ii«!ii*!SiSiiiKSiiiS '•ifViU'.i ini*""*'" mm V-'J. '".;„T.u, m: mt& CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND GIVEN IN 1891 BY HENRY WILLIAMS SAGE Cornell University Library PS 2246.L18S2 3 1924 022 198 067 Cornell University Library The original of tliis bool< is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022198067 Sandburrs 'SPOT AND PINCHER." — Page y. Sandburrs By Alfred Henry Lewis Author of ' ' Wolfville, ' ' etc. Illustrated by Horace 'Taylor and George B. Luks New York Frederick A. Stokes Company Publishers HA^ Copyright, i8^8, i8p^. By The Verdict Publishing Company. Copyright, igoo. By Frederick A. Stokes Company. JAMP:S ROBERT KEENE PREFACE A SANDBURR is a foolish, small vegetable, irritating and grievously useless. Therefore this volume of sketches is named SandbURRS. Some folk there be who apologize for the birth of a book. There's scant propriety of it. A book is but a legless, dormant creature. The public has but to let it alone to be safe. And a book, withal ! is its own punishment. Is it a bad book ? the author loses. Is it very bad ? the publisher loses. In any case the public is preserved. For all of which there will be no apology for Sand- BURRS. Nor will I tell what I think of it. No ; this volume may make its own running, without the handi- cap of my apology, or the hamstringing of my criti- cism. There should be more than one to do the latter with the least of luck. The Bowery dialect — if it be a dialect — employed in sundry of these sketches is not an exalted literature. The stories told are true, however ; so much may they have defence. A. H. L. New York, Nov. 15, 1899. CONTENTS PAGE! I. SPOT AND PINCHER I II. MULBERRY MARY 8 III. SINGLETREE JENNINGS I3 IV. JESS , 17 V. THE HUMMING BIRD 24 VI. GASSY THOMPSON, VILLAIN 29 VII. ONE MOUNTAIN LION 34 VIII. MOLLIE MATCHES. , 44 IX. THE ST. CYRS 49 X. mcbride's dandy. S3; XI. RED MIKE 57 XII. HAMILTON FINNERTy's HEART 62 /'xiIL SHORT CREEK DAVE 68 XIV. CRIME THAT FAILED 77 XV. THE BETRAYAL 83 XVI. FOILED 86 XVII. POLITICS 92 XVIII. ESSLEIN GAMES 98 XIX. THE PAINFUL ERROR IO5 XX. THE RAT I08 XXI. CHEYENNE BILL 1 13 XXII. BLIGHTED 121 XXIIL THE SURETHING I25 5 6 CONTENTS rACS XXIV. GLADSTONE BURR ^^9 XXV. THE GARROTE 13^ XXVI. o'toole's chivalry 137 XXVIL WAGON MOUND SAL 142 xxviiL JOE Dubuque's luck 152 XXIX. SINKS AND MRS. B 157 XXX. ARABELLA WELD 165 XXXI. THE WEDDING. 17' XXXII. POINSETTe's CAPTIVITY 177 XXXIII. TIP FROM THE TOMB 1 82 XXXIV. BRIDGY McGUIRE l85 XXXV. TOO CHEAP 194 XXXVI. HENRY SPENY's BENEVOLENCE 1 98 XXXVIL JANE DOUGHERTY. 202 XXXVin. MISTRESS KILLIFER 20g XXXIX. BEARS 222 XL. THE BIG TOUCH 22gi XLI. THE FATAL KEY 235 XLII. AN OCEAN ERROR 238 XLIII. SKINNY mike's UNWISDOM 242 XLIV. MOLLIS PRESCOTT 246 XLV. ANNA MARIE 254 XLVI. THE PETERSENS 261, XLVII. bowlder's BURGLAR . 26j XLVIII. ANGELINA McLAURIN 27^ XLIX. DINKY PETE 284 L. CRIB OR COFFIN ? 29C LI. OHIO DAYS 29; SANDBURRS SPOT AND PINCHER. Martin is the barkeeper of an East Side hotel — not a good hotel at all — and flourishes as a sporting person of much emphasis. Martin, in passing, is at the head of the dog-fighting brotherhood. I often talk with Martin and love him very much. Last week I visited Martin's bar. There was "nothin' doin'," to quote from Martin. We talked of fighting men, a subject near to Martin, he having fought three prize-fights himself. Martin boasted him- self as still being " an even break wit' any rough-and- tumble scrapper in d' bunch." " Come here," said Martin, in course of converse ; " come here ; I'll show you a bute." Martin opened a door to the room back of the bar. As we entered a pink-white bull terrier, with black spots about the eyes, raced across to fawn on Martin. The terrier's black toe-nails, bright and hard as agate, made a vast clatter on the ash floor. " This is Spot," said Martin. " Weighs thirty-three pounds, and he's a hully terror ! I'm goin' to fight him to-night for five hundred dollars." 2 SANDBURRS I stooped to express with a pat on his smooth white head my approbation of Spot. " Pick him up and heft him," said Martin. " He won't nip you," he continued, as I hesitated ; " bulls is d' most manful dogs there bees. Bulls won't bite nobody." Thereupon I picked up Spot " to heft him." Spot smiled widely, wagged his stumpy tail, tried to lick my face, and felt like a bundle of live steel. " Spot's goin' to fight McDermott's Pincher," said Martin. "And," addressing this to Spot, "you want to watch out, old boy ! Pincher is as hard as a hod of brick. And you want to look out for your Trilbys ; Pincher'll fight for your feet and legs. He's d' limit, Spot, Pincher is ! and you must tend to business when you're in d' pit wit' Pincher, or he'll do you. Then McDermott would win me money, an' you an' me, Spot, would look like a couple of suckers." Spot listened with a pleased air, as if drinking in every word, and wagged his stump reassuringly. He would remember Pincher's genius for crunching feet and legs, and see to it fully in a general way that Pincher did not " do " him. " Spot knows he's goin' to fight to-night as well as you and me," said Martin, as we returned to the bar. " Be d' way ! don't you want to go ? " ****** It was nine o'clock that evening. The pit, sixteen feet square, with board walls three feet high, was built in the centre of an empty loft on Bleecker street. Directly over the pit was a bunch of electric lights. All about, raised six inches one above the other, were a dozen rows of board seats like a circus. These were SPOT AND PINCHER 3 crowded with perhaps two hundred sports. They sat close, and in the vague, smoky atmosphere, their faces, row on row, tier above tier, put me in mind of potatoes in a bin. Pincher was a bull terrier, the counterpart of Spot, save for the markings about the face which gave Spot his name. Pincher seemed very sanguine and full of eager hope ; and as he and Spot, held in the arms of their handlers, lolled at each other across the pit, it was plain they languished to begin. Neither, however, made yelp or cry or bark. Bull terriers of true worth on the battle-field were, I learned, a tacit, wordless brood, making no sound. Martin " handled " Spot and McDermott did kindly ofifice for Pincher in the same behalf. Martin and Mc- Dermott " tasted " Spot and Pincher respectively ; smelled and mouthed them for snuffs and poisons. Spot and Pincher submitted to these examinations in a gentlemanly way, but were glad when they ended. At the word of the referee. Spot and Pincher were loosed, each in his corner. They went straight at each other's throats. They met in the exact centre of the pit like two milk-white thunderbolts, and the battle began. Spot and Pincher moiled and toiled bloodily for forty-five minutes without halt or pause or space to breathe. Their handlers, who were confined to their corners by quarter circles drawn in chalk so as to hem them in, leaned forward toward the fray and breathed encouragement. What struck me as wonderful, withal, was a lack of angry ferocity on the parts of Spot and Pincher. There was naught of growl, naught of rage-born cry or 4 SANDBURRS comment. They simply blazed with a zeal for blood ; burned with a blind death-ardour. When Spot and Pincher began, all was so flash-like in their motions, I could hardly tell what went on. They were in and out, down and up, over and under, writhing like two serpents. Now and then a pair of jaws clicked like castanets as they came together with a trap-like snap, missing their hold. Now and then one or the other would get a half-grip that would tear ■ out. Then the blood flowed, painting both Spot and Pincher crimson. As time went on my eyes began to follow better, 'and I noted some amazing matters. It was plain, for one thing, that both Spot and Pincher were as wise and expert as two boxers. They fought intelligently, and each had a system. As Martin had said, Pincher fought " under," in never-ending efforts to seize Spot's feet and legs. Spot was perfectly aware of this, and never failed to keep his fore legs well back and beneath him, out of Pincher's reach. Spot, on his part, set his whole effort to the enter- prise of getting Pincher by the throat. A dog without breath means a dead dog, and Spot knew this. Pincher appeared clear on the point, too ; and would hold his chin close to his breast, and shrug his head and shoul- ders well together whenever Spot tried to work for a throat hold. Now and then Spot and Pincher stood up to each other like wrestlers, and fenced with their muzzles for " holds " as might two Frenchmen with foils. In the wrestling Spot proved himself a perfect Whistler, and never failed to throw Pincher heavily. And, as I stated, from the beginning, the two warriors battled on SPOT AND PINCHER 5 without cry. Silent, sedulous, indomitable ; both were the sublimation of courage and fell purpose. They were fighting to the death ; they knew it, joyed in it, and gave themselves to their destiny without reserve. Each was eager only to kill, willing only to die. It was a lesson to men. And, as I looked, I realised that both were two of the happiest of created things. In the very heat of the encounter, with throbbing hearts and heaving sides, and rending fangs and flowing blood, they found a great content. All at once Spot and Pincher stood motionless. Their eyes were like coals, and their respective stump tails stood stififly, as indicating no abat^ement of heart or courage. What was it that brought the halt ? Spot had set his long fangs through the side of Pincher's head in such fashion that Pincher couldn't reach him nor retaliate with his teeth. Pincher, discovering this, ceased to try, and stood there unconquered, resting and awaiting developments. Spot, after the manner of his breed, kept his grip like Death. They stood silent, motionless, while the blood dripped from their gashes ; a grim picture ! They had fought, as I learned later, to what is known in the great sport of dog fight- ing as " a turn." " It's a turn ! " decided the referee. At this Martin and McDermot seized each his dog and parted them scientifically. Spot and Pincher were carried to their corners and refreshed and sponged with cold water. At the end of one minute the referee called : " Time ! " At this point I further added to my learning touch- ing the kingly pastime of dog-fighting. When two 6 SANDBURRS dogs have " fought to a turn," that is, locked them- selves in a grip, not deadly to either if persisted in, and which still prevents further fighting, — as in the case of Spot and Pincher, — a responsibility rests with the call of " Time " on the dog that " turns." In this instance, Pincher. At the call of " Time " Spot would be held by his handler, standing in plain view of Pincher, but in his corner. It was incumbent on Pincher — as a proof of good faith— to cross the pit to get at him. If Pincher failed when released on call of " Time " to come straight across to Spot, and come at once ; if he looked to right or left or hesitated even for the splinter of a second, he was a beaten dog. The battle was against him. " Time ! " called the referee. Just prior to the call I heard Martin whisper huskily over his shoulder to a rough customer who sat just back of and above him, at Spot's corner of the pit : "Stand by wit' that glim now!" Martin muttered without turning his head. At the call " Time ! " McDermot released Pincher across in his corner. Pincher's eyes were riveted on Spot, just over the way, and there's no doubt of Pincher's full purpose to close with him at once. There was no more of hesitation in his stout heart than in Spot's, who stood mouth open and fire-eyed, waiting. But a strange interference occurred. At the word " Time ! " the rough customer chronicled slipped the slide of a dark lantern and' threw the small glare of it squarely in Pincher's eyes. It dazed Pincher ; he lost sight of Spot ; forgot for a moment his great purpose. There stood poor Pincher, irresolute, not knowing SPOT AND PINCHER 7 where to find his enemy ; thrall to the glare of the dark lantern. " Spot win ! " declared the referee. At that moment the dark-lantern rough-customer closed the slide and disappeared. Few saw the trick or its effects. Certainly the referee was guiltless. But McDermot, who had had the same view of the dark lantern Pincher had, and on whom for a moment it had similar effect, raised a great clamour. But it was too late ; Martin had claimed the thousand dollars from the stake-holder, and with it in his pocket was already in a carriage driving away, with Spot wrapped up in a lap robe occupying the front seat. " Let McDermot holler ! " said Martin, with much heat, when I mentioned the subject the next day. " Am I goin' to lose a fight and five hundred dollars, just because some bloke brings a dark lantern to d' pit and takes to monkeyin' wit' it? Not on your life!" MULBERRY MARY (Annals of The Bend^ " Chucky d' Turk" was the nom de guerre of my friend. Under this title he fought the battles of life. If he had another name he never made me his confi- dant concerning it. We had many talks, Chucky and I ; generally in a dingy little bar on Baxter Street, where, when I wearied of uptown sights and smells, I was wont to meet with Chucky. Never did Chucky call on me nor seek me. From first to last he failed not to conduct himself towards me with an air of tolerant patronage. When together I did the buying and the listening, and Chucky did the drinking and the talking. It was on such occasion when Chucky told me the story of Mulberry Mary. " Mary was born in Kelly's Alley," remarked Chucky, examining in a thoughtful way his mug of mixed ale ; " Mary was born in Kelly's Alley, an' say ! she wasn't no squealer, I don't t'ink. " When Mary grows up an' can chase about an' chin, she toins out a dead good kid an' goes to d' Sisters' School. At this time I don't spot Mary in p'ticler ; she's nothin' but a sawed-off kid, an' I'm busy wit' me graft. " D' foist I really knows of Mary is when she gets married. She hooks up wit' Billy, d' moll-buzzard ; an' say ! he's bad. 8 MULBERRY MARY 9 "He gets his lamps on Mary at Connorses spiel, Billy does ; an' he's stuck on her in a hully secont. It's no wonder ; Mary's a peach. She's d' belle of d' Bend, make no doubt. " Billy's graft is hangin' round d' Bowery bars, layin' for suckers. An' he used to get in his hooks deep an' clever now an' then, an' most times Billy could, if it's a case of crowd, flash quite a bit of dough. " So when Billy sees Mary at Connorses spiel, like I says, she's such a bute he loses his nut. You needn't give it d' laugh ! Say ! I sees d' map of a skirt — a goil, I means — on a drop curtain at a swell t'eatre onct, an' it says under it she's Cleopatra. D' mark nex' me says, when I taps for a tip, this Cleopatra's from Egypt, an' makes a hit in d' coochee coochee line, wit' d' high push of d' old times, see ! An' says this gezeybo for a finish : ' This Cleopatra was a wonder for looks. She was d' high-roller tart of her time, an' d' beauti- fulest.' " Now, all I got to say is," continued Chucky, re- garding me with a challenging air of decision the while ; " all I has to utter is, Mary could make this Cleopatra look like seven cents ! " Well," resumed Chucky, as I made no comment, " Billy chases up to Mary an' goes in to give her d' jolly of her life. An', say ! she's pleased all right, all right ; I can see it be her mug. " An' Billy goes d' limit. He orders d' beers ; an' when he pays, Billy springs his wad on Mary an' counts d' bills off slow, t'inkin' it'll razzle-dazzle her. Then Billy tells Mary he's out to be her steady. " ' I've got money to boin,' says Billy, ' an' what you wants you gets, see ! ' An' Billy pulls d' long green lo SANDBURRS ag'in to show Mary he's dead strong, an' d' money aint no dream. " But Mary says ' Nit ! couple of times nit ! ' She says she'§ on d' level, an' no steady goes wit' her. It's either march or marry wit' Mary. An' so she lays it down. " That's how it stands, when d' nex' news we hears Billy an' she don't do a t'ing but chase off to a w'ite- choker ; followin' which dey grabs off a garret in d' Astorbilt tenement, an' goes to keepin' house. " But Mary breaks in on Billy's graft. She says he's got to go to woik ; he'll get lagged if he don't ; an' she won't stand for no husband who spends half d' time wit' her an' d' rest on d' Island. So he cuts loose from d' fly mob an' leaves d' suckers alone, an' hires out for a tinsmith, see ! " An' here's d' luck Billy has. It's d' secont day an' he's fittin' in d' tin flashin' round a chimbley on a five- story roof; an' mebby it's because he aint used to woik, or mebby he gets funny in his cupolo, bein' up so high ; anyhow he dives down to d' pavement, an' when he lands, you bet your life ! Billy's d' deadest t'ing that ever happened. " Mary goes wild an' wrong after that. In half of no time Mary takes to chasin' up to Mott Street an' hittin' d' pipe. There's a Chink up there who can cook d' hop out o' sight, an' it aint long before Mary is hangin' 'round his joint for good. It's then dey quits calHn' her Mulberry Mary, an' she goes be d' name of Mollie d' Dope. " Mary don't last in d' Chink swim more'n a year before there's bats in her belfry for fair ; any old stiff wit' lamps could see it ; an' so folks gets leary of Mary. rWi"iTrii'fliwl*iMi'ii''t I'"""'' — -^--^ 'MUI.I;ERRV MARV.' liiiiiiiftfrrftiiiiiiiri Pa^e JO. MULBERRY MARY ii " It runs on. mebby two years after Billy does that stunt from d' roof, see ! when there's a fire an' all d' kids run an' screeched, an' all d' folks hollered, an' all d' engines comes an' lams loose to put it out. D' fire's in a tenement, an' d' folks who was in it has skipped, so it's just d' joint itself is boinin'. " All at onct a kid looks out d' fort' story window wit' d' fire shinin' behint him. You can see be d' little mark's mug he's got an awful scare t'run into him, t'inkin' he's out to boin in d' buildin'. " ' It's McManuses' Chamsey ! ' says one old Tommy, lettin' her hair down her back an' givin' a yell, ' Some- body save McManuses' Chamsey ! ' " ' Let me save him ! ' says Mary, at d' same time laughin' wild. ' Let me save him ; I want to save him ! I'm only Mollie d' Dope — Mollie d' hop fiend — an' if I gets it in d' neck it don't count, see ! ' " Mary goes up in d' smoke an' d' fire, no one knows how, wit' d' water pourin' from d' hose, an' d' boards an' glass a-fallin' an' a-crashin', an' she brings out Mc- Manuses' Chamsey. Saves him ; on d' dead ! she does ; an' boins all d' hair off her cocoa doin' it. " Well, of course d' fire push stan's in an' gives Mary all sorts of guff an' praise. Mary only laughs an' says, while d' amb'lance guy is doin* up her head, that folks ain't onto her racket ; that she d' soonest frail that ever walks in d' Bend." . At this juncture Chucky desired another mixed ale. He got it, and after a long, damp pause he resumed his thread. " Now what do youse t'ink of this for a finish ? It's weeks ago d' fire is. Mary meets up wit' McManuses' Chamsey to-day — she's been foUowin' him a good deal 12 SANDBURRS since she saves him — an' as Chamsey is only six years old, he don't know nothin', an' falls to Mary's lead. It's an easy case of bunk, an' Chamsey only six years old like that ! " Mary gives Chamsey d' gay face an' wins him right off. She buys him posies of one Dago an' sugar candy of another ; an' then she passes Chamsey a strong tip, he's missin' d' sights be not goin' down to d' East River. " Here's what Mary does — she takes Chamsey down be d' docks — a longshoreman loafin' hears what she says. Mary tells Chamsey to look at all d' chimbleys an' d' smoke comin' out ! " ' An' in every one there's fire makin' d' smoke,' says Mary. ' T'ink of all d' fires there must be, Chamsey ! I'll bet Hell ain't got any more fires in it than d' woild ! Do youse remember, Chamsey, how d' fire was goin' to boin you ? Now, I'll tell you what we'll do, so d' fire never will boin us ; we'll jump in, — you an' me ! ' " An' wit' that, so d' longshoreman says, Mary nails Chamsey be d' neck wit' her left hook an' hops into d' drink. Yes, dey was drowned — d' brace of 'em. Dey's over to d' dead house now on a slab — Mary an' McManuses' Chamsey. " What makes me so wet ? I gets to d' dock a minute too late to save 'em, but I'm right in time to dive up d' stiffs. So I dives 'em up. It's easy money. That's what makes me cuffs look like ruffles an' me collar like a corset string." And here Chucky called for a third mixed ale, as a sign that his talk was done. SINGLBTRKK JENNINGS It was evening in Jordan Hollow, and Singletree Jennings stood leaning on his street gate. Singletree Jennings was a coloured man, and, to win his bread, played many parts in life. He was a white washer ; he sold fish ; he made gardens ; and during the social season he was frequently the " old family butler," in white cotton gloves, at the receptions of divers families. " I'm a pore man, honey ! " Singletree Jennings was wont to say ; " but dar was a time when me an' my ole Delia was wuf $i,8oo. Kase why? Kase we brought it at auction, when Marse Roundtree died — didn't we, Delia?" This was one of Singletree Jennings's jokes. " But pore man or no ! " Singletree Jennings would conclude, " as de Lamb looks down an' sees me, I never wronged a man outen so much as a blue-laiged chicken in my life." This evening Singletree Jennings was a prey to de- jection. Nor could he account for his gloom. His son opened the gate and went whistling up the street. " Clambake Jennings, whar yo' gwine?" asked Sing- letree Jennings. " Gwine ter shoot craps." " Have yo' got yer rabbit's foot ? " Yassir." 