?” asks Ricky. “I ain’t seen him since Saturday. Him and -that Rosalind person is thicker than axle grease in January. Been -out ridin’ every day last week. I thought you had aspirations -thataway, Sig.’” - -“Not me, Ricky. Yore uncle Siggie knows when he’s safe. I’m goin’ -over to congratulate th’ bride, and then I’m goin’ to come back and -fill my hide with some more absent-minded juice. So long.” - -He ambles across th’ street to th’ restaurant and finds Miss Matilda -tellin’ th’ Chink what to have fer supper. - -“Howdy,” says Sig. “I reckon I can congratulate you on yore marriage -to Buck.” - -Matilda blushes through her whiskers and smooths her skirt. - -“Thanks, Sigismund. I had hopes that you and Rosalind could stand up -with us, but she’s in Curlew and won’t be back. I’ll have to git -Miss Harris. Would you like to stand up with her?” - -“Ma’am,” says Sig, “while I admires such functions uh heap, I’d uh -lot rather jist sit on th’ bench and watch ’em. Rosalind is uh real -nice girl, I reckon, but her and me ain’t----” - -Miss Beebee pats Sig on th’ shoulder in uh motherly way. - -“Rosalind is uh nice girl but she’s got uh temper that would, when -it busts, make uh stick of dynamite sound like th’ scratchin’ of uh -sulfur match. She told me that she liked yore looks th’ first time -she ever seen yuh, Sigismund, but it’s money she wants--not love.” - -“She’s done married Ren,” states Sig sarcastically. - -“Already? My, my, she shore didn’t take any chances. I’ll tell you -uh secret Ricky Henderson told.” - -Sig looked foolishly at her and scratched his head. - -“Ricky did, eh? Jist about how much did that _hombre_ e-lucidate?” - -“He came in here the other day after Renley had gone, and he told us -all about Renley being the real owner of the Triangle cattle and -also havin’ uh big interest in th’ Seven A. Oh, he told us all about -Renley. Ricky had been drinkin’, I think.” - -“So Rosalind----” - -“Jist a moment, Sigismund. I want to make a little confession. Her -name is not Rosalind, but Matilda. We traded names when we came up -here because mine fits her better than her own. Of course all our -friends outside of Piperock know that my name is Rosalind. Of course -when she found out all about Renley----” - -“Yes’m,” agreed Sig. “She marries him fer his money. Honest, ma’am, -I feels fer both of them.” - -Sig walks back across th’ street in uh dazed sort-a way and leans -against th’ bar. - -“Rosalind, eh?” he snorts to himself. “Well, don’t that beat four of -uh kind. Renley is th’ owner of th’-- Gosh! There’s goin’ to be uh -noise like uh ton of dynamite in that li’l ol’ honeymoon. Huh! That -Elberton person must shore be uh collector uh knick-knacks and--I -wonder if he was drunk, too?” - -Buck Masterson walks in from th’ front and ranges alongside of Sig. - -“I’ve sent fer th’ preacher,” he states. - -But Sig jist grunts. He’s tryin’ to visualize th’ face on Jack -Elberton, which would want to come clear to Piperock to kiss Miss -Beebee. - -“Did you know her name was Rosalind?” asks Sig. - -“Shee,” says Buck, and then he gits confidential and talks in uh low -tone. “Dog-gone th’ luck, Sig, I shore wish it was all over. It’s -got me so danged jumpy that I flinches at everything. I wish--huh--I -wish--say, Sig, uh feller hadn’t ought to drink whisky a-tall. He -hadn’t ought to take even one li’l friendly drink. I’ll----” - -“Say,” snorts Sig, “You don’t mean to tell me that you was full when -you----” - -“Fuller’n uh shepherd,” states Buck solemnly. “By cripes, I was so -full that I’d have proposed to uh--say, where yuh goin’?” - -“Me?” asks Sig, turnin’ around in th’ doorway, and holdin’ up his -right hand. “I’m goin’ out to meet that preacher person and -I’m--goin’--to--sign--th’ pledge! _Sabe?_ Self-preservation is th’ -first law of nature, and I’d rather be preserved than pickled. It’s -safer.” - - - The End - -[Transcriber’s Note: This article appeared in the February 1917 issue -of Adventure Magazine.] - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN SELF-DEFENSE *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. 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C. Tuttle</title> - <link rel='icon' href='images/cover.jpg' type='image/x-cover' /> - <style> - body { margin-left:8%;margin-right:8%; } - p { text-indent:1.15em; margin-top:0.1em; margin-bottom:0.1em; text-align:justify; } - .caption { text-indent:0; font-size: smaller; padding:0.5em 0; text-align:center; } - .figcenter { margin:1em auto; } - div.chapter { page-break-before:always; margin-bottom:2em; } - div.page { page-break-before:always; margin:4em auto; } - h1 { text-align:center; font-weight:normal; page-break-before: always; - font-size:1.2em; margin:2em auto 1em auto; } - .tn { font-size:0.9em; border:1px solid silver; margin-top:1.8em; margin-left:8%; width:80%; padding:0.4em 2%; background-color: #DDDDEE; } - .tn p { text-indent:0; } - </style> -</head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of In self-defense, by W. C. Tuttle</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: In self-defense</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: W. C. Tuttle</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: August 24, 2022 [eBook #68832]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Roger Frank and Sue Clark</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN SELF-DEFENSE ***</div> - -<h1>In Self Defense</h1> -<div style='text-align:center'>by W. C. Tuttle</div> -<div style='text-align:center; font-size:0.8em;'>Author of “For the Love of Annibel,” “All Wool,” etc.