in the old golden days, gunshot wounds were never over-soberly regarded by dodge. mr. kelly, being creased by rattlesnake sanders and discovering that the bullet had done no more than just bore its sullen way through the muscular portion of his shoulder, came to look upon the incident as trivial, and nothing beyond a technical violation of his rights. he gave his word to that effect; and when rattlesnake—in seclusion on bear creek—was made aware of that word, he returned to the ranges along the white woman, and re-began a cowboy existence where his flight had broken it off. mr. kelly’s forbearance was approved by the public, the more readily since dodge in the catholicity of its justice believed in punishing folk, not for what they did but for what they were, and rattlesnake was an estimable youth.

this tolerant breadth was wholly of the olden day, and has not come down to modern men. dodge now lies writhing beneath the wheel of eastern convention. starched shirts have crept in, derby hats have done their worst, and that frank fraternalism, so brightly a virtue of the heretofore, has disappeared. to-day the sound of a six-shooter in the timid streets of dodge would produce a shock, and whatever gentleman was behind that alarming artillery meet the fate which would encounter him under similar explosive conditions in philadelphia.

california is the proprietor of a past, and in moments of sentiment croons of:

the days of old,

the days of gold,

the days of forty-nine.

dodge also owns a day-that-was. its memory appeals often and fondly to an hour when no one asked a stranger’s name, but politely reduced curiosity to a cautious “what may i call you?” the stranger might have been “bill jones” in the faraway, forgotten east. he could now become “jack robinson”; and if his case presented any personal argument favourable to such change, the liberality of dodge not alone permitted but invited that amendment. the stranger’s life for dodge commenced with his advent in its friendly midst and went no further back. his past, with all that to him appertained, had fallen from him as fall the fetters from the bond slave when once he sets foot upon the sacred soil of england. dodge refused to be involved in any question of what that stranger had done, or who he was. it received him, trusted him, watched him, and when popular judgment concerning him had ripened, it either applauded or lynched him as circumstances seemed most to invite.

it is good to shut one’s eyes and ruminate upon a past. the old days are ever golden, and for those of dodge this should be their portrait. what might the heart of the stranger desire that they do not offer him? if he be a-weary, there is the wright house whereat he may repose himself. does he crave relaxation, there is mr. peacock’s dance hall, called sometimes the bird cage, where to the lively observations of the fiddle he shall loosen the boards of the floor until refreshed. at all hours of the night the master of ceremonies is to be heard above the subdued muttering of exuberant feet:

“ally man left—all sasshay! balance to yer podners—all hands ’round! grand right an’ left—dozy do! chaat ’n’ swing—right arm to yer podner! all prom’nade to the bar!”

if mere trade be the stranger’s purpose, where is that emporium superior to mr. wright’s? should the appetite of speculation seize him, is there not the alamo, the alhambra and the long branch? from those latter clapboard palaces of chance, where fortune holds unflagging court, comes the inviting soft flutter of chips, punctuated by such terse announcements from roulette wheel and faro table as “all’s set an’ th’ ball’s rollin’!” or “ace lose, trey win!” now and again a hush descends while through the blue tobacco smoke two sisters of charity—looking with their white faces and black hoods like pale pictures set in jet—make the silent round of the games, seeking aid for their hospital in santa fé. each courtier of fortune cashes a handful of chips, and passes the proceeds to them over his shoulder; knowing that should sickness lay skeleton hand upon him he will be welcome at their merciful gates.

if the stranger be not only strange but tender—having just made his appearance, possibly, on some belated “buckboard” from the south, where he has been touring the panhandle or ransacking the ranges with thoughts of buying a ranch—the all-night whirl of dodge excites his wonder. in such round-eyed case, he sets forth at four o’clock in the morning his amazement to mr. short.

“aren’t you open rather late?” mildly observes the tender stranger.

“it is rather late,” responds mr. short, with an eye of tolerant cynicism, “it is rather late for night before last, but it’s jest th’ shank of th’ evenin’ for to-night.”

the tender stranger makes no response, for his faculties have become engaged upon an ebullient cowboy who, with unsteady step, swings in through the long branch’s open door, spurs a-jingle, wide hat set at an arrogant slant.

“i’m palo duro pete,” the invader remarks. “which blood’s my colour, gents, an’ i kin whip my weight in wolves!”

the strain on the tender stranger’s nerves is redeemed by mr. short, who languidly fells palo duro pete with his six-shooter. the strain gains additional relief when palo duro picks himself up with a gratified air, and says:

“gents, this is shorely the sociablest crowd i’ve crossed up with as yet. let’s libate!”

in a daze of admiration the tender stranger “libates” with palo duro, while mr. short makes a careless third. mr. short suggests cigars at the expense of the long branch, and palo duro, after lighting one, goes jingling out into the night to continue his happy exploits at the alamo or the alhambra.

those old days are golden days! true, a centipede now and then makes a promenade of one’s slumbering countenance; or a stinging lizard employs his sting upon one with all of the burning first effects that attend being shot with a colt’s-45; or some sleepy rattlesnake insinuates himself into one’s unbidden blankets, having a plan to bunk in with one and a settled resolve to give battle if refused an honest half of the bed. but these adventures overtake one only in hottest summer weather, and this seasonal fact so narrows interest that dodge seldom wears them on its mind.

in those old golden days dodge is a democracy. caste does not occur; no hill, no hollow of human inequality ruffles the bland surface of the body politic. there is but one aristocracy and that is the aristocracy of courage, but one title of nobility and that the name of “a square man.”

