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diff --git a/79222-0.txt b/79222-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5a9828d --- /dev/null +++ b/79222-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,962 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79222 *** + + + PIE FOR MAGPIE + + by W. C. Tuttle + Author of “The Domestication of Dobie,” “The Hand of Providence,” etc. + + +If it is true that it takes all kinds of folks to make a world, Magpie +Simpkins was a specimen without a parallel. He’d take a chance on +anything from soda-water to stocks, and his head was a regular +greenhouse of fool ideas. + +He’s so tall that any one would bet he had seventeen more vertebræ than +the average man, and to hear him talk you’d think his family name was +Knowledge. I’m Ike Harper, and I’ve been a suffering pardner to this +long, gun-packing cross between a walking argument and a psychologist +for years and years, and while I don’t change much in looks I’m breaking +down internally at an alarming rate. + +This day me and Magpie are setting in our cabin on Plenty Stone Creek +with Tellurium Woods, and Magpie has got his long nose stuck deep into +an old magazine. + +Tellurium Woods is worth a passing mention. He’s anti everything except +“Have a drink?” when he’s open to conviction. He’s about five feet six +inches in height, and about the same in diameter, and uses a flannel rag +instead of a comb. He’s got a claim on the creek above ours, neither of +which show anything except recent labor. He ain’t partial to games of +chance—carrying his own marked deck and loaded dice, and pines for a +cinch bet. + +Magpie lays the magazine down on the table, while he rolls a cigaret, +and I can see that he’s found food for thought. I sighs to myself. I +know the symptoms. After the smoke is trailing up past his long nose, he +turns to me and Tellurium, and snorts: + +“Pshaw! They make a fuss about something that anybody could do just as +well, and maybe I could do it a lot better.” + +“What bank got robbed this time, Magpie?” inquires Tellurium. + +Magpie looks at Tellurium, sad-like, and shakes his head— + +“No wonder your hair don’t show no animation, Tellurium.” + +And then he goes on reading. + +“Well, you don’t need to keep it a secret, Magpie,” I reminds him. + +“It says here,” says he, turning a few pages, “it says here that a +feller went out into the woods, without no clothes on, and without no +weapons but his bare hands, and stayed thirty days, when he comes back +healthy and clothed in skins. ‘Next to Nature,’ they calls it. By +cripes, a magazine must be hard up for stuff to write about!” + +“Pretty hard thing to do at that,” states Tellurium. “I takes off my hat +to any man what can pull that stunt.” + +“Hard!” snorts Magpie, “you call that hard? That’s a cinch for a he +man.” + +“Exactly,” agrees Tellurium, “that’s why me and you ought to take off +our hats to him. We couldn’t do it, Magpie.” + +“Couldn’t, eh? You couldn’t, Mr. Woods—that’s a cinch.” + +“Neither could you, Mr. Simpkins, which makes it a double-rig.” + +“The —— I couldn’t! Bet you forty dollars I could.” + +“See you, Magpie, and raise you forty more.” + +Magpie turns to me— + +“Ike, how much money you got?” + +“Just enough for me to get both hands around it and hang on,” says I. +“Tellurium is betting on a cinch or he wouldn’t bet, so you might as +well back up, Magpie.” + +“Thanks, Ike,” says he. “We’ll make that for a hundred, Tellurium. I’ll +get a pencil and write out the articles of agreement.” + +“How much you got, Magpie?” I asks. + +“Forty-three dollars.” + +What can you do with a person like that? I had fifty-seven dollars +before them two fool-hens got to betting, and when things are settled I +ain’t got nothing but a receipt, which ain’t honored in no place where +they sells things. + +The agreement reads something like this: + + TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN: + + It is this day agreed that Magpie Simpkins, party of the first + part, bets Tellurium Woods, party of the hind part, one hundred + dollars that he can go out into the woods and live for thirty + days: starting out from a designated spot, with no clothes and + no weapons. + + The party of the first part agrees to come back in good health, + nourished from the bosom of nature, and it is further agreed + that the said Magpie Simpkins, Tellurium Woods and Ike Harper, + stakeholder, and party of minor interest shall, do and hereby + agree not to tell a darn soul of the bet, and in case the + parties of the first part or parties of the hind part break this + agreement they shall forfeit their half of the bet, and in case + Ike tells he shall lose the money he loaned to the party of the + first part. + +We all signed it. They wanted me to hold up my right hand, and swear +that I’ll keep my mouth shut, but I said: + +“If you think I’m going to sign that article and then tell anybody, +you’re crazy. I expect to lose the money, but I don’t give my coin to no +dealer before I get a look at the cards.” + +The next day Magpie went back to Nature. He limped off