HEART OF THE WEST

by

O. HENRY

CONTENTS

 I. Hearts and Crosses II. The Ransom of Mack III. Telemachus, Friend IV. The Handbook of Hymen V. The Pimienta Pancakes VI. Seats of the Haughty VII. Hygeia at the Solito VIII. An Afternoon Miracle IX. The Higher Abdication X. Cupid à la Carte XI. The Caballero's Way XII. The Sphinx Apple XIII. The Missing Chord XIV. A Call Loan XV. The Princess and the Puma XVI. The Indian Summer of Dry Valley Johnson XVII. Christmas by InjunctionXVIII. A Chaparral Prince XIX. The Reformation of Calliope

I

HEARTS AND CROSSES

Baldy Woods reached for the bottle, and got it. Whenever Baldy went foranything he usually--but this is not Baldy's story. He poured out athird drink that was larger by a finger than the first and second. Baldywas in consultation; and the consultee is worthy of his hire. 

"I'd be king if I was you, " said Baldy, so positively that his holstercreaked and his spurs rattled. 

Webb Yeager pushed back his flat-brimmed Stetson, and made furtherdisorder in his straw-coloured hair. The tonsorial recourse beingwithout avail, he followed the liquid example of the more resourcefulBaldy. 

"If a man marries a queen, it oughtn't to make him a two-spot, "declared Webb, epitomising his grievances. 

"Sure not, " said Baldy, sympathetic, still thirsty, and genuinelysolicitous concerning the relative value of the cards. "By rights you'rea king. If I was you, I'd call for a new deal. The cards have beenstacked on you--I'll tell you what you are, Webb Yeager. "

"What?" asked Webb, with a hopeful look in his pale-blue eyes. 

"You're a prince-consort. "

"Go easy, " said Webb. "I never blackguarded you none. "

"It's a title, " explained Baldy, "up among the picture-cards; but itdon't take no tricks. I'll tell you, Webb. It's a brand they're got forcertain animals in Europe. Say that you or me or one of them Dutch dukesmarries in a royal family. Well, by and by our wife gets to be queen. Are we king? Not in a million years. At the coronation ceremonies wemarch between little casino and the Ninth Grand Custodian of the RoyalHall Bedchamber. The only use we are is to appear in photographs, andaccept the responsibility for the heir-apparent. That ain't any squaredeal. Yes, sir, Webb, you're a prince-consort; and if I was you, I'dstart a interregnum or a habeus corpus or somethin'; and I'd be king ifI had to turn from the bottom of the deck. "

Baldy emptied his glass to the ratification of his Warwick pose. 

"Baldy, " said Webb, solemnly, "me and you punched cows in the sameoutfit for years. We been runnin' on the same range, and ridin' the sametrails since we was boys. I wouldn't talk about my family affairs tonobody but you. You was line-rider on the Nopalito Ranch when I marriedSanta McAllister. I was foreman then; but what am I now? I don't amountto a knot in a stake rope. "

"When old McAllister was the cattle king of West Texas, " continued Baldywith Satanic sweetness, "you was some tallow. You had as much to say onthe ranch as he did. "

"I did, " admitted Webb, "up to the time he found out I was tryin' to getmy rope over Santa's head. Then he kept me out on the range as far fromthe ranch-house as he could. When the old man died they commenced tocall Santa the 'cattle queen. ' I'm boss of the cattle--that's all. She'tends to all the business; she handles all the money; I can't sell evena beef-steer to a party of campers, myself. Santa's the 'queen'; and I'mMr. Nobody. "

"I'd be king if I was you, " repeated Baldy Woods, the royalist. "When a man marries a queen he ought to grade up with her--on thehoof--dressed--dried--corned--any old way from the chaparral to thepacking-house. Lots of folks thinks it's funny, Webb, that you don'thave the say-so on the Nopalito. I ain't reflectin' none on MizYeager--she's the finest little lady between the Rio Grande and nextChristmas--but a man ought to be boss of his own camp. "

The smooth, brown face of Yeager lengthened to a mask of woundedmelancholy. With that expression, and his rumpled yellow hair andguileless blue eyes, he might have been likened to a schoolboy whoseleadership had been usurped by a youngster of superior strength. But hisactive and sinewy seventy-two inches, and his girded revolvers forbadethe comparison. 

"What was that you called me, Baldy?" he asked. "What kind of a concertwas it?"

"A 'consort, '" corrected Baldy--"a 'prince-consort. ' It's a kind ofshort-card pseudonym. You come in sort of between Jack-high and afour-card flush. "

Webb Yeager sighed, and gathered the strap of his Winchester scabbardfrom the floor. 

"I'm ridin' back to the ranch to-day, " he said half-heartedly. "I'vegot to start a bunch of beeves for San Antone in the morning. "

"I'm your company as far as Dry Lake, " announced Baldy. "I've got around-up camp on the San Marcos cuttin' out two-year-olds. "

The two _compañeros_ mounted their ponies and trotted away from thelittle railroad settlement, where they had foregathered in the thirstymorning. 

At Dry Lake, where their routes diverged, they reined up for a partingcigarette. For miles they had ridden in silence save for the soft drumof the ponies' hoofs on the matted mesquite grass, and the rattle ofthe chaparral against their wooden stirrups. But in Texas discourseis seldom continuous. You may fill in a mile, a meal, and a murderbetween your paragraphs without detriment to your thesis. So, withoutapology, Webb offered an addendum to the conversation that had begunten miles away. 

"You remember, yourself, Baldy, that there was a time when Santawasn't quite so independent. You remember the days when old McAllisterwas keepin' us apart, and how she used to send me the sign that shewanted to see me? Old man Mac promised to make me look like a colanderif I ever come in gun-shot of the ranch. You remember the sign sheused to send, Baldy--the heart with a cross inside of it?"

"Me?" cried Baldy, with intoxicated archness. "You old sugar-stealingcoyote! Don't I remember! Why, you dad-blamed old long-hornedturtle-dove, the boys in camp was all cognoscious about them hiroglyphs. The 'gizzard-and-crossbones' we used to call it. We used to see 'em ontruck that was sent out from the ranch. They was marked in charcoal onthe sacks of flour and in lead-pencil on the newspapers. I see one of'em once chalked on the back of a new cook that old man McAllister sentout from the ranch--danged if I didn't. "

"Santa's father, " explained Webb gently, "got her to promise that shewouldn't write to me or send me any word. That heart-and-cross sign washer scheme. Whenever she wanted to see me in particular she managedto put that mark on somethin' at the ranch that she knew I'd see. AndI never laid eyes on it but what I burnt the wind for the ranch thesame night. I used to see her in that coma mott back of the littlehorse-corral. "

"We knowed it, " chanted Baldy; "but we never let on. We was all foryou. We knowed why you always kept that fast paint in camp. And whenwe see that gizzard-and-crossbones figured out on the truck from theranch we knowed old Pinto was goin' to eat up miles that night insteadof grass. You remember Scurry--that educated horse-wrangler we had--thecollege fellow that tangle-foot drove to the range? Whenever Scurry sawthat come-meet-your-honey brand on anything from the ranch, he'd wavehis hand like that, and say, 'Our friend Lee Andrews will again swim theHell's point to-night. '"

"The last time Santa sent me the sign, " said Webb, "was once when shewas sick. I noticed it as soon as I hit camp, and I galloped Pintoforty mile that night. She wasn't at the coma mott. I went to thehouse; and old McAllister met me at the door. 'Did you come here toget killed?' says he; 'I'll disoblige you for once. I just started aMexican to bring you. Santa wants you. Go in that room and see her. And then come out here and see me. '

"Santa was lyin' in bed pretty sick. But she gives out a kind of asmile, and her hand and mine lock horns, and I sets down by the bed--mudand spurs and chaps and all. 'I've heard you ridin' across the grass forhours, Webb, ' she says. 'I was sure you'd come. You saw the sign?' shewhispers. 'The minute I hit camp, ' says I. ''Twas marked on the bagof potatoes and onions. ' 'They're always together, ' says she, softlike--'always together in life. ' 'They go well together, ' I says, 'in astew. ' 'I mean hearts and crosses, ' says Santa. 'Our sign--to love andto suffer--that's what they mean. '

