I was lonesome once. I don't mean simply willin' to sit in a game, or to join a friendly little booze competition, or feelin' a sort of inward desire to mingle about with some o' the old boys an' see who could remember the biggest tales—I mean LONESOME,—the real rib-strainin' article when a man sits in a limpy little heap with his tongue hangin' out, a-wishin' that a flea-bit coyote would saunter along, slap him on the back, an' call him friens.
I was out in No-man's land with just a small bunch o' mangy cows, an' the grass so scarce I purt' nigh had to get 'em shod—they had to travel so far in makin' a meal. It was hot an' it was dusty an' it was dry—the whole earth seemed to reek. My victuals got moldy an' soft an' sticky, my appetite laid down an' refused to go another peg; 'I was just simply dyin' o' thirst, an' every single drop o' water we came across had a breath like the dyin' gasp of a coal-oil stove, expirin' for a couple o' fingers o' the stuff they float universities in.
Now I'd allus supposed that the' wasn't anything left to tell me about bein' lonesome; but when it was finally settled that Barbie was to waste herself on that imported imitation of a hand-made mechanical toy, I found out that heretofore I'd been only dealin' in childish delusions. The whole Diamond Dot seemed to rest right on top o' my soul: the air didn't smell sweet, I got so I'd lie awake at night, food grew so fearless it could look me right in the face without flinchin'; but one night I saw Merry England with his arm around Barbie's waist, an' that settled it. By the time I had regained my self-control, I was twenty miles from the ranch, an' I knew that if I went back it would be to make arrangements for the last sad obsequaries of Clarence the Comforter.
I had about three hundred bucks in my belt, so I wended my way to Danders an' sneaked aboard the East-bound without attractin' the notice of ol' Mrs. Fate or any o' the rest o' the Danders bunch. I got out at Laramie, an' they all knew Dick an' was proud of him an' eager to learn what had become of him. One thing else I found out, an' that was that he had been keepin' a woman all right, an' that she was livin' there yet; but never went out without a heavy veil, an' the' wasn't any way short o' physical force to get to speak to her.
I figured out that Dick wouldn't care to go back to Texas, so the chances were that he was either in San Francisco or England. I didn't know anything about England, so I went to Frisco. I prowled around for a couple o' days exactly like a story-detective; an' by jinks, I turned up a clew. That feller, Piker, was the clew, an' when I spied him in a low gamblin' room I made some little stir until I got him alone so I could talk to him. I hadn't hurt him none; but I had been tol'able firm, an' he was minded to speak the truth. He told me that Dick was in the Texas Penitentiary for life—that he had surrendered himself up, an' that this was what had give him life instead of the rope.
I knew the gang what had put him there, an' I knew that his chances for gettin' out were about as good as if he was in his grave. I was stumped an' I knew it; so I sez to Piker: "Piker, you may think that I'm allus as gentle as I've been with you; but if this ain't the truth you've told me I'll get your life if I have to track you bare-footed through hell."
He swore by everything he could remember that it was the solemn truth, an' then I turned him loose an' I turned myself loose too. The boys down at Frisco was certainly glad to see me, an' we sure had a royal good time as long as my money lasted; but when it began to dry up they seemed to lose interest in me an' had a heap o' private business to attend to.
One mornin' I noticed that I was dead broke; so I drilled down to the dock an' sat on a post. Pretty soon along comes a little fat man, an' he looks me over from nose to toe. I don't know why it is, but as a rule a city man takes as open-hearted an' disembarrassed an interest in me as though I was a prize punkin' or the father of a new breed o' beef cattle. After he had made up his opinion he smiles into my eyes an' sez, "I like your face."
"You soothe me," sez I. "I was just thinkin' o' havin' it remodelled; but now I'll leave it just as it is."
Well, he laughs an' slaps me on the back an' sez, "I like your style. Want to take a ride?"
"What on?" sez I, for he seemed purty blocky an' fat-legged for a ridin' man.
