Part 1

NERVES OF IRON

W. C. Tuttle

Author of “A Bull Movement in Yellow Horse,” “Cows is Cows,” etc.

“Well,” says Magpie Simpkins, sliding off the rock, and hitching up his belt. “Now that there seems to be uh lull in the firing we might as well pilgrim down and see if we can patch up the injured.”

He kicks the lead burro in the north end, and we points off down the trail.

Nobody knows where we’re going--me and Magpie. Sometimes we just follers other men’s trails and then again we follers our yaller burro. We calls that burro, Lodestone. We always let him pilgrim on ahead, and when he opines to leave the beaten trail and wander afield, we agrees that he’s just as apt to stumble on uh good prospect as we are, so we follers his hunch.

This time his hunch don’t look good, ’cause he’s leading us back into civilization. Right now we’re on uh well-beaten trail, and unless all signs fail we’re pretty close to uh village.

All to once we hears pistol-shots around uh bend in the trail and, not wishing to interrupt such pastimes, we takes uh little rest until the smoke clears away.

We ambles around the first turn into an open spot and stops. There we observe uh little feller, about knee-high to uh tall Injun. He’s got his back to us, standing alongside uh stump, the same of which he’s examining some industrious. I opines that he’s uh shepherd, ’cause he’s talking to himself.

“Too danged high!” he complains. “This one’s too high, too! Dang the ornery luck, anyway!”

“Hold lower, old-timer,” advises Magpie.

The little feller don’t even look our way. He just dives head first into the brush and disappears.

“Now wouldn’t that rasp yuh!” wonders Magpie out loud. “That looked like uh he human and acts like uh hell-diver. I’d orate that he ain’t noways looking for company.”

We stands there and looks at the spot where he went in, and then looks foolish at each other.

“I begs your pardon, gents,” states uh little apologetic voice behind us, and there we see the little feller again. “You sort uh took me by surprise. Sabe?”

That person never growed none after he was ten years old. Except for the hair, and lines uh care on his face he’d pass for uh kid. He’s got uh scared look in his eyes, and uh man-sized six-gun in his hand. He shoves the gun inside the waistband of his pants and the sight interferes with his knee-movement. He licks his lips and sticks his hand out to Magpie.

“I’m Stonewall Jackson,” says he.

“What’s in uh name, anyway,” grins Magpie, shaking the runt’s hand hearty like. “My name is Grant--Ulysses Grant. The party with me is Robert Lee. The other two jackasses are named Lodestone and Cæsar, and we’re pleased to meet yuh.”

“I’ve heard of yuh,” states Stonewall. “I’ve heard yuh all well spoken of except the mules. Mules is just mules. How’s all your folks?”

“Dead, thank you,” says Magpie. “How’s yours?”

“Don’t mention it. Maw’s in Denver and paw ain’t much better off unless he went where he wasn’t expecting to. He died last year.”

“Live around here?” I asks, just to make conversation. When Magpie gets to letting his imagination run rings around his judgment his conversation favors uh shepherd’s convention.

“Down to Spotted Dawg,” replies Stonewall. “When I first hears yuh speak I thought yuh was one of the inhabitants.”

“Spotted Dog?” wonders Magpie. “That name ain’t noways familiar to me. Spotted Dog!”

Stonewall sets down on uh rock and manufactures uh cigaret, and me and Magpie follers suit.

“Good town?” I asks.

Stonewall inhales deep like and nods.

“Uh-huh. Town’s all right, I reckon. Spotted Dawg is like hell in that respect. Hell ain’t so danged bad by its own self--it’s the people in it. Sabe?”

“Particular?” asks Magpie, and Stonewall nods again.

“Very much thataway. They elected me city marshal uh few days ago.”

Me and Magpie loses faith in Spotted Dog right away.

“Ike,” says Magpie, “Lodestone’s done played us uh scurvy trick when he points this way. The rest of the day I’ll lead the caravan.”

