Books: Happy Hawkins
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Robert Alexander Wason >> Happy Hawkins
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You might think that a man runnin' for congress in this country has
a hard time sinkin' his reputation; but the way 'at Monte Cristo
mined around in a feller's past was enough to scare a cat out of a
cellar. They don't run things over in France like they do here; they
make Counts an' Markusses an' Bankers out of the bad men, an' slap
the innocent ones into dungeons to keep 'em from gettin' spoilt. But
this didn't suit Monte for a minute; so when he gets the gang all
settin' up in front of him like a herd o' tenpins he sez, "Let her
go!" an' you ought to have seen 'em drop.
He don't do none o' the dirty work himself--no more prisons for him.
He just goes around like a Sunday-school director at Christmas time,
while his enemies turn to an' poison an' stab an' mutilate each
other in a way to turn a butcher pale; but his favorite plan is to
make 'em go insane an' have their hair turn white in a single night.
That got to be his private brand.
Well, Hammy read the book to us so natural that we all slept in one
bed for company; but it cheered us a heap, an' we begun to feel
rich, ourselves, an' talked about millions as easy an' natural as
though we each had little holler islands of our own. Miller was
about my size, so 'at all his clothes fit me like the skin on a
potato. Hammy was a leetle too tall an' thin, and Locals, a foot or
so short; but they fished out a couple of swell outfits too.
We found a lot of empty check-books, an' used to play draw, settlin'
at night by check. It was purty good fun for a while--until we woke
up. Hammy owed me ten million francs an' Locals was into me for
fifteen. I offered to give 'em a receipt in full if they'd give me
their interest in the yeller pup. As long as the pup had three
bosses he wouldn't mind no one, an' I wanted to teach him somethin'
besides eatin' an' sleepin; but them two cusses wouldn't sell out at
the price. When I saw that a hundred an' twenty-five million dollars
wouldn't buy two-thirds of a seventy-five cent pup, I understood
what the spell-binders mean by a debased currency, an' I felt hurt
an' lonesome again.
One day Hammy stacked himself in front of a window an' began to talk
about the gloomy ghastliness of solitude, until me an' Locals
couldn't stand it no longer, an' we heaved him out into a drift.
Under ordinary circumstances he would have rolled his eyes, pulled
his hair, an' ranted around about the base ungratitude of man; but
this time he looked up to the sky an' hollered, "Come out here
quick! Hurry up! COME ON!"
We went out, an' the' was somethin' a-floatin' away up yonder,
lookin' like a flyspeck on a new tablecloth. "What is it?" asked
Hammy. "Is it a bird?" asked Locals. Under such conditions I never
say nothin' until I have somethin' to say, so we stood an' gazed. In
about ten minutes we all shouted together, "It's a balloon!"
An' by jinks, that's what it was. We hollered an' fired off guns,
an' after a while it settled down an' lodged in a tree. The' was
only one man in it, but he was dyked out in Sunday clothes, an'
purt' nigh froze to death. We fed an' warmed him, an' he was about
as much surprised at us as we was at him. I was wearin' a Prince
Albert coat an' a high plug hat, Locals had on a white flannel
yachtin' rig, an' Hammy was sportin' a velvet suit with yeller
leggin's an' a belt around the waist. After we had fitted him out
with a pipe he sez, "Gentlemen, I may possibly be able to repay you
at some future time. I am Lord Arthur Cleighton, second son of the
Earl o' Clarenden."
When he registered himself thus, I see Locals an' Hammy open their
eyes, an' I knew 'at we had landed somethin' purty stately.
"I am pleased to meet you, me lord," sez Hammy, in his most gorgeous
manner. "I am Gene De Arcy. You may have heard of my father, the
multimillionaire."
Locals, he looked at Lord Arthur, an' see that Hammy's bluff had
stuck, so he girded up his loins an' sez, "Sir, it gives me great
pleasure to make your acquaintance. My uncle, Silas Martin, the late
copper king, has just died, leavin' me as his sole heir; an' I have
been seein' a bit of my own country, preparatory to a prolonged trip
around the world."
Lord Arthur, he jumps to his feet an' shakes hands with 'em, tellin'
'em to just cut out his title, as he was a simple Democrat while in
the United States.
