Book: Bar 20 Days

C >> Clarence E. Mulford >> Bar 20 Days




As soon as he had changed the notice he strolled up to the Paradise
to inform the bartender that impounding fines had been cut to bargain
prices and to ask him to make the fact generally known through his
patrons. As he came within sight of the building he jumped with
pleasure, for a horse was standing dejectedly before the door. Joy of
joys, trade was picking up--a stranger had come to town! Hastening back
to the corral, he added a cipher to the posted figure, added a decimal
point, and changed the cents sign to that of a dollar. Two dollars and
fifty cents was now the price prescribed by law. Returning hastily to
the Paradise, he led the animal away, impounded it, and then sat down
in front of the corral gate with his Winchester across his knees. Two
dollars and fifty cents! Prosperity had indeed returned!

"Where the CG ranch is I dunno, but I do know where one of their cayuses
is," he mused, glancing between two of the corral posts at the sleepy
animal. "If I has to auction it off to pay for its keep and the fine,
the saddle will bring a good, round sum. I allus knowed that a dollar
wasn't enough, nohow."

Nat Fisher, punching cows for the CG and tired of his job, leaned
comfortably back in his chair in the Paradise and swapped lies with the
all-wise bartender. After a while he realized that he was hopelessly
outclassed at this diversion and he dug down into his pocket and brought
to light some loose silver and regarded it thoughtfully. It was all the
money he had and was beginning to grow interesting.

"Say, was you ever broke?" he asked suddenly, a trace of sadness in his
voice.

The bartender glanced at him quickly, but remained judiciously silent,
smelling the preamble of an attempt to "touch."

"Well, I have been, am now, an' allus will be, more or less," continued
Fisher, in soliloquy, not waiting for an answer to his question. "Money
an' me don't ride the same range, not any. Here I am fifty miles away
from my ranch, with four dollars and ninety-five cents between me an'
starvation an' thirst, an' me not going home for three days yet. I was
going to quit the CG this month, but now I gotta go on working for it
till another pay-day. I don't even own a cayuse. Now, just to show you
what kind of a prickly pear I am, I'll cut the cards with you to see who
owns this," he suggested, smiling brightly at his companion.

The bartender laughed, treated on the house, and shuffled out from
behind the bar with a pack of greasy playing cards. "All at once, or a
dollar a shot?" he asked, shuffling deftly.

"Any way it suits you," responded Fisher, nonchalantly. He knew how a
sport should talk; and once he had cut the cards to see who should own
his full month's pay. He hoped he would be more successful this time.

"Don't make no difference to me," rejoined the bartender.

"All right; all at once, an' have it over with. It's a kid's game, at
that."

"High wins, of course?"

"High wins."

The bartender pushed the cards across the table for his companion to
cut. Nat did so, and turned up a deuce. "Oh, don't bother," he said,
sliding the four dollars and ninety-five cents across the table.

"Wait," grinned the bartender, who was a stickler for rules. He reached
over and turned up a card, and then laughed. "Matched, by George!"

"Try again," grinned Fisher, his face clearing with hope.

The bartender shuffled, and Fisher turned a five, which proved to be
just one point shy when his companion had shown his card.

"Now," remarked Fisher, watching his money disappear into the
bartender's pocket, "I'll put up my gun agin ten of yore dollars if
yo're game. How about it?"

"Done--that's a good weapon."

"None better. Ah, a jack!"

"I say queen--nope, _king_!" exulted the dispenser of liquids. "Say,
mebby you can get a job around here when you quit the CG," he suggested.

"That's a good idea," replied Fisher. "But let's finish this while we're
at it. I got a good saddle outside on my cayuse--go look it over an'
tell me how much you'll put up agin it. If you win it an' can't use it,
you can sell it. It's first class."

The bartender walked to the door, looked carefully around for a moment,
his eyes fastening upon a trail in the sandy street. Then he laughed.
"There ain't no saddle out here," he reported, well knowing where it
could be found.

"What! Has that ornery piebald--well, what do you think of that!"
exclaimed Fisher, looking up and down the street. "This is the first
time that ever happened to me. Why, some coyote stole it! Look at the
tracks!"

"No; it ain't stolen," the bartender responded. He considered a moment
and then made a suggestion. "Mebby the marshal can tell you where it
is--he knows everything like that. Nobody can take a cayuse out of this
town while the marshal is up an' well."

"Lucky town, all right," chirped Fisher. "An' where is the marshal?"

"You'll find him down the back way a couple of hundred yards; can't miss
him. He allus hangs out there when there are cayuses in town."

"Good for him! I'll chase right down an' see him; an' when I get that
piebald----!"

