Frederick Palmer - "The Last Shot"

Arnold Bennett - "The Matador of the Five Towns and Other Stories"

John Beauchamp Jones - "Wild Western Scenes"

Various - "Notes & Queries, No. 47, Saturday, September 21, 1850"

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The Happy Family written by Bertha Muzzy Bower

B >> Bertha Muzzy Bower >> The Happy Family




"It won't cost yuh a cent to try," Pink told him. "How's your back?
Think you'll be able to ride by the time Skeeker is able to travel?"

Andy, grinned. "Say," he confided suddenly, "if that hoss don't
improve some speedy, I'll be riding on ahead. I reckon I'll be able to
travel before them explorers get back, my friend."

"Why?" dimpled Pink boldly.

"Why? Well, the going is some rough, down that way. If they get them
wagons half way to the coulee marked with a cross, they'll sure have
to attach wings onto 'em. I've been some worried about that. I don't
much believe uncle Peter is going to enjoy that trip--and he sure does
get irritable by spells. I've got a notion to ride for some other
outfit, this summer."

"Was that the reason you throwed your horse down and got hurt, that
morning?" questioned Pink, and Andy grinned again by way of reply.

"They'll be gone a week, best they can do," he estimated aloud. "We
ought to be able to make our getaway by then, easy."

Pink assured him that a week would see them headed for the Flying U.

It was the evening of the sixth day, and the two were packed and ready
to leave in the morning, when Andy broke off humming and gave a snort
of dismay. "By gracious, there they come. My mother lives in Buffalo,
Pink, in a little drab house with white trimmings. Write and tell her
how her son--Oh, beloved! but they're hitting her up lively. If they
made the whole trip in that there frame uh mind, they could uh gone
clean to Miles City and back. How pretty the birds sing! Pink, you'll
hear words, directly."

Directly Pink did.

"You're the biggest liar on earth," Sherwood Branciforte contributed
to the recriminating wave that near engulfed Andy Green. "You sent us
down there on a wild-goose chase, you brute. You--"

"I never sent nobody," Andy defended. "You was all crazy to go."

"And nothing but an old stone hut some trapper had built!" came an
indignant, female tone. "There never was any castle, nor--"

"A man's home is his castle," argued Andy, standing unabashed before
them. "Putting it that way, it was a castle, all right."

There was babel, out of which--

"And the skeleton! Oh, you--it was a dead _cow!_" This from the young
old lady, who was looking very draggled and not at all young.

"I don't call to mind ever saying it was human," put in Andy, looking
at her with surprised, gray eyes.

"And the battlements!" groaned the-girl-who-does-things.

"You wanted battlements," Andy flung mildly into the uproar. "I always
aim to please." With that he edged away from them and made his escape
to where the cook was profanely mixing biscuits for supper. All-day
moves put an edge to his temper. The cook growled an epithet, and Andy
passed on. Down near the stable he met one of the chosen half, and the
fellow greeted him with a grin. Andy stopped abruptly.

"Say, they don't seem none too agreeable," he began tentatively,
jerking his thumb toward the buzzing group. "How about it, Sandy? Was
they that petulant all the way?"

Sandy, the map-bearer, chuckled. "It's lucky you got hurt at the last
minute! And yet it was worth the trip. Uh course we got stalled with
the wagons, the second day out, but them women was sure ambitious, and
made us go on with a packadero layout. I will say that, going down,
they stood the hardships remarkable. It was coming back that frazzled
the party.

"And when we found the place--say, but it was lucky you wasn't along!
They sure went hog-wild when they seen the ruins. The old party with
the pompadoor displayed temper, and shed tears uh rage. When she
looked into the cabin and seen the remains uh that cow-critter, there
was language it wasn't polite to overhear. She said a lot uh things
about you, Andy. One thing they couldn't seem to get over, and that
was the smallness uh the blamed shack. Them fourteen or fifteen rooms
laid heavy on their minds."

"I didn't say there was fourteen or fifteen rooms. I said I didn't
count the rooms; I didn't either. I never heard of anybody counting
one room. Did you, Pink?"

"No," Pink agreed, "I never did!"

Sandy became suddenly convulsed. "Oh, but the funniest thing was the
ancient pottery," he gasped, the tears standing in his eyes. "That old
Dutch oven was bad enough; but when one uh the girls--that one that
collects old dishes--happened across an old mackerel can and picked it
up and saw the fish on the label, she was the maddest female person I
ever saw in my life, barring none. If you'd been in reach about that
time, she'd just about clawed your eyes out, Andy Green. Oh me, oh
my!" Sandy slapped his thigh and had another spasm.

