Informational Site NetworkInformational Site Network
   Home - Science Fiction Stories - Western Stories

The Vagrant Sioux

From: Hopalong Cassidy's Rustler Round-up

Buckskin gradually readjusted itself to the conditions which had
existed before its sudden leap into the limelight as a town which did
things. The soiree at the Houston House had drifted into the past, and
was now substantially established as an epoch in the history of the
town. Exuberant joy gave way to dignity and deprecation, and to solid
satisfaction; and the conversations across the bar brought forth
parallels of the affair to be judged impartially -and the impartial
judgment was, unanimously, that while there had undoubtedly been good
fights before Perry's Bend had disturbed the local quiet, they were
not quite up to the new standard of strenuous hospitality. Finally the
heat blistered everything back into the old state, and the shadows
continued to be in demand.

One afternoon, a month after the reception of the honorable
delegation from Perry's Bend, the town of Buckskin seemed desolated,
and the earth and the buildings thereon were as huge furnaces
radiating a visible heat, but when the blazing sun had begun to settle
in the west it awoke with a clamor which might have been laid to the
efforts of a zealous Satan. At this time it became the Mecca of two
score or more joyous cowboys from the neighboring ranches, who livened
things as those knights of the saddle could.

In the scant but heavy shadow of Cowan's saloon sat a picturesque
figure from whom came guttural, resonant rumblings which mingled in a
spirit of loneliness with the fretful sighs of a flea-tormented dog.
Both dog and master were vagrants, and they were tolerated because it
was a matter of supreme indifference as to who came or how long they
stayed as long as the ethics and the unwritten law of the cow country
were inviolate. And the breaking of these caused no unnecessary
anxiety, for justice was both speedy and sure.

When the outcast Sioux and his yellow dog had drifted into town some
few months before they had caused neither expostulation nor inquiry,
as the cardinal virtue of that whole broad land was to ask a man no
questions which might prove embarrassing to all concerned; judgment
was of observation, not of history, and a man's past would reveal
itself through actions. It mattered little whether he was an embezzler
or the wild chip from some prosperous eastern block, as men came to
the range to forget and to lose touch with the pampered East; and the
range absorbed them as its own.

A man was only a man as his skin contained the qualities necessary; and the
illiterate who could ride
and shoot and live to himself was far more esteemed than the educated
who could not do those things. The more a man depends upon himself and
the closer is his contact to a quick judgment the more laconic and
even-poised he becomes. And the knowledge that he is himself a judge
tends to create caution and judgment. He has no court to uphold his
honor and to offer him protection, so he must be quick to protect
himself and to maintain his own standing. His nature saved him, or it
executed; and the range absolved him of all unpaid penalties of a
careless past.

He became a man born again and he took up his burden,
the exactions of a new environment, and he lived as long as those
exactions gave him the right to live. He must tolerate no restrictions
of his natural rights, and he must not restrict; for the one would
proclaim him a coward, the other a bully; and both received short
shrifts in that land of the self-protected. The basic law of nature is
the survival of the fittest.

So, when the wanderers found their level in Buckskin they were not
even asked by what name men knew them. Not caring to hear a name which
might not harmonize with their idea of the fitness of things, the
cowboys of the Bar-20 had, with a freedom born of excellent livers and
fearless temperaments, bestowed names befitting their sense of humor
and adaptability. The official title of the Sioux was By-and-by; the
dog was known as Fleas. Never had names more clearly described the
objects to be represented, for they were excellent examples of cowboy
discernment and aptitude.

In their eyes By-and-by was a man. He could feel and he could resent
insults. They did not class him as one of themselves, because he did
not have energy enough to demand and justify such classification. With
them he had a right to enjoy his life as he saw fit so long as he did
not trespass on or restrict the rights of others. They were not
analytic in temperament, neither were they moralists. He was not a
menace to society, because society had superb defenses. So they
vaguely recognized his many poor qualities and clearly saw his few
good ones. He could shoot, when permitted, with the best; no horse,
however refractory, had ever been known to throw him; he was an adept
at following the trails left by rustlers, and that was an asset; he
became of value to the community; he was an economic factor.

