Part 2

“Did my wife weep?” inquires Peevee. “She didn’t, did she?”

“No,” sez Magpie, “she didn’t weep, but she felt bad. She remarks somethin’ about uh heero, and then goes into th’ house. Uh woman hates to have uh man see her cry--especially uh strong woman.”

“She’s strong enough,” agrees Peevee, “but that heero stuff don’t sound edzactly like her. Much obliged though.”

“Yore welcome,” states Magpie. “Where can I find them three home-hunters?”

“They’re over to th’ St. Charles hotel,” sez Tex. “At least they was this mawnin’.”

“We’ll go over there, Ike, and see what we can do fer their comforts. I was born with uh sympathetic disposition and I can’t bear sufferin’. Tex, I’m goin’ to ask uh favor of you three fellers. No matter what happens, don’t tell anybody what yuh knows about these three fe-males. Sabe? Yuh can tell yore wives, of course, but they won’t believe yuh anyway. I’m doin’ all this fer yore good, so don’t peddle no information.”

While we’re crossin’ Sycamore Avenue to th’ hotel, I takes off my hat to Magpie three times. As uh liar I admires him. I allus admires uh good liar. They say George Washington couldn’t tell uh lie, but I’ve got it on him four ways from th’ Jack. I can lie but I don’t dare to. Everybody knows when I strays from th’ straight and narrer and sometimes they thinks so when I don’t stray. I can’t grow whiskers thick enough on my face to tell uh lie and play safe.

We finds them fe-males right away. They’re infestin’ th’ parlor, and Magpie butts in and starts conversin’ like he’d knowed ’em all his life. He introduces me and himself, and one of th’ ladies makes us used to th’ other two. I didn’t look at their teeth, but I’d opine that they’d range from thirty-five to forty-five. Miss Waterbury is about thirty-five, yaller-haired, and sorta built fer speed up to about four hundred yards.

Miss Clemons has black hair, brown eyes and will weigh about one-eighty on th’ hoof. She’s got uh kind eye. Miss Elvington favors uh lodge-pole uh heap and is wearin’ enough brown hair to make uh swing rope. From what I can see of th’ paint on her face, she’s on th’ war path or gittin’ ready to start.

“Ladies,” sez Magpie, “we understands how yuh happens to come out here and we’re here as uh committee uh two to try and find means uh settlin’ th’ tangle. You can all be glad that yuh didn’t git th’ husbands you expected. Myself, I don’t believe in annexin’ uh husband by mail, but it takes all kinds uh marriages to make uh community.”

“What would you suggest,” asks Miss Clementine. “We came out here in good faith, and now we haven’t enough money to get home.”

“Yore prime object was matrimony, wasn’t it, ma’am?”

They all nods.

“Ladies, I’ve got a idea,” sez Magpie. “In this town is three men who would make three good wimmen, husbands. Sabe? They’re from th’ same town as we are and we’re plumb anxious to see ’em married and settled down. If they knowed that you wanted to marry ’em they’d shy like uh bronc at uh paper sack, but if yuh works it right you’ll land ’em. It has been rumored that you three ladies are wealthy persons from th’ East who are out here to look over some minin’ propositions. Don’t dispute it. Have yuh got enough money to last uh week?”

“Possibly we could exist for two weeks,” laughs Miss Clemons.

“Do it,” advises Magpie, and then we pilgrims out of th’ hotel.

“Now,” sez Magpie, “let’s go over and git them burros and be on our way.”

“On our way?” I asks. “Where we goin’ now?”

“Prospectin’, Ike. We came down here to hunt gold--not to enjoy th’ flesh pots. Anyway, I don’t think we could do any more good here at present.”

“If yuh calls it ‘good,’ I reckon not,” I agrees. “Me--I’m plenty willin’ to leave here.”

We throws th’ packs on th’ burros and starts amblin’ out of town when here comes uh feller down th’ street, limpin’ and cussin’ uh blue streak. It’s Cold Deck.

“Four chiny marbles!” he wails, pointin’ at his legs. “What in ---- did you tell her? I gits in sight of th’ front door, and out she lopes with that hoss-pistol in her hand. She yells somethin’ at me about tryin’ uh new rope, and then she cuts down on me with that danged pistol!”

