Phillipe de Massa - "Zibeline, v1"

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Azel Ames - "The Mayflower and Her Log, v5"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: Happy Hawkins

R >> Robert Alexander Wason >> Happy Hawkins



This etext was produced by Charles Franks and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team.





Happy Hawkins

by Robert Alexander Wason




TO

MY OLD PAL





CONTENTS


I THE DIAMOND DOT

II CONVINCING A COOK

III UNDER FIRE

IV PROFESSIONAL DUTY

V JUST MONODY--A MAN

VI THE RACE

VII MENTAL TREATMENT FOR A BROKEN LEG

VIII THE LETTER

IX ADRIFT AGAIN

X A WINTER AT SLOCUM'S LUCK

XI DRESS REFORM AT THE DIAMOND DOT

XII THE LASSOO DUEL

XIII BUSINESS is BUSINESS

XIV THE CHINESE QUESTION

XV THE DIAMOND DOT AGAIN

XVI THE HIGHER EDUCATION OF WOMAN

XVII IN RETIREMENT

XVIII CUPID

XIX BARBIE MAKES A DISCOVERY

XX RICHARD WHITTINCTON ARRIVES

XXI HAPPY MAKES A DISCOVERY

XXII A FRIENDLY GAME

XXIII CAST STEEL

XXIV FEMININE LOGIC

XXV THE WAYS OF WOMANKIND

XXVI A MODERN KNIGHT-ERRANT

XXVII THE CREOLE BELLE

XXVIII THE DAY OF THE WEDDING

XXIX THE FINAL RECKONING

XXX THE AFTERGLOW




CHAPTER ONE

THE DIAMOND DOT


I wasn't really a Westerner an' that's why I'm so different from
most of 'em. Take your regular bonie fide Westerner an' when he dies
he don't turn to dust, he turns to alkali; but when it comes my turn
to settle, I'll jest natchely become the good rich soil o' the
Indiana cornbelt.

I was born in Indiana and I never left it till after I was ten years
old. That's about the time boys generally start out to hunt Injuns;
but I kept on goin' till I found mine--but I didn't kill him--nor
him me neither, as far as that goes.

I allus did have the misfortune o' gettin' hungry at the most
inconvenient times, an' after I 'd been gone about two weeks I got
quite powerful hungry, so I natchely got a job waitin' on a lunch
counter back in Omaha. The third day I was there I was all alone in
the front room when in walked an Injun. He was about eight feet
high, I reckon; and the fiercest Injun I ever see. I took one look
at him a' then I dropped behind the counter and wiggled back to the
kitchen where the boss was. I gasped out that the Injuns was upon us
an' then I flew for my firearms.

When the boss discovered that the Injun and fourteen doughnuts,
almost new, had vanished, he was some put out, and after we had
discussed the matter, I acted on his advice and came farther West.
That business experience lasted me a good long while. I don't like
business an' I don't blame any one who has to follow it for a livin'
for wantin' to have a vacation so he can get out where the air is
fit to breathe.

Just imagine bein' hived up day after day with nothin' to see but
walls an' nothin' to do but customers. You first got to be friendly
with your visitors to make 'em feel at home, an' then you got to get
as much of their money as you can in order to keep on bein' friendly
with 'em in order to keep on gettin' as much of their money as you
can.

Now out in the open a feller don't have to be a hypocrite: once I
worked a whole year for a man who hated me so he wouldn't speak to
me; but I didn't care, I liked the work and I did it an' he raised
my wages twice an' gave me a pony when I quit.

He was the sourest tempered man I ever see; but it was good trainin'
to live with him a spell. Lots of men has streaks of bein'
unbearable; but this man was the only one I ever met up with who was
solid that way, and didn't have one single streak of bein' likeable.
He was the only man I ever see who wouldn't talk to me. I was a
noticing sort of a kid an' I saw mighty early that what wins the
hearts o' ninety-nine men out of a hundred is listenin' to 'em talk.
That's why I don't talk much myself. But you couldn't listen to old
Spike Williams, 'cause the' wasn't no opportunity--he didn't even
cuss.

