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Wolfville

A >> Alfred Henry Lewis >> Wolfville



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WOLFVILLE

BY

ALFRED HENRY LEWIS
(Dan Quin)




TO
WILLIAM RANDOLPH HEARST




CONTENTS

CHAPTER I. WOLFVILLE'S FIRST FUNERAL
CHAPTER II. THE STINGING LIZARD
CHAPTER III. THE STORY OF WILKINS
CHAPTER IV. THE WASHWOMAN'S WAR
CHAPTER V. ENRIGHT'S PARD, JIM WILLIS
CHAPTER VI. TUCSON JENNIE'S HEART
CHAPTER VII. TUCSON JENNIE'S JEALOUSY
CHAPTER VIII. THE MAN FROM RED DOG
CHAPTER IX. CHEROKEE HALL
CHAPTER X. TEXAS THOMPSON'S "ELECTION"
CHAPTER XI. A WOLFVILLE FOUNDLING
CHAPTER XII. THE MAN FROM YELLOWHOUSE
CHAPTER XIII. JACKS UP ON EIGHTS
CHAPTER XIV. THE RIVAL DANCE-HALLS
CHAPTER XV. SLIM JIM'S SISTER
CHAPTER XVI. JAYBIRD BOB'S JOKE
CHAPTER XVII. BOGGS'S EXPERIENCE
CHAPTER XVIII. DAWSON & RUDD, PARTNERS
CHAPTER XIX. MACE BOWMAN, SHERIFF
CHAPTER XX. A WOLFVILLE THANKSGIVING
CHAPTER XXI. BILL HOSKINS'S COON
CHAPTER XXII. OLD SAM ENRIGHT'S "ROMANCE,"
CHAPTER XXIII. PINON BILL'S BLUFF
CHAPTER XXIV. CRAWFISH JIM




PREFACE.

These tales by the Old Cattleman have been submitted to perhaps a
dozen people. They have read, criticised, and advised. The advice
was good; the criticism just. Some suggested a sketch which might in
detail set forth Toffville; there were those who wanted something
like a picture of the Old Cattleman; while others urged an
elaboration of the personal characteristics of Old Man Enright, Doc
Peets, Cherokee Hall, Moore, Tutt, Boggs, Faro Nell, Old Monte, and
Texas Thompson. I have, how-ever, concluded to leave all these
matters to the illustrations of Mr. Remington and the imaginations
of those who read. I think it the better way-certainly it is the
easier one for me. I shall therefore permit the Old Cattleman to
tell his stories in his own fashion. The style will be crude,
abrupt, and meagre, but I trust it will prove as satisfactory to the
reader as it has to me.

A. H. L.
New York, May 15,1897.






CHAPTER I.

WOLFVILLE'S FIRST FUNERAL.


"These yere obsequies which I'm about mentionin'," observed the Old
Cattleman, "is the first real funeral Wolfville has."

The old fellow had lighted a cob pipe and tilted his chair back in a
fashion which proclaimed a plan to be comfortable. He had begun to
tolerate--even encourage--my society, although it was clear that as
a tenderfoot he regarded me with a species of gentle disdain.

I had provoked the subject of funeral ceremonies by a recurrence to
the affair of the Yellowhouse Man, and a query as to what would have
been the programme of the public-spirited hamlet of Wolfville if
that invalid had died instead of yielding to the nursing of Jack
Moore and that tariff on draw-poker which the genius of Old Man
Enright decreed.

It came in easy illustration, as answer to my question, for the Old
Cattleman to recall the funeral of a former leading spirit of
Southwestern society. The name of this worthy was Jack King; and
with a brief exposition of his more salient traits, my grizzled
raconteur led down to his burial with the remark before quoted.

"Of course," continued the Old Cattleman, "of course while thar's
some like this Yallerhouse gent who survives; thar's others of the
boys who is downed one time an' another, an' goes shoutin' home to
heaven by various trails. But ontil the event I now recalls, the
remainders has been freighted east or west every time, an' the camp
gets left. It's hard luck, but at last it comes toward us; an' thar
we be one day with a corpse all our'n, an' no partnership with
nobody nor nothin'.

