CHAPTER IV
BRIGHAM
If his strategic victory over Henry Lee had given Bowles, the pseudocowboy, any swelled-up ideas about taking the Bat Wing outfit by storm,he was promptly undeceived when he went up against Gloomy Gus, the cook.Gus had set the sour dough for men old enough to be Mr. Bowles'grandfather; men who were, so he averred, the superiors of any punchersnow living and conspicuously prompt at their meals. In striking contrastto these great souls, Bowles had lingered entirely too long up at thebig house; and when, after tying up his horse and feeding him some ofMr. Lee's long-treasured hay, he came dragging up to the chuck-wagon,the hour of grace had passed. Gloomy Gus was reclining beside his firein converse with a red-headed cowboy, and neither of them looked up.
"Ah, pardon me," began Mr. Bowles, with perhaps a trace of condescensionin his voice; "can you tell me where I will find the cook?"
The red-headed cowboy sat like a graven image, with his eyes fixed onthe fire, and finally the cook replied.
"You'll find him right here, Mister," he said, "from four o'clock in themornin' till sundown--and then, by grab, he quits!"
The injured emphasis with which this last was enunciated left no doubtas to the identity of the speaker, and Bowles murmured polite regrets;but, coming as he did from a land where cooks are not kings, hecontinued with the matter in hand.
"So sorry," he purled, "if I am a little late; but Mr. Lee told me tocome down here and ask you to give me some dinner."
"Huh!" grunted the cook. "Did you hear that, Brigham?"
The cowboy nodded gravely and squinched his humorous eyes at the fire.He was a burly young man, dressed for business in overalls and jumper,but sporting a big black hat and a fine pair of alligator-topped boots;and from the way his fat cheeks wrinkled up it was evident he wasexpecting some fun.
The cook regarded Bowles for a minute with evident disapproval; then heraised himself on one elbow and delivered his ultimatum.
"Well, Mr. Man," he rasped, making his manner as offensive as possible,"you go back and tell Mr. Lee that I won't give you no dinner. Savvy? Efyou'd come round when you first rode in I might've throwed you outsomethin', but now you can rustle yore own grub."
At these revolutionary remarks, Mr. Bowles started, and for a moment healmost forgot his breeding; then he withdrew into himself, and let thegaucherie pass with the contempt which it deserved. But it is hard to bedignified when you are hungry, and after several minutes of silence headdressed himself to the cowboy.
"Excuse me," he said, "but is there any other place nearby where I couldbuy a little food?"
"W'y, no, stranger," returned the cowboy amiably; "I don't reckon thereis. Why don't you pick up a little around here? They's some coffee inthat pot."
He nodded toward a large black coffee-pot that stood simmering by thefire, and Bowles cast a questioning glance at the cook.
"Hop to it!" exclaimed that dignitary, not a little awed by thestranger's proud reserve. "They's some bread in that can up there."
But still Bowles was helpless.
"Er--where do you eat?" he inquired, looking about for some sign of atable, or even of a plate and cup.
"Anywhere!" answered the cook, with a large motion of the hand. Then, ashis guest still stood staring, he wearily rose to his feet. Without aword, he reached down into a greasy box and grabbed out a tin plate andcup; from another compartment he fished forth a knife, fork and spoon;with a pot-hook he lifted the cover of an immense Dutch oven, thumped anoil-can half-full of cooked beans, and slopped a little coffee out ofthe pot. Then he let down the hinged door to his chuck-box, spread aclean white flour sack on it, laid out the dishes with elaboratesolicitude, and slumped down again by the fire. Nothing said--and thecowboy sat nerveless in his place--but Mr. Bowles felt rebuked. He was atenderfoot--an Easterner masquerading as a cowboy--and every movement ofthe sardonic pot-tender was calculated to rub it in and leave him, as itdid, in a welter of rage and shame.