Jist as Magpie clears his throat to answer, here comes Peevee around th’ corner. He’s sorta runnin’ regardless and lookin’ over his shoulder like uh rabbit when uh coyote presses him close. He races right up to us, digs th’ heels of his big boots in th’ dirt and skids to uh dead stop.

“My Gawd!” sez he. “My ol’ woman’s gone plumb loco! She meets me at th’ door with that ol’ forty-five, and sez: ‘I didn’t think it could be true, Peevee. No snake would take uh big chance like that’.”

“Did she shoot at yuh?” asks Cold Deck.

“Danged if I know. I was too busy to even listen. That woman ain’t jealous--she’s crazy!”

“So’s mine,” agrees Cold Deck. “I reckon she couldn’t stand all that sorrow. She’s gone hemp crazy, but blast it, she ain’t too crazy to shoot!”

“Lissen!” sez Magpie. “If you fellers wants me to save yore happy homes from bein’ wrecked, keep yore mouths shut. Sabe? No matter what comes off here in Pinto, you fellers keep still about them three wimmin. In this here game uh deeplomacy yuh got to ----”

From far off across th’ city comes th’ dull _boom_ of uh gun and we looks foolish like at each other.

“Both bar’els of uh riot-gun,” states Magpie. “Ike, let’s git a-goin’.”

We did. When we’re almost out of sight we looks back and we sees uh lanky figger come limpin’ down th’ street and join th’ two we jist left.

“It wasn’t serious,” opines Magpie. “She must ’a’ shut both eyes.”

* * * * *

We pilgrims out into th’ hills away from Pinto. There’s several outfits gopherin’ around th’ hills, and we digs uh few holes ourselves. Whoever or whatever pours th’ gold into th’ Weddin’ Ring mine shore didn’t spill any of it while they was packin’ it over, cause that country shore is one barren spot.

After pilgrimin’ around fer uh couple uh weeks, we decides that there ain’t enough gold in them hills to fill uh tooth, and so we starts back.

We’re amblin’ down uh dry wash that mornin’ when we meets uh caravan.

Out in front walks that human chalk-line, Tex Jenkins, then comes three burros, and in th’ rear plods Cold Deck and Peevee Jack.

“_Klahowya!_” sez Tex. “Havin’ any luck?”

“No,” sez Magpie. “There ain’t nothin’ in these hills. We’ve combed ’em from rimrock to peaks without findin’ uh color. You fellers might as well turn around and come back.”

“Shall we?” asks Tex to his pardners.

“No!” snaps th’ other two.

“Yore wastin’ yore time tryin’ to find anythin’,” I argues.

“Aw, we’ll find it all right,” argues Cold Deck. “We ain’t lookin’ fer th’ same thing you fellers are.”

“Ain’t yuh lookin’ fer gold?” asks Magpie.

“Not any,” states Peevee, takin’ off one of his man-sized boots and shakin’ th’ dust out. “Yore gazin’ upon uh new kind of uh prospectin’ outfit, Mister Simpkins. Rest yore eyes on this layout, ’cause yuh won’t never see another on th’ same quest. We don’t want gold nor precious metals, and we ain’t huntin’ fer oil. Mebby she ain’t here, but we’re lookin’.”

“Meanin’?” I asks.

“Peace,” sez Peevee.

“Haw! Haw! Haw!” roars Magpie. “Bunch uh dove-hunters, eh? I’d opine from that that yore all in bad at home agin.”

“Agin!” snorts Tex. “Did you fellers notice that he said ‘agin’? Mister Simpkins, I wishes to inform yuh that it is ‘yet’!”

“Did I tell yuh about them marbles?” asks Cold Deck, pullin’ out four round pieces uh chiny and rollin’ ’em around in his hand. “These four ranges from my wishbone to my corns, and they shore did sting yours truly, Cold Deck Briggs, Esq.”

“So you fellers left yore official jobs and wives, eh?” grins Magpie. “Well, well!”

“We pleads guilty to th’ wives,” sez Tex, sad like. “We thinks too much of our wives to give ’em any more chances to appear as defendants in uh murder trial. As to our official jobs ----”

“We sold ’em,” grins Cold Deck. “Yes, sir, we peddles our titles and good will.”