Sounds indicated that the wave of recrimination was rolling nearer.
Andy turned to find himself within arm's length of Uncle Pete.

"Maybe this is your idea of a practical joke, Green," he said to Andy.
"But anyway, it will cost you your job. I ought to charge you up with
the time my outfit has spent gallivanting around the country on the
strength of your wild yarn. The quicker you hit the trail, the better
it will suit me. By the way, what's your first name?" He asked,
pulling out a check-book.

"Andy," answered the unrepentant one.

"Andy," Uncle Peter paused with a fountain pen between his fingers. He
looked Andy up and down, and the frown left his face. He proceeded to
write out the check, and when it was done he handed it over with a
pleased smile.

"What did you do it for, Green?" he queried in a friendlier tone.

"Self-defence," Andy told him laconically, and turned away.

Half an hour later, Andy and Pink trailed out of the coulee that
sheltered the Rocking R. When they were out and away from the fence,
and Pink's horses, knowing instinctively that they were homeward
bound, were jogging straight west without need of guidance, Andy felt
in his pocket for cigarette material. His fingers came in contact with
the check Uncle Peter had given him, and he drew it forth and looked
it over again.

"Well, by gracious!" he said to himself. "Uncle Peter thinks we're
even, I guess."

He handed the check to Pink and rolled his cigarette; and Pink, after
one comprehending look at the slip of paper, doubled up over his
saddle-horn and shouted with glee--for the check was written: "Pay to
the order of Ananias Green."

"And I've got to sign myself a liar, or I don't collect no money,"
sighed Andy. "That's what I call tough luck, by gracious!"

* * * * *




BLINK


The range-land was at its unpicturesque worst. For two days the wind
had raged and ranted over the hilltops, and whooped up the long
coulees, so that tears stood in the eyes of the Happy Family when they
faced it; impersonal tears blown into being by the very force of the
wind. Also, when they faced it they rode with bodies aslant over their
saddle-horns and hats pulled low over their streaming eyes, and with
coats fastened jealously close. If there were buttons enough, well and
good; if not, a strap cinched tightly about the middle was considered
pretty lucky and not to be despised. Though it was early September,
"sour-dough" coats were much in evidence, for the wind had a chill way
of searching to the very marrow--and even a good, sheepskin-lined
"sour-dough" was not always protection sufficient.

When the third day dawned bleakly, literally blown piecemeal from out
darkness as bleak, the Happy Family rose shiveringly and with sombre
disapproval of whatever met their blood-shot eyes; dressed hurriedly
in the chill of flapping tent and went out to stagger drunkenly over
to where Patsy, in the mess-tent, was trying vainly to keep the
biscuits from becoming dust-sprinkled, and sundry pans and tins from
taking jingling little excursions on their own account. Over the brow
of the next ridge straggled the cavvy, tails and manes whipping in the
gale, the nighthawk swearing so that his voice came booming down to
camp. Truly, the day opened inauspiciously enough for almost any dire
ending.

As further evidence, saddling horses for circle resolved itself, as
Weary remarked at the top of his voice to Pink, at his elbow, into "a
free-for-all broncho busting tournament." For horses have nerves, and
nothing so rasps the nerves of man or beast as a wind that never stops
blowing; which means swaying ropes and popping saddle leather, and
coat-tails flapping like wet sheets on a clothes line. Horses do not
like these things, and they are prone to eloquent manifestations of
their disapproval.

Over by the bed-wagon, a man they called Blink, for want of a better
name, was fighting his big sorrel silently, with that dogged
determination which may easily grow malevolent. The sorrel was at best
a high-tempered, nervous beast, and what with the wind and the
flapping of everything in sight, and the pitching of half-a-dozen
horses around him, he was nearly crazed with fear in the abstract.

Blink was trying to bridle him, and he was not saying a word--which,
in the general uproar, was strange. But Blink seldom did say anything.
He was one of the aliens who had drifted into the Flying U outfit that
spring, looking for work. Chip had taken him on, and he had stayed. He
could ride anything in his string, and he was always just where he was
wanted. He never went to town when the others clattered off for a few
hours' celebration more or less mild, he never took part in any of the
camp fun, and he never offended any man. If any offended him they did
not know it unless they were observant; if they were, they would see
his pale lashes wink fast for a minute, and they might read aright the
sign and refrain from further banter. So Blink, though he was counted
a good man on roundup, was left pretty much alone when in camp.