13 14 SANDBURRS " An' de snake's head outen de clock ? " " Yassir." Singletree Jennings relapsed into moody silence, and Clambake passed on and away. The shouts and cries of some storm-rocked multi- tude was heard up the street. The Columbia College boys were taking home their new eight-oared boat. The shouts settled into something like the barking of a dog. It was the crew emitting the college cry. " What's dat ? " demanded Delia Jennings, coming to the door. " De Lawd save us ef I knows ! " said Singletree Jennings ; " onless it's one of dem yar bond issues dey's so 'fraid'U happen." The tones of Singletree Jennings showed that he was ill at ease. " What's de matter, Daddy Singletree ?" demanded the observant Delia. " I've got a present'ment, I reckon ! " said Singletree Jennings. " I'm pow'ful feard dar'll somethin' bust loose wrong about dat Andrew Jackson goat." Singletree Jennings was the owner and business manager of a goat named Andrew Jackson. In the winter Singletree Jennings never came home without an armful of straw for Andrew Jackson. In the sum- mer there was no need of straw. Andrew Jackson then ate the shirts off the neighbour's clothes-lines. Andrew Jackson had been known to eat the raiment off a screaming child, and then lower his frontlet at the rescue party. Andrew Jackson was a large, im- pressive goat ; yet he never joked nor gave way to mirth. Ordinarily, Andrew Jackson was a calm, placid goat ; aroused, he was an engine of destruction. SINGLETREE JENNINGS 15 All of these peculiarities were explained by Single- tree Jennings when Sam Hardtack and Backfence Ran- dolph, a committee acting on behalf of the Othello Dramatic Club, desired the loan of Andrew Jackson. The church to which Singletree Jennings belonged was programming a social this very night, and divers and sundry tableaux, under the direction of the Othello Dramatic Club, were on the card. It was esteemed necessary by those in control to present as a tableau Abraham slaying Isaac. There was a paucity of sheep about, and Andrew Jackson, in this dearth of the real thing, was cast to play the character of the Ram in the Bush. " An' Andrew Jackson is boun' to fetch loose," re- flected Singletree Jennings, with a shake of his head ; " an' when he does, he'll jes' go knockin' 'round among de congregashun like a blind dog in a meat shop ! " ****** Singletree Jennings's worst fears were realised. It was nine o'clock now, and he and Delia had come down to the social. Andrew Jackson had been re- strained of his liberty for the previous four hours and held captive in a drygoods' box. He was now in a state of frenzy. When the curtain went up on Abra- ham and Isaac, Andrew Jackson burst his bonds at the rear of the stage and bore down on the Hebrew father and son like the breath of destiny. Andrew Jackson came, dragging his bush with him. The bush was, of course, a welcome addition. Abraham saw him coming, and fled into the lap of a fiddler. Isaac, how- ever, wasn't faced that way. Andrew Jackson smote Isaac upon the starboard quarter. It was a follow, shot, rather than a carom, and Andrew Jackson and i6 SANDBURRS his prey landed in the middle of the audience together. For two minutes Andrew Jackson mingled freely with the people present, and then retired by the back door. '■ I knowed destrucshun was a-comin' ! " murmured Singletree Jennings. " I ain't felt dat pestered, Delia, since de day I concealed my 'dentity in Marse Round- tree's smokehouse, an' dey cotched me at it." " Singletree Jennings ! " observed the Reverend Handout F. Johnson, in a tone of solemn anger, while his pistol pocket still throbbed from the visitation of Andrew Jackson, " Elder Shakedown Bixby is in pur- suit of dat goat of your'n with a razor. He has orders to immolate when cotched. At de nex' conference dar'U be charges ag'in you for substitutin' a deboshed goat for de Ram of Holy Writ. I keers nothin' for my pussonel sufferin's, but de purity of de Word mus' be protected. De congregashun will now join in singin' de pestilential Psalms, after which de social will dis- perse." JESS It was sunset at the Cross-K ranch. Four or five cowboys were gloomily about outside the adobe ranch house, awaiting supper. The Mexican cook had just begun his fragrant task, so a half hour would elapse before these Arabs were fed. Their ponies were " turned " into the wire pasture, their big Colorado saddles reposed astride the low pole fence which sur- rounded the house, and it was evident their riding was over for the day. Why were they gloomy ? Not a boy of them could tell. They had been partners and campaneros, and " worked " the Cross-K cattle together for months, and nothing had come in misunderstanding or cloud. The ranch house was their home, and theirs had been the unity of brothers. The week before, a pretty girl — the daughter she was of a statesman of national repute — had come to the ranch from the East. Her name was Jess. Jess, the pretty girl, was protected in this venture by an old and gnarled aunt, watchful as a ferret, sour as a lime. Not that Jess, the pretty girl, needed watching ; she was, indeed ! propriety's climax. No soft nor dulcet reason wooed Jess, the pretty girl, to the West ; she came on no love errand. The visitor was elegantly tired of the East, that was all ; and longed for western air and western panorama. a 17 i8 SANDBURRS Jess, the pretty girl, had been at the Cross-K ranch a week, and the boys had met her, everyone. The meeting or meetings were marked by awkwardness aa to the boys, indifference as to Jess, the pretty girl. She encountered them as she did the ponies, cows, horned-toads and other animals, domestic and fera natures, indigenous to eastern Arizona. While every cowboy was blushingly conscious of Jess, the pretty girl, she was serenely guiltless of giving him a thought. Before Jess, the pretty girl, arrived, the cowboys were friends and the tenor of their calm relations was rippleless as a mirror. Jess was not there a day, be- fore each drew himself insensibly from the others, while a vague hostility shone dimly in his eyes. It was the instinct of the fighting male animal aroused by the presence of Jess, the pretty girl. Jess, however, proceeded on her dainty way, sweetly ignorant of the sentiments she awakened. Men are mere animals. Women are, too, for that matter. But the latter are different animals from men. The effort the race makes to be other, better or differ- ent than the mere animal fails under pressure. It always failed ; it will always fail. Civilisation is the veriest veneer and famously thin. A year on the plains cracks this veneer — this shell — and the animal -issues visibly forth. This shell-cracking comes by the expanding growth of all that is animalish in man — attributes of the physical being, fed and pampered by a plains' existence. To recur to the boys of the Cross-K. The dark, vague, impalpable differences which cut off each of these creatures from his fellows, and inspired him with an unreasoning hate, had flourished with the brief week JESS 19 of their existence. A philosopher would have .ooked for near trouble on the Cross-K. " Whatever did you take my saddle for, Bill? '' said Jack Cook to one Bill Watkins. " Which I allows I'll ride it some," replied Watkins; " thought it might like to pack a sure-'nough long-horn jest once for luck! " " Well, don't maverick it no more," retorted Cook, moodily, and ignoring the gay insolence of the other. " Leastwise, don't come a-takin' of it, an' sayin' nothin'. You can palaver Americano, can't you? When you aims to ride my saddle ag'in, ask for it ; if you can't talk, make signs, an' if you can't make signs, shake a bush ; but don't go romancin' off in silence with no saddle of mine no more." " Whatever do you reckon is liable to happen if I pulls it ag'in to-morry?" inquired Bill in high scorn. Watkins was of a more vivacious temper than the gloomy Cook. " Which if you takes it ag'in, I'll shorely come among you a whole lot. An' some prompt ! " replied Cook, in a tone of obstinate injury. These boys were brothers before Jess, the pretty girl, appeared. Either would have gone afoot all day for the other. Going afoot, too, is the last thing a cowboy will consent to. " Don't you-all fail to come among me none," said Bill with cheerful ferocity, " on account of it's bein' me. I crosses the trail of a hold-up like you over in the Panhandle once, an' makes him dance, an' has a chuck-waggon full of fun with him." " Stop your millin' now, right yere ! " said Tom Rawlins, the Cross-K range boss, who was sitting close 20 SANDBURRS at hand. " You-alls spring trouble 'round yere, an' you can gamble I'll be in it ! Whatever's the matter with you-alls anyway? Looks like you've been as locoed as a passel of sore-head dogs for more'n a week now. Which you're shorely too many for me, an' I plumb gives you up ! " And Rawlins shook his sage head foggily. The boys started some grumbling reply, but the cook called them to supper just then, and, one animal- ism becoming overshadowed by another, they forgot their rancour in thoughts of supplying their hunger. Towards the last of the repast, Rawlins arose, and going to another room, began overlooking some entries in the ranch books. Jess, the pretty girl, did not sit at the ranch table. She had small banquets in her own room. Just then she was heard singing some tender little song that seemed born of a sigh and a tear. The boys' resent- ment of each other began again to burn in their eyes. None of these savages was in the least degree in love with Jess, the pretty girl. The singing went on in a cooing, soft way that did not bring you the words ; only the music. " What I says about my saddle a while back, goes as it lays ! " said Jack Cook. The song had ceased. As Cook spoke he turned a dark look on Watkins. " See yere ! " replied Watkins in an exasperated tone — he was as vicious as Cook — " if you're p'intin' out for a war-jig with me, don't go stampin' 'round none for reasons. Let her roll ! Come a-runnin' an' don't pester none with ceremony." "Which a gent don't have to have no reason for JESS 21 crawlin' you!" said Cook. "Anyone's licenced to chase you 'round jest for exercise ! " "You can gamble," said Watkins, confidently, " any party as chases me 'round much, will regyard it as a thrillin' pastime. Which it won't grow on him none as a habit." "As you-all seem to feel that a-way," said the darkly wrathful Cook, " I'll sorter step out an' shoot with you right now ! " " An' I'll shorely go you ! " said Watkins. They arose and walked to the door. It was gather- ing dark, but it was light enough to shoot by. The other cowboys followed in a kind of savage silence. Not one word was said in comment or objection. They were grave, but passive like Indians. It is not good form to interfere with other people's affairs in Arizona. Jess, the pretty girl, began singing again. The strains fell softly on the ears of the cowboys. Each, as he listened, whether onlooker or principal, felt a licking, pleased anticipation of the blood to be soon set flowing. Nothing was said of distance. Cook and Watkins separated to twenty paces and turned to face each other. Each wore his six-shooter, the loose pistol belt letting it rest low on his hip. Each threw down his big hat and stood at apparent ease, with his thumbs caught in his belt. " Shall you give the word, or me ? " a^ked Cook. " You says when ! " retorted Watkins. " It'll be a funny passage in American history if you-all gets your gun to the front any sooner than I do." " Be you ready ? " asked Cook. 22 SANDBURRS " Which I'm shorely ready ! " " Then, go ! " " Bang ! Bang ! ! Bang ! ! ! " went both pistols to- gether. The reports came with a rapidity not to be counted. Cook got a crease in the face — a mere wound of the flesh. Watkins blundered forward with a bullet in his side. Rawlins ran out. His experience taught him all at a look. Hastily examining Cook, he discovered that his hurt was nothing serious. The others carried Wat- kins into the house. " Take my pony saddled at the fence, Jack," said Rawlins, " an' pull your freight. This yere Watkins is goin' to die. You've planted him." " Which I shorely hopes I has ! " said Cook, with bitter cheerfulness. " I ain't got no use for cattle of his brand ; none whatever ! " Cook took Rawlins's pony. When he paused, the pony hung his head while his flanks steamed and quivered. And no marvel ! That pony was one hundred miles from the last corn, as he cooled his ner- vous muzzle in the Rio San Simon. " Some deviltry about their saddles, Miss ; that's all ! " reported Rawlins to Jess, the pretty girl. " Isn't it horrible ! " shuddered Jess, the pretty girl. The next morning Jess and the gnarled aunt paid the injured Watkins a visit. This civility affected the other three cowboys invidiously. They at once de- parted to a line of Cross-K camps in the Northwest. This on a pretence of working cattle over on the Co- chise Mesa. They looked black enough as they galloped away. ■WATKI.Nb ULIMIEKKU huKWAKlJ." Pilg,' 2^. JESS 23 " Which it's shore a sin Jack Cook ain't no better pistol shot ! " observed one, as the acrid picture of Jess, the pretty girl, sympathising above the wounded Wat- kins, arose before him. " That's whatever ! " assented the others. Then, in moods of grim hatefulness, they bled their tired ponies with the spur by way of emphasis. THE HUMMING BIRD (Annals of The Bend) " Nit ; I'm in a hurry to chase meself to-night," quoth Chucky, having first, however, taken his drink. " I'd like to stay an' chin wit' youse, but I can't. D' fact is I've got company over be me joint ; he's a dead good fr'end of mine, see ! Leastwise he has been ; an' more'n onct, when I'm in d' hole, he's reached me his mit an' pulled me out. Now he's down on his luck I'm goin' to make good, an' for an even break on past favours, see if I can't straighten up his game." " Who is your friend ? " I asked. " Does he live here ? " " Naw," retorted Chucky ; " he's a crook, an' don't live nowhere. His name's Mollie Matches, an' d' day was when Mollie's d' flyest fine-woiker on Byrnes's books. An' say ! that ain't no fake neither." " What did he do ? " I inquired. " Leathers, supers an' rocks," replied Chucky. " Of course, d' supers has to be yellow ; d' w'ite kind don't pay ; an' d' rocks has to be d' real t'ing. In d' old day, Mollie was d' king of d' dips, for fair ! Of all d' crooks he was d' nob, an' many's d' time I've seen him come into d' Gran' Central wit' his t'ree stalls an' a Sheeny kid to carry d' swag, an' all as swell a mob as ever does time. 24 THE HUMMING BIRD • 25 " But he's fell be d' wayside now, an' don't youse forget it ! Not only is he broke for dough, but his healt' is busted, too." " That's one of the strange things to me, Chucky," I said, for I was disposed to detain him if I could, and hear a bit more of his devious friend ; " one of the very strange things ! Here's your friend Mollie, who has done nothing, so you say, but steal watches, dia- monds and pocket-books all his life, and yet to-day he is without a dollar." " Oh ! as for that," returned Chucky wisely, " a crook don't make so much. In d' foist place, if he's nippin' leathers, nine out of ten of 'em's bound to be readers — no long green in 'em at all ; nothin' but poi- pers, see ! Ah' if he's pinchin' tickers an' sparks, a fence won't pay more'n a fort' what dey's wort' — an' there you be, see ! Then ag'in, it costs a hundred plunks a day to keep a mob on d' road ; an' what wit' puttin' up to d' p'lice for protection, an' what wit' squarin' a con or brakey if youse are graftin' on a train, there ain't, after his stalls has their bits, much left for Mollie. Takin' it over all, MoUie's dead lucky to get a hundred out of a t'ousand plunks ; an' yet he's d' mug who has to put his hooks on d' stuff every time ; do d' woik an' take d' chances, see ! " But I'll tip it off to youse," continued Chucky, at the same time lowering his tone confidentially ; " I'll put you on to what knocks Mollie's eye out just now. He's only a week ago toined out of one of de western pens, an' I reckon he was bad wit' 'em at d' finish — givin' 'em a racket. Anyhow, dey confers on Mollie d' Hummin' Bold, an dey overplays. Mollie's gettin' old, and can't stand for what he could onct ; an', as 26 SANDBURRS I says, these prison marks gives him too much of d' Hummin' Boid and it breaks his noive. " Sure ! Mollie's now what youse call hyster'cal ; got bats in his steeple half d' time. If it wasn't for d' hop I shoots into him wit' a dandy little hypodermic gun me Rag's got, he'd be in d' booby house. An' all for too much Hummin' Boid ! Say ! on d' level ! there ought to be a law ag'inst it." " What in heaven's name is the Humming Bird ? " I queried. " It's d' prison punishment," replied Chucky. " Youse see, every pen has its punishment. ■ In some, it's d' paddles, an' some ag'in don't do a t'ing but hang a guy up be a pair of handcuffs to his cell door so his toes just scrapes d' floor. In others dey starves you ; an' in others still, dey slams you in d' dark hole. " Say ! if youse are out to make some poor mark nutty for fair, just give him d' dark hole for a week. There he is wit' nothin' in d' cell but himself, see ! an' all as black as ink. Mebby if d' guards is out to keep him movin', dey toins d' hose in an' wets down d' floor before dey leaves him. But honest to God ! youse put a poor sucker in d* dark hole, an' be d' end of ten hours it's apples to ashes he ain't onto it whether he's been in a day or a week. Keep him there a week, an' away goes his cupolo — he ain't onto nothin'. On d' square ! at d' end of a week in d' dark, a mut don't know he's livin'. " D* cat-o'nine-tails, which dey has at Jeff City, ain't a marker to d' dark hole ! D' cat'll crack d' skin all right, all right, but d' dark hole cracks a sucker's nut, see ! His cocoa never is on straight ag'in, after he's done a stunt or two in d' dark hole." THE HUMMING BIRD 27 " But the Humming Bird ? " I persisted. " What i3 it like?" " Why ! as I relates," retorted Chucky, " d' Hummin' Bold is what dey does to a guy in d' pen where MoUie was to teach him not to be too gay. It's like this : Here's a gezebo doin' time, see ! Well, he gets funny. Mebby he soaks some other pris'ner ; or mebby he toins loose and gives it to some guard in d' neck ; or mebby ag'in he kicks on d' lock-step. I've seen a heap of mugs who does d' last. "Anyhow, whatever he does, it gets to be a case of Hummin' Bold, an' dey brings me gay scrapper or kicker, whichever he is, out for punishment. An' this is what he gets ag'inst : " Dey sets him in a high trough, same as dey waters a horse wit', see ! Foist dey shucks d' mark — peels off his make-up down to d' buff. An' then dey sets him in d' trough, like I says, wit' mebby its eight inches of water in it. "Then he's strapped be d' ankles, an' d' fins, and about his waist, so he can't do nothin' but stay where he is. A sawbones gets him be d' pulse, an' one of them 'lectrical stiffs t'rows a wire, which is one end of d' battery, in d' water. D' wire, which is d' other end, finishes in a wet sponge. An' say ! huUy hell ! when dey touches a poor mark wit' d' sponge end on d' shoulder, or mebby d' elbow, it completes d' circuit, see ! an' it'll fetch such a glory hallelujah yelp out of him as would bring a deef an' dumb asylum into d' front yard to find out what d' row's about. " It's d' same t'ing as d' chair at Sing Sing, only not so warm. It's enough, though, to make d' toughest mug t'row a fit. No one stands for a secont trip ; one 28 SANDBURRS touch of d' Hummin' Bold! an' a duck'll welch on anyt'ing you says — do anyt'ing, be anyt'ing ; only so youse let up and don't give him no more. D' mere name of Hummin' Boid's good enough to t'run a scare into d' hardest an' d'woist of 'em, onct dey's had a piece. "As I says about MolHe: it seems them Indians gives him d' Hummin' Boid; an' dey gives him d' gafl' too deep. But I've got to chase meself now, and pump some dope into him. I ought to land Mollie right side up in a week. An' then I'll bring him over to this boozin' ken of ours, an' cap youse a knock-down to him. Ta!ta!" GASSY THOMPSON, VILLAIN Western humour is being severely spoken of by the close personal friends of Peter Dean. Less than a year ago, Peter Dean left the paternal roof on Madison Avenue and plunged into the glowing West. On the day of his departure he was twenty-three ; not a ripe age. He had studied mining and engineering, and knew in those matters all that science could tell. His purpose in going West was to acquire the practical part of his chosen profession. Peter Dean believed in knowing it all ; knowing it with the hands as well as with the head. Thus it befell that young Peter Dean, on a day to be remembered, tossed a careless kiss to his companions and fled away into the heart of the continent. Then his hair was raven black. Months later, when he returned, it was silver white. Western humour had worked the change ; therefore the criticism chronicled. Peter Dean tells the following story of the bleaching : " At Creede I met a person named Thompson ; ' Gassy ' Thompson he was called by those about him, in testimony to his powers as a conversationist. A bar- keeper, who seemed the best-informed and most gen- tlemanly soul in town, told me that Gassy Thompson was a miner full of practical skill, and that he was then engaged in sinking a shaft. I might arrange with Gassy and learn the business. At the barkeeper's hint, I proposed as much to Gassy Thompson. 