Part 33 (1/2)
”That's the best idee you've put over,” sez Badger, after he'd thought it out; ”but I haven't enough taste for life to make the experiment.
Don't fuss about me any more. I don't suffer a mite. I feel just like a feller in the Injun country, goin' to sleep on post after days in the saddle. He knows it'll mean death, but he's too tired out to care a white bean.”
”Have you ever been in the army?” asked the Friar from his place in the corner. We all gave a little start at the sound of his voice, for it came with a snap an' unexpected.
Badger's lips dropped back for another hideous grin. ”Yes,” he said, ”I've been in both the penitentiary and the army-and they're a likely pair.”
”Did you have a buck-skin bag?” asked the Friar, comin' up to the bed.
Badger-face tried to raise himself on his elbow, but he couldn't quite make it. ”Yes, I did,” sez he, droppin' back again. ”What became of it?”
”I am keepin' it for ya,” sez the Friar. ”Do you wish to leave any word in case you do not recover?”
”No,” sez Badger, ”the' ain't no one to leave word to. That letter was from my mother, an' that was her picture. She's been dead a long string o' years now.”
”There was another picture an' a newspaper clippin',” sez the Friar.
Badger-face didn't give no heed; an' after a time the Friar sez: ”What shall I do with them?”
”Throw 'em away,” sez Badger-face. ”They don't concern me none. I was more took with that woman's picture 'n airy other I ever saw. That was all.”
”Where did you get it?” asked the Friar.
”I got it from a young Dutchy,” sez Badger wearily. ”He killed a feller over at Leadville an' came out here an' took on with Ty Jones.
He said she was an opery singer, an' got drugged at a hotel where he was workin'.”
Badger-face was gettin' purty weak by now, an' he stopped with a sort of sigh. The Friar took holt of his hand. ”I am very much interested in this woman,” he said, lookin' into Badger's face as if tryin' to give him life enough to go on with. ”Can you tell me anything else about her?”
”Not much,” sez Badger-face. ”She was singin' at what he called the Winter Garden at Berlin, Germany. Some Austrian n.o.bility got mashed on her an' drugged her at the hotel. Dutchy was mashed on her, too, I reckon. They had advertised for him in a New York paper, an' when he got shot, over at Little Monte's dance hall, he asked me to write about it. His mother had died leavin' property, an' all they wanted was to round up the heirs. I reckon they were glad enough to have Dutchy scratched from the list. I don't know why I did keep that clippin'.”
”Have you any idee how long ago it was 'at the woman was drugged?”
asked the Friar.
”I haven't any idee,” sez Badger-face weakly. ”Carl was killed four years ago this Christmas eve; so it had to be before that.”
”Listen to me, Badger-face,” sez the Friar, grippin' his hand tight.
”I want you to get well. I know that all these men will stand by you and help you to start a new life.”
”How long is it since I've been laid up?” asked Badger.
”Two weeks,” sez the Friar. ”This is two days after Christmas.”
”Who tended to me?” asked Badger.
”We all did,” sez the Friar, ”and we all stand ready to help you make a new start.”
”I had a good enough start,” sez Badger; ”but I fooled it away, an'
I'm too old now to make a new one.”
”Is there any word you want sent to your friends at Ty Jones's?” asked the Friar.
Once more Badger skinned his face into the grin. ”Friends?” sez he.
”When you trap a wolf, does he send any word to his friends? I haven't got no friends.”