Part 13 (1/2)
CHAPTER VII
WHY THE WEEKLY PLANET DIED
The Weekly Planet, founded and edited during its brief existence by Higginson Peabody, and issued every Sat.u.r.day to the hebdomadal joy of Dodge, might have flourished unto this day if it hadn't been for Jack.
It was a circulation scheme proposed by Jack, and adopted by Higginson Peabody, which undid the destinies of the _Weekly Planet_ to such a degree that, in the quicksands of a bottomless trouble into which they were thereby betrayed, a trouble, as Higginson Peabody averred, ”so vast, that against it no human ingenuity could prevail,” they bogged down and disappeared.
Not but what Jack was wholly true to the _Weekly Planet_ and its fortunes. Indeed it was Jack, in his intense loyalty to the paper and those that gave it the aid and comfort of their countenance, and despite the fact that Mr. Masterson's recommendation had originally paved his way into journalism, who misled that officer as to the flight-direction taken by Rattlesnake Sanders on the occasion of his winging Mr. Kelly.
Perhaps, in defence of Jack, that episode should be briefly told.
Rattlesnake Sanders played a cold hand, being four kings and an ace, against a quartette of queens, the then armament of Mr. Kelly. Mr. Kelly pointed out the frigid character of those four kings, and thereupon Rattlesnake, in a feeling of chagrin natural to one who finds himself detected in a wrong, shot Mr. Kelly in the arm. Following this ebuillition of temper, Rattlesnake mounted his pony and spurred away into the dark.
The office of the _Weekly Planet_ was on the northern fringe of Dodge.
It was ten o'clock of the night when Rattlesnake expressed his dissatisfaction with Mr. Kelly in manner and form set forth. The editorial and mechanical forces of the _Weekly Planet_, made up of Higginson Peabody, Jack, and a trio of printers, were hard at work at the time and knew nothing of Rattlesnake and his exploits. Indeed, the earliest word which they received of Rattlesnake was when that impulsive cowboy pulled up at their door.
The cause of Rattlesnake's pulling up was simple. When he and Mr. Kelly sat down to that friendly game, which in its finale was so disappointing, Rattlesnake, the evening being warm, had cast aside his coat and hat. Being more or less preoccupied when ready to leave, he forgot to rea.s.sume those garments. His halt at the _Weekly Planet_ was with a purpose of repairs.
Bare of head and coatless, Rattlesnake called from the saddle to Higginson Peabody. The latter, with Jack at his elbow, appeared in the door.
”Got a hat and coat you don't want?” asked Rattlesnake.
There were two six-shooters in the belt of Rattlesnake and a Winchester in its saddle-scabbard under his left leg, and it may have been this stock of ironware that awoke the generosity of Higginson Peabody.
Whatever it was to move his benevolence, the truth remains that he took his own hat and coat from their peg and conferred them on Rattlesnake.
As he picked up the bridle reins to ride away Rattlesnake ran his hand into his pocket.
”What's the damage?” he queried.
”Nothing,” returned Higginson Peabody; ”they are freely yours.”
”What's the subscription to this rag?” asked Rattlesnake, pointing up at the sign above the door. ”How much does she cost for a year?”
”Two dollars,” broke in Jack, who was the circulating agency of the _Weekly Planet_.
”Thar's a saw-buck,” quoth Rattlesnake, bringing up a ten-dollar goldpiece and tossing it to Jack. ”Put down Rattlesnake Sanders for five years.” Then, as he buried a spur in his pony's flank and fled like an arrow: ”I'll send th' address as soon as I settle down.”
When Rattlesnake Sanders injured Mr. Kelly's arm Mr. Masterson was at the other end of town. It was ten minutes before he heard of the gay doings of Rattlesnake. When word reached him he threw a saddle onto a pony and started in pursuit. Mr. Masterson also halted at the open door of the _Weekly Planet_, only he was after information, not apparel.
”Did you see a cowboy without coat or hat go by?” asked Mr. Masterson, on the bare chance that the phenomenon had caught the eye of Higginson Peabody.
”I just gave one my coat and hat,” replied Higginson Peabody.
”It was Rattlesnake Sanders,” said Mr. Masterson, settling himself in his stirrups for a run. ”He's creased Kelly. Which way did he go?”
Before Higginson Peabody could answer, Jack took reply from his mouth.
”I'll show you, Mr. Masterson,” observed the eager Jack, pointing westward towards the Cimarron Crossing. ”He lined out in that direction.
An' say, he was simply hittin' the high places!”