Part 11 (1/2)
”How deep was that pool?” spoke up Bar Seven, the stray man. ”Ten foot?
Huh! Say, boys, this reminds me of that divin' story of Brig's!”
”Well, what's the matter with that divin' story of mine?” demanded Brigham orgulously. ”You're behind the times, Bar Seven. While you was on yore way this gentleman come into camp, and he's seen that done himself. What do you know about it, anyhow--spent all yore life punchin'
cows and eatin' sand--what do you know about divin', anyhow?”
”Well, they's one thing I do know,” retorted Bar Seven, ”and that's hawses. I been with hawses all my life, and you cain't tell me about no hawse divin'--stands to reason he'd hit the bottom and break his neck, anyway!”
”Perhaps I would better explain,” broke in Bowles politely. ”When the horse leaves the platform he slides down an inclined chute, below which is hung a heavily padded board. As the horse slips off he naturally kicks and struggles, and his feet, flying out behind, strike the padded board so that, while he leaps off headforemost, he rights himself in the air and falls into the pool feet first. Of course, forty-five feet is quite a distance, but he probably never goes to the bottom at all.”
”Well, that's all right,” admitted Bar Seven. ”I don't know about that--but tell me this, stranger: How does the man git that hawse to climb up there and take the jump? Tell me that, and I'll believe anything!”
”Why, certainly,” said Bowles. ”At the time of which I speak, a young girl rode on his back when he made the plunge--just to make it more exciting, you know--but I watched the man quite closely, and really it was very interesting. First the girl went up the long incline, which had a railing and was provided with cleats, of course. Then the trainer brought Selim out and gave him a handful of sugar from his pocket, rubbing his head and talking to him while he was begging for more, until he had him up to the chute. There he stripped the halter off and spoke to him, and the horse started up by himself, he was so eager for the reward. At the top the girl mounted him and turned him down the diving-chute; and, don't you know, the first thing he did when he got to land was to trot back and get his sugar!”
”Oh, sugar!” cried Bar Seven, in disgust; but somehow the circ.u.mstantiality of the narrative seemed to carry conviction with the others, and he found himself alone.
”What breed of hawse was that?” inquired Uncle Joe, after a pause.
”A pure-blooded Arabian,” answered Bowles; ”supposed to be the most intelligent horses in the world. The Arabians, you know, keep their horses about their tents and raise them as if they were children, teaching them to understand the human voice and to answer like a dog.”
”W'y, sure!” broke in Brigham, artfully taking the lead again. ”Don't you fellers remember that story in the school book about Ali Ben Ha.s.san, or whatever his name was, that was wounded in a battle and his hawse picked him up by his belt and packed him back to his tent? I tell you, them A-rabs are a pretty smooth bunch of _hombres_. They not only savvy hawses from the ground up but they're the finest jugglers and strong-armed men that the world has ever seen. I remember back at Coney they was three brothers that did sech tricks you couldn't hardly believe it.
”They was called the Ha.s.san brothers--all A-rabs is either named Ha.s.san or A-li--and the oldest one was a balancer. That feller could balance a peac.o.c.k feather on his nose--throw a flip-flap clean over it, and come up with it still on his nose--but that was jest fer a starter. His big stunt was balancin' clay pipes. He'd take a hundred and forty-four long-handled pipes, balance 'em one on top of the other, and then skip up to the top and set there while he took a smoke.”
”What! One on top of the other?” demanded Bar Seven incredulously.
”Aw, no, you bone head!” replied Brigham impatiently. ”What d'ye think--would he pile 'em up a hundred foot high? He made 'em into a kind of pyramid-like--but he was nothin' to his younger brother. That feller was a rope-sharp. You punchers think you can twirl the rope some, but you're back in the calf corral alongside of him. He could throw a loop out on the floor, and send it quilin' around like a snake, hoppin' over chairs and tables like a trained dog, and then have it come back and hog-tie 'im at one lick, so that an expert couldn't unfasten the knots in half an hour. But that was jest good rope work with him; his big play come at the end when he tied a twenty-pound weight at the end of it and began to swing it round. By Joe, that was great! And then, right at the end, when he pulled his big stuff, he heaved that weight forty foot into the air, clum up the rope and set down on top of it smokin' his cigar!
Now, by grab, can you beat that?”
”Kin we beat it?” echoed Bar Seven and the bunch. ”Kin we believe it--that's the point!”
”Well, what's the matter with it?” demanded Brigham irritably. ”Seems like every time I tell you cotton-pickers anythin' you up an' call me a liar. What's the matter, anyway?”
”What's the matter?” yelled Bar Seven, raising his voice above the rest.
”W'y, you ignorant devil, how could the feller set on the weight when it was only throwed up in the air?”
A chorus of other demands followed, but Brigham only sat on his box, smiling easily.
”Say, what do you take me for?” he inquired, gazing about him pityingly.
”If I knowed how that A-rab did that rope-work, d'ye think I'd be punchin' cows? Not fer me--I'd be drawin' a thousand dollars a week back at Coney. Of co'se I can't say how it was done--no more than you can--but that's what makes the show! If the people knowed, they wouldn't come no more! Ain't that so, pardner?”
”Yes, indeed!” responded Bowles.
”W'y sure!” went on Brigham. ”Anybody that knows anythin' about the show business knows that. No matter how good a stunt is, it's got to be mysterious or the people won't pay to see it. Either that, or it's got to be feats of strength and darin'. Now this youngest Ha.s.san brother was a strong-armed man. He'd wrap a piece of chain around his arm, tighten up his muscle and _pop!_ it'd break right square in two. Same thing with his chest--he'd wrap a loggin' chain around his breast, suck in his breast, and snap it like a thread. You've seen fellers like that, haven't you?”
”Sure!” said Bowles.
”Yes--all right!” continued Brigham apologetically. ”Seems like the simplest thing I tell these fellers some rabbit-twister from Texas up and contradicts me. Well, this youngest brother had a pretty good stunt to end up with--nothin' flashy, of co'se, but pretty good fer a kid. He was powerful strong in the right arm and he'd hold it out like this”--Brigham held out his brawny arm--”and then he'd muscle up, real slow-like, and then, by grab, he'd raise himself right up, and come down over, and set right down on that thumb!”