CHAPTER XXV
THE MAN FROM PIKE COUNTY
Four days later Joe and his Yankee friend, mounted on mustangs, were riding through a canon a hundred miles from San Francisco. It was late in the afternoon, and the tall trees shaded the path on which they were traveling. The air was unusually chilly and after the heat of midday they felt it.
"I don't feel like campin' out to-night," said Bickford. "It's too cool."
"I don't think we shall find any hotels about here," said Joe.
"Don't look like it. I'd like to be back in Pumpkin Hollow just for to-night. How fur is it to the mines, do you calc'late?"
"We are probably about half-way. We ought to reach the Yuba River inside of a week."
Here Mr. Bickford's mustang deliberately stopped and began to survey the scenery calmly.
"What do you mean, you pesky critter?" demanded Joshua.
The mustang turned his head and glanced composedly at the burden he was carrying.
"G'lang!" said Joshua, and he brought down his whip on the flanks of the animal.
It is not in mustang nature to submit to such an outrage without expressing proper resentment. The animal threw up its hind legs, lowering its head at the same time, and Joshua Bickford, describing a sudden somersault, found himself sitting down on the ground a few feet in front of his horse, not seriously injured, but considerably bewildered.
"By gosh!" he ejaculated.
"Why didn't you tell me you were going to dismount, Mr. Bickford?" asked Joe, his eyes twinkling with merriment.
"Because I didn't know it myself," said Joshua, rising and rubbing his jarred frame.
The mustang did not offer to run away, but stood calmly surveying him as if it had had nothing to do with his rider's sudden dismounting.
"Darn the critter! He looks just as if nothing had happened," said Joshua. "He served me a mean trick."
"It was a gentle hint that he was tired," said Joe.
"Darn the beast! I don't like his hints," said Mr. Bickford.
He prepared to mount the animal, but the latter rose on its hind legs and very clearly intimated that the proposal was not agreeable.
"What's got into the critter?" said Joshua.
"He wants to rest. Suppose we rest here for half-an-hour, while we loosen check-rein and let the horses graze."
"Just as you say."
Joshua's steed appeared pleased with the success of his little hint and lost no time in availing himself of the freedom accorded him.
"I wish I was safe at the mines," said Joshua. "What would dad say if he knowed where I was, right out here in the wilderness? It looks as we might be the only human critters in the world. There ain't no house in sight, nor any signs of man's ever bein' here."
"So we can fancy how Adam felt when he was set down in Paradise," said Joe.
"I guess he felt kinder lonely."
"Probably he did, till Eve came. He had Eve, and I have you for company."
"I guess Eve wasn't much like me," said Joshua, with a grin.
He was lying at full length on the greensward, looking awkward and ungainly enough, but his countenance, homely as it was, looked honest and trustworthy, and Joe preferred his company to that of many possessed of more outward polish. He could not help smiling at Mr. Bickford's remark.
"Probably Eve was not as robust as you are," he replied, "I doubt if she were as tall, either. But as to loneliness, it is better to be lonely than to have some company."
"There ain't no suspicious characters round, are there?" inquired Joshua anxiously.
"We are liable to meet them—men who have been unsuccessful at the mines and who have become desperate in consequence, and others who came out here to prey upon others. That's what I hear."
"Do you think we shall meet any of the critters?" asked Joshua.
"I hope not. They wouldn't find it very profitable to attack us. We haven't much money."
"I haven't," said Joshua. "I couldn't have got to the mines if you hadn't lent me a few dollars."
"You have your animal. You can sell him for something."
"If he agrees to carry me so far," said Mr. Bickford, gazing doubtfully at the mustang, who was evidently enjoying his evening repast.
"Oh, a hearty meal will make him good-natured. That is the way it acts with boys and men, and animals are not so very different."
"I guess you're right," said Joshua. "When I wanted to get a favor out of dad, I always used to wait till the old man had got his belly full. That made him kinder good-natured."
"I see you understand human nature, Mr. Bickford," said Joe.
"I guess I do," said Joshua complacently. "Great Jehoshaphat, who's that?"