We gits up, points the jacks the other way, and prepares to leave. Stonewall looks up at us, rubs the stubble on his chin, an’ swallers so hard that his Adam’s apple almost hit his knees.

“That ain’t what I’d call uh friendly deal uh tall,” he wails. “Deserting uh feller when he’s in trouble! Gosh A’mighty, I wouldn’t do that to uh pack-rat.”

“Neither would I,” replies Magpie. “But you got to figger, old-timer, that you ain’t no pack-rat.”

“Well, go on then,” says Stonewall, weary like. “If I ever get another friend I’m going to shoot him before he has uh chance to change his opinion. Go on--nobody gives uh dang, anyway.”

“If yuh don’t like Spotted Dog why don’t yuh move away?” I asks.

“Well,” he replies, digging his toe in the dirt, “yuh see there’s several reasons. In the first place I’m engaged to marry an angel. In the second place, I’m an officer of the law, and the third and fourth places is ‘High-Card’ Hammond and ‘Whisperin’’ Wilson. The first reason makes me sort uh want to stay; the second is my duty and the third and fourth won’t let me.”

“Why won’t they let yuh go?” asks Magpie.

“It’s thisaway,” wails Stonewall. “Spotted Dawg has always been uh law-abiding community. The law and order bunch has decorated our one lone shade-tree numerous and sundry times with outlaws, gunmen and such like folks. In the course uh human events, High-Card Hammond and Whisperin’ Wilson drifts into Spotted Dawg. They gets popular and previous on short acquaintance and picks trouble with ‘Slickear’ Saunders, our city marshal.

“The town has been so danged peaceful fer so long that Slickear is rusty on the draw. We raises enough to send his widder back to Missouri to her maw. High-Card and Whisperin’ immediate and soon gits control of the administration, and by doing uh little political work has me elected marshal by uh five-vote lead over ‘Limpy’ Myers.

* * * * *

“Honest to goodness, I couldn’t help it, gents! I never wanted the job. According to all humanity I ought to be down there right now, filling their carcasses with lead, but I ain’t got the nerve. My Gawd! I can’t shoot! I been out here ’most all day practising with that pistol but I can’t even hit uh tree. No nerve and no ability. High-Card told me that if I run out on him he’d foller me and cut my ears off. What am I going to do, eh?”

“What does the rest of the inhabitants think?” I asks.

“Them what ain’t laughin’ is gittin’ ready to move. I was going to get married to-morrow afternoon, too. Dang the ornery luck!”

“Time ain’t nothing to an angel,” consoles Magpie. “What does she think of your election?”

“That’s the ---- of it!” wails Stonewall. “She likes it. She opines that I’m the little Jasper what is going to make Spotted Dawg uh place uh beauty and uh joy forever. All the time she’s thinking that I’m going gunning fer them bad men. Me! Holy henhawks! I ain’t never killed nobody! I’m fer peace. Now she’ll think I’m uh coward, and ditch me! I reckon I might as well point away from Spotted Dawg and forget my love, and take uh chance on my ears.”

“Ears ain’t everything,” consoles Magpie, again. “I knowed uh feller once who had both ears chawed off close to his head and he didn’t look so danged bad at that. You could wear uh cap with ear-flaps.”

“Aw--I don’t know,” sighs Stonewall. “One thing I do know--I ain’t no hero, and I can’t shoot fer sour beans. If I was shooting fer eagle feathers I wouldn’t harvest the down off uh humming-bird.”

“Is this here High-Card and Whisperin’ dead shots?” asks Magpie.

“Too dead to skin!” pronounces Stonewall. “They brags that they always git their man through the heart.”

“I’d admire to meet them,” states Magpie, rolling uh smoke and looking about as fierce as uh jack-rabbit at uh grizzly funeral. “I used to brag thataway myself but one day I gets sort uh hurried like and hits my man uh inch too high. Uh course he passed out, but it wasn’t what you’d designate as uh clean hit.”

