Somewhere in Red Gap Page 8

  VIII

  PETE'S B'OTHER-IN-LAW

  On the Arrowhead Ranch it was noon by the bell that Lew Wee loves toclang. It may have been half an hour earlier or later on other ranches,for Lew Wee is no petty precisian. Ma Pettengill had ridden off at dawn;and, rather than eat luncheon in solitary state, I joined her retainersfor the meal in the big kitchen, which is one of my prized privileges. Adozen of us sat at the long oilcloth-covered table and assuaged the moreurgent pangs of hunger in a haste that was speechless and far fromhygienic. No man of us chewed the new beef a proper number of times; heswallowed intently and reached for more. It was rather like twentyminutes for dinner at what our railway laureates call an eating house.Lew Wee shuffled in bored nonchalance between range and table. It was anold story to him.

  The meal might have gone to a silent end, though moderating in pace; butwe had with us to-day--as a toastmaster will put it--the youngveterinary from Spokane. This made for talk after actual starvation hadbeen averted--fragmentary gossip of the great city; of neighbouringranches in the valley, where professional duty had called him; ofAdolph, our milk-strain Durham bull, whose indisposition had brought himseveral times to Arrowhead; and then of Squat, our youngest cowboy, fromwhose fair brow the intrepid veterinary, on his last previous visit, hadremoved a sizable and embarrassing wen with what looked to me like apair of pruning shears.

  The feat had excited much uncheerful comment among Squat's _confreres_,bets being freely offered that he would be disfigured for life, even ifhe survived; and what was the sense of monkeying with a thing like thatwhen you could pull your hat down over it? Of course you couldn't wear aderby with it; but no one but a darned town dude would ever want to weara derby hat, anyway, and the trouble with Squat was, he wished to bepretty. It was dollars to doughnuts the thing would come right backagain, twice as big as ever, and better well enough alone. But Squat,who is also known as Timberline, and is, therefore, a lanky six feetthree, is young and sensitive and hopeful, and the veterinary is amatchless optimist; and the thing had been brought to a happyconclusion.

  Squat, being now warmly urged, blushingly turned his head from side toside that all might remark how neatly his scar had healed. Theveterinary said it had healed by first intention; that it was as prettya job as he'd ever done on man or beast; and that Squat would be more ofa hit then ever with the ladies because of this interesting chapter inhis young life. Then something like envy shone in the eyes of those whohad lately disparaged Squat for presuming to thwart the will of God; Idetected in more than one man there the secret wish that he hadsomething for this ardent expert to eliminate. Squat continued to blushpleasurably and to bolt his food until another topic diverted thisentirely respectful attention from him. The veterinary asked if we hadheard about the Indian ruction down at Kulanche last night--KulancheSprings being the only pretense to a town between our ranch and RedGap--a post-office, three general stores, a score of dwellings, and alow drinking place known as The Swede's. The news had not come to us; sothe veterinary obliged. A dozen Indians, drifting into the valley forthe haying about to begin, had tarried near Kulanche and bought whiskeyof the Swede. The selling of this was a lawless proceeding and theconsumption of it by the purchasers had been hazardous in the extreme.Briefly, the result had been what is called in newspaper headlines astabbing affray. I quote from our guest's recital:

  "Then, after they got calmed down and hid their knives, and it looked peaceful again, they decided to start all over; but the liquor was out, so that old scar-faced Pyann jumps on a pony and rides over from the camp for a fresh supply. He pulled up out in front of the Swede's and yelled for three bottles to be brought out to him, pronto! If he'd sneaked round to the back door and whispered he'd have got it all right, but this was a little too brash, because there were about a dozen men in the bar and the Swede was afraid to sell an Injin whiskey so openly. All he could do was go to the door and tell this pickled aborigine that he never sold whiskey to Injins and to get the hell out of there! Pyann called the Swede a liar and some other things, mentioning dates, and started to climb off his pony, very ugly.

  "The Swede wasn't going to argue about it, because we'd all come out in front to listen; so he pulled his gun and let it off over Pyann's head; and a couple of the boys did the same thing, and that started the rest--about six others had guns--till it sounded like a bunch of giant crackers going off. Old Pyann left in haste, all right. He was flattened out on his pony till he looked like a plaster.

  "We didn't hear any more of him last night, but coming up here this morning I found out he'd done a regular Paul Revere ride to save his people; he rode clear up as far as that last camp, just below here, on your place, yelling to every Injin he passed that they'd better take to the brush, because the whites had broken out at Kulanche. At that, the Swede ought to be sent up, knowing they'll fight every time he sells them whiskey. Two of these last night were bad cut in this rumpus."

  "Yes; and he'd ought to be sent up for life for selling it to white men,too--the kind he sells." This was Sandy Sawtelle, speaking as one whoknew and with every sign of conviction. "It sure is enterprisingwhiskey. Three drinks of it make a decent man want to kill his littlegolden-haired baby sister with an axe. Say, here's a good one--lemmetell you! I remember the first time, about three, four years ago--"

  The speaker was interrupted--it seemed to me with intentional rudeness.One man hurriedly wished to know who did the cutting last night;another, if the wounded would recover; and a third, if Pete, an aged redvassal of our own ranch, had been involved. Each of the three flashed abored glance at Sandy as he again tried for speech:

  "Well, as I was saying, I remember the first time, about three, fouryears ago--"

  "If old Pete was down there I bet his brother-in-law did most of theknifework," put in Buck Devine firmly.

  It was to be seen that they all knew what Sandy remembered the firsttime and wished not to hear it again. Others of them now sought tostifle the memoir, while Sandy waited doggedly for the tide to ebb. Igathered that our Pete had not been one of the restive convives, hebeing known to have spent a quiet home evening with his mahala and theirnumerous descendants, in their camp back of the wood lot; I alsogathered that Pete's brother-in-law had committed no crime since Petequit drinking two years before. There was veiled mystery in theseallusions to the brother-in-law of Pete. It was almost plain that thebrother-in-law was a lawless person for whose offenses Pete had morethan once been unjustly blamed. I awaited details; but meantime--

  "Well, as I was saying, I remember the first time, about three, fouryears ago--"

  Sandy had again dodged through a breach in the talk, quite as if nothinghad happened. Buck Devine groaned as if in unbearable anguish. Theothers also groaned as if in unbearable anguish. Only the veterinary andI were polite.

  "Oh, let him get it offen his chest," urged Buck wearily. "He'll perishif he don't--having two men here that never heard him tell it." Heturned upon the raconteur, with a large sweetness of manner: "Excuse me,Mr. Sawtelle! Pray do go on with your thrilling reminiscence. I couldjust die listening to you. I believe you was wishing to entertain thecompany with one of them anecdotes or lies of which you have so rich astore in that there peaked dome of yours. Gents, a moment's silencewhile this rare personality unfolds hisself to us!"