into the woods, +up in the Medicine Hills, and I’ll bet that Nature, if she saw him +coming, was ashamed of her handiwork. + + * * * * * + +The next morning I’m there on the sunny side of our cabin, when I sees a +caravan coming up the trail. There’s something about this group of human +beings that reminds me of something I’ve seen before, and when they gets +a little closer, I says to me— + +“Ike, there’s Professor Phinney, or you’re a wall-eyed pike!” + +It sure was that same identical old pelican, with his shiny, hard hat on +his head, and them same crêpe-rimmed specs dangling on his skinny nose. +His knees interfere with the burro’s ear action, and his coattails makes +a hy-iu drape for the rear end of the critter. + +Behind him comes Mrs. Professor, fatter and more painful than ever, and +behind her is another lady, who is strange to me. Just then a burro tops +the rise, and I sees Doctor Doolittle. Yes, sir, here comes that doctor, +knee-breeches and all, and so far as I can see he ain’t changed none at +all. Just as fat and red-faced as ever, and across in front of him, +almost covered with his stummick, is that same shotgun that he hopes +some day to kill something with. + +They pilgrims up and the professor squints at me over his specs. + +“How—er—do you do,” says he. “Is that you, Mr. Harper?” + +“I’ll have to admit it, old-timer,” says I, uncoiling myself from the +chair, and shaking hands with him. + +Doc falls off his steed, and waddles up to shake hands, too. + +“Ike,” pants the doctor, “I’m glad to see you. Ah-h-h-h! How are you?” + +“Reasonable, Doc,” says I. “Howdy, Mrs. Phinney. How are you?” + +“Unreasonable!” snaps the professor, before the old lady can open her +mouth. “She’s done nothing but complain all the way. Meet my daughter +Angeline. This is her first trip of this kind.” + +“And her last!” snorts the old lady. “Your theories will be the death of +both of us. It’s the most foolish undertaking I ever heard of, Wallace. +Absolutely the most foolish thing on earth!” + +“I don’t mind the trip, mother,” states Angeline, in the voice of a +medder lark. “I rather love it, don’t you know?” + +“I know,” says I. “Is this the end of your journey, folks, or do you +intend to pilgrim on?” + +“We terminate here,” says the professor. + +“We will be with you for some little time. Is Mr. Simpkins at home?” + +“Magpie,” corrects the doctor. “I called him Mr. Simpkins, and he got +indignant. I like him—so unconventional and quaint.” + +“Magpie,” says I, reaching deep into my soul for an alibi, “Magpie is +dead.” + +“Dead?” squeaks the professor. “Dead? Well, well!” + +“I’m so sorry,” says the old lady, acting almost human. “So sorry. It +must be awful hard for you.” + +“Yes’m. Almost impossible.” + +“Magpie is dead,” wonders the doctor. “From what cause?” + +“Nature took him unto its own,” says I, removing my hat. “You—er—might +say that natural history took him unto its own.” + +“Exactly,” agrees the professor. “Just how?” + +“Met a grizzly bear,” says I. “Never met before.” + +“Must have been sudden,” says the old lady. + +“Yes’m, I’d say it was quick.” + +“Oh!” exclaims the doctor. “Grizzly bear?” + +“I told you we’d have them to contend with,” argues the professor. “Even +with grizzlies abroad it will merely lend zest to the experiment.” + +“Zest!” yelps the old lady. “Experiment! Did you ever in your life hear +of such a thing, Mr. Harper? The professor, supposedly a learned man, +and the doctor, also of supposedly human intelligence, have come out +here to prove the theory that a man can live a whole month in the woods, +without clothes or weapons or food, except such as they can snatch from +nature. Did you ever hear of such a thing? Isn’t it the most absurd +thing on earth?” + +I backed against the cabin and stared at that outfit. + +“You see!” cackled the old lady, “he’s thunderstruck to think that +intelligent men would think of such a thing.” + +“It—er—has been done,” states the professor, and the doctor nods and +pats himself on the chest. + +“It can be done again, too,” states he. + +“For me it will remove superfluous adipose tissue, and for the professor +it will be the means of bringing back the vigor of youth, and perhaps a +little flesh. What do you think, Mr. Harper?” + +“Think? I don’t never attempt it, Doctor—especially in the presence of +learned men. I’m a darn fool, and I’m proud of it. I just know enough to +keep my clothes on and eat off a table. When do you fellers intend to go +back to the Cave Age?” + +“Tomorrow,” says the professor. “We are both anxious to try out the +theory. Today we will fix things so the ladies will be comfortable—if +you don’t mind having them around here for a while—and tomorrow we will +enter the forest in quest of adventure and health.” + +What could I do? They say that lightning don’t hit twice in the same +place, but this bolt did. I gives the ladies the cabin, and moves my +blankets out under a tree. Tellurium comes shuffling along a little +later, and stops to look the outfit over. The professor is setting there +on the steps, and Tellurium sizes him up. + +“Ike,” says