Aunt Nettie Dawson, because of her tenderness of heart and the hard acridities of her tongue, had made for herself a place in the popular esteem1. The well-to-do and healthy feared her for her sarcasms2, while upon the sick she descended3 in the guise4 of an unmixed blessing5. Those who mourned, and by whose hearths6 sat trouble, found in her the shadow of a great rock in a weary land.
Cimarron Bill was the personal nephew of Aunt Nettie, the other inhabitants of Dodge7 being nephews and nieces by brevet, and it was to Cimarron Bill that Mr. Masterson was indebted for the advantage of Aunt Nettie’s acquaintance.
“She’s some frosty, Bat,” explained Cimarron Bill, in apology for the frigid8 sort of Aunt Nettie’s reception, “she’s shore some frosty. But if you-all was ever to get shot up, now, for mebby holdin’ four aces9, or because you had become a drawback to a quadrille, she’d nacherally jump in an’ nuss you like you was worth savin’.”
Mr. Masterson and Cimarron Bill had met for the first time the Autumn before, and their friendship came about in this fashion. Sun City, a thriving metropolis12, consisting of a tavern13 and a store, lay far to the south of Dodge and close against the Indian Territory line. Mr. Masterson, coming north from the buffalo14 range, rode into Sun City late one October afternoon, and since his affairs were not urgent decided15 to remain till morning.
Mr. Stumps16, proprietor17 of the Palace Hotel, being the tavern aforesaid, wore an uneasy look when Mr. Masterson avouched18 his intention to tarry, and submitted that his rooms were full.
“Leastwise,” observed the doubtful Mr. Stumps, “all three beds is full but one; an’ that is took by Cimarron Bill.”
“Well he ain’t exactly here none just now,” responded Mr. Stumps, “but he’s liable to come pirootin’ in. He p’inted out this mornin’ for Tascosa; but he’s a heap uncertain that a-way, an’ it wouldn’t surprise me none if he was to change his mind. All I know is he says as he rides away, ‘Don’t let no shorthorn have my room, Mr. Stumps, as I may need it myse’f a whole lot; an’ in case I do I don’t want to be obleeged to bootcher no harmless stranger for its possession.’”
“Thar’ll be an uprisin’ if Cimarron Bill comes back,” said Mr. Stumps, as he led Mr. Masterson to the second floor.
“You won’t be in it,” replied Mr. Masterson confidently. “I won’t ask you to help put it down.”
Mr. Masterson was searching his war-bags for a clean blue shirt, meaning to do honour to Sun City at its evening meal. Suddenly a youth of his own age appeared in the door. So cat-foot had been his approach that even the trained ear of Mr. Masterson was given no creaking notice of his coming up the stair. The youthful stranger was equipped of a dancing eye and a Colt’s-45, and Mr. Masterson by some mighty22 instinct knew him for Cimarron Bill. The question of identity, however, was instantly made clear.
“My name’s Cimarron Bill,” remarked the youthful stranger, carefully covering Mr. Masterson with his weapon, “an’ I’d like to ask whatever be you-all doin’ in my apartments?” Then, waiving23 reply, he went on: “Thar, don’t answer; take the short cut out of the window. I’m fretted24, an’ I wants to be alone.”
Mr. Masterson, to facilitate those proposed improvements in his garb25, had unbuckled his pistol and laid it on the bed. Cimarron Bill, with militant27 genius, stepped in between Mr. Masterson and his artillery28. Under these convincing circumstances the suggested window seemed the one solution, and Mr. Masterson adopted it. The twelve-foot leap to the soft prairie grass was nothing; and since Cimarron Bill, with a fine contempt for consequences in nowise calculated to prove his prudence29, pitched Mr. Masterson’s belt and pistol, as well as his war-bags, after him, the latter was driven to confess that erratic30 personage a fair and fearless gentleman. The tacit confession31, however, served as no restraint upon his movements, and seizing his weapon Mr. Masterson in his turn went cat-foot up the stair. As had Cimarron Bill before him, he towered presently in the narrow doorway32, his steady muzzle33 to the fore10.
“Jump!” quoth Mr. Masterson, and Cimarron Bill leaped from the same window which so lately had been the avenue of Mr. Masterson’s departure.
Cimarron Bill did not have the luck which had attended the gymnastics of Mr. Masterson, and sprained34 his ankle. Whereupon, Cimarron Bill sat up and called for a glass of liquor, solacing35 himself the while with evil words. Following the drink, Mr. Stumps negotiated a truce36 between his two guests, and Mr. Masterson came down and shook Cimarron Bill by the hand. “What I like about you,” said Cimarron Bill, as he met Mr. Masterson’s courtesy halfway37, “is your persistency38. An’ as you seem sort o’ took with them apartments of mine, on second thought we’ll ockepy ’em in yoonison.”