  "Say, lemme tell you--here's a good one!" resumed the still placidSandy. "I remember the first time, about three, four years ago, I everwent into The Swede's. A stranger goes in just ahead of me and gets tothe bar before I do, kind of a solemn-looking, sandy-complected littlerunt in black clothes.

  "'A little of your best cooking whiskey,' says he to the Swede, whileI'm waiting beside him for my own drink.

  "The Swede sets out the bottle and glass and a whisk broom on the bar.That was sure a new combination on me. 'Why the whisk broom?' I says tomyself. 'I been in lots of swell dives and never see no whisk broomserved with
a drink before.' So I watch. Well, this sad-looking sotpours out his liquor, shoots it into him with one tip of the glass; and,like he'd been shot, he falls flat on the floor, all bent up in aconvulsion--yes, sir; just like that! And the Swede not even lookingover the bar at him!

  "In a minute he comes out of this here fit, gets on his feet and up tothe bar, grabs the whisk broom, brushes the dust off his clothes wherehe's rolled on the floor, puts back the whisk broom, says, 'So long,Ed!' to the Swede--and goes out in a very businesslike manner.

  "Then the Swede shoves the bottle and a glass and the whisk broom overin front of me, but I says: 'No, thanks! I just come in to pass the timeof day. Lovely weather we're having, ain't it?' Yes, sir; down he goeslike he's shot, wriggles a minute, jumps up, dusts hisself off, fliesout the door; and the Swede passing me the same bottle and the samebroom, and me saying: 'Oh, I just come in to pass the time of--'"

  The veterinary and I had been gravely attentive. The faces of the otherswore not even the tribute of pretended ennui. They had betrayed anelaborate deafness. They now affected to believe that Sandy Sawtellehad not related an anecdote. They spoke casually and with an effect ofpolished ease while yet here capitulated, as tale-tellers so often will.

  "I remember a kid, name of Henry Lippincott, used to set in front of meat school," began Buck Devine, with the air of delicately breaking along silence; "he'd wiggle his ears and get me to laughing out loud, andthen I'd be called up for it by teacher and like as not kept in atrecess."

  "You ought to seen that bunch of tame alligators down to the SanFrancisco Fair," observed Squat genially. "The old boy that had 'em says'Oh, yes, they would make fine pets, and don't I want a couple for tendollars to take home to the little ones?' But I don't. You come rightdown to household pets--I ruther have me a white rabbit or a canary birdthan an alligator you could step on in the dark some night and get allbit up, and mebbe blood poison set in."

  "I recollect same as if it was yesterday," began Uncle Abner quickly."We was coming up through northern Arizona one fall, with a bunch oflonghorns and we make this here water hole about four P.M.--or mebbe amite after that or a little before; but, anyway, I says to Jeff Bradley,'Jeff,' I says to him, 'it looks to me almighty like--'"

  Sandy Sawtelle savagely demanded a cup of coffee, gulped it heroically,rose in a virtuous hurry, and at the door wondered loudly if he wasleaving a bunch of rich millionaires that had nothing to do but loaf intheir club all the afternoon and lie their heads off, or just a passellof lazy no-good cowhands that laid down on the job the minute the bossstepped off the place. Whereupon, it being felt that the rabidanecdotist had been sufficiently rebuked, we all went out to help theveterinary look at Adolph for twenty minutes more.

  Adolph is four years old and weighs one ton. He has a frowning andfearsome front and the spirit of a friendly puppy. The Arrowhead forceloafed about in the corral and imparted of its own lore to theveterinary while he took Adolph's temperature. Then Adolph, after nosingthree of the men to have his head rubbed, went to stand in therush-grown pool at the far end of the corral, which the gallery took tomean that he still had a bit of fever, no matter what the glass thingsaid.

  The veterinary opposed a masterly silence to this majority diagnosis,and in the absence of argument about it there seemed nothing left forthe Arrowhead retainers but the toil for which they were paid. They wentto it lingeringly, one by one, seeming to feel that perhaps they wrongedthe ailing Adolph by not staying there to talk him over.

  Uncle Abner, who is the Arrowhead blacksmith, was the last to leave--orthink of leaving--though he had mule shoes to shape and many mules toshoe. He glanced wistfully again at Adolph, in cool water to his knees,tugged at his yellowish-white beard, said it was a dog's life, if anyone should ask me, and was about to slump mournfully off to hisshop--when his eye suddenly brightened.

  "Will you look once at that poor degraded red heathen, acting like awhirlwind over in the woodlot?"

  I looked once. Pete, our Indian, was apparently the sole being on theranch at that moment who was honestly earning his wage. No one knows howmany more than eighty years Pete has lived; but from where we stood hewas the figure of puissant youth, rhythmically flashing his axe intobits of wood that flew apart at its touch. Uncle Abner, beside me, hadagain shrugged off the dread incubus of duty. He let himself gorestfully against the corral bars and chuckled a note of harsh derision.

  "Ain't it disgusting! I bet he never saw the boss when she rode off thisA.M. Yes, sir; that poor benighted pagan must think she's still in thehouse--prob'ly watching him out of the east winder this very minute."

  "What's this about his brother-in-law?" I asked.

  "Oh, I dunno; some silly game he tries to come the roots over folkswith. Say, he's a regular old murderer, and not an honest hair in hishead! Look at the old cheat letting on to be a good steady workerbecause he thinks the boss is in the house there, keeping an eye on him.Ain't it downright disgusting!"

  Uncle Abner said this as one supremely conscious of his own virtue. Hehimself was descending to no foul pretense.

  "A murderer, is he?"

  I opened my cigarette case to the man of probity. He took two, crumpledthe tobacco from the papers and stuffed it into his calabash pipe.

  "Sure is he a murderer! A tough one, too."

  The speaker moved round a corner of the barn and relaxed to a sittingposture on the platform of the pump. It brought him into the sun; but italso brought him where he could see far down the road upon which hisreturning employer would eventually appear. His eyes ever haunted thefar vistas of that road; otherwise he remained blissfully static.

  It should perhaps be frankly admitted that Uncle Abner is not theblacksmith of song and story and lithographed art treasure, suitable forframing. That I have never beheld this traditional smith--the rugged,upstanding tower of brawn with muscles like iron bands--is beside thepoint. I have not looked upon all the blacksmiths in the world, and hemay exist. But Uncle Abner can't pose for him. He weighs a hundred andtwenty pounds without his hammer, is lean to scrawniness, and his armsare those of the boys you see at the track meet of Lincoln GrammarSchool Number Seven. The mutilated derby hat he now wore, a hat that hadbeen weathered from plum colour to a poisonous green--a shred of peacockfeather stuck in the band--lent his face no dignity whatever.