"And there was old Doc Musgrove amusin' himself with whisky and apalm-leaf fan. And by and by Santa goes to sleep; and Doc feels herforehead; and he says to me: 'You're not such a bad febrifuge. Butyou'd better slide out now; for the diagnosis don't call for you inregular doses. The little lady'll be all right when she wakes up. '

"I seen old McAllister outside. 'She's asleep, ' says I. 'And now youcan start in with your colander-work. Take your time; for I left mygun on my saddle-horn. '

"Old Mac laughs, and he says to me: 'Pumpin' lead into the bestranch-boss in West Texas don't seem to me good business policy. I don'tknow where I could get as good a one. It's the son-in-law idea, Webb, that makes me admire for to use you as a target. You ain't my idea for amember of the family. But I can use you on the Nopalito if you'll keepoutside of a radius with the ranch-house in the middle of it. You goupstairs and lay down on a cot, and when you get some sleep we'll talkit over. '"

Baldy Woods pulled down his hat, and uncurled his leg from hissaddle-horn. Webb shortened his rein, and his pony danced, anxious to beoff. The two men shook hands with Western ceremony. 

"_Adios_, Baldy, " said Webb, "I'm glad I seen you and had this talk. "

With a pounding rush that sounded like the rise of a covey of quail, the riders sped away toward different points of the compass. A hundredyards on his route Baldy reined in on the top of a bare knoll, andemitted a yell. He swayed on his horse; had he been on foot, the earthwould have risen and conquered him; but in the saddle he was a masterof equilibrium, and laughed at whisky, and despised the centre ofgravity. 

Webb turned in his saddle at the signal. 

"If I was you, " came Baldy's strident and perverting tones, "I'd beking!"

At eight o'clock on the following morning Bud Turner rolled from hissaddle in front of the Nopalito ranch-house, and stumbled with whizzingrowels toward the gallery. Bud was in charge of the bunch of beef-cattlethat was to strike the trail that morning for San Antonio. Mrs. Yeagerwas on the gallery watering a cluster of hyacinths growing in a redearthenware jar. 

"King" McAllister had bequeathed to his daughter many of his strongcharacteristics--his resolution, his gay courage, his contumaciousself-reliance, his pride as a reigning monarch of hoofs and horns. _Allegro_ and _fortissimo_ had been McAllister's tempo and tone. InSanta they survived, transposed to the feminine key. Substantially, she preserved the image of the mother who had been summoned to wanderin other and less finite green pastures long before the waxing herdsof kine had conferred royalty upon the house. She had her mother'sslim, strong figure and grave, soft prettiness that relieved in herthe severity of the imperious McAllister eye and the McAllister air ofroyal independence. 

Webb stood on one end of the gallery giving orders to two or threesub-bosses of various camps and outfits who had ridden in forinstructions. 

"Morning, " said Bud briefly. "Where do you want them beeves to go intown--to Barber's, as usual?"

Now, to answer that had been the prerogative of the queen. All thereins of business--buying, selling, and banking--had been held by hercapable fingers. The handling of cattle had been entrusted fully toher husband. In the days of "King" McAllister, Santa had been hissecretary and helper; and she had continued her work with wisdom andprofit. But before she could reply, the prince-consort spake up withcalm decision:

"You drive that bunch to Zimmerman and Nesbit's pens. I spoke toZimmerman about it some time ago. "

Bud turned on his high boot-heels. 

"Wait!" called Santa quickly. She looked at her husband with surprisein her steady gray eyes. 

"Why, what do you mean, Webb?" she asked, with a small wrinklegathering between her brows. "I never deal with Zimmerman and Nesbit. Barber has handled every head of stock from this ranch in that marketfor five years. I'm not going to take the business out of his hands. "She faced Bud Turner. "Deliver those cattle to Barber, " she concludedpositively. 

Bud gazed impartially at the water-jar hanging on the gallery, stoodon his other leg, and chewed a mesquite-leaf. 

"I want this bunch of beeves to go to Zimmerman and Nesbit, " saidWebb, with a frosty light in his blue eyes. 

"Nonsense, " said Santa impatiently. "You'd better start on, Bud, so asto noon at the Little Elm water-hole. Tell Barber we'll have anotherlot of culls ready in about a month. "

Bud allowed a hesitating eye to steal upward and meet Webb's. Webb sawapology in his look, and fancied he saw commiseration. 

"You deliver them cattle, " he said grimly, "to--"

"Barber, " finished Santa sharply. "Let that settle it. Is thereanything else you are waiting for, Bud?"

"No, m'm, " said Bud. But before going he lingered while a cow's tailcould have switched thrice; for man is man's ally; and even thePhilistines must have blushed when they took Samson in the way theydid. 

"You hear your boss!" cried Webb sardonically. He took off his hat, and bowed until it touched the floor before his wife. 

"Webb, " said Santa rebukingly, "you're acting mighty foolish to-day. "

"Court fool, your Majesty, " said Webb, in his slow tones, which hadchanged their quality. "What else can you expect? Let me tell you. Iwas a man before I married a cattle-queen. What am I now? Thelaughing-stock of the camps. I'll be a man again. "

Santa looked at him closely. 

"Don't be unreasonable, Webb, " she said calmly. "You haven't beenslighted in any way. Do I ever interfere in your management of thecattle? I know the business side of the ranch much better than you do. I learned it from Dad. Be sensible. "

"Kingdoms and queendoms, " said Webb, "don't suit me unless I am in thepictures, too. I punch the cattle and you wear the crown. All right. I'd rather be High Lord Chancellor of a cow-camp than the eight-spotin a queen-high flush. It's your ranch; and Barber gets the beeves. "

Webb's horse was tied to the rack. He walked into the house andbrought out his roll of blankets that he never took with him except onlong rides, and his "slicker, " and his longest stake-rope of plaitedraw-hide. These he began to tie deliberately upon his saddle. Santa, alittle pale, followed him. 

Webb swung up into the saddle. His serious, smooth face was withoutexpression except for a stubborn light that smouldered in his eyes. 

"There's a herd of cows and calves, " said he, "near the Hondo water-holeon the Frio [1] that ought to be moved away from timber. Lobos [2] havekilled three of the calves. I forgot to leave orders. You'd better tellSimms to attend to it. "

 [FOOTNOTE 1: Frio--The Rio Frio arises in mountainous country about 75 miles west of San Antonio and flows southeast to the Gulf of Mexico. Its upper stretches are spring-fed and often crystal-clear. ]

 [FOOTNOTE 2: lobos--(Spanish) wolves]

Santa laid a hand on the horse's bridle, and looked her husband in theeye. 

"Are you going to leave me, Webb?" she asked quietly. 

"I am going to be a man again, " he answered. 

"I wish you success in a praiseworthy attempt, " she said, with a suddencoldness. She turned and walked directly into the house. 

Webb Yeager rode to the southeast as straight as the topography ofWest Texas permitted. And when he reached the horizon he might haveridden on into blue space as far as knowledge of him on the Nopalitowent. And the days, with Sundays at their head, formed into hebdomadalsquads; and the weeks, captained by the full moon, closed ranks intomenstrual companies crying "Tempus fugit" on their banners; and themonths marched on toward the vast camp-ground of the years; but WebbYeager came no more to the dominions of his queen. 

One day a being named Bartholomew, a sheep-man--and therefore of littleaccount--from the lower Rio Grande country, rode in sight of theNopalito ranch-house, and felt hunger assail him. _Ex consuetudine_ hewas soon seated at the mid-day dining table of that hospitable kingdom. Talk like water gushed from him: he might have been smitten with Aaron'srod--that is your gentle shepherd when an audience is vouchsafed himwhose ears are not overgrown with wool. 

