Books: Happy Hawkins

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That was the swiftest round-up ever the Diamond Dot had. Bill
Andrews was a roper for true, an' I don't believe the' was a man in
the West 'at could touch me those days. When me an' Barbie would be
out ridin' I was always practicin' with a rope or a gun, an' I had a
dozen foller-up throws 'at I've never seen beat. I did my work
cleaner an' more showy'n he did, but it couldn't be done much
quicker. We finished three days ahead of the schedule an' the boys
said it was a tie. I had roped twenty-six more calves'n he had, but
they wanted to see us contest a little more, an' they figgered out
excuses for him. The' ain't nothin' ever satisfies a civilized human
except a finish fight. He don't care a hang for points.

Well, we did all kinds o' fancy ropin', an' I was a shade the better
at all of it; but those confounded cusses kept on claimin' it was a
tic until I got het up a little, an' sez 'at we'll have a lassoo
duel an' that'll settle it, even among blind men. This ain't all
amusement, this lassoo-duel on hoss-back, an' I see Andrews look
wickedly content. "Nothing barred," sez he; "we rope hoss or rider,
either one."

"Sure thing," sez I. I don't know to this day whether or not he
really thought I was green, but anyhow, he thought he had me at this
game, an' I saw in a moment 'at he had trained his pony; but he
didn't have any advantage over me. I was ridin' Hawkins, an' he had
been dodgin' ropes all his life an' liked the sport. We fenced for
an hour without bein' able to land, an' then he gets his noose over
Hawkins' neck. Before he can draw it tight I rides straight at him;
his pony has settled back for a jerk; I gets my noose over the
pony's neck, a loop over Andrew's right wrist, when he tries to ward
it off his own neck, an' then another loop over his shoulders,
pinnin' the left arm an' the right wrist to his body. My rope was
the shorter now so I sets Hawkins back an' takes a strain. I knew
what was goin' to happen when that. rope tightened--he would be
twisted out of the saddle an' his right arm dislocated--an' he knew
it too; an' he knew that I was goin' to do it. The boys was as
silent as the ace o'clubs.

His face went pale an' he looked at me with beggin' eyes, but mine
was hard as stone. I hated him for all the devil-thoughts he had put
into my head, an' I wanted to see him twisted an' torn. Then I just
happened to see two riders comin' in from toward the ranch house. I
knew by instinct it was Jabez an' Barbie, an' just as Andrews
started to twist in the saddle I touched Hawkins with the spurs,
rode up to him, threw off the loops, put a smile on my face--an'
shook hands with Bill Andrews, while all the boys give a cheer. I
was pantin' an' tremblin', but I don't think it was noticed, as I
kept that smile as easy-goin' an' good-natured as a floatin' cork.

Well, I kidded with the boys until Jabez got through decidin' on
what he wanted done with the different bunches, an' then when he an'
Barbie rode back to the house I went along. I made sure to brazen it
out as much as possible, an' not to give the impression that I was
as het up as I had been; but I knew that Bill Andrews was well aware
of what had saved him. I also knew that he'd hate me to the day of
his death--but he'd fear me to the last minute, an' he'd never start
but one more contest.

The Diamond Dot didn't seem so homelike after that; it was a heap
easier to get the best of Bill Andrews than it was to get rid of
those questions; but I tried to act just as much the same as
possible, only I did as much range ridin' as I could make seem
natural. I supposed that Bill Andrews would leave, but he didn't; he
stayed right along an' he worked hard an' he never kicked. He was
allus friendly with me, but he didn't overdo it, an' things went
along smooth as joint oil.

Barbie had gone through all the stuff they taught at the Spike Crick
School, an' was studyin' some advance stuff with the teacher who was
ambitious to finish her own edication. This was a big surprise to
me; I had allus supposed that a teacher knew everything, but it
seems not. The' 's lots they don't know, an' the front they put up
before a pupil is two thirds bluff. A naked body's a disappointin'
sight, but I bet a naked soul would make a crow laugh.

All through that winter I was tryin' to find an excuse to quarrel
with Jabez, but the' wasn't none. The' wasn't one hitch in the whole
outfit except that I'd lost my taste for it. I couldn't get it out
of my head that one man had already taken me for a child's playmate,
an' while I knew that this particular man had other views by this
time, I didn't know how long it would be before some one else would
find that same idea gettin' too big to keep under his breath; so the
very second that spring opened I hunted up Jabez one mornin' after I
had given old Pluto a special good rubbin', an' after talkin' a
while about nothin' at all, I sez to him, "Jabez, I'm goin' to pull
out purty soon."

"What for?" sez he.