  In truth, his was not an easy face to lend dignity to. It would stilllook foolish, no matter what was lent it. He has a smug fringe of whitecurls about the back and sides of his head, the beard of a prophet, andthe ready speech of a town bore. The blacksmith we read of can look thewhole world in the face, fears not any man, and would far rather dohonest smithing any day in the week--except Sunday--than live the lifeof sinful ease that Uncle Abner was leading for the moment.

  Uncle Abner may have feared no man; but he feared a woman. It was easyto see this as he chatted the golden hours away to me. His pale eyesseldom left the road where it came over a distant hill. When the womandid arrive--Oh, surely the merry clang of the hammer on the anvil wouldbe heard in Abner's shop, where he led a dog's life. But, for a time atleast--

  "So he's one of these tough murderers, is he?"

  "You said it! Always a-creating of disturbances up on the reservation,where he rightly belongs. Mebbe that's why they let him go off. Anyway,he never stays there. Even in his young days they tell me he wouldn'tstay put. He'd disappear for a month and always come back with a newwife. Talk about your Mormons! One time they sent out a new agent to thereservation, and he hears talk back and forth of Pete philanderingthisaway; and he had his orders from the Gov'ment at Washington, D.C.,to stamp out this here poly-gamy--or whatever you call it; so he ordersPete up on the carpet and says to him: 'Look here now, Pete! You got aregular wife, ain't you?' Pete says sure he has; and how could he sayanything else--the old liar! 'Well,' says Mr. Agent, 'I want you to getthis one regular wife of yours and lead a decent, orderly home life withher; and don't let me hear no more scandalous reports about your goingson.'

  "Pete says a
ll right; but he allows he'll have to have help in gettingher back home, because she's got kind of antagonistic and left him. Theagent says he'll put a stop to that if Pete'll just point her out. Sothey ride down about a mile from the agency to a shack where they's ayoung squaw out in front graining a deerhide and minding her ownbusiness. She looked up when they come and started to jaw Pete somethingfierce; but the agent tells her the Gov'ment frowns on wives runningoff, and Pete grabbed her; and the agent he helps, with her screechingand biting and clawing like a female demon. The agent is going to seethat Pete has his rights, even if it don't seem like a joyous household;and finally they get her scrambled onto Pete's horse in front of him andoff they go up the trail. The agent yells after 'em that Pete is toremember that this is his regular wife and he'd better behave himselffrom now on.

  "And then about sunup next morning this agent is woke up by a poundingon his door. He goes down and here's Pete clawed to a frazzle andwhimpering for the law's protection because his squaw has chased himover the reservation all night trying to kill him. She'd near done it,too. They say old Pete was so scared the agent had to soothe him like amother."

  Uncle Abner paused to relight his pipe, meantime negotiating a doublyvigilant survey of the distant road. But I considered that he had toldme nothing to the discredit of Pete, and now said as much.

  "You couldn't blame the man for wanting his wife back, could you?" Idemanded. "Of course he might have been more tactful."

  "Tactful's the word," agreed Uncle Abner cordially. "You see, thiswasn't Pete's wife at all. She was just a young squaw he'd took a fancyto."

  "Oh!" Nothing else seemed quite so fitting to say.

  "'Nother time," resumed the honest blacksmith, "the Gov'ment atWashington, D.C., sent out orders for all the Injun kids to be sent offto school. Lots of the fathers made trouble about this, but Pete was theworst of all--the old scoundrel! The agent said to him would Pete sendhis kids peaceful; and Pete said not by no means. So the agent says inthat case they'll have to take 'em by force. Pete says he'll be rightthere a-plenty when they're took by force. So next day the agent and hishelper go down to Pete's tepee. It's pitched up on a bank just off theroad and they's a low barrier of brush acrost the front of it. They lookclose at this and see the muzzle of a rifle peeking down at 'em; also,they can hear little scramblings and squealings of about a dozen orfourteen kids in the tepee that was likely nestled up round the oldmurderer like a bunch of young quail.

  "Well, they was something kind of cold and cheerless about the muzzle ofthis rifle poked through the brush at 'em; so the agent starts in andmakes a regular agent speech to Pete. He says the Great White Father atWashington, D.C., has wished his children to be give an Englisheducation and learnt to write a good business hand, and all like that;and read books, and so on; and the Great White Father will be peeved ifPete takes it in this rough way. And the agent is disappointed in him,too, and will never again think the same of his old friend, and whycan't he be nice and submit to the decencies of civilization--and soon--a lot of guff like that; but all the time he talks this here rifleis pointing right into his chest, so you can bet he don't make no falsemotions.

  "At last, when he's told Pete all the reasons he can think up andguesses mebbe he's got the old boy going, he winds up by saying: 'Andnow what shall I tell the Great White Father at Washington you say tohis kind words?' Old Pete, still not moving the rifle a hair's breadth,he calls out: 'You tell the Great White Father at Washington to go tohell!' Yes, sir; just like that he says it; and I guess that shows youwhat kind of a murderer he is. And what I allus say is, 'what's the useof spending us taxpayers' good money trying to educate trash like that,when they ain't got no sense of decency in the first place, and theminute they learn to talk English they begin to curse and swear as badas a white man? They got no wish to improve their condition, which iswhat I allus have said and what I allus will say.

  "Anyway, this agent didn't waste no more time on Pete's brats. He comeright away from there, though telling his helper it was a great pitythey couldn't have got a good look into the tepee, because then they'dhave known for the first time just what kids round there Pete reallyconsidered his. Of course he hadn't felt he should lay down his life inthe interests of this trifling information, and I don't blame him onebit. I wouldn't have done it myself. You can't tell me a reservationwith Pete on it would be any nice place. Look at the old crook now,still lamming that axe round to beat the cars because he thinks he'sbeing watched! I bet he'll be mad down to his moccasins when he findsout the Old Lady's been off all day."

  Uncle Abner yawned and stretched his sun-baked form with wearyrectitude. Then he looked with pleased dismay into the face of hissilver watch.

  "Now, I snum! Here she's two-thirty! Don't it beat all how time flitsby, as it were, when you meet a good conversationalist and get startedon various topics! Well, I guess like as not I better amble along overtoward the little shop and see if they ain't some little thing to beputtered at round there. Yes, sir; all play and no work makes Jack adull boy, as the saying is."

  The honest fellow achieved a few faltering paces in the generaldirection of his shop. Then he turned brightly.

