Bring Me His Ears Read online

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  Tom pushed on ahead to reconnoiter the Upper Spring

  [_Page 262_]]

  "Bring Me His Ears"

  By CLARENCE E. MULFORD

  AUTHOR OF

  "Bar 20," "Bar 20 Days," "Bar 20-Three," "Buck Peters, Ranchman," "TheComing of Cassidy," "Hopalong Cassidy," "Johnny Nelson," "The Man fromBar 20," "Tex," etc.

  A.L. BURT COMPANY

  Publishers New York

  Published by arrangement with A.C. McClurg & Co.

  Printed in U.S.A.

  Copyright A.C. McClurg & Co. 1922

  Published October, 1922

  _Copyrighted in Great Britain_

  _Printed in the United States of America_

  "Bring Me His Ears"

  CHAPTER I

  HAWKENS' GUN STORE

  The tall, lanky Missourian leaning against the corner of a ramshacklesaloon on Locust Street, St. Louis, Missouri--the St. Louis of the earlyforties--turned his whiskey-marked face toward his companion, a shortand slender Mexican trader, sullenly listening to the latter's torrentof words, which was accompanied by many and excitable gesticulations.The Missourian shook his head in reply to the accusations of hiscompanion.

  "But he was on thee boat weeth us!" exclaimed the other. "An' you loseheem--lak theese!" the sharp snap of his fingers denoted magic.

  "Thar ain't no use o' gittin' riled," replied Schoolcraft. "How intarnation kin a man keep th' trail o' a slippery critter like him inthese yere crowds? I'll git sight o' him, right yere."

  "That ees w'at you say," rejoined the Mexican, shrugging his shoulders."But w'at weel _I_ say to _le Gobernador_? Theese _hombre_ TomazBoyd--he know vera many t'eengs--too vera many t'eengs--an' he ensult_le Gobernador_. _Madre de Dios_--sooch ensult!" He shivered at thethought. "W'en I get thee message, I tr-remble! It say 'Br-ring heem tome--or breeng me his ears!' I am tol' to go to Senor Schoolcr-raft atEendependence--he ees thee man. I go; an' then you lose heem! Bah! Youdo not know theese Manuel Armijo, _le Gobernador de Santa Fe_, myfren'--I tr-remble!"

  "You need a good swig, that's what _you_ need," growled Schoolcraft."An' if ye warn't a chuckle-head," he said with a flash of anger, "wewouldn't 'a' come yere at all; I told ye he's got th' prairie fever an'shore would come back to Independence, whar I got friends; but no--wehad ter foller him!" He spat emphatically. "Thar warn't no sense to it,nohow!"

  The other waved his arms. "But w'y we stan' here, lak theese? W'y you dono'teeng?"

  "Now you look a-here, Pedro," growled the Missourian, his sullen gazepassing up and down the slender Mexican. "Ye don't want ter use no spurson _this_ critter. I ain't no greaser! If ye'll hold them arms still fera minute I'll tell ye somethin'. Thar's three ways o' gittin' a deer:one is trailin'--which we've found ain't no good; another is layin' lownear a runway--which is _yer_ job; th' third is watchin' th' saltlick--which is _my_ job. You go down ter th' levee, git cached amongthem piles o' freight an' keep a lookout on th' landin' stage o' th'_Belle_. I'll stick right yere on this corner an' watch th' lick, whichis Hawkens' gun store. He lost his pistol overboard, comin' down th'river, didn't he? An' th' _Belle_ ain't sailin' till arter ten o'clock,is she? One o' us is bound ter git sight o' him, fer he'll shore go backby th' river; an' if thar's any place in this town whar a plainsman'llgo, it's that gun store, down th' street. You do what I say, or you an'Armijo kin go plumb ter hell! An' don't ye wave yer fists under my noseno more, Pedro; I might misunderstand ye."

  The Mexican's face brightened. "Eet ees good, vera good, SenorSchoolcraft. Hah! You have thee br-rains, my fren'. Armijo, he say:'Pedro, get heem to Santa Fe, if you can. If you can't, then keel heem,an' breeng me hees ears.' _Bueno!_ I go, senor. I go _pronto_. _Buenadia!_"

  "Then git," growled Schoolcraft. "Thar's that long-faced clerk o'Hawkens' openin' th' shop. Now remember: this side o' th' junction o'th' Oregon trail I'm only ter watch him. If he goes southwest from th'junction, yer job begins; if he heads up fer th' Platte, my job starts.I ain't got no love fer him, but I'm hopin' he heads fer Oregon an' getskilled quick! I hate ter think o' a white man in Armijo's paws. An' ifhe hangs 'round th' settlements, we toss up fer th' job. If that'sright, _vamoose_."