"On that there sailboat," sez he, pointin' to a thing about the size of a flat-iron with a knittin'-needle stickin' out of it. I give a little think, an' I sez: "To tell you the gospel truth, Bud, I ain't never been on a sailboat in my life; but I'm game to play her one whirl if you'll just wait until I get my breakfast."
"How long will it take?" sez he. "Deuced if I know," sez I. "I've been waitin' hereabout two hours already an' the' ain't none showed up yet."
"Why don't you go to a restaurant?" sez he.
"I thank you kindly for the suggestion," sez I; "but the same brilliant idee occurred to me a little over two hours ago, an' all my finger-nails is wore to the quick tryin' to scratch up enough change."
He studied my face a moment, then he chuckled up a laugh, an' scooted over to an eatin'-house, comin' back with a lot o' stuff an' some coffee. Then we got into the boat an' begun to sail. Oh, it certainly was grand! By the time I had made it up with my stomach we were out on the Pacific Ocean, an' I felt like Christopher Columbus.
Enjoy myself? Well. I guess I did! I felt like a boy with copper-toed boots an' a toy balloon. Then things began to churn up wild an' furious. Fatty said that Pacific meant mild an' peaceful—the darned, sarcastic, little liar! The storm that was presently kazooin' along was fierce an' horrible, an' that dinky little soap-bubble cut up scand'lous.
We went jumpin' an' slidin' ahead, tilted away over on one side, but Fatty never turned a hair; he said it was nothin' but a capful o' wind, an' he sat in the back end o' the boat with a little stick in his hand, hummin' tunes an' havin' the time of his life; but give me a bunch of blizzard-scared long-horns for mine.
I never knowed a boat was so human. This one bucked an' kicked an' reared up an' tried to fall over on its back, the same as a mustang; while I held on with my teeth an' wondered if it was a put-up job. Then I began to feel as though I had partakin' of a balloon. I gritted my teeth an' swallered hot water constant; but it wasn't no use; purty soon that beautiful breakfast began to fight its way to liberty. Layer after layer, up it came; an' all the while mebbe I wasn't feelin' like a tender-foot, with that fat little cuss puffin' his pipe in the back seat, as happy as a toad.
After a bit he looks at me purty sympathetic like, an' sez, "You seem to have a weak stomach."
"Weak?" I yells. "Weak! why you doggone son of a pirate, it kicks like a shotgun every time it goes off. Weak!"
We stayed out on our pleasure trip the best part of the day, me layin' with what used to be my head jammed under the front seat, while my liver chased my stomach up an' down my backbone, tryin' to squeeze out a few more crumbs o' that breakfast. You can believe me or not; but when noon came that double dyed villain got out the grub an' began to eat—even goin' so far as to ask me to join him. A hog wouldn't 'a' done it. We came back; about five o'clock, an' by the time we reached the landin' place I was feelin' fine. An' hungry— Say!
When we got upon the platform an' started to walk up-town Fatty sez to me, "What are you goin' to do to kill time now?"
"Time?" sez I. "Well, now, I dunno as I feel any inborn hankerin' to slaughter time; but if the game laws ain't in force I wouldn't mind flushin' up a covey of fat young ham sandwidges."
"You're a funny cuss," sez he.
"I am," sez I; "an' I hope I won't come sudden in front of a lookin'-glass. A good hearty laugh just now would be purty apt to puncture my stomach—it's jammed up so tight again my backbone."
"You don't seem to like this community," sez he.
"I don't know," sez I. "It's been a mighty long time since I tasted it; but I have an idy that I'd enjoy some served hot with a couple o' porterhouse steaks smothered in cornbeef hash an' about three pints o' coffee."
He chuckled up another laugh, an sez, "If you had a good job here would you be apt to settle?"
"Settle?" sez I. "You needn't worry much about that; I'm no tight-wad. When it comes my turn to settle I generally fish up a handful an' say, 'Here, take it out o' that an' keep the change.'"
He looked at me a minute without speakin', an' then he said, as though he was thinkin' aloud, "You seem to be mighty well set up."
