I had never heard his voice so wonderfully beautiful before; but, my stars, the sadness of it made me choke! It wasn’t just a song, it was a cry; and I knew that it came from a lonely, bleedin’ heart. I put my head under the covers again, puzzlin’ over what was on his mind; but first thing I knew I was awakened by the glad voice of the old Friar Tuck, singin’ his favorite mornin’ hymn: “Brightest and best of the sons of the morning”; so I cooked breakfast, and he went his way, and I went mine.
[CHAPTER SEVEN—HORACE WALPOLE BRADFORD]
The Diamond Dot, while it was about the idealest ranch in the West from most standpoints, was run a little loose. Jabez didn’t have any luxurious tastes, and he wasn’t miserly; so he didn’t strain things down to the last penny—not by a whole lot. All he asked was to have his own way and be comfortable; and so he allus kept more punchers ’n he had actual need of, and unless they got jubilant over imposin’ on him, he just shut his eyes and grinned about it.
Takin’ his location and outfit into account, and he just simply couldn’t help but make money; so we all had a fairly easy time of it and grew tender feelin’s, the same as spoiled children; which is why we sometimes quit, for we never had any other excuse for it.
Barbie was a notice-takin’ child, if ever the’ was one; and she stood out for company as a general and standin’ order. Company didn’t affect ol’ Cast Steel one way or the other; they were just the same to him as a couple o’ hundred head o’ ponies, more or less; and so the news got out that we allus had a lot of extra beds made up and any one was welcome to stretch out in ’em who wanted to. The result o’ this was, ’at we drew visitors as easy as molasses draws flies. I lived at the home house on account o’ bein’ Barbie’s pal, and so I got into the habit o’ bein’ a sort of permanent reception committee. Some o’ these visitors was a plague to me; but Jabez didn’t like to run any risk of havin’ ’em ruined beyond repair, so it was generally understood that I had to use ex-treme caution when I started in to file the clutch off their welcome.
This spring ’at I have in mind, we had as visitor one o’ the easternest dudes I was ever tangled up with. He came out for his health, which is the excuse most of ’em gives; but this one took more ways of avoidin’ health ’n airy other of ’em I ever saw. He smoked cigars all day long, big black ones, strong enough to run a sawmill, he ate fattenin’ food from mornin’ till night, and when he drove out in the buckboard to take his exercise, he suffered from what he called fatigue. He used to sit up as wide awake as an owl till along about ten every night; and half the time he didn’t crawl out until near seven in the mornin’. He certainly was a pest!
What he complained of most, was his nerves; and he’d sit for hours, talkin’ about ’em to anything ’at had ears. He said the worst of it was, he couldn’t sleep nights. I had, of course, heard o’ nerves before ever I saw him; but I had never heard of ’em turnin’ to and devilin’ a man, the way his did; so at first I was honestly interested, and asked him all I could think up about ’em; but after a day or so, I’d ’a’ been perfectly willin’ to put up the coin out o’ my own pocket to have him go to a dentist and have every last one of his nerves pulled.
I don’t begrudge sympathy to any afflicted individual; but the more I sympathized with this feller, the more affectionate toward me he got; and he used to trot about after me, warbilin’ out dirges about his nerves until I was tempted to tie a stone around his neck and lose him down the cistern.
He ran to language, too, this one did. His conversation was so full of it that a feller could scarcely understand what he was tryin’ to say. He was ferociously interested in the ancient Greeks; and if a man succeeded in wedgin’ him away from his nerves, he began immediate to discourse about these ancient Greeks. Now, I didn’t have a single thing again’ any o’ these ancient Greeks before this Dude struck us, none of ’em ever havin’ crossed my trail before; but they sure did have a rotten outfit o’ names, and they were the most infernal liars ’at ever existed. Three-headed dogs, and women with snakes for hair, were as common in their tales as thieves among the Sioux. Barbie didn’t have any use for this Eastener either; so I decided to fit him out with a deep-rooted desire for home influences.
I took ol’ Tank Williams into my confidence, he bein’ the most gruesome lookin’ creature we had in our parts. He was a big man of curious construction and he had one eye which ran wild. Tank never knew what this free eye was up to; and while he would be examinin’ the ground, the free eye would be gazin’ up at a tree as intent as though he had set it to watch for a crow. Durin’ his younger days, Tank had formed the habit of indulgin’ in gang fights as much as possible, and all of his features had been stampeded out o’ their natural orbits; but this free eye beat anything I ever see.