The' ain't no chance on this place for a man to get on," I sez.
"What do you want to get on for?" Sez he. Well, that was a fetcher.
The great trouble in debatin' with a man is, that he never flushes
up the kind of an idea 'at your gun is loaded to shoot. "What does
any one want to get on for?" sez I.

"I don't know," sez Jabez, kind o' sad like. "It's been so long
since I wanted to get on that I can't remember what fool notion it
was that sicked me at it; but it looks to me as though you was doing
purty well, considerin' the way you work."

There it was again. It was just for all the world as if the watchdog
had gone on a strike for higher wages. "Well, you're right about
that," sez I. "If I owned a place like this, I wouldn't board a man
who didn't do more than I do. That's one reason why I'm goin' to
travel on a little--I 'm gettin' so rusty that the creakin' o' my
joints sets my teeth on edge."

"Poor old man," sez Jabez, sarcastic. "I saw you vaultin' over Pluto
this mornin'. You'd better be careful, you're liable to snap some o'
your brittle bones. I'll have to put you on a pension."

"Pension bell!" I snaps. "I've been pensioned too long already. The'
ain't any chance for a man with get-up, over a low grade coffee-
cooler on this place, an' I 'm sick of it. I'm goin' to hunt up a
job where it will pay me to do my best."

"How much pay do you want, for heaven's sake?" sez he.

"I don't want any more pay for what I 'm doin'," sez I, "but I do
want more opportunity. You don't keep any out an' out foreman here
an'--"

"An' it wouldn't make any difference if I did," he snaps in. "It's
allus best to get an imported foreman, an' not have any jealousy;
but confound you, I pay six men on this place foremen's wages--an'
you're one of 'em."

"Six?" sez I.

"Yes, I raised Bill Andrews' pay last week. He does more work than
any of you, all' he ain't all the time growlin'. He won't never have
any friends either, so if I was to choose a foreman he'd be my
pick." "I was foreman of the Lion Head a good many years ago," sez
I, "an' I built it up, an' my work was appreciated: but I was a fool
kid then. Now I 'm gettin' along ill years an' I don't intend to
waste any more o' my life."

"How old are ya, Happy?" sez he, laughin'.

"Well, I'll be thirty years old--before so many more years," sez I,
lookin' full as indignant as I felt, I reckon. "You're nothin' but a
kid in most things," sez Jabez, an' his voice was so friendly that I
began to cool. Then he said, "Why, I never think of you like I do
the rest o' the boys, though I rely on you a heap more. You've allus
been like one o' the family, like; an' you an' Barbie have played
around together until most o' the time I think of ya as about the
same age; but if it's anything in the money line, why speak out. I
was a young feller myself once, an' if you've happened to run up any
debts on some o' your town trips, why I'll pass you over a little
extra an' take it out in laughin' at you."

By George, he made it hard for me. One moment he'd tramp on my corn
an' the next he'd scratch me between the shoulders; but the more he
said the more I see that I did not have any regular place in the
team; I was just a colt playin; beside, an' it gritten on me
something fierce.

"Jabez," I sez, "it's hard for me to explain myself. I like this
place an' you know it; but if you had a son o' your own, you
wouldn't like to see him settlin' down before he'd struggled up a
little. I'm old enough now to take a practical view o' life, an' I
intend to become a business man."

He tried not to grin, I'll say that for him, but he couldn't cut it.
"Why, bless your heart, boy, you never will be practical, an' as for
business, you have about the same talent for it as a grizzly bear.
You enjoy life as you go along, an' you enjoy it full an' free; a
business man don't enjoy anything but makin' money. You may be rich
some day, but it won't be from attendin' to business. Now take a
lay-off if you want to, an' get this nonsense out of your system,
then come back here. You know 'at Barbie misses you every minute
you're away."

"All right," I sez, "I'll try it. I want to leave this place once,
the same as if we was both grownup, not as if we had had a child's
quarrel. I'll go an' I'll take my lay-off by bucklin' tight down to
business; but if it don't seem to agree with me, why, I'll come back
here an' make a report."

"Now, don't stay away long, cause the little girl is lonesome for
company, an' as she sez to me the other night, you're better company
than any book, an' you've got more intelligence than a school-
teacher."

"Yes," I went on, "an' I don't require beatin' as often as a fur
rug, an' my hair don't shed off as bad as a dog's, an' if I could
just forget that I 'm a human bein' I wouldn't be any more bother
than the rest o' the furnishings; but that is the one thing that 's
on my mind just now--I 'm a man, an' it's time I began to practice
at it."