I was hurt at this. "Your ticket entitles you to one more guess," sez I. "Any time anybody got set up in my company since I struck town the bartender allus managed to sneak me the checks without gettin' caught at it. The' must 'a' been a cold snap here, an' all the easy spenders got froze up."
"No, I mean you're wonderful well built," sez he. "Kin you ride a hoss?"
"I can," sez I, "if he's kind an' gentle, an' I manage to get a good grip on the saddle horn, an' he don't start to lopin' or somethin' like that."
"Do you know what a knight is?" sez he.
"Yes," sez I, "I do when I'm home; but since I've been here I ain't wasted none of 'em in sleep, so I ain't right certain."
"No, I don't mean that kind," sez he. "I mean the soldiers of long ago who used to wear steel armor an' fight with spears an' rescue maidens an' so forth. I believe I can get you a job at it for a month or so, at three dollars a day."
"Now look here, Bud," sez I, "them three dollars look mighty enticin' to me, an' I ain't no objection to rescuin' the maidens; but I move we cut out the steel armor an' the spears. If the' 's any great amount o' maidens in need o' rescuin', I could do the job a heap quicker with my six-shooters."
"Oh, I don't mean to be a real knight," sez he. "I want you to advertise tobacco."
"Say," sez I, "perhaps you never noticed it; but after you've been livin' on air for some time you get so you can't tell whether it's yourself or the other feller what's crazy. I came down to this town because my appetite was clogged up an' wouldn't work; but I'm cured. I'm the most infernally cured individual you ever set eyes on, an' I'm goin' back where food ain't too blame proud to be seen in company with a poor man."
Well, I broke through his crust that time, an' we sidled into a feed-joint, where I pried my ribs apart while he un folded his plot. It seemed the' was a brand of chewin' tobacco what had one o' these here knights on the tag, an' I was to dress up like the picture an' advertise it. The man who was to do it had sprained his ankle, an' Fatty's brother was huntin' up a new man. Fatty said he'd get me the job.
Well, he did, an' next mornin' I started out in a tin suit with a sort of kettle turned upside down an' covered with feathers for a sky-piece. I certainly made an imposin' sight, an' all I had to do was to ride around an' fling little plugs o' tobacco out o' my saddle-bags. But the' was draw-backs. The' generally is.
Take the real native-son brand of Friscoite, an' he'll tell you 'at Frisco an' Paradise are sunonomous. I used to like to argue 'em out about it. One day I had a thirty-third degree one pointin' his finger in my eye an' beatin' his palm with his fist, an' spreadin' himself somethin' gorgeous. He never curbed his jubilization nor altered the heavy seriousness of his expression; but in the most matter-of-fact way in the world he backs over to the door-jamb an' begins to polish it up with his spinal column. If ya'll notice you'll find most o' the coats in that locality has curious little streaks up the back—but it ain't polite to ask questions about 'em.
"Look here, Bud," sez I, interruptin', "I know all about your golden gates an' sea lions an' cosmopopilic civilization; but how about your fleas?"
"Fleas!" sez he. "Hang the fleas! I'll tell you about them. The devil He tried an experiment; he wanted a place so fine to live in that man wouldn't have no inducement to try to get to heaven; so he studied all the cities an' the towns—an' then he made Frisco. The experiment worked to perfection; everybody what lived there was perfectly satisfied, an' the preachers couldn't make 'em believe 'at any place could be any better. But the good Lord, he was powerful fond o' the Friscoites, so he finally figgered out the little red flea—an' then even Frisco had a drawback; not enough to give the town anything of a black eye; just enough to leave one little talkin'-point in favor of everlastin' bliss."
Well, these here fleas was consid'able of a talkin'-point with me all right when I was takin' the part of a canned knight. They used to congregate together in the valley between my shoulder-blades, an' I'd get off an' back up again a lamp-post, but it wa'n't no use. I couldn't reach 'em, an' the' ain't no way on earth to scare 'em. Finally I hit upon a plan of wearin' a couple o' feet o' chain down the back o' my neck an' givin' it a jerk now an' again. It was only just moderately comfortable; but I had the satisfaction of knowin' that it was more of a bother to them than it was to me. A suit of armor ain't no tenement house, it's only meant for one. But when they got on my face they had me beat. I'd forget all about bein' sealed up, an' I'd take a smash at one an' bat the kettle over again my forehead until I had both eyebrows knocked out o' line.
