“The night is dark, and I am far from home,Lead Thou me on!Keep Thou my feet: I do not ask to seeThe distant scene,—one step enough for me.”
“The night is dark, and I am far from home,Lead Thou me on!Keep Thou my feet: I do not ask to seeThe distant scene,—one step enough for me.”
“The night is dark, and I am far from home,Lead Thou me on!Keep Thou my feet: I do not ask to seeThe distant scene,—one step enough for me.”
“The night is dark, and I am far from home,
Lead Thou me on!
Keep Thou my feet: I do not ask to see
The distant scene,—one step enough for me.”
I had never heard his voice so wonderfully beautiful before; but, my stars, the sadness of it made me choke! It wasn’t just a song, it was a cry; and I knew that it came from a lonely, bleedin’ heart. I put my head under the covers again, puzzlin’ over what was on his mind; but first thing I knew I was awakened by the glad voice of the old Friar Tuck, singin’ his favorite mornin’ hymn: “Brightest and best of the sons of the morning”; so I cooked breakfast, and he went his way, and I went mine.
The Diamond Dot, while it was about the idealest ranch in the West from most standpoints, was run a little loose. Jabez didn’t have any luxurious tastes, and he wasn’t miserly; so he didn’t strain things down to the last penny—not by a whole lot. All he asked was to have his own way and be comfortable; and so he allus kept more punchers ’n he had actual need of, and unless they got jubilant over imposin’ on him, he just shut his eyes and grinned about it.
Takin’ his location and outfit into account, and he just simply couldn’t help but make money; so we all had a fairly easy time of it and grew tender feelin’s, the same as spoiled children; which is why we sometimes quit, for we never had any other excuse for it.
Barbie was a notice-takin’ child, if ever the’ was one; and she stood out for company as a general and standin’ order. Company didn’t affect ol’ Cast Steel one way or the other; they were just the same to him as a couple o’ hundred head o’ ponies, more or less; and so the news got out that we allus had a lot of extra beds made up and any one was welcome to stretch out in ’em who wanted to. The result o’ this was, ’at we drew visitors as easy as molasses draws flies. I lived at the home house on account o’ bein’ Barbie’s pal, and so I got into the habit o’ bein’ a sort of permanent reception committee. Some o’ these visitors was a plague to me; but Jabez didn’t like to run any risk of havin’ ’em ruined beyond repair, so it was generally understood that I had to use ex-treme caution when I started in to file the clutch off their welcome.
This spring ’at I have in mind, we had as visitor one o’ the easternest dudes I was ever tangled up with. He came out for his health, which is the excuse most of ’em gives; but this one took more ways of avoidin’ health ’n airy other of ’em I ever saw. He smoked cigars all day long, big black ones, strong enough to run a sawmill, he ate fattenin’ food from mornin’ till night, and when he drove out in the buckboard to take his exercise, he suffered from what he called fatigue. He used to sit up as wide awake as an owl till along about ten every night; and half the time he didn’t crawl out until near seven in the mornin’. He certainly was a pest!
What he complained of most, was his nerves; and he’d sit for hours, talkin’ about ’em to anything ’at had ears. He said the worst of it was, he couldn’t sleep nights. I had, of course, heard o’ nerves before ever I saw him; but I had never heard of ’em turnin’ to and devilin’ a man, the way his did; so at first I was honestly interested, and asked him all I could think up about ’em; but after a day or so, I’d ’a’ been perfectly willin’ to put up the coin out o’ my own pocket to have him go to a dentist and have every last one of his nerves pulled.
I don’t begrudge sympathy to any afflicted individual; but the more I sympathized with this feller, the more affectionate toward me he got; and he used to trot about after me, warbilin’ out dirges about his nerves until I was tempted to tie a stone around his neck and lose him down the cistern.
He ran to language, too, this one did. His conversation was so full of it that a feller could scarcely understand what he was tryin’ to say. He was ferociously interested in the ancient Greeks; and if a man succeeded in wedgin’ him away from his nerves, he began immediate to discourse about these ancient Greeks. Now, I didn’t have a single thing again’ any o’ these ancient Greeks before this Dude struck us, none of ’em ever havin’ crossed my trail before; but they sure did have a rotten outfit o’ names, and they were the most infernal liars ’at ever existed. Three-headed dogs, and women with snakes for hair, were as common in their tales as thieves among the Sioux. Barbie didn’t have any use for this Eastener either; so I decided to fit him out with a deep-rooted desire for home influences.
I took ol’ Tank Williams into my confidence, he bein’ the most gruesome lookin’ creature we had in our parts. He was a big man of curious construction and he had one eye which ran wild. Tank never knew what this free eye was up to; and while he would be examinin’ the ground, the free eye would be gazin’ up at a tree as intent as though he had set it to watch for a crow. Durin’ his younger days, Tank had formed the habit of indulgin’ in gang fights as much as possible, and all of his features had been stampeded out o’ their natural orbits; but this free eye beat anything I ever see.
They had him down on his back one time, and he was gnawin’ away contentedly at some feller’s thumb, when the feller reached up his trigger finger and scooped out Tank’s eye. The shape and color weren’t hurt a bit; but some o’ the workin’ parts got disconnected, so that he couldn’t see with it; but it appeared to be full as good an eye as the one he looked with.
All the sleep Tank ever wanted was six hours out o’ the twenty-four, and he didn’t care how he got ’em—ten minutes at a time, or all in one lump. He could sleep sittin’ up straight, or ridin’, or stretched out in bed, or most any way. I think he could sleep while walkin,’ though I was never able to surprise him at it. He agreed to back me up, and Spider Kelley also said he was willin’ to do everything in his power to furnish our guest some pleasant recollections after he’d gone back to a groove which fitted him better.
As soon as I began to plan my trip, I started to rehearse curious secrets about Tank to the Eastener, whose name was Horace Walpole Bradford. I told Horace that Tank had a case o’ nerves which made his ’n seem like a bundle of old shoe-laces; and that if something wasn’t done for him soon, I feared he was goin’ to develop insanity. I said that even now, it wasn’t safe to contrary him none, and that I’d be a heap easier in my own mind if Tank was coralled up in a cell somewhere, with irons on.
I didn’t tell Tank what sort of a disposition I was supplyin’ him with for fear he’d overdo it. Tank didn’t know a nerve from an ingrowin’ hair; but when he and Horace paired off to tell each other their symptoms, I’ll have to own up that his tales of anguish an’ sufferin’ made Horace’s troubles sound like dance music.
I told Horace that a trip through the mountains would soothe and invigorate him, until he’d be able to sleep, hangin’ by his toes like a bat; but the trouble was to find something which interested him enough to lure him on the trip. There was a patent medicine almanac at the place, and I studied up its learnin’ until I had it at my tongue’s end, and I also used a lot o’ Friar Tuck’s health theories; so that I got Horace interested enough to talk my eardrums callous; but not enough to take the trip.
I didn’t know much about nerves; but I was as familiar with sleep as though I had graduated from eleven medical colleges, and I knew if he would just follow my directions, it would give him such an appetite for slumber that he’d drop into it without rememberin’ to close his eyelids. Ol’ Jabez happened to mention an Injun buryin’ ground with the members reposin’ on top o’ pole scaffolds, and this proved to be the bait. Horace wanted to see this, and it was a four days’ drive by buckboard; so I heaved a sigh o’ relief and prepared to do my duty.
When all was ready, we packed our stuff in the good buckboard, putting in an extra saddle for the accident we felt sure was goin’ to happen. Spider started as driver, while I rode behind, leadin’ a horse with Tank’s saddle on, though Horace thought it was Spider’s. We had told him that it made our backs ache to ride in a buckboard all day, so we would change off once in a while. Horace wanted to do the drivin’ himself; but we pointed out that he wasn’t used to our kind o’ roads, and consequently favored the little hills too much. He was inhumanly innocent, and it was almost like feedin’ a baby chalk and water.