"Missis Yeager, " he babbled, "I see a man the other day on the RanchoSeco down in Hidalgo County by your name--Webb Yeager was his. He'djust been engaged as manager. He was a tall, light-haired man, notsaying much. Perhaps he was some kin of yours, do you think?"

"A husband, " said Santa cordially. "The Seco has done well. Mr. Yeageris one of the best stockmen in the West. "

The dropping out of a prince-consort rarely disorganises a monarchy. Queen Santa had appointed as _mayordomo_ [3] of the ranch a trustysubject, named Ramsay, who had been one of her father's faithfulvassals. And there was scarcely a ripple on the Nopalito ranch savewhen the gulf-breeze created undulations in the grass of its wideacres. 

 [FOOTNOTE 3: mayordomo--(Spanish) steward, head of the household staff; also a ranch foreman]

For several years the Nopalito had been making experiments with anEnglish breed of cattle that looked down with aristocratic contemptupon the Texas long-horns. The experiments were found satisfactory;and a pasture had been set aside for the blue-bloods. The fame ofthem had gone forth into the chaparral and pear [4] as far as men ridein saddles. Other ranches woke up, rubbed their eyes, and looked withnew dissatisfaction upon the long-horns. 

 [FOOTNOTE 4: pear--prickly-pear cactus, the most common variety of large cactus in Texas, often growing in great clumps]

As a consequence, one day a sunburned, capable, silk-kerchiefednonchalant youth, garnished with revolvers, and attended by threeMexican _vaqueros_, alighted at the Nopalito ranch and presented thefollowing business-like epistle to the queen thereof:

 Mrs. Yeager--The Nopalito Ranch:

 Dear Madam:

 I am instructed by the owners of the Rancho Seco to purchase 100 head of two and three-year-old cows of the Sussex breed owned by you. If you can fill the order please deliver the cattle to the bearer; and a check will be forwarded to you at once. 

 Respectfully, Webster Yeager, Manager the Rancho Seco. 

Business is business, even--very scantily did it escape being written"especially"--in a kingdom. 

That night the 100 head of cattle were driven up from the pasture andpenned in a corral near the ranch-house for delivery in the morning. 

When night closed down and the house was still, did Santa Yeager throwherself down, clasping that formal note to her bosom, weeping, andcalling out a name that pride (either in one or the other) had keptfrom her lips many a day? Or did she file the letter, in her businessway, retaining her royal balance and strength?

Wonder, if you will; but royalty is sacred; and there is a veil. Butthis much you shall learn:

At midnight Santa slipped softly out of the ranch-house, clothed insomething dark and plain. She paused for a moment under the live-oaktrees. The prairies were somewhat dim, and the moonlight was paleorange, diluted with particles of an impalpable, flying mist. Butthe mock-bird whistled on every bough of vantage; leagues of flowersscented the air; and a kindergarten of little shadowy rabbits leapedand played in an open space near by. Santa turned her face to thesoutheast and threw three kisses thitherward; for there was none tosee. 

Then she sped silently to the blacksmith-shop, fifty yards away; andwhat she did there can only be surmised. But the forge glowed red; andthere was a faint hammering such as Cupid might make when he sharpenshis arrow-points. 

Later she came forth with a queer-shaped, handled thing in one hand, and a portable furnace, such as are seen in branding-camps, in theother. To the corral where the Sussex cattle were penned she sped withthese things swiftly in the moonlight. 

She opened the gate and slipped inside the corral. The Sussex cattlewere mostly a dark red. But among this bunch was one that was milkywhite--notable among the others. 

And now Santa shook from her shoulder something that we had not seenbefore--a rope lasso. She freed the loop of it, coiling the length inher left hand, and plunged into the thick of the cattle. 

The white cow was her object. She swung the lasso, which caught onehorn and slipped off. The next throw encircled the forefeet andthe animal fell heavily. Santa made for it like a panther; but itscrambled up and dashed against her, knocking her over like a blade ofgrass. 

Again she made her cast, while the aroused cattle milled around thefour sides of the corral in a plunging mass. This throw was fair; thewhite cow came to earth again; and before it could rise Santa had madethe lasso fast around a post of the corral with a swift and simpleknot, and had leaped upon the cow again with the rawhide hobbles. 

In one minute the feet of the animal were tied (no record-breakingdeed) and Santa leaned against the corral for the same space of time, panting and lax. 

And then she ran swiftly to her furnace at the gate and brought thebranding-iron, queerly shaped and white-hot. 

The bellow of the outraged white cow, as the iron was applied, shouldhave stirred the slumbering auricular nerves and consciences of thenear-by subjects of the Nopalito, but it did not. And it was amid thedeepest nocturnal silence that Santa ran like a lapwing back to theranch-house and there fell upon a cot and sobbed--sobbed as thoughqueens had hearts as simple ranchmen's wives have, and as though shewould gladly make kings of prince-consorts, should they ride backagain from over the hills and far away. 

In the morning the capable, revolvered youth and his _vaqueros_ setforth, driving the bunch of Sussex cattle across the prairies to theRancho Seco. Ninety miles it was; a six days' journey, grazing andwatering the animals on the way. 

The beasts arrived at Rancho Seco one evening at dusk; and werereceived and counted by the foreman of the ranch. 

The next morning at eight o'clock a horseman loped out of the brushto the Nopalito ranch-house. He dismounted stiffly, and strode, withwhizzing spurs, to the house. His horse gave a great sigh and swayedfoam-streaked, with down-drooping head and closed eyes. 

But waste not your pity upon Belshazzar, the flea-bitten sorrel. To-day, in Nopalito horse-pasture he survives, pampered, beloved, unridden, cherished record-holder of long-distance rides. 

The horseman stumbled into the house. Two arms fell around his neck, and someone cried out in the voice of woman and queen alike"Webb--oh, Webb!"

"I was a skunk, " said Webb Yeager. 

"Hush, " said Santa, "did you see it?"

"I saw it, " said Webb. 

What they meant God knows; and you shall know, if you rightly read theprimer of events. 

"Be the cattle-queen, " said Webb; "and overlook it if you can. I was amangy, sheep-stealing coyote. "

"Hush!" said Santa again, laying her fingers upon his mouth. "There'sno queen here. Do you know who I am? I am Santa Yeager, First Lady ofthe Bedchamber. Come here. "

She dragged him from the gallery into the room to the right. Therestood a cradle with an infant in it--a red, ribald, unintelligible, babbling, beautiful infant, sputtering at life in an unseemly manner. 

"There's no queen on this ranch, " said Santa again. "Look at the king. He's got your eyes, Webb. Down on your knees and look at hisHighness. "

But jingling rowels sounded on the gallery, and Bud Turner stumbledthere again with the same query that he had brought, lacking a fewdays, a year ago. 

"'Morning. Them beeves is just turned out on the trail. Shall I drive'em to Barber's, or--"

He saw Webb and stopped, open-mouthed. 

"Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba!" shrieked the king in his cradle, beating the airwith his fists. 

"You hear your boss, Bud, " said Webb Yeager, with a broad grin--justas he had said a year ago. 

And that is all, except that when old man Quinn, owner of the RanchoSeco, went out to look over the herd of Sussex cattle that he hadbought from the Nopalito ranch, he asked his new manager:

"What's the Nopalito ranch brand, Wilson?"

"X Bar Y, " said Wilson. 

"I thought so, " said Quinn. "But look at that white heifer there;she's got another brand--a heart with a cross inside of it. What brandis that?"

II

THE RANSOM OF MACK

Me and old Mack Lonsbury, we got out of that Little Hide-and-Seek goldmine affair with about $40, 000 apiece. I say "old" Mack; but he wasn'told. Forty-one, I should say; but he always seemed old. 

"Andy, " he says to me, "I'm tired of hustling. You and me have beenworking hard together for three years. Say we knock off for a while, and spend some of this idle money we've coaxed our way. "

"The proposition hits me just right, " says I. "Let's be nabobs for awhile and see how it feels. What'll we do--take in the Niagara Falls, or buck at faro?"