I hardly knew what to do. I didn't hold openers, an' yet if I didn't
draw some cards an' see it out I stood to lose entirely. I had been
corralin' a heap o' city langwidge since I had been cooped up with
Locals an' Hammy, but my heart failed me. I knew I was still some
shy on society manners; but I also knew 'at the' was a heap o'
bluffin' goin' on, so I stuck up my bet an' called.
"Artie," I sez, holdin' out my hand, "you 're the first lord my eyes
has ever feasted on; but I like you--you're game. it ain't many 'at
will own up to bein' a Democrat these days, not even in the secrecy
of the ballot box, but here in Nevada you're safe. Pa has just
retired from business, leavin' me this little mine; but it only pays
about ten million a year now, so I've made up my mind not to bother
with it, but to shut it down an' go on a tour of the world with my
two friends here. I never cared much for school, so this will be a
good way to finish my edication. We was up here last fall seein'
that things was closed in proper order, an' waited for the watchman
to come up from below, when we expected to drive down to our special
train an' start for Paris. But the snow came unexpected, and the
expected watchman failed to come; and here we are, with no food fit
for a human, an' all our servants in the special train, ninety miles
away."
When I begun my oration Locals and Hammy leaned forward, holdin'
their breath; but when they see 'at I wasn't turnin' out no
schoolboy article of a lie, they settled back with a long sigh, an'
I could tell by their faces 'at they were takin' pride in my work.
They was about the best qualified judges o' that kind o' work I ever
met up with, an' I'll own 'at I never felt prouder in my life 'an I
did when Hammy slapped me on the back as soon as I finished an' sez
to Artie, "Me Lord, this is a typical American. He plans his life on
larger things than rules; but you can depend on him--yea, though the
heavens fall, you can depend on Jack here."
I was glad we didn't have any liquor there, or like as not we'd 'a'
burned the hotel down just for a lark. We was so full of that
doggone Monte Cristo book that we believed our own lies as easy as
Artie did, an' begun to talk to each other like we was society folks
at a banquet.
But Artie was a good, decent sort of a chap, as common as we were,
when we got to know him. He never kicked none on the grub, an' his
appetite was a thing to make preparations for; but, as Locals said,
his high descent came out the minute he was brought face to face
with work--he didn't recognize it. Now he didn't try to dodge it,
nor he didn't apologize for not doing it; he just didn't seem to
know the' was such a thing. It never occurred to him that the only
way to have clean dishes was to wash dirty ones. Hammy and Locals,
those freeborn sons of Independence, was glad an' proud to have the
chance to wait on him; but I must confess that the day he sat by the
fire with a pile of wood within reachin' distance, an' let the fire
go out, I grew a trifle loquacious about it.
Hammy overheard me mutterin' to myself in a voice 'at could be heard
anywhere in the hotel, an' he drew me to one side an' sez, "Hush,
presumptuous peasant; for all you know the blood of Alfred flows
within his veins."
"That ain't my fault," sez I; "but some of it will flow down this
mountain side if he don't begin stayin' awake daytimes."
Still, all in all, he was a likeable young feller an' the' ain't no
doubt but what he saved us from bein' lonesome any more. He said 'at
this balloon had been exhibited in Los Angeles, an' he had got into
it just for fun; but the rope had parted an' he had been fifteen
hours on the way. It was only by luck 'at he had happened to have
his overcoat along.
He had four or five newspapers, which he had tied around his feet to
keep 'em warm, but nare a library; so after we had lied our
imaginations sore for a week or so, we fell back on draw, settlin'
by checks at night. By a dazzling piece of luck Artie had his money
in the same New York bank 'at Miller had, so he could use our
checks, an' things began to brighten. Three of us were playin' for
real money, an' the other feller thought he was--it was genuine
poker, an' the stiffest game I ever sat in.
Time didn't drag none now. Artie knew the game, an' it kept me in a
sweat to beat him. White chips was a hundred dollars apiece; but we
bet colored ones mostly, to keep from litterin' up the table. Spring
began to loosen up about the first of March, an' by that time Artie
owed me two million real dollars. Locals an' Hammy was into me for
close to a billion, but I didn't treasure their humble offerings
much, 'ceptin' as pipe-lighters. We was keyed up to a high pitch by
this time, an' was beginnin' to get thin and ringey about the eyes.