The bartender watched him go around the corner and shook his head sadly.
"Yes; hell of a lucky town," he snorted bitterly, listening for the riot
to begin.

The marshal still sat against the corral gate and stroked the Winchester
in beatific contemplation. He had a fine job and he was happy. Suddenly
leaning forward to look up the road, he smiled derisively and shifted
the gun. A cow-puncher was coming his way rapidly, and on foot.

"Are you the marshal of this flea of a town?" politely inquired the
newcomer.

"I am the same," replied the man with the rifle. "Anything I kin do for
you?"

"Yes; have you seen a piebald cayuse straying around loose-like, or
anybody leading one--CG being the brand?"

"I did; it was straying."

"An' which way did it go?"

"Into the town pound."

"What! Pond! What'n blazes is it doing with a pond? Couldn't it drink
without getting in? Where's the pond?"

"Right here. It's eating its fool head off. I said pound, not pond.
P-o-u-n-d; which means that it's pawned, in hock, for destroying the
vegetation of Rawhide, an' disturbing the public peace."

"Good joke on the piebald, all right; it was never locked up before,"
laughed Fisher, trying to read a sign that faced away from him at a
slight angle. "Get it out for me an' I'll disturb _its_ peace. Sorry it
put you to all that trouble," he sympathized.

"Two dollars an' four bits, an' a dollar initiation fee--it wasn't never
in the pound before. That makes three an' a half. Got the money with
you?"

"What!" yelled Fisher, emerging from his trance. "What!" he yelled
again.

"I ain't none deaf," placidly replied the marshal. "Got the money, the
three an' a half?"

"If you think yo're going to skin me outen three-fifty, one-fifty, or
one measly cent, you need some medicine, an' I'll give it to you in
pill form! You'd make a bum-looking angel, so get up an' hand over that
cayuse, _an' do it damned quick_!"

"Three-fifty, an' two bits extry for feed. It'll cost you 'bout a dollar
a day for feed. At the end of the week I'll sell that cayuse at auction
to pay its bills if you don't cough up. Got the money?"

"I've got a lead slug for you if I can borrow my gun for five minutes!"
retorted Fisher, seething double from anger.

"Five dollars more for contempt of court," pleasantly responded Mr.
Townsend. "As Justice of the Peace of this community I must allow
no disrespect, no contempt of the sovereign law of this town to go
unpunished. That makes it eight-seventy-five."

"An' to think I lost my gun!" shouted Fisher, dancing with rage. "I'll
get that cayuse out an' I won't pay a cent, not a damned cent! An' I'll
get you at the same time!"

"Now you dust around for fifteen dollars even an' stop yore contempt
of court an' threats or I'll drill you just for luck!" rejoined Mr.
Townsend, angrily. "If you keep on working yore mouth like that there
won't be nothing coming to you when I sell that cayuse of yourn. Turn
around an' strike out or I'll put you with yore ancestors!"



CHAPTER XIV

THE STRANGER'S PLAN

Fisher, wild with rage, returned to the Paradise and profanely unfolded
the tale of his burning wrongs to the bartender and demanded the loan of
his gun, which the bartender promptly refused. The present owner of the
gun liked Fisher very much for being such a sport and sympathized with
him deeply, but he did not want to have such a pleasing acquaintance
killed.

"Now, see here: you cool down an' I'll lend you fifteen dollars on that
saddle of yourn. You go up an' get that cayuse out before the price
goes up any higher--you don't know that man like I do," remarked the man
behind the bar earnestly. "That feller Townsend can shoot the eyes out
of a small dog at ten miles, purty nigh. Do you savvy my drift?"

"I won't pay him a cussed cent, an' when he goes to sell that piebald at
auction, I'll be on hand with a gun; I'll get one somewhere, all right,
even if I have to steal it. Then I'll shoot out _his_ eyes at ten paces.
Why, he's a two-laigged hold-up! That man would--" he stopped as a
stranger entered the room. "Hey, stranger! Don't you leave that cayuse
of yourn outside all alone or that coyote of a marshal will steal it,
shore. He's the biggest thief I ever knowed. He'll lift yore animal
quick as a wink!" Fisher warned, excitedly.

The stranger looked at him in surprise and then smiled. "Is it usual for
a marshal to steal cayuses? Somewhat out of line, ain't it?" he asked
Fisher, glancing at the bartender for light.

"I don't care what's the rule--that marshal just stole my cayuse; an'
he'll take yourn, too, if you ain't careful," Fisher replied.