  "A joke's a joke, all right; but, after all, I hate to see old Peteworking hisself into the grave that way, even if he ain't a regularhuman being. Suppose you loaf over there and put him wise that theMadam's been off the place since sunup. The laugh's on him enoughalready."

  Which showed that Uncle Abner had not really a bad heart. And I did evenas he had said.

  * * * * *

  Pete was instantly stilled by my brief but informing speech. He leanedupon his axe and gazed at me with shocked wonder. The face of theAmerican Indian is said to be unrevealing--to be a stoic mask underwhich his emotions are ever hidden. For a second time this day I foundtradition at fault. Pete's face was lively and eloquent under his shockof dead-black hair--dead black but for half a dozen gray or grayishstrands, for Pete's eighty years have told upon him, even if he is notyet sufficiently gray at the temples to be a hero in a magazine costingover fifteen cents. His face is a richly burnished mahogany and tellslittle of his years until he smiles; then from brow to pointed chin itcracks into a million tiny wrinkles, an intricate network of themframing his little black eyes, which are lashless, and radiating fromthe small mouth to the high cheek bones of his race.

  His look as he eyed me became utter consternation; then humour slowlylightened the little eyes. He lifted the eyes straight into the glare ofthe undimmed sun; nor did they blink as they noted the hour. "My goodgosh!" he muttered; then stalked slowly round the pile of stove woodthat had been spreading since morning. He seemed aggrieved--yethumorously aggrieved--as he noted its noble dimensions. He cast away theaxe and retrieved some outflung sticks, which he cunningly adjusted tothe main pile to make it appear still larger to the casual eye.

  "My good gosh!" he muttered again. "My old mahala she tell me Old LadyPettengill go off early this morning; but I think she make one bigmistake. Now what you know about that?" He smiled winningly now andbecame a very old man indeed, the smile lighting the myriad minutewrinkles that instantly came to life. Again he ruefully surveyed themorning's work. "I think that caps the climax," said he, and grimancedhumorous dismay for the entertainment of us both.

  I opened my cigarette case to him. Like his late critic, Pete availedhimself of two, though he had not the excuse of a pipe to be filled. Onehe coyly tucked above his left ear and one he lighted. Then he satgracefully back upon his heels and drew smoke into his innermostrecesses, a shrunken little figure of a man in a calico shirt of gaystripes, faded blue overalls, and shoes that were remarkable as ruins.With a pointed chip in the slender fingers of one lean brown hand--anarrow hand of quite feminine delicacy--he cleared the ground of otherchips and drew small figures in the earth.

  "Some of your people cut up in a fight down at Kulanche last night," Iremarked after a moment of courteous waiting.

  "Mebbe," said Pete, noncommittal.<
br />
  "Were you down there?"

  "I never kill a man with a knife," said Pete; "that ain't my belief."

  He left an opening that tempted, but I thought it wise to ignore thatfor the moment.

  "You an old man, Pete?"

  "Mebbe."

  "How old?"

  "Oh, so-so."

  "You remember a long time ago--how long?"

  He drew a square in his cleared patch of earth, subdivided it intolittle squares, and dotted each of these in the centre before he spoke.

  "When Modocs have big soldier fight."

  "You a Modoc?"

  "B'lieve me!"

  "When Captain Jack fought the soldiers over in the Lava Beds?"

  "Some fight--b'lieve me!" said Pete, erasing his square and starting acircle.

  "You fight, too?"

  "Too small; I do little odd jobs--when big Injin kill soldier I skin umhead."

  I begged for further items, but Pete seemed to feel that he had beenalready verbose. He dismissed the historic action with a wise saying:

  "Killing soldiers all right; but it don't settle nothing." He drew atriangle.

  Indelicately then I pried into his spiritual life.

  "You a Christian, Pete?"

  "Injin-Christian," he amended--as one would say"Progressive-Republican."

  "Believe in God?"

  "Two." This was a guarded admission; I caught his side glance.

  "Which ones?" I asked it cordially; and Pete smiled as one who detects abrother liberal in theology.

  "Injin God; Christian God. Injin God go like this--" He brushed out hislatest figure and drew a straight line a foot long. And Christian God goso--he drew a second straight line perpendicular to the first. I wasmade to see the line of his own God extending over the earth some fiftyfeet above its surface, while the line of the Christian God wentstraight and endlessly into the heavens. "Injin God stayclose--Christian God go straight up. Whoosh!" He looked toward thezenith to indicate the vanishing line. "I think mebbe both O.K. Youthink both O.K.?"

  "Mebbe," I said.

  Pete retraced the horizontal line of his own God and the perpendicularline of the other.

  "Funny business," said he tolerantly.

  "Funny business," I echoed. And then--the moment seeming ripe forintimate personal research: "Pete, how about that brother-in-law ofyours? Is he a one-God Christian or a two-God, like you?"

  He hurriedly brushed out his lines, flashed me one of his uneasy sideglances, and seemed not to have heard my question. He sprang lightlyfrom his heels, affected to scan a murky cloud-bank to the south,ignited his second cigarette from the first, and seemed relieved by theactual diversion of Laura, his present lawful consort, now ploddingalong the road just outside the fence.

  Laura is ponderous and billowy, and her moonlike face of rusty bronze islined to show that she, too, has gone down a little into the vale ofyears. She was swathed in many skirts, her shoulders enveloped by aneutral-tinted shawl, and upon her head was a modist toque of lightstraw, garlanded with pink roses. This may have been her hunt constume,for the carcasses of two slain rabbits swung jauntily from her girdle.She undulated by us with no sign. Pete's glistening little eyes lingeredin appraisal upon her noble rotundities and her dangling quarry. Then,with a graceful flourish of the new cigarette, he paid tribute to theancient fair.

  "That old mahala of mine, she not able to chew much now; but she's someswell chicken--b'lieve me!"

  I persisted in the impertinence he had sought to turn.

  "How about this brother-in-law of yours, Pete?"

  Again he was deaf. He picked up his axe, appearing to weigh theresumption of his task against a reply to this straight question. Hemust have found the alternative too dreadful; he leaned upon the axe,thus winning something of the dignity of labour, with none of its pains,and grudgingly asked:

  "Mebbe some liars tell you in conversation about that oldb'other-in-law?"

  "Of course! Many nice people tell me every day. They tell me all abouthim. I rather hear you tell me. Is he a Christian?"

  "He's one son-of-gun, pure and simple--that old feller. He caps theclimax."

  "Yes; I know all about that. He's a bad man. I hear everything abouthim. Now you tell me again. You can tell better than liars."