Artie from losin', me from longin' for the time to come when I
should start out to be a little Monte Cristo on my own hook, an'
Locals an' Hammy, from pityin' Artie an' envyin' me.
On the twenty-fifth of March a wagon-load of grub an' four men came
out to get things started. I see 'em comin' up the grade, an' I
piked down an' told'em 'at I had landed a good thing, an' to just
treat me as the boss for a few days an' I'd make it all right with
'em.
When Artie saw the new men he turned pale about the gills. He owed
me close to three millions, an' blame if I didn't feel a little
sorry for him. Still, I'd played fair all the while, an' I 'lowed
'at the Earl o' Clarenden could stand it, and I needed the money a
heap more'n some who might 'a' won it.
When old Bill Sykes came in to report to me I was wearin' a plug hat
on the back o' my head an' sportin' a white vest an' a red necktie,
so I looked enough like the real thing to make it easy for him to
act his part. He came in an' blurted out, right while we was
boostin' up a jack-pot. "That'll do, me good man," sez I, "wait
until this hand is played." Bill, he took off his hat an' stood
humble until Artie had scooped in a hundred thousand dollars, an'
then I told Bill he might talk.
"The watchman was found froze to death, Mr. Hawkins," sez Bill to me
mighty respectful, "an' your train waited until two relief parties
had been drove back by storms, an' then it pulled out for 'Frisco.
We are all ready to take charge here, an' as soon as you wish you
can drive down in the wagon an' telegraph for the train."
Bill backed out bowin', an' we made plans to emigrate a little. I
promised Locals an' Hammy a generous rake-off, an' we fixed to have
a tol'able fair time as soon as I cashed in.
Next mornin' I found a letter addressed to Mr. John Hawkins, Esq.
Artie wasn't around, but Locals an' Hammy was, so I opened the
letter an' read it. This here is the letter. It's one o' my greatest
treasures.
"GENTLEMEN,--You have all treated me fine an' I hate to skin out
without saying good-bye but I have not the nerve. I have lied to you
all the time. I am not a real lord at all. My father was gardener at
Clarenden Castle an' I was under groom at St. James Court. When the
younger son came to this country, I came with him but left him an'
became a waiter in New York City. I went to an excursion to Long
Branch an' got to flirting with a widow just for pastime. She dogged
my life after that and my wife is something terrible so I took her
and came to Los Angeles. We was as happy as any one could be with a
wife like mine until the widow showed up. Then I stood between two
fires and either one of them was hell so I got into the balloon and
cut the rope expecting to drift over into Mexico. You are all rich
and will not need the money but I always play fair and I hate to
skin out this way;
"yours truly "L. A. C.
"P.S. It was all I could do to keep from helping with the work
'cause some of your cooking was rotten and you did not wash the
dishes clean but I knew if I worked you would not think me a real
lord. I hope some day I may be able to repay you for all your
kindness"
I didn't say a word after I finished readin' the letter. I had
fallen too far to have any breath left for talkin'; but Hammy an'
Locals unbosomed their hearts something terrible.
"A murrian on the filthy swine!" sez Hammy, after he began to quiet
down a little. "I would I had his treacherous throat within my
grasp, that I might squeeze his inky soul back to the lower depths
from whence he sprung."
"Hush, you punkin headed peasant," sez I. "The' 's just as much of
Alfred's blood flowin' through his veins now as the' ever was."
"'T is not the money I have lost that makes me mad," sez Locals.
"It's finding out that a man can become so degenerate that he will
impose upon the very ones who save his life--deceive them, lie to
them!"
"Oh, he ain't the only liar 'at was ever in this hotel," sez I; "an'
when it comes to the money YOU'VE lost, that'd be a small matter to
get mad over. He risked just as much money as we did, an' if he'd
'a' won, he wouldn't 'a' won a cent more."
After a while they grew more resigned in their langwidge; but after
we had driven down to town without finding him, Hammy sez, "In sooth
't is bitter truth that all the world's a stage; yet Fate, however
cruel, never decreed that I should play the second season, as
servile server to a worn out mine--my health is all right again, an'
I'm goin' back where a feller gets paid decent wages for makin' a
fool of himself."