Barbie wasn't quite so easy to get away from as Jabez was. She
couldn't believe but what we'd been quarrelin'. When you came right
down to givin' the actual reason for my departure without mentionin'
any o' the true cause, it was a rather delicate project for a man
who hadn't no experience in makin' political speeches: an' Barbie
gave me a purty complete goin' over.

We talked it out for a week, but my mind was made up to go an' the'
wasn't anything that could stop me, unless it was mighty important;
an' at last she stopped arguin' an' just began to look sorry. That
was hardest of all.

"Happy," she sez to me one night when we was ridin' back from Look
Out, "don't you think I'm old enough now to ask Dad about what that
letter meant?"

I turned an' looked at her; the sun was just about to duck behind
the ridge, an' her face was in all its brightness. It was a lot
different face from that of the child who had asked the question so
long ago. It was serious with its question, an' it looked like the
face of a woman. This was the first time she had mentioned the
subject since I'd been back, an' I hadn't thought she dwelt on it
any more; but I saw now that it lay close up to her heart, an' was
the one thing she never could ride away from. "I'm purt' nigh
fifteen," she went on. "Fifteen is a goodly age," I sez, but not
sarcastic. I was thinkin' of Jabez an' myself that mornin', an'
wonderin' if age cut so much figger after all. "Do you an' your dad
ever talk about your mother any more?" I asked her.

"Not much," she said. "When one wants to know all, and one don't
want to tell any, the' ain't much satisfaction in talkin' about--
about even your own mother. Don't you still miss your mother?"

"Well, I wouldn't like to tell everybody," sez I, "but I sure do.
Why, if the' was any way on earth that I could go back to her, I'd
sure go--this very minute."

"At least you know about her. If I just knew about my mother it
might be all right. You can't seem to get close to even a mother
when you don't know a single thing about her. If you know people
well, you can tell what they'd do under any kind of conditions, an'
if you know what they have done, an' what they've been through, you
know purty well what they are; but when you don't know anything at
all, it makes it hard, awful hard."

I didn't have anything to say to her that would help, so I didn't
say anything; an' after we had ridden on a while she said, "Happy, I
don't want you to be a business man. The Easterners that rile me up
worse than any other kind are the business men. They allus calculate
how a thing could be turned into money. Why, if one of 'em lived out
here he'd put a cash value on of Mount Savage. They allus make me
think o' Dombey."

"What was th' about that buckskin mustang to make you think of a
business man?" sez I, thinkin' she meant a little ridin' pony she
used to have.

"I don't mean Dobbins," sez she, "I mean a character out of a book.
He was such a good business man that he let most of life slip by
him. I don't want you to do that." "Well, I'll try not to," sez I,
"an' it may be that beginnin' late in life like I am, I won't become
enough of a business man to get that way; but the' is one thing
sure--I 'm through with my nonsense. I'm not goin' around playin'
like a boy any more, I'm goin' to start in an' stick to business all
this summer, an' see what comes of it."

"Where you goin' to start in?" sez she.

"How do I know?" sez I. "I'm just goin' to knock around till I meet
up with a business openin', an' then I 'm goin' to put my full might
into it till I know the whole game."

"I don't believe that's the way they do it," sez she. "These ones
that I've heard braggin' about bein' business men don't look to me
as if they ever did much knockin' around. They generally have
everything all planned out when they begin, and then follow out the
plans. Are you goin' to start in some town or go into a big city?"

"Well, I can tell you more about it when I get back," sez I. "I
stayed three days in San Francisco oncet, but I didn't like it--it
was too cramped up. I'm thinkin' o' headin' that way though."

"Well, as soon as you've give business a good fair try-out, you'll
come back here an' tell us about it, won't you?" sez she. The sun
had dropped by this time; but I could still make out her face in the
twilight. The eyes were big an' soft an' glisteny, the lips were
parted an' were tremblin' a little; it was a brave little face, but
it looked lonesome. Something began to tighten around my heart. an'
I didn't want to go; but I had put my hands to the plow, an' I
didn't intend to back-track till I'd turned one full furrow. "Yes,"
I sez. "Honor bright, just as soon as I've give it a fair trial I'll
come back an' let you know."

"You'll come before it snows if you can, won't you?" she sez, an' I
nodded.

Well, for my part, I'd rather quarrel when I'm goin' to break any
ties. I stayed for five meals after that, but they was uncommon
dismal. We all tried to act as if everything was runnin' to suit us,
an' we all made a successful failure of it. When at last I was ready
to leave, Jabez shook my hand and said, "Now this is just a
vacation, Happy. Have your outing an' then come back an' settle down
here. Do you want to take your money with you, or leave it in the
bank until you decide to invest it?"