</div> -<div class='figcenter' style='width:70%; max-width:1429px'> - <img src='images/illus-001.jpg' alt='' style='width:100%;height:auto;' /> -</div> - -<p>“Prohibition,” remarked Ike Harper, loosening up a notch in his belt -and rolling a fresh smoke, “is goin’ to make two roses bloom in this -country where only one bloomed before. ’Cause why? One drink uh -bootleg hooch will bring blossoms to th’ face of uh wooden Injun, -and also it’s goin’ to work uh hardship on real old maids and homely -females of all descriptions. Lissen, and I’ll orate how I knows.”</p> - -<hr style='border:none; color:inherit; margin-top:1em;' /> - -<p>Ren Merton was uh trouble-huntin’ fool of uh puncher, and Sig Watson -was his first assistant. I might say that Sig was his aid-de-camp, -secretary and treasurer. Them two hombres punched cows fer uh livin’ -and hunted trouble fer pastime.</p> - -<p>If th’ combined brains of th’ two was turned to powder and put into -uh .22 ca’tridge shell it wouldn’t blow th’ bullet out of uh -six-inch pistol barrel, and if it was black powder it wouldn’t foul -th’ shell.</p> - -<p>They punched fer th’ Triangle outfit all one summer, and then -decides to go into th’ cattle business fer themselves. Not havin’ -saved enough between ’em to buy uh green hide, they decides to go -into th’ business anyway.</p> - -<p>Magpie Simpkins was th’ sheriff at th’ time and, havin’ uh real -friendly feelin’ fer th’ boys, he don’t arrest ’em a-tall. He jist -shoots th’ hot cinch ring out of Ren’s hand, cuts th’ heifer loose -and fergets th’ whole affair.</p> - -<p>They rides back to town, where Ren gits prodigal with his six-gun -ammunition, with th’ result that th’ atmosphere gits too warm fer -comfort, and they grabs their hosses and fogs off to th’ Seven A -ranch and go to work again.</p> - -<p>Well, fer th’ next month they behaves fine—said month bein’ spent on -th’ roundup out in th’ Sweetgrass hills, so far from town that it -takes two days hard ridin’ to find anything except personal -animosities, which ain’t sufficient.</p> - -<p>Th’ nearest town is Piperock. Piperock ain’t what you’d call uh -thrivin’ city—not havin’ uh Chamber of Commerce or an Ad Club, but -she manages to angle along anyway. It contains about uh hundred -human beings and a Greaser settlement.</p> - -<p>Well, as I said before, Ren and Sig works steady fer uh while and -then collects their stipend, rolls their war-sacks and moseys to -town to revel amid th’ bright lights and enjoy th’ fruits of their -labor.</p> - -<p>They says “Klahowya” to Buck Masterson, th’ saloon keeper, and -proceeds to pay rent on th’ saloon fixtures.</p> - -<p>“Boys,” says Buck, “curb yore feelin’s fer this time. There’s uh -heap uh sentiment agin’ yuh both here, and if yuh behave it’s bound -to die out in uh little while. That Chink is still in th’ hospital -at Helena.”</p> - -<p>“Pshaw!” exclaims Ren. “That’s too danged bad. But I asks yuh, Buck, -how was I to know that th’ Chink was behind that box, too? That -Greaser ducks behind it and I never once thinks that there’s room -fer two people. It surprises me so I lets th’ Greaser git away.”</p> - -<p>“I allus told yuh,” stated Sig, “that you depends too much on th’ -jump of that ol’ .41. Now, uh .45 is heavy enough that she don’t -jump. To illustrate my point clearly——”</p> - -<p>Right then Buck cuts in and talks ’em out of it. Uh six-gun -demonstration ain’t no pink tea, especially when th’ demonstrator -has about six scoops uh hooch under his belt.</p> - -<p>They has a few more drinks and then decides to eat, so they ambles -across th’ street to Jimmy Peyton’s Boston Chop House, th’ only -eatin’ place in th’ town. There ain’t nobody in sight, so Ren yells—</p> - -<p>“Jimmy, yuh lop-eared son-of-uh-sea-cook, bring us uh meenoo!”</p> - -<p>Right then they gits uh surprise. Instead of Jimmy, with his dirty -apron and a half-smoked cigaret hangin’ out uh one side of his -mouth, out waltzes th’ swellest lookin’ female person they ever saw, -and she single-foots right up to ’em with uh smile, and then out -comes another she person, but this last one ain’t noways in th’ same -class as Number One.