Curly Part 43

"After you!" I called, always willing to oblige--"after you. Shoot first, and hear me afterwards, eh? That's right, boys. You see, I pack no gun, 'cause I'm yo' guest."

The guns were put away.

"You've heard," says I, "from Misteh Crazy Hoss how I subdued this Ryan and got a quittance for Jim du Chesnay from the charge of murder. I'm his guardian, boys. Furthermore, you heard from Misteh Crazy Hoss a plumb truthful account of how I saved this whole crowd from being wolf-bait fed to us for our supper--the same being considered unwholesome. Now, as to this pore little felon, he put up the only play he knew to save hisself from being murdered. He ain't a lion to fight with teeth, or a man to distribute gunfire on his enemies; but his back's to the wall and he puts up the best little fight he knows about.

He, bein' a sure snake, uses poison, whereat, having drawn his fangs, I takes his side, and begs the critter's life. I want to have him for a curio to put in my collection, and I offers ten cents for the same--which is more'n he's worth."

"Boys," said McCalmont, "if this yere Chalkeye didn't allus take the weaker side, he'd be a rich man still, instead of an outlaw herdin' with our gang as his last refuge."

The robbers seemed to like me some better now, and a feeling of popularity began to glow on my skin.

"But," says McCalmont, "in the matter of this yere snake, he acts plumb erroneous. If the snake escapes to give evidence, he can identify the entire gang, Chalkeye included. Go--kill that snake!"

Crazy Hoss rushed to the kitchen. "Gawn!" he yelled. "Escaped! So this is yo' game, Mr. Chalkeye!"

"Kill him! kill him!"

"Halt!" McCalmont faced the rush against me--outroared the shouting.

"Back, or I fire! Back, you curs! Deal with this business afterwards--we want the snake first! Whar's them smell-dawgs? Here, Powder! Powder!

Here, you Rip; come on, lil' dawg! Crazy Hoss, you put on them dawgs to the scent, track down this Ryan, and kill him. Then come back."

The dogs were put on Ryan's trail. "Go, get 'im, Rip! Sick 'im, Powder!

Tear 'im and eat 'im! Come along, boys!" So the whole crowd poured away to track Ryan.

McCalmont grabbed me by the arm to hold me back.

"You fool," he hissed through his teeth, "come on--there's not a moment to lose--or them wolves will get you! Curly! Curly, come out, you, and fetch Chalkeye's gun. Chalkeye, you come quick."

Curly came running from the little hind room with our guns, while McCalmont rushed me to the kitchen. "Here," he said, "hold this sack for grub!"

"Not them meat b.a.l.l.s," says I; "meat b.a.l.l.s is out of season."

"All right," he laughed, pitching a half-sack of flour into the bag which I held, then a side of bacon, and such other truck as was handy.

"Curly, you knows whar to take this man?"

"Come along," says Curly. And I followed tame, with the sack on my shoulder until we gained the woods.

"Back!" says Curly sudden, and dodged for cover, while I dropped flat behind a fallen tree. Looking from under, I saw Ryan come surging past in front of us, screeching like all possessed, the smell-dogs at his tail, and the robbers swarming close behind.

"A near thing that," says Curly, when they had pa.s.sed; "creep through under the log."

I crept through with my sack, and she followed.

"Lie low," she said; "we're hidden here from the ranche until we can run some more. Get out yo' gun."

They say that we white men, using our right hands mostly, is strongest on that side, and apt to bear to the left when we don't take note how we run. Anyway, Ryan, instead of circling south, had circled to the left and lost himself, then, when he found he was hunted, went off his head complete. He was back in the yard now, close beside the house, where McCalmont headed him off with a shot from the door, while the robbers spread out half circling. They laughed and shouted.

"My turn first!" says Crazy Hoss.

"Take his off ear, Crazy!"

The shot took Ryan's right ear; then Spotty fired, lopping off the left.

The poor brute tried to bolt, but a bullet swung him around. He lifted his hands for mercy, but the next shot smashed his wrist. He screamed, and a bullet caught his teeth. Curly was yelling now, but n.o.body noticed, for Ryan was down on his knees, and his face was being ripped to pieces. Then I saw McCalmont fire, and one of his dogs dropped dead.

He fired again, and killed the other hound. He had saved me from being tracked.

"Quit firing!" he shouted, and the robbers threatened him. "Now," he yelled at them, "who wants to talk war agin my friend Davies and me?"

"Come away," says Curly; and I crept after her.