His ability to consume liquor with indifferent effects raised him another
notch in their estimation. He was not always talking when some one
else wished to-another count. There remained about him that stoical
indifference to the petty; that observant nonchalance of the Indian;
and there was a suggestion, faint, it was true, of a dignity common to
chieftains. He was a log of grave deference which tossed on their sea
of mischievous hilarity.

He wore a pair of corduroy trousers, known to the care-free as
"pants," which were held together by numerous patches of what had once
been brilliantly colored calico. A pair of suspenders, torn into two
separate straps, made a belt for himself and a collar for his dog. The
trousers had probably been secured during a fit of absent-mindedness
on his part when their former owner had not been looking. Tucked at
intervals in the top of the corduroys (the exceptions making
convenient shelves for alkali dust) was what at one time had been a
stiff-bosomed shirt. This was open down the front and back, the weight
of the trousers on the belt holding it firmly on the square shoulders
of the wearer, thus precluding the necessity of collar buttons. A pair
of moccasins, beautifully worked with wampum, protected his feet from
the onslaughts of cacti and the inquisitive and pugnacious sand flies;
and lying across his lap was a repeating Winchester rifle, not
dangerous because it was empty, a condition due to the wisdom of the
citizens in forbidding any one to sell, trade or give to him those
tubes of concentrated trouble, because he could get drunk.

The two were contented and happy. They had no cares nor duties, and
their pleasures were simple and easily secured, as they consisted of
sleep and a proneness to avoid moving. Like the untrammeled coyote,
their bed was where sleep overtook them; their food, what the night
wrapped in a sense of security, or the generosity of the cowboys of
the Bar-20. No tub-ridden Diogenes ever knew so little of
responsibility or as much unadulterated content. There is a penalty
even to civilization and ambition.

When the sun had cast its shadows beyond By-and-by's feet the air
became charged with noise; shouts, shots and the rolling thunder of
madly pounding hoofs echoed flatly throughout the town. By-and-by
yawned, stretched and leaned back, reveling in the semi-conscious
ecstasy of the knowledge that he did not have to immediately get up.
Fleas opened one eye and cocked an ear in inquiry, and then rolled
over on his back, squirmed and sighed contentedly and long. The outfit
of the Bar-20 had come to town.

The noise came rapidly nearer and increased in volume as the riders
turned the corner and drew rein suddenly, causing their mounts to
slide on their haunches in ankle-deep dust.

"Hullo, old Buck-with-th'-pants, how's yore liver?"

"Come up an irrigate, old tank!"

"Chase th' flea ranch an' trail along!"

These were a few of the salutations discernible among the medley of
playful yells, the safety valves of supercharged good-nature.

"Skr-e-e!" yelled Hopalong Cassidy, letting off a fusillade of shots.
in the vicinity of Fleas, who rapidly retreated around the corner,
where he wagged his tail in eager expectation. He was not
disappointed, for a cow pony tore around in pursuit and Hopalong
leaned over and scratched the yellow back, thumping it heartily, and,
tossing a chunk of beef into the open jaws of the delighted dog,
departed as he had come. The advent of the outfit meant a square meal,
and the dog knew it.

In Cowan's, lined up against the bar, the others were earnestly and
assiduously endeavoring, with a promise of success, to get By-and-by
drunk, which endeavors coincided perfectly with By-and-by's idea of
the fitness of things. The fellowship and the liquor combined to thaw
out his reserve and to loosen his tongue. After gazing with an air of
injured surprise at the genial loosening of his knees he gravely
handed his rifle with an exaggerated sweep of his arm, to the cowboy
nearest him, and wrapped his arms around the recipient to insure his
balance. The rifle was passed from hand to hand until it came to Buck
Peters, who gravely presented it to its owner as a new gun.

By-and-by threw out his stomach in an endeavor to keep his head in
line with his heels, and grasping the weapon with both hands turned to
Cowan, to whom he gave it.

"Yu hab this un. Me got two. Me keep new un, mebby so. "Then he
loosened his belt and drank long and deep.

A shadow darkened the doorway and Hopalong limped in. Spying By-and-
by pushing the bottle into his mouth, while Red Connors propped him,
he grinned and took out five silver dollars, which he jingled under
By-and-by's eyes, causing that worthy to lay aside the liquor and
erratically grab for the tantalizing fortune.