Andy Green, well and none too favorably known down Rocking R way, and
lately adopted into the Happy Family on the recommendation of Pink and
his own pleasing personality, looped the latigo into the holder, gave
his own dancing steed a slap of the don't-try-to-run-any-whizzers-on-me
variety, and went over to help out Blink.

Blink eyed his approach with much the same expression with which he
eyed the horse. "I never hollered for assistance," he remarked
grudgingly when Andy was at his elbow. "When I can't handle any of the
skates in my string, I'll quit riding and take to sheep-herding."
Whereupon he turned his back as squarely as he might upon Andy and
made another stealthy grab for the sorrel's ears. (There is such a
thing in the range-land as jealousy among riders, and the fame of Andy
Green had gone afar.)

"All right. Just as you say, and not as I care a darn," Andy retorted,
and went back to where his own mount stood tail to the wind. He did
not in the least mind the rebuff; he really felt all the indifference
his manner portrayed--perhaps even more. He had offered help where
help was needed, and that ended it for him. It never occurred to him
that Blink might feel jealous over Andy's hard-earned reputation as a
"tamer of wild ones," or mistake his good nature for patronage.

Five minutes later, when Chip looked around comprehensively at the lot
of them in various degrees of readiness; saw that Blink was still
fighting silently for mastery of the sorrel and told Andy to go over
and help him get saddled, Andy said nothing of having had his services
refused, but went. This time, Blink also said nothing, but accepted in
ungracious surrender the assistance thus thrust upon him. For on the
range-land, unless one is in a mind to roll his bed and ride away, one
does not question when the leader commands. Andy's attitude was still
that of indifference; he really thought very little about Blink or his
opinions, and the rapid blinking of the pale lashes was quite lost
upon him.

They rode, eighteen ill-natured, uncomfortable cowboys, tumultuously
away from the camp, where canvas bulged and swayed, and loose corners
cracked like pistol shots, over the hill where even the short, prairie
grass crouched and flattened itself against the sod; where stray
pebbles, loosened by the ungentle tread of pitching hoofs, skidded
twice as far as in calm weather. The gray sky bent threateningly above
them, wind-torn into flying scud but never showing a hint of blue.
Later there might be rain, sleet, snow--or sunshine, as nature might
whimsically direct; but for the present she seemed content with only
the chill wind that blew the very heart out of a man.

Whenever Chip pulled up to turn off a couple of riders that they might
search a bit of rough country, his voice was sharp with the general
discomfort. When men rode away at his command, it was with brows drawn
together and vengeful heels digging the short-ribs of horses in quite
as unlovely a mood as themselves.

Out at the end of the "circle," Chip divided the remainder of his men
into two groups for the homeward drive. One group he himself led. The
other owned Weary as temporary commander and galloped off to the left,
skirting close to the foothills of the Bear Paws. In that group rode
Pink and Happy Jack, Slim, Andy Green and Blink the silent.

"I betche we get a blizzard out uh this," gloomed Happy Jack, pulling
his coat collar up another fraction of an inch. "And the way Chip's
headed us, we got to cross that big flat going back in the thick of
it; chances is, we'll git lost."

No one made reply to this; it seemed scarcely worth while. Every man
of them rode humped away from the wind, his head drawn down as close
to his shoulders as might be. Conversation under those conditions was
not likely to become brisk.

"A fellow that'll punch cows for a living," Happy Jack asserted
venomously after a minute, "had ought to be shut up somewheres. He
sure ain't responsible. I betche next summer don't see me at it."

"Aw, shut up. We know you're feeble-minded, without you blatting it by
the hour," snapped Pink, showing never a dimple.

Happy Jack tugged again at his collar and made remarks, to which no
one paid the slightest attention. They rode in amongst the hills and
narrow ridges dividing "draws" as narrow, where range cattle would
seek shelter from the cutting blast that raked the open. Then, just as
they began to realize that the wind was not quite such a raging
torment, came a new phase of nature's unpleasant humor.

It was not a blizzard that descended upon them, though when it came
rolling down from the hilltops it much resembled one. The wind had
changed and brought fog, cold, suffocating, impenetrable. Yet such was
the mood of them that no one said anything about it. Weary had been
about to turn off a couple of men, but did not. What was the use,
since they could not see twenty yards?

For a time they rode aimlessly, Weary in the lead. Then, when it grew
no better but worse, he pulled up, just where a high bank shut off the
wind and a tangle of brush barred the way in front.

"We may as well camp right here till things loosen up a little," he
said. "There's no use playing blind-man's-buff any longer. We'll have
some fire, for a change. Mama! this is sure beautiful weather!"

