"Peace, friends, peace!" says Aggy, standin' up his hull height and with his n.o.ble chest fillin' his black coat; his black whiskers expandin' in pride--a hootin', tootin' son-of-a-gun to look at. And when he said "peace," the earth shook.

The crowd stopped. "Think!" says Aggy. "Attempt the impossible!

Think! Remember that paralytic is on a parlour car, flying swiftly toward the setting sun. I see the picture of that lonely railroad train whooping ties across the prairie. What is the use of throwing yourselves into a violent perspiration in a mad chase of a thing that no longer exists? The paralytic is no more; thy Faith Hath Made Him Whole." Aggy sank his voice to a beautiful whisper.

"Well, you got stuck yourself," pipes up old Grandpa Hope. "He, he, he, he sh.e.l.led you too!"

"I admit it," says Ag, "and yet it is not quite what it seems. I borrowed Slit-Eyed Jenkins's two gilded nickels to get in this game. I further admit that the Government never should have left the word 'cents' off these nickels, to tempt poor but not bigoted men; further, I'll say that if Jenkins had brightened them up he might have pa.s.sed them for $3.89. But Jenkins puts a thief within his stomach that steals away his business ability, so that when I asked for them nickels he merely replied: 'Take the d.a.m.ned Yankee skin-tricks away, with my thanks.'

"I have noted in my travels that the person to pa.s.s immoral money on us is the agent whose mind is absorbed in selling you a diamond ring, that nothing but his desire to get rid of would drive him to sell; so in this case I dropped them nickels into the grateful and quiverin' hand of that paralytic, drew my man and--here we are," says Ag.

It was the first time I ever saw a gang of full-grown men blush at the same time.

n.o.body had nothin' to say except Ag, who threw the lapel of his coat back and addressed the meeting.

"Gentlemen," says he, "as I have mentioned before, our paralysed friend has fled, departed, skinned out, screwed his nut far, far from here.

Don't blaspheme in the very face of the Almighty by trying to be more ridiculous than you already are. If you arrive warm and distracted, the few remaining inhabitants of Lost Dog will hold the dead moral on you the rest of your days. Cool off and wipe the word 'map' from your minds; turn from the villainies of man to the stark forces of nature; see where Squaw Creek has forced her remorseless and semi-fluid way through the mighty rampart of these Gumbo hills."

"I wish you would hush," said a puncher. "Leggo, Ag!"

"Here's where you get the worth of your money," says Ag. "You wouldn't play poker with _me_, would you? Of course not. I might get your money. In fact, I think I should, myself. But you would turn over ten fine large bones to a paralytic who made pencil sketches of a scene in the Alps and put the sign of the price on 'em--one sawbuck, or ten plunks? There is the sawbuck," says Aggy, tappin' his map. "But where are the plunks? Go to! There are no plunks. We kick the dust of Dog-town from our hind legs. Flee cheerily, one-time neighbours, to where a red cross fifty miles in length lies exposed to the sunlight, and then dig; dig for wealth beyond the dreams of avarice; dream of scow-loads of gold floating on a ca.n.a.l of champagne. Don't forget to dig, because that will give you a muscle like a Government mule. And here's where we dig--out. Ta-ta, fellow-citizens, I never expected to get you so foul!"

"I think you was working with that feller," says one man, excited.

"Dream on--dream on," says Ag, "but don't make any motions in your sleep. I've heard that wakin' up somnambulists with a .44 Colt's is bad for their nervous systems." The lad was quiet. "Gentlemen," says Aggy, "if you have kicks, prepare to shed them now."

"No tickee--no kickee," says the cow-puncher. "But kindly don't bunch me with these Foundered Dogs," pointing to the rest.

"Certainly not," says Ag. "Come with us, friend?"

"I sure ought not to," says the puncher, scratchin' his head. "The ole man expects me to go down to Sweet Water and bring home a bunch of calves; but, thunder! calves just loves to play, and the ole man's got so quiet that Peace troubles his mind. Where you goin'?"

"Well," says Ag, sincerely, "you can search me."

"Fits me to half a pound," says the puncher; "ain't nothin' suits me better than to fall against somethin' I don't know the name of. Darn calves; if there's anything I don't like some more than other things, calves is the party of the first part---- Yekhoo!" says he, "c'm round here, Mary Jane." With that he waved his leg over the saddle and we was off.