and dodge can exercise forbearance. your cowboy, uplifted of old jordan, may ride his pony through the streets and spur it to the pace of meteors. but he must not ride it upon the sidewalks, for that would mean insult to the dignity and defiance of the power of dodge. he may freely empty his midnight pistol, so that he empty it at the moon. but he must not enfilade the causeways or turn its muzzle upon any house of entertainment, however much the latter has offended. in brief, he may wax either vigorous or vociferous to what pitch best suits his fancy, saving this that his vigours and vociferations must not be transacted at the public’s expense. dodge, too, takes cognisance of an impulse and construes a motive. when palo duro pete, from his seat in the dodge opera house, arises in a torrent of tears, pulls his six-shooter and slams away at miss witherspoon, while that cantatrice is singing “home, sweet home,” dodge wholly understands the sobbing, shooting palo duro. had he ridden away on another’s pony, or sought to shift the title to a mule by heating a running iron and changing its brand, dodge would not have attributed the act to any excess of emotion. it would have recognised a crime, and dealt coldly with palo duro as with a criminal taken in the felon fact. on the opera house occasion, however, it is plain that palo duro has opened upon miss witherspoon in on ecstasy of admiration. the shot is in its way a compliment, and meant for the exaltation of that celebrated soprano. the weeping palo duro is moved, not of murderous impulse, but a spirit of adoration that can only explain itself with a gun. dodge knows this. dodge feels it, admits it; and since palo duro works no harm with his testimonial, dodge believes it has fully corrected him when it drags him from the theatre, and “buffaloes” him into a more week-a-day and less gala frame of mind.

while dodge is capable of toleration, it can also draw the line. when mr. webster accepts a customer’s wooden leg as security for drinks, and sets the pledge behind the alamo bar, it does much to endanger his standing. mr. webster averts a scandal only by returning the wooden leg; and at that cimarron bill has already given his opinion.

“any gent,” observes cimarron bill, “who’ll let a party hock personal fragments of himse’f that a-way for licker, is onfit to drink with a nigger or eat with a dog,” and dodge in the silence with which it receives this announcement, is held by many as echoing the sentiment expressed.

those old days be golden days, and the good citizenry of dodge are at their generous best. and this is the rule of conduct: should you go broke, everybody comes to your rescue; should you marry, everybody rejoices at the wedding; should a child be born unto you to call you “father,” everybody drinks with you; should you fall ill, everybody sits up with you; should you die, everybody comes to the funeral—that is, everybody who is out of jail.

rattlesnake sanders, forgiven by mr. kelly and restored to his rightful art of cows as theretofore practiced by him along the white woman, had frequent flour, bacon, and saleratus reason to visit dodge. being in dodge, he dined, supped and breakfasted at the wright house, and it was at that place of regale he met miss barndollar. the young lady was a waitress, and her intimates called her “calamity carry” for the crockery that she broke. her comings in and going out were marked of many a crash, as a consignment of dishes went grandly to the floor. but help was sparse and hard to get, and the wright house management overlooked these mishaps, hoping that miss barndollar, when she had enlarged her experience, would be capable of better things.

on the day that rattlesnake sanders first beheld miss barndollar, he came into the dining-room of the wright house seeking recuperation from the fatigues of a 60-mile ride. when he had drawn his chair to the table, and disposed of his feet so that the spurs which graced his heels did not mutually interfere, miss barndollar came and stood at his shoulder.

“roast beef, b’iled buffalo tongue, plover potpie, fried antelope steak, an’ baked salt hoss an’ beans,” observed miss barndollar in a dreamy sing-song. the wright house did not print its menu, and the bill of fare was rehearsed by the waitresses to the wayfarer within its walls.

at the sound of miss barndollar’s voice, rattlesnake sanders looked up. he made no other response, but seemed to drift away in visions born of a contemplation of the graces of miss barndollar.

this last was the more odd since miss barndollar, in looks, was astray from any picture of loveliness. perhaps cimarron bill when later he discussed with mr. short the loves of miss barndollar and rattlesnake sanders, fairly set forth the state of affairs.

“which of course,” remarked cimarron bill, gallantly cautious, “thar was never the lady born i’d call ugly; but speakin’ of this calamity carry, i’m driven to remark that she has a disadvantageous face.”

with rattlesnake sanders it was the old, old story of love at first sight. his ideals were not those of the critical cimarron bill, and he beheld with different eyes. in those high cheekbones, irregular nose, wide mouth, and freckled face he discovered charms. miss barndollar to the besotted rattlesnake was a lamp of beauty. the smitten one forgot his hunger, forgot the list of edibles that miss barndollar had told off, and sat tongue-tied.

life is replete of such dulcet mysteries—the mystery of miss barndollar’s ugliness and rattlesnake sander’s instant love. it was such to inspire the late farmer philosopher and almanac maker when he musingly related the paradox:

“they do say love is blind, but i’m dinged if some fellers can’t see more in their gals than i can.”

miss barndollar, waiting to be instructed as to the appetite of rattlesnake sanders, grew impatient with his rapt staring. she repeated her announcement:

“roast beef, b’iled buffalo tongue, plover potpie, fried antelope steak, an’ baked salt hoss an’ beans!”

sixty seconds later, the fatuous rattlesnake still silently staring, miss barndollar broke a bread-plate on his head and went her way.

it was like clenching the driven nail—that bread-plate episode. the jolt to his faculties crystallised the love in rattlesnake which before had been in solution, and he became miss barndollar’s slave.

and yet it is no more than justice to the lady to explain that her bread-plate descent upon the spellbound rattlesnake was the fruit of a misunderstanding. being unaware of what soft sentiments she had inspired, miss barndollar conceived his glances to have been bestowed upon her in mockery. this was shown when she passed the cashier as she swept from the room.

“what was the trouble, calamity?” asked the cashier, who had witnessed miss barndollar’s reproof, without knowing its cause. “what did that jayhawker do?”

“which he stared at me,” replied the outraged miss barndollar. “i’ll teach sech horned toads that if my face is freckled, i’m a lady all the same.”

when and where and how the headlong rattlesnake found time and place to woo miss barndollar went unexplained to dodge. its earliest news was when the whisper leaped from lip to lip that miss barndollar and rattlesnake were to wed.

