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diff --git a/79223-0.txt b/79223-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..27d1411 --- /dev/null +++ b/79223-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1035 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79223 *** + + + THE WISDOM OF CYCLOPS + + by W. C. Tuttle + Author of “A Tin Cup Trophy,” “Nerves of Iron,” etc. + + +“Don’t yowl at me about the cooking, ‘Muley,’” advises old man +Whittaker, sticking his face inside the bunk-house door, and shaking his +whiskers like uh billy-goat with uh peeve. “Doggone it, I know she ain’t +much to taste of, but ‘Harelip’s’ all the cook I could get. You and +‘Telescope’ don’t do nothing but kick, kick all the time. If yuh could +punch cows with your voice you’d be uh pair uh humdingers.” + + Harelip cook, with kidneys in his feet, + Cross J ranch and nothing to eat. + +Muley chants while I accompanies him on the banjo, and Telescope rings +in with his tenor on the last line. + +The old man snorts like uh buck deer, and slams the door. + +There was as much truth as poetry in Muley’s song. The cooking was the +limit. When we comes to work for the Cross J they had uh Celestial being +inhabiting the kitchen, and putting up pretty fair stuff, but one day +Chuck Warner finds the slat-eyed hop-head asleep with his queue in the +mulligan, and Hop Duck lived up to his name. + +The next day comes Harelip Hansen. Harelip admits that he can cook, and +the old man falls on his neck and weeps with joy. + +“Zherr, I can gook,” says Harelip. “Um-m-m-m good gook.” + +He cooked just like he talked. He put vanilla extract in the beans, +baking-powder in the meat and onions in his apple pies. + +“Fit for the gods,” orates the old man, when he first views Harelip’s +pies. He takes uh bite, communes with himself, and then takes the whole +stock uh pies outside and threw them in the general direction of where +the gods are supposed to hang out. + +Cyclops, our pet magpie, saw all that fodder going skyward, so he flits +over and appropriates some of it. He pecks away and takes uh big bite, +swallers hard and then comes dancing up to the house, with tears in his +one eye. + +“How’d yuh like it, yuh pintoed pigeon?” asks the old man. + +Cyclops cocks his head on one side, and squints at the old man, with his +one optic and squeaks: + +“Oh ——! Oh ——!” + +All of which sums up Harelip’s ability as uh cook. Muley was Cyclops’s +tutor. He catches the magpie when it was young and unsophisticated, and +opines to teach it to talk. He tries it first on English, and when it +won’t do nothing but make funny noises he orates uh lot of profanity to +it. + +“Old Testament” Tilton comes along and notifies Muley that it ain’t +noways Christian-like to teach uh young magpie to swear. + +“Teach it uh prayer,” says he. + +“Teach him your own self,” answers Muley. “I don’t know any.” + +Old Testament squats down in front of that bird, and starts off, +solemn-like: + +“Now, I lay me down to sleep. I pray——” + +The magpie ruffles up his feathers and dances up and down on the ground. + +“Oh ——!” says he. “Oh ——!” + +Thus ended the Bible lesson. The bird gets cocky and opines to lick uh +pet coyote, with the result that he loses one eye and gains the cognomen +of Cyclops. + +The Cross J is some outfit. Counting Harelip as uh human being, and +omitting old man Whittaker, there’s five of us on the place. Muley +Bowles weighs two hundred and forty, shaves twice uh week and writes +poetry. Telescope Tolliver’s chin is six feet above his spur rowels, and +he runs strong to sentimental songs and ancestors. He states that he +inherited his refined manner from the Kentucky Tollivers, uh bunch uh +folks which inherited that State long before it was made illegal to +distil your own hooch. He speaks of the Civil War like it happened night +before last. + +“You’ve heard uh Bull Run?” asks Chuck, one evening, when Telescope is +romancing. + +“Heard of it?” snorts Telescope. “Why, dang it all, my grandaddy raised +the calf that they got the name from.” + +He hates U. S. marshals, sheriffs and diluted hooch. + +Chuck Warner is uh product of some place west uh Bismarck. His face was +built to wear uh hackamore, and deceive people as to his real +disposition. When he gets interested in conversation he looks yuh square +in the eye with uh, “Well-what-do-yuh-know-about-that?” expression, and +wiggles his ears. + +He’s got the longest waist, shortest legs and greatest imagination of +any puncher west uh Buffalo, N. Y. Sometimes he’ll be going along, +twinkling them short legs uh his, and with his head down, and all to +once he’ll stop short, stick his long nose toward the sky and break into +song. He’s still singing, “My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean.” + +Chuck is very particular in one thing. If he ever told yuh the truth, +and found it out, he’d never rest until he got back to you and corrected +himself. He’s the only liar I have met who can lie so honestly that I’ll +repeat his statements, and bet money they’re the truth, when deep down +in my soul I know he lied. + +Me? I’m Hen Peck. Christened Henry Clay. I just punch cows for uh +living, and try to keep out uh trouble. I ain’t got nothing but brains, +ability