"You fellers got any money?" says the puncher. We told him we was entirely innocent in that respect.

"Well, I got fifty of my own, and two hundred the ole man give me to buy any likely stock I might see. He'll stand on one leg and talk naughty to me when he finds I've spent it, but, Lord! there's no use remembering things that ain't happened yet, and besides, _he_ was a hopper gra.s.s that flew, when _he_ was a youngster. So that's all right. Gosh! don't it feel good to be out in the real fresh air oncet more!"

It sure was good. We made it, ride and tie, northeast by the compa.s.s.

There's one good thing about these United States--so long's you keep movin' you're sure to run into a town somewheres.

We spent three nights out. Every camp, before rollin' in, Ag and me and the cow-puncher made up a quartette and sang, "How dear to my heart is the scenes of my chi-i-i-i-i-i-ldhood," "Old Black Joe," and so forth, then laid down in faith no critter would trouble us that night.

And say! it was simply dead great when we was lyin' on top of old Baldy Jones's Meza, the moonlight ketchin' the canyon lengthwise, and old Aggy comin' down, down, down, "Rocked--in ther--cradle--of--the--deep."

Holy Smoke! he sounded fifty fathom. Honest, he made that slit in the earth holler like an organ. We was that enthusiastic we oncored him, leavin' our own pipes out. You talk about your theatres and truck!

Give me Agamemnon G., a white night, and several thousand square mile of ghost-walk country--that's the music for me. He never waggled them black whiskers--just naturally opened his mouth, and the hills on the skyline p.r.i.c.ked up their ears to listen. You could hear that big, handsome roar go bouncin' along the crags and wakin' up the wildcats in the cracks. Lord! what a stillness when the last echo stopped! Well, that cow-puncher, he had a tear runnin' down the side of his nose, and I never felt so happy miserable in my life.

The only words spoke was by Ag. "Mary and Martha!" says he, "I've scart myself!" so we all rolled up.

Two days after we met a line of ore-wagons drug by mules. When we was twenty foot away the cow-puncher and the first driver give a holler, and in ten seconds they was shakin' hands and poundin' each other on the back, sayin', "Why, you d.a.m.ned old this and that!" When a lull come, the cow-puncher says, "Jack, let me present my friends!" so the driver he shook hands with us and says, "Any friend of Billy's on your meal ticket! Where you crowd of sand skinners headed for?" So, after some talk, he understood. "You want a town," says he. "Well,"

p'inting with the b.u.t.t of his whip, "eighteen miles over yonder you'll find your place, if you're looking to make the sidewalks stand perpendicular; and twenty mile over there, if you want to find some of the nicest people outdoors. Pretty girls there, bet cher life. Chip Jackson filled me full of lead two months ago to get his name up--reg'lar kid trick; wanted to get a rep as the man that put out Jack Hunter; he didn't put me out no more'n you see at present, but the folk over at Cactus used me white. Nussed me. Gee! A dream, gents, a dream! Real girls, with clothes that whispers like wind in the gra.s.s, 'Here I come! Here I come!'

"I got the prettiest, slimmest, black-eyed one marked down for me. I wanted her right off, but she said she couldn't consider it, and cried a little; so I cuddled her up and ca'med her down and said I'd do the considerin'. That's a great place--you fellers have seen enough rough house, why don't you shuck down that way?"

"I play her wide open," says Aggy, "from pretty little kittens in white to chawin' the ear off my fellow-man; but, to speak honest and straightforward, we ain't got the sinews of war to start a campaign in such a town, as I'd like to."

"Broke!" hoots Hunter. "Well, that don't go a minute! Here!" says he, "glue your optics to that." He chucked out a specimen peppered with yaller. "That's my mine. I'm just thinkin' of taking a half interest in the mint. You can pick her to go twenty thousand to the ton--help yourselves, gents." He began sortin' rock. "Oh, here!" says he, "wait!"

Then he called his men--Greasers--and spoke to 'em firm in Spanish, that they was to bring their turkeys and empty their pockets. They rolled their eyes and talked about saints. "G'wan," says Jack, "if you fellers didn't know that I knew you were pinchin' me for at least two hundred a trip you wouldn't respect me. Come, shake your jeans, or I'll strip you clean when it comes you're between me and my friends."