Mr. Masterson and Cimarron Bill became as Damon and Pythias. In the months that followed they were partners, killing39 buffaloes40 and raiding Indians for ponies41, share and share alike. Mr. Masterson came finally to know Aunt Nettie. And because Cimarron Bill loved her, he also loved her, and suffered in humble42 silence from her caustic43 tongue as did his mate. For was not the fortune of one the fortune of the other? and were they not equal partners in all that came their way?
Cimarron Bill’s most glaring fault was a complete inaptitude for commerce. It was this defect that taught him, while at play in Mr. Webster’s Alamo saloon, to place a value on “queens-up” so far in advance of their merits, that in one disastrous44 moment he was swept clean of his last dollar and his last pony45. For a buffalo hunter thus to be set afoot was a serious blow; more, it smelled of disgrace. Your Western gentleman, dismounted and obliged to a painful pedestrianism, has been ever a symbol of the abject46; also his standing47 is shaken in what social circles he affects. These several truths were abundantly known to Cimarron Bill, and on the morning after his bankruptcy48 he begged the use of a pony from Mr. Masterson with a purpose of straightening up his prostrate49 destinies.
“I’ll ride down,” explained Cimarron Bill, easily, “to the divide between Medicine Lodge50 Creek51 an’ the Cimarron, an’ the first Cheyenne who comes teeterin’ along on a proper pony ought to fit me out. I won’t be afoot long enough to wear out my moccasins; you can bet a blue stack on that!”
Cimarron Bill’s plan to remount himself was one feasible enough. True, as stated in a previous chapter, there existed an official peace between the Cheyennes and their paleface brothers. Unofficially, it was the quenchless52 practice of both sides to kill and scalp each other, whenever an opportunity linked with secrecy53 and safety was presented. It was the pleasure of the Cheyennes to fall upon isolated54 camps of buffalo hunters and exterminate55 them; the broad prairies, had they spoken, would have told a hundred such red stories. By way of reprisal57, the enterprising paleface wiped out what Cheyennes crossed his path. Moreover, it was the delight of the paleface, when not otherwise engaged, to raid a Cheyenne village, and drive off the ponies. The ponies, saleable as hot cakes, went at thirty dollars the head in Dodge; wherefore the practice, apart from the thrill and joy thereof, was not without its profit. Cimarron Bill, however, did not contemplate58 a raid; what he aimed at was a single pony, and there were safer, even if more sanguinary methods by which a single pony might be arrived at.
Bear Shield’s band of Cheyennes had pitched their tepees on the Cimarron, thirty miles to the south of Sun City. The region was a fair hunting ground, rife59 of buffalo. The attraction to Bear Shield’s people, however, was Sun City itself. What was a thirty-mile ride to a Cheyenne, with nothing upon his mind but firewater? The latter refreshment60 abode61 privily62 to his call in Sun City, and he might purchase at the rate of a pint63 for a buffalo robe. So brisk was trade that every day from one to a dozen Cheyennes, whose hearts were low and thirsty, rode into Sun City, each with a modest pack of robes, to presently ride forth64 robeless but rapturous.
Southward from Sun City ran the trail for that point on the Cimarron where Bear Shield and his tribesmen, their squaws and pappooses and dogs and ponies, lived and moved and had their aboriginal65 being. As the trail crossed Medicine Lodge Creek it crowded the base of a thickly wooded knoll66, at the back of which a bald precipice67 fell away for a sheer two hundred feet.
It was the wont68 of that paleface, who felt pressed upon by the need of a Cheyenne scalp or pony or both, to lie in hopeful ambush69 on the wooded knoll. He would not grow weary with much watching; his reward was sure to appear within the hour, in the shape of a drunken Cheyenne, reeling in his saddle with the robe-bought hospitality of Sun City fifteen miles away. The sullen71 Sharp’s would speak, and the bibulous72 Cheyenne go headlong. Then the paleface who had sniped him would mount his own pony with speed, and round up the riderless pony of that Cheyenne who had been. Once the Cheyenne’s pony was secured, the paleface would scalp and strip his victim; then, using his lariat73, he would drag what he didn’t want to the precipice adverted74 to, and toss it over.
Full two hundred leading citizens of Bear Shield’s village had been blotted75 out, before the Cheyennes became aware of their fate and the grim manner of it; for the paleface never exposed his ambush by letting any Cheyenne get away. If the census76 of the Cheyenne party exceeded the count of rifles on the knoll, they were permitted to ride by in innocent drunkenness, unconscious of the death they had grazed. As for what dead Cheyennes went over the cliff, certain coyotes and ravens77, educated of a prevailing78 plenty to haunt the spot, would in an hour remove the last trace of their taking off. Full two hundred Cheyennes, the flower of Bear Shield’s band, were sent to the happy hunting grounds, at the base of the wooded knoll on Medicine Lodge Creek, before their wondering relatives solved the puzzle of their disappearance79. Once the gruesome riddle80 was read, the Cheyennes as a nation painted for war. It was then that Bear Shield drove North like a storm, leaving Sun City a memory, and killing out the last injurious paleface for forty miles around. That, however, is to one side of our narrative81, which has to do with Cimarron Bill, about to re-establish himself as a mounted and therefore reputable member of society.