At that, they brightened a bit and hurriedly dismounted and hunted dry
wood. Since they were to have a fire, the general tendency was to have
a big one; so that when they squatted before it and held out cold,
ungloved fingers to the warmth, the flames were leaping high into the
fog and crackling right cheerily. It needed only a few puffs at their
cigarettes to chase the gloom from their faces and put them in the
mood for talk. Only Blink sat apart and stared moodily into the fire,
his hands clasped listlessly around his knees, and to him they gave no
attention. He was an alien, and a taciturn one at that. The Happy
Family were accustomed to living clannishly, even on roundup, and only
when they tacitly adopted a man, as they had adopted Pink and Irish
and, last but not least important, Andy Green, did they take note of
that man's mood and demand reasons for any surliness.

"If Slim would perk up and go run down a grouse or two," Pink observed
pointedly, "we'd be all right for the day. How about it, Slim?"

"Run 'em down yourself," Slim retorted. "By golly, I ain't no lop-ear
bird dog."

"The law's out fer chickens," Happy Jack remarked dolefully.

"Go on, Happy, and get us a few. You've got your howitzer buckled on,"
fleered Andy Green. Andy it was whose fertile imagination had so
christened Happy Jack's formidable weapon.

"Aw, gwan!" protested Happy Jack.

"Happy looks like he was out for a rep," bantered Pink. "He makes me
think uh the Bad Man in a Western play. All he needs is his hat turned
up in front and his sleeves rolled up to his elbow, like he was
killing hogs. Happy would make a dandy-looking outlaw, with that gun
and that face uh his."

"Say, by golly, I bet that's what he's figurin' on doing. He ain't
going to punch cows no more--I bet he's thinking about turning out."

"Well, when I do, you'll be the first fellow I lay for," retorted
Happy, with labored wit.

"You never'd get a rep shooting at a target the size uh Slim," dimpled
Pink. "Is that toy cannon loaded, Happy?"

"I betche yuh dassen't walk off ten paces and let me show yuh,"
growled Happy.

Pink made as if to rise, then settled back with a sigh. "Ten paces is
farther than you could drive me from this fire with a club," he said.
"And you couldn't see me, in this fog."

"Say, it _is_ pretty solid," said Weary, looking around him at the
blank, gray wall. "A fellow could sit right here and be a lot ignorant
of what's going on around him. A fellow could--"

"When I was riding down in the San Simon basin," spoke up Andy,
rolling his second cigarette daintily between his finger-tips, "I had
a kinda queer experience in a fog, once. It was thick as this one, and
it rolled down just about as sudden and unexpected. That's a plenty
wild patch uh country--or it was when I was there. I was riding for a
Spanish gent that kept white men as a luxury and let the greasers do
about all the rough work--such as killing off superfluous neighbors,
and running brands artistic, and the like. Oh, he was a gay mark, all
right.

"But about this other deal: I was out riding alone after a little
bunch uh hosses, one day in the fall. I packed my gun and a pair uh
field glasses, and every time I rode up onto a mesa I'd take a long
look at all the lower country to save riding it. I guess I'd
prognosticated around like that for two or three hours, when I come
out on a little pinnacle that slopes down gradual toward a neighbor's
home ranch--only the ranch itself was quite a ride back up the basin.

"I got off my horse and set down on a rock to build me a smoke, and
was gazing off over the country idle, when I seen a rider come up out
of a little draw and gallop along quartering-like, to pass my pinnacle
on the left. You know how a man out alone like that will watch
anything, from a chicken hawk up in the air to a band uh sheep,
without any interest in either one, but just to have your eyes on
something that's alive and moves.

"So I watched him, idle, while I smoked. Pretty soon I seen another
fellow ride out into sight where the first one had, and hit her up
lively down the trail. I didn't do no wondering--I just sat and
watched 'em both for want uh something better to do."

"Finding them strays wasn't important, I s'pose?" Happy Jack
insinuated.

"It could wait, and did. So I kept an eye on these gazabos, and pretty
soon I saw the hind fellow turn off the trail and go fogging along
behind a little rise. He come into sight again, whipping down both
sides like he was heading a wild four-year-old; and that was queer,
because the only other live thing in sight was man number one, and I
didn't see no reason why he should be hurting himself to get around to
windward like that.

"Maybe it was five minutes I watched 'em: number one loping along like
there wasn't nothing urgent and he was just merely going somewhere and
taking his time for it, and number two quirting and spurring like
seconds was diamonds."

"I wish they was that valuable to you," hinted Pink.

