Book: Somewhere in Red Gap

H >> Harry Leon Wilson >> Somewhere in Red Gap




"I looked quick to the dogs, and they was froze stiff with horror for at
least another second. Then they made one scramble for the open door, and
Kate made a beautiful spring for the bunch, landing on the back of the
last one with a yell of triumph. Mother shrieked, too, and we all rushed
to the door to see one of the prettiest chases you'd want to look at,
with old Kate handing out the side wipes every time he could get near
one of the dogs. They fled down over the creek bank and a minute later
we could see the pack legging it up the other side to beat the cars,
losing Kate--I guess because he didn't like to get his hide wet.

"When the first shock of this wore off, here was silly old Egbert, in a
weak voice, calling: 'Kitty, Kitty, Kitty! Here, Kitty! Here, Kitty!'
Then we notice brother and sister. Brother is waving his hat in the air
and yelling 'Yoicks!' and 'Gone away!' and 'Fair sport, by Jove!'--just
like some crazy man; and sister, with her chest going up and down, is
clapping her hands and yelling 'Goody! Goody! Goody!' and squealing with
helpless laughter. Mother just stood gazing at 'em in horrible silence.
Pretty soon they felt it and stopped, looking like a couple of kids that
know it's spanking time.

"'So!' says mother. That's all she said--just, 'So!'

"But she stuffed the simple word with eloquence; she left it pregnant
with meaning, as they say. Then she stalked loftily out and got on her
horse, brother and sister slinking after her. I guess I slunk, too,
though it was none of my doings. Cousin Egbert kind of sidled along,
mumbling about Kitty:

"'Kitty was quite frightened of the pets first time he seen 'em; but
someway to-day it seemed like he had lost much of his fear--seemed more
like he had wanted to play with 'em, or something.'

"Nobody listened to the doddering old wretch, but I caught brother
winking at him behind mother's back. Then we all rode off in lofty
silence, headed by mother, who never once looked back to her late host,
even if he was mad about ranching. We got up over the pass and the pack
of ruined beagles begun to straggle out of the underbrush. A good big
buck rabbit with any nerve could have put 'em all on the run again. You
could tell that. They slunk along at the tail of the parade. I dropped
out informally when it passed the place here. It seemed like something
might happen where they'd want only near members of the family present.

"I don't hear anything from Broadmoor next day; so the morning after
that I ride over to Cousin Egbert's to see if I couldn't get a better
line on the recent tragedy. He was still on his Sunday paper, having
finished an article telling that man had once been scaly, like a fish;
and was just beginning the fashion notes, with pictures showing that the
smart frock was now patterned like an awning. Old Kate was lying on a
bench in the sun, trying to lick a new puncture he'd got in his chest.

"I started right in on the old reprobate. I said it was a pretty
how-de-do if a distinguished lady amateur, trying to raise ranching to
the dignity of a sport, couldn't turn loose a few prize beagles without
having 'em taken for a hunt breakfast by a nefarious beast that ought to
be in a stout cage in a circus this minute! I thought, of course, this
would insult him; but he sunned right up and admitted that Kate was
about half to three-quarters bobcat; and wasn't he a fine specimen? And
if he could only get about eight more as good he'd have a pack of
beagle-cats that would be the envy of the whole sporting world.

"'It ain't done!' I remarked, aiming to crush him.

"'It is, too!' Egbert says. 'I did it myself. Look what I already done,
just with Kitty alone!'

"'How'd it start?' I asked him.

"'Easy! says he. 'They took Kate for a rabbit and Kate took them for
rabbits. It was a mutual error. They found out theirs right soon; but I
bet Kate ain't found out his, even to this day. I bet he thinks they're
just a new kind of rabbit that's been started. The first day they broke
in here he was loafin' round out in front, and naturally he started for
'em, though probably surprised to see rabbits travelling in a bunch.
Also, they see Kate and start for him, which must of startled him good
and plenty. He'd never had rabbits make for him before. He pulled up so
quick he skidded. I could see his mind working. Don't tell me that cat
ain't got brains like a human! He was saying to himself: "Is this here a
new kind of rabbits, or is it a joke--or what? Mebbe I better not try
anything rash till I find out."

"'They was still coming for him acrost the flat, with their tongues out;
so he soopled himself up a bit with a few jumps and made for that there
big down spruce. He lands on the trunk and runs along it to where the
top begins. He has it all worked out. He's saying: "If this here is a
joke, all right; but if it ain't a joke I better have some place back of
me for a kind of refuge."