Mr. Masterson sought to dissuade82 Cimarron Bill from his enterprise. It was not that he objected to the other’s vigorous scheme of gaining a remount; he wasn’t so tenderly given towards Cheyennes as all that. The government, in favor of appearances, might pretend to preserve the Cheyenne; but Mr. Masterson knew that in reality no close season for Cheyennes existed more than it did for gray wolves. But the wooded knoll on Medicine Lodge Creek was distant; to go and come meant days; the profit, one pony, was slight for so much effort and time and travel. Mr. Masterson, in comparison with the investment, pointed83 out the meagre sort of the reward. Also he offered to give Cimarron Bill a pony.
Mr. Masterson’s arguments availed nothing; Cimarron Bill was in that temper of diligent84 virtue85, common with folk who have just finished a season of idleness and wicked revelry. He declined Mr. Masterson’s pony; he would win a pony for himself.
“No se’f-respectin’ gent,” observed Cimarron Bill, “can accept gifts from another gent. As you sow so shall you reap; havin’ recklessly lost my pony, I must now win out another by froogality an’ honest industry. Besides it ain’t jest the pony; thar’s the skelp—worth twenty-five dollars, it is, at the Dodge Bank. That’s a bet you overlooks. With that pony, an’ them twenty-five dollars for the skelp, I can begin life anoo.”
“Then,” returned Mr. Masterson, disgustedly, “if you’re going to play the fool, and waste five days and ride seventy-five miles and back to get a thirty-dollar pony and a twenty-five-dollar scalp, I might as well be a fool mate to you, and go along.”
“No, you stay here,” expostulated Cimarron Bill. “I might get downed; in which event it’ll be for you to look after Aunt Nettie.”
Cimarron Bill, despite his restless ways and careless want of forethought, always provided for Aunt Nettie. This was no work of difficulty; Aunt Nettie’s needs were neither numerous nor expensive, and, since a gentleman of the lively accuracy of Cimarron Bill could in the season kill and cure for his share fifty dollars’ worth of buffalo robes a day, they were readily overcome.
“One hundred shots,” Cimarron Bill was wont to say, “from my old eight-squar’, an’ Aunt Nettie is fixed86 for one plumb87 year.”
Mr. Masterson was about to remonstrate88 against remaining in Dodge, but Cimarron Bill interrupted.
“As a favor to me, Bat,” he said, “merely as a favor to me. I won’t be gone a week; an’ I’ll feel easier thinkin’ you’re left to look after Aunt Nettie in case of accidents. It’s inside o’ the possible, d’ye see, for this B’ar Shield outfit89 to get me; an Injun, now an’ then, does win a pot, you know.”
Mr. Masterson made over to the use of Cimarron Bill a chestnut90 broncho, famous for bottom and bad habits. After he had cantered away, Mr. Masterson reflected uneasily on Cimarron Bill’s anxiety over Aunt Nettie, the same being out of common. Mr. Masterson thought this a portent91 of bad luck. The notion made Mr. Masterson nervous; when Cimarron Bill had been absent a fortnight and no news of him, the nervousness grew into alarm.
“I wonder,” mused92 Mr. Masterson, gloomily, “if those Bear Shield outcasts have bumped him off. He was that careless, Bill was, some such turn might have been waiting in the deck for him any deal at all,” and Mr. Masterson sighed.
Mr. Trask’s freight teams came sauntering into Dodge from Fort Elliot; they might have cut the trail of the missing Cimarron Bill, and Mr. Masterson sought the Trask mule93-skinners for information. They had freighted through Sun City, indeed their route ran by the wooded knoll so fatal to Cheyennes; not one, however, had heard sound or beheld94 sign of the vanished Cimarron Bill. At that, Mr. Masterson buckled26 on his six-shooter, thrust his rifle into the scabbard that garnished95 his saddle, and while the frost was on the short dry buffalo grass one December morning, sped southward for news.
At Sun City, Mr. Stumps of the Palace Hotel bore testimony96 that Cimarron Bill had passed one night at his caravansary, making merry, and departed full of confidence and Old Jordan in the morning.
“But he didn’t pack no outside liquor with him,” observed the experienced Mr. Stumps, who was capable of a deduction97, “an’ what jag he carried would have been worn plumb away long before ever he reached Medicine Lodge Creek.”