  "Eet ees r-right to thee vera letter," whispered the Mexican, rubbinghis hands. "Eef only I can get heem to Santa Fe--ah, my fren'!"

  "Yer wuss nor a weasel," grunted the Missourian, slight prickles playingup and down his spine. "Better git down to them freight piles!"

  Schoolcraft watched his scurrying friend until he slipped around acorner and was lost to sight; then he turned and looked up the street atthe gun shop of Jake and Samuel Hawken, whose weapons were renowned allover that far-stretching western wilderness. Shrugging his shoulders, heglanced in disgust at the heavy, patented repeating rifle in his handand, letting his personal affairs take precedence over those of thedistant Mexican tyrant, he swung down the street, crossed it, andentered the famous gun shop. He risked nothing by the move, for thestore was the Mecca of frontiersmen, and a trip to St. Louis was hardlycomplete without a visit to the shop.

  The Hawkens were established, so much so that they were to be singledout by one of the famous Colt family with a partnership proposition. Thefame of their rifles had rolled westward to the Rockies and beyond. Theywere to be found across the Canadian and Mexican boundaries and whereverhunters and trappers congregated, who scorned the Northwest fusil as fitonly for trading purposes, laughed in their sleeves at the preposterouslength and general inefficiency of the Hudson Bay muskets, andcontentedly patted the stocks of their Hawkens'. There is a traditionthat the length of the Hudson Bay muskets, which often rose over thehead of a tall man while the butt rested on the ground, was due to thefact that the ignorant Indians could obtain a white man's gun only bystacking up beaver skins until the pile was as high as the musket. Evenworse than the flintlock trade guns were the _escopetas_ of the south,matchlocks of prodigious bore and no accuracy or power, which were usedby many of the Mexicans. That swarthy-skinned race which suffered underthe tyranny of Armijo seemed to believe that anything which used powderwas a weapon. The rank and file of the Mexicans were courageous andusually fought bravely until deserted by their officers, or until theywere fully convinced that the miscellaneous junk with which they werearmed was worse than useless. It can hardly be expected that menshooting pebbles, nails, and what-not out of nearly uselessblunderbusses; or using bows, arrows, and lances will stand up very longagainst straight-shooting troops armed with the best rifles; add to thisthe great difference in morale, and the ever-present distrust of theofficers, and a fair and honest understanding may be arrived at.

  Hawkens' clerk took down one of the great rifles to go over it with anoiled rag, which was another example of painting the lily. The weaponwas stocked to the muzzle and shot a bullet weighing thirty-two to thepound, each thus being an honest half-ounce of lead. It was brassmounted and had a poorly done engraving of a buffalo on the trap in itsstock. He turned to replace it and take down another when the sound ofthe opening door made him pause and face the incoming customer.

  The newcomer was neither hunter nor trapper, gambler nor merchant, tojudge from his nondescript and mixed attire. His left hand had an uglywelt running across the base of the palm and it had not been healed longenough to have lost its distinctive color. In his right hand he carrieda rifle which was new to that part of the country, and he slid it ontothe counter.

  "Swap ye," he gruffly said, stepping back and leering at the clerk. "Tooak'ard fer me. Can't git used ter it, nohow. I like a stock with a bigdrop--this un makes me hump my head down like a bull buffaler. That'sth' wuss o' havin' a long neck."

  The clerk glan
ced at the repeating Colt and then at the injured hand.The faintest possible suggestion of a knowing smile flitted across hisface, and he shook his head.

  "Those are too dangerous," he replied. "We don't handle them."

  "W'y, that's a fine rifle!" growled the customer, a heavy frownsettling on his coarse face. "Six shots, with them newfangled caps,without re-loadin'. She's a plumb fine weapon!"

  "Looks good," laughed the clerk; "but we don't care to handle them."

  "They've sorta put yer nose outer j'int, ain't they?" sneered thecustomer. "Wall, ye kin bet yer peltries I wouldn't be givin' ye th'chanct to handle _this_ un," he angrily declared, "if it had a biggerdrop an' warn't so ak'ard fer a man like me. Ye can't find a rifle inyer danged store as kin hold a candle ter it. I bet ye ain't never seenone afore!"

  "It's our business to keep informed," responded the clerk, stillsmiling. "We heard all about that rifle as soon as it was patented."

  "But ye allus could sell a gun like this un," persisted the scowlingowner. "Ye must have a hull passel o' tenderfeet a-comin' in yere."

