Clarence Edward Mulford

A MAN'S A MAN

Having eaten enough to arouse the unqualified admiration of George, Johnny went to the kitchen and became busy with patch paper, tallow, and loading cup, and had just finished the twenty-fifth, and last, cartridge, when Two-Spot wandered in. George was out attacking the wood pile.

"Got 'em done, huh? Ain't it better to buy 'em?" asked Two-Spot, looking into the dining-room.

"It is, Ol' Timer, when you can. Just now I can't get 'em, so I got to make 'em."

His companion looked at the belt full of .45's. "Gimme a couple of them? I want to try somethin'."

Johnny complied. "Want to see if they fits?" he asked.

"What you mean?"

"Carson dropped his gun under Dave's floor. Who got th' one in th' road?"

"Don't say nothin'," begged Two-Spot. "Dave's an old woman, an' I don't want nobody to know I got it. He got th' other."

"What you goin' to do with yourn?"

"Keep it in my bunk. I might need it, sometime. I ought to have a rifle, though."

"I'll get you one," promised Johnny.

"What you goin' to do this afternoon?" asked Two-Spot, his face beaming at the thought of owning a rifle.

"Don't know yet."

"It's time you knowed about things out here. You ride up th' Juniper trail to th' second draw, in about an hour, an' I'll fix yore case rack so you'll know what cards are out. Yo're guessin' good, but Faro ain't th' only game where keepin' cases is better."

"Why go up there?"

"Well, purty soon it ain't goin' to be healthy for anybody to be too friendly with you," said Two-Spot, reflectively. "Anyhow, I'll be worth more if I ain't suspected of bein' too talkative."

"Th' best way to get suspected is to hide out when you don't have to," said Johnny. "You wander over to that grass spot across th' road from Dave's an' Dailey's in about an hour, an' lay down to rest yore lazy bones, with yore head toward th' saloon, so nobody can see that yo're talkin' steady. I'll try to get there first. It'll be innocent as sheep. Pepper hankers for live grass—an' she deserves what she hankers for."

"She does," responded Two-Spot. "Big Tom was in yesterday talkin' to Dailey. I heard him say somethin' about no supplies. They had an argument an' finally Dailey says: 'All right; if you say so.'"

Johnny nodded. "I'll see you around front in about an hour."

About the time agreed upon Two-Spot stopped sweeping and looked out of the door. "Things look plumb peaceful, Dave," he said. "There's Nelson lyin' on his back over there in th' sun. He's too comfortable. Got a notion to stir him up."

"You stir up that broom an' get through," replied Dave. "You're sweepin' later an' later every mornin'."

The sweeper sighed and went to work again, with a vigor so carefully figured that Dave was on the verge of speaking about dust several times, but thought better of it each time. Finishing his chores, Two-Spot shuffled out and threw a can at the recumbent figure over on the grass. It stirred and raised its head.

"I'll turn you inside out," it threatened.

"You couldn't turn a glove inside out," retorted Two-Spot.

Johnny grunted. He was silent for a moment, and then inquired, "What you doin', Feather Head?"

"Workin'."

"Then you can't do it," regretted Johnny.

"What?"

"Bring over a couple of cigars."

"Show me yore money."

Johnny rolled over on his side and produced a coin, which he held up.

"Chuck it over," said Two-Spot.

"Yo're too busy," jeered Johnny.

"Chuck it, an' see."

Johnny sat up and sent the coin glittering through the air, Two-Spot making an unexpected catch. He went into the saloon, soon reappeared, and shuffled across the road. Sitting down at Johnny's side with his back to the buildings, he lit his cigar and lazily reclined. "I shore appreciates this rest," he sighed.

Johnny laughed outright. "Yo're worked to death," he jibed.

"Ol' Simon Verrier," began Two-Spot, "was th' first owner of th' SV. He run it for twenty years, an' there wasn't nobody in all that time done any devilment an' wanted to repeat it. He was testy, big, an' powerful, an' he reckoned th' gun he packed was made to be used. He had Buck Sneed for his best man, an' an outfit what believed th' same as he did about guns. At that time there wasn't no boundaries, not fixed. Th' ranches sort of mingled along th' edges. Then th' Bar H got notions. It sort of honed for that valley, an' made a play or two for it. There wasn't no third. Ol' Simon an' Buck rid down to th' Bar H house an' spoke plain. Failin' to have any lines didn't bother them two. They picked th' ridges of th' dividin' hills an' says: 'Them's th' lines; stay on yore own side.'"

Johnny laughed for the benefit of any of the curious on the other side of the road.

"Ol' Frank Harper owned th' Bar H in them days. Poker an' drink was his failin's. His poker took Dailey out of th' saddle an' put him into th' store, an' it did th' same for Dave. It also put a mortgage on th' Bar H. More'n that, it kept him drinkin' harder an' harder—an' he was found dead one day in East Canyon; he had fell off his cayuse an' busted his neck. Th' mortgage was foreclosed an' th' present owners of th' ranch bought it in an' hired Big Tom to run it.