29 30 SANDBURRS " ' All right ! ' said Gassy ; ' come out to the shaft to-morrow.' " The next day I was at the place appointed. The shaft was already fifty feet deep. Besides myself and this person, Gassy, who was to tutor me, there was a creature named Jim. This made three of us. " At the suggestion of Gassy, he and I descended into the shaft ; Jim was left on the surface. We went down by means of a bucket, Jim unwinding us from a rickety old windlass. " Once down. Gassy and I, with sledge and drill, perpetrated a hole in the bottom of the shaft. I held the drill. Gassy wielding the sledge. When the hole met the worshipful taste of my tutor, he put in a dyna- mite cartridge, connected a long, five-minute fuse there- with, and carefully thumbed it about and packed it in with wet clay. " At Gassy's word, I was then hauled up from the shaft by Jim. I added my strength to the windlass, Gassy climbed into the bucket, lighted the fuse, and was then swiftly wound to the surface by Jim and my- self. We then dragged the windlass aside, covered the mouth of the shaft, and quickly scampered to a distance, to be out of harm's reach. " At the end of five minutes from the time that Gassy lighted the fuse, and perhaps three minutes after we had cleared away, the shot exploded with a deafen- ing report. Tons of rock were shot up from the mouth of the shaft, full fifty feet in the air. It was all very impressive, and gave me a lesson in the tremendous power of dynamite. I was much pleased, and felt as if I were learning. " Following the explosion Gassy and I again re- GASSY THOMPSON, VILLAIN 31 paired to the bottom of the shaft. After clearing away the debris and sending it up and out by the bucket, we resumed the sledge and drill. We com- pleted another hole and were ready for a second shot. This was about noon. " It was at this point that the miscreant. Gassy, be- gan to put into action a plot he had formed against me, and to carry out which the murderer, Jim, lent ready aid. You must remember that I had perfect confidence in these two villains. " ' I never seed no tenderfoot go along like you do at this business,' said Gassy Thompson to me. " This was flattery. The miscreant was fattening me for the sacrifice. " ' Looks like you was born to be a miner,' he went on. ' Now, I'm goin' to let you fire the next shot. Usual, I wouldn't feel jestified in allowin' a tenderfoot to fire a shot for plumb three months. But you has a genius for minin' ; it comes as easy to you as robbin' a bird's nest. I'd be doin' wrong to hold you back.' " Of course, I naturally felt pleased. To be allowed to fire a dynamite shot on my first day in the shaft I felt and knew to be an honour. I determined to write home to my friends of this triumph. " Gassy said he'd put in the shot, and he selected one of giant size. I saw the herculean explosive placed in the hole ; then he attached the fuse and thumbed the clay about it as before. He gave me a few last words. " ' After I gets up,' he said, ' an' me an' Jim's all ready, you climb into the bucket an' light the fuse. Then raise the long yell to me an' Jim, an' we'll yank ye out. But be shore an' light the fuse. There's 32 SANDBURRS nothin' more discouragin' than for to wait half an' hour outside an' no cartridge goin' off. Especial when it ; goes off after you comes back to see what's the matter ■ with her. So be shore an' light the fuse, an' then Jim an' me'll run you up the second foUerin'. This oughter ■ be a great day for you, young man ! firin' a shot this away, the first six hours you're a miner ! ' " Jim and Gassy were at the windlass and yelled : " ' All ready below ? ' " I was in the bucket and at the word scratched a match and lit the fuse. It sputtered with alarming ardour, and threw off a shower of sparks. " ' Hoist away ! ' I called. " The villains ran me up about twenty-five feet, and came to a dead halt. At this they seemed to get into an altercation. They both abandoned the windlass, and I could hear them cursing, threatening, and shoot- ing ; presumably at each other. " ' I'll blow your heart out ! ' I heard Gassy say. " My alarm was without a limit. I'd seen one dyna- mite cartridge go off. Here I was, swinging some twenty-five feet over a still heavier charge, and about to be blown into eternity ! Meanwhile the caitiffs, on whom my life depended, were sacrificing me to settle some accursed feud of their own. "I cannot tell you of my agony. The fuse was spitting fire like forty fiends ; the narrow shaft was choked with smoke. I swung helpless, awaiting death, while the two monsters, Gassy and Jim, were trying to murder each other above. Either from the smoke or the excitement, I fainted. " When I came to myself I was outside the shaft, safe and sound, while Gassy and his disreputable GASSY THOMPSON, VILLAIN 33 assistant were laughing at their joke. There had been no shot placed in the drill-hole; the heartless Gassy had palmed it and carried it with him to the surface. " At my very natural inquiry, made in a weak voice — for I was still sick and broken — as to what it all meant, they said it was merely a Colorado jest, and intended for the initiation of a tenderfoot. " ' It gives 'em nerve ! ' said Gassy ; ' it puts heart into 'em an' does 'em good ! ' " As soon as I could walk I severed my relations with Gassy Thompson and his outlaw adherent, Jim. The next morning my hair had turned the milky sort you see. The Creede people with whom I discussed the crime, laughed and said the drinks were on me. That was all the sympathy, all the redress, I got. " After that I came East without delay. When I leave the city of New York again it will not be for Creede. Nor will my next mining connection be formed with such abandoned barbarians as Gassy Thompson and Jim." 3 ONE MOUNTAIN LION " Pard ! would you like to shoot at that lion ? " Bob usually gave me no title at all. But when in any stress of our companionship he was driven to it, I was hailed as " pard ! " Once or twice on some lighter occasion he had addressed me by the Spanish " Amigo^ In business hours, however, my rank was " pard ! " ****** Sundown in the hills. The scene was a southeast spur of the Rockies ; call the region the Upper Red River or the Vermejo, whichever you will for a name. Forty miles due west from the Spanish Peaks would stand one on the very spot. I had been out all day, ransacking the canyons, taking a Winter's look at the cattle to note how they were meeting the rigours of a season not yet half over. I had witnessed nothing alarming ; my horned folk of the hills still made a smooth display as to ribs, and wore the air of cattle who had prudently stored up tallow enough the autumn before to carry them into the April grass. " Many a day have I dwelt in a wet saddle, only to crawl into a wetter blanket at night ; and all for cows ! " It was Bob Ellis who fathered this rather irrelevant observation. I had cut his trail an hour before, and we were making company for each other back to camp. I put forth no retort. Bob and I abode in the 34 ONE MOUNTAIN LION 35 same small log hut, and I saw much of him, and didn't feel obliged to reply to those random utterances which fluttered from him like birds from a bush. It had been snowing for three days. This afternoon, however, had shaken off the storm. It is worth while to see the snow come down in the hills ; flakes soft and clinging and silently cold ; big as a baby's hand. Out in the flat valleys free of the trees the snow was deep enough to jade and distress our ponies. There- fore Bob and I were creeping home among the thick sown pines which bristled on the Divide like spines on a pig's back. There was very little snow under the trees. What would have made an easy depth of two feet had it been evenly spread on the ground over which our broncos picked their tired way, was above our heads in the pines. That was the reason why the trees were so still and silent. Your pine is a most garrulous vegetable in a sighing fashion, and its com- plaining notes sing for ever in your ears ; sometimes like a roar, sometimes like a wail. But the three-days' snow in their green mouths gagged them ; and never a tree of them all drew so much as a breath as we pushed on through their ranks. " Like the Winchester you're packin ? " asked Bob. I confessed a weakness for the gun. " Had one of them magazine guns once myse'f," Bob remarked. " Model of '78. Never liked it, though ; always shootin' over. As you pump the loads outen 'em and empty the magazine, the weight shifts till toward the last the muzzle's as light as a feather. Thar you be! shootin' over and still over, every pull." 36 SANDBURRS Having no interest in magazine guns beyond the act of firing them, I paid no heed to Bob's assault on their merits. " Now a single-shot gun," continued Bob, as he rode an oak shrub underfoot to come abreast of me, " is the weepon for me. Never mind about thar bein' jest one shot in her ! Show me somethin' to shoot, an' I'll sling the cartridges into her frequent enough for the most impatient gent on earth. This rifle I'm packin' is all right — all except the hind sight. That's too coarse ; you could drag a dog through it." Bob's dissertation on rifles was entertaining enough. My mood was indifferent, and his wisdom ran through my wits like water through a funnel, keeping them employed without filling them up. Bob had just begun again — all about a day far away when muzzle loaders were many in the hills — when my pony made sudden shy at something in the bushes. The muzzle of my gun instantly pointed to it, as if by an instinct of its own. Even as it did I became aware of the harmless cause of my pony's devout breathings — one of those million tragedies of nature which makes the wilderness a daily slaughter pen. It was the carcass of a blacktail deer. Its torn throat and shoulders, as well as the tracks of the giant cat in the snow, told how it died. The panther had leaped from the big bough of that yellow pine. " Mountain lion ! " observed Bob, sagely, as he con templated the torn deer. " The deer come sa'nterin' down the slope yere, an' the lion jest naturally jumps his game from that tree. This deer was a bigger fool than most. You wouldn't ketch many of 'em as could come walkin' down the wind where the brush and ONE MOUNTAIN LION 37 bushes is rank, and gives the cats a chance to lay for 'em and bushwhack 'em ! " It was becoming shadowy in among the pines by this time, and, having enough of Bob's defence of the dead buck and apology for its errors, I pushed on through the bushes for the camp. As we crossed a burnt strip where the fires had made a meal of the trees, the sun was reluctantly blinking his last before going to bed in the Sangre de Christo Range, which rolled upward like some tremendous billow in an ocean of milk full five scores of miles to the west. Bob and I were smoking our pipes in our log home that evening. Perhaps it was nine o'clock. A pitch- pine fire — billets set up endwise in the fireplace — roared in one corner. Our chimney was a vast success. Out back of our log habitat the surveyors had peeled the base of a pine and made a red-paint statement to the effect that even in the bottom of our little valley we were over 8,000 feet above the sea. This rather de- rogated from the pride of our chimney's performance ; because, as Bob with justice urged, " a chimney not to ' draw ' at an altitude of 8,000 feet would have to be flat on the ground." I was sprawled on a blanket, softly taking in the smoke of a meerschaum. My eyes, fascinated by the glaring, pitch-pine blaze, were boring away at the fire as if it guarded a treasure. But neither the tobacco smoke nor the flames were in my thoughts ; the latter were idly going back to the torn deer. As if in deference to a fashion of telepathy. Bob would have been thinking of the deer, also. It's possible, however, he had the cat in his meditations. 38 SANDBURRS Suddenly he broke into my quiet with the remark which opens this yarn. Then he proceeded. " Because," Bob continued, as I turned an eye on him through my tobacco smoke, " you might get it easy. He's shorely due to go back to-night an' eat up some of that black-tail, unless he's got an engagement. It's even, money he's right thar now." I stepped to the door and looked out. The roundest of moons in the clearest of skies shone down. Then there was the snow ; altogether, one might have read agate print by the light. I picked up my rifle and sent my eye through the sights. " But how about it when we push in among the pines ; it'll be darker in there ? " "Thar'U be plenty of light," declared Bob. "You don't have to make a tack-head shot. It ain't goin' to be like splittin' a bullet on a bowie. This mountain lion will be as big as you or me. Thar'll be light enough to hit a mark the size of him." Our ponies were heartily scandalised at being resad- dled so soon ; but they were powerless to enforce their views, and away we went, Indian file, with souls bent to slay the lion. " Which I shorely undertakes the view that we'll get him," observed Bob as we rode along. , " Did you ever hear the Eastern proverb which says, ' The man who sold the lion's hide while yet upon the beast was killed in hunting him ' ? " I asked banteringly. " Who says so ? " demanded Bob, defiantly. " It is an Eastern proverb." " Well, it may do for the East," responded Bob, " but you can gamble it ain't had no run west of the Missis- sippi. Why ! I wouldn't be afraid to bet that one of ONE MOUNTAIN LION 39 these panthers never killed a human in the world. They do it in stories, but never in the hills. Why, shore ! if you went right up an' got one by his two y'ears an' wrastled him, he'd have to fight. You could get a row out of a house cat, an' play that system. But you can write alongside of the Eastern proverb, that ' Bob Ellis says that the lion them parties complain of as killin' their friend, must have been plumb locoed, an' it oughtn't to count.' " At the edge of the trees we left the ponies standing. They pointed their ears forward as if wondering what all this mysterious night's work meant. It was entire- ly beside their experience. We left them to unravel the puzzle and passed as quietly among the trees as needles into cloth. Both Bob and I had served our apprenticeship at being noiseless, and brought the noble trade of silence to a science. It wasn't distant now to the field of the deer's death. Soon Bob pointed out the yellow pine. Bob was a better woodsman than I. Even in the day- light I would have owned trouble in picking out the tree at that distance among such a piney throng. What little wind we had was breathing in our faces. Bob hadn't made the black-tail's blunder of giving the lion the better of the breeze. Bob took the lead after he pointed out the yellow pine. Perhaps it was 150 yards away when he identified it. We didn't cover five yards in a minute. Bob was resolutely deliberate. Still, I had no thought of complaint. I would have managed the case the same way had I been in the lead. Every ten feet Bob would pause and listen. There was now and then the sound of a clot of snow falling in the tops of the pines, as some bough surrendered its 40 SANDBURRS burden to the influence of the slight breeze. That was all my ears could detect of voices in the woods. We were within forty yards of the yellow pine, when Bob, after Hngering a moment, turned his face toward me and made a motion of caution. I bent my ear to a profound effort. At last I heard it ; the unctuous sound of feeding jaws ! The oak bushes grew thick in among the pine trees. It did not seem possible to make out our game on ac- count of this shrub-screen. At this point, instead of going any nearer the yellow pine. Bob bore off to the left. This flank movement not only held our title to the wind, but brought the moon behind us. After each fresh step Bob turned for a further survey of that region at the base of the yellow pine, where our lion, or some one of his relatives, was busy at his new repast. Then the climax of search arrived. To give myself due credit, I saw the panther as soon as did Bob. A fallen pine tree opened a lane in the bushes. Along this aisle I could dimly make out the body of the beast. His head and shoulders were protected by the trunk of the yellow pine, from the limb of which he had am- buscaded the black-tail. A cat's mouth serves vilely as a knife ; the teeth are not arranged to cut well. His inability to sever a morsel left nothing for our lion to do, but gnaw at the carcass much as a dog might at a bone. This managed to keep his head out of harm's way behind the tree. Nothing better was likely to offer, and I concluded to try what a bullet would bring, on that part of the panther we could see. I found as I raised my Win- chester that there was to be a strong element of faith ONE MOUNTAIN LION 41 in the shot. It was dim and shadowy in the woods, conditions which appeared to increase the moment you tried to point a gun. The aid my aim received from the gun-sights was of the vaguest. Indeed, for that one occasion they might as well have been left off the rifle. But as I was as familiar with the weapon as with the words I write, and could tell to the breadth of a hair where to lay it against my face to make it point directly at an object, there was nothing to gain by any elaboration of aim. As if to speed my impulse in the matter, a far-off crashing occurred in the bushes to the rear. A word suffices to read the riddle of the in- terruption. Our ponies, tired of being left to them- selves, were coming sapiently forward to join us. With the first blundering rush of the ponies I un- hooked my Winchester. The panther had no chance to take stock of the ponies' careless approach. If they had started five minutes earlier he might have owed them something. With the crack of the Winchester, the panther gave such a scream as, added to the jar of the gun — I was burning 120 grains of powder — served to make my ears sing. There were fear, amazement and pain all braided together in that yell. The flash of the dis- charge and the night shadows so blinded me that I did not make a second shot. I pumped in the cartridge with the instinct of precedent, but it was of no use. On the heels of it, our ponies, as if taking the shot to be an urgent invitation to make haste, came up on a canter, tearing through the bushes in a way to lose a stirrup if persisted in. Bob