Benton of the Royal Mounted Part 12

The old man gazed drearily through the open door.

"I _wuz_ dahn theer two years agone," he said huskily, and with a querulous, childish simplicity that moved his hearer more than that individual cared to show. "My 'Arry's a good lad, but that theer _vrouw_ o' 'is kills my pig properly. Nah!-there ain't no peace theer. An' th'

_kinders_ cries, an' w'enever 'e tries ter stan' hup fer hisself she hups an' knocks 'im off th' perch reg'lar. She started on me, too," he went on, spitting vindictively. "But I pulled aht of it an' come back 'ere. I 'member one night I went 'ome wiv a bottle ter 'ave a smile wiv me b'y. Th' kitchen door were shut, an' I c'ud 'ear 'em a-goin' to it fer fair. All of a sudden there come such a smack, that I guess she were a-tryin' ter prove whether 'is block or 'er mop-stick were th' 'ardest.

I weren't a-goin' b.u.t.tin' in where dry pokes an' 'ard words wuz a-goin', so I _trekked_ ant of it quick-dahn ter th' pub on th' corner o'

Iroquois Street, an' got _dronk_ peaceful on me own. Nah," he concluded, spitting again contemptuously, "folks is best single."

The Sergeant looked hard at the careworn, dissipated old face, doubting-and not for the first time, either-whether, under that simple exterior, there lay not a better philosophy than he himself could boast of.

"Aye," he agreed slowly. "Like as not yu're right, Dad-like as not. Now, what was it yu' come to see me about?"

The old man fidgeted in his chair uneasily.

"You mind me a-tellin' yer once abaht that theer old nitchie 'Roll-in-th'-Mud,' as I fahnd larst year in th' bush, wiv 'is leg broke, an' took back ter th' Agency ag'in?"

The policeman nodded. He had heard the oft-repeated tale more times than he could remember.

"Well," continued his host. "Th' old feller comes arahnd ter see me now an' ag'in-just ter say 'Howdy' an' cadge a bit o' baccer. Well, th'

mornin' I come over ter see you I wuz ahtside th' stable _inspannin'_ me team, meanin' fer ter _trek_ over ter Barney Gallagher's fer some chicken feed an' stuff, w'en 'e comes a-jiggin' by, a-_sjambokin'_ 'is old cayuse like them nitchies ullus does. 'E pulls hup w'en 'e sees me, an' grins. 'Howdy,' says I. 'Howdy,' says 'e. I dahn't savvy 'is _indaba_, so we ullus mykes sign tork. 'E seemed kind o' excited like an' 'e catches me by th' coat an' leads me rahnd th' back o' th' stable, where we cud see th' 'orses in th' field. 'E starts in ter wive 'is arms like as if 'e wuz a-tryin' ter imityte a bloke a-drivin' 'em aw'y to'rds th' West, then 'e touches 'is chest an' grunts '_Naymoyer, naymoyer_,'

two or three times, an' shykes 'is 'ead. I catches on ter wot 'e meant, quick ... cudn't 'elp it. 'E wuz a-meanin' that some bloke wuz a-goin'

ter try an' run 'em off from me, an' wanted 'im ter 'elp 'im an' 'e wudn't. That's wot 'e meant," wound up Tucker breathlessly, turning an imploring, frightened face to the Sergeant. "An' I figger that theer bloke wuz that same _schelm_, Short an' Dirty."

For reasons of his own, the policeman tried to allay the old man's shrewd suspicions.

"Now, don't yu' go for to get a-blamin' poor Shorty for everythin'. He ain't figurin' to do yu' no harm. P'r'aps th' nitchie was only meanin'

yore stock wanted turnin' out of that G.o.d-forsaken pasture o' yores, onto th' range again, where they can rustle a bite. It's a blasted shame, yore coopin' 'em up like that. That's what old 'Roll-in-th'-Mud'

meant."

Thus he chided, but Tucker only shook his gray head obstinately, and clung firmly to his pet conviction.

"Had any more visitors th' last two or three days besides Shorty?"

queried Benton.

The old man struggled with his liquor-fumed wits awhile, torturing his memory.

"Let's see," he said slowly. "W'y, yes!... That theer young feller-Scotty Robbins, I think's 'is nyme-wot works fer th' Wharnock outfit ... 'e come arahnd abaht fower d'ys ago. 'E's come 'ere ter see me lots o' times. 'E said once as 'ow 'e wished 'e 'ad th' money ter buy me plice. 'E seems a nice, kind-'earted young feller-that. Sometimes 'e brings another feller wot works wiv 'im along too. 'E's a big chap-'is nyme's Fisk."

"Yes," said Ellis meditatively. "I know 'em. They're both nice, kind-'earted fellers, as yu' say."

