The Man From Bar-20, Clarence E. Mulford [distant reading TXT] 📗

I know what is th’ custom when you breaks bread with a man; but I do mean it; an’ I don’t lie even when my words are ramblin’ free. I reckon, mebby, you ought to remember that. We’ll sort of get along better, day after day.”

“No offense I I was just surprised. Which way was th’ fool headin’?”

“Mebby I am a little too touchy. We all have our faults. He was headin’ th’ same as us because we’re on his trail, right now. I sort of follered it here to keep my hand in. You never can tell when yo’re goin’ to need th’ practice. Our fire is built on th’ ashes of hisn. His fire an’ smoke was well hid, too. What a two-gun cowpuncher, with a Tin Cup cayuse like that, wants to go hoofin’ off on a fool’s errand for, is more than I can figger out. But two heads are better than one; an’ a man hears an awful lot of talkin’ up in Old Pop Hayes’ place. Queer old polecat, Pop is.”

Ackerman stared thoughtfully into the fire for a few moments. Then he looked squarely and long into Pete’s placid, unwavering eyes, and what he saw there must have pleased and piqued him.

“Pete, yore habit of usin’ words reminds me of a gravel bed I once panned. It was a big bed an’ I panned a terrible lot of gravel; but you’d ‘a’ been surprised if you knew how much gold there was in it. I was a rich man until I hit town.” He waved his hands expressively. “You’ve said a whole lot, but it pans out strong. Anybody that won’t listen to you is a fool. Let’s have a pow-wow, without hurtin’ any feelin’s. Speak plain; keep cool. What you say?”

Pete waited until he rolled another cigarette and drew in another lungful of smoke. Then he recrossed his long legs, hitched comfortably against his saddle, and nodded.

“Meanin’ to swap ideas an’ personal opinions, ask questions regardless, an’ if things don’t come out like we’d mebby like ‘em, keep our mouths shut afterwards an’ not hold no hard feelin’s?”

“Just that,” Ackerman acquiesced. “Just what was you aimin’ at in yore talk?”

Pete scrutinized the fire. “Well, I hit what I was aimin’ at you allus do with a scatter gun. An’ for th’ ease of my conscience, an’ th’ rest of my calloused soul, let me confess that I had a gun on you while I was talkin’ to you. One arm was folded across behind my back an’ a little old Colt was squeezin’ against my side an’ th’ other arm, lookin’ right at you. Carelessness ain’t no sin of mine; I got enough without it. But, shakin’ some of th’ gravel out, let’s see what I got.

“I wants a job. It’s funny how many times I’ve wanted a job, an’ then threw it sprawlin’ after I got it. Bein’ desperate, I was aimin’ to stick you up an’ take your outfit. Then when you got near an’ I saw who it was, I knowed I’d have to shoot to kill; an’ first, too. That’s why I didn’t tackle that other feller, too. An’ just then my perverted mind says two an’ two is four. An’ it most generally is. Then I knowed you needed me. So I let th’ gun slip an’ got real friendly. But, as I was sayin’, I want a job. Now you pay attention.

“We knows what’s rumored around about Twin Buttes; an’ we knows who lives up there; an’ we knows there ain’t never been no farm products come out of that section. That’s th’ biggest mistake you fellers ever made; you should ‘a’ run a garden. Likewise, we knows that tinhorns don’t gamble with things that belong to other people, if th’ other people packs guns. An’ ‘specially they don’t gamble with no cows an’ hosses. ‘Tain’t popular, an’ folks don’t like it. A tinhorn ain’t man enough to risk a bullet or a rope. Now then, you just let me draw you th’ picture of a dream I’ve often had.

“I can see a bunch of husky cowpunchers, among which I see myself, an’ we’re punchin’ cows that we never bought. We’re poolin’ our winnin’s an’ sharin’ th’ risks. I can even see me rustlin’ cows, an’ there’?, men with me that I could name if my memory wasn’t so bad. There’s a big rock wall, an’ a deep, swift river that’s so d–-d cold it fair hurts. An’ somewhere back in th’ buttes, which is in a section plumb fatal to strangers, all but one, is a little ranch, with a drive trail leadin’ north or west. That’s th’ dream. Ain’t it h—l what fool ideas go trompin’ an’ rampagin’ through a man’s mind when he’s asleep, ‘specially if he ain’t satisfied to work for wages? Did you ever have any?”

Ackerman grinned to hide his surprise. “Yo’re a grand dreamer, Pete. I’ve had dreams somethin’ like that, myself; an I so far’s I’m concerned yourn can come true; but I only got one vote. An’ as I ain’t goin’ back for some time, I don’t know just what to say.”

“Not knowin’ what to say never bothered me,” chuckled Long Pete. “I can talk th’ spots off a poker deck; I’ll show you how, some day. But as long as you mentioned dreams, it reminds me of another I’ve had. Not long ago, neither. I saw a two-gun prospector leavin’ an unpleasant location. He was a reg’lar two-gun man; a wise feller could just see it a-stickin’ out all over him. I kept right on bein’ hungry. Then, quite a little later I saw another man, a cowpuncher, ridin’ along his trail; an’ he had so much grub it fair dazzled me. An’ bein’ friendly, in my dream, I up an’ tells th’ second man where th’ other feller was headin’. An’ if th’ dream hadn’t ‘a’ stopped there I could ‘a’ told him which way th’ two-gun prospector an’ his black, Tin Cup cayuse went on th’ mornin’ follerin’ th’ day I saw him. Funny how things like that will stick in a man’s memory. An’ I’ve heard tell that lots of people believes in dreams, too. Seems like you only got to know how to figger ‘em to learn a lot of useful an’ plumb interestin’ things. A fortune-teller told me that. Why, once I dreamed that I had shot a feller that had been pesterin’ me; an’ when I got sober, d–d if I hadn’t, too!”

Ackerman slammed his sombrero on the ground and leaned quickly forward over the fire. “Pete, I ain’t got much money with me didn’t expect to have no call to use it. I ain’t got enough for wages for any length of time; but I’ve got grub, plenty of it. An’ if you wants to make that first dream of yourn come true, you stick to me an’ with me, come what may, an’ I’ll see you a member of a little ranch back in some buttes, or we’ll d–-d well know th’ reason why. We need brains up there. Are you in?”

“Every d–-d chip; from my hat to my worn-out boots; from soda to hock,” grinned Long Pete. “You got your cayuse, yore shootin’ irons, an’ th’ grub; I got my cayuse, mean as it is, my guns, an’ a steadyworkin’ appetite. Pass them pans over; allus like to wash things up as soon as they’ve been used. It’ll be yore job next meal. I believe in equal work. Better hang up that pack there’s ants runnin’ around here.”

“Yo’re a better cook than me,” said Ackerman cheerfully, as he obeyed. “You do th’ cookin’ an’ leave th’ cleanin’ up to me. I’d rather wrastle dirty pans than eat my own cookin’ any day. That fair?”

“As a new, unmarked deck,” replied Long Pete contentedly. “An’ while we’re talkin’ about washin’ pans, I want to say that that two-gun hombre went due north, ridin’ plumb up th’ middle of this here crick. An’ since yo’re trailin’ him, I reckon he kept goin’ right on north. I allus like to guess when I don’t know.”

“Yo’re a d–-d good guesser,” grinned Ackerman. “Let’s roll up in th’ blankets early tonight an I get an early start in th’ mornin’.”

“Keno. That suits me, for if there is one thing that I can do well, it’s rollin’ up in a blanket. I should’ve been a cocoon.”