Part 22 (2/2)

”My friend,” I begun, ”Briggs City likes you, and in the present case it's a-tryin' t' make 'lowances, and not chalk nothin' agin y', but----”

”Blankety blank Briggs City!” growls Hank. ”Ish had me shober and ish had me drunk, and neither way don't shoot.”

”Now, ole man, I reckon you're wrong,” I says. ”But never mind, anyhow. Just try t' realise that they 's a 'lection comin', and that you got t' help.”

”Walkersh a friend of mine,” says Hank, and laid down again.

Wal, I didn't want t' be there all day. I wanted t' have _some_ time to myself, y' savvy, so 's I could keep track of Mace. So I grabbed him again.

This whack, he got up, straddlin' his feet out like a mad tarantula, and kinda clawin' the air. They wasn't no gun visible on him, but he was loaded, all right. Had a revolver stuck under his belt in front, so 's the bottom of his vest hid it.

I jerked it out and kicked it clean acrosst the floor. Then I drug him out and started fer the bunk-house with him. _Gos.h.!.+_ it was a job!

Wal, the pore cuss didn't git another swalla of forty-rod that day; and by the next mornin' he was calm and had a' appet.i.te. So three of us sergeant-at-arms happened over to see him. Bill Rawson was there a'ready, keepin' him comp'ny. And first thing y' know, I was handin'

that editor of ourn great big slathers of straight talk.

”_I_ know what you done fer me, Cupid,” says Hank. ”And I'm grateful,--yas, I am. But let me tell you that when I git started drinkin', I cain't _stop_--never do till I'm just wored out 'r stone broke. And I git mean, and on the fight, and don't know what I'm doin'. But,” he _con_-tinues (his face was as long as you'

arm), ”if you-all 'll fergive me, and let this spree pa.s.s, why, I'll go back t' takin' water at the railroad tank with the Sante Fee ingines.”

”Hank,” I says, ”you needn't t' say nothin' further. But pack no more loads, m' son, pack no more loads. And _try_ t' git out another _EyeOpener_. Not only is this sheriff matter pressin', but the lit'rary standin' of Briggs City is at stake.”

”That's dead right,” he says. ”And I'll git up a' issue of the _Opener_ p.r.o.nto--only you boys 'll have t' help me out some on the news part. I don't recollect much that's been happenin' lately.”

Wal, things looked cheerfuller. So, 'fore long, I was back at the deepot, settin' on a truck and watchin' the eatin'-house windas, and the boys--Bergin and all--was lined up 'longside Dutchy's bar, celebratin'.

But our work was a long, l-o-n-g way from bein' done. Hank kept sober just five hours. Then he got loose from Hairoil and made fer a thirst-parlour. And when Hairoil found him again, he was fuller'n a tick.

”I'm blue as all git out about what's happened,” says Hairoil. ”But I couldn't help it; it was just rotten luck. And I hear that when the _Tarantula_ come out yesterday it had a hull column about that Walker, callin' him a brave ex-soldier and the next sheriff of Woodward County.”

”And just ten days 'fore 'lection!” chips in Bill Rawson. ”Cupid, it's root hawg 'r die!”

”That's what it is,” I says. ”Wal, I'll go git after Hank again.”

He was in Dutchy's, same as afore. But not so loaded, this time, and a blamed sight uglier. Minute he _seen_ me, his back was up! ”Here, you snide puncher,” he begun, ”you tryin' to arrest _me?_ Wal, blankety blank blank,” (fill it in the worst you can think of--he was beefin'

somethin' _awful_) ”I'll have you know that I ain't never 'lowed _no_ man t' put the bracelets on me.” And his hand went down and begun feelin' fer the b.u.t.t of a gun.

”Look oudt!” whispers Dutchy. ”You vill git shooted!”

But I only just walked over and put a' arm 'round Hank. ”Now, come on home,” I says, like I meant it. ”'Cause y' know, day after t'-morra another _Eye-Opener_ has _got_ to rise t' the top. Hank, think of Bergin!”

He turned on me then, and give me such a push in the chest that I sit down on the floor--right suddent, too. Wal, that rubbed me the wrong way.

And the next thing _he_ knowed, I had him by the back of the collar, and was a-draggin' him out.

I was plumb wored out by the time I got him home, and so Chub, he stayed t' watch. I went back to the deepot. And I was still a-settin' there, feelin' lonesome, and kinda put out, too, when here come Buckshot Milliken towards me.

”I think Hank oughta be 'shamed of hisself,” he says, ”fer the way he talks about you. Course, we know why he does it, and that it ain't true----”

”What's he got t' say about me?” I ast, huffy.

”He said you was a ornery hoodlum,” answers Buckshot, ”and a loafer, and that he's a-goin' t' roast you in his paper. He'd put Oklahomaw on to _you,_ he said.”

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