he, “what in —— is that?” + +“Not so loud!” I cautions him. “That person which you designate as a +‘thing’ is Magpie’s father.” + +“Magpie’s father! My gosh, I never knew—well, huh! Magpie favors him a +heap, Ike.” + +Tellurium walks over to the professor and holds out his hand. + +“Pleased to meet you,” says he. “Surprised and pleased. I’ve knowed the +boy for a long time, and while he’s a bit long on arguments and fool +ideas, I welcome his ancestor. He’s got your nose and legs. I reckon +you’re proud of him.” + +“Yeaus,” drawls the professor, squinting up at Tellurium. “Yeaus. Just +who do you refer to?” + +“Magpie.” + +“Ah! Yeaus, too bad. I feel sorry for him.” + +“Well,” says Tellurium, hitching up his belt, “after taking a +comprehensive look I agree that he’s to be pitied. He’s too old to +outgrow it now.” + +Tellurium grins at me, and pilgrims away. + +“That—er—party must be a bit off his mind,” remarks the professor. “Do +people outgrow deaths from grizzly bears?” + +“Not this summer,” says I. “That’s one of Magpie’s closest friends, and +when Magpie passed out it affected his brain.” + +“He must have been a close friend,” agrees the old pelican. + +“Close?” says I. “Say, he’s so close that one day he let a train run +over a nickel so he could pass it on Wick Smith for two-bits’ worth of +beans.” + +“Exactly,” agrees the professor. “He was Damon to Magpie’s Pythias.” + +What can you do with a person like that? There ain’t no open season, and +they don’t class as varmints, so you just got to suffer them to live. +The professor has loads of brains and no sense. The doctor grins at me, +and tried to wink. It must be awful to have a face so fat that you have +to register extreme pain in order to wink. + + * * * * * + +The next day them two hombres turns themselves loose. I takes them way +over into the heavy timber, and brings their clothes back with me. They +has quite a heated argument as to whether the professor shall or shall +not retain his shoes, but they finally decides that on account of his +bunions he shall be permitted to wear them, and the cloth things he +covers them with. The doctor insists that so long as the professor +concedes himself a pair of shoes, he’ll allow himself to retain a few +feet of twine string and a bent pin to catch trout with. I sets there +and suffers internal troubles until they gets things settled, and +pilgrims off into the jungle. + +Man, it was a sight! Nothing on earth was ever funnier than to see a fat +man, minus his clothes, picking his steps into the timber, with one hand +held out in front of him, dangling a twine string, while behind him +comes an animated hat-rack, the upper part of his body clothed in +crêpe-rimmed specs, and the lower half in a pair of shoes with gray +cloth blankets over same. + +The old lady sure read the riot act to me when I got back. She seemed to +think that I ought to have talked them out of it. Fine chance, after +they comes a thousand miles to try it out. + +“Grizzly bears will get them!” she wails. + +“Yes’m,” says I, “I wouldn’t put it past a grizzly. Cheer up, though, +’cause the wolves may beat the bear to it.” + +“Wolves!” she whoops. “Is there wolves here, too?” + +“Flocks of them, ma’am. Highbehinds, suspender snakes and +wild-trout-hounds. This country is overwhelmed with animal life.” + +Them two ladies gets real worked up over it, and are arguing about +calling for the police, when in comes “Mighty” Jones and his coyote +pack. Mighty is one of these alleged human beings who get a hobby and +ride it to death. + +His last obsession was wolf-hounds, and he sure acquires some pack. +There’s everything in it from a water spaniel to a St. Bernard. Seven +alleged fox-hounds furnishes the trailing, and the rest just sort of +form a mob. He rides up and admires the ladies, and then I introduce +him. + +“I never knew that fox hunting had advanced this far West,” says Miss +Angeline, trying to keep a spaniel from gnawing her shoelace and a +greyhound from licking her ear at the same time. + +“Yes’m,” says Mighty. “Foxes ain’t so much beside what I’ve been after +today. Ike, did you ever see a wild man?” + +“Not lately. I never did see them as a regular thing. Why, Mighty?” + +“I been chasing one for three hours. Honest to gosh! Wore out my horse +and all my dogs. Where is Magpie?” + +“Wild man!” I snorts. “You better quit drinking.” + +“Ain’t had a drink for a week. Where’s Magpie?” + +“There ain’t no wild man,” I argues. “Must have been a bear.” + +“Don’t you reckon I know a bear from a man? Magpie at home?” + +“He—he’s dead. Didn’t you hear about it?” informs and inquires the old +lady. + +“Dead? Magpie ain’t dead.” + +“Yes, he is,” insists the old lady. “Ate up by a grizzly.” + +I’ll bet that old lady was some gossip pedler in her own town, ’cause +she seemed to get a lot of pleasure out of telling the bad news to +Mighty. + +“Aw!” says Mighty. “Aw. Is that right, Ike?” + +“You’re questioning the lady’s veracity, Mighty,” says I. + +“Did you see the bear kill him, Ike?” he asks. + +I shakes my head, and the old lady chips in— + +“Mr. Harper knows