had run forward. There was blood on the snow to a praiseworthy extent. As we gazed along 42 SANDBURRS the wounded animal's line of flight there was more of it. " He's too hard hit to go far," said Bob. " We'll find him in the next canyon, or that blood's a joke." Bob walked along, looking at the blood-stained snow as if it were a lesson. Suddenly he halted, where the moonlight fell across it through the trees. " You uncoupled him," he said. " Broke his back plumb in two. See where he dragged his hind legs ! " " He can't run far on those terms," I suggested. " I don't know," said Bob, doubtfully. " A moun- tain lion don't die easy. Mountain lions is what an insurance sharp would call a good resk. But I'll tell you how to carry on this campaign : I'll take the horses and scout over to the left until I get into the canyon yonder. Then I'll bear off up the canyon. If he crosses it — an' goin' on two legs that away, I don't look for it — I'll signal with a yell. If he don't, I'll circle him till I find the trail. Meanwhile you go straight ahead on his track afoot. Take it slow an' easy, for he's likely to be layin' somewhere." The trail carried me a quarter of a mile. As nearly as I might infer from the story the panther's passage had written in the snow, his speed held out. This last didn't look much like weakness. Still, the course was a splash of blood in red contradiction. The direc- tion he took was slightly uphill. The trail ended sharp at the edge of a wide canyon. There was a shelf of scaly rock about twelve feet down the side. This had been protected from the storm by the overhanging brink of the canyon, and there was no snow on the shelf. That and the twelve feet of canyon side above it were the yellow colour of the earth. ONE MOUNTAIN LION 43 Below the shelf the snow again was deep, as the sides took an easier slope toward the bottom of the canyon. The panther had evidently scrambled down to the shelf. It took me less than a second to follow his wounded example. Once down I looked over the edge at the snow a few feet below to catch the trail again. The unmarred snow voiced no report of the game I hunted. I stepped to the left a few paces, still looking over for signs in the snow. There were none. As the shelf came to an end in this direction, I re- turned along the ledge, still keeping a hawk's eye on the snow below for the trail. I heard Bob riding in the canyon. " Have you struck his trail? " I shouted. " Thar's been nothin' down yere ! " shouted Bob in reply. " The snow's as unbroken as the cream-cap on a pan of milk.'' Where was my panther? I had begun to regard him as a chattel. As my eye journeyed along the ledge the mystery cleared up. There lay my yellow friend close in against the wall. I had walked within a yard of him, looking the other way while earnestly reading the snow. The panther was sprawled flat like a rug, staring at me with green eyes. I had broken his back, as Bob said. As I brought the Winchester to my face, his gaze gave way. He turned his head as if to hide it between his shoulder and the wall. I was too near to talk of missing, even in the dim light, and the next instant he was hiccoughing with a bullet in his brain. Six and one-half feet from nose to tip was the meas- urement ; whereof the tail, which these creatures grow foolishly long, furnished almost one-half. MOLLIB MATCHES (Annals of the Bend) It was clear and cold and dry — excellent weather, indeed, for a snowless Christmas. Everywhere one witnessed evidences of the season. One met more gay clothes than usual, with less of anxiety and an increase of smiling peace in the faces. Each window had its wreath of glistening green, whereof the red ribbon bow, that set off the garland, seemed than common a deeper and more ardent red. Or was the elevation in the faces, and the greenness of the wreaths, and the vivid sort of the ribbon, due to impressions, impalpable yet positive, of Christmas everywhere ? All about was Christmas. Even our Baxter Street doggery had attempted something in the nature of a bowl of dark, suspicious drink, to which the barkeeper — he was a careless man of his nomenclature, this bar- keeper — gave the name of " apple toddy." Apple toddy it might have been. When Chucky came in, an uncertain shuffle which was company to his rather solid tread showed he was not alone. I looked up. Our acquaintance, MolHe Matches, expert pickpocket, — now helpless and broken, all his one time jauntiness of successful crime gone, — was with him. " It was lonesome over be me joint," vouchsafed Chucky, " wit' me Bundle chased over to do her reg'lar 44 MOLLIE MATCHES 45 anyooal confession to d' priest, see ! an' so I t'ought youse wouldn't mind an' I bring MoUie along. Me old pal is still a bit shaky as to his hooks," remarked Chucky, as he surveyed his tremulous companion, " an' a sip of d* booze wouldn't do him no harm. It ain't age ; Mollie's only come sixty spaces ; it's that Hum- min' Boid about which I tells youse, that's knocked his noive." Drinks were ordered ; whiskey strong and straight for Matches. No ; I've no apology for buying these folk drink. " Drink," observed Johnson to the worthy Boswell, " drink, for one thing, makes a man pleased with himself, which is no small matter." Heaven knows ! my shady companions, for the reason an- nounced by the sagacious doctor, needed something of the sort. Besides, I never molest my fellows in their drinking. I've slight personal use for breweries, distil- leries, or wine presses ; and gin mills in any form or phase woo me not ; yet I would have nothing of interference with the cups of other men. In such behalf, I feel not unlike that fat, well-living bishop of Westminster who refused to sign a memorial to Parliament craving strict laws in behalf of total abstinence. " No," said that sound priest, stoutly, " I will sign no such petition to Parliament. I want no such law. I would rather see Englishmen free than sober." It took five deep draughts of liquor, ardently raw, to put Matches in half control of his hands. What with the chill of the day, and what with the torn condition of his nerves, they shook like the oft-named aspen. " Them don't remind a guy," said Matches, as he held up his quivering fingers, " of a day, twenty-five years ago, when I was d' pick of d' swell mob, an' d' 46 SANDBURRS steadiest grafter that ever ringed a watch or weeded a leather ! It would be safe for d' Chief to take me mug out of d' gallery now, an' rub d' name of Mollie Matches off d' books. Me day is done, an' I'll graft no more." There was plaintiveness in the man's tones as if he were mourning some virtue, departed with his age and weakness. Clearly Matches, off his guard and normal, found no peculiar fault with his past. " How came you to be a thief ? " I asked Matches bluntly. I had counted the sixth drink down his throat, which meant that he wouldn't be sensitive. " It's too far off to say," retorted Matches. " I can't t'row back to d' time when I wasn't a crook. Do youse want to know d' foist trick I loined ? Well, it wasn't t'ree blocks from here, over be d' Bowery. I couldn't be more'n five. There was a fakir, sellin' soap. There was spec'ments of d' long green all over his stand, wit' cakes of soap on 'em, to draw d' suck- ers. Standin' be me side was a kid ; Danny d' Face dey called him. He was bigger than me, an' so I falls to his tips, see ! " " ' When you see him toin round,' said Danny d' Face, ' swipe a bill, an' chase yourself up d' alley wit' it.' " Danny goes behint, an' does a sneak on d' fakir's leg wit' a pin. Of course, he toins an' cuts loose a bluff at Danny, who's ducked out of reach. As he toins, up goes me small mit, an' d' nex' secont I'm sprintin' up d' alley wit' d' swag. " Nit ; d' mug wit' d' soap don't chase. He never even makes a holler ; I don't t'ink he caught on. But Danny cuts in after me, an' d' minute he sees we ain't MOLLIE MATCHES 47 bein' followed, or piped, he gives me d' foot, t'rows me in a heap, an' grabs off d' bill. I don't get a smell of it. An' d' toad skin's a fiver at that ! " D' foist real graft I recalls," continued Matches, as he took a meditative sip of the grog, " I'm goin' along wit' an old fat skirt, called Mother Worden, to Barnum's Museum down be Ann Street an' Broadway. Mebbe I'm seven or eight then. Mother Worden used to make up for d' respectable, see ! an' our togs was out of sight. There was no flies on . us when me an' Mother Worden went fort' to graft. What was d' racket? Pickin' women's pockets. Mother Worden would go to d' museum, or wherever there was a crush, an' lead me about be me mit. She'd steer me up to some loidy, an' let on she's lookin' at whatever d' other party has her lamps on. Meanwhile, I'm shoved in between d' brace of 'em, an' that's me cue to dip in wit' me free hook an' toin out d' loidy's pocket, see ! An' say ! it was a peach of a play ; an' a winner. We used to take in funerals, an' theaytres, an' wherever there was a gang. Me an' Mother Worden was d' whole t'ing; there was nobody's bit to split out; just us. We was d' complete woiks. " Now an' then there was a squeal. Once in a while I'd bungle me stunt, an' d' loidy I was friskin' would tumble an' raise d' yell. But Mother Worden always 'pologised, an' acted like she's shocked, an' cuffed me an' t'umped me, see ! an' so she 'd woik us free. I stood for d' t'umpin', an' never knocked. Mother Worden always told me that if we was lagged, d' p'lice guys would croak me. An' as d' wallopin's she gives me was d' real t'ing, — bein' she was hot under d' collar for me fallin' down wit' me graft, — d' folks used to believe 48 SANDBURRS her, an' look on me fin in their pocket, that way, as d' caper of a kid. Oh, d' old woman Worden was dead flossy in her day, an' stood d' acid all right, all right, every time. " But like it always toins out, she finds her finish. One day she makes a side-play on her own account, somethin' in d' shopliftin' line, I t'ink; an' she's pinched, an' takes six mont's on d' Island. I never sees her ag'in ; at which I don't break no record for weeps. She's a boid, was Mother Worden ; an' dead tough at that. She don't give me none d' best of it when I'm wit' her, an' I'm glad, in a kid fashion, when she gets put away. " That's d' start I gets. Some other time I'll unfold to youse how I takes me name of Mollie Matches. Youse can hock your socks ! I've seen d' hot end of many an alley ! I never chases be Trinity buryin' ground, but I t'inks of a day when I pitched coppers on one of d' tombstones, heads or tails, for a saw-buck, wit' a party grown, before I was old enough an' fly enough to count d' dough we was tossin' for. But we'll pass all that up to-night. It's gettin' late an' I'll just put me frame outside another hooker an' then I'll hunt me bunk. I can't set up, an' booze an' gab like I onct could ; I ain't neither d' owl nor d' tank I was." THE ST. CYRS CHAPTER I Francois St. Cyr is a Frenchman. He is absent two years from La Belle France. He and his little wife, Bebe, live not far from Washington Square. They love each other like birds. Yet Fran§ois St. Cyr is gay, and little Bebe is jealous. Once a year the Ball of France is held at the Garden. Bebe turns up a nose and will not so belittle herself. So Francois St. Cyr attends the Ball of France alone. However, he does not repine. Francois St. Cyr is permitted to be more de gage ; the ladies more abandon. At least that is the way Frangois St. Cyr explains it. It is the night of the Ball of France. Frangois St. Cyr is there. The Garden lights shine on fair women and brave men. It is a masque. The costumes are fancy, some of them feverishly so. A railroad person present says there isn't enough costume on some of the participants to flag a hand-car. No one has any purpose, however, to flag a hand-car ; the deficiency passes unnoticed. Had the railroader spoken of flagging a beer waggon — mon Dieu ! that would have been another thing ! A prize, a casket of jewels, is to be given to the best dressed" lady. A bacchante in white satin trimmed with swans' down and diamonds the size and lustre of salt-cellars is appointed the beneficiary by popular 4 49 50 SANDBURRS acclaim. Fran9ois St. Cyr, as one of the directors of the ball, presents the jewels in a fiery speech. The music crashes, the mad whirl proceeds. A supple young woman, whose trousseau would have looked lonely in a collar-box, kicks off the hat of Frangois St. Cyr. Sapriste ! how she charms him ! He drinks wine from her little shoe ! CHAPTER II The morning papers told of the beauty in swans' down ; the casket of jewels, and the presentation rhetoric of Francois St. Cyr, flowing like a river of oral fire. Bebe read it with the first light of dawn. Peste ! Later, when Francois St. Cyr came home, Bebe hurled the clock at him from an upper window. Bebe followed it with other implements of light house- keeping. Francois St. Cyr fled wildly. Then he wept and drank beer and talked of his honour. CHAPTER III The supple person who kicked the hat of Francois St. Cyr was a chorus girl. The troop in whose out- rages she assisted was billed to infuriate Newark that evening. Frangois St. Cyr would seek surcease in Newark. He would bind a new love on the heart bruised and broken by the jealous Bebe. Mon Dieu ! yes ! The curtain went up. Frangois St. Cyr inhabited a box. He was very still ; no mouse was more so. No one noticed Francois St. Cyr. At last the chorus folk appeared. THE ST. CYRS 51 "Brava! mam'selle, brava!" shouted Frangois St. Cyr, springing to his feet, and performing with his hands as with cymbals. What merited this outburst ? The chorus folk had done nothing ; hadn't slain a note, nor murdered a melody. The audience stared at the shouting Fran- 9ois St. Cyr. What ailed the man ? At last the audience admonished Francois St. Cyr. " Sit down ! Shut up ! " Those were the directions the public gave Frangois St. Cyr. " I weel not sit down ! I weel not close up ! " shouted Francois St. Cyr, bending over the box-rail and gesticulating like a monkey whose reason was suffering a strain. Then again to the chorus girl : " Brava ! mam'selle, brava ! " The other chorus girls looked disdainfully at the chorus girl whom Frangois St. Cyr honoured, so as to identify her to the contempt of the public. CHAPTER IV Francois St. Cyr suddenly discharged a bouquet at the stage. It was the size of a butter tub. It mowed a swath through the chorus like a chain shot. " Put him out ! " commanded the public. " Poot heem out ! " repeated Frangois St. Cyr with a shriek of sneering contempt. " Canaille ! I def-fy you ! I am a Frenchman ; I do not fee-ar to die ! " Wafted to his duty on the breath of general opinion, agend'arme of Newark acquired Francois St. Cyr, and bore him vociferating from the scene of his triumph. 52 SANDBURRS As he was carried through the foyer, he raised his voice heroically : " Vive le Boulanger ! " CHAPTER V The next public appearance of Fran9ois St. Cyr was in the Newark Police Court. He was pale and limp, and had thoughts of suicide. He was still clothed in his dress suit, which clung to him as if it, too, felt " des-pondy Frangois St. Cyr was fined $20. Bebe, the jealous, the faithful little Bebe, was there to pay the money. Mon Dieu ! how he loved her ! He would be her bird and sing to her all her life ! Never would he leave his Bebe more ! As for the false one of the chorus : Frangois St. Cyr " des-spised " her. Also Bebe had brought the week-day suit of Frangois St. Cyr. Could an angel have had more forethought? Frangois St. Cyr changed his clothes in a jury room, and Bebe and he came home cooing like turtle doves. CHAPTER VI By virtue of the every-day suit, the St. Cyrs were home by 4 o'clock in the afternoon. Otherwise, under the rules, being habited in a dress suit, Frangois St. Cyr could not have returned until 6. And they were happy ! McBRIDE'S DANDY Albert Edward Murphy is a high officer in one of the departments of the city. He holds his position with credit to the administration, and to his own cele- bration and renown. He has a wife and a family of children ; and sets up his Lares and Penates in a home of his own in Greenwich Village. Among other possessions of a household sort, Albert Edward Murphy, until lately, numbered one pug dog. It was a dog of vast spirit and but little wit. Yet the children loved it, and its puggish imbecility only seemed to draw it closer to their baby hearts. The pug's main delusion went to the effect that he could fight. Good judges say that there wasn't a dog on earth the pug could whip. But he didn't know this and held other views. As a result, he assailed every dog he met, and got thrashed. The pug had taken a whirl at all the canines in the neighbourhood, and been wickedly trounced in every instance. This only made him dearer, and the children loved him for the enemies he made. The pug's name was John. One day, John, the pug, fell heir to a frightful beat- ing at the paws and jaws of the dog next door. All S3 54 SANDBURRS that saved the life of John, the pug, on this awful occa- sion, was the lucky fact that he could get between the pickets of the line fence, and the neighbour's dog could not. The neighbour's dog was many times the size and weight of John, the pug; but, as has been suggested, what John didn't know about other dogs would fill a book ; and he had gone upon the neighbour's premises and pulled off a fight. Now these divers sporting events in which John, the pug, took disastrous part worried Albert Edward Mur- phy. They worried him because the children took them to heart, and wept over the wounds of John, the pug, as they bound them with tar and other medica- ments. At last Albert Edward Murphy resolved upon a campaign in favour of John, the pug. His future should have a protector ; his past should be avenged. There was a forty-pound bulldog resident of Phila- delphia. He whipped every dog to whom he was in- troduced. His name was Alexander McBride. He was referred to as " McBride's Dandy " in his set, when- ever his identification became a conversational neces- sity. Of the many dogs he had met and conquered, Alexander McBride had killed twenty-three. Albert Edward Murphy resolved to import Alexander McBride. He knew the latter's owner. A letter ad- justed the details. The proprietor of Alexander Mc- Bride was willing his pet should come to the metrop- olis on a visit. Alexander McBride had fought Phila- delphia to a standstill, and his owner's idea was that, if Alexander McBride were to go on a visit and remain away for a few months, Philadelphia would forget him, McBRIDE'S DANDY 55 and on his return he might ring Alexander in on the town as a stranger, and kill another dog with him. ****** Alexander McBride got off the cars in a chicken crate. The expressmen were afraid of him. Albert Edward Murphy was notified. He hired a coloured per- son, who looked on life as a failure, to convey Alexander McBride to his new home. They tied him to a bureau when they got him there. Alexander McBride was a gruesome-looking dog, with a wide, vacant head, when his mouth was open, like unto an empty coal scuttle. Albert Edward Mur- phy looked at Alexander McBride, and after saying that he "would do," went to dinner. During the prandial meal he explained to his family the properties and attributes of Alexander McBride ; and then he and the children went over the long list of neighbour dogs who had oppressed John, the pug, and settled which dog Alexander McBride should chew up first. Alex- ander McBride should begin on the morrow to rend and destroy the adjacent dogs, and assume toward John, the pug, the role of guide, philosopher and friend. Albert Edward Murphy and his children were very happy. After dinner they went back to take another look at Alexander McBride. As they stood about that hero in an awed but admiring circle, John, the pug, rushed wildly into the ring, and tackled Alexander McBride. The coal-scuttle head opened and closed on John, the pug- There was a moment of frozen horror, and then Albert 'Edward Murphy and his household fell upon Alexander McBride in a body. 56 SANDBURRS It was too late. It took thirteen minutes and the family poker to open the jaws of Alexander McBride. Then John, the pug, fell to the floor, dead and limp as a wet bath towel. ****** Alexander McBride had slain his twenty-fourth dog, and John, the pug, is only a memory now. RED MIKE (Annals of the Bend) " Say ! " remarked Chucky as he squared himself before the greasy doggery table, " I'm goin' to make it whiskey to-day, 