The next morning we rides away to be locked up in self-defense. Just outside of Paradise we overtakes an Injun. He’s jogging along on a glass-eyed pinto, and he grins when he sees Chuck. Chuck stands in with all the aborigines.
“Hello, Tenas Charley,” grins the buck.
“Hello, Hiawatha,” grins Chuck. “Where you go so early?”
“You sabe Doc Milliken?”
“You bet. Why you wantum?”
“Givum letter. Me got letter. White man hurtum leg. No walk. Me go to Doc Milliken. Sabe?”
He fusses around in his blanket and produces a piece of paper. Chuck takes the paper and reads the few words. He hands me the letter and grins. It reads like this:
Hurt my leg. Follow the Injun to me.
Hurt my leg. Follow the Injun to me.
Hurt my leg. Follow the Injun to me.
Hurt my leg. Follow the Injun to me.
There ain’t no name signed.
“Heap scared,” informs the Injun. “Hurtum leg on tree.”
“Where you camp?” asks Chuck, and we gets informed that it’s on Little Beaver Crick. Chuck gives him back the letter, and swings around. “So long, Setting Bull,” says he, and the Injun grins and bobs off down the road.
“Now where?” I asks, and Chuck grins, “Slippery Silverton!” he whoops. “If it was anybody around here they’d ‘a’ signed their name. He’s hived up with that Injun, and we’re going to land him, Henry. Maybe he’s got the gold, too.”
It didn’t take us long to find that camp. We advances on foot. There’s a white man setting on the sunny side of that teepee, and he’s in blissful ignorance until me and Chuck lands on his shoulders like two playful bears. He gets energetic, but Chuck taps him on the head with his gun, and we hog-ties him proper. When he opens his eyes Chuck grins at him an’ says—
“Hello, Slippery.”
He don’t say a word.
“Don’t talk,” advises Chuck. “Yuh might wear out your teeth.”
The feller looks at us, foolish-like, so we hoists him up on Chuck’s bronc, and Chuck rides behind him. Once he opened his mouth and spoke one line:
“You fellers are an hour late.”
That’s all he said. I reckon Chuck hit him pretty hard.
We pilgrims right into Paradise, and up to Pelly’s saloon. There ain’t a soul in sight, but we observes signs of life down where we holds our court. We takes our captive down there, cuts the ropes off his legs and takes him inside.
The place is crowded and Telescope is on the stand. We gets in just in time to hear the judge ask Telescope if he can think of any earthly reason why he shouldn’t be held for the next term of court.
“A lot of reason, Judge!” yells Chuck, pushing our prisoner up to the front. “Here’s the main reason. Gents, I makes yuh used to Slippery Silverton!”
“Silverton ——!” I hears McGuire yelp.
“That’s the owner of the Golden Cross mine, Mister Warde,” And then he horns his way over to our prisoner and snorts—“What does this all mean?”
“I don’t know,” says the feller. “I—— I must ’a’ got hurt. Unless I’m mistaken I came part-way from the mine with Joe Allerton. We had that gold shipment. We sent out two decoy boxes on account of so many robberies. We rode across the hills. Joe figured on just making that train. He went to Helena. I wanted a pair of moccasins, and Joe left me at that Indian teepee. The owner wasn’t there, so I waited. That’s all, I guess. Somebody jumped on to me and—here I am.”
“The—the gold didn’t come down yesterday?” gasps McGuire, and Warde shakes his head, painful-like. “No. Just a box of rocks.”
Just then in comes Doc Milliken.
“Say!” he yells. “Will one of you strong men come and help me set a man’s leg? Mighty Jones cut a tree the wrong way and it lit on him. Lucky he was found by an Injun, who came for help. He was able to send a note but fainted before he could sign his name. All I want is somebody to hold him down. He’s so absent-minded that he’s liable to run away. He says to tell Ricky Henderson that his box of dynamite is either in the hay-loft or under his cabin floor. He can’t remember which.”
Art Miller is standing close to Chuck, and Chuck grabs him by the arm and whispers—“What does a new wheel for your stage cost, Art?”
“About eight dollars, Chuck—why?” “Here’s ten. Don’t ask me.”
While there is plenty of talk me and Chuck backs out and rides out of town. We’re in the bunk-house when Telescope and Muley and the old man comes home. Telescope and Muley comes in and looks us over, solemn-like. Pretty soon Muley climbs up on the bunk and recites, with appropriate gestures and feeling:
“Let me sing yuh a song of four danged fools,Four punchers whose brains are nix,Who done some things they ought not to do,And got in a —— of a fix.One was stuck on himself and wanted to beAdmired at ten cents a throw.Another wore stilts so he’d look like a man,When he went out after the dough.Three of the fools fooled with dynamite,One beat up an innocent man.The price of a wheel was all that it cost.You may beat it—I don’t think yuh can.”
“Let me sing yuh a song of four danged fools,Four punchers whose brains are nix,Who done some things they ought not to do,And got in a —— of a fix.One was stuck on himself and wanted to beAdmired at ten cents a throw.Another wore stilts so he’d look like a man,When he went out after the dough.Three of the fools fooled with dynamite,One beat up an innocent man.The price of a wheel was all that it cost.You may beat it—I don’t think yuh can.”
“Let me sing yuh a song of four danged fools,Four punchers whose brains are nix,Who done some things they ought not to do,And got in a —— of a fix.One was stuck on himself and wanted to beAdmired at ten cents a throw.Another wore stilts so he’d look like a man,When he went out after the dough.Three of the fools fooled with dynamite,One beat up an innocent man.The price of a wheel was all that it cost.You may beat it—I don’t think yuh can.”
“Let me sing yuh a song of four danged fools,
Four punchers whose brains are nix,
Who done some things they ought not to do,
And got in a —— of a fix.
One was stuck on himself and wanted to be
Admired at ten cents a throw.
Another wore stilts so he’d look like a man,
When he went out after the dough.
Three of the fools fooled with dynamite,
One beat up an innocent man.
The price of a wheel was all that it cost.
You may beat it—I don’t think yuh can.”
“Beautiful,” says I. “You’ve got a soul, Muley. There’s still that box of dynamite of Mighty’s to account for.”
“He picked it up on his way home,” says Muley. “That’s settled.”
“Did Archibald Ames get his local color?” I asks, and Telescope shakes his head. “Archibald Ames didn’t wait for nothing. He even hired somebody to drive him to Silver Bend. I asked him what he wanted me to do, and he told me to go to a place where they don’t cut holes in the ice.”
“You’ll miss them meals in bed,” sympathizes Chuck, wiggling his ears, and ducks outdoors just in time.
A boot-jack splintered on the door behind him.
“Well, it ended all right anyway,” grunts Muley. “How’d yuh say yuh hurt that leg, Telescope?”
Telescope peeks out of the door, and then limps back to me and Muley.
“I didn’t go to Bowers’ that first day the stage was robbed,” he whispers. “Don’t breathe it to a soul. I wouldn’t have Chuck hear it for a million.”
We holds up our right hands.
“Well,” says he, “that cottonwood snag they made me climb didn’t have no bark on it, and when I started down I slid too fast. Sabe?”
“Chuck was right!” I snorts. “He sure told the truth that time.”
Telescope hops to his feet and grabs me by the arms.
“What do yuh mean, Hen? What did Chuck say?”
“He said it sure was slippery,” says I.
Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the August 3, 1918 issue ofAdventuremagazine.
Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the August 3, 1918 issue ofAdventuremagazine.