I’m not saying they smelled the whisky in that train. I’m not saying they knew Clancy was importing fire water, and they were just there to feast their eyes on the barrels and meditate on what was inside. I’m not saying anything at all about that, or what followed. There’s only one man that perhaps might have explained it—-I say “perhaps” because he never did; and also, because he knew Indian nature as well as any white man in the West. That was Perley.
Whether Perley even knew that Clancy was at the Bend or not, I don’t know. I only know that he could have known it if he’d bothered to read the waybills; and it was likewise on the cards that he might have learned the day before, down at Big Cloud, that the whisky was going up the following morning. I don’t know, and that’s straight. Sometimes I think he did; sometimes I think he didn’t. I don’t know.
Anyway, Lee slid to the ground as the train stopped, and went back to the car that held the consignment for the Bend. As he fumbled with the door, he got a whiff of raw spirit that nearly knocked him over. And then, right behind him, rose a chorus of appreciative “ughs!”
I told you an Indian could smell whisky, but I didn’t tell you why. It’s his ruling passion. That’s straight. I’m not judging the Indian; the taste was born in him. There are some white men just as bad. I’m not judging them, either. Some drink for the same reason the Indian does, some for others, and some—some men drink because they have to.
What was I saying? Oh, yes, Lee getting that whiff. Well, before he got the door unfastened, the man in the red shirt had pushed through the Indians and come up beside him.
“Me name’s Clancy,” said he. “Did yez bring up any stuff for me?”
“There’s three barrels for somebody,” replied Lee, and slid open the door—and the next minute he had jumped back with a yell, colliding with Clancy.
“Ugh!” ejaculated the apparition that confronted him.
“He’s drunk! Majestically drunk! An’ on my stuff!” roared Clancy; and then, turning fiercely on Lee: “Fwhat did ye let him in there for, eh? Fwhat did ye let him in for, ye mealy-faced little——”
“Let him in nothing!” retorted Lee, getting back his grip on himself. “Here, you, get out—and quick!”