Suddenly Locals gave a yell of joy and shouted, "My fortune's made!
I can take this thing and have a runaway boy and a lost orphan and a
rich uncle and a villanous cousin, and write the novel of the age
about it."
"No, no!" sez Hammy, catchin' the excitement, "tragedy--make it a
tragedy. It is for the stage! Think of them lost without food and
the balloon coming into sight! Think of the scenic effects, the low
music as the orphan kneels in the middle of the stage and prays that
the balloon may bring them food; and then have the villanous cousin
in the balloon--"
Well, they purt' nigh fought about it, and they were still at it
when I left them. The tingle of spring in the air made me wild to
get back to the range again. I thought of little Barbie and what a
great girl she must be by this time. I thought of the big-eyed
winter calves huggin' up to their mothers and wonderin' what it all
meant. I thought of old Mount Savage, and all of a sudden somethin'
seemed pullin' at my breast like a rope, an' I drew down my winter
wages, an' set out for the no'th, eager as a hound pup on his first
hunt.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DRESS REFORM AT THE DIAMOND DOT
I've heard it called Christian fortitude, an' I've heard it called
Injun stoickcism, an' I've heard it called bulldog grit; but it's a
handy thing to have, no matter what it is. I mean the thing that
keeps a feller good company when the' 's a hurtin' in his heart that
he never quite forgets. A little child away from home an' just sick
to go back, a man who has to grit his teeth an'--but no, the first
expresses the feelin' better--a child, homesick, but keepin' a stiff
upper lip; and it don't make much difference what the age, that's a
condition 'at nobody ever outgrows.
Well, all the years I'd been away the' was a little empty sore spot
in my heart that I couldn't quite forget; but I never aired it none,
an' I don't believe I knew myself how big it was, until I left
Slocum's Luck behind me an' headed for the Diamond Dot. Then I
spread a grin on my face that nothin' wouldn't wipe off, an' I
stepped so high an' light that I was like a nervous man goin'
barefoot through a thistle patch. I was headed for home; an' even a
mule that gets dressed down regular with the neck-yoke gives a
little simmer of joy when he's headed toward home, while a dog,--
well, a dog will just naturally joyful himself all over when the
trail doubles back on itself, an' a dog ain't no parlor loafer,
neither, if I'm any judge.
Why, for two years I hadn't polished a saddle, an' I whistled like a
boy when I pictured to myself the feel of a hoss under me. The' 's
somethin' about feelin' a hoss's strength slide into your legs an'
up through your body that must be a good deal like the sensation a
saint enjoys the first fly he takes with his new wings. A little
pop-eyed drug merchant was out here on a tour oncet, an' he asked me
the usual list of blame-fool questions, about what we et an' where
we washed an' if it didn't make us ache to sleep on the hard ground,
an so on. When I had made answers to his queries accordin' to the
amount of information I thought it wise to load him with, he shakes
his head solemn like an' sez, "I do not see where you get any
compensation for such a life as this."
"We don't get any compensation," sez I, "but look at all the hoss-
back ridin' we get to make up for it."
An' there I was with the spring drippin' all about me, the plains
standin' beckonin' to me on every side, just coaxin' to be rode
over, an' me walkin' on foot with flat-heeled boots on!
I had rode out on Sam Cutler's freighter to within' twenty miles o'
the ranch house, an' I built a little fire an' unrolled my blankets;
but I couldn't sleep. I just lay lookin' up at the stars an' tryin'
to imagine what Barbie looked like an' whether Starlight was still
at the ranch, an' every now an' again I tried to decide as to
whether I'd grin or he haughty when I first spied Jabez. I was some
anxious to come upon Barbie first. I knew she'd be glad to see me,
but I was rather leery about Jabez. He would 'a' welcomed a projical
son of his own as often as occasion offered, but he wasn't just the
sort of a man to be a public welcomer. I couldn't picture him
puttin' up a sign sayin', "Projical sons turn to the left. If
chicken is proferred to veal, shoot in the air twice when you get
within a mile of the house."