Joe raised his head and saw riding toward them a man who might have sat for the photograph of a bandit without any alteration in his countenance or apparel. He wore a red flannel shirt, pants of rough cloth, a Mexican sombrero, had a bowie-knife stuck in his girdle, and displayed a revolver rather ostentatiously. His hair, which he wore long, was coarse and black, and he had a fierce mustache.
"Is he a robber?" asked Joshua uneasily.
"Even if he is," said Joe, "we are two to one. I dare say he's all right, but keep your weapon ready."
Though Joe was but a boy and Bickford a full-grown man, from the outset he had assumed the command of the party, and issued directions which his older companion followed implicitly. The explanation is that Joe had a mind of his own, and decided promptly what was best to be done, while his long-limbed associate was duller witted and undecided.
Joe and Joshua maintained their sitting position till the stranger was within a rod or two, when he hailed them.
"How are ye, strangers?" he said.
"Pretty comfortable," said Joshua, reassured by his words. "How fare you?"
"You're a Yank, ain't you?" said the newcomer, disregarding Joshua's question.
"I reckon so. Where might you hail from?"
"I'm from Pike County, Missouri," was the answer. "You've heard of Pike, hain't you?"
"I don't know as I have," said Mr. Bickford.
The stranger frowned.
"You must have been born in the woods not to have heard of Pike County," he said. "The smartest fighters come from Pike. I kin whip my weight in wildcats, am a match for a dozen Indians to onst, and can tackle a lion without flinchin'."
"Sho!" said Joshua, considerably impressed.
"Won't you stop and rest with us?" said Joe politely.
"I reckon I will," said the Pike man, getting off his beast. "You don't happen to have a bottle of whisky with you, strangers?"
"No," said Joe.
The newcomer looked disappointed.
"I wish you had," said he. "I feel as dry as a tinder-box. Where might you be travelin'?"
"We are bound for the mines on the Yuba River."
"That's a long way off."
"Yes, it's four or five days' ride."
"I've been there, and I don't like it. It's too hard work for a gentleman."
This was uttered in such a magnificent tone of disdain that Joe was rather amused at the fellow. In his red shirt and coarse breeches, and brown, not overclean skin, he certainly didn't look much like a gentleman in the conventional sense of that term.
"It's all well enough to be a gentleman if you've got money to fall back on," remarked Joshua sensibly.
"Is that personal?" demanded the Pike County man, frowning and half rising.
"It's personal to me," said Joshua quietly.
"I accept the apology," said the newcomer, sinking back upon the turf.
"I hain't apologized, as I'm aware," said Joshua, who was no craven.
"You'd better not rile me, stranger," said the Pike man fiercely. "You don't know me, you don't. I'm a rip-tail roarer, I am. I always kill a man who insults me."
"So do we," said Joe quietly.
The Pike County man looked at Joe in some surprise. He had expected to frighten the boy with his bluster, but it didn't seem to produce the effect intended.
CHAPTER XXVI
A DESPERADO
Mr. Bickford also seemed a little surprised at Joe's coolness. Though not a coward in the face of danger, he had been somewhat impressed by the fierce aspect of the man from Pike County, and really looked upon him as a reckless daredevil who was afraid of nothing. Joe judged him more truly. He decided that a man who boasted so loudly was a sham. If he had talked less, he would have feared him more.
After his last bloodthirsty declaration the man from Pike County temporarily subsided.
He drew out from his pocket a greasy pack of cards, and after skilfully shuffling them inquired:
"What do you say, strangers, to a little game to pass away the time?"
"I never played keards in my life," said Joshua Bickford.
"Where was you raised?" demanded the Pike man contemptuously.
"Pumpkin Hollow, State o' Maine," said Joshua. "Dad's an orthodox deacon. He never let any of us play keards. I don't know one from t'other."
"I'll learn you," said the Pike man condescendingly. "Suppose we have a game of poker?"
"Ain't that a gambling' game?" inquired Joshua.
"We always play for something," said the Pike man. "It's dern foolishness playin' for nothing. Shall we have a game?"
He looked at Joe as he spoke.
"I don't care to play," said our hero. "I don't know much about cards, and I don't want to play for money."
"That's dern foolishness," said the stranger, whose object it was to clean out his new friends, being an expert gambler.
"Perhaps it is," said Joe, "but I only speak for myself. Mr. Bickford may feel differently."