"'So up come these strange rabbits and started to jump for him on the
trunk of the spruce; but it's pretty high and they can't quite make it.
And in a minute they sort of suspicion something on their part, because
Kate has rared his back and is giving 'em a line of abuse they never
heard from any rabbit yet. Awful wicked it was, and they sure got
puzzled. I could hear one of 'em saying: "Aw, come on! That ain't no
regular rabbit; he don't look like a rabbit, and he don't talk like a
rabbit, and he don't act like a rabbit!" Then another would say: "What
of it? What do we care if he's a regular rabbit or not? Let's get him,
anyway, and take him apart!"

"'So they all begin to jump again and can't quite make it till their
leader says he'll show 'em a real jump. He backs off a little to get a
run and lands right on the log. Then he wished he hadn't. Old Kate
worked so quick I couldn't hardly follow it. In about three seconds this
leader lands on his back down in the bunch, squealing like one of these
Italian sopranos when the flute follows her up. He crawls off on his
stomach, still howling, and I see he's had a couple of wipes over the
eye, and one of his ears is shredded.

"'A couple of the others come over to ask him how it happened, and what
he quit for, and did his foot slip; and he says: "Mark my words,
gentlemen; we got our work cut out for us here. That animal is acting
less and less like a rabbit every minute. He's more turbulent and he's
got spurs on." He goes on talking this way while the others bark at
Kate, and Kate dares any one of 'em to come on up there and have it out,
man to man. Finally another lands on the tree trunk and gets what the
first one got. I could see it this time. Kate done some dandy shortarm
work in the clinches and hurled him off on his back like the other one;
then he stands there sharpening his claws on the bark and grinning in a
masterful way. He was saying: "You will, will you?"

"'Then one of these beetles must of said, "Come on, boys--all together
now!" for four of 'em landed up on the trunk all to once. And Kate
wasn't there. He'd had the top of this fallen tree at his back, and he
kites up a limb about ten feet above their heads and stretches out for a
rest, cool as anything, licking his paws and purring like he enjoyed the
beautiful summer day, and wasn't everything calm and lovely? It was
awful insulting the way he looked down on 'em, with his eyes half shut.
And you never seen beetles so astonished in your life. They just
couldn't believe their eyes, seeing a rabbit act that way! The leader
limps over and says: "There! What did I tell you, smarties? I guess next
time you'll take my word for it. I guess you can see plain enough now he
ain't no rabbit, the way he skinned up that tree."

"'They calm down a mite at this, and one or two says they thought he was
right from the first; and some others says: "Well, it wouldn't make no
difference what he was, rabbit or no rabbit, if he'd just come down and
meet the bunch of us fair and square; but the dirty coward is afraid to
fight us, except one at a time." The leader is very firm, though. He
tells 'em that if this here object ain't a rabbit they got no right to
molest him, and if he is a rabbit he's gone crazy, and wouldn't be good
to eat, anyway; so they better go find one that acts sensible. And he
gets 'em away, all talking about it excitedly.

"'Well, sir, you wouldn't believe how tickled Kate was all that day. It
was like he'd found a new interest in life. And next time these beetles
come up they pull off another grand scrap. Kate laid for 'em just this
side of the creek and let 'ern chase him back to his tree. He skun up
three others that day, still pursuin' his cowardly tactics of fighting
'em one at a time, and retirin' to his perch when three or four would
come at once. Also, when they give him up again and started off he come
down and chased 'em to the creek bank, like you seen the other day,
telling 'em to be sure and not forget the number, because he ain't had
so much fun since he met up with a woodchuck. The next time they showed
up he'd got so contemptuous of 'em that he'd leap down and engage one
that had got separated from the pack. He had two of 'em darn' near out
before they was rescued by their friends.

"'Then, a few days later, along comes the pack again--only this time
they're being herded by the lad with the ginger-coloured whiskers. He
gets off his horse and says how do I do, and what lovely weather, and
how bracing the air is; and I says what pretty beetles he has; and he
says it's ripping sport; and I says, yes; Kate has ripped up a number of
'em, but I hope he don't blame me none, because my Kitty has to defend
himself. Say, this guy brightened up and like to took me off my feet! He
grabs both my hands and shakes 'em warmly for a long time and says do I
think my cat can put the whole bunch on the blink?--or words to that
effect. And I says it's the surest thing in the world; but why? And he
says, then the sooner the better, because it's a barbarous sport and
every last beetle ought to be thoroughly killed; and when they are, in
case his mother don't find out the crooked work, mebbe he'll be let to
raise orchids or do something useful in the world, instead of frittering
his life away in the vain pursuit of pleasure.