"Th' first thing Big Tom did was to forget all about them boundary lines. Ol' Simon an' him had words, an' when th' smoke cleared Big Tom had four slugs out of five into him; but he's got th' strength of a grizzly an' pulled through. About th' time he was ridin' around ag'in, on his own side of th' lines, Simon got his feet wet an' died in four days. I says that is downright funny. He had weathered stampedes, gunplay, northers, an' th' Lord only knows what for sixty years, an' then he goes an' dies from wet feet!"

Johnny nodded and pushed Pepper's muzzle from his face, "Keep a-feedin', girl," he ordered; "I won't sneak away."

"Well," continued Two-Spot, "Buck buried th' ol' man, an' went right on runnin' things for th' heirs. He kept th' outfit together, an' th' ranch was payin' fine. Then th' heirs, eastern mutton-heads, didn't like his spellin', an' his habit of writin' letters when he was mad. They fired him, an' th' oufit, feelin' insulted personally, quit th' ranch an' went with him."

"I've knowed outfits just like that," murmured Johnny, reflectively.

"Th' new foreman came, an' went. Likewise th' second. They had a mark to live up to—it lays along th' top of them hills—an' they wasn't big enough to do it. Meanwhile th' SV was goin' to th' dogs. Then Ol' Arnold bought it an' came out to run it. He was a tenderfoot, an' came out for his health. Things was happenin' all th' time. His herds was shrinkin'. Rustlin', shootin', maverick huntin', an' them quicksands kept a-cuttin' his herds. Just about that time Big Tom dynamites th' rock slide in Little Canyon, an' forthwith loses his water. Then things happen faster than ever. He makes a play toward th' Double X; but th' Double X talks plain an' he reckons he better get th' SV."

Johnny sat up and stretched. "Let's play mumble-peg," he suggested, producing a clasp knife. "This steady talkin' is lastin' a long time, though I don't believe they hear you. I better cut in an' ask fool questions for th' looks of it."

"That'll come easy to you," retorted Two-Spot. "Well, things was goin' from bad to worse on th' SV. They couldn't keep an outfit. Them that wasn't scared away was bribed to quit. Dahlgren, Lang, an' Gurley all was SV men. Ol' Arnold borrowed three thousand dollars on his note in Highbank two years ago. Big Tom bought it an' holds it now. I think it's due next spring. Arnold has had to sell cows in small bunches to buy grub. There ain't no nat'ral increase, an' th' Bar H has a lot more calves an' yearlin's than Nature gave it. For th' last year th' SV ain't been bothered very much. It's so close to dyin' that I reckon Big Tom would rather wait a little longer an' have somethin' left to take when he does get it."

"Pleasant sort of a buzzard, Big Tom," said Johnny. "You missed then—gimme th' knife."

"Once in a while Lang or Gurley drive a cow into th' quicksands, just to keep their hands in. They work for th' Triangle, but really for Big Tom. They're handy for him, seein' that they has th' Triangle range next to th' SV."

"Them names are easy to remember," observed Johnny, surrendering the knife.

"Big Tom wants th' SV for its water," said Two-Spot. "That's what most folks think. I think him an' some friends he's got somewhere aim to get it cheap an' run it themselves."

"What's th' Doc doin' squattin' where he is?" queried Johnny.

"There was some talk about th' SV's title to that end of it lyin' west of th' main trail, an' I reckon he's there to file a homestead claim if it's needed; but I really don't know."

"An' these other ranches are settin' back an' watchin' a sick man, a woman, an' a kid get robbed?" asked Johnny.

"Th' Triangle is scared of th' Bar H," answered Two-Spot. "It had its lesson ten years ago, an' ain't forgot it. Hank Lewis ain't got no nerve—it's only gall. Sam Gardner is sore about th' game, but he's all alone. Lefferts an' Reilly don't care much, an' Lang an' Gurley are in Big Tom's pay."

"What about th' Double X?" demanded Johnny.

"They are so far off they don't take no interest. They keeps over there purty much an' don't meddle, an', besides, they has troubles of their own, with th' rustlin' goin' on along their west edge."

"How do you know all this?" said Johnny.

"I worked for Ol' Simon fifteen years ago. I drifted back last winter, an' I've been here ever since. Nobody knows me."

"Why are you tellin' me?"

"I hears a lot under th' floor, before you come, an' after," said Two-Spot. "My ears are good, an' I got some brains left—not much, but enough to put two an' two together. Likewise I'm feelin' sorry for them Arnolds. I don't like to see a gang of thieves robbin' helpless critters like them. An' there's more. When I was comin' down here I got ketched in a storm an' like to froze to death. I would have, too, if that Arnold gal hadn't rid across me, pulled me out of a snowbank, an' toted me to th' ranch. They took care of me till I was strong ag'in, an' fed me up. I was near starved when th' storm got me."