  "One genuine son-of-gun!" persisted Pete, shrewdly keeping to generalterms.

  "Oh, very well!" I rose from the log I was sitting on, yawning myindifference. "I know everything he ever did. Other people tell me allthe time."

  I moved off a few steps under the watchful side glance. It worked. Oneof Pete's slim, womanish hands fluttered up in a movement of arrest.

  "Those liars tell you about one time he shoot white man off horse goingby?"

  "Certainly!"

  "That white man still have smallpox to give all Injins he travel to; sothey go 'n' vote who kill him off quick, and my b'other-in-law he winit."

  I tried to look as if this were a bit of stale gossip.

  "Then whites raise hell to say Pete he do same. What you know aboutthat? My old b'other-in-law send word he do same--twenty, fifty Injinwitness tell he said so--and now he gon' hide far off. Dep'ty sheriffcan't find him. That son-of-gun come back next year, raise big fightover one span mules with Injin named Walter that steal my mules out ofpasture; and Walter not get well from it--so whites say yes, old Petedone that same killing scrape to have his mules again; plain as the noseon the face old Pete do same. But I catch plenty Injin witness see myb'other-in-law do same, and I think they can't catch him another timeonce more, because they look in all places he ain't. I think plenty toomuch trouble he make all time for me--perform something not nice and getfound out about it; and all people say, Oh, yes--that old Pete he's attricks again; he better get sent to Walla Walla, learn some good tradein prison for eighteen years. That b'other-in-law cap the climax! Heknow all good place to hide from dep'ty sheriff, so not be found whenbadly wanted--the son-of-gun!"

  Pete's face now told that, despite the proper loathing inspired by hismisdeeds, this brother-in-law compelled a certain horrid admiration forhis gift of elusiveness.

  "What's your brother-in-law's name?"

  Pete deliberated gravely.

  "In my opinion his name Edward; mebbe Sam, mebbe Charlie; I think moreit's Albert."

  "Well, what about that next time he broke out?"

  "Whoosh! Damn no-good squaw man get all Injins drunk on whiskey; thenplay poker with four aces. 'What you got? No good--four aces--hardluck--deal 'em up!'" Pete's flexible wrists here flashed in pantomime."Pretty soon Injin got no mules, no blanket, no spring wagon, no gun, nonew boots, no nine dollars my old mahala gets paid for three bushel wildplums from Old Lady Pettengill to make canned goods of--only got one bigsick head from all night; see four aces, four kings, four jacks. 'Whatyou got, Pete? No good. Full house here. Hard luck--my deal. Haveanother drink, old top!'"

  "Well, what did your brother-in-law do when he heard about this?"

  "Something!"

  "Shoot?"

  "Naw; got no gun left. Choke him on the neck--I think this way."

  The supple hands of Pete here clutched his corded throat, fingertipsmeeting at the back, and two potent thumbs uniting in a sinisterpressure upon his Adam's apple. To further enlarge my understanding hecontorted his face unprettily. From rolling eyes and outthrust tongue itwas apparent that the squaw man had survived long enough to regret theinveteracy of his good luck at cards.

  "Then what?"

  "Man tell you before?" He eyed me with frank suspicion.

  "Certainly; you tell, too!"

  "That b'other-in-law he win everything back this poor squaw man don'tneed no more, and son-of-gun beat it quick; so all liars say Old Peteturn that trick, but can't prove same, because my b'other-in-law do samein solitude. And old judge say: 'Oh, well, can't prove same incourthouse, and only good squaw man is dead squaw man; sowhat-the-bad-place!' I think mebbe."

  "Go on; what about that next time?"

  "You know alrea
dy," said Pete firmly.

  "You tell, too."

  He pondered this, his keen little eyes searching my face as he pensivelyfondled the axe.

  "You know about this time that son-of-gun go 'n' kill a bright lawyer inRed Gap? I think that cap the climax!"

  "Certainly, I know!" This with bored impatience.

  "I think, then, you tell me." His seamed face was radiant with cunning.

  "What's the use? You know it already."

  He countered swiftly:

  "What's use I tell you--you know already."

  I yawned again flagrantly.

  "Now you tell in your own way how this trouble first begin," persistedPete rather astonishingly. He seemed to quote from memory.

  Once more I yawned, turning coldly away.

  "You tell in your own words," he was again gently urging; but on theinstant his axe began to rain blows upon the log at his feet.

  Sounds of honest toil were once more to be heard in the wood lot; and,though I could not hear the other, I surmised that the sledge of UncleAbner now rang merrily upon his anvil. Both he and Pete had doubtlessnoted at the same moment the approach of Mrs. Lysander John Pettengill,who was spurring her jaded roan up the long rise from the creek bottom.

  * * * * *

  My stalwart hostess, entirely masculine to the eye from a littledistance, strode up from the corral, waved a quirt at me in greeting,indicated by another gesture that she was dusty and tired, and vanishedbriskly within the ranch house. Half an hour later she joined me in theliving-room, where I had trifled with ancient magazines and stockjournals on the big table. Laced boots, riding breeches, and army shirthad gone for a polychrome and trailing tea gown, black satin slippers,flashing rhinestone rosettes, and silk stockings of a sinful scarlet.She wore a lace boudoir cap, plenteously beribboned, and her sunburnednose had been lavishly powdered. She looked now merely like an indulgedmatron whose most poignant worry would be a sick Pomeranian orovernight losses at bridge. She wished to know whether I would have teawith her. I would.

  Tea consisted of bottled beer from the spring house, half a ham, and aloaf of bread. It should be said that her behaviour toward thesedainties, when they had been assembled, made her seem much less the wornsocial leader. There was practically no talk for ten active minutes. Ahigh-geared camera would have caught everything of value in the scene.It was only as I decanted a second bottle of beer for the woman that sheseemed to regain consciousness of her surroundings. The spirit of herfirst attack upon the food had waned. She did fashion another sandwichof a rugged pattern, but there was a hint of the dilettante in her work.

  And now she spoke. Her gaze upon the magazines of yesteryear massed atthe lower end of the table, she declared they must all be scrapped,because they too painfully reminded her of a dentist's waiting-room. Shewondered if there mustn't be a law against a dentist having in hispossession a magazine less than ten years old. She suspected as much.

  "There I'll be sitting in Doc Martingale's office waiting for him tokill me by inches, and I pick up a magazine to get my mind off my fateand find I'm reading a timely article, with illustrations, aboutCervera's fleet being bottled up in the Harbour of Santiago. I bet he'sgot Godey's Lady's Book for 1862 round there, if you looked for it."

  Now a brief interlude for the ingestion of malt liquor, followed by apained recital of certain complications of the morning.

