let out a squall which was painful to hear.
'A hell of a help you be, you big lummox!' he hollered. 'I sends for you to help me bust up a gang of rustlers and sheepherders, and the first thing you does is to git in jail!'
'T'warn't my fault,' I says. 'Them sheepherders started pickin' on me.'
'Well,' he snarls, 'whyn't you drill Bissett center when you was at it?'
'I come up here to shoot rustlers, not sheepherders,' I says.
'What's the difference?' he snarled.
'Them sheepmen has probably got as much right on the range as you cowmen,' I says.
'Cease sech outrageous blasphermy,' says he, shocked. 'You've bungled things so far, but they's one good thing--Bissett had to hire back his derned Hunkie herders at double wages. He don't no more mind spendin' money than he does spillin' his own blood, the cussed tightwad. Well, what's yore fine?'
'Ain't no fine,' I said. 'Johnny wants me to stay in jail a while.'
At this old Abed' convulsively went for his gun and Johnny got behind me and hollered: 'Don't you dast shoot a ossifer of the law!'
'It's a spite trick!' gibbered old Abed'. 'He's been mad at me ever since I fired him off'n my payroll. After I kicked him off'n my ranch he run for sheriff, and the night of the election everybody was so drunk they voted for him by mistake, or for a joke, or somethin', and since he's been in office he's been lettin' the sheepmen steal me right out of house and home.'
'That's a lie,' says Johnny heatedly. 'I've give you as much pertection as anybody else, you old buzzard! I jest ain't been able to run any of them critters down, that's all. But you wait! Bige is on their trail, and we'll have 'em behind the bars before the snow falls.'
'Before the snow falls in Guatemala, maybe,' snorted old Abed'. 'All right, blast you, I'm goin', but I'll have Breckinridge outa here if I have to burn the cussed jail! A Raxton never forgits!' So he stalked out sulphurously, only turning back to snort: 'Sheriff! Bah! Seven murders in the county unsolved since you come into office! You'll let the sheepmen murder us all in our beds! We ain't had a hangin' since you was elected!'
After he'd left, Johnny brooded a while, and finally says: 'The old lobo's right about them murders, only he neglected to mention that four of 'em was sheepmen. I know it's cattlemen and sheepmen killin' each other, each side accusin' the other'n of rustlin' stock, but I cain't prove nothin'. A hangin' would set me solid with the voters.' Here he eyed me hungrily, and ventured: 'If somebody'd jest up and confess to some of them murders--'
'You needn't to look at me like that,' I says. 'I never kilt nobody in Montana.'
'Well,' he argyed, 'nobody could prove you never done 'em, and after you was hanged--'
'Lissen here, you,' I says with some passion, 'I'm willin' to help a friend git elected all I can, but they's a limit!'
'Oh, well, all right,' he sighed. 'I didn't much figger you'd be willin', anyway; folks is so dern selfish these days. All they thinks about is theirselves. But lissen here: if I was to bust up a lynchin' mob it'd be nigh as good a boost for my campaign as a legal hangin'. I tell you what--tonight I'll have some of my friends put on masks and come and take you out and pretend like they was goin' to hang you. Then when they got the rope around yore neck I'll run out and shoot in the air and they'll run off and I'll git credit for upholdin' law and order. Folks always disapproves of mobs, unless they happens to be in 'em.'
So I said all right, and he urged me to be careful and not hurt none of 'em, because they was all his friends and would be mine. I ast him would they bust the door down, and he said they warn't no use in damaging property like that; they could hold up the jailer and take the key off'n him. So he went off to fix things, and after while Bige Gantry left and said he was on the trace of a clue to them cattle rustlers, and the jailer started drinking hair tonic mixed with tequila, and in about a hour he was stiffer'n a wet lariat.
WELL, I LAID DOWN ON the floor on a blanket to sleep, without taking my boots off, and about midnight a gang of men in masks come and they didn't have to hold up the jailer, because he was out cold. So they taken the key off'n him, and all the loose change and plug tobaccer out of his pockets too, and opened the door, and I ast: 'Air you the gents which is goin' to hang me?' And they says: 'We be!'