We was snowed up for two weeks one time an' I took a vow 'at I'd
make him talk. I tried every subject I'd ever heard of; but he
didn't even grunt. Just when things was clearin' off, I sez to him,
usin' my biggest trump: "Spike," sez I, "do you know what they say
about you?"

"No," sez he, "but you know what I say about them," an' he went on
with his packin'.

I thought for a while 'at the year I'd spent with Spike Williams was
a total loss; but jest the contrary. It had kept me studyin' an'
schemin' an' analysin' until, after that year had been stored away
to season, I discovered it was the best year I'd ever put in, an'
while I hadn't got overly well acquainted with Spike, I had become
mighty friendly with myself and was surprised to find out how much
the' was to me.

Did you ever think of that? You start out an' a feller comes along
an' throws an opinion around your off fore foot an' you go down in a
heap an' that opinion holds you fast for some time. When you start
on again another feller ropes you with a new opinion, an' the first
thing you know you are all cluttered up an' loaded down with other
fellers' opinions, an' the' ain't enough o' your own self left to
tell what you're like; but after that winter with Spike I was pretty
well able to dodge an opinion until I had time to learn what it
meant.

But the main good I got out of Spike was learnin' how to take old
Cast Steel Judson. It was some years after this before I met up with
him; but the good effect hadn't worn off and me an' Cast Steel just
merged together like butter an' a hot penny. I wasn't much more 'an
a kid even then, but law! I wish I knew just half as much now as I
thought I did then. My self respect was certainly a bulky article
those days an' I wasn't in the habit of undervaluin' my own
judgment--not to any great extent; but that habit o' study I'd
formed with Spike was my balance wheel, an' I generally managed to
keep my conceit from shuttin' out the entire landscape. The' wasn't
a great deal escaped my eye, 'cause I begun to notice purty tol'able
young that experience is consid'able like a bank account: takes a
heap o' sweat to get her started, but she's comfortable to draw on
in a pinch.

Ol' man Judson was a curious affair, had his own way o' doin' every
blessed thing, an' whenever he hired a man he always went through
the same rigamarole. "Now what I'm contractin' for," he'd say, "is
just only your time an' whatever part o' your thinkin' apparatus as
is needed in doin' YOUR share o' my business. If I detail you to sit
in the shade an' count clouds, I don't want no argument, I want the
clouds counted. When I don't specially express a hungerin' for any
of your advice, that's the very time when you don't need to give
any. Whenever you think you have a kick comin'--why think again.
Then if you still see the kick, make it to the foreman. If that
don't work make it to me; but when you make it to me, you want to be
mighty sure it will hold water. Above all things I hate a liar, a
coward, an' a sneak. Now get busy 'cause life is short an' time is
fleetin'."

That was the way he used to talk, an' some used to set him down as a
tyrant, an' some had him guessed in as a rough old codger with a
soft heart,--everybody took a guess at him,--but the blood in the
turnip was that ol' Jabez Judson was purty tol'able sizey when you
carne to fence him in. Everybody called him Cast Steel Judson, an'
you might work through the langwidge five times without adding much
to the description. Hard he was an' stern an' no bend to him; but at
the same time you could count on him acting up to his nature. He
wa'n't no hypocrite, an' th''s a heap o' comfort jest in that. A
feller ain't got no kick comin' when a rattler lands on him; but if
a wood dove was to poison him, he'd have a fair right to be put out.
The only child 'at Cast Steel had was one daughter; but that don't
indicate that paternity was one long vacation for Jabez. Barbie--her
full name was Barbara--was the sweetest an' the gamest an' the most
surpriseable creature a human being ever met up with, an' ol' Jabez
could 'a' got along handier with seven sons than he did with that
one girl. Oh, the eyes of her were like the two stars over old
Savage, snappin' an' twinklin' an' sparklin' in the clear winter
nights, or soft an' shy an' tender when the hazy spring moon cuddles
up to them. She wasn't afraid of anything 'at walks the face o' the
earth, an' Jabez had a hard time gettin' used to this--'cause he
thought she ought to be afraid o' him.

