The way to this lonely hamlet was long, and bordered by ranges and mines, and the men along the route had made him believe that unless he wished to be killed as a tenderfoot he must dress and act like a cowboy. At their last stopping-place the boys on a ranch joined in the fun, and fitted the poor shoemaker out with a pair of long-haired “chaps,” or leggings, and these they made him put on the wrong way. This made locomotion difficult and awkward. He was prevailed upon to wear a wide belt with four pistols. These the boys took good care to see were loaded with blank cartridges.
Then the unsuspecting man was filled with stories of the dangerous location toward which he was traveling, and had impressed upon him that he must be always ready with his gun, and always try to shoot first, if any trouble arose.
Shrewd and clever as the shoemaker was in a city, dealing with his customers, here he was nearly as helpless as little Loney. Yet he had managed to reach thus far. He had seen and heard enough of the high-sounding talk of the cowboys and miners, as they came into towns, and promptly began imbibing the fiery liquor handed them, not to have learned something of it, and he decided to call himself [Wild Bill, the Bull-man]. He would not demean himself to call himself a cowboy. Not he. He hoped to strike terror into the hearts of any vicious characters with whom he might come in contact.
As the man, boy and horse reached the rail and post set aside for the convenience of riders to tie their horses, Morris lifted the boy out from among the pots, pans, tent, and shoemaker’s kit, and stood the weary little fellow down on his wavering legs. As the horse began to nose about, looking for some sign of grass or other food, one could see a sign attached to his tail, the only available place left after all other things were packed on, to notify everybody that this outfit was that of “Morris Goldberg, shoemaker.”
There was no one in sight, all the men being in the dining-room with Helen, and Pierson’s party upstairs. Loney looked about, and read:
“Dead Man’s Gulch Saloon.”
“Vell, it is a goot place to come, Loney. It is Dead Man’s Gulch, and dot’s me. I am so nearly deat dot I can hartly hear mine own voice.”
“I’m glad we’ve come to some place. I’m awful hungry, and I guess Jake is hungry, too.”
“Ve vill get somedings soon, Loney. Und dot horse! Vot kint of a horse are you, anyway? You vant to eat all de time. Don’t I feed you und now you are not carrying me, und I pull you up de hills. You are vort nodings. If I vos to sell you, I vould git nodings but de price of de shoes—for olt iron. But nefer mind, Jake, I vill not see you starf. Now, here is de last bag of oats. Eat ’em und be happy. You’re a pretty goot fellow, after all, und if you die I vill make your hide into de shoes you haf maket me vore out pulling you along. Come away, Loney; meppe he vill fall ofer on you.”
“Oh, he is only tired, and I guess horses need more oats and grass than we think. But why do you wear so many pistols, Mr. Goldberg?”