"For a good many years, " says Mack, "I've thought that if I ever hadextravagant money I'd rent a two-room cabin somewhere, hire a Chinamanto cook, and sit in my stocking feet and read Buckle's History ofCivilisation [5]. "

 [FOOTNOTE 5: Henry Thomas Buckle (1821-1862) was a self-taught historian. He planned a series of books to explain the idea that history--especially the progress of nations and peoples--followed laws similar to those being described in the natural sciences. The first volume of his _History of Civilization in England_, published in 1857, was only an introduction to his theme, but it made Buckle a celebrity. The second volume appeared in 1861, but Buckle died the following year without completing his series. The two volumes were widely read during the decade or two after his death. O. Henry read voraciously as a child and would likely have been familiar with the work. ]

"That sounds self-indulgent and gratifying without vulgarostentation, " says I; "and I don't see how money could be betterinvested. Give me a cuckoo clock and a Sep Winner's Self-Instructorfor the Banjo [6], and I'll join you. "

 [FOOTNOTE 6: Septimus Winner (1827-1902), a gifted composer (he wrote "Oh where, oh where has my little dog gone . . . "), teacher, and performer was the author of at least 200 books on how to play numerous musical instruments. ]

A week afterwards me and Mack hits this small town of Piña, aboutthirty miles out from Denver, and finds an elegant two-room house thatjust suits us. We deposited half-a-peck of money in the Piña bank andshook hands with every one of the 340 citizens in the town. We broughtalong the Chinaman and the cuckoo clock and Buckle and the Instructorwith us from Denver; and they made the cabin seem like home at once. 

Never believe it when they tell you riches don't bring happiness. Ifyou could have seen old Mack sitting in his rocking-chair with hisblue-yarn sock feet up in the window and absorbing in that Bucklestuff through his specs you'd have seen a picture of content thatwould have made Rockefeller jealous. And I was learning to pick out"Old Zip Coon" on the banjo, and the cuckoo was on time with hisremarks, and Ah Sing was messing up the atmosphere with the handsomestsmell of ham and eggs that ever laid the honeysuckle in the shade. When it got too dark to make out Buckle's nonsense and the notes inthe Instructor, me and Mack would light our pipes and talk aboutscience and pearl diving and sciatica and Egypt and spelling and fishand trade-winds and leather and gratitude and eagles, and a lot ofsubjects that we'd never had time to explain our sentiments aboutbefore. 

One evening Mack spoke up and asked me if I was much apprised in thehabits and policies of women folks. 

"Why, yes, " says I, in a tone of voice; "I know 'em from Alfred toOmaha. The feminine nature and similitude, " says I, "is as plain tomy sight as the Rocky Mountains is to a blue-eyed burro. I'm onto alltheir little side-steps and punctual discrepancies. "

"I tell you, Andy, " says Mack, with a kind of sigh, "I never had theleast amount of intersection with their predispositions. Maybe I mighthave had a proneness in respect to their vicinity, but I never tookthe time. I made my own living since I was fourteen; and I neverseemed to get my ratiocinations equipped with the sentiments usuallydepicted toward the sect. I sometimes wish I had, " says old Mack. 

"They're an adverse study, " says I, "and adapted to points of view. Although they vary in rationale, I have found 'em quite oftenobviously differing from each other in divergences of contrast. "

"It seems to me, " goes on Mack, "that a man had better take 'em in andsecure his inspirations of the sect when he's young and so preordained. I let my chance go by; and I guess I'm too old now to go hopping intothe curriculum. "

"Oh, I don't know, " I tells him. "Maybe you better credit yourselfwith a barrel of money and a lot of emancipation from a quantity ofuncontent. Still, I don't regret my knowledge of 'em, " I says. "Ittakes a man who understands the symptoms and by-plays of women-folksto take care of himself in this world. "

We stayed on in Piña because we liked the place. Some folks mightenjoy their money with noise and rapture and locomotion; but me andMack we had had plenty of turmoils and hotel towels. The people werefriendly; Ah Sing got the swing of the grub we liked; Mack and Bucklewere as thick as two body-snatchers, and I was hitting out a cordialresemblance to "Buffalo Gals, Can't You Come Out To-night, " on thebanjo. 

One day I got a telegram from Speight, the man that was working on amine I had an interest in out in New Mexico. I had to go out there;and I was gone two months. I was anxious to get back to Piña and enjoylife once more. 

When I struck the cabin I nearly fainted. Mack was standing in thedoor; and if angels ever wept, I saw no reason why they should besmiling then. 

That man was a spectacle. Yes; he was worse; he was a spyglass; hewas the great telescope in the Lick Observatory [7]. He had on a coatand shiny shoes and a white vest and a high silk hat; and a geraniumas big as an order of spinach was spiked onto his front. And he wassmirking and warping his face like an infernal storekeeper or a kidwith colic. 

 [FOOTNOTE 7: The Lick Observatory, the first permanent mountain-top observatory, was built in the 1880's. Its 36-inch refracting telescope was the largest in the world until the Yerkes Observatory was opened in 1897. ]

"Hello, Andy, " says Mack, out of his face. "Glad to see you back. Things have happened since you went away. "

"I know it, " says I, "and a sacrilegious sight it is. God never madeyou that way, Mack Lonsbury. Why do you scarify His works with thispresumptuous kind of ribaldry?"

"Why, Andy, " says he, "they've elected me justice of the peace sinceyou left. "

I looked at Mack close. He was restless and inspired. A justice of thepeace ought to be disconsolate and assuaged. 

Just then a young woman passed on the sidewalk; and I saw Mack kind ofhalf snicker and blush, and then he raised up his hat and smiled andbowed, and she smiled and bowed, and went on by. 

"No hope for you, " says I, "if you've got the Mary-Jane infirmity atyour age. I thought it wasn't going to take on you. And patent leathershoes! All this in two little short months!"

"I'm going to marry the young lady who just passed to-night, " saysMack, in a kind of flutter. 

"I forgot something at the post-office, " says I, and walked awayquick. 

I overtook that young woman a hundred yards away. I raised my hat andtold her my name. She was about nineteen; and young for her age. Sheblushed, and then looked at me cool, like I was the snow scene fromthe "Two Orphans [8]. "

 [FOOTNOTE 8: "Two Orphans"--probably a reference to a popular play, "Le Deux Orphelines, " written in 1875 by Adolphe d'Ennery and Eugène Cormon]

"I understand you are to be married to-night, " I said. 

"Correct, " says she. "You got any objections?"

"Listen, sissy, " I begins. 

"My name is Miss Rebosa Redd, " says she in a pained way. 

"I know it, " says I. "Now, Rebosa, I'm old enough to have owed moneyto your father. And that old, specious, dressed-up, garbled, sea-sickptomaine prancing about avidiously like an irremediable turkey gobblerwith patent leather shoes on is my best friend. Why did you go and gethim invested in this marriage business?"

"Why, he was the only chance there was, " answers Miss Rebosa. 

"Nay, " says I, giving a sickening look of admiration at her complexionand style of features; "with your beauty you might pick any kindof a man. Listen, Rebosa. Old Mack ain't the man you want. He wastwenty-two when you was _née_ Reed, as the papers say. This burstinginto bloom won't last with him. He's all ventilated with oldness andrectitude and decay. Old Mack's down with a case of Indian summer. Heoverlooked his bet when he was young; and now he's suing Nature for theinterest on the promissory note he took from Cupid instead of the cash. Rebosa, are you bent on having this marriage occur?"

"Why, sure I am, " says she, oscillating the pansies on her hat, "andso is somebody else, I reckon. "

"What time is it to take place?" I asks. 

"At six o'clock, " says she. 

I made up my mind right away what to do. I'd save old Mack if I could. To have a good, seasoned, ineligible man like that turn chicken for agirl that hadn't quit eating slate pencils and buttoning in the backwas more than I could look on with easiness. 