"'Oh, he was the chatty lad, all right! And I felt kind of sorry for
him; so I says Kate would dearly love to wipe these beetles out one by
one; and he says: 'Capital, by Jove!' And I call Kitty and we pull off
another nice little scrap on the fallen tree, though it's hard to make
the beetles take much interest in it now, except in the way of
self-defense. Even at that, they're kept plenty occupied.

"'Say, this guy is the happiest you ever see one when Kate has about
four more of 'em licked to a standstill in jigtime. He says he has one
more favour to ask of me: Will I allow his sister to come up some day
and see the lovely carnage? And I says, Sure! Kate will be glad to
oblige any time. He says he'll fetch her up the first time the pack is
able to get out again, and he keeps on chattering like a child that's
found a new play-pretty.

"'I can't hardly get him off the place, he's so greatful to me. He tells
me his biography and about how this here blond guy has been roughing
him all over Europe and Asia, and how it had got to stop right here,
because a man has a right to live his own life, after all; and then he
branches off in a nutty way to tell me that he always takes a cold
shower every morning, winter and summer, and he never could read a line
of Sir Walter Scott, and why don't some genius invent a fountain pen
that will work at all times? and so on, till it sounded delirious. But
he left at last.

"'And we had some good ripping sport when him and sister come up. I
never seen such a blood-thirsty female. She'd nearly laugh her head off
when Kitty was gouging the eye out of one of these cunning little
scamps. She said if I'd ever seen the nasty curs pile on to one poor
defenseless little bunny I'd understand why she was so keen about my
beetle-cat. That's what she called Kate.

"'Kate, he got kind of bored with the whole business after that. He
hadn't actually eat one yet, and mebbe that was all that kept him
going--wanting to see if they'd taste any better than regular rabbits.
But you bet they knew now that Kate wasn't any kind of a rabbit. They
didn't have any more arguments on that point--they knew darn' well he
didn't have a drop of rabbit blood in his veins. Oh, he's some
beetle-cat, all right!'

"That's Cousin Egbert for you! Can you beat him--changing round and
being proud of this mixed marriage that he had formerly held to be a
scandal!

"Well, I go back home, and here is mother waiting for me. And she's a
changed woman. She's actually give up trying to make anything out of her
chits, because after considerable browbeating and third-degree stuff,
they've come through with the whole evil conspiracy--how they'd got her
prize-winning beagles licked by a common cat that wouldn't be let into
any bench show on earth! Her spirit was broke.

"'My poor son,' she says, 'I shall allow to go his silly way after this
outrageous bit of double-dealing. I think it useless to strive further
with him. He has not only confessed all the foul details, but he came
brazenly out with the assertion that a man has a right to lead his own
life--and he barely thirty!'

"She goes on to say that it's this terrible twentieth-century modernism
that has infected him. She says that, first woman sets up a claim to
live her own life, and now men are claiming the same right, even one as
carefully raised and guarded as her boy has been; and what are we coming
to? But, anyway, she did her best for him.

"Pretty soon Broadmoor was closed like you seen it to-day. Sister is now
back in Boston, keeping tabs on orchestras and attending lectures on the
higher birds; and brother at last has his orchid ranch somewhere down in
California. He's got one pet orchid that I heard cost twelve thousand
dollars--I don't know why. But he's very happy living his own life. The
last I heard of mother she was exploring the headwaters of the Amazon
River, hunting crocodiles and jaguars and natives, and so on.

"She was a good old sport, though. She showed that by the way she
simmered down about Cousin Egbert's cat before she left. At first, she
wanted to lay for it and put a bullet through its cowardly heart. Then
she must of seen the laugh was on her, all right; for what did she do?
Why, the last thing she done was to box up all these silver cups her
beagles had won and send 'em over to Kate, in care of his owner--all the
eye-cups and custard bowls, and so on. Cousin Egbert shows 'em off to
every one.

"'Just a few cups that Kate won,' he'll say. 'I want to tell you he's
some beetle-cat! Look what he's come up to--and out of nothing, you
might say!'"