I carried a spear with a little flag on it, an' rode a hoss built like a barrel. He had been in the brewery business all his life an' looked the part. About the only item in the whole parade that put me in mind of myself was my lariat. I smuggled that along for company, an' so I'd have somethin' to work with, provided anything turned up.
Fatty had give me a book called "Ivanhoe" the night before I started out, an' it was full o' pictures about knights knockin' each other about with spears; an' I bet a hat it was fun to be a real one an' not have no tobacco to advertise, but just nothin' to do except jab each other with spears. I reckon a corkin' good one like Ivanhoe himself or the Black Knight got more 'an three a day for it too; but the one best bet is, that the vigilance committee those days didn't take on much superfluous fat.
I enjoyed myself first rate, an' upset a couple o' delivery wagons because they wouldn't make way for me, roped a runaway steer 'at had the whole town scared, an' chased a flat-head clear into the Palace Hotel for throwin' a pear at me. Fatty's brother confided to him that I was the best advertisement they'd ever had.
Still I allus get weary o' doin' the same sort o' thing day after day. That's what gets me about livin' in town; it's so blame monotonous. Out on the range now a feller can allus be expectin' a little excitement even if he ain't enjoyin' it right at the time; but in town it's just the same thing over an' over again. It's bad enough at any time; but if you want to soak yourself plumb full o' the horrors of a great city you want to wear a tin suit with an iron kettle strapped on your head that you can't take off without help. I got so blame disgusted drinkin' steam beer through a straw that if any one would 'a' dared me I'd 'a' signed the pledge.
If it hadn't been for the children I'd probably got hysterical an' been voted into the uncurable ward; but they thought I was the finest thing out, an' I used to give 'em little plugs o' tobacco for souvynears. I used to read "Ivanhoe" at night an' tell stories to the kids the next day. Some o' them thought I was a fairy godmother; an' I generally had such a gang troopin' after me that we looked like an orphan asylum out for an airin'. I allus did like children.
Well, one day I was out at the foot o' the hill neighbor-hood on Sutter Street. A lot o' cars was blockaded, an' a herd o' kids stood lookin' on. I stopped an' talked to 'em, an' the' was one little girl, just for all the world like another little girl I used to know, away back yonder in Indiana. She had the same confidin' smile an' the same big, wide open eyes; an' I felt a sort o' lump in my throat when she looked at me. She had that same queer little look that Barbie'd had when she was a child too. Her mother was named Maggie, which also happened to be the name o' the little girl I had known clear away back when I'd been a school-boy. All of a sudden I felt lonesome again; so I give the kids the slip an' skirted the car.
I started to ride up the Hyde Street hill on the other side, an' say, it was a hill! Steep? Well, it was about all Mr. Hoss could do to climb it. While I was wonderin' if I hadn't better let that part o' town go unadvertised I heard a rumble, looked up, an' saw comin' over the square o' the next street a big wagon loaded with lumber an' runnin' towards me down the hill. The' wasn't no hosses hitched to it, an' the tongue stuck straight out in front. It was comin' like a steam-engine, an' like a flash I remembered Maggie on the other side o' the car. That wagon would 'a' weighed six tons, an' any fool could see what would happen when it struck that street car.
For a second—for just one second, which seemed to last a thousand years—I was turned to stone. I could hear the crash; I could hear the screams; I could feel the horrid scrunch as car, wagon, an' all ground over poor little Maggie; and then everything cleared up, an' I could think ninety times a minute.
