41 Stories (40 page)

“ ‘That's a nice little place,' says I. ‘I've often stopped over there. But didn't you find the sheets a little damp and the food poor? Now, I hail,' says I, ‘from the Pacific Slope. Ever put up there?'

“ ‘Too draughty,' says Ogden. ‘But if you're ever in the Middle West just mention my name, and you'll get foot warmers and dripped coffee.'

“ ‘Well,' says I, ‘I wasn't exactly fishing for your private telephone number and the middle name of your aunt that carried off that Cumberland Presbyterian minister. It don't matter. I just want you to know you are safe in the hands of your shepherd. Now, don't play hearts on spades, and don't get nervous.'

“ ‘Still harping,' says Ogden, laughing again. ‘Don't you suppose that if I was Black Bill and thought you suspected me, I'd put a Winchester bullet into you and stop my nervousness if I had any?'

“ ‘Not any,' says I. ‘A man who's got the nerve to hold up a train single-handed wouldn't do a trick like that. I've knocked about enough to know that them are the kind of men who put a value on a friend. Not that I can claim being a friend of yours, Mr. Ogden,' says I, ‘being only your sheep-herder ; but under more expeditious circumstances we might have been.'

“ ‘Forget the sheep temporarily, I beg,' says Ogden, ‘and cut for deal.'

“About four days afterwards, while my muttons was noon ing on the water-hole and I deep in the interstices of making a pot of coffee, up rides softly on the grass a mysterious person in the garb of the being he wished to represent. He was dressed somewhere between a Kansas City detective, Buffalo Bill, and the town dog-catcher of Baton Rouge. His chin and eye wasn't moulded on fighting lines, so I knew he was only a scout.

“ ‘Herdin' sheep?' he asks me.

“ ‘Well,' says I, ‘to a man of your evident gumptional endowments, I wouldn't have the nerve to state that I am engaged in decorating old bronzes or oiling bicycle sprockets.'

“ ‘You don't talk or look like a sheep-herder to me,' says he.

“ ‘But you talk like what you look like to me,' says I.

“And then he asks me who I was working for, and I shows him Rancho Chiquito, two miles away, in the shadow of a low hill, and he tells me he's a deputy sheriff.

“ ‘There's a train-robber called Black Bill supposed to be somewhere in these parts,' says the scout. ‘He's been traced as far as San Antonio, and may be farther. Have you seen or heard of any strangers around here during the past month?'

“ ‘I have not,' says I, ‘except a report of one over at the Mexican quarters of Loomis' ranch, on the Frio.'

“ ‘What do you know about him?' asks the deputy.

“ ‘He's three days old,' says I.

“ ‘What kind of a looking man is the man you work for?' he asks. ‘Does old George Ramey own this place yet? He's run sheep here for the last ten years, but never had no success.'

“ ‘The old man had sold out and gone West,' I tells him. ‘Another sheep-fancier bought him out about a month ago.'

“ ‘What kind of a looking man is he?' asks the deputy again.

“ ‘Oh,' says I, ‘a big, fat kind of a Dutchman with long whiskers and blue specs. I don't think he knows a sheep from a ground-squirrel. I guess old George soaked him pretty well on the deal,' says I.

“After indulging himself in a lot more non-communicative information and two thirds of my dinner, the deputy rides away.

“That night I mentions the matter to Ogden.

“ ‘They're drawing the tendrils of the octopus around Black Bill,' says I. And then I told him about the deputy sheriff, and how I'd described him to the deputy, and what the deputy said about the matter.

“ ‘Oh, well,' says Ogden, ‘let's don't borrow any of Black Bill's troubles. We've a few of our own. Get the Bourbon out of the cupboard and we'll drink to his health—unless,' says he, with his little cackling laugh, ‘you're prejudiced against train-robbers.'

“ ‘I'll drink,' says I, ‘to any man who's a friend to a friend. And I believe that Black Bill,' I goes on, ‘would be that. So here's to Black Bill, and may he have good luck.'

“And both of us drank.

“About two weeks later comes shearing-time. The sheep had to be driven up to the ranch, and a lot of frowzy-headed Mexicans would snip the fur off them with back-action scissors. So the afternoon before the barbers were to come I hustled my underdone muttons over the hill, across the dell, down by the winding brook, and up to the ranch-house, when I penned ‘em in a corral and bade 'em my nightly adieus.