"What money?" sez I.

He grinned. "Oh, you'll make a business man all right. Don't you
remember givin' me six hundred dollars after you came back from the
Pan Handle? Well, it's been in the bank ever since, an' it's grew
some, I reckon."

"Well, let her keep on growin'," sez I. "I'm goin' to learn the
business before I invest in it."

"That's sense," sez he. "Did you ever have any experience?"

"I was clerk in a restaurant once," sez I; "but I didn't like it,
an' I don't reckon I'll go into the restaurant business."

Barbie rode a long way with me, but we didn't talk much.

I don't suppose the' ever was a time when we both had so much to
say; but we couldn't seem to say it, an' when we came to part all
she said was, "Oh, Happy, I hate to see you go, but I'm sure you'll
come back in the fall."

"I'll come back as soon as I feel I can," sez I; "an' now don't
worry none yourself, an' don't fret your Dad--an' don't forget old
Happy." We shook hands long an' firm, an' her eyes seemed tryin' to
hold me until I couldn't look into 'em--but I didn't kiss her this
time. We both noticed it, an' we both knew 'at while I was partin'
from her she was partin' from her childhood. Partin' from anything
'at you've been fond of is mighty sad business; and so I rode away
again.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

BUSINESS IS BUSINESS

I felt entirely different this time. I wasn't smartin' under anger
an' unjust treatment; I was goin' out of my own accord an' because I
had left behind me the carelessness of boyhood, hood, an' was ready
to plow an' plant an' wait for a crop. No more gaiety, no more
frivolity, no more heedlessness. I was to scheme an' plan for the
future an' not be led astray by every enticin' amusement that
beckoned to me.

When I came in sight of Danders the second day, I didn't inquire how
my thirst was feelin'--no more thirst emersions for mine. The' ain't
any profit in that, sez I to myself; what I want to do is to ease
this old skin of a pony along until I can get a piece of money for
him; that's business.

I wasn't much acquainted over in Danders, an' I thought it would be
easy slidin'; but the first feller I met was a useless sort of a
cuss what had been punchin' cows at the Diamond Dot the time the
Prophy Gang tried to clean it out, an' he has to tell 'em who I am,
an' they had all heard about me an' Bill Andrews; so 'at it was
purt' nigh impossible for me to hold out. I apologized for not
drinkin', an' they let me off; but the old Diamond Dot hand said he
was broke, an' wanted me to shove him a little stake.

Well, that was sure a bad opening: "Business," sez I, "don't let go
one cent unless it's goin' to grab another an' fetch it back home;"
an' I knew that all I gave this feller would keep in circulation for
the balance of eternity. Then a brilliant thought struck me, an' I
told him I'd give him one fourth of all he got for the pony over ten
dollars. He looked at the pony an' sez, "Who gets the ten dollars?"

"I gets the ten dollars," sez I. "This is business: I own the pony,
I pay you wages to sell him, the more you sell him for the more you
get."

He looks at me a moment an' then he calls a gang around him an' sez
to 'em: "Here's a rich one, fellers. You see this pony--well, he was
too blame old to herd geese with when I was punchin' cows over at
the Diamond Dot, ten year ago, an' now Happy wants me to sell him,
me gettin' one fourth of all I rake in over ten dollars--an' HIM
gettin' the ten dollars. What do ya think o' that for nerve?"

Course they all laughed like a lot o' guinea-hens, but I knew that a
business man has to overlook the inborn ignorance of his customers,
or else it's twice as hard to land 'em; so I just smiled polite.

"What is your first offer, men?" sez my salesman. "Who'll give me a
hundred dollars for this grand old relic; this veteran of a hundred
wars; this venerable and honorable souvynier of bygone ages?" Well,
that blame fool went on pilin' it up while the crowd egged him on by
offerin' two bits, an' four bits, an' six bits an' a drink; an' so
on until I was disgusted and turned it off as a joke, tellin' the
blasted rascal to take the pony an' try to trade him for a night's
lodgin'.

He takes my saddle an' bridle off an' puts 'em careful in the hotel,
an' then he takes the pony across the street an' begins to rub him
down. He rubs him a while an' combs out his stringy mane an' tail
with his fingers. Every now an' again he backs off an' examines that
pony as though he was actually worth stealin'. I couldn't make out
what he was up to, so I stood in front of the hotel watchin' him.
Purty soon up comes a tourist what has been lurkin' around in the
distance.

"What is the' about that pony that everybody takes such an interest
in him for?" sez he, glancin' over to where us fellers was gawkin'.

