THE QUEST OF POAQUITABy Horatio Lankford King
By Horatio Lankford King
“Traditions?” repeated Buck Eye Pete with inimitable scorn, as he deftly balanced a battered coffee pot over the camp fire, “them was once the bane an’ joy o’ my life. I fair radiated with dreams o’ romance, hidden treasure, an’ sich like. Why, there was a pre-historic time in my credulous natur when I was looney on Pirate Morgan an’ babbled o’ Montezuma’s sarcophagus o’ buried valuables an’ heagern wives with unholy an’ covetious eye. An’ that’s what sent me an’ Chinook Bill on that foolhardy adventcher into darkest Sonora in the quest o’ the fabled city o’ Poaquita.”
Buck Eye Pete went back to his seat beyond the hot glare of the camp fire, puffed tentatively at a villainous looking pipe and gazed mournfully and with lack-lustre eye into the surrounding wall of darkness. Then, seeing no objection, he continued:
“An’ if this hyere august body votes a majority I’ll be the wag es wags a tale, es Shakespeare said.”
We settled ourselves in divers comfortable positions and nodded a unanimous consent.
“To begin, this deed o’ valor, gents an’ fellow mavericks,” pursued Buck Eye Pete, “was committed in the year of our Lord 1880, an’ me an’ Chinook Bill deserted the peaceful path o’ cow-punchin’ an’ chucked the fair dame o’ nameless peril under her purty chin. But be the consequence o’ that deed o’ valor on my own head, fer Chinook Bill was one o’ them trustin’ children es would turn an indignant rattler from a devilish purpose. Chinook Bill had that ca’m eye o’ the poet, the voice o’ the south wind an’ a hankerin’ fer the beauties o’ virgin natur an’ was gifted with a most marvelous arrangement in his inside which would belch information, mediaeval er otherwise, like a heifer’s cud, which he would afterwards masticate with great an’ convincin’ effusion. So this is how it come about. We had been grazin’ a bunch o’ cattle on the Bear Paw Plateaus, an’ was some seven weeks out an’ sure lonesome fer company when in a fit o’ desperation I made a suggestion to allay the fevered angwee o’ our fettered sperits. An’ Chinook Bill fell to with a spontaniety an’ enthusiasm es was plum disgustin’ in a man es had full possession o’ his mental faculties. But that ain’t sayin’ es how I was took with the dreams o’ averice myself. It was one fair day, the name an’ date o’ which has been lost in the remorseless flight o’ time, we come upon a Mexican’s cabin down in the El Raso Pass, which is still an unknown quantity in them beautifully colored railroad posters. This Mex had a helpmate, two ragged urchins in the way o’ off-spring with a mixture o’ mangy sheep an’ a pack o’ dawgs es would back ’emselves agin a convenient angle o’ the hut, scratch their ears an’ growl while me an’ Chinook Bill held forth in intellectual conversationwith the Mex. They was ha’f Injuns an’ had lived there since they didn’t know when, but it was some time conjoinin’ that mystic period when the Jesuits evacuated suddent from their mission, the noble ruins o’ said mission still liftin’ majestic columns o’ doby brick in the purple haze o’ a poetic twilight a little ways down the valley. Well, whilst we was enjoyin’ our repast o’ tortillas an’ goat’s milk in the main dinin’ room Chinook Bill’s artistic eye discovered a incongruous dis-sim-oo-larity in the Mex’s selection o’ household furnitcher, which was sure marvelous to look upon to the unconverted eye o’ good taste, which consisted o’ sacred emblems in onyx, a gilded throne chair which was fit for a pope, a carved mahogany altar table an’ a stately array o’ books bound in stained sheep skin. Chinook Bill takes down one o’ them tomes o’ learnin’ an’ grows exultant yet arful perplexed at the contents thereof. An’ on the cover o’ every one o’ them books was a mouth with two fingers placed over it, which Chinook Bill opines was meant to convey their secret import an’ was forbidden knowledge excep’ to them es wore the cassock an’ paced the sacred patio o’ righteous an’ worldly exclusion.