</p> - -<p>They’re both wearin’ li’l dinky white aprons and uh head full uh -hair, but here th’ similarity ceases some abrupt. Th’ first one is -packin’ class by th’ ton. She’s—well, she looks uh lot like th’ lady -on th’ Empire Packin’ Company’s calendar, which ol’ man Padden has -hangin’ over his bunk.</p> - -<p>Th’ other is older by twenty years and seems sort-a sprung in th’ -knees. She’s got uh forearm like Jefferies and needs uh shave. Th’ -first one leans over th’ table and hands uh printed bill uh fare, -but Ren don’t read it a-tall. He says, “Thanks, ma’am,” and puts it -in his pocket.</p> - -<p>Th’ older one grins at Sig and says, “Nice day.”</p> - -<p>“Uh-huh,” agrees Sig. “It shore is. Don’t hardly look like it might -rain.”</p> - -<p>Ren just sits there lookin’ at th’ pretty one, like uh chickadee -lookin’ at uh rattler. He ain’t able to even wink.</p> - -<p>“Soup?” asks th’ lady.</p> - -<p>“Are we?” asks Ren, turnin’ to Sig, who is also industriously sizin’ -up th’ beauty show.</p> - -<p>“Intensely,” agrees Sig, and th’ two females beat it fer th’ -kitchen.</p> - -<p>“Do you gentlemen live here?” asks th’ pretty one, when she deposits -th’ soup on th’ table.</p> - -<p>“We—huh—yes’m I reckon yuh might say we do,” stammers Ren, tryin’ to -eat soup with his fork and keep both hands out of sight.</p> - -<p>“We don’t usually live here,” amended Sig. “But we can. You livin’ -here?”</p> - -<p>Th’ other female has jist come out of th’ kitchen and she answers:</p> - -<p>“My cousin and I bought this place a week ago from Mr. Peyton. I am -Miss Matilda Beebee, and my cousin here is Miss Rosalind Madeline -McGuire.”</p> - -<p>Ren spilt his soup gittin’ up and reaches out his hand.</p> - -<p>“Pleased to meet yuh,” says he, sayin’ th’ same thing to both of -them. “I’m Sigismund Alexander Watson, and my friend here is Ren -Merton.”</p> - -<p>“Christened,” says Ren, “Renley St. Clair Merton. I welcomes yuh to -Piperock.”</p> - -<p>“Ren,” says Sig, when they had managed to tear themselves away from -th’ eatin’ house, “where did you git that l-e-y on Ren, and also -that St. Clair?”</p> - -<p>“Slick-eared ’em,” grinned Ren, “jist like you did i-s-m-u-n-d and -Alexander. Do you think fer uh minute that I eats dust from any -bow-legged cow trailer when it comes to names? Not a-tall. Sabe?”</p> - -<p>“Some filly!” states Sig. “Mama mine! Some filly!”</p> - -<p>“We’re goin’ to have preachin’ tonight in Piperock,” states Buck, as -he slides th’ poison vial down th’ bar to th’ boys.</p> - -<p>“What for is this preachin’?” asks Ren. “Somebody dead?”</p> - -<p>“Nope. Jist common Gospel. I figgers to take one of th’ girls across -th’ street.”</p> - -<p>“Asked her yet?” asks Sig, with uh grin.</p> - -<p>Buck polished off the bar and replaced the bottles before he -replied—</p> - -<p>“Nope—not yet.”</p> - -<p>They imbibes their drinks and wanders out on th’ porch.</p> - -<p>“Dog-gone!” exclaims Sig. “I reckon I leaves my quirt over to th’ -restaurant. Better go and git it.”</p> - -<p>“Th’ walk will do us good,” grins Ren. “Come on.”</p> - -<p>“Quirt?” asks th’ pretty one. “Oh yes, you mean that thing hangin’ -on your wrist don’t you?”</p> - -<p>“I—I reckon I plumb overlooked it,” stammers Sig. “Much obliged.”</p> - -<p>“I jist come over, ma’am,” says Ren, “to see if you’d go to th’ -Gospel meetin’ with me tonight.” He looks up and he’s gazin’ into th’ -eyes of Matilda Beebee.</p> - -<p>“Charmed,” says Matilda. “Yore pardner, Mr. Watson, might care to go -with Rosalind.”</p> - -<p>“Ma’am,” chuckles Sig, “I takes off my hat to you as uh mind reader. -That lost quirt was jist an excuse to git over here, Sabe? I agreed -to let Ren have first choice, ma’am, and yuh shore can depend on Ren -to make no mistakes on th’ draw. Why I’ve seen that <i>hombre</i> discard -one small pair to git uh chance to——”</p> - -<p>“Sig,” says Ren sort-a hard like, “if we’re goin’ to church we’d -better stable them broncs.”</p> - -<p>And when he gits Sig outside he continues:</p> - -<p>“You dog-goned, ossified, bow-legged, paralytic son of— Sig, what -did I ever do to you, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Haw! Haw! Haw!” roared Sig, leanin against his horse and laughin’ -so hard he almost pushes th’ bronc off its feet. “Mama mine, Renley, -when it comes to pickin’ ’em yo’re there! ‘Charmed,’ says she and -yore face looked like you’d been caught stealin’ uh sheep.”</p> - -<p>Well, they takes th’ gentle sex to th’ meetin’, which is held in th’ -old Mint dance hall, and, while Sig sits there and smiles into -Rosalind’s face like uh dyin’ calf in uh mud-hole, and gittin’ hated -fluently by th’ male portion of Piperock, pore old Ren is fidgitin’ -alongside uh Matilda. Yuh could light uh match on his ears every -time he hears anybody clear their throat, and it shore did seem as -though every one in church had uh frog in their throats.</p> - -<p>After th’ preacher gives th’ crowd th’ exit sign, Ren sort-a stalls -around with Matilda and lets th’ crowd drift out ahead. Th’ -preacher, bein’ uh stranger, shakes hands with Ren and asks his -name.