He looked at his watch and jumped to his feet. "Well, I reckon I'll be pullin' back," he said. "I'll go on over to th' Reserve sometime soon, and see old Roll-in-th'-Mud, an' have a palaver with him through an interpreter."

The old man arose shakily and, with a string of Dutch and Zulu maledictions on his supposed enemies, put a trembling, withered hand on the policeman's sleeve.

"Yer won't let any o' th' _schelms_ put anyfink over on me, will yer, son?" he said wistfully.

Benton turned and looked at him kindly, and a wave of compa.s.sionate pity for the helpless old reprobate who besought his protection, not unmixed with anger at the men who aimed to despoil him, stirred his deep, sympathetic nature strangely.

"Now, don't yu' worrit none. I'll look after yu', Dad," he said gently.

"Only yu' wanta take a tumble an' turn that stock o' yores out tomorrow ... they're starvin'. An' don't yu' go a-gettin' full an' monkey'n'

around with that gun no more, else I won't," he added warningly. "I'm a-goin' to keep them sh.e.l.ls for a time, to insure yore good behavior."

Tucker, overwhelming him with abject promises of immediate and lasting reform, tottered out into the open after him.

"W'en I see that theer buckskin 'orse o' Barney Gallagher's thru' th'

winder, I made sh.o.r.e as it wuz Short an' Dirty comin' arahnd ag'in," he piped. "W'y, _'e_ used ter ride 'im."

"_Ja_," answered Ellis enigmatically, as he swung into the saddle.

"_Used._ Well, so long, Dad. Mind what I told yu', now. I'll be around to see yu' again soon."

CHAPTER IX

"Saint Pether ... who hold'st th' Keys av Hivin- Oi'm poor ... an' Oi'm old ... comin' sixty-sivin- Thru' booze ... ? Eyah!-partly ... but honust, Oi've bin- Saint Pether ... Och!-won't ye-plaze-let me-come in?"

-_The Derelict_

With a feeling of exultation he loped swiftly away. His morning had not been wasted, he reflected. "All over but th' shoutin'," he muttered.

"Wish I'd got time to go an' see that nitchie, though. Can't make th'

Agency today, now. Well, let's see how this comes off. I can get that old beggar any old time."

Then, suddenly, an uneasy thought crossed his mind. What if they didn't show up. If they were hanging around somewhere close at hand, and had seen him coming and going from Tucker's. His alert eyes flickered around the rolling stretch of prairie unceasingly, but nothing more disturbing than a few scattered bunches of horses and cattle appeared to his vision. Presently, topping the summit of a small rise on the familiar trail, he came within sight of the detachment again.

Suddenly he pulled up sharply.

"Why, h.e.l.lo!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "What th' devil's up now?"

For, in the distance, he saw a team and wagon outside the dwelling, with two figures scuffling at the horses' heads, and the wind brought to his ears the sounds of a violent altercation. Jabbing the spurs into the buckskin, he raced towards them, and his speed soon brought him up to the combatants, who were just picking themselves up from a clinch on the ground. In one of them he immediately recognized a rancher in the district named Pryce-commonly known as "Ginger" Pryce, from the somewhat sanguine color of his hair and corresponding temperament. The other, a tall, stooping, shrunken-faced old man, was a stranger to him. The latter's face was bleeding, and he was gasping for breath from his encounter with his younger antagonist with long, wheezy, asthmatical sobs that shook his emaciated body terribly.

"Here, now! What in h-l's this racket about?" shouted the Sergeant, dismounting.

Spitting, and breathing heavily, Pryce burst out: "Them hawsses an'

wagon is mine!" He choked with his rage, and paused to regain his wind.

"Yu' 'member I come around to yu' when they was stole 'bout three weeks ago?" he ran on excitedly. "I was comin' along th' trail 'bout a mile nor'west o' here when I meets this old stiff comin' sailin' along with _my_ team an' wagon, as bold as yu' like. He says he bought 'em, an'

he's showed me a bill o' sale that he says he got off'n th' feller he bought 'em from ... but I'll gamble it's only a faked-up one, an' _he's_ th' feller what stole 'em. I made him drive on here to yore place. Yu'

wasn't in, so we gets arguin', an' he calls me a 'red-headed rooster.' I won't take that off'n any man-old or young."

"Why didn't yu' put th' boots to him while yu' was at it?" said Ellis, with sneering sarcasm. "He's only an old man an' I guess yu' could easy do it.

"Well, old gentleman," he continued. "What about this outfit? Where'd yu' get 'em?"

Pale and exhausted, the aged man strove to recover from his distress.

His agitation was pitiable, and the Sergeant gave him time and waited quietly.

Speech suddenly broke from him, in a torrent of expostulation.