From the oil-can be dipped out some beans; he poured coffee and ate insilence, not daring to ask for butter or sugar lest he should stillfurther reveal his ignorance; and when he had finished his meal heslipped away and went out to look at his horse. A piano was tinkling upat the big house, and the stars were very bright, but neither stars normusic could soothe his wounds, and at last he went back to the fire. Thecook was gone now, and the cowboy also; the big noise was in the long,low building from which so many heads had appeared when he rode in fromChula Vista. He paused at the doorway, and listened; then, bracinghimself for the hazing which was his due, he knocked.
"Come in!" yelled a raucous voice in an aside to the general uproar."Come in here----No, by thunder, you played a seven! Well, where is it,then? Show me, pardner; I'm from Missou'. If you played the jack, whereis it?"
Bowles pushed open the door, that scraped and sagged as he shoved it,and stepped into a room that was exactly posed for one of thoseold-fashioned pictures labeled "Evil Associates; or The First StepToward Destruction." At a long table, upon which burned a smoky lamp, agroup of roughly dressed men were wrangling over a game of cards, whileother evil-doers looked over their shoulders and added to the generalblasphemy. A growth of beard, ranging anywhere from three days' to aweek's, served to give them all a ferocious, cave-dweller appearance;and so intent were they on their quarrel that not a man looked up. IfBowles had expected to be the center of the stage, it was from anexaggerated sense of his own importance, for so lightly was he held thatno one so much as glanced at him--with the single exception of thered-headed cowboy, who was playing a mouth-organ in the corner--untilthe missing jack was produced.
A wooden bunk, built against the wall, was weighed down with a sprawlingmass of long-limbed men; on the floor the canvas-covered beds of thecowboys were either thrown flat or still doubled up in rolls; and theonly other furniture in sight was the two benches by the table and a hotstove that did yeoman service as a cuspidor. The air was thick with thesmoke of cigarettes, and those who did not happen to be smoking werechewing plug tobacco, but the thing which struck Bowles as mostremarkable was the accuracy with which they expectorated. A half oil-canfilled with ashes served as a mark on the farther side; and the big,bull-voiced puncher who had so casually bid him come in was spittingthrough a distant knot-hole, which was rapidly becoming the center of a"Texas Flag."
Really, it was astounding to Bowles, even after all he had read and seenenacted on the films, to observe the rude abandon of these Westerncharacters, and particularly in their speech. Somehow the Western taleshe had read had entirely failed to catch the startling imagery of theirvernacular--or perhaps the editors had cut it out. The well-knowntendency toward personal violence, however, was ever present, and asBowles made bold to overlook the game a controversy sprang up whichthreatened to result in bloodshed.
The bull-voiced man--a burly, hook-nosed Texan, who answered to the nameof Buck--was playing partners with a tall, slim, quiet-spoken puncherwho centered all his thoughts on the cards; and against them were rangeda good-natured youth called Happy Jack and the presumptuous cowboy whohad offered to kiss Dixie Lee. The game was fast, proceeding by signsand grunts and mysterious knocks on the table, and as it neared itsclose and each man threw down his cards with a greater vehemence, HappyJack flipped out three final cards and made a grab for the matches. Butthis did not suit the ideas of the bull moose and his partner, and theyrose from their seats with a roar.
"What you claim?" demanded Buck, laying a firm hand on the stakes.
"High, low, and the game!" answered Happy Jack wrathfully.
"You ain't got no game," put in the quiet puncher. "Why don't you playyore hand out instead of makin' a grab?"
"Here now!" spoke up Dixie Lee's miscreant friend, leaning half-wayacross the table. "You-all quit jumpin' on Happy or I'll bust you on the_cabezon_!"
"Yes, you will!" sneered Buck, shoving his big head closer, as if todare the blow. "You don't look bad to me, Hardy Atkins, and never did;and don't you never think for a moment tha
t you can run it over me andBill, because you cain't! Now you better pull in that ornery face ofyourn while it's all together--and we're goin' to count them cards, bythis-and-that, if it's the last act!"
