Laughing Bill Hyde | Page 6

long talk while I was sick in St. Mikes, and she asked me to keep you
in the middle of the trail. Well, I'm the little guy that can do it."
"Bill!" Evan Thomas's eyes were twinkling. "I believe I'm going to cure
you, after all," said he.
Late that afternoon Mr. Hyde disappeared; he did not show up until
after dark.
"I been to see Lo, the poor squaw," he readily confessed. "She ain't the
pure domestic leaf, she's a blend--part Rooshian, or something. Seems
there was a gang of Rooshians or Swedes or Dagoes of some sort used
to run this country. She says they horned into some of the best Injun
families, and she's one of the 'overs.'"
"They were Russians."
"Rooshians is a kind of white people, ain't they? Well, that's how she
come so light-complected. You remember she said our folks had treated
her bad? It's a fact, Doc. She spilled the story, and it made a mouthful.
It's like this: when Nome was struck a Swede feller she had knew
staked her a claim, but she couldn't hold it, her bein' a squab--under age,
savvy? There's something in the law that prevents Injuns gettin' in on
anything good, too; I don't rightly recollect what it is, but if it's legal
you can bet it's crooked. Anyhow, Uncle Sam lets up a squawk that

she's only eighteen, goin' on nineteen, and a noble redskin to boot, and
says his mining claims is reserved for Laps and Yaps and Japs and
Wops, and such other furrin' slantheads of legal age as declare their
intention to become American citizens if their claims turn out rich
enough so's it pays 'em to do so.
"Well, Ponatah's Swede friend gets himself froze, somehow, so she has
to pass the buck. Naturally, she turns to her pals, the missionaries.
There's a he-missionary here--head mug of the whole gang. He's a
godly walloper, and he tears into Satan bare-handed every Sunday. He
slams the devil around something shameful, and Ponatah thinks he's a
square guy if ever they come square, so she asks him to re-locate her
claim, on shares, and hold it for the joint account. Old Doctor M.E.
Church agrees to split fifty-fifty, half to her and half to heaven, then he
vamps to Nome and chalks his monaker over the Kid's. Now get me:
the claim turns out good, and Ponatah's heavenly pilot makes a
Mexican divvy--he takes the money and gives her his best wishes. He
grabs everything, and says he never knew nobody by the name of
Ponatah--he gets so he can't even pronounce it. He allows her face is
familiar, but he can't place her, and the partnership idea allus was
repugnant to him. He never was partners with nobody, understand? He
blows the show; he bows out and leaves the Kid flat. He forsakes the
Milky Way for the Great White one, and he's out there now, smokin'
Coronas and wearin' a red vest under his black coat, with a diamond
horseshoe in his tie. It looks to me like the James boys could 'a' learned
something from this gospel hold-up."
"Do you believe her story?" Thomas inquired.
"She don't know enough to lie, and you can't trust a guy that wears his
collar backwards."
"She should go to court."
Mr. Hyde shook his head. "I been there, often, but I never picked up a
bet. Somehow or other courts is usually right next to jails, and you got
to watch out you don't get in the wrong place. You can't win nothing in
either one. I thought I'd tell you the story, so if you ever meet up with

this shave-tail preacher and he wants a headache pill you can slip him
some sugar-coated arsenic."
In the days immediately following Doctor Thomas's arrival at Nome he
was a busy man, but he did not forget Ponatah. He was allowed no
opportunity of doing so, for Bill frequently reminded him of her, and as
a result it was not long before he found a place for his charge, in the
home of a leading merchant. Arrangements made, Bill went in search
of the mail-carrier.
Petersen was drinking with two friends at the bar of the Last Chance,
and he pressed his late passenger to join them. But alcoholism was not
one of Mr. Hyde's weaknesses. The best of Bill's bad habits was much
worse than drink; he had learned from experience that liquor put a
traitor's tongue in his head, and in consequence he was a teetotaler.
"I got a job for you, Pete," he announced. "I got you another sled-load
for your next trip. You know Ponatah?"
"Ponatah? Sure Aye know 'im." Petersen. spoke with enthusiasm.
"Well, bring her along when you come. Me 'n'