'cause I ain't feelin' a t'ing but good, see!" I asked the cause of Chucky's exaltation. Chucky 's reason as given for his high spirits was unusual. " Red Mike gets ten spaces in Sing Sing," he said ; " an' he does a dead short stretch at that. He oughter get d' chair — that bloke had. " Red Mike croaks his kid," vouchsafed Chucky in further elucidation. " Say ! it makes me tired to t'ink ! She was as good a kid, this little Emmer which Mike does up, as ever comes down d' Bend. An' only 'leven ! " " Tell me the story," I urged. " This Red Mike's a hod-carrier," continued Chucky, thus moved, " but ain't out to hoit himself be hard woik at it ; he don't woik overtime. Nit ! Not on your life insurance ! " What Red Mike sooner do is bum Mulberry Street for drinks, an' hang 'round s'loons an' sling guff about d' wrongs of d' woikin'man. Then he'd chase home, an' bein' loaded, he'd wallop his family. " On d' level ! I ain't got no use for d' sort of a phyl- anthrofist who goes chinnin' all night about d' wrongs 57 58 SANDBURRS of d' labour element an' d' oppressions of d' rich an' then goes home an' slugs his wife. Say ! I t'ink a bloke who'd soak a skirt, no matter what she does — no mat- ter if she is his wife ! on d' square ! I t'ink he's rotten." And Chucky imbibed deeply, looking virtuous. " Well, at last," said Chucky, resuming his narrative, " Mike puts a crimp too many in his Norah — that's his wife — an' d' city 'torities plants her in Potters' Field." "Did Mike kill her?" I queried, a bit horrified at this murderous development of Chucky's tale. " Sure ! " assented Chucky, " Mike kills her." " Shoot her?" I suggested. " Nit ! " retorted Chucky disgustedly. " Shoot her ! Mike ain't got no gun. If he had, he'd hocked it long before he got to croak anybody wit' it. Naw, Mike does Norah be his constant abuse, see ! Beats d' life out of her be degrees. " When Norah's gone," resumed Chucky, " Emmer, who's d' oldest of d' t'ree kids, does d' mudder act for d' others. She's 'leven, like I says. An' little ! — she ain't bigger'n a drink of whiskey, Emmer ain't. " But youse should oughter see her hustle to line up an' take care of them two young-ones. Only eight an' five dey be. Emmer washes d' duds for 'em, and does all sorts of stunts to get grub, an' tries like an old woman, night an' day, to bring 'em up. " D' neighbours helps, of course, like neighbours do when it's a case of dead hard luck ; an' I meself has t'run a quarter or two in Emmer's lap when I'm a bit lushy. Say ! I'm d' easiest mark when I've been hit- tin' d' bottle ! — I'd give d' nose off me face ! " If d' neighbours don't chip in, Emmer an' them kids RED MIKE 59 would lots of times have had a hard graft ; for mostly there ain't enough dough about d' joint from one week's end to another to flag a bread waggon. " Finally Red Mike gets woise. After Norah goes flutterin' that time, Mike's been goin' along as usual, talkin' about d' woikin'man, an' doin' up Emmer an' d' kids for a finish before he rolls in to pound his ear. " At foist it ain't so bad. He simply fetches one of d' young ones a back-handed swipe across d' map wit' his mit to see it swap ends wit' itself ; or mebbe he soaks Emmer in d' lamp an' blacks it, 'cause she's older. But never no woise. At least, not for long. " But as I says, finally Red Mike gets bad for fair. He lams loose oftener, an' he licks Enimer an' d' kids more to d' Queen's taste — more like dey's grown-up folks an' can stan' for it. " Emmer, day after day chases 'round quiet as a rab- bit, washin' d' kids an' feedin' 'em when there's any- t'ing, an' she don't make no holler about Mike's jump- in' on 'em for fear if she squeals d' cops'U pinch Mike an' give him d' Island. " Yes, Emmer was a dead game all right. Not only she don't raise d' roar on Mike about his soakin' 'em, but more'n onct she cuts in an' takes d' smash Mike means for one of d' others. " But, of "course, you can see poor Emmer's finish. She's little, an' weak, an' t'in, not gettin' enough to chew — for she saws d' food off on d' others as long as dey makes d' hungry front — an' d' night Mike puts d' boots to her an' breaks t'ree of her slats, that lets her out ! She croaks in four hours, be d' watch. " Wat does Red Mike do it for ? Well, he never needs much of a hunch to pitch into Emmer an' d' 6o SANDBURRS rest. But I hears from me Rag who lives on d' same floor that it's all 'cause Mike gets d' tip that Emmer's got two bits, an' he wants it for booze. Mike comes in wit' a t'irst an' he ain't got d' price, an' he puts it to Emmer she's got stuff. Mike wants her to spring her plant an' chase d' duck. " But Emmer welched an' won't have it. She's dead stubborn an' says d' kids must eat d' nex' day ; and so Mike can't have d' money. Mike says he'll kick d' heart out of her if he don't get it. Emmer Stan's pat, an' so Mike starts in. " It's 'most an hour before I gets there. D' poor baby — for that's all Emmer is, even if she was dealin' d' game for d' joint — looks awful, all battered to bits. One of d' city's jackleg sawbones is there, mendin' Emmer wit' bandages. But he says himself he's on a dead card, an' that Emmer's going to die. Mike is settin' on a stool keepin* mum an' lookin' w'ite an' dopey, an' a cop is wit' him. Oh, yes ! he gets d' collar long before I shows up. " Say ! d' scene ain't solemn, oh, no ! nit ! Emmer lays back on d' bed — she twigs she's goin' to die ; d' doctor puts her on. Emmer lays back an' as good as she can, for her valves don't woik easy an' she breathes hard, she tells 'em what to do. She says there's d' washboiler she borry's from d' Meyers's family, an' to send it back. " ' An' I owes Mrs. Lynch,' says Emmer — she's talkin' dead faint — ' a dime for sewin' me skirt, an' I ain't got d' dough. But when dey takes dad to d' coop, tell her to run her lamps over d' plunder, an' she has her pick, see ! An' when I'm gone,' goes on Emmer, ' ast d' Gerries to take d' kids. Dey tries to RED MIKE 6i get their hooks on 'em before, but I wanted to keep 'em. Now I can't, an' d' Gerries is d' best I can do. D' Gerries ain't so warm, but dey can lose nothin' in a walk. An' wit' dad pinched an' me dead, poor Danny an' Jennie is up ag'inst it for fair.' " Nit ; Emmer never sheds a weep. But say ! you should a seen me Rag ! She was d' terror for tears ! She does d' sob act for two, an' don't you forget it. " Emmer just lays there when she's quit chinnin' an' gives Mike d' icy eye. If ever a bloke goes unforgiven, it's Red Mike. " ' Don't youse want d' priest, ormebby a preacher?' asts me Rag of Emmer between sobs. Emmer's voice is most played when she comes back at her. " ' Wat's d' use ? ' says Emmer. "Then she toins to d' two kids who's be d' bed cryin', an' tries to kiss 'em, but it's a move too many for her. She twists back wit' d' pain, an' bridges her- self like you see a wrestler, an' when she sinks straight wit' d' bed ag'in, d' red blood is comin' out of her face. Emmer's light is out. " I tumbles to it d' foist. As I leads me Rag back to our room — for I can see she's out to t'row a fit — d' cop takes Red Mike down be d' stairs." HAMILTON FINNBRTY'S HEART (By the Office Boy) CHAPTER I Far up in Harlem, on a dead swell stfeet, the chance pedestrian as he chases himself by the Ville Finnerty, may see a pale, wrung face pressing itself against the pane. It is the map of Hamilton Finnerty. "Wat's d' matter wit' d' bloke?" whispered Kid Dugan, the gasman's son, to his young companion, as they stood furtively piping off the Ville Finnerty. " Is it ' D' Pris'ner of Zenda ' down to date? " " Stash ! " said his chum in a low tone. " Don't say a woid. That guy was goin' to be hitched to a sou- brette. At d' las' minute d' skirt goes back on him — won't Stan' for it ; see ! Now d' sucker's nutty. Dey's thrunning dice for him at Bloomin'dale right now ! " It was a sad, sad story of how two loving hearts were made to break away ; of how in their ignorance the police declared themselves in on a play of which they wotted nit, and queered it. CHAPTER II When the betrothal of Isabelle Imogene McSween to Hamilton Finnerty was tipped off to their set, the 62 HAMILTON FINNERTY'S HEART 63 dite of Harlem fairly quivered with the glow and glory of it. The Four Hundred were agog. " It's d' swiftest deal of d' season ! " said De Pyg- styster. " Hammy won't do a t'ing to McSween's millions, I don't t'ink ! " said Von Pretselbok. " Hammy'll boin a wet dog. An' don't youse forget it, I'll be in on d' incineration ! " said Goosevelt. CHAPTER III Hamilton Finnerty embarked for England. The beautiful Isabelle Imogene McSween had been plung- ing on raiment in Paree. The wedding was to be pulled off in two weeks at St. Paul's, London. It was to be a corker ; for the McSweens were hot potatoes and rolled high. Nor were the Finnerties listed under the head of Has-beens. It is but justice to both families to say, they were in it with both feet. When Hamilton Finnerty went ashore at Liverpool he communed with himself. " It's five days ere dey spring d' weddin' march in me young affairs," soliloquised Hamilton Finnerty, " an' I might as well toin in an' do d' village of Liver- pool while I waits. A good toot will be d' t'ing to allay me natural uneasiness." Thus it was that Hamilton Finnerty went forth to tank, and spread red paint, and plough a furrow through the hamlet of Liverpool. But Hamilton was a dead wise fowl. He had been on bats before, and was aware that they didn't do a thing to money. " For fear I'll blow me dough," said Hamilton, still 64 SANDBURRS communing with himself, " I'll buy meself an' chip d retoin tickets, see! It's a lead-pipe cinch then, we goes back." And the forethoughtful Hamilton sprung his roll and went against the agent, for return tickets. They were to be good on the very steamer he chased over in. They were for him and the winsome Isabelle Imogene McSween, soon to be Mrs. Finnerty. The paste-boards called for the steamer's trip three weeks away. " There ! " quoth Hamilton Finnerty, as he concealed the tickets in his trousseau, " I've sewed buttons on the future. We don't walk back, see! I can now relax an' toin meself to Gin, Dog's Head and a general whizz. I won't have no picnic, — oh, no ! not on your eyes ! ' CHAPTER IV It was early darkness on the second day. One after another the windows were showing a glim. Liverpool was lighting up for the evening. A limp figure stood holding to a lamp-post. The figure was loaded to the guards. It was Hamilton Finnerty, and his light was out. He had just been fired from that hostelry known as The Swan with the Four Legs. " I 'opes th' duffer won't croak on me doorstep," said the blooming barmaid, as she cast her lamps on Hamilton Finnerty from the safe vantage of a window of The Swan with the -Four Legs. There was no danger of Hamilton Finnerty dying, not in a thousand years. But he was woozy and tum- bled not to events about him. He knew neither his "THEY WERE GOOD POLICE PEOI'LE, J(,.\oKA,\T BUT LN.NOCENT."— Z^'' 6^'. u HAMILTON FINNERTY'S HEART 65 name, nor his nativity. Nor could he speak, for his tongue was on a spree with the Gin and the Dog's Head. CHAPTER V As Hamilton Finnerty stood holding the lamp-post, and deeming it his " only own," two of the Queen's constabulary approached. " 'Ere's a bloomin' gow, Jem ! " said the one born in London. " Now '00 d'ye tyke the gent to be ? " They were good police people, ignorant but innocent ; and disinclined to give Hamilton Finnerty the collar. " Frisk 'un, Bill," advised the one from Yorkshire ; it's loike th' naime bees in 'uns pawkets." The two went through the make-up of Hamilton Finnerty. Jagged as he was, he heeded them not. They struck the steamer tickets and noted the steamer's name, but not the day of sailing. As if anxious to aid in the overthrow of Hamilton Finnerty, the steamer was still at her dock, with pre- parations all but complete for the return slide to New York. " Now 'ere's a luvely mess ! " said London Bill, look- ing at the tickets. " The bloody bowt gows in twenty minutes, an' 'ere's this gent a-gettin' 'eeself left ! An' th' tickets for 'ees missus, too ! It's punds t' peanuts, th' loidy's aboard th' bowt tearin' 'er blessed heyes out for 'im. Hy, say there, kebby ! bear a 'and ! This gent's got to catch a bowt ! " Hamilton Finnerty, dumb with Gin and Dog's Head, was tumbled into the cab, and the vehicle, taking its 5 66 SANDBURRS hunch from the excited officers, made the run of its life to the docks. They were in time. "It tak's th' droonken 'uns t'av th' loock!" re- marked Yorkshire Jem cheerfully to London Bill, as they stood wiping their honest faces on the dock, while the majestic steamer, with Hamilton Finnerty aboard, worked slowly out. CHAPTER VI When Hamilton Finnerty came to his senses he was one hundred miles on his way to New York. For an hour he was off his trolley. It was six days before he landed, and during that period he did naught but chew the rag. Hamilton Finnerty chased straight for Harlem and sought refuge in the Ville Finnerty. He must think; he must reorganise his play ! He would compile a fake calculated to make a hit as an excuse with Isabelle Imogene McSween, and cable it. All might yet be well. But alas ! As Hamilton Finnerty opened the door of the Ville Finnerty the butler sawed off a cablegram upon him. It was from Isabelle Imogene McSween to Hamilton Finnerty's cable address of " Hamfinny." As Hamilton Finnerty read the fatal words, he fell all over himself with a dull, sickening thud. And well he might ! The message threw the boots into the last hope of Hamilton Finnerty. It read as follows : Hamfinny : — Miscreant 1 Villain ! A friend put me onto your skip from Liverpool. It was a hobo trick. But I broke even -with you. I was dead aware that you might do a sneak at the last minute, and was organised with a French Count up me sleeve ; see I Me wedding came HAMILTON FINNERTY'S HEART 67 off just the same. Me hubby's a bute I I call him Papa, and he's easy money. Hoping to see you on me return, nit, and renew our acquaint- ance, nit, I am yours, nit. ISABELLE ImOGENE McSwEEN-MARAT DE RoCHETWISTER. Outside the Ville Finnerty swept the moaning winds, dismal with November's prophecy of snow. At inter- vals the election idiot blew his proud horn in the neighbouring thoroughfare. It was nearly morning when the doctor said, that, while Hamilton Finnerty's life would be spared, he would be mentally dopey the balance of his blighted days. SHOR'T CREEK DAVE (Wolfville) Short Creek Dave was one of Wolfville's lead- ing citizens. In fact his friends would not have scrupled at the claim that Short Creek Dave was a leading citizen of Arizona. Therefore when the news came over from Tucson that Short Creek Dave, who had been paying that metropolis a breezy visit, had, in an advertant moment, strolled within the radius of a gospel meeting then and there prevailing, and suffered conversion, Wolfville became spoil and prey to some excitement. " I tells him," said Tutt, who brought the tidings, " not to go tamperin' 'round this yere meetin'. But he would have it. He simply keeps pervadin' about the ' go-in ' place, an' it looks like I can't herd him away. Says I : ' Dave, you don't onderstand this yere game they're turnin' inside. Which you keep out a whole lot, you'll be safer ! ' But warnin's ain't no good ; Short Creek don't regard 'em a little bit." " This yere Short Creek is always speshul obstinate that a-way," said Dan Boggs, "an' he gets moods fre- quent when he jest won't stay where he is nor go any- where else. I don't marvel none you don't do nothin' with him." " Let it go as it lays ! " observed Cherokee Hall, " I -68 SHORT CREEK DAVE 69 reckons Short Creek knows his business, an' can protect himse'f in any game they opens on him. I ain't my- se'f none astonished by these yere news. I knows him to do some mighty locoed things, sech as breakin' a pair to draw to a three-flush ; an' it seems like he's merely a pursooin' of his usual system in this relig'ous lunge. However, he'll be in Wolfville to-morry, an' then we'll know a mighty sight more about it ; pendin' of which let's irrigate. Barkeep, please inquire out the beverages for the band ! " Those of Wolfville there present knew no cause to pursue the discussion so pleasantly ended, and drew near the bar. The debate took place in the Red Light, so, as one observed on the issuance of Cherokee's in- vitation : " They weren't far from centres." Cherokee himself was a suave suitor of fortune who presided behind his own faro game. Reputed to pos- sess a " straight " deal box, he held high place in the Wolfville breast. Next day ; and Wolfville began to suffer an increased exaltation. Feeling grew nervous as the time for the coming of the Tucson stage approached. An outsider might not have detected this fever. It found its evi- dence in the unusual activity of monte, high ball, stud and kindred relaxations. Faro, too, displayed some madness of spirit. At last out of the grey and heat-shimmer of the plains a cloud of dust announced the coming of the stage. Chips were cashed and games cleaned up, and presently the population of Wolfville stood in the street to catch as early a glimpse as might be of the converted one. " I don't reckon now he's goin' to look sech a whole 70 SANDBURRS lot different neither ! " observed Faro Nell. She stood near Cherokee Hall, awaiting the coming stage. " I wonder would it ' go ' to ask Dave for to drink? " said Tutt, in a tone of general inquiry. " Shore ! " argued Dan Boggs ; " an' why not ? " " Oh, nothin' why not ! " replied Tutt, as he watched the stage come up ; " only Dave's nacherally a peevish person that a-way, an' I don't reckon now his enterin' the fold has redooced the restlessness of that six- shooter of his'n, none whatever." "All the same," said Cherokee Hall, " p'litenes 'mong gents should be observed. I asks this yere Short Creek to drink so soon as ever he arrives ; an' I ain't lookin' to see him take it none invidious, neither." With a rattle of chains and a creaking of straps the stage and its six high-headed horses pulled up at the postofifice door. The mail bags were kicked off, the express boxes tumbled into the street, and in the gen- eral rattle and crash the eagerly expected Short Creek Dave stepped upon the sidewalk. There was possibly a more eager scanning of his person in the thought that the great inward change might have its outward evidences ; a more vigorous shaking of his hand, perhaps ; but beyond these, curi- ous interest did not go. Not a word nor a look touch- ing Short Creek's religious exploits betrayed the ques- tion tugging at the Wolfville heart. Wolfville was too polite. And, again, Wolfville was too cautious. Next to horse-stealing, curiosity is the greatest crime. It's worse than crime, it's a blunder. Wolfville merely ex- pressed its polite satisfaction in Short Creek Dave's return, and took it out in handshaking. The only incident worth record was when Cherokee Hall ob- SHORT CREEK DAVE 71 served in a spirit of bland but experimental friend- ship : " I don't reckon, Dave, you-all is objectin' to whiskey none after your ride ? " "Which I ain't done so usual," observed Dave cheerfully, " but this yere time, Cherokee, I'll have to pass. Confidin' the trooth to you-all, I'm some off on nose-paint now. I'm allowin' to tell you the win-an'- lose tharof later on. Now, if you-alls will excuse me, I'll go wanderin' over to the O. K. House an' feed myse'f a whole lot." " I shore reckons he's converted ! " said Tutt, and he shook his head gloomily. " I wouldn't care none, only it's me as prevails on Dave to go over to Tucson that time ; an' so I feels responsible." " Whatever of it ? " responded Dan Boggs, with a burst of energy, " I don't see no reecriminations comin', nor why this yere's to be regarded. If Dave wants to be relig'ous an' sing them hymns a heap, you bet! that's his American right ! I'll gamble a hundred dol- lars, Dave splits even with every deal, or beats it. I'm with Dave ; his system does for me, every time ! " The next day the excitement began to subside. Late in the afternoon a notice posted on the postofifice door caused it to rise again. The notice announced that Short Creek Dave would preach that evening in the warehouse of the New York Store. " I reckons we-alls better go! " said Cherokee Hall. " I'm goin' to turn up my box an' close the game at first drink time this evenin', an' Hamilton says he's out to shut up the dance hall, seein' as how several of the ladies is due to sing a lot