"'It's the chance of our life,' says Doc Peets, 'an' we plays it.
Thar's nothin' too rich for our blood, an' these obsequies is goin'
to be spread-eagle, you bet! We'll show Red Dog an' sim'lar villages
they ain't sign-camps compared with Wolfville.'

"So we begins to draw in our belts an' get a big ready. Jack King,
as I says before, is corpse, eemergin' outen a game of poker as
sech. Which prior tharto, Jack's been peevish, an' pesterin' an'
pervadin' 'round for several days. The camp stands a heap o' trouble
with him an' tries to smooth it along by givin' him his whiskey an'
his way about as he wants 'em, hopin' for a change. But man is only
human, an' when Jack starts in one night to make a flush beat a tray
full for seven hundred dollars, he asks too much.

"Thar ain't no ondertakers, so we rounds up the outfit, an' knowin'
he'd take a pride in it, an' do the slam-up thing, we puts in Doc
Peets to deal the game unanimous.

"'Gents,' he says, as we-alls turns into the Red Light to be
refreshed, 'in assoomin' the present pressure I feels the
compliments paid me in the seelection. I shall act for the credit of
the camp, an' I needs your help. I desires that these rites be a
howlin' vict'ry. I don't want people comin' 'round next week
allowin' thar ain't been no funeral, an' I don't reckon much that
they will. We've got the corpse, an' if we gets bucked off now it's
our fault.'

"So he app'ints Old Monte an' Dan Boggs to go for a box for Jack,
an' details a couple of niggers from the corral to dig a tomb.

"'An' mind you-alls,' says Peets, `I wants that hole at least a mile
from camp. In order to make a funeral a success, you needs distance.
That's where deceased gets action. It gives the procession a chance
to spread an' show up. You can't make no funeral imposin' except
you're plumb liberal on distances.'

"It all goes smooth right off the reel. We gets a box an' grave
ready, an' Peets sticks up a notice on the stage-station door,
settin' the excitement for third-drink time next day. Prompt at the
drop of the hat the camp lets go all holds an' turns loose in a body
to put Jack through right. He's laid out in splendid shape in the
New York Store, with nothin' to complain of if he's asked to make
the kick himse'f. He has a new silk necktie, blue shirt an' pearl
buttons, trousers, an' boots. Some one--Benson Annie, I reckons--has
pasted some co't plaster over the hole on his cheek-bone where the
bullet gets in, an' all 'round Jack looks better than I ever sees
him.

"'Let the congregation remove its hats,' says Peets, a-settin' down
on a box up at Jack's head, 'an' as many as can will please get
somethin' to camp on. Now, my friends," he continues, "thar ain't no
need of my puttin' on any frills or gettin' in any scroll work. The
objects of this convention is plain an' straight. Mister King, here
present, is dead. Deceased is a very headstrong person, an' persists
yesterday in entertainin' views touchin' a club flush, queen at the
head, which results in life everlastin'. Now, gents, this is a
racket full of solemnity. We wants nothin' but good words. Don't
mind about the trooth; which the same ain't in play at a funeral,
nohow. We all knows Jack; we knows his record. Our information is
ample that a-way; how he steals a hoss at Tucson; how be robs a gent
last fall at Tombstone; how he downs a party at Cruces; how that
scar on his neck he gets from Wells-Fargo's people when he stands up
the stage over on the Lordsburg trail. But we lays it all aside to-
day. We don't copper nary bet. Yesterday mornin', accompanied by the
report of a Colt's forty-five, Mister King, who lies yere so cool
an' easy, leaves us to enter in behind the great white shinin' gates
of pearl an' gold, which swings inward to glory eternal. It's a
great set back at this time thar ain't no sky-pilot in the camp.
This deeficiency in sky-pilots is a hoss onto us, but we does our
best. At a time like this I hears that singin' is a good, safe
break, an' I tharfore calls on that little girl from Flagstaff to
give us "The Dyin' Ranger."

"So the little Flagstaff girl cl'ars her valves with a drink, an'
gives us the song; an' when the entire congregation draws kyards on
the last verse it does everybody good.

"'Far away from his dear old Texas,
We laid him down to rest;
With his saddle for a pillow,
And his gun across his breast.'

"Then Peets gets out the Scriptures. 'I'm goin' to read a chapter
outen these yere Testaments,' he says. 'I ain't makin' no claim for
it, except it's part of the game an' accordin' to Hoyle. If thar's a
preacher yere he'd do it, but bein' thar's no sech brand on this
range I makes it as a forced play myse'f.'