</p> - -<p>“Ah,” says he. “And this is Mrs. Merton. Well, well, I shore am -pleased. May I call?”</p> - -<p>“Shore,” grunts Ren, “What yuh got?”</p> - -<p>“Ha, ha!” laughs th’ preacher. “Men will have their little jokes, -Mrs. Merton. You see I understand a few poker terms. Ha, ha!”</p> - -<p>He slaps Ren on th’ shoulder, and hurries to round up another -prospect.</p> - -<p>“Ha, ha!” snorts Ren, “—— of uh—I beg yore pardon, ma’am. You see I -didn’t——”</p> - -<p>“How quaint,” sighs Matilda, like uh turtle-dove with uh full crop. -“Didn’t it seem comfy to be mistaken fer married folks, Renley? -Isn’t th’ moon lovely tonight. Let’s take a little walk, Renley, it’s -too lovely to go inside.”</p> - -<p>“That moon,” says Ren, “shore is lovely. It’s full. I wish I—shore -I’d enjoy uh walk.”</p> - -<hr style='border:none; color:inherit; margin-top:1em;' /> - -<p>An hour later Ren climbed th’ rickety stairs of Holt’s hotel and -busted th’ lock off their door gittin’ in. Sig is lyin’ on th’ bed, -with his leg draped over th’ foot and he’s playin’ “Good Night, -Beloved, Good Night,” sort-a soft like on his mouth harp. He rolls -his eyes at Ren and lets th’ organ slip out of his hands and slide -under th’ bed. He turns over and points at his six-shooter hangin’ -on th’ wall.</p> - -<p>“Don’t, Ren!” says he sort-a sad like, “I’m unarmed.”</p> - -<p>“Yo’re safe,” groans Ren, sinkin’ into uh chair. “I ain’t in no -killin’ mood, Sig. I’m borderin’ on uh fit of despondency and I -needs sympathy and advice like uh calf needs milk. Honest, I feel -like uh Digger Injun would if somebody washed his neck and ears. My -liver ain’t noways fresh an’ I feels that my lights is burnin’ low.”</p> - -<p>“When I used to be uh lawless character,” stated Sig, as he fumbled -under the bed for th’ mouth harp, “‘preachin’ allus affected me -thataway. Gospel truths seem to—don’t strike me, Renley!”</p> - -<p>Ren slumped down in the chair and held his head in his hands.</p> - -<p>“I knowed it, I knowed it! Dang it all, them last two drinks—”</p> - -<p>“Did she accept yuh?” grinned Sig.</p> - -<p>“Accept me!” wailed Ren. “Dog-gone it, Sig, she didn’t wait fer -that. She took me fer granted! She said—oh Lord! She said she didn’t -care if I did used to act wild and shoot Chinamen and Greasers. Can -yuh beat it, Sig? She gits me by th’ arm and leads me ’way off down -th’ road—it was awful hot in that church and th’ hooch gits to -bubblin’, and I ain’t noways to blame—leads me to that old -cottonwood tree, which th’ lightnin’ hit last summer, and sits me -down on uh log. Cripes! Why can’t lightnin’ hit twice in th’ same -place? Then she—aw, I dunno—I do know that in th’ argument I didn’t -have no more chance than uh snowball in Yuma!”</p> - -<p>“Goin’ to marry her, Ren?”</p> - -<p>“Not by a danged sight!” wailed Ren. “Mebby she’ll marry me though.”</p> - -<p>Sig took a deep breath and the strains uh “Moonlight” permeated the -room. Ren slipped his boot off sort-a unconcerned like and, -“<i>Bing!</i>” Sig saw it comin’ and ducked off the other side and the -boot hit the other side and started the nails.</p> - -<p>“Hey!” yelled the voice of the harness drummer who was in the next -room. “Cut out th’ orchestra practise, you drunken sheep-herders!”</p> - -<p>“That,” states Ren, “makes me forget personal animosities, Sig. -Here’s yore gun. Pull jist below that bunch uh cauliflower pitchers -on th’ wall paper and it’ll jist about rake his bunk. Ready?”</p> - -<p>Th’ door of th’ opposite room closed quickly and th’ drummer padded -off down stairs and slept in uh chair.</p> - -<p>“Sig,” says Ren, as he rolls into bed, “I’ll allus blame my downfall -on uh quirt.”</p> - -<p>“Misspelled,” mumbled Sig. “Should ’a’ been ‘quart.’”</p> - -<hr style='border:none; color:inherit; margin-top:1em;' /> - -<p>The next mornin’ Sig saddled his horse and sat down in the stable -door to roll a smoke.</p> - -<p>“Ren, yo’re uh lucky devil,” he stated.</p> - -<p>Ren dropped his latigo strap and stared at Sig.</p> - -<p>“What do yuh mean?”</p> - -<p>“Have another aig, Renley?” mimicked Sig. “Them cakes is all cold. -Let me git yuh some hot ones, Renley. Take all th’ cream yuh can -use, there’s a-plenty. Have some more nice maple sirup, Renley.”</p> - -<p>“Sig!” Ren snapped his cinch hook and walked over to th’ door.</p> - -<p>“When it comes to bowels of compassion, you don’t show uh gut. If -you was uh real friend you’d be figgerin’ some way to save me, -instead of passin’ out low comedy.”</p> - -<p>“She ain’t much to look at,” agreed Sig, as he swung into th’ -saddle, “but many uh kind word is often hidden by sparse whiskers.”</p> - -<p>“——!” snorts Ren. “There’s Matilda, of th’ angel face, wavin’ at me -to come back. I wonder what she wants?”