“is that so, rattlesnake?” asked mr. short, referring to the event as promised by gossip. “is it straight? you’ll excuse me, rattlesnake, if i adds that i hopes an’ trusts it is. dodge wouldn’t stand no triflin’ with the ontried heart of calamity, an’ if you-all is simply flirtin’ with the affections of that pore girl i wouldn’t fill your moccasins for a small clay farm.”

“flirtin’,” retorted the scandalised rattlesnake. “luke, you insults me! calamity an’ me is goin’ to hook up followin’ the spring round-up.”

after making this declaration, rattlesnake, in a kind of ecstatic hysteria at the glowing future before him, withdrew to a corner of the long branch and lapsed into a dance which had its rise with the cheyennes, and was known among its copper coloured authors as the love dance of the catamounts.

while rattlesnake sanders was thus relieving his soul, cimarron bill, who was present, regarded his mad doings with a dubious brow.

“that rattlesnake person’s locoed!” said cimarron, turning sadly to mr. short. “i can’t read signal smokes an’ don’t know the meanin’ of signs if that maverick don’t wind up in a crazy house, cuttin’ paper dolls.” “he ain’t locoed,” explained mr. short, with a confidence born of experiences that went beyond those of cimarron bill. “that rattlesnake boy’s in love. they allers ghost-dance an’ go pirootin’ ’round eediotic that a-way.”

cimarron bill was not convinced, and took later opportunity to say as much to mr. masterson. he urged that the nuptials threatened by miss barndollar and rattlesnake sanders be suppressed. cimarron insisted that as sheriff of ford it was mr. masterson’s business to interfere.

“which the way i regyards these proceedin’s,” explained cimarron, “they’re a menace to the peace of dodge. them two people’ll fight worse’n mcbride an’ bridget did. you ought to stop ’em, bat.”

“how’d you stop ’em?” returned mr. masterson. “you can stop folks shooting one another, but you can no more stop ’em marryin’ one another than you can stop a cyclone.”

“just the same,” said cimarron, stubbornly, “it’s your dooty to try.”

this conversation took place in the door of mr. kelly’s alhambra. while mr. masterson and the gloomy cimarron were talking, miss barndollar and rattlesnake sanders came down the street. as the pair arrived opposite mr. masterson and cimarron, the infatuated rattlesnake jocosely placed his arm about miss barndollar’s waist. whereupon that virgin coyly bestowed upon rattlesnake a resounding blow.

“i’ll teach ye!” cried miss barndollar, meanwhile giving rattlesnake an arch look, “i’ll teach ye whose waist you’re tamperin’ with! i’ll nacherally swat ye ev’ry time y’ do it.”

“ain’t she got sperit!” exclaimed rattlesnake, winking a blissful eye at mr. masterson. “thar’s nothin’ texas about her! she’s due to grade as cornfed, my calamity is, or i’m a shorthorn!”

the happy pair continued onward to mr. wright’s store and set about pricing pots and kettles and what other bric-à-brac may become the basis of a primitive housekeeping.

“thar!” said cimarron bill, decisively. “you can now tell how that eediot rattlesnake ain’t cap’ble of se’f-protection. it’s not only ag’in your oaths of office, but it’s inhooman not to interfere. before them two has been married a week, that calamity girl’ll t’ar into pore rattlesnake with her ten nails an’ make saddlestrings of him.”

“that’s your view, cimarron,” retorted mr. masterson. “now to my mind rattlesnake and calamity’ll get along as peaceful as two pups in a basket. besides, speaking of public interest, do you know how many inhabitants dodge has lost during the official year?”

“no,” said cimarron bill, “i don’t. but whatever has that got to do with calamity ropin’ up this yere innocent rattlesnake?”

“there were seven to get bumped off,” continued mr. masterson, disregarding the question, “exclusive of mcbride’s bridget. seven; and i don’t count mexicans and non-resident cowboys who came in with the herds and expired in the natural course of festivals which they, themselves, inaugurated. seven! that’s knocking a hole in dodge’s census.”

“but why,” protested the honest cimarron, “should you-all punish rattlesnake for that? he don’t down any of them seven. he’s pulled his gun jest once this year, an’ then he only busts the crust on kell, an’ no harm done.”

“no harm!” interjected mr. masterson, severely.

“whatever was the harm?” retorted the obstinate cimarron. “kell’s inside thar runnin’ his joint, ain’t he? besides the fault was kell’s. rattlesnake rings in a cold hand on kell, as a gent every now an’ then will, an’ kell taunts him about it. if kell’s goin’ to comment on a cold hand he’d ought to do it with his six-shooter. to go tantalisin’ rattlesnake about it with his mouth that a-way, makes what i calls a case of crim’nal carelessness, an’ leaves kell responsible. but whether it does or not, why rooin rattlesnake’s life with this calamity lady because of them other seven? thar’s neither jestice nor reason in it.”

“cimarron,” replied mr. masterson, disgustedly, “you’re forever roping at the wrong steer. there’s no ruin in the business. this is the idea: we lose seven. now when rattlesnake and calamity are married, they may do something to repair our loss. if they were to jump in and have seven children, that would make it an even break, wouldn’t it?”

“still,” contended cimarron bill, “i don’t see why the losses of dodge should be saddled onto rattlesnake. it ain’t right to heap burdens on him that, properly regyarded, belongs to the commoonity.”

“well,” observed mr. masterson, turning on his heel for a stroll down the street, “i won’t dispute all day with you. rattlesnake’s of full age, free, and half white, and if he wants to wed calamity it’s his american privilege.”