“How’s your aim?” asks Stonewall, looking at me, and Magpie replies--

“Ike ain’t never missed his man yet.”

Uh course Magpie didn’t state that I ain’t never hit one yet. Me and him is about as belligerent as uh pair uh fool hens. Uh course we wears all the ornaments of uh gunman, and are able to make uh loud noise and plenty uh smoke, but that about lets us out.

“----!” snorts Stonewall, when Magpie’s statement percolates through his head. “I’m glad I met yuh before Spotted Dawg did, ’cause otherwise I’d have to grow some extra ears so’s everybody’d have uh chance. Are yuh for me or against me? I ain’t complaining. Sabe?”

“This here angel,” says Magpie, “do yuh like her uh heap?”

“Like uh starving bronc loves bunchgrass.”

“That’s the attitude, old-timer,” states Magpie. “Ike, you and me is going to Spotted Dog.”

Spotted Dog was what you’d designate as uh pedigreed place. She was sired by uh prospector named “Doughbelly” Smith, and dammed by everybody west of the Missouri River.

Typographically she was uh mess and morally she was uh crime. One side of the street harbors three saloons and uh post-office, and the other side balances the place with three more saloons and uh general store.

There’s dance-halls over some of the saloons, and over one of them is the City Hall. She’s shy on sidewalks and visible means uh support. There is also uh few dwelling-places.

We pilgrims almost into it when we hears sounds uh life. Out into the street gallops uh person, coat-tails flying, and uh gun in each hand. Said person loses his hat from uh pistol-shot, and dives behind uh barrel in front of uh saloon, where he squats and proceeds to spin lead across the street from whence he came.

Stonewall gits behind Lodestone and shrinks until the smoke clears away.

“Looks interesting, anyway,” says Magpie. “Is that uh usual happening?”

“Every time the council meets,” states Stonewall. “That person who is behind the barrel is Luke Paulsen. I’d opine that he’s shooting at Tug Tilton. Yuh see, them two is councilmen of our fair city, and they disagrees on things. Luke wants to put up some hay-scales on the main street and Tug wants to spend the treasury for uh boat. They can’t seem to get together.”

“Do they grow hay around here?” I asks.

“Nearest hay ranch is thirty miles away,” grins Stonewall. “But that ain’t no argument in favor uh Tilton’s scheme. Yuh can’t find water enough to take uh bath in within twenty-five miles of here.”

“Who’s the mayor?” asks Magpie.

“High-Card Hammond. Whisperin’ Wilson’s the treasurer.”

“Well,” opines Magpie, “it looks to me as though the only straight thing in this here place is the road out uh town.”

“You ain’t met the angel yet,” reproves Stonewall.

“Excuse me, old-timer,” apologizes Magpie. “I didn’t include women in my statement.”

“You’re welcome,” says Stonewall. “I reckon we better not go right down the main street. We’ll take your burros right down to my cabin. Yuh see, I’m supposed to collect five dollars for each mule what comes into town, and--well, I ain’t going to do it this time.”

“Five dollars for uh burro!” snorts Magpie. “What do yuh mean?”

“City ordinance,” explains Stonewall, apologetic like. “When the new city officials went into office they passes uh rule to the effect that prospectors is uh nuisance, and they opines to assess every prospector five dollars per head to bring his beasts uh burden into the place. Sabe?”

“By cripes! I never heard uh such uh thing!” howls Magpie.

“You never heard uh Spotted Dawg until yuh met me, either,” states Stonewall chiding like.

We throws the packs off at his cabin and turns the burros loose.

“What’ll they do if they sees strange burros,” I asks.

“Likely pick ’em up and sell ’em to somebody. They can’t divide two burros, but that bunch shore can split money like uh bunch uh bankers. Mebby they won’t notice ’em. As soon as they finds out that you’re uh couple uh gunmen they’ll feel different toward your rolling-stock.”