"Rebosa, " says I, earnest, drawing upon my display of knowledgeconcerning the feminine intuitions of reason--"ain't there a young manin Piña--a nice young man that you think a heap of?"

"Yep, " says Rebosa, nodding her pansies--"Sure there is! What do youthink! Gracious!"

"Does he like you?" I asks. "How does he stand in the matter?"

"Crazy, " says Rebosa. "Ma has to wet down the front steps to keep himfrom sitting there all the time. But I guess that'll be all over afterto-night, " she winds up with a sigh. 

"Rebosa, " says I, "you don't really experience any of this adorationcalled love for old Mack, do you?"

"Lord! no, " says the girl, shaking her head. "I think he's as dry as alava bed. The idea!"

"Who is this young man that you like, Rebosa?" I inquires. 

"It's Eddie Bayles, " says she. "He clerks in Crosby's grocery. But hedon't make but thirty-five a month. Ella Noakes was wild about himonce. "

"Old Mack tells me, " I says, "that he's going to marry you at sixo'clock this evening. "

"That's the time, " says she. "It's to be at our house. "

"Rebosa, " says I, "listen to me. If Eddie Bayles had a thousanddollars cash--a thousand dollars, mind you, would buy him a store ofhis own--if you and Eddie had that much to excuse matrimony on, wouldyou consent to marry him this evening at five o'clock?"

The girl looks at me a minute; and I can see these inaudiblecogitations going on inside of her, as women will. 

"A thousand dollars?" says she. "Of course I would. "

"Come on, " says I. "We'll go and see Eddie. "

We went up to Crosby's store and called Eddie outside. He looked to beestimable and freckled; and he had chills and fever when I made myproposition. 

"At five o'clock?" says he, "for a thousand dollars? Please don't wakeme up! Well, you _are_ the rich uncle retired from the spice businessin India! I'll buy out old Crosby and run the store myself. "

We went inside and got old man Crosby apart and explained it. I wrotemy check for a thousand dollars and handed it to him. If Eddie andRebosa married each other at five he was to turn the money over tothem. 

And then I gave 'em my blessing, and went to wander in the wildwoodfor a season. I sat on a log and made cogitations on life and old ageand the zodiac and the ways of women and all the disorder that goeswith a lifetime. I passed myself congratulations that I had probablysaved my old friend Mack from his attack of Indian summer. I knew whenhe got well of it and shed his infatuation and his patent leathershoes, he would feel grateful. "To keep old Mack disinvolved, " thinksI, "from relapses like this, is worth more than a thousand dollars. "And most of all I was glad that I'd made a study of women, and wasn'tto be deceived any by their means of conceit and evolution. 

It must have been half-past five when I got back home. I stepped in;and there sat old Mack on the back of his neck in his old clothes withhis blue socks on the window and the History of Civilisation proppedup on his knees. 

"This don't look like getting ready for a wedding at six, " I says, toseem innocent. 

"Oh, " says Mack, reaching for his tobacco, "that was postponed backto five o'clock. They sent me over a note saying the hour had beenchanged. It's all over now. What made you stay away so long, Andy?"

"You heard about the wedding?" I asks. 

"I operated it, " says he. "I told you I was justice of the peace. Thepreacher is off East to visit his folks, and I'm the only one in townthat can perform the dispensations of marriage. I promised Eddie andRebosa a month ago I'd marry 'em. He's a busy lad; and he'll have agrocery of his own some day. "

"He will, " says I. 

"There was lots of women at the wedding, " says Mack, smoking up. "ButI didn't seem to get any ideas from 'em. I wish I was informed in thestructure of their attainments like you said you was. "

"That was two months ago, " says I, reaching up for the banjo. 

III

TELEMACHUS, FRIEND

Returning from a hunting trip, I waited at the little town of LosPiños, in New Mexico, for the south-bound train, which was one hourlate. I sat on the porch of the Summit House and discussed thefunctions of life with Telemachus Hicks, the hotel proprietor. 

Perceiving that personalities were not out of order, I asked him whatspecies of beast had long ago twisted and mutilated his left ear. Being a hunter, I was concerned in the evils that may befall one inthe pursuit of game. 

"That ear, " says Hicks, "is the relic of true friendship. "

"An accident?" I persisted. 

"No friendship is an accident, " said Telemachus; and I was silent. 

"The only perfect case of true friendship I ever knew, " went on myhost, "was a cordial intent between a Connecticut man and a monkey. The monkey climbed palms in Barranquilla and threw down cocoanuts tothe man. The man sawed them in two and made dippers, which he sold fortwo _reales_ each and bought rum. The monkey drank the milk of thenuts. Through each being satisfied with his own share of the graft, they lived like brothers. 

"But in the case of human beings, friendship is a transitory art, subject to discontinuance without further notice. 

"I had a friend once, of the entitlement of Paisley Fish, that Iimagined was sealed to me for an endless space of time. Side by sidefor seven years we had mined, ranched, sold patent churns, herdedsheep, took photographs and other things, built wire fences, andpicked prunes. Thinks I, neither homocide nor flattery nor riches norsophistry nor drink can make trouble between me and Paisley Fish. Wewas friends an amount you could hardly guess at. We was friends inbusiness, and we let our amicable qualities lap over and season ourhours of recreation and folly. We certainly had days of Damon andnights of Pythias. 

"One summer me and Paisley gallops down into these San Andrésmountains for the purpose of a month's surcease and levity, dressed inthe natural store habiliments of man. We hit this town of Los Piños, which certainly was a roof-garden spot of the world, and flowing withcondensed milk and honey. It had a street or two, and air, and hens, and a eating-house; and that was enough for us. 

"We strikes the town after supper-time, and we concludes to samplewhatever efficacy there is in this eating-house down by the railroadtracks. By the time we had set down and pried up our plates with aknife from the red oil-cloth, along intrudes Widow Jessup with the hotbiscuit and the fried liver. 

"Now, there was a woman that would have tempted an anchovy to forgethis vows. She was not so small as she was large; and a kind of welcomeair seemed to mitigate her vicinity. The pink of her face was the _inhoc signo_ of a culinary temper and a warm disposition, and her smilewould have brought out the dogwood blossoms in December. 

"Widow Jessup talks to us a lot of garrulousness about the climateand history and Tennyson and prunes and the scarcity of mutton, andfinally wants to know where we came from. 

"'Spring Valley, ' says I. 

"'Big Spring Valley, ' chips in Paisley, out of a lot of potatoes andknuckle-bone of ham in his mouth. 

"That was the first sign I noticed that the old _fidus Diogenes_business between me and Paisley Fish was ended forever. He knew how Ihated a talkative person, and yet he stampedes into the conversationwith his amendments and addendums of syntax. On the map it was BigSpring Valley; but I had heard Paisley himself call it Spring Valleya thousand times. 

"Without saying any more, we went out after supper and set on therailroad track. We had been pardners too long not to know what wasgoing on in each other's mind. 

"'I reckon you understand, ' says Paisley, 'that I've made up mymind to accrue that widow woman as part and parcel in and to myhereditaments forever, both domestic, sociable, legal, and otherwise, until death us do part. '

"'Why, yes, ' says I, 'I read it between the lines, though you onlyspoke one. And I suppose you are aware, ' says I, 'that I have amovement on foot that leads up to the widow's changing her name toHicks, and leaves you writing to the society column to inquire whetherthe best man wears a japonica or seamless socks at the wedding!'

