''Bring Me His Ears'' by Clarence E. Mulford (howl and other poems TXT) 📕

"He uses 'em!" chuckled Enoch. "Ain't that a sensible answer? Caps is all right, if he uses 'em! Danged if he don't make me laugh: but he's a good ol' beaver, at that, Zeb is. As fur rammin' down th' ball fust, that time; he never told ye about how he swallered a hull mouthful o' balls when Singin' Fox sent a arrer through his cap, did he?"

Zeb looked a little self-conscious. "Beaver's shore gittin' scarce," he said.

"Thar's a passel o' Oregoners rendyvouin' out ter Round Grove," said Hank. "If we're goin' with 'em we better jine 'em purty quick."

Tom shook his head. "I'm aimin' fer th' Arkansas this trip. Goin' ter try it onct more."

Hank's jaw dropped. "Thar!" he snorted. "Kin ye beat that?"

"Glad ter hear it," said Jim Ogden. "We'll be with ye fur's th' Crossin'; but ain't ye gamblin', Tom?"

"Armijo shore will run up th' flags an' order out his barefoot army," said Hank, grimly, "if he larns o' it. An' he'll mebby need th' army, too."

"He'll larn o' it," declared Birdsall. "Thar's a passel o' greasers goin' over th' trail with us—an' shore as shootin' some o' 'em will go ahead with th' news arter we reach th' Cimarron. Don't be a danged fool, Tom; you better go 'long th' Platte with th' emigrants."

"Can't do it," replied Tom. "I've give my word an' I'm goin' through ter Santa Fe. Armijo'll larn o' it, all right. I've seen signs o' that already. Some greaser fanned a knife at me on th' boat; but I couldn't larn nothin' more about it."

"Dang my hide if I ain't got a good notion ter let ye go alone!" snorted Hank, whereat a roar of laughter arose. It seemed that he was very well known.

"I'll see how things bust," said Ogden. "I war aimin' fer Bent's, but thar ain't no use o' gittin' thar much afore fall." He thought a moment, and then slammed his hand on the table. "I'm goin' with ye, Tom!"

"Talkin' like a blind fool!" growled Zeb Houghton, his inseparable companion. "I'm startin' fer th' fort, an' I'm goin' thar! If you ain't got no sense, I has!"

Hank laughed and winked at the others. "I'll go with ye, Zeb. Me an' you'll go thar together an' let these two fools git stood up ag'in a wall. Sarve 'em right if he cuts 'em up alive. We'll ask him ter send us thar ears, fer ter remember 'em by."

Zeb's remarks about the Governor of New Mexico caused every head in the room to turn his way, and called forth a running fire of sympathetic endorsements. He banged the table with his fists. "Hank Marshall, ye got more brains nor I has, but I got ter go 'long an' keep that pore critter out o' trouble. If I don't he'll lose hoss an' beaver!"

A stranger sauntered over, grinned at them and slid a revolving Colt pistol on the table. "Thar, boys," he said. "Thar's what ye need if yer goin' ter Santer Fe. I'm headin' fer home, back east. What'll ye give me fer it, tradin' in yer old pistol? Had a run o' cussed bad luck last night, an' I need boat fare. Who wants it?"

Enoch Birdsall and Hank Marshall both reached for it, but Hank was the quicker. He looked it over carefully and then passed it to his partner. "What ye think o' her, Tom?" he asked.

After a moment's scrutiny Tom nodded and gave it back. "Looks brand new, Hank. Good pistol. I tried mine out on th' boat comin' up. They shoot hard an' straight."

Hank looked up at the stranger and shook his head deprecatingly, starting the preliminary to a long, hard-driven barter; but he hadn't reckoned on Birdsall, the skeptic.

"Ten dollars an' this hyar pistol," said Enoch quickly.

"Wall!" exclaimed Hank, staring at him. "Dang ye! Eleven dollars an' this pistol!"

"Twelve," placidly said Enoch.

"Twelve an' a half!" snapped Hank.

"An' three quarters."

"Thirteen!" growled Hank, trying to hide his misery.

Enoch raised again and, a quarter at a time, they ran the price up to sixteen dollars, Enoch bidding with Yankee caution and reluctance, Hank with a stubborn determination not to let his friend get ahead of him. One was a trader, shrewd and thrifty; the other, a trapper, which made it a game between a canny barterer on one side and a reckless spender on the other. At twenty-three dollars Birdsall quit, spat angrily at a box, and scowled at his excited companion, who was counting the money onto the table. Hank glared at Enoch, jammed the Colt in his belt and bit savagely into a plug of tobacco, while the stranger, hiding his smile, bowed ironically and left them; and in a moment he was back again with another Colt.

"I knowed it!" mourned Hank. "Dang ye, Enoch!"

"Boys," said the stranger, sadly, "my friend is in th' same fix that I am. He is willin' ter part with his Colt for th' same money an' another old fashioned pistol. His mother's dyin' in St. Louie an' he's got ter git back ter her."

"Too danged bad it ain't him, an' you," snorted Hank.

Jim Ogden held out his hand, took the weapon and studied it. Quietly handing over his own pistol and the money, he held out his other hand, empty. "Whar's th' mold; an' some caps?"

"Wall," drawled the stranger, rubbing his chin. "They don't go with th' weapons—they're separate. Cost ye three dollars fer th' mold; an' th' caps air two dollars a box o' two hundred."