"Don't you know?" sez the feller, in surprise. I can't quite recall
his name now, but I think it was Bill. Anyhow, most fellers' names
is Bill, so we'll call him Bill. "Don't you know who this pony is?"
sez Bill.

"Why no," sez the tourist. "I just arrived this mornin', an' I'm
waitin' for my uncle to send in after me."

"Is that so?" sez Bill. "Well, I'll bet your uncle knows who this
pony is. This pony is Captain. Who is your Uncle?"

"Why, my uncle is Charles W. Hampton," sez the tourist.

"You don't say!" sez Bill. "Well, Cholly knows who Captain is all
right."

"Oh, do you know him?" sez the tourist.

"Why, everybody knows him around here," sez Bill.

"That's funny; they told me he lived over a hundred and forty miles
from here," sez the tourist. "But what is the' about Captain that
makes him so wonderful? He don't look like much of a pony to me."

Bill looks at the pony and then he looks at the tourist, then he
looks at the pony again an' sez in a low voice: "It ain't on his
looks, it's for what he's done that makes Captain famous."

"What's he done?" sez the tourist.

"Did you ever hear of Custer's massacre?" sez Bill.

"Of course I have," sez the tourist, gettin' interested.

Bill, he walks up an' puts his hand on the pony's neck, an' then he
turns an' sez proudly, "This here pony is the last survivin' remnant
of that historical event."

"You don't say!" sez the tourist. "What are you goin' to do with
him?"

"I don't want to say a word again the flag of my country," sez Bill,
holdin' tip his hand, "but my country ain't got the gratitude it ort
to have when it comes to hosses. I don't blame 'em for condemnin'
the common run o' hosses an' sellin' 'em to wear out their pore
lives in--in toilsome labor, but when it comes to a hoss with a
record like Captain--well, I kept him as long as I could afford it.
Now I'm goin' to give him a good groomin', spend my last penny in
givin' him one more feed, an' then take him out on the broad free
prairie of his native soil--an' shoot him. Of course I could sell
him, but I won't do it. I'd rather give him a soldier's death than
to have him hammered around in his old age, after all he's done for
his country."

Well, the tourist, he gets all het up over it, an' then he comes
over to where us fellers gathered. We're standin' in solemn awe, an'
he sees the' ain't any of it put on; but he can't tell that it ain't
respect for what the pony has done that makes us so solemn; he can't
see 'at we 're off erin' up our tribute to Bill.

"Do any of you gentlemen know anything about that pony?" sez the
tourist.

"Who, Captain!" sez a tall, lanky, sad-lookin' puncher. "Well, it
ain't likely that you can find a man in the West who wouldn't
recognize that pony by the description. That there pony was in the
Custer Massacre."

"The gentleman what owns him is goin' to shoot him," sez the
tourist.

"Well, perhaps it's all for the best," sez the sad one. "I ain't no
millionaire, but I offered him thirty-seven dollars for that pony.
He doubted that I'd take good care of him, so he wouldn't sell him
to me. He said he didn't think I'd abuse the pony when I was sober,
but I'll have to own up that when a friend--when a friend invites me
to have a drink, I can't say no--an' I got a darn sight o' friends
in this country."

The' ain't no use in draggin' this out. After that tourist had
agreed to treat that pony like the saints of glory, Bill, he finally
sold him to him for an even fifty dollars--an' it was me that bought
the liquor for the crowd.

I'm good-natured enough to suit any one reasonable, but I own up I
was sore. Here I'd started out with the best intentions in the
world, with my mind all made up not to be led into temptation or
turned from a set purpose, an' what was the first result? I had
simply given my entire stock in trade away to a worthless loafer,
an' had seen him sell it for fifty dollars after he had made all
manner of fun of me for offerin' one fourth of all he made over ten.
Why, the pony was worth seven dollars, an' I could have sold him for
that money myself if I hadn't let them laugh me into showin' of.
Then to top off with, I'd blown in about a month's wages just to
show the gang I was able to take a joke when it was measured out to
me.

I was ready right at that minute to own tip that business didn't
come natural to me; but I enjoyed myself plenty enough until along
toward mornin', an' then the penjalum begun to swing back. I sat
over in the corner kickin' myself purty freely, when a funny,
twisted little man came over an' sat across from me. He had pink-
like cheeks an' shiny little eyes, an' he was middlin' well crowded
with part of the wet goods I had been payin' for. "It was one o' the
smoothest business deals I ever saw put through--on a small scale,"
sez he.

"Oh, hang business," sez I.

"Well, it's a hangin' matter often enough," sez he. "Do you know the
reason why the' 's so much devilment in this world?"

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