We trotted along gentle, until the rear spring came loose goin’ down a little dip to a dry crick bed, about ten miles out. We talked it over and decided ’at the best plan would be for Spider to drive back and get the old buckboard; so after unloadin’ our stuff, I took the tap out o’ my pocket, fixed the spring, tied a rope about it to deceive Horace, and Spider drove back for the old buckboard which had been discarded years before, but which we had fixed up for this trip and painted until it looked almost safe to use.
Before long we saw the buckboard comin’ back; but much to our surprise, Tank Williams was drivin’ it, an’ givin’ what he thought was the imitation of a nervous man. He would stand up an’ yell, crack his mule-skinner, and send the ponies along on a dead run. He came up to us, and said that he had had an attack o’ nerves, hadn’t slept a wink the night before; and when Spider Kelley had refused to let him go in his place, he had torn him from the seat an’ had trampled him.
“I trampled him,” sez Tank solemnly, his free eye lookin’ straight into the sun. “I hope I didn’t destroy him; but in my frenzy I trampled him.”
Horace looked worried. “Tank,” sez I soothin’ly, “we don’t really need any one else along. You just help us to load, an’ then go back, like a good feller.”
Tank stood up on the seat, an’ held the whip ready. “My life depends on me takin’ this trip!” he yelled. “My life depends on it; it depends on it, I tell you. My life depends on me takin’ this trip!”
He went on repeatin’ about his life dependin’ on his takin’ that trip, until I made a sign to Horace, and said ’at we’d better let him go along. Horace wasn’t ambitious to be trampled; so he concluded to concur, an’ climbed into the seat beside Tank. Any one else would ’a’ noticed that it was Tank’s saddle on the hoss I was leadin’; but Horace never noticed anything which wasn’t directly connected with his own body. He didn’t even have any idee that the sun had set habits in the matter o’ risin’ an’ settin’—which was another fact I had took into account.
We were drivin’ four broncs to the buckboard, an’ they was new to the game and in high spirits. Tank was also in high spirits, an’ we went at a clip which was inspirin’, even to sound nerves. We did our level best to give Horace somethin’ real to worry about, an’ from the very start his nerves was so busy handin’ in idees an’ sensations that his mind was took up with these instead of with the nerves themselves as was usual.
Well, we sure had a delightful ride that afternoon: every time ’at Horace would beseech Tank to be more careful in swingin’ around down-hill curves, Tank would seize him by the arm with his full squeezin’ grip, an’ moan: “It’s my nerves, my pore nerves. This is one o’ the times when I’m restive, I got to have action; my very life depends on it! Whoop, hit ’em up—Whee!” an’ he’d crack his mule-skinner about the ears o’ the ponies, an’ we’d have another runaway for a spell.
Horace hadn’t the mite of an idee in which direction he was travelin’; all he did was to hang on and hope. The confounded buckboard was tougher ’n we had figured on, and it didn’t bust until near dark. As they went up the slope, I could see the left hind wheel weavin’ purty rapid, an’ as they tore down the grade to Cottonwood Crick, things began to creak an’ rattle most threatenin’. We had decided to camp on the crick, an’ Tank swung up his team with a flourish. The hind wheel couldn’t stand the strain, an’ when it crumbled, Horace, an’ the rest o’ the baggage, whip-crackered off like a pinwheel. Of course when one wheel went, the others dished in company, an’ the whole thing was a wreck.
The ponies were comfortable weary, an’ after I had roped one an’ the rest had fallen over him, we soothed ’em down without much trouble, an’ started to make camp. Horace was all in, an’ was minded to sit on his shoulder blades an’ rest; but this wasn’t part o’ the plan, an’ we made him hustle like a new camp-boy. As soon as supper was over, he lit a cigar, an’ prepared to take a rest. We had decided that those big, black cigars wasn’t best for his nerves, so we had smuggled out the box, an’ had worked a little sulphur into all but the top row. He lit his cigar and gave us one apiece, but he was so sleepy he couldn’t keep his on fire; and it was comical to watch him.
Every time he’d nod off, Tank would utter an exclamation, an’ walk up an’ down, rubbin’ his hands an’ cussin’ about his nerves. Horace was dead tired from bein’ jounced about on the buckboard all day; but he was worried about Tank, an’ this would wake him effectual.
About ten o’clock I sez: “Tank, what happened that night when you got nervous up in the Spider Water country?”
“Oh, don’t ask me, don’t ask me,” sez Tank, gittin’ up an’ walkin’ off into the darkness.
“I wish to glory he hadn’t come along,” I sez to Horace. “I fear we’re goin’ to have trouble; but chances are that a good night’s rest’ll quiet him, all right.”
Purty soon Tank came back, lit his pipe, an’ sat facin’ Horace with his lookin’ eye, an’ everything else in the landscape with his free one. “You know how it is with nerves,” he sez to Horace. “You perhaps, of all them I have ever met up with, know how strained and twisted nerves fill a man’s heart with murder, set his teeth on edge and put the taste of blood in his throat; so I’m goin’ to tell the whole o’ that horrid experience, which I have never yet confided to a livin’ soul before. Have you got a match?”
Tank’s pipe allus went out at the most interestin’ times; and he couldn’t no wise talk without smokin’. We all knew this; so whenever Tank got headed away on a tale, we heaved questions at him, just to see how many matches we could make him burn. He’d light a match and hold it to his pipe; but he allus lit off an idee with the match, and when he’d speak out the idee, he’d blow out the match. Or else he’d be so took up by his own talkin’, he’d hold the match until it burnt his fingers; then, without shuttin’ off his discourse, he’d moisten the fingers on his other hand, take the burnt end of the match careful, and hold it until it was plumb burnt up, without ever puttin’ it to his pipe. I didn’t want to waste matches on this trip so I told Horace to hand Tank his cigar. Horace had already wasted two cigars, besides the ones he had given us; and I wanted him to get to the sulphur ones as soon as convenient.
Tank’s mind was preoccupied with the tale we had made up; so he took Horace’s fresh cigar, lit his pipe by it, threw the cigar into the fire, and said moodily: “He was unobligin’. Yes, that cross-grained old miner was unobligin’. Of course, I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t been nervous; but I say now, as I’ve allus thought, that he brought it on himself by bein’ unobligin’.”
Tank’s gloomy tones had wakened Horace up complete; and as he started to light another cigar, I got ready for bed. “You two have already got nerves,” I sez to ’em; “but I don’t want to catch ’em, so I’ll sleep alone, and you can bunk together.” I unrolled my tarp close to the fire and crawled into it, intendin’ to take my rest while I listened to Tank unfold his story.
It was a clean, fresh night, just right for sleepin’; and it almost seemed a shame to put that innocent little Eastener through his treatment; but it was for his own good so I stretched out with a sigh o’ content, and looked at the other two by the fire.
Horace was short and fat around the middle with stringy arms and legs. He wore some stuff he called side-burns on his face. They started up by his ears, curved along his jaws and were fastened to the ends of his stubby mustache. He kept ’em cropped short and, truth to tell, they were an evil-lookin’ disfigurement, though he didn’t seem to feel a mite o’ shame at wearin’ ’em. His face was full o’ trouble, and yet he was so sleepy he had to hitch his eyebrows clear up to his hair to keep his eyes open. Tank’s face never did have what could rightly be called expressions. His features used to fall into different kinds o’ convulsions; but they were so mussed up it was impossible to read ’em. I looked at these two a minute, and then I had to pull my head under the tarp to keep from laughin’.
