The Texan - James B. Hendryx (best historical fiction books of all time txt) 📗

in the whole town an' acquired a couple of jags an' more or less onfavourable notoriety. Then, in a couple of days or two, we'd wake up with fur on our tongue an inch long an' our wealth divided amongst thieves. But, Pedro, such carryin's-on is ondecent an' improvident. Take them great captains of industry you read about! D'you reckon every pay-day old Andy Rockyfellow goes a rampin' down Main Street back there in Noo York, proclaimin' he's a wolf an' it's his night to howl? Not on your tintype, he don't! If he did he'd never of rose out of the rank an' file of the labourin' class, an' chances is, would of got fired out of that fer not showin' up at the corral Monday mornin'! Y'see I be'n a-readin' up on the lives of these here saints to kind of get a line on how they done it. Take that whole bunch an' they wasn't hardly a railroad nor a oil mill nor a steel factory between 'em when they was born. I got all their numbers. I know jest how they done it, an' when I get time I'm a-goin' out an' make the Guggenhimers cough up my share of Mexico an' the Rocky Mountains an' Alaska.

"But to get down to cases, as the preachers says: Old Andy he don't cantankerate none noticeable. When he feels needful of a jamboree he goes down to the bank an' fills his pockets an' a couple of valises with change, an' gum-shoes down to John D. Swab's, an' they hunt up Charley Carnage an' a couple of senators an' a rack of chips an' they finds 'em a back room, pulls off their collars an' coats an' goes to it. They ain't no kitty only to cover the needful expenses of drinks, eats, an' smokes—an' everything goes, from cold-decks to second-dealin'. Then when they've derove recreation enough, on goes their collars an' coats, an' they eat a handful of cloves an' get to work on the public again. They's a lot of money changes hands in these here sessions but it never gets out of the gang, an' after you get their brands you c'n generally always tell who got gouged by noticin' what goes up. If coal oil hists a couple of cents on the gallon you know Andy carried his valises home empty an' if railroad rates jumps—the senators got nicked a little, an' vicy versy. Now you an' me ain't captains of industry, nor nothin' else but our own soul, as the piece goes, but 'tain't no harm we should try a law-abidin' recreation, same as these others, an' mebbe after some practice we'll get to where the Guggenhimers will be figgerin' how to get the western hemisphere of North America back from us.

"It's like this. Me an' you'll stop in an' get us a couple of drinks. Then we'll hunt us up a hash-house an' put a big bate of ham an' aigs out of circulation, an' go get us a couple more drinks, an' heel ourselves with a deck of cards an' a couple bottles of cactus juice, an' hunt us up a place where we'll be ondisturbed by the riotorious carryin's-on of the frivolous-minded, an' we'll have us a two-handed poker game which no matter who wins we can't lose, like I was tellin' you, 'cause they can't no outside parties horn in on the profits. But first-off we'll hunt up a feed barn so Ace of Spades can load up on oats an' hay while we're havin' our party."

An hour later the Texan deposited a quart bottle, a rack of chips, and a deck of cards on a little deal table in the dingy back room of a saloon.

"I tell you, Pedro, they's a whole lot of fancy trimmin's this room ain't got, but it's quiet an' peaceable an' it'll suit our purpose to a gnat's hind leg." He dropped into a chair and reached for the rack of chips.

"It's a habit of mine to set facin' the door," he continued, as he proceeded to remove the disks and arrange them into stacks. "So if you got any choist just set down acrost the table there an' we'll start the festivities. I'll bank the game an' we'll take out a fifty-dollar stack an' play table stakes." He shoved three stacks of chips across the table. "Just come acrost with fifty bucks so's we c'n keep the bank straight an' go ahead an' deal. An' while you're a-doin' it, bein' as you're a pretty good Greaser, I'll just take a drink to you——"

"Greasaire, non! Me, A'm hate de damn Greasaire!"

The cowpuncher paused with the bottle half way to his lips and scrutinized the other: "I thought you was a little off colour an' talked kind of funny. What be you?"

"Me, A'm Blood breed. Ma fader she French. Ma moder she Blood Injun. A'm leeve een Montan' som'tam'—som'tam' een Canada. A'm no lak dees contrie! Too mooch hot. Too mooch Greasaire! Too mooch sheep. A'm lak I go back hom'. A'm ride for T. U. las' fall an' A'm talk to round-up cook, Walt Keeng, hees nam', an' he com' from Areezoon'. She no like Montan'. She say Areezoon' she bettaire—no fence—beeg range—plent' cattle. You goin' down dere an' git job you see de good contrie. You no com' back Nort' no more. So A'm goin' down w'en de col' wedder com' an' A'm git de job wit' ol' man Fisher on, w'at you call Yuma bench—Sacré!" The half-breed paused and wiped his face.

"Didn't you like it down Yuma Way?" Benton smiled.

"Lak it! Voila! No wataire! No snow! Too mooch, w'at you call, de leezard! Een de wintaire, A'm so Godamn hot A'm lak for die. Non! A'm com' way from dere. A'm goin' Nort' an' git me nodder job w'ere A'm git som' wataire som'tam'. Mebbe so git too mooch col' in wintaire, but, voila! Better A'm lak I freeze l'il bit as burn oop!"

