CHAPTER II. WELL-MEANT ADVICE
Kent Burnett, bearing over his arm a coat newly pressed in the Delmonicorestaurant, dodged in at the back door of the saloon, threw the coat downupon the tousled bed, and pushed back his hat with a gesture of relief atan onerous duty well performed.
"I had one hell of a time," he announced plaintively, "and that Chink willlikely try to poison me if I eat over there, after this--but I got herironed, all right. Get into it, Man, and chase yourself over there to thehotel. Got a clean collar? That one's all-over coffee."
Fleetwood stifled a groan, reached into a trousers pocket, and brought up adollar. "Get me one at the store, will you, Kent? Fifteen and a half--and atie, if they've got any that's decent. And hurry! Such a triple-three-starfool as I am ought to be taken out and shot."
He went on cursing himself audibly and bitterly, even after Kenthad hurried out. He was sober now--was Manley Fleetwood--sober andself-condemnatory and penitent. His head ached splittingly; his eyeswere heavy-lidded and bloodshot, and his hands trembled so that he couldscarcely button his coat. But he was sober. He did not even carry the odorof whisky upon his breath or his person; for Kent had been very thoughtfuland very thorough. He had compelled his patient to crunch and swallow manynauseous tablets of "whisky killer," and he had sprinkled his clothesliberally with Jockey Club; Fleetwood, therefore, while he emanated odorsin plenty, carried about him none of the aroma properly belonging tointoxication.
In ten minutes Kent was back, with a celluloid collar and two ties ofquestionable taste. Manley just glanced at them, waved them away withgloomy finality, and swore.
"They're just about the limit, and that's no dream," sympathized Kent, "butthey're clean, and they don't look like they'd been slept in for a month.You've got to put 'em on--by George, I sized up the layout in both thoseimitation stores, and I drew the highest in the deck. And for the Lord'ssake, get a move on. Here, I'll button it for you."
Behind Fleetwood's back, when collar and tie were in place, Kent grinnedand lowered an eyelid at Jim, who put his head in from the saloon to seehow far the sobering had progressed.
"You look fine!" he encouraged heartily. "That green-and-blue tie's justwhat you need to set you off. And the collar sure is shiny and nice--yourgirl will be plumb dazzled. She won't see anything wrong--believe _me_.Now, run along and get married. Here, you better sneak out the back way; ifshe happened to be looking out, she'd likely wonder what you were doing,coming out of a saloon. Duck out past the coal shed and cut into the streetby Brinberg's. Tell her you're sick--got a sick headache. Your looks'llswear it's the truth. Hike!" He opened the door and pushed Fleetwood out,watched him out of sight around the corner of Brinberg's store, and turnedback into the close-smelling little room.
"Do you know," he remarked to Jim, "I never thought of it before, but I'vebeen playing a low-down trick on that poor girl. I kinda wish now I'd puther next, and given her a chance to draw outa the game if she wanted to.It's stacking the deck on her, if you ask _me_!" He pushed his hat backupon his head, gave his shoulders a twist of dissatisfaction, and told Jimto dig up some Eastern beer; drank it meditatively, and set down the glasswith some force.
"Yes, sir," he said disgustedly, "darn my fool soul, I stacked the deck onthat girl--and she looked to be real nice. Kinda innocent and trusting,like she hasn't found out yet how rotten mean men critters can be." He tookthe bottle and poured himself another glass. "She's sure due to wise up alot," he added grimly.
"You bet your sweet life!" Jim agreed, and then he reconsidered. "Still, Idunno; Man ain't so worse. He ain't what you can call a real booze fighter.This here's what I'd call an accidental jag; got it in the exuberance ofthe joyful moment when he knew his girl was coming. He'll likely straightenup and be all right. He--" Jim broke off there and looked to see who hadopened the door.
"Hello, Polly," he greeted carelessly.
The man came forward, grinning skinnily. Polycarp Jenks was the outrageousname of him. He was under the average height, and he was lean to the pointof emaciation. His mouth was absolutely curveless--a straight gash acrosshis face; a gash which simply stopped short without any tapering or anyturn at the corners, when it had reached as far as was decent. His nose wasalso straight and high, and owned no perceptible slope; indeed, it seemedmerely a pendant attached to his forehead, and its upper termination wasindefinite, except that somewhere between his eyebrows one felt impelled toconsider it forehead rather than nose. His eyes also were rather long andnarrow, like buttonholes cut to match the mouth. When he grinned his faceappeared to break up into splinters.