“Where will they get the information?” I asks.

“I’ll tell ’em,” states Stonewall. “Doggone, I’d sure like to flustrate that bunch.”

“Well, I sure hope it does,” I replies.

After a while Stonewall informs us that he’s going to sneak up-town and see what’s going on, so me and Magpie pats him on the back and wishes him many happy returns of the day.

We sets down in the shady side of the shack and enjoys uh smoke.

“Scary little devil, that Stonewall Jackson person,” opines Magpie. “Ike, I reckon that Spotted Dog is more of uh coyote than dog. I figgers that uh pair uh mean hombres has done took control of the place, and they elects that poor little Jasper to the marshal’s office so that them and their friends can do as they danged well please in Spotted Dog. I feel for him, Ike.”

“I could feel uh heap sadder if I was uh long ways from here,” I replies. “This here business uh trying to adjust the workings of uh place like this don’t appeal to me uh tall. Supposing that we meets up with this bad bunch, Magpie, and they takes exceptions to the way we wears our hats? Suppose the marshal person informs them that we’re uh pair uh gun-fighting Jaspers, and they opines to make us prove it. What are we going to do then, Mister Magpie Simpkins?”

“Go bareheaded and prove an alibi, Ike,” laughs Magpie. “I ain’t no speed demon with uh six-gun, Ike, but by the horns on the moon, I ain’t afraid uh no man that hankers for uh boat on uh desert. Also, I’m again’ any man who pines for hay-scales.”

“Me neither, Magpie,” I agrees. “I ain’t afraid to meet no man on earth--whether he’s uh hay-scale nut or uh mariner of the desert--but just because I’m brave thataway ain’t no reason for me to get cocky about it and poke fun at uh hornet’s nest.”

“Discretion is the foundation of uh fighter’s trade, Ike,” opines Magpie. “Yuh don’t have to go poking--my cripes!”

* * * * *

“Has anybody seen Stonewall Jackson?” asks a female voice.

“The angel!” hisses Magpie in my ear.

I remember that my maw used to dilate on angels when I was young. She used to tell me all about how beautiful and sweet they are, and how they wears floating garments and carries long golden trumpets and wears wings. I reckon it’s all in your point uh view. Now, this one that Stonewall designates as an angel ain’t noways my maw’s idea uh tall. If Stonewall’s right, my maw must uh shut her eyes when she pulled the trigger, ’cause she never even nicked the bull’s-eye.

This here angel would scale about two hundred dressed, and from what I can see of her feet she wasn’t built to fly--she was built to swim. Instead of uh trumpet she’s packing uh six-gun. It’s one uh them muzzle-loading Colts, with uh barrel as long as uh shepherd’s sleep.

“Ah ha!” sez I to myself. “If that thing goes off there won’t be no use for uh census-taker in this country for years and years.”

“I asked uh question,” she states.

“Ma’am,” sez Magpie, “nobody ain’t seen him. Are you looking for the gentleman?”

She sizes us up some careful like, and peeks around the corner.

“Are you keeping something from me?” she asks, sort of belligerent like.

“Ma’am,” replies Magpie, sudden like, “when an angel packs uh gun my innermost thoughts is like the large letters on uh patent-medicine advertisement. Would yuh mind pointing that mortar the other way?”

“I want to find Stonewall,” says she, complying with Magpie’s request.

“You can’t--not with uh gun,” I states. “I don’t know him very well, but I know yuh can’t entice him with uh gun.”

“Huh!” says she, scornful like, or as scornful like as uh fat face like hers can look. “You think so, do yuh? You don’t know Stony. Just because he’s small in stature you think he ain’t brave. Huh! He’s got the heart of uh lion, let me tell yuh! Didn’t they elect him marshal of Spotted Dog? Ain’t that proof enough? I want to find him and give him this gun. You’re strangers here, ain’t yuh?”