“which you could say the same,” returned cimarron bill, “if rattlesnake was aimin’ at sooicide.”

it is to be supposed that miss barndollar and rattlesnake sanders would have drifted quietly and uneventfully to the altar had it not been for the intervention of an accident. rattlesnake was aiding mr. trask in cutting out a particular mule from the bunch in his corrals. his pony, slipping with its unshod hoofs, fell and in falling broke rattlesnake’s left leg—both bones—below the knee.

there was no resident surgeon in dodge. there had been; but an eastern past having found him out, he vanished between sun and sun. in the emergency presented by rattlesnake’s fractured leg a surgeon was summoned from cimarron.

the cimarron practitioner was a young, sappy, callow, pinefeather form of scientist, excessively in the springtime of his career, and no one to excite confidence. rattlesnake sanders debated him with distrustful eye, but, since nothing better presented, was fain to surrender to him his broken leg. the sappy one set the leg and withdrew, programming a call for the next day.

everything, according to cimarron bill who came upon the scene an hour after the sappy one departed, was wrong about that leg-setting. the bandage was an error, the splints were a crime. their plain effect was to torture the stricken rattlesnake. the views of rattlesnake fell in with those of cimarron bill. between groans and maledictions, heaped upon the sappy one, he wholly agreed with him.

the pair were alone at the moment, and acting in concert they removed the offending bandages and splints. giving the patient a bottle of arnica wherewith to temporarily console his aches, cimarron, with a fine conceit of his powers that commonly would have challenged admiration, walked over to the carpenter shop in mr. trask’s corral, and fashioned new splints after original designs of his own. then, with the help of rattlesnake, he re-set the leg and restored the bandages as seemed to him best and mete. following these deeds the worthy cimarron and his patient took a drink, looked upon their work, and pronounced it good.

those feats in medicine and surgery were performed in an upper chamber of the wright house which on the spur of the moment had been set aside as a hospital in the interests of rattlesnake sanders. the first to learn of them, beyond the two therein engaged, was miss barndollar. she had been with her beloved rattlesnake while the lawful sappy one was busy about his repairs. coming again into the room following the exploits of cimarron bill, her glance of love was sharp to mark the change.

“whatever’s up?” asked the wondering miss barndollar.

“nothin’s up,” replied rattlesnake. “only me an’ cimarron, not approvin’ of them malpractices of that jacklaig doctor, has had a new deal. an’ that reminds me,” he continued, turning to cimarron, who was surveying the bandaged result with a satisfied air; “give me my pistol. i’ll keep it in bed with me a whole lot, an’ when that igneramus comes chargin’ in to-morry mornin’ i’ll stand him off.”

“but you mustn’t shoot,” warned cimarron, as he brought the weapon. “when he shows up, tell him to pull his freight. an’ if he hesitates, sort o’ take to menacin’ at him with the gun. but don’t shoot none; bat’s gettin’ that partic’ler he wouldn’t stand it.”

the composed manners of both rattlesnake and cimarron worked upon the credulity of miss barndollar. in the face of so much confidence it was difficult to doubt. still, she cross-questioned cimarron when she found him alone on the wright house porch.

“be you shore,” she asked, “that rattlesnake’s laig’ll come right? which if it’s out o’ plumb when he’s cured, i’ll shorely make you hard to find!”

“rattlesnake’s laig,” returned cimarron, reassuringly, “will eemerge from them splints as straight as luke short’s deal box, an’ said implement of faro-bank has allers been reckoned the straightest thing in town. you need give yoursel’f no oneasiness, calamity.”

“which i’ll take your word,” responded miss barndollar. “but if that laig ain’t all that heart could wish, i’ll keep you plenty oneasy for the balance of your days!”

mr. masterson, when given word of the matter, was somewhat troubled by cimarron’s unlooked for début in the field of surgery. like miss barndollar, mr. masterson asked questions.

“did you ever set anybody’s leg before?” he inquired.

“did i ever set any sport’s laigs before!” retorted cimarron bill, with a yawn of careless indifference. “i’ve set twenty cows’ laigs, an’ what’s the difference? thar’s nothin’ to the play. it’s as easy as fittin’ together the two ends of a broken stick, with your eyes shet. of course them doctor sharps raise the long yell about it bein’ difficult, aimin’ tharby to bluff you out o’ your bankroll.”

upon his arrival next day, the sappy one was much confounded to find his patient propped up in bed, smoking a bad cigar. his confusion was increased when the patient drew a colt’s-45 from beneath the blankets, surveying him the while with a loathely scowl. the sappy one thought that rattlesnake sanders had added insanity to a broken leg. this theory was strengthened when the forbidding rattlesnake waved him from the room with his weapon. the sappy one went; he said that he loved his art, but not well enough to attempt its practice within point-blank range of a hostile six-shooter. when the sappy one found himself again in the street, jack, who, although the weekly planet had been dead for months, was still beset of all the instincts of a newsmaker, laid bare to him the interference of cimarron bill in the affairs of that fractured leg. the sappy one waxed exceedingly bitter, and spoke freely of cimarron bill.

“he called you an empiric,” said jack, relating the strictures of the sappy one to cimarron an hour later.

“a what?”

“an empiric.”

“spell it,” and cimarron drew a deep, resentful breath.

“e-m-p-i-r-i-c.”

“whatever does it mean?”

“it means a four-flush,” said jack, who was liberal in definitions.

“i won’t shoot him,” observed cimarron, after a profound pause; “no i won’t spring no gun on him, for that might prove disturbin’ to the public peace. which i’ll merely burn him at the stake.”

the sappy one was miles away from dodge when these flame and fagot threats were formulated; and as he took pains to remain away thereafter, he gave cimarron bill scant chance to execute them. at long range, however, he continued to make his malignant influence felt. he sent for miss barndollar and told her that rattlesnake’s one remaining hope was to have that mismanaged leg re-broken and re-set. failing these measures, the sappy one gave it as his professional opinion that the leg would look like an interrogation point. as an upcome, miss barndollar came back weeping to dodge.