and uh banjo. I plays real well. Also, I sings uh few stanzas +when properly urged, but I’m usually uh little rusty. + +Just after the old man slams the door Chuck rides up and slides off his +bronc. + +“Got any mail for me, Chuck?” yells Muley. + +“Naw. She done forgot yuh, Muley,” grins Chuck. “Nothing for nobody +except the old man, and our illustrious cook. I’ll bet that’s the first +letter Harelip’s got since the Custer battle.” + +“My cripes!” exclaims Telescope. “I hope somebody sent him uh diagram as +to how to make coffee. That last cup I had, salivated my teeth. Also I’m +tired uh stewed bacon and fried prunes.” + +“Oh, Chuck. Oh-h-h-h, Chuck!” + +“The old man’s yelling at yuh, Chuck,” notifies Telescope, and just then +the old man sticks his billy-goat chin inside the door. + +“Hey, Chuck. Don’t turn your bronc loose yet. I got uh gol dingle danged +letter what has to be answered by telegraft, and you got to take it to +Paradise.” + +“Hear from somebody what wants to cook?” asks Muley. + +“Cook ——!” howls the old man. “I wish it was. I just got uh letter from +uh gol dingle danged nephew or niece uh mine which wants to invade my +premises for uh few weeks. She orates that papa wants her to come and +see me. Who in —— is papa, I’d like to know?” + +“If she’s your niece it’s an even bet that papa is either your brother +or brother-in-law,” opines Telescope. “Relationships runs thataway most +always.” + +“Huh!” snorts the old man. “Maybe. Anyway, she’s going to come if I +don’t put uh spoke in her wheel right sudden-like.” + +“Why stop her?” asks Muley, looking at himself in our cracked mirror. +“How old is she?” + +“How do I know? I never saw her. Gol dingle dang it! Fine place to have +uh young girl come to with Harelip cook and uh bunch uh snake-hunting +punchers that don’t even keep their hair cut.” + +“Who is she?” asks Telescope. “Don’t think I’m trying to pry into your +affairs, old-timer, but I’d admire to know. Can she cook?” + +“I suppose I ought to know!” howls Whittaker. “She signs her name as +being Emily Whittaker, that’s all I know. Chuck, you cross between uh +jackass and uh sawhorse, quit wiggling your ears, and get on that bronc. +You get to the depot and telegraft her not to come. Sabe? Tell her I’m +sick. Tell her any gol dingle danged thing yuh can think of, Chuck, but +make it strong.” + +“Aw, let Hen go,” argues Chuck. “I just was down——” + +“Let’s both go,” says I. “I got uh million-dollar thirst, and eight +dollars. What do yuh say, eh?” + +“Why argue when there’s eight good reasons against yuh?” grins Chuck. +“Get your bronc and come uh running. I’ll send uh message that’ll stop +that female niece so quick she’ll think she’s paralyzed.” + +“Don’t wire no cuss words,” warns the old man. “Be pleasant but firm. +Sabe?” + + * * * * * + +Mike Pelly says _klahowya_, so we drapes over his bar and argues +religion, politics and the proper way to bulldog uh steer. After several +hours of pro and con—mostly con—I sudden-like realizes what we came +down-town for. I notifies Chuck of my discovery, and we goes up to the +depot. We tells the feller in there that we wishes to send uh telegram +to stop uh female. He applauds our efforts to keep the female gender off +the range, and asks the name and address of the misguided person. + +“There!” says I. “Ain’t it queer we can’t remember. You think hard, +Chuck.” + +Chuck looks at me, wondering like, and wiggles his ears. + +“Who to and where?” asks the telegraft person. “Where yuh sending this +here block signal?” + +“What places yuh got?” asks Chuck. + +“I’ve got to have the name of the person and her address, or I can’t do +uh thing for yuh,” says he. + +“Can yuh send uh message to the president of your railroad?” asks Chuck. + +“I sure can,” says he. + +“Well,” says Chuck, hauling me out of reach, “You send him one like +this: ‘Dear Sir—Please send uh man with uh little brains down here to +take my job. I don’t know nothing.’ + +“Why didn’t that old pelican of uh Whittaker tell us where to send it,” +complains Chuck, while we’re riding home. “He just said for us to send +it, that’s all.” + +“Some folks never seem to have any sabe uh tall,” I agrees. “We’ll tell +him we sent it, anyway.” + +The old man met us as we rides in, and we grins at him. + +“How much was it, Chuck?” he asks, and Chuck wiggles his ears. + +“Seven dollars.” + +“What did yuh send—uh Congressional Record?” he grunts, peeling some +bills off his roll. “What’d yuh tell her, Chuck?” + +“I told her that you had the hoof and mouth disease, and that the +Piegans were on the war-path and that the cows had rabies, and——” + +“Chuck,” says the old man, sort uh reproving like, “why didn’t yuh crate +the critter and ship it to her alive. No use trying to throw it over the +wire.” + +“You can’t figger that talk is cheap when you’re sending an emergency +brake by wire,” states Chuck, hurt like, but the old man pats him on the +back. + +“I ain’t kicking, Chuck,” says he. “It’s worth more than that. Gol +dingle danged, if I wouldn’t pay twice that to keep females off the +Cross J.” + +“Too bad we didn’t know them sentiments before, Hen,” says Chuck, after +the old man goes away. “That’d been seven apiece.” + +The next morning the old man comes down to the