“Yes’m, we’re strangers here,” I replies.

“That goes to show that you don’t know what you’re talking about. Know where he is now?”

“Ma’am,” replies Magpie, “I reckon you ought to know. He’s gone up to tell the mayor and treasurer that this evening he’s going to walk down the main street with uh gun on his hip, and he dares any danged man to show his head.”

She absorbs the information by degrees, and scratches her head with the gun-barrel, while uh sad look comes over her face.

“There’s uh difference between cold nerve and danged foolishness,” she opines, after a while. “I’d say that Stony’s covering uh little too much territory. Did he say, ‘Any danged man’?”

Me and Magpie nods, grave like.

“Me and him was going to get married tomorrow, too,” says she, sad like. “Got my troosoo all ready to slip on. Maybe I can dye it black--I don’t know.”

“I wouldn’t grieve, ma’am,” consoles Magpie, wiping uh sympathetic tear off his long nose. “There’s just as good fish in the sea as--as there is in the desert. If I was you I’d----”

Magpie’s advice is cut short, when uh rattle uh shots sounds up-town, and we stirs uneasy like.

“There!” exclaims the angel. “That’s Stonewall! I’ll bet!”

“You lose, ma’am,” says Magpie. “Here’s Stonewall!”

“Here” was the right word! When it comes to speed I’ll play the small man plumb across the board, but there wasn’t no show or place money in this race. Not any!

That Stonewall Jackson person could give uh jack-rabbit twenty yards’ handicap and throw dirt in its face inside of uh hundred yards. He was hitting such uh pace that he danged near goes past the cabin. He sticks his heels in the ground and skids the last fifteen feet and enters the cabin without brushing either side of the door. We all stands there for uh moment, sort uh dazed like, and then Magpie yawns and opines:

“Anybody’s liable to run out of ammunition and have to come home after more. Yuh got to consider that he challenged the whole town, and his gun only holds six shells.”

“Uh yard uh discretion is worth uh whole bolt uh valor,” says I.

“Uh-huh,” she agrees, hearty like. “Self-preservation is better than uh fancy funeral, too, but----”

Just then Stonewall sticks his head out of the door and wipes his clammy brows with his handkerchief. He sees the angel, and grins, foolish like.

“Some day, Stonewall,” says she, “your bravery is going to be the cause of me wearing widder’s weeds. How many did yuh kill?”

“I--I--I came away without my--huh--gun!” stutters Stonewall.

“Did you come back to get it?” she asks.

“N--n--n--no. But I’ll have to go back to get it. My ----!”

He sets down on uh box and pants like an overheated pup. The angel looks at us and then at Stonewall, and hitches up her skirts.

“Do you mean to tell me, Stonewall Jackson, that you didn’t kill nobody?”

“Ma’am,” interrupts Magpie, “you got to figure that he done just what he promised he’d do. I makes him agree not to kill nobody until later on in the day. All he was supposed to do this trip was to give ’em fair warning. Sabe? It must uh been mighty hard for him to stay his natural inclinations to smoke up somebody, so yuh got to give him credit for keeping his word and for having great self-control. Mister Jackson is uh man of his word, and I’m proud to shake his hand.”

Magpie steps over and shakes the unresisting hand of Stonewall Jackson, and Stonewall looks like uh man what has just filled uh royal flush on uh four-card draw.

“Thanks, Mister Grant,” says Stonewall. “How’s your folks?”

“Dead as usual. How’s yours?”

“I brought you this, Stony,” says the female, before the runt has uh chance to reply.

She holds out that antiquated smoke-box for Stonewall’s approval.

“I wouldn’t let nobody but you have this. I sure think uh lot of this pistol, Stony, dear. It is believed that uh bullet from this pistol killed my poor old paw.”

She wipes away uh tear, while Stonewall holds the relic at uh safe distance.

“Somebody shoot him with it?” I asks.

