The Black Lion Inn

by Alfred Henry Lewis

“Which if I was you-all,” says Johnny Cook of the LIT outfit, “I’d shore sally forth an’ buy nose-paint with that treasure while a peso remained.” But Cold-sober turns down these divers proposals an’ allows he’ll pack said roll in his pocket a whole lot, which he accordin’ does.

Cold-sober hangs ’round Tascosa for mighty near a week, surrenderin’ all thought of gettin’ to the Lee-Scott ranch, feelin’ that he’s now too rich to punch cattle. Doorin’ this season of idleness art’ease, Cold-sober bunks in with a jimcrow English doctor who’s got a ’doby in Tascosa an’ who calls himse’f Chepp. He’s a decent form of maverick, however, this yere Chepp, an’ him an’ Cold-sober becomes as thick as thieves.

Cold-sober’s stay with Chepp is brief as I states; in a week he gets restless ag’in for work; whereupon he hooks up with Roberson, an’ goes p’intin’ south across the Canadian on a L I T hoss to hold down one of that brand’s sign-camps in Mitchell’s canyon. It’s only twenty miles, an’ lie’s thar in half a day—him an’ Wat Peacock who’s to be his mate. An’ Cold-sober packs with him that fortune of ninety-five hundred.

The two black-laigs who’s been depleted that away still hankers about Tascosa; but as mighty likely they don’t own the riches to take ’em out o’ town, not much is thought. Nor does it ruffle the feathers of commoonal suspicion when the two disappears a few days after Cold-sober goes ridin’ away to assoome them LIT reesponsibilities in Mitchell’s canyon. The public is too busy to bother itse’f about ’em. It comes out later, however, that the goin’ of Cold-sober has everything to do with the exodus of them hold-ups, an’ that they’ve been layin’ about since they loses their roll on a chance of get-tin’ it back. When Cold-sober p’ints south for Mitchell’s that time, it’s as good as these outlaws asks. They figgers on trailin’ him to Mitchell’s an’ hidin’ out ontil some hour when Peacock’s off foolin’ about the range; when they argues Cold-sober would be plumb easy, an’ they’ll kill an’ skelp him an’ clean him up for his money, an’ ride away.

“In fact,” explains the one Cold-sober an’ Peacock finds alive, “it’s our idee that the killin’ an’ skelpin’ an’ pillagin’ of Cold-sober would get layed to Peacock, which would mean safety for us an’ at the same time be a jest on Peacock that would be plumb hard to beat.” That was the plan of these outlaws; an’ the cause of its failure is the followin’ episode, to wit:

It looks like this Doc Chepp is locoed to collect wild anamiles that a-way.

“Which I wants,” says this shorthorn Chepp, “a speciment of every sort o’ the fauna of these yere regions, savin’ an’ exceptin’ polecats. I knows enough of the latter pungent beast from an encounter I has with one, to form notions ag’in ’em over which not even the anxious cry of science can preevail. Polecats is barred from my c’llec-tions. But,” an’ said Chepp imparts this last to Cold-sober as the latter starts for Mitchell’s, “if by any sleight or dexterity you-all accomplishes the capture of a bob-cat, bring the interestin’ creature to me at once. An’ bring him alive so I may observe an’ note his pecooliar traits.”

It’s the third mornin’ in Mitchell’s when a bobcat is seen by Cold-sober an’ Peacock to go sa’nter-in’ up the valley. Mebby this yere bob-cat’s homeless; mebby he’s a dissoloote bob-cat an’ has been out all night carousin’ with other bob-cats an’ is simply late gettin’ in; be the reason of his appearance what it may, Cold-sober remembers about Doc Chepp’s wish to own a bob-cat, an’ him an’ Peacock lets go all holds, leaps for their ponies an’ gives chase. Thar’s a scramblin’ run up the canyon; then Peacock gets his rope onto it, an’ next Cold-sober fastens with his rope, an’ you hear me, gents, between ’em they almost rends this yere onhappy bobcat in two. They pauses in time, however, an’ after a fearful struggle they succeeds in stuffin’ the bob-cat into Peacock’s leather laiggin’s, which the latter gent removes for that purpose. Bound hand an’ foot, an’ wropped in the laiggin’s so tight he can hardly squawl, that bob-cat’s put before Cold-sober on his saddle; an’ this bein’ fixed, Cold-sober heads for Tascosa to present him to his naturalist friend, Chepp, Peacock scamperin’ cheerfully along like a drunkard to a barbecue regyardin’ the racket as a ondeniable excuse for gettin’ soaked.

This adventure of the bob-cat is the savin’ clause in the case of Cold-sober Simms. As the bobcat an’ him an’ Peacock rides away, them two malefactors is camped not five miles off, over by the Serrita la Cruz, an’ arrangin’ to go projectin’ ’round for Cold-sober an’ his ninety-five hundred that very evenin’. In truth, they execootes their scheme; but only to find when they jumps his camp in Mitchell’s that Cold-sober’s done vamosed a whole lot.

It’s then trouble begins to gather for the two rustlers. The one who deals the game that time is so overcome by Cold-sober’s absence, he peevishly puts it up that his pard gives Cold-sober warnin’ with the idee of later whackin’ up the roll with him by way of a reward for his virchoo. Nacherally no se’f-respectin’ miscreant will submit to sech impeachments, an’ the accoosed makes a heated retort, punctuatin’ his observations with his gun. Thar-upon the other proceeds to voice his feelin’s with his six-shooter; an’ the mootual remarks of these yere dispootants is so well aimed an’ ackerate that next evenin’ when Cold-sober an’ Peacock returns, they finds one dead an’ t’other dyin’ with even an’ exact jestice broodin’ over all.