"Well," drawled the stranger, smiling still more, "I reckon I ain't
going to stay out there an' watch it, an' I can't bring it in here.
But I reckon it'll be all right. You see, I carry 'big medicine'
agin hoss-thieves," he replied, tapping his holster and smiling as he
remembered the time, not long past, when he himself had been accused of
being one. "I'll take a chance if he will--what'll you all have?"

"Little whiskey," replied Fisher, uneasily, worrying because he could
not stand for a return treat. "But, say; you keep yore eye on that
animal, just the same," he added, and then hurriedly gave his reasons.
"An' the worst part of the whole thing is that I ain't got no gun, an'
can't seem to borrow none, neither," he added, wistfully eyeing the
stranger's Colt. "I gambled mine away to the bartender here an' he won't
lemme borrow it for five minutes!"

"Why, I never heard tell of such a thing before!" exclaimed the
stranger, hardly believing his ears, and aghast at the thought that such
conditions could exist. "Friend," he said, addressing the bartender,
"how is it that this sort of thing can go on in this town?" When the
bartender had explained at some length, his interested listener smote
the bar with a heavy fist and voiced his outraged feelings. "I'll shore
be plumb happy to spread that coyote marshal all over his cussed pound!
Say, come with me; I'm going down there right now an' get that cayuse,
an' if the marshal opens his mouth to peep I'll get him, too. I'm
itching for a chance to tunnel a man like him. Come on an' see the
show!"

"Not much!" retorted Fisher. "While I am some pleased to meet a white
man, an' have a deep an' abiding gratitude for yore noble offer, I can't
let you do it. He put it over on me, an' I'm the one that's got to shoot
him up. He's mine, my pudding; an' I'm hogging him all to myself. That
is one luxury I can indulge in even if I am broke; an' I'm sorry, but
I can't give you cards. Seeing, however, as you are so friendly to the
cause of liberty an' justice, suppose you lend me yore gun for about
three minutes by the watch. From what I've been told about this town
such an act will win for you the eternal love an' gratitude of a
down-trodden people; yore gun will blaze the way to liberty an' light,
freedom an' the right to own yore own property, an' keep it. All I ask
is that I be the undeserving medium."

"A-men," sighed the bartender. "Deacon Jones will now pass down the
aisle an' collect the buttons an' tin money."

"Stranger," continued Fisher, warming up, when he saw that his words
had not produced the desired result, "King James the Twelfth, on the
memorable an' blood-soaked field of Trafalgar, gave men their rights. On
that great day he signed the Magnet Charter, and proved himself as
great a liberator as the sainted Lincoln. You, on this most auspicious
occasion, hold in yore strong hand the destiny of this town--the women
an' children in this cursed community will rise up an' bless you forever
an' pass yore name down to their ancestors as a man of deeds an' honor!
Let us pause to consider this--"

"Hold that pause!" interrupted the astounded bartender hurriedly, and
with shaking voice. "String it out till I get untangled! I ain't up much
on history, so I won't take no chance with that; but I want to tell our
eloquent guest that there ain't no women _or_ children in this town. An'
if there was, I sort of reckon their ancestors would be born first. What
do you think about it--"

"Let us pause to consider the shameful an' burning _indignity_
perpetrated upon us to-day!" continued Fisher, unheeding the bartender's
words. "I, a peaceful, law-abiding _citizen_ of this _glorious_
Commonwealth, a free an' _equal_ member of a liberty-loving nation, a
nation whose standard is, _now_ and forever, 'Gimme liberty or gimme
det', a _nation_ that stands for all the conceivable benefits that
mankind may enjoy, a _nation_ that scintillates pyrotechnically over the
prostitution of power--"

_Bang!_ went the bartender's fist on the counter. "Hey! Pause again!
Wait a minute! Go back to 'shameful an' burning,' and gimme a chance!"

"--that stands for an even break, I, Nathaniel G. Fisher, have been
deprived of one of my inalienable rights, the right of locomotion to
distant an' other parts. _An'_ I say, right here an' now, that I won't
allow no spavined individual with thieving prehensils to--"

"Has that pound-keeper got a rifle?" calmly interrupted the stranger,
without a pang of remorse.

"He has. Thus has it allus been with tyrants--well armed, fortified by
habit an' tradition--"

"Then you won't get my gun, savvy? We'll find another way to get that
cayuse as long as you feel that the marshal is yore hunting. Besides,
this man's gall deserves some respect; it is genius, an' to pump genius
full of cold lead is to act rash. Now, suppose you tell me when this
auction is due to come off."

"Oh, not for a week; he wants to run up the board an' keep expenses.
Tyrants, such as him--"

"Shore," interposed the bartender, "he'll make the expenses equal what
he gets for the cayuse, no matter what it comes to. An' he's the whole
town, an' the justice of the peace, besides. What he says goes."

