9 WESTERNS: The Law of the Land, The Way of a Man, Heart's Desire, The Covered Wagon, 54-40 or Fight, The Man Next Door, The Magnificent Adventure, The Sagebrusher and more. Emerson Hough
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it," said Franklin, "if you go on horseback?"
"Kerry it!" said Curly contemptuously. "How'd you s'pose I'd kerry it? Why, in my hat, o' course!" and he rode off without deigning further explanation. Franklin remained curious regarding this episode until, an hour later, Curly rode up to the house again, carrying his hat by the brim, with both hands before him, and guiding his pony with his knees. He had, indeed, a large lump of white, soft clay, which he carried by denting in the crown of his hat and crowding the clay into the hollow. After throwing down the clay and slapping the hat a few times on his knee, he seemed to think his headgear not injured by this transaction.
"There's yer blamed clay," said he; "it'll be a good while before you need it, but there she is."
The two were joined at this juncture by Battersleigh, who had come over to pay a morning visit, and who now stood looking on with some interest at the preparations in progress.
"It's makin' ye a robe is it, Ned, me boy?" said he. "I'm bound it's a fine thing ye'll do. I'll give yer four dollars if ye'll do as much for me. Ye wouldn't be leavin' old Batty to sleep cold o' nights, now, wud ye, Ned?"
"Oh, go tan your own robes," said Franklin cheerfully. "I'm not in the wholesale line."
"You might git Juan to tan you all one or two," said Curly. "He kin tan ez good ez ary Injun ever was."
"But, by the way, Curly," said Franklin, "how is Juan this morning? We haven't heard from him for a day or two."
"Oh, him?" said Curly. "Why, he's all right. He's just been layin' 'round a little, like a dog that's been cut up some in a wolf fight, but he's all right now. Shoulder's about well, an' as fer the knife-cut, it never did amount to nothin' much. You can't hurt a Greaser much, not noways such a big one as Juan. But didn't he git action in that little difficulty o' his'n? You could a-broke the whole Cheyenne tribe, if you could a-got a-bettin' with 'em before that fight."
"Odds was a hundred to one against us, shure," said Battersleigh, seating himself in the doorway of the shack. "Ye may call the big boy loco, or whativer ye like, but it's grateful we may be to him. An' tell me, if ye can, why didn't the haythins pile in an' polish us all off, after their chief lost his number? No, they don't rush our works, but off they go trailin', as if 'twas themselves had the odds against 'em, och-honin' fit to set ye crazy, an' carryin' their dead, as if the loss o' one man ended the future o' the tribe. Faith, they might have — Ned, ye're never stretchin' that hide right."
"Them Cheyennes was plenty hot at us fer comin' in on their huntin' grounds," said Curly, "an' they shore had it in fer us. I don't think it was what their chief said to them that kep' them back from jumpin' us, ater the fight was over. It's a blame sight more likely that they got a sort o' notion in their heads that Juan was bad medicine. It they get it in their minds that a man is loco, an' pertected by spirits, an' that sort o' thing, they won't fight him, fer fear o' gettin' the worst of it. That's about why we got out of there, I reckon. They'd a-took our hosses an' our guns an' our meat, an' been blame apt not to a-fergot our hair, too, if they hadn't got the idee that Juan was too much fer 'em. I'll bet they won't come down in there again in a hundred years'"
"I felt sad for them," said Franklin soberly.
Curly smiled slowly. "Well, Cap," said he, "they's a heap o' things out in this here country that seems right hard till you git used to 'em. But what's the ust carin' 'bout a dead Injun here or there? They got to go, one at a time, or more in a bunch. But now, do you know what they just done with ole Mr. White Calf? Why, they taken him out along with 'em a ways, till they thought we was fur enough away from 'em, an' then they probably got a lot of poles tied up, or else found a tree, an' they planted him on top of a scaffold, like jerked beef, an' left him there fer to dry a-plenty, with all his war clothes on and his gun along with him. Else, if they couldn't git no good place like that, they likely taken him up on to a highish hill, er some rocky place, an' there they covered him up good an' deep with rocks, so'st the wolves wouldn't bother him any. They tell me them buryin' hills is great places fer their lookouts, an' sometimes their folks'll go up on top o' them hills and set there a few days, or maybe overnight, a-hopin' they'll dream something. They want to dream something that'll give 'em a better line on how to run off a whole cavvie-vard o' white men's hosses, next time they git a chanct."
"Ye're a d——d Philistine, Curly," said Battersleigh calmly.
"I'm sorry for them," repeated Franklin, thoughtfully, as he sat idly fingering the lump of clay that lay between his feet. "Just think, we are taking' away from these people everything in the world they had. They were happy as we are — happier, perhaps — and they had their little ambitions, the same as we have ours. We are driving them away from their old country, all over the West, until it is hard to see where they can get a foothold to call their own. We drive them and fight them and kill them, and then — well, then we forget them."
Curly had a certain sense of politeness, so he kept silence for a time. "Well," said he at length, "a Injun could tan hides better'n a white man kin — at least some white men."
"I'm not so sure of that," said Franklin, rousing and replying stoutly. "The white man wins by dodging the issue. Now, look you, the Indian squaw you tell me about would probably hack and hack away at this hide by main strength in getting the flesh off the inside. I am sure I shall do it better, because I shall study which way the muscles run, and so strip off the flesh along those lines, and not across them."
"I didn't know that made any difference," said Curly. "Besides, how kin you tell?"
"Well, now, maybe there are some things you don't know, after all, Curly," said Franklin. "For instance, can you tell me how many boss ribs there are in the hump of a buffalo?"
"Well, no — o," admitted Curly. "But what's the difference, so long ez
I know they're all good to eat ?"
"Plainly, a d——d Philistine," said Battersleigh again, striking a match for his pipe. "But I'm not sure but he had you there, Ned, me boy."
"I'll show you," said Franklin eagerly. "Here it is on the hide. The hump came to here. Here was the knee joint — you can see by the whirl in the muscles as plainly as you could by the curl in the hair there — you can see it under a wolf's leg, the same way; the hair follows the lines of the muscles, you know. Wait, I could almost make you a dummy out of the clay. Now, look here — "
"You're a funny sort o' a feller, Cap," said Curly, "but if you're goin' to tan that hide you'd better finish peggin' it out, an' git to work on it."
CHAPTER XIII PIE AND ETHICS
One morning Battersleigh was at work at his little table, engaged, as he later explained, upon the composition of a letter to the London Times, descriptive of the Agrarian Situation in the United States of America, when he was interrupted by a knock at his door.
"Come in, come in, Ned, me boy," he exclaimed, as he threw open the door and recognised his visitor. "What's the news this mornin'?"
"News?" said Franklin gaily, holding his hands behind his back. "I've news that you can't guess — good news."
"You don't mean to tell me they've moved the land office into Ellisville, do you, Ned?"
"Oh, no, better than that."
"You've not discovered gold on your quarter section, perchance?"
"Guess again — it's better than that."
"I'll give it up. But leave me a look at your hands."
"Yes," said Franklin, "I'll give you a look, and one more guess." He held up a small bag before Battersleigh's face.
"It's not potatoes, Ned?" said Battersleigh in an awed tone of voice.
Franklin laughed.
"No; better than that," he said.
"Ned," said Battersleigh, "do ye mind if I have a bit smell of