So, mournin' and groanin', they unloaded about fifty pounds of the loveliest rock you ever see. There was a piece shaped like a cross that Ag picked out for himself, but the Greaser that owned it hollered loud, and Ag give it back to him. "With that in his clothes," says Aggy, "he can steal religiously--I wouldn't take that comfort from the poor soul for anything."

"These here Greasers get the best chunks," says Jackson, "because they got more time to hunt. Now, don't look cross-eyed," says he to 'em; "I pay you five a day, and you fish two hundred for yourselves." At which the Greasers smiled a little again, feelin' that things weren't without their cheerful side.

"Boys, I got to leave you," says Hunter. "The next time you come through here, you'll see a log cabin built to hold two or more with comfort, because I ain't such a blatting fool to build a house that's going to take my wife's attention from me--log cabin's good enough.

Don't mention that to Miss Lorna Goodwin when you see her, because I ain't took her in my confidence that far yet, but say a good word for your uncle, and by-by! Get up, there, Mary! Straighten them traces, Victoria! Oop! Oop! here we go clattering fresh! So-long, till later!" and away he went, the dust a-flyin'.

We landed in Cactus, ready and anxious to be respectable. We first took in the barber shop, had a bath and a trimmin' up.

"Fix these whiskers of mine," says Ag to the barber, "as though they was inclined to be religious, and a few strokes from a nice, plump, clean little widder's hand would make 'em fall. You can say what you please about widders," says Aggy, "but a woman who's had one man and wants another has holt of the proper sand. It's a compliment when a widder shines up to a man. She's no amateur."

Then we bought clothes and played seven-up in the hotel till they was fixed to fit us. We wanted to stroll through Cactus right. After this was done we mashed our rocks, panned the result, and got $375 from the bank--all told, we had pretty nigh six hundred between the three of us.

The sight of us, trimmed, wouldn't cramp you none. That cow-punch he went an inch to the good over six foot. I came along about an eighth below him, and Aggy loomed far in the night. We all had features on our faces, and--well, Cactus sure was a pretty little town, with its parks and irrigated gardens, and when we strolled, we noticed the girls kind of let their sentences drag--probably because they didn't see us.

"Say, this is great!" said the cow-puncher. "That bug up there,"

p'inting to the electric light, "kinder exudes retail moonlight when he sings. But my! Here's where you get your fine-looking girls! I wonder how the old man 'ud take it if I said to him, 'Paw, dear, I'm married.' I can lick him, though, even if I let him say sourcastic how far from that point I be. Oh, my Christian Spirit!" he whispers, "do you catch sight of that easy-mover in the white clothes! Holy Smokes!

Let's introduce ourselves!"

Ag got up and marched forward. "Is this Miss Lorna Goodwin?" says he.

"No, sir," says the girl, kinder awed by the sight of him.

"I'm very sorry," says Ag. "We are strangers here, and we only knew a friend of Miss Goodwin's."

"Why," says the girl, "Lorna's right back of us. Shall I take you to her?"

Aggy bowed. "With such a guide, I'll follow anywhere," says he, "and I certainly would like to see Miss Goodwin."

"Excuse me a moment, Jim," says the girl, and off they went. I don't think I ever noticed what a handsome big cuss Ag was till seein' him walk beside that girl. Jim, the feller, wasn't so pleased.

Howsomever, there was old Aggy, all in a minute, shakin' hands with many people and representing everything there was in sight, as usual.

Then he marched the crowd up and introduced us all. Say, I've lived a sort of hasty life, full of high jumps, but I'll admit that strolling around with all them nice girls and young fellers left a sore spot. I enjoyed it, but-- Well, I had hold of something with hair as light as the sun in a haze, and with big blue eyes that looked up at me, when the head was bent down--and I can be as big a fool as any monkey in these United States--and the first thing you know, there won't be anything but girl in my conversation.

Anyhow, we stood well with the community and learned to our surprise that Christmas was only four days off. I hadn't knowed what day it was within a month.

The next day we found out somethin' still more surprisin'--at least Ag did.

"Do you know that we have a miracle in our midst, friends?" says he to me and the cow-punch. "Answer by mail. We have, and I'll tell you right now. The maimed and the halt are walking. The seller of maps is now beginning to get church funds in his hands; the one-time paralytic is the gaiest birdie that flies, and worse'n that, he's making a bold play for Jack Hunter's girl, as her Pah-pah wears gold in his clothes to keep out the moths.