  "That darned one-horse post-office down to Kulanche! What do you think?I wanted to send a postal card to the North American Cleaning and DyeWorks, at Red Gap, for some stuff they been holding out on me a month,and that office didn't have a single card in stock--nothing but some ofthese fancy ones in a rack over on the grocery counter; horrible thingswith pictures of brides and grooms on 'em in coloured costumes, withsickening smiles on their faces, and others with wedding bells ringingout or two doves swinging in a wreath of flowers--all of 'em havingmushy messages underneath; and me having to send this card to the NorthAmerican Cleaning and Dye Works, which is run by Otto Birdsall, asmirking old widower, that uses hair oil and perfumery, and imaginesevery woman in town is mad about him.

  "The mildest card I could find was covered with red and purplecauliflowers or something, and it said in silver print: 'With fondestremembrance!' Think of that going through the Red Gap post-office to beread by old Mis' Terwilliger, that some say will even open letters thatlook interesting--to say nothing of its going to this fresh old OttoBirdsall, that tried to hold my hand once not so many years ago.

  "You bet I made the written part strong enough not to give him or anyother party a wrong notion of my sentiments toward him. At that, I guessOtto wouldn't make any mistake since the time I give him hell lastsummer for putting my evening gowns in his show window every time he'dclean one, just to show off his work. It looked so kind of indelicateseeing an empty dress hung up there that every soul in town knewbelonged to me.

  "What's that? Oh, I wrote on the card that if this stuff of mine don'tcome up on the next stage I'll be right down there, and when I'm throughhandling him he'll be able to say truthfully that he ain't got a grayhair in his head. I guess Otto will know my intentions are honest, inspite of that 'fondest remembrance.'

  "Then, on top of that, I had a run-in with the Swede for selling hisrotten whiskey to them poor Injin boys that had a fight last night afterthey got tight on it. The Swede laughs and says nobody can prove he sold'em a drop, and I says that's probably true. I says it's always hard toprove things. 'For instance,' I says, 'if they's another drop of liquorsold to an Injin during this haying time, and a couple or three nightsafter that your nasty dump here is set fire to in six places, and somecowardly assassin out in the brush picks you off with a rifle when yourush out--it will be mighty hard to prove that anybody did that, too;and you not caring whether it's proved or not, for that matter.

  "THE SWEDE BRISTLES UP AND SAYS: 'THAT SOUNDS LIKEFIGHTING TALK!' I SAYS: 'YOUR HEARING IS PERFECT.'"]

  "'In fact,' I says, 'I don't suppose anybody would take the trouble toprove it, even if it could be easy proved. You'd note a singular lack ofpublic interest in it--if you was spared to us. I guess about as far asan investigation would ever get--the coroner's jury would say it was thework of Pete's brother-in-law; and you know what that would mean.' TheSwede bristles up and says: 'That sounds like fighting talk!' I says:'Your hearing is perfect.' I left him thinking hard."

  "Pete's brother-in-law? That reminds me," I said. "Pete was telling meabout him just--I mean during his lunch hour; but he had to go to workagain just at the beginning of something that sounded good--about thetime he was going to kill a bright lawyer. What was that?"

  The glass was drained and Ma Pettengill eyed the inconsiderable remainsof the ham with something like repugnance. She averted her face from it,lay back in the armchair she had chosen, and rolled a cigarette, while Ibrought a hassock for the jewelled slippers and the scarlet silkenankles, so ill-befitting one of her age. The cigarette was presentlyburning.

  "I guess Pete's b'other-in-law, as he calls him, won't come into theseparts again. He had a kind of narrow squeak this last time. Pete donesomething pretty raw, even for this liberal-minded community. He gotscared about it himself and left the country for a couple ofmonths--looking for his brother-in-law, he said. He beat it up North andgot in with a bunch of other Injins that was being took down to New YorkCity to advertise a railroad, Pete looking like what folks think anInjin ought to look when he's dressed for the part. But he got homesick;and, anyway, he didn't like the job.

  "This passenger agent that took 'em East put 'em up at one of the bighotels all right, but he subjects 'em to hardships they ain't used to.He wouldn't let 'em talk much English, except to say, 'Ugh! Ugh!'--likeInjins are supposed to--with a few remarks about the Great Spirit; andnot only that, but he makes 'em wear blankets and paint their faces--anInjin without paint and blanket and some beadwork seeming to a generalpassenger agent like a state capitol without a dome. And on top of theseoutrages he puts it up with
the press agent of this big hotel to havethe poor things sleep up on the roof, right in the open air, so them jayNew York newspapers would fall for it and print articles about thesehardy sons of the forest, the last of a vanishing race, being stifled bywalls--with the names of the railroad and the hotel coming out good andstrong all through the piece.

  "Three of the poor things got pneumonia, not being used to suchexposure; and Pete himself took a bad cold, and got mad and quit thejob. They find him a couple of days later, in a check suit and whiteshoes and a golf cap, playing pool in a saloon over on Eighth Avenue,and ship him back as a disgrace to the Far West and a great commoncarrier.

  "He got in here one night, me being his best friend, and we talked itover. I advised him to go down and give himself up and have it over;and he agreed, and went down to Red Gap the next day in his new clothesand knocked at the jail door. He made a long talk about how hisbrother-in-law was the man that really done it, and he's been searchingfor him clear over to the rising sun, but can't find him; so he's cometo give himself up, even if they ain't got the least grounds to suspecthim--and can he have his trial for murder over that afternoon, so he cancome back up here the next day and go to work?

  "They locked him up and Judge Ballard appointed J. Waldo Snyder todefend him. He was a new young lawyer from the East that had just cometo Red Gap, highly ambitious and full of devices for showing thatparties couldn't have been in their right mind when they committed thedeed--see the State against Jamstucker, New York Reports Number 23,pages 19 to 78 inclusive.

  "Oh, he told me all about it up in his office one day--how he was goingto get Pete off. Ain't lawyers the goods, though! And doctors? This J.W.Snyder had a doctor ready to swear that Pete was nutty when he fired theshot, even if not before nor after. When I was a kid at school, back inFredonia, New York State, we used to have debates about which does themost harm--fire or water? Nowadays I bet they'd have: Which does themost harm--doctors or lawyers? Well, anyway, there Pete was injail--"

  "Please tell in your own simple words just how this trouble began," Ibroke in. "What did Pete fire the shot for and who stopped it? Nowthen!"