VIII

PETE'S B'OTHER-IN-LAW


On the Arrowhead Ranch it was noon by the bell that Lew Wee loves to
clang. It may have been half an hour earlier or later on other ranches,
for Lew Wee is no petty precisian. Ma Pettengill had ridden off at dawn;
and, rather than eat luncheon in solitary state, I joined her retainers
for the meal in the big kitchen, which is one of my prized privileges. A
dozen of us sat at the long oilcloth-covered table and assuaged the more
urgent pangs of hunger in a haste that was speechless and far from
hygienic. No man of us chewed the new beef a proper number of times; he
swallowed intently and reached for more. It was rather like twenty
minutes for dinner at what our railway laureates call an eating house.
Lew Wee shuffled in bored nonchalance between range and table. It was an
old story to him.

The meal might have gone to a silent end, though moderating in pace; but
we had with us to-day--as a toastmaster will put it--the young
veterinary from Spokane. This made for talk after actual starvation had
been averted--fragmentary gossip of the great city; of neighbouring
ranches in the valley, where professional duty had called him; of
Adolph, our milk-strain Durham bull, whose indisposition had brought him
several times to Arrowhead; and then of Squat, our youngest cowboy, from
whose fair brow the intrepid veterinary, on his last previous visit, had
removed a sizable and embarrassing wen with what looked to me like a
pair of pruning shears.

The feat had excited much uncheerful comment among Squat's _confreres_,
bets being freely offered that he would be disfigured for life, even if
he survived; and what was the sense of monkeying with a thing like that
when you could pull your hat down over it? Of course you couldn't wear a
derby with it; but no one but a darned town dude would ever want to wear
a derby hat, anyway, and the trouble with Squat was, he wished to be
pretty. It was dollars to doughnuts the thing would come right back
again, twice as big as ever, and better well enough alone. But Squat,
who is also known as Timberline, and is, therefore, a lanky six feet
three, is young and sensitive and hopeful, and the veterinary is a
matchless optimist; and the thing had been brought to a happy
conclusion.

Squat, being now warmly urged, blushingly turned his head from side to
side that all might remark how neatly his scar had healed. The
veterinary said it had healed by first intention; that it was as pretty
a job as he'd ever done on man or beast; and that Squat would be more of
a hit then ever with the ladies because of this interesting chapter in
his young life. Then something like envy shone in the eyes of those who
had lately disparaged Squat for presuming to thwart the will of God; I
detected in more than one man there the secret wish that he had
something for this ardent expert to eliminate. Squat continued to blush
pleasurably and to bolt his food until another topic diverted this
entirely respectful attention from him. The veterinary asked if we had
heard about the Indian ruction down at Kulanche last night--Kulanche
Springs being the only pretense to a town between our ranch and Red
Gap--a post-office, three general stores, a score of dwellings, and a
low drinking place known as The Swede's. The news had not come to us; so
the veterinary obliged. A dozen Indians, drifting into the valley for
the haying about to begin, had tarried near Kulanche and bought whiskey
of the Swede. The selling of this was a lawless proceeding and the
consumption of it by the purchasers had been hazardous in the extreme.
Briefly, the result had been what is called in newspaper headlines a
stabbing affray. I quote from our guest's recital:

"Then, after they got calmed down and hid their knives, and it
looked peaceful again, they decided to start all over; but the
liquor was out, so that old scar-faced Pyann jumps on a pony and
rides over from the camp for a fresh supply. He pulled up out in
front of the Swede's and yelled for three bottles to be brought out
to him, pronto! If he'd sneaked round to the back door and
whispered he'd have got it all right, but this was a little too
brash, because there were about a dozen men in the bar and the
Swede was afraid to sell an Injin whiskey so openly. All he could
do was go to the door and tell this pickled aborigine that he never
sold whiskey to Injins and to get the hell out of there! Pyann
called the Swede a liar and some other things, mentioning dates,
and started to climb off his pony, very ugly.

"The Swede wasn't going to argue about it, because we'd all come
out in front to listen; so he pulled his gun and let it off over
Pyann's head; and a couple of the boys did the same thing, and that
started the rest--about six others had guns--till it sounded like a
bunch of giant crackers going off. Old Pyann left in haste, all
right. He was flattened out on his pony till he looked like a
plaster.

"We didn't hear any more of him last night, but coming up here this
morning I found out he'd done a regular Paul Revere ride to save
his people; he rode clear up as far as that last camp, just below
here, on your place, yelling to every Injin he passed that they'd
better take to the brush, because the whites had broken out at
Kulanche. At that, the Swede ought to be sent up, knowing they'll
fight every time he sells them whiskey. Two of these last night
were bad cut in this rumpus."