</p> - -<p>“She probably wants to know whether you prefers uh Methodist or uh -Baptist preacher. Tell her yore folks raised yuh in th’ Mormon -faith, Ren, and you can’t consider no other. That’ll delay -proceedin’s until she can send to Utah and——”</p> - -<p>But Ren was on his way out of town, and Sig followed suit.</p> - -<p>Well, they goes back to th’ Seven A and goes to work again. Th’ -boss, Old Man Padden, sends Sig with uh couple of other punchers to -ride th’ breaks of th’ Shell River after strays, and he keeps Ren at -home where there ain’t nothin’ to do but water some stock and go to -town after th’ mail. Sig is away fer ten days, and when he returns -he’s plumb lonesome fer company—Rosalind’s especially.</p> - -<p>Ren is sittin’ on th’ corral fence braidin’ uh quirt when Sig rides -in.</p> - -<p>“How’s Old Man Merton’s boy Renley?” greets Sig, yankin’ his saddle -off and hazin’ his bronc into th’ pasture. “How’s everything?”</p> - -<p>“She’s fine,” grins Ren. “I seen her and Ricky Henderson ridin’ -along th’ Dancin’ Prairie trail twice this week, and I hears that -she’s furnishin’ Buck Masterson with uh clean napkin at each meal. -Buck’s uh changed man, Sigismund. He’s usin’ ba’r ile on his boots -and bay rum on his head.”</p> - -<p>“That ol’ pelican?” yells Sig. “If that’s all that’s tryin’ to beat -my time I’m as good as married right now.”</p> - -<p>“I hates to tell yuh,” states Ren sadly, “but them Piperock fellers, -takin’ em as uh tribe, are shore beatin’ yore time with Rosalind. I -reckon you made uh hit th’ first time she ever saw yuh, but she’s -heard too much agin’ yuh since. I done talked with her and I finds -out that she’s partial to heroes. <i>Sabe?</i> Nothin’ but uh heero need -apply, and, Sig, there ain’t no use you tryin’ to be one uh them.</p> - -<p>“Anyway, yuh can’t see her before Monday. She went down to Curlew uh -few days ago, and said she would be back Monday afternoon on th’ -stage.”</p> - -<p>“Likes heroes, eh?” mused Sig. “Jist about what causes uh man to be -uh hero?”</p> - -<p>“Uh heero,” states Ren, “is uh feller who does jist what any one -else would have done in his place, but he beat ’em to it. <i>Sabe?</i> He -allus saves th’ girl.”</p> - -<p>“Saves th’ girl, eh?” Sig runs his fingers down th’ creases in his -chaps and thinks deeply.</p> - -<p>“Ren, I got a idea.”</p> - -<p>“Shoot.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll save Rosalind.”</p> - -<p>“Huh!” Ren spat his cigaret out and stared at Sig. “Save her from -what?”</p> - -<p>“You,” stated Sig, eagerlike.</p> - -<p>“Haw! Haw! Haw! Save her from me! That’s uh hy-iu idea, Ren. What am -I supposed to be?”</p> - -<p>“Uh desperado. Lissen. Art Miller carries money sometimes on th’ -stage and almost every trip he has uh passenger or two what would -assay six bits or uh dollar, and they’re liable to be held up any -trip. Here’s th’ big idea:</p> - -<p>“Remember them big rocks on this side of th’ Hell Gate crossin’? -Peach of uh place fer uh holdup, Ren. Now, on Monday afternoon, you -be up in them rocks, with uh mask on, and when Art drives out of th’ -ford you throw down on him with yore rifle and yell, ‘Hands up!’ -Mebby yuh better shoot once or twice so as to make th’ play good. -We’ll pull th’ bullets out of some ca’tridges so nobody won’t git -hurt. When you yells and shoots uh few times, here I comes across -th’ ford ridin’ like th’ devil and starts throwin’ lead and you -ducks, sabe? I’ll save th’ stage from bein’ held up and, bein’ as -Rosalind is on th’ stage, I’ll be uh hero. Ren, are yuh game to help -uh needin’ friend?”</p> - -<p>“And mebby go to Deer Lodge and wear uh number like uh box-car,” -objected Ren sarcastically.</p> - -<p>“Nobody’ll know yuh,” pleads Sig. “Don’t throw me down, Ren. How -many times you been to Piperock since I left?”</p> - -<p>“Every day,” grinned Ren.</p> - -<p>“Gosh! When is it comin’ off?”</p> - -<p>Ren shook his head and looked thoughtful.</p> - -<p>“There’s th’ cook yellin’ ‘supper’ now. Let’s eat.”</p> - -<p>Ren slid off the fence and looked at Sig.</p> - -<p>“Are yuh goin’ to help me out?” he asked pleadingly.</p> - -<p>“I’ve decided to give it uh whirl,” stated Ren. “To make th’ play -good I’ll go to Curlew on Sunday mornin’ and circle th’ stage from -there in the mornin’, after givin’ it out that I’m on my way to -Mica. <i>Sabe</i> th’ play, Sig? I’ll also hint that when I comes down -th’ trail I sees uh person who looks like Pete Melcher to me. Pete -is holed up somewhere in th’ west part of th’ state, but he’s liable -to start operatin’ over here any old time.”</p> - -<p>“Good stuff!” yells Sig “It’s shore white of you, Ren. Dog-gone, -there ain’t no chance of uh slip-up and me, I’ll be th’ li’l hero -and save th’ girl, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t worry about th’ slips in th’ game,” states Ren. “If Art -Miller does rim me with his ol’ riot gun, or if I gits uh free ride -to Deer Lodge, I won’t have to marry—huh! Every cloud has uh silver -linin’, Sigismund Alexander.”