But I was too much elated to worry much, an' along about one o'clock
I rolled up my blankets, kicked out my fire, an' started to drill.
When the sun rose I was in sight of the ranch house, an' the sun
seemed to throw an arm around my shoulder an' go skippin' along by
my side--an' I did skip now an' again.
When I got about a mile from the house I came upon Jabez, walkin'
slow an' lookin' down-hearted. He hadn't changed a mite in the five
years--in fact from what I could see he hadn't even changed his
clothes; so for a moment I thought his sour look was the same ill
humor I'd left him in; an' then I saw it was more serious, an' my
heart stopped with a thump.
He looked up just then an' we stared at each other without speakin'.
"Ain't you dead?" sez he.
"No I ain't," sez I.
"We heard you was," sez he; "killed in a muss over at Danders."
"I don't believe it," sez I, "an' besides, I ain't been in Danders
for over seven years."
"Well, then, what made you stay away so long for?" sez he, sort o'
snappy.
"I don't remember you sheddin' any tears when I left, an' I don't
recall you beggin' me to hurry back," sez I. I was pleased at the
way I was bein' received an' I meant to make him show his hand.
"You know as well as I do that things allus go better on this ranch
when you're here."
"Yes," sez I.
"An' you know 'at I don't like to beg no man to do anything; but you
ought to see that I know that you're the usefullest man I ever had,
an' you oughtn't to be so fly-uppity," sez he.
"Now see here, Jabez," sez I, "you're one o' the kind o' men who
never own up 'at a man was fit to live until after he's dead. You're
like some o' these Easterners--they get so everlastin' entranced
with the beautiful scenery that they forget to water their ridin'
hosses. I don't ask no special favors, but I ain't so mortal thick-
skinned myself, an' you ought to learn sometime that there is hosses
'at work better when they're not beat up an' yelled at."
"Are you goin' to stay this time?" sez he.
"As long as it's agreeable--all around," sez I. "Is everything goin'
smooth?"
The down-hearted look came into his eyes again. "She won't speak to
me," sez he.
"You don't mean to say 'at you've gone an' got married," sez I, "or
that you are tryin' to?"
"I ain't such a fool," he snaps. "It's Barbie, I mean."
"How long has this been goin' on?" sez I.
"This is the fourth meal," sez he; an' he was so solemn about it
that I was some inclined to snicker, but then it flashed upon me
that when I left, the child was all het up over the letter she'd
found in the attic, and I sobered an' sez, "Is it something 'at's
goin' to be hard to smooth over?"
"I don't see how the deuce it's ever goin' to be smoothed over," sez
Jabez, desperately.
"Would you feel like sort o' hintin' what it was about?" sez I.
"Well, it's about the way she acts," sez Jabez. "Confound it, Happy,
she's the best gal child ever was on this earth, I reckon, but she
don't want to be one, an' she won't act like it, an' she--she won't
dress like it. Every time I argue with her she beats me to it, an'
I'm plumb stumped. Yesterday I told her she had to take 'em off an'
wear dresses, an' she did; but now she won't speak to me."
"You mean that you said that she was never to argue with you again?"
sez I, indignant.
"No, I mean that I sez she must take those confounded buckskin pants
off! She's big enough now to begin to train to become a woman--not a
man."
I had to grin a little, but even though it didn't seem as skeptical
to me as it did to him, I saw he might be right about it. Still, I
wasn't goin' to take sides without hearin' all the evidence, so I
sez, "Is she healthy, Jabez?"
"Healthy?" he sez. "Why, that child could winter through without
shelter an' come out in the spring kickin' up her heels an'
snortin'."
"Well, that much is in her favor," sez I. "Is she good at her
studies?"
"Where you been that you haven't heard about it?" sez he. "Last
winter she out-ciphered an' out-spelt the schoolmarm, an' she
fuddled up one o' these missionary preachers till he didn't know
where he was at. She has been studyin' about all kinds o' things,
an' she cornered him up on the first chapter o' Genesis. She lined
out the school-marm first, an' the schoolmarm came an' told me that
she was an infidel--the' ain't no sense in havin' women teach
school, Happy. You can't reason with 'em an' you can't fight with
'em an' they just about pester a body to death. I don't see how
Barbie stands it."