So they raged and wrangled, apparently on the very verge of a personalconflict; but as the play wore on Bowles became increasingly aware of acontemptuous twinkle that dwelt in the eyes of the man called HardyAtkins. Then it came over him suddenly that other eyes were upon him;and instantly the typical Western scene was wrecked, and he saw himselfmade the fool. No burst of ruffianly laughter gave point to thewell-planned jest--it passed over as subtly as a crisis in highsociety--but as he turned away from the game Bowles found himself inpossession of a man-sized passion. Back where he came from an open,personal hatred was considered a little _outre_; but the spirit of thewilds had touched him already, and Hardy Atkins, the green-eyed,familiar friend of Dixie Lee, was the man that he hoped would choke.
As interest in the pitch game languished and a scuffle made the bunkuntenable, stray cowboys began to drift outside again, some to seek outtheir beds beneath the wagon-sheds and others to foregather about thefire. First among these was the red-headed man called Brigham; and whenBowles, after sitting solitary for a while, followed after them, hefound Brigham the center of attraction. Perched upon an upturned box,and with one freckled hand held out to keep the firelight from his eyes,he was holding forth with a long story which had everybody listening.
"And I says to this circus feller," he was saying, "'Well, I ain't neverdone no bareback work, but if you cain't git no one else to jump throughthem hoops I'll guarantee to take the pretty outer _one_ of 'em. But yoube mighty p'ticular to pop that whip of yourn, pardner,' I says to thering-master, 'or that ol' rockin'-hawse will git away from me.'"
He cocked one eye up to see if Bowles was listening, and then indulgedin a reminiscent chuckle.
"Well, I climbed up on that ol' rockin'-hawse--I was dressed like aclown, of course--and after the regular people had gone round the ring Icome rackin' along out of the side-tent, a-bowin' to all the ladies andwhistlin' to all the dogs, until you'd think I was goin' to do wonders.But all the kids was on, and they begin to laugh and throw peanuts,because they knowed the clown was bound to git busted--that's what therascal is paid fer. Well, we went canterin' around the ring, me and thatold white hawse that had been doin' it for fifteen years, and every timewe come to a hoop I'd make my jump--the ring-master would pop hiswhip--and when I come squanderin' out the other side the old hawse wouldbe right there to ketch me. Trick he had--he'd slow down and kinder waitfer me--but that dogged ring-master put up a job on me--he shore did;but the scoundrel tried to lie out of it afterwards.
"You see, them people that come out to Coney they expect somethin' fertheir money, and bein' as I was only the fill-in man and the otherfeller was comin' back anyway, the management decided to ditch me. Sowhen I made a jump at my last hoop the ring-master forgot to pop hiswhip--or so he said--and I come down on my head and like to killed me.Well, sir, the way them people hollered you'd think the king had come,an' when a couple of fool clowns come runnin' out and carried me off ona shutter they laughed till they was pretty nigh sick. That's the way itis at Coney Island--unless somebody is gittin' killed, them tight-wadswon't spend a cent."
The red-headed raconteur laughed a little to himself, and, seeing hisaudience still attentive, he launched out into another.
"Yes, sir!" he began. "That's a great place--old Coney. You boys that'snever been off the range don't know what it is you've missed. There'sside shows, and circuses, and shoot-the-chutes, and whirley-go-rounds,and Egyptian seeresses, and hot-dog joints, and--well, say, speakin' ofhot-dog reminds me of the time I took the job of spieler fer Go-Go, thedog-faced boy. This here Go-Go was a yaller nigger that they had riggedup like a cannibal and put in a big box along with a lot of dehornedrattlesnakes, Gila monsters, and sech. It was my job to stand up overthe box, while the ballyhoo man outside was pullin' 'em in, and pop awhip over this snake-eatin' cannibal, and let on like he was tryin' toescape. I had a little old pistol that I'd shoot off, and then Go-Gowould rattle his chain and yell '_Owww-wah!_' like he was sure eatin''em alive.
