down and doit, for there's nothin' stuck-up about me, you know; but that darnedfool Captain Jim has got the big head about the style of the paper, anddarned if I don't think he's afraid if there's a lettin' down, peoplemay think it's him! Ez if! Why, you know as well as me that there's asort of snap I could give these things that would show it was me and noslouch did them, in a minute."
I had my doubts about the elegance or playfulness of Mr. Bassett'strifling, but from some paragraphs that appeared in the next issue ofthe "Guardian" I judged that he had won over Captain Jim--if indeedthat gentleman's alleged objections were not entirely the outcome ofBassett's fancy. The social paragraphs themselves were clumsy andvulgar. A dull-witted account of a select party at Parson Baxter's,with a point-blank compliment to Polly Baxter his daughter, might havemade her pretty cheek burn but for her evident prepossession for themeretricious scamp, its writer. But even this horse-play seemed morenatural than the utterly artificial editorials with their pinchbeckglitter and cheap erudition; and thus far it appeared harmless.
I grieve to say that these appearances were deceptive. One afternoon,as I was returning from a business visit to the outskirts of thevillage, I was amazed on reentering the main street to find a crowdcollected around the "Guardian" office, gazing at the broken glass ofits windows and a quantity of type scattered on the ground. But myattention was at that moment more urgently attracted by a similar grouparound my own office, who, however, seemed more cautious, and wereholding timorously aloof from the entrance. As I ran rapidly towardsthem, a few called out, "Look out--he's in there!" while others madeway to let me pass. With the impression of fire or robbery in my mind,I entered precipitately, only to find Yuba Bill calmly leaning back inan arm-chair with his feet on the back of another, a glass of whiskeyfrom my demijohn in one hand and a huge cigar in his mouth. Across hislap lay a stumpy shotgun which I at once recognized as "the LeftBower," whose usual place was at his feet on the box during hisjourneys. He looked cool and collected, although there were one or twosplashes of printer's ink on his shirt and trousers, and from theappearance of my lavatory and towel he had evidently been removingsimilar stains from his hands. Putting his gun aside and grasping myhand warmly without rising, he began with even more than his usual lazyimperturbability:
"Well, how's Gilead lookin' to-day?"
It struck me as looking rather disturbed, but, as I was still toobewildered to reply, he continued lazily:
"Ez you didn't hunt me up, I allowed you might hev got kinder petrifiedand dried up down yer, and I reckoned to run down and rattle round abit and make things lively for ye. I've jist cleared out a newspaperoffice over thar. They call it the 'Guardi-an,' though it didn't seemto offer much pertection to them fellers ez was in it. In fact, itwasn't ez much a fight ez it orter hev been. It was rather monotonousfor me."
"But what's the row, Bill? What has happened?" I asked excitedly.
"Nothin' to speak of, I tell ye," replied Yuba Bill reflectively. "Ijest meandered into that shop over there, and I sez, 'I want ter seethe man ez runs this yer mill o' literatoor an' progress.' Thar waz twoinfants sittin' on high chairs havin' some innocent little game o'pickin' pieces o' lead outer pill-boxes like, and as soon ez they seedme one of 'em crawled under his desk and the other scooted outer theback door. Bimeby the door opens again, and a fluffy coyote-lookin'feller comes in and allows that HE is responsible for that yer paper.When I saw the kind of animal he was, and that he hadn't any weppings,I jist laid the Left Bower down on the floor. Then I sez, 'You allowedin your paper that I oughter hev a little sevility knocked inter me,and I'm here to hev it done. You ken begin it now.' With that Ireached for him, and we waltzed oncet or twicet around the room, andthen I put him up on the mantelpiece and on them desks and littleboxes, and took him down again, and kinder wiped the floor with himgin'rally, until the first thing I knowed he was outside the winder onthe sidewalk. On'y blamed if I didn't forget to open the winder. Ef ithadn't been for that, it would hev been all quiet and peaceful-like,and nobody hev knowed it. But the sash being in the way, it sortercreated a disturbance and unpleasantness OUTSIDE."
"But what was it all about?" I repeated. "What had he done to you?"