"So he reads us, a chapter about the sepulcher, an' Mary Magdalene,
an' the resurrection; an' everybody takes it in profound as prairie-
dogs, for that's the lead to make, an' we knows it.

"Then Peets allows he'd like to hear from any gent onder the head of
'good of the order.'

"'Mister Ondertaker an' Chairman,' says Jim Hamilton, 'I yields to
an inward impulse to say that this yere play weighs on me plumb
heavy. As keeper of the dance-hall I sees a heap of the corpse an'
knows him well. Mister King is my friend, an' while his moods is
variable an' oncertain; an' it's cl'arly worth while to wear your
gun while he's hoverin' near, I loves him. He has his weaknesses, as
do we all. A disp'sition to make new rooles as he plays along for
sech games of chance as enjoys his notice is perhaps his greatest
failin'. His givin' way to this habit is primar'ly the cause of his
bein' garnered in. I hopes he'll get along thar, an' offers a side
bet, even money, up to five hundred dollars, he will. He may alter
his system an' stand way up with the angels an' seraphs, an' if
words from me could fix it, I'd shorely stack 'em in. I would say
further that after consultin' with Billy Burns, who keeps the Red
Light, we has, in honor of the dead an' to mark the occasion of his
cashin' in, agreed upon a business departure of interest to all.
This departure Mister Burns will state. I mournfully gives way to
him for said purpose.'

"'Mister Peets, an' ladies an' gents,' says Burns, 'like Mister
Hamilton, who I'm proud to meet yere as gent, citizen, an' friend, I
knows deceased. He's a good man, an' a dead-game sport from 'way
back. A protracted wrastle with the remorseless drinks of the
frontier had begun to tell on him, an' for a year or so he's been
liable to have spells. Referrin' to the remarks of Mister Hamilton,
I states that by agreement between us an' in honor to departed, the
quotations on whiskey in this yere camp, from now on, will be two
drinks for two bits, instead of one as previous. We don't want to
onsettle trade, an' we don't believe this will. We makes it as a ray
of light in the darkness an' gloom of the hour.

"After this yere utterance, which is well received, we forms the
procession. Doc Peets, with two buglers from the Fort, takes the
lead, with Jack an' his box in one of the stage coaches comin' next.
Enright, Tutt, Boggs, Short Creek Dave, Texas Thompson, an' me,
bein' the six pallbearers, is on hosses next in line; an' Jack Moore
commandin' of the rest of the outfit, lines out permiscus.

"'This is a great day for Wolfville," says Peets, as he rides up an'
down the line. 'Thar ain't no camp this side of St. Looey could turn
this trick. Which I only wishes Jack could see it himse'f. It's more
calculated to bring this outfit into fav'rable notice than a
lynchin'.'

"At the grave we turns in an' gives three cheers for King, an' three
for Doc Peets; an' last we gives three more an' a tiger for the
camp. The buglers cuts loose everythin' they knows, from the 'water-
call' to the 'retreat,' an' while the niggers is a-shovelin' in the
sand we bangs away with our six-shooters for general results
delightful. You can gamble thar ain't been no funeral like it before
or since.

"At the last Peets hauls outen the stage we uses for Jack, a
headboard. When it's set up it looks like if Jack ain't satisfied,
he's shorely hard to suit. On it in big letters is:

JaCK KinG
LIfE AiN'T
IN
HOLDiNG A GOOD HAND
BUT
In PLAYiNG A PORE HANd
WeLL.

"'You sees, we has to work in a little sentiment,' says Doc Peets.

"Then we details the niggers to stand watch-an'-watch every night
till further orders. No; we ain't afraid Jack'll get out none, but
the coyotes is shore due to come an' dig for him, so the niggers has
to stand gyard. We don't allow to find spec'mens of Jack spread
'round loose after all the trouble we takes."




CHAPTER II.

THE STINGING LIZARD.


"Thar's no sorter doubt to it," said the Old Cattleman after a long
pause devoted to meditation, and finally to the refilling of his cob
pipe, "thar ain't the slightest room for cavil but them ceremonies
over Jack King, deceased, is the most satisfactory pageant Wolfville
ever promotes."