bunk-house, and he’s some +sore. He kicks my banjo off the bunk and slams things around some +promiscuous. + +“Hot-cakes!” announces Telescope, in uh hoarse whisper. “I’ve seen ’em +act thataway before. There ain’t no hopes for uh feller when he gets +hot-cake fits.” + +“Hot-cakes, your grandmother!” snorts Chuck. “That’s gunnysackitis. I +thought there was something the matter with that coffee. Hot-cakes +causes melancholy.” + +“Salt in the coffee, sugar in the stew, coal-oil in the bacon, and the +butter’s full uh glue,” chants Muley, bouncing up and down on his bunk. + +“Shut up, you blasted Honyocks!” yelps the old man. “Think you’re plenty +smart, don’t yuh. Our cook has quit.” + +“Aw, we thank yuh,” squeaks Telescope. “Do you mean to set there and +tell us that Harelip has went?” + +“Uh-huh,” agrees the old man. “Dang his hide! Now what are we going to +do?” + +“Live uh lot longer, that’s uh cinch,” replies Chuck. “What reason did +he give for this pleasurable moment?” + +“He said he wasn’t going to be hounded by no female, so he was going +away where they can’t find him. I told him that there wasn’t going to be +no females come here, and he orates something about uh letter. Did some +uh you hombres tell him that uh female was coming here? You sent that +telegraft, didn’t yuh, Chuck?” + +“Seven dollars worth,” nods Chuck, puffing on his cigaret. “What you +fussing about, anyway? Harelip can’t cook. Ain’t it better to lose uh +cookless cook than to lose the services uh four expert and first-class +gilt-edged punchers? Now, ain’t it?” + +“He said he could cook, didn’t he?” retorts the old man. + +“You’re too prone to take uh man’s word for his ability,” complains +Telescope. + +“I think uh that every time I observes the actions uh four punchers I +got on my pay-roll. I’ll be gol dingle danged if one uh you can slip uh +rope through uh hondo. Next time I need punchers I’ll send East for ’em. +Sabe?” + +“Listen to this,” says Muley, picking my banjo off the floor, and +striking uh discord. + +“Oh, I’ll sing you uh song of uh Harelip cook, and of the man who loved +him well. But they both got scared of uh letter that came, and the +kitchen was shot to ——. Bring ba-a-a-ack, bring ba-a-a-ack, Oh, bring +back my Harelip to me, to me-e-e-e.” + +“Muley!” yelps the old man. “I got uh danged good notion to fire you. +You and your gol dingle danged poetry! You fellers think it’s funny, but +I don’t. I got to do the cooking. I hope yuh all shrivel up and die from +starvation, so I won’t have to fire yuh.” + +He goes out and slams the door real hard. + +The old man didn’t have nothing on Harelip as uh cook. In fact I think +that Harelip had it over him about two cups uh soda to one biscuit. We +complains so loud that the old man starts wearing two guns outside his +apron, and after that we praises him uh heap. + + * * * * * + +Uh few days after Harelip leaves the old man sticks his head inside the +bunk-house one morning and wakes us all up. + +“Roll out, you gol dingle danged cow trailers! I got work for yuh +to-day.” + +“Some cow got the hives?” yawns Muley. + +“I want Telescope and Muley to take the light wagon, Hen and Chuck can +take the heavy wagon and I’ll take the buckboard.” + +“What yuh doing—making out your will?” asks Muley. “If it’s all the same +to you, I’ll take uh couple uh cows for my share.” + +The old man ignores Muley, and goes right on. + +“I got uh bill uh stuff from Great Falls, and uh car-load uh oats. You +fellers roll out and hitch up. Gol dingle danged lazy Jaspers.” + +Me and Chuck is hitching up our rig when old Bill Meeker drives up in +his buggy, and stops beside us. He’s got uh female with him that will +weigh on the far side of two hundred, and is as fair as the lilies in +the dell. Her hair is the color of uh corn-husk cigaret paper, and her +blue eyes are as big as two-bit pieces. + +“Howdy, Hen,” says Meeker. “I got company for yuh.” + +“So?” says I, foolish-like, and the lady grins plumb across her face. + +“Yah,” says she. + +“She opines to come to the Cross J to see her uncle who is the cook,” +states Meeker. “She don’t wau-wau United States much, but I gets that +much.” + +“Cook,” says the female, heaving her sylph-like form overboard so +sudden-like that when the buggy goes back to normal, poor little Meeker +has to spur his cinch to keep from getting dumped. + +“Cook!” snorts Chuck. “By cripes! She looks like she could.” + +“Onkle,” explains the lady. “Onkle be cook.” + +“My ——!” grunts Chuck. “That telegraft didn’t connect. Ain’t that +queer?” + +“Yah,” says she, grinning some more. “Troonk.” + +“Maybe, but yuh don’t show it,” replies Chuck. + +“She means that she’s got uh trunk at the depot,” explains Meeker. + +“Bill,” says I, “you better unhitch and stick around, ’cause we’ll need +an interpreter.” + +“Here comes your uncle now,” says I, pointing at the old man, who is +ambling our way from the house. “He’s some cook.” + +“Yah—goot!” says she, and pilgrims straight for the old man. + +He’s coming along with his head down, and don’t realize what happens +until she gathers him in. It sure is something to look at. She kisses +him seven times, by actual count, before he can do uh head spin and +break loose, and they goes into the dust together. + +I