menu_book Chapter 16

chapter sixteen of curly by roger pocock this lippervox recording is in the public domain reading by matt parrory chapter sixteen arranging for more trouble see what the geography book says about arizona the same size as england shows there's homely ignorance from an office duck who dreams he can use a tape measure to the size of a desert in england if you wander round after dark you're apt to fall off and get wet in the ocean but you can sure stray off the edge of Arizona without the least chance of a whip, because the desert just rolls on more continuous than ever, till you're due to die of thirst. There's a practical difference in size, which your book theorist wouldn't be apt to survive.

Again, by the books, we're a community of 60,000 pink and white citizens, all purely yearning for right and justice. By the facts, we're really split up into two purds, the town men who use the law and the range men who naturally prefer a six-gun.

I aim politely to say the best I can for the town men. You see, if a gentleman feels that he's just got to waltz in and rob the graves of his own parents, one may not understand his symptoms, but one has to try and think of him charitable.

Our town man has mostly been found out acting self-indulgent and been chased around by the police. That's why they flocked to Arizona, which is convenient at the gates of Hades with the brick of flame by way of excuse for a climate. There's a sort of comfortable smell-your-future-home feeling about old Arizona, which attracts such ducks. Anywhere else, they would get their necks stretched. But in Arizona, they can elect judges and police out of their own tribe.

Then, if they happen to indulge in a little bigamy or thieving or shooting, the lawyers get them off. They love the law, which proves them of innocent. So you may class them all as law-abiding citizens. Now, as to us plainsmen, the bad side of us is plumb apparent to the naked eye, and if there's a good side, it's known to our friends, not advertised to strangers.

We ain't claiming to be law-abiding citizens when we know the judge for a sure thing, politician, the lawyers for runaway, jailbirds, and the jury all for sale at the rate of a dollar a thief. We're lawless, sure enough, until we see the law dealt out by honest men. Are you fed up with one-eyed sermons from a cow thief? Well, suppose we apply the facts. Here was two boys of our tribe bogged down to their withers in trouble. The town men howled for their blood. Young Ryan

offered plenty wealth for their raw scalps. The law claimed them for meat, and every plainsman on the range got right up on his hind legs for war. To our way of thinking, robbery and killing are bad medicine, but innocent holy joys compared with Arizona law. So naturally, by twos and threes, the punchers quit work on the roundup to come and smell at Old Grave City and find out why she'd got a swollen head. They hung around saloons, projecting to see if something had gone wrong

with the local breed of whiskey. They gathered and made war talk in the street. They came around me, wanting to know whether or not to break out and eat that town. Boys, says I, if you all stalks around with mean eyes and dangerous smiles, these here citizens is going to hold up in their cyclone sellers and send for the army. We don't want the army messing around our game. Just you whirl in now and play signs of peace and make good medicine. Lay low, give your ponies a strong feed,

and wait for the night. Chokai, says one of them, is this to be war? If it was war, I told him, I'd first send you home to your mother. No, kid, this is going to be smooth peace, but we're going to knock Grape City cold with astonishment. Get plenty ammunition, feed your horse, and wait my gathering howl for a signal. It was high noon when Captain McCombett came straying down into Main Street on a painted horse. At Ryan's livery stable,

he allowed he was an unworthy minister, wanting water and feed for the piebald pony. At the Delmonico Pie Foundry, he let out that he craved for sausages, mashed potatoes, and green tea. Then he had a basin of bread and milk while he told the dish slinger a few solemn truths. Apple pie, says he, was a delusion. Eating tobacco was a snare. Intoxicating drink was only vanity on the lips, the raging wildcats to the inward parts. The proper doctrine, says he,

is to eschew all evil. But the wicked man leaves out that saving syllable, yes, and chews evil all the time. Then he allowed that a toothpick would do him no harm, paid for his meat, and straight out and cross the street to where I stood, dealing peace among the cowboys. Little sinners, says he, I perceive that you have fallen into evil company. This choc-eye man is a pernicious influence which would corrupt the morals of a grizzly bear. Flee

from this choc-eye person. They wanted to take him into the nearest saloon and enjoy him for the rest of the day. Can you dance, says one of the boys, aiming a gun at his toes? Whirl right in and dance. McCalmont walked right at him, eye to eye, and that same cowboy went as white as dead. Shall I abate you, says the preacher, in the midst of your sins? You done wrong. You done

ate tobacco and chocolate candy mixed, then poured on hot coffee, rye whiskey, and an ice cream soda, and now you're white as a corpse with mixed scents. Go take a pill, my son, and repent before you're sick. The boys watched that preacher smiling and went tame as kittens. The tone of his voice just froze them up. His smiles scraped their young bones. His eyes looked dead. Come, Chalkine, says he, and led me off into the Spur Saloon.

There he threw a glance to Cranky Joe, the barkeep, and put his finger on Mutiny Robertson, a smuggler who sat playing poker. Cranky put someone in charge of the bar. Mutiny passed his game to a friend of his, and both of them followed Meek as sheep while the preacher led on into the backyard.

From there we worked round the back street of Ryan's stable, McCalmont, keeping up his baby talk for the sake of passing strangers. Ah, says he, my young friends, these deleterious pleasures change peaceful stomachs into seats of war, but the sausage soothes, the milk assuages, the pie persuades, and, bar sign, is sure good to fill up corners. Aware of vanities, and when we get to the stable yard, let Mutiny here stand guard, in case I'm attacked, while I expound the blessedness of simple things. Well, here we are. You, Mutiny, fall back.