in the choir. We-alls might as well turn loose an' give Short Creek the best whirl 72 SANDBURRS in the wheel — might as well make the play to win, an' start him straight along the new trail." " That's- whatever ! " agreed Dan Boggs. He had recovered from his first amazement, and now entered into the affair with spirit. That evening the New York Store's warehouse was as brilliantly a-light as a mad abundance of candles could make it. All Wolfville was there. As a result of conferences held in private with Short Creek Dave, and by that convert's request. Old Man Enright took a seat by the drygoods box which was to serve as a pulpit. Doc Peets, also, was asked to assume a place at the Evangelist's left. The congregation disposed itself about on the improvised benches which the ardour of Boggs had provided. At 8 o'clock Short Creek Dave walked up the space in the centre reserved as an aisle, carrying a giant Bible. This latter he placed on the drygoods box. Old Man Enright, at a nod from Short Creek Dave, called gently for attention, and addressed the meeting briefly. " This yere is a prayer meetin' of the camp," said Enright, " an' I'm asked by Dave to preside, which I accordin' do. No one need make any mistake about the character of this gatherin', or its brand. This yere is a relig'ous meetin'. I am not myse'f given that a-way, but I'm allers glad to meet up with folks who be, an' see that they have a chance in for their ante, an' their game is preserved. I'm one, too, who believes a little religion wouldn't hurt this yere camp much. Next to a lynchin', I don't know of a more excellent inflooence in a western camp than these meetin's. I ain't expectin' to cut in on this play none myse'f, an' SHORT CREEK DAVE 73 only set yere, as does Peets, in the name of order, an' for the purposes of a squar' deal. Which I now intro- dooces to you a gent who is liable to be as good a preacher as ever thumps a Bible — your old pard, Short Creek Dave." " Mr. Pres'dent ! " said Short Creek Dave, turning to Enright. " Short Creek Dave ! " replied Enright sententiously, bowing gravely in recognition. " An' ladies an' gents of Wolfville ! " continued Dave, " I opens this racket with a prayer." The prayer proceeded. It was fervent and earnest ; replete with unique expression and personal allusion. In the last, the congregation took a warm interest. Towards the close, Dave bent his energies in suppli- cation for the regeneration of Texas Thompson, whom he represented in his orisons as by nature good, but living a misguided and vicious life. The audience was listening with approving attention, when there came an interruption. It was from Texas Thomp- son. " Mr. Pres'dent," said Texas Thompson, " I rises to ask a question an' put for'ard a protest." " The gent will state his p'int," responded Enright, rapping on the drygoods box. " Which the same is this," resumed Texas Thomp- son, drawing a long breath. "I objects to Dave a-tacklin' the Redeemer for me. I protests ag'in him makin' statements that I'm ornery enough to pillage a stage. This yere talk is liable to queer me on High. I objects to it ! " " Prayer is a device without rools or limit," re- sponded Enright. " Dave makes his runnin' with the 74 SANDBURRS bridle off; an' the chair, tharfore, decides ag'in the p'int of order." " An' the same bein' the case," rejoined Texas Thompson with heat, " a-waivin' of the usual appeal to the house, all I've got to say is, I'm a peaceful gent ; I has allers been the friend of Short Creek Dave. Which I even assists an' abets Boggs in packin' in these yere benches, an' aids to promote this meetin'. But I gives notice now, if Short Creek Dave persists in malignin' of me to the Great White Throne, as yere- tofore, I'll shore call on him to make them statements good with his gun as soon as ever the contreebution box is passed." "The chair informs the gent," said Enright with cold dignity, " that Dave, bein' now a Evangelist, can't make no gun plays, nor go canterin' out to shoot as of a former day. However, the chair recognises the rights of the gent, an', standin' as the chair does in the position of lookout to this game, the chair nom'nates Dan'l Boggs, who's officiatin' as deacon hereof, to back these yere orisons with his six-shooter as soon as ever church is out, in person." " It goes ! " responded Boggs. " I proudly assoomes Dave's place." " Mr. Pres'dent," interrupted Short Creek Dave, " jest let me get my views in yere. It's my turn all right, as I makes clear, easy. I've looked up things some, an' I finds that the Apostle Peter, who was a great range boss of them days, scroopled not to fight. Which I trails out after Peter in this. I might add, too, that while it gives me pain to be obleeged to shoot up brother Texas Thompson in the first half of the first meetin' we holds in Wolfville, still the path of SHORT CREEK DAVE 75 dooty is plain, an' I shall shorely walk tharin, fearin' nothin'. I tharfore moves we adjourn ten minutes, an' as thar is plenty of moon outside, if the chair will lend me its gun — I'm not packin' of sech frivolities no more, regyardin' of 'em in the light of sinful bluffs — I trusts to Providence to convince brother Texas Thompson that he's followed off the wrong waggon track. You- alls can gamble ! I knows my business. I ain't 4- flushin' none when I lines out to pray ! " " Onless objection is heard, this meetin' will stand adjourned for ten minutes," said Enright, at the same time passing Short Creek Dave his pistol. Fifteen paces were stepped off, and the opponents faced up in the moonlit street. Enright, Peets, Hall, Boggs, Tutt, Moore and the rest of the congregation made a line of admiration on the sidewalk. " I counts one ! two ! three ! an' then I drops the contreebution box," said Enright, " whereupon you-alls fires an' advances at will. Be you ready ? " The shooting began on the word. When the smoke blew away, Texas Thompson staggered to the side- walk and sat down. There was a bullet in his hip, and the wound, for the moment, brought a feeling of sick- ness. " The congregation will now take its seats in the sanctooary," remarked Enright, " an' play will be re- soomed. Tutt, two of you-alls carry Texas over to the hotel, an' fix him up all right. Yereafter, I'll visit him an' p'int out his errors. This shows concloosive that Short Creek Dave is licensed from Above to pray any gait for whoever he deems meet, an' I'm mighty pleased it occurs. It's shore goin' to promote confi- dence in Dave's ministrations." 76 SANDBURRS The concourse was duly in its seats when Short Creek Dave again reached the pulpit. " I will now resoome my intercessions for our onfor- tunate brother, Texas Thompson," said Short Creek Dave. " I know'd he would," commented Dan Boggs, as twenty dollars came over addressed by the wounded Thompson to the contribution box. " Texas Thomp- son is one of the reasonablest sports in Wolfville. Also you can bet ! relig'ous trooths allers assert them- se'ves." CRIME THAT FAILED (Annals of the Bend) " Say ! Matches," said Chucky, removing his nose from his glass, " youse remember d' Jersey Bank ? I means d' time youse has to go to cover an' d' whole mob is pinched in d' hole. Tell us d' story ; it's dead int'restin'." This last was to me in a husky whisper. " That play was a case of fail," remarked Mollie Matches thoughtfully. Then turning to me as chief auditor, he continued. " It's over twenty years ago ; just on d' heels of d' Centenyul at Phil'delfy. D' graft was fairly flossy durin' d' Centenyul, an' I had quite a pot of dough. " One day a guy comes to me ; he's a bank woiker, what d' fly people calls ' a gopher man ' ; he's a mug who's onto all d' points about safes an' such. Well, as I says, this soon guy comes chasin' to me. " ' Matches,' he says, ' don't say a woid ; I'll put youse onto an easy trick. Come wit' me to Jersey, an' I'll show you a bin what's all organised to be cracked. Any old hobo could toin off d' play ; it's a walk-over.' " Wit' that, for I had confidence in this mark, see ! we skins over to Jersey, an' he steers me out to a near- by town an' points me put a bank. What makes it a good t'ing is a vacant joint, wit' a ' To Rent ' sign in d' window, built clost ag'inst d' side of d' bank. 77 78 SANDBURRS " ' Are youse on ? ' says d' goph, pointin' his main hook at d' empty house, an' then at d' bank. " Bein' I'm no farmer meself, I takes no time to tumble. We screws our nuts, me an' d' goph, to d' duck who owns d' house, an' d' nex' news is we rents it. D' duck who does d' rentin' says he can see we're on d' level d' moment we floats in ; but all d' same, if we can bring him a tip or two on d' point of our bein' square people from one or two high rollers whose names goes, he'll take it kindly. We says, suttenly ; we fills him to d' chin wit' all d' ref- runces he needs. " ' We won't do a t'ing but send our pastor to youse,' puts in d' goph. " Good man, me pal was, as ever draws slide on a dark lantern, but always out to be funny. "We rents d' joint, as I states, an' no more is said about refrunces. Now, when it comes to d' real woik, I ain't goin' to do none, see ! I ain't down to dig an' pick ; it spoils me hooks for dippin'. What I does is furnish d' tools an' d' dough. " I goes back an* gets a whole kit of bank tools — drills, centre-bits, cold-chisels, jointed-jimmies, wedges, pullers, spreaders, fuse, powder, mauls an' mufflers — I gets d' whole t'ing, see! Me pal knows a brace of pards who'll stand in on d' play. He calls 'em in, an' one night d' entire squeeze, wit' d' tools, goes over an' plants themselfs in d' empty house. Yes ; dey takes grub an' blankets an' all dey needs. " Before this I goes ag'inst d' bank janitor ; an' while he's a fairly downy party, I wins him. D' jan- itor of d' bank gets a hundred bones, an' I gets a map of d' bank, which shows where d' money is planted an' all about it. CRIME THAT FAILED 79 " What's d' idee ? Our racket is to tunnel from d' cellar of d' joint we rents, under d' side wall of d' bank, an' keep on until we reaches d' stuff, see ! We're out to do all d' woik we can wit'out lettin' d' bank-crush twig d' graft. Then we waits till Saturday noon. D' bank shuts up on Saturday noon, understan' ! An' then we has till Monday at 9 o'clock to finish d' woik. An' say ! it's time plenty ! It gives us time to boin ! " As I states, I don't do any of d' woik. D' gopher an' his two pals is all d' job calls for. So I lays dead in d' town, ready to split out me piece of d' plunder, an' waits results. " To hurry me yarn, everyt'ing woiks like it's greased to fit d' play. D' mob gets d' tunnel as far as it'll go. Saturday noon comes an' d' last sucker who belongs to d' bank skips out. It's then me gopher an' his two pals t'rows themselfs. " All t'rough Saturday afternoon an' all d' night till daylight Sunday mornin', them gezebos woiks away like dogs. An' say ! don't youse ever doubt it ! dey was winnin' in a walk. " But all this time d' pins was set up to do 'em. It was d' same old story. There's always some little no- good bet a crook is sure to overlook, an' it goes d' wrong way an' downs him. Here's what happens ; " In d' foist place, we forgets to take d' ' To Rent ' sign out of d' window, see! That's d' beginnin'. Nex,' me goph an' his side-partners digs so much dirt out of d' tunnel it fills d' cellar. Honest ! it won't hold no more. " At this last, dey takes to shovelin' d' dirt into a bushel basket. Then dey carries it up d' back stairs and dumps it on d' floor of a summer kitchen. Be 7 8o SANDBURRS o'clock Sunday, mebby dey dumps as many as six basketfuls ; dumps it, as I tells youse, in this lean-to, which is built on d' rear. "Now, right at this time there's an old Irish Moll who keeps a boardin' house not far away who is flyin' along to early Mass, bein' dead religious an' leary about her soul, see! This old goil, as she comes sprintin' along, gets her bleary old lamps on d' ' To Rent ' card. All at onct d' idee fetches her a t'ump in d' cocoa that d' house would be out of sight for a boardin' joint. Wit' that she steers herself in to take a squint an' size up d' crib. " D' door is locked, so d' old goil can't come in. Wit' that she leads d' nex' best card an' goes galumpin' round, pipin' off d' place t'rough d' windows. An' say ! she gets stuck on it. She t'inks if she can rent it, she can run d' dandy boardin' house of d' ward in it. " As d' old frail goes round d' place, among all d' rest, she looks t'rough d' windows into d' summer kitchen. She gets onto d' dirt that's dumped, as I states, in one corner. But she don't see none of d' gang, bein' dey's down in d' hole at d' time, so she don't fasten to nothin'. " At last she's seen enough an' sherries her nibs to d' cat'edral. " That's all right if it's only d' end ; but it ain't. When it gets to about 2 o'clock, this old skate in petti- coats goes toinin' nutty ag'in about d' empty house. Over she spins to grab another glimpse, see ! When she strikes d' summer kitchen she comes near to throwin' a faint. D' pile of rubbidge is twenty times as big ! " That settles it ! d' joint is ha'nted ! an' wit' that CRIME THAT FAILED. 8i notion all tangled up in her frizzes d' old mut makes a straight wake for d' priest. " ' D' empty house nex' to d' bank is full of ghosts ! ' she shouts, an' then she flings her apron over her nut an' comes a fit. " Now, this priest is about as sudden a party as ever comes over d' ocean. Youse can't give him no stiff about spooks, see ! Bein' nex' to d' bank is a hot tip, an' he takes it. " Nit ! he don't go surgin' round for his prayer- books an d' hully water. It would have been a dead good t'ing if he had. Nixie weedin' ! D' long-coat sucker don't even come over to d' house. "What does he do ? He sprints for d' nearest p'lice station at a 40 clip, an' fills up d' captain in charge wit' d' story till youse can't rest. After that, it takes d' p'lice captain about ten seconts to line up his push ; an' be coppin' a sneak, he pinches me gopher an' his two pals right in d' hole. Dey was gettin' along beautiful at d' time, an' in ten hours more dey would have had that bank on d' hog for fair. Dey was dead games at that. While dey gets d' collar, not one of 'em coughs on me, an' me name ain't never in it from start to finish. Dey was game, true pals from bell to bell, an' stayed d' distance. " It was d' bummest finish, all d' same, for what looked like d' biggest trick, an' d' surest big money, that I ever goes near. Youse may well peel your peeps ! If it wasn't for that old Irish keener an' her ghost stories, in less than ten hours more we wouldn't have got a t'ing but complete action on more'n a million plunks ! There was a hay-mow full of money in that bin! 6 82 SANDBURRS " That's d' last round an* wind-up, as d' pugs puts it. Me gopher an' his pals is handed out ten spaces each, an' I lose me kit of tools. Take it over all, I'm out some four t'ousand dollars on d' deal. A tidy lump of dough to be done out of be a priest, a p'liceman an' an old Irish boardin' boss ! D' old loidy lands wit' bot' her trilbys, though ; d' bank chucks her a bundle of fly-paper big enough to stan' for all her needs until she croaks, for cuttin' in on our play, see ! " THE BETRAYAL The boys had resolved on revenge, and nothing could turn them from their purpose. The trouble was this : Some one not otherwise engaged had fed the furnace an overshoe which it did not need. As incident to its consumption the overshoe had filled the building with an odour of which nothing favourable could be said. The professor afterwards, in denounc- ing the author of the outrage, had referred to it as " efHuvia." It had as a perfume much force of character, and was stronger and more devastating than the odour which goes with an egg in its old age, when it has begun to hate the world and the future holds nothing but gloom. As stated, the schoolhouse reeked and reeled with this sublimated overshoe. It all pleased the boys ex- cessively. They made as much as possible of the odour ; they coughed, and sneezed, and worried the professor by holding up their hands one after the other with the remark : " Teacher, may I go out ? " The professor, after several destructive whiffs of the overshoe, made a fiery speech. He said that could he once locate the boy who lavished this overshoe on mankind in a gaseous form, that boy's person would experience a rear-end collision. He would be so badly telescoped that weeks would elapse before the boy could regard himself as being in old-time form. The 83 84 SANDBURRS professor said the boy who founded the overshoe odour was a " miscreant " and a " vandal." He demanded his name of the boys collectively ; and failing to get it, the professor said they were all miscreants and vandals, and that it would be as balm to his spirits were he to wade in and larrup the entire outfit. After school the boys held a meeting. Frank Payne, aged fourteen, the boy who could lick any boy in school, denounced the professor. He re- ferred to the fact that his father was a school trustee ; and that under the rules the professor had no right to bestow upon them the epithets of miscreants and van- dals. Frank Payne advised that they whip the pro- fessor ; who must, he said, while a large, muscular man, yield to mob violence. The proposition to whip the professor was carried unanimously under a suspension of the rules. In the ardour of this crusade for their rights the boys did not feel as if they could await the slow approach of trouble in the natural way. It was decided by them to bring matters to a focus. It was planned to have Tony Sanford stick a pin in John Dayton. That would be a splendid start ! John Dayton, thus stuck, would yell ; and when the professor asked the cause of his lamentations, John Dayton would point to Tony Sanford as his assassin. When the professor laid cor- rective hands on Tony all of the conspirators were to rush upon the professor and give him such a rough- and-tumble experience that succeeding ages would date time from the emeute. The boys were filled with glee ; they regarded the business, so they said, as "a pushover." The hour for action had arrived. THE BETRAYAL 85 Tony Sanford had no pin. But Tony was a fertile boy ; if there was a picket off Tony's mental fence at all, it was his foresight. Lacking a pin, the ingenious Tony stuck the small blade of his knife into John Dayton. The victim howled like a dog at night. " Please, sir, Tony Sanford's stabbed me," was John Dayton's explanation of his shrieks. Tony Sanford was paraded for punishment. The cold-blooded enormity of the crime seemed to strike the professor dumb. He did not know how to take hold of the situation. But Tony pursued a course which not only invited but suggested action. As Tony approached, he dealt the professor an uppercut in the bread-basket, and with the cry, " Come on, boys ! " closed doughtily with the foe. The boys beheld the deeds of the intrepid Tony ; they heard his cry and knew it for their cue. Never- theless, notwithstanding, not a boy moved. They sat in their seats and gazed fixedly at Tony and the pro- fessor. With the call of Tony to his fellow-conspira- tors the professor saw it all. " Tony Sanford," quoth the professor, " we will adjourn to the library. When I get through, you will be of no further use to science." The door closed on Tony Sanford, and a professor weighing 211 pounds. The sounds which came well- ing from the library showed that some strong, emotion- al work was being done within. Tony and the pro- fessor sounded at times like a curlew at night, and anon like unto a man falling downstairs with a stove. Tony Sanford said afterward that he would never again attach himself to a plot which did not show two green lights on the rear platform of its caboose. FOILED (By the Office Boy) CHAPTER I " Darling, I fear that man ! The cruel guy can from his place as umpire do you up." It was Gwendolin O'Toole who spoke. She was a beautiful blonde angel, and as she clung to her lover, Marty O'Malley, they were a picture from which a painter would have drawn an inspiration. " Take courage, love ! " said Marty O'Malley ten- derly ; " I'm too swift for the duck." " I know, dearest," murmured the fair Gwendolin, " but think what's up on the game ! Me brother, you know him well ! the rooter prince, the bleachers' un- crowned king ! he is the guardian of me vast estates. If I do not marry as he directs, me lands and houses go to found an asylum for decrepit ball tossers. And to-day me brother Godfrey swore by the