He was intensely proud of his name, and his pleasure was almost patheticwhen one pronounced it without curtailment in his presence. His skinninesswas also a matter of pride. And when you realize that he was anindefatigable gossip, and seemed always to be riding at large, gathering orimparting trivial news, you should know fairly well Polycarp Jenks.
"I see Man Fleetwood's might' near sober enough to git married," Polycarpbegan, coming up to the two and leaning a sharp elbow upon the bar besideKent. "By granny, gitting married'd sober anybody! Dinner time he was sodrunk he couldn't find his mouth. I met him up here a little ways just now,and he was so sober he remembered to pay me that ten I lent him t' otherday--_he-he!_ Open up a bottle of pop, James.
"His girl's been might' near crying her eyes out, 'cause he didn't showup. Mis' Hawley says she looked like she was due at a funeral 'stid of aweddin'. 'Clined to be stuck up, accordin' to Mis' Hawley--shied at hearin'about Walt--_he-he!_ I'll bet there ain't been a transient to that hotel inthe last five year, man or woman, that ain't had to hear about Walt and theshotgun--Pop's all right on a hot day, you bet!
"She's got two trunks and a fiddle over to the depot--don't see how 'n theworld Man's going to git 'em out to the ranch; they're might' near as bigas claim shacks, both of 'em. Time she gits 'em into Man's shack she'llhave to go outside every time she wants to turn around--_he-he!_ Bygranny--two trunks, to one woman! Have some pop, Kenneth, on me.
"The boys are talkin' about a shivaree t'-night. On the quiet, y' know.Some of 'em's workin' on a horse fiddle now, over in the lumber yard.Wanted me to play a coal-oil can, but I dunno. I'm gittin' a leetle old forsech doings. Keeps you up nights too much. Man had any sense, he'd marryand pull outa town. 'Bout fifteen or twenty in the bunch, and a string ofcans and irons to reach clean across the street. By granny, I'm going toplug m' ears good with cotton when it comes off--_he-he!_ 'Nother bottle ofpop, James."
"Who's running the show, Polycarp?" Kent asked, accepting the glass of sodabecause he disliked to offend. "Funny I didn't hear about it."
Polycarp twisted his slit of a mouth knowingly, and closed one slit of aneye to assist the facial elucidation.
"Ain't funny--not when I tell you Fred De Garmo's handing out the_in_vites, and he sure aims to have plenty of excitement--_he-he!_Betcher Manley won't be able to set on the wagon seat an' hold the linest'-morrow--not if he comes out when he's called and does the thingproper--_he-he!_ An' if he don't show up, they aim to jest about pull theold shebang down over his ears. Hope'll think it's the day of judgment,sure--_he-he!_ Reckon I might's well git in on the fun--they won't be nosleepin' within ten mile of the place, nohow, and a feller always sees thejoke better when he's lendin' a hand. Too bad you an' Fred's on the outs,Kenneth."
"Oh, I don't know--it suits me fine," Kent declared easily, setting downhis glass with a sigh of relief; he hated "pop."
"What's it all about, anyway?" quizzed Polycarp, hungering for the detailswhich had thus far been denied him. "De Garmo sees red whenever anybodymentions your name, Kenneth--but I never did hear no particulars."
"No?" Kent was turning toward the door. "Well, you see, Fred claims hecan holler louder than I can, and I say he can't." He opened the door andcalmly departed, leaving Polycarp looking exceedingly foolish and a bitangry.
Straight to the hotel, without any pretense at disguising his destination,marched Kent. He went into the office--which
was really a saloon--invitedHawley to drink with him, and then wondered audibly if he could beg somepie from Mrs. Hawley.
"Supper'll be ready in a few minutes," Hawley informed him, glancing up atthe round, dust-covered clock screwed to the wall.
