Part 2 (1/2)

confidential about their natural devilment. He didn't talk like a saint speakin' out through a crack in the gates o' Paradise, like most preachers do. He called the turn on the actual way they cut up when they went to town, and just how it hurt 'em body an' soul; and his face grew set and earnest, and his eyes blazed; and then he said a few words about mothers an' children and such, and wound up with a short prayer.

Well two o' those fellers owned up right out in public and said that from that on they was goin' to lead a decent sort of life; and one other said 'at he didn't have any faith in himself any longer; but he insisted on signin' the pledge, and said if that worked, why, he'd go on an' try the rest of it.

The preacher shook hands with 'em all around-he had a grip 'at wouldn't be no disgrace for a silver-tip-an' then he sez that if any of 'em has the notion that bein' a Christian makes a weakling of a man, why, he's willin' to wrastle or box or run a race or shoot at a mark or do any other sort of a stunt to show 'at he's in good order; but they size him up and take his word for it.

”Now, boys,” sez he, ”I hope we'll meet often. I'm your friend, and I want you to use me any time you get a chance. Any time or any place that I can serve one of you, just get me word and I'll do the best I can. It don't matter what sort o' trouble you get into, get me word and I'll help-if I can find a way. And I wish 'at you'd speak it around that I'm hard on hosses, so that the other fellows will understand when I pick one up, and not cause any delay. I'll have to hurry along now. Good-bye; I'm sorry I've been a bother to ya.”

He swung up on the big roan, waved his hand and trotted out o' the park; and just as he went down the pa.s.s on the other side, it seemed that he couldn't hold it in any longer; so he opened up his voice in his marchin' song again, an' we all stayed silent as long as we could hear the sound of it.

”Well we are a lot of soft marks!” sez Badger-face at last.

”That there is a true man,” replied old Grizzly, shakin' his head, ”an' I'll bet my boots on it.”

This seemed to be the general verdict, an' the Cross brand fellers went off discussin' the parson, an' me an' Spider Kelley collected our ponies an' went along to the ranch, also discussin' him.

That was the first time I ever saw Friar Tuck; I made up my mind about him just from hearin' his voice, an' before I ever saw him; but I never had to make it up any different. New lead an' new steel look consid'able alike; but the more ya wear on lead, the sooner it wears out, while the more you wear on steel, the brighter it gets. The Friar was steel, an' mighty well tempered.

CHAPTER TWO

THE BETTIN' BARBER O' BOGGS

Yes, this was about the time I got interested in the bettin' barber over at Boggs. He hasn't anything to do with this story I'm about to tell ya, except that it was him 'at give the Friar his name; so I'll just skim through this part as hasty as possible. When a feller is tellin' me a story, I want him to stick to the trail of it; but it seems like when I try to tell one, myself, some feller is allus askin'

me a question 'at takes me clear out o' range.

All barbers are more or less different, except in what might be called the gift o' gab. This one came out to Boggs station, an' started a shop. His name was Eugene, an' he was a little man with two rollin'

curls to his front hair, which he wore short behind. A curious thing about little men is, that they don't never find it out. A little man produces more opinions 'n airy other kind, an' being small, they haven't no place to store 'em up until they get time to ripen. A little man gives out his opinion an' then looks savage-just as if he'd get a switch an' make ya believe it, whether you wanted to or not.

Eugene had come from every city the' is in the world, an' he used to tell scandalous tales about the prominent people who lived in 'em whose hair he had cut. He was also familiar with the other things which had happened since they've begun to write history, an' if any one would doubt one of his statements, he'd whirl about holding up his razor, an' say: ”I'll bet ya a dollar I can prove it.”

All of us fellers used to go in as often as we got a chance to get our chins shaved an' our hair shampooed-just to hear Eugene get indignant about things which wasn't none of our business. We used to bet with him a lot, just for the fun o' makin' him prove up things; which he did by writin' letters to somebody an' gettin' back the answers he wanted. We didn't have any way to prove our side; so Eugene got the money an' we had the fun.

Ol' man Dort ran the general store and kept a pet squirrel in a whirlabout cage, which was the biggest squirrel I ever see, an' had its tail gnawed off by a rat, or something, before Eugene came. Ol'

man Dort had a reputation for arguin', which spread all over our part of the earth. We had made a habit o' goin' to him to get our discussions settled an' when we began to pa.s.s him up for Eugene, he foamed about it free an' frank.

He wore a prodigious tangle o' hair and a bunch o' grizzled whiskers, about as fine an' smooth as a clump o' grease-wood. He used to brag that razor nor scissors hadn't touched his hide for twenty years, an'

one of us boys would allus add, ”Nor soap nor water, neither,” an' ol'

man Dort would grin proud, 'cause it was a point of honor with him.

Eugene used to send out for his wearin' an' sech, so ol' man Dort didn't get a whack at him in his store; ol' man Dort batched, an'

Eugene boarded, so they didn't clash up at their meals; an' finally ol' man Dort swore a big oath that he was goin' to be barbered. The news got out an' the boys came in for forty miles to see the fun-an'

it was worth it.

We went early to the shop an' planted ourselves, lookin' solemn an'

not sayin' anything to put Eugene on his guard. When at last ol' man Dort hove in sight with his brows scowled down an' his jaws set under his shrubbery, we all bit our lips; an' Eugene stopped tellin' us about the hair-roots o' the Prince of Wales, an' stood lookin' at ol'

man Dort with his mouth gapped wide open.

The ol' man came in, shut the door careful behind him, glared at Eugene, as though darin' him to do his worst, an' said: ”I want my hair shamped, an' my whiskers shaved off.”

”If you expected to get it all done in one day, you should ought to have come earlier,” sez Eugene soberly, but tossin' us a side wink.