Mr. Masterson might have gone thirty miles further and interviewed Bear Shield himself. That befeathered chieftain, however, was a savage99 of prudence and counsel, and no one to boast of paleface scalps, though a thousand were drying in the lodges100 of his people. No, nothing could be gathered from the Cheyennes themselves. It was less trouble, and quite as sagacious, for Mr. Masterson to believe that Cimarron Bill had fallen a Cheyenne sacrifice, and abandon investigation101. Adjusting it, therefore, in his own mind that Cimarron Bill had perished, Mr. Masterson started for Dodge, cogitating102 vengeance103.
Mr. Masterson, while sad, was not to be shocked by a thing so commonplace as death, even though the one fallen had been his own blanket-mate. And he blamed no one—neither Cimarron Bill nor the Cheyenne who had taken his hair. Such events were as the certain incidents of existence, and might be counted on in their coming. Yesterday it had been the fate of Cimarron Bill; it might be his own to-morrow. Meanwhile, by every Western rule, it was his instant business to take a price from the Cheyennes, in scalps and ponies, for the lost life.
And there was Aunt Nettie. Mr. Masterson recalled the final urgency of Cimarron Bill’s exhortations104 to look after her in case he never returned.
“And I surely will,” ruminated105 Mr. Masterson. “When he said that, Bill must have felt, even if he couldn’t see, the cloud that hung over the future.”
Mr. Masterson deemed it his duty to acquaint Aunt Nettie with the demise106 of Cimarron Bill; at the terror of such a mission he shook in his saddle. Slowly he rode up to the little three-room cottage where Aunt Nettie made her home.
“Miss Dawson,” began Mr. Masterson, for while the lady was “Aunt Nettie” in the conversation of Dodge, she was invariably “Miss Dawson” to her face, “Miss Dawson, I’m afraid Bill’s dead.” Mr. Masterson faltered107 as he spoke56 these words. “If I knew how,” he went on, “to break the information soft, I’d do it; but such delicate plays are beyond my reach. All I can do is ride in and say that in my judgment108 Bear Shield’s outfit has downed him.”
“Oh!” retorted Aunt Nettie, retaining, with hand on hip11, that attitude of scorn which she had assumed as she listened to Mr. Masterson, “oh, all you can do is ride in an’ say that in your jedgment”—the word came off Aunt Nettie’s tongue most witheringly—“B’ar Shield’s outfit has downed my Billy! Well then let me tell you this, Bat Masterson; thar ain’t no Cheyenne ever painted his face who could corral my Billy. Thar, vamos; I ain’t got no time to waste talkin’ to children in their teens—which you ain’t seen twenty none as yet, Bat Masterson—who can’t think of nothin’ better to do than come pesterin’ into camp with a theery that them B’ar Shield felons109 has bushwhacked my Billy.”
“But, Miss Dawson,” urged Mr. Masterson, “what I wanted——”
“No matter what you wanted,” interrupted Aunt Nettie. “You get yourself together an’ pull your freight! If, as you says, in your jedgment Billy’s gone, what be you doin’ in Dodge, I’d like to ask? Why ain’t you back on the Cimarron gatherin’ ha’r an’ ponies, an’ gettin’ even for Billy? Thar, line out o’ here! While I’m throwin’ away time on you-all, my bread’s burnin’. I can smell it plumb here.”
“Aunt Nettie,” thought Mr. Masterson, as he withdrew, “is goin’ to be a difficult lady to take care of. It’s four for one, when I have to offer her money, or try to hang up a hindquarter of buffalo in her kitchen, she’ll chunk111 me up with stove-wood, or anything else that’s loose and little, and handy at the time. However, it’ll have to be gone through with; Cimarron Bill is dead, and his last word was for me to look out for Aunt Nettie.”
As he swung into the saddle, following his visit to Aunt Nettie, a flush of shame and anger, which even the terrors of that formidable spinster could not suppress, showed through the bronze on Mr. Masterson’s face. The taunt112 about being in Dodge when he ought to be over on the Cimarron, harvesting a vengeance, had stirred him deeply. To have it intimated that his courage was slow, and his friendship cool, wore sorely on the soul of Mr. Masterson. It was the harder to bear when flung from the tongue of a woman; for his hands were tied, and his mouth was closed against resentment113. “One thing,” thought Mr. Masterson, by way of self-consolation, “the man never made a moccasin track in Dodge who could have said as much and got away. Aunt Nettie’s right though; I ought to be evening up for Billy right now.”
Time stood a week later, and along the shallow Cimarron—as in every other region civilised or savage—it was Christmas night. The weather was mild, the bare earth without frost, while on the slow wind creeping in from the north there rode the moist odour of snow. The moon, old and on the wane114, was swinging low in the western sky, and what dim lights it offered were made more dim by a constant drift of clouds across its yellow face.
Scattered115 along the north bank of the Cimarron, a straggling mile or more, stood the tepees of Bear Shield’s people. It was well beyond midnight, and nothing vocal116 about the camp save the occasional short yelp117 of a dog, made melancholy118 by the hour’s lonesomeness. Now and then an ember of some dying fire burned for a fierce moment, and then blinked out. Mr. Masterson, riding slowly down the opposite bank, and taking shrewd care to keep deep within the shadow of the woods, counted seventy-two lodges—a probable population of seven hundred and twenty, for a plainsman’s census argues ten to a lodge.
