Part 28 (1/2)

A plot, y' savvy, is a story, and I got him the best I could find. This was Buckshot's:

”Boston, this is a _blamed_ enterprisin' country,--almost _any_ ole thing can happen out here. Did you ever hear tell how Nick Erickson got his stone fence? No? You could put _that_ in a book. Wal, you know, Erickson lives east of here. Nice hunderd and sixty acres he's got--level, no stones. Wanted t' fence it. Couldn't buy lumber 'r wire. Figgered on haulin' stone, only stone was so blamed far t'

haul. Then,--Nature was accommodatin'. Come a' earthquake that shook and shook the ranch. Shook all the stones to the top. Erickson picked 'em up--and built the fence.”

But Boston was hard t' satisfy. So I tried to tell him about Rose and Billy.

”No,” he says; ”if they's _one_ thing them printin' fellers won't stand fer it's a hero_ine_ that's. .h.i.tched.”

So, then, I branched off on to pore Bud Hickok.

”No,” says Boston, again; ”_that_ won't do. It's got to end up happy.”

Wal, it looked as if that book was goin' fluey. To make things worse, the boys begun kickin' about havin' t' pack so many guns. And I had to git up a notice, signed by the sheriff, which said that more'n two shootin'-irons on any one man wouldn't be 'lowed no more, and that cityzens was t' ”shed forthwith.”

I seen somethin' had got t' be done p.r.o.nto. ”Cupid,” I says to myself, ”you _must con_sider that there book of Boston's some more.

'Pears that Boston ain't gittin' all he come after. Nothin' ain't happenin' that he can put into a book. Wal, it's _got_ t' happen.

Just chaw on _that._”

Next, I hunted up the boys. ”Gents,” I says to 'em, ”help me find a bad man that'll fit into a story with a gal.”

”Gal?” they repeats.

”Yas; every book has got t' have a gal.”

”I s'pose,” says Rawson. ”Just like ev'ry herd had got t' have a case of staggers. But--who's the gal?”

The boys all lent towards me, fly-traps wide open.

”Carlota Arnaz,” I answers.

Some looked plumb eased in they minds--and some didn't. Carlota, she's ace-high with quite a bunch--all ready t' snub her up and marry her.

”The Senorita'll do,” says Rawson. ”She gen'ally makes out t' keep _some_ man mis'rable.”

And fer the bad man, we picked out Pedro Garcia, the cholo that was mixed up in that mete'rite business. Drunk 'r sober, fer a hard-looker Pedro sh.o.r.e fills the bill.

Next, we hunted ev'ry which way fer a plot. ”I'll tell y',” says Californy Jim, that ole prospector that hangs 'round here; ”if the lit'rary lead has pinched out, why don't you _salt_--_and pretend to make a strike?_”

Hairoil p.r.i.c.ked up his ears. ”Wouldn't that be somethin' like a--a scheme?” he ast; ”somethin' like that we planned out fer Cupid here?”

”Yas.”

The hull bunch got plumb pale. Then they made fer the door.,

”Wait, boys!” I hollered. ”_Hole_ on! Remember this is a scheme that's been _ast_ fer.”

They stopped.

”And,” I says, ”it looks pretty good t' _me._”

They turned back--shakin' they haids, though. ”Just as you say, Cupid,” says Rawson. And, ”Long's it's fer _you,_” adds the sheriff.

”But schemes is some dangerous.”