“I was all alone,” sez Tank. “I had been up in the Spider Water country lookin’ for a favorite ridin’ pony; but my hoss broke a leg, and I packed my saddle and stuff on my head until my nerves began to swell. Then I threw the stuff away and hunted for a human. I roamed for weeks without comin’ across a white man, and my nerves got worse an’ worse. You know how it is with nerves; how they set up that dull ache along the back o’ your spinal cord until you get desperate, and long to bite and scratch and tear your feller-bein’s to pieces—well, I had ’em worse this time ’n ever I had ’em before; and they loosened up my brain-cells until my self-control oozed out and I longed to fling myself over a cliff. Have you got a match?”
Horace passed over his fresh cigar, and Tank lit his pipe and tossed this cigar into the fire also. Horace looked at it sadly for a moment; but he was game, and lit another.
“Finally,” sez Tank, “I came upon a lonely cabin at the bottom of a gorge; and in it was a little man who was minin’ for gold. He was about your build, except that toilin’ with pick and shovel had distributed his meat around to a better advantage, and he wore his whiskers complete, without any patch scraped off the chin. It was just night when I reached the cabin, and he invited me in to eat; which I am free to say I did until I was stuffed up to my swaller, and then we prepared to sleep.
“Now, a feller would nachely think I’d ’a’ gone right to sleep; but instead o’ this, my nerves began to twist an’ squirm an’ gnaw at me until I was almost beside myself; and after fightin’ it for several hours, I woke up the miner, and asked him as polite as a lady, if he wouldn’t rub my brow for a few minutes. Seems like when I’m nervous, the’ won’t nothin’ soothe me so quick as to have my brow rubbed; but this little coyote refused pointblank to do it.
“I finally got down on my knees and begged him to; but he still refused. He said he had fed me six meals at once and given me shelter, and this was as far as he’d go if my confounded nerves exploded and blew the place up. I was meek about it, I tried my best to ward off trouble; but just then a nerve up under my ear gave a wrench which twisted me all out o’ shape, and I lost patience. I seized that little cuss by the beard and I yanked him out on the floor, and I said to him—”
Tank had once been unusual gifted in framin’ up bright-colored profanity, but he had been shuttin’ down on it since the night he had helped to fake the hold-up on the Friar, and I thought he had lost the knack. This night, though, he seemed to find a spiritual uplift in tellin’ to Horace exactly what he had said to the lonely miner. Before he finished this part, he had used up all of Horace’s good cigars, as lighters, and the Eastener’s face had turned a palish blue. I’d be willin’ to bet that Tank made the swearin’ record that night; though of course, the’ ain’t any way to prove it.
When Tank couldn’t think of any new combinations, he covered his face and broke into tears. Horace sat and looked at him with his eyes poppin’ out. “Don’t you think you could go to sleep?” he asked after a bit.
“Sleep!” yelled Tank. “Sleep? I doubt if I ever do sleep again. I feel worse right now ’n I did that night in the gorge.”
“What did you finally do that time?” asked Horace.
“I hate to think of it,” sez Tank; and he put his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands, and stared into the fire as though seein’ ghosts.
Horace watched him a while, and then he lit a cigar out of the second layer. He took one puff and then removed the cigar and stared at it. He tried another puff, and then threw it into the fire, where it spluttered up in a blue flame. He tried six more, and then said somethin’ I couldn’t quite catch and threw the whole box into the fire; while Tank continued to stare into it as though he had forgot the’ was any one else on earth.
“Let’s go to bed,” sez Horace.
“Have you got a match?” sez Tank, lookin’ around with a start. Horace took a burnin’ stick from the fire, and Tank lit his pipe with it; and from that on Horace kept a lighted stick handy.
“How in thunder did you get to sleep that night in the gorge?” demanded Horace, who was gettin’ impatient.
“Well,” sez Tank, “after I had told this unobligin’ little cuss exactly what I thought of him, he pulled out a gun and tried to shoot me—actually tried to shoot me in his own cabin, where I was his guest. My feelin’s were hurt worse ’n they’d ever been hurt before; but still I tried to calm myself; and if it hadn’t been for my nerves, I’d have gone out into that gorge in the dead o’ night, and never set eyes on his evil face again; but I couldn’t get control of myself, so I took his gun away from him and knocked him down with it. When he regained consciousness, he was in a repentant mood; and he consented to rub my head.
“He rubbed my head a while an’ I sank into a dreamless, health-given repose; but as soon as I was asleep, the traitorious sneak crept out an’ started to run. I fled after him as swift as I could, an’ caught him about two A. M. I had to twist his arms to make him come back with me; but when I had once got him back to the shack, I tied him good an’ tight, an’ made him rub my brow again. When he’d rub slow an’ gentle, I’d sleep peaceful an’ quiet; but the minute he’d quit, why, I’d wake up again; so he rubbed an’ rubbed an’ rubbed”—Tank smoothed his left hand gentle with his right, an’ spoke slow an’ whispery—“an’ I slept an’ slept an’ slept an’—”
The darn cuss said it so soothin’ an’ natural, that hanged if I didn’t fall asleep myself, though the last I remember, I was bitin’ my lips so I could stay awake an’ see the fun. I must have been asleep full an hour before I was woke up by Tank’s voice, raised in anger. I stuck my nose out o’ the tarp, an’ there was Tank kneelin’ straddle o’ the other bed which he had rolled up in the shape of a man. Horace was standin’ close by with his hands on his hips an’ lookin’ altogether droopy.
“I raised his head from the floor, like this,” said Tank, illustratin’ with the bed, “an’ then I beat it down on the planks o’ the floor; an’ then I raised it up again, an’ then I beat it down, an’ then I raised it up—”
I had to stuff a corner o’ the soogan into my mouth to keep from laughin’ out loud at the expression in Horace’s eyes; but Tank kept raisin’ that poor head an’ beatin’ it down again for so long that I fell asleep again without intendin’ to.
The next time I woke up Horace was speakin’. He was so earnest about it that at first I thought he had been weepin’; but he was simply tryin’ to make his voice winnin’ an’ persuadish.
“I’ll rub it,” he sez. “I’ll rub it soft an’ gentle, just like you say you want it rubbed. Come on, let me rub it.” I looked at Tank with his free eye rollin’ about as though it was follerin’ the antics of a delirious mosquito; and I’d just about as soon have rubbed the brow of a porcupine; but Horace was all perked up with sympathy.
“No,” sez Tank, sadly. “You’re a guest, an’ it wouldn’t be polite. If you was a stranger, now, why, I’d choke your heart out but what I made you rub it; but not a guest. No, I couldn’t do that. I’d wake Happy up an’ make him rub it; but he allus sleeps with a gun under his head, an’ he’s apt to shoot before he’s full awake.”
“Well, just let me try it a while,” sez Horace.
“I’m feared to,” sez Tank, beginnin’ to weaken. “If you was to start, an’ I was to fall asleep, an’ you was to quit, I might dream ’at you was that unobligin’ man which betrayed me back in the lonely shack; an’ I might strangle you or somethin’ before I came to my senses. Nope, the best plan is just to sit an’ chat here till daylight. My nerves is allus better after sun-up.”
“I don’t think I can stay awake much longer,” sez Horace, almost whimperin’.
“What?” sez Tank in surprise. “You claim to have nerves, an’ yet you can talk o’ fallin’ asleep at this time o’ night. Great Scott, man, you ain’t got no nerves! You are as flebmatic as a horn toad. Oh, I wish I could just fall sleepy for one minute.”
“Let me try rubbin’ your brow,” sez Horace, whose eyes were blinkin’ for sleep, but whose face was all screwed up into lines of worry at what was goin’ to happen to him after he had finally give in an’ drifted off.
