Louisiana Lou Part 9

With sure instinct for the old things, if they still existed, he hunted up a "livery and feed barn." He found one on a side street, near a lumber yard and not far from the loading chutes which spoke of a considerable traffic in beef cattle. He noted with bitterness a cheap automobile standing in front of the place.

But there were horses in the stalls, horses that lolled on a dropped hip, with heads down and eyes closed. There were heavy roping saddles hanging on the pegs, and bridles with ear loops and no throat latches.

If the proprietor, one MacGregor, wore a necktie and a cloth cap, he forgave him for the sake of the open waistcoat and the lack of an outer coat.

MacGregor was an incident of little importance. One of more consequence was a good horse that roamed the open feed yard at the side of the barn. De Launay, seedy and disreputable, still had a look about him that spoke of certain long dead days, and MacGregor, when he was asked about the horse, made no mistake in concluding that he had to deal with one who knew what he was about.

The horse was MacGregor's, taken to satisfy a debt, and he would sell it. The upshot of the affair was that De Launay bought it at a fair price. This took time, and when he finally came out again to the front of the barn it was late afternoon.

Squatted against the wall, their high heels planted under them on the sloping boards of the runway, sat two men. Wide, flapping hats shaded their faces. They wore no coats, although the November evenings were cool and their waistcoats hung open. Overalls of blue denim, turned up at the bottoms in wide cuffs, hid all but feet and wrinkled ankles of their boots which were grooved with s.h.i.+ny semicircles around the heels, where spurs had dented them.

One of them was as tall as De Launay, gaunt and hatchet faced. His hair was yellowish, mottled with patches of grayish green.

The other was st.u.r.dy, shorter, with curly, brown hair.

The tall one was humming a tune. De Launay recognized it with a shock of recollection. "Roll on, my little doggy!"

Without a word he sat down also, in a duplicate of their pose. No one spoke for several minutes.

Then, the shorter man said, casually, addressing his remarks to n.o.body in particular.

"They's sure a lotta fresh pilgrims done hit this here town."

The tall one echoed an equally casual chorus.

"They don't teach no sort of manners to them down-East hobos, neither."

De Launay stared impa.s.sively at the road in front of them.

"You'd think some of them'd sense it that a gent has got a right to be private when he wants to be."

"It's a ---- of a town, nohow."

"People even run around smellin' of liquor--which is plumb illegal, Sucatash."

"Which there are some that are that debased they even thrives on wood alcohol, Dave."

Silence settled down on them once more. It was broken this time by De Launay, who spoke as impersonally as they.

"They had real cow hands hereaways, once."

A late and sluggish fly buzzed in the silence.

"I reckon the sheep eat 'em outa range and they done moved down to Arizona."

The gaunt Sucatash murmured sadly:

"Them pilgrims is sure smart on g'ography an' history."

"An' sheep--especially," said the one called Dave.

"_Ca ne fait rien!_" said De Launay, p.r.o.nouncing it almost like "sinferien" as he had heard the linguists of the A. E. F. do. The two men slowly turned their heads and looked at him apparently aware of his existence for the first time.

Like MacGregor, they evidently saw something beneath his habiliments, though the small mustache puzzled them.

"You-all been to France?" asked Dave. De Launay did not answer direct.

"There was some reputed bronk peelers nursin' mules overseas," he mused. "Their daddies would sure have been mortified to see 'em."

"We didn't dry nurse no mules, pilgrim," said Sucatash. "When did you lick Hindenburg?"

De Launay condescended to notice them. "In the battle of _vin rouge_,"

he said. "I reckon you-all musta won a round or two with the _vin_ sisters, yourselves."

"You're sure a-sayin' something, old-timer," said Dave, with emotion.

For the first time he saw the rosette in De Launay's b.u.t.tonhole. "You done a little more'n cafe fightin' though, to get that?"

De Launay shrugged his shoulders. "They give those for entertainin' a politician," he answered. "Any cow hands out of a job around here?"

Both of the men chuckled. "You aimin' to hire any riders?"

"I could use a couple to wrangle pilgrims in the Esmeraldas. More exactly, there's a lady, aimin' to head into the mountains and she'll need a couple of packers."

"This lady don't seem to have no respect for snow and blizzards, none whatever," was the comment.

"Which she hasn't, bein' troubled with notions about gold mines and such things. She needs taking care of."

"Ridin' the Esmeraldas this time o' year and doin' ch.o.r.es for Pop all winter strikes me as bein' about a toss-up," said the man called Sucatash. "I reckon it's a certainty that Pop requires considerable labor, though, and maybe this demented lady won't. If the wages is liberal----"

"We ought to see the lady, first," said Dave. "There's some lady pilgrims that couldn't hire me with di'monds."

"The pay's all right and the lady's all right. She's French."

"A mad'mo'selle?" they echoed.

"It's a long story," said De Launay, smiling. "You'd better see her and talk it over. Meantime, this prohibition is some burdensome."

"Which it ain't the happiest inc.u.mbrance of the world," agreed Sucatash. "They do say that the right kind of a hint will work at the Empire Pool Rooms."

"If they have it, we'll get it," a.s.serted De Launay, confidently.

"You-all point the way."

The three of them rose by the simple process of straightening their legs at the knees, and walked away.

CHAPTER VII

MAID MARIAN GROWN UP