A man's legs are naturally forked to fit onto a horse, and mine have never been broke to walking afoot. Fact is my legs act resentful when I walk, making me waddle all the same as a duck; which it humbles me to think of, because that Curly person loaded a sack on my withers, and herded me along like a pack mule until I felt no better than a spavined, groaning wreck. We must have gone afoot more than two whole miles before we came out at last on the edge of the Grand Canon.

At this place, right in under the rim rock, there was a hidden cavern--a fine big place when you got down there, but a scary climb to reach.

Half-way down the rock ladder I grabbed a root, which turned out to be a young rattlesnake, and was so surprised that I pretty near took flight.

Curly saved me that time from being an angel--which leads me to remark that there's lots of people better adapted to that holy vocation than me.

It was dark when we got to the cavern, but next morning I saw that it was a sure fine hiding-place, the floor being covered with a whole village of old stone houses. There are thousands of cliff villages like this in the canon country, made by some breed of Indians long gone dead, but this one had special conveniences, because you could spit from the outer wall into sheer eternity. Seeing how the robbers were warped in their judgments of me, and the authorities likewise prejudiced, my health required plenty seclusion then. We stayed in that hole for a week.

Curly was restive, quitting me at night to range the woods and visit the ranche, collecting everything useful which was small enough and loose enough to pull. She got four horses into a hidden pasture, with saddles for the same, and chuck to feed us when we should hit the trail. The plunder was good, but the news she brought smelt bad of coming trouble, for the robbers stayed to quarrel over their shares of past thievings.

When they broke to scatter, the trails were all blocked with troops, and then they were herded back into the ranche. On the fourth day I had to make Curly prisoner, while from noon to dusk the battle raged at the stronghold, and she wanted to go and die at her father's side. All that night and the day that followed I kept the poor girl quiet with my gun, then when the darkness came I let her free.

I don't like to think of what happened next, because I reckon that if I wash my outside I ought likewise to keep my inside clean and tidy with nice thoughts. Getting our horses, Curly and I rode back to Robbers'

Roost, pulling up at the edge of the clearing just as the new moon lifted above the pines. The stench of death, black ruins, white ashes, dark patches where blood had dried upon the dust, everywhere broken corpses--coyotes creeping to cover, eagles flapping heavily away--my soul felt small and humble in that place. Black it was and silver under the moon, with something moving slow from corpse to corpse in search--a live man counting the dead. Something in the way he moved reminded me I must have known that man, but the little partner called to him all at once--

"Jim!" Her voice went low and clear across the silence. "Jim!"

CHAPTER XXVII

A SECOND-HAND ANGEL

Scouting cautious, and shying wide of settlements except when we had to buy chuck, I herded my youngsters up the long trail north. We took no count of the distance, we lost all tab of dates, but camped where game was plenty, pushed on when the sun was s.h.i.+ning, holed up when the wind was too cold, and mostly lived by hunting. So we rode the winter through and came to the spring beyond, catching maybe more happiness than was good to have all at once.

One day, the snow being gone, and the prairie one big garden of spring flowers reaching away to the skyline, we happened to meet up sudden with a pony-soldier which he was lying under the shadow of his horse and playing tunes on a mouth-organ, heaps content with himself. His coat was red, his harness all glittering fine, his boots were s.h.i.+ny, his spurs had small cruel rowels. He said his chief was His Imperial Majesty Edward VII., that his tribe was the North-West Mounted Police, and his camp was called Medicine Hat, the same being close adjacent. We sounded him on robbers, but he seemed plumb ignorant, and said there was quite a few antelope if we cared for hunting.

Telling the youngsters to camp, I went b.u.t.ting along into Medicine Hat to prospect the same alone. It felt mighty strange to be in a town again, see the people walking around who belonged there, women and children especially, but the whisky I sampled felt right natural, and for all my snuffing and snorting I smelt nothing suspicious in the way of wolf-trap. So I traded with a lady who kept store for woman's clothing, such as she used herself, enough to load up my pack-horse. She certainly selected liberal to judge by the money I paid.

When I got back to camp expecting supper, I found the kids had been quarrelling, so that they weren't on speaking terms, and I had to introduce them. Jim was special haughty, but Curly got heaps interested in the clothes I'd bought, crowing and chuckling over everything. Her favorite game was playing at being a lady, but now she s.h.i.+ed at committing herself.

"Shucks!" she flirted across to the far side of the fire. "I cayn't oppress Jim in them things--I'd get so tame and weak he'd sit on my haid!"

"You're due to get mar'ied," says I, "as sure as sunrise to-morrow."

"So! Jim ain't caught me yet!"

Jim started in to catch her, but she jumped the fire to clear him.

"Now!" she deified him complete; "don't you rush my corral with one of yo' fool kisses, or I'll sh.o.r.ely bat yo' haid. I ain't laid down my arms yet!"