“but the laig’s o. k.,” remonstrated rattlesnake sanders, when miss barndollar unfurled to him the sappy one’s predictions. “it’s comin’ round as solid as a sod house.”

“but you’ll do it to please me, rattlesnake,” coaxed miss barndollar. “i’m a proud girl, an’ i don’t want to wed no gent with a laig like a corkscrew.”

rattlesnake was shaken by the tender persistency of miss barndollar. however, he said that he must see cimarron bill.

“what do you think yourse’f, cimarron?” asked rattlesnake earnestly, when the worthy cimarron had been rounded up by jack for the conference.

“that limb,” observed cimarron, judgmatically, and cocking a wise eye like a crow looking into a jug, “that limb, as framed up, is a credit to us both. it’s simply aces before the draw! don’t tech it.”

“but calamity allows she’ll throw me down about that weddin’.”

miss barndollar was not in the room, and cimarron took on a look of grim cunning.

“ev’ry cloud has a silver linin’,” remarked cimarron, enigmatically. “rattlesnake, this yere will turn out the luckiest laig you ever had.”

following these foggy announcements, cimarron said that it would be a point of honour with him to prevent any intromission with the leg of rattlesnake sanders.

“this offensive sawbones,” he explained, “publically allooded to me as a empirick. in so doin’ he compels me to go through the way i’m headed. i shall consider any attempt to break that laig again as an attack upon my character, an’ conduct myse’f accordin’ with a gun.”

“that sounds on the level,” observed rattlesnake to miss barndollar, who had come into the room in time to hear the ultimatum of cimarron. “for us to go tamperin’ with this yere member that a-way, would be equiv’lent to castin’ aspersions on cimarron.”

“you never loved me!” murmured miss barndollar, beginning to cry.

“calamity!” exclaimed rattlesnake, reproachfully. “you’re my soul!”

“an’ yet,” she sobbed, rocking herself in her chair, “you refooses my least request! is it love to ast me to go through life as the wife of a party with a game laig?”

“but calamity!”

“i knows gents who’d break their hearts for me, let alone their laigs!”

rattlesnake looked appealingly at cimarron, who was bearing himself with studied dignity.

“which you’ll nacherally thank me a heap for this some day!” said cimarron, replying to the look.

“calamity,” cooed rattlesnake, “let me have a word alone with cimarron.”

“you-all can have what words you please,” snorted miss barndollar, beginning to dry her indignant eyes, “you can have what words you please with this person. but i wants to saw it off on you right yere, rattlesnake sanders, that no lady would be jestified in entrustin’ her footure to a gent who’d go argufyin’ an’ h’ar-splittin’ about a triflin’ matter like this. you’ll either get that laig fixed, or our engagement’s at an end. yes, sir,” concluded miss barndollar in a sudden gust of temper, “it’s no longer a laig. which it’s now ceased to be a laig and become a principle,” and miss barndollar flounced from the room.

“the first day i can ride,” groaned rattlesnake, “i’ll shore descend upon that sawbones all spraddled out, an’ obtain a spec’men of his h’ar!”

calming himself, rattlesnake discoursed sagely and at length with cimarron, saying that he was in favour of yielding to the demands of miss barndollar. the leg could easily be rebroken. both he and cimarron would of course understand that it did not require such treatment. they would agree that it was simply a concession to miss barndollar, and not to be held as reflecting on cimarron.

“because, d’ye see,” said rattlesnake, “take it every way from the jack, i wouldn’t miss marryin’ calamity if it meant breakin’ a dozen laigs. i think we’d better let her have her way, cimarron. you don’t know girls like i do; but the fact is, you allers want to humour ’em in little things so’s to have your own way in big ones. you call her in, cimarron, an’ tell her she’s plumb right about this fool laig.”

in the teeth of this specious argument, cimarron still persisted with his objections. he said that the attitude of miss barndollar was born of vanity. he pointed out that the much debated leg was as straight as a gun barrel. he re-told the insult put upon himself in the epithet of empiric. constantly, he hinted that untold good lay behind his present obstinacy, and that rattlesnake would admit his gratitude therefore in days to come. he closed by suggesting that they send for mr. masterson.

with a talent for compromise, and prone to middle paths, mr. masterson believed that, inasmuch as a fortnight had already elapsed, miss barndollar ought not to object to the leg continuing as it then was. rattlesnake sanders would give his promise to have the leg instantly refractured in event of any final queerness.

upon this proposal being carried to miss barndollar by jack, who was delegated to the trust by rattlesnake and mr. masterson, she called that youth a “cub prairie dog” and demanded his authority for meddling with two throbbing hearts. jack, deeply chagrined, pled the commission of rattlesnake and mr. masterson. miss barndollar wept, and jack, being mercurial and a child of active sympathies, wept with her. in the end miss barndollar dried her eyes, kissed jack and bid him return to the callous rattlesnake and say that she had cast him out of her heart forever.

“tell him,” said miss barndollar, “that he has shown himse’f keerless of my feelin’s an’ i’m mighty lucky to be saved in time.”

cimarron bill wore a brow of cloudy victory when jack made his report, while rattlesnake sanders swore in a discouraged way. as for mr. masterson, he counseled rattlesnake to be of cheer, and gave it as his belief that miss barndollar would come back to his arms in time. mr. masterson was on the brink of basing this conclusion on the fact that miss barndollar would not be able to find another who would have her, but caught himself on the verge. he said instead that she was only testing rattlesnake’s love.

“just let everything go as it lays,” concluded mr. masterson, consolingly, “and when you are out and around again, it’s two for one that you and calamity’ll be like turtledoves.”

rattlesnake said he hoped so, while cimarron shook his head.