offers any part uh six bits at four to one on the lady, but there +ain’t no takers. + +Somehow the old man breaks the hold, lights on his feet like uh cat, and +gallops to uh safe distance. The female gets up some dusty and rumpled, +but still smiling. + +“Gol dingle dang it!” wails the old man. “What yuh trying to do?” + +“Yah,” grunts the lady. “I coom oop.” + +“You dang well know yuh did,” snorts the old man. “Any time I sets my +teeth in uh person’s leg they usually come up uh fogging.” + +“You didn’t bite her, did yuh?” asks Chuck, sad-like. “My gosh! Uh man +must be plumb lacking in morals when he’ll bite his own relatives—in the +legs.” + +“Relatives?” wonders the old man. “Did you say relatives, Chuck?” + +“That telegraft didn’t get there in time,” explains Chuck, picking +Cyclops off the fence, and smoothing his feathers. “You can’t blame me +and Hen.” + +The lady brushes off her skirt, waddles straight for the house, and we +all watches her until she’s inside. + +“Hen,” says the old man, weary-like, “you take the buckboard and let +Chuck take the wagon. I’ll—I’ll stay home, I reckon. Uh feller can’t +desert his relatives. Gol dingle dang it! I don’t know just what to say. +There is times when uh man can’t think of the right word.” + +Cyclops hops up on Chuck’s shoulder and ruffles his feathers and +squawks: + +“Oh ——! Oh ——!” + +“Thanks,” says the old man. + +Well, we drives to Paradise. I hates uh rattling buckboard, so I takes +the heavy wagon and lets Chuck have the rattler. Me and him goes over to +the depot to load up the oats, while Telescope and Muley loads up at the +store. We’re over there, wrestling sacks uh oats when the train comes in +from the East. After she leaves we sees some people over there talking +to Sandy McCall, the depot agent. Pretty soon uh woman breaks out of the +herd and stampedes in our direction. She ain’t exactly what you’d call +veal, being about fifty years old on the hoof and not overly heavy for +her age. + +“Looks like she didn’t winter very well,” opines Chuck. “Also she walks +like she’d spent uh lot uh time in uh hard pasture.” + +She ambles right up to us and sizes us up plentiful, while Chuck stares +right back at her and wiggles his ears. + +“Young man,” says she, at the top of her voice, “was you sent to get +us?” + +“Your name Oats?” yells Chuck, without changing expression. + +“Church,” she yells right back. + +“Name or destination?” I whoops. + +“Elizabeth Church,” she howls. + +“Nope,” says Chuck, picking his teeth with uh straw. “If you said +Methodist we could help yuh, but so far as I know there ain’t no +Elizabethans in Paradise. Yuh might try Rimrock. Yuh never can tell what +they might have down there.” + +“My name is Church,” she howls, explaining like. + +“We congratulates yuh, m’am,” nods Chuck. “That sure is uh good old +pious sort of uh cognomen. We applauds yuh uh heap, but we’re down here +after oats.” + +She looks at us sort uh disgusted like and then ambles back to where the +other two are standing by some trunks. Pretty quick over comes the he +member of the bunch. I say he member, ’cause he’s wearing apparel which +is appropriate for that certain gender, but that’s the only thing that +qualifies him. He gets most of his height from the bridge of his nose to +his hair-line, and he’s sporting uh bunch uh hair on his face between +his ears and eyes, which makes him plumb laughable. He stops in front of +us and peers some close-like and clears his throat. + +“You—er—hem-m-m—I am Doctor Church,” says he. + +Chuck walks up close and looks at the little person. + +“That’s reasonable,” says Chuck. “Is there anything yuh wanted except to +make that announcement?” + +“I am—er—rather we are looking for a Mr. Whittaker, who owns a farm +called the Crossed—er——” + +“Cross J?” asks Chuck, and the doctor nods, delighted like. + +“Yes, that is the name. Peculiar name, isn’t it, now?” + +“Not half as peculiar as the place,” says Chuck, sad-like. “You folks +looking for that place uh misery?” + +“Misery?” asks the doctor. “Did you say misery?” + +“Awful,” nods Chuck. “Why, man, you wouldn’t believe it if I told yuh. +We all feel bad about it—mighty bad, I’ll tell yuh, but there ain’t uh +danged thing we can do.” + +“Would you mind explaining?” asks the doctor, and Chuck looks at me, +foolish-like, and wiggles his ears. + +“Well, yuh see it’s thisaway,” begins Chuck, and just then them two +females comes up, and the doctor explains to them that they’re going to +hear something. + +“It’s uh most peculiar thing,” continues Chuck, serious-like. “I know +yuh won’t believe me, and I don’t blame yuh. It’s that old eternal +triangle—two men and uh woman. The female person is named Olga Olsen. +She’s uh Russian. + +“The two men are Whittaker, owner of the Cross J, and the other is uh +man named Hansen. They both love this Russian. Sabe?” + +Chuck has been telling it in uh loud tone so the old lady can get it, +and she seems interested uh heap. + +“Well,” continues Chuck, “Whittaker has lost his mind over her, and he +thinks he’s Hansen, and Hansen’s lost his and thinks he’s Whittaker. +Ain’t it awful? Why, doggoned if things ain’t got so nutty around that +place that the birds talk.” + +“Well!” exclaims the doctor. “How interesting. My dear