It was at this point I proved my cunning by saying nothing. I was
pleased to hear the old man talk, and rightly theorized that the
better method of invoking his reminiscences just at this time was to
say never a word.

"However," he continued, "I don't reckon it's many weeks after we
follows Jack to the tomb, when we comes a heap near schedoolin'
another funeral, with the general public a-contributin' of the
corpse. To be speecific, I refers to a occasion when we-alls comes
powerful close to lynchin' Cherokee Hall.

"I don't mind on bosomin' myself about it. It's all a
misonderstandin'; the same bein' Cherokee's fault complete. We don't
know him more'n to merely drink with at that eepock, an' he's that
sly an' furtive in his plays, an' covers his trails so speshul, he
nacherally breeds sech suspicions that when the stage begins to be
stood up reg'lar once a week, an' all onaccountable, Cherokee comes
mighty close to culminatin' in a rope. Which goes to show that you
can't be too open an' free in your game, an' Cherokee would tell you
so himse'f.

"This yere tangle I'm thinkin' of ain't more'n a month after
Cherokee takes to residin' in Wolfville. He comes trailin' in one
evenin' from Tucson, an' onfolds a layout an' goes to turnin' faro-
bank in the Red Light. No one remarks this partic'lar, which said
spectacles is frequent. The general idee is that Cherokee's on the
squar' an' his game is straight, an' of course public interest don't
delve no further into his affairs.

"Cherokee, himse'f, is one of these yere slim, silent people who
ain't talkin' much, an' his eye for color is one of them raw grays,
like a new bowie.

"It's perhaps the third day when Cherokee begins to struggle into
public notice. Thar's a felon whose name is Boone, but who calls
himse'f the 'Stingin' Lizard,' an' who's been pesterin' 'round
Wolfville, mebby, it's a month. This yere Stingin' Lizard is thar
when Cherokee comes into camp; an' it looks like the Stingin' Lizard
takes a notion ag'in Cherokee from the jump.

"Not that this yere Lizard is likely to control public feelin' in
the matter; none whatever. He's some onpop'lar himself. He's too
toomultuous for one thing, an' he has a habit of molestin' towerists
an' folks he don't know at all, which palls on disinterested people
who has dooties to perform. About once a week this Lizard man goes
an' gets the treemers, an' then the camp has to set up with him till
his visions subsides. Fact is, he's what you-alls East calls 'a
disturbin' element,' an' we makes ready to hang him once or twice,
but somethin' comes up an' puts it off, an' we sorter neglects it.

"But as I says, he takes a notion ag'in Cherokee. It's the third
night after Cherokee gets in, an' he's ca'mly behind his box at the
Red Light, when in peramb'lates this Lizard. Seems like Cherokee,
bein' one of them quiet wolves, fools up the Lizard a lot. This
Lizard's been hostile an' blood-hungry all day, an' I reckons he all
at once recalls Cherokee; an', deemin' of him easy, he allows he'll
go an' chew his mane some for relaxation.

"If I was low an' ornery like this Lizard, I ain't none shore but
I'd be fooled them days on Cherokee myse'f. He's been fretful about
his whiskey, Cherokee has,--puttin' it up she don't taste right,
which not onlikely it don't; but beyond pickin' flaws in his nose-
paint thar ain't much to take hold on about him. He's so slim an'
noiseless besides, thar ain't none of us but figgers this yere
Stingin' Lizard's due to stampede him if he tries; which makes what
follows all the more impressive.

"So the Lizard projects along into the Red Light, whoopin' an'
carryin' on by himse'f. Straightway he goes up ag'inst Cherokee's
layout.

"I don't buy no chips," says the Lizard to Cherokee, as he gets in
opposite. "I puts money in play; an' when I wins I wants money
sim'lar. Thar's fifty dollars on the king coppered; an' fifty
dollars on the eight open. Turn your kyards, an' turn 'em squar'. If
you don't, I'll peel the ha'r an' hide plumb off the top of your
head."

"Cherokee looks at the Lizard sorter soopercillus an' indifferent;
but he don't say nothin'. He goes on with the deal, an', the kyards
comin' that a-way, he takes in the Lizard's two bets.