"That was the barker's cue, and he'd holler out: 'Listen to the wildthing! He howls, and howls, and howls! Go-Go, the wild boy, thesnake-eatin' Igorotte from the Philippines! Step right in, ladies andgentlemen! The price is ten cents, one dime, the tenth part of adollar----' and all that kind of stuff, until the place was filled up.Then it was my turn to spiel, and I'd git up on the box, with ablacksnake in one hand and that little old pistol in the other, and say:
"'La-adies and gentle-men, before our performance begins I wish to say afew words relatin' to Echigogo Cabagan, the wild boy of Luzon. Thisstrange creature was captured by Lieutenant Crawford, of theSeventy-ninth Heavy Artillery, in the wilds of the Igorotte country inthe Philippines. At the time of his recovery he was livin' in thetropical jungles, never havin' seen a human face, an' subsistin'entirely upon poisonous reptyles, which was his only pets andcompanions. So frequently was he bit by these venomous reptyles thatProfessor Swope, of the Philadelphia Academy, after a careful analysisof his blood, figgers out that it contains seven fluid ounces of thedeadly poison, or enough to kill a thousand men.
"'On account of the requests of the humane society, the mayor, andseveral prominent ladies now present in the audience, we will do ourbest to prevent Go-Go from eatin' his snakes alive but----' and rightthere was the nigger's cue to come in.
"'_Oww-wah!_' he'd yell, shakin' his chain and tearin' around in hisbox, '_Ow-woo-wah_!' And then he'd grab up them pore, sufferin'rattlesnakes and sech, and quile 'em around his neck, and snap his teethlike he was bitin' heads off--and me, I'd pop my whip and shoot off mypistol, and scare them fool people most to death.
"Well, that was the kind of an outfit it was, and one day when thenigger was quieted down between acts and playin' with a rag-doll we hadgive him in order to make him look simple-minded-like, a big, buck Injunfrom the Wild West Show come in with the bunch and looked at Go-Gokinder scary-like. You know----"
A noise of scuffling feet made the story-teller pause, and then the gangof card players came tumbling out of the bunk-house.
"Let's roast some ribs," said one.
"No, I want some bread and lick," answered another.
"What's the matter with aigs?" broke in a third.
"Say, you fellers shut up, will you?" shouted a man by the fire. "OldBrig's tellin' us a story!"
"Oh, git 'im a chin-strap," retorted the bull-voiced Buck. "I want someribs!"
"Well, keep still, can't ye?" appealed the anxious listener; but silencewas not on the cards. The chuck-box was broken open and ransacked for abutcher-knife; then as Buck went off to trim away the ribs of the cook'sbeef, Hardy Atkins and his friends made merry with the quiet company.
"Ridin' 'em again, are you, Brigham?" inquired Happy Jack with a grin.
"No, he's divin' off'n that hundred-foot pole!" observed Poker-facedBill sardonically.
"And never been outside the Territory!" commented Hardy Atkins _sottovoce_.
Something about this last remark seemed to touch the loquacious Brigham,for he answered it with spirit:
"Well, that's more than some folks can say," he retorted. "I sure neverrun no hawse race with the sheriff out of Texas!"
"No, you pore, ignorant Jack Mormon," jeered Atkins; "and you never rodeno circus hawse at Coney Island, neither. I've seen fellers that knowedyore kinfolks down on the river, and they swore to Gawd you never beenoutside of Arizona. More'n that, they said you was a worser liar thanold Tom Pepper--and he got kicked out of hell fer lyin'."
A guffaw greeted this allusion to the fate of poor old Tom; but Brighamwas not to be downed by comparisons.
"Yes," he drawled; "I heerd about Tom Pepper. I heerd say he was aTexican, and the only right smart one they was; and the people downthere was so dog ignorant, everything he told 'em they thought it was alie. Built up quite a reputation that way--like
me, here. Seems likeevery time I tell these Arizona Texicans anything, they up and say I'mlyin'."
He ran his eye over his audience and, finding no one to combat himfurther, he lapsed into a mellow philosophy.
"Yes," he said, cocking his eye again at Bowles; "I'm an ignorant kindof a feller, and I don't deny it; but I ain't one of these men thatwon't believe a thing jest because I never seen it. Now, here's agentleman here--I don't even know his name--but the chances are, if he'sever been to Coney, he'll tell you my stories is nothin'."