that it did just the same.” + +Mighty picks up his reins and whistles for his dogs— + +“Well,” says he, “there’s something queer about it, if you asks me.” + +And then he rides off down the trail. + +“That’s the worst of it,” says I. “When a person gets killed, you’ll +always find some nosey person what wants proof. Grizzly bears don’t +leave nothing to prove it by.” + +“How do you know a bear killed him?” asks Miss Angeline. + +“Well,” says I, sparring for time, “that’s easy. A grizzly always—do you +know anything about grizzly bears, ma’am? You don’t? Well, that makes it +easier. When a grizzly makes a kill he always brays four times in a row. +Sabe? Sort of a final Keno. I heard one bray the required number of +times just after Magpie left.” + +“How utterly appalling,” wails Miss Angeline, “and didn’t you go to his +rescue?” + +“No, ma’am! It’s too late to even go to his funeral. Everything is over +or inside by that time. All I could do would be to swell the list of +dead or injured, so I keeps away.” + +“Heavens above!” wails the old lady. “And this is what is coming to my +poor darling Wallie and dear Doctor Doolittle. Oh, why do men do things +like this?” + +“Search me,” says I, and just then the old lady cuts loose a real howl, +and grabs herself by the earrings. + +“Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!” she yelps, running the scale with her voice. “Oh, +I forgot the wild man! He’s over there with father and the doctor!” + +“He may be over there, ma’am,” says I, consoling-like, “but not with +them. He ain’t that wild.” + +That night they barricaded that cabin door until it would take a ton of +dynamite to open it from the outside. They holds open prayer-meeting in +favor of the professor and doctor, saying a few words for the mangled +soul of Magpie Simpkins—they called him Simpson, and winds up with a few +words in regards to softening the natural proclivities of local grizzly +bears. + +I’d almost slip into sin and deception to be prayed for by Miss +Angeline. It’s along about ten o’clock. I’m laying there in my blankets, +smoking a cigaret, when I hears footsteps approaching, and I sees the +outline of Tellurium Woods. I whistles to him, and he comes over and +sets down with me. + +“Ike,” says he, “I just come over to tell you that Magpie has busted his +agreement to the extent that he ain’t depending on nature for all his +nourishment.” + +“If that’s all he’s busted he’s lucky,” says I. “Mighty Jones’ pack of +dogs has chased him all day.” + +Tellurium lets this information percolate for a while, and then he says: + +“Pshaw! I don’t reckon them hounds are much good. I made a pie today, +Ike. Honest to gosh, apple pie! Left her outside to cool, while I goes +out to try and catch some fish for supper, and when I gets back she’s +gone. A blanket is also gone from where I leaves her on a stump. + +“I just come down to explain about that pie, Ike. It ain’t exactly a +digestible piece of food. That ornery Piegan, Runs-With-a-Wolf, has been +pilfering from me lately. He picks up everything he can lay his hands +on, so I bakes this pie to teach him a lesson. There’s a few apples in +it, Ike, but there’s a danged lot of quinine, ipecac and cayenne pepper. +She’s guaranteed to cure colds, empty a stubborn stummick and warm you +to the bone. I know that Injun didn’t get her, ’cause he’s visiting down +at the reservation.” + + * * * * * + +Just then a burro starts singing his little song, and before he gets +through the first verse another one gives him his audible support. Me +and Tellurium don’t pay no attention, being used to the song of the +Rocky Mountain canary, but from the cabin comes a long, loud wail, and +here comes two white-robed figures. They’ve got their arms around each +other, and the old lady yells: + +“Mr. Harper! Oh-h-h-h! Mr. Harper! They’re gone! They’re gone!” + +“Yes’m,” says I. “They’ve got nerve to stay this long. Better go back to +bed before you catch cold.” + +“Heartless creature!” wails the old lady. “Why don’t you do something? +Isn’t there anything you can do? Oh, my poor Wallie!” + +“Who’s Wallie?” asks Tellurium, in a whisper. + +“He’s a nut,” says I truthfully, and then I turns to the ladies: “Just +what do you want me to do? Also I’d love to know what in thunder is the +matter with you two. What you got—toothache, earache or stummickache?” + +“They’re gone, I tell you!” howls the old lady, while Angeline sets down +on the ground and hangs on to the old lady’s knees, like a picture I saw +once of an angel hanging on to a rock. + +“The grizzly brayed eight times!” sobs Miss Angeline, and I begins to +see a light. + +“Good night!” snorts Tellurium. “I feels that I’m _hors de compact_ in a +community where grizzly bears pick up the habits of a jackass,” and he +pikes off in the dark. + +I manages to get them females back into the cabin, after promising to go +and see what the grizzly left. I went back after a while and told them +to rest easy, ’cause all the grizzly killed was a couple of elk. + +“The—the doctor is an Elk,” says Miss Angeline. + +“Not this kind,” says I. “This kind wears