"Durin' the next deal the Lizard ain't sayin' much direct, but keeps
cussin' an' wranglin' to himse'f. But he's gettin' his money up all
the time; an' with the fifty dollars he lose on the turn, he's shy
mebby four hundred an' fifty at the close.

"'Bein' in the hole about five hundred dollars,' says the Lizard, in
a manner which is a heap onrespectful, ' an' so that a wayfarin'
gent may not be misled to rooin utter, I now rises to ask what for a
limit do you put on this deadfall anyhow?'

"'The bridle's plumb off to you, amigo,' says Cherokee, an' his
tones is some hard. I notices it all right enough, 'cause I'm doin'
business at the table myse'f at the time, an' keepin' likewise case
on the game. `The bridle's plumb off for you,' says Cherokee, 'so
any notion you entertains in favor of bankruptin' of yourse'f quick
may riot right along.'

"'You're dead shore of that?' says the Lizard with a sneer. `Now I
reckons a thousand-dollar bet would scare this puerile game you
deals a-screechin' up a tree or into a hole, too easy.'

"`I never likes to see no gent strugglin' in the coils of error,'
says Cherokee, with a sneer a size larger than the Lizard's; `I
don't know what wads of wealth them pore old clothes of yours
conceals, but jest the same I tells you what I'll do. Climb right
onto the layout, body, soul, an' roll, an' put a figger on your
worthless se'f, an' I'll turn you for the whole shootin'-match.
You're in yere to make things interestin', I sees that, an' I'll
voylate my business principles an' take a night off to entertain
you.' An' yere Cherokee lugs out a roll of bills big enough to choke
a cow.

"'I goes you if I lose,' says the Stingin' Lizard. Then assoomin' a
sooperior air, he remarks: 'Mebby it's a drink back on the trail
when I has misgivin's as to the rectitood of this yere brace you're
dealin'. Bein' public-sperited that a-way, in my first frenzy I
allows I'll take my gun an' abate it a whole lot. But a ca'mer mood
comes on, an' I decides, as not bein' so likely to disturb a peace-
lovin' camp, I removes this trap for the onwary by merely bustin'
the bank. Thar,' goes on the Stingin' Lizard, at the same time
dumpin' a large wad on the layout, 'thar's even four thousand
dollars. Roll your game for that jest as it lays.'

"'Straighten up your dust,' says Cherokee, his eyes gettin' a kind
of gleam into 'em, 'straighten up your stuff an' get it some'ers.
Don't leave it all spraddled over the scene. I turns for it ready
enough, but we ain't goin' to argue none as to where it lays after
the kyard falls.'

"The rest of us who's been buckin' the game moderate an' right
cashes in at this, an' leaves an onobstructed cloth to the Stingin'
Lizard. This yere's more caution than good nacher. As long as folks
is bettin' along in limits, say onder fifty dollars, thar ain't no
shootin' likely to ensoo. But whenever a game gets immoderate that
a-way, an' the limit's off, an' things is goin' that locoed they
begins to play a thousand an' over on a kyard an' scream for action,
gents of experience stands ready to go to duckin' lead an' dodgin'
bullets instanter.

"But to resoome: The Stingin' Lizard lines up his stuff, an' the
deal begins. It ain't thirty seconds till the bank wins, an' the
Stingin' Lizard is the wrong side of the layout from his money. He
takes it onusual ugly, only he ain't sayin' much. He sa'nters over
to the bar, an' gets a big drink. Cherokee is rifflin' the deck, but
I notes he's got his gray eye on the Stingin' Lizard, an' my respect
for him increases rapid. I sees he ain't goin' to get the worst of
no deal, an' is organized to protect his game plumb through if this
Lizard makes a break. "'Do you--all know where I hails from?' asks
the Stingin' Lizard, comin' back to Cherokee after he's done hid his
drink.

"'Which I shorely don't;' says Cherokee. 'I has from time to time
much worthless information thrust upon me, but so far I escapes all
news of you complete.'

"'Where I comes from, which is Texas,' says the Lizard, ignorin' of
Cherokee's manner, the same bein' some insultin', `they teaches the
babies two things,-never eat your own beef, an' never let no kyard-
thief down you:

"'Which is highly thrillin',' says Cherokee, 'as reminiscences of
your yooth, but where does you-all get action on 'em in Arizona?'