“‘Where you get these?’ says Chinook Bill, polite.
“‘Mission,’ says the Mex.
“‘Buy,’ says Chinook Bill, ‘five dollars’.
“‘Bueno,’ says the Mex, an’ we peel him a fiver. Then we packed our purchases on a burro an’ hikes fer the range.
“It was that night before the camp-fire I was translatin’ the Spanish in one o’ them tomes o’ learnin’ when I ups suddent like with a yell an’ slaps Chinook Bill a ponderous blow o’ enlightment.
“‘Attention!’ says I, ‘here is an unexpurgated account o’ the mysterious city o’ Poaquita which lies in the far interior o’ the Sonora wilderness an’ was once ruled by the descendants o’ Montezuma an’ to which some monks was led captive in that distant time when the mind o’ man runneth not to the contrary! Then I read the glowin’ account, and Chinook Bill waddles his cud an’ looks attentive.
“‘Well’, says he, final, ‘what’s the color in yer pan?’
“‘Gold and hidden treasure’, says I, an’ I read some more from the forbidden book.
“‘Do you believe it?’ says Chinook Bill arter a pause an’ a long breath, like a woman.
“‘Believe?’ says I. ‘Is there anything to dispute it? Have you happened to peroose anything in the way o’ discursive literatchure es would substantiate the impunity o’ a bitter denial?’
“‘I cyaint say es I have,’ says Chinook Bill.
“‘Well, then,’ says I, ‘it stands that Poaquita is a potent factor es regyards conjective research, an’ I’m the man es would re-continue that search with joyful alacrity.’
“Then Chinook Bill, the trustin’ child, rose up an’ voiced to the impassioned stars a like sentiment.
“‘Here’s the map an’ general directions’, says I, ‘an it’s left fer the valorous to finish a chapter in this splendid drama es was enacted under the opalescent skies o’ a new world.’
“So the next sun seen us pushin’ fer headquarters with them long horns, an’ with our resignations in our pockets.
“Ol’ Señor Mendez meets us ten mile off, demandin’ explanations abundant an’ sooperfulous forthwith.
“‘What’s this?’ says he, when I hands him the resignations, pompous.
“‘Them es read may run,’ quoths I sweetly.
“‘Then run, in the name of a goat, youAmericanos sin verguenza! I keel you, dogs, beasts for bring here back my cattles to starve!’ Then he outs with a gun an’ begins to punctuate his wrath with methodic cracks at my boot heels.
“‘This is a shame,’ says Chinook Bill, ‘an’ a arful breach o’ ediket,’ an’ he prompt starts in to retaliate; then I picks up courage an’ adds my relay o’ lead an’ fluent invective.
“Ol’ José Mendez sets up a howl, an’ says:
“‘How much I owe youAmericanos?’
“‘Three months apiece,’ says I, ‘which is two hundred an’ forty dol’ fer the two o’ us, an’ mighty quick.’
“‘Caramba!’ says he, ‘I pay you, then you skeepinmediatamente.’
“‘We’re arful obliged,’ says I, sarcastic. Then we mounts an’ makes trail fer Carbola, which was situate about forty miles away, due south. We hit terra firma only where elevation was considerable an’ generally porphyry rock, an’ rode into that little unsanctified hamlet in a hooricane cloud o’ dust.
“‘Whew!’ says I, ‘a golden sunset an’ sich a ’ristocratic quietoode! One would natcherally concloode they was arful stuck-up.’
“‘Maybe they don’t happen to remember us,’ says Chinook Bill, ominous an’ his feelin’s hurt.
“‘It sure is a insult,’ says I.
“‘An’ nobody to give us a ovation,’ says Chinook Bill, almost tearful.
“‘It’s a snub,’ says I, ‘an’ Greasers at that!’
“It’s too quiet to be real,’ comments Chinook Bill, still ominous.
“‘Terrible oppressive,’ I agrees.
“Then we stops at the edge o’ town an’ shakes hands solemn like. Chinook Bill gets poetic an’ weeps copious.
