Part 2

Obie crawls to uh standing position and rubs his head. Then he looks around, foolish-like, and takes uh fresh chew. He takes uh shot at that knot-hole and misses it by three feet.

“How’s the Light working, Obie?” asks Magpie.

Obie runs his hand tenderly over the lump over his eye.

“I feel like--uh--uh----”

“Trimmed lamp?” suggests Magpie. Obie thinks for uh minute and then nods slow-like. He goes outside, gets on Lodestone, and the two of ’em points away from Piperock.

“I never did like uh preacher,” states Hank, in sort of an explanatory tone.

“Me neither,” agrees Magpie. “But I don’t try to kill ’em just cause I don’t like ’em, Hank. Maybe somebody needs ’em.”

We enjoys ourselves in our simple way until the next morning, when we hears Spade Wilson yell outside. We goes outside and observes Spade’s prisoner. It’s Zeb Abernathy. Zeb looks uh whole lot put out about something.

“Well, well!” says Magpie, pleased-like. “Come right in, Zebbie. I’m getting so used to dry nursing prominent citizens that I welcomes yuh with all my heart.”

“This--uh--cross between uh--huh--my Gawd!” splutters Zeb. “He arrests me for branding one uh my own calves!”

Zeb shakes his fist at Spade, but the detective just grins and rolls uh cigaret.

“What’s his brand?” asks Spade.

“Cross-L,” I answers.

“He don’t own no Seven-A stuff does he?”

“That wasn’t no Seven-A!” howls Zeb. “Gosh A’mighty, can’t yuh spell?”

“The calf is tied to uh tree, and I’ll send somebody out to get it for evidence. She’s uh Seven-A, all right.”

Zeb shakes his head, sad-like, and then turns to Magpie.

“Put me in,” says he. “Put on two extra padlocks and hire uh guard or two, Magpie. Jail is the only place where uh man is safe from uh liar like him.”

“You said he was uh competent man,” chides Magpie. “He sure comes highly recommended.”

“Highly ----!” howls Zeb. “Don’t talk to me, Magpie!”

“Gee cripes!” yelps Hank, as we eases Zeb into the cell.

“What you doing here, Zeb?”

“Branding Seven-A calves,” says I.

The three of them looks each other over for uh spell, and then Hank steps over and stares Zeb square in the eyes.

“You been stealing my calves?” snaps Hank, and Zeb swells up like an indignant old woodchuck.

“You danged old timber rat!” howls Zeb, jumping up and down like uh Injun full uh turpentine. “Do you mean to insinuate that I’d----”

“I’m asking,” states Hank.

“You be danged! Do you think for uh minute that I’d lower myself to such uh state as to rustle one uh your lousy animiles, Hank Padden? Dang your hide, I wouldn’t let uh Cross-L cow drink out of the same spring with uh Seven-A. What are you and Johnny Myers doing here, eh?”

“What are they in for, Ike?” he asks me, when they don’t seem inclined to reply.

“Johnny was arrested for branding one uh Scenery Sims’s little calves, and Mister Wilson discovered Hank setting on the top rail of his corral, gloating over them Triangle Herefords.”

“Oh, ho! So that was it, eh?” cuts in Johnny Myers. “I asks Hank what he was put in for and he told me it was none uh my danged business. No wonder! My Herefords, eh?”

“Johnny, that’s uh danged----”

“Don’t say it, Hank,” advises Johnny. “You been coveting them white-faced cows for uh long time, but by cripes, I didn’t think you’d steal ’em.”

Hank sets down on his bunk and stares at his toes. I reckon he’s too danged mad even to stand up. Zeb seems to forget his grouch, and he leans against the wall and whoops:

“Haw! Haw! Haw! Johnny Myers, I opined that you knowed something about cows but--haw, haw, haw! Rustling them Circle-S calves eh? My Gawd! Taking uh chance on going to Deer Lodge for uh critter like that.”

I figures that about one more word will start uh mix-up so I says:

“I’m going up to rustle some dinner for you fellers, and I don’t want no trouble to start while I’m gone. Sabe? We only got one cell in this jail and if you fellers can’t live in peace and brotherly love, I’ll have to picket some of yuh out in the corral. Also, if you smash them two cots you’ll have to sleep on the floor. Contemplate on your own sins and let personalities alone.”

Piperock is quite some excited. There’s representatives from all of the cow outfits, and it sounds like all was trying to talk to once. Swede Johnson, foreman of the Seven-A outfit, is standing on uh card table, waving his long arms and talking uh streak, and over on the pool table is Andy Johnson, of the Triangle, holding uh special indignation meeting.