“Well,” sez Tank, “I’ll let you try; but if you’re already sleepy, I doubt if any good comes of it. You sit there at the head o’ the bed, an’ I’ll lay my head in your lap, an’ you rub my brow soft an’ gentle. If I do get to sleepin’ natural, why o’ course the’ won’t be no harm done in you takin’ a few winks; but for the love o’ peace, don’t sleep sound.”
I blame near choked while they were gettin’ settled, ’cause Horace was one o’ those finicky cusses, an’ Tank’s head looked like a moth-eaten buffalo robe. Finally, however, Tank stretched out with the covers up around his neck an’ his head pillowed in Horace’s lap, and then Horace began to rub his brow as soft an’ gentle as he knew how.
“You don’t do it clingy enough,” sez Tank. “You want to just rest your fingers lightly, but still have ’em draw along so ’at they’ll give a little tingle. There, that’s better. Now then, I’ll lay as quiet as I can, an’ try to go to sleep.” Tank was doin’ such an earnest job, he had plumb fooled himself into believin’ it was mostly true.
He gave a start after layin’ quiet for five or ten minutes, an’ this put Horace on edge again; but Tank didn’t wake up. Horace had a saddle blanket around his shoulders; and the last I saw just before I fell asleep, myself, was Horace gently rubbin’ Tank’s brow, an’ lookin’ down careful for a change of expression. They made a curious sight with the firelight back of ’em.
It was grayin’ up for the dawn next time I woke up; and I’d had my sleep out, but when I stuck my nose out from under the tarp, I found it purty tol’able frosty. I knew it was my duty to roust out an’ keep Horace from gettin’ more sleep ’n my treatment for his nerves called for; but I was too comfortable, to pay much heed to the still, small voice of duty. At the same time I was curious to see what my boon comrades was up to, so I stretched my neck an’ took a look at ’em.
Horace had keeled over so that his elbow rested on Tank’s chest an’ his head rested on his hand; but the other hand was still on Tank’s brow, an’ I reckon Horace must have rubbed until he didn’t care whether it was sleep or death he drew, just so he got rid o’ keepin’ awake. Tank had reached up one hand so it circled Horace’s waist; and they made the most lovable group a body ever see.
While I was still watchin’ ’em, Horace’s arm gave out, an’ he settled down on top o’ Tank’s nose. In about two minutes Tank came to with a jump, an’ heaved Horace to the foot of the bed. Tank was really startled, an’ he came to his feet glarin’. “You blame little squab, you!” he yelled. “What are you tryin’ to do—smother me?”
Horace staggered to his feet, but he couldn’t get his eyes open more ’n a narrow slit. “I didn’t do it on purpose, Mr. Williams,” he blubbled like a drunk man. “I rubbed until I thought my hand would fall off at the wrist; but I reckon I must ’a’ dropped asleep. Lie down again, an’ I’ll rub you some more.”
“Too late,” sez Tank, “too late, too late. I never can sleep while daylight’s burnin’; but still, my nerves don’t get so dangerous until after nightfall; so we’ll just turn to an’ get breakfast.”
Well, I got up after yawnin’ a few times; and after askin’ if they had had a restful night, I started to get breakfast. Horace staggered about, gettin’ wood an’ water an’ doin’ what he was able to, while Tank wrangled in the hosses.
After breakfast, which I must say for Horace, he et in able shape, we started to saddle up, puttin’ the spare saddle on the hoss I had rode the day before. “Which one o’ you is goin’ back after the other buckboard?” asked Horace.
“Why, we ain’t goin’ back at all,” sez I. “It’s full fifty miles, an’ we can’t keep switchin’ buckboards every day on a trip like this. We’ll just ride the ponies the rest o’ the way.”
“Ride?” sez Horace. “Ride!”
Horace started to enlarge on how much he didn’t know about ridin’; but Tank breaks in with a plea for his nerves. “Look here,” he said, scowlin’ at Horace with his good eye, while the free one rove around wild in his face, “your nerves are a little out o’ fix, an’ mine is plumb tied into knots. This here outin’ will be the best thing we can do for ourselves, an’ you got to come along. No matter which way you go, you got to ride; so the’ ain’t no sense in makin’ a fuss about it. We’ll mount you up on as gentle a cayuse as the’ is in the West; an’ we won’t tell no one if you hang on to the saddle horn goin’ down hill.”
“That’s right, Mr. Bradford,” sez I respectful. “You’d have to ride back anyway, so you might as well come on with us an’ have a pleasant outing.”
“Besides,” sez Tank, “up there in the Wind River country we stand a chance o’ gettin’ somethin’ for our nerves, if the Injuns happen to be in a good humor. Those Injun doctors know all about hurbs an’ which diseases they grow for, an’ when they’re in a good humor, they’ll sell ya some.”
“What’ll they do if they’re not in a good humor?” asked Horace.
“Well, that’s the beatin’est question I’ve yet heard!” sez Tank. “How does any one know what an Injun’ll do when he’s not in a good humor? I don’t reckon any one ever tried to learn the answer to that question. When an Injun’s not in a good humor, either you’ve got to kill him or he’ll kill you. If we hear tell ’at they’re out o’ humor, we’ll simply scurry back at the first hint, an’ don’t you forget it.”
Horace wasn’t resigned yet; so he kept sawin’ away with his questions all the time we were tyin’ on the beds an’ grub. The grass had been purty brown down below, but it was fat an’ green up above, an’ the ponies felt fine. We had picked out good ones, an’ it took some time to get ’em wore down to where they was willin’ to pack; but by seven o’clock we were ready to start, an’ then Tank lifted Horace into the saddle, while I held the pony’s head. We had chose a steady old feller for Horace, because we didn’t want any serious accidents. Ol’ Cast Steel was dead again’ sheepin’ the Easteners, an’ I knew they’d be doin’s about what we’d done already, let alone havin’ any sort of a mishap.
We told Horace just what to do to save himself, an’ we fixed his stirrups to just fit him; but he took it purty hard. It takes a ridin’-man a couple o’ weeks to harden up after he’s laid off a spell; but when a man begins to do his first ridin’ at forty, it comes ex-tremely awkward. Horace was the first feller I ever saw get sea-sick on hossback; but he certainly did have a bad attack. I suppose it was the best thing ’at could have happened to him, an’ after he was emptied out, he rode some easier. We only covered about thirty miles that day altogether, an’ Tank had plenty o’ time to get all the sleep he could use; but when he came to lift Horace down from the saddle, Horace couldn’t make his legs stiff enough to stand on.
We let him stretch out while we were makin’ camp; but he fell asleep, so we had to wake him up to help get supper. I was beginnin’ to feel sorry for him, but he had pestered us regardless about his nerves, an’ I knew ’at pity for him now would be the worse for him in the long run.
After supper, Horace spent consid’able time in bewailin’ his fate because he had got disgusted an’ thrown his whole box o’ cigars into the fire. “I’ve got an extra pipe, if you’d like to try that,” sez Tank. “It’s lots better for the nerves than cigars—though from what I can tell o’ you, you ain’t bothered much with nerves. I wish to glory I was in your skin.”
“Oh, man,” sez Horace, “you can’t imagine how I suffer. I ache like a sore tooth all over, an’ it gives me a cute pain just to sit here on the grass.”
“Sit on the saddle-blankets,” sez Tank, sympathetic. As soon as Horace had piled up the blankets an’ sat down on ’em, groanin’ most bitter, Tank sez with feelin’: “Gee, how I envy you. You have nothin’ but a few muscle-aches and chafed skin an’ such, while my nerves is beginnin’ to threaten me again. I’m not goin’ to bother either o’ you fellers, though. I’m goin’ to have you tie me to a tree to-night if I can’t sleep.”