“that’s the luckiest laig you ever broke, rattlesnake,” was the mysterious remark of cimarron as the conference adjourned.

rattlesnake sanders, being recovered, invited the judgment of mr. masterson concerning his legs.

“what i wants,” explained rattlesnake, “is an opinion at once onprejewdyced an’ offishul, an’ nacherally i asts bat.”

mr. masterson, after a most critical survey of rattlesnake from, as he himself expressed it, “foretop of fetlock,” gave his honour for it that nothing showed amiss.

“your leg,” said mr. masterson, “is as straight as it ever was.”

“straighter,” chimed in the confident cimarron, who stood at his elbow. “rattlesnake’s laigs, on account of bein’ frequent storm-soaked about the herds an’ then dried preematoorly by camp fires, was a heap warped. now they’re as par’llel as two fiddle strings. i ain’t the gent to say it, seein’ i set that fracture myse’f, but it’s my view rattlesnake’s laigs quits winner on the deal.”

these assurances gave mighty satisfaction to rattlesnake sanders. so much set up by them was he, that he sought a meeting with miss barndollar, meditating in her shell-like ear a loving word. the lady was in the wright house kitchen, and observing her lover’s approach made haste to slam and bolt the door in his adoring face. sinking under this rebuff, rattlesnake withdrew to the alhambra, and became grievously drunk.

the next day, rattlesnake sanders again attempted converse with his obdurate sweetheart as she was coming from mr. wright’s store. she repelled him with double scorn.

“not bein’ desirous,” observed miss barndollar on this withering occasion, “of the attentions of no sech tarripin as you, i forbids you speakin’ to me now or yereafter.”

it is to be supposed that a deal of miss barndollar’s hardness was the growth of pique. now that the unreasonable character of her surgical demands had been demonstrated, her resentment was multiplied. also, because of this second effort at an interview, she complained to mr. masterson.

“be you sheriff of ford i’d like for to ast?” she demanded.

“why?” asked mr. masterson, humble but defensive. mr. masterson owned a hare’s heart where a woman was concerned, and his instinct was for the fugitive and the non-committal. wherefore he put the query, being heedful to throw into his tone a propitiating quaver of apology: “why? what’s fetched loose?”

“nothin’,” returned miss barndollar, in her most icy manner, “only i dee-mands protection from that profligate.” here she pointed a chilling finger at the forlorn rattlesnake who, with head bowed and in an attitude of deepest dejection, stood leaning in the long branch door.

“who, rattlesnake?” returned mr. masterson, with a gentle purpose of reconciliation. “why, he dotes on you! he loves you like a prairie fire.”

“which the love,” said miss barndollar, with a sudden vehemence that sent shafts of terror to the soul of mr. masterson, “of sech miscreants is the worst outrage they can commit. i’m a weak female, an’ i dee-mands protection. likewise, you’d better give it to me, bat masterson, or i’ll lay up trouble for your gray ha’rs.”

“taking her up one side and down the other, rattlesnake,” observed mr. masterson, in the confab which in deference to the threats of miss barndollar he deemed it wise to hold with that young man, “my notion is that you’d better hit the trail for the white woman, an’ give calamity a chance to cool. she’s a whole lot heated just now, but most likely in a month, or may be in two, it’ll be safe to say ‘howdy!’ to her, and bid her the time of day.”

“then you’d give her up?” asked the mournful rattlesnake.

“only for a spell,” replied mr. masterson, cheerfully. “but you see yourself there’s nothing to be gained by hankering ’round her at this time. the way she feels you couldn’t get near enough to her to hand her a ripe peach. later, it’ll be different, and i shall hope to shake a moccasin at your wedding.”

rattlesnake mused a moment, and then broke forth with unexpected spirit.

“which i’ll take your steer, bat. also, it’s the last i’ll have to do with that calamity. i shore should not regret surrenderin’ a lady so narrow as to hold that the only evidence a gent can give of his affection is to go about cripplin’ himse’f promiscus.”

“now don’t come to any rash decisions,” urged the prudent mr. masterson. “dodge wants those nuptials to come off, and if you’ll give calamity time to round on herself, they will. she’s only a bit peevish with you for getting well, but that’ll fade away. you go back to your cattle, rattlesnake, and leave me to ride herd on calamity. the moment she begins to melt i’ll send you word.”

it has been the puzzle of every age that woman, with her infinite superiority over man in all that is morally, mentally and physically beautiful, should be seldom or never satisfied. within three days after rattlesnake sanders rode away, miss barndollar met mr. masterson in the thoroughfares of dodge and, with tears guttering her freckled cheeks, openly charged upon him the crime of their cruel separation.

“rattlesnake’s the only gent i ever loved!” she sobbed, “an’ yere you onfeelin’ly cuts in an’ stampedes him out o’ my very arms.”

mr. masterson was somewhat discouraged, and extricated himself from the interview with what polite speed he might. none the less, about the roots of his soul he felt a self-gratulatory flutter. his remedy had worked; his advice was justified. he had recommended for the haughty coldness of miss barndollar a course of what christian scientists would describe as “absent treatment” and here was the lady yielding to it like a willow to the wind. mr. masterson had cause for exultation, and unbent moderately to that sentiment. withal he was practical, and lost no time in moving to reunite the lovers. in this, however, mr. masterson was guilty of an error. he dispatched cimarron to bring in rattlesnake, when he should have sent the sympathetic jack.

“go over,” said mr. masterson to cimarron, “and break the news to rattlesnake. tell him he wins, and that there’s nothing now to do but consider calamity’s feelings.”

cimarron bill sullenly threw a saddle on a pony, and pointed away into the desolate north. his heart was not for this journey; it was to him as though he were summoning rattlesnake not for his marriage but for his execution.