</p> - -<hr style='border:none; color:inherit; margin-top:1em;' /> - -<p>Th’ next mornin’, bein’ Sunday, Ren throws his saddle on his -brown mare and points off across th’ hills towards Curlew, and on -Monday mornin’ Sig puts his ridin’ gear on Old Man Padden’s best -lookin’ bronc, polishes up his boots and slips off across th’ hills -towards Hell Gate Cañon.</p> - -<p>Sig breezes across th’ hills with joy in his heart, so much joy that -he thumbs that bronc, with th’ result that he almost gits set on -foot. He has time to burn, so he decides to go out of his way to say -“hello” to Pete Gonyer. Pete lives in uh li’l cabin up in Roarin’ -Gulch, and Sig ain’t been up that way fer some time. It will give -him an excuse fer bein’ seen in th’ Hell Gate hills.</p> - -<p>He finds that Pete ain’t home, so he ambles down th’ gulch, ties up -his bronc and takes uh nap under uh bush. He sleeps about an hour -and then moves on. He ain’t got no watch, but th’ sun looks about -one o’clock, so he drops off th’ hills to th’ road and turns back -towards Piperock.</p> - -<p>He jogs along slow ’till he gits to th’ spring near th’ Rock of -Ages, and he swings off to git uh drink. Right there he spies uh -letter layin’ near th’ spring under uh bush, and nacherally he picks -it up and looks it over.</p> - -<p>“Huh!” says he. “Addressed to Jack Elberton, Helena. I reckon Art -must ’a’ lost it goin’ out.”</p> - -<p>And then like anybody else would, he opens it to see who to send it -back to. He reads it through twice, takes off his hat and reads it -again. It says:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p style='text-indent:0;'>Mr. Elberton:</p> -<p>In reply to your letter I can say that you’ve got more -nerve than a mule. Just because I let you kiss me don’t -prove conclusively that I love you. Also your statement -(or hint) that I’ve got a perfectly good husband in the -land of the living doesn’t feaze me either.</p> -<p>Your threat to come to Piperock to see me is amusing. I’ve -made a hit with a big cowboy up here, who would take you -apart like a picture puzzle if I said the word. Take my -advice, Jackie and forget that you ever knew</p> -<p style='text-align: right'>Rosalind</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Sig looks at th’ letter for uh while and then stares at th’ road. He -gits up suddenly and looks at th’ hoss tracks in the road and then -hops for his bronc.</p> - -<p>“Gosh!” says he. “Th’ stage is past!”</p> - -<p>And he spurs up th’ hill and throws th’ quirt into that bronc and -fogs th’ hills. He’s plumb miscalculated th’ time, and by racin’ fer -three miles across th’ hills he’s got uh chance to cut in ahead of -th’ stage.</p> - -<p>“Lord A’mighty!” he whoops, when he hits th’ road agin and sees uh -cloud uh dust still hangin’ around th’ first turn of th’ road. -“Mebby I’ll catch ’em yet. I shore got to do somethin’ to crab this -hold-up play! I can’t let Ren take uh chance like this now. Cripes! -Mebby Art is lookin’ fer uh play of this kind and he’ll fill Ren -full uh buck-shot. Git a-goin’ yuh buzzard-headed, bunch uh coyote -bait! If I can git close enough to attract Art’s attention before he -drives out of th’ ford, Ren will sabe that somethin’ has gone wrong -and keep out-a sight.”</p> - -<p>The four hosses of th’ stage had jist finished drinkin’ as Sig races -in sight, and as they starts out th’ other side Sig waves his rifle -and starts shootin’.</p> - -<p>That bronc wasn’t noways gun broke, so it starts sun-fishin’ at th’ -first shot and bores straight fer th’ stage. Sig sees Art Miller -stand up in his seat and throw th’ whip to his leaders with one hand -and fire both barrels of his riot gun with th’ other.</p> - -<p>Sig ducks jist in time to save his life. Art shoots uh li’l high and -when Sig ducks all he gits is th’ rakins of about six shot across -his shoulder. One shot punctures th’ brone’s ear and it shore moves -up and down a-plenty.</p> - -<p>Th’ stage is rockin’ and swayin’ up th’ road as fast as four scared -and whipped cayuses can yank it and Art Miller is bracin’ hisself -and throwin’ leather promiscuous. Sig lost his rifle and is now -ridin’ with both hands.</p> - -<p>Art drops his whip, wraps his lines around his arm and, in tryin’ to -put more shells in his gun, swings his team off th’ road. They go -good for about ten jumps and then they’re into th’ timber.</p> - -<p>Natcherally th’ leaders goes on opposite sides of uh tree, with th’ -result that th’ wheelers skid to one side and th’ stage turns uh -handspring. I reckon that Sig’s bronc thinks it’s uh real party fer -its benefit, ’cause it pitches right into th’ tangle and Sig lights -sittin’ down through th’ glass door of th’ stage, which is reposin’ -serenely on its side when he arrives.</p> - -<p>Sig sits there fer uh few minutes collectin’ his thoughts, when he -discovers that he’s sittin’ on somebody’s head.