I turned my rope loose an' backed ol' Mr. Barrel up on the sidewalk in the wink of a hair trigger. I looked down at the hoss, an' he would have weighed a full ton himself; but I knew that he wouldn't have sense enough to brace himself when the jerk came. It was comical the way thoughts kept flashin' through my head—everything I had done, an' everything I might have done, an' a heap more beside; but the thing that worried me most was the thought that a mighty good story was about to happen, an' the chances were that I wouldn't be the one to do the tellin' of it afterward. I can talk about it easy now, but I wasn't BREATHIN' then.
On came the wagon, an' it looked as though nothin' under heaven could stop it. A strange feelin' o' weakness swept over me for a minute, and—and—darned if I didn't pray, right then. The pressure lifted like a fog, an' I sat there as cool an' still as though I was Ivanhoe, darin' the whole blame outfit to come at me in a bunch; an' I was some pleased to notice that a little group had gathered to see the outcome. My knees dug into the hoss's ribs as I circled the rope around my head, an' then at just the right instant I gave the foreleg throw. Well, it landed—everything landed. As soon as the noose caught the tip o' the tongue I yanked back on the brewer until he must 'a' thought his lower jaw had dissolved partnership.
The' never was any neater work—never. The noose tightened well out on the tongue, an' when the strain came the wagon turned in toward the sidewalk, runnin' in a big circle on the outside wheels. The jerk had lifted ol' Uncle Brewer, who didn't have gumption enough to squat, plumb out in the middle o' the street, an' just as the wagon climbed the curb an' dove into the basement office of a Jew doctor the rope tightened up with me an' the brewer square behind. It didn't last long; the' was only one cinch to the saddle, an' the first jerk had purty well discouraged that; the brewer had grew suspicious an' all four of his feet was dug into the cobble stones; the wagon was lopin' along about ninety miles a second, an' when the tug came me an' the saddle an' the tinware an' about four thousand plugs o' tobacco made a half-circle in the air an' plunged through the first story winder onto the dinin'-table—an' the family was at dinner.
Nobody was hurt; but I wish you could have seen the eyes o' that family—an' their hands—yes, an' their tonsils too. They didn't seem fully prepared. After a time the doctor got his heart to pumpin' again, an' he roars out, "Vat are you doin'—vat are you doin'?"
"I'm advertisin' tobacco," sez I, tryin' to cut the kettle off my head with a fruit-knife.
Then he did the wind-mill act with his hands an' rolled up his eyes an' sez, "Vell, mine Cott, man, dis iss no vay to atfertice dobaggo!"
"Mebbe not, ol' sport," sez I, thinkin' o' the way that wagon had dove into his office, an' takin' a general survey o' the dinner table; "but if you're game at all you got to own up it makes a strong impression."
He was a comical little cuss, an' it amused me a heap to see how excited he was. He splutered an' fizzed away like a leaky sody fountain, while the rest o' the tribe kept up a most infernal squawkin'.
By the time I had the tobacco an' the balance o' the trimmin's picked up an' got back to the street again I found the rest o' the population gathered together to see who was holdin' the celebration; an' from that on my stay in the city was a nightmare. The passengers in the car gave me gold watches an' champagne suppers, the Jew doctor wore himself to a bone tryin' to find out whether it was me, the lumber company, or the tobacco firm which had to pay the piper; while the newspaper reporters pumped me as dry as the desert. The tobacco company kept me on double pay, because when it came to what they call a publicity agent I had played every winnin' number open an' coppered all the ones that lost.
That car had been loaded with a group o' the real, genuine gold-sweaters, an' they entered into a fierce competition to see which could load me down with the finest watch an' load me up with the finest champagne. They got me to make 'em after-dinner speeches an' do fancy stunts with my raw-hide—ropin' wine bottles off the waiters' trays an' such—until we got as friendly as a herd of tramps. They even got me into a long-tailed coat an' a bullfrog vest; but I didn't take kindly to that, 'count o' there not bein' any handy place to tote a gun except the tail pocket, which I never could have got at in case the trouble was to slop over.
