Part 3

I slipped the rope off the horn and let nature take her course while I took mine—around back to the remnants of our circus. Bosco is there. Some of that gang must ’a’ lost a quart of hooch, ’cause I finds Bosco trying to reach a point where he can see snakes that he don’t have to eat. I takes it away from him and charms a few for myself.

There’s a lot of noise around on the street but I ain’t curious. Alcibiades stands there like a rubber statue. He sure was about the laziest elephant on earth. Then cometh more noise and here comes the mob, Magpie in the lead, and around his neck is a rope.

I starts to explain things to ’em and I got a rope too. Bosco tried to hide but they roped him from several directions to once.

“Rope the elephant and you’ll have the whole works,” says I.

“What will we do with ’em?” asks Yuma. “There ain’t no trees.”

“It ain’t exactly a hanging matter,” states the judge and I could love him for them words. “They ought to be in jail—blast ’em! If Scenery only had some way to get out and ——”

“He will,” states “Ornery” Olsen.

“‘Dynamite’ Davidson and ‘Calamity’ Calkins went down there a while ago and they said they’d get him out or kill him in the attempt.”

“Where is the tiger?” I asked.

“Dead!” snaps Wick. “Seventeen men fell on her and she died of old age!”

“I’ve got a scheme,” yelps Pete Gonyer, “a dinger of a scheme. Let’s rope ’em on to the elephant and take ’em to jail. Have pe-rade, eh?”

There wasn’t any need of a vote. It was unanimous. Even me and Magpie and Bosco voted “aye.” Jail looked like a happy hunting ground beside of all these ropes and tree talk.

Alcibiades looked on, mean-like, during the roping. Magpie was in front, then me and then Bosco. Somebody tied a rope to the elephant’s trunk and then we strung out like a cross between a funeral and a pe-rade. It sure attracted a lot of attention. Then we hove in sight of the jail.

There is Dynamite and Calamity, busy at something. Dynamite is on his hands and knees, while Calamity stands over him. Beside Dynamite is a wooden box with the cover off. Just then they rise up, sort of hurried-like, and see us.

Alcibiades ain’t had nothing to eat for so long that I reckon he hankered for the contents of that box and he don’t stop when the rest of the pe-rade does. The rope slips off his trunk and we stopped against the jail wall.

“Look out, you danged fools!” yelps Dynamite. “Get away from there!”

The crowd stampedes a little ways but Alcibiades don’t move, and we can’t.

“Ain’t you got no sense?” wails Dynamite. “That fuse is only three feet long!”

We looks down and under the corner of the dobie wall is a spitting fuse. We hammers Alcibiades but he don’t respond.

“Get away from there, you danged fools!” whoops Calamity.

“Don’t talk English—talk elephant!” yells Magpie. “We hear but can’t heed.”

_Swish!_

Alcibiades whirls his trunk sideways and we sees a stick of dynamite whiz right into Judge Steele’s stummick. The judge lit all doubled up, and the crowd gasped audibly.

“Too bad,” says Magpie. “They won’t always go off.”

Alcibiades digs into that box and roots out another stick.

_Swish!_

The next stick sailed high over the crowd and we watched it drop out of sight behind Pete’s blacksmith shop.

_Bang!_

That one went off. We seen a wagon-wheel hop up and roll off the top of Buck’s place and a lot of horseshoes scatter around over the house-tops.

The next one was a line shot at Wick Smith’s wood-shed, but that one didn’t bust. The next one did. Alcibiades just gave it a nice little toss, and she busted behind the crowd, causing some to go prostrate.

“Good boy!” says Bosco, and then Alcibiades picks up the rest of the powder, box and all. Everything is as quiet as a graveyard and we hears Old Testament say—

“In the midst of life we are in——”

_Swish!_

Up went the box of dynamite straight for the crowd, and just then Magpie throws himself sideways on the elephant, and the rest of us has to foller suit. We’re about half-way down the side of that elephant when Dynamite’s blast goes off. I’d plumb forgot that blast. I’d say that Dynamite knowed how to use powder, ’cause the whole corner of that jail moved out to meet us. It knocked Alcibiades down but he got right up. He’s so thick-skinned that nothing could hurt his feelings.

I can’t hear a danged thing. I look out at the crowd. Most of ’em are still prostrate on the ground, but I can see the dynamite box, so I know she didn’t bust. The ropes has slipped and we are no longer on top of the brute. I’m hanging on the side like a pack-sack; Bosco is draped over its rump and Magpie has one leg over its neck, while the rope holds him under the other knee, and he’s hanging on to the elephant’s ear with both hands.

Out of the ruined side of the jail comes an apparition. It is covered with dobie dust and great wonderment. It weaves up to us with both hands in the air.

“Don’t shoot!” it squeaks. “I give up!”

“All right,” nods Magpie. “Don’t shoot, boys; they’re dying.”