</p> - -<p>“Rosalind!” is th’ first thought that comes into his head, so he -slides part way out and takes said head between his hands.</p> - -<p>“Rosalind!” he wails. “My Gawd!”</p> - -<p>He can’t see very plain until he climbs out and leans over th’ -casing. “Speak to me, Rosalind!” he sobs. “Hu-honey, I wants yuh -to—the devil!”</p> - -<p>A figger rises up from th’ coach, looks him in th’ eye and spits out -three perfectly good teeth.</p> - -<p>“I begs yore pardon,” says Sig, in a dazed sort of uh way.</p> - -<p>“Yo’re welcome,” says th’ other party, puttin’ his finger into th’ -place where his teeth used to be, and lookin’ foolish.</p> - -<p>“Uh—hu—huh!” says a voice behind them, and there stands Art Miller.</p> - -<p>Most of his clothes are missin’ and he’s nursin’ uh skinned elbow -and leanin’ agin’ uh wheel fer support.</p> - -<p>“What happened, driver?” asks th’ party of th’ missin’ teeth.</p> - -<p>Art looks over th’ wreck and then back at th’ bald head stickin’ out -of th’ stage.</p> - -<p>“If it was yore eyes instead of yore teeth I might take th’ trouble -to explain,” he snaps. “Take uh look and form yore own conclusions.”</p> - -<p>“We—huh—seem to have wrecked.”</p> - -<p>“We—huh—have!” snapped Art, and then to Sig: “What do yuh mean by -stampedin’ my outfit thataway, eh? Comin’ along a-shootin’ like uh -crazy half-breed!”</p> - -<p>“Art,” says Sig, “I shore begs yore pardon if I done wrong, but I’d -almost swear that I hears somebody yell ‘Hands up!’ at you, when you -pulls out of th’ ford, and I comes to yore rescue. Dog-gone it all, -that’s allus th’ way. When yuh tries to do uh feller uh favor he -don’t appreciate it.”</p> - -<p>Sig looks sorry fer himself and rolls uh smoke.</p> - -<p>“Yore hearin’ is fine,” states Art, after thinkin’ fer uh minute. -“Jist as we pulls out of th’ ford, that rattle-headed, Roman-nosed, -off leader uh mine leans back and lets th’ pinto wheeler into th’ -stretchers. What I yells was—I begs yore pardon, preacher, did you -speak?”</p> - -<p>“Please,” mumbles th’ party of th’ missin’ teeth. “Things are bad -enough without repeatin’ your former exclamations.”</p> - -<p>“Preacher,” wonders Sig out loud. “Another preacher in th’ country? -We done got one in Piperock now, Art. One with all his teeth, too.”</p> - -<p>“Uh-huh,” agreed Art. “But he’s uh Baptist. This’n is uh -Presbyterian. Miss Beebee’s uh Presbyterian, and she insists on her -own tribe fer th’ marriage <i>wau-wau</i>. <i>Sabe?</i>”</p> - -<p>“When is this event due to happen?” grins Sig.</p> - -<p>“Tonight,” states Art. “And I’ll bet Buck Masterson is runnin’ rings -around himself right now. We’re due.”</p> - -<p>“Buck Masterson?” mumbles Sig. “I don’t see——”</p> - -<p>“Nobody does either,” chuckles Art. “Ain’t he gittin’ uh prize -package?”</p> - -<p>Sig grunts and wonders if some of th’ buck-shot didn’t go deeper -than just through th’ skin. He feels dazed like. Art Miller is -fumblin’ inside his shirt and finally produces a wrinkled envelope.</p> - -<p>“I jist happened to remember it, Sig. I sees Ren Merton yesterday in -Curlew and he sends you this. Wrote it too late to mail. Li’l -surprise.”</p> - -<p>He finished with a wink at th’ preacher person, who is huntin’ -around inside th’ wrecked stage fer his teeth.</p> - -<p>Sig opened th’ envelope and read th’ followin’ aloud:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p style='text-indent:0;'>“Deer Sigismund:</p> -<p>Me and Rosalind were married here today and send you our -best wishes. I hated to double-cross you but I told her -about our plans and she said that heroes were born and -not made and that I’d be one if I saved her from a -certain bow-legged person we both know. I asks your -pardon and wishes to state that I wouldn’t have done it -if I had of been sober. You can have that new quirt -which is hangin’ over my bunk. You know how a feller -loses his head when he’s spifflikated.</p> -<div style='text-align:right;margin-right:10em;'>Yours respy</div> -<div style='text-align:right'>Renley St. Clair Merton & wife.</div> -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-top:1em;'>P.S. The preacher what tied the not is in the stage and -can tell you all about it. I hope you don’t kill him -during the rescue ’cause he never asked fer a cent.”</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>“You—you performed a marriage in Curlew last night?” asked Sig, and -th’ preacher nods.</p> - -<p>“Yeth thir,” he states, with his tongue explorin’ where his teeth -used to bed down. “But I never wath paid a thent.”</p> - -<p>Sig fumbled around in his pocket for a moment and then hauled out a -small roll of bills.</p> - -<p>“Here’s uh ten spot with my compliments, old-timer.”</p> - -<p>“Wath he a friend of yours?” asks th’ preacher.</p> - -<p>“Well,” says Sig, feelin’ of th’ two envelopes in his chaps pocket, -“he don’t think so, but he don’t know it all. If uh man would ask me -I’d say, yes.”