"Will you take a hand, Bickford?" asked the Pike man, thinking it possible that Joshua might have some money of which he could relieve him.
"You kin show me how to play if you want to," said Joshua, "but I won't gamble any."
The Pike man put up his pack of cards in disgust.
"Derned if I ever met sich fellers!" he said. "You're Methodists, ain't you?"
"We generally decline doing what we don't want to do," said Joe.
"Look here, boy," blustered the Pike man, "I reckon you don't know me. I'm from Pike County, Missouri, I am. I'm a rip-tail roarer, I am. I kin whip my weight in wildcats."
"You told us that afore," said Joshua placidly.
"Derned if I don't mean it, too!" exclaimed the Pike County man, with a fierce frown. "Do you know how I served a man last week?"
"No. Tell us, won't you?" said Joshua.
"We was ridin' together over in Alameda County. We'd met permiscuous, like we've met to-day. I was tellin' him how four b'ars attacked me once, and I fit 'em all single-handed, when he laughed, and said he reckoned I'd been drinkin' and saw double. If he'd knowed me better, he wouldn't have done it."
"What did you do?" asked Joshua, interested.
Joe, who was satisfied that the fellow was romancing, did not exhibit any interest.
"What did I do?" echoed the Pike County man fiercely. "I told him he didn't know the man he insulted. I told him I was from Pike County, Missouri, and that I was a rip-tail roarer."
"And could whip your weight in wildcats," suggested Joe.
The Pike man appeared irritated.
"Don't interrupt me, boy," he said. "It ain't healthy."
"After you'd made them remarks what did you do?" inquired Joshua.
"I told him he'd insulted me and must fight. I always do that."
"Did he fight?"
"He had to."
"How did it come out?"
"I shot him through the heart," said the man from Pike County fiercely. "His bones are bleaching in the valley where he fell."
"Sho!" said Joshua.
The Pike County man looked from one to the other to see what effect had been produced by his blood-curdling narration. Joshua looked rather perplexed, as if he didn't quite know what to think, but Joe seemed tranquil.
"I think you said it happened last week," said Joe.
"If I said so, it is so," said the Pike man, who in truth did not remember what time he had mentioned.
"I don't question that. I was only wondering how his bones could begin to bleach so soon after he was killed."
"Just so," said Joshua, to whom this difficulty had not presented itself before.
"Do you doubt my word, stranger?" exclaimed the Pike man, putting his hand to his side and fingering his knife.
"Not at all," said Joe. "But I wanted to understand how it was."
"I don't give no explanations," said the Pike man haughtily, "and I allow no man to doubt my word."
"Look here, my friend," said Joshua, "ain't you rather cantankerous?"
"What's that?" demanded the other suspiciously.
"No offense," said Joshua, "but you take a feller up so we don't know exactly how to talk to you."
"I take no insults," said the Pike man. "Insults must be washed out in blood."
"Soap-suds is better than blood for washin' purposes," said Joshua practically. "Seems to me you're spoilin' for a fight all the time."
"I allow I am," said the Pike man, who regarded this as a compliment. "I was brought up on fightin'. When I was a boy I could whip any boy in school."
"That's why they called you a rip-tail roarer, I guess," said Joshua.
"You're right, stranger," said the Pike man complacently.
"What did you do when the teacher give you a lickin'?" asked Mr. Bickford.
"What did I do?" yelled the Pike County man, with a demoniac frown.
"Exactly so."
"I shot him!" said the Pike man briefly.
"Sho! How many teachers did you shoot when you was a boy?"
"Only one. The rest heard of it and never dared touch me."
"So you could play hookey and cut up all you wanted to?"
"You're right, stranger."
"They didn't manage that way at Pumpkin Hollow," said Mr. Bickford. "Boys ain't quite so handy with shootin'-irons. When the master flogged us we had to stand it."
"Were you afraid of him?" asked the Pike man disdainfully.
"Well, I was," Joshua admitted. "He was a big man with arms just like flails, and the way he used to pound us was a caution."
"I'd have shot him in his tracks," said the Pike man fiercely.
"You'd have got a wallopin' fust, I reckon," said Joshua.
"Do you mean to insult me?" demanded the Pike man.
"Oh, lay down, and don't be so cantankerous," said Joshua. "You're allus thinkin' of bein' insulted."