"They ain't, so take it easy. Well, pretty soon they got closer
together, and then number two unhooked something on his saddle that
caught the light. There's where I got my field glasses into play. I
drew a bead with 'em, and seen right off it was a gun. And I hadn't no
more than got my brain adjusted to grasp his idea, when he puts it
back and takes down his rope. That there," Andy added naively,
"promised more real interest; guns is commonplace.

"I took down the glasses long enough to size up the layout. Glasses,
you know, are mighty deceiving when it comes to relative distances,
and a hilltop a mile back looks, through the glass, like just stepping
over a ditch. With the naked eye I could see that they were coming
together pretty quick, and they done so.

"Number one looks back, but whether he seen number two I couldn't say;
seemed to me like he just glanced back casual and in the wrong
direction. Be that is it may, number two edged off a little and rode
in behind a bunch uh mesquite--and then I seen that the trail took a
turn, right there. So he pulled up and stood still till the other one
had ambled past, and then he whirled out into the trail and swung his
loop.

"When I'd got the glasses focused on 'em again, he had number one
snared, all right, and had took his turns. The hoss he was riding--it
was a buckskin--set back and yanked number one end over end out uh the
saddle, and number one's hoss stampeded off through the brush. Number
two dug in his spurs and went hell-bent off the trail and across
country dragging the other fellow--and him bouncing over the rough
spots something horrible.

"I don't know what got the matter uh me, then; I couldn't do anything
but sit there on my rock and watch through the glasses. Anyway, while
they looked close enough to hit with a rock, they was off a mile or
more. So while I could see it all I couldn't do nothing to prevent. I
couldn't even hear number one yell--supposing he done any hollering,
which the chances is he did a plenty. It was for all the world like
one uh these moving pictures.

"I thought it was going to be a case uh dragging to death, but it
wasn't; it looked to me a heap worse. Number two dragged his man a
ways--I reckon till he was plumb helpless--and then he pulled up and
rode back to where he laid. The fellow tried to get up, and did get
partly on his knees--and number one standing over him, watching.

"What passed I don't know, not having my hearing magnified like my
sight was. I framed it up that number two was getting his past,
present and future read out to him--what I'd call a free life reading.
The rope was pinning his arms down to his sides, and number two was
taking blamed good care there wasn't any slack, so fast as he tried to
get up he was yanked back. From first to last he never had a ghost of
a show.

"Then number two reaches back deliberate and draws his gun and
commences shooting, and I commences hollering for him to quit it--and
me a mile off and can't do nothing! I tell yuh right now, that was
about the worst deal I ever went up against, to set there on that
pinnacle and watch murder done in cold blood, and me plumb helpless.

"The first shot wasn't none fatal, as I could see plainer than was
pleasant. Looked to me like he wanted to string out the agony. It was
a clear case uh butchery from start to finish; the damnedest,
lowest-down act a white man could be guilty of. He empties his
six-gun--counting the smoke-puffs--and waits a minute, watching like a
cat does a gopher. I was sweating cold, but I kept my eyes glued to
them glasses like a man in a nightmare.

"When he makes sure the fellow's dead, he rides alongside and flips
off the rope, with the buckskin snorting and edging off--at the
blood-smell, I reckon. While he's coiling his rope, calm as if he'd
just merely roped a yearling, the buckskin gets his head, plants it
and turns on the fireworks.

"When that hoss starts in pitching, I come alive and drop the glasses
into their case and make a jump for my own hoss. If the Lord lets me
come up with that devil, I aim to deal out a case uh justice on my own
hook; I was in a right proper humor for doing him like he done the
other fellow, and not ask no questions. Looked to me like he had it
coming, all right.

"I'd just stuck my toe in the stirrup, when down comes the fog like a
wet blanket on everything. I couldn't see twenty feet--" Andy stopped
and reached for a burning twig to relight his cigarette. The Happy
Family was breathing hard with the spell of the story.

"Did yuh git him?" Happy Jack asked hoarsely. Andy took a long puff at
his cigarette. "Well, I--Holy smoke! what's the matter with _you_,
Blink?" For Blink was leaning forward, half crouched, like a cat about
to pounce, and was glaring fixedly at Andy with lips drawn back in a
snarl. The Happy Family looked, then stared.

Blink relaxed, shrugged his shoulders and grinned unmirthfully. He got
up, pulled up his chaps with the peculiar, hitching gesture which
comes with long practice and grows to be second nature, and stared
back defiantly at the wondering faces lighted by the dancing flames.
He turned his back coolly upon them and walked away to where his horse
stood, took up the reins and stuck his toe in the stirrup, went up and
landed in the saddle ready for anything. Then he wheeled the big
sorrel so that he faced those at the camp-fire.