  The clerk frowned and his voice became slightly edged. "The reputationof Hawkens' is a valuable asset. It was acquired in two ways: honestgoods and fair dealing. Most tenderfeet ask us for a gun that we canrecommend; we cannot recommend that rifle. Do you care to look at onethat will not shoot through the palm of your extended hand after it getshot from rapid shooting?"

  "I got ye thar, pardner!" retorted the customer. "I done that with apoker. Ye don't seem anxious ter do no business."

  "Our stock and my time are at your disposal," replied the clerk; "but wecannot take that Colt in part payment."

  "Wall, ye don't have ter: I know a man as will; an' he ain't allswelled up, neither. You an' yer rifles kin go ter h--l together!" Hejerked the Colt from the counter and stamped out, cursing at every step,and slammed the door behind him so hard that it shook the shop.Thoroughly angered, he strode down the street and had gone a blockbefore he remembered that he was to keep watch on the shop. Cursinganew, he wheeled and went back on the other side of the street andstopped at the corner of a ramshackle saloon.

  The clerk was taking down another rifle when the door opened again andhe wheeled aggressively, but his frown was swiftly wiped out by a smile.

  The newcomer was somewhere in the twenties, stood six feet two in hismoccasins, and had the broad, sloping shoulders that tell of greatstrength. He was narrow waisted and sinewy and walked with a step lightand springy. Dressed in buckskin from the soles of his feet to the topof his head, he had around his waist a broad belt, from which hungpowder horn, bullet pouch, a container for caps, a buckskin bag forspare patches, a bullet mold, and a heavy, honest skinning knife. Slungfrom a strap over one shoulder hung his "possible" bag, containingvarious small articles necessary to his calling. In his hand was adouble-barreled rifle which he seemed to be excited about.

  "Mr. Jarvis!" he exclaimed, offering the weapon for inspection. "Tell mewhat you think of this?"

  The clerk chuckled and his eyes lighted with pleasure. "I've seen it, orits twin, before. English, fine sights, shooting about thirty-six ballsto the pound. They're pointed, aren't they? Ah-ha! I thought so." Hetook the gun and examined it carefully. "Just what I've been trying totell Mr. Jacob Hawken. Look at those nipples: large diameter across thethreaded end, making it much easier to worry out wet powder by removingthem and working with a bent wire from that end. We have to work at theball with a screw, and that is no easy task after the patch paperbecomes swollen. With this rifle you can replace the wet powder with dryand fire the ball out in much less time. Where did you get it, Mr.Boyd?"

  The plainsman laughed exultingly. "Won it on the boat coming down, froman English sportsman who was returning home. He said it was a fineweapon, and I thought so; but I wanted your opinion."

  "Take it out on the Grand Prairie and try it out. From what I can seehere it is a remarkably fine rifle; but handsome is, you know."

  "I've tried it out already," laughed the other. "It's the best rifle inthis country, always excepting, of course, the Hawken!"

  "As long as you put it that way I shall have to agree with you. Did yousee the man who left a few moments before you came in?"

  Boyd nodded shortly. "Yes; but I don't care to discuss him beyondwarning you to look out for him. He deals in draft animals inIndependence, has the name of being slippery, and is known as EphriamSchoolcraft. However, I'm not an unprejudiced critic, for there is notthe best of feelings between us, due to an unprincipled trick he triedto play on my partner." His face clouded for a moment. His partner hadjoined the ill-fated Texan Santa Fe Expedition and had lost his life atthe hands of one of Armijo's brutal officers, for whom Tom Boyd had anabiding hatred. On his last visit to Santa Fe he had shown it soactively that only his wits and forthright courage had let him get outof the city with his life. "Well, to change the subject, I lost mypistol in the river, and I've heard a great deal about a revolving Coltpistol from some Texans I met. It shoots six times without re-loadingand is fitted for caps. Got one?"

  "Two," chuckled Jarvis. "A large bore and a smaller. They are fineweapons, but never rest the barrel on your other hand when you shoot."

  "I'll remember that. Which size would you recommend for me?"

  "The larger, by all means. We are expecting a shipment by express downthe Ohio and it should reach us almost any day now. It took the Texansto prove their worth and give them their reputation."

  "Fit it with caps, mold and whatever it needs. I need caps and powderfor the rifle, too. First quality Kentucky, or Dupont, of course."

  The purchase completed Jarvis watched his friend and customer distributethem over his person and then asked a question.

  "Where to now, Mr. Boyd?"