"But why are you tellin' all this to me?" demanded Johnny.

Two-Spot stretched and handed over the knife. "I'm an ol' man, now," he said, "but there was a time when I wasn't. You are a young man, an' square, fur's I know. You been hangin' 'round here playin' a lone hand against a bunch that'd cut your throat if they knowed what you've been doin'. There's a purty gal over on th' SV. She's square, too, an' helpless, an' lonely. She don't know what to do, nor where to turn. She layed in a nest of rocks one day an' was watchin' three Bar H punchers. A rattler showed up close to her, in a dead line with th' men. Scared to death of snakes, she was drawin' a bead on it, when a stranger offers her his cannon, an' his help. Then he gives her h—l about murder, an' goes away. But he don't go fur, only to Gunsight. He drives Squint out of th' country, kidnaps th' Doc, an' keeps a bunch of hoss thieves from killin' her ol' man. I never saw you before; I don't know how many cattle you've rustled nor how many trains you've stuck up. What's more, I don't care. I know a white man when I sees one, an' I'm not gamblin' when I shoots off my mouth to you. I'm only a two-spot; but even two-spots has their good points. You can allus remember that there's a two-spot holdin' a six-gun under that there floor any time you need him."

Johnny sat up: "I'm sayin' you ain't no two-spot, neither."

"Before I forget it, I want to tell you th' rest of it," went on Two-Spot, anger heightening his color. "As I was sayin', th' gal's white, an' square. She's plumb different from some I've seen in th' cow-towns. Big Tom wants th' SV, but he wants her, too; an' 'though he ain't pesterin' her now, I know him too well to think he's give up th' idea. He never lets loose. Th' only reason he's let up is because he figgers he's got a better way; an' he's patient. Can you imagine a whiskey-smellin', big brute like him courtin' her? Can you imagine how he'd do it? An' lemme tell you, Nelson: I am a two-spot, for if I'd been any good at all I'd 'a' put a knife into him an' then took my medicine, like a man. I was near sick with disappointment when you shot th' gun out of his hand."

"How do you know anythin' about that nest of rocks, an' th' three men?"

"I know lots of things I ain't supposed to, an' one of 'em is that Big Tom ain't give up th' notion of gettin' th' SV, nor her, neither. There ain't no parson in thirty miles—an' Big Tom is terrible lazy. Sometimes I near sees red!" He glanced up the trail. "Here comes little Charley, leadin' a pack hoss. He's after supplies at Dailey's—" he stopped short and looked at Johnny, who was looking at him through narrowed lids. The same thought had come to them both at the same time. "I'm bettin' he don't get 'em," Two-Spot prophesied.

Johnny arose and stretched. "I'm bettin' he does," he drawled. "Reckon I'll go over an' swap gossip with Dailey," he explained, striding away.

Two-Spot watched him and also arose, going across the road and around the saloon. "I called it wrong," he muttered. "I'll copper that bet: I bets he does." A grin stole across his face as he shuffled toward Dailey's back door. "This'll be worth hearin', an' mebby I can get me a box of .45's; Ol' Eagle-Eye may be too cussed busy to pay any attention to me!"

Johnny sauntered into the store and seated himself on a box. "Howd'y, Ben."

Dailey smiled a welcome. "Been sunnin' yoreself?"

Johnny yawned. "Yeah; I'm shore lazy." He glanced out of the door at the boy who had ridden up and dismounted. "Reckon this is that Arnold kid," he observed.

Dailey hid a frown, and nodded. "I'm awful short of supplies today," he said. "Ol' Buffalo didn't bring me any—now I got to wait till he comes again."

Charley entered and handed a paper to the storekeeper, who took it, studied it, and then shook his head. "Bud, if you'd hunted through th' store you couldn't 'a' picked 'em any worse. I ain't got nothin' this calls for."

Charley's face fell. "Gee!" he said, "Peggy's out of almost everything. She said she just had to get these today." He looked around inquiringly. "Ain't that flour?" he asked, pointing to several filled sacks behind the counter.

"Them's flour sacks," answered Dailey, "but there ain't no flour in 'em now." He handed the list back to the boy. "No use, bud, you'll have to wait till Buffalo comes up again. He's too old to be of any account, anyhow, th' ol' fossil: he's allus forgettin' somethin', allus!"

Johnny held out his hand, his right hand. "Let's see it, Charley," he said, and looked it over. "I'll be cussed if that ain't funny!" he exclaimed. "This here is th' very same as I was goin' to get filled for myself, only mine wasn't all writ down like this. How'd you come to pick these things out, Charley?"