"'There'll be some hiatuses in your program, ' says Paisley, chewingup a piece of a railroad tie. 'I'd give in to you, ' says he, 'in'most any respect if it was secular affairs, but this is not so. Thesmiles of woman, ' goes on Paisley, 'is the whirlpool of Squills andChalybeates, into which vortex the good ship Friendship is often drawnand dismembered. I'd assault a bear that was annoying you, ' saysPaisley, 'or I'd endorse your note, or rub the place between yourshoulder-blades with opodeldoc [9] the same as ever; but there mysense of etiquette ceases. In this fracas with Mrs. Jessup we playit alone. I've notified you fair. '

 [FOOTNOTE 9: opodeldoc--a camphorated liniment of soap mixed with alcohol]

"And then I collaborates with myself, and offers the followingresolutions and by-laws:

"'Friendship between man and man, ' says I, 'is an ancient historicalvirtue enacted in the days when men had to protect each other againstlizards with eighty-foot tails and flying turtles. And they've kept upthe habit to this day, and stand by each other till the bellboy comesup and tells them the animals are not really there [10]. I've oftenheard, ' I says, 'about ladies stepping in and breaking up a friendshipbetween men. Why should that be? I'll tell you, Paisley, the first sightand hot biscuit of Mrs. Jessup appears to have inserted a oscillationinto each of our bosoms. Let the best man of us have her. I'll play youa square game, and won't do any underhanded work. I'll do all of mycourting of her in your presence, so you will have an equal opportunity. With that arrangement I don't see why our steamboat of friendship shouldfall overboard in the medicinal whirlpools you speak of, whichever of uswins out. '

 [FOOTNOTE 10: animals . . . There--a reference to delerium tremens, in which hallucinatory visions of animals or insects is common. O. Henry was a heavy drinker in his later years (he probably died of complications of alcoholism) and might have experienced delerium tremens personally. ]

"'Good old hoss!' says Paisley, shaking my hand. 'And I'll do thesame, ' says he. 'We'll court the lady synonymously, and without anyof the prudery and bloodshed usual to such occasions. And we'll befriends still, win or lose. '

"At one side of Mrs. Jessup's eating-house was a bench under sometrees where she used to sit in the breeze after the south-bound hadbeen fed and gone. And there me and Paisley used to congregate aftersupper and make partial payments on our respects to the lady of ourchoice. And we was so honorable and circuitous in our calls that ifone of us got there first we waited for the other before beginning anygallivantery. 

"The first evening that Mrs. Jessup knew about our arrangement I gotto the bench before Paisley did. Supper was just over, and Mrs. Jessupwas out there with a fresh pink dress on, and almost cool enough tohandle. 

"I sat down by her and made a few specifications about the moralsurface of nature as set forth by the landscape and the contiguousperspective. That evening was surely a case in point. The moon wasattending to business in the section of sky where it belonged, andthe trees was making shadows on the ground according to science andnature, and there was a kind of conspicuous hullabaloo going on inthe bushes between the bullbats and the orioles and the jack-rabbitsand other feathered insects of the forest. And the wind out of themountains was singing like a Jew's-harp in the pile of old tomato-cansby the railroad track. 

"I felt a kind of sensation in my left side--something like doughrising in a crock by the fire. Mrs. Jessup had moved up closer. 

"'Oh, Mr. Hicks, ' says she, 'when one is alone in the world, don'tthey feel it more aggravated on a beautiful night like this?'

"I rose up off the bench at once. 

"'Excuse me, ma'am, ' says I, 'but I'll have to wait till Paisley comesbefore I can give a audible hearing to leading questions like that. '

"And then I explained to her how we was friends cinctured by years ofembarrassment and travel and complicity, and how we had agreed to takeno advantage of each other in any of the more mushy walks of life, such as might be fomented by sentiment and proximity. Mrs. Jessupappears to think serious about the matter for a minute, and then shebreaks into a species of laughter that makes the wildwood resound. 

"In a few minutes Paisley drops around, with oil of bergamot on hishair, and sits on the other side of Mrs. Jessup, and inaugurates a sadtale of adventure in which him and Pieface Lumley has a skinning-matchof dead cows in '95 for a silver-mounted saddle in the Santa Ritavalley during the nine months' drought. 

"Now, from the start of that courtship I had Paisley Fish hobbled andtied to a post. Each one of us had a different system of reachingout for the easy places in the female heart. Paisley's scheme was topetrify 'em with wonderful relations of events that he had either comeacross personally or in large print. I think he must have got hisidea of subjugation from one of Shakespeare's shows I see once called'Othello. ' There is a coloured man in it who acquires a duke'sdaughter by disbursing to her a mixture of the talk turned out byRider Haggard, Lew Dockstader, and Dr. Parkhurst [11]. But that styleof courting don't work well off the stage. 

 [FOOTNOTE 11: Henry Rider Haggard (1856-1925) wrote novels set in exotic locations. His best known work is _King Solomon's Mines_ (1885). Lew Dockstader had one of the last major travelling minstrel companies and was its principal comedian. Dr. Charles Henry Parkhurst (1842-1933), pastor of New York's Madison Square Presbyterian Church from 1880 to 1919, was noted for his denunciations of vice and governmental corruption. He was instrumental in the campaign against Tammany Hall. ]

"Now, I give you my own recipe for inveigling a woman into that stateof affairs when she can be referred to as '_née_ Jones. ' Learn how topick up her hand and hold it, and she's yours. It ain't so easy. Somemen grab at it so much like they was going to set a dislocation ofthe shoulder that you can smell the arnica and hear 'em tearing offbandages. Some take it up like a hot horseshoe, and hold it off atarm's length like a druggist pouring tincture of asafoetida in abottle. And most of 'em catch hold of it and drag it right out beforethe lady's eyes like a boy finding a baseball in the grass, withoutgiving her a chance to forget that the hand is growing on the end ofher arm. Them ways are all wrong. 

"I'll tell you the right way. Did you ever see a man sneak out in theback yard and pick up a rock to throw at a tomcat that was sitting ona fence looking at him? He pretends he hasn't got a thing in his hand, and that the cat don't see him, and that he don't see the cat. That'sthe idea. Never drag her hand out where she'll have to take notice ofit. Don't let her know that you think she knows you have the leastidea she is aware you are holding her hand. That was my rule oftactics; and as far as Paisley's serenade about hostilities andmisadventure went, he might as well have been reading to her atime-table of the Sunday trains that stop at Ocean Grove, New Jersey. 

"One night when I beat Paisley to the bench by one pipeful, myfriendship gets subsidised for a minute, and I asks Mrs. Jessup if shedidn't think a 'H' was easier to write than a 'J. ' In a second herhead was mashing the oleander flower in my button-hole, and I leanedover and--but I didn't. 

"'If you don't mind, ' says I, standing up, 'we'll wait for Paisley tocome before finishing this. I've never done anything dishonourable yetto our friendship, and this won't be quite fair. '

"'Mr. Hicks, ' says Mrs. Jessup, looking at me peculiar in the dark, 'if it wasn't for but one thing, I'd ask you to hike yourself downthe gulch and never disresume your visits to my house. '

"'And what is that, ma'am?' I asks. 

"'You are too good a friend not to make a good husband, ' says she. 

"In five minutes Paisley was on his side of Mrs. Jessup. 

"'In Silver City, in the summer of '98, ' he begins, 'I see JimBatholomew chew off a Chinaman's ear in the Blue Light Saloon onaccount of a crossbarred muslin shirt that--what was that noise?'

"I had resumed matters again with Mrs. Jessup right where we had leftoff. 

"'Mrs. Jessup, ' says I, 'has promised to make it Hicks. And this isanother of the same sort. '

"Paisley winds his feet round a leg of the bench and kind of groans. 

"'Lem, ' says he, 'we been friends for seven years. Would you mind notkissing Mrs. Jessup quite so loud? I'd do the same for you. '

"'All right, ' says I. 'The other kind will do as well. '

"'This Chinaman, ' goes on Paisley, 'was the one that shot a man namedMullins in the spring of '97, and that was--'

"Paisley interrupted himself again. 

