alone.
''Fraid!' jeered he. 'Yah, yah!'
The Hunkies all whooped and guffawed, and the cattlemen scowled.
'What you mean, afraid?' I gasped, more dumbfounded than mad. It'd been so long since anybody's made a remark like that to me. I was plumb flabbergasted. Then I remembered I was amongst strangers which didn't know my repertation, and I realized it was my duty to correct that there oversight before somebody got hurt on account of ignorance.
So I said, 'All right, you dumb foreign muttonhead, I'll rassle you.'
But as I went up to him, he doubled up his fist and hit me severely on the nose, and them Hunkies all bust into loud, rude laughter. That warn't wise. A man had better twist a striped thunderbolt's tail than hit a Elkins onexpected on the nose. I give a roar of irritation and grabbed Big Jon and started committing mayhem on him free and enthusiastic. I swept all the glasses and bottles off of the bar with him, and knocked down a hanging lamp with him, and fanned the floor with him till he was limp, and then I throwed him the full length of the barroom. His head went through the panels of the back door, and the other Hunkies, which had stood petrified, stampeded into the street with howls of horror. So I taken the branding iron handle and straightened it out and bent it around his neck, and twisted the ends together in a knot, so he had to get a blacksmith to file it off after he come to, which was several hours later.
All them cowmen was staring at me with their eyes popped out of their heads, and seemed plumb incapable of speech, so I give a snort of disgust at the whole incerdent, and strode off to git my dinner. As I left I heard one feller, which was holding onto the bar like he was too weak to stand alone, say feebly to the dumb-founded bartender: 'Gimme a drink, quick! I never thunk I'd live to see somethin' I couldn't believe when I was lookin' right smack at it.'
I COULDN'T MAKE NO sense out of this, so I headed for the dining room of the Montana Hotel and Bar. But my hopes of peace and quiet was a illusion. I'd jest started on my fourth beefsteak when a big maverick in Star-top boots and store-bought clothes come surging into the dining room and bellered: 'Is your name Elkins?'
'Yes, it is,' I says. 'But I ain't deef. You don't have to yell.'
'Well, what the hell do you mean by interferin' with my business?' he squalled, ignoring my reproof.
'I dunno what yo're talkin' about,' I growled, emptying the sugar bowl into my coffee cup with some irritation. It looked like Lonesome Lizard was full of maneyacks which craved destruction. 'Who air you, anyhow?'
'I'm Ted Bissett, that's who!' howled he, convulsively gesturing toward his six-shooter. 'And I'm onto you! You're a damn Nevada gunman old Abed' Raxton's brought up here to run me off the range! He's been braggin' about it all over town! And you starts your work by runnin' off my sheepherders!'
'What you mean, I run yore sheepherders off?' I demanded, amazed.
'They ran off after you maltreated Big Jon,' he gnashed, with his face convulsed. 'They're so scared of you they won't come back without double pay! You can't do this to me, you #$%&*!'
The man don't live which can call me that name with impunity. I impulsively hit him in the face with my fried steak, and he give a impassioned shriek and pulled his gun. But some grease had got in his eyes, so all he done with his first shot was bust the syrup pitcher at my elbow, and before he could cock his gun again I shot him through the arm. He dropped his gun and grabbed the place with his other hand and made some remarks which ain't fitten for to repeat.
I yelled for another steak, and Bissett yelled for a doctor, and the manager yelled for the sheriff.
The last-named individual didn't git there till after the doctor and the steak had arrove and was setting Bissett's arm--the doctor, I mean, and not the steak, which a trembling waiter brung me. Quite a crowd had gathered by this time and was watching the doctor work with great interest, and offering advice which seemed to infuriate Bissett, jedging from his langwidge. He also discussed his busted arm with considerable passion, but the doctor warn't a bit worried. You never seen sech a cheerful gent. He was jovial and gay, no matter how loud Bissett yelled. You could tell right off he was a man which could take it.
But Bissett's friends was very mad, and Jack Campbell, his foreman, was muttering something about 'em taking the law into their own hands, when the sheriff come prancing in, waving a six-shooter and hollering: 'Where is he? P'int out the scoundrel to me?'