So I got up and ast them if they had any licker, and one of 'em gimme a good snort out of his hip flask, and I said: 'All right, le's git it over with, so I can go back to sleep.'
He was the only one which done any talking, and the rest didn't say a word. I figgered they was bashful. He said: 'Le's tie yore hands behind you so's to make it look real,' and I said all right, and they tied me with some rawhide thongs which I reckon would of held the average man all right.
So I went outside with 'em, and they was a oak tree right clost to the jail nigh some bushes. I figgered Johnny was hiding over behind them bushes.
They had a barrel for me to stand on, and I got onto it, and they throwed a rope over a big limb and put the noose around my neck, and the feller says: 'Any last words?'
'Aw, hell,' I says, 'this is plumb silly. Ain't it about time for Johnny--'
At this moment they kicked the barrel out from under me.
Well, I was kind of surprized, but I tensed my neck muscles, and waited for Johnny to rush out and rescue me, but he didn't come, and the noose began to pinch the back of my neck, so I got disgusted and says: 'Hey, lemme down!'
Then one of 'em which hadn't spoke before says: 'By golly, I never heard a man talk after he'd been strung up before!'
I recognized that voice; it was Jack Campbell, Bissett's foreman! Well, I have got a quick mind, in spite of what my cousin Bearfield Buckner says, so I knowed right off something was fishy about this business. So I snapped the thongs on my wrists and reched up and caught hold of the rope I was hung with by both hands and broke it. Them scoundrels was so surprized they didn't think to shoot at me till the rope was already broke, and then the bullets all went over me as I fell. When they started shooting I knowed they meant me no good, and acted according.
I dropped right in the midst of 'em, and brung three to the ground with me, and during the few seconds to taken me to choke and batter them unconscious the others was scairt to fire for fear of hitting their friends, we was so tangled up. So they clustered around and started beating me over the head with their gun butts, and I riz up like a b'ar amongst a pack of hounds and grabbed four more of 'em and hugged 'em till their ribs cracked. Their masks came off during the process, revealing the faces of Bissett's friends; I'd saw 'em in the hotel.
Somebody prodded me in the hind laig with a bowie at that moment, which infuriated me, so I throwed them four amongst the crowd and hit out right and left, knocking over a man or so at each lick, till I seen a wagon spoke on the ground and stooped over to pick it up. When I done that somebody throwed a coat over my head and blinded me, and six or seven men then jumped onto my back. About this time I stumbled over some feller which had been knocked down, and fell onto my belly, and they all started jumping up and down on me enthusiastically. I reched around and grabbed one and dragged him around to where I could rech his left ear with my teeth. I would of taken it clean off at the first snap, only I had to bite through the coat which was over my head, but as it was I done a good job, jedging from his awful shrieks.
He put forth a supreme effort and tore away, taking the coat with him, and I shaken off the others and riz up in spite of their puny efforts, with the wagon spoke in my hand.
A wagon spoke is a good, comforting implement to have in a melee, and very demoralizing to the enemy. This'n busted all to pieces about the fourth or fifth lick, but that was enough. Them which was able to run had all took to their heels, leaving the battlefield strewed with moaning and cussing figgers.
Their remarks was shocking to hear, but I give 'em no heed. I headed for the sheriff's office, mad clean through. It was a few hundred yards east of the jail, and jest as I rounded the jail house, I run smack into a dim figger which come sneaking through the bresh making a curious clanking noise. It hit me with what appeared to be a iron bar, so I went to the ground with it and choked it and beat its head agen the ground, till the moon come out from behind a cloud and revealed the bewhiskered features of old Abednego Raxton!
'What the hell?' I demanded of the universe at large. 'Is everybody in Montaner crazy? Whar air you doin' tryin' to murder me in my sleep?'
'I warn't, you jack-eared lunkhead,' snarled he, when he could talk.
'Then what'd you hit me with that there pinch bar for?' I demanded.
'I didn't know it was you,' says he, gitting up and dusting his britches. 'I thought it was a grizzly b'ar when you riz up out of the dark. Did you bust out?'