Mrs. Church, in +all of my studies I have never heard of a parallel case. I was afraid +that the trip was going to be an awful bore, and I only came so Emily +could see her uncle, but now I find something better—much better than I +ever anticipated. Well, well!” + +Chuck wiggles his ears and looks foolish-like at the doctor. + +“Just about what are you tickled about?” he asks. “Ain’t it awful?” + +“Wonderful,” squeaks the doctor. “You see, I am an authority on rare +diseases of the human brain. I may say that I have been called the +Wizard of the Cranium.” + +“Well,” drawls Chuck, “I wish yuh joy. Now, if yuh was out here after +ivory—well, we’ll get the rest of these oats loaded. I’ll take the young +lady on the buckboard with me and you other two can ride on the wagon +with Mister Peck. Also, he can load your trunks.” + +“Why do you carry a gun in your belt?” asks the doctor, pointing at +Chuck’s six-shooter, which is laying over a sack uh oats. + +“I’m uh detective,” whispers Chuck. “Mister Peck is uh sheriff. There’s +two other fellers on the ranch which we suspicions of being in league +with Olga. It sure is some mix.” + +“Ah,” breathes the doctor. “I see. Do you suppose we will be welcomed? +My wife is his former sister-in-law, and the young lady is his niece. +None of us ever saw Mr. Whittaker.” + +“I been thinking it over and I feels that things might not be just +right,” admits Chuck. “I’ll tell yuh what you do: tell him that you’re +up here looking for uh place to start uh sheep ranch. Hansen loves sheep +and he’ll take yuh to his bosom.” + +“But I know nothing about sheep,” complains the doctor. + +“Nobody does,” consoles Chuck. “All you got to do is mention the fact to +him and there won’t be no questions asked. Sabe?” + + * * * * * + +Muley and Telescope has already pulled out for the ranch when we gets +loaded up, so we pulls out at once. Chuck takes the loving daughter with +him, while I entertains the old couple and their trunks on the load uh +oats. + +The young lady ain’t so hard to look at and I’m sort uh sorry that I +didn’t pick the buckboard. She giggles uh heap, and “Ah’s” at +everything, while Chuck wiggles his ears with pleasure and buys her some +stick candy at the store. + +The old man is setting on the corral fence whittling, when I drives down +from depositing my load at the house, but he don’t show much interest. + +When Chuck unloads the young lady he points out the old man on the +corral fence, and tells ’em that it’s Mr. Hansen. + +“I’m mighty anxious to diagnose his case,” states the doctor. “I must +begin by inducing memory by degrees. I hope I can converse with him +without ruffling his feelings.” + +Me and Chuck goes over and sets down beside the old man, but he just +keeps on whittling. + +“We got all the oats,” states Chuck, sort uh offhand-like, and the old +man stops whittling long enough to spit. + +“Who did you bring with yuh?” he asks. + +“Friends uh Harelip’s,” says Chuck. + +The old man thinks a long time and then nods. + +“Uh-huh. Must uh been in that letter uh his. No wonder he left.” + +“Coincidence,” remarks Chuck, and the old man snorts: + +“Co ——! Her name is Hulda. She’s my brother’s daughter. I don’t know +which—I got six. This one sure was fond uh knickknacks. I’d just as soon +be kissed by Frank Gotch.” + +“She sure is uh muscular female,” I agree. + +“Muscular! Gol dingle dang it! You dang well know she is! She’ll be uh +lot uh help to us if we ever have to move the house.” + +We goes down to the bunk-house to wash up, and finds Telescope and Muley +playing seven-up. + +“What yuh doing, Hen—running uh stage?” laughs Telescope. + +“Say, Telescope, what name did yuh go by when yuh was in Wyoming the +last time?” asks Chuck, rubbing some lather into his dusty ears. + +“None uh your danged business,” replies Telescope, letting the cards +slide out of his hands. “What’s that to you, you short-legged, +long-faced oat rustler?” + +“Not uh thing,” replies Chuck. “I just asked. Uh course it’s none uh my +danged business.” + +Telescope studies Chuck’s face for uh while and then picks up the cards. +Chuck’s face is plumb blank. + +“What’s the main idea, Chuck?” he asks. + +“Aw, nothing much,” replies Chuck. “I just thought I’d mention the fact +that the little deceptive-looking hombre what rode up with us from +Paradise is wearing uh little heart-shaped piece uh silver under the +lapel of his vest. He mentioned his home in Wyoming. I spoke of you two +and he wanted to know what yuh looked like. He wanted especially to know +about Telescope. I suspicioned him in uh minute, so I told him that +Telescope weighs two hundred and forty and that Muley was over six feet +tall. I sure did all I could for yuh. I hate uh lie like the devil hates +holy water, but in uh case like this—well, I remembers my friends.” + +Muley heaves himself right out of his chair and grabs Chuck by the face. + +“You danged liar!” he yelps. “You go tell him different right now. You +think I wants to suffer for Telescope’s sins? You’re uh fine friend, you +are.” + +“I ain’t got no sins, I’ll inform yuh of that, Muley,” states Telescope. +“You was down in Wyoming last year yourself, and I reckon I got as much +right to choke Chuck for misrepresentation as you have. How do