'There he is!' everybody yelled, and ducked, like they expected gunplay, but I'd already recognized the sheriff, and when he seen me he recoiled and shoved his gun out of sight like it was red hot or something.
'Breckinridge Elkins!' says he. Then he stopped and studied a while, and then he told 'em to take Bissett out to the bar and pour some licker down him. When they'd went he sot down at the table, and says: 'Breck, I want you to understand that they ain't nothin' personal about this, but I got to arrest you. It's agen the law to shoot a man inside of the city limits.'
'I ain't got time to git arrested,' I told him. 'I got to git over to old Abed' Raxton's ranch.'
'But lissen, Breck,' argyed the sheriff--it was Johnny Willoughby, jest like old Abed' said--'what'll folks think if I don't jail you for shootin' a leadin' citizen? Election's comin' up and my hat's in the ring,' says he, gulping my coffee.
'Bissett shot at me first,' I said. 'Whyn't you arrest him?'
'Well, he didn't hit you,' says Johnny, absently cramming half a pie into his mouth and making a stab at my pertaters. 'Anyway, he's got a busted arm and ain't able to go to jail jest now. Besides, I needs the sheepmen's votes.'
'Aw, I don't like jails,' I said irritably, and he begun to weep.
'If you was a friend to me,' sobs he, 'you'd be glad to spend a night in jail to help me git re-elected. I'd do as much for you! The whole county's givin' me hell anyway, because I ain't been able to catch none of them cattle rustlers, and if I don't arrest you I won't have a Chinaman's chance at the polls. How can you do me like this, after the times we had together in the old days--'
'Aw, stop blubberin',' I says. 'You can arrest me, if you want to. What's the fine?'
'I don't want to collect no fine, Breck,' says he, wiping his eyes on the oil-cloth table cover and filling his pockets with doughnuts. 'I figgers a jail sentence will give me more prestige. I'll let you out first thing in the mornin'. You won't tear up the jail, will you, Breck?'
I promised I wouldn't, and then he wants me to give up my guns, and I refuses.
'But good gosh, Breck,' he pleaded. 'It'd look awful funny for a prisoner to keep on his shootin' irons.'
So I give 'em to him, jest to shet him up, and then he wanted to put his handcuffs onto me, but they warn't big enough to fit my wrists. So he said if I'd lend him some money he could have the blacksmith to make me some laig-irons, but I refused profanely, so he said all right, it was jest a suggestion, and no offense intended, so we went down to the jail. The jailer was off sleeping off a drunk somewheres, but he'd left the key hanging on the door, so we went in. Purty soon along come Johnny's deperty, Bige Gantry, a long, loose-j'inted cuss with a dangerous eye, so Johnny sent him to the Red Warrior for a can of beer, and whilst he was gone Johnny bragged on him a heap.
'Why,' says he, 'Bige is the only man in the county which has ever got within' shootin' distance of them dern outlaws. He was by hisself, wuss luck. If I'd been along we'd of scuppered the whole gang.'
I ast him if he had any idee who they was, and he said Bige believed they was a gang up from Wyoming. So I said well, then, in that case they got a hang-out in the hills somewheres, and ought to be easier to run down than men which scattered to their homes after each raid.
BIGE GOT BACK WITH THE beer about then, and Johnny told him that when I got out of jail he was going to depertize me and we'd all go after them outlaws together. So Bige said that was great, and looked me over purty sharp, and we sot down and started playing poker. Along about supper time the jailer come in, looking tolerable seedy, and Johnny made him cook us some supper. Whilst we was eating the jailer stuck his head into my cell and said: 'A gent is out there cravin' audience with Mister Elkins.'
'Tell him the prisoner's busy,' says Johnny.
'I done so,' says the jailer, 'and he says if you don't let him in purty dern quick, he's goin' to bust in and cut yore throat.'
'That must be old Abed' Raxton,' says Johnny. 'Better let him in--Breck,' says he, 'I looks to you to pertect me if the old cuss gits mean.'
So old Abed' come walzing into the jail with fire in his eye and corn licker on his breath. At the sight of me he