"Well, what did you do about her bein' an infidel?" sez I.
"I couldn't do anything to the teacher except tell her what I
thought of her; but next Sunday I had Barbie read to me the first
chapter o' Genesis. Did you ever read it, Happy?"
"Yes," sez I, "I read all of that book an' most of the next one. Me
an' another feller had a dispute about the Bible one time, an' he
said it was the best readin' the' was, an' I said it was too dry. He
read me about a feller in it named Samson, who was full o' jokes an'
the strongest man ever was, I reckon, before he let that Philistine
woman loco him, an' he read about another feller, just a mite of a
boy, who killed a giant with a slingshot in front of an army which
had made fun of him an' was all ready to give in to the giant, an'
he read me some poems about mountains; an' I had to give in that the
Bible was the greatest book ever was. That was up at a little ranch
in Idaho, an' he was goin' to read it all to me an' explain what it
meant,--he was full edicated, this feller was, an' had a voice as
soft as a far-off bell, an' an eye that seemed to reach right out
an' shake hands with ya,--but one day when I was away a posse
surprised him, an' though he potted two of 'em they finally put him
out. He left me his Bible with a note in it which said that he had
killed the man all right an' that he would do it again under the
circumstances; but he couldn't tell a word in his own defense 'count
of mixin' in a woman. We never found out a word about it, not even
where the posse came from. Well, afterward I tried to read it alone;
but I couldn't make any headway. For one thing, the' 's too many
pedigrees to keep track of, an' the names are simply awful. I don't
want to be profane nor nothin', but hanged if I think the Children
of Israel was square enough to deserve all the heavenly favors they
got; so I finally gave up tryin' to read it. But what about you an'
Barbie?"
"Well," sez he, "I'd read the Bible clean through from cover to
cover an' I never saw anything unreasonable in it, so I thought I
could set Barbie right without any trouble. She read the first
chapter, an' by that time I was runnin' for cover an' yellin' for
help. The' ought to be something done about that book, it ain't
right to try an' raise a child to be honest, an' tell 'em that they
must believe the Bible, an' then have 'em find out what the Bible
really sez."
"Well, what about it?" sez I.
"Well, it sez that the' was light an' darkness an' evenin' an'
mornin' on the first day; on the third day the' was all kinds o'
grass an' herbs yieldin' seeds, an' fruit trees yieldin' fruit; but
the' wasn't no sun or stars until the fourth day. Now how could you
have evenings an' mornings an' grass an' fruit trees without
sunshine? You know that wouldn't work, an' when she put it up to me
I simply threw up my hands, an' sent Spider Kelley with the
buckboard to hunt up this missionary preacher. He was long-haired
an' pius, an' when I saw him I felt purty sure he could straighten
it out; but he wasn't game. Barbie argued fair an' square, an' he
lost his temper an' called her an infidel an' a heretic an' a
nagnostic; but she pulled a lot o' books on him, an' he couldn't
uniderstand 'em an' blasphemed 'em something terrible; but he see he
was whipped, an' just simply ran away. I felt mighty bad about
Barbie bein' an infidel until Friar Tuck came around. You remember
Friar Tuck--the one they call an Episcolopian?" Course I remembered
Friar Tuck. Everybody knew him an' he was about as easy to forget as
a stiff neck--though for different reasons. Preachers are about as
different as other humans to begin with, but the women seem more
unanimously bent on spoilin' 'em; so as a general rule I wade in
purty careful when I 'm startin' an acquaintance with a strange one,
but I did know that this here one was all to the right, an' his time
belonged to any one who demanded it. This made him purty wearin' on
hosses, an' when one would give out on him he'd just turn it loose
an' rope another 'thout makin' any preliminary about it; all the
explanation a body got was just seein' a tired, stray pony eatin'
grass. The first time he tried that game they gathered up a posse
an' ran him down; but he pulled a Bible on 'em showin' where he got
his commission from, threw a sermon into 'em 'at converted two an'
made one other sign the pledge, an' that put an end to any
unsolicited interference in his line o' work. He was a big man with
two right hands, an' some one gave him the name of Friar Tuck out of
a book, an' he was known by it the whole country over.
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