I know +how bad they wants you down there?” + +“Aw, cut it out!” gasps Chuck. “You two big huskies afraid of that +little runt. I’ll bet you’re both in bad in Wyoming—believe me.” + +“What did he say he was doing up here, Hen?” asks Telescope. “Chuck is +the dangdest liar unhung and I don’t believe him.” + +“Well,” says I, “it ain’t none uh my business any way yuh looks at it, +but he did tell me that he was looking for somebody at the Cross J.” + +I goes out of the bunk-house and starts for the corral, when I hears +voices raised in dispute. I turns the corner and finds old man Whittaker +setting on the top rail of the corral, and beside him, humped up on the +rail, is the doctor. I walks up easy behind them and listens to the +conversation. + +“Think,” orders the doctor. “Think hard.” + +The old man hunches up his shoulders, and one hand sort uh slides back +toward his six-gun. + +“You’re not the person you think you are,” states the doctor, sort uh +singing the words. “You’re not, you’re not. You think you are the owner +of this farm, and that your name is Whittaker, but you’re all wrong. You +don’t love Olga. You don’t love nobody.” + +The old man hunches up uh little more, and spits reflectively into the +corral. He slides his gun carefully to the front, and then squints at +the doctor. + +“Think,” orders the Wizard of the Cranium, again. “Think of the time +when men called you some other name than Whittaker.” + +The old man nods and spits. + +“Uh-huh. I’ve been called everything.” + +“No, you have not been called everything. No man has ever been called +everything.” + +“One will have that honor soon,” states the old man, softly. + +The doctor goes right on singing: + +“You are not what you think you are. I know who you are, but you can’t +remember the name. Don’t worry, it will all come to you.” + +“Say!” explodes the old man. “Who in —— am I?” + +“Hansen,” roars the doctor, and just then the top rail breaks. + +The doctor’s coat catches over uh post, and he peels in midair, and him +and the old man mixes right in the corner of the corral. Comes uh flurry +uh dust, uh yelp, and the doctor comes out through the side uh that +corral like uh rabbit. + +“My ——!” exclaims Chuck, who has sneaked up to see. “I thought that +corral was hawg tight. Look! He’s got uh gun!” + +The old man must uh dropped his gun when he lit, ’cause the doctor’s +hanging on to it like he had cramps in his fingers, and he’s turning +around and around like uh top. + +“Eyes full uh dust,” states Chuck. “Look!” + +Here comes the old man over the top uh that corral, and he’s sure peeved +uh heap. + +“You gol dingle danged, locoed son of uh biscuit shooter!” he howls, +snorting the corral dust out of his eyes and nose. “I’m going to git yuh +and git yuh right—me!” + +I reckon the little person gets enough dust out of his eyes to see to +run, ’cause he lights out for the bunk-house like uh rabbit. I reckon +that Telescope and Muley had taken Chuck’s talk to heart, ’cause they’re +in front of the bunk-house with their broncs. Muley has forked his, and +Telescope is still on the ground beside his animal, tying uh roll on +behind his saddle. The doctor is almost to them before they see him. + +_Bing!_ In the excitement of the moment the doctor must uh pulled the +trigger uh that gun and she explodes into the dirt. + +_Bang!_ she goes again, and by this time the little doctor is almost up +to the door. + +As I said before, Muley weighs two hundred and forty, and rides the +biggest saddle-tree in Montana, but he ain’t no prize rider. He’s +setting there on uh big roan bronc that’s afraid of everything on earth, +and when the doctor salutes the second time, that roan just simply +sunfishes. When Muley comes down he’s just in time to envelop the +doctor. Comes uh sort of uh squashy squish, and there ain’t no doctor in +sight. + +Telescope gets hit with the rear end of his bronc so hard that he +bounces off the log wall an’ sprawls flat on his face in the dirt, from +where he proceeds to empty his gun regardless. + +One bullet scorches the old man across the ankle so he forgets the +doctor, hitches up his pants and gallops for the house. Me and Chuck +dives into an empty wagon-box and counts six shots before we ventures +out. + +We sets in the end uh that wagon and rolls uh smoke. Pretty soon we sees +Muley turn over, and out from under him emerges the doctor. He’s uh +sorry-looking brain-fixer, believe me. He toddles all around Telescope +and Muley, and then weaves toward the house like uh sleep-walker. + +Right in front of us he crosses his legs and falls down, and when he +gets up he’s headed wrong. Chuck steps over and turns him around, and +the little feller toddles on, orating to himself: + +“I—am—John—Henry—Smith—and—I’m—up—here—to—start—uh—sheep—ranch. +I—am—John—Henry—Smith—and—I’m—up——” + +His voice trails off into distance, and we watches him enter the house. + +“Hen,” says Chuck, “ain’t it uh queer thing? You can knock uh man so +silly that he can’t tell the truth, but if he’s got uh lie in his system +he’ll hang onto it till the cows come home. Hello, Muley. How’s all the +little birds?” + +Muley is standing there like uh big fat baby, with one finger in his +mouth. His chaps are down around his feet, and his