Horace filled the pipe, which was an ancient one, bitter as gall; but when he began to smoke, his face became almost satisfied. The pipe was purty well choked up, so that he had some bother in keepin’ it goin’, but after we’d run a grass stem through it, it worked purty well, an’ we was right sociable until along about nine o’clock, when I got sleepy, myself. Then Tank began to worry about his nerves. Horace had about forgot his own nerves, he was sufferin’ so from Tank’s.
When we see that Horace couldn’t keep awake any longer without bein’ tortured, Tank began to carry on fiercer. He rumpled up his hair, gave starts an’ jerks, but the thing ’at worked best, was just to sit an’ look at his fingers, an’ pick at ’em. He’d form a circle with his left thumb and forefinger, then poke his right finger through this circle and try to grab it with his right hand before it could back out. It was the craziest thing I’d ever seen; but before long Horace got to tryin’ it himself. While Tank was lookin’ at his fingers with his good eye, the free one rambled around, an’ half the time it rested on Horace, an’ fair gave him the creeps; but when I couldn’t stay awake myself, I gave Tank the sign, an’ he got delirious.
“I can’t sleep,” he wailed, “I can’t sleep! My nerves, oh, my nerves! One minute they’re like hot wires, an’ the next they’re like streaks of ice. You’ll have to tie me up, boys, you certainly will have to tie me up.”
I argued again’ it as bein’ inhuman; but Tank begged so that finally I gave in, an’ we tied him to a down pine tree. Horace helped to tie him, an’ he sure did his best to make a good job of it. I was a little doubtful, myself, about Tank gettin’ loose; but he had blowed up his muscles, an’ he coughed me the all-right signal, so me an’ Horace turned in.
Horace groaned consid’able while stretchin’ out; but he began to snore before I had got through findin’ the soft place. When I first go to bed, I like to roll about a bit, an’ stretch, an’ loosen up my muscles—I like to stay awake long enough to feel the tired spots sink down again’ the earth, an’ sort o’ ooze into it; and before I had drifted off, Horace was buzzin’ away at a log in great shape.
I must ’a’ slept an hour when I was wakened by a bright light, an’ lookin’ out, I saw Tank Williams standin’ with his back to the fire an’ glowerin’ down at Horace. “As soon as this log burns off, I’m goin’ to get you,” sez Tank between set teeth.
“What are you goin’ to get me for?” asked Horace. “You asked me to tie you to it. I didn’t want to tie you to it, but you insisted. I’ll untie you if you want me to, and rub your brow again.”
“It’s too late,” muttered Tank. “It’s too infernal late. Nothin’ could put me to sleep now. As soon as this log burns off, I’m goin’ to get you. You was the one which brought back my nerve trouble, an’ you are the one what has to suffer.”
Tank hadn’t been able to free himself from the pine tree; so he had dragged it in an’ across the fire. It wasn’t such a big one as trees go; but it was a mighty big one for a man, tied to it as he was, to tote along. Horace reasoned with him a while longer, an’ then when he saw that the trunk was about burned through, he got purty well off to one side, an’ threw a chunk at me. I popped out of bed on the instant, an’ began to shoot about promiscuous; so as to live up to my reputation.
When I’d emptied my gun, I looked at Tank, as though seein’ him for the first time, an’ sez: “What in thunder da you mean, by raisin’ all this havoc?”
“My nerves,” sez Tank, “my pore nerves. I can’t sleep, an’ I can’t keep my senses if I’m left tied to this tree any longer. It’s all his fault, an’ as soon as this log burns up, I’m goin’ ta hunt him down.”
Tank an’ I argued fierce as long as we could think of anything to say; an’ just as the dead pine was gettin’ too hot for Tank to stand it any longer, Horace calls in from the darkness, “Don’t you want me to rub your brow a while an’ see if that won’t put you to sleep?”
“Come in here,” I sez, cross. “This man is liable to kill himself, an’ you know more about nerves ’n I do.”
Horace crawled out from behind a big rock, came in, shiverin’ with the cold; an’ we untied Tank from the log. He had managed to get his feet loose; but his hands had been tied behind him an’ when they got cold, he couldn’t make a go of it. “Well,” sez I, as soon as Tank was free, “what are you goin’ to do now?”
“I move we get up the hosses, an’ start at once,” sez Tank. “I don’t trust myself any longer, an’ we can ride faster at night. My one hope, is to get to an Injun doctor, or else get so tired out that I can fall into a dreamless sleep.”
“Why don’t you ride alone?” demanded Horace with a sudden burst of intelligence. “Why don’t you ride alone; an’ then you could ride as fast as you wanted to, an’ if you found the Injuns out o’ humor, you could come back an’ let us know.”
This set us back for a minute: we had been playin’ Horace for bein’ utterly thought-loose; but he had figured out the best plan the’ was, an’ his eyes were bright an’ eager.
“Take the hoss that’s fastened on the rope here,” Horace went on; “an’ we can take the manacled hosses in the mornin’ and foller ya. Yes, that’s the best plan.”
You see the fact was, we were only twenty or twenty-five miles from the ranch house. We had been circlin’ an’ zig-zaggin’ through the hills, an’ at night we hung up Horace’s pony on a picket an’ put hobbles on the balance. Bein’ fooled on direction wasn’t any sign of Horace bein’ a complete lunkhead; I’ve known a heap o’ wise ones get balled up in the mountains.
Tank stood puzzlin’ over it with his free eye trottin’ about in a circle; but he couldn’t think any way out of it. “All right,” sez he, “if you two can get along without me, why, I’ll risk my life by bein’ a scout.”
“Nonsense,” sez Horace; “the Injuns haven’t riz for years, an’ they’re not likely to again.”
Tank only winked his lookin’ eye, an’ proceeded to fling the saddle on the picketed hoss. Horace was smilin’ purty contented with himself, until I sez: “Which hoss are you goin’ to ride to-morrow, Mr. Bradford?”
Then his face went blank as he recalled the blow-up we’d had that mornin’ gettin’ the pack ponies contented with their loads. “By Jove, I can’t ride any of them!” he exclaims. “It would kill me to have a hoss buck with me. I’m so sore now I can hardly move.”
“You don’t look as nervous as you did, though,” I sez to him for comfort.
He didn’t pay me no heed. “Here, Williams,” he calls, “you can’t take that hoss. He’s the only one I can ride, and you’ll have to catch another.”
“You ort have thought o’ that before,” sez Tank, goin’ on with his arrangements, but movin’ slow.
“Well, you two straighten it out among yourselves,” sez I. “I’m goin’ back to bed. No wonder you’re nervous. It would make a saw-horse nervous to jibe around the way you two do.”
I went off grumblin’, an’ I went to sleep before they settled it; but Tank stretched it out as much as he could, an’ Horace didn’t oversleep any that night. Next mornin’ when I looked out, I saw him tied up with his back again’ a tree, an’ Tank’s head in his lap. He was swathed in his slicker an’ saddle-blanket to keep warm, an’ was sound asleep. He looked purty well hammered out, but hanged if he didn’t look a lot more worth while ’n he did when he started to take my treatment.
It seemed a shame to do it, as it was just gettin’ into the gray; but I woke him up, an’ asked him in a whisper what he was doin’. He sat an’ blinked at me for a full minute before he remembered what or where he was, an’ then he told me that he finally induced Tank to try havin’ his head rubbed again, by lettin’ Tank truss him up so he couldn’t keel over on him. “Gee, but I’m cold an’ stiff,” he sez in a husky, raspin’ voice. “I don’t see how it can be so hot daytimes, an’ so cold nights.”