the teeth in their mouth.” The +next morning I leaves the females cleaning out the cabin while I takes +my bronc and goes scouting. I swings around the head of Sillman Gulch on +to Injun Creek. I ties my bronc and moseys down to the creek to see what +I can discover. + +After a while I pokes out on to a nice bare spot above the creek, and +sets down to take a smoke. At first I don’t see a thing, but after a +while I sees something move across the creek, and when I gets my eyes +set right I sees Magpie Simpkins. He’s laying flat behind a log and +seems to be interested in something below him. I sneaks up to where I +can get a better view, and right below me is the doctor and professor. + +It sure is a scene from nature. Down there, humped up on a rock, with a +blanket draped over his shoulders is the professor, busy picking thorns +out of his legs. On a lodge-pole, which is bridging the creek, crouches +the doctor, both legs wrapped around the pole, and hanging on with one +hand, while he angles with the other. + +Sudden-like he yanks up with the string, and out flips a small trout, +but before the doctor can swing it to shore it falls off his bent pin. +I’m only a short distance above them, so I can see fine, and hear ’most +everything they say. + +Sudden-like I sees Magpie again. He’s sneaking up behind the professor’s +rock, and he’s some snaky individual. Pretty soon he wiggles up close, +takes something, and then backs up until he’s into the brush again. + +“The plot begins to congeal,” says I to myself. + +The doctor snags another fish, with the same result. The professor +shakes his head, sad-like, and yells— + +“Never mind, they won’t stay hooked.” + +“This is Friday!” yells the doctor. “We’ve got to have fish with our +pie,” and keeps right on angling. + +I looks around for Magpie, and I sees him sneak across the creek below +me, and Injun up my side. I reckon he’s pining to get a look at the +features of them naturals, and has got to circle to do it. I rolls +behind a bush and waits for him. He sneaks out, all humped over, with +that pie under his arm, and his skin area bears proof that he’s been +going through brush regardless. He looks like a smallpox patient that +had been curry-combed. He squats down and peers at them two below, and +scratches his head. + +“Well, I’ll be ——!” he snorts. “Dog-gone, it can’t be!” and then he +looks at the pie beside him, and nods. + +He breaks that pie in two, and seems a heap interested in something he +finds. I reckon he ain’t been eating none too good off nature, ’cause he +goes into that pie like a steam shovel into mud. + +He masticates slower and slower, and an expression of pain comes across +his face. He looks at the piece of pie in his hand, and then lays it +tenderly into the tin. He spat out that mouthful of pie, along with a +cuss word that would gladden the heart of a professional mule-skinner, +and then gathers up tin and all and peers over the bank. + +Swish! He sails that pan far out over the creek, and to the left of the +professor. It cuts a beautiful circle to the left, turns over and dips +to the right, and completes a shot that Magpie or no other man could do +again in a lifetime. It hit the professor slap in the chest and knocked +him off the rock. The pie must have been soggy to make it hold to the +tin thataway, and when it hit it busted like shrapnel. + +_Yar-o-o-o-o! Yar-o-o-o-o-o!_ comes a howling up the creek, and down +through the timber comes Mighty Jones’ pack of hounds. + +Magpie just simply fades away from there. I leans over the edge and +watches the scene below me. They’ve heard it, too. The professor is +standing on the rock, like a statue of “Science at Bay,” while the +doctor gives an action picture of “Lard Leaving the Log,” and he left it +backwards. He almost dried up the creek when he hit, and then the waters +closed over him. + +I heard Phinney squeak like a rusty wheel, when the doctor went out of +sight, and then he lights running. D. F. are two of the initials the old +boy wears after his name, and right now I argues that they stands for +“Danged Fast.” The way he ambled out of there would keep an antelope +busy to imitate, and he hung on to his blanket, too. I sees the doctor +roll out on a sandbar below there, and head off into the brush after the +professor, and I says to myself— + +“You keep that up for a while, old-timer, and that adipose tissue won’t +hamper you none to speak of.” + +Then came the dogs. They comes down the creek, howling their heads off, +and behind them is Mighty Jones and two other men. Them dogs starts +milling around one spot down there, which is where the professor has +been setting. All to once a dog breaks out of the pack and beats it for +the creek, and some more follow him. Them dogs acts like they hadn’t had +a drink for a week. + +Mighty gets off his bronc and examines the place where the dogs got so +excited, and pretty soon he holds up something in his hand. + +“Pie!” he yells, and the rest of them comes up to examine it. + +They tried to get the dogs to take up the trail, but all they will do is +lap water