"Ye'll find it in that paper," he said, indicating a copy of the"Guardian" that lay on my table with a lazy nod of his head. "P'r'apsyou don't read it? No more do I. But Joe Bilson sez to me yesterday:'Bill,' sez he, 'they're goin' for ye in the "Guardian."' 'Wot'sthat?' sez I. 'Hark to this,' sez he, and reads out that bit thatyou'll find there."
I had opened the paper, and he pointed to a paragraph. "There it is.Pooty, ain't it?" I read with amazement as follows:--
"If the Pioneer Stage Company want to keep up with the times, and notdegenerate into the old style 'one hoss' road-wagon business, they'dbetter make some reform on the line. They might begin by shipping offsome of the old-time whiskey-guzzling drivers who are too high andmighty to do anything but handle the ribbons, and are above speaking toa passenger unless he's a favorite or one of their set. Over-praisefor an occasional scrimmage with road agents, and flattery from Easterngreenhorns, have given them the big head. If the fool-killer were letloose on the line with a big club, and knocked a little civility intotheir heads, it wouldn't be a bad thing, and would be a particularrelief to the passengers for Gilead who have to take the stage fromSimpson's Bar."
"That's my stage," said Yuba Bill quietly, when I had ended; "andthat's ME."
"But it's impossible," I said eagerly. "That insult was never writtenby Captain Jim."
"Captain Jim," repeated Yuba Bill reflectively. "Captain Jim,--yes,that was the name o' the man I was playin' with. Shortish hairyfeller, suthin' between a big coyote and the old-style hair-trunk.Fought pretty well for a hay-footed man from Gil-e-ad."
"But you've whipped the wrong man, Bill," I said. "Think again! Haveyou had any quarrel lately?--run against any newspaper man?" Therecollection had flashed upon me that Lacy Bassett had lately returnedfrom a visit to Stockton.
Yuba Bill regarded his boots on the other arm-chair for a few momentsin profound meditation. "There was a sort o' gaudy insect," he beganpresently, "suthin' halfway betwixt a boss-fly and a devil'sdarnin'-needle, ez crawled up onter the box seat with me last week, andbuzzed! Now I think on it, he talked high-faluten' o' the inflooenceof the press and sech. I may hev said 'shoo' to him when he washummin' the loudest. I mout hev flicked him off oncet or twicet withmy whip. It must be him. Gosh!" he said suddenly, rising and liftinghis heavy hand to his forehead, "now I think agin he was the feller ezcrawled under the desk when the fight was goin' on, and stayed there.Yes, sir, that was HIM. His face looked sorter familiar, but I didn'tknow him moultin' with his feathers off." He turned upon me with thefirst expression of trouble and anxiety I had ever seen him wear."Yes, sir, that's him. And I've kem--me, Yuba Bill!--kem MYSELF, amatter of twenty miles, totin' a GUN--a gun, by Gosh!--to fightthat--that--that potatar-bug!" He walked to the window, turned, walkedback again, finished his whiskey with a single gulp, and laid his handalmost despondingly on my shoulder. "Look ye, old--old fell, you andme's ole friends. Don't give me away. Don't let on a word o' this toany one! Say I kem down yer howlin' drunk on a gen'ral tear! Say Imistook that newspaper office for a cigar-shop, and--got licked by theboss! Say anythin' you like, 'cept that I took a gun down yer to chasea fly that had settled onter me. Keep the Left Bower in yer backoffice till I send for it. Ef you've got a back door somewhere handywhere I can slip outer this without bein' seen I'd be thankful."
As this desponding suggestion appeared to me as the wisest thing forhim to do in the then threatening state of affairs outside,--which, hadhe suspected it, he would have stayed to face,--I quickly opened a doorinto a courtyard that communicated through an alley with a side street.Here we shook hands and parted; his last dejected ejaculation being,"That potatobug!" Later I ascertained that Captain Jim had retired tohis ranch some four miles distant. He was not seriously hurt, butlooked, to use the words of my
informant, "ez ef he'd been hugged by aplayful b'ar." As the "Guardian" made its appearance the next weekwithout the slightest allusion to the fracas, I did not deem itnecessary to divulge the real facts. When I called to inquire aboutCaptain Jim's