“This’ll do you a world of good, Mr. Bradford,” sez I. “You see, you swell up with the heat daytimes, an’ crimp down with the cold nights; an’ this will goad on your circulation, fry the lard out o’ ya, an’ give your nerves a chance to get toned up.” I quoted from the patent medicine almanac occasional, just so he wouldn’t forget he was takin’ treatment.
“I can’t possibly ride, to-day,” he sez, shakin’ his head. “Honest, I’m in agony.”
“That’s just ’cause you’re stiff,” sez I, kindly. “That’ll all wear off when the sun softens up your joint-oil. Why, man, you’ll look back on this trip as one o’ the brightest spots in your whole life.”
“I got hit in the back o’ the head with a golf ball once,” he flares back real angry; “an’ that showed me a lot o’ brightness, too. I don’t want no more brightness, an’ I don’t intend to ride to-day.”
I was especial pleased at the human traits he was displayin’. He hadn’t acted so healthy an’ natural since he’d been with us, an’ I was encouraged to keep on with the treatment. “You will have to ride with us, even if we have to tie you on,” I sez. “We are now close to the Injun country, an’ we’re responsible for you. O’ course the’ ain’t any danger from regular war parties; but Injun boys is just as full o’ devilment as white boys, an’ they haven’t as many safety valves. They’re all the time sneakin’ off an’ playin’ at war, an’ they play a purty stiff game, too, believe me. If a dozen o’ these voting bucks, eighteen or twenty years old, was to stalk us, they’d try most earnest to lift our hair.”
“I’d as soon be killed one way as another,” he sez. “I can’t stand it to ride, an’ that’s all the’ is to it.”
Here was a queer thing: the little cuss actually wasn’t afeared of Injuns, which I had counted on as my big card. Nerves or no nerves, Horace Walpole Bradford wasn’t no coward; ’cause we are all afeared o’ crazy folks, an’ he thought Tank was crazy. If Tank had had two good eyes, chances are he wouldn’t ’a’ feared him; so I kicked Tank in the side an’ woke him up.
Well, we sure had a hard time gettin’ Horace in the saddle that day. He was some like a burro, small but strong minded. Finally he agreed to try it if we would put the saddle-blanket on top the saddle instead of underneath.
“The hoss don’t need it as bad as I do,” sez he; “’cause he’s covered all over with hoss-hide an’ has hair for paddin’ besides; and furthermore, the saddle is lined with sheepskin underneath, while it’s as hard as iron on top; and I’m just like a boil wherever I touch it.”
We told him that a hard saddle was lots the easiest as soon as a feller got used to it; but he broke in an’ said he didn’t expect to live that long, an’ that we could take our choice of leavin’ him, or puttin’ the saddle-blanket on top. The’s lots of folks with the notion that a soft saddle or a soft chair or a soft bed is the easiest; an’ it ain’t much use to argue with ’em, though the truth is, that if a feller lived on goslin’ down, he’d get stuck with a pin feather some day an’ die o’ loss of blood; while if he lived on jagged stones, he’d finally wear into ’em until he had a smooth, perfect fittin’ mold for his body. Still, the truth is only the truth to them ’at can see it; so we put the blanket on top, an’ perched Horace astride it.
He stood it two hours, an’ then said it was stretchin’ his legs so ’at he was afeared a sudden jerk would split him to the chin; an’ then we put the saddle on right, an’ he found it full as easy as it had been the day before. The best way, an’ the easiest an’ the quickest, to toughen up, is just to toughen up. The human body can stand almost anything in the way o’ hardship. After it has sent up word, hour after hour, that it is bein’ hurt, an’ no attention gets paid to it, why, it sets to work to remedy things on its own hook. In order to ride comfortable, a lot of muscles have to loosen an’ stretch. Most o’ the pain in ridin’ comes from ridin’ with set muscles. A feller can’t balance easy with set muscles, it’s just one strainin’ jerk after another, an’ the trick o’ ridin’ is to move with the horse. Just as soon as ya get to goin’ right along with the hoss, loose an’ rubbery, you take the strain off o’ both you an’ him; but while you’re bumpin’ again’ him, it’s painful for both.
We rode about forty miles that day; and at the end of it Horace wasn’t complainin’ any worse ’n at the start. Well, he couldn’t, as far as that goes; but his body had already begun to find the motion o’ the hoss. Of course he hadn’t learned to balance, an’ he still rode rigid; but we had give him an easy-gaited old hammock, an’ when we drew up to make camp, he sat on his hoss without holdin’ to the horn, an’ said he was beginnin’ to like it. When Tank lifted him down, though, his legs wobbled under him like rubber an’ he squashed down in a heap, groanin’. We let him sleep where he lit while we were gettin’ supper; ’cause we was sure he would need it before mornin’. He wasn’t nervous any longer; all he wanted was food, sleep, an’ a lung full o’ tobacco smoke. I felt rather proud o’ my treatment.
Tank had to boot him about purty freely to waken him up enough to take his vittles; but he took a good lot of ’em, an’ I was glad of it, ’cause this was the night the Injuns were goin’ to attack us, an’ he wasn’t scheduled to have any more solid nourishment until we got back to the ranch house. After supper he went to his pipe like a young duck to a puddle o’ water. He hadn’t learned to handle his moisture while smokin’ a pipe, an’ when the pipe began to gargle, he muttered a little cuss-word under his breath. H. Walpole Bradford was comin’ out wonderful.
The stiffenin’ had all blew out o’ the rim of his hat, givin’ the sun full swing at him, an’ his nose looked like a weakly tomato flung in a bed o’ geraniums. He had wrinkled up his face around where his glasses fit, an’ now with the sun gone down his skin had loosened up again, showin’ the unburned wrinkles like painted marks. He sure did look tough! He was wearin’ a gray suit with a belt around the middle an’ canvas leggins.
Along about nine o’clock he nodded over into the fire, right at the most excitin’ part of an Injun tale which Tank was makin’ up for his especial benefit. We fished him out an’ shook him awake; but he came to as cross as a hornet, an’ swore he was goin’ to sleep right where he was with all his clothes on.
“You’re a wise pigeon to sleep with your clothes on, to-night,” sez Tank; “’cause this is the Injun country, an’ ya can’t tell what’ll happen; but the best plan for us to do is to divide up an’ keep watch durin’ the night.”
“Keep watch!” yells Horace, glarin’ at Tank. “I wouldn’t keep watch to-night if I was bound to a torture stake. You can keep watch if you want to—an’ it wouldn’t discommode you no more ’n if you was an owl. Your dog-gone, doubly condemned nerves won’t let you nor any one else sleep—but I’m goin’ to get some rest if I die for it.”
“You’re a nice one, you are!” sez Tank. “This here expedition was got up just on account o’ your nerves, an’ now that we’ve come to the most important point of all, why, you flam out an’ put all the risk on us.”
“You make me tired,” sez Horace, scowlin’ at Tank as fierce as a cornered mouse. “If you’re so everlastin’ feared o’ the Injuns—what ya got this bloomin’ fire for?”
“We don’t intend to sleep near the fire, Mr. Bradford,” sez I, soothin’. “We intend to roll up our beds like as if we was in ’em an’ then sneak off into the bushes an’ sleep. We don’t want any trouble if we can avoid it. If you’ll notice, you’ll see we haven’t turned the hosses out to-night.”
“These here Injuns is livin’ on a reservation,” sez he, “an’ I don’t believe ’at they’d dare outrage us.”