Banshee of the O'Tooles that me hand should belong to the man who made the best average in to-morrow's game. Can you win me, love ? " " I will win you or break the bat ! " said Marty O'Malley, as he folded his dear one in his arms. CHAPTER II " When that villain, O'Malley, goes to bat to-morrow, pitch the ball ten feet over his head. No matter where it goes I'll call a ' strike.' " 86 FOILED 87 It was Dennis Mulcahey who spoke ; the man most feared by Gwendolin O'Toole. He was to be the next day's umpire, and as he considered how securely his rival was in his grasp, he laughed the laugh of a fiend. Dennis Mulcahey, too, loved the fair Gwendolin, but the dear girl scorned his addresses. His heart was bitter ; he would be revenged on his rival. "You've got it in for the mugj " replied Terry Devine, to whom Dennis Mulcahey had spoken. Devine was the pitcher of the opposition, and like many of his class, a low, murdering scoundrel. " But, say ! Denny, if you wants to do the sucker, why don't youse give him a poke in d' face? See ! " " Such suggestions are veriest guff," retorted Dennis Mulcahey. "Do as I bid you, caitiff, an' presume not to give d' hunch to such as I ! A wild pitch is what I want whenever Marty O'Malley steps to the plate. I'll do the rest." " I'll t'row d' pigskin over d' grand stand," said Terry Devine as he and his fellow-plotter walked away. As the conspirators drifted into the darkness a dim form arose from behind a shrub. It was Marty O'Malley. " Ah ! I'll fool you yet ! " he hissed between his clinched teeth, and turning in the opposite direction he was soon swallowed by the darkness. CHAPTER III " You'll not fail me. Jack ! " said Marty O'Malley to Jack, the barkeeper of the Fielders' Rest. " Not on your sweater ! " said Jack. " Leave it to- 88 SANDBURRS me. Ii that snoozer pitches this afternoon I hopes d' boss'U put in a cash-register ! " Marty O'Malley hastened to the side of his love. Jack, the faithful barkeeper, went on cleaning his glasses. " That hobo, Devine, will be here in a minute," said Jack at last, " an' I must organise for him." Jack took a shell glass and dipped it in the tank behind the bar. Taking his cigar from between his finely chiselled lips, he blew the smoke into the moist- ened interior of the glass. This he did several times. " I'll smoke a glass on d' stiff," said Jack softly. " It's better than a knockout drop." It was a moment later when Terry Devine came in. With a gleam of almost human intelligence in his eye Jack, the barkeeper, set up the smoked glass. Terry Devine tossed off the fiery potation, staggered to a chair, and sat there glaring. A moment later his head fell on the table, while a stertorous snore proclaimed him unconscious. " That fetched d' sucker," murmured Jack, the bar- keeper, and he went on cleaning his glasses. " His light's gone out for fourteen hours, an' he don't make no wild pitches at Marty O'Malley to-day, see ! " CHAPTER IV Ten thousand people gathered to witness the last great contest between the Shamrocks and the Shanty- towns. Gwendolin O'Toole, pale but resolute, occupied her accustomed seat in the grand stand. Far away, and high above the tumult of the bleachers she heard the FOILED 89 hoarse shouts of her brother, Godfrey O'Toole, the bleachers' king. " Remember, Gwendolin ! " he had said, as they parted just before the game, " the mug who makes the best average to-day wins your hand. I've sworn it, and the word of an O'Toole is never broken." " Make it the best fielding average, oh, me brother ! " pleaded Gwendolin, while the tears welled to her glorious eyes. " Never ! " retorted Godfrey O'Toole, with a scowl ; " I'm on to your curves ! You want to give Marty O'Malley a better show. But if the butter-fingered muffer wants you, he must not only win you with his fielding, but with the stick." CHAPTER V Terry Devine wasn't in the box for the Shanty- towns. With his head on the seven-up table, he snored on, watched over by the faithful barboy Jack. He still yielded to smoked glass and gave no sign of life. " Curse him ! " growled Umpire Mulcahey hoarsely beneath his breath "has he t'run me down? If I thought so, the world is not wide enough to save him from me vengeance." And the change pitcher took the box for the Shanty- towns. Marty O'Malley, the great catcher of the Shamrocks, stepped to the plate. Dennis Mulcahey girded up his false heart, and registered a black, hellish oath to call everything a strike. " Never ! never shall he win Gwendolin O'Toole 90 SANDBURRS while I am umpire ! " he whispered, and his face was dark as a cloud. It was the last word that issued from the clam-shell of Dennis Mulcahey for many a long and bitter hour ; the last crack he made. Just as he offered his bluff, the first ball was pitched. It was as wild and high as a bird, as most first balls are. But Marty O'Malley was ready. He, too, had been plotting ; he would fight Satan with fire ! As the ball sped by, far above his head, Marty O'Malley leaped twenty feet in the air. As he did this he swung his unerring timber. Just as he had planned, the flying, whizzing sphere struck the under side of his bat, and glancing downward with fearful force, went crashing into the dark, malignant visage of Den- nis Mulcahey, upturned to mark its flight. The fragile mask was broken ; the features were crushed into com- plete confusion with the awful inveteracy of the ball. Dennis Mulcahey fell as one dead. As he was borne away another umpire was sent to his post. Marty O'Malley bent a glance of intelligence on the change pitcher of the Shantytowns, who had taken the place of the miscreant Dennis, and whispered loud enough to reach from plate to box : " Now, gimme a fair ball ! " CHAPTER VI And so the day was won ; the Shamrocks basted the Shantytowns by the score of 15 to 2. As for Marty O'Malley, his score stood: Ab. R. H. Po. A. E. O'Malley, c 4 4 4 10 14 o FOILED 91 No such record had ever been made on the grounds. With four times at bat, Marty O'Malley did so well, withal, that he scored a base hit, two three-baggers and a home-run. That night Marty O'Malley wedded the rich and beautiful Gwendolin O'Toole. Jack, the faithful bar- boy of the Fielders' Rest, ofificiated as groomsman. Godfrey O'Toole, haughty and proud, was yet a square sport, and gave the bride away. The rich notes of the wedding bells, welling and swelling, drifted into the open windows of the Charity Hospital, and smote on the ears of Dennis Mulcahey, where he lay with his face. " Curse 'em ! " he moaned. Then came a horrible rattle in his throat, and the guilty spirit of Dennis Mulcahey passed away. Death caught him off his base. POLITICS (Annals of The Bend) " Nixie ! I ain't did nothin', but all de same I'm feelin' like a mut, see ! " Chucky was displeased with some chapter in his recent past. I could tell as much by the shifty, dep- recatory way in which he twiddled and fiddled with his beer-stein. "This is d' way it all happens," exclaimed Chucky. " Over be Washin'ton Square there's an old soak, an' he's out to go into pol'tics — wants to hold office ; Congress, I t'inks, is what this gezeybo is after. Any- how he's nutty to hold office. " Of course, I figgers that a guy who wants to hold office is a sucker ; for meself, I'd sooner hold a baby. Still, when some such duck comes chasin' into pol'tics, I'm out for his dough like all d' rest of d' gang. " So I goes an' gets nex' to this mucker an' jollies his game. I tells him all he's got to do is to fix his lamps on d' perch that pleases him, blow in his stuff an' me push'U toin loose, an' we'll win out d' whole box of tricks in a walk, see ! " That's all right ; d' Washin'ton Square duck is of d' same views. An' some of it ain't no foolish talk at that. I'm dead strong wit' d' Dagoes, an' d' push about d' Bend, an' me old chum — if he starts — is goin' to get a run for his money. " It ain't this, however, what wilts me d' way you 92 POLITICS 93 sees to-night. It's that I'm 'shamed, see ! In d' foist place, I'm bashful. That's straight stuff; I'm so bashful that if I'm in some other geezer's joint — par- tic'ler if he's a high roller an' t'rowin' on social lugs, like this Washin'ton Square party — I feels like creep- in' under d' door mat. " D' other night this can'date for ofifice says, says he, ' Chucky, I'm goin to begin my money-boinin' be givin' a dinner over be me house, an' youse are in it, see ! in it wit' bot' feet.' " ' Be I comin' to chew at your joint ? ' I asts ; ' is that d' bright idee ? ' " ' That's d' stuff,' he says ; ' youse are comin' to eat wit' me an' me friends. An' you can gamble your socks me friends is a flossy bunch at that.' " I says I'll assemble wit' 'em. " Nit, I ain't stuck on d' play. I'd sooner eat be meself. But if I'm goin' to catch up wit' his Whiskers an' sep'rate him from some of d' long green, I've got to stay clost to his game, see ! " It's at d' table me troubles begins. I does d' social double-shufifle in d' hall all right. D' crush parts to let me t'rough, an' I woiks me way up to me can'date — who, of course, is d' main hobo, bein' he's d' architect of d' blowout — an' gives him d' joyful mit ; what you calls d' glad hand. " ' Glad to see youse, Chucky,' says d' old mark. * Tummas, steer Chucky to his stool be d' table.' " It's at d' table I'm rattled, wit' all d' glasses an' dishes an' d' lights overhead. But I'm cooney all d' same. I ain't onto d' graft meself, but I puts it up on d' quiet I'll pick out some student who knows d' ropes an' string me bets wit' his. 94 SANDBURRS "As I sets there, I flashes me lamps along d' line, an' sort o' stacks up d' blokes, for to pick out d' fly- guys from d' lobsters, see ! " Over 'cross 'd table I lights on an old stiff who looks like he could teach d' game. T'inks I to meself, ' There's a mut who's been t'rough d' mill many a time an' oft. All I got to do now is to pipe his play an' never let him out o' me sight. If I follows his smoke, I'll finish in d' front somewheres, an' none of these mugs'll tumble to me ignorance.' " Say ! on d' level ! there was no flies on that for a scheme, was there? An' it would have been all right, me system would ; only this old galoot I goes nex' to don't have no more sense than me. Why ! he was d' ass of d' evening ! d' prize pig of d' play, he was ! Let me tell youse. " D' foist move, he spreads a little table clot' across his legs. I ain't missin' no tricks, so I gets me hooks on me own little table clot' and spreads it over me legs also. " ' This is good enough for a dog, I t'inks, an' easy money ! Be keepin' me eye on Mr. Goodplayer over there I can do this stunt all right.' " An' so I does. I never lets him lose me onct. " ' How be youse makin' it, Chucky ? ' shouts me can'date from up be d' end of d' room. " ' Out o' sight ! ' I says. ' I'm winner from d' jump ; I'm on velvet.' " ' Play ball ! ' me can'date shouts back to encour- age me, I suppose because he's dead on I ain't no Foxy Quiller at d' racket we're at ; ' play ball, Chucky, an' don't let 'em fan youse out. When you can't bat d' ball, bunt it,' says me can'date. POLITICS 95 " Of course gettin* d' gay face that way from d' boss gives me confidence, an' as a result it ain't two seconts before I'm all but caught off me base. It's in d' soup innin's an' d' flunk slams down d' consomme in a tea cup. It's a new one on me for fair ! I don't at d' time have me lamps on d' mark 'cross d' way, who I'm understudyin', bein' busy, as I says, slingin' d' bit of guff I tells of wit' me can'date. An' bein' off me guard, I takes d' soup for tea or some such dope, an' is layin' out to sugar it. " ' Stan' your hand ! ' says a dub who's organised be me right elbow, an' who's feedin' his face wit' both mits ; ' set a brake ! ' he says. ' That's soup. Did youse t'ink it was booze ? ' " After that I fastens to d' old skate across d' table to note where he's at wit' his game. He's doin' his toin on d' consomme wit' a spoon, so I gets a spoon in me hooks, goes to mixin' it up wit' d' soup as fast as ever, an' follows him out. "An' say ! I'm feelin' dead grateful to this snoozer, see ! He was d' ugliest mug I ever meets, at that. Say ! he was d' limit for looks, an' don't youse doubt it. As I sizes him up I was t'inking to meself, what a wonder he is ! Honest ! if I was a lion an' that old party comes into me cage, do youse know what I'd do? Nit; you don't. Well, I'll tip it to youse straight. If any such lookin' monster showed up in me cage, if d' door was open, I'd get out. That's on d' square, I'd simply give him d' cage an' go an' board in d' woods. An' if d' door was locked an* I couldn't get out, I'd t'row a fit from d' scare. Oh ! he was a dream ! He's one of them t'ings a mark sees after he's been hittin' it up wit' d' lush for a mont'. 96 SANDBURRS " ' But simply because he looks like a murderer,' I reflects, ' that's no reason why he ain't wise. He knows his way t'rough this dinner like a p'liceman does his beat, an' I'll go wit' him.' " It's a go ! When he plays a fork, I plays a fork ; when he boards a shave, I'm only a neck behint him. When he shifts his brush an' tucks his little table clot' over his t'ree-sheet, I'm wit' him. I plays nex' to him from soda to hock. "An* every secont I'm gettin' more confidence in this gezebo, an' more an' more stuck on meself. On d' dead I I was farmer enough to t'ink I'd t'ank him for bein' me guide before I shook d' push an' quit. Say ! he'd be a nice old dub for me to be t'ankin' d' way it toins out. I was a good t'ing to follow him, I don't t'ink. " If I was onto it early that me old friend across d' table had w'eels an' was wrong in his cocoa, I wouldn't have felt so bad, see ! But I'd been playin' him to win, an' foUowin' his lead for two hours. An' I was so sure I was trottin' in front, that all d' time I was jollyin' meself, an' pattin' meself on d' back, an' tellin' meself I was a corker to be gettin* an even run wit' d' 400 d' way I was, d' foist time I enter s'ciety. An' of course, lettin' me nut swell that way makes it all d' harder when I gets d' jolt. " It's at d' finish. I'd gone down d' line wit' this sucker, when one of them waiter touts, who's cappin' d' play for d' kitchen, shoves a bowl of water in front of him. Now, what do youse t'ink he does ? Drink it? Nit; that's what he ought to have done. I'm Dutch if he don't up an' sink his hooks in it. An' then he swabs off his mits wit' d' little table clot'. POLITICS 97 Say ! an* to t'ink I'd been takin' his steer t'rough d' whole racket ! It makes me tired to tell it ! " ' Wat th' 'ell ! ' I says to meself ; ' I've been on a dead one from d' start. This stiff is a bigger mut than I be.' " It let me out. Me heart was broke, an' I ain't had d' gall to hunt up me can'date since. Nit ; I don't stay to say no ' good-byes.' I'm too bashful, as I tells you at d' beginnin'. As it is, I cops a sneak on d' door, side-steps d' outfit, an' screws me nut. The can'- date sees me oozin' out, however, an' sends a chaser after me in d' shape of one of his flunks. He wants me to come back. He says me can'date wants to pre- sent me to his friends. I couldn't stan' for it d' way I felt, an' as d' flunk shows fight an' is goin' to take me back be force, I soaks him one an' comes away. On d' dead ! I feels as 'shamed of d' entire racket as if some sucker had pushed in me face." 7 ESSLEIN GAMES For generations the Essleins have been fanciers of game chickens. The name " Esslein " for a century and a half has had honourable place among Virginians. In his day, they, the Essleins, were as well known as Thomas Jefferson. As this is written they have equal Old Dominion fame with either the Conways, the Fairfaxes, the McCarthys or the Lees. And all be- cause of the purity and staunch worth of the " Esslein Games." It was the broad Esslein boast that no man had chickens of such feather or strain. And this was ac- cepted popularly as truth. The Essleins never loaned, sold, nor gave away egg or chicken. No one could produce the counterpart of the Esslein chickens for looks or warlike heart ; no one ever won a main from the Essleins. So at last it was agreed generally, that no one save the Essleins did have the " Esslein Games;" and this belief went unchallenged while years added themselves to years. But there came a day when a certain one named Smith, who dwelt in the region round about the Ess- leins, and who also had note for his fighting cocks, whispered to a neighbour that he, as well as the Essleins, had the " Esslein Games." The whisper spread into talk, and the talk into general clamour ; everywhere one heard that the long monopoly was broken, and that Smith had the '" Esslein Games." 98 ESSLEIN GAMES 99 This startling story had half confirmation by visitors to the Smith walks. Undoubtedly Smith had chickens, feather for feather, twins of the famous Essleins. That much at least was true. The rest of the question might have evidence pro or con some day, should Smith and the Essleins make a main. But this great day seemed slow, uncertain of ap- proach. Smith would not divulge the genesis of his fowls, nor tell how he came to be possessed of the Esslein chickens. Smith confined himself to the bluff claim : " I've got 'em, and there they be." Beyond this Smith wouldn't go. On their parts, the Essleins, at first maintained themselves in silent dig- nity. They said nothing ; treating the Smith claim as beneath contempt. As man after man, however, went over to the Smith side, the Essleins so far unbent from their pose of tongue-tied hauteur as to call Smith " a liar ! " Still this failed of full effect ; the talk went on, the subject was in mighty dispute, and the Essleins at last, to settle discussion, defied Smith to a main. But Smith refused to fight his chickens against the Essleins. Smith said it was conscience, but failed to go into details. This was damaging. Meanwhile, however, as Smith challenged the world of fighting cocks, and, moreover, won every match he ever made, and barred only the Essleins in his campaigning, there arose, in spite of his steady objection to fighting the Essleins, many who believed Smith and stood forth for it that Smith did have the far-famed " Esslein Games." It is to the credit of the Essleins that they did all that was in their power to bring Smith and his chick- lOO SANDBURRS ens to the battlefield. They offered him every induce- ment known in chicken war, and tendered him a duel for his cocks to be fought for anything from love to money. Firm to the last, Smith wouldn't have it ; and so, discouraged, the Essleins, failing action, nailed as it were their gauntlet to Smith's hen-coop door, and thus the business stood for months. It came about one day that a stranger from Balti- more accepted Smith's standing challenge to fight any- body save the Essleins. The stranger proposed and made a match with Smith to fight him nine battles, $500 on each couple and $2,500 on the general main. And then the news went 'round. There was high excitement in chicken circles. The day came and the sides of the pit were crowded. Smith was in his corner with his handler, getting the first of his champions ready for the struggle. As Smith was holding the chicken for the handler to fasten on the gaffs — drop-socket, they were, and keen as little scime- tars — he chanced to glance across the pit. There stood John, chief of the Essleins. Smith saw it in a moment ; he had been trapped. But it was too late. The match was made and the money was up ; there was no chance to retrace, even if Smith had wanted. As a fact to his glory, however, he had no desire so to do. " We're up against the Essleins, Bill," Smith said to his trainer ; " and it's all right. I didn't want to make a match with them, because I got their chickens queer. And if I'd fought them and won, I'd felt like I'd got their money queer; and that I couldn't stand. But this is different. We'll fight the Essleins now ESSLEIN GAMES loi they're here, and if they can win over me, they're welcome." Then the main began. The first battle was short, sharp, deadly ; and glorious for Smith. The Esslein chicken got a stab in the heart the first buckle. Smith smiled as his handler pulled his chicken's gaff out of its dead victim, and set it free. The Smith entries won the second and third battle. Triumph rode on the glance of Smith, while the Esslein brows were bleak and dark. " Smith's got the ' Esslein Games,' sure ! " was whis- pered about the pit. In the fourth and fifth battles the tide ran the other way, the Esslein chickens killing their rivals. Each battle, for that matter, had so far been to the death. The sixth battle went to Smith and the seventh to the Essleins. Thus it stood four for Smith to three for the Essleins, just before the eighth battle. It didn't look as if Smith could lose. It was at this juncture so hopeful for the coops of Smith, that Smith did a foolish thing. Yielding to the appeals of his trainer. Smith let that worthy man put up a chicken of his own to face the Esslein entry for the eighth duel. It was a gorgeous shawl-neck that Smith's trainer produced ; eye bright as a diamond, and beak like some arrow-head of jet. His legs looked as strong as a hod-carrier's. It was a horse to a hen, so everybody said, that the Esslein chicken, — which was but a small, indifferent bird, — would lose its life, the battle, and the main at one and the same time. Popular conjecture was wrong, as popular conjecture often is. The Esslein chicken locked both gaffs through the shawl-neck's brain in the second buckle. 