and howl their fool heads off. + +Finally they decides to dispense with the dogs, and when I sees them +motion like they were coming my way, I pilgrims back to my bronc and +takes a roundabout way home. + +The three riders and the dogs are there when I arrives, and the old lady +is right in her glory. She sure is peddling information to that bunch, +and they looks hostile to me when I shows up. I walks up on the porch, +after kicking a few dogs out of the way and faces them. One is Bill +McFee, our sheriff, and the other is “Scenery” Sims, his deputy, and of +course the third one is Mighty. + +“Howdy, Bill,” says I. “How’s tricks?” + +“Hunting for a little information, Ike,” says he. “Where’s Magpie?” + + * * * * * + +I looks them over, and feels foolish. It don’t pay to lie to the law, +and it don’t pay to lose fifty-three dollars either. I clears my throat, +and kicks another dog off the porch. + +“Well,” says I, “Magpie he—he——” + +“Don’t lie!” squeaks Scenery. “Don’t lie to us.” + +“Anything you say may be used against you, Ike,” warns Bill. + +I don’t like Scenery, and me and Bill never got to the kissing stage. + +“Scenery,” says I, “some day I’m going to assassinate you.” + +“Just like you did——” + +“Whoa!” snorts Bill. “Don’t say that, Scenery. I want to know where +Magpie Simpkins is.” + +“Tellurium said—” begins Scenery, but Bill shuts him up. + +“Never mind what anybody told you: I want a statement from Ike.” + +“Tellurium said, did he?” says I. “I don’t know what he said, Bill, but +I do know that he knows where Magpie is, and I promised that same +Tellurium Woods that I wouldn’t tell. Sabe?” + +“But the lady here said something about a bear,” whines Scenery. “She +said——” + +“Too much talk,” snaps Bill. “Mighty talks about wild men until the +whole country is aroused, and then this here lady orates about bears +that bray, and Tellurium wails about pie thieves. Danged place is +getting too civilized. Reckon I’ll go up and talk with Tellurium. Come +on, Scenery.” + +They pilgrims away, and I sets down on the porch. + +“We’re going away, too,” states Mrs. Professor, “I—I won’t stay here +another night. We’ll go to Piperock and live at the hotel.” + +“You got some riding animals, ma’am?” asks Mighty. + +“Bureaus,” says the old lady. “We don’t know the way down there, but I’d +rather be lost than to stay here.” + +“I’ll escort you down,” offers Mighty, grinning at me. “Where are your +riding-rigs?” + +I don’t offer no information or help. What’s the use of arguing with a +female? When they turns and waves at me from down the trail, I just +throws away my cigaret and goes into the cabin. If they wants to +interpret that gesture as a wave it’s up to them. + +I hears somebody yelp outside, when I’m almost asleep, so I goes outside +and shakes hands with “Old Testament” Tilton and his family. The old +pelican is on another one of his pilgrimages after souls, and takes his +wife and daughter along. They has a pack-outfit, and the old lady orates +that she’d admire a chance to look at our stove. + +“I’ve shed tears over a camp-fire so long that I hankers for a stove,” +says she. + +Mrs. Tilton looks like a relic of the Puritans and her daughter ain’t +more than a jump behind her. + +“Come on, Drusilla,” says she, “we’ll make some biscuits, while father +quotes a few scriptures to Mr. Harper.” + +“Ma’am,” says I, bowing low, “I’d rather see you making biscuits. I +figure that there ain’t nothing better for a man’s soul than to see a +pretty woman making biscuits.” + +Maybe I stretched the beauty part a heap, but I’ve been corraled before +by Old Testament, and I’d a heap rather add an extra lie to my already +overload of sin than to stand for his line of talk. Old Testament pulls +off his boots and lays down on a bunk, while the old lady digs into the +flour. Miss Drusilla pokes her nose into a magazine, and I sets there +and smokes. I’d just about forgot Magpie, when all to once I hears a +noise at the door. There stands the professor. + +Yes, thank you, he’s still got the blanket. He seems to have cut a hole +in it for each leg to stick through, and there he stands, holding on to +the corners of that blanket. He’s got a rope around his waist, but don’t +seem to have much confidence in it. + +The old boy seems to have lost his specs and most of his ambition, but +he pilgrims right inside and throws one arm around Mrs. Tilton. + +“My darling,” he gurgles, “I’m through. I find that the theory is all +right but the practise is impossible. Were you worried?” + +Old Testament sets up on the bunk and looks goggle-eyed at the old coot, +but beyond the professor’s oration there ain’t a word spoken for several +seconds. + +Sudden-like the old lady tears away, and the next second sees the +professor crowned with a pan of dough. Believe me, it was some +coronation. He backs away, clawing the flour out of his eyes, and sets +down on Drusilla’s lap. + +He stares at the surroundings, foolish-like, and then he sort of sees +things in their right light. Just then comes a delicate sort of a cough +at the door, and we all turns. + +I don’t know where