I was indignant with the little cuss for not bein’ afeared of Injuns. My theory was, ’at nerves was a lot like hosses: keep a hoss shut up an’ he’ll get bad an’ kick an’ raise Cain; but take him out an’ ride his hide loose, an’ he’ll simmer down consid’able. I wanted to give Horace’s nerves such a complete stringin’ out that they wouldn’t worry him any more for a year; an’ here he was, not carin’ a hang for Injuns. “Beliefs is all right to the believers,” sez I, stiffenin’ up; “but facts is facts whether you believe in ’em or not. Every Injun outrage since the Civil War was planned on a reservation, an’ we can’t take no chances.”
While he was studyin’ over this with a pouty look on his face, Tank sez: “It’s time we fixed up an’ moved out into the dark”; so we put rolls o’ brush in the beds, an’ went on up the side o’ the rise where the’ was a level spot I knew of, Horace stumblin’ an’ grumblin’ every step o’ the way. We were about two hundred yards from the fire an’ it looked cozy an’ cheerful, dancin’ away beside the tarps. I was half a mind to join in with Horace, an’ go on back; but our plans were all laid, an’ besides, I had a little bet up with Spider Kelley, that I’d return Horace in such fine condition that he’d be willin’ to drink blood or milk a cow calf-fashion.
“You go to sleep first,” sez Tank to Horace; “I’ll watch till I get sleepy an’ then I’ll call Happy, he’ll watch two hours, an’ if it ain’t dawn by that time, he’ll call you. I may not get sleepy at all, but you know how nerves is. I stayed awake ninety-six hours once, an’ couldn’t get a speck sleepy. Then I decided to stay out the even hundred an’ see how far I could jump after stayin’ awake a hundred hours. I went to sleep in ten minutes an’ didn’t wake up for two days—so I’m liable to be took sleepy to-night.”
We had brought the slickers up, an’ Horace rolled up in one, under a low evergreen, and began to snore in half a minute. As soon as he had got to wrastlin’ with his breath in earnest, I went to the head o’ the trail an’ whistled for Spider Kelley. He an’ four others were there, an’ I told ’em it was all right to start in an hour, an’ then I came back to Horace chucklin’. Spider enjoyed anything like this, an’ he had fixed up the boys with feathers an’ fringe an’ smears o’ chalk an’ raspberry jam, till they looked as evil-minded as any Injuns I’d ever seen.
We set Horace’s watch ahead five hours. Tank curled up an’ went to sleep, an’ then I started to wake Horace up. It took so long; to get him to consciousness that I feared the hour would be up; but he finally got so he remembered what he was, an’ then I told him not to make any fuss if he saw any Injuns, but to just wake us up. I tried to get him to take one o’ my guns, but I didn’t wear triggers on ’em an’ he didn’t savvy snap-shootin’, so he took a club in his hand an’ started to parade.
He looked at his watch while I was stretchin’ out in his warm spot, an’ he looked at it again before I was through loosenin’ up my muscles. It beats the world how slow time crawls to a man on watch. I was sleepy myself, but I’d have bit out my tongue before I’d have give in. I lay half on my right side with my hat drawn down, watchin’ Horace. After about ten minutes, he pulled out his watch again an’ looked at it. He pulled out the snap to set it ahead, in order to fool us, but he was troubled with too much morality, so he snapped it shut an’ spoke to himself between his set teeth for several moments.
I reckon he must have kept on his feet for twenty minutes, an’ then he settled down with his face to the fire, which I had fed up on my way back from seein’ Spider, an’ said loud enough for me to hear: “This is all damn foolishness.”
He said it so slow an’ solemn an’ earnest, that I purt nigh choked; but I kept still, he kept still, an’ the fire kept dancin’ before him. His breathin’ grew deep an’ steady, his nerves was all coiled up comfortable; and tired muscles don’t make a feller wakeful. Purty soon Horace began to gargle his palate, an’ then I was ready for Spider Kelley.
The plan was for him to come up close so as to entertain Horace while his braves sneaked on to the dummies in the tarps; but the’ was no occasion for sneakin’. Horace had turned over the camp to fate, an’ he wasn’t worryin’ his head about what was goin’ to happen to it.
Finally, Spider got disgusted an’ he went down an’ joined the others, an’ they sure raised a riot; but all the time, Horace slumbered on. Spider caught up our hosses, put our saddles an’ packs on ’em, threw some pieces of old canvas he brought along on the fire; and he an’ the rest raised a wild warwhoop and galloped away; but Horace was too busy to pay any attention. Spider an’ the boys had to work next day, an’ they was some put out not to have a little more fun for their trouble. It was all Spider could do to keep ’em from sneakin’ back an’ kidnappin’ Horace, but this was liable to give the whole thing away, so he talked ’em out of it. As soon as the noise had died down, I set Horace’s watch back five hours, an’ then I went to sleep myself. It was purty chilly, and I wasn’t quite sure who the joke was on.
When Tank woke up, he started in on Horace; but his noise wakened me up first. When Horace saw what had happened to the camp, he was about wordless; but after we had called him down about it for five or ten minutes, he flared up an’ talked back as harsh as we did. He said ’at he had kept guard for over three hours, fightin’ off sleep by walkin’ back an’ forth; and hadn’t sat down until it had started to lighten in the sky. He stuck to this tale, and I’m sure he believed it himself. He’d been so sleepy the night before that he couldn’t have told a dream from an actual happenin’, so when he began to get excited, we dropped it.
“All right,” sez Tank at last; “you’ve put us into a nice fix, but the’ ain’t no use tryin’ to pickle yesterday. What we’ve got to do is to hoof it back, an’ we might as well begin. We’re in a nice fix: nothin’ to eat, not a single cabin on the road back, an’ for all we know the’s a pack of Injuns watchin’ us this blessid moment.”
“How do ya know it was Injuns?” sez Horace.
“Look there, an’ there, an’ there,” sez Tank, pointin’ at moccasin prints an’ feathers. “Then besides, no white men would ’a’ burned up the tarps.”
“Do you mean to say ’at we got to walk all the way back?” sez Horace.
“All the way, an’ without no grub,” sez Tank.
Horace sat down on the end of a charred log. “Well, I’ll die right here,” sez he. “This spot suits me as well as any other.”
“You don’t have to die at all,” sez I. “A body can go forty days without food, an’ it does more good than harm.” Friar Tuck had told me a lot about fastin’, an’ I was keen to try it out on Horace. From all I could see from the theory o’ fastin’, it was just what was needed for Horace’s nerves.
“Look at me,” sez Horace, pullin’ at the waist of his clothes. “I bet I’ve lost twenty pounds already, on this fool trip. Twenty pounds more would make me a corpse, an’ I’d just as soon be made one here as anywhere. As soon as I rest up a little, I’m goin’ to begin to yell until I draw those blame Injuns back, an’ have ’em finish the job in short order.”
He wasn’t bluffin’, he was simply desp’rit. “You’ll have to walk with us,” sez I; “come on.”
Tank took one arm, an’ I took the other, an’ we started forth. For the first hour he hung back, and then he began to step out on his own hook. When we rested at noon, he was the freshest one of us. Tank an’ I had ridin’ boots, an’ ridin’ muscles; while he had walkin’ shoes, an’ no muscles at all worth mentionin’. “I can play at this game as well as any one,” sez Horace, chewin’ a blade o’ grass, an’ lookin’ proud of himself.
Tank was purty well fussed up; he wasn’t workin’ out any theories, he had just come along to help pester Horace an’ have a little amusement; but it began to appear to him that his fun was comin’ high-priced.
By nightfall we was all tol’able hungry; but Horace was so set up over bein’ able to put over a full day’s walk on nothin’ to eat that he was purty speechy, an’ it was nine o’clock before he went to sleep. As soon as he had dropped off, I went down to meet Spider Kelley an’ get the grub he had brought out for me ’n’ Tank. He said ’at the other boys wasn’t braggin’ none about their trip the night before; but they were all ready to roast me an’ Tank as soon as we got in. We’d had it fixed that Spider an’ the rest was to take turns worryin’ Horace on the back trip; but Spider said that it looked to him as if I’d win the bet anyway, so he intended to play neutral from that on. As soon as me an’ Tank had eaten, we turned in, an’ all of us slept like logs.
