The Man From Bar-20 by Clarence E. Mulford (best books to read for young adults .txt) đ
- Author: Clarence E. Mulford
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âWho was that?â asked Pop, indignant because he had not been told about it before.
âYoâre a regâlar old woman,â jeered Charley. âYou can guess it.â
âFunny he didnât tell me,â sighed Pop.
âMebby he reckoned it was his own business,â retorted Charley. âMebby he knowed youâd blurt it out to everybody you saw.â
âI keep things under my belt!â
âYes; food anâ likker,â chuckled Charley, enjoying himself. âIf nobody come around for you to tell yore gossip to, cussed if you wouldnât tell it to thâ sky, night anâ morninâ, like a ki-yote.â
âSo heâs still prospectinâ,â laughed Ackerman. âHeâll starve to death.â
âI ainât so shore about that,â said Charley. âHe Weighed his gold on my scales anâ it was one pound anâ eleven ounces. It was all gold, too; I saw it.â
âHe-he-he!â chuckled Pop. âIf yore scales said one eleven he only had about half a pound. Them scales are worse than a cold deck.â
âThatâs a lie; anâ you know it! Them scales are honest!â
âThen they ainât âpervious to their âsociations,â grinned Pop. He reached behind him, picked up a package and turned to Ackerman. âDid you say you was goinâ near thâ Circle S?â he inquired.
âHe did not,â said Charley gleefully. âDidnât I say you was an old woman?â
Ackerman laughed, winked at Charley and went out; and the two cronies listened to the rapidly dying hoofbeats.
Pop wheeled and glared at his friend. âNow youâve done it! Ainât you got no sense, tellinâ him where Nelson is?â
âIf I had much I wouldnât hang out with you,â grinned Charley. âBut I got a little; anâ if he crosses thâ river he wonât find Nelson. A Circle S puncher saw him hoofinâ it into thâ southwest. Quien sabe?â
âSometimes you do have a spark of common sense,â said Pop. âSort of a glimmer. Itâs real noticeable in you when it shows at all, just like a match looks prominent in thâ dark. Pick up them cards anâ donât do no more fancy countinâ.â
âCountinâ wouldnât do me no good while yoâre multiplyinâ. Get agoinâ; I got to get my four bits back before I go home.â
Well to the south of the two friends in Hastings, Jim Ackerman loped steadily ahead, debating several things; and as he neared the Circle S range a man suddenly arose from behind a rock. There was nothing threatening about this gentleman except, perhaps, his sudden and unexpected appearance; but Ackermanâs gun had him covered as soon as his head showed.
âTurn it off me, I said the man behind the rock, a note of pained injury in his voice. âMy intentions are honorable; anâ plumb peaceful. Yoâre most scandalous suspicious.â
Ackerman smiled grimly. âMebby I am; but habit is strong. Anâ one of my worst habits is suspicion. Whatâs thâ idea of this jack-in-thâ-box proceedinâ of yourn? Youâve shore got funny ways; anâ plumb dangerous ones.â
âReckon mebby it does look that way,â said the man behind the rock. âI neglects caution. I shouldâve covered you first anâ then popped up. That shows how plumb innercent anâ peaceful I am. Yore nameâs Jim Ackerman, ainât it?â
âYou canât allus tell,â replied Ackerman.
âThatâs where yoâre figgerinâ wrong. I can allus tell. Havinâ told me yore name, Iâll tell you mine. Iâm Pete Carson, known hereabouts anâ elsewhere as Long Pete. Some calls me Long-winded Pete; but itâs all thâ same to me. Pint that a little mite more to thâ sky; thank you, sir. I was punchinâ for thâ Circle S, but thâ Circle S punched me; then it fired me. Iâve got to eat, so I got to work. Thâ Long T ainât hirinâ; anâ Iâd starve before Iâd work for Logan. I ainât no slave, not me.
âIâm settinâ there in thâ sun whittlinâ a stick anâ arguinâ with myself. I was gettinâ thâ worst of it when I hears yore noble cayuse. Not beinâ curious I riz up instanter anâ looked plumb into yore gun just a little mite higher; ah, much obliged.â
âWhatâs all this to me?â demanded Ackerman impatiently.
âThatâs what Iâm aiminâ to find out. I saw you cominâ up a little more; thank you. Then I think I got a new chance. I want a job anâ I want it bad. Hold it in yore left hand: yore right hand is tired, anâ saggin I . Any chance for a close-mouthed man up yore way? One that does as heâs told, asks no questions, anâ ainât particular what kind of a job it is? Better let me hold that; I can see yoâre gettinâ tired. Thank you, sir. Iâm desperate, anâ Iâm hungry. What you say? Speak right out Iâm a grand listener.â
Ackerman grunted. âHuh! I ainât got nothinâ to say about hirinâ thâ men where I work. As a matter of fact we ainât got work enough for another man. Anâ I reckon you donât understand nothinâ about farminâ, even in a small way; but if yoâre hungry, why, I can fix that right soon. Got a cayuse?â
Pete nodded emphatically. âI allus manage to keep a cayuse, no matter how bad things busts; a cayuse, my saddle, anâ a gun. Why?â
âClimb onto it anâ come along with me. Iâm aiminâ to make camp as soon as I run across water. Thatâs a purty good animal you got.â
âYes; looks good,â grunted Long Pete; âbut it ainât. Itâs a deceivinâ critter. Iâm yore scout. Thereâ a crick half a mile west of here. Iâm that famished Iâm faint. Just a little more anâ Iâd âaâ cooked me a square meal off of one of thâ yearlinâs that wander on thâ edge of thâ range. That was what I was thinkinâ over when I heard you.â
âYou shouldnât do a thing like that!â exclaimed Ackerman severely. âBesides, you shouldnât talk about it. Anâ if you do it youâll get shot or lynched.â
âA man does lots of things he shouldnât. Anâ âs for talkinâ, Iâm thâ most safe talker you ever met I allus know where Iâm talkinâ, what Iâm talkinâ about, anâ who Iâm talkinâ to. Now, as I figger it, Iâd rather get shot or lynched than starve in a land of beef. What do I care about killinâ another manâs cows? Iâm plumb sick of workinâ on a string that some bullheaded foreman can break; anâ Iâm most awful sick of workinâ for wages. I ainât no hired man, dân it! What I wants is an equal share in what I earns. Anâ you can believe me, Mister Man, I ainât noways particular what thâ work is. I never did have no respect for a man that gambled for pennies. No tinhorn never amounted to nothinâ. He canât lose much; but yoâre cussed right he canât win much, neither. If thâ stakes are high anâ thâ breaks anywhere near equal, Iâll risk my last dollar or my last breath.