the doctor made the raise, but he’d got a dirty +saddle blanket draped around him, and a look of disgust on his face. He +looks like nature had sure put him in bad humor. + +“Lead us not into temptation,” I hears Old Testament say, and sees him +reaching for the doctor’s shotgun. + +The professor slips off Drusilla’s lap and makes a quick limp for the +door. + +“It’s all wrong, Doctor,” says he, through the dough. “It’s——” + +I reckon the doctor thought the same about it, ’cause them two mismated +cave men starts going away as fast as possible. + +Old Testament clumps past me, and before I can stop him he bangs away +with both barrels of that gun. I reckon the professor is so thin it +would take a choke-bored gun to hit him at ten feet, but the doctor +seems to go out of his way to hurdle a stump. + +Old Testament picks himself up out of the dirt, and circles around and +sets down on the porch. I reckon that gun was loaded by an anarchist. + +“Heaven is my home!” exclaims Mrs. Tilton, leaning against the doorway, +while Drusilla pants like a tired pup. + +“Brother Harper, I’d admire to know what that was!” groans Old +Testament, holding his head in his hands. + +“Sounded like half a stick of dynamite in each barrel,” says I, and just +then I turns and sees Mrs. Professor and Angeline, setting right there +on their burros, looking at us. + +Mrs. Professor tumbles off her noble steed, waddles right over and grabs +Old Testament by the ear. + +“You assassin!” she whoops. “What did you shoot at my Wallie for?” + +“Your—madam, you’re hurting me!” squeaks the old man. “Let go my ear! I +don’t know who Wallie is but I do know that one of them cannibals kissed +my wife.” + +“Kissed your wife?” wonders the old lady, and then she stares at Mrs. +Tilton. “Well!” she gasps. “Wallie must have lost his glasses!” + +Them four females acts like they belonged to the same club, and when +nobody seems to want to make conversation, I speaks up and says— + +“I thought you ladies were on your way to Piperock.” + +“We were,” nods Mrs. Professor. “Our guide was behind us, and all at +once he disappeared, so we came back.” + +Bill McFee and Scenery Sims rides into the yard and sort of relieves the +situation. + +“Tellurium wasn’t home,” states Bill. “You get your hat, Ike, and come +along with us. There’s something queer about this layout, if you asks +me.” + +“Amen,” says Old Testament, “wild and queer. Look! Who’s dead now?” + + * * * * * + +It was a queer outfit. Two calico broncs, without enough harness for +one, hitched to an antiquated hearse. One black wooden plume still sways +drunken-like from one corner; and the glass windows on the sides are so +dirty and patched that you can’t see inside. It’s the equipage of old +Runs-With-a-Wolf. + +In order to make it a Winter vehicle, the old boy cut a hole under the +seat to run his lines through so he can lie on his stummick and drive +from inside. It looks like an orderly sort of a runaway—not having a +visible driver, and the crowd splits as it swings around in front of the +cabin and stops. + +A high-pitched voice inside yells— + +“Are you here?” + +“Yes’m,” squeaks Scenery, blowing his nose like a trumpet. “Get right +out and bury it. We’ve got a preacher.” + +_Yar-o-o-o-o! Woof! Yip! Kyoodle! Yar-o-o-o-o!_ + +Maybe that don’t give much of an idea of the noise, but it’s as near as +a human being can come to the noise them dogs make, as they string into +the place, and right at their head comes a human being advertising the +fact that he wears red underclothes and a desire to hit a tall place. + +The fact that there’s ladies present don’t bother him at first, but when +he gets nearer he shies around in front of that team of calico broncs +with that bunch of howling mongrels at his heels. It don’t take them +calicoes long to find out that they’re scared, and they immediate and +soon forgets that they’re hitched to a sacred sedan. + +It’s about six jumps to where two stumps stand about three feet apart, +and it looks like them broncs have been used to going through gates, +’cause they hits square between them stumps. The hearse don’t go with +them—not all of it. Runs-With-a-Wolf ain’t no mechanic, and his family +equipage ain’t in the best of repair, so when she hits them stumps, the +coupling pole breaks and the top and the hind wheels turn over once and +stay put. + +Them dogs are howling around and around the cabin, so I looks up and +sees Mighty Jones’ face sticking over the edge. + +“The murderer!” he yelps. “Sneaked up and hauled me off my bronc! Says: +‘Come to me, Sweet Marie!’ and then he swiped my clothes, and set my +dogs on me!” + +“My gosh!” explodes Bill. “This country don’t need a sheriff! It——” + +“My darling, will you get my trousers?” asks a squeaky voice, and there +is the professor’s head sticking out of the top of that hearse, where +the plume used to be. + +Sudden-like another board loosens up and the doctor’s face, like a +rising moon, comes up. He stares all around at the ruin, and then up +behind him appears the features of Runs-With-a-Wolf. + +“_Hyas cultus!