“‘Maybe it will be the last chance,’ says he in a small voice, ‘an’ we will be eat up by cruel Injuns. We cyaint let the opportunity pass,’ says he. Then he recites some poetry es says opportunity never knocks but oncet. ‘An’ it ’ud be a shame not to do it.’
“‘A arful shame,’ concedes I, then we shakes hands again.
“‘Are you ready?’ says Chinook Bill.
“‘I’m dancin’ with suppressed hylarity,’ says I.
“Then we put spurs an’ whoops her up, shootin’ promiscuous. When we come to a halt an’ the smoke cleared, I says:
“‘Did you see anything, Bill?’
“‘Nope,’ says he, ‘but things is lightin’ up.’
“‘Folks is so curious,’ says I.
“‘Plum disgustin’,’ says Chinook Bill. ‘Al’ays interruptin’ an’ no privacy fer a healthy, robust body.’
“‘It’s a second insult,’ says I, an’ we whoops her up again.
“We uncoveredaguardientean’ keno sommers an’ anchored fer the night. We played fast an’ keerless, but somehow we couldn’t get shet o’ any o’ our wealth. So we give it up es a bad job an’ apologized fer shuckin’ the dealers. It was arful unsocial, an’ I was fer layin’ over next day to show ’em we was gentlemen, but Chinook Bill was fer findin’ Poaquita. So we laid in a stock o’ provisions an’ packed ’em on some burros. Then we held a conference back o’ the liquor shop with thealcaldeo’ the town. This gent plentytentiary carried a small-sized totem pole in one hand which was called in Mex a official staff, an’ exoodes a treatise on the statutes es he wipes the perspiration from his aesthetic brow. We leans back agin our assortment o’ Chicago tins an’ listens grave. Final he ceases his harrabaloo an’ says:
“‘Theseñoreswill kindly consider theirselves under arrest.’
“‘Fer what?’ asks Chinook Bill, with a snap o’ his baby blue eyes.
“‘Fer disturbin’ the peace,’ says the aesthetic one, wavin’ his totem pole.
“‘What’s the penalty?’ says I.
“‘Imprisonment er twentypesos,’ says thealcalde.
“‘Nixey,’ says Chinook Bill, ‘here’s a fiver.’
“‘Mil gracias,’ says the aesthetic one, an’ he bows to the earth humble an’ kisses his fingers coquettish. ‘An’ may I inquire fer where theseñoresmean to depart?’
“‘Sure,’ says Bill, with a wink, ‘Africa.’
“‘Bueno,’ says thealcalde. ‘Var good. A beautiful country I hear,señores.Adios.Now git,pronto!’
“So we mounts, gives a last partin’ salute, an’ hits them burros up. We druv constant fer ten days, an’ it was sure a God forsooken country we pushed into. First it was mesquite an’ cactus, then cactus and mesquite, an’ a few deflections in the way o’ hills. Then we begun to climb deviousinto regions o’ supernal ca’m, an’ the beautiful panorama changed its garment ... right in the middle o’ day, gents, an’ there we was with the tropics below us an’ a numerous supply o’ strange fauna in the way o’ monkeys an’ green parrots an’ yaller panthers. Then we started down devious on tother side and hit the deep timber, an’ us cow punchers. Imagine! An’ every day Chinook Bill got more an’ more worrit an’ turrible reticent.
“‘You ain’t a-skeered?’ says I, tauntin’.
“‘Huh, me?’ says he. ‘No, suh, but it’s sure annoyin’, this. Here we are in a natcheral temperate latitoode an’ hotter’n South Ameriky. It’s Chinook Bill who’s been up agin all the varyin’ shades o’ topographical insanity, but this is the infinitism o’ phantasy. It will get me nervous yet, an’ I hate to get nervous. But, in defiance o’ my cringin’ natur I’m bound to view the ancient glories o’ the fabled city o’ Poaquita.’ Then he takes another swag at thataguardientean’ shrinks into a state o’ pensive isolation, fightin’stegomyiaas big as yer fist with meek fortitoode. Then there come a earthquake, which seismic convulsion yanked one o’ our pack mules down a chasm, our coolinary implements attached. Me an’ Chinook Bill sits down on the brink to listen to the musical cantinkerlations o’ tin kitchen ware fer ha’f a hour afterwards.