"Well, I'm the Governor of the State an' I've got the Supreme Court
right here in my holster, so I reckon I can reverse his official acts
an' fill his legal opinions full of holes," the stranger replied,
laughing heartily. "Bartender, will you help me play a little joke on
His Honore, the Town,--just a little harmless joke?"

"Well, that all depends whether the joke is harmless on _me_. You see,
he can shoot like the devil--he allus knows when a man is going to draw,
an' gets his gun out first. I ain't got no respect for him, but I take
off my hat to his gunplay, all right."

The stranger smiled. "Well, I can shoot a bit myself. But I shore wish
he'd hold that auction quick--I've got to go on home without losing
any more time. Fisher, suppose you go down to the pound and dare that
tumble-bug to hold the auction this afternoon. Tell him that you'll
shoot him full of holes if he goes pulling off any auction to-day, an'
dare him to try it. I want it to come off before night, an' I reckon
that'll hustle it along."

"I'll do anything to get the edge on that thief," replied Fisher,
quickly, "but don't you reckon I'd better tote a gun, going down an'
bearding such a thief in his own den? You know I allus like to shoot
when I'm being shot at."

"Well, I don't blame you; it's only a petty weakness," grinned the
stranger, hanging onto his Colt as if fearing that the other would
snatch it and run. "But you'll do better without any gun--me an' the
bartender don't want to have to go down there an' bring you back on a
plank."

"All right, then," sighed Fisher, reluctantly, "but he'll jump the price
again. He'll fine me for contempt of court an' make me pay money I ain't
got for disturbing him. But I'm game--so long."

When he had gained the street, the stranger turned to the bartender.
"Now, friend, you tell me if this man of gall, this Mr. Townsend, has
got many friends in town--anybody that'll be likely to pot shoot from
the back when things get warm. I can't watch both ends unless I know
what I'm up against."

"_No!_ Every man in town hates him," answered the bartender, hastily,
and with emphasis.

"Ah, that's good. Now, I wonder if you could see 'most everybody that's
in town now an' get 'em to promise to help me by letting me run this all
by myself. All I want them to do is not to say a word. It ain't hard to
keep still when you want to."

"Why, I reckon I might see 'em--there ain't many here this time of
day," responded the bartender. "But what's yore game, anyhow?" he asked,
suddenly growing suspicious.

"It's just a little scheme I figgered out," the stranger replied, and
then he confided in the bartender, who jigged a few fancy steps to show
his appreciation of the other's genius. His suspicions left him at once,
and he hastened out to tell the inhabitants of the town to follow his
instructions to the letter, and he knew they would obey, and be glad,
hilariously glad, to do so. While he was hurrying around giving his
instructions, the CG puncher returned to the hotel and reported.

"Well, it worked, all right," Fisher growled. "I told him what I'd do
to him if he tried to auction that cayuse off an' he retorted that if I
didn't shut up an' mind my own business, that he'd sell the horse this
noon, at twelve o'clock, in the public square, wherever that is. I told
him he was a coyote and dared him to do it. Told him I'd pump him full
of air ducts if he didn't wait till next week. Said I had the promise of
a gun an' that it'd give me great pleasure to use it on him if he tried
any auctioneering at my expense this noon. Then he fined me five dollars
more, swore that he'd show me what it meant to dare the marshal of
Rawhide an' insult the dignity of the court an' town council, an' also
that he'd shoot my liver all through my system if I didn't leave him to
his reflections. Now, look here, stranger; noon is only two hours away
an' I'm due to lose my outfit: what are _you_ going to do to get me out
of this mess?" he finished anxiously, hands on hips.

"You did real well, very fine, indeed," replied the stranger, smiling
with content. "An' don't you worry about that outfit--I'm going to get
it back for you an' a little bit more. So, as long as you don't lose
nothing, you ain't got no kick coming, have you? An' you ain't got no
interest in what I'm going to do. Just sit tight an' keep yore eyes an'
ears open at noon. Meantime, if you want something to do to keep you
busy, practise making speeches--you ought to be ashamed to be punching
cows an' working for a living when you could use yore talents an' get a
lot of graft besides. Any man who can say as much on nothing as you
can ought to be in the Senate representing some railroad company or
waterpower steal--you don't have to work there, just loaf an' take
easy money for cheating the people what put you there. Now, don't get
mad--I'm only stringing you: I wouldn't be mean enough to call you a
senator. To tell the truth, I think yo're too honest to even think of
such a thing. But go ahead an' practise--_I_ don't mind it a bit."

"Huh! I couldn't go to Congress," laughed Fisher. "I'd have to practise
by getting elected mayor of some town an' then go to the Legislature for
the finishing touches."

