The Coming of Cassidy by Clarence E. Mulford (romantic novels in english TXT) 📕

an’ is feelin’ some cheerful when he remembers th’ three rustlers driftin’ south. They was bound to hit a big arroyo that would lead ‘em almost ag’in’ Number Two’s door. With th’ wind drivin’ ‘em straight for it, Hoppy thinks it might mean trouble for Lanky or Skinny. He didn’t think about ‘em only havin’ wool-lined slickers on, or he’d ‘a’ knowed they couldn’t live till they got halfway. They left their blankets in camp so they could work fast. “People have called us clannish, an’ said we was a lovin’ bunch’ because we stick together so tight. We’ve faced so much together that us of th’ old bunch has got th’ same blood in our veins. We ain’t eight men we’re one man in eight different kinds of bodies. G-d help anybody that tries to make us less! It’s one thing to stand up an’ swap shots with a gunman; but it’s another to turn yore back on a cave an’ a fire like that an’ go out into what is purty nigh shore death on a long chance of helpin’ a couple of friends that was able to take care of themselves. That’s one of th’ things that explains why we made Shorty Jones an’ his eleven men pay with their lives for takin’ Jimmy’s life. Twelve for one! That fight at Buckskin ain’t generally understood, even by our friends. An’ Hoppy crowns his courage twice in that one storm. Ain’t he an old son-of-a-gun?

“He leaves that fire an’ forces his cayuse to take him out in th’ storm again, finds that th’ arroyo is level full of snow, but has both banks swept bare. He passes them three rustlers in th’ next ten minutes they won’t do no more cow-liftin’. Then he tries to turn back, but that’s foolish. So he drifts on, gettin’ a li’l loco by now. He’s purty near asleep when he thinks he hears a shot. He fights his cayuse again, but can’t stop it, so he falls off an’ lets it drift, an’ crawls an’ fights his way back to where that shot was fired from. G-d only knows how he does it, but he falls over a cow an’ sees Lanky huggin’ its belly for th’ li’l warmth in th’ carcass. An’ he ought to ‘a’ found him, after leavin’ his cayuse an’ turnin’ back on foot in that h—l storm! Th’ drifts was beginnin’ to make then when th’ storm was over I saw drifts thirty feet high in th’ open; an’ in th’ valley there was some that run ‘most to th’ top of th’ bluffs, an’ they’re near sixty feet high.

“Well, Lanky is as crazy as him, an’ won’t let go of that cow, an’ they have a fight, which is good for both of ‘em. Finally Lanky gets some sense in his head an’ realizes what Hoppy is tryin’ to do for him, an’ they go staggerin’ down wind, first one fallin’ an’ then th’ other. But they keep fightin’ like th’ game boys they are, neither givin’ a cuss for himself, but shore obstinate that he’s goin’ to get th’ other out of it. That’s our spirit; an’ we’re proud of it, by G-dl Hoppy wraps th’ robe around Lanky, an’ so they stagger on, neither one knowin’ very much by that time. Th’ Lord must ‘a’ pitied that pair, an’ admired th’ stuff He’d put in ‘em, for they bump into th’ line house kerslam, an’ drop, all done an’ exhausted.

“Meanwhile Skinny’s hoppin’ around inside, prayin’ an’ cussin’ by streaks, every five minutes openin’ th’ door an’ firm’ off his Colt. He has tied th’ two ropes together, an’ frequent he ties one end to th’ door, th’ other to hisself, an’ goes out pokin’ around in th’ snow, hopin’ to stumble over his pardner. He’s plumb forgot his bad shoulder long ago. Purty soon he opens th’ door again to shoot off th’ gun, an’ in streaks somethin’ between his laigs. He slams th’ door as he jumps aside, an’ then looks scared at Lanky’s sombrero! Mebby he’s slow hoppin’ outside an’ diggin’ them out of th’ drift that’s near covered ‘em! Now, don’t think bad of Skinny. He dassn’t leave th’ house to search any distance, even if he could ‘a’ seen any thin’. His best play is to stick there an’ shoot off his gun Lanky might drift past if he was not there to signal. Skinny thought more of Lanky any time than he did of hisself, th’ emaciated match!

“It don’t take long to kick in a lot of snow with that wind blowin’ an’ he rubs them two till he’s got tears in his eyes. Then he fills ‘em with hot stew an’ whisky, rolls ‘em up together an’ heaves ‘em in th’ same bunk. It ain’t warm enough in that house, even with th’ fire goin’, to make ‘em lose no arms or laigs.

“It seems that Lanky, watchin’ his chance as soon as th’ snow fell heavy enough to cover his movements, slipped out of th’ house an’ started to circle out around them festive rustlers that held him an’ his friend prisoners. He made Skinny stay behind to hold th’ house an’ keep a gun poppin’. Lanky has worked up behind where th’ rustlers was layin’ when th’ Norther strikes full force. It near blows him over, an’, not havin’ on nothin’ but an old army overcoat that was wore out, th’ cold gets him quick. He can’t see, an’ he can’t hear Skinny’s shots no more! He does th’ best he can an’ tries to fight back along his trail, but in no time there ain’t no tracks to follow. Then he loses his head an’ starts wanderin’ until a cow blunders down on him. He shoots th’ cow an’ hugs its belly to keep warm an’ then he don’t really remember nothin’ ‘till he wakes up in th’ bunk alongside of Hoppy, both gettin’ over an awful drunk. Skinny kept f eedin’ liquor to ‘em till it was gone, an’ he had a plenty when he began.