"I don't want supper--I want pie," Kent retorted, and opened a door whichled into the hallway. He went down the narrow passage to another door,opened it without ceremony, and was assailed by the odor of manythings--the odor which spoke plainly of supper, or some other assortment offood. No one was in sight, so he entered the dining room boldly, stepped toanother door, tapped very lightly upon it, and went in. By this somewhatroundabout method he invaded the parlor.
Manley Fleetwood was lying upon an extremely uncomfortable couch, of thekind which is called a sofa. He had a lace-edged handkerchief folded uponhis brow, and upon his face was an expression of conscious unworthinesswhich struck Kent as being extremely humorous. He grinned understandinglyand Manley flushed--also understandingly. Valeria hastily released Manley'shand and looked very prim and a bit haughty, as she regarded the intruderfrom the red plush chair, pulled close to the couch.
"Mr. Fleetwood's head is very bad yet," she informed Kent coldly. "I reallydo not think he ought to see--anybody."
Kent tapped his hat gently against his leg and faced her unflinchingly,quite unconscious of the fact that she regarded him as a dissolute, drunkencowboy with whom Manley ought not to associate.
"That's too bad." His eyes failed to drop guiltily before hers, butcontinued to regard her calmly. "I'm only going to stay a minute. I came totell you that there's a scheme to raise--to 'shivaree' you two, tonight. Ithought you might want to pull out, along about dark."
Manley looked up at him inquiringly with the eye which was not covered bythe lace-edged handkerchief. Valeria seemed startled, just at first. Thenshe gave Kent a little shock of surprise.
"I have read about such things. A _charivari_, even out here in thisuncivilized section of the country, can hardly be dangerous. I really donot think we care to run away, thank you." Her lip curled unmistakably."Mr. Fleetwood is suffering from a sick headache. He needs rest--not acowardly night ride."
Naturally Kent admired the spirit she showed, in spite of that eloquentlip, the scorn of which seemed aimed directly at him. But he still facedher steadily.
"Sure. But if I had a headache--like that--I'd certainly burn the earthgetting outa town to-night. _Shivarees_"--he stuck stubbornly to his ownway of saying it--"are bad for the head. They aren't what you could callsilent--not out here in this uncivilized section of the country. They'replumb--" He hesitated for just a fraction of a second, and his resentmentof her tone melted into a twinkle of the eyes. "They've got fifty coal-oilcans strung with irons on a rope, and there'll be about ninety-fivesix-shooters popping, and eight or ten horse-fiddles, and they'll all beyelling to beat four of a kind. They're going," he said quite gravely, "toplay the full orchestra. And I don't believe," he added ironically, "it'sgoing to help Mr. Fleetwood's head any."
Valeria looked at him doubtingly with steady, amber-colored eyes before sheturned solicitously to readjust the lace-edged handkerchief. Kent seizedthe opportunity to stare fixedly at Fleetwood and jerk his head meaninglybackward, but when, warned by Manley's changing expression, she glancedsuspiciously over her shoulder, Kent was standing quietly by the door withhis hat in his hand, gazing absently at Walt in his gilt-edged frame uponthe gilt easel, and waiting, evidently, for their decision.
"I shall tell them that Mr. Fleetwood is sick--that he has a horribleheadache, and mustn't be disturbed."
Kent forgot himself so far as to cough slightly behind his hand. Valeria'seyes sparkled.
"Even out here," she went on cuttingly, "there must be some men who aregentlemen!"
Kent refrained from looking at her, but the blood crept darkly into histanned cheeks. Evidently she "had it in for him," but he could not see why.He wondered swiftly if she blamed him for Manley's condition.
Fleetwood suddenly sat up, spilling the handkerchief to the floor. WhenValeria essayed to push him back he put her hand gently away. He rose andcame over to Kent.
"Is this straight goods?" he demanded. "Why don't you stop it?"
"Fred De Garmo's running this show. My influence wouldn't go as far--"
Fleetwood turned to the girl, and his manner was masterful. "I'm going outwith Kent--oh, Val, this is Mr. Burnett. Kent, Miss Peyson. I forgot youtwo aren't acquainted."
From Valeria's manner, they were in no danger of becoming friends. Heracknowledgment was barely perceptible. Kent bowed stiffly.
