Curly Part 23

"I could not be so well content, So sure of thee, Senorita, Lolita; But well I know thou must relent And come to me, Lolita!"

Jim set to work to finish his hole in the wall, prying out the 'dobe bricks with his crowbar, and he sure wrought furious, timing his strokes to the clapping hands, the guitar, and the swinging chorus--

"The caballeros throng to see Thy laughing face, Senorita, Lolita; But well I know thy heart's for me, Thy charm, thy grace, Lolita!

"I ride the range for thy dear sake, To earn thee gold, Senorita, Lolita; And steal the gringo's cows to make A ranche to hold Lolita!"

The cactus liquor was getting in its work, the guardroom crowded up all it would hold of soldiers, _vaqueros_, customs men, travellers; then there was dancing, singing, gambling, squabbling, all the row which belongs to a general drunk. Curly was fretted up to high fever, riding herd on a bunch of dream cows, and Jim was pouring in his strength on the 'dobe bricks. At two in the morning the Frontier Guards began to make war talk, wanting to turn the prisoners loose, with a prize for the soldier who got first kill with a gun. On that the Holy Cross _vaqueros_ proposed to rescue their young patrone, and wipe out the Frontier Guards. There was considerable rough house with knife and gun, until the guards subdued the _vaqueros_, jumped on their heads, and herded them into No. 2 cell as prisoners of war. The _vaqueros_ were just moaning for blood, the Guards turned loose to celebrate their victory with more drinks, and while the row was enough to drown artillery, Jim's crowbar drove a brick which fell outside the wall. Now he had only to pry 'dobes loose one by one until the hole was big enough to let out prisoners. Sometimes he had to quit and hold his breath while the sentry came reeling past along his beat. Once he had to play dead, because a drunken sergeant rolled into the cell to give him a drink of _meseal_. The sergeant called him brother, hugged him, kissed him, cried, and went away. At three o'clock Jim crawled out through the hole with his crowbar, lay for the sentry, jumped up behind, clubbed him, and got the rifle. Then he dragged Mr. Sentry into the cell, wrapped him in Curly's blanket, and made up a dummy to look like himself in case the sergeant of the guard should remember to call again.

"Curly," he shook his partner out of sleep. "Curly, the spring time is coming--it's time for little bears to come out of hole."

"Yo' gawn all foolish," says Curly, "callin' me a bear. I done forget who I am, but I'm too sure sick to be a bear."

"Let's play bear," says Jim, mighty shy; "I'll bet you I'm first through this hole!"

The guardroom had gone quiet, the men there being just sober enough not to fall off the floor, but the sergeant was droning with the guitar, sobbing out the tail end of the old Lolita song--

"I ride the range for thy dear sake, To win thee gold, S'rita, Lolita, To steal the gringo's cow-ow-ow----"

Curly was first out through the hole, chasing dream bears. "The wind's in the west," she said, looking at the big stars above.

"Crawl up the wind," Jim whispered. "We want our horses; where are they?"

Curly sat up snuffing at the wind, then pointed. "The hawss smell's thar," she said, "but there's a scent of pony-soldiers too--many soldiers."

Jim trailed over cat-foot to the stable and looked in through the door.

A lantern hung in the place, and some of the Frontier Guards sat round a box on the hay gambling earnest. If he went off to a distance, and handed out a few shots to draw the guard away searching, he reckoned there might be time to sneak round and steal a horse before they began to stray back. But then there was Curly all delirious with fever, and whimpering small wolf calls, so that every dog in the place had started to bark. The wolf calls had to be stopped, and a new dream started which would keep the little partner good and silent. That is why Jim took a handful of dust which he said was salt.

"Come along, Curly," he whispered, "we're going to stalk the buffalo; to still hunt the buffalo; we must be fearfully quiet, or we'll never put the salt on their tails. Don't you see?"

"But the buffalo's all gawn extinct!"

"Oh, that's all right; it's not their fault, poor things. Come on, and we'll salt their tails."

"I'm sort of tired," says Curly right out loud, and Jim went cold with fright. He could hear the soldiers squabbling over their game not fifty feet away, then the sound of somebody's footsteps rambling over from the guard-house. A soldier staggered drunk within two yards of him, and rolled in at the stable door.

"Come on, old chap," Jim whispered; "I'm your horse, so climb on my back, and we'll travel."

So he put the little partner on his back, and staggered away into the desert. He had one cartridge in the gun, no water, only the stars to guide him, and at sunrise the Frontier Guards would see his tracks.

There was no hope.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE WHITE STAR

As soon as Captain McCalmont was clear of the city I meandered in a casual way around the saloons, taking a drink here, a cigar there, pa.s.sing the word for a meeting of cowboys only. They were to ride out by twos and threes for home in the usual way, but the time for the meeting was sunset, and the place a slope of hillside beyond Balshannon's grave.