Still, he fair worshiped her, an' if he'd been given full charge o'
the earth for jest one day, an' anything would 'a' pestered the girl
durin' that day, why the map-maker would sure have had a job on the
day follerin'; 'cause from his standpoint, that girl was what the
sun shone for an' the rain rained for an' the blossoms blossomed
for.

We was allus havin' a lot o' Easterners string along during the
summer, an' they generally was easy to entice into makin' a little
visit with us. Some of 'em would spend their time crackin' stones
an' makin' up tales about their bein' speciments o' the Zelooic age
or the Palazoric age or some such a fool thing. They was mostly
heathens, an' it didn't do no good to spring the Bible on 'em--in
fact after we got able to read their signs we never contraried 'em
at all, but just let 'em heave out any tale they could think up an'
pretend 'at we believed it; an' hanged if I don't begin to suspicion
that the' 's a heap o' truth in some o' their nonsense.

Purty near every one of 'em insisted that at one time all those
mountains, even old Savage, had been under water, an' they'd take us
out an' show us the signs; but we couldn't stomach that until we
found out that this was one o' the Injun traditions too, an' then we
give in.

Well, one o' these strays was what they call an astronomer. His
speciality was the stars, nothing less; an' he knew 'em by name an'
could tell you how far off they are an' what they weigh an' how many
moons they had an'--oh, he knew 'em the same as I know the home
herd, an' he didn't only know what they had done--he knew what they
was a-goin' to do, an' when he called the turn on 'em, why they up
an' done it. Comets an' eclipses an' sech like miracles were jest
the same to this feller as winter an' summer was to me, an' we fed
him until he like to founder himself, tryin' to hold him through the
winter; but at last he had to go, an' after he'd gone Cast Steel was
purty down-hearted for quite a spell.

"It ain't fair, Happy," sez he to me one day after the astronomer
had gone.

"No," sez I, "I reckon it will rain before mornin'."

"I mean it ain't a fair shake," sez he. "Jupiter has eight of 'em
an' we ain't but one an' the' ain't nobody lives there, while--"

"What do you happen to be talkin' of?" sez I.

"Why moons," sez he. "It seems too doggone bad for that confounded
planet to have eight moons an' no one to enjoy 'em while my little
girl jest dotes on 'em an' we only have one--an' IT don't work
more'n half the time."

That was Cast Steel: he didn't look on life or death, or wealth or
poverty, or anything else except in the way it applied to Barbie--
but she was worth it, she was worth it, an' I never blamed him none.

But you needn't get the idea that Jabez was one o' these fond an'
lovin' parents what sez: "My child, right if perfectly convenient,
but right or wrong, my child." Not on your future prospects! Jabez,
he sez: "My child, right from the shoes up, if the Rocky Mountains
has to be ground to powder to make her so."

I remember the day she was six year old; he hardly ever laid out the
details for her conduct, he jest sort o' schemed out a general plan
and left her free to adjust herself to it, like a feller does with a
dog or a pony he expects to keep a long time an' don't want to turn
into a machine. He had told Barbie he didn't want her to ride
nothin' 'at wasn't safe. Well, on the mornin' she became a six-year-
old he came out o' the side door an' saw her disappearin' in the
distance on top a big pinto 'at he had sent over for Buck Harmon to
bust; it havin' already pitched Spider Kelley an' dislocated his
shoulder.

"Who roped that pony for her?" yelled Cast Steel.

"I did," sez I. "She said 'at this was her birthday an' she was
tired of actin' like a kid an' intended to ride a real ridin' hoss."

"If a hair of her head is injured, hell won't hide ya!" sez Cast
Steel, an' his lip trembled an' his eyes fairly smoked.