Mr. Masterson had located the band of ponies, which made up the riches of Bear Shield, late in the dull gray afternoon, while he lay hidden in a dry arroyo119. As it grew darker, he had crept nearer, keeping ever the location of the ponies which, in a rambling120, ragged121 herd122, were grazing up the wind. Mr. Masterson, on the south bank of the Cimarron, was heedfully to leeward123 of the herd; a proper piece of caution, for an Indian pony, at the earliest paleface taint124 to alarm the breeze, will scream like a wronged panther.
Arriving at the place where he meant to ford125 the river and begin his drive, Mr. Masterson halted for a cloud of unusual size and thickness to blanket the blurred126 radiance of the dwindling127 moon. Such a cloud was on its way; from where it hung curtain-wise on the horizon it should take ten minutes before its eclipse of the interfering128 moon began.
While he waited Mr. Masterson removed his sombrero and fastened it back of the cantle by a saddle-string. Also, he unstrapped his blanket and wrapped it about his shoulders, for it was part of Mr. Masterson’s strategy to play the Cheyenne for this raid. It was among the chances that he would run across an Indian herder or meet with some belated savage coming into camp. The latter was not likely, however, since the last journey an Indian will make is a night journey. The night is sacred to spirits, and he hesitates to violate it by being abroad; in the day the spirits sleep.
While Mr. Masterson waited deep beneath the cottonwoods, a splash from the river’s brink129 would now and again show where the bank was caving, or the crackling of branches, and the profound flapping of great wings overhead, mark how some wild turkey—a heavy old gobbler, probably—had broken down a bough70 with sheer stress of fat, and was saving himself from a fall. Far away could be heard the faltering131 cry of a coyote, bewailing a jackrabbit which he had not caught.
That thick cloud, waited for, began to encroach on the moon, and Mr. Masterson, his pony stepping as though walking on a world of eggs, headed for the river. The place had been well considered; there was no tall bank off which to plump, but instead a gradual sandy descent.
The pony walked into the water as silently as a ghost. The current rippled133 and rose in petulant134 chuckles135 of protest about the pony’s legs; but, since its deepest was no more than to the hocks, Mr. Masterson honoured it with scant136 attention.
Among Bear Shield’s ponies was a giant mule, renegade and runaway137 from some government train. This long-eared traitor138 remembered his days of burden, and the thing to please him least was the sight or sound or scent132 of a paleface. The paleface was the symbol of thralldom and sore stripes, and the old bellsharp desired none of his company.
By stress of brain, which counts among mules139 as among men, the old bellsharp had risen to the rank of herd leader, and the Bear Shield ponies would drill and wheel and go charging off at his signal. As Mr. Masterson and his pony scrambled140 up the bank a flaw in the wind befell, and a horrifying141 whiff of the stealthy invader142 reached the old bellsharp. Thereupon, he lifted up his voice in clangorous condemnation143, after the manner of his species. The harsh cry echoed up and down the slumbrous Cimarron like an outcry of destruction.
With that cry for his cue, Mr. Masterson drove home the spurs and began a rapid round-up of the startled ponies. At the warning call of the old bellsharp, the herd members came rushing towards him. Placing himself at their head, his “hee-haw” of alarm still ringing like a bugle144, he bore them away at a thunderous gallop145 for the tepees.
Hard at the hocks of the flying battalion146 came Mr. Masterson. The outfit swept through Bear Shield’s village for its entire length, Mr. Masterson lying low along his pony’s neck and letting his blanket flap in the wind bravely, for purposes of deception147. After the ponies, charged Mr. Masterson; after Mr. Masterson, charged a riotous148 brigade of dogs; the uproar149 might have been heard as far as Crooked150 Creek.
As the mad stampede swept on, ever and anon a pony more blind or more clumsy than his fellows would bump into a lodge. At that, an indignant Cheyenne would tear aside the lodge-flap, protrude151 his outraged152 head, and curse the ponies aboriginally. Observing the blanketed Mr. Masterson, the savage would go back to bed, gratefully taking him for some public-spirited neighbour who was striving to return the ponies to their grazing ground and inspire them with normal peace.
The flying ponies—the vociferous153 old bellsharp having fallen to the rear, through lack of speed—wheeled against a thick clump154 of cottonwood, and then broke north into the open. Their fever of fear was subsiding155, they were taking a more modest pace, and Mr. Masterson began turning in the corners, and closing up the flanks, of the retreating band. He made no effort to crowd or press, but gave them every encouragement to regain156 their confidence, and moderate their flight. Presently the herd was jogging comfortably; and because the wind was in their faces they were furnished no disquieting157 notice of Mr. Masterson’s paleface identity through the medium of their noses.