"Mr. Townsend would beat you out," murmured the stranger, looking out of
the window and wishing for noon. He sauntered over to a chair, placed
it where he could see his horse, and took things easy. The bartender
returned with several men at his heels, and all were grinning and
joking. They took up their places against the bar and indulged in
frequent fits of chuckling, not letting their eyes stray from the man in
the chair and the open street through the door, where the auction was
to be held. They regarded the stranger in the light of a would-be
public benefactor, a martyr, who was to provide the town with a little
excitement before he followed his predecessors into the grave. Perhaps
he would _not_ be killed, perhaps he would shoot the pound-keeper and
general public nuisance--but ah, this was the stuff of which dreams were
made: the marshal would never be killed, he would thrive and outlive his
fellow-townsmen, and die in bed at a ripe old age.

One of the citizens, dangling his legs from the card table, again looked
closely at the man with the plan, and then turned to a companion beside
him. "I've seen that there feller som'ers, sometime," he whispered. "I
_know_ I have. But I'll be teetotally dod-blasted if I can place him."

"Well, Jim; I never saw him afore, an' I don't know who he is," replied
the other, refilling his pipe with elaborate care, "but if he can kill
Townsend to-day, I'll be so plumb joyous I won't know what to do with
m'self."

"I'm afraid he won't, though," remarked another, lolling back against
the bar. "The marshal was born to hang--nobody can beat him on the draw.
But, anyhow, we're going to see some fun."

The first speaker, still straining his memory for a clue to the
stranger's identity, pulled out a handful of silver and placed it on
the table. "I'll bet that he makes good," he offered, but there were no
takers.

The stranger now lazily arose and stepped into the doorway, leaning
against the jamb and shaking his holster sharply to loosen the gun
for action. He glanced quickly behind him and spoke curtly: "Remember,
now--_I_ am to do all the talking at this auction; you fellers just look
on."

A mumble of assent replied to him, and the townsmen craned their necks
to look out. A procession slowly wended its way up the street, led by
the marshal, astride a piebald horse bearing the crude brand of the CG.
Three men followed him and numerous dogs of several colors, sizes, and
ages roamed at will, in a listless, bored way, between the horse and
the men. The dust arose sluggishly and slowly dissipated in the hot,
shimmering air, and a fly buzzed with wearying persistence against the
dirty glass in the front window.

The marshal, peering out from under the pulled-down brim of his Stetson,
looked critically at the sleepy horse standing near the open door of the
Paradise and sought its brand, but in vain, for it was standing with
the wrong side towards him. Then he glanced at the man in the door, a
puzzled expression stealing over his face. He had known that man once,
but time and events had wiped him nearly out of his memory and he could
not place him. He decided that the other horse could wait until he had
sold the one he was on, and, stopping before the door of the Paradise,
he raised his left arm, his right arm lying close to his side, not far
from the holster on his thigh.

"Gentlemen an' feller-citizens," he began: "As marshal of this booming
city, I am about to offer for sale to the highest bidder this A Number
1 piebald, pursooant to the decree of the local court an' with the
sanction of the town council an' the mayor. This same sale is for to pay
the town for the board an' keep of this animal, an' to square the fine
in such cases made an' provided. It's sound in wind an' limb, fourteen
han's high, an' in all ways a beautiful piece of hoss-flesh. Now,
gentlemen, how much am I bid for this cayuse? Remember, before you
make me any offer, that this animal is broke to punching cows an' is a
first-class cayuse."

The crowd in the Paradise had flocked out into the street and oozed
along the front of the building, while the stranger now leaned
carelessly against his own horse, critically looking over the one on
sale. Fisher, uneasy and worried, squirmed close at hand and glanced
covertly from his horse and saddle to the guns in the belts on the
members of the crowd.

It was the stranger who broke the silence: "Two bits I bid--two bits,"
he said, very quietly, whereat the crowd indulged in a faint snicker and
a few nudges.

The marshal looked at him and then ignored him. "How much, gentlemen?"
he asked, facing the crowd again.

"Two bits," repeated the stranger, as the crowd remained silent.

"Two bits!" yelled the marshal, glaring at him angrily: "_Two bits!_
Why, the _look_ in this cayuse's eyes is worth four! Look at the spirit
in them eyes, look at the intelligence! The saddle alone is worth a
clean forty dollars of any man's money. I am out here to sell this
animal to the highest bidder; the sale's begun, an' I want bids, not
jokes. Now, who'll start it off?" he demanded, glancing around; but no
one had anything to say except the terse stranger, who appeared to be
getting irritated.

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