“‘If there be any Injuns within a radius o’ fifty miles,’ says Chinook Bill, ‘that infernal racket will start ’em on the war path.’ An’ we sure soon come across the immegiate signs o’ them savages, an’ Chinook Bill got more reticent an’ lookin’ arful pale under the gills an’ wild in the eye, a drinkin’ o’ thataguardientean’ the chills. Oncet we was lyin’ in the shade o’ some rocks tryin’ to get some sleep. Chinook Bill dozes off an’ his pipe tilts between his teeth an’ the ashes burns a hole in his jeans. When it struck the sensitive tissue he ups with a wild screech, both guns cocked, an’ fires promiscuous. I see the light o’ the fever in his eye an’ the tremblin’ frenzy an’ I rolls over behind a convenient boulder. It was sure distractin’ to witness sich a waste o’ energy an’ precious ammunition, an’ I begins to yell frantic. He glares tragic in my direction, flops on his stummick an’ begins to wiggle, them Colts barkin’ tuneful. Then I has a arful presentment o’ homicide an’ shies down the mountain with becomin’ velocity, Chinook Bill in hot an’ lusty pursuit. But it wasn’t no use to run. So I intrenches an’ lets him burn powder. Arter he’d gone through his cartridge belt I bombarded him with capsules de quinine an’ demanded him to partake.
“‘Are you the chief?’ says he.
“‘Shame on you, Chinook Bill,’ says I, ‘to want ter assassinate yer bosom friend.’
“Bill looks sheepish an’ says, defiant:
“‘I been shot in the laig by a atrocious vision what sneaked up from behint me.’
“‘Shoo!’ says I, ‘it was the fire of yer pipe.’
“Chinook Bill looks at the hole in his jeans an’ grows absent.
“‘If you’ll never tell on me, Pete,’ says he, ‘I’ll bless yer ol’ age with my gratitoode. Come out an’ shake hands.’
“‘Have another capsule de quinine,’ says I, doubtful.
“‘You don’t trust your bosom friend,’ says he, reproachful.
“I put a hand to my heart an’ repeats:
“‘Your sad plight bereaves me much, dear friend, but I am guided by the light o’ a deeper understandin’. Have another capsule de quinine an’ rest yer tired bones in yon cool shade.’
“‘Well, all right,’ says Chinook Bill, meek. ‘I shore do feel like I swallowed a horned toad frog with a hoss collar adornin’ his neck. I’m a sick man haunted by turrible hallucinations. But it ain’t the fire water, Pete, er cowardice. Maybe it’s the curse that visits the avaricious. I’m sore perplexed,’ an’ Chinook Bill taps his forehead sorrowful.
“‘You been readin’ that forbidden book too much,’ says I.
“‘It’s been a great revelation to me,’says Chinook Bill, ‘the sufferings o’ them captured monks es went crazy with the fever an’ tried to manslaughter one another.’
“‘Suppose I got took down?’ says I.
“‘It’s what been troublin’ me,’ says Chinook Bill, ‘an’ es a matter o’ precaution I vote we fill our shootin’ irons with blanks before we retire.’
“‘Chinook Bill,’ says I, ‘that was the voice o’ genius what spoke.’
“‘Arter that we made vows o’ constancy an’ took a swag at theaguardienteto seal the compact. Then we courted the arms o’ Morpheus. But it wasn’t long afore I woke up suddent, feelin’ light in the top o’ my head an’ grabbed my brace o’ pistols. I begun to stare wild, same es Chinook Bill, an’ seein’ Chinook Bill sleepin’ sound an’ a little elephant sittin’ on his nose I rose up an’ fired, indignant. Then a whole lot more little elephants jumped down from the trees, an’ there was some es played jews-harps an’ others es blowed trombones, an’ I grew speechless and frantic. Chinook Bill wakes up out of a unpleasant nightmare, an’ takin’ in the sitchooation at a glance, joins in the fusillade afore inquirin’ politely what might be the natur o’ the disturbance. An’ it soon oozes through my gray matter that Bill ain’t taking no notice o’ them little elephants, but makin’ deadly an’ sinister skirmishes at my sacred person.
