Red Saunders | Page 4

there weren't any desirable corpses to be had.
"Say, pardner," says I, "you wouldn't make many cigars at this game!"
"Now, don't you get oneasy," says he. "Just watch!"
"_Biff_!" says the old gun, and this time, sure enough, the Injun was
knocked clear of the rock. I felt all along that he wouldn't be much of a
comfort to his friends afterwards, if that gun did land on him.
Still, he wasn't so awful dead, for as we jumped for the horses he kind
of hitched himself to the rock, and laying the rifle across it, and
working the lever with his left hand, he sent a hole plumb through my
hat.
"Bully boy!" says I. I snapped at him, and smashed the lock of his rifle
to flinders. Then, of course, he was our meat.
As we rode up to him, my pard held dead on him. The Injun stood up
straight and tall, and looked us square in the eye--say, he was a man, I
tell you, red-skin or no red-skin. The courage just stuck out on him as
he stood there, waiting to pass in his checks.
My pardner threw the muzzle of his gun up. "D--n it!" says he, "I can't
do it--he's game from the heart out! But the Lord have mercy on his
sinful soul if he and I run foul of each other on the prairie again!"
Then we shacked along down to Johnson's and had breakfast.
"What became of Frosthead and his gang?" Oh, they sent out a
regiment or two, and gathered him in--'bout twenty-five soldiers to an
Injun. No, no harm was done. Me and my pard were the only ones that

bucked up against them. Chuck out a cigarette, Kid; my lungs ache for
want of a smoke.

A Red-Haired Cupid
"How did I come to get myself disliked down at the Chanta Seechee?
Well, I'll tell you," said Reddy, the cow-puncher. "The play came up
like this. First, they made the Chanta Seechee into a stock company,
then the stock company put all their brains in one think, and says they,
'We'll make this man Jones superintendent, and the ranch is all right at
once.' So out comes Jones from Boston, Massachusetts, and what he
didn't know about running a ranch was common talk in the country, but
what he thought he knew about running a ranch was too much for one
man to carry around. He wasn't a bad-hearted feller in some ways, yet
on the whole he felt it was an honour to a looking-glass to have the
pleasure of reflecting him. Looking-glass? I should say he had! And a
bureau, and a boot-blacking jigger, and a feather bed, and curtains, and
truck in his room. Strange fellers used to open their eyes when they saw
that room. 'Helloo-o!' they'd say, 'whose little birdie have we here?'
And other remarks that hurt our feelings considerable. Jonesy, he said
the fellers were a rank lot of barbarians. He said it to old Neighbour
Case's face, and he and the old man came together like a pair of hens,
for Jonesy had sand in spite of his faults, That was a fight worth
travelling to see. They covered at least an acre of ground; they tore the
air with upper swats and cross swipes; they hollered, they jumped and
they pitched, and when the difficulty was adjusted we found that
Jonesy's coat was painfully ripped up the back and Neighbour Case had
lost his false teeth. One crowd of fellers patted Jones on the back and
said, 'Never mind your coat, old horse; you've licked a man twice your
age,' and the other comforted Neighbour, saying, 'Never mind, Case;
you can ease your mind by thinking how you headed up that rooster,
and he fifty pounds lighter than you.'
"Jonesy put on airs after that. He felt he was a hard citizen. And then he
had the misfortune to speak harshly to Arizona Jenkins when Old Dry
Belt was in liquor. Then he got roped and dragged through the slough.
He cried like a baby whilst I helped him scrape the mud off, but not
because he was scared! No, sir! That little runt was full of blood and
murder.

"'You mark me, now, Red,' says he, the tears making bad-land water
courses through the mud on his cheeks, 'I shall fire upon that man the
first time I see him--will you lend me your revolver?'
"'Lord, Jones, see here,' says I, 'don't you go making any such billy-goat
play as that--keep his wages until he apologizes; put something harmful
in his grub; but, as you have respect for the Almighty's handiwork as
represented by your person, don't pull a gun on Arizona Jenkins--that's
the one thing he