"She's jest as safe as if she was in her bed," sez I, as gentle as I
could. "I taught her how to ride, an' I ain't ashamed o' the job.
She can give Spider Kelley cards an' spades an' beat him to it every
time. But as far as that goes--"

I didn't get to finish because here she come, tearin' back on the
pinto. Her hair was flyin', her eyes was dancin', an' she was
laughin'--laughin' out loud. Light an' easy she pulled the pinto up
beside us an' calls out: "Oh, daddy, this is lovely, this is mag-ni-
fi-cent"--the little scamp used to pick up big words from the
Easterners, an' when she had one to fit she never wasted time on a
measly little ranch word--"oh, I'm never goin' to ride old Kate
again."

"Git off that pony," sez Jabez, makin' a reach for the bit; but the
pony shied, whirled, an' purty nigh kicked his head off. He stood
still in a daze while Barbie was circling the pony an' gettin' him
quiet again.

"How's she goin' to get off?" asked Jabez, turnin' to me.

"Simply climb down," sez I purty short. I had some temper those
days, an' I hadn't got over his insinuations, an' I didn't intend
to.

"She'll be killed!" sez Jabez. I never said a word.

"She'll be killed!" he repeated, an' his voice was filled with
anguish.

"Get down off the pony, Barbie," sez I, an' she threw her little leg
over the saddle an' hit the grass like an antelope. The pony never
stirred. Ol' Jabez stood watchin' her with his eyes poppin' out.
"Turn the brute loose!" he shouts. "What for?" sez she. "'Cause I
say so!" he fairly roars.

Well, she walks up, pats the pinto on the nose, an' slips the bridle
off his head. He just stands still an' watches her as mild as a pint
o' cream.

"Rope that pony," sez Cast Steel to me.

"Get one o' your own men to rope it," sez I.

He looked into my eyes a moment an' then he called to George
Hendricks to rope the pinto; but when George hove in sight with his
rope the pinto took to his heels an' made for the horizon. "There
goes a ninety-dollar saddle," sez Jabez to me, "an' it's all your
damned nonsense."

"It ain't either," sez Barbie, as fierce as a wounded bear, "it's
all your damned nonsense. Happy has been trainin' that pony nights
for my birthday an'--"

"Barbara!" yells Jabez, "what do you mean by usin' such langwidge?
I'll line you out for this. You know mighty well--"

"Now you play accordin' to the rule," sez Barbie. "You was teachin'
me to play seven up last week an' you said that everybody had to
play by the same rule. I reckon that goes in cussin' too."

Well, they looked into each other's eyes for quite some while, an'
then Jabez sez: "Go into the house, Barbara, an' we'll both think it
over, an' as soon as we get time we'll settle it."

"All right," sez Barbie, an' she turns around an' marches to the
house, her little head held like a colonel's. Just before she
reached the house she turned an' calls: "You'll get the pinto for
me, won't you, Happy?" I sort o' half nodded my head, an' she went
on into the house.

"Did you ever see such grit?" sez Cast Steel, "an' her only six.
Kids oughtn't to act so grown up at six, had they, Happy?"

"I reckon 'at kids are pretty much like colts an' puppies an' other
young things: give 'em dolls to play with an' they'll play like
children, but start 'em out on cards an' ponies, an' range 'em off
with nothin' but grown folks, an' they're bound to have ways like
grown folks'."

Jabez fidgeted around a while, an' then he sez, "Are you goin' to
try to catch the pinto?

"I am goin' to catch it," sez I, rollin' a cigarette.

He kind o' nervoused around a few minutes longer an' then he sez,
"What did you mean a while ago?"

"Jest whatever I said," sez I. "I don't know what you're a-referrin'
to, but if I said it, that's what I meant."

"When I asked you to rope the pinto you told me to git one o' my own
men to rope it; what does that mean?"

"It means that when a man tells me that hell can't hide me from his
wrath, I 'm free to consider myself foot loose. A man don't want to
slaughter none of his own hands, an' if it should be that any one
feels called upon to go after my hide, I don't want to feel that the
time I 'm wastin' in takin' care o' that hide rightfully belongs to
another man who is payin' for it. Therefore I have quit. I'm goin'
to rope the pinto for Barbie, but I wouldn't do it for you, an' when
I get back I'll call around for what's comin' to me."

