Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1906-01-10
CHAPTER VI.
MY Range Whelps Whimpering

where / painted Tor words, rocks where I
stumbled, holes where 1 begged down to
the hooks, crossroads where / curved
around lost At the best I'd a poor eye.
a lame tongue and heap big inclination
to lie down and quit; so I've done sure
fine to keep a-going. Ride me patient still,
for I'm near the beginning of the troubles
which picked up Jim, Curly and me. to
whirl us along like a hurricane afiare. Soon
we'll break gait from a limp to q trot,
from trot to canter. then from lope to
gallop
1 suppose had better explain some about
Grave City, and how 1T got to have such
a cheerful name. That was away back in
1878, when two prospectors, Ed Sehieffelin
and his brother, pulled out to explore the
desert down by the Mexican boundary. The
boys allowed they'd better take their cof-
fins along with them, because if they
missed being scalped by Apaches, or wiped
out by border ruft1ans, OF starved to
death. they would surely perish of thirst.
THE only thing you boys will find will be
your graves
Well. they called their discovery Grave
City, but it was one of the richest silver
mines on earth, and a city grew UP here
in the desert. For the first few years 1t
was most surely hot, full of artists paint
ing the town red. and shooting each other
up with quick gun. That was the time
of Mankiller Johnson, Curly Bill, Roosian
George, Brazelton of Tucson, the robber.
and a young gentleman aged twenty-five,
called Billy the Kid, who wiped out twenty
fellowcitizens and followed them rapid to
still warmer climate. When these gen
tlemen had shot each other for their coun-
try's good, and a great many more died
natural death by being lynched, the city
got more peaceful In the second year 1t
was burnt, and entirely rebuilt in a fort
night. The first large gambling joint was
called the "Sepulchre," the first weekly
paper was the Weekly Obituary, and in
the eighth year Mr.. Ryan built his hotel
the 'Mortuary.' That was in 1856, the
year of the Apache raids, when I went
with the new patrone to Holy Cross. Twelve
years l rode for Balshannon, then. Jim be-
ing in his eighteenth year, took charge as
foreman and major domo of that grand Old
ranch.
1t was the Fourth of July, 1900, before l
that youngster again. We gathered
at Grave City then to celebrate the birth
day of our great republic, and 1t does me
good every time to see our flag Old Glory
waving above the cities of freedom. The
Honorable Jim must needs run a mare or
his at the races, the same, as l told him,
being suitable meat to bait traps.
| made him an offer for that mare; ten
cents for her tail as a fly switch, a dollar
for her hide and a five-cent rim-ire cigar
If he would dispose of the other remains.
He raced her, lost one thousand dollars,
and came to me humble for the money to
pay his debts. / told him to burn his own
paws IN his own fire, and be content with
his own bowls.
They're debts of honor" says he.
Debts of dishonor, and you're the Dis
honorable James du Idiot. There's your
travelling pony been standing saddled all
day in the blazing heat without feed or
a drink. You call yourself a horsemanY'
Afterward we smoothed our fur and had
our supper together. Jim promised to be
good, go home, do his honest cowboy work
and look after the poor lone lady who was
dying by inches at Holy Cross.
Yet l was proud of that boy, keen, fierce,
stubborn a wild with the air
temper of a thoroughbred, and a laugh
which spoiled me for preaching. He was
smart, too, in a new shirt of white SILK,
a handkerchief round his neck striped
cream and rose color, Mexican trousers
OF yellow leather studded down the
seams with Jumps of turquoise stones IN
silver settings, big silver spurs, and on his
belt q slver-mounted AS Colt revolver.
I've got no earthly use for a boy who
slouches. AT supper. while preached, he
called me an old fool for caring when he
was bad Then he told me goodbye in
the dusk and set off his hundred mile
trail for Holy Cross.
I rode home thoughtful, and lay long
awake in my little dobe cabin at Las Sa-
linas, thinking about that boy, whose
mother was sick, and his father riding to
sure destruction, a gambler, drunkard,
hopeless, lost-the best friend l ever had
in the world. When I woke the faint light
of dawn shone through the cabin window
and frightened the saddles on the wall.
Something was touching my face, some
thing cold, so I grabbed it quick-a little
small hand Then heard Curly's low,
queer laugh. You Chalkeye!' he whisp-
cred.
He was sitting on the stool beside my
bunk dead weary, covered with dust from
the trail. Somehow the boy seemed to
have got smaller instead of growing up,
and he sure looked weak and delicate for
such a life as he led. Twenty years old?
He didn't seem fifteen. and yet he spoke
old-fashioned, heaps wise and experienced
'Whar you from?'' says I, yawning.
Speak low, and no questions" said Curly
in a hard voice, for on the range we never
ask a guest his name where he comes
rom, or which way he goes. When he
comes we don't need to tell him any well
come; when he goes we say, 'Adios!' for
he'll sure have need of an Almighty Father
"Chalkeye," says my wolf, 'are you
alone?'
Sure
NO boys over thar in yo' ram pasture?"
my riders is wolfing In Grave City, but
they'll stray back fore noon"
Hide me up in yo' barn fo' the day,
them
AN yo' horse, Curly?"
SAY you won him last night at guards.
Wen hide the saddle"
Have coffee frst?"
AZ surely WILL and kneeling stiff, weary
by the hearth, he began to make up a
fire.
There's a notice UP for you, Curly.
They're offering $1,000 dead or alive"
81 reckon.
"Chalkeye, did you ever know me to lie?"
None, Curly"
"Then you'll believe me. I wasn't there
when our wolves got that train. I've
never done no robberies, ever yet"
81 hope you never may.
Sometimes 1 hope So. too" He was
holding up his hands before the fire.
aHow's the patrone?' he asked, as he put
on the coffee pot to boil.
"C,oing down hill rapid He's mortgaged
Holy Cross to the last dollar"
whats his play?'
Faro and monte-you'H see him bucking
the game all night down at the Sepulchre.
He drinks hard now
Pore older chap, don't you know! And
the lady?"
padre sits with her
And the young chief2"
do you still hate him?
"Why should / care?"
Tell me on the dead-thieving Curly. you
do care some what happens to Holy Cross?
Don't you remember old Ryan inviting yo'
wolves to eat up the Hacienda"
They had stewed Ryan for breakfast
afterward, and he sure squealed!
yesterday l seen bar keep who be-
longs to Ryan go up against young Jim
and rob him of thousand dollars over a
sure thing horse race. Any day you'll see