“bat’s takin’ a heap on himse’f!” he muttered. “as for me; i washes my hands of the whole play.”

mr. masterson said afterward that cimarron bill, in that matter of the love-coil between miss barndollar and rattlesnake, betrayed a side of his character hitherto unknown. mr. masterson should have reflected. never before had he been called upon to consider cimarron while under what peculiar pressures were here exerted. deep within the inner recesses of cimarron’s nature, abode objections to matrimony as rooted as the hills.

“an’ in partic’lar,” cimarron had observed, when once he mooted the subject with mr. short as part of a review they were then and there making of the conjugal experiences of mr. mcbride and bridget, “an’ in partic’lar i contends that if the world must have sech things as matrimony, then no gent should be pinned down to jest one wife. an’ for this reason,” he continued, waving an impressive paw: “it ain’t good sense. is it good farobank sense to put your whole bundle on one kyard? no. then it ain’t good weddin’ sense for to resk your whole heart on one lady. she may fall to lose, an’ then where be you at? it’s my idee that if a party must go ag’inst this weddin’ game, he’ll be safer if he spreads his bets.”

holding fast to these beliefs, cimarron bill rode forth full of an unconscious willingness to play the marplot. he would deliver the message of mr. masterson; but he would deliver it in such fashion that, when the worst occurred, as it hereafter—according to his thinking—must most certainly occur, he, cimarron, could felicitate himself with the reflection that he had in no sort contributed towards bringing that worst about. he would bear the message of mr. masterson; he would also proffer warnings all his own. should the locoed rattlesnake then persist in riding open-eyed to dodge and to destruction—why, his blood be on his head!

it was in this frame that cimarron bill sat down to flap-jacks with rattlesnake sanders that night at the latter’s camp on the white woman. and this was the conversation that passed between the pair:

“i’ve been sent over to rope you up, rattlesnake,” quoth cimarron. “calamity says you’re to wash off your warpaint an’ report at the agency.”

“does she still adhere to them demands about bustin’ my laig?” asked rattlesnake. “not that it much matters,” he added hastily, for the doughty resolve to see no more of miss barndollar, expressed to mr. masterson, had long since oozed away, “not that it matters. the round-ups are eight weeks away, an’ i’d easy be able to ride by then.”

after this exchange the two munched wordless flapjacks, diversified by mouthfuls of salt pork. rattlesnake sanders broke the silence.

“then i takes it we starts back by sun-up.”

“rattlesnake,” observed cimarron bill, with a pompous solemnity that was not wanting in effect upon his auditor, “you’ve come to a bad, boggy, quicksand crossin’. my advice is not to jump your pony off the bank, but ride in slow.”

“as how?” asked rattlesnake sanders, somewhat mystified.

“you think i’m honest, don’t you?” demanded cimarron.

“shore, i think you’re honest,” returned rattlesnake sanders. then, cautiously: “but still i allers sort o’ allowed you had you’re honesty onder control.”

“well, this is the straight goods at any rate,” said cimarron. “thar’s two kinds of folks you must never surrender to: ladies an’ injuns. surrender to either is the shore preloode to torture. for you, now, to go surgin’ rapturously into dodge, like a drunkard to a barbecue, would be the crownin’ disaster of your c’reer.”

“whatever then should be my little game?”

“it’s this a-way: i said you can’t afford to surrender to injuns an’ ladies. but you can make treaties with ’em. that gives you a chance to preeserve yourse’f for yourse’f. what you ought to do is plant yourse’f as solid as a gob of mud, an’ send back word that you’re thinkin’ it over.”

“but s’pose calamity goes in the air, an’ says it’s all off?”

“that’s a resk no brave man should refoose to take. you want to remember that she slammed a door in your face; that she set bat to run you out o’ camp.” these reminders clearly stiffened rattlesnake sanders. “for you to surrender, onconditional, would incite her to new crooelties that would lay over them former inhoomanities like a king-full lays over a pa’r of treys. once,” went on cimarron, who began to be intoxicated with his own eloquence, “once a party back in st. looey shows me a picture of a man chained to a rock, an’ a turkey buzzard t’arin’ into him, beak an’ claw. he said it was a sport named prometheus bein’ fed upon by vultures. in my pore opinion that party was barkin’ at a knot. the picture wasn’t meant for prometheus an’ the vultures. the painter who daubs it had nothin’ on his mind but jest to show, pictor’ally, exactly what marriage is like. it was nothin’ more nor less than that gifted genius’ notion of a married man done in colours.”

this outburst so moulded the hopes and fears, especially the fears, of rattlesnake that he gave himself completely to the guidance of cimarron bill.

“i’m to stand a pat hand,” said rattlesnake tentatively, “an’ you’ll go cavortin’ back an’ tell calamity i’ll let her know.”

“an’ yet,” interposed cimarron bill, “i think on that p’int i’d better be the bearer of a note in writin’. ladies is plenty imaginative, an’ if i takes to packin’ in sech messages, verbal, calamity may allow i’m lyin’ an’ lay for me.”

there was no material for letter-making about the camp. the ingenious cimarron suggested an “injun letter.” acting on his own happy proposal he tore a small board from the top of a box that had held a dozen cans of corn, and set to work with charcoal. cimarron bill drew in one corner what might have passed for the sketch of a woman, while the center was adorned with an excited antelope in full flight, escaping over a ridge.

“i’ll mark the antelope, ‘bar d’,” said cimarron, “so’s she’ll know it’s you, bar d bein’ your brand.”

“but whatever is calamity to onderstand by them totems?”

“nothin’ only that you’re goin’ to be a heap hard to ketch,” replied cimarron. “it’ll teach her your valyoo.”

the antelope looked vastly like a disfigured goat, and the resemblance disturbed rattlesnake.

“that’ll be all right,” returned cimarron, confidently; “i’ll explain that it’s an antelope. all pictures has to be explained.”

when cimarron bill laid before miss barndollar the message embodied in that “injun letter,” she was so swept away by woe that even the hardened messenger was shocked. more and worse: miss barndollar, with a lack of logic for which her sex has celebration, laid these new troubles, as she had the old, at the door of mr. masterson.