The ponies had traveled twenty minutes, and were cleverly bunched, when Mr. Masterson made a discovery. Off to the right in the dull half-dark he beheld a figure, blanketed, mounted, riding like the wind, and busy with the stragglers as they pointed out of the herd. Like a flash, Mr. Masterson whipped his rifle from its scabbard. Throwing the blanket aside, to free his hands and arms, he fell a trifle to the rear, and began edging towards the stranger.
From his riding, and because he seemed so willingly bent158 on sending the ponies northward159, Mr. Masterson felt assured that the stranger was a white man. The expiring moon threw a last parallel ray along the surface of the plains, and Mr. Masterson saw that the stranger’s pony was a chestnut. Also it had the hard and bitter gait of Alazan, the bronco wherewith he had equipped Cimarron Bill when that lost one issued south from Dodge to his wiping out.
Mr. Masterson drew nearer; of a truth the jolty160 pony was Alazan! Who then was the stranger? Could he, by some miracle of heaven, be Cimarron Bill? Mr. Masterson gave a curlew’s whistle, which had been a signal between him and Cimarron Bill. At the sound the stranger wheeled upon him.
Mr. Masterson pulled up his pony; the sharp cluck! cluck! of the buffalo gun clipped the night air as he cocked it, for Mr. Masterson was a prudent161 man. The stranger, sitting fearlessly straight in his stirrups, bore down upon him with speed. Mr. Masterson watched him with the narrowed gaze of a lynx; as much as he might tell in the night, there was no weapon in the stranger’s hands.
“Howdy, Bat!” cried the stranger, as he came up with a great rush. “I’ve knowed you for an hour.”
Then Mr. Masterson let down the hammer of his Sharp’s, slammed it back in its scabbard beneath his saddle-flap, and taking the stranger in a bear-hug, fairly tore him from the saddle. The stranger was Cimarron Bill; and in his youth Mr. Masterson was sentimental162.
“Where have you been these weeks?” cried Mr. Masterson.
“I’ll tell you later,” returned Cimarron Bill. “We’d better clot163 up these ponies an’ begin the drive, or they’ll get our wind an’ stampede for B’ar Shield’s village.”
It was beginning to snow—great soft clinging flakes164, and each like a wet cold pinch of wool! The snow storm was both good and bad; it made it difficult to handle the ponies, but it subtracted from the chances of Bear Shield’s successful pursuit.
Mr. Masterson and Cimarron Bill, one on the right and one on the left flank of the herd, riding to and fro like setter dogs quartering for birds, drove on throughout a hard four hours. They broke eastward165 to avoid Sun City; for it would have been impolite to bring those ponies through hamlet or ranch130, and so threaten it with Bear Shield’s anger.
With the first of dawn the tired riders, having brought the bunch into a stretch of country choice for that purpose, halted to make an inspection166. The snow had ceased to fall, and the sun coming up gave them light enough to tell good from evil as presented in the shape of ponies. While Mr. Masterson held the herd, Cimarron Bill commenced cutting out the spent and worthless ones. When the weeding was over, there remained one hundred and thirty head, and the worst among them worth thirty dollars in the Dodge corrals. Throwing the riff-raff loose, Mr. Masterson and Cimarron Bill again took up their travels at a stiff road gait. They were forty-five miles from Dodge; worn as they were, they should still reach the Arkansas and Dodge by nightfall.
“And now,” quoth Mr. Masterson, when they were straightened away for the north, “what have you been doing? Aunt Nettie was scared speechless. She thought the Cheyennes had run their brand on you.”
Cimarron Bill’s adventures were laid open. Ten miles out from Sun City he had crossed up with Red River Tom of the Bar-8-bar ranch. That well-informed boy had told him of a dance to be given three nights away, in the new camp-house of the B-in-a-Box outfit. “No common fandango,” explained Cimarron Bill, “but the real thing, with people comin’ from as far away as Tascosa an’ Fort Sill. Nacherrally, I decided to attend. That Cheyenne I was after, an’ his pony, could wait; the dance couldn’t.”
Cimarron Bill, continuing, told how he had cut across country for the home ranch of the B-in-a-Box. He arrived in good time, that is to say four hours prior to the fiddlers, which, as he expressed it, gave him space wherein “to liquor up” and get in proper key for the festival impending167. While engaged upon these preliminaries he was shot in the leg by a fellow-guest with whom he disagreed.
“You see,” explained Cimarron Bill, “this outlaw168 was a Texas ranger20, an’ after about six drinks I started to tell him what I thought of a prairie dog who would play policeman that a-way, for thirty dollars a month an’ furnish his own hoss. One word leads to another an’ the last one to the guns, an’ the next news is I get plugged in the off hind110 laig. I wouldn’t have cared so much,” concluded Cimarron Bill, in mournful meditation169 over his mishap170, “only he shot me before the first dance.”