Maybe Alcibiades was shocked, too; maybe he had acquired man-eating propensities from associating with Cleopatra, but anyway he whirled, let out a mean _Hur-r-r-r-r-rump!_ and started after Scenery Sims. Scenery ducked straight for the crowd, and Alcibiades follered him like a bloodhound. We went some.

* * * * *

We didn’t go very many miles per minute, but we went awful strong. We went through Wick Smith’s yard and we took two clothes-lines full of clothes with us. We got so tangled up in washing that we didn’t know where we went. Every one who took the time tried shots at us but we ignored such trifling things.

I managed to get a suit of flannels out of my eyes in time to see our animated vehicle pointing straight for the door of our horse stable. The door is too narrow for elephants, being as we only had horses in mind when we built it, and I starts to yell a warning but the flannels came back and shut me up.

Comes a ripping jar, the snap of a rope and I hit the earth with Magpie on top of me. He got up, dazed-like, and shut the door.

“We’ve got him, Ike,” says he.

_Crash! Rip-p-p-p! Smash!_

The front logs of the stable goes squeegeed, and from the rear comes the rattle of falling logs and a cloud of dust. We limps to the corner. Out of the cloud of dust comes Alcibiades and on his back is Bosco. The elephant skids to a stop, whirls and points straight into the desert.

“Bosco!” yelps Magpie. “Good-luck! Look out for snakes!”

Magpie stares at me and then at the ruined stable.

“I—I wonder if Bosco really did eat them snakes?” he asks foolish-like.

“He—he did,” states a voice, and out from the squeegeed doorway pokes the hairy head of Bosco. “He sure did, gents. I am the only original snakeeating——”

He stops and rubs his hand over his eyes. He looks all around and then whispers—

“Which way is the city of Piperock?”

Magpie points toward the town.

“Sure?”

“Sure. Why?”

“That’s a —— of a question to ask,” says Bosco, and we watches him blend into the mesquite, going away from Piperock.

“That must ’a’ been Scenery on the elephant,” says Magpie awed-like. “Scenery must ’a’ lost his clothes in the crash.”

“Speculation has ruined a lot of men,” says I. “Why stop to speculate?”

We saddled our broncs and we didn’t hit the main road until we’re in shooting distance of Paradise. Then we turns a corner and runs slap into Jay-Bird and Hassayampa. They’re packing just enough to feel glad. They hands us a bottle.

“You fellers going to the celebration?” I asks.

“You betcha,” agrees Hassayampa. “Looking forward to a _hyiu_ time. How’s the circus?”

“Only thing of it’s kind on earth,” says Magpie between swallers. “Piperock is going crazy over it.”

“Bet they are,” agrees Hassayampa. “Piperock deserves it. Don’t want to sell out, do you?”

“Sell it?” asks Magpie. “Hadn’t thought of such a thing. Who wants to buy it, Hassayampa?”

“It ain’t worth no more than you paid for it, Magpie,” says Jay-Bird, “but we’d pay that much, eh, Hassayampa?”

“Pshaw!” grunts Magpie. “I just got started, gents.”

“You ain’t got no use for it, Magpie,” says Jay-Bird. “Me and Hassayampa can afford a circus better than you and Ike. We’ll pay you back in the same checks you paid us, eh? Is that a go?”

“As you said, we can’t afford it,” nods Magpie. “We’ll trade.”

Magpie puts the checks in his pocket. We take another round of good cheer and ride on.

“See you at the celebration,” yells Jay-Bird.

“If you’ve got second sight,” nods Magpie, and we pilgrimed straight for Silver Bend.

We ain’t done nothing wrong in selling out. Believe me, that money sure looked good. I wondered if Hassayampa and Jay-Bird had gone crazy, but Magpie said if they hadn’t they soon would.

* * * * *

We got into Silver Bend after dark and hived up in a hotel. We’re so sore and tired that we don’t wake up until noon. Magpie opines that we better draw our money and go over to Powder River for a spell, so we pilgrimed down to the bank.

The curtains are down tight, and on the door hangs a card printed in big letters:

TO TRUST IS TO BUST. TO BUST IS ——. NO TRUST, NO BUST, NO ——.

A feller comes along and stops beside us as we read the sign.

“The cashier runs away with the contents,” says he, “and she’s busted flat. They may pay ten cents on the dollar in a year or two.”

Magpie twists his mustache and stares at me.

“Hassayampa and Jay-Bird knew that,” he snorts. “The danged crooks knowed them checks wasn’t no good, Ike!”

“What did we know about the circus, Magpie?” I asks.

He looks at me, scratches his head for a moment and says:

“Piperock ought to be glad, Ike. Don’t you know it? They ought to rise up and sing a song of thanksgiving and vote us a medal.”

“What for, Magpie?”

“To think we didn’t buy out P. T. Barnum.”

Which we hope Piperock appreciates.

[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the December 18, 1919 issue of Adventure magazine.]