“But yuh can’t sell an official job,” argues Magpie.

“Can’t we?” asks Cold Deck, turnin’ to Tex and Peevee.

They both nods and Tex states:

“There ain’t nothin’ yuh can’t sell in Pinto. Weinie’s sellin’ shares in th’ Panama Canal. Mayorin’ is an under-paid chore, so I sells cheap.”

“How could yuh sell yore jobs and who to?” I asks.

Tex bites th’ size of uh placer claim out of his plug and sets down on uh rock.

“Well, yuh see when we’re approached in th’ matter we deliberates and accepts, contingent on it bein’ satisfactory to th’ city. We calls uh meetin’ of me and Cold Deck and Peevee, and, bein’ unanimous that we has th’ right, we adjourns and accepts th’ office.”

“I’m pleased,” states Cold Deck. “Ever since that coyote pup runs away with my star, and since Peevee tries to make four kings beat four aces, there ain’t been no joy in our jobs.”

“Who buys yuh out?” I asks.

“Mister Hawkins is th’ mayor, Mister Lopp is treasurer, and Andy Johnson is chief of police,” replies Cold Deck.

“Haw! Haw! Haw!” roars Tex, slappin’ his hat on his leg. “I almost forgot to tell yuh. They starts right in makin’ out a new ordinance. They--haw! haw!--they draws up one to th’ effect that no man can peddle uh minin’ claim in Pinto unless said peddler has been uh citizen of Pinto for three weeks.”

“What’s so danged funny about that?” I asks.

“Haw! Haw!” yelps Tex, fannin’ uh burro away with his hat.

“That’s fer you two fellers. I hears Hawkins tell Johnson that this ordinance will keep some ladies from bein’ taken in on uh wild-cat proposition by them danged ol’ packrats. I hears yore names mentioned soon afterwards, so I reckon they shore means you.”

“Is them three male-hunters there yet?” asks Magpie.

“Are they!” snorts Cold Deck. “They jist about are! Uh course me and Tex and Peevee has too much troubles of our own to pay much attention, and accordin’ to yore instructions we keeps our mouths shut, but I feels that them ladies is responsible fer them three fellers desirin’ to occupy our positions. These three new officials shore grades high with them wimmen, and they rides herd on that St. Charles hotel some rigorous.”

“Well,” sez Magpie, haulin’ our burros around so they points down hill, “I wish you luck. Peace is like gold--where yuh finds it. _Klahowya._”

* * * * *

They pokes on up th’ dry wash, and me and Magpie and th’ other two jackasses pilgrims on towards sea level. About ten miles below where we intercepts th’ peace party, we cuts into th’ Pinto road and stops.

“I’d shore like to go over there,” sez Magpie. “But then, yuh never can tell. Mebby them three hombres has drafted another ordinance or two in our favor. We’ll let well enough alone, Ike.”

We ambles on down th’ road, and jist as we’re approachin’ th’ spot where we first meets them sons uh sorrow I bumps into th’ rear burro, and finds that our caravan is stopped.

“Cripes!” sez Magpie. “Look what’s here, Ike.”

Right on that pile uh boulders, where we first spots them sons uh sorrow, we sees three more.

As before, th’ near one favors uh lodge-pole uh heap, and he’s doubled up like uh jack-knife, with his chin in his hands. Th’ next one is sprawled on th’ ground with his shoulder-blades propped up agin’ uh rock, and all yuh can see in th’ shade of his hat is th’ tips of his mustache. Th’ third one is short and kinda fat-like and is doubled up like he had th’ cramps in his stummick. His face bears out this statement.

“Whither?” asks th’ slender one, removin’ uh limp cigaret from his mouth.

“Yon,” sez Magpie, pointin’ off down th’ road. “We pilgrim to Piperock.”

“Me, too,” states th’ slim one, uncoilin’ himself from th’ rock.

“You and me both,” opines th’ one with th’ mustache, gittin’ up and dustin’ off th’ seat of his pants.

Th’ four of us ambles off down th’ road in th’ dust of them burros, while th’ fat one with th’ cramp expression still sets there and contemplates th’ sins of mankind.

[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the July 1917 issue of Adventure magazine.]