Cimarron Bill had been laid up in the new camp-house of the hospitable171 B-in-a-Box. Being able to mount and ride away, three days before Mr. Masterson encountered him, he had deemed it expedient172 to make a driving raid on Bear Shield’s village on his journey home, and carry off a handful of ponies. Thus, by a coincidence of pony-raiding impulse, the two had been restored to one another.
“For you see,” said Cimarron Bill, “I was still shy a hoss, the same as when I started out of Dodge.”
“Send Aunt Nettie word!” exclaimed Cimarron Bill. “I wasn’t that locoed! Aunt Nettie would have been down on me like a fallin’ star! Shore! she’d have deescended on that B-in-a-Box outfit like a mink174 on a settin’ hen! I saveyed a heap better than to send Aunt Nettie word.”
Vast was the joy of Dodge as Mr. Masterson and Cimarron Bill rode in with those Bear Shield ponies; prodigious175 was the trade-hubbub when, over at Mr. Trask’s corrals—Mr. Wright officiating as auctioneer—one by one the herd was struck down to the highest bidder176. Under the double stimulation177 of the holidays and the ponies, commerce received a boom, the like of which had not before been known in the trade annals of Dodge. In proof whereof, not alone Mr. Short at the Long Branch but Mr. Kelly at the Alhambra declared that never since either of them last saw the Missouri, had so much money been changed in at roulette and farobank in any similar space of time. Mr. Wright of the outfitting178 store confirmed these tales of commercial gorgeousness, and Mr. Masterson and Cimarron Bill were greeted and treated as public benefactors179. Meanwhile, far away on the ravished Cimarron, Bear Shield was making wrathful medicine, and dancing the dances and singing the songs of him who has been robbed.
“Thar, you Bat Masterson!” exclaimed Aunt Nettie, as she heaped high the banquet board before him and her prodigal180 nephew. “Which it goes to show how feeble-witted you be. Yere you comes ghost-dancin’ ’round with a yarn181 about my Billy bein’ killed an’ skelped! I told you then, what you now have the livin’ sense to see, I hope, that thar was never the Cheyenne painted his face who could down my Billy, B’ar Shield himse’f not barred.”
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收听单词发音
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1
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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2
sarcasms
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，挖苦( sarcasm的名词复数 ) | |
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3
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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5
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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6
hearths
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| 壁炉前的地板，炉床，壁炉边( hearth的名词复数 ) | |
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7
dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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8
frigid
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| adj.寒冷的，凛冽的；冷淡的；拘禁的 | |
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9
aces
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| abbr.adjustable convertible-rate equity security (units) 可调节的股本证券兑换率；aircraft ejection seat 飞机弹射座椅；automatic control evaluation simulator 自动控制评估模拟器n.擅长…的人( ace的名词复数 )；精于…的人；（ 网球 ）（对手接不到发球的）发球得分；爱司球 | |
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10
fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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11
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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12
metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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13
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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14
buffalo
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| n.(北美)野牛；(亚洲)水牛 | |
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15
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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16
stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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17
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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18
avouched
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| v.保证，断言，承认( avouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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19
queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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20
ranger
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| n.国家公园管理员，护林员；骑兵巡逻队员 | |
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21
asperity
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| n.粗鲁，艰苦 | |
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22
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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23
waiving
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| v.宣布放弃( waive的现在分词 )；搁置；推迟；放弃（权利、要求等） | |
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24
fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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25
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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26
buckled
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| a. 有带扣的 | |
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27
militant
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| adj.激进的，好斗的；n.激进分子，斗士 | |
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28
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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29
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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30
erratic
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| adj.古怪的，反复无常的，不稳定的 | |
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31
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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32
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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33
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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34
sprained
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| v.&n. 扭伤 | |
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35
solacing
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| v.安慰，慰藉( solace的现在分词 ) | |
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36
truce
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| n.休战，(争执，烦恼等的)缓和；v.以停战结束 | |
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37
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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38
persistency
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| n. 坚持(余辉, 时间常数) | |
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39
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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40
buffaloes
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| n.水牛（分非洲水牛和亚洲水牛两种）( buffalo的名词复数 )；（南非或北美的）野牛；威胁；恐吓 | |
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41
ponies
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| 矮种马，小型马( pony的名词复数 )； ￡25 25 英镑 | |
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42
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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43
caustic
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| adj.刻薄的，腐蚀性的 | |
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44
disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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45
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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46
abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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47
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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48
bankruptcy
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| n.破产；无偿付能力 | |
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49
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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50
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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51
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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52
quenchless
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| 不可熄灭的 | |
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53
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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54
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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55
exterminate
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| v.扑灭，消灭，根绝 | |
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56
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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57
reprisal
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| n.报复，报仇，报复性劫掠 | |
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58
contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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59
rife
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| adj.(指坏事情)充斥的，流行的，普遍的 | |
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60
refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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61
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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62
privily
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| adv.暗中，秘密地 | |
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63
pint
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| n.品脱 | |
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64
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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65
aboriginal
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| adj.（指动植物）土生的，原产地的，土著的 | |
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66
knoll
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| n.小山，小丘 | |
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67
precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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68
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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69
ambush
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| n.埋伏(地点)；伏兵；v.埋伏；伏击 | |
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70
bough
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| n.大树枝，主枝 | |
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71
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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72
bibulous
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| adj.高度吸收的，酗酒的 | |
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73
lariat
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| n.系绳，套索；v.用套索套捕 | |
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74
adverted
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| 引起注意（advert的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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75
blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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76
census
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| n.(官方的)人口调查，人口普查 | |
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77
ravens
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| n.低质煤；渡鸦( raven的名词复数 ) | |
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78
prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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79
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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80
riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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81
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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82