_” proclaims the old buck. “Wah! Haulum wild man no good! +He-e-e-e-eap loco! Gettum fi’ dolla, losum hack! No good!” + +“And in our trouser pocket you will find some money which you will +please hand this noble red man as recompense for his services and +damage,” continues the professor in his sing-song voice. + +“Wallie-e-e-e! Are you all there?” shrieks Mrs. Professor. + +“He is not!” snaps the doctor. “If he was all there he wouldn’t be in +this predicament, madam. You women go in the house and hand out all the +clothes in sight. If there’s an overcoat—hand it to me, ’cause I’m going +to play safe. I can use gloves and some ear muffs, too.” + +“The theory was sound,” sings the professor, “but the practise was +insufferable. I’m going to take the lecture platform against hunting +with hounds. I’m——” + +But just then Ricky Henderson gallops in and pulls up beside Bill McFee. +He sort of gawps at the busted hearse, and then says to Bill: + +“They caught the wild man, Bill. The bunch borrowed Doughgod Smith’s +bear dogs, and treed him over at the head of Sillman Gulch. It was +Tellurium Woods!” + +“My ——!” gasps Bill. “I’m going home! This is driving me wild, too. I +came up here to find the body of Magpie Simpkins, and—well, what do you +know about that!” + +Here comes Magpie leading them calico broncs, and he’s grinning like he +was a heap pleased. He grins at the busted hearse and at the three heads +sticking out, and then turns to McFee— + +“What kind of a circus are you trying to pull off in my yard, Bill?” + +“Search me,” says Bill, weak-like. “You’re supposed to have been +murdered, the woods are full of wild men who turns out to be Tellurium +Woods; these here Jaspers goes riding in a hearse and bust up on a +stump, and Mighty’s dogs tries to bite the hand what feeds them. It’s +too much for one day, and—I’m going home.” + +“Arrest him, Bill!” whoops Mighty, hopping up and down on the roof, “I +demands his arrest for stealing my clothes! Make him take ’em off!” + +“What clothes?” asks Magpie, grinning. “These ain’t your clothes.” + +I recognizes Tellurium’s striped shirt and gray hat. + +“Are you going to arrest him, Bill?” yelps Mighty, and Bill turns in his +saddle. + +“Mighty, you had him dead once today, and you sure caused me a lot of +excitement. Shut up!” and he rides away. + +We gets some clothes on the professor and doctor and loans Mighty an old +pair of overalls. Old Testament and family leaves without any sort of a +benediction, and the survivors sets down on the steps to tell each other +how it was done. We just gets started when Tellurium Woods shows up. +He’s sure got an assorted lot of clothes on, and he’s some mad. He stops +in front of Magpie, and glares like he’d love to eat the whole Simpkins +tribe. + +“You long-complected cross between a lodge-pole and a burglar!” he +howls. “You swiped my clothes! Can’t an honest man go in swimming +without having his clothes stole? You told them fellers where to find +me, too—dang your hide!” + +“He took my clothes by force,” whines Mighty. “I never done nothing to +him and——” + +“Give me that two hundred dollars, Ike,” orders Tellurium. “She’s mine. +Magpie didn’t stay the stated time, so I win.” + +“So?” grins Magpie. “Don’t get hurried, Ike. Tellurium, do you remember +a pie you baked a short time ago, and——” + +“You stole it,” chuckles Tellurium. “You’d lose on that alone, Magpie. +I’ll take that money and——” + +“Pie?” asks the professor, “I—I stole a pie, and lost it. I don’t——” + +“Wait,” grins Magpie. “When you filled that crust, Tellurium, you must +have stuffed it regardless, ’cause inside I finds this here +communication, which I presume was written by a party what is now +present. I’ll read it to you.” + +He hauls out a sticky-looking piece of paper, and clears his throat. +Here’s what she says: + + Chased him all day but didn’t catch him. If I don’t get him to + give up tomorrow I’ll borrow Doughgod’s bear dogs. If I do you + will have to give me twenty-five instead of fifteen dollars. + +“How do you like that, Tellurium?” grins Magpie. “I thought that in our +agreement we were to confine the knowledge to three of us.” + +Tellurium looks blank-like at everybody, and then glares at Mighty. + +“My gosh!” snorts Mighty. “Didn’t you get that note, Tellurium? You +wasn’t home, so I stuck it under the top crust of that pie. I put it +there so nobody but you would find it. You said for me to let you know +about it.” + +“Well, what do you think about it now?” grins Magpie. + +“Think?” Tellurium scratches his bald-head for a moment. “Think? I ain’t +thinking—no more. I know one thing; the next bet I make I don’t assist +in no way. I’m going to let nature take her course.” + +“Plenty coarse enough, too,” agrees the doctor, rubbing his hip. + +“Yeaus, of course,” agrees the professor. + +“Naturally,” says Magpie. + + +[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in Adventure Magazine, +November 18, 1918. It is believed to be in the public domain in the +United States; copyright status may differ in other countries.] + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79222 *** |