“Nobody knows,” she sniffs. “When we found him he was dead, and the gun was empty. He was hit five times, and the bullets were the same as the gun used.”

“Uh-huh,” agrees Magpie, examining the muzzle of the thing. “Your paw was uh brave man. This weapon will be uh great help to our courageous marshal, if yuh asks me. It’s loaded, too.”

“Yes, I loaded it myself,” replies the angel, and then she pats the runt on the shoulder.

“You won’t take foolish chances will you, dear?”

“No, ma’am,” says Stonewall. “I’ll be just as careful as I can, Eveline.”

Eveline, the angel, paddles back the way she come, and we watches her out uh sight.

* * * * *

“Lovely thing,” sighs Magpie. “She’ll make uh man out uh you.”

“Maybe,” says Stonewall, sad like. “Maybe uh corpse, too. I got to display nerve to win her, and that same display may hang uh black rag on my cabin door. I’m sure obliged for your assistance in the time uh need. You sure must uh had lots of experience to fix up uh lie that quick.”

“Speed is as essential with uh lie as it is with uh gun,” states Magpie. “Especially when you’re lying to uh woman. Was somebody shooting at yuh up-town?”

“I don’t know.”

The runt shakes his head sad like, and rolls uh smoke with shaky fingers.

“I meets Limpy Myers on my way up-town, and I tells him that down to my cabin is two of the hell-firedest gun-fighters what ever fanned uh hammer. Limpy seems uh heap interested and orates that he’ll pass the news. I plumb forgot the hay-scale-versus-boat controversy and walks right into the line uh fire.

“Limpy told me that it was settled, and that part of the gang is over at the Tammany saloon, christening the boat and the other faction is giving first aid to Luke. I reckon that some uh Luke’s friends was trying to shoot holes in them sailors.”

“Where’s your gun?” I asks.

“Too heavy, so I throws it away. Yuh see uh feller can’t run when his gun keeps hitting him on the knee that way.”

The little feller hunches over on the box and resumes his complaint.

“I don’t reckon it’s much use noways. Ever since I was small I has uh fear uh getting shot. I reckon that sooner or later Eveline will find it out and ditch me. She orates that she can’t stand for no man what ain’t brave, and like uh danged fool I lies to her about my past. According to what I’ve told her she’d expect me to walk right up and bite uh grizzly. It ain’t lying when yuh brags to uh woman about yourself--it’s unjustifiable suicide.”

“Never lie to uh lady,” advises Magpie, and Stonewall grins.

“That’s hy-iu advice, but you don’t foller it. You lied uh plenty to Eveline.”

“Maybe,” half agrees Magpie. “Maybe yes and maybe no.”

“Well,” says Stonewall, chiding like, “you told her that I went up there to dare anybody to stick their heads outside, and that was uh lie. I never said uh thing about----”

“Listen,” snaps Magpie. “Do yuh actually want to marry that Eveline party?”

“In holy wedlock tomorrow afternoon,” admits Stonewall. “Yes sir.”

“Then you let me be your manager for today, and I’ll bet you’ll have uh lot of admirers to your wedding tomorrow,” states Magpie. “You do just what I tell you to and we’ll put them bad men on the run. Sabe?”

“I ain’t got no nerve!” protests Stonewall.

“You admires to marry Eveline, don’t yuh?” asks Magpie, and the runt nods, hearty like.

“Well,” says Magpie, “that’s evidence that you have. Ain’t that right, Ike?”

“He’s got Jessie James looking like uh nervous wreck,” says I.

The runt seems to cheer up uh heap at them words, and gits ambition enough to borrow my tobacco and papers.

“Oh, yes!” says he, after his smoke is going. “They got your mules.”

“The ---- they did?” says I. “How do you know?”

“They was tied in front of the Nickle Plate saloon. I didn’t stop to examine ’em close but I think I recognized that yaller one.”