I kept lookin' for little Maggie, an' one day I found her. I bought her a couple o' pounds o' candy an' a lot o' new dresses; an' I took her out to her home in a carriage. Well, this home o' hers was a thing to wring the heart of an ossi-fied toad. It was up near the Barbery coast, where they kill folks for exercise. She an' her mother was livin' in two miserable rooms, her mother doin' washin' an' Maggie runnin' errands; but they was as near respectable as half-fed people ever was in the world, an' it made 'em hustle to even keep half fed, too, 'cause they was in competition with the Chinks, who don't have to eat at all—that is, not regular food.
An' would you believe it, her mother was the little Maggie I used to know away back yonder in the kid days when all the world was just like a big, bulgey Christmas-stocking. She had married a good man, an' had come out to the coast with him on account of his health, an' he had flickered out without leavin' her much but a stack o' doctor's bills an' little Maggie. She had struggled along ever since, an' it made my heart ache like a tooth to see the sweetness an' the beauty o' the little girl I used to know come to the eyes o' this poor tired woman an' smile—smile the same old smile like what she used to when I'd given her an apple, or when she'd written me a little note an' sneaked it across the aisle.
Well, I didn't stay long. I had a special swell function to attend that night, but next mornin', when the Turkish-bath man was willin' to risk the peace o' that locality by turnin' me loose, I gathered up a peck or so o' watches an' cashed 'em in. I reckon I got beat some; but anyhow, I drew down somethin' over sixteen hundred in yeller money; an' I took them two Maggies down to the train an' shipped 'em back where the little one would have a chance to grow up like a flower, with plenty o' green grass an' sunshine about her, an' the mother could put on a clean dress afternoons an' visit 'round a little with the friends o' long ago.
After they was gone everything seemed mighty gloomy an' damp an' lonesome, an' I entered into the social festivities most enthusiastic. The' was somethin' about both these two Maggies that kept bringin' Barbie before me, an' what I felt most like doin' was to bolster up my forgetfulness. It wasn't very long, however, before I noticed that my quiet an' simple life hadn't in nowise fitted me for refined society, an' I made my plans to bid it a fond farewell. I'm just as cordial a friend as whiskey ever had; but my con science rebels at floodin' my vital organs with seventeen different colored wines at one meal. I've been infested with pink elephants an' green dragons an' I never com plained none; but hang me if I can get any comfort out of a striped yellow spider ten feet high on horrid hairy legs.
I was sittin' in the Palace lobby one mornin' wonderin' if I'd bump my head should I happen to sneeze, when in come one o' my pals. His face lit up when he see me an' he came over holdin' out his hand. I held out my own hearty enough; but I sez in a warnin' voice, "Now, before you ask me the customary question I want to inform you that I positively don't want a drink, neither now nor this evenin', nor never again."
"Pshaw," sez he, "I'm goin' to pull out for home to day, an' I don't want to go without a farewell libation to the good times we've been havin'."
"I'm goin' to pull out, myself," sez I, "but I went on my farewell libation last night. Where might your home be?"
"Texas," sez he. I straightened up.
"Know the governor?" sez I.
"Some," sez he, his eyes twinklin'; "he was my sister's youngest brother."
"Your sister's youngest brother?" sez I, an' then I tumbled. "Say," I yelled, jumpin' to my feet, "you don't mean that you're it yourself?"
"That's the history," sez he; "but if it's just the same to you, I'd rather you didn't work up much of a story about the way I've handled this town since you saved that car."
"Do you really think 'at I saved your life?" sez I.
"Why," sez he, "if that wagon had ever hit the car the' wouldn't 'a' been anything left but my teeth to identify me by, an' I ain't never had one filled yet."
Well, I took one drink with him an' I told him the straight o' that cattle ring an' how Jim Jimison had surrendered on account o' the best little girl that walked, an' that he was the all around squarest boy the' was. I didn't cork up any natural eloquence I happened to have, an' I was some sorry 'at ol' Hammy couldn't have heard that plea. It was dramatic, an' I'll bet money on it. The outcome was, that he swore he'd have Jim out o' the pen as soon as he could get back an' do the signin'. He was a big man with steel gray eyes, an' by jing I felt good over it; but I stuck to the one drink proposition.
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