“‘You infernal idjit,’ yells I, ‘shoot the elephants!’
“‘I knowed you was the chief,’ says he, ‘but you won’t fool me no more.’
“‘Chinook Bill,’ says I, ‘I have fer you a deep an’ all absorbin’ compassion.’
“‘You was that atrocious vision what sneaked up from behint and shot me in the laig,’ says he.
“‘Shame on you, Chinook Bill,’ says I. ‘I was only tryin’ to save you from the vicious tusks o’ them elephants.’ Then there was some more skirmishin’ an’ parley an’ we agreed to shake hands over a glass ofaguardienteand quinine.
“About sundown we discovered ancient ruins in the side o’ a cliff with heagern idols in shockin’ dissabillesittin’ on their hams a-grinnin’ pleasant from their pedestals. We passed the time o’ day with them, then Chinook Bill, like the great Balboa, pouredaguardienteon the haid o’ one an’ dedicated our discovery in the name o’ the Society o’ Natural History and Palezoic Research. We proceeds thence deeper into the unknown by the pallid light o’ the moon. Ruins an’ heagern idols was now plentiful, an’ Chinook Bill opines we was nearin’ our goal fast, an’ the while the topography was gettin’ queerer. Chinook Bill, still with the fever in his eye, recites Shakespeare blatant an’ called to the wilderness to deliver his Desdemona to his grievin’ heart. I laughs scornful, an’ whilst we was rejoicin’ thus we was suddenly confronted by a pack o’ ha’f naked Injuns es rose up out o’ the cañon an’ begun to chunk poisoned arrows at us. Chinook Bill bids me stay my wrath an’ lifts a imperious hand.
“‘Hold!” says he, ‘noble red men. Do I address the illustrious descendants o’ the Montezumas?’
“‘Ickle-hickle-juicy-woosy, eat ’em alive,’ says one what wore a Queen Anne collar o’ his ancestor’s teeth an’ dances fantastic on his painted toes. Then a big fat one takes the boards an’ shows a covetable row o’ white molars in a kingly grin. Him an’ Bill swap secret lodge signs, then his Nibbs approaches an’ pinches Chinook Bill on the arm, then he dances on his toes like the one with the Queen Anne collar.
“‘Iggle-woggle-plenty-good-fer-soup,’ says he, an’ makes some more goo-goo eyes at Chinook Bill while Bill gets out that forbidden book an’ reads some heagern Sanscrit therefrom. His Nibbs rolls on the ground joyful, then he waves his spear an’ holds a animated confab with his faithful subjects.
“‘You maverick,’ says I to Chinook Bill, ‘what you givin’ these pore benighted sons o’ the forests?’
“‘I’m repeatin’ the golden text o’ the god Itchlatichlahoola,’ says Chinook Bill, ‘an’ they are plumb skally-dasted at my marvelous display o’heagern eridition. We’re the children o’ the sun due to make a visitation to this world every hundred years to deliver the compliments o’ Itchlatichlahoola. Now we shall be conveyed into Poaquita with pomp an’ eat o’ the fat o’ the land.’