102 SANDBURRS " That teaches me a lesson," said Smith. " Hereafter should an angel come down from heaven and beg me to let him fight a chicken in a main of mine, I'll turn him down ! " It was the ninth battle and the score stood four for Smith and four for the Essleins. As the slim gaffs, grey and cruelly sharp, were being plaiced on the feathered gladiators for the last deadly joust. Smith called across the pit to John Esslein : " Esslein," he said, " no matter how this last battle may fall, I reckon I've convinced you and everybody looking on, that, just as I said, I've got the ' Esslein Games.' To show you that I know I have, and give you a chance for revenge as well, I'll make this last fight for $10,000 a cock. The main so far has been an even break, and neither of us has won or lost. The last battle decides the tie and wins or loses me $3,000. To make it interesting, I'll raise the risk both ways, if you're willing, just $7,000, and call the bundle ten. And," concluded Smith, as he glanced around the pit, " there isn't a sport here but will believe in his heart, when I, a poor man, offer to make this last battle one for $20,000, that I know that, even if I'm against, I'm at least behind an ' Esslein Game.' " " Make it for $10,000 a cock, then ! " said John Esslein bitterly. " Whether I win or lose main and money too, I've already lost much more than both to-day." Then the fight began. The chickens were big and strong and quick and as dauntlessly savage as ospreys. And feather and size, eye, and beak and leg, they were the absolute counterparts of each other. For ten minutes the battle raged. Either the ■THE CHICKKNh UEKi: IIH, AND bTROM, AMj i JL' ICK. "- - 7 l/^r /t>- ESSLEIN GAMES 103 spurred fencers had more of luck or more of caution than the others. Buckle after buckle occurred, and after ten minutes' fighting the two enemies still faced each other with angry, bead-like eyes, and without so much as a drop of blood spilled. They fronted each other balefuUy while one might count seven. Their beaks travelled up and down as evenly as if moved by the same impulse. Then they clashed together. This time, as they drew apart. Smith's chicken fell upon its side, its right leg cut and broken well up to- ward the hip, with the bone pushing upward and out- ward through the slash of the gaff. " Get your chicken and wring its neck, Smith," said someone. " It's all over ! " " Let them fight ! " responded Smith. " It's not ' all over ! ' That chicken of Esslein's has a long row to hoe to kill that bird of mine." Hardly were the words uttered when a strange chance befell. Smith's prostrate cripple reached up as its foe approached, seized it with its beak, and struggled to its one good foot. In the buckle that followed, the one gaff by some sleight of the cripple slashed the Esslein chicken over the eyes and blinded it. The muscjes closed down and covered the eyes. Otherwise the Esslein cock was unhurt. Then began a long, fierce, yet feeble fight. One chicken couldn't stand and the other couldn't see. The Smith chicken would lie on its side and watch its rival with eyes blazing hate, while the Esslein chicken, blind as a bat, would grope for him. When he came within reach of Smith's chicken, that indomitable bird would seize him with his bill ; there would be some weak. 104 SANDBURRS aimless clashing, and again they'd be separated, the blind one to grope, the cripple to lie and wait. The war limped on in this fashion for almost two hours. But the end came. As the Esslein chicken strayed blindly within reach, its enemy got a strong, sudden grip, and in the collision that was the sequel, the Esslein chicken had its head half slashed from its body. It staggered a step with blood spurting, tottered and fell dead. Smith said never a word, but from first to last his face had been cold and grimly indifferent. His heart was fire, but no one could see it in his face. Evidently the man was as clean-strain as his chickens. That's all there is to the story. What became of the victor with the broken leg ? Smith looked him over, decided it was " no use," and wrung his dauntless neck. The great main was over. Smith had won, everybody knew, as Smith went home that night, that he was $10,000 better off, and that fast and sure, beyond de- nial or doubt, Smith had the " Esslein Games." THE PAINFUL ERROR This is a tale of school life. Fred Avery, Charles Roy and Benjamin Clayton are scholars in the same school. The name of this seminary is withheld by particular request. Suffice it that all three of these youths come and go and have their bright young beings within the neighbourhood of Newark. The age of each is thirteen years. Thirteen is a sinister num- ber. They are all jocund, merry-hearted boys, and put in many hours each day thinking up a good time. One day during the noon hour the school building was all but deserted. Charles Roy, Fred Avery and Benjamin Clayton, however, were there. They had formed plans for their entertainment which demanded the desertion of the school building as chronicled. The coast being fairly clear, the conspiring three pro- ceeded to one of the upper recitation rooms of the building. This room did not appertain to the par- ticular school favoured by the attendance of Fred Avery, Charles Roy and Benjamin Clayton as scholars. This, however, only added zest to the adventure. The room to which our heroes repaired was the recitation stamping ground of a high school class in physiology. The better to know anatomy, the class was furnished with the skeleton of some dead gentle- man, all nicely hung and arranged with wires so as to look as much like former days as possible. During class hours the framework of the dead person stood in 105 io6 SANDBURRS a corner of the room, and the students learned things from it that were useful to know. When off duty it reposed in a box. Fred Avery, Charles Roy and Benjamin Clayton had heard of deceased. Their purpose this noon was to call on him. They gained entrance to the room by the burglarious method of picking the lock. Once within they took the skeleton from its box home and stood it in the window where the public might revel in the spectacle. To take off any grimness of effect they fixed a cob pipe in its bony jaws and clothed the skull in a bad hat, pulled much over the left eye, the whole conferring upon the remains a highly gala, joyous air indeed. Then Charles Roy, Fred Avery and Benjamin Clayton withdrew from the scene. The skeleton in the window was very popular. Countless folk had assembled to gaze upon it at the end of the first ten minutes, and armies were on their way. The principal of the school as he came from lunch saw it and was much vexed. He put the skeleton back in its box, and the hydra-headed public slowly dis- persed. Fred Avery, Charles Roy and Benjamin Clayton secretly gloated over the transaction in detail and entirety. But the principal began to make inquiries ; the avenger was on the track of the criminal three. Some big girls had witnessed the felonious entrance of the guilty ones into the den of the skeleton. The big girls imparted their knowledge to the principal, hunting these felons of the school. But the big girls slipped a cog on one important point. They did not THE PAINFUL ERROR 107 know the recreant Benjamin Clayton. After arguing it all over they decided that " the third boy " was a very innocent young person named Albert Weed, and so gave in the names of the guerillas as : " Charles Roy, Fred Avery and Albert Weed ! " That afternoon the indignant principal demanded that Fred Avery, Charles Roy and Albert Weed attend him to the study. They were there charged with the atrocity of the skeleton in the window. Charles Roy and Fred Avery confessed and asked for mercy. Albert Weed denied having art, part or lot in the outrage. The principal was much shocked at his prompt depravity in trying to lie himself clear. The principal, in order to be exactly just, and evenly fair, craved to know of Charles Roy and Fred Avery : " Was Albert Weed with you ? " " Please, sir, we would rather be excused from an- swering," they said, hanging down their heads. Then the principal knew that Albert Weed was guilty. Fred Avery and Charles Roy were forgiven, and were complimented on their straightforward, manly course in refusing to tell a lie to shield them- selves. " As for you, Albert," observed the principal, as he seized Albert Weed by the top of his head, " as for you, Albert, I do not punish you for being roguish with the skeleton, but for telling me a lie." * * * * * * The principal thereupon lambasted the daylights out of Albert Weed. THE RAT (Annals of The Bend) " Be d' cops at d' Central office fly ? " Chucky buried his face in his tankard in a polite effort to hide his contempt for the question. " Be dey fly ! Say ! make no mistake ! d' Central Office mugs is as soon a set of geezers as ever looked over d' hill. Dey're d' swiftest ever. On d' level ! I t'ink t'ree out of every four of them gezebos could loin to play d' pianny in one lesson. " Just to put youse onto how quick dey be, an' to give you some idee of their curves, let me tell you what dey does to Billy d' Rat. " Youse never chases up on d' Rat ? Nit ! Well, Cully, you don't miss much. Yes, d' Rat's a crook all right. He's a nipper, but a dead queer one, see ! He always woiks alone, an' his lay is diamonds. " ' I don't want no pals or stalls in mine,' says d' Rat. ' I can toin all needful tricks be me lonesome. Stalls is a give-away, see ! Let some sucker holler, an' let one of your mob get pinched, an' what then? Why, about d' time he's stood up an' given d' secont degree be Mc- Clusky, he coughs. That's it ! he squeals, an' d' nex' dash out o' d' box youse don't get a t'ingbut d' collar. Nine out o' ten of d' good people doin' time to-day, was t'rown into soak be some pal knockin'. I passes all that up ! I goes it alone ! If I nips a rock it's io8 THE RAT 109 mine ; I don't split out no bits for no snoozer, see ! I'm d' entire woiks, an' if I stumbles an' falls be d' wayside, it's me's to blame. Which last makes it easier to stan' for.' " That's d' way d' Rat lays out d' ground for me one day," continued Chucky, " an' he ain't slingin' no guff at that. It's d' way he always woiked. " But to skin back to d' Central Office cops an' how fly dey be : One of d' Rat's favourite stunts is dampin' a diamond. What's that ? Youse '11 catch on as me tale unfolds, as d' nov'lists puts it. " Here's how d' Rat would graft. Foist he'd rub up his two lamps wit' pepper till dey looks red an' out of line. When he'd got t'rough doin' d' pepper act to 'em, d' Rat's peeps, for fair ! would do to understudy two fried eggs. " Then d' Rat would pull on a w'ite wig, like he's some old stuff; an' wit' that an' some black goggles over his peeps, his own Rag wouldn't have known him. To t'row 'em down for sure, d' Rat would wear a cork- sole shoe, — one of these 6-inch soles, — like he's got a game trilby. Then when he's all made up in black togs, d' Rat is ready. " Bein' organised, d' Rat hobbles into a cab an' drives to a diamond shop. D' racket is this : Of course it takes a bit of dough, but that's no drawback, for d' Rat is always on velvet an' dead strong. As I say, d' play is this : D' Rat being well dressed an' fitted up wit' his cork-soles, his goggles an' his wig, comes hobblin' into d' diamond joint an' gives d' im- pression he's some rich old mark who ain't got a t'ing but money, an' that he's out to boin a small bundle be way of matchin' a spark which he has wit' him in his no SANDBURRS mit. D' Rat fills d' diamond man up wit- a yarn, how he's goin' to saw a brace of ear-i'ings off on his daughter an' needs d' secont rock, see ! Of course it's a dead case of string. D' Rat ain't got no kid, an' would be d' last bloke to go festoonin' her wit' diamonds if he had. " Naturally, d' mut who owns d' store is out an' eager to do business. D' Rat won't let d' diamond man do d' matchin' ; not on your life! he's goin' to mate them sparks himself. So he gives d' stiff wit' d' store d' tip to spread a handful of stones, say about d' size of d' one he's holdin' in his hooks — which mebby is a 2-carat — on some black velvet for him to pick from. D' diamond party ain't lookin' for no t'row down from an old sore-eyed, cork-sole hobo like d' Rat, so he lays out a sprinklin' of stones. D' Rat, who all this time is starring his bum lamps, an' tellin' how bad an' weak dey be, an' how he can hardly see, gets his map down clost to d' lay-out of sparks, so as he can get onto em an' make d' match. " It's now d' touch comes in. When d' Rat's got his smeller right among d' diamonds, he sticks out his tongue, quick like a toad for a honey-bee, an' nails a gem. That's what dey calls ' dampin' a diamond.' Yes, mebby if there's so many of 'em laid out, he t'inks d' mark behint d' show case will stan' for it wit'out missin' 'em, d' Rat gets two. Then d' Rat goes on jollyin' an' chinnin' wit' d' sparks in his face ; an' mebby for a finish an' to put a cover on d' play, he buys one an' screws his nut. " Wit' his cab, as I says, d' Rat is miles away, an' has time to shed his wig an' goggles an' cork-sole be- fore d' guy wit' d' diamonds tumbles to it he's been done. That's how d' Rat gets in his woik. Now I'll THE RAT III tell youse how d' Central Office people t'run d' harpoon into him. " One day d' Rat makes a play an' gets two butes. He tucks 'em away in back of his teet', an' is just raisin' his nut to say somethin', when d' store duck grabs him an' raises a roar. Two or t'ree cloiks an' a cop off d' street comes sprintin' up, an' away goes d' Rat to d' coop. " Wit' d' foist yell of d' sucker who makes d' front for d' store — naw, he ain't d' owner, he's one of d' cloiks — d' Rat goes clean outside of d' sparks at a gulp ; swallows 'em ; that's what he does. There bein' no diamond toined up, an' no one at headquarters bein' onto him — for he's always laid low an' kept out of sight of d' p'lice — d' Rat makes sure dey'll have to t'run him loose. " But d' boss cop is pretty cooney. He figgers it all out, how d' Rat's a crook, an' how he's eat d' diamonds, just as I says. So he cons d' Rat an' t'rows a dream into him. He tells him there'll be no trouble, but he'll have to keep him for an hour or two until his ' sooperior off'cer,' as he calls him, gets there. He's d' main squeeze, this p'lice dub dey're waitin' for, an' as soon as he shows up an' goes over d' play, d' Rat can screw out. " That's d' sort of song an' dance d' high cop gives d' Rat; an' say! I'm a lobster if d' Rat don't fall to it, at that. On d' dead ! this p'lice duck is so smooth an' flossy d' Rat believes him. " Just for appearances d' Rat registers a big kick ; an' then — for dey don't lock him up at all — he plants himself in a easy chair to do a toin of wait. D' Rat couldn't have broke an' run for it, even if he'd took d' 112 SANDBURRS scare, for d' cops is all over d' place. But he ain't lookin' for d' woist of it nohow. He t'inks it's all as d' boss cop has told him ; he'll wait there an hour or two for d' main guy an' then dey'U cut him free. " After a half hour d' boss cop says : ' It's no use you bein' hungry, me frien', an' as I'm goin' to chew, come wit' me an' feed your face. D' treat's on me, anyhow, bein' obliged to detain a respect'ble old mucker like you. So come along.' " Wit' that d' Rat goes along wit' d' boss cop, an' all d' time he's t'inkin' what a Stoughton bottle d' cop is. " It's nex' door, d' chop-house is. D' cop an' d' Rat sets down an' breasts up to d' table. Dey gives d' orders all right, all right. But say ! d' grub never gets to 'em. D* nex' move after d' orders, d' Rat, who's got a t'irst on from d' worry of bein' lagged, takes a drink out of a glass. " ' I'm poisoned ! ' yells d' Rat as he slams down d' tumbler ; ' somebody's doped me ! ' an' wit' that d' Rat toins in, t'rows a fit, an' is seasick to d' limit. " That's what that boss cop does. He sends over an' doctors a glass while d' Rat is settin' in his oiifice waitin', an' then gives him a bluff about chewin' an' steers d' Rat ag'inst it. Say ! it was a dandy play. D' dope or whatever it was, toins me poor friend d' Rat inside out, like an old woman's pocket. " An' them sparks is recovered. " Yes, d' Rat does a stretch. As d' judge sentences him, d' Rat gives d' cop who downs him his mit. ' You're a wonder,' says d' Rat to d' cop ; ' there's no flies baskin' in d' sun on you. When I reflects on d' way you sneaks d' chaser after them sparks, an' lands 'em, I'm bound to say d' Central Office mugs are onto their job."" CHEYENNE BILL (Wolfville) Cheyenne Bill is out of luck. Ordinarily his vaga- ries are not regarded in Wolfville. His occasional ap- pearance in its single street in a voluntary of nice feats of horsemanship, coupled with an exhibition of pistol shooting, in which old tomato cans and pass6 beer bottles perform as targets, has hitherto excited no more baleful sentiment in the Wolfville bosom than disgust. " Shootin' up the town a whole lot ! " is the name for this engaging pastime, as given by Cheyenne Bill, and up to date the exercise has passed unchallenged. But to-day it is different. Camps like individuals have moods, now light, now dark ; and so it is with Wolfville. At this time Wolfville is experiencing a wave of virtue. This may have come spontaneously from those seeds of order which, after all, dwell sturd- ily in the Wolfville breast. It may have been excited by the presence of a pale party of Eastern tourists, just now abiding at the O. K. Hotel ; persons whom the rather sanguine sentiment of Wolfville credits with meditating an investment of treasure in her rocks and rills. But whatever the reason, Wolfville virtue is aroused ; a condition of the public mind which makes it a bad day for Cheyenne Bill. The angry sun smites hotly in the deserted causeway 8 113 "4 SANDBURRS of Wolfville. The public is within doors. The Red Light Saloon is thriving mightily. Those games which generally engross public thought are drowsy enough ; but the counter whereat the citizen of Wolf- ville gathers with his peers in absorption of the incau- tious compounds of the place, is fairly sloppy from ex- cess of trade. Notwithstanding the torrid heat this need not sound strangely; Wolfville leaning is strongly homoeopathic. " Similia similibus curantur," says Wolfville ; and when it is blazing hot, drinks whiskey. But to-day there is further reason for this consump- tion. Wolfville is excited, and this provokes a thirst. Cheyenne Bill, rendering himself prisoner to Jack Moore, rescue or no rescue, has by order of that saga- cious body been conveyed by his captor before the vigilance committee, and is about to be tried for his life. What was Cheyenne Bill's immediate crime? Cer- tainly not a grave one. Ten days before it would have hardly earned a comment. But now in its spasm of virtue, and sensitive in its memories of the erratic courses of Cheyenne Bill aforetime, Wolfville has grim- ly taken possession of that volatile gentleman for punishment. He has killed a Chinaman. Here is the story : "Yere comes that prairie dog, Cheyenne Bill, all spraddled out," says Dave Tutt. Dave Tutt is peering from the window of the Red Light, to which lattice he has been carried by the noise of hoofs. There is a sense of injury disclosed in Dave Tutt's tone, born of the awakened virtue of Wolfville. " It looks like this camp never can assoome no airs," remarks Cherokee Hall in a distempered way, " but '■EXPRESSING 'ILADSfiME AXn ECs lA I'lC \V [l< IIIVS." - — Pi,