"I'm going to see about this, Val," continued Fleetwood. "Oh, my head'sbetter--a lot better, really. Maybe we'd better leave town--"
"If your head is better, I don't see why we need run away from a lot ofsilly noise," Valeria interposed, with merciless logic. "They'll thinkwe're awful cowards."
"Well, I'll try and find out--I won't be gone a minute, dear." After thatword, spoken before another, he appeared to be in great haste, and pushedKent rather unceremoniously through the door. In the dining room, Kentdiplomatically included the landlady in the conference, by a gesture ofmuch mystery bringing her in from the kitchen, where she had been curiouslypeeping out at them.
"Got to let her in," he whispered to Manley, "to keep her face closed."
They murmured together for five minutes. Kent seemed to meet with someopposition from Fleetwood--an aftermath of Valeria's objections toflight--and became brutally direct.
"Go ahead--do as you please," he said roughly. "But you know that bunch.You'll have to show up, and you'll have to set 'em up, and--aw, thunder!By morning you'll be plumb laid out. You'll be headed into one of yourfour-day jags, and you know it. I was thinking of the girl--but if youdon't care, I guess it's none of my funeral. Go to it--but darned if I'dwant to start my honeymoon out like that!"
Fleetwood weakened, but still he hesitated. "If I didn't show up--" hebegan hopefully. But Kent wittered him with a look.
"That bunch will be two-thirds full before they start out. If you don'tshow up, they'll go up and haul you outa bed--hell, Man! You'd likely startin to kill somebody off. Fred De Garmo don't love you much better than heloves me. You know what him and his friends would do then, I should think."He stopped, and seemed to consider briefly a plan, but shook his headover it. "I could round up a bunch and stand 'em off, maybe--but we'd beshooting each other up, first rattle of the box. It's a whole lot easierfor you to get outa town."
"I'll tell somebody you got the bridal chamber," hissed Arline, in a veryloud whisper. "That's number two, in front. I can keep a light going andpass back 'n' forth once in a while, to look like you're there. That'llfool 'em good. They'll wait till the light's been out quite a while beforethey start in. You go ahead and git married at seven, jest as you was goingto--and if Kent'll have the team ready somewheres, I can easy sneak you outthe back way."
"I couldn't get the team out of town without giving the whole deal away,"Kent objected. "You'll have to go horseback.".
"Val can't ride," Fleetwood stated, as if that settled the matter.
"Damn it, she's got to ride!" snapped Kent, losing patience. "Unless youwant to stay and go on a toot that'll last a week, most likely."
"Val belongs to the W.C.T.U.," shrugged Fleetwood. "She'd never--"
"Well, it's that or have a fight on your hands you maybe can't handle. Idon't see any sense in haggling about going, now you know what to expect.But, of course," he added, with some acrimony, "it's your own business. Idon't know what the dickens I'm getting all worked up over it for. Suityourself." He turned toward the door.
"She could ride my Mollie--and I got a sidesaddle hanging up in the coalshed. She could use that, or a stock saddle, either one," planned Mrs.Hawley anxiously. "You better pull out, Man."
"Hold on, Kent! Don't rush off--we'll go," Fleetwood surrendered. "Valwon't like it, but I'll explain as well as I can, without--Say! you stayand see us married, won't you? It's at seven, and--"
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Kent's fingers curled around the doorknob. "No, thanks. Weddings andfunerals are two bunches of trouble I always ride 'way around. Time enoughwhen you've got to be _it_. Along about nine o'clock you try and get out tothe stockyards without letting the whole town see you go, and I'll have thehorses there; just beyond the wings, by that pile of ties. You know theplace. I'll wait there till ten, and not a minute longer. That'll give youan hour, and you won't need any more time than that if you get down tobusiness. You find out from her what saddle she wants, and you can tell mewhile I'm eating supper, Mrs. Hawley. I'll 'tend to the rest." He did notwait to hear whether they agreed to the plan, but went moodily down thenarrow passage, and entered frowningly the "office." Several men weregathered there, waiting the supper summons. Hawley glanced up from wiping aglass, and grinned.
"Well, did you git the pie?"
"Naw. She said I'd got to wait for mealtime. She plumb chased me out."
Fred De Garmo, sprawled in an armchair and smoking a cigar, lazily fannedthe smoke cloud from before his face and looked at Kent attentively.