  "What! Don't you know about that? Well, well! So you never heard aboutPete sending this medicine man over the one-way trail? I'll have to tellyou, then. It was three years ago. Pete was camped about nine miles theother side of Kulanche, on the Corporation Ranch, and his littleyear-old boy was took badly sick. I never did know with what.Diphtheria, I guess. And I got to tell you Pete is crazy about babies.Always has been. Thirty years ago, when my own baby hadn't been but afew weeks born, Lysander John had to be in Red Gap with a smashed legand arm, and I was here alone with Pete for two months of one winter.Say, he was better than any trained nurse with both of us, even if mypapoose was only a girl one! Folks used to wonder afterward if I hadn'tbeen afraid with just Pete round. Good lands! If they'd ever seen himcuddle that mite and sing songs to it in Injin about the rain and thegrass! Anyway, I got to know Pete so well that winter I never blamed himmuch for what come off.

  "Well, this yearling of his got bad and Pete was in two minds. Hebelieved in white doctors with his good sense, but he believed in Injindoctors with his superstition, which was older. So he tried to have oneof each. There was an old rogue of a medicine man round here then fromthe reservation up north. He'd been doing a little work at haying onthe Corporation, but he was getting his main graft selling the Injinscharms and making spells over their sick; a crafty old crook playing ontheir ignorance--understand? And Pete, having got the white doctor fromKulanche, thought he'd cinch matters by getting the medicine man, too.At that, I guess one would of been about as useful as the other, theKulanche doctor knowing more about anthrax and blackleg than he didabout sick Injin babies.

  "The medicine man sees right off how scared Pete is for his kid andthinks here's a chance to make some big money. He looks at the littlepatient and says yes, he can cure him, sure; but it'll be a hard job andhe can't undertake it unless Pete comes through with forty dollars andhis span of mules. But Pete ain't got forty dollars or forty cents, andthe Kulanche doctor has got to the mules already, having a lien on 'emfor twenty-five.

  "Pete hurried over and put the proposition up to me. He says his littlechief is badly sick and he's got a fine white doctor, but will I stakehim to enough to get this fine Injin doctor?--thus making a curecertain. Well, I tore into the old fool for wanting to let this depravedold medicine man tamper with his baby, and I warned him the Kulanchedoctor probably wasn't much better. Then I tell him he's to send downfor the best doctor in Red Gap at my expense and keep him with the childtill it's well. I tell him he can have the whole ranch if it would curehis child, but not one cent for the Injin.

  "Well, the poor boy is about half convinced I'm right, but he's been anInjin too long to believe it all through. He went off and sent for theRed Gap doctor, but he can't resist making another try for the Injinone; and that old scoundrel holds out for his price. Pete wants him towait for his pay till haying is over; but he won't because he thinksPete can get the money from me now if he really has to have it. Petemust of been crazy for fair about that time.

  "'All right,' says he; 'you can cure my little chief?'

  "The crook says he can if the money is in his hand.

  "'All right,' says Pete again; 'but if my little chief dies somethingbad is going to happen to you.'

  "That's about all they ever found out concerning this threat of Pete's,though another Injin who heard it said that Pete said his brother-in-lawwould make the trouble--not Pete himself. Which was likely true enough.

  "Pete's little chief died the night the Red Gap doctor got up here. Tenminutes later this medicine man had hitched up his team, loaded hisplunder into a wagon, and was pouring leather into his horses to getback home quick. He knew Pete never talks just to hear himself talk.They found him about thirty miles on his way--slumped down in the wagonbed, his team hitched by the roadside. There had been just one carefulshot. As he hadn't been robbed--he had over" a hundred dollars in goldon him--it pointed a mite too strong at Pete after his threat.

  "A deputy sheriff come up. Pete said his brother-in-law had beenhanging round lately and had talked very dangerous about the medicineman. He said the brother-in-law had probably done the job. But Pete hadpulled this too often before when in difficulties. The deputy said he'dbetter come along down to Red Gap and tell the district attorney aboutit. Pete said all right and crawled into his tepee for his coat andhat--crawled right on out the back and into the brush while the deputyrolled a cigarette.

  "That was when he joined this bunch of noble redmen to advertise thevanishing romance of the Great West--being helped out of the country, Ishouldn't wonder, by some lawless old hound that had feelings for himand showed it when he come along in the night to the ranch where he'dnursed her and her baby. They looked for him a little while, thendropped it; in fact, everybody was kind of glad he'd got off and kind ofsatisfied that he'd put this bad Injin, with his skull-duggery, over thebig jump.

  "Then he got homesick, like I told you, and showed up here at the door;and I saw it was better for him to give himself up and get out of it byfair and legal means. Now! You got it straight that far?"

  I nodded.

  "So Pete took my advice, and a couple days later I hurried down to RedGap and had a talk with Judge Ballard and the district attorney. Thejudge said it had been embarrassing to justice to have my old Injinwalk in on 'em, because every one knew he was guilty. Why couldn't he ofstayed up here where the keen-eyed officers of the law could ofpretended not to know he was? And the old fool was only making thingsworse with his everlasting chatter about his brother-in-law, every oneknowing there wasn't such a person in existence--old Pete having haddozens of every kind of relation in the world but a brother-in-law. Butthey're going to have this bright young lawyer defend him, and they havehopes.

  "Then I talked some. I said it was true that everybody knew Pete bumpedoff this old crook that had it coming to him, but they could never proveit, because
Pete had come to my place and set up with me all night, whenI had lumbago or something, the very night this crime was donethirty-odd miles distant by some person or persons unknown--except itcould be known they had good taste about who needed killing.

  "At this Judge Ballard jumps up and calls me an old liar and shook handswarmly with me; and Cale Jordan, that was district attorney then, saysif Mrs. Pettengill will give him her word of honour to go on the witnessstand and perjure herself to this effect then he don't see no use ofeven putting Kulanche County, State of Washington, to the expense of atrial, the said county already being deep in the hole for its newcourthouse--but for mercy's sake to stop the old idiot babbling abouthis brother-in-law, that every one knows he never had one, because sucha joke is too great an affront to the dignity of the law in such casesmade and provided--to wit: tell the old fool to say nothing except 'No,he never done it.' And he shakes hands with me, too, and says he'll havean important talk with Myron Bughalter, the sheriff.

  "I says that's the best way out of it, being myself a heavy taxpayer;and I go see this Snyder lawyer, and then over to the jail and get intoPete's cell, where he's having a high old time with a sack of peppermintcandy and a copy of the Scientific American. I tell him to cut out thebrother-in-law stuff and just say 'No' to any question whatever. He saidhe would, and I went off home to rest up after my hard ride.