"We may as well be going," said Joe, who was thoroughly disgusted with their new companion.
"Just as you say, Joe," said Joshua. "Here, you pesky critter, come and let me mount you."
The mustang realized Joe's prediction. After his hearty supper he seemed to be quite tractable and permitted Mr. Bickford to mount him without opposition.
Joe also mounted his horse.
"I'll ride along with you if you've no objections," said the Pike man. "We kin camp together to-night."
So saying, he too mounted the sorry-looking steed which he had recently dismounted.
Joe was not hypocrite enough to say that he was welcome. He thought it best to be candid.
"If you are quite convinced that neither of us wishes to insult you," he said quietly, "you can join us. If you are bent on quarreling, you had better ride on by yourself."
The Pike man frowned fiercely.
"Boy," he said, "I have shot a man for less than that."
"I carry a revolver," said Joe quietly, "but I shan't use it unless it is necessary. If you are so easily offended, you'd better ride on alone."
This the Pike man did not care to do.
"You're a strange boy," he said, "but I reckon you're on the square. I'll go along with you."
"I would rather you'd leave us," thought Joe, but he merely said: "Very well."
CHAPTER XXVII
TWO TRAGIC STORIES
They rode on for about an hour and a half. Joshua's steed, placated by his good supper, behaved very well. Their ride was still through the canon. Presently it became too dark for them to proceed.
"Ain't we gone about fur enough for to-night?" asked Joshua.
"Perhaps we have," answered Joe.
"Here's a good place to camp," suggested the man from Pike County, pointing to a small grove of trees to the right.
"Very well; let us dismount," said Joe. "I think we can pass the night comfortably."
They dismounted, and tied their beasts together under one of the trees. They then threw themselves down on a patch of greensward near-by.
"I'm gettin' hungry," said Joshua. "Ain't you, Joe?"
"Yes, Mr. Bickford. We may as well take supper."
Mr. Bickford produced a supper of cold, meat and bread, and placed it between Joe and himself.
"Won't you share our supper?" said Joe to their companion.
"Thank ye, stranger, I don't mind if I do," answered the Pike man, with considerable alacrity. "My fodder give out this mornin', and I hain't found any place to stock up."
He displayed such an appetite that Mr. Bickford regarded him with anxiety. They had no more than sufficient for themselves, and the prospect of such a boarder was truly alarming.
"You have a healthy appetite, my friend," he said.
"I generally have," said the Pike man. "You'd orter have some whisky, strangers, to wash it down with."
"I'd rather have a good cup of coffee sweetened with 'lasses, sech as marm makes to hum," remarked Mr. Bickford.
"Coffee is for children, whisky for strong men," said the Roarer.
"I prefer the coffee," said Joe.
"Are you temperance fellers?" inquired the Pike man contemptuously.
"I am," said Joe.
"And I, too," said Joshua.
"Bah!" said the other disdainfully; "I'd as soon drink skim-milk.
Good whisky or brandy for me."
"I wish we was to your restaurant, Joe," said Joshua. "I kinder hanker after some good baked beans. Baked beans and brown bread are scrumptious. Ever eat 'em, stranger?"
"No," said the Pike man; "none of your Yankee truck for me."
"I guess you don't know what's good," said Mr. Bickford. "What's your favorite vittles?"
"Bacon and hominy, hoe-cakes and whisky."
"Well," said Joshua, "it depends on the way a feller is brung up. I go for baked beans and brown bread, and punkin pie—that's goloptious. Ever eat punkin pie, stranger?"
"Yes."
"Like it?"
"I don't lay much on it."
Supper was over and other subjects succeeded. The Pike County man became social.
"Strangers," said he, "did you ever hear of the affair I had with Jack Scott?"
"No," said Joshua. "Spin it off, will you?"
"Jack and me used to be a heap together. We went huntin' together, camped out for weeks together, and was like two brothers. One day we was ridin' out, when a deer started up fifty rods ahead. We both raised our guns and shot at him. There was only one bullet into him, and I knowed that was mine."
"How did you know it?" inquired Joshua.
