Bat Wing Bowles. Coolidge Dane
was the nigger's cue to come in.
"'Oww-wah!' he'd yell, shakin' his chain and tearin' around in his box, 'Ow-woo-wah!' And then he'd grab up them pore, sufferin' rattlesnakes and sech, and quile 'em around his neck, and snap his teeth like he was bitin' heads off – and me, I'd pop my whip and shoot off my pistol, and scare them fool people most to death.
"Well, that was the kind of an outfit it was, and one day when the nigger was quieted down between acts and playin' with a rag-doll we had give him in order to make him look simple-minded-like, a big, buck Injun from the Wild West Show come in with the bunch and looked at Go-Go kinder scary-like. You know – "
A noise of scuffling feet made the story-teller pause, and then the gang of card players came tumbling out of the bunk-house.
"Let's roast some ribs," said one.
"No, I want some bread and lick," answered another.
"What's the matter with aigs?" broke in a third.
"Say, you fellers shut up, will you?" shouted a man by the fire. "Old Brig's tellin' us a story!"
"Oh, git 'im a chin-strap," retorted the bull-voiced Buck. "I want some ribs!"
"Well, keep still, can't ye?" appealed the anxious listener; but silence was not on the cards. The chuck-box was broken open and ransacked for a butcher-knife; then as Buck went off to trim away the ribs of the cook's beef, Hardy Atkins and his friends made merry with the quiet company.
"Ridin' 'em again, are you, Brigham?" inquired Happy Jack with a grin.
"No, he's divin' off'n that hundred-foot pole!" observed Poker-faced Bill sardonically.
"And never been outside the Territory!" commented Hardy Atkins sotto voce.
Something about this last remark seemed to touch the loquacious Brigham, for he answered it with spirit:
"Well, that's more than some folks can say," he retorted. "I sure never run no hawse race with the sheriff out of Texas!"
"No, you pore, ignorant Jack Mormon," jeered Atkins; "and you never rode no circus hawse at Coney Island, neither. I've seen fellers that knowed yore kinfolks down on the river, and they swore to Gawd you never been outside of Arizona. More'n that, they said you was a worser liar than old Tom Pepper – and he got kicked out of hell fer lyin'."
A guffaw greeted this allusion to the fate of poor old Tom; but Brigham was not to be downed by comparisons.
"Yes," he drawled; "I heerd about Tom Pepper. I heerd say he was a Texican, and the only right smart one they was; and the people down there was so dog ignorant, everything he told 'em they thought it was a lie. Built up quite a reputation that way – like me, here. Seems like every time I tell these Arizona Texicans anything, they up and say I'm lyin'."
He ran his eye over his audience and, finding no one to combat him further, he lapsed into a mellow philosophy.
"Yes," he said, cocking his eye again at Bowles; "I'm an ignorant kind of a feller, and I don't deny it; but I ain't one of these men that won't believe a thing jest because I never seen it. Now, here's a gentleman here – I don't even know his name – but the chances are, if he's ever been to Coney, he'll tell you my stories is nothin'."
"How about that hundred-foot pole?" inquired Poker Bill, as Bowles bowed and blushed.
"Yes, sure!" agreed Brigham readily. "We'll take that one now and let it go fer the bunch. If that's true, they're all true, eh?"
"That's me!" observed Bill laconically.
"All right, then, stranger," continued Brigham. "We'll jest leave the matter with you, and if what I said ain't true I'll never open my head again. I was tellin' these pore, ignorant Texas cotton-pickers that back at Coney Island they was a feller that did high divin' – ever see anything like that? All right, then, this is what I told 'em. I told 'em this divin' sport had a pole a hundred foot high, with a tank of water at the bottom six foot deep and mebbe ten foot square, and when it come time he climbed up to the top and stood on a little platform, facin' backwards and lookin' into a pocket mirror. Then he begun to lean over backwards, and finally, when everything was set, he threw a flip-flap and hit that tank a dead center without hurtin' himself a bit. Now, how about it – is that a lie?"
He looked up at Bowles with a steady gaze; and that gentleman did not fail him.
"Why, no," he said; "really, I see no reason to doubt what you say. Of course, I haven't been to Coney Island recently, but such events are quite a common occurrence there."
"Now, you see?" inquired Brigham triumphantly. "This gentleman has been around a little. Back at Coney them stunts is nothin'! They don't even charge admission."
"But how can that feller hit the water every time?" argued Bill the doubter, pressing forward to fight the matter out.
"Don't make no difference how he does it," answered Brigham; "that's his business. If people knowed how he done it, they wouldn't come to see 'im no more. By jicks, I'd jest like to take some of you fellers back to New York and show you some of the real sights. I ain't hardly dared to open my mouth since I took on with this ignorant outfit, but now that I got a gentleman here that's been around a little I may loosen up and tell you a few things."
"Oh, my Joe!" groaned Hardy Atkins, making a motion like fanning bees from his ears. "Hear the doggone Mormon talk – and never been outer the Territory! Been pitchin' hay and drinkin' ditch-water down on the Gila all his life and – "
"That's all right," retorted Brigham stoutly; "I reckon – "
"Well, git out of the way!" shouted the voice of Buck. "And throw down that frame so I can roast these ribs!"
That ended the controversy for the time, but before the ribs were cooked Brigham edged in another story – and he proved it by Mr. Bowles. It was a trifle improbable, perhaps, but Bowles was getting the spirit of the Great West and he vouched for it in every particular. Then when the ribs were done he cut some of the scorched meat from the bones, and ate it half-raw with a pinch of salt, for he was determined to be a true sport. Buck and Brigham devoured from one to two pounds apiece and gnawed on the bones like dogs; but Mr. Bowles was more moderate in his desires. What he really longed for was a bed or a place to sleep; but the gentleman who had coached him on cowboy life – and sold him his fancy outfit – had not mentioned the sleeping accommodations, and Bowles was too polite to inquire. So he hung around until the last story was told, and followed the gang back to the bunk-house.
Each man went to his big blanket roll and spread it out for the night without a single glance at the suppliant, for a cowboy hates to share his bed; but as they were taking off their boots Brigham Clark spoke up.
"Ain't you got no bed, stranger?" he inquired; and when Bowles shook his head he looked at Hardy Atkins, who as bronco-twister and top-hand held the job of straw-boss. A silence fell and Bowles glanced about uneasily.
"There's a bed over there in the saddle-room," observed Atkins, with a peculiar smile.
A startled look went around the room, and then Buck came in on the play.
"Yes," he said, "that feller ain't here now."
"Oh, thank you," began Bowles, starting toward it; but he was halted in his tracks by a savage oath from Brigham.
"Here!" he ordered. "You come and sleep with me – that's Dunbar's bed!"
"Dunbar's!" exclaimed Bowles with a gasp. "Ah, I see!" And with a secret shudder he turned away from the dead man's bed and crept in next to Brigham.
CHAPTER V
WA-HA-LOTE
The cowboy's day begins early, no matter how he spends his night. It was four o'clock in the morning and Bowles was dead with sleep when suddenly the light of a lantern was thrown in his eyes and he heard the cook's voice rousing up the horse wranglers.
"Wranglers!" he rasped, shaking Brigham by the shoulder. "Git up, Brig; it's almost day!"
"All right, Gus!" answered Brigham, cuddling down for another nap; but Gloomy Gus had awakened too many generations of cowboys to be deceived by