"Not yet, sabe?" said Hopalong, changing the position of the money.
"If yu wants to corral this here herd of simoleons yu has to ride a
cayuse what Red bet me yu can't ride. Yu has got to grow on that there
saddle and stayed growed for five whole minutes by Buck's ticker. I
ain't a-goin' to tell yu he's any saw-horse, for yu'd know better, as
yu reckons Red wouldn't bet on no losin' proposition if he knowed
better, which same he don't. Yu straddles that four-laigged cloudburst
an' yu gets these, sabe? I ain't seen th' cayuse yet that yu couldn't
freeze to, an' I'm backin' my opinions with my moral support an' one
month's pay.

By-and-by's eyes began to glitter as the meaning of the words sifted
through his befuddled mind. Ride a horse-five dollars- ride a five-
dollars horse-horses ride dollars-then he straightened up and began to
speak in an incoherent jumble of Sioux and bad English. He, the mighty
rider of the Sioux; he, the bravest warrior and the greatest hunter;
could he ride a horse for five dollars? Well, he rather thought he
could. Grasping Red by the shoulder, he tacked for the door and
narrowly missed hitting the bottom step first, landing, as it
happened, in the soft dust with Red's leg around his neck. Somewhat
sobered by the jar, he stood up and apologized to the crowd for Red
getting in the way, declaring that Red was a "Heap good un," and that
he didn't mean to do it.

The outfit of the Bar-20 was, perhaps, the most famous of all from
Canada to the Rio Grande. The foreman, Buck Peters, controlled a crowd
of men (who had all the instincts of boys) that had shown no quarter
to many rustlers, and who, while always carefree and easy-going (even
fighting with great good humor and carelessness), had established the
reputation of being the most reckless gang of daredevil gun-fighters
that ever pounded leather. Crooked gaming houses, from El Paso to
Cheyenne and from Phoenix to Leavenworth, unanimously and
enthusiastically damned them from their boots to their sombreros, and
the sheriffs and marshals of many localities had received from their
hands most timely assistance-and some trouble. Wiry, indomitable,
boyish and generous, they were splendid examples of virile manhood;
and, surrounded as they were with great dangers and a unique
civilization, they should not, in justice, be judged by opinions born
of the commonplace.

They were real cowboys, which means, public opinion to the contrary
notwithstanding, that they were not lawless, nor drunken, shooting
bullies who held life cheaply, as their kin has been unjustly
pictured; but while these men were naturally peaceable they had to
continually rub elbows with men who were not. Gamblers, criminals,
bullies and the riffraff that fled from the protected East had drifted
among them in great numbers, and it was this class that caused the

The hardworking "cow-punchers" lived according to the law of
the land, and they obeyed that greatest of all laws, that of self-
preservation. Their fun was boisterous, but they paid for all the
damage they inflicted; their work was one continual hardship, and the
reaction of one extreme swings far toward the limit of its antithesis.
Go back to the Apple if you would trace the beginning of self-
preservation and the need.

Buck Peters was a man of mild appearance, somewhat slow of speech
and correspondingly quick of action, who never became flurried. His
was the master hand that controlled, and his Colts enjoyed the
reputation of never missing when a hit could have been expected with
reason. Many floods, stampedes and blizzards had assailed his nerves,
but he yet could pour a glass of liquor, held at arm's length, through
a knothole in the floor without wetting the wood.

Next in age came Lanky Smith, a small, undersized man of retiring
disposition. Then came Skinny Thompson, six feet four on his bared
soles, and true to his name; Hopalong described him as "th' shadow of
a chalk mark." Pete Wilson, the slow-witted and very taciturn, and
Billy Williams, the wavering pessimist, were of ordinary height and
appearance. Red Connors, with hair that shamed the name, was the
possessor of a temper which was as dry as tinder; his greatest
weakness was his regard for the rifle as a means of preserving peace.
Johnny Nelson was the protege, and he could do no wrong.