"Don't you get curious, stranger. I knowed it, and that was enough. But Jack said it was his. 'It's my deer,' he said, 'for you missed your shot.' 'Look here, Jack,' said I, 'you're mistaken. You missed it. Don't you think I know my own bullet?' 'No, I don't,' said he. 'Jack,' said I calmly, 'don't talk that way. It's dangerous.' 'Do you think I'm afraid of you?' he said, turning on me. 'Jack,' said I, 'don't provoke me. I can whip my weight in wildcats.' 'You can't whip me,' said he. That was too much for me to stand. I'm the Rip-tail Roarer from Pike County, Missouri, and no man can insult me and live. 'Jack,' said I, 'we've been friends, but you've insulted me, and it must be washed out in blood.' Then I up with my we'pon and shot him through the head."
"Sho!" said Joshua.
"I was sorry to do it, for he was my friend," said the Pike County man, "but he disputed my word, and the man that does that may as well make his will if he's got any property to leave."
Here the speaker looked to see what effect was produced upon his listeners. Joe seemed indifferent. He saw through the fellow, and did not credit a word he said. Joshua had been more credulous at first, but he, too, began to understand the man from Pike County. The idea occurred to him to pay him back in his own coin.
"Didn't the relatives make any fuss about it?" he inquired. "Didn't they arrest you for murder?"
"They didn't dare to," said the Pike man proudly. "They knew me. They knew I could whip my weight in wildcats and wouldn't let no man insult me."
"Did you leave the corpse lyin' out under the trees?" asked Joshua.
"I rode over to Jack's brother and told him what I had done, and where he'd find the body. He went and buried it."
"What about the deer?"
"What deer?"
"The deer you killed and your friend claimed?"
"Oh," said the Pike man, with sudden recollection, "I told Jack's brother he might have it."
"Now, that was kinder handsome, considerin' you'd killed your friend on account of it."
"There ain't nothin' mean about me," said the man from Pike County.
"I see there ain't," said Mr. Bickford dryly. "It reminds me of a little incident in my own life. I'll tell you about it, if you hain't any objection."
"Go ahead. It's your deal."
"You see, the summer I was eighteen, my cousin worked for dad hayin' time. He was a little older'n me, and he had a powerful appetite, Bill had. If it wasn't for that, he'd 'a' been a nice feller enough, but at the table he always wanted more than his share of wittles. Now, that ain't fair, no ways—think it is, stranger?"
"No! Go ahead with your story."
"One day we sat down to dinner. Marm had made some apple-dumplin' that day, and 'twas good, you bet. Well, I see Bill a-eyin' the dumplin' as he shoveled in the meat and pertaters, and I knowed he meant to get more'n his share. Now, I'm fond of dumplin' as well as Bill, and I didn't like it. Well, we was both helped and went to eatin'. When I was half through I got up to pour out some water. When I cum back to the table Bill had put away his plate, which he had cleaned off, and was eatin' my dumplin'."
"What did you say?" inquired the gentleman from Pike, interested.
"I said: 'Bill, you're my cousin, but you've gone too fur.' He laffed, and we went into the field together to mow. He was just startin' on his swath when I cum behind him and cut his head clean off with my scythe."
Joe had difficulty in suppressing his laughter, but Mr. Bickford looked perfectly serious.
"Why, that was butchery!" exclaimed the Pike man, startled. "Cut off his head with a scythe?"
"I hated to, bein' as he was my cousin," said Joshua, "but I couldn't have him cum any of them tricks on me. I don't see as it's any wuss than shootin' a man."
"What did you do with his body?" asked Joe, commanding his voice.
"Bein' as 'twas warm weather, I thought I'd better bury him at once."
"Were you arrested?"
"Yes, and tried for murder, but my lawyer proved that I was crazy when I did it, and so I got off."
"Do such things often happen at the North?" asked the Pike County man.
"Not so often as out here and down South, I guess," said Joshua. "It's harder to get off. Sometimes a man gets hanged up North for handlin' his gun too careless."
"Did you ever kill anybody else?" asked the Pike man, eying Joshua rather uneasily.
"No," said Mr. Bickford. "I shot one man in the leg and another in the arm, but that warn't anything serious."
It was hard to disbelieve Joshua, he spoke with such apparent frankness and sincerity. The man from Pike County was evidently puzzled, and told no more stories of his own prowess. Conversation, died away, and presently all three were asleep.