The Sauk Centre herald. (Sauk Centre, Stearns County, Minn.) 1886-current, 1904-09-29
JIM'S
FETCHING
WAY

"NI ONE of the gun sooners ever got
the drop on Nat Aiken when Nat
pounded the day marshals beat in Du-
range, Col, and Aiken held down the
billet, at that, when an ombrey's life in
Durango wasn't held to be worth much
more than a buzzard tamale or pan OF
frijoles," said the tousle-haired man
with the desert bleached mustach, at
one of those hotels on the lower avenue
where summer night Conversations are
held out in front with all hands in tip
tilted chairs and their feet against tree
boxes.
aiken monsooned into Durango about
six months after the boom began, and
he succeeded Tim Naylor as day marshal
of the camp-Tim had been so minced
up in knife fight with two half-breed
sNa-eaters that he had to be hiked up
to colorado Springs to win back his
strength.
NAT was a taciturn, unassuming
sawed-off He had cowlicky auburn hair
and pair of topaz eyes, like mountain
cats. that seemed to grow darker and to
spit sparks when he was getting busy.
al reckon l hain't a-goin' t. git shot
up none whilst doin' this we're camp
work. Nat had remarked in accepting
the day marshal's job. I sure can't see
no fun in this thing O. layin' abed with
a hull lot O. Zig-Zag holes in y'r system.
I sure cant. That's why amt a-goin'
4 let no gun-fannin' ombrey in this camp
stick me up an poke lead into my
frame. just nachully like t be swing
in along on tn soleS O. my boots, an I
don't see this yere game o layin' back on
a bunk, while tn holes are healin', an
countin' centipedes workin' their way
in through tn ceilin' an sides O. tn
'dobe-they hain't 'nough action in that
kind O. work
1.-THE Durangoites who heard Nat thus
express his natural objection to being
lead-plugged hoped that he would get
away with his determination, but none
of us had much of an idea that he would
be able to make that determination stick
for very long. Aiken had never shown
the camp anything in the line of strategy,
and so, of course, We had no way Of fig
uring that he possessed any of that kind
of stuff
well. just two days after Nat had
got his badge on a burly, green-eyed
chap named Bill McShane, who had
drifted up to Durango from the Santa
Anita mountains, where he had grown
sulky after years of unsuccessful pros
pecting, knocked off work at noon, alb
sorbed about half a gallon of the jolly
juniper juice into his system, and Their
sportively shot the right ear from the
head of Chink keeper of feed shack.
After doing this Bill strolled out into
the middle Of the street-Durango then
being a one-street camp-and announced
that he couldn't abide any kind of a grub
Joint that didn't provide it's patrons
with stewed puff-adders, fricasseed ira
antulas and scorpions a la Sonora. add
ing that the same was the only kind of
1000 that he cared to eat when he felt
real good, as he happened to be feeling at
that moment
Which. If any red-headed runts
that thinks they're some few on gun.
breezin' wants t dispute Mr.. Nc.
Shane wound up, obviously referring
to Day Marshal Nat Aiken, we're I'm
a-perchin',' and he left the middle of
the road, leaned up in front of This Is
1t honkatonk, and, with his thumbs
tucked into his gun belt, blinked booz-
lily in the sunshine.
Presently a dray, hauled by a flea
bitten and lonesome-looking mule, and
driven by greaser smoking a corn
Bhuck cigarette, pulled alongside the
plank sidewalk in front of the honka-
tonk against which McShane was lean
Ing and glooming. A large square pine
box, of the sort that blankets for
western shipment used to packed in,
was the dray's load.
"McShane gaZed idly at the mule
and the dray and the box. He did not
observe that the top of the box was
missing. But when the blue steel muz.
zles Of two forty-fives, held by a pair
of freckled, hairy hands, appeared over
the edge of the box, and a red head,
uncovered by any hat, followed the
guns, bobbing up jumping jack-wise,
McShane suddenly became a heap OBJ
servant.