  "Independence and westward," answered the other. "Spring is upon us, theprairie grass is getting longer all the time, and Independence is asbusy and crowded as an ant hill. All kinds of people are coming in bytrain and river, bound for the trade to Santa Fe and Chihuahua, and forfar away Oregon." His eyes shone with enthusiasm. "The homesteadersinterest me the most, for it is to them that we will owe our westernempire. The trappers, hunters, and traders have prepared the way, butthey are only a passing phase. The first two will vanish and in theirplaces the homesteaders will take root and multiply. Think of it, Mr.Jarvis, now our frontiers are only halfway across the continent; what anempire that will some day become!"

  Jarvis nodded thoughtfully and looked up. "What does your father say toall this, especially after the news last fall about your narrow escapein Santa Fe?"

  Boyd shrugged his shoulders. "Father set his heart on me becoming hisjunior partner, and to passing his work over to me when he was ready toretire. Two generations of surgeons, is his boast; and in me he hoped tomake it three. Against that, the West needs men! Those Oregon-boundwagons bring tears to my eyes. They have cast my die for me. I am on myway to Fort Bridger and Fort Hall and the valley of the Columbia, tolend my strength and little knowledge of the open to those who need itmost."

  Jarvis nodded his head in sympathy, for he had heard many speak nearlythe same thoughts; indeed, at times, the yearning to leave behind himthe dim old shop and the noisy, bustling city beset him strongly,despite his years of a life unfitting him for the hardships of theprairies and mountains. Being able to read Greek and Latin was no asseton the open trail; although schoolmasters would be needed in that newcountry.

  "I know how you feel, Mr. Boyd. Have you seen your father since youlanded?"

  Tom reluctantly shook his head. "It would only reopen the old bitternessand lead to further estrangement. No man shall ever speak to me again ashe did--not even him. If you should see him, Jarvis, tell him I askedyou to assure him of my affection."

  "I shall be glad to do that," replied the clerk. "You missed him by onlytwo days. He asked for you and wished you success, and said your homewas open to you when you returned to resume your studies. I think, inhis heart, he is proud of you, but too stubborn to admit it." As hesp
oke he chanced to glance through the window of the store. "Don't lookaround," he warned. "I want to tell you that Schoolcraft and a Mexicanjust passed the shop, peered in at you with more than passing interestand went on. I suppose it's nothing, though."

  "It's enough to make me keep my eyes open," replied Tom, sighting hisnew rifle at the great clock on the wall, which seemed to move a littlefaster under the threat. "I thought they were watching me on the boat.Armijo's vindictive enough to go to almost any length. He isn'taccustomed to having his beast face slapped."

  Jarvis' jaw dropped in sheer amazement. "You mean--do I understand--eh,you mean--you slapped _his_ face?"

  "So hard that it hurt my hand; I'll wager his teeth are loose," repliedTom, his interest on his new weapon.

  "Er--slapped _Governor_ Armijo's face?" persisted Jarvis from themomentum of his amazement.

  "The Governor of the Department of New Mexico," replied the hunter.

  Jarvis drew a sleeve across his forehead and carefully felt for the highstool behind him. Automatically climbing upon it he seated himself withgreat care and then, remembering that his customer was standing, slidoff it apologetically. He was gazing at his companion as though he weresome strange, curious animal.

  "Eh--would you mind telling me _why_?" he asked.

  "He offended me; and if I'd known then what I found out later I wouldhave broken every bone in his pompous carcass and thrown him to thedogs!" His face had reddened a little and the veins on his forehead werebeginning to stand out.

  Jarvis examined the clock with almost hypnotic interest. "And how did heoffend you, Mr. Boyd, if I may inquire?"

  "Oh, the beast came swaggering along the street, followed at arespectful distance by a crowd of his boot-lickers, and pushed me out ofhis way. I asked him who in hell he thought he was, in choice Spanish,and the conceited turkey-gobbler reached for his saber. The more I seeof this gun, Jarvis, the more I like it."

  "Yes, indeed; and then what, Mr. Boyd?"

  "Huh?"

  "He reached for his saber--and then?"

  "Oh," laughed Tom. "I helped him draw it, and broke it across his ownknee. He called me a choice name and I slapped his face. You should haveseen the boot-lickers! Before they could get their senses back and makeup their minds about rushing my pistol I had slipped through a store,out of the back and into a place I know well, where I waited till dark.I understand there was quite a lot of excitement for a day or so."

  "I dare say--I dare say there might have been," admitted Jarvis. "Infact, I am sure there would be. _Damn it_, Tom, would you mind shakinghands with me?"