"Then hand her back ag'in an' take th' Colt," said Ogden, slowly arising. "Think I'm goin' ter whittle, or chew bullets fer it? Neither one of them guns has even been used. Thar bran' new, an' with 'em goes th' mold. Jest because I've spent a lot o' my days up on Green River ain't sayin' I'm green. They named it that because I left my greenness thar."

"Th' caps air extry," said the vendor of Colt pistols.

"Ain't said nothin' about no caps, yit," retorted Ogden. "I'm talkin' molds. Gimme one, an' give Hank one; or ye'll both shore as hell miss his mother's funeral."

The stranger complied, sold some caps and left the saloon in good humor; but he had not been gone two minutes before Enoch hastily arose and pleaded that he had to meet a man; and when they saw him again he had a newfangled contraption in a holster at his belt.

Hank carelessly opened his mold and glanced at it. "Pinted!" he exclaimed.

Tom explained swiftly and reassured his friends, and then suggested that they go down to a smithy owned by a mutual friend, and run some bullets. "We better do it while we're thinkin' about it, an' have th' time," he added.

"Got lots o' time," said Ogden. "Be three weeks afore th' second caravan starts. Thar's two goin' out this year. If 'twarn't fer th' early warm weather on th' prairies th' fust wouldn't 'a' left yet. Th' grass is comin' up fast."

"Thar's some waggins o' th' second game out ter Council Grove already," said Alonzo Webb. "They wanted me an' Enoch ter go 'long with 'em, but we couldn't see th' sense o' leavin' town so fur ahead o' time, an' totin' that much more grub. 'Sides, th' roads'll be better, mebby, later on."

The smith welcomed them and they used his fire during the lulls in his business.

"Hear Zachary Woodson's goin' out with eight waggins this year," he told them. "Missed th' fust caravan. Says he'll be tetotally cussed if he's goin' ter be captain ag'in this year."

"That's what he says every year," grunted Alonzo.

"He'll be captain if we has th' say-so," replied Hank. "Only thing, he's a mite too easy with th' fools; but thar's goin' ter be less squabblin' about obeyin' orders this trip than ever afore. We'll see ter that."

While they discussed matters pertaining to the caravan, and ran bullets, listening to the gossip of the smith's customers, they saw Uncle Joe and his two wagoners driving his mules toward the shop to have them re-shod. They shook hands all around and soon Uncle Joe, grinning from ear to ear, told them that he was going out with the caravan. He was as tickled as a boy with a new knife.

"Just as I feared," he said in explanation. "I couldn't find any trader that was takin' any of his women folks along; so there was only one way out of it. I got to go. An' I don't mind tellin' you boys that it suits me clean down to th' ground. Anyhow, all I wanted was an excuse. I got a light wagon for Patience an' me an' our personal belongings, an' I'm goin' to drive it myself. Bein' th' only woman in th' caravan, fur as I know, it'll mebby be a little mite hard on her. Reckon she'll git lonesome, 'specially since she's so danged purty."

When the laughter died down Hank Marshall, shifting his cud to the other cheek, looked from Uncle Joe to Tom and back again.

"Wall," he drawled, "I war puzzled a little at fust, but now I reckon I'm gittin' th' hang o' this hyar thing. Tom war shore hell-bent fer ter go out ter Oregon this year." He paused, scratched his head, and grinned. "Reckon I kin drive them mules all by myself. 'Twon't be as though it war th' fust time I've done it."

After a little good-natured banter Tom and Hank left the smithy to look after their affairs, for there was quite a lot to be done. The next few days would be busy ones for them both, but especially so for Tom, who was expected to share his company between Patience, Hank, and Uncle Joe.

As they swung up the street Hank edged to cross it, pointing to Schoolcraft's corral. "Might as well be gittin' th' mules afore thar all run over an' th' best took. If he kin skin me in a mule deal I'm willin' ter abide by it."

"Not there," objected Tom. "I've had some trouble with him. I'll play pack animal myself before I'll buy a single critter from him."

Hank shook with silent laughter. "That's whar he got it, huh?" he exulted. "Cussed if he warn't trimmed proper. I might 'a' knowed it war you as done it by th' way it looked." He shook again and then became alert "Thar he is now; an' his friends air with him. Keep yer primin' dry, boy."

"I reckoned I could shake a laig," said a voice behind them, and they looked over their shoulders to see Jim Ogden at their heels, and close behind him came his partner; "but you two kiyotes plumb made me hoof it. What's yer hurry, anyhow?"

The little group in front of the corral gate shifted in indecision and looked inquiringly at the horse-dealer. There was a difference between stirring up trouble between themselves and Tom Boyd for the purpose of manhandling him, and stirring it up between themselves and the four trappers.

Schoolcraft said something out of the corner of his mouth and the group melted away into the little shack at the corral gate. He remained where he was, scowling frankly at his enemy.

"Looks like they war a-fixin' ter try it on us," growled Hank, returning the scowl with interest. "Let's go over an' say how-de-do ter 'em. This here town's been too peaceable, anyhow."

"What's th' trouble?" asked Ogden, curiously, his partner pressing against him to hear the answer.

"Ain't none," answered Tom. "Thar might 'a' been, but it's blowed over."

"Wall," drawled Ogden. "Ye never kin tell about these hyar frontier winds. Yer th' partisan o' this hyar expedition, Tom. We'll foller yer lead. It's all one