“After a hurried confab his Nibbs dances back an’ says es how glad he was to see us an’ pinches Chinook Bill on the arm again. Bill does the spine curvitoore an’ says es how glad he was to be back jest fer the sake o’ ol’ lang syne, but allowed it didn’t do his dignity no credit to be sampled as a special kind o’ eatable an’ wouldn’t be pinched no more, then elaborated es how he wouldn’t stand fer it, no how, he bein’ a natcheral high-strung, free American durin’ them decades es when he wasn’t employed by Itchlatichlahoola as a winged Mercury, an’ lived in the more temporal clime o’ Arizona by choice, all of which was evident mistook by his Nibbs who shies up to me an’ takes a pinch at my biceps. I succumbs to consumin’ wrath immegiate an’ lands the high chieftain between the eyes unceremonious. Then there was revolution an’ carnage in the air, an’ me an Chinook Bill went down before the heagern horde, but to show our bravery Bill recites Horatius at the Bridge an’ annihilates a portion o’ his Nibbs’ faithful subjects in his dramatic gesticulations o’ same. We was tied to a chariot which had no wheels but was drug like a snow-scrape over the ground an’ conveyed into Poaquita. We reached that metropolis about sun-up where we was tied to a stone pillar in the square an’ exhibited to a pack o’ screechin’ hags es played May-pole around us an’ jabbered worse nor green parrots. Of all wild things es live next to the bosom o’ natur there ain’t anything es beats the make-up o’ the gentle sex. They’re a four-flush always.
“‘What’s up?’ says I to Chinook Bill, who was gazin’ mournful on the heagern rites.
“‘We’re the blumdest idjits es ever roped a stray maverick, that’s what,’ says he. ‘Why didn’t we think of it?’
“‘Think o’ what?’ says I.
“‘That them messengers from Itchlatichlahoola must in course be sent back from whence they come ... ergo, we perish on the sacrificial altar like them pore priests did.’
“‘You move me to expostulation,’ says I.
“‘But there shines the glimmer o’ hope,’ says Chinook Bill.
“‘Eloocidate,’ says I.
“‘His Nibbs, the king, has discovered the rejuvenatin’ properties o’ that remainin’ jug o’aguardiente. From my place o’ vantage I observe that he retires to the rear o’ his palace an’ is fast lubricatin’ his system with that highly soperiferous nectar. The harem is in an uproar an’ the foundation o’ a great nation is totterin’ an’ his women folks is desolvin’ rapidly in the ether landscape. The chamberlain, the secretary o’ war an’ the House o’ Lords is holdin’ special session. I think the whole city is contemplatin’ a ignominious flight. His Nibbs is a regular Nero an’ is callin’ fer Rome to be burnt to banish the monotony o’ his moody reflections. Such is the potency o’ the Greaser’smescal!’
“‘Then there is indeed hope,’ says I, es the next moment his Nibbs, the king, gives a bibulous war whoop an’ emerges into the open with that jug o’aguardientestrapped to his middle, a bloody spear held aloft an’ a glitter in his eye. The special session o’ the House o’ Lords adjourns immegiate an’ takes to the tall timber, the noble kinsman o’ the great Montezuma givin’ obligin’ chase. Then a new inspiration o’ sacrilege an’ carnage hatches in his Majesty’s volatile brain an’ with a turrible war whoop he wheels right about an’ charges into the temple o’ Itchlatichlahoola es the high priest an’ his retinue o’ lesser lights bolts from another door with the sacred emblems o’ that gracious divinity tucked under their arms, an’ they went the way o’ the House o’ Lords likewise. His Nibbs re-appears snortin’ in triumph an’ circles like a vexed steer, a-lookin’ fer something to dispute the bloody laurels o’ his victory. When he sights us he is shaken by a great felicity an’ his attitoode is one o’ blandishin’ uncertitoode,es if he entertained a fearful idee we was tantalizin’ visions an’ would melt at the touch. The agony o’ his suspense was something prostratin’ an’ I lets out a yell o’ ‘Whoa, Buck!’ just to relieve his mind, an’ then hyere he come, fust on one side the square, then the other, dancin’ mad. Chinook Bill gives another encouragin’ whoop, an’ his Nibbs cuts the pigeon wing an’ begins to circle, that jug o’aguardientecuttin’ heraldic devices in the much disturbed atmosphere, his fat arms pluggin’ chaos an’ his feet comin’ down an’ combustin’ with terra firma like the rattle o’ a ore chute, an’ a-lookin’ fer the world like one o’ them hell vultures es picked our trail through the Sonora Mountains.
“‘What’s the natcheral sequence o’ these French ballet fantastics?’ says I.
