CHAPTER XXIV: EVICTED
“Well, I ain’t goin’ to git off. Harmony Singer told me that this was my home, didn’t he? No danged weasel-faced lawyer is goin’ to hoodle me out of my home. My work is sat’sfact’ry, and I stay here. Let him come out here. What do I care? I’ll jist pistol-whip him and retain m’ position. That’s me, all the time.”
Sailor Jones leaned back from the breakfast table at the Box S and glared at the red-faced Whispering, who was baking hot cakes. Across the table from Sailor sat Larry, his plate piled high with steaming cakes.
“I guess I’m about full,” the boy announced.
“Yuh ain’t full,” declared Whispering. “Yuh can’t be full of jist sixteen hot cakes. Eat up them five, and I’ll have some fresh ones for yuh. You satisfied, Sailor?”
“Got enough cakes—yeah.”
“Kinda puny, ain’t yuh? You only et ten this mornin’.”
“That lawyer took away my appetite. Mebby I better ride in and kill him. I’ll betcha I’d be thanked.”
“You’d be hung, you danged fool. Some few of us might e-rect a monyment to yuh, Sailor; but you wouldn’t know it. Git them killin’ notions out of yore head. Len says to go easy.”
“Yeah, he does!” snored Sailor. “And he never slept a wink last night. Looks like a complete accident this mornin’. ’F I ain’t as dumb as a horned toad, Len’s in love with Nan.”
“Yo’re crazy.”
“I can’t eat no more,” declared Larry at last. “Twenty-one is plenty.”
He slipped off his chair, sighed deeply, and went down to the stable to saddle his burro.
Sailor tilted his chair against the wall and rolled a smoke.
“What’s yore idea of this Hartley, Whisperin’?” he asked.
“I dunno. Len’s got faith in him. He shore dug up evidence that Nan never left on that train. But where’d she go? I’ll betcha she ran away with that gambler. Wimmin,” Sailor exhaled deeply, “are queer critters. I never understood ’em.”
“That’s funny, too,” grunted Whispering, “bein’ as you never had anythin’ to do with ’em.”
“I had a squaw wife once, Whisperin’.”
“Injuns are different, Sailor.”
Whispering sat down beside the table, resting his chin on his hands.
“I dunno what we’re goin’ to do, Sailor. Me and yuh have been together a long time, but I dunno who in hell would ever hire us two old wrecks together. We ain’t much good, that’s shore. Yuh jist kinda git old all to once, without realisin’ it, and nobody wants yuh.”
“I’m three years younger than you are, Whisperin’.”
“To hear you tell it—yeah. But yo’re too old, Sailor. We’ve got to look at this straight. There’s no jobs for us in this country. I might git on as a cook on some outfit—if they needed one awful bad. I can’t ride no more. You can’t even cook. Dang it, Sailor, we’re jist a couple of old derelicts. If we’d fought in the wars, instead of hidin’ in the brush, we could go to a home for soldiers.”
“I never hid in no brush, dang yuh! I was too young to go to war.”
“I wasn’t speakin’ about the Rev’lutionary War, Sailor.”
“Oh! Well, I fought Injuns. Me and them Apaches⸺”
“Uncle Sam ain’t offerin’ a home to fellers who fought to save their own lives.”
“I’m not askin’ him for a home, dang it!”
“You probably will be.”
Len came and sat down in the doorway. His gray-green eyes were bloodshot this morning and his hair hadn’t been combed.
“We’ll go in this afternoon, boys,” he said slowly. “I’ll get the money from Baggs. Don’t get drunk and act foolish. Save yore money this time.”
“I reckon that’s good advice, Len,” agreed Whispering. “We’ll need our money now. What’ll you do, Len—you and the kid?”
Len shook his head.
“I wish we could stick together, Len.”
“I guess we will, Whisperin’.”
“How can we do it?” asked Sailor quickly.
“I don’t know, Sailor.”
Len got quickly to his feet. Hashknife and Sleepy were riding in off the main road. They came up to the kitchen door and dismounted. Hashknife was grinning widely as they came in the kitchen.
“Smelled hot cakes,” he said. “How’s chances for some?”
“The best yuh ever seen,” said Whispering. He grabbed for a handful of wood and stoked the fire.
“Look upon us, will yuh?” laughed Hashknife. “Behold the new crew of the Box S!”
“What do yuh mean?” asked Len.
Hashknife chuckled as he sat down at the table.
“Gospel truth, Len. Amos Alexander Baggs himself hired me and Sleepy this mornin’.”
“No.”
“Shore did. Stipulated that we don’t keep none of you boys. Yo’re all fired.”
“We was all fired last night,” said Sailor.
“I don’t quite understand Baggs,” said Len slowly. “How did he ever select you two?”
“That,” said Hashknife, “is a question. Punchers are scarce, I suppose. Anyway, he explained that he needed us right away. Couldn’t seem to wait until the boys left. Said he’d send out a load of grub in a couple of days; so that was a gentle hint to get on the job and stay on it.”
“No other news?” asked Len.
“Not a thing. Gee, you shore make hot cakes, pardner. Wish we could keep yuh cookin’. Mebby we can talk Baggs into hirin’ yuh in a few days.”
“That’s all right with me—if he’d take Sailor, too.”
“Mebby we can fix it.”
“You take the job, if yuh can git it, Whisperin’,” advised Sailor. “I’ll git along. Pers’nally, I don’t know if I’d work for Baggs.”
“You’d work for me, wouldn’t yuh, Sailor?” asked Hashknife.
“Yo’re dang well right!”
“Well, yuh may be back here sooner than yuh think.”
“Thank yuh kindly, Hartley. I hope yo’re right. This is home to me and Whisperin’.”
“There’s no place like home,” said Hashknife thoughtfully.
“You re’lise it—when yo’re run out of it,” said Whispering, and turned away, wiping the hot-cake smoke out of his eyes.
“That damn smoke is kinda—kinda thick,” said Sailor, and sauntered outside.
Hashknife and Len exchanged glances of complete understanding. The smoke wasn’t at all distressing.
They loafed around the ranch all day. Len gave Hashknife all the information regarding the details of the ranch. Whispering cooked an early supper for them. Sailor hitched up a team to the buckboard to carry their belongings to Lobo Wells, and they drove away at sundown.
Len looked back and waved at Hashknife and Sleepy, but the two old men kept their eyes straight ahead. They didn’t want to look back. There was a suspicion of moisture in Hashknife’s eyes as he turned away, but his lean jaw was set with determination.
“Well,” said Sleepy expansively, “we’ve got a job on our hands, Hashknife.”
“We shore have, pardner. Hope the god of luck is with us. I’m still pawin’ in the dark, I tell yuh. Just guessin’, guessin’, without a danged thing to back me up. What do yuh do when yo’re holdin’ two deuces in a stiff poker game, Sleepy?”
“Think they’re a full house and play ’em hard.”
“That’s what I’m doin’; prayin’ to a special little god of mine—and bluffin’ like a fool. As soon as it’s dark, we’ll saddle up and sneak back to town.”
“Is this the end of the trail, Hashknife?”
“Who knows? I tell yuh, I’m bluffin’. I ain’t even got a pair of deuces. But when the other feller don’t know it⸺”
“Where does that girl come in on it, Hashknife?”
“We’ll ask her—if we’re lucky.”