</p> - -<p>Sig recovers his horse and pulls out fer Piperock, after promisin’ -Art that he’ll send help out to them. Buck is standin’ in front of -th’ saloon and as Sig rides up he yells—</p> - -<p>“Seen anythin’ of th’ stage, Sig?”</p> - -<p>Sig tells him about th’ smash-up and then goes in and drapes himself -over th’ bar. Ricky Henderson is there and they crooks elbows -numerous.</p> - -<p>“Where’s Ren?” asks Ricky. “I ain’t seen him since Saturday. Him and -that Rosalind person is thicker than axle grease in January. Been -out ridin’ every day last week. I thought you had aspirations -thataway, Sig.’”</p> - -<p>“Not me, Ricky. Yore uncle Siggie knows when he’s safe. I’m goin’ -over to congratulate th’ bride, and then I’m goin’ to come back and -fill my hide with some more absent-minded juice. So long.”</p> - -<p>He ambles across th’ street to th’ restaurant and finds Miss Matilda -tellin’ th’ Chink what to have fer supper.</p> - -<p>“Howdy,” says Sig. “I reckon I can congratulate you on yore marriage -to Buck.”</p> - -<p>Matilda blushes through her whiskers and smooths her skirt.</p> - -<p>“Thanks, Sigismund. I had hopes that you and Rosalind could stand up -with us, but she’s in Curlew and won’t be back. I’ll have to git -Miss Harris. Would you like to stand up with her?”</p> - -<p>“Ma’am,” says Sig, “while I admires such functions uh heap, I’d uh -lot rather jist sit on th’ bench and watch ’em. Rosalind is uh real -nice girl, I reckon, but her and me ain’t——”</p> - -<p>Miss Beebee pats Sig on th’ shoulder in uh motherly way.</p> - -<p>“Rosalind is uh nice girl but she’s got uh temper that would, when -it busts, make uh stick of dynamite sound like th’ scratchin’ of uh -sulfur match. She told me that she liked yore looks th’ first time -she ever seen yuh, Sigismund, but it’s money she wants—not love.”</p> - -<p>“She’s done married Ren,” states Sig sarcastically.</p> - -<p>“Already? My, my, she shore didn’t take any chances. I’ll tell you -uh secret Ricky Henderson told.”</p> - -<p>Sig looked foolishly at her and scratched his head.</p> - -<p>“Ricky did, eh? Jist about how much did that <i>hombre</i> e-lucidate?”</p> - -<p>“He came in here the other day after Renley had gone, and he told us -all about Renley being the real owner of the Triangle cattle and -also havin’ uh big interest in th’ Seven A. Oh, he told us all about -Renley. Ricky had been drinkin’, I think.”</p> - -<p>“So Rosalind——”</p> - -<p>“Jist a moment, Sigismund. I want to make a little confession. Her -name is not Rosalind, but Matilda. We traded names when we came up -here because mine fits her better than her own. Of course all our -friends outside of Piperock know that my name is Rosalind. Of course -when she found out all about Renley——”</p> - -<p>“Yes’m,” agreed Sig. “She marries him fer his money. Honest, ma’am, -I feels fer both of them.”</p> - -<p>Sig walks back across th’ street in uh dazed sort-a way and leans -against th’ bar.</p> - -<p>“Rosalind, eh?” he snorts to himself. “Well, don’t that beat four of -uh kind. Renley is th’ owner of th’— Gosh! There’s goin’ to be uh -noise like uh ton of dynamite in that li’l ol’ honeymoon. Huh! That -Elberton person must shore be uh collector uh knick-knacks and—I -wonder if he was drunk, too?”</p> - -<p>Buck Masterson walks in from th’ front and ranges alongside of Sig.</p> - -<p>“I’ve sent fer th’ preacher,” he states.</p> - -<p>But Sig jist grunts. He’s tryin’ to visualize th’ face on Jack -Elberton, which would want to come clear to Piperock to kiss Miss -Beebee.</p> - -<p>“Did you know her name was Rosalind?” asks Sig.</p> - -<p>“Shee,” says Buck, and then he gits confidential and talks in uh low -tone. “Dog-gone th’ luck, Sig, I shore wish it was all over. It’s -got me so danged jumpy that I flinches at everything. I wish—huh—I -wish—say, Sig, uh feller hadn’t ought to drink whisky a-tall. He -hadn’t ought to take even one li’l friendly drink. I’ll——”</p> - -<p>“Say,” snorts Sig, “You don’t mean to tell me that you was full when -you——”</p> - -<p>“Fuller’n uh shepherd,” states Buck solemnly. “By cripes, I was so -full that I’d have proposed to uh—say, where yuh goin’?”</p> - -<p>“Me?” asks Sig, turnin’ around in th’ doorway, and holdin’ up his -right hand. “I’m goin’ out to meet that preacher person and -I’m—goin’—to—sign—th’ pledge! <i>Sabe?</i> Self-preservation is th’ first -law of nature, and I’d rather be preserved than pickled. It’s -safer.”</p> - -<p style='margin-top:1em; text-indent:0; text-align:center; font-size:0.8em;'>THE END</p> - -<div class="tn"> - <p>Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in - the February 1917 issue of <em>Adventure</em> magazine.</p> -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN SELF-DEFENSE ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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