You top-eared mongrel, I'm dying for a chew of baccy, and I'd give my off-lung for a cocktail. mutiny stood guard cranky hustled off to get liquor i got a line of retreat from here says captain mccalmont and a saddled hoss within reach no not that painted plug but a sure crackjack which can burn the trail if i'm chaste how's things you chalkeye cloudin for storm says i the air's a cracklin why for i told him about his son holed up in jail with jim at la marita i been projectin around th'ar last night the captain was eatin like plough tobacco like bread was it you sent that doctor to curly's wound sure thing sir why Grab my paw. You're white all through, says he. That kid is all I care for in this world.

Can they escape? I dropped a crowbar through the window hole. The guards will be full curious when they hear the crowbar thumping. That's what's the matter. I sent some Holy Cross greasers to feed them liquor, games, and music, especially music. Will the frontier guards miss the big blood money for the sake of a flirt at skin games? I reckon they'll watch, and the crowbar's going to be heard, so I've made a run to see you. Here comes Cranky Trevor. You trust him? The sight of him

makes my fur crawl. Here, Captain, says Cranky, offering the cocktail of the outlaw, bored him through with a cool eye. My name, says he, is the Reverend Herpins. And don't you forget. Now, you'll send mutiny here, and you'll stand on guard yourself. If I get captured, a friend of mine is to send your present name and address to the penitentiary where you're wanted most. So here's to your freedom, he drank, and we watched the man sneak off. I turned him out of my gang, said the

robber, for being dishonest. Mutiny strolled in and shook hands. Old friend, says he, what can we do to hell? Watch, Joe, and shoot him up quick if he tries to pass that gate. So Mutiny pulled his gun. How's all the boys, he asked. They're honing to come back to being a robber? Can't, Mutiny groaned.

I've sure repented and turned smuggler now. Besides, I'm due to get married, so I'm dead team in general, boss. What brought you south? You may inquire, sir. Ain't you trusting me?

Well, Mutiny, since you want to know, I came down to hold of a train. Big plunder? I expect. It was a carload of bird's teeth, cat feathers, and frog's tails, but there's too many inquiry agents around, so I miss the train.

Mewkney had to laugh, but then he sighed. If anything goes wrong with my girl, says he, I'll come scratching your door. Wow, the outlaw looked mighty serious. If she happens to get drowned in the desert, perhaps we'll see you come. Now let's to business.

Them kids at La Morita has to be collected, I reckon. Why come to we all, says Mutiny? Ain't the gang handy at rescues? My wolves would jump at the chance. I'd choke them off.

For how? The caves. The captain turned his haunted eyes on me. I don't want them poor youngsters mixed in with thieves. You want me mixed again, says Mutiny through his teeth.

Sonny, the outlaw laid his hand on Mutiny's shoulder. You've been a bad egg, same as me, and we'd be hard to spoil. But these eggs at La Merida is new laying fridge eggs, so I want them to keep. You're right, boss. Mutiny, I sent you away for your good.

because that girl may pull you up if anything can on Aaron. As for me, while I don't know as I care what becomes of me, I try mortal heart to run straight. I envy every honest man I see. I'm like a crawling snake, ambitious for bird wings to fly with, but still I'm no more than snake. The kids have a chance, all right, says Mutiny. They have. A year ago, I couldn't have drove my Curly away from the gang, but now he's paired with that dude Chasney, youngster. Them colts won't care for the herd if they can run together, so I've got Curly weeding from following me to... to damnation.

Mutiny, says I, will you help me to gather in these boys? I surely will, says Mutiny, but haven't we ought to wait until they're moved up this way for trial? Wow, says the outlaw, if I can get to fight with a small man, I don't yearn for anything larger. Whirling on La Merida and you're fighting Mexico. Wait for a move and you're up against the whole United States.

I'd rather have a lick at little old Mexico. I told him that I had a town full of cowboys hard to hold. That kind won't keep, said Mutiny. What's your plan? I aimed, says I, to steal young Ryan and throw him into La Merida by way of consolation for them poor frontier guards when they miss their plunder. Now, don't you touch my meat, says Captain McComet. I have to feed my little small lambs on him.

Now, Mr. Davies, answers to the name of Chaka, mostly. Wow, Chaka, this is the second time we meet. He poured into me with his eyes. I understand that Balshannon's will makes you some sort of guardian of his cult. I reckon he needs a friend.

Will you be a friend of my son? Not more than I've been already. Mutiny, says he, you witness that I, Captain McCalmont, thief and general manager of the Robbers Roost gang of outlaws, appoints this Chalki Davies guardian of Curly. I witness this. Moreover, I am to corrupt this Chalki by handing him stolen money.

He passed me a heavy roll of notes worth fifty thousand dollars, which is ten thousand pounds by English reckoning. My friend, he said, take these two kids away out of this country. Break them dead gentle. Keep them clean. Make them forget.

He gave me a letter. Read this when you're alone. You trust me? I asked. You trust yourself?

Mutiny, says I. You'll help. Poor mutiny, says the robber. Might help himself. On the dead thieving, says mutiny.

That's so. Then he grinned at me. Look here, Chalkai. This means that Yoke pulled out and hit the long trail. Now I want a home for my girl.

How much will Yoke take for Yoke Ranch? I'll see you later, Mutiny, and talk, and now shake hands, McCormick. Tonight I'll be on hand like a sore thumb at La Morita. End of chapter 16.