dissuade
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| v.劝阻，阻止 | |
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83
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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84
diligent
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| adj.勤勉的，勤奋的 | |
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85
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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86
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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87
plumb
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| adv.精确地，完全地；v.了解意义，测水深 | |
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88
remonstrate
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| v.抗议，规劝 | |
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89
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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90
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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91
portent
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| n.预兆；恶兆；怪事 | |
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92
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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93
mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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94
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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95
garnished
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| v.给（上餐桌的食物）加装饰( garnish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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96
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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97
deduction
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| n.减除，扣除，减除额；推论，推理，演绎 | |
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98
averred
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| v.断言( aver的过去式和过去分词 )；证实；证明…属实；作为事实提出 | |
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99
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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100
lodges
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| v.存放( lodge的第三人称单数 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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101
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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102
cogitating
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| v.认真思考，深思熟虑( cogitate的现在分词 ) | |
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103
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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104
exhortations
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| n.敦促( exhortation的名词复数 )；极力推荐；（正式的）演讲；（宗教仪式中的）劝诫 | |
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105
ruminated
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| v.沉思( ruminate的过去式和过去分词 )；反复考虑；反刍；倒嚼 | |
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106
demise
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| n.死亡；v.让渡，遗赠，转让 | |
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107
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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108
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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109
felons
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| n.重罪犯( felon的名词复数 )；瘭疽；甲沟炎；指头脓炎 | |
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110
hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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111
chunk
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| n.厚片，大块，相当大的部分（数量） | |
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112
taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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113
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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114
wane
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| n.衰微，亏缺，变弱；v.变小，亏缺，呈下弦 | |
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115
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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116
vocal
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| adj.直言不讳的；嗓音的；n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
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117
yelp
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| vi.狗吠 | |
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118
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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119
arroyo
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| n.干涸的河床，小河 | |
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rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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122
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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123
leeward
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| adj.背风的；下风的 | |
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124
taint
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| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
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125
Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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127
dwindling
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| adj.逐渐减少的v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的现在分词 ) | |
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128
interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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129
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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130
ranch
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| n.大牧场，大农场 | |
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131
faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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132
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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133
rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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petulant
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| adj.性急的，暴躁的 | |
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135
chuckles
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的名词复数 ) | |
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136
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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137
runaway
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| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
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138
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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139
mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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140
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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141
horrifying
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| a.令人震惊的，使人毛骨悚然的 | |
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142
invader
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| n.侵略者，侵犯者，入侵者 | |
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143
condemnation
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| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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144
bugle
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| n.军号，号角，喇叭；v.吹号，吹号召集 | |
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145
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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146
battalion
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| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
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147
deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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149
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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150
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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protrude
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| v.使突出，伸出，突出 | |
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152
outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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vociferous
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| adj.喧哗的，大叫大嚷的 | |
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154
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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155
subsiding
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的现在分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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156
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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157
disquieting
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| adj.令人不安的，令人不平静的v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
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158
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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159
northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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160
jolty
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| 摇动的，颠簸的 | |
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161
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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163
clot
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| n.凝块；v.使凝成块 | |
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164
flakes
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| 小薄片( flake的名词复数 )； （尤指）碎片； 雪花； 古怪的人 | |
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165
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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166
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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167
impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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168
outlaw
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| n.歹徒，亡命之徒；vt.宣布…为不合法 | |
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169
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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170
mishap
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| n.不幸的事，不幸；灾祸 | |
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171
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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172
expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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173
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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174
mink
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| n.貂，貂皮 | |
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175
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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176
bidder
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| n.(拍卖时的)出价人，报价人，投标人 | |
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177
stimulation
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| n.刺激，激励，鼓舞 | |
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178
outfitting
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| v.装备，配置设备，供给服装( outfit的现在分词 ) | |
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179
benefactors
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| n.捐助者，施主( benefactor的名词复数 )；恩人 | |
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180
prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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181
yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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