“Jimmy Price was at Number One when th’ blow started, an’ Buck was in th’ bunkhouse, an’ it was three weeks before they could get out an’ around, on account of th’ snow fallin’ so steady an’ hard they couldn’t see nothin’.

“Well, getting back to me explains how Pete Wilson came to th’ Bar-20. He is migratin’ south, just havin’ had th’ pleasure of learnin’ that his wife sloped with a better-lookin’ man. He was scared she might get tired of th’ other feller an’ .sift back, so he sells out his li’l store, loads a waggin with blankets, grub, an’ firewood, an’ starts south, winter or no winter. He moves fast for a new range, where he can make a new beginnin’ an’ start life fresh, with five years of burnin’ matrimonial experience as his valuablest asset. Pete says he reckoned mebby he wouldn’t have so many harness sores if he run single th’ rest of his life; heretofore he’d been so busy applyin’ salve that he didn’t have time to find out just what was th’ trouble with th’ double harness. Lots of men feel that way, but they ain’t got Pete’s unlovely outspoken habit of thought. We used to reckon mebby he wasn’t as smart as th’ rest of us, him bein’ slow an’ blunderin’ in his retorts. We Ve played that with coppers lots of times since, though. While he ain’t what you’d call quick at retortin’, his retorts usually is heard by th’ whole county. It ain’t every collar-galled husband that’s got th’ gumption or smartness to jump th’ minute th’ hat is lifted. Pete had.

“He’s drivin’ across our range, an’ when th’ wind dies out sudden an’ th’ snow sifts down, he’s just smart enough to get out his beddin’ an’ wrap it around him till he looks like a bale of cotton. An’ even at that he’s near froze an’ lookin’ for a place to make a stand when he feels a bump. It’s me, fallin’ off my cayuse, against his front wheel. He emerges from his beddin’, lifts me into th’ waggin, puts most of his blankets around me, an’ stops. Knowin’ he can’t save th’ cayuses, he shoots ‘em. That means grub for us, anyhow, if we run short of th’ good stuff. Nobody but Pete could ‘a’ got th’ canvas off that waggin in such a gale, but he did it. He busts th’ arches an’ slats off th’ top of th’ waggin an’ uses ‘em for firewood. Th’ canvas he drapes over th’ box, lettin’ it hang down on both sides to th’ ground. An’ in about five minutes th’ whole thing was covered over with snow. Pete’s the strongest man we ever saw, an’ we’ve seen some good ones. Wrastlin’ that canvas with stiff hands was a whole lot more than what he done to Big Sandy up there on Thunder Mesa.

“Pete says I was dead when he grabbed me, an’ smellin’ disgraceful of liquor. But th’ first thing I know is lookin’ up in th’ gloom at a ceilin’ that’s right close to my head, an’ at a sorta rafter. That rafter gives me a shock. It don’t even touch th’ ceilin’, but runs along ‘most a foot below it. I close my eyes an’ do a lot of thinkin’. I remember freezin’ to death, but that’s all. An’ just then I hears a faint voice say: ‘He shore was dead.’ I don’t know Pete then, or that he talked to hisself sometimes. An’ I reckon I was a li’l off in my head, at that. I begin to wonder if he means me, an’ purty soon I’m shore of it. An’ don’t I sympathize with myself? I’m dead an’ gone somewhere; but no preacher I ever heard ever described no place like this. Then I smell smoke an’ burnin’ meat which gives me a clew to th’ range I’m on. Mebby I’m shelved in th’ ice box, waitin’ my turn, or somethin’. I knew I’d led a sinful life. But there wasn’t no use of rubbin’ it in it’s awful to be dead an’ know it.

“Th’ next time I opens my eyes I can’t see nothin’; but I can feel somethin’ layin’ alongside of me. It’s breathin’ slow an’ regular, an it bothers me till I get th’ idea all of a sudden. It’s another dead one, cut out of th’ herd an’ shoved in my corral to wait for subsequent events. I felt sorry for him, an’ lay there tryin’ to figger it out, an’ I’m still figgerin’ when it starts to get light. Th’ other feller grunts an’ sits up, bumpin’ his head solid against that fool rafter. No dead man that was shoved in a herd consigned to heaven ever used such language, which makes me all the shorer of where I am. But if hell’s hot we Ve still got a long way to go.

“He sits there rubbin’ his head an’ cussin’ steadily, an’ I’m so moved by it that I compliments him. He jumps an’ bumps his head again, an’ looks at me close. ‘D d if you ain’t a husky corpse,’ he says. That settles it. I ain’t crazy, like I was hopin’, but I ‘in dead. ‘You an’ me is on th’ ragged edge of h—l,’ he adds.

“‘But who tipped you off?” I asks. ‘They just shoved me in here an’ didn’t tell me nothin’ at all.’

“‘Crazy as th’ devil,’ he grunts, lookin’ at me harder.

“‘Yo’re a liar,’ I replies. ‘I may be dead, but d—d if I’m crazy!’

“‘An’ I don’t blame you, either,’ he mused, sorrowful. ‘Now you keep quiet till I gets somethin’ to eat,’ an’ he crawls into a li’l round hole at th’ other end of th’ room.

“Purty soon