"Yes; and he'd ought to be sent up for life for selling it to white men,
too--the kind he sells." This was Sandy Sawtelle, speaking as one who
knew and with every sign of conviction. "It sure is enterprising
whiskey. Three drinks of it make a decent man want to kill his little
golden-haired baby sister with an axe. Say, here's a good one--lemme
tell you! I remember the first time, about three, four years ago--"

The speaker was interrupted--it seemed to me with intentional rudeness.
One man hurriedly wished to know who did the cutting last night;
another, if the wounded would recover; and a third, if Pete, an aged red
vassal of our own ranch, had been involved. Each of the three flashed a
bored glance at Sandy as he again tried for speech:

"Well, as I was saying, I remember the first time, about three, four
years ago--"

"If old Pete was down there I bet his brother-in-law did most of the
knifework," put in Buck Devine firmly.

It was to be seen that they all knew what Sandy remembered the first
time and wished not to hear it again. Others of them now sought to
stifle the memoir, while Sandy waited doggedly for the tide to ebb. I
gathered that our Pete had not been one of the restive convives, he
being known to have spent a quiet home evening with his mahala and their
numerous descendants, in their camp back of the wood lot; I also
gathered that Pete's brother-in-law had committed no crime since Pete
quit drinking two years before. There was veiled mystery in these
allusions to the brother-in-law of Pete. It was almost plain that the
brother-in-law was a lawless person for whose offenses Pete had more
than once been unjustly blamed. I awaited details; but meantime--

"Well, as I was saying, I remember the first time, about three, four
years ago--"

Sandy had again dodged through a breach in the talk, quite as if nothing
had happened. Buck Devine groaned as if in unbearable anguish. The
others also groaned as if in unbearable anguish. Only the veterinary and
I were polite.

"Oh, let him get it offen his chest," urged Buck wearily. "He'll perish
if he don't--having two men here that never heard him tell it." He
turned upon the raconteur, with a large sweetness of manner: "Excuse me,
Mr. Sawtelle! Pray do go on with your thrilling reminiscence. I could
just die listening to you. I believe you was wishing to entertain the
company with one of them anecdotes or lies of which you have so rich a
store in that there peaked dome of yours. Gents, a moment's silence
while this rare personality unfolds hisself to us!"

"Say, lemme tell you--here's a good one!" resumed the still placid
Sandy. "I remember the first time, about three, four years ago, I ever
went into The Swede's. A stranger goes in just ahead of me and gets to
the bar before I do, kind of a solemn-looking, sandy-complected little
runt in black clothes.

"'A little of your best cooking whiskey,' says he to the Swede, while
I'm waiting beside him for my own drink.

"The Swede sets out the bottle and glass and a whisk broom on the bar.
That was sure a new combination on me. 'Why the whisk broom?' I says to
myself. 'I been in lots of swell dives and never see no whisk broom
served with a drink before.' So I watch. Well, this sad-looking sot
pours out his liquor, shoots it into him with one tip of the glass; and,
like he'd been shot, he falls flat on the floor, all bent up in a
convulsion--yes, sir; just like that! And the Swede not even looking
over the bar at him!

"In a minute he comes out of this here fit, gets on his feet and up to
the bar, grabs the whisk broom, brushes the dust off his clothes where
he's rolled on the floor, puts back the whisk broom, says, 'So long,
Ed!' to the Swede--and goes out in a very businesslike manner.

"Then the Swede shoves the bottle and a glass and the whisk broom over
in front of me, but I says: 'No, thanks! I just come in to pass the time
of day. Lovely weather we're having, ain't it?' Yes, sir; down he goes
like he's shot, wriggles a minute, jumps up, dusts hisself off, flies
out the door; and the Swede passing me the same bottle and the same
broom, and me saying: 'Oh, I just come in to pass the time of--'"

The veterinary and I had been gravely attentive. The faces of the others
wore not even the tribute of pretended ennui. They had betrayed an
elaborate deafness. They now affected to believe that Sandy Sawtelle
had not related an anecdote. They spoke casually and with an effect of
polished ease while yet here capitulated, as tale-tellers so often will.

"I remember a kid, name of Henry Lippincott, used to set in front of me
at school," began Buck Devine, with the air of delicately breaking a
long silence; "he'd wiggle his ears and get me to laughing out loud, and
then I'd be called up for it by teacher and like as not kept in at
recess."

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