shirt is split all +the way up the back, and is hanging down in front like he was trying to +put it on backwards. He nods at us foolish-like and examines his feet. + +“Did—anybody—water—the—horses?” he asks, taking uh long time between +each word, like the doctor did. + +“You—you better not do—do—that again,” states uh voice, and we sees +Telescope get up on his hands and knees and go hunting around on the +ground. + +“Lost something?” asks Chuck. + +“Pillow,” grunts Telescope, and then lays down again. + +“Something must surely be wrong,” remarks uh voice behind us, and we +observes the elderly female and her daughter. They’re standing there +staring at Muley and Telescope. + +“Ma’am,” says Chuck, “there sure is something wrong, and I’d advise yuh +to go away from here. Them two hombres has been hit by uh snow snake, +and yuh can’t tell what they might do.” + +“Gracious!” exclaims the old lady. “Is it fatal?” + +“Yes’m,” agrees Chuck, “it almost always kills the snake. You let us +escort yuh to the house before something happens.” + +They agrees some sudden-like, and the four of us ambles toward the +house. When uh man who can cuss like Telescope can is knocked out, it +sure ain’t no place for uh shrinking female when he starts to recover. +We looks back and sees Telescope get painfully to his feet. He goes over +to Muley and gives him uh push, and as we enters the house they’re +reclining lovingly in each other’s arms. + + * * * * * + +We’re greeted by some sight inside that house. The doctor, minus most of +his clothes, and with his glasses hanging on the end of his nose, is +setting in uh chair, humped up like he had uh belly-ache, and right in +front of him, on another chair, is the old man. The old man has got his +six-gun shoved into the doctor’s bosom, and is looking the Wizard of the +Cranium square in the eye. The old man is some mussed up, too. + +“You’re not who yuh think yuh are,” whispers the old man, in uh hoarse +voice. “You think you’re danged smart, but yuh run against uh snag. I +know who you are, and so do you. You’re crazier than uh bedbug. Sabe?” + +“I—I—I know—who I am,” chatters the doctor. + +“Well, who are you?” snaps the old man. + +“I—am—John—Henry—Smith—and—I’m—up—here—to—start—uh—sheep—ranch.” + +The old man looks at him for uh few seconds, lets his gun slip out of +his hand, and grabs the doctor by the foretop. He braces his feet on the +rug, and hisses: + +“John Henry Smith, you’re uh liar if you think you will!” and he lifts +the little doctor right out of his chair by the hair. + +“Mr. Hansen, you’re a coward!” yelps Mrs. Church. “Hurt my husband, will +yuh!” + +_Boof! Swat! Swish!_ + +Right there I takes off my hat to uh broom as uh weapon of offense and +defense. That harmless-looking old lady goes plumb loco and combs the +old man from hoof to foretop with that broom. + +Does the doctor make any attempt to aid his wifely rescuer? He most +absolutely does not. The doctor desires the seclusion of the tall and +uncut, and he routes himself via the bow in my legs. Not being braced +none to speak of, I naturally upends and lands on my classic chin right +among the brooms, and the doctor butts his head against the wall, and +starts snoring. + +I say brooms, ’cause there seemed to be uh dozen, and I gets quite uh +dusting before the interruption comes. + +“_Wah!_” whoops uh voice. “My onkle!” + +That whoop was the gong that saved me uh knockout, ’cause the +broom-handle, that was whizzing straight for my nose, stops six inches +short, and I has time to pick the straws out of my eyes and ears and +take uh look. It’s that person that Chuck designates as being uh +Russian. + +She certainly is uh busy person, and from the way she heaves furniture +around I feels sure that her folks never raised her as uh pet. I see +Mrs. Church leave our presence like uh top, and I sees her spin plumb +off the front porch. That Russian sure gave her some sudden turn. + +That room is suffocating with _Yah’s!_ and other exclamations of +displeasure. I sees Chuck connect with uh flying stool, and then accept +uh reclining position under uh sofa. The old man manages to crawl out of +the main bunch uh trouble, and grab the doctor by the ankle as he’s +sneaking out of the window. + +“Sheep!” howls the old man, yanking the doctor back through the window. +“Sheep, eh? Way around ’em, Shep!” + +“I’ll have the law on you, Hansen!” squeaks the doctor, trying to squirm +out of his pants. “You’ll go to jail for this.” + +“You won’t have no law on me!” yelps the old man. “Maybe your heirs +will, but you won’t be there, John Henry Smith, shepherd!” + +The confusion suddenly stops and I sizes things up. The Russian is the +only one still on foot. She stands there in the middle of the room, with +uh chair-leg in one hand and uh lot uh hair in the other. She looks at +us, sort uh foolish-like, and grins. She sizes up Mrs. Church, who is +setting on the floor trying to claw the hair out of her eyes, and then +at the old man and the doctor, locked in each other’s embraces. + +“_Oof!