“I went from there to the ranch-house. I find H. Ogden, Esquire, lying asleep on his little cot bed. I guess he had been overcome by anti-insomnia or diswakefulness or some of the diseases peculiar to the sheep business. His mouth and vest were open, and he breathed like a second-hand bicycle pump. I looked at him and gave vent to just a few musings. ‘Imperial Cæsar,' says I, ‘asleep in such a way, might shut his mouth and keep the wind away.'

“A man asleep is certainly a sight to make angels weep. What good is all his brain, muscle, backing, nerve, influence, and family connections? He's at the mercy of his enemies, and more so of his friends. And he's about as beautiful as a cab-horse leaning against the Metropolitan Opera House at 12:30 A.M. dreaming of the plains of Arabia. Now, a woman asleep you regard as different. No matter how she looks, you know it's better for all hands for her to be that way.

“Well, I took a drink of Bourbon and one for Ogden, and started in to be comfortable while he was taking his nap. He had some books on his table on indigenous subjects, such as Japan and drainage and physical culture—and some tobacco, which seemed more to the point.

“After I'd smoked a few, and listened to the sartorial breathing of H.O., I happened to look out the window toward the shearing-pens, where there was a kind of a road coming up from a kind of a road across a kind of a creek farther away.

“I saw five men riding up to the house. All of ‘em carried guns across their saddles, and among 'em was the deputy that had talked to me at my camp.

“They rode up careful, in open formation, with their guns ready. I set apart with my eye the one I opinionated to be the boss muckraker of this law-and-order cavalry.

“ ‘Good-evening, gents,' says I. ‘Won't you 'light and tie your horses?'

“The boss rides up close, and swings his gun over till the opening in it seems to cover my whole front elevation.

“ ‘Don't you move your hands none,' says he, ‘till you and me indulge in a adequate amount of necessary conversation.'

“ ‘I will not,' says I. ‘I am no deaf-mute, and therefore
will not have to disobey your injunctions in replying.'

“ ‘We are on the lookout,' says he, ‘for Black Bill, the man that held up the Katy for $15,000 in May. We are searching the ranches and everybody on 'em. What is your name, and what do you do on this ranch?'

“ ‘Captain,' says I, ‘Percival Saint Clair is my occupation, and my name is sheep-herder. I've got my flock of veals—no, muttons—penned here to-night. The searchers are coming to-morrow to give them a haircut—with baa-a-rum, I suppose.'

“ ‘Where's the boss of this ranch?' the captain of the gang asks me.

“ ‘Wait just a minute, cap'n,' says I. ‘Wasn't there a kind of a reward offered for the capture of this desperate character you have referred to in your preamble?'

“ ‘There's a thousand dollars reward offered,' says the captain, ‘but it's for his capture and conviction. There don't seem to be no provision made for an informer.'

“ ‘It looks like it might rain in a day or so,' says I, in a tired way, looking up at the cerulean blue sky.

“ ‘If you know anything about the locality, disposition, or secretiveness of this here Black Bill,' says he, in a severe dialect, ‘you are amiable to the law in not reporting it.'

“ ‘I heard a fence-rider say,' says I, in a desultory kind of voice, ‘that a Mexican told a cowboy named Jake over at Pidgin's store on the Nueces that he heard that Black Bill had been seen in Matamoras by a sheepman's cousin two weeks ago.'

“ ‘Tell you what I'll do, Tight Mouth,' says the captain, after looking me over for bargains. ‘If you put us on so we can scoop Black Bill, I'll pay you a hundred dollars out of my own—out of our own—pockets. That's liberal,' says he. ‘You
ain't entitled to anything. Now, what do you say?'

“ ‘Cash down now?' I ask.

“The captain has a sort of discussion with his helpmates, and they all produce the contents of their pockets for analysis. Out of the general results they figured up $102.30 in cash and $31 worth of plug tobacco.

“ ‘Come nearer, captain meeo,' says I, ‘and listen.' He so did.