"How about that hundred-foot pole?" inquired Poker Bill, as Bowles bowedand blushed.
"Yes, sure!" agreed Brigham readily. "We'll take that one now and let itgo fer the bunch. If that's true, they're all true, eh?"
"That's me!" observed Bill laconically.
"All right, then, stranger," continued Brigham. "We'll jest leave thematter with you, and if what I said ain't true I'll never open my headagain. I was tellin' these pore, ignorant Texas cotton-pickers that backat Coney Island they was a feller that did high divin'--ever seeanything like that? All right, then, this is what I told 'em. I told 'emthis divin' sport had a pole a hundred foot high, with a tank of waterat the bottom six foot deep and mebbe ten foot square, and when it cometime he climbed up to the top and stood on a little platform, facin'backwards and lookin' into a pocket mirror. Then he begun to lean overbackwards, and finally, when everything was set, he threw a flip-flapand hit that tank a dead center without hurtin' himself a bit. Now, howabout it--is that a lie?"
He looked up at Bowles with a steady gaze; and that gentleman did notfail him.
"Why, no," he said; "really, I see no reason to doubt what you say. Ofcourse, I haven't been to Coney Island recently, but such events arequite a common occurrence there."
"Now, you see?" inquired Brigham triumphantly. "This gentleman has beenaround a little. Back at Coney them stunts is nothin'! They don't evencharge admission."
"But how can that feller hit the water every time?" argued Bill thedoubter, pressing forward to fight the matter out.
"Don't make no difference how he does it," answered Brigham; "that's_his_ business. If people knowed how he done it, they wouldn't come tosee 'im no more. By jicks, I'd jest like to take some of you fellersback to New York and show you some of the real sights. I ain't hardlydared to open my mouth since I took on with this ignorant outfit, butnow that I got a gentleman here that's been around a little I may loosenup and tell you a few things."
"Oh, my Joe!" groaned Hardy Atkins, making a motion like fanning beesfrom his ears. "Hear the doggone Mormon talk--and never been outer theTerritory! Been pitchin' hay and drinkin' ditch-water down on the Gilaall his life and----"
"That's all right," retorted Brigham stoutly; "I reckon----"
"Well, git out of the way!" shouted the voice of Buck. "And throw downthat frame so I can roast these ribs!"
That ended the controversy for the time, but before the ribs were cookedBrigham edged in another story--and he proved it by Mr. Bowles. It was atrifle improbable, perhaps, but Bowles was getting the spirit of theGreat West and he vouched for it in every particular. Then when the ribswere done he cut some of the scorched meat from the bones, and ate ithalf-raw with a pinch of salt, for he was determined to be a true sport.Buck and Brigham devoured from one to two pounds apiece and gnawed onthe bones like dogs; but Mr. Bowles was more moderate in his desires.What he really longed for was a bed or a place to sleep; but thegentleman who had coached him on cowboy life--and sold him his fancyoutfit--had not mentioned the sleeping accommodations, and Bowles wastoo polite to inquire. So he hung around until the last story was told,and followed the gang back to the bunk-house.
Each man went to his big blanket roll and spread it out for the nightwithout a single glance at the suppliant, for a cowboy hates to sharehis bed; but as they were taking off their boots Brigham Clark spoke up.
"Ain't you got no bed, stranger?" he inquired; and when Bowles shook hishead he looked at Hardy Atkins, who as bronco-twister and top-hand heldthe job of straw-boss. A silence fell and Bowles glanced about uneasily.
"There's a bed over there in the saddle-room," observed Atkins, with apeculiar smile.
A startled look went around the room, and then Buck came in on the play.
"Yes," he said, "that feller ain't here now."
"Oh, thank you," began Bowles, starting toward it; but he was halted inhis tracks by a savage oath from Brigham.
"Here!" he ordered. "You come and sleep with me--that's Dunbar's bed!"
"Dunbar's!" exclaimed Bowles with a gasp. "Ah, I see!" And with a secretshudder he turned away from the dead man's bed and crept in next toBrigham.