_” says she, reaching down and tearing the doctor loose. “Hurt +onkle, eh?” + +Then she heaves that little dilapidated brain-shark through the window, +and then struts right out of the door and shuts it behind her. + +The old man shakes himself like uh stunned chicken, looks at each one of +us solemn-like, and then at the smashed window. + +“Well, I’ll be gol dingle danged!” he whispers. “My brother must uh +married uh prize-fighter.” + +“My Bonnie-e-e-e lies over the o-o-o-o-shun: My Bonnie-e-e-e lies +over-r-r-r-r the sea,” sings Chuck, without moving his head, or opening +his eyes. + +The old man stoops over and picks up Chuck’s gun and cocks it. + +“What yuh trying to do?” I asks, grabbing the gun out of his hand. + +“Shoot him—while—he’s—happy,” sighs the old man, and just then Mrs. +Church begins to weep like her insides was broke. We waits for her to +run down uh little, and pretty soon she yelps: + +“I won’t stay here another minute! Horses couldn’t hold me here.” + +“‘There’s uh divinity what shapes our ends,’” states Chuck, setting up +on the floor, and bracing himself against the sofa. “My ——! The one what +shaped mine used uh stool. Hen, feel of the lump on my head.” + +Mrs. Church gets painfully to her feet, and starts for the door, and who +should come in right at that time but Harelip Hansen. He stands there +and looks things over, and then grins. + +“Hello, Hansen,” says the old man. “Come right in.” + +“I come to git pay vor gooking,” states Harelip. “I no git uh yet.” + +“Hansen?” asks Mrs. Church, in uh loud voice. “Your name Hansen?” + +“Z-zhure. Name’s Hansen.” + +“My poor deluded brother!” exclaims Mrs. Church, grabbing at him like uh +drownding man after uh straw. “My poor dead husband’s brother. Oh, I’m +so glad—so glad!” + +Harelip tries to break the clinch, and backs against the wall. + +“Hoosbant’s brudder!” agrees Harelip, chokingly. “How’s Gopenhagen, eh?” + +“How’s what?” pants Mrs. Church. + +“Gopenhagen,” grunts Harelip. + +“Sounds like lumberjack snuff,” opines Chuck, still rubbing his head. + +“Copenhagen?” wonders the old lady, at the top of her voice. “What would +I know about Copenhagen?” + +“Your name Hulda?” asks Harelip. + +“Elizabeth,” shouts Mrs. Church. “Elizabeth Church.” + +“Val,” states Harelip. “You bedder stop hugging me. You are uh stranger +uh mine.” + +“Very peculiar,” states the doctor’s voice from the doorway. + +“Transposed minds. Very, very peculiar,” and then he turns to Harelip: +“Think, man. Think hard. You’re not Hansen, you’re Whittaker.” + +“I tink you —— fool!” snorts Harelip. “You talk like sheep-herter—you.” + +“You must remember,” argues the doctor, standing there with his collar +sticking up the back of his neck like uh Nez Percé war feather, and the +perspiration and dirt running off his nose. “Everything depends on +bringing back the light of reason before it is too late. You are +Whittaker. W-h-i-t-t-a-k-e-r. This farm belongs to you. You are the +owner; not that man over there.” + +Harelip looks around, sort uh foolish-like at Whittaker, and then grins +at the doctor. + +“Goot,” says he. “I’ll take it.” + +The old man sort uh eases himself along the wall, and, sudden-like, +reaches up and picks uh Winchester off the deer horns over the doorway. +He snaps uh shell into the chamber, and faces us. + +“What did you say?” he asks Harelip. “What did you say?” + +“Don’t shood,” wails Harelip. “Aye chust agree mit uh grazy man.” + +“Hopeless,” wails the doctor. “Absolutely hopeless. My dear Mrs. Church, +we may as well go back home.” + +“You ain’t as crazy as I thought yuh was,” opines the old man. “You do +get rational at times.” + +Comes the rattle of uh wagon, and somebody yells: + +“Hey!” + +“See who it is, Hen,” says the old man, so I sticks my head out of the +busted window and sees “Doughgod” Smith. + +“Hello, Hen,” says he. “I just stopped to see if anybody wanted to ride +to town or if the old man wanted anything brought back.” + +“They do and I don’t, Doughgod,” yells the old man. “Hang on to +yourself, and I’ll give yuh uh load—one way only.” + +“Do we have your permission to leave, Mr.—er—uh—” begins the doctor, but +the old man explodes: + +“Permission? Gol dingle dang it, yuh got all the permission I ever had. +Take my blessing and good wishes, and go in peace.” + +“Or pieces,” supplies Chuck, looking at the doctor. + +“I met Telescope and Muley up near Tin-Cup Crick,” states Doughgod, +while the bunch is loading into his wagon. “They seemed in uh hurry.” + +“I can’t blame them,” says Miss Church, and just then that fighting +foreigner comes around the corner and sizes up the load. + +“Aye go too,” she whoops, making uh beeline for the wagon, and nobody +disputed her intentions. + +“_Wah!_” says she, vaulting into that wagon like uh ton uh lard. “Aye no +like das ha’r place. Aye skall go back to Gopenhagen vare birds no talk. +Goot-by, Onkle O-o-olaf.” + +Me and Chuck and Whittaker and Harelip stands there and watches that +load roll off down to the main road, and disappear in uh cloud uh dust. + +“Mrs. Church,” says the old man, sort uh wondering like. “Gol dingle +dang it! Emily Whittaker.” + +“Onkle O-o-olaf,” says Harelip, in the same tone. “Gude ——! Hulda +Hokansen.” + +“Oh ——! Oh ——!” says Cyclops, from the porch rail. + +“Which covers everything,” says Chuck. + + +[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in Adventure Magazine, +February 3, 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 79223 *** |