"'Lem, ' says he, 'if you was a true friend you wouldn't hug Mrs. Jessup quite so hard. I felt the bench shake all over just then. Youknow you told me you would give me an even chance as long as there wasany. '

"'Mr. Man, ' says Mrs. Jessup, turning around to Paisley, 'if you wasto drop in to the celebration of mine and Mr. Hicks's silver wedding, twenty-five years from now, do you think you could get it into thatHubbard squash you call your head that you are _nix cum rous_ in thisbusiness? I've put up with you a long time because you was Mr. Hicks'sfriend; but it seems to me it's time for you to wear the willow andtrot off down the hill. '

"'Mrs. Jessup, ' says I, without losing my grasp on the situation asfiancé, 'Mr. Paisley is my friend, and I offered him a square deal anda equal opportunity as long as there was a chance. '

"'A chance!' says she. 'Well, he may think he has a chance; but I hopehe won't think he's got a cinch, after what he's been next to all theevening. '

"Well, a month afterwards me and Mrs. Jessup was married in the LosPiños Methodist Church; and the whole town closed up to see theperformance. 

"When we lined up in front and the preacher was beginning to sing outhis rituals and observances, I looks around and misses Paisley. Icalls time on the preacher. 'Paisley ain't here, ' says I. 'We've gotto wait for Paisley. A friend once, a friend always--that's TelemachusHicks, ' says I. Mrs. Jessup's eyes snapped some; but the preacherholds up the incantations according to instructions. 

"In a few minutes Paisley gallops up the aisle, putting on a cuff ashe comes. He explains that the only dry-goods store in town was closedfor the wedding, and he couldn't get the kind of a boiled shirt thathis taste called for until he had broke open the back window of thestore and helped himself. Then he ranges up on the other side ofthe bride, and the wedding goes on. I always imagined that Paisleycalculated as a last chance that the preacher might marry him to thewidow by mistake. 

"After the proceedings was over we had tea and jerked antelope andcanned apricots, and then the populace hiked itself away. Last of allPaisley shook me by the hand and told me I'd acted square and on thelevel with him and he was proud to call me a friend. 

"The preacher had a small house on the side of the street that he'dfixed up to rent; and he allowed me and Mrs. Hicks to occupy it tillthe ten-forty train the next morning, when we was going on a bridaltour to El Paso. His wife had decorated it all up with hollyhocks andpoison ivy, and it looked real festal and bowery. 

"About ten o'clock that night I sets down in the front door and pullsoff my boots a while in the cool breeze, while Mrs. Hicks was fixingaround in the room. Right soon the light went out inside; and I satthere a while reverberating over old times and scenes. And then Iheard Mrs. Hicks call out, 'Ain't you coming in soon, Lem?'

"'Well, well!' says I, kind of rousing up. 'Durn me if I wasn'twaiting for old Paisley to--'

"But when I got that far, " concluded Telemachus Hicks, "I thoughtsomebody had shot this left ear of mine off with a forty-five. But itturned out to be only a lick from a broomhandle in the hands of Mrs. Hicks. "

IV

THE HANDBOOK OF HYMEN

'Tis the opinion of myself, Sanderson Pratt, who sets this down, thatthe educational system of the United States should be in the hands ofthe weather bureau. I can give you good reasons for it; and you can'ttell me why our college professors shouldn't be transferred to themeteorological department. They have been learned to read; and theycould very easily glance at the morning papers and then wire in tothe main office what kind of weather to expect. But there's the otherside of the proposition. I am going on to tell you how the weatherfurnished me and Idaho Green with an elegant education. 

We was up in the Bitter Root Mountains over the Montana lineprospecting for gold. A chin-whiskered man in Walla-Walla, carrying aline of hope as excess baggage, had grubstaked us; and there we was inthe foothills pecking away, with enough grub on hand to last an armythrough a peace conference. 

Along one day comes a mail-rider over the mountains from Carlos, and stops to eat three cans of greengages, and leave us a newspaperof modern date. This paper prints a system of premonitions of theweather, and the card it dealt Bitter Root Mountains from the bottomof the deck was "warmer and fair, with light westerly breezes. "

That evening it began to snow, with the wind strong in the east. Meand Idaho moved camp into an old empty cabin higher up the mountain, thinking it was only a November flurry. But after falling three footon a level it went to work in earnest; and we knew we was snowed in. We got in plenty of firewood before it got deep, and we had grubenough for two months, so we let the elements rage and cut up all theythought proper. 

If you want to instigate the art of manslaughter just shut two men upin a eighteen by twenty-foot cabin for a month. Human nature won'tstand it. 

When the first snowflakes fell me and Idaho Green laughed at eachother's jokes and praised the stuff we turned out of a skillet andcalled bread. At the end of three weeks Idaho makes this kind of aedict to me. Says he:

"I never exactly heard sour milk dropping out of a balloon on thebottom of a tin pan, but I have an idea it would be music of thespears compared to this attenuated stream of asphyxiated thoughtthat emanates out of your organs of conversation. The kind ofhalf-masticated noises that you emit every day puts me in mind of acow's cud, only she's lady enough to keep hers to herself, and youain't. "

"Mr. Green, " says I, "you having been a friend of mine once, I havesome hesitations in confessing to you that if I had my choice forsociety between you and a common yellow, three-legged cur pup, oneof the inmates of this here cabin would be wagging a tail just atpresent. "

This way we goes on for two or three days, and then we quits speakingto one another. We divides up the cooking implements, and Idaho cookshis grub on one side of the fireplace, and me on the other. The snowis up to the windows, and we have to keep a fire all day. 

You see me and Idaho never had any education beyond reading and doing"if John had three apples and James five" on a slate. We never feltany special need for a university degree, though we had acquired aspecies of intrinsic intelligence in knocking around the world that wecould use in emergencies. But, snowbound in that cabin in the BitterRoots, we felt for the first time that if we had studied Homer orGreek and fractions and the higher branches of information, we'd havehad some resources in the line of meditation and private thought. I'veseen them Eastern college fellows working in camps all through theWest, and I never noticed but what education was less of a drawback to'em than you would think. Why, once over on Snake River, when AndrewMcWilliams' saddle horse got the botts [12], he sent a buckboard tenmiles for one of these strangers that claimed to be a botanist. But thathorse died. 

 [FOOTNOTE 12: botts--a parasitic intestation of the intestines of animals, especially horses, by larvae of the botfly]

One morning Idaho was poking around with a stick on top of a littleshelf that was too high to reach. Two books fell down to the floor. Istarted toward 'em, but caught Idaho's eye. He speaks for the firsttime in a week. 

"Don't burn your fingers, " says he. "In spite of the fact that you'reonly fit to be the companion of a sleeping mud-turtle, I'll give youa square deal. And that's more than your parents did when they turnedyou loose in the world with the sociability of a rattle-snake and thebedside manner of a frozen turnip. I'll play you a game of seven-up, the winner to pick up his choice of the book, the loser to take theother. "

We played; and Idaho won. He picked up his book; and I took mine. Theneach of us got on his side of the house and went to reading. 

I never was as glad to see a ten-ounce nugget as I was that book. AndIdaho took at his like a kid looks at a stick of candy. 

Mine was a little book about five by six inches called "Herkimer'sHandbook of Indispensable Information. " I may be wrong, but I thinkthat was the greatest book that ever was written. I've got it to-day;and I can stump you or any man fifty times in five minutes with theinformation in it. Talk about Solomon or the New York _Tribune_!Herkimer had cases on both of 'em. That man must have put in fiftyyears and travelled a million miles to find out all that stuff. Therewas the population of all cities in it, and the way to tell a girl'sage, and the number of teeth a camel has. It told you the longesttunnel in the world, the number of the stars, how long it takes forchicken pox to break out, what a lady's neck ought to measure, theveto powers of Governors, the dates of the Roman aqueducts, how manypounds of rice going without three beers a day would buy, the averageannual temperature of Augusta, Maine, the quantity of seed required toplant an acre of carrots in drills, antidotes for poisons, the numberof hairs on a blond lady's head, how to preserve eggs, the height ofall the mountains in the world, and the dates of all wars and battles, and how to restore drowned persons, and sunstroke, and the number oftacks in a pound, and how to make dynamite and flowers and beds, andwhat to do before the doctor comes--and a hundred times as many thingsbesides. If there was anything Herkimer didn't know I didn't miss itout of the book. 