The next day Horace walked easier ’n any of us. Now I’m tellin’ this to ya straight ’n’ you can believe it or not just as ya please; but that little cuss stepped right along, began to notice the scenery, an’ even cracked a few jokes now an’ again; while me an’ Tank just plodded with our minds fixed on the meal we were goin’ to get that night. Horace had give up all thought o’ meals, so they didn’t pester him any.
At the end of the third day Horace had lost his appetite complete. Friar Tuck had swore that hunger didn’t worry a man more ’n three days, an’ sure enough, it didn’t. Horace didn’t care whether he ever et again or not. He’d get a little dizzy when he’d start out, an’ once in a while he’d feel a bit fainty; but as far as bein’ ravenous went, me an Tank had him beat a mile.
“Where is the joke o’ this fool trip?” growled Tank to me on the evenin’ of the fourth day as we were eatin’ the supper Spider Kelley had brought out. “He ain’t a human at all, Horace ain’t; he’s a reptile, an’ can live without food.”
Spider was tickled a lot, and said he didn’t care if he did lose his bet, that it was worth it to find how everlastin’ tough a little half-hand like Horace could be when drove to it. I’d been thinkin’ it over all day, but I didn’t say anything.
Friar Tuck had said it was a question of will power, more ’n anything else: that if a man just held his thoughts away from food it wouldn’t bother him; but if he kept thinkin’ of it, the digestin’ juices would flow into his stomach an’ make him think he was starvin’; so I was minded to try a new plan next day.
“Spider,” I sez, “you put a cow an’ calf up in Nufty’s Corral”—which was the name of a little shut-in park we would go through the next afternoon. “Put ’em there in the mornin’, a cow with an off brand, if you can find one, an’ trim their hoofs down close, so they won’t go back to the bunch. Remember ’at we’re on foot, an’ trim ’em close enough to make it hurt ’em to walk. I’m goin’ to make Horace hungry if I can.”
“I hate to play again’ him and my own bet,” sez Spider; “but I’ll have the cow there, just to see what you’re up to. If you’re goin’ to butcher it, though, I don’t see why a young steer wouldn’t be better.”
“I’ll count on you havin’ it there,” sez I; an’ then Spider rode back to the ranch house, an’ me an’ Tank went to sleep.
Next mornin’ me an’ Tank put the cartridges out of our belts into our pockets. As soon as we started to walk I began to talk about my hunger, an’ weakness, an’ the empty feelin’ in my head an’ stomach. At first Horace didn’t pay any heed; but from the start, ol’ Tank Williams caught every symptom I suggested; until I feared he’d curl up on the trail an’ die o’ starvation. Finally, though, Horace began to pay heed to my suggestions, an’ to sigh an’ moan a little. What finally got him was my gnawin’ at my rope an’ gauntlet. Tank an’ I had saved our ropes, ’cause we expected to have need of ’em; and when noon came an’ I sat with a stupid look in my face, chewin’ first the rope, an’ then the wrist o’ the gauntlet, Horace began to have some of the symptoms I was fishin’ for. Finally he borrowed one o’ my gauntlets, an’ after he had munched on it a while, he was as hungry as any one could wish.
“I can’t go another peg,” he sez when I got up to start on again.
“How does that come?” I asked him. “When we stopped to rest you was feelin’ more chipper ’n any of us.”
“I’m dyin’ o’ hunger,” he replied, solemn. “I’ve got a gnawin’ pain in my stomach, an’ I’m all in. I fear my stomach is punctured or stuck together or somethin’.”
I had had a lot o’ discussions with Friar Tuck about the power o’ suggestion; but I had never took much stock in it. I could see now, though, that it actually did work. As long as Horace was tellin’ himself that everything was all right, why, it was all right. Then when I suggested ’at we were dyin’ of hunger, why, he actually began to die of hunger; an’ it was wonderful to see the change in him. He showed us how he had ganted down; and the fact was, his bones had become purty prominent without any help from suggestin’. He didn’t have any more belly ’n a snake; but his eyes were bright, an’ his skin clear, except that it was peelin’ off purty splotchy, from sun-burn.
We finally left him an’ started on; and after we’d got some distance, he staggered after us; but he was just goin’ on his nerve now, an’ not gettin’ much joy out of existence.
About four in the afternoon, we reached Nufty’s Corral, a fine little park with only a narrow entrance at each end. Horace was up with us by this time, an’ we were all ploddin’ along head down. Suddenly Horace grabbed us by the arms. “Hush!” he sez.
“What’s up?” sez I, lookin’ at him.
“Look,” he whispers, pointin’ at the cow an’ calf; “there’s food.”
We drew back an’ consulted about it. “The great danger after a fast,” I sez in warnin’, “lies in overeatin’. All we can do is to drink a little blood for the first few hours.”
“Why can’t we broil a steak over some coals?” sez Horace.
“It would kill us to eat steak now,” sez I.
He held out for the steak; but I finally sez that if he won’t promise to be temperate an’ eat only what I tell him, I’ll drive off the cow; and then he comes around, and agrees to it.
“You sneak around to the far openin’, Tank,” I sez, then I pauses, an’ looks at him as though shocked. “Where’s your cartridges, man?” I asked.
Tank felt of his belt, and seemed plumb beat out, then he looked at mine, an’ yelled, “Where’s yours?”
We both sat down on stones an’ went over what we had done every minute o’ the time since we had started out; until Horace became frantic, an’ sez: “What’s the difference what became of ’em? Your revolvers are loaded. You can sure kill one cow out o’ twenty-four shots.”
“Twenty shots,” I corrected. “We allus carry the hammer on an empty chamber; an’ I’m so bloomin’ weak I doubt if I could hit a cow in ten shots.”
Horace turned loose an’ told us what he thought of us, an’ it was edifyin’ to hearken to him—he hit the nail on the head so often. Finally I sez: “Well, a man can do no more than try—Go ahead, Tank, but don’t let her get by you, whatever happens.”
The cow, which was a homely grade-whiteface with a splotch on her nose which made it look as if most of the nose had been cut off, stood in the center of the park, an’ she was beginnin’ to get uneasy, although the wind was from her way.
As soon as Tank got to his entrance he shot in the air; an’ she came chargin’ down on me. I shot over her, an’ she charged back. We kept this up until Horace lost patience an’ called me a confounded dub. “Here,” sez I, “the’s two cartridges left. You fire ’em, I won’t.”
At first he refused, but he was desperate, and finally after I’d told him to use both hands, he took a shot. The cow was standin’ closest to us, but lookin’ Tank’s way, an’ Horace nicked her in the ham. Instead of chargin’ Tank, like a sensible cow, she came for us head on. Now, when a bull charges, he picks out somethin’ to steer for, then closes his eyes, and sets sail; but a cow keeps her eyes open, an’ she don’t aim to waste any plunges either. Horace stood out in the center of the entrance an’ banged away again, strikin’ the ground about ten feet in front of him.
“Run!” I yells to him, jumpin’ back behind a big rock, “Run!”
He forgot all about bein’ hungry, an’ he started to backtrail like a scared jack-rabbit. The cow had forgot all about havin’ had her hoofs pared, an’ she took after him like a hungry coyote. As she passed me, I roped her, took a snub around the rock, an’ flopped her; but she did just what I thought she’d do—rolled to her feet an’ took after me. She was angry. I’d have given right smart for a tough little pony between my knees.