Part 25 (2/2)
Horace tried to argue 'at this proved Zeus to be merciful; but as far as I can see it's as idiotic as havin' the law hang a man for murder.
Supposin' some feller had murdered me-would I feel any happier because this feller who couldn't put up with me in this world, is sent over to pester me in the next? Course I wouldn't; but if one o' my friends was murdered, and I had a chance to slay the feller 'at did it, this would give me a lot o' satisfaction an' joy an'
pleasure-though I don't say it would be just.
Puttin' the woman an' her son up in the sky didn't square things in Horace's religion, neither; 'cause he said 'at Hera got jealous of Zeus for elevatin' the woman and she went to her foster parents who had charge of the ocean, and made 'em bar this woman and her son from ever goin' into it, the same as the other stars did, and he could prove it any clear night. I told him that he might get away with such a tale as that back East among the indoor people; but that he couldn't fool a day-old child with it out our way.
We started this discussion the day after the fall round-up was over, Horace had toughened up before it began, and he had rode with me all through it, and takin' it all in all he was more help than bother, except that he shot too much. When he had come out before, he had been so blame harmless he couldn't have shot an innocent bystander; but this trip, he was blazin' away at every livin' thing 'at didn't have a dollar mark on it, and when these wasn't offered, he'd waste ammunition on a mark.
I had some details to tend to after the round-up, so we didn't get a chance to settle the bet for several days. It was only a dollar bet; but when the time came, I picked out a couple o' good hosses, bein'
minded to look at the stars from the top o' Cat Head.
We reached it about dark, made some coffee, an' fried some bacon. Then we smoked an' talked until it was entirely dark before we ever looked up at the stars. ”Now, bluffer,” sez I, ”show me your woman-bear.”
He looked up at the sky, an' then moved on out o' the firelight, an'
continued to look at the stars without speakin'. ”Don't seem to see 'em, do you?” I taunted.
He turned to me an' spoke in a hushed voice: ”Man,” he said, ”this is wonderful. Why, the way those stars seem to be hangin' down from that velvet dome is simply awe-inspirin'. I've looked through three good telescopes, but to-night, I seem to be viewin' the heavens for the first time.”
”I thought you wasn't much familiar with 'em, or you wouldn't have put out that nonsense about a bear-woman,” I sez.
”That,” sez he, pointin' to the best known group o' stars in the sky, ”is Ursa Major.”
”That,” sez I, ”is the Big Dipper, an' you needn't try to fool me by givin' it one o' your Greek names.”
He didn't argue with me; but came back to the fire an' fixed some stones in the shape of the Big Dipper stars, then drew lines with a stick, an' sez 'at this made up the Great Bear. I looked him between the eyes, but he held his face, so I knew he was in earnest. ”All right,” I sez. ”I'll take you huntin' some o' these days, an' if we chance to come across a silver-tip-a real grizzly, understand, and not a pet varmint backed up again' the risin' sun-you'll change your mind about what a bear looks like. If that was all your fool Greeks knew about wild animals, I wouldn't waste my time to hear what they had to say about G.o.ds an' G.o.ddusses. I'm goin' to start back, an' you can come or not, just as you please.” This was the first time I had hinted about the woodchuck; but I was disgusted at his nonsense. He took it all right, though, which proves he was game.
I rode some comin' back, an' he kept tryin' to square himself; but I didn't heed him. Just before we reached the foothills, we saw a fire, an' when we reached it, the Friar was just finis.h.i.+n' his supper. He an' Horace bowed stiffly to each other, an' I was just put out enough by Horace's star-nonsense to feel like roastin' some one; so I decided to roast 'em both.
I sat on my hoss an' looked scornful from one to the other. ”Here is two religious folks,” I said, impersonal to the pony, but loud enough for all to hear. ”Here is two genuwine religious folks! One of 'em is workin' for universal brotherhood, an' the other is peddlin' Greek religion which he claims to be founded on beauty an' love an' harmony.
They meet in the mountains, an' bow as cordial as a snow-slide. I think if ever I pick out a religion for myself, I'll choose the Injun's.”
I couldn't have asked for any two people to look more foolish 'n they did. Neither one of 'em seemed to have anything to say; so I said to my pony: ”Don't you worry none, Muggins, I got a match o' my own, an'
if we want to set by a fire, why, we can ride on to some place where wood is free, an' build us one.”
”Will you not dismount an' rest a while at my fire?” sez the Friar, in a tone meant as a slap at me.
”No, thank you,” sez Horace, ”we must be goin'.”
”Yes, Friar,” I sez hearty. ”Me an' Horace has a bet up, an' you can decide it. Also, you owe him somethin' on his own hook. You drove him out o' your religion an' into the Greek religion; an' if that don't give him a direct call on you, why then you don't realize what a pest the Greek religion is.”
They were so embarra.s.sed they were awkward an' spluttery; but I was sure 'at this was good for 'em, so I got off, threw the reins on the ground, an' warmed my hands at the fire; while Horace apologized for me not knowin' any better, an' the Friar a.s.sured him coldly that everything was all right, an' he was rejoiced to have a little company.
Well, for as much as ten minutes, we sat around enjoyin' what I once heard a feller call frapayed convivuality, an' then I took pity on 'em an' loosened things up by tellin' the Friar about the trip me an' Tank an' Horace had took into the mountains to pacify our nerves, just before he had stumbled on Horace that other time. O' course I didn't tell it all, as I didn't want Horace to know any more about it than he knew already; but I told what a seedy little windfall Horace had been when we started out, an' how he had come back crackin' jokes an'
singin' the infernalest song 'at ever was made up. I finally got Horace to sing ten or fifteen minutes o' this song, an' he droned it out so unusual doleful that he fetched a chuckle out o' the Friar, an'
then we were feelin' easy an' comfortable, like outdoor men again.
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