âAs to what I am, you lissen to me: When Iâm sober I stays strictly sober, for months at a time; anâ when Iâm drunk I likeways stays drunk for days at a time. I ainât like some I knows of, half drunk most of thâ time anâ never really sober. Me, I just serves notice that Iâm goinâ off on a bender, anâ I goes. Anâ when I comes back Iâm sober all thâ way through. Hereâs thâ crick. Anâ I never get drunk when thereâs work to be did. You can put up that Colt now anâ watch me get a fire goinâ that wonât show a light for any distance or throw much smoke. I tell you I know my business.â
Ackerman unpacked and turned the horses loose to graze, and by the time he was ready to start cooking, Long Pete had a fire going in a little hollow near the water.
âNow you just set down anâ watch me cavort anâ prance,â quoth Long Pete pleasantly. âReckon mebby you might not move fast enough for my empty belly. Chuck me that flour bag Iâm a regâlar cook, I am. You just set there anâ keep right on thinkinâ about me; weigh me calm an I judicial.â
Ackerman smiled, leaned back against his saddle and obeyed his verbose companion, pondering over what his deft guest had said. He knew of Long Pete by hearsay, and he now marshaled the knowledge in slow and orderly review before his mind.
The cook handed him a pan, a tin cup, and a knife, fork, and spoon. Then he waved at the pan. âTake all you want of this grub, an I take it now. This beinâ a one-man outfit Iâll eat off thâ cookinâ utensils utensils sounds misleading donât it? somethinâ like tonsils or a disease. Now I warn you: dig in deep anâ take all you kin eat, for there wonât be no second helpinâ after I gets my holt. Want yore coffee now?â
âLater, I reckon,â smiled Ackerman. âYou shore can cook. Better take thâ cup first if you wants yore coffee now. Iâll use it later.â
âSoon as we open one of them cans Iâll have a cup of my own, anâ weâre goinâ to open one tomorrow,â grinned Long Pete, opening his pocketknife and attacking the frying pan. When the pan had been cleaned of the last morsel Pete emptied the cup, washed it in the creek, refilled it and handed it to his companion. Rolling a cigarette with one hand, he lit it, inhaled deeply and blew a cloud of smoke toward the sky.
âCuss me if that donât hit me plumb center,â he chuckled. âAnâ plumb center is thâ place for it. Iâd ruther eat my own cookinâ in thâ open, than feed in thâ house after some dirty cook got through messin I with thâ grub. At first I thought you was another prospector; but when I looked close I saw that you didnât have thâ rest of thâ outfit. Now donât you say nothinâ. I ainât lookinâ for no information; Iâm givinâ it. You see, I shoots off my mouth regardless, for Iâm a great talker when Iâm sober; anâ tight as a freshwater clam when Iâm drunk. A whiskered old ram of a sky-pilot once told me that I was thâ most garrulous man heâd ever met up with. After I let him up he explained what garrulous means; anâ thâ word sort of stuck in my memory. I know it stuck in his; heâll never forget it.â
Ackerman coughed up some coffee. âHe wonât,â he gasped. âBut what made you think I might be prospectinâ?â
âJust a little superstition of mine,â explained Long Pete. âThereâs some coffee runninâ down yore neck. You never ought to laugh when yoâre drinkinâ. Good thing it wasnât whiskey. Things allus comes in bunches. That purty near allus holds good, as mcbby youâve noticed. I have. I saw one prospector, a cowpuncher gone loco, hoofinâ it in thâ dirt alongside his loaded cayuse. Of thâ two I thinks most of thâ cayuse. It was a black, of thoroughbred strain, steppinâ high anâ disdainful, with more intelligence blazinâ out of its big eyes than its master ever had. So when I sees you ridinâ along with a big pack I reckoned mebby that you must âaâ eat some of thâ same weed anâ had got thâ same kind of hallucernations. Theyâs different kinds, you know. But this is once thâ rule fails. There wonât be no bunch of prospectors, anâ I know why; but thatâs a secret. There wonât be no third.â
Ackerman looked keenly at him through narrowed lids, speculating, wondering, puzzled. Then he leaned back and yawned. âIs there a prospector down here?â he asked incredulously. âYou donât mean it.â
Long Pete coolly looked him over from boots to sombrero. âIâm duly grateful for this sumptious feed, anâ
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