I sat and read that book for four hours. All the wonders of educationwas compressed in it. I forgot the snow, and I forgot that me and oldIdaho was on the outs. He was sitting still on a stool reading awaywith a kind of partly soft and partly mysterious look shining throughhis tan-bark whiskers. 

"Idaho, " says I, "what kind of a book is yours?"

Idaho must have forgot, too, for he answered moderate, without anyslander or malignity. 

"Why, " says he, "this here seems to be a volume by Homer K. M. "

"Homer K. M. What?" I asks. 

"Why, just Homer K. M. , " says he. 

"You're a liar, " says I, a little riled that Idaho should try to putme up a tree. "No man is going 'round signing books with his initials. If it's Homer K. M. Spoopendyke, or Homer K. M. McSweeney, orHomer K. M. Jones, why don't you say so like a man instead of bitingoff the end of it like a calf chewing off the tail of a shirt on aclothes-line?"

"I put it to you straight, Sandy, " says Idaho, quiet. "It's a poembook, " says he, "by Homer K. M. I couldn't get colour out of it atfirst, but there's a vein if you follow it up. I wouldn't have missedthis book for a pair of red blankets. "

"You're welcome to it, " says I. "What I want is a disinterestedstatement of facts for the mind to work on, and that's what I seem tofind in the book I've drawn. "

"What you've got, " says Idaho, "is statistics, the lowest grade ofinformation that exists. They'll poison your mind. Give me old K. M. 'ssystem of surmises. He seems to be a kind of a wine agent. His regulartoast is 'nothing doing, ' and he seems to have a grouch, but he keepsit so well lubricated with booze that his worst kicks sound like aninvitation to split a quart. But it's poetry, " says Idaho, "and Ihave sensations of scorn for that truck of yours that tries to conveysense in feet and inches. When it comes to explaining the instinct ofphilosophy through the art of nature, old K. M. Has got your man beatby drills, rows, paragraphs, chest measurement, and average annualrainfall. "

So that's the way me and Idaho had it. Day and night all theexcitement we got was studying our books. That snowstorm sure fixed uswith a fine lot of attainments apiece. By the time the snow melted, if you had stepped up to me suddenly and said: "Sanderson Pratt, what would it cost per square foot to lay a roof with twenty bytwenty-eight tin at nine dollars and fifty cents per box?" I'd havetold you as quick as light could travel the length of a spade handleat the rate of one hundred and ninety-two thousand miles per second. How many can do it? You wake up 'most any man you know in the middleof the night, and ask him quick to tell you the number of bones inthe human skeleton exclusive of the teeth, or what percentage of thevote of the Nebraska Legislature overrules a veto. Will he tell you?Try him and see. 

About what benefit Idaho got out of his poetry book I didn't exactlyknow. Idaho boosted the wine-agent every time he opened his mouth; butI wasn't so sure. 

This Homer K. M. , from what leaked out of his libretto through Idaho, seemed to me to be a kind of a dog who looked at life like it was atin can tied to his tail. After running himself half to death, hesits down, hangs his tongue out, and looks at the can and says:

"Oh, well, since we can't shake the growler, let's get it filled atthe corner, and all have a drink on me. "

Besides that, it seems he was a Persian; and I never hear of Persiaproducing anything worth mentioning unless it was Turkish rugs andMaltese cats. 

That spring me and Idaho struck pay ore. It was a habit of ours tosell out quick and keep moving. We unloaded our grubstaker for eightthousand dollars apiece; and then we drifted down to this little townof Rosa, on the Salmon river, to rest up, and get some human grub, and have our whiskers harvested. 

Rosa was no mining-camp. It laid in the valley, and was as free ofuproar and pestilence as one of them rural towns in the country. There was a three-mile trolley line champing its bit in the environs;and me and Idaho spent a week riding on one of the cars, droppingoff at nights at the Sunset View Hotel. Being now well read as wellas travelled, we was soon _pro re nata_ with the best society inRosa, and was invited out to the most dressed-up and high-tonedentertainments. It was at a piano recital and quail-eating contest inthe city hall, for the benefit of the fire company, that me and Idahofirst met Mrs. De Ormond Sampson, the queen of Rosa society. 

Mrs. Sampson was a widow, and owned the only two-story house in town. It was painted yellow, and whichever way you looked from you could seeit as plain as egg on the chin of an O'Grady on a Friday. Twenty-twomen in Rosa besides me and Idaho was trying to stake a claim on thatyellow house. 

There was a dance after the song books and quail bones had been rakedout of the Hall. Twenty-three of the bunch galloped over to Mrs. Sampson and asked for a dance. I side-stepped the two-step, and askedpermission to escort her home. That's where I made a hit. 

On the way home says she:

"Ain't the stars lovely and bright to-night, Mr. Pratt?"

"For the chance they've got, " says I, "they're humping themselves in amighty creditable way. That big one you see is sixty-six million milesdistant. It took thirty-six years for its light to reach us. Withan eighteen-foot telescope you can see forty-three millions of 'em, including them of the thirteenth magnitude, which, if one was to goout now, you would keep on seeing it for twenty-seven hundred years. "

"My!" says Mrs. Sampson. "I never knew that before. How warm it is!I'm as damp as I can be from dancing so much. "

"That's easy to account for, " says I, "when you happen to know thatyou've got two million sweat-glands working all at once. If every oneof your perspiratory ducts, which are a quarter of an inch long, wasplaced end to end, they would reach a distance of seven miles. "

"Lawsy!" says Mrs. Sampson. "It sounds like an irrigation ditch youwas describing, Mr. Pratt. How do you get all this knowledge ofinformation?"

"From observation, Mrs. Sampson, " I tells her. "I keep my eyes openwhen I go about the world. "

"Mr. Pratt, " says she, "I always did admire a man of education. Thereare so few scholars among the sap-headed plug-uglies of this town thatit is a real pleasure to converse with a gentleman of culture. I'd begratified to have you call at my house whenever you feel so inclined. "

And that was the way I got the goodwill of the lady in the yellowhouse. Every Tuesday and Friday evening I used to go there and tellher about the wonders of the universe as discovered, tabulated, andcompiled from nature by Herkimer. Idaho and the other gay Lutherans ofthe town got every minute of the rest of the week that they could. 

I never imagined that Idaho was trying to work on Mrs. Sampson withold K. M. 's rules of courtship till one afternoon when I was on my wayover to take her a basket of wild hog-plums. I met the lady comingdown the lane that led to her house. Her eyes was snapping, and herhat made a dangerous dip over one eye. 

"Mr. Pratt, " she opens up, "this Mr. Green is a friend of yours, Ibelieve. "

"For nine years, " says I. 

"Cut him out, " says she. "He's no gentleman!"

"Why ma'am, " says I, "he's a plain incumbent of the mountains, withasperities and the usual failings of a spendthrift and a liar, but Inever on the most momentous occasion had the heart to deny that he wasa gentleman. It may be that in haberdashery and the sense of arroganceand display Idaho offends the eye, but inside, ma'am, I've found himimpervious to the lower grades of crime and obesity. After nine yearsof Idaho's society, Mrs. Sampson, " I winds up, "I should hate toimpute him, and I should hate to see him imputed. "

"It's right plausible of you, Mr. Pratt, " says Mrs. Sampson, "to takeup the curmudgeons in your friend's behalf; but it don't alter thefact that he has made proposals to me sufficiently obnoxious to rufflethe ignominy of any lady. "

"Why, now, now, now!" says I. "Old Idaho do that! I could believe itof myself, sooner. I never knew but one thing to deride in him; and ablizzard was responsible for that. Once while we was snow-bound in themountains he became a prey to a kind of spurious and uneven poetry, which may have corrupted his demeanour. "

"It has, " says Mrs. Sampson. "Ever since I knew him he has beenreciting to me a lot of irreligious rhymes by some person he callsRuby Ott [13], and who is no better than she should be, if you judge byher poetry. "

 [FOOTNOTE 13: Homer K. . . . Ruby Ott--If the reader has not yet deciphered the references, he should consult