Part 34 (1/2)

Now, in course of these details, while we sat smoking cigarettes around the door of the cabin, we saw a sort of dust-cloud come rolling along out of the city.

”Which reminds me,” says Ute, ”that the Grave City stranglers was proposing yesterday to come and hold a social gathering here. Mr.

Davies, they's aiming to hang you some.”

We rolled the rain-barrels into the house, we toted bales of hay for barricades, and led our saddle-horses into cover; then put in the rest of our time filling the water-b.u.t.ts. In all we had forty minutes to prepare for our guests, but wanted a whole lot more.

”You, Chalkeye,” says young Monte in his thoughtful way, ”you can talk the hind leg off a mule. Spose you make big war medicine to these here strangers until we're ready.”

Custer had got joyful, as he always did when there was trouble coming, making little yelps of bliss.

”Don't talk them off the range,” says he, ”or we'll get no fight.”

Ute, he lay low, saying nothing, but he sure grinned volumes while he whirled in with his axe, cutting twelve loopholes through the 'dobe walls. I told Custer to break a hole in the roof and get up there quick, because the parapet had rain-spouts most convenient for shooting. Monte was laying out the ammunition, I was spreading wet blankets over the hay barricade in the front doorway, and then the Vigilance Committee came slanting down for battle.

Seeing that Grave City was shy of horseflesh that morning, these people had done their best with thirty head, using them to haul waggons and buckboards full of men. Only the chairman was in the saddle, he being old Mutiny Robertson, who wanted to buy my ranche and not to burn it. I ought to mention that this gentleman was a Cherokee Indian by birth, a white man by nature, and some time a robber himself. He knew what sort of lightning had struck Grave City during the night, but his feelings did him credit and kept his mouth shut. As chief of the Vigilantes he had to go against all his natural instincts, but still he acted hostile and looked dangerous, leading his men until he came up against my door.

”You, Chalkeye!” he shouted.

I put up my head behind the barricade in the doorway.

”Wall,” says I, ”this compliment, gentlemen, throws my tail high with pride. Put yo' hawsses in the barn while I fix the breakfast.”

”These barricades,” says Mutiny, ”is intended hawspitable--eh, Chalkeye?”

”Which,” says I, ”they're raised in celebration of my thirty-third birthday as a token of innocent joy.”

”Seems to me,” he responds, ”that this yere day is apt to be remembered hereaways as the anniversary of yo' quitting out of from this mortal life.”

”These predictions of yours,” says I ”is rude.”

”You're due to die some, right now”--he poked his gun. ”Come out!”

”I remarks,” says I, ”on general principles that you all has come to mourn at the wrong funeral. My obsequies is postponed indefinite.”

”Now, Chalkeye,” says he, ”it's no use arguing, so you want to come out like a man. We're full prepared to give you a decent turn-off, and a handsome funeral.”

”I'm sorry to disappoint you, gentlemen, but I has other engagements, and this is my busy day.”

I listened to my boys getting ready. ”Keep them amused,” says Monte; ”we need three more loopholes.”

”If you don't come out,” says Mutiny, ”there's going to be trouble, 'cause we're gettin' tired.”

”Wall, Mutiny, I'd sh.o.r.ely admire to know some trifling details first, 'cause you've aroused my interest in this yere celebration. Why for is my neck so much in need of stretching?”

”This yere is frivolous argument,” says he; ”we-all is here to hang you, not to waste time in debates.”

”You has my sympathy,” says I, ”and I shares yo' poignant feelings about not wasting time. What's the use of a necktie social without an appropriate victim? Now thar's young Mose Bowles beside you--which I don't like the look of his neck, the same being much too short for a stand-off collar. What's the matter with hanging Moses Bowles?”

”Come out,” says Mose, ”or we'll burn your den, you horse-thief!”

”Bein' possessed of genius, Moses, you'll now proceed to set my 'dobe home in flames. The glare of yo' fierce eye is enough to burn brick walls.”