“you druv him from me!” cried miss barndollar, as she reproached mr. masterson with her loss. “in your heartlessness you druv him from me! an’ now, although sheriff of this yere county, you fails to restore him to my heart.” throughout that day and the next miss barndollar made it a practice to burst into tears at sight of mr. masterson. “which i wants my rattlesnake,” she wailed.

mr. masterson was turning desperate. this mood found display in an exclamation that was wrung from him while refreshing his weary soul in the long branch.

“there’s no use talking, luke,” observed mr. masterson, turning in his despair to mr. short, “dodge can’t stand this! calamity must and shall be married! if rattlesnake won’t have her, some other man must.”

in making this last remark mr. masterson let his glance fall by chance on cimarron bill. that determined person was startled to the core.

“you needn’t look at me!” he roared. “which i gives notice i’ll never be married alive!”

“no one’s thinking of you, cimarron.” retorted mr. masterson, and the suspicious one breathed more evenly.

mr. masterson and mr. short consulted in low tones across the counter. at last mr. short straightened up as one who is clear, and said:

“calamity in effect offers herse’f to this rattlesnake person, an’ he equiv’cates. thar’s two things in this republic which no white man has a license to decline; one’s the presidency, an’ t’other’s a lady. this rattlesnake has no rights left.”

“but,” said mr. masterson, hesitating over the point, “i don’t quite see my way clear—as sheriff.”

“speakin’ technicle, you’re c’rrect,” observed mr. short. “an’ it’s thar where you makes the shift. nail him for shootin’ up kell that time. you-all knows me, bat,” continued mr. short. “i’m a mighty conserv’tive man, speshully about other folks’ love affairs. an’ yet i gives it as my jedgment that steps should be took.”

mr. masterson, bidding cimarron bill follow with a buckboard, started for the white woman.

it was in the afternoon of the next day, and rattlesnake sanders was seated by his fire, wrapped in gloomy thought.

“hands up!” was his earliest notice of the threatening nearness of mr. masterson who, dismounting two hundred yards away and beyond a swell, had crept cat-foot upon the camp. “hands up! you’re wanted for creasing kelly!”

quick as thought, rattlesnake was on his feet. in a moment his hand as though by instinct slipped to the butt of his colt’s. sharp as was his work, mr. masterson’s was even brisker. with the first shadow of resistance, he sent a bullet into rattlesnake’s leg—the other leg. the shock sent the unlucky rattlesnake spinning like a top. he fell at full length, and before he might pull himself together mr. masterson had him disarmed.

“what for a racket is this?” demanded rattlesnake fiercely, when he had collected his wits and his breath. “what’s the meanin’ of this yere bluff?”

“speaking unofficially,” returned mr. masterson, “it means that you’re about to become a married man. if you think dodge will sit idly by while you break the heart of that child calamity, you’re off.”

“calamity!” exclaimed rattlesnake, in a maze of astonishment. “which i was jest tryin’ to figger out a way to squar’ myse’f with that angel when you plugged me! if you’d said ‘calamity!’ instead of ‘kelly’ it wouldn’t have called for a gun play. i’d have followed you back to town on all fours, like a collie dog.”

“why didn’t you report, then, when i sent for you? what did you mean by sending in that infernal hieroglyphic?”

“me an’ cimarron was simply holdin’ out for guarantees,” groaned rattlesnake.

“you and cimarron!” cried mr. masterson indignantly.

from over a knoll a clatter was heard, and cimarron bill came rattling into camp with the buckboard. this may or may not have had to do with mr. masterson’s failure to finish his last remark. possibly that adage, which tells of how soon things mend when least is said, occurred to him as a reason for holding his peace.

the perforated rattlesnake was comfortably mowed away in a wright house bed, his beloved calamity bending over him. when the first joy of their meeting had been given time to wear itself away, the lady was called into the hall by mr. masterson. mr. short was with him.

“i don’t want to be understood, calamity,” said mr. masterson, “as trying to crowd your hand, but the preacher will be here at 7 p. m., at which hour you and rattlesnake are to become man and wife. that bullet is, i confess, an unusual feature in a honeymoon; but for all that the wedding must take place, per schedule, as i’ve got to get this thing off my mind.”

“as for that bullet in rattlesnake,” added mr. short, “it’s a distinct advantage. it’ll make him softer an’ more sentimental. which a gent gets sentimental in direct proportion as you shoot him up. i’ve known two bullets, properly planted, to set a party to writin’ poetry.”

“do i onderstand, bat,” asked mr. kelly, as following the wedding they were wending to the alhambra with a plan to drink good fortune to the happy pair; “do i onderstand that you used my name in gunnin’ for this bridegroom?”

“that calamity girl had me locoed,” explained mr. masterson apologetically. “i’d been harassed to a degree, kell, that left me knockin’ ’round in the situation like a blind dog in a meat shop, hardly knowing right from wrong. all i wanted was to marry him to calamity, and i seized on your name to land the trick.”

“still,” objected mr. kelly, mildly, “you ought not to have founded the play on his wingin’ me. while i won’t say that his shootin’ me was in the best of taste that time, after all it wasn’t more’n a breach of manners, an’ not in any of its aspects, as i onderstand, a voylation of the law. it wasn’t fair to me to make him marry that calamity lady for that.”

“besides,” urged cimarron bill, who had come up, “them nuptials is onconstitootional, bein’ in deefiance of the clause which declar’s that no onusual or crooel punishments shall be meted out. which i knows it’s thar, because bob wright showed it to me at the time i urged stoppin’ old bobby gill’s licker for a week to punish him for pesterin’ ’round among us mourners the day of bridget’s fooneral.”