"'Where I gets action won't be no question long,' says the Lizard,
mighty truculent. 'I now announces that this yere game is a skin an'
a brace. Tharfore I returns for my money; an', to be frank, I
returns a-shootin':

"It's at this p'int we-alls who represents the public kicks back our
chairs an' stampedes outen range. As the Lizard makes his bluff his
hand goes to his artillery like a flash.

"The Lizard's some quick, but Cherokee's too soon for him. With the
first move of the Lizard's hand, he searches out a bowie from
som'ers back of his neck. I'm some employed placin' myse'f at the
time, an' don't decern it none till Cherokee brings it over his
shoulder like a stream of white light.

"It's shore great knife-work. Cherokee gives the Lizard aige an
p'int, an' all in one motion. Before the Lizard more'n lifts his
weepon, Cherokee half slashes his gun-hand off at the wrist; an'
then, jest as the Lizard begins to wonder at it, he gets the nine-
inch blade plumb through his neck. He's let out right thar.

"'It looks like I has more of this thing to do,' says Cherokee, an'
his tone shows he's half-way mournin' over it, ` than any sport in
the Territory. I tries to keep outen this, but that Lizard gent
would have it.'

"After the killin', Enright an' Doc Peets, with Boggs, Tutt, an'
Jack Moore, sorter talks it over quiet, an' allows it's all right.

"'This Stingin' Lizard gent,' says Enright, has been projectin'
'round lustin' for trouble now, mebby it's six weeks. It's amazin'
to me he lasts as long as he does, an' it speaks volumes for the
forbearin', law-abiding temper of the Wolfville public. This
Lizard's a mighty oppressive person, an' a heap obnoxious; an' while
I don't like a knife none myse'f as a trail out, an' inclines to
distrust a gent who does, I s'pose it's after all a heap a matter of
taste an' the way your folks brings you up. I leans to the view,
gents, that this yere corpse is constructed on the squar'. What do
you-all think, Peets?'

"'I entertains ideas sim'lar,' says Doc Peets. 'Of course I takes it
this kyard-sharp, Cherokee, aims to bury his dead. He nacherally
ain't look. in' for the camp to go 'round cleanin' up after him
none.' "That's about how it stands. Nobody finds fault with
Cherokee, an' as he ups an' plants the Stingin' Lizard's remainder
the next day, makin' the deal with a stained box, crape, an' the
full regalia, it all leaves the camp with a mighty decent
impression. By first-drink time in the evenin' of the second day, we
ain't thinkin' no more about it.

"Now you-all begins to marvel where do we get to the hangin' of
Cherokee Hall? We're workin' in towards it now.

"You sees, followin' the Stingin' Lizard's jump into the misty
beyond--which it's that sudden I offers two to one them angels notes
a look of s'prise on the Stingin' Lizard's face as to how he comes
to make the trip-Cherokee goes on dealin' faro same as usual. As I
says before, he ain't no talker, nohow; now he says less than ever.

"But what strikes us as onusual is, he saddles up a pinto pony he's
got over to the corral, an' jumps off every now an' then for two an'
three days at a clatter. No one knows where he p'ints to, more'n he
says he's due over in Tucson. These yere vacations of Cherokee's is
all in the month after the Stingin' Lizard gets downed. "It's about
this time, too, the stage gets held up sech a scand'lous number of
times it gives people a tired feelin'. All by one party, too. He
merely prances out in onexpected places with a Winchester; stands up
the stage in an onconcerned way, an' then goes through everythin'
an' everybody, from mail-bags to passengers, like the grace of
heaven through a camp-meetin'. Nacheral, it all creates a heap of
disgust. "'If this yere industrious hold-up keeps up his lick,' says
Texas Thompson about the third time the stage gets rustled, `an'
heads off a few more letters of mine, all I has to say is my wife
back in Laredo ain't goin' to onderstand it none. She ain't lottin'
much on me nohow, an' if the correspondence between us gets much
more fitful, she's goin' p'intin' out for a divorce. This deal's
liable to turn a split for me in my domestic affairs.' An' that's
the way we-alls feels. This stage agent is shorely in disrepoot some
in Wolfville. If he'd been shakin' up Red Dog's letter-bags, we
wouldn't have minded so much.

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