“You can’t never make uh jury believe that Hank Padden would steal!” yelps Swede. “I wouldn’t put it uh bit past Johnny Myers, but----”

“Johnny is as straight as uh string!” howls Andy. “He’s got uh first-class alibi too. Nobody could convict uh man if he did steal uh Circle-S calf. Johnny’s too good uh judge uh cows to even think uh stealing uh runty little----”

“Cows is cows!” squeaks Scenery. “Doggone yuh, Andy----”

* * * * *

“Peace be with yuh, brothers,” orates uh voice at the door, and there stands the Bringer uh Light. He rubs the top of his wobbly straw hat against the top of the door, and masticates some industrious. “Peace again be with yuh.”

“I’ll take ’em both,” accepts Buck Masterson. “That will make two pieces. Have uh little drink, old trailer?”

“Lips that touch liquor shall never touch mine,” states Obie. “I thank thee, brother.”

“My Gawd!” squeaks Scenery. “I wonder if that human lodge-pole thought somebody was going to kiss him!”

Scenery catches sight of me, and immediate and soon comes over and whispers so loud in my ear that yuh could hear him for uh mile:

“Don’t take uh chance uh letting Johnny Myers loose, Ike. He’s uh sheep in wolf’s clothes.”

“You’re going too danged far in your remarks!” yells Pete Gonyer, grabbing Scenery by the back of the neck and the seat of the pants.

“This is uh free--” begins Scenery, but Pete heaves him plumb into the corner, and his carcass shakes the whole place.

“Well!” says Spade Wilson, from the doorway. “This seems to be uh lively gathering.”

Nobody offers him uh greeting, so he swaggers up to the bar and buys himself uh drink.

“Peace be with yuh, brother,” orates Obie, holding up his hand in the Piegan peace sign. “Peace be with yuh.”

Spade stares at Obie for uh minute and then fills his glass.

“I thought I left you at the Seven-A ranch,” says Spade. “How in ---- did you get here so quick on uh burro?”

“I know not,” answers Obie, taking uh fresh chew. “I carry the Light to all men, and speed is of little account. Today I am here, tomorrow I am there. No matter. There is many dark places.”

Just then Scenery crawls out from under the chair and leans against the wall.

“---- country, and I got uh right to orate my sentiments!” he croaks, starting right in where he left off when he hit the wall. “I reckon I got uh right to howl ain’t I? I don’t suppose that Pete Gonyer would howl if somebody stole his cows. Oh, no! He’d yell so danged loud that the soldiers at Fort Missoula would get right on uh train to come over and put down an Injun uprising. I’m one upright and honest man, and I wants----”

“I wants too, Mister Sims,” states Spade, grinning. He reaches over and snaps handcuffs on Scenery’s wrists, and backs him out of the crowd.

“What’s he done?” yells somebody in the crowd.

“Well,” drawls Spade, “if some uh you fellers will go out to Scenery’s barn yuh will find uh fresh Cross-L cow hide in his barn.”

“That’s uh danged, dinged lie!” wails Scenery. “I never had uh Cross-L hide in my barn in my whole life!”

Two-Cinch Hogan is asleep on the porch when we comes out, and he wakes up enough to hear Scenery’s oration.

“That’s right, Scenery,” he states, with the tears running down his crooked nose. “Neither have I. Ain’t got nothing in my barn. Ain’t got no barn. Poor’s uh church rat--me! Let me go to jail, too, eh? All good men in jail now. Nothin’ but riff-raff outshide any more.”

Two-Cinch lays down in the sun and goes to sleep again, and we escorts Scenery to durance vile.

Magpie looks foolish-like at Scenery, and then points to the cell door. Our other three prisoners are looking out, and they are sure one fine looking bunch.

Hank has two beautiful black eyes and is shy all his shirt except the neck-band and one cuff. Johnny’s got hills and valleys all over his countenance, and is nursing uh sore jaw. Zeb grins at us and spits out through the place his front teeth used to inhabit.

“Why?” asks Hank, pointing at Scenery.

“I found uh fresh Cross-L cow hide in his barn,” replies Spade.

Zeb feels of the place where his teeth used to be and grins sweetly.

“Come in, Scenery,” says he, pleasant like. “Walk right in.”

“You don’t aim to put me in there do yuh?” wails Scenery.

“You deposes that I stole uh Cross-L cow from Zeb, and now you aims to make me mingle with him. This ain’t law--it’s manslaughter!”

Anyway, Scenery went in.

“Cross-L, eh?” lisps Zeb. “Killed uh Cross-L cow for lunch!”

“Keep your big paws off me, Zeb Abernathy!” squeals Scenery. “I’m uh bad hombre when I’m riled. Johnny Myers stole my----”

“Ho-ho-hold on, old-timer!” stutters Johnny. “Don’t accuse me uh rustling! You never owned uh cow, in the first place and anyway----”

“Cows is cows,” states Scenery, with uh heap of conviction.