The last, Hopalong Cassidy, was a combination of irresponsibility, humor, good
nature, love of fighting, and nonchalance when face to face with
danger. His most prominent attribute was that of always getting into
trouble without any intention of so doing; in fact, he was much
aggrieved and surprised when it came. It seemed as though when any
"bad man" desired to add to his reputation he invariably selected
Hopalong as the means (a fact due, perhaps, to the perversity of
things in general). Bad men became scarce soon after Hopalong became a
fixture in any locality. He had been crippled some years before in a
successful attempt to prevent the assassination of a friend, Sheriff
Harris, of Albuquerque, and he still possessed a limp.

When Red had relieved his feelings and had dug the alkali out of his
ears and eyes, he led the Sioux to the rear of the saloon, where a
"pinto" was busily engaged in endeavoring to pitch a saddle from his
back, employing the intervals in trying to see how much of the picket
rope he could wrap around his legs.

When By-and-by saw what he was expected to ride he felt somewhat
relieved, for the pony did not appear to have more than the ordinary
amount of cussedness. He waved his hand, and Johnny and Red bandaged
the animal's eyes, which quieted him at once, and then they untangled
the rope from around his legs and saw that the cinches were secure.
Motioning to By-and-by that all was ready, they jerked the bandage off
as the Indian settled himself in the saddle.

Had By-and-by been really sober he would have taken the conceit out
of that pony in chunks, and as it was he experienced no great
difficulty in holding his seat; but in his addled state of mind he
grasped the end of the cinch strap in such a way that when the pony
jumped forward in its last desperate effort the buckle slipped and the
cinch became unfastened; and By-and-by, still seated in the saddle,
flew head foremost into the horse trough, where he spilled much water.

As this happened Cowan turned the corner, and when he saw the wasted
water (which he had to carry, bucketful at a time, from the wells a
good quarter of a mile away) his anger blazed forth, and yelling, he
ran for the drenched Sioux, who was just crawling out of his bath.
When the unfortunate saw the irate man bearing down on him he
sputtered in rage and fear, and, turning, he ran down the street, with
Cowan thundering flatfootedly behind on a fat man's gallop, to the
hysterical cheers of the delighted outfit, who saw in it nothing but a
good joke.

When Cowan returned from his hopeless task, blowing and wheezing, he
heard sundry remarks, sotto voce, which were not calculated to
increase his opinion of his physical condition.

"Seems to me," remarked the irrepressible Hopalong, "that one of
those cayuses has got th' heaves."

"It shore sounds like it," acquiesced Johnny, red in the face from
holding in his laughter, "an' say, somebody interferes."

"All knock-kneed animals do, yu heathen," supplied Red.

`Hey, yu, let up on that and have a drink on th' house," invited
Cowan. "If I gits that durn war whoop I'll make yu think there's been a
cyclone. I'll see how long that bum hangs around this here burg, I

Red's eyes narrowed and his temper got the upper hand. "He ain't no
bum when yu gives him rotgut at a quarter of a dollar a glass, is he?
Any time that `bum' gits razzled out for nothin' more'n this, why, I
goes too; an' I ain't sayin' nothin' about goin' peaceable-like,

"I knowed somethin' like this `ud happen," dolefully sang out Billy
Williams, strong on the side of his pessimism.

"For th' Lord's sake, have you broke out?" asked Red, disgustedly.
"I'm goin' to hit the trail-but just keep this afore yore mind: if By-
and-by gits in any accidents or ain't in sight when I comes to town
again, this here climate'll be a heep sight hotter'n it is now. No
hard feelings, sabe? It's just a casual bit of advice. Come on,
fellows, let's amble -I'm hungry."

As they raced across the plain toward the ranch a pair of beady
eyes, snapping with a drunken rage, watched them from an arroyo; and
when Cowan entered the saloon the next morning he could not find By-
and-by's rifle, which he had placed behind the bar. He also missed a
handful of cartridges from the box near the cash drawer; and had he
looked closely at his bottled whisky he would have noticed a loss
there. A horse was missing from a Mexican's corral and there were
rumors that several Indians had been seen far out on the plain.

Next: Trials Of The Convalescent

Previous: The Argument

Add to Add to Reddit Add to Digg Add to Add to Google Add to Twitter Add to Stumble Upon
Add to Informational Site Network

Viewed 215