Nine Short Stories | Page 9

Finally I slowed down and took a peep around the corner
through the side window. I couldn't see no one. I stopped and jumped
down and opened the door. The red-faced guy was gone and the other
guy was sprawled out half on the seat and half on the floor. I yelled at
him and shook him around, but he was dead to the world. So I brought
him--"

"All right, that'll do," the lieutenant interrupted. "You've got a license, I
suppose?"
"Sure I have. I've been three years with the M. B. Company--"
"And you don't know when the red-faced man left the cab?"
"No. Unless it was at Sixth Avenue and Forty-second Street. They was
a jam there and we was held up a long time. He might of ducked
then--"
"All right." The lieutenant turned to a policeman. "See if that man is
able to talk yet."
As the policeman turned to obey, a door leading into an inner room
opened and Rick Duggett, champion roper of Eastern Arizona,
appeared on the threshold. His face was pale and his eyes were swollen
and dull, like those of a man roused from a long sleep; his necktie was
on one side and his hair was rumpled into a tangled mass.
"Here he is now," said the policeman.
"Oh, so you've come to." The lieutenant looked the newcomer over.
"What's the matter with you? What kind of a game is this?"
Rick Duggett approached the desk.
"Listen here," he said, gazing at the lieutenant with a melancholy eye.
His voice was slow and labored, but he made it distinct. "Listen here,"
he repeated. "I see by the clock yonder that it's after three. So I've been
knocked out for three hours. I came to in there fifteen minutes ago, and
they told me where I was. I guess I'm straightened out now. A gazebo
named Henderson gave me a drink of something from Kansas, and
when I closed my eyes because I enjoyed it so much he lifted a roll of
eight hundred dollars and a return ticket to Arizona from my pants
pocket. You got to watch everybody in New York. It was Henderson
said that. Perhaps he meant--"

"Wait a minute." The lieutenant arranged the blotter and dipped his pen
in the ink. "What's your name?"
Rick achieved a weary smile. "My name is Billy Boob. Write it down
and let me see how it looks. That's all you'll get, because I'm not
exactly anxious to get myself in the papers in this connection. My
rtame is Billy Boob, and I come from Ginkville on Sucker Creek. If
that's all I guess I'll trot along."
"I guess you won't," said the lieutenant sharply. "How do you expect us
to get your money back for you if you don't tell us anything? What kind
of a looking man was this Henderson? Where did you meet him?"
"Nothing doing." Agauh Rick smiled wearily. "Strange to say, I forgot
to brand him. He wore a gray suit of clothes, and he had a red face and
white teeth, and I met him somewhere talking about nonrefillable
bottles. No use writing anything down, because I'm not making any
holler. I've always had a theory that if a man can't take care of himself
he's not fit to have any one else do the job. The boys would run me off
the ranch if they heard of this. I guess I'll trot along."
The policeman grinned. The lieutenant expostulated and argued. But
Rick was firm.
"No, Cap, nothing doing on the complaint. You wouldn't catch him,
anyway. I'm going home and get some sleep. So long and much
obliged."
He made for the door. But on the threshold he hesitated, then turned.
"There's one thing I'd like to know," he said slowly. "Henderson took a
drink just before I did, and it didn't seem to make him sleepy. Is it a
general practice around here to carry two kinds of booze in one horn?''
At that the lieutenant grinned, too. "Oh, that's one of our eastern
refinements," he explained. "You see, the flask is divided in the middle.
If you press the button on the right side you get Scotch and if you press
the one on the left you get something else. Men like Mr. Henderson

have them made to order."
"I see," said Rick. "Much obliged."
And with a farewell nod he turned again and disappeared into the street.
It was noon when he awoke the next day in his room at the hotel. He
first felt a vague sense of depression, then suddenly everything came
back to him. He jumped out of bed, filled the washbowl with cold
water and ducked his head in it, then washed and dressed. That done,
he