“Better cool down,” advises Magpie. “You fellers ought to have more faith in detective work than to go right on rustling after he gets on the job. I could have done as well as he has if I wanted to get myself disliked. I been watching all of you but I just kept my mouth shut and let yuh go on.”

The three of them looks at Magpie and then at each other.

“Magpie Simpkins,” pronounces Hank Padden, “when I get loose I’m going to remove you from office at the end of uh .45.”

“When you get loose, Hank,” states Magpie, “I’ll probably be Governor of the State.”

The next day we holds the hearing.

Old Judge Steele sets at uh card table in the old Mint hall, where we holds our court, and looks at the prisoners over the tops of his glasses. On uh soap box beside him is uh fresh cow hide, bearing the Cross-L brand and that same hide ain’t no sweet incense.

On one side of the judge is Pete Gonyer and Andy Johnson holding uh spotted Seven-A calf, and on the other side is old Sam Holt and Ricky Henderson, trying to suppress the antics of uh runt of an animile, bearing the Circle-S.

Spade Wilson is the happiest one in the room. That hombre sure is proud of his handiwork.

The judge pounds on his desk and yells for order.

“Hank Padden, tell me your story,” he commands.

“Well,” says Hank, standing up and hitching up his belt, “I been looking for uh chance to talk, Judge. There is times in uh man’s life when he gets so danged shocked and sore that his vocal cords simply freezes up. Mine’s thawed out now, and I wishes to orate in uh few words just what I thinks----”

“What you thinks ain’t evidence,” interrupts the judge. “We’ll listen to your story but not your thoughts.”

“I never stole them Herefords!” howls Hank. “They was in my corral, but I’ll be uh liar----”

“Very likely, Hank!” snaps the judge. “Set down.”

“Judge,” says Johnny Myers, “I’d like to state----”

“Take the stand, Johnny. All I wants from you is the truth, and I don’t want yuh to orate about the loss uh them white-faced cows. Sabe? Tell the court how it comes that you’re caught branding uh Circle-S calf.”

“That’s uh danged lie!” explodes Johnny.

“Ain’t that uh Circle-S calf?” asks the judge, pointing at Scenery Sims’s animile.

“It don’t need uh brand to show who it belongs to,” replies Johnny. “Looks like uh goat.”

“Cows is cows,” squeaks Scenery.

“Set down, Johnny,” says the judge. “And I’d admire to have Scenery Sims keep his mouth shut. I’ll ask Zeb Abernathy to take the stand.”

Zeb stands up and takes uh fresh chew.

“All I’ve got to say, Judge, is this: Seven-A cattle never did appeal to me. I ain’t never stole nothing in my life, and any time I do turn rustler I’m going to steal real honest to grandma cows--me--Zeb Abernathy.”

“Don’t you say one word against my stock, dang yuh!” yelps Hank.

“Say!” The judge rears up on his hind feet, and hammers on the table with both fists. “What do you cow thieves think this is--uh cattle show? We’ll not pass on the merits of cows. Set down, Zeb!”

“Scenery Sims, stand up. Don’t git so danged squeaky! Speak up like uh man, and anything yuh say can be used against yuh. Sabe?”

“All I got to say is that I been paying real money to the dangest liar on earth!” wails Scenery. “I never had no Cross-L hide in my barn--in my whole life, Judge.”

“You’re about as honest as the rest, Scenery, so yuh may as well save your breath. I’ll call on Ricky Henderson and Andy Johnson to stand up.”

“You’ll have to hire somebody to hold these calves,” puffs Ricky. “If we lets loose there’s going to be uh stampede.”

Somebody relieves them and they stands up.

“Did you fellers find this here Cross-L hide in Scenery’s barn?” asks the judge, indicating the hairy bunch of odors beside him.

“Uh-huh,” nods Ricky. “We finds it where----”

“Haw-w-w-w-e-e-e--aw-w-w-w!”

In the door stands Lodestone, with his long ears pointing straight to the front as he sings his song, and on his back is two persons, tied back to back, with their legs tied under Lodestone’s belly.

“Hee-e-e-e haw-w-w-w-w!” sings Lodestone again, and then he starts right up through the crowd.

“Clear the court!” yells the judge. “Or-r-r-r-r-der!”

* * * * *

The judge aims to pound right hard on his table, but he misses his target and hits old Sam Holt right on the head. Old Sam is setting on his haunches, holding onto that calf, and when the judge slams he lets go of the rope and takes uh wallop at the judge.