"Quit yore fooling," grinned Charley. "I didn't pick them. Peggy wrote that."

Johnny reached out and put the list in Dailey's hand. "Better begin at th' top, Ben, an' run right down," he suggested. "We won't get 'em mixed that way, or leave nothin' out. Let's start with one of them flour sacks, no matter what's in 'em."

Dailey flushed. "But I just said I was all out——"

"Yo're th' most forgetful man I ever knowed, except, mebby, Buffalo," said Johnny. "You ain't got no mem'ry at all. Don't you remember you found a lot of things you'd poked away an' forgot you had? An' don't you remember that nobody ain't told you, yet, not to sell me nothin'? That there paper is mine, now. I'm borrowin' it because I ain't got my own list writ out. That's writ so pretty an' plain, that it's pretty plain to read. If anybody gets curious, which they won't unless you tell 'em, you say that I gave you that an' wanted it filled. Now, we'll start with th' flour, like I was sayin'."

Dailey looked down the list and then up at Johnny. He was asking Fate why Nelson had to pick that particular time to visit the store. Johnny was smiling, but there was a look in his eyes which made the storekeeper do some quick thinking. He had no orders not to sell to anyone but the SV; and if Big Tom became curious he could put his questions to the two-gun man and get what satisfaction he could. In his heart he was in sympathy with the SV, and he had argued against refusing to sell to it.

"Nelson," said Dailey, slowly going behind the counter, "It's a good thing you remembered about that stuff. Are you takin' it to th' hotel?"

"Reckon not," answered Johnny. "Reckon I'll borrow Charley's pack hoss an' him to take it off to a place I knows of, where there ain't no mice. You'd be surprised, Ben, if you knowed how many mice there are in that hotel."

Charley looked from one to the other and, not knowing what to think or say, grinned somewhat anxiously.

"How's yore dad, an' yore sister?" Johnny asked him.

"All right," answered Charley. "But they was scared half to death yesterday when you an' them fellers came tearin' in, 'specially when you started shooting. You was awful drunk, wasn't you?"

"I don't remember much about it," confessed Johnny, "so I reckon mebby I was. We all got lost an' had to sleep out in th' brush all night. We was after th' coyote what kidnapped th' Doc, but we couldn't find him."

Dailey forgot to continue filling the list. He was holding a sack of sugar in his hand and drinking in every word. Johnny turned to him.

"Say, Ben," he said, "did I ever tell you th' story about Damsight?"

"You never did," answered the storekeeper, "not if my mem'ry ain't playin' me false again."

"It was scandalous," began Johnny, drumming with fingers on the butt of a gun. "There was a bunch of hoss thieves fightin' a lone woman an' her crippled dad. An' what do you reckon th' men in Damsight did about it? Nothin'. Nothin' at all. They was so miserable, so coyote-livered, so scared to death that they didn't raise a finger. No, sir; there wasn't a man in th' town. They were just yellow dogs, runnin' around in men's clothes an' pertendin' they was humans—a lot of yellow dogs, an' not a cussed thing more."

Dailey bungled a knot, and swore under his breath.

"Things went on like that for quite a spell," continued Johnny, "then a big storm come up, an' one by one them fellers who didn't see th' error of their ways was struck by lightnin'. They never knowed what hit 'em. It was just like th' miracles I've heard sky pilots tell about. Some of 'em did see th' error of their ways in time. They had a hard time in th' storm, but they pulled out alive. There seems to be a moral to that story; there ain't no use tellin' a story like that if th' moral is left out. An' I reckon th' moral of this one is: A man might be able to dodge lots of trouble, 'specially when it ain't near him all th' time; but when he's livin' right next door to th' lightnin', he can't dodge that. What do you think about it, Charley?"

"Gee! That's like the things Peggy reads to me out of the Bible," he replied. "Only it wasn't lightning, but floods, and pestilences, and things like that. Why, once a whole ocean opened up right in the middle and let a lot of people walk across it, but when their enemies got halfway over, it closed up, smack! and they were all drowned."

Johnny nodded gravely. "There's strange things happenin', even today, Charley, an' nobody knows when or where they will happen. Now, leavin' miracles out of it, let's put those packages on that hoss out there, an' see if Ben has forgot how to throw a diamond hitch. I'm bettin' a dollar he has."

"I'll take that dollar, parson," grinned Dailey. "Gimme a hand with th' stuff."

They filed out to the horse, loaded with packages, as Two-Spot slipped in the back door, and Dailey won the dollar. Watching the boy ride away, he turned and started for the store.

"Well," he said, over his shoulder, "I've put up my lightnin' rods, an' now I'm goin' to spit on my hands an' hold fast, for if this storm busts she'll be a whizzer. I'm aimin' to tell people right to their faces that Dailey's store sells to anybody that's got th' cash. You better look to yore tent pegs, young man."