There we gathered to the number of thirty head, and Mutiny rode into the bunch to cut out any strangers who might have strayed with the herd.

There being no strays, I spoke--

"Boys, you-all knows who was buried here on the hilltop. He was my friend, and a sure friend of all range men." Some of the boys uncovered, one called--

"Spit it out, ole Chalkeye! When you starts up yo' church, rent me a stall!"

"I'll hire yo' ruddy scalp," says I, "instead of lamps. Wall, boys, these town toughs has shot out El Senor Don, and they're proposing to play their pure fountain of law on two more of our tribe, the same being young Jim his son, and little Curly McCalmont."

"Say, Chalkeye, when do you get yo' dividends from Messrs. Robbers, Roost, and Co.?"

"Why, Buck, it's on them days when I trusts you with loans of money."

The crowd knew Buck's habit of not paying his debts, and proposed to divide up his s.h.i.+rt and pants if he got too obvious with remarks.

"Boys," I went on, "we been letting these town citizens get too much happy and animated, throwing dirt in our face. Why, here's down east newspapers sobbing obituary notices over the poor cowboy species departed. Seems that we-all, and the mammoth, and the dodo, and the bison is numbered with the past, and our bones is used to manure the crops of the industrious farmer. Does that splash you?

"Dear departed, I appeals to you most sorrowful--ain't it time to show signs of being alive? Not being a worker of miracles, I don't aim to corrupt yo' morals, I ain't proposing to obliterate the town which provides us with our liquor and groceries, I ain't a party to acts of violence; but I do propose that we just whirl in to-night and rescue them po' kids at La Morita. Of course, in busting the calaboose we may have to shoot up a few Mexicans--but it does them good to be taken serious at times, and they'd sure hate to be ignored while we stole their captives."

Mutiny called out, "Say, now you've got yo' tail up, you ain't forgetting to talk."

And on that the boys got riotous--"Rair up some more, ole Chalkeye; let's see you paw the moon!"

"You tell the lies, we'll stick to 'em!"

"Who stole Ryan's cows, eh, Chalkeye?"

"Let the old horse-thief turn his wolf loose! Ki-yi-yeou-ou-ou!"

"Loo-loo-loo-Yip! Yow!"

"Girls," says I, "you're gettin' plenty obstreperous. Come on--let's roll our tails for old Mexico!"

The boys came yelping, and we trotted the night through, throwing the miles behind us.

At three o'clock, to judge by the stars of Orion, we rested our ponies near the boundary, at the streak of dawn loped on, and just as the day broke hurricaned in a gun-blaze down on La Morita.

I regret to state for your information that the Mexican Frontier Guards were too sleepy to play up their side of the game, but surrendered abject before they had time to get hurt. Moreover, our youngsters had vamoosed through a hole in the wall. So there were no captives to liberate, except four measly _vaqueros_, which gave us a red-hot cussing at being waked too early for coffee time. We had a sickening miserable picnic, a waste of sweat and oratory.

Slow and solemn we gaoled up those soldiers in the calaboose, and mounted the sulky _vaqueros_ for a guard to hold them, feeling all the time like a batch of widows.

In the stable I found Curly's buckskin mare and my fool horse Jones, the pair of which I took when we started for home. As to Jim and Curly, we held a council smoke, debating on their fate. The crowd agreed that these kids had been my pupils, and would be sure horse-thieves naturally. I felt they had gone afoot, but scouting around, I failed to find their sign. There was a track of a man with cowboy heels, going east, but it seemed to wiggle drunk. I never thought of Jim rolling along as he did with Curly on his back, but searched for the tracks of the pair running side by side. If I had only been a better scout I might have understood the lone track, and followed with horses to mount my youngsters for flight. We could have made an easy escape from the country, ending all our troubles--but I was a fool.

So soon as my tribe pulled out for home I knew that the Frontier Guards would be loose at once like burned-out hornets. To linger in their way would be unhealthy, and I had no tracks to follow anyway. So I pulled out with the rest, taking all guns and horses, leaving the Guards disarmed and afoot lest they should try to act warlike. Further north the guns were thrown away, except some retained as mementos, and we used the Mexican herd of ponies to cover our tracks where we scattered.

This episode is alluded to by the foolish cowboys as "Chalkeye's victory--all talk and run."

A couple of miles to the eastward of La Morita Jim found that his little partner weighed a ton. After working all night, and struggling to the limit of his strength, he could go no further. The day was breaking; to move by daylight meant an extra risk of being seen, and there was nothing to be gained by travelling. So he staggered to the nearest hilltop, found a good look-out point, then smashed up some local rattlesnakes, and laid Curly to rest under a sheltering rock. From there he watched what the _Weekly Obituary_ described as "an infamous outrage, perpetrated at La Morita by a gang of cowardly ruffians." Not that Jim was shocked--indeed, I reckon the lad put up signs of depraved joy. He said to the little partner--