  "Judge Ballard calls that night and says everything is fixed. No useputting the county to the expense of a trial when Pete has such a classyperjured alibi as I would give him. Myron Bughalter is to go out of thejail in a careless manner at nine-thirty that night, leaving all cellsunlocked and the door wide open so Pete can make his escape withoutdoing any damage to the new building. It seems the only other prisoneris old Sing Wah, that they're willing to save money on, too. He'd gotfull of perfumed port and raw gin a few nights before, announced himselfas a prize-hatchet man, and started a tong war in the laundry of one ofhis cousins. But Sing was sober now and would stay so until the next NewYear's; so they was going to let him walk out with Pete. The judge saidPete would probably be at the Arrowhead by sunup, and if he'd behavehimself from now on the law would let bygones be bygones. I thanked thejudge and went to bed feeling easy about old Pete.

  "But at seven the next morning I'm waked up by the telephone--wanteddown to the jail in a hurry. I go there soon as I can get a drink of hotcoffee and find that poor Myron Bughalter is having his troubles. He'dgot there at seven, thinking, of course, to find both his prisonersgone; and here in the corridor is Pete setting on the chest of Sing Wah,where he'd been all night, I guess! He tells Myron he's a fool sheriffto leave his door wide open that way, because this bad Chinaman tried towalk out as soon as he'd gone, and would of done so it Pete hadn'tjumped him.

  "It leaves Myron plenty embarrassed, but he finally says to Pete he cango free, anyway, now, for being such an honest jailbird; and old SingWah can go, too, having been punished enough by Pete's handling. SingWah slides out quickly enough at this, promising to send Myron a dozensilk handkerchiefs and a pound of tea. But not Pete. No, sir! He tellsMyron he's give himself up to be tried, and he wants that trial andwon't budge till he gets it.

  "Then Myron telephoned for the judge and the district attorney, and forme. We get there and tell Pete to beat it quick. But the old mule isn'tgoing to move one step without that trial. He's fled back to his celland stands there as dignified as if he was going to lay a cornerstone.He's a grave rebuke to the whole situation, as you might say. Then theJudge and Cale go through some kind of a hocus-pocus talk, winding upwith both of them saying 'Not guilty!' in a loud voice; and Myron saysto Pete: 'There! You had your trial; now get out of my jail thisminute.'

  "But canny old Pete is still balking. He says you can't have a trialexcept in the courthouse, which is upstairs, and they're trying to cheata poor old Injin. He's talking loud by this time, and Judge Ballardsays, all right, they must humour the poor child of Nature. So Myrontakes Pete by the wrist in a firm manner--though Pete's insisting heought to have the silver handcuffs on him--and marches him out the jaildoor, round to the front marble steps of the new courthouse, up thesteps, down the marble hall and into the courtroom, with the judge andCale Jordan and me marching behind.

  "We ain't the whole procession, either. Out in front of the jail wasabout fifteen of Pete's friends and relatives, male and female, that hadbeen hanging round for two days waiting to attend his coming-out party.Mebbe that's why Pete had been so strong for the real courthouse,wanting to give these friends something swell for their trouble. Anyway,these Injins fall in behind us when we come out and march up into thecourtroom, where they set down in great ecstasy. Every last one of 'emhas a sack of peppermint candy and a bag of popcorn or peanuts, andthey all begin to eat busily. The steam heat had been turned on and thathall of justice in three minutes smelt like a cheap orphan asylum onChristmas-morning.

  "Then, before they can put up another bluff at giving Pete his trial,with Judge Ballard setting up in his chair with his specs on and lookingfierce, who rushes in but this J. Waldo person that is Pete's lawyer.He's seen the procession from across the street and fears some low-downtrick is being played on his defenseless client.

  "He comes storming down the aisle exclaiming; 'Your Honour, I protestagainst this grossly irregular proceeding!' The judge pounds on his deskwith his little croquet mallet and Myron Bughalter tells Snyder, out ofthe corner of his mouth, to shut up. But he won't shut up for someminutes. This is the first case he'd had and he's probably lookedforward to a grand speech to the jury that would make 'em all blubberand acquit Pete without leaving the box, on the grounds of emotional orerratic insanity--or whatever it is that murderers get let off on whentheir folks are well fixed. He sputters quite a lot about this monstroustravesty on justice before they can drill the real facts into his head;and even then he keeps coming back to Pete's being crazy.

  "Then Pete, who hears this view of his case for the first time, beginsto glare at his lawyer in a very nasty way and starts to interrupt; sothe judge has to knock wood some more to get 'em all quiet. When theydo get still--with Pete looking blacker than ever at his lawyer--CaleJordan says: 'Pete, did you do this killing?' Pete started to say mebbehis brother-in-law did, but caught himself in time and said 'No!' at thesame time starting for J. Waldo, that had called him crazy. MyronBughalter shoves him back in his chair, and Cale Jordan says: 'YourHonour, you have heard the evidence, which is conclusive. I now ask thatthe prisoner at the bar be released.' Judge Ballard frowns at Pete verystern and says: 'The motion is granted. Turn him loose, quick, and getthe rest of that smelly bunch out of here and give the place a goodairing. I have to hold court here at ten o'clock.'

  "Pete was kind of convinced now that he'd had a sure-enough trial, andhis friends had seen the marble walls and red carpet and varnishedfurniture, and everything; so he consented to be set free--not in anyrush, but like he was willing to do 'em a favour.

  "And all the time he's keeping a bad little eye on J. Waldo. The minutehe gets down from the stand he makes for him and says what does he meanby saying he was crazy when he done this killing? J. Waldo tries toexplain that this was his only defense and was going on to tell what anelegant defense it was; but Pete gets madder and madder. I guess he'dbeen called everything in the world before, but never crazy; that's thevery worst thing you can tell an Injin.

  "They work out toward the front door; and then I hear Pete say: 'Youknow what? You said I'm crazy. My b'other-in-law's going to makesomething happen to you in the night.' Pete was seeing red by that time.The judge tells Myron to hurry and get the room cleared and open somewindows. Myron didn't have to clear it of J.W. Snyder. That bright younglawyer dashed out and was fifty feet ahead of the bunch when they got tothe front door.

  "So Pete was a free man once more, without a stain on his characterexcept to them that knew him well. But the old fool had lost me atenant. Yes, sir; this J.W. Snyder young man, with the sign hardly dryon the glass door of his office in the Pettengill Block, had a ner
voustemperament to start with, and on top of that he'd gone fully intoPete's life history and found out that parties his brother-in-law wasdispleased with didn't thrive long. He packed up his law library thatafternoon and left for another town that night.

  "Yes, Pete's a wonder! Watch him slaving away out there. And he must ofbeen working hard all day, even with me not here to keep tabs on him.Just look at the size of that pile of wood he's done up, when he mighteasy of been loafing on the job!"