"Well, go an' be hanged! You always was the most obstinate, high-
headed, bull-intellected thin-skin 'at ever drew down top wages for
punchin' cows. You're nothin' more than a kid, an' yet you swell
around an' expect a man--"

"Well, I don't expect nothin' from you, ceptin' my wages," sez I.

"You go to Jericho, will you!" snaps Jabez. "You don't need to think
that I'd try to argue any man on earth into workin' for me. I can
get an army o' riders as good or better than you--but the gel likes
you, Happy, an'--"

"An' that's why I 'm goin' after the pinto," sez I, an' I flopped
onto a pony an' sailed out to a little glen in the foothills where I
knew I 'd find him, an' as soon as I had towed him back to the
corral I put my saddle on the old beast I had rode there an' set
off.

Just as I rode around the edge o' the corral, ol' man Judson stood
there grittin' his teeth. "What are you ridin' that old skin for?"
sez he.

"'Cause it's the only pony I got," sez I.

"You leave it here an' take your pick out o' the five-year-olds,"
sez he.

"All I want out o' this ranch is what I have earned," sez I.

"If you don't get something 'at your pride'll earn some day, I'm the
biggest fool this side o' the big ditch. Here's your pay. You've
been a fair hand, but don't forget that I never hire a man twice,
an' I've hired you once already."

"Now look here, Jabez," sez I, "I ain't so old as I'll get if I live
as long as I may, but I'm old enough to know that it's just as easy,
to find a good boss as it is to find a good man. I've done my work
without fussin', an' you've seen me in a pinch or two; an' yet this
very mornin' you intimated than I 'd risk Barbie on a pony she
couldn't ride. The' ain't nothin' I wouldn't do for that child, but
you don't understand her, an' if you go on in your high-handed way
with her you 're in for the sorrow o' your life--mark my words."

"Here's your money. You ain't got sense enough to know your place
an' I 'm glad to be shut of you." Jabez handed me my pay an' stamped
over to the ranch house, while I kept on down the valley trail.

When I reached the turn I twisted about in my saddle an' looked at
the cluster o' buildings. They looked soft an' gray with old Mount
Savage standin' on guard back of 'em, an' the' was a bigger lump
under my necktie than I generally wore. I didn't have mach call to
go anywhere, an' I sat there on my old pony, wonderin' whether or
not it paid to be game.

If my mother had been alive, jest at that point would have been
where the West would have lost the benefit of my personal
supervision--but then if my mother had lived I shouldn't never 'a'
left home. I stood a stepmother six months out o' respect to my Dad,
but I wouldn't 'a' stood that one a year--well, anyway, not unless
I'd been chained an' muzzled.

It's a funny thing to me how a man can drink an' fight an' carry on
for a year at a clip an' then all of a sudden feel a hurtin'
somewhere inside that nothin' wouldn't help but a little pettin'. He
knows doggone well 'at there ain't none comin' to him, so he hides
it by cuttin' up a little worse than usual but it's there, an' Gee!
but it does rest heavy when it comes. Why, take me even now when
the' wouldn't nothin' but a grizzly bear have the nerve to coddle
me, an' yet week before last I felt so blue an' solitary 'at I
couldn't 'a' told to save me whether I was homesick or whether it
was only 'cause the beans was a little sour.

I sat there on the old pony a good long time, an' then I heaved a
sigh 'at made me swell out like an accordion, an' headed back to the
valley trail. When I turned around, there, standin' in the trail
before me with a streak down each cheek, stood Barbie.

"Ya ain't goin', are ya?" sez she.

"I got to go, honey," sez I.

"Ain't ya never comin' back?" asked she.

"Oh, I'll come back some day, ridin' a big black hoss with silver
trimmed leather--an' what shall I bring little Barbie?" sez I,
tryin' to be gay.

"Just bring me yourself, Happy, that's all the present I want. I
love you because you're the handsomest man in the world"--yes, it
was me she meant, only o' course that was some years ago an' the
child was unthinkable young--"an' cause you tell me the nicest
stories, an' train pintos, an'--an' I'm goin' to marry you when I
grow up."