“‘It’s the unconscious promptin’s o’ great mental endowment,’ says Chinook Bill. ‘Jest at present he’s executin’ the Circle o’ Archimedes an’ formin’ a planetary tablet o’ the high heavens; incident’ly he’s performin’ our heagern rituals which precedes a quick an’ horrible despatch o’ the soul from the mortal coil.’
“‘Then, alas! It’s death!’ says I.
“‘But we might divert his mind,’ says Bill.
“‘Eloocidate,’ says I again.
“Fer answer Chinook Bill draws forth with his free hand a bottle o’ Arizona Snake Bite to be took in drops diluted with much water an’ swallowed instant so es to lessen the convulsions o’ agony.
“‘I been tryin’ fer the last two months to get strong enough to ease the cork an’ enjoy the heavenly odor o’ this, but I ain’t been robust enough,’ says he, sorrowful. ‘So let them es are more agile an’ spry inherit what the gods bequeath to the valorous.’
“‘It ’ud be cruelty to animals,’ says I.
“‘I ain’t offerin’ it es a nerve tonic,’ says Chinook Bill, snappish, ‘an’ I ain’t dilatin’ on its many virchores, but if there is any heagern about es would defy the components o’ this devilish concoction o’ ancient alchemy let him beware,’ says he.
“His Nibbs no sooner sets his eye on that bottle o’ yaller perdition liquified afore he wants it, an’ licks his lips voracious.
“‘I cyaint endoore that look o’ deep reproach,’ says Chinook Bill; ‘he must have it.’
“‘It ’ud be cruelty to animals not to,’ says I, ‘an’ we ain’t runnin’ no Keely cure, fer a fact. Besides, he’ll resort to physical violence if we don’t hand over the dream maker prompt.’
“‘An’ whilst he is pluckin’ purple poppies from sweet fancy’s lurid canvas,’ says Chinook Bill softly, ‘we’ll leave our respects to the House o’ Lords an’ depart instant. It’s me who’s pinin’ fer the range.’
“‘The dream o’ avarice no longer disturbs the tranquillity o’ my peace-lovin’ natur’,’ says I. ‘Me fer the sweet alfalfa of the cowland.’
“Thereon, we viewed the mad potations o’ his Nibbs in anxious silence, an’ when he begun to fight invisible cobras an’ pluck bits o’ poetic thought from space we took opportunity by the forelock an’ broke fer sweet freedom, an’ was soon lickin’ time out o’ the landscape. After we’d chucked two days behind us we slowed up fer observation an’ to get our bearin’s by the water shed. Ten more moons an’ we sights Californy Gulf an’ civilization. We sold antique relics an’ old Chippendale furnitchur, with the forbidden books throwed in fer good measure, to a private expedition headed by a Harvard professor. Then we got a full supply o’ the paraphernalia o’ railroad travel, takes forcible possession o’ the rear coach an’ begins a long deferred celebration. It ’ud be trivial to say es how we blowed in to Phoenix, it bein’ said the dust ain’t settled there yet—exceptin’ in the extreme sooburbs o’ that thrivin’ town. But I know we found white man’s whiskey an’ was shucked clean—exceptin’ to our irreproachable character—in a protracted game o’ monte, an’ was chiefly delayed by them indispensable altercations es come up in the course o’ one’s sojourn through them deludin’ hazes an’ prismatic colorin’s o’ a magnificent jag. After we’d drowned the contagiono’ heagernism in our orthidox constitutions we mounts the broncos bought previous to that little escapade an’ hikes fer the range. We follers our noses across the El Pinto country until we struck the Bar Y outfit, implores a ice-bound individgooal es waschefand bottle washer fer a hand-out an’ incident’ly asks the foreman fer a job. We gets both, an’ fer two months pursooes the quiet paths o’ temperance an’ thrift until a worldly maverick by the name o’ O’Hooley drifts into camp an’ tells how he’d struck it rich in the Little Pecan country an’, guided by a impulse of philanthropy, was ridin’ cross territory a-tellin’ o’ his great discovery—. But that’s another story,” said Buck Eye Pete, “an’ it’s me fer a cup o’ Mocha-Java an’ asiesta.”