“ ‘I am mighty poor and low down in the world,' says I. ‘I am working for twelve dollars a month trying to keep a lot of animals together whose only thought seems to be to get asunder. Although,' says I, ‘I regard myself as some better than the State of South Dakota, it's a come-down to a man who has heretofore regarded sheep only in the form of chops. I'm pretty far reduced in the world on account of foiled ambitions and rum and a kind of cocktail they make along the P. R. R. all the way from Scranton to Cincinnati—dry gin, French vermouth, one squeeze of a lime, and a good dash of orange bitters. If you're ever up that way, don't fail to let one try you. And, again,' says I, ‘I have never yet went back on a friend. I've stayed by 'em when they had plenty, and when adversity's overtaken me I've never forsook ‘em.

“ ‘But,' I goes on, ‘this is not exactly the case of a friend. Twelve dollars a month is only bowing-acquaintance money. And I do not consider brown beans and cornbread the food of friendship. I am a poor man,' says I, ‘and I have a widowed mother in Texarkana. You will find Black Bill,' says I, ‘lying asleep in this house on a cot in the room to your right. He's the man you want, as I know from his words and conversation. He was in a way a friend,' I explains, ‘and if I was the man I once was the entire product of the mines of Gondola would not have tempted me to betray him. But,' says I, ‘every week half of the beans was wormy, and not nigh enough wood in camp.'

“ ‘Better go in careful, gentlemen,' says I. ‘He seems impatient at times, and when you think of his late professional pursuits one would look for abrupt actions if he was come upon sudden.'

“So the whole posse unmounts and ties their horses, and unlimbers their ammunition and equipments, and tiptoes into the house. And I follows, like Delilah when she set the Philip Steins on to Samson.

“The leader of the posse shakes Ogden and wakes him up. And then he jumps up and two more of the reward-hunters grab him. Ogden was mighty tough with all his slimness, and gives ‘em as neat a single-footed tussle against odds as I ever see.

“ ‘What does this mean?' he says, after they had him down.

“ ‘You're scooped in, Mr. Black Bill,' says the captain. ‘That's all.'

“ ‘It's an outrage,' says H. Ogden, madder yet.

“ ‘It was,' says the peace-and-good-will man. ‘The Katy wasn't bothering you, and there's a law against monkeying with express packages.'

“And he sits on H. Ogden's stomach and goes through his pockets symptomatically and careful.

“ ‘I'll make you perspire for this,' says Ogden, perspiring some himself. ‘I can prove who I am.'

“ ‘So can I,' says the captain, as he draws from H. Ogden's inside coat-pocket a handful of new bills of the Second National Bank of Espinosa City. ‘Your regular engraved Tuesdays-and-Fridays visiting-card wouldn't have a louder voice in proclaiming your indemnity than this here currency. You can get up now and prepare to go with us and expatriate your sins.'

“H. Ogden gets up and fixes his necktie. He says no more after they have taken the money off of him.

“ ‘A well-greased idea,' says the sheriff captain, admiring, ‘to slip off down here and buy a little sheep-ranch where the hand of man is seldom heard. It was the slickest hide-out I ever see,' says the captain.

“So one of the men goes to the shearing-pen and hunts up the other herder, a Mexican they call John Sallies, and he saddles Ogden's horse, and the sheriffs all ride up close around him with their guns in hand, ready to take their prisoner to town.

“Before starting, Ogden puts the ranch in John Sallies' hands and gives him orders about the shearing and where to graze the sheep, just as if he intended to be back in a few days. And a couple of hours afterward one Percival Saint Clair, an ex-sheep-herder of the Rancho Chiquito, might have been seen, with a hundred and nine dollars—wages and blood money—in his pocket, riding south on another horse belonging to said ranch.”

The red-faced man paused and listened. The whistle of a coming freight-train sounded far away among the low hills.

The fat, seedy man at his side sniffed, and shook his frowzy head slowly and disparagingly.

“What is it, Snipy?” asked the other. “Got the blues again?”

“No, I ain't,” said the seedy one, sniffing again. “But I don't like your talk. You and me have been friends, off and on, for fifteen year; and I never yet knew or heard of you giving anybody up to the law—not no one. And here was a man whose saleratus you had et and at whose table you had played games of cards—if casino can be so called. And yet you inform him to the law and take money for it. It never was like you, I say.”