"Marry me, kitten?" sez I, laughin' free an' natural this time.
"Why, bless your heart, where did you ever hear o' marriage?"

"My Daddy tells me of my mother, an' what a beautiful lady she was,
an' how happy they were together--an' I'm goin' to marry you when
you come back."

"Well, Barbie," sez I right soberly, "you be true to me an' I'll be
true to you, an' now we'll kiss to bind the promise."

So I lifted her to my saddle an' kissed her. "How did you get here,
child?" sez I.

She didn't answer for a minute. "I rode old Kate," said she at last,
"but I didn't want you to know it. She's over behind that rock. And
now, Happy, don't you dare to forget me. Good-bye."

I set her down in the road with her eyes misty an' her white teeth
set in her lips, an' my own eyes were so hazy like that I couldn't
see her when I looked back, an' then I rode away down the valley
trail.




CHAPTER TWO

CONVINCING A COOK


I'm as wild as any comet when I first swing out o' my regular orbit,
an' I rode on an' on, sometimes puttin' up for the night at a ranch
house an' sometimes campin' out in the open, where I'd lay till dawn
gazin' up at the stars an' wonderin' how things were goin', back at
the Diamond Dot. I mooned on until at last I wound up in the Pan
Handle without a red copper, an' my pony sore footed an' lookin'
like what a crow gets when the coyotes invite him out to dinner.

I drew rein one night along side a most allurin' camp fire. I had
noticed the herd when I came along in, an' they was dandies; big
solid five-year-olds, hog fat, but they wasn't contented--kept
fidgetin' around. When I struck the fire, a fair haired young feller
was readin' a book, two Greasers an' a half blood Injun was playin'
poker with an old bunch o' whiskers 'at wasn't a ridin' man at all
while the cook had turned in without washin' the dishes.

"If anybody's at home," sez I, "I'd like to ask permission to set
down an' rest."

"Why, certainly, make yourself at home," sez the fair hair. The
balance o' the bunch only give me the side eye.

"Would you need any more help?" I asked, most respectful.

"No, thank you," sez the young feller, "I think we'll make it all
right."

"You have a nice bunch here," sez I, "an' I thought perhaps you
might want to get 'em to market in good shape. I am referrin' to the
cows"--I continued, kind o' takin' the cover off my voice.

"We expect to get them to market in good shape," sez the fair-hair,
uncoilin' his dignity. I rolled a cigarette.

"What makes you think we won't get them to market in good shape?"
sez he.

"'Cause your cook's got a sour temper, an' the' ain't no one bossin'
the job--'at knows how," sez I, mild an' open-faced, an' lookin'
into the fire. The fair-hair straightens up with a snort, while the
pot-openers begin to cuss sort o' growly.

"Where are you from an' how long have you been making my business
your own?" asked the fair-hair.

"Oh, I come from up no'th a ways; but I ain't ever made your
business mine. I never saw your outfit until twenty minutes ago--but
I've seen other outfits."

"Can you handle cattle?" sez he.

"Yes," sez I--"and men."

"Well, I think you can join us," sez he, kind o' slow. "The cattle
don't seem to be as gentle as they did when we started. I think it
is because we are short handed and have to be a little too rough
with them." I didn't answer.

"Well, do you want the job?" sez he.

"Who's the foreman?" sez I.

"I am in charge," he answers stiff like.

"You're the owner, I know, but who's in charge o' the men?"

"I take full supervision," sez he.

"I don't want the job," sez I.

"All right," he snaps, "I don't recall havin' sent for you." "No
offense," sez I, "but up my way it's generally polite to inquire
about the appetite. If any one was to ask me, I'd say I was hungry.
If any one was to urge me, I'd be obliged to meet up with a little
food." I looked him gently in the eyes. He dropped his an' looked
put out.

"Tell you the truth, I'm havin' a dog's time of it with my cook.
He's gone to bed an' I don't think there's a thing to eat."