The Texan laughed. "I don't blame you none. I never be'n down to Yuma but they tell me it's hell on wheels. Go ahead an' deal, Pedro."

"Pedro, non! Ma moder she nam' Moon Eye, an' ma fader she Cross-Cut
Lajune. Derefor', A'm Batiste Xavier Jean Jacques de Beaumont Lajune."

The bottle thumped upon the table top.

"What the hell is that, a name or a song?"

"Me, das ma nam'—A'm call Batiste Xavier Jean——"

"Hold on there! If your ma or pa, or whichever one done the namin' didn't have no expurgated dictionary handy mebbe they ain't to blame—but from now on, between you an' me, you're Bat. That's name enough, an' the John Jack Judas Iscariot an' General Jackson part goes in the discards. An' bein' as this here is only a two-handed game, the discards is dead—— See?"

At the end of an hour the half-breed watched with a grin as the Texan raked in a huge pile of chips.

"Dat de las'," he said, "Me, A'm broke."

"Broke!" exclaimed the cowpuncher, "you don't mean you've done lost all that there six hundred an' forty-eight bucks?" He counted the little piles of silver and gold, which the half-breed had shoved across the board in return for stack after stack of chips.

"Six-forty-two," he totalled. "Let's see, supper was a dollar an' four bits, drinks two dollars, an' two dollars for this bottle of prune-juice that's about gone already, an'—Hey, Bat, you're four bits shy! Frisk yourself an' I'll play you a showdown for them four bits." The other grinned and held a silver half dollar between his finger and thumb.

"Non! A'm ke'p dat four bit! Dat lucky four bit. A'm ponch hole in heem an' car' heem roun' ma neck lak' de medicine bag. A'm gon' back Nort'—me! A'm got no frien's. You de only friend A'm got. You give me de las' four bit. You, give me de honch to play de t'irteen. A'm git reech, an' den you mak' de bank, w'at you call, com' 'crost. Now A'm goin' back to Montan' an' git me de job. Wat de hell!"

"Where's your outfit?" asked the Texan as he carefully stowed the money in his pockets.

"Ha! Ma outfeet—A'm sell dat outfeet to git de money to com' back hom'. A'm play wan leetle gam' coon can an' voila! A'm got no money. De damn Greasaire she ween dat money an' A'm broke. A'm com' som'tam' on de freight train—som'tam' walk, an' A'm git dees far. Tomor' A'm git de freight train goin' Nort' an' som'tam' A'm git to Montan'. Eet ees ver' far, but mebbe-so A'm git dere for fall round-up. An' Ba Goss, A'm nevaire com' sout' no mor'. Too mooch hot! Too mooch no wataire! Too mooch, w'at you call, de pizen boog—mebbe-so in de bed—in de pants—in de boot—you git bite an' den you got to die! Voila! Wat de hell!"

The Texan laughed and reaching into his pocket drew out two twenty dollar gold pieces and a ten which thudded upon the table before the astonished eyes of the half-breed.

"Here, Bat, you're a damn good Injun! You're plumb squanderous with your money, but you're a good sport. Take that an' buy you a ticket to as far North as it'll get you. Fifty bucks ort to buy a whole lot of car ridin'. An' don't you stop to do no gamblin', neither—— Ain't I told you it's onrespectable an' divertin' to morals? If you don't sabe coon can no better'n what you do poker, you stand about as much show amongst these here Greasers as a rabbit in a coyote patch. It was a shame to take your money this way, but bein' as you're half-white it was up to me to save you the humiliatin' agony of losin' it to Greasers."

The half-breed pocketed the coins as the other buttoned his shirt and took another long pull at the bottle.

"Wer' you goin' now?" he asked as the cowpuncher started for the door. The man paused and regarded him critically. "First off, I'm goin' to get my horse. An' then me an' you is goin' down to the depot an' you're a-goin' to buy that there ticket. I'm a-goin' to see that you get it ironclad an' onredeemable, I ain't got no confidence in no gambler an' bein' as I've took a sort of likin' to you, I hate to think of you a-walkin' clean to Montana in them high-heeled boots. After that I'm a-goin' to start out an' examine this here town of Las Vegas lengthways, crossways, down through the middle, an' both sides of the crick. An' when that's off my mind, I'm a-goin' to begin on the rest of the world." He moved his arm comprehensively and reached for the bottle.

"You wait right here till I get old Ace of Spades," he continued solemnly when he had rasped the raw liquor from his throat. "If you ain't here when I come back I'll swallow-fork your ears with this here gat just to see if my shootin' eye is in practice. The last time I done any fancy shootin' I was kind of wild—kep' a-hittin' a little to one side an' the other—not much, only about an inch or so—but it wasn't right good shootin'."

The half-breed grinned: "A'm stay here till you com' back. A'm fin' dat you ma frien'. A'm lak' you, bien!"

When the Texan returned, fifteen minutes later, the man of many names was gone. "It's just like I said, you can't trust no gambler," he muttered, with a doleful nod of the head. "He's pulled out on me, but he better not infest the usual marts of midnight. 'Cause I'm a-goin' to start out an' take in everything that's open in this man's town, an' if I find him I'll just nachelly show him the onprincipledness of lyin' to a friend."

Stepping to the bar he bought a drink and a moment later swung onto the big rangy black and clattered down the street. At