Clear the court is right! Did yuh ever see two locoed calves in uh crowded room, when they aims to get out, and everybody yelling and shoving--and uh double-burdened jackass trying to force its way inside? Talk about uh bull in uh china shop!

If I’d uh kept clear and watched it from afar I could have seen uh lot more, but somehow I always has to mix into something what don’t concern me in the least.

I comes out of the mess with uh chair around my neck, just in time to get my head between Hank Padden’s legs and go to the floor again. Along comes uh blatting calf, gets his hind legs through that chair, too, and me and Hank and the calf goes plumb out into the street.

Something steps on my ear, and when I gets back what little sense Ike Harper usually packs with him, I find Judge Steele setting on my lap with his eyes closed.

“Yuh might show uh little dignity for your position, Judge,” says I. “Setting on uh man’s lap out in the street in the daytime! What’ll folks say?”

The judge opens his eyes for uh minute, looks me over in uh sober sort of uh way, and shakes his head.

“Ike,” says he, slow-like, sliding off my lap. “Your jackass kicked me as I came out.” And then he shows his ancestry by hauling off and kicking me right in the stummick.

Then he gets up and wobbles off down the street. I gets emotional for uh while, and struggles uh heap with my feelings. Finally I gets up and pilgrims into the hall again. At first I thinks she’s deserted, but when I looks real close I sees two pair uh boots.

One pair is protruding from under the judge’s table, which is caved in on one side, and the other pair is draped over uh chair. The last pair belongs to Magpie. He’s snoring like uh shepherd, so I goes over and hauls Scenery Sims out from under the table.

Pretty soon Magpie sets up and looks around. He sizes up the destruction for uh while and then looks at me and Scenery.

“Ike,” says he, “I’ll bet this is the only building standing in the city.”

“Uh-huh,” I agrees. “And this one is only standing on the outside. I reckon we might as well take Scenery and put him in jail. He’s all we got left now, Magpie.”

Magpie gets his bearings, by bracing his feet between two chairs, and we picks up Scenery Sims. Magpie takes him by the shoulders and I get him by the feet, and away we goes wobbling down the street. Scenery don’t wake up until we’re almost to the jail, when he sort uh shudders and opens his eyes. He looks at me and then whispers:

“Cows is cows.”

“Don’t--don’t make so much noise,” croaks Magpie, turning his head, painful like. “Everybody’s sleeping.”

When we gets in sight of the jail we sees three people on the steps. It’s Hank and Johnny and Zeb and they sure looks like the breaking up of uh hard winter. They looks up at us as we pilgrims up, and then slumps down on the steps again.

“Why didn’t yuh go inside out of the sun?” I asks, but they just shakes their heads.

“He wouldn’t let us,” explains Hank, in a faraway voice jerking his thumb toward the door.

We lays Scenery down on the steps and opens the office door. Coming out of the bright light makes it hard for us to see anything inside, but when we gets accustomed to the light, we observes Obie, the Bringer uh Light.

He’s tilted back in his favorite chair, with his long legs drawed most to his chin, and when we see him he grins and hits that knot-hole dead center.

“Why didn’t yuh let our prisoners in?” asks Magpie.

Obie grins and takes another shot at the hole before he says:

“Ain’t got no room. Jail’s full.”

We steps over and looks into the cell. Three men are sprawling over the bunks, but only one is uh familiar one. This one is hunched up on uh bunk and don’t seem much concerned about his surroundings.

“Sorry to bust up court thataway,” apologizes Obie. “I brought them two down here, but when I came inside to arrange for my load, that yaller burro wandered right uptown. I just got up there in time to see him kick Kirk Kelso in the jaw. He was trying to cut them two loose. I had to load all three on Lodestone. He’s some burro, that yaller feller. Them two was the ones who were planting evidence to cinch Padden, Abernathy, Sims and Myers. I sure been busy lately.”

“Kirk Kelso!” wonders Magpie, out loud. We takes another look inside the cell, and then Magpie turns to Obie.

“If you’re so danged free with your Light, old-timer, yuh might shed uh little light around here. Who in ---- are you?”

Obie took another shot at his target and grinned.

“Me? I’m Spade Wilson.”

“I-I-I was afraid of that,” states uh voice at the cell door, and we observes the former detective hanging onto the bars. “No-nobody asked me if I was Spade Wilson. They--they told me I was and I-I didn’t have the heart to deny it. I stayed too long, that’s all. Yuh can’t mix pleasure with b-b-business.”

He stares at us for uh minute, and then slips out of sight.

“True as Gospel,” agrees Spade Wilson, “If